Lament (Dawn and Spike), PG
Hey look I wrote something! Un-betaed and short, but it's something, right? :D
Spike and Dawn, right after Showtime. And so now he’s at her side and she’s half-carrying his weight down to the basement, and she wants to rage and hurt him and shout the warnings she’s practiced in front of her mirror all summer.
Why is it her job to take him downstairs? Buffy's the one who wanted him back, who gave all the potentials those stupid speeches about how strong he is, how much they need him (she doesn't talk about the other thing, of course, the betrayal that Dawn sees every time those quiet blue eyes catch hers and she wants to throw up and shake her sister and remind her that Spike deserves nothing from her, least of all forgiveness). And she's been upstairs with him for hours now, cleaning off the blood caked on his chest that had made Molly squeak and run off and murmuring to him in intimate tones about what he'd missed. And Dawn is queasy again, and that's when Buffy sees her leaving her room and beckons to her, Can you take Spike to the basement and get him set up? And Willow and Kennedy are both watching and she knows that she has no right to explain exactly why she will not.
And so now he's at her side and she's half-carrying his weight down to the basement, and she wants to rage and hurt him and shout the warnings she's practiced in front of her mirror all summer (because last time he hadn't flinched, hadn't reacted, and she wants a reaction, dammit!), but he's so weak and the girl who'd once loved him is still within her, softening her in ways she'd never wanted to be softened.
She lowers him to sit on the bed and avoids his gaze when she tells him she's going to get bedding, and she can feel his eyes on her back as she bustles around near the dryer, focusing on cream-white sheets and deflated pillows because it's easier than focusing on him.
She turns with reluctance to meet his eyes at last, and they're kind and patient and sorrowful and all the things that Spike never was with her (he'd shout and threaten her and it made her feel safe and wanted and like someone finally cared), and when he whispers her name all her righteous anger fades away.
I can't say I'm sorry, he whispers, and she knows that it isn't for lack of wanting, for lack of regrets. It's all in his voice, pain and self-loathing a thousand times worse than it had been that summer, and she wants to say good but this isn't the Spike she'd known and it's so wearying to hate him this much even now.
The words are nearly voiceless from her lips, but she manages,You hurt my sister, even with his gaze so steady on her.
And then he closes his eyes and there's no souled Spike or unsouled Spike, just Spike, her friend and crush and older brother and betrayer. "I hurt you," he corrects, the words loud and accusing in the silence of the basement.
She ducks her head, ashamed- because sometimes that pain hurts so much more than the pain of what he'd done to Buffy, and she can't acknowledge it because it's self-centered and stupid and he never owed her friendship- she was just Buffy's little sister, always Buffy's little sister, and never anything more. But Spike's words are still echoing through her, an acknowledgement she never should have wanted but the one she craves more than anything. He knows her, can see through her as well as he always has, and a tiny piece of her shatters at that realization.
His voice lowers again, his eyes open. I missed you so much last year, he murmurs. I never should have...
And maybe it's a lie, maybe it's just a way to break through her defenses and use that terrible sincerity in his voice to earn back her trust, but she can't listen anymore. Her thoughts are in a turmoil, her anger has hit the crescendo of despair, and she forcibly quashes the part of her that longs to throw herself in his arms and weep for friendship lost and someday regained.
"I have to go," she blurts out, and this Spike- this Spike she doesn't know whom she suddenly wonders if she can forgive- this painful, pained creature in front of her who's bringing her dangerously close to sobbing- he nods gravely and she knows that he sees straight through her fear to the promise below it.
She flees to her room and for the first time since Spike had left her alone and abandoned, lets tears cleanse her furiously aching heart.
comments. Comment at Dreamwidth or right here.
Spike and Dawn, right after Showtime. And so now he’s at her side and she’s half-carrying his weight down to the basement, and she wants to rage and hurt him and shout the warnings she’s practiced in front of her mirror all summer.
Why is it her job to take him downstairs? Buffy's the one who wanted him back, who gave all the potentials those stupid speeches about how strong he is, how much they need him (she doesn't talk about the other thing, of course, the betrayal that Dawn sees every time those quiet blue eyes catch hers and she wants to throw up and shake her sister and remind her that Spike deserves nothing from her, least of all forgiveness). And she's been upstairs with him for hours now, cleaning off the blood caked on his chest that had made Molly squeak and run off and murmuring to him in intimate tones about what he'd missed. And Dawn is queasy again, and that's when Buffy sees her leaving her room and beckons to her, Can you take Spike to the basement and get him set up? And Willow and Kennedy are both watching and she knows that she has no right to explain exactly why she will not.
And so now he's at her side and she's half-carrying his weight down to the basement, and she wants to rage and hurt him and shout the warnings she's practiced in front of her mirror all summer (because last time he hadn't flinched, hadn't reacted, and she wants a reaction, dammit!), but he's so weak and the girl who'd once loved him is still within her, softening her in ways she'd never wanted to be softened.
She lowers him to sit on the bed and avoids his gaze when she tells him she's going to get bedding, and she can feel his eyes on her back as she bustles around near the dryer, focusing on cream-white sheets and deflated pillows because it's easier than focusing on him.
She turns with reluctance to meet his eyes at last, and they're kind and patient and sorrowful and all the things that Spike never was with her (he'd shout and threaten her and it made her feel safe and wanted and like someone finally cared), and when he whispers her name all her righteous anger fades away.
I can't say I'm sorry, he whispers, and she knows that it isn't for lack of wanting, for lack of regrets. It's all in his voice, pain and self-loathing a thousand times worse than it had been that summer, and she wants to say good but this isn't the Spike she'd known and it's so wearying to hate him this much even now.
The words are nearly voiceless from her lips, but she manages,You hurt my sister, even with his gaze so steady on her.
And then he closes his eyes and there's no souled Spike or unsouled Spike, just Spike, her friend and crush and older brother and betrayer. "I hurt you," he corrects, the words loud and accusing in the silence of the basement.
She ducks her head, ashamed- because sometimes that pain hurts so much more than the pain of what he'd done to Buffy, and she can't acknowledge it because it's self-centered and stupid and he never owed her friendship- she was just Buffy's little sister, always Buffy's little sister, and never anything more. But Spike's words are still echoing through her, an acknowledgement she never should have wanted but the one she craves more than anything. He knows her, can see through her as well as he always has, and a tiny piece of her shatters at that realization.
His voice lowers again, his eyes open. I missed you so much last year, he murmurs. I never should have...
And maybe it's a lie, maybe it's just a way to break through her defenses and use that terrible sincerity in his voice to earn back her trust, but she can't listen anymore. Her thoughts are in a turmoil, her anger has hit the crescendo of despair, and she forcibly quashes the part of her that longs to throw herself in his arms and weep for friendship lost and someday regained.
"I have to go," she blurts out, and this Spike- this Spike she doesn't know whom she suddenly wonders if she can forgive- this painful, pained creature in front of her who's bringing her dangerously close to sobbing- he nods gravely and she knows that he sees straight through her fear to the promise below it.
She flees to her room and for the first time since Spike had left her alone and abandoned, lets tears cleanse her furiously aching heart.
comments. Comment at Dreamwidth or right here.