FOLLOWING FRANKENSTEIN


CHAPTER 4: A WALK IN THE PARK


"Tony, no arguing. We are going on a walk and that's final!" Buffy shouted through the flat. She grumbled to herself as she picked up his discarded dishes from the table and moved to grab her coat from the closet in the hall. There was only a light drizzle and it wasn't terribly cold outside. She heard water running in the bathroom and the door open up.

"Don't want to walk," Anthony said with a grimace when he emerged, a petulant look on his face.

"So help me, Tony, what did I tell you? Go back to your room at put on trousers," Buffy said. She frowned at his bare chest and boxers and pointed her fingers in the direction of his room.

"No. Don't want to walk," he argued back.

"I know. It's hard work, but this is how you build up your strength. You can't sit around the flat watching the Telly and eating biscuits all day."

"Why not? That's what you do."

"No. I am going on a walk. With you. Now. Like a responsible clone owner. We are going farther than yesterday, too, or no biscuits."

His face fell and he reluctantly went back to his room. He emerged in oversized t-shirt and ill-fitting trousers, but they were all facing the correct direction this time and so she didn't complain. It was her fault his clothes didn't fit. How was she to know he was so much taller and broader than Edward? She simply ordered clothes based on what she used to get for Edward, but Anthony was not Edward… and, to her amazement, he was still growing. She'd take him shopping properly, once he knew how to handle the crowds and all, but he wasn't quite there yet. They had only ever managed a walk around the neighborhood and that nearly overwhelmed him.

He pulled on his shoes. She had finally bought shoes with Velcro so she didn't have to keep tying his shoes for him. She'd teach him how to tie his shoes… right after she learned how herself.

"Biscuit?" he asked, his eyes wide and hopeful.

"After the walk, not before," she said. When his face fell, she was tempted to pat him on the head in consolation. Instead, she realized the state of his hair. At nearly two inches in length, his dark red hair stuck out in all directions unless properly tended. It didn't help that he had a habit of running his hands through it whenever he was nervous. She grabbed a comb and spray bottle and stood on a nearby stool. "Come on. Let's fix this wild mess."

His hair refused to stay in order, but at least the waves appeared more kempt than they had been before. She sighed when she caught sight of the stubble on his chin. That was something she didn't know what to do about either. She'd definitely never seen so much as a single hair on Edward's chin – and Anthony would soon have a beard.

She helped him get on his coat then held onto his arm to steady him as they made their way down the stairs. Outside the tower block, people busily walked past them and automobiles honked loudly at the nearby intersection. She didn't blame him for being overwhelmed. It really was all noise and flashing lights and constant movement. She couldn't imagine being thrust into London as young as he still was.

She tugged on his arm to remind him to keep walking. She learned, their first time out of the building, that she needed to keep a hand on him the whole time…. Just in case. He had a tendency to get distracted, or startled, and let his instincts guide him rather than traffic sense. At first, she wondered if he would be better off on a leash. She decided that wouldn't exactly be inconspicuous and gave it up. Instead, she kept close to him, one hand constantly on his arm or in his hand, to make sure she could give him a strong tug in case he began to wander.

Before Anthony, she made dreams to someday have a pet. In fact, it had been number 45 on her bucket list. Now, she knew not to jump in the deep end and do anything crazy right away, so she started small. A goldfish. Surely, if she could manage a goldfish, someday she could graduate to a gerbil or maybe even something as challenging as a parakeet.

She never did make it to graduation. Apparently goldish aren't as easy as they sound cause by the time she'd gone through three, she decided she was better off sticking to goldfish on her laptop screensaver and calling it a day. Who knew they would jump out of the bowl and fry themselves on her counter? Or then there was the day her heater gave out when she was at work. Apparently, Goldie liked the cold even less than she did. Yeah, she decided a gerbil wasn't happening anytime soon. Number 45 on her bucket list proved to be much less fulfilling than she originally imagined and she quickly crossed it off as one of those "been there, done that, don't do it again," items.

Until Edward intervened and in his own special brand of vengeance, he bestowed on her a pet clone.

She really didn't know what Edward was thinking or why he considered her "suited" to the task at all. In all her work in the Temple, it hadn't ever mattered how well she took care of the Others. She fed them, watered them, washed them, and tended their machines. If she missed a day or two, well, they would all end up on the other side of Edward's teeth in the end, so what would it matter? The only time she actually "raised" one as her own, she had been going against Edward's wishes. Yeah, she taught Decoy how to walk and talk and open up a can of ravioli, but she only needed to know the basics of survival from one day to the next. Decoy never needed to know how to greet human neighbors or how to act on the Tube or how to give a passing impression of having experienced a childhood at one point in time. In the end, Decoy most likely came to the same fate as all the Others… the same as Badiyah… the same as should have been hers. It was Buffy who was the outlier, the one who needed to actually learn to live and take care of herself.

Anthony was dependent on her for everything. It was up to her to teach him all she knew and then some and she was setting him up for the rest of his life – a human life of undetermined length and not a temporary life before getting eaten. As if she somehow knew how to live as a human any better than he did. Well, at least she knew how to get dressed and buy food and take a shower, but she really was woefully inadequate to take care of anyone, let alone someone who wasn't herself. Even her ability to take care of herself was questionable.

She was trying. She determined to do the best job she could, even if that meant bribing him into daily walks and forcing him to brush his teeth twice a day. Anthony would have a much better start than she ever had. She had started her life completely alone – both in the Temple and here in London. No one was there to teach her the basics of survival. Buffy had to muddle her way through, making more mistakes than she could count in her efforts to teach herself.

For one, Anthony would know he could not survive entirely on fast food and cookies.

Unleashed on London and entirely overwhelmed by everything around her, Buffy had spent so much of her early months hiding away in her flat and watching movies. The extent of her courageous explorations of the outside world were driven entirely by a search for food. Thankfully, on every street corner, she could find fast food and pastries and desserts – all prepared and easy to take home to her flat. She hardly needed to interact with anyone and within a few moments, she had an amazing meal, all to herself. It was a dream come true… till it wasn't.

When she ended up in the Emergency Department for extreme constipation and the doctor chided her for her poor nutrition.

"You are too young for this," he told her, glancing over her charts. "You need to eat healthy. More fruits and vegetables. You need exercise. Take care of yourself so you will live a long time."

Well, no one had ever taught her anything about "healthy" food and the only nutrition that mattered in the Temple was what would grow the Bellas as quickly as possible. Well, the same principals seemed to grow her, too, but she had never known that to be a problem. She knew that if she stopped exercising, her clothes stopped fitting, but then she got to buy new ones so she hadn't ever minded overmuch.

However, she took the doctor's advice and took a basic nutrition class online. This inspired her to take up dancing and going for long walks around her neighborhood each day. She also decided to teach herself how to cook. Within six months, not only was she back to wearing the clothes she wore when she first arrived in London, but she had a new hobby.

To her surprise, she loved cooking. In her kitchen with an internet chef blaring directions at her from her laptop, she danced around her piles of fresh fruits and herbs and vegetables. The chef told her what to do. She did it and she created something out of it.

If she could master the art of human food, then she had a fighting chance out there on the streets outside her flat. She could watch and learn and experiment and grow. So, whenever life was overwhelming outside her flat, the best way to make herself feel better was to do something she could do decently well, something she could control and thrive at. The worse her mood, the more elaborate her cooking attempts became.

She didn't even need to leave her flat. With the genius of the internet and food delivery, she could watch videos on various recipes, order all the ingredients, and then spend the rest of the day practicing. When she succeeded at creating something edible, she rejoiced and ate it with relish. When she failed, well, she tried again. She didn't need to open up another can of ravioli ever again. She was a real human now.

As she adjusted to life in London, got herself a job, made friends, and grew in confidence, she didn't spend quite as much time teaching herself to cook. Still, she enjoyed it and decided it was a more useful way to spend her time than the latest rom-com and Googling cat videos, so she kept it up. Every Thursday night was "become a chef" night. She picked one new recipe, shopped for supplies in the morning, then spent the afternoon cooking it.

Most of the time, recipes were far harder than they looked. They also made far more than any one person could eat. Since she finally had friends, she began to invite people over to join her for her Thursday night dinners. This was how she discovered the complete and unrivaled joy of sharing her creations with others. She loved it so much, she decided to take the plunge and enrolled in a cooking class.

Well, until he decided to mess it all up.

Enter one Anthony Edward Masen. She couldn't exactly invite over her friends while Baby Fangs was so fresh and needy. How was she supposed to explain why a pet clone now inhabited her apartment or why he didn't understand the need to wear trousers before leaving his room. She had to watch him constantly to make sure he didn't take apart the TV (again) or start experimenting with the electrical outlets or flood the bathtub. She definitely didn't let him anywhere near the stove.

She had to take a "family leave" from her job and abscond from all social events with a longing glance at each invitation she refused. She couldn't go to her dance class and, with a wistful sigh, she cancelled her cooking class. Someday, she'd have a life again, or so she hoped. Right now, it all seemed to revolve around Anthony and didn't leave much space for Buffy or the fragile bit of happiness she had forged for herself.

On the plus side, she did acquire a permanent guinea pig for all her cooking adventures. While his unrefined taste buds were anything but discriminating, his empty stomach needed to be fed and so she didn't have to feel compelled to eat all the extra casserole herself. He was more than happy to oblige. She was gratified by his wide-eyed, delighted responses when he quite literally licked his plate clean. Then she patted him on the head and promised she would cook for him again soon.

After her first-time making chocolate biscuits, he literally followed her around like a puppy, begging for more, until she finally had to lock up the extra so he wouldn't eat them all in a night. He couldn't understand why she forced him to eat vegetables rather than chocolate, made him go on walks, and forced him to take baths. She had to be intentional about things or he would be perfect content to sit in front of the Telly in his boxers and eat ice cream for an entire week. Actually, that sounded pretty good to her, too, but she couldn't admit that outloud to him. No, she had to force herself, along with him, out the door and into the Wild.

He could only walk a kilometre or so before his legs shook and he needed to rest. When she brought him home, she let him collapse onto the couch with a groan and she brought him the promised biscuit. He gobbled it up in two bites and then gave her a wide, adoring grin.

"More?" he asked.

"No," she answered, trying to be firm. "After lunch I'll give you another."

She really needed to get out of the flat on her own. For six weeks, her entire life had been nothing but Anthony and she was exhausted. It was only when she hid herself away in her room that she had any kind of break. He followed her around like a puppy pretty much all the time. If she walked to the dining room, he followed. If she sat on the couch, he sat beside her, a wide, crooked grin on his face. If she read a book, he tried to look over her shoulder to see what she was doing. If she tried to mop the floor, he copied her exactly. It nearly drove her crazy.

Now, she thought he might finally be to the point where he wouldn't burn down the house or impale himself on scissors. Just to be safe, she turned on a movie and then left her laptop computer on, casting live feed video of the flat to her phone. It meant she would still be watching him the entire time she was out, but at least she would be out of the flat by herself.

"I'm going out," she told him and pointed to the street outside their window. "I'll be back in an hour."

"Don't wanna go. I'm tired," he said.

"You are not going. I am going by myself."

He sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV, his eyes glued to the cartoon he was watching until she grabbed her coat. Then, his eyes grew wide.

"Wait!"

"You'll be fine. Here's some crackers and this show will last at least an hour. Don't touch anything in the kitchen and if you have problems, talk to me on the laptop, k?"

Rather dumbfounded, he stared at the laptop and at her and then back to the TV. Finally, he nodded.

"Good. I'll be right back."

She inhaled deeply and tried to steel herself against the well of guilt she felt. Then, she left the flat. She walked around the block and then sat at a café by herself. She watched the "normal" people walk past, all doing such "normal" human things. She added a few numbers to her bucket list in her notebook, crossed off a few others, then she doodled a picture of a flower, just because she could.

She knew she would have to work harder at introducing him to people. He needed to make his own friends (with people other than her). She was hesitant to introduce him to her own social group, however. She wasn't sure if it was fear of what he would say or do, that he would somehow "give away" her secret of being something other than human; or if it was her jealousy. She had worked so hard to make friends, she didn't really want to share them. She wanted to have some parts of her life separate from Anthony and just her own. Or, another part of her whispered, perhaps it is that she didn't want to share Anthony. She quickly dismissed this voice as ridiculous.

No, she would find some kind of chess club or gym membership or toy train club or something for him to crash and hang out at. He needed to expand his horizons… and so did she. She needed to see her friends again and return to some semblance of normal life again.

She kept her phone nearby to monitor her charge. It was so anticlimactic that she was a little disappointed. Anthony ate through the box of crackers. He glanced out the window once or twice. He paged through one of the books on her bookshelf. She expected him to display some kind of nefarious villainism the moment he was finally alone, not behave so very mundane.

She was still baffled by him. How much of Edward had been his human personality and how much had been his vampirism? She wasn't sure. Anthony, already, had his differences. She never would get used to the blush that crossed his pink cheeks whenever she teased him or how he constantly fidgeted. Yet, some of his mannerisms were all Edward. They way he walked and his grimace of distaste and the sound of his laugh were all so Edward that they made her shudder every time.

Anthony's face broke into a brilliant smile when she came home. He was no longer in front of the TV but was pacing the length of the dining room. He ran straight to the door when he saw it open.

"You're back!" he said and he opened up his arms in a show of delighted welcome.

She could tell he was working very hard to restrain himself and keep from giving her a hug. He was a very touchy-feely kinda guy and she had yelled at him more than once to give her space. Sure, maybe if he was a pet Labrador, she'd be ok with him jumping up on her and licking her, but he was definitely not that kind of pet and she couldn't handle him in her personal bubble. No matter how he whined, he was not allowed to cuddle up on her lap during movies or play with her hair when he walked past her chair in the mornings. Every time, Buffy sent him six feet away from her and threatened to lock herself in her room if he continued. He huffed in frustration, ran his hands through his hair, and tentatively agreed…until he forgot and tried again.

He was getting better, though, and he curled his hands at his sides to keep himself from embracing her. Then, he thrust a book into her hands. He opened it up for her and pointed.

"You want me to read it to you?" she asked.

"I want to read," he said.

"Oh. You want to read it yourself?"

He nodded.

"Well, ok. I guess we can start that," she answered, surprised. "It's a little early, but if you want, let's do it."

In response, he jumped onto the couch, the book open before him, and all his attention fixed on the page in front of him.

Oooooo


Buffy checked her recipe and glanced into her mixing bowl again. She measured out the sugar and began to beat it with the egg yolks until creamy. She glanced at a text from one of her fellow classmates in her cooking class and adjusted the speed on her mixer.

It was her fourth time trying to master crème brûlée. The first time, she burned it. The second time, she got water into the pudding. The third time, she nearly set the kitchen on fire when she caught her potholder with the blowtorch. This time, she was determined, she would succeed.

Anthony came in while she mixed the pudding.

"This again? You haven't given up yet?" he asked He grinned and suck his finger into the soft, yellow mixture. She chided him and batted him away.

"That's raw eggs," she said.

"And sugar," he answered. "Are your mates coming by for pudding?"

"If I can make it right this time," she said. She looked sadly at the scorch mark on her wall leftover from the blowtorch incident.

"I'll be back, then. I'm only going to meet James at the pub for a bit," he said.

She looked up then and gawked at him. Catching her eyes, he grew sheepish. He ran a hand over his chin and bit his bottom lip in his teeth.

"What did you do?" she asked.

"Yeah, I tried to watch a video on shaving," he said. "Apparently it's a bit like your pudding here."

"Crème brûlée."

"Whatever you call it. Shaving appears much easier on a video than it is in real life. I think I may need to purchase some additional supplies to assist me," he said.

She chuckled. His beard was now entirely absent and replaced with small cuts all over his chin. She reached over and pulled at a wild lock of hair sticking out from beneath his knit cap.

"This next," she said. "Or you can ask James for recommendations for a barber."

His eyes grew wide, as if surprised and he looked up at the same lock of hair. "I hadn't thought of that. Your hair is long."

"Yeah, it is," she said. It was true. Her brown hair now reached nearly her waist, when it was down, which wasn't all that terribly often.

He barreled out the door and left her to the isolation of her kitchen. It wasn't unusual, now, for her to be home alone. He was so rarely home these days.

If Buffy had known how much easier her life would become, she would have taught Anthony to read the day he showed up on her front door. The man devoured books like she did Oreos. The moment he discovered the local library and how to download books onto a tablet, well, he vanished into his room for days on end and only emerged for meals.

Oh, the freedom this gave! She went back to her dance class, took up weekly walks with her neighbor, and undertook more complicated recipes on Thursday nights. Then, joy upon joys, she could finally take up her cooking class. It was proving far more difficult than she anticipated.

The downside of Anthony's growing world was that her pupil all the sudden spouted out words she'd never even heard of and became a walking depository of knowledge. While at first, he had started with the simple books in the children's section, it only took a few weeks before he was devouring entire encyclopedias and he was still hungry for more. His vocabulary exploded and Buffy was a bit unsettled by this.

She quickly discovered that Anthony was scary intelligent. She thought she knew how long it would take to catch him up to speed on language. She had taught herself most of what she knew and then trained Decoy, after all, and so she assumed he would learn in the same manner she did. Anthony took her by surprise. Not only did he soak up language like a sponge, but he took to reading like a fish to water. It only took a few weeks before he could read everything around him without her help. Then, when she introduced him to the internet, well, he hardly needed her to teach him anything after that.

Anthony also had an uncanny intuition about the innerworkings of the human mind that helped him adjust faster than she expected. Anthony needed very little prodding to make his own friends and he felt more at ease with strangers than she ever did. Once he proved he could be trusted to go on walks by himself, he vanished every afternoon and she found him at the park, engaged in conversations with anyone he could find to talk to. He took to watching football at the local pub and spending countless hours exploring London by Tube by himself.

Every evening, though, he came home to her, bursting with stories of all he had learned and experienced that day and he could not hold still until he had shared it all. His face glowed with happiness the moment he saw her and he could hardly stop grinning as long as she was nearby. He still watched her incessantly. Even now, eight months into their strange, shared lives, she felt the weight of his eyes on her from the moment she entered the room until she left it again.

She felt a bit nostalgic over his newfound independence. Now that he no longer depended on her for everything, she felt an uncomfortable fear that he would someday not need her around at all. Even worse, she worried that each day he would grow to become more like Edward, that someday she would wake and find him dominating and draining her life. She was determined not to let him have any power over her or her decisions.

Still, she had no desire to go back to how things were in the beginning. He figured out how to shop for his own clothes and he even did his own laundry these days. It was rather wonderful, actually. She didn't mind having him around as much, as long as he behaved more as "flat mate" than "pet clone."

She even found his companionship rather nice. Especially when the holidays came around and she found she didn't have to spend them alone.

Holidays were the worst. Sometimes she'd bum an invite to other people's houses to join in with their families, but then it would inevitably get awkward. The questions would always come.

"Where is your family?"

"How did you celebrate this holiday as a child?"

She'd come up with all kinds of explanations as to why she didn't celebrate such things with family. Telling them her family was all dead was a bit of a killjoy. Then again, saying her parents were part of a cult who didn't believe in holidays or that her adopted uncle tried to torture her and kept her locked in box wasn't much of an improvement to the holiday mood. Then, she'd just feel weird and out of place and like she was watching a living reenactment of one of her movies.

So, for Christmas at least, she decided she would create her own traditions. This involved watching as many horror movies as she could in one sitting, drinking Bloody Mary's, and creating an elaborate gingerbread city -which she would then destroy. It made her feel more connected to her pseudo-childhood, after all, and kept her in touch with her true identity.

With Anthony around, well, it just became that much better. At least they could spend the holiday together. He didn't question how she spent the holiday and he was just as content to hang out with her around the flat than go out.

She even began to introduce him to her friends, a few at a time. She stuck with the original cover story. He was her "long lost brother-in-law with amnesia" and she was "helping him get back on his feet." She was a bit piqued to discover he could charm the socks off a cat and it only took a single dinner before her friends were entirely taken with him and inviting him to parties.

"You can come, too," he said, when he noticed her irritation. "You were invited too."

"Just because I was invited doesn't mean I want to go."

"Then why are you upset?" he asked.

"Because… because… I don't like sharing," she said and she stomped off into her bedroom in a temper.

That came back to bite her when Anthony met Michael McDonald. With her freedom back, Buffy could finally agree to drinks with Michael again. Michael wasn't the first man she'd gone out with, but he was the most frequent. He worked at the same theatre and asked her out every few weeks after their shifts ended. When she went on leave, he kept asking her out, and she kept declining. However, with football season in full swing, she knew she didn't have to worry about Anthony coming home early and so she agreed.

It's not that she found Michael particularly attractive. He was a nice enough guy and they got on well, but she hadn't been heartbroken to avoid him for a few months. Still, as part of her newfound freedom in life, Buffy determined to resume interactions with all her friends, even those of the opposite sex.

Michael took her out for a meal and drinks and he caught her up on all she'd missed at the theatre in her absence. She made note of all the movies to catch up on and she thought about trying to get her job back again.

By the time he walked her back to her flat, it was nearly midnight. She was giggling like a schoolgirl through the hall and when they reached her door, he moved in for a kiss. She didn't protest when he lengthened the kiss and began to run his hands up and down her sides.

"Can I come in?" he asked, slightly breathlessly.

"No," she answered, reluctantly. "My, uh, flat mate wouldn't appreciate."

"Since when do you have a flat mate?"

"Since my, uh, well, it's complicated. Let's just say, he's family and he's going through some stuff and it wouldn't go over well if I brought you inside."

"Fine. Will he be staying for long?"

"He's not a permanent fixture," she said, silently adding the "I hope" to herself.

She finally slipped away, smile still on her face, and she opened the door to find Anthony directly behind it, his face covered in such a storm cloud of emotions that she nearly stepped back. He had never, not since she had met him, ever resembled Edward as much as he did right at that moment. His eyes might as well have been red for the fire kindled within them and she wouldn't be surprised if he was coming for her blood after all.

She cowered slightly before reminding herself she had no reason to. Instead, she threw her purse and keys on the couch and kicked off her heels, as if nothing had happened, as if Anthony wasn't even there.

He followed her every movement with his eyes until she moved to the kitchen and began to set the kettle on for tea. When she turned around, she found herself caged against the cupboard by two arms and Anthony's face loomed over her, frown deepening into a growl.

"What are you doing?" she asked as she tried to push him away. He didn't budge.

"What were you doing? Who was that?"

"I told you. That's my friend from work, Michael."

"He touched you."

"Um, yeah. It was mutual."

"But… "

"Look, Anthony. Sometimes men and women do that. It's called dating."

"I don't like it."

"Too bad for you."

"You won't let me come near you."

"No."

"Why?"

"We aren't dating."

"But what if I want to? I want to hurt Michael so he never comes near you again."

"No, Anthony. You can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because. Now, let me go."

"I don't like sharing!"

He gave an exasperated cry and let her past. Still, the butterflies he wrought in her stomach with the intensity of his gaze and the way she rather wondered what would have happened if she'd let him come any closer made her all the more determined to keep her distance from him. She'd build walls of steel rather than glass and push him away with all her strength if she had to.

She'd go on dates with Michael every week, if she had to. Just to prove that she could. So, she did. Anthony frowned and groused each time and she told him to get over it, and that was that. Or so she thought.

When Anthony got back from the pub, he found Buffy surrounded by uneaten crème brûlée and without a single friend in sight.

"What happened this time?" he asked.

"I have the wrong size ramekins. They are too deep and won't cook all the way through. I have ordered more, but these are a loss," she said with a disgruntled sigh. "I think I should stick with cake and roasted chicken."

"You'll get it," he said. Then he took off his hat and coat to place them in the hall closet.

"How was the pub?"

"Man U lost. It was a terrible game," he answered. The more time he spent with other people, the more he picked up a British accent. She didn't know if he did it intentionally or unintentionally, but as soon as he was back at the flat with her, he reverted to imitating her accent instead.

"Well, it's a loss for both of us. How about we have a bit of ice cream and watch a movie?" she said.

His entire face lit up and he opened the cupboard for bowls. "Now, that could redeem this night."

It was Buffy's turn to pick and so she made him watch the 1957 "Curse of Frankenstein." They took off their shoes and lazed around on the couch, each sharing popcorn after their ice cream was gone.

"Do you think we are like him?" she asked, once the movie had finished.

"Like who?"

"Like Frankenstein's monster. I mean, we are basically put together from the body parts of dead people."

His eyes grew wide and he turned to face her. "What are you talking about?"

"You know- how Edward made us both…," she prodded.

"Who is Edward? You mention him a lot and in a way that assumes I am familiar with him. I know he must have once been important to you. Is Edward the brother I lost and cannot remember- the one who was married to your sister?"

"Wait- you do know that our cover story is completely made up, right? You aren't actually my brother-in-law?"

"I'm not?" he said, pulling himself forward on his knees, his entire posture radiating tension.

"Oh, come on. You have to know this. Don't you remember? When you first woke, you must have met Edward, our creator. Our nefarious mad scientist who decided we should exist. The one whose DNA you are patterned from. He looks exactly like you except pale as death with bright red eyes and a perpetual glower on his face. Oh, and he likes to eat people… strike that. I have only ever seen him eat one variety of people. He likes to eat me, specifically."

He grew even more confused. "I never met anyone named Edward."

"Come on. You had to! What do you remember from when you first woke up?"

"It was very bright and there were many beds and tanks and machines."

"See! You do remember!"

"Of course. I would never forget that. That is where I met you."

She swallowed deeply. "Anthony, you never met me there."

"Of course, I did. You were there. From the moment I opened my eyes, you were there to bring me food and water and to take care of me and to talk to me. I'll never forget the sound of your voice. Even still, it is the most beautiful sound in the world. Now, I get to hear you and see you every day and that's a happiness greater than all the showers and milk and croissants in the world."

"Anthony, I wasn't there with you."

"Of course, you were! I saw you! We were separated for a time and I was put in a truck and taken to the airport where Mr. Smith met me and took me back to you."

Buffy's heart nearly burst from her chest and she clung to the armrest of the couch as if it were a lifeline.

"Anthony, that wasn't me. The day Mr. Smith brought you here was the first time I'd ever met you."

He laughed, as if she had been telling a joke. He stopped when he caught her expression. "How could I have known you the moment I saw you if I hadn't met you before?"

"How do I explain this? Oh, George's whiskers! How do I end up in these situations?" She rubbed her hands down her eyes and groaned. "Tony, I'm not the only one… of me."

"You are a twin?"

"Kinda… except there have actually been thousands of me."

"Thousands?!"

"Yeah, I know. I don't know the actual number. Maybe I'm exaggerating. Maybe I'm underestimating. Who knows how long Edward has been making carbon copies of my DNA? Anyways, the point is, you might have met someone who looked like me, but it wasn't me."

He considered this for a time before a light went on in his head and he nodded. "I was confused, at first, when I saw you," he said. "I would recognize your eyes, your voice, your hair anywhere. Even the way you walk and carry yourself are so very similar, so I knew it was you, but, well, you had longer hair and spoke more readily than before. I did not remember you like that but I thought it was because my memory and senses were still so impressionable and faulty."

"It wasn't me," she whispered.

"I'll never forget opening my eyes to see you there. I've been in love with you since the first time I saw you," he said, leaning forward to grasp her hands, his green eyes overflowing with burning intensity.

She was hit in the chest with an icy wave of revelation, followed by an equally powerful torrent of guilt. She withdrew her hand from his.

"It wasn't me," she repeated. "You mistook me for another. The one you love is still there, back with Edward."

He shrugged. "Maybe back then, but now, I love you. You are my life, my love, my everything."

"No, you fell in love with a clone of me and now have transferred it to me because you think we are the same."

"You are the same."

"NO, WE ARE NOT!" she screamed and threw a pillow at him. He caught it and gave her a sheepish, entirely befuddled expression…just like the one he gave her the day he showed up on her doorstep… the one that made her agree to take him in.

How could she cry that she was not the same as Decoy and yet say he was the same as Edward?

"Buffy, we were always meant to be together," he said, entirely sure of what he was saying.

"No, we weren't!" she shouted back. Tears streamed down her face, then, and she jumped to her feet. Anthony tried to follow her, but she ran to her bedroom and slammed the door behind her. She made sure it was locked before she threw herself onto her bed and wept.


Note: biscuits are cookies.