Title: From the Rain
Author: Trixie (trixiefirecra16@hotmail.com)
Disclaimer: Joss. Yes, he's the one.
Rating: NC 17
Timeline: During Hells Bells
Spoilers: The entire season thus far is fair game
Summary: Dawn remembers more than just fifteen years. She remembers 
thousands of years, and all of them were with Spike
Note: If you have a problem with Dawn/Spike, don't read this. I'd 
prefer not to scar you for life, ok? *g*
Category: Dawn/Spike with mentions of Buffy/Spike. Definitely departs 
from canon
(( )) – denotes flashback


She can't stop shaking and
I can't stop touching her

Every time she sneezes, I believe its  love
And oh lord, I'm not ready for this sort of thing
She's talking in her sleep
It's keeping me awake and Anna begins to toss and turn
And every word is nonsense but
I understand

"Anna Begins" – Counting Crows



Dawn remembers thousands of years.

She's only supposed to remember fifteen.

+ + +

The smell of the waxed floors starts to get to her as she walks across the room, mingling, 
talking. Like rubber bands and shiny glue, it fills her nostrils and she blinks, tugging on 
the ends of her hair and feeling the slight sting of her scalp. It reminds her of the summer 
and of sweaty nights on the grass when she knew he was pulling out strands of hair… and 
it didn't matter. Nothing *did* matter then, though. Except dead sisters and promises.

Glancing across the room, over the heads of Xander and Anya's relatives, she sees Spike 
and his date, lounging by the punch bowl. Dawn had some of it earlier, and the sticky 
residue still clings to her teeth. Licking them nervously, she watches Spike's eyes follow 
the motion of her tongue and pretends that the throb in her belly is hunger.

Her dress slips and slides against naked flesh as she steps over to the door and gazes out 
at the rain.

Her first time was in the rain.

((Two weeks after her sister died. She squelched through the downpour to the crypt, and 
only realized that Spike was outside, a second before she stepped *inside*. Staring 
dumbly at him, she watched as he walked over the soggy cemetery, a bottle in his hand- 
limping slightly from his still raw injuries. Not sure what he was going to do, she 
followed him for long moments, the sheet of her hair hanging down over dripping 
shoulders. The taste of the rain was on her lips when he finally spun around and snarled 
at her.

"You shouldn't be here."

"And why not?" she flung back at him, acutely aware of his hot eyes and powerful hands, 
which were tightened in fists of rage. He had been like this ever since it happened, and 
she supposed he was going to stay that way. She didn't mind exactly. Everything was 
harsh without her. Everything was silent without her.

"Because," he answered roughly, gripping her arm fiercely. He began to walk, hauling 
her next to him. Dawn made no sound, other than to whisper, "You're hurting me."

"Good," he murmured between clenched teeth. "Maybe it'll knock some sense into you, 
you dumb chit."

"I miss her too, Spike," she cried low. "Do you think you're the only one feeling sad?"

"Sad?" he laughed, and yanked her against him, tipping her chin up so he could look into 
her eyes. "You think I'm *sad*, Dawn? I couldn't give a shit about your sister. I'm a 
fucking *vampire*, darling. You think we *have* feelings?"

"Yes," she replied bravely, the wet leather of his jacket rubbing abrasively over the bare 
skin of her arms. "I know you do, Spike."

Pushing her against the gravestone behind her, he drawled huskily, "What do you want lil 
bit? You want me to give you a taste?"

"Of what—" She was cut off, as he kissed her, long and hard and deep, his tongue 
swirling past her shocked lips. Dawn had no thought, except one to kiss him back, and he 
growled into her mouth, his hands tugging on her hair, as the rain cried against their 
flesh. It hurt her scalp, but she embraced the pain and stepped fully into him, her body 
tightening as he ripped off her flimsy shirt in one quick movement.

Standing before him, her breasts bare and pebbled with goose bumps, Dawn shivered, 
whispering, "Kiss me again. Please, Spike. Make me forget."

Holding her close, he murmured, "I'll make you forget."

He didn't know then that she didn't just mean her sister. But it was enough, because she 
knew he wanted to forget too. He kissed her again, and his fingers touched her nipples 
and it was cold and hot and *raw* all at once. As she unbuckled his jeans, she felt him 
swell under her insistent hands and remembered hundreds of other swollen men who had 
groaned just like him. Kneeling down, she palmed the heaviness of him and imagined it 
inside her, feeling the emptiness and wetness dripping against her underwear, much like 
the rain.

"Please, *please*," she muttered, clinging to his arms and he laughed against her neck, 
easing inside her one inch at a time, and as Dawn felt the blood, she bit his shoulder with 
sharp teeth and absorbed his gasps with her mouth.

He whispered her name, and she heard it over the thunder and it was like cracks of 
brilliant lightening and Spike was *inside* her, and she forgot.

She forgot just a little.

+ + +

The rain pours now, and it's heavy drops remind her too much of that night. Closing her 
eyes, Dawn touches the inner part of her elbows, which remember his kisses. For a 
second she considers walking out into the downpour and drowning herself in memories, 
but remembers just in time that would Anya would gladly kill her should she ruin this 
dress.

"What're you thinking of, pet?" a familiar voice rasps next to her ear, and she doesn't 
turn.

"Nothing," she replies petulantly. Being a brat comes easily to her, and it's an act that 
surprisingly, they all believe.

"Stop that," he chides her, and yet she still doesn't spin around to face her lover.

"I don't see any reason to act like my cheery self," she says to him. "No one has fun at 
weddings…" pausing, she asks, "Why aren't you somewhere staring at my sister? Isn't 
that where you'd rather be?"

Hands slide over her slender hips and she breathes out in a rush.

"If I wanted to be with your sister, don't you think I would be?" he drawls. "What's with 
the bitch act, pet? Forgetting I know you?"

"You don't know me," Dawn tells him, absently, the rain mesmerizing her. 
"I've lived even longer than you, Spike."

He laughs low. "Maybe you have, at that, Dawnie. But you told me yourself, you lived all 
those lives with me. So I think I know you best, don't I pet?"

"Shut up," she whispers. "I don't want this. I don't want to be with you."

"You're mine," he bites off, his fingers on her thighs now, curving into the dress, until it 
slips between her legs. "You belong to me, Dawn."

"No," she moans, thinking that it's true, and she knows it's true, and that makes it all the 
more horrible. She has lived hundreds of lives with him, and this one will be no 
exception. Thousands of kisses and thousands of years and thousands of rainy nights 
filled with screams and she loves him, she *loves* him… and it's all going to end badly. 
She's only supposed to be fifteen. Everyone believes she's fifteen. She just wishes she 
could believe it too.

"Yes," he hisses, and drawing her back against him, he slips them both into the darkened 
alcove to the right, and just outside of the door. Turning her around, he looks down into 
her eyes. "Forget that I fucked your sister." Leaning close, he licks down her jawline, 
leaving a wet trail behind. "We've done things she's never even *dreamt* about, haven't 
we lil bit?"

Dawn groans helplessly, gripping his jacket with such a ferocity that her fingers creak. 
When he kisses her and drowns his tongue in her mouth, she responds with a devastating 
hunger, making him pant and hold her to him with a desperation that only she can match. 
She knows he loves her. Knows he barely has a choice.

Knows that neither of them do.

+ + +

Dawn remembers thousands of years.

The monks lied to her sister. A small lie, one they no doubt thought would bring her 
some peace. They told her the Key had only been put in human form *once*.

A small lie.

But Dawn lives with it everyday.

Hundreds of hearts beat in her chest. Sometimes at night, she dreams that they erupt and 
break her rib cage, spraying the room with blood. Voices speak through her mouth, that 
only she can hear. Women she was once. Women she wonders if she will become- when 
this fifteen-year-old body grows old and dies.

She remembers them all. Remembers *being* them. Feeling their hurts, screaming at 
their pain, weeping their tears, bleeding with their crimson veins. The crisscross of veins 
across her breasts aren't her own, the small scar on the ball of her right foot comes from 
another soul. She sometimes thinks that even her eyes have seen too much, and will 
someday expire.

((A noblewoman when Queen Elizabeth 1 was in power. Her name was Bella Wyndham. 
Her tightly corseted waist made breathing difficult. Sometimes she would sing for the 
court, as her voice was sweet and clear. Some said she had the sight, for she appeared to 
know far more than she should, at her age.

She had a lover.

Blond, pale, a poet. It was no simple affair, no simple excuse for a dalliance. No, she 
loved him. No, she adored him.))

((An American actress in the twenties. Her stage name was Jessamyn Winters, but he 
simply called her "Jess." Sometimes when she donned Ophelia's robes, she imagined 
what water would feel like closing over her head. Every day was a torment, every night 
was a release. Applause made her happy, and adulation brought a flush to her cheeks. 
Sometimes she had women as lovers, sometimes men.

Her only love was blond, pale, a poet. He had fangs and made her bleed.))

((A harem girl in Constantinople with only one name, "Narissa". She existed solely to 
please her master. Days spent in the baths, with creams and lotions and other women who 
would sooner poison you than be your friend. She dreamed of death and knew no other 
life. Her master made her sing, but her voice cracked so he whipped her.

Every night, she ran to the outskirts of the palace, with the aid of a friendly guard.

There, she met her lover.

Blond, pale, a prince who wove words with his tongue that spoke only of her beauty. He 
made her live forever, until one day, she escaped the walls of the harem, and met the 
sun.))

Yes, Dawn remembers them all. They are *her*. She knows they all had a sister. The 
Slayer. None knew they were the Key, and so it all went smoothly, until the day Dawn 
stumbled upon the book, which told her who she was.

And her sister died.

The Slayer died.

So she took a lover.

Blond, pale, a poet. Sometimes he made her bleed, and sometimes he made her forget.

She loves him. She adores him.

He tried to escape with her sister, but he knows as well as she does, that their history is 
inescapable, and so he comes inside her, and kisses her, and they both remember. 
Thousands of nights, and girls, and lives.

History has written their future, together.

+ + +

Spike holds her close for a moment, and Dawn buries her face against the cool skin of his 
neck, the pounding of the rain echoing the throb of her temples and belly. Soon she will 
go inside and play the role of the bratty little sister. It's what the Monks would have 
wanted, it's what her ancestors would have deemed wise. Glory may be gone, and she 
may be the last… but she is still the Key.

And Spike is still her lover.

He looks down at her, and Dawn touches his cheek.

"William," she whispers, wondering how long they will have before the memories drive 
her insane. Until he has to stay the knife at her wrist, or the rope at her neck. Until she 
succeeds and does what all the Keys of the past have done.

Until she finds out exactly why her sister misses Heaven.

"William," she says again, gently, and then walks inside, knowing he will follow her.

End.

Feedback would be splendid;) trixiefirecra16@hotmail.com