Xander stood silently back against the wall, allowing the darkness to hide him from Dawn’s eyes, which were still adjusted to the relative brightness of the crypt’s lower level, and did not see him as she passed on her way out the door. He didn’t want her to know he was there, not yet, mostly because he really wasn’t sure yet what he wanted to do about this little situation.

And partly because Dawn in this frame of mind – and possibly still pissed off with him from their little confrontation earlier – was surprisingly scary.

He waited until she had left, then crept back toward the ladder, debating whether or not to descend. He could hear the rattling of the chains from down there, as Warren weakly attempted to free himself from them. Mingled with the sound were weak, muffled cries as he tried desperately to draw attention to himself, to somehow get someone to help him. But Dawn had gagged him before she left, not wanting him to be heard and helped by some passing stranger.

And the one person who *could* hear him had no desire to help him.

Xander was surprised and a little disturbed by the utter *lack* of concern he felt over Dawn’s violence toward Warren. A small part of his mind realized that the girl was probably getting in over her head, crossing over into dangerous territory.

But the greater part of him knew with all certainty that Warren deserved whatever she did to him. His memories from the time he had spent reliving Spike’s pain were still fresh in his mind, and even just hearing the beginnings of Dawn’s punishment for the cruel boy chained in the basement room had given him a sense of vindication.

He wasn’t really sure what he was going to do yet. He didn’t want to let Dawn get herself into any real danger. But so far, she didn’t seem to be. She actually appeared to have everything under control.

As he turned and walked slowly out of the crypt, he resolved to keep a close eye on her, to just be there in case she *did* need rescuing, but not to interfere for now. Still, he wanted to be close enough to keep Dawn from going past the point where she could find her way back.

He agreed with Dawn whole-heartedly; Warren needed to die.

He just wasn’t sure that Dawn should be the one to kill him.


“There’s gotta be something we can do about this,” Dawn said, pacing the floor of her bedroom in an agitated manner, not looking at Anya, who was sitting on her bed, listening and frowning in thought. “I can’t just let Spike think that the device is gone, and Warren’s got it or something!” She paused to look up at Anya and said, “You know all about all this vengeance stuff, Anya. What do you think I should do?”

Anya was hesitant to say what she was thinking. The truth was, she was worried about Dawn, about the hardness she had seen developing in her over the past few weeks. She had seen enough to know that while sometimes vengeance was necessary, if it became too important to a person, if it became all she could focus on or think about, it could destroy her.

And already, Dawn’s vengeance wish was having a negative effect not only on her but on those around her – incredibly, on the very person she had made the wish for in the first place!

Anya spoke cautiously, watching Dawn with solemn eyes. “I don’t know, Dawnie. This isn’t going quite the way you wanted it to. Maybe you should just…”

Dawn knew what she was going to say before she said it, and snapped, “No! I’m not just gonna give up on this, Anya! Warren deserves to pay for what he did, and I’m going to make sure he gets exactly what he deserves!”

“Okay,” Anya said, sounding anxious and troubled. “But Dawn – why don’t you just let *me* finish this? Make one final wish to end it, and let me end the whole thing so you and Spike and Buffy can all just get on with your lives?”

Dawn shook her head, softening a little at the genuine concern she heard in Anya’s voice and saw in her eyes. Though she was as determined as ever to follow through with her plan to its completion, she knew that Anya was only concerned about her, only wanted to help her.

“No,” she said firmly, but softly. “I started this, and I’m gonna finish it. I just have to come up with a way to keep Spike from worrying about the controller.” She glanced up at Anya speculatively for a moment. “I could wish something,” she suggested.

“Only if it’s specifically vengeance,” Anya said without hesitation, cutting Dawn off before she could build up too much false hope for herself. “And making a separate wish to cover up the first wish – that’s the kind of complication that causes whole universes to go all out of whack. You might want to be careful, Dawnie.”

Dawn’s lips turned downward into a pout for a moment, before she raised her eyebrows as a new idea occurred to her. “Or,” she went on, only momentarily discouraged by Anya’s comment, “I could just *say* I made a wish – but not my real wish – and just explain it that way.”

“To Spike,” Anya clarified, looking at her suspiciously through wide eyes. “Explain it to *Spike*. Not Buffy. Because Buffy needs to keep on thinking that I am just a perfectly normal human being.”

“Little late to be worrying about that,” Dawn muttered under her breath, then continued with a wide, innocent smile when Anya gave her a puzzled look. “I really don’t care if Buffy worries about the chip or not. It’ll all be over in a week, anyway; she can deal with it. But Spike – I can’t let him suffer like that.”

She paused for a moment before she added, “He knows you’re a vengeance demon again, Anya. And he said he wouldn’t tell Buffy, right? So I can just tell him I…”

She hesitated, frowning in concentration as she tried to think of a plausible story. Suddenly her face lit up in inspiration as she looked back at Anya hopefully. “I can tell him that I wished the controller out of existence! So that no one can ever use it against him again. That would make sense, wouldn’t it?”

Anya thought about it for a moment, nodding slowly. “Yes. That sort of wish would make sense. And it would explain the controller’s disappearing in a way that would stop Spike from being afraid.” She looked up at Dawn with a bright smile. “Yes. Good idea, Dawn!” she said in an overly enthusiastic voice that, coming from anyone else, would have been perceived as sarcastic.

Dawn smiled in satisfaction, certain that she had finally found the solution to the problem. Buffy wouldn’t have a clue about Anya or the wish she had made, and Spike would no longer have to be afraid.

And no one would be the wiser about her little scheme.

It was perfect.


A few minutes later, once Anya had teleported out of her room, Dawn headed downstairs, eager to find Spike – hopefully not attached to her sister at the moment – so that she could put his mind at ease.

She found him in the kitchen, warming a mug in the microwave. Lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice when she came into the room. His eyes were focused on the microwave door, though not really seeing it, and his back was to her.

“Hey,” she said softly, and he spun around to face her, startled.

“Hey, Bit,” he replied, his voice low and weary. Constant, mind-numbing terror had a tendency to be exhausting.

Again Dawn felt very guilty for being the cause of his fear, although she had only done it in an attempt to avenge him, with absolutely no intention of hurting him. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice soft and sorrowful.

He shrugged, trying to look unconcerned. “Not your fault.”

If only it were true, she thought with a heavy heart. She took a few steps closer to him, saying more with the look in her eyes than with her words. “No. I’m really sorry.”

He gave her a gently reproving look, and said kindly, “Now, Bit, none of that. We’re past that already, yeah?”

She nodded meekly, but didn’t really feel much better. The night before she had apologized for her harsh words, for leaving him to face his fears alone, and he had readily, openly forgiven her. But the fact that he didn’t know just how much she had actually contributed to the incident kept her guilt from being eased.

“Where’s Buffy?” she asked quietly.

“Shower.”

She nodded, relieved. At least she would not have to come up with an excuse to her sister for why she needed to talk to Spike alone. “Hey, can I – can I talk to you?” she asked hesitantly.

The uncertainty in her eyes was obvious, and he knew immediately that whatever she wanted to talk about, this was a conversation that she was a little bit afraid to have.

“Always, pet,” he replied immediately with a warm, encouraging smile. Trying to put his own fear he was struggling with out of his mind, he stepped closer to Dawn. She needed him; it was time to focus on someone else’s problems for a little while.

He suddenly remembered his drink and held up one finger in a wait-just-a-moment gesture, turning around to take his steaming mug from the microwave. Dawn was surprised by the sweet fragrance that rose from it, and peered curiously into the mug, as Spike pulled it away from her with self-conscious irritation.

“Is that *tea*?” she asked incredulously, her eyes sparkling with laughter as she looked up at him in surprise.

“What?” he said defensively. “I’m bloody *English*, all right?”

Dawn laughed, giving him a teasing push as they made their way into the living room. She covered a mocking word with an exaggerated cough, but he could still hear it clearly.

“*Giles*!”

“You bloody well better take that back!” he growled with false menace.

“Or what?” she shot back playfully, desperately wishing that she could just lose herself in the pleasant banter that always seemed to rise between them, and forget all about what she was about to do.

She was about to look her best friend in the eye and lie to him to his face. And not a little “I’m-going-to-Janice’s-house” alibi sort of lie; this was a huge, enormous completely made up story, and about something about which it was very much his right to know the truth.

And though she knew that telling him the truth was not really an option, as it would endanger both Anya and her plan, she also knew that this lie would also probably make him very upset with her. He was going to be hurt and angry that she had allowed him to go through the previous night of terror, without telling him the “truth” about the controller.

Spike’s teasing smirk drew her attention away from her thoughts and back to him as he said in a low, soft voice that called to memory his pre-chip days, “Would you like me to remind you what happened the last time you challenged me, little girl?”

Spike was the only one in the whole world who could get away with calling her a little girl – who could even make her like hearing it, coming from him.

“Okay!” she laughed, backing a few steps away and then sitting down on the couch behind her. “I give up!” she said as she patted the seat beside her.

He sat down in the spot she had indicated, a smug smile on his face as he met her eyes, his own soft with his affection for her. His smile slowly faded to a serious expression as he registered the worry in her eyes.

“What is it, Bit? What were you wanting to talk to me about?” he prompted her gently, his eyes never leaving hers.

“I – I need to tell you something.” She paused. “And you’re gonna be mad at me.” She made her voice small and timid and frightened, trying to play on his considerable fondness for her.

He frowned, giving her a suspicious look. “What did you do?” he asked her in a dark voice, not buying into her tactics. But the look in his eyes told her that although he saw right through her attempts to play on his sympathies, he would allow her to do it anyway.

“If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell Buffy,” she insisted, looking him in the eye firmly, seriously.

“Not sure I oughta be making a promise like that, love,” he said, his eyebrows raised as he leaned back against the couch, regarding her cautiously.

Dawn knew she could win this, and easily. She shrugged her shoulders and stood as if to go, knowing full well that his curiosity had already bested him. “You know what,” she said with a little grimace. “never mind.”

He caught her arm and pulled her unceremoniously back down onto the couch. “Fine,” he sighed. “Just between you and me, then, Bit. What is it?”

She hesitated, not sure how to say it. Finally, she decided to just come out with it and blurted out, “I know where the controller is…or where it isn’t, actually. I – I’m the one who took it. Sort of.”

She wasn’t making much sense, and she knew it. His eyes widened in stunned surprise and he frowned in confusion. “Y-you?” he questioned, shaking his head. “But why?” His wide, searching eyes, which always saw through whatever façade she wore to the truth beneath it, were gazing into hers, desperately seeking an answer.

That would never do!

She quickly looked down, apparently in shame, but in reality just to hide the truth she knew he would see in her eyes. “I made a wish to Anya,” she admitted. “To make the controller not exist.”

He just stared at her for a long moment, struck utterly speechless, just trying to process what she had just said. “Y-you made it…” His voice broke off, and he shook his head a little, uncomprehending.

She chanced a look up at him, and found that he was too stunned by her revelation to notice the lie in her eyes. Her heart flooded with compassion when she saw the look of disbelieving hope in his eyes – as if he simply didn’t dare to believe that what she was saying could actually be true.

It wasn’t. Not really. But for all intents and purposes, for what it meant to Spike…it was. The threat that the control device represented for Spike had been forever eliminated. With the chip in Warren’s head instead of his, it didn’t matter if the device existed or not; it could never be used against Spike again.

“It’s gone, Spike,” she told him in a trembling whisper, as the power of what she had done suddenly hit her for the first time. She reached out to take his hands in hers, no longer afraid to meet his eyes, searching them with her own. “No one can ever use that thing to hurt you, ever again!” The words were heartfelt and passionate.

And absolutely true.

The thought she had worried about, of how she had allowed him to suffer through the night before not knowing where the device was, never even crossed his mind. His deep blue eyes gazed into hers with slowly fading shock, as what she was saying began to sink in.

The controller, the center of his fears for so long, was really gone.

“You wouldn’t make a wish on your own,” Dawn explained, her tear-filled eyes downcast again, as the powerful emotions at work inside her began to take control. “I couldn’t let it go on like that, Spike. You having to live in fear, never knowing when the wrong person might get their hands on that thing. No one should ever be able to do that to you, and they won’t. Ever again.” By now her tears were streaming down her face, and her voice was trembling uncontrollably.

His throat constricted and his chest burned with the tears, not of fear or anguish this time, but of love and gratitude, that rose up inside him at the thought of what she had done. He gazed at her, wide-eyed with wonder and a sense of awe at this precious girl in front of him.

Slowly, he reached out and pulled her into his arms, and she couldn’t help it anymore. She broke down, allowing the tears she had forced back ever since his return to overwhelm her, the pain she had repressed since his return, for his sake, pouring out to soak his shirt as he cradled her head against his chest.

“I hate that he did that to you!” she sobbed. “I hate it! I hate him!” she sobbed, and he just held her to him, gently shushing her and rocking her gently as the bitterness and sorrow that had been buried in her for so long that it had begun to consume her flooded out from her lips and eyes. “I wish I could have stopped it…I wish I could have…helped you…could have…”

After allowing her to cry it out for a few minutes, he gently took her face in his hands and pushed her back, meeting her eyes with a deep, piercing gaze that stunned her with the fierce intensity of the love she saw there, sapphire eyes welling with tears that did not fall.

“You have done so much, Dawn,” he whispered, holding her gaze, shaking his head a little, in awe of just how much her devoted friendship and support had meant to him over the past few weeks. He spoke again, slowly and intently, emphasizing every word to make her see how deeply he meant them, “If it was not for you, I would not have made it.”

The tender, heartfelt sentiment made her break down again, still not feeling that she had done nearly enough to help her friend, and she shook her head against his steady hands, in denial.

Still, he held her firmly, and slowly leaned down to place a tender, chaste kiss on her forehead, before drawing back to look her in the eyes again and speaking softly with an intensity of inexpressible emotion in two simple words.

“Thank you.”