4. Running Away

Dawn sat across the table from Buffy pushing her food around on her plate, wishing desperately that they had ordered pizza. Two weeks had passed since the world didn't end, and it seemed as if things were moving back to normal. Well, as normal as things ever got around here.

"So." she started, not knowing what else to say. Her sister was staring at this morning's paper as if it would bite her, a scowl twisting her features.

"Huh?" was all Buffy managed to get out.

"Whatchya doin'?"

"Oh, um." Buffy stared at Dawn for a second and then back down at the paper in her hand. The grief was still fresh, and she didn't feel like producing a long-winded explanation of the why. "Looking for a job," she stated, simply.

"What... what kind of job?"

"Dawn, I don't know," she sighed. "The kind that pays the bills and allows us to continue eating."

"Oh." Dawn stared down at her carefully constructed mound of rice, a smile twitching on her mouth. "Hey, you should be a self-defense instructor or something. You'd be really good at that."

Buffy stopped gnawing on her lower lip for a moment and looked at her sister. "I suppose I would, wouldn't I?" She stood then, taking the empty plate in front of her to the sink. "Eat up. We don't have the luxury of wasting food." A shadow passed over her features, darkening them. "I've got to patrol tonight. Will and Tara should be here soon."

She heard Dawn groan behind her, and then her voice rose, shrill and whining. "I don't need a babysitter. I can take care of myself you know. I'm not a kid." Dawn smashed the rice mountain with her fork, stray grains coating the table around her plate, completely contradicting her previous statement.

Buffy turned, leaning against the sink, and clutched the counter with her hands. She wondered for a moment how mom ever did this. Especially trying to handle both of them at once. "Dawnie, look... I know I'm not mom. I know I'll never be mom, but I have to take care of you." Her voice wavered and her eyes stung. "And if it makes me feel better to have someone here with you, in case something happens, you're just going to have to deal with it. I'm not like those parents out there, leaving twelve and thirteen year old kids home alone. I know what the things that go bump in the night look like. I know they're real. And I know it's my fault that they seek us out."

"But...Buff..."

"No buts. Just get over it. Okay, so it's unfair. Myself? I'd rather be a little overprotective than see you hurt or dead. I'm trying very hard to do what's best for you."

The doorbell rang, and she could hear Willow and Tara giggling behind the door. Buffy strode into the living room, tossing a look back at Dawn who was pouting at her plate.

"Please Dawn, just try."

*****

Twirling a stake between her fingers, Buffy tried to forget about all the real-life stuff awaiting her attention at home. Bills, cooking, laundry, cleaning, raising a teenager when she wasn't really much more than one herself - it was enough to drive anyone a little bit wacky. She needed a good slay, a nice tumble to remind her that she was good at something. The tingle on the back of her neck told her the fight was there to be had.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," she called into the night before situating herself atop one of the nearest headstones. Buffy felt a presence behind her, creeping forward, but she waited until it was close enough to be caught at the wrong end of her roundhouse kick before whirling around. Clutching at the stone beneath her, she fought to maintain balance as a hand wrapped around her ankle, blocking it from making contact.

"Now, now pet. That any way to greet an old friend?"

Buffy could almost taste the alcohol on him; it surrounded him with a foul-smelling haze. Disgusted, she shook her foot free of his grip and walked away, mumbling curses under her breath about drunken vampires. Oddly enough, Spike made no move to follow. Her anger had carried her halfway to the cemetery gates when she heard it - a long, low, piteous wail like an animal caught in a trap trying to decide whether or not to gnaw its own leg off. Agony. That's the only word she could find to describe it. Shaking her head, she turned her face up to the stars.

"Why me?"

Spike lay crumpled in a heap behind the headstone, the bottle of whiskey responsible for his condition upturned and seeping into the ground at his feet. He heard her return. Heard her footfalls rustling the grass near him, and tried vainly to pull himself back together. All he could do was laugh when her face, twisted with frustration, floated into view.

"Spike."

"Slayer," he slurred.

"What was that about?"

"What was what about?" An inebriated chuckle pushed past his lips, almost turning into a sob as he gazed up at her.

Buffy shook her head, leaning down to help him stand, slinging his arm over her shoulders and her arm around his waist. "You know what. It had to be you. No one, nothing else around here. Already did my sweep."

"Like you care," Spike muttered, stumbling over a stone in his path, nearly jerking Buffy to the ground with him as he fell.

She sighed and wrapped her arms around him again, dragging him back to his feet. Trying to maneuver both of them was a chore, but she managed to get them going in the general direction of his crypt. "Wouldn't be here if I didn't," she whispered. "Why do you do this to yourself? Does it give you some kind of twisted happy to wander around smelling like a distillery?" He snorted in response.

"Yeah, love. That's it. I get off on drinking myself bloody stupid."

"Then what? Last time you were this gone, you actually congratulated Xander. And the time before that, Willow and Xander were locked in the factory because Drusilla left you for some mucus man."

"Chaos demon," he spat out. "Beginning of the end, that was." He stumbled again, trying to remain on his feet as the memory of those times washed over him.

Buffy leaned him back against the cold stone surface of his crypt as she pushed the door inward with her foot. Grunting she wrapped an arm around Spike's waist and shuffled inside, unceremoniously dumping him in his chair. "Still didn't answer my question."

His eyes half-lidded, he struggled to look at her. "What?"

She was quickly losing her patience. "What is this all about? Swimming in whiskey, howling like hellhounds are nipping at your heels... really, Spike, what prompted this fantastic display of self-destruction?"

He rummaged through his pockets, trying to ignore her. Finally finding his cigarettes, he tapped one out and lit it with a flourish. She was on him in a heartbeat, her fingers grasping the butt from his lips and grinding it under her heel. "Hey," he protested, "My house, my rules, Slayer. I can damn well smoke if I want to." He shook another cigarette free from his pack and brought his lighter to the tip, inhaling deeply. Again, she plucked it from his mouth and stomped it out with her foot. Growling, he surged to his feet, only to tumble back into the chair a few moments later.

"Stop avoiding. I'm trying very hard here to help you out. And although I'm still not sure why, it might be nice if you'd at least cooperate."

"Bloody stubborn, aren't you? Always want things to go just your way. World doesn't always work like that pet."

Spike could almost see the steam rolling off her as she stood in front of him; fists clenched on her hips, lips pursed together. "Fine," she barked at him. "Suit yourself." She turned and stomped towards the door. "Next time, I'll just let you fry."

"Buffy?" he called as he heard the hinges creak. "Please, love, I'm sorry. I just... I don't... I'm not sure what to do."

She gripped the handle on the door, ready to flee out into the night. Memories flashed past her closed eyelids. Spike slumped in a corner, covered in glass shards where Glory had thrown him. Spike left broken and bleeding, tortured by the same because he wouldn't tell her who the Key was. Spike latched on beneath that platform, where he caught Dawn's blood, and saved the world. The last image was the one that made her turn around. The way he smiled as he crossed the threshold. And the words.

I know you'll never love me. I know I'm a monster, but you treat me like a man.

Gritting her teeth, Buffy turned. When she stood behind the chair she closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. "Yes, Spike?"

He didn't look at her, instead focusing his stare on a crack in the wall, trying to maintain a degree of dignity. "Dreams. Ever since... ever since the night on the tower. She's haunting me. Told me I'm destined for great things. And the rage, the hope. The whole bloody world crashing down on me." Removing a third cigarette from his pack, he lit it and took a long drag, hoping to calm his shaking hands. "Didn't ask for this, you know? Just want to be rid of it."

"What? Who? Huh?" Buffy sputtered as she tried to wrap her mind around what he was saying. As her brain finally kicked into gear, she shook herself. "Okay. The 'what' I get. You're having dreams of some kind, yes?" He nodded.

"Nice of you to catch up, pet."

She glared at him. "As for the 'who', you'll have to elaborate on that and the 'huh'... well that's just a testament of how much I don't know what you're talking about."

"Drusilla."

"And again with the 'huh'?"

"The 'who'. Drusilla. She's the one in the dreams, only it's not her. Not even close."

"You're flipping out because you've been having dreams about your ex?"

"No." The drunken haze began to evaporate under her questioning gaze. Spike shook his head slowly and stood. "Slayer, come on now... don't be thick. If that's what all this was about, do you really think I'd be bothering you with it?" His irritation got the better of him then, and he began to pace. "These dreams. It's like I'm experiencing a past that I never had.living all these memories of people I've never met. Feeling their feelings. Bloody exhausting. This woman always comes around after the fact to explain why I saw what I did... or why I felt the way I did. And she looks like Dru, but she's not."

The perplexed look on Buffy's face deepened with every word. "We need Giles," she stated, matter-of-factly.

Spike stared at her. "Why the concern, all of a sudden, pet? Not three weeks ago, you wanted nothing more than for me to get out of town."

"Things change."

"Indeed they do." Flicking the remains of his cigarette away, he moved to the door. "Alright then, love, we're off to see the Watcher."

"Don't call me that," she mumbled before following him out into the night.