Happiest Place on Earth

Happiest Place on Earth, Chapter 4

"One Good Day"

He woke in the morning to the sound of his stomach rumbling. The clock by his bed said 9:36. The TV was still on, some revoltingly perky blonde yammering on about beauty essentials. He figured he must have drifted off sometime in the wee hours, somewhere between "Elimidate" and that 48-Hour Miracle Diet infomercial. Thinking of the word "diet" made his stomach rumble again. A quick glance at the window revealed light peeking through the closed blinds. Damn sunny California. He’d overslept, and now he was going to have to find a way to get down to the butcher shop and back without bursting into flame or otherwise drawing attention to himself.

"Bugger," he said feelingly. "Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger…" He was on about the tenth "bugger" when he noticed the note taped to the mirror. Curious, he rolled out of bed and crossed to it. He recognized Dawn’s handwriting easily from their interminable summer-school homework sessions. Like pulling teeth, that had been.

Spike, the note read. We didn’t want to wake you. The "didn’t want to" had been crossed out, replaced by "couldn’t," in a different hand. Very funny. He read on: We thought you might be hungry when you woke up, so we made a stop at the butcher shop this morning before we left. Buffy said it was super gross for first thing in the morning, but I didn't mind. Don’t watch too much TV, it rots your brain. And don’t let the maid look in the refrigerator. See you later.

He just stared at it a moment, disbelieving. Then, almost hesitantly, he opened the refrigerator door. Sure enough, there was a small paper bag inside, and the smell of fresh blood wafted out to him. His stomach growled eagerly in response. The smile spread slowly across his face.

"Well," he said aloud into the empty room as he pulled out the container of blood and poured some into a glass. He stuck it in the microwave, punched a few buttons. The glass began to rotate merrily. He realized that, for the first time in as long as he could remember, he could think of absolutely nothing to say. He watched the glass going round and round. "Well," he repeated. Then, "Didn’t see that one coming."

Shaking his head, he settled back on the bed with his glass of warm blood. They never ceased to amaze him, those two. Most of the time, it drove him up the wall. But this time, it was an unexpected gift. And he intended to enjoy that while he could. Still smiling, he tucked in to his breakfast. Almost as soon as he’d finished, he fell into a satisfied sleep.

He’d been dozing again when the sound of his door slamming open sent him scrabbling for the knife that he’d shoved under the mattress. But it was only Dawn, launching herself at him with a shriek of "Spike!" and bouncing on his bed in a way that was making him rather swiftly ill. Suddenly, thankfully, she stopped, looking at him.

Maybe the bouncing had been better after all. He ran a hand through his hair self-consciously, smoothing the platinum curls. "Been cooped up in this room all day, pet," he replied. "Isn’t easy to stay all neat and tidy when you don’t have a reflection." He darted a quick glance at Buffy, and sure enough, she was laughing at him. But he was surprised to see that, for once, there was no edge of malice to it. She was just laughing, teasing, like she would have with Willow or Xander. Her cheeks were flushed from being outside, and she was practically glowing with energy. The change made him smile, even through his embarrassment.

"The best," Dawn rushed on before her sister could answer. "We rode every ride, like, twice, and we got totally soaked on Splash Mountain, and this cute guy at the Indiana Jones ride tried to hit on me only Buffy told him I’d been betrothed since birth--" she spared her sister a quick death glare, then continued without drawing breath--"and did you know that if you close your eyes, the Matterhorn seems like a really short ride? Not that I was scared or anything, I just wanted to see what it was like with my eyes closed. Oh, and here--I got you something at the Haunted Mansion." She dug into her pocket, and held something out to him. It was a small rubber bat, dangling from a flexible gold cord attached to its back. She wiggled her hand a bit, and the bat bounced up and down, rubber wings flapping. Dawn grinned, pleased with herself. "I thought you’d like it, ‘cause, well, y’know. Vampires. Bats. Even though that’s not really true." She frowned for a second. "Is it?"

"Nope. Myth," he forced out, still staring at the bat. This had definitely been a day for surprises. He reached out, took it from her finger. It bobbed cheerfully, painted fangs all askew. He realized Dawn was looking at him expectantly. "Thanks for thinking of me, Bit." This sudden onslaught of warm-and-fuzzies was throwing him for a loop. "And thanks for breakfast, too," he added, glancing up to include Buffy. She raised an eyebrow and shrugged, as if to say, Not my idea, but she was still smiling.

"This and that. Rotted my brain, slept a bit, plotted the next apocalypse. The usual." Then he smirked. "Worked my mojo on the maid when she came in, too. So busy staring at me she barely even tidied up, didn’t even think of looking in the fridge. You human women are so easy," he added smugly, turning the smirk in Buffy’s direction. She rolled her eyes. Predictably. But again, there wasn’t any of the usual bite. Should have thought of this months ago, he thought, pleased.

"But Spike drove us all the way here, and we haven’t seen him all day, and…" Her eyes lit with a sudden idea. "I know! We can work on it in here, then, right Spike? Spike can even help me. He’s good with the English stuff," she added to Buffy, "probably because he’s all, you know, English."

Buffy looked at Spike, hesitating. "Dawn, I don’t think Spike really wants us to--"

"All the same to me, sweetheart." He shrugged, playing it cool. "Little bit wants to do her work in here, I won’t stop her."

"Please, Buffy? And we can get room service? I love room service," she told Spike, grabbing his sleeve for emphasis.

"All right. Get your stuff. And you." She rounded on Spike, one finger held up warningly. "No distracting her with stories of your sordid past. She had nightmares for a week the last time."

"Silent? You? That’ll be the day," she shot back, and was out the door before he could respond.

A few hours later, Spike was sprawled out on the bed again, surrounded by the remains of a dinner only Dawn could have envisioned: hamburgers, macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, toast, and strawberry ice cream. With onion rings thrown in for his benefit. And green beans, the result of Buffy’s last-ditch effort to include something nourishing. It was a bizarre combination, to say the least, and Buffy had turned a little green at the sight of the hamburgers, but they’d munched through the rest of it cheerfully enough, Buffy and Dawn giggling over their memories of the day.

Now they were seated at the small table in his room, dark and bright heads close together as Buffy tried to help Dawn work through a math problem. They’d asked for his help, but he’d never had much of a head for math, and so he was just watching them, one hand splayed out across his stomach, keeping an eye on the telly with lazy contentment. It was odd, actually, that doing nothing, that just being, could feel so good. He’d always been a man of action, happiest fighting for his unlife in the midst of an angry mob with his back against the wall. Death, glory, sod all else, he’d told Buffy that night at the Bronze, almost a year ago. And in general, that was true. But today was different, somehow. There was something about being with these two women, having them close, knowing they were happy and knowing he’d had something to do with it. Sure, some part of him still itched to do a little ass-kicking, but overall, he was as happy as he’d been since Dru left him. Guess even the Big Bad needs a holiday every once in awhile, he reflected ruefully. Who’d’a thought?

The change in Buffy was near-unbelievable. She was so open, so relaxed, that gut-wrenching sadness gone from her eyes. She was so bright it almost hurt his eyes to look at her, and yet he could still see the darkness in her, strengthening her, giving her depth. The balance seemed right, for the first time in months. And she’d been so easy with him, as if he were a friend and companion instead of some evil thing sent to add to her torment. She hadn’t treated him that way since their little sing-along kiss.

The decisive snap of Dawn’s book closing brought him out of his reverie. "Buffy, I’m not kidding," Dawn was saying. "My brain is full. I’m almost done, I can finish tomorrow."

Buffy sighed, stretched her neck to ease the stiffness. "Well, I guess it’s getting late anyway." Suddenly she smiled at her sister. "You know, not to sound like Mom or anything, but you’re pretty good at this stuff. You could get way better grades if--"

"If I applied myself?" Dawn finished for her, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, Buff, that line’s only been used by, like, every parent since the dawn of time. Can’t adults even come up with original stuff for their little pep lectures?" But Spike could tell she was pleased at the praise.

"Whatever. I’m just saying that you’d better get an education so you can get a fabulously well-paying job and support me in my old age."

"Is that supposed to be an incentive?" Dawn’s voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Long-suffering sigh. "Fine. Hey, could you go get some ice from the machine? I get thirsty at night, and the tap water’s never cold enough."

This time it was Buffy’s turn for the long-suffering sigh, the exact mirror of her sister’s. "You’re awfully demanding for a bundle of mystical energy." She rose, stretched, and moved to the door.

"Thanks, Buff!" Dawn called after her cheerfully. As soon as Buffy had disappeared from view, Spike found himself, once again, with an armful of happy Dawn.

It was a little easier when Buffy wasn’t there to see them, but he didn’t know if he’d ever get used to how expressive Dawn was. She thought it, she felt it, she acted on it. Like me, he realized, if I was into hugs and puppies. That was a weird thought.

"Welcome," he told Dawn distractedly, still pondering that. She pulled back, and he hated to dim that glow in her eyes, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to warn her. "I don’t think it’s…"

"I know." Her eyes were serious now. "It didn’t fix her for good. I’m not that much of a kid, Spike. But it helped. Like she’s been awake for a long time, fighting, and today she got to sleep. So maybe it’ll make things a little easier, when she has to start fighting again."

"And Spike… I don’t know what’s going on between you two. I don’t know if you’re doing the horizontal tango or what, and--" she continued over his lame attempt to cover his shock--"I don’t really want to know. I just wanted to tell you… I think it could be good. If she’d let it. So… don’t give up."

He was speechless. For the second time that day. He wondered if that was a record. Finally, totally at a loss, he sidestepped it altogether, taking refuge in scolding. "`Horizontal tango’? Where’d you pick that up? You gonna start drinking martinis and smoking cigars now, too?"

Buffy reappeared in the doorway, cradling a bucket of ice. "Your ice, Your Highness."

"Just saying goodnight to Spike." She hugged him again, pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "’Night, Spike."

Her brow furrowed at that, though he hadn’t a clue why. After a brief period of silence, he jerked his head in the direction of the ice bucket. "Ice is melting." I think, he added silently.

She looked down. "Oh… yeah. I just wanted to say… well, thanks. I know I haven’t--" She stopped, looked uncomfortable, then cleared her throat. "Thanks."

"My pleasure," he replied, as sincerely as he’d ever said anything to her. He smiled a little, knowing that if she didn’t leave now, he’d never be able to let her go. "Sleep well, Buffy."

Spike ran a hand tiredly through his hair as he gathered up the remnants of their dinner, piled everything into the garbage bin. Alone again. He had to admit, this new Path of Virtue gig was even more frustrating than he’d thought possible. Good thing it was only temporary. No wonder no one takes the bloody high road besides Slayers and saints, he grumbled silently as he switched off the lights and settled himself again on top of the covers. It fucking sucks.

Just then, the small rubber bat lying on the bedside table caught his eye. Well, maybe not all the time, he amended. He laughed at himself, focused on the flickering television, and let his mind drift.