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Author's Chapter Notes:
Warning! This chapter is pretty dark, with some mention of self-harm.
Just as it had before, the muffled scream of an alarm clock woke Spike at some God-awful hour. He grunted and flung an arm over his eyes to shield them from the dim glow of daylight he could feel beyond his eyelids. It wasn’t until he heard the softest murmur of sound outside the door that the previous day came back to him. His mind suddenly clear of the sleepy fog it had been shrouded in, he rose quickly and dressed, wearing tight black jeans and an equally tight black t-shirt, though this time he threw on a dark blue, silk button-down shirt over the top. He’d been told it brought out his eyes.

He settled on the edge of the bed to slip on his heavy boots, but paused for a moment as he remembered the previous evening, a small frown crinkling his brow.

Dru swept into the room, her arms held protectively around the dark red shopping bag she clutched to her chest. Spike looked up from where he’d been talking to Dawn as the girl’s voice trailed off. He watched the way his girlfriend’s eyes narrowed, flicking to rest coldly on her sister. Dawn mutely scurried out of the kitchen, flinching back as she passed Dru in the doorway. For a moment there was a tense silence, then she smiled thinly at him.

“Did the little girl bore you, my Spike? Bad girlie.”

Her voice was a low, crooning purr that usually would have turned him on no end. Now, however, he remembered Buffy’s pale, tired face and Dawn’s sudden silence and wondered. Dru swayed as she paced closer and closer, and he fought the urge to take a step back for each one she took towards him. Finally she dropped the bag, ignoring the rasping chink as its contents hit the floor. Winding her arms around his neck, she stared into his eyes and smiled. The hairs on the back of his neck rose.

Her lips were descending towards his when the shrill, cheerful ringing of his phone interrupted them. Relieved, and angry at himself for being so, he pulled back and tugged it out of his pocket. He pressed the call button.

“Spike Reynolds.”

The babbled words from the other end of the line made no sense to him, but it was a full five minutes before he could get a word in edgeways. He turned his back on Dru, who was looking both bored and irritated. Settling down into a chair, he spoke soothingly into the phone.

“Matt, calm down. Now, tell me what’s got you in such a tizz, yeah?” He grew more and more concerned with each sobbed statement. “I’ll be there tomorrow morning. You just hang on for me, got it?”

Waiting only for the tremulous but slightly less hysterical reply, he disconnected. Turning to face Dru, he scrubbed a hand over his face. When she didn’t speak, he looked up. She pursed her lips, gave him a cold stare that told him what she thought of his leaving, and turned to leave. He didn’t try to stop her. Instead he just put his head in his hands. Christ, what a mess.

Drawn back to the present by a muted crash from downstairs, he jumped up and left the room as quietly as he could. He didn’t think Dru would appreciate being woken at six o’clock on a Sunday morning. He rushed downstairs, expecting to find the table all set and the breakfast in the making; he’d planned to get up early enough to help Buffy out with that part. Instead, he found a broken plate on the floor, fortunately yet to be filled, and his girlfriend’s sister leaning heavily against the sink.

Thinking she’d hurt herself, he strode forwards and touched her shoulder. She gasped, spinning and flinging up an arm to shield her face. He frowned; from the speed of her reaction, having people touching her at all was considered a bad thing in her book. He waited as the arm slowly dropped, seeing some of the colour returning to her pale face. He smiled soothingly.

“Have an accident?”

She merely nodded, cringing away from him slightly. Noticing this, he stepped back slightly. As soon as he left her immediate space, she relaxed slightly. Keeping her eyes down, she scooted past him and fell to her knees, picking up the pieces of shattered crockery with deft fingers. When she was finished, she set about making breakfast. He stopped her by stepping into her path as she hurried across the room; he didn’t want to make her flee by touching her if it made her uncomfortable.

“What can I do to help, pet? Might as well if I’m down here.”

She blinked at him, her surprise written clearly on her face. For a moment her lips relaxed and curled hesitantly upwards into a small smile. Her eyes danced with grateful amusement and he returned the expression. He shifted, reaching to take the unopened packet of sausages from her fingers. Just like that, the smile vanished and she tensed again, jerking back. Her voice was quiet and cajoling, as though she wanted a favour from him.

“You don’t need to help. I’m sorry I didn’t have your breakfast ready in time. I didn’t know you were getting up early.”

He raised a brow. She was sorry because she hadn’t had the perfect breakfast laid out in front of him by six o’clock on a Sunday morning. If that wasn’t the most irrational logic he’d heard in a while, he’d be damned. He smiled to put her at ease. After all, it had gained a favourable response last time. He was pleased to see that her lips flicked up again at the corners. Encouraged, he spoke.

“S’ok, kitten. Don’t bother settin’ out lunch or dinner stuff for me, though. ‘m goin’ out for the day.”

Her head snapped up and her lips thinned, all trace of amusement gone. She cocked her head, as though curious but unsure whether to ask or not. He solved the problem for her. “I’m a psychologist. There’s a little boy, Matthew. His mum’s got a new boyfriend but… He doesn’t like kids. Got a call last night sayin’ the bloke had hit him and his mum had argued and now she’s in hospital. The poor kid’s in a right state.”

She gave a sad, sympathetic smile but the spark in her seemed to have died. He ate in silence, trying to casually watch what she ate. To his relief, she had a slice of toast and a banana. Soon after she’d cleared away his plate, he smiled a farewell and left, feeling her eyes boring into him even after he closed the front door.

****

Buffy felt numb. He was gone. Oh God, he was gone. She’d felt so relieved when she woke up this morning and remembered that Dru daren’t hit her with her boyfriend in the house. She’d even felt bold enough to smile at him when he spoke. Now though… he was gone. He’d left her and her sister to the mercy of his girlfriend.

She knew that it was stupid and irrational, but she felt hurt and betrayed. On some level she’d trusted a little of herself to him, their few brief encounters the first positive interaction she’d had outside of her friends in so long that she’d obviously blown it way out of proportion. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help the disappointment she’d felt when he announced his plans, and though she knew that someone else needed him, perhaps more than she did, she felt inexplicably jealous.

She washed, dried and put away dishes in a kind of daze. She floated upstairs, avoiding the creaky floorboard by habit, gently pushing open her mother’s door. Joyce didn’t move. It wasn’t until Buffy carefully lifted her and propped her up against the stack of pillows that the woman stirred, looking at her daughter through distant, glazed eyes. In silence child fed parent before lowering the woman back to the bed. Leaving as quietly as she had come, Buffy drifted back down to the kitchen.

For a moment her eyes lingered almost longingly on the packets in which the pink pills lurked, their whispering voices promising her the freedom she longed for. Jerking her stare away, she ignored the cold sweat that had broken out all over her body and cleaned up all traces of her mother’s breakfast. Dru disliked her mother only marginally less than Buffy and Dawn and any reminder of the divorce, such as Joyce’s dependency on her children, caused an immediate and violent reaction.

It wasn’t until she heard the telltale creak from upstairs that she realised that Dawn, too, was awake and moving. Like she knew her younger sister was doing, she waited tensely for the angry snarl of Dru’s voice as the old flooring protested the extra weight. Silence. Breathing a sigh of relief, she waited until she heard the shower running before laying out the plates of food she’d already prepared for her sisters.

Twenty minutes later both siblings were settled at the table, eating in frosty silence. Buffy gave Dru a cautious glance before her eyes slid across to Dawn, who gave a weak half-smile. She escaped upstairs, quickly changing from her comfortable sweats into faded jeans and a threadbare but long-sleeved top. A glimmer of silver light on the windowsill caught her attention. The scissors she’d left there seemed mesmerising all of a sudden, her right hand automatically beginning to roll up her opposite sleeve.

She resisted their pull until she remembered the pain of Spike’s abandoning them. Just like Dad. Hot tears scratched at her eyes but she blinked them back, blowing out a long breath. She gripped the scissors hard. Closing her eyes, she separated the two blades and, slowly letting her eyelids rise, pressed the point of one into an area of unscarred flesh on her forearm. She felt the sharp, cold bite of the steel into her flesh, watching in fascination as pale red blood rose and clung to the metal before slithering like a teardrop down her pale flesh.

Abruptly pulling the scissors away, she flung them across the room. Disgusted and ashamed, she yanked her sleeve down, ignoring the cut still weeping blood on her arm. Pulling her long her back in a ponytail, she made her way soundlessly downstairs. What she heard as she approached the kitchen made her freeze in a mixture of fury and horror. Dawn’s voice shook with fear as she talked.

“Please, Dru, I didn’t know. I won’t talk to him again, I promise.”

“Silly girl, you should have thought of that before.”

Without a second thought, Buffy raced into the kitchen. Seeing Dru with her palm upraised and Dawn cowering in front of her, her little face wet with tears, she gave a defiant snarl. She leaped in front of her sister just as Dru’s arms came swishing down. There was no time for her to raise an arm in protection, so she tensed and waited, Dawn firmly shielded behind her.

Crack! The blow struck with so much force that her head snapped around, though she didn’t as much as whimper. Her cheek felt hot and stung fiercely, but she met her sister’s eyes calmly. Dru looked back, coldly angry, until Buffy dropped her gaze. Though she was half expecting it, the second slap was harder than the first and landed on the same cheek. This time she gasped, biting back a yelp as her eyes began to water.

“And that’s for getting in the way, you stupid little bitch. Get out of my sight before I decide you’re worth missing my appointment with my stylist.”

Dru’s lip curled scornfully as Buffy ushered Dawn from her room, careful to keep her body between her two sisters at all times. It wasn’t until she had reassured Dawn that she was fine and it hadn’t even hurt that she locked herself in the bathroom and let the tears come in a hot, silent flood.





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