| TITLE-----The Dragon (part 3) AUTHOR-----Puca Dentata [email protected] DISTRIBUTE-----http://www.scary-septic-cat.com/pennydreadful/ and the lists. You want it, email me. Or send one of those pigeons with the note on the leg. That would be cool. DOES IT HAVE A PLOT?----- Dawn and Spike need to find a way to deal. They start to hunt down the dragon that was released by the portal. SPOILERS-----Season 5 IMPROV-----reckless -- false -- pallor -- spice LEGAL-----It is against the law for a monster to enter the corporate limits of Urbana, Illinois. Compared to that, what's a little harmless fanfic? In otherwords, please don't sue. NOTES-----Thanks to Kita for pushing me to write. She gives great beta-head. Thanks to Joss for providing such alluring enigmas such as the Dragon. Thanks to whomever asked for a Dawn and Spike "on the road" fic on the lists. *********** "Look here, love. Found us something special." "You "found" something?" Dawn looks at the electronic apparatus in Spike's arms warily. He'd been gone for a half-hour, leaving her to wander around tourist shops alone. She had begun to become worried. "It's a police scanner." Dawn wrinkles her nose. "What for? So we know if we're being hunted? You think we're being hunted? Are we?" Her voice rises with each question. She's not ready to go home yet. No way, nuh-huh, don't think so... Spike quickly sets the scanner on the roof of the car and pulls Dawn close enough to cover her mouth with his hand. "No, we're *not* being hunted. But if you really want us to be, keep the loud-mouthed comments going, like a blithering idiot." Dawn pushes him away and gives him the finger. She feels silly now. Childish. Damn. She tries to regain some of her cool back. "So what's the scanner for, then? And aren't we going to get in trouble for "finding" it?" Spike shakes his head, looking a little peeved. "Nah, no trouble. And it's to find the dragon. Or help, at least." She snorts. "Yeah, 'cause the dragon loves to talk on the radio to the cops. If fact, when he hears we're looking for him he'll give us directions to his front door." "Aren't we cheeky today? You have a better idea, bring it on. We're in the back of beyond, babe. *And* we're out-of-towners. The folk here aren't gonna just open up and tell us if they've heard of any strange happenings. This will divert any suspicion, and if the police get any calls about giant lizards, we'll be one of the first to know. Ta-da!" "Fine. Yay. I'm gonna go in and see if they have any cool turquoise jewelry." Dawn points to the tourist shop behind her. There are signs in the window declaring it to be the cheapest supplier of handmade jewelry in the state. She *likes* turquoise. Really. She's not jealous that she didn't think of the radio idea. Nope. There's also a little part of her that's not ready to find the dragon yet, she realizes. Her conversation with Spike now points otherwise, but she has come to realize she *enjoys* what Spike has to offer her. He knows cool things. And doesn't treat her like she will break if Buffy's mentioned. And best of all, he rarely treats her like a little girl. She realizes she trusts him, too. Huh. Like, really truly trusts him. Spike is looking at her with a small frown on his face. She'll play nice. "It really *is* a good idea, Spike. Um. Fucking A." Spike snorts as if annoyed with her, but she can see the grin as he turns to the car. "Want any jewelry? Like, some big clunky earrings?" He doesn't turn around from where he's fiddling with his new toy, but she swears she can actually *hear* the smile now. "No, smartass, no jewelry for me. And watch your fucking language." "Yeah. What-fucking-ever." Spike rewards her with a fifty-dollar bill, and tells her to get herself a bracelet. Real silver, barter to get it, none of the crap that turns your arm green. And he tells her she's a "cool bird." That's nice. She can dig that. As Dawn walks towards the tourist shop, she realizes she suddenly feels...almost ok. Yeah. Fucking A. ***** "What's it like? To be in love?" Spike isn't exactly surprised to hear this question. Dawn's at that age where romance and hormones are utmost on the mind. Still, he's not sure if wants to talk about love. To anyone. "It's...complicated." "Well, try!" Dawn obviously isn't going to take no for an answer. Spike heaves a mental sigh. "Can't this wait until we find something to eat?" "You already ate, remember? You *ate* that dog. Little kids live in that house. I could tell. Swingset. They'll wake up in the morning and the dog will be *gone*." Severe disapproval in those words. Dawn won't shut up about the damn dog. He *told* her he was going to get some food. What did she think, he meant McDonalds? "Fine. I talk and you leave me *alone* about the dog. Kids can get another one." He pauses, and adds as an afterthought, "It could have been the kids, you know. Be glad I'm restrained to non-human dining." "Yeah, fine. Tell me." Spike settles back and sets the car on cruise. "It's being alive." He glances over. Dawn blinks at him. Not good enough. "If you want to be alive, you have to accept all the parts. You can't choose what you like and reject what you don't. That's the privilege of the dead." "I don't understand." Softly, Spike states, "Of course you do. I think everyone does. But don't realize it. I've been alive--to hell with that "un-dead" shit--for nearly 150 years, if you include my human life. And I still don't *truly* realize it. When you're alone, all you can say is "I want *this* and I want *that* when it comes to love." That's what I meant by "the dead." When you think like that, you're dead, because you don't have love. And won't, if you continue to think along those lines. Loneliness is hell." "You mean like Buffy? I mean, she was...a good sister. But we fought. And things bugged me that she would do. But I loved her. Love her, I mean." "Exactly, kid, you got it. You can't pick your family. You can't pick who you love. No more than you can pick the life you are tossed into, eh? Just...just try to keep "the plot," I guess. Keep the plot going." "Do...if you had it a choice, if you could do it over again, would you have let yourself fall for...for Buffy?" I don't know, Spike wants to say. What do you want from me? To say yes? To say no? To watch me fucking suffer? "No." "No?" There's an edge of *something* in Dawn's voice. Panic? Anger? Spike can't tell. "Look at me. What do you see?" There's silence from the passenger seat. Then softly, Dawn says, "I-I don't know what you mean." "Do you look at me and see a happy individual? Do you see someone who looks like they wouldn't change a thing? If I could change two things, make a bloody wish, I'd first bring Buffy back. Then have it so I didn't love her. Like before, when it was me and Dru. Bring Buffy back and get myself *away* from Sunnydale." "What about the chip? You mean, that isn't what you'd change? Or have Buffy love you, as a second wish?" Spike snarls. Dawn recoils further towards the passenger side door. He's scaring her, but fuck. The questions she asks. That she *dares* to ask. "Fine. Three wishes. Like the genies grant. Wish three; the chip. And as for Buffy? Making her love me? Never." "Never? Why-" "-Why why why why *why*! Damn it, girl, learn to keep the nagging down to a minimum, huh? *Because* wishes *shouldn't* work like that. They don't. Any wish granting demon out there will refuse that one request if they work for the good guys. And you know why? 'Cause it ain't real. You can't *make* someone love you. And if you try through magic, you end up going nuts from the guilt. Wondering if they coulda loved you any other way." Spike starts to rummage around the mess in the cubby between the seats, looking for a tape to pop into the radio. He doesn't want to talk anymore. Maybe if he blasts the music loud enough he'll drown Dawn out before she can say or ask anything else. Not bloody fast enough, though: "What about the Buffy-bot? Wasn't that kinda like a wish? Or tying Buffy up and trying to make her say she loved you?" There's a trembly defiance in Dawn's voice, as if it's taken alot of courage to say what she just did. Well, of course it did, thinks Spike. Spike gives up trying to find a tape and sighs, defeated. "Yeah, yeah. And *yeah*, buttercup. And did it work? Did it make me feel better? Not in any real way. I knew that it wouldn't, or I shoulda. No difference. I tried anyways. I had to try, you see? No one got it, you know. Not a one of you brats. But then, why would you all have tried to understand *me*?" "Yeah," Dawn nods, and then says, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." "To get me all riled up and upset? Not your fault." Spike tries to smile, though his throat is heavy with tears that are threatening to make an appearance. "Not your fault, love." So quietly spoken that if he wasn't a vampire he might have not heard it: "I wish you were right." Spike sneaks a startled glance over at the young woman, no, *child*, in the seat next to him. He wants to say something. Wants to tell her it's not her fault Buffy is dead, if that's what she was referring to. But how does he say that and not sound maudlin? And it's not his place. No one can make her realize that but herself, as chiched as that sounds. He's learned such rules the hard way. But that way, they'll stay with a person. He'd rather Dawn learn the ways he did than forget. And if he lets her learn on her own he can pretend he didn't hear what she said. He doesn't want to deal with it. Spike never claimed to be a nice guy. ***** "Can I, um, can I try one?" Spike looks over at Dawn and quirks a scarred eyebrow. Dawn is looking at him solemnly. He shakes a slightly bent cigarette from the package and presents it to Dawn. She nervously looks around the cafe as if she expects to be stopped. The truckdrivers take no notice, though; they just keep on staring into their coffee cups and shoveling eggs with large, weathered hands. Dawn takes the cigarette gingerly from him. Spike snaps his lighter on with a flourish, trying to stop the smile he feels from forming on his lips when Dawn jumps. She takes a small, ladylike puff and doesn't cough it back up. Good girl. Dawn nods at Spike, a slightly dizzy look in her eyes. He nods back. They both order coffee. Black. Stretch out so Spike's feet are resting on Dawn's side of the booth and her feet on his side. They stare out the window at the semi trucks idling outside like rusty dragons. Purring and hissing; mindless power at rest. ***** They have been driving for a little over an hour when Spike hears the call go out over the police radio. Something big out at the Flying J ranch. Killing cattle. Something big. Bob Jamesey is right upset, Clarence, better go check what's the ruckus. The Flying J ranch. Shit, thinks Spike. Where the bloody hell is that? Luckily the cop on duty mishears the dispatcher and asks for the location again. The dispatcher repeats herself and luckily expands the location description. The Flying J ranch, you know, entrance out past mile marker 241 on the old highway. When you gonna clean out your ears, Clarence? Clarence the cop is almost and hour and a half away. After checking their motley assortment of maps and notes, Dawn tells him they are only 20 minutes away. "Told you this radio would come in handy, Dawn. We'll be there before our mate, Officer Clarence." Dawn rolls her eyes. "Whatever." She doesn't seem to want to admit that his idea was a good one. Spike snickers, and pulls a hard right onto the dirt road that will take them to the ranch. Dawn utters a wonderful little screech of surprise and fear, clutching at the "Oh Shit!" handle above the door. Least that's what he calls It. Other people might call it the "thing for hanging clothes on," but they're wrong. That handle was made specifically for terrified teenaged girls to clutch at. The dragon is gone by the time they get there. Spike's not surprised. What surprises him is how lucky they've been up to this point. And how fast the luck has come. All they find at the farm are the corpses of cattle and an upset rancher. He asks them if they are with the FBI. Probably because of the police radio crackling audibly from the Desoto and the "big city" look to them. Dawn thinks he must be more than just upset--maybe nuts, even--to mistake *her* for an agent. They leave the rancher standing by the gutted remains of his cattle. The stomachs have been ripped from each, like sucking the insides from a piece of candy. A cherry cordial, maybe, thinks Dawn. Bleh. She likes those. Now she'll see the hollowed-out cattle every time she tries to eat one. As they pull away, Dawn turns to look over her shoulder one last time. A light set high on an old, weathered post illuminates the man. It's the only light besides the moon and stars. She shivers. One little light keeping the dark at bay. Keeping the monsters away. But it hadn't, had it? The monster had come anyway. Drawn. As Dawn watches the light fade away because of the dust kicked up by the wheels coupled with distance, she has an unsettling thought. What if the dragon they were hunting wasn't a monster at all? Then what was it? ***** They are searching for some sign of life. They finally find something like a Dairy Queen, but with a different name. There are no other buildings except for the shop, which creeps Dawn out a little bit. Dawn goes in first, while Spike stays outside and stretches his legs, and she realizes that they have nothing but corn dogs and ice cream. For some reason it strikes her as...kinda funny. She hears the bell on the door clink and turns to see Spike walking towards her. "See anything you want, love?" "Yeah. Corndogs and ice cream. Geez. " Dawn doesn't realize how loudly she has spoken until the attendant behind the counter--a heavy, mullet-ridden woman--gives her a dirty look. Dawn feels like sticking her tongue out at the woman. Silly, yeah, but the thought of doing it makes her clamp her hand over her mouth. Just in case. Spike looks at her oddly, then shakes his head and bites the inside of his mouth. He does it a lot, notes Dawn. It makes his cheekbones stand out even more. "So. Corndogs. Ice cream. No smokes. Christ." Spike shakes his head after looking around and shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his duster. "Should we head out?" Dawn looks at Spike, and then at the woman giving them dirty looks, and asks loudly, "People obviously work here, right? Yes. But... where do they live?" They had been driving for hours without seeing anything other than vast wasteland. It was a valid question, she thought. "They live--well, they live...um." Spike blinks at her as he trails off. "You're right. Where the bloody Hell *do* they live?" Dawn and Spike stare at each other and then, as if on cue, look over at the mullet-lady. She's glowering. With much talent and eagerness. That's all it takes; they are laughing. Reckless, sincere, *glad* laughter. They stand there, laughing so hard that no sound's coming out and tears are running down Dawn's face, when she has a thought. Her laughter dries up instantaniously. "I'm not that mean and I didn't mean that at all," she says to the woman behind the counter. The woman says nothing. As if Spike understands, he stops laughing and looks at floor with something like shame. It's wrong to be laughing. Oh, not because of the woman and whomever lives in this bland area. Because Spike and herself are in mourning. For Dawn, laughing feels as if she is trespassing into something she has no claim to. Spike and Dawn leave quietly and don't talk to each other for the rest of the night. ***** |