| Chapter Four | ||
AUTHOR NOTES: If I was choosing a sountrack for this chapter..."Bring Back the Sun" by Our Lady Peace ********************************************************** Spike traced the letters. B-E-L... And fell to his knees. O-V-E-D Over and over again he traced the word like a blind man touching Braille, feeling the engraved letters beneath his fingertips. The granite was cold--cold and hard. It was stone. What else would it be? Spike sat back on his heels, and even though it was dark, he could still read the words. `Beloved Sister, Devoted Friend.' He'd read the words before, and wasn't surprised to see them again. It was what she'd wanted all along. He felt pressure building behind some interior dam, until it cracked, and emotion spilled forth--a trickle, then a waterfall, then a flood. Beloved Sister. Devoted Friend. "Bitch!" he yelled. "Goddamned selfish, cowardly bitch!" Spike tore at the grass. "Did you get what you wanted? Did you find your way out?" His fingers were bloodied as he dug into the dirt. "Pushed me away. Drove me away so there'd be no one to stop you. Had to have your bloody death wish, didn't you?" Abruptly, Spike stood, even though he continued to stare at the ground. "Just couldn't take it could you? Couldn't face the world." He kicked the dirt. "Didn't have the guts. Didn't have—" Spike roared like a wounded animal as he grabbed her gravestone, pushing it back and forward, dislodging it from the earth. "Coward!" he yelled as he tore it from the ground. "Bitch!" he screamed as he threw the stone against a crypt. The granite broke, fracturing along an almost imperceptible flaw, splitting into two pieces until he grabbed them and threw them against the wall again. And again. They lay in a messy jumble of small chunks, but he could still read the words. B-E-L. He started to cry. O-V-E-D. Without dignity Spike fell to the ground, sobbing as he lay prostrate in the dirt. "Buffy." * * * Faith banged her hand against the door of the Magic Box. Come on! She didn't have all night! Okay, so maybe she had behaved like she had all night. Maybe she had stayed in the graveyard too long. Was it her fault that she'd run into a glowy eyed, blue skinned demon with a tail? Tearing the thing's head off hadn't been easy. It had slowed her down. Besides, it wasn't her job to keep track of Buffy's kid sister. Her job was to beat demons and stake vampires. Faith had been *doing* her job when she'd popped the head off the demon like a champagne cork. She hadn't been avoiding Dawn. She wasn't such a coward that she couldn't face one girl's trauma and tears. =Yeah, right. And I'll buy swampland in Death Valley next.= Since when did Dawn cry anyway? From the moment Faith had been dumped into what remained of the Scooby gang, Dawn had been dry-eyed and distant. Nothing had touched her. Nothing broke through her walls. Nothing. . .until the vampire had reappeared. The vampire. Spike. The whole scene had been weird. Dawn flying into his arms. Dawn slapping his face. He had allowed the kid to slap his face. That was definitely strange and not just Hellmouth strange. This was emotional weirdness that Faith couldn't begin to comprehend--a notorious Slayer killer who had overlooked two chances to kill a Slayer, who had submitted to being pummeled and insulted by a fifteen year old girl, who had taken the news of Buffy's death as though someone had just thrown an ax that hit him in the gut. Weirdness didn't cover it. And where the hell was Dawn? Dawn was a smart kid. Faith knew that. All those books the girl carried around must mean Dawn was smart, and the brat knew what living on the Hellmouth was like. Dawn wouldn't do something stupid. She could take care of herself. Faith didn't need to feel worried. . .or guilty. . .or anything. Faith pounded on the Magic Box's door. "Open up!" After what felt like forever, Wesley turned the lock. "Is she here?" Faith pushed passed the Watcher to enter the shop. Wesley blinked. "Who? Anya? She—" "No. Dawn. The teen pain-in-the-ass. Is she here?" "Why, no, she—" "Hey! Ex-demon-girl, you seen the little Buffy?" No answer. Faith looked at Wesley. "She here?" "I thought we just established that Dawn isn't here." "No. Now I'm talking about ex-demon-girl." Wesley looked around the almost eerily quiet Magic Box. "She was here a moment ago." He frowned. "That's odd." "Maybe back there." Faith headed toward the rear of the store, pushing open the door to the cluttered storage room. Anya wasn't in sight but Faith searched anyway. She found a jar of live leeches, five cartons of desiccated chicken feet, a gooey black substance she didn't want to contemplate, fava beans and a nice Chianti. Faith wasn't sure whether Anya was really into movies, had a very strange sense of humor, or was a cannibalistic serial killer. "I believe it's safe to say she isn't here," Wesley said with his arms crossed in front of him and his head tilted slightly to one side. "Perhaps I could help you if you told me what is wrong. *Is* something wrong?" "Maybe. I don't know. Beats the hell out of me." Faith gave up. She wasn't sure why she was searching the store room in the first place. Anya wasn't here and looking in jars of leeches wasn't going to make the store owner appear. It was just that Faith didn't want to deal with Dawn and was willing to kill any amount of time until Anya showed up to play surrogate big sis. Faith looked at Wesley. "Where would ex-demon-girl go?" "I don't know." When Faith returned to the show room of the Magic Box, Anya stood in the middle of the floor. "Where did you come from?" Faith asked. Anya gave a small squeak and looked startled by Wes and Faiths appearance. "Oh…uh…from the back room." Faith and Wesley looked at each other, frowned, and said in unison. "No, you didn't." Anya lifted her chin. "At some point today I came from the back room, therefore I came from the back room." Wesley crossed the room and pointed out, "You weren't *just* in the back room. We were there. Where were you?" "When?" "Before." "That is a very inexact time. Before when?" "Ugh!" Faith interrupted. "It doesn't matter. Have you seen the teen terror? The brat?" "Of course I have seen Dawn, and even if she is irritating and whiney, that's not a very nice way to refer to her." Anya's brow creased with confusion. "Besides, I don't know why you are asking me these questions. Dawn was here when you were here. You saw her." "After then." Anya sighed. "This conversation is very tiresome. Are you asking if I have seen Dawn since she left for dinner?" "Jesus-Christ-on-a-stick, yes." Anya circled the check out counter. "Then the answer is no." "That's it? No?" Anya considered her statement for a long moment then nodded. "Just no." Faith thought about finding an ax to bash in the woman's head. "Could you call your apartment to see if she is there?" A frown wrinkled Anya's brow. "Why would I do that?" "Because we don't know where she is. Because it's-—" Faith glanced at her wrist where there was no watch. "Twelve-o-two," Wesley supplied. "It's after midnight and do you know where your roommate is?" Anya blinked. "Home in bed. Young girls should be home in bed after midnight." She marched to the phone. "I will call home right now to wake her up to tell her she should be in bed." Neither Faith nor Wesley pointed out the contradiction in Anya's statement. They waited for Anya to dial the phone. "That's odd," Anya said after several moments. "She's not home." =Damn it! I fucked up. Should'da gone after the brat sooner.= Anya hung up the phone. "She should be home. It is far too late for dinner with a friend. Dinner should be at eight. Nine at the latest." "Look, she didn't go out to eat. She was in the cemetery. Does she have friends in the cemetery?" Faith's voice dripped with sarcasm. "I believe Clem still lives there." Anya paused as if suddenly aware of two pairs of eyes focused on her. "Who is Clem?" Wesley asked. "A Shar-peisi demon." "She hangs out with demon?" Faith was shocked. She hadn't known she could be shocked, but she was shocked. Anya hurried to explain, "Shar-peisies are quite harmless." Wesley nodded. "True. Shar-Peisies are considered to be benign." Faith sniffed. "I'll take your word for it. Besides we've got bigger problems than a Sharpie demon. Vampire problems." Anya took a seat at the table. "Oh, those. Shouldn't you take care of those?" "I do take care of those—" Anya continued talking. "It's not like most of them are all that difficult to take care of. It's not like they are hell gods or pure blooded demons or anything. I mean *I've* dusted vampires." Okay, the ex-vengeance demon was doing a dance on Faith's last nerve. "This vamp is different. This one can fight, and I mean *really* fight." Faith looked at Wesley. "Have you ever heard of William the Bloody?" Anya rolled her eyes. "Spike. Is that all?" Wesley looked at Anya with surprise and interest. "You know him? He is quite infamous." Anya gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "Don't flatter him. Besides, that was years ago. Before the chip. It's not like he can hurt anyone." Wesley arched a brow. "Chip?" "The chip isn't working," Faith told them as she opened the case where weapons were stored. Anya looked curious. "Really? How did that happen?" Faith's gaze narrowed. "You don't look worried." "Why would I be worried? Spike *likes* me." "Anya," Wesley said patiently, "vampires don't like anyone." "That's a stereotype," Anya protested. "Broad generalizations lead to stereotypes and stereotypes to prejudice. I've read about prejudice. Prejudice is bad and as Americans we should try not to be prejudiced. Of course, you aren't an American. You're a foreigner so you may not know these things, Wesley." Anya stamped her foot. "I am tired of rampant prejudice. Down with demon bashing. There are many perfectly nice demons. If you prick them do they not bleed blood-like, oozing gunk? Demons have feelings, too, you know." "Yes, Anya. There are demons capable of affection or even love—" "I should think so." "But vampires are different—" Anya sniffed. "I'm 1100 years old. I know very well what vampires are like. I know the rules." She sounded exasperated. "Spike wouldn't bite me." "And how do you know that?" "He told me." "He's evil! Evil things lie." Anya crossed her arms. "You've obviously never met Spike. He's a horrible liar." "You two can argue about this later," Faith said with exasperation as she handed an ax to Wesley and grabbed a crossbow for herself. "But demon-girl may be right." Wesley followed Faith out the Magic Shop's door. "What makes you say that?" "Weird fight in the graveyard." Faith paused to watch Anya lock the Magic Box door before rushing to catch up with Faith and Wesley. "Where should we look first?" Anya gaze widened. "Why are you asking me?" "You've known the kid the longest. You live with her. Sort of thought you might know her better than us." "Well, I. . .uh. . .." Anya looked lost. "Maybe Clem's. . .?" Faith shrugged and started toward the cemetery. Wesley kept pace with her. "What do you mean `weird fight?' he asked. "He didn't kill me." Wesley arched an eyebrow. "And is this unusual? I know William the Bloody has a reputation, but you are a very able fighter. Perhaps you simply held your own." "I'm not saying he didn't kill me because I beat him in a fight. I'm saying I messed up, gave him an opening, and he didn't take it. And if you make a something sexual out of that, I'll kick your ass." "Maybe he's out of practice," Anya suggested. "It's been a very long time since he's killed a Slayer." Wesley's face, which reflected much more exhaustion and strain than it had only two years ago, became lined with thoughtful concern. "This is why you're worried about Dawn. You're worried about Dawn's connection with Buffy, and Spike's fascination with Slayers." Anya's brow creased as she frowned. "I don't think—" "I'm not worried," Faith protested. "It's just that Dawn was in the graveyard earlier. She saw Spike and got upset. I thought the brat had enough sense to come home, but I'm starting to realize she doesn't." Faith clenched her fist at her side. "I don't need the Council finding out I screwed up and got the last Slayer's little sister killed." "I don't think—" Wes said, "You are right. We should find Dawn then worry about Spike." As Wesley and Faith moved on, Anya muttered almost to herself. "I don't think Spike would hurt Dawn." But they couldn't know that for certain because they couldn't find Dawn. "Which one?" Faith asked as they stared at a line of crypts. "Oh, uh. . ." Anya followed a well worn path to a large ornate crypt with a wrought-iron gate. Glancing at Faith and Wesley, she raised her hand to tap lightly on the door. "Just a sec!" a voice called. "I've got to write a check." Faith mouthed, "Check?" to Wesley, who shrugged. The door of the crypt swung open as a wrinkly, loose-skinned demon blinked big red eyes. "You're not Dominoes." "Clem, have you seen Dawn?" Anya asked. The Shar-peisi glanced nervously at the strangers. "Uh…not today. We were going to watch Harry Potter on video, but Blockbuster was out. I had to go all the way down to Fifth Street's Movie Gallery to find a copy, but when I got back Dawnie wasn't here. Figured she got tired of waiting and went home. Is something wrong? She did make it home. . . didn't she?" He looked at the three dour people facing him. "This isn't good." He stepped out and pulled the door closed behind him. "I'll help you guys look for her. Wouldn't want anything to happen to the Dawnster." Wesley cleared his voice and found his manners. "That's very kind of you." "Oh, no problem. I like Dawnie." "What about Dominoes?" Faith asked. The demon shrugged. "They don't show up half the time. Something about the graveyard freaks out delivery boys. Don't know why. Humans are very strange." "Uh. . .yeah. Right." The four of them walked in silence for a few minutes before Clem elbowed Anya. "Who're your friends?" he asked. "This is the new Watcher and Slayer," Anya explained forthrightly. "Slayer!" Clem yelped and ducked behind a gravestone. Faith sighed. "I'm not going to kill you." "Promise?" "If you come out from behind that gravestone right now and stop acting like a wuss, I promise I won't kill you." Clem peeked over the gravestone. His red-eyed gaze nervously met Faith's dark one. He considered her for a long moment, then stepped from his hiding place. He brushed himself off, muttering, "I'm not a wuss." They searched but didn't find Dawn. Eventually they decided to split up. Anya and Clem continued searching...well, wherever they chose to search while Wesley and Faith would swung by The Bronze. They arrived just as The Bronze was closing its doors. A quick survey of what remained of the Friday night crowd ended with Faith dusting two vampires and Wesley decapitating a Kush'nik demon with a single blow of his ax. Wesley was quite handy with that ax. It was impressive. Really. But there was still no sign of the younger Summers girl. Four hours of searching resulted in their not finding a damn thing. Faith was frustrated and pissed and Wesley looked quite grim when they met Anya and Clem on the steps of the apartment building where Anya lived with Dawn. "Any luck?" Clem asked anxiously, and it really was disturbing how much like a pleading puppy he could look. He started to pace. "I should have told Dawnie to stop coming to the crypt. It wasn't safe. Do you think she is alright? She has to be alright." "Yeah, sure, alright. . . so I can kill her," Faith said darkly. Anya looked teary. "I don't think I could take someone else dy—" She stopped abruptly and climbed the steps. With a worried look on his face, Wesley followed Anya. "Shit," Faith said as she also climbed the stairs. When Anya opened the door to the apartment and Faith saw who was laying on the couch, her blood pressure skyrocketed. "I *am* going to kill her!" Marching over to the couch, Faith grabbed Dawn's arm. "Hey, brat, you been here all night?" Dawn pulled away, looking at the Slayer with shock. Then she collapsed back on the sofa and rubbed her sleepy-looking eyes. "What business is it of yours?" Wesley sat on the arm of the sofa. "We have been concerned about you." Clem nodded. "Yeah, Dawn. Real worried." He knelt in front of her, taking her hand between both of his…uh…whatever his hand-like things were. "You okay?" Dawn looked at the array of people and demons staring at her. "Sure, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?" "Well. . ." Wesley glanced at Faith and Anya before turning back to Dawn. "There is the small issue of Spike—" "Spike?" Dawn jumped to her feet. "Like he could bother me. He can't bother me. I don't give a damn about him. Why would I give a damn about him?" Anya took a step forward, "Dawn—" "Oh no, not you. You keep your paws off him. After—" Dawn sniffed. "He can't hurt me. I won't let him hurt me. He wasn't here when we needed him. Why should I give a damn? He broke his promise. He said he'd always take care of us, and he broke his promise. Well, I don't have to care, and I don't." Dawn stood in the middle of the living room, the picture of youthful defiance, as her gaze turned to the window. It hovered there for a moment before she asked in a soft, little voice, "What time is it?" "Very late," Anya said irritably as she collapsed into a chair which sat opposite the sofa. "And I wish to go to bed now." She started twisting the fringe of one of the throw pillows. "You know, now that I think about it, one of us should have stayed at the apartment in case Dawn came home." Faith looked at Wesley. "Yeah, why didn't you think of that?" His brows rose. "Why didn't I think about it?" "You *are* the Watcher," Anya pointed out. "Trained for logic." "Yeah, logic-boy, why didn't you think of it?" Faith's hands were on her hips. "Why I--" "What time is it?" Dawn quietly asked again as she continued to stare out the window. "It's almost dawn, isn't it?" She grabbed her jacket off the back of Anya's chair. "Where are you going now?" Anya demanded. "It's almost dawn. I. . .When I saw Spike, I told him about Buffy. You remember what happened the last time. . .you know. . . when Buffy di-- You know what happened last time." Anya frowned. Faith could see that the ex-demon was also concerned. Anya stood. "I think I should go with you, Dawn." "I don't want you near him!" Dawn yelled. "Dawn. It's not--" "I'll go," Faith volunteered. Wesley stood. "Faith and I will *both* go. And—" he glanced at Clem. Clem smiled amiably. "Way ahead of you." The four of them--Dawn, Wesley, Clem and Faith—made their way to the cemetery. Anya hadn't looked happy about being left behind. "Why exactly are we doing this?" Faith asked. "Because," Dawn answered in a complete non-answer. "Spike…uh…he can get real emotional," Clem explained. "Last time the Slayer… Well, Spike sort of almost. . ." "We had to drag Spike in out of the sun," Dawn said coldly. =And since when is vamp combustion is a bad thing?= Dawn came to a halt in the cemetery, and Faith turned to follow the direction of Dawn's gaze. Spike sat on the ground, his back set against a gravestone, a half- empty bottle of tequila at his side, and Buffy's gravestone a pile of rubble at his feet. "Cruel you've been—cruel and false," Spike slurred, clearly talking to Buffy's grave. "Why did you despise me?" He lifted the bottle and took a long drink. "I have not one word of comfort. You deserve this. You have killed yourself. You may kiss me, and cry; and wring out my kisses and tears: They'll blight you— they'll damn you." Another drink. "Misery and degradation and death, and nothing that God or Satan could inflict would have parted us, but you, of your own free will did it." "Good lord," Wesley whispered. "Do I want to live? What kind of living will it be when you—oh God! Would you like to live with your soul in the grave?" "He's drunk!" Faith said with disgust. "He's quoting Wuthering Heights," Wesley said with surprise. "Verbatim." Spike hurled the bottle of tequila against the side of a crypt, shattering it so that glass and liquor mingled with the pile of stone that had once marked Buffy's grave. "I forgive what you have done to me. I love *my* murderer-—but *yours*? How can I?" Dawn nudged Wesley's shoulder. He looked at the girl and some silent communication seemed to pass between the two. Wes straightened his shoulders and approached the drunken vampire. "Okay, Heathcliff, let's move along. No use setting yourself on fire. At least not until we find out whether you deserve to be set on fire." Spike pushed the Watcher away—not hard, at least not for a vampire. Wes only stumbled back a few steps. Spike gazed at the other man with unfocused eyes. "Heathcliff stands unredeemed; never once swerving in his arrow-straight course to perdition. . ." "What the fuck?" Faith asked. "Now he's quoting Charlotte Bronte's introduction to Wuthering Heights. It was written posthumously, you know." "Heathcliff betrays one solitary human feeling." Spike staggered to his feet. "A fire that might form the tormented center—the ever suffering soul of a magnate of the infernal world: and by its quenchless and ceaseless ravage effect the execution of the decree which dooms him to carry Hell with him wherever he wanders." "Okay, does anyone have a clue what this crazy vampire is talking about?" Faith looked at Dawn and Clem. "Does any of this crap make sense to you?" "I think he's talking about being consumed by passion," Clem said. Spike yelled. "Or not," Clem amended. Spike wavered on his feet. "He was neither of Lascar nor gypsy, but a man's shape animated by demon life-—a ghoul-—an afreet." Faith shook Wesley's arm. "Is he still quoting this Charlotte chica?" "I believe so." Wesley looked at Spike with interest. "I wonder if he has a photographic memory." Spike passed out. "Thank God." Faith sighed. "That was. . . what the hell was that?" Dawn observed the lightening sky. It had changed from deep violet to soft pink while they had listened to Spike rave. "Maybe we should move him inside now." Faith and Wesley grabbed Spike by the arms and dragged him toward the crypt. Clem unlocked the door and pushed it open so they could dump him on the floor. Spike rolled over and groaned. Dawn stood in the doorway with her arms crossed in front of her. "We should just leave you outside to fry." "Why didn't you, Bit?" Dawn's angry expression faded. "That's not funny." "Wasn't tryin' to be." Spike pulled himself to his knees. "It's a waste of time, you know." "What is?" He stood, but it looked like it took effort. "All of it. Everything. It's all a waste of time." Spike rubbed his temple as if it pained him. "Pulling me out of the sun—" "I won't have you killing yourself too," Dawn snapped. "Dawn, Buffy didn't kill herself," Clem told her. "She was fighting an evil witch. Wasn't her fault she got killed." Dawn and Spike's gazes met. Faith could see that neither of them believed Clem's words. They were pretty sure that Buffy had lived out some death wish. Spike moved toward the door. "No!" Dawn yelled. "It's okay, Bit. It doesn't matter." "It does too matter. Spike, I know that a lot of stuff happened, but—" Spike pushed passed Dawn and walked out into the sunlight. "No!" Dawn screamed. "What the hell?" Faith asked. Spike stood in the light of the sunrise. . .and he wasn't on fire. |
