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Title: Pillow Talk Author: Miss Murchison Rating: NC-17 Disclaimer: All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine. Notes: A Spuffy story that starts in early Season 6 before deviating from canon. A slight change in circumstances, a different decision or two, and you wind up with very different results. Thanks: To Keswindhover and The story begins here. This chapter marks the beginning of Part II of the story. The first part took the story from one kind of pillow talk to another. Part II begins with yet another conversation. There will be three parts in all. There
is a list of links to the individual chapters here.
"Groceries!" Buffy kicked the back door shut and dumped her purchases on the counter. "Not a lot, just enough for the next few days, until my real payday, so don't eat it all at once." Dawn was pulling items out of the bag closest to her. "Milk!" She did a little dance. "How much I've missed you! And bread, and--generic grape jelly?" She stared in disbelief at the militantly plain black-and-white label on the jar she held. Buffy sighed. She picked up a box of "Humongous Value Oat Cereal" and put it in a cabinet. "Sorry, Dawn. I wanted to bring home the bacon, but when I got to the store, I found out it cost too much and I had to leave it there. But, look, bananas!" "They're the ones they mark down because they're starting to get brown." Dawn grimaced. "And for dinner tonight?" Buffy’s voice faltered. "Half the package of hot dogs I found on sale, with store-brand baked beans." "And for tomorrow? Let me guess. The other half of the package?" Buffy tried to sweeten the dish. "I brought some cookies home from The Hill of Beans for dessert. Those should be good." Instead of replying directly, Dawn pulled one of the bananas off the bunch and began peeling it. "I might as well start eating these now before they turn to mush." She left the room, leaving Buffy clutching a bag of frozen peas. Dawn’s flounce drained the last of Buffy’s pride in having earned some money at last. She'd fought off panic at the grocery store, hoping no one noticed her putting back items as she realized she couldn’t afford them and doing frantic math to avoid embarrassment at the cash register. By gravitating to the plainest labels and the biggest "Sale!" signs, she'd managed to collect enough to feed them for a few days. But her purchases couldn't stand up in comparison to the appetizing food that had stocked the kitchen when her mother was alive. The peas were defrosting in her grip, chilling her fingers and starting a slow drip onto the floor. The kitchen seemed huge and empty. And she suddenly realized that she had no idea how to cook hot dogs. She had finally become the family breadwinner, only to find the loaf was day-old and stale. **** Willow didn't come home in time for dinner, so it was just the two of them. Once the sparse meal was on the dining room table, Dawn came far enough out of her sulks to apologize in a low mumble. Nothing else was said until she spooned a second helping of baked beans onto her plate and stabbed her fork at a hot dog. "Sorry they're burnt," said Buffy, her thoughts straying to the frying pan she'd dumped in the sink. She wondered if she'd be able to scrape the crud off it. "It's okay." Dawn took a bite. "I like the burnt and crunchy bits. Adds some flavor." "And the peas are mushy." Buffy looked at the mess in the bowl. Dawn had spooned a little on her plate, moved it around with her fork, and not eaten any. That trick won't fool me. Unfortunately, my moral authority to make her eat her veggies has been undermined by the fact that I won't touch any of the yucky things either. Dawn brightened. "We can give them to Giles! He likes them like that." "Yeah." The idea of presenting Giles with a Tupperware container of green goo cheered Buffy up. "He'll think it's some supernatural menace." By the time they shared the cookies, things were much less tense between them. As Dawn popped the last bit of oatmeal raisin goodness into her mouth, she proceeded to rectify that unnatural state. "I’ve been thinking a lot, since that spell of Xander’s. Remembering too, about what I saw while Wayne and I were acting like spokespeople for the Beef Council." Buffy choked on peanut butter cookie crumbs. Dawn watched silently as her sister took a drink of water (from the tap, not bottled) and wiped tearing eyes. "Spike can hurt you, can’t he?" Buffy was tempted to start coughing again to avoid an answer. "Yeah," she forced herself to say. "I'm not sure he's noticed, though." Dawn rolled her eyes. "I bet." "No." Buffy thought back for the hundredth time. "Every time it's happened, he's been kind of distracted, and -- " "And he doesn't want to say anything to make you think you came back wrong." Dawn was suddenly hesitant. "He told me to be careful about that, when I asked him why you were so weird, and quiet, and stuff. But I don't think you're really wrong, I think you're just a little bit different." She was watching Buffy's face carefully. "Okay, maybe kind of a lot different, but not like you're going to try to kill your friends or have some kind of epiphany and start preaching at us or anything. More like you're sad and confused. And I decided it's not doing a lot of good not talking about it, so I'd see if talking helped." "You know how much I hate it when you make sense, don't you?" To get away from that intent gaze for a few seconds, Buffy stood up and cleared the table. When she'd dumped the dishes in the sink next to the ruined frying pan, she turned around, leaning against the counter so she could feel something supportive at her back when she tried to answer. "I'm different. I'm not sure exactly how, or even if the spell did it. I'm starting to wonder if some of this started before -- before I died. But I talked to Tara, and she doesn't think I'm missing any important bits. She didn't talk about souls, but I can't see her forgetting to mention that something that important was missing, do you?" After brooding about that conversation all afternoon, Buffy was almost looking forward to being able to discuss it, even with Dawn. Dawn was immediately distracted by the reference to Tara. "Did you ask her about mine? You said you would." I forgot about the teen egotism factor. "Your -- we didn't talk about souls at all. We just -- Anyway, I don't think "Unlike you. You don't explain them at all." Dawn had turned around in her chair and was staring at Buffy. "What am I, Buffy?" Her voice was tight and she suddenly seemed much younger. "Not a demon." Buffy rushed over, trying to hug Dawn's head to her chest. "Tara said you are positively not a demon." Dawn shoved her away. "But I'm not human either, am I?" As Buffy stared at her, she added, "I knew it. I knew it, as soon as you started saying what I wasn't, because you didn't want to say what I am. What am I, then?" Her voice was shrill now, and the volume was rising. Buffy heard a noise by the front door, but didn't have a second's attention to spare for it. "The Key. That's all we know. But, Dawn, you know you're made from me, too. And that means --" "That you're not human either!" Dawn jumped up out of her chair and ran for the hallway, only to find herself grabbed by Spike, who was standing next to the open front door, looking bewildered. "Here, Platelet --" "I don't want that stupid nickname! Not that, or 'Little Bitty Buffy,' or anything else about my stupid blood either. I don't care who I'm made out of, I want to know what I am!" She tried to pull away from him, but when his grip on her arms tightened, she stilled and her eyes narrowed. "Hit me!" she demanded. "What?" Spike released her and stepped back. "Dawn, I won’t—" "Why? Because you know?" She was following him now, backing him into the living room. "Know what? I have no bloody idea what's going on here." Buffy could almost have laughed at his distraught expression, but he was staring at her, desperately seeking guidance, and she couldn't blame him. Dawn in full-tantrum mode was at least the equivalent of a pack of fyarl demons on the difficulty scale. "Hit me!" Dawn screamed again. "Why? Stop it, Dawn. Don't want to hurt you." "Because you know you can!" She leapt across the distance between them, her fists slamming into his chest, beating on him. "Do it! You did it for Tara! But you knew it would hurt you then, didn't you?" He started to grab her arms, thought better of it, and retreated instead, refusing to block her blows as she hit him again and again. "Bit, listen to me—" "Dawn, stop it!" Buffy was surprised to hear herself shouting and even more surprised when Dawn did stop, standing in front of Spike, her shoulders shaking. Buffy could hear her panicked sobs. "I have to know." Dawn's quiet statement was punctuated with a hiccup. Her arms were hanging limply by her sides now, and her gaze was riveted to the floor. She really does have to know. Buffy looked at Spike. "Hit her," she said. "Love—" "Not hard. Just enough. She needs to know." Dawn raised her head, staring at Spike in combined fear and hope. Then she said firmly, "And don't try to fake it. I always know when you're lying or faking." He stepped closer and raised his hand once, then pulled back. "Do it," said Buffy again. He seemed to brace himself. His left hand formed a fist and flew out to strike Dawn on the shoulder. Then he stepped back again, his fingers twitching as if he were tempted to hold them to his temple. But it was clear there was no pain. "Ow!" Dawn reached up to rub her upper arm. She glanced at Spike, and flinched away from his stricken expression. She seemed to shrink into herself, and her hands started to shake. She looked at them as if they belonged to someone else, then stared up at Spike and Buffy. "Sorry," she mumbled. No one pointed out it was silly to apologize for being hurt. She's not talking about making Spike hit her either. Recalling her own recent worries, Buffy suddenly understood. She's apologizing for not being human. Buffy moved to put her arms around Dawn, but she was pushed away. As Dawn backed off, Buffy remembered another night, less than a year ago, when her sister had stood in this room, knife in hand, blood dripping down her arm. Why did I tell her? I should have lied. She can't handle this. For a few minutes that seemed to be true, as Dawn raged, stalking back and forth and crying. Spike, caught up at last on the cause of the current drama, tried talking. "I've lived with a demon inside me for over a hundred years. At least you can go out in the sunlight and most of the people you know don't look at you like you're a cockroach." Dawn responded only with a non-verbal shriek. Well, Spike reasoning with her is going about as well as could be expected. "All right, I know you said that bloke who you liked did look at you like a bug, but he was just some tosser. We're family, so we like you even when you're acting like this, don't we Buffy?" Buffy waited for Dawn's inevitable, explosive reaction. But at that moment, the phone rang, and Dawn turned to pick it up. I guess there really is one thing no teenager can ignore. As she listened to the voice at the other end of the line, Dawn sniffled and wiped tears away. Gradually, her expression changed from tortured to bewildered. "Uh, I don't know...Um, they're here…Yeah, I'll ask them…Bye." She hung up the receiver and announced in a hollow voice, "That was Clem. He's having a rave at his place and he wants us to come over." "What?" Buffy's brain couldn't make sense of the words. But at least the incident had calmed Dawn down. She crossed the room and was finally able to put an arm around her sister's shoulders. They stood quietly for a few minutes, and eventually Buffy was able to get Dawn to sit on the couch, blow her nose, and wipe her face. "We should just make some tea or something and talk about this rationally," Buffy said at last, although the thought of an evening spent pondering the meaning of Tara's few words made her stomach drop. "Yeah, we could stay here and listen to you talk like Giles." Dawn was sitting quietly, clutching a pillow to her chest, and rocking herself gently as Buffy stroked her hair. "Or we could go to Clem's," she said thoughtfully. Spike was looking as astonished by this suggestion as Buffy felt. "Bit, I'm not sure what Clem's notion of a rave is, but --" He stopped. "Yeah, exactly." Dawn was almost smiling. "How can we live without finding out?" I'm pretty sure I can survive without that knowledge. Dawn poked her arm. "Come on, Buffy. We can hang around here crying, or we can go see how the other not-humans party. I bet it involves cheesy puffs." "And kittens," Buffy heard herself say. "I wonder if there'll be kittens?" Dawn nodded. "Yeah. These are things we need to know." "You're on," said Spike, in what he probably thought was a hearty tone. Buffy realized Spike and Dawn were staring at her, awaiting a decision. "Well, I'm not raving about the idea, but it beats sitting around here." Grimacing at the lameness of her own pun, she got up and headed for the stairs. "After some industrial-strength makeup repairs, that is." She heard Dawn clumping up the risers behind her. Was I that resilient at her age? Buffy had a flash of memory. She was walking towards the Sunnydale High library, intent on killing the Master, her clothes still wet from a recent drowning. A vampire approached her, and she took him out without breaking stride. And I went to a party that night too. Yeah, I guess I was that resilient, once.
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Please send feedback to: missmurchison@mchsi.com
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