CHAPTER ELEVEN


A/N: It's probably going to be a while until I update this again, so I thought I'd give you a treat... enjoy... ;-)


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It was almost too good to be true. Just a few metres away from where he sat, Buffy was sleeping in his bed. He had tried to sleep himself, but the smell of her filled his senses and all he could hear was the low thud of her heart, her soft breathing. It was distracting enough to bring him downstairs to the chair at the end of the bed.

Now he just sat watching her, studying the expressions on her face – she was stressed even in her sleep, her forehead wrinkled with an almost constant frown. He wished she could seek refuge in sleep, but knew it was no good – he had heard her cry out more than once, tonight and the night before; he had guessed that the grave still plagued her dreams. After all, he had been the one to tell her friends how traumatic the experience was – he wasn’t surprised to find Buffy was still suffering.

She stirred in her sleep and he watched her carefully, wishing he could wipe the frown from her face. She let out a little moan but settled back to sleep again, seemingly comfortable in his bed. The thought affected him more than he thought was perhaps proper in this situation and he rose to his feet, restless and on edge.



A noise from above drew his attention and as the door to his crypt swung shut with a slam, he quickly grabbed a knife from a dresser and made his way to the ladder, looking up into the darkness above.

“Spike?”

As soon as Dawn called his name, he dropped the knife and rushed up into the upper part of the crypt. Dawn jumped a little at his sudden appearance and he quickly lighted a few candles.

“Dawn, what are you doing here? Are you trying to get yourself killed?! It’s the middle of the night and you’re out walking through Sunnydale and-“

He cut himself off when he saw the girl’s devastated expression and softened, stepping towards her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, his instinct to comfort the Summers’ girls kicking in.

“I was looking for Buffy. Is she here?”

He paused for a moment, but then decided to tell her the truth.

“Yeah, she’s downstairs.”

Dawn moved towards the trapdoor but he stopped her with a gentle hand.

“She’s sleeping. Best leave her to get some rest, yeah?”

Dawn nodded hesitantly and moved to sit in his chair, her expression tainted with sadness.

“Did you know?” she asked, and he didn’t need clarification as to what she was asking.

“Yeah.”

He decided not to add that he had known for weeks now.

“She was in Heaven,” Dawn breathed.



He let out a sigh and moved to crouch in front of the girl, forcing her eyes to his.

“Yeah, pet.”

“We took her away from that.”

“We didn’t take her away from anything, Nibblet.”

She met his eyes sadly and nodded.

“No. They did. But I still…”

“I know, pet.”

“She’s not happy, is she?”

He didn’t know what to say to that, was unsure whether to lie.

“I think it’s a struggle,” he answered softly, “But she’ll… she’ll get there, L’il Bit.”

He tried not to let his own uncertainty show in his voice.

“I was so happy to have her back,” Dawn said, “And now I don’t know what to feel.”

“Stick with happy to have her back,” he encouraged, “She needs you to help her through, yeah?”

“She doesn’t hate me?”

“’Course not, L’il Bit. Now, come on, let’s get you home.”

Dawn rose to her feet and threw a glance at the trapdoor.

“I’m glad you’re looking after her.”

He raised an eyebrow but said nothing, throwing on his jacket and ushering the girl out of his crypt.



He saw Dawn safely back into her house and then retraced his steps across the town and back to his crypt. The crypt was still silent as he shut the door behind him and threw his jacket off. He dropped down into the lower part and found Buffy still asleep, curled up on one side. He went to her side and studied her, daring to reach out and smooth one finger across the frown still present on her forehead. She stirred with his touch and opened her eyes sleepily.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What time is it?”

“Still late. Just past midnight, maybe.”

She nodded and sat up a tiny bit.

“Was someone here before? I thought I heard you talking to someone.”

“It was Dawn.”

She sat up straight, her eyes wide with worry.

“Is she okay? What happened?”

He placed a hand on her shoulder, hoping to soothe her.

“She’s fine. She was just looking for you.”

“Did you tell her I was here?”

“Yeah.”

At her look of panic, he quickly added:

“Is that alright?”

She raised her eyes and nodded slightly, forcing a smile.

“Might take some explaining.”

He smiled and her smile grew slightly wider.

“Were you always this tall?” she asked suddenly, “Gonna hurt my neck.”

He didn’t know what prompted the comment but dropped to a crouch in front of her. She laughed.

“Spike, sit down,” she said, shifting over and gesturing to the bed.

His eyes went wide but he rose up and sat on the bed.



She was silent for a moment, her gaze moving to her hand where it played with the edge of the bedding.

“Was she okay? Dawn?”

She met his gaze with a worried look.

“A bit upset.”

She dropped her head and he continued, needing to reassure her.

“She understands though. She was just worried about you… about you being happy.”

“When did my little sister grow up so much?” she asked with a sad smile.

“She was worried you might hate her, too.”

“Why would she think that?” she asked in surprise.

“Because of what you lost.”

“It wasn’t Dawn’s fault.”

“Anyone who really loves you can’t help but feel bad about what you lost,” he murmured.

Her eyes met his and he became more than aware of just how close she was. He cleared his throat nervously and looked away, knowing she was uncomfortable whenever he gave away too much about his feelings for her. Her warm fingers on his shoulder drew his startled gaze back to her.

“Spike,” she breathed, her eyes brimming with tears.

He stayed deathly still, unsure what she was thinking, what he had done to cause this reaction. Her fingers twitched against his neck and she shifted forward. He froze completely as she touched her lips to his. She was gone before he could even process it, but her taste lingered on his lips, burning him. He stared at her and she flushed, looking away.

“I should, erm, get some more sleep.”

She gave him one last shy look and then turned her back on him and lay down on the bed once more. He rose to his feet, still staring at her, his fingers rising involuntarily to his lips. She was asleep in moments but he lingered long into the night, watching over her, trying not to let the memory of her kiss get him carried away.