*

Had to be an abandoned building, of course, Dawn thought bitterly as she approached Bruckert's Ice Cream Stand.  Probably due to a complete lack of atmospheric warehouses in suburban New Hampshire.  Then again, maybe she should be happy that they weren't in a cemetery.  Whatever. 

The outside of the stand looked just like Dawn remembered it from August – a little run-down, but in that "we're historic" way that buildings in New England had.  Alicia and Flick had brought her here with Buffy, ironically – Dawn was sure that Spike didn't know that bit of information.  But now the windows were boarded up, and she would bet that the electricity wasn't on, either.  She scowled at the sun, which was setting far too quickly for her tastes.  Six fifteen; that left her about an hour, she'd guess, before all direct sunlight was gone.  An hour to get in and, if she was lucky, get the hell out.

Dawn trotted around the building, partly for speed, partly to keep her courage up.  She came across the broken padlock quickly, and paused.  He'd gotten in through one of the heavy storm doors leading down to the basement, and Dawn cursed quietly.  That meant far too many things, none of them boding well for her:  firstly, the door would be damn heavy; it was also covered in rust, and likely to make a lot of noise; and, most importantly, it led directly to the basement.  She darted a glance to one of the narrow basement windows that peeked out of the building's foundation: covered.  Shit. 

She closed her eyes and considered just leaving.  She wasn't Buffy, and she didn't have Buffy's friends with her.  If Spike was waiting for her on the other side of that door, she wouldn't have a chance. 

But there were other things to consider, she reminded herself.  She opened her eyes again, steeling herself mentally, and grasped the handle of the storm door tightly.  With her other hand she pulled a stake from her pocket.  If she went down immediately, at least Buffy could know that she went down fighting.  She readjusted her grip on the handle and pulled.

The door wasn't as heavy as she'd feared, but it made noise enough to wake the dead.  Dawn gave up on any hope of stealth and threw the door back, lunging into the dark basement.  She blinked a little as she realized that a couple of electric lights were glowing in the shadows; she fluttered her eyelids quickly, trying to adjust to the darker room.  Suddenly, a voice floated out to her.

"Dawn?  What in hell are you doing?"

Dawn spun, picking out the slightly darker shape of Spike out from the general gloom.  She darted back a few paces, deliberately placing the sunlight pouring through the open basement door between herself and the vampire.  He had sounded more bewildered than anything, but she wasn't going to take any chances.  Not until he'd heard what she had to say.

"Spike?"  She straightened up, and he caught the shimmer of her crucifix.  His mouth twisted bitterly.

"Sporting new neckware, I see," he drawled.  He paced over to one of the basement pillars and casually leaned against it, arms crossed over his chest.  "My, my – I wonder what this could mean."  Dawn shivered a little as his tone turned more sinister.

"Spike, does the chip still work?"  Her eyes had adjusted completely now, and Dawn looked right at Spike, straightforward in words and posture.  True, she still had a stake in her hand and what looked like a bottle of water under her arm, but her directness was slightly disarming to Spike.  He sneered, buying a little time.  Old habits die hard.

"Dunno, Bit.  It could."  He leaned forward a little, eyes shining.  "I wouldn't know, given that I last saw it – well, about the same time as I last saw you." 

Shit.  "Okay," said Dawn, watching him closely.  "And how do you feel?"

Spike laughed bitterly.  "What is this, pop psychology from a teenager?"  He snarled.  "How do you think it feels?  Bloody chip's OUT, and it feels fucking brilliant."  He began to prowl towards her, a rolling gait that made Dawn uneasy.  "'Course," he amended, "might make others a tiny bit wary."

"Should have figured you'd react just like big sis – 'Spike's got the chip out, let's all go fucking kill him.'  Same blood and all."  He bit the words out harshly, still advancing.  "But sweet little bit – you're NOT big sis, and there's no way that you can take me on your own, even with that pointy piece of wood you've got there."  She watched him come, holding her ground.

"Spike, stay there."  Dawn spoke forcefully and quietly, but didn't move.  She stood straight-backed, seemingly fearless.  Surprisingly, Spike halted mid-stride.  Then, suddenly, he slumped a little.

"Dawn, what do you want." It was as though he'd abruptly gone hollow.  For a moment there, he'd been the Spike she'd learned to fear, all sinew and sinister intent.  But the way he looked at her now?  He seemed… tired.  And as she watched, he lifted his hands towards her appealingly, spread wide as he shrugged.  As though there was nothing he could say.  He was right, she realized.

"Spike, you know how bad this seems to be for me, right?"  She tried to make her voice amicable, but the tenseness came out with her words.  Spike withdrew into himself again, recrossing his arms, all signs of apology wiped away.  She tried again. 

"Look at it from my perspective: I move to a different part of the country, away from my sister and anyone else who would watch out for me with this - kind of thing." 

Spike raised an eyebrow.  "You can say it, pet, it's not like there's anyone about to hear you."  He smiled evilly at her as she caught the double meaning of his phrase, but she forged on. 

"So I'm settling in, and then you appear.  And I'm thrilled!  'Cause I like you, and I missed you, and you disappeared without telling anyone at all."  Spike took in her words, but his expression didn't change.  Dawn took another deep breath.

"And then you want to meet.  Alone.  You want to know if my room's warded.  You took off in the WEIRDEST way when I cut myself in the parking lot, and then you go and pick 'something' mysterious at an appointment scheduled roughly at the same time I was supposed to meet you.  You've met my friends, you know their names, I introduced you to them as a friend and there's no POSSIBLE way I could warn them about inviting you in without telling them that you're… the way you are."  She shook her head.  "And I can't take that chance, Spike.  These people are my life, and if you've gone all un-chippy, then we have a problem.  Because I can't deal with Sunnydale happening here, Spike.  I just can't." 

"So this is what we're going to do."

She tossed her stake into the patch of sunlight at her feet.  Spike watched, expressionless, as three more stakes followed, then all three containers of holy water.  He did raise his eyebrows a little as Dawn bent down to unstrap the wicked-looking switchblade from her right leg, but his face was impassive again as she straightened, lobbing the holster and blade onto the growing pile.  Her fingers trembled a bit as she fumbled to unclasp her bracelet one-handed, but she managed.  Lastly, she bent her head to remove her necklace.  Almost ceremoniously, she walked over and placed it carefully on the top of the rest.  She half-turned to him, then absently turned back, quickly stripping off her fleece.  As though he might suspect her of hiding one last weapon, he supposed.  Clad only in a thin t-shirt and her pants, Dawn crossed the floor of the basement, stopping a few feet away from where Spike stood.

"Okay," she breathed, a little shaky.  Spike could see the tears standing in her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. 

"Spike, if you want to kill me – do it.  Now.  Because if the chip's out and I'm what you're after, I'm not going to go hiding in warded rooms.  I'm not going to let you kill my friends off one by one, and I'm NOT going to drag them into this world that they don't need to know about – they don't live in our world, with the vampires and werewolves and packs of wild dogs who savage seniors at the prom.  Their Wiccan friends?  Dance in circles in the woods and go to Renaissance Faires, instead of brewing dimension-altering potions.  And a stake is something you eat, it's made out of cows, of which New Hampshire has many."  She was losing control of her speech as it went on, and without her fleece the cold was beginning to get to her.

"Buffy won't tell me anything about Sunnydale, Spike.  It's like it doesn't exist anymore.  She'll tell me about working at the bank and how Xander's doing at the construction site, but if there's an apocalypse coming I won't know any sooner than the rest of the doomed population." 

"She wants me to be NORMAL, Spike."  Dawn was beginning to cry now, though involuntarily.  Her voice remained steady, her expression fierce, her brave front marred only by the streaks running down her face.  "And I can't call her and tell her that you're here, lurking.  She'll just lose it.  I can't do that to her.  So," she sniffed, scrubbing angrily at her eyes with the heel of her palm, "This is it."

"I have a date tomorrow night, Spike.  With a real boy – like last time, but without fangs," she laughed, a little hysterically.  "He's nice and he's sweet and he has no fucking CLUE who my sister is, other than meeting her once on Moving-In Day.  And my other friends are all wonderful and I love them.  But I won't let you have them.  And I KNOW I'm repeating myself a lot, but I'm trying to make it VERY CLEAR how important this is to me!"  Dawn blazed at him, face burning.  She took another step towards him, arms out, and tilted her head back in challenge.

"If you're going to kill me, just do it.  I like you, Spike - but I can't risk that you'll lie to me, that this is all some elaborate plot to get back at Buffy.  And if I've got the chip-less you right, this should do it."  She reached up to her neck and savagely clawed at it sideways with her fingernails, ripping the skin and encouraging a slow trickle of blood to the surface.  She winced a little, but let the blood flow.

"So do it, before I totally lose my nerve and do something stupid like faint."  She closed her eyes, and Spike realized that the head-tilt hadn't been a challenge so much as an act of submission.  Devoid of the high-necked fleece jacket, her neck glowed luminously in the cellar, the single crimson track lengthening.  Her jawline trembled a little, but Dawn stood still, waiting.

She was brave, he thought, watching as she stood shivering.  He noted the way she'd prepared herself so immaculately, her hair, her clothes, the humble arsenal. 

Then, quick as lightening, he lunged.

TBC

*