Author's Note: Thank you so very much to all of of you who have left feedback for the various chapters of this fic. As always, I welcome constructive comments. This is the last installment of Old Growth! I hope you've enjoyed the ride :)

------


Dawn’s in Charlotte.

Spike stands in the middle of the crap bedroom of the crap apartment. Dawn’s in Charlotte. Dru’s layin on – Dawn’sinCharlotte – the bed, already asleep. He just barely made it back from the hotel in time to beat the sun. Got all spoiled with Peaches and his sciency-what-not-tinted windows. The sky’s fully pink outside.

His feet itch, his hands work, his jaw clenches. Dawn’s in Charlotte. Dru’s asleep. Thank the bloody Powers That Be, she’s asleep and he doesn’t have to tell her – Dawn’s in Charlotte.

There is a tremor in his hands and a loud speaker blaring, screaming at him to tell her, tell her, tell her – Dawn’s in Charlotte.

But there’s something else underneath it. Way below the surface, but flowing strong and smooth just the same. The part of his blood that isn’t Drusilla’s. The part that is his. His to keep and his to give. The part that was singing earlier. Singing in the graveyard and still thrumming now.

Whatever it is, he doesn’t like it. It had held him back in the fight; kept him from going full swing. Dragged on his limbs, making him just a bit too slow, a bit too soft. And it’s holding him back now. Holding him back, when all he wants is to make the noise stop. All of it. Every shout, every scream, whimper, cry, plea, sob – bloody soul. It’s just making his undead life that much harder.

Fuck, he needs a smoke. He starts patting down his pockets, glances around the room, heads for the dresser. It’s the soul. Making everything harder than it needs to be. Making a mess of everything.

He pulls open the drawer, and there they are. They’re lying on top of something, and he snatches them up, studies the other thing in the drawer. He doesn’t know what it is and the soul won’t be quiet. It’s black lace and wood with a russet smear and the soul just won’t shut up. He stares at it. The cogs in his brain slowly working around this new object. The soul, the soul he got for Bu – .

Spike stares at the open drawer. He blinks slowly. Shutting the drawer absentmindedly, he looks down at his hand. Cigarettes. Shrugging, he begins packing them against the heel of his palm. He turns. Drusilla’s lying on the bed, sleeping peacefully. Her long chestnut hair spread out in a shiny wave across the pillow. A smile tugs at his lips. It’s rare that there are no dreams driving her to fits. He tosses the pack on the dresser and peels off his shirt. Slowly, carefully, as not to startle her, he climbs up the bed and pulls her in his arms, burying his nose in her hair. His dark, wicked plum. “Dru,” he whispers, “I found the girl. I found the little bit.”


******


I call Giles and tell him everything. The bodies. The dream. What Spike said about Dru doing trances, not mojo. He may have been lying, but he’s typically a horrible liar. Now, misdirection he can do. He can do it quite wonderfully. But out and out lying? Not so much.

I call Giles, and then I call Dawn. It rings and rings and I hang up before it can go to voice mail. She must be mid-flight or something. I wait until just a bit after nightfall, then go back to their apartment building. From what I remember, Spike would get stir crazy close to sunset, leaving his old crypt as soon as he could. …if he wasn’t taking the sewer tunnels, that is. Sure enough, that super sleek, super shiny black car that was sitting on the street by the apartment yesterday is gone now. It was the most expensive car on the block and stuck out like a sore thumb. Spike’s undoubtedly. Let’s just hope Drusilla decided to tag along.

Shivering inside my coat, I trot up the stairs to the apartment building. The wind chaps my cheeks. Why can’t the rest of the world have California weather? I take the elevator up to their floor. What do you want to bet that they broke the lock on the door when they moved in? I jiggle the handle and presto! Entry into creepy vampire lair.

I’m not nervous. I’m not. Why should the world’s oldest Vampire Slayer be nervous about walking into an empty nest? Except… it’s not so much a nest, as the former apartment of young, black newlyweds. I put a picture back on the mantle. Newlyweds with really bad taste, apparently. I nudge the edge of the living room rug with my boot. It’s cheetah print. They aren’t going to get the chance to grow old together with their bad taste. I wonder if they were both home when Spike and Drusilla came in. Or if one of them came home later to find – . I shove the thought away. Thoughts like that are a very short exit to Crazyville.

So I press on, ignoring the pictures and sconces and other knickknacks hanging on the walls. Ignoring the kitchen with its rotting fruit and movie rentals and fashion magazines. Ignoring the bathroom where the pink and orange floral shower curtain has been ripped half off its hooks. Ignoring the brown-red smear across the eggshell white walls.

I ignore it all, heading straight for the bedroom. Knowing Drusilla, she’ll be keeping her resident voodoo doll sitting somewhere really obvious. Like on top of a dresser. Next to her hairbrush.

They didn’t make the bed. Spike and Drusilla. Of course they didn’t make the bed. A muscle in my arm jerks and I force my eyes to look elsewhere. Gotta find what I came here for.

The bedroom is just as tacky as the rest of the place. Except here, you also have pearls, ribbons, and wiggy little dolls with blindfolds. An ivory gown lies in a heap on top of an overflowing trunk. The only sign of Spike is a balled up black t-shirt in the corner.

I edge around the bed towards the trunk and my toe kicks something with a thunk. Fishing under the dust ruffle I pull out a book. Alexander Pope. Poetry. A flicker of hope sparks up. I don’t know why. I mean, he read poetry long before he ever loved me; before he was even Spike; when he was just William. The night I made him tell the truth about his human days is one that I only appreciate in retrospect. In those days it was all I could do to be still. To not hit him, with words or fists. …I never could decide which hurt him the most – words or fists.

Reluctantly, I slide the book back under the bed. I want to take it with me but it might be the only piece in this room that really belongs to him, gives him some escape. Besides, it’s not what you’re here for, Buffy. With a quick glance for whatever else is underneath the bed, I move on to the trunk. Digging and shifting around its contents carefully, I try to find… something. I dunno. Anything remotely magic or creepy looking. Giles hadn’t been able to narrow things down a whole lot. Apparently spells and magical whatnots made to impose your will on others are all the rage in the world of evil. But he said I’d probably know it when I saw it.

I should be able to pick out the magical evil stuff from the regular crazy lady stuff, right? Right. Eventually, I reach the bottom. Something white and shiny catches my eye. Slowly, piece by piece rattling along, I pull up what appears to be a series of very small bones strung along a bit of twine. I hate her. I officially hate her. Letting it drop back in, I sigh and begin to repack everything. Ok, so. Not the trunk.

Climbing to my feet, I move toward the chest of drawers. There’s a pile of men’s socks and underwear scattered all over the ground, like they just grabbed a drawer and turned it upside down. I tug open the first one. Nope. Second, nope. Third – completely empty. Frowning, I stare at the barren drawer. Ok, so why would they empty it out… and then not put anything in it? Maybe it’s where Drusilla had been keeping… whatever it was she was keeping. Some sort of talisman. But why would she take it with her? Spike didn’t need constant contact with it… that’d been proven by the fight in the graveyard last night. Why would she take it?

There’s a sudden tightness in my chest and before I realize it, my hand gropes for my cell. I dial and the time between each ring feels like eternity. “Dawnie. Pick up. Pick up, pick up, pick up, pick – ”

“Hello, Slayer.” That long drawl fills my head until there is nothing else. The second I hear that voice, my feet start moving towards the apartment door. “Bout time you called back. Sorry I missed you earlier, but I was a bit… busy. And Dru, well she never got on with the whole technology gig and Dawn… Dawn was a bit tied up. You can take that as literally as you like.”

I can’t breathe, I can’t – I – “What did you do?” My voice rises until I’m screaming in the middle of the dead couple’s foyer. “What did you do to her!”

“Now, now… no need to shout. I’ve these delicate vampire eardrums, you know.”

“Let me talk to her. Now.”

“I don’t think you’re in any position to make demands, kitten.”

“I’m coming up there, Spike. And you’d better pray that you haven’t touched a single hair on her head or spell or no spell, you’ll be dust before morning. You and Drusilla.”

His voice becomes clipped. “Careful what you say. Wouldn’t want to get me angry. Might take it out on the little bit.”

“I’ll be seeing you, Spike.”

“Looking forward to it.”

The phone clicks shut and the world rushes back again. I’m standing on the sidewalk in front of the apartment of dead people. Whether some walk and talk or not, they’re all still dead.

“I have to get to Dawn.” The leaf skittering across the concrete at my feet is louder than my voice.

I take off running, my feet pounding as I head back to the rental. It takes two tries to get the key in the door lock. I hate driving on a good day. How am I supposed to make the forty-minute drive to Charlotte without killing anyone when my nerves are like this? How am I supposed to drive when they’re doing who knows what to my little sister?

*****

Dawn stopped screaming four hours ago. It wasn’t doing any good, and her throat hurt. She hadn’t stopped crying, however. And it didn’t look like she’d be stopping anytime soon. They had tossed her on the bed a little while ago. It’d made a red smear across the comforter. A stain that continued to grow as the minutes ticked by. The cuts they’d made weren’t terribly deep, but they hurt. Oh, Drusilla had made certain of that.

Dawn tugged at the bonds trapping her wrists behind her. Drusilla was sprawled across the foot of the bed, talking softly to herself and staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. The dress she wore was the same shade of chocolate as her hair. Except now, it had dark spots. Spots from where she had spilled Dawn’s blood and then rubbed her hands against herself, not minding the sticky mess. Suddenly, Drusilla gasped. Her hands, which had been fretting at the comforter, went still. “There it is.” She smiled, delighted, and her eyes slid from the ceiling to Dawn.

Dawn stiffened as Drusilla pushed herself up into a sitting position. Oh, not again, not again. Why couldn’t the witch stay in whatever lala land she had come up with. Where was Spike? He had left her with this crazy lady and she didn’t care if he was evil again, if he hurt her just as much, she still wanted him there, in the room. When he‘d walked out, terror had welled up in her and she’d started screaming all over again until Drusilla hit her. She had been scared before, of course. But she hadn’t been terrified. She had seen too much in her life to be terrified. She had had her blood spilled for a God and touched her mother’s dead body. Dawn Summers did not terrify easily. But she did when Spike left her.

And suddenly this woman’s cold, hard hands were on her cheeks. “Shh, shh… don’t cry.” Drusilla knelt on her knees and swayed, rocking on her hips side to side. “Bad girls go to confession. It’ll be worse for you there.” She nodded knowingly, as if confiding a secret. “It’s sharing time, now.”

Dawn’s voice came out muffled and garbled around the gag. Drusilla reached up, and pulled it down. “Aw, there now. Birdies can sing better without nasty bits in the way.”

Dawn licked her lips and stretched her mouth, eyes never leaving Drusilla. “Wh – What do you mean sharing time?” Her voice shook and did that squeaky/hoarse thing it always did whenever she cried. Buffy had always made fun of her for it.

“Oh, it will be quite fun.” She replied, her voice enthusiastic. Her hands were stroking and fluttering all around her cheeks, now. “Just watch.” Her voice dropped low. “Just watch, and look… look into my eyes, little girl.” And Dawn couldn’t help it. She tried. She really did. But she couldn’t help it. “Shh, shh, shh. Look… look… see in my eyes, see in me.”

And then she did something with her hands. Dawn blinked and missed it, and now Drusilla was gone. There, kneeling beside her on the bed was-- “Tara?”

“Hi, Dawnie.” And it was her. It had to be; only Tara was that warm. With that voice that made her feel young and safe again. Safe. Before hellgods and aneurysms and bad magic and things that made you get a soul. Before that.

“Tara!” She was desperate.

“I’m here, I’m here.” The woman pulled her into her arms. It was pure Tara. The delicate tinkle of jewelry, the smell of rosemary. But most of all – soft. There were no hard angles or edges with Tara. Not in her voice, or her eyes, or her hands. It was all soft.

“Are you here? Are you really here?”

“I’m always here, Dawnie. I have always been with you.”

“I missed you,” she whispered, her voice fierce. She tired to focus, tried to memorize the details but something was squirming in the back of her mind. Distracting. Like a bird beating on the glass. “Are you staying?”

Tara smiled, her eyes crinkling. “No, sweetie.”

“What? But why, why can’t we – ”

“Listen, Dawn. Hush now, you have to listen. You’re in terrible danger.”

The flapping grew louder, more insistent. “I know, I was…” Dawn’s brow furrowed, her voice halted. “ …Spike was here. He was here but he’s… gone now.”

Tara nodded solemnly. “That’s what I’m here to tell you. Spike is dangerous. He’s going to hurt you.”

Dawn tried to smile, but it quickly fell. “No, he won’t. I mean, not really. There’s something…” Again, she halted, trying to piece her thoughts together. “I think he might be sick.”

“No, Dawnie. Listen. He’s evil, again. Remember when he hurt Buffy?”

“But that – that was a long time ago. It’s different now. He didn’t mean to. Something was wrong. Buffy said so. Circumstances.”

“Dawn, he tried to – ”

“Why aren’t you stuttering?” The flapping had become a pounding. “Not once, not once have you – ”

A harsh voice cut in, “Dru, what are you doing?”

Dawn blinked only to see Spike standing by the doorway, head cocked to the side in curiosity. He was bent over, as if holding something awkward and heavy. She couldn’t see. It was obscured by –

Drusilla. Drusilla, who’s cold, bony hands were gripping her shoulders, whose knees were touching her knees. The woman turned her head from the door and looked back to Dawn, her eyes wide and slightly glassy. “He ruins the best games,” she whispered apologetically. “But look at the great toy he brought us!” She moved, and Dawn could see what Spike was dragging across the floor. A woman with dark skin, rolling eyes, and a blue maid uniform. There were wads of paper in her mouth to dampen the small cries she made as Spike shut the door.

*****

It’s the longest forty minutes of my life. It’s the shortest forty minutes of my life. The man at the desk gives me her room number after I tell him I’m her sister and show my ID, while a small part of me is wondering how they got her room number. I do this while trying very hard to appear normal. It’s not as hard as you might think. I’ve been doing this since I was fourteen. Every year it got harder, and every year I got better at it. By the time the elevator reaches the right floor and I’m standing in front of her door, Buffy is locked away in a tiny box. She’ll come out when needed.

There are no ledges along the outside windows to sneak upon. There is no Willow to create a decoy or a fog or a distraction. There is only one way in – the front door. I do what I can and break off the leg of a wooden table in the hallway. Along with the one I already carry, two stakes are better than one.

Carefully, I test the door handle. Locked of course. There goes the element of surprise. I force the door, ignoring the loud crack, and stride in, prepared for… I don’t know what. Immediately, my eyes zero in on Dawn, bound and gagged and quietly sobbing on the bed. While one part of me is noting her bruised and puffy eyes, another is cataloging the body on the floor between the bed and the wall, the only thing visible is two legs in pantyhose poking out behind the bed. Dawn’s eyes go wide when she sees me, and I’m halfway across the room to her before two figures emerge from the hallway leading to the bathroom. Upon seeing them, she screeches a muffled, “Buffy!”

Dropping the extra stake on the bed, I jerk off the soggy scrap of material gagging her. As quickly as I can, I check her over for vital injuries, ignoring the red wetness on the bed that’s soaking into my jeans. She’s bloody – cut in some places and burnt in others, but nothing that will kill her if she doesn’t get help like, now. Flesh wounds. An iron grip closes around my throat and, before I can grab hold of the stake, slams me against the wall. My feet dangle just an inch or two above the floor and I struggle to gain firm footing.

“Think your priorities are a bit mussed, Slayer,” he snarls, then smiles nastily, his entire body pinning me. “Maybe you should focus on those that’ll eat you, first.”

I smile sweetly through gritted teeth. “Don’t worry, Spike. I just wanted to know how much I’d have to make you hurt before you’re dust.” Wrapping both hands around his arm, I dig my fingers into the soft, cool flesh of his wrist. The tendons part before my fingers and his blood starts dripping down my hands. With a howl, he flings me across the room, barely missing Drusilla.

Before I can get up, she’s looming over me, her hair forming a dark curtain, and hissing, “Bad dog! Nasty! Every one of your kind.” She slaps me with enough force to snap my head to the side. A warm trickle runs begins to run down my cheek, followed by a sharp sting. She must’ve cut me with her nails. Dawn’s screaming in the background and Spike’s yelling at her to shut the hell up. I suppress a smirk. Dawnie’s shrieks must be hell on vamp hearing.

My hand shoots up and I grab Drusilla by the front of her dress, using her as leverage, as I climb to my feet. I punch her – hard – but don’t let go. Spike tackles me and we tumble to the floor, a whirl of fists and fangs and snarling.

I can hear Dawn still screaming. Vaguely. I’m kind of focusing on the fangs about to snap shut on my throat. “ – the drawer, Buffy! She put it in the drawer. The magic thing! The talisman!” Out of the corner of my eye I see the dresser.

With a small, frantic cry Drusilla crosses over to the bed. “Quiet,” she hisses. She grabs Dawn’s hair, jerking her head back. “I’ll make you stop telling. No more cats’ tongues.”

Spike lands a particularly hard blow to my gut and I lose sight of the two. Dawn screams and adrenaline shoots through me. With a kick, I send Spike flying towards the hallway. Ignoring the instinct to go to Dawn, I race to the dresser, yanking open the top drawer. Of course, it’s the dresser. Drusilla’s a crazy person. Probably likes repetition; things kept in their place. The drawer’s completely empty except for one small, thick piece of wood. It’s stained and there’s fabric wrapped around it. Snatching it up, I whirl around. Drusilla’s full concentration is on me now. Spike stands poised, as if waiting for something, at the edge of the hallway.

An eerie wail pours out of Drusilla, her face one of pure panic. “No, no, she’ll ruin it. I had the pieces all set out and arranged so very nicely, too.” She clutches at her chest. “Complete set, even the little forks for the cakes.”

I wave the thing in the air. “A stick? Really? Your master plan for controlling him is a stick? Good plan, really, I mean it.”

At that, her eyes narrow and she shifts into gameface. “Stop her, Spike. Stop the bad thing for princess. She wants to tear us apart.”

“Not gonna happen, baby.” He takes a very deliberate step forward, the orange hall lighting gleaming on his coat, and my fingers tighten around the talisman. “This’ll be fun, Slayer. Parties with you never get old.”

“You want a party, Spike? Fine. I’ll give you a party.” With one smooth motion, I snap the talisman across my leg.

Before I can even let the pieces fall to the ground, his stride breaks. His legs give out, and with one hand clutching at his head he crumbles to the ground. Tearing her eyes from him, Drusilla launches herself at me with a cry, fangs bared. Her mistake. I duck under and in, my fist connecting with her jaw. It’s a good, solid hit and she flies backwards into the wall with a loud thump that rattles the light fixtures on the wall. A quick glance at Spike tells me he’s still on the floor. Drusilla’s back on her feet, but this time she doesn’t charge in. This time she starts circling, slow and meandering. She snarls with rage, her crooked fangs gleaming in the hotel light.

“We were having such fun. Why did you have to come in and wreck it all? Nasty Slayer beast.”

“Oh gee, I’m sorry. I totally didn’t mean to interrupt this whole killing spree you two had going on. How rude of me. And my sister? Yeah, you can just go ahead and have her, she steals all the Pop-Tarts, anyways.”

Her eyes narrow into slits from anger, and she continues to circle. I swear she’s at her most lucid when you insult her. “I saw you! How you made them all like you.” …Or maybe not.

Keeping a sharp eye on her, I make a right jab, but she sidesteps it. “Sorry lady, but I don’t speak crazy.”

“All those girls. It wasn’t their time. But you made them sing anyway.”

It dawns on me what she’s talking about. “What’s the matter, Drusilla? Too many of us slayers trying to kill you now?”

“You took them! Made what you wanted. All of you taking what isn’t yours!” Her voice grows shrill. “Well I took him… fishes and finches. They knew what to do.”

“Look. In case you didn’t notice, I’m trying to kill you. All your crazy psycho babble is a little distracting,” I snap.

She says nothing, but stops circling. The bones in her face crunch and the demon’s gone. Swaying slightly, one hand raises. The panic completely disappears from her voice. Instead, it falls to a low, soft pitch. “Don’t worry, dearie. You can make it better. Just look in my eyes.” Her brown eyes are intent, not breaking contact with mine for a second. “Look into my eyes… be in my eyes.” And for a second, I feel a tugging sensation, like a veil threatening to come down. Dawn’s cries fades into the background. Like noise from the next room over.

“It’s just like swimming, Buffy.” It’s no longer Drusilla’s voice. Instead it sounds like… it sounds so familiar, just like… Mommy. “It’s easy, I promise. If you just let yourself… go.”

She’s right. It’d be so easy. And it’s so tempting to just relax… I could float in the pool, soaking up the sun. My yellow floaties squeaking every time I move. It’d be so nice. I shift forward, wanting to see her better, and something hard and pointed jabs me in the small of my back. My stake. The one given to me. Kendra’s stake. The world rushes back into focus. Kendra’s death.

I lash out fast and hard, slamming her back against the wall, my elbow pressing into her throat. “Is this how you killed Kendra? Put her in a trance?” I can barely get out the words, so thick is the anger clogging my lungs. “Her throat was cut and there were no bruises at all. Couldn’t win in a fair fight, could you? Well guess what? Trances aren’t going to work this time. Aurelian or not, it’s not going to happen.”

Her fangs are back and she hisses, getting pissed off. “I made him! Me! I made him into what he is. He belongs to me.”

“He stopped being your boy a long time ago, Drusilla. And I’m getting tired of you waltzing in and playing with our lives.” I spin, landing a solid high kick, but she blocks the follow-up punch. She grabs me by the throat and I knee her hard in the gut, loosening her grip just enough to pry her hands off. She throws herself at me and we tumble to the ground. I roll on top and grab the neck of her dress. “First Kendra, then the things you did to Giles. Did you think I’d forgotten?” With a jerk, I slam her head against the floor. “And now Spike? You’re trying to make a monster out of him again, just like you. But I won’t let you. Not this time.” With one hand holding her down by the throat, knees trapping her jerking arms, the other unsheathes the stake nestled under my coat. “I have always regretted letting you get away all those times. But not today. Not anymore.”

I let my arm fly. But just before it hits home, a grip like stone catches my wrist, the sudden stop of motion wrenching my shoulder socket. I look up in disbelief, meeting flinty blue eyes. My voice squeaks out, barely audible. “But I… I broke it – ” My voice jerks to a stop.

Spike stands there, face cold. It didn’t work. It didn’t work and now I have to kill him, too.

“Not gonna to let you dust her, Slayer.” His voice is detached, even.

Below me, Drusilla squirms. I tighten my grip on her throat and my stake. I can’t take my eyes off him, and I can’t find my voice.

“Fine.” His hold hardens and jerks. With a clear snap my wrist breaks. I cry out, I can’t help myself, and he catches the stake before it hits the floor.

Drusilla whimpers, “My Spike…”

Spike gives me a shove and I fall against the wall, cradling my wrist. My mind is screaming at me to get up, do something, stop him, kill him. And I will. I promise. Just one more minute, just one more.

He kneels beside her, careful not to step on the brown suede of her dress, black leather falling around him. He cups her cheek, blue eyes intent. Her demon fades to below the surface and my stomach turns at seeing the two of them together like this. Her temple and mouth are bloody from the fight. The red shines against her pale skin. She’s crying, staring up at him with large, trusting eyes. The tears make little watery tracks down her cheeks.

She opens her mouth to speak, but his thumb moves to brush across her lips. “It’s time for quiet now, baby. No more voices.” Before she can make a sound he moves – quick as a flash. He buries the stake in her chest. Her mouth forms a little ‘o’ of surprise. He never looks away as she falls to dust.

His jaw works, as he stares at the pile for a moment. Then, slowly, he turns to see me still sitting there, staring at him. When he speaks, it’s strained and rough. “We had this conversation years go. Told you I’d do it.”

My mind’s blank for a moment, too numb to process anything. But then I remember. Drusilla’s second visit to Sunnydale. He chained us both up and threatened to stake her in order to prove his love was real.

I didn’t believe him then, and I don’t really believe him now. I watch him carefully, looking for a sign, some tell-tale detail to let me know that he really is magically better. Or rather, non-magically better. Magic-free. But he’s quiet, not saying a word, just staring at the ugly carpet now. This is more like the Spike I knew. The comes-with-a-soul version, anyway, and it’s enough to make up my mind.

“Spike.” No response. “Are you ok?”

His gaze moves and I follow it. The body lying on the floor, between the bed and the wall. Panty-hosed legs sticking out. “Peaches and cream,” he whispers softly. He still doesn’t move. Just stares at the dead woman out of the corner of his eyes.

“I have to help Dawn now,” I say slowly, as if he’s a child, or slow of understanding. But he doesn’t respond.

I look over at Dawn, still half-sitting, half-lying bound on the bed. She’s not crying or saying a word, but she’s watching me very closely, like I might disappear any moment.

I leave him, and go to her. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here,” I murmur softly, working at the ties on her wrists. Her gaze flickers between me and Spike. “I think he’s in shock.” And you probably are, too. We all are. “Can you stand?” I murmur, and she nods, rubbing at her wrists, and she does. But she’s wobbly, like some kind of baby animal. She clings to me in a way she hasn’t done for years now. My hands itch to check her wounds again, but nothing seems to still be bleeding, so I settle for running a hand through her long hair. I just want to get her out of this damn room.

“I’m going to take care of the body.” Startled at Spike’s voice, I look over. He’s standing now, but still just staring at that body. Doesn’t look like he’ll be moving any time soon, either.

“Ok.” I hesitate, holding onto Dawn, who hasn’t said a word. “Listen. I have to get back to Dinwitty, all my stuff’s there and I have to take care of some things…” I trail off, feeling a bit awkward. “You want to meet me there when you’re done, or…”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be good.”

I nod. When we reach the door I stop and look back at him. He still hasn’t moved and for whatever reason, I get the feeling that this is the last time I’ll see him for a while. Anger rises up, but it’s small and I’m tired, and I mostly understand. “I meant what I said.” With that, he does turn. His right hand jerks reflexively at his side and I know he knows what I’m talking about. The look he gives me is so sad and long, it makes my chest hurt. “And I’ll be waiting for you.”

Not saying a word, he looks away, and it’s over, and Dawn and I leave.

*****

It’s been four months now, and I haven’t heard a peep from you – and I’ve been listening. Or rather, we’ve been listening. Giles has the entire network looking out for you. (He’s back to completely hating your guts, by the way, but has assured me he means you no harm.) But you must be staying low to the ground cause there hasn’t been so much as a whisper. I’m not really worried though. Sooner or later you’ll pop back up. You’ll start itching for a bigger fight than the odd vamp or two. And... well, have you met yourself? Most annoying being on the planet. So there definitely won’t be any trouble there.

But in the meantime, I’ll give you a little room. God knows you have some issues to work out. I know I do. You killed a lot of people. And you took my sister. Oh yeah, I’ve got some issues to work through, too. But there’s only so much we can work through by ourselves. People need other people. You can’t wall yourself up. I know because once upon a time, I tried. And you were there to drag me out, kicking and screaming.

I got your note. The one that turned up the day Dawn and I left Dinwitty. We didn’t stay there longer than necessary; Dawn said the hotel smelled like pennies. I found it trapped under one of the windshield wipers of the rental, and I almost threw it away, thinking it was a flyer. But then I saw that near illegible chicken scratch:
My compass is broken. I have to get my bearings back.

You better not take too long. I was never a very patient girl. And if you won’t come to me, then I’ll go to you. Around the world, to give you my love.