Dawn rolled her eyes at her English assignment. It wouldn't be hard to do, it would just take some time to track down really good examples. The one nice thing about 'discuss' questions, as Spike had pointed out, was that no one could really say you were wrong. Questions like this one were all about opinions. So as long as you had one, and some examples in the text to support it, you were home free.
*If only Math could be so easy...*
Unfortunately, it wasn't - not for her, anyway - and although her undead self-appointed tutor was a whiz with geometry and trigonometry, that was about the extent of his mathematical skill ('I read literature at uni, Sweet Bit, not that rot'). Good thing Willow was a brain at everything - but usually Math was the only thing school-related that Dawn asked her about. If she had problems with any of her other assignments, she just asked the vampire.
Spike knew a lot about History - even the stuff he hadn't personally been around for - and with over a century travelling the world, he was a good Geography resource too, not to mention languages. Her French mark had never been better.
Dawn never needed any help with Biology though - funny that a former glow-y green energy field should have the easiest time with the science of living things, when she had only been alive herself for under a year. She didn't even get grossed out by the dissections. Then again, during the time she had been alive, she had seen more demon innards and other supernatural goo than you could shake a stick at, so grossing her out took some work...
After looking through her other homework, she decided to start with the essay. Flipping through her Shakespeare text, she started scribbling a list of likely citations. Thus occupied, she only noticed Willow's entry into the dining room when she heard the thump of the heavy toolbox being set down opposite her on the table. Dawn knew what that meant, and cringed. Bad enough that her sister was gone, but to have that... thing... that looked like her around was just too much. It wasn't as if there was a better choice though...
"That time again?" she asked, her voice flat.
"Yeah," Willow said gently. "I need to upload a whole bunch of files, slaying stuff and Social Services stuff mostly, plus I might as well make sure all the wiring and internal mechanisms are good to go while I've got her opened up. Gotta make sure she stays in slaying shape."
"It," Dawn said shortly. "It's not a she or a her, it's an it."
Willow couldn't help but flinch at the disgust in the teen's voice, even though she knew the sentiment wasn't directed at her. It should have been though, the witch thought with a pang.
*Some 'big gun'...*
She had screwed up, misjudged how drained she would be after restoring Tara, and as a result was unable to do anything but watch in horror as her best friend leapt to her death. Almost two months after that night, the knife-edge of her guilt was still as sharp as ever.
*If I could have done just one little levitation spell...*
She wrenched herself away from that line of thought. There was no use in dwelling on her past mistakes - the thing to do was work on how to fix them. Buffy had taught her that. She didn't know exactly how she would do it - yet - but she was going to fix this...
"I know, Dawn - it's just a turn of phrase," the witch said finally, "but you know we have to be careful about..."
"Anyone finding out that Buffy's gone," the last Summers interrupted bleakly. "I know. It just sucks, that's all. And I know it's not like there's anything I can do about it except deal, so I'm dealing. It's just..."
Dawn's eyes filled with tears, and Willow moved around the table so she could hug the younger girl.
"I know, Dawnie," she whispered, "I know."
After a moment, Dawn broke from the hug with a sniffle, and wiped her eyes.
"Thanks," she said, getting herself back under control. "It's just that Stepford Buffy was creepy enough before and now I have to have it as a guardian, or have Social Services crate me over to Dad and the Pop-Tart..."
"Dawn!"
"... and that is so not going to happen," the teen finished, her voice determined. Then she looked at Willow, responding to the witch's exclamation. "What? How else would you describe her? Shallow, fruity, flaky and full of artificial ingredients - it fits, don't you think?"
Willow tried to look stern, and failed miserably. She had met the woman once, after all.
*Okay... totally at a loss for parent-y words of wisdom about not judging people, even if they are your Dad's mid-life crisis girlfriend and even if they do meet every bimbo stereotype ever known - I need Tara to give me pointers.*
Since the two witches had moved into the Summers house (partially to better maintain the illusion that Buffy was still alive, and partially to offer Dawn some much-needed stability), Tara had assumed the role of Dawn's primary caregiver with an ease that was all the more remarkable for her own troubled family history.
"Well... maybe," the witch allowed, just managing a mildly reproving look which then segued to affectionate, "but there's a lot more than a robot keeping you here in Sunnydale, Dawn. The Scooby gang wouldn't be the Scooby gang without a Summers, so as a Summers, you're a required element. We're not letting you go."
Dawn smiled sadly, then her expression changed, becoming calculating.
"I'm an official Scooby now?" she asked.
"Complete with official Scooby gang hat, jacket, pin, and endorsement contracts - if we had any of those things for keeping the badness quotient down on the streets of Sunnydale, which we don't - but Anya was actually talking about getting sponsorships from local businesses to help cover the cost of slaying..."
"So," the teen said slyly, "does this mean I get to patrol with you guys?"
*Okay - at least I saw this one coming. Maybe I'm finally starting to get the hang of this...* Willow thought hopefully, and smiled.
"Nice try," she said, with a playful push to Dawn's shoulder. "For one thing, we don't know for sure if there's anyone or anything still out there looking for you. Until we're sure that there isn't, it's better that you stay out of it. Plus, slaying and high school aren't really mix-y things - trust me on this. Not to mention Spike would probably have kittens just at the idea."
The answer was no less than Dawn had expected, but even so, in her disappointment, she had to bite back a sarcastic reply about Spike already having kittens. Given how attached the witches were to Miss Kitty, the less they knew about the vampire's poker games the better...
"I never get to do anything," she groused.
"You help Anya at the Magic Box."
"To pay for the stuff I stole."
"You help with the research-y stuff."
"I am a mighty reader, fear me," Dawn intoned with practised sarcasm and an eye-roll that would have done her sister proud.
"You take self-defense lessons from Spike."
Dawn had no answer to that. Since she and the vampire had sufficiently recovered from the injuries they had both sustained on the night Buffy died, Spike had operated on a schedule.
On weekdays, he would be waiting for her when she got home from school, asking her about her day as she came in. Then she would get started on her homework, and if she needed any help, Spike was there to be asked. If no homework help was necessary, the vampire would just hang around, watching television and reading the paper until dinnertime drew near. After moving into the kitchen and getting underfoot with his attempts to make himself useful to the night's cook, Spike would take his dinner with them - filching whatever morsels he could to accompany his mugs of blood. Once Dawn's homework was done, if it wasn't too late, the vampire would take her down to the Magic Box, and they would go to work in Buffy's old training room.
Each time they stepped inside the place where her sister had spent so many hours, they would both have to stop for a moment as the pain of the loss came flooding back - and once they had recovered, Spike would begin his teaching. One hundred and twenty years of brawling had given him a wealth of fighting experience, and he meant to pass every one of his hard-earned lessons on to his charge. They would usually train for about an hour, at the end of which she would have some bruises, and he would have a nasty lingering headache.
"Not doin' you any favours if I go easy on you, Nibblet," he had said once when she complained. "Got to be prepared for the real thing in this town, so this has to be as real as I can make it. I mean to protect you best as I can, an' part of that is makin' sure you know how to protect yourself."
Once they had finished, they would usually emerge to find the remaining Scoobies gathering for either research or patrol. Depending on the situation, Dawn would either be allowed to stay for a time to help look for information, or be brought home by either Tara or Anya, who would then keep her company for the night. Though she was always in bed hours before the night's slaying was done, she slept lightly, fitfully, always waking at anything which could be the sound of the door, trapped between relief that someone had come home and the fear that someone else hadn't. Recognizing her anxiety, Spike had made a habit of looking in on her after patrol and thus reassured, she would sleep peacefully until morning.
On weekends, Dawn would simply stay up with her minder until the others returned from their slaying. Depending on the kind of night it had been, they might stay up and discuss the work they had done, watch the late movie, or simply head off to bed.
"Where is Spike anyway?" Dawn asked at last, coming back to herself. "I don't hear the TV anymore - did he go out for a smoke?"
"Yeah - as soon as I said I was going to be doing some maintenance on the 'bot."
The vampire's reaction was hardly unexpected. When Willow had come up with the idea of restoring the Buffybot to help convince the local demon population that the Slayer was still alive, Spike had been aghast. He had been all for completely destroying the doppelganger that he had commissioned in Buffy's image, considering the thing to be an insult to her memory. He would have gone ahead and done it too, had it not been for the witch pointing out that without Buffy - or a reasonable facsimile - as her guardian, Social Services would almost certainly make Dawn go to live with her father.
Given the choice of two evils, the Big Bad chose the lesser.
Ever since Willow had made the robot operational again, Spike had avoided being around it as much as possible - no easy task, as 'making Spike happy' was a fundamental part of its programming, and one which Willow had been unable to remove. As soon as the android was activated, it would seek him out and in spite - or because - of its best efforts, make him miserable. Of necessity, he patrolled with it from time to time to maintain the charade that there was still an active Slayer in Sunnydale, but the aftermath was never pretty.
Usually, it involved Spike going on an extended bender in an attempt to do the impossible and drink himself to death.
Nodding absently, Dawn gathered her books to one side of the table and stood up.
"I think I'll join him for a bit - meaning the going outside part, not the smoking."
Dawn made her way to the kitchen and quietly opened the door which gave onto the back porch. As expected, she found the vampire perched on the steps, cigarette in hand. She saw him cock his head as he sensed her presence behind him.
"Oi, Nibblet - you tryin' to sneak up on me?"
"Yeah, right - like I don't know I'm upwind of you. Plus you could probably hear my heartbeat or something."
Spike turned to her with a small smile, pleased that she remembered her other lessons. But then, as he had observed, she was a bright one...
"Right you are, luv. D' you need some help with your schoolwork?"
"No. I just wanted some air, but if you're gonna be polluting it anyway, I guess I'll have to go somewhere else."
"Cheeky bint," the vampire muttered with a half-hearted smirk, then put out his cigarette.
"There," he said, "that good enough for you, Sweet Bit?"
"I guess it'll have to be, at least until I can get you to drop the habit."
"'Til the fifth of never then." he said with a snort.
"Huh?"
"Not for a long, long time, sweeting. C' mere - sit with me," he said, patting the step beside him.
Dawn moved, and sank down next to the vampire. Neither said anything for a few minutes, each simply taking comfort from the other's presence. At last, Dawn broke the silence.
"Spike?"
"Yeah?"
"What does it feel like when you die?"
*Oh, bloody hell...*
Spike regarded the girl intently, searching her eyes for any sign of guilt. He knew that he would never be entirely successful in driving it from her, but that wasn't to say he was going to stop trying. While Dawn's eyes were clear, unclouded by self-blame (this time), there was something else present in them. Curiosity, shadowed by a hint of dread - he would have to approach this carefully, find out exactly what she was afraid of, though he suspected what it might be...
"Guess that depends on how you die, pet," he said finally. "I can only speak to me own experience."
"Well, you bled to death, right? I mean, you're a vampire, you must have."
At least now he knew for certain what she was about - and it was exactly as he had suspected. He was only surprised that she hadn't asked him before.
"And you want to know what it was like - 'cause you want to know how it was for her," he said quietly.
As he had said on that fateful night, it was all about the blood - and Buffy had sacrificed hers in Dawn's stead to close the portal. The Slayer had been dead before she hit the ground, her body drained of every last corpuscle. In a way, that was a comfort to him, knowing she hadn't had to feel the pain of the injuries her body had suffered in the fall. And he knew things about death and dying, things that might give the girl sitting beside him some comfort of her own...
Spike extended his arm to her, a silent invitation. In answer, she slid next to him, wrapping her own arms about his waist as he held her. He closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts, and when he opened them, he turned his head to meet Dawn's earnest gaze.
"When I was dyin', the only thing about it that hurt was Dru's bite, an' that only lasted a second," he began. "After that... it was almost peaceful, really." He chose to spare her still-relatively-innocent ears about the other sensations that had accompanied his Dam's bite and feeding - vampiric sexuality was the last thing he wanted to discuss with Dawn. Wasn't really relevant to this conversation, anyway...
"As she drained me, I just came over lethargic like - the more she drank, the more tired I got. I was cold too, but after a while, I was too shagged out to notice the cold any more - an' that's when I saw 'er."
"Saw who?"
"Death."
"You're not, like, being figurative are you? Or trying to be all melodramatic like those Wilco Collins books you told me about?"
Spike laughed softly.
"It's Wilkie Collins, pet - and no, I'm not."
"For real? Death is a person?" Dawn asked, her eyes wide.
"Don't know as I'd call 'er a person," he mused, "but she's definitely a someone, not a something."
"You keep saying 'she' and 'her' - Death is a girl?"
"That she is, luv - and a beautiful one at that."
"What does she look like?"
"Well, she's a little slip of a thing... she's got longish black hair, pale skin, an' dark eyes. But those eyes... they're not flat or dead-lookin' like you might expect. They've got a sparkle in 'em, like she's got secrets, and she's just lookin' for a pal to share 'em with. An' when you look into them, you see..." he paused as he tried to come up with the right words.
"What Spike? What do you see?" Dawn asked softly.
"Wisdom, first of all," he said, "The chit's older than dirt, so you expect that, really - but there's somethin' else in 'em too. Understanding... compassion... an' when she looks at you, it's more like she looks in you, sees everything you are, everything you ever wanted to be. And somehow, she just gets it - she understands you, accepts you for yourself - an' doesn't judge. I'd been judged an' found wantin' practically every day o' me life, so I can't tell you how bloody wonderful it felt when she looked at me like that. Then she spoke to me."
"What did she say?"
"She was... sad. Like she didn't think I was makin' a good decision, but she understood why I was makin' it... and she said that we'd meet again one day."
"Then what happened?"
"She took my hand... an' that's the last thing I remember, up 'til the time I came to in a wooden box minus my heartbeat."
"So... you don't remember what it was like to actually be dead?" He shot her a look, and she scowled at him. "You know what I mean."
"Yeah, luv, I know what you mean," he sighed, "and no, I don't."
Dawn was quiet, huddled against his side, then she spoke again in a teary whisper.
"Sometimes... sometimes, I wonder if she's with Mom, and if they remember me at all, wherever they are."
Spike's arm tightened around her shoulders.
"They do, Nibblet - they must."
"How can you be so sure?" she asked, her grief warring with her surprise over the conviction of his words.
"There's only one place where your Mum an' Big Sis are, ducks. An' what's the bloody point of Heaven if you don't have the memories of the times you had with the people you love? Seems to me without that, all you're left with is flittin' about like ponces with wings an' bad fashion sense."
Dawn made a sound halfway between a sob and a belly-laugh, and hugged the vampire tight.
"I don't know what I'd do without you, Spike."
"Fail French, most likely - ow!"
He sent a mock glare her way as he massaged the place over his ribs where she had hit him.
"Why is it that every Summers lady I meet has some primal urge to pummel me?" he complained.
"Must be your charm... Spike?"
"Yeah?"
"Since Willow's gonna be working on... could you take me to the Magic Box? I can finish my homework there."
"Well, I could..."
"But 'could' implies ability, whereas 'would' implies intent," Dawn said, exasperated, "I know, already - so would you take me to the Magic Box?"
"Why certainly, my little hors d' oeuvre - let's just let Red know what we're up to, and make sure we're well out of the way before she fires up the bloody thing..."
The two of them couldn't have known that Willow had been waiting for them to leave. Just to be safe, she waited for a few minutes after the DeSoto had driven out of sight before she picked up the phone and dialled Xander's number. While she waited for an answer, Tara gathered the components for the privacy spell they would be needing. Finally, someone on the other end of the line picked up the phone.
"Hi Anya? Sorry to interrupt whatever it is I might be interrupting - but it's time for that brainstorming session we've been talking about. How soon can you two get here?"