Dirty Back Road Sequel, Part 14
Jul. 17th, 2005 10:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thedeadlyhookAt last, at last. Damn, but this was a hard one coming for some reason. As usual, I'll probably perform any number of fine-tuning tweaks to this over the next day or so, but I figure at this point, best to just get it posted and go from there.
First, because it's been so long, a recap.
Previously on "Does It Have to Mean Something?":
Post-"Chosen," with so many new Slayers all over the world, Buffy decides to more or less retire from being a Slayer herself and settles down in Rome to live "like a person," which in her case means just enjoying not having to fight all the time, and some quality shopping. Meanwhile, as we saw in Angel Season 5, Spike is brought back to life from the amulet in L.A., pitches in to help Angel in his fight against evil, and various events lead to "Not Fade Away," in which Angel and his crew take on the Circle of Black Thorn, the arm of the Senior Partners of Wolfram & Hart here on earth.
But Angel's plan was actually a bit more extensive than challenging the Senior Partners to a street fight - having been tipped off by the Black Thorn's request to have him sign away the Shanshu prophecy, Angel realizes the importance of the Shanshu to the Senior Partners, and while still CEO of Wolfram & Hart, uses the company's resources to have a spell cast on himself and Spike, essentially bonding the two mystically. Now, Angel can't be killed without also killing Spike, leaving no one to fulfill the Shanshu and Wolfram & Hart's plans for the Apocalypse. The entire demon world is forced to choose sides between the two souled vampires, as Angel and Spike play up their rivalry for all that it's worth, and try to maneuver the underworld into civil war.
Buffy and Spike meet by accident at the Pantheon (as seen in the final chapter "Dirty Back Road"). Overjoyed that Spike is alive, Buffy spends the following week taking him out on dates, only to discover, at the end of the week, that he never planned to stay, thanks to the already in-progress world-saving plan with Angel. Plus the whole prophecy thing. And the fact that he seems to think Buffy only really thinks of him as a friend. Buffy and Spike shout at each other a lot, take a trip to another dimension in which Spike is trapped starving for several months, Angel rides to the rescue... and then everyone is back at Buffy's apartment where Angel explains everything, Buffy and Spike shout at each other some more, sort of make up and also make out... until Buffy remembers to wonder where the hell her sister is. Will this night never end?
Previous chapters here.
Chapter Fourteen
Buffy pushed hard against Spike, shoved him off. He fell backwards, heels skidding across the floor, and went down, back cracking on the tiles. Legs tangled, Buffy fell with him, rolling off the table with a hard thump, landed on his chest. He caught her, breath driving out of his throat with a woof.
"Cell phone--where did I put the cell phone?" she blurted, scrambling to her feet. She began to search the kitchen frantically, her hands sweeping objects off the counter in a racket of clattering noise.
Behind her, Spike let out a groan, and then levered himself to his feet slowly, using the table for support. "What's this about Dawn?"
"She was supposed to have been home hours ago. She called, a-and we were talking and I didn't--"
"This is about a phone call?"
"I didn't call her back. Why didn't I--?"
"This is about a phone call?"
She ignored his question, kept looking. Spike watched her flit about, strain evident on his face. "You think something happened to her."
She shot him a narrow look. "Duh, Spike! When is Dawn not the first target anybody ever thinks of?"
"Not every missed phone call equals a hostage situation, love."
"Since when? It does around me!"
Spike let out a exaggerated sigh, cracked his back and neck.
The phone finally made its appearance, a wedge of silver partly hidden behind the coffee cannister. Buffy snatched it up. "You just said it yourself." She stabbed at the buttons with a shaky finger. "She's probably been kidnapped, a-and--"
"You know love, typically kidnappers call you."
She glared at him. In her ear, Dawn's voicemail picked up. A cold chill ran up Buffy's back.
"She's not answering." She locked eyes with Spike. Ohmigod, she's not answering. Chilly calm descended on her once more, readying her for action, even as her exhausted body groaned in protest.
Spike took in her expression, sighed again. "Okay. Right. Well, we'll find her. No need to worry."
"Right." She lifted her chin. "We will. You're right. I-I'll just go get changed, and--"
"No need. Best you stay here, love. Angel and I'll go."
He'd already begun moving by the time he'd finished saying these words, feet purposefully striding forward. Stunned, she grappled for his elbow, pulled him up short. "You'll go?"
He looked at her. "Why the shock? Not like I've never gone looking for her before, is it?"
"Yes, but..." She sputtered helplessly for a second. "You and Angel? What is it with you two? And since when do I stay home a-and... sit by the window?"
"Take it easy." He removed her hand from his arm, not ungently. "Look, it's just... well, what if she calls back?"
"It's a cell phone." The phone was still in her hand; she held it up. Exhibit A.
"Well, what if she comes home? Not like I can wait here for her, is it?"
"Why the hell not? You're as much a part of her family as anyone."
A short bark of laughter escaped him, and he gave her a pitying look. "She doesn't want to see me, Buffy. Can't blame her, but there it is. Should've heard her on the phone, that one time--could barely talk to me."
"That's not true." Buffy lifted her chin stubbornly. "I asked her--that's not how she feels at all. And she's my sister. You're not going to--I am not some princess, okay? I don't just... sit by the window and wait for my noble knights to do my work for me--I'm the Slayer! And you and Angel can do what you want, but I'm going to find her." She shoved past him, or tried to--the two of them moved simultaneously toward the doorway and promptly got stuck. They struggled for a second, trapped in the doorframe, her legs tangled up with his and her breasts pressed up against his chest.
"Let go!"
"I'm trying!" A bit of pushing and shoving at each other and they broke free, staggering on opposite sides of the opening. Having come out of the struggle on the hallway side of the equation, Buffy quickly spun around and headed for the front door.
"Oh, no you don't." Spike's voice followed her from the kitchen, as did the sound of his big boots. She ignored him, focused on the front door with determined tunnel vision, reached for the doorknob.
He jostled her elbow, knocked her hand aside. Her head nearly spun on her shoulders, and she took in the sight of him, right at her back, his whole frame nearly crackling with defiant energy.
"My job now," he hissed. "Not yours." Then he reached around her with one incongruously silk-clad arm, and flung open the door.
The hallway outside the apartment was bright. Buffy hadn't bothered to turn on more than small table lamp when she'd first come in, so the living room was dark. The sudden contrast, the incoming flood of light, was dazzling. Buffy blinked rapidly, her eyes struggling to adjust.
There was a figure outlined the doorway. Next to her, she felt Spike's whole body tense.
The silhouette spoke. "Hey."
It was Dawn.
__________
Buffy gaped. Her sister was right there, standing in the hallway, laden down with schoolbags. Right outside the door. Buffy's panic washed away in a flood of relief.
"Are you okay?" Buffy sputtered in a rush, breaking out of her temporary paralysis to stumble into the brightly lit hall and grab her sister in a bear hug. "I was so worried about you! Why didn't you call? We thought you were--"
"You thought I was what?" Dawn rolled her eyes, patiently enduring her sister's desperate clutch. "Buffy, c'mon. I did call."
"Oh, yeah. You did, didn't you?" Buffy pulled back, frowning. "So where were you?"
"I was right here."
"In the hallway?"
"Yeah."
"For how long?
"I dunno. Like, a half an hour?"
Half an hour. Buffy frowned, shot a glance back at Spike. He hadn't moved from his position at the door, still holding it open with one outstretched arm. Half an hour ago they'd been... probably shouting at each other in front of this very door. I love you! I love you! I love you! La la la, roses and puppies!
No wonder Dawn hadn't wanted to come in.
Dawn was still talking. "So like I was saying, I was at the cafe down the street, but then I ran out of homework to do, and Alessandro started hitting on me. So I came home." She paused. "Can I come in now?"
"Oh!" Buffy stepped aside, quickly, made hand gestures at Spike. He faded backwards quickly, slipping into the shadows of the hallway like a ghost. Dawn noisly gathered up all of her bookbags and heavy portfolio and with her sister's help, hustled the whole kit into the room.
Buffy gave a quick glance around the hallway for safety's sake, and then firmly closed the front door. Safe and sound. She fell back against the door with a tired sigh.
Inside, Dawn continued bustling with her belongings. She arranged her bags in a neat row along the baseboard, hung up her coat. All of this accomplished in a head-down pose, hair streaming forward to effectively hide her face.
She doesn't want to see me, Buffy. Spike's words came back to her, and she looked around for him. Found him, lurking in the shadows of the hallway leading to the kitchen. Well out of Dawn's direct line of sight.
Or maybe that's not the only problem, she thought to herself.
"Okay, missy, time to spill," she heard herself saying then, a businesslike tone returning to her voice. It's was her mother's tone, one she knew all too well, worry and outrage combined. Where have you been, young lady? "What were you doing out there in the hall? Why didn't you just come in?"
Half bent over as she toed off her shoes, Dawn shrugged. "Because I got your message, Buffy, duh. I thought... well, maybe you'd want to be alone for awhile, that's all. I didn't want to interrupt."
"Why didn't you answer your phone just now?"
"I had it on silent." Dawn picked out a bookbag, flung it onto the couch. Plopped herself down next to it and started rifling through it and pulling out papers. "You didn't answer when I called you back, so... you know."
It's not like you think, Buffy wanted to say. But the truth of it was that... well, it was. There'd been the emergency of getting Spike in so he could rest and recuperate, but after that... there'd been the talking with Angel, and then... the kitchen. Exactly what she'd promised Dawn she wouldn't do. Hey, Dawnie! Guess what? Spike's here, and oh, does it bother you if we have sex in the kitchen? Even though I have a perfectly good room with a door that closes, and I could have called you last night to warn you, but didn't--no problem, right? She sighed.
"It's no big deal," Dawn was saying, head still down, voice tense. "I just... well, like I said. I don't want to interrupt. Just let me get some stuff, and I'll go into my room and study."
"Dawn, no. You don't have to--"
"Say, did you know that Angel's right downstairs?" Dawn looked up, silent messages flashing in her eyes. Please, Buffy, please. Not now. I can't do this. Don't make me.
Buffy's shoulders sagged. "Yeah. I knew that. We... we talked."
"Wow. Sorry I missed that," Dawn said, only slightly sarcastically, and stood, squaring her shoulders, chestnut mane swinging. "I'll... see you in the morning then."
"Goodnight," Buffy said weakly.
Dawn's bedroom door closed.
__________
"Is everything okay up here?"
Angel.
What now? Buffy turned around. The front door had been opened again, and Angel stood just outside it, leaning against the doorframe. Spike was just inside, head low, slightly turned away.
Pulling on his coat. Buffy felt her stomach drop.
"Everything's fine." She was surprised at the calmness of her voice. "So you're leaving."
"That probably would be best," Angel said. "Now that your sister's home... we probably shouldn't attract any more attention, Buffy."
Spike just nodded in agreement, said nothing. Wrapped up once more in rumpled suede, he was the vision she'd seen under the streetlamps again, new head full of curly hair notwithstanding. Chiseled features and slim lines. His posture had changed, though, from the man she'd only just met in the street the night before--he looked collapsed and tired, shoulders weighted down.
Buffy wrapped her arms around herself like a blanket.
So much for her ideas about how to say goodbye.
"You'll call me, though," she said then, realizing at exactly that moment just what was wrong about the situation, about her and Angel and Spike. It was so unbalanced. Any two of them, apparently, could interact and manage to have some kind of working relationship, but together... they all ended up jockeying for position. Who was on top, who was most loved, who came first. And Spike's posture told her everything about where he thought he fitted in.
She forced herself to move. Stepped forward, grabbed Spike by the sleeve. He glanced up at her, startled. "You'll call me," she insisted again, her eyes firmly fixed on his face.
"We'll try," Angel said, from somewhere out of her line of sight--Spike's face filled her vision. His blue eyes were wide and the expression in them was wounded--a flash in her mind took her back to that basement, her mother's basement, when she'd joked about oil wrestling and tried to make light of his hurt feelings. I've got my pride, you know?
And just like that, she understood. Finally. Spike, Angel, herself.
She and Angel... they would always be the same. It was like an epiphany, that knowledge, and standing there with her hand twisted up in Spike's coat, she knew that it was true. Ten years could pass, thirty years, fifty, and the she and Angel would be able to meet up and trade pleasantries like they'd seen each other only yesterday. Whatever else had happened to them during that time wouldn't matter. All she had to do was look at him to feel like an innocent girl again, someone who'd never been through death and back. Probably he felt the same.
Like magic.
But Spike... nothing between them would ever be the same again. When they left this moment behind, they'd be two different people. They'd have to start all over again, painful and agonizing, two strangers meeting with nothing left to connect them. If she let him go now... she clung to his sleeve, gave his arm a little shake.
They were never the same. From one moment to the next, she and Spike were always changing. Evolving.
But into what? A sense of panic gripped her, and she pulled herself closer until their faces nearly touched.
Angel cleared his throat. Not too obviously, but it was clearly some kind of signal to Spike to hurry himself along.
"If you leave town without calling me, I will be so pissed off. You don't even want to know," she said to him, breathy, low. Angel wasn't part of this conversation--she needed to make sure Spike knew that. It was a moment between them, and them alone.
There was the barest softening in the lines of his face. "I'll try," he whispered back.
Then he stepped back. The coat sleeve pulled out of her fingers, and they were separate again. Spike was standing out in the hallway with Angel towering next to him, the overhead fixtures casting harsh lights on both their faces.
"Goodbye, Buffy," she heard Angel say softly. Spike's lips moved as if to speak, but ultimately he just smiled at her, shook his head, said nothing.
Then Angel reached forward, and the door closed.
__________
Buffy stood where she was, listening. She tracked the sounds of their footsteps on the stairs, the downstairs door, their voices echoing quietly out on the silent street.
It wasn't until she heard the slam of the Lamborghini's doors that she ran to her front window, pushed the curtains aside.
The dark street below was a river of black. Sodium vapor streetlamps cast pools of green-gold light on Lamborghini's slick red, turning it orange.
The car was already moving, the figures inside it barely visible, tiny dolls. She watched as it roared up the street, kept watching until the its taillights disappeared into the distance, and the sound of its engine faded away.
They were gone. She let the curtains fall.
Dreamlike, she walked toward her sister's room.
__________
Dawn looked up as Buffy entered, the door opening with a soft click.
"Is he gone?" she said softly. Dawn was sitting up in bed, papers spread out around her, hunched over as if she was trying to disappear.
Buffy nodded dumbly.
Dawn sighed, obviously relieved. Guilt made an appearance on her face a second later. "I'm so sorry, Buffy," she apologized. "Really. Look, I know how important this is to you, I know. And I really--okay, I freaked out back there, okay, I know that, but I just... couldn't talk to him right now. I mean, I told you I wasn't ready to see him."
"Yes you did." Hey, and Spike told me too. You weren't ready. I wasn't ready. I guess none of us was ready.
Dawn's eyes drifted closed. In her cross-legged pose, she looked like someone trying to get in touch with her chakras. "I'll do better next time. I promise. I've... seen him now, and okay, the hair'll take some getting used to, but--"
"I don't know if it matters anymore." Buffy drifted closer to Dawn's bed, leaned on it for support. The adrenaline that had kept her going for the whole of the long day and evening before it was finally leaving her. Her hands coiled around the metal bedframe like hooks. "He's... gone."
Dawn looked puzzled. "Um, yeah? I know. But, like I said, next time--"
"There won't be a next time." Buffy's shoulders were pulling in, her whole body curling up. "I don't know..."
"Buffy?" Dawn put down her pencil, slid out of bed, scrambled to her sister's side. "Are you okay?"
Her head shook, along with her shoulders, her legs. "Really not."
The patterned wallpaper was blurring. She was dimly aware of Dawn taking hold of her hand.
"Follow me," Dawn said, and tugged on her hand. She allowed herself to be pulled along, behind her sister, back down the long hallway and into the kitchen, and watched numbly as Dawn produced a couple of mysterious paper bags from the refrigerator and freezer.
Dawn set the bags on the table. The table where she'd almost...
The open bowl of failed cioppino was still there, throwing off a fishy reek. Dawn made a choking sound, grabbed it, walked it to the sink. Ran water for some time, then returned and unwrapped the bags.
Hugging herself by the elbows, eyes dry and hot, Buffy stared the results. Three bottles of champagne and two big cartons of ice cream.
"I got these about a week ago." Dawn wadded up the brown paper, then flattened it out again, folded it neatly, the loud crinkling sound filling the silent room. "After... after that first call, you know, when you had Spike talk to me? I figured things would either turn out really good or really bad, so I... prepared."
Alcohol and ice cream. Buffy's heart gave out a shuddery thud, emotion swelling up in her throat even as she struggled to get her feelings under some kind of control.
She had to be strong. For her sister's sake. Didn't she?
Dawn's expression was way too much like their mother's. Oh, honey.
"W-What kind of ice cream?" she gasped, barely able to talk around the block in her throat. Her chest was already trying to close up, the breath in her throat a hot whistle.
"Chocolate chip cookie dough."
Buffy's face crumpled. "Give me a bottle."
First, because it's been so long, a recap.
Previously on "Does It Have to Mean Something?":
Post-"Chosen," with so many new Slayers all over the world, Buffy decides to more or less retire from being a Slayer herself and settles down in Rome to live "like a person," which in her case means just enjoying not having to fight all the time, and some quality shopping. Meanwhile, as we saw in Angel Season 5, Spike is brought back to life from the amulet in L.A., pitches in to help Angel in his fight against evil, and various events lead to "Not Fade Away," in which Angel and his crew take on the Circle of Black Thorn, the arm of the Senior Partners of Wolfram & Hart here on earth.
But Angel's plan was actually a bit more extensive than challenging the Senior Partners to a street fight - having been tipped off by the Black Thorn's request to have him sign away the Shanshu prophecy, Angel realizes the importance of the Shanshu to the Senior Partners, and while still CEO of Wolfram & Hart, uses the company's resources to have a spell cast on himself and Spike, essentially bonding the two mystically. Now, Angel can't be killed without also killing Spike, leaving no one to fulfill the Shanshu and Wolfram & Hart's plans for the Apocalypse. The entire demon world is forced to choose sides between the two souled vampires, as Angel and Spike play up their rivalry for all that it's worth, and try to maneuver the underworld into civil war.
Buffy and Spike meet by accident at the Pantheon (as seen in the final chapter "Dirty Back Road"). Overjoyed that Spike is alive, Buffy spends the following week taking him out on dates, only to discover, at the end of the week, that he never planned to stay, thanks to the already in-progress world-saving plan with Angel. Plus the whole prophecy thing. And the fact that he seems to think Buffy only really thinks of him as a friend. Buffy and Spike shout at each other a lot, take a trip to another dimension in which Spike is trapped starving for several months, Angel rides to the rescue... and then everyone is back at Buffy's apartment where Angel explains everything, Buffy and Spike shout at each other some more, sort of make up and also make out... until Buffy remembers to wonder where the hell her sister is. Will this night never end?
Previous chapters here.
Chapter Fourteen
Buffy pushed hard against Spike, shoved him off. He fell backwards, heels skidding across the floor, and went down, back cracking on the tiles. Legs tangled, Buffy fell with him, rolling off the table with a hard thump, landed on his chest. He caught her, breath driving out of his throat with a woof.
"Cell phone--where did I put the cell phone?" she blurted, scrambling to her feet. She began to search the kitchen frantically, her hands sweeping objects off the counter in a racket of clattering noise.
Behind her, Spike let out a groan, and then levered himself to his feet slowly, using the table for support. "What's this about Dawn?"
"She was supposed to have been home hours ago. She called, a-and we were talking and I didn't--"
"This is about a phone call?"
"I didn't call her back. Why didn't I--?"
"This is about a phone call?"
She ignored his question, kept looking. Spike watched her flit about, strain evident on his face. "You think something happened to her."
She shot him a narrow look. "Duh, Spike! When is Dawn not the first target anybody ever thinks of?"
"Not every missed phone call equals a hostage situation, love."
"Since when? It does around me!"
Spike let out a exaggerated sigh, cracked his back and neck.
The phone finally made its appearance, a wedge of silver partly hidden behind the coffee cannister. Buffy snatched it up. "You just said it yourself." She stabbed at the buttons with a shaky finger. "She's probably been kidnapped, a-and--"
"You know love, typically kidnappers call you."
She glared at him. In her ear, Dawn's voicemail picked up. A cold chill ran up Buffy's back.
"She's not answering." She locked eyes with Spike. Ohmigod, she's not answering. Chilly calm descended on her once more, readying her for action, even as her exhausted body groaned in protest.
Spike took in her expression, sighed again. "Okay. Right. Well, we'll find her. No need to worry."
"Right." She lifted her chin. "We will. You're right. I-I'll just go get changed, and--"
"No need. Best you stay here, love. Angel and I'll go."
He'd already begun moving by the time he'd finished saying these words, feet purposefully striding forward. Stunned, she grappled for his elbow, pulled him up short. "You'll go?"
He looked at her. "Why the shock? Not like I've never gone looking for her before, is it?"
"Yes, but..." She sputtered helplessly for a second. "You and Angel? What is it with you two? And since when do I stay home a-and... sit by the window?"
"Take it easy." He removed her hand from his arm, not ungently. "Look, it's just... well, what if she calls back?"
"It's a cell phone." The phone was still in her hand; she held it up. Exhibit A.
"Well, what if she comes home? Not like I can wait here for her, is it?"
"Why the hell not? You're as much a part of her family as anyone."
A short bark of laughter escaped him, and he gave her a pitying look. "She doesn't want to see me, Buffy. Can't blame her, but there it is. Should've heard her on the phone, that one time--could barely talk to me."
"That's not true." Buffy lifted her chin stubbornly. "I asked her--that's not how she feels at all. And she's my sister. You're not going to--I am not some princess, okay? I don't just... sit by the window and wait for my noble knights to do my work for me--I'm the Slayer! And you and Angel can do what you want, but I'm going to find her." She shoved past him, or tried to--the two of them moved simultaneously toward the doorway and promptly got stuck. They struggled for a second, trapped in the doorframe, her legs tangled up with his and her breasts pressed up against his chest.
"Let go!"
"I'm trying!" A bit of pushing and shoving at each other and they broke free, staggering on opposite sides of the opening. Having come out of the struggle on the hallway side of the equation, Buffy quickly spun around and headed for the front door.
"Oh, no you don't." Spike's voice followed her from the kitchen, as did the sound of his big boots. She ignored him, focused on the front door with determined tunnel vision, reached for the doorknob.
He jostled her elbow, knocked her hand aside. Her head nearly spun on her shoulders, and she took in the sight of him, right at her back, his whole frame nearly crackling with defiant energy.
"My job now," he hissed. "Not yours." Then he reached around her with one incongruously silk-clad arm, and flung open the door.
The hallway outside the apartment was bright. Buffy hadn't bothered to turn on more than small table lamp when she'd first come in, so the living room was dark. The sudden contrast, the incoming flood of light, was dazzling. Buffy blinked rapidly, her eyes struggling to adjust.
There was a figure outlined the doorway. Next to her, she felt Spike's whole body tense.
The silhouette spoke. "Hey."
It was Dawn.
__________
Buffy gaped. Her sister was right there, standing in the hallway, laden down with schoolbags. Right outside the door. Buffy's panic washed away in a flood of relief.
"Are you okay?" Buffy sputtered in a rush, breaking out of her temporary paralysis to stumble into the brightly lit hall and grab her sister in a bear hug. "I was so worried about you! Why didn't you call? We thought you were--"
"You thought I was what?" Dawn rolled her eyes, patiently enduring her sister's desperate clutch. "Buffy, c'mon. I did call."
"Oh, yeah. You did, didn't you?" Buffy pulled back, frowning. "So where were you?"
"I was right here."
"In the hallway?"
"Yeah."
"For how long?
"I dunno. Like, a half an hour?"
Half an hour. Buffy frowned, shot a glance back at Spike. He hadn't moved from his position at the door, still holding it open with one outstretched arm. Half an hour ago they'd been... probably shouting at each other in front of this very door. I love you! I love you! I love you! La la la, roses and puppies!
No wonder Dawn hadn't wanted to come in.
Dawn was still talking. "So like I was saying, I was at the cafe down the street, but then I ran out of homework to do, and Alessandro started hitting on me. So I came home." She paused. "Can I come in now?"
"Oh!" Buffy stepped aside, quickly, made hand gestures at Spike. He faded backwards quickly, slipping into the shadows of the hallway like a ghost. Dawn noisly gathered up all of her bookbags and heavy portfolio and with her sister's help, hustled the whole kit into the room.
Buffy gave a quick glance around the hallway for safety's sake, and then firmly closed the front door. Safe and sound. She fell back against the door with a tired sigh.
Inside, Dawn continued bustling with her belongings. She arranged her bags in a neat row along the baseboard, hung up her coat. All of this accomplished in a head-down pose, hair streaming forward to effectively hide her face.
She doesn't want to see me, Buffy. Spike's words came back to her, and she looked around for him. Found him, lurking in the shadows of the hallway leading to the kitchen. Well out of Dawn's direct line of sight.
Or maybe that's not the only problem, she thought to herself.
"Okay, missy, time to spill," she heard herself saying then, a businesslike tone returning to her voice. It's was her mother's tone, one she knew all too well, worry and outrage combined. Where have you been, young lady? "What were you doing out there in the hall? Why didn't you just come in?"
Half bent over as she toed off her shoes, Dawn shrugged. "Because I got your message, Buffy, duh. I thought... well, maybe you'd want to be alone for awhile, that's all. I didn't want to interrupt."
"Why didn't you answer your phone just now?"
"I had it on silent." Dawn picked out a bookbag, flung it onto the couch. Plopped herself down next to it and started rifling through it and pulling out papers. "You didn't answer when I called you back, so... you know."
It's not like you think, Buffy wanted to say. But the truth of it was that... well, it was. There'd been the emergency of getting Spike in so he could rest and recuperate, but after that... there'd been the talking with Angel, and then... the kitchen. Exactly what she'd promised Dawn she wouldn't do. Hey, Dawnie! Guess what? Spike's here, and oh, does it bother you if we have sex in the kitchen? Even though I have a perfectly good room with a door that closes, and I could have called you last night to warn you, but didn't--no problem, right? She sighed.
"It's no big deal," Dawn was saying, head still down, voice tense. "I just... well, like I said. I don't want to interrupt. Just let me get some stuff, and I'll go into my room and study."
"Dawn, no. You don't have to--"
"Say, did you know that Angel's right downstairs?" Dawn looked up, silent messages flashing in her eyes. Please, Buffy, please. Not now. I can't do this. Don't make me.
Buffy's shoulders sagged. "Yeah. I knew that. We... we talked."
"Wow. Sorry I missed that," Dawn said, only slightly sarcastically, and stood, squaring her shoulders, chestnut mane swinging. "I'll... see you in the morning then."
"Goodnight," Buffy said weakly.
Dawn's bedroom door closed.
__________
"Is everything okay up here?"
Angel.
What now? Buffy turned around. The front door had been opened again, and Angel stood just outside it, leaning against the doorframe. Spike was just inside, head low, slightly turned away.
Pulling on his coat. Buffy felt her stomach drop.
"Everything's fine." She was surprised at the calmness of her voice. "So you're leaving."
"That probably would be best," Angel said. "Now that your sister's home... we probably shouldn't attract any more attention, Buffy."
Spike just nodded in agreement, said nothing. Wrapped up once more in rumpled suede, he was the vision she'd seen under the streetlamps again, new head full of curly hair notwithstanding. Chiseled features and slim lines. His posture had changed, though, from the man she'd only just met in the street the night before--he looked collapsed and tired, shoulders weighted down.
Buffy wrapped her arms around herself like a blanket.
So much for her ideas about how to say goodbye.
"You'll call me, though," she said then, realizing at exactly that moment just what was wrong about the situation, about her and Angel and Spike. It was so unbalanced. Any two of them, apparently, could interact and manage to have some kind of working relationship, but together... they all ended up jockeying for position. Who was on top, who was most loved, who came first. And Spike's posture told her everything about where he thought he fitted in.
She forced herself to move. Stepped forward, grabbed Spike by the sleeve. He glanced up at her, startled. "You'll call me," she insisted again, her eyes firmly fixed on his face.
"We'll try," Angel said, from somewhere out of her line of sight--Spike's face filled her vision. His blue eyes were wide and the expression in them was wounded--a flash in her mind took her back to that basement, her mother's basement, when she'd joked about oil wrestling and tried to make light of his hurt feelings. I've got my pride, you know?
And just like that, she understood. Finally. Spike, Angel, herself.
She and Angel... they would always be the same. It was like an epiphany, that knowledge, and standing there with her hand twisted up in Spike's coat, she knew that it was true. Ten years could pass, thirty years, fifty, and the she and Angel would be able to meet up and trade pleasantries like they'd seen each other only yesterday. Whatever else had happened to them during that time wouldn't matter. All she had to do was look at him to feel like an innocent girl again, someone who'd never been through death and back. Probably he felt the same.
Like magic.
But Spike... nothing between them would ever be the same again. When they left this moment behind, they'd be two different people. They'd have to start all over again, painful and agonizing, two strangers meeting with nothing left to connect them. If she let him go now... she clung to his sleeve, gave his arm a little shake.
They were never the same. From one moment to the next, she and Spike were always changing. Evolving.
But into what? A sense of panic gripped her, and she pulled herself closer until their faces nearly touched.
Angel cleared his throat. Not too obviously, but it was clearly some kind of signal to Spike to hurry himself along.
"If you leave town without calling me, I will be so pissed off. You don't even want to know," she said to him, breathy, low. Angel wasn't part of this conversation--she needed to make sure Spike knew that. It was a moment between them, and them alone.
There was the barest softening in the lines of his face. "I'll try," he whispered back.
Then he stepped back. The coat sleeve pulled out of her fingers, and they were separate again. Spike was standing out in the hallway with Angel towering next to him, the overhead fixtures casting harsh lights on both their faces.
"Goodbye, Buffy," she heard Angel say softly. Spike's lips moved as if to speak, but ultimately he just smiled at her, shook his head, said nothing.
Then Angel reached forward, and the door closed.
__________
Buffy stood where she was, listening. She tracked the sounds of their footsteps on the stairs, the downstairs door, their voices echoing quietly out on the silent street.
It wasn't until she heard the slam of the Lamborghini's doors that she ran to her front window, pushed the curtains aside.
The dark street below was a river of black. Sodium vapor streetlamps cast pools of green-gold light on Lamborghini's slick red, turning it orange.
The car was already moving, the figures inside it barely visible, tiny dolls. She watched as it roared up the street, kept watching until the its taillights disappeared into the distance, and the sound of its engine faded away.
They were gone. She let the curtains fall.
Dreamlike, she walked toward her sister's room.
__________
Dawn looked up as Buffy entered, the door opening with a soft click.
"Is he gone?" she said softly. Dawn was sitting up in bed, papers spread out around her, hunched over as if she was trying to disappear.
Buffy nodded dumbly.
Dawn sighed, obviously relieved. Guilt made an appearance on her face a second later. "I'm so sorry, Buffy," she apologized. "Really. Look, I know how important this is to you, I know. And I really--okay, I freaked out back there, okay, I know that, but I just... couldn't talk to him right now. I mean, I told you I wasn't ready to see him."
"Yes you did." Hey, and Spike told me too. You weren't ready. I wasn't ready. I guess none of us was ready.
Dawn's eyes drifted closed. In her cross-legged pose, she looked like someone trying to get in touch with her chakras. "I'll do better next time. I promise. I've... seen him now, and okay, the hair'll take some getting used to, but--"
"I don't know if it matters anymore." Buffy drifted closer to Dawn's bed, leaned on it for support. The adrenaline that had kept her going for the whole of the long day and evening before it was finally leaving her. Her hands coiled around the metal bedframe like hooks. "He's... gone."
Dawn looked puzzled. "Um, yeah? I know. But, like I said, next time--"
"There won't be a next time." Buffy's shoulders were pulling in, her whole body curling up. "I don't know..."
"Buffy?" Dawn put down her pencil, slid out of bed, scrambled to her sister's side. "Are you okay?"
Her head shook, along with her shoulders, her legs. "Really not."
The patterned wallpaper was blurring. She was dimly aware of Dawn taking hold of her hand.
"Follow me," Dawn said, and tugged on her hand. She allowed herself to be pulled along, behind her sister, back down the long hallway and into the kitchen, and watched numbly as Dawn produced a couple of mysterious paper bags from the refrigerator and freezer.
Dawn set the bags on the table. The table where she'd almost...
The open bowl of failed cioppino was still there, throwing off a fishy reek. Dawn made a choking sound, grabbed it, walked it to the sink. Ran water for some time, then returned and unwrapped the bags.
Hugging herself by the elbows, eyes dry and hot, Buffy stared the results. Three bottles of champagne and two big cartons of ice cream.
"I got these about a week ago." Dawn wadded up the brown paper, then flattened it out again, folded it neatly, the loud crinkling sound filling the silent room. "After... after that first call, you know, when you had Spike talk to me? I figured things would either turn out really good or really bad, so I... prepared."
Alcohol and ice cream. Buffy's heart gave out a shuddery thud, emotion swelling up in her throat even as she struggled to get her feelings under some kind of control.
She had to be strong. For her sister's sake. Didn't she?
Dawn's expression was way too much like their mother's. Oh, honey.
"W-What kind of ice cream?" she gasped, barely able to talk around the block in her throat. Her chest was already trying to close up, the breath in her throat a hot whistle.
"Chocolate chip cookie dough."
Buffy's face crumpled. "Give me a bottle."