Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Joss Whedon. Sigh.
Thanks to the reviewers, especially Mazza!
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Buffy watched her sister get up to start another day. She was just as sullen and uninterested as the day before. Buffy followed her and found Xander in the kitchen talking to Willow. “Morning, Dawnster,” he said. “Your chariot merely awaits your consumption of breakfast goodness.”
 
Dawn shrugged, grabbed a box of cereal, and poured herself a bowl. Xander chatted about his dinner date with Anya while Willow did dishes and Dawn chewed mechanically. Dawn figured she had better go to school today, at least. No sense raising suspicions. She had wanted to believe Spike so badly the night before. She’d give anything to see her sister again. But Tara was probably right – just some ploy to get her to go to school. He had some nerve. Wasn’t he the one who said that school turned people into mindless automatons or whatever he had said? Dawn sighed, and got up to clear her place. Fine. They can make me go, but they can’t make me do anything while I’m there.
 
“I’m all set,” she said to Xander.
 
“See you later, Wills,” Xander said, ushering Dawn out the door. Buffy got in the car too, drifting through the door into the back seat. Once in the car, Xander asked, “Anything interesting going on?”
 
“Not really,” Dawn replied, staring out the window. Xander made a few attempts to strike up a conversation with her, but they went nowhere. When they got to school, Dawn said, “Thanks for the ride.”
 
“Dawn,” said Xander, putting his hand on her arm. “We all miss her. But you can’t stop living because she’s gone. She wouldn’t want that.”
 
Dawn shrugged his hand off. “Whatever,” she mumbled. Then she got out, slammed the door, and wandered up to school. Buffy followed her until she was sure that Dawn was actually going to class. Then she stood in the hallway of the school, wondering where to go. She was roused from her reverie by the weird sensation of three football players walking through her. She shook herself and headed over to Spike’s place.
 
She found Spike passed out, fully clothed in his chair, an empty bottle of whiskey having fallen from his hand to the floor. Maybe the booze is how he deals with the loneliness. She realized with a faint stab of pity that he really had no one, other than maybe Dawn. He spent time with the Scoobies and Dawn, but was tolerated for the most part, not welcomed and accepted. She had only been a ghost for a short time but the isolation and lack of contact with anything was already starting to drive her to distraction. He had dealing with this for months.
 
She watched him sleep for a long while, then he twitched and moved in his sleep. She called out, “Spike? Are you alive?”
 
Spike woke up at the sound of her voice and groaned, “No, and haven’t been for 120 years. Now do keep your voice down, would you?” He rubbed his neck, stiff from sleeping in the chair, and shook his head in an effort to focus.
 
“What did you do last night?” she asked.
 
“Went to the library. Did some research. Patrolled and killed things until nearly dawn. Came home. Got drunk. Passed out,” he said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes once more.
 
Buffy felt a little guilty about disturbing him after only a few hours of sleep. “Well, I just wanted to let you know that you might want to watch yourself around the Scoobies,” Buffy said. “Willow and Tara think you’re being influenced by the First.”
 
“The what?” Spike asked, opening his eyes once more.
 
“The First Evil,” Buffy explained. “Some mystic ancient evil force. It messed with Angel once, tried to convince him to kill me. Appeared to him looking like people he had killed. He nearly dusted himself to escape from it.”
 
“Bloody wonderful,” muttered Spike. He staggered to his feet and went off to his bathroom. Buffy heard him turning on the sink and splashing some water on his face. He came back, combing his hair on the way. “What time is it?” He had a watch in this mess somewhere, but it would probably take a shovel to unearth it at this point.
 
“Not sure. They didn’t think to bury me with a watch.” Buffy added.
 
Spike smirked a little at that. “Too bad they didn’t bury you in something a little more flattering.”
 
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Got that right. I mean, geez, I hated this dress when I was alive. Why make me wear it for all eternity?” She looked ruefully at the conservative black affair she seemed stuck in.
 
“I guess they were going for somber, pet,” he answered quietly. He remembered the day of her funeral. He had been barely able to stand, still injured from the fall off the tower. He had come after sunset to her grave. Angel had been there, possessive to the last, demanding to know what Spike was doing there. Spike had refused to answer his grandsire at all. He just left a bunch of roses he had nicked on the Slayer’s grave and walked away. He hadn’t wanted to cry in front of Angel.
 
“Spike?” Buffy spoke, stirring Spike out of his memories. “Where did you go?”
 
He sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor, his elbows on his knees. “It was so hard, Buffy. Seeing you there, like some broken doll.” His voice was husky with emotion. “If not for that promise, to look after Dawn, I probably would have walked into the sun that very day.”
 
“Why?” Buffy demanded. “Why do you stay? They treat you like crap, I hardly ever said anything nice to you when I was alive. Why would you want to… do that to yourself?”
 
He looked at her then, blue eyes serious and deep. “I love you, Buffy. Can’t help it. Didn’t ask for it. But there it is. I love you.”
 
Buffy had no idea how to react to this man, this creature, and his pure, unashamed love for her. “I don’t know what to say,” she spoke at last.
 
Spike stood up. “’S ok, pet,” he said, trying to change the subject. “Let’s figure out how we can solve your problem, yeah?”
 
Buffy nodded. Not the day to sort out Spike and his feelings for me, I guess. “What can I do to help?”
 
“Can you go back to your place and see if the witches have any books about early Christian rituals? It’s a long shot, but if they have it then I don’t have to go breaking into any churches. Just look at the titles, try to remember anything interesting. I’m going to have another crack at the books at the Magic Box, now that I know what I’m looking for,” Spike said.
 
“Christian rituals?” Buffy questioned. “I’m not exactly big on the whole Christianity thing.”
 
“Can’t say the idea of spending time around crosses thrills me either,” Spike remarked. “It’s a long shot, but it’s the best lead I have at present.”
 
Buffy shrugged, said goodbye, and headed upstairs while Spike went for the tunnels. It was about one o’clock when she reached her house. Willow and Tara were there, classes having ended early that day. Willow had pulled out a huge collection of books, herbs, candles, and whatnot in order to organize things and perhaps find some information on the First. The dishes from their lunch were left unwashed in the kitchen while they worked. Buffy shook her head as she watched them. You’re barking up the wrong tree, guys.
 
Just then, the doorbell rang. Tara and Willow looked at each other. “Who could that be?” Willow asked. Xander and Anya usually just walked right in.
 
Tara went to the door. She opened it to find a matronly looking lady on the front step. “Are you Ms. Summers?” she asked.
 
“She’s not available right now. Can I help you?”
 
“I’m Mrs. Davis, from social services. We were hoping to meet with Ms. Summers. Dawn’s school called and said she has missed a number of days of school this term with no explanation. They are concerned about her wellbeing.”
 
Tara fought to keep calm. “Come in. I’ll s..see if I can find her.” Mrs. Davis followed Tara into the living room, where Willow was in the middle of sorting out bags of herbs. The woman’s eyes widened as she saw the suspicious looking pile of bags. “Willow, is Buffy around? Mrs. Davis is here from social services.”
 
Oh crap, thought Willow. Realizing what the herbs must look like, she quickly said, “Um, Tara, can you put these back in the kitchen? And put oregano on the list – that’s the one we’re out of. I think Buffy might be upstairs napping. I’ll go see.”
 
Mrs. Davis tsked. “Napping? At this hour?”
 
“She, um, works nights,” Tara said as she cleaned up the herbs.
 
Willow ran upstairs into her bedroom and quickly flipped through a spell book. She found a spell to create a glamour – a short lived illusion. Muttering the words, she made a gesture, and with a slight pop, found herself transformed into Buffy. The real Buffy had followed her upstairs, and raised her eyebrows at the sight of Willow transforming into her twin. This ought to be good. How is she going to pull this off, I wonder?
 
Willow ran back downstairs, now completely disguised as Buffy. Tara nearly gasped, but quickly realized what Willow had done. Willow stuck out her hand, “I’m Buffy. Sorry to keep you waiting. What can I do for you?”
 
“Ms. Summers, how often has your sister been absent this term?”
 
Willow scratched her newly blonde hair. “Only once or twice I think. She always gets colds in September. All the kids passing viruses around.”
 
“Ms. Summers, are you aware that your sister has had four absences, with no phone calls from you?” Mrs. Davis enquired sternly. “She hasn’t turned in homework yet this term. She rarely brings lunch, is uncooperative with her teachers, and generally seems disengaged with school completely.”
 
“She… “ Willow tried to think quickly. “Someone we’re close to died over the summer. It was very hard on her.”
 
“I see,” said Mrs. Davis. “Are you getting counseling for her or anything?”
 
“N..No,” Willow said uncertainly. “She seems alright at home.”
 
“I would like to be shown around your house, if I may,” Mrs. Davis said, in a tone that brooked no argument. Willow swallowed, plastered a fake smile on Buffy’s face, and led Mrs. Davis into the kitchen. Shit, bad idea. She had forgotten about the dishes. Mrs. Davis opened the fridge. They had intended to go shopping that afternoon. At present, the fridge was almost bare.
 
“Don’t you have any food in the house?” the social worker demanded.
 
“Of course! We just need to go shopping today.”
 
Mrs. Davis continued on into the dining room. The table was strewn with spellbooks, covered in pentagrams and other arcane symbols that must have looked Satanic to someone like Mrs. Davis. “What are all these for?”
 
“Um, Tara and Willow study ancient languages,” Willow answered.
 
“Do they live here too?”
 
“Yes. They’re old friends. They help with the house and Dawn.”
 
“Have they gone through a criminal records check?” Mrs. Davis asked.
 
“Um, not sure?” Willow responded.
 
“The conditions of your guardianship state that no unrelated adults may cohabitate without undergoing a thorough background check.” Mrs. Davis turned to face Willow. “Ms. Summers, I am deeply concerned. Your house has unauthorized people living in it who clearly are studying something unsavory, judging from the books they leave around.”
 
“But those are…” Willow protested.
 
“Furthermore, your house is unkempt, and you do not appear to have sufficient food in the house for a growing teen. She has not been eating at school and the school nurse is concerned. Judging from the piles of bills over there-“ Mrs. Davis looked pointedly at the small hall table that was indeed piled with ‘past due’ notices, “you are not managing your finances well. You do not seem able to ensure that she attends and participates in school either. I am afraid I will have to recommend that Dawn be removed from your custody, pending further investigation.”
 
“What??” yelled Willow and Buffy. No! thought Buffy. Don’t take her away! This is all she has left!
 
“I’m sorry, Ms. Summers, but until you prove that you can be a fit guardian, we must ensure Dawn’s safety. I am going to have to ask you to pack a suitcase for her. We will pick her up at school and take her to a foster home. We will contact you to let you know your rights in this matter.
 
Willow despaired. She needed to use her magic to maintain the illusion. If she dropped the illusion to put some sort of spell on Mrs. Davis, she wasn’t sure what would happen. She looked at Tara, who had heard the whole exchange. Tara realized that they were trapped. “I’ll get her things, W…Buffy,” Tara said. “It will only be for a little while. We’ll get her back.”
 
Tara went upstairs to pack a bag for Dawn. Tears welled in Willow’s eyes. “Please, don’t take her. I’m all she has. Please.” Willow nearly shook with the effort of holding the spell and her emotions.
 
Mrs. Davis appeared to soften a minute amount. “I’m sorry, Ms. Summers. But it’s the law. I’m a mandated reporter, and I am required to report my concerns. If you follow our procedure, I’m sure your sister will be back soon. In the meantime, you really need to see to your affairs better.”
 
Buffy was in shock.The thought of Dawn in some foster home was like a knife in her heart. Why did I have to come back to see this? Dawnie…
 
Tara returned with the suitcase and reluctantly passed it over to Mrs. Davis. “We’ll be in touch, Ms. Summers,” she said. Then she turned and left.
 
Willow staggered to a chair and collapsed, abruptly turning back into herself. “Oh Tara!” she cried, covering her face with her hands. “What did we do?”
 
“Shh, it’s ok baby, shh,” Tara knelt down and took Willow in her arms. They wept on each other’s’ shoulders. “We’ll figure out how to get her back, I promise.”
 
Willow sobbed harder. “We failed Buffy again,” she moaned
 
“Fucking right you did!” Buffy screamed. “Too busy playing with magic to, I dunno, pay the kid five minutes of attention! Self-centered bitches!” Buffy forgot herself and tried to kick the wall, ending up halfway through it for her trouble. She screamed incoherently with rage. “Why? Why the hell did I have to come back here? Haven’t I gone through enough already? How many more times do I need to die? How much more do I have to suffer until whoever is up there is done fucking with me?” Beside herself, she stumbled out of the house, blind with utter fury.
 
******************
 
Spike had traveled through the tunnels to the Magic Box again, once more slightly startling Anya with his appearance from the basement. “Mind if I have another go at the library?” he asked.
 
“Fine,” she said. “But if I see you in the black magic section…”
 
“No fear, demon girl,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. He went to the bookshelves and searched methodically. There was very little about Christian rites or rituals, beyond the standard exorcism stuff. Always thought the Watchers were a heathen lot, he mused. He found a reference to the writings of St. Theophilious – that might be of use. He jotted it down, and continued searching.
 
The phone rang, and Anya answered it, “Magic Box, may I help you?” She listened for a moment then gasped, “How did that happen? When? Yes, I’ll tell Xander. For how long? Oh no…”
 
Spike’s ears perked up. He looked up from the book to see that Anya had a shocked and sad expression on her face. After a few more words, she hung up the phone.
 
“What’s happened?” asked Spike.
 
“That was Willow,” Anya replied. “Dawn was taken away by social services.”
 
“What??” roared Spike. “How? When? For how long?”
 
“They don’t know,” Anya explained. Just then the door jingled and Xander came in. “Hey Anya, deadboy, what’s…” he paused, taking in the look on Anya and Spike’s faces. “What’s wrong?”
 
“Dawn’s been taken away,” said Anya. Anya quickly explained the situation to both men. Spike’s heart felt like it was being slowly crushed as Anya explained how Willow had tried to impersonate Buffy, but had in the end failed to convince the social worker. “They don’t know where they’re taking her, or how they’re going to get her back.”
 
“We’ve got to find her!” cried Spike. “We can’t just leave her to rot in some foster home!”
 
“Spike, calm down,” said Xander. “We need to figure this out.”
 
“What’s to figure out?” Spike said. “She’s the Slayer’s sister! We find her, and bring her back!”
 
“Oh, real smart,” Xander retorted. “Then what? Hide her in your crypt? They’ll just come get her back again if we try to do something stupid. “
 
“Maybe it’s for the best,” said Anya in her usual blunt manner. “I mean, a teen probably needs a more stable family than a couple of witches and a vampire.”
 
Spike couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re just going to let her go?” he yelled. “She’s all we have left of Buffy, and you’re just going to let them take her?”
 
“This is beyond our control, Spike!” Xander yelled back. “We lose, they win this round. Accept it.”
 
“Fuck that,” Spike spat out. He slammed down the book and stomped off toward the tunnels. Swearing a blue streak he flew through the tunnels until he reached the sewer closest to Buffy’s house. Taking his duster off and throwing it over his head, he dashed the short distance to her porch and threw himself in the door.
 
“What the fuck did you do?” he screamed at the startled witches. “You lost her! How could you?”
 
Tara tried to calm him down. “Spike, it wasn’t our fault. She wanted to talk to Buffy…”
 
“I tried to tell you she was skipping school. You didn’t listen. You could have called the school and straightened this all out, if you got your goddamned heads out of your spells for ten minutes and looked around once in a while.”
 
“We’ll get her back,” Willow said in a quavering voice. “I’ll find a spell that will…”
 
“A spell. Lovely.” Spike growled. “Can’t fix everything with magic, Red. There’s always consequences. Always.” Frustrated beyond belief, he threw his coat back over his head and dashed back to the sewer.
 
Spike stormed through the sewer in a black rage. Sodding idiots, all of them. He desperately wanted to go use his vampire senses to track Dawn down to whatever damn foster home they stuck her in. Fucking sunlight. By the time he could go out again her trail would be impossible to pick up. She could be anywhere.
 
He blasted into his crypt and snagged the bottle of whiskey off the bedside table. Polishing the half empty bottle off in one long swallow he roared and whipped the bottle against the wall, sending glass flying everywhere. Then he lashed out and slammed his fist into the wall, breaking two fingers in his anger. “Fucking hell!” he screamed, vamping out from the pain.
 
“SPIKE!”
 
Startled, Spike spun around to see Buffy standing at the bottom of the stairs. His yellow eyes took in her expression and instantly knew that she knew – Dawn was gone. With an effort he shook off his gameface. “Buffy… I’m so sorry. I didn’t know, couldn’t get there…” he babbled.
 
“Stupid bitches! Both of them!” Buffy snapped. Spike was so shocked he momentarily forgot about his fractured fingers. He had never heard her get this angry at any of the Scoobies. No matter what they did, she always forgave them and made excuses for them. He had seen her angry before, but this fury, and the target, was new.
 
“Do you know what happened?” Spike asked, cautiously.
 
“Of course I do!” Buffy exploded. “I was there. The house was a mess, Willow had her fucking herbs and spellbooks all over, no food in the house, and no explanation for why Dawn hadn’t turned in any homework yet this whole term! Willow tried using some spell to look like me, but all she succeeded in doing is making me look like an incompetent guardian!”
 
“I’ll find her, love,” said Spike, closing the distance between them. Christ, I would give my fangs to be able to touch her. “There’s got to be a way to find her.”
 
Buffy looked up at him with miserable eyes. “Get me out of here, Spike. I can’t take this anymore. I can’t I can’t I can’t…” her rage dissolved into grief as she dropped into Spike’s chair and covered her face, shuddering.
 
“Oh Slayer…” he whispered. In all of his years he had never felt as helpless as he did that minute. He couldn’t comfort her, couldn’t find Dawn, and couldn’t send her back to where she belonged. All he could do was sit on his bed, and watch her suffer.
 
After a while, Buffy pulled herself together. “Sorry,” she sniffed quietly.
 
“Don’t be,” Spike answered. “I’m just as angry and upset as you.” He examined his right hand which had swollen and was turning all sorts of colors.
 
Buffy followed his gaze. “Your hand,” she said, with pity in her voice. She looked closely at his face. “You haven’t been feeding, have you?”
 
Spike thought about it. “I guess I sort of forgot to eat today.”
 
“Well, go have something now. You look terrible.”
 
Spike managed a half smile. “Thanks ever so, pet. Glad I can still inflame the senses.” He rose and went upstairs to his fridge. He took the last container of blood out of his fridge and drank it cold. It was vile that way, but he didn’t care enough to be bothered at this point. He returned to the lower level to see Buffy pacing around, looking at his things.
 
“Were you always this messy?” Buffy asked.
 
“Guess I have let it go a bit,” he admitted. “Don’t have a lot of visitors.” He took off his duster and boots. “I need to get some kip, let these broken fingers mend a bit. You want to meet somewhere later?”
 
Shyly, Buffy asked, “Is it ok if I hang out here? I don’t really want to go back to my house right now.”
 
“Of course, Slayer,” Spike said. He lay down on his bed, and Buffy, after a moment’s hesitation, lay down beside him. Spike’s eyes widened a little. His hand was resting on the bed. She covered it with hers, and even though her hand passed through his with no sensation on either side, it comforted them both somehow, and they both closed their eyes to rest.
 
TBC