Title:  Nothing, or The Thrall of Victory, the Agony of Healthy Eats

Author:  Miss Murchison

Rating:  PG so far, unless references to Christina Aguilera really terrify you

Disclaimer:  All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.  Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine.

Notes:  A sequel to Quick and Bitter, Slow and Sweet.  This will be become more serious as I coninue it, and some details of this chapter may be changed to accommodate that.

Thanks: To Keswindhover for the beta, and to DorothyL for the beta and the title.

"I need refuge!" cried Dawn. 

Tara stepped back from the door to let her young friend enter the apartment.  She looked undismayed, even as Dawn staggered across the room to the couch, dropping her backpack, an empty plastic soda bottle, and a set of house keys behind her, like Hansel and Gretel scattering breadcrumbs in the forest. 

"Dawn, if you're on the lam from detention--  Don't tell me that the principal's finally figured out who dropped the bottle of bubble bath down that fountain!" 

Dawn was sprawled across the couch cushions.  "Jeez, Tara, why do you keep going on about that?  It's just a really tacky fountain at school." 

"Yes, but the surviving members of the senior class donated it.  They weren't happy that someone made it look like Lawrence Welk was the entertainment for the dedication ceremony." 

"Who's Lawrence Welk?" Dawn's stare was innocent, which meant nothing, of course.  "Anyway, that was weeks and weeks ago.  If they're going to figure out anything, it's not going to be that old news." 

Now Tara did look worried.  "What, then?"

 "Oh—nothing!"  Dawn sat up straighter and rushed on.  "I'm here because I can't stand the Psychotic Scoobies any more, that's all."

 "Dawn!"

 "Well, the Depressed Defenders, then.  The Melancholy Marvels.  Whatever you want to call them.  They're brooding over a pile of books, trying to figure out how to defeat the latest menace. I don't know why they don't try boring it to death with one of Buffy's speeches.  So I told them I was coming over here for help with my art project."  She looked around.  "Where's Spike?"

 "I sent him to get me some herbs and things."  Tara had moved to the kitchen counter, but now she was staring across the tiny apartment at Dawn.   "Are Buffy and—the others—in serious trouble, do you think?"

 "Not fair, Tara!"  Dawn picked a book up off the coffee table.  "I wouldn't be here if I did.  I don't run out on my sister, even if these days hanging with her is about as interesting as watching an episode of Touched by an Angel."  She was turning pages.  "What's this?  It looks creepy.  And why is Spike getting you herbs?  Seems like I should be asking if you two found something seriously scary."

 "Just Tara's latest recipe," said Spike, who had opened the apartment door in time to hear this.  He crossed to where Tara was standing and dropped a grocery bag on the counter, spilling its contents as he bent over to kiss her.  She had a garlic press in one hand and she held it out to the side as her other arm and her lips met his embrace.  Undeterred by the garlic or other dinner preparations, Spike tightened his arms around her.

 Dawn waited patiently for a minute or two, thumbing through the book, but finally she dropped it with a thump. "Okay, already!  Come on, you two!  He was where?  Around the corner on a dangerous mission to buy onions and tarragon?  I decree, as the only one here who is not a lovesick loon, that the welcome-back kiss cannot last longer than the expedition."

 Tara flushed a little as she pulled away from Spike and went back to cooking, but he just grinned as he patted her bottom on his way to join Dawn on the couch.  Didn't know you were coming by tonight, Bit. What's wrong?"

 "Why does something have to be wrong?"  Dawn's dramatic tone teased him.  "Can't I just stop by to visit a couple of friends and remind them there are things to do besides making nauseating, disgusting kissy-face all night?"

 Spike's voice dropped to a low murmur and his head tilted towards her confidentially.  "Not when you know Tara's on a health-food kick again."

 Dawn acknowledged defeat with an eye-roll.  "Couldn't stand things at home, and Janice is out a date with some total loser, so this was the only place left."

 "Even if tofu is the price of sanctuary?  We're so flattered."  He put a hand to his chest.  "Be still my heart.  Wait—it already is!"

 "You seem pretty cheerful for a vampire facing bean sprouts and lettuce."

 His smirk was undiminished.  "Well, you know, love compensates for a lot, Bit.  Even arrugula."

 But Dawn wasn't fooled by his virtuous tone.  She'd seen his hand creep towards his breast pocket, and a moment later they were wrestling for its contents.

 "I knew you'd kept your coat on for a reason. You've got something in there you want to hide while Tara's not looking."

 Tara, perhaps hearing her name, looked up and saw the struggle.  "What are you two up to?" she asked in an annoyed tone, her hands busy scrubbing something under the kitchen faucet.

 "Nothing!" called Dawn, settling back on her side of the couch. 

 "There's an awful lot of ‘nothing' going on with you lately," called Tara, reaching for a dish towel.

 The moment her back was turned, Dawn dove at Spike again.  Some tussling ensued.  The combatants were determined to keep their voices down, but they failed to prevent a few noisy thumps as a sneakered foot knocked some of the items on the coffee table to the floor.  Spike looked to see what had fallen and failed to block Dawn's final attempt to pillage the contents of his pocket.

 "Little bitch."  He acknowledged defeat without any real anger in his voice.  "You could have gotten your own."

  "You've got two Slim Jims still in there, and I bet more stuff I didn't see."  Dawn retreated to her corner of the couch, stashing a packet of Twizzlers under a pillow.  "If you were a real friend, you'd share without my beating you up first.  Besides, Tara doesn't yell at you when you won't eat your dinner like she fusses over me."

 Spike's face smirked its way into one of the self-satisfied grins that Dawn noticed with increasing frequency these days.  "Yeah, my witch has got a different way of making sure I feed right." 

 A shadow fell across the couch, and they leapt apart at the realization that Tara was standing over them with an expression that said if she weren't so busy, she'd get to the bottom of whatever any plot they had in progress.  Spike and Dawn exchanged glances, in which they negotiated an immediate cessation of hostilities and united in protection of their junk food stash against the imminent threat of vine-fresh tomatoes and green onions with a light vinagrette dressing.

 "Dawn, would you mind setting the table? And be careful with the balls." Tara bent to pick up a pair of shimmering globes, which had slipped out of a ceramic bowl during the wrestling match. 

 "Oh, are they crystal balls?" asked Dawn.  "Are they okay?"  She looked at them with interest.  "Do they do anything?"

 "You'd be surprised."  Tara winked almost imperceptibly, but not in Dawn's direction. "Balls may be fragile but I'm very fond of them.  Luckily Spike has shown me how to handle them without breaking anything."   

"Spike?  What does he know about—?"  Dawn's voice trailed off and she narrowed her eyes.  Tara and Spike were grinning at each other.  She was beginning to wonder if. . . "Eeeew! I hope you realize I know what you're talking about. Stop it!" 

"This book too," said Tara, taking pity and changing the subject.  She picked up the volume Dawn had been thumbing earlier. "Rachel found it and I haven't had a chance to read it yet.  She said it might be important for me." 

         "Important?  Why?" Spike's voice was immediately filled with suspicion.

         "I don't know," said Tara mildly.  She turned away and set the book carefully on her desk.

         Spike sulked, crossing his arms as he sprawled on his corner of the couch.  "I don't like this.  That bint Rachel's no friend of mine.  Thinks I'm evil or something."

         Dawn had managed to sneak a Twizzler out of its packet and was working up energy to set the table by taking surrepitious bites.  "You are evil."

         "Well, it's none of her business.  If she's trying to come between me and Tara—"

         One glance at his desperate expression made Dawn hasten to reassure him.  "She couldn't! Nothing could do that.  Besides, I looked at the book, and I don't think that's what it's about."

         "What then?"  Spike moved as if to stand and go to the desk, but saw Tara watching them and sat back down again, yanking Dawn closer.  "Come on, Nibblet.  What did it say?"

         Dawn pulled away, rubbing her arm. "Ow!"  Her face grew cunning.  "A Slim Jim will get you the answer."

         "That's extortion, brat.  I can snatch a peek myself later."

         "But then you'd have to wait."  She grinned at his reaction and pushed her advantage.  "Probably at least an hour."

         A moment later, the Slim Jim had joined the remaining Twizzlers under the couch cushion and Dawn was whispering in his ear.  "It's about some medieval witch.  Rachel must think this witch had a lot in common with Tara."

"Why?"

"Because one of the things she was famous for was hanging out with a vampire."  Dawn took a deep breath, and her eyes sparkled with delight and mischief as she added, "A vampire that was completely in her thrall."

"Thrall?" Spike yelled. 

"What?"  Tara looked up from the cutting board, confused.

 "Nothing!" called Dawn.  "We're—we're talking about video games."  She turned back to Spike.  "Sssh!  The book's all about how she kept the vampire in under control.  What spells she used and stuff." 

         "Well, that's just brilliant.  Absolutely the dog's bollocks, isn't it?" He glared at Dawn.  "If that stupid bitch Rachel thinks that's got anything to do with me, her crystal ball needs a tune-up.  I'm my own man, I am.  No one tells Spike what to do."

         "Damn!" Tara called from the sink.  "Spike, I need you to fix the garbage disposal again.  Wait—get me those carrots over there, and hand me the peeler from the drawer by the fridge first."

         "Thrall," grumbled Spike under his breath as he followed orders. 

         Dawn snickered as she cleared books and a couple of empty coffee mugs off the table.  As she carried the cups to the sideboard, she stepped over the vampire's legs.  Sounds of grumbling came from under the sink, where his torso had disappeared via an open cabinet door.  "I'm a rebel, I am. No one's bleeding slave."  The disposal roared to life, spewing water and cucumber rinds all over the sink.

         "Turn that off, Spike!" called Tara, who was standing by the fridge.  "The water's not on and it will break for good."

         "Got it!" called Spike, emerging from under the counter and performing the task with superhuman speed.

         "Thank you, honey."  Tara wrinkled her nose at him.  "But look at you now! You need to wash up before dinner.  Your hands are dirty, and there's a big grease spot on your cheek."

         "Okay," said Spike, turning away.  "Thrall," he muttered as he stomped past Dawn on his way to the bathroom.  "Next time I see that stupid cow, I'll show her I'm not in anyone's bloody thrall."

         Tara hadn't heard him.  She was staring at Dawn instead.  "What's so funny, sweetie?"

         Dawn bent her head so that her long hair would hide her grin as she finished setting the table. "Nothing!"

and a little bit more...

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