Fic: Peguin, Hank Summers, PG
Title: Penguin
Rating: PG
Word Count: 704
Characters: Hank Summers
Summary: And he wished with all his heart that he meant it.
Disclaimers: Don’t own. All characters belong to Joss and his crew. Considering I’m still poor, I won’t dispute this.
Author Notes: This is a strange piece that was supposed to be Dawn, but turned into Hank. As I started writing, I wondered about the memories the monks gave him. What was one, for instance. He was gone by the time Dawn was around and didn’t surface about Joyce. The monks would have to address it since he was important as the “father.” This is a take on it. Written for Buffy’s 10 year anniversary.
Mr. Gordo belonged to Buffy.
When Joyce had tried to give it to Dawn right after coming home from the hospital an all-out screaming match started over the stuffed animal. Needless to say, Buffy kept the animal. But they needed to find something for the newest Summers, and quickly. So Joyce and Hank waited until they knew her personality better.
Dawn was so much like Buffy, but where their eldest was more vivacious, the younger was a rebel. She had no problem sneaking out of bed to play with her toys when it was bedtime. They quickly learned to lock most of them up in a specially-built toy box. Nor was it a major issue to talk back if she was displeased. Of course, since there was a lot of babble involved, it really didn’t bother anyone but Buffy, who wasn’t big on sharing the attention. Or that was the impression he got whenever he was home, which wasn’t often. He didn’t like being away, or the idea of being away to be more accurate, but the chaos simply became too much. It boxed him in, making a normally unclaustrophobic man choke in anxiety. If no one knew about the side-trips to the Bahamas or Hawaii, well, the better for him. Those kept him sane, something that was needed to provide the family with security - a home, paid bills, education, presents - that Joyce was always talking about.
The Easter season before Dawn’s fourth birthday, Hank picked up a stuffed dog on one of his business trips to New York. The dog was black and brown, about a foot tall, with sad puppy dog eyes and ultra soft fur. Absolutely perfect for a child who hung onto a question, waiting for an answer, like a terrier with a bone. He placed it in her Easter basket, making sure that his other daughter was given a shiny bracelet to distract and not encourage all-out-war for another coveted. At least it wasn’t a Barbie. That would have been all out guerilla warfare. The balancing act of keeping both girls from being jealous of each other could have been a full-time job. It was too bad it wouldn’t pay bills.
As he watched them open the baskets Easter morning, ignoring the candy and going straight for the loot, it was slightly entertaining and easy to pretend everything was perfect. Dawn squealed, hugging the dog close. Buffy put on the bracelet, letting the sun bounce off and reflect a prism on the walls. After all the toys had been pulled out - along with most of the grass - they went for the candy, pretty much ruining any chance of breakfast. Later they would be going to an egg hunt at the church, then service and dinner out. For now, the two were just having fun, making it easy to slip out of the room and place some phone calls in the home office.
If being here chafed, that was just being a family man. Sometimes giving up wants over needs was necessary. Even if that meant leaving a blonde bombshell waiting in the wings until the holiday was over and emergency trip could come up.
When Joyce put Buffy to bed, Hank pulled the sheets back and tucked the sleeping Dawn into them. A little hand rubbed barely opened eyes, as she asked, “Penguin?”
“Right here.” Handing the newly named toy over, he watched as she tucked the animal beside her, already half-asleep again. Only she would name a dog Penguin because of a picture in a pop-up book.
“Night, Daddy. Love you.” Her lips puckered up, signaling it was time for a kiss. After a loud kiss, she fell asleep before her head hit the pillow.
As he turned the lights out, he whispered, “Night, Dawnie. Love you, too.” And he wished with all his heart that he meant it. Closing the door, he saw Joyce coming out of Buffy’s room, looking just as world-weary. Family life never matched the brochure. Why was it people never explained these parts of domestic life? The parts that made you want to abandon the life entirely and wish for that carefree life you left behind when leaving wasn’t an option any longer.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 704
Characters: Hank Summers
Summary: And he wished with all his heart that he meant it.
Disclaimers: Don’t own. All characters belong to Joss and his crew. Considering I’m still poor, I won’t dispute this.
Author Notes: This is a strange piece that was supposed to be Dawn, but turned into Hank. As I started writing, I wondered about the memories the monks gave him. What was one, for instance. He was gone by the time Dawn was around and didn’t surface about Joyce. The monks would have to address it since he was important as the “father.” This is a take on it. Written for Buffy’s 10 year anniversary.
Mr. Gordo belonged to Buffy.
When Joyce had tried to give it to Dawn right after coming home from the hospital an all-out screaming match started over the stuffed animal. Needless to say, Buffy kept the animal. But they needed to find something for the newest Summers, and quickly. So Joyce and Hank waited until they knew her personality better.
Dawn was so much like Buffy, but where their eldest was more vivacious, the younger was a rebel. She had no problem sneaking out of bed to play with her toys when it was bedtime. They quickly learned to lock most of them up in a specially-built toy box. Nor was it a major issue to talk back if she was displeased. Of course, since there was a lot of babble involved, it really didn’t bother anyone but Buffy, who wasn’t big on sharing the attention. Or that was the impression he got whenever he was home, which wasn’t often. He didn’t like being away, or the idea of being away to be more accurate, but the chaos simply became too much. It boxed him in, making a normally unclaustrophobic man choke in anxiety. If no one knew about the side-trips to the Bahamas or Hawaii, well, the better for him. Those kept him sane, something that was needed to provide the family with security - a home, paid bills, education, presents - that Joyce was always talking about.
The Easter season before Dawn’s fourth birthday, Hank picked up a stuffed dog on one of his business trips to New York. The dog was black and brown, about a foot tall, with sad puppy dog eyes and ultra soft fur. Absolutely perfect for a child who hung onto a question, waiting for an answer, like a terrier with a bone. He placed it in her Easter basket, making sure that his other daughter was given a shiny bracelet to distract and not encourage all-out-war for another coveted. At least it wasn’t a Barbie. That would have been all out guerilla warfare. The balancing act of keeping both girls from being jealous of each other could have been a full-time job. It was too bad it wouldn’t pay bills.
As he watched them open the baskets Easter morning, ignoring the candy and going straight for the loot, it was slightly entertaining and easy to pretend everything was perfect. Dawn squealed, hugging the dog close. Buffy put on the bracelet, letting the sun bounce off and reflect a prism on the walls. After all the toys had been pulled out - along with most of the grass - they went for the candy, pretty much ruining any chance of breakfast. Later they would be going to an egg hunt at the church, then service and dinner out. For now, the two were just having fun, making it easy to slip out of the room and place some phone calls in the home office.
If being here chafed, that was just being a family man. Sometimes giving up wants over needs was necessary. Even if that meant leaving a blonde bombshell waiting in the wings until the holiday was over and emergency trip could come up.
When Joyce put Buffy to bed, Hank pulled the sheets back and tucked the sleeping Dawn into them. A little hand rubbed barely opened eyes, as she asked, “Penguin?”
“Right here.” Handing the newly named toy over, he watched as she tucked the animal beside her, already half-asleep again. Only she would name a dog Penguin because of a picture in a pop-up book.
“Night, Daddy. Love you.” Her lips puckered up, signaling it was time for a kiss. After a loud kiss, she fell asleep before her head hit the pillow.
As he turned the lights out, he whispered, “Night, Dawnie. Love you, too.” And he wished with all his heart that he meant it. Closing the door, he saw Joyce coming out of Buffy’s room, looking just as world-weary. Family life never matched the brochure. Why was it people never explained these parts of domestic life? The parts that made you want to abandon the life entirely and wish for that carefree life you left behind when leaving wasn’t an option any longer.