It didn't take long for Pike's initial reactions to fade and his natural observant nature to kick in. He was reminded of something he'd read back in the day, one of Frank Miller's Sin City stories. Skinny little Dawn had definitely grown up a little. Created by some monks or not, the girl definitely had Summers genes. That family seemed kind of incapable of turning up a less than aesthetically pleasing woman. Pike made a mental note to be prepared to threaten bodily harm to any teenage boys that showed up here.
He was almost sad when she stepped away. The hug was the first pleasant physical contact he'd had in years. He'd convinced himself that he hadn't missed it, but that single hug had undone all of his carefully constructed lies. It was like stepping out from a warm room into the biting cold of a blizzard without a jacket. But he didn't show it. He didn't want to have to explain it, he didn't want to worry her, and he definitely didn't want to be sending any unclear messages.
Of course, almost at the same time as he thought that, she spotted the scar. A second later he felt her fingers brushing against it. Part of him wanted to flinch away, not out of physical pain, but out of a psychological desire to avoid the issue. He didn't flinch, only because it was Dawn. If Buffy were here, she'd be able to get away with touching the scar too, but anyone else that tried would be the recipient of either a flinch or, more likely, a tight grip on their wrist before they could ever make contact with the scar.
He tried not to admit to himself that he was pleased to see the concern in her eyes. That was something else he'd missed, someone caring enough to be concerned. "Demon with a knife." He shrugged one shoulder and tried to grin with the left corner of his mouth, keeping the other still so as not to highlight the scar even more. It was supposed to come off as careless, like it wasn't a big deal, but it had been a long time since he'd grinned and it felt like an alien gesture. It probably didn't come across much better.
He didn't say anything about HelLA. If she was still the Dawn he remembered, she'd have been curious about that, and even though her intentions would be entirely pure, she'd have questioned him about it. He didn't really want that right now. Instead, he decided to deflect with a change of subject, focusing instead on what he was fairly sure had been at least partially a lie she'd told him. "So how are you really, Dawn?" One eyebrow cocked up, not in challenge but in concern. He didn't fully believe her when she'd said she was okay, in their earlier conversation on the network.