Spike waited in the Slayer's living room, biding his time. The tv. was on, spewing background noise and blasé colour. He sat on the couch, watching the clock, waiting for the signal...
"Got it!" Dawn cried as she raced down the stairs. "I knew I had black somewhere." She handed the bottle of varnish to him triumphantly.
"Thank God," he replied, "cos there was no way I'd wear any of your prissy red ones. Now come on, get over here."
The girl grinned and plopped herself cross-legged on the couch beside him. With a critical eye he held up the nearly full bottle of black nail polish, shook it, and nodded in satisfaction. "This'll do just fine."
Dawn snatched it out of his hands and set it off to the side. "Nuh-uh, I've gotta do your cuticles first."
Spike gave a put-upon sigh before handing her the little bag of cosmetic tools. Though he felt like a ponce for playing make-up with the Slayer's sister, he was the only one of the so-called Scoobies who seemed to be spending any time with the poor kid. It wasn't like he wanted to, after all...
"Can we shut off this nancy-boy crap before my brains start leaking out my ears?" he demanded. Dawn giggled again, a sound so precious to Spike it was water in the vast desert of his heart. He tried hard to suppress the smile that desperately wanted to make its way onto his face.
"I like this nancy-boy crap," she retorted and turned up the volume. "Besides, it's the only thing on at this ungodly hour."
Spike glanced at the clock - midnight. Two hours till the Buffybot would be back from patrol with Willow and Tara. Two hours till he had to face reality. Two precious and too short hours to entertain normalcy by engaging in an activity that went against his entire nature - he would get a manicure.
"Yeah," he replied, but to what he wasn't quite sure.
"Hand me the bottle," Dawn said, and he automatically replied. His focus was elsewhere now, roaming around the room that held so many memories of Buffy and Joyce.
That's the table he'd first tasted Joyce's famous cocoa; that's where he'd gotten his first glimpse of the Nibblet, peeking through the bars of the railing; that's where Buffy invited him in, de-invited, and re-invited him; that's where he fell in love.
Spike suppressed a shudder when he thought of Buffy. He held in the cry of anguish that threatened to tumble from his dead lips. He fought the urge to grab Dawn and run far, far away from this godforsaken town. He blinked back the tears, swallowed his pride, and asked, "You done yet?"
Dawn cocked her head to the side, an unconscious imitation of her sister, and Spike smiled. No matter how long she'd been gone, or how much he missed her, a little bit of her was still here with him - his precious Nibblet.
She gave his pinkie one more swipe of the brush and nodded to herself. "I fudged it a bit," she admitted, "but I think it's okay now."
"Not like anyone 'cept the vamps I dust are gonna look at my nails. 'Oh, wonderful manicure you've got there Spike! Where can I get one for myself?'" He looked sidelong at her and gave one of his rare smiles. "'Oh, nowhere - just the Slayer's lil sis likes to pamper me a bit.' Can you imagine?"
"Nope, that's what makes it so funny. You, with a manicure!"
He elbowed her in the side. "'S your turn next, so don't make fun."
Dawn wiped the smile off her face and replaced it with a somber look of superiority. With a terrible English accent, she delicately placed her hand in his own and said, "Tally-ho William! It's nearly time for tea - pip pip and all that rot."
The two collapsed into giggles, the mystical Key and the Scourge of Europe, holding tightly to each other like they feared the laughter would explode their bellies. But really, it was to hold on to the levity, the freedom, for a little while longer.
The laughter subsided but Dawn remained securely attached to Spike's side. He wasn't complaining - warm human body nestled against him, unafraid, trusting. The next best thing to having Buffy, but really he loved Dawn just for being her. She was Buffy's sister, true, but the two had forged an unlikely friendship long before he had realized his love for the Slayer. The bond between them was real, made stronger by the loss of her family and the women whom he'd grown to love.
Joyce had been like a mother to him, and he could share Dawn's grief in that loss. And Buffy...sometimes he would still awaken from nightmares where he was seconds too late to catch her from falling, or where he was the one to push her, or where Dawn was the one to die. They were horrible, nearly unbearable, but then he'd remember his promise to Buffy, that he would protect her sister until the end of the world.
So here he was, holding his Nibblet with every ounce of love he had left, and he wouldn't let her go. Not for death, not for life, not for Angelus or Dru or those sodding Scoobies. He was her sole protector now, and he would not take that job lightly.
He listened as Dawn's breathing became deeper and more rhythmic and it finally succumbed to the patterns of sleep. With a tender hand he brushed the hair from her face and placed a soft kiss upon her forehead.
Willow and Tara would be home in less than an hour, and he would carry Dawn upstairs before then. But for this time inbetween, during their shared exile, he would hold her close and love her the only way he knew how.
"Till the end of the world, darling," he whispered. "Till the end of the world."