Restive Nature
Rated- NC17
Chapter Thirteen
Spell It Out
"And that’s it," Dawn concluded, reaching for the lukewarm coffee she’d been ignoring while giving Connor the gist of their ‘reality’.
"Amazing," Connor stared at her. So much information had been thrown his way the last hour. Demons, witches, hell gods, different dimensions. He slumped back in his chair. When he’d sat down to talk with Dawn, he’d been hoping to find the answer to his problem. Instead of one, he now had many. Sort of. If what she’d said was true, and he was fairly certain that her imagination couldn’t have been that productive, then there were many avenues of interest for him to pursue. But at the moment he latched onto the most likely seeming. Witchcraft. Dawn, without mentioning names, had told him about some of the spells she knew of or was involved in.
"It is, isn’t it," she agreed with a smirk, then sighed. "I mean, if I hadn’t lived most of it," she grimaced slightly as she said this, "then I would never believe it." She tilted her head to gaze consideringly at him. "You do, don’t you? Believe me, I mean."
"Oh yeah," Connor nodded quickly. "I believe you. It’s just, well…"
"A lot to have on your plate?"
"The whole table I think," he chuckled. "I have a question though."
"Just one?" she teased. "I would have a couple dozen."
"Well, I do," he shrugged. "But one kind of sticks out."
"Okay, shoot," she offered, squaring her shoulders.
"Um, these witches you know," he began. She nodded. "Did they ever, like, do a spell that, well that affected a person’s memory?"
"Oh sure," she chuckled. "And it did not turn out well." She glanced down at her coffee cup. Her eyes teared up as she recalled the spell Willow had done that precipitated the loss of Tara in their lives. The first time that was. At least then, she’d still been alive. She’d still spent time with Dawn, like the dedicated friend and pseudo big sis she’d been.
"So it’s possible?" Connor breathed a sigh of relief. It felt that he was finally getting somewhere on his self-appointed quest to keep himself from insanity. But now Dawn was staring at him strangely. She was astute, he realized at her next question.
"Do you think someone’s been tampering with your memories?" she demanded softly. If she were correct, whoever it was would be in a world of hurt, judging by the anger she saw in his eyes.
"Well, yeah," he grunted. "Well, I mean I think so. I’m not sure, but some things just don’t add up."
"Why don’t you tell me then," she suggested gently. Connor ran a distracted hand through his hair.
"See, a few weeks back," he began. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to tell Dawn that it was her sister that was involved in this. But she’d withheld names he was sure, and figured she wouldn’t mind him doing the same. "Well, I was visiting a friend. And I looked at… him, I mean really looked. And I realized that, even though I knew…him, my whole life, he hadn’t changed one bit."
"Is he old?" Dawn asked calmly. Seeing how her entire life was a tampering instigated by monks, she wasn’t overly perturbed at the idea. At least not lately, now that she was actually making something of the life she’d been given.
"No," Connor shook his head. "Just a few years older than me."
"But he hasn’t changed how?" she asked. "Personality wise, or physical?"
"Physically," he answered shortly. Dawn thought for a moment, tapping her finger against the rim of her cup.
"You know Connor," she started slowly, "I can’t say for sure. I mean, memory tampering is what it sounds like to me. But I’d need to check with a few sources, before I could say so. And even then it might not be definite." He deflated a little. It would have been so easy for Dawn to say yes, absolutely, there’s the answer to all Connor’s problems.
"How could you know for sure?" he demanded. Her finger continued tapping as she sorted things out in her mind.
"Well, I could talk to my witch friend," she offered. "I’m sure she would know how to figure out if that’s what this is. But I think she’d actually need to see you, to you know, determine if a spell was put on you."
"Do you think she’d do that for me?" Connor asked hesitantly, his hopes starting to rise again.
"I’m pretty sure she would," Dawn chuckled. In fact, she knew Willow would. The redheaded Wiccan had commented occasionally on what a good kid Connor was. And if it were Dawn doing the asking, it would be a shoe-in. It wasn’t as if Willow were hiding who she was, for Dawn not to have mentioned her by name. But Dawn understood that this, like many things in her friend’s life was not for her to tell. So if Willow wanted Connor to know she was a witch, then she could tell him herself.
It felt slightly odd to Dawn to guard her tongue as carefully as she did. Connor was Buffy’s friend, yet he wasn’t in the complete know. Dawn was so used to everyone around her knowing the truth about her sister, that she felt a little awkward in Connor’s presence. But she was sure that once she talked to Willow, that would be remedied soon. After all, once one secret slipped, the rest were bound to follow.
"Okay," Connor grinned. He drained the last of his coffee and stood. Dawn followed suit. Connor pulled a notepad from his backpack and quickly wrote out his phone number to his apartment and slid it into Dawn’s hand. "Call me as soon as you know something. I mean, either way…"
"I’ll let you know," she smiled as she folded the paper and slipped it into her pants pocket. She bent over to pick up her bag and when she straightened up, held out her hand. "It was good to see you."
He clasped her hand, squeezing slightly in gratitude. "You too." He shouldered his backpack and turned to head out the door. Halfway there, he turned back. "Oh Dawn?"
"Yeah," she lifted her chin to catch his words.
"Um, I’d really appreciate this if you didn’t mention this to anyone else," he almost pleaded. "I mean like Buffy. O-or Spike," he added quickly, before she could ask why just her sister. But she didn’t ask. Just nodded her head and made a locking motion on her lips. He grinned at her sudden childishness. "Thanks. Catch you later."
"Bye!"
*****
"I’m just saying, it’s strange," Buffy repeated for the umpteenth time scowling at her fiancé.
"And I’m sayin’ he’s a kid," Spike rolled his eyes. "He probably forgot who told him and just said your name. It happens all the time."
"But it makes no sense," Buffy protested. "I haven’t talked to Connor since I invited him and Alyssa to the barbecue. And who else does Connor know that would tell him about Dawn?"
Spike’s chair at the table he’d been reclining in came down hard with a thump. He really couldn’t understand why she was so upset. "Let’s see," he began mockingly, "there’s Cordelia, Wes, Willow, Kennedy, Gunn… gee, really nobody at all." Buffy opened her mouth to say something, then snapped it shut, looking chagrined.
"I’m freaking out over nothing, aren’t I?" she asked in a little voice. He nodded and held his arm out to her. With a sigh she left the wooden spoons in the salad bowl and moved to sit on his lap. She rested her head on his shoulder.
"A little," he agreed," but I can’t see why."
"I don’t know," she offered immediately. And she didn’t. But Connor saying that she was saying things when she hadn’t really irked her. It wasn’t that she was angry with the boy. It could have been an honest mistake. But something about the whole thing felt off to her, and not in a normal everyday kind of sense. "I guess, after everything we’ve been through, you know with all the wishes that were made and all the miscommunication with our friends and between us, I guess I just try to watch what I say. Even if it doesn’t always work out that way and my mouth gets ahead of my mind, at least I remember what I said. So for someone to come along and say I said this, but I didn’t, makes me kind of nervous."
Spike grinned at her. "I think I got about half of that. But you said it, so you’ll remember for us both." She grinned a little at his effort to put her at ease.
"I already remember plenty for us both," she argued back good-naturedly. "Who remembers to buy groceries and pay bills and when people’s birthdays are?"
"And I love you for every bit of it," he assured her with a peck on her nose. She grinned and jumped up from his lap.
"And here I thought you just loved me for my body," she chuckled. "Now I find my mind is in the package too."
"Uh, it always was," Spike shrugged. "Unless you had a lobotomy that I din’t know about."
"Spike," she squealed indignantly before laughing. They heard the front door slam just before Dawn announced herself. The teen bounded into the room, dropping her bags on the nearest counter. Buffy slapped Spike’s hands away from her ticklish spot he’d been reaching for. Her hands automatically reaching for the shopping bag. "Hey Dawnie, find anything good?"
"Oh yeah," she enthused, her eyes almost glazing over. "Couple of the stores, fabulous. Check it out." Buffy pulled a multi-toned green striped shirt from the bag and gasped over the price tag.
"Dawn-!"
"Flip it over," the girl grinned. Buffy did so and gasped again at seeing the sixty- percent off sticker.
"That’s my girl," she crowed. "Got my shopping sense and good taste." She continued to look through the few things her sister had bought. Then she sent her off to put the things away so they could eat. They’d just been waiting on her.
While they enjoyed dinner, Dawn filled them in on her chance encounter with Connor. She kept her promise to him, just telling the others that he’d been unable to come for dinner, so they had coffee to catch up with each other. Buffy told her sister about her new job and Giles’ call. Spike laughed over the many places he’d been to that day, looking for work. He soon had them in stitches, making them imagine him in many guises, from fry-boy with an accent to ultra suave British investor with billions to spend. They sympathized with him about the lack of work for such an industrial productive man such as he.
"Let’s face it honey," Buffy giggled as she cleared the food to make room for dessert, "if you could get paid for drinking beer and watching TV, we’d be set for life."
"You know," Dawn chimed in, "you could always check out the breweries. They’re always looking for someone to test the effects of their new blends on. Of course they’d have a tough time with you. You’re insane whether you’re drunk or not."
"Oh ha ha Nibblet," he growled. "You know nothing about alcohol, Miss One-glass-of-champagne-is-more-than-I-can-handle."
"Well," she winked mischievously, "I’ll give you that about the champagne. Beer however…"
"Dawn, you better not say anything else," Buffy warned, fully aware that her sister had experimented a little once she was on her own so to say. She knew, because it was what she would have done, and honestly had done in the past. She gestured with her head to a scowling Spike. "Keep going an somebody might blister your butt raw."
"No," Spike disagreed mildly, "I was thinkin’ more along the lines of makin’ her drink until she puked it all back up again. That’d teach her a right bright lesson."
"Been there, done that," Dawn muttered sotto voce. Then realized her mistake. Buffy turned amused eyes to her sister and mouthed the word ‘run’. Dawn took her advice immediately as she leapt from her chair.
"Gotta make some phone calls, no dessert for me, bye bye!" she shrieked as she disappeared down the basement steps. Spike laughed at her antics while Buffy sliced the leftover cake.
"One of these days she’s going to catch on," Buffy giggled.
"She has," Spike shrugged, "jus’ all part of the game." He glanced up when the knife clattered back to the plate. Buffy’s eyes were wide and she was smiling tremulously. "What is it, pet?"
"You," she whispered. "You’re going to be a great dad."
"Course I am luv," he retorted immediately. "You’re the one who always bollocks things up."
"Spike!" her jaw dropped. But the glint in his eyes told her he was just pushing her buttons, so naturally she played along. "Need I remind you of your infamous ‘plans’?" She made quote marks in the air.
"Hey," he growled, "a lot of those were good plans. ‘Til you came along bollocksin’ things up, just like I said." The argument went south from there, deliberately goading each other until Spike finally hauled his fiancée over his shoulder and took her upstairs to show her just which of his brilliant plans succeeded admirably. And the slightly stale cake became a little staler.
*****
Dawn rushed home as quickly as she could. A customer, dropping a pop had created a mess similar to a Bimoron beast when it exploded did. And Dawn had had to clean it up, causing her to get off work late, and be covered in sticky cola from near head to foot. Which of course meant she absolutely had to shower before she could meet Connor like she had planned. While she hurried home, she called his cell and told him that she’d just meet him at the Hyperion.
After they’d met for coffee that first time, Dawn had done as promised and called Willow. She’d outlined what she could, not mentioning Connor’s name. Willow had been agreeable to seeing him, especially when Dawn mentioned that it was someone they already knew. Willow was by no stretch ignorant and had a fairly good idea of which Dawn was referring to. So she’d given her permission for Dawn to tell Connor that yes she was a practicing witch.
That call had been made and Dawn was surprised that Connor reacted as well as he did, given some of his earlier comments. He’d just shrugged it off and added it to the list of freaky people he was getting to know. In a way, he was glad that he hadn’t known this from the start. He’d never have become acquainted with them if he had, and then might have missed out on knowing some really cool people. But he did resolve to ask if there was anything special about anyone else in that group.
So the three of them planned to meet when it was convenient for all of them. Willow was free most of the time, aside from helping Wesley research things and occasionally tagging along with Kennedy when she was slaying. Connor was working full-time over the summer and Dawn had alternating days off. So they planned for the coming Friday after Connor and Dawn were done with work.
Dawn ran the last block, hating to be late and miss anything important. She heaved a sigh of relief when she saw Spike’s car before their house. With a little persuasion, she could hopefully get a ride from him instead of taking the bus. She hurried into the house, calling his name. He wasn’t far, sitting in the living room, watching television.
"What happened to you, pet?" he asked with a laugh. Dawn knew she looked like a drowned rat.
"Exploding pop bottle," she replied succinctly. "Is there any chance I could get a ride to the hotel after I shower? I’m supposed to be meeting Willow in like fifteen minutes."
"Sure, no problem," he shrugged. Buffy had called earlier to tell him that Daphne and the others wanted her to join them for their traditional Friday night dinner. It seemed to be more than just dinner, and was actually a night to let their hair down and party some of their work frustrations away. He was glad that she was invited and accepted by her co-workers so quickly. She and Daphne were already good friends. But he also felt a little left out and lonely. Luckily for him, the Nibblet appeared before he could get too maudlin, and dare he think it, broody?
"Thanks!" Dawn flew down the stairs to retrieve some clean clothes and in a flash was up to shower. Since he had nothing better to do, he called Willow to let her know that the teen would be a little late due to work. Willow was fine with that and when she heard he was driving her told him that it would be good to see him.
Twenty minutes later, they were on their way. Dawn told him all about the customers at work. And he told her he was glad he didn’t work there. Serving impatient gits who thought nothing of wrecking merchandise just didn’t seem to suit him. He laughingly told her that he would’ve probably made the idiot who dropped the pop clean it up himself.
They arrived at the hotel and he followed her in. Connor was waiting in the lobby, perched nervously on one of the large chairs in a corner. Dawn greeted him and he looked nervously at Spike. "He was just giving me a ride," she whispered quickly. Connor nodded and settled back in the chair.
"Hey Dawn, Spike," Cordy greeted them from behind the counter where she was working. She glanced at the ceiling overhead as a particularly noisy crash was heard. "Uh, Willow will be down soon," she informed them, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the indistinct yelling. Spike approached the desk, leaning casually on it. Wes had a book out and was pretending to be absorbed in it. Spike took in the way they all seemed to be trying to ignore the fight that was obviously happening between Willow and Kennedy.
"This a daily event mate?" he quietly asked Wes. The man’s eyes jumped up to meet his and with the barest flicker of a nod, returned to his book.
"Can I get anyone some coffee?" Cordy offered brightly. "Or tea? We have both."
Before anyone could answer, a door slammed and heavy feet ran down the stairs. Kennedy flew past them, a muttered comment about going out thrown over her shoulder. Cordy muffled a giggle as Wes and Spike muttered together, "stupid bint." They glanced at each other then shared a grin. Obviously Kennedy was not well liked here.
Connor rose to ascend the stairs, but Dawn wisely restrained him. "Give her a minute," she warned. He glanced once more at the door then nodded and resumed his seat. They waited for Willow to compose herself and come downstairs to greet her guests. It didn’t take her long and soon Dawn and Connor had followed her back up to her room. Spike watched interestedly for a moment, since Connor was involved in what he’d thought was women only get together. He threw an inquiring glance at the other two, but they just shrugged. Spike put it out of his mind for just now. If Dawn wanted him to know, she’d tell him later.
So how are things going?" Cordy asked as she carefully filed some papers away.
"Not bad," he shrugged. "Still lookin’ for work, but I’ll find somethin’." He didn’t miss the apprehensive glance between the Seer and Wes.
"Well," Wes began, then cleared his throat. He almost looked pleadingly at Spike and the blonde understood immediately. He had sounded like he was hinting at something they weren’t wanting. And he didn’t want it either.
"Oh, don’t worry mate," he laughed. "I’m not askin’ for a job. Peaches would kill ya."
"Yes," Wes grinned, "that he would."
"But if you hear anythin’?" Spike wasn’t above that.
"Oh of course," Wes nodded happily. "We’d be sure to pass it along."
"Oh," Cordy broke in; "you know what we did when we were out of work?" Spike shook his head. He never knew that they had been jobless. Angel had a thing about helping others. Spike couldn’t see where the great poof wouldn’t help his friends. "We sang for Lorne. You know, to help us get started on our proper paths."
"Oh yeah?" he smirked. "And he led you down the straight and narrow?"
"You could give it a try," she suggested simply. Spike shrugged, although the idea had merit. He certainly didn’t mind performing a ditty if it could point him in the right direction. There was just something in him that chafed at the thought of flipping burgers the rest of his life. "I’ll call Lorne for you. He’s in the process of re-doing the club, but I’m sure he’ll be available."
So Spike waited while she made the call. She told him that Lorne was waiting and gave him directions to the club. He told them to have Dawn call him if she needed a ride as he had his cell phone with him and headed off. The club was in a section of town that he’d driven by a few times. But he’d never have known the club was there. He walked into the outer shell of what seemed to be a warehouse and followed the steps down. He tried the door, which was locked, then rang the buzzer. After a few minutes, a little click sounded and he tried the now unlocked door. He slipped in, taking in the set-up as he went. It was a little flashy for his taste, but it seemed to suit Lorne perfectly.
All was quiet and Spike figured that whomever had been working on the new stage, that was still in pieces, must have knocked off about five. He stopped at the bar, glancing around for the horned green demon. His Slayer sense tickled a bit and he swung his head around to catch Lorne emerging from one of the back rooms.
"Ah, my little spice cake," Lorne grinned as he made his way to the bar. "Cordy tells me you’re in need of my services."
"I suppose," Spike drawled. "The Seer told me you might be able to help."
"Apparently five years of letting them rip my ears to shred makes me one of the gang," Lorne joked. His fighting skills, much to his disappointment, had grown over the last few years. Hazards of association. He was still just as likely though to throw off an attacker with a well timed, perfectly pitched rendition of Mariah than to throw a punch.
"Yeah," Spike grunted. "She told me she sang for you."
"Oh not just them sugar," Lorne winked. Spike’s grin grew devilish.
"Christ! Don’t tell me Peaches was singin’," he cackled as Lorne nodded. "I woulda staked myself if I had to hear that again."
"I nearly stabbed myself in the ears with the closest beer bottle every time he walked in the club," Lorne rolled his eyes. He was really beginning to like Spike. That was not to say that he hated him before. Just hadn’t really known him. "Drink?" he asked, gesturing behind him.
"Beer’d be good," Spike nodded. Lorne complied, removing one from the still functioning cooler and popping the top off the bottle. He slid it across the bar to Spike.
"Have a seat," the demon invited as he moved about, apparently searching for his own drink. He muttered to himself as he dug through a few boxes. "Where’s Julius when I need him. Oh, that’s right, ungrateful little whelp runs home to mama ‘cause he can’t handle three weeks of renovations."
"Who’s Julius?" Spike asked, amused. Lorne’s head popped back up as he set a bottle on the counter.
"Oh, just the latest in a string of bartenders," Lorne sighed. "Didn’t want to wait out the renovations, so he took a job elsewhere. Pity too. The boy actually had some talent." He continued to pull bottles out, then a knife and some fruit from the mini-fridge. Spike took them in, then pulled the grapefruit to him.
"Seabreeze?" he asked. Lorne grinned.
"My favorite," he acknowledged. He watched as Spike absentmindedly mixed the drink.
"So, obviously, I’m lookin’ for a job," he spoke as he worked. "I mean, I’m sure there’s somethin’ out there. It’s just that I don’t see meself flippin’ burgers or deliverin’ stuff, or any of the thousands of peon jobs there are. You know?" Lorne nodded. "And I’d really prefer to get somethin’ with good hours. I mean, not only do we have bills to pay, but Buffy’s gonna be wantin’ more clothes for work. And then there’s the weddin’ and we’re gettin’ started on a family." He took the glass Lorne held out for him. "It’s gonna take a lot of money. An’ I mean, Buffy’s got a job, a good one. An’ I don’t begrudge her that. I jus’ don’ wanna be the dead weight aroun’ the house." He pushed the finished product across the bar. Lorne took a sip, but Spike didn’t notice his face light up as he continued his rant. "I mean, I’m all for empowered women. Wouldn’t be with her if I were. But I gotta do somethin’ mate. I just, need a job."
"You’re hired," Lorne grinned. Spike’s head snapped up.
"What?"
Lorne held the glass up to the dim light. "Brother, this is excellent. You’re a natural. You need a job. I need another bartender. What do you say?"
Spike grinned. He could like working for this dandified demon. "I say how much and when do I start?"
An Empty Ache
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