IT'S TOO MUCH AND IT'S NO GOOD
Buffy watched the oatmeal slide off her spoon and plop back into the bowl. She hadn't had an appetite since she'd been shot, but Dr. Davis insisted she needed to eat to get her strength back, and so, she ate.
That didn't mean, however, she enjoyed it.
Xander and Anya sat on the opposite end of the table. They ate with relish, going to great lengths to study her when they thought she wasn't looking. She sprinkled some more brown sugar over the oatmeal and took a hesitant bite. "What did Willow do?"
They both jumped, staring at her from their end of the table. Xander swallowed hard, and then took a sip of milk. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"Giles said last night that she attacked you at the magic shop. What did she do?"
"She wanted books," Xander said. "Dark majicks. She said she'd kill anyone who tried to stop her."
"She didn't kill Xander, though," Anya announced proudly. "He saved my life."
"How'd you defeat her?" Buffy asked, unimpressed. Like a battle-wearied general, all she cared about was tactics – measuring the opponent's strength and trying to find a way to overpower it.
"I didn't," Xander admitted. "She lost interest."
Buffy made a monosyllabic noise of understanding and returned to her oatmeal. She'd also lost interest; there wasn't any tactical information to be gained.
She was tired. Tired of fighting losing battles. Tired of being given the world only to have it taken away. Tired of worrying. Tired.
The blood in his refrigerator had started to congeal, he realized with dismay. Of course, he'd forgotten to eat last night after running into Willow. He swirled the red mess around in the container and decided he wasn't that desperate.
"What'samatter?" It came out like a single word.
"Nothin'!" He hurriedly shoved the container back into the refrigerator and slammed the door.
Her eyes widened with growing comprehension, and her mouth rounded into a tiny 'O'. "You're hungry," she said, and then, her hands on her hips, asked, "When'd you eat last?"
"What's this?" he asked. "I'm the one s'posed to be takin' care o' you."
Dawn took his hand, and led him back to the couch. "I think we both need a little takin' care of." She stood before him, scrutinizing him carefully. "You need to eat."
"Well, I'd love go right out and pick myself up a pint of O negative," he said, "but in case you forgot, the sun's up – catchin' fire tends to kill my appetite pretty quickly."
"I'll get it," she said, as though it was the easiest, most logical thing in the world. "Which blood bank do you prefer?"
"Now, you wait just a bloody minute," he stood to argue with her, and his stomach growled.
"What was that?" she asked with a smirk. "I couldn’t hear you over the noise of your stomach."
"Sunnydale Red Cross," he finally said, defeated.
"I know right where that is," she smiled brightly. "I'll be back in two shakes of a lamb's tail."
Anya tucked her legs up under her on the couch. Xander started to sit next to her, and then, after a brief moment's hesitation, instead sat in a wing chair facing her.
Her eyes were focused somewhere inward – someplace he'd never been able to reach. He felt as though he ought to say something to her – reassure her in some way, but he couldn't find how.
"When we go back . . ." he finally began after clearing his throat. "Maybe you could stay at my apartment."
She didn't say anything, though he could tell be the way her jaw tightened, that she'd heard him. "Safety in numbers," he continued qualifying the offer so as to make it clear that he didn't expect any more from her.
She blinked, turning her gaze to him, and said only, "When we go back?"
He paused, as confused by her confusion as by anything else. "Yeah," he affirmed with a swallow, "at some point, we're gonna have to."
"I don't understand," Anya said, again. "Why did we leave Sunnydale if we're only going to go back there? I like it here." Looking around, she added. "This house is very pretty."
"This was never a long-term thing; we're only here until Buffy gets better," Xander explained. "We needed a safe place to stay while we come up with a plan to fight . . ." he paused. "Fight . . . Willow."
Willow. He still struggled with the idea that the vampire who'd threatened Anya, who'd wanted to make him a pet, was Willow. Willow.
"So we're hiding?" Anya refocused the conversation.
He opened and closed his mouth a few times. "We're strategizing," he corrected. "Hiding means we don't have any idea what we're going to do."
"We don't," Anya countered, "not really."
"We'll come up with something," he smiled with false hope. Turning, he saw Buffy standing just inside the doorway. Not knowing how long she'd been there, he asked, pointedly, "Won't we?"
"Sure," she said, blankly. "I'm going to kill them."
Without another word, she turned and walked away.
Anya had paled, her eyes wide; she turned to Xander in question.
"I know what you're thinking," he said. "You're thinking that's a plan that's woefully short on contingencies." Without waiting for her to confirm, he continued, "That's where Giles and Doctor Davis will come in. They're Watchers, and I'm sure they'll be able to flesh the plan out into something workable."
Anya shook her head. "I'm thinking we're doomed," she said. "So, I'm wondering if we can have sex now."
Xander looked around. Giles and the doctor were in the library. He didn't know where Buffy was. It wasn't as though there was a chance of being discovered. It wasn't as though anyone would care. It wasn't as though he didn't want to.
Except. "Here? Now?" he asked, "This isn't even our house."
"You no longer find me attractive?" she asked, looking as though she was on the verge of tears. "It's because I'm a demon again,; isn't it?"
"No! Oh, you are . . .plenty attractive – really, just – no complaints here!"
"Then why don't you want to have sex with me?" she asked, pain and confusion etched in the lines of her brow.
He again mentally chided himself. There weren't many women who would keep offering, and yet he was beginning to lose track of the number of times he'd turned her down in the past few days.
"I do," he finally answered. Then, looking furtively around whispered, "let's go."
The brightly lit, clean interior of the Sunnydale Red Cross reminded Dawn more of a day care center than a blood bank. She took a deep breath, smiled brightly, and walked toward the reception desk – her plan taking shape with each step.
Yawning, she leaned against the counter as though she needed all the support it could offer. "I'm Dawn Sum . . . Sumner – I'm supposed to start today."
The receptionist blinked and looked up at her, "I'm sorry? Who did you say you were?"
"Dawn Sumner . . . Sunnydale High School . . ." Dawn didn't have to work hard to affect an air of boredom and resentment. "Senior volunteer service. They assigned me here." She yawned again and cracked her gum.
The receptionist's obvious confusion grew. "I don't think I . . ." She began to shuffle the papers and move stacks over the desk. "They must not have . . ." Shaking her head, she stood. "Just wait here. I need to go check on something in the back.
"No prob," Dawn said, tracing patterns in the tiles with the toe of her shoe.
As soon the woman had turned her back, Dawn stood, fully alert. Scanning the room, she took note of each person and their role. The blood bags were rarely left unattended. Each phlebotomist carefully watched the flow from donor to bag, and each bag was labeled and carefully stored packed away – its location stored on computer with a bar code.
She was going to have to get into the storage room. Fortunately, they were all too busy watching the blood to watch her. Picking up a clipboard and pen, and then leaning back against the reception desk to slip the keyring into her pocket, she pretended to study the intake questionnaire as she very carefully wandered in the direction of the storage room. No one could fault her for being lost on her first day as a volunteer, now could they?
It took three different keys to find the one to unlock the refrigerator, and her heart-rate sped up with each failed attempt. There was no hiding her deliberation now, and she only hoped to get in, grab a few blood bags, and get out before anyone had a chance to question where the new volunteer had come from – or had gone.
The next key worked, and she quickly ducked in. She studied the shelves of blood with fascination before quickly slipping two packs inside her hoodie and zipping it closed. She'd made sure her jacket was large enough that no one should notice.
Halfway there! She took a deep breath, and opened the door.
Into the very large, very intimidating, and very unamused face of a Sunnydale Police Officer.
"Hi . . ." She offered him a half-hearted smile as her heart sank.
Hi," he said in return. "I think you should come with me, but –" he unzipped her jacket and removed the two blood bags, "these can stay here."
She numbly allowed herself to be handcuffed and led to the cruiser.
The shadows cast by the sunlight filtered through the deep red curtains in Rack's lair made the row of pale bodies chained to the wall look much healthier than they were. Lazily Willow rolled over to study them. "We're gonna have to get some more today. I don't think they're gonna last much longer."
"Okay . . ." Tara stretched, her tongue darting over her lips like a cat's. "Not right away though, okay? I'm still tired from last night."
"It's not my fault you're insatiable!" Willow playfully nipped at her, and then looked back at the window. "We have to wait for the sun to go down anyway." She pouted then, "Stupid sun – always gets in the way of all my fun. I should just majick it away."
"So do it," Tara said, and ran a hand down Willow's hip. "You can control the weather, right?"
Willow placed a hand over Tara's stilling it in place against her skin. Edging closer, so that their heads were facing each other on the same pillow she asked, "What did you say?"
"I said," Tara whispered, her mouth tantalizingly close to Willow's, "you can control the weather, can't you?"
"I thought that's what you said," Willow answered in the same breathy whisper. Leaning mere inches closer, she kissed her, deeply – not waiting for an invitation, she thrust her tongue inward, her hands gripped Tara's supple body, moving downward from waist to hips. Her mouth followed suit as she kissed the cleft of her collar bone, her breastbone, the white flesh of her breast. She nursed around the nipple, never actually suckling, and then made her way downward, teasing Tara's navel, and translucent skin at the jointure of her thighs, again, never actually paying attention to what lay between them.
Tara writhed and squirmed – arching her body and trying to direct Willow to her clit. Until, at last, she was there. Gently tonguing at first, and then at Tara's encouragement, harder. Tara came – unabashedly, completely – and Willow continued. Her tongue made soft circles, and long probing strokes and Tara thought she might explode from the intensity of it – and in a rush beyond what she'd known possible she came again.
Only then, did Willow pull away – smiling up at her with the self satisfaction of what she'd done. Tara could only look back at her, blankly, gasping, as she returned to her senses.
"Wil-low," she gasped. "You . . . that . . ."
"You deserved it," Willow stroked Tara's still trembling hip. "You gave me such a brilliant idea." She sat up, her self-satisfied smile growing wider, "I'm going to make a spell that lets us hunt during the day.
Jumping from the bed, she looked at the men still chained against the wall as though she was only seeing them for the first time. "What are they still doing here?" she asked. "I'm tired of them." With a wave of her hand, they were gone.
The hard plastic chair was growing increasingly uncomfortable. She shifted, ever so slightly, in an attempt to ease the aches and stiffness that were slowly spreading through her legs and back.
It had been more than an hour since she'd given the detective her name, age, and address. He'd ordered her to wait there.
So, she waited. Handcuffed to the chair, she didn't have much choice. She thought about Spike. How long could vampires go without food anyway? She hadn't seen him eat since she'd been with him, and that was several days ago.
She thought about the look the cop gave her at the blood bank – as though she were the most freakishly abnormal person he'd ever seen. She thought about her sister – back in the heaven she'd been pulled from earlier this year. Could Buffy see her now? What was she thinking?
She was so confused. She wished that somehow someone would just tell her what she needed to do.
At that moment the door opened, and, for a moment, she wished she could retract her earlier wish. "Giles!"
Forgetting where she was, she started to move toward him, and was immediately stopped by the handcuffs holding her fast to the chair. Instead, she looked shamefacedly at the floor.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Giles give a nod to the detective, who then knelt and unlocked her bonds. "We're releasing you into Mr. Giles' custody," he said with no further preamble. "Apparently there've been a lot of people looking for you."
Standing, she kept her eyes trained on the floor. Still unable to look up, she mumbled a quiet, "thank you," and allowed Giles to take her by the elbow and lead her from the building.
Giles, too, was silent as he directed her to his car, and then, held the door and closed it after her. Only after he'd climbed in next to her, and started the engine, did he ask, "Who were you stealing for?"
"What?" The question caught her off guard.
"You were trying to steal blood. You obviously didn't need it yourself. Who were you stealing it for?" His hands were steady on the wheel and his eyes were deliberately trained straight ahead.
"Spike," she said simply, and with no further explanation.
"Did he threaten or hurt you in any way?" Giles asked with deliberate calm.
"No!" Dawn protested immediately. "He never did anything!"
With a sharp pull on the wheel, Giles pulled the car off onto the shoulder, kicking up gravel in the process. He turned then, looking at her with both fury and confusion, "Then why in the bloody hell were you stealing blood for the vampire that turned Tara? When your sister finds out she'll . . ." He shook his head, sadly, his anger already burning out and replaced with a sad disapproval. "I don't know what Buffy will do."
Dawn looked back up at him, trembling, tears tracing tracks down her cheeks. "Buffy's alive?"
TBC