Chapter 7: Memory Motel
In which things suddenly get alarmingly cute. At least the things people remember. Oh, and see if you can spot the song I snuck in.

Linda was bored out of her skull. Two hours into an eight-hour shift, so far nothing had happened and would probably continue to do so for the next six hours. Right now all but three rooms were vacant, and she figured it was probably going to stay like that for the rest of what she hoped would be a very short career in the exciting field of motel management.

Of course, spending the entire summer in a run-down motel with only a couple of guests per week would almost be like paid vacation if it wasn't for Mr Felder, Boss From Hell. No watching TV, no listening to rock'n'roll, no bothering the guests, no "slacking off", no nothing that could be interpreted as unprofessional, immoral or... well, fun. She really couldn't understand where someone running a business where half the clientele wore unmatched wedding rings found horses that high to sit on. Upshot was that she was getting ready to sell her soul if only something remotely interesting would happen.

"Two months and 26 days until college. Just keep repeating that. Two months, 26 days... good thing I dye my hair, 'cause I'll be old and gray long before that... Oh great, now I'm even talking to myself." Linda tossed "Bridget Jones's Diary" aside and looked at her watch. "Oh goody, only five hours and fifty-seven minutes to go... fifty-six and a half... c'mon, c'mon, fiftyssssssix..."

There's no telling how long she could have kept this up if it hadn't been for the sound of the bell ringing as two people walked into the reception hut. Wow, whaddyaknow, customers. Actual, real-life customers. Actual, real-life young female non-trucking customers, even – that's a first. Maybe things were looking up.

"Hi, welcome to the Henley Motel, I'm Linda, how can I help you?"

"We kinda need a room... for a couple of days." "Yeah, 'cause we're really really tired, what with the driving and the... more driving and so on. Long drive. Head heavy. Sight dim. Yawn."

"Sure, I think we can swing that", Linda gestured at board behind her, all but three of its hooks holding a room key, and got out a registration form. "OK, let's start with... names?"

"Tara Maclay." "Willow Rosenberg."

"...Rosen... is that with an e or a u?"

"E. Um, the sign says you have rooms with king-size beds, would one of those be free?"

"Sure... hey, wait a minute." Linda looked up at her new guests, read the body language (it was in large print) and then smiled and ripped up the registration. "Tell you what we'll do. You two pick one last name, I'll tell my bible-thumpin' boss you're sisters, and he won't want to know any different... that cool with you?"

Willow was puzzled for a second, with an option on offended, but didn't have time to reply before Tara did.

"OK, put down Willow and Tara Maclay."

"But..."

Tara leaned in close. "Hey, we can do whatever we want, remember? As long as no one else wants to bother us, anything's fine with me. What do you say... you think you could be Ms Maclay for a few days?"

Willow hadn't seen that wicked, lopsided grin on her girlfriend's face for a long time, and certainly never with another person in the room... the way those blue eyes lit up, that tilt of the head... Oooo boy... I think I'm going to melt right here and disappear into the floorboards. Or possibly explode. Did she just ask me to... she didn't, did she? I don't think so, not like this... but she might... oh holy everything, Tara, do you know how much I love you, what I'd do if I lost you...? She didn't dare open her mouth, so she tried to squeeze it all into one smile. Basking.

The mood was broken by an embarrassed laugh from behind the desk. "God, you two, get a room!" Linda liked these two already; she had a feeling she was about to make a couple of new friends.

Willow pouted, though that comment felt way too personal from someone she'd only met two minutes ago. "I believe we're trying to?"

"Sure. Just let me fill this in. Place of residence?"

Tara opened her mouth to answer, then frowned and looked at Willow who looked just as confused as she did.

"Look, if you don't want to tell me, that's fine, but I gotta put something here."

"No, it's OK, it's just... it's on the tip of my tongue..." Tara rubbed her temple. "Um... Sunnydale, that's it. Sunnydale, California."

"Huh. Never heard of it. Must be a pretty small place."

"I... guess so."

"Anyway, will that be cash or credit card?"

"Cash."

"Right. Aaand... here's your key, there's someone at this desk 24 hours a day so you can check out anytime you like, but if it's after 11 you'll be charged for another day... I'm on duty from nine to five, and this is a really boring job, so if you need anything at all or just wanna talk or have a cup of coffee or whatever, believe me you will not be interrupting anything."

And they were back outside, walking towards room number 19, trying to not look too coupley before they got in. "Well, she was... nice, wasn't she? Almost not at all... too pushy." Willow was still a bit loopy, she supposed sleep depravation was finally catching up to her... that and the feeling of being free of something. She looked at Tara, striding across the parking lot beside her, and realised she wasn't the only one who'd had a weight lifted off her shoulders. For starters, she'd never seen Tara stride before – not like this, confidently, proudly, smiling at her like a cat about to eat a canary. She wasn't sure what, but something had changed. Obviously for the better. As Willow put the key in the door and got her first look at the brown-and-green 70's style room they'd rented, Tara stepped up behind her and whispered.

"Do you have any idea what I'm going to do to you...?"

"Well," Willow was trying to sound as matter-of-fact as possible, "I seem to recall you saying something about the tip of your tongue..."