Chapter 4: Date

Clay strode to the table.

"Clayton," Logan said, smiling up at him. "About time you—"

"I want to talk to you."

"Well, then, you're in luck, because that's what we were doing. Talking." With his foot, he pushed out a chair—the one on the far side of the table. "Dawn and I were just about to swap roommate horror stories. Did you ever get a bad one?"

Dawn grinned up at Clay. "Or were you the bad one?"

"I want to talk to you," Clay said. "In private."

Dawn pushed her chair back. "You guys don't need me hanging around. I should get back to work—"

"No," Clay said, touching her elbow as she started standing. "You stay. Finish your coffee. I just want to talk to Logan for a minute."

Dawn hesitated.

"Stay," Clay said. "I can talk to Logan later."

Dawn hesitated another moment, studying his face, then sat down, and pulled out the chair beside hers. Clay took it.

They spent the next hour talking. Logan did most of it. Dawn always managed to bring it back to a three-way conversation. After the first half-hour, Dawn noticed as Clay started watching the clock.

At 11:45, Clay cut Logan short. "Dawn? We have to get lunch or you'll be late for your next class. Logan? There's food here, food on north side of campus, and food back in my apartment. I'll meet up with you at my office later." Clay took his keys from his pocket. "You want these?"

Dawn looked at Clay, brow knitting, and she knew she'd committed some social misdemeanor. She glanced at Logan for a clue, but he rubbed at a smile and avoided her gaze.

"I'm sure you want to eat with Logan," Dawn said.

"Not really."

Logan choked on a laugh. "And you wonder why you've never met any of his friends before?"

Clay glared over at him. "If you'd called or otherwise told me you were coming, I'd have left lunch free. But I have plans. I'm buying Dawn lunch to celebrate her continued employment."

"I thought I had to buy lunch," Dawn said.

"I was kidding."

"Good," Logan said. "'Cause you'd put the poor girl in hock. Have you seen how much he eats?"

"I have," Dawn said. "Which is why I'd planned to take him to McDonald's."

"Well, consider yourself saved from that fate, 'cause I'm buying," Logan said. "You're the townie, Dawn, so you pick the place. My mom sent me a check this week, which is how I could afford the gas money to get up here. Every few months she remembers she has a son and sends guilt money, some of which I promptly blow on the most frivolous, unnecessary expenses I can find. That way, neither of us feels guilty about it."

Dawn laughed.

"Shall we go?" Logan said, grabbing Dawn's empty coffee cup. "What time's your class?"

"One-thirty," Dawn said.

"Lots of time, then. Is it journalism?"

Dawn nodded. "Advanced interviewing techniques."

"Oooh, could use some of those in my prelaw course. I'll sit in on it with you."

"You can't do that," Clay said. "It's against the rules."

"Words we never thought we'd hear Clayton Danvers say," Logan said. "Profs don't care if you sit in—not if you ask them first and ask nicely. If I get in shit, I promise not to mention your name. Now come on. I have fifty bucks burning a hole in my pocket, and I intend to have it gone by one-thirty."

After Dawn's class, she returned to finish her shift. Not that she got much work done, between answering Logan's endless questions about hers and Clay's project and arguing with Clay over the interpretation of data.

At five-thirty, Dawn left for dinner. Logan tried to persuade her to join them, but she insisted she had enough homework to last her into the night.

That night, Dawn and Clay went for a run. Afterward, they found a grassy spot overlooking the water and ate the subs and sodas they'd brought along.

"So you like Logan?" Clay asked.

"Sure. He's a nice guy." Dawn smiled. "Easy to get along with, you know?"

"So you like him."

"Didn't I just say—?" Dawn caught his expression and choked on a mouthful of sandwich. "Not like that. Is that what it seemed like? I hope he didn't think—"

"He didn't."

"Good." Dawn leaned back against a tree trunk. "That's the problem sometimes. You meet a guy, and think he's nice, but you need to worry about how that will be interpreted. Sometimes I'm interested because I'm, well, interested. Most times, though, it's just because I think he's nice."

Not that Dawn was interested that much. Sure she went out with guys. But mostly she was leading them on. She didn't stay with a guy long enough anymore to be truly interested. She didn't want to have to watch someone she had fallen for die. But when it came to Clay he had a way of slipping through her barriers. And she couldn't help being interested in him.

Clay looked across the water, then over at Dawn. "And what about me?"

"Do I think you're nice?" Dawn said. "Yes. In your own way, I think you're pretty nice."

Clay leaned over, and his mouth found hers before they even realized what they were doing. And Dawn kissed back. He pulled back. "Shit, I'm sorry."

Dawn blinked. "S—sorry?"

"I didn't mean— If this isn't what you want—"

Dawn leaned over and kissed him, her arms going around her neck. She knew she shouldn't, not this close to when she and Buffy were changing identities. But she couldn't help herself as she felt him kiss her back. A few minutes later, she eased out of his arms and smiled. "And that, I hope, clears up any confusion."

"It does."

Dawn smiled. "It does, doesn't it? I wasn't sure myself, but—" She looked up at him. "I think I've figured it out."

Someone laughed and they both jumped. Dawn stretched out her magical senses. Several kids were approaching, and their auras said they were drunk.

"Kids coming," Clay said. "You wanna head back to my apartment?"

"No …" Dawn said as she thought he would want to…

"No, not for sex. I just want—" Clay shrugged. "You know, to spend more time with you."

"Me, too. I mean with you, not with me. I like spending time—I'd like to spend more time—" Dawn pulled a face. "Blah. I think my tongue's gone on vacation."

"Is that a yes, then? Head back to my apartment and hang out there awhile? No strings attached. I'd tell you if there were."

"Like 'Hey, do you want to go back to my apartment for sex?'" Dawn said.

"Exactly."

Dawn laughed. "You probably would, too."

For a moment, Dawn just looked at him. What was she doing? She knew she shouldn't get too attached. But yet she wanted to spend time with him, get to know him, and yes maybe fall in love again. She pushed to her feet and brushed herself off. Clay followed her to the path.

The next month spun past like a carousel ride. New emotions, new sensations, new thoughts, everything so blindingly new, a merry-go-round of first love, all bright colors and laughter and music and, occasionally, a slightly queasy feeling, as if it was all just a little too much to take.

It wasn't perfect, but the flaws kept it real. Of course, that didn't keep Dawn from worrying about them, especially with the rapidly approaching date of the identity change and move to Toronto.

First, Clay was possessive. Maybe that's not the right word. More like he was jealous of my time. He liked being together. A lot. If Dawn wasn't in class or in her apartment sleeping, he wanted to be with her.

Another sign he did not want her to spend time with her friends, not that she truly had many. Like when it came to boyfriends and lovers. Dawn kept friends at a distance. So she only had a handful, the ones willing to get past her barriers.

Clay kept their relationship a secret from his family and friends just as Dawn had kept it from Buffy. While they didn't say why they hid it from their families and friends to each other. They both knew there was something that they weren't telling each other also.

They had their first rough spot right after his next trip home. He'd called Dawn five times that weekend. The first time, from the airport in Syracuse, he'd sounded fine, bitching about the flight, normal Clay stuff. The next two calls had been furtive and short. She could picture him in some back room, whispering for fear of being overheard, and she'd started getting angry, wondering why he'd bothered calling at all.

The next call was clipped, almost angry, as if she'd done something to piss him off. She'd blasted him for that. Dawn told him he was under no obligation to call her when he was away and if this was how he was going to act when he did call, she'd rather he didn't. Then she hung up.

Two hours later he'd called back—from a pay phone, judging by the background street noise. He'd talked then, talked and talked, as if desperate to keep Dawn on the line.

None of it made any sense and by the time he returned, Dawn's gut was twisting, her brain feeding her all those little warnings she tried so hard not to hear, telling her something was wrong, wrong with them and wrong with him, and why the hell wasn't she taking the hint? She had even turned off her magical senses when it came to Clay.

Dawn didn't sleep much Sunday night, and barely heard a word the prof said in her first class Monday. She spent the whole period glancing at her watch. When class ended, she was the first one out the door. She zipped over to Clay's office. Only when she could see his door did she slow down. It was cracked open, as it always was when he was expecting her.

Dawn stepped inside and he was across the room, leaning over the typewriter, fiddling with the keys. Even when she closed the door with a loud click, he didn't turn. "Jamming on you again?" Dawn said, forcing the disappointment from her voice. "Here, let me—"

"I got in last night," he said, still bent over the machine.

Dawn stopped. "Well, that's good. That's when you were supposed to get in, wasn't it?"

"I thought you'd come to see me."

"When? Your flight didn't arrive until two," Dawn said.

He said nothing, just kept playing with the typewriter.

Dawn gripped her backpack, knuckles whitening as the trepidation in her gut hardened into anger. "I had an eight o'clock class," she said. "You expected me to meet your plane at two A.M.?"

He turned and rubbed his mouth. "Yeah, I guess not. I'm sor—"

"And even if I didn't have an early class, how the hell would I get to the airport? Pay twenty bucks for a cab?" Dawn said.

"I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."

He stepped toward Dawn, but she backpedaled, lifting her backpack to her chest as her mind suddenly flipped through a myriad of barrier spells. He looked down at the backpack, then up at her.

"I didn't expect you to meet me at the airport," he said. "I just— I wanted to see you. If I didn't make plans, like meeting you for breakfast, then that's my fault."

Dawn let the backpack slide down. He crossed the few feet between them, arms going around her.

"I missed you," he said.

Dawn lifted her mouth to his. The moment their lips touched, it was like a dam breaking and he grabbed her, kissing her hard, pushing her back against the bookcase. When she tensed, he pulled back, breathing ragged, gaze searching hers.

"I missed you, too," Dawn said as she lifted her hands to the back of his head and kissed him.

"I'm sorry," he said. "This weekend. It was just…I don't know."

"Did something happen?" Dawn asked.

"No. It's … I had a rough time. I wanted to be there, but I wanted to be here, too."

Dawn took his hand and walked to the desk, and backed her rear onto it. He did the same, then shifted against her, forearm resting on her leg, hand on her knee. "You've never been away this long, have you?" she said. "From home, I mean."

"I guess that's part of it. I'm happy here, but when I go back, I'm reminded that I miss being there, and at the same time I miss you." He shook his head. "It'll work out. I'm doing okay. Better than usual. When I was away at college, I hated it. Loved the education part, the classes and all that, but once my day was over, I'd just pace in my dorm room, going nuts, wishing I was home."

Dawn smiled. "See? You were the dorm mate from hell."

"Nah, I never had roommates. Not for very long, anyway."

Dawn laughed and leaned against his shoulder. "Did you go home every weekend? Or is that a stupid question?"

"Left the minute my last class ended and didn't come back until my first one. It was better in my undergrad years, when I was still living at home and I could pick my optional courses according to scheduling. I could usually wrangle an extra day or two at home each week if I did it right."

"So you took whatever courses gave you days off? No matter what they were?" Dawn said.

"Well, within reason. Usually I could get something I wanted. In my last year, though, the only thing I could find to fit my schedule was a course in women's studies."

Dawn sputtered a laugh. "So what'd you do?"

"Took it. Nothing wrong with women's studies. I think I got off on the wrong foot with the prof the first day, though, when I asked why there weren't any men's studies courses."

"What'd she say?" Dawn asked.

"Nothing. Just gave me a look, like I shouldn't even be asking. But we got along okay after that. She even mailed me a congratulations card when I got my doctorate, said I was still the only guy who'd ever earned an A in her course and she hoped that I'd live by the lessons I learned there."

"What lessons were those?" Dawn asked.

"I have no idea."

Dawn laughed, and hopped off the desk. "We should get to work. Mind if I go grab something to eat first? I skipped breakfast."

"I'll go with you." He glanced over at me. "So we're okay, then?"

Dawn smiled. "We're fine."

They were "fine" for another couple of weeks. Then they hit their next rough patch and, again, it blindsided her. Everything was great, and then, things just started getting … strange.

Clay had to make a presentation to the department on his paper, and he was stressed. When the typewriter jammed for the umpteenth time, he threw it against the wall. Smashed it to pieces. Dawn could only stand there and stare. He snapped out of it right away, and apologized for losing his temper, but still … well, it knocked her off balance. It was then that Dawn reopened her magical senses to Clay trying to sense if he was a demon. His aura didn't read as anything other than human that she could tell.

Dawn could understand a young academic worrying about the initial presentation of his first big paper. Or she would if that young academic was anyone but Clay. His attitude toward his career was laissez-faire at best, that arrogant, casual air of someone who knows he's brilliant and doesn't give a shit if anyone else agrees. To see him flipping out over this made no sense.

The presentation seemed to go fine. So she wanted to surprise him with a celebratory night. She made reservations for dinner in the theater district. Then she'd try to scoop half-priced last-minute tickets to a show. Dawn bought a new outfit. A black wool dress. She very rarely if ever wore dresses. Skirts were one thing and she didn't have a problem with them. The thought of wearing a dress stemmed from her time with Elizabeth.

She left a note on his desk telling him she'd come around to his apartment with dinner. Then she hurried to her apartment, showered, dressed, put on makeup, fussed with her hair, strapped on a new pair of heels, and walked the two blocks to his apartment, trying hard not to fall in the heels.

Dawn used her key, went up to his apartment, and knocked. Then waited. Knocked again. Waited some more. She had a key for this door, too, but she wanted that moment when he opened it and saw her dressed up for the first time.

Finally, after five minutes of waiting, she let herself in. "Clay?"

"Here."

Dawn went into the bedroom, where he was pulling on a sweatshirt. She waited. He straightened and ran his hands through his curls, his back to her.

"I gotta go," he said, grabbing his motorcycle keys from the nightstand. "Wait here for me."

"Clay?" Dawn asked.

"What?" He snapped the word, his back still to her.

Dawn stood there, teetering on her heels, her stomach lurching and twisting. He snatched his motorcycle helmet from beside the bed and brushed past her without even looking.

"I gotta go," he mumbled. "Wait here. I'll be back in an hour."

Three long strides, and he was out the door. Dawn stood there for at least five minutes, too stunned and hurt to think. Then she brushed back the first prick of tears, whipped his keys across the room, and with of flash of green she was gone.

Dawn lay on her bed, staring up at the dirt-speckled ceiling. The roar of a motorcycle sounded outside her window. Her heart skipped. She rolled over, trying hard not to listen for the next sign, but straining just the same, then exhaling a small puff of relief when it came: the tinkle of stones at her second-floor window.

Dawn forced herself to wait for the third pebble shower before she deigned to respond. Even then she just walked to her window, not opening it. He was probably just here to give her shit for not "waiting" like he commanded. At the thought, Dawn clenched her fists. She shouldn't have thrown away his keys. She should have kept them, so she could throw them at him now, see his reaction.

Dawn stood at the window and looked down. He was there, between the back hedge and the wall, blond hair pale in the moonlight. He lifted something white. A Styrofoam box. He opened it and pointed inside, mouthing something. Dawn shaded her eyes to see better. It was a takeout box stuffed full of pancakes. He mouthed something again. This time she could make it out: "Please." She hesitated, then lifted a finger and pulled the curtains to dress.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Dawn came out of her apartment prepared to tell Clay off to get out of her life. This was the very reason she had adopted the policy of get some and gone. No attachments that lasted. She didn't want to go through losing someone. Jack had been bad enough. She had remained by his side till he died. And she had vowed never to do it again.

Clay led her to a stone wall where they could have some privacy. As she looked around for a place to sit, he tugged off his jacket, but she sat on the grass before he could offer it. When he tried to hand it to her anyway, she fussed with her own coat, adjusting the zipper and pretending not to see him holding out his for her. "I found your shoes," he said.

She stopped fidgeting. "My shoes?"

"The ones you left at my apartment."

"How'd you know they were mine?" Dawn bit out. She had realized in her fit of rage she had teleported leaving the heels behind. It happened sometimes when she was angry, once she had teleported and when she appeared at her destination she was naked.

"They aren't?" Clay asked, knowing they were. "Well, if they aren't yours, I'll throw them away."

"They're mine. New shoes. They were pinching my feet, so I took them off," Dawn lied. "I guess I was distracted and just left them there."

"You had something planned," he said. "For tonight. Something special."

Dawn shrugged. "I knew you were worried about the presentation and, now that it's over, I wanted to … I don't know, celebrate, kick back and relax, something. But when you plan a surprise, you take a risk. The other person might have different plans. I accept that." She looked up, her gaze meeting his. "What I don't accept is how you reacted."

"I—"

"I asked if I could bring over dinner, and you said yes, so you knew I was coming. I didn't barge into your apartment without warning. I knocked. You've told me a hundred times just to use my keys and come in. I didn't ask for keys. I wasn't even sure I wanted them. But you insisted so I could use the books in your apartment to study. It was your idea, not mine. And that still stands, right?" she said. "You didn't change the key-ownership rules in the last twenty-four hours and neglect to inform me?"

"Of course not."

"Well, you sure as hell acted like you had. I put up with your shit all week, Clay, your moods, your temper, and your demands. And when it was over, I felt like I should treat you to an evening out, 'cause god knows, you deserved it. I told you I was coming over, I knocked, I let myself in. You snarled and stalked out without a word of explanation," Dawn said.

"It wasn't your fault."

"I know," Dawn said.

Her eyes bore into his with fury

"I owe you an explanation," Clay said quickly.

"No, you don't. You never owe me an explanation for anything you do, Clay. If I haven't made that clear already, let me state it, for the record, right now. I only demand two things of you. One, that you treat me with respect. Two, that you're honest with me—that you be yourself. If you're doing that, then I don't need to know what you're doing, where you're going, where you've been, and I'll never demand to know," Dawn said.

"Like me, you mean. Like I do."

Dawn blinked. "That wasn't a jab."

"I don't demand those things from you, Dawn. I ask because I like to know what happened in your day. If I can't be there, I want to hear about it. If you don't want to tell me, you can just say so."

"And sound like I have something to hide." Dawn opened her mouth to continue then, again, shook it off. She picked up the box of pancakes and opened it. "They're cold, but I can pop them in the toaster oven. Just hold on and I'll—"

Clay grabbed her arm as she jumped up. When she stiffened, he let go fast. "Just a sec, okay?" he said. "I do want to explain."

Dawn hesitated, and then lowered herself back to the grass.

"You're right, about the presentation. I kept thinking, when it was over I'd be fine, but then it ended, and I still wasn't sure how well it had gone. I came back to the apartment, and I was just … frustrated. Restless. More than restless. Ready to jump out of my skin. I wanted to work it off before you came over. I didn't want you seeing me like that."

Clay shifted, stretching his legs, but careful not to get closer to her. "I already screwed things up this week. And I knew that if I even stopped to give a proper explanation, I'd snap. I shouldn't have let things build up that way in the first place."

Dawn glanced up at him, eyes hooded. "And now you're going to tell me that it was a mistake and it'll never happen again."

"I can tell you that I'll try not to let it build up like that," Clay said finally. "I can tell you that I'll warn you if it does. I can ask you to tell me if you see it starting. But I can't promise that it'll never happen again."

Dawn pushed up onto her knees. She then leaned over and kissed him "Thank you," she said. "For being honest. That's all I ask."

Her lips went to his again. His arms went around her and he kissed her hard enough to make a laugh ripple through her. Clay eased down onto his back and pulled her along with him.

As Dawn stretched out on top of him, her hands slid under his shirt, fingers tugging it out of his jeans, palms running over her stomach, skin hot against the rising chill of the night air. She pulled back, kissing him more lightly as her fingers tickled over his sides, pushing his shirt up. Then she paused. "Too cold?" she whispered.

"Never."

He pushed his shirt off over his head and tossed it into a nearby bush. Dawn laughed. As he lifted his head to kiss her, he unzipped her coat. Then pulled her shirt out from her waistband and unbuttoned it. She wasn't wearing a bra. "Too cold?" he asked.

Dawn grinned. "Never."

And then out there just out of sight of anyone walking by they made love. A few moments later, Dawn's grip on Clay's shoulders relaxed, and she pulled back, exhaling in a long sigh. Then she paused and wiped a spot of blood from his shoulder.

"Sorry," she murmured. "I didn't mean to—"

"Hear me complaining?"

Dawn laughed. "No."

"Then don't apologize."

Dawn rolled off him, shivered, then slid her hands to his waistband. "Now, your turn."

"I'm good."

"Hmm?" Dawn looked into my eyes, then blushed. "Ah, okay, then." Another chuckle. "I'll get you next time."

Clay reached up and pulled her onto jo, again. She started to lie down with him, then stopped and looked around.

"What's wrong?" Clay asked through a yawn.

"Uh, just realizing that we're lying on the ground, half naked, about twenty feet from my apartment building," Dawn said as she stretched out with her magical senses trying to sense if anyone was coming.

"See anyone around?"

"No," Dawn said.

"Then don't worry about it. If I sm—see anyone, I'll tell you." Clay yawned, gulping fresh air to wake my brain before I slipped again. "And you're not half naked. Just me." I straightened her coat over her shoulders. "There. Lie down on me again, and no one will see anything."

"Except me lying on the ground in the middle of November, on top of a professor," Dawn said.

"Stop worrying. I won't let anyone see you."

Dawn grinned down at him. "You'll protect me?"

"Always."

Dawn looked into his eyes. She knew she would have to tell him the truth of her life before it went much further. That the reason she and Buffy were moving to Toronto was because people would get suspicious of two women apparently unaging. She knew she would also have to tell Buffy.

The next week, as Dawn and Clay headed to High Park for a run, a light snow started to fall and they decided to forgo jogging and enjoy the mild winter night. They'd been out for about an hour when they passed a huge evergreen on a corner. As they walked by, the tree suddenly lit up in a blaze of colored lights.

Dawn jumped back, then shook her head. "Must be on a timer."

Clay walked a couple more steps before he realized she was no longer beside me. He looked back to see her still in front of the evergreen, looking up at it. "Do you like Christmas?" she asked.

Clay blinked. "Um, sure. I guess."

Dawn laughed. "Not big on the holidays, huh?" She caught up with him and resumed walking.

"Christmas can be stressful. All that pressure—buy the right gifts, spend too much money, hang out with relatives…not that I ever—well, I've heard it can be stressful," Clay said.

"It isn't. Not for me, anyway. Buffy and I are pretty laid back about the holidays since it's just the two of us." Dawn said.

She turned to look out at the street. "When do you go home?" she asked.

"Go—?"

"For the holidays. I was just thinking, maybe we could do a little Christmas of our own, before either of us leave. Nothing big, maybe presents and a nice dinner. Just … something. If that's okay with you," Dawn said.

Clay looked at her, and then made a decision. "I'm not going home."

"But—" Dawn said. Their separation for Christmas would have been the perfect way to extract herself from his life. Stage an auto accident and let him believe she was dead. But if he was not going back then she would have to rethink her plans. Oh, why had she let him get through her barriers?

"I need to have that paper done by the end of the year, remember? So I'll stay here, have Christmas with you, and go home for the first week of the New Year."

"You're almost done with the paper. You should spend Christmas with—" Dawn said trying to get him to leave for Christmas not New Years.

"They'll wait. Everyone usually comes down for a couple of weeks anyway, and they don't care exactly when we celebrate it. If someone can't make it, everyone else waits."