2. An Unbroken Promise
Buffy was so upset, so simply desperate
to
escape the scene, that her supernaturally enhanced senses did not pick
up on the presence of a slight, shadowy figure hiding just down the
underground hallway from where she and Spike had had their confusing
and enlightening conversation.
Ordinarily, Buffy could easily sense if a demon or vampire was nearby,
and usually could even tell if a normal person was sneaking about
somewhere. Human or demon, there wasn’t much that got past the Slayer’s
sharp perception.
Perhaps it was because Dawn was neither, that Buffy completely missed
the huddled form in the corner a few yards away from her, as she rushed
almost frantically down the hallway toward the exit.
As the echoing sounds of her footsteps died away, the tall slim girl
rose slowly from her crouched position, her eyes focused grimly on the
huddled form of the blond vampire on the floor, now hugging his knees
to his chest and rocking slightly, his eyes hidden, his face buried in
the cradle formed by his interlocked arms.
But Dawn knew that he knew she was there.
She had known that afternoon that there was something Buffy was not
telling her, when her older sister had given a conspicuously vague
answer to her question as to how she had known about the avenging
spirits and the talisman. The weirdness had continued when Buffy had
stayed around the house, all fidgety and nervous and looking at the
clock every five seconds, long after she usually would have gone on
patrol.
Finally, Dawn had gotten up and said she was going to bed. She was not
the least bit surprised when, no less than ten minutes later, she heard
the soft sound of the front door being carefully closed, and looked out
her bedroom window to see Buffy hurrying down the sidewalk, her arms
folded close over her chest as if to ward off the chilly autumn breeze
– and without a weapon in sight.
Something was *way* weird.
She had grabbed her jacket and followed her sister at a distance,
determined to know what it was that had Buffy acting so strangely. She
had been confused and a little apprehensive when the Slayer’s path had
led her to the dark, deserted high school, but Dawn reminded herself
that she was really not in any danger, no matter how ominous the
looming buildings looked in the dark.
How could she possibly be in danger, with the Slayer less than a good
scream away?
What *had* surprised her, though, truth be told, was the fact that
Buffy never caught on to the fact that she was being followed – not
that Dawn had *wanted* to be caught, but she knew enough to know that
her rather limited ability to maintain stealth and silence was not
ordinarily enough to fool the Slayer.
More than one failed attempt at sneaking out of the house was proof
enough of that.
She had crept along at a good distance behind her sister, through the
deserted halls of the school, and down into the basement. When she saw
Buffy stop outside a closed door at the end of a long hall, she froze,
easing up against the wall and crouching down to wait and see what the
Slayer would do. Dawn frowned at Buffy’s internal but obvious struggle
over whether or not to open the door, and had to suppress her own
disappointment when her older sister finally turned and walked away.
But the door opened anyway – and the vampire that stepped out into the
hallway was the last person Dawn had ever expected to see in Sunnydale
again.
She stayed there, hidden in the shadows, as Buffy talked to the barely
coherent vampire in hushed, gentle tones, like one might use with a
child. It made Dawn angry to hear it, and she found that she was not
really paying attention to the conversation as her mind went back to
the dark secret that Xander had revealed to her – the horror of the
betrayal Spike had committed, against her sister, and against her
friendship.
She crouched there, fuming, until Buffy finally began to back away,
shaking her head, and finally fled the basement. Dawn vaguely wondered
what Spike had said to cause her reaction; she hadn’t really been
paying attention…and besides, he didn’t seem to be making much sense,
anyway.
Something was obviously wrong with him.
Dawn didn’t really care.
She made no effort to disguise the sharp clatter of her footsteps on
the stone floor as she slowly approached him, but Spike did not look
up. She did not stop her advance until she was standing a few feet in
front of him, glaring down at him with seething fury, her arms crossed
imperiously over her rather minimal chest.
She waited just a few moments before losing her patience, though she
really wasn’t sure what she was expecting in the first place, what she
was even here for. She didn’t know why Buffy hadn’t staked him, after
what he had done; but a part of her was glad that she hadn’t – and
another part of her was furious that she was glad.
“What’s wrong with you?” she demanded, her high, thin voice resounding
almost painfully in the echoing underground chamber.
Spike did not respond, just kept rocking, refusing to look up at her –
because she knew that he was aware that she was there, and was ignoring
her *on purpose* -- and now and again mumbling something under his
breath.
“Spike!” Dawn snapped impatiently, her voice trembling with anger and
hurt. “Spike…what’s the matter with you? Why don’t you look at me? Look
at me, you…you jerk!”
Dawn felt a short-lived feeling of relief and vindication when the
vampire hesitantly raised his head from the shelter of his arms…but the
instant his haunted, anguished eyes met hers, her relief vanished,
swallowed up in a combination of stunned awe at the expression in those
eyes, and an unwilling sympathy for the vampire that had been her best
friend – her *only* friend – during the darkest days of her young life.
She didn’t *want* to feel sorry for Spike; she didn’t want to feel
*anything* for Spike, after what he had done.
He had tried to…to…
She couldn’t even make her mind finish the thought.
Unthinking rage began to fill her again, her emotions veering wildly in
one direction, and then another, as she tried to make sense of what she
should feel, what she had once felt, and what she was feeling now.
It was not an easy task.
Spike was muttering again under his breath, his eyes lowered once more,
though he did not hide his face again. He was rocking a bit faster now,
repeating the same words over and over in a sort of chant, though too
softly for Dawn to make out the words.
“What?” she snapped. “Speak up, I can’t hear you! What are you saying?”
Spike just kept muttering, shaking his head too, in denial or refusal,
Dawn could not be sure.
Furious and frustrated, she kicked out at him, though she was well
aware that her little girly non-Slayer foot wouldn’t really do him much
damage. Still, she wished that it would; she *wanted* to hurt him,
after what he had put Buffy through…what he had put *her* through.
She wanted to hurt him.
She wanted to hate him.
She found, to her dismay, that she could do neither.
Spike flinched at the blow, a quiet sob rising up in his throat as he
lowered his head again, his words a bit louder, but muffled by his arms
once more. Dawn found this more frustrating than ever, her anger rising
up again as she crouched in front of him, yanking at his arms in an
attempt to force him to look at her – and an unintentional echo of her
sister’s action minutes earlier.
“No, *look at me*!” she snarled, her voice shaking dangerously. “*Look
at me* and talk to me like I’m a person! I *know* what you did, Spike!
I know what you did to her! How could you do that to us? How could you
do that, and then just *leave*, like…like we never meant anything to…I
hate you, Spike! I hate you! How could you do it?”
Spike cringed at those words, his shoulders shaking with sobs, but he
slowly, reluctantly, raised his eyes to her face once more. His wide
blue eyes were harrowed and lost as he studied her face, a strangely
questioning note in his piercing gaze, as if he was trying to remember
some long forgotten memory. As he stared at her through haunted eyes,
he whispered his chant again, and this time she was close enough and
still enough to hear the words.
“Can’t let him…can’t let him…hurt the girl…”
Dawn frowned, confused, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“Can’t let who…?”
Spike stared at her for a long moment, still not completely seeming to
recognize her, as the silence spread between them, engulfing even the
quiet, ordinary night sounds until all there was was stillness, and his
single word answer echoed in the air between them with a chilling note
of finality.
“Me.”
Dawn’s eyes went wide, and she felt her heart jump within her, as she
drew back slightly, instinctively, in alarm. “What?” she whispered.
“I’m the one what did it,” Spike explained, nodding emphatically, his
arms crossed defensively over his stomach now, his shoulders hunched
inward as if he was trying to disappear completely; but he had stopped
rocking, going completely still, and the intensity of his deep blue
gaze sent an apprehensive shiver down her spine. “Been doing it for
years…”
Though she knew she shouldn’t ask, Dawn couldn’t stop the hoarse,
whispered words from leaving her throat.
“Been doing…what?”
Spike was silent for a moment, his expression inscrutable as he replied
in a tone so calm, so matter-of-fact, that it seemed tinged with
madness.
“Hurting little girls.”
Dawn scrambled backward with a gasp, so that she was bent back on her
hands and her heels for a moment, before the imbalance of that position
sent her collapsing to the floor. Feeling terribly vulnerable there,
she stumbled to her feet, taking several lurching steps backward, wide
blue eyes locked onto Spike’s face with fearful apprehension.
“Made ‘em bleed…made ‘em cry,” Spike continued, not looking at her now
– and that was better, though not much. “Wanted to hear ‘em cry.
Couldn’t get enough of their screams…and now…”
Dawn shook her head in denial, not wanting to hear his words, not
wanting to see his face as he looked up at her, his expression haunted
and lost as he whispered his conclusion.
“…now…’s all I ever hear.”
Dawn couldn’t stand it any longer. His words, his voice, all
contributed to the dark mood that seemed to linger in these basement
halls. She had felt it earlier that afternoon, and now she felt it with
dreadful certainty again.
There was something down here.
And she no longer wanted to be.
She backed warily down the hallway, away from Spike, watching him
cautiously lest he should try to come after her. It was strange; even
with what she had known about the terrible thing he had tried to do to
her sister, she would never have thought that he might try to hurt
*her*…but now, she was afraid of him. That strange light in his crystal
blue eyes, his horribly explicit verbal trip down memory lane.
He was obviously crazy, but there was still only so much a girl could
take!
And, alone-in-the-basement-with-a-crazy-vampire was just one very small
step above alone-in-the-basement-with-an-evil-vampire on her list of
situations she wanted to find herself in – and both items were down
there at the bottom of the list.
Dawn swallowed hard, trying to steady her voice, her eyes narrowing as
she summoned what was left of her bravery to declare in what she hoped
was a steely, threatening voice, despite the tremors that filled it,
“You *stay away* from me and my sister. I never want to see you again.”
That said, she turned on her heel and fled the room, once again
unintentionally following in the footsteps of her sister. Spike watched
her go for a long moment, a troubled frown creasing his brow as he
tried to grasp onto the familiar thought that seemed to be humming
around the edges of his mind, never quite staying still for long enough
for him to grasp onto it and make it make sense.
He stared at the spot where the girl had stood, wincing again at the
memory of her harsh, condemning words, and the truth they had declared
so starkly and painfully. It hurt worse, somehow, coming from her, than
from the voices that constantly filled his head. It was as if what she
thought, how she felt about him, somehow…mattered more, though he
couldn’t really remember why.
He couldn’t really remember much of anything, before he got it – the
spark.
He knew that his mind would clear again, and he would remember – but
for now, he struggled to grasp onto just a shred of memory, just an
inkling of what it was he was supposed to…
*I’m counting on you to protect her…*
*Any number of beasties between here and clear across town…*
*I can take care of myself…*
*’Til the end of the world…*
Spike’s eyes widened and he suddenly struggled to his feet, his throat
dry with fear for the girl who had just left him. He couldn’t quite
remember how or why, but he knew that he had to protect her – he had
*promised* to protect her – and in Sunnydale at night, there were
countless dangers she might find herself facing on her way back to –
wherever she had come from.
“Gotta save her,” he muttered to himself as he staggered down the hall
in the direction she had gone, fighting the pull, the invisible drawing
force that seemed determined to keep him here, and whispered of his
nightmare past in his mind, when no one else was looking. “Gotta
protect her…”
“Made a promise…gotta keep my promise…to the lady…”