I don't anything you recognise, I probably do everything you don't recognise and I'm not making any money from writing this fictive story.
B:tVS? Owned by Joss Whedon and others.
Bones? Owned by Hart Hanson and others.Crossover:
Bones/Buffy: the Vampire SlayerPairing:
FR13, thanks to a couple of dirty words.Spoilers:
The beginning of season three of Bones, because Sweets has just joined.Summary:
Sweets lets loose his talent of finding out things about someone, Dawn is not impressed. Inspired by the FFA pairing Dawn/Sweets.
“talking”placeStory: You Think You Know SomeoneThe One-Way Mirror Room
“I think that he’s a rich young man who’s trying to get back at his family,” Sweets told Dawn.
“What makes you think that?” Dawn asked.
“Look at the way he slouches, the way he acts, the way he dresses, . . .” Sweets said, pointing out each of the things he talked about. “Those are all classic signs of a rebelling youth. Even the way he talks is a sign of rebelling.”
“What you just told me couldn’t be further from the truth, though, Sweets,” Dawn told him.
“You know the guy?” Sweets asked, looking over at her in surprise.
“I do,” Dawn admitted, “and he’s one badass motherfucker. A total psycho.”
Sweets looked slightly shocked at her language.
“Yes, write it down. Dawn Summer cursed
! Jesus,” Dawn complained, “I’m a twenty-five-year-old woman. I think that by now I’m allowed to curse whenever I feel like it, don't you?”
“I didn’t say anything,” Sweets said, holding up his hands in surrender when faced with the clearly angry young woman.
“But you thought it,” Dawn accused him.
Sweets wisely didn’t say anything to that. His mother had always told him that it was better to avoid talking when all you would have done otherwise would have been telling lies.
“Oh, please!” Dawn suddenly glared at the man sitting in the seat behind the one-way glass. “No need to get all smug about me cursing. Xander was the one who taught me most of the words I use when I curse.”
“The prisoner can’t hear . . .” Sweets started to say to Dawn, trailing off as soon as he saw the prisoner scowl in their direction. “How is that possible?”
“That he heard us, you mean?” Dawn asked. “That's for me to know and for you to hopefully never
Sweets looked at her in confusion.
“Don’t ask and I won’t tell,” Dawn told him, smiling sweetly at him.
“Finally found a girl you can impress, did you?” Booth asked, striding in the room as if he owned it.
“No, he didn’t. And no freaking way!” Dawn breathed, walking closer to Booth. “This is so beyond weird. And let me tell you, I’ve seen some fucked up shit.”
She poked Booth none to gently in the chest.
Booth started to back away from the crazy girl coming up to him. “Hey! Watch the hands!”
“You look just like him,” Dawn said, crowding Booth against the wall.
“I don’t care who that him
is,” Booth said, still trying the back away from the crazy person with the grabby hands, “because I’m not him and I don’t know you. That means that you don’t get to touch me.”
“Does Spike know about this? Has he seen you yet?” Dawn asked Booth curiously.
“Who’s Spike?” Booth asked.
“Your prisoner,” Dawn answered. “The one sitting there.”
She pointed towards the room behind the one-way mirror.
“That’s William,” Booth said. “He’s not this Spike person you’re talking about.”
“Spike is the name he usually goes by and call him a person. He gets very annoyed when that happens,” Dawn told him. “So he did see you then? Let me guess . . . You didn’t have much luck getting him to talk.”
“Another sign of rebelling,” Sweets said, nodding wisely. “Making up a nickname like that.”
Booth glared at Sweets, then looked at Dawn and said, “No, he didn’t. He was caught red-handedly at the scene of the crime and yet he still sticks to his I’m-totally-innocent story.”
“That's so totally Spike-like behaviour.” Dawn laughed. “And no, Sweets. The nickname was actually because he wanted to impress
Angel; not because he wanted to rebel against him. And it’s not exactly
a nickname. I mean, yes, he took it for his own, but it was the name of his modus operandi.”
“How do you know all these things?” Sweets asked, exasperated that she always seemed to everything better than him.
“I told you that already,” Dawn said. “I know the guy. I’ve known him since I was a teenager.”
“What’s he like?” Booth asked her.
“He’s a cold-hearted killer,” Dawn said. “A psycho one at that. He's someone who was totally into torturing his victims. You wouldn't want to meet him in an abandoned alley.”
Sweets and Booth looked at her in total shock, mouths hanging open at her cold explanation of things such as torture and murder. Then they looked at Spike who was preening at what Dawn had just told Booth and Sweets.
“He’s also a total sweetheart,” Dawn continued. “He melts into a puddle of goo whenever you give him hot chocolate with some of those little marshmallows in it. And he gives us the kittens he wins at kitten poker. He’s a total hero too.”
Spike scowled at all that, glaring at the exact spot Dawn was standing at.
Dawn smiled sweetly at Spike. “But we don't talk about that. He's a bit sensitive about his bloody past.”
“Why is he still on the loose, if he’s cold-blooded killer?” Booth asked Dawn, not quite believing what he had just heard. “And how is that you know him?”
“He doesn’t kill innocents anymore,” Dawn waved off their concerns. “Hasn’t for years now. And I know him, because he used to babysit me. He used to date my sister.”
“When did he kill those people?” Sweets asked.
“Late 1800s, early 1900s,” Dawn said without missing a beat.
“That’s not possible,” Booth argued. “He doesn’t look a day over twenty-five.”
“That part of the you-don’t-ask-and-I-won’t-tell package,” Dawn said. “Not like it matters anyway, because in under a minute we’ll be out of here.”
“No, you won’t be,” Booth promised her. “I’ll make sure of that. I want to get to the bottom of this he’s-a-psycho-killer-turned-good-citizen thing.”
They looked up at the knocking on the door.
“There is a man here for Miss Summers,” the man standing in the doorway told Booth. “A Mister Harris? He seemed to be quite, um, agitated and wanted to see her immediately.”
“Oh, God.” Dawn groaned. “Did they have to send Xander? Really? Spike and me will never
live this one down.”
“I agree with that statement,” a voice came from behind the man still standing in the doorway. “You two will never
live this one down.”
Booth and Sweets saw a good-looking older man walking towards Dawn. With dark-brown hair, only one eye and wearing comfortable clothing, he didn’t look anything like the type of man they had expected Dawn to know. She seemed more the type to hang around with nerds. The scars they both saw on his arms and face didn’t fit their idea either.
“How did you talk your way into this room?” Xander asked exasperatedly. “Prisoners aren’t usually allowed here.”
“My sweet smile can get me anywhere,” Dawn said smugly.
“Except in my good graces at the moment,” Xander cut her off, knowing what she was going to try to do next.
“That pout has never
worked on me either,” Xander said, “so why would you think that it would work now? Let me get the Most Annoying One. After that we’re gone.”
With that having been said, Xander walked off to get Spike, letting everyone else stand in the room gaping.
“I’m so screwed. And not in the sexy fun way either.” Dawn sighed. “Oh, well, best be off then. It was nice meeting you, Sweets and Booth. Maybe we’ll meet again, but hopefully under better circumstances if we ever do.”
With that, she turned on her heel and walked out the door.
“You guys are so screwed.” Xander laughed, giving a mocking look to Spike and Dawn. “Angel, Buffy, Giles, . . . The list is practically never-ending when it comes to people who have something to say to you about this little fiasco. And I’m going to sit back, relax and laugh at your misfortune.”
As one Spike and Dawn sat back, crossed their arms and pouted. They so didn’t deserve all this crap. They simply were in the wrong place at the wrong time. At least, that was their story and they were planning on sticking to it.Epilogue: a Letter to Dr. Lance Sweets, F.B.I. Psychologist
I know that you were frustrated about the fact that I seemed to shoot down everything you said about Spike. That would be,because it was all untrue. So I decided to tell you the truth about him. Who knows? Maybe you’ll learn something about this.
Spike never wanted to get back at
his family. On the contrary, he tried to fit in more. The walk, the talk, the way he acts, etc. All those things are part of that particular package. You’d do a lot for family, wouldn’t you? Things you’d never do otherwise. Well, that’s why he did all those thing: to please his fucked-up family.
Actually . . . Now that I think about it . . . The way he talks was more of a way to distance himself from his upbringing. Spike will never know about this letter, so I’ll tell you why: he was actually brought up with a proper English accent. The accent, unfortunately, didn’t fit the persona he had created, so it was the first thing that had to go.
Oops, gotta leave. Spike apparently found out that I was going to send this letter to you and now he’s coming to get me. Or the letter. Whatever. Hope this letter finds you well!
PS: By the way: don't mind any red stains. I just spilled a few strawberries while I was writing this. They were in my fruit salad.End of “You Think You Know Someone”.A/N:
I saw the FFA pairing Dawn/Sweets and this is what came out. I wasn’t quite sure about Dawn cursing at first, but then I figured that it wouldn’t be possible to grow up with the Xander, Spike and Faith around without slipping into curse mode sometimes.
I don’t know much about psychology and connected fields of study. I only got the basics at college. It’s quite possible that this is not scientifically correct.
Hope you liked it. You know the drill: reviews are welcomed while flames will be mocked.