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This takes place after "The Gift" and before "Bargaining."
Day fourteen. Dawn got out of bed without Tara’s encouragement and walked over to the full-length mirror. She rolled up the sleeves of her sleep shirt and gazed at the long diagonal lines that decorated her arms. They were less pink today, the skin knitting together in scar tissue.
It was another sign that Buffy really was dead.
It made sense, in a twisted way. She was made from Buffy, and though she didn’t have all of her sister’s Slayer strength – certainly not her coordination, she did have Buffy’s healing powers. That terrible night Dawn discovered she wasn’t really Real, and stupidly slit her arms to make a point – after the bandages came off, there was another discovery. Instead of the stitched together scars they were expecting, Dawn’s arms were smooth and unmarked.
Buffy gasped.
Dawn stared at her arms. “But – I cut myself. I know I did.”
“I know, Dawnie. I was there, remember?” Buffy tentatively brushed her hand against the perfect skin.
“You healed like I would.”
Dawn brightened. “Does this mean I can fight like you too?”
Buffy shot her a look. “Nope. Not in a million years.”
“But Buffy,” Dawn pleaded. She knew she was on the verge of a whine, but she didn’t care. “This is so cool.”
“It’s really not,” Buffy said. “It still hurts when it happens. You’re not going slaying with me.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s completely fair. I fight the monsters and you can stay at home and do your homework.”
“I’m already finished with homework,” Dawn said. “Besides Glory hasn’t been spotted in a while, it’s totally safe.”
Buffy’s lips flattened into a sharp line. “I said no, Dawn. Look, Spike can keep you company – and I can’t believe I just said that, but you’re not going anywhere. Glory doesn’t know where we live and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Fine,” Dawn said. “I’m going to tell Spike all your secrets.” She flounced up the stairs.
“And stop reading my diary!” Buffy yelled after her.
Buffy’s diary was on Dawn’s bedside table, a ribbon tucked between its pages. She couldn’t bring herself to read it past the entry about her mother’s death. Buffy had written, I can’t believe she’s really gone. It’s not fair. It’s not FAIR.
I miss you, mommy.
“Dawn! Time for breakfast, sweetie. I made waffles.” Tara stuck her head in and smiled at her. “There’s whipped cream and Willow got fresh strawberries from the farmer’s market.”
“Yummy,” Dawn said with too bright enthusiasm. “I’ll be right down.”
Tara nodded and left.
Dawn quickly made her bed, then walked downstairs, where the scent of maple syrup greeted her. Willow was at the kitchen island, tapping away at her laptop while Tara stacked waffles by the stove.
“Morning, Dawnie!” Willow chirped, her eyes not leaving her screen. “There’s waffles and fruit for breakfast.”
“I know, Tara told me,” Dawn said and sat down next to her. She tried to sneak a peek at what Willow was working on, but she hurriedly shut the lid.
“So what do you want to do today? We could go to the beach or the park – oh, the museum is having an exhibit on ancient cats. Do you want to see that? I have a membership discount.”
“I’m fine, Willow,” Dawn said. “I actually just wanted to hang around the house today –” once the initial shock and grief had worn off, the Scoobies had thrown themselves into Dawn Watch and she was getting tired of the ‘impromptu’ excursions to places, and if Xander never brought her an ice cream cone again, she’d be fine.
“It’s no trouble,” Willow protested. “I have the whole morning free and it’s a beautiful day today,”
“Willow,” Tara said. “I think Dawn will be fine if she stays home. I’ll keep her company.” She smiled at her. “Dance movie marathon?”
Dawn shook her head. “Actually…I kind of want to start looking through Mom’s stuff. We kept on – I mean, I wanted to look through it with…” she trailed off, then cleared her throat. “Her boxes have been sitting in the basement long enough.”
Tara patted her hand. “Of course. Do you want some help?”
“I’ll let you know. I’m going to start now, if that’s okay?” She grabbed a waffle from the stack and hurried away. “Thanks for breakfast!”
Willow frowned. “Is it me, or did Dawnie seem like she was avoiding me.”
“No,” Tara said and bent down and kissed her temple. “It’s not you, honey. I think Dawn’s just tired of everyone hovering over her. She needs her space.”
“Oh. I can do that.” Willow opened up her laptop again. “I just need to finish running the schematics through my program again, and then we can get the Buffybot up and running.”
“I know we need the extra help, but don’t you think it’s a little too soon to be using the Bot?”
Willow’s shoulders sagged. “I get that, but we’re running out of options. We can only do so much patrolling as a group, and I’m not sure Giles is cut out for that much running.” She lowered her voice. “And Spike is drunk half the time. I’m not sure we can depend on him.”
“He’s grieving in his own way,” Tara said tactfully.
Willow’s expression hardened into her Resolve Face. “We’re all grieving,” she said. “But we can’t keep this up forever. Dawn’s going to need Buffy as her guardian and if Mr. Summers drops by for a visit – not that that’s likely, but you never know. The Buffybot is our only option. I just have to fix her programming.”
“If you think that’s best.”
“It has to be. For now.” Willow stared at her screen.
The basement was cool and musty, and quiet, interspersed with the occasional hum of the heater or the washing machine. Dawn was glad of it. Everyone was always talking at her these days, well, except for Tara and Spike. Anya was the worst offender, but Xander would smile awkwardly and mouth behind her back, She’s trying. And Dawn knew what it was like to be brand new at humanity, so she nodded at Anya’s attempts to cheer her up.
Tara let her sit quietly, or curl up against her side, petting her hair – and Dawn would close her eyes and pretend she could smell Buffy’s shampoo.
When Spike was sober, he’d tell her stories – haltingly at first, but then his voice grew stronger and more confident, about the times when he was the Big Bad – and don’t you forget it, Niblet, only pausing when he got to the parts that involved her sister. Then his eyes would sort of go soft and wet, and he would blink and turn his head away. The first time she’d try to comfort him, he shook her off angrily, saying that something flew in his eye and it was irritating him. And that it was time she went home and to just wait for him outside. She’d leave, rolling her eyes, but not before she heard a loud honk and Spike coughing to cover up the sound of his crying.
He really was the worst liar.
Then he’d disappear for a few days and she knew it was because he was getting drunk to forget.
Giles barely talked to her at all, but she expected that. He would just glance over at her, wincing slightly, and then polish his glasses. She wondered what he saw when he looked at her.
She hoped it was something good.
