(Set between "Him" and "Conversations with Dead People.")
Spike folded back the flaps of the box and peered inside, his mouth twitching into a semblance of a smile. He ran a finger across the labels, thinking, Clem, you are a saint.
He pulled out the first tape, popped it into Harris' VCR, hit play and settled into the couch. A grin spread across his face as the music started. So this is what they meant by 'guilty pleasure.'
Spike frowned as a knock at the door interrupted his viewing pleasure. "Harris innit here."
"Spike, it's me," called Dawn.
He hit the 'pause' button as he got up, moving to the door to let her in.
"Dawn. What brings you to this neck of the woods?"
"I'm supposed to meet Xander."
"Oh," he replied, watching as she fell instantly into the thrall of the refrigerator, drawn unbidden to the contents within.
"Mmm, Hawaiian."
The child's metabolism never ceased to amaze him. "Help yourself," he said with a smirk. Good news was it most likely signaled that her boy induced funk was over, which was a relief. He was not wired for cheer up duty.
"Thanks. Whatcha watching?" she asked, using her slice of pizza to point at the freeze frame of a woman on her hands and knees, scrubbing a floor.
"Nothing," he said, trying to feign casualness as he edged toward the box.
"Hmm," she replied, making a beeline for said box and peering inside, "looks like a whole lot of nothing."
Spike groaned inwardly and braced himself as she continued to inspect the contents.
"'Passions'? You've got tapes and tapes of 'Passions'? What's up with that?"
Spike shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and shrugged. "Clem taped them while I was, ah, away." Tentatively he looked up to see her reaction.
She grinned at him. "Obsess much? You sooo over identify with Timmy. And that can't be good considering..." She looked at him curiously and plopped herself on the couch. "I shouldn't say, should I? So come on, whatcha waiting for?"
He knew there was something the girl wasn't telling, but figured anything about the show wasn't worth making a fuss over. He considered snarking about what had her in such a generous mood, but he thought better of it. Instead, he sat on the couch and decided to go with the moment. Pretend everything was as it used to be. When Joyce was alive and entertained him in the kitchen like he was family, listening to his brokenhearted laments or talking soaps while Dawn snitched and shrugged on his duster, the length of it pooling on the floor. He didn't deserve this reprieve, but damned if he was going drive a stake through it.
"Miguel is sooo clueless," said Dawn, rolling her eyes.
Spike nodded. "Git doesn't know his arse from his elbow."
Dawn snorted and yelped. He looked over to see her hand over her mouth and nose, tears streaming from her eyes.
"Soda up your nose, eh?"
Dawn nodded and Spike leaned back, spreading his arms across the back of the couch. "Soap watching isn't a sport for lightweights, Bit."
"Whatever, Spike," she replied, rolling her eyes again.
He knew the lot of them would find her eye rolling aggravating, but to him it was like pennies from heaven. He wracked his brain, willing to give up his eyeteeth if only he could think of something that would get this brown-eyed girl to give him another such reaction he could add to his keep.
He felt a nudge and looked over to Dawn. "What's that, Bit?" She was eyeing him with concern. Must have been trying to get his attention for a while. I couldn't have been out of it that long, could I?
"It's Sheridan and the whole amnesia thing. You're all quiet when you should be all snarky." She narrowed her eyes and studied him, saying, "You're still having those memory lapses, aren't you?"
He groaned. He'd been so desperate to get her mind off her miseries from the whole jacket fiasco that he'd told her the first thing that had come to mind. Why he picked the truth he'd never know. She wasn't supposed to dwell on it. "Why do ya want to know?"
"I've been thinking."
And there goes the other shoe. Spike looked at her intently. "Please tell me ya haven't been thinking out loud to anyone."
Dawn matched his look. "No," she said slowly, "but I might."
"Hrmph."
"Come on, just let me tell you."
Spike unpursed his lips. "Okay Dawn, what's on your mind?"
She took a deep breath and it all tumbled out. "I think you should see a counselor. I did this summer. Because of, of... being with Tara when she was... after she was... shot. Child Services people made me see one. He made a difference. I thought you could talk with him too. Try to figure this out before it really becomes a problem."
He knew she meant well, but given the tears she was fighting just mentioning the bird's name, he wasn't convinced this was the great solution she thought it was. "Hard to believe Sunnyhell has that many doctors."
"Well, he wasn't exactly a doctor. More like an intern. But he really helped. Honest."
"No."
"Why not?" She crossed her arms in front of herself.
He crossed his arms in front of himself. "Oh, I dunno. Let's start with the fact that I'm a vampire."
"It's Sunnydale. They just skim over anything too supernatural. Or they think you were tripping on PCPs. Or that you're really cerebral and talking in metaphors." Dawn shrugged. "That's why I'm in AP English this year."
"No."
"So what is your brilliant plan?"
"Anything but this."
The jangle of keys announced Xander's return. "Dawn, you're here. Give me a minute and I'll be ready." He moved toward his bedroom, loosening his tie and then turned back toward them. "Everything okay here?"
Without taking her eyes off Spike, Dawn answered, "We're fine. Just watching TV."
"I'll be right back."
"Come on, Spike," Dawn whispered. "Say you'll think about it. He's got evening hours and everything. Otherwise..." She tipped her head toward Xander's room.
"That's blackmail," he hissed.
She shrugged and began studying her nails.
When she was in a mood like this, there was no changing her mind. And he couldn't afford to wait her out. "Fine," he bit out, "I'll think about it."
"Yea!" she said, smiling broadly.
That smile. Damn near makes it worth it, he thought.
"You ready Dawn?" called Xander.
As he came back into the room, she stood up and pulled a card out of her back pocket, slipping it into Spike's hand.
"Yep," she chirped.
Spike met Xander's gaze.
"Spike."
"Harris."
Dawn pulled at Xander's arm. "Come on, we're going to be late."
Spike watched as she pushed Xander out the door, glancing back at him. He waved the card and pasted a smile on his face. She smiled back, nodded encouragingly and then closed the door. He turned back to the show, but couldn't focus. The apartment felt quiet and claustrophobic, but there was nowhere he could go for at least another half-hour.
He wandered into the kitchen, absentmindedly worrying the dog-eared corner of the card before tossing it onto the counter. He opened the fridge, hoping some better quality beer than Harris' standard swill might have mysteriously appeared. It hadn't, so he settled for blood. He poured a mugful and queued it up in the microwave. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, waiting for the blood to warm.
"My girls get to you like no one else, don't they?"
His eyes flew open as the sound of Joyce's voice. It looked just like her. Down to the curl of her hair and the motherly look of concern on her face. She took a step toward him and he scrambled back.
"Joyce? Is that you? It can't be you."
"Is this some sort of riddle? Something Buffy has you working on?" she asked, shaking her head, "I just can't keep up with it all."
He closed his eyes, willing her away. He wasn't in the basement anymore. He thought he'd be free of them here. Spike opened his eyes and she was still present, looking even more concerned.
"Let me find you something to eat," she urged, "I'm sure whatever is bothering you will feel more manageable once you've got some food in your stomach." She reached for a drawer and her hand went through it. She turned toward him, darkly apologetic. "That didn't work too well, did it? Especially since I was trying to calm your nerves. Thankfully, I have a plan B. Mothers always do, you know."
With that, Joyce began to hum. He frowned. It reminded him of something, someone from a long time ago that he couldn't quite place. But then, it suddenly didn't matter to him.
"Now let's see who my little pumpkin wants you to meet," she said, nodding toward the card.
He picked it up and read it aloud, "Holden Webster, Intern."
"Shall we see if he's working the graveyard shift tonight?" she asked with a smile.
Spike answered with a wolfish grin.
Spike folded back the flaps of the box and peered inside, his mouth twitching into a semblance of a smile. He ran a finger across the labels, thinking, Clem, you are a saint.
He pulled out the first tape, popped it into Harris' VCR, hit play and settled into the couch. A grin spread across his face as the music started. So this is what they meant by 'guilty pleasure.'
Spike frowned as a knock at the door interrupted his viewing pleasure. "Harris innit here."
"Spike, it's me," called Dawn.
He hit the 'pause' button as he got up, moving to the door to let her in.
"Dawn. What brings you to this neck of the woods?"
"I'm supposed to meet Xander."
"Oh," he replied, watching as she fell instantly into the thrall of the refrigerator, drawn unbidden to the contents within.
"Mmm, Hawaiian."
The child's metabolism never ceased to amaze him. "Help yourself," he said with a smirk. Good news was it most likely signaled that her boy induced funk was over, which was a relief. He was not wired for cheer up duty.
"Thanks. Whatcha watching?" she asked, using her slice of pizza to point at the freeze frame of a woman on her hands and knees, scrubbing a floor.
"Nothing," he said, trying to feign casualness as he edged toward the box.
"Hmm," she replied, making a beeline for said box and peering inside, "looks like a whole lot of nothing."
Spike groaned inwardly and braced himself as she continued to inspect the contents.
"'Passions'? You've got tapes and tapes of 'Passions'? What's up with that?"
Spike shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and shrugged. "Clem taped them while I was, ah, away." Tentatively he looked up to see her reaction.
She grinned at him. "Obsess much? You sooo over identify with Timmy. And that can't be good considering..." She looked at him curiously and plopped herself on the couch. "I shouldn't say, should I? So come on, whatcha waiting for?"
He knew there was something the girl wasn't telling, but figured anything about the show wasn't worth making a fuss over. He considered snarking about what had her in such a generous mood, but he thought better of it. Instead, he sat on the couch and decided to go with the moment. Pretend everything was as it used to be. When Joyce was alive and entertained him in the kitchen like he was family, listening to his brokenhearted laments or talking soaps while Dawn snitched and shrugged on his duster, the length of it pooling on the floor. He didn't deserve this reprieve, but damned if he was going drive a stake through it.
"Miguel is sooo clueless," said Dawn, rolling her eyes.
Spike nodded. "Git doesn't know his arse from his elbow."
Dawn snorted and yelped. He looked over to see her hand over her mouth and nose, tears streaming from her eyes.
"Soda up your nose, eh?"
Dawn nodded and Spike leaned back, spreading his arms across the back of the couch. "Soap watching isn't a sport for lightweights, Bit."
"Whatever, Spike," she replied, rolling her eyes again.
He knew the lot of them would find her eye rolling aggravating, but to him it was like pennies from heaven. He wracked his brain, willing to give up his eyeteeth if only he could think of something that would get this brown-eyed girl to give him another such reaction he could add to his keep.
He felt a nudge and looked over to Dawn. "What's that, Bit?" She was eyeing him with concern. Must have been trying to get his attention for a while. I couldn't have been out of it that long, could I?
"It's Sheridan and the whole amnesia thing. You're all quiet when you should be all snarky." She narrowed her eyes and studied him, saying, "You're still having those memory lapses, aren't you?"
He groaned. He'd been so desperate to get her mind off her miseries from the whole jacket fiasco that he'd told her the first thing that had come to mind. Why he picked the truth he'd never know. She wasn't supposed to dwell on it. "Why do ya want to know?"
"I've been thinking."
And there goes the other shoe. Spike looked at her intently. "Please tell me ya haven't been thinking out loud to anyone."
Dawn matched his look. "No," she said slowly, "but I might."
"Hrmph."
"Come on, just let me tell you."
Spike unpursed his lips. "Okay Dawn, what's on your mind?"
She took a deep breath and it all tumbled out. "I think you should see a counselor. I did this summer. Because of, of... being with Tara when she was... after she was... shot. Child Services people made me see one. He made a difference. I thought you could talk with him too. Try to figure this out before it really becomes a problem."
He knew she meant well, but given the tears she was fighting just mentioning the bird's name, he wasn't convinced this was the great solution she thought it was. "Hard to believe Sunnyhell has that many doctors."
"Well, he wasn't exactly a doctor. More like an intern. But he really helped. Honest."
"No."
"Why not?" She crossed her arms in front of herself.
He crossed his arms in front of himself. "Oh, I dunno. Let's start with the fact that I'm a vampire."
"It's Sunnydale. They just skim over anything too supernatural. Or they think you were tripping on PCPs. Or that you're really cerebral and talking in metaphors." Dawn shrugged. "That's why I'm in AP English this year."
"No."
"So what is your brilliant plan?"
"Anything but this."
The jangle of keys announced Xander's return. "Dawn, you're here. Give me a minute and I'll be ready." He moved toward his bedroom, loosening his tie and then turned back toward them. "Everything okay here?"
Without taking her eyes off Spike, Dawn answered, "We're fine. Just watching TV."
"I'll be right back."
"Come on, Spike," Dawn whispered. "Say you'll think about it. He's got evening hours and everything. Otherwise..." She tipped her head toward Xander's room.
"That's blackmail," he hissed.
She shrugged and began studying her nails.
When she was in a mood like this, there was no changing her mind. And he couldn't afford to wait her out. "Fine," he bit out, "I'll think about it."
"Yea!" she said, smiling broadly.
That smile. Damn near makes it worth it, he thought.
"You ready Dawn?" called Xander.
As he came back into the room, she stood up and pulled a card out of her back pocket, slipping it into Spike's hand.
"Yep," she chirped.
Spike met Xander's gaze.
"Spike."
"Harris."
Dawn pulled at Xander's arm. "Come on, we're going to be late."
Spike watched as she pushed Xander out the door, glancing back at him. He waved the card and pasted a smile on his face. She smiled back, nodded encouragingly and then closed the door. He turned back to the show, but couldn't focus. The apartment felt quiet and claustrophobic, but there was nowhere he could go for at least another half-hour.
He wandered into the kitchen, absentmindedly worrying the dog-eared corner of the card before tossing it onto the counter. He opened the fridge, hoping some better quality beer than Harris' standard swill might have mysteriously appeared. It hadn't, so he settled for blood. He poured a mugful and queued it up in the microwave. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, waiting for the blood to warm.
"My girls get to you like no one else, don't they?"
His eyes flew open as the sound of Joyce's voice. It looked just like her. Down to the curl of her hair and the motherly look of concern on her face. She took a step toward him and he scrambled back.
"Joyce? Is that you? It can't be you."
"Is this some sort of riddle? Something Buffy has you working on?" she asked, shaking her head, "I just can't keep up with it all."
He closed his eyes, willing her away. He wasn't in the basement anymore. He thought he'd be free of them here. Spike opened his eyes and she was still present, looking even more concerned.
"Let me find you something to eat," she urged, "I'm sure whatever is bothering you will feel more manageable once you've got some food in your stomach." She reached for a drawer and her hand went through it. She turned toward him, darkly apologetic. "That didn't work too well, did it? Especially since I was trying to calm your nerves. Thankfully, I have a plan B. Mothers always do, you know."
With that, Joyce began to hum. He frowned. It reminded him of something, someone from a long time ago that he couldn't quite place. But then, it suddenly didn't matter to him.
"Now let's see who my little pumpkin wants you to meet," she said, nodding toward the card.
He picked it up and read it aloud, "Holden Webster, Intern."
"Shall we see if he's working the graveyard shift tonight?" she asked with a smile.
Spike answered with a wolfish grin.