The Promise I'm Keeping
Author: enigmaticblue <enigmaticblue@yahoo.com>
Rating: PG
Archive: If you don't already have my stuff, just ask.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to people other than me, like Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Please don't sue.
Summary: Spike and Dawn friendship, set in the summer between S5 and S6.
A/N: I was going to try to write an actual Spike/Dawn pairing, but found that I can't, at least not at the moment. Instead, this little ficlet came to mind. It will also serve as a precursor to my next big fic, Collide, set in S6. I have no idea when that one will be written, but it's on the list.
Dawn awoke to the sound of someone tapping on her window.
It was a slow sort of waking. First came the sound, although she wasn't quite sure where it was coming from, or if it was part of a dream. Then came the gradual realization of being in her bed, cocooned under the covers.
She glanced at the clock, realizing that she hadn't been asleep for very long, before looking over at the window. Spike's solemn face was framed in the glass, and Dawn knew that if it had been any other summer he would have been grinning at her—a mischievous Puck come to lead a young maiden astray.
Okay, so she'd been reading a lot of fairy tales this summer. Dawn happened to like the words "happily ever after," even if they were full of crap.
Dawn rose quickly, crossing over to the window and pushing it open, standing back as Spike slipped into her room. He gave her a brief smile before ordering, "Get dressed, Bit."
"What's going on?" she whispered, having no desire to alert
Dawn thought sometimes that any or all of the Scoobies would have gladly traded her and Spike both in if they could just get Buffy back.
Whatever. Like they didn't ask him to baby-sit her every other evening. Dawn knew the truth—that she and Spike kept each other alive.
She had this fantasy that she would pull out before she went to sleep at night, where Spike would come for her like this—in the dead of night—and tell her to grab her stuff, and they would leave Sunnydale together. They would have adventures, and Spike would teach her how to kill demons. Maybe they would even be partners, and maybe—just maybe—Spike would end up loving her like he'd loved Buffy.
Dawn's fantasy went a little vague at that point. It was the sort of dream that was nice in the minutes or hours before you fell asleep, snug in your own bed, but not the kind you actually wanted to come true.
Except maybe for the leaving part. If Dawn had thought that they could get away with it, she might have tried to convince Spike to take her away with him.
Spike's entrance was exactly how she'd imagined it, and she felt a thrill of fear mingled with excitement that they were actually going to do it. They were going to leave, or—
"Just get dressed," he whispered. "Got something to show you."
They weren't leaving, then. Still, Dawn trusted him, and she waited until he turned his back before pulling on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. "Okay."
"We have to go out the window," Spike told her. "Last thing I want to do is wake the witches. Can you make it down?"
"Please," Dawn scoffed, climbing out the window and down the trellis as quietly as she was able. Her confidence was only slightly marred when she fell the last few feet.
Spike jumped from the roof, landing lightly, and helped the girl up. In the past he might have snickered or given her a hard time, but falling from any height wasn't a laughing matter these days.
Come to think of it, Spike couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed. It was before, that much was certain, but there was no way to pinpoint a time before that when he'd been happy. That seemed to be the real trouble with Sunnyhell—it sucked the joy right out of a person.
It was the real reason he'd come to Dawn's window, waking her from a sound sleep that was all-too-rare these days. Spike had hesitated, wondering if it wouldn't be better to allow her to go on slumbering dreamlessly. He didn't know how many nights he'd lingered beneath her window, waiting for the telltale sounds of a nightmare. Or how many nights he'd braved the wrath of the witches to climb up, jimmy open the window, and calm her as best he could.
Spike had never commented on the times when she'd slept with the 'Bot at her side, pretending it was really Buffy. If he wasn't so disgusted with the thing, he might have done the same.
He found it impossible to forget that it wasn't really Buffy, though.
Still, Spike was hoping that Dawn would enjoy sneaking out. She was perfectly safe with him, and if anyone found out, he was willing to take the blame.
Of course, he was hoping no one would find out.
Dawn followed him in silence through the darkened streets of Sunnydale. Spike could hear her heartbeat, steady as a bass drum. She was excited, but she wasn't scared. Not with him.
He might have found that insulting once, but not anymore.
They were blocks away from her house when Dawn moved up to walk beside him. "So where are we going?"
"The bluff," Spike replied. "There's less light there."
She frowned, glancing over at him. "Okay." Her tone of voice clearly indicated that she thought he'd gone round the bend at last.
"Do you trust me?" Spike asked in response.
Maybe it was an unfair question, since she was out with him after dark, which definitely indicated some level of trust. It was also unfair because if Dawn didn't trust him—and Spike firmly believed that she shouldn't—she'd either be forced to lie or risk hurting his feelings if she told the truth.
Dawn rolled her eyes. "Um, hello? I came with you, didn't I? Of course I trust you."
"You shouldn't," he replied, voicing his thoughts. "I'm an evil vampire."
Another eye roll, this time accompanied by a snort of disbelief. "Please, Spike, if you'd wanted to kill me you would have done it by now. You might be an evil vampire, but you're my evil vampire."
Spike wasn't quite sure what to say to that, so he held his tongue. She was right in that much at least, although he would have said that it was the other way around. Dawn was his. Buffy had given her to him when she'd placed her sister's life in his hands.
Maybe he hadn't come through for the Slayer while she was alive, but he wasn't going to fail again.
Tonight, Spike just wanted to see Dawn's face light up again.
It was a longish walk to the bluff, and Spike hoped that the show wouldn't have started before they got there. When they arrived, he pulled off his duster, spreading it on the ground so that Dawn would have something to lie on.
The girl gave him a strange look, but she laid down, her face to the northeast as Spike had requested. "What are we waiting for?"
"Just watch the stars," he replied softly. "I promise there'll be a show."
They lay side by side in silence for long minutes. Dawn was no longer sleepy, and she was beginning to get restless. What was Spike up to?
Then she saw her first shooting star.
It arced across the night sky, a bright trail that made her gasp in delight. "Spike! Did you—"
"Keep watchin'," he ordered gently, and suddenly the entire sky was alight with shooting stars. First one, then five, then ten, (and then more)—racing across the sky in a display of fireworks like she'd never seen. The beauty of it all took her breath away.
Dawn didn't even know she'd been crying until she felt
Spike's thumb on her cheek. In an instant, her face was buried in his chest,
and she felt a strong arm come around her. She cried because there wasn't any
such thing as happily ever after. She cried because her mom wasn't there to hug
her, and everyone else seemed afraid to do it—except possibly for
Dawn wept to feel her grief passing.
It was the first time Spike had allowed himself to touch her. He'd wanted to before—wanted to comfort her with a hand on her hair, a soft touch on her shoulder. Spike had wanted to gather her up in his arms as he'd done for Dru when the visions had gotten bad.
Drusilla had been his lover, though, and Spike hadn't been able to recall how one gave comfort through contact that wasn't sexual in nature. He didn't remember a time when every touch wasn't infused with some sort of desire.
It was different with Dawn. He couldn't not offer comfort, even though he feared that he was screwing everything up again.
When the storm finally passed, they were both silent, Dawn's head pillowed comfortably on his shoulder. Spike ignored his own damp cheeks, letting the peace of the moment soak into his unbeating heart.
"What was that?"
They weren't going to talk about her grief; that was typical. They didn't talk about her nightmares either.
"A meteor shower," Spike replied. "Called the Perseids. It happens like this every year, but this was a good one."
"Why is it called the Perseids?" Dawn asked.
Spike pointed with his free hand, and Dawn rolled so that she could follow the trajectory of his finger. "See there? That's the constellation Perseus, an' that's where it looks like the meteor shower is coming from."
Dawn saw another shooting star just as Spike finished his explanation, and she felt the tears well up again. This time it was because she had a wish to make, and she knew it was an impossible one. Fighting back the tears, she asked, "So what's Perseus?"
"Perseus is the hero," Spike replied, dredging up the information from deep within his memory. He had known these stories once, a long time ago. He'd even read them in the original Greek, although there was no way he'd allow that information to get out. "He was the one who slayed Medusa."
"Tell me," Dawn ordered.
So Spike told her the story of Perseus, how he had slayed the great Medusa and used her head to defeat his enemies by turning them into stone. His accent softened as he embellished the tale, and when Dawn asked, he pointed out other constellations. When he couldn't remember the stories behind them, Spike made them up, speaking until he was hoarse and morning was only a couple hours away.
"I should get you home," he said finally, finishing up the story of Orion, who had been slain by the scorpion's sting.
Dawn was silent for a moment. "It's not your fault."
Spike sat up carefully. "What are you goin' on about?"
"It's not your fault," she repeated.
They stared at one another for a long time, the silence stretching out between them. It felt heavy, almost cumbersome, like they were ready to turn a corner and would do it together. Like it was time to at least begin to move on.
Spike scowled at her, but his fierce expression didn't frighten Dawn in the least. "It's not yours, either," he finally said, acknowledging the fact that they'd both been blaming themselves for the Slayer's death.
Even though he wasn't quite ready to let go of the guilt, he wouldn't argue with Dawn.
There was another pause, but this time it was comfortable, and Spike rose gracefully to his feet, bending down to help Dawn up. He shrugged into his duster and turned towards home. "Let's get out of here."
Dawn just nodded, but she noticed that he didn't pull away from her when she slipped her hand into his.
Somehow she knew that a terrible weight had been lifted. They would survive this.