Sunbeams dipped below the horizon, bathing the streets in a rosy glow as
another day ended. Dawn sighed softly, gazing out her bedroom window at the
purple and blue streaked sky. A sad smile drifted over her face, her gray-
green eyes falling away from the blanket of darkness outside. Her left hand
fiddled with the hem of her purple ribbed tank top while her right brushed
aside the tear that was slowly traveling down her cheek. The inside of her
room was bathed in shadows, but Dawn could make out the boxes and duffel
bag that littered her floor. She sighed again, pushing herself away from
the window and turning her attention towards the half-filled box of
clothes. Her head was buried inside the cardboard box, searching for a
sweatshirt when her door swung open.
Spike leaned languidly against the doorframe; his bare forearms were crossed, the pale limbs shining brightly against the ebony cotton of his shirt. "Almost done packing, Nibblet," he asked, tilting his head to survey the now bare bedroom. Dawn nodded, slipping the maroon University of Sunnydale sweatshirt over her head. "Yeah, I'm almost ready," she replied, "just gotta close up these boxes." Spike reached across the doorframe, switching on the light, "go get something to eat with your sis, I'll take care of these." Scrunching up her face in confusion, Dawn cast a sideways glance at the vampire. "You feeling alright Spike," she teased, "is the Big Bad actually offering to do manual labor? Sounds pretty suspicious." Spike groaned, his hands clutching his head tightly in mock frustration. "Get going," he growled, "before I change my bloody mind." Knowing better then to argue, Dawn slipped past him, her chestnut hair streaming behind her. "Thanks Spike," she chirped, as she dashed down the stairs.
Over her ceramic coffee mug, Buffy raised a questioning eyebrow at her sister. "What'd he do now," she asked, taking a tentative sip of the steaming liquid. Dawn told her, and promptly burst out laughing at the face Buffy made when she tasted her bitter coffee. "Can't deal without the sugar, huh," she asked sympathetically. Buffy scowled, "first the stupid idiot insists on packing up all the furniture three days in advance. Then he decides to pack my clothes so I have nothing to wear. And then this morning I discover that Mr. Ingenious cleaned out the fridge, so I have to drink black coffee because he threw away the milk and did who knows what to the sugar." Pausing for a breath, she shot an irritated glance at Dawn. The teenager's shoulders were convulsing in laughter, sporadic giggles escaping her mouth as she leaned on the counter for support. "It's not funny Dawnie," Buffy protested weakly, her own voice brimming with laughter despite her efforts to sound indignant.
Dawn hopped up on the countertop, her legs dangling idly in the air. "Whatever," she said, wiping away the moisture that had formed beneath her long eyelashes. Buffy took a deep breath before taking another sip of her coffee, shuddering as it traveled down her throat. "He so owes me a Starbucks white chocolate mocha," she complained, forcing one last swallow that drained the cup, "maybe two." Rinsing out the mug, Buffy dried it with one of the paper napkins from the pile sitting next to Dawn on the counter. She wrapped it up in a dry napkin and rolled the paper-covered mug in a sheet of bubble wrap, before putting it in the box sitting on the island. "So are you almost ready to go," Buffy asked, resting her hand on Dawn's knee. The teenager nodded hesitantly, "I guess so. It's just so weird to be leaving but it wouldn't be the same without everyone here." Buffy's lips formed a tight smile; she understood exactly what her sister meant. Sunnydale had been their home for seven years and while it was sad to leave so many memories behind, she knew that it would never be the same now that the Scoobies had dispersed.
It had been four weeks and three days since the First had fallen, and in that time so many things had changed. Somehow all of the Scoobies had settled back into some sort of routine and state of normalcy. The house on Revello Drive had fallen silent; slowly everyone had trickled out until Buffy, Spike and Dawn were the only people left. Angel had been one of the first to leave; he had a business to run in LA and was anxious to get back to his son. After a bit of convincing, Anya had agreed to go with him, there was nothing tying her to Sunnydale and she was anxious to start a new chapter in her life. Willow had moved into her own apartment, a few blocks from the University campus where she would be continuing her computer classes in the fall. Xander went to San Francisco; he had some family in the city and needed to find a new occupation now that he could no longer continue construction work. The last to leave the former campaign headquarters was Giles; he knew that there was nothing waiting for him across the Atlantic. His place was no longer with the Council, the handful of members who had survived needed to focus on rebuilding, something he had no interest in. He had gone back to England after several weeks of debate, confessing to Spike that he was going to enjoy retirement in the countryside.
Buffy jumped three feet in the air as a cool hand made contact with her elbow. She turned to face Spike, her eyes dancing with laughter. "Don't sneak up on me like that," she said, playfully smacking his shoulder as his arms snaked around her waist. Spike leaned forward until their noses were touching, his blue eyes penetrating Buffy to her core. "I don't sneak," he murmured, his voice low and seductive, "not my fault you're not paying attention." Raising a questioning eyebrow at her lover, Buffy clasped her hands at the back of his neck. "Not your fault," she teased, her voice rough in a poor impersonation of Spike's accent. Dawn broke the tender moment, leaping off the counter, her feet hitting the floor with a thud. "Don't you two ever get tired of that," she complained. Spike shook his head, planting a quick kiss on Buffy's cheek before releasing her. "Nope," he answered, "could have eternity and still wouldn't be enough." Buffy's cheeks flushed at his honesty and Dawn scowled, wishing she could find someone who loved her like that. Grabbing the box off the island, Spike hefted it into his hands, "you ladies ready? Because the East Coast is calling and I suggest we get going."
Dawn squealed with excitement, holding the door for Spike before the duo made their way out towards his Desoto parked at the curb. Spike stopped beside his car, making sure that the small trailer was securely hitched to the back of his archaic black machine. Leaning against the side door, he lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. Back inside the house, Buffy smiled, taking one last lingering look at the empty room, engraving every detail into her mind. She had spent almost a third of her life on Revello Drive, these rooms held more memories then she could count. In her mind's eye, she could see the years pass before her, images of the not-so-distant past. There was her mom making popcorn in the kitchen while Dawn and Buffy huddled on the couch, anxious to start watching the pile of romantic comedies next to the TV. In the same kitchen, Spike sat at the table with Joyce, sipping hot chocolate and talking about her work in the gallery. In the living room, the Christmas tree tipped towards the window as Dawn hung the small glass ornaments complaining that she couldn't reach the top branches. Rain fell outside as Joyce thumbed through a mystery novel, a bright orange scarf on her head as she rested on the sofa. Two years later, Buffy sat on the same couch and asked Spike to stand beside her against the First's army. The dining room table covered with piles of textbooks as Willow, Buffy and Xander studied for their final exams, all the while chatting about graduation. The carpet covering the wooden steps in the foyer were worn thin, from too many days of running down to grab breakfast before homeroom and from too many nights of trudging up, weary after a moonlit patrol.
Buffy paused in the foyer, tears brimming in her eyes as she grasped the brass doorknob firmly. There were so many memories in her house, but she needed to break with the past and move on. Nothing was binding her to Sunnydale; the First had been defeated, the Hellmouth was silent and demonic activity was practically non-existent, the high school had been blown up again, and her friends were all moving forward with their lives. After several days of arguing, pleading and talking, Buffy and Spike had finally decided to move to the Northeast. Giles had an old friend living in Rhode Island, and the two Englishmen had arranged jobs for the couple, found them a place to live and enrolled Dawn in school. "Time to get going," she whispered to herself, blowing an air kiss to the empty house before walking out the door.
Dawn was already stretched out in the backseat amid a sea of shopping bags, backpacks, crates of cds and coolers filled with blood and soda. Buffy smiled fondly at her sister before slipping into the passenger seat beside Spike. "All ready," Spike asked softly and Buffy nodded, a stray tear slipping down her cheek as they pulled away from the curb. "I wonder if we'll miss it," she mused, watching the dark streets of Sunnydale flash past them. Spike didn't answer, he was concentrating on getting the necessary momentum up in order to hit the wooden sign they were rapidly approaching. "Oh don't tell me you're gonna hit it," Buffy began. Her words fell on deaf ears as the Desoto plowed through the Welcome to Sunnydale sign, flattening it to the ground. Spike grinned at the woman he loved, "always hit the sign, luv, it's tradition." She nodded, curling up on the bench seat, her blonde hair spilling across his thigh, tucking her hands beneath her head for support. "Tradition, got it," she murmured before drifting off to sleep.
Spike leaned languidly against the doorframe; his bare forearms were crossed, the pale limbs shining brightly against the ebony cotton of his shirt. "Almost done packing, Nibblet," he asked, tilting his head to survey the now bare bedroom. Dawn nodded, slipping the maroon University of Sunnydale sweatshirt over her head. "Yeah, I'm almost ready," she replied, "just gotta close up these boxes." Spike reached across the doorframe, switching on the light, "go get something to eat with your sis, I'll take care of these." Scrunching up her face in confusion, Dawn cast a sideways glance at the vampire. "You feeling alright Spike," she teased, "is the Big Bad actually offering to do manual labor? Sounds pretty suspicious." Spike groaned, his hands clutching his head tightly in mock frustration. "Get going," he growled, "before I change my bloody mind." Knowing better then to argue, Dawn slipped past him, her chestnut hair streaming behind her. "Thanks Spike," she chirped, as she dashed down the stairs.
Over her ceramic coffee mug, Buffy raised a questioning eyebrow at her sister. "What'd he do now," she asked, taking a tentative sip of the steaming liquid. Dawn told her, and promptly burst out laughing at the face Buffy made when she tasted her bitter coffee. "Can't deal without the sugar, huh," she asked sympathetically. Buffy scowled, "first the stupid idiot insists on packing up all the furniture three days in advance. Then he decides to pack my clothes so I have nothing to wear. And then this morning I discover that Mr. Ingenious cleaned out the fridge, so I have to drink black coffee because he threw away the milk and did who knows what to the sugar." Pausing for a breath, she shot an irritated glance at Dawn. The teenager's shoulders were convulsing in laughter, sporadic giggles escaping her mouth as she leaned on the counter for support. "It's not funny Dawnie," Buffy protested weakly, her own voice brimming with laughter despite her efforts to sound indignant.
Dawn hopped up on the countertop, her legs dangling idly in the air. "Whatever," she said, wiping away the moisture that had formed beneath her long eyelashes. Buffy took a deep breath before taking another sip of her coffee, shuddering as it traveled down her throat. "He so owes me a Starbucks white chocolate mocha," she complained, forcing one last swallow that drained the cup, "maybe two." Rinsing out the mug, Buffy dried it with one of the paper napkins from the pile sitting next to Dawn on the counter. She wrapped it up in a dry napkin and rolled the paper-covered mug in a sheet of bubble wrap, before putting it in the box sitting on the island. "So are you almost ready to go," Buffy asked, resting her hand on Dawn's knee. The teenager nodded hesitantly, "I guess so. It's just so weird to be leaving but it wouldn't be the same without everyone here." Buffy's lips formed a tight smile; she understood exactly what her sister meant. Sunnydale had been their home for seven years and while it was sad to leave so many memories behind, she knew that it would never be the same now that the Scoobies had dispersed.
It had been four weeks and three days since the First had fallen, and in that time so many things had changed. Somehow all of the Scoobies had settled back into some sort of routine and state of normalcy. The house on Revello Drive had fallen silent; slowly everyone had trickled out until Buffy, Spike and Dawn were the only people left. Angel had been one of the first to leave; he had a business to run in LA and was anxious to get back to his son. After a bit of convincing, Anya had agreed to go with him, there was nothing tying her to Sunnydale and she was anxious to start a new chapter in her life. Willow had moved into her own apartment, a few blocks from the University campus where she would be continuing her computer classes in the fall. Xander went to San Francisco; he had some family in the city and needed to find a new occupation now that he could no longer continue construction work. The last to leave the former campaign headquarters was Giles; he knew that there was nothing waiting for him across the Atlantic. His place was no longer with the Council, the handful of members who had survived needed to focus on rebuilding, something he had no interest in. He had gone back to England after several weeks of debate, confessing to Spike that he was going to enjoy retirement in the countryside.
Buffy jumped three feet in the air as a cool hand made contact with her elbow. She turned to face Spike, her eyes dancing with laughter. "Don't sneak up on me like that," she said, playfully smacking his shoulder as his arms snaked around her waist. Spike leaned forward until their noses were touching, his blue eyes penetrating Buffy to her core. "I don't sneak," he murmured, his voice low and seductive, "not my fault you're not paying attention." Raising a questioning eyebrow at her lover, Buffy clasped her hands at the back of his neck. "Not your fault," she teased, her voice rough in a poor impersonation of Spike's accent. Dawn broke the tender moment, leaping off the counter, her feet hitting the floor with a thud. "Don't you two ever get tired of that," she complained. Spike shook his head, planting a quick kiss on Buffy's cheek before releasing her. "Nope," he answered, "could have eternity and still wouldn't be enough." Buffy's cheeks flushed at his honesty and Dawn scowled, wishing she could find someone who loved her like that. Grabbing the box off the island, Spike hefted it into his hands, "you ladies ready? Because the East Coast is calling and I suggest we get going."
Dawn squealed with excitement, holding the door for Spike before the duo made their way out towards his Desoto parked at the curb. Spike stopped beside his car, making sure that the small trailer was securely hitched to the back of his archaic black machine. Leaning against the side door, he lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. Back inside the house, Buffy smiled, taking one last lingering look at the empty room, engraving every detail into her mind. She had spent almost a third of her life on Revello Drive, these rooms held more memories then she could count. In her mind's eye, she could see the years pass before her, images of the not-so-distant past. There was her mom making popcorn in the kitchen while Dawn and Buffy huddled on the couch, anxious to start watching the pile of romantic comedies next to the TV. In the same kitchen, Spike sat at the table with Joyce, sipping hot chocolate and talking about her work in the gallery. In the living room, the Christmas tree tipped towards the window as Dawn hung the small glass ornaments complaining that she couldn't reach the top branches. Rain fell outside as Joyce thumbed through a mystery novel, a bright orange scarf on her head as she rested on the sofa. Two years later, Buffy sat on the same couch and asked Spike to stand beside her against the First's army. The dining room table covered with piles of textbooks as Willow, Buffy and Xander studied for their final exams, all the while chatting about graduation. The carpet covering the wooden steps in the foyer were worn thin, from too many days of running down to grab breakfast before homeroom and from too many nights of trudging up, weary after a moonlit patrol.
Buffy paused in the foyer, tears brimming in her eyes as she grasped the brass doorknob firmly. There were so many memories in her house, but she needed to break with the past and move on. Nothing was binding her to Sunnydale; the First had been defeated, the Hellmouth was silent and demonic activity was practically non-existent, the high school had been blown up again, and her friends were all moving forward with their lives. After several days of arguing, pleading and talking, Buffy and Spike had finally decided to move to the Northeast. Giles had an old friend living in Rhode Island, and the two Englishmen had arranged jobs for the couple, found them a place to live and enrolled Dawn in school. "Time to get going," she whispered to herself, blowing an air kiss to the empty house before walking out the door.
Dawn was already stretched out in the backseat amid a sea of shopping bags, backpacks, crates of cds and coolers filled with blood and soda. Buffy smiled fondly at her sister before slipping into the passenger seat beside Spike. "All ready," Spike asked softly and Buffy nodded, a stray tear slipping down her cheek as they pulled away from the curb. "I wonder if we'll miss it," she mused, watching the dark streets of Sunnydale flash past them. Spike didn't answer, he was concentrating on getting the necessary momentum up in order to hit the wooden sign they were rapidly approaching. "Oh don't tell me you're gonna hit it," Buffy began. Her words fell on deaf ears as the Desoto plowed through the Welcome to Sunnydale sign, flattening it to the ground. Spike grinned at the woman he loved, "always hit the sign, luv, it's tradition." She nodded, curling up on the bench seat, her blonde hair spilling across his thigh, tucking her hands beneath her head for support. "Tradition, got it," she murmured before drifting off to sleep.