AUTHOR:
Taramisu
WRITTEN: 12/18/01
E-MAIL: taramisu@channelingboards.com
SUMMARY: Dawn learns some naked truths.
RATING: PG-13
“Oh,
Dru and I had such a feast.”
“You
were there?” Dawn glared at him
skeptically.
“You
think I would lie to you?” Upon
her deeper glare, he responded, “…about this.
Would I lie to you about this?”
“You
weren’t even born by the 1700’s!”
“Didn’t
you get the soddin’ memo? I was
now sired in 1720 by Darla.”
Dawn
became obviously angry at this until Spike smoothed things over.
“Hey, platelet. It’s not
like He hasn’t changed this stuff before.
Just be glad it wasn’t the Master this time.
Just let it go and enjoy the rest of my story, okay?”
She finally resigned. “Alright. But no embellishing. I’m having a hard enough time with this stuff as it is. I mean, why do I have to know what happened in the 1700’s anyhow?”
“Supposedly
so you don’t repeat it. Bullocks!
Here. Settle in and I’ll
tell you all about the American Revolution...the way it really happened.”
Dawn
uncrossed her arms and leaned back onto the couch with an anticipatory grin on
her teenage face.
“The
year was 1775. April 18.
One lookout sat atop Ludington's mill, awaiting any sign that the Brits
were approaching.” Spike stopped
and grinned just a bit.
“What?”
“Nothin',
niblet. Just rememberin’ good
times is all.”
She
gave him a sideways glance.
“They
say that the signal was given and Paul Revere took off on his little horsey to
warn the Minute Men. Can you tell
me how reasonable that sounds to you?”
“That’s
not how it happened?”
Spike
let out a pshaww. “Not bloody
likely. How could one man warn 13
colonies of the approaching Evil, and a bunch of civilians fight against the
Great British Army…and win?”
Suspiciously,
Dawn motioned for him to continue.
“Alright
then. First off, there were a dozen
or so guys all campin’ out, waitin’ for the signal.
Of course, after Dru and I finished, there was only the one: Paula
Revere. They…”
“Wait
a minute! Wait just one cotton
picking minute, Spike. You killed
the revolutionists?!”
“Well,
yeah.”
Her
face softened. “Cool.”
“Um,
no. Not ‘cool’.
Very bad. Very Evil.
Bad Spike.”
They
smiled at each other.
“And
what’s this with ‘Paula’? It
was Paul, right?”
He
giggled. “No, platelet.
It was Paul-A. She was just
so cute in that outfit. I didn’t
have the heart to kill the poor wench. But
her sister Hilary smelled so good, I couldn’t resist.”
Off
Dawn’s glare: “Oh! I brought
proof even.” Spike reached into
his leather duster and pulled out a piece of paper from the inner pocket.
Dawn grabbed it excitedly.
“This
is SO fake!”
“Would
I lie to you?”
“Probably.”
Spike
gave her the Evil eye, then continued with his recount of history…er…herstory.
“Anyhow,
Paula Revere set out, devastated from losing her 11 cohorts, vowing to announce
the Brits’ presence to every last Minute Man.
And she did it too. I knew
there was something about that chit.” Spike
paused a bit as he remembered the scene quietly in his head.
“Then, the British Army landed.”
“And…?”
“Well,
what do you think happened?”
“The
British lost because of their way of fighting…all in a line.
They were easy to kill.” Dawn
spouted this off and finished with great pride for remembering what the teacher
had said.
“Bullocks.”
“What?
You are so full of it, Spike. Maybe
I should call Giles to have him help me. He’s
smart like that.” She feigned
reaching for the phone, and her vampire grabbed it out of her reach before she
even knew what had happened. Her
arms then automatically crossed over her chest.
“I
said, bullocks. Now, sit back,
listen and learn.”
“Is
this going to help me on my test?”
“Definitely…not.
Just listen.” He cleared
his throat. “So, there we were,
Dru and me, watchin’ these two groups attempting to kill each other when all
of a sudden I realized that the Brits were much better fed than the colonists.
Think about it li’l bit. Richer
food, richer blood.” She did and
Spike licked his lips. “So, Dru
and I evened the odds a bit….or a bit too much.
We must have gone through 3 score or so Red Suits before we realized that
they were retreating.” He sighed.
“Those were the good times.” But
in his reveling, he did not notice the blonde spit fire standing at the top of
the stairs, her bedroom door open behind her.
The
vampire sniffed, then shook his head violently.
“What is that terrible stench?”
“Oh
that? I think Buffy brought back
Italian leftovers and left them in her room.
It’s stunk like that for days.”
Spike’s
eyes began to tear up just a bit.
“Are
you alright, Spike?”
“Yeah.
Why?”
“You’re
crying. Did something happen
between you and Buffy? I’m sorry.
I didn’t mean to bring her up, I just…”
“No,
pet. It’s the garlic.
The git has garlic strung up in her room.”
He shook his head slightly as a smile cropped up on his face…until he
started scratching his face and hands.
“W-why
would she do that?”
Spike
looked gently at her. “Maybe she
would like to tell you. Or maybe
not.”
“Spike,
just tell me!!”
“She’s
afraid of me.”
“Afraid
of you?”
“Yeah.
She’s got it in her head that I’m bad for her.
Go figure.”
Dawn
smiled. “I’ll talk to her for
you.”
“No
you don’t. She has to figure this
out for herself. In the meantime,
I’m, as you Scoobies would say, study-guy.
Now, what other history lessons can I revise for you?
You got the Boxer Rebellion on your syllabus?
I really enjoyed that one.”
“Were
you in the Gulf War?” She sat up
a little straighter, excited to learn about Spike’s part in her own history.
“Ruddy-hell!
I would never travel to that area. Too
many flying projectiles. One’s
libel to lose one’s head…literally. ‘Sides,
I was havin’ more fun in Paris at the time.”
They laughed together while Spike struggled to not scratch his skin off.
Suddenly,
a voice loomed from the top of the staircase.
“I think that’s enough poisoning my teenage sister’s mind with
violent stories. Stories that
won’t even help her pass her history class.”
She stood cross-armed, wearing the same clothes Dawn had last seen her
in. They were wrinkly.
Her previously gorgeous blonde hair lay in disarray, having not been
combed in days. No make-up donned
her face, save for the remnants of mascara which had long ago streaked down her
cheeks. If possible, Spike thought,
she looked thinner. Almost a shadow
of herself.
Dawn
stood up frantically, running to the bottom of the stairs.
“Buffy. What are you doing
up there? You look like shit.”
“Language,
li’l bit,” Spike warned. Dawn
looked at him briefly, acknowledging his statement, then turned back to Buffy.
“You
look as bad as Willow.” At that,
the room grew silent. Buffy looked
at her stocking feet and Spike’s worry wrinkled forehead smoothed out as he
realized what Buffy had been thinking ever since Red had almost killed Dawn.
She actually likened Willow’s addiction to the Dark Magicks to her
desire for him! How ridiculous
could she get?!
“Say
something!” The little sister had
lost her patience.
“I-I.”
She hazarded a glance at the vampire, who was not standing there as she
had expected, all puffed up with self-righteousness and male testosterone.
Instead, his shoulders were slumped just a trace with worry plastered
across his face.
“I.
I.”
Dawn
stared at her intensely until Spike turned to go.
“It’s okay, Buffy. I’ll
go. When you come to your senses,
you know where to find me.”
To
his surprise, Buffy’s mouth did not spew words like “and stay out” or “I
don’t want you here ever again”. Instead,
he heard a chorus of sisters. “No,
don’t go.”
Spike
turned toward Buffy slowly, unable to believe his ears.
Then, without taking his eyes off his disheveled beauty, he spoke to
Dawn. “Can you leave us for a
minute, pet?”
But
Buffy had other ideas. “No.
Stay. You stay.
If someone’s around, I’m less likely to do something stupid.”
She descended the stairs, then took her sister’s hands in hers and
looked her square in the eye.
“Dawny.”
Dawn
had no idea what to think. “Buffy?”
“Spike
and I…I…you see…I…” Buffy
closed her eyes, then took a deep breath before continuing.
“I love Spike.”
Two
minutes later, Buffy and Dawn had managed to pick Spike up off the floor and
place him on the couch.
Ten
minutes later, Buffy was having a deep conversation with Spike, using Dawn as
the anti-sex buffer.
Three
hours later, two sisters were removing garlic cloves from Buffy’s ceiling and
furniture.
Ten
minutes after that, the resident vampire stopped itching, but his eyes were
still damp with tears.
*********************************************************
References:
The
History Place: http://www.historyplace.com/unitedstates/revolution/
Virtual
Marching Tour of the Revolutionary War: http://www.ushistory.org/march/
A
Journey Toward Freedom: http://library.thinkquest.org/10966/
Hudson Valley Network: http://www.hvnet.com/TOUR/pu/hist/revolt.htm
End