Title: Self-Actualization
Author: Girlygirl
Rating: PG
Pairing: Hints at Dawn/Conner
Summary: She migrates like everything else that use to call Sunnydale home; at the end of it all she finds herself in L.A. Disclaimers: I own nothing- the story of my life.
Author's Notes: First off I need to send a huge thank you to my wonderful beta Dstined4gr8ness without whom everything I write would be unreadable. I've written a couple Buffy and Angel fics here and there, years ago and I'm not ashamed to admit that those other fics suck; I was young, cut me a break. But for the longest time I've wanted to try my hand at a solid Dawn/Connor piece and finally got around to doing that. In my humble opinion this piece doesn't suck and seems pretty solid from where I'm standing. Now I'm looking for your opinions so remember to comment; comments are love people!
Self-actualization / Pronunciation Keyself-ak-choo-uh-luh-zey-shuh (noun): The achievement of one's full potential through creativity, independence, spontaneity, and a grasp of the real world.
OR
Self-actualization: "an episode or spurt in which the powers of the person come together in a particularly and intensely enjoyable way, and in which he/she is more integrated and less split, more open for experience, more idiosyncratic, more perfectly expressive or spontaneous, or fully functioning, more creative, more humorous, more ego-transcending, more independent of their lower needs, etc. They becomes in these episodes more truly themselves, more perfectly actualizing their potentialities, closer to the core of their being, more fully human. Not only are these the happiest and most thrilling moments, but they are also moments of greatest maturity, individuation, fulfillment - in a word, the healthiest moments.
-Abraham Maslow
Self-Actualization
Her eyes look up and instantly meet his across the crowded room; like he's the only person in the world, like they were suppose to see each other.
It's almost as if they're destined.
She should have known right away- would have, had it not been for the couple of drinks in her system- that it was destiny looking right back at her.
He glides towards her through the crowd with grace she could only wish for and it hits her; a couple of drinks have never done this to her before.
"I'm Connor," he gives her a small smile, blue eyes dancing playfully down at her.
She shakes her head.
"I'm…" but she hasn't finished before another voice cuts her off.
"Hey- she's with me," she doesn't know this voice- the voice she's apparently 'with'- but her head is swimming and she suddenly feels very, very tired.
"No, she isn't." it's direct and final and she hears the slight growl in his voice, but after having grown up with friends like hers, she's become more or less desensitized to it.
Mr. 'she's with me,' clearly isn't.
"Sorry buddy, I didn't know." The guy gives a nervous laugh but backs away without a fight. She wants to pull her head off the bar to see what's going on, but she has no strength.
"Hey, hey- no falling asleep; come one let's get out of here okay?" he's strong in ways she remembers the people in her life being; he gently places one of her arms around his neck and scoops her almost effortlessly into his arms.
It's a bar, full of loud music and dark lights and alcohol- that's a given- yet he doesn't smell of alcohol like she expected when she turns and presses her face into his chest; he doesn't stumble or misstep once as he weaves through the crowd.
He pushes through the doors and the cool night air hits her. This town will suck you in if you let it and the breeze against her face is a wake up call; it's like standing on the outside watching yourself loose control.
How did she get here?
"I'm going to put you down, do you think you're okay to walk?" his voice is like a knife- sharp and solid- cutting through the haze in her head and she nods dumbly against him because she's always been taught to be strong; or at least she was raised that way.
He sets her down gently against the side of the building, the alley they're in is dark and it reminds her of a mouth threatening to eat them up. She wants to tell him so many things- starting with just how unsafe dark alleys really are in the middle of the night- but she can't do that without getting into details and she knows she is not capable of explaining that right now.
"Do you think you can walk?" he asks her again, bending to brush hair out of her face and dancing rough calloused hands across her forehead; she wonders where guys like him have been all her life. She knows that it's such an 'old Hollywood' way of thinking but seriously; dark alley, drugged up girl, since when is the guy all honorable?
She nods again; independent as ever.
"Okay, good; how about I walk you home then?" he smiles, it's a full out grin with amazingly straight teeth and stunning dimples to match. When she pushes off the wall her legs give out and with seemingly superhuman speed he catches her body as it crumples.
He scoops her up again and she likes the way her head fits into the crook of his arm,
"I guess this means I'll be carrying you home then," he shakes his head and that's really the last thing she remembers as she lets the darkness pull her under.
She thinks maybe it's the eerie quiet that wakes her some unknown time later- she's never really known silence this extreme; not with where she grew up. When she pulls herself into sitting position she moans in pain as her head swims.
She drops her head between her knees and rides it out.
When she looks up again, she feels sick for a whole different reason; this isn't her bedroom at all.
But a quick peek under the covers shows that she's still wearing her outfit from the night before sans shoes and compared to how she could have woken up, her shoes are small potatoes- even if they did cost her two months worth of pay.
Every bone in her body hurts- hurts like staking out a graveyard all night and then coming face to face with a whole group of vampires who want to use you as nothing more then a quick snack before sunrise.
She almost misses that feeling.
He's left her aspirin and water and her shoes placed neatly by the stairs and she uses her little 'gifts' in order; pop the aspirin, chase it with water and hook the back of her stilettos through her fingers as she paddles up the stairs completely barefoot.
The wood under her feet is rustic and old; it has character in its hard lines and scratches but it's by far the most beautiful wooden floor she's ever seen. She pushes open the basement door to find the sun glaring at her from every direction.
"And here I thought you'd decided on a coma," his voice startles her- she's good at hearing people around her, good at placing them, but he moves like a cat and has her spinning around much too quickly.
This time she's sure he moves with superhuman speed as he jumps off the counter he's been using as a seat and braces her arms in his hands.
"Sorry," he walks her over to one of the couches and eases her down gently; she waves him off.
"Considering it could have been a whole lot worse when I opened my eyes this morning, you have nothing to apologize for." She gives him a small smile, but tenses as he lifts his hand to brush unruly hair out of her face and then proceeds to chuckle lightly, "what?"
"Afternoon… very, very late afternoon," her eyes widen and she finds herself resting her head in her knees again to stop the swimming of her head; he pats her hair softly and waits it out with her.
This guy deserves some type of award or something.
"I'm Dawn by the way," she mumbles into her pants
"Well Dawn, it's nice to be able to put a name to the face," she brings her head up slowly and all but glares at him,
"Don't you mean it's nice to be able to put a name to the mess?"
"Mess, what mess? I can't see anything past the face," her face flushes, warmth rising from her neck up and she sighs; she was almost sure she's outgrown that nifty little habit years ago.
"Just so you know, I swear I don't usually do this- usually I'm a good girl, no bars or parties and certainly no chance of ever getting drugged- last night was new for me. The bad new, but new; I swear," she looks up at him as he stands and the way he slips his hands into his pockets reminds her vaguely of someone but she can't place who.
His stance is relaxed but commanding and he nods his head,
"Figured as much; Spike said the same thing about you last night,"
Sorry, did she hear him right?
Spike?
As in her Spike?
As in William the Bloody, centuries old vampire with a newly(ish) required soul?
How much drugs was she slipped last night?
"Hey Bit; long time no see," and if she thought she heard him wrong before, then her eyes were playing tricks on her too.
They make up this completely makeshift team; Spike is much too sarcastic for his own good and she is much too smart and Connor, well Connor is much too broody.
Quite a chip off the old block; Angel would be proud.
But they fit together almost flawlessly and these boys have become her family. Her boys.
"Morning," he's quiet in the eerie way that she's training herself to become accustomed to; she jumps at his voice none the less. It's early, before the sun but she's been searching away on the computer all night; it could be the end of the world for all she'd register.
Funny thing, how it is pretty much, the end of the world that is. And now is the time when her smarts are really being put to the test.
It's been almost a year since Connor ended up saving her and she wonders just how lost she'd been before he took her in. If she let herself be honest, she was off the map.
"Morning; I guess," she pushes back her chair and stretches every muscle in her body- they all groan in protest and some even pop- but when she reaches over to grab her coffee cup he's already beat her to it.
"Nope, no more for you- I'm cutting you off," he holds her cup over his head and she doesn't try for it because she knows it's hopeless, instead she turns towards the kitchen in search of a totally new cup.
He exploits his superhuman speed by blocking the doorway,
"Sorry Dawnie, no more coffee for you- you need to get some sleep." She hates that he calls her that; Spike calls her that and it makes her feel 16 again and not the 24 year old that she is. She'd never tell him that though, so she rolls her eyes instead.
"Maybe you missed the end of the world part, Connor but I was present and accounted for and I don't know about you but I've lived through way too many apocalypses to let this be the one to get me." He crosses his hands over his chest and raises his eyebrow; she might as well save her breath.
"I'm too hopped up on caffeine to even attempt sleep right now; how about I make some breakfast instead?" she links her arm through his and he lets her pull him towards the kitchen, she smiles thankfully up at him as he holds the door open for her.
"So what are you making me?" he stands in the middle of his roomy kitchen and watches her pull open his fridge. Dawn peeks her head over the door and shrugs her shoulders,
"I don't know, what is it you want? And keep in mind my specialty is cereal and milk," The milk comes with her when she shuts the fridge door. Connor shakes his head at her,
"On second thought, how about I make the breakfast and you set the table or something?" he places his hands on her hips and literally moves her from her spot in front of the fridge.
"Whatever you say Chief," it's like this most days, he cooks and she eats and they like it that way; she's good at exactly three things in the kitchen- baking, stocking the fridge and warming up Spike's pig's blood.
Connor on the other hand is a god in the kitchen and she's pretty sure that Connor likes the time he spends cooking.
"So, what will it be Summers?"
Dawn makes a show of pretending to think it over.
"Pancakes, chocolate chip pancakes please."
"No! Chocolate chip pancakes, for you? I would have never guessed," Dawn pokes his side playfully and sticks her tongue out at him as she hands him the milk and hops onto the counter to watch him.
Watching him cook is like watching an artist.
He pulls his sleeves up over his elbows, displaying strong, hard forearms and wraps a plain white apron low on his hips before getting out a mixing bowl and setting to work making homemade chocolate chip pancakes.
After close to a year, it's pretty much routine, if they have the time.
"Anything I can help you with?" she swings her legs and he shakes her head; man, that one time she tried to surprise him by cooking dinner and almost burned the place down.
"Just don't touch anything okay?"
"I'll see what I can do," she reaches over and dots flour onto his nose playfully, he makes a movement of biting her finger and she gives a little yelp.
No really, how had she survived without her boys?
"So long as you're trying I suppose," his voice is low, deep and smooth and it sends shivers down her spine but Connor quickly became her best friend and telling him anything about the feelings she's developing for him is way out of the question.
They save each other's asses on a daily basis and admitting to one-sided feelings tends to make fighting side by side a wee bit awkward at best.
She was brave, but that was pushing it.
As the sun makes it slow trek through the sky, illuminating the room with sunlight and warmth, she watches him flip almost perfect pancakes in the air. His kitchen is magnificent with its old stained glass windows and marble counter tops but it's him in front of the stove that makes it breathtaking.
'Developing' feelings for him was pretty much past tense at this point.
"Do you want to set the table or are you planning on eating right out of the pan?" he startles her out of her thoughts and she hops from the counter quickly to pull out two plates.
He places the stack of pancakes on one plate and puts it down on the old wooden kitchen table he found in Ireland once way before they'd ever met, and then pulls a chair out for her.
"You're not eating?" she drops her head onto the back of the chair and looks up at him upside-down; he shakes his head.
"No I'm going to get started on some more research; the world isn't going to save itself you know," he jokes lightly but neither of them is stupid; this prophecy pointing towards the end of the world is still too much a puzzle to be being joked about.
"I'm pretty sure the end of the world can wait on breakfast. The powers that be need their champion healthy and fed," she laces her fingers through his and pulls him down to share her chair with her.
Connor straddles the chair and pulls her body in between his legs; when the world is threatening to fall down around them, he likes to keep her close.
She doesn't really have any complaints.
"I am a growing boy after all," she chuckles as she cuts off a piece of pancake stuffed with chocolate chips and feeds it to him, "Damn I'm good,"
She pops a piece into her own mouth and shrugs her shoulders, "Um, its okay."
"Liar; they're kick ass and you know it,"
"Damn, you got me; completely kick ass."
"I thought so,"
Spike watches them from the doorway; the stained glass windows let him move through most of the kitchen but he's still tentative when entering. Sometimes though he stops to watch them because where Connor is eerily quiet in his movements, Spike is totally undetectable.
Except to Dawn.
But Connor moves her hair off of one shoulder to rest his chin there lightly while she feeds him and she is too preoccupied to notice if a fire breathing dragon was in the kitchen with them, let alone him.
He's seen destiny collide one too many times in his long life to not be able to see it a mile off and it kind of makes him smile- and gag all at the same time- that destiny is sitting right in front of him in the form of Buffy's little sister and Angel's prophesied son.
The ding of the microwave startles all three of them and he looks up to find Dawn looking back at him,
"Your blood is ready Spike,"
"Perfect timing Bit," he walks by and kisses her head on his way to the microwave and as predicted the blood in the oversized coffee mug is just the way he likes it.
He slides into the chair across from them and sips his 'breakfast' slowly as he takes in his little makeshift family.
Funny thing destiny is.
End
-Girlygirl