facetsofblood
A quiet day was rare.
But sunny days were not.
Edward sat in the living room of the house he and Alice shared, piano at his back, watching the rays of light refract off the window next to him. Going outside and being seen would be disastrous. It would cause car accidents. It would shake belief systems.
Edward smirked.
He had a book in his hand--something he had been wanting to read but for whatever reason he hadn't gotten around to. Alice was not home; she'd gone to an indoor mall. God bless modern convenience, Edward thought.
He read at a human pace, savoring the words on the page, trying his best to deal with being inside and the strange recent events. Sunnydale was hazardous to his health, as well as to that of the people around him.
Mostly girls.
His mind wandered over and over again to Bella. He'd reread the same sentence five times.
So when the doorbell rang, out of nowhere, Edward was more than shocked.
He hadn't heard thoughts. And someone that close, he would have heard them whether he wanted to or not.
That meant... one of two people.
Dawn or Bella.
He stood, eyebrow arching, and made his way to the front door.
When it swung open, he raised light-brown eyes to the girl standing there. And then his mouth fell open.
The walk wasn't too bad. Dawn had hardly noticed that she'd crossed the town - not that there was much town to cross - because she was preoccupied with the contents of her own mind. Her thoughts played a complicated game of tag-and-go-seek, and it was beyond her to organize them. And there were only so many answers she could get before she had to consider other, less safe and smart means.
Blood seemed to be key. Ha, ha.
So she'd set out, all determined, and somehow ended up on Edward Cullen's doorstep, determination scattered in her wake like breadcrumbs. Somewhat uncharacteristically, she was terrified. Of seeing Edward again, of putting him to the test... and of the answers he'd give her.
No good could come of this. No good at all.
She rang the doorbell and stood there, anxiously chewing on a cuticle around the soft gauze wrapped around her hands. The cuts from the glass breaking weren't deep, but she had to use her hands. It was kind of embarassing, but at least she hadn't cut her arms. People talked enough without her walking around like a suicide attempt.
The door swung open. "Hi," she said hesitantly.
First things first.
Dawn was hurt. Recently. The cuts were healed, mostly. But he could smell the blood. And there were bandages on her hands.
He made a mental note not to ever let Dawn and Bella into a kitchen together. Or anywhere with sharp objects.
Edward's eyebrow dropped, and he held the door open, but he was unable to close his mouth entirely. This was a first.
And he wasn't sure he liked it.
"Hello, Dawn," he said, voice soft, congenial even. "Come in."
Say what you would about the vampire, he wasn't stupid. She was there for a reason. And visibly shaken.
He shut the door behind her once she was inside. "What happened?" Edward nodded his head toward her hands.
Edward wouldn't tell her she shouldn't be here. She obviously knew it. You could read it in her face.
"You'll swallow a bug," Dawn said quietly, stepping inside. Of all of the fears circulating in the pit of her belly, saving face in front of Edward wasn't one of them. So all it took was a belief-shaking, world-ending turn off events to make her able to talk to cute boys? It was almost worth it.
At his question, she looked down at her hands, and balled them into fists. "Accident," she said vaguely. Yeah, an accident involving her brain and some out-of-control emotions. Very safe. At least it hadn't hurt. Not physically. "It's no big."
She glanced around the room. Nice house. High ceilings, lots of light. How not-vampiric. "I'm not intruding, am I?" she asked, turning back to him. Purely out of politeness, of course, because damned if she was leaving. Not without answers, anyway.
He smirked, and the smirk had an edge. Swallow a bug. Cute.
Edward nodded his head at the room he'd been sitting in, toward the open entryway which seemed like it was made for showing off that piano.
"Alright," he said. "I'll take that answer. For now."
He smiled, and it reached his eyes. There was something wrong here, so wrong he could feel it.
"You're not intruding, but I'm curious how you knew to find the place," Edward said, gesturing to the couch he'd sat on. "And... I don't think you'd be here if everything was fine." His eyebrow arched again. "Would you?"
An invitation into the demon's lair. So what if Dawn was prone to a little drama? Considering her current situation, she thought she was allowed. She was holding up considerably well, barring the accident with the glass and now, willingly walking into a vampire's house.
She padded through the entryway slowly, silently congratulating herself on wearing trainers. The click of her heels would've felt invasive in this house. She didn't need a reminder.
"Broke into the student records office," she said with a shrug, and grinned. It was a little bitter. "Desperate times and all that." She turned back to look at him, slipping her hands into the back pockets of her jeans so she wouldn't tear at her nails again. "And yeah, I might've been, 'cause morbid curiosity and all that, but no." Breath. "I have a, um, question." She bit her lip, looking away. How to start?
Her gaze drifted to the piano. Impressive. "Do you play?"
Dawn was all nerves. He hadn't even seen her like this after... the incident.
Edward didn't like reminding himself that he'd bitten someone. At all.
Broke into the records office. His eyebrows both raised. "Rebel," he jibed. The pointed comment, however, went with a grin.
He wasn't entirely glad that had happened, but what was he really going to do about it now? The Cullens would, no doubt, be known soon enough as 'those strange kids who live in that big house.' He could shrug it off.
"Morbid curiosity?" Edward laughed. "You've met all of my family that's here. It's just me and Alice, right now."
And he was hoping no phone calls came while Dawn was here. He wasn't explaining her presence to Esme. Or Carlisle. Especially not him. Alice had been kind enough to NOT mention what had happened, his falling off the wagon, to their father.
He followed her eyes to the piano. It was a Bosendorfer, and wasn't new, either. But it was nice looking and it played beautifully. Edward smiled, almost beaming. And he nodded.
"Yes," he said. "I play. All night, sometimes." He sat on the couch he'd gestured to. If Dawn wanted to stand, she could stand. Edward clasped his hands together, resting them on his knees, and raise his eyes to her. "We can talk about that later. I'll even play for you, maybe. But first you're going to tell me what's up."
"It's not about the people," Dawn pointed out, raising her eyes to the high ceilings. But it wasn't an old house, it was new and kind of... modern. Didn't really fit the vampire mythos, but then again, what about the Cullens did? "A living space says a lot about a person. Besides, you've seen my house. It's only fair."
She raised her eyebrows at him, a tiny smile lifting up the corners of her mouth. He'd seen it, alright. And he'd seen her strange vision - or her reaction to the vision, anyway. She understood it now. Nevermind that Niks said it wasn't certain, they still had to do the spell... she just knew. It made sense, when it was your body they were talking about, your molecules and flesh and blood. And how much of that was illusion?
She shook her head, turning back to the piano, running her fingertips over the gleaming surface lightly. "Of course you do," she said under her breath. Could he be any more infuriatingly perfect?
"I'm sorry," she said, turning around again - she was doing a lot of spinning, it seemed - and moved over to the couch, perching lightly on the armrest. "You're not going to like my questions. But I would really - I need you to answer them." She stopped, swallowed, looking at him. Would he ask her to leave? Would he get angry, for bringing up memories he'd rather forget? She hoped he was too polite to start throwing things, at least.
His eyes followed her to the armrest and watched her sit there, and Edward kept his face open, patient.
You're not going to like my questions...
His jaw worked, without his mouth opening, the muscles at the back moving under white skin. "Ask them anyway, Dawn," he said.
He could guess that they had to do with either her or himself. Or what had happened between them.
"I've been answering a lot of questions lately," Edward continued. "What's a few more?"
"I guess that would happen," Dawn said with a half-shrug, her hands folded in her lap, fingers picking idly at the fraying edge of the gauze around her palms. "Move to a new town, blow your cover." She glanced at him quickly, a sparkle lighting in her eyes, then she looked away. Back to her hands absently working.
"That day at school," she started, not sure how to proceed. She hadn't rehearsed this. She hadn't even planned on doing it. She just got up and walked and here she was, without a game plan or anything, just some awkward questions and a desperate need for an explanation. A confirmation. Something.
"When you, um." No need to say it - they both knew what had happened. Very well. "I know this is probably like, really not something you want to discuss, but it's important. To me." She stopped, swallowed hard. Awkward didn't even begin to cover it.
"My blood. What was it like?"
Blow your cover.
He caught the sparkle. And he smiled and looked away, shaking his head.
That day at school...this government chip... Edward smiled slightly. Bella's words made sense now. Are you wearing any small, possibly government-owned objects?
But...
Eyebrows knit together in anger. "He split your lip?" Edward almost made a fist, and he set his jaw. "He split your lip and you're talking to me about this like that's nothing, just punctuation? Dawn..." He paused, completely floored. "He hit you?"
Edward's voice was angry now. And not with her. He hoped she could tell.
"And someone says you're... fiction?"
Sitting down was becoming impossible.
"Of course he did," Dawn said, a note of surprise in her tone, until she realized - she hadn't mentioned it. Der. "I asked him to. Teach me how to fight, I mean. He wasn't supposed to actually hit me, because that'd give him a killer migraine, but I guess he missed his step, and -" she broke off, shrugging again. "It's not that he hit me. It's that the chip didn't split his head open that bothers me. You see?"
She couldn't even hold still anymore, and if she bit any harder on her fingers, her cuticles would bleed and the last thing she needed is more blood flowing free. She couldn't stand it. Everyone was so damned concerned about her. Why? She didn't do anything to deserve it. She was selfish, and a brat, and she was going to lose her mind. Nobody liked a psychotic teenager.
She pushed away from the couch, walking over to the window to look outside. It was sunny, but the sun was crossing to the afternoon part of the sky, ready to begin its descent. So was she.
"Not fiction, exactly," she clarified. "Something pretending to be something else. The Key, in a girl's body. And I never even knew."
This was a bit much to process.
Edward stood, and started pacing, hands in his pockets.
"You... asked him to?"
Disbelief was thick in his voice, though the question was asked with total calm. "Wait... what?
He was on top of the chip thing. Okay. He understood why that would be disturbing but...
"Why would you ask a vampire to... hit you? And why would he do it? Isn't he supposed to be a friend?"
Edward decided he did not like Spike. At all.
A key in a girl's body...
"Dawn..." He sighed, heavily. "What does this person think you are, if not..." this was too hard. He had to look away and then back. "A girl?"
Sighing, Dawn turned around, her eyes seeking out Edward's restless figure in the room, following him in his compulsive laps. Slight exasperation was better than pending madness, in any case.
"It's not like I said, hey, Spike, why don't you try punching me, and he agreed. I asked him to teach me to defend myself, that sort of thing, because honestly, if anyone comes at me, I'm demon food." She shrugged, matter-of-factly, because she wasn't concerned with him eating her anymore. If he wasn't going to do it, then she had other things to worry about. That was yesterday's trauma, so to speak.
"Self-defense comes in handy around here. And Buffy would never teach me, so," she shrugged again, "I asked someone who knows how to fight. The actual hitting was purely accidental."
She leaned against the windowframe, wrapping her arms around herself. What does she think you are, Dawn? A lie. A forged document. The signature's there, but who knows who faked it. Real only in the sense that you're physically here. Everything else is false.
"The Key," she said, her voice hollow. "Ancient energy, shaped by monks into a human body and placed with a protector so that its powers could be guarded against those who wish to misuse it. If I was gonna try and protect something, I'd make it into a big burly guy, not, you know. This. Me." Saying it out loud took away all hope. Her own voice, ringing in her ears, made it true, really true. There was no going back now.
Edward raised one eyebrow and glared.
The glare was fairly impressive. He had sisters.
"But he... and you..." He threw up his hands, exasperated on his own.
Teaching was one thing, but... "He's a vampire. There's no way for us to be careful with something like that when-"
He sighed.
"I'm all for self-defense, but he could have killed you. Without even meaning to. That is incredibly irresponsible of him."
He had to let this go. Edward made an effort to unclench his fist, and felt some of the tension leave.
Her words were over his head. And he knew it. The explanation...
"That's... are you serious?" His eyebrows furrowed again. But it made sense. He didn't know Buffy but he knew, from Dawn, what her job was. She was a hunter. THE hunter. What better way to protect something than to make it precious to her?
He set his jaw, and bit his lower lip.
"So you want to know... what, exactly? How your blood is different? How it felt? What I knew? You told me I wouldn't like the questions."
Sympathetic light brown eyes pulled at hers. "You're not going to like the answers."
"That's the point, isn't it?" Dawn shrugged with one thin shoulder, her hair falling out from its place, safely secured behind her ear. "We both thought I'd be safe, because he couldn't hurt me." Her mouth twisted in a wry smile. "Proved him wrong."
She stepped away from the window. Considering her track record with glass lately, after whatever Edward was going to tell her, she didn't want to owe him any new windows. They had enough trouble with that at home, anyway. Gently, she ran her hand over the surface of the piano, her fingers trembling slightly. It was well and all to fake bravery until you were on the very edge.
"I'm not laughing," she said somberly. "It's not certain yet, there's some sort of spell they can do, but I know. These monks, they faked everything. Things, feelings, memories. I'm a very convincing carbon copy of a person." Her mouth twisted again, and she turned away. Didn't they know, it was inevitable that she would find out? Didn't they know that it would hurt?
She turned back, bright blue eyes locking onto his. "I want the answers."
"Faked memories..."
Edward felt crushed, on her behalf. That was... horrifying.
Dawn's eyes pulled at him. He didn't know it, but Spike once told Dawn he could never say no to those eyes.
The same thing occurred to Edward.
He ran a hand through bronze hair, and managed to stop pacing.
"You... God, this is difficult."
He stopped, dropping his head, trying not to fumble the words.
"You never had a chance," Edward said. "I'm surprised, frankly, that other vampires don't sit outside your house waiting for you to come out. Maybe they are less sensitive to it."
He shrugged.
"I was hungry, and that was part of it. Too hungry. But you... the way you smell, your blood under your skin..."
He dropped his head and walked to the piano, something for comfort. He sat on the bench. "It doesn't happen like that. It shouldn't."
Not twice.
Here came the worst of it.
"You tasted... well, you were incredible." He smiled up at Dawn, a half-smile. "But I knew almost instantaneously... there was..."
He'd told Alice Dawn tasted like a good lie. How in the hell could he tell her that?
"... too much." He sighed. "And for all that there was, it wasn't quite right. Too sweet. Too thick. Delicious and intoxicating but..."
He looked back at those eyes.
"God, I'm sorry."
Awkward. Dawn watched Edward cross the room, sit down at the piano, watched his long fingers slide over the keys. She couldn't look away. As if she had anything to lose. Keys didn't have dignity.
Regardless, she blushed. This was almost the vampire equivalent of a compliment. Like congratulating a cook on a meal well prepared. He should be congratulating the monks, then. They were very good at what they did.
"Too perfect," she said, her mouth twisting, and looked away. So convincing that it wasn't. She supposed it should've been flattering, the monks making her at the height of perfection... for what? So she'd make a better meal for an unsuspecting demon? "It's like, you know, mutants or bionic people or stupid science fiction stuff like that. The next generation, people who are better than people. Only this isn't science or biology. It's magic. And the one thing they have in common?" She looked back at him, her eyes wide and earnest, and desperate under a cracking mask of nonchalance. "They hurt people. Not to get all existential on you or anything. Now you know. Dawn Summers doesn't exist. She never did."
She drew in a deep breath. Her hands were shaking, and she clenched her fingers into fists, digging her nails into the soft padding of the gauze. It still stung, a little bit, and prevented her from buying any new glasswares for the Cullens.
"How do I tell them?"
He was on his feet almost immediately, eyebrows drawn together, mouth slightly open, worry on his face.
Edward stood in front of her, watching her push on her wounds, watching her tempt fate.
"Dawn Summers is very real," he said, emphatically. "She exists. Doesn't matter how you got here, you are here."
Edward sighed, and cursed once under his breath. "I know real when I see it. When I spend the afternoon with it. When I look it in the eye."
Which, he couldn't do for this next part. "When I taste it."
He bit his lip and released it. "Your sister, and your friends?" His eyebrow rose. "I wish I had an answer for you. I can't even tell my family that I bit a nice girl."
"She's a lie," Dawn said, her eyes opening wider in the desperation to make him understand how she felt. "I'm a lie." It was sweet that he was trying to be all comforting, and she really appreciated it, especially when he owed her nothing and wouldn't be in the wrong if he said he never wanted to see her again. But it was frustrating, too, when people said that it would all be okay, because they had no way of knowing, did they? She felt very far from okay at the moment.
"People don't like being lied to. How do I tell my family, my friends, that everything they know about me is fake? That something went into their heads, and messed with their memories?" She shuddered. It was so invasive. "They'd blame me. I'd blame me, too."
She looked back at him as he stood in front of her, all earnest, biting his lip. So fucking helpful, she couldn't stand it. What had she done to deserve this? She probably didn't even have real feelings, just programmed ones. They felt real. What a goddamn catch-22. There was so much to understand. She even had herself convinced.
"I'm not me," she said quietly, blue eyes meeting his. "I don't even know how much of me is me. None of it makes sense." Her knuckles were turning white, her hands shaking. "I don't understand."
Lately, Edward was getting the impression that he was entirely in over his head in Sunnydale.
This, right now, was enforcing that impression.
He seriously thought about closing the distance between himself and Dawn, and just holding her until she calmed down. But that was going to be a bad idea. He remembered what happened last time all too well. And he was not, contrary to some beliefs, perfect. He could screw up again.
"You didn't tell the lie," Edward said, softly. "You did not ask to be..."
What? How the hell did you phrase that, exactly?
He bit his lip once and released it. Really, to hell with the whole town. Enough.
Edward was thisclose to putting his arms around her, but he'd be cold and vice-like.
Instead, he reached out a hand to one of Dawn's fists, and gently held onto it, trying to unclench it.
"Dawn, how can I help you?" he asked, voice almost shaking. Seeing her like this hurt. Hurt.
"What is there that I can do?"
"Maybe not," Dawn shrugged. "But everyone needs a scapegoat." And this, so conveniently, put her in the perfect position for it. What if, when they found out, they decided they didn't care about her anymore? What if they were so angry, they'd refuse to protect her? She knew this was mad thinking, that Spike didn't walk away from her when he found out she wasn't human enough to set off the chip. Edward wasn't leaving her. Niks had promised to help. But the irrational fear was there, creeping, chilling the base of her spine.
What if Buffy doesn't love me anymore?
Gods, could she get any more pathetic?
She let Edward take her hand, slowly straightening out her fingers. The scabs cracked, under the gauze, but didn't bleed, just stretched uncomfortably. Her hands ached. Her whole body ached. And this wasn't fair. Edward was being so wonderful and understanding, and here she was, a complete mess, losing it all over him. So much for good impressions. She was practically psychotic.
"I don't know," she said softly. "I don't know that there's anything you can do. I'm just... glad you don't hate me. For being a lie."
veryone needs a scapegoat.
All of the Cullens knew that line. Well. Very well. He didn't know it yet, but that thinking had followed him here.
There were entire sections of land near Forks he wasn't allowed to set foot on, because other vampires couldn't control themselves.
Scapegoat. He grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"I am incapable of hating you, Dawn," he said. It felt like a confession. He felt her hand straighten in his, and then he felt something change.
A whisper. A whisper where most people were at least a loud voice, or a shout. Edward blinked, and his mouth twitched into a smirk for a second. Then that smirk faded into an expression of wonder.
What if Buffy doesn't love me anymore?
Low. A whisper at the base of his spine, dancing upward until the hair on his neck stood up. A chill.
When he tried to speak, his voice was a whisper, too.
"Dawn..." Edward's eyes flashed with something like happiness. If he could hear her... she couldn't be...
"I can hear you."
He didn't drop her hand. He just looked at her, waiting for something else to float from her mind to his.
What?
Dawn just stared at him blankly, wide-eyed, then clapped her free hand over her mouth. She didn't know why he couldn't hear her thoughts before, but it must have something to do with her condition, now. Because she was so emotionally distraught, the Key's - her - wards were probably cracking and her thoughts were seeping through.
Like water through cracks in a glass. Like my hands.
Involuntarily, she glanced at her bandaged hand, and flushed, seeing Edward's long fingers wrapped around hers. And wondered what he must think of everyone around him, if they acted like she did. Saved them the embarrassment, though, not knowing.
"But I didn't do anything," she whispered.
He smiled, and shook his head.
"I think you're more human than you believe," Edward said.
Like water through cracks in a glass. Like my hands.
His eyebrow raised. "Is that what happened? A glass broke in your hands?"
He was still only getting surface thoughts. And having not heard her thoughts before, Edward didn't know if he was right. She could be fond of florid prose in her head.
He was watching her, watching those blue eyes react to changes in light.
"Do you want to test this?" He gave her a conspiratorial smile.
He wondered if the thoughts would get louder, or if they'd stay a shiver, a whisper. He shook his head, feeling the ruffling at the back of his neck again. "You..." There was a nervous laugh. "You're giving me... chills. How are you doing that?"
She nodded.
"When I was talking to Niks - the woman who told me what I was - the glass broke, and it cut me. And the other night, I was scared, and - terrified, actually, the most scared I've ever been in my life - and all the street lamps around me burst." She shrugged, still looking at him with wonder in her eyes. "I thought it was a coincidence."
Was that what it took? Extreme emotions? But she'd been upset before... but no, never like that. Never had she been as scared for herself and for Tara as she was that night. Never had her world been turned so thoroughly upside down. Was that what broke through the Key's defenses?
"I don't know," she admitted. "Nothing's changed. I didn't do anything different." She tilted her head to the side, narrowing her eyes at him, ever so slightly. "What are you suggesting?"
Edward turned her hand over as she spoke, as if inspecting the wounds, without unwrapping it. Glass burst. And street lights.
"You must have been petrified," he said.
Edward looked at her, not catching everything, not catching anything right now.
"Most people, I hear them in my head like they're shouting," he said. "You're whispering. But you're there. I think maybe you were always there, and I just didn't hear you."
He smiled gently. "See if you can put one over on me. It would be a great skill to have, in this place," he said, raising an eyebrow to punctuate the thought. "Maybe more useful than re-enacting Fight Club with Spike."
He winked. And absently ran his thumb over the back of her hand to reassure her.
"Good thing I'm not obvious, then," Dawn joked weakly. It was just one thing after the next. And suddenly, she felt very tired. But she couldn't walk away from this. Not when they were finally making some progress that could actually be categorized as positive. Not when this ridiculously cute vampire boy was holding her hand.
"Ha," she said, almost rolling her eyes at his criticism of her exercise with Spike. It would've been effective if she'd been human! But she was curious. Was it actually a good thing, that he could hear her thoughts, that the wards were breaking down? Or would that make her easier to detect? She knew there was someone looking for her.
Without meaning to, she thought.
That bitch with the red hair, she said she wanted her Key. Oh, god, she's after me. She's here.
And the piece de resistance.
Well, shit.
Edward just waited.
He had a prodigal amount of patience.
His eyebrow arched, and he felt her, on the back of his neck. Whatever energy that was in her, that made her this key, he felt it.
Edward had to concentrate. Much more than to filter through anyone else. Even Alice. Alice could block him out, though, by thinking of completely absurd things. She would recite the alphabet backwards, or she would speak languages he wasn't fluent in inside her head.
Alice made him work to read her mind.
Dawn's mind was similar. But it was like straining to hear a single pin drop while an orchestra was playing.
He closed his eyes.
... red hair... wanted her key... oh, god, she's after me, she's here.
He shook his head. And then he started laughing, almost uncontrollably. Well, shit.
Light brown eyes opened. He laughed a few more times. "I'm sorry. That last bit was funny."
He ran his tongue over his lower lip and smiled gently. "No one's here but me, Dawn," he said, as if in answer.
He lowered his eyes and squeezed her hand, gently, careful of her wounds. "Can you... try to keep me out? Alice does it. Tries to be distracting. It's maddening."
He smirked. "Don't throw me softballs. I want to help you figure this out."
"You think it's funny, my impending doom?" Dawn raised her eyebrows, but there was a sparkle in her eye that wasn't there before, and a smile curved the corners of her mouth. His laughter was contagious. And it didn't make the situation go away, but it made it seem... more manageable, somehow.
Her mouth set in a firm line as she thought about it more. "You heard that? About - whoever she is? She's here, in Sunnydale. Spike and I ran into her. She's looking for the Key, but she doesn't know what it is. I'm really hoping we're gonna keep it that way, because it's kind of a one-way ticket. One time use only." Her eyes flickered to a point over his head, on the blank wall. It was too hard to look into his eyes and see that sincerity and talk about lies.
"And I'm not throwing you anything," she added defensively. "You're the one who's throwing." Her gaze fell back to his face, and something inside of her mind snapped. Keep out. And her mind was quiet, the surface as flat as a deep, dark lake. She met his gaze, but there was nothing behind her eyes. The Key mechanism clicked into place, sensing a need to protect. Her thoughts were silent to her own ears.
He just smirked back at her. Dawn knew impending doom was not funny. But the afterthought had been.
A one-way ticket. He hadn't even thought that if she was a key, there must be a lock. Edward was suddenly incredibly worried. In this place, that lock couldn't be keeping back anything good.
"I'm... throwing?" His eyebrows furrowed. Edward realized he was still holding her injured hand, and he gently let go of it. Was that what she was talking about? She thought he was... leading her on?
The chill started at the base of his spine and ran, not progressed, Ran up to his brain. Edward shook his head, as though trying to clear it.
Keep out.
Nothing. Not a ripple. Not even that whisper. Just the sense that maybe something was lost, for good.
If he needed to breathe, regularly, the breath probably would have been knocked right out of him.
As it was, he had to remind himself that breathing made being what he was more comfortable, and therefore he should do it, even if it made him breathe Dawn in more, even if it made the back of his neck feel like ants were marching down it.
Edward blinked.
"Wow."
She shook her head as he dropped her hand, feeling a strange sense of loss. There was that electric spark, too, jumping through the air between their hands, but that wasn't important right now. Even if, behind its wall, Dawn's mind screamed to have it back.
Stupid.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly, blinking, looking at him with some concern. "Are you okay? I didn't mean - I didn't do anything. I thought maybe I could be louder, so you could hear me better, and then that happened. I couldn't help it." At least she had some natural defense mechanisms, mental if not physical. As long as whoever was after her wasn't crazy, she would be okay. Right? As long as she was calm and not leaking energy all over the place, smashing glass.
There were too many things to think about. But controlling this power that she was made out of... that was an intriguing thought. She hadn't even considered that before. Of course, she'd rather figure out her origins and make sure she was safe and that nobody hated her before playing with magic. But it was something to keep in mind. If there was potential there, it could be tapped.
"I'm sorry," she repeated, hands going back to that restless movement of unwinding thread, trying to fill up the emptiness.
Edward shook his head. "No reason to be," he said. Shoulders shrugged gently. "You didn't hurt me. At all. That was just..."
He blinked, trying to find the right word. One that wouldn't offend her. "...that was a first." A half-smile accompanied the sentence.
Dawn was going to freak out. He felt it. He knew it, even with her mind closed to him now.
"I can't hear you anymore," he said. "But I think you know that."
There was huge power in this teenage girl... but she had said she wasn't a girl. Wasn't real. She was a lie, those were her words. He didn't believe that. Or, rather, he preferred to believe the lie.
Something happened when she was destrought. Something changed. Something made him able to hear her. Barely. Like watching a movie with the sound all the way down.
He was going to have to be constantly on his guard. It was a good thing he didn't sleep. If this... woman... Dawn mentioned came for her, then this would happen again, Edward reasoned.
He'd need to be able to hear her. To help her.
"Do you mind that I could hear you?" His eyebrow rose and fell. "I think that being able to hear you, up here," he said, pointing to his head, "that might be the best way for me to help you."
What else was there to do?
"You didn't do anything wrong, Dawn," Edward reassured her.
Overwhelmed, her knees weak and her heart pounding, Dawn backed away, sinking into the couch without even looking and dropping her hand into her hands. She closed her eyes, determined to see nothing but darkness behind her eyelids.
"Not directly," she said with a sigh. She felt vaguely sick. "But my being here at all is wrong - it was never supposed to happen. Buffy wasn't meant to have a sister." She took a deep breath, her dark hair falling over the fingers covering her eyes. Logically, none of this was her fault. But like she'd said - people would need someone to blame it on. And she was a convenient target.
"I don't mind," she said, pulling her hands away and dropping them into her lap. "I just can't control it. Any of it. I don't know why these things happen, and I don't know what to do about it." She laughed softly. "Aren't I just full of surprises."
Edward sighed.
He didn't miss a beat, though. "No. Buffy was meant to have a sister. That's why she has one."
He looked at Dawn, arching an eyebrow, waiting her to challenge him. "You're not winning that one with me. Don't even try."
He smiled gently at her, sitting himself back on the piano bench. "I still want to help you. Can I..."
Edward smiled. "Take your mind off it?" He nodded toward the piano keys. "Or will that make it worse?"
If she'd been meant to have a sister, then I would've been born, Dawn thought, and instantly felt grateful for the mental block being back in place. Wasn't she being insecure enough? She should deal with this rationally. People knew the truth, and they didn't hate her. Quite the opposite - they were concerned, they wanted to help. It couldn't be all that bad, could it?
Yes.
She silenced the little voice of doubt in her mind. It might've been the end of the world as she knew it, but life still went on around her, and she would have to go on living it. She'd do research, and tell everyone as soon as she knew for certain, and then they'd go from there. Together. Hopefully. And this would be a good time to start behaving more logically around people who were being so goddamn nice to her.
She smiled in return, bringing up her legs to tuck them under her butt, using the armrest of the couch as a rest for her chin, on top of her folded hands. "No, actually, I'd really like to hear you play."
Edward nodded. "I take requests," he said, laughing slightly, looking at Dawn curled comfortably into a ball on the couch.
He arched an eyebrow. "Or just anything?"
Glancing sideways, Dawn considered for a moment, then looked back to Edward. "Vivaldi," she said softly. Joyce used to listen to it, and there was one piece with the sound of the ocean in the background that always reminded Dawn of her. The familiar strains were comforting. "The Four Seasons?"
Edward arched an eyebrow.
"All four?" He smiled. "Do you have a while, Dawn?"
He sighed and turned around to face the keys. "I can try. It would be better with violins."
White fingers slid over the keys, and Edward sat straighter.
"Say when," he said.
"Mortality is still up for debate, so I could potentially have a very long while," Dawn said, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth, a slight sparkle in her eyes. What was the good of being a powerful, potentially world-destroying ball of energy in human form if you couldn't joke about it?
"Whenever you're ready," she said with a half-shrug of the shoulder that wasn't sinking into the corner of the couch. "You don't have to play the entire thing. Choose your favorite part." Of course Edward knew it. He knew everything, didn't he? It was half-cute, half-infuriating.
Edward laughed.
"Fair enough," he said.
He started playing the Summer section, even though he wished for strings to do it justice.
It was the prettiest, he thought,and Dawn could do with more sunshine.
His hands slid easily and with preternatural speed over the keys, and he was right, it wasn't quite right, but it was still beautiful.
Edward closed his eyes. And he kept playing.
Most people knew La Primavera - it was the most often played and, unfortunately, too often used for elevator and hotel lobby background music. Dawn still liked it for its cheerful optimism - like Vivaldi had known that better times were on the way - but it wasn't her favorite. But she was initially surprised, at first, when Edward began played L'estate. Summer. But of course, he wouldn't play the cliche piece.
And he was good. Of course. He was very good. It was a little different on the piano, but lovely to hear. Bright. Warm, excited. Was there anything that Edward couldn't turn into pure brilliance? It just wasn't fair. But Dawn wasn't going to complain. A content smile on her lips, she let her chin fall into her hands, watching his hands fly over the black and white keys, almost too fast for her eye to follow, and let the music take her away.