Buffy was so upset, so simply desperate to escape the scene, that her supernaturally enhanced senses did not pick up on the presence of a slight, shadowy figure hiding just down the underground hallway from where she and Spike had had their confusing and enlightening conversation.

Ordinarily, Buffy could easily sense if a demon or vampire was nearby, and usually could even tell if a normal person was sneaking about somewhere. Human or demon, there wasn’t much that got past the Slayer’s sharp perception.

Perhaps it was because Dawn was neither, that Buffy completely missed the huddled form in the corner a few yards away from her, as she rushed almost frantically down the hallway toward the exit.

As the echoing sounds of her footsteps died away, the tall slim girl rose slowly from her crouched position, her eyes focused grimly on the huddled form of the blond vampire on the floor, now hugging his knees to his chest and rocking slightly, his eyes hidden, his face buried in the cradle formed by his interlocked arms.

But Dawn knew that he knew she was there.

She had known that afternoon that there was something Buffy was not telling her, when her older sister had given a conspicuously vague answer to her question as to how she had known about the avenging spirits and the talisman. The weirdness had continued when Buffy had stayed around the house, all fidgety and nervous and looking at the clock every five seconds, long after she usually would have gone on patrol.

Finally, Dawn had gotten up and said she was going to bed. She was not the least bit surprised when, no less than ten minutes later, she heard the soft sound of the front door being carefully closed, and looked out her bedroom window to see Buffy hurrying down the sidewalk, her arms folded close over her chest as if to ward off the chilly autumn breeze – and without a weapon in sight.

Something was *way* weird.

She had grabbed her jacket and followed her sister at a distance, determined to know what it was that had Buffy acting so strangely. She had been confused and a little apprehensive when the Slayer’s path had led her to the dark, deserted high school, but Dawn reminded herself that she was really not in any danger, no matter how ominous the looming buildings looked in the dark.

How could she possibly be in danger, with the Slayer less than a good scream away?

What *had* surprised her, though, truth be told, was the fact that Buffy never caught on to the fact that she was being followed – not that Dawn had *wanted* to be caught, but she knew enough to know that her rather limited ability to maintain stealth and silence was not ordinarily enough to fool the Slayer.

More than one failed attempt at sneaking out of the house was proof enough of that.

She had crept along at a good distance behind her sister, through the deserted halls of the school, and down into the basement. When she saw Buffy stop outside a closed door at the end of a long hall, she froze, easing up against the wall and crouching down to wait and see what the Slayer would do. Dawn frowned at Buffy’s internal but obvious struggle over whether or not to open the door, and had to suppress her own disappointment when her older sister finally turned and walked away.

But the door opened anyway – and the vampire that stepped out into the hallway was the last person Dawn had ever expected to see in Sunnydale again.

She stayed there, hidden in the shadows, as Buffy talked to the barely coherent vampire in hushed, gentle tones, like one might use with a child. It made Dawn angry to hear it, and she found that she was not really paying attention to the conversation as her mind went back to the dark secret that Xander had revealed to her – the horror of the betrayal Spike had committed, against her sister, and against her friendship.

She crouched there, fuming, until Buffy finally began to back away, shaking her head, and finally fled the basement. Dawn vaguely wondered what Spike had said to cause her reaction; she hadn’t really been paying attention…and besides, he didn’t seem to be making much sense, anyway.

Something was obviously wrong with him.

Dawn didn’t really care.

She made no effort to disguise the sharp clatter of her footsteps on the stone floor as she slowly approached him, but Spike did not look up. She did not stop her advance until she was standing a few feet in front of him, glaring down at him with seething fury, her arms crossed imperiously over her rather minimal chest.

She waited just a few moments before losing her patience, though she really wasn’t sure what she was expecting in the first place, what she was even here for. She didn’t know why Buffy hadn’t staked him, after what he had done; but a part of her was glad that she hadn’t – and another part of her was furious that she was glad.

“What’s wrong with you?” she demanded, her high, thin voice resounding almost painfully in the echoing underground chamber.

Spike did not respond, just kept rocking, refusing to look up at her – because she knew that he was aware that she was there, and was ignoring her *on purpose* -- and now and again mumbling something under his breath.

“Spike!” Dawn snapped impatiently, her voice trembling with anger and hurt. “Spike…what’s the matter with you? Why don’t you look at me? Look at me, you…you jerk!”

Dawn felt a short-lived feeling of relief and vindication when the vampire hesitantly raised his head from the shelter of his arms…but the instant his haunted, anguished eyes met hers, her relief vanished, swallowed up in a combination of stunned awe at the expression in those eyes, and an unwilling sympathy for the vampire that had been her best friend – her *only* friend – during the darkest days of her young life.

She didn’t *want* to feel sorry for Spike; she didn’t want to feel *anything* for Spike, after what he had done.

He had tried to…to…

She couldn’t even make her mind finish the thought.

Unthinking rage began to fill her again, her emotions veering wildly in one direction, and then another, as she tried to make sense of what she should feel, what she had once felt, and what she was feeling now.

It was not an easy task.

Spike was muttering again under his breath, his eyes lowered once more, though he did not hide his face again. He was rocking a bit faster now, repeating the same words over and over in a sort of chant, though too softly for Dawn to make out the words.

“What?” she snapped. “Speak up, I can’t hear you! What are you saying?”

Spike just kept muttering, shaking his head too, in denial or refusal, Dawn could not be sure.

Furious and frustrated, she kicked out at him, though she was well aware that her little girly non-Slayer foot wouldn’t really do him much damage. Still, she wished that it would; she *wanted* to hurt him, after what he had put Buffy through…what he had put *her* through.

She wanted to hurt him.

She wanted to hate him.

She found, to her dismay, that she could do neither.

Spike flinched at the blow, a quiet sob rising up in his throat as he lowered his head again, his words a bit louder, but muffled by his arms once more. Dawn found this more frustrating than ever, her anger rising up again as she crouched in front of him, yanking at his arms in an attempt to force him to look at her – and an unintentional echo of her sister’s action minutes earlier.

“No, *look at me*!” she snarled, her voice shaking dangerously. “*Look at me* and talk to me like I’m a person! I *know* what you did, Spike! I know what you did to her! How could you do that to us? How could you do that, and then just *leave*, like…like we never meant anything to…I hate you, Spike! I hate you! How could you do it?”

Spike cringed at those words, his shoulders shaking with sobs, but he slowly, reluctantly, raised his eyes to her face once more. His wide blue eyes were harrowed and lost as he studied her face, a strangely questioning note in his piercing gaze, as if he was trying to remember some long forgotten memory. As he stared at her through haunted eyes, he whispered his chant again, and this time she was close enough and still enough to hear the words.

“Can’t let him…can’t let him…hurt the girl…”

Dawn frowned, confused, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Can’t let who…?”

Spike stared at her for a long moment, still not completely seeming to recognize her, as the silence spread between them, engulfing even the quiet, ordinary night sounds until all there was was stillness, and his single word answer echoed in the air between them with a chilling note of finality.

“Me.”

Dawn’s eyes went wide, and she felt her heart jump within her, as she drew back slightly, instinctively, in alarm. “What?” she whispered.

“I’m the one what did it,” Spike explained, nodding emphatically, his arms crossed defensively over his stomach now, his shoulders hunched inward as if he was trying to disappear completely; but he had stopped rocking, going completely still, and the intensity of his deep blue gaze sent an apprehensive shiver down her spine. “Been doing it for years…”

Though she knew she shouldn’t ask, Dawn couldn’t stop the hoarse, whispered words from leaving her throat.

“Been doing…what?”

Spike was silent for a moment, his expression inscrutable as he replied in a tone so calm, so matter-of-fact, that it seemed tinged with madness.

“Hurting little girls.”

Dawn scrambled backward with a gasp, so that she was bent back on her hands and her heels for a moment, before the imbalance of that position sent her collapsing to the floor. Feeling terribly vulnerable there, she stumbled to her feet, taking several lurching steps backward, wide blue eyes locked onto Spike’s face with fearful apprehension.

“Made ‘em bleed…made ‘em cry,” Spike continued, not looking at her now – and that was better, though not much. “Wanted to hear ‘em cry. Couldn’t get enough of their screams…and now…”

Dawn shook her head in denial, not wanting to hear his words, not wanting to see his face as he looked up at her, his expression haunted and lost as he whispered his conclusion.

“…now…’s all I ever hear.”

Dawn couldn’t stand it any longer. His words, his voice, all contributed to the dark mood that seemed to linger in these basement halls. She had felt it earlier that afternoon, and now she felt it with dreadful certainty again.

There was something down here.

And she no longer wanted to be.

She backed warily down the hallway, away from Spike, watching him cautiously lest he should try to come after her. It was strange; even with what she had known about the terrible thing he had tried to do to her sister, she would never have thought that he might try to hurt *her*…but now, she was afraid of him. That strange light in his crystal blue eyes, his horribly explicit verbal trip down memory lane.

He was obviously crazy, but there was still only so much a girl could take!

And, alone-in-the-basement-with-a-crazy-vampire was just one very small step above alone-in-the-basement-with-an-evil-vampire on her list of situations she wanted to find herself in – and both items were down there at the bottom of the list.

Dawn swallowed hard, trying to steady her voice, her eyes narrowing as she summoned what was left of her bravery to declare in what she hoped was a steely, threatening voice, despite the tremors that filled it,

“You *stay away* from me and my sister. I never want to see you again.”

That said, she turned on her heel and fled the room, once again unintentionally following in the footsteps of her sister. Spike watched her go for a long moment, a troubled frown creasing his brow as he tried to grasp onto the familiar thought that seemed to be humming around the edges of his mind, never quite staying still for long enough for him to grasp onto it and make it make sense.

He stared at the spot where the girl had stood, wincing again at the memory of her harsh, condemning words, and the truth they had declared so starkly and painfully. It hurt worse, somehow, coming from her, than from the voices that constantly filled his head. It was as if what she thought, how she felt about him, somehow…mattered more, though he couldn’t really remember why.

He couldn’t really remember much of anything, before he got it – the spark.

He knew that his mind would clear again, and he would remember – but for now, he struggled to grasp onto just a shred of memory, just an inkling of what it was he was supposed to…

*I’m counting on you to protect her…*

*Any number of beasties between here and clear across town…*

*I can take care of myself…*

*’Til the end of the world…*

Spike’s eyes widened and he suddenly struggled to his feet, his throat dry with fear for the girl who had just left him. He couldn’t quite remember how or why, but he knew that he had to protect her – he had *promised* to protect her – and in Sunnydale at night, there were countless dangers she might find herself facing on her way back to – wherever she had come from.

“Gotta save her,” he muttered to himself as he staggered down the hall in the direction she had gone, fighting the pull, the invisible drawing force that seemed determined to keep him here, and whispered of his nightmare past in his mind, when no one else was looking. “Gotta protect her…”

“Made a promise…gotta keep my promise…to the lady…”