Chapter 5 - I Can't Really Hear You

Anya was at his apartment, curled in his bed, when he got back. He hadn't expected to see her there, but it hadn't come as a surprise either. She'd lived there until recently, and she did still have a key. He hadn't accepted it when she'd tried to return it.

What he hadn't expected, however, was that she would kiss him.

Her lips were as lush, warm, and inviting as he'd remembered. He'd only been dreaming about them every day since he left her at the altar.

"Anya . . ." he gasped, after she'd finally pulled away only long enough to breathe.

"You saved my life," she told him, simply. "Thank you."

She kissed him again, and tried to pull him back toward the bed, but he stopped her. "We can't keep doing this every time you get scared."

"Why not?" she asked with her childlike simplicity. "It makes me feel better."

"It makes me feel worse," he countered.

She blinked. "This is about me; not you. Why does sex have to be so complicated, anyway? Why can't it just be about two people enjoying the comfort of each other's naked bodies and hard, moist, soft parts that fit together well?"

Xander sat, hard, on the bed, defeated. A beautiful woman was all but throwing herself at him with an offer of no-strings-attached sex. He was an idiot. "You've got me there."

He kissed her again, then, the back of his mind still hoping that maybe she would realize this was something more – a chance to pick up where they'd both so unfortunately dropped off. He slid a hand inside her blouse, under the hooks of her bra, tentatively trying to unfasten it.

The doorbell rang.

She leapt away from him as though she'd been burned. Her lipstick smudged, her hair and clothes astray, there was no question of what they'd been doing. There was no reason for them to feel guilty either, and yet, she wouldn't meet his eyes as he slowly moved to answer it.

"Giles!"

Maybe there was a reason to feel guilty.

"Mr. Harris." He stepped past Xander without waiting for an invitation. "Noticing Anya on the bed, he added, "Oh, Anya, good."

"Giles," Anya's voice sounded hoarse. "I wasn't about to have sex with Xander."

Giles removed his glasses, and mumbled, "That's . . . that's quite alright, not really any of my business whether you were . . . or, uh . . . not."

"Giles, thank God you're here, everything's screwed up. I don't know where Buffy is, and Willow's a vampire."

Xander had seen Giles unsettled before, but he'd never seen him scared. This news made him pale, and he reached over and gripped the back of Xander's kitchen chair for support.

"Are you sure?" was all he could ask.

"I saw her, too," Anya verified. "She came to the shop looking for books on dark magic. I think she was going to eat us. Xander saved my life."

Mutely, Xander nodded, noting Giles knuckles turn white as he gripped the chair back tighter.

Slowly Giles let out a breath. "We have Buffy at a safe house outside of San Diego. I suggest you two come with me until we can figure out what we're going to do next." He paused, and then hesitantly asked. "Have either of you seen Dawn?"

They both shook their heads. Giles let out another stream of air. Anya had come up behind Xander and reached for his hand, in a small voice she asked, "Does this mean Dawn's a vampire, too?"

"God, I hope not," was all Giles said.

~~@~~@~~@~~@~~

Spike had had enough. Having filled every page of the notebook, Dawn had resorted to now drawing the same endless patterns all over her arms, and when she ran out of skin, then began to blacken each nail precisely with the ballpoint pen.

She still hadn't eating anything, and was speaking only in monosyllables when he tried to talk to her.

Enough was enough. He snatched the pen from her hand and broke it roughly in two, throwing the pieces to the floor at her feet.

"Hey!" she screamed both angry and startled.

"Get up," he ordered. When she didn't comply, he grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her from the couch. "I said get up."

"Stop it," she squealed. "You're hurting me."

"Don't care; get up." She blinked tears from her eyes, but didn't resist.

"Good –" He nodded. "Now go get your coat. You 'n' me are going out, and you're gonna eat."

"I said . . ." she again began to protest.

"Don't care; not listenin'. An' if I hafta, I'll hold you down 'n' force feed ya'. You're gonna eat tonight."

She sniffed and swallowed, fighting back tears. Knowing that arguing with him was useless, turned to go get her jacket.

~~@~~@~~@~~@~~

It was a long, silent car ride between Sunnydale and San Diego. Giles kept both hands firmly on the wheel, his eyes trained firmly on the horizon. The radio was tuned to NPR, and Xander found himself growing steadily more interested in "Talk of the Nation."

Every so often, Giles would open his mouth as though to say something, and then, as though thinking better, would close it again.

Anya, tactless as always, finally cut to the chase, "We're going to die, aren't we?"

"Anya – shhhh!!" Xander tried to hush her before she got carried away.

"I need to know, Xander," she argued. "I have to prepare myself for something like this." Covertly in a half whisper, she added, "I have to know whether I need to have sex with you again."

Giles clutched the wheel tighter, and through the floor of the car, Xander could feel the road rushing by even faster.

"Anya . . " Xander drew her name out, both trying to calm her and buy time. He picked her hand up, threading her fingers through his. "I promise you that we won't die without having sex again. Okay?" He squeezed her hand, and fought the impulse to kiss it, before dropping it.

"Fine," she agreed, sounding less than convinced. "I still can't believe Buffy was so stupid to get herself shot."

"Anya!" Giles snapped, and Xander could feel the car speed up a little further. "Could you kindly shut up?!" The car lurched forward again, and from over the seat, Xander could see the speedometer top 80.

She opened her mouth to say something, and Xander shook his head. Not now.

~~@~~@~~@~~@~~

"Okay, Snack Pack . . ." Spike waved his hand along the shops dotting Sunnydale's main street. "What'll it be? Ice cream? Muffins? Pizza?"

"Whatever," Dawn mumbled. She ran the toe of her shoe along a crack in the sidewalk and refused to meet his eyes."

"Hey!" He placed a hand under her chin and tilted it back up. "Look at me."

She did, and he could she was straining to suppress her emotions. "Your not the first kid to lose a big sis, but I made a promise to Buffy a long time ago to look after ya', 'n' I'm gonna keep it, okay? You're not alone."

Dawn sniffed, and nodded. With a half smile she asked, "Can I have a Frappuccino?"

"Caffeine'll stunt your growth," he said almost by habit.

"I'm already taller than –" she looked back down at the ground, having caught herself, "Buffy was."

"Okay--" He wrapped an arm around her shoulders in what he told himself was a friendly gesture. "Just this once."

Bluesy folk music drifted through the doors of the Starbucks. The yellow-shaded lamps and scent of freshly cooked baked goods further adding to the artificially warm ambiance. Dawn walked to the counter and ordered with such poise that he had a feeling this wasn't the first trip she'd made to the coffee shop. It was, however, the first sanctioned trip.

Sitting at the table, he traced the checkerboard of squares that had been inlaid on the top. Like pieces in a game, they were being knocked off one-by-one. Tara was dead, and that was his fault. Willow was dead, and that was his fault, too. Buffy was dead, and while he hadn't pulled the trigger, he'd sure as hell put her in the path of the bullet.

He looked again at Dawn. The key's energy still present in every molecule of her body – but beyond that, she was still something special. He'd do anything to ensure she stayed that way.

"I'm sorry," she said, noting the single cup in her hand as though for the first time. "Did you want something, too?"

"No!" he said, with more force than he'd intended. "No, I'm fine for now."

"'Kay," she replied, and as her lips pursed around the straw, he again allowed himself to become preoccupied with the checkerboard patterns.

~~@~~@~~@~~@~~

The gravel crunched under the tires of Giles' car. Anya had fallen asleep against Xander's shoulder, and he shook her gently awake. "An? Anya? Hey, we're here."

She blinked, confusion furrowing her forehead. "I was sleeping on you."

"It's okay," he said. "It's been a rough few days."

"No." She frowned. "I shouldn't've been sleeping on you. I still haven't been able to figure out how I feel about you."

"Anya . . ." he cut her off with a pointed look at Giles.

"Does he still want me to shut up?" Anya asked. "I'm sure I was quiet the entire time I was sleeping." She paused only briefly in thought, and then added, with a touch of venom, "Unless, of course, I was snoring."

Xander didn't comment, instead, he reached for the bags. "Why don't we just go inside? You can figure out how you feel about me, and let me know in the morning."

"Fine," she sulked. "It sure was a lot easier to hate you for leaving me at the altar before you saved me life. Now all the sex feelings are coming back, and I don't know if it's because I still love you or only because I'm scared."

Giles was unlocking the door, but gave no appearance of having heard them. Xander didn't find it necessary to let her know that there were certain things that didn't need to be disclosed in mixed company.

~~@~~@~~@~~@~~

She was sitting on an overstuffed couch just inside the door. There was a fire going, but she instead had chosen to wrap herself in a blanket, denying herself it's warmth.

Her hair was matted and there were dark circles under her eyes. Her lips were chapped, and he could still see some residue from the tape that had held the breathing tube in place.

He wanted to weep, but whether from relief that she was alive, or pity at the state that she'd been reduced to, he was uncertain. He held back, as though she was an illusion that would disappear upon acknowledgment.

"Buffy . . ." he said in quiet awe.

She didn't look at him, instead, her penetrating eyes were pinned on Giles. "You didn't find her."

"No . . ." he said, and shook his head. Xander watched, quietly impressed, at Giles ability to not only meet, but hold, her eyes. The quiet anger that burned behind them scared him. Buffy had changed, and Xander wasn't sure it was for the better.

"Buffy . . ." Giles continued to meet her eyes as he addressed her. "Willow's been turned, too. She threatened Anya and Xander at The Magic Box."

Buffy didn't move. She continued to regard Giles with the same blank, dispassionate stare, and Xander thought she would have reacted the same way if Giles had told her that there was a forty-percent chance of rain tomorrow.

"I see," was all she said. "I guess I'm going to have to kill her, too." She looked away after that, turning all her attention to the fire, and Xander got the distinct impression that they'd just been dismissed.

"I told you," Anya hissed as they ascended the stairs. "I told you she'd come back different."

Xander couldn't argue with that. Something had happened to Buffy. Something more than being shot. Something more than losing her Willow and Tara. Something more than not knowing where Dawn was. He didn't even want to imagine what it was.

He had wanted to steal a bed while they were out. He was tired of sleeping on the floor and Dawn deserved more than the couch. Dawn had talked him out of it – arguing that even if they had the capacity to move two mattresses, they'd look rather conspicuous. He couldn't argue against her shop-lifting expertise.

Now, though, watching her sleep, wrapped in a crocheted afghan Clem had provided, he again was struck by the need to do well by her. He'd hot wire a damn delivery truck if he had to, but Dawn was going to have a bed.

Leaving her there, he stole from the crypt. If he remembered correctly, the sporting goods store had air mattresses, and she should be safe for a while. He'd pick up some mattresses, and while he was out, he'd see about finding something to eat. Something fresh he amended, and smirked. He'd almost forgotten that the chip wasn't working anymore.

"That's right!" he announced to the world at large, as he swaggered through the graveyard. "I'm back. I'm William the bleedin' Bloody! I'm gonna own this town."

"Are you?" Willow was suddenly in his path, yellow eyes glinting in the half-moonlight like a cat's. She was wearing leather, he realized. A tightly laced bodice revealed more cleavage than he'd realized she had.

"Yeah!" he affirmed with more certainty than he felt. "You have other plans?"

She pursed her lips and tilted her head in mock thought. "I do," she finally said with a smirk. "Come here --" She beckoned with a crook of her finger. Against his will, he began to walk toward her.

"I'll tell you a secret." She smiled predatorily. "What do you think, little boy, do you want to know my secret."

Another wave of her hand, and he was nodding. He felt ill, the pure evil manifest before him, coupled with the utter lack of control of his own body frightened him more than he imagined possible. "I thought so," she said slowly. "The secret is that Tara and I are going to own this town. But," she added, "if you're a good boy, I might keep you around. Xander was a disobedient puppy, but I think you'll work out."

He wanted to spit in her face, but he couldn't. Still under her thrall, the dark magic wrapped around him like a vise, he wouldn't be able to move unless she allowed it. He wanted to contradict her. He was the bad man; he was evil; she wasn't even a glimmer in her mother's eyes when he was killing Slayers. But it was a lie. The Judge had seen through him -- had said he and Dru still had the taint of humanity on them – and now Willow also knew the truth.

"That's right," she said, and he realized her voice was in his head. She'd never opened her mouth this time. "You're nothing next to me." She waved her hand a final time, and he collapsed, his muscles weakened from the constant strain against her control. "I have to go find Tara now. She's going to find us something fresh to eat."

As she walked away, he no longer saw Willow, but his mother. Standing there – the look of abject disapproval written on her face the same way it had been on Willow's. On everyone's face – judging him. He tried to will her away, but she stayed here, the tight bun making her features even sharper. He shook his head to try to will the hallucination away, but she only grew stronger.

He reached out to touch her, but she stepped back, taunting him. "Silly boy, you killed me years ago. You're gonna have to kill her, too, you know. You have to kill all of them. You can't do anything right – always destroying everything you create – no wonder you never made another one after me."

She leaned forward, and planted a gentle, ice-cold kiss on his cheek. "I'll be back, but it's not quite time yet." Then, she was gone. Swallowing hard, he blinked again. It had been an hallucination. It had to have been. He was hungry; he was exhausted; that was all.

He pulled himself upright using a gravestone as support. No matter how much of an evil bitch his mother was, she was right about one thing – he had to find a way to kill them. It was the only way he could keep Dawn safe. It was the only way he could reclaim this town. It was the only way he could be sure they wouldn't turn around and dust him first. And to do that, he was going to need a plan – a plan and supplies.

Yelling a final, "Oh yeah? Just you wait!!" in the direction toward which Willow had long since disappeared, Spike again strode off in search of some air mattresses.

~~@~~@~~@~~@~~

"I saw Spike tonight," Willow announced. Tara was seated between her legs while her lover slowly brushed her hair.

"Oh?" Tara asked, turning to look at her. "How is Daddy?"

"I don't think he likes us anymore," Willow set the hairbrush aside, and reached inside Tara's bodice, to cup her breast and tease her nipple to a stiff peak. "I had to teach him who was boss."

Tara sighed, leaning harder into Willow's hands, "Silly boy. He should know better."

"He'll learn--" Willow smiled, pulling Tara down onto the rug, and leaning on top of her. "Otherwise, I'm going to have to kill him."

Running a finger over the scar from Spike's bite, she smiled and added, "Not right away, of course, it'll be more fun if we make him suffer and beg a bit. They're so cute when they beg."

Tara's eyes flickered with a combination of lust and bloodlust. "Enough talking," she decried, and then leaned up to kiss Willow, effectively quieting her.

~~@~~@~~@~~@~~

Dawn was awake when he returned. Sitting on the couch, still wrapped in the afghan, she turned on him the minute he entered.

"Where were you?" she demanded.

"Out," he announced, dropping the boxes on the floor.

"You left me here alone," she accused. He noticed for the first time that her cheeks were scarlet, her eyes puffy. She'd been crying. She'd been scared.

He wanted to hit her – knock some sense into her. And he could, he realized. He could hit her, and nothing would happen. A competing part of him, told him he needed to apologize – to comfort her – to reassure her it wouldn't happen again.

Paralyzed with indecision, all he could do was point at one of the boxes and say, "I wanted to get you a bed."

"Oh," she said – not even looking at the box.

It wasn't good enough. With a sigh, he said, "Look, Dawn, I'm sorry. I jus' – I didn' wanna wake you up."

"What if Tara had come?" she asked. "What if . . ."

"Willow 'n' Tara were too busy tryin' to teach me a lesson," he countered without further explanation. Then, with sincerity, he added, "I'm not gonna let anythin' happen to you, bit. Even if they hafta kill me."

"Thank you," she said, with a hug, and he awkwardly patted her back in return.

Damn Summers women always got him by the short hairs.

Chapter 6

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