Do you know how much
I really love you
I wish I knew
How to show you more
I do so much
Thinking about you
But keep to myself
What am I waiting for

So many things that I should say
So much I would change

But I would let these wishes go
Push them all aside
If there was one thing
I could know for sure
Tell me that when this life is over
I will see you there
On the other side of heaven's door
This means so much more to me
This is the most important thing
This is my wish for you

-- "Wishes" by Out of the Grey

"I wish I could be Buffy for just one day." As soon as the words left her mouth, she heard the vengeance demon curse.

"Dammit, Dawn! Buffy's going to kill me if I do this... and D'Hoffryn will kill me if I don't," Anyanka snapped at the 15 year old left in her charge.

Dawn rolled her eyes and started to speak, only to be cut off again by Anyanka.

"No, wait. You know what? Granted," she told the teen. Serves her right, Anya thought, morphing back into human form. Let the little girl be her sister for a day. Maybe she'll have some empathy when she sees just how unglamourous the life of the Slayer actually is.

Dawn awoke to the blaring of a rock station on her alarm clock. She reached out to hit the snooze button but couldn't find the clock on her nightstand. She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands. Might at well just get up and get ready for school. As she slid out of bed, it suddenly occurred to her that this was not her room. She started for the door, but froze as she saw her reflection in the bureau mirror.

"Oh. My. God."

It was Buffy's reflection staring back at her. She ran her hands through her hair, over her body, stopping to pinch herself a few times to make sure that she was really real.

"I'm freakin' Buffy," she whispered in awe. "I'm the Slayer."

She started rummaging through the dresser drawers and the closet for something to wear. She couldn't help but grin. She could actually wear Buffy's clothes without having to hear her yell and complain.

She slid on a pair of blood-red leather pants and a soft, white sweater. There was no way these would look good on her own body, but it hadn't stopped her from wanting to borrow them anyhow. And now, there she was. Buffy.

"Damn," she smiled at her reflection. "I'm hot!"

She finished getting ready for school and then ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time. She felt her heart nearly stop as she saw herself in the kitchen with the witches. They were making pancakes and talking about a movie that she had wanted to see.

"Why would you want to see a horror movie, Dawnie? Don't we see enough of that right here in our own backyard?" Willow questioned the girl.

She watched as she rolled her eyes. Do I really do that, she thought.

"No, that would be you. And Buffy. Not me. I see the inside of Spike's crypt and the inside of my Algebra book. Nobody lets me do anything fun," she complained.

She straightened herself and quietly entered the kitchen. She wondered if any of them would notice. She wondered if she, the one who actually looked like her, would notice.

"Hey," she smiled, swiping a pancake from the stack on the counter. They stared at her as she rolled it up into a little tube and started eating it. They were watching. Did they know?

"Um... Buffy," Willow began quietly. She continued eating the pancake, pretty much stuffing it into her mouth before searching the refrigerator for a Pepsi. Caffeine. Sugar. Something to wake her up.

"Buffy?"

She found a can stashed in the produce drawer and smiled as she popped the top and took a long, noisy drink from it.

"Hey!" Dawn yelled at her. "That's mine! And you're not supposed to know that I hid it there."

She turned to face herself, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Buffy?" Willow had her hand on her shoulder now. That's when she realized that she'd better start answering to the name Buffy.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry Will. What's the what?"

"Um, Buff," Willow was fumbling with her words as she looked her over. "Do you really think that's something you should wear to work? I mean, I know you're not too much older than the students, but don't you think that you should, you know... try not to look too much like them? Could be confusing."

"Try embarrassing," Dawn grumbled, casting her a dirty look. "I mean, really, Buffy. Are you trying to totally humiliate me?"

She felt her cheeks redden a bit. She hadn't really thought about that. She was going to school. But she was going to school as the guidance counselor, Buffy Summers. Not one-point-away-from-failing-algebra Dawn Summers. For a second, she wondered if she'd have the opportunity to tinker with her grades. May as well make the most of this situation.

"I, um... I was just trying something," she lied. "I thought that the students would be more receptive to me if they thought of me as one of them. No?"

Dawn let out an irritated sigh and stormed out of the room. Willow and Tara tried to busy themselves making pancakes, but she could feel them looking at her. She grabbed another pancake and shrugged.

"I'm leaving in ten minutes, just in case you decide that you're not too embarrassed to be seen with me," she called up the stairs. No answer from Dawn.

"I think she was riding with Janice and her mom today," Tara told her. She was looking at her with a strange mask of confusion.

"What?" she finally asked. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Have you talked to Anya lately?" the witch suddenly asked.

She felt herself freeze. How could Tara know these things?

"Why? Why would I --"

"I was just wondering how she's doing. I've been really worried about her since the... well, since the wedding that never was," Tara interrupted. "She was really hurt. And I was worried that she'd turn to D'Hoffryn or to Halfrek. I guess I'm just worried that she'll do something stupid. Something out of... vengeance."

She looked at Tara through narrowed eyes, trying to decide if she really knew something and she was just sussing out the situation. Or if she was being totally paranoid and Tara was just concerned about Anya.

"I, uh, Dawn was with her last night. I, uh... Spike... oh... patrol. He wasn't... I needed to leave her with someone... I trust Anya."

Can I leave now? She wanted to ask. She could feel the witch's gentle eyes locked on her.

"Right. I trust Anya, too. I know she'd never do anything to hurt Dawn," Tara told her. "Well, like I said. Just wondering. Know you have to get to work, so... um, have a nice day."

She grabbed the keys from the table near the door and practically ran out the front door. Her mother's jeep was sitting in the driveway. Buffy wasn't much of a driver, but she wasn't Buffy. Not really. Spike had taken her on a few driving lessons while Buffy was... gone... though. She was sure that Buffy would stake him on sight if she ever found that out. He had let her drive the DeSoto a few times, just short distances on quiet roads. But it was something he did to pass the time and to keep his promise to the Slayer. He had promised to protect Dawn, to look after her. Driving was something her mother or sister should have been teaching her, but he was all she had. None of the Scoobies treated her as someone old enough to have a learner's permit. At least Spike treated her like someone. Someone. Instead of no one.

"I'm no one," she whispered, driving the short distance to Sunnydale High School, home of the Hellmouth. She caught sight of herself in the rearview mirror as she pulled into the teacher's parking lot. "But today I'm the Slayer."

She couldn't help but rifle through the drawers to Buffy's desk as soon as she entered the office. Chewing gum. Strawberry lip gloss. Some quarters. A half-eaten Snickers bar. She set that out on the desk. Munchies. Yum.

"Miss Summers."

She felt herself jump and looked around the room to find the source of the voice.

"Miss Summers, Katelyn Wheeler is here to see you."

She looked at her phone. Intercom.

"Uh, yeah. Send her in."

Katelyn Wheeler? That weird girl from her art class? She was like Carrie. All creepy-quiet, ready to shoot daggers with her eyes should anyone dare dump pig's blood on her head at prom. She heard the door creak open and Katelyn poked her head in the door.

"Hi Miss Summers," she nervously smiled. "I'm here for our appointment."

Right. Appointment. She was leafing through Buffy's appointment book, trying to look somewhat competent. There it was. Katelyn Wheeler at 9:30 AM.

"Yeah. Come on in, Car-- uh, Katelyn."

Katelyn took a seat across from her. She was looking at her hands, nervously picking at her nail polish.

"I, uh... I really don't have a lot to say. This week. I just wanted to tell you thankyou."

"For what?" she asked. Really. For what? She had no clue why Katelyn would be talking to her sister. To the counselor.

"For... everything. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't told me to talk to my grandmother, Miss Summers. I was so scared. I was so scared she wouldn't believe me..."

"Uh, and, uh... I take it she believed you about..."

Katelyn's hands covered her eyes and she hunched over. She was shaking with sobs. She didn't know what to do. She jumped up and went over to the girl, putting her arms around her, hugging her tight. That always made her feel better when Buffy would hug her and tell her everything would be okay.

"Everything will be okay, Katelyn," she whispered.

"I know. And it's all because of you, Miss Summers. My grandmother turned him into the police. And she got me away from them. He'll never touch me again," Katelyn's tears were still sliding down her cheeks. "I would have never found the strength to tell her, Miss Summers. Not without you."

She wasn't sure who was touching Katelyn or exactly what had transpired during her counseling sessions, but she was smart enough to put two and two together. And what added up certainly was not something a girl her age should be caught up in.

"Your eyes are blue," she blurted out. They were blue and clear. Like Spike's.

"Wh-what?" Katelyn looked at her, puzzled.

"I just... I just never noticed your eyes are blue. They're... pretty."

Katelyn smiled and hugged her again.

"Thankyou, Miss Summers. You always know what to say."

Katelyn stood to leave saying that she was sure to have even more happy news at their next session.

"Katelyn," she called after her. "You're a really good artist. Uh, Dawn tells me. You're in her art class. My... sister... you should talk to her sometime. I think you'd get along really well."

She found herself smiling after Katelyn left. Buffy helps people. I helped someone. She felt good about that.

"Let's see what else you do, Big Sis," she said as she went back to nosing through her sister's desk drawers.

She found a thick, black leather-bound book at the back of the bottom drawer. It was hidden behind the file folders containing memoes and student information.

"What could this be?" She opened it to the first page.

It was a note addressed to Buffy in fine, spidery handwriting she didn't recognize. She read the message, eyes growing wider as she linked together the words with the name of the writer.

Buffy,

Words can't say how I wish I could take away your pain. I'd make it my own if I could. You always laugh at my 'pretty words,' but I thought it might help if you had someplace you could write some of your own. Or not. You could write hateful words. Sad words. Happy words. Whatever words would make you most happy. Or something like happy.

All My Love, Spike

What was this? A journal of some sort? A gift from Spike to Buffy? What pain? What the Hell was he talking about? Had he done something to hurt Buffy?

She flipped through the journal, not really reading anything, just getting an idea of how much Buffy had actually written. And it surprised her. Page after page was filled with her sister's writing. Some pages had doodles in the margins. And one was marked with a photo. Probably of Angel or of Mom, she thought. But it wasn't either of those. It was a photo strip of Dawn and Spike.

They had gone to the boardwalk one night while Buffy was... gone... and she had somehow convinced him to join her in one of those photo booths. They were both smiling in the first picture. Teeth gleaming, eyes wide. The second one, they had tried for serious. Their heads were pressed together. She had been sitting on Spike's lap. And other than the bunny ears he had made behind her head with his fingers, they looked perfectly serious. The third, they were both making faces. Of course, he had vamped out his, clearly winning the unspoken funny-face competition. The last photo had caught them off guard. She remembered turning to face him, they were looking at each other and she knew they had been thinking the same thing: if only Buffy were here, too. That had been her favorite picture. She had let him keep them, making him promise that they could take more at another time.

She flipped back to the beginning of the book. She knew that it was wrong to read her sister's private thoughts, but she couldn't help herself. It wasn't like Buffy had been Miss Chatty-Pants since she came back. She had been withdrawn. And she felt the distance between them, although she feared Buffy didn't.

Spike gave me this journal. I still feel weird about it. I've had it for nearly two weeks. And I've wanted to write something. Just because the pages are so white and clean and pretty. I wanted to write to make them unclean. Like me.

She felt her brow furrow.

I wish he would stop being so understanding. Nice. Too nice. He keeps telling me he understands. And I believe him. He understands some of it, at least. He understands what it feels like to wake up in your funeral clothes in your own coffin. He knows how it feels to be suffocating in your own grave as your mind races, trying to figure out how to get out. He knows the pain of splinters and rock-laden dirt as they rub your knuckles raw and split your nails until there is nothing left but blood and earth. But he doesn't know the worst of it. He'll never know how it felt when they ripped me out of the safety, the happiness... my peace. They ripped me out of heaven.

Dawn felt her hand come up to her mouth and clamp over it tightly. Tears stung the back of her eyes. No. No, not that.

I was so happy. I felt warm and safe. No worries. I don't remember ever feeling like that. And Mom was there with me. She told me that I had earned this rest. I had earned the right to be with her in heaven. I was so happy I cried. Happy tears.

She didn't want to read any more of that page. Heaven. Buffy had been in heaven? Why hadn't she told them? She flipped to the middle of the book.

I hate to admit it, but I'm beginning to think the only person who knows me is Spike. I find myself writing in here sometimes two and three times a day. It's... therapeutic. That's the word he used for it. He was right. He keeps pushing me to tell my family and friends the truth. Not just about us. But about heaven. I can't do that to them. I told him they were all so happy I was back. They were happy that they brought me back. They thought they saved me. And that's when he told me that every night, he saves me. Every night, he dreams about the tower and he saves me in a different way. Sometimes he dies for me. Sometimes, nobody dies. But every night, he saves me.

Dawn felt the tears sliding down her cheeks, hot and angry. They stole her sister from heaven! How could they do that? She could feel Buffy's anger and pain. She could feel it in her chest as if it were her own.

Just when I was ready to open my mouth and tear into him, ready to tell him that he must be glad I'm back, he said something I'll never forget. He told me that he didn't know about their plans. They didn't tell him. And they didn't tell Dawn. And though he'd be lying if he said he wasn't happy to see me, he'd rather suffer a lifetime without me than bring me back again. Spike tells me he loves me. And I feel it. I can feel his love. And it makes me want to run. I asked him if he would kill me. If he would give me my gift. Give me death. He cried and held me close to him. I couldn't feel his breath or his heart beating. But I felt him shaking, the sobs just tearing through him. And I felt bad. Guilty. He looked at me with his beautiful blue eyes and I saw something I'd never seen before. Something he shouldn't have. I saw his soul. I know he doesn't have one... but what I saw was all the same. It was a soul fighting to be somewhere it didn't belong. I asked him again, never taking my eyes off of his. If I ask you to kill me, will you do it?

Dawn closed the book angrily. She set it aside and looked out of the office window. He had told her he would. He said that he loved her so much that he would kill her if she wanted death. But he would never bring her back. Dawn remembered that. She felt the strain of Buffy's memories in her own brain. She felt the tear of white knuckles, the splintering of chipped nails as she dug her way out of her own grave. She felt the fear of living grip her heart in its steely glove. And she felt her body shaking as the tears came to her, as the memories flooded into her. Buffy's memories.

She wasn't sure how she'd gotten there, but she was outside of Spike's crypt. She felt her own emotions mingling with Buffy's. Would he know? Would he sense it? Smell it? She opened the door and quietly crept in. He was laying on the sarcophagus, hands crossed over his chest, brows furrowed. He was twitching. Dreaming. Every night I save you. He was saving her. He was saving her again.

She crawled up beside him and lay her head on his cool, bare chest. She felt him stop twitching, but he didn't say anything. He just placed his hand in her hair and stroked her head quietly while she cried.

"I love you, Buffy." It was whisper-soft. She raised her head to look at him. His eyes were still closed, but she could see him suddenly still in realization. He sat up and looked at her. Looked into her eyes like he was searching for something.

"Bit?" He asked incredulously. He put his hand under her chin to force her to look at him.

"How did you know?" she asked through her tears.

"I didn't... well, not at first. I could... smell you. Sense something different. But... what did you do?" He was confused, staring at his Slayer, but feeling her sister.

"I made a mistake, Spike." She was sobbing. She had hurled herself into him, squeezing her eyes shut as she sobbed into his shoulder. Felt like his Niblet. He pulled her back and kissed her on the forehead.

"Need to tell me what happened, Niblet. Can't fix your mistake unless you tell me how you made it."

She took in a deep breath, knowing he'd be angry at her for making the wish and at Anyanka for granting it.

"I... I wished I could be Buffy. Just for one day. I wished it," she cried waiting for his wrath.

"Aw, Bloody Hell... Anyanka." He knew how it had happened. "Bloody, bloody Hell."

He scooted off of his make-shift bed and began pacing the crypt. She sat on the edge, hugging her knees tightly to her.

He managed to fish a cigarette out of his duster pocket and flopped down on the couch. She watched as he dragged deeply on the cigarette. She could almost see the wheels in motion inside his head. And then she felt it. The passion and the fear. She felt the walls crumbling down as she spiralled through floors, holding tightly to Spike. She felt the pain, the hate, the release... and the love.

"She loves you." It was almost inaudible. It was almost unreal. But she heard the words tumble out of Buffy's mouth and realized that it was true. Buffy loved him. And she was scared to death of it.

He turned to face her, a scowl making its way across his face. Was she insane?

"She... I can feel it, Spike. She loves you. So... much. So much that it hurts her in here," she pointed to her chest. "Her heart is breaking for you. She needs you. And loves you. But doesn't know how to make it stop hurting. So she makes what should be beautiful... into something ugly and needy... and wrong."

His eyes were locked on her. It was the Slayer's face. But his sweet Platelet was trapped inside. And she felt the pain of a hundred plus years wracking her body as he broke down into grateful sobs. He buried his face in her hair, his arms tight around her, afraid to let go. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him so tight that she would have choked him if he was alive.

"How?" He finally asked, tearing himself from her vice-grip.

"I made a wish..."

"How do you know she loves me?"

"I can feel it all. I know I shouldn't have, but I found the book you gave her. And she wrote in it. It was almost full. And I read some of it. But then I stopped reading it and I could still feel it. I could feel Buffy. And I don't want to be her, Spike. I don't want to be Buffy anymore." She was staring at him with Slayer's eyes, silently begging him to make it stop, to take it all away.

"I need to know, Bit. I need to know exactly what you said to Anyanka," he told her. She nodded and chewed on her lip, a Summers sisters trait.

"I told her that I wanted to be Buffy for just one day. Wished," she told him, ashamed of her selfish wish.

"And she did it? Just like that? That bitch! I'm going to hunt her down and rip out--"

"No, Spike. She was mad. She was really mad that I made the wish. She said that if she granted the wish, Buffy would probably kill her. And if she didn't, D'Hoffryn surely would," she told him. "Then, she just glared at me and said 'You know what? Granted.' And I woke up this morning all Freaky Friday... except I was still me. But I'm her, too."

Spike was trying to follow. She was Buffy. But she was also Dawn. Physically. She was inside her sister. But she had never left herself. Didn't make much sense to him. Where had Buffy gone?

"Well, we wait it out, then. And no more hanging out with Anya. Not until she puts Anyanka away for good. Look," he said pointing to his clock, "it's already dark. I'll make arrangements with the others to patrol in your... her place. And you'll stay here until this blows over. Tomorrow morning, you'll be the Niblet again and Big Sis will be her hateful self again."

She nodded and watched as he left the crypt. She'll be the Niblet again.

Tara's eyes were wide as he told her what had happened. She was the only one he could trust. Red and the Whelp hated him too much. But Glinda wasn't like the others. She followed her head in spite of her heart.

"I knew something was off," she admitted, sitting next to him on the Summers' front steps. "Her aura was different this morning. Hers and Dawn's."

Dawn's too? Must have been part of the whole wishy-switchy thing.

"I tried to talk to her this morning, but she just kind of ducked the whole third-degree and got out of here as quickly as she could. And then Buffy... she was just so rattled, edgy. She couldn't get away from me fast enough."

"You talked to Dawn this morning? To Dawn... Dawn? Not just to Buffy... Dawn?" He was confusing himself.

Tara nodded. She told him that Dawn was already in the kitchen when she and Red made it down to start breakfast. She was drinking coffee and writing in what looked like a journal. It was black leather-bound and thick. She hid it when they entered the kitchen and Tara had seen her slip it into her backpack when she left the house.

He made arrangements for the witches to take over patrol for the night. Platelet would be staying with him. And the other Platelet would be staying at home with Giles until the witches return.

He saw her before he left the house and recognized a deer-in-the headlights look in her eyes.

"Snack-size," he addressed her with a nod. She smiled back at him. She seemed unsure of what she should do and then ran to him, throwing herself at him in a bear-hug. But it felt... different. It felt... wrong.

He sat at her desk in the cubicle of an office at Sunnydale High School. The book was on her desk, as if it was waiting for him. He turned to the latest entry, written that very same morning, in the Slayer's girlish handand smiled at what he discovered.

Last night I stopped by to see Anya. It I told her I needed her to watch Dawn for a few hours while I went on patrol. But I knew that it would turn out to be more. I read Dawn's diary. I know. It's wrong. And I would be SO mad if she read mine. But I did it. It's done. And she doesn't understand. She doesn't understand what happened or how I feel. She doesn't understand that I do love her. I just don't know how that works anymore. And I knew when I left her with Anya that she could show me. And I could show her. Because in her diary, she said that she wished she could be me for just one day. And I told Anya that I wished I could be her.