November 1997
"You look nice, honey, " Joyce said, leaning against the door of her daughter's bedroom.
"Thanks, mom." Buffy fluffed her hair and studied herself in the mirror. The black dress was a lot plainer than the clothes she usually favored, but she wanted to look different tonight. Not exactly grown up...exactly...but maybe classy, serious.
"You're going out?"
"Oh, yeah, I thought I told you? I'm going to see a play with a friend...it's okay, right?"
Joyce smiled. "It's fine. I'm glad you're finally making some new friends here. It seems like you've been so quiet since we left California."
Buffy shrugged. "New York's just different, took some adjusting. Oh, did dad call? He was supposed to call last weekend and tell me when I was flying back for Thanksgiving."
"Oh, sweetie." Joyce crossed the room and slid her arm across Buffy's shoulders. "I'm sorry, I've been so busy I forgot to tell you. Your father has to go to a business conference in Chicago, so we're gonna have to reschedule your trip."
Of course. Buffy blinked and turned back to the mirror, pursing her lips to apply a sheer red lipstick.
"I'll be right back, don't move," Joyce said, heading out of the room.
It wasn't like Buffy was surprised. Her dad was always busy. She wasn't neglected or anything, he'd just always shown that work came first. And now that she and her mom were all out of sight out of mind....
But Buffy wasn't gonna think about that tonight. Tonight was going to be fun, come hell or high water.
"Here," her mom said as she came back, "I have just the thing, close your eyes."
Buffy did as told and felt her hair being pushed aside as something cool settled around her neck.
"Okay, you can open them."
"Mom, they're beautiful," Buffy said, watching herself in the mirror as she ran her fingers over the delicate pearl necklace.
Kissing Buffy's forehead, Joyce hugged her and studied Buffy's reflection. "You're beautiful. They were your grandmother's. I figured they'd go with your dress."
"Thank you," Buffy smiled.
"Now, don't stay out too late."
"I won't. Are you okay?"
Her mom had suddenly grimaced and closed her eyes. Joyce waved her hand. "I'm fine, just a small headache."
"Oh jeez, and I think we're out of Tylenol. Do you want me to get some for you before I go?"
"No, no, you don't want to miss the curtain. It's nothing, I've just been working too hard at the museum lately."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure. I'll just lie down for a while. Wake me up when you get home, just so I know you're safe?"
"You got it." Buffy hugged her mom then turned around one last time to double-check her lipstick and fluff her hair again.
"So, what play are you and your friend going to see?"
***
"Jekyll and Hyde?" Wesley said, gazing up at the theatre marquee.
"Surprise!" Buffy grinned.
Wesley blushed. "It's a lovely birthday present, thank you. When you said you were taking me out, I'd assumed a restaurant or movie."
"Nah, that stuff's not good enough for birthdays. Besides, I figured you must love the theatre, being British and all."
He raised an eyebrow and chuckled. "Indeed, though I must admit it's been years since I've attended a musical."
"I've been in New York nine months and this'll be my first Broadway play. First play ever actually, not counting the time I played Glinda in The Wizard of Oz in junior high. And my dad used to take me to the Ice Capades every year for my birthday, before he got too busy."
"Then this certainly is a special night." Extending his arm out to her, Wesley carefully guided Buffy through the throng of theatregoers gathered outside the Plymouth Theatre. "You know, Robert Louis Stevenson based his book on a series of nightmares he'd had, but one Watcher I know wrote an impressive dissertation that asserted Stevenson had in fact been visited by either an incubus or a succubus."
"Really? Wow."
Though she was smiling politely, Buffy had developed that glazed-eye look Wesley had often seen in his peers and friends, given his tendency to ramble. He didn't mean to, really. It wasn't that Wesley expected everyone to be as enthusiastic over the lineage of the Kroglar demons as he was. It was more of a nervous habit, really; a stream of belittlement from his father could usually be stemmed by some display of intellectual prowess on Wesley's part.
Wesley waved over one of the teenagers selling souvenir programs.
"Eight dollars, sir."
"Wes, what are you doing?" Buffy said, reaching for her purse. "This is your birthday, I--"
He just gave her his No Arguments smile and handed her the program. Buffy beamed and pulled him into the theatre.
***
God, it was dreadful. The show had the feel of a Disney theme-park attraction, all the pomp and circumstance with no actual redeemable content. The lead actor mugged his way through scene after scene as Stevenson's wonderful, elaborate characters were reduced to soap opera caricatures. Though Americans liked to delude themselves, thinking they had the upper hand as far as films and television were concerned, at least there was no way they could possibly think their theatre fare came close to eclipsing London's West End.
He turned towards Buffy, hoping to catch her eye and share a grimace, as was customary when two people were both being subjected to something so torturous. Instead, he found her watching the stage in rapt attention, a slight smile on her lips as she unconsciously toyed with her necklace.
For the remainder of the show, Wesley kept stealing glances at his Slayer, finding himself able to actually enjoy the play through her delight. During the heroine's power ballad near the end of the show, he heard a small sniffle to his right and saw a few tears dampening Buffy's cheek. He discreetly withdrew a handkerchief from the pocket of his suit's jacket and pressed it into her hand; Buffy smiled gratefully, blotted her eyes, and turned her attention back to the stage.
After the cast had taken their final bows and left the stage, Wesley and Buffy made their way through the aisles and out the front door.
"Yikes, it got so cold out," Buffy said, shading her eyes from the glare of the marquis after so many hours in the dusky theatre.
"Here," Wesley said, removing his jacket.
"No, no, I wasn't fishing for...thanks," she said as he settled it around her shoulders. "I guess I'm still not used to this weather."
"Do you miss California?" he asked as they started to make their way through Times Square towards the subway station.
Buffy shrugged. "Sometimes. I mean, it wasn't fun my last few months there, with the slaying, and mom and dad fighting. But I miss...." Buffy cracked a wry smile. "Okay, there's no way this won't sound shallow, but I miss being head cheerleader, and popular, when my biggest problem was making sure my lipstick didn't clash with my eyeshadow."
"That's perfectly understandable," Wesley assured her. "The Council identifies most potential Slayers when they're young, and they're raised always preparing for and knowing their destiny. But there have been others like you, who lived ordinary lives before getting called. It was always a more difficult adjustment for them."
"But they do? Adjust?"
"They hadn't much choice, I suppose." Wesley dropped a token into the subway turnstile for Buffy, then another for himself. "For what it's worth, I believe you've adjusted admirably, and I've reported as much to the Council on several occasions."
"Really? That's so cool of you," Buffy said. "Oops, train's pulling up!"
She grabbed Wesley's hand and pulled him down the stairs behind her. They hit the platform just as the downtown 9 train's passengers began pushing out. An older gentleman stepped aside to let Buffy pass through the doors, then he winked at Wesley.
"Catch 'em while they're young, eh?" he chuckled.
"What?" Wesley said, blushing furiously as the doors started to slide closed. "She's not--"
The man was already gone and the doors were closed. Wesley sighed and turned around, crossing the car towards the pole Buffy was holding on to. Well, let him think what he wanted, Wesley knew nothing improper was transpiring between him and his Slayer. Still, it might not be a bad idea to omit some details from his official reports and journals. When he realized what he'd just thought, Wesley was caught between an inward laugh and a cringe; Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, breaking from official Watcher's protocol. His first field assignment was turning out to be quite a changing experience.
"Well? Was it a good birthday?" Buffy asked him.
Wesley smiled. "One of the best ever," he answered truthfully.
"I'm glad. Oh, here's my stop," she said as the train pulled up to 23rd.
"Do you want me to walk you home?"
"I think I'll be safe by myself," she laughed. "I'll come over for patrol tomorrow at ten. Happy birthday!" Buffy stood on her tiptoes and lightly brushed her lips against his cheek before waving and darting out of the subway car.
Wesley watched her go. Yes, I'll definitely be omitting some details from my reports.
Up next: Chapter 7 - Slay Belles Ring