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Ninth, Don’t Neglect Responsibilities



Note to self: make sure to arrange sleeping positions so that the vampire doesn’t end up by the telephone.



Cause then, well, bad things tend to happen.



In the haze of sleepiness, I think I heard the phone ring once. . . and I definitely remember Spike’s brief curse as he picked up and slammed down the receiver.



But then, dreams claimed me again, and the next thing I know. . .



“Good morning!” a voice sing-songs in my ear. . . loudly in my ear.



I groan as my dreams are disrupted. They were peaceful dreams, too. . . the kind I haven’t had in a while.



“Rise and shine, Buffy!”



“Dawn?” I croak, stirring my arms and legs to wake them from the pull of unconsciousness. I seem to have grown an extra set of legs, and there’s a third arm around my waist. Either that or someone’s in bed with. . .



Oh. My. God.



I abruptly sit up, somehow mindfully holding the sheet to my bare chest. The sheet is wrapped around the still sleeping vampire next to me, and he emits a small groan as the cloth stretches taut. Thankfully, the sheet still covers us both.



My voice is a sharp croak. “Dawn!”



She’s staring at me, taking in. . . my nakedness. Her eyes flicker to Spike, but before she has a chance to fully realize what she’s seeing. . .



“Get out!” I don my best pissed-off-sister face and distract her with my finger pointed emphatically at the door.



Eyes wide as a rabbit’s, she scampers out the door, and I hastily disentangle myself to follow after her and slam the door. Heart pounding, I lean against the door in partial relief.


But now I have to have yet another talk with my little sister. What can I possibly

say to explain this?



Leaning against the wall, Spike looks comfortable with the sheet around his waist.

And he’s watching me with a smirk on his face.



I shoot a glare at him. “It’s not funny.”



“Didn’t say it was, love.”



Dashing around, I throw a pair of jeans and a fairly unwrinkled peasant blouse on

along with a pair of sandals. In between articles of my own clothing, I toss Spike his jeans and a fresh shirt out of the closet. He dresses much more slowly than me.



“Hurry up,” I command with my arms crossed.



“Eager to get out there and explain to Dawn exactly what she saw?” he asks, his voice slightly muffled by the cotton shirt he’s putting his head through.



“No. Eager to get things in order.” I yank his dirty shirt off the camera. “Dawn has school tomorrow.”



“Riigghhht.”



Piling up all the dirty clothes and bed sheets, I point to the pile. “And Spike has laundry to do.”



“Let’s see here.” He puts a finger to his chin and looks thoughtful. “Ummm. No.”



I bat my eyes and tilt my head toward the camera. “Now, hun. You *know* it’s always been your job around here to do the laundry.”



Getting the hint, Spike sighs, gathers up the laundry, and stalks past me, making sure to shoot me a soft growl of discontent. “*Not* in the contract,” he whispers, almost inaudibly.



Despite the issues between Spike and me that lurk in the morning shadows, I can’t help but grin.



* * *



Dawn’s standing at the kitchen island, awkwardly pouring herself some cereal and trying to turn the page on the comics section of the newspaper at the same time. She doesn’t even bother to look up as I enter. “It’s raining.”



For the first time, I notice the wet windowpanes through the open blinds.



“Was that Spike who just came by with the laundry?”



I bite my lower lip and try to play it cool. “Yep.”



“That’s interesting. Think he’ll do mine, too?” She shakes the Pops box up and down. “Ugh.”



“Here let me.” Anything to avoid the topic that I know will inevitably come up.



I take the box from my sister and straighten the plastic bag so that the puffs can pour into the bowl more easily. “He might. If you’re sweet to him.”



“Are you speaking for me again?” Spike asks, appearing from the basement where the sound of the washer has started.



“*Pretty please*?” Dawn begs.



Spike rolls his eyes. “Fine.” Grumbling, he crosses behind us to get to the refrigerator and his carton of blood. “What I do to hold this household together.”



“What did you say?” I ask just as the phone rings.



He shrugs as he takes a big swig out of the milk carton. He shakes the box at me as I pass him. “Need more milk. Gotta develop big, strong bones.”



“Later.” I pick up the phone. So far, so good. Dawn’s said nothing about what she saw this morning. “Hello?”



“Let me in!”



“Willow?” Oh my go. . . we left Willow outside!



The doorbell rings.



“H-hang on. Just a sec.” I hang up the phone and race to the front door, flinging it open.



A gust of cool air and the clean smell of rain greet me. . . along with a rather rumpled, shivering Willow.



“Fell asleep outside. Why didn’t you wake me?” She seems more sleepy than angry. At least, the porch is covered, so she didn’t get soaked. . . and she had a blanket.



“I’m so sorry. We got in late. . .”



Willow stands beside me in the entry way as I shut the door. “Did you have a long night patro. . . on your date?”



“You could say that.”



She brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. “Did you stak. . . get a lot of. . . have fun?”



“I didn’t have. . . steak. Spike got that.” I won’t tell her it was in more ways than one. “And we spent time. . . talking. Too tired. Went right to bed.”



“O-oh. Maybe next time, you could invite me in? I forgot my key.”



“I’m *so* sorry about that. Why don’t you take a shower?”



“Thanks.” She starts to ascend the stairs. “Oh, and Buffy?”



“Yeah?”

“Got info for ya.” She hands me the slip of paper I remember seeing last night.



“Oh good!” Yay! No more stupid camera stuff!



She studies her shoes. “And the stuff with Dawnie. . .”



“Yeah?”



“Not so good.”



“I’m sorry. I want to hear about both things,” I reassure her.



“Shower first?” Poor Willow looks miserable after a night on a porch swing.



“Yeah, yeah. Definitely.” I wave my arms to point toward the kitchen. “I’ll, I’ll be in the kitche. . .”



Then, I hear, “So, Spike, tell me about *your date* with Buffy last night. When’d you guys get home?”



Gotta put a stop to that before Spike says too much.



“Well, pet. It was definitely interesting.”



Great, just great. Why do I always feel like I’m doing a dance to hold things together around here?



As soon as I walk in the kitchen, I give them a pointed look, and they quiet down like cats who have been caught with a canary. At least, I still have some bit of control. . . for the moment.



I nod, and they follow me onto the back porch. Little drops of rain are still lightly drizzling, but what Willow’s written on the slip of paper may be too important to worry about getting a tad wet. And hey, grey sky means that Spike won’t combust. . . although I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing right now.



“What does it say?” Dawn asks eagerly, cradling her cast under a kitchen towel to prevent the plaster from getting too wet.



“I gather that you and Willow still aren’t speaking.”



She juts her chin out in a flash of defiance. “I gather that you and Spike were doing something you don’t want to talk about last night.”



A grin spreads across Spike’s face. I shift from one foot to another. Stupid vampire’s loving this. “Let’s just see what Willow wrote.”



“I think I want to hear the other part of the conversation first,” Spike says, raising his eyebrows and leaning against the house.



“No!” Dawn and I say at the same time.



“Fine. Open the bloody paper and tell us what it says before the sky opens up again.”



My hands tremble a little as I unfold the note. I don’t know what I was expecting, but the words on the page were not what anything I would have remotely thought.



“What’s it say?” Spike asks me, startling me out of my shock.



When I don’t respond, he pokes at the top of the paper, pushing it down so he can read the message aloud. . .



“Watcher’s Council?”



* * *



All I know is I’ve got to get out of this house. If the Watcher’s Council has anything to do with the state of my. . . this household and Dawn’s future, there’ll be hell to pay.



I grab the car keys, barely noticing the cold metal against my palm. I turn to the bewildered vampire who’s followed me into the kitchen.



“Here,” I say, my tone flat. I dangle the keys in front of his nose.



“What’s this, pet?” he asks gently.



“Drive me.” I can’t look him in the eye, so I stare at his chest.



“Drive you where?”



“What’s going on?” asks Dawn, slamming the back door.



I give her an even expression. “Spike’s taking me to the Magic Box.”



“What for?”



“Gotta call Giles,” I reply, starting for the door and the car. My mind is set on one goal and one goal only. . . confronting the man who has all the answers.



“Can’t you drive yourself?” Dawn asks.



I don’t answer. I can’t tell Dawn that I’m afraid if I drive, I’ll use up the remainder of my resources. . . resources that are holding me together right now and keeping me from completely breaking down in tears and climbing back in bed. Gotta keep moving.



Flinging open the door, I pause on the threshold, glancing back over my shoulder. “Coming?”



Spike has a silent exchange with my sister and then, makes a decision. “Right.”



Dawn makes a move to follow him, but I hold up my hand. “Nope. You stay.”



“But I wanna come!” she pouts.



My mind races. “You need to stay here and let Willow know where we’ve gone.”



She frowns at me like she might insist on coming. Then, “Fine. I’ll stay.”



Geez. The ice is just hanging off her words. Since when did my little sis get so angry?



I’ll worry about that another time. . . just like everything else. Damn it.



I’m already out the door when Dawn shouts after us, “And what if the sun comes out when you guys are driving?”



I waver; then, clear my throat. “We’ll deal!”



* * *



Does Dawn have to be right? Little sisters aren’t supposed to know what they’re talking about.



Halfway to the Magic Box, Spike’s hand bursts into a bright flame as the sun peeks around a cloud. With a curse, he jerks his one hand from the steering wheel, and the car lurches right. My heart jumps with the motion.



With my right hand, I grab for the side of the car and reach a steadying hand for the steering wheel with my other.



Spike shakes his ignited hand and slams it into his stomach, rolling the bottom of his shirt up to put out the fire.



The car wobbles precariously in the lane under my one-handed guidance. “Spike! Help!”



Another sunbeam finds a home in the car just as he reaches out to aid my efforts, and Spike’s bare arm ignites. This time, he shouts, “Bloody fuck!” and slams the breaks on.



The car traveling behind us honks loudly and swerves around us, narrowly missing the back bumper.



Once we’re steady, I unbuckle my belt and reach around the seat to grab the old bath towel on the floor in the back. Tugging Spike close to me and away from the deadly light, I wrap his hurt limb in the cloth and batter down the blaze.



The cloud cover becomes whole once again, and greyness prevails.



Spike hasn’t said anything, and now I’m antsy for action. . . anything to have some semblance of control. “So, what should we do?”



His voice is an almost inaudible growl, “What do you mean what should we do?” He sits up and away from me. “Open up the sodding trunk! I’m getting in it!”



Pressing my lips together, I push a button on the key ring still dangling from the ignition. The trunk clicks open.



Without acknowledgement, Spike pulls the blackened bath towel over his head, glances in the side mirror for passing cars, waits a moment for a blue truck to pass, slams the door almost off its hinges, and climbs into the trunk. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him move so fast.



And for several minutes, I can’t bring myself to move at all.



Guilt pervades my stomach, heavy as an anchor on a ship.



I definitely should have stayed in bed today.





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