Master of Tactics: Misdirections
by Dana
DISCLAIMER: Joss Whedon and his buddies.
RATING: G, I guess. Nobody gets any action.
SUMMARY: This is it, folks! You're finally getting to meet Rob.
DISTRIBUTION: I'd be thrilled.
NOTES: Sorry it took so long for this part, I hoped to write more before I posted this, but--well, I do my best writing while procrastinating (which I am now). Only a couple POVs left to go, though, till we finally move on to the next chapter with the awaited Dinner Scene.
THANKS: For all you feedback, everybody, and the ff.net reviews. Also thanks to Carmel, Gabi, Nina, Pamela, and everyone I vented about Rob to.
AND: As for the fianc?e comment- that's just my computer's attempt at putting an apostrophized French 'e'. I'll fix it.
* * *
My sleeping habits sadly call for significant improvement. Because I don't need as much sleep as humans do, I used to go on days at a time without even a nap, and then finally collapse of exhaustion.
Ever since I resorted to having an office and working with people at all times of day, I've tried to keep my hours more or less regulated. I usually sleep for a few hours after sunrise and start my day indoors around noon. As long as I keep a minimum of three and a half hours of slumber I can function normally.
Tonight I should, by all standards, be exhausted. I've been awake for forty-seven hours straight. No one would blame me if I turn in right now and sleep till morning, and staying up is probably no good for me since I'm bound to overload my body sometime soon. But I'm too worked up to go to bed, and my instincts are telling me that someone is guaranteed to need my protection somewhere in Sunnydale.
That's not true. My *brain* is telling me that someone is guaranteed to need my protection somewhere in Sunnydale. My *instincts* are telling me that the Slayer will be out tonight, and screaming that I must fly to her aid!
Of course, that's ridiculous. She doesn't need my assistance, especially if I'm going to prove to her that things can still work out between us after I become human. But hey, I can't help it if I'm out for a walk and the path inadvertently leads me to Rovello Drive.
Well, yeah, I *can* help it. Damn it. I've got to get a grip on myself. I am absolutely not going to spy on Buffy!
Except that Henry's looking restless in his aquarium, bumping into the glass walls all the time, and I'm thinking the responsible thing would be to take him out for a walk.
No.
Although, if I just stay in the shadows and watch her back without her knowing, I hardly think that could count as a negative thing. In fact, I dare say, it should even be considered praise-worthy.
I slip out from the room silently, careful not to wake up Wesley, and as an afterthought grab the squirming hamster in case I need an alibi.
The streets are unnervingly silent as I make my way to the general direction of Buffy's house. Where is the music echoing from the Bronze? Where are the faint screams in the darkness? Where are the sounds of struggle and fighting, dammit? All I can hear now is my own footsteps booming on the sidewalk.
It's no wonder Buffy had time to go and find herself a husband if this is the way things have been since I left.
This ghostlike silence is really eerie.
I lift Henry so that our faces are leveled, and catch his eyes. "I'm not stalking her," I confide. "Just keeping watch. Like in the good old days," I add.
Henry looks away with disinterest.
"I mean," I continue, "You never know what can pop out in the middle of the night. All sorts of creatures. Buffaloos, for example. What'll Buffy do if she runs into one of those unaware? Took us three weeks just to find a counter-spell, back in LA. Obviously she's gonna need me around."
Henry seems to have taken an interest with my leather jacket, and is noisily chewing on the sleeve. I extricate it from his teeth carefully and give his head a warning little swap with my pinky. "If she knows I'm here, though, she'll kick my ass," I whisper conspiratorially. I spot a vegetable garden in one of the near houses, break off a stem of parsley, take a bite and absently offer it to Henry. He munches greedily. "After all, I appreciate her independence."
Suddenly I hear a snarl from behind me and I barely manage to duck as a sharp stake sails over my head. That was just too damn close. Wonderful. I can picture the closing entry of the lengthy 'Angel Chronicles' in the Watcher Diaries, as filled compassionately by Wesley: 'And the Great Vampyre, whose life and death were overtaken with loss, destruction, heartbreak and the everlasting courageous seek for redemption, died valiantly at the hands a contemptible foe because he was too focused on a conversation with his hamster.'
I don't try to hold back the low growl that escapes me, and angrily morph my face into vamp mode. God, I hope the attacker hadn't been eavesdropping on my monologue, cause that would really be embarrassing.
Um, that is, of course, overlooking the fact that the recipient of said monologue is just a tail short of being a *rat*.
Who is my attacker? Judging solely by my senses, I deduce that it's simply a vampire. And a bad dresser, at that, because really, he looks worse than Whistler did when he recruited me.
The vampire bares his teeth and sneers, "Well, if it isn't the Slayer's old boy-toy Angelus the Soulful back in town, creeping around the shadowy streets in the middle of the night. What's wrong, LA too tough on you? You feeling threatened by the old boys coming down to hunt you? Can't hide your desperation from me, boy. Come here and I'll whip your sorry little ass into-"
"For Christ's sake, shut up!" I exclaim with astonishment. This guy is so sad, I'm afraid I'll start laughing in the middle of the fight.
The vampire roars with rage, lowers his head and, honest to god, *charges*. In an impressive, fluent move I learned from Hercules: The Legendary Journeys I toss Henry about twenty feet in the air, slam a few punches into The Incredible Chatterbox's face and catch the hamster swiftly with my left hand. Amazingly, the little guy still retains his unruffled cool.
I reach behind me to pluck the stake that's imbedded in the tree, and drop down to the moaning vamp on the ground, pointing the weapon at his heart. Wow, that fight was over pathetically fast.
"You really should have left out the part about the desperation," I advise belatedly. "Redundant." The vampire braces himself as I lower the stake down, but at the last instant I halt. "Wait," I say.
His eyes are shut and he's cowering fearfully. I lean closer. "What can you tell me about Com- about the Slayer's new boyfriend?"
The vampire opens one eye nervously. "What?"
"Her new beau, Rob something. What do you know about him?"
"He's actually her fianc?e now," he corrects me foolishly.
I growl. "What, are you trying to be sassy? Is this you being sassy?"
He cringes. "N-n-no, no, sir, no, sir."
"Don't mess with me."
"Nossir."
"This stake's just waiting to find a home, if you know what I mean."
"Yessir."
"A warm, fleshy home."
"Yessir."
"Like your chest," I emphasize, in case he hasn't gotten my meaning yet. Then again, considering how unsuccessfully humorous this whole conversation has been, there's not much chance of that.
"Yes, sir."
Properly respectful, this guy is. That's how I should have trained Cordelia and Wesley.
Stage A of my strategy: gathering information. Know your enemy. Let's find out what incriminating details my squirming attacker can expose.
* * *
Test Case Scenario A:
ROB: Good evening, my love.
BUFFY: Hello, darling.
ROB: Did you get my note?
BUFFY: Of course, it was enchanting. But something's come up.
ROB: Don't worry about it, I booked us a flight for six PM. No world threatening disaster has ever taken you later than six PM to avert.
BUFFY: A flight?
ROB: To the Bahamas. Happy Valentines Day!
Okay, so let's just stop right there. No need to continue unraveling the fates of that particular Buffy and her Rob. I'm sure she feels flustered enough without the imagined British accent, and from the look of things it won't end well for her.
I need...
I need to...
Find a diplomatic way to notify Rob I've invited my former lover to dinner with a passionate kiss?
I slump on the couch with despair. I need a distraction, that's for sure. I grab the magazine nearest to me from the coffee table and flip to a random page. A red headline screams at me from the top of the article: "Ten Ways To Know If She's Cheating On You."
I snap the magazine shut. When did Rob buy this thing? Filth, that's what it is. I pick up another newspaper from the floor and turn to a short column at the back. "Chef Jeff's Valentine Recipes: a romantic meal for your special somebody."
This is not working.
I give it one last shot and fearfully open the tabloid I got last month that was buried between the sofa cushions (it was purchased for research purposes alone- that Men In Black underground information network thing? It really works!). The center article features a full-page photo of an old woman lying in a hospital bed with a joyful expression, under the caption: "I'm seeing Angels!"
This brings me to Test Case Scenario B:
BUFFY: So you remember I told you about Angel?
ROB: What's that strange look on your face?
BUFFY: Nonchalance.
ROB: You look constipated.
BUFFY: Rob, focus. Do you remember him?
ROB: Angel. The vampire with a soul?
BUFFY: Yeah. I-
ROB: The one you lost your virginity to and with a torn but determined conscious sent to hell?
BUFFY: That the guy, it's just that-
ROB: The one you slowly nursed back to health and swore you'd love forever?
BUFFY: Hey, I don't think-
ROB: The man who left you brokenhearted once again but whom your heart will always cling to with regret?
BUFFY: Well, when you put it that way-
ROB: Yes, I remember. What about him?
Yeah, I know. "I invited him over for dinner tomorrow" won't do the trick here, so I'm guessing this approach won't work either. How much does Rob even know of my history with Angel? The basics, certainly. Curse. Hell. Leaving. Definitely no vows of any kind.
Oh, Jesus. Not that Angel and I ever made any vows! The only person who will partake in any type of vow-exchanging ritual with me is Rob.
"Always."
See, that's where Angel and I made our mistake. How can a girl barely out of high school take such a serious oath, pledge herself that way? I didn't know anything about commitment.
One might reason that this argument could be ruled out seeing as I was the Slayer at the time, and fewer things require more commitment than that.
Okay. But, I mean, Angel left only a few weeks afterwards with understandable reasons, though to me they weren't that understandable at the time. I now accept that our break-up was unavoidable. Surely any promises regarding our attachment-emotional or otherwise-to each other that were made while we thought we'd end up together would be, at the very least, annulled?
Stop using marriage terminology!
So "Always" will always come back to haunt me. And whether the word should be "haunt" or "reassure" remains to be decided.
In any case, I love Rob now.
* * *
"Now, Rob," I assert.
"It's Allison, sir."
"I... what?"
"My name is Allison, sir," he says, trembling.
I gape, until I finally understand what he means. "I meant 'what can you tell me about Rob', you idiot."
"Oh."
"Wait," I pause, and stifle a grin. "Is your name really Allison?"
"Yes," he huffs.
"Isn't that a girl's name? Not to mention very Melrose Place?"
"My parents were exceptionally creative and liberal individuals. My brothers' names are Titus Andronicus, Betty and-"
I hold up a hand to wave him off. "Okay, shut up. So, Rob." I wait. "Well?"
"What?"
"What can you tell me about him!" I demand with exasperation. This vampire is truly a phenomenon.
"You mean about Rob?"
Yes, a rare prototype indeed: someone with less brain cells than Spike swallowing Opium on Space Mountain. Don't question my knowledge of these things; I speak from experience.
"Yes," I growl, shoving the stake at his chest. "I mean about Rob."
"Well..." the vampire stops to think for a bit, and my hand clenches the stake compulsively. He quickens. "Well, he doesn't slay with her much."
I raise my eyebrows devilishly. "Really?" I knew it! From the moment I first heard of that man I thought to myself, 'Well, Angel, here's a guy whose definitely lagging behind you in the slaying department."
Coward! I bet even Wesley could take him. With one arm tied behind his back, and banana peels strewn on the floor. See, that last detail was significant because Wesley has some sort of cosmic attraction to anything he can trip up on. Banana skins are like magnets to his feet.
Puh! Rob. Rob Schlob.
"What's his last name?" I ask maliciously. I bet it's something horribly embarrassing. Like Kloot. Or Frogman. I bet it *is* Schlob.
"Summers, sir."
A snigger dies in my throat as I stare in disgust. "No!"
"It is, sir."
In a sickened tone I ask, dreading the answer, "are they...related?"
"No, sir, they had it all safely checked out."
"But surely there's a chance-"
"Hardly. She is from the California bay-area Summers', five generations in LA, while he comes from a long line of Connecticut Summers' that immigrated from France in the early nineteenth century-"
I close my eyes and rub my temple with my stake-free hand. "Shut up, please."
"I was just trying to help," he objects with a little pout.
"Well, aren't you a fountain of useful information?" I talk back snidely, and then feel so foolish I almost smack myself.
We stare at each other in silence until he finally volunteers, "he's tall." I snort. No way Commy's taller than me.
If he's taller than me I'll kick his ass.
If he's taller than me I'll saw off his feet and *then* kick his ass.
"His eyes are brown." Obviously, because for Buffy they're only a replacement for the pair of brown eyes she really wants to see.
"His hair," the vampire continues with growing confidence, reciting the words like a Shakespearean sonnet, "is an uncommon shade of delicate, light blond, cropped short but very elegantly. He's terribly handsome, the girls are saying back at the lair. In my opinion one might even call him gorgeous. He kind of looks like Mark Wahlberg-" the last of his words scatter in the breeze with his ash.
What? Do you really think I'm going to take this crap from a vampire named Allison who's dressed like a pimp?
I grab Henry from where he's crawled under my shirt and stalk angrily back to the hotel.
Tall, my ass.
* * *
We've established (most thoroughly) that there are some things that I have to tell Rob. It really shouldn't be this hard. I'm making too much of it. To uncomplicate matters, let's break up St. Buffy's revelation into subdivisions:
1. I kissed Angel.
2. I invited Angel over for dinner on Valentine's Day.
3. Rob has to cook.
4. I kissed Angel. No, wait, I said that already.
Maybe I should just close my eyes and let it flow. As soon as he walks through the door and says-
"Did you get my note?"
I spin around and find a grinning Rob inches from my face.
"How did you do that!" I exclaim.
"Do what?"
"Sneak up on me. You're not allowed to sneak up on me."
He makes a face. "What's that smell?"
I stop and sniff, and involuntarily scrunch my nose. "I didn't even notice it."
"Smells like lickerish."
We trace the smell back to the kitchen, where my black-tinged cookies are heaped in a careful pyramid atop the counter. "Happy Valentine's Day!" I force a smile.
He looks at me, surprised. "You baked?"
"Yes. I'm a woman in my kitchen baking for my man."
He puffs his chest. "The way nature intended it to be." I smack him. He looks into my eyes, and his expression is just... heart-melting.
I don't want to tell him.
He reaches for a cookie and takes a bite. His brow furrows, and I wince. "Not good?"
"No, no, they're excellent!" He looks like he's about to throw up. "Taste like...lickerish."
He looks so miserable that I burst out laughing. "It's okay, you don't have to eat them."
"No, look," he tries, and swallows deeply. "Mmmm!"
I raise an eyebrow. "Honestly. I'm not trying to poison you."
"I would hate to think so, especially with what I've got planned for tomorrow night."
Gulp.
"Listen, about that..."
He waits. "Yeah?"
"Rob." I realize I just stated his name. "Robert. Robbie-" eeks, better stick to 'Rob'. "Rob," I start again, despite the fact that his curious expression is shifting towards impatient. In a rush I say, "something's come up and I loved your note, by the way. *Really* loved it, apparently," I add under my breath.
"I'm glad."
"But-" It's hard to continue.
"Uh-oh."
I meet his eyes. "Angel stopped by today."
"Angel? Your old boyfriend, Angel?"
This is turning into the most bizarre mix of Test Case Scenarios A and B.
"Yeah, him. And I sort of..." I'm actually cringing. I can't bring myself to finish the sentence.
"Had sex with him on the doorstep?"
My heart leaps with a thud and I stare in horror. "God, no!"
It takes me a second to realize that Rob was kidding. Sadistic bastard.
"Then whatever it is can't be that bad."
Well, you'd think, wouldn't you...
"I invited him over for dinner tomorrow." I close my eyes and wait for the blow.
Instead, Rob is quiet, and when I open one eye I see him leaning silently against the wall. "Oh," he says unhappily.
"I forgot it was Valentine's Day. Again. You knew that would happen, you said so in the note, and he's here in town with Cordelia and Wesley and I haven't seen them in ages and I invited everyone else over too so it'll almost be like an engagement shower but if I cancel I probably won't see them again-"
"Buffy, you're babbling." It's not said in the usual amused way.
"You're mad at me. You have every right. I am so sorry-"
"I'm not mad," he sighs. "Just-disappointed. I was looking forward to tomorrow night."
"I'll make it up to you," I promise. "I'll cook dinner for a month."
"Don't you dare," he warns.
"I'll do things that aren't appropriate for children under thirteen."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Make that eighteen." I flash my most seductive smile.
He bursts out laughing. "You promised that I'd cook, didn't you."
I nod sheepishly. "I'll donate my cookies, if you want."
He slips an arm around my waist. "I'll cancel the plans for tomorrow."
Sure, Rob. Ignore your fianc?e who's practically dying with curiosity to know what the top-secret plans were. That's sweet.
But I'm not saying anything that might qualify as any sort of complaint, since the toughest part is still ahead.
*
It's half past midnight and I still haven't told him about The Incident.
So sue me!
It's not the biggest thing in the world anyway. I mean, if Rob went and hugged a blonde woman from behind because he accidentally mistook her for being me, I wouldn't mind. I wouldn't even care not knowing. Even if she were his old flame. 'Old' being two-hundred plus years old.
No, I definitely wouldn't mind if Rob went and hugged an old woman. I'd probably even think it was chivalrous.
How about I just tell him now? It would be so simple...
Test Case Scenario C:
BUFFY: I kissed Angel today.
ROB: Ngherlff?
BUFFY: That's right, honey. Go back to sleep.
Hmm. That approach might work.
Rob tightens his arm around me in his sleep. I try to get comfortable, but the weather's taken an unexpected turn for the worst and my toes are freezing. I try to warm them by pressing them to Rob's longer legs, but he scoots away.
"My feet are cold," I mutter aloud.
His eyes remain shut. "I noticed."
"Rob," I begin, in my most wheedling tone. "Go and get me socks..."
"No," he mutters into his pillow.
"Rob..." I draw out a whine.
"I can't hear you," he says, "I'm sleeping."
"Fine," I sigh. "I'll go get them myself." I start to entangle myself from his arms but he tightens his hold around me.
"No! Don't go." The man looks like he's barely awake.
"Then what am I supposed to do?" I smile in spite of myself.
"Not be cold?" he offers hopefully. Silly man.
"I'll be back in a second." I sit up firmly and he lets me go.
On the way back from the dresser I stop to look at him. He's already fallen back asleep, and he's hugging my pillow with this little pout.
And I think about an alternate Test Case Scenario D. He doesn't have to know.
He doesn't have to know.
I slip back into bed.
* * *
Next part *will* be last...
by Dana
DISCLAIMER: Joss Whedon and his buddies.
RATING: G, I guess. Nobody gets any action.
SUMMARY: This is it, folks! You're finally getting to meet Rob.
DISTRIBUTION: I'd be thrilled.
NOTES: Sorry it took so long for this part, I hoped to write more before I posted this, but--well, I do my best writing while procrastinating (which I am now). Only a couple POVs left to go, though, till we finally move on to the next chapter with the awaited Dinner Scene.
THANKS: For all you feedback, everybody, and the ff.net reviews. Also thanks to Carmel, Gabi, Nina, Pamela, and everyone I vented about Rob to.
AND: As for the fianc?e comment- that's just my computer's attempt at putting an apostrophized French 'e'. I'll fix it.
* * *
My sleeping habits sadly call for significant improvement. Because I don't need as much sleep as humans do, I used to go on days at a time without even a nap, and then finally collapse of exhaustion.
Ever since I resorted to having an office and working with people at all times of day, I've tried to keep my hours more or less regulated. I usually sleep for a few hours after sunrise and start my day indoors around noon. As long as I keep a minimum of three and a half hours of slumber I can function normally.
Tonight I should, by all standards, be exhausted. I've been awake for forty-seven hours straight. No one would blame me if I turn in right now and sleep till morning, and staying up is probably no good for me since I'm bound to overload my body sometime soon. But I'm too worked up to go to bed, and my instincts are telling me that someone is guaranteed to need my protection somewhere in Sunnydale.
That's not true. My *brain* is telling me that someone is guaranteed to need my protection somewhere in Sunnydale. My *instincts* are telling me that the Slayer will be out tonight, and screaming that I must fly to her aid!
Of course, that's ridiculous. She doesn't need my assistance, especially if I'm going to prove to her that things can still work out between us after I become human. But hey, I can't help it if I'm out for a walk and the path inadvertently leads me to Rovello Drive.
Well, yeah, I *can* help it. Damn it. I've got to get a grip on myself. I am absolutely not going to spy on Buffy!
Except that Henry's looking restless in his aquarium, bumping into the glass walls all the time, and I'm thinking the responsible thing would be to take him out for a walk.
No.
Although, if I just stay in the shadows and watch her back without her knowing, I hardly think that could count as a negative thing. In fact, I dare say, it should even be considered praise-worthy.
I slip out from the room silently, careful not to wake up Wesley, and as an afterthought grab the squirming hamster in case I need an alibi.
The streets are unnervingly silent as I make my way to the general direction of Buffy's house. Where is the music echoing from the Bronze? Where are the faint screams in the darkness? Where are the sounds of struggle and fighting, dammit? All I can hear now is my own footsteps booming on the sidewalk.
It's no wonder Buffy had time to go and find herself a husband if this is the way things have been since I left.
This ghostlike silence is really eerie.
I lift Henry so that our faces are leveled, and catch his eyes. "I'm not stalking her," I confide. "Just keeping watch. Like in the good old days," I add.
Henry looks away with disinterest.
"I mean," I continue, "You never know what can pop out in the middle of the night. All sorts of creatures. Buffaloos, for example. What'll Buffy do if she runs into one of those unaware? Took us three weeks just to find a counter-spell, back in LA. Obviously she's gonna need me around."
Henry seems to have taken an interest with my leather jacket, and is noisily chewing on the sleeve. I extricate it from his teeth carefully and give his head a warning little swap with my pinky. "If she knows I'm here, though, she'll kick my ass," I whisper conspiratorially. I spot a vegetable garden in one of the near houses, break off a stem of parsley, take a bite and absently offer it to Henry. He munches greedily. "After all, I appreciate her independence."
Suddenly I hear a snarl from behind me and I barely manage to duck as a sharp stake sails over my head. That was just too damn close. Wonderful. I can picture the closing entry of the lengthy 'Angel Chronicles' in the Watcher Diaries, as filled compassionately by Wesley: 'And the Great Vampyre, whose life and death were overtaken with loss, destruction, heartbreak and the everlasting courageous seek for redemption, died valiantly at the hands a contemptible foe because he was too focused on a conversation with his hamster.'
I don't try to hold back the low growl that escapes me, and angrily morph my face into vamp mode. God, I hope the attacker hadn't been eavesdropping on my monologue, cause that would really be embarrassing.
Um, that is, of course, overlooking the fact that the recipient of said monologue is just a tail short of being a *rat*.
Who is my attacker? Judging solely by my senses, I deduce that it's simply a vampire. And a bad dresser, at that, because really, he looks worse than Whistler did when he recruited me.
The vampire bares his teeth and sneers, "Well, if it isn't the Slayer's old boy-toy Angelus the Soulful back in town, creeping around the shadowy streets in the middle of the night. What's wrong, LA too tough on you? You feeling threatened by the old boys coming down to hunt you? Can't hide your desperation from me, boy. Come here and I'll whip your sorry little ass into-"
"For Christ's sake, shut up!" I exclaim with astonishment. This guy is so sad, I'm afraid I'll start laughing in the middle of the fight.
The vampire roars with rage, lowers his head and, honest to god, *charges*. In an impressive, fluent move I learned from Hercules: The Legendary Journeys I toss Henry about twenty feet in the air, slam a few punches into The Incredible Chatterbox's face and catch the hamster swiftly with my left hand. Amazingly, the little guy still retains his unruffled cool.
I reach behind me to pluck the stake that's imbedded in the tree, and drop down to the moaning vamp on the ground, pointing the weapon at his heart. Wow, that fight was over pathetically fast.
"You really should have left out the part about the desperation," I advise belatedly. "Redundant." The vampire braces himself as I lower the stake down, but at the last instant I halt. "Wait," I say.
His eyes are shut and he's cowering fearfully. I lean closer. "What can you tell me about Com- about the Slayer's new boyfriend?"
The vampire opens one eye nervously. "What?"
"Her new beau, Rob something. What do you know about him?"
"He's actually her fianc?e now," he corrects me foolishly.
I growl. "What, are you trying to be sassy? Is this you being sassy?"
He cringes. "N-n-no, no, sir, no, sir."
"Don't mess with me."
"Nossir."
"This stake's just waiting to find a home, if you know what I mean."
"Yessir."
"A warm, fleshy home."
"Yessir."
"Like your chest," I emphasize, in case he hasn't gotten my meaning yet. Then again, considering how unsuccessfully humorous this whole conversation has been, there's not much chance of that.
"Yes, sir."
Properly respectful, this guy is. That's how I should have trained Cordelia and Wesley.
Stage A of my strategy: gathering information. Know your enemy. Let's find out what incriminating details my squirming attacker can expose.
* * *
Test Case Scenario A:
ROB: Good evening, my love.
BUFFY: Hello, darling.
ROB: Did you get my note?
BUFFY: Of course, it was enchanting. But something's come up.
ROB: Don't worry about it, I booked us a flight for six PM. No world threatening disaster has ever taken you later than six PM to avert.
BUFFY: A flight?
ROB: To the Bahamas. Happy Valentines Day!
Okay, so let's just stop right there. No need to continue unraveling the fates of that particular Buffy and her Rob. I'm sure she feels flustered enough without the imagined British accent, and from the look of things it won't end well for her.
I need...
I need to...
Find a diplomatic way to notify Rob I've invited my former lover to dinner with a passionate kiss?
I slump on the couch with despair. I need a distraction, that's for sure. I grab the magazine nearest to me from the coffee table and flip to a random page. A red headline screams at me from the top of the article: "Ten Ways To Know If She's Cheating On You."
I snap the magazine shut. When did Rob buy this thing? Filth, that's what it is. I pick up another newspaper from the floor and turn to a short column at the back. "Chef Jeff's Valentine Recipes: a romantic meal for your special somebody."
This is not working.
I give it one last shot and fearfully open the tabloid I got last month that was buried between the sofa cushions (it was purchased for research purposes alone- that Men In Black underground information network thing? It really works!). The center article features a full-page photo of an old woman lying in a hospital bed with a joyful expression, under the caption: "I'm seeing Angels!"
This brings me to Test Case Scenario B:
BUFFY: So you remember I told you about Angel?
ROB: What's that strange look on your face?
BUFFY: Nonchalance.
ROB: You look constipated.
BUFFY: Rob, focus. Do you remember him?
ROB: Angel. The vampire with a soul?
BUFFY: Yeah. I-
ROB: The one you lost your virginity to and with a torn but determined conscious sent to hell?
BUFFY: That the guy, it's just that-
ROB: The one you slowly nursed back to health and swore you'd love forever?
BUFFY: Hey, I don't think-
ROB: The man who left you brokenhearted once again but whom your heart will always cling to with regret?
BUFFY: Well, when you put it that way-
ROB: Yes, I remember. What about him?
Yeah, I know. "I invited him over for dinner tomorrow" won't do the trick here, so I'm guessing this approach won't work either. How much does Rob even know of my history with Angel? The basics, certainly. Curse. Hell. Leaving. Definitely no vows of any kind.
Oh, Jesus. Not that Angel and I ever made any vows! The only person who will partake in any type of vow-exchanging ritual with me is Rob.
"Always."
See, that's where Angel and I made our mistake. How can a girl barely out of high school take such a serious oath, pledge herself that way? I didn't know anything about commitment.
One might reason that this argument could be ruled out seeing as I was the Slayer at the time, and fewer things require more commitment than that.
Okay. But, I mean, Angel left only a few weeks afterwards with understandable reasons, though to me they weren't that understandable at the time. I now accept that our break-up was unavoidable. Surely any promises regarding our attachment-emotional or otherwise-to each other that were made while we thought we'd end up together would be, at the very least, annulled?
Stop using marriage terminology!
So "Always" will always come back to haunt me. And whether the word should be "haunt" or "reassure" remains to be decided.
In any case, I love Rob now.
* * *
"Now, Rob," I assert.
"It's Allison, sir."
"I... what?"
"My name is Allison, sir," he says, trembling.
I gape, until I finally understand what he means. "I meant 'what can you tell me about Rob', you idiot."
"Oh."
"Wait," I pause, and stifle a grin. "Is your name really Allison?"
"Yes," he huffs.
"Isn't that a girl's name? Not to mention very Melrose Place?"
"My parents were exceptionally creative and liberal individuals. My brothers' names are Titus Andronicus, Betty and-"
I hold up a hand to wave him off. "Okay, shut up. So, Rob." I wait. "Well?"
"What?"
"What can you tell me about him!" I demand with exasperation. This vampire is truly a phenomenon.
"You mean about Rob?"
Yes, a rare prototype indeed: someone with less brain cells than Spike swallowing Opium on Space Mountain. Don't question my knowledge of these things; I speak from experience.
"Yes," I growl, shoving the stake at his chest. "I mean about Rob."
"Well..." the vampire stops to think for a bit, and my hand clenches the stake compulsively. He quickens. "Well, he doesn't slay with her much."
I raise my eyebrows devilishly. "Really?" I knew it! From the moment I first heard of that man I thought to myself, 'Well, Angel, here's a guy whose definitely lagging behind you in the slaying department."
Coward! I bet even Wesley could take him. With one arm tied behind his back, and banana peels strewn on the floor. See, that last detail was significant because Wesley has some sort of cosmic attraction to anything he can trip up on. Banana skins are like magnets to his feet.
Puh! Rob. Rob Schlob.
"What's his last name?" I ask maliciously. I bet it's something horribly embarrassing. Like Kloot. Or Frogman. I bet it *is* Schlob.
"Summers, sir."
A snigger dies in my throat as I stare in disgust. "No!"
"It is, sir."
In a sickened tone I ask, dreading the answer, "are they...related?"
"No, sir, they had it all safely checked out."
"But surely there's a chance-"
"Hardly. She is from the California bay-area Summers', five generations in LA, while he comes from a long line of Connecticut Summers' that immigrated from France in the early nineteenth century-"
I close my eyes and rub my temple with my stake-free hand. "Shut up, please."
"I was just trying to help," he objects with a little pout.
"Well, aren't you a fountain of useful information?" I talk back snidely, and then feel so foolish I almost smack myself.
We stare at each other in silence until he finally volunteers, "he's tall." I snort. No way Commy's taller than me.
If he's taller than me I'll kick his ass.
If he's taller than me I'll saw off his feet and *then* kick his ass.
"His eyes are brown." Obviously, because for Buffy they're only a replacement for the pair of brown eyes she really wants to see.
"His hair," the vampire continues with growing confidence, reciting the words like a Shakespearean sonnet, "is an uncommon shade of delicate, light blond, cropped short but very elegantly. He's terribly handsome, the girls are saying back at the lair. In my opinion one might even call him gorgeous. He kind of looks like Mark Wahlberg-" the last of his words scatter in the breeze with his ash.
What? Do you really think I'm going to take this crap from a vampire named Allison who's dressed like a pimp?
I grab Henry from where he's crawled under my shirt and stalk angrily back to the hotel.
Tall, my ass.
* * *
We've established (most thoroughly) that there are some things that I have to tell Rob. It really shouldn't be this hard. I'm making too much of it. To uncomplicate matters, let's break up St. Buffy's revelation into subdivisions:
1. I kissed Angel.
2. I invited Angel over for dinner on Valentine's Day.
3. Rob has to cook.
4. I kissed Angel. No, wait, I said that already.
Maybe I should just close my eyes and let it flow. As soon as he walks through the door and says-
"Did you get my note?"
I spin around and find a grinning Rob inches from my face.
"How did you do that!" I exclaim.
"Do what?"
"Sneak up on me. You're not allowed to sneak up on me."
He makes a face. "What's that smell?"
I stop and sniff, and involuntarily scrunch my nose. "I didn't even notice it."
"Smells like lickerish."
We trace the smell back to the kitchen, where my black-tinged cookies are heaped in a careful pyramid atop the counter. "Happy Valentine's Day!" I force a smile.
He looks at me, surprised. "You baked?"
"Yes. I'm a woman in my kitchen baking for my man."
He puffs his chest. "The way nature intended it to be." I smack him. He looks into my eyes, and his expression is just... heart-melting.
I don't want to tell him.
He reaches for a cookie and takes a bite. His brow furrows, and I wince. "Not good?"
"No, no, they're excellent!" He looks like he's about to throw up. "Taste like...lickerish."
He looks so miserable that I burst out laughing. "It's okay, you don't have to eat them."
"No, look," he tries, and swallows deeply. "Mmmm!"
I raise an eyebrow. "Honestly. I'm not trying to poison you."
"I would hate to think so, especially with what I've got planned for tomorrow night."
Gulp.
"Listen, about that..."
He waits. "Yeah?"
"Rob." I realize I just stated his name. "Robert. Robbie-" eeks, better stick to 'Rob'. "Rob," I start again, despite the fact that his curious expression is shifting towards impatient. In a rush I say, "something's come up and I loved your note, by the way. *Really* loved it, apparently," I add under my breath.
"I'm glad."
"But-" It's hard to continue.
"Uh-oh."
I meet his eyes. "Angel stopped by today."
"Angel? Your old boyfriend, Angel?"
This is turning into the most bizarre mix of Test Case Scenarios A and B.
"Yeah, him. And I sort of..." I'm actually cringing. I can't bring myself to finish the sentence.
"Had sex with him on the doorstep?"
My heart leaps with a thud and I stare in horror. "God, no!"
It takes me a second to realize that Rob was kidding. Sadistic bastard.
"Then whatever it is can't be that bad."
Well, you'd think, wouldn't you...
"I invited him over for dinner tomorrow." I close my eyes and wait for the blow.
Instead, Rob is quiet, and when I open one eye I see him leaning silently against the wall. "Oh," he says unhappily.
"I forgot it was Valentine's Day. Again. You knew that would happen, you said so in the note, and he's here in town with Cordelia and Wesley and I haven't seen them in ages and I invited everyone else over too so it'll almost be like an engagement shower but if I cancel I probably won't see them again-"
"Buffy, you're babbling." It's not said in the usual amused way.
"You're mad at me. You have every right. I am so sorry-"
"I'm not mad," he sighs. "Just-disappointed. I was looking forward to tomorrow night."
"I'll make it up to you," I promise. "I'll cook dinner for a month."
"Don't you dare," he warns.
"I'll do things that aren't appropriate for children under thirteen."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Make that eighteen." I flash my most seductive smile.
He bursts out laughing. "You promised that I'd cook, didn't you."
I nod sheepishly. "I'll donate my cookies, if you want."
He slips an arm around my waist. "I'll cancel the plans for tomorrow."
Sure, Rob. Ignore your fianc?e who's practically dying with curiosity to know what the top-secret plans were. That's sweet.
But I'm not saying anything that might qualify as any sort of complaint, since the toughest part is still ahead.
*
It's half past midnight and I still haven't told him about The Incident.
So sue me!
It's not the biggest thing in the world anyway. I mean, if Rob went and hugged a blonde woman from behind because he accidentally mistook her for being me, I wouldn't mind. I wouldn't even care not knowing. Even if she were his old flame. 'Old' being two-hundred plus years old.
No, I definitely wouldn't mind if Rob went and hugged an old woman. I'd probably even think it was chivalrous.
How about I just tell him now? It would be so simple...
Test Case Scenario C:
BUFFY: I kissed Angel today.
ROB: Ngherlff?
BUFFY: That's right, honey. Go back to sleep.
Hmm. That approach might work.
Rob tightens his arm around me in his sleep. I try to get comfortable, but the weather's taken an unexpected turn for the worst and my toes are freezing. I try to warm them by pressing them to Rob's longer legs, but he scoots away.
"My feet are cold," I mutter aloud.
His eyes remain shut. "I noticed."
"Rob," I begin, in my most wheedling tone. "Go and get me socks..."
"No," he mutters into his pillow.
"Rob..." I draw out a whine.
"I can't hear you," he says, "I'm sleeping."
"Fine," I sigh. "I'll go get them myself." I start to entangle myself from his arms but he tightens his hold around me.
"No! Don't go." The man looks like he's barely awake.
"Then what am I supposed to do?" I smile in spite of myself.
"Not be cold?" he offers hopefully. Silly man.
"I'll be back in a second." I sit up firmly and he lets me go.
On the way back from the dresser I stop to look at him. He's already fallen back asleep, and he's hugging my pillow with this little pout.
And I think about an alternate Test Case Scenario D. He doesn't have to know.
He doesn't have to know.
I slip back into bed.
* * *
Next part *will* be last...
