essene_backup | Nervous

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I wanted to finish this before WriterCon. I honestly, honestly did.

But all I have is 880 words. So far. ::crosses fingers:: But at least I have 880 more words!

It all started with prompting from

diva_stardust almost a year ago ::chokes:: A year. Damn.

It's Spike. It's Dawn. It's Spawn. Not only that? It's underage. It's NC-17.

Should you choose to catch-up or refresh, I've reorganized my memories and you can find it here: "Holy" from the beginning

Now for more of our continuing saga, which strangely includes no porn this go 'round, but it's coming. Oh yes it is. Also? I played around with canon a bit. Yes, yes I did.

It went on through the steamy summer like that: stolen looks, stolen moments, stolen passion; snuck into every crevice of time that they could find.

He showed her what flying was like, she showed him what it felt like to be loved.

Then he found out. Who and what she really was.

*************

The bells jingled as she walked through the door, sliding her backpack off her shoulder.

“What’s the huddle about?” Dawn asked the group clustered around the counter.

Xander said, “Captain Peroxide got himself captured by Glory.”

Dawn’s heart fell to her feet and her chest threatened to cave in. Somehow she managed to keep her voice steady as she said, “And you’re going to go get him, right?”

4 pairs of eyes focused on her as Xander asked incredulously, “Why would we do that?”

Buffy smacked him lightly on the back of the head, “Because he knows, dufus.”

Xander rubbed the spot absently, “Oh. Yeah.”

Dawn scanned their faces, which had suddenly turned worried. “Knows what?” There was something important going on here. Something…more than Spike.

Willow came up behind her and hugged her shoulders. “We were just figuring out a plan Dawnie, you’ve got nothing to worry about, “ Willow soothed.

************

Spike was working on coming back to the world after the frizzled bitch discarded her attempts to peel him like an apple. He was just focusing on one of the scabby gits in the corner when the fashion whore stepped in front of him.

“You’re going to tell me everything I want to know.” Glory stretched out her immaculately manicured fingers and thrust them into Spike’s head.

He yelled out in agony and she spoke with twisted satisfaction, “Oooh, such a brutal vampire. “ She made a tsking noise, “Poor thing, you’ve been chained in recently…oh how sweet….what’s this?” As he howled in pain, she cocked her head, twisted her hands and pulled them out of his head, one of them holding something.

“Now, what’s a vampire doing with a piece of metal in his head?” Glory asked curiously. Then she was looking down at herself in consternation, “Oh no, not now! Shit…”

The figure in front of Spike shimmered and shifted as Spike watched through swollen eyes. In place of a curly haired, curvy woman was a startled young man in an ill-fitting dress.

Before he could set himself to rights, Spike kicked out at the befuddled figure in front of him, and used the leverage and swing to pull his restraints free from the ceiling.

At least the barmy bint sent her grubby little minions off; now would be a very bad time for interruption.

He swung his still shackled arms over the man’s head and crossed his wrists swiftly, cutting off the man’s oxygen. The man/girl twisted and scrabbled ineffectually at him, struggling for air, and at last struggling for life. Spike was resolute and finished the job with a last sudden jerk, listening for the final answering crack.

Stretching, he grinned wolfishly, “Ta, bitch.” His features shifted and he ran a tounge over newly refurbished fangs. Snarling, he spit on the prone form as he stepped over it, “Happy trails.”

*********************

They’d left her alone in the Magic Box, well, not alone. Willow and Tara were here, but with all the attention they paid her, she might as well be the only one there. She paced and kept raising her hands to her mouth to bite her nails and then lowered them again as soon as her mother’s voice sounded in her head, “Dawn, nice girls have nice hands. You can’t have nice hands with ragged nails.”

Buffy and the others had been gone for about 20 minutes when Dawn started planning her escape. She couldn’t just sit here and wait. If she did, she’d have bad nails, hair loss and an ulcer. She had to get out and DO something, she couldn’t just trust her sister to take care of things this time.

She managed to make it down the stairs to the storage room, avoiding every creaky tread, but she didn’t dare breathe until she had wedged open the window-well. She carefully climbed the shelves, grateful that Giles had won the fight of Rubbermaid vs. plywood when the shelves didn’t so much as shimmy under her weight.

It seemed like years later when she finally felt the pavement beneath her feet as she ran to Spike’s crypt. She didn’t know where else to go really. She had no idea who or what this “Glory” thing was, damn her sister and her “18 years and older” rule about Scooby strategy meetings, but it couldn’t be good. At least at the crypt she’d be able to grab a few weapons unobtrusively and then go from there.

Dawn flew threw the crypt door, barely stopping for the slight swerve around the TV and made for the ladder that peeked out from the hole in the floor. She clambered down, nostrils flaring, pulse racing, high on adrenaline and fear. The one person who’d always been honest with her, the one person who showed her the beauty of life, the one person who didn’t whitewash the harshness of the Hellmouth, but helped her be strong enough to stand it...

...was lying on the bed.