Title: Like going home
Author: MAC/Undead Euro-Trash
Feedback: W_U_L_L_F@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: so not mine
Rating: dunno, don't do ratings... R?
Summary: I didn't make this thing with Dawn, it just happened. And it's mine... sequel to 'I mss you'
Spoilers: Buffyverse, Angelverse up to 'Destiny'
Kicked his ass. Even if the Shanshu thing wasn't real, I *kicked*, bruised, and bloodied his lopsided ass. Felt his bones break and his skin split under my fists and boots. It was the best sensation I've ever felt, like when I first found out about sex. Everything is heightened, and touch is beyond wonderful. That line about 'you don't know what you got, till it's gone' isn't just something you say, it's real. Everyone really takes touch, smell, and taste for granted. Never thought I'd miss something so natural, so normal. But I'm reveling in it now, just bloody wallowing.
Eating and drinking whatever I can get my hands on. Even the cheap perfume Harmony wears is intoxicating. Remember having a bit of class about what I liked smelling and putting in my mouth; but I can't find it in myself to care. I've dreamt of eating, and of blood, it doesn't matter that it's animal. What I missed most though, is touch. Harm doesn't even slap me away anymore when I start to feel her up. Still a bit cross with me though, she said that my weird fetish for touching is fine, just no sex. And oddly enough, I agree, fine no sex, I can settle for petting.
Knocking back another glass of bourbon, I savor the burn. I'm in the best mood I've been in since... well, since the Big Green Queen's little insomniac showcase. Still don't understand that one, removing your sleep? What the hell is wrong with sleeping? That another thing I'm gonna do, sleep. Can't do it as a ghost, but as soon I get drunk m'gonna pass out in a nice soft bed... or even on a hard floor, not picky.
I invited Gunn to come along, but he was still a bit out of sorts from going homicidal on that Eve girl. I'm still a bit wary of that bird. Wouldn't be the first time an all-evil end-of-the-world thing came in a pretty, shaggable package. I wonder how Will's doing. As I sit at a mini-bar that I found in one of the empty offices, I wonder 'bout the whole rag-tag lot of 'em. They were the closest thing I had to a fucking family; even if they weren't fond of me. I'd die for them, and did. They'd die for me.
It always worked that way. They might've hated me, but only the Scoobies or their Slayer were the ones allowed to stake me. They'd save me from some scaly nasty, risk life and limb, and then beat me up. I miss those twits. Even Xander and Andrew, annoying as they were. They were like the younger bothers I never had. Glad I didn't, minute I got turned I would've slaughtered them out of nothing more than to be rid of them. I have the Bit's letter folded up in my pocket now. My constant re-reading is gonna have the notebook paper falling apart at the creases.
One thing I can say 'bout that girl, she's got good handwriting, and issues, lots of issues. From pettiness to resentment, and then her whole misguided love for me. Can't judge though, tonight's little event proved that I have more than my share, most of them connect with the name 'Angel(us)' and then a bunch more trail after Buffy like I once did.
That prancing hair-do *still* won't give me Buffy's address, even after I said 'please'- -of course the please came with a handful of knuckles attached, but I said it, should count for something, right? If it doesn't, it bloody well should! And I tried to charm Rupert's phone number out of Harm. Seems she can't remember my kicking her over the desk, but she has a bit of a headache and she's brainworked that it has something to do with me. A real Fred that one. Speaking of, here comes the cute little Einstein now. Still need to thank her for trying so hard to make me solid. Feel a bit guilty that she wasn't the one to've figured it out.
I watch as she's happily chatting away with another brunette treat. She's always kinda cute in that pigtails and plaid, catholic-school uniform way- -don't ask. She's explaining things to the other girl, all energetic-like; going through folders and such. I can see them from the open doorway. She sees me and waves in that bubbly way that she has. I nod back as I down another glass of bourbon. I wait for it, it happens no matter where I am, or which Scooby- -first or second generation- -that I'm with, I wait for the 'Oh, that's Spike'.
She points toward me and I watch the words form on her pretty lips. The bird she's with, turns around before my name leaves Fred's mouth. Her eyes lock with mine. Oh, bloody hell! My glass shatters as I drop it, and the girl collapses. Her baby blues rolling up into her head as her knees give out. I'm out of my chair and at her side in seconds, this can't fucking be real. It just can't be. When did she get in? Why's she here? What's going on? For a few seconds Fred's chattering worriedly around me, I don't answer her, I'm still trying to process this myself.
Then I hear Angel. He's asking his usual oh-so-bloody-concerned 'What happened?' Fucker can see what happened. Just has to look down; just has to open up his senses to understand that she's fainted. I'm glad that that's all she did, just fainted; she could've hit her head on the floor.
"She's the new intern," Fred's face scrunches up, and she starts wringing her fingers like I've seen her do when she's working on some piece of complicated math.
I start seething from her words, "She better not be," I growl. "No way is she working here."
"That's not for you to decide- -"
"Yeah," I interrupt Angey, vamping out as I do, "It fucking is."
"What's going on?" Fred asks, looking from me to Angel. Poor thing's confused; she's not the only one.
"Fred," I say dryly, "I'd like to introduce you to Miss Dawn Summers, and she is *not* gonna work here." I glare at my Grand-Sire; "You didn't tell the girls that I'm back, did you?" I already know the answer, just like he didn't tell his pep squad about my trek into the light side. Does he loathe me that bloody much? Bastard. I really hate him, and then, sometimes, I can almost stand him.
I hear him defending himself to Fred, "It was on my to-do list."
I look down at Dawn, reclaiming my human features. She looks just the same as before, only relaxed. The wrinkles of worry I'd used to see all over her pretty face are gone, and her jeans and tight little T-shirts are replaced with a crisp black dress suit. Okay... she looks adorable, right cute, but I'm still gonna thump her one on her empty head. What makes her think she can work at a demon law firm and it be *all right*? Knowin' my luck, she'll be one of the office staff that Angel decides he doesn't feel guilty about killing.
Seems like lifetimes since I've seen her, but then it feels like yesterday. I touch her cheek, marveling at her warmth. Haven't touched a human yet, she's scorching me. Was she always this hot? Or is she sick? Got sick once when I took care of her that summer, skin was like fire. Like what it feels like now.
She's coming to, when she opens her eyes, I smile. Can't believe that my little bit came back to me. She's the one that I really wanted to see, aside from Buffy; I wanted to put things to rights. I don't need to now, she's in love with me. M'not sure what to do 'bout that. I'll have to do something, say something, find a way to tell her to move on. But right now I don't want to. She can love me all she wants. Never could deny her something she really wanted; just like with Dru. I'm selfish, know that. I want her to love me, been so long since someone has. "Hey Bit," I wink, "Got your letter."
And at first I think she's gonna burst into tears, then she smiles slightly. M'not expecting it when I feel a solid punch slammin' into my nose. In shock, I just sit there as blood spills out, over my lips and down my chin. A familiar crunch sounds in my ears, and then pain as my hands fly up to face. I groan and shoot her a glare. What's her problem? Fuck it. And here I thought this was the one I could talk to and not get that guaranteed punch to the nose. Looks like things have changed slightly. And as I stand, watching her get to her feet too, I'm not too sure that it's for the better.
I'm ready to yell at her; but suddenly, there she is, arms locked 'round me, face buried into my shirt, crying for all she's worth. And I know this girl again, my sweet little bit. I fold her into me, not caring that I'm bleeding on her suit. She shakes as her sobs rake through her. She chokes and gasps and I know what to do. Last time it was her sister she was crying for. It feels strange that I'm the one that she's gettin' worked up over. But I know how to fix her, how to glue the pieces back together and stop the tears.
I scoop her up, taking her into my arms like a crying child. Her legs wrap around my waist, her skirt being pushed up with the motion. I'm sure it looks down right indecent, like something that it isn't, like were lovers and not just a girl being held my her vampire.
And that's something I've concluded reading her letter. I never was Buffy's vampire, but Dawn let me be hers. Not lovers, not 'zactly friends, more than a little girl and her protector, more than family. Always been more than and not exactly, always on the edges of what we *should* be and then not.
Drove me crazy when I'd sleep next to her. When I'd wrap myself like twisted wire around her small body; chasing away her nightmares. I'd hold her so tight, and she'd always beg for me to hold her tighter. And I would. She'd have finger-shaped bruises up and down her, but the chip never went off. No matter how close to breakin' bone that I was; never crossed that line. Just tight enough so that she had trouble breathing, that was what she wanted, she wanted it and I gave it to her. Anything for my Nibblet.
It's not till I hear Angel growling and hissing breaths in and out, do I realize that I'm purring and softly nuzzling Dawn's neck; smearing blood on the collar of her suit blazer. I look around at the many wide eyes around us, lots of paper pushers. I tighten my hold on the girl walkin' us into the office I had been in only minutes earlier. Angel follows. Fred doesn't. Not sure where she's fluttered off to.
I sit down, sinking back into the plush leather chair. It looks wrong, her in my arms, always has. And sometimes I had to push her away, 'cause it became wrong. Not now though, even as I harden against her, I can't find the wrong in this. So I just hold her. I hold her and let her cry. Whispering a litany of spun-sugar phrases into her hair; rubbing my hands up and down her back, trying to ease her worries, trying to soothe the hurt.
Can feel Angel glaring at me, wantin' to say something but not sure what. Good luck on that one, mate, I don't have the words and I'm the one in the middle of this. Dawn's the only one that made me lose the words. Could always say something to Dru or Buffy, but Dawn always made me draw a blank. So I always let the touches tell her what I couldn't say. Looks like I still can't find the words.
My face is pressed against the column of her throat, and it doesn't make me wanna feed, just resting this way is nice, like going home. Shouldn't be like that and I know it. But I don't care, don't care about a lot of things anymore. She's touching me and she's letting me touch her. It's the only part of this no-longer-a-ghost thing that makes any sodding sense. It's about touching, just touching and being touched. The fact that I'm in love with her older sister doesn't enter into the equation. It never has.
Always hovered over this thing that we are; this unspoken relationship that is what it looks like and then isn't. It isn't comfort, or just some kind of love, m'not sure, couldn't ever untangle it. I couldn't figure it out when Buffy was dead; and when they brought her back, I didn't want to give this thing a name. So I pushed the youngest away and embraced my love for eldest. It was easier to understand. Love, Buffy, passion, Buffy, sex, Buffy, fighting, Buffy, seduction, Buffy. I don't understand loving Dawn, if I do, I think I do. It isn't as easy and clean cut as it was with Buffy. Right now, all I know is that I've missed contact and she's missed contact with me, and it works. Always had a spot for my little bit, just a room all done up pretty for her; looks like she's moved herself in again.
She cries against my shoulder. Her little fists lightly pounding at my chest and arms, like she's too tired to try to hurt me but the need to do hit me is still there. "You were gone," she bites out, her fists hit a little harder, "You *left*."
Had promised never to leave her, never to go, but I fucking did. Came back with my soul, and then I died; to save the world, yeah, but I left my Nibblet, my little sweet bit. Left her waiting at a school bus for a last-minute appearance and a smirk that never came. And I feel guiltier for not showing up for Dawn than I do for leaving Buffy to fight her future battles alone. How buggered is that?
"I waited," she says in a soft tone. Her bloodshot eyes hold that lost little girl I'd wanted to comfort when we hid from Glory. This time I don't change my mind, I smooth her hair. Her voice is barely there, "Did it hurt?"
"No," I lie, and she knows it's a lie. She always knows. Can see through me like glass. Knows that my image is just that, an image. Something for people to see, a mask to fall behind. In the beginning I hated it. I hated that she knew it was a mask. I hated that she was too smart for her own good. I wanted to hit her. To make her cry, so that she'd be scared of me like all little girls should. I wanted to hit her; now, I just want to hold her.
Her fists unflex and her fingers trail along a healing bruise on my face. "You've been fighting again," she says, and it's not a question, she knows me too well for it to be a question.
"Fell down some stairs," I grin, looking over her shoulder at Angel.
"Yeah?" she asks. "Those must've been some stairs," she probes the bruise and I wince. The sound is covered by her voice, "They had fists."
"They wanted my Mountain Dew," I say curling a strand of her hair around my finger, just running its texture over my skin. "Had to show them who was the bigger bad."
"Yes," she nods, not believing a single word I said, "Stairs are bad that way."
She lays her head on my shoulder and listens as I spin a tale about evil stairs and the climatic battle for the Mountain Dew. But soon it fades into her giggles as I try to figure out how to have the stairs actually *fight* the climatic battle.
"Just trust me," I say after a few minutes, "We fought, I won. Got my Mountain Dew and walked up and down those bloody stairs."
"You're weird," she states.
"And you love me for it," it's out of my mouth before I can stop it, and her happy face dims. "I... I mean, I don't... Nibblet, I- -hell." I break off with sigh, there's nothin' I can say, I stuck my foot in my mouth, time to chew.
"It's okay," Dawn just lays her head back on my shoulder, "We can figure everything out later. Just hold me?"
And fuck me, I do.
I hear Angel leave the room, shutting the door behind him. I don't blame him for leaving. Nonce can't understand what we are, I can't understand it, and even my little bit can't figure it. We just are. It was always like that. Just soft touches that were almost wrong and loving phrases that bordered on romantic. I know she can feel me hard like granite under her, and she doesn't care. *I* don't care. Can want her all I want, always wanted her, but it's a different kind of want. The kind that makes me continue my story of the evil stairs, having them fight by tilting into a ramp and moving like a demented escalator.
"Show me around later?" she asks. Already my words of forbidding her to work here are drifting away. If she works here, she stays, if she stays here, she stays with me. And I'm selfish, she can love me all she wants, and she can stay. I don't know the words or what's expected of me, but I continue to draw patterns on her back.
"Ten cent tour is it?" I smirk.
"If your good," she teases, "I'll make it a quarter."
"Too generous," I purr, gently tilting her head to the side to that I can rest my face against her throat. Hide away in that dark little nook I found, the one that feels like I've gone home. Her forehead lays on my shoulder and her fingers tug at the seams of my duster's collar. And that's were we stay for the longest time. Her straddling my hips, her skirt bunched up obscenely as I sit in a office chair, my face hidden against her throat.
I don't know where we stand. I never have. But Buffy's not here, so, I can push this un-nameable thing between the girl and me away. And for once, I'm glad that she's not. I'm happy, just sitting here, just touching and being touched. Bastard was wrong. There are things that are mine. They're mine and they have nothin' to do with taking. He could never have this thing- -whatever it is- -that I have with Dawn, this feeling of being home. He can't take it, even if he wanted it.
Where touching Buffy was always anger and passion, touching Dawn is pleasant and simple, like going home. And that's what we are to each other, we're home, we're safe. Like warm blankets and hot chocolate on chilly December mornings. It's the best and worst feeling in the world. 'Cause you know that sooner or later, some time or another, you'll have to leave home; you'll have to leave. Instead of thinking on that, I just hold her closer, whispering sweet things against her throat. And like she always did, she soon falls asleep, my duster's lapels clutched in her fingers.
I didn't make this thing with Dawn, it just happened. And it's mine.
~END~
A/N series or no?