Title: Reaching out in the darkness

Author: Anitab

Rating: oh-so NC-17 for happy slash sex.

Disclaimer: I don't own these people, no profit so no reason to sue (please!).

Author's notes: Well, I've been bitten by the slash bug apparently and Spike and Giles had fodder enough for my twisted little brain after Buffy died and they both needed something so badso here it is. (I partially blame Dawn for agreeing to help me slash her giles and her spike over the head with stuff). Well, on to the story (as in the what the hell am I doing part of the message, heavily influenced by actor love) Thoughts inside or inside / /

Reaching out in the darkness

By AnitaB

Chapter one: the dark before the Dawn.

"Buffy! No!" He didn't know if he'd said it but half a dozen other voices said it for him if he hadn't. He felt it in either case, felt it in his throat catching, in his heart slamming against his ribs, in every cell and fiber of his body reaching out as if will alone could halt that deadly fall. But he didn't know if he'd actually said it or not. His eyes, despite the pain of what was before them, refused to blink, to shift away from the far too motionless body lying among the boxes. "Oh, my god, Buffy."

"Oh, my god, Buffy." Spike found the metal railing of the stairs bending ever so slowly in the force of his clenched hands. Metal gratings rang under his heels as Spike nearly flew down 

the stairs; completely oblivious to the demons he'd been fighting so attentively moments earlier. They didn't matter. All that mattered was her, lying below the edge she'd jumped from. All that mattered was touching Buffy, waiting for her to wake up, convincing the motionless chunk of muscle inside his ribs that she wasn't dead, not really. Buffy couldn't be dead. His feet stopped mere feet from her, his eyes helplessly watching Giles gently close her eyes and clutch her hand, sobbing. No, Giles, don't...She isn't...She can't be...

Before his mind could wrap itself around the word it couldn't even think, Spike felt the vibration of bare feet running behind him. "Buffy!"

"No, Dawn, don't!" Catching the brunette, Spike wrapped Buffy's little sister in his arms, holding Dawn tighter as she cried and struggled against him. "I'm sorry, Dawn, I'm so sorry, little bit." He buried his face in her hair as she buried herself in his arms, her hands slipping past his leather trench to cling to him. "It's all my fault, Dawn, I'm so bloody sorry."

Against his will, his eyes turned back to the body. This close he couldn't deny that she was really gone, that it was 'the body' and not his Buffy anymore. Closing his eyes, Spike rested his forehead against Dawn's hair. I'm so sorry, Buffy.

"Oh, my god, Buffy." Giles found small slivers of wood embedding themselves in his palms from the usually smooth handle of his axe at the force of his grip. Time slowed and stopped as Buffy's fall slowed then stopped. She couldn't be... his slayer, his Buffy couldn't be ...dead. Uncurling his fingers from the cracked length of wood, Giles felt his feet cross the debris-covered floor of their own accord, his hand reaching for out for hers. The touch of her limp fingers in his and the blank emptiness of her open eyes sent his heart climbing up the back of his throat with the tight feeling of tears. I've lost her, my slayer's...gone. Sinking to his knees, Giles reached out a shaking hand to close her eyes, feeling the hot tears spill over and drip onto the cooling hand clutched in both of his own. "I'm so bloody sorry, Buffy. I've failed you."

Behind him the others grieved. Spike held a weeping Dawn in his arms. Xander, Willow and Anya moved towards him as a huddled group. But Giles didn't process any of it. All he heard was the muffled sound of his own crying as he buried his face against her hand. It's all my fault.

Days passed. How many, Spike couldn't really be sure. Time blurred between his day mares in which he tried desperately to save Buffy and occasionally succeeded and the nights spent guarding and often holding Dawn, determined not to fail again. Today, whatever day it 

was, night had just fallen and Spike was walking from his crypt towards the Summers house, the oddly empty and overcrowded house. Knocking on the door, he walked in without meeting the other man's eyes. Seeing the pain and grief in Giles's face only reminded him of his own. "How's the niblet?"

"As well as can be expected, I guess." The glasses came off and Spike watched the long fingers polish the lenses habitually. He'd seen that nervous gesture a lot recently. "But I should warn you, she's insisted on watching tear-jerker films all day. Seems to make her feel a little better."

Moving to stand in the doorway, Spike looked at Dawn, huddled on the couch in her pj's. The emotion filling his face at the sight of her matched the look on Giles: a mixture of pain, guilt and tenderness. "That's not too much for her to ask. I only wish..." Spike stopped a moment, almost clearing his throat. "I only wish she'd ask for more, that I could help her more." The tight feeling in his neck was back, not quite full-force. He'd failed Buffy but he would not fail Dawn. Spike would carve out his own unbeating heart and serve it up on a sunlit altar for her. "I'd give a quart of heart's blood to see a real smile on her face."

Spike finally raised his eyes to see Giles' face contorted in a painful smile of his own. The expression was disturbingly similar to Dawn's when she tried to comfort them. He knew his own face wore a small twisted grin as he met Giles' eyes for the first time since the former watcher stood up next to Buffy's body and said the words no one wanted to hear, 'she's dead'. Eyes meeting, pain and sympathy passed between them until it got too hard and Spike turned away, breaking the contact. "Well, you ain't got all night. Go patrolling and take it with you." Not looking back, he stripped off his trench and moved to sit next to Dawn on the couch. Wrapping an arm around the girl, Spike tried not to hear the overly cheery voice trailing Giles out of the house by striking up a conversation. "So, pet, Mr. My-glasses-are-so-dirty says we're having a movie marathon but I don' see any popcorn or candy. What kind of movie party you throwin' here, little bit?" The joke earned him a small, weak smile. It wasn't much but he'd take it. "So what'll it be, pet, butter or caramel popcorn?"

Dawn sat up a little straighter and opened her blanket. "Buttered popcorn and I think we have some ice cream too." That's my strong girl. Spike took her hand and led the way to the kitchen for treats. "So what're we watching tonight?"

Shutting the door behind him, Giles stopped a moment and took a deep breath for strength. Though he concealed it better, he was just as uncomfortable around the bot as Spike was. It was going to be a very long patrol and Giles wished he could go back inside and watch 

sappy movies with Dawn and Spike. Spike would be making the popcorn right, hunting for Dawn's favorite ice cream or candy in the fridge, getting those small sad smiles only he could get her to give. At times like these (times far more plentiful than he'd ever expected them to be), Giles wondered why Spike had never had children before he'd been turned. He was so good with Dawn.

"So where should we look for the vampires first, Rupert?" She stood there, shiny and smiling and perfect. And not anything at all like his Buffy.

"It's Giles, I've told you that," Wiping his glass lens, he tried to put up the emotionless facade that let him deal with the bot. "And we are going to the magic shop to pick up the girls."

Reluctantly following it down the porch steps, Giles looked away from the perfect fall of blonde hair. "Willow and Tara, yes I remember. Willow is gay and they are both powerful witches." A sharp nod of the bot's head showed her pride in her own brilliance.

Bloody daft robot and damn Spike for her programming. "Yes, that's right, now we ain't got all night, so hurry up." Giles flinched inside, hearing Spike's accent in his own voice. Shaking his head, he brushed it off as stress-related and kept walking. I must talk with Willow about the vocabulary program. A block from the shop, it turned and laid both its hands on his arm. Giles immediately squelched the urge to bat the touch away. It gave him the most pitiful expression the last time he'd failed to, far too close to the real Buffy's pout. But he couldn't stop every muscle in his body from tensing with revulsion. This mockery's touch was always so...wrong, so painful. And the bot always wanted to touch him as some source of comfort or reassurance. Tonight he just couldn't play Watcher to the pile of wires and circuits. Not tonight.

"What is it?" Turning and taking a subtle step away, Giles disguised his move out of her reach by facing her, his eyes slightly averted.

"Willow is taking her tools with her, right? For if I get damaged?"

"Of course she will."

"Good, because I've only been the slayer for a few days and I do not want to get broken and not be able to do my slayer duty." Her bright happy smile drove a sharp pain through his ribs and Giles again wished he was back on the Summers' living room couch, watching bad movies and hearing snarky jokes in a British accent. Seeing those weak smiles and hearing the small laughs the peroxide vamp coaxed from Dawn. One night she had fallen asleep on the couch 

between them, her feet in his lap and her head on Spike's knee. Together they had taken the girl upstairs and put her to bed. Afterward, with hours until daylight, they watched late night TV in a comfortable silence. I'd give anything to be anywhere but here.

"Of course, buffybot, now let's go on inside so you can get to work." Anything so long as you stop touching me.

The weight against his side became gradually heavier as Dawn lost her fight against sleep. Ever since...it...had happened, the teenager absolutely hated to go to sleep, often jerking awake when he tried to carry her up to bed. Reaching past her shoulder, Spike grabbed up the blanket she'd lost sometime during the last movie, holding her closer and tucking it under her chin. "I'll let you sleep here with me for a little longer, then I'll take you upstairs to bed." Telling himself that it was only so she could be a little deeper asleep when he moved her, Spike rested his cheek against her hair to treasure her warmth against him. Dawn was here, safe and warm and letting him hold her. It was almost perfect. All that was missing was...Spike shook his head, trying to clear away the odd wish for the former Watcher's hand on his shoulder as the other opened the door to Dawn's room. Late night TV was far less interesting than the former watcher's sense of humor. The old bloke could be entertaining at times.

Mentally changing the subject, Spike carefully gathered Dawn into his arms and moved towards the staircase. She'd been asleep for a good half hour; it was about time to get her to bed. Three steps from the bottom stairs, the doorknob rattled. Squelching the instinct to attack and defend, Spike listened for the key in the lock with a half-buried sigh of relief.

With the watcher home it wouldn't be so deathly silent in here. Still that thing had probably come home with him, so Spike faced the opening door with a mixture of relief and distaste. When did this house become home to me?

God, he was so glad this night was almost over. Giles rolled his eyes as he wiggled the key into the lock. Have enough demons kick in a door and it was bound to have lock problems. As the knob finally turned, he sighed in relief and tried to ignore the prattling robot behind him. A few more minutes and he could finally shut the bot down and plug her in for the night. Then he could relax in bloody quiet. The door opened and Giles walked through it with his shoulders slumped. The sight before him straightened his back a little. Spike was about four feet away with a sleeping Dawn cradled in his arms. Bloody hell, it's good to be home.

Walking quickly forward, he rested a hand on Spike's shoulder and dropped a kiss on Dawn's forehead. "How has she been?"

"All right, I guess, she's laughed a little. Uneventful patrol?" Spike seemed relieved to see him and didn't move away from his hand.

"Yeah, we had all the time in the world to talk." He could hear the annoyance in his own voice and was comforted by the compassion in the paler man's face. "Give me a minute to get the bot plugged in and I'll help you get the niblet to bed."

Just then, the bot stepped around Giles' shoulder with a horrifyingly familiar look on its face. "Spike, you look so sexy in leather. Why did you take off your trench coat?"

He watched something indescribable flow over Spike's face from less than two feet away. And all Giles could do was thank god that the robot never did anything like that to him. He could see every muscle in that pale body flinch and tighten and he worried vaguely about Dawn's safety as those arms clenched. "Get...that thing... away from me."

Then Spike turned sharply on one heel and disappeared back into the living room. The pain on that face sent a sympathetic ache into Giles' ribs. Hurrying the bot upstairs, he didn't even try to respond to her questioning face. It was more important to get back downstairs to Spike. "We'll talk in the morning, your battery must be getting low by now."

Ignoring the pity-me-pout on her lips, Giles opened the panel in her side and hurriedly shoved the power cord into the plug. Standing, he fled the room, turning off the lights and shutting the door behind him. He hated seeing the blank emptiness of its eyes. It reminded him too much of the real Buffy among the boxes. Two steps into the living room, Giles found Dawn laid down carefully on the couch and Spike staring fixedly out the window, tension written in every line of his body. Giles stepped closer, reaching out a hand. "Spike,"

"It's almost been a bloody week. Why hasn't Willow gotten it to stop that?" By the small dents in the wood under Spike's fingers, Giles couldn't help but see how intensely this bothered him even without seeing his face. "It's a robot, how hard is it to go in and yank out the programming. I wish I'd never ordered the bloody thing."

The dents in the window frame got gradually deeper and Giles' heart went out to him. He 

just had to do something, had to ease the pain so clearly riding Spike. "Well, I, for one, am bloody glad you did." The blonde turned sharply, shock and confusion written in his face. It was a start. At least those blue eyes weren't filled with pain anymore.

"You get hit on the head on patrol tonight, Rupert?"

"No, Spike, I haven't. Just think about it. Without your bot..."

"Don't you call it that!"

"Fine, without that robot, the entire demon world would know that the Slayer is... that Buffy isn't in Sunnydale. The city would be overrun by demons, vampires, and any other beings that thought no Slayer meant free lunch. Dawn would be dead or at the very least sent to LA to her father who has only fake memories of her. We'd have lost both of them if not for that bot. Dawn would have been sent to a man she's never met, someone who doesn't know when she's lying, someone who doesn't know how to make her smile. Is that what you want, Spike? To see her sent away from her family to her Father?" Giles knew he was yelling despite the fact that his voice was only a few decibels above a whisper, feeling his every ounce of emotion flowing over his words. "Do you want to give her up?"

"Cor, no. Bloody hell, no." Releasing his grip in the wooden edge, Spike moved across the room to kneel beside the couch next to the still-sleeping girl. "I can't lose my niblet, she's all I got left." The despair in his voice spurred Giles to action. If it had been any of the girls or maybe even Xander, that tone in their voice would have called for a hug. But it was Spike, and that was a different situation entirely.

Carefully laying a hand on Spike's shoulder, Giles put as much tenderness in his voice as he'd put heat a few moments before. "She's not all you have left, Spike. We're all here for you. I'm here for you."

The kneeling man stayed silent a moment then slowly raised a hand to cover Giles' on his shoulder. "Thank you, Giles." Well, maybe it wasn't such a bad night after all. Two hours of British sitcoms later Giles wandered up to bed, leaving Spike stretched out on the sofa with a blanket.