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The hotel consisted of two rooms. Two beds in each, made up in soullessly sharp corners and sheets that smelled so heavily of starch that they’d be hellish to sleep on that night. There were exactly two tables, one per room, one of them small and round with curved edges that actually looked to be of real wood, if probably not the mahogany it was stained to imitate. The other was formica, flimsy and easily crackable in its off white wobbliness, and Spike didn’t stand too close to it for fear of actually fixing the leg that was shorter than the other two. There were four lights, in those two rooms, with three burnt out bulbs and only one was mounted on the wall. They weren’t on, leaving both rooms shrouded in sullen gloom.
Two faucets, one dripping slightly. A crack in the third mirror, the fourth needing desperately to be resilvered. Two chairs, both of them as awful as the plastic table was, unable to contain him for more than a moment. Exactly twelve steps from door to window, and another two before Spike came into contact with either table or chair. Then three more, about-face, and one before he’d reached the first bed.
It got so bad that at one point, he balanced along the length of the headboard, counting out one-and-a-half paces before he had to jump, for fear of the ominous cracking sound coming true. It wasn’t the money Spike was worried about; this was a rat motel, just barely clean enough for Spike to allow his girls to inhabit even for so brief a time as they were. If he broke things, he’d pay for it, simple enough, even though it wasn’t very simple at all, the games Spike had to play with his funds to keep the humans from knowing he had the money, if they needed.
Although, he suspected Xander already knew. That was all right, though, because Xander would simply nod and mention they needed a roofer for the shingles that were starting to fall off, since no way was Xander going to scramble up there and fix it himself.
Four steps from the second bed to where the bathroom door started. No steps at all in side that tiny room, just a quick twirl, taking in the rickety toilet that never stopped running, the rust-stained sink, and the shower Tara had glanced at and decided that perhaps she’d wait until she got home to wash her hair again.
Spike cursed, again, their inability on such short notice to find a decent hotel close to where the party was to take place. He hated it here, hated the slightly sour scent of rooms that hadn’t been thoroughly cleaned in months, if ever, and the shoddy walls that were dark with soot and probably mold, and Christ, what the hell was he thinking, allowing Dawn in a place like this! It was probably black mold, and she’d get horribly sick and start wheezing the way so many of William’s friends had coughed and wheezed themselves into early graves, unhindered by the darker creatures that lurked inside the muck. She’d start turning grey, the pink luster of youth fading into a blue-tinged pallor, and it wouldn’t be him that was blamed, as proper, oh no. It’d be Tara and Xander, the ink still drying on the documents they were to sign right at that very moment proclaiming them responsible. It’d be them who had to clean up and pray for Dawn, since the creature that had allowed her to sicken in the first place had no soul to pray with and—
Spike punched the wall. It cracked slightly, a smudge different from the other smudges only because it was newer appearing when he pulled his fist away.
He was about to let fly another when the door creaked itself open, flickering light spilling over him. He froze, watching silently as two shoulder-slumped figures walked into the room and sat on the bed.
The silence terrified Spike more than the waiting had.
A hundred different phrases appeared in his mind, millions of ways of breaking the tension spilling out like the intricate patterns on a computer chip. He could crack a joke, or just be blunt. He could be quiet, the way they were, respecting the silence and the heavy weight of emotion Spike couldn’t understand covering them like funeral shrouds. He could just sit next to them, allowing one or either of them to make the first move.
He could go and wrap his arms around Tara, who’s eyes were downcast but still far too large in her apple-cheeked face.
“Hey, Spike?” Xander’s voice was dull and listless. “Do it again?”
Spike blinked, unable to turn around enough to see Xander without breaking his pose, something he found he was unable to do. “Again?”
“The wall. Hit it.”
A hesitant second, etched over in ice, and then Spike was slamming his knuckles into the wall again, widening the crack and smearing a tiny trail of blood to mix with the greasy black marks already there. Behind him, both Xander and Tara sighed.
Spike took the single step away from the wall, seating himself between Tara and Xander, both of whom were facing opposite ends of the room. “I thought that it’d make me feel ... better,” Tara said, her voice wistfully dark and shuttered. “That it’d be... ”
“Over?” Xander finished for her.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
Spike stared at the course weave of the carpet below his boots and counted individual fibers. “So he was there, then?”
“You know, I figured that I pretty much had the lock on bad parents. Not to excuse yours, Tara, but at least they ... ”
“Cared?” It was like neither of them could actually finish a sentence and required the other to help. That was almost reassuring in a way—this wouldn’t work if the two of them didn’t like each other, the rest of their crazy patch-work family aside. “Yes,” Tara said, nodding so that a wisp of hair brushed against Spike’s neck. “They -- my dad and brother ... " her voice caught. "They were awful. And what my father wanted for me was wrong—but he thought it was what’s best for me. That it would make me ... ”
“Happy.” This time it was Spike who finished, accepting the palm that slipped in against his. “Should I have him killed?”
And just like that, the tension so thick that Spike can taste it vanished. The melancholy was still there, but Spike understood that—the papers were signed, now. It was all official. As joyous as that occasion was, though, it wasn’t something any of them could really contemplate. Sitting there, in the dark, with Tara’s hand in his and Xander hunched over as he breathed shallowly, all any of them could remember was that there was no longer any Joyce to provide the comforts of home none of them had truly had. No Buffy to whine and complain and secretly love more strongly than any of them.
Slowly, Xander straightened and arched his back, faint popping noises very loud in the room. “No, you can’t have him killed. The judge imposed ‘restitution’ to be paid monthly to Dawn, and if you kill the selfish bastard than she won’t have it.”
“You know damned well that the money—”
“Is important to Dawn,” Tara interrupted with a squeeze. “It’s not much, Spike, but it’s something to show that she’s important to him. Even if it’s just as an inconvenience.”
Apparently, Mr. Summers had made quite the impression if even Tara was dismissing him with that tone in her voice. Spike immediately started thinking what favors he could call in, nothing actually life-threatening or financially ruining, since Tara was right about the money being enough of a sop for Dawn to justify things to herself. Just enough to inform one Hank Summers that he couldn’t afford to be that much of a bastard to his only remaining child. There was a bloke he remembered, demon, named Merle. He might be able to dig up some information ...
“She’s going to be back soon,” Tara said. “Kristin said she’d drop her off at the hotel so she could get ready for tonight. Are—are we going to tell her?”
“Well, we can’t exactly hide it from her,” Xander snarked, the tremor in his voice giving lie to the sarcasm. “What with me having to move in, according to the judge’s stipulations.”
Whoever this judge was, Spike was seriously considering sending some sort of gift-basket as thanks. Xander was hardly ever in that apartment of his anymore and Spike knew without much finagling they could create a cosy little two-bedroom apartment in the basement instead of the one Xander was surreptitiously working on.
None of them would take Buffy’s old room. That was for Dawn if she wanted, and only Dawn.
Spike started when Tara leaned against his back, cheek pressed against cool leather, twisted around enough that she could link her arm through Xander’s. “Hey,” was all she said.
It was enough to have Xander flush, though. “Willow should be here,” he muttered. “It’s not right without her. I mean, the only reason she wasn’t a guardian, too, is because the judge didn’t want three, even though there’ll really be five of us, and since Tara was emancipated early she was a better choice and—she should be here.”
“I know,” Tara said, her breath startling warm even through leather and two shirts. “But I don’t think we can wait for her, to tell her.”
The door opened with a click, Dawn haloed in cheer as she bounced into the room. “Tell me what?” she asked. “Oh, man, today was so much fun! I got to gallop, and wow, I think I’m going to be really sore tomorrow, and I probably stink and I so need to shower even in the icky shower—ew!—but we got to feed the horses and I learned how to saddle mine, and did I mention that we galloped?”
She was practically bouncing as she looked from one person to the next, glowing with her own internal happiness and excitement and energy that all of them privately marveled at. As sad as she could be, as desperate and clingy as Spike allowed her to be, Dawn was happy. It wasn’t the perfect situation, but it wasn’t a bad one, either. It was something that worked, and something that Spike privately thought Dawn would shine in, because she was that type of girl
She knew she was loved. Not just by her mother and sister, but by the family that was now hers in every sense of the world.
“C’mere, nibblet.” Tara sat up, grinning as Dawn straddled Spike’s waist. Only Willow still looked pained when Dawn did things like this, the rest of them well aware that there wasn’t a jot of sexual anything between the two of them—and that Spike wouldn’t allow her to be so familiar with him if there was. This was comfort, a little girl curling into her father’s lap, even if Spike wasn’t her father and she was nearly as tall as he was. “Now, then. There was a reason all three of us came down.”
Dawn snorted, tossing horse-redolent hair over her shoulder. “Duh. And don’t tell me it was ’cause my two Dads are overprotective. That doesn’t explain why Xander had to shout you into staying here. So?”
She looked so expectant. Eager, even, like nothing any of them could say would really hurt her, blue eyes wide and glittering with contentment. Part of Spike quailed at that, because often it was those you loved and trusted the most that did the greatest damage—but that wasn’t the kind of pain Dawn was so fearful of, outside her protective circle. And inside it...
“Dawn, we—” Xander tried.
“It’s, w-well,” Tara chimed in, looking nervous.
Dawn looked from one to the other again, brow wrinkling and her nose scrunching up, which made her look confused and wicked at the same time. It was a look Spike knew she’d stolen from him—which made him sit up a little straighter, hands on her hips. “You minx,” he accused.
Dawn just grinned, throwing her arms around her neck. “Willow told me,” she said, reaching out to somehow pull Tara and Xander in with them. “And Giles gave me this looooooong lecture about what guardianship meant and what rights I have, and what you have, and that I’d have to behave and blah blah. So that was today? You went and signed and now I have two official guardians that aren’t Hank?”
The three adults—Spike well aware of how loose a term that was—blinked and slowly began to smile. Tara’s giggle was a little teary, but Spike could hear the change in Xander’s breathing, recognizing the patterns that lost the gloom and heavy remembrance—and the fear Xander had privately admitted—in favor of Dawn’s uncomplicated joy in what had happened. “So, you don’t mind?” Xander asked, because of all of them, it was him that had to.
Dawn laughed and kissed him, getting Spike’s ear in the process. “Yes, Xander, I’m getting all three of you horsey because I’m very very upset with this. Now come on. We all need to shower and get ready and I know I’m supposed to go to dinner with everybody, but I’d really like it if I went out with my official family, even if we’re missing two members. Okay?”
How on earth were any of them supposed to object to that? They all agreed, laughing as Dawn bounced her way over to the shower practically incandescent with happiness. “She’s a Summers,” Spike commented softly, not wanting it to penetrate the rickety wooden door or the clanking rush of water so easily heard.
“Oh, yeah,” Xander agreed, while Tara just leaned against his shoulder again.