Spirit

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Spirit by NautiBitz (nautibitz@yahoo.com) ******************************************************************************

> Summary: Distraught over Buffy’s death, Spike’s
drunk and disorderly, and visits the Summers home.

> Time setting: Between Seasons 5 and 6.

> Rating: PG-13

> Pairing: None.

> Nods: To Gillian, for getting it.

> Disclaimer: You know the drill. 20th Century Fox
Corp. owns everyone but me.

> Distribution: Fair game. Just let me know.

> Feedback: Yes, please. (nautibitz@yahoo.com)

> Soundtrack: This is not a songfic. The song Spike is
singing is by the Ramones.

> SPOILER WARNING: some of the elements in the story
are based on season 6 spoilers, which may or may not
be true. I won’t say which, but you have been warned.

******************************************************************************

“I wanna be sedated...”

Spike stumbled in the dark and dropped an empty bottle
on Buffy’s rug.

He fell face-first on Buffy’s bed, and inhaled her
faint scent.

The scent that was fading.

The scent he’d never smell again.

“Buffy...” he mumbled, on the brink of tears again.

“Spike?”

*Buffy?* His head shot up and he tried to adjust his
blurred vision. *Buffy’s back?* “Buffy?”

“It’s just me, Spike,” a soft voice said, hoarse from
sleep. “It’s Dawn.”

“Bit,” he said sloppily. “My lil’ Bitty.” He crawled
up the bed to meet her. “What’re you doin’ in Buffy’s
bed, Bit?”

“Sleeping,” she replied, yawning. “What are you doing
in Buffy’s bed?”

“Bawlin’ like a soddin’ teenage prat, what of it?”

Dawn smiled. “Were you...singing?”

“Oh, huh,” he laughed. “Yeah. Guess I was. Sorry,
love.” He flopped on his back and rested his head next
to hers.

“No, it’s okay... it gave me the weirdest dream.”

“Wha’?”

“You were driving a station wagon, and Buffy was in
the passenger seat. I was in the back with Tara and we
were all doing a round robin of some weird old song I
don’t even know.”

He saw it very clearly. “Thass a beautiful dream...”

“It sounded really good though, the song? It had like,
orchestration and stuff. And it was daytime. I’d never
seen you in that light before,” she added with a
sleepy giggle.

“Not my mos’ flattering light, love. Take me word fer
it.”

Dawn moved to cradle her head on his chest. “You
looked nice in the dream.”

Spike brought his arm around her and touched her hair.
“Guess that’s all that matters.”

“Do you ever dream about her?”

He shut his eyes. “Every bleedin’ day.”

“Me too.”

They had an unspoken agreement not to talk about Buffy
too much, not to say the words “I miss her”. All of
that had been said, again and again in the first
couple of weeks. There was nothing left to say, and
the words just brought more pain.

Dawn’s neck was too close to his mouth. “You smell
like her...your blood...” He moved closer to inhale
it, capture it.

“Spike,” she said, gently pushing him away. “You
shouldn’t drink so much.”

“Sorry.” He straightened, immediately shamed. “Don’t
know what I’m doin’ anymore.”

“It’s okay.”

They heard a door creak in the hall, and the soft
padding of feet on carpet.

Spike sat up. “Whozzat?”

Willow appeared, clad in t-shirt and boxers. “Dawnie?
I heard--”

“Singing?” Dawn giggled. “It’s okay, Willow. It’s just
Spike.”

“Spike?” Willow flipped on the light.

Spike shielded his eyes with a hand. “Woah! Turn that
bleedin’ thing off will you?”

“What are you doing here?”

“What are *you* doin’ here?”

“I live here, remember?”

“Oh. Right. Sorry. Just passin’ through.”

Willow frowned. “Are you drunk?”

Spike snorted. “Lil’ bit, yeah.”

Dawn laughed.

“Dawn, I don’t think--”

Tara walked in. “What’s going on?”

“We have a Spike problem,” Willow explained.

Tara took in the sorry display with a lopsided smile.
“I see that.”

“Guys,” Dawn said. “It’s okay. We’re just talking.”

“Yeah, leave us be,” Spike said.

“Spike,” Willow said, in her best stern mom
impression. “You can’t just waltz in here at all hours
of the night--”

“Yeah, yeah. I got it. I won’t do it again, mum.
Promise. Alright? Now turn the light off!”

“Goodnight, Spike,” Willow said, waiting.

He eyed her for a moment, and realized she meant
business. “Fine.” As he wobbled up to leave, he winked
at Dawn. “Night, sweet.”

She smiled sadly at him. “I’ll see you around?”

“Coun’ on it, Bitty.”

***

“Spike?”

“Yeah!” Spike lifted his head, attempting to sound
alert. “I’m up!”

Dawn giggled at the sight of him. Sprawled facefirst
on his crypt floor, little bits of gravel clung to
Spike’s face.

He squinted at his visitor. “Bitty!” he said happily,
then cringed with a shout, holding his head.

Dawn wrinkled her brow. “Did the chip just go off?”

“No,” Spike said disdainfully. “Bloody hangover.”

“Oh. Right.” She walked over to him. “That’s why I
brought this!” She fished a pill bottle out of her
knapsack.

He tried to focus.

“Tylenol.”

“You brung me painkillers?”

“Yeah. Do vampires need painkillers?”

“I dunno, to be honest.” He sat up against his
sarcophagus and rubbed the back of his neck. “Never
tried one.”

“Well, that’s stupid. Here.” She took one out and
handed it to him. “And--” she reached into her
backpack again, “I have just the thing to wash it
down.” She held up a clear bag filled with red
plasmatic liquid.

He smiled. “You brought me blood.”

“Not just any blood,” she said, shaking it. “Human
blood!”

“How did you--”

“Hey, don’t ask and I won’t tell. Point is,” she said
as she threw it to him, “it’s for you.”

“You big bad, you.” Spike chided, then hung his head,
fingering the plastic bag. “You’re too good to me,
love. I can’t take this.”

“You’d better.” Dawn sat down beside him. “Besides,
what am I gonna do with it?”

“Got a point there,” he said. He shrugged, ripped the
container top with his teeth, and took a swig. Then he
looked at her. “Why the Florence Nightingale all of a
sudden?”

“Well,” Dawn started, “I don’t want to see you all
drunk anymore. I want to see you, you know, out there,
fighting and stuff.”

“I do, I am. It’s not all the time...just...”

“I know.” Dawn looked at her hands. “Spike, there’s
something you should know.”

“What?” He tried not to be frightened by her tone of
voice.

“They’re talking about...recharging the Bot.”

“What? Who?”

“Willow and Tara. School is starting soon, and...if
they find out Buffy’s dead, they’ll send me away.”

“So they’re gonna have a *robot* sit in on
Parent-Teacher night? That’s bloody ridiculous!”

“I just wanted to warn you. So you don’t get freaked.”

Spike sighed. “Yeah, alright. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Won’t you be...freaked?”

“I don’t know. I’m trying not to think about it. Maybe
it’ll be nice to see her again. Or just...really
creepy.”

Spike voted for creepy. And painful. And... “Will she
be slaying?”

“I don’t think so. I think it’s too hard on her
machinery.”

“There’s something very wrong about this.”

“I know. But if they don’t...”

“Yeah. You go away. And we can’t have that.” He looked
at her tenderly, then an idea came to him. “Or...”

“Or what?”

Spike sat up and leaned in conspiratorially, talking
fast. “Or we go away. You and me. Just get the hell
out of here, run off in the middle of the night--no
explanations. Just gone.”

Surging with excitement at the notion, Dawn asked,
“Where would we go?”

“Doesn’t matter. Anywhere. South America, Canada,
bloody Siberia...We could just keep going. No one
would ever find us.”

“That would be so cool.” Dawn grinned. Then her face
softened. “But...”

Spike nodded and looked away, exhaling a sober
chuckle. “Yeah. I know.”

“I have to go,” she said, getting up. “Willow will be
getting worried about now.”

“Yeah.” He held up the blood. “Thanks for this.”

“You’re welcome,” Dawn said. “We’ll be out patrolling
tonight. Will I see you?”

“In fighting form, love.”

Dawn smiled. “Good. That’s what I like to hear. See ya
Spike.”

“Dawn. Be careful out there.”

“I will.”

With the sound of the door echoing through his brain,
Spike sat there, staring at the bag in his hands. He
wasn’t a fool. He knew it was Dawn’s blood.

*Summers blood.*

‘She’s me,’ she’d said.

“Here’s to you, Buffy,” he said to the cieling, and
downed her silken spirit.

~ The End ~