TITLE: "Running With Scissors" (1/1)
AUTHOR: mcee
SITE: http://fangy.net
ARCHIVE: List archives, others just ask.
SPOILERS: Season 6, generally.
RATING: PG-13
PAIRING: Spike/Dawn (parent/child); off-screen Spike/Buffy
SUMMARY: "And him, look at him, look at his eyes, he's tired, and he's not even related to her, not really."
THANKS: Alex, Steph, Angel.
* * *
"DAWN!"
His voice boomed through the precinct, loud and angry, hushing everything else for a moment. Dawn cringed and watched him burst through the double glass doors, looking ready to kill. Leather swirling around him terribly, people parted hastily to give way to this vision in black. Spike stalked through the maze of desks with focused rage and finally came to an abrupt stop in front of Dawn. She kept her eyes low, eyeing his boots nervously. She shifted in her chair, uneasy with his sudden silence. It was worse than him yelling.
"Evening, Mr. Walthrop."
"Officer Stoller."
His voice was measured now, and Dawn shivered. She wished the man would just handcuff her to the chair or toss her in jail so she wouldn't have to face the ride back home. She heard the young man push papers around on his desk next to her, but kept her gaze to the floor. The buzz of conversation around them had resumed, with additional whispering. They all hated her, she was sure of it. So she hated them too, just because. Her mouth hardened into a resentful moue and her eyes squinted with resolve, still fixed on her sister's boyfriend's boots.
"I assume you'd like to take Ms. Summers home?"
Dawn felt Spike's eyes boring into her skull. "Oh yes. Ms. Summers and I are going to have a talk," he said coolly. Dawn wished he'd yell. She still wasn't sure how to counter accusing silence.
Out of the corner of her eye she watched Spike sign a few papers, and tuned out their exchange. She didn't need to hear the words to know she wasn't going to get away with this one so easily. Her doe eyes had long ago stopped working their magic on the local police force and her rearranged parental figures. Weekends spent at Sunnydale's overcrowded juvenile "correctional facility" were common occurrence now - what would one more time be?
"Get in the car." She looked up and their eyes met, his a greyish blue - they always seemed grey to her when he was upset - and hers a defiant hazel, one easily swayed by his clipped tone.
Dawn stood and her feet took her to the familiar double glass doors, like a prisoner to Death Row. He walked closely behind, so closely there was no way for her to stop, to hesitate, to slow down. She felt the gazes upon her again - look at her, the problem child, textbook product of her environment, and him, look at him, look at his eyes, he's tired, and he's not even related to her, not really - and fought the sudden childish wave of tears that threatened to betray the tough who-cares exterior she'd always showed them, those nosey fucks.
She stopped when she reached the passenger door of the parked SUV, and she realised she'd been holding her breath as he reached past her to unlock her door. She got in, wordlessly, and he did too, the silence by now screaming at her, fraying her nerves. She buckled her seat belt tightly, too tightly, and listened - it was like the sound was too loud, too amplified - as he put the key in the ignition.
Then nothing. The engine remained silent, too, and Dawn almost screamed at it to start, to make noise, to take them home where she could just go to her room and suffer the consequences of being bad, while he'd do whatever it was that he did when he and her sister closed the door to their own bedroom. She was angry at their domesticity. It made her hands ache, reach out for things
that weren't hers.
"Dawn..."
"I don't want to hear it," she let out weakly, knowing as she said it that it wouldn't go over well.
"Well you're bloody well going to!" His voice had regained some of its hardness, and she could tell he was psyching himself up for the promised talk.
"I didn't mean to--"
"You didn't? Could've fooled me, Dawn. I suppose all those things just accidentally end up in your pockets? Is that what happens? Because if it is, we'll just have to start sewing all your pockets shut, just so that things don't end up in there again--"
"I STEAL THEM."
He regarded her calmly, a sad disappointment clouding the gentle angles of his face. He went quiet. "Yeah, you do."
Dawn looked down at her hands, feeling both guilt and anger stir up inside her. She glared at him, feeling less sure than she looked. "You want me to apologise? Is that what you want?"
"No Dawn, I want you to STOP. Stop stealing. Stop getting in trouble. If not for you, do it for her."
"Her? Oh right. Because everything's always about Buffy, isn't it."
"DAMMIT, DAWN!" He punched the dashboard - hard. Dawn went still, eyes wide. "Your sister loves you! I should be so lucky as to have her love me as much as she loves you. She cares for you. All she wants is for you to be happy, and the fact that you're not is killing her. Please... *PLEASE*..." His voice broke on untold emotions. "Please... don't make it harder for her."
Dawn felt the fight leave her, draining the anger away. Tears sprung to her eyes as she looked into his pleading gaze. "I don't mean to be... I don't..."
"I know. We know. It's just... You can't keep thinking that we're against you. We're not. We..." He took a deep breath, looking away for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Then he looked back at her, serious but no longer angry. "We know it's hard for you. Everything. And we know you're not too fond of us living together, of me being with Buffy. You used to be okay with it, I don't know what changed - but it doesn't matter. We're tired of getting you out of trouble, and it makes us angry because we know you do it out of spite. But it makes us sad too, because you're not happy. We don't know what to do to make you happier. She's losing her mind trying to figure it out. She loves caring for you, Dawn, but she's not good at it. She admits it. But she does her best."
"I know." Dawn sniffled ungracefully, realising she was sobbing now, the meaning of his words sinking in. She'd never had the facts so plainly put before her, and the words shook her. "I'm sorry," she said hoarsely, earnest.
Spike smiled and reached out to trail his fingers down Dawn's hair, unconsciously mimicking Buffy's affectionate caresses towards her sister. "I know you, Dawn... You're a good kid..."
Dawn pushed down the fresh wave of sobs she felt bubbling up, and leaned into him until he slipped both arms around her, holding her tightly. He spoke again, softly, into her hair, and his voice low and soothing against her ear.
"We're on your side."
END
AUTHOR: mcee
SITE: http://fangy.net
ARCHIVE: List archives, others just ask.
SPOILERS: Season 6, generally.
RATING: PG-13
PAIRING: Spike/Dawn (parent/child); off-screen Spike/Buffy
SUMMARY: "And him, look at him, look at his eyes, he's tired, and he's not even related to her, not really."
THANKS: Alex, Steph, Angel.
* * *
"DAWN!"
His voice boomed through the precinct, loud and angry, hushing everything else for a moment. Dawn cringed and watched him burst through the double glass doors, looking ready to kill. Leather swirling around him terribly, people parted hastily to give way to this vision in black. Spike stalked through the maze of desks with focused rage and finally came to an abrupt stop in front of Dawn. She kept her eyes low, eyeing his boots nervously. She shifted in her chair, uneasy with his sudden silence. It was worse than him yelling.
"Evening, Mr. Walthrop."
"Officer Stoller."
His voice was measured now, and Dawn shivered. She wished the man would just handcuff her to the chair or toss her in jail so she wouldn't have to face the ride back home. She heard the young man push papers around on his desk next to her, but kept her gaze to the floor. The buzz of conversation around them had resumed, with additional whispering. They all hated her, she was sure of it. So she hated them too, just because. Her mouth hardened into a resentful moue and her eyes squinted with resolve, still fixed on her sister's boyfriend's boots.
"I assume you'd like to take Ms. Summers home?"
Dawn felt Spike's eyes boring into her skull. "Oh yes. Ms. Summers and I are going to have a talk," he said coolly. Dawn wished he'd yell. She still wasn't sure how to counter accusing silence.
Out of the corner of her eye she watched Spike sign a few papers, and tuned out their exchange. She didn't need to hear the words to know she wasn't going to get away with this one so easily. Her doe eyes had long ago stopped working their magic on the local police force and her rearranged parental figures. Weekends spent at Sunnydale's overcrowded juvenile "correctional facility" were common occurrence now - what would one more time be?
"Get in the car." She looked up and their eyes met, his a greyish blue - they always seemed grey to her when he was upset - and hers a defiant hazel, one easily swayed by his clipped tone.
Dawn stood and her feet took her to the familiar double glass doors, like a prisoner to Death Row. He walked closely behind, so closely there was no way for her to stop, to hesitate, to slow down. She felt the gazes upon her again - look at her, the problem child, textbook product of her environment, and him, look at him, look at his eyes, he's tired, and he's not even related to her, not really - and fought the sudden childish wave of tears that threatened to betray the tough who-cares exterior she'd always showed them, those nosey fucks.
She stopped when she reached the passenger door of the parked SUV, and she realised she'd been holding her breath as he reached past her to unlock her door. She got in, wordlessly, and he did too, the silence by now screaming at her, fraying her nerves. She buckled her seat belt tightly, too tightly, and listened - it was like the sound was too loud, too amplified - as he put the key in the ignition.
Then nothing. The engine remained silent, too, and Dawn almost screamed at it to start, to make noise, to take them home where she could just go to her room and suffer the consequences of being bad, while he'd do whatever it was that he did when he and her sister closed the door to their own bedroom. She was angry at their domesticity. It made her hands ache, reach out for things
that weren't hers.
"Dawn..."
"I don't want to hear it," she let out weakly, knowing as she said it that it wouldn't go over well.
"Well you're bloody well going to!" His voice had regained some of its hardness, and she could tell he was psyching himself up for the promised talk.
"I didn't mean to--"
"You didn't? Could've fooled me, Dawn. I suppose all those things just accidentally end up in your pockets? Is that what happens? Because if it is, we'll just have to start sewing all your pockets shut, just so that things don't end up in there again--"
"I STEAL THEM."
He regarded her calmly, a sad disappointment clouding the gentle angles of his face. He went quiet. "Yeah, you do."
Dawn looked down at her hands, feeling both guilt and anger stir up inside her. She glared at him, feeling less sure than she looked. "You want me to apologise? Is that what you want?"
"No Dawn, I want you to STOP. Stop stealing. Stop getting in trouble. If not for you, do it for her."
"Her? Oh right. Because everything's always about Buffy, isn't it."
"DAMMIT, DAWN!" He punched the dashboard - hard. Dawn went still, eyes wide. "Your sister loves you! I should be so lucky as to have her love me as much as she loves you. She cares for you. All she wants is for you to be happy, and the fact that you're not is killing her. Please... *PLEASE*..." His voice broke on untold emotions. "Please... don't make it harder for her."
Dawn felt the fight leave her, draining the anger away. Tears sprung to her eyes as she looked into his pleading gaze. "I don't mean to be... I don't..."
"I know. We know. It's just... You can't keep thinking that we're against you. We're not. We..." He took a deep breath, looking away for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Then he looked back at her, serious but no longer angry. "We know it's hard for you. Everything. And we know you're not too fond of us living together, of me being with Buffy. You used to be okay with it, I don't know what changed - but it doesn't matter. We're tired of getting you out of trouble, and it makes us angry because we know you do it out of spite. But it makes us sad too, because you're not happy. We don't know what to do to make you happier. She's losing her mind trying to figure it out. She loves caring for you, Dawn, but she's not good at it. She admits it. But she does her best."
"I know." Dawn sniffled ungracefully, realising she was sobbing now, the meaning of his words sinking in. She'd never had the facts so plainly put before her, and the words shook her. "I'm sorry," she said hoarsely, earnest.
Spike smiled and reached out to trail his fingers down Dawn's hair, unconsciously mimicking Buffy's affectionate caresses towards her sister. "I know you, Dawn... You're a good kid..."
Dawn pushed down the fresh wave of sobs she felt bubbling up, and leaned into him until he slipped both arms around her, holding her tightly. He spoke again, softly, into her hair, and his voice low and soothing against her ear.
"We're on your side."
END