Cause and Effect

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Chapter Eight
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With one last glance at the door to Dawn's place-- **And just when did I start thinking of this house as Dawn's instead of Buffy's?** --to make sure Tara got inside safely, Xander strode away back into the night. He snorted. It wasn't as if Tara really *needed* him to make sure she was alright. Even with the training he'd received in the last few years, Tara was better equipped to fight the night terrors than he was. Magic was a powerful ally.

He didn't know quite how it happened, but it had been him and Tara out tonight to stake the vamp they'd discovered would probably rise tonight -- it had; they'd staked it. Usually they all went out together, sheer numbers trying to make up for the lack of a Slayer. Surprisingly, it seemed to be working -- once they'd all managed to get their act together. They may not be as quick with the 'witty comebacks' as Buffy had been, but they were getting the job done.

Tonight was different. Spike was gone -- God only knew where -- Willow had already left, heading home to spend the evening with Dawn, when Giles had run across the newspaper article describing the death of a young man. Dog bite, had been the formal decision by the coroner. Xander shook his head; surely the man couldn't be *that* blind? The same coroner had worked in Sunnydale since Xander had been a freshman. He knew, because Willow had checked one time. Sunnydale syndrome at its finest.

Useless ry ary and figure it out; he knew he never would, Xander thought with a shake of his head, returning to his original train of thought. Giles had sent him and Tara out to camp the grave site to wait for the vampire to rise. **Boring!** he thought, not sure how Buffy had done that time after time without losing her mind. **Then again,** he thought with morbid humor, **maybe she didn't.**

He sighed. It was no use. As good as they were getting, they were no match for a Slayer. They'd expected the new slayer to arrive shortly after they'd buried Buffy, but no one had come. They, or rather he, had kept waiting expectantly for three weeks, until Spike -- of all people -- had burst his bubble.


~~~~ "Oh, come on, you don't really think the council is going to let the next Slayer within a hundred miles of all you gits, do you?"

Xander turned to face Spike, frowning. "Why should I listen to you?" he snapped, even as his expectation slowly turned to bitter dirt -- the eternal optimism inside him turning sour. He continued, slowly, reluctantly. "I can't believe they'd leave the hellmouth unguarded just because. . . ." His voice trailed off, however, as belief took hold. They would do that. Spike was right. **And I *so* did not just think that.**

Spike rolled his eyes and pulled out a cigarette, toying with it instead of lighting it. Xander thought, briefly, about snatching it out of the vampire's hands, wondering just what the bleached blond's reaction would be.

"You're--"

" 'Sides, the hellmouth isn't unguarded."

"--right."

"What?!" the two asked simultaneously.

"I'm what?" Spike repeated.

Xander blinked, repeating Spike's words inside his mind. **It isn't, is it?** Then, he turned his attention back to Spike. "Okay, that's it, the world's coming to an end."

"What? No, it's not." Spike frowned. "And why would you say a dumb thing like that? And never mind about that, let's get back to you admitting I'm right."

Xander simply stared at Spike, his jaw threatening to unhinge itself. **That's twice.**

"What?" Spike demanded, frowning at him uncertainly, shifting uncomfortably when Xander continued to stare at him. Several eternally long moments passed before Spike strode forward, stopping only when the vampire was mere inches from him. "What in bleedin' hell is wrong with you? I *have* been right before y'know."

Xander shook his head. "It isn't that -- well, it *is*, but it's not."

Spike blinked, his mind trying to sort out Xander's confused -- denial? Agreement? -- "Huh?" he responded when it was finally clear he wasn't going to make sense of it. When Xander didn't respond, Spike drew in a calming breath, and stepped back. "Would you please explain that -- slowly -- in english."

Xander opened his mouth.

" *English*, not Xander babble."

Xander laughed, a quick snorting sound, which quickly turned into all out laughter.

Spike frowned when the sound continued, devolving into giggles that had a slightly hysterical edge to them.

"S.s.sorry," Xander gasped out between fits. "It's just--"

"Just *what*?" Spike demanded impatiently, when Xander didn't continue.

Drawing in a sharp, deep breath, and holding it, Xander finally managed to contain his amusement. "You have to see it from my perspective."

"Can't."

Xander was taken aback by the quick, short response. "Why not?" he asked after a moment, wondering whether to be insulted or not.

"Cuz you're bleedin' insane, mate."

Xander grinned then. "Thank you."

Now, it was Spike's turn to stare in amazement. "What did you just say?"

Xander's grin widened. "You heard me."

"Yeah," Spike replied, continuing in a mumble, "that's what worries me." After several moments, Spike's curiosity got the better of him. "Okay, I'll bite -- figuratively speaking, mate," Spike interrupted himself at Xander's look. -- " *Why* thank you?"

Xander's grin only grew wider. He almost felt like his cheeks were going to crack. "Because that explains everything."

Spike frowned, and almost growled. "Quite bloody being so cryptic. It *doesn't* suit you."

"I've admitted you're right twice tonight. The only possible explanations are that it's a sign of the -- another -- apocalypse, or I'm crazy."

Spike rolled his eyes, then frowned. "Ummm, mate, you only said I was right once. What do you mean, twice?"

"Actually three."

Spike *did* growl then. "Wanker."

And that set Xander's laughter off again. **This is fun,** he thought with nearly sadistic glee. Biting the inside of his cheeks firmly, Xander brought his laughter under control -- again. "Number one," he began, holding up one finger, "was about the slayer."

Spike nodded. **Knew that, ya git, get on with it,** he thought, all the while wondering why he was actually sticking around to listen to this bullocks.

"Number two," Xander continued, holding up a second finger, "was about the hellmouth being not unguarded."

**Oh, that.**

"Number three--"

**Yeah, what's number three?**

"--was you saying I'm crazy."

Spike rolled his eyes again. It was becoming a habit around this particular human. ~~~~


Xander shook himself out of the memory, his grin fading as it dawned on him just how distracted he'd allowed himself to become. He bit his lip, gazing around the shadow-filled streets, which suddenly seemed far more sinister than he could remember them seeming in a very long time. Quickening his pace, Xander strode down his street, wanting nothing more than to get home without dying -- no matter how temporary it may prove to be.

Closing the door to his apartment behind him with immense satisfaction, Xander breathed a sigh of relief. There was a reason for the phrase among those in the know -- 'safe as houses' -- and he let that security wash over him now. Unfortunately, that allowed his mind the freedom to wander, and wander it did, right back on the same track it had been on earlier.

He almost laughed when the image of Spike's confused expression that night flashed through his thoughts again. It still confused him how fun it had been to tease the vampire. Of course, that confusion hadn't stopped him from doing it every chance he got after that first time. It had become a game to him to see just how quickly he could get the bleach blond to roll his eyes, or simply look at him with that satisfying 'huh?' expression.

Spike almost looked cute that way.

**Hold on, roll the tape backward, replay.**

Xander froze, one hand on the open fridge door, the other half-way toward the milk jug.

**Cute?**

He frowned, but as much as he wanted to deny the thought, his innate sense of honesty wouldn't let him.

**God, I think Spike is *cute*!**

"Somebody take my head now and end my misery."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Xander flinched. Years on the hellmouth had taught him words like that were dangerous -- superstitious as that seemed -- and he nervously checked behind him, even though his senses told him no Immortal was near.

"So, I think Deadboy Jr. is cute; so what," he said to himself as he shut the fridge door without getting the milk he'd wanted so much just moments before. "I'm secure enough to admit that."

//Since when?!//

Xander ignored the incredulous question and slumped down onto the couch, his thoughts now firmly centered on the missing vampire. He sighed, wondering why *now*. Why was he thinking all this now, when he'd finally managed to get Dawn to quit hoping for bleached one's return? He really didn't want to admit it, but he was as disappointed as Dawn that they hadn't found any traces of what had happened. This not knowing was . . . unsettling. It was like a dangling thread on an old, worn sweater -- a question raised that when everything was said and done, was left without an answer -- a scab in an inconvenient place that simply demanded to be picked. It was an itch he suddenly *had* to scratch.

Leaping up off the couch, Xander grabbed his coat, making the now automatic check to make sure his sword was securely in place within it's folds. Satisfied with that, if nothing else, he strode back out into the night -- still wondering if Spike had been right all along and he really *was* insane. He certainly hoped not, because despite everything screwy that was going on right now, for the first time since Buffy's death he actually felt like he had a purpose besides being a tag along -- comic relief.

He was going to find out what happened to Spike.

**

Willow frowned at the door. **Who could *that* be?** she thought, casting a quick glance at her watch. Midnight was not exactly a good time to be opening the door. "Who is it?" she asked, her hand resting on the knob without turning it.

"Messenger."

Willow rolled her eyes. "I don't think so, Buster," she replied hotly. "Messengers don't come at night."

"They do when Willie sends them."

"Willie sent a message?" Dawn exclaimed, right behind her.

Willow jumped. "Don't *do* that, Dawn."

Dawn shrugged, grinning. "Sorry," she said, reaching for the door.

"No," Willow ordered.

Dawn frowned, not stopping.

"No," Willow said again, this time grabbing Dawn's wrist, but before the teenager could protest, turned to face the door. "Who's the message for?"

There was a long pause, then, "Dawn Summers."

Dawn squealed and Willow winced, inadvertently loosening her grip on the teenager's wrist, and before she knew it the door was open.

"What's the message?" Dawn demanded of the demon standing on the Summers' porch, not even batting an eyelash.

Willow recovered quickly, her fear -- and her anger -- surging forward. "What would Willie be doing sending a message to you, Dawn. This is not right, and you know it."

Dawn waved her off, and Willow barely managed not to snap at the young woman.

"Well?" Dawn demanded when the demon didn't answer immediately enough to suit her.

"Here," was all the demon said, thrusting a note in her direction. As soon as the small white envelope was out of it's hands, it turned tail and disappeared into the night.

Willow thought about chasing after it and demanding answers, but found the door slamming shut in front of her before she could talk herself into -- or out of -- it. Shaking herself, she turned toward Dawn just as the young woman tore open the message.

"What's this about, Dawn?"

Dawn didn't answer, her eyes rapidly scanning the words. She grinned, and squealed again, making Willow want to cover her ears.

She opened her mouth to repeat her unanswered question, only to find that Dawn was racing up the stairs. "Dawn Summers, come back here right now! I demand--" Willow cut herself off as Dawn disappeared around the top of the staircase, and chased after her ward. **This never seemed so difficult before,** she thought with a sigh.

Heading straight for Dawn's room, Willow stopped dead in the doorway. Dawn was racing around the room, clothes, and assorted other items thrown haphazardly around. "What are you doing?"

"Going out," Dawn replied absently, putting -- of all things -- rings on every one of her fingers.

"No, you're not," was Willow's instant reply.

Dawn again ignored her, continuing in her odd preparations.

"Damn it, Dawn, talk to me!" Willow demanded, her frustration growing by leaps and bounds. **I am *never* having children!**

Dawn stopped then. "I'm going."

Resisting the urge to simply say, 'No, you're not,' Willow held her temper and asked. "Where?"

Dawn rolled her eyes, expression clearing saying 'like duh'. "Willie's," she replied flatly.

"Like hell you are," Willow exclaimed, before she could censor herself.

"I'm . Going."

"Don't make me try and stop you, Dawn Summers."

"You can't," Dawn replied, her voice eerily firm. "You might be able to stop me this minute, but I'm going if I have to wait until you fall asleep. If I have to wait until tomorrow night, or the next night, I'm going."

Willow sighed.

"Please!" Dawn pleaded. "Don't make this be the hard way. I *have* to do this."

Willow's eyes widened, realization striking her instantly. "This is about Spike isn't it."

Dawn nodded warily.

"I thought you gave up on him," Willow asked, frowning in confusion.

Shaking her head once, Dawn bit her lip before replying. "No, I only let everyone think I had. I still *know* he's alive."

Willow wilted. *She* didn't believe Spike was anything but dust, but it was slowly coming to dawn on her that the girl standing so defiantly in front of her would never believe that until she had some sort of proof. What kind of proof could possibly exist, Willow didn't know, but knew it had to be found.

Dawn pushed past her, striding toward the stairs.

"You're not going--"

Dawn whirled around, anger plainly written in her features and her, now, combative stance. "Yes, I--"

"--without me."

Dawn blinked, then grinned broadly. "You mean it?"

Willow nodded. "That place isn't safe."

Dawn shuddered. "Don't I know it!"


TBC
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