Title: So This Slayer Walks into a Bar

Author: Queen Boadicea

Email: queenboadiceaoftheiceni@yahoo.com

Disclaimer: This belongs to the great and powerful Joss and the usual gang of idi…uh, geniuses

Distribution: http://www.fanfiction.net

Feedback: Do your worst—it can't compare to my worst ;)

Notes: Spoilers for BtVS season six

[thoughts]

"Tener mejor no compañía que la compañía mala." (Better no company than bad company.) – Old Spanish saying

She sat cradling her empty glass as she stared around the bar. She was avoiding the Bronze these days. She was still too ashamed to look her friends in the eyes after certain recent events and hanging out at anonymous dives like this was a good way to duck them.

She sighed and glanced around the place again. Not that she was looking for company, no sir. She wasn't likely to find true love in a bar and she got physically ill at the idea of having a one-night stand. She'd had enough of that kind of relationship.

"Want another one, senorita?" She looked up, startled, at the dark eyes smiling at her from across the bar top. The bartender was a tall, robust, compactly muscled Spanish woman with dark hair that went all the way down to her ample breasts. She radiated unfailing good humor as well as a certain take-no-bullshit attitude. She looked like someone who could handle herself in a fight as well as a conversation. [I'm betting she wouldn't let some pitiful excuse of an ex-boyfriend walk all over her and try to rape her.] The bitter thought flitted across her mind before she could stop herself. Shit, couldn't she go ten minutes without thinking of the peroxide pest who'd conspired to make her life miserable?

Oh yeah, she definitely needed another drink. Isn't that what people did—drink to forget? Well, she needed to do some serious forgetting here. "Sure, why not? It's not like I'm driving home." The woman filled her glass with another shot of tequila. She took a sip and grimaced. Honestly, this stuff tasted like burning crap. Why people found it appealing was beyond her. Still, she supposed she'd get used to it if it was drunk often enough.

The bartender watched her with a curious expression. "Not much of a drinker, are you, chica?"

She raised her eyebrows in self-mockery. "Wow, does it show much?"

The other woman chuckled. "Just a little. So what you drinking to? Or for?"

She didn't really care to open up to a stranger. But wasn't that what bartenders were for? "I was just wondering. Is the advice bartenders give better?" The brunette cocked her head and appraised the blonde woman. It was clear she desperately wanted to talk but she wasn't used to talking to barmaids any more than she was used to hard liquor. She decided to play it light.

"Better than what? If you're comparing us to priests and psychiatrists, well, we charge more than padres do but you don't have to kneel. We cost less than shrinks and you get this splendid all-you-can-eat buffet." She gestured at the nachos, salsa, peanuts and pretzels spread out on the bar top and her customer found herself laughing. It was more of a short bark than real mirth but it had been such a long while since she felt like laughing at anything that she wasn't going to hold back now.

The bartender smiled back at her, a broad grin that was missing a couple of teeth on the right side of her mouth. "That's better, mujer. Laughter is good for the soul. It does you a lot more good than booze in the long run."

The short-haired female stared in surprise. "Isn't that kinda counterproductive advice coming from a bartender?"

The woman shrugged. "Hey, if priests talking about hellfire don't stop people from drinking, a few words from me ain't gonna keep the customers from coming in. Besides, seeing how badly you take to booze, I'd prefer not to be mopping up your puke later."

The petite blonde paused and then she sighed. As long as she didn't go into too many details, what could it hurt to tell this woman? "I'm just getting out of a really bad relationship." The bartender nodded wisely but didn't speak. She'd seen enough broken-hearted women by now to know she wouldn't need to say much. This was probably going to be a very familiar story.

"I don't even know how it started, really. One moment we were fighting, I mean, throwing punches at each other, the next we were screwing like mad in a collapsing building." The robust female stopped scrubbing the bar for a fraction of a second while she tried to refrain from showing surprise. A collapsing building? She had heard some tales in her time about sex in wild and dangerous places but this was a new one. Unconsciously she leaned forward as she gave the woman her full attention.

"I didn't like him. I still don't. And the relationship was doomed from the start. We had very little in common. I was just—in a really bad place and he seemed to make the pain go away. For a little while, anyway."

The bartender cocked her head again. "What was he like? If you don't mind my asking."

She shifted a little on her stool. "Well, he was kinda mean to my friends but he could be sweet to me. Sometimes."

"Did he have a job?"

She blinked. That was a good question but she wasn't sure how to answer it. "Well, he had a calling. If that's the right word. But nothing that paid."

The other woman pursed her lips. "So I take it he never bought you anything."

"No. Not really."

"Not really? Or not at all?"

She shifted uncomfortably. "No. Not at all."

"He ever take you anywhere nice?"

Nice? Their interactions had consisted solely of fucking each other stupid at the drop of a hat in the most uncomfortable places—alleyways, trees, the cemeteries, the floor of his crypt. None of those places remotely qualified as "nice." "No. Never."

"He ever show you off to his friends? Brag to them that you were his girl?" She thought hard about that one. She was the one who had wanted to keep their affair secret. The one time he had taken her to meet his buddies was that ill-fated poker game. The demons had ignored her except for—what was his name? Clem?—the one who had said her skin was too tight.

"Well, just the once. It wasn't what I'd call a great meeting. They didn't like me. I was too—different."

"He ever ask you how your day went? Or tell you about his?"

"Well, his days were spent…I mean, he didn't do much during the day. And my job is pretty predictable. Not to mention boring as all get out. Actually, talking didn't make up a big part of our relationship."

"Well, I admit I'm just getting the bare bones of this story, but what I'm hearing is that this guy was a shit to your friends, his friends didn't care for you, he didn't have a job, he treated you like crap and started off your relationship by hitting you. Is that it or am I missing something?"

She opened her mouth to protest and then thought for a moment. Had there really been anything more to what she had with him? She had said she didn't like him. Well, she had liked him. Sometimes. Sometimes he could be almost kind. Until he remembered that he had to maintain his image as an asshole. "It wasn't like that. I mean, it wasn't like that always."

The bartender shrugged and continued the last of her cleaning. "Whatever you say. But the guy sounds like a real pendejo, if you ask me." At her incomprehensible look, she clarified, "Pendejo. Means bastard or jerk. You're better off without him." She paused and then added slyly, "I'm betting the sex was really terrific, though."

A blush stained her cheeks as she found herself automatically denying it. "The sex? No! I wasn't in it for the…why would you think something like that?"

The woman gave her a knowing look. "Why else would you stay in such a shitty affair?"

She thought about that and then took another sip of her drink. "Okay. Ya got me on that one. But you were right about what you called him. Pendejo. The cheap moron didn't even bring me anything for my birthday. He just asked me if I wanted to blow out the candles and make a wish."

The blonde tried to mimic the sleazy come-hither tone he'd used with her and the other woman shook her head. "Man, the hombre was miserly AND trashy. What a winner. Where did he learn his manners? In prison?"

Her customer didn't answer and the other woman shot her an incredulous look. "You gotta be kidding me! He was an inmate, too? Dios mio, girl, you really know how to pick them, don't you?"

The other shook her head in protest. "No, it wasn't like that. He wasn't in prison." Then she paused and thought about the chipped wonder's time in the holds of the Initiative. Actually, if you wanted to get technical…

The bartender set her hands on her hips and regarded her in disbelief. She looked like a really smart woman; the Spaniard wouldn't have pegged her as someone dumb enough to get into this kind of self-destructive relationship. Guess it was true what they said about rubios. "Look, I don't know why you're in here, beating yourself up over this puto. You said you got out of this nasty business, verdad? So go home to your familia, tell your mama she was right about this loser, pig out on ice cream with your muchachas. You deserve better than this guy and it's time you started telling yourself that and stopped wallowing in self-pity. It's not attractive, mujer, and it gives you wrinkles."

The tiny female hung her head and swirled the glass in her hands. The bartender mentally pulled herself up short. It was time for her to back off. This woman needed advice not chewing out. She sighed and when she spoke again her voice was softer.

"Hey, chica, maybe you could explain something to me."

She lifted her head and stared at the Latina cautiously. "Sure. What do you want to know?"

The bartender spread her hands in bafflement. "Why are you Americanos like this? Why are you all so desperate to hook up with someone, anyone, no matter what kind of perros they turn out to be?"

She studied her drink as she tried to gather her thoughts. Of all the questions to ask… "Everybody wants to be with somebody, don't they? We all go through life looking for our soulmates." She stopped short at that word. All at once, she was caught up in the thought of her first, her only love. Dark eyes, dark hair and a soul that shone through his tortured eyes.

The bartender shook her head. "Not like you Americans. You use emails, chat rooms, personal ads, 800 phone lines, bar pickups, couples meetings, etc., just to swap bodily fluids with strangers. You're anxious to get in bed with people you wouldn't trust to sell you a decent suit. You're all loco to be with someone. What's wrong with spending time with yourself and by yourself?"

The Californian woman stared mutely. She couldn't think of a decent response to that one. It was why she had refused to date Ben, after all. Only to go rolling around with…she shivered violently. Jesus, how had she let it come to that? Lying to her friends and her sister simply so she could throw herself into the arms of that loser. Yeah, loser! That was the right word.

She felt a cleansing burst of anger go through her and it galvanized her to pick up her glass and down the contents in one gulp. She slapped it back onto the bar and shuddered as she tried to fight off the familiar gag reflex. "You're right. You're absolutely right. To hell with this guy! I regret every moment I spent with him."

The bartender picked up the glass and began rinsing it out. "Life is too short for regrets. Just forget him and go get yourself a little alone time."

The blonde dug in her pockets and pushed a twenty across the bar. "Thanks for the advice. And keep the change." The brunette gave her another gap-toothed smile and rang it up in the cash register.

She stepped outside and paused a moment as she filled her lungs with the relatively cleaner air. Man, that felt good. She had wanted to clear her head and she had. She felt—well, not great, but a hell of a lot better than when she first stepped inside the place. She wasn't going to be alone, though. She had had too much of that. Even rough sex had done nothing to dispel feelings of misery and solitude.

It was time to get back to the one she truly loved, the one she had never stopped loving even when he walked out of her life. She was going to make him accept her back into his existence no matter what it took. She wasn't whole apart from him and it took sleazing with the enemy to see it. Maybe if she told him exactly how low she'd sunk he might reconsider his decision to stay out of her life.

Buffy turned her head homewards and began walking, jogging and then running as if her life depended on it. Which, in a way, it did. She had a lot of ground to cover and it was high time she got started.

Believe it, chica.

Finis