For a long moment, no one spoke, and the silence became almost unbearable for Buffy. She stood from the research table and started pacing, aware that Giles’ gaze was following her over his teacup. The Scoobies were exchanging baffled glances. Xander was the first to talk.

“That’s… incredible,” he murmured. “I mean, I remember Dawn from when you all arrived in town. And I remember…”

His voice trailed off; he was clearly at a loss for words.

“I know,” Buffy said as calmly as she could. “I’ve known for weeks and I still can’t wrap my mind around it. All our memories, or at least most of them, are fake, however real they seem to be.”

“It had to require an incredible amount of power,” Willow mused aloud. “Whoever did this had to change the memories of hundreds – no, probably thousands of people, so that all the memories would mesh, and… wow.”

“But… does she know?” Tara asked quietly. “Does she know she’s not really your biological sister?”

Buffy shook her head. “No one but me and Giles knew before tonight. And now the four of you.” She looked at each of them in turn, Willow, Tara, Anya, Xander; she trusted them, of course, but she knew she had taken a risk by telling them. The more people who knew about Dawn, the more chances that something would come out accidentally. A careless word, an overheard conversation…

“Please, please, be very careful not to talk about it where anyone could hear,” she pleaded. “Especially Dawn.”

Solemn nods answered her plea, and Buffy sighed.

“What about Spike?” Giles asked, speaking for the first time since she had started telling the gang what was really going on. “Are you going to tell him?”

“Tell me what?”

Buffy had been so caught up in the discussion that she was startled when Spike spoke from behind her, having come out of the backroom. She faced him as he approached the table, his nod a general greeting to the Scoobies.

“Where have you been?” she asked him. “You’re late. I was worried.”

A quick, chaste kiss and the hand at the small of her back dissipated her worry at the same time as his words brought forth a new one.

“Was trying to get some information about those knights you met the other night,” he explained. “Turns out, they’ve been rather busy around the demon parts of town. I don’t think there are many of them, but they’re a rather insistent bunch. They’re looking for some kind of key…”

Something must have showed on her face, or on those of the gang, because Spike interrupted himself and frowned.

“You know what it is?”

In the short silence that followed, Buffy could almost feel the others holding their breath. She ought to tell Spike, she admonished herself. He had a right to know. But knowing would certainly break his heart, as it had hurt her…

“That’s what we were talking about,” she explained, her throat tight as she struggled for words. “The Key is… it’s what Glory is looking for.”

She couldn’t tell him. Not like this.

“Looks like everybody wants it, then,” he replied, unaware of her discomfort. “Think we’ll be so lucky that Glory and the knights will annihilate each other and clear the board for us?”

Later. She would tell him later. When they were alone, when it was a better time than this, when she knew where to start.

Later.

Slowly stepping sideways, Spike kept his eyes, his whole attention on the Slayer as she mirrored his actions, keeping them at equal distance. He had always liked this part, the careful observation of his prey before launching his attack. But as thrilling as it could be to learn how his prey moved and fought, it was nothing compared to the attack itself, the sudden alteration that changed everything and sometimes decided between life and death.

This time, though, he had decided to let her attack first. He knew her so well, he could see, a half second before she jumped forward, which way she would come at him. He parried without needing to think, and immediately followed with an attack that she blocked easily. Back and forth across the training room, kicks and punches, jumping and ducking, they danced as seriously as they had, years before, during their first fight. As intensely as they had the previous night, naked flesh slapping together, friction so goddamn delicious that Spike had almost howled when he had come, his cry muffled at the last instant in the crook of her arching neck.

His mind and body momentarily caught in the memory, Spike was a fraction of second too slow to avoid the booted foot that caught him square in the chest. He landed flat on his back, his daydream knocked out of him. But when Buffy knelt astride him, pinning his wrists down, and murmured a triumphant “Gotcha” millimeters from his lips, the fantasy was brought back full force and he instinctively bucked his hips up against her. An insistent cough a few feet away brought both of them back to the present and, flustered, Buffy jumped off him and helped him up.

“Right,” Giles said coolly, his eyes on the notes in front of him rather than on them. “I think we’ll stop there for today. Buffy, you’re still dropping your right shoulder and telegraphing your movements. If Spike hadn’t been so clearly elsewhere he would certainly have used that against you like he did yesterday.”

They shared a glance, both of them grinning sheepishly as they followed Giles out of the room and back to the store.

They had trained like this the previous evening and had remained together almost continuously since then. They had patrolled together, gone back to Revello and shared a cup of cocoa with Joyce before taking – separate – showers and getting in bed. A lovely night had only been made better by the prospect of Spike not having to run off come morning; Buffy didn’t have class that day and had asked him to spend some time with her. They had only separated when going to the Magic Box, Buffy taking the streets while Spike went through the sewers, both of them arriving within instants of each other.

“Think I should train more about how to react to heavy weapons?” she suggested. “With the knights lurking around, maybe that would be prudent.”

“Indeed,” Giles agreed. “We’ll see to that tomorrow.”

“React?” Spike repeated. “You mean fight, right?”

She shook her head. “As far as I can tell, they’re humans, I won’t…”

“You’re fighting humans now?” Dawn piped up from where she stood at the counter.

“No I’m not,” Buffy retorted instantly.

“But they’re fighting you?” Dawn insisted, her eyes going from Buffy to Giles and finally Spike.

“Not so much fighting as annoying me. Nothing for you to worry about. How was school today?”

There was something in Dawn’s eyes, a flare of disappointment mixed with annoyance, gone so fast that Spike thought he had imagined it. He listened, amused, as the two sisters bantered back and forth, but again caught the same vibe from Dawn as she complained that Buffy kept things from her. There seemed to be trouble brewing there. Maybe Buffy ought to have done something about it.

His suspicions turned out to be all too accurate that same night during Buffy’s birthday party. As he had slipped out of the house to smoke a cigarette before they had cake, he could hear Dawn’s loud protests inside about everyone acting strangely around her. He had noticed it too actually, there was something going on but he didn’t know what, and because he had no answer, he remained outside rather than try to insert himself in the mini-drama happening inside. The drama, however, came to him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked Dawn, unsure whether to be pissed off or amused when he saw her climbing down from her window.

She was startled by his presence but for no longer than an instant, and then, she looked at him with determination.

“I’m going to the Magic Box,” she declared, her chin raised high.

“The hell you are!” he laughed. “T’s night if you haven’t noticed. And…”

“They’re hiding stuff from me,” she cut in abruptly. “I know they are. And I bet they’re hiding stuff from you too.”

He hated to admit it even to himself, but her words struck a chord in him. There had been indeed a few instances lately when he had wondered why the others stopped talking when he was approaching.

“I’m sure it’s all in Giles’ diary,” she insisted. “All we need to do is read it and we’ll know.”

Spike knew he should have led the kid back inside to confront the gang and get answers if there were answers to be had. Yet, he soon found himself accompanying Dawn to the store.

“I tried to tell him,” Buffy said quietly to her friends while glancing again at the front door. Spike was taking an awful long time. Was he smoking the whole pack of cigarettes? Or maybe he had heard Dawn’s tantrum and had gone upstairs to talk to her. “Really, I’ve tried. It’s just… never the right time.”

Willow gave her a sympathetic smile. “I think you should tell him, though. He’s going to be upset when he finds out.”

“Upset doesn’t even begin to describe it, Red.”

A wave of cold slid through Buffy as she looked at Spike standing just inside the door. He looked like he was barely controlling his anger. But the worse though was that his hand was on Dawn’s arm as she stood in front of him, and Dawn looked… broken. Trembling from head to toes, it seemed as though the only thing holding her upright was Spike’s hand.

“Am I real?” she asked, her voice almost too shaky to recognize the words, and Buffy wanted to weep.

Moments later, when the guests had been ushered away, when Dawn had been told what they knew and had fallen asleep crying, Buffy found herself face to face with Spike in the entrance hall. He still seemed angry, but she had the same anger for him.

“She shouldn’t have found out like that,” she told him icily.

“No, she should have found out from you. But you weren’t gonna tell her, were you? Everybody but her. Wait. Nearly everybody.”

She refused to hear the reproach in his voice. She had been going to tell him, if he had just waited instead of running off into the night.

“I can’t believe you took her to the store. I can’t believe you’d be so careless…”

“Careless?” he snorted. “If I hadn’t gone with her, she’d have found a way to go by herself. Better if she had someone to protect her…”

“You didn’t protect her! You helped her break into a store! You caused her to find out…”

His eyes flared gold. “No, Slayer. I didn’t cause anything. I was there for the ride, that’s all. You caused it. You should have told her. Hell, you should have told me, and I’d have told you as much. Don’t try to pin the blame on me now.”

For a few seconds, they glared at each other, each of them too hurt to listen to the other. Spike finally left, the door banging shut behind him, and Buffy walked back up to her room. Her birthdays definitely weren’t going any better as years passed.

As she ran out into the night, Dawn could have sworn she could still smell the paper and ink burning behind her. Her whole life, her whole fake life, was disappearing in flames, back to the nothingness to which it belonged, and there was a part of poetic justice to that. It was all a lie, everything she knew, everything she had thought she was, all an elaborate lie to which magic had given life. And despite what Buffy and Joyce were pretending, she knew that they didn’t see her as a sister or daughter. She had heard them. They didn’t know what or who she was any more than she did, but what they all could agree on was that she wasn’t Dawn Summers. And they had all lied to her.

There was one person though who hadn’t lied. One person who had been kept in the dark, as she had been, and who had found out at the same time as she had. She wondered what Spike thought about all of this, whether he still liked her even a little or if his affection had had no greater roots than the monks’ spell. She had heard him argue with Buffy the previous night; he was at least as angry as she was.

Walking through a cemetery at night probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but it wasn’t as if she had a life to lose after all if she didn’t really exist. She knocked on Spike’s door, waited for a little moment, knocked again, unable to stop herself from throwing nervous glances around her. When no answer came, she pushed the heavy door open and walked in, calling out his name. He wasn’t there.

Disappointed, she sat on his sofa and stared at the blank television. It was like her; no stories until someone turned the power on. But she must have been something even before that. And if she had, someone must know what. The faint noise of an ambulance siren in the distance reminded her of what else she had learned the previous night; crazy people could see right through her. Maybe they could tell her what they saw.

I was out of my crypt seconds after sunset, that night. That wasn’t unusual. What was on the other hand was that I didn’t go and find the Slayer. I had been pacing in my crypt all day, thinking over the latest events repeatedly, and I needed fresh air, metaphorically speaking. I needed, also, to let off some pent up energy.

It was by accident that I run across Buffy. She was alone and clearly upset. She told me in a few words about Dawn running off, and of course, I offered to help. All I needed was to find Dawn’s trail, and we started walking in silence. After a little while, she apologized. Well, actually, she never said she was sorry, but she did say I was right and she should have told me, and Dawn, rather than let us find out the hard way. Good enough for me.

We found the rest of the gang first, and then Dawn in the hospital – but not before Glory had gotten to her. As weird as it may sound, that was probably a good thing; Glory was the only one who could give Dawn the answers she needed about what the Key was exactly. That, and Buffy finally letting go of the Slayer armor to act as a sister, made the Bit calm down and return to normal levels of teenage drama. We brought her back home, and I left when the gang did. It was Summers time, and I didn’t want to intrude. Also, my own thoughts were still as much of a mess as before, and I needed to clear up my mind.

I have to say, the one thing I felt most acutely was the sting of betrayal. Whatever her reasons, Buffy hadn’t told me, and that alone hurt. Yeah, I know now she did it to try to protect me, but it still hurts. It was one of the most important secrets she could have shared with me, and the fact remains that she did not. She told Giles, she told the gang, and I had to find out for myself.

Thing was, I hadn’t found out alone, and despite having told Buffy that she was responsible for Dawn deciding to figure out what was being hidden from her, the truth is I felt guilty. I should have talked Dawn out of going to the Magic Box. I’m supposed to be the oldest one of the lot, and I acted as if I was no older than the Nibblet. Without me, she might not have managed to break into the store. She might have run into trouble on her way, too, but that’s a whole different matter.

So, betrayal, guilt, and to make things even more complex, anger. I don’t like magic. I don’t like magic performed on me; and that was what the monks had done. They had mucked with my brain, with my memories and feelings. They made me remember Dawn where she had never set foot. They made me love her, never gave me a choice about it, and I hated that.

I brooded about it all night. But when Buffy came to me in the morning, I had made my peace with all of it, and I made my peace with her, too. We talked, we shagged, and stood again stronger from one more stumble. Warned you it wouldn’t be a smooth ride, didn’t I?

As for Dawn… It didn’t matter how she had come into play or what she was exactly. Who she was, was the closest thing I had ever had to a kid sister, and that was what mattered in the end.