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"How about cards?"
"Lost the knave of clubs."
"Late-night TV?"
"'S'nothing on."
"We'd have a lot more video choices if you'd let me watch the good stuff."
"PG-13's the limit and I'm not going to argue with you."
Dawn humphed. The rare nights when Spike stayed with her while Buffy patrolled were usually the best ones. This time he'd been relegated to babysitter after a Chorago demon broke two of his ribs. Cranky vampires weren't nearly as fun.
"I could fix you supper! Quesedillas with pig's blood salsa?"
Spike grunted. He wandered around the living room, restlessly picking up nic-nacs and setting them down.
"What's this?" Spike pulled a slim, leather-bound volume from the bookshelf. He leafed through the first few handwritten pages.
"It was Mom's. She used to write us a letter every year on our birthdays. Said she'd give them to us when we turned twenty-one. I've already read mine." Dawn reached out and snagged the companion to the book Spike was browsing. "Never looked at Buffy's, though." Idly she ruffled the pages.
"Dear Dawn," Spike read, "Today you turned three. I found you on top of the refrigerator, eating Pop Tarts." He smiled ruefully. "I miss your mum."
Dawn swallowed. To prove she was okay, she opened Buffy's book to a random page and read, "Dear Buffy, today was your tenth birthday. You tried so hard to do an axel at skating practice. I know you'll get it right eventually, but I wish you had a hobby that didn't involve quite so many bruises."
Spike watched her face from the corner of his eye. "Want to do something else? We could check the telly again, see if anything--"
"I'm fine." Dawn settled onto the couch, paging through Buffy's book. She wrinkled her nose. "So... who actually wrote my letters? The monks?" Spike looked at her blankly. "I mean," she continued, "two years ago I wasn't really here."
"You were," Spike said firmly. "I remember you. Nearly doused me with holy water the first time I met you." They both grinned at the thought. Spike sat gingerly on the other end of the couch, trying not to disturb his aching ribs.
"Dear Dawn," he said, "The carousel was a bad idea. I'm sorry. Next year when you've made new friends we'll throw a better birthday party."
Dawn sniffed. "No crying."
"Wasn't planning on it." Spike raised his eyebrows.
She flipped a page so hard it almost tore. "Buffy's back, everything's fine, and there will be No. Crying."
"Don't know what you're on about."
"Ooh, here's two years ago." Dawn read archly, "Dear Buffy, I see that Spike's in town again. He is so hot. You should totally jump his bones."
"Bollocks!"
"It's true." Dawn smirked.
"Your mum never wrote that. Give it here." He grabbed for the journal. Dawn snatched it out of his reach. She had no illusions about her ability to escape a vampire in full health, but Spike was slowed by his broken ribs and a reluctance to smash Buffy's coffee table.
She was halfway to the staircase when he caught up to her. Dawn shrieked and elbowed Spike, holding the book away at arm's length.
"Bloody hell," he gasped. "Mind the ribs, won't you?" He made another grab.
"Don't be such a baby." She spun and made for the back door. "You'll be fine in a day."
Spike growled and gave pursuit. Dawn laughed maniacally, skirting around the kitchen island, staying just a step ahead. She was almost to the staircase when she was brought up short by her hair.
"Dawn, what on earth are you doing?" Buffy drawled.
"I was just-- nothing!"
Spike leaned against the wall, clutching his ribs and trying not to wince. "Are all Summers women this violent?"
Buffy released Dawn's ponytail. "Quit beating up on the injured vampire." To Spike, she said, "You okay?"
Spike gave her an if-looks-could-kill. He avoided meeting Dawn's eyes.
"It's late. You've got school tomorrow." Buffy plucked the journal from Dawn's hand and set it on the desk. "Go to bed. And you," Buffy said to Spike, "go home and get some rest."
Dawn ran up the stairs. Spike gathered his dignity about him and grabbed his coat from the stair post. "Tomorrow, then?"
"Thanks for staying with her."
Dawn watched them through the stair railings. From her angle, she could see the journal's corner sticking out from beneath Spike's coat. She smiled and headed towards bed.