Part 3: Dawn
Chao-Ann doesn't speak any English, so we all take it pretty easy on her as a rule, but this morning she's wearing my favourite blue silk halter neck, and when I finally catch her eye across the counter full of empty cereal boxes she just looks straight back. Gives me a great big smile, and strokes the front of it with her hand.
"Lo zang maa?"
I don't know what she said, but she looks pretty pleased with herself. I scowl as she lifts another spoonful of drippy, milky Cheerios into her mouth. She grins again, a little goofily I think, and this time a drop of milk makes it's way down her chin before slowly trickling off and onto my top.
"Dawn, lei hou shan laa!"
And I'm pretty sure that that wasn't an apology.
Mom used to say that when I was little I was pretty good at sharing, which with Buffy as a big sister was sort of a survival skill. She has a lot of cool stuff and she's nearly always ok about me taking things, providing that I don't drink grape juice or go any where near the Doublemeat Palace with anything of her's on. Ever since I can remember we've borrowed each other's clothes and, as soon as I got tall enough to reach the top shelf of her wardrobe where she hides her vanity case, nail polish and make-up as well. It's a sister thing, all my friends say theirs' are just the same, and despite all the yelling and the secret-sewing-up-of-rips-in-the-seats-of-new-leather-pants, it's something you just accept.
What's more difficult to handle is seeing a girl whose surname you can't even remember, wearing a pair of your strappy patent-leather sandals that cost roughly two month's allowance.
"Are those mine?"
Her name's Claudette. She's French, and I don't think she even lives here anyone. She's one of Xander's.
"Are what your's?"
I can feel my cheeks starting to heat up as she blinks at me, all eyelashes, and that's probably my Extralength Wonderlash as well.
"I don't remember saying you could borrow my sandals, Claudette."
She shrugs, a little tiny shrug as if she can hardly be bothered moving her beautiful evenly tanned shoulders, and turns back to check her reflection in the mirror by the door.
"Elsa broke mine."
I think really violent thoughts sometimes, thoughts I think even Buffy would be surprised at. She thinks I'm all ok with this, because that's what I tell her. She has so many thing to deal with right now, the very biggest thing being the - you know - end of the world, so I like to think it's kind of up to me to keep everything here at Slayer Central running smoothly. Everyone says I do a pretty good job and I'm starting to think that maybe organising people might be 'my thing'. Although my rota which was supposed to makes things a lot easier, didn't really work too well. With all the late-night training that Buffy and Spike have been doing with everyone, people kept swapping their turn, so after a week we just went back to the way things were before.
Willow helps a lot, mostly with the laundry and the tidying up, and Xander does pretty much all the shopping and the man-stuff like mending things and mowing the front lawn. The other girls - the Potentials I mean - they nearly all pitch in, but funnily it's Andrew who I think probably helps out the most. He really likes to cook, and doesn't mind at all helping out with the ironing because he says he really loves the smell of fabric conditioner.
I think maybe he misses his Mom a little.
I don't really like to ask Giles to do anything, because I know that most of the time he's almost as stressed as Buffy is, and besides he's been away a lot. When he is here though, he does the washing up and I dry, and I tell him about everything that's happened while he's been gone. I call it giving him his ' Sunnydale Bulletin'. Lately though, he's been asking more and more questions about Spike and, when I don't know all the answers, he makes that face that he always makes when he's trying not to look really worried. He doesn't trust Spike at all, which I should say isn't exactly an uncommon thing around here, and I think he worries a lot about what The First has done to him.
A while ago it let slip that it isn't exactly finished with him yet, and we all know that that can't mean anything good. Anya says that she thinks it's just waiting for the right moment to 'activate' him again, and that it'll probably be when Buffy's at her most vulnerable. She thinks I don't know what she means by that, but I do. She means when Buffy and he are alone together.
I don't tell anyone, not even Xander, but I worry too. Although not because I think Spike's going to suddenly go all fangy and grrrr again. Buffy beat the old Evil Spike a whole bunch of times when he first arrived in Sunnydale. She got a few bruises, and I think she was even scared of him for a little while, but he never really came close to hurting her. Not back then anyway.
I didn't know too much about him in those days, I was still pretty young, but I remember Buffy telling me that if I ever saw him to run straight back inside the house and shout out for her (like I'd really have wanted to stick around if I saw someone like Spike hanging around our front lawn at night). I knew by the way she said it though that he must be someone bad, although of course I didn't even know what a vamp was in those days. But then that was before Mom started invited them in for hot chocolate and marshmallows, and way before Buffy started paying one money to help her kill his friends.
Later, I got to I know him pretty well, or at least I thought I had until he did what he did last summer. Now I wonder if I ever really knew him at all. If he was ever my friend. Or if I ever sat next to him on the couch after Buffy died, crying so hard at some dumb Movie Of The Week that I thought we'd never be able to stop. I don't know which is the really real Spike, the one that's in there now or the one who was, because getting a soul makes you into a completely different person doesn't it? And I worry because I know that it's dangerous to rely completely on people, and because I see the way she looks at him these days. I worry because she's my sister, and because I love her. She's the strongest person I know, but I'm not sure if she's strong enough to get her heart broken all over again.
"Dawn!!"
Willow's calling me now, and from her voice I can tell she needs help with something. I start to go, but then turn to give Claudette one last hard stare.
"Just...ask next time, ok?"
She just stares back, and then gives another of her tiny golden brown shrugs.
"O.K."
I hope her skin ages prematurely.
Willow's standing in the hall upstairs, and without even asking I can see that what she needs is someone to help her carry the laundry down to the basement. Her arms are piled so high with towels and bed sheets, that I can only just see her eyes peeping over the top. I take two armfuls, and now I can see her properly again.
"Thanks!!! Beginning to think I'd be found dead under there."
There's a smile on her face, but it's a tired one not the good happy-Willow kind.
"You're on laundry again? I thought it was Kennedy's turn today?"
She gives a little nod, or at least I think she does, there are pillow cases piled up around her neck.
"It is. But...she's out training with the two newbies."
"Oh."
She knows what the 'oh' meant, even though I think I hid it pretty well, and she squints at me sideways. Fights to get a better grip on the duvet that's trying to spring free of her arms.
"Hey! I volunteered, she didn't ask me! Besides, I don't mind."
Kennedy is kind of a touchy topic with her at the moment. I think maybe they had an argument the night before last, because Willow was quiet all day yesterday, and when I came out of the bathroom after dinner she'd gone for a walk with Spike. She seems to be spending a lot of time lately not saying much, and I have a feeling that maybe some of it is to do with magic and with Kennedy. So, right now, it's probably a good idea to change the subject.
"So you really love the smell of fabric conditioner too?"
And it's ok. She laughs, and we head back downstairs.
"He told you that too?"
"I think maybe his dream job would be in a Fluff and Fold."
She purses her lips,
"Maybe an evil Fluff and Fold?"
"Maybe. Or maybe one that specialises in demonic bed-linen."
"Tough stains."
"OOh, and spine-rippage?"
"All common problems."
The basement's empty when we get down there, which makes a change from usual. Normally either Spike's down here trying to stay out of everybody's way, or the few Potentials that smoke are hanging out pretending like they're studying. I tend to stay out of here when they're around because, even though I know they like me ok, I think they worry I'm going to narc.
"So you manage to translate those things that were in Wood's bag?"
Shaking detergent out of the box, Willow nods, but I can tell the news isn't of the good.
"Yeah. Some great temporary immobilisation spells, and probably the most effective charm to cure a Vyudnarr demon's bite that there is, but that's all."
She sighs and slaps the machine's drawer shut.
"Nothing that will help. I mean, not unless The First suddenly decides to unleash a whole bunch of Vyudnarr's on us."
"And that Vyudnarr be very likely I suppose?"
She shakes her head.
"No. They're pretty rare these days, and besides I think they tend to hunt solo."
Stops, blinks.
"That was a joke, right? Sorry. Brain not quite working at full capacity yet today."
She looks so tired and sad suddenly, that I try to think of something to make her feel better. Bundle the rest of the knickers and bras I'm holding into the machine and force the door closed.
"Hey! You need waking up? Maybe we could go get you a hot cup of java down at The Pump?"
She's reading the washing cycle instructions from the book, trying to decide if the mix of sheets and underwear is coloureds or whites, and only looks up for a second shaking her head.
"Sorry, Dawnie, I love to..."
Turns the dial and waits until the water kicks in.
"...I've just got so much to do today is all. Maybe you could ask Anya?"
I pull a face, but I don't really mean it. I like Anya ok these days, even though she still treats me like I'm still a little kid sometimes. I just don't feel like I can handle a conversation with her today. I like the fact she's so honest, more people should be honest about what they think, but she's not really what you'd call tactful. If my hair needs washing or I have a zit, she always feels the need to tell me, without ever stopping to think I might already know;
"Well then why haven't you tried to cover it up?"
"Maybe because I couldn't even get into the bathroom this morning? There was a line five people deep."
"I have this special skin-coloured stick I saw advertised right after Jeopardy."
Gets it out of her purse and shows me. Puts it away again.
"I'd say you could borrow it, but I don't really think it'd do any good."
Squints at my chin sideways,
"No. That's a real monster you've got there."
So who am I left with? Xander and Buffy are at work. The Potentials that aren't out on a weapons buying spree are either way too annoying to be considered or can't speak English, and Willow's busy with her Scooby homework. I can hardly believe it, but suddenly I find myself wishing I'd actually gone to school today instead of telling Buffy I had important research to be getting on with.
"Hey, Dawnie. Why don't you go see a movie or something?"
Willow's looking at me now like I'm some kind of pathetic friendless charity case, and I realise she must have just caught a little bit of what I was thinking. She can do that sometimes, although she tries not to actually read our minds unless it's an emergency. It means that she just gets a lot of what you're thinking without you having to say it. She says it's just like being extra-perceptive.
"I think I saw they were showing some really good foreign film today. Something romantic. You should go. Take a day off. Enjoy yourself."
I half smile, starting to like the idea, but then remember my hooky-status.
"Yeah, but what if someone from school sees me?"
She frowns, picks up a stray sock that we've missed and drops it on top of the washer. Raises her eyebrows.
"Well then, you'll see them too. And why aren't they at school?"
She has a point. And it's such a dull day to be hanging round the house, with nothing to do and no one to talk to, and after I 've sat in my room for another twenty minutes or so looking at the piles of sleeping bags and dirty clothes lying on every available surface, I decide her idea is a pretty good one. The only problem is, I hate going to the cinema alone.
"You want to go see a movie, Chao-Ann?"
She looks up from sharpening her axe and cocks her head.
"Mat yeh?"
I realise she doesn't get it, so I do the official pantomime of a movie, cranking the handle of a film camera. She blinks, still confused, so I mime eating popcorn then pointing and laughing out loud. She watches me for a minute before she shakes her head,
"Chee seen!"
and goes back to her axe.
I spend a long time standing outside the bathroom door, considering asking Claudette, before I hear the shower start up and her voice start belting out a song I'm pretty sure is by Celine Dion. Closing my eyes I wonder at just how desperate I've become, before walking slowly back downstairs.
Not that desperate.
Not yet.
"Anya, it's Dawn."
"Hey, Dawn! What is it? Is Xander all right? What's happened?"
She goes from perfectly calm to out-and-out panic in about three seconds, and I smile as I realise that she still always asks about Xander first.
"Nothing's happened. Everyone's fine. I just wanted to know if you wanted to come see a movie with me this afternoon? At the movie theatre I mean."
She draws a breath in, and I can almost hear her frowning on the other end of the line.
"Has everyone else gone out?"
I sigh.
"Yes."
"Is John Cusack in it?"
I tell her that I'm pretty sure he isn't. It's a foreign film, 'Wings Of Desire'? And it's maybe even in black and white.
"O.K, well...no then. But thanks for asking me. Last I mean. Thanks for asking me last."
"No problem."
I put on my jacket and stand by the kitchen door for another minute, before I finally give up and walk back into the sitting room and drop into a chair. I hate that I don't have anything to do when everyone else I know is busy doing something. And I hate that all the stuff they have to do is so important they can't even take a break for two hours to spend some time with me. And then, just because I'm getting into it now, I decide to just go ahead and hate myself for being me and for being always so freakin' needy. With all the self-loathing going on, it's almost a full sixty seconds before I notice Spike.
"What's up, bitesize? No one to play with?"
My scowls never work on him, so I just roll my eyes instead and wait for him to give up and go away.
"If you're looking for something to do, you could go play some darts out in the garage with the boy. "
He means Andrew. He always calls him that.
"I'm telling you, he's piss poor. You'd beat him no problem."
Out of the corner of my eyes I see him take out a cigarette, even though he knows he's not supposed to smoke anywhere upstairs in the house, and suddenly I realise that maybe there's someone I can be more mad at than myself today.
"You're not supposed to smoke in here."
He glances up, surprised, so I go on.
"We took a vote. It was unanimous. Except for Anya obstained."
"That right?"
I look straight over at him, just to show I mean it, and he raises an eyebrow slowly before putting them away. He doesn't look angry, but then he's pretty good at covering things up now.
"Anything else I'm doing that bothers you?"
"We took a vote on you keeping your blood in the regular refrigerator as well."
He cocks his head,
"And?"
"And it's gross. Most of us are vegetarians you know?"
I know my voice sounds harder than I want it to, but when he gives a small nod, I feel another stab of anger at just how easily he gives in to me now.
"I can keep it down in the cellar one if it bothers you."
If it bothers me? Since when did Spike care if something he wanted to do bothered me? And suddenly I'm looking at him and I'm remembering another conversation, just two years ago, in this exact same room.
"Can't you drink that outside? It's making me feel nauseous?"
"So go play in your room. No one's making you watch me."
"This is my house!"
"When I'm here you do as I say."
"What? So you're my Father now?"
He narrows his eyes at me,
"Be fat lot of good if I was, wouldn't I?"
"Shut up!"
"You shut up!"
"You are such...a jerk!!!"
"Yeah well, you're a brat."
"Well, at least...at least I'm not drinking pig's blood out of...out of Tupperware because I've...because I've had my nuts taken off by the...by the fucking military."
He stares at me for a long moment, holding the cup up to his lips.
"You are such a bitch sometimes."
I feel myself wanting to smile, but I don't.
"Yeah well. You're still a jerk."
The old Spike would never have said what he just said - all meek and do-as-I-say. So I say that to him.
"You know the old Spike would have just told me to go stick it."
His eyes come up, fierce bright blue, and he stares back at me and suddenly it's like the temperature in the whole house has dropped.
"The old Spike would have killed you before you'd even sat down."
"Would that have been the Spike whose ass my sister kicked all over town? Or the one who would have been blinded by a crippling migraine?"
He takes a deep breath inwards and eyes me coldly.
"Maybe the Spike who was out gutting little girl's your age back when your grandma was a toddler."
I fold my arms.
"You don't scare me any more you know."
His eyes narrow at that, and his chin comes up a fraction.
"Maybe I should."
"Why? Because you've got the chip out now? Or because your gonna go postal on us again the minute The First snaps it's fingers?"
"Because now I have free will."
"And what's your free will telling you?"
He looks away towards the door, and for a minute I think he's just going to walk out. Like he does all the time these days, whenever there's shouting or an argument he doesn't want to have.
"It's telling me I've got a job to do. That there's more important things that sitting around this house feeling sorry for myself all day."
He stoops down to pick something off the floor and I see it's the other one of the socks that Willow found - bright yellow and pink stripes. He looks at it blankly for a moment, and then turns back to drop it on the desk.
"And it's also telling me not to take any shit from little girls who think they're tough."
I open my mouth to say something back, but the way he's looking at me suddenly makes me forget what it was. His face is a whole mix of emotions that I can't read, and after watching me for a second longer, he reaches down into his duster pocket and brings out his cigarettes again. Takes one out of the pack, taps the filter end really deliberately and then lights up.
He sucks in an extra long breath, and then let's it out again with a long theatrical sigh.
"Aaaahhhhhhhh."
I want to stay mad at him, but suddenly I can feel a smile fighting to get out. And it's good feeling. It's a feeling I haven't had in a while.
"So are the important things - things that need to be done today? Or are they the sort of things that could wait...say...a couple of hours?"
"Maybe they could wait. You got something specific in mind?"
I shrug, because it never pays to look too desperate.
"There's a really great old movie playing."
It's not the old Spike smirk I remember, but it's close enough.
"S'long way to the theatre, niblet. Don't fancy my chances in the day."
"You could ride in the trunk? I've got my learner's permit now you know."
"An offer no one could refuse."
He stubs out his cigarette in a coffee cup that someones left by the telephone and I get up, shove my hands down in my pockets and look across at him.
"O.K, then how about I go down to the 7-11 and rent something. It's cheaper and less likely to cause permanent scarring."
He sniffs, scuffs a boot heel along the floor.
"You're taste in movies isn't mine, pet."
"I'll call you, tell you what's there. Then you can choose. OK?"
"Nothing with John Cusack in though."
"Can you at least try not to listen in to my private conversations."
And now he's looking at me with this strange intense kind of look on his face, and it reminds me of a time we sat on the couch together, both crying so hard at some dumb Movie Of The Week that I thought we'd never stop. It reminds me of the way he always knew what to say when I was hurting, and how he never told me things were going to get better, because they wouldn't, they'd just get easier to bear. And it reminds me of how honest he is, and how much I really missed him when I knew he was gone.
I want to tell him that it's ok. That, maybe if he plays it straight and doesn't fuck it all up with Buffy, that we might be friends again some day. Because maybe he's not so different from the old Spike after all, and maybe there is a lot of him squeezed in there alongside the soul. I think all of it, but I don't say it. I just say;
"Jerk."
He squints back at me, exhales a deep lungful of smoke with a frown.
"Brat." he says.
