Creative Writing: America's Next Top

The sound of heavy footsteps pounding on the back porch and the kitchen door slamming startled Dawn out of her thoughts. She blinked a few times, feeling slightly confused.

The sun had apparently set sometime in the last hour, and the lack of light left the living room bathed in the bluish glow of the television with flickering images dancing along the furniture and walls. The cooking show she had watched had been replaced by a new episode of America's Next Top Model without her noticing.

Dawn sighed, pulled back the woolen blanket and proceeded to turn on the table lamp. From the kitchen, she heard the glass bottles rattle when the refrigerator door fell shut, soon followed by the high-pitched beeping of the microwave.

Seconds later, Spike
stepped into the living room with a cup in one hand and draped his leather duster over the back of the armchair before seating himself on it. He gave Dawn a short nod and a weak but genuine smile.

"Nibblet."

"Hey Spike," Dawn said, making herself comfortable on the couch again.

Spike leaned back in his chair, raised his booted feet on the coffee table and sipped what passed for dinner nowadays. His eyes fell on the TV set.

"You watch this rubbish?" he asked in a mocking tone over the rim of his cup.

"No, I was just...Buffy used to--" Dawn stopped herself.

Before the ensuing silence had the slightest chance of becoming severely uncomfortable, two pairs of feet and their owners came hurrying down the stairs.

"Oh good, you're here," Willow said upon seeing Spike. She and Tara put on their jackets.

Dawn considered asking them where they were going but decided not to. It's not like the Scoobies would ever let her or Spike in on any of their plans.

Dawn didn't mind that she wasn't allowed on patrol.
Okay, she did, but she was used to not being included. Spike, on the other hand, was only called when they needed muscles, a demon encyclopedia (now that Giles had moved back to England) or a babysitter. Though Dawn couldn't really complain about the last part, it made her angry to see how the others used Spike but still refused to accept him as a full-fledged member of the gang.

"We will be back soon, Dawnie."

The witches waved goodbye and closed the front door behind them. Spike put the empty cup on the table and clapped his hands.

"A'right, Nibblet," he said overly cheerful. "What do you wanna do? Play cards? Watch a movie? 'Am sure we're gonna find one that's not suited for children somewhere. Or we could rob the convenience store down the street," Spike added with a smug grin.

He fixed his gaze on a point somewhere on her forehead. Dawn had started to notice this when they saw each other for the first time after Buffy's death. For about six months Spike had come over almost every night to keep her company when the Scoobies were doing...whatever they were doing. But he hadn't looked her in the eyes once.

"TV is fine," Dawn finally answered his question.

They sat in semi-comfortable silence after that, with Spike occasionally commenting on the wannabe
models:

"She's never gonna make it with that stick up her arse!"

"Oh, get a bloody grip!
Your hair's gonna grow back!"

"Too fat? I would've used that one as a toothpick back in the days!"

"You don't wanna be here." Dawn suddenly blurted out.

Spike stared at her for a moment, finally locking eyes with her. He seized the remote and turned the TV off.

"'Am here almost every night, ain't I?" he said after a long pause.

"You're here because you made a promise to Buffy. But when you're in the house, you never look around. You refuse to go anywhere near the first floor." Dawn's fingers fiddled with fiber at the edge of the blanket. "You don't look at me anymore. Not
really."