"If you think, for one second, that I'm gonna let you violate my face with that clown paint, you're out of your bleeding mind."

"Fine. Then you have to take another zit." Dawn replied simply. Before Spike could protest, she reached across the Girl Talk game board which rested on the livingroom rug between them, and stuck another one of the jarringly red sticker pimples smack dab in the middle of his forehead. Spike closed his eyes, and sighed in utter humiliation. Dawn sat back down and grinned with satisfaction at his dot riddled face.

"Think this is funny, do you?" Spike asked from his own Indian style position on the other side.

"No. Not at all." She replied, biting her lip to keep herself from exploding in giggles. Spike stared back at her miserably with one eyebrow raised in doubt and a face filled with little red stickers, and she burst, making the house echo with her laughter.

"But it woulda been way funnier if you'd just let me do the make-over."

"Thaaaaat's right. Laugh it up. Have yourself a nice chuckle. Bet you won't be laughing so hard when every demon from here to the bloody hell mouth is thumping my--"

"My turn!" Dawn interrupted before he could finish, snatching the spinning board and placing it in front of her. She flicked the arrow, and both parties leaned over in suspense, to determine her fate.

"Call your crush on the telephone and ask if you can borrow a roll of toilet paper.

Dawn's eyes widened in horror. Spike leaned back on his hands and grinned at her with evil pleasure. Without a word he reached behind him and snatched the phone, tossing it in her direction. Dawn glanced at it, and then back up at Spike. He looked at her with lips pursed, and eyebrows raised in expectancy.

"Well? Go on then. Dial."

"No...Way." Dawn replied, sliding the phone back in Spike's direction. "You're gonna have to kill me first."

"You'd best mind what you say." He threatened, picking up a zit that had fallen, and sticking it aimlessly back on to his cheek. "I just might after all this."

"Oh, you know your lovin it." Dawn answered cheerfully, sticking another dot onto her own face. Spike wriggled his forehead, feeling the irritating stickers.

"For once, I'm glad I don't have a reflection." he commented in response to her giggles. "And remember: you squeak one word of this to the goodie-goodie gang, and young..." he paused to gaze at the name she had doodled, and surrounded with tiny hearts on the game board. "...Mark, here, gets a call, understand?" Dawn gasped in horror. "I'll maybe tell 'im bout a certain sprite I know who still pees the bed, yah?" he said, smiling proudly at himself for having invented such an offensive fabrication.

"You wouldn't!" Dawn cried, narrowing her eyes.

"Oh. I would." he replied in the lowest, most menacing voice he could muster. "Evil here, remember?" he added, pointing to himself. Dawn gulped, and then sighed in resignation.

"Fine. My lips are zipped." she said, dragging her pinched fingers across her face.

"Right then." Spike replied, satisfied. "Now pass me the bloody spinner. It's my turn."

Spike woke a few hours later, bathed in the fuzzy glow of the television. He had fallen asleep while watching some show about a group of people who live in a large house for several months, and have their lives video taped for the duration of their stay. The last thing he remembered before drifting off to sleep was thinking how bloody stupid the whole lot of them were, and how the blonde girl with the large knockers looked very appetizing. With that memory his tummy began to growl, and he rose from his chair with the intention of getting a quart of blood from the fridge. When he glanced over to the dark couch to check on Dawn however, his heart leaped to his throat, quelling all notions of hunger: She was gone. Spike ran to lamp and switched it on. Where Dawn had been laying in a deep slumber only a few hours before, was now empty, and blood spattered her pillow. He felt his stomach drop, as panic seized him. After what felt like days, he found his voice, and called to her frantically.

'Dawn?! Dawn!!!" He ran through the kitchen and dining room, finding nothing, and then ascended the stairs in a frenzy. As he raced through the hall, he noticed a dark figure on the bed in Buffy's room, and he swung in, flipping on the light. Relief flooded him in one heavy wave when he saw the brown haired girl sitting quietly on the edge of her sister's bed, healthy and uninjured. He stormed up to her and bent down, grabbing her by both arms.

"Why in bloody hell didn't you answer me when I called?!" He demanded, shaking her lightly. "And what's the blood all about?!" He asked, searching her eyes.

"I...I'm sorry...I had a bloody nose..." she said listlessly. "I went to the bathroom to wash up, and...I just...I came in here..." Spike sighed heavily, and sat down on the bed next to her, glancing around at the bedroom. Nothing had been touched since her death, as the room was normally occupied by the Buffy-bot, who recharged conveniently at night while the rest if the household was asleep.

"I hate that thing being here." She said, looking out the window into the thick, syrupy blue. She could see her reflection cast by the dim lamp in the room, and the brighter hall light, but where Spike should have been was empty space. He knew she was talking about the robot. "Sometimes I hate it." she continued with a softer tone. "But most of the time, I'm glad it's around....because as long as it's here...it's like, I never have think about...that she's gone. Ya know?" She paused. "It's like, I can see her...and I can hear her...so I tell my self it's not true...I don't have to, ya know...face it." Her eyes watered, and tiny tears slid down her face, leaving glossy paths in their wake. "Every day I wake up..." her voice was like the call of a morning dove; heavy and low with sorrow, "And I just pretend she's still alive...that it's her...But I know deep down that it's not...and that feels..like...is that sick? Is there something wrong with me?" She asked fearfully, looking at Spike through blurry tears.

He was speechless for a moment, unsure of what to say, and then, "No." There's nothing wrong with you." he answered, shaking his head. "D'you hear me?" She nodded weakly in compliance. "I think of it that way too, sometimes." he confided, scratching the back of his head awkwardly, and joining her gaze out the window. "As long as that bloody toaster oven with hair is bopping around..." He shrugged in a loss of the right words. "Then what happened that night...well, it didn't." He looked back to her, and she nodded, relieved that someone understood how she felt. Spike somehow always understood. Suddenly she began to shiver, as though her body just realized it was out of bed. She felt her head clear a little, but the pain in her chest remained. She gazed longingly at the framed photo of her sister that hung on the wall. The glass cast back the reflection of the light, but Buffy's face was hidden in shadow.

"I just want her to come home." she wept. Spike didn't say anything. He only sat, unmoving, in silence, his face hidden in the soft shades of darkness. After a few moments he lifted his head up and breathed a heavy sigh. He reached behind him and snatched a blanket off Buffy's bed, slinging it around her shoulders and wrapping her up.

"Come on Little Bit...let's get you back in your warm, comfy bed, yah?" he said, leading the young girl back downstairs into the warm dark of the night.