Chapter Text
Dawn crept past Willow and Tara’s room, as she had the night before, and the night before that. The bot was a poor approximation of her sister at best, with an incessantly peppy lilt to its voice that belied a maker who had only briefly spoken to the real thing. When talking to it for more than a minute, Dawn could never have mistaken the two. But she’d catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of her eye sometimes, and her heart would skip a beat. It was like a ghost she’d never be able to shake.
The difference was starkest at night, when it was charging. The others treated it as only a tool to keep the rest of the world oblivious, so they gave up the farce within the walls of the house. It lay on its back, fully clothed, eyes open and unblinking, charging port exposed. Sometimes after patrol, Willow was too tired to get it on the bed completely, so its legs hung off the edge, ramrod straight. Buffy had looked more alive in her coffin than the bot did in her bed.
(Giles was the only one who treated the bot anything like he would treat Buffy. He filled the ache of his lost charge by struggling to impart ancient wisdom on its feeble memory card. Hoping to ease his pain the only way she could, Willow secretly programmed in a few of his mantras so it would seem like the bot was actually learning. When Giles plugged in the bot, he made sure her eyes were shut, and she was tucked under the covers.)
Nevertheless, Dawn was drawn to her room at night. Smell was a powerful thing, and Buffy’s shampoo still lingered on her pillows and sheets. (There had been no need to wash them. The bot didn’t sweat, its hair didn’t have oils, its wounds didn’t bleed.) She would clamber into the four-poster bed, let the comforting smell of her sister wash over her, and flutter her eyes half shut. In the dark, through her lashes and with the help of Buffy’s shampoo, the bot was close enough. She’d pretend she was eight years old again, that it had all been one of her nightmares, the cure to which had always been tip-toeing down the hall and curling into a ball beside her sister. She loved their mother, but even back then, before any of them knew Buffy would end up the Slayer, she knew Buffy was the one who would keep her safe.
This night, however, when she gently pushed open the door, the bot wasn’t the only body in the room. Spike was perched on the edge of Buffy’s bed, as far from the bot as he could scoot without falling off, holding one of Buffy’s sweaters. He glanced up with a jolt when she came in.
“Blimey, nibblet, you could spook a man to death like that,” he scolded. He sniffled, rubbed the heel of his palm over his eyes. “What’re you doin’ here?”
“Could ask the same of you,” she said, folding her arms.
Spike chuckled ruefully. He looked down at the sweater again, ran his thumb over the cashmere. His roots had started to grow in, and Dawn realized for perhaps the first time that his natural hair was light brown. “Y’know, I used to nick these back when I was… Before she…” He swallowed thickly. “Didn’t think the bot would mind.”
Dawn was silent for a moment. For the first few weeks, Spike was a wreck of his former self. They all were, to an extent. Willow sobbed into Tara’s arms for what went like two straight days. Magic leaked out of her unbidden, stopping the clocks, wilting all the plants in the yard. Giles shut himself in his apartment and smelt of whiskey. After constructing a casket befitting of a queen, Xander threw himself into his work. But Spike wouldn’t eat. They tried to bring him blood - it would go rancid in the fridge. He barely slept, and when he did it was at odd hours that left him thinking day was night and night was day. He gained more than a couple scorch marks that way.
But the Hellmouth didn’t mourn. The demon world seemed to sense Glory was gone and rose up with renewed vigor. So, the Scoobies banded together again, leaderless, to carry her torch. The influx of demons seemed to remind Spike of his promise to protect Dawn, so he reluctantly joined. But Dawn would still catch him weeping. The two of them were the only ones who still let themselves weep.
“Smells like her, doesn’t it.” She said, quietly.
Spike finally met her gaze. “Yeah.”
She closed the space between them, sat down beside him. “I come in here too,” she nodded back toward the bot. “Pretend. You know?”
Spike was avoiding her gaze again. He’d been doing that a lot, ever since. Dawn wondered if it was to keep her from seeing the pain in his eyes. “Can’t. Don’t have the right. She hated that… thing.” He spat the last word, ashamed of himself. Dawn’s heart ached.
She reached over and gently folded his hands over the sweater. “She’d want you to have it.”
He shook his head. “She wouldn’t.”
“Yes, she would. She was grateful for what you did.”
“Wasn’t enough.”
Dawn didn’t have an answer to that. Instead, she sat with him, with the mechanical ghost of her sister just in the corner of her eye.
----
Spike was getting better, slowly. He bantered a bit on patrol and had started playing cards with Dawn in the living room instead of sculking off to his crypt at the first chance he got. His roots still showed though, and his nails were bare. Dawn hated seeing him like that. It was like when Buffy had died, the old Spike had followed suit.
So, one night when it was his turn to be her sitter she plopped two bottles of polish on the coffee table. Light blue for her, black for him.
He chuckled. “Thanks platelet, but I’m not really in the mood.”
Dawn shrugged, playing nonchalant. She picked up hers and uncapped the lid. “Buffy liked them, you know.”
Everyone else didn’t mind using her name. Dawn used it too, but never with Spike. With Spike it was like a trigger. It never left his lips.
His head shot up on cue. “What?”
“She told me she liked your nails. When she found out you had a crush on her, after the whole thing with Harmony and Dru.”
Spike scoffed. “No, she didn’t. She told me I disgusted her. Shut me out again, didn’t she?”
Dawn shook her head. “Well, yeah. This was after.”
She could tell Spike still didn’t believe her, so she began her tale.
--------
After Willow had finished her de-invitation spell, and Spike had sulked back to his crypt, the girls of Revello Drive were too wired to sleep. Instead, Joyce made them cocoa before another headache sent her to bed, and Willow, Buffy, and Dawn sat around the dining room table, taking turns voicing their bewilderment. Xander wasn’t invited on account that his only contribution was to lament why Buffy hadn’t staked him already and explaining the moral ambiguity of staking a muzzled vampire was getting old.
“Wow.” Willow, for maybe the sixth time. “I mean…. Wow. He offered to stake Druscilla for you?”
“Yup,” Buffy said, popping the ‘p’. “Tied her up and everything.”
“Aw, that’s kind of romantic.” Dawn offered. She was met with twin glares. “In a no-good, very bad way.”
“I just don’t know what I did.” Buffy sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I am so not his type. Do I remind you of Druscilla in any way? Do I babble? Am I babble-girl?”
Willow clapped a reassuring hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Only in a sane way.”
Dawn shrugged. “I don’t know. I think it’s kind of flattering.”
The older women gaped at her. “Will, do we have a spell to keep someone in the house?”
“I know he’s evil and all!” Dawn rushed to clarify. “And what he did today was totally gross, and not okay, especially with the whole shrine thing, like ew, but… You have to admit he’s kind of dreamy. He’s got the cool hair, and the arms, and the coat and stuff.” She shrugged. “Just saying I’d be a little flattered, that’s all.”
She braced herself for the lecture, but it never came. Instead, Buffy cracked a small smile. Maybe the exhaustion from the day was getting to her; she didn’t have the energy to protest. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll admit I kind of like his nails.” She put her resolve-face back on. “But that is it. And if you ever go near him again, I will stake him in a heartbeat, and maybe also you.”
-----
When Dawn was done, the silence seemed to go on for hours. She realized only then that they didn’t tell many Buffy stories these days, let alone with Spike around. Her death was still so fresh in their minds, too raw to start talking about her in the past tense. And they’d been so busy, tamping down one demon after another, fixing up the bot, burying her in secret, that there was rarely time to reminisce.
Spike still wasn’t speaking. Dawn worried with a pang that maybe telling the tale of how he’d chained her sister to a wall and had his rights to their house subsequently revoked might not have been the best idea.
But instead, he silently picked up the bottle of black polish, and uncapped the lid.
-----
A week later, Dawn heard rustling in the room beside hers. The gang (bot included) were helping out at the Magic Box, so she knew it could only be Spike. She hadn’t heard him in there since the night they sat together on Buffy’s bed.
This time when she nudged open the door, she found him gently folding the sweater he’d taken, and returning it to its place in the dresser. He looked like himself again, hair brilliant blonde and quaffed, nails black albeit chipped, but his eyes were just as sad.
Dawn frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Just returning what isn’t mine, pet. Don’t need it no more. It should be with you lot anyway. The people she cared about.”
“She cared about you Spike,” Dawn insisted. She needed him to know that and needed him to keep something of Buffy’s. He was doing better, sure, but she still had her dark days and was certain he did too. She worried that if he didn’t have something to hold on to, she would lose him too, and she was sick of losing people.
He smiled a little, shook his head. “She needed me. S’not the same, bit. But it’s okay. She treated me like a man. Didn’t need her to care for me.”
Dawn was done with the pity-party and done with Spike mis-remembering her sister’s feelings. “Sit,” she demanded.
He looked at her quizzically, with a raise of his scarred eyebrow, but obeyed.
“Remember when she kissed you? After we rescued you from Glory, and she came to you pretending to be the bot?”
-----
“You should have seen him, Dawn.” Buffy grimaced, hugging her mug of tea. “He looked awful.”
The two of them were stood around the kitchen, Buffy leaning against the counter in a blue robe, staring into the middle distance. After stowing the bot in the basement everyone had gone to their respective homes, and Buffy had taken a longer shower than usual. Her hair was still damp, and it smelt of coconut.
“He didn’t tell Glory anything though, right? We’re still safe here?” Buffy had already told her, but Dawn wanted to make sure.
“He didn’t. He was going to let her kill him before he told her.” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth.
“He did say he loved you.” Dawn offered quietly.
“I kissed him.” Buffy met her gaze. “When he told me he’d lied to keep you safe.”
Dawn didn’t know what to say. “Do you…?”
“No. God no. Never, especially after he made that thing. But…” She put her face in her hands. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
“Buffy please. Talk to me.”
“It’s just… Angel would have sacrificed himself for me. In a heartbeat. I think he did, once or twice. Riley… I actually don’t know what Riley would have done. But sacrifice themselves for my family, just because they mattered to me? I don’t think either of them would have ever done that. But Spike, with no soul, didn’t even waver. Think he would have done the same for mom, too.”
Dawn was quiet for a moment. “What does that mean?”
Buffy shook her head. Her breath was shaky. “I don’t know. But Dawn, I think he might actually love me. And I need to make sure he’s okay. He was so hurt, Dawnie. I shouldn’t have left him alone there.”
“You can check on him first thing,” Dawn started, but Buffy cut her off, her face settling into its familiar steely Slayer resolve.
“No. I can’t. I kissed him, I can’t also play nursemaid or he’ll get the wrong idea and make another bot, or another shrine, or some other stupid thing that’ll get someone hurt in the process.”
“I’ll go then,” Dawn offered. “I’ll get Willow to take me. I’ve stopped by his crypt before, he won’t think it’s weird. I can bring blood.”
Buffy smiled, trying and failing to hide the relief in her voice. “Thank you.”
------
Dawn hadn’t realized he’d started crying until she finished the story and looked up. He was silent, but his shoulders shook, and he’d shrunk in on himself to hide his face.
“Oh no. Spike, please don’t cry! That was supposed to be a happy story!”
A chocked laugh escaped his lips. “Bugger, you can’t just say stuff like that to a bloke and not ‘spect a few tears, bit.”
She hugged him, squeezing tight enough to hurt anyone without vampire strength.
“Please keep the sweater.”
---------
They were coming up on the three-month anniversary of her death, and Tara had quietly suggested they have a memorial meal at her grave site. She said it helped when her mom died, bringing a picnic and talking to her headstone over sandwiches. Said it felt almost like having dinner with her again.
Dawn had agreed. She wasn’t entirely sold on it “feeling like having dinner with her again”; she was of the mind that if a bot that was her sister’s spitting image couldn’t feel like Buffy, a cold headstone wouldn’t either. It was a nice sentiment though and even though Buffy wouldn’t actually be there, the gang would. Anya, Tara, Willow, and Xander were hanging out at the house less and less, choosing instead to meet at the Bronze or the Espresso Pump. Even when they were around, they were constantly whispering amongst themselves, falling silent and exchanging furtive glances when she entered the room. Dawn was tired of them treating her with kid-gloves, but most of all, she missed them.
Neither Xander nor Anya were particularly skilled in the culinary department (sometimes Dawn wondered how they managed to feed themselves at all), but they offered to assemble a cheese platter knowing how much Buffy had liked the stuff. That was the theme of the meal after all: Buffy’s favorite foods. As they headed off to the deli, Dawn could hear Xander yell, “for the hundredth time Ahn, normal cheese only. I think I saw one of your moldy favorites grow legs and run off last night.”
Dawn giggled. This was exactly what she’d been missing. Xander and Anya’s lighthearted bickering, Willow and Tara making doe-eyes at each other as if they were all sweet and innocent and Dawn hadn’t totally heard them having sex through the paper-thin walls, Giles’ exasperated eyerolls at all of it. She made a mental note to call him and confirm his contribution to the event before making her way back to the kitchen.
“Hey Dawnie!” Chipped Willow. Tara was standing behind her, arms wrapped around her waist and chin on her shoulder as she fiddled with the mixer. It hadn’t gotten any use since Joyce had passed (Buffy wasn’t big with the cooking, either) but Dawn had insisted on making one of their mom’s recipes, and so Willow agreed to give it a go. “Do we have any powdered sugar?”
Dawn pulled open the upper cabinet that was dedicated to baking supplies, and dug out the small bag. This time last summer, she would have had to step on tiptoes and stain to reach that shelf. Her heart ached for a moment as she realized just how tall she was getting, and that neither her mom nor her sister were there to see it.
She shook the thoughts from her head, and peered at the bag. “Does sugar expire?”
Willow shrugged, and grabbed the bag so she could decide for herself.
“Oh, have you asked Spike if he’s bringing anything?” Tara piped up, picking her chin off of Willow’s shoulder. “I know he can’t be there until after the sun sets, and he doesn’t need to eat exactly, but…”
“I’ll go ask.” Dawn told her. Tara gave her trademark lopsided smile as Willow apparently decided powdered sugar did not in fact expire and dumped the bag’s contents into the mixer.
Despite Spike helping out all summer and fighting very much on the side of good, Dawn couldn’t help but feel that she was the only other person who liked having him around. Willow and Anya seemed appreciative of his help but otherwise indifferent, although the former was a bit more skittish around him than the latter due to a previous kidnapping incident, followed by a separate attempting-to-bite incident. Xander continued to loathe him as usual, and Giles’ disdain was only slightly less palpable. Tara was the only Scooby other than Dawn that seemed to see his grief. Or at least, the only one who saw his grief and cared.
Dawn ruminated on this as she made her way to Restfield. Maybe it was just Tara’s bottomless empathy for anything under the sun. Or maybe, having been convinced she was part-demon for most of her young life, Tara knew what it was like to love very deeply while being told by everyone around you that you couldn’t possibly be capable of such a thing.
She arrived at Spike’s crypt and pushed the door open. He’d dosed off in his comfy chair, the black and white TV still running softly. He looked peaceful for once, none of the hollowing sadness that now plagued his eyes, or the cocky semblance of his former self that he still donned in battle. But when he blinked his eyes open it all came crashing back to his visage.
“Hey pet,” he said, voice thick with sleep. “’S a little early for beasties innit?”
“No beasties,” she told him. “Unless you count Anya’s cheeses.” He was staring at her as if she’d grown a second head, so she quickly elaborated. “We’re having a memorial picnic at Buffy’s grave. Sort of a potluck with all her favorite foods? We were wondering if you wanted to bring something? We’ve be there past sunset. Although, I should warn” you, currently the only things on the menu are cake and cheese so you should probably think about balancing out the food pyramid.”
Spike doled her a small smile. “Cheers, niblet, but I’ll pass on the invite. Sounds more like a shindig for the inner circle than it does for yours truly.”
“Why?”
“Didn’t even know her well enough to know any of her favorite nosh, did I?” He said morosely. He’d sat up when he’d thought she was calling on him for a fight, but now he slumped back into his chair. “Seems like a thing for people she loved and all.”
Suddenly, Dawn was overcome with fury. Something about Spike’s attitude had been irritating her for weeks, but she’d bit her tongue (which was so far out of her usual repertoire that it almost hurt), because Tara had told her she needed to let him grieve in his own way. But she was done holding back, and this time she launched into her tale without a moment to think of a relevant segue.
--------
Buffy had come home over the weekend with a Tupperware full of cookies and dropped them on the kitchen island. “Willow won’t stop apology-baking, and I’m all cookied-out. I can cookie no more.”
“Yummy yummy in my tummy!” Dawn uncapped the lid and immediately dug in. Through a mouthful of cookie, she asked, “Wha Wiwwow pology bakin?”
Buffy had opened the fridge and was perusing the shelves for non-cafeteria leftovers. As much as she’d been enjoying living with Will, she missed her mom’s cooking dreadfully. She pulled out a container of casserole. “The usual. One of her spells did the wacky. She was trying to get over Oz and instead she made Giles blind, made Xander a demon magnet and…” She stopped herself and quickly spun to put the casserole in the microwave.
Dawn wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easily. “And?”
“Nothing! That’s it. Giles blind, Xander covered in oogly-booglies.”
She was a terrible liar. Sometimes Dawn wondered how she’d managed to hide the fact she was the Slayer from them for so long. “Tell me, or I’ll tell mom you used to sneak Angel in through your window.”
Buffy gaped. “Fine! She made Giles blind, made Xander a demon magnet, and made Spike and I think we were in love and almost get married.” She said the last bit all in one breath and very fast.
“You’re in love with Spike?” Dawn shrieked, cookie crumbs falling from her mouth.
“Thought I was! Past tense! And totally not of the real kind!”
“Oh my god! Did you… you know…” She leaned in and lowered her voice to a whisper. “…kiss?”
Buffy hid her face in her hands. “There were some smoochies.”
“Oh my god. What was it like?”
Buffy furrowed her brow, confused. “The kiss? I don’t know, as far as kissage goes I haven’t had much for comparison…”
Dawn waved her off impatiently. “Not the kiss. Were you actually in love? Did it feel like when you were in love with Angel?”
The casserole was ready and Buffy took a moment to chew thoughtfully. “No, it wasn’t like Angel,” she decided. “First of all, totally not real. But also… I don’t know. With Angel it was always so life or death-y. I loved him so much. But it was never easy, you know? I always just wanted to be a normal girl, with her normal boyfriend. And even though it was another vampire, and even though it was Spike.” She made a face and shuddered, then shrugged. “He made me laugh. Loving him felt … easy. I mean, he wasn’t trying to kill people anymore, so that probably helped.”
“Does that Riley guy you like make you laugh?”
Buffy smiled a little. “Yeah, I think he does.”
-----
“Think I’m missing the crux of this ditty, nibblet. Not really in the mood to hear about soldier-boy.”
“It’s not about Riley! It’s about you. Don’t you see? Even after the spell went all kablooey, she still liked that you made her laugh.”
Spike stared at her, brow furrowed.
Dawn went on. “You keep talking like she was too good for you. Like she could have never loved you back. You’re wrong. She loved how you made her laugh, even after the spell broke. She loved how you protected me from Glory, and she kissed you for it. She even loved your stupid nails. She could have loved you too, if you’d have stopped being all creepy and stalkerish.”
Spike’s eyes were welling up, and he sniffed and looked away. “If you’re trying to make a bloke feel better you’re doing a piss-poor job of it.”
“I’m not! I’m trying to…” She wasn’t sure what she was trying to do, exactly. “I just want you to remember her right. Which includes how she thought about you. You’re right, she didn’t love you.” Dawn paused, waited for him to meet her gaze again. “But she could have.”
She stepped forward, climbing into his lap and burrowing her face in his chest. He smelled of leather and cheap cigarettes. It comforted her.