When faced with temptation you know a man should stand and fight/But you will be my downfall tonight
I drove away from Dawn's house, where she was no doubt wishing all manner of bad things on me. I could taste her in my mouth, a sweet mix of alcohol and blood and skin, and no doubt her own lips were stained with the taste of cigarettes. My whole body was crackling. I felt desire pulling at my belly, twisting it painfully, and I could hardly see straight enough to drive. The taste in my mouth, my blood and hers, made hunger growl within me. I could barely sit still in the driving seat.
I couldn't stay at the house. That much was obvious. I should never have kissed her, but now I had, if I were in the house with her, I'd do something stupid. Stupid cos I knew that this wasn't right for Dawn. Funny how despite all my love for Buffy I'd never felt responsible for her the way I felt for Dawn. I had to look out for my girl. Yes, she wanted me, she'd proved that, and it appeared that I wanted her too, but that wasn't enough. All I can bring women is darkness, and whilst I reckoned Buffy had a whole well of darkness that needed tapping, Dawn wasn't a slayer like her, or a demon like Dru. She was just Dawn, whatever that meant.
I found myself heading back to my old crypt. Dawn had said some demons had taken it over and made a mess of it. Well, I was claiming it back - starting right about now.
The car screeched to a halt behind the cemetery and I made my way through the gravestones. I got to the crypt. There were three of them in there. Messy and green and what the bloody hell had they done to my chair? Bastards.
I should have gone away and thought up a plan, but that wouldn't be like me, would it? So instead I charged in there. No weapons other than my teeth and hands. And I beat the crap out of them and they died. Admittedly my face probably looked like a Picasso now, but that was alright. I'd heal. Now I just needed to worry about getting all this demon snot out of the furniture.
I chucked everything out. Pained me to do it, but I decided that there had been just too much slime. I dumped a lot of stuff at the city dump. Did a bit of reclaiming there, too. You can pick up some nice bits. And I killed one of the workers. There was no hunt to it, no grace. I just bit him and drained him and left him inside an old fridge. For me now there's more poetry in killing demons. It's harder. Stops me thinking. And their deaths are certainly more memorable.
The next evening I rang Dawn. I knew it was her from the first "hello".
"Listen, pet," I said. "I'm not leaving town, so don't panic. But I've got to sort a couple of things, alright?" I hung up before she could say anything. Cowardly perhaps, but I don't think I could handle the sound of her voice right now. I needed to think about things.
I did a fair bit of thinking over the next couple of days as I stole bits for the crypt and got it looking alright again. Took a while to get the electricity set up, but I was glad to get the telly back on and the fridge running at last. I don't ask for much. I'm not like Angel, living like a human in an apartment filled with bijou crap. But I admit, the appeal of sleeping in a coffin has worn off. It's all a bit nineteenth century.
And now I had a bed. Wrought iron, quite fancy. Only problem was that when I looked at it I saw slim wrists chained to its headboard. Not sure this was what I should be thinking about. But at the moment I wasn't sure of anything. The thinking I'd been doing as I'd got everything together had got me precisely nowhere. I didn't know, still, what I should do about Dawn. Sometimes - a lot of the time - I just wanted to shag her and damn the consequences, but even I knew that wouldn't work. There are always consequences, and when I thought about what they could be for Dawn, I worried. And then I wondered why it bothered me. I was a vampire, for fuck's sake! I should be pleased at the thought of Dawn becoming evil. But I wasn't. Was it just because Buffy wanted me to look out for her? Was it just my loyalty to the dead? Or was I developing a sodding moral compass?
Bugger it, I thought at last. I can't keep worrying about this. I'm just going to have to deal with it as it happens. I've always been led by events; why should that change now? So thinking, I stripped off my clothes and chucked them over a chair and got into bed. The feel of the cotton against my bare skin made we comfortably uncomfortable. Desire seemed now only a whisper away, provoked by the merest touch. Maybe what I need to do is just have a shag. Pick up some bird and do her. Maybe that's all.
But still, as I fell asleep, it was Dawn's face I kept coming back to.
I couldn't stay at the house. That much was obvious. I should never have kissed her, but now I had, if I were in the house with her, I'd do something stupid. Stupid cos I knew that this wasn't right for Dawn. Funny how despite all my love for Buffy I'd never felt responsible for her the way I felt for Dawn. I had to look out for my girl. Yes, she wanted me, she'd proved that, and it appeared that I wanted her too, but that wasn't enough. All I can bring women is darkness, and whilst I reckoned Buffy had a whole well of darkness that needed tapping, Dawn wasn't a slayer like her, or a demon like Dru. She was just Dawn, whatever that meant.
I found myself heading back to my old crypt. Dawn had said some demons had taken it over and made a mess of it. Well, I was claiming it back - starting right about now.
The car screeched to a halt behind the cemetery and I made my way through the gravestones. I got to the crypt. There were three of them in there. Messy and green and what the bloody hell had they done to my chair? Bastards.
I should have gone away and thought up a plan, but that wouldn't be like me, would it? So instead I charged in there. No weapons other than my teeth and hands. And I beat the crap out of them and they died. Admittedly my face probably looked like a Picasso now, but that was alright. I'd heal. Now I just needed to worry about getting all this demon snot out of the furniture.
I chucked everything out. Pained me to do it, but I decided that there had been just too much slime. I dumped a lot of stuff at the city dump. Did a bit of reclaiming there, too. You can pick up some nice bits. And I killed one of the workers. There was no hunt to it, no grace. I just bit him and drained him and left him inside an old fridge. For me now there's more poetry in killing demons. It's harder. Stops me thinking. And their deaths are certainly more memorable.
The next evening I rang Dawn. I knew it was her from the first "hello".
"Listen, pet," I said. "I'm not leaving town, so don't panic. But I've got to sort a couple of things, alright?" I hung up before she could say anything. Cowardly perhaps, but I don't think I could handle the sound of her voice right now. I needed to think about things.
I did a fair bit of thinking over the next couple of days as I stole bits for the crypt and got it looking alright again. Took a while to get the electricity set up, but I was glad to get the telly back on and the fridge running at last. I don't ask for much. I'm not like Angel, living like a human in an apartment filled with bijou crap. But I admit, the appeal of sleeping in a coffin has worn off. It's all a bit nineteenth century.
And now I had a bed. Wrought iron, quite fancy. Only problem was that when I looked at it I saw slim wrists chained to its headboard. Not sure this was what I should be thinking about. But at the moment I wasn't sure of anything. The thinking I'd been doing as I'd got everything together had got me precisely nowhere. I didn't know, still, what I should do about Dawn. Sometimes - a lot of the time - I just wanted to shag her and damn the consequences, but even I knew that wouldn't work. There are always consequences, and when I thought about what they could be for Dawn, I worried. And then I wondered why it bothered me. I was a vampire, for fuck's sake! I should be pleased at the thought of Dawn becoming evil. But I wasn't. Was it just because Buffy wanted me to look out for her? Was it just my loyalty to the dead? Or was I developing a sodding moral compass?
Bugger it, I thought at last. I can't keep worrying about this. I'm just going to have to deal with it as it happens. I've always been led by events; why should that change now? So thinking, I stripped off my clothes and chucked them over a chair and got into bed. The feel of the cotton against my bare skin made we comfortably uncomfortable. Desire seemed now only a whisper away, provoked by the merest touch. Maybe what I need to do is just have a shag. Pick up some bird and do her. Maybe that's all.
But still, as I fell asleep, it was Dawn's face I kept coming back to.