Spike shifted uncomfortably on the sofa in the Oval Office. The President had stepped into Leo’s office for a quick second to arrange a meeting with the head of the Initiative. He also asked Charlie to clean his schedule of any non-essential meetings, and pushed everything that couldn’t wait back an hour.

He hadn’t even heard the problem yet, and he was already doing everything he could to help.

Honestly, the vampire hadn’t the first idea what the President could do to make the situation any better. He and his mate were being hunted by an irate god who had tracked them across the country, and would stop at nothing to see them dead. Would stop at nothing to have her Key. In the meanwhile, Buffy’s powers were growing out of control. His chest constricted every time he thought of her. Leaving her that morning had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. While her burn marks were nearly healed, she had been in and out of consciousness for the better part of the night. He had bathed her, massaged her sore body, held her close while tremors shook her body off and on throughout the night, but she was hurting still.

From what he had seen—what he felt—Spike knew that there was absolutely no way Glory stood a chance in hell against his girl…if only Buffy could control her power. And while she was getting to the point where she wasn’t so terrified of the prospect, it seemed they were still years away from acceptance.

“Leo seems to think that getting involved in a large supernatural event will hurt us in the primaries,” the President said, walking back into the Oval. “But he’s agreed to talk with Fitz about our military options.”

Spike stood out of respect as the man entered the room; respect instead of habit. He didn’t suspect he would honor the tradition for any other man. Over the past few weeks, Bartlet had proved to be as genuine a character as any politician he’d ever met. There was a certain air about him that revived shady memories of his father. The fond ones before the war.

“Thank you,” he said hoarsely, sitting again as the President sat on the opposite sofa.

“I don’t really know what you want me to do, Spike,” Bartlet replied. “You’ll have to excuse me, I know you’ve been a guest for the past whatever, but my experience is sorely lacking when it comes to averting mystical world tragedies.”

“I really don’ know what you can do,” the vampire responded honestly.

“Well, I have many advisors that will take whatever you tell me, turn it into something unrecognizable, and have me act on it, so go on.”

“There’s a god in DC.”

The President nodded. “Since she’s practically your wife, I’d hope this isn’t something that comes as a surprise.”

Spike shook his head. “’S not Buffy,” he replied. “’S the reason we’re here. We came here to get away from Sunnyhell…Buffy’s sis, Dawn, isn’t really her sis.”

Bartlet just looked at him for a minute. “Okay, I’ll admit; didn’t see that one coming. Who is she?”

“She’s…Dawn. See, she’s not really a person. She’s more somethin’ that was made into a person. She’s actually this glob of energy that some bloody righteous monks formed into a person an’ sent to my girl so that she’d guard the Bit with her life.”

“Son, you’re going to have to slow down and remember that while you come from a world where all of this sounds perfectly natural, you’re sitting in the Oval Office of the White House. Furthermore, I, being a reasonable man, have only had a year to adjust.” The President shook his head. “I’m still getting into the habit of not calling for the secret service whenever I find blood in our private refrigerator.”

“Buffy an’ I are movin’ out here soon.”

“Yes, so Sam tells me. Georgetown?”

“Yeh.”

“Josh lives in Georgetown, you know.”

“Yeh…Mr. President, I know that this is still all new to you, but I really need…Buffy’s hurt. This god bint’s tracked us down to DC an’ she wants the Key.” He paused. “She wants Dawn. I haven’t the first bloody clue what you can do about it, but I reckoned havin’ friends in high places has to still amount for somethin’, right?”

“I would think Buffy being a god would take care of that predicament rather nicely.”

Spike nodded. “Yeh, well…’s not as easy as all that.”

“Why not?”

“Because Buffy wasn’ a god a year ago. She’s terrified of what she can do. She has no control over it. She bloody nearly blasted some Initiative operative through a wall when he tried to come after me.”

The President smiled wryly. “Well, that sounds a lot like something Abbey would do, as a matter of fact, but I don’t want to make any assumptions as to her lineage.”

“Last night, the god found us.”

Bartlet’s eyes went wide. “Are you all right? What happened?”

“Buffy went off.”

“Off?”

Spike nodded. “Her power sort’ve imploded. It was white, an’ then she was lyin’ on the ground. She was projectin’ too much, an’ her body couldn’t handle it. She doesn’ know how to handle it…an’ it was too bloody much. It receded back into her, an’…”

“She’s all right?”

“She’s sleepin’. Her burn marks are gone, but it took a lot outta her.”

“Burn marks?”

He nodded again miserably. “She’s okay…she jus’…she’s okay.”

The President offered a sympathetic smile. “I would say, wait till you have kids, but that’s out of the question for you two, isn’t it?”

“Li’l bit, yeah.”

“Well, Spike, about your problem…I’d like to talk to Fitz and some of the other military experts that are on the inside. I’d put agents on…what was her name?”

“Dawn.”

“Yes. I would put agents on her, but something tells me it wouldn’t do much good to stop a god that kicked the ass of another god. If it gets absolutely imperative, I can always smuggle Dawn to the Yukon.”

Spike quirked a smile.

“I’ll do everything in my power to help you two; you know that, right?”

The vampire nodded gratefully.

“I just don’t know how much help I can offer. A president’s power only extends so far, and I’m the first man in this office to be on the inside of this Initiative business since the group was formed back in the ‘40s.” The President heaved a sigh and rose to his feet. “In the meantime, you should go back to that girl of yours and wait on her hand and foot until she gets better.”

Spike smirked and stood as well. “An’ this’ll be different from every other day, how?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll have someone come by and check on you two every hour.” He paused. “If, perchance, Buffy recovers miraculously and you find yourselves…indisposed, leave something on the door, would you?”

The smirk broadened at that as the vampire turned to leave the Oval. “An’ deprive your staff of free porn?”

“Remember, buster, this is my White House.” The President gave him a long look that was wasted, given, the peroxide blonde’s undeniable lack of respect for authority. “All right, get out of here. I’ll let you know if we find some Constitutional loophole to declare war on a god. We might have some strict interpreters haggling me on the First Amendment, but I’ll do what I can.”

That earned a chuckle. Spike nodded. “Thank you, Mr. President.”

No matter how many times he said that, it would never sound natural rolling off his tongue. Then again, it was better to keep his friends where they respected him and would do whatever they could to help. Even if that meant bowing to one or two authority figures.

Well, maybe just the one. He had a reputation to maintain.

And a sick Slayer to nurse back to health.

*~*~*

A few weeks went by.

Joyce went into surgery a few hours before the President was due to give his third State of the Union address. The day also happened to fall on Buffy’s birthday, and in the midst of Sam and Toby’s erratic polishing of the speech—including a go on a Blue Ribbon Commission that the President was announcing that night—Sam was adamant on making the Slayer’s first Washington birthday the best; and hopefully, the first of many.

How Joyce’s health had fallen so rapidly out of control, no one really knew. It was more an issue of one thing leading to another. Dr. James Matheson had flown to DC—his practice being in New York—for their initial meeting. He was very kind, very jovial, and Buffy liked him immediately. Especially when he noted that they were extremely lucky to have caught the problem when they did. He had similarly noted, however, that an operation was unavoidable.

That had shaken Buffy’s foundation, even as Spike talked her through it. Telling her this sort of thing happened all the time, and that it was fortunate they had met the First Lady when they did. Joyce would be fine; there was nothing to worry about now.

He and Joyce had similarly done everything he could to convince her that there was no point in flying to New York at the moment. Especially with Dawn to watch. Especially with Glory in DC. Especially when they knew so little about what information she had.

There had been no news from Glory directly. Spike and Buffy had gone out every night, hoping to catch a lead to little avail. The vampire had come to the conclusion that the god, while hardly destroyed, had at least been wounded enough to need some hard time to recover.

Now it was his girl’s twentieth birthday. Joyce had been flown to New York for the operation, and while Buffy was hurting that she wasn’t with her mother, Spike was determined to keep her in good spirits.

In the meantime, Dawn was staying with Buffy in lieu of being in New York alone with nothing to do but worry about her mother. The house in Georgetown was still very sparse in terms of furniture, but Spike had rushed out to get a bed so that the youngest Summers didn’t have to haul a sleeping bag everywhere she went.

There were still so many empty rooms. They had their bedroom furniture, a table, a refrigerator, a small television, and sofas to fill up what Buffy jokingly called the front parlor. The rest of the place was much too large to furnish in a weekend.

Or a week, as it seemed.

Dawn was moping around the bullpen, the glamour of the White House having long lost its effect on her. Buffy and Spike had invited her to watch the State of the Union with them in Toby’s office, but she wasn’t interested.

And they were running late. Dawn was stuck at the White House, and her sister was running late.

Earlier in the week, the President and Leo had brought Josh and Sam in on what was going on with Dawn. It was a new area of national security, and while Fitz had advised the President to keep the brewing situation at code-word clearance, there were too many people that knew some of the aspects of what was occurring to maintain such a tight lid on its secrecy. Besides, what the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs might deem top secret was common, every day knowledge to the Slayer.

The Slayer and all her Sunnydale friends. And since Willow knew about Dawn, and was living with Sam, it only stood to reason that he knew as well. And that’s why he’d been included.

Except now, Josh was due across town to meet Joey Lucas, an independent pollster and campaign manager, who was going to phone bank all night to get numbers on how well the President performed at the State of the Union. Buffy and Spike had yet to show up, and Dawn was wandering around the bullpen with nothing to do.

In the highly unlikely event that Glory decided to attack between now and the Slayer’s arrival, Josh thought it a good idea to have someone watching the Key. He had been banking on taking Donna with him, but she could always meet up with him after the blonde duo showed up.

“Josh!” Donna called, throwing her coat over her shoulder. “We have to go if we’re going to be there in time.”

The Deputy Chief of Staff paused in front of her workspace and arched a brow. “Yeah, could you come here for a minute?”

“What?”

“I can’t tell you out here.” He nodded to his office. “Come on, I gotta tell you this thing.”

She glanced up. “Is it serious?”

“Look at my face. Come on.”

“Well, Josh, you really—”

“Donna!” Expelling a deep sigh, he stormed forward, grasped her wrist, and yanked her into his dark office, slamming the door shut.

“Aren’t you going to turn on the lights?”

“No, now listen. I have to tell you this thing, and you’re not gonna like it.”

“Josh—”

He ploughed on as if she hadn’t spoken. “It’s about Dawn.”

“Dawn. Buffy’s sister, Dawn?”

“Yeah.”

“Josh, she’s—”

“I don’t know everything, but basically, Spike told the President that Dawn’s not really Buffy’s sister and that’s the reason they’re here. There’s this god—”

“Another god?”

“Yeah. I think random gods have a strange fetish with Buffy. So yeah, that’s the thing. She has this god after her—or, well, Dawn, more accurately—because Dawn’s actually this Key thing.” He waved a hand. “It’s something where she was planted into Buffy’s and everyone’s memories or whatever, and is now being targeted by some whackjob. Anyway, Buffy’s not here now, so I need you to look after Dawn—”

“Josh! Listen, she’s—”

“—and she doesn’t know any of this, so you gotta keep quiet. I’m not saying a god will just pop up and demand to hand the girl over, but this is seriously weird, Natchez-like stuff going on. And I need you to—”
Light poured into the room as Donna flicked on the switch by the door, her eyes wide with horror.

It took him a minute of cursing and erratic blinking, but the next second, Josh realized his folly.

Dawn was sitting at his desk, a numb, lost look on her face.

“Oh God.”

“As I was trying to tell you,” Donna said, “Dawn’s in your office.”

“You were trying to tell me.”

“Yes.”

“Then why in God’s name didn’t you tell me?!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, but my telepathy seems to be failing me today.”

“Donna!”

“I was trying to use my voice like normal people, but someone wouldn’t shut his yap for two seconds to—”

“Dear God.” Josh exhaled deeply and turned to Dawn. “Hey, ummm…about what I said there…”

The girl met his eyes, and there was nothing behind her gaze.

Donna stepped forward. “Josh…”

“Fix this.”

“Me?!”

“Yeah, you with the lights. I have to go start the polls for the State of the Union, and you didn’t tell me about the lights, so you have to fix this.” Josh turned and practically sprinted down the hall. “Come over as soon as Buffy gets here!”

“I am so gonna kill him,” Donna all but growled, turning back to Dawn slowly.

There was no point. Absolutely none.

“No,” the young girl spat. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Dawnie—”

“No!” She bounded to her feet and sped past the older woman before the blonde could get another word out. And Donna was at a loss. There was a flop of hair and the all too familiar sound of a teenage girl riddled with angst, but she didn’t follow. Couldn’t. It was the White House, and Dawn couldn’t get far.

She hoped. She had the State of the Union to worry about.

And if she wasn’t there the minute the President began to speak, Josh would be at a complete loss.

God, why did he have to drop this on her now?

“Margaret,” she muttered to herself, retreating to her phone.

She’d call Margaret. Or Bonnie. Or Ginger. Or anyone that was staying at the White House.

And hope to God that Buffy and Spike showed up soon.

*~*~*

Something was wrong.

She felt it. A sudden time warp back to the previous May. A flash to the plane; that sickening sensation that drew her back all the way to the night at Longwood. Holding Buffy and Josh’s hands as the world tumbled around them. And there was nothing but that knowledge. A sickness that filled her insides, linked with only one realization.

Something was wrong.

Something was going to happen tonight.

Sam had just raced by the North Entrance with the speechwriters. He hadn’t had time to nod to her, and she understood. The past few weeks—this last one especially—had been hectic in constructing the language in the State of the Union. He’d be gone before she awoke, and home long after she fell asleep. If they were able to schedule in a lunch together, they were lucky.

Only the night was incased in a hauntingly familiar sense of unease.

Oh God.

Josh.

Something was wrong.

*~*~*

It took twenty minutes to get into the White House. Forty-five minutes to get to the building itself. They were running incredibly late as it was, having taken a quick patrol to be doubly sure that nothing went wrong tonight. And the minute they got through security, Buffy and Spike were greeted by one of Toby’s staffers; a young woman named Ginger.

“Something happened,” the woman said. “I don’t really know what, but—”

“Oh my God,” the Slayer gasped, squeezing her mate’s hand. “Oh God. It happened.”

Spike glanced to her, concerned. “What?”

“She knows.”

“She…?”

“Dawn. I…oh God.”

The vampire’s eyes went wide. If Dawn had any idea what she really was, there was every chance she would put herself in danger for the simplicity of being a hormone-infused teenager, confused, and without a mother right now to turn to. “How?”

“I don’t know,” Ginger replied, shaking her head. “I don’t even know what it is. Donna just needed me to tell you that your sister is…she had to go help Josh with the pollsters.” She paused, a look of regret overwhelming her features. “I have to go. The President’s about to start, and I need to go.”

Spike nodded, wrapping an arm around Buffy. “Yeh, thanks. We’ll find her.”

“I’m sorry. I just—”

“We’ll find her. Thanks.” He took off the minute Ginger nodded, Buffy right at his side.

“What do we tell her?” the vampire demanded. “Where on earth do we bloody begin?”

“Calmly. She’s confused. She…she’s probably angry. She—”

“Prob’ly angry?” Spike retorted, arching a brow. “Baby, the Nibblet’s your sister. You’re tellin’ me you don’ know her well enough to know how bloody brassed she is?”

“Wishful thinking.”

It wasn’t difficult to find the girl; a matter of following his nose and clamping down on the urge to tear the White House apart for overturning their secrets. Dawn was in Toby’s office, her eyes glued to the television, dried tearbeds streaking down her face. She didn’t look at them as they entered the room; didn’t even flinch as Buffy turned on the light. Didn’t budge.

The Slayer met her mate’s eyes and nodded.

“Dawn—”

“No.”

Buffy pursed her lips. “Dawn—”

“I don’t want to hear it. You lied to me.”

“We din’t lie to you, Bit,” Spike said quietly. “Nothin’ we’ve ever told you is—”

“I’m. Not. Real.” Dawn crossed her arms and shook her head, eyes glimmering with tears. “I’m not real. I’m not real! You call that the truth? I’m not…how could you not tell me this? How could you think I wouldn’t find out? Mom’s been on eggshells around me for weeks. And she wouldn’t tell me why we can’t go home. Everyone’s been treating me like I’m something so…like I’m stupid, and wouldn’t notice. And this. All of this—”

The Slayer held up a hand and exhaled a steady breath. “Look…I don’t know how you…I don’t even know if I want to know how you found out.”

“Josh.”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“Not if I get there firs’,” Spike snarled, his eyes flaring.

“He didn’t know I was in the room,” Dawn said softly. “I’m sorry he ruined your plans. If you had your way, I’d never have the first clue, right?”

“No. This is why I didn’t tell you,” Buffy snapped. “You think knowing this has been easy on me? So you’re mystical. Join the club. You’re my sister. I love you. I will die protecting you if it comes to it. Yes, you weren’t always my sister. Well, I wasn’t always a god. Spike wasn’t always a vampire. That’s what we are now. Deal with it.”

She didn’t know who was more startled at her outburst; her sister or her mate.

“Not exactly the calm approach I thought we’d agreed on, pet,” Spike murmured.

“I changed my mind. I don’t have time to be calm,” she retorted. “This is serious stuff. This is—”

“Buffy!”

Three heads turned in time to see a familiar redhead practically swing into Toby’s office, her chest heaving.

“Oh thank God!”

The Slayer frowned. “Willow, I’m kind’ve—”

“Something’s wrong.”

“What?”

Willow shook her head, trying to catch her breath. “I don’t know. I just…it’s Josh.”

Spike’s brows perked. “Again? I’m really gettin’ tired of that wanker.”

“Something’s wrong.” The redhead released a deep breath. “And I think I know what.”

*~*~*

Josh released a sigh of relief as Donna bustled through the front doors. The room was filled with unfamiliar people, some of whom were evidently gum-chewers, and he was about to lose what little of his patience he had left.

“The polling hasn’t started yet,” one guy said, coming to the defense of some woman he’d just snapped at for popping gum into her mouth.

“Well, thank you, Mr. Helper,” he retorted, turning to Donna with an air of respite. “Did you take care of the thing?”

“You mean the thing that you completely screwed up and left me to take care of?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“Donna!”

She gestured to the room of pollsters. “I have this thing!”

He sighed, considered her for a moment, then evidently forgot his objection as he turned back to the others, shaking his head; a severe look of displeasure colored his eyes. “I don’t trust these people.”

“Why?”

“They’re not our people.”

“They’re Joey Lucas’s people.”

“None of them have accents?”

“Well, first of all, I just got here. I thought they were from the Midwest.” She paused. “And why does it matter?”

He shook his head. “I’m saying Joey Lucas is deaf. She would have no way of knowing—”

“Josh—”

It was a lost cause. He had already made up his mind, and turned to address the others. “Do any of you people have accents?”

Donna’s eyes fell closed. “Oh my God.”

The room was staring at them blankly.

Josh didn’t seem phased, only mildly irked at the lack of response. “Do any of you people have the power of speech?”

“They’re fine!” his assistant hissed.

He turned away and tossed a nervous glance to his watch.

“I should be there right now,” he said.

“Josh—”

“The President’s giving the make or break speech of his political career, and I’m stuck in a mine shaft with a bunch of gum-chewing, mute hicks!”

The room turned to glare at him again.

“You really need to work on that talking-out-loud thing,” Donna mused, turning to grin at him.

Then her eyes caught sight of something over his shoulder, and her body froze.

“Oh my God.”

TBC