Title: The Dancer Downstairs
Author: JK5

Summary: This is why Degas painted them. To capture beauty in motion.
AN: I was listening to this stunning piano piece and my mind wouldn't get past the image of a dancer by candle light. That’s where this comes.
Thanks to my beta Tonya. w00t! She is divine.
Distribution: you want it, you got it. Just let me know where.
Disclaimer: you know the drill. Not mine, owned by Joss and his Über-boys over at ME. Not making any money. Am using for pleasure, not profit.

Feedback makes me jump around my house singing “Shake ya ass, watch ya self.” Now that is a sight to see…

**********

It’s remarkably beautiful. The lines of her body; the curves. Her arms rounded at the elbow; fingers curved. Fluid movements: forward, side, up, down. Her leg lifts then lowers. She twists at the waist, arches back. Her body sweeping, following the music. Simple movements seem like artwork. Creating something surreal and fantastic. Her eyes follow Dawn intently, mimicking her steps.

I never knew she danced. It’s really quite something, her normally stilted way of moving and speaking, completely overshadowed by a grace I didn’t think was possible for anyone to possess. Fluidity, softness. So much ease in the way her body moves. She looks different in this light. With her hair loose on top of her head, pale pink legs, black top. Simple, yet exquisite. Everything about her… This, I can see, is why Degas painted them. Capture beauty in motion.

Dawn speaks a few words of encouragement before climbing the stairs, eyeing me by the door. She’s wearing all black and her hair is in a bun; perfect, not a hair out of place. She looks natural, comfortable. She’s not trying at anything. She just is. Dancing makes her this way. Confident and assured.

“Lessons?” I ask when she steps past me.

“She wanted to learn. She’s good isn’t she?” She asks with a face, all eyes and smile.

I nod in response to her question, casting a glance back down the stairs. “So are you. I was just thinking to myself, that you look natural when you dance.”

“Thank you.” She grins up at me. “That might have been the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” She kisses my cheek before turning back to the stairs. She’s standing next to me, watching.

“I like her like this.”

“Quiet?” I joke, and she giggles softly.

“No. When something like this makes her happy. It’s better for her than the Magic Box was. It’s simpler, and she’s less likely to somehow get into trouble.” She smiles broadly at me, then descends the stairs. I turn away, setting my glass of water on the counter.

“Giles!” Buffy’s voice can carry for miles I’m sure. I look over my shoulder once, then go in search of Buffy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Clockwork.” I mutter to myself, walking by the basement door. Same time everyday. I can set my watch by it. She doesn’t dance with Dawn any longer. She goes down alone now. I think there are times when no one even realizes that she’s gone. Occasionally there will be a thump, followed by a swear or two. The first time I remember hearing it, I was sitting at the table with Dawn.

“She’s leaping,” She chuckled warmly. “She’s better at turns than leaps.” She informed me.

I, of course, hadn’t the foggiest idea what she was going on bout.

Sometimes Dawn will stand at the top of the stairs, watching her and gently critiquing. She tells me to come stand by her, to watch. But I always shake my head no. I haven’t watched since that first day.

“Hey Giles.”

I turn from the closed door to see Xander giving me an odd expression.

“Hello Xander.”

“Why were you looking at a closed door?” he eyes me quizzically.

Why, indeed.

“Lost in thought.”

“Way to be. Hey, have you seen Anya? I’ve been looking for her.”

To be fair, I truly haven’t seen her. I just happen to know where she is.

“No I haven’t seen her. But I do recall Dawn saying earlier that Anya was busy, or would be busy, or something to that effect.”

“Alright. If you see her, tell her I was looking for her.”

“Of course.” I leave shortly after he does. Staying would have increased the likelihood of me actually seeing her; then I would have been obliged to tell her that Xander was inquiring to her whereabouts. Which, for some undiscovered reason, I don’t quite feel like doing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s late and I’m exhausted. My head is screaming “Disregard Buffy’s hospitality. You need your own private accommodations.” But those are fleeting thoughts. Because in the quiet, hazy dead of night, it’s easy to forget. Forget that you have almost nothing; that your family is fighting for their lives; that you’re sleeping in a room full of young girls, none of whom seem to realize the gravity of the situation.

Forget Dawn and Anya; dancing their problems away, if only for an hour. I want to think that it’s silly, and childish, and utterly useless. But I can’t bring myself to do so. I should be telling them they are wasting precious time. But what would I make them do otherwise?

Taking a final drink of my water, I set the glass in the sink. I turn and face the closed basement door. She’s incredibly beautiful when she dances. Her face…nothing, absolutely nothing. She doesn’t pour herself out; she takes other things in. Willingly giving herself…

What am I talking about? It isn’t anything spectacular. It’s movement. Not any more special than what Buffy does. I don’t know why I keep obsessing over it. Anya and her damn-

Music? I hear faint piano chords. I look through the crack in the basement door. Light is flickering on the walls, shadows bouncing like the walls were on fire. I hear a frustrated sigh and a subsequent curse. It’s been a month, I reason with myself. I could just see if she’s improved. I don’t make myself known right away. I sit on the bottom stairs watching her move. So easily lost.

Her arm sweeps behind her. Bends one leg, points the other. Arches backwards slightly. Moving like water, like air. So easily, so softly. Her eyes are closed, testing herself. She turns on her foot, throws her leg high, then slowly brings it back down. She moves quickly, leaps. And lands softly. Her face breaks out into a grin as she continues on. Arms forward, arms above. Leg bent, leg strait. Up on her toes, back down on the ground. Her movement stops, her leg behind her midair.

“It’s late.” She says, as she straightens herself out. She pivots, facing me.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh, is my music too loud?” she starts to turn the music off, but I protest. If the music stops, she’ll stop.

“No, too much snoring, and wheezing, and muttering, and kicking going on. I was getting a glass of water when I heard the music and saw that there was light coming from the basement. I saw the candles flickering….why didn’t you turn on the light?”

“The bulb was burnt out.”

“There are more in the utilities closet.”

“I didn’t want to wake anyone? Alright, I think it’s more beautiful. Something about the way it moves.”

“I completely understand.” It doesn’t take long for her feet to begin moving again. As if of their own accord. And before we realize it, she’s dancing for me. It’s beautiful and vulnerable, and achingly sad. Tears are rolling down her cheeks, but she doesn’t stop. Her movements are slow and extreme. Spontaneous and breathtaking. One candle flickers furiously, the wax almost ready to suffocate the flame. I sit and watch, unable to tear my eyes away.

I am knowingly, wittingly coming undone. She closes her eyes and I take the opportunity to make sure the door is closed. When I return I see her frozen, bent at the waist, her arms rounded in front of her. I gaze at one candle as the flame fades away. I grasp onto her waist and she falls into my arms. I know there are other things I should be considering, but I can’t recall a single one of them. Things will never be the same.

“I waited a month before I let myself watch you.” Another candle shutters and dies. Her eyes stare up at me, open and giving. Her skin is soft, and smells sweet. I inhale deeply.

“Jasmine and Vanilla.” She breathes into my chest. I want to see her; all of her. I want to feel her warmth against me. The last candle flickers out and I’m lost in darkness. I can still hear the faint piano, I can feel her hot breath. I am surprised at how perfectly my hand fits at the small of her back. She pushes away and I can no longer see or feel her.

I reach out and grasp a hand. She places it on her hip. It’s soft and warm. I pull her towards me, her warmth radiating through my shirt. Slowly and assuredly her fingers work the buttons of my shirt. Once it’s off, she clings to me, her body pressed tightly against mine.

She’s soft and gentle and heartbreakingly beautiful. And when she moves it takes my breath away.

I always knew she could dance.

End.