Origins by Niamh
Book One

Prologue

She of the origin, she of the primal crack, she of the boiling beginning, she of the riddle, she keeps me here, toiling and toiling – Anne Sexton


They had been watching, waiting, guarding for a millennia, hoping against hope that the Beast would not arise on this watch. Thousands of years they had been watching, guarding the Key from the ones that sought to destroy it, to use it for their own ends and destroy the balance between dimensions. Regimes came and went, countries and powers rose and fell, and still they waited. Yet as carefully and closely as they watched, the monks were still caught unaware.

The Beast had been consigned to this dimension, chained, restrained and subject to the limitations of humanity, captured within a frail form, unable to wield its powers upon and within the Terran dimension. And still, they knew it was not a fail-safe; that eventually the Beast could overpower and sublimate the human host.

So they had begun forming a plan, a way of safeguarding the Key from the clutches of the latest threat. Seeking out guardians for the Key proved difficult, made further impossible by the strength of the Beast. In their search for a guardian, a champion, the elders of the order had stumbled upon the legends of the Chosen One. In time, they had discovered more than legends, they had managed to locate the Chosen One. Unfortunately for them, before they could introduce this One to the Key, she was killed by one of her foes. Her executioner, for that was what the foe was, intrigued some of the elders, given the ferocity of their battle.

Intrigued as the elders were, they had decided to investigate this new warrior. His history, as it was recorded, listed numerous battles against other Chosen Ones, defeating and outright killing two, damaging others. Never once had this warrior shied from battling the Chosen Ones, seeking out one after another, forcing battles and confrontations, never once backing down from a fight. The elders had decided to follow the path of this warrior, while seeking out the newly Chosen One. The next few proved less than able, despite their chosen status.

Time was slipping past too quickly, and the Beast was getting stronger, breaking through the human form to exert its control. Events had fallen in that the dark warrior had been hampered, neutered by demon hunter’s intent on forcing their will onto demonkind and now worked- albeit reluctantly- with the current Chosen One. Working rapidly, concentrating, the monks began weaving the web of protection to shield the Key from the Beast. Using material at hand, the monks forged a substance and form for the Key.

And, like a cuckoo in the nest, the Key took shape and was transplanted into the fabric of the life of the current Chosen One . . . the Vampire Slayer, Buffy Summers.


Book One, Chapter 1. Rain in the Summertime.

Spike was exhausted. Resting his head on the cold tile of the shower, he finally allowed the tight rein he kept on his emotions to drop. Emotions were a weakness right now; a liability he refused to allow himself. He couldn’t let the mask of- well it surely wasn’t indifference- the impassive face he showed in front of the Scoobies to crack. There was no fucking way in hell he’d let his real emotions show. Not in front of Harris, anyway. The birds might be okay, but he’d decided against that, given how shattered they all looked. Even Rupert looked hollow most days.

Dawn was asleep, curled up in the Slayer’s bed, tears drying on the pillows. He’d found her there after patrol and while he knew he should make her sleep in her own bed, he’d not wanted to wake her. Sleep had been elusive for the teen for the last three weeks. Sleep was elusive for all of them. Twenty-two days and a couple of hours since she’d lost the last of her family, since the Slayer had flung herself off the tower in an effort to save Dawn and the world. Twenty-two fucking days.

For the first couple of days, she’d coped. Held up fairly well, all things considered. They’d been so busy, keeping busy, planning a funeral none of them were prepared to hold, just going through the motions. And then, one night, for no other reason than some stupid song on the radio, Dawn had collapsed. Giles and Willow had tried, but she’d been inconsolable, unable to stop the tears or the sobs. Tara had stepped in, recommending that they just be there, not trying to get her to stop, but even that hadn’t worked. Finally, the quiet witch had spoken, “Maybe we should get S-Spike.”


Well that had not gone over well. Or so he’d imagined. When Dawn had still not stopped crying after about two hours, Giles had caved and gone to his crypt. Spike had been deep in the contemplation of another bottle of stolen scotch when the Watcher came to call.

Spike had barely looked up at him when Giles clattered his way through the crypt door, barely acknowledged his presence even after the older man began speaking to him. He only turned his attention to Giles when he’d heard the girl’s name. “…been crying for a while. We can’t get her to stop.”

Tense jawed, Spike retorted, “And you ‘spect me to help?”

“Spike. We- well, Tara- thought it might help if you were there.” Giles hadn’t wanted to admit it, hadn’t wanted to face it, but the girl had a valid point. Both Buffy and Dawn had come to trust the vampire in the final days, and it just might be his presence that would calm the girl. He knew it was an admission of sorts, an admission of something he wasn’t really sure he wanted to face. That of all of them, the vampire was the one the last Summers woman wanted. What Giles didn’t want to face was the fact that had it been Dawn that died, Buffy would be in the same frame of mind. Rejecting all of them in favor of Spike.

“She’s cryin?” Despite his tone, Spike rose to his feet and reached for his duster. “‘Spect she finally realized what’s happened. Is she talkin?”

“No.” Giles hesitated a moment. “Well, she’s not talking to any of us. Tara thinks she might speak with you, or at least your presence will help.”

Spike looked over at him, one eyebrow raised. “Must make you warm all over to have to come to me.”

A soft inhalation and Giles said, “If we can get Dawn to calm herself, I don’t care if it’s Angel.”

Another raised eyebrow was his only response. While Buffy might have fooled herself that her Watcher had forgiven the elder vampire, Spike had known that Giles would never forgive Angel for the destruction he’d caused three years ago. Hell, Spike didn’t know if Giles would ever get over what Angelus had done. There was nothing they could say to each other; Angelus had effectively taken both their women. But for Giles to admit that, Dawn must be in a bad way.

“Right then. Let’s go.”

The two made their way silently through the night to Revello Drive.


That had been over two weeks ago. Since then, Spike had nearly moved into the house. Well, almost everyone had. Willow and Tara were currently sound asleep in the room that used to belong to Joyce, and Dawn was tucked in tight. Sometimes the Watcher slept on the couch, some nights it was Harris and his bird, but every night since Giles had fetched him, Spike was back here at Revello, watching over the all girls, but mostly, he was watching over Dawn.

The poor kid was a mess. Her tears hadn’t stopped when he and Rupert had returned, but he’d managed to calm her enough so that she slept. The funeral had been a complete disaster, at least for Dawn. The others had managed to hold it together, at least outwardly. Dawn had clutched him desperately, not wanting to let him go, even after the others had subtly tried to get her to let him go. Which had served the purpose of angering the L.A. crew, specifically Angel. The Poofter had swooped into town three days after he’d effectively moved into Revello; the night before the funeral was scheduled.

He groaned as the soapy water infiltrated his wounds. Patrol tonight had been fine, just a few vamps, and no other demons. But one of those vamps had given him a bit of a tumble, using a razor sharp blade, which eventually Spike had taken and used to behead the vamp. Now sporting long, thin cuts up and down his arms and one across his belly, Spike regretted not taking the same patrol as the bot. A grimace crossed his features. While he had moments of gratification from the Buffy-bot, too soon he’d been discovered and now…now that the real girl was gone, he couldn’t stand to be in the same room as the thing. He hated patrolling with it, and did so only due to his reluctance to let the others know how much he…how much he missed her, how much he bled, how much of this whole mess was his fault.

Forcing his mind away from thoughts of Buffy, he focused instead on the things Angel had tried to do. At first, finding Dawn curled up in Spike’s arms; he’d nearly growled the whole house down. Then he’d tried shouting at Spike. When Dawn and Giles had come to his defense, Angel had been forced to shut his mouth and momentarily keep his objections to himself. Thankfully, most of the others had been too dumbstruck to even speak, which was a surprise, considering Cordelia rarely kept her mouth or her opinions to herself.

They’d left, going to stay at the mansion, which was still owned by Angel, only to return the next day, armed with more arguments as to why Spike was such a horrible person, why he shouldn’t be allowed near Dawn. Giles, in his inimitable way, had merely taken off his glasses, looked once at Spike and Dawn. He then spoke very quietly and very clearly, so that everyone who was present heard and, even better, understood his position.

“Are you prepared to stay here in Sunnydale and take over everything that Spike has been doing for the past week?” He looked at the elder of the two vampires present and waited patiently for his answer. “Are you prepared to patrol nightly and do whatever it takes to keep the Hellmouth quiet? Will you guarantee that you won’t turn your back on Dawn? “

Giles waited, knowing Angel would refuse to leave Los Angeles and that he couldn’t promise to stay with Dawn as long as necessary. Angel stared at the Watcher, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “The truth is, Angel, I don’t trust you. Haven’t trusted you since your…since Angelus appeared.”

At that, Angel had sputtered, while Cordelia’s voice rang out, “And you can trust Spike?”

Without hesitation, without any bloody hesitation, Giles had said the one thing that forever ensured Spike’s loyalty to him. “Yes.”

No one else spoke. Not a word of recrimination from any of the Scoobies, neither a denial nor an indrawn breath nor a break in anyone’s features to indicate that any of them disagreed with Giles. Not even Harris. Spike had been floored. He’d never expected that. Not once.

“How can you possibly…” “This is SPIKE, remember?” Came from both Cordelia and Angel, while Wesley hemmed and hawed out something unintelligible beneath their voices.

Giles spoke again, his voice strong and clear. “I trust him, Angel. Far more than I can trust you at this point. And Cordelia, I’m well aware of whom we are speaking.”

Growling deeply, Angel made a move to where Spike and Dawn stood next to the fireplace. Giles grabbed his forearm, his glasses hanging from his free hand. “Don’t. It’s neither the time nor the place, and it isn’t your place, either.”

Xander had moved imperceptibly closer to the older man, knowing if Angel decided to strike out, Giles wouldn’t be able to defend himself. Spike stepped forward also, discretely pushing Dawn out of the way toward the kitchen. Willow, Tara and Anya also moved out of the way, crowding closer to Dawn, just in case. But it hadn’t come to blows, it had just been Giles’ voice, delivering a home truth to Angel that Spike had never in a hundred years thought he’d overhear.

“I don’t trust you Angel, and I am only allowing you here for what you once meant to Buffy. Joyce wouldn’t want you here, and Dawn doesn’t either. You are here on the memory of Buffy’s possible wishes only. You gave up your rights, if you ever truly had any, two years ago. This, what goes on here in Sunnydale, is not your concern.” His voice took on a tone none of them save Spike had thought Giles capable of. “I do not trust you, Angel.”

Taking a deep breath, and looking over at where Spike waited, Giles continued, “I do, however, trust that Spike would not hurt Dawn, that Spike would do everything in his power to protect the girl, from everyone,” and throwing a look that was inscrutable to everyone but Spike and himself, “including me.”

Giles was not surprised when Spike didn’t flinch. So, he thought, Buffy had told him about their last conversation. Somehow, that didn’t surprise Giles in the least. There was something…they were two of a kind, his slayer and the vampire, despite their vocalizations otherwise. It probably went a long way to explaining why neither could gain the upper hand over the other, despite numerous attempts on both their parts. It didn’t always sit well with him, but he knew, in the last days of the fight against Glory, Spike had earned Buffy’s trust. Earned it to the point where the others had no choice but to accept it.

And because Spike had earned that trust, because Buffy had given it freely; Giles could do no less. It might give him moments when he doubted his sanity, or the sanity of his slayer, and it might keep him up nights, but it did not negate the reality of their situation. Dawn was safer with Spike around.

That had been the last anyone had said about the matter. While the Scoobies might accept him on a trial basis, they would band together against outsiders to protect that right – and for all his thinking and protestations otherwise, Angel and his group were now the outsiders.

Spike didn’t fool himself for one instant there hadn’t been numerous discussions about that, and about his living in the Summers house. He knew the whelp was just waiting for him to screw up and make a mistake. That Red and Glinda walked warily around him. That Giles only trusted him conditionally. But all of that amounted to no more than a hill of beans because of the one person that did trust him without hesitation. Dawn. They welcomed him because of Dawn.

He took another unneeded breath, idly noting the bruises forming around his torso. Black and dark blue showed up in stark contrast to his alabaster skin, blooming darkly, the only color in the nearly all white bathroom. He wasn’t overly hungry, but knew he should feed, if only to facilitate the healing. Dropping his head to rest against the tiles, Spike drew in another breath, then another, and, on the third indrawn breath, his composure broke.

Tears slid down his cheeks, mixing with the hot water. Buffy…was gone. Whenever his thoughts stilled, and his mind was clear, he saw again her too-still body on the ground that fateful early morning. In the quiet moments, he re-lived those last minutes on the tower, when he tried and failed. He blamed himself every single time he went over it. Could have been sooner, could have been faster, should have moved differently. He ran through different scenarios, trying to figure out where he made a mistake, how it could have turned out differently. So far, he’d come up with thirteen different outcomes, none of which ended the same way, all of which had one single good outcome…the survival of both Summers girls.

He rocked forward on the balls of his feet, the tears falling faster and faster, soft sobs now hitching despite his need to breathe. Buffy…oh, Buffy … ran through his mind, counter-pointed with thoughts of Dawn. Now, almost doubled over, Spike pounded a fist against the tile, her name a litany on his lips, his tears scalding his cheeks. Her loss was a physical pain, centered just over his belly, an ache resembling hunger. It hurt…God above, how it hurt.

Every night on patrol, he’d find himself turning, expecting her to be there, a smart-assed comment waiting on her lips, feet tapping and hands upon hips. Every time he walked into the Magic Box, he expected to smell her perfume, hear the cadence of her heartbeat, hear her voice. And every single breath he took that wasn’t necessary inside her house; he did because there was always a trace of her in the air. Every second he slept on the floor of her room, he did because it was hers. And every single bleeding god-damned second, she was gone…she wasn’t there.

Buffy was gone.

And Spike cried.


Book One, Chapter 2. Tangled Webs.

Willow Rosenberg was thinking. Well, she knew she was always thinking, but at this moment she was thinking about how things were bad. Okay, so things weren’t so bad, but they weren’t good either. Willow looked around at the Magic Box, noting the new (and expensive) things Anya had placed on display. Shaking her head, Willow knew she was mentally babbling, while outwardly trying to keep calm and away from Giles’ knowing gaze. In fact, she was trying to be invisible to almost everyone.

Looking around quickly, she ducked her head back into the book. The litany of thoughts looped around her brain again, circling endlessly. She tried to hum something softly under her breath, but nothing would come to mind. Her thoughts were stuck. Giles is gonna kill me. Gotta hide this stuff. Can’t let anyone see. Tara won’t like this. Buffy’s dead. Where is she? Has to be something I can do. Giles is gonna kill me…And on until she couldn’t focus, until it was only names. Giles, Buffy, Tara, Dawn, Giles, Buffy, Tara, Dawn.

She never heard the bell ring, never heard the footsteps behind her, didn’t hear Xander call her name in greeting, in fact was so lost in her own thoughts of hiding what she was doing, that when Xander touched her shoulder, her terrified shriek echoed loudly against the walls. Xander flew back, as startled as Willow was. His answering shriek rivaled hers for volume and was, in fact, a higher pitch than hers.

Gasping for air, Willow turned to look at him. “Xander don’t do that. You scared me.” At the same time he was saying, “Geez, Will, what the hell was that for?”

Using Xander’s presence as a distraction, she slammed the book closed and shoved it into her backpack, all the while mumbling about people that sneak up on other people, wrecking their concentration and distracting them from research.

Their combined shrieks had disturbed everyone, drawing Giles out from his office and focusing Anya’s attentions away from the few customers to the two of them. Realizing that it was only the break in Willow’s concentration and nothing more dangerous than that, Giles muttered, “Really you two, must you make such noise?”

Neither one responded, since it was obvious it was merely one of Giles’ rhetorical questions, and to answer would only put the two of them at a disadvantage. Shaking his head, Giles retreated back to his office, ignoring the group at the front of the store.

Willow, nerves inexplicably calmer, got herself back together, continuing to put books into her backpack. Dawn was scheduled to be home shortly, and Spike would be pacing the floors if she didn’t arrive on time. They’d kept the girl in school so that life would appear as normal as possible. So far, they’d managed to keep it hidden that Buffy was gone, using their connections within Sunnydale to ensure none of the authorities governing Dawn’s life got wind of her being alone. Spike had put the screws to the morgue officials. Giles had rigged the death certificate, so no official report of her death existed. The caretaker of Restfield had graciously, given a free plot, having been rescued by both Buffy and Spike on more than one occasion. He had even gotten the headstone free of charge. And, if necessary, they had the bot to cover for them. Not that any of them really wanted the bot around, Spike in particular.

That struck Willow as odd. Spike didn’t want the bot around. In fact, every time it was activated, Spike left the room or made himself scarce. It was odd, since technically the damn bot was his. In a moment of insight into the vampire, Willow figured it was because of his feelings for the real Buffy. Well, she thought, might not have to worry about that too much longer. The thought was so strong for a second, Willow thought she’d said it aloud. But no, glancing around, she realized she hadn’t said a word. Okay, that was it, she needed to get out of the Magic Box and do it now. Needed to stop thinking about what she was doing.

Everyone in the shop was busy doing their own thing, and Willow took that opportunity to slip out and head toward Revello. The walk home should calm her nerves, should help her gather her scattered thoughts. For some reason, the need for secrecy seemed paramount. None of them would understand why she had this compulsion to fix the situation. And, she was suddenly sure; probably all of them would try to stop her. She couldn’t trust any of them with this; the idea she had swirling about in her head. I’m going to find a way. I’m going to do it. Can’t let her stay wherever she is. Have to save her for all the times she’d saved me.

It was not going to be a walk in the park, and she’d probably have to do some oogly things, things she didn’t want to really think too hard about until it came time to do them, but she would do it. No matter what she had to do, she would do it. So far, all the methods of retrieval involved dark magics and blood. And eeeww, she so didn’t want to do that, but it was beginning to look like she didn’t have any choice. There were Gods and Goddesses she could invoke, and every single deity required a sacrifice. Some required more than one. Another eeewwww for that. Just the whole thing was eewww and ooogly and not something she really wanted to think about, and hello, this was a retrieval, not a resurrection anyway. Coz Buffy really wasn’t de…gone, she was just trapped someplace else.

As long as she put it in those terms, she could deal with it. To think otherwise, just…she couldn’t do it. Buffy was only just on a vacation. Okay, so slayers never really took a vacation, but that was easier for her to deal with than the other. Because thinking Buffy was gone, dead and never coming back, was just not something she could do.

So she thought all the way back to the house on Revello, and thought more while helping Dawn with her homework, thought all through dinner, and continued that pattern for the next couple of days. Thinking and planning and researching everything she could find about retrievals, because, darn it, it wasn’t a resurrection she was doing.

Thankfully, neither Spike nor Tara caught onto what she was thinking about, which surprised her. Spike could sniff out any minute differences in body temperature and heart rate and a whole host of other weird things about humans, but for some reason, he wasn’t picking up anything different from her. She wondered about that, in the middle of the day, far away from the house, when she felt safest to think about those things and let down her guard. Willow couldn’t imagine why Spike wasn’t figuring out her intentions and calling her on it, but she was grateful just the same. Maybe, just maybe, it was because he was so concerned about Dawn that he’d focused all his attention on her well-being. It was plausible. In fact, the more she contemplated it, she was sure she was right.

He was so worried about Dawn that Spike was bordering on excessively over-protective. It would be funny if it hadn’t been for something Dawn had overheard, something said between Spike and Buffy after Joyce had died, and had told the others about in secret. Those overheard remarks and promises had led to Giles’ open disavowal of Angel and the others standing solidly in the ‘Spike belongs to us’ camp. After, it surprised Willow that it was not only just a speech. It was true. Somehow, during the battle with Glory, Spike had become one of them.

So it wasn’t Spike she was really worried about anyway. Willow was more concerned with Tara, or Giles for that matter, figuring out what she was up too. It was getting harder and harder to keep her mouth shut around Tara. Up until now, there had been no secrets between them, they shared everything. But Willow was holding back, keeping something from Tara and it wasn’t what she was getting her for her birthday.

This was big - potentially dangerous, world-saving big- and Willow wasn’t sharing. It was nerve-wracking. It was definitely not of the good, keeping secrets from her girlfriend, but Willow knew without ever having to even sort of broach the subject that Tara would shoot her down in a heartbeat. Faster than a heartbeat if necessary. She was finding herself biting her own tongue, swallowing words before they were born, trying to bury– no, not bury– hide what she was doing from Tara. Because Tara would see. She would know, sense the differences in her girlfriend as she delved deeper and deeper into magics she had no business dabbling in.

It was dark. It was blood magic. It was dangerous. It was everything Willow knew Tara was against. It went against the natural order. It was exactly, down to the letter, everything they had cautioned Dawn against doing after Joyce died. It was wrong then, and it was wrong now. But Willow no longer cared about wrong or right. She only cared about getting Buffy back.

~*~*~

For a group of people who were, for the most part, gifted in ways other than normal, not one of those super-natural beings caught a whiff of what she was up to. Giles was wrapped up in trying to maintain to the Council and to the California authorities that Buffy was still alive, Spike was doing his best to take care of Dawn and patrol, Anya was wrapped up in controlling the store while Giles did his thing, and Tara was bogged down by trying to make up all the classes she’d missed while Glory had her brain and playing house-mom for the Revello Drive occupants.

It shouldn’t have been anything of a surprise to her when the one person who wasn’t other than normal picked up on her nervous habits and her stuttering and being avoidance girl. Shouldn’t have been a shock when Xander, her oldest friend, confronted her one day when no one else was around. Shouldn’t have been, but it was.

“Wills, we need to talk.” He stood looking a bit more serious than he did years ago, like he seemed to look all the time now. Dark eyes held her gaze, not letting her avoid him or push him away. “Wills, what’s going on?”

Okay, I can hide this from him, he won’t know. I can keep him occupied with lots of big words and terms he won’t understand. I can do this. Xander loves me, he won’t push this.

His next words blew all her thoughts of hiding from him out of the water. “What are you planning?”

She gaped up at him, her mouth opening and closing. Drat! was the only coherent thought in her head as she took in his expression. This was serious. He knew something was up. They stood outside the Magic Box, frozen in time by his words.

Xander’s hand on her forearm pulled her away from the door and into the alley off to the side. “C’mon, we need to talk,” was all he said.

He looked around, checking to see that the back door to the training room was closed, crossed his arms over his chest, lifted his chin, and said, “spill.”

And before she could stop the flow of words from her mouth, Willow spilled it all out in minute detail. How she’d been looking for resurrection - no, retrieval - spells, incantations, Gods and Goddesses to invoke, dimensions to travel, anything and everything to get Buffy back. Until, “…I think I can do it. I know I can. You have to trust me on this.”

“Truth is, I do trust you, Wills, but I don’t know if this is right. I can’t say I understand everything you just said, but I know that some of that isn’t of the good. And how do you know Buff’s lost in some other place and not really dead-gone?”

Good question. Not one she had any intention of really answering, because she was darn certain Xander wasn’t going to like her response


Book One, Chapter 3. Can I Be As My God Am?

It was a lie and she knew it. Long before the words came out of her mouth, Willow knew she was going to lie to her best friend and a part of her no longer cared. A smaller part gave her a twinge as the words were coming, but she squashed that and moved right into her explanation. “I’ve already checked. The dimensional doors to Glory’s world were wide open, and that’s the place she and Doc were aiming for. It was the first place I looked and…I didn’t think she’d go where Angel went, since it was a different time…but anyway, that’s where I looked.”

So she didn’t actually say Buffy was there, which made it okay. At least in her mind it did. It should have been harder to lie to him, and some sort of sign should have shown, but it wasn’t hard, and no scarlet letter appeared magically on her forehead. In fact, it was so simple and made so much sense Xander didn’t even blink. “Okay, Willow, I buy that. But how are you going to get her free of this dimension?”

“Xander, were you listening? I just explained all that.” Oooh, lie number two, just as easy as the first. Well, only sort of a lie, because she sort of did explain it, only just so he wouldn’t really understand. “Look, I know you think I’m tilting windmills here, but I have to do something. I can’t just let her stay there. And I’m the only one that can do something.”

That was the absolute truth. Giles could maybe do it, with help from outside sources, and Anya probably knew a few demons that could do it, but Willow was the only one of them that could do it without help. It would take lots of preparation and she’d have to gather all her supplies on the QT, but she could do it. And she was going to, whatever Xander thought about it.

“Right, I get that.” He was quiet for a moment, looking away from her, staring down the alleyway into the shadows around the back entrance of the Magic Box. “So,” he said taking a deep breath and finally looking down at her. “What can I do?”

This was unexpected. “What?” she almost yelped, her face giving away her total surprise. “You want to help?”

“Gee, Will, you think so? Buffy was my friend. I loved her as much as you. I’d do anything to get her back, to have her here.” His hands rested on her shoulders, while his eyes looked deeply into hers. “I don’t think any of us wouldn’t not help.”

“Um. Well, I don’t know. I don’t think Giles or Spike would.” How the heck was she going to tell him she didn’t want anyone else to know what she was doing? How was she going to get him to keep silent also? The less everyone knew the better, then she would be able to do everything she had to.

Somehow, she didn’t think Giles was going to be happy about the sacrifices, and she knew Spike wasn’t going to let her use Dawn, as it was beginning to look like she was going to have to. Short of that, she figured Spike would do just about anything to get Buffy back. The problem was, so far everything she’d researched had indicated that something, probably blood, from Dawn was essential.

“I have no problem keeping things from evil dead, but why Giles?” Ah, at least his demonic prejudices were still in place. Xander didn’t really like Spike and he’d been the most vocal about keeping him away from the others, especially Dawn. He’d been overruled, but that didn’t stop him from voicing his dissension with the current ‘Spike is one of us’ party-line.

“Because I don’t think he would agree to opening up the dimensions again.” Ooh, lie number three. And the hits just kept coming. Willow figured that right now, she was up to as many lies today as she’d told in her whole life. The way she knew Giles, he’d probably be right there with Spike, bring Buffy back at any cost, and he might even be willing to use Dawn. If she was being honest with herself, and at this point she wasn’t sure if she was, she didn’t want Giles second-guessing and questioning everything she did. She doubted he would permit her to use dark magics. In fact, she knew he’d try to stop her. Given his past and the problems with Ethan and Eyghon, Willow was sure Giles would have a whole lot to say about the sources she was preparing to use. And she soo didn’t need that. It was all weird enough without Giles giving her a hard time.

Somehow that must have made sense to Xander, because he was suddenly agreeing with her. “So, no telling of plans to the English. What about the girls? Don’t you think Dawnie should know?”

“NO!” her voice was overly loud, but Willow really, really didn’t want to let everyone in on this. “Do you really think Anya will keep her mouth quiet? And Tara, she’s just…Tara just got over being possessed by Glory, so not up to this much magic. No telling of Dawn, either. What if it doesn’t work right away? I don’t want to get her hopes up and then…no, Xander. Better we just keep it quiet.”

She watched his face, waiting for his argument about telling Anya. It never came. He couldn’t come up with any reason to contradict her, so he just let it go. Truth was, Xander knew Anya wouldn’t mean to, but she’d spill the beans and Tara was still shaky, even though it had been a couple of weeks.

It only took a moment for it all to sink in, though once it did, Xander was hooked. The look in his eyes underscored his complete trust in her, as misplaced as it currently was. With luck and hope, Xander would never find out just how badly she’d lied to him, manipulating his dislike of Spike, his trust in her, and his unrequited love for Buffy into believing everything she’d told him and not questioning what she’d omitted.

Goddess, wouldn’t it be nice if it all went like this?

*~*~*

The sun was sinking down, the sky wrapped in shades of clear blue streaked with golden amber. Dawn looked up, staring up at the sky. Light wispy clouds floated above, almost close enough to reach. There were so few moments like this, where there was nothing but herself, no one hanging about wondering how she was. She didn’t mind so much when it was Spike, but the others were enervating. Spike let her be, knowing instinctively what she needed, when she needed it. He didn’t crowd her, didn’t promise her things would be okay, and didn’t treat her like a freak. At times she found Willow or Xander staring at her, strange looks on their faces and it just made her want to shriek at them to stop it. But she didn’t shriek, she didn’t scream. She’d even stopped crying, except when she was alone. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, because she still curled up next to Spike and cried when they were alone, before everyone else came home for the night.

Home. Where no one was related to her anymore. Her family was either dead or didn’t want her, and the only one she really trusted was Spike. How weird was that? No one told her, but she knew that Buffy and Giles had a disagreement just before the show down with Glory, because Giles was acting way too nice to her.

Spike wasn’t any different. He didn’t blame her for Buffy dying, he didn’t treat her differently than he had before she was alone. If anything, he was more careful of her feelings than the others, more worried about her. His feelings about Buffy were obvious, and she knew he cried when he was alone. Sometimes, she would look at him through her own tears and know he was crying right along with her. They never talked about it, their grief, but it was a third presence whenever they were together. He hid it carefully from the others, not wanting to listen to their stupidity over it.

Walking along Revello toward the house, Dawn tried to figure out why the sky made her feel happy. And then it struck her– the colors of the sky right now were the colors of Spike’s eyes. Blue and amber. Her favorite colors ever.

Sighing deeply, Dawn climbed the steps. It just wasn’t the same. Spike was inside waiting for her instead of Mom or Buffy. It was nice having him here, living in the house, but it just wasn’t the same. At least he made schoolwork easier. Not that she was doing much of it, but when she did muster up the wherewithal to do it, Spike always knew the answers. He managed to hide his intelligence from most of the others, but he couldn’t fool either her or Giles. There were nights she couldn’t sleep, and she found herself sitting on the stairs, listening to the two men talk. The deep cadences of their voices soothed her in ways she didn’t really want to examine, but it was just the sounds calmed her. They had a surprisingly wide range of subjects to talk about, everything from demonology to music to British politics and nearly everything in between. The one thing they’d never talked about, unless they did it when she was asleep, was her sister. Hardly any of them talked about Buffy, at least not around her. She hated that. Buffy was her sister and she needed to talk about her and Mom. How she felt about being alone. About Spike. About anything.

But none of them except Spike talked to her about it. And that just sucked.

Clattering noisily into the house, Dawn dumped her books on the floor next to the door and yelled out, “Spike,” wondering where he was.

His voice was soft, coming from the living room. He was parked in front of the television, not really watching it. It sounded like he was just waking up. “‘Lo Nib. How was your day?”

“It was a day.” Things were so domestic between them, just as if they were a family. It was nice, comforting even. Only two things were missing. Joyce and Buffy. Dawn looked at him, noting his disheveled appearance. Her giggle subsided into a sob. He was up, taking her into his arms before she even realized she was crying. “‘S alright, pet. Shhhh. C’mon, sit.”

It was a long time before her crying stopped, but he never moved except to hold her closer. Dawn was practically in his lap, her head resting against his chest, her arms clutched around him tightly. There was no comforting thump of a heartbeat against her ear, but that didn’t matter. He still smelled like Spike, leather and tobacco and well, home. She wiped her runny nose, snuffling into his shirt. His harrumph made her softly chuckle, but she knew it was an act. Nothing fazed him, not demon guts or Dawn snot. Well, nothing short of death anyway. “I’m such a baby.”

“Nah. You’ve just had a rough time of it. No worries, pet. Cry all you want. ‘M here to listen.” His hand rubbed her back, soothing the hiccups away.

Her arms tightened around him. Maybe it wasn’t so bad having Spike to come home to.

TBC~