Unnatural: Prologue
by biggerstaffbunch
Unnatural by biggerstaffbunch
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I own whatever ME and Twentieth Century Fox and Joss do not.
Prologue
*~*~*
The vending machine whirred and hummed as the bag of ho-ho’s shook for a moment, trembling behind their metal barrier, and then dropped in a slow-motion free-for-all down to the belly of the machine. Dawn Summers stooped down and picked up the bag from the slot, gripping the plastic edges and tearing them apart.
Rrriippp! Dawn was fascinated with noise. Any kind of noise, all noise. Even silence, weirdly enough. She liked the heaviness and finality of the quiet. It gave her thoughts somewhere to filter out into. Sometimes she talked to herself, just to fill the silence, because in her head, her words would just get lost with the rest of it all.
12-3B. Punch in a couple of numbers and- utopia. Dawn liked numbers, too, and letters. When things got tough, Dawn often closed her mind and counted backwards from a thousand. The order of the numbers never changed, was always the same, and Dawn liked that. She also liked placing the scattered letters floating around behind her eyelids into words, kinda like alphabet soup. Dawn wondered if she was maybe OCD.
“Hey.”
Dawn turned and blinked mutely. A tall boy of eighteen smiled uncertainly at her, his brown hair shaggy and blue eyes piercing. He was lanky and gangly, and holding a book-bag.
“You need to shave,” Dawn announced loudly, her jaw moving up and down as she shoved a piece of the ho-ho into her mouth, masticating the chocolate unrepentantly. Sawn was the type to say whatever came to mind, especially if it may offend- she wasn’t the type to go out of her way to befriend just anyone. Not anymore.
And the guy really did need a shave. Dawn hated it when guys were prickly. She liked smooth lines and soft skin, warm or cold, tanned or pale. But she didn’t like the stubble that dotted the manly jaw. It was so grubby. So unclean.
“Gee, thanks.” The boy raised an eyebrow and leaned around Dawn’s shoulder. He typed in a number and stepped back, waiting. The machine whirred again, and a roll of Starbursts dropped down.
“Starbursts are gross.” Dawn wrinkled her nose. Tart, fruity flavors dancing on her tongue, a party in her mouth. Parties sucked; Dawn liked the lazy, full-flavored taste of chocolate. It reminded her of home. “Ho-ho’s are better.”
“No way,” the boy said affably enough, leaning over again and snatching the Starbursts from the metal slot. “You get way more with Starbursts. Ho-ho’s are just two little rolls of chocolate with cream inside. Starbursts are every flavor under the sun in a tiny little package.” He wriggled an eyebrow. “I should know; my dad says I should major in food.”
Dawn nodded solemnly. “They should make chocolate Starbursts.”
The boy laughed. “Talk about gross.” He leaned against the wall next to the vending machine lazily, popping a small red square into his mouth. “I’m Connor Evans.”
Dawn flipped her long brown hair. “Dawn Summers.” She reached out a hand slowly and shook the proffered hand Connor gave her. His grip was warm and strong, Dawn thought, an anchor to keep her from floating away.
“What brings you to UCLA?” Connor asked conversationally, shifting his weight and sliding to the ground to he crouched against the wall. Dawn smiled faintly; obviously the kid was an athlete- squats were always Dawn’s least favorite part of PE back home. PE. How mundane- kids throwing objects at each other and calling it a game…it was all a plot by the government. Hah. What did the government control anyway? Nothing. Nothing was under control, not in Dawn’s life.
“College,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’m a freshman.”
“Ah, of course.” Connor rolled his eyes. “I thought you’d just wandered off the streets to procure that bag of Ho-ho’s. Sustenance vital to a hobo’s survival and all. Vagrants do it all the time.”
Dawn folded her arms and also crouched down low next to him. “What’s your major? Sarcasm 101?” she shot back, her calm voice belying her scathing words.
Connor grinned widely. “No, dear,” he said mock-condescendingly. “If I was, I’d be in Sarcasm 303, advanced-placement. As it is, I’m an Art major.” He gave a devilish look. “You like artists?”
Dawn wondered if he was joking.
“I’m a History major,” she said instead of answering. “I like history.”
“Ah.”
They sat like that for several moments, side by side in a dimly lit, peeling-paint-covered vending room, munching on ho-ho’s and starbursts like they’d known each other forever.
Somehow, Dawn thought, it felt as if they had.
“Where are you from, Dawn Summers?” Conner asked, his voice disturbing the quiet.
Dawn hesitated. “Sunnydale,” she finally ventured. “Sunnydale, California.”
“Never heard of it.” Connor pumped his legs, muscles rippling in his strong calves. Heaving himself up, he dusted his shorts off and turned to face her, his eyes shadowed. Dawn scrutinized him for a moment before relaxing.
“It’s not exactly on the map anymore,” she ventured by way of explanation. “And even if it was, Sunnydale was never big with the mappage. I doubt anyone’s ever heard of it. It’s pretty small-fish-in-a-big-sea.”
Connor laughed. “Oh, an escapee, huh?” He gave her a companionable smile and offered her his hand again. She took it and he heaved Dawn up, catching her elbows slightly as she righted herself. She felt a little shiver as her hands came in contact with his chest, warm through his slightly damp t-shirt. Was she still human, then? Still a warm-blooded, American girl that could feel?
“Escapee.”
“Yeah.” Connor nodded. “Like, your old life was a jail, and now that phase is over and you’re finally free. No debts to pay, no responsibilities.”
“Well, there’s, um, still tuition.”
“Then a parolee,” he said gently, shooting her another smile. “But the point is, you finally escaped the shit-hole you used to live in.”
“Hey!” Dawn was vaguely insulted. “Who said I lived in a shit-hole?”
Connor threw his hands up and backed away. “Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to imply…you just don’t seem to love your town.”
“I don’t. I just…it was where I lived, okay?” she snapped, annoyed. “What about your town? Did you live in a shit-hole?”
Connor shot her a look. “No, I didn’t live in a shit-hole. It was a nice place in the mountains, in Nevada.” A wistful look came over him, one Dawn recognized. She often saw it lurking behind her big blue eyes when she looked in the mirror. She missed home.
“Have you ever felt,” he started slowly, “Like your life was so perfect that there was no way you could really be meant to live it? Like, there was some big cosmic secret being kept from you?”
Dawn closed her eyes. 1000, 999, 998, 997, 996, 995…zyxwvutsrqponml…
“Yes,” she whispered.
“That’s what it felt like at home. It was…weird. I
could’ve gone to any college I wanted, you know. SAT scores were off the chart.” Dawn nodded knowingly.
Her SAT scores, despite missing tons of school, had topped Buffy’s: 1580. She had been top crop for many colleges, too.
“But I came here…I needed to get away from home. From the…normalcy of it, y’know? It felt so normal I just needed to stir things up. So I came to L.A. Last place I’ll find a normal person, huh?” Connor gave Dawn a toothy, lopsided grin. “What about you? Trying to escape your own normalcy?”
Dawn just looked at him for a moment. 994, 993, 992, 991, 990, 899, 888, 887…kjihgfedcba…
“Trying to find it.”
Connor’s gaze penetrated deeply, and Dawn shook off the familiar feeling of her soul being examined. “What are you looking at?” she snapped.
“Nothing,” Connor said calmly. “You really think you can leave it all behind here? That you won’t regret losing it all someday? That no one will find you and make you appreciate it?”
Dawn gasped. “How…what…what do you mean?”
How much did he know, how did he know, oh God, she’d prayed nothing would follow her, she thought this was a new start, Buffy promised no one would follow, this couldn’t mean-
“Your Jansport.” Connor raised an eyebrow again, grinning wickedly at her stress. “It’s really nice; I wouldn’t want anyone to steal it ‘cause you left it in the vending room.”
The breath that came whooshing out of Dawn left her feeling drained. “Oh…”
“Secrets, secrets, are not fun,” sang Connor, companionably, and boldly, wrapping his arm around Dawn’s shoulder. “Unless they are shared with everyone!”
Dawn did not laugh. “I don’t think you’ll want to know my secrets,” she said quietly.
Connor just looked at her, unblinking. “Maybe,” he breathed. “Maybe not. I guess time will tell, Dawn Summers, what secrets both you and I have. But for now, I have a feeling this is the start of a wonderful friendship…”
Dawn wondered.
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