“Where do you think you’re going, Miss Summers?”
Dawn stopped in her tracks. Crap. She turned around slowly. If she had some time to think, she was sure she’d be able to come up with a plausible excuse for being in the shop wing—with one hand on the exit to the teachers’ parking lot, no less—instead of in biology class where she belonged. Dawn put on her most innocent expression and prepared to cry if necessary.
Janice grinned at her. “Gotcha.”
“Oh, my god, Janice, you suck!” Dawn pushed through the door into the sunshine. The weather had changed in the past week, and the air was brisk. It was refreshing after sitting in overheated classrooms all morning. Dawn felt wide awake for the first time all day.
“Where we going, Summers?” Janice slipped her arm into the crook of Dawn’s elbow and pulled her into a skipping run across the parking lot.
“Who said we’re going anywhere?” Dawn pulled her arm out of Janice’s grasp. “That was really mean, just so you know.”
“Ah, c’mon, I was just kidding around. You should have seen the look on your face.” Janice giggled, and Dawn relented.
“Do you want to go to the mall?”
“Sounds good to me. Anything’s better than listening to Mrs. Dvorak. God, English is sooo boring, you know?”
“Yeah,” Dawn agreed, though she’d actually been enjoying English class lately. Or she had been when Spike had been helping her with her homework. He made even the really dull stuff, like all that Emily Dickinson’s poetry, seem ... almost fun. Then, of course, Buffy had put a stop to that. Dawn knew who she’d be blaming when report cards came out.
The girls strolled down the street, chattering about teachers and music and boys. Janice pulled Dawn into a run when she spotted the number seven bus pulling to a stop half a block ahead of them. Dawn skidded to a halt behind Janice and dug through her book bag for bus fare.
“I got this, Summers,” Janice said. She dropped a handful of change in the fare box and headed for the back of the bus. Dawn followed her, and they entertained themselves during the slow trip to the mall by making quiet fun of the other riders on the bus.
***
Dawn and Janice perused the lipstick at the Macy’s make-up counter. The young woman working the counter—her hair perfectly coiffed and make-up expertly applied—watched them closely as they sampled and commented on the latest colors. Dawn eyed the woman’s outfit; the tailored skirt and blouse looked like something Buffy had hiding at the back of her closet. Dawn wondered how much a store like this paid. Probably at least as much as Doublemeat Palace, only without the bonus of smelling like grease at the end of the day.
Janice handed Dawn a bold red shade. “Try this one.”
Dawn add the lipstick to the smattering of hues on her hand. “Right. Because Buffy would let me out of the house with that on.” She dropped the tube and rummaged through the colors until she spotted a hot pink one she liked.
“Uh, duh? Like I let my mom see what I’m planning to wear at school.” Janice held out a deep plum lipstick. Dawn shook her head.
The counter girl moved toward them. The discrete gold name tag pinned to her silk blouse—no neon polyester or cheap plastic here—read ‘Denise.’ “No school today, ladies?” Denise asked. Her smile was sweet and completely fake.
“We’re home schooled,” Janice said.
Denise nodded. Her smile got brighter and more insincere. “May I help you find something?”
“I need to find a birthday present for my mom,” Janice said. “Can you help me find her perfume? I forgot the name, but I can tell you what the bottle looks like.” She gave a vague description that matched roughly half the perfume decanters on display.
Dawn moved slowly around the counter. She rifled through a variety of eye make-up before moving on to the foundation and blush. She looked around the store and sighed. Thanksgiving was still weeks away, and already Christmas decorations were on display. Dawn wasn’t looking forward to the holidays for the first time in, well, ever. Without her mom ...
She blinked back tears. “Janice, are you almost done?” she said. “I’m ready to go.”
Janice shrugged. “I guess I’ll have to look in my mom’s room,” she told Denise. “I don’t want to get the wrong thing. Thanks for your help, though.”
Dawn and Janice left Macy’s and headed for the restroom. The bathroom was empty except for a young mother changing her baby. Janice and Dawn set their bags on the counter in front of the mirror and busied themselves with fixing their hair until they had the space to themselves. When the woman strapped her baby back into its stroller and left, Janice turned to Dawn. “Let’s see what you got.”
Dawn grinned and emptied her loot onto the counter—three tubes of lipstick, two cases of eye shadow, a tube of mascara, and an eyeliner. Janice whistled approvingly. “Not bad, Summers,” she said, picking up the dark red lipstick. “Do you mind?”
Dawn shook her head. “Nope. I thought you’d like that one.” She chose the hot pink shade—Backstage Bambi, according to the label—and carefully applied it. She eyed herself in the mirror, then grabbed a paper towel and scrubbed the lipstick off. She replaced it with the bright red that Janice had selected. Much better. Dawn heavily outlined her eyes in black and stepped back to assess the results. The make-up was fine, she decided. It was the clothes that needed to go. Too bad a new wardrobe wasn’t in the budget.
“You ready?” Janice asked.
“Sure.” Dawn gathered up her new cosmetics and dropped them into her backpack.
***
Buffy struggled to keep the smile on her face as the case worker leafed through the papers Buffy had provided. The woman on the other side of the desk was quite petite—shorter even than Buffy—and seemed to be trying to make up for her lack of height with the size of her hair. Buffy wondered just how much hairspray, mousse, and gel a person could afford on a social worker’s salary.
And the woman was saying something. Buffy tore her eyes away from the tower of dark curls and plastered on her widest smile. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
The woman—’Cheryl,’ the nameplate on her desk read, though she hadn’t bothered to introduce herself—sighed and shuffled through the papers again. “Your employer covers more than eighty percent of your insurance premium, so you won’t qualify for the state health care plan. We ask that you contact your employer to get enrolled in the plan they offer.”
“Oh,” Buffy said flatly. “But …”
Cheryl glanced up. It was the first time she’d actually made eye contact with Buffy since their little meeting had begun. “Yes?”
Buffy swallowed hard. “I can’t afford the insurance at work. That’s why I’m here.”
Cheryl nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that.” Somehow, Buffy doubted it. “We will be able to offer insurance for your sister—Dawn, is it? However, you are not currently eligible for coverage.”
It took all of Buffy’s willpower to concentrate on the rest of what the case worker had to say after that. It was a good thing Dawn, at least, would have insurance—or so she tried to tell herself. She nodded in the right places as Cheryl outlined what benefits they would be receiving and signed her name on all the appropriate lines. Buffy exited the office with a sheaf of papers and a vague sense of shame. She’d been assured her card for the food stamp program would be arriving soon, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to use it. Ever.
You’re doing this for Dawn, Buffy reminded herself as she got into her car. She glared at the Doublemeat Palace hat sitting on her passenger seat. God, she hated her job. If it weren’t for Dawn, she’d quit tomorrow. But that wasn’t an option, so she put the car in drive and headed off to one more endless day of flipping burgers.
***
Dawn rolled her eyes at the fifty-seventh penis-shaped gag gift Janice held up for her entertainment. “Gross,” she said, and returned her attention to Hot Topic’s body jewelry selection. “How much do you think Buffy would kill me if I pierced my lip?”
“I’m guessing … all the way dead,” Janice replied. “Plus, it’s really dangerous. My cousin’s boyfriend’s sister got her lip pierced, and, like, half her face went totally numb.” She glanced at the jewelry display that had captivated Dawn’s attention for the past five minutes. “But look at that. You could stretch your earlobes. I bet Buffy wouldn’t even notice if you start with a little one.”
Dawn shrugged. “Maybe.” She looked over her shoulder; the store clerk was busy at the check-out. She slipped a package containing a faux lip ring into her pocket before casually sauntering over to the poster display. Janice trailed along and stood silently by as Dawn flipped through the posters. She paused on a grainy, black-and-white image of a scrawny, long-haired man posed in front of a graffitti’d bathroom wall. Joey Ramone, CBGB, 1992, read the print along the bottom of the poster.
Janice gave a little snort, and Dawn turned to meet her friend’s amused gaze.
“What?”
Janice shrugged. “Nothing. Just … what’s up with you?”
Dawn shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Was she being weird? She knew half the school thought she was some sort of weirdo; most of her so-called friends had treated her like a freakazoid since her mother died. Which might have something to do with the complete and total meltdown she’d had in front of her art class when Buffy showed up at school and told her …
She forced that memory away. Janice was the only person who still wanted to hang out with her, and Dawn didn’t want to do anything—like turning into a sobbing mess in the middle of the mall—that would make her change her mind.
“What do you mean? Nothing’s up with me.”
“I don’t know, wanting to pierce body parts, ogling heroin addicts.” Janice gestured to the poster of Joey Ramone. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you, like, stroking all the black leather at Express. You’re not gonna go all Goth on me, are you? Because I’m just not down with the emo crowd.”
Dawn giggled. “No, I’m not ‘going Goth,’ you dork. Just, uh, maybe a little bit punk?”
“Please tell me this isn’t because you’re trying to impress your neighbor.”
“No! God, don’t be gross.”
“Whatever,” Janice said. “I know you’re totally hot for him.”
“Hope you’re talking about me,” a familiar voice said from behind Dawn. She turned to see Jason standing there with another boy. In the few seconds it took for her brain to start working, she managed to look Jason up and down, taking in his tall, lean figure. His dark hair was mussed; it made her want to run her fingers through it. Dawn finally met Jason’s blue eyes and realized she’d been ogling him. A blush immediately pinked her cheeks.
“Oh, gag me, Jay,” Janice laughed. “No, we were talking about Dawn’s neighbor she’s got a crush on.”
Dawn hissed a horrified “shut up!” at her friend, but Janice kept right on talking.
“When am I going to get to meet this uber-hottie, anyway?”
Dawn wished the floor would open up and swallow her. She couldn’t believe Janice was doing this to her in front of Jason, of all people. “I’m not allowed to have anyone over when Buffy’s not home,” she mumbled.
Janice rolled her eyes. “God, you’d think not having parents around would be fun.”
Dawn didn’t know what to say to that.
Jason filled the awkward silence that fell between the girls. “You are such a moron, Janice.” He nudged Dawn gently with his elbow. “Hey, don’t listen to her. You know how she is—if her mouth’s moving, it means her brain’s not on.”
Janice gaped at Dawn for a second before reaching out and giving her a quick hug. “I’m so sorry. That was a really stupid thing to say.”
Dawn shrugged. “It’s okay,” she said, even though it really wasn’t.
“Uh, hey, I’m starving,” Janice said. “Do you want to get something to eat?”
“I … no, I think, I think I have to go,” Dawn said. She didn’t look at Janice or Jason or Jason’s friend whose name she didn’t even know and who she really didn’t want to cry in front of. And she thought if she didn’t get out of there right now, she was going to burst into tears. Janice was supposed to be the one who understood; she was the only one who even seemed to remember that Dawn used to be someone other than that girl whose mom died.
She walked away without saying goodbye and didn’t turn around when she heard Janice call her name. When she heard quick footsteps behind her, Dawn sped up her own pace. She was nearly to the exit before a hand closed around her upper arm.
“Dawn.” To her surprise, it was Jason’s voice that said her name, Jason’s warm breath that stirred the hair at the nape of her neck. “Are you okay?”
She nodded without looking at him and tried to pull her arm out of his grasp. He let her go, but then put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him.
“Jan’s an idiot,” Jason said. His voice was so quiet she had to strain to hear him. “Don’t let her get to you.”
“I know,” Dawn said quietly. “I just … I thought she got it, you know?” She really wished he would go away and stop being so nice, because him being nice just made her want to cry even more. She didn’t mean for this to be such a big deal, and maybe it wasn’t even Janice’s thoughtless remark that was upsetting her. Maybe it was just that Christmas was coming, and her mom was … dead.
Dawn had somehow managed to not ever put that word together with her mom, not once in the past six months. All she wanted was to run home and curl up in her mom’s bed, wrap her fuzzy red blanket around her shoulders, and be surrounded by her scent. No, all she wanted was to be wrapped in her mom’s arms, but right now her bed and a blanket that still held a hint of her perfume would have to do. Only she couldn’t even do that, because someone else was living in their house, and all her mom’s furniture and things had been sold or given away except for just a few special items, and …
And she had to stop thinking about this right now, or she really was going to start blubbering like a big, embarrassing baby. Dawn kept her face turned away from Jason. “I want to go home,” she said through numb lips.
“Okay,” Jason said. “We can do that.” He smiled at her just as if she weren’t a total freak, that beautiful, dimpled smile that made Dawn feel warm all the way down to her toes. Then he took her hand in his, and they walked out of the mall into the fading afternoon sunlight. The warmth of his hand against hers sent a thrill through Dawn’s entire body, and she couldn’t bring herself to tell Jason that the home she meant was a place she could never go again. Instead, she let herself enjoy the feel of his fingers curled around hers and the rhythm of his stride slowing to match hers as they walked together across the parking lot. For just that moment, everything else faded to insignificance.
***
Spike was contemplating chucking his computer out a window when the doorbell rang. “Brilliant,” he said, and cheerfully sprang from his desk to answer the door. He needed any excuse to get away from the tedious task of catching up on his emails and sorting through notes from his editor; at this point, he’d happily welcome a Bible-thumper peddling religion or, hell, even an annoying eight year old in uniform peddling cookies.
Spike had to stifle a sigh when he swung the front door open. “Dawn. What can I do for you?”
Dawn Summers stared up at him, her big blue eyes caked in dark makeup. “Hi, Spike,” she said. She chewed on her bottom lip, which was not only painted street-walker red, but also sported a delicate, silver ring.
He leaned against the door frame and regarded Dawn for a moment. She shivered as he watched her, her thin arms bare beneath a two-sizes-too-small t-shirt. At least the girl was coordinating; her ripped jean skirt was at least as too-small as the shirt.
“Your sister see that yet?” he asked, and gave her lip ring a gentle tug. It came off in his hand. He chuckled. “Well, that’s lucky for me, innit? No doubt it’d somehow be my fault if you were poking holes in yourself.”
“Can I have that back, please?” Dawn held out an imperious hand—he knew where she got that move from—and Spike obediently returned her jewelry. He watched her reaffix it with slender, black-polish-tipped fingers. “And, what? How is what I do your fault?”
“Never mind. Let’s just say big sis doesn’t much like me.” He looked at her sternly. Best to get to the point and get her out of here. ”What’s up, pigeon? You know the rules; not supposed to be hanging around me, remember?”
She shivered again and wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m locked out,” she said. “And Buffy’s working a double shift today, so she won’t be home til, like, really late.” Dawn looked at him then with those big eyes that made him think of his sister, and any resistance he might have had went right out of him.
“What’re you waiting for?” He stepped back and waved her inside. “Get in here before you turn into one giant goosebump.”
She smiled gratefully as she scooted past him into the foyer. “Thanks, Spike,” she said through chattering teeth.
Spike closed the door and turned to the hall closet, rummaging inside to find a sweatshirt. “Here,” he said, and handed it to her. He dragged a hand through his hair and considered what to do.
“You’re not too happy to see me, huh?” Dawn said. She zipped the sweatshirt and pushed the sleeves up to her elbows; they immediately slid back down her arms and covered her hands again, but she at least looked warmer.
Spike shrugged. “It’s not you. Just not looking for another chat with your sister. D’you know,” he ushered Dawn into the kitchen as he spoke, “every time I talk to her, she hits me. Bloody annoying is what that is.”
Dawn giggled and dropped her back pack on the kitchen table. “Really?”
“‘Fraid so.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and handed it to Dawn. “Call her, tell her where you are.” He wandered into the other room as she made the call, picking up the empty beer bottles and dishes from the night before and making sure his living room was generally safe for impressionable minors. When he got back to the kitchen, Dawn was just setting the phone down. “Any objections?”
“Uh, no,” Dawn said. “But she was busy. I left a message. Uh … I’m going to call our home phone, just in case they forget to tell her I called, okay?”
Spike nodded and sat down across the table from Dawn as she left a rambling message for her sister. She glanced up at him once she’d disconnected the call, and there was a look in her eyes that didn’t belong to a child. “You all right?” he asked gently.
Dawn shrugged. “I guess.”
“That doesn’t sound too convincing.”
“I’m fine. Buffy’s been pretty nice lately. When I see her. She works a lot.”
“Gets a little lonely all by yourself, doesn’t it?”
She dropped her eyes, but not before Spike saw the tears welling up in them. “I … I’m not a baby,” Dawn said. Her tone was defensive.
“‘Course not.” He leaned back in his chair and regarded her for a moment, searching his brain for a distraction. “You want a snack or something?”
She shook her head. “Not hungry.”
“Do you have homework?” Dawn snapped her head up at that, visibly dismayed. “Hey, I told you,” Spike continued, “your sister’s got it in for me. I’m not going to give her any more excuses to get peeved about you being here.”
“Fine.” She pulled her back pack towards her and retrieved two textbooks and a notebook. “I’ll do my homework.” She opened the history text and flipped through the pages.
“Good girl,” Spike said. He grinned when she glanced up at him and stuck out her tongue. “Is that all of it? English and history?”
Dawn sighed, but reached into her bag and came out with a math text. “I have some algebra, too, but that’s it.”
“You got it under control, or do you need help with anything?”
“I think I’m good. Can I listen to music, though?” She rummaged through her back pack one more time. “I have that disc you made for me. I really like it.” Dawn looked up at him with a shy smile. Spike couldn’t help but smile back at her.
“‘Course you can.” He pushed back from the table. “In fact, come with me. The stereo’s in the living room; you can listen to whatever you like.” He led her down the hall and handed her his iPod. He watched her as she scrolled through his music collection. “What’d you like on that disc?”
Dawn didn’t glance away from the device in her hand. “Oh, I think my favorites are ‘Sheena is a Punk Rocker’ and maybe ‘Crummy Stuff.’ Or ‘What do I Get.’ But definitely the Ramones more than the Sex Pistols.” She scrunched up her nose. “They’re just sort of loud and bad.”
“Easy there, pet.”
“Sorry.” She looked at him then, her blue eyes very earnest. “Thanks, though, for the music. It … I really like it. I thought it would just be good for driving Buffy crazy, ‘cause she hates it, but …” Dawn gnawed on her lower lip, then continued. “It’s … there’s all these songs about how much life sucks, and they’re all mad and yell-y about it, and that kinda makes it better, you know? Like, I can turn it up loud and sing and yell along with it, and then I feel a little bit better. So, thanks.”
Spike didn’t know what to say. Making a kid feel better with punk rock, was that what the doctor ordered? Apparently, because there she was standing in front of him, all teary-eyed and sincere. When was the last time he’d done good by someone? No wonder he was struck dumb at her gratitude. “I— You’re welcome, pigeon.”
Dawn broke into a thousand-watt smile that dispelled all the sorrow she carried with her, at least for the moment. “Honestly, I’ve been a little obsessed with punk lately. Janice, that’s my best friend, threatened to kick me out of her house if I made her listen to any more Green Day.”
Spike snorted. “Sorry, kid, but Green Day is not punk.”
“Oh, okay, Spike. ‘Cause you’re all about the attitude with your Johnny Cash.” She smirked and turned her attention back to the iPod.
“The Man in Black’s got attitude in spades.” Spike was warming up to this conversation, now they’d gotten past the mushy stuff. “‘I killed a man in Reno just to watch him die?’ Doesn’t get much darker than that.”
Dawn waved a dismissive hand at him. “Whatever. Country music is lame. Oooh, Social Distortion! That one, please.”
Spike got the music going, grinning to himself when Dawn whirled around the coffee table in an awkward display of uncoordinated limbs. “You do your homework now, okay? I’ll be upstairs finishing up some work I’ve got left.”
After one more spin around the living room, Dawn came to a halt in front of him. “Okay. Can I ask if I need help with my homework?”
“Don’t know that I’d be much good with the maths, but anything else, you just holler.”
Dawn nodded. “Thanks, Spike.”
He patted her on the shoulder as they headed in their separate directions. Spike paused in the hallway to be sure she settled down and got to work. His last sight of her as he walked up the stairs was of her diligently bent over her books. He smiled to himself; he thought he’d handled that pretty well. Hopefully his neighbor would agree.
***
Dawn closed her algebra book with a frustrated grunt. She wondered briefly if Jason was good at math and would like to tutor her. Five minutes and one slightly naughty daydream later, she came back to herself and her rumbling tummy. She looked around the kitchen and thought about raiding the cupboards. Then she thought the polite thing to do would probably be to find Spike and ask nicely if she could have something to eat.
She’d never been upstairs in Spike’s house before, but Dawn didn’t think it would be too difficult to find him. She climbed the stairs and found herself in a hallway full of closed doors. She knocked tentatively on the first door to her left and opened it to reveal a bathroom. The second door led to a bedroom that was minimally furnished with a large bed covered in black sheets and a pair of nightstands. Dawn closed the door and headed across the hall to find another bedroom, this one obviously uninhabited. An unassembled bedframe leaned against one wall. Haphazard stacks of cardboard boxes filled much of the rest of the room.
“Dawn.” Spike’s voice behind her was sudden, and she squeaked in surprise. She was getting a little sick of people sneaking up on her today.
“Hey, Spike,” she said, turning to face him. “I was coming to look for you.”
He nodded distractedly, his attention fixed on the room behind her. “How’s your homework?”
“All done. But, uh, I was kinda getting hungry and, um, could I make something to eat?”
Spike didn’t answer for a long moment. Then he shook himself and reached past her to pull the door closed. “C’mon, let’s go make some dinner, yeah?” He put a gentle hand on her shoulder and steered her away from the bedroom. They walked in silence down the stairs. Dawn trailed a hand along the plain white wall as they went. She thought it was kind of sad how Spike didn’t have any pictures or anything on his walls. It seemed so lonely.
“How long have you lived here?” she asked, following Spike into the kitchen.
“Couple years,” he answered. “It’ll be, let me think … three years next month.”
“And you still haven’t unpacked?” She laughed a little until she noticed the pained expression on his face. “I mean, that’s cool.”
Spike shrugged. “Been busy,” he said, shortly. “Now, what should we have?” He opened the fridge and stared into it for a moment before leaning down to move items around on the shelves.
“I … really, Spike, you don’t have to make anything for me. I could make grilled cheese or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Ooh, or a grilled cheese and peanut butter sandwich.”
It was Spike’s turn to laugh. “So you’d eat pretty much anything, is what you’re telling me?”
“Well, no. I mean, grilled cheese and peanut butter would probably be gross. I did this thing with tortillas one time, sort of like quesadillas only less queso and more horseradish and pickles and salsa. I thought it was going to be awesome, and it really, really wasn’t.”
“That … is disgusting.” He paused in his perusal of the refrigerator’s contents to look over his shoulder at her. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to cook?”
Her good mood disappeared in a flash. “I … my mom was starting to, but then she—”
“I’m sorry, pigeon.” Spike straightened up and faced her. “Don’t always think before I open my mouth.”
Dawn busied herself with her texts and notebooks, carefully replacing all of her belongings in her back pack. “Whatever. Mom wasn’t … well, she was a good cook, but she didn’t really like to cook, you know? She’d do it for special occasions, but her idea of teaching me to cook probably would have been where to find the take out coupons in the phone book. I swear, we were the only reason the Indian restaurant stayed in business as long as it did. Mom really loved their curry.”
“So let’s make curry tonight, what d’you say?” Spike started opening cabinets, pulling spices and pans and utensils out of various cupboards and drawers. “There’s a package of shrimp in the freezer. Grab that, and then you can make the rice.”
“I … I don’t know how to make rice.” Dawn moved to the freezer as bidden, even as she stammered out a half-hearted protest. “And you should know, I’m … I’m really not a good cook. Like, at all.”
“That’s the point,” Spike said. “I’m gonna teach you how to make rice, and then you’ll know how to do it. Won’t that be nice?” He set a small pot, a measuring cup, and a bag of rice on the counter. “You can start by reading the directions. If you can read, you can cook.”
Soon there was a pot of jasmine rice simmering away on the stove. Spike gave it one final stir before dropping the lid down, pronounced himself proud of Dawn’s achievement, and handed her the biggest knife she’d ever seen. “You get to cut the onion,” he instructed.
“Don’t you have, like, a food processor or something?” Dawn eyed the gleaming silver blade she held in her fist. Visions of severed fingertips and spurting blood danced through her mind. Ew. “Or one of those choppy things?”
“Nah, don’t need the gadgets.” Spike took her hand in his and showed her how to hold the knife. “Simpler’s better. Start slow and try not to cut anything off.”
“Gee, thanks, Spike,” she muttered. He chuckled and placed an onion on the cutting board in front of her. “Where’d you learn to cook, anyway? From reading the directions?”
He shook his head and deftly peeled three cloves of garlic. “No, I had a great teacher named Max.”
“Max? Is that your older brother?”
“No, he was, uh, one of our cooks.” Spike hitched one shoulder, looking a little red in the face.
Dawn’s eyes got very wide as a thought struck her. “Oh, are you, like, a lord or something royal?”
“No!” Spike spoke vehemently, and Dawn grinned at his obvious discomfort. “My father, useless prat that he could be, came from money. He spared no expense for all the trappings he thought we needed—big house, fancy cars, household staff.”
“Oh.” Dawn nodded thoughtfully. “What’s a prat?” she asked. “‘Cause I think my dad might be one, too.”
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Banner by KnifeEdgeAuthor's Chapter Notes:
Beta'd by KnifeEdge, Puddinehead, and Ryn.
Huge thanks for all the help and encouragement!
I have been working on this story for well over a year now. It hasn't been an incredibly active year (took me most of that time to get two chapters written), but one thing that's been constant throughout is that music strikes me as being perfect for this story. Or: I hear a song and something in it speaks to me, points me in a direction I want to go. Music is definitely an important part of this story, and so I want to share my Welcome to the Neighborhood playlist.
http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL8A118ADBBC54E2BA
(You'll probably figure out that I love the Talking Heads and the Violent Femmes; what surprised me was how much I've grown to love punk rock in the past couple years. I blame Spike.)
Huge thanks for all the help and encouragement!
I have been working on this story for well over a year now. It hasn't been an incredibly active year (took me most of that time to get two chapters written), but one thing that's been constant throughout is that music strikes me as being perfect for this story. Or: I hear a song and something in it speaks to me, points me in a direction I want to go. Music is definitely an important part of this story, and so I want to share my Welcome to the Neighborhood playlist.
http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL8A118ADBBC54E2BA
(You'll probably figure out that I love the Talking Heads and the Violent Femmes; what surprised me was how much I've grown to love punk rock in the past couple years. I blame Spike.)
Chapter End Notes:
Okay, that was a really Dawn-centric chapter. Personally, I love Dawn (I'm sure that comes as a shock to everyone who's read my fics), but I know that's not the case for everyone. Rest assured I will make up for it in the next chapter.