Shoulders on a Summer Night
Dawn pushed the backdoor forcefully, causing it to slam closed with a loud bang. The noise no doubt would’ve echoed throughout the entire house and that thought elicited a small half-hearted smile. Good, at least then they’ll realise I actually exist.
An exaggerated sigh forced its way through her lips. No one cared to listen to what she had to say anymore. Now that some time had passed since… well, since that night, it was as if everything had returned to normal. Willow and Tara continued with their study of magic. Anya persisted in running the Magic Box as if it were her own, to which Giles would sigh, clean his glasses and then ignore. Xander still mocked Spike, and Spike still didn’t care.
Now that she thought about it, Dawn realised that Spike was the only one of the whole bunch who seemed to notice the great gaping hole in their lives.
Buffy.
Dead.
Dawn shuddered. She didn’t like that word, not thinking it, reading it, saying it or hearing it. But it was the truth. Euphemisms weren’t Dawn’s style. She said it and thought it as it was. Just like Spike.
Taking a few steps forward Dawn lowered herself to sit on the steps of the patio, curling her arms around her knees and holding them tightly. Her eyes fluttered shut, cutting of the stream of silent tears that had begun a slow descent.
A rustle of leaves underfoot alerted her to the presence of someone but she didn’t lift her head. She knew who it was.
“You alright, sweetling?”
Dawn sniffed, dragging the sleeve of her shirt across her cheeks to dry her tears.
“No,” she replied shortly, her tone petulant.
Spike chuckled quietly before taking a place beside the young girl.
Without words they leaned toward each other, Dawn’s head on Spike’s shoulder while his arm wrapped around her back and pulled her close to his side. Just as they had many a night before. They understood each other, knew what the other felt—not like Giles or the others. Neither Dawn nor Spike could just ‘move on’ with their lives without Buffy being apart of their futures. It didn’t seem right.
“Willow has reprogrammed the bot,” Dawn stated quietly. “They want to send it out on patrol. And exist in the house, in her room. That’s why…”
Spike breathed in sharply, his whole body tensing. The idea had been suggested a couple of times but he didn’t think they’d actually do it. The robot, bringing it to life in her place, it wasn’t right. Buffy wouldn’t want this…
“’m sure they’ve reasons for—”
“Re-booting that plastic mock-ula of my sister and sending it to parent teacher interviews?”
A wave of guilt washed over Spike. If it wasn’t for him, wasn’t for his obsession—as Buffy had so eloquently put pre-Glory days—the blasted creation wouldn’t even exist.
“Sorry, pet.” And he was. Sorry for being the reason the robot was created in the first place, and sorry because a part of him knew bringing it back into action was necessary. Without it there was no guarantee Dawn would be able to stay in Sunnydale and Spike knew that she didn’t want to leave.
“S’all right,” Dawn mumbled in resignation. The robot was going to be used no matter what she had to say on the matter, she might as well get used to the idea now before it she had to see it in all its synthetic-ness in a few days.
“I should go back inside—even though they probably haven’t even noticed that I’m gone.”
A wilted version of Spike’s patented wicked smile rose on his face. “Well what say we give ‘em something to worry ‘bout, eh?”
Dawn’s face lit up. “Can we go to the Crypt?”
After a moment’s hesitation Spike acquiesced with a nod. They’d expect that was where she took off to anyhow.
“Righto then, let’s get goin’ before they hear our plans and we spoil the scare.”
“Ooh! Can you tell me stories, like that one time, about you’re evil-eating-people days?” Dawn begged, pain flashing through her eyes for a moment, the memory of that night with her sister flashing through her mind. “It’ll be fun and I promise I won’t get scared.”
Spike huffed. “Takes all the fun out of it if you don’t scare.”
Dawn pouted. “Please?”
With an exaggerated sigh Spike agreed. “So long as next time I’m ‘ere you make me a hot chocolate with the bitty marshmallows in it.”
“Deal.”
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