Title:Aut inveniam viam aut faciam
Disclaimer: Marvel, Fox, and Mutant Enemy own all, I own nothing and don't plan on making money off of this. Don't sue.
Spoilers: Not much just a hint of the Gift.
The candelabras burn bright as she searches for the last of her remaining clothes. The power had gone out again and it wasn’t going to be up for another twenty four hours. It’s the perfect time to leave because she knows no one will think to look for her. Stooping down, she grabs the Dolce and Gabana sweatshirt and tosses it into the duffel. A last check of the room shows it to be a stranger’s space. The living room is a riot of carnival colors so expensively tailored, she would never have been able to afford it in her former life. Taking in the sight of royal purple curtains, gold cashmere walls and the bright Fendi pillows set so loudly against the white printed couch, she sighs. She’s come a long way from being Dawn Summers, kidnap victim extraordinaire. Buffy would’ve been proud.Live, for me.
Twenty years—two decades that she’s been allowed to play the carefree heiress. It’s more than she expected the powers to give her and less than she wants, but it’s enough. The forces on the hell mouth are gathering again. After a quarter century of lull, it’s all coming to the fore, and as the dark gathers, so must the light.
“Felicia, what a wonderful party.”
Dawn waves and puts on her best hostess’ smile. “Mr. Mayor, I’m so glad that you’re enjoying yourself.”
“How could I not my dear? You Hardys sure know how to throw a gala.”
Dawn raises her champagne glass to her lips, ready to demur when a voice interrupts.
“Yeah, real wonderful party Felicia. I’ve missed the twenties. Good theme choice.”
Dawn turns towards the all too familiar voice. “Whistler.”
“Hey kid,” said Whistler, sporting his usual smarmy smile. “It’s time. You’re being tapped.”
She has a job to do
Feeling like a stranger in her own home, an anomaly in her dark jeans and plain white tank, Dawn finishes the rest of her packing quickly.
Zipping the duffel close with an air of finality, she turns and finds herself staring at the intricate detailing if Michael’s leather coat. Looking up, she meets his eyes, and sees how brightly they burn against the stark paleness of his skin.
“Michael.” He looks good under light of the half crescent moon. She takes in his dark, midnight hair; half curled, and resists the urge to run her fingers through. She knows his hair is as soft as baby down half-wet like it is now. We Summers women sure know how to pick ‘em don’t we?
What were the odds that both sisters would fall for their very own, redeemed vampires? But of course, she was made from Buffy.
“Felicia,” his voice shudders across her skin like dark velvet, and she has to force herself not to shiver. “Why?”
It’s a question she isn’t prepared to answer. Will never be prepared to answer, but she does, the best way she knows how. “I’m needed.” Simple, direct. She needs to do it this way because she’ll break otherwise, and she can’t. Not tonight. Not in front of him. So instead, she cups his face and lays a tender kiss on his lips, sinking all of her hopes into the one action. When she pulls away, she can see that he understands. Something tightens in her chest before relaxing.
“I’ll come back to you.” In whatever form, no matter what. I'll live and I’ll come back.
Aut inveniam viam aut faciam translation: I will find a way or I will make one.