Dawn sulks, leaning against a wall.

Spike smokes, leaning against a wall.

Dawn eyes Spike in her peripheral vision, then pointedly turns her
head away. "That is *so* not fair."

"That's right." Spike smokes in silence for a moment, then offers
the cigarette packet, eyebrows raised.

Turning her head slowly to stare at Spike with this look that
manages to say both 'you've got to be kidding me' and 'Buffy wants
to stake you -anyway-; I'm not having it on *my* conscience',
Dawn's only vocal comment is a slight huff and a muttered, "Not
*that*."

Well, what's her deal. Spike shrugs and repockets the box. A
minute passes, then another. The vampire exhales smoke and kicks
one heel idly against brickwork. What do children like to do,
anyway.. "Want to go tease a Shellack demon?"

It's this whole big rules thing. She was adjusting - she was sure
she was adjusting, because she knew why she had to - but it just
gets worse every week. Sliding down the wall to sit on the floor
and crossing her arms over her knees, Dawn just shakes her head.
"Not really. But did you know there's shellac in Starbucks
bubblegum?"

"No," Spike admits freely. "No, I didn't know that." He also takes
a seat, neatly and gracefully lowering to a cross-legged position
next to the girl, coat puddling around him. He flicks the end of
his cigarette away, carelessly. "You all right?" Not that I care
or anything.

Not that it matters whether Spike cares or not, Dawn would tell
him anyway. But she's pretty damn sure he does, which makes it
nicer, regardless of what Buffy thinks of him. "I'm okay. If I
didn't know Buffy wasn't taking advantage of me cooperating,
though, I'd totally think she was taking advantage of me
cooperating. There's like ten new rules every day. Don't do this,
do that, do these other things, be in by this time, be up by that
time, don't hang around with so-and-so..." Grr. "Grr!"

"Grr?" repeats Spike, and manages to make it sound fairly
innocuous. He can grr much better than that. "That bad, is it?
Well...that's Buffy. You should probably rebel a bit. Go out and
get drunk or something. That'll teach her."

Now the sulking is full-force. Dawn rests her chin on her
forearms, crossed atop her knees, and looks remarkably piqued. "I
should. It would. But I can't! If anyone but her found out, they
might take me away and put me in some weird home for children, or
something, or like, stick me with Dad. And as dumb as Buffy's
rules are, I don't wanna go live with Dad." Double bind!

"Look, nibblet." Spike lights another cigarette, the flare of the
lighter making him squint slightly. "You've got two choices, here.
You can either accept it, or not. Accepting means no more
bitching."

Dawn looks squarely at Spike. "Yeah? Funny, coming from you." Ohh,
damn. She didn't mean to say that out loud. Sighing, covering her
face with her hands (which, in turn, are covered by
slightly-too-long sleeves), Dawn shakes her head again and
stretches her legs straight out in front of her. "I'm sorry.
Ignore me. That was stupid. What's not accepting mean? Assuming I
won't do anything that makes Buffy look irresponsible."

That actually hurts. Spike doesn't flinch, but he does look away,
using the repocketing of his lighter as an excuse. "You can't live
the rest of your life waiting for the next big bad to come around
the corner. That's not living. That's just hanging around waiting
to die." He looks at the girl. "Want to have some fun?"

Dammit, dammit, dammit. I *so* did not mean that. I *SO* did not
want to do that just then. Misery, misery. Dawn bites her lip,
dropping her hands into her lap. "Yeah. Okay. What're we gonna
do?"

Excellent. Spike stands in one smooth movement, takes a drag and
exhales smoke carefully away from Dawn. "We're going to find out
just how much you take after your sister. I fancy a fight."

True to beautifully predictable form, Dawn gapes for a second,
then closes her mouth and glares. "Hey! But I just said something
snippy and cutting to you! And besides, won't it hurt you if you
connect?" She does, however, clamber to her feet, using the wall
as a crutch for the awkwardness of youth.

"Exactly. Just like Buffy." Spike tilts his head and looks at the
junior Summers, faintly amused. "Yeah. It will. If we're fighting
humans. But we won't be, so it's no issue at all. Go and fetch a
stake, there's a good girl."

Oh, so wait. Oh. Dawn looks visibly relieved. "So I'm not gonna be
fighting *you*. Okay." Then she pauses and looks horrified. "Oh
no, wait. Are you? I mean - wait. No. I count as human, right? No,
yeah, we're...we're going on patrol, right? Right?" Then the other
thing he said registers, and the teenager's horror is quickly and
firmly replaced by indignation. "I am *so* not just like Buffy!"

"That's not what I - look, obviously you're not. That's
ridiculous." Does she count as human, though? Spike figures
there's an easy way to find out. He moves very, fast, spinning to
aim a fist at Dawn's nose - and collapses before contact is made,
the chip lighting his brain on fire. "Aghhh. Ow."

"JEEZ!" yelps Dawn, flinching back about a half-second too late,
arms coming up defensively. Nice reaction time, kiddo. And then
Spike's brain's on fire, from the expression on his face, and she
instinctively and immediately steps forward and reaches out to
catch him. "Spike, *man*, don't - are you all right? Stupid
question. Don't *do* that!" she's saying, all-over concerned.

Just as long as Dawn never finds out that in order for the chip to
activate, there has to be an intention to cause injury. Spike
likes Dawn but that never stopped him injuring anyone before. Now,
though, he's in pain, sagging slightly against the girl, the heel
of one hand pressed to his forehead and his cigarette merrily
burning away on the floor where he dropped it. "I think we've
conclusively proved you're human," he says through gritted teeth.

Yeah, she's much better off not knowing. She'd probably feel a lot
less comfortable around Spike if she knew he was willing to hurt
her, even if it was for the noble cause of finding out whether or
not she was actually human. But see, she definitely doesn't know,
so she half-supports, half-cradles Spike in quite blissfully
innocent concern. "You didn't have to do that," she protests.

"No, I know." Spike laughs, shakily, and pushes gently away from
the child to stand upright. One hand rubs at his temple. Owwww.
"Bloody hell. That never gets any easier."

Dawn looks slightly shaky herself - or maybe just uncertain. "Um.
I'll go get those stakes now. Meet you outside?" She holds her
arms, back hunched slightly in a half-slouch, watching Spike.

"Yeah." Spike gestures vaguely towards the upstairs. "You go and -
I'll see you outside." He collects his cigarette and makes for the
door. Whee.

Less than five minutes later - Dawn had to *find* them, and there
was dirty laundry and corrected homework involved - the junior
Summers girl comes out and locks the door behind her, fuzzy purple
almost-empty backpack on her back, one stake in her belt and one
in her hand. "Okay, let's go," she says, offering a stake to the
vampire.

Entirely recovered thanks to time and two cigarettes in the space
of five minutes, Spike accepts the stake and sets off at a stroll,
coat moving in an impossibly cool manner. "What've you got in
there? Sandwiches?"

"Cookie dough and Snapple," answers Dawn promptly and unabashedly,
hooking her thumbs behind the straps, up by her shoulders. She's
not watching Spike's coat, not at all. And she's most emphatically
not admiring it. I mean, come on. How passe is that whole
stalks-by-night thing? It's so eighties. No, really. She wonders
vaguely if they make them in purple. Delia's might sell them,
even. "Want some?"

Snapple. Spike smiles despite himself, and shakes his head. "Can't
really appreciate it. Thanks." Cookie dough. She brought cookie
dough. "How's..." What's a kid thing. "...school?"

"School totally bites," announces the girl, stepping along surely
beside Spike, only having to jog every once in about ten steps to
adequately keep up. "They're all watching me like hawks now, even
though I'm behaving. How's the whole skulking thing going for
you?"

"Still working out pretty well. I skulk professionally. Most of
the vampires around here are rank amateurs." Spike idly tosses the
stake into the air and catches it again.

"They smell that bad, huh?" Oh my God. Dawn's expression is
entirely guileless. For about five seconds, at which point she
grins and looks away.

That gets the girl a long stare. Spike laughs, a genuinely amused
chuckle. "You...that was terrible. That was sub-Xander." He's
kidding, though, his free hand ever-so-lightly thumping the
child's upper arm.

"Oh, come on, that was at least Xander-level," protests Dawn,
still grinning, secretly all 'ooh, hey, affectionate thump from
Spike, I rule'. "Heck, maybe even Burt Ward. Not that I ever
watched that show. Nope. *Way* too campy."

Mr Daytime Television over here doesn't have much to say about
that, apparently. Spike clears his throat. Totally unnecessary for
a vampire, but sometimes you have to. "Me either. Oh look, there's
the graveyard." Saved by the tolling bell.

Dawn's answer is a dramatically intoned, "Don't ask for whom the
bell tolls, nevermore, hey." She pulls her stake from her belt and
eyes the graveyard, then glances at Spike for cues. "Obviously,
we're not telling Buffy. So also obviously, you picked a time she
wouldn't be here, right?"

The briefest of all brief hesitations. Spike snorts. "Of *course*
I did." He's trusting to luck. Forward planning is not his strong
suit. "Honestly. I mean if she was here, not only would she be
here, but the vamps wouldn't be. Let's go and find one." He hops
over the low wall and strides off across the grass.

"...okay!" Yay, the whole patrolling-to-kill-some-bad-things
thing. Dawn quite insistently mentally stomps the whole weird
philosophy that involved the fact that technically, Spike is a
'bad thing', too, and if he can be a good bad guy, then some
vampires she might dust tonight might also have the potential to
be good bad guys, and...yeah, utterly stomped. "I'll have to try
that kinda logic sometime. It's so sensible." She scrambles over
the wall and hauls ass following.

As they reach the centre of the cemetery, which is all spooky and
misty and a lot darker than it looks on television, Spike slows
his pace, moving noiselessly between the stones. In the pale
moonlight he looks at the same time more vampiric and more human,
the dark doing much to disguise the gauntness of his features.
He's listening.

Okay, time to do the skulk thing now. Trying to move noiselessly,
but, well, *not*, Dawn brandishes her stake and watches carefully,
and listens as best she can, and really does a great impression of
live bait.

Which is all to the good, really. Until last night, Casey Keller
was a senior at the newly-rebuilt Sunnydale High. Now, he is going
through some serious changes. He's cold. And he's hungry. And
little Dawn looks like a beacon and a feast all rolled into one.
He stealths silently along behind the pair, and as Spike rounds a
crypt up in front, Casey leaps for Dawn, intending to knock her
down.

Catching movement in the corner of her eye that isn't Spike
because Spike is over there, Dawn gasps in surprise and
half-turns, jabbing wildly with the stake, hoping somewhere in her
reflexes and not yet in her conscious mind that it hits home and
he doesn't land on her. "Ew! Ew! Creep!"

Nope, the stake isn't hitting the right spot. Though it is making
Casey really mad. He pulls back, growling, looking for a way past
the sharp jabby thing to rip Dawn's throat out - and that's when
Spike hits him from the other side like a bleachblond hurricane.
The pair of them go over. It's not pretty, it's not choreographed,
it's just a snarling, too-fast-for-the-eye whirl of fangs and
fists and shining yellow eyes.

No no, there will be no 'mah hero!' tonight. Some things are just
too silly for words. Not to mention uncool. And hot damn, but
Spike has *got* to be the coolest thing since cable TV. Pushing
herself up on her elbows and then scrambling to her feet a bit
dizzily, Dawn grips her stake tightly and tries to keep her
perceptions open to any other visitors they might get, like, now.

The battle is rather one-sided. Spike is a hundred and twenty-some
years old and he's starved for violence, really beating the crap
out of the younger vampire. Finally regaining his feet, he kicks
the bastard one last time and then, in a move that he'd hate to be
told is highly reminiscent of Angel, he grabs a stake from his
pocket and slams it home.

*DUST*

The remains of Casey settle peacefully to the ground. Spike spits,
and brushes at his coat. "What did I tell you? Bloody amateurs."
Something moves off to the left, way back in the dark.

Okay. Okay, that was just a little creepy. You know, watching the
end of that. Jeez. Gulping, it's a second before Dawn can make her
voice loud enough to ask, "So, um. I can tell I was doing the
stick-the-stake-in thing in *completely* the wrong way. Got any
tips?" She's watching Spike; she misses the thing to the left.

As does Spike, because he's being made to feel important by
Buffy's little sister. And that matters to him, these days. "Well,
you have to aim for the heart. I mean - where do you think my
heart is?" He faces her.

Pointing with her index finger, thank you, not a stake, Dawn
indicates the left side of Spike's chest. "There-ish. Y'know, the
place where you're supposed to put your hand when they say the
Pledge of Allegiance-- oh wait, nevermind, you're English." Silly
grin.

"I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America,
and the Republic for which it stands," Spike chants in a bored and
extremely English monotone. "One nation, under G- well, yeah." He
reaches up and moves Dawn's hand towards the centre of his chest.
"I realise I can't prove it, but your heart's in the middle."

"Okay, wow, so I was just making holes in that guy," says Dawn,
half-embarrassed. She doesn't quite almost-say something about not
being able to feel his heartbeat, with her hand outstretched and
touching his chest, because her delayed reactions aren't *that*
bad. She thinks it, though, and then thinks, you know, duh. And
then she thinks, um, her hand is on Spike's chest, and she drops
it, blushing. "Okay, so aim for the middle of the chest. Got it."

The blush isn't missed - her heart's beating faster, and Spike can
hear her heartbeat. But he doesn't really think much of it. He's
fond of Dawn, but he's besotted with Buffy. "Right. Middle of the
chest, and hard, because you have to punch through the breastbone
or the ribcage." Off behind him there's movement, yellow eyes
gleaming briefly in the dark.

Yeah, and now Dawn is looking totally away, because, well. Um.
Yeah. Come *on*, for one thing, Spike is *old*. For another thing,
he's totally besotted with Buffy. And also besides, come on, he's
her *friend*. And besides, there's also the whole fangs and dead
thing. So, whatever. That doesn't make him any less nice to look
at, though, and -- "*Really* hard, got it."

Yeah, he's old, but he looks twenty-six, because that's how old he
was when he first met Drusilla. Spike frowns, turning to look
towards the stealthy sounds. "Sh." He begins to move off. And
then, he stops. Because there's not just one vampire coming out of
the dark, there's several, ringing the unfortunate pair, and they
don't look new. They look smart. And pissed off.

"Spike," says the one with the most unfortunate 80s mullet hairdo
you ever did see.

"Shit," mutters Spike, backing up to Dawn again.

"Ohmigod," breathes Dawn, eyes wide, thumping lightly up against
Spike, hoping she can cover his back adequately. You know, and not
get dead. If she were more like her sister, she'd be commenting on
the mullet. But she's more like herself, and she's scared enough
to keep her quips to herself. "Um, hey Spike, we rule, right?"
Tell me we rule, oh god, please. We're not gonna die, right?

"We rule, little bit. Stay behind me, all right?" Spike's tone is
calm and quiet. He watches the vampires closely. This is the
problem with hanging around the Slayer, the other vamps get
annoyed. "Come on then, Marko," he says to the mullet man, "stop
fart-arsing about and come and get me."

Marko growls. They start forward.

"All right," says Dawn softly, doing her very best to be brave,
clutching her stake. Yeah, white knuckles. Uh, hi there, you bunch
of really badly-dressed vampire peeps. Heard the one about the
airplane? Wait, no, sorry. It's over your heads. This is one of
those times Dawn *really* wishes she *was* much more like her big
sister.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a vampire of Spike's
demeanour must want for a good punch-up. But Dawn is here, and
that has turned this from a fun, if dangerous, undertaking into a
nightmare. Face shifting again, Spike bares his teeth at the
crowd, reaching back with one hand to take a firm hold of Dawn's.
"There's just something you're all forgetting," he tells them,
trying to watch everyone at once.

"Oh yeah?" Marko sneers. "What's that?"

And Spike wins an Academy Award. His expression lights up and he
looks at something past Marko's head. "Buffy?"

It works, unbelievably, the Slayer's reputation such that every
one of the oncoming bloodsuckers checks. And in that split second
Spike turns and jumps for the top of the nearby crypt, yanking
Dawn unceremoniously along with him.

<OOC> Dawn pauses, and DIES!!
<OOC> Dawn says "Okay she is going to SEE this log!"
<OOC> Hawkeye says "You gotta trust me more.;)"
<OOC> Dawn says "Well yeah. But I mean the 'Buffy?'"
<OOC> Hawkeye denies doing that on purpose.:)
<OOC> Dawn :D :D :D

Oh, boy. Oh, god almighty. That there, that's definitely a cling,
the terrified grip Dawn responds to Spike's handhold with. Which
is probably a good thing, because it makes it that much harder to
lose Dawn mid-yank. And she is *completely* silent, which is
pretty rare, but oh damn, y'know? Well, no, she's not completely
silent, her heart's beating like a hummingbird's.

Smarter than the average newborn they might be, but these vamps
still aren't overly endowed with brains. Spike has time to haul
Dawn up beside him, the girl's weight negligible, and scoop her
unceremoniously into his arms, before the first bellow of fury
erupts behind them. "Hold on, nibblet," Spike says in Dawn's ear,
and then he jumps down off the back of the crypt and *runs*. It's
a scrambling, headlong dash, no hint of preserved pride. Spike
swerves desperately to avoid gravestones.

"Don't hafta tell me twice," says Dawn, sorts, but it comes out
kind of like a breathy, panicked half-squeak. And she holds on
with the deathgrip of death, which would probably cause anyone
else problems breathing. "Go go go go go, and now we're three
times as much never ever telling Buffy..."

In ideal circumstances, Spike would run all the way home. But he's
not been eating properly lately - animal blood is a poor
substitute - and he hasn't eaten anything at all today, and he's
carrying a Summers. Good job he doesn't need to breathe or Dawn's
deathgrip would be a problem. Swerving into an alleyway, he ducks
down behind a dumpster, hugging the girl close to him in an
attempt to muffle the sound of her heartbeat. "Quiet, Dawn, be so
quiet."

Burying her face in Spike's coat, not even loosening her grip the
tiniest little bit, Dawn squeezes her eyes shut and does her best
to calm down, having a sort of foggy idea that if she calms down
she won't be breathing hard and maybe her heart won't sound like a
hummingbird on crack. And absolutely no, she refuses to cry. She'd
get Spike's coat salty. Besides, she's not scared yet. She can
fall apart when they're safe at home.

Absolute silence reigns in the alleyway for quite a while, until
Spike is convinced they've shaken the pursuers. "It's all right,"
he says, eventually, loosening his grip so if Dawn wants to, she
can move away. "We lost em. Bloody hellfire." He's saying that a
lot today.

Dawn doesn't want to. And right now she feels very much like a
scared little girl, which is okay, because that's what she is.
Well, not so little, but little enough, darnit. "Spike," she says
in a tiny voice, still muffled by the fact that her face is buried
in his coat, mostly. "I want to go home."

"Good idea." Spike gathers her close again and pushes himself to
his feet with a grunt. "Um...I don't like to sound selfish, but if
your sister finds out about this..."

"...then you'll be so much dust and I'll be grounded until I'm
three hundred," finishes Dawn, still so quietly, turning her face
away from Spike's shoulder enough to both breathe and be heard.
Cling! Oh man, let's wait, like, a long time before we try that
again. "Believe me. If she figures out I was out at all, I will
*so* deserve all kinds of creative writing award things. But for
speaking." Every time she starts to loosen her grip, she starts
shaking like a leaf, and doesn't like that so clings again. Grr.

Picking the pace up to a swift jog, Spike heads for the Summers
house. "She won't. Figure it out. I mean it's not as if you got
hurt. You're not hurt, are you?" He looks down at her, suddenly
concerned. "I yanked your hand pretty hard."

Pulling that one hand back to get a look at it and, you know, do
the whole open-close thing, Dawn shakes her head slightly. "'M
okay. Yeah, um. This is our secret, no worries." Oh boy. When I
get home I am going to curl up under my covers and never come out.
Except to go to the bathroom.

"All right." There's silence for a while. Then Spike says, very
quietly, "I'm sorry."

Hugging Spike again tightly and reactively, Dawn shakes her head.
"Nuh-uh, don't start blaming yourself. We have way too much of
that going around anyway. I was perfectly capable of telling you
no way, and exactly what you could do with those stakes." In spite
of her shaking, there's a grin in her voice. She'll be fine. She
just needs to completely fall apart in private first. "And I
woulda ended up going by myself anyway. Now I know better, right?"

"I should bloody well hope so," says Spike, with feeling. Not that
it's going to stop *him* going out alone. He'll just get in
fights, that's all. "All right, littlun, this is your stop." He
slows to a stroll, walking up the drive, and lets Dawn to the
ground just outside the house.

Straightening shakily, adjusting her clothes, and her bookbag, and
her hair, and rubbing at her face which somehow sort of got
streaky, somehow, Dawn makes an attempt at presentability. Giving
Spike another quick hug and a quiet, subdued thanks, she heads for
the door. Then she blinks wide and runs back, and firmly places
her stake in his hand. "*Don't* wanna get caught with this," she
hisses.

"No," says the voice from the girl leaning against the doorframe.
How'd she get there so fast? Buffy levels her gaze on the two of
them. "You really, really don't." there's the eversobriefest of
pauses before she stalks towards them both "WHERE have you been?!
I've been worried sick! And apparently," hands reach for Dawn's
shoulders, a slight glare at Spike. "I've had good cause."

Aieee. Spike takes the stake, because he'd rather he had it than
Buffy, and backs up hurriedly, both delighted and absolutely
horrified to see her. Wow, see my conflict. "...h'lo." Eep.

Ohhh, no you don't. You think *you've* been worried sick, *you're*
not the one who got Spike's coat all salty on the shoulder because
you were so shaky-scared and crying even though you were _not_
crying at _all_, no. Dawn's eyes flash as her annoyance with her
sister comes back full force - if you were so worried, hug me.
Don't yell at me. I need hugs right now. "Good cause? Good
*cause*? I was *mad*, so I went for a walk with Spike. He said I
better go armed if I'm gonna go out after dark even though he was
there. And guess what, I stopped being mad, but *now I'm mad
again*! Let *go*, I'm going to bed." Snarl!

"Key phrase here you 'went for a walk with -SPIKE-?!'" Buffy -has-
been very worried about her. But the Slayer doesn't do hugs. Not
now anyway, catch her in a few minutes after Spike leaves. Hands
are removed from Dawn's shoulders but the Slayer doesn't look any
more mollified as she folds her arms. "Good. Go to bed. You'll
certainly be seeing a lot of that room anyway since I think its
about time you were grounded for, oh, EVER!" I have to be tough.
Giles said. A Look is given to Spike. Don't think you haven't
escaped my notice right now.

Cringe. Spike is frozen on the path. "Um...it was my fault." He
waves the stake nervously. Me, over here, my fault, not hers.

Dawn starts stomping toward the door again, and then turns around
and pours the full headlight glare of her angriest glare on both
Buffy and Spike, arms crossed. "What'd I tell you, Spike? None of
that 'blaming yourself' stuff. You either, Buffy. This was *ALL
ME*, okay? So punish me. Try and make me more miserable than I
already was so I won't go and try to not be miserable. See if I
care. Just don't you two -dare- blame yourselves. Or each other.
Or I'll never speak to either of you again."

Buffy glares. "What were you -thinking- taking her out without
me?! God, do you KNOW how many things could've--" and then Dawn
has stomped away and launches into her speech and she starts
"Dawn--" and looks slightly pained and guilty. I wasn't trying to
make you miserable I was trying to protect you. I need to be
strong. Conflict is clearly present on her face before the Slayer
decides on a firm "Go to bed. -Now-. We can talk about me ruining
the rest of your life tomorrow." Giles had better be right. She
hisses at Spike in a low whisper. "Don't you ever -ever- take her
anywhere without me, do you understand?! You do not count as a
responsible adult! You're a blood sucking fiend from beyond the
grave and I do not want my little sister being influenced by you
in any way, shape or form!"

That's it. Spike *glares*. "And you're so much the better
influence. You're loading that girl up with more rules and
regulations than if she'd joined the bloody army. You're not
letting her breathe." And I am not enjoying the criticising of
you!

The door of the house slams shut, and then like thirty seconds
later, there's a quieter, more muffled slam from above, somewhere.
And then there is very irritating syrupy boy-band pop music
filtering, muted, through the vinyl siding. Loud. And the members
of the boy band have bleached blond hair, so there!

Buffy starts at the doorslam, bu glares bloody murder at Spike. Or
dusty murder. Whichever. "Don't you -dare- try to lecture me on
how I should treat my sister! I am doing what's best for -both- of
us! Who are you to talk about anything, you don't even -breathe-!"
oh no, she's playing that CD again. She must be pissed. Buffy
casts a glance up towards Dawn's room and sighs, a hand on her
forehead, momentarily forgetting who's right there. "She needs
rules and regulations. If she didn't have them...she needs
something to keep her living in the real world. And if I have to
be tough, I'll be tough. She needs it." and then the glare is
snapped back "And you are -not- helping by taking her out at night
without me knowing!"

Uh-oh, she's playing that CD again. Not that I hang around outside
the house and eavesdrop with my vampire hearing, ahaha, aha, ahem.
Spike blinks, recovers, and yells. "YOU WEREN'T HERE! Newsflash!
She was going bonkers cooped up inside! Girls her age should be
out doing things! When you were a year older than her you burned
down your school!"

"THAT WAS MICE!" there's a beat. "Smoking...m--look it was full of
vampires and this is SO not the issue!" Buffy puts a hand on her
hip, the other points viciously into Spike's chest. "When I was
her age I was the -Slayer-, what part of this don't you get? She
-isn't-! She's--" well she's entirely something else. "She can't
just go out on her own--and you don't count as a real person!" it
might be cruel, but Buffy doesn't realize it. "She can go bonkers
just as long as she's safe, GOD, if anything ever happened to
her--" it'd kill me. She doesn't really want to admit that to
Spike though. A few months ago and he would've loved to have heard
that. And then gone after Dawn. "Forget it. Just stay away from
her."

Yeah, touch me!...he can't help thoughts like that, they just
happen. "I don't want anything to happen to her either," Spike
says sullenly, shoulders sagging. "I just...she was...fine."

"ANYTHING could've happened to her out there Spike," a hand is
pushed through her hair and Buffy looks exasperated. "Do you think
that just because you're all impotent right now, the other
vampires out there wouldn't love a go at my little sister? Do--do
you think that with mom gone, I can think about anything else
-other- than her? No more nightly outings. EVER!" I mean it!

"All right! I'm sorry!" Spike is having his feelings hurt, again,
and he ducks his head at the mention of Joyce. "I protected her, I
brought her home, she's all right."

She wouldn't have left the house if you hadn't been here!
Probably. Buffy watches him carefully. The head duck is not
unnoticed. "...she's not all right," she says finally, "but she is
home. In one piece. If I thank you, will you go away?"

And that gets her a hurt look. That wasn't what I was going for.
Spike just shakes his head slightly and turns to walk away.

Buffy doesn't feel bad, no not completely, because she's more
worried about Dawn than anything else. But the mom things gets
her, just a little bit. "Thank you." the briefest of beats "Don't
ever do it again." and then she's turning to go inside. What, you
didn't think it'd be a totally nice moment, did you?

God forbid. Spike pauses, not looking back, when she speaks. And
then he gets going again, to find somewhere to go that isn't home.
Cuz tonight, home isn't safe.