Dawn's Fine

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or the setting of the story. As far as I know, Dawn Summers and all things I borrowed from the Buffyverse are a creation of and belong to Joss Whedon, and Milton Fine belongs to the creators of the Superman comics, and Warner Bros and whoever else owns "Smallville".

Timeline – after "Hypnotic", around the time of "Oracle" and "Vessel"(Smallville), post Chosen (Buffy, the Vampire Slayer), post NFA (Angel)


Beta: Rachael


Chapter 18


Dawn couldn't say how she knew, but she knew it wasn't him. The physical resemblance was, of course, perfect. The face, the voice, the feel of his body against hers, everything was identical. She could not therefore explain why she didn't feel the arousal she had felt constantly all throughout the previous week.

He had told her that being with her changed him, gave him self awareness. Dawn realized that she had changed as well. She had a different perception of the world. Her thoughts seemed to form faster and faster. She was able to make unexpected connections. It felt as if a veil had been lifted off her eyes. No, off all of her senses.

She managed to finally formulate her hypothesis when he took her hand upon entering the building. All the information Fine had given her, together with the recent events, came together, leading to a dark conclusion.

Why would he bring her here, or anywhere on Earth for that matter, when he was well aware that they couldn't hide for the others? Because he was one of the others.

She decided to test her theory, knowing that if her worst fear was to be captured by them, their worst fear must be that she'd infect another part of the Brain Interactive Construct.

"They're going to find us, aren't they? I'm so afraid. Hold me. Please."

If he were her real lover he'd tell her the truth. He'd hold her in his arms very tight and he'd admit that they were going to be discovered.

The man acted up the first part, but stopped short of saying anything. She sighed, desperately wishing to be wrong. Apparently her newly awakened awareness wouldn't allow her to deceive herself.

She continued her test with a kiss. It reminded her of the first time they kissed, only a few short, intense, happy months earlier. She was vaguely aroused, but it was not the same. He was holding back more than her real lover. He must be terrified that she'd change him, that she would infect him, too.

His mouth felt almost as good as her lover's, but not perfectly like his. God, what had they done to him? The dark fear that he was already destroyed, the horrific suspicion that she might actually be in the arms of the very man she loved, but that his personality, his identity had been erased frightened her.

There was one last test.

"Make love to me. They can find us at any minute. You said my energy signature is unique. If we're going to die anyway... Please. Make love to me one last time."

She felt him hesitate, and the tenderness in his touch, the warmth of his voice as he denied her solace almost broke her. Still, she couldn't allow herself be deceived.

"Dawn, luv, this is neither the time or the place to do this."

He had even used Spike's accent. The poor bastard must be desperate. She decided to call him on it.

"I guess I have my answer. Take me to him. I know it, I can feel it. You haven't destroyed him yet."

Milton Fine didn't move or speak for a while. She saw his lips tremble for a split second as if to form words, but didn't say anything.

"You need some more convincing, don't you?" Dawn whispered.

She tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him to her. She was counting on this exemplary being as unable to resist her as the first one seemed to be from the very beginning. She was proven correct when the man deepened the kiss. It felt good, although not as good as her man made her feel.

"Take me to him, or I'll turn you."

Dawn groaned inwardly at the inadvertent vampire reference. She kept running her fingers over his chest, then casually began unbuttoning his shirt. The man gripped her wrists, stopping her.

"Please," she whispered, bowing her head to rub her cheek over the fabric of his shirt, conscientiously rubbing her cheekbone over one hardening nipple.

His grip on her wrists became painful, causing Dawn to shiver in mingled fear and arousal. She had seen what Fine's hands could turn into, so it wasn't a stretch of the imagination to picture him doing an Edward Scissorhands impression.

"It's either him or you," she threatened, grinding her hips against his, betting her life and her love on this bluff.

He pushed her hard against the wall, pinned her hands up above her head and pressed his body into hers. He put one hand over both her wrists, while the other started traveling down, along her arm, then slid over her side and hip, and stopped on the small of her back.

"Maybe I want it to be me," he said.

Dawn trembled at his words, his tone, the hardness bulging at the front of his trousers. He broke eye contact to lower his mouth down on her neck. She fought for sanity when he buried his face in the crook of her neck. He was having an effect on her. He was supposed to be the one shaking, melting, breaking down, not her.

"You can't want that," Dawn said, trying to win back her man. "Being human is a fatal disease, and it hurts. You can ask him if you don't believe me," she added, in the mad hope that they were all in contact with each other.

He wasn't answering. His mouth continued the relentless exploration of her neck

"You think you want me now? Stick around for a while and you'll see what want is," she said.

She managed to get the words out before his ministrations began clouding her mind. She could no longer speak. She could no longer hold back the tears because she knew what want was. His touches were making her want her lover back so much it hurt.

The Other stepped away from her. There was a strange expression on his face as he looked at her. Desire, fear, awe, mixed into one. He wiped away her tears, so gently that Dawn could almost believe it was Him. He looked amazed at his fingertips, shining, covered in the salty, wet, all too human discharge. He laced his fingers though hers and started to walk down the corridor, pulling her after him.

Dawn's heart hitched in her throat at the sight that awaited her behind the door he opened. She couldn't help instinctively gripping the impostor's hand tighter when she saw her lover motionless on the autopsy table. The room obviously hadn't been used in many years, if ever, but she could not mistake a morgue for anything else.

"He's not dead, is he?" she asked, her gaze never leaving her lover's still body.

"He wasn't all that alive to begin with," the duplicate said.

Dawn let go of his hand to walk to the table. She hoped that there was some truth to fairy tales. Vampires were real, after all. Aliens were real. Who was to say that she couldn't wake her sleeping lover with a kiss?

She looked at his beautiful face, frozen in such an innocent, almost angelic masque. She brushed her fingers over his cheekbones. Not razor-sharp as Spike's always seemed to be, but sweetened by age and lack of disdainful smirking. Her palms cupped his cheeks, wanting to feel the first sign of life, if one appeared.

"I love you," she whispered.

She lowered her head, pausing for a second before her lips touched his. This had to work. She'd die if it didn't. She'd crumple to the floor. She'd turn to dust like she had seen so many vampires do at her sister's hands.

His lips were as smooth as always, but cold, alien, dead. No muscle twitched on his face. His eyelids didn't flutter. No illusion of blood flowing through just as illusory veins warmed his skin. He remained dead and unmoving.

She slid one hand off his cheek, pressing her palm and her fingers lightly on his neck, despite being aware that it was silly to hope for a pulse. Whatever was her origin, Dawn had been human for as long as she could remember. It was only natural for her to check for a pulse, to want to feel his skin warming up, or any other exterior signs of his awakening. She could not sense if his software was rebooted or not. She could not feel if the locks of the firewalls keeping him in purgatory were slipping open or not.

She went on kissing his cold lips, tears beginning to flow freely on her cheeks.

"Wake up, baby. Come back! Come back to me, damn you!"

She got the words out between kisses and sobs. Her hands were now fisted in his shirt, clutching the fabric desperately, as if she could shake him awake.

Dawn startled when she heard the door behind her slamming shut. She heard it being locked, and she fell to her knees next to the table. She reached to take one of his hands off the table. She held it in her palms, pressing her face against it, bathing it in tears and covering it with kisses.

All was lost. She couldn't reach him. She had been wrong.

"I love you," she said again to the cold room.

At least, they'd die together.

While she was tumbling down into deepest despair, a thought struck her. If she had failed, why had the Other left the room and locked the door.

Dawn jumped to her feet, mad, wild hope coursing through her like electricity. She bowed her head again over the sleeping man, and kissed him once more. She felt the change before any of her five senses could alert her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To be continued...