[Reviews - 21]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 2718 times

- Text Size +




Chapter 9- As She Sleeps

* She Walks In Beauty: George Gordon, Lord Byron

While Buffy slept, Spike decided to look in on Dawn. He never would have thought that he would have missed his niblet this much. After Buffy she was his best friend, she had helped him cling to his tattered shreds of his mind and humanity after Buffy had died. There had been many a night after that Dawn had poured him into bed after he had drowned his sorrows in a bottle or two. Spike hated the fact that he had deserted her when he went off to Africa, but he couldn’t stay around for her after what had happened with Buffy, it wouldn’t have been fair for her. He had been totally unprepared for the almost woman that had greeted him when he had returned.
Looking in on her now was so bittersweet, what did he need sunlight for when he had Summer wrapped up in two beautiful girls. The sun shining off of them was all he would ever need or could ever hope to gain. The moon light glinted off the silver cross he had given her for her sixteenth birthday engraved with the words of a poem he had stated reminded him of her and of Buffy.

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow’d to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair’d the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

He had never even told the chit that the bloke that wrote it was the elder of the cousins and who had gotten the title from their great uncle “the wicked lord” as everyone had called him. He had never told anyone that he had looked up so much to his reckless cousin who had seemed to turn the damn town on its ear and had followed in his footsteps to Cambridge and into poetry. He had always butchered his prose, the damnable thing was that George had always tell him to keep trying, the bloody ponce.

Now looking down on his sleeping girl he was happy to see her wearing his gift and it made him feel good to know that he still in some small way protected her, even as it protected her from even him. Sitting himself as much as possible in her bedside chair he sat and watched her sleep wishing he could do the same with Buffy. At least Dawn hadn’t sensed him like Buffy did, Spike didn’t think he could handle Dawn’s tears as well. He would find a way for them to be together again, all of them, besides Peaches, they were his only family and it wanted than back, not like it was of course, but something new.

When morning light broke through the drapery Spike eased out of the room, not witnessing Dawn losing her grip on the picture that she had been clutching under the covers.





You must login (register) to review.