CrossingShadowRiver 8

"Spike?"

Spike smells a familiar scent. He tries to turn away, but he's been spotted. He should have stayed off the streets, taken the roofs or the sewers instead. He tries to focus his eyes. "Dawn?"

"I found you! Are you alright? What are you doing here? I was so worried! Why haven't you contacted us? Buffy won't talk to anyone, and you're AWOL! We didn't know what to do anymore."

Dawn's talking to him urgently. He has a hard time tracking her words.

"None of your business, Dawn. I'll sort myself out, okay? Just go home, or do whatever you were doing."

"I was having a night out with my friends," Dawn says. "And don't be silly.  If you're not going home to Buffy, where were you going to sleep? The sewers? Come home with me and sleep on the couch."

"Home? Oxford?"

"Did you forget everything?" Dawn says, some asperity in her voice now. "I was going to be in town for a few months, to help you guys with the baby. I'm staying in a friend's flat."

Spike gives in. He's not feeling too good right now. Must have taken a pounding, though he wishes he could remember how and by whom. He looks at Dawn. This is not a good part of town, what's she doing here exactly? She's not dressed like the normal twinset-n-tweeds academic Dawn, either. All cleavage and legs and make-up.

"I'll come. And I could have gone to a hotel, you know, like a regular person. I have money."

Though he can't find his wallet at present. Dawn looks at him with a kind of indulgent maternal amusement, which makes him feel rebellious and sexy at the same time. He earns a regular wage from the council, doesn't he? It may be a bit weird to be in Willow's employ, but him and Buffy felt like free operators, roaming the world in search of big bads. A good life. A sodding wonderful life. A tear trickles down his nose. He shouldn't have run off like that. Buffy will be missing him.

Dawn signals a cab, a real feat at this hour of night, and proceeds to cart him to her flat. He follows docilely, obscurely glad to be rescued from an ignominious sewer night, and not ready to return home just yet.

He hopes he's gonna be spared a talking-to from the concerned sister; he just needs to crash and drink himself even sillier to be able to sleep. He isn't so far gone that he forgets his manners and allows her to go first through the door. She rolls her eyes.

"Come in, Spike."

Christ, it's six in the morning. Has he been gallivanting across town for one or two nights? Spike pulls out one of the uncomfortable chairs she has in the guestroom for her and she perches on it like a colorful bird in her finery. He hasn't seen her for a bit, and her hair has grown really long again. He's always loved that long straight shiny hair.

"You weren't on the lookout for me, were you?"

"Let's skip the chitchat, Spike. I talked to Buffy."

"Oh."

Spike sits down heavily on the bed. He feels appallingly sober again. A waste of bad whiskey.

"What's she say, Dawn?"

Dawn turns her chair to face him and leans forward, her forearms propped up on her thighs. "That you two had an argument, and that you stormed off. Really, Spike, I know Buffy can be…difficult, but to run off now of all times? She's almost nine months pregnant, for God's sake."

"Eight and a bit, Dawn. No need to remind me. I was there for most of it, remember?"

"Yeah."  Dawn initiates a delicate silence. "But…you can't have been there at the very beginning, can you? Or did Willow do some kind of spell?"

Spike sighs. It's really his evening for expelling long gusts of breath. "Don't try to finesse me into telling you things Buffy hasn't told you. None of your business what happened."

"So that has nothing to do with your spat?"

Spat? If only.

"Is she okay?"

Dawn shrugs. "Who can tell with Buffy? She sounded normal. Evasive."

"But did she look okay?"

Dawn blushes faintly. "I didn't exactly see her, we talked on the phone, and we didn't set a date to meet. Which was weird. And I went to her house last evening and she wasn't home or pretended not to be. So I thought we could try and get in together. You still have a key, don't you?"

"Yeah," Spike says.

He feels a deep reluctance to involve Dawn in this. It should remain between him and Buffy.

Dawn seems to sense his withdrawal. She leans forward again and puts her hand on his leg. It burns hotly and it's even harder to think of what to do than before. He's drunk, tired and horny. Not in a fit state to talk to Buffy or even make decisions. He rubs his hands in his eyes to make the grit go away. A cold shower would be good right now, a very long and very cold one. Dawn moves over to the bed, sitting down right next to him. She's sitting way too close to him, blood warm human being that she is, sleepy girly perfume clouding his senses, especially his common sense. He can't think like that.

Dawn puts her arm around him. "I understand, Spike. If you need a shoulder to cry on, or, anything, I'm here."

He's too surprised and tired to resist when she pulls his head down on her scantily clad bosom. Her heart is beating a fast riff and it would be so easy to let himself sink into that soft flesh and forget about everything for a few moments. What's Dawn thinking? He lifts his head and looks into her warm inviting eyes.

"Spike..." she breathes and leans into him, her hand tightening on his leg.

She wants to kiss him? Bad plan, very bad plan. He may be drunk, but not that drunk. He won't deny that Dawn has a very special place in his heart, or that he used to have completely illegal and unbrotherly thoughts about her, but that was long ago. No way is he going to go there.

"Dawn, please..."

He gently pries her hands off his body and sits back a few feet. "All I can think of is going back to Buffy."

He tries to say as little as possible. Dawn is a woman of deep feelings and a great capacity for revenge, and he would rather stay on her good side.

"It's too late to visit Buffy now, Dawn. She needs her sleep. I'll sleep off the booze and try her this evening, okay? I'll keep you informed. Deal?"

Dawn nods reluctantly. She puts her hand on his cheek and again tries to look deep into his eyes. "I understand, Spike. We've always been close, and I've always admired your patience with Buffy." She kisses him quickly on his lips, before he can stop her. "Remember, I'm here for you. Always."

Spike stares after her. This is really the last thing he needs, and the very last thing he expected. Dawn's acting as if they haven't been having a mostly distant, though friendly, relationship for years. She's never given any hint of retaining her teenage crush. He sits up again, unable to leave off thinking about this. Would he have acted differently if he'd always known that? Gone after her instead of Buffy? Although, admittedly, Buffy'd gone after him. It's weird to become aware of a choice you could have made a decade ago without knowing about it at the time. It could change everything, if he wanted to.

But he doesn't. He's made his choice a long time ago and he'll stick with it. He'll visit Buffy soon. Very soon. First, he has to contact Willow about the ridiculous rumors the Slayer lite was talking about. His head hurts from all this stuff and he closes the drapes and crawls under the covers. Sleep now.

Dawn enters the guestroom two seconds after he's closed his eyes.

"Hey. Brought you some blood."

Spike pries open one eye and tries to get a firm grip on the mug. Dawn steadies his hand with her two small warm ones and it takes his brain a few seconds to parse why this isn't exactly making him feel good. Oh shit. He gulps down the mug of blood quickly and tries to make sure he's decently covered with his other hand. If he remembers last night correctly it would be a very bad idea to have his tackle on display; might give her the wrong idea, early morning and all.

Except that it's three o'clock in the afternoon on the bedside clock. It's a digital clock and the date is all wrong. Weeks ahead, it is.

"Dawn? Is that clock right?"

"It is."

"But…it can't be. I haven't been away for three weeks! I haven't!"

She scoots closer to him and grabs his arm firmly.

"We need to talk about that, Spike. Willow asked me to look into some rumors that have been going round. You've been spotted several times near the river, apparently killing people. I would never have believed that, Spike, but Buffy was weirdly evasive on the phone when I asked to speak to you yesterday, and I found you in a very sleazy part of town, drunk, filthy, …what's up with you, Spike?"

That is so Buffy. Instead of pouring her heart out to her sister, she prefers to keep mum and keep up a front. Silly bint. The other thing is really worrying. Three weeks? Did Bert slip him a Mickey Finn?

"Of course I'm not killing again, Dawn. Are you insane? After twelve years with a soul, ten years spent with Buffy – if that's not enough to establish my credibility, what will?"

Dawn still eyes him skeptically. "Yeah, but maybe that was the reason Buffy kicked you out? What other reason could there be for you guys to break up?"

"Stop fishing, Dawn!"

Dawn bends forward to pick up a folder and Spike hastily tears his eyes away from the expanse of milky white flesh that her decollete'd sweater reveals. She shows him a grainy picture of a platinum-haired man.

"Yeah, so?" he says, and gives it back.

"Is that you?" Dawn asks, and it's clear she's very serious about this.

She tries to engage his gaze and sits too close.

Spike studies the picture again, irritated now. "Dunno. Could be. It's too dark to see where it is exactly. The clothes are nondescript. I'd generally wear my duster to go out, though."

Dawn seems to hear only what she wants, because she consults her notes. "Near the entrance of Wapping tube station."

"Wapping? What the hell would I be doing in Wapping? So, no, it isn't me."

So this is what the Slayer he met was talking about. Rumors, based on this spotting, must be flying around the Council offices. It won't be that hard to discount them.

Spike wants to get up, but because he feels the urgent need to cover himself around this unsisterly incarnation of Dawn he struggles to wrest the sheet from under her bottom. Dawn looks on with interest. He finally manages to wrap the sheet around his waist in a semblance of modesty and stalks off to the bathroom. He returns half a minute later and has to ask her for a towel. This involves waiting around in her hallway while she hunts the borrowed flat for more towels.

"You still work out a lot, I guess?" Dawn says.

Spike refuses to answer. Women. He's going to shower and leave here as soon as it's dark. He needs to see Buffy, apologize for staying away this long and talk things out.

TBC