happy happy birthday to you!
*weee*
“Pieces”
Spike/Buffy Season 6 with a good dose of Spike/Dawn relationship.
Kinda dark and sadder than I planned though it *is* a ‘happy birthday’ fic!;)
You know, S6 dark, still PG.
[Around the timeline of Afterlife or Flooded].
Especially For: my girl Lyssa a.k.a.sekhmet_ra_
Happy birthday m’dear!! ::Confetti, twirlers, and champagne;)::
~***~
Looking out the window of some house on some street in Sunnydale, it’s likely that you would see no one at all. Maybe a shadow or two.
Rain chops across the panes of glass, blurring the picture further.
A lost girl, not so little anymore, stands out on the porch of the house on Revello. It’s like she is looking up at the sky... and waiting for it to fall down on her soaked hair, glistening with broken pieces. It’s been a while.
Buffy looks unsure of where to go.
~***~
Inside, in contrast, an orange-red Tiffany table lamp casts an ardent glow, and Spike is reading stories to Dawn, her head resting on his eternal shoulders. The book old and heavy on his lap, the lining worn, the cover cracked.
His reading voice is slipping back into its old aristocratic British timbre, radiating out from him in warm, comforting concentric circles.
“The curves of the river bank mesmerize, its body filling to the brink and spilling onto the fields. The gift of life and kiss of death at the same time. Her body no longer sleek and slender but swollen and bruised.”
Dawn is almost afraid to interrupt, afraid to lose this moment but he gave her this pause, and she uses it.
“Will it,” a shake of her head, “will she ever heal?”
A light touch of his hand on her hair.
“Dawn...” his heart, even if he does not have one that’s beating, breaks for her, “Buffy, your sister... you know I care about her... but she’s not that type of girl - she does not believe in miracles. In fairy tale endings.”
“Not even now? After-”
“No, Nibblet. Not even now, I don’t think.”
She smiles an uncertain smile at him, just to reassure him that she is still okay, that she will not break down, and her elbow gingerly prods him in the ribs to continue.
“The flood brings great happiness. The villagers dance in the fields, some thank the heavens. Yet there is also sadness. For houses lost, for possession floated away...”
Dawn hears the door knob turning, then the door slamming in the dark silence, and footsteps, and the beeping of the microwave (for her, not for Buffy, who never seems to think of food), and exchanges of good nights. Strange how it has all become so routine.
~***~
Alone in her room, she turns back to writing. Her own story now. Purple pen, spiral notebook. The walls in the house are thin enough to almost see, and what she doesn’t see she just writes down...
“Nighttime. He comes to her in the night, cold-warm embrace wrapped around her body like a blanket. Her feathers ruffled and wet, she begins to break. Sleeps with her eyes wide open, holding onto the headboard for dear life but still levitating up. When the haze clears, she’s all alone. Cold sweat beading on her arms....”
It’s all much too real. Dawn creeps into Buffy’s room and wraps another quilted throw around her trembling bones. Her sister doesn’t even notice.
Quietly, Dawn walks back through her door and drops on the bed. She looks over the words she has written and rips them up in angry pieces.
~***~
She wakes up to low voices in the kitchen and a breakfast of pizza - undoubtedly, Spike’s idea. As she clears the paper plates, she also makes Buffy jump out of her reverie by asking her if she has seen the scotch tape. “When did I become the older sister?,” she wonders to herself while rummaging through the cardboard school supply box. Maybe tonight they can rent a movie, something from the Besson oeuvre and eat more pizza. She was convinced you couldn’t really ever have too much.
Seeking and putting the pieces back together is what is it going to be all about.
~***~
“Pieces”
Spike/Buffy Season 6 with a good dose of Spike/Dawn relationship.
Kinda dark and sadder than I planned though it *is* a ‘happy birthday’ fic!;)
You know, S6 dark, still PG.
[Around the timeline of Afterlife or Flooded].
Especially For: my girl Lyssa a.k.a.sekhmet_ra_
Happy birthday m’dear!! ::Confetti, twirlers, and champagne;)::
~***~
Looking out the window of some house on some street in Sunnydale, it’s likely that you would see no one at all. Maybe a shadow or two.
Rain chops across the panes of glass, blurring the picture further.
A lost girl, not so little anymore, stands out on the porch of the house on Revello. It’s like she is looking up at the sky... and waiting for it to fall down on her soaked hair, glistening with broken pieces. It’s been a while.
Buffy looks unsure of where to go.
~***~
Inside, in contrast, an orange-red Tiffany table lamp casts an ardent glow, and Spike is reading stories to Dawn, her head resting on his eternal shoulders. The book old and heavy on his lap, the lining worn, the cover cracked.
His reading voice is slipping back into its old aristocratic British timbre, radiating out from him in warm, comforting concentric circles.
“The curves of the river bank mesmerize, its body filling to the brink and spilling onto the fields. The gift of life and kiss of death at the same time. Her body no longer sleek and slender but swollen and bruised.”
Dawn is almost afraid to interrupt, afraid to lose this moment but he gave her this pause, and she uses it.
“Will it,” a shake of her head, “will she ever heal?”
A light touch of his hand on her hair.
“Dawn...” his heart, even if he does not have one that’s beating, breaks for her, “Buffy, your sister... you know I care about her... but she’s not that type of girl - she does not believe in miracles. In fairy tale endings.”
“Not even now? After-”
“No, Nibblet. Not even now, I don’t think.”
She smiles an uncertain smile at him, just to reassure him that she is still okay, that she will not break down, and her elbow gingerly prods him in the ribs to continue.
“The flood brings great happiness. The villagers dance in the fields, some thank the heavens. Yet there is also sadness. For houses lost, for possession floated away...”
Dawn hears the door knob turning, then the door slamming in the dark silence, and footsteps, and the beeping of the microwave (for her, not for Buffy, who never seems to think of food), and exchanges of good nights. Strange how it has all become so routine.
~***~
Alone in her room, she turns back to writing. Her own story now. Purple pen, spiral notebook. The walls in the house are thin enough to almost see, and what she doesn’t see she just writes down...
“Nighttime. He comes to her in the night, cold-warm embrace wrapped around her body like a blanket. Her feathers ruffled and wet, she begins to break. Sleeps with her eyes wide open, holding onto the headboard for dear life but still levitating up. When the haze clears, she’s all alone. Cold sweat beading on her arms....”
It’s all much too real. Dawn creeps into Buffy’s room and wraps another quilted throw around her trembling bones. Her sister doesn’t even notice.
Quietly, Dawn walks back through her door and drops on the bed. She looks over the words she has written and rips them up in angry pieces.
~***~
She wakes up to low voices in the kitchen and a breakfast of pizza - undoubtedly, Spike’s idea. As she clears the paper plates, she also makes Buffy jump out of her reverie by asking her if she has seen the scotch tape. “When did I become the older sister?,” she wonders to herself while rummaging through the cardboard school supply box. Maybe tonight they can rent a movie, something from the Besson oeuvre and eat more pizza. She was convinced you couldn’t really ever have too much.
Seeking and putting the pieces back together is what is it going to be all about.
~***~