Author’s Note: Thanks as always to Kar for the beta job and to my wonderful readers and reviewers. Feedback feeds the muse. Posting may slow down a little. I’m starting to get into the meat of the story, so I have to take care that the plan for chapter eight works with what actually get written for seven, if that makes sense.
In our sixth installment there is inappropriate crushing and disturbing encounters with the dead.
Chapter Six: Conversations With Dead People

October

Dawn splashed water on her face and tried to take deep, calming
breaths. It was so stupid, getting upset and crying like a big, stupid
baby. It was just so damn frustrating sometimes. Nights when she
couldn't concentrate, or she could concentrate and the visions didn't
come. And now they were coming again, but she couldn't understand
them.

She had tried, really, really tried to remember the characters. Every wiggle and curve, but it was pointless. With the French girls she had been able to at least spell stuff out. But she couldn't read Chinese or Korean or whatever it was. She was totally useless. A big useless total failure.

"Dawn? You okay in there?"

Amanda. Amanda was all worried about her. They were all out there, Amanda and the girls she had found. Connie. Octavia. Deirdre. Solana. Yvette and Yvonne. But she couldn't find this one. She rubbed her face fiercely with a paper towel, trying to eradicate any traces of mascara or salt water. That left her all pink and blotchy so she leaned against the sink and took deep breaths before she tried facing everyone again.

She came out of the bathroom. The other girls were sparring, but Amanda handed her a bottle of water. "Same girl?"

Dawn nodded and gulped down the water. The Watchers were all upstairs, trying to run Anya's store while Anya waited for instructions. Dawn hoped she was enjoying her extended European vacation. "It's making me crazy. It's like the visions won't let me see anyone else until I find her."

Amanda shrugged. "Maybe she's the last one. I mean, how many of us can there be? There were already a bunch in training and what's his face already scooped up some more."

"Even if she is the last one, we've still got to find her before those eyeless freaks do." Dawn rubbed her temples.

"Dawn? Dawn are you quite well?"

David. David looked way too young to be a Watcher. And, way too cute. Yvonne and Yvette were whispering about him in frantic French, which was really dumb because he only spoke 80 languages and French or something close was bound to be one of them. Dawn was jealous; she'd taught herself some Sumerian and she spoke reasonable Spanish, and if she knew what language the lost girl was speaking maybe she could actually be useful. Maybe she should ask David to teach her a demon language. That would be cool.

Totally for evil fighting purposes, of course. Not because she wanted to spend more time around him. He was at least a good ten years older than her and way nerdy. Willow could call it geek chic all she wanted, but the boy was lame. Adorably lame, but lame.

"Miss Summers?"

Really freakin' adorable.

"Yeah, David, I'm okay. Thanks." She felt a little thrill when he shyly patted her shoulder and the Paris girls gave her snotty looks. "I'm just not any better at reading or speaking Chinese or whatever than I was two days ago."

"I speak several Asian languages," he informed her in that prim Wesley way.

"Well, if you could go with me on my visions, we'd be all good," she replied with a small smile.

David's face brightened. "Ah, that is an idea. I shall speak to the others."

Dawn blinked at him a few times while she absorbed that, then nodded. He went rushing up the stairs and Dawn leaned against a wall. Taking someone with her on the visions. Would they be occupying the same body? That seemed kinda... intimate.

She realized that Amanda was staring at her. She licked her lips. "Is there anymore water?"

Amanda gave her a knowing look. "I'll go find something to cool you off."


---------

It was Friday again already. Six weeks into the semester. Six weeks of Friday afternoon happy hour at The Bronze. She heaved herself up onto one of the few empty stools and nodded at Devon, who brought her a pint without asking.

"We're playing tomorrow night. Just in case you're around. Different sound than we had when we were the Dingoes, you know."

"Sounds cool," she replied noncommittally.

"You ever hear from Oz?"

Some wounds never quite healed. "No. Never."

Devon wandered over to help some other customers and Willow gave a sigh of relief. By Fridays she was too wrung out to keep up a friendly, casual conversation. Days spent with the intricacies of digital logic and Schrodinger's equation and nights trying to decipher demon riddles with David. Her brain hurt.

Seeing Tara stroll in with Gemma wasn't exactly a soothing balm either. Still, she waved gamely and traded weary smiles with her ex-girlfriend. True to her word, she was
friendly and cool when they all got together at The Magic Box. She was polite in public. It didn't make her heart any less broken, but at least she wasn't wearing it on her sleeve.

It was exactly the kind of thing she would have talked about with Buffy, if things weren't so weird between them now -- how did you thank someone who had rescued you from your own mess like that? -- or Xander, except that there was no Xander anymore. Someday, Willow hoped anyway, that would stop feeling like a fresh discovery. As it was, every time that thought crossed her mind, it seemed just as astonishing and wrenching as it had been the minute she'd seen his bloody body in Buffy's arms.

Tara and Gemma were giggling, leaning into each other the way lovers did. She forced herself not to stare at them; she kept her eyes trained on the television over the bar instead. Then she felt a more genuine smile coming on as she felt someone slip into the seat next to her.

"Fancy meeting you here," she teased.

Faith nodded in greeting and waved Devon over. "What can I say, Herm. Got a
crush on you," she said in that disconcerting tone that Willow never could interpret. Was she messing with her?

"Whatever," Willow sighed. She downed the rest of her drink. "I guess us murdering bitches have to stay together."

Faith blinked at her, then grinned. "Damn, girl. When did you get so hard?"

Willow looked at her glass and started it rotating in a slow circle. "Ignore me. I'm in a mood."

"Well, let's get you another drink. Get you in a better mood." Faith waved at Devon with one hand while the other landed on the small of Willow's back. Willow watched as Faith slammed back a shot of whatever she was drinking. Then her hand moved lower, fingers sliding under the waistband of her skirt.

God, she sucked at this kind of thing, the flirting and the signals. Was Faith just jerking her around? Did she think it was funny? They didn't even like each other, did they? You know what? Screw it!

Willow grabbed a hank of Faith's stupid hair and laid one on her. And, Faith responded by returning the kiss just as fiercely and stuffing her hand farther down to squeeze Willow's ass. It just kept going and Willow felt a little spinney, and then there were a bunch of guys hooting. Faith pulled back, tossed some money on the table, and said, "Let's get out of here."

She couldn't help it; she glanced back to see Tara's astonished expression, and damn if that didn't make it even better. On the sidewalk Faith reeled her in again, and it was so weird that Faith, Faith, was making her feel all flushed and overheated. The streetlights were just starting to flicker on and the orange sunset behind Faith seemed to set her on fire. They stumbled along silently through the empty parking lot of Faith's apartment complex, like speaking would break the spell. And it might have, if something else hadn't happened first.

"Hey! Was there a prison break or something?"

Willow felt her entire body go stiff and cold. "Fuck off, asshole," Faith replied, tugging at Willow's arm.

"Oh god," Willow managed. "Warren."

"Good to see you too, bitch."

Faith was no longer pulling her, her hand now gone tight around Willow's arm like she was holding her up. Willow was vaguely aware that she might have fallen otherwise. "You're dead."

"Doesn't always stick around here, does it?" He grinned at her. His legs stepped forward, but the upper half of his body stayed where it was, dripping gore. "But yeah, I'm dead."

"I fucking hate this town," Faith whispered.

Warren clapped his hands to keep time while his legs performed a peppy dance around his floating torso. Willow felt sick. "What are you?"

The thing that looked like Warren grinned. "Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am and always have been, I am the First. Beyond sin, beyond death. I am the thing the darkness fears. You'll never see me, but I am everywhere. Every being, every thought,
every drop of hate."

Willow felt strangely relieved. "Oh, well, I won't be killing myself, so could you just, you know, move along?"

It laughed. "Ah, but I wanted to thank you. You opened the door."

"What?!" Willow lurched forward, but the thing just stepped through her and disappeared. There was a buzzing in her head and then blackness.

---------

Buffy stretched her arms over her head and ran her eyes down her body to her feet, one of which was cupped in Spike's grip as he carefully applied Argenteeny Pinkini to her toes. "You so saw this in Cosmo, didn't you?"

"Way you leave your little girly rags spilling off every flat surface in the place, thought it was a hint, pet."

She rolled her eyes and fingered the necklace he'd clapped around her neck. There was absolutely nowhere she could wear such an ornate thing, but Spike seemed to like it worn on its own. He was big on the gift-giving lately. Which reminded her, "I got my first paycheck from the Council today."

Spike nodded in acknowledgement and dipped the brush back in the bottle.

"So, you can tell me what I owe you for my half."

"Your half?"

"Yeah, my half of, you know, the rent and utilities and stuff."

He frowned at her. "Don't be daft."

She propped herself up on her elbows. "I'm not being daft. I live here, don't I? I'm on the lease, I use water and power; I should be paying."

"Not taking your money," he scoffed. He twisted the lid back on the bottle and sat back to look her over.

"I don't need you supporting me," she protested.

"Not about what you need, Buffy. It's my home and I want you in it. You don't have to pay me for that."

"I thought this was our home?" she objected. She suddenly really didn't like where this is going.

"It is." He massaged her heel, storm clouds across his face.

Buffy sighed and tugged at her necklace. "I don't want to be your... kept woman, okay? That's not me."

"You're not," he insisted.

"What am I then?"

Spike looked desperate for a cigarette. Or something to kill. He kissed her instep. "My girl, my mistress."

"Oh, well that's better," she replied caustically. Like that wasn't the exact same thing. "When my toes dry, I am so kicking your ass!"

"Not like that, love." He sighed and slouched against the foot board.

"Like what then?" She tried to think of any possible other meaning for mistress. "Like you're my pet?" He shrugged. "Okay, first of all, that's gross. Second of all, if that were true, I should be taking care of you."

"You do take care of me," he muttered, suddenly all sex eyes again. "Quite well, matter of fact. And, as I recollect, you're somewhat fond of yanking my collars or clapping me in chains." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Buffy," he breathed in that coaxing tone that was so hard to resist. "The interest off the Gem of Amara haul is more than enough dosh for this. Use yours for whatever you like."

"What I'd like is to contribute, Spike."

He rolled his eyes up, like he was appealing to heaven for help. "Could do with some new furniture in this place."

Maybe he was putting her off, but it was also true. The bed was in pretty good shape, considering how much daily abuse it got. But the other furniture from his crypt was pretty ratty. Plus it smelled like it had been underground for years. "Okay, I'll take care of it," she agreed.

He guided her legs up over his shoulders. "We done fighting then?" he asked, with the quirked eyebrow and a tongue roll.

It had been almost a year that they'd been together, if you counted the summer gap. It seemed like she should be getting over this constant hunger. It was embarrassing the way he could get her so hot just by making a face. "Buffy," he whispered against her thigh, hands pushing her chemise up out of the way. "You're my own girl, my pretty thing, my fierce mistress..." He stopped kissing his way up her leg to look at her. "But you own me, love. I'm your own, your--"

"Concubine. The word you're looking for, it's concubine."

Buffy looked over Spike's shoulder and felt him yank the covers over her exposed body.

"Nothing I haven't seen before."

"Angel? How did you get in here?" Okay, she thought, that was a stupid thing to ask, but she hadn't invited him in, and she was pretty sure Spike hadn't.

"What, William? Not going to ask me to join you? You know, sometimes I do miss that mouth of yours."

Buffy felt an intense urge to throw herself between the two of them, but instead she just sat up and started feeling behind the headboard for a stake. Angelus was in her home somehow. She felt lightheaded and leaden at the same time.

Spike's hand brushed her arm. "It's not him," he said quietly. "It's some sort of phantom."

The thing that looked like Angel smiled at her. "We've met before. I don't think I can talk this one into a noble death though."

She forced herself to breath normally. Knowing what she was dealing with wasn't making her feel that much better, under the circumstances. No way this thing was back just for kicks. "Fine. Kudos. You're still really creepy. But you're all talk. Get lost."

"Not anymore, lover. I just wanted to say thanks for that."

Then, it just wasn't there anymore and she had a fun new puzzle to solve. Just great.

"Mind explaining what the bleeding fuck just happened?"

"That thing, that was---" She clutched her head as something seemed to screech inside her skull. Help me, help, helphelphelp.

"Christ," Spike muttered. "I'd forgotten she could do that."

"You heard it too?" Buffy asked, feeling dazed.

"Willow. Used to do it all the time that summer you were gone." He was up, throwing clothes at her and putting on his boots. "Doubt she even knew she was doing it. Sounded panicked."

She pulled the shirt on. "We have to find her. Like, now."

"I think I can track her."

Buffy frowned, slightly unsettled that Spike was that familiar with Willow's scent. Her cell phone rang. She fastened her pants while she talked to Faith. "Come on. They're at Memorial Hospital."

He nodded. "Any chance you'll tell me what the hell is going on?"

She had to give him a wry smile for that. Her good little soldier. She knew he'd follow her whether she gave him the 411 or not. "I'll explain on the way."

-----------
See, actual plot here, as promised ;)
I also have a new post-Chosen short up on my lj: Hello, Iowa on msclawdia.livejournal.com
It’s Spuffy-adjacent with neither of them in the action, so I’m not sure I can post it here. Please read and comment; it’s darker than I normally go.