Girls Would Be Girls
S J Smith
Disclaimer: So the wrong sex to be Joss Whedon
Rating: PG?
Season 3, BtVS
Written for the Buffy ficathon
for Josh
Pairing: Buffy/Angel
Requests: Fluff/Some Dawn
Restrictions: No Riley/No Spike
"Flea!"
Angel shook his head.
"Flea!"
It amazed him that, despite everything, girls would be girls.
"Flea fly!"
And that there were certain things that applied to girls.
"Flea fly!"
All girls.
"Flea fly flow!"
Even Slayers.
"Flea fly flow!"
And their sisters.
"Fleasday!"
Like the amazing ability to talk without taking a breath, despite how long the sentence actually was.
"Fleasday!"
A sentence...no, paragraph...could have fifty words in it.
"Kooma lada, kooma lada, kooma lada fleasday!"
More, even.
"Kooma lada, kooma lada, kooma lada fleasday!"
And somehow, a girl could manage to say it all without running out of breath.
"Oh, no no no, not the fleasday."
It was astounding.
"Oh, no no no, not the fleasday."
Especially since (not that he was comparing or anything) Buffy didn't really have a lot of lung space there.
"Oh, yeah yeah yeah, yeah the fleasday."
Not that he was complaining, anything bigger than a mouthful was...no, better not go there.
"Oh, yeah yeah yeah, yeah the fleasday!"
That way, curses lay.
"Eeny meeny etcha meeny, oowalla-walla meeny, etcha meeny solomeeny, oowalla-wall."
Bad thoughts.
"Eeny meeny etcha meeny, oowalla-walla meeny, etcha meeny solomeeny, oowalla-wall."
Time for a mental smack upside the head.
"Beep billy oaten-boaten, bo-bo badeepa-dotten, slosh slosh, toot toot!"
And an explanation.
"Beep billy oaten-boaten, bo-bo ba-deepa-dotten, slosh slosh, toot toot!"
Because whatever Buffy and Dawn were singing? Chanting? Simply wasn't making any sense.
He paused at the foot of the drive, hands in his pockets, watching Buffy and Dawn on the porch of the house. Juliet may have been the moon but Buffy was the sun. Golden and glowing, swinging Dawn's arms, her smile was bright enough to warm the world.
Or at least his little portion of it.
Buffy turned her head, golden hair sliding across her shoulders in one smooth move, searching the shadows for him. Angel felt himself grinning as he stepped into the beam of her gaze, meeting her look, the one she saved for him, with the one he saved for her. "Hey."
"Angel." Buffy.
"Angel!" Dawn. Much more exuberant, she flung herself off the porch in a flurry of limbs and braids.
"Oof!" He caught her as she barreled into his chest, smiling down at the girl with her arms wrapped around his waist. "Dawn, it's nice to see you." And a bit disconcerting. He wondered how to extract himself from her grip.
She tilted her head back, her blue eyes solemn. Far too solemn. "Really?"
Angel stopped his attempt to politely struggle free from Buffy's twelve-year-old sister. "Really."
"You're not lying." Dawn looked anything but convinced.
"No." Angel met Buffy's gaze. "Why would I lie to you?"
"Dawn had some problems with one of the kids at school today," Buffy said, walking down the front porch steps to join them. Stretching up on her toes, she gave Angel a very light kiss, one that tingled across his mouth. Mmmm, heat. And Buffy. Nice.
Bad thoughts. How to get rid of them. Quickly. Oh, wait. Dawn.
"Problems?" Angel gently pushed Dawn back, squatting in front of her so they were almost on eye level. "Do I have to scare someone for you?"
Her face brightened delightedly and she grabbed the lapels of his jacket. "Please? Just Sandy Griffiths. And her boyfriend, Bobby Pride."
"Sandra is saying Dawn wrote Bobby letters."
"Really," Angel said, tugging lightly on her braids.
Dawn made a face. "As if. Bobby Pride isn't even cute." Her lower lip trembled ever so slightly as she said, "Sandy can have him."
"Hey, hey," Angel said. Why did Dawn have to have a Summers' mouth? It expressed so much emotion. Right now, all of it bad. "It'll be okay." He glanced at Buffy hoping that her shrug and slight frown didn't mean what he thought it might. "It's Friday, you don't have school again until Monday. Doesn't that mean it's supposed to be a good night?"
"Yep. That's why we were singing the Flea-Fly song," Buffy said, draping an arm around Dawn's shoulders and giving them a little shake.
"Singing?" They had been singing?
"Singing," Buffy said firmly. "The Flea-Fly song is to scare off bad moods."
"And mosquitoes," Dawn said in explanation. "Dad always made us sing that when we used to go camping."
"Mosquitos," Angel said, drawing out the word.
"You know," Buffy said, her head cocked to one side. "Little buzzy bugs that suck blood?"
"Oh." He shrugged, ever so slightly. "I hadn't exactly noticed."
"Hmm, I wonder why," Buffy said dryly.
"They told us in science class that mosquitoes are attracted to carbon dioxide," Dawn piped up. "So, you know," she blinked, realizing, her face reflecting her sudden discomfort, "since you, ah, don't breathe...."
"So," Angel said, into the embarrassed silence. "Maybe you and I should," he tilted his head at Buffy, indicating the settling darkness.
"Yeah," Buffy agreed. "Dawn, I'll see you later. Or not, if you're asleep."
"When will I be old enough to go on patrol?" Dawn asked, twisting between Angel and Buffy.
"When you're never," Buffy said, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly. "Come on, time for you to go inside." She took Dawn's shoulders and guided her sister back up the steps. Joyce was there waiting and she smiled in that slightly nervous way, the one that said she didn't like sending her little girl out to fight demons.
Angel understood the feeling completely.
Opening the door, Joyce led Dawn through, wrapping her arms around the girl's shoulders. Touch. Reaffirmation. Both Joyce and Dawn looked at Buffy, Dawn in something akin to worship, Joyce with worried love. Maybe just love. "Be careful, honey."
"I will." Buffy pecked Joyce on the cheek and ruffled Dawn's hair.
"Take care of her, Angel," Joyce called, her eyes meeting his, holding them. Dawn squirmed in her mother's arms, freeing one arm enough to wave.
Angel raised his hand in farewell to the girl even as he spoke to the mother. "Always, Joyce."
She nodded at his implicit promise and closed the door firmly against the night, against her daughter leaving to fight against the darkness that dwelled in the night. Angel could just see her face through the window then it was gone.
Buffy raised one arm, looking at an imaginary watch. "Time to clock in?"
"You know what they say about monsters," Angel said, watching appreciatively as Buffy skipped down the steps to take his outstretched hand.
She laced her fingers with his, smiling up at him, her eyes both drowsy and deep. "Maybe," she said, leaning her weight against him, "you should tell me."
"They're bad," Angel said, lowering his face closer to hers. "Very," his lips brushed over her forehead, "bad."
"Mm. So we should," Buffy stretched up a little more, her sweet, lazy smile tempting him to taste it, "go do something," his lips stopped her words briefly, "about them."
"Yeah." Angel rested his forehead against hers, basking in the warmth of her gaze. "So we should," she raised up to kiss him, "go." He couldn't resist, touching the tip of his tongue to her lips.
"Mm." Buffy rested her weight against him, trusting him to not let her fall. "Go."
They kissed again.
"Bad guys," Angel said, not sure if he was reminding her or him.
Her heart thundered against his chest like a timpani drum. "Nosy sister," she said.
Angel stroked the tips of his fingers through her hair. "We should," he said, not wanting to break the mood.
"Go," Buffy said with a heavy sigh, settling her weight back on her feet. "Yeah, I'm sure something nasty's waiting for us." She glanced out at the street though Angel knew she really was contemplating the entire town. "You know," she said, her mercurial emotions changing again, "Willow and I went shopping for a dress today."
"A dress?" She sounded excited. Angel smiled to himself. Taking her hand, they started off down the sidewalk. "What kind of dress?"
"Well, there's a dance coming up," Buffy said, leaning her head against his shoulder, tilting her eyes up at him.
"Sounds special," Angel said.
"Oh, it's not terribly and I can't lie," Buffy said, bouncing as she squeezed his hand tightly, "it's the prom."
His smile broadened.
Girls would be girls.