Title: Losing Faith
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everything belongs to Joss and David Greenwalt.
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Summary: “This was wrong, their feelings. They were dirty, tainted, impure. They shouldn’t be touching Dawn with these feelings of theirs. It was too dark, too primal, too…wrong
The light touched her hair, bathed it in a golden glow that seemed to reflect on her smoothly tanned skin. She sat on the newly mown grass, her head tilted back and a pleased smile on her face, eyes closed, lips parted slightly. Breath left that body, and the eyes flickered open and a slow smile spread over her face, flashing just a hint of white teeth. A slim hand lifted to push back long brown locks that had fallen into that face of hers, the face that haunted dreams, the face that revealed as it shut away. A hand fisted on a hip, and breath left this girl’s admirer in harsh pants as the unseen person tried to force back thoughts, images from her head, all of them which featured this very same girl. It was a lost cause. The girl was lying on the grass… with someone else. Her boyfriend. She had a boyfriend. He didn’t deserve her, not a little not a lot. Then again… neither did they. No one did, no one deserved her. She was too pure, too good, too… everything
for any of them. So they sufficed to lurk in shadows and steal glances at the girl bathed in the golden glow of the sun… Dawn
He watched her as she tilted her head back, opened that mouth of her to accept the offered grape from the grasp of her boyfriend. Her boyfriend… that word was leaving a bitter taste in her mouth, knowing that the boyfriend wasn’t him. Stupid though it might seem, he wanted that normal label, wanted it if it linked him to her in any way. She laughed, that bright laugh of hers that made his stomach clench. He didn’t want to see this moment of happy domesticity, but he couldn’t look away, he just couldn’t. It was like watching an accident happen. He watched as the boyfriend ran careless fingers through that hair of hers, that silk, and trail fingertips to rest at her chin before tipping her face up. She smiled, smiled even as his face leaned in closer for the kiss. This time he could turn around and with that action, brought his notice to… the other. The other that watched her with as much obsession as he himself.
He was staring, and that stubborn chin lifted in defiance. Ice blue met snapping brown and something passed between them. He’d known, he’d always known and the fact that he knew… it didn’t bother. Not as much as if it was someone else that knew. They were in the same boat, both of them. If Buffy found out… Buffy would kill them, no questions asked. Kill them but good. They knew it, that was why they didn’t do more than watch. They also didn’t do more than watch because they knew that Buffy was right. This was wrong, their feelings. They were dirty, tainted, impure. They shouldn’t be touching Dawn with these feelings of theirs. It was too dark, too primal, too…wrong
for her. For the angel. They couldn’t. She was like some fragile being, like pure snow that shouldn’t be dirtied, that should be kept. Fragile like it, too. The littlest gesture, littlest heat and that snow would melt, would disappear. They didn’t want her to disappear, didn’t want to taint her in their darkness, so they just watched her, watched her and that damned boyfriend of hers day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute. There was nothing that she did that either of them didn’t know about. Her very moves were recorded, stored to be cherished, later. Each smile and touch and word bestowed upon them by her was like manna from heaven. They craved her like they craved nothing else.
It was wrong.
It was dirty.
They couldn’t help themselves.
Slowly, first of the two got up, deliberately looked at the other, saluted, then walked away with that customary swagger in his jean clad hips. The leather duster swayed and as he passed, the other could smell the scents that was just Spike
. Whiskey. Cigarettes. And something like that of a wild animal. A demon. He would be in the living room, long, elegant fingers that could, and had, seen violence and bestowed it, fiddling with a lighter, a pack of cards on the table in front of him. Their sad ritual. With a soft sigh, the other got up, shot one last lingering, longing look at the still kissing teenager, and walked into the living room. Spike looked up and smiled that mocking smile of his, their ritual.
Poker. That was what life was dealing her with, these days.
The long, lithe body eased it’s way on the floor, picked up the glass of whisky on the table that was doubtlessly his, and nodded.
Faith had lost faith a long time ago.