Part Six

Scratch. Scratch scratch.

"What're you drawin', luv?"

"The trees," Buffy replied. She took one fingertip and began to smudge the drawing in places.

"Can I see?" Spike asked, sitting up.

The blonde girl shook her head. "Not yet�" The charcoal pressed into the textured paper as the picture continued to take form.

"You don't mind if I�" Spike held up a pack of Marlboro reds and a lighter.

"No."

He pulled one of the cigarettes out of the hard pack, taking it between his lips, and then tucked the rest back into his duster. He raised the silver Zippo to the tip, lighting it, and exhaled a plume of smoke. "Thanks," he sighed. "Needed that." He lay back again, staring up at the canopy of green that shielded them from the sunlight as he smoked.

"I'm finished," Buffy announced softly.

Spike sat up again, then moved over to Buffy's side and considered the drawing. "You're good with charcoal," he murmured, though he was slightly shocked at what he saw on the paper. In the drawing, Buffy sat in the middle of the grove of trees exactly as she did now. But the trees were cracked and burned, all dead. A skeleton, its head resting on a tattered piece of fabric, lay in the same position that he'd been lying in moments before. "Not quite sure what the message of the piece is, though�" he said nervously.

"Everything I'm around dies," she mumbled.

"Right then," Spike said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together energetically. "I see that drawin' in the park wasn't such a good idea." He stood up and walked over to the place he'd been lying, then plucked his duster from the grass and shook it out. "Wanna get out of 'ere, luv?"

"Why?"

Spike paused in putting on his duster mid-sleeve. "Why� what?"

"Why are you here?" She looked at him with dull eyes. "I know you were talking to my mom."

"Can't stand to see someone fall into themselves, I s'pose. Did it m'self after my mum�" He cleared his throat, and then put his duster on the rest of the way. "Wasn't fun."

~*~*~*~*~

The two blondes got out of the DeSoto and walked up to the front porch of the Summers' home. Buffy opened the door, placing her sketchbook and charcoals on an end table in the foyer. She turned back toward him. "Do you want to come in?"

He glanced at her. "Your mum home?" he inquired, instead of answering her question.

Buffy nodded, "She's probably in the kitchen making hot cocoa."

"Just for a mo, then," he said, stepping across the threshold.

Buffy walked through the living room into the kitchen, Spike following her. "Evenin', Mrs. Summers," he greeted. "Returnin' your daughter."

Dawn entered the room with one of her friends. "Mom, Janice and I are gonna go - " she cut herself short as she saw Spike leaning with his elbows on the countertop of the island in her kitchen. She attempted to assume a nonchalant pose, leaning against the doorframe as her friend gaped. "Oh, hey Spike. What're you doing here?" she asked.

"Droppin' your sister off," he replied.

Joyce opened the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of juice. "Can I get you something, Spike?"

"No thanks, Mrs. Summers. I should probably get - "

"I thought you hated Buffy?" Dawn asked.

Spike glanced at the thirteen-year-old. "We developed a common interest," he said.

Dawn's eyes went wide. "Oh, you mean how Oz just died and she thinks it's her fault and your mom died when you were younger?" she blurted, immediately clamping a hand over her mouth.

The bleached-blond teen bristled, clenching his jaw and squeezing his eyes tightly shut. The sound of glass breaking echoed through the silent room.

"Dawn!" Joyce admonished.

The blushing eighth-grader bolted from the room, dragging Janice behind her.

"I'm so sorry," the older woman said sincerely. "She just� I can't think of a good excuse for that." She turned toward Buffy. "Oh, honey�"

Buffy had dropped her nearly empty water glass at the mention of Oz's death, and in the process of attempting to pick up the various shards had sliced her hands in several places. Spike stepped forward, grasping her wrists gently and pulling her back from the mess and sitting her on a bar stool. "I'll take care of 'er hands," he offered. "Can you get me a first aid kit?" Joyce opened a cabinet and got out the metal box, and Spike flipped open the lid, pulling out the roll of gauze, Neosporin, and medical tape. He tore a few paper towels off the roll and wet them under the faucet, then began to dab at the freely bleeding wounds on Buffy's palms and fingertips.

Joyce swept up the remaining glass shards, throwing them in the dustbin. "I'm going to make some hot chocolate," she decided aloud. "Would you like some when you're done?"

Without looking up from his task, Spike replied, "Do you have any of those little marshmallows?" He wrapped gauze around Buffy's palm, and then taped it securely.

"Oh, I'll look."

"You're good at this," Buffy commented emotionlessly.

Spike glanced at her face. "Yeah," he said. "S'pose I've 'ad a lot of practice." He lifted his left hand, indicating his scarred eyebrow. He finished dressing her other hand, then brought the tips of his left middle and forefingers to his lips, pursing them slightly against them. "Mum always used to do this for us," he said as he brought his fingers down to touch lightly against first one and then the other small, bandaged palm. "Said it made us heal faster." Then, slightly embarrassed at the way the two older Summers women were looking at him, he placed Buffy's hands onto her lap, shoving his own fists into the pockets of his coat. "Right then," he said. "All better."

Joyce set a mug of hot cocoa in front of him, heaping with mini-marshmallows. A second mug was placed before Buffy, who took it gingerly in her unwounded fingertips.

"Thanks," Spike said, raising his mug to his lips.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike concluded his journal entry for the day, closing the leatherbound book and tucking it under his pillow. He then raised a hand to the top button of his shirt, preparing to strip down and go to sleep, when he suddenly found himself pinned to the painted brick of his wall by 185 pounds of enraged soccer player.

A heavy fist smashed into Spike's left eye. "You want to tell me why you left school with my girlfriend today, brother dear?" Angel snarled, tightening his grip on his twin's throat slightly.

"Ulp�" Spike choked, struggling. His eyes bulged in their sockets and his face turned from a very light tan to a deep, angry red in a matter of moments. He fisted his hands together and shoved into Angel's gut as hard as he could. The dark-haired boy doubled over, clutching his abdomen and thusly releasing his brother. Spike clutched a hand to his eye. "Why is it always violence with you blokes?!" the bleached teen gasped. "Never even bother to talk things out anymore." Angel moved to tackle Spike again, but Spike dodged out of the way and the larger teen fell to the ground heavily, smashing into Spike's dresser. "Now, see what happens when you try to hurt people, you poofter? Just end up hurtin' yourself."

Angel rose to his feet.

"You're not gonna try to attack me again, are you Peaches? If so, can we move this outside so we don't destroy my room?" Spike took his hand away from his eye and rocked on the balls of his feet, an eyebrow raised as his brother caught his breath. "See, you're the strong one. Always knew that. But�" he said, smirking cockily, "I'm always gonna be faster than you, Angelus."

"Why did you leave with Buffy?" Angel asked again, this time putting himself between Spike and the door.

"Believe me, 'm not tryin' to move in on your girl, mate."

"So what are you doing with her, then, mate?" Angel asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

Spike rolled his eyes. "Maybe if you weren't too busy thinkin' about yourself for once, you'd realize that she blames 'erself for the accident."

"That's ridiculous," Angel scoffed. "It's not her fault. And why do you care, anyway?"

"Been askin' m'self that a lot today� mostly because I know you'd go all broody and use even more of that nancyboy hair gel you seem to like so much." Angel's hands flew to his hair and the other teen chuckled, then cleared his throat. "Took Blondie to 'er mum, she asked me to look out for 'er." Spike paused. "Why does this whole thing even bother you? Saw you makin' googly-eyes at that Cordelia bird this mornin'."

"Who I talk to is none of your business," Angel muttered.

"Oh-ho, so you have a yen for 'er. An' it is my business when I'm supposed to keep your girlfriend from killin' 'erself. If you want to be with the other chit, tell 'er now. Don't drag this out."

Angel clenched his hands into fists. "When did this become a conversation about my social life?"

"When you pinned me to the wall an' asked why I was with your girl�?" Spike reminded him. "Seems this 'ere conversation has come full-circle," he said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need my beauty sleep."

The hulking brunette left the room, closing the door behind him.

"Pillock," Spike spat, opening his mini-fridge and pulling out an icepack, which he then held to his eye, unbuttoning his shirt with one hand and shrugging out of it awkwardly. He tossed the silk garment to the floor. His left hand unbuckled his belt, tugging it halfway out of his pants when his telephone rang. "Yeah," he answered.

"She's awake."

~*~*~*~*~

The DeSoto pulled up into the driveway at 1630 Revello Drive, having made it across town in record-time without being pulled over. Spike tossed his cigarette onto the asphalt driveway, grinding it out with the heel of his black Doc Marten before striding up the driveway and climbing the front steps. He lifted his fist, poised to knock when the door opened and Buffy stood before him.

"We just got the call a few minutes ago," she said, her gauze-encased hands trembling as she gestured for him to come inside. "I don't know if I can see her�"

"Would it 'elp if I went in with you?" Spike asked gently. "The whelp'll be there too�"

"What's a whelp?" Buffy asked as they walked into the living room.

"Harris." He sat down on the couch, shifting until he was comfortable.

"Oh�"

A flurry of footsteps trampling down the stairs caught Spike's attention, and he looked toward the foyer to see a very sullen-looking Dawn standing with her hands shoved in the front pockets of her jeans. "I'm supposed to say I'm sorry," she grumbled. "You know, for talking about your dead mom."

The muscles in Spike's jaw tightened again and his nostrils flared as he sucked in a breath. He gritted his teeth, reminding himself that eighth graders had no sense of tact. "Yeah," he said on an exhale, after counting to twenty. Anger management classes be damned, counting to ten wouldn't have put a dent in his irritation.

The brown-haired girl stomped back upstairs, and the slamming of her bedroom door rattled the house.

"As I was saying�" he began again.

"What happened to your eye?" Buffy asked suddenly, staring at the swollen and bruised flesh.

"Your boyfriend," Spike spat, "decided to take it upon 'imself to keep me away from you. No clue why. Bleedin' lummox."

"Angel punched you?"

Spike shrugged. "'E's done worse t' me than this." Spike closed his one good eye, recalling the earlier argument he'd had with his brother over the very same girl. In fact, Angel's fighting tactics had been much the same, and he was very glad he'd controlled himself this time and managed not to pulverize yet another priceless possession.

"He's hit you before," Buffy murmured. "Can I get you an ice pack, or maybe an Aspirin?" she offered.

"Look, just because m'brother has hit me in the past, doesn't make 'im a bad person, luv. Brothers fight. It's what they do," he said, following her into the kitchen for the second time that day. "Besides, I learned to not get hit. 'E got a lucky shot in today, but I clocked 'im right back."

The blonde girl opened her freezer, pulling out a tray of ice cubes, which she then wrapped in a small towel. She handed this to Spike, and searched for the painkillers. "All we have is Tylenol," she said quietly.

"I don't need any pills," he said, placing the ice-filled towel over his swollen eye. "Thanks, luv." He inhaled slowly, then said, "If you don't want to go to the hospital� or if you want to be alone, I can - "

"No, it's okay," Buffy interjected. "I can be alone with you here."

"Thanks ever so," he said, his words dripping with sarcasm.

They sat quietly for a moment. "I think� I mean� can you take me to see Willow?" She paused, swallowing. "Mom went to the gallery at eight, and she has a lot of work to do there, so�"

"Sure, luv."

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