---

Dawn tried to catch Buffy's sleeve, but the fine material slipped through her fingers like water, and Buffy turned away. Dawn stood frozen as Buffy ran away from her, disappearing from view, receding into a blinding light. Alone on top of the tower, Dawn shivered. She was so tired, and so cold and scared, and her feet hurt, and her chest where the old man had cut her. She had to get down, she knew that, but she wanted to follow Buffy. She thought Buffy's way had to be much quicker than all those stairs, which tended to shift insidiously underfoot as the whole tower swayed in the wind.

She took half a step in the direction Buffy had gone. She thought there was some reason why she shouldn't go the same way Buffy had, something that compelled her to go the long way down the stairs, but she didn't remember what it was; everyone else was down there, with Buffy. She ought to follow Buffy. Another step out, toward that light. When they were kids, she'd always tried to follow Buffy everywhere. Buffy had always ditched her as soon as she could, because that's how big sisters are. But Dawn was pretty sure she could catch up with Buffy this time; she'd seen the way she went. If she took the stairs, she'd never catch up.

Another slow step, and Dawn saw the spot where Spike had stood, and suddenly she remembered. Spike would be waiting for her, at the bottom. So she'd have to take the stairs. Bracing herself for the long walk, Dawn turned back and laid a hand on the railing, and began to creep down. It took a long time. She was so tired, and she wished she could have followed Buffy, but Spike was waiting. Maybe he could help her find Buffy, once she met up with him. He was always following Buffy, too. They could find her together, even if she tried to ditch them both. That would be all right.

When Dawn reached the bottom, she was scared to let go of the railing. She might fall. She could see Buffy, dimly, in the distance. She'd gone so far she could never come back, and even though she looked like she was holding still, she kept moving away from Dawn, toward the rising sun, leaving Dawn in darkness. The others were all standing together, watching Buffy, except for Spike, who was still lying on the ground where he'd fallen. He was very still. There was blood on his face. Dawn wanted to call out, to Buffy, to her friends, to Spike, but she felt her own fingers pressing against her lips, and remembered the desperate necessity of silence. Steadying herself as best she could, she started forward, toward Buffy, toward the others, who were watching her go, just standing still.

When she had nearly reached them, Giles stepped forward, and without looking back at Dawn or any of the others, started following Buffy. Dawn felt tears begin to fall from her eyes, but still she kept silent. Mustn't make a sound, even if Giles was walking away and away, too far for Dawn to follow when she was so tired. Dawn looked around at the ones who still stood near, but they were all watching Buffy as she faded away. Willow and Tara clasped their hands, bent their heads together, and then vanished in a puff of glittering smoke. They'd witched themselves away to somewhere better, Dawn knew, and it was no use wishing she could call them back. They'd never hear, and anyway she had to keep quiet. But there was still Xander, and Anya, and poor Spike, lying on the ground. He was waiting for her, Dawn knew. She should go to him, but she couldn't take her eyes away from Buffy, and the only humans who still remained. Then Xander looked back and Dawn smiled through her tears, behind the fingers that held in her screams and sobs, because Xander would see how tired and hurt she was, he would come back for her. But Xander just gave her an apologetic smile and lifted Anya into his arms. Anya leaned her head wearily against his shoulder, and then Xander started after Giles, following Buffy away.

Scared to be alone, when Glory might be anywhere, Dawn found the strength to hurry to Spike's side. There was blood on his face, but he was still all in one piece, so he had to be all right. She lowered one hand from her mouth, and reached out to touch him, but before her fingers could make contact, he opened his eyes and sat up. Their eyes met, for just a moment, like they had at the top of the tower, filled with a shared panic, and then Spike stood, and started toward Buffy, toward the sunrise, even though he had to know he could never reach her before he turned to dust. Dawn was so scared, and so alone, and so cold, and he would never catch Buffy, and she would never catch him.

She dropped her hands. "Spike," she whispered, trying to summon a scream to bring him back to her, "Spike!" And then, louder, much better, though he still walked away, "*Spike*!"

It seemed like she'd been screaming his name and watching him walk away forever, when suddenly he'd returned and was standing right in front of her. Dawn grabbed his arms and held on tight. If she let go he would fall again, like he'd fallen before, but this time, like Buffy, he would fall too far, and just keep going. She couldn't let him go, even though he kept moving his arms as if he wanted her to, even though something slick made it hard to keep her fingers to his skin. She had to hold on, or he would fall. He was saying something, she could see his lips moving, but she couldn't hear his words in the wind at the top of the tower. She was so cold, and her throat hurt, and her vision was blurred with tears, but she had to hold on to Spike. She couldn't let him fall again. Spike kept looking over his shoulder, and when he looked at her he looked scared. Glory must be coming again, and Dawn didn't know what they'd do without Buffy and the others to help.

Then there was an arm around her back, and another around Spike; it was Angel, she realized, holding onto them both. His body shielded them from the wind, so that she could hear Angel telling her it was okay, she could let go now, and Spike's voice cut through as well. "It's all right, Dawn. Glory's gone. It's over. Everybody's all right. It's over. Shh, Little Bit."

Trusting Angel to keep them safe, she slowly, slowly, uncurled her aching fingers from Spike's arms. His hands came up and held hers, their coolness comforting against the dull burn of the seizing muscles, and then she was pulled tight to his chest, and wrapped in two sets of arms, holding her still and safe. Spike went on whispering into her hair, and Angel steadied them both.

After a while, Dawn caught her breath, and her weariness overwhelmed her. Bed was surely a long way away, but Spike and Angel could help her get there. Just then, Angel started to move away, and Dawn wrested a hand free from Spike's grip to grab onto his shirt. It slid under her hand, like Buffy's had, and for a horrible moment she thought he wouldn't stop, but he said, softly, near her ear, "What is it, Dawn?"

"Don't." Her throat burned. She could barely make the words, couldn't even hold up her hand to his chest. "Don't leave."

Angel's arms tightened again, a hug that squished her closer to Spike. "I won't."

He didn't, either, though he shepherded her and Spike a little way to where a bed was miraculously awaiting them, close by. They helped her into it, tucked her in and then laid down, one on either side. Spike stretched his arm over her, his hand resting on Angel's chest, and Angel did the same, resting his hand on Spike's side, so that she was completely safe and surrounded. Still, Dawn struggled to stay awake, in case anything should come, but a voice near her ear said softly, "You can close your eyes, now. Everybody's here." She did, and the darkness swallowed them all together.

Angel, comb in his hand, felt carefully over the surface of his hair. Maybe he should get it cut. He'd been trying to forget what it had looked like in Pylea, in between missing being able to see his reflection, but maybe he should do something about it.

He set the comb down and sighed. He couldn't lie to himself. He was primping, desperately delaying the moment that had been inevitable ever since he woke up, alone, in Dawn's bed.

It had come as no particular surprise, how much he'd liked being able to hang onto Spike and Dawn both at the same time. When he'd come into her room, called by Dawn's continued screaming and the smell of Spike's blood, they'd both needed him, even when they had each other; even when Dawn calmed down, even when she still had Spike, she wouldn't let him go. Angel had felt dangerously contented, lying there watching them sleep.

Awakening to find they'd both crept off without him was exactly the reverse. And now, dressed and–-he ran his hands sloppily through his hair, because he couldn't make it worse, and there was no point looking like he'd tried to make it look like that–-finished primping, there was nothing to keep him from following the sound of morning cartoons and the smell of nail polish to where they were holed up together. He would go, of course; they were his, and he had to see that they were all right. He'd just peek, he decided, and if, like yesterday, they were having a private moment, he'd slip off again and leave them to it. He had reading to catch up on.

He could hear their voices, but mingled as they were with the bright background music of the television, he couldn't make out more than a sense of good-natured argument. Angel hesitated in the open doorway of the–-*den, Angel, and if you call it a lair again we *will* put a sign on the door*–-room that Wes and Gunn had fixed up to be 'really fit for human habitation,' with a couch and a television. The couch had to be the single most disreputable piece of furniture in the hotel, and not for lack of competition. It was plaid, and it sagged alarmingly, but the guys insisted that it was 'comfy'. Spike and Dawn sat on it, heads together, right in the middle of its three-cushion expanse. The television babbled on to itself, apparently ignored. Angel was just about to back away when Dawn suddenly looked up, right at him, as though she'd known he was there.

"Angel! Tell Spike he has to hold still while the nail polish dries."

Spike rolled his eyes at them both. "Honestly, Dawn, I've been varnishing my nails since before you were born. I know how not to smudge 'em."

Dawn merely raised her eyebrows, clearly awaiting Angel's verdict.

Angel smiled and stepped inside. "Do as she says, Spike."

Spike looked mutinous, and Dawn scarily triumphant. "Hey, does that mean–-"

"In this instance, Spike."

Spike smiled up at Angel, who stood now just behind the couch. "Ta for that, anyway." But as directed, he kept his hands still and flat on his knees. Dawn tucked her hair behind her ears and bent her head again to blow on Spike's nails, flawlessly painted a shiny black. Dawn's nails, he noticed, had not been painted, but had a certain extremely-well-scrubbed look, and Spike's had a line of four brightly colored bandages on the back of each arm, just above the elbow.

Both of them were dressed for the day, and Dawn's hair was brushed out, but not quite dry. Angel made a mental note. While Pylea had conveniently lowered Fred's standards for comfortable living, two days without a blow dryer probably still counted as roughing it for Dawn. He'd have to talk to Cordelia about getting one for her room.

Feeling brave, Angel stepped around the couch and sank down on the end cushion next to Spike. The couch did not collapse beneath him, and Spike immediately leaned back to rest against Angel's side, perforce dragging his hands–-scrupulously flat and otherwise still–-back along his thighs. It was probably an infraction, but Dawn didn't object, so Angel didn't either. Instead he raised his arm so that Spike could slip beneath it, and settled it again across Spike's chest, curling his fingers absently in the folds of the grey t-shirt over Spike's belly.

Dawn was grinning at them, and Spike, with a sigh of contentment, unfolded his legs and stretched them out to either side of Dawn, wriggling his bare feet. "So," he said, smirking lazily, "you do toes, pet?"

Dawn glared at Spike, who smiled wickedly. "Angel?" he said sweetly, "Would you tell Dawn she has to have a top coat on her nails if she has glitter polish?"

She knew she shouldn't have played the calling-on-Angel's-authority card earlier. Angel, who was slumped against Spike's bent back at a forty-five degree angle and had apparently become convinced that if he kept cycling through the five over-the-air stations that came in on the TV, he'd find something other than cartoons and a public broadcast telethon, met Dawn's eyes over Spike's shoulder and then peered down at her hands. "Sorry, Dawn," he said, but he looked pretty amused himself, "Just this once: do as Spike says."

Spike looked insanely pleased with himself and grabbed the clear polish to paint over the coat of black-with-sparkles that he'd already applied to her nails. Dawn stuck her tongue out at him, but he ignored her and set to work on her right hand.

Dawn sighed loudly enough to be heard over the Road Runner cartoon which had momentarily captured Angel's attention, and reached her free hand down to her mug, sitting on the floor by the couch, and tried to rescue a few more still-edible Fruity Pebbles from the congealed red goo at the bottom. Angel happened to look over as she was popping them into her mouth and frowned. "Dawn...?"

Dawn smiled, stealing a glance at Spike, who grinned encouragingly, out of Angel's line of sight. "Oh, yeah. Breakfast experiment gone horribly awry. Remind me not to listen to Spike anymore about how to eat my cereal." She picked up the mug and passed it to Angel, who stared at its contents for a moment and then, looking perplexed, took a sip.

He actually didn't drop the mug, as Dawn had half-expected, but spat into it. His whole face was screwed up, as if it had been lemon juice on her cereal instead of Strawberry Quik. "My god, Dawn, what... is that some kind of industrial solvent? It's all... chemicals, and sugar, and..." He looked seconds away from taking steel wool to his tongue, and Dawn bit her lip, feeling genuinely sorry at his distress. She hadn't thought he'd actually think it was blood long enough to drink it.

She looked to Spike, who also seemed contrite. He met her eyes, his gaze serious, warning her, and then capped the nail polish and lifted his right hand to his mouth, vamping out and cutting open his thumb with one fang before offering the bleeding digit to Angel. Angel looked uneasily at Dawn, but she sat still, and concentrated on looking sorry and not-freaked.

Spike had been all hesitant about having breakfast with her, in the first place, but as it turned out, it was hard to be scared of someone, even someone with yellow eyes and fangs and a bumpy face, when they were crunching down Fruity Pebbles and insisting that, no, really, Strawberry Quik makes everything taste better. Plus, now she didn't have to be all scared that she would freak out when she finally did see Spike's other face. Angel seemed to get that she was okay, and vamped out as well, cradling Spike's hand between his own so that she didn't really see the actual blood-drinking.

Their faces slipped back to human at the same time, and Angel squeezed Spike's hand lightly before he let it go. "That's better." He switched off the tv, and turned to face Dawn, gracefully rearranging his legs and scooting up so Spike could lounge comfortably against his chest, and took the nail polish bottle from Spike's other hand. "Okay, Dawn," he muttered, with what she hoped was an exaggerated look of concentration, "just hold very still."

Spike stood in the lobby, watching the stairs and waiting. Dawn was getting packed up, by herself. She'd looked offended by his offer of help, which Spike suspected meant that she intended to spend thirty seconds jamming all of her stuff into her bag, and half an hour locked in her bathroom having a cry because she didn't want the weekend to be over. Spike understood the feeling, and left her to it. He sighed, and started pacing again. Angel, sitting on a sofa with Fred, who had finally emerged from her room, watched him. Spike knew he ought to go and sit down, but he couldn't keep still.

Only fifteen minutes had gone by when Spike caught the sound of Dawn's reluctant footsteps, heading for the lobby. He reined in the pacing and went over to the couch, staring sightlessly down at the two helmets, and his coat. His own packing job had consisted of retrieving the motorcycle's key from the top of Angel's dresser, and stowing the nail polish in an inner pocket of his coat at Dawn's request. He waited til she was crossing the lobby floor behind him to look up, smiling encouragingly. She'd cut the crying short, obviously, and washed her face. When she reached Spike, he picked up his duster from the couch, and held it up for her to put on. Even as she stuck her arms through the sleeves, Dawn said, "Are you sure we can't wait? I wanted to say goodbye to Cordy and Wes and Gunn."

Angel, shot Spike a sympathetic look, since Dawn was staring at the floor, and said, "I'll tell them, Dawn. They'll understand."

Dawn looked up at Spike as he handed her the gauntlets to put on, nervousness dimming the sparkle of her eyes. It wasn't just that she didn't want this little holiday to be over; she was still uneasy about going back home. Spike smiled as best he could, patting her prettily braided hair gingerly; Angel had turned out to be a fine lady's maid. "It'll be all right, pet. You'll see."

Dawn's return smile was a bit wobbly.

Angel stood up abruptly. "Spike, could I see you in my office for a second?" He turned on his heel and walked to the other room, leaving the door open.

Spike looked to Dawn and then Fred for possible explanations for this behavior; Dawn shrugged, and Fred just smiled shyly and ducked her head.

He followed Angel into the office, closing the door behind him. As soon as he did, Angel turned on him, pressing him bodily up against the door, and just as Spike opened his mouth to say something amusing, kissed him.

The breath he'd drawn for words slipped from Spike's mouth, and it was only because of the way their lips were arranged that it sounded like a moan. Very strange, being kissed by Angel, hands hard on his shoulders but lips gentle, more enticing than demanding. It had never been quite like this before, Angel's tongue slipping over his, entering his mouth like an invited guest instead of a conquering master. When Angel lifted his head, Spike remembered to shut his mouth, mostly, and stood there, neatly pinned between the door at his back and his sire's body, staring up into dark, watchful eyes.

"Now," Angel said softly, raising one hand from Spike's shoulder to touch his cheek, "Three things. First," and he pressed one finger against Spike's lips, "Take care of Dawn. Second," another finger, "take care of yourself." Spike nodded obediently, and Angel tilted his forehead down to Spike's, pressing him just a little harder against the door, body to body, dragging his fingers slowly away from Spike's mouth, like they didn't want to go. "Third," and his lips were brushing against Spike's, "be back here Friday by ten. I'll be waiting for you."

Spike nodded again, and Angel rewarded him with the lightest possible brush of lips, definitely a tease, before stepping back and reaching around him to pull the door open. Spike stumbled back out into the lobby in his wake, trying to wrap his brain around *kiss, Dawn, me, Friday, kiss*.

Angel, meanwhile, picked up his coat from the back of the couch where he'd been sitting, and handed it to Spike. Spike stared stupidly at it for a moment, until Angel, with a snicker that was strangely not unkind, took it back and held it up just as he'd held his own coat for Dawn. Oh. Spike shrugged into the coat, and rolled his eyes at Dawn as she laughed silently back at him while Angel buttoned it up. "There. I mean, what would people say if I let you leave like that, with no coat?"

"Awful things, I'm sure, Gran'da."

Angel cuffed Spike lightly, and Spike dodged behind Dawn, who laughed out loud this time. "Okay, guys. Save it for next time." She hesitated. "There is a next time, right?"

Over Dawn's shoulder, Spike nodded, more for the benefit of the little eyebrow Angel was giving him than Dawn's reassurance. He squeezed her shoulders, instead. "Friday, pet. We'll leave as soon as it's dark. I promised, and we can't go breaking promises."

"Good." Dawn took a breath, and turned to look at Spike. "So I guess, if we want to come back, we have to leave first, huh?"

Caught by the fragile resolve in her eyes, Spike nodded, and the moment hung balanced between them until Fred suddenly said, "Mickey!"

Everyone spun to look at her, and she shrank before the massed attention, huddling into the couch. Angel, nearest and dearest, went and sat down beside her. "Sorry, Fred, we didn't catch that."

"I... I was trying to remember. I thought Dawn looked like something, but it's been a long time and I couldn't, couldn't place. But she looks like Mickey, in the cartoon with all the brooms and the water and the," and her hands made a vague maestro's gesture, conducting some orchestra only she could see. Spike was still lost, as was Angel by the look of him, but Dawn grinned.

"The Sorcerer's Apprentice." She looked down at the coat, and up at Spike, and said, "Except I'm more like the Big Bad's Apprentice, I guess."

Spike smirked. "That's you, pet. Little Bad." She was still smiling, so he figured this was as good a time as any. "Right. Let's go then."

He picked up her bag, and Dawn picked up her helmet and put it on. The little design of stars had been applied after great deliberation, and amounted to an artistic collaboration between her and Angel. Spike had been responsible for the bit that said D A W N across the back. The A was crooked, but that was entirely Angel's fault for jogging his elbow.

They trooped out to the bike, and Spike secured Dawn's bag on the back and put on his own helmet, unrelieved black despite all threats to decorate it. Angel helped Dawn up behind him, and Dawn slid her arms around his waist, already holding on tight. Angel leaned his head down to theirs, sliding his arms around them both. "Friday, right? I'll be waiting."

Spike grinned, and Dawn gave a muffled "you bet," and then Angel let them go.

Dawn grabbed at Spike's arm as her legs started to give out. He frowned as he steadied her, and Dawn smiled ruefully. "Guess that wasn't really any better the second time."

He smiled tightly back, grabbing her bag and helmet from the bike as he started to steer her toward the house. "Tell you what, Pet, we'll practice. Take you out for short rides all week, help you get used to it."

Dawn waited til he was totally focused on helping her up the porch steps, and then said, "Teach me to drive it?"

She gave him her best wide-eyed smile as he spluttered; she was leaning against the front door by the time he managed to form words. "No, Dawn, are you out of your mind? I'm lucky I don't catch hell for letting you *ride* it!"

He unzipped the side pocket on her bag, pulling out her keys to let them in. "Well, what if *Angel* says I can?"

Spike rolled his eyes as he unlocked the door, dropping her keys back in her bag before offering her his arm and pushing it open. Dawn took a deep breath, and stepped across the threshold, Spike close at her side.

He dropped her things with a thud, and pulled the door shut behind them, leaving them in the dimness of the foyer. There was a single lamp lit in the living room, like there always was, but the house was perfectly silent. There was a piece of notepaper taped to the bannister, right where it couldn't be missed, and this was exactly like the moment they'd left, except for Spike's arm under her hand. He stepped closer, drawing her into a hug, and they stood for a while just inside the door while Dawn shook, the silence of the empty house bearing down on her. On them both, maybe, to judge from the tightness of Spike's grip, a little too fierce to be intended for her comfort alone.

Finally Dawn lifted her head from its place against Spike's shoulder, against Angel's coat, and said, "I can do this."

"'Course you can, pet."

She stepped carefully forward from Spike's embrace, and he let her go, mostly, catching her hand at the last moment. She led the way into the living room, trying all the while to be comfortable, to be at home, to remember that this was the place she'd lived the last five years, all my life that's been real, that this was home and not just the place her mother had died, the place Buffy had never come back to. She went to the couch and sank into its softness, and Spike flopped down beside her, their clasped hands resting on the cushion between them.

"Sure, you'll have bad moments," Spike said softly, as if he'd been talking to her the whole time, which Dawn hoped wasn't actually the case, because that meant she was much more out of it than she thought. "But it's your home, pet. You'll be all right. It's just hard at first."

Dawn nodded, staring across the room, trying to get her head around the thought of looking at that door to the hallway and never for the rest of her life seeing her mom or her sister walk through it. Imagined rattling around in this house, alone, for the rest of her life.

No. Not alone. This house might be the place her mom and Buffy weren't, but for now it was also the place where Spike was. And that was definitely something. Enough for right now, maybe.

Dawn looked over at Spike and smiled, and Spike smiled readily back. "Now," he said, "*you* have cable."

Dawn grinned, and dropped his hand to grab the remote, and that was when the front door banged open and Xander strode in, Anya and Willow and Tara and Giles trailing behind him.

Dawn bounced to her feet, happy to see them all for the half second before she registered the look on Xander's face.

"What the hell were you thinking, Dawn?"

She opened her mouth to tell him, but he kept right on.

"You think it's okay to just take off for the weekend, scare Willow out of her mind, not even check in for more than a day? And you go off and spend time with vampires? Dawn, for God's sake, you know better than that!"

Part of her thought, finally, somebody to scream back at, but most of her just stood there stupidly. This was Xander, and he had never, ever yelled at her before, even when she did stupid things, even when he had every right to be mad at her. She could feel herself changing, from the gonna-be-okay chick she'd been all weekend, riding a motorcycle and helping magically dismember a demon, into Tragic Dawn, broken and helpless and just a little girl who had to be looked after very, very carefully.

"Xander," Willow said anxiously, trying to calm him. *Look, Dawnie, I don't want to fight*. Have to protect little Dawn. Can't even yell at her. Dawn looked around for Giles, wondering why he wasn't stepping in, but he'd made it no further into the house than the stairs, where he sat looking tired and old and like he wished they would all be quiet. Tara had vanished, but the kitchen light was on, now, so she was probably making tea.

"No," Xander said, quieter now but still as determined to say his piece, "she was thoughtless, and she ought to know better. Dawn, come on. You know you're not supposed to be going off with Spike. I mean, you can't just skip down to L. A. for the weekend without telling anyone. And you–-Dawn, are you wearing Spike's coat?"

Spike, still sitting on the couch, flinched almost invisibly at that, and stood. "Dawn," he said quietly, to her alone, "I was leaving anyway. You're not alone now, you'll be all right." He didn't ask for the coat back. His head was bent, his shoulders slumped, and Dawn could see he was letting Xander win, just like he'd let Angel win when they first got to L.A.

"No!" Dawn met his eyes, and Spike blinked first. She straightened her spine, determined to stare Xander down even if she was sort of crying. "I mean, yes, I am, actually, but no, Xander! I don't know better and there's no reason I should. Why shouldn't I just go off with Spike? I didn't notice *you* begging to spend time with me–-"

"Dawn," Spike said, just a hint of Angel-like authority in his voice, but Dawn shook her head. She was in the right here, and she wasn't going to back down, even if Spike didn't want her making a scene.

"Dawn, you shouldn't be hanging around with serial murderers, even if they were human. Do you know the things they've done? They're demons, Dawn, and you're just a little girl, and you'll get hurt. You know Buffy didn't like you spending time with Spike, and I doubt she would have wanted you anywhere near Angel either."

She stared at Xander in disbelief. "So, what, Spike's good enough to be made to babysit me, but if I spend two days with him, then I'm going to be corrupted? If you're going to be irrational, Xander, at least be consistent."

He opened his mouth to respond to that, but Dawn kept going.

"You don't get to tell me what to do. Everyone who ever did is dead now." Xander's mouth worked, and he looked as shocked at Dawn's outburst as Dawn felt, somewhere inside. "And don't you ever *dare* tell me what Buffy would want. Buffy is *dead*. She doesn't get a vote anymore."

"Dawn," his voice had turned placating, now, "listen to me."

"Get out of my house, Xander."

He looked for a second like he was going to laugh, and Dawn wanted, suddenly and with all her soul, to hit him. "What?"

"Get *out*." Dawn could feel a serious throat-tearing scream rising, and choked it back, taking a breath to steady herself. "You're disinvited from this house, til you apologize. To me, and to Spike. He's my friend, and he helped save me and the rest of the world from Glory, and you can't just bad mouth him whenever you're pissed off."

He looked back and forth from Dawn to Spike, face turning hard as he realized she meant what she said, and then he turned on his heel and walked out, Anya silently following. Dawn wanted to scream as she watched him walk away, but just like the last time, she kept silent. This time, Xander didn't look back.

Dawn slipped her hand into Spike's, and he squeezed lightly. She could do this. Only five days til Friday.

---

Endnotes: Spike sang Freedy Johnston's "Bad Reputation." The lines at the beginning of the story are from Shanna by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss.