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

Thud.

Buffy awoke with a start, reaching automatically for the stake she’d once had hidden under her pillow every night. Of course, it wasn’t there.

Which was fine, really, because the violent slam had just been Dawn returning home. At – Buffy eyed her alarm clock blearily – five a.m.

Fine. Really.

She burrowed back under the covers, the taste of the dream still on her lips.

It was Saturday so they both slept in. When they’d finally risen and showered Buffy suggested breakfast at Lola’s. They were financially solvent now, practically stable if you squinted but eating out was still a novelty, even if it was just at the local diner.

As they waited for their food to arrive Dawn told her with determined breeziness about the frat party the night before, the new boy she’d met, of the cops that had busted up the celebration. Buffy tried not to wince, tried to be the cool older sister. She remembered the few frat parties she’d attended. Her first, when she’d almost been sacrificed to a snake. And then the one where all the Halloween decorations came to life. She recalled the rubber skeleton particularly vividly. And, of course, her oh-so-brilliant hookup with Parker. Looking back, the arrival of Spike and Harmony had probably been an omen.

Buffy checked her watch. Eleven twenty-seven. First Spike thought of the day. She was improving, definitely. The dreams didn't count.

“He’s gone,” Dawn said in a cold, precise voice.

Buffy looked up, startled.

“He's gone, he left just like everybody else. So just forget him already.”

Scars of an almost-apocalypse. Buffy still didn’t feel like…herself, and Dawn – Dawn exhibited a coldness that stunned Buffy, even now. Not like she was Little Miss Happy these days – neither of them were – but it was a departure for Dawn whose feelings had always simmered so close to the surface.

They’d fought about him only once. Two months after arriving in Cleveland.

Dawn was in the small living room, working on a term paper. Buffy was seated at the garage-sale kitchen table, going through paperwork for the job she’d applied for – ‘coordinator’ at an inner-city youth center. The interview was tomorrow.

“What are you going to wear?” Dawn wanted to know. Her fingers never paused in their efficient dance across the computer keyboard.

“I don’t have a business suit so I guess it’ll have to be that cranberry-ish dress we got at the outlet mall,” Buffy replied absently. She leafed through a pamphlet entitled Getting Through To A Troubled Teen. “I had a top just that color. It was Spike’s favorite.”

There was a sudden strained silence as soon as the words left her mouth. Dawn looked up slowly from the desk in the corner. Then without warning she slammed her textbook down and bolted from the room.

The sound of crashing furniture followed, and Buffy raced after her sister. Dawn raged around her bedroom, throwing magazines and a table lamp and her summer textbooks from Case Western.

"What are you doing? Stop it!"

Dawn whirled around. “Don’t talk about him,” she panted, and it was then that Buffy saw she was weeping.

She held her ground. “I’ll talk about him if I want. He was my –”

“Your what? Your friend? Yeah, right.”

“He was. You don’t know, Dawn. You don’t know what happened between us those last few days, you don’t know –”

“Of course I don’t!” Dawn cried. “I barely saw him! We were like fucking strangers and then – then –” Buffy tried to still her, guiding her to the bed but when she reached out to touch her face Dawn jerked away violently.

"I just – I didn't think he'd die!" Dawn sobbed. "And I know how stupid that sounds, but – Spike's a survivor. He is. He said he'd stay with me, after you..." She trailed off, hands gripping the edge of the bed. Her eyes had gone fixed and intent, abrupt realization settling there.

"He told me...he was the one who got left behind."

Buffy stepped back from her sister as if she'd been struck.

Sniffling, Dawn scrubbed the back of her hand across her face. "What? Don't act all shocked. You know it's true." She jumped off the bed and began pacing. Still breathing heavily, she stopped in front of Buffy.

"Did you forgive him? For what he did to you? What he tried to do?"

"Yes," Buffy said honestly.

"Did he know?"

"I...I think so."

Another choking sob escaped Dawn. "Well, I didn't forgive him. Not ever. How could I? You and I were fighting and then everything started with the First, and I couldn't help you, I couldn't help anyone, I couldn't do anything – but I could still hate Spike. No matter what, I could still hate Spike. And that was something."

Buffy's expression hardened. "What are you talking about?"

"What he did – that was evil, right? He was evil. He hurt us, Buffy, so bad...and so I hated him for it. I hated him so bad. It was the one thing I could do right."

"Oh, Dawn, no..."

She laughed a little, the kind of laugh she learned from Buffy – dry and brittle. "He never hated me back, though. Bastard."

No, he never did. Buffy recalled Spike's sneaking glances to Dawn when he knew she wouldn't notice; his quiet inquiries to Buffy that wouldn't be overheard by the others.

Bit's lookin' pale. Gotta make sure she eats right.
Who's that wanker walked Dawn home from school? Had half a mind to go out there and introduce myself, sunlight or no.
Does Dawn ever...mention me?

"So fuck you, Buffy! Fuck you for keeping his attention long enough to forgive him. He gave up on me!"

He didn't, Buffy wanted to say. He just...kept it all inside.

Because how many times, that year she came back, had he pestered her about Dawn's well-being until Buffy had grown enraged, hitting and hurting: I didn't come to your bed so we could talk about my sister! And he'd give it up, but grudgingly, letting her know the fight wasn't finished; this was when he still defied her, before she had broken him completely.

Now they didn’t talk about Spike. It upset Dawn, and he wouldn’t have wanted that.

Buffy pasted on a smile. She was the cool older sister, wasn't she? “Tell me more about this new guy.”

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

Later that night, Buffy gave her speech.

She knew it by heart now; memorized and engraved so that all that remained was the telling. Every night.

She tried to keep it brief; her audience had a notoriously short attention span. She wanted to talk faster but was afraid her words would be garbled and lost and that would be awful. Unthinkable. So she'd managed to pare her message down to a few sentences but it didn't seem to matter; she was still alone in the room by the time she had finished.

"I love you. I know you don't believe me but it's true, and I just need you to stay here, just stay here for a second and listen, okay? Don't go. Because we can start over, you and me. You and me and Dawn, we'll be a family. I know how much you wanted that. You don't have to say it. I know from the way you look at us. I know."

The words were pouring out of her in a rush now but it couldn't be helped, she was losing him again. "Spike, please, you just have to...I remember what I said before but I'm ready now, I swear I am. It's been so long, Spike, won't you –" And she was crying now, desperate and panicked but he left her again, like always, even when she was curled on the floor of the bedroom calling his name.

Dawn would find her, eventually, and help her to the bed. She'd try to explain but Dawn would have none of it, would only hush her and gently turn Buffy's face into the pillow to muffle the cries and whimpers. They wouldn't talk about it in the morning. Spike's ghost lived only in Buffy's empty arms.

Author's Note: The Wayfarer's Lodge was a Cleveland shelter built to aid citizens during the Depression.

Part 3: The Lost And The Found

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