You're Gonna Make It After All
Spike swung the front door of his apartment open and Dawn was greeted to the sight of a pale and bloated teenager lying open mouthed on the couch. He was obviously dead. "Thanks for waiting up for me, assholes," Spike commented as he walked by the body.
A younger man with dark hair at the kitchen table shrugged. "Davis got the muchies."
"True that," a Phish tour refugee replied.
"Listen, this is Dawn," Spike announced as if he was introducing a new student to a kindergarten class. Dawn was still staring at the body. "She's gonna stay with us for a bit. I'll ask that you not eat her."
The entire apartment struck up a chorus of disapproval. "Oh, bugger off," Spike snapped. "I don't ask for much as a roommate. I don't ask that Nell turn off those wretched Banarama LP's. I don't ask that you squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom. I don't even ask Davis to stop recycling his bong water in the fridge. All I ask is that you not eat this particular person during her stay. Hardly an unreasonable request, considering there's an orphanage across the street."
"Classy, Spike," Dawn grumbled, finally distracted from the body.
Spike smiled. "I knew you'd like that. This is Roman," he pointed to the young man seated at the kitchen table. "That's Nell," he pointed to a blue haired woman with headphones who waved absently. "And this relic is Davis."
"Yo."
Dawn nodded. This was definitely a very big mistake.
"And Davis, can you clean this shit up?" Spike asked, waving at the body. "It's taking up valuable couch space."
A very big mistake.
Dawn went out the next day in search of a job. Seeing as that she had no experience or college education of any sort, she decided waiting was her best bet. Unfortunately, she didn't have the figure for any of the more upper scale places. "You're built like a Pez dispenser," one particularly blunt manager remarked. Eventually, she got a job in a diner but she knew it would be at least a couple of months before she amassed enough funds to move into her own place. But on a bright note, her cost of living was relatively low. And to be honest, she kinda liked her new roommates.
"Echo and the Bunnymen?" Dawn asked with a bewildered expression as she pawed through Nell's record collection.
"You've never heard of them?" she asked as if Dawn had admitted to never hearing of Jesus or Santa Claus or Tom Cruise.
Dawn shook her head.
"Well child, you must be enlightened," she slapped the record on the player which was met by various protests from the rest of the house. Nell daintily flipped them the bird.
"How old are you, Nell?" Dawn asked, a bit annoyed that a person who looked no older than 17 called her "child."
"512, I think. I loose track. I'm the elder of the house, if you can believe that. I've been in the states forever, though. Stowed away on the Mayflower when I was on the run from an angry mob. Little did I know it was going here."
Dawn smiled. "So, after the hundreds of years you've spent in this country, you have chosen the 1980's as your utmost obsession?"
"Oh, yeah."
"Why?"
"The 80's to me is the decade that most captures the spirit of America," she said with almost ridiculous sincerity. "I mean, there were all these problems going on. AIDS was breaking out, the economy was slowly trickling down into crap, the Berlin wall fell, the Cold War ended. But nobody noticed, because they were to busy buying…stuff." She tossed a Rubix cube at Dawn. "And that says America to me."
Dawn rolled her eyes. "You have an interesting, if somewhat warped world view."
Nell grinned. "Thanks. At least someone appreciates it," she said as she flicked a rubber band at Spike, who made a face, and then carried on his own conversation with the boys.
"Hey, are you and Spike…you know," Dawn asked what she had been wondering since she got here.
Nell let out a short chuckle. "No. No, no, no, no. No, Spike and I are united by our mutual swearing off the opposite sex. Not excluding a good fuck now and then, of course."
"Of course."
Spike himself seemed a little subdued lately to Dawn, maybe even…mature. He was still a first rate wise ass and he killed with a frightening precision, but he seemed a little quieter, a little more withdrawn.
"Spike's the resident old man of the group," Roman said over a beer at the Deep End, the gang's favorite bar/pool hall and the place where she first ran into Spike. "The weathered veteran. He won't even tell us the shit he's been through but it's obvious it's been heavy. I think this kinda bugs Nell. She's got a couple hundred years or so on him and all she's experienced is a brief encounter with Napoleon and pop music."
"I think he's deep," Davis chimed in, and both Dawn and Roman groaned. "He is. You can see it in his eyes. There's like, an intense sadness in them."
"Davis, you said the same thing about the dancing Coke can we won at Seaside Heights," Roman laughed.
"And I meant it," Davis said in his own defense. "I'll have you know that Coke can wrote half the lyrics on my last demo."
As for the killing, it would be untrue to say it didn't bother Dawn. The site of Spike back in action was a little intimidating, a little disturbing and a little well…strange. They did have the decency to refrain from bringing the bodies into the house, and they never killed in Dawn's presence. They felt odd about making her a witness. But they talked about it a great deal and Dawn noticed that Spike wasn't entirely back. The old Spike was a sadist. He mixed sex and violence as freely as if it were one and the same. He toyed with his victims. This wasn't the case here. Maybe because the immense population of the city was restraining or maybe because he simply outgrew it, but Spike and his friends attacked with the efficiency of a pack of wolves. There was no art to it anymore. They were just a bunch of junkies looking for a fix. Even their prey selection was cautious. They targeted punk teenagers, bums and runaways, people that wouldn't be immediately missed. Dawn was slightly embarrassed at this revelation, because it meant she must have been rather obvious when they targeted her.
"How's the waitress bit going?" Spike asked one night while the rest of the group was asleep. Even for a vampire, Spike was an insomniac.
Dawn shrugged. "It sucks. But the money's decent. I figure I should have enough to be out of your hair in about a month."
Spike shook his head. "Actually, you've been the least irritating roommate I've had in years. You can stay as long as you like as far as my end's concerned. I don't know how this arrangement has been for you…"
"No, it's actually been almost enjoyable on some strange level. I appreciate you guys, you know, not bringing your business into the house."
Spike nodded, and then punctured a hole in the side of his beer can with his teeth and proceeded to shotgun it. When he had finished, he scrunched his face up in a pensive sort of way and blurted out, "So you never explained to me why you left Sunnydale."
"Urgh. Please don't ask me that," Dawn groaned.
"Hey, you don't have to answer. It's just a little odd for you to be all mysterious. Despite the fact that you fancied yourself a great enigma you never really could keep your mouth shut."
Dawn shot him a look. "It's nothing. But I'm really grateful to you guys for letting me stay like this. I needed it. Not just the roof over my head but this whole…atmosphere. I feel like you guys are the first people in a long while that doesn't expect anything from me. It's very liberating."
**********
Riley Finn wished so much wasn't expected of him. He's been miserable since he rejoined the Initiative but he knew he'd be even more so without it. It was the only place he fit, though he knew that wasn't true. He didn't fit in Sunnydale and he was too much of a coward to try to fit anywhere else. The Initiative was easiest. He sighed as he raised his test tube to the light. He hoped this was the right thing as he hopped out of his car.
Spike swung the front door of his apartment open and Dawn was greeted to the sight of a pale and bloated teenager lying open mouthed on the couch. He was obviously dead. "Thanks for waiting up for me, assholes," Spike commented as he walked by the body.
A younger man with dark hair at the kitchen table shrugged. "Davis got the muchies."
"True that," a Phish tour refugee replied.
"Listen, this is Dawn," Spike announced as if he was introducing a new student to a kindergarten class. Dawn was still staring at the body. "She's gonna stay with us for a bit. I'll ask that you not eat her."
The entire apartment struck up a chorus of disapproval. "Oh, bugger off," Spike snapped. "I don't ask for much as a roommate. I don't ask that Nell turn off those wretched Banarama LP's. I don't ask that you squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom. I don't even ask Davis to stop recycling his bong water in the fridge. All I ask is that you not eat this particular person during her stay. Hardly an unreasonable request, considering there's an orphanage across the street."
"Classy, Spike," Dawn grumbled, finally distracted from the body.
Spike smiled. "I knew you'd like that. This is Roman," he pointed to the young man seated at the kitchen table. "That's Nell," he pointed to a blue haired woman with headphones who waved absently. "And this relic is Davis."
"Yo."
Dawn nodded. This was definitely a very big mistake.
"And Davis, can you clean this shit up?" Spike asked, waving at the body. "It's taking up valuable couch space."
A very big mistake.
Dawn went out the next day in search of a job. Seeing as that she had no experience or college education of any sort, she decided waiting was her best bet. Unfortunately, she didn't have the figure for any of the more upper scale places. "You're built like a Pez dispenser," one particularly blunt manager remarked. Eventually, she got a job in a diner but she knew it would be at least a couple of months before she amassed enough funds to move into her own place. But on a bright note, her cost of living was relatively low. And to be honest, she kinda liked her new roommates.
"Echo and the Bunnymen?" Dawn asked with a bewildered expression as she pawed through Nell's record collection.
"You've never heard of them?" she asked as if Dawn had admitted to never hearing of Jesus or Santa Claus or Tom Cruise.
Dawn shook her head.
"Well child, you must be enlightened," she slapped the record on the player which was met by various protests from the rest of the house. Nell daintily flipped them the bird.
"How old are you, Nell?" Dawn asked, a bit annoyed that a person who looked no older than 17 called her "child."
"512, I think. I loose track. I'm the elder of the house, if you can believe that. I've been in the states forever, though. Stowed away on the Mayflower when I was on the run from an angry mob. Little did I know it was going here."
Dawn smiled. "So, after the hundreds of years you've spent in this country, you have chosen the 1980's as your utmost obsession?"
"Oh, yeah."
"Why?"
"The 80's to me is the decade that most captures the spirit of America," she said with almost ridiculous sincerity. "I mean, there were all these problems going on. AIDS was breaking out, the economy was slowly trickling down into crap, the Berlin wall fell, the Cold War ended. But nobody noticed, because they were to busy buying…stuff." She tossed a Rubix cube at Dawn. "And that says America to me."
Dawn rolled her eyes. "You have an interesting, if somewhat warped world view."
Nell grinned. "Thanks. At least someone appreciates it," she said as she flicked a rubber band at Spike, who made a face, and then carried on his own conversation with the boys.
"Hey, are you and Spike…you know," Dawn asked what she had been wondering since she got here.
Nell let out a short chuckle. "No. No, no, no, no. No, Spike and I are united by our mutual swearing off the opposite sex. Not excluding a good fuck now and then, of course."
"Of course."
Spike himself seemed a little subdued lately to Dawn, maybe even…mature. He was still a first rate wise ass and he killed with a frightening precision, but he seemed a little quieter, a little more withdrawn.
"Spike's the resident old man of the group," Roman said over a beer at the Deep End, the gang's favorite bar/pool hall and the place where she first ran into Spike. "The weathered veteran. He won't even tell us the shit he's been through but it's obvious it's been heavy. I think this kinda bugs Nell. She's got a couple hundred years or so on him and all she's experienced is a brief encounter with Napoleon and pop music."
"I think he's deep," Davis chimed in, and both Dawn and Roman groaned. "He is. You can see it in his eyes. There's like, an intense sadness in them."
"Davis, you said the same thing about the dancing Coke can we won at Seaside Heights," Roman laughed.
"And I meant it," Davis said in his own defense. "I'll have you know that Coke can wrote half the lyrics on my last demo."
As for the killing, it would be untrue to say it didn't bother Dawn. The site of Spike back in action was a little intimidating, a little disturbing and a little well…strange. They did have the decency to refrain from bringing the bodies into the house, and they never killed in Dawn's presence. They felt odd about making her a witness. But they talked about it a great deal and Dawn noticed that Spike wasn't entirely back. The old Spike was a sadist. He mixed sex and violence as freely as if it were one and the same. He toyed with his victims. This wasn't the case here. Maybe because the immense population of the city was restraining or maybe because he simply outgrew it, but Spike and his friends attacked with the efficiency of a pack of wolves. There was no art to it anymore. They were just a bunch of junkies looking for a fix. Even their prey selection was cautious. They targeted punk teenagers, bums and runaways, people that wouldn't be immediately missed. Dawn was slightly embarrassed at this revelation, because it meant she must have been rather obvious when they targeted her.
"How's the waitress bit going?" Spike asked one night while the rest of the group was asleep. Even for a vampire, Spike was an insomniac.
Dawn shrugged. "It sucks. But the money's decent. I figure I should have enough to be out of your hair in about a month."
Spike shook his head. "Actually, you've been the least irritating roommate I've had in years. You can stay as long as you like as far as my end's concerned. I don't know how this arrangement has been for you…"
"No, it's actually been almost enjoyable on some strange level. I appreciate you guys, you know, not bringing your business into the house."
Spike nodded, and then punctured a hole in the side of his beer can with his teeth and proceeded to shotgun it. When he had finished, he scrunched his face up in a pensive sort of way and blurted out, "So you never explained to me why you left Sunnydale."
"Urgh. Please don't ask me that," Dawn groaned.
"Hey, you don't have to answer. It's just a little odd for you to be all mysterious. Despite the fact that you fancied yourself a great enigma you never really could keep your mouth shut."
Dawn shot him a look. "It's nothing. But I'm really grateful to you guys for letting me stay like this. I needed it. Not just the roof over my head but this whole…atmosphere. I feel like you guys are the first people in a long while that doesn't expect anything from me. It's very liberating."
**********
Riley Finn wished so much wasn't expected of him. He's been miserable since he rejoined the Initiative but he knew he'd be even more so without it. It was the only place he fit, though he knew that wasn't true. He didn't fit in Sunnydale and he was too much of a coward to try to fit anywhere else. The Initiative was easiest. He sighed as he raised his test tube to the light. He hoped this was the right thing as he hopped out of his car.