From Dusk to Dawn, (7/10) by dutchbuffy2305

Pairing: Faith/Spike

Rating: R

Author's note: Sequel to His voice is like a Mars-bar

Author's website:

Feedback: Yes, please, to dutchbuffy2305@yahoo.co.uk

Faith checks her arms; stake, knife, check; steel-toed boots, yes, vampire: almost ready. Said vampire comes out of the bedroom, shrugging on his duster. He looks happy, grinning widely in anticipation of their nightly patrol. Hunting's been good lately; Clem's predictions of business getting better have come out so far. One patch of Spike's hair is still greenish from last night's fight, when a Mazeltoth demon slimed them both from top to toe with his green sperm. They successfully interrupted a mating that in a matter of days would have covered Cleveland with billions of little froggy demons. His hair's still grass after several washings, so it will probably have to be re-bleached. It makes his blue eyes turquoise and his cheeks almost rosy in comparison. Faith tucks her arm in his and they make for the bike.

The moment they shut the front door a whining starts up.

"That the phone, love?" Spike asks.

"I guess," Faith says. "Have you seen it lately? Haven't touched it since we moved in."

Faith finds her key and they get back in, in search of the phone. It keeps ringing obligingly somewhere in their bedroom, but in spite of its shrilling it can't be found. The ringing goes on, relentlessly frazzling their jacked-up pre-patrol nerves. Spike finally kicks the door of the closet and yells, "Shut up or show yourself, bloody useless piece of technology!"

The door crumples from the impact of Spike's sturdy boot and supernatural frustration. It reveals a heap of somber-hued sweaters and jeans lying on the bottom of the closet, since the shelving gave up its hold on life almost immediately after they arrived. Spike starts rooting around in the pile, the clothes flying up behind him like clods of dirt from a dog after a bone.

"Hey! I thought I lost that sweater," Faith says happily, holding up a purple bat-sleeved object.

Spike grunts. At last the phone becomes visible, hooked up to a plug inside the closet.

"Oh, yeah," Faith says, "I remember. That was the only working electricity I could find the first day."

The phone is still ringing. Spike hands it to Faith with apprehensive fingertips. "Giles", the phone blinks furiously. "Giles, Giles".

Faith swallows. A summons from the Upper Watcher. Can this be good?

She presses the little green button and says, "Um, hi, Giles."

"We were about to leave for patrol; just lucky we heard you in time."

"Dawn? Here? Why? Um, let me check with Spike?"

Faith covers the phone with her hand and says to Spike, "Giles wants us to take Dawn for a couple of weeks while he goes to England. What do you think?"

She doesn't particularly like Dawn, but as she's Buffy's sister she can hardly say no, can she? She does dread boring visits to the zoo and the mall. Maybe, since Dawn was all research girl, she can be parked at the library all day. This lightens the dread a little. Also she's gonna buy Dawn earplugs, since no way can she and Spike lower the noise level of their fucking.

Spike is slow in reacting. His face gets that wooden suffering look she associates with Buffy. He lifts up his hands absently and runs it through his freshly gelled hair, which rises up in pale yellow and green spikes. He clears his throat, shifts his duster more comfortably around his shoulders.

"Well, yeah, 'course the Nibblet is welcome if she wants to come."

"Well, it's not Dawn on the phone but Giles," Faith says. "You wanna speak to her? You can ask Giles…"

"No, no, that's fine," Spike says hastily.

Although Giles accepted Spike as her Watcher, they are not exactly on speaking terms. Robin Wood and Giles conspired somehow to have Spike killed, and she sort of thinks she shouldn't have slept with Robin because of that. Nobody touches her Spike.

Giles rattles on and Faith is dancing with suppressed slaying lust when he finally finishes talking. A nest of vampires, which they know about courtesy of Clem's information network, urgently awaits destruction and their anticipation is honed to a fine point by now. They escape the nagging phone with a roar, diving nose-first into the murky grayness outside. Morgan has prepared a portable fire spell they want to use because it looked so cool when they tried it out, incinerating a trembling aspen from their garden as a vampire stand-in.

*

Faith is still lying in bed and being deliciously pampered. On last night's little outing the biggest vampire tore a whole tombstone from the ground and used it as a Faith-bat, and although Spike dusted him at once, a fair amount of damage was done. She's now a mottled purple-black all over her left side. Kennedy and Morgan took over the rest of the night from her. After a slight panic attack at the thought of letting her hatchlings fly free, she has to admit she couldn't have made it. So she's lying back in the pillows, idly playing with her good hand in Spike's still multicolored hair, when a rumbling in her belly announces an appetite more urgent than coming one more time.

Spike looks up from between her thighs and wipes off his mouth. "I'll get it, pet. What do you fancy? Muesli with yogurt? Fruit juice?"

Pancakes with syrup would be really nice, but Spike's culinary talents, although unfurling hesitant little wings, don't stretch that far yet. She'll have to ask Tara to show him how, and to convince him that pancakes are wholesome. For now she regretfully settles for muesli and coffee. According to Spike all this healthiness has improved her fighting and her scent, so there must be some point to it. She herself hasn't noticed any difference.

She closes her eyes the better to enjoy the sounds of Spike wrestling with the fridge and the coffee machine. He's on bad terms with them both right now, because he thinks they spoil his blood and boil his coffee on purpose. He refuses to take responsibility for his own role in the vampire-machine relationship and the three of them are really going to have to talk about it before permanent damage occurs.

A shrill sound makes her sit bolt upright in her bed, which aggravates her bruised ribs and sore butt. What the hell is it? A door opens and a man's voice sounds. Faith stiffly levers herself off the bed and after slinging Spike's duster around her shoulders goes to investigate.

It's Giles. A sheep-skinned Giles in her kitchen, his neck hidden in pale yellow cashmere, looking annoyed and tired. Spike is making googly eyes at the tall Goth girl Giles has in tow. He's forgotten he's buck naked, and the girl stares back with great interest at the expanse of cream colored vampire skin behind the Corn Flakes box.

When Faith limps in, Giles' eyes slide to her partially visible breasts first and she's never disliked him more. He's not supposed to look at her like that, he's a Watcher and not as young and cute as he used to be. His face puckers up in distaste and the unfairness in that makes Faith's blood boil. Ogling first, disapproval second, huh? Giles' eyes slide around the kitchen furtively, no doubt discovering subtle signs of debauchery she can't identify. Maybe it's her dirty dishes stacked haphazardly on top of the counter, showing off their blemished bellies unashamedly. Well, she's not ashamed of them, or her body. She folds her arms under her breasts and registers Giles jerking his head away with glee. What is it with the Watcher sneaking in unannounced and all?

The Goth girl squeaks like Dawn and of course, she is. She's towering over Faith and her black-ringed eyes caress Spike's naked form in a very grown up way. Spike stumbles a step forwards, like a puppet on strings attached to Dawn's eyes.

"Li'l Bit!" he says hoarsely.

"Spike!" Giles barks. "Go dress yourself, man, this is not appropriate."

Dawn giggles and Spike obeys stiffly. Faith cannot imagine Spike obeying an order like that and looks at Giles suspiciously. Is this a spell? What have they done to the confident smiling guy who was eating her and making breakfast?

"Giles?" Faith says. "What are you doing here?"

Giles manages not to look at Faith's half-clothed body again, but doesn't meet her eyes either.

"I did call, Faith," he says, frowning.

"Well, yeah, but you didn't say you were coming today!" Faith protests. Or did he? Her mind might have been more on patrol than on arrival dates, but still.

Giles' eyes shift away again. Something's not right there. Dawn plunks down a carryall on the floor and settles herself on a kitchen chair, fishnetted legs crossed brazenly. Her vinyl skirt is both short and slashed, showing alluring glimpses of more Dawn than Faith has ever seen. Her legs are long and shapely, and when Faith wrenches her eyes away from them she meets Giles', who must have been looking at the same spot she was. Ew.

Although Faith is glad that Giles hightails it almost immediately back to the airport, she still thinks his haste is a little bit insulting. They and their guest take their coffee in the living room. It looks halfway decent, although the Christmas tree is shedding badly. The Cheetos and Reese's decoration scheme looks sad instead of inventive in the harsh light of day.

"Gee, you don't often see a Christmas tree this time of year," Dawn says perkily. "Cool. If you wait you can hang Easter eggs in it."

Faith is kinda waiting for Spike to defend her and the tree, but he's just staring at Dawn with this awe. She gently pushes his jaw in place when she walks past him. Spike gazes on, managing no more than a distracted nod. And Dawn just sits there, glowing with being gazed at.

The weapons room, also known as the second bedroom, is hastily restored for Dawn to its former identity. Dawn politely thanks Faith for letting her stay, but isn't subtle enough to hide her dismay at the dusty, cramped room without any pretensions of being a teenager's dream. Or is it deliberate? Faith is a little shamed for thinking this. Dawn is Joyce's daughter; she wouldn't try to put her down.

"Hey, Dawnie, howya been?" Faith says. Lame-o, she thinks. "Still going to school?"

"Sure," Dawn says. "I'll need good grades to go to the Watchers' Academy, or Cambridge maybe."

She flips her black, purple tipped sheet of hair.

Dawn a Watcher? Scary, scary thought. But then, she was big with the Sumerian and the Turkish.

Dawn has brought a Grateful Dead poster, which she insists on hanging in the kitchen. It clashes with their yellowing wallpaper, but what wouldn't? Faith resists the temptation to draw a big red circle around the day she's gonna leave. She doesn't know why Dawn is getting her riled so badly, she didn't used to mind her. Anyway, Dawn is Buffy's sister, she owes her hospitality.

Dawn and Spike return to their gaze-fest, and Faith decides to go shopping. Somehow Wal-Mart really, totally pisses her off today. It's full of mothers and kids obstructing the aisles and all the pristine packaging stares boldly back at her, daring her to buy them. There is nothing she wants, and when she returns a coupla hours later, sans groceries but with a great thundercloud hanging over her left shoulder, Dawn and Spike have only slightly changed position. They're now turned towards each other, and sit talking softly, nodding and murmuring like delayed mirror images.

Faith joins them, but all they can talk about is Buffy, Buffy living, Buffy dying. Faith absolutely still thinks of Buffy now and then, but hey, she wasn't a saint or something, just a girl with a mission and a hard life. The reverent words, endlessly repeated, start to grate real soon and she changes to go running. This could be a long visit.

*

Another snowy vampire filled night in Cleveland. She envies the monsters on nights like this; none of them seem to feel any pain from the weather. The human and more or less human members of the Faith gang are bundled into so many layers of clothing that they look like three of the seven dwarves. Faith is Grumpy and Morgan Sneezy, with Dawn standing in for Snow White. She's dressed in expensive pale blue skiing clothes, which are light as air and keep her perfectly warm on patrol, even if she usually doesn't contribute anything beyond comments on demonic languages. For the rest, Morgan throws combustion spells at vamps, covered by Kennedy; Faith kicks ass and dusts them; Dawn hangs out with Spike and Clem.

Her little gang is turning into a smooth fighting machine, but still, patrol is less fun these days. Faith is busy keeping her flock together, Spike is busy keeping Dawn happy, so there just doesn't seem to be time for them to slay together like they used to. Thank God she's only staying a month.

*

The house is always full now. Apart from the gang, Dawn is there all the time, which means they can't fool around too much in bed or at all on the couch, and she needs breakfast and dinner and lunch at regular hours, and can't get about on her own so she needs to be driven everywhere. Faith grits her teeth and tries to enjoy the company.

*

She gets back from an unsuccessful job interview one dark afternoon and finds Dawn and Morgan ensconced on the couch, forcing her to retire to the uncomfortable chair. She's happy that Morgan has someone her own age to talk to, but it's a drag to be odd wheel out.

"Baden-Powell's, like, the major text on fire spells," Dawn is saying to Morgan.

"I use Booth," Morgan counters. "Less force, more subtlety."

Both Baden-Powell and Booth are thick flaking tomes which exude musty smells and contain vellum pages full of illegible lettering. Faith yawns.

"What's this, Faith?"

Morgan is holding up Clem's nutrition book. It's only slightly thinner and newer than the spell books.

Faith flaps a tired hand. "Cook book," she says. "Full of healthy veggie goodness. Don't bother."

Morgan opens it anyway. 'How to keep your humans' hides healthy and glossy?' 'Treating skin sores'', 'Encouraging conception', 'Maximum weight gain'? Do you know what I'm thinking?"

Spike breezes in, so Faith will have to take a rain check on Morgan's thoughts. Suddenly there is enough room on the couch, next to Dawn.

"How are my girls?" Spike asks no one in particular, and bends over to peck Dawn on the cheek and pat her hair.

Morgan meets Faith's gaze and does an eye roll. Faith rolls hers back, a little relieved that she's not the only one to notice the ickiness.

*

Faith has exhausted herself batting Morgan's fire balls at targets, because although Morgan does a nifty ball of fire, she has no aim and needs a Slayer to get the damn things in the right place. She walks straight to the fridge, thinking about taking a long hot shower on her own, and gets out a carton of milk. The cold milk is glugging satisfyingly down her throat, when she hears people talking in the next room.

"…come on, Dawn, this is so about Buffy! You don't think he'd…."

"I liked him first, you know!"

Faith lets the fridge door slam a warning and Kennedy stomps into the kitchen. She colors up when she sees Faith. She fiddles about in the fridge, first picking up some sweet'n'sour pork leftovers, then a piece of moldy cheese, but doesn't settle on anything. Faith's milk turns to ice cream in her stomach.

"Faith? Come outside for a minute?"

"Okay."

It's nice outside. The sky is hazy, flimsy clouds are gathering mass for some serious snowing later on, but for now there is a watery yellow sun peeking through. Planes hum cheerily overhead, trains chuff by, with the highway adding the base note to the city music.

"Hoo-ee!"

"Jesus!" Kennedy leaps up and claps her hands to her ears. "Doesn't it drive you crazy, these trains yelling in your ear all day?"

Faith looks up in surprise. "No, I kinda like it, kinda homey, you know."

Kennedy looks at her long and thoughtfully. Faith thinks she might as well have 'wrong side of the tracks' tattooed on her forehead. She doesn't care, but she thinks it matters to Kennedy.

"So, um, how long is Dawn gonna stay?" Kennedy asks, looking away from Faith.

Faith swallows. If even self-absorbed Ken has noticed something, it must be really bad. She kicks a heap of slushy snow into chaos. "Another two weeks, why?"

"Nothing." Silence. "Want me to take her to the mall tomorrow, get her out of your hair?"

Faith blinks. Bit of dust in her eye. "Yeah. Thanks. That would be cool."

She looks up to find Kennedy's eyes on her, dark brown with serious tidings. Ken nods jerkily and claps her hand on Faith's arm. "Take care. You see, I actually knew that Will was going to break up with me for a long time, I could see her psyching herself up to it and not making it, but I didn't want to see. So I know what you're going through."

Shit. Kennedy should just have stopped after 'take care'. Faith was actually grateful until then. Now she'll have to admit something to herself she doesn't want to.

TBC