Home : Stories by Author : Stories by Kit H. : Nothing's Wrong
Summary: Something's definitely
wrong with Buffy. Spike might be the only one who can help her.
AUTHOR: Kit H.
EMAIL: vidprin@aol.com
RATING: R
PAIRING: Buffy/Spike
SPOILERS: Season 6 'Wrecked" & 'Smashed'
WARNINGS: This contains real life depression issues like self inflicted wounds--if
you're not comfortable with it please don't read.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. I worship Joss.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is my first Buffy/Spike fic, and it's not beta'd so please
be gentle! Feedback is groovy, as long as it's well intentioned.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The cut was small, but deep. Buffy hissed and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Her heartbeat raced as adrenaline flooded her system. She regulated her breathing and cleared her mind of all thoughts, concentrating on nothing but taking the edge off the pain. Still as a statue, she sat in a state of suspended animation, heedless of the world turning beneath her or the slow, steady drip of blood down her arm. The comforting pull of darkest oblivion beckoned to her once again.
Until a sharp knock shattered the silence.
"Buffy, are you in there?"
With the gasp of a woman about to drown, Buffy surfaced from the deep, shaking her head to fight the disorientation. Someone was pounding on the door. It was Dawn.
"Buffy? Answer me!"
The old-fashioned glass
knob twisted and rattled as her sister struggled with the locked door. For a
moment Buffy remained silent, watching sparkles of light dance off the crystal
facets. Then, with
an effort, she snapped fully out of her trance.
"I'm here, Dawn. Just...just give me a second."
Wiping away the blood with a nearby towel, she pulled down her sleeve to cover the wound.
"Xander and Anya are here and they brought Chinese," came Dawn's muffled voice from the hallway.
"I'll be right there," she replied. "I..I was just...sleeping."
"Whatever. Just hurry up or you'll be out of luck!"
"O.K."
As her sister's footsteps retreated down the stairs, Buffy stuffed the bloodstained towel under her bed. With a shuddering sigh, she opened the drawer of the bedside table and took out a Band-Aid, dropping the razor blade back into its hiding place.
"Buffy seems better recently, don't you think?" asked Anya, as she dusted a display case in the Magic Box.
At the nearby front counter, Xander and Tara's eyes met in a short but troubled exchange. Dawn looked up from her homework in time to catch it.
"I mean, she's been more pleasant to everyone," Anya continued, cheerfully, "and she stares, zombie-like, into space much less frequently."
"Anya---," Xander said, a strong warning note in his voice, "Ix-nay with the Ombie-Zay." In a less-than-subtle stage whisper, he added, "She's in the next room on the phone. She might hear you!"
"Oh, piffle," the ex-demon replied, with a toss of her hair. "And anyway, so what if she does? That was me saying a nice thing about her. And here's another observation that's equally nice. I've counted the times she smiled today since she came in, and the total so far is six. More proof for my theory that she's improving."
Tara joined in, a bit weakly. "Well, yeah. I have seen her smiling a lot more."
Unwilling to add his thoughts to the conversation, Xander sat back in his chair and turned to Dawn. "What do you say, Dawnie? How's she been at home?"
Dawn put her pencil down and closed her book. She thought about the strings of garlic hanging from her sister's windows, and the extra-large crucifix she'd taken to wearing this past week. Creepy, but not beyond the normal Slayer weirdness she'd gotten used to over the years.
"Sure, I guess she smiles more and all. She laughs in the right places at sitcoms. She's even planning to cook a big turkey for Christmas, just like Mom used to do. You're all invited, by the way."
"I'm sensing an impending 'but'," said Xander.
"But, there's something not right. Most of the time she's all 'look at me, I'm Happy Girl', but if you catch her when she thinks no one's watching."
"What?" asked Tara.
"I don't know, it's hard to explain. Another thing. She spends a lot of time locked in her room alone. She says she's just sleeping.
When she comes out she's all kinda zoned for awhile. But then she snaps out of it and it's back to Happy Girl again."
The Slayer in question suddenly appeared in the doorway that led to the storeroom, holding up the phone and gesturing with it to her sister.
"Dawn, Giles wants to say hi to you. C'mon, this call's costing him a fortune."
The younger Summers girl leapt to her feet and hurried to take the receiver, disappearing with it into the storeroom. Buffy took her sister's place at the table beside Xander.
"So how's Giles?" he asked.
"Good. He sounds good," Buffy answered, distracted.
Tara spoke up hesitantly. "Did he s-say anything about W-willow?"
Buffy nodded. "He managed to get her into that place the Council runs. You know, that hush-hush rehab place for witches."
"Did he have any idea. I mean, do they know how long---?"
"There's no quick cure," Anya interrupted. "No cure at all, really. Addiction to magicks is more powerful than any drug. I've seen cases that took years-"
"Anya!" Once again, Xander cut her off with a warning, but not quite quickly enough.
Dawn stood trembling in the doorway, a look of fury shadowing her youthful features. "Good! I hope it takes a long, long time. I hope she never comes back!" Bursting into tears, she ran into the bathroom.
Buffy got to her feet to follow, stopping first to give Tara's arm a supportive squeeze. "Don't let her get to you. She's angry and hurt. So are the rest of us, but it doesn't mean we don't still love Willow and want her to get well."
Tara looked at her, too choked up to speak. Buffy hurried to catch up with her sister.
"Dawnie? Are you O.K. in there?"
Buffy leaned against the bathroom door, listening to the sounds of crying on the other side. After a minute, the door opened and Dawn beckoned her inside.
"I'm sorry," she sniffled into a handful of toilet paper. "Tara probably hates me now, doesn't she?"
"Nope. Don't be silly. Tara understands. We all do. You've got every right to be angry at Willow."
"I still don't understand why she acted that way, do you? It was like, well - she wasn't even Willow anymore. Like she turned into a whole different person."
Buffy shifted uncomfortably, looking for a way to change the subject.
"What she did was so selfish and so - what do you call it - so self-destructive. And she was always so smart. How could someone that smart and that strong do something that stupid?"
A cold sweat broke out on Buffy's forehead as a wave of nausea struck her from out of nowhere. "Um, I don't know. I guess it's complicated."
"I was so scared that night. I thought I was going to die."
Buffy gulped against the bile that rose in her throat. Her voice trembled as she spoke. "Oh, Dawn. God, I'm so sorry. It's my fault you were with her. I should have been paying more attention to what was going on. I should have been with you myself, but I was."
"Buffy?" Dawn saw her sister go pale and wobbly in front of her and forgot her own tears for the moment. "What's wrong? Are you O.K.?"
"No, I'm not," the Slayer whispered, almost to herself. "I'm not O.K. I'm bad. I'm, um, feeling --- really bad."
"I'm gonna get help," said Dawn, turning to go.
"No. No, don't. I'll be okay."
With a supreme effort, Buffy tried to pull herself together. She wanted to run. She needed to get away. She had to find a place to be alone, a place where she could do what she desperately needed to do.
"You're sick, Buffy. I'll get Xander to drive us home right now, all right?"
"No!" Buffy yelled, startling the girl. "No," she said again more calmly. "Just, give me a few minutes alone in here, would you? I think it was probably just something I ate. If I can stay still for a little while it might pass." Buffy steadied herself, thinking this might just work. "You know, I'll pit all that Slayer willpower against my body's barf reflex. Be good as new in just a few minutes. But I'm gonna need total quiet and privacy, OK?"
"Are you sure you don't wanna---?"
"Yeah, I'm sure."
Dawn looked worried and confused, but she agreed. "I'll get my stuff and get ready to go. If you need anything, just yell. We'll be right out there."
Buffy nodded and locked the door after her. Shakily making her way to the stall, she sat on the toilet and looked around for something to use. Snapping the edge off the metal toilet paper holder was easy. Rolling up her sleeve, she felt herself start to relax with the first sharp, sweet, punishing sting of the makeshift blade.
"But Buffy, it's nearly Christmas! Can't I? Pleeeaase?"
"No. But you can hand me the box of green ones."
Pouting, Dawn took the package of shiny glass balls over to where her sister was plugging in the Christmas tree lights. She frowned at the big evergreen. "I still think it looks crooked. And those red ones are too close together."
"Yes, ma'am, Martha Stewart, Jr.," cracked Buffy. "A little less with the criticism and a little more with the helping would be, um - helpful."
Dawn grabbed a box of snowflake-shaped ornaments and half-heartedly began hooking them onto random branches. She was so not in the mood to be doing this. And she wasn't in the mood to give up on what she wanted, either.
"It can be your present to me," she wheedled. "I don't really need those suede boots I asked for. You can take 'em back and save the money. This would be the world's greatest present and it's, like, totally free. It's all I want, really. It'd make me so happy."
"I said no, Dawn," Buffy replied, tired of having this conversation yet again. "You can NOT go visit Spike. And he most definitely can NOT come over for Christmas dinner. Especially not Christmas. This is a season of goodness, and he's a bad. I want him out of our lives once and for all. It's for your own good - believe me."
"For my own good? Losing someone else in my life is for my own good?" Dawn discarded the box of ornaments and began pacing across the room. "My God, Buffy - how much do you think I can stand to lose? Mom died. You died. Riley and Giles went away. Willow turned against us. And now you want me to give up my friendship with Spike, too? How mean can you be?"
Buffy's battered heart ached anew. She didn't want to fight today. She'd planned to put on her Happy Face and make it a Good Day. They'd do a little festive hall decking this morning, followed by a fun-filled evening at the ice rink. She knew they needed to spend more sisterly Q-time together, even if all they seemed to do lately was argue. It was always about the same subject - Spike. She had to be firm on her Spike Ban, but she tried to do it gently in hopes of salvaging the day.
"I'm sorry. I miss them all, too. A lot. Especially Mom and Giles. But trust me, Spike is not your friend."
"You don't know. You weren't here. He was good to me -- better than anyone else. And I care about him. I need him. I am not going to let you take him away, too, just because you're so mad about being brought back here."
"I'm not mad."
"You are so. You hate being back. And you hate all of us for wanting you to be happy here."
"I am happy here."
"Liar! You pretend to be, but I know it's all an act."
"You're wrong, Dawn," Buffy stated, trying her best to be the grown up. "I'm not angry, I'm not unhappy, and I don't hate anyone."
"Oh, that's right - I forgot," Dawn shot back at her. "You don't hate anyone because you can't hate. You can't love either. You're as dead inside as the Buffybot, just watching everyone around you suffer with that stupid fake smile on your face."
"Dawn, stop," Buffy pleaded, but Dawn was clearly beyond the stopping point.
"Why? Am I gonna make you cry? Go ahead - cry! I'd like to see that. You haven't shown a genuine human emotion in weeks. Can you feel ANYTHING, Buffy? Well, can you?"
"How dare you ask that?" choked Buffy, "Of course I feel. Of course I can love. You're my sister and I love you more than you know."
"If you loved me, you'd let me see him!"
Despite her best intentions, Buffy's patience evaporated. She raised her voice and snapped at her sister. "Dawn, I do love you. Even when you're acting like a spoiled brat. But for the millionth time, I've told you no and I mean no. Now stop with the tantrum throwing and help me finish the tree."
Dawn stalked over to the half-decorated tree and, showing a strength that took Buffy by surprise, pushed the whole thing over with a giant crash. Ornaments and light bulbs shattered, sending fragments of glass flying around the room. Water from the overturned base spread across the carpet in an ugly black splotch.
"There -- it's finished. And I'm out of here," declared the furious teenager as she ran out the front door.
Standing amid the ruins of the living room and her fractured relationship with her sister, Buffy surveyed the damage. At her feet, the angel tree-topper lay in little pieces. The delicate china heirloom had been her mother's; a favorite decoration Joyce had cherished ever since she was a little girl.
Buffy knelt down and picked up the broken shards, closing them tightly in her small hands until they cut into her skin. She sighed and closed her eyes as streaks of blood began to seep through her fingers.
A half-hour later, having cleaned up the worst of the disaster at home, Buffy arrived at the door of Spike's crypt. Quietly, she pushed it open a crack, just enough to see inside.
"I know you miss her, pet. I miss her, too. Your mum was one of the best people I ever met."
"I just want to go to sleep and never wake up," wailed Dawn between sobs, clinging to the vampire for dear life.
Spike stroked her back and gave her a squeeze. His tone turned stern, in a big brotherly way. "Hey, now. We'll have none of that kind of talk, right? How would Mum feel if she heard you say a thing like that? It'd break her heart, it would."
Cupping her chin with his hand, he titled her head up to look into her crumpled-up face. You're breaking what's left of mine, he thought.
Fumbling in the pocket of his duster, he came up with a passably clean handkerchief, which he handed to her. "Mop up, now, like a good girl, and I'll see if I can find some hot chocolate mix. Cocoa cures all, right?"
Dawn nodded and blew her nose loudly, then threw her arms around him once again and held on tight.
"Oh Spike, I've missed you so much!"
Feeling a familiar presence nearby, Spike looked up to find the Buffy standing inside the doorway. She met his eyes and cleared her throat to speak.
"Dawn."
Her sister looked back over her shoulder, but didn't let go of the vampire. "Make her go away, Spike. Please?"
Spike sighed, caught between the two women he'd been blessed, (or was it cursed?), to love.
"Dawn, get your things. We're leaving. Now."
"No. You can't make me!"
"You know this place is off limits. But we'll talk about that later. It's time for your doctor appointment. Xander's waiting outside with the car to drive you."
Reluctantly, Spike gently disengaged himself from the teenager's arms, brushing a few tears off her cheek before smoothing back her hair.
"Better listen to big sis, Niblet."
"But I don't want to leave," Dawn whined.
Spike attempted a smile, and reached down to take her injured hand in his. "There, now. Stop whining. Want the broken wing to get better, right? Then best not keep the good doctor waiting."
Dawn sighed and nodded. She gave him a kiss on the cheek. Not looking at her sister, she shuffled sullenly to the door. Buffy didn't follow.
"You're not coming?"
"I'll meet you there."
"But what are you---?"
"Dawn. Go now. You don't want to be late."
"If you hurt him, I'll never, ever speak to you again for as long as I live," Dawn sputtered, fighting back more tears.
Buffy heard the door slam shut behind her.
Spike rushed to his own defense. "She just showed up here out of the blue, Slayer. In an awful state, she was, too. Crying and carrying on like the world was ending - again. Whatever's got her so upset?"
"None of your business," Buffy snapped.
"I beg to differ. You made her my business when you made me promise to look after the girl."
"I'm back now. You can forget the promise."
"If you think that's true, you don't know me very well," he challenged.
"I wish I didn't know you at all," she snarled from between clenched teeth.
"Oh, but you do know me. In the Biblical sense in fact, if memory serves," Spike purred, smirking at her as he leaned casually against the wall. He waited for an angry comeback, or better yet - a physical attack. But she didn't react at all. For a minute, he wondered if she'd even heard him.
The silence stretched on, filled only with the sound of sputtering candle flames and the slow drip of water in a far off corner. Spike frowned. Something here was definitely off.
"Slayer?"
His voice snapped her out of it. Eyes blazing, she turned a venomous stare upon him. "What?"
"You all right?"
"No, I am SO not all right. What I am is seriously pissed off."
"Nuh-uh. That's not it," Spike mused. He looked her up and down, drinking in her nearness after nearly a month of being shut out of her life. Her skin was paler than usual, and the normally glowing gold hair looked dull and lifeless. He examined her closely, finding more clues in the dark circles beneath her eyes; becoming more concerned about her with each passing second. "There's something else, something different about you - a feeling I'm getting. Like you're-"
"If you use the "W" word again, I swear to God I'll stake you where you stand."
"The 'W'--? Oh. Right." Spike looked down at the floor and swallowed hard. His next words were so quiet she could barely hear them. "No. No, luv. I'm sorry 'bout that. Never should've said it. I was just. You were driving me mad. It was a lie; a bloody stupid thing to say."
When he finally looked up again to meet her eyes, she experienced an involuntary feeling of warmth at the genuine remorse that filled them. Scowling, she looked away, staring into the distance. It was time for her to end this conversation. She should turn around and walk away right now, but her leaden limbs refused to obey her. Instead, her shoulders slumped. Her whole body sagged.
Spike saw the change come over her. Tilting his head to the side, he tried again to puzzle out what was the matter.
"No," Buffy said in a voice that was deathly calm.
"No what, luv?"
She shook her head and brushed the hair out of her face with a trembling hand, gathering herself to continue. "No," she repeated, as she met his gaze again. "It wasn't a lie. It's the truth, and we both know it."
Stunned, Spike felt his head reel as pain stabbed his heart. Oh god, what had he done to her?
"I. Came. Back. Wrong." Her steady voice held no emotion.
"No. Don't say that," he said in a strangled voice as he moved to close the distance between them.
She held up a hand to stop him, revealing the stake she'd had concealed in her sleeve. "Why not? You said it. And you were right."
"Buffy-"
"Shut up," she growled, sounding more like herself again, "I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear anything you have to say, ever again - no matter how true it turns out to be."
"But I love-"
"NO!" she yelled, her voice echoing off the stone walls of the crypt.
"I especially don't want to hear that."
At last she felt herself regain some control, and she turned to leave, only pausing when she reached the door. "Stay away from Dawn. Stay away from my friends. And if you value your pitiful existence, stay the hell away from me."
Spike watched her pull open the heavy door and walk out into the daylight. It hurt to see how much pain he'd caused her. Damn it, it hurt so much -- more than he thought he could bear.
He stood at the edge of the patch of sunlight she'd let in and thought about walking out behind her, ending it all in a nasty burst of flames. Instead, he pushed the door shut and slid down to the sun-warmed floor. He lost track of how many hours he lay there cursing himself for the cruel, pathetic bastard he'd become, before he finally fell into a fitful sleep.
When he awoke that night, it was with a newly strengthened resolve. Whatever was wrong with her, he'd fix it. No matter what it required, no matter how long it took. He'd put things right. He'd make HER right, even if it was the very last thing he ever did.
Christmas morning dawned sunny and bright, the exact opposite of Buffy's mood. She racked her brain for reasons to be happy on this day that was supposed to be all about joy, but came up with nada. Joy was missing in action these days and had been gone so long now she'd need a police composite sketch just to recognize it.
She sighed deeply and poured the dregs of her morning coffee down the drain. Ready or not, Christmas had come and her friends would be here in a few hours to celebrate it with her and Dawn.
Talk about a party doomed from the start. The Summers household was less than big with the celebrating lately, a clear result of the complete lack of glad tidings. Dawn had spoken less than a dozen words to her sister since being grounded for running away to see Spike. Buffy's attempts at coaxing the girl out of her room to come down and eat or watch a video with her were met with stony silence and a scowl. She'd kept up this silent treatment for four whole days now, proving that Buffy didn't have the monopoly on stubbornness in the family.
Buffy so did not need this holiday right now. It was just one more dose of tension added to the oppressive black cloud of stress she couldn't seem to get out from under. Having to deal with being back among the living was gut-wrenching enough without adding money troubles, an out-of-control witch, a rebellious sister and an un-dead guy she couldn't seem to get off of her mind, on top of it. Put it all together and it spelled Trouble, right here in Hellmouth City. With a capital T and that rhymes with V and that stands for Vampire -- namely Spike.
"No, no, no!" she growled out loud. She was NOT going to think about that night anymore -- that crazy night in the abandoned building when more than just the walls came crashing down around her ears. It was so, so wrong; more evidence of just how messed up she was.
She had to try to forget the intoxicating contrast of midnight black leather against silky ivory skin. And the stunned, drowning look in his eyes when he felt her join their bodies together for the first time.
Damn it, why couldn't she just put it behind her for good? After all, she'd gotten over worse things than this in her life. She'd lived through the horror of her mother's death and even managed to survive two deaths of her own. And she'd certainly gotten over men before - even men she'd actually loved. So getting over a night that could only be chalked up to temporary insanity should be no big, right?
Then why had she been feeling steadily worse ever since she vowed to end contact with the vampire once and for all? Why was the tension so unbearable that the only way to relieve it was--
The shrill ring of the phone made her jump. Saved from her dark thoughts by the bell, Buffy picked up the receiver and heard the static of an overseas line.
"Merry Christmas, Buffy. It's Dad. How are you?"
Oh goodie. Something else unpleasant to deal with. Good ol' Dad calling from St. Moritz or San Tropez - one of those oh-so-fabulous San places -- with his 20-something girlfriend du jour. As she listened to her clueless father ramble on about his latest adventures, Buffy's pulse began race and she felt the now-familiar butterflies in her stomach flap out a nauseating rhythm in time with the pounding in her head.
"Dad, I gotta go now. There's someone at the door," she lied, hanging up the phone in the middle of his goodbye.
Buffy stood steadying herself against the island in the middle of the kitchen. With dismay, she looked around her at the makings of the Christmas dinner she needed to start cooking. Feelings of panic assaulted her once again. She couldn't do this. No way. It was too hard.
As she stood there shaking, she found herself wishing for the tears that should be threatening right now. But, as always since her return, her eyes were dry. She knew exactly what she had to do. She didn't want to. She knew it wasn't right. But almost without her knowledge, her feet carried her up the stairs and into the stillness of her room. Feeling sick and ashamed, she locked the door behind her before reaching for the hidden blade.
* * * * *
"That was really good, Buffy, thanks," said Tara. The young witch smiled weakly and sent a significant look to Xander, who was seated across the table from her.
"Oh! Yeah, Buff, definitely turkey-licious," Xander agreed, putting as much enthusiasm as he could muster into his voice. Subtly, he used his knife to push the remains of his dinner into as small a pile as possible on his plate.
Anya opened her mouth to speak, but winced and snapped it shut again when Xander's sharp elbow launched a preemptive strike against her big mouth.
Dawn was also involved in food-play, raking a Zen garden into the cold lump of mashed potatoes on her plate with her fork. She'd sulked her way through the main course in silence, which was only a slight improvement over the whining she did when Buffy asked her to help by setting the table and helping her serve.
"Thanks, you guys. But I know it was bad. Not much with the cooking skills, this girl. But there's great desert to make up for it --- from the gourmet bakery, by the way, so wipe those horrified looks off your faces."
"There is a God!' exclaimed Xander, laughing as Buffy threw her napkin at his face.
"Dawn, could you help me clear the table?" Buffy asked, starting to stand up.
Tara jumped up and began to gather up dirty plates. "I'll help you, Buffy. Maybe Dawn can help Anya pass out the presents?"
Anya looked genuinely happy for the first time all evening. "Oh good, is it finally time to open the gifts? I hope everyone got me something very expensive."
The subject of gifts seemed to put some life into what had been a painfully stiff party. While Buffy cleaned up, she was pleased to hear laughter coming from the living room, where Dawn and Anya were shaking all the presents and guessing what was inside, while Xander insisted on playing the Chipmunks Christmas CD and singing along.
She and Tara worked together in the pleasantly warm kitchen, swiftly disposing of the inedible leftovers and stacking the dishes in the dishwasher.
"So much for my big Christmas dinner debut," Buffy said, ruefully.
"It really wasn't that bad," said Tara.
"It was a disaster compared to Mom's. She was really amazing. There were so many things she did for us - and she made them all look easy. It makes me feel so... useless."
"That's not true. You're the least useless person I know," comforted Tara. "Your skills just lie in other areas."
"Yeah - killing things, mainly," Buffy lamented, rubbing her tired eyes.
"I was going to say saving people - saving the whole world, even."
Buffy looked up to see the sincerity in her friend's face. She sighed deeply. "Sorry. Didn't mean to take a 'Poor me' road trip, there." She opened the bakery boxes and gestured to Tara to pick up a stack of small plates. "Anyway, if anything can cure a self-pity attack, it's gotta be double chocolate layer cake and amaretto cheese cake. I think they were recommended by 9 out of 10 doctors in a recent survey."
"I saw that survey," Tara said slyly. "I think it was 9 out of 10 dentists. Something about the huge cavity potential."
"Killjoy."
Tara laughed, "But come to think of it, I guess they're all, um, medical professionals, right?"
"I like the way you think."
They rejoined the others, who'd finished passing out the presents and were impatiently waiting. Fifteen minutes later, they were each happily playing with and showing off the gifts they'd received.
"This is gorgeous, Tara, thank you," Buffy said, holding up a soft peach-colored sweater. "But I'll never get into it after all that cheesecake."
The blonde girl smiled and went back to helping Dawn try on the pink quartz pendant she'd given her.
"I love it, it's beautiful!" Dawn's face glowed, as she held the stone up to the light.
"We just got that in at the shop last week. I was going to save it for myself," Anya frowned, "but then Xander and Tara convinced me that you needed it more."
"Needed it," Buffy repeated, nervously. "What is it for? Is it--?"
"It's n-not magical," assured Tara. "But pink crystals of that clarity are believed to bring the gift of inner peace to the one who wears them."
"Thank you," said Dawn, giving the witch an enthusiastic hug.
"Yes, thank you to everyone," Xander said. "Everyone except Giles, that is. The nerve of that guy to actually give me socks. Is that a British thing, or what? No one's given me socks since my grandmother back in 3rd grade."
"It's the thought that counts, right Xander?" teased Dawn.
"Does that mean Giles was thinking about my feet? Ew. That's just...disturbing."
The doorbell rang. Buffy got to her feet, wondering who would be at the door on Christmas night - and hoping she didn't already know the answer to that question. When she opened it, there was no one in sight. She was just about to close it again, when Dawn came up beside her.
"Look, down there."
Two small, clumsily wrapped packages sat on the front porch beside the door. Dawn gleefully picked them up and took them back into the living room.
"They're from Spike! They've got to be!"
"Dawn, no. Put them back," said Buffy, closing the door after a last look around to make sure the vampire wasn't still lingering outside.
Dawn ignored her; sitting on the sofa and beginning to tear open the package with her name on it. Buffy stomped over and snatched it away from her sister.
"Give it back!" Dawn wailed.
"No, don't be stupid. We don't know who left these here. They could be dangerous." Holding the small package carefully with the tips of her fingers, Buffy looked it over closely.
"We do too know who they're from," Dawn grabbed the box out of Buffy's fingers and ripped it open. Something shiny and silver fell out of it with a jingle, and the girl bent down to pick it up.
"Dawn!"
It was too late. Dawn held up the delicate bracelet adorned with an engraved silver charm. She read the inscription out loud. "It says, '100% Girl'! The other side says 'to D. from S'. Isn't it great? Oh, I love it!" Dawn grinned in delight and worked the clasp to put it on her left wrist.
Buffy was furious. "Give it to me right this minute, Dawn. It's probably some kind of trick. We can't trust anything Spike does. He's evil."
"You're wrong! He's not evil. You'd know that if you'd stop being such a bitch and let yourself get to know him."
"Dawn! Go to your room, right now. When I come up I'm going to take that bracelet and send it right back where it came from."
"Oh no, you won't! You're not my mother. You're not even my sister anymore. You've turned into a cold, cruel bitch! I hate you! You might as well still be dead!" the teenager shrieked. She ran up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door behind her.
Stunned speechless, Buffy's friends stood by in awkward silence, watching as she turned white as a sheet, a shaking hand covering her mouth.
"No, oh God, no," she mumbled to herself, weaving unsteadily on her feet.
Xander took a step toward her, but she turned away.
"Leave me alone," she muttered and fled to the kitchen.
He moved to follow, but Tara put a hand on his arm to stop him. "Maybe you should give her a minute," she said. "I'll go upstairs and check on Dawn."
Xander nodded and turned to Anya, "Why don't you get our stuff together, huh? I have a feeling the party's over."
From the kitchen, the sound of glass shattering sent Xander into motion. When he burst through the kitchen door, Buffy was slumped over the sink, breathing hard. As he got closer he saw the blood - spatters of it mixed with broken glass on the counter; a stream of it dripping into the sink from a large gash across the back of one of her hands.
"Buffy, are you all-- Omigod! What happened? You're bleeding all over."
Buffy's head hung low over the blood stained sink, the thick curtain of blond hair concealing her face. She didn't answer him -- didn't even seem to know he was there.
Reaching her side, Xander gently grasped her limp, bleeding hand and held it under cold water. When the bleeding slowed, he wrapped it in a clean dishtowel.
As he was bandaging her cut, she gasped for breath and turned her face up to look at him. Her odd, far-off expression disappeared; leaving her looking a bit shocked but otherwise okay. Funny, he'd expected to see her in much worse shape.
"I....I'm so clumsy. I broke one of mom's goblets," she said, calmly.
"It's okay. It's just a glass. But that's a deep gash on your hand, Buff. Looks like you'll need stitches. Anya can stay with Dawn while I take you to the emergency room."
Buffy pulled her hand away and shook her head. When she looked back at him, she was back to her confident, firmly-in-control self. "No, it's just a little cut. It startled me for a minute, that's all. I'm okay."
"It's not so little, Buffy. C'mon, let's go."
"Forget it, Xander. No way I'm going to sit around the ER on a holiday for something as minor as this. Super Slayer healing powers, remember? This'll be right as rain in the morning."
"But - are you all right, really? I knew things had gotten rough with Dawn, but I hadn't realized it was this bad. Want to talk about it?"
Buffy sighed deeply and shook her head. "Not now, okay? I'm way too tired."
"Um, okay. But what she said back there - I'm sure she didn't mean it," said Xander, softly.
"Dawn's having... she's going through a bad time right now. It's been non-stop trauma this year. Factor in raging teenage-girl hormones and a crush on a certain blonde vampire, and it's like throwing a match on gasoline, you know? Kaboom!"
Cringing at the graphic imagery, he asked, "So what are you going to do about her?"
"Send her to a convent till she's 30," Buffy said, matter of factly.
Xander looked shocked. His mouth moved, but nothing came out of it.
"Kidding! Jeez, Xander, lighten up, will ya?," Buffy teased. "Dawn will get through this. So will I. That's not the first fight we've had, and I'm sure it won't be the last. I'm just hoping we'll all feel better once we've put his year-from-hell behind us."
"Yeah, good riddance 2001," Xander agreed, as he pulled her into his arms for a hug. He tried to tell himself everything was all right with his friend. But that wasn't the easiest thing to believe when all he saw when he closed his eyes was the after-image of her dark red blood staining the counter and swirling 'round and 'round, down the drain.
* * * * *
Over Anya's objections, Xander dropped her at their apartment, telling her he had a special last minute Christmas surprise to arrange for her. He spent the next hour driving through the empty late-night streets of Sunnydale, not really knowing where he was going until he found himself at the cemetery gates.
* * * * *
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