Buffy glanced out her window, watching the tops of LA's skyscrapers grow closer and closer as the plane slowly began its descent. It was muggy and the sky was gray, and the forecast on the overhead television promised morning showers. She shut her window and closed her eyes, her nerves fluttering as the plane slowly made its way down to the ground.
Buffy watched the people around her gather their carry-ons as soon as the plane came to a stop. She remained in her seat until the middle-aged man beside her took his things from the overhead compartment and made his way down the center aisle. She plucked her messenger bag from under her seat and followed the line of people making their way out of the plane, the cool morning air hitting her as she walked onto the long platform leading into the airport.
She headed towards the baggage claim, her eyes glued to the signs above her signaling which carousel belonged to what flight. She spotted her flight number and walked briskly in that direction, flinching in surprise when someone grabbed her shoulder. She turned around and saw her father.
He smiled at her and said something, and then the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes faded as the smile left them.
Buffy gave him a forgiving smile. "It's okay," she said. "Oh!" She opened her messenger bag and pulled out a whiteboard with a red marker attached. "Dawn bought me this."
Hank wrapped an arm around her shoulder and hugged her to him, kissing the top of her head. He took the whiteboard from her and uncapped the marker. In his usual chicken scratch, he wrote, How was your flight?
"Boring," Buffy replied.
She caught movement at the corner of her eye and found that the carousel was starting. Ten minutes passed before she spotted her luggage. She took it from the conveyor belt and then Hank led her down to the parking lot.
The car ride to her father's house was silent, as everything else had been for the past two weeks. Buffy had written to him that she had been in a vehicle accident in Cleveland, but what had really happened was she had been fighting a demon who only spoke in sonar-level frequencies. What she didn't know was that he could scream in sonar-level frequencies that were literally ear-shattering, which she quickly learned when she had stabbed him in the balls with a war scythe.
Dawn had called Willow and Giles in Britain after driving Buffy to the local hospital. After much wigging, Willow had said that a witch in her coven lived in Los Angeles and was a specialized Wiccan apothecary of sorts. Thus, Buffy was out to find her.
It had been a painful two weeks for Buffy. Her eardrums were completely shattered and had shown no real signs of healing. She experienced nausea and headaches some days. It was hard to communicate with people when you couldn't hear them, and Buffy couldn't read lips or sign. And even if she learned to sign, she had no one in particular to sign to. Ever since she lost her hearing, Buffy had felt lonely and completely detached from the world. She tried not to show how hard it all was affecting her, but it became harder every time a slayer would forget she couldn't hear and yell at the back of her head.
Hank was worried when Buffy told him that she'd be going out in the evening to see her 'doctor,' but she told him that she had an address and a fair idea of how to get to it via Google Maps. Strangely, the woman who Willow recommended to her had a night job as a bartender in a demon karaoke bar called Caritas. Buffy tried to mollify her father by allowing him to drive her into the area, except the area didn't exactly give off a mollifying atmosphere what with all the shady looking people lurking in equally shady alleyways.
At her father's skeptical look, she said, "My friend knows this doctor really well. And she's a really good friend, and I trust her judgment."
He took her whiteboard from her and wrote, You want me to wait?
"I'll be okay, Dad," Buffy insisted, taking the board from him and slipping it into her messenger bag. She kissed his cheek before stepping out of the car. "Thank you."
Buffy walked down the street to a small alcove where she spotted pink and blue lights blinking 'Caritas' across a dark red -- almost black in the darkness -- brick wall. Buffy parted the tacky beaded curtains leading to the front door, not surprised to find an array of demons staring at her as she walked through it.
A green, horned demon in a loud purple suit walked up to her with a proprietary grin. She watched his red lips helplessly as he spoke.
"Um," Buffy said, "I'm deaf. And I'm looking for… Crystal?" She handed the demon her whiteboard when he gave her a sheepish smile.
Sorry, sweet cheeks. Crystal doesn't start her shift until nine. I'm Lorne, btw.
Buffy glanced at her watch. It was a little after seven. "Darn," she muttered under her breath. "Thank you. I think I'll just sit around for a while and--" She glanced at the demons eying her warily. "They won't try anything funny, will they?"
Lorne smiled. By magickal law, violence is off limits in this bar. I run this place, so if you need anything, give me a holler.
Buffy nodded, taking the whiteboard from him as she took a seat at the bar. She tucked the board into her bag and sighed, missing the significant look Lorne was shooting at her from behind. He excused himself from the two Chaos Demons who'd wanted a go at the karaoke machine, heading for the payphone in the back.
--
"I think you might like to know that there's a slayer in my bar," Lorne said conversationally into the phone.
"Oh? She looking for anyone -- or anything -- in particular?" Wesley asked, sounding absentminded.
"She's looking for my graveyard shift bartender, who's a Wiccan apothecary by day. She's also deaf. It could be personal business for all I know."
"A deaf slayer? Keep us updated if you've got more information."
"Will do." Lorne placed the phone back on its cradle and headed for the front. He went for the bar first and touched the slayer's shoulder. She gave him a watery smile as she handed him her whiteboard. I didn't catch your name. And - drink?
"I'm Buffy. And I could really use a Cosmopolitan."
Her order went completely over Lorne's head. Unceremoniously, he made a mad dash for the phone again. "Wesley," he panted as soon as the rogue Watcher picked up, "is the name 'Buffy' ringing any bells for you?"
"A choir of them," Wesley replied, his voice grave with concern. "I'll be right there."
--
"You're sure," Spike said, still gaping at him.
"Spike, I think the number of Buffies in the world gets pretty narrowed down when you find out that she's a slayer, and then you promptly find that she's inside a demon karaoke bar," Wesley said, agitated.
"And deaf, bloody hell…"
"We have to call Angel."
Spike stepped in front of him, his eyes speckled with gold and his nostrils flaring. "No."
"This is hardly the time for playing childish games. I'd suspect he wants to see her."
"And I'd suspect that you'll be getting a fist in your nose real bloody soon if you don't move out the fuckin' door. Come. On."
Wesley heaved an agitated sigh. "Spike--"
"Don't 'Spike' me, you ponce! I'll call Peaches on the way there, alright?"
Wordlessly, he unhooked a coat from the coat rack and headed for the door. Spike made a pleased noise as he followed after him.
Spike smirked at the back of Wesley's head, tossing his cell phone back into the office before closing the door shut behind him.
--
Buffy chewed on her orange wedge, glancing at Lorne at the corner of her eye as he continued to drum his green fingers on the bar and stare at the door. "I'm going to go back to my dad's car smelling like cigarette smoke and alcohol," she muttered under her breath. "Some doctor's appointment." She finished the rest of her drink. "Mmm, yummy."
Lorne swiveled around and glanced at her. He grabbed her whiteboard. How did you lose your hearing?
"Sonar demon," Buffy replied. "He screamed really loud and shattered my eardrums when I swung a scythe at his nether regions. It's a really embarrassing story that is sure to be funny once I get over it."
Lorne offered a humorous smile. That why you're here to see Crystal?
"Yup. She's a part of my witchy friend's coven."
Lorne gave her a serious look and scribbled something else down. Buffy, I know Angel.
Buffy blinked. "Oh." She tried to decide how she felt about that, and then decided on shrugging. "I guess it's inevitable that I run into someone who might know him. I mean, LA being his turf and all. He comes around here a lot?"
Lorne smirked, which shortly melted into a sheepish grin. He tries not to. But I kind of told him you were here.
She blinked again, then sighed, her shoulders sagging dejectedly. "Can I have another Cosmopolitan?"
Lorne sympathetically patted her arm before hopping off the bar stool and signaling the bartender over. "One Cosmo for the girl, on me." He spotted two leather-clad figures coming into the doorway and hurried over to them. "Maybe you two should just go on back."
"What? Why?" Spike nearly shrieked.
"I just don't think she's ready to see you guys. The girl's in a very vulnerable state right now. I highly doubt she'd enjoy a blast from her past. Plus, she's onto her second Cosmopolitan and I've been pretty liberal with the 'Cosmo' portion if you catch my drift." He glanced at Wesley. "Did you call Angel?"
"No, seeing how Spike was throwing a tantrum," Wesley replied with a roll of his eyes.
"That's one thing we've done right, at least. She asked for the second Cosmo after I mentioned that I kind of told him she was here."
"But you didn't," Spike said, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Suddenly, the glint disappeared and he was gawking, his light blue eyes wide and shining with emotion.
Buffy had swiveled around on her bar stool, her gaze landing straight on him. She hopped off and made her way towards them, her green eyes glistening from alcohol and something that Spike couldn't identify. "Spike…?" she whispered, clutching Lorne's sleeve.
"Oh dear," Lorne groaned.
The platinum-haired vampire rushed forward, clutching her shoulders and showering kisses on her blank face and moaning, "Buffy, Buffy, oh Buffy, who did this to you? I'll maim them to bits, I swear…"
"I can't hear you," she whispered, her voice hoarse. She pulled away to look into his face. "Spike--Why… How?" She turned to Lorne. "How drunk am I?" she deadpanned.
Lorne shook his head in disbelief. "Oh honey, I wish for your sake that you are completely and utterly smashed."