fic: maybe we've met before
title: maybe we’ve met before
fandom: btvs/dw
ship: dawn/amy
rating: pg (for language I think and some angst)
summary: two girls, with memories rewritten in their heads. changed and altered to someone else’s liking. a crack where the light gets in, leaking into Amy’s body and bleeding out of Dawn’s. is it any wonder they found each other? (Post-Chosen for btvs, post the Doctor for Amy but not canon compliant in that sense)
They met in England, though Amy is always telling her how much better everything is in Scotland. Dawn was pouring over ancient texts, translating things that no one needed at the moment but would someday. (That was her life now.) Amy was picking at a muffin and nursing a cold cup of tea and staring off in her direction.
She wasn’t purposefully staring at Dawn, she always tells her, just staring. But there was something about Dawn she thinks, something that drew her in.
They kept coming back to the same café, doing the same things, over and over again. Dawn would notice the girl with the hair like fire and Amy would notice the girl with blue eyes, that when the light hit them just right, turned green.
--
One day the red head plopped down across from girl with chestnut hair, a cup of coffee she crinkled her nose at in one hand, and her own tea in her other. “I’m Amy.”
“Dawn.” She says slowly.
Amy extends the cup of coffee. It’s just like Dawn likes it and she raises an eyebrow.
“I asked the people inside,” Amy shrugs, “So, what exactly are you doing?”
She looks around at all the old, huge, dusty books, and Dawn sighs. “Translating dead languages.”
“You’re an odd one.” Amy laughs, “I like you.”
Dawn doesn’t know when their relationship began or even why, but she remembers that moment always.
--
Amy drags her to Scotland to see the sights and her driving skills make Dawn scream.
(Dawn who has seen the end of the world too many times. Dawn who had seen so many many things, but screams at Amy’s driving.
Wasn’t it enough they were already on the wrong side of the road?)
Amy laughs, but slows down anyways.
She’s nice that way. Most of the time.
--
Amy doesn’t take her to her home town.
“Bad memories,” Is all she says and Dawn doesn’t ask questions.
“At least you have a home to go home to if you ever decide you want to.” Dawn says instead.
“What and you don’t?”
“It’s kind of a…crater.” Dawn says. It rolls of the tongue easily, it’s not the first time she said it before. It’s the people’s reactions that take the adjusting too.
Amy laughs (she’s always laughing, like she feels like someone needs to be), “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
--
She takes Dawn to all the sights. Landmarks mixed in with pubs and hills that don’t have any meaning to anyone, even Amy herself. They lay in the grass and their hands meet like they do under the covers in their hotel rooms at night.
“There’s something special about you, isn’t there?” Amy asks.
“Isn’t there supposed to be something special about everyone?” Dawn deflects.
“Yes. But there isn’t.” Amy says, “That’s just what your parents say. You know when you have them.”
(Two girls, with memories rewritten in their heads. Changed and altered to someone else’s liking. A crack where the light gets in, leaking into Amy’s body and bleeding out of Dawn’s.
Is it any wonder they found each other?)
“I think you’re special.” Dawn says, her hand clinging tighter.
“Well of course I am.” Amy says, “I’m the girl who-I’m a girl capable of things you can’t even imagine. That no one can. I can bring a person, a man, back to life just by wanting it enough.”
Most people wouldn’t believe her. Dawn does.
“But you’re special too.” Amy turns to look at her, “You’re something…You’re something new and old all in one, aren’t you?”
“Does it matter?” Dawn asks.
“Only if it matters to you.”
--
After Scotland they go to California.
Dawn shows her the crater where she used to live (“It didn’t always look like that. We had a mall.”), shows her the beach and the winery she used to drive by and no one would ever let her set foot in because she was Dawnie and she was too young. Always too young and too old in one.
She doesn’t know yet how Amy can see that. She’s not sure she cares.
“I think I like it here.” Amy says, the two of them laying in the sand, their hands still entwined.
“Only think?” Dawn laughs, “I thought you knew everything.”
“Well, I do.” Amy says with a grin, “But no one likes a show off.”
fandom: btvs/dw
ship: dawn/amy
rating: pg (for language I think and some angst)
summary: two girls, with memories rewritten in their heads. changed and altered to someone else’s liking. a crack where the light gets in, leaking into Amy’s body and bleeding out of Dawn’s. is it any wonder they found each other? (Post-Chosen for btvs, post the Doctor for Amy but not canon compliant in that sense)
They met in England, though Amy is always telling her how much better everything is in Scotland. Dawn was pouring over ancient texts, translating things that no one needed at the moment but would someday. (That was her life now.) Amy was picking at a muffin and nursing a cold cup of tea and staring off in her direction.
She wasn’t purposefully staring at Dawn, she always tells her, just staring. But there was something about Dawn she thinks, something that drew her in.
They kept coming back to the same café, doing the same things, over and over again. Dawn would notice the girl with the hair like fire and Amy would notice the girl with blue eyes, that when the light hit them just right, turned green.
--
One day the red head plopped down across from girl with chestnut hair, a cup of coffee she crinkled her nose at in one hand, and her own tea in her other. “I’m Amy.”
“Dawn.” She says slowly.
Amy extends the cup of coffee. It’s just like Dawn likes it and she raises an eyebrow.
“I asked the people inside,” Amy shrugs, “So, what exactly are you doing?”
She looks around at all the old, huge, dusty books, and Dawn sighs. “Translating dead languages.”
“You’re an odd one.” Amy laughs, “I like you.”
Dawn doesn’t know when their relationship began or even why, but she remembers that moment always.
--
Amy drags her to Scotland to see the sights and her driving skills make Dawn scream.
(Dawn who has seen the end of the world too many times. Dawn who had seen so many many things, but screams at Amy’s driving.
Wasn’t it enough they were already on the wrong side of the road?)
Amy laughs, but slows down anyways.
She’s nice that way. Most of the time.
--
Amy doesn’t take her to her home town.
“Bad memories,” Is all she says and Dawn doesn’t ask questions.
“At least you have a home to go home to if you ever decide you want to.” Dawn says instead.
“What and you don’t?”
“It’s kind of a…crater.” Dawn says. It rolls of the tongue easily, it’s not the first time she said it before. It’s the people’s reactions that take the adjusting too.
Amy laughs (she’s always laughing, like she feels like someone needs to be), “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
--
She takes Dawn to all the sights. Landmarks mixed in with pubs and hills that don’t have any meaning to anyone, even Amy herself. They lay in the grass and their hands meet like they do under the covers in their hotel rooms at night.
“There’s something special about you, isn’t there?” Amy asks.
“Isn’t there supposed to be something special about everyone?” Dawn deflects.
“Yes. But there isn’t.” Amy says, “That’s just what your parents say. You know when you have them.”
(Two girls, with memories rewritten in their heads. Changed and altered to someone else’s liking. A crack where the light gets in, leaking into Amy’s body and bleeding out of Dawn’s.
Is it any wonder they found each other?)
“I think you’re special.” Dawn says, her hand clinging tighter.
“Well of course I am.” Amy says, “I’m the girl who-I’m a girl capable of things you can’t even imagine. That no one can. I can bring a person, a man, back to life just by wanting it enough.”
Most people wouldn’t believe her. Dawn does.
“But you’re special too.” Amy turns to look at her, “You’re something…You’re something new and old all in one, aren’t you?”
“Does it matter?” Dawn asks.
“Only if it matters to you.”
--
After Scotland they go to California.
Dawn shows her the crater where she used to live (“It didn’t always look like that. We had a mall.”), shows her the beach and the winery she used to drive by and no one would ever let her set foot in because she was Dawnie and she was too young. Always too young and too old in one.
She doesn’t know yet how Amy can see that. She’s not sure she cares.
“I think I like it here.” Amy says, the two of them laying in the sand, their hands still entwined.
“Only think?” Dawn laughs, “I thought you knew everything.”
“Well, I do.” Amy says with a grin, “But no one likes a show off.”