“Dawn!” Buffy’s surprised greeting lacked some of its impact, due to her distraction, her mind still aghast at the thought of her own cruel behavior over the past hour or so. “What are you doing here?”
The fourteen-year-old pouted momentarily at the less-than-enthusiastic greeting from her sister, whom she rarely saw anymore, before replying dryly, “I still live here. Remember?” She glanced past Buffy, her expression showing surprise and excitement – quickly smothering the second emotion – when she noticed the rather shaken blonde vampire, still standing in the foyer.
“Hey, Spike,” she said casually, her automatic smile at him quickly fading as she took in his battered appearance. “What happened? Did you guys run into something scary on the way here? And *why* are you guys here, anyway? Not that you’re not *totally* scary,” she hastily added for Spike’s benefit, though utterly unconvincingly. “because you are – or – you would be – if you could – actually hurt me – but – anyway…”
Her awkward little ramble came to a slow stop as she reached him, and her soft green eyes took in his numerous bruises, his bleeding mouth, and the look of mingled fear and utter exhaustion in his wide blue eyes. She met his gaze with concern, as she asked softly, “What happened?”
Spike glanced anxiously up at Buffy, wondering if she had noticed the easy, comfortable manner in which Dawn was speaking to him. Primal-possessive-Buffy seemed to have taken a hike for the moment. Meanwhile, real-Buffy was too caught up in her own self-loathing to notice anything out of the ordinary about the interaction.
Relieved, Spike looked back to Dawn, a flood of memories washing over him at the sight of her.
He had first seen the Slayer’s little sister two years before. Just a glimpse, as Buffy had tersely ordered her upstairs as she had entered the house with him and her mother, just prior to the whole Acathla incident. The girl’s eyes had narrowed in defiance, her mouth had opened to object – but then, sharp emerald eyes had taken in Buffy’s furious face, and realized that something was seriously wrong.
In an act of obedience that Spike would eventually learn was most uncommon for Dawn Summers – especially when the command was coming from Buffy – the twelve-year-old girl had turned without a word and gone up the stairs, leaving the adults to discuss the literally life-or-death matter at hand.
But that had not kept her from hiding at the top of the stairs and listening as Spike and Buffy had made a plan to save the world. Buffy had not been aware that her little sister was within earshot – but Spike’s sense of smell, and the sound of Dawn’s racing heart, had alerted him to her presence.
He had known right then that the Slayer’s little sister was a stubborn one, and clever – and would one day be a force to be reckoned with.
The next time he had met Dawn Summers had been over a year later, in her mother’s kitchen, as he had sat pouring out his shattered heart to Joyce, who had displayed such gentleness and understanding to him in the wake of Dru’s infidelity and rejection.
That encounter with the youngest Summers had lasted only a few moments, as she had been sent from the room after following up their formal introduction by remarking on how, for a vampire, he really wasn’t very scary, crying over a mug of hot chocolate with her *mom* -- and was he *drunk*?
Joyce could not seem to get Dawn out of the room fast enough that night.
He was not sure if Buffy had ever found out about those brief, accidental encounters. If she had, she would not have been surprised by them. But he knew that she knew nothing of the other times he had spent with her mother and sister.
Buffy had found out about his presence in Sunnydale – again – over the whole nasty Gem of Amara incident – but what she did not know was that by that time, Spike had actually been back in Sunnydale for several months already.
When Dru had dumped him for the second time, he had known in his heart that it was really and truly over, and he had felt utterly lost – completely alone. Without Dru, he didn’t even know who he was – she had literally *made* him.
Her accusations of secret feelings for the tiny blonde Slayer in Sunnydale echoing in his mind, he had driven all night in his blacked out Desoto, no definite destination in mind – and found himself when he finally stopped to think, not only in Sunnydale, but driving slowly down the Slayer’s street. As soon as he realized where he had unconsciously ended up, he had cursed his own too-soft emotions and driven away.
But once he found out that the Slayer was living in a dormitory on campus across town, instead of at home, the temptation of Joyce Summers’ warm, nurturing manner and perfectly made hot chocolate had been too much for his comfort-starved heart to resist, and he had found himself once again outside the house on Revello Drive, ringing the doorbell with his heart in his throat – because Buffy had surely told her mother about that little kidnapping incident, and if she turned him away he would likely just stay there on the porch and meet the sunrise.
He had been that desperate, that alone – devastated by Dru’s betrayal after over a hundred years of his loyal devotion to her.
One look into his expressive blue eyes, and Joyce had welcomed him in without question, fussing over him like a long lost son, freely offering him the comfort that only a mother knows how to give. Her gentle manner had given him the freedom to open up to her, to cry on her shoulder, and before the night was through, he had somehow found the strength to go on again.
Of course – he would have been foolish to think that they would make it through the entire night without even a *mention* of the kidnapping.
When Joyce had given him that stern, maternal look and asked him what on earth he had been thinking, why he had done something so dangerous, he had felt an odd quiver in his stomach that he had not felt in well over a hundred years – not since the last time his own mum had caught him out at something.
“You saw me then,” he had protested in a beseeching voice, throwing himself on the mercy of the woman – who fortunately had more of it to spare than her daughter did. “I was a bloody wreck!”
“Over Drusilla – again.” Joyce had shaken her head with concerned disapproval, her eyes alight with protective anger – and the realization that it was over *him*, that she had subconsciously taken him as one of her own, brought an unexpected warmth to his heart. “She’s no good for you, Spike,” she had advised him gently. “That girl just gets you into trouble. You know, Buffy thinks you’re the one who’s so dangerous – but – I’ve never seen you do anything seriously wrong when it wasn’t about Drusilla, Spike.”
The obvious fact of the statement had made him chuckle. “Kind of the way it works, Joyce,” he had reminded her softly. “She’s my sire. She made me what I am to begin with.”
“See?” Joyce had taken his words as more proof of her own point. “That alone should tell you she’s bad for you. What you need is a girl like my Buffy.”
Spike had nearly choked on his hot chocolate. As it was, it scalded his mouth severely as he stared at Joyce, aghast. The very suggestion shocked and horrified him – perhaps a bit *too* much – as he remembered Dru’s fateful words again.
He had protested emphatically that the very idea was bloody insane. She was the Slayer, and he was a vampire – not to mention the fact that she drove him bloody bug shaggin’ crazy.
Joyce had graciously ignored the second argument, pointing out that that did not seem to be a problem for her daughter; she could get used to the fact that he was a vampire. She *liked* him, she had told him with a shrug. He would be so much better for Buffy than that horrible Angel. She never *had* liked *him*.
The satisfied smirk that rose at those words had died at the knowing look on Joyce’s face.
And the more vehemently he argued, the more convinced of her own theory Joyce appeared to become, though she wisely did not push the issue. He had left the house that night with an unsettled feeling in his stomach, troubled by the unspoken suggestion behind Joyce’s words.
But he had come back – again and again.
Many times when he had come over, Dawn had been around. As odd a match as it seemed, the three of them would sit and talk, or watch movies, just enjoying each other’s company, as he allowed their friendship to heal his broken heart, and Joyce and Dawn allowed him to become a surrogate son and brother in the absence of the Slayer, who was apparently very busy with her new college life – judging by the unimpressive frequency of her visits home.
Joyce seemed to have no problem whatsoever with Dawn spending time with Spike – and that simple bit of trust served to draw him in closer, tighter into the embrace of the Slayer’s family. Before long, he began to feel as if these two humans were *his* family, and ended up at their home most evenings.
The decided that it would be wisest not to tell Buffy. After the unfortunate drunken kidnapping incident, Buffy had been very emphatic with her mother about *not* letting Spike into the house. Joyce was a grown woman, with excellent instincts, and she had known upon first sight of Spike at her door that night, that he was a far greater danger to himself at that point than to anyone else.
She knew what she was doing, and did not need her daughter’s permission to choose a friend.
They knew that there was no way Buffy was going to understand. So, his friendship with Buffy’s family remained a secret – and, as Joyce tactfully did not bring the subject up again, Spike just tried to forget the troubling feelings beginning to surface inside him for the Slayer.
But he found that he could not forget.
With each day, his thoughts of her increasingly took over his mind, joined by a furious resentment at the fact that he could not seem to get her out of his head. In desperation, he had come to the conclusion that the only solution was to kill her -- but he simply could not bring himself to try. He told himself that it was because of Joyce and Dawn; they would never forgive him if he did it – and to a point, that *was* the reason.
But it was not by any means his *only* reason.
The nights when he was not with Joyce and Dawn, he began to spend on the campus of UC Sunnydale, telling himself that it was just a good hunting ground – he was not looking for Buffy! He *wasn’t*! But when he quite “accidentally” happened to find her, on occasion, he wound up sticking around to watch her in action, mesmerized by her grace and power, and wanting her more with each moment, though he never allowed her to know that he was there.
The point came when even the slight family resemblance between Dawn and Joyce, and Buffy, became too much for him, filling his mind with her image even when she was not there. Abruptly, he had stopped his visits to the Summers’ home – and as they had no idea where he was staying, there was nothing Joyce and Dawn could do to find him.
He knew that his sudden rejection had to hurt them, but he simply could not stand the constant reminder of the tiny, powerful, amazing blonde that he did not want to admit he wanted so desperately.
Not when he knew that he could never have her.
When he had met Harmony, in a bar one night when the Slayer’s image was particularly vivid in his mind, and she had come onto him very blatantly, he had jumped at the chance to distract himself from his doomed obsession, to put a new face on the blonde that haunted his dreams and waking moments – if only for a few hours.
Harmony had wanted more from him than a few hours, however. She had her own slightly schewed version of the American dream, vampire style, in her head; and while the chit was bloody annoying as hell, she was a good shag, and a welcome distraction from the *other* blonde woman in his life – the one who would never even consider him.
For a while.
When he had found the Gem of Amara, he had thought that this was his chance to be rid of the Slayer and her power over him once and for all. When he had approached her on the campus grounds, and overheard her discussion with Parker, he had been furious with jealousy – and it had shown in the power of his attack, even in the words he had chosen to bait her with during the fight.
And he might even have won that fight – except for two pivotal moments.
At one critical moment, his eyes met Buffy’s – and suddenly, he knew that something in him would not allow him to destroy this vibrant, passionate, incredible girl that he lov – was obsessed with. He just couldn’t.
But he *had* to! he told himself desperately. If he did not, he would never be free of her. A hundred years with Dru had taught him something about himself – when he fell, he fell hard – and he didn’t get up, he stayed “fallen”.
He had continued his attack with renewed power, until he was suddenly frozen yet again, by one look at the Slayer’s face. A subtle movement of her mouth, a flash of defiance in her eyes – and he might as well have been looking at Dawn instead of Buffy.
And it all just went to bloody hell from there.
Within moments, Buffy had beaten him, and he was running for cover, vulnerable to the sun’s deadly rays once again. He had been furious at his own failure, and at the *reason* for that failure. He was a bloody master vampire! He wasn’t supposed to be so soft that he’d lose to the Slayer because of some vague resemblance to a little girl he happened to be a bit fond of.
He had decided then and there that the next time they met, he was going to make Buffy pay for the wreck she had made of his unlife.
And then, he had been captured by the bleedin’ Initiative – and now, none of that mattered anymore.
He did not know what Buffy had told her family about him during the short time in which he was a prisoner in the Watcher’s house. All he knew was that the one time when Buffy had ended up bringing Dawn with her to Giles’ apartment for a meeting, the girl had not been surprised to see him there.
She *had*, however, been furious with him.
He had not liked admitting to himself how deeply the icy glare she shot him stung. He knew he deserved the look of angry betrayal in her eyes, as they shot daggers at him across the living room, while the Scoobies uselessly rambled on about the commandos, about whom they knew next to nothing.
Dawn had had several opportunities to confide in him, and she had taken them; he knew that she was deeply hurt by what she saw as her father’s abandonment, and she had told him enough that he fully intended to tear the bugger to pieces himself should they ever meet. He knew that at this point, he must appear to be just another man that she had come to trust and care about, who had then proceeded to leave her.
And that felt terrible.
*Why should I bloody care?* he had insisted to himself. *She’s nothing but a soddin’ Happy Meal! Little chit’s lucky her bleedin’ throat’s not – well – bleedin’!*
But still, he had desperately tried to catch her eye throughout the whole meeting – and the bereft feeling he got when she pointedly avoided his gaze made any attempts at pretending not to care utterly useless.
Finally, when the group had moved into the kitchen, they had failed to notice for a few minutes that Dawn had stayed behind. She did not say anything to him for a long moment, as she came to stand in front of the chair he was bound to, glaring at him with righteous hurt and anger in her eyes.
Then, she had kicked him in the shin.
Not very hard, a token blow, really – but he looked up at her, startled – and then, ashamed, to see that she was biting her lip so hard that a moment later he could smell her blood. Her eyes were very wide as she fought to repress a woman’s emotions, with a child’s strength.
It was in that moment that Spike realized – little Dawnie had a great big crush.
“Where did you go?” she had demanded in a voice that was vulnerable and trembling with tears – and his heart had broken to hear the pain he had caused her.
He had done his best to explain what he had no excuse for, and she had accepted his profuse apologies with childlike innocence, easily forgiving him, impulsively embracing him, until he had reminded her that Buffy could not see her hugging him like that, could not know of their friendship, now more than ever.
He was certain that after all that had happened, his recent attempts to kill both her and Willow, Buffy would not take the news that he had been visiting her mother and sister in their home very well, even if it *had* been several weeks since the last time he had.
The meeting had ended with another useless round of questioning by Buffy and her Watcher, filled with threats of pain and stakeage that he now knew to be completely idle – though he had not known that at the time.
But none of it mattered at the moment – Dawn had forgiven him. And she would tell Joyce his vague, evasive explanation for his absence of the past few weeks, edited for the child’s ears – and she would not believe a word of it.
But she *would* forgive him – and that would make everything all right again.
Now, he looked into that same innocent, searching gaze – and felt, for just a moment, that same feeling of reassurance and acceptance – that feeling that everything was going to be all right.
“Spike?” Dawn’s voice was questioning as she glanced between him and her sister uncertainly, increasingly troubled by their silence, and by the tears that glistened in both of their eyes.
Spike’s tears were of tremendous relief, the relief of looking into the face of someone, however powerless the teenager might be, who actually cared what happened to him. Buffy’s tears were an expression of the terrible guilt that filled her over what she had done to Spike.
As she expectantly looked between them, Dawn knew none of this – and was growing steadily more apprehensive about the whole thing with every silent moment that passed.
“Isn’t *somebody* gonna tell me what is going on here?”
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