Real Girls by Dana Woods

Fred is thin bones that are fragile like a bird's, a wide grin that lights her face up, and a mind with paths that Dawn can't even begin to walk. In Dawn's mind, Fred equates with a string of words: science and math and genius and sweetness and beauty. She thinks that Fred is how Willow would have been if she'd never gotten into magic and never lost so many parts of herself she'll never get them back and will always be a shell of what she could have been. But mostly, Dawn thinks that she's lucky.

It was Illyria that she first met: leather clad, disdaining and violent. But Willow did her thing after they all rode in to stop the army of demons that Angel unleashed on Los Angeles. Illyria and Wes are still there. Dawn and Fred are in London. Only sometimes does it make any kind of sense to Dawn.

Every once in a while Dawn will come home to their apartment and find Fred writing on the walls, her eyes desperate and pleading, just like the first time Dawn saw her.

On those days, Dawn pries the marker from Fred's fingers, takes her hands and tells Fred that she's real. That she's here. That she's flesh and blood and not so much non-existence. Then she kisses Fred, long and slow, her head tilted only a little bit because she has to keep eye contact with Fred. Has to make sure Fred realizes that it's real.

When that spark of Fred returns, when the seams are sewn back together, Dawn lays Fred down. Touches her lips to every inch of flesh that's tangible and extant, makes Fred feel everything with all of her senses, and then she lets Fred cling to her like there's nothing but Dawn.

And every once in a while Dawn will cut herself, watch the red slide across her skin like it holds the answers to everything but refuses to tell her, and on those days, Fred returns the favor.

.End