Chapter 8: Living the Questions
“…Everywhere the water’s getting rough/Your best intentions may not be enough/I wonder if we’re ever gonna get home tonight/If you break down/I’ll drive out and find you/ If you forget my love/I’ll try and remind you/And stay by you when it don’t come easy/ When it don’t come easy/I don’t know nothin’ except change will come/Year after year what we do is undone/Time keeps moving from a crawl to a run…” ~Patti Griffin, “When It Don’t Come Easy”
Over the past months, Spike and Joyce formed a well-organized team in dealing with the day-to-day affairs of the gallery. Not having the older woman there was like missing a limb. What made it worse was that the doctors seemed to have no clue what all their tests were telling them. He’d called earlier to see if she had any requests for him, and Joyce had both said that no one was sure what was going on and that Buffy was going a little crazy as a result.
Well, Spike was going a little crazy as well. He just had other things to occupy him.
Having Joyce ill was bringing back memories of his mother’s condition. There wasn’t any indication that it was as serious as all that, and medicine had advanced quite a bit, but there were still bad memories. There was also the knowledge that not only would he be the one taking care of the gallery, but also probably watching out for Dawn. Buffy was capable, of course, but hardly willing, and she was in the dorms. If Joyce’s condition didn’t clear up fairly quickly, they’d have to start talking about things like watching Dawn after school and driving her in the morning.
And, of course, there was also the issue of Buffy not being able to cook to save her life, which meant he would be feeding a lot more people than he was used to. Someone had to make sure the Summers ladies ate well, after all.
Spike frowned at the books. The numbers weren’t adding up right, and it looked as though he was going to be spending a lot more time on this than he’d planned. Normally, Joyce was on the ball, but he supposed that the headaches she’d been getting had prevented a lot of stuff from getting done.
He sighed and started going over it all again. Spike had a feeling that this was going to be the beginning of a very bad week.
~~~~~
Buffy was not a happy camper. She had put Spike safely to bed and had been on her way home when she’d had to chase down a very large biker-vamp. That meant that this morning she was left with a strange orb-and those never boded well-and an annoying little sister to corral.
In some ways, the Slayer could understand Spike’s attachment to her mom and Dawn. It was actually kind of nice to know that someone else had their well-being in mind. Spike never did anything halfway, so it made sense that he would be completely devoted to them.
But Joyce just seemed too intent on Dawn. Buffy wanted a cute nickname. She wanted to do a bookclub with her mom and sit on her lap and be babied. Most of the time she felt as though she could barely remember being a kid, let alone what it was like to let mom do all the worrying.
Buffy tried to take some of the burden off her mother’s shoulders, and she got reprimanded for it. Life just sucked sometimes.
The only person in the world who made her feel like a girl was Spike. And not in a bad way. Actually, Spike didn’t make her feel like a girl-he made her feel like a woman.
Buffy sighed. She was tired, she wanted to be able to leave Dawn somewhere out of the way for a very long while, and she wanted to be able to snatch her boyfriend up and go off and do something naughty for the afternoon. Instead, she had Dawn-duty and Spike was stuck at the gallery.
Yet another reason she hated her mom being sick. It left her without a boyfriend as well.
Feeling slightly guilty for her feelings of resentment, Buffy gave Dawn a little push when she entered the gallery. “Be careful,” she warned her.
“Geez, Buffy, it’s not like I’m two,” Dawn complained. “I’m not going to break anything.”
“Fine, make sure you don’t.” Buffy looked around, her eyes coming to rest on Giles, dressed in a purple robe and pointed hat. He smiled at her, and she raised an eyebrow in reply. “Are you open?”
“I have been since nine this morning,” he replied, running a hand over his hair. “So far, you’re the only ones to come.”
Dawn was staring around the shop with wide eyes. “Wow. Check out all the magic junk.”
“Our new slogan,” Giles murmured. Really, he found the younger Summers girl more bewildering than Buffy at her-well, Buffy-est. At least Buffy had been the Slayer, and could be relied upon to be serious at times; Dawn was another matter altogether. “How was your mother this morning?”
Buffy shrugged. “Not great. Spike’s taking over the gallery for the time being until she’s feeling better.”
“Have the doctors called with any results yet?”
Buffy shook her head. “No. They just gave her some pills and said to take some whenever the headaches got bad.”
Giles put a comforting hand on her arm. “I’m sure she’ll be fine, Buffy.”
“I know,” she replied, glancing back over at Dawn, who was poking at something on a shelf. “It’s just-“
“She’s your mother,” Giles supplied.
“Yeah.” Buffy smiled ruefully. “And sometimes it sucks being the grown-up.”
“You aren’t the only grown-up in this, Buffy,” Giles assured her. “Both Spike and I are happy to help with things until Joyce is feeling better.”
“Help me or help mom?” Buffy asked with a lifted eyebrow. Her Watcher gave her a look for the underlying snideness and Buffy shook her head. “Don’t mind me, Giles. I’m just tired. Plus, I was out on patrol last night and came up with this.”
Buffy was digging the object out of her bag when the bell jingled again and Willow and Tara strolled in, followed closely by Xander and Anya. “Hey, Willow!” Dawn called out cheerfully. “You should see all the talisman-mans-guys. I-“
“I’ve got Scooby business first,” Buffy said, shooting her sister a glance and holding up the orb. She was just hoping that they could get through this, keep Dawn occupied, and hang out until Spike could make it over on his lunch break.
The discussion, such as it was, didn’t get far. Giles thought it was supernatural because it was so shiny, but no one else seemed to have an opinion. Books were pulled out and research was attempted while more and more customers filtered into the store. By lunch time, the shop was full, and Buffy called Spike at the gallery to find out if he wanted to meet somewhere else for lunch.
“Sorry, luv,” he replied apologetically. “The books were a complete an’ utter mess. Don’t know what happened exactly, but I lost the entire morning goin’ over invoices an’ all.”
Buffy wanted to whine. She felt dangerously close to whining. On the other hand, she kept reminding herself that Spike was doing this for her mother, just like she had made breakfast for her mother.
Even if he got credit for it and she didn’t.
“That’s fine,” she finally replied, trying to sound gracious. “I think I’ll just take Dawn back home and check up on Mom then. I know she wasn’t feeling very good this morning.”
“Sure thing, Buffy,” he replied. “I’ll see you later tonight, yeah? Tell your mom not to worry ’bout feedin’ the Bit.”
She hung up the phone, feeling cheated. This is what she got for dating a guy who had a heartbeat and a sense of responsibility, not to mention a real job. Buffy started out the door, calling to Dawn. She would just have to keep herself occupied.
~~~~~
Spike felt guilty. It wasn’t as though he’d lied, precisely. He had spent the morning trying to get the books straight, and he was behind on his work. On the other hand, the ex-vampire knew quite well that he could have made time for lunch with Buffy.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Buffy, but with Joyce out of commission for who knew how long, Spike felt he needed to catch some time anywhere he could. Which was why he was spending the lunch hour working on his laptop rather than spending time with his girlfriend.
He had over a hundred pages so far, and Spike knew he felt the rhythm of prose much more accurately than he’d ever felt the rhyme of poetry. They said write what you know; well, Spike wrote about being Love’s Bitch. It was remarkably easy.
There was a small, uncomfortable sense that he hadn’t let Buffy in on his extracurricular activities, but he wasn’t sure that it was any of her business. It wasn’t like he was cheating on her; it was just writing.
After an hour-an hour that passed too quickly-Spike shut the laptop down and flipped the sign again. The gallery was quiet for the next few hours, allowing him to finish getting caught up on paperwork and processing orders. When the bell above the door did ring, Tara was the one to walk through. “Hey, Glinda,” Spike said. “What brings you by?”
“Not much,” Tara replied. “I just wanted to check up on you.”
Spike raised an eyebrow. “‘m not the one who’s sick, luv, but thanks for carin’.”
Tara gave him a pointed look. “Spike-“
“‘m fine, ducks.”
Tara rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me that, Spike. I know you haven’t been sleeping, and you’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”
“That’s my decision to make,” Spike said, a little heat in his tone. “I’m handling it.”
“Don’t be macho, Spike,” she replied. “It’s not attractive.”
Spike glared at her, and then his shoulders slumped. “Tara, there isn’t much of a choice. What I did-“
“It wasn’t you!” Tara protested. “It was-“
“Spike?” he inquired with a cock of his eyebrow. “Maybe I’m not the demon anymore, but the demon’s still in me. ‘s not somethin’ you can just get rid of. Difference between you an’ me is that you just thought you were a demon. I really was.”
“You remember being the demon,” Tara corrected him. “Everyone has darkness in them, Spike. Even me.” At his look, she gave him another look. “Don’t even question my ability to kick your ass.”
Spike laughed. Not just a little chuckle, either, but a full-out belly laugh. Tara, far from being insulted, simply smiled back. “Needed a laugh, Glinda,” he admitted.
“I could still kick your ass,” Tara replied.
“I have no doubt of it,” Spike assured her. “Not in the least.”
“So have you written anything yet?” The gentle witch knew when it was time to change the subject. There were things she could do for him, of course, to help him sleep, ease his mind. Spike had to be the one to ask for help, though. Otherwise it wouldn’t mean as much. She just wanted to be sure he knew that he could ask.
He shrugged in reply, his cheeks flushing a little. “A bit.” Spike hesitated. He trusted Tara, he really did, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted anyone to read what he’d written yet. It would be like opening himself up in the worst possible way.
The last time anyone had read his material, he’d wound up brutally rejected and had then gotten himself turned. It had left a bad taste in his mouth. “You know,” Tara began. “If you want me to take a look at it, I’d be honored. I wouldn’t say anything to anybody.”
Spike hesitated again, and then the bell rang, announcing the arrival of a customer. Impulsively, he called out, “I’ll be right with you.” Grabbing Tara by the elbow, he steered her into the back office and pointed at the laptop. “‘s all there. Just-“
“I’ll be gentle,” she promised.
Spike gave a sharp nod and went out to help the customer. It was probably a good thing for his peace of mind that the gallery became so busy after that; he had no time to think about Tara’s possible reactions to his work. When the time finally came to close up, Spike flipped the sign and the lock with a sigh of relief.
Walking back to the office slowly, he stared at the woman until she finally looked up at him. “Well?”
“It’s good,” she said simply.
Spike’s eyes narrowed. “You aren’t just sayin’ that, are you? I mean-“
“It’s really good, Spike.” Tara looked at him earnestly. “You really do have a gift.”
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, grabbing the other chair and taking a seat. “Who’d’ve known? William the Bloody Awful Poet can write prose.”
“Is that what they called you?” she asked gently.
Spike looked away. “It was a long time ago. Doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Doesn’t it?” she replied cryptically. “Honestly, though, this is good stuff, Spike. I just got sucked right in. You even had me tearing up in a couple of places.”
Spike ducked his head, a shy grin spreading across his features. “Ta, luv. That’s-it’s nice to hear.”
“Well, I might be a little biased, but I’ve taken enough English courses to know good storytelling when I read it. You really ought to think about doing this for a living.” Tara smiled. “Or maybe you could teach. You’ve helped Dawn with her papers enough that I know you’d be good at it.”
Spike stared at her. “Rupert said the same thing to me the other day, suggested I think about teachin’. Dunno, really. I did a bit of tutoring at University, to supplement my funds, but that’s a bit different.”
Tara smiled at him. “I think you could manage it. And I definitely want to know what happens next. If you want, I can edit it for you. Sometimes it’s hard to catch your own mistakes.”
“I’d appreciate it,” he replied, glancing at the clock. “‘d better be goin’ though. Promised Joyce I’d turn up after I closed the gallery. She’s still feelin’ bad, so I thought I’d make dinner.”
“I’m sure she’ll appreciate it,” Tara replied. “I’d better go too. The dorms won’t be open for dinner too much longer.”
Spike reached out tentatively to pat her on the shoulder. “Thanks, Tara.”
Somehow, Tara knew it was for more than just not ripping his story to shreds. “You’re welcome, William.”
~~~~~
Buffy desperately wanted the spell to work. It seemed too far-fetched to be a coincidence that the crazy watchman would have known that her mother was ill. And besides, she’d seen him the previous night, and he’d been perfectly normal. Nice, even. No, something had happened, and that something was also attacking her mother and making her sick. All she had to do was find the culprit and kill it.
Deep inside, however, Buffy knew it wasn’t that easy.
She knew it wasn’t the orb, since it hadn’t made her or any of the others crazy, and no one else had seemed to suspect Joyce’s illness was anything other than normal human frailty.
Buffy didn’t deal with human frailty, though. She dealt with monsters and magic and things that went bump in the night. There wasn’t anything she wasn’t prepared to face-she’d let her boots do the stompin’ and her fists do the talkin’. It was just that simple.
There was a part of her that understood that it was quite likely that Joyce had simply gotten sick. That the doctors weren’t evil, but simply limited by their own finite knowledge. That even moms got sick sometimes, and no one could do anything about it.
The Slayer in her refused to accept it, however, and so she seized upon the watchman’s words like a drowning man grabs hold of a life preserver. She would go into a trance, she would do the spell (because the Slayer did not accept limitations), and she would end it.
Buffy would be the hero, and her mom would finally understand what it meant for her to be the Slayer.
It was, then, something of a shock to the system for her to walk downstairs and find that nothing was wrong with her mom. The family pictures looked odd, with Dawn flickering in and out, but she was still trying to find some reason for her mother’s illness, some curse or hex or something.
Anything to explain why her mom was sick.
She hardly registered that Joyce was going out; instead, she wandered back upstairs, watching as the images in the pictures flickered in and out. She saw Dawn’s room-now a girl’s bedroom, now a spare room used for storage. She saw her sister.
Her sister wasn’t real. “You’re not my sister.”
Buffy hadn’t even realized that she’d spoken out loud until Dawn replied, hurt. “Yeah, like I want to be related to your nasty self.”
Grabbing whatever-it-was by the arms, Buffy did what she did best. She threatened, all her fear and anger coming to rest on the shoulders of a girl who wasn’t even real.
~~~~~
Spike entered the Summers home by the front door with the key Joyce had given him. He had all kinds of keys now, which seemed strange to a man who had been a vampire for over a century. Even so, he appreciated the level of trust they represented. Joyce had given him keys to the house, as well as the gallery. He still had his key to Giles’ apartment, and he also had a key to the Magic Box, since he’d been told he was welcome to use the training room anytime he liked.
Dumping the bag of groceries on the kitchen island, Spike ambled into the living room, looking for the residents. “Joyce? You here?”
The sound of a scuffle startled him, and Spike took the stairs two at a time in the direction of the sound. The last thing he expected to see was Buffy attacking Dawn. “Buffy!”
Ignoring him, Buffy gave her sister another shake. “You stay away from my mother!” She shoved Dawn away, causing her to hit the closet door.
“Slayer!” Spike grabbed Buffy’s arm, pulling her away. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doin’? This is your sister!”
“She’s not my sister,” Buffy replied, her tone strangely flat.
Spike stared at her. “Slayer?Buffy? What are you on?” He moved to put himself in between her and Dawn carefully, not wanting to alarm her.
She was spared from having to answer by the ringing of the phone. Spike watched as she picked up the handset, and then he quickly went over to check on Dawn. “Bit, you okay?”
The girl nodded, obviously confused and on the verge of tears. From Buffy’s end of the conversation, Spike made out that she was talking to Giles and that she’d been attempting some spell that hadn’t worked. When she hung up, he turned to face her, putting Dawn squarely behind him. “Buffy, I don’t know what the bleedin’ hell it is you think you’re doin’, but-“
“I have to go out,” she said, interrupting him. “Watch her.”
“Your mum-“
“I’ll be back before she is,” Buffy replied, staring at him. Spike seemed normal, except for the shadow that lay across his face-a shadow that wasn’t caused by the lighting. After a few seconds, Spike heard the slam of the front door.
“Dawn, luv, you okay?” He tipped her head to the side to make sure she hadn’t been bruised too badly, and Dawn shook her head miserably.
“She hurt my arms.”
Spike pulled her to him in a rough hug, sending a worried glance towards the direction Buffy had gone. “What say we make some dinner, huh? ‘ve got a new recipe I thought I might try out on you lot. We’ll put somethin’ aside for your mum and sis if they don’t make it back in time to eat.”
Dawn nodded, sniffling. “Spike, I don’t know what happened.”
“I know, Sweet Bit,” he murmured, just as clueless. “I know. We’ll get it sorted, don’t you worry.” His grip tightened just a bit. “You don’t have to worry about a thing.”
~~~~~
Buffy felt a building sense of panic as she headed to the warehouse where she’d encountered the security guard for the first time, where she’d found the orb. She had no idea what she expected to find, but she wanted answers.
She really wanted answers.
Shoving the memory of Spike’s face out of her mind, the way he’d looked at her when she’d tossed Dawn into the closet, Buffy set out with renewed purpose. Once she figured out what that thing’s purpose was, she could show everyone. Spike would understand once he knew the truth.
The guy in the brown robe who was tied to a chair was something of a surprise. Buffy hurried over to release him. “You’re the one who planted the Dagon Sphere, right? Don’t worry, I got it, and I’m stronger than I look. Besides,” she whirled, grabbing the woman sneaking up on her by the throat. “I’m not stupid.”
She wasn’t expecting to get thrown across the room.
~~~~~
“This is really good,” Dawn said, digging into the stir-fry and rice that Spike had whipped up. He was digging into his own plate-full with equal relish, having surprised himself at his own success.
“Cooking’s not too hard if you can follow directions,” he replied. “Least, I don’t think it is.”
They both heard the sound of the front door opening, and moments later both Giles and Joyce joined them in the kitchen. “You alright, Joyce?” Spike asked, quickly rising to pull a chair out for her.
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “Well, maybe not fine, but I’ll survive.” She gave Giles a grateful look. “Thanks for seeing me home, Rupert.”
“Well, I was hoping to get fed,” he admitted, looking at the food with undisguised longing. “I’m a bit hungry.”
“Sit down, both of you,” Spike replied. “I’ll get it.”
“Why don’t I give you a hand?” Giles asked, following him into the kitchen. “Do you know where Buffy is?”
Spike shook his head. “Thought she’d be with you, seein’ how you were the last one to talk to her.” Casting a cautious glance towards the dining room, he asked in a low voice, “What was she up to tonight? When I got here, I found her throwin’ Dawn around like she was a ragdoll. Kept sayin’ somethin’ like Dawn wasn’t her sister.”
Giles frowned. “She was doing a spell, tirer la couture. Apparently while she was at the hospital getting Joyce’s medicine today, a security guard told her that ‘they would come at her through her family.’ Buffy said he was perfectly sane when she ran into him last night.”
Spike frowned. “She was with me last night, and-“
Giles shook his head. “After she left your apartment, actually. She ran into a large vampire, chased him down, and was stopped by a night watchman who found an orb and thought it was hers. We discovered that it was called the Dagon Sphere and was meant to ward off great evil.”
“What? She thought Dawn was the great evil?” Spike snorted. “Bit annoying some days maybe, but hardly evil.”
Giles sighed. “I have no idea, Spike. It doesn’t make much sense to me. Quite frankly, I think it has something to do with the fact that Buffy is having difficulty accepting Joyce’s illness. She thought it might be a spell or a curse of some kind.”
“Slayer’s got plenty of enemies,” Spike acknowledged. “Most demons won’t go through the family, though. No fun that way. They’ll go right for the Slayer’s throat. Unless you’re Angelus, of course, an’ he’s just a bloody great wanker.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Giles murmured fervently. “No, I think you’re right, but Buffy will have to come to her own conclusions about that.”
Spike sighed, handing Giles a full plate. “Well, nothin’ we can do about it now. Hopefully, Buffy’ll get back soon an’ she can enlighten us as to what the hell she was thinkin’, attackin’ Dawn.”
“Indeed,” Giles replied. “I just hope she didn’t go off and do something rash. The presence of such a powerful talisman as the Dagon Sphere suggests that we may have a serious problem on our hands.”
Spike looked out into the dining room at Dawn and Joyce who were talking quietly. “As if we didn’t already have a serious problem on our hands.”
~~~~~
Buffy wasn’t used to getting her ass kicked by a girl. Not that she was sexist or anything, but serious challenges in the past had come from big ugly guys or giant snakes or an ugly demonic cyborg. Challenges, as a rule, didn’t come from snotty bitches in ‘ho’s clothing.
For once, Buffy was grateful for a villain’s tossing her across the room as she landed next to the monk. She hurried to get the injured man up and out of the warehouse, focused on getting to safety and not on defeating the bad guy.
Judging by how roundly she’d gotten trounced, beating up the bad girl-in this case-was going to be something of a problem.
She hurried the monk along, noting the sound of breaking concrete behind her, but not stopping to discover what had caused it, or if it meant their safety. They collapsed near a chain-link fence, and Buffy somehow knew that the monk would not rise again, even though she hated to admit defeat.
“We have to get going!” she urged him.
He shook his head weakly. “You have to protect the Key.”
Buffy frowned. “The Dagon Sphere-“
“No, not that. For centuries it had no form at all. Then, my brethren and I-its only keepers. The Abomination found us. We had to hide it, give it form, molded its flesh…sent it to you.”
Buffy was quick on the uptake. She immediately knew that the monk was talking about Dawn. Her stomach churned. Despite her earlier anger, the thought that Dawn really wasn’t her sister made her want to cry. She remembered-
“My memories,” she finally objected when the monk confirmed her suspicions.
“We built them,” he admitted.
“Then unbuild them!” Buffy cried. It was too much. The burden of her mother’s illness, and added to that the burden of her sister’s secret identity. She had never asked for this. “This is my life!”
“You cannot abandon.”
Buffy wanted to reply, “No shit, Sherlock.” She had never been derelict in her duty. Oh, she’d wanted to with the prophecy of her death at the hands of the Master, but she’d gone into the lion’s den and came out kicking. If Dawn was really human-“What is she?”
“Human, now human,” he said, seemingly reading the thoughts behind the question. “And innocent. She needs you.”
Buffy wanted to scream. Everyone needed her-needed her to save the world, to make it a better place, to do her duty. When wasn’t she needed? “She’s not my sister…”
“She doesn’t know that.” And the man breathed his last.
Buffy had some time to think as she walked home. She didn’t bother calling the police to explain what had happened. They would employ the standard reasoning anyway, so it wasn’t as though it would do any good. Who would she tell? Who could she tell?
The monk had wanted to hide the Key, which meant that Dawn’s safety rested on as few people as possible knowing the truth. Giles was a must, of course, but Spike was a big question mark. Should she tell her boyfriend, knowing that it might put him in more danger than he could handle?
On the other hand, could she hope to hide it from him, given what he’d seen her do earlier?
Spike would know something was up, just because he knew her so well. What Buffy needed to figure out was if she could really add to his burden by letting him know the truth about Dawn. A girl he loved like his own sister.
She had no answer, even as she approached her front door. No answers at all, to any of it, except that she loved Dawn and would protect her with her life if necessary.
It was what the Slayer did, after all.