Chapter 3: Ex-Boyfriend

"What are you doing here, Jason?" Dawn asked.

"I should be asking you that." He walked over to her. "What are you thinking? Jogging in a park at night? Who the hell does crazy stuff like this? It's not—"

"Normal?" Dawn said.

"I didn't mean it like that." He stepped forward, hand rising to brush a stray wisp of hair off her cheek. "You know I didn't."

Dawn backpedaled out of his reach. His gaze dropped in that wounded look, as if he was the victim here, the poor besotted guy under the spell of the evil ice bitch.

"I'm not canceling the restraining order," Dawn said as she remembered the messages Jason's mother had left on her answering machine. "So you can tell your mother to stop calling me."

"Ah, shit. Is she—?" He smacked his palm against the pavilion wall. "Goddamn her! Why does she always do this to me? You were right to get that."

"Don't," Dawn said.

"No, I deserved it. I got carried away. I couldn't help myself. You weren't returning my calls. You wouldn't see me. I got confused—"

"Confused?" Dawn said. "What the hell is confusing about the word no?"

The wounded look again. "You don't have to swear, baby."

"I am not your baby." Dawn said. "I have never been your baby. I have never been your anything."

"I know that. But I couldn't help it. You were so—"

"Flattered? I wasn't flattered then. I'm not flattered now. And I want you to get the hell out of my life before I do something that is really not normal."

"You're upset, baby. I understand that. My mother pisses me off, too, so I don't blame you one bit."

Dawn debated grabbing him and teleporting him into a volcano. That would end her stalker problem. But she didn't. She spun on her heel and strode away. Got about ten feet before his hand closed on her shoulder.

"Let me go," Dawn said, voice low, back still to him.

"No, Dawn. Not until you've calmed down."

Dawn jerked forward, but his grip only tightened, fingers digging into her shoulder. She flung his hand off. His jaw set. Dawn stood her ground. He stepped forward, closing the gap between them.

"You don't want to do that," drawled a voice to their left.

Dawn looked to see Clay in the shadow of a pine tree, arms crossed, as if he'd been there for a while.

"I can handle this," Dawn said. "Go home, Jason or I'm walking to the nearest phone booth, dialing 911, and seeing how well that restraining order works."

The perfect threat—calm yet clear. But Jason had not heard a single word of it. Before she was half finished, he was striding toward Clay.

"Who the hell are you?" Jason said.

"An interested party."

"Interested in what?" Jason swung to face Dawn. "Is this guy with you, Dawn?"

"Could be," Clayton answered before Dawn could. "Or I could be just a fellow jogger, heard the ruckus, and came over to see if I could help. Or maybe I'm not a jogger at all. Maybe I just like hanging out in empty parks, see what kind of sludge crawls out of the pond after dark—" He grinned, teeth flashing. "See what kind of trouble I can get into."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Not a damn thing. Now, I think Dawn was talking to you, and I think you'd better start listening."

Jason stalked over to Clay and pulled himself up, eye to eye. "Or what?"

Clayton only shrugged. "You'd have to ask her that."

Jason looked from Clay to Dawn, face scrunched up in confusion. "Who is this guy?"

"An interested party," Clayton said.

Jason's finger shot up, pointing in Clay's face. "Don't you start—"

Clayton grabbed his finger. Dawn tensed, but he only held Jason's finger, then pushed it slowly down. "Lift that hand to me again, and you'd better be prepared to use it. Now go on back to Dawn. This is her fight, and I'm not making it mine unless you insist."

Jason looked from Dawn to Clay. He paused, then stalked off, calling over his shoulder a promise that he'd talk to Dawn later.

Dawn knew the only way to get rid of Jason was to change identities like she and Buffy had planned with the move to Toronto.

"You want to go get something?"

Dawn wheeled to see Clay at her shoulder. She hadn't seen him move from his place by the trees. "Hmm?" she said.

"You want to go get something? I'm sure I can find a place on the way back."

Dawn shook her head. "No. Thanks, but I'm really not …" she shrugged.

"Not hungry?"

"Eat? Oh. I thought you meant a drink," Dawn said.

"We could get a drink, if that's what you'd like," he said.

"Definitely not. I rarely ever drink anything stronger than a soda. Ever since my sister got drunk during her first year of college and almost literally turned into a cavewoman. I've stayed away from alcohol since then. But something to eat would be good." Dawn forced a smile. "Vent my frustration on a hapless burger."

"Good. Grab your knapsack and we'll go."

They walked down out of the park in silence. Clay found an all-night diner. He started toward a table in the back corner, and then glanced over his shoulder. "There okay?" he said, jerking his chin toward the table.

"Perfect," Dawn said as they settled into their seats.

"Burgers page three," he said after a glance through the menu.

"On second thought, I may change my mind. They serve all-day breakfast." Dawn skimmed through the grease-spattered menu. "I think I might go for pancakes. Weird, I know, but—"

"Have what you like."

"Comfort food. Does the trick better than alcohol," Dawn said.

The server arrived, coffee pot in hand.

"No, thanks," Dawn said, covering her cup. "Too late for caffeine. I think I'll have …" she flipped to the back of the menu, and then smiled. "Root beer floats. Haven't had those in years. I'll take one. And the pancakes and ham steak."

The server peered over her half-glasses. "With a root beer float?"

"Same here," Clayton said, smacking down his menu. "Pancakes, ham, and a root beer float."

The server rolled her eyes and left mumbling about college kids.

"You like root beer floats?" Dawn asked.

"Never had one."

Dawn stifled a laugh. "Well, I'm not sure how well it'll go with maple syrup, but we're about to find out." She glanced around the diner. The few other customers were all across the room. "I should have said it earlier, but thanks for trying to help back there. At the park. I didn't mean to snap at you."

"You wanted to handle it yourself. Nothing wrong with that."

"Again, thanks." Dawn glanced back at him. "You confused him, and that's probably the best way to get rid of Jason. At least till I join Buffy in Toronto."

"Not too bright, is he?"

Dawn laughed and eased back in the booth. "No, not too bright, though I'm pretty sure he can't be as dense as he acts. It's just an excuse: Pretend we're still together. When were obviously not."

"So you and he …"

"Yeah," Dawn said. "We were together once. But then I found out what he and his mother were both like. Broke it off."

"But he keeps following you? What's it been now? One, two years?"

"Two. I don't know what his problem is. He doesn't have a problem getting dates with willing girls. Or so he said. So why me?" Dawn said.

"Because you're not willing. Buddy of mine is like that. Not like that—stalking and shit. But if you put him at a party with ten girls, and nine of them are falling over him, he'll make a beeline for number ten, spend the night trying to charm her."

Dawn nodded. "The thrill of the hunt."

"I guess so. He likes the challenge. 'Course, if she tells him to get lost, he does."

"Most guys do," Dawn said. "A chase is fine, but if she fights when cornered, they back off."

Just then their floats arrived. Clayton waited until the server left.

"Has he ever hurt you?" he asked.

Dawn shrugged. "Not really. He sometimes grabs me, like he did in the park. Leaves bruises, but not the 'fear for my life' kind of hurting."

Clayton's jaw worked, and he dropped his gaze, but not before Dawn saw a flash of rage there, so intense it startled her. She had never seen that much rage from anyone except Buffy over her.

"That's bad enough," he said. "You can't let him do that or it'll only get worse."

Dawn's head jerked up. "You think I'm letting him—"

"No." He reached out and, for a second, Dawn thought he was going to put his hand on hers. At the last moment, he plucked a napkin from the dispenser. "I didn't mean it like that. The problem is, the harder you fight, the harder he's going to pursue. You can't give in, and you can't fight back, so you're stuck."

"So I've noticed," Dawn said.

He crumpled the napkin. Then he looked at Dawn. "I could fix this for you. Make sure he doesn't come back. Not kill him—if he isn't threatening your life, then that isn't necessary. But I could make damn sure he never wants to see your face again."

Dawn shook her head. "Thanks, but I still want to try handling it on my own. Besides what is he going to do? Follow me to Toronto?"

"If you change your mind, you let me know."

"I will," Dawn said.

Clay walked her back to her apartment. Luckily Jason wasn't there. Nor did he make good on his "promise" to talk to her later.

Clay and Dawn did go to see a movie that weekend. Had a good time, too, though by now she'd come to expect that. Over the next few weeks, they saw a couple more movies, went out for a few meals, and jogged together almost every other day.

After that night in the diner, Dawn started opening up. At least giving him the rehearsed version of hers and Buffy's history.

As October drew to a close, Dawn became increasingly aware of Clayton's imminent return to Syracuse. They hadn't discussed that. Maybe there was nothing to discuss. His term would come to an end, he'd hand Dawn her final paycheck with a "Nice to know you," and that'd be it.

Dawn held out as long as she could, until exactly two weeks before he was due to leave. She showed up at work to find the office empty. With no note. For a few seconds, she stood by the desk in shock, wondering if he was already gone. Silly, she knew, but he was always there when she arrived for her shift. If he couldn't be, he left a note, telling her he was gone—as if she couldn't see that for herself—and telling her to wait—as if she might take his absence as an opportunity to snag a day off.

So when there was no note, Dawn kind of panicked. Then she saw that his books were still on the shelf. He might leave papers and old journals scattered all over the office when he finally did vacate it, but he'd never abandon his books.

Dawn sat down and started to work. Less than ten minutes later, the door banged open.

"I hope that's not your résumé you're typing," he said as he tossed a file folder onto the desk.

"Not without your permission," Dawn said.

"Good, 'cause I don't give it. You may not revise your résumé."

"I meant I'd need your permission to use your typewriter, not to write the résumé. That I don't need," Dawn said.

"And you need it to use my typewriter? Why? I might complain about you using up the ribbon? Hell, I have a box of them." He dropped into his chair and spun it to face Dawn. "But, back to the original subject, you do not have my permission to revise your résumé. I expressly forbid it."

"Uh-huh. Well, that's great, but I do need a job—" Dawn said.

"You have one."

"After you leave," Dawn said.

"Not leaving."

"What?" Dawn asked.

"Is that disappointment I hear?" He bounced off the chair and scooted his rear onto the desk. "Too bad, 'cause I'm not leaving. The university likes the research paper we're working on, and they want me to finish it here, so they can slap their name on it. Plus Dr. Fromme wants me to keep teaching his fourth-year class. Meaning you're stuck with me until the end of the term."

"Damn," Dawn said.

"Damn?"

"Well, see, there's this other job. Better working conditions. Less demanding boss—" Dawn said.

"You'd better be kidding, because I just went through a helluva lot of work to make sure you kept your job."

"Oh, so you did it for me," Dawn said.

"Of course. You need a job." He jumped off the desk and headed for the door. "So get back to work and earn your keep. I have to meet with Fromme. It might take a while, but I'll be back by lunch, so wait for me." He threw a grin over his shoulder. "You're buying, too. A token of appreciation for your continued employment."

He zipped out the door before Dawn could answer. She sat there, smiling, and then turned back to the typewriter.

At ten, she decided to go grab a coffee. Dawn was pushing the office door when it flew open, nearly sending her into the wall.

"Thanks a helluva—" Dawn began, and then stopped, cheeks heating.

In the doorway stood, not Clay, but one of his students. A guy about Dawn's apparent age with short dreadlocks and an easy grin.

"Sorry about that," he said. "Is Clay—Professor Danvers here? This is his office, right?" A glance over at the paper-littered desk and the grin returned. "Oh, yeah. This is definitely his office."

"You must be in his fourth-year class," Dawn said. "I'm Dawn, his TA."

His brows arched. "TA?"

"Well, TA, receptionist, typist, research assistant. All-round girl Friday, pretty much." Dawn waved at the office. "Housekeeping not included."

As he laughed, Dawn unearthed a pen.

"Professor Danvers has office hours tomorrow, but you can leave a note for him, or I can pencil you in for an appointment."

"Sure, you can pencil me in for an appointment, but will he keep the appointment? That is the question."

Dawn smiled. "Yes, he does keep them. I make sure of that. So can I schedule—?"

"Actually, I'm not a student. I'm a friend of his."

"Oh?" Dawn asked.

"Yes, Clayton has friends. Shocking, isn't it?"

"I didn't mean—" Dawn said.

"No?" He met my gaze, grinning. "Oh, come on. Admit it. Friends and Clay are not words that go together."

"Okay, I was a little surprised. Not that I didn't know he had friends. I just haven't met any of them. And, now that you mention it, I'm going to hazard a guess that you're Logan," Dawn said.

The grin fell away. "Uh, yeah. He's mentioned me?"

Dawn smiled. "Now you're the one who sounds surprised."

"I am. Not that I'm not perfectly mentionable, but Clay doesn't usually talk about his personal life. Huh. Well—" He looked around. "So what kind of— Oh, wait, you were going somewhere when I rudely barged in, weren't you?"

"Just to grab a coffee," Dawn said.

"Perfect. I could use one…and I have no clue where to find it here. Mind if I tag along?"

"Sure. Or I could bring you back one—" Dawn said.

"I've just spent six hours in the car. Please don't ask me to sit and wait."

Dawn smiled. "I won't, then. Come on."

After they got their coffees, Logan persuaded Dawn to sit in the cafeteria. Logan was one of those people with the gift for making you feel, almost from the first word, that you've known him for years. So they sat and talked, mostly about school. He was also in his third year, at Northwestern, which gave them plenty of common ground.

"You live on campus or off?" he asked halfway through our coffees.

"Off. My sister and I have an apartment," Dawn said.

"Same here. And I bet I know the reason you live with your sister. DMFH, right?"

"Hmm?" Dawn asked.

"DMFH. Dorm mate from hell. There's gotta be a better acronym, but that's the best I could come up with on the fly. So how bad was yours?"

"I've never lived in the dorms," Dawn said. "Buffy and I always shared the apartment. Ever since our parents died and she had to raise me by herself."

"Oh," Logan said. "Sorry to hear that, about your parents I mean."

"Thanks." Dawn smiled. "It was a long time ago. I've since had time to grieve and move on with my life."

"So you're a serious student, right? Obviously, if you're a TA. You work your ass off because that's what college is for—learning and getting a job, not an all-expense-paid party tour."

"Sometimes I wish it was," Dawn said. She and Buffy had a tidy amount of cash saved up. After all what else did they have to spend the money on over the course of the last two hundred years. It was how Dawn kept going to college every twenty years or so. The money was used primarily for that so they both got jobs to make it last and used the jobs for paying the bills.

"But it isn't. Especially if you're paying your own way. You are, I'll bet. Otherwise, you sure as hell wouldn't take a job with Clay."

Dawn smiled. "Actually I got a trust that pays for college. I took the job to pay for living expenses."

"Me, too. Well, someone's helping me, but I have every intention of paying him back. Point is that we've paid for this education, and we're damned well going to get the most out of it. So we're guaranteed to get dorm mates who don't give a shit, who stay up all night, expect us to get up quietly in the morning, blast music while we're trying to study, give their friends the room key…. Happens to me every year."

"Wish I could say, same here. While Buffy does tend to get on my nerves from time to time. She's not that bad. She wants me to go to college. Get my degree. She had to drop out when our parents died. So she never got the chance to finish. So she wants to make sure the same thing doesn't happen to me. Makes sure I have quiet for my studies."

"That's good," said Logan. "Wish I had that kind of dorm mate."

A flash of motion across the cafeteria caught Dawn's eye. Dawn looked to see Clayton barreling toward them, eyes blazing, mouth set in a grim line.

"Looks like Clay got my note," Dawn said. "But I don't think his meeting went very well."

Logan glanced over and grimaced. "No, I do believe that scowl is intended for me." He looked around. "Think it's too late for a speedy escape?"

"'Fraid so," Dawn said.

"Damn. Hold on, then. I'm about to get blasted."