I love that. Love it.

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Three days after her visit from Giles, Joyce Summers went home. Xander drove the Land Rover, as Buffy was bouncing a little too much for reliable command of a vehicle.

She hung over the back of her seat to talk to her mother in the rear. "And we've moved your bed down to the dining room for now, until you can handle the stairs. Don't worry, we packed everything up real careful. And there are nice heavy curtains on all the windows, so you'll have privacy.

Joyce only blinked at her daughter. "That's very nice, dear."

Xander glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "That's what happens when you've got a Slayer for a daughter. She sees a problem, she slays it."

"Obviously." Joyce looked over at Dawn, who sat next to her mother clutching the bags of personal effects and prescription drugs. "How are you, sweetie?"

"I'm fine," she shrugged.

Joyce raised her arm carefully and put it around Dawn. "I know you are. My brave baby." Dawn burrowed in tight, hiding her face from the others. Buffy blinked several times, then took the hand Joyce held out to her.

Xander kept his eyes on the road, letting the Summers women have some privacy. Weird, though, his allergies didn't usually show up till high summer, but here he was all sniffley in the spring.

"Here we are," he announced, turning onto Revello. "La Casa Grande de La Senora y Las Senoritas Summers."

Joyce looked out nervously, remembering the modifications. "Xander, I thought you were putting in a ramp."

He beamed with pardonable pride. "Yep, from the front walk up to the porch."

"But I don't see it."

Buffy bounced out of the car and ran to the back to get the wheelchair. "He did such a great job, Mom! He moved some of the bushes, put the ramp in at a 90-degree angle, then it turns to go up to the porch. You can hardly tell there wasn't a gap in the railing before."

"But--I was expecting ..."

Xander held Dawn's door for her as she hopped out. "Some plywood nailed any old how to the front steps? Not from the Xander Harris Construction Company."

Joyce looked at him sternly. "It must have cost a fortune."

"A fortune? A fortune? You have no idea how sloppy construction accounting can be. A few dozen yards of concrete, hardly enough lumber to qualify as scrap . . ."

"Xander ..."

"Honestly, Mrs. Summers, the foreman at the site happened to mention that lost and damaged materials made a great tax write-off, and if said damaged materials disappeared instead of taking up space in the dumpster, he saved money. And he was very helpful with the design when I said I was working on a wheelchair ramp."

"I'm fairly sure that comes under the heading of kickbacks or bribes."

"Probably," he grinned.

Buffy appeared at her mother's side with the wheelchair. Joyce glared at it. "I know the walker's back there. I can manage that."

"You can manage that on level floors . Ramps, by definition, are not level.." She shook the chair pointedly. "Come on, hop on out." A fleeting look of panic went over her face. "Um, if you're up to it, of course--"

"It's all right, honey." In no way did Joyce regret being home mostly under her own power, but her daughters looked older than their years. Even without the Slayer complications, having to take care of an invalid mother was something they shouldn't have to deal with so young. "The chair will be fine." She climbed carefully out of the car and sat in the chair.

"And it's not like you're going to need it that long, right?" Dawn said. "You're going to be walking in no time."

Joyce took Dawn's hand as Buffy pushed her up the walk. "If I keep up with my physical therapy, probably so."

"Can I help?"

Buffy concentrated on turning the chair onto the ramp without jarring Joyce. "She might need someone who can catch her if she loses her balance. I don't think you're that strong, Dawnie."

"I will need someone to help me keep my balance, someone to lean on," Joyce added quickly, seeing Dawn's face close up. "And someone to be stern when I don't want to do the exercises."

"I can be stern," Buffy protested.

"Yeah, right," Dawn muttered. She pouted dramatically. "Dawn, do the dishes, Dawn, do the laundry. I think I need a fairy godmother to get me out of the cinders."

Buffy stopped pushing to glare. "I am not an ugly stepsister!"

"Well, it's not like you're my real--"

Xander, who had been bringing up the rear and pretending not to listen, reached around to put a finger on Dawn's lips. "Ixnay on the e-kay, OK?"

She stared at him. "Huh?"

"Oh, come on, Buff, you never taught the Dawnster pig Latin? Neglecting your sister's education, here."

Dawn pouted. "Considering my education came from--"

"The California Public School System," Xander cut in, "I'm not surprised you've got big gaps in your knowledge." He raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to catch up.

She stared at him for several moments longer, then her eyes went big. "Oh. Oh, yeah, education in the public schools, severely lacking." She looked around the empty street and all the innocent houses. "But why make a big deal of it?" she whispered. "There's nobody here."

Buffy looked grim as she likewise scanned the street. "Nobody we can see, anyway. Good catch, Xander."

He shrugged and tugged at an imaginary hat. "Just doing my job, ma'am."

Buffy resumed pushing the wheelchair. "I'm sorry, Mom. I was hoping not to worry you about all that."

"Too late." She looked at the break in the rail where the ramp met the porch. There were decorative posts on the corners and the paint matched perfectly on the railing that came down the edges of the ramp. "Xander, this is lovely. It looks like it's always been here." Bushes to either side of the ramp disguised it from the street.

Xander blushed. "Not much else I can do, but I can build things." He slipped past the wheelchair and went to the front door. "And I can open doors."

Joyce reached out to squeeze his hand. "Thank you. Buffy, wait a moment. I want to look around." She didn't say anything out loud, but she'd doubted if she'd ever see her home again. The grass had been cut, but the girls had let the edging go. Something to look forward to, getting the lawn back into shape. "Buffy, what happened to the hedge over there?"

"Um, over where, Mom?"

"Over there, it looks like something went through it. And there's a hole in the grass."

Buffy stared at Xander, who looked utterly at a loss. "Um, well ..."

"There was a wreck a couple of weeks ago," Dawn said. "This guy on a motorcycle came through the hedge and ended up over there."

"Oh, my word, was anyone hurt?" Joyce gasped.

"I don't know, Willow said I was a ghoul for trying to see."

"We couldn't decide if we should fix it ourselves or wait for you," Buffy added.

"Well, I didn't like that border anyway."

As Buffy maneuvered the chair to go through the door, she leaned towards Dawn. "Nice save," she whispered.

"It's those mystic key powers, you know."

"For fibs?"

Dawn smiled innocently.

Joyce gasped when they entered the living room. A banner reading "Welcome Home, Mom" hung on the wall, with Willow and Tara waiting beneath. There were even balloons.

"Oh, girls--and Xander--you shouldn't have."

Buffy leaned down to hug her. "Sorry, we're really glad to have you home."

Pizza was ordered and ice cream was eaten, all the food that hospitals frowned upon. Joyce wandered around the rooms, reassuring herself that all was well. She smiled at a poster board schedule in the kitchen for things like laundry and dishes and bathroom cleaning. A side section was labeled "Number of Times Dawn's Done Buffy's Work."

She reached for the ballpoint pen hanging from a piece of twine tied to a thumb tack next to the schedule, but she couldn't get her fingers coordinated enough to hold the pen properly. "Damn," she muttered.

Tara brought in a pile of plates from the living room. "Is there something I can get for you, Mrs. Summers?"

"No, no, dear, I was just trying to write something, but . . ." She sighed and gestured with her useless hand.

"My great grandpa had a stroke. He used to ride horses, but they said he'd only be able to get around with a cane."

Joyce frowned. "How old was he?"

"72. Six months after he was out of the hospital, he was back on horseback and he rode to the doctor's house so he could laugh at him."

"That's good to know. What happened to him?"

Tara looked at the floor. "Well, um, he fell off a horse a few weeks later, broke his hip, and died of pneumonia in the hospital."

Joyce stared at her for several moments, then began to laugh. "I'll remember to be careful," she said once she wiped her eyes.

Buffy poked her head in. "Hey, Mom, movie choice time, 'Singin' in the Rain' or 'Sleepless in Seattle'?"

"'Singin' in the Rain', I think. I love Donald O'Connor."

"Cool." They followed Buffy back to the living room. Willow sat by the VCR with a video cassette in either hand. "'Sleepless,'" Buffy said with a grin.

Joyce blinked. "But--"

On the couch, Xander clutched a pillow closer to him. "'Sleepless in Seattle,'" he said, forcing a grin. "Great movie. Uh, this *is* the director's cut version where they all get captured by terrorists and Bruce Willis and Arnold swoop in to save the day, right?" He ducked as Dawn swung another pillow at him.

"Nah, it's neither," Buffy said. "Mom picked that old Gene Kelly one. We'll save the uber-chick flick for a time when there's less testosterone in the room."

Willow ejected the tape she'd just put in. "Mean Buffy. But 'Singin' in the Rain' is cool. Debbie Reynolds is cute."

"Is that Princess Leia's mom?" Xander asked, smacking Dawn back with his pillow.

Joyce shook her head as she carefully sat down. "Among other things, yes. This also has Donald O'Connor doing 'Make 'Em Laugh.'"

"Oh, yeah! Plus that whole 'Moses supposes his toses are roses--'" Xander broke off. "Not that I have that big a knowledge of musicals or anything. It might have been on the late show one night." He huddled back in the corner and made a mental note to hang out with more male type people.

The cheery opening of the classic movie began playing, just as a knock came on the door. Buffy started to her feet, then paused, looking around the room. "Everyone who should be here is here. Anya's coming over after closing the shop, right?"

Xander checked his watch. "Which isn't for another half hour, yet, then she'll need to do the books."

Buffy pulled a cross out of an endtable drawer as she went to the door. She went up on tiptoe to get a look through the windows, then settled back on her feet with a thump. "It's only Spike."

She reached for the doorknob. "Buffy, wait--" Xander started.

Buffy paid no attention. She opened the door and stared at the vampire on the porch. "And what brings you by, Spike?"

Spike tried to look harmless. "Came by to pay my respects. And the respects of someone who might not be quite so welcome."

"Less welcome than you? That's kind of hard to believe."

Joyce tapped Xander on the shoulder. "Would you help me up, please?"

He quickly turned from his tense observation of the action at the door. "Oh, sure." When she was on her feet, though, she headed towards the door. Xander followed anxiously.

"Hello, Spike," she said when she reached the door.

Spike grinned. "There you are, all safe and sound and on your own two feet." Then he frowned. "Should you be up?"

She chuckled. "No, not really. Come in, Spike."

"Mom!" Buffy protested, as Xander squeaked.

Joyce gave her daughter the "who pays the mortgage here?" look and stepped back to let Spike enter. She swayed faintly, and Spike leaped forward to catch her elbow. He beat Xander by a hair, and the two men glared at each other..

"Thank you, gentlemen," Joyce said. She headed back to the couch and let those follow her who would. Spike stayed at her elbow, his hand an inch from her arm.

Xander helped her balance as she sat down. Buffy grabbed Spike's arm and yanked him to one side. "Don't be getting ideas, you. Just because she invited you in doesn't mean you're welcome here."

He bit back his first remark. "What's it going to take for you to believe I am no threat to Joyce or the Niblet?"

"Honestly?" She made sure to meet his eyes. "Seeing you dust. How else could I be sure?"

He nodded grudgingly. "You're right. But until that day, I'm on your side on this."

"I don't like having you in my house. I don't like having you anywhere near my mother or my sister."

He glanced over at the others, who were watching the movie while pretending to ignore the tense conversation in the corner. He smiled faintly, though, when he saw that Xander had taken the chair that faced him, and the human was making no bones about keeping an eye on the proceedings.

"I see you haven't fixed the damage my bike made to your front lawn," he finally said. "Sorry about the flowers, I didn't have time to go around them."

Buffy looked away. "You said you were here for him, too. Where is he?"

"Home with his books. He didn't think he'd be welcome near the fam."

She didn't deny it. "Thank you for stopping him," she muttered. "I still don't trust you. If you didn't have the chip, you'd be just like all the other mad killers. You just don't want the world to end and cut off your soccer games."

He took several moments to get his voice under control. "If all I cared about was stopping Glory, the easiest thing to do would have been to let Ripper play out his hand. You think the chip is the only reason I stopped him?"

She didn't look at him. "You want to stay on my good side ..."

He stared at her a moment longer, then turned on his heel and walked to the couch. He knelt next to Joyce. "You ever need anything from me, you've got it, right, love?"

Joyce patted his knee. "Right. And thank you. For everything."

He paused, wondering what she knew about things he'd done. But if Joyce knew about Ripper's play for Dawn, Spike was certain she'd already have dusted the ex-Watcher. He kissed her on the cheek and stood.

"You're not staying?" she asked.

"Sorry, love, places to go, atrocities to organize.."

Joyce glanced at Buffy and didn't say anything else. "Thank you for coming over, Spike."

"Get better soon." He squeezed her hand and headed for the door.

"Good night, Spike!" Willow called around her handful of popcorn. He waved as he let himself out.

Xander let his breath out. "Yay, he's gone."

"What's with you?" Willow asked. "It's just Spike."

"Yeah, Spike, the bleached blunder, the evil dead."

"The chipped evil dead," Tara added.

Xander took his nerve in hand. "Yeah, about that--" He looked at Joyce, who was looking after Spike with a faintly sad expression. A mom-type expression. Spike had laid his figurative sword at her feet, then walked away in the classic fashion. "I've always wondered if there was a battery we were supposed to change in the thing."

Dawn giggled from where she was guarding the pizza box. "I think it's more like the Energizer bunny. He keeps--"

Xander raised a finger. "Don't finish that, I beg you."

Willow shook her head solemnly. "I don't think he's the big bass drum sort, anyway."

Buffy perched on the arm of the sofa next to Joyce. "Mom, what's with you and Spike?" She kept her voice down so that the others could watch the movie.

"He's a nice young man, I enjoy talking to him."

"But he's a--"

"A vampire, I know. I remember Parent-Teacher night. Even if I didn't understand it at the time. And I remember when you brought him to the house and told me he was in a band. He sat in that chair and acted exactly like an uncomfortable guest. We made small talk, Buffy. He didn't seem anything like--" She paused and gave Buffy an apologetic look.

Buffy sighed. "Like Angel, that night he came over and told you . . . Yeah. But that was because he wanted my help, so he behaved himself. He knows I can kick his butt."

"And you still can, can't you?"

"Oh, yeah, I can lay a major ass-whupping on him anytime I want."

Joyce stared at her. "Where did you learn to talk like that, young lady?"

"Um--Willow's a bad influence."

Joyce shook her head. "And then he came over, so broken hearted over Drusilla. He wanted someone to talk to."

"Yeah, after he kidnapped Willow and Xander, which nearly got Cordelia killed. And, Mom, I told you how he was getting all freaky stalkerish over me."

"Yes, that's true," Joyce admitted. "I keep forgetting that. But it was very kind of him to visit me in the hospital."

Buffy nearly fell off the couch. "He did what? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't want you to get upset. You have so much to worry about just now."

"Yeah, like the fact that vampires are visiting my mom in the hospital when I'm not there to protect her."

"They never bothered--" Joyce bit her lip.

Buffy's stomach tightened. "They?" She'd been torturing herself with trying to think of a way to break the news to her mother. She didn't know if Joyce and Giles had ever become friends, band candy night very much notwithstanding, but there was a bond. "Was--was Giles with him?"

Joyce nodded slowly, and she put a hand on Buffy's leg. "I'm sorry, dear. I know how much he means to you, how much you've depended on him."

Buffy stared at the weave of the upholstery until she was sure she wasn't going to burst into tears. "That's--gone now. That's not Giles, that's just something wearing his face." She looked up quickly. "If he shows up here, don't let him in."

"No, I won't," she said after a moment. "He's very close to what he was, but--he frightens me a little. Do the others know?"

"Yeah, they know. It's been hard." She watched the TV screen, where Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds sniped at each other in Debbie's cute little roadster. "You know what I like about this movie?"

Joyce pulled her down to sit next to her. "What's that, sweetie?"

"Everything." She put her head on her mother's shoulder, her warm, recovering, home-at-last mother.

It was late when everyone finally went home. Joyce made it to the end of the movie before exhaustion took its toll. Buffy and Dawn helped her get settled for the night, ignoring her complaints about how she should be able to manage simple things by herself. Buffy reminded her that Slayer hearing meant that any calls for assistance would be heard and that Joyce was not to worry about a thing. Joyce tried to give instructions for getting up in the morning and getting ready for school, but sleep silenced her mid-sentence.

Dawn paused at the doorway to watch for a few moments. Carefully she counted the ins and outs of the breath, making sure everything was even and wishing she had super hearing too so she could listen to the heartbeat.

Buffy squeezed her shoulders. "Come on, let's let her rest," she whispered. "You need to get up in the morning."

"I know. I just . . ."

"The hospital wouldn't have let her leave if she wasn't ready. She's going to be here in the morning."

Dawn looked at her. "Promise?"

The two stared at each other, seeing the fear in the other's eyes. Then Buffy nodded firmly. "Promise."

Knowing promises were lies, Dawn accepted it anyway. She silently warned the universe that she was the Key, darn it, and the universe better not mess around with her if it knew what was good for it.

They got ready for bed, but Dawn sat up and stared out her window long after she heard the noises from Buffy's room that were not, nor ever would be, in any way related to snores. Out there in the dark, the undead hunted and an evil goddess searched for her missing Key. An ailing mother had no bearing on that world. What was important was making it through to the morning side of the dark.

She'd changed her clothes before she really thought of it, and the window frame slid up easily. Out in the night she was no longer scared Dawn Summers, counting her mother's breath. Out in the dark she could run, and maybe this time she could get away.

She shimmied over to the convenient tree branch, then down to the ground. Freedom, stupid, risky freedom. Time to see what the night thought of freedom.

She hit the ground and only stumbled a little. Fortunately, no one was around to see her less- than-Slayeresque performance. She thought.

"And what are we up to this bright and shiny hour of the night?" the familiar voice said as she reached the sidewalk.

"I don't need a babysitter, Spike."

"Beg to differ, pet." He fell into step next to her and lit a cigarette. "So where are we off to?"

"*I* am out for a walk. *You* are apparently out for a midnight lurk."

He didn't deny it. "You get Joyce settled in all right?"

"Yeah. She's asleep. At home. In her own bed." To her relief he didn't comment on the way her voice quivered.

They strolled along in silence for quite a while. Twice Spike smelled vampires nearby, but only one dared show its face. Dawn didn't notice when Spike saw the fledgling lurking in the alleymouth. He gave the newbie a flash of yellow eyes and fangs, and it ran instead of challenging the oldest vampire on the Hellmouth. He allowed himself a happy smirk. How lovely to be respected again.

"Spike?" Dawn asked abruptly.

"Yes, pet?"

"Do you remember the first time you saw me?"

"Yep. It was that night Slayer and I made a deal to stop Angelus and Acathla. I was sitting there next to your mum and I saw this scrawny little bint peeking down the stairs, all big eyes and braces on her teeth. Ow!" He rubbed his arm where she punched him. "I felt that, you're getting better."

"I remember that night. I heard the voices and I wondered who that was doing such a bad fake accent." She danced out of the way as he swung in return. "It's as clear a memory as sitting in class or going to ballet class when I was five." She stopped walking. "But the thing is, it never happened. You didn't see me that night and I never took ballet, because I was never five and I never wore braces, because before a few months ago, I didn't exist and you all lived in a completely Dawn-free world, and it's only because of that damned Key that I . . ."

Spike wrapped her in his arms and let her cry against him. "If you got me in a court of law and asked me, I would have to say that you've always been around. I've got too many memories otherwise. Everybody knew the Slayer was different, that she had a mum and a little baby sister to home. You believed in vampires and boogeymen before your mum did. More than once I'd catch you sneaking around and watching me, and you were never scared." He stepped back from her and made her look at him. "Pretty damned depressing, it was, too, that a little bit like you wasn't afraid of the big bad me."

"But you know it's not true," she whispered. "It never happened like that. All that was put in your head by the monks. They rewrote the world. There are papers at school that show my grades from elementary school. The dentist has records of fillings I've never gotten. This world's not real." She pulled away to pace. "Maybe it's still not real. Maybe it's all something I've made up. Maybe I really did go to ballet and wear braces. But maybe if I went home Mom wouldn't be asleep in her own bed, maybe she didn't come home from the hospital, maybe my mommy is really dead and I'm alone--"

He pulled her close again. "Hush, luv, hush. Your mum is going to be fine. You just got scared. Happens all the time. It's been rough, but it's over."

She buried her face against the rough t-shirt and breathed the smoke-and-leather scent that had always said protector to her. Buffy had given her lectures on being stupid for trusting Spike, but she had never, ever feared him. Maybe the monks had written that in, too, that here was a safe place, someone to run to if she ever had to.

There was another note to the flagrance now. She thought for several moments and finally recognized it as blood, but stronger than she'd ever smelled it on him before. Maybe he'd gotten a little sloppy over his last meal. She started to lean back so she could tease him on bad table manners, then realized the arms around her were tense and he was staring down the street.

"What?" she whispered. She flinched, just a little, when the ridges and fangs appeared on his face.

Spike growled at the appearance of a hooded figure with a scarred, bumpy face. "Glorificus be praised, is it true?" the creature said breathlessly. "Did I hear right? I heard you say monks, miss, and how they rewrote the world to fit you in. You're it, aren't you. You're the Key."

Spike shoved her behind him. "No, she's not, idiot. It's the Slayer's kid sister, she's fourteen years old, she's no bloody Key."

"Oh, but if the monks changed it so everyone THOUGHT she was fourteen--" The creature suddenly realized that an angry vampire was stalking towards him. "And you're Spike, the Slayer's vampire, and the Key was given to the Slayer to protect, so of course you'd be trying to protect it as well and--oh, dear." He lifted the skirts of his robe and ran like hell.

Dawn followed as best she could. The creature was running towards the fancy apartment building next to the park where Buffy said she'd finally caught that snake demon thing.

"Help! Help!" yelled the creature in the robes. More robed figures appeared. "He's going to kill me! The Key, it's h--"

Roaring, Spike jumped, claws reaching for the throat to pull out the betraying voice. The rest of the news disappeared in a gurgle as the creature fell. Spike landed on top of him and punched his fist through the ribcage to crush the heart between his fingers. When he looked up, the rest of the demony mob was almost on him.

"Run, girl!" he yelled at Dawn, who was still coming.

"Take him to Glory," one of the demons shouted, just before Spike ripped his throat out as well. The rest dogpiled onto Spike, dragging him down slashing and swearing.

Dawn froze, watching the fight,

Dawn froze, watching the fight, watching the blood.

Spike yanked half free and saw her. "God damn it, Dawn! Run!" One of the creatures looked in her direction and died for his interest. The others focused on containing Spike.

She took a step towards him, wanting to help. He managed one more glare at her before a demon smacked his head against the pavement, knocking him out.

Crying, she spun and ran, remembering grade-school races she never ran in and days that never happened when she was happy and safe.

I love it, connie. I love the Dawn-Spike-- that's a little Dawn-->Spike--, and I love the lines

She'd changed her clothes before she really thought of it, and the window frame slid up easily. Out in the night she was no longer scared Dawn Summers, counting her mother's breath. Out in the dark she could run, and maybe this time she could get away.

She shimmied over to the convenient tree branch, then down to the ground. Freedom, stupid, risky freedom. Time to see what the night thought of freedom.

Oh, good, that does make sense. I wrote that at 4 AM last night and had to go back twice because I was nodding off and only dreaming htat I was typing.