I was entirely soaked with water all over my chest and my arms were making very lovely puddles on the linoleum. And there was still an entire sink of dishes that needed to be done. I was very tempted to ask Dawn for her help with the rest, but she had cooked that night, and it was only fair. Plus she'd probably laugh if she came down now.
Her radio was blaring upstairs, some terrific crap that she considered music, basically a lot of pretty looking young things who sang about puppies and first loves and all that bullshit. I hated her music, but she hated mine more. She was always telling me it was too dark. I always asked her what she expected.
I abandoned the dishes; positive we had enough for breakfast the next morning. I threw a packet of blood into the microwave and went downstairs to change. I'd have to ask Dawn to do some wash for me. It would probably mean that we'd be renting another movie of her choice that weekend.
From the basement, I heard someone pounding on the front door. I bolted up the stairs, terrified that it would be someone looking for Buffy. Her long lost father coming to take Dawn away. It surprised me a lot of the time how much I had begun to care about people beside myself. But that was one of my biggest fears, losing my last tie to Buffy. It was more than that too though; I was afraid of losing Dawn, just because I had grown to love her.
I flung the door open to a disheveled Willow who was holding a large tan book under her arm. Her eyes were frantic, and her heart was pounding in her chest. “Spike, you have to hear this, it's about Buffy.”
