“I’m not so sure about this Wills.” Buffy and Willow huddled under an umbrella as they to the cafeteria in the morning, both having risen early as to prepare the blonde for her meeting with William Pratt that afternoon. The gray sky reflected the uneasy feelings within Buffy’s mind as the weight of what she was expected to do finally hit her.
“Why?” the redhead burst out, her forehead crinkling in a questioning gaze. “I mean, you went through all that trouble, and totally beat Harmony, which I guess would be a reward in itself, albeit a reward that makes you think you just won at ‘Who’s Wants to Be a Corporate Slut,’ and I just said that, didn’t—”
“Willow, have you been drinking coffee? We’ve talked about this, sweetie.”
“I know,” her friend answered, giving the blonde a wry smile. “But you can’t just give up, Buffy! This is just the job you’ve been waiting for. You’ll be able to make more than enough to get through this semester, and without the evils of slaving away for all hours of the night. Oooh, Buffy, we can still do our homework together!” The last sentence was given with typical Willow grin, inciting a laugh from the spoken-of.
“I guess you’re right,” she answered. “But there’s just something… weird, about this Angelus guy. And it was totally wiggins when he asked me about my dad. Do I really want to be posing naked for one of his, blegh, coworkers?”
“It’s not like that, Buffy,” Willow said. “This isn’t some kind of smutty magazine, it’s art, and since when did you care about what your dad thinks, anyway?”
“I so do not,” Buffy adamantly affirmed, her eyes wide with the thought of the horrible notion. “But imagine if he goes to Angelus’ place and looks up to see his daughter naked on the wall. Gross, much?”
“Ewww,” Willow answered simply.
“Topic change, please?”
“I’ve got it covered,” Willow reassured, brightening considerably. “What was up with you and that guy on Friday?”
The only reply from her friend was a flood of red entering her cheeks. “Nothing,” she squeaked as they walked through the doors of the cafeteria to meet an unsurprisingly vacant room. Sunday mornings were spent sleeping, and the unusually rainy day was just another excuse for the UCLA students to be as lazy as possible.
Willow gave Buffy a skeptical glance and grabbed a tray. “So the near-sex Tara and I unwillingly witnessed wasn’t even a little bit of something?”
“You saw the guy?” Buffy asked, her interest in the conversation piqued.
“Um… yes,” the redhead answered. “And you’re saying that you—”
“Didn’t even catch a glance.” She gave Willow a rueful look as she grabbed an apple from the basket. “And don’t you dare give me your disapproval face, Wills. You know I can never back away from that look.”
“I wasn’t!” she said indignantly. “I just thought you wouldn’t’ve danced with Jonathan like that, even after all those love notes he sent you sophomore year.”
“What?!” Buffy screeched, her exclamation catching the attention of the few students present.
At her friend’s chagrin, Willow burst out laughing, helping herself to the pancakes stacked temptingly next to the yoghurt. “It wasn’t Jonathan,” she said, much to Buffy’s relief. “He looked about twenty-five-ish, with this strange-yet-sexy hair and much yumminess with his face. Definitely not Jonathan.”
“Thank god.”
“You’re too easy, you know that?”
“All too well,” the blonde grumbled, as the two paid and made their way to a table. “So the guy looked just as good as he felt?”
“If he was a woman, I would have been all over him,” Willow reassured, taking a bite out of her banana. “Now off the topic of play. We’re moving on to work.”
“Work?”
“William Pratt.”
“Blegh. We’re back on that subject?”
“You bet we are, missy,” Willow said. “And I don’t care what wiggins you’re feeling right now; as soon as we finish breakfast, we’re marching home right now and getting you ready for your meeting.”
“Okay,” Buffy replied, her resolve to be difficult crushed. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to pose for William Pratt. On the contrary, the prospect was pretty much the highlight of her studies, and she had eagerly read up on the little information that was made available on the artist. No, it was just the thought that she would be showing someone—a complete stranger—her body, when she had only opened herself to a few men before and all had broken her in one way or another.
The first had been Angel O’Connor, the charming senior who had swept her sophomore-self off her feet upon moving to Sunnydale with her mother after the divorce. Everyone had said that he was perfect for her, and at the time, nothing seemed more accurate. Their fairy-tale teenage romance had reached a climax on her seventeenth birthday, when he had finally told her he loved her. Her childish self had felt that his gift to her could only be appreciated if she gave some of herself to him—and she did, in her entirety. When he made love to her, though, she didn’t wake up from a deep sleep and live happily ever after—her charming prince instead left her to awaken alone the morning after, feeling as if she could die.
For the rest of her high school years, she did nothing more than date casually, but the death of her mother and her move to LA awakened a desire inside of herself to move past the heartbroken teenager that she’d been. Enter Parker, who had charmed her during her first few insecure weeks at college. Alone, grieving, and dreadfully wishing for her mother, Buffy had thought she’d found a kindred spirit in Parker, who had recently lost his father. They had flirted and quickly moved into a sexual relationship—if that was what you could call their first and only night together, when Buffy woke up alone in her dorm room with a sinking realization of her mistake.
Desperately wishing to affirm that history had yet to repeat itself, she had pined for him for a few weeks, until she finally snapped out of it—and had some closure by drunkenly slapping Parker in the face during a frat party. His actions had not broken her innocence, as Angel’s had; they had broken her trust. And it was at that night that she had met Riley.
Riley… stable, loyal, normal Riley, with absolutely no idea of what Buffy needed. They hadn’t gotten together right away, of course; the day they met was his last in the States, as he’d been set to go to South America on a foreign exchange program, but upon his arrival back in LA three months ago, Buffy had jumped at the chance to gain some semblance of a real relationship. It was unfair, really, when she thought about it now, that she had let him believe that he was what she’d wanted, but at the time, denial had been strong and she was desperately wanting to believe that she could have what she wanted, without it running away from her. Yet, he wasn’t what she wanted.
And Buffy was now without hope.
She knew it wasn’t the same thing, but every time she’d shown herself to a man, even gotten close to one, Buffy had lost some part of herself. It was hard to avoid making connections to her failed love life in reference to a simple matter of work, but the defense instincts within the hurt young woman were too strong. Her stubbornness was stronger, though, and she forced the thoughts down, smiling at Willow and beginning to talk about what she should wear.
But her mind was lingering on the feel of the mysterious dancer’s hands on her body, the ache in her very soul that had reawakened with the thoughts of his devilish touch. None of her past lovers had made her feel that alive, that completely in tune with another person’s wants and needs. He had brought something out of her that she had yet to lose, to have broken out of her system.
He had gifted her with desire.