TITLE: May I Have This Dance?
AUTHOR: Drusilla
RATING: PG
PAIRING: Spike/Dawn
SPOILERS: Season Five
SUMMARY: Years after Buffy's death, Spike still finds it hard to cope
DISCLAIMER: The characters aren't mine. They belong to Joss Whedon and Co.
DISRIBUTION: Sure, take it! Just let me know and credit me, please
FEEDBACK: Yes, please!
AN: The song in this fic is We Are One, from Westlife
MAY I HAVE THIS DANCE?
----------------------
He wakes in strange surroundings, under unfamiliar red satin sheets and on a bed that is not
his own. He looks beside him to see a mass of dark, black hair, a pale cheek, and blood-red
lips that he used to know.
He does not belong here.
Beside him is a bookshelf of glazed mahogany, 19th century style, the shelves etched with
dainty flowers of ages long past.
Drusilla has always lived in the past.
It is not the bookshelf itself, but the articles on them, that bring back stolen memories.
Dolls of porcelain and bone-white ivory, each sitting primly in its own corner, staring at
him with blank, expressionless eyes. Ghosts of the spirits he's taken, they haunt him, and
he cannot pull away from their hypnotic gaze.
Each is dressed in a lace gown of sorts, a scarlet ribbon in its hair.
One hangs from the shelf by a cord like a sick puppeteer's marionette and for some reason,
he is uneasy at the thought of such cruelty. He looks at them again and realizes that every
one of them is gagged, their wrists bound together by a green sash.
He cannot remember why he is here.
He knows, however, that he must leave, and immediately. What he has done has marred all the
good he represents, something that he cannot risk losing. He pulls away the covers and
dresses silently, desperately, and he feels tears threatening to escape the confines of his
ice-blue eyes.
Buffy is dead.
It's all he knows. He replays the images of her last minutes in his head and he is
shudders, because it is his fault, because he failed to protect them.
It was supposed to be him.
He wonders what it was about her that captivated him so, that renews his tears when he
thinks of her, even seven years after her death.
He has to get out of here.
He closes the door gently as he exits and walks stealthily into the night.
He sits in his DeSoto for a moment before he starts it up, hearing the familiar purr of the
engine.
He does not care where he is going, only that he is going as far away from this place as
possible. Even if it means going home to Dawn. Yes, he'd better go home. Dawn would be
worried.
There are no lights on either side of the street and it's just as well. He isn't in the
mood for cheeriness.
When he arrives at the Summers door step, he pauses. He is afraid to go in and face reality
once more, but he is also afraid of losing himself into darkness. He peers through the
window and notices movement inside. Dawn.
He sighs, his unneeded breath freezing in jagged patterns on the glass.
He walks in. "Dawn?" He calls, and she emerges from the shadows, dressed in green flannel
pajamas, her chocolate-colored hair tumbling down her shoulders in torrents.
She is his sister now, and they care for each other more than words allow.
"Spike, I was so worried about you." She whispers as she pulls him close. It scares him
how time flies, how she has grown so much. How he will forever remain the same age.
She is older than Buffy was when she died.
He looks at her and it hurts, because she is nothing like Buffy. She is tall and thin,
whereas Buffy was petite and curvy. He kisses her hair and smells the aloe vera shampoo
she uses.
They have nothing of Buffy's save memories.
"I'm okay, Dawn." He smiles a little.
She does not ask where he's been. She has learned that some things must be left unsaid.
"How come you're still up?" He asks softly. The clock mounted on the wall tells him that
it is almost 1 a.m. in the morning.
"I don't know. Waiting for you." She has loved him for years now, but he has never seen
it, or if he did, he has always dismissed it as some girlish fantasy.
He does not see the love that is real.
"Dawn, you don't have to. I have keys, remember?" It hurts her that he calls her Dawn now,
not Nibblet or pet or luv. She nods.
"I don't want to go to sleep yet. Can we go somewhere? Like the Bronze?"
"Sure. You might want to change." He laughs.
She smiles sheepishly. "I'll be right back." She says, as she disppears up the stairs.
He stands there, waiting for her, leaning on the wall.
When she comes down she is dressed in a short green dress, her hair pinned up in a sweep
of fawn.
She is not only pretty, she is beautiful.
He admires her with pride as she descends, taking her hand and pulling her out the door in
a gentlemanly fashion.
As they enter the club, Dawn looks back at him and grins, and she makes her way to the dance
floor. He sits down at a table and orders a beer, and he watches her as she moves under
the red and orange lights.
The men look at her like they used to look at Buffy.
She dances with a young college student, a football player, judging by the width of his
shoulders and muscles packed into his arms.
He watches them move together and a wave of anger passes through him. How dare the boy
touch his Dawn like that? He forgets she isn't a girl anymore. She is a woman.
With a shock, he realizes that his anger isn't protectiveness, it's jealousy. She looks
back at him with longing eyes and he wonders why he hasn't noticed it before. She loves
him, and he thinks maybe he loves her too, more than as a brother.
He had been blind before, because his heart belonged to Buffy.
But not anymore.
She turns away, ashamed.
He makes his way over to her, parting through the spirited crowd of dancers. He reaches
her finally and taps her on the shoulder. She turns around in surprise and lets her
college boy go.
"May I have this dance?" He asks softly, and she smiles genuinely in response. They don't
need to speak. They both know, and understand.
//Two very different people
Too scared to get along
Till two hearts beat together
Underneath one sun
One very special moment
Can turn a destiny
And what some would say
Could never change
Has changed for you and me
'Cause its all in the way you
look through your eyes
And when all is said and done
All of the fear and all of the lies are
not hard to overcome
It's all in the way you look at it
That makes you strong
We were two (we were two)
Now we are one
We are two different people
So much to overcome
So why care for one another
When there's so much to be done
'Cause sometimes it's necessary
Just look how far we've come
You could say my friend that
it's the end
Or a new tale has begun
'Cause its all in the way you
look through your eyes
And when all is said and done
All of the fear and all of the lies are
not hard to overcome
It's all in the way you look at it
That makes you strong
We were two (we were two)
Now we are one
And one moment in the time
Is all the time we need
Just to make a difference
To make it better for you and me
If you just believe
Oh yeah
Just open your eyes
'Cause its all in the way you
look through your eyes
And when all is said and done
All of the fear and all of the lies are
not hard to overcome
It's all in the way you look at it
That makes you strong
We were two (we were two)
Now we are one
Oh yeah, Oh yeah
We were two
Now we are one.//
He kisses her softly on this lips, and people turn to look at them quizzically. Isn't he
her brother? The whisper goes. She doesn't care what they think. She is in her own
heaven.
"Not everything will be right again," He whispers.
"This will."
She knows it.
* * *
(end)
* * *
AUTHOR: Drusilla
RATING: PG
PAIRING: Spike/Dawn
SPOILERS: Season Five
SUMMARY: Years after Buffy's death, Spike still finds it hard to cope
DISCLAIMER: The characters aren't mine. They belong to Joss Whedon and Co.
DISRIBUTION: Sure, take it! Just let me know and credit me, please
FEEDBACK: Yes, please!
AN: The song in this fic is We Are One, from Westlife
MAY I HAVE THIS DANCE?
----------------------
He wakes in strange surroundings, under unfamiliar red satin sheets and on a bed that is not
his own. He looks beside him to see a mass of dark, black hair, a pale cheek, and blood-red
lips that he used to know.
He does not belong here.
Beside him is a bookshelf of glazed mahogany, 19th century style, the shelves etched with
dainty flowers of ages long past.
Drusilla has always lived in the past.
It is not the bookshelf itself, but the articles on them, that bring back stolen memories.
Dolls of porcelain and bone-white ivory, each sitting primly in its own corner, staring at
him with blank, expressionless eyes. Ghosts of the spirits he's taken, they haunt him, and
he cannot pull away from their hypnotic gaze.
Each is dressed in a lace gown of sorts, a scarlet ribbon in its hair.
One hangs from the shelf by a cord like a sick puppeteer's marionette and for some reason,
he is uneasy at the thought of such cruelty. He looks at them again and realizes that every
one of them is gagged, their wrists bound together by a green sash.
He cannot remember why he is here.
He knows, however, that he must leave, and immediately. What he has done has marred all the
good he represents, something that he cannot risk losing. He pulls away the covers and
dresses silently, desperately, and he feels tears threatening to escape the confines of his
ice-blue eyes.
Buffy is dead.
It's all he knows. He replays the images of her last minutes in his head and he is
shudders, because it is his fault, because he failed to protect them.
It was supposed to be him.
He wonders what it was about her that captivated him so, that renews his tears when he
thinks of her, even seven years after her death.
He has to get out of here.
He closes the door gently as he exits and walks stealthily into the night.
He sits in his DeSoto for a moment before he starts it up, hearing the familiar purr of the
engine.
He does not care where he is going, only that he is going as far away from this place as
possible. Even if it means going home to Dawn. Yes, he'd better go home. Dawn would be
worried.
There are no lights on either side of the street and it's just as well. He isn't in the
mood for cheeriness.
When he arrives at the Summers door step, he pauses. He is afraid to go in and face reality
once more, but he is also afraid of losing himself into darkness. He peers through the
window and notices movement inside. Dawn.
He sighs, his unneeded breath freezing in jagged patterns on the glass.
He walks in. "Dawn?" He calls, and she emerges from the shadows, dressed in green flannel
pajamas, her chocolate-colored hair tumbling down her shoulders in torrents.
She is his sister now, and they care for each other more than words allow.
"Spike, I was so worried about you." She whispers as she pulls him close. It scares him
how time flies, how she has grown so much. How he will forever remain the same age.
She is older than Buffy was when she died.
He looks at her and it hurts, because she is nothing like Buffy. She is tall and thin,
whereas Buffy was petite and curvy. He kisses her hair and smells the aloe vera shampoo
she uses.
They have nothing of Buffy's save memories.
"I'm okay, Dawn." He smiles a little.
She does not ask where he's been. She has learned that some things must be left unsaid.
"How come you're still up?" He asks softly. The clock mounted on the wall tells him that
it is almost 1 a.m. in the morning.
"I don't know. Waiting for you." She has loved him for years now, but he has never seen
it, or if he did, he has always dismissed it as some girlish fantasy.
He does not see the love that is real.
"Dawn, you don't have to. I have keys, remember?" It hurts her that he calls her Dawn now,
not Nibblet or pet or luv. She nods.
"I don't want to go to sleep yet. Can we go somewhere? Like the Bronze?"
"Sure. You might want to change." He laughs.
She smiles sheepishly. "I'll be right back." She says, as she disppears up the stairs.
He stands there, waiting for her, leaning on the wall.
When she comes down she is dressed in a short green dress, her hair pinned up in a sweep
of fawn.
She is not only pretty, she is beautiful.
He admires her with pride as she descends, taking her hand and pulling her out the door in
a gentlemanly fashion.
As they enter the club, Dawn looks back at him and grins, and she makes her way to the dance
floor. He sits down at a table and orders a beer, and he watches her as she moves under
the red and orange lights.
The men look at her like they used to look at Buffy.
She dances with a young college student, a football player, judging by the width of his
shoulders and muscles packed into his arms.
He watches them move together and a wave of anger passes through him. How dare the boy
touch his Dawn like that? He forgets she isn't a girl anymore. She is a woman.
With a shock, he realizes that his anger isn't protectiveness, it's jealousy. She looks
back at him with longing eyes and he wonders why he hasn't noticed it before. She loves
him, and he thinks maybe he loves her too, more than as a brother.
He had been blind before, because his heart belonged to Buffy.
But not anymore.
She turns away, ashamed.
He makes his way over to her, parting through the spirited crowd of dancers. He reaches
her finally and taps her on the shoulder. She turns around in surprise and lets her
college boy go.
"May I have this dance?" He asks softly, and she smiles genuinely in response. They don't
need to speak. They both know, and understand.
//Two very different people
Too scared to get along
Till two hearts beat together
Underneath one sun
One very special moment
Can turn a destiny
And what some would say
Could never change
Has changed for you and me
'Cause its all in the way you
look through your eyes
And when all is said and done
All of the fear and all of the lies are
not hard to overcome
It's all in the way you look at it
That makes you strong
We were two (we were two)
Now we are one
We are two different people
So much to overcome
So why care for one another
When there's so much to be done
'Cause sometimes it's necessary
Just look how far we've come
You could say my friend that
it's the end
Or a new tale has begun
'Cause its all in the way you
look through your eyes
And when all is said and done
All of the fear and all of the lies are
not hard to overcome
It's all in the way you look at it
That makes you strong
We were two (we were two)
Now we are one
And one moment in the time
Is all the time we need
Just to make a difference
To make it better for you and me
If you just believe
Oh yeah
Just open your eyes
'Cause its all in the way you
look through your eyes
And when all is said and done
All of the fear and all of the lies are
not hard to overcome
It's all in the way you look at it
That makes you strong
We were two (we were two)
Now we are one
Oh yeah, Oh yeah
We were two
Now we are one.//
He kisses her softly on this lips, and people turn to look at them quizzically. Isn't he
her brother? The whisper goes. She doesn't care what they think. She is in her own
heaven.
"Not everything will be right again," He whispers.
"This will."
She knows it.
* * *
(end)
* * *