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Author's Chapter Notes:
10/19/10: Updated this chapter. Tons of thanks to KnifeEdge for the beta-read.

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Dawn woke to a dark room and a growling stomach. She had a vague memory of Tara coming into her room to say goodbye. She liked Tara; why couldn't she be her sister instead of stupid Buffy? Of course, if Tara was her older sister, maybe she'd be cranky and bossy and mean, too. But Dawn doubted it. She'd never seen Tara be anything other than totally sweet to everyone she knew. Even the really annoying people, like Buffy and Anya.

Dawn climbed out of bed and promptly tripped over the boxes she'd left next to it. She held her breath for a moment, hoping she hadn't woken Buffy. She really didn't want to talk to her right now. After a few seconds, when the house remained silent, she moved slowly toward the door. Buffy had left the bathroom light on. Dawn rolled her eyes. Buffy still thought she was a baby, thought she'd need a nightlight if she woke up in the middle of the night.

Dawn skipped lightly down the stairs. Open boxes were scattered around the living room. A picture of her mom had been placed in the very center of the mantle piece. Dawn stopped in front of the fireplace and stared at the photo. “I miss you, Mommy,” she whispered. She trailed a finger across her mother's face and thought about the last time she'd seen her. Then she wished she hadn't thought about that, wished that she could stop thinking about that.

She wiped away the tears that came unbidden and headed for the kitchen. More boxes, piles and piles of them. Dawn wondered if they actually had room to put all these things. Stupid house. She missed their old kitchen already, missed the big island counter where she'd sit and do her homework every afternoon while her mom prepared supper. Buffy didn't cook, not the way Mom had. Dawn tried to remember the last home-cooked meal she'd had. Probably during the few days Willow and Tara stayed with them after the funeral. Tara liked to make big breakfasts—pancakes and fresh fruit, not just cold cereal—and suppers with all four food groups represented.

Dawn opened the refrigerator. It held a carton of milk, a few apples, some yogurt, a handful of beers, and two large pizza boxes. She pulled both boxes out and examined the leftovers. Pepperoni, sausage and mushroom on one, anchovies and pineapple on the other. One thing she'd say for Buffy, she had good taste in pizza toppings. She rummaged through the cupboards until she found the dishes, and piled her plate with the last four slices of the anchovy pizza. After a moment's consideration, she pulled a beer out as well and twisted the cap off.

She wandered back into the living room and curled up in a corner of the couch. The pizza was cold and greasy and delicious. Dawn took a tentative sip of the beer and scrunched up her nose at the foamy, yeasty flavor. Kind of gross, really, which was exactly what she remembered from the sips her dad had given her off his beers when she was little. She shrugged, held her breath, and chugged half the bottle down.

Dawn spied the remote control on the coffee table and flipped on the TV. Nothing but snow on all the channels. That was when she remembered that they didn't have cable, and they weren't going to be getting cable. “Lame,” Dawn muttered. She tipped up the beer bottle and swallowed the rest of it. Then she went into the kitchen and retrieved another beer. When she came back to the living room, she turned on the DVD player and chose "A Knight's Tale" from the small pile of rentals next to the TV. Heath Ledger was so cute.

Dawn was engrossed in the movie, having made it to the scene where Will and his men first met Chaucer—one of her favorite parts of the story—when she heard a thud from upstairs. She hurriedly crammed her half-empty beer bottle down between the arm of the couch and the cushions, and took a bite of pizza to cover the smell of beer on her breath.

The hallway light came on, and Buffy's voice drifted down the stairs. "Dawnie? Is that you?"

Dawn rolled her eyes. "No, it's the ghost of Christmas past," she said. "Duh, who'd you think it was?"

Buffy sighed as she came down the stairs. It was her 'I can't believe I have to put up with this' sigh. Dawn was intimately familiar with it, having heard it at least a hundred times a day over the past couple months. "What are you doing?" Buffy asked once she was standing in the living room. Dawn smothered a grin at the sight of her sister with her hair a ratty mess and a livid red pillow crease marring one cheek.

Dawn looked from Buffy to the TV and back. "I'm knitting a sweater," she replied.

There was that sigh again. Dawn turned her eyes back to the television, ignoring Buffy with all the energy she could summon.

Buffy stood next to the couch for a minute, sighed again—Because how would I know she was mad if she doesn't go around breathing heavily? Dawn thought—and turned to go back upstairs. "Don't stay up too late," she said. "We've got a lot of work to do around the house in the morning."

"Whatever," Dawn said. As soon as she heard Buffy's door close, she pulled the beer out from its hiding spot and swallowed what was left in the bottle. Her head ached a bit.

When she stood up to put her dishes in the kitchen, she felt dizzy and a little tired. She giggled quietly when she tripped over her own feet on the way to the kitchen. "Oh, no, I'm drunk!" she said with another giggle and a hiccup.

Dawn dropped her plate in the sink, pitched the empty bottle into the recycling bin, and headed back to her bed. She laid down and pulled the covers over her head and, to her relief, fell into a dreamless sleep.


***


"Dawn," Buffy called as she knocked softly on her sister's door. She waited a moment before knocking again. She knew it was stupid, being so wary of one skinny little fourteen year old, but the last thing Buffy wanted was a repeat of yesterday's hysterics. There were only so many times she could take being called a bitch before she'd give in to the urge to slap that snotty expression right off Dawn's face.

Buffy sighed. She really wasn't a violent person, sister-slapping impulses and the way she’d punched the guy next door notwithstanding. Buffy flushed when she thought about her introduction to her new neighbor. Again. She wasn't entirely sure it if was the out-of-character hitting or the half-nakedness that was making it so hard for her to forget about the incident. Hmm, maybe it had a little more to do with the full-on nakedness she'd witnessed later that day—

Buffy shook her head, willing those thoughts away, and rapped sharply on Dawn's door. "Dawn, wake up!" She opened the door and came face to face with her sister.

"What?"

"Morning, sunshine," Buffy said with forced cheerfulness. "You planning on rolling out of bed and giving me a hand some time today?"

Dawn pushed past Buffy without a word and stomped down the stairs. Buffy followed her more slowly, and the two settled into a rhythm of unpacking boxes. They worked in silence for a time, until Dawn finally spoke.

"Where's Kokopelli?" She looked up from the box she'd just emptied. "I've been through all the boxes marked 'art,' I think, and I can't find him."

Buffy glanced at Dawn. It was obvious from the look on Dawn’s face that this was about more than just a misplaced knick-knack. "I ... I sold it. Mr. Giles looked through what we had at the house, and he took the things he thought would sell in the gallery."

Dawn's eyes filled with tears. "But I loved him! And he was Mom's. How could you get rid of him? Without even asking me?" She stood abruptly. Her hands shook. "God, you just really don’t care about either of us, do you?"

Buffy stood as well. Her hands curled into fists as rage suffused her. Dawn had no idea—none whatsoever—what Buffy had been facing since their mother died. Everything she had done in the past six months had been for their mother and for Dawn; to be accused of not caring stung more than Buffy could express. She hadn’t explicitly told Dawn all the reasons they’d had to move—she didn’t think a fourteen year old should worry about finances—but she’d thought Dawn had some idea of why the changes in their lives were necessary.

“Dawn,” she said finally through clenched teeth, “I’m sorry I didn’t check with you on every little thing. I’m trying to make sure we’ve got money to eat and pay our bills and maybe even have a little bit of savings when you go to college, okay?” At least you get to go to college, Buffy thought. She restrained herself from saying anything else right then—she knew whatever came out of her mouth would just sound bitter and selfish.

“Whatever! All I am is a duty to you, right? A mess you have to take care of, just like Mom was.”

Buffy surprised both herself and her sister by slapping Dawn across the face. There was a ringing silence in the room. Dawn pressed a hand to the quickly-reddening hand print on her cheek, tears welling up in her eyes.

Buffy took a step toward Dawn. “Dawnie,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry— I didn’t mean to—” The younger girl didn’t respond, but turned and bolted out the front door before Buffy could close the distance between them. By the time she stepped outside, Dawn was nowhere to be seen.

Buffy leaned against the door frame. She was torn between wanting to scour the neighborhood for Dawn—and then tying her down so Buffy could apologize—and being too angry at Dawn‘s cruel words to truly mean an apology at the moment. After deliberating for a minute, she went back inside. Dawn couldn't have gone too far, not barefoot and still in her pajamas, and she'd come back on her own. Probably as soon as she remembered she hadn't eaten yet today.

Dawn still hadn't reappeared more than an hour later. Buffy refused to worry about her, instead concentrating on her to-do list. She made one final check of the kitchen cupboards and moved on to the next item on her list—grocery shopping. Even if Dawn's stomach encouraged her to come home, Buffy reasoned, the lack of edibles would only send her right back out the door.

Buffy scribbled a quick note and affixed it to the refrigerator. Knowing Dawn, that would be the first place she would look when she finally returned. Before leaving the house, Buffy added one more task to her to-do list. It was a small gesture; she only hoped it would be enough to start her and Dawn on the road to repairing their relationship.





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