Chapter Text
I think I like Boston. Got a cab from the airport, but then Faith said I had to walk, or else I'd be missing out on "the experience." She insisted--under serious threat of denying me alcohol tonight. I always drink responsible and moderated.
...she’s lucky she was right.
Boston’s neat. Historical-neat. And compared to L.A., quaint-like. Haven't seen a single vampire either.
That’s probably Faith. Oh, plus? Cheers. I have to get a T-shirt before the weekend's over. Why couldn’t Faith work there?
If she gave me actual directions, the bar should be, uh...right up here. This weekend's a big, group “reunion party" thing that's been scheduled and rescheduled for months. We don't see each other much, and there's missage.
Either people have been busy, or in Xander's case, literally cut off from modern civilization. It's hard because of where he stays most times. In tiny, "What's a phone?" African villages.
It's been good for him, though. I think. He wasn't the same after Sunnydale. None of us were, I guess, but...it seemed like he lost more. I know he did; he lost it following me. Won't forget that. Ever.
If you want the truth, I felt...happy. It’s still new. Was a while ‘til I let anybody see. Especially Xander.
Willow and Kennedy were...them, just plenty more often. Faith hung around at the beginning, and we even hung around together. She's become a good friend. She helped me plan things, then drove East. To where she currently slays and bartends. So did Robin, but he's in New York. I don't know if they keep in touch, or if he's coming tonight, and that's...none of my business.
Me? My only responsibility was to be “Buffy”. So far, she’s--major sigh of relief here--better at life than she thought she’d be. Sure, I wish I remembered to stop dressing so "mom"-ish, but you know, all in all.
Uh...not exactly focusing, am I? ‘Kay then. Back to Xander.
We tried to help, it's just, no matter what, he wasn't enjoying our downtime. He kept to himself. I started realizing...that was how I used to be. During the seven years that were, um, "Pre-Crater." It isn’t easy to come back from.
He needed something to do, something non-destructive, or he’d go crazy. If it wasn't for him, I probably would've retired. Planted "Mr. Pointy" somewhere. Only it wouldn't...
I might be one of a huge number that's many, but I still have a job, cookie dough or no cookie dough.
That's when everyone got global all the sudden. Not like a global operation or anything, just more spread out. On the rich side of poor.
Giles went to England, Andrew's rooming with Dawn in Rome, Willow and Kennedy were in Brazil (their relationship's been...flux-y), I've been living in San Diego for almost a year (once a California girl...), and Xander sends everybody fish when he can. From the villages.
And he can talk about Anya, and be "Xander" again. Older, “Eye-Patch Wearing” Xander. Who’s still family.
We all are. And we’re all taking a break from global at...The Hot Spot? How come it figures that this is Faith’s workplace?
Everyone minus Dawn and Andrew is coming. They stayed in Italy for reasons having to do with parties, school, and drinking that isn't illegal. Obviously that third thing is a bigger plus for my sister. She's been swearing on the rest of her life that she's being smart about it.
Yes, there's trust. She's earned it. Also, they're being protected. Secretly. Helps knowing friendlies underground.
What? So my trust has limits.
Andrew may seem harmless, but my god, leave him alone for too long and you're suddenly in the middle of a bad sitcom. Like, he could accidentally flood your whole apartment, so your still-plugged-in toaster can fall and electrocute your upstairs neighbor's cat, 'cause it decided to come in through the window from the fire escape.
And by "your," I mean "my." And by "could," I mean "will." But I'm over it.
Almost over.
Seeing the sign on the door, "Closed for Private Party," I knock and watch as Faith looks over, grins, and comes to let me in. Must be first.
Are other people still coming? Are they all okay? Do I think too much? Yeah, I think I maybe do. Ugh...gotta stop this.
"Nice timing, B!" Faith greets me enthusiastically as she opens the door, and we do the quick, one-armed hug thing. For image. "Gettin' you here's taken friggin' forever. Welcome to the home of the red'white'n'blue."
"Wig-people in red coats, tea parties, guy on a horse, right? 'History' was hazy in school, now it's...like a dense fog," I smirk as I go in, and she shuts the door.
Why the "timing" compliment? I was right about getting here first, which means I'm not late, which means, fine, I earned it. But since when does she appreciate timeliness?
"So how's life? Back to calling the red stuff 'sauce'?" she asks.
"Life's good. I actually get to slay now. Still quieter than Sunnydale, but not as boring as Italy. Whenever anything big started brewing, the Immortal heard about it, so before I could even put on my slaying boots...splat. Spilled brew."
"Boring" is good for Dawn, which is why I let her stay until she finishes school, but it was driving me nuts.
"Cool--‘cause they're some hardcore boots," she compliments again.
"I know. And above average in the 'comfort' department." My feet just slide right into them. Thank you, Clearance Sale. "But gravy's always brown, and 'sauce' has to come after 'tomato'--I'm my mother's daughter that way."
Feels good to be home. As in, my own country. I mean, Europe’s amazing. Beautiful even. I'm glad I got to see in person, but seeing was all I ever got to do.
That and semi-date, off and on, a guy who fights for the good guys and has the evilness in an entire country wrapped around his immortal finger--except Wolfram and Hart. They weren't a happy topic.
We had fun together, which we were both fine with. Just fun, no cling. There's nothing wrong with not wanting a relationsh...god. What the hell am I doing? Practicing how I'm gonna be this party's black hole? I suck.
Concentrate on doing something else. Like a quick sweep of the place, because you can't help it. Once a slayer, always a slayer.
Vending machine and jukebox to the right, on either side of the double doors to the kitchen. Pool table straight ahead. Three tables to the left. TV hanging behind the big bar in the middle of the room...moderation, moderation, moderation.
There's another table to the right of the bar, signs pointing out the bathrooms on the right wall, couple more TVs in the corners, and a back room I can't really see from here. Floors are gray carpet.
Overall, mostly clean. Less trendy than I thought it’d be, too. Doesn't The Hot Spot imply trendy? That's the second thing that doesn't add up. Or I'm reading too much into this.
"Score one for us then," Faith says not quietly enough, sounding relieved that I'm bored.
"Huh? 'Us' who?" Somebody's caught. I knew it.
"Oh, uh...nobody." Weak recovery, Faith. It's almost sad. "How 'bout a beer? Start you off slow?"
I'm thinking about staring her down and grilling her with very little mercy ‘til answers come, except her face tells me I'm already halfway there.
Before I can catch up with myself, she switches to her, "Trust me" look, which makes me sigh. I do trust her. Never thought I would again, but you know what they say about healing and time.
She checks up on me and watches my back even when I don't know she is, and I'm sure she thinks trapping me like this was a good...so I guess I’ll try being not pissed.
"If I say 'yes,' you gonna come clean?"
She gives me a “Scout's Honor” salute (hah), and I follow her to the bar, which she hops over.
I sit on the stool. "Make it extra foamy."
Her confidence is coming back as she shakes her head at me. Faith doesn't think she's safer behind there, does she? "What’s your brand?"
"Surprise me," I fake-challenge.
She shuffles around, then a bottle’s in front of me, and she's got that cap-popper thing in her hand. When it comes off on the first try, it's like she's waiting for me to acknowledge her skill.
"Go you."
"Ya know, that'd mean somethin' if you weren’t--"
"--just humoring your ego?" I smile innocently.
“Full of shit,” she smiles “innocently” back.
"So how'd you end up working here again?"
"Guy who owns this place?" I nod, then sip my beer as she explains more. "Saved his neck." I'm assuming literally. "Gave me a job, and I've been earning cred ever since. It's why he's lettin' us rent it out tonight. Thinks I'm all responsible--makes your head spin, right?"
"Kinda not really," I answer seriously, knowing she was only half-joking.
She blushes, but not so much; having a support system isn’t normal for Faith, and we're kind of sisterly now. Our relationship’s definitely changed since...what doesn't need rehashing.
"Oh! How's...?" I ask.
"Loose.”
...things with Robin? Okay, she saw that coming.
"Loose good or loose bad?"
"No, I cut the man loose." Ohhh. Fine. Dropping. I take another sip while she decides how clean to be. "So here’s what’s up. We figured you’ve been goin’ it solo long enough, so...mighta passed along an invite. To someone you oughta meet. Chick's wicked cool, B."
I had a bunch of questions up until the last part, and suddenly they're less important than--
CHICK?
"You're setting me up? With a...?" Please tell me I don't hafta explain why that makes no sense.
She holds her hands up. "Should at least give her a shot."
Mouth in shock, tight grip on bottle. Could shatter any second. "How? Why? Who? Are you evil again?" Then there's knocking, which cuts off the ranting I was gonna do, but that doesn't mean I'm done. "Because as a rule, real friends--"
"Could be your answers right there." Faith just sort of grins in a relieved way and hops back over the bar to go to the door. Ignores me.
"--give warning months in advance."
Except I keep talking to myself. 'Course I do.
False alarm. It's Willow. With a haircut that's "senior year-esque," a bag that better be filled with Brazil-themed presents, and an invisible girlfriend. Not like a Marcie situation--Kennedy's just not here. The fluxing must be over. Hmm.
Why wouldn't Faith try to set up “mystery girl” with the one friend we have who's, I dunno, actually gay? And single? What a concept.
I know she's slow sometimes, but...and does this girl even know what she's walking into? Faith seriously needs to learn planning basics. Forget all its other, huge holes--you've still got awkwardness.
That isn't fair to her, me, or everyone else who just wants to have relaxing, non-awkward fun. With drinks.
But I can do damage control. I'm used to it. First, the hug. A real one this time.
"Yes, I have presents. A whole backlog I haven't been able to give you," Will tells me in the middle of, and my eyes go to the bag.
Backlog?
I missed my Willow. "See? This is why we're best friends; our wavelengths always...wave."
"Presents are at Faith's." Frown. That's just cruel. And then she's looking past me to Faith, who's back behind the bar, mixing. "Ooh! Margaritas!"
Gift later, now’s grilling. I join her at the bar, and go back to my plain beer. Doesn't say anything about me, right? "You look good, Will."
"I feel it," she smiles, sipping. Not upset over Kennedy? The plot thickens. "You look good, too. All healthy."
She's always on my case about eating more, but I keep telling her I have a quirky metabolism. Since I got superpowers.
"Couldn't argue with Italian food. And Mexican either lately." That makes her happy. "How's your side of the world? I haven't seen it since February--anything new? Like, for example--"
"I don't know anything," she says in a really quick, really bad lie.
I wasn't even going there yet.
"--why you're un-coupled."
She almost chokes on her margarita. "Eep."
Bingo. There's the other half of the collective "We." This means my "sexually wide open" friend, and my straight-turned-not one, are trying to convert me. I bet the other woman isn't gay, eith...oh god. Willow's bag isn't Willow's, is it?
"Where is she?" I ask, flat out.
"Uh, out-outside calling her sister." Poor Will. She looks not calm. "She should be..."
Cue door opening. With a deep breath, I'm very slowly turning to see who's gonna suffer with me tonight, and after the stool-one-eighty I'm actually smiling.
"Nina?"
"Buffy?" She says, pretty much going through the same thing I am. “I didn't know you were..."
"Tell me about it." I'm going over.
And I'm a hugger now. Of people. It's me trying to connect and be more emotionally-available than I'm known for. Plus, Italians are big with the friendly. It was sink or swim.
I hope Willow and Faith are even more confused than they look--serves 'em right. Yeah, it's weird being so chummy with your ex's ex, but, stranger things. Maybe we'll tell why once their shaky plan’s done collapsing.
Maybe.