WHO: Spike & Dawn. WHAT: Training. WHEN: Early evening. WHERE: The apartment complex; training room. RATING: PG-13 at best. Spike curses. :)
Normally, Spike wouldn't bother with it. Training a person to fight demons was the farthest thing from what he was ever interested in doing with his free time. The only time he'd ever done so before was back in Sunnydale, when Buffy had needed someone to help with the fleet of Potentials that had been dropped on her doorstep. Even then Spike chose to mostly keep to himself, rarely making appearances to give those girls a glimpse of what a vampire was really made of. That was then though. This was now. Spike had to admit, he hadn't predicted that he'd ever be training Buffy's kid sister up to fight against the demons of this world. If anything, Spike imagined he'd be doing more of the protecting. Keeping an eye out for Glory, making sure that Dawn didn't do anything incredibly stupid - the usual round of things. Training Dawn - or anyone, really - was so far out of his normal routine that Spike didn't even know where to begin. So he decided to just go with it. Do whatever. It wasn't like he was the sort of person to work with a schedule anyway. Dawn would show up, he'd tell her what to do for a while, then they'd go on their separate ways. Easy enough, wasn't it?
Of course, he'd have to make sure she actually learned something. The last thing that Spike wanted to deal with was Buffy getting on his ass for not teaching Dawn anything proper. He'd make sure that she could take care of herself well enough, that was for certain. Spike didn't want her to get hurt. He didn't say it often, but he didn't want it to happen. Just like he didn't want for anything bad to happen to Buffy or a select few of the others that he'd grown fond of over his time here.
Back pressed to the wall, Spike took a puff out of the cigarette that was placed between his lips. Smoke curled out into the air before him, but Spike didn't care much about it. He was a vampire. The only downside to smoking was the fact that he had to get money to properly buy the cigarettes in order for him to smoke in the first place. He used to just steal them. Now he had to be all civil or whatever. Life sucked. Hearing a sound at the opposite end of the room, Spike raised a brow and turned to look at the approaching figure. Dawn, probably. He sniffed at the air a bit. No, it was definitely Dawn. He had her scent down, along with Buffy's and the rest of the gangs. "'Bout time you showed up," he said, slumping back against the wall once more, "was beginning to think you'd changed your mind."