Symmetry
This one's for Logan.
Dawn entered the sitting room, heart boiling, mind sharp and determined. She found what she sought instantly, and pulled it
to her chest in an embrace before she could bring herself to look at it.
She heard commotion downstairs, ignored it. She peeled off her blood-soaked clothes and went to her closet. She was
dressed in blue jeans and a violet turtleneck. She scoured her hands and nails until they were raw, then twisted her hair
back into a knot so that it wouldn’t fall into her face while she worked. She tugged on her knee socks and boots, then
returned to her notebook.
Dawn’s chin trembled at seeing the image on the last page: The Lovers, side by side, hands nested together, their faces
staring outward in a blind blaze of burning light.
She’d drawn it for him – their flat-warming gift. She’d gone as far as to fantasize about him unwrapping it from its brown-
paper package to find it fully-painted and neatly framed, then together trying it out on the blank walls of their brand new
place.
She felt no connection now. The image lay etched in stillness, the future behind it erased.
Dawn schooled her emotions. Now was not the time, and that was not the drawing she needed. She found that one tucked
between the back page and the cover, folded, crinkled – a page torn from a yellow legal pad.
She unfolded it, and her heart faltered. There he was, captured in ballpoint, eyes downcast as he read, the irises visible
through a screen of lashes.
She’d committed every detail to the page, and remembered how, after that first step, there had been no turning back.
Dawn gripped the edges of the page with steady hands, recalling how it felt to touch him, to bring his lips to hers, to feel his
laughter on her shoulder, the weight of his hand in hers.
The connection sparked immediately. The room melted around her, morphing from the sitting room to a dust-clogged cave
strewn with chunks of stone and twisted debris. She allowed herself a grim smile, at the knowledge that she had her own
power, that she was able to do something.
Clutching the drawing to her chest, she stepped into the cave, leaving the tangible world behind her. This was Andrew’s
mindscape now. Where ever he was, whatever he felt, she would find him and feel it, too.
A ruined hall spread before her, dark save for a spear of dusty light. Tattered posters clung to the walls, which were lined on
either side with metal lockers. After a few meters, Dawn encountered the first of the bodies: Dead, brown-robed bodies,
with symbols carved into their faces where their eyes should be.
Bringers.
“Oh…” Dawn breathed. She walked faster, now that she knew where she was. Dust sifted around her. The walls groaned like
ghosts, as if they weren’t finished settling. A pennant fluttered to the ground – red and gold – the Sunnydale Razorbacks.
She heard him before she saw him. He was singing, or talking to himself, maybe both, but when she rounded a corner, there
he sat among the fallen stones, looking half-bored, like someone waiting in the lobby of the DMV and not the long-destroyed
ruins of their former high school. He wore the same Trogdor shirt he’d worn the day she’d drawn him.
Andrew rolled his head in her direction and grinned. “And there’s my Dawnie, ladies and gentlemen: Bubbly and sweet, with a
smile that lights up any room. Or wrecked passageway, as is the case.”
Dawn rushed to kneel beside him. “Andrew,” she gushed. Relief overcame her. She pulled him into her arms, trembling and
trying not to cry but not succeeding. Andrew, dazed, gingerly touched her hair and her face, as if he didn’t believe she was
there.
Once she regained some control, she said, “What are you doing here?”
Andrew craned his neck. “Where am I?”
She said, “It’s totally impossible, but it looks like Sunnydale High.”
Andrew drummed his hands on his knees. “Wow,” he said. “Symmetry.”
Dawn stared hard at him. Other than the thin coating of dust, he appeared whole and unblemished. She said, “I had to make
sure you’re okay, Andrew. When I left you, you were…” her throat constricted. “You were so... Are you? Does it hurt?”
“It’s weird,” he said. He considered a moment, a strained expression on his face. “Well, there’s a strange pulling sensation.
Like, here,” he said, indicating the place where the dagger had pierced him. “I am so glad I’m not conscious right now.”
Dawn breathed a shaky sigh. “Andrew.”
“But you made it back, right? You’re sound and safe.”
Dawn took his hands in hers, and felt a tug of hope at the warmth of his touch. “For now,” she said. “Willow’s back. She
brought Thellian with her.”
Andrew’s jaw unhinged. “Is she…” he lowered his voice, “a vampyre?”
“I don’t think so,” Dawn told him.
Andrew braced himself against the wall. His expression clouded, and, taking her by complete surprise, he said, “Dawnie, we
don’t have much time. The world’s ending again. The ritual in the parchments – it’s started.”
“What do you mean?” she asked. “How do you know?”
Andrew looked pained. “After all that research I did, it was something Xander said…”
“I know what Xander said,” she interrupted. “It doesn’t matter.”
Andrew brought his eyes to hers. “Not that,” he said. “And it does matter. Xander said, people do strange things in the
midst of chaos. And I thought, chaos. That’s what those parchments are all about.”
“Chaos?”
“Well, doors,” he explained.
Dawn eyed him obliquely, thinking that perhaps oxygen depravation was making him less than coherent, but she didn’t want
to say so. He’d already been through so much.
“Okay,” she said, going along. “Doors and chaos.”
Andrew steepled his fingers on his chin, taking on his scholarly air. “You see, there are all kinds of doors, and lots of ways to
open them. There’s, um, brute force, fire, blunt objects,” he said, counting them off on his fingers as he went. “Plus, you
can use tools or a credit card to jimmy a lock. Jimmy? Why do they call it that? Why not Roger, or Jack? Though I suppose
jack would mean a whole other thing.”
Dawn nudged him. “Andrew, remember that not-having-a-lot-of-time you mentioned…”
He grimaced. “Right, well, you can magick doors open, too. That’s what the Parchments do. Or, rather, that’s what they’re
doing, but on an interdimensional level.”
“But how do you know?”
“The Shedim are possession-class demons, level 16 at least, usually found in the most elite circles in Hell. Conversely, the
Kostzchie are subterranean creatures who rarely venture above ground. Low armor class, but they have plus 2 D8 damage
for bone darts – From experience: Ow! – and another 1 D8 for poison fangs. Then we have the Sulksquelawtna, basically the
Mad Maxes of the Demon World. Yet they’re all here, all at once,” he said. He shrugged. “Can only mean the dimensional
barriers that safeguard all worlds are collapsing.”
Dawn considered for a moment, then said, “Why?”
“Let the monsters in,” Andrew answered.
“Okay, then who? And how?”
Andrew could only look disappointed in that he didn’t have those answers.
Dawn drew a deep breath. She smelled spearmint and antiseptic mingled with the stuffy scent of powdered plaster. Hospital
smells. Where he was in the physical world was crossing over to them here. She settled in beside him, and nested his hand
within hers.
After a moment, he said, “Ponderous.”
“What’s that?” Dawn asked.
“Maybe we’re here because I might have died here,” he said. “If it weren’t for Anya, I would have. Y’know, most likely. I
thought I should have died and I was okay with it. A whole karma enchilada.”
“Don’t talk like that,” she bit out.
“Hello, still in narrative mode,” Andrew whined.
“Fine.” She cut her eyes at him. “Continue.”
“I’ve reversed my whole position on the being okay with death,” he said. “I’m not okay with it.” Dawn turned her face to
his, entranced by the way his eyes glinted as he spoke. “I want that flat in Wapping. I want a sleigh bed and a garden tub
with brushed chrome fixtures. Also, I’d like to be there when you graduate. And someone needs to improve the Council’s
computer system to them actually having one. We’re talking zero upgrades since the Medici family was in power...” his
voice trailed off.
Dawn squeezed his hand. “I’d like to see Buffy’s baby,” she said. She laughed. “I’d like to see Buffy.”
Andrew got to his knees and turned her body to face his. “So we will, okay?” he said earnestly. “Pinky Promise it.”
She gaped at him.
“Do it,” he said, brandishing his pinky at her.
“You are such a girl,” she said.
He clutched his hand to his heart. “Ow, my ego!” he moaned. “Except, you’re dating me. What’s that say about you?”
Dawn held up a pinky. “Never said I didn’t like it,” she said. They shook on it, and the deal was sealed.
Except…
Dawn grew serious again. She’d come here with a purpose, and whether he could help or not, or give his blessing (or not),
she had to let him know what she was planning.
“Andrew,” she said. “The who and the how of this doesn’t matter. I have an idea. A long shot, probably, but it’s something.
Also, it’s risky, and so very dangerous. With your help, maybe less so.” She sat back on her heels. “You up for it?”
He drew up his shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Dawn kissed him then – a kiss of pure, simple sweetness – one that she would remember for all of her many years.
When they parted, they sat face to face, knees touching like kids telling scary stories at a campfire. Dawn took her
drawing of him, folded it and tucked it into the front pocket of his jeans, and he arched a brow in what she knew he hoped
was an expression worthy of Harrison Ford.
“So,” she said with a determined smile. “You wanna know what else opens doors?”
William had only taken a few steps into the former 100 Wing of Sunnydale High when he came face to face with Dawn.
Out of reflex, he shouted and gave her a rough shove before realizing who she was. Fortunately, Buffy had taught the girl
well, and Dawn managed to keep her feet and her wits while William sorted out what he was seeing.
After a moment of confusion, he said, “I know I didn’t leave this here.”
“I did it,” Dawn said. She smirked, and added, “But I had help.”
He stood there, his head tilted in that pensive way of his, eyes slightly squinted. He said, “You drew this? Like with the little
glass church?”
Dawn thought for a heartbeat before answering. “I drew it to me,” she said.
William gave her an appraising stare. She seemed… harder, somehow. The softness around her eyes had gone, and the set to
her mouth seemed sterner. “Nibblet? You all right? ’Cause if you’re worried about Andrew, I can say with some degree of
authority that the boy’s a mite tougher than he looks.”
“I know that,” she said with a tight smile.
Realization struck him like a ray of sunlight on a mirror. He’d seen that look before, of course. He’d seen it on Buffy.
“I need your help,” Dawn said.
“Anything, pet. Name it.”
Dawn stepped past him. Her hand on the door knob, she said, “I need everybody in the basement. I have a plan, and we
don’t have much time.”
She continued to the landing of the stairs outside the sitting room door, but William remained.
“Spike? You coming?”
He half-turned. “Why here? Why this place?”
“I wondered that, too. It’s because Andrew might have died here, but he didn’t,” she said. Her eyes darted over his
shoulder, to look one last time into the gloom. “He didn’t.”
William continued to stare. “You think it’ll stay, once you’ve gone?”
With certainty she couldn’t explain, Dawn said, “No. It’ll fade. It all will.”
He nodded again, as if everything was clear, and followed her downstairs.
This one's for Logan.
Dawn entered the sitting room, heart boiling, mind sharp and determined. She found what she sought instantly, and pulled it
to her chest in an embrace before she could bring herself to look at it.
She heard commotion downstairs, ignored it. She peeled off her blood-soaked clothes and went to her closet. She was
dressed in blue jeans and a violet turtleneck. She scoured her hands and nails until they were raw, then twisted her hair
back into a knot so that it wouldn’t fall into her face while she worked. She tugged on her knee socks and boots, then
returned to her notebook.
Dawn’s chin trembled at seeing the image on the last page: The Lovers, side by side, hands nested together, their faces
staring outward in a blind blaze of burning light.
She’d drawn it for him – their flat-warming gift. She’d gone as far as to fantasize about him unwrapping it from its brown-
paper package to find it fully-painted and neatly framed, then together trying it out on the blank walls of their brand new
place.
She felt no connection now. The image lay etched in stillness, the future behind it erased.
Dawn schooled her emotions. Now was not the time, and that was not the drawing she needed. She found that one tucked
between the back page and the cover, folded, crinkled – a page torn from a yellow legal pad.
She unfolded it, and her heart faltered. There he was, captured in ballpoint, eyes downcast as he read, the irises visible
through a screen of lashes.
She’d committed every detail to the page, and remembered how, after that first step, there had been no turning back.
Dawn gripped the edges of the page with steady hands, recalling how it felt to touch him, to bring his lips to hers, to feel his
laughter on her shoulder, the weight of his hand in hers.
The connection sparked immediately. The room melted around her, morphing from the sitting room to a dust-clogged cave
strewn with chunks of stone and twisted debris. She allowed herself a grim smile, at the knowledge that she had her own
power, that she was able to do something.
Clutching the drawing to her chest, she stepped into the cave, leaving the tangible world behind her. This was Andrew’s
mindscape now. Where ever he was, whatever he felt, she would find him and feel it, too.
A ruined hall spread before her, dark save for a spear of dusty light. Tattered posters clung to the walls, which were lined on
either side with metal lockers. After a few meters, Dawn encountered the first of the bodies: Dead, brown-robed bodies,
with symbols carved into their faces where their eyes should be.
Bringers.
“Oh…” Dawn breathed. She walked faster, now that she knew where she was. Dust sifted around her. The walls groaned like
ghosts, as if they weren’t finished settling. A pennant fluttered to the ground – red and gold – the Sunnydale Razorbacks.
She heard him before she saw him. He was singing, or talking to himself, maybe both, but when she rounded a corner, there
he sat among the fallen stones, looking half-bored, like someone waiting in the lobby of the DMV and not the long-destroyed
ruins of their former high school. He wore the same Trogdor shirt he’d worn the day she’d drawn him.
Andrew rolled his head in her direction and grinned. “And there’s my Dawnie, ladies and gentlemen: Bubbly and sweet, with a
smile that lights up any room. Or wrecked passageway, as is the case.”
Dawn rushed to kneel beside him. “Andrew,” she gushed. Relief overcame her. She pulled him into her arms, trembling and
trying not to cry but not succeeding. Andrew, dazed, gingerly touched her hair and her face, as if he didn’t believe she was
there.
Once she regained some control, she said, “What are you doing here?”
Andrew craned his neck. “Where am I?”
She said, “It’s totally impossible, but it looks like Sunnydale High.”
Andrew drummed his hands on his knees. “Wow,” he said. “Symmetry.”
Dawn stared hard at him. Other than the thin coating of dust, he appeared whole and unblemished. She said, “I had to make
sure you’re okay, Andrew. When I left you, you were…” her throat constricted. “You were so... Are you? Does it hurt?”
“It’s weird,” he said. He considered a moment, a strained expression on his face. “Well, there’s a strange pulling sensation.
Like, here,” he said, indicating the place where the dagger had pierced him. “I am so glad I’m not conscious right now.”
Dawn breathed a shaky sigh. “Andrew.”
“But you made it back, right? You’re sound and safe.”
Dawn took his hands in hers, and felt a tug of hope at the warmth of his touch. “For now,” she said. “Willow’s back. She
brought Thellian with her.”
Andrew’s jaw unhinged. “Is she…” he lowered his voice, “a vampyre?”
“I don’t think so,” Dawn told him.
Andrew braced himself against the wall. His expression clouded, and, taking her by complete surprise, he said, “Dawnie, we
don’t have much time. The world’s ending again. The ritual in the parchments – it’s started.”
“What do you mean?” she asked. “How do you know?”
Andrew looked pained. “After all that research I did, it was something Xander said…”
“I know what Xander said,” she interrupted. “It doesn’t matter.”
Andrew brought his eyes to hers. “Not that,” he said. “And it does matter. Xander said, people do strange things in the
midst of chaos. And I thought, chaos. That’s what those parchments are all about.”
“Chaos?”
“Well, doors,” he explained.
Dawn eyed him obliquely, thinking that perhaps oxygen depravation was making him less than coherent, but she didn’t want
to say so. He’d already been through so much.
“Okay,” she said, going along. “Doors and chaos.”
Andrew steepled his fingers on his chin, taking on his scholarly air. “You see, there are all kinds of doors, and lots of ways to
open them. There’s, um, brute force, fire, blunt objects,” he said, counting them off on his fingers as he went. “Plus, you
can use tools or a credit card to jimmy a lock. Jimmy? Why do they call it that? Why not Roger, or Jack? Though I suppose
jack would mean a whole other thing.”
Dawn nudged him. “Andrew, remember that not-having-a-lot-of-time you mentioned…”
He grimaced. “Right, well, you can magick doors open, too. That’s what the Parchments do. Or, rather, that’s what they’re
doing, but on an interdimensional level.”
“But how do you know?”
“The Shedim are possession-class demons, level 16 at least, usually found in the most elite circles in Hell. Conversely, the
Kostzchie are subterranean creatures who rarely venture above ground. Low armor class, but they have plus 2 D8 damage
for bone darts – From experience: Ow! – and another 1 D8 for poison fangs. Then we have the Sulksquelawtna, basically the
Mad Maxes of the Demon World. Yet they’re all here, all at once,” he said. He shrugged. “Can only mean the dimensional
barriers that safeguard all worlds are collapsing.”
Dawn considered for a moment, then said, “Why?”
“Let the monsters in,” Andrew answered.
“Okay, then who? And how?”
Andrew could only look disappointed in that he didn’t have those answers.
Dawn drew a deep breath. She smelled spearmint and antiseptic mingled with the stuffy scent of powdered plaster. Hospital
smells. Where he was in the physical world was crossing over to them here. She settled in beside him, and nested his hand
within hers.
After a moment, he said, “Ponderous.”
“What’s that?” Dawn asked.
“Maybe we’re here because I might have died here,” he said. “If it weren’t for Anya, I would have. Y’know, most likely. I
thought I should have died and I was okay with it. A whole karma enchilada.”
“Don’t talk like that,” she bit out.
“Hello, still in narrative mode,” Andrew whined.
“Fine.” She cut her eyes at him. “Continue.”
“I’ve reversed my whole position on the being okay with death,” he said. “I’m not okay with it.” Dawn turned her face to
his, entranced by the way his eyes glinted as he spoke. “I want that flat in Wapping. I want a sleigh bed and a garden tub
with brushed chrome fixtures. Also, I’d like to be there when you graduate. And someone needs to improve the Council’s
computer system to them actually having one. We’re talking zero upgrades since the Medici family was in power...” his
voice trailed off.
Dawn squeezed his hand. “I’d like to see Buffy’s baby,” she said. She laughed. “I’d like to see Buffy.”
Andrew got to his knees and turned her body to face his. “So we will, okay?” he said earnestly. “Pinky Promise it.”
She gaped at him.
“Do it,” he said, brandishing his pinky at her.
“You are such a girl,” she said.
He clutched his hand to his heart. “Ow, my ego!” he moaned. “Except, you’re dating me. What’s that say about you?”
Dawn held up a pinky. “Never said I didn’t like it,” she said. They shook on it, and the deal was sealed.
Except…
Dawn grew serious again. She’d come here with a purpose, and whether he could help or not, or give his blessing (or not),
she had to let him know what she was planning.
“Andrew,” she said. “The who and the how of this doesn’t matter. I have an idea. A long shot, probably, but it’s something.
Also, it’s risky, and so very dangerous. With your help, maybe less so.” She sat back on her heels. “You up for it?”
He drew up his shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Dawn kissed him then – a kiss of pure, simple sweetness – one that she would remember for all of her many years.
When they parted, they sat face to face, knees touching like kids telling scary stories at a campfire. Dawn took her
drawing of him, folded it and tucked it into the front pocket of his jeans, and he arched a brow in what she knew he hoped
was an expression worthy of Harrison Ford.
“So,” she said with a determined smile. “You wanna know what else opens doors?”
William had only taken a few steps into the former 100 Wing of Sunnydale High when he came face to face with Dawn.
Out of reflex, he shouted and gave her a rough shove before realizing who she was. Fortunately, Buffy had taught the girl
well, and Dawn managed to keep her feet and her wits while William sorted out what he was seeing.
After a moment of confusion, he said, “I know I didn’t leave this here.”
“I did it,” Dawn said. She smirked, and added, “But I had help.”
He stood there, his head tilted in that pensive way of his, eyes slightly squinted. He said, “You drew this? Like with the little
glass church?”
Dawn thought for a heartbeat before answering. “I drew it to me,” she said.
William gave her an appraising stare. She seemed… harder, somehow. The softness around her eyes had gone, and the set to
her mouth seemed sterner. “Nibblet? You all right? ’Cause if you’re worried about Andrew, I can say with some degree of
authority that the boy’s a mite tougher than he looks.”
“I know that,” she said with a tight smile.
Realization struck him like a ray of sunlight on a mirror. He’d seen that look before, of course. He’d seen it on Buffy.
“I need your help,” Dawn said.
“Anything, pet. Name it.”
Dawn stepped past him. Her hand on the door knob, she said, “I need everybody in the basement. I have a plan, and we
don’t have much time.”
She continued to the landing of the stairs outside the sitting room door, but William remained.
“Spike? You coming?”
He half-turned. “Why here? Why this place?”
“I wondered that, too. It’s because Andrew might have died here, but he didn’t,” she said. Her eyes darted over his
shoulder, to look one last time into the gloom. “He didn’t.”
William continued to stare. “You think it’ll stay, once you’ve gone?”
With certainty she couldn’t explain, Dawn said, “No. It’ll fade. It all will.”
He nodded again, as if everything was clear, and followed her downstairs.
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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
Mea Culpa
Things Unsaid
Home Sweet Gone
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
Mea Culpa
Things Unsaid
Home Sweet Gone
Something causing fear to fly
Rising like a dark night
In silence
Traveling like a broken boat
Heading for the sky
And I'm an island
I watched you disappear
into the clouds
Swept away into another town
The world carries on without you
But nothing remains the same
I'll be lost without you
Until the last of days
The sun is in the east,
Rising for the beasts
And the beauties
I wish that I could tear it down,
Plant it in the ground to warm your
face
I built myself a castle on the beach
Watching as it slid into the sea
The world carries on without you
But nothing remains the same
I'll be lost without you
Until the last of days
Until the last of days
Through walls and harvest moons
I will fight for you
The world carries on without you
But nothing remains the same
I'll be lost without you
Until the last of days
Until the last of days
Last of Days, A Fine Frenzy
Rising like a dark night
In silence
Traveling like a broken boat
Heading for the sky
And I'm an island
I watched you disappear
into the clouds
Swept away into another town
The world carries on without you
But nothing remains the same
I'll be lost without you
Until the last of days
The sun is in the east,
Rising for the beasts
And the beauties
I wish that I could tear it down,
Plant it in the ground to warm your
face
I built myself a castle on the beach
Watching as it slid into the sea
The world carries on without you
But nothing remains the same
I'll be lost without you
Until the last of days
Until the last of days
Through walls and harvest moons
I will fight for you
The world carries on without you
But nothing remains the same
I'll be lost without you
Until the last of days
Until the last of days
Last of Days, A Fine Frenzy