I'll Fly Away

4-5-02

Part 8: Blessed Be

Hank Summers looked up from his paperwork and frowned at the chestnut-haired girl hovering in the office doorway, the heels of her shoes rapping out a severe, impatient rhythm against the polished hardwood.

He wasn't sure what to make of her, this unfathomable creature with her moods and her wit and her snappy one-liners. Somewhere along the line she'd become a truth-teller and a risk-taker, what every distant parent fears. She was far stronger than he, and, sometimes seemed…older. In the lamplight, her eyes looked simply ancient. He wanted to understand her. He wanted to tell her she was beautiful, but didn't know how.

"Dawn, honey, if you're bored I could have Candy take you shopping. Wouldn't you like that?"

Leaning belligerently against the door jamb, Dawn rolled her eyes. Candy was Hank's secretary. She was twenty-two, had implants, and was a member of the mile-high club.

Dawn was fairly sure the two were boffing each other. She'd caught her Dad eyeing Candy's cleavage more than once. She'd suspected he was having major introspective pornographic moments.

"No thanks, Dad."

He studied her posture and her frown wearily. "What's wrong now, Dawn?"

She just looked at him, shook her head. " Nothing. Everything. El Nino."

Dawn turned on her heel and stomped away. Hank heard the apartment door open and close with a resounding slam.

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As she stormed past the doorman, Dawn came to the realization that she was behaving irrationally. Stopping her headlong flight and slumping against the building wall, she considered going back upstairs to apologize. Nah. It serves him right. The guy pays more attention to his tropical fish than his kids. One of these nights she'd get tired of Lean Cuisine, chop all the beloved little swimmers into bits, and make sushi.

Dawn pulled her jacket tight against the night wind. The truth was, she was lonely for Buffy, for her purple bedroom, for people who actually waited until you were in the car before starting to drive away, for female companions who always had a tampon handy and didn't care if you talked about the size of your ass. She missed playing board games with Xander and watching soaps with Spike. Dawn sighed fondly, remembering how he liked to pick on hairstyles and belch during the impassioned speeches of the more heroic characters.

She wondered if they were home yet, if Buffy was out slaying, Xander was cracking wise, and Spike was stumbling through the cemetery with a bottle of Jim Beam. Only without them had Dawn come to realize how very dear they were, orbiting around her like companion stars, giving point and direction to her life. She hugged herself harder. Her father lived a life apart, didn't share the knowledge they did, didn't understand her oafish wit. For heaven's sake, he thought vampires were a myth.

As if Dawn's thoughts were an incantation, a long black car appeared at the end of the street, took the corner a little too fast, scattering pedestrians, and roared up the street to the accompaniment of horns and shouted curses. It flew through a crosswalk, ignored a stop sign, and crossed the median twice before screeching to a halt a few hundred yards from where Dawn stood. She took a hopeful step forward, heart pounding.

Only one person made an entrance like that.

Before the car even stopped, Dawn could hear the telltale bickering from within.

"…gonna kill someone, you idiot…"

"That'd be lovely. If I see Peaches I'll be sure to head straight for him."

"Just shut up and park this wreck, okay?"

By the time Buffy's golden head popped from the car's black depths, Dawn was halfway down the sidewalk.

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As they collided in a swirl of flying hair and outstretched arms, Spike reflected that there was nothing on earth quite as loud or as startling as two females meeting after a long absence.

"Buffy!" Dawn's cry of joy pierced the air. Passer-by turned their heads. A Korean storekeeper emerged from his shop carrying a bat. He looked around, shrugged, then went back inside. The bloke probably had daughters. Buffy and Dawn's shrieking had given way to an excited squealing that Spike couldn't make heads or tails of. He simply leaned against the car, ready to reroute traffic across the street if anyone tried to interrupt the reunionizing by using the sidewalk.

He was considering slipping away for a smoke when Dawn noticed him holding up the hood of the DeSoto.

"Spike!" A wave of pride swept over him when Dawn flung herself into his arms, right there on the street. Sometimes, when Buffy's hands weren't on him, Spike feared he was still untouchable, the evil, disgusting thing not fit for human contact. The words haunted him. But there he was, with an armful of mortal girl joyfully squeezing the unlife out of his midsection. Dawn laughed breathlessly as Spike picked her up and whirled her around before setting her back on her feet.

Buffy was laughing. "Put her down, Spike. You'll break her."

Spike was vaguely appalled at the spectacle they were creating--and his own distinct lack of coolness--but didn't have time to dwell on it before a quiet cough sounded over his right shoulder.

Hank Summers stood there, a puzzled little frown marring his features. "Well, Buffy. This is a surprise. We weren't expecting you this soon."

Buffy took a step closer to Spike, who was eyeing Hank as if he were deciding what size stew pot would best hold the man's liquid remains. Hank Summers was high on his shit list along with Whory the hell goddess, Riley Finn, Peaches, and the entire cast of Touched by an Angel.

"We're just passing through, Dad. On our way back to Sunnydale."

Hank's eyebrow rose. "So you two have been…sightseeing." He took note as Buffy slid one of her hands into the pocket of Spike's coat, a seemingly subtle gesture that actually screamed with meaning. Oh, dear God.

Spike smirked. He could almost hear Buffy mentally chanting for him to keep quiet! Hank shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"So--Spike, is it?--do you live in Sunnydale?"

Spike nodded gravely. "Yeah. Right next to the Andersons." Of course, the Anderson clan had been dead since the 1930's.

"And what do you do?"

Spike's mouth twitched. He needed a fag. "I help clear out the trash." No need to mention that the trash walked on two legs, and sometimes four, or six.

"How…nice." Hank's mouth pursed up all disgusted-like.

Dawn rescued Buffy and Spike by hooking her arms through theirs and dragging them down the street.

"Be back a little later, Dad!"

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Dawn scooped up the last bite of her butterscotch sundae. "….so it was a big fat no on the shopping with randy Candy. The mall isn't big enough for her, me, and those major league hooters. I hope they rupture."

"Dawn!"

"Chill out, Buffy. I'm just telling it like it is. She's an airhead. And Dad! He's developed a serious case of recto-cranial inversion."

Spike chuckled appreciatively. Buffy elbowed him. "This is your influence!"

Dawn scraped her plastic spoon along the sides of her empty bowl, searching for drips of buttery goodness. "Actually, Buff, it's yours. And Anya's. And Willow's. All three of my female role models are sexually adventurous."

Spike barked out a full-fledged laugh while Buffy rested her head in her hands, moaning in frustration. She sneaked a quick look over her shoulder to make sure Doris Kroeger wasn't munching butter brickle in the next booth.

Dawn pointed at Spike with her spoon. "You sly boots. I knew you had it in you. Did you throw Buffy over your shoulder and carry her off into the wilds, kicking and screaming?"

"Actually, Bit, it was her idea. She practically kidnapped me!"

Buffy's spoon clashed with Spike's as he dug into her melting bowl of mint chocolate chip. "I did not! You're so full of crap your eyes are brown." She addressed her sister. "Dawnie, it just sort of…happened."

"Good. I thought I'd be in menopause before it sort of…happened."

Buffy let that one pass. She regarded her sister seriously. "Do you want to come home with us, Dawnie?"

Dawn blew a lock of hair out of her face. "I do…but I don't. I like the city. I want to stay for the rest of the month. Janice is coming down and we're going to paint the town red."

Buffy worried her lower lip. " Red? How about pink? Or a nice shade of green?"

Spike patted her hand awkwardly. "It's okay, Slayer." He smiled at Dawn. "She's not a little girl anymore."

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An hour later, Buffy hugged Dawn goodbye and squeezed her hands. "Call me if you change your mind. Spike will violate every traffic law and get us here in no time at all."

Dawn squeezed back. "I will. Say "Hi" to the gang for me."

Buffy slid into the passenger seat as Dawn leaned down to call through the window. "And don't have sex on the kitchen table. I have to eat there. Don't do it in my bed, either!"

Spike tooted the horn at her as he moved the car into traffic. "She'll be all right, Buffy."

Buffy thought of all she and Dawn had been through over the years. How they'd weathered the losses and treasured the gains. How Dawn liked to eat Ring-Dings for breakfast and peanut butter burritos for dinner. How cleaning the house with her in tow was as useless as using a snowblower in the midst of a blizzard. How, from the first grade on, she'd graciously shared all of her communicable diseases with Buffy.

"I know," said Buffy, "But when she's gone, will I be?"

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There it was again. That sound.

Willow pulled the covers down to nose-level and peeked over the blanket's lacy edge. She darted a quick glance into the dim corners of the bedroom, but nothing emerged from the darkness, not a demon, or a ghoul, or the ghost of Joyce Summers. The shadows remained just that. Shadows. Willow was alone.

Willow jerked the comforter back over her head and stayed underneath the heavy cotton until the need to breathe outweighed her terror. She lay stiffly in the darkness, vaguely ashamed of her cowardly lionish behavior. She had, after all, been born on the Hellmouth, played her girlhood games around its gaping maw, and buried her Bubbe, her teacher, and her fish in its unclean soil. She had fired flaming arrows at the Battle of Graduation and gone toe-to-toe with a God. She'd rescued Buffy from life in a container labeled tapioca.

Willow was no wimp. Not anymore.

But there was something unsettling about the Summers house at night. It creaked and groaned and complained. Maybe houses had souls. Maybe this one ached for some company other than hers. Willow could sympathize. She'd begun talking to the TV on a regular basis, advising the Friends on relationship dynamics and letting Emeril know when too many Bams! became obnoxious. She'd spent the better part of this night reassuring Anne Shirley that her red hair was just fine

Gradually, Willow's muscles relaxed. She buried her face in the pillow which, impossibly still smelled of Tara. Wildflowers and motherwort and myrrh. They didn't sleep together anymore--not here, where Willow cast the forgetting spell. Wasn't it ironic that Willow, because she'd sinned against love, was condemned and exalted to never forget, to go to sleep each night remembering how it began and how it ended. It was so perfect in the beginning. Willow would never know herself to be so good again.

Finally, she drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Willow awoke with a start. Whoa. Gotta lay off the Scifi channel before bedtime. That was mondo weirdo. Feeling thirsty, she stepped into her bunny slippers and shuffled toward the bathroom. Wearing bunny heads on her feet didn't make Willow happy, but Anya was terrified of the bunny slippers. For that reason alone, Willow wore them religiously.

She looked down as she walked, trying to make the button mouths move. Willow giggled and did the voices.

"Anya, I want to nibble your toes…"

She turned her feet inward and walked pigeon-toed, made the bunnies talk to one another.

"I want to be Anya's orgasm friend,…" said Bunny #1.

"No, me!" replied Bunny #2. "You could never satisf---"

"Red, what the hell are you doing?"

Willow screamed in abject terror, caught off guard by the sudden presence in the dark hallway. One minute she was swanning through an empty house, playing with her feet, and in the next there was a growling in her ear, accompanied by an ice-cold hand on her cotton-clad shoulder.

"Backeth!" she shrieked, flinging up her arms and sending the intruder flying backward into the wall, just like that carton of Dannon Light. He--Willow assumed it was a he--hit with a resounding thud that shook the house on its foundations. Willow didn't look to see what he did after that. She snatched up the hallway phone, and, in a moment of panic, flung it as hard as she could in the direction of her would-be assailant.

Willow backed up against the bathroom door, straining to see in the muted lamplight. She was panting heavily, as if she'd just run a race.

"How the hell did you get in here?" She breathed.

"Actually, we came up that handy, dandy tree outside my window." Sudden light flooded the hallway, illuminating Willow in her terror, Buffy in a T-shirt and underwear, and Spike crumpled in a heap in the corner.

Willow's hands flew to her mouth. "Oh, Goddess. I'm so sorry…"

"Good to see you, Will." Buffy was already hurrying over to the corner and bending over Spike, who looked up at her with a dazed half- smile.

"I didn't know you guys were here," Willow stammered. She gave the vampire a little wave ."Hi, Spike."

He pursed his lips and peered at her through the blood running down his face. "No, " he said primly. "I don't think I'll purchase any encyclopedias today."

A few minutes later, Buffy had Spike situated on the closed toilet seat. She held him upright while Willow dabbed at his still-flowing wound. In the stark light of the bathroom, Willow got her first good look at Spike half-naked. Despite the blood and phone-induced trauma to the head, he was, well, dead sexy.

Willow playfully jabbed Buffy with her elbow. "So, Ms. Summers, are you going to share with the rest of the class?" She winked in Spike's direction. He was playing with the button-fly on his jeans, looking puzzled.

"Willow," Buffy squeaked, trying to still Spike's hands, "You're--"

"Gay, not blind," Willow muttered. Spike was bent over, examining Bunny #2.

Together, they heaved the vampire to his feet. He looked around. "This isn't Mardi Gras."

"Got it in one, honey." Buffy and Willow steered him through the bedroom door. Willow made sure the blinds were closed while Buffy pulled the covers over Spike. He sat up. She gently pushed him back down.

"We need Thin Mints," He insisted.

Buffy bent over him, took his face in her hands. "Do you know who I am, Spike?"

A brilliant smile broke over his addled face, like the sun appearing through clouds of confusion. "The Slayer."

"That's right. Now, you need to sleep it off." She kissed his forehead, and he closed his eyes. Finally, Spike was still. Willow remained in the corner through it all, trying to pick her jaw up off the floor. Finally, she wandered over to Buffy's side and looked down at the bed's battered occupant.

"Wow, Buffy. Just…wow." She couldn't think of anything else to say.

Buffy threaded her fingers through the vampire's blonde curls, now sticky with blood. "Wow's kind of an understatement, Will." She looked up. "We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"

Willow nodded and crept toward the door, trying not to trip on the bunnies that were the cause of the whole fracas. It felt like an intrusion to look back, so Willow kept her eyes forward. She blinked when she stepped from the moonlit bedroom into the harsh light of the hall.

She closed the door softly behind her.

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TBC