The girls were cleaning up the pizza boxes, wiping away the sauce. Slayer skills were all focused completely on the task at hand, the dreaded after-dinner cleanup. Paper towels and bottles of disinfectant were used very liberally as they tried to get the spots of cheese and tomato sauce out of the motel carpet.
"Buffy, can I speak to you for a minute?"
A blonde girl jerked up, pizza sauce still on her chin. For a moment, she had a deer-in-the-headlights look, but that quickly passed.
"Giles? Sure, what's up?"
He gave her a look, then glanced at the other oblivious girls. "In private."
***
"So, what was so important that you had to drag me away from cleanup duty?" Buffy asked, leaning against the plaster wall. She crossed her arms in what she hoped wasn't a defensive stance. "Not that I'm complaining, of course."
The Watcher sighed, unconsciously removing his glasses and polishing them on the hem of his shirt. "Buffy, do you feel all right? Perhaps you should take a few days off, stop training for a bit. Take a vacation."
"I'm fine!" she said forcefully, biting her lip to keep from screaming.
God, if I got asked that one more time…
Giles glanced at her. "You've been a bit unfocused lately. Your technique has gotten rather sloppy and I'm afraid you're growing careless, Buffy. Whatever it is, you need to get it under control…"
The blonde girl stared at him, unblinking. Shocked. A slow smile began to creep onto her face.
Good old Giles.
She'd thought that the Watcher was like all the others, checking up on depressed little Buffy, making sure she wasn't going to off herself anytime soon. But he was lecturing her on doing her job, giving her a reason to pull herself together. He'd always known what to say, what to do.
He'd known and accepted before I ever did.
True, she had hated him. Hated him, blamed him, cursed him. Tried to ignore his lessons. But in the end, hadn't she listened to him after all?
"…and the girls, they all look up to you. Buffy, you cannot allow yourself to slack off. It is your duty…"
Her duty. A small smile appeared on Buffy's face. Yes, her duty. She had a duty, didn't she? A promise to fulfill.
"Go on, then."
Go on. Go on and get a life, Buffy.
"…you understand? Buffy, Buffy? Are you listening?"
She shot the bemused Watcher a quick smile.
"Thanks for the pep talk, Giles. Feel much better already."
Buffy skipped off hurriedly, leaving the Watcher to stare after her in utter confusion.
"I was giving a stern reprimand."
***
The accursed ice machine. Wouldn't work, no matter how hard she kicked it. Unless, of course, her Slayer strength had broken the mechanism. In that case, she was even more screwed. Dawn would be raising hell if the ice bucket came back empty.
With a small groan, Buffy leaned into the machine, resting her forehead onto its smooth, cold surface. Just let herself relax for a moment and rest on the cold, hard exterior of the ice machine.
"Hey, you need help with that?"
The blonde Slayer jerked up, looking guilty, like she'd been caught doing something wrong. Only a moment later did she realize that the voice was unfamiliar and belonged to a man-shaped stranger.
A man-shaped stranger that loomed more than a foot over her in height and had very nicely defined biceps peeking out from under a loose light-gray T-shirt. A man-shaped stranger with dark brown curls and pretty green eyes like the kind she used to dream about as a girl. Darkly tanned skin that she could lick and a soft-looking little mouth she couldn't wait to…
"What? Oh, uh, no. Not at all. It's just…the ice won't come out. So I guess I do kinda need some help after all."
Way to go, Buffy, She chided herself. Since when did you inherit Willow's babbling skills?
"Here, let me get it for you." He bent down and Buffy resisted the urge to lick her lips.
He looked vaguely familiar. She'd probably seen him before at the motel, just another faceless stranger. But this encounter was different, wasn't it? She'd come here to move on.
Clank. Clank. Clank-clank-clank-clank-clank.
"Here." He handed her the newly filled bucket with a smile. A very sweet and innocently beguiling smile.
"Th-thanks," she muttered under her breath, trying not to blush as she stared into those trusting green eyes. "Uh, I gotta go. Back, to my room."
"Okay," he answered with a nod. "Wait!"
She stopped dead in her tracks.
"Uh, I wanted to subtly ask for your name and number, but you kind of rained on my plans for that," he explained with a perfectly serious expression, with only the tiny sparkle in his emerald eyes giving away the fact that he was attempting to come onto her.
She gave a tiny smile. "I'm Buffy. Buffy Summers, staying in room one-oh-four with my annoying little sister. I don't really have a phone number right now, but I'll be here till the end of the week."
"Buffy. Buffy, that's a very unique name. I'm Mark. Room one twenty-eight. Here till next week."
"Well Mark, maybe I'll see you around," she said coyly.
"Later, Buffy."
***
"Get up, sleepyhead," the annoying voice of her little sister yelled from somewhere close by. "Breakfast!"
"Urg."
"Buffy, get up!"
The shriek in her ear awoke the blonde Slayer.
"I'm up, I'm up," she said, suppressing a yawn and throwing back the covers. Time to get up and face the crowds for another fun-filled day.
"Took you long enough. Now hurry up and get your butt to breakfast in ten minutes."
Buffy watched in mild shock as her younger sister—her baby sister, who was about half a foot taller than her—gave a dazzling lip-glossed plastic smile and headed off.
When had things come to this? When had Dawn of all people become the responsible one? When had her baby sis started acting like…well, like her? It was like their roles had been switched. Dawn was the one who nagged, Dawn was the one who made sure she was on track.
Was this a part of moving on?
With a growl, Buffy stalked into the bathroom.
***
It wasn't too bad for a motel. At least they served breakfast. And one thing Buffy couldn't complain about was the breakfast buffet.
"Good morning, Buffy. Glad you could join us for breakfast."
She smiled wanly at her ex-Watcher. Funny, how he had been fired by the Council, reinstated, lost his job when the Council was blown up, and was finally rejected by his charge. And yet the man was still here, offering his guidance and support.
Not to mention a more hefty checkbook than anyone else possessed in their little gang.
But just because Giles paid for their board and keep didn't mean Buffy had to be social this early in the morning. Over the years, she had become less and less of a morning person.
Definitely a night person.
Well, that partly came from the company she kept…which was something she was going to change, right? Part of the whole "moving on" process. Speaking of moving on…
Buffy's eyes trailed over the sliced fruit section she was perusing, over the glazed donuts, and finally settled on the display of bacon and eggs. Or, more importantly, the tanned arm that was currently helping its owner to a serving of greasy bacon.
He looked even more yummy in the light. She could see the toned muscles and broad, smooth face, the curls of thick dark brown hair and sparkle of green eyes. Every girl's definition of perfect.
Before she could think better of it, Buffy took a deep breath and sidled over, pretending interest in the extremely fattening and unhealthy red meat dripping with oily grease.
"Hey, Buffy!"
She looked up, feigning surprise. "Oh, hey. Mark, right?" she said with a smile as fake as her hair color.
He gave a genuine smile in turn. "What a surprise meeting you here. Breakfast and all. Not that I thought you didn't eat breakfast or anything."
She gave a little laugh in what she hoped was a light and flirtatious manner. So out of practice.
Well, here's where the practice comes in, she berated herself silently. Now go for it, before you lose another chance.
"So, what are you doing today?" she blurted out. "'Cause I was kind of thinking…I'm free tonight."
Stupid, stupid, stupid! Now you've probably scared him off for good. At least it's better than being too late.
"Are you asking me out on a date?" Incredulous green eyes peered at her from his broad, smooth face. His small, bud-like mouth opened in surprise.
"Yes?" she said hesitantly, only now aware of the unbelieving gazes coming from the direction of the Scoobies. She could imagine them whispering amongst themselves.
"Buffy wants to go on a date?"
"Wow, the first new guy she sees, and she's practically climbing all over him."
"Sure didn't take her long."
"What a slut."
The blonde Slayer was so caught up in her own thoughts she almost didn't notice Mark's response.
"I'd love to! You've just caught me off-guard for a moment there. Buffy, I hope you don't think I'm an imbecile. But I've never been asked out by a girl who's smart, gorgeous, and actually interested in me before."
All Buffy could do was smile nervously and ignore the whispers that came not from the silent table behind her but the recesses of her own mind.
***
Italian.
Music. Candlelight. Wine.
Pasta. Garlic bread. Salad.
She'd never had a date like this before. Given, she didn't really have many dates at all. And definitely not many which involved alcohol. But then again, the few "normal" dates she'd gone on had been before she could legally drink and get away with it.
She had Italian before of course, in a restaurant with similar settings. Only that restaurant was now interred below ground with the rest of Sunnydale.
She'd had dinners like these with another tall, tanned hunk, with another nice, reliable guy.
"This is fun," he said, smiling that sweet green-eyed smile of his.
"Yeah," she agreed quietly, breaking off a small piece of garlic bread. But it wouldn't go down her suddenly closed throat. She laughed silently, to herself. She'd never been the one who'd had an aversion to the stuff before.
"Buffy, I like you a lot…"
If this had been two days ago, she would have jerked up, either apologized for leading him on or clocked him in the face, and left.
"…never met someone like you before. You're a very special girl, Buffy. I hope you don't think that I say this often…"
But now, she only half-listened to his words with a smile. Just like Dawn's smile, with the same exact lip-gloss she had bummed off her sister earlier.
"…getting late. Sorry, I guess I've droned on and on. I hope you don't mind…"
She only continued to smile and nod at the appropriate places. And before she knew it, they were in a taxi, heading back to the motel.
***
She blamed it all on the wine.
"Here's room one-oh-four."
Buffy stared at his smooth, tanned face, at the shadow of a day's beard on his chin. She didn't listen to his words, only looked at his soft mouth, imagining how it would feel on…
"Where's your room?" she demanded, unwary of whether she had cut him off halfway.
"Um, it's just down this hallway—"
"Perfect," she said, lurching off into that direction and almost stumbling for her efforts. Strong arms caught her as she wavered, the alcohol taking its toll. She buried her face into his chest, inhaling deeply of the nice boy smell he gave off. She let him guide her toward his own room, aware of nothing but the hard chest against her cheek, the clean smell of his clothing…
The warmth that radiated through the layers of cloth. The steady beating of his heart.
Buffy drew back just as Mark pushed the door open and haphazardly stumbled with her into the room, barely managing to close the door before falling onto the full-sized bed.
"I-I c-can't," she mumbled, pressing her face against the covers. "I'm sorry. B-but I-I…"
Such hurt in his green eyes.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
He tried to smile. "It's alright." He stood up, ever the gentleman, and walked to the door. "I'll walk you back."
Move on, Buffy. Isn't that what you decided?
She grabbed him before he could reach the door. Grabbed him, practically flung him onto her. His six-foot-plus frame almost crushing her.
"Buffy, what—"
"Shh," she whispered. "I changed my mind."
***
She stared off into space, at the pale moonlight coming through the half-closed blinds. She looked back at the man sleeping peacefully, exhausted. In the silvery light, he looked little more than a boy.
And he was a boy, nothing more. A mere boy with dimples and soft edges. So soft, so vulnerable. So innocent, so naïve. He had fallen asleep with exhaustion, and she wasn't even satiated.
With a pang, she realized that she had merely used him. A nice, reliable, Joe Regular kind of guy. Like Riley had been. A normal guy, a dependable guy.
Both he and Riley had been rebound. Just her trying to move on and failing miserably.
Not my type.
No, of course not. She had chosen the exact opposite of her type, hadn't she? Mark was a nice guy. Sweet, trusting.
And everything about him was the antithesis of what she craved.
He smelled nice, like fabric softener. He wore brightly-colored clothing. He didn't smoke.
He towered over her. Even with all his muscles, he was still so soft. He was so natural, so innocent. His skin was darkened by the sun. His eyes were warm.
He was warm. His heart knocked steadily in his chest. He breathed in his sleep.
He was human. He was alive.
I'm one twisted person, she thought bitterly, if those things aren't my style.
Quietly, she slipped on her clothes in the dark. Looked at him one last time, outlined by the glowing moonlight. The boy. What did he know of passion? What did he know of the darkness in her that could not be satiated by such youthful innocence, such purity?
"I'm sorry," she whispered, giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead.
Then, quietly, very quietly, she slipped out into the night.