Joyce gazed out her kitchen window as she washed her hands. She just finished the final touches on her somewhat elaborate picnic lunch and hoped to determine if her daughter completed her assigned chores. Through the glass, the older Summers woman watched the younger one sitting in the sunlight. As asked, Buffy had cleaned the small picnic table and chairs. The teen had set the table with cheerful colored heavy plastic plates and cups that Joyce had found on sale. She had placed the handy basket of matching silverware and cloth napkins on the edge of the table and even unfurled the small umbrella designed to shade the table from the bright rays. The teen's efforts lent the area a friendly and festive air.
Once completed with her chore, the younger Summers had settled on the bright, new cushion of their older, wire-framed chaise lounge. She sat silently with her eyes closed and her arms wrapped around her contracted legs. It was a position that Joyce had come to know well. She had seen it a number of times in the past weeks. It was a closed and guarded position much like everything else about her daughter. Joyce fought the tears that threatened to rise once more. She felt like such a failure. Every day for the past three weeks, she watched her daughter slip through her days in an ever tightening ball of isolation. No matter what she tried, Buffy would not speak to her about what was bothering her. The distress parent could not help but wonder when she had lost her darling little girl. She was only now starting to realize that it might have been long before she was attacked but the situation had been more pronounced since Buffy's release from the hospital.
Joyce did not consider herself a fool. She was pretty sure what the issues her daughter was avoiding but prying any reactions or responses from her mostly silent daughter was a harder task than she ever would have imagined. Mrs. Summers sighed. Indecision plagued her thoughts as duty and desire fought against each other in her mind. School finished over a week ago although Buffy had not returned after her release from the hospital. Mr. Giles had kindly assisted Joyce in securing permission for her daughter to take her finals from the security of home. The concerned librarian had even acted as her proctor for the tests and ensured that the school accepted the scores and some late work so that Buffy could be promoted along with her classmates to her junior year. The situation had benefited Buffy greatly. In fact, Joyce suspected that the school librarian might have offered a few hints here and there on the finals because her daughter's grades actually improved on her final report card.
According to her custody agreement, Joyce needed to send her daughter to Los Angeles to spend the summer with Hank when the school year finished. With the recent attack heavy on her mind, she was reluctant to comply. On one hand, she worried that Buffy's father would not provide the support that their daughter so obviously needed. After witnessing the teen's withdrawn state, she had called and requested an extra week before Hank arrived to take Buffy home with him. The busy executive readily agreed so that he did not need to worry about driving down for follow-up doctor appointments from Buffy's hospital stay. On the other hand, Joyce wondered if visiting LA might benefit her daughter more than staying in Sunnydale. The change of setting might be what was needed to help her start to heal. Resigned, Joyce admitted to herself that if the time with her father didn't lead to some improvement that she might be forced to have her daughter returned to the mental health facility. The doctors and staff had helped Buffy deal with her delusions about vampires and monsters so perhaps they could help her deal with her current trauma too.
Thinking about the bleak future possibilities made her head hurt. She didn't want to deal with it now. She didn't have time. Pushing the unwanted stress aside, Joyce tapped on the window in hopes of catching her daughter's attention. Buffy immediately turned her head towards the glass that hid her mother from view. In the past, the teen would have rolled her eyes or pouted over her mother's summons. Instead of the anticipated teenage drama, Buffy unfolded from her sunny seat and headed toward the kitchen door. She entered the room from the back porch as Joyce placed the last of the picnic meal into the refrigerator.
"Our guest will be here soon. Don't you think you should change?" her mother prompted amiably.
Buffy glanced down at her clothes. Despite the sun and temperature, the teen wore a faded pair of blue overalls fastened over a dark green, long sleeved, ribbed shirt. It seemed to be one of her favorite outfits over the past couple weeks.
"I figured I would just wear this," Buffy replied with a shrug.
Joyce's lips pressed together.
"Why don't you wear that new sundress I bought you this week," she directed as she mixed sugar into some fresh brewed tea and added ice. Joyce had taken her daughter shopping after her release from the hospital. She had anticipated that some retail therapy would snap Buffy from her withdrawn attitude. Trips to the mall normally sparked an interest in her clothes conscious daughter. It hadn't worked like Joyce had hoped. Not even the purchase of strappy designer sandals that she really could not afford had lifted the teen's spirits. "It's lovely today and you will look beautiful in it," Joyce added in hopes of coaxing her daughter to change.
Buffy wrinkled her nose.
"Detective Ricci has seen me black and blue and bloody in shredded formal wear. I somehow doubt he expects me to be all proper now."
"Buffy!" Joyce huffed in response to her daughter's harsh words and attitude. "We invited Antonio here as a thank you for him saving your life. The least you can do is dress nicely."
Buffy stared at her mother for a few heartbeats. Her expression shifted from annoyed to resigned as the teen stared at her mother's determined look.
"Whatever," she groused before heading from the kitchen and up the steps to her room.
Joyce sighed once more and pinched the bridge of her nose as she tried to relieve the stress headache blossoming behind her eyes as a result all her worrying. For just a moment, the older Summers contemplated forgetting the picnic and going back to bed. She glanced to the counter where a half filled bottle of schnapps waited. With her head pounding, a drink to relieve her stress suddenly seemed like a great idea.
The doorbell sounded and interrupted her repeating catalog of mental concerns and possible escapes. Removing her apron from her own carefully chosen outfit, Joyce moved towards the front door. Swinging it open, Mrs. Summers offered her guest a brilliant smile.
"I am so glad that you were able to come," she greeted enthusiastically as she motioned the officer into the dimly lit foyer.
Detective Ricci returned her glowing smile with a slightly self conscious one of his own. He offered her a dark bottle.
"Sparkling cider," he explained with a wry grin. "Teenager and picnic friendly."
Joyce took the bottle with a pleasant return of thanks.
"Good afternoon, Buffy," Detective Ricci called as he noticed the teen moving silently down the stairs behind her mother.
"Hey Officer Friendly," the Slayer returned in greeting with a teasing expression pasted on her face as she reached the bottom steps. The warm smile was fake but she knew it was what her mother expected of her. Her eyes remained dull and her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her soft knit sweater.
"Buffy," her mother warned in embarrassment only to have their guest chuckle.
"That's Detective Friendly," Antonio returned with a teasing grin that crinkled the laugh lines around his eyes and dimpled his one cheek. Joyce felt her chest tighten slightly and her breath catch in response to the gentleman's almost playful exchange. For a moment, the older Summers woman felt nervous and a bit giddy. She blushed slightly and suppressed the desire to giggle like her daughter used to respond to a cute boy. The reaction surprised Joyce. It had been a long time since she had reacted in such a manner. Stealing another glance at Antonio who was still smiling at her daughter, she wasn't sure if she enjoyed the reaction or not.
Unaware of her mother's dilemma, Buffy acknowledged the detective's return needle with a nod and the slightest quirk of her lips that revealed a tiny hint of true amusement instead of the facade the teen had worn previously. It was the first faint hint of pleasure she had found since leaving the hospital.
Recovering her senses, Joyce slipped into hostess mode and shuffled the other two through the house and to the back yard. At Joyce's direction, Detective Ricci moved out the back door and onto the small porch. Before Buffy could follow, her mother grasped her arm.
"I thought I asked you to change into something nice," Joyce hissed in a frustrated whisper.
Buffy glanced down at the point where her mother held her sweater encased arm. As instructed, the teen had changed from her somewhat sloppy yet comfortable clothes to a dressy pair of gray slacks, a fashionable pair of boots and a loose knit sweater. The kind detective's gifted gold cross rested against her collarbone and matched the small gold hoops she wore in her ears.
"I did," the teen replied softly as she shifted her arm loose from her mother's grip.
Joyce sighed before reminding her daughter that she had expected her to wear the dress she just purchased for her. Self consciously, Buffy tugged at the long sleeve of her sweater but offered no response to her mother's concern.
"The bruises and stuff have faded," Joyce stressed as she realized how little skin her daughter's recent outfits showed.
Buffy raised one of her shoulders in a half-hearted shrug.
"Don't you think we should be worried about Our Guest," she replied in hopes of deflecting her mother's sudden interest in her clothes. She knew that the outward physical manifestations of her attack disappeared days ago compliments of her enhanced healing powers. The bruises, cuts and scraps were never a reason for her choice of attire, but the teen was not prepared to discuss her current emotional state with her mother. For too long, Buffy had been forced to keep her struggles as the Slayer a secret from her parent. The teen no longer felt capable of sharing her closely guarded insecurities with her. Joyce might be her mother but in her daughter's mind she had broken her trust when Buffy attempted to share her concerns when first called. The damage to their relationship prevented the teen from seeking emotional support from her mother in this situation. If she did not share then her plea for support could not be chastised or ignored.
Turning from the unwanted concern, Buffy headed into the back yard calling this time to Detective Friendly to see if he wanted something to drink. Frustrated yet again at her daughter's continued closed attitude, Joyce followed her lead and turned her attention to making Detective Ricci feel comfortable and appreciated. Being a proper hostess came naturally for the art gallery professional. The mothering thing was what made her flounder.
In spite of the undercurrent of unease between the Summers females, the picnic luncheon flowed smoothly. The weather was the perfect mix of sun and heat cooled comfortably by a gentle breeze and the shade of the picnic table umbrella. Joyce created a tasty collection of food and shared tales of her gallery work and a few silly stories about Buffy's childhood. In turn, the detective gave little glimpses into growing up in Western Pennsylvania in a large Italian family only one generation from immigration. Antonio enjoyed the food. As the meal progressed found himself at ease enough to flirt a bit with his hostess. For her part, Joyce found the attention flattering and quite enjoyable. From her side of the table, Buffy added a few minor comments, listened to the discussions and actually ate most of the food on her plate.
Joyce had just returned from the kitchen with strawberry pie and fresh whipped cream when the situation degraded once more. She returned to the table to find Detective Ricci sitting alone and rolling his now empty glass of sparkling cider back and forth between his hands. Buffy had moved to the lounge chair and was staring off into space and generally ignoring any possible junior hostess duties. Joyce placed the pie and cream a bit sharply on the table before calling to her daughter in a curt voice laced with disappointment. The cream sank further into the bowl as Buffy rolled her head towards her mother. When her mom attempted to gently remind her of the responsibilities of entertaining guests, Buffy just rolled her eyes.
Joyce flushed with equal parts embarrassment and anger.
"You're the reason we invited him here, Buffy. The least you could do is offer some conversation for the time it took me to fix the whipped cream."
Joyce never noticed the tightening of her daughter's lips as she turned and offered a short apology to their once again uncomfortable guest.
Buffy listened to her mother for a few seconds before she could not handle the building pressure any longer. She suddenly turned and stomped from the picnic area and around the side of the house. Detective Ricci's dark eyes followed her silent flight before turning his attention back to the teen's mother who was once again apologizing.
"Please forgive Buffy. She really was raised to have better manners."
Joyce signed in frustration.
"I just don't seem to reach her anymore. Even before..." Joyce wavered as she struggled to find a less painful word to describe what had happened to her daughter. "Well... even before..."
"She didn't use to be like this," Joyce over-explained when she found herself unable to verbalize all the churning fears and frustrations running rampant in her mind.
Antonio's hand patted Joyce's tense fingers gently.
"You really love your daughter," he comforted. "You hurt because she is hurting. I understand."
"You don't need to worry about me though. I am a big boy," he teased softly. "I can take a little silence if the company is right."
Joyce nodded her silent thanks.
"How about you cut me some pie and I will go check on Buffy," Ricci offered as he stood.
Joyce immediately tried to counter his offer and insisted that she should go check on her. The detective patted her shoulder and shook his head.
"Sometimes it works better coming from someone outside the mental battleground," he replied.
Although she still believed it was her duty to go, Joyce softly agreed and Antonio followed Buffy's path around the house.
He found her sitting on the front porch with her fists clenched tightly in her lap and her shoulders and arms shaking in unexpressed emotion.
"Do you mind if I join you?" Antonio asked softly while leaning against the white wooden post on the brick base for the porch entry.
"Supposed to be a free country," Buffy stated in reply as she moved across the stone steps to the opposite side of the short stair.
The detective joined her on the step and leaned his shoulder against the support on his side. He sat silently and stared at his scuffed sneakers while listening to the teen fidget nervously. When he noticed that Buffy's breathing had leveled to an even and steady rate, he lifted his head and stared across the front yard. He took a fortifying breath and hoped he was about to do the right thing.
"There are a lot of clueless people in the world," he started in as soothing a tone as he could muster. "They will live and love, laugh and cry, lose loved ones and direction, find faith and become lost. Despite all these enjoyable highs and devastating lows, most of them will live their entire lives and never be truly touched by evil. They will never invite the wrong person into their home. They will never go to the store one night because they crave a chocolate bar and never come back. They will never stand over the mutilated body of someone they love and know that they were helpless to save them."
Antonio glanced at the teen at his side who had leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her knees in a crunched impersonation of a ball. She did not look at the older man but he knew that she was listening and not just hearing his words.
"They will never face the monsters you faced in that alley. They will never know."
"You're not wrong," muttered Buffy as her fingers plucked at the hem of her pants so that they lay perfectly against her boot tops. The teen flashed on a number of truly evil monsters she had slayed since being called. She could not contain her snort of disgust. She was beginning to believe that the masses were all mindless sheep unable to see beyond their own noses. At the same time, she wondered briefly why she bothered to save them. She could not destroy them all. Her eyes welled up with tears that she fought fiercely to keep from falling. Buffy's chest contracted as she realized that even if she killed every single demon and vampire in the world that there would still be monsters hiding in the alleys.
"I know I'm not," the detective confirmed gently. "Just like I know that there is something about what happened to you that you are not sharing."
Buffy raised her head and stared at the compassionate man. In her heart, she knew he was clueless just like the other members of the masses but for a moment, she was tempted to rip away his blinders. No matter how she tried to close herself from others, a not so tiny part of her still desired the support and affection she felt had abandoned her.
"I... I..." she stammered as she tried to find a reply that would not merit Detective Ricci believing her a complete crack pot. Visions of dusting vampires bubbled through her thoughts and threatened to escape on her tongue.
"I have been a cop as long as you have been alive. Nothing you can say would surprise me," Antonio pledged.
"Wouldn't bet money on it," Buffy responded with a tinge of anger in her tone.
Detective Ricci turned and crossed his arms over his chest. His demeanor suddenly seemed to scream of smug superiority. It rankled against the teen's already jagged nerves.
"Try me," he challenged.
"A giant preying mantis ate the head of my biology teacher," she stated with a bit of her own smug arrogance leaking into her voice as she waited for his denial.
Instead of an instant exclamation of disbelief, Ricci nodded as if he understood. Buffy narrowed her eyes as she tried to tell if the adult was attempting to humor what he though was a distraught kid. Unfortunately, her Slayer skills gave her no insight into the detective's intentions. She continued to stare at the large man whose eyes were no longer twinkling with humor or smugness. Instead, they seemed to be shrouded in sadness.
"My daughter would be nineteen this year," Antonio offered in response. "She would have been gorgeous. Just like her mom but with a heart to match. Tall with long black hair and dark eyes that teased and cajoled until she had every male in her life wrapped around her finger and the sweet disposition to never take advantage of the fact."
Antonio shifted his gaze to stare unseeing at the street instead of meeting Buffy's eyes. His hands unfolded from his chest and rested on the worn knees of his blue jeans.
"She will never be nineteen," he explained in a sorrowful voice that increased in accent as he spoke. "She will always be thirteen. Always stuck there because, best that I can assume, her mother invited the wrong person into their home."
"It had been my weekend to have Trista so her mother had been free to pursue other company. I brought Trista home late Sunday afternoon. It was less than a half hour before the sun would set. I walked her to the door. Watched her unlock it. Kissed her good-bye and watched her go inside and listened to her lock the door just like we did every week."
A painful sigh escaped from Antonio's lips as guilt built in his stomach despite the time passed.
"It was better that way. By then, her mother, Nicola, and I were not able to spend more than a few moments in each others company without fighting. We thought we were saving Trista the stress."
Buffy noticed the tears rimming the detective's dark eyes and she felt her own tears escape down her cheeks with the addition of Antonio's pain to her own. She had a good idea where the story was headed. All that she missed were the details.
"I left. I had gotten about half way home when I realized that my daughter forgot her library book. I turned the car around and took it back to her. When I got there, no one answered the door when I knocked although Nicola's car was in the driveway. I tried the door and it opened even though I had heard Trista lock it. I walked into the home I used to share with my daughter and wife and found Trista crumpled on the floor. I rushed to her but it was already too late. My beautiful girl was gone."
Antonio continued his tale as he explained to the teen that both his ex-wife and his daughter had died from exsanguination caused by vicious wounds to the neck. He added that his wife had been dead for over a day and that whoever killed her had stayed in the house after the murder. Buffy's eyes widened at the explanation and suddenly understood the detective's acceptance of her giant preying mantis claim. The Slayer's chest tightened when he explained that his wife's body disappeared from the morgue before an autopsy could be performed. The murders were never solved.
"There wasn't enough blood on the scene for them to have simply bled to death," Antonio added as he once more made eye contact with his silent audience of one.
"They were drained by something," he stressed. "There are way more monsters in the world than most can imagine."
This time it was Antonio's turn to snort in disgust.
"And there isn't enough PCP in California to account for the gang violence in this town," he added. The experienced detective might not understand what the underlying cause of the high rate of unexplainable crime in Sunnydale but he did have an inkling as to the true perpetrators.
Buffy swiped away the tears from her cheeks with the cuff of her sweater. She stood and moved in an attempt to release the agitation coursing through her body.
"This town sucks," she stated vehemently as she continued to move around the small patch of grass in front of her home.
"Literally and figuratively," the detective confirmed as he too stood. Unlike the frustrated Slayer, Antonio had faced his demons years ago and found a center of peace in the ever present pain. He leaned against the post once more as he asked if they would need to remove their blinders to find the monsters who hurt her.
Buffy stopped pacing. Her lower lip quivered slightly as she answered him as honestly as she felt comfortable sharing. She rubbed her opposite arms with her hands as if cold.
"The monsters in the alley were the kind that walk down the street in the sunlight."
Antonio nodded in understanding and did not push any further. He still suspected that the teen was still hiding something but correctly assumed that she had covered all she would share for the moment. He was a patient man and was beginning to genuinely care for the injured teen and her overwhelmed mother. With that kernel of affection growing inside his heart, Ricci figured he would stick around more than long enough to convince Buffy to share the rest of her fears.
Buffy spun in an attempt to release the churning energy and emotions swirling dangerously in her body.
"I need to go for a bit," she almost pleaded to the detective although she realized that he had no real say in her actions.
"Understandable," Ricci replied before lowering his voice to reflect an almost conspiratal level. "Promise to return before dusk and I will do my best to distract your mother from launching a search and tying you up with her apron strings when she catches you."
"I promise to return soon."
"Before dusk," he stressed in a voice that reflected the lack of negotiation to the fact.
"Sun of the good. Dark of the bad," Buffy recited with an attempt at a playful smile.
Antonio offered the teen his trust with a simple nod of his head. Grabbing the offering with the tattered strength still rushing through her body, the Slayer fled from her yard. The older man watched her disappear down the block before heading back to the remaining emotionally distressed Summers woman. He hoped he might do some good on that front too.
Buffy ran. The warm summer heat pulled at her body and sweat slicked her skin under her warm outfit. She ignored the discomfort and concentrated on breathing. Sidewalk gave way to freshly cut grass as the Slayer left behind the residential streets to sprint through a local park. Around her, children played in the sunshine while adults watched the younger ones. Buffy ducked under the arc of a Frisbee and ignored the calls of the two middle school kids playing catch with the flying disc. The teen slalommed through the playground equipment dodging the slide, swings, and see-saw like a downhill professional. She lifted her head from the obstacles as she leaped over the sizable sandbox and increased her speed as she entered another open space.
Scanning the remaining park visitors, her eyes seemed drawn to a large shade tree sheltering a traditional wooden picnic table. Her legs stopped moving and her arms stopped pumping. Buffy froze in place. She stared at the young man sitting on the center of the top of the weathered picnic table with a dappled pattern of sunlight painting his skin. She gasped and the musician lifted his head from practicing his fingering on his instrument. For a moment the two teens stared at each other in a strange shock.
"You're you," Buffy stated with just a hint of accusation in her wavering voice.
The left side of the musician's mouth quirked just slightly.
"Last time I checked," he replied as he gently set his guitar back in its case by hip before sliding towards one side of the table. The currently red-haired teen glanced at the now open side of the picnic table then glanced back at the still frozen blond. When Buffy still did not move after his silent invitation, he stared at her really hard then moved his gaze back to the table. The male then returned his attention to his companion.
A tight smile settled on her lips as the Slayer finally moved. She silently swept over the summer thick grass and took a seat on the table top. She remained out of direct reach of the musician from her dream. She clasped her hands in her lap and stared at her fingers for a few moments. When she finally lifted her head, her companion was staring across the park towards the playground.
Unfolding her arms, Buffy leaned towards her silent company. She poked him a bit roughly in the arm.
"Hey," he muttered as he jumped slightly and then rubbed the small red spot on his upper arm. His green eyes glared a bit warily at her now.
"You're real, huh?" she asked although the question seemed more like a statement. "This isn't another wacky dream, right?"
"Not sleeping this time," the male replied. "So we must both be real."
"To steal the words of a friend, good heavens," Buffy answered with a bit of awe coating her voice. "So... am I right in thinking you dreamed me and I dreamed you?"
The musician nodded.
"Not my normal way of meeting folks but I guess it works in a crunch. Oh... yeah... my name is Buffy," the blond added as she realized that even though she had dreamed of the short young man that she still had no clue who he was.
He answered her implied question succinctly.
"Oz."
Feeling a bit uncomfortable now that she knew the guy was real and had shared a dream with her, Buff slid further down the table top. She shifted her body until she was sitting cross-legged on the weathered top. She rested her elbows on her knees and propped her chin on her hands.
"So what do you remember about the dream?" she prompted.
Oz shifted to run his hand through his hair and he noticed the blond's unconscious flinch. He stopped his movement and returned his hand to his lap. He contemplated her in silence for a moment before moving once again. In deference to the blond's obvious desire to distance herself from him, Oz shifted his guitar case until it formed a barrier between them. He then shifted completely onto the tabletop also so that he could face Buffy. He contemplated her question for a few moments before answering.
"I remember that I wasn't tired and then suddenly I was. I curled up in a chair and was out. No relaxing. No eyes closed listening to sound. Just out. Then I was sitting on the table practicing and you were there. Talked. It was weird. I knew you but I didn't really."
"Like I knew you even though I didn't," interrupted Buffy. "Right?"
Oz nodded once to show agreement.
"So did you feel all Day Spa Voo-ing when you sat down here today?"
His lip quirked again at the French language butchering offered by the blond but he didn't correct her.
"No spa-ing for me," he dead panned.
Buffy frowned.
"Me neither," she confirmed. She scrunched her nose up and wiggled her lips as she considered the first part of her second Vacuity dream.
"In the dream, you said you were a potential friend. Is that because you felt it? Like fate or something for us to meet?"
"Not sure I believe in Fate," Oz countered.
"So you don't think I was destined to get frustrated today and take a run to calm down and meet you here on a picnic table in the warm sun with the smell of cut grass hanging in the air?"
The red-haired musician shook his head in the negative.
"Maybe we would have met at the Bronze this summer when the Dingos play," Oz postulated. "Or maybe I would have run over you dog with my van. Or maybe I would have bumped into your best friend and fallen instantly in love. All sorts of ways we could have met. Sunnydale isn't that big. Perhaps our meeting was just statistically inevitable."
Buffy snorted.
"I hate math so no statistics," she stated as she held up her fingers to count off her points. "I am going to LA for the summer, my mom won't let me have a dog, my best friend is totally crushing on my other best friend and I have been here for half a year and this is the first time we crossed paths."
"Guess Fate it is," Oz quipped with a tip of his head to concede her points.
"Or it could just be a freak coincidence," Buffy offered with a tentative grin.
Offering just the hint of a return smile, Oz replied "I am all for considering the freak."
"Hmm, freak... kinda describes my life," admitted the Slayer.
"Yeah, I might have guessed that what with the god possession dream," Oz countered. "What was with that anyway? Did you ever get your answers?"
"I actually did. A nice man in an old person suit was kind enough to help me out."
"Care to share?" prompted the musician.
Buffy gently chewed on her lower lip for a moment as she considered his request. Giles was always stressing how she shouldn't share her identity with just anyone. Even though their meeting in the dream place seemed to reinforce the fact that she could trust him, the Slayer was reluctant to lay all her cards on the table with someone she just met. She hadn't even admitted the content of her last Vacuity dream with her watcher or her best friends. In fact, she had been avoiding them since her release from the hospital. The blond loathed the thought of explaining the encounter with the Entity which allowed her to wake from her coma instead of just slipping slowly into death.
Finally, the young woman shook her head. "Perhaps I can share when we are more than potential friends?"
Oz returned her frank expression with one of his own. Buffy waited for the inevitable disappointment. She was sure her new companion was sure to demand an explanation.
"I can respect that," he simply replied.
A tiny smile curled along Buffy's lips at his easy acceptance. At least for now, easy was what she needed.