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Limber (who enjoys the beach in winter, apple orchards, BritFlicks and feedback)
Disclaimer: Whedon and ME own characters, universe, etc. The only thing that’s
not theirs is possibly New Hampshire.
“Definitely an improvement on the DeSoto,” Dawn mumbled from the passenger’s
seat. Spike smiled slightly, but didn’t turn to look at her. They’d
been driving nonstop for what seemed like days, and he was having a hard enough
time keeping his eyes open and on the road as it was. Well, he amended, almost
nonstop.
Beside him, Dawn snuggled further into the king-sized quilt they’d picked up at one of the many malls that dotted the highway. He’d left Dawn asleep in the parking lot, finally overcome by the last of the hospital medications in her blood, and she’d barely woken when he’d gently maneuvered her into her quilted cocoon. Hopefully, she’d sleep for a couple more hours…
“Whoa. But THIS is really hideous.”
Or perhaps not.
“It was on sale – besides, it’s functional.” Spike blearily rubbed his eyes, doing a quick bit of mental arithmetic. The hospital called at about two on Friday afternoon, and now it was… Saturday, only just past noon. He blinked. Should be able to stay up much longer than this.
“How long have I been out?” Dawn struggled to free her arms from the brown and blue plaid comforter, her hair tangled and mussed. Her mouth tasted funny, she noted sourly. And the quilt…
“Seriously, Spike, I can’t tell if you’re color-blind or not; is this not the FUGLIEST thing you own?”
“You’ve been sleeping for the past ten hours, love, and no, it’s not the fugliest thing I own. It’s the fugliest thing YOU own.” He shifted over into the breakdown lane so that he could look at her as they spoke. Besides, he was really exhausted.
“Wow.” Dawn was examining the fabric closely as Spike brought the van to a halt in the tunnel beneath an overpass. Not the most scenic of stopping- points, but shady, and at high noon there was no better place to rest. Spike’s eyes had begun to ache; even the tinted windows weren’t proof against the harsh, flat glare. The welcome cool of the shade immediately soothed the fire that had begun to pound behind his sinuses.
“I think I liked you better when you weren’t giving me presents.” Dawn was well awake, and transfixed by her wrapping. Spike snorted. She truly did look affronted about the bizarre plaid/check monstrosity, her head pulled back and a disgusted grimace on her face.
“It was the biggest down comforter I could find,” he sighed, leaning on the steering wheel with both arms. The girl was so damn perky for someone coming out of medicated sleep… Dawn finally picked up on his mood and changed her tone.
“Sorry – I was kidding.” She plucked guiltily at a seam, head bent. Maybe this wasn’t a time to joke around. “Oh! And thank you for the quilt!” Oops. God, Mom would’ve killed her for being so ungrateful… But this was Spike, and she – no, she stopped herself. She’d been really rude. “Sorry, Spike.” Her face flushed a little, and she looked away from Spike’s hunched form.
Hunh? She peered around, trying to get a better idea of their location. “Do you know where we are right now? I mean, besides under a big concrete bridge, obviously.”
Spike’s voice was muffled, his head buried in his arms. “Ohio. Bloody, bleeding Ohio.”
“I’ve never been to Ohio.” Spike didn’t answer, and Dawn chewed her lip. How to phrase the next bit without sounding like a child? She gentled her voice, practically breathing her question. “Just for planning purposes - how much longer do you think we’ve got?”
Spike didn’t explode, though. He just answered, still muffled. “From what I remember, this can take about two days, straight through. But we’ll be stopping to rest halfway, so it might take longer.”
“Why rest?”
Spike lifted his head just enough to look at her flatly, but she jutted her chin out determinedly. “I’m a fully licensed driver, have been for almost a year. Besides, it’s not fair that you have to drive the whole way… you look beat.” Spike gave her a doubting glance and she redoubled her efforts, trying to coax rather than whine.
“I’m a good driver. Sure, Buffy’s just about the worst driver on the face of the earth, but that’s not genetic or anything. She’s just got a natural impulse to hit things – maybe it’s Slayer-related, instinctively trying to knock stuff over.” Spike chuckled a little, and Dawn grinned hesitantly. Even if he didn’t let her drive, she could get him out of whatever mood he was in. “I’m a GOOD driver, I got my license way back in freaking October, and I haven’t even got a warning since! Sean and Lise taught me in his car – I can do rotaries and everything!” She smiled at him and tilted her head so that it was angled in the same direction as his, meeting his bleary eyes directly. Spike’s mouth hitched up at one corner, and he buried his head in his arms again.
“Right, you can drive.”
“YAY!”
“But only for two hours!” He shoved himself back from the steering wheel again, shaking his head vigorously to wake himself up. He hadn’t wanted to put the radio on while she was asleep, just in case it bothered her. Not everyone could sleep like he did. Like the dead. Spike caught himself chuckling and winced. God, he must be tired to find that pun funny.
Dawn watched him warily. Honestly, she’d never seen him so drained. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and the light that filtered through the tinted windows of the car made him look a sickly yellow. “When did you last get some sleep?”
“Oh, ‘bout forty-eight hours ago, I’d reckon.” He smiled at her wanly, eyes half-lidded, head leaning back against the headrest. “It shouldn’t hit me this hard, but I guess I was burning through a lot of nervous energy in the past twenty-four.”
“Yeah, I know. Thanks,” Dawn whispered, taking his hand. Spike shrugged and squeezed her fingers gently, happily noting how warm they were. The “fugly” comforter had done its work, at least. The van might be less noticeable than the DeSoto, he mused, but it definitely lacked a heating system.
The thought of Dawn shivering in her pajamas all night wasn’t the only reason for the purchase, though. As brave as Dawn was, she hadn’t been able to mask her pain completely.
By all rights, she should’ve been wheeled out of the hospital doors, but that was way too noticeable. Dawn tried to be stoic; unfortunately, her aircast didn’t provide much in the way of support – every step, she thought she could feel the bones grinding at each other. She hadn’t said a word, but the thought of her weakened bones suddenly giving way drained the color from her face and made her feel vaguely nauseous. Every step across the hospital parking lot made her wince, until Spike swept her into his arms and carried her the rest of the way to the van.
She’d barely had time to register his actions before he had her safely settled against his chest, and after that, protest had seemed petty. She’d settled for entertaining herself with the snowflakes falling on his dark hair, avidly trying to pluck them away before they could melt and trickle down to his scalp. He was helping her, Dawn had reminded herself. Her ankle hurt, and he’d stopped it from hurting her. Goodness all around. Any rumbles of indignant independence quieted after that.
Spike wasn’t just worried about her aircast, of course. He’d also realized how slippery the pavement could be, and any jarring motion for Dawn at this point could injure her badly. Dr. Prescott had mentioned joint replacements, broken hips – things not usually associated with young girls, only elderly people. The thought of Dawn immobilized hurt him more than he could bear, and had set him thinking about the cross-country drive ahead. One of his mother’s sayings sprang to mind, something about “wrapping you in cotton wool”, a phrase that implied safety and protection… and that was when he’d seen the Linens’N’Things sign glowing above the highway. Perhaps providence existed after all. His long-departed Mum, keeping her eye on Dawn’s ankle… Hold on a second.
“Ah – nope, no driving for you.”
“What? Why?” Dawn was startled. But he’d only just said yes! “What’d I do?”
“Broke your right ankle, that’s what you did, and I’m not letting you experiment by driving with your left foot on the pedals, so don’t even ask.”
“Oh.” Dawn looked down at her feet; damn, he was right. She’d pulled off her right sneaker almost as soon as they’d gotten into the van – even though Spike had tied the laces loosely, her foot was too swollen to bear constriction without discomfort. But it looked like the swelling had gone down some, and now it didn’t even hurt. She twisted her toes up a little to get a better look and immediately gasped.
“What?” Spike’s head snapped around.
Dawn blinked back tears, panting. “Damn – sorry, I was trying to see if my - foot’s gone down, and - I just twisted it wrong.” Spike leaned across the seat for a better look. Dawn was holding her foot high above the floor, dangling limply from the ankle, but he could see it jerking in response to her pulse. The unconscious twitching motion alone caused sharp little intakes of breath from Dawn; she had her hands planted on either side of her seat, elbows locked and back straight, as though she could will her entire body to hold still. Spike winced. She would not have an easy time driving, even as a passenger, with every motion jarring her. He pushed back to his side of the van and mulled.
“Right, pet, this is what we’re going to do.” Dawn shut her eyes, more than happy to leave the immediate decisions up to him. Spike reached behind him and dragged an old carriage blanket into the front seat. It smelled a little musty, but it would do. “Pop the glove compartment, would you, bit?”
Dawn quickly reached forward to open the latch, then settled back into her stiff pose. Her breaths were getting longer, Spike noticed – she was easing out the pain on her own, controlling her body’s reactions, rather than letting her body to control her. Smart girl. He snatched a roll of electrical tape from the compartment in front of her and slammed the door shut again, then paused.
“And should we discuss how comfortable playing with duct tape and a camouflage-color blanket on the side of a highway make me feel right now?” Dawn laughed shortly, still trying to relax her posture. Spike rolled his eyes.
“You’ve been watching crime shows again, haven’t you?” Dawn smiled guiltily. “Are you sure you can handle them? Or am I going to be searching all of the closets before you go to bed for weeks, like that time we watched the ‘Law & Order’ marathon?”
“That was almost three years ago!” Dawn protested. Spike just looked at her. “Yeah, you probably will,” she admitted sheepishly. “C.S.I. repeat, stalker in a closet, not a good scene for me.”
Spike shook his head. “I just don’t understand you. Surrounded by demons and evil, and what gives you nightmares? A fictional television show about crime in Las Vegas.”
“Yeah, I know, I’m mental. Now gag me with the tape, wrap me in the blanket and chuck me in a river. You know you want to.”
He groaned, but jumped out of the van and jogged around the back. Dawn had her door opened by the time he reached it, and he was pleased to see that she’d anticipated his plan. She had already carefully extended her injured leg, tucking the quilt away so that Spike would be able to wrap the entire area. He was an expert at it, too – within minutes, he’d neatly bound her from shin to toe in a soft splint, the black tape forming secure and even bands every few inches.
“That a little more bearable?” He looked up from where he knelt in front of her, propped up on one knee.
“Oh, you have no idea,” Dawn breathed happily, experimentally moving her leg from the knee. The splint held her entire foot immobile, enough so that the van wouldn’t cause her pain every time it went over a pothole. “Thank you. Now get up before I knight you or something.”
“Somewhere, the Queen rolls over in her grave.” He stood, brushing the grit and sand from his jeans.
“She’s not dead.”
“Oh. Well, I was talking about Victoria, actually.”
“Oh!” Dawn blinked at him, surprised. It wasn’t often that he referenced the past like that, and it always unbalanced her for a moment, twisted her reality. She kind of liked it. But she’d think on that personality quirk later.
She moved on. “Now, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to drive for a little, tiny bit longer, and then we’re going to get a room for a while.”
“And what makes you think I’m that easy?” Spike was full of amused outrage, but Dawn fixed him with a steely look. “Sorry – serious.”
“Spike, what other options are there? I mean, you’re much more awake right now than you were a couple of minutes ago, but I don’t want you wearing yourself down in some superhuman rush to get to Sunnydale. Either we wait until you get too tired and end up sleeping in the back of the van on the side of the road under the Quilt of Fugliness, or you fall asleep at the wheel and we become one with a tree.”
“Touche. We find a motel.”
“And we shower.” Dawn wrinkled her nose. “I feel like I’m covered in hospital-smell, not to mention airplane-crashy-smell.”
“Trust me, nibblet, you smell fine.”
And honestly, now she was partially out of the van, Dawn didn’t feel as icky anymore. She edged further out of her quilt, even though there was a bit of a breeze in the shade, and let the wind tease through her hair. Ohio. Ohio felt pretty good. Who’d’ve thought?
Spike stood beside her and leaned against the side of the van, careful not to press against Dawn’s damaged leg, but close enough to feel her presence. He enjoyed being out in the daylight like this; it made him feel as though he’d cheated his nature somehow. The wind swept under the bridge, bringing with it the scent of thawed soil, tall grass, wildflowers, sun. Even in the shadows of the overpass, the elusive heat was palpable to him, dry and heavy with earthy, sun-baked tones. So unlike the night, when everything held its scent close, shuttered up and closed away from prying senses. Selfish, secretive, wary.
But this – this was so different, like a completely new world. The day was when the world flung itself open and let the wind mingle scents into a heady breeze, made all the more potent by the sun. A sun whose rays gently filtered and bathed those particles, turned them, coaxed their full potential out in dizzying waves. A sun which would char him to ashes, given only the chance.
“It’s completely different, isn’t it?” Dawn asked quietly, her head leaned close to Spike’s. Her words seemed random, but she knew he understood, nodding silently in reply. True to her word, she wanted to understand his world. And in doing so, she would try to imagine his night-bound senses as they encountered daylight. In her own mind, Dawn was surprised how easily the change came to her; much like one of her harmless white lies, Dawn slid her reality. Slightly to the right, this time, close to where Spike stood, into his shoes. Lying to her mind, just for a while.
He turned to see her by his shoulder, her head bent and eyes closed, concentrating. So pale… Well, that’s what a year in New Hampshire will do to you. Her dark hair tumbling around her white, unmade face reminded him of something, and he reached over to tuck her hair behind her ear. She leaned into his hand a little, and he started.
Their skin was almost the same color. A wave of revulsion passed through him, harsh and fleeting, as he suddenly imagined her dead. No. Never. He leaned in and kissed her forehead gently, happy for her warmth against his lips; she smiled and snuggled closer. He was so used to seeing her bronzed and Californian - this delicate and haunting presence disturbed him a little. A word floated through his head, a new name, a name only for her, and he held on to it tight. An image that bound itself inexorably to the girl beside him. Blooming beautifully, day and night. He tucked it away, secret.
He couldn’t grasp the feelings rushing through him, couldn’t name them. But he knew that Dawn was different. So different from her sister, who interrupted night with her own violent light, a brash and demanding presence so strong that she could make the night recoil by sheer will, a personality that couldn’t, wouldn’t be contained. No – Dawn’s presence had always seemed so natural, so expected. She acclimated to her surroundings with such subtle grace, she probably didn’t realize how unusual she was. Wove herself into the patterns of your life and before you realized it, she belonged in you. And, in some strange way, made you belong to her. Adopted. Spike’s throat tightened; he swallowed, hard. Whatever piece of him Dawn had taken, she’d given him so much more in return.
Dawn was oblivious to Spike’s quiet thoughts, her cheek on his shoulder, the soft leather pressed against her skin. When he picked her up last night, she had suddenly realized that he didn’t smell as strongly of cigarette smoke as she remembered. But she didn’t miss it; no, the other Spike-smell was still there. It had been so masked by the stale tobacco stench, she’d never had the chance to indulge in it properly. Cool and leathery, with an underlying scent of… The words flowed through her head too quickly to catch, each one adding a particular dimension to the smell of Spike. Moss, water, stone, night, wind, wood, vines, dirt. All of those scents bright and new, sharp and alive. If it could be bottled, thought Dawn, it would be the most popular cologne ever. Strong and loyal, earthbound. Rooted. She wound her good arm through his, feeling the muscle in his arm tense as he caught her hand and held it. A pale young man stealing breaths of the bright spring breeze, while the girl beside him inhaled the odors of a life lived without sunlight.
A few minutes later they continued on their way. Dawn rewrapped herself in her fugly quilt, making ambitious noises about ripping off the cover and quilting her own design to replace it. Spike found a station broadcasting a Stone Roses afternoon and sang along loudly, ignoring Dawn’s mock- protests. And together they barreled westward on the I-80, through the warm Ohio afternoon in a van that smelled like midnight.
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