"Connor's Sunnydale Vacation" - Chapter 3
by BonnieD
Connor's feeling at loose ends, as who doesn't when their vacation begins to drag? But things heat up one evening. (In my world Connor doesn't know how to read. How could he? What could Holtz have taught him from? I really didn't like the way the show made him so quickly adaptable to 20th Century living. Also in my AU there were no other humans in Quor-toth so his comprehension of social relations is limited.)
************
Connor felt itchy and impatient, restless as a caged Grathnik - not that he had ever caged a Grathnick, just hacked them up. Both of the Summers women were at work today and he'd been left to his own devices, told to sleep late and lounge the day away. Connor didn't do lounging.
He had spent the morning and part of the afternoon walking the streets of Sunnydale, but there was nothing to see, nothing to kill. He returned to the house in mid-afternoon and tidied a few small messes in various rooms, stared at the television until the quickly moving images began to give him a headache, then wandered over to the lone shelf of books in the living room. He chose one at random and paged through it, recognizing the letters Fred had taught him but wasn't able to pick out more than a few words here and there. He returned the book to the shelf then flopped down on his back on the couch, arms crossed over his chest, and stared at the ceiling.
He missed Fred, the only person who seemed to have any idea what it was like to be pulled away from everything he had ever known and dropped into this world. He missed Gunn, who sparred with him every day and told Connor stories about what it was like growing up in his neighborhood. He missed ... Los Angeles, where there was always something interesting to do, day and night. He wondered exactly why Angel had sent him away and whether they were any closer to finding out what had happened to Cordy.
Connor admitted to himself that he could have fought harder to stay; that if he had truly wanted to be in L.A. there was nothing Angel could have done to make him go. But a part of him was curious about life outside the big city, wanted to see what the rest of this world was like and of course, wanted to meet the famed Vampire Slayer who had allowed Angel to live.
And now he knew. This was 'normal' human life. People got up, worked at various jobs, ate meals, engaged in a little recreation and went back to bed again. In the Slayer's house that recreation included a bit of demon fighting but not nearly enough for Connor's taste. He really missed the hunt.
He sighed and rolled over onto his side, staring now at the block of sunlight shining from the window onto the worn carpet. Late afternoon now. Both Dawn and Buffy should be back soon. Connor was surprised to feel his spirits lift at the idea.
He had to admit that parts of this vacation had been worthwhile. Dawn had determinedly made every effort to show him some of the things the average American teen did for fun. Over the past few days he had bowled, rollerbladed, played arcade and video games, watched movies and ridden in go-karts.
On one horrible day Dawn had even dragged him to the mall, where he was forced to trail after her from shop to shop while she found him The Perfect Shirt. He ended up being forced to wear some bright blue, button down thing, a color and style which made no sense for someone stalking and slaying.
"Connor, work with me here," she said. "Your mind is in a little box. We need to stretch that box. Repeat after me, 'There's more to life than hunting and killing. There are activities that require clothes other than demon skins and colors other than black or brown.' Got it?" She held the shirt up against him one more time and eyed it critically. "Besides, the blue really does do amazing things for your eyes."
He didn't know what that meant, but something about her warm tone made him feel warm himself. Hot and uncomfortable as a matter of fact. He decided it was the stuffy air of the mall making him feel so lightheaded and was glad they had found The Perfect Shirt so they could finally leave.
So yes, being entertained by Dawn during the day and fighting beside the Slayer at night wasn't a bad way to spend time. Connor just missed that sense of ... purpose he had felt in L.A. Sunnydale didn't seem to be exactly crawling with vamps or demons, hellmouth or not.
The front door slammed and Connor, unaware that he had drifted off, jerked awake.
"Hey, lazy ass," Dawn greeted him cheerfully from the front hall. "Must be nice to lay around all day." She tossed her bagger apron on the stair banister and entered the living room. Flinging herself into her favorite armchair, she sighed dramatically and kicked off her shoes. "My feet are dead! I am never standing again. So...what'd you find to do today?"
Connor sat up, strangely embarrassed to be caught napping. He shrugged in answer to her question. "Not much."
"Boring day, huh?" she commiserated sarcastically. "Poor baby." A sly smile crept across her face. "Well, don't worry, Buffy and I have something special planned for tonight."
"What?" he asked, nervous at her tone.
"You'll see," she replied mysteriously. "Don't worry. You'll like it...and you'll get a chance to wear your new shirt."
Laughing at his frown, she added. "Trust me."
**********
Later that evening Connor's suspicion that trusting people always led to trouble was confirmed. Dawn and Buffy's diabolical plan was revealed when they led him into the Bronze, a local club. They intended to teach him to dance. Connor drew the line and emphatically refused to let his butt part company from his chair. After harassing him for a while, the sisters gave up and went out on the dance floor by themselves.
He watched them move sinuously to the music and thought that Dawn had a natural grace that would make her a good fighter if she wasn't so mortal and weak. The pair was soon lost from sight in the throng and Connor's eyes wandered around the room, taking in the people, as he sipped his drink. He was still not used to the sheer number of other human beings in this dimension and sometimes it was overwhelming.
"Hey there." Xander dropped into the seat across from him, shouldering off his jacket. "Where is everybody?"
Connor nodded toward the dance floor.
Xander glanced over, then back to Connor. "And why aren't you out there? I thought the purpose of the evening was your education in native courtship rituals?"
"What?" He frowned in confusion.
"Dancing," Xander explained. "What do you think it is?" He answered himself. "A prelude to mating."
Connor looked at the milling crowd, zeroed in on an especially spectacular brunette who was writhing her ass against her partner's crotch and suddenly saw the parallel to demons he had seen rutting in Quor-toth. He watched in fascination.
"They will do it right there?" he asked innocently.
"What?" Xander's eyes followed his gaze to the grinding couple. "Oh. Well, no. I didn't mean literally.... I mean, I was just kind of joking." He retooled his ill-conceived statement. "Dancing is like...um...a celebration of life. It's just for fun and it doesn't really mean anything. You want to shoot some pool?"
Connor followed him to the table where Xander racked up the balls as he explained the game. He handed Connor a cue then demonstrated how to use it, or misuse it since he scratched on his first shot after the break.
Taking cue in hand, Connor proceeded to effortlessly clear the table of solids.
"Quick learner," Xander gritted out in annoyance. "Did Angel already show you how?"
"No." Connor sighted down the cue and gently flicked the green ball into the side pocket. He straightened and looked for his next shot. "But it's like shooting arrows."
"There you guys are!" Dawn's voice sounded from behind him, making him miss his shot. He turned with a frown. "You lost our seats," she complained then added. "Buffy's up at the bar getting us more drinks."
Xander took his turn, while Connor leaned on his cue and watched and Dawn gave unwanted advice on Xander's technique.
After a few minutes Buffy returned with beverages in hand just as Connor claimed victory over the pool table. She passed sodas to Dawn and Connor, set her own drink aside and picked up a cue.
"Ready for an ass-whupping, Xander?" she challenged.
"If it's the kind where I reclaim my dignity and wipe up the floor with you, then yeah," he countered.
"Pool isn't a spectator sport. I'm bored already." Dawn pulled at Connor's arm. "Come on. Let's dance."
"No." He shrugged her off and retreated a pace.
"Are you crazy?" Xander said, shaking his head at Connor. "When a pretty girl asks you to dance you never turn her down."
Connor looked at Dawn, who was standing arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. "Chicken?" she snapped.
He wasn't sure what it meant but it sounded like an insult so he scowled.
"Come on," she said, holding out her hand. Before he could respond to the fight or flight imperative which was telling him to run like hell, he found himself taking that hand and following her onto the dance floor. His eyes darted around the milling throng, seeking an escape route.
"This is a slow dance. It's real easy," she said then snapped her fingers in front of his face to get his attention. "Focus! Now put your left hand on my waist. Our right hands go together - like this."
He obediently placed his hand lightly on her waist. Her body felt hot beneath the thin fabric of her tank top and when she smoothed her left hand up his chest to his shoulder it left a tingling in its wake. Their joined palms were also hot and a little sweaty. He stood stiffly, waiting for her next direction.
"That's it. Now just kind of move back and forth." She added after a few moments of shuffling, "WITH the beat of the music."
Connor's face was flaming with humiliation. Surely these people could see how wrong he was, how he didn't belong. But when he glanced quickly around, no one was looking at him. Every couple was leaning into one another and swaying. Some were a polite arm's length apart and even talking together as they moved. Others were melted together like candle wax. The pair who had been moving so sensuously in unison earlier were now engaged in a huge argument, screaming into each other's faces on the edge of the dance floor.
Dawn moved a pace closer to him and his whole attention was immediately riveted on their own dance. His arm automatically went further around her waist and it suddenly felt like there was a whole lot more girl there invading his personal space. He could feel her hair tickling the side of his jaw and see it fluttering when touched by his quickly exhaled breath. Inhaling, he could smell her; soap and perfume underlain by girl scent.
Dawn disentangled her hand from his and moved it onto his other shoulder. This left him with a free hand that didn't know what else to do but grab on to her other hip. And then there she was, head resting lightly on his chest as they continued to move back and forth. He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears and figured the beat of it in his chest must be deafening her. He didn't want her to know how much the nearness of her body affected him so he concentrated on slowing his pulse, breathing evenly in and out. And he concentrated on not brushing his groin against her lest she feel his response there.
Connor could count on one hand the number of times he had been this physically close to another person, fighting excluded. His false father had occasionally clapped him on the shoulder for a job well done but hugging was not something the reserved man indulged in. Since coming to this world, Connor had received one kiss from the girl, Sunny, who had taken him in when he was lost and alone; one soul-shattering touch from White Light Cordelia which culminated in him sobbing in her arms like an infant; and one aborted hug from Angel as they walked from the stadium following a night baseball game. Connor had pushed away after a second of contact but could still feel the weight of Angel's arm around him and smell the leather of his coat hours later.
From what he had seen and heard all around him in this world and experienced himself in a limited way, Connor quickly came to the conclusion that human touch was a powerful thing. And that it stole power from you, made you weak, and was probably best avoided.
Snapping back to the present, Connor realized that he and Dawn were barely moving now. With a conscious effort he restarted his feet, shuffling clumsily from side to side, and stilled his hands, which had been roaming of their own volition over Dawn's back and just brushing the top of her buttocks.
Dawn pulled back and tilted her face up toward him. She smiled in that evil way he had come to know over the past several days. It was the Victory Smile he'd first seen after they played foosball, the smile which crowed as clearly as words, 'I won and you lost!'
"So what do you think of dancing now?" she said. "Kinda fun, huh?"
"It's okay," he answered coolly then looked away from her and around the room to show how unaffected he was.
"Ri-ight," she drawled then added, "Mr. Runaway Hands."
Connor felt himself blushing, yet another thing that had been unknown to him until he came to this benighted human world. The music ended then and Dawn stepped away leaving a vacuum behind.
"I have to go to the rest room," she said. "You can go watch the exciting pool match of death now if you want."
He released a slow, shaky breath as he watched her walk away. Looking around the thinning crowd on the dance floor, Connor frowned and shook his head then made his way back toward Xander and Buffy. On the way he passed the arguing couple, who were now ensconced on one of the couches, writhing against each other as they kissed. He frowned again. Human behavior was beyond comprehension. He felt the need to kill something and fast.
"Are you going to patrol later?" he asked, a little too loudly, as he approached the pool players.
Buffy scratched her shot and gave him an annoyed glance. "Wasn't planning on it. That's the whole point of a night off - you get the night off."
"I could go," he insisted. "You don't have to."
"That's all right. There's always more evil to fight another day - or night."
"And another, and another, and another...." Xander chimed in, as he lined up his shot.
Connor stood restlessly, watching them play. He picked up a blue cube of chalk and began passing it back and forth between his hands.
"What happened to Dawn?" Buffy asked after a moment, when his fidgeting caught her attention.
He nodded toward the restrooms. "She...."
"Oh." Buffy, biting her lip thoughtfully, watched him toy with the pool chalk for a beat. "Look. Why don't you drink up your Coke and then go ask one of those pretty girls at that table over there for a dance? You don't have to hang with us all the time. Have some fun."
Connor looked at the table she had pointed out where the girls were indeed pretty and shook his head, but he did pick up his drink and sip it so she wouldn't think he was ungrateful. He found a chair nearby that someone had just vacated, leaving it warm and ripe with their scent, and he tried to shut out some of the throbbing noise of the place. Everything was so loud and rich and ... busy when humans were packed together so close. It was almost more than Connor's acute senses could stand.
"I think he's a little overwhelmed by all of this," he could hear Xander saying quietly to Buffy.
"We'll leave after Dawn gets back," she replied.
It amused Connor that everyone always forgot how keen his hearing was. Well, amused and annoyed. He was actually kind of tired of hearing people discuss him, of hearing himself being called 'a freak,' 'creepy,' 'weird,' 'screwed up,' 'alienated,' 'socially impaired,' 'dangerous' or 'sulky,' depending on the speaker. The only thing that made it any easier was the fact that humans, in general, seemed to spend much of their time discussing anyone who wasn't in the room, so he was hardly being singled out.
He took another sip of his Coke and looked toward the back of the Bronze, waiting for Dawn to emerge. Five minutes slid by.
The pool game ended with Xander the elated winner of five bucks. He chugged down a celebratory beer.
Buffy glanced back to the restrooms and grew an impatient scowl. "What is keeping that girl? I'll be right back." She worked her way through the crowded club and disappeared into the ladies' room.
Connor sat up straighter in his chair, barely listening to Xander extol the virtues of whatever lager he was drinking. All sound blended into a discordant background hum, as Connor focused his attention on the door through which the Slayer had gone. He stood up. His senses were screaming that something was very wrong and the suspicion was confirmed a few seconds later when Buffy emerged without Dawn and began looking around the club.
Connor started toward her, the crowd parting like Ben and J-Lo before his determined stride.
"Hey! Wait up!" He vaguely heard Xander's voice trailing behind him. In a moment he had reached Buffy's side.
"She's not in there," her voice was tense. "I don't see her anywhere? Do you?"
Connor, who had already scanned the building, shook his head. Then he lifted his head and closed his eyes, trying to eliminate all other scents and concentrate on traces of Dawn, but the place was too crowded. He opened his eyes, looked at Buffy and shook his head again.
"Dawn's missing," Buffy explained to Xander, who had just chuffed up.
"Well, are you sure? Maybe she just...."
"There!" Connor pointed past Buffy to the dingy hall beyond the bathrooms, which led to an exit. The door was slightly ajar, wedged open by the trapped heel of Dawn's abandoned shoe.
To be continued....
Connor's feeling at loose ends, as who doesn't when their vacation begins to drag? But things heat up one evening. (In my world Connor doesn't know how to read. How could he? What could Holtz have taught him from? I really didn't like the way the show made him so quickly adaptable to 20th Century living. Also in my AU there were no other humans in Quor-toth so his comprehension of social relations is limited.)
************
Connor felt itchy and impatient, restless as a caged Grathnik - not that he had ever caged a Grathnick, just hacked them up. Both of the Summers women were at work today and he'd been left to his own devices, told to sleep late and lounge the day away. Connor didn't do lounging.
He had spent the morning and part of the afternoon walking the streets of Sunnydale, but there was nothing to see, nothing to kill. He returned to the house in mid-afternoon and tidied a few small messes in various rooms, stared at the television until the quickly moving images began to give him a headache, then wandered over to the lone shelf of books in the living room. He chose one at random and paged through it, recognizing the letters Fred had taught him but wasn't able to pick out more than a few words here and there. He returned the book to the shelf then flopped down on his back on the couch, arms crossed over his chest, and stared at the ceiling.
He missed Fred, the only person who seemed to have any idea what it was like to be pulled away from everything he had ever known and dropped into this world. He missed Gunn, who sparred with him every day and told Connor stories about what it was like growing up in his neighborhood. He missed ... Los Angeles, where there was always something interesting to do, day and night. He wondered exactly why Angel had sent him away and whether they were any closer to finding out what had happened to Cordy.
Connor admitted to himself that he could have fought harder to stay; that if he had truly wanted to be in L.A. there was nothing Angel could have done to make him go. But a part of him was curious about life outside the big city, wanted to see what the rest of this world was like and of course, wanted to meet the famed Vampire Slayer who had allowed Angel to live.
And now he knew. This was 'normal' human life. People got up, worked at various jobs, ate meals, engaged in a little recreation and went back to bed again. In the Slayer's house that recreation included a bit of demon fighting but not nearly enough for Connor's taste. He really missed the hunt.
He sighed and rolled over onto his side, staring now at the block of sunlight shining from the window onto the worn carpet. Late afternoon now. Both Dawn and Buffy should be back soon. Connor was surprised to feel his spirits lift at the idea.
He had to admit that parts of this vacation had been worthwhile. Dawn had determinedly made every effort to show him some of the things the average American teen did for fun. Over the past few days he had bowled, rollerbladed, played arcade and video games, watched movies and ridden in go-karts.
On one horrible day Dawn had even dragged him to the mall, where he was forced to trail after her from shop to shop while she found him The Perfect Shirt. He ended up being forced to wear some bright blue, button down thing, a color and style which made no sense for someone stalking and slaying.
"Connor, work with me here," she said. "Your mind is in a little box. We need to stretch that box. Repeat after me, 'There's more to life than hunting and killing. There are activities that require clothes other than demon skins and colors other than black or brown.' Got it?" She held the shirt up against him one more time and eyed it critically. "Besides, the blue really does do amazing things for your eyes."
He didn't know what that meant, but something about her warm tone made him feel warm himself. Hot and uncomfortable as a matter of fact. He decided it was the stuffy air of the mall making him feel so lightheaded and was glad they had found The Perfect Shirt so they could finally leave.
So yes, being entertained by Dawn during the day and fighting beside the Slayer at night wasn't a bad way to spend time. Connor just missed that sense of ... purpose he had felt in L.A. Sunnydale didn't seem to be exactly crawling with vamps or demons, hellmouth or not.
The front door slammed and Connor, unaware that he had drifted off, jerked awake.
"Hey, lazy ass," Dawn greeted him cheerfully from the front hall. "Must be nice to lay around all day." She tossed her bagger apron on the stair banister and entered the living room. Flinging herself into her favorite armchair, she sighed dramatically and kicked off her shoes. "My feet are dead! I am never standing again. So...what'd you find to do today?"
Connor sat up, strangely embarrassed to be caught napping. He shrugged in answer to her question. "Not much."
"Boring day, huh?" she commiserated sarcastically. "Poor baby." A sly smile crept across her face. "Well, don't worry, Buffy and I have something special planned for tonight."
"What?" he asked, nervous at her tone.
"You'll see," she replied mysteriously. "Don't worry. You'll like it...and you'll get a chance to wear your new shirt."
Laughing at his frown, she added. "Trust me."
**********
Later that evening Connor's suspicion that trusting people always led to trouble was confirmed. Dawn and Buffy's diabolical plan was revealed when they led him into the Bronze, a local club. They intended to teach him to dance. Connor drew the line and emphatically refused to let his butt part company from his chair. After harassing him for a while, the sisters gave up and went out on the dance floor by themselves.
He watched them move sinuously to the music and thought that Dawn had a natural grace that would make her a good fighter if she wasn't so mortal and weak. The pair was soon lost from sight in the throng and Connor's eyes wandered around the room, taking in the people, as he sipped his drink. He was still not used to the sheer number of other human beings in this dimension and sometimes it was overwhelming.
"Hey there." Xander dropped into the seat across from him, shouldering off his jacket. "Where is everybody?"
Connor nodded toward the dance floor.
Xander glanced over, then back to Connor. "And why aren't you out there? I thought the purpose of the evening was your education in native courtship rituals?"
"What?" He frowned in confusion.
"Dancing," Xander explained. "What do you think it is?" He answered himself. "A prelude to mating."
Connor looked at the milling crowd, zeroed in on an especially spectacular brunette who was writhing her ass against her partner's crotch and suddenly saw the parallel to demons he had seen rutting in Quor-toth. He watched in fascination.
"They will do it right there?" he asked innocently.
"What?" Xander's eyes followed his gaze to the grinding couple. "Oh. Well, no. I didn't mean literally.... I mean, I was just kind of joking." He retooled his ill-conceived statement. "Dancing is like...um...a celebration of life. It's just for fun and it doesn't really mean anything. You want to shoot some pool?"
Connor followed him to the table where Xander racked up the balls as he explained the game. He handed Connor a cue then demonstrated how to use it, or misuse it since he scratched on his first shot after the break.
Taking cue in hand, Connor proceeded to effortlessly clear the table of solids.
"Quick learner," Xander gritted out in annoyance. "Did Angel already show you how?"
"No." Connor sighted down the cue and gently flicked the green ball into the side pocket. He straightened and looked for his next shot. "But it's like shooting arrows."
"There you guys are!" Dawn's voice sounded from behind him, making him miss his shot. He turned with a frown. "You lost our seats," she complained then added. "Buffy's up at the bar getting us more drinks."
Xander took his turn, while Connor leaned on his cue and watched and Dawn gave unwanted advice on Xander's technique.
After a few minutes Buffy returned with beverages in hand just as Connor claimed victory over the pool table. She passed sodas to Dawn and Connor, set her own drink aside and picked up a cue.
"Ready for an ass-whupping, Xander?" she challenged.
"If it's the kind where I reclaim my dignity and wipe up the floor with you, then yeah," he countered.
"Pool isn't a spectator sport. I'm bored already." Dawn pulled at Connor's arm. "Come on. Let's dance."
"No." He shrugged her off and retreated a pace.
"Are you crazy?" Xander said, shaking his head at Connor. "When a pretty girl asks you to dance you never turn her down."
Connor looked at Dawn, who was standing arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. "Chicken?" she snapped.
He wasn't sure what it meant but it sounded like an insult so he scowled.
"Come on," she said, holding out her hand. Before he could respond to the fight or flight imperative which was telling him to run like hell, he found himself taking that hand and following her onto the dance floor. His eyes darted around the milling throng, seeking an escape route.
"This is a slow dance. It's real easy," she said then snapped her fingers in front of his face to get his attention. "Focus! Now put your left hand on my waist. Our right hands go together - like this."
He obediently placed his hand lightly on her waist. Her body felt hot beneath the thin fabric of her tank top and when she smoothed her left hand up his chest to his shoulder it left a tingling in its wake. Their joined palms were also hot and a little sweaty. He stood stiffly, waiting for her next direction.
"That's it. Now just kind of move back and forth." She added after a few moments of shuffling, "WITH the beat of the music."
Connor's face was flaming with humiliation. Surely these people could see how wrong he was, how he didn't belong. But when he glanced quickly around, no one was looking at him. Every couple was leaning into one another and swaying. Some were a polite arm's length apart and even talking together as they moved. Others were melted together like candle wax. The pair who had been moving so sensuously in unison earlier were now engaged in a huge argument, screaming into each other's faces on the edge of the dance floor.
Dawn moved a pace closer to him and his whole attention was immediately riveted on their own dance. His arm automatically went further around her waist and it suddenly felt like there was a whole lot more girl there invading his personal space. He could feel her hair tickling the side of his jaw and see it fluttering when touched by his quickly exhaled breath. Inhaling, he could smell her; soap and perfume underlain by girl scent.
Dawn disentangled her hand from his and moved it onto his other shoulder. This left him with a free hand that didn't know what else to do but grab on to her other hip. And then there she was, head resting lightly on his chest as they continued to move back and forth. He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears and figured the beat of it in his chest must be deafening her. He didn't want her to know how much the nearness of her body affected him so he concentrated on slowing his pulse, breathing evenly in and out. And he concentrated on not brushing his groin against her lest she feel his response there.
Connor could count on one hand the number of times he had been this physically close to another person, fighting excluded. His false father had occasionally clapped him on the shoulder for a job well done but hugging was not something the reserved man indulged in. Since coming to this world, Connor had received one kiss from the girl, Sunny, who had taken him in when he was lost and alone; one soul-shattering touch from White Light Cordelia which culminated in him sobbing in her arms like an infant; and one aborted hug from Angel as they walked from the stadium following a night baseball game. Connor had pushed away after a second of contact but could still feel the weight of Angel's arm around him and smell the leather of his coat hours later.
From what he had seen and heard all around him in this world and experienced himself in a limited way, Connor quickly came to the conclusion that human touch was a powerful thing. And that it stole power from you, made you weak, and was probably best avoided.
Snapping back to the present, Connor realized that he and Dawn were barely moving now. With a conscious effort he restarted his feet, shuffling clumsily from side to side, and stilled his hands, which had been roaming of their own volition over Dawn's back and just brushing the top of her buttocks.
Dawn pulled back and tilted her face up toward him. She smiled in that evil way he had come to know over the past several days. It was the Victory Smile he'd first seen after they played foosball, the smile which crowed as clearly as words, 'I won and you lost!'
"So what do you think of dancing now?" she said. "Kinda fun, huh?"
"It's okay," he answered coolly then looked away from her and around the room to show how unaffected he was.
"Ri-ight," she drawled then added, "Mr. Runaway Hands."
Connor felt himself blushing, yet another thing that had been unknown to him until he came to this benighted human world. The music ended then and Dawn stepped away leaving a vacuum behind.
"I have to go to the rest room," she said. "You can go watch the exciting pool match of death now if you want."
He released a slow, shaky breath as he watched her walk away. Looking around the thinning crowd on the dance floor, Connor frowned and shook his head then made his way back toward Xander and Buffy. On the way he passed the arguing couple, who were now ensconced on one of the couches, writhing against each other as they kissed. He frowned again. Human behavior was beyond comprehension. He felt the need to kill something and fast.
"Are you going to patrol later?" he asked, a little too loudly, as he approached the pool players.
Buffy scratched her shot and gave him an annoyed glance. "Wasn't planning on it. That's the whole point of a night off - you get the night off."
"I could go," he insisted. "You don't have to."
"That's all right. There's always more evil to fight another day - or night."
"And another, and another, and another...." Xander chimed in, as he lined up his shot.
Connor stood restlessly, watching them play. He picked up a blue cube of chalk and began passing it back and forth between his hands.
"What happened to Dawn?" Buffy asked after a moment, when his fidgeting caught her attention.
He nodded toward the restrooms. "She...."
"Oh." Buffy, biting her lip thoughtfully, watched him toy with the pool chalk for a beat. "Look. Why don't you drink up your Coke and then go ask one of those pretty girls at that table over there for a dance? You don't have to hang with us all the time. Have some fun."
Connor looked at the table she had pointed out where the girls were indeed pretty and shook his head, but he did pick up his drink and sip it so she wouldn't think he was ungrateful. He found a chair nearby that someone had just vacated, leaving it warm and ripe with their scent, and he tried to shut out some of the throbbing noise of the place. Everything was so loud and rich and ... busy when humans were packed together so close. It was almost more than Connor's acute senses could stand.
"I think he's a little overwhelmed by all of this," he could hear Xander saying quietly to Buffy.
"We'll leave after Dawn gets back," she replied.
It amused Connor that everyone always forgot how keen his hearing was. Well, amused and annoyed. He was actually kind of tired of hearing people discuss him, of hearing himself being called 'a freak,' 'creepy,' 'weird,' 'screwed up,' 'alienated,' 'socially impaired,' 'dangerous' or 'sulky,' depending on the speaker. The only thing that made it any easier was the fact that humans, in general, seemed to spend much of their time discussing anyone who wasn't in the room, so he was hardly being singled out.
He took another sip of his Coke and looked toward the back of the Bronze, waiting for Dawn to emerge. Five minutes slid by.
The pool game ended with Xander the elated winner of five bucks. He chugged down a celebratory beer.
Buffy glanced back to the restrooms and grew an impatient scowl. "What is keeping that girl? I'll be right back." She worked her way through the crowded club and disappeared into the ladies' room.
Connor sat up straighter in his chair, barely listening to Xander extol the virtues of whatever lager he was drinking. All sound blended into a discordant background hum, as Connor focused his attention on the door through which the Slayer had gone. He stood up. His senses were screaming that something was very wrong and the suspicion was confirmed a few seconds later when Buffy emerged without Dawn and began looking around the club.
Connor started toward her, the crowd parting like Ben and J-Lo before his determined stride.
"Hey! Wait up!" He vaguely heard Xander's voice trailing behind him. In a moment he had reached Buffy's side.
"She's not in there," her voice was tense. "I don't see her anywhere? Do you?"
Connor, who had already scanned the building, shook his head. Then he lifted his head and closed his eyes, trying to eliminate all other scents and concentrate on traces of Dawn, but the place was too crowded. He opened his eyes, looked at Buffy and shook his head again.
"Dawn's missing," Buffy explained to Xander, who had just chuffed up.
"Well, are you sure? Maybe she just...."
"There!" Connor pointed past Buffy to the dingy hall beyond the bathrooms, which led to an exit. The door was slightly ajar, wedged open by the trapped heel of Dawn's abandoned shoe.
To be continued....
