Chapter Fourteen

Surprises

Dawn hung up the phone and took a deep breath before going down to the basement to face her recently very scary sister. Buffy had been…different…for a long time now. But as of yet, she had never done anything to make Dawn afraid of her. Oh, sure, the yelling factor had definitely increased, but Buffy had never raised a hand to her. And Dawn was sure that she never would.

Until she saw Spike's crypt.

Until she realized that the bruises and other injuries she had been seeing on him for months were from Buffy.

Now, though she knew she had to do her best to act as if nothing had changed, she knew that as far as she was concerned, everything had changed. She didn't even know her sister anymore. She went down to the basement, where her sister was working out, raining savage, powerful blows on the punching bag strung from the ceiling. Shuddering, Dawn tried to block out the image of her friend's battered face, caused by those very same furious fists.

"Hey, Buff," she said casually, glad that her sister was too distracted to notice any tension in her tone.

"Hey," Buffy gasped out, breathing hard, not letting up on the bag.

"Can I go to Tara's again tonight?" Dawn asked. "We had so much fun last night."

"School night."

Crap.

"But all my homework's done, and Tara said she'd be sure I got to school on time…"

"No. School night," Buffy repeated firmly, never even looking at her sister. And her tone was one that Dawn knew was not going to waver.

"Fine," she snarled at her sister, as she turned and flounced back up the stairs. Ordinarily she would have put up more of a fuss, but she didn't want to make Buffy suspicious by seeming too anxious to go to Tara's, so she decided not to push the issue.

Still, this presented a problem.

Dawn went all the way upstairs to her room, to be sure there was no chance of her sister overhearing, then locked the door and picked up the phone. She dialed Tara's number. It rang three times, and then she heard the click of the receiver being picked up, but not a word. She was not surprised; this meant Spike had answered the phone. Tara had caller ID, so he knew if Buffy's number showed up, it could be Dawn. But just in case, he would pick up the phone and not say anything. If it was Buffy, she would assume there was a problem with the line. If it was Dawn…

"Hey, Spike, it's me," she whispered.

"Hey, Bit, what's up?"

"I can't come over there tonight."

"Bollocks." There was silence for a few moments, before he began. "Well, let's see… where's your sis?"

"She's working out. She just started so she'll be in the basement for a while."

"Well…if you can come outside for a few minutes, I can meet you at the end of your street," Spike suggested.

"That'll work," Dawn agreed.

"Call me back when you've got it, Pet."

Dawn hung up the phone and took another deep breath. Now for the hard part. She got up and walked across the hall to the master bedroom…Willow's bedroom. The witch was at an evening study group for one of her college classes, and was not due back for about an hour. She should be safe, unless Buffy caught her. She would have to be quick.

Ducking through the door, closing it behind her, Dawn immediately set to work. She first looked through the books on the bookshelves, but found nothing of any interest. Then she went through the dresser drawers, but there were no sinister-looking books hidden there, either. Finally she checked the most obvious hiding place: under the bed.

Willow never was very original, she smirked as she pulled out a dusty, thick volume labeled simply, "Resurrection". Jackpot. The book was stacked on top of several notebooks. Unable to restrain her curiosity, Dawn pulled them out and quickly discovered that they were Willow's old diaries.

Suddenly, she had an idea. Judging by the layer of dust coating the top book in the stack, Willow did not look through these often, and with any luck would never know she had taken anything. She quickly scanned the books until she found one beginning just before the time of Buffy's death, and ending about a month ago. She picked it up too and hurried out of the room and back to her own, where she wrapped the books together in one of her sweaters and picked up the phone.

Three rings. Silence.

"I've got it."

"'K, Pet. It'll take me about fifteen minutes to get over there. Sit tight til then, I don't want you standin' out alone waitin' on me. You'd make right tempting beastie bait."

"Eww, Spike," Dawn groaned.

"Well, I'm just saying! I don't want anything to happen to you, pet. Just do as I say," Spike argued, his voice a bit gruffer.

Dawn knew it was only because he cared, and although she would never have admitted it, it made her feel all warm and safe inside when he was all grumbly and protective of her. "Ok," she conceded before hanging up.

Restless and antsy, she waited a bare ten minutes at the most before grabbing her jacket and hurrying downstairs. She stood at the basement door for a moment and listened; Buffy was still pounding away at the punching bag, and the frequency of her blows had not let up a bit. She would be at it a while. Dawn hurried out the door, leaving it unlocked and shutting it quietly behind her.

Spike was waiting as promised at the end of Revello Drive. Impulsively she hugged him, and he laughed softly. "Missed you too, pet," he murmured, kissing the top of her head.

"Here," she whispered, breathless with running and the cold winter air, as she handed him the bundle. "I took her diary too, from when Buffy was…gone," she added, beaming up at him proudly.

"You're a regular little spy, you are, love," he smiled appreciatively as he took it from her.

"Just thought it might be helpful."

"'M sure it will. Now you get back inside, love. I'm gonna head on back now. I'll see you soon," he urged her, glancing anxiously around to be sure they weren't seen.

"Ok," she nodded, turning to go. "See you." She paused, then turned and said, very quickly, almost as if she was afraid if she waited a moment longer she wouldn't say it at all, "I love you, Spike."

His eyes widened with surprise. His throat constricted with emotion, but it wouldn't do to let the Bit see him off his guard. He swallowed back the tears and said softly, "You, too, Bit. Get on home now."

As he turned to go he felt a warmth flooding him, despite the chill of his own body and the chill of the winter night air. First Tara. Now Dawn. He didn't deserve this much love.

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he did not even think about or recognize the figure walking toward him down the sidewalk, until she smoothly stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

He looked up past the firmly crossed arms across her chest to her face…Willow.

"Hey, Red," he said, trying for casual. His thoughts were racing. Buffy didn't want her friends to know about them, so she wouldn't have said anything. Tara had erased what Willow had read in her mind. Willow had no way of knowing that anything was up. Just. Act. Natural.

"Hey, Spike," she replied with a cool smile. No, not cool. Frigid. Chilling. "Where you headed?"

"H-home," he replied, not quite meeting her eyes, inwardly cursing the stammer. Wanker. Wanker! Nothing to fear, here. 'Less you make her suspicious by acting guilty!

"Huh. Your crypt's that way, isn't it?" Her smile widened slightly. What was that saying? Something about a cat and a canary?

"Um…yeah…I…was going to Willie's first for a bit," he corrected with a nervous laugh.

Willow glanced at the package under his arm, and he froze.

"Is that…Dawn's sweater?" Willow asked indignantly, looking up at him with suspicion and disgust in her eyes.

"What, this? No…no, it's…it's…" Abruptly he darted around her. Quick as a flash she grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

He was surprised at her strength. Had Red always been this strong? Or maybe…maybe he was just weak. Too many weeks of not fighting back, being broken down.

But there was no more time to wonder, because Willow was reaching for the package under his arm. If she found it, he knew there would be serious consequences. Willow was very powerful, and she would not be pleased, to say the least. Bracing himself for the pain, he did the only thing he could think of.

He drew back his fist and punched her. Hard. It had to be hard, because she would have to be out of commission long enough for him to recover from the pain caused by his chip.

Which did not go off.

Spike stood there for a moment, stunned, disbelieving, as Willow crumpled to the ground, moaning in pain, but conscious. Then he remembered the situation at hand. There would be time to figure this out later. For now, he had to get back to Tara's. He took off at a dead run down the street toward Tara's house.

With trembling hands he unlocked the door and hurried inside, locking the door behind him. There was no way that Willow could know where he was headed, but he was still shaken. Only once his mind had processed that he had made it to safety, with the books still in hand and intact, did he allow himself to remember.

The chip had not gone off. Was it a simple one-time malfunction? Had the bloody thing finally quit altogether? He had asked himself the same questions whenever he had hit Buffy and felt no pain. And in the end it had turned out that nothing was wrong with his chip…

Something was wrong with the girl.

His eyes widened as he considered the idea. He had to find a way to test it out, but with an angry witch out there, who now had a pounding headache, courtesy of Spike, he was not planning on going out again.

When Tara got home, he eagerly met her at the door, pouring out the story before she could even get inside. It took a couple of disjointed, rambling tellings of the story before he could calm down enough to make it make sense. Once everything was out, Tara sat there on the loveseat, a troubled frown on her face.

"So…either something's wrong with your chip…or something's wrong…with Will."

"That's about the size of it, love."

Tara was silent for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders, standing up. "Well, let's test it out."

"Come again, love?" Spike raised an eyebrow at her dubiously, suspecting what she had in mind and not liking it at all.

"Hit me," Tara confirmed his suspicions, with a two-handed, beckoning, "let's-fight" sort of gesture that coming from her just looked cute.

Spike laughed aloud, shaking his head as he stood up too, both hands out in front of him in denial. "I am not gonna hit you, love!" he declared.

"Come on, Spike, it's the only way to know for sure. We know there's nothing wrong with me. You hit me before and nothing happened," Tara pointed out.

Spike looked down, embarrassed. "Sorry bout that, pet."

"Don't be," she smiled. "You helped me. And you'll be helping me now."

"How's that?"

"If the chip only shorts out on Buffy and Willow…then chances are whatever's wrong with Buffy is also wrong with Willow." She paused, giving him a moment to digest that. Then she concluded, "If Buffy's obsession is you…who would Willow's obsession be?"

Spike's eyes widened in understanding. "You could be in danger."

Tara nodded apologetically. "The only way to know for sure is to check the chip. Hit me."

Spike looked very unhappy. He did not want to hurt her at all. But what she was saying made sense. "I don't wanna do this, love," he said softly, meeting her eyes with an anguished look.

"It doesn't have to hurt much…does it?" Tara asked. "Like…you can't even point a gun at someone without the thing going off. So if you just smacked me…not too hard, but enough to sting…you should feel something, right?"

"Yeah," Spike nodded slowly, looking a little less distraught.

Tara held out her arm. "Slap me," she urged him.

Reluctantly he obeyed…and winced as a jolt of pain, not as extreme as if he had struck her harder, but still decidedly unpleasant, shot through his head.

"Well that's that, then," Tara said softly, going to him and sitting him down on the loveseat, gently massaging his aching head. "It's not you. So it must be Willow."

"Lookin' more and more like it's that spell all the time, innit, love?" Spike pointed out.

"The only way to know for sure is to check out these books," Tara grimaced at the heavy volume on the counter.

Spike groaned, putting a hand to his head, then cast her a sly sidelong smile as he purred coyly, "Not tonight, love. I've got a headache."