Buffy The Vampire Slayer Fan Fiction ❯ S W I T CH. ❯ The Mirror Talisman ( Chapter 2 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Dawn sat in her room, while Spike tried to smooth things over with Buffy. She could hear her sisters' angry voice floating up from the living room, and her arms curled more securely around her pillow. Willow had fixed her up once they'd arrived, and Buffy had sent nothing but murderous glances in her direction, as Spike explained the situation. She'd been sent up to her room—no doubt her training session with Spike cancelled for the evening—and had waited out the last forty five minutes, anticipating the loud thump-thump of her sisters footsteps as she climbed the stairs. No doubt a yelling match would ensue, Dawn would end up grounded, and she wouldn't be allowed out of the house for weeks.
With a heavy sigh, she flopped back onto her bed and rolled over. Eyes scanning her window, she stared at the frame, before her gaze focused on the moon beyond the glass. It shone brightly, and illuminated her room (she hadn't bothered turning the lights on, after being banished) in a pale white light. She remembered the way the same moonlight had fallen across Joshua's face, and shivering, she pressed her nose into her pillow. Her arm and hand throbbed despite the medicinal herbs Willow had administered to them, and so she knew trying to sleep would be a waste of effort. There really wasn't anything to do except wait out the argument taking place below, and prepare herself for what was to follow that.
"I can't trust her," Buffy fumed as she paced the living room. Her fingers curled into fists, and she flexed them repeatedly as she wore a path into the carpet. Spike sat on the couch, relaxed—more so than Buffy, to say the least—his blue gaze following the Slayer as she angrily verbalized her frustrations. "I mean, I try and give her some freedom, and look what she does! Almost gets herself killed."
"Come on, Buffy," Willow began hesitantly, sitting in the armchair near the fireplace, "she's sixteen. You know how we were at that age. We've snuck out before, too."
"But I'm the Slayer," Buffy emphasized in exasperation, throwing her hands up into the air. Her blonde hair spun round her shoulders as she turned on her heel, once more making her way across the room. "I could take care of myself—you saw what had happened to her. If Spike hadn't been around, God knows if she'd even be alive."
Parting his lips to speak, Spike was cut off as Buffy launched into an angry rant.
"She gets mad at me for being nosey, wanting to know where she's going, what time she'll be home. She doesn't realize it's not safe out there! And I can't be with her all of the time, and I don't want it to take something like this to happen before she figures out that I'm not trying to be a controlling psychobitch."
"I think Willow's right on this one, Buffy," Spike cut in, ignoring the annoyance with which Buffy looked at him. Stretching out his long legs, he shrugged it off before exchanging glances with the witch, who returned his stare with a grateful if not sheepish smile. "She's at that age, you know. Bit's bound to find some trouble here or there. And like you said, I was there, and aside from a few scratches—deep as they may be, she's alright."
"Trouble with boys, I can handle," Buffy shot back, sinking down onto the armrest of the chair Willow sat in. She stared down at her fingers, looking confused and defeated—a rare occurrence. Oddly enough, this only happened when it came to dealing with Dawn, the vampire noted. "Trouble with demons, getting attacked—I can't deal with that, because it doesn't have to happen if she'd just stay inside. Or trust me enough to let me know what she's really doing."
"That's a load," Spike snorted, slapping his knee. Pushing himself to his feet, he cocked his head before addressing the Slayer. "You mean to tell me, after all those dirty looks and the screamin' that's going to take place once I bugger off to my crypt, you want her to trust you? Yellin' won't solve this problem, an' you've got a lot more 'an just trust issues here, pet."
Buffy pouted, before looking to Willow for support. She raised her eyebrows and offered a small smile, before shrugging shyly and nodding in agreement to Spike's statement. Satisfied, he allowed a small, cocky smile to fall to his lips. Crossing his arms, he looked towards the stairs.
"What would you know about trust?" Buffy mumbled, getting to her feet. "Or having kids? This sucks, it's like a permanent babysitting job. Except I don't get paid with money, I get anxiety attacks."
"Not everybody is the Slayer," Spike began, ignoring the jibe she'd sent his way. "But you know, at least she's getting help. She knows how to take care of herself. Or at least, she's gettin' there. Nibblet's got talent, I'm sure you've noticed. She'll never be as fast as you or as strong as you, but she'll bloody well be able to take care of a few vamps', soon enough. An I'll see to that."
Although Buffy didn't look entirely happy to hear this, Spike noticed some of the tension drain from her shoulders. With a small nod, she brushed a strand of hair from her shoulders, His gaze followed the line of her throat, before up to her face. Their eyes met, and Spike looked away. Slipping his hands into the pockets of his cloak—an attempt to hide his fists—he rocked back on his heels before motioning towards the stairs with his head.
"Do you want me to take her tonight? You know she'll be safe with me. Then you can take a break."
A moment of silence, before Buffy sighed heavily and nodded, throwing a careless hand in the direction of the stairs.
"Might as well," she breathed. As Spike began to climb the stairs, she called after him.
"Thanks."
A knock on her door. Half tempted to yell for Buffy to screw off, Dawn chose silence as her response. Another knock, before the door opened and light flooded in from the hallway.
"Dawn?"
Surprised, the girl pulled herself up into a seated position. Frantically brushing her hair off her shoulders, she wiped at her face with her fingers before the overhead light flickered on. Spike stood in the doorway, brows drawn together in concern. His jaw was set, and she tried not to squirm as his eyes roamed over her. She told herself that he was just making sure she was okay—he's in love with Buffy, after all.
"You okay, Bit?" he asked, stepping further into the room. "I've talked to your sister; I wouldn't worry to much about her if that's what you're on about."
"I'm not worried," Dawn responded stiffly,slowly slipping her pillow from her lap. "I can handle Buffy."
Spike chuckled then, before nodding.
"Right then. She says you can come back with me for the night, if you're up for it. Doubt you'd be ready to go to school with a hand like that, anyway."
"The night?" Dawn squeaked, eyebrows lifting. "As in, a sleepover?"
"Er—well, I s'pose that's what you'd be callin' it, yeah." A quick pause, before Spike's eyes narrowed. "But we're not doing any of that make-over-gossip rubbish, you hear me?"
Mood lightened, Dawn tried to hide her smile as she slid off of the bed. "Okay!"
"Well," Spike continued, rubbing his neck. He seemed a little uncomfortable, and glanced towards the door. "I'm going to go talk to Buffy 'bout that Talisman. You grab some clothes, and meet me downstairs."
Dawn nodded in agreement, and as he disappeared down the hall all leather and cigarettes, she began to dig through her drawers. It was only then that she dreaded not using some of her allowance money to buy sexier pyjamas, and settled on a pair of baby blue cotton shorts and a fitted black shirt she'd stolen from Buffy's closet. A toothbrush, hairbrush and some lip gloss later, she was ready, and bounded down the stairs.
Spike stood at the foot of the stairway with Buffy, and she stopped dead. Envy consumed the girl at their proximity, and how enraptured Spike seemed to be by it. Buffy's slender fingers roamed over a silver shaft he held in his hands, palms upwards, presenting the object to her. Their voices were low, and she couldn't really hear anything. Buffy picked up the shaft, and Dawn realized that it must have been the Talisman Spike had been talking about.
"Cool!" she chirped, ignoring the way they jumped apart upon hearing her voice. Skipping steps, she jumped onto the landing and gave Spike a small smile, before turning to her sister. "What's that?" she asked, intrigued by the spherical reflective surface melded to the handle. Reaching out, her fingers closed around it. Buffy opened her lips—no doubt to protest, but before she could, they both froze. Dawn shivered, and the sphere began to glow a dull green. Spike swore, but before he could pry it from either of their hands, an electric shock ran through both of them. Letting out a pained yelp, Dawn yanked her hand back, before sinking down onto the first step.
Buffy dropped the Talisman, and as it clattered to her feet, blinked slowly. The mirror attatched to the shaft shattered, and the pieces scattered all over the floor. Dawn held her burning hand to her chest, before looking form the broken shards up to Buffy. She looked distant, before shaking her head and glancing around.
"What was that?" she breathed, and Dawn shook her head. Spike glanced from the broken Talisman to between the two sisters.
"Are you alright?" he asked, looking from Buffy to Dawn. "Do you feel any different? Hurt?"
"No," Dawn and Buffy responded at the same time. "Why?"
"The Mirror Talisman takes energy," Spike explained, dropping to his knees. He ran his fingertips along the broken shards of glass, before shaking his head. "It was a rumoured instrument, in some of the ancient texts. I'm sure your librarian will have a book about it, somewhere. It's abilities seemed ludicrous though, so it was written off as a myth."
"I didn't feel anything except a shock," Buffy responded, easily. "So maybe it was just some cheap parlour trick, after all?"
"Let's hope so," Spike nodded, seriously. "It's powers weren't clearly defined in the texts, so nobody really knows what kind of energy it takes. Best to keep this all together, though."
"What'd you break?" Willow asked curiously, coming out from the kitchen. Her eyes fell to the floor, before her eyebrows vanished behind the line of her hair. "Is that the Mirror Talisman?"
"It was," Buffy responded dryly. "I dropped it."
"You've heard of it?" Spike asked, as Dawn stood, a little unsteadily, to go grab a dust pan.
"Oh yeah, it's a really popular thing with the Witches. It deals with the transferal of supernatural energy. Apparently, the darker witches back in the day used it to make sacrifices to Demon's."
Wiggling her eyebrows mischievously, the witch took a small sip of tea from her mug. "But nobody thought it was real. I mean, the idea is cool, being able to transfer power and life sources, but that's a little extreme, you know?"
Buffy nodded, and Dawn shrugged as she knelt to sweep up the pieces.
"Well if it broke so easily," she began, lifting her head, eyes questioning, "was it really that powerful?"
Buffy shrugged, and Willow seconded the action.
"I'll look into it," the witch offered, lifting a hand. "I needed something to do tonight anyways, aside from chaperoning rebellious teenagers, that is."
Dawn ducked her head to avoid Buffy's scathing glare, and once she'd gathered the shards, set it on the base of the stairs, before standing and adjusting her backpack.
"Can we go now, Spike?" she asked, quietly. Spike nodded, before letting his arm slip onto the girls shoulders.
"Make sure you get some homework done, at least," Buffy called behind them as they left the house.
For some reason, once they'd arrived back at the crypt, Dawn felt extremely awkward. Spike had let her in first, and as she set her stuff down onto the couch, he'd shrugged out of his coat and found his cigarettes. Fingers toying with the zipper, she stood there a moment, unsure of what to do. Spike moved to the small cooler he kept near the coffin, and opening it up pulled out a sachet of blood. She was careful to keep her gaze on the floor as he poured it into a mug, and shifted her things over when he came to drop down onto the couch.
"Have a seat, pet," Spike invited, noticing her unease. "I don't bite."
Dawn smiled, letting her bag shift from the couch and fall to the floor. "Well, you can't," she teased, lowering herself down beside him. "Otherwise I think you might."
Rolling his eyes, Spike grabbed for the remote and turned the T.V on.
"So we're not going to train tonight?" she asked curiously, as he expertly flipped through the fifty some odd channels he had. He shrugged his shoulders, smoke dangling carelessly from his lips.
"Well your hand is downright ruined," he commented, distracted as he settled onto a channel which broadcasted Passions. "Doubt you'd be able to hold a sword very well tonight, Bit. 'Sides, I won't tell Buffy we took a breather if you won't."
Liking this idea, Dawn hid her smile by biting her lips. Turning to face the T.V, she relaxed against the couch and drew her knees to her chest. They watched his show for about an hour, and when it was over, he tossed the remote to Dawn.
"Have a look," he explained, lighting another cigarette. "I think I'll go out and grab us some munchies—you haven't eaten tonight, have you?"
A flashback to cold meatloaf and unstable looking potatoes. Giving Spike a wide smile, she shook her head.
"Alright, well how's Pizza sound then?"
"Sounds good," Dawn agreed. As Spike shrugged into his coat, she eyed the door before the television set. "But..." she began hesitantly, "You're going to leave me here alone?"
"Well here's as safe a place as any," he responded, glancing around. "I've never 'ad any unwelcome guests come crawlin' through." A brief pause, before his lip drew back into a grimace. "Save for your sister, I 's'pose. You can come with me, if you'd like. I just figured you might be a little tired after all that screaming."
Dawn's face flushed, and she hid her blush by staring down at her fingers.
"No, I want to come."
"Alright then," Spike nodded, taking a long drag from his smoke. "Pepperoni and cheese?"
He ate the pizza with little interest, his attention focused more so upon the girl who sat beside him on the couch. He watched the way she picked at the cheese—inspecting it almost, before delicately popping a piece into her mouth. He was never good at reading people, and so Spike was a little put off by her quiet, distant behaviour. Dawn was the exact opposite, and so it sent the Vampire on edge to have her act this way.
"You gonna' eat that, or are you still inspectin' it, doctor?" he joked, and she looked up, almost startled. Her eyes fixed onto his, and he ignored the momentary shock that ran through his nerves, before raising his eyebrows. A pause, before she shrugged her small shoulders. Lifting the pizza to her mouth, she took a rather large bite, and he chuckled as she spoke around her mouthful of food.
"Done," she breathed, swallowing. "Happy?"
"Well," Spike countered, a little confused, "I thought you wanted pizza? You don't have to force it down if you don't want any, Nibblet."
"No, it's not that," she responded hastily, "I just... I don't know. I guess I'm not as hungry as I thought."
"Eyes bigger than your stomach?" he grinned, finishing off his own slice. "Well, I hope you're being honest with me. Don't want to turn into one of those girls who obsess about their image."
"Buffy's obsessed with how she looks," Dawn quipped, and Spike heard a sort of challenge in her voice. Taken by surprise, he leaned back into the couch. Lifting his eyebrows, he cocked his head, before his gaze narrowed. Her lips were pursed, and although she was probably unaware, there was a very fine blush rising up along her throat. It took him a second, before he realized—was she jealous?
"Come on now, pet, you're just as much a looker as she is."
The flush deepened, and Dawn turned away, eyes fixed onto the blank television set adjacent them. Spike couldn't help the path his eyes followed; from her rosy cheeks down her jaw, along the barely visible tracery of blue veins just beneath her translucent skin. It was almost like she were teasing him, and with a mild shock he realized that he had truly meant what he had just said.
"Give it a few years," he coughed, averting his gaze. "I'm sure the boys will be all over you."
The girl sighed—heavily, it would seem, before she set her pizza back onto the cardboard box. "I'm tired Spike," she exclaimed, "I want to sleep now."
Nodding hastily, the Vampire pulled himself quickly to his feet. Finding a blanket—one of the few he owned, aside from those on his bed—he tossed it to her. She wrapped it around her small frame and curled up in a corner of the couch. He frowned, eyes scanning her features. She seemed withdrawn now, and the pull of her brow made him wonder if he'd upset her any. He briefly went over their conversation in his head, mind running over something he could of said that would have made her angry. While she was very different from her sister, one trait they had in common was their temper. The only difference between them was Dawn never played Kick the Spike when she was pissed off.
Finally, he opted for silence, and leaned over to affectionately rub her hair. She stiffened under his touch, and he frowned before slowing withdrawing. This was a definite sign. He'd done something to set her in a mood, and like the other Summer's girl, it took a bloody miracle to get them out of it. Unsure now, he stepped back before heading towards the large dip in the crypt that led down and beneath, where his more private quarters were.
He stopped just before the steep incline, and looking over his shoulder, hesitated before asking,
"D'you wanna come down here, love? It's warmer 'an that couch you're curled up on."
Dawn didn't respond for more than a minute, and just when Spike was going to give in and head down alone, she pulled herself into a seated position and said very quietly, "Okay."
The Vampire had to admit he was a little uncomfortable leading her down towards the bed. She shuffled along beside him, the blanket he'd thrown at her still draped over her shoulders. Spike reasoned that he would get a stake through the heart were Buffy to hear of this, but on the other hand, Dawn probably wasn't going to brag to Buffy about spending the night with him in his bed. Granted, it was a completely innocent gesture— he saw Dawn as something like a little sister. Definitely in a different light than Buffy. What was wrong with a little cuddling? Not that the Big Bad would admit to thinking this aloud, of course.
Dawn found her way easily to the bed, crawling on top of it before flopping down on the right side.
Spike watched her as she curled up into a small ball, and he could sense her nervousness. He hoped she knew he wasn't going to try anything—and with forced casualty, he sauntered over to the bed and kicked off his shoes. Sleeping with clothes on was going to be a bit of a bother, but he'd had the brilliant idea of inviting her down here so he would endure it. What he hadn't excepted when he'd settled down onto the bed however, was for Dawn to scoot closer and curl up into his side.
His arm fell alongside her back though, and she inched closer. The warmth of her body was surprisingly pleasant, and, he noted, completely different from the warmth of Buffy's. With her sister, there was always an unspoken tension. She would never be fully relaxed, the fine muscles in her body ready to react to any little movement he made. There was no real trust between them, and Spike had sort of managed to finally come to terms with the fact that she was using him as nothing more than a temporary escape.
With Dawn though, he could sense no distrust. Her body molded to his side almost perfectly, and he could feel himself warming to her touch. Closing his eyes, he felt himself relax. This was actually quite nice.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.
Dawn silently screamed in her head, holding her body as close to still as humanly possible. There she lay, in bed with Spike, out of his own doing. She was sure he could hear her heat beating five thousand miles a minute, and she chewed her lower lip anxiously as they lay side by side. She was very conscious of his arm along her shoulders, fingertips resting gently along her upper arm. He wasn't breathing—a sign that he had either fallen asleep, or was dozing. One arm lay upon his chest, and although it curled tightly along her side, she could still feel the hard muscle beneath. It fascinated her, and the girl had to resist the urge to let her hand slip up and span out along his shoulder. With an unsteady breath, she squeezed her eyes closed and tried to relax. She knew she was going to have difficulty falling asleep though, because when she woke up, this would have to end.
Sleep finally consumed her mind however, for the next moment she was waking up to an empty bed. Surrounded by warmth, she realized Spike had drawn the covers over her. Groggily, she pulled herself into a seated position. Frantically trying to fix her mussed hair, she glanced around the dimly lit room. She couldn't see Spike, and she couldn't hear him. This probably meant he'd wandered back up above ground. Relaxing a little, she stretched languidly, before letting her fingers smooth over the fabric beneath her. She was only a little rueful that she hadn't pulled on her skimpy pyjamas, for the memory of Spike's body pressed to hers was still close.
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she ran her fingers through her hair before standing completely. Surprised at how well she felt, she stretched again before turning her hand to inspect the bandages Willow had wrapped round it earlier. Flexing her fingers, she was intrigued when the expected pain was no longer there. Fingers plucking carefully at the bindings, she unravelled it and as it fell to her feet, she lifted her palm upwards. Eyes widening as her fingers curled away from her palm, she stared down at her hand.
The skin was smooth, flawless, and showed no tracery of scars.
Pulling her shirt off, she ripped the bandages free from her upper arm as well, and ran her fingers along the area where the deep, raw gash should have been. It was bruised, but to her growing distress, no sign of a wound. Despite the fact that this could be considered a good thing, she started to panic. Breathing deeply, she paced the length of Spike's room, before turning sharply on her heel. After a moment longer, she could no longer contain the frightened whimpers leaving her lips. Scrambling for her shirt, she jerked it on over her head.
"Spike!" she called, feeling her way shakily towards the incline that led above. "Spike!"
"What is it, Dawn?" Spike answered in alarm, his voice growing closer. She heard his feet land on the cold stone, and for some reason felt threatened. Backing up into the room, she could see Spike's dark form as he advanced, his silhouette barely visible from the one or two candles lighting the room. Her shoulders tightened, and when he reached forward to take hold of her wrist, her thoughts left her.
"What's wro—"
Spike's words were cut off as Dawn slid her fingers up his wrist. Hand closing around his forearm, she turned on her heel and using all of her strength, pulled him up and over her shoulder. He slammed onto the concrete with an unpleasant thud, and let out a long, agonized groan. Immediately as he did so, Dawn gasped and her hands flew up to her face.
"Oh my God!" she squeaked, scuttling backwards. "Oh my God," she breathed again through her fingers. "Did I just do that?"
It took Spike a moment to answer, and he let out a pained grunt, pulling himself up to his elbows. Once he'd managed to clear his head, he pulled himself to his feet and quickly turned to face the younger girl. Eyes wide and body tense, his gaze scanned over her before he exclaimed in exasperation,
"What the bloody hell was that?"
"I don't know!" Dawn shrieked. "You touched me and I just totally spaced out!"
Cocking his head, Spike advanced. His gaze narrowed when she sidled to the left, further from him.
"Come on now, Bit, you know I'm not gonna' hurt you."
"I know," Dawn responded, her voice tense. "But it doesn't feel...right."
After a pause, she inched closer, and Spike registered how uncomfortable she looked. Extending her hand, she looked up at him anxiously, before presenting to him what should have been her wounded appendage.
"Bollocks," Spike cursed, his eyebrows lifting in amazement. Cold hands coming up, he snatched her hand before she could pull it away, and turned it over for closer inspection. She couldn't explain the unease she felt at his touch, and had to resist the urge to push him away. After what had just happened, she was afraid to exert any more strength. She'd never been able to lift him over her shoulder before. And it had been so easy.
"This is complete soddin' rubbish," he fumed suddenly, throwing her hand away as if in disgust. "D'you mean to tell me...?"
He turned and began to pace the room. Dawn drew her hand back to her chest, and watched him with caution. He muttered to himself for about five minutes, before turning sharply on his heels.
"What's wrong?" she asked hesitantly.
"Bloody Mirror Talisman," Spike ground out, and kicked a pile of papers near his bed. They scattered noisily over the floor, before he pulled a face. "'It's a myth,'" he quoted, a high nasally impersonation of someone Dawn didn't know. "'It's powers can't exist, that's just preposterous.'"
"What's going on, Spike?" Dawn demanded, and she was surprised at the authority in her voice. Spike seemed to catch it too, for her turned and looked over his shoulder at her.
"We have to see Buffy," he mused aloud, nodding to himself. "Buffy and Giles, and that little witchy friend of hers."
"Why?" Dawn questioned, nervousness dripping from her tone. "What's wrong?"
Spike started towards her, but stopped himself. Bringing a fist up to his lips, he bit down on a knuckle before letting out a groan. He seemed unsure of what to say, before parting his lips to speak.
"M'not certain, but it seems that little incident last night with the Talisman wasn't just a 'parlour trick',"
"W-what do you mean?" Dawn squeaked. "Like...it did something to me?"
"You and your sister both have mystical powers," Spike continued, hastily. "It only works on people with gifts that are supernatural."
"I don't have any powers," Dawn began, but Spike cut her off.
"You're the Key," he exclaimed. "Just because you don't 'open' anything anymore, you're still made up of supernatural energy. And your sister is the Slayer."
Dawn was about to ask another question, before she recalled something Willow had said about it.
It deals with the transferal of supernatural energy.
"So if it transfers energy..." Dawn began, eyes widening, "and it's called the Mirror Talisman, does that mean—?"
"It most likely does, pet," Spike confirmed grimly. "Which means we're in a world of trouble."