The Lovers

Fanfiction by dutchbuffy2305

PG-13

Spoilers: none

Timeline: some day, I hope

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There was one corner in the Espresso Pump where the late afternoon sun didn't reach, and there they would be every day, like clockwork, the Lovers, as Dorothy liked to call them. They were such a fine-looking couple! They met here for a coffee and talk, always looking at each other so intensely it made her heart melt.

She'd just be off work, and he'd go to his job when they left, but she guessed they just had to meet for half an hour in between, that they couldn't bear to be apart that long. Dorothy (not from Kansas, as she liked to say to new customers) made sure she always was the one serving them, sentimental thing that she was.

At first Dorothy hadn't liked her a bit, acting all high and mighty, like she was better than him, but she'd seen from the desperate look in those big eyes that she was in as deep as he was, just didn't know it yet.

Then one day she'd heard them talking about how they hated it that they couldn't work at the same time, that they wished they could spend evenings together, not just nights, and she'd butted in, which she was sorry for right afterwards, but her tongue had always been quicker than her mind, as her mother used to tell her.

"You could come work days here, sweetie," she'd said, and batted her eyelashes at him. More fool she, she might not be that much older than him, but she weighed in at twice his mass at least, and such a pretty man, too. "The girls here would love to have you serve them!"

He'd smiled too, and said something nice to her, but had made a lame excuse as to why he couldn't work days. Well, then the penny sure had dropped for her! She hadn't lived in Sunnydale for twenty years and learned nothing. That pale skin, those cold hands, couldn't work days, my eye! Evil bloodsucking creature of darkness, that's what he was. She'd given the girl some sensible advice, too, poor thing, taken in by that monster, pretty or not. That had rightly put and end to his friendly flirting, of course, but well, you had to draw the line somewhere.

She didn't serve them anymore, although they still came in from time to time. She thought of them as the Doomed Lovers now. She was sure that one day she'd see the girl's death notice in the paper, and he'd no doubt come in with another girl. But she never saw that notice, and they stopped coming anyway after a while. Dorothy had thought, that just shows you there is no such thing as true love.

But, years later, on an ordinary day, they walked in again. She looking a little older, he not at all, of course. Dorothy just walked up to them again—or, to tell the truth, wallowed like a flat-bottomed boat in serious weather, she was that heavy now-- and started chatting to them as if years hadn't passed. If they were still together, while she'd turned grey in the meantime and was wearing them awful white support shoes like a nurse, who was she to judge him? Dead or not, he was still with her, and that counted for a hell of a lot in her book, 'cause nobody had ever stuck with her, that's for sure!

It was different from the giddy young love, the heartaches she'd seen when she made those nasty remarks. He not sure what to do, or how high to jump for her, she stubbornly putting on her own coat and holding his hand only under the table. Now they had the ease of long love. They fit each other like a hand fits a glove, they needed so few words, just glances and touches, and everything just happened all by itself. She'd clearly mellowed, allowing him to do things for her, hanging up her coat, holding her chair, all those little sweet things that made her heart ache all over again.

Dorothy was just happy for them, and for herself, too, 'cause it gave her a glimpse of a world where romance really did exist like she'd always known, just never had experienced herself.

She looked a woman who had come in her power, quiet now, sure of herself and what she had. He had the calm peaceful look of someone who knows who he is, is just where he wants to be, and is completely content. His face looked almost like an angel's in its stillness and beauty, still adoring his mortal love with his eyes, even if she was a little older looking than him now.

Dorothy's heart ached for him. One day he would have to let her go, and then what would he do? Would he go on with his existence, or go with her? Dorothy bet it would be the last, judging by the look of him. She wiped her eyes with her hanky, they were often teary now. She shuffled on over and gave them an extra refill, least she could do.