Father Figure - XVIII
'He didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it.'
- Clarence Budington Kelland
The Early Bird Motel
Dawn was conscious of the four pairs of eyes that had focused upon her from across the breakfast table, yet she refused to raise her head to acknowledge them. The potentials had gathered in a cluster at the opposite end of the large, rectangular bench, talking quickly in hushed tones between mouthfuls of cereal and eggs. Dawn was all too acutely aware of their topic of conversation. She had been surprised to discover that her meeting with Spike had not been quite as clandestine as they had first imagined. Spike himself was presumably still sleeping, or at least was holed up in his motel room until twilight, leaving Dawn to brave the accusatory stares and opposition alone.
Dawn gazed into the depths of her cereal bowl as she glumly stirred a handful raisins into the porridge that had been plonked down before her by the waitress. Her toast and orange juice also remained untouched, a fact which was only partially due to the dire culinary abilities of the motel kitchen.
Giles had yet to make an appearance in the dining room, although Dawn was quietly relieved by the Watcher's absence. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if the potentials were aware of her blossoming relationship with Spike, it would not have escaped Giles' notice.
Brushing her damp hair behind her ears, Dawn nibbled at a piece of toast that had been rendered to a charcoal-like state. From the corner of her eye, she continued to observe as the potentials busily gossiped about the previous night's events. Hayley seemed to be hanging back from the conversation somewhat, perhaps her friendship with Dawn pricking at her conscience if only a little. However, it appeared she had no obvious aversion to shooting Dawn the occasional poisonous glare.
Dawn could somewhat understand the potentials' sudden hostility and disgust towards her actions. In their world, the line between good and evil was a clearly defined one. This kind of thinking was a luxury that over the last five years had begun to evade Dawn and the rest of the Scoobies, as they encountered more and more contradictions to the hard and fast rules. Dawn knew from Buffy's experiences with both Spike and Angel that vampires could love as well as any man, and exhibit compassion even beyond human capacity. The naïve young potentials viewed them only as creatures to be reviled, feared, and ultimately destroyed, blinkered by the training they had thus far received. Dawn gnawed on her bottom lip as she contemplated this, considering the possibility of any danger to Spike's life from the group of girls that sat only metres away from her.
The potentials had enjoyed Spike's presence at first, finding themselves charmed by his unconventional good looks and undeniably quick wit. But they had seen him only as an object to be admired from afar, and Dawn's sudden intimacy with the vampire had both shocked and repulsed them in equal measure. She was walking a fine line with her actions, the consequences of which could prove disastrous for them all.
Dawn brushed off the stares and grimaces flung at her with surprising ease. It was Giles', and later Buffy's, reactions to the situation at hand that were gnawing a gaping hole in the pit of her stomach. Resolutely, Dawn pushed the food away and picked the cloth napkin up from her lap, beginning to fold it with trembling fingers.
"Dawn?" the voice was soft and characteristically gentle, and yet Dawn immediately froze, her napkin dropping to the floor in a heap. Her heart pounded erratically in her chest and Dawn's mouth became so dry she was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to down the glass of too-bitter orange juice in one. She forced her breathing to slow, and with a feigned calmness raised her gaze to Giles.
"Hey, Giles," Dawn chirruped, twisting her lips into a smile that she knew betrayed her. Giles gestured to Dawn's seat and lowered himself into the opposing chair whilst Dawn obediently returned to her previous position. Her cheeks drained of all colour and she clasped her hands tightly in her lap to keep from fidgeting with the edges of the worn lace tablecloth.
"Might we talk?" Giles inquired, smiling in an almost kindly paternal fashion at the girl, who swallowed hard and nodded in response. The four potentials now leaned even closer, their various implements of cutlery abandoned in their dishes as they concentrated on the scene that was unfolding before them. Jenny's lips formed a cruel yet triumphant smile that portrayed her glee, which was reflected equally in Ruthie's expression.
Dawn stared across the table at Giles, resigning herself to the onslaught of abuse that was about to be rained down upon her. Her mouth dropped open in surprise as Giles extended his arm across the table and captured her hand in his own, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"Dawn, I've been speaking with Xander this morning and we think it best that you return to Rome for your own safety," Giles began, suddenly withdrawing his hand and beginning to remove his glasses. He paused and blew gently on the lenses before wiping at the resulting mist that formed with a napkin.
"What?" Dawn demanded, surprising even herself by the level of defiance present in her tone.
"Should we be called upon to enter L.A. and retrieve Buffy and the others, I simply could not allow you to risk your life in such a way," Giles replied, replacing his glasses onto the bridge of his nose. "I know you have a degree of training, and apparently some magical ability that you saw fit to keep from us, but we have no way of knowing…"
"Giles…" Dawn interjected, shaking her head and staring askance at the Watcher, "let's cut the B.S."
"I beg your pardon?" Giles replied, his eyes and voice suddenly parallel in their coldness. Dawn folded her arms across her chest and settled back in her seat, determined more than ever to stand her ground. The potentials were now practically salivating as they unashamedly leaned across the table in order to get a clearer view of the confrontation.
"We both know why you're asking me to leave," Dawn answered, her lips pursed as she awaited a response. She half expected Giles to feign ignorance but he seemed prepared for the girl's hostility and instead met it with impressive composure.
"I'm not asking," was his simple reply. Dawn tossed her hair over her shoulder and arched a fine, dark eyebrow. The curl her lip adopted was irrefutably derisive.
"There's a pre-paid ticket waiting for you at the airport, pack your things, we leave in an hour."
Giles moved as if to rise but Dawn suddenly slammed her fist down on the tabletop, causing several glasses to topple and spill their content. Pools of orange and purple liquid spread across the white fabric, adding to the already present pallet of stains.
Giles wordlessly lowered himself back into his seat, conscious of the dirty looks that the handful of other diners were now bestowing upon them.
"I am not going back to Rome," Dawn said through gritted teeth, ensuring that she placed emphasis on every syllable she uttered. "You and I both know this isn't about L.A. or even Buffy. It's about Spike… and me."
Giles laid both palms flat against the tabletop and leaned so close into Dawn's face that she could see the muscles in his cheeks twitching as he tried in vein to restrain a snarl.
"And do you believe you're helping anyone with your actions, you silly, selfish little girl?" Giles spat, his entire body trembling with the effort of reigning in his fury. Dawn remained unmoving, having witnessed more disturbing sights in her life than Giles' temper.
"We aren't hurting anyone…" Dawn began, pushing her chair back from the table and standing suddenly. Now the potentials visibly shrank back from the argument, embarrassed to be associated with the drama that had succeeded in drawing every pair of eyes in the dining room. The girls lowered their heads to their plates and became instantly engrossed in devouring every last morsel of their meals.
"Really?" Giles snarled, seeming neither to notice nor care that his voice was raised above normal speaking level, "has it not occurred to you how Buffy will feel when she discovers her sister is sneaking around like a love-sick school girl with the man that told her he loved her and then tried to rape her?"
Several startled gasps resounded throughout the dining room, which then grew so deathly silent that the ticking of the wall clock seemed positively deafening.
Before Dawn had really registered her own response, her palm had shot forward and delivered a harsh blow to Giles' left cheekbone. Turning on her heel, Dawn fled from the dining room. Her dark hair whipped behind her as she ran and the soles of her tennis shoes pounded out a desperate rhythm on the concrete. Of course, Dawn already knew this disturbing piece of information regarding Spike's past and his involvement in her sister's life. But for Giles to remind her of it so wickedly was unforgivable in Dawn's eyes. After all, Spike had been a different person at that moment in time; one who lacked a conscience and a soul, whose only powers of self restraint were dependant on a piece of software that had been wedged in his brain against his own will. Since that night, Spike had made a conscious choice to be good and, although sometimes he had fallen down, he had sacrificed his own life to save the world. That in itself cemented his status in Dawn's mind.
Dawn ran to the only place she had left to go. She found herself pounding on the door of the motel room and yelling words that were unintelligible even to her own ears. It was mere seconds before the door was flung open and a pale hand grabbed the collar of her shirt in order to haul her inside. The sudden darkness that she was plunged into served as a comforting release, and Dawn found herself weeping against Spike's cold, hard chest before she even realised that she had reached her destination.
"Hey, hey, love," Spike murmured, tilting Dawn's face upwards and peering in concern into her eyes. The tears poured freely down Dawn's cheeks, and she gasped for breath as she surveyed the vampire before her.
"What's happened?" Spike demanded, his face suddenly falling as he added, "is it L.A.? Buffy, or Nancy boy?"
Dawn simply shook her head, fighting to regain her composure but failing miserably. Her bottom lip trembled uncontrollably and her nostrils flared with each sob she released.
"Giles…" Dawn managed to squeak between a cough and a hiccup, "knows… he… he wants… to send me back… to Rome…"
Spike's gentle expression suddenly hardened and his arms locked instinctively tighter around Dawn's slim body. He drew the girl back into the protection of his chest, and murmured soothingly as he stroked her hair.
"He can't force you to do anything you don't want to love," Spike said finally, resisting the temptation to offer to eviscerate the Watcher and save them both a lot of bother.
"I slapped him," Dawn replied miserably. Spike paused, and then broke into a succession of throaty chuckles.
"It's not funny," Dawn whined, rubbing at her eyes and sighing as Spike perched on the edge of the double bed and wiped the tears of laughter from his cheeks.
"I'm sorry Dawn but it kind of is," Spike said, managing to refrain from further bouts of inappropriate laughter.
"What are we going to do Spike?" Dawn said quietly, her tone inflected with fear, "I don't want this to end yet."
"Neither do I," Spike replied, growing serious in order to match Dawn's mood. "But I guess now we both have to decide how much we don't want this to end… how serious we are."
Dawn hesitated momentarily before moving towards the bed and seating herself on Spike's knee, her arms wrapping around his neck. She lowered her lips to his own and brushed them with a tender kiss. Spike groaned softly as Dawn squirmed a little in his lap, and began to scatter tiny kisses along the length of his cheekbone. Suddenly, he was unbearably aware of his absence of pants.
"This is how serious I am," Dawn breathed, her shaking fingertips finding the buttons of her shirt and systematically beginning to work at them.
Finally, Dawn and Spike sank back against the soft mattress and the tangle of sheets as one, and for just a while nothing else really mattered.