Empty Rooms
Dawn shucked Buffy’s leather bodice like a locust shedding its shell. The scent of her sweat, acrid and saccharine,
coiled in her nostrils as she rushed to get rid of her clothes and into the shower.
As if that could help her. As if water was enough to wash away what she’d done.
And just what, exactly, had she done?
No. Don’t think, she ordered. Shower first. Think later.
Dawn’s hands trembled over the hot and cold faucets. She got into the freezing spray and scrubbed her skin raw
before giving it the chance to heat up.
She was blind and drunk and frightened. What had she done?
Don’t think.
She was bloody… down there. It was disgusting. She couldn’t even speak the word vagina in her own inner
monologue. Proof again she’d gone too far. Buffy’s words of advice had been, “If you can’t say the word condom
without blushing, you’re too young to need one.” Same went for the various parts of anatomy Dawn couldn’t force
herself to say without flaring pink.
Dawn could laugh at the irony of Buffy’s own lack of condom usage later. Right now, she rinsed and shut off the
shower. She stood naked and dripping, listening to the dull thunk of cooling pipes and the gurgle of the drain.
The worst was she didn’t remember any of it. All she remembered was the woman swinging through the air and the
snap of the rope when it drew tight around her neck. It reminded her of the slap-thwack of jump ropes smacking
pavement. It echoed in her head, reverberating like madness until she clamped her fists over her ears and forced
herself not to scream.
It was the house, dammit. The house was too big, too quiet, too empty. She hated it. Andrew was around, scuttling
inside like a hermit crab, but she couldn’t hear him. He was off, doing Andrew things…
And what would he think? she thought. What would he say to her if he knew what she’d done? Her body ached with
the moan she stifled. Andrew would hate her. How could he understand?
Her thoughts wheeled on themselves, winding back to the look on Brodie’s face.
I tried to stop you…
Dawn covered her mouth. She dug her nails into her cheeks.
I’m a monster, she whispered. A monster. Oh God, what am I?
She wrapped up in a towel and stepped from the tub. Her body quaked, overdosed on adrenaline and cold. Avoiding
the mirror, Dawn slipped into her bedroom.
Andrew, looking completely benign, stood just inside her bedroom on the braided rug between the dresser and her
bed, a wooden spatula held aloft like a wand in his good hand.
With a flourish, he said, “So… cookies or crime spree?”
“Excuse me?” Dawn balanced precariously on the balls of her feet. One half of her wanted to charge at him, hurling
her pent up howls at his serene face; the other half hadn’t caught up that fast and was still pondering over the
words he’d just uttered.
“You had a bad night,” he explained. “So I was thinking, is it cookies bad, or hittin’ the streets for some JD action
bad?”
“My door was locked,” Dawn replied coldly, tightening down the screws of her anger.
“I knocked,” Andrew answered.
“You used a spell on my door?” Her heart palpitated.
“You didn’t have any wards up. That’s… almost like an open invitation.”
“Open invitation?” she said, advancing on him. “Well then, since you’re here…”
Dawn shoved him backward with one hand, still gripping the top of her towel with the other. He half-stumbled, half-
fell against the chest of drawers, fending weakly with the spatula when she pinned him there.
A meager, “Ow!” escaped his lips.
“I’m dangerous, Andrew,” she said. Her voice dropped an octave, and though her pulse was feral and racing,
nothing in her tone betrayed it.
Andrew tsked. “No you’re not,” he said.
Dawn shoved him. She watched his eyes. They were blue. Really, really blue. Like, Elijah Wood blue. It was the first
time she’d noticed.
She shook her head. “I am. You don’t know. I did something. Hurt someone, and you… you come in here like you
know me and I… I could really hurt you.”
Andrew held still. He kept his eyes on hers. He never, never trained them down to the place where only a strip of
beige terry cloth separated his clothed body from her naked one. He didn’t sneer, nor did he choke down his fear, if
there was any, which Dawn started to doubt since Andrew was never that great at acting.
Instead he muttered, “Yeah. Maybe. But you’re not dangerous.”
The heel of Dawn’s hand brushed the base of Andrew’s throat. She flexed her long fingers, spreading them under the
border of his magenta and gold Hogwarts sweater. The skin felt soft, pliable… and real.
He was real and right there. He wasn’t leaving and she wasn’t running. They were what made the house un-empty.
That had to mean something.
She wanted to tell him that. She wanted him to know it meant something to her that he was standing there, so close
and unafraid.
Andrew had done bad things. He and his evil cadre had once gone after Buffy. And one of them put a bullet into
Tara’s heart. Before the carnival left town in Sunnydale, Andrew himself had killed his best friend. Yet here they
both stood, veteran players on the world-saving stage.
Somehow, the circle had swung its full orbit and if anyone on the planet would understand her wicked ways, it was
probably Andrew Wells. And he wasn’t going anywhere.
She wanted to tell him. When she stepped back, she saw he already knew. It was okay.
Dawn took another step back. She adjusted the towel, cinching it securely beneath her arms.
Andrew scratched his head with the spatula. “So,” he said. “You never answered my question.”
“What?”
“The cookies/crime spree conundrum. Remember?”
“What kind?” Dawn asked.
Andrew sucked in his bottom lip thoughtfully before he spoke. He said, “I thought we could do some juvie stuff, like
letting the air out of our neighbor’s tires. Or you know, we could hack into the Bank of England using the Watchers
Council’s pass codes…”
Dawn could not suppress the smile – wan though it was – that surfaced on her face. “I meant the cookies. Ya big
geek.”
“Riiiight,” Andrew answered, half-masting his eyelids. “Oatmeal chocolate chunk.”
The stab of sorrow this time came with its own companion dose of joy.
“Tara’s recipe?” Dawn squeaked.
Andrew grinned, triumphant. “They’re magically delicious.”
With a knuckle, Dawn escorted a stray tear from her cheek. “I’ve done something horrible, Andrew,” she said.
“You can’t even imagine.”
Andrew seemed to look inward for a moment. Dawn imagined him imagining and thinking he might have done worse.
“Did you kill someone?” His eyes fluttered around the room, uncertain of a safe place to settle.
“Damaged someone,” Dawn admitted. Tears choked her; stung her throat. She finished the thought in a rush to
expel it from her body. “I think that can be worse, right? To ruin someone.”
Andrew’s eyebrows perched high on his forehead, a look of almost comic bafflement. “Dawn… how?”
Dawn dropped to the edge of her bed, her body curling in on itself, tight and rigid with grief.
“He tried to stop me, but I…” Dawn strangled on the words. “Oh God. What did I do to him?”
“Him who?” Andrew said. Then added, in a squeak of shock, “Spike?”
Dawn’s head snapped up. “No! Not Spike…”
But Andrew’s attention had turned to the open bedroom door and the figure that had collapsed against the jamb.
“Do us a favor, pet,” William said, laboring over every syllable. “Get Rupert on the line. Tell ’im I’ve just had a… bit
of a scrape.”
William tumbled forward, catching Andrew’s shoulder, nearly dragging the boy off his feet. “I ran into… into a…”
William’s eyes rolled back. He crumpled in an untidy sprawl between Dawn’s and Andrew’s feet.
Dawn shucked Buffy’s leather bodice like a locust shedding its shell. The scent of her sweat, acrid and saccharine,
coiled in her nostrils as she rushed to get rid of her clothes and into the shower.
As if that could help her. As if water was enough to wash away what she’d done.
And just what, exactly, had she done?
No. Don’t think, she ordered. Shower first. Think later.
Dawn’s hands trembled over the hot and cold faucets. She got into the freezing spray and scrubbed her skin raw
before giving it the chance to heat up.
She was blind and drunk and frightened. What had she done?
Don’t think.
She was bloody… down there. It was disgusting. She couldn’t even speak the word vagina in her own inner
monologue. Proof again she’d gone too far. Buffy’s words of advice had been, “If you can’t say the word condom
without blushing, you’re too young to need one.” Same went for the various parts of anatomy Dawn couldn’t force
herself to say without flaring pink.
Dawn could laugh at the irony of Buffy’s own lack of condom usage later. Right now, she rinsed and shut off the
shower. She stood naked and dripping, listening to the dull thunk of cooling pipes and the gurgle of the drain.
The worst was she didn’t remember any of it. All she remembered was the woman swinging through the air and the
snap of the rope when it drew tight around her neck. It reminded her of the slap-thwack of jump ropes smacking
pavement. It echoed in her head, reverberating like madness until she clamped her fists over her ears and forced
herself not to scream.
It was the house, dammit. The house was too big, too quiet, too empty. She hated it. Andrew was around, scuttling
inside like a hermit crab, but she couldn’t hear him. He was off, doing Andrew things…
And what would he think? she thought. What would he say to her if he knew what she’d done? Her body ached with
the moan she stifled. Andrew would hate her. How could he understand?
Her thoughts wheeled on themselves, winding back to the look on Brodie’s face.
I tried to stop you…
Dawn covered her mouth. She dug her nails into her cheeks.
I’m a monster, she whispered. A monster. Oh God, what am I?
She wrapped up in a towel and stepped from the tub. Her body quaked, overdosed on adrenaline and cold. Avoiding
the mirror, Dawn slipped into her bedroom.
Andrew, looking completely benign, stood just inside her bedroom on the braided rug between the dresser and her
bed, a wooden spatula held aloft like a wand in his good hand.
With a flourish, he said, “So… cookies or crime spree?”
“Excuse me?” Dawn balanced precariously on the balls of her feet. One half of her wanted to charge at him, hurling
her pent up howls at his serene face; the other half hadn’t caught up that fast and was still pondering over the
words he’d just uttered.
“You had a bad night,” he explained. “So I was thinking, is it cookies bad, or hittin’ the streets for some JD action
bad?”
“My door was locked,” Dawn replied coldly, tightening down the screws of her anger.
“I knocked,” Andrew answered.
“You used a spell on my door?” Her heart palpitated.
“You didn’t have any wards up. That’s… almost like an open invitation.”
“Open invitation?” she said, advancing on him. “Well then, since you’re here…”
Dawn shoved him backward with one hand, still gripping the top of her towel with the other. He half-stumbled, half-
fell against the chest of drawers, fending weakly with the spatula when she pinned him there.
A meager, “Ow!” escaped his lips.
“I’m dangerous, Andrew,” she said. Her voice dropped an octave, and though her pulse was feral and racing,
nothing in her tone betrayed it.
Andrew tsked. “No you’re not,” he said.
Dawn shoved him. She watched his eyes. They were blue. Really, really blue. Like, Elijah Wood blue. It was the first
time she’d noticed.
She shook her head. “I am. You don’t know. I did something. Hurt someone, and you… you come in here like you
know me and I… I could really hurt you.”
Andrew held still. He kept his eyes on hers. He never, never trained them down to the place where only a strip of
beige terry cloth separated his clothed body from her naked one. He didn’t sneer, nor did he choke down his fear, if
there was any, which Dawn started to doubt since Andrew was never that great at acting.
Instead he muttered, “Yeah. Maybe. But you’re not dangerous.”
The heel of Dawn’s hand brushed the base of Andrew’s throat. She flexed her long fingers, spreading them under the
border of his magenta and gold Hogwarts sweater. The skin felt soft, pliable… and real.
He was real and right there. He wasn’t leaving and she wasn’t running. They were what made the house un-empty.
That had to mean something.
She wanted to tell him that. She wanted him to know it meant something to her that he was standing there, so close
and unafraid.
Andrew had done bad things. He and his evil cadre had once gone after Buffy. And one of them put a bullet into
Tara’s heart. Before the carnival left town in Sunnydale, Andrew himself had killed his best friend. Yet here they
both stood, veteran players on the world-saving stage.
Somehow, the circle had swung its full orbit and if anyone on the planet would understand her wicked ways, it was
probably Andrew Wells. And he wasn’t going anywhere.
She wanted to tell him. When she stepped back, she saw he already knew. It was okay.
Dawn took another step back. She adjusted the towel, cinching it securely beneath her arms.
Andrew scratched his head with the spatula. “So,” he said. “You never answered my question.”
“What?”
“The cookies/crime spree conundrum. Remember?”
“What kind?” Dawn asked.
Andrew sucked in his bottom lip thoughtfully before he spoke. He said, “I thought we could do some juvie stuff, like
letting the air out of our neighbor’s tires. Or you know, we could hack into the Bank of England using the Watchers
Council’s pass codes…”
Dawn could not suppress the smile – wan though it was – that surfaced on her face. “I meant the cookies. Ya big
geek.”
“Riiiight,” Andrew answered, half-masting his eyelids. “Oatmeal chocolate chunk.”
The stab of sorrow this time came with its own companion dose of joy.
“Tara’s recipe?” Dawn squeaked.
Andrew grinned, triumphant. “They’re magically delicious.”
With a knuckle, Dawn escorted a stray tear from her cheek. “I’ve done something horrible, Andrew,” she said.
“You can’t even imagine.”
Andrew seemed to look inward for a moment. Dawn imagined him imagining and thinking he might have done worse.
“Did you kill someone?” His eyes fluttered around the room, uncertain of a safe place to settle.
“Damaged someone,” Dawn admitted. Tears choked her; stung her throat. She finished the thought in a rush to
expel it from her body. “I think that can be worse, right? To ruin someone.”
Andrew’s eyebrows perched high on his forehead, a look of almost comic bafflement. “Dawn… how?”
Dawn dropped to the edge of her bed, her body curling in on itself, tight and rigid with grief.
“He tried to stop me, but I…” Dawn strangled on the words. “Oh God. What did I do to him?”
“Him who?” Andrew said. Then added, in a squeak of shock, “Spike?”
Dawn’s head snapped up. “No! Not Spike…”
But Andrew’s attention had turned to the open bedroom door and the figure that had collapsed against the jamb.
“Do us a favor, pet,” William said, laboring over every syllable. “Get Rupert on the line. Tell ’im I’ve just had a… bit
of a scrape.”
William tumbled forward, catching Andrew’s shoulder, nearly dragging the boy off his feet. “I ran into… into a…”
William’s eyes rolled back. He crumpled in an untidy sprawl between Dawn’s and Andrew’s feet.
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.Chapter Index.
Anywhere Out
of This World
Blood, Pressure
The Drawing Board
All's Well
Anywhere Out of
This World
Mourning Sickness
Welcome to Hell
Relative
Matters of Time
& Fishes
International Calls
Empty as Houses
Lusty Wrong Feelings
Enthralled
Thanksgiving
Seduced
Innocents Lost
Burn
Flashback
Not A Chance In Hell
Empty Rooms
Two Roads Diverged
Starfall
Blindsided
Not Her Own
Outta Here
The Valley of the
Shadow of Death
Comes the Rain
Smoke and Mirrors
Drawn to You
Team Angel
By Fire Reborn
Salvage
Ashes to Ashes
Life Is...
With A Little Help
Appearances Deceiving
Familiarity
Sweetness
Not All Who Wander
That Old Black Magic
For Lorne
Drawn Together
Lost to Sand
Fall of Triumvirate
Parallel Lives
The Lovers
Avenger
Double Cross
Pursuit
Ripper's Girl
Pandemonium
Negative Space
Raveled Threads
Asunder
Human Hands
Singular
Fragmented
Symmetry
Plans
Rogue Squadron
Legends
Anywhere Out
of This World
Blood, Pressure
The Drawing Board
All's Well
Anywhere Out of
This World
Mourning Sickness
Welcome to Hell
Relative
Matters of Time
& Fishes
International Calls
Empty as Houses
Lusty Wrong Feelings
Enthralled
Thanksgiving
Seduced
Innocents Lost
Burn
Flashback
Not A Chance In Hell
Empty Rooms
Two Roads Diverged
Starfall
Blindsided
Not Her Own
Outta Here
The Valley of the
Shadow of Death
Comes the Rain
Smoke and Mirrors
Drawn to You
Team Angel
By Fire Reborn
Salvage
Ashes to Ashes
Life Is...
With A Little Help
Appearances Deceiving
Familiarity
Sweetness
Not All Who Wander
That Old Black Magic
For Lorne
Drawn Together
Lost to Sand
Fall of Triumvirate
Parallel Lives
The Lovers
Avenger
Double Cross
Pursuit
Ripper's Girl
Pandemonium
Negative Space
Raveled Threads
Asunder
Human Hands
Singular
Fragmented
Symmetry
Plans
Rogue Squadron
Legends
 |