*

"Right, love.  Time to wake up."

Dawn groaned and blinked, momentarily unsettled by the blur of brown and blue around her.  Oh, right.  Fugly.  She shut her eyes tight and peeled the quilt away from her body, noting with disgust the vaguely sticky feeling of her clothes clinging to her skin.  "Oh, wow.  That's just nasty."

Spike turned a little to peer into the back of the van.  "Yes, Dawn, we've established that I've got bad taste in quilts.  Drop it already?"

"Oh, blah, I'm so over that."  Dawn hitched herself upright, staring at the deep creases in her pajama pants.  She'd seen what clothes could do when worn in the car for hours, but her current state was really dismal.  "I've been wearing these clothes for so long, they've decided to meld to me.  Eugh.  I can't WAIT to get into the shower."  She suddenly bolted upright. 

"Oh my god… I'm not smelly, am I?"

Spike snorted.  "Only a tiny bit more so than usual, bit.  You did take a shower at the motel, if you'll recall."

"Yeah, but I was thinking about vampire-sense and everything… never mind.  Besides, who knows the last time you showered, you disgusting thing.  Thank god I don't have your nose."

"Hey, watch it."  Spike glared.

"I like that you're trying to give me a dirty look in the rearview mirror," Dawn smirked.  "Very scary and non-reflecting."

"See, I always suspected you were a rotten morning person," Spike replied.  "And that's why I'm going to feel no guilt at all for not giving you a donut."  A crinkling noise caught Dawn's attention, and she watched in horror as Spike produced a Krispy Kreme pastry bag from the passenger seat.  Savoring the moment, he murmured appreciatively as he produced a huge donut and waved it in the air jauntily.  Then all hell broke loose.

"NOOOOO!"  A brown-and-blue blur lurched over the seat, snatching the powdered donut Spike was slowly bringing to his mouth. Spike jumped, not expecting such energy from someone who'd been snoring only moments earlier.  He carefully steered the van back to the center of the road, Dawn's head bobbing just over his shoulder as she took a huge hunk out of the donut.

"Dawn!  Be careful, you're not as tough as you were!"  The thought of her long limbs shattering haunted him more than she knew; every time she lurched or turned in an odd way, his heart leaped.  He eyed the seat division distrustfully.

Dawn, though, was completely oblivious to his concern.  "Thank yooooooou," she crooned at him as she loomed over the divide, her mouth full of chewed-up pastry, her breath overpoweringly sugary.  She could barely close her lips due to the size of the bite she'd taken, and Spike was seriously worried that she might end up showering him with saliva-drenched crumbs.

"Lovely AND revolting.  Sit down and buckle up."  Dawn obliged, sliding into the passenger seat, her mouth still covered in powdered sugar.  She finished it quickly, ravenously, and Spike couldn't help but laugh at the sight of her.  All limbs and length, she curled up in the extra seat with no problem, pausing only to haul Fugly over the divide after her.  She hummed happily, bouncing a little in her seat as she licked the remains of her breakfast off her fingers.  "Loon," he muttered, and she beamed at him again before looking out the window.

"Hey."  Dawn glanced around her with a slight air of irritation.  "We're, like, twenty minutes from home!"  She scowled.  "Thanks.  It's a much better idea for me to be awake and nervous for the next fifteen miles, rather than peacefully ignorant."

Spike looked at her flatly.  "Ignorant?  Nice turn of phrase there, bit.  And here I thought I there'd be no problem with me carrying your unconscious body right up to your sister's front door."

Dawn reddened, feeling very foolish.  "Oh.  Good point, actually." 

"A dusty piece of business, right there."  Spike shifted in his seat, shooting a quick glance at Dawn.  "Dawn, about that?  We should clear some things up before we get to your place."

Dawn snapped to attention, turning to face him.  "Oh, yeah.  We didn't get to most of it last night.  Ummmm…"  She squinted, focusing. 

"Well, essentially, Willow went all nuts when Tara died.  I didn't see much of it, but the second-hand reports are pretty gruesome.  She went back on the magic crackpipe in a major, MAJOR way."

Spike pressed his lips together tightly, focusing on the road.  "That's one who should never have gotten a taste of it in the first place."

"Yeah, I'm guessing just about everyone would agree at this point.  Anyhow, she went after the geeks." 

"The Star Wars pillocks?"  Spike laughed grimly.  "Would've liked to do that myself, actually.  Did they have tape of her and Tara?"

"Oh!  No, no, we found all the cameras…"  Dawn trailed off, wincing away from that particular memory.  "No, Spike – the ringleader was the one who shot Tara."

"What?"  He could remember the tall one clearly, smell the ambition and greed and arrogance on him.  For Warren to have even existed in the same world as Tara was vile.  For him to have taken her life was practically sacrilege.  "Bastard."

"Yeah."  Dawn hesitated again, and Spike looked at her, concerned.  "He went all crazy, came after Buffy in the backyard, but she's fine!" she added hurriedly, as Spike's knuckles bulged, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.  "He got her, but Willow fixed it.  So, I guess that part was good."

"And then."  His voice had lost all intonation, and Dawn rushed to finish the story.

"And then Giles came, because Will was trying some sort of apocalypse thing – I know, you missed one, shocking – and she DID try to kill all of us, but then Xander got to her and made her stop.  I don't know about that, though – Buffy and I were about thirty feet under in the cemetery."  She twisted the drawstrings of her pants in her lap.  "Xander won't tell us what happened, but it all stopped."

"Right.  Good."  Spike's tone remained even, impersonal.  Calculating.  She watched him as he mentally sifted through the information, unsure of what to do or say next.

Spike himself was having a hard time sorting it all out.  Two years gone, all of this was.  He told his muscles to relax; they had tensed during Dawn's explanation, and they didn't understand the passage of time as well as his mind did.  He felt pity and rage and despair, but most of all, numbness.  This fight hadn't been his.  It was long over, the participants were all two years away from it.  And so he carefully, clinically deadened his reactions.  Removed them from himself.  He, too, would treat the entire event as dead and gone.  He breathed.  In and out.

"Well, bit."  His voice was startling in the stillness he'd created, but he gave it no thought.  "Were there any other world-ending events?"

Dawn smiled hesitantly.  "Well, Clem got a girlfriend.  That could be considered apocalyptic."

Spike chuckled, and the serious mood was broken.  Dawn eased her posture and drew one knee up to her chest, musing aloud. 

"Yeah, a live-in, gorgeous girlfriend!  So, in other words, you're not going back to the crypt."  She looked at him apologetically.  "Besides, it's totally overrun with cats.  He's the equivalent of the creepy old lady who lived down the street until her corpse was found half-eaten by her ninety tabbies."

"Vivid," Spike said.  Dawn shrugged.

"He's nice, it's just a little – overwhelming.  And, you know, smells of cat all the time.  So I don't go to the crypt that much…  On the home front, Xander moved into the house.  With Buffy and me."  She watched Spike very carefully as she spoke, but the car didn't swerve off the road, Spike didn't hit the brakes – he didn't even flinch.  She continued. 

"It's not like they're dating or anything.  It just worked out that way.  You know, after breaking up with Anya and everything.  Besides, the money helped and - you're just going to have to see how all that worked out later," she rushed, suddenly impatient.  She was beginning to recognize the surroundings, and her nerves were getting to her.  Besides, there was one more thing she needed to talk to him about.

"Spike?"

"Bit?"

"What happened with Buffy? What made you leave?"

Spike froze.  She hadn't asked in all this time; he thought he was safe.  He'd been planning to touch on the subject, obliquely, tell her that he and Buffy might have some problems when they met… But there she sat, just looking at him, expecting an answer.  She might think it was Buffy's fault that I left, he realized.  Dawn was always that bit protective of him. She wouldn't have a clue.  But to tell her…

He swallowed roughly.  She would hate him.  She would want to kill him, and he couldn't blame her.  Oz hadn't been particularly gentle about this certain transgression, either.  But she'd asked, and he couldn't lie.  Wouldn't lie.  He loved her enough not to lie.

"I attacked Buffy, when she was already hurt," he said.  "I was crazy, off my head, and I just…"  Saying it, with the images running through his head, made him feel ill.  He pulled to the side of the road, rested his head on his hands where they gripped the steering wheel.  His breath was coming quickly, in shudders, as he tried to focus on speaking.  Trying to tell her.

"Spike, are you okay?"

"God, no, bit.  I'm not."  His eyes watered, blurring his vision, head still down.  "I'm not, Dawn, and I wasn't then.  I attacked her.  I threw her to the floor, and hurt her, and made her hate me.  Unforgivable, Dawn.  Irrevocable.  And if she dusts me the moment you get in the door, I won't blame her." 

He could hear Dawn breathing, quickly.  He lifted his head a little, eyes closed.  "I dream of it a lot.  Of what happened.  Usually, she kills me at the end.  And usually I want her to."

"But what…?"  Dawn asked softly.

"You'll have to ask her the rest, Dawn.  Because I'm not – I can't…"  He breathed deeply, trying to get himself under control.  Finally, he looked up at her with reddened eyes and finished.

"Dawn, anything she tells you is true.  Whatever she says, no matter how horrible – believe her, I did it.  To her, when she was close to me.  When she'd let me in…" his speech was halting, and he paused to control it. 

"I can't tell you – she's your sister, and she has the right to keep her own counsel.  But I was wrong.  I was hurtful and gave her every reason to kill me."  He winced.  "I made her feel things no one should ever have to feel."

Dawn studied him.  "And?" she asked softly.  Her stare was so calm, solid, impassive; Spike wanted to hide from it.  But she deserves this much, he told himself.  At least this one person, he would love correctly.

"I can't bear to think of it, Dawn."  He shut his eyes briefly, but forced them open again, determined to face this head-on.  "I can't help it, and I can't change what happened, but I see it all the time.  Every time I think of it, I feel sick, like there's a hole in my chest.  My head clouds; I see what happened, what I said, what I DID, over and over again.  And I can't excuse it, ever.  I can't explain it away.  It's the single most despicable thing I've done, and I think of it every day.  It's always there, and I'm more ashamed than I knew was possible." 

He unconsciously placed his hand over his stomach; the tingling, aching, throbbing feeling was familiar now, but he never expected to get used to the physical manifestation of shame.  He shuddered silently.  Minutes passed on the side of the road as he clutched his gut, doubled over in silent anguish.  Dawn's breath slowed as she watched him, but she waited until his halting breaths had evened before she spoke.

"She did."  Dawn said.  She hadn't moved from her seat, still curled up against the door, but Spike didn't understand her words.  She said it again.

"She did.  Tell me."  Pause.  "Buffy told me what happened in the bathroom that day."

Unbidden, a guttural sound came from Spike; it sounded as though he'd just been punched.  He stared at Dawn, wide-eyed.

"So I knew, and I've known all along."  Dawn's poise was perfect, but stern.  Far from a teenager, she reminded Spike of a queen.  Regal.  Distant.  To be reckoned with.

"I'm not sure that she ever would have told me, Spike," she said honestly.  "But Xander gave me the short-and-shocking version, so I think she had to repair some of the damage.  She told me what happened, but she's never told me what she felt."

"Oh," Spike breathed.  Dazed.  She had known, and called him family.  She knew, and said she loved him.  His head ached.

"I don't know what's going on there," she added frankly.  "And I can't tell you what she'll do.  But," she added, "I don't think she wants you dead.  I guess you'll just have to ask her about that yourself, 'cause I'm not going to tell you more.  You might need to talk to each other, or you might need to go far away – but I love you both, and I don't know what to do here."

After she finished, they were silent.  Spike didn't know what to think of this strangely mature girl, who behaved in ways contrary to everything he knew.  There was nothing more to say, so he pulled back onto the road, his confused mind focused on the task at hand.  "Dawn.  I'm so sorry."

Dawn gazed at him.  "Yeah, I know.  You're also pretty guilty about it.  And I won't lie, I'm damn glad you are."  Spike nodded shortly.  Wouldn't have it any other way, he said to himself. 

"Do you want to see her again?"

Spike answered the question immediately.  "Only if she wants to see me." He'd been thinking about that question for two years now, and his reply was utterly truthful.  He would never force anything on her again.  Dawn drew the same conclusion, watching the resolve on his face.

"I'd do this any other way, if I could," he admitted.  "This isn't fair, just turning up, but I couldn't put you on a bus or taxi or anything; you'd have to tell her about me eventually, and the longer it's put off, the more like lying it becomes."  He pressed his lips together tight.  "So I'll bring you home, then leave.  If she wants to talk to me, I'll do whatever she wants.  But I'll drive back to New Hampshire and never come here again, otherwise." Two days of highways had formulated the plan, and it was all he could come up with right now.  It would have to do.

But he was still curious about something.

"Bit?"

"Yeah?"  She looked out the window, the breeze brushing her hair back from her face.  It was early, so early the paperboys hadn't made their rounds, but the curious light that preceded daybreak cast its bluish sheen on Dawn's upturned face.

"Why did you ask?"  He stammered a bit in asking.  "I mean – if you already knew."

"Because I'd already heard it from Xander, and from parts from Buffy.  But you're the one who did it.  I needed to hear it from YOU."  She stated it honestly and seriously, unsmiling.  She couldn't smile right now.  Maybe later, once she'd seen her sister.  But not right now. 

"Besides, that was a weird time.  She was so mean to you all the time, and then you went off with Anya, and I can't even pretend to comprehend a tiny bit of what was going with all of you.  It didn't help that you all kept me in the dark, about EVERYTHING, but still."  She shrugged.  "I don't get it, obviously.  It's a confusing thing for me to take a stand on.  This is a you-and-Buffy thing; if she doesn't want to see you, then I guess we'll know where she stands.  But for now, I'm withholding judgment.  She's my sister, and I love her, but she's shutting me out.  You're my friend, and I love you, but you hurt her."  She shook her head, frustrated.

"I know I'm way out of my depth here.  I don't know what to feel, so I'm waiting for one of you to tell me."

"Oh."  Spike didn't understand, but he'd learned that there were many things he didn't understand in the past years.  He kept driving.

"Spike," she relented, placing one slender hand on his arm, "It'll be okay.  Nothing's really changed between you and me, we just got this out in the open."  She sighed.  "And I did miss you, think about you, either way."

Her hand was light on his arm, but he treasured the feeling of it.  After all, who knew when someone would touch him gently and carefully again?

"Can't we just wait until she goes to work?"  Dawn asked as Spike stopped the van at the bottom of Revello.  Her calm demeanor had ebbed away as they approached the development, and she was now worriedly rocking in her seat.

"She works?"  Spike wasn't really invested in the question, trying to deal with his own emotions.  Too much pushing from Dawn, he realized, and he might just give in and drive away. 

"Yeah, at a bank.  Weird shifts, but it's a thing she does, she's been doing it for a while now," Dawn said, babbling.  "We could just wait until they both go to work; then they could come home and just find me in the house, and we wouldn't have this entire surprise-reunion-scenario going on."

"No."

"Why?"  Dawn panicked.  "It's not like you're all desperate to see her, and besides, it's getting kind of sunny."

"Firstly?  Daybreak's not for another fifteen minutes.  And secondly?"  He turned to her with new resolve.  "We may have made it out of the hospital without the police coming after us, but it's Monday morning, and there is no way in hell that the hospital hasn't found out your home number.  They'll call today."

"But I'm FINE!"  Dawn groaned, banging her head on the doorframe. 

"Their point exactly; they'll want the bill paid, and now.  And I don't want your sister to find out about your crash through a hospital accountant."  Spike restarted the engine and put the van into gear as Dawn thought that through. 

Coming up on the house was a surprise.  It was a lot smaller than Spike remembered.  But it looked the same.  Dread washed over him and he shuddered; just looking at it reminded him of his last time in that house, upstairs, where he never should have been…

"Okay.  Are we going to do this?"  Dawn was jittery; the combination of her injury, her escort and her sudden appearance were beginning to add up in her head.  And her arithmetic resulted in this being a very, very bad idea.  Her leg spasmed violently, involuntarily, and she gasped as her blanketed foot connected sharply with the dashboard.

Spike was out of the van in an instant, barely giving the dangerously light sky a second glance.  He pulled open Dawn's door and knelt, carefully checking his impromptu splint.

"Too tender?" he asked, gently touching her toe.  She shook her head, but he didn't want to risk it.  He hesitantly held his arms out, asking if he could carry her.

The expression on his face reminded Dawn of a kicked puppy.  Dawn flinched.  No more pet names, then.  No more camaraderie.  She hoped this awkwardness would be over soon; she didn't like her estrangement from Spike.  But she didn't want to hurt her sister, and her stomach twisted violently at the thought of carelessly springing Spike on Buffy. 

Had she misjudged her sister?  Dawn hadn't wanted to mention it to Spike - but a lot of the reason she was comfortable with him now, was because of Buffy.  Apparently, Buffy had still trusted him to help, trusted him with Dawn's life.  Had gone to him voluntarily.  And so, she thought nervously... maybe Buffy would be all right with this. 

But it was too much to second-guess, and her head was aching almost as much as her foot, so Dawn just wrapped her good arm around Spike's neck and let him lift her from the van, then stride across the lawn.

They were on the stoop in a matter of seconds; Dawn could feel Spike's ribs rise and fall erratically under her hip.  If his heart could beat, she was pretty sure that it'd be hammering through his chest.  Then again, her heart was making up for the lack.  It throbbed sharply, almost painfully, as she stared at the familiar bronze numbers. She wanted to run away.

"Right, Dawn." 

"Yeah, I know."  She pressed the doorbell, and Spike took a few steps back.  No need to be overwhelming, he supposed. 

Dawn nodded briskly at his movement, then suddenly reached up and planted a light kiss on Spike's cheek. 

He looked at her quizzically, unsure of whether he should smile or consider it a goodbye.  Dawn took a deep breath, letting out a gust of donut scent. 

"Okay.  Well, it has to be said - there's no way this thing can be anything but fucked up."  She shook her head wearily.

Spike chuckled weakly.  "Never has 'facing the firing squad' seemed so literal."

Voices could be heard inside the house, and Spike's arms tensed around Dawn.  She hugged him clumsily with her casted arm.  They clung to each other briefly, desperately.

"Thank you for bringing me home, Spike."

"You belong with your family," Spike replied, realizing too late the double edge of his words.  What he was about to lose, having just found it.  "I wish I could fix it, no matter what the cost."

Dawn smiled at him ruefully.  "I wish everything had a happy ending."

And then footsteps were at the door, the door was opening, and there was no time left for wishing.

TBC