Chapter 7
It doesn’t take me long to find the first aid kit. I check all the rooms on the way back and make sure everything is okay.
Dawn is finishing up with Buffy’s hands as I slowly open the door not wanting to knock and startle anyone. Buffy watches me warily. I introduce myself again. I’m not really sure if Buffy will need the first aid kit given how quickly she can heal but it gave her some time alone with her sister that might help ground her a little more as tightly bonded as they wer—are.
“Do you want to take a bath?” I ask, slowly, “Get the rest of you clean?” I sit down on the edge of the bath by the taps, “I’m going to turn the tap on.”
Oh, Gods, hopefully the water main—the sink worked, dork. Still, I’m hesitant as I turn the tap. I put my hand underneath the water flow to soften the noise. Buffy has turned slightly to watch. Her eyes are still flicking around the room looking for threats and exits. She becomes more focused on the water though.
“Let’s get you out of those filthy clothes.” I tell her.
She stands up following Dawn’s lead and allows her sister to untie the front of her shirt so that it can be pulled up over her head. She wasn’t buried in her bra and she steps out of her skirt. No lower underwear either. I’m torn between the feeling that I shouldn’t be here to see this, but at the same time it means there are two of us to support Buffy as she climbs into the bath and then sits down. Her body is so lithe and muscular, but it’s different seeing it all laid bare even covered with a laywer of dirt, demon blood and hopefully just her own.
I can hear raised voices downstairs and it has Buffy tensing up. I project my thoughts and hope Willow can hear me to ask them to be quiet so they don’t spook our skittish Slayer. I feel rather than hear Willow’s apology, but then she says they’ll have Spike leave so he can bring his objections another time.
I stop the water, and then realize it’s only about half way up her legs, so I go until it at least covers her thighs and let her swirl her hands around and feel the texture, wherever she was apparently she hasn’t felt water in a while. I get out the soap and show it to her and then offer it to Dawn to lather up the cloth.
“Dawn.” Buffy says, quietly.
“Buffy.” Dawn says, just as quietly, a bit of fear in her eyes, and I can see them wetting, given the expression of hope hidden behind there is the exact reason we didn’t tell her. I couldn’t have stood to see her heart break, again, after so many times this past year.
“I can go.”
“No.” Buffy says.
I hesitate anyway. They should have this time to themselves.
“Please.” Buffy adds.
I wonder how long she didn’t have people to talk to. Speech seems so foreign to her.
I help Dawn wash her sister, by rinsing after Dawn soaps. We carefully shampoo and condition her hair as well, which Dawn says it’s just as well that I’m there to help with that because she would probably have been stinging Buffy’s eyes. I don’t want to tell her how I learned to do this, but it was not for Willow.
The few scrapes and bruises that Buffy has seem to be superficial. I grab a towel to wrap around Buffy as Dawn holds her hands and helps her climb out of the tub and she stands there with the towel around her and gives Dawn a slight smile. Dawn goes to get Buffy the “fluffiest and most comfortable pajamas” which makes me glad, again, we hadn’t emptied out her room the way we did with Joyce’s, though it’s all in boxes in the garage along with everything from the gallery which Dawn elected that we shouldn’t keep paying for the rental space given none of us had time to run it properly or legally given she’s fifteen. Maybe we could sell some of that stuff on eBay—a thought for another time.
Dawn guides Buffy to her room to rest and I go back downstairs where Xander has retrieved the plywood from the garage that we used last time the windows got broken. They’re even labeled for which window they go to and which way round and he’s putting them over the main family room window.
“Glad we put those labels on.” He remarks, “Good idea past me.”
Dawn leads Buffy down the stairs, and Willow rushes from the righted couch to stand in front of her at the bottom of the stairs.
“How are you feeling, Buffy?” she asks, eagerly.
“Okay.” She says, cautious, “I’m me.”
“That’s good.” Willow says, “That’s great.”
“You’re really back.” Anya remarks, joining Willow at the bottom of the stairs, which leaves Xander holding one side of the plywood and having no way to keep it straight.
“An—” he says, and then just drops the plywood, thankfully, slowly, and joins everyone in front of Buffy, “Hi, Buff.” He wipes his hands on his pants, “Good to see you.”
“Hi.” She says.
Willow says, “What do you need, Buffy? Food?”
“We could get pizza.” Xander says, and then catches sight of the box on the kitchen, “or there’s already pizza—”
“It’s Dawn’s.” Willow said, “Her weird anchovy thing.”
Then everyone just kinda stares at each other. I can sense Willow is about to start babbling again, and perhaps Dawn can too because she tells everyone to back away from her sister and leave her be.
“Right.” Willow says, failing to read the room, “We can—”
I take Willow’s hands, “Love. Leave it be.” I lead her towards me.
“What do you want to do?” Dawn asks Buffy.
“I think I’m—” she starts, then stares for a moment, “Sleep. I think.”
“Okay.” Dawn says and then looks at Anya and Xander pointedly.
Xander points at the window.
“Oh, right.” Dawn says, but she turns and leads Buffy back upstairs. I guide Willow over to the plywood. Xander has wrapped a towel around his hammer which muffles the noise of the nails being drive into the wood and the window frames. Anya has flopped back down on the resurrected couch looking annoyed.
“Do you want something to eat or drink?” I ask her, “We have leftover pancakes and a little bit of the shep—cottage pie, not that you have to have them together. They’re just options.”
“No. I don’t need food.” She says, “I need someone to be decisive.”
Dawn comes back downstairs, and I follow her out of the situation between Anya and Xander and into the kitchen. Whatever it is is definitely not my business.
Willow’s laptop is open on the table; but upside down, two of the chairs are broken. I’m surprised the table is okay. I’m sure the laptop is broken and Willow confirms that once she comes into the kitchen. Xander and Anya stick their head around the door to say goodbye. Dawn hugs the two of them and thanks them for helping with the windows.
“I’m surprised they didn’t just steal it.” I say.
Willow nods, “Guess they were just in smash mode.”
“Is it too broken?”
She grimaces and turns it so I can see. Some keys are missing from the keyboard, and the entire screen is smashed so bad you can see the wiring beneath. I have no idea if it’s in any way repairable or if we’ll just have to replace it.
I start haphazardly picking up the rest of the mess. I find one of the missing chair legs embedded in the wall several boxes of food have been ripped out of the pantry and spilled everywhere. They seem to have stopped before they got to the fridge, and I’m surprised the pizza box is still there, but maybe even demons draw the line at anchovies or perhaps it was just the draw to hunt down Buffy Bot instead. I could see her having come this way first and then not finding Willow headed out looking for her.
“Are you going to call Giles?” Dawn asks, “Buffy asked about him—I told her what happened.”
“If I can find the phone I will.” Willow says, “otherwise from The Magic Box…after we sleep. Is it really 3 AM?” She looks at the clock on the floor.
I nod.
“Okay, well it is morning morning over there—” she says. She finds the phone on the floor under the table and checks for dial tone, “Victory!” she declares, “Is he memory 2 or 3?”
“I don’t—I think we just programmed a new one.” I tell her and I count off in my head: Xander and Anya, Giles main, Magic Box, Janice, “Try 5.”
Willow presses the two buttons and then nods, “That was way more than 7 numbers, so good.”
Dawn follows me upstairs and we separate at the top of the landing. She gives me a hug good night but as we separate there’s a shift in energy that has my skin prickling spreading from my spine. Her eyes are completely white when she looks at me with a malicious grin.
“Dawn?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“What did you do?” she demands.
“What do you mean?”
“The blood you spilled.” And then she slumps and I catch her. Actual Dawn looks up at me confused, “I guess I really am tired?”
“Get thee to bed then.” I kiss her on her cheek before she disappears into her room.
That was off. I would have thought I was so tired I was hallucinating, but she fell against me, and that energy change. I’m trying not to freak out but it’s not easy.