My Love a...

The idea started slowly the way good ideas do...then picked up ground and sped like a well trained runner doing what came part natural, part learned and over familiar terrain.

It started somewhere in her heart, began as a memory, a tug from childhood...a doesn’t ‘this here feel like that back there.’

The idea began and she walked slowly to the living room to stand over the drawing of the seal and waited to hear it speak.

*

It was Friday and Anthony was on store duty.  He had been surprised to see her, and oh yes he remembered the blonde who had been checking out their Willem.  He remembered her, was more than a little surprised to see her there at the cash register like...well...like she’d been there for a while.  She had explained that Willem, was still sick...strep throat...highly contagious and she was store sitting for him but it was o.k. now that Anthony was here and now she would go next door to the duplex and yes the Friday night open mike thing was still on...with Ellie and Anthony’s help of course.

All the info came out in a rush but was still trackable...so Anthony nodded...and then more than a little possessively punched the button to open the cash box...so he might...count the cash.  He eyed her suspiciously.  Huh.     

So our Willem’s got a bird.  Huh.  When he falls off the wagon he tumbles with the best doesn’t he then?  He had to smile.  All right.  (Money counted and safe).  He decided: about time.  Bossy little chit though.  He cocked his head to watch her walk away.  Hmm.

*

Spike had given her a little list of prep work to do before the evening and it kept her hands busy so her mind could float free around this idea...this notion...now how to pull it off...without Spike knowing--for surely he would stop her. 

She swept and mopped the floor of the little club.  Put the chairs down and did the general tidy up.  Everything was where Spike said it would be and when she finished it was somewhere around 12:30 p.m.

She looked at the stage area--very clean. There was the lectern for papers, poems probably and there’s the amp. 

She walked up on stage and stood in the center of the space...it felt...good...being up here...was it the narcotic of the stage, the secret star that lived in every child wanting to show off.?

She heard the floor boards creak overhead--that’s good he was up and moving around...he had seemed so weak this morning and no wonder...oh my god...what had she done? Having sex with him, did she wear him out?  Make it worse?  She thought back.  No...no...it had seemed to help him, to revitalize him for a while. 

Maybe he should go back to bed though.

What should she do?  She looked around the room as if it would provide her with an answer and when she heard the board creak over head as he stopped. What was he doing?  He should sit down--she almost went for the broom to bang it on the ceiling as if that would dislodge him from standing to sitting...what was he doing just standing there--

--The seal.  He was looking at the seal.  It must be directly over her head from where she stood here on the stage.

The Seal of Ohm was directly over the stage.

The Seal of Ohm was directly over the stage.

And the beginnings of the best idea of her life grew and grew and blew full bloom into incredible then credible. 

Into a happening baby.

Buffy smiled.

*       

She was still standing there working it out, talking it out with Willow on her cell phone when Dawn burst into the café.

“Where is he!”

Buffy turned to take in her flushed face and tousled hair, eyes wide and in her best ‘tell me EVERYTHING NOW’ voice Dawn said.

“Where is he?  I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about him.”

“Dawn--“

“--No I don’t want to hear it--where is he?”

Buffy looked up at the ceiling and Dawn took off running out the studio and clomp-de-clomped up the stairs to the second floor. 

A dazed out of breath Scott, stuck his head in a moment later and before she could stop him--he was off following the sounds of shrieks.

“Buffy you still there?” It was Willow’s disembodied voice seeking her attention.

“You hear all that Will--“

“Cleopatra on her barge on the Nile 2,000 years ago in time--could hear that.”

She listened to sounds of clumping and then stillness.  Oh.  Scott just arrived upstairs.  One explanation would only lead to another...and this could be interesting.

“Ah Will, well at least I know what can keep him distracted until tonight.”

Crash of something...fell.  What was going on up there?

*

“Hold still you big baby...”

“Well...don’t be rubbing it in then...”

“Its iodine...I don’t rub it in...it...rubs itself in...well...you know what I mean... “

Dawn was standing behind him; thank god she was standing behind him because she needed a moment to catch her breath or rather to start breathing because now her lungs really were insisting upon having their petition for a little oxygen pass through committee of Stun Shock and Horror.

The lobbyists won and lungs and body were grateful as she slowly sucked in the much needed air.

“Sorry Nibblet...”

“Oh complain all you want...it does sting I guess--“

“No...I mean...for scaring you...”

Pause.

“I’m sorry my boyfriend threw a glass at you...uh...he’s sorry too...he cleaned up the mess...and I think he’s doing your dishes now and if I know him like I do, I think your laundry will be next...”

Spike made a sound that sounded like a ‘humph’ but then morphed into a chuckle.

“Actually the lad sorta gained my respect the day--he acted fast when he thought you were in trouble thas’ several points on his side--but then he loses one for a ‘glass’. Why a glass?  Why not the lamp?  Something a little more substantial...a little more truck stopping.  Don’t I look threatening enough?  I warrant I should be respected with at least a lamp.  Maybe even  a chair...yeah...a chair...”

“Spike...only throwing the piano at you would do you justice...”

“Been done.  Well...an organ that is.  And by your sister to boot.”  He sighed.  “Happy days.”

“Um...speaking of which...uh...no need to mention the little Scott infraction is there?  I mean the glass did catch you on the back of the shoulder and after it’s all nicely bandaged it will be undercover...uh Buffy...doesn’t need to know that Scott--“

“--What?  Clocked me with a glass of milk?”

“Something like that.”

“S’not my story to tell.  To the victor go the spoils of the tale.”

“Oh come on...”  Dawn peeled back white adhesive tape and snipped it placing it alongside the edge of the sterile pads to hold the bandage in place on Spikes shoulder.

“You know what I mean...she goes all territorial over you...dast no one speak or act against her precious vamp...”

Beat.

“Oops...did I just say that?”

“Really?  I mean is that how she felt about me?”

There was a pause as Dawn gathered herself and then spoke softly:

“Yeah...after you were killed...or when we thought you were killed...and for years and years after...well up to now...if anyone said anything...and it might not even be a criticism of you really more like a comment...like ‘Spike would like that...or like ‘as Spike would say...’ she would jump all over them.  I swear she almost punched Xander once for commenting on your hair...well...your old hair...the bleached hair and it wasn’t even a criticism more like ‘I haven’t seen that shade of blonde bimbo since...’  and almost kappow.”

And here Dawn moved around him and where he sat on the toilet under her ministrations to look him in the face.

“But she wouldn’t let me talk about you either...and I missed...you Spike...I know I was distant--“

“--With good reason--“

“--With good reason...but...having you there in the house for most of that year...well it seemed to lessen the urgency to...well...for us to make up...having you there felt like family...like the brother you didn’t need to bother saying hello to in the morning, because he would always be there...and then you weren’t...”

Dawn looked down and sat on the edge of the tub. 

They were quiet together for a moment.  Spike looked at her lovely head, her shining brown hair like a ring around her crown.  Her simple words undid him.  Her clean honesty so like her sister, and her Mother was such a gift to him in this moment and to the world at large and small.  He shook his head.  What a woman she would be and world brace yourself cuz here she comes.  The Dawn.

“What a gift you are to the world Dawn.  You are a gift to Buffy--do you know that Platelette?  You always thought yourself  a burden to her...but I’m telling you and you know I know...you are the best thing that has ever happened for her...her very own sister/child.”

Dawn looked up eyes overrun with tears.  “That doesn’t equate!  I’m trying to tell you something about you...about how I feel and you turn it into being about me...that doesn’t equate!”

“Sure it does.”              

“No it doesn’t.”

“It does you know.”

“Na uh.”

They would be all right they had found their way back into their best rhythm.

“It does you know--it’s physics...you Summers women always have brought out the best in me...and  so...ergo...if you are seeing something nice or whatever in me...you are seeing yourselves all there in the shiny bit...see?  Physics.”

“That is subjective...totally subjective reasoning...”

“Tis not.”

“Tis so--I mean it is so--and learn the Kings English for gods sake--you live in a whole country full of English speaking people and hardly anybody speaks it...whatever...I’m over it...anyway I’m learning a thing or two at Oxford about logic--“

“--Are not--“

“AM TOO!  And I know throwing a glass at a poor HELPLESS Spike--

“Am not--“

“--ARE TOO. Will put Scott in Buffy’s ‘dark looks column for almost adinfim...so?”

“Oi aye, I know the look.”

“So you know...”

“So...you...love the lad?” 

Spike tested carefully almost fearful of a yes or a no and couldn’t say really what scared him more about loosing his Nibblet to some randy bloke, or love, love the real thing and part of her gone forever and tied up in him.   HE who throws glasses at poor gimpy (well overstrong really but thas’ not the point HE didn’t know that) scarred for life war veterans.

Dawn leaned in and looked, concentrated on looking into Spike good left eye.

“I do...Spike...way back when...I saw the way you used to look at Buffy...it...was like...watching the heart of the world...what it’s really all about...the whole messy whatever made sense when I saw you look that way.  And somewhere, maybe not the complete thought maybe that came later...but it felt something like...ah yes...that’s why we’re here...that’s how good life can be...not to suffer...just turn around when someone looks at you like that...and maybe say...’yes’”

Spike looked down--didn’t know if he could bear to hear this.

“And I thought...if I ever, ever got that lucky...if anyone ever looked at me anything like that...I’d try...maybe it wouldn’t be right in the long run...but I’d try...and when I look at Scott it’s like a...little bit of heaven has taken the trouble to come down and shine at me from right there in his eyes and all I need to do is say...yes...and how well...very rude and ungrateful...if I don’t...”

They sat quietly for a moment, Dawn’s hand resting on Spikes knee.

“So...how old/wise does this Key thing make yourself?”

Dawn laughed.

“Wise enough to learn the lesson the first time around.”

“Lucky, bonny, lass...”

“Am not.”        

“You are too.”

“See?  Now that’s proper English--I’m so excited for you Spike.”

He humped, but said nothing, only reached out slowly with his good left hand to stroke the shiny hair.

“My Nibblet...”

Dawn started to cry.        

*

And so Spike and Scott were left in each others uneasy company when Dawn went downstairs to check on Buffy and stuff.

As Dawn had conjectured...Scotts apology was all about action.  He may be mightily sparse with the words but could definitely turn a deft hand to the tidy up.

Spike eyed him sharply and enjoyed (probably a little too much) Scott squirm and could see him really, really trying not to grasp one hand with the other in an almost Uriah Heep ‘so umble mi lord...so very umble’ gesture.

Well...good for him for standing up under Spike gaze; which he knew to be quite formidable...indeed.

And more than meeting Giles or Xander Scott quite definitely got the impression that he was now under the scrutiny of ‘the man of the family.’  Plus he had chucked a glass at his blind side--that’s gotta piss a bloke off. (Wince...and what a blind side) 

But after washing the dishes, doing two loads of laundry, then washing the kitchen floor, the dining floor and the living floor--except for the verrry curious pentagram type graphic painted...this he sidestepped with the mop...and now he was up against the wall...not with force or words or accusation just ‘the look’ from ‘the man’ and the question behind it.  ‘Who are you to me?’

With sudden insight, Scott realized...maybe this Spike character was enjoying the effect his scars had on people just a little too much and maybe just maybe he had found a way to turn it from blight into a weapon.

Those hot hard eyes that asked:

“Who are you to me?”

Well...he has a few questions of his own.

“Was’ the draawthing on the floor for?” Scott asked suddenly in his brougue and looked the scarred man in the eyes...well...er...eye.

Spike almost smiled.

“You shouldn’t ask a question unless you really want an answer--you really want to know?  Cuz one answer might lead to a new question and then there it is...all undone and nothing is ever gonna unring that bell.  So, you really want to know?”

Scott walked over to the painting and stood looking at it, and ran his hand through his bright red hair.  His uncle was a bit of a mystic and had taught Scott a thing or two plus he had his own instinct to boot...and the odd painting...didn’t feel bad...on the contrary...felt almost sweet..

But this is what he said to what (felt like) the head (male head that is) of the house he hoped to marry into.

“And you would just love to tell me wouldn’t you?  Scccrrare me with the family secrets mebbee?  Rrrun me off with the spilt milk?” 

Spike was surprised, the lad surprised him.  But he said this to cover while he thought it out.

“What is it with you and laying waste to the dairy?” 

“Harbinger maybe...maybe, maybe...it’s not me at all...just something that needs to be done...”

Spike moved around to get a closer look at the tall lad.  At Dawns pick of the human litter.  Hmm maybe.

“You aren’t one of those ‘destiny;’ blokes are you?  Son of a Laird and laud it over all...”

“No...no, just a plain Scot...so give it to me plain...try to chase me off...you know you want to...”

Now Spike did smile.

It was the smile of every Father/Brother throughout time and beyond and he had heard what his Dawn had said, he had...but still...this was a male thing--had to see if the lad would stick, to see what he was made of, in short...it had to be done.

“You better sit down lad.”

“I’ll take it standing.”

“Uh huh...we’ll see...”

Spike made himself comfortable in his easy chair and began.

Scott found himself sitting soon after, head in his hands somewhere after: Buffy the Vampire Slayer’s first battle with Spike the Vampire aka William the Bloody...and weeelll, well before ‘Dawn the Key.’

All in a days work.

*

Dawn returned two hours later a thoughtful smile on her face at the thought of Buffy’s plan and a little relieved too because, Spike...well he wasn’t looking so good and Scott should never have been able to nail him with that glass, so she was very pleased to know Buffy had matters well in hand and now she herself was already busily hatching and developing her part in it when she walked into the living room of Spikes flat to find them both stone still.

 It was perfectly still, a perfect still life...well except for the three empty beer bottles at the side of Scott’s chair.  And the measly one bottle still in Spikes hand.

“Uh...I don’t see a football game on...what else would keep two grown men in the same room long enough to drink many bottles of beer with only conversation to sustain and entertain...hmmm?”

Spike looked up at her a little guiltily.

She looked at Scott’s downcast head.

“Spike...”  Dawn was stunned...conversation indeed...it looked like the aftermath of a HUGE BIGTIME CONVERSATION.

“You...told...you told him didn’t you?  How could you do that?”  She stopped suddenly hoping for damage control: “How much did you tell him?”

“There’s more?”  Scott asked almost nonplussed at this point.

“No...” She said hurriedly then stopped:  “Wait...”  Dawn looked sharply at Spike, “Is there? Is there more?”

“No...well...there’s always more but not really...pretty much hit the highlights...s’pose.”

“Spike...that was for me to tell him...”

“When?”  It was the simple question from Scott.

“When...it was right...Spike shouldn’t have--“

“--I asked him to...”

And here Dawn wheeled on Spike:  “And since when do you ever do what people ask you to?”

“Sorry Nib...it seemed like the right thing at the time...and then once begun...couldn’t undo...”

Pause.

Dawn looked at Scott...”Should...should I be scared?”

He raised his head and looked at her, his eyes full of fear; Dawn’s heart shrank at the sight.

Scott began tremulously, a man on the verge of losing his life’s best blood.

“I knew it...somewhere inside...I knew you were special, extraordinary even...but...” and here his head bowed as if under a heavy weight.  “But at least it was an ordinary kinda extraordinary...”

Oh no, no, no

Dawn had to ask she always cut to it.

“You...you...afraid of me?  You don’t want me?”

Scott looked up quick at her at that.  “Ah no lass, no...I’m... afraid...why...why would YOU ever...want...me?”   

Dawn flew into his arms at that and the force of her almost knocked the chair back.  She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight but said nothing.  After a moment Scott wrapped his arms around her and stoked her back as they leaned into each other rediscovering home away from home.

After a bit Spike cleared his throat.

“So...uh...all’s forgiven then?  Happy end an all makes everything right?”

Dawn and Scott turned as one to look at him.

“No.”

“Oh.”

“You owe me one Spike bigtime...but...”  and here Dawn thought quickly. “But...relax...cuz...you can repay me tonight, by coming with Scott and me to the open mike.”

“Nib, I can’t put on the glam’ it weakens me, gives me a black buzz...and...can’t afford to waste the energy--not doing too good right now...“

Spike admitting to weakness sent a shiver of fear through her but she trucked on.

“--Won’t have to.  We’ll sit way, way in the back, in the dark...we’ll come through the back way, through the storage, Buffy showed me...”

“Speaking of which where is she?”  He asked almost a little wistful.  He was missing his Buffy.

“She is getting ready to do the open mike.”

“Yeah I know...she’s doing the clean up--should be done by now.” And here he looked a little wistfully at the door. 

Dawn ignored his sub text plea for her to go find her sister and responded brightly.

“No...more than that, she’s busy--you simply gotta be there for this...it’s gonna be a ‘see to believe’ and you know it would mean so much to her...Spike...Buffy is going to perform.”   

Safe to say Spike’s jaw did the drop and hang.

*