A/N: Set after "Lies My Parents Told Me." This chapter was the hardest to
write--it actually upset me while I was doing the writing. Consider
yourselves warned.
Junior Watcher
Calm. Control. That was the key. Tara had taught her meditation exercises the summer after Buffy's death, when sometimes the pain and fear would get to be too much for Dawn. Breathe in. Breathe out. Listen to your own heartbeat.
Dawn watched Spike from inside. He was pacing in the backyard, smoking a cigarette. Buffy had asked him to smoke outside whenever possible, since some of the girls were allergic to cigarette smoke. Though there weren't many inside this evening, as Buffy had taken about half of them for a patrol, Spike was still obeying her orders.
Just like he always did.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Dawn pushed the screen door out of her way and walked into the yard, a steaming cup of cocoa in her hands. Spike instantly turned to look at her.
"'Lo, Niblet," he said. "Sorry about earlier."
She shrugged carefully to avoid spilling the cocoa. "It's okay. You weren't yourself."
He looked like he didn't know what to say to that. What was there to say?
"What brings you out here?" he asked.
"I . . . I wanted to talk to you."
Calm. Control.
He looked at her penetratingly. "What about?"
"I . . ." She was losing it. Bad timing. "I just . . . we haven't really talked since . . ."
Since when? Since Buffy had come back? Since Dawn had discovered their affair? Since Spike had come back, soul in tow? She hoped he would put her nervousness down to that.
"I know," he said softly.
Dawn forced herself to look right at him, into his eyes. "We were friends before. Weren't we?"
He was the one to look away. "We were. Guess I muddled that right up, didn't I?"
Breathe in.
"Things have just been so tense and . . . a lot of it's because of you," she said.
Breathe out.
His head snapped up, his eyes looking at her penetratingly.
"They don't understand," she explained. "The Potentials. They don't understand about you and Buffy. She won't explain. I can't explain. They don't trust her--because of you."
He looked away again. "I know."
Listen to your heartbeat. Find a quiet place.
"I just . . . I think I get it. She wants it to be okay with you because if it is, that means last year wasn't quite as bad."
"Yeah, that's about it," he agreed. "If I can be a better man with my soul, maybe it means all we put each other through was worth something after all. She really does believe, though--she's not just convincing herself." He lowered his head a little. "I want to believe."
"So do I." Dawn's voice was low.
Spike looked at her, cocking his head in that Spikean way he had. "Do you now, Niblet?"
His pet name for her almost broke her resolve. Tears sprang to her eyes.
"I feel like I don't even know you anymore," she said. "Like maybe I never did know you."
Breathe in. Breathe out. Calm.
"I know how you feel," he said, voice just as soft as hers. "I don't quite know myself."
His accent changed when he said things like that, sounded more like Giles'.
She swallowed. Time to get down to business. "Would you leave, Spike? If it was best for Buffy, would you leave?"
"If she asked me, yes."
"And only then?"
"Only then."
Dawn nodded. Control was the key. She crossed the space between them. "I brought you some cocoa. It should be cool enough for you to drink now--I remember you always had to wait for it to cool down because you don't have a body temperature and . . . well, you know." She handed it to him without looking, hoping he'd think she was just embarrassed.
"Thanks, Bit," he murmured.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Listen to your heartbeat.
She wrapped her arms around herself and looked out into Sunnydale, trying to stem her trembling.
"You afraid, Dawn?" he asked.
"Yes." That one was easy to deflect. There were plenty of reasons to be afraid. "Mostly, I'm afraid for her."
"Don't be. She'll do the necessary." He took a long gulp of the cocoa.
"Not always," said Dawn. "Sometimes, someone else has to do it for her." She turned to look at him, forced herself to look right into his eyes.
He looked puzzled. "What do you . . ."
Breathe. Just keep breathing.
He choked. A shudder passed through his body. "What . . ?"
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
He looked at the cup, and comprehension dawned on his face. She made herself keep looking at him, even as sweat finally broke out on her forehead and tears leaked from her eyes. She lost the rhythm of her breath, and her heart pounded in her ears.
The cup fell from his hand, splashing cocoa made with holy water on the ground as he convulsed. Dawn kept her eyes on his even as they grew bright with accusation and pain, even as he gasped out a barely-audible scream, even as he was destroyed from the inside out.
Calm. Control. It wasn't over yet. Dawn wiped the tears from her eyes with shaking hands and bent down to pick up the cocoa cup. Ashes clung to it. Beside it laid another, smaller object: Spike's skull ring. Dawn picked it up as well and pocketed it. Then she went inside.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
***
Ten minutes later, Buffy wandered into the kitchen, where Dawn was doing dishes.
"Anything happen while we were out?" the Slayer asked. Her voice sounded almost cheerful, but with that underlying tension she'd been carrying around for too long.
"No," answered Dawn. "How'd patrol go?"
"Fine. They're still dropping stakes, but fine. Where's Spike?"
Breathe in. "Dunno. Haven't seen him."
"Dawn."
Dawn turned just enough to see Buffy.
"One of the girls said you went to talk to Spike," said the Slayer. "She said you seemed upset when you came back in."
Damn. Not enough control. But maybe this could work out for the best.
"What happened, Dawn?"
Dawn scrubbed at the cup in the sink. "He's gone."
"What?" Buffy stepped to Dawn's side, fixing her sister's face with an intense stare. "What do you mean, he's gone?"
"He left, okay?" Dawn allowed a few of the tears in her eyes to run down her cheeks. "I went to talk to him, and he told me he was going because . . . because he was causing too much tension around here. Because the girls don't trust you because of him. And if they don't trust you, they're all dead, and probably you, too. So he went."
Dawn rinsed her hands and fished Spike's ring out of her pocket while Buffy stood there, shocked.
"Here," Dawn said. "He told me to give this to you. Said if you asked him to stay, he wouldn't have been able to leave, but he wanted to give you something."
Buffy took the ring, pale-faced. She turned it over in her hands a few times, examining it from all angles.
Her lips pressed together. She turned and threw the ring so hard that it lodged in the far wall, and then she stormed out of the kitchen.
Calm. Control.
Dawn turned her attention back to the cup she was washing, carefully going over it again and again with the washcloth until finally, another hand reached in and took it from her.
"I think this is quite clean enough," said Giles, rinsing it. He pulled a towel from the rack and began to dry the cup. "It's good of you to do this work, Dawn. Buffy has more than enough on her mind. She can't handle everything, so it's up to the rest of us to take on the tasks she's unable to." He placed the cup in the cupboard. "There. It's done."
He touched her back gently, stilling her trembling. Dawn looked at his reflection in the kitchen window. Gravely, Giles inclined his head to her before turning and leaving the kitchen. On his way out, he casually picked up an empty holy water bottle and pocketed it.
Dawn dried her hands. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Junior Watcher
Calm. Control. That was the key. Tara had taught her meditation exercises the summer after Buffy's death, when sometimes the pain and fear would get to be too much for Dawn. Breathe in. Breathe out. Listen to your own heartbeat.
Dawn watched Spike from inside. He was pacing in the backyard, smoking a cigarette. Buffy had asked him to smoke outside whenever possible, since some of the girls were allergic to cigarette smoke. Though there weren't many inside this evening, as Buffy had taken about half of them for a patrol, Spike was still obeying her orders.
Just like he always did.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Dawn pushed the screen door out of her way and walked into the yard, a steaming cup of cocoa in her hands. Spike instantly turned to look at her.
"'Lo, Niblet," he said. "Sorry about earlier."
She shrugged carefully to avoid spilling the cocoa. "It's okay. You weren't yourself."
He looked like he didn't know what to say to that. What was there to say?
"What brings you out here?" he asked.
"I . . . I wanted to talk to you."
Calm. Control.
He looked at her penetratingly. "What about?"
"I . . ." She was losing it. Bad timing. "I just . . . we haven't really talked since . . ."
Since when? Since Buffy had come back? Since Dawn had discovered their affair? Since Spike had come back, soul in tow? She hoped he would put her nervousness down to that.
"I know," he said softly.
Dawn forced herself to look right at him, into his eyes. "We were friends before. Weren't we?"
He was the one to look away. "We were. Guess I muddled that right up, didn't I?"
Breathe in.
"Things have just been so tense and . . . a lot of it's because of you," she said.
Breathe out.
His head snapped up, his eyes looking at her penetratingly.
"They don't understand," she explained. "The Potentials. They don't understand about you and Buffy. She won't explain. I can't explain. They don't trust her--because of you."
He looked away again. "I know."
Listen to your heartbeat. Find a quiet place.
"I just . . . I think I get it. She wants it to be okay with you because if it is, that means last year wasn't quite as bad."
"Yeah, that's about it," he agreed. "If I can be a better man with my soul, maybe it means all we put each other through was worth something after all. She really does believe, though--she's not just convincing herself." He lowered his head a little. "I want to believe."
"So do I." Dawn's voice was low.
Spike looked at her, cocking his head in that Spikean way he had. "Do you now, Niblet?"
His pet name for her almost broke her resolve. Tears sprang to her eyes.
"I feel like I don't even know you anymore," she said. "Like maybe I never did know you."
Breathe in. Breathe out. Calm.
"I know how you feel," he said, voice just as soft as hers. "I don't quite know myself."
His accent changed when he said things like that, sounded more like Giles'.
She swallowed. Time to get down to business. "Would you leave, Spike? If it was best for Buffy, would you leave?"
"If she asked me, yes."
"And only then?"
"Only then."
Dawn nodded. Control was the key. She crossed the space between them. "I brought you some cocoa. It should be cool enough for you to drink now--I remember you always had to wait for it to cool down because you don't have a body temperature and . . . well, you know." She handed it to him without looking, hoping he'd think she was just embarrassed.
"Thanks, Bit," he murmured.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Listen to your heartbeat.
She wrapped her arms around herself and looked out into Sunnydale, trying to stem her trembling.
"You afraid, Dawn?" he asked.
"Yes." That one was easy to deflect. There were plenty of reasons to be afraid. "Mostly, I'm afraid for her."
"Don't be. She'll do the necessary." He took a long gulp of the cocoa.
"Not always," said Dawn. "Sometimes, someone else has to do it for her." She turned to look at him, forced herself to look right into his eyes.
He looked puzzled. "What do you . . ."
Breathe. Just keep breathing.
He choked. A shudder passed through his body. "What . . ?"
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
He looked at the cup, and comprehension dawned on his face. She made herself keep looking at him, even as sweat finally broke out on her forehead and tears leaked from her eyes. She lost the rhythm of her breath, and her heart pounded in her ears.
The cup fell from his hand, splashing cocoa made with holy water on the ground as he convulsed. Dawn kept her eyes on his even as they grew bright with accusation and pain, even as he gasped out a barely-audible scream, even as he was destroyed from the inside out.
Calm. Control. It wasn't over yet. Dawn wiped the tears from her eyes with shaking hands and bent down to pick up the cocoa cup. Ashes clung to it. Beside it laid another, smaller object: Spike's skull ring. Dawn picked it up as well and pocketed it. Then she went inside.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
***
Ten minutes later, Buffy wandered into the kitchen, where Dawn was doing dishes.
"Anything happen while we were out?" the Slayer asked. Her voice sounded almost cheerful, but with that underlying tension she'd been carrying around for too long.
"No," answered Dawn. "How'd patrol go?"
"Fine. They're still dropping stakes, but fine. Where's Spike?"
Breathe in. "Dunno. Haven't seen him."
"Dawn."
Dawn turned just enough to see Buffy.
"One of the girls said you went to talk to Spike," said the Slayer. "She said you seemed upset when you came back in."
Damn. Not enough control. But maybe this could work out for the best.
"What happened, Dawn?"
Dawn scrubbed at the cup in the sink. "He's gone."
"What?" Buffy stepped to Dawn's side, fixing her sister's face with an intense stare. "What do you mean, he's gone?"
"He left, okay?" Dawn allowed a few of the tears in her eyes to run down her cheeks. "I went to talk to him, and he told me he was going because . . . because he was causing too much tension around here. Because the girls don't trust you because of him. And if they don't trust you, they're all dead, and probably you, too. So he went."
Dawn rinsed her hands and fished Spike's ring out of her pocket while Buffy stood there, shocked.
"Here," Dawn said. "He told me to give this to you. Said if you asked him to stay, he wouldn't have been able to leave, but he wanted to give you something."
Buffy took the ring, pale-faced. She turned it over in her hands a few times, examining it from all angles.
Her lips pressed together. She turned and threw the ring so hard that it lodged in the far wall, and then she stormed out of the kitchen.
Calm. Control.
Dawn turned her attention back to the cup she was washing, carefully going over it again and again with the washcloth until finally, another hand reached in and took it from her.
"I think this is quite clean enough," said Giles, rinsing it. He pulled a towel from the rack and began to dry the cup. "It's good of you to do this work, Dawn. Buffy has more than enough on her mind. She can't handle everything, so it's up to the rest of us to take on the tasks she's unable to." He placed the cup in the cupboard. "There. It's done."
He touched her back gently, stilling her trembling. Dawn looked at his reflection in the kitchen window. Gravely, Giles inclined his head to her before turning and leaving the kitchen. On his way out, he casually picked up an empty holy water bottle and pocketed it.
Dawn dried her hands. Breathe in. Breathe out.