Title:  Pillow Talk

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:  Currently a standalone fic taking place during early Season Six.  Expect that like most of my fics, this will go AU as it continues.

Thanks: To Keswindhover and revdorothyl for the beta.

The story begins here.

Chapter 2

          Buffy's body stiffened as the front door opened abruptly and slammed shut.

          "Whatcha doin'?"  Dawn was holding the remains of a hot dog in one hand and a grocery bag under her other arm.

          Buffy rolled over and smiled at her.  "Watching TV," she said, trying for a cheerful tone.  It sounded resentful to her own ears.

          "A vacuum cleaner infomercial?" Dawn made no effort to hide her incredulity.  "In Spanish?"

          "I, uh—" Buffy stopped for a second, as she saw who had come into the house with Dawn.  "I wasn't really paying attention, and—"

          "Leave the mighty hero be, Bit," said Spike.  "Can't you see we interrupted her nap time?  Wouldn't want to make her cranky." 

          His tone was light, but the glance he threw at Buffy was concerned.

          She hid her gratitude behind a scowl.

         "You're always sleeping when I come home," said Dawn.

         She'd said the same thing yesterday.  That's why Buffy had lain down on the couch instead of going up to her room.

         "No.  Not with the always sleeping.  See?"  Buffy sat up.  "All awake now."

         "Yeah.  Sure."

         Spike came to the rescue again.  "Big sis is probably just tired out from patrolling.  I'll wager she killed seven of my kind with one blow and needs to rest up." 

         "Yeah," Buffy agreed.  What's one more lie, after all?  "Big slay time in the sunny town tonight."

Spike tilted his head towards the kitchen.  "Come on, Bit, let's make that popcorn."

Dawn followed more slowly.  "Did you eat, Buffy?"

"Yeah," said Buffy.  "I ate."  I'm pretty sure I remember having breakfast.

         "We'll be back," muttered Dawn, in a half-hearted Ahnold imitation.

         Buffy fell back on the couch, lassitude overwhelming her again.   She reached out a hand for the remote and clicked a few buttons until a movie was playing.  Molly Ringwold.  In English.  Dawn would believe her sister was watching that.  Buffy dropped the clicker and stared unseeingly at the screen.

         It takes a few minutes to make popcorn.  More than a few for those two, because they always get the directions wrong and burn it the first time, then argue for five minutes about the setting, and then start fighting about whether to try the extra butter or the cheesy stuff  the next time.  That gives me a few more minutes to rest. 

If I rest enough, I'll have to stop being tired eventually.  That's what resting is for.  Isn't it?

        Buffy tried to feel smug at her own powers of prophecy as the smell of burnt food was followed by the sound of bickering. 

            Eventually, they came back into the living room.  Buffy heard them coming.  See, I've still got my skills.  I'm still the Slayer.  I can detect the arrival of a vampire and my baby sister by tracking the sound of footsteps and whining.  I can prepare for the ordeal by opening my eyes.  Look, Dawn!  I'm glad you're here!  See me smile?  She turned her head towards the door. 

   Spike carried a bottle of beer, and Dawn held a can of soda in one hand and a bowl in the other.

            Spike glanced once in Buffy's direction, and then moved suddenly, snatching the remote off the coffee table and absconding with it to a spot on the floor just in front of the TV.

            "Hey!" yelled Dawn, diving after him and grabbing at the clicker.

            "No sodding Breakfast Club.  I won't put up with that rot. "

            "So you're checking the Soap channel?  Spike, don't you dare—"

            A pitched battle ensued, as one program after another was rejected by one or both combatants.

            With her sister safely stationed a good five feet away and wholly preoccupied, Buffy snuggled back into her pillow and let her eyelids droop again.  At first, she tried to pay attention, expecting Dawn to ask for her support or her opinion.  But then she realized that the argument was following a long-established pattern.  Spike and Dawn must have quarreled like this often during the summer Buffy'd been gone.

            "I may watch crap," said Dawn.  "But your crap is worse than my crap."

            Buffy sneaked a peek at the TV and saw Chuck Norris about to blow something up.  She found herself smiling in involuntary agreement with Dawn.

            "What?  Christina bleeding Aguilera?"

            Well, maybe not.

            I really need to pay attention.  I should know what Dawn is up to.  If she's listening to that stuff, who knows what else she might be doing?  Drugs, sex, Britney Spears?

            But it was too hard to focus.  Instead of worrying about Dawn, all Buffy could think about was what a terrible provider and surrogate parent she was, jobless, behind on her chores, and not even keeping track of the latest pop stars.

            She had no idea how much time passed before she realized that Spike and Dawn were arguing about someone named Trent.

            "He really likes Daria," said Dawn.  "He just doesn't realize it."

            "Other way around, Bit.  He'd give her a tumble if she just encouraged the bloke a little."

            Buffy cracked open one eye.  Was this the latest prime-time soap?

            She blinked at a poorly-drawn cartoon of a girl in big glasses, boots, and an incredibly unflattering skirt.  The character was speaking in a bored monotone.

            My little sister is watching cartoons with a vampire.

            "Tom is too boring for her," Dawn was saying.

            She's arguing about the sex life of a cartoon with a vampire.

            Buffy closed her eyes again.

            Whatever.

            "He's a ponce."

            "You're a ponce!"

            "You don't even know what a ponce is!"

            The argument was obviously becoming too intellectual for Dawn to think of an adequate retort, because she resorted to throwing things. 

            Buffy knew this because one of the projectiles landed in her hair.

            Great.  A few weeks ago I was in heaven.  Now I'm listening to debates about the poncity of Justin Timberlake and there's popcorn in my hair.

            "I don't want to say you throw like a girl, Bit, but how the bloody hell did you manage to toss that at me and hit your sister?"

            "It hit you first.  It just ricocheted."

            "Ricochet?"  Spike's scornful laughter was worthy of the villain in a Bond movie.  "Popcorn does not ricochet!"

            "It does too!"

            Buffy contemplated reaching up and brushing the popcorn onto the floor.  It seemed like an awful lot of work.  And she'd already done enough work for a lifetime.  Two lifetimes, in fact.

            She should go on strike. 

            There, that was an idea.  She could go on strike.

            No more popcorn removal, no more slaying, no more making puns.  Maybe some scab would come along and pick off the demons in her place. 

            Except, didn't workers strike because they wanted something from management? 

            I don't want anything.

            At least, I don't want anything I'd dare ask for.

            Buffy started to feel something strange.  It took her a while to identify the sensation.  She rubbed her face against the friendly pillow, asking it for enlightenment, and realized she was smiling into its comforting softness.

            Dawn laughed, and Buffy's smile grew. 

            I'm happy, a little bit.

            She froze, not sure what was causing this fragile moment of pleasure, and not wanting to break the spell.

            Spike said something, his voice washing over Buffy in a low, rumbling wave, bearing sarcasm and derision.  Dawn laughed again.

            I like hearing her be happy.  Buffy felt intense satisfaction at this discovery, and was far more pleased with herself than she'd been in a very long time.  She'd found something that made her happy.  And it was something good.

            She still didn't want to take the radical step of sitting up and joining the other two in front of the television.  The thought of uttering a single word was still overwhelming.  But she was very nearly enjoying herself.

            Buffy snuggled deeper into the sofa cushions, hugging her pillow and following the conversation with far less effort than she would have believed possible a few minutes earlier. 

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