*
"This sucks. Sucks sucks SUCKS," Buffy grumbled, pouting at her fingernails as she sat back on her heels. Her hands were caked with grime and dirt, and the one perfect nail she'd been cherishing for weeks was now hanging by a thread. She whimpered. "I have no luck. Luck has abandoned me, and I am now completely jinxed. Stupid vampires."
She ripped the nail off, wincing, but gamely drove her hands back into the churned soil in front of her. It was a rookie mistake, she knew, but her mind had been on other things. So when the newly-turned vamp had started digging his way out of his coffin, she'd mistimed her reaction; of course, staking too soon resulted in a bizarre phenomenon. Only known to the lucky few, she bitterly noted to herself. The vamp dusted, the stake fell into the ground, and then all of the displaced earth? Right on top. And that was why she was currently stuck on her hands and knees in the cemetery, trying to extract one tiny piece of wood from the grave's ruins. She sighed again as she started to get beyond elbow-level, straightening up to strip off her overcoat.
The night was much cooler than most, making her skin rise up in gooseflesh as it came in contact with the slight breeze rustling through the graveyard. This was one of the more minor Sunnydale graveyards, by comparison, but also one of Buffy's personal favorites. She'd had some of her best patrols with Angel through here, memories that were oddly sweetened by the fact that she hadn't seen him in years. It was nice to go back to that place in her mind, when she had felt so safe. Protected loved by Angel at any cost. Her mother waiting at home with an old movie. Her friends at the library, excited by the newest monster or out at the Bronze. Giles. Giles anytime. She felt her throat closing up and took a deep breath, blinking, pushing the emotions away.
The difficult memories came a lot, lately. She'd been in such shock after the entire Glory-fallout, and then suddenly having to cope with – well, everything, it seemed – the whole weight of life was only now impressing itself on her. She hadn't noticed at first, it was so gradual. Slowly feeling more tired, more worn-down. Everything reminded her of something unfinished – or finished too soon.
For instance – Joyce. Windlawn Cemetery had become quite a hangout for a while, once the vamps figured out that Buffy hated mixing business with family. She hadn't meant to create such a blatant loophole; it had just happened. Something seemed so wrong about staking and slaying right next to her mother's tombstone. Like throwing it in her face, somehow – "Look, Mom, I'm not a normal girl at all! I've gotten even weirder! Sorry about the slime!"
But those kind of emotional allowances were the ones that got you killed. It had been a mistake, and she had fixed it in one violent raid, Xander in tow. Of course, she'd also spent the entire following day at her mother's grave, talking quietly, hoping that her mother couldn't tell the difference between her words and her emotions. She'd put on a brave face, but inside? Inside she was dying. And she didn't know what to do about it.
She shook her head, returning to easier thoughts. No, this could be a good graveyard. Small and contained, and bathed in moonlight it looked mystical. Something out of Shakespeare, or as close to Shakespeare as Buffy had ever come. It was one of the old ones, with family plots dating back into the 1700s. She didn't get the chance to come here much, but she made the most of these nights.
It was lovely, really. She'd come here about once a month, on a beautiful night, dressed in something that made her feel pretty. And then she'd kill something. All in all, a nice night out.
But tonight was obviously not one of those nights. "Needle in a haystack," she muttered, lying flat on the grass, her entire arm plunged into the ground. Stupid stake. Anywhere else, she'd just leave the damn thing. It was procedure and everything! Stake falls in an unreachable place (or somewhere that would ruin her outfit), she just let it go. Kids whittle sticks all the time, right? But there's an entirely different twist to finding a disturbed grave, shattered coffin and a splinter of carved wood. Even the Sunnydale police might figure that one out.
Suddenly, her fingers brushed against something solid. "Finally!" she breathed, dislodging the stake with a sharp tug. Her arm came out of the ground streaked with mud, all the way up to her shoulder; she looked down at her t-shirt warily. Yup, big ol' clumps of dirt, allll over. Crap. She shook off as much soil as she could before pulling the coat back on. She could still feel tiny bits of sand grating against her skin.
"Well, isn't this just perfect," she said to herself. Covered in dirt, out on one of the coldest spring nights she could remember, when she could be home watching TV with Dawn. Curled up, teasing each other, Xander not being worried, maybe they'd crank-call Dawn's boyfriend or something…
"All of which would be REALLY NICE right now!" Silence. As usual, no one else was around to answer her. She kicked one last clod of earth back on top of the grave before walking towards the cemetery gates, a slow, loose-jointed walk that was more of a mosey than anything else. It gave her time to think before she got to Clem's.
And she'd need the time. She buried her face in her hands, groaning. She must be insane, that's the only explanation. She was so aware that her mother would've hated what Buffy had become after her death. The way she'd treated him, humiliated him, outright used him. And then, when it had all come apart, when Spike had finally snapped… Her stomach clenched, guiltily. Willow would call it Stockholm Syndrome or something, she was sure. Then again, Buffy thought uncharitably, Willow mind-wiped her girlfriend and was forgiven - so wasn't that a double-standard?
It didn't matter, she realized. No one else matters. She wanted to see Spike – talk to him, remember him. Remind herself of him. It was confusing – her memories of Spike had gotten all mixed up with everyone else's opinions and biases. She needed to figure him out again, because she thought she'd had him down…
"Babbling." She shook her head. "When did it all get so mixed up?" Her voice sounded weak in her ears, and she straightened. No good to broadcast her weaknesses to the ENTIRE world, she guessed. She picked up her pace, marching out of the cemetery gates and starting off in the direction of Clem's crypt. The longer she put it off, the more messy it would get in her head. So she put it all aside, straightened her shoulders and began the cross-town trek to see Clem, murmuring as she went.
"Clem, is Spi..." No. "If you see…" No. "Hey, bud! Guess who's back in…" Oh, god…
Xander stayed on the couch for a good half-hour after Buffy left, barely watching the television flicker, his mind moving in frantic circles. Each scenario he imagined was more gruesome, each one more devastating. And in every one, all he could do was stand back and watch. Helpless. Absolutely powerless until it was time to pick up the pieces – if there were any pieces left at all. A far cry from the daydreams he used to have; the ones where he was the hero, able to swoop in, save the day. No. Now all he could do was wait, and watch. And feel helpless.
Of course, there were also other things to deal with… he walked to the doorjamb and spoke quietly.
"Dawn, you can come down now."
A nearby sigh confirmed his suspicions, and he walked to the foot of the stairs to watch Dawn uncurl herself from her post at the top of the stairs. She began to haul Fugly down with her, thought better of it and tossed the quilt into the hall behind her. She was walking without difficulty, he saw, just favoring her ankle a bit. He waited until she got to the bottom before gesturing her into the living room, where she immediately curled into a ball at the far end of the couch. His heart twisted a little when he saw how much younger she seemed, just in these few motions. He sat on the other end of the couch, his body turned towards her, waiting for her to speak first.
"How did you know I was still there?" She shifted a little to ask, peering at him through a curtain of hair.
He smiled. "Ah, easy. I didn't hear you fall up the last few steps. You know, your usual pattern? Step, step, step, THUNK!" He mimed as he spoke, and Dawn allowed a small smile through the hair that fell across her face. Xander grinned back.
"Well, ankle, hello." But there was something else on her mind, thought Xander. Sure enough, she began to fidget with the piping on the couch cushion, a very familiar Dawn-trait. It meant that she was trying to phrase something correctly in her head, and Xander knew enough to wait her out.
"That whole thing was about Spike, right?"
Xander flipped through a magazine on the coffee table. "Yeah, part of it."
"Oh."
Xander glanced over at her. "I'm sorry that you had to hear that, though."
Dawn tossed the pillow back on the couch. "I'm not six, Xander, and you're not actually my parents. I can take the arguing, but I'm telling you – lay off the Spike thing."
Xander winced. "Dawn, I know you like him, but.."
She cut him off.
"Xander, I should be pretty pissed off at you right now," Dawn said, her expression frank. "You were a total jerk this morning, and SO rude to Spike, and I pretty much thought you sucked until Buffy came home."
Xander slumped further into the couch. "What changed your mind?" he asked dully.
Dawn shrugged. "Buffy said that I should lay off. Trust me, I was in full rant when I first saw her, and she had to talk me down from quite the high horse. But she did, and so I'm not mad." She leaned forward, angling so that he had to look at her. "Xander, she said that the Spike thing was between you and her."
Xander's heart lifted. Oh, thank god, at least she admitted that there was an issue to be faced! But Dawn wasn't through.
"Then again, Spike and Buffy have a thing of their own going on." She raised her eyebrows at him. "And THAT has nothing to do with US."
Xander looked away. He tossed the magazine onto the table, and it thumped – a little louder than he'd meant, actually. He thought of explaining that to Dawn, but really wasn't in the mood. If she wanted to think he was in a huff, fine. This day had been too long already.
"So you and Buffy had a good time this afternoon?" he changed subjects wearily, earning a suspicious look from Dawn. "Get to talk, trash the house, all those good things?"
"Well, we talked about you and Spike." She glared to remind him that she wasn't through with that particular discussion. Then her forehead creased. "And I was kind of worried about her being mad at me," she admitted. "I mean, the Spike thing, the plane thing, the hospital thing – any one of the above would usually earn a lecture, but I think I overloaded her so much that she'd just grateful I'm not dead. Or something."
"Or something," Xander agreed. He paused. "So how was she with all that... stuff?"
"You mean the fact that I brought Spike home?" Xander nodded slightly, staring at the table. "She's – confused, I think."
"Yeah, that sounds about right."
Dawn rolled her eyes. "No, it's more than that." She struggled to explain. "She didn't get to really think about what happened with Spike - it happened, and then he was gone. For two YEARS. No contact, no nothing." She pulled her knees up to her chest, her hip popping audibly. Xander looked at her and winced.
"My psych teacher would call it 'lack of closure', but I think it goes farther than that… Buffy's not exactly normal, Xander."
He groaned. "So everyone keeps on saying, but why give up the dream? I'm all for a pursuit of picket-fenced happiness, and Spike? Not part of the sunny equation."
Dawn scowled at him. "Like she's had the choice, you idiot! Have you even MET the other boyfriends she's had?"
"Hey! I liked Riley! Angel, not so much, but at least he didn't try to force himself on her…"
She interrupted him brusquely. "Oh, what, we're going with SUCCESS RATE, now? 'Cause he left on his own, Xander, unlike others I could mention who had to get clocked with a desk and locked in a cage. In fact, he comes in a distant second in the persistence stakes."
Xander spun to face her. "What? Who told you about that?"
Dawn snorted. "Buffy, duh. And if I could remind you of some finer past-relationship traits," she added, ticking the points off on her fingers, "We've got a psychotic murderer who tortured, raped and killed, not to MENTION told her she was a bad lay at the age of 17; some asshole who pursued her, used her, then dropped her; Riley the wonderboy, who cheated on her, with VAMPIRES no less; and then we've got Spike." She paused, stumped.
"Who tried to rape her," Xander supplied.
Dawn winced, plowing ahead nonetheless. "But see, Buffy wouldn't say that. She won't deny it, because all of you are gung-ho about this Spike Is Evil kick, but to me? She doesn't say rape. There's something else going on there, I don't know what, but she thinks that it's not all his fault."
"Oh, and that's real healthy."
"I don't CARE what you think, Xander!" Dawn exploded, jumping off the couch to tower over him. "And neither should she! Because while you're being all PC and feminista and whatever the hell you think you're doing, she's got something else going on inside of her. Something you're not listening to, something you're making her bury and it's eating at her. She's not well – have you noticed that?"
The sudden change in tone startled him. "Yeah, she's been a little down lately…"
"More than down." She paced. "Do you think the forced-perkiness didn't come through on the phone? I know her better than that." Her breath was catching in her throat, and her eyes glinted as she spun to look at him again.
"I don't know what's wrong with her, Xander. I should know, and I should be able to fix it, because I'm her sister and that's how it works. But … I DON'T." The last word came out in a sob. Dawn folded her arms around herself, angrily fighting for control.
"Dawnie…" Xander stood to go to her, and she stepped back quickly.
"No, don't hug me yet." He let his arms fall to his sides.
"I can talk to her. I can listen to her. I can threaten Spike, and I have," she insisted, "And I can do the same thing to you." The tears dried up before they could fall, and the sheer determination blazed on her face.
"She wants to see Spike, and that might help her. So she gets to see Spike." She spoke evenly, having gotten back in control. "She doesn't want you involved in it – so you won't be. And I swear, Xander, I will bodily throw myself in between her and anything that's hurting her. Because… something's hurting her. And I don't know what it is, so I'll just protect her from anything I can."
Xander watched as the tension left her, the stiff lines and angles softening, the relief on her face as she finally said what she needed to. He half-smiled at her sadly.
"I guess we feel pretty much the same on that count – I've just been doing it wrong, hunh?" Dawn looked at him, confused. Mentally, she reviewed her words… and yeah, she could see how he was in the same boat. He was trying to protect Buffy too. She bit her lip hesitantly.
Xander saw the indecision and reached one arm out to her. "I know I go overboard sometimes, and she opens up to you more than me… so, want to try it together?" He shrugged self-consciously. "You rein me in, I'll back you up if she starts pulling big-sister rank?"
Dawn nodded, sniffing, and smiled. She crossed the few steps between them and curled into his chest; he couldn't help but notice that she was quickly gaining on him in height. He pressed his cheek against her hair and chuckled into her ear.
"Y'know, you're the only woman in my life who can actually put her head on my shoulder?" Dawn laughed against him weakly. She sniffed again, harder.
"Yeah, we're surrounded by midgets," she replied. One of her hands came up to rub at her cheek. "I've cried too much this week – my eyes are all stingy."
"Gotta put a stop to that, then."
"Yeah."
They stood there for a few more moments before Dawn pulled away. She swayed a little on her feet, and Xander grabbed her before she could topple. They both laughed awkwardly.
"Dude – I'm just not cut out for these emotional things," groaned Dawn, limping back to the couch.
"Ah, shame," Xander intoned sadly. "I was planning on watching the Indian channel for a bit, get some high Bollywood drama in, but if you're too fragile…"
Dawn grinned. "Oh, whatever! It's exactly what the doctor ordered." She reconsidered. "Well, that and mac and cheese."
"I'm cooking you dinner now? Outrageous hussy!"
"Opportunistic hussy," Dawn corrected. She curled up on the couch again as Xander grabbed the remote and flicked through the channels. He had work in the morning – early, she remembered, but he was planning to stay up and watch Indian movies with her for the next few hours? She suspected they both had the same idea in mind, and she ventured to say it out loud.
"So... we're staying up until she gets home, right?"
"You betcha, missy." Xander answered over his shoulder, not even pausing before he made his way to the kitchen.
Dawn settled back into the cushions happily. The crying jag had sucked, and she really hoped that it wouldn't become a recurring theme, but at least she and Xander had straightened some things out. And now, instead of Buffy fighting Xander, or hiding stuff from him, she could relax. Which could be nothing but good, in Dawn's opinion. Buffy could go out and save the world. Dawn would just stay here, behind the scenes, and quietly save Buffy.
After all, she mused. A sister's got to be good for something.
"Layla! Layla…?" Buffy called, peering around the door of the crypt. She tiptoed in hesitantly. "Or Clem? I'll take a Clem, if he's around…"
"Buffy!" She jumped in shock as Clem suddenly materialized behind her. His face fell into a guilty expression as she gasped, trying to regain her breath.
"God, Clem! Not to criticize, it's your place and everything, but the sneaking up on people? Not good!"
Clem shut the door behind her, holding three squirming kittens in his arms. "Sorry! These little guys just keep trying to make a break for it, and I always find them pawing around the door, so I'm always behind it…" He grinned. "You should've seen Layla's reaction one day! Cheetos EVERYWHERE!"
"Bet the cats loved that," Buffy smiled. She wasn't a frequent visitor, but came often enough that the cats recognized her scent. She quickly recognized some of her personal favorites winding around her feet and cautiously made her way over to a bench, stepping delicately so as not to crush any tails. "Is Layla around? I was at the market, I got her some maraschino cherries…"
"Oh, no, she's in Tuscon this week," Clem said apologetically. "That's so nice, though – I'm sure she'd've appreciated the thought." He gave up his kitten struggle and set them down on the floor, where they instantly vanished into a feline sea. He sighed.
"No biggie, Clem, it's not like they go off – ooh, and I got you Pringles, too." She reached into the plastic bag and drew out the chips and cherries, handing them to the excited demon.
"How did you know? I JUST ran out of these… ooh, Texas Barbeque, a fine vintage." He gleefully pottered over to the cabinet in the corner. Buffy reached down to pick up her favorite cat, a jet-black manx, and thrilled in the deep thrumming purr he let out at her touch.
"Hi, Rune! Yeah, I missed you, too." She allowed him to settle in her lap as Clem waded towards her again, delighted that the cat had remembered her. Clem eyed her shopping bag warily as the cats began to swarm, intrigued.
"Ah, Buffy? Is there anything important in there?"
Buffy glanced down at the bag. It was being batted by one of the sassier tabbies. "Nah, don't worry, it's only waffle mix. Not something they'd want." She scrunched her face up at Rune, scratching his forehead. "And even if you did, the cardboard packaging would defeat you, isn't that right?" She sighed in sympathy, cradling the cat. "Oh, but for opposable thumbs, you could take over the world. Evilly, I'm sure. And I don't think I'd have the heart to slay ya." Rune looked at her appraisingly.
"I'm not so sure about the cardboard thing, Buffy – they're pretty crafty." Clem watched another cat prodding at the plastic shopping bag for a moment before taking it and hanging it up on a hook. "You should see some of the plans they come up with."
Buffy snorted, setting Rune on the ground. "Oh, go ahead and call them 'plots' – it sounds more evil-mastermindy." She looked around the crypt brightly. "So – how have you two been doing?"
Clem beamed. "Great, great! Layla just got a promotion at the travel agency, we fixed up the basement, so it's going real well." He paused, looking vaguely uncomfortable, before stumbling on. "And you guys? Doing good?"
Buffy hesitated a little, worried about the pause. Clem wasn't the best liar – her mind made a completely unwarranted leap, and she wondered if he had another woman around. But she quickly shrugged the thought off. Stupid – Layla was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and Clem knew it. She smiled.
"Yeah, everything's cool. Xander's doing work for some pretty important people, and I just got a week off from the bank – Dawn's home for a bit, too, which is really nice." She smiled involuntarily, and Clem grinned back at her.
"Aww – she's such a sweet girl, tell her to come around any time. Haven't seen enough of her lately." He caught himself. "You, either, though – I mean, haven't seen enough of either of you, but you probably haven't seen enough of each other, so…" He stopped, confused. Buffy laughed.
"We missed you too, Clem. You should come over one night." And having gotten the pleasantries out of the way, Buffy realized that she'd better get to the point before they settled into an awkward silence.
"Okay. Clem." She took a breath. "Someone else came into town today, with my sister, and I was kind of hoping that you…"
"Oi, Clem! Is that Layla?"
The voice that echoed up from the basement was unmistakable, and Buffy shot to her feet, causing the cats around her to yowl in alarm. Just as startled by the feline chorus, she collapsed back onto the seat, looking at Clem in shock. He waved his hands helplessly, guilt all over his face.
"I'm sorry! I thought he'd be down there longer, I didn't know this would be a thing…" he whispered. He perked up hopefully. "You could take off! He'll never know - I'll tell him he heard the television, the Spanish channel's got lots of talky women…"
"No, that's dumb!" hissed Buffy. Clem looked hurt. "I mean, it's not dumb, it's a really good idea that I would follow in a second – but if I do it, he'll know and then I'll feel really dumb and it is just WAY too late now, so I'm going to have to … Hey!"
Spike gaped at her from the top of the ladder. He must have just come from the shower, she guessed – his hair was wet, and though he was wearing his jeans and boots, his chest was still bare. He seemed to realize this the same moment she did, and made a strangely chaste motion by holding the sweater in his hand against himself.
"Oh, god, sorry – and Hi." He was completely flustered, caught between putting on his sweater and climbing the rest of the ladder. Quickly realizing that a certain order was required, he slipped up the rest of the ladder and in one fluid movement yanked the sweater over his head. He retreated to the far side of the ladder, briskly running his hands through his hair to shed the extra water. "Right. Hi." He paused awkwardly, his weight on one foot, nodding to himself.
Clem stepped into the breach timidly. "If you guys want to talk, I can go somewhere else for a while…"
"No, that's not a problem!" Buffy said instantly, almost running over Spike's exclamation of "Not getting run out of your own home, you're not!" They looked at each other and ducked their heads.
Clem's eyes darted between them. He winced exaggeratedly. "Okay. Well, I'm not really the conflict-resolution kind of guy, that's much more Layla's thing, so I'm going to feed the cats and then…" he fished, "…do something else."
"I didn't mean to interrupt," Spike shrugged. "Thanks for the shower, Clem. I'll talk to you later." He began to make his way to the door.
"Okay, well – come back when you need to," Clem offered, shooting the pair one more hunted look before disappearing into the basement, cats yowling down after him. Buffy realized that Spike was about to run off, and just as suddenly realized that she actually did want to talk to him. Quickly, she spit something out.
"I guess he really is going for food – they seem to know it," she said as Spike passed her. He turned and she gestured to the trapdoor, which was now completely surrounded by very noisy cats. "I'll go deaf if I stay in here."
Spike nodded hesitantly before holding the crypt door open for her. Okay, Buffy thought. We're really going to have the talk now. Her stomach flipped. She distracted herself by making sure that none of the kittens, back on door duty, escaped with them. By the time they'd managed to close the door with all parties on the correct sides, both she and Spike were giggling uncontrollably.
"Jesus – the gray one's trying to come under the door!" chuckled Spike as a tiny paw poked between the door and the ground. "Persistent little bugger."
"Did you see the white one? Total princess – all 'I don't know what you're talking about, I'm not trying to escape' and then with the CLAWS when I caught her! Look!" Buffy held out her hand; the thin parallel lines were just visible in the moonlight, and Spike bent down to get a closer look at them, vamping to improve his eyesight.
All at once, Buffy's Slayer sense went insane, and she gasped – a strangled, rattled sound that caused Spike to freeze. But once he saw the muscles and tendons of her arm react he ducked away instantly, keeping his face averted. Something was very wrong, and for him to have been in that position and not-dusty, it wasn't aimed at him. It was something wrong with Buffy. He stopped a few yards away to shake off his gameface, only looking up once his features had returned to their human cast.
Buffy was plastered against the entrance to the crypt, her eyes squeezed shut, fingers grating against the stone behind her. Her breath was coming in shuddered gasps, racking her tiny body in convulsions that didn't seem natural to Spike's eye. It took a few moments for her body to relax, the rigor to leave her joints, and when she finally opened her eyes again it was to the sight of a visibly concerned Spike. Concerned, but keeping his distance.
"Did I do that?" he ventured, in a tone so tremulous that she almost wanted to laugh. This had been the worst one yet, by far, and she wasn't sure if it had something to do with her emotional connections to Spike or what, but she felt as though she'd run a marathon. Without slayer strength. She shook her head.
"No. Well, yes, but not really. I think it's a one-time thing," she said, wincing as the tips of her fingers began to burn, worn red against the door.
"God, Buffy – I could go back in," he suggested, then thought again when he saw three little paws under the door. "Or I could go to the park, or…" He stopped desperately. "I'll go wherever you tell me to go. I have a van, I could go there, it wouldn't be a problem, it's sunproofed." He trailed off. The merits of the van weren't so important, really, and all he wanted to do was leave her be.
"No," she breathed. Her eyes were too bright, and she seemed embarrassed by her weakness. "No, you can go wherever you want. I'm fine with that. But I have to go now." She pushed herself away from the crypt and began to walk off into the night. But her stride was tight and sore, her shoulders stiffly fixed in an odd manner.
Hell, thought Spike. She'll get killed in a second, moving like that. He jogged towards her, stopping about ten feet away. "Buffy?"
She turned to look at him – no reaction like last time, at least, but he didn't think she had the energy to do that again. As it was, she barely looked able to stand. "Yeah?"
"If you want, I could walk that way." He made a vague motion in the direction of Revello, and Buffy nodded, smiling faintly.
"That would be fine, too," she assented, perfectly aware that he was keeping an eye on her, though neither would admit it.
He settled into an abbreviated lope parallel to her, trying to shorten his stride circumspectly. She noticed, of course, but he was pretending that everything was normal. He was looking around animatedly, like a tourist on vacation, and she bit back a smile. She remembered this Spike. She knew it was only a facet of the whole, and she'd have to relearn some of the other aspects, too… but this was good, for now.
TBC
