Chapter 2: Names and Faces
Their lips came together in a forgiving kiss. It was warm– almost innocent – and he realized, despite the slate of his mind being wiped, that a kiss hadn’t felt this sweet in years.
Anya and Rupert gasped as they came up for air.
A wave of confusing emotions beached their brains. Time seemed to freeze as Rupert’s bones hummed. He felt much better at the thought of making up with his fiancée. He understood well that her tendencies could be annoying, but it was obvious she meant well. There was also a hint of guilt hiding in his marrow, though. He couldn’t explain it to himself. He wanted to say it was because she was half his age, or because he had thought of leaving her, even if he wasn’t sure why.
But looking at the slight blush complimenting her cherry-red lips made him care less and less with each passing moment.
Those cherry-red lips curved into a telling smile. Anya ran her eyes over the dashing good looks of the man before her, his large hands, his knowing eyes, the creases in his forehead that had come not only with age but also, she was sure, a weight of reading and hardened intelligence. His hair was quite soft, too. And she knew that surely he was financially savvy, as she had gone into business with him.
Yes, she concluded. I chose this man for a reason. And so her mind declared, On to the sex.
“I’m very sorry,” she said, her eyes giving meaning to her rather monotone words. “I would imagine it’s the newness of running this shop that has put a strain on our relationship. I’m not sure, but I get the sense that I’m very concerned with money.” Just the thought of the green stuff made her pause to allow a different sort of smile.
It made Rupert laugh lightly.
“Sorry,” she continued, snapping back to the matter at hand. “And I’m happy you want to stay. We should take steps to make sure neither of us feels neglected again.” She pointed to the back room. “I recommend steps in that direction. Followed by stripping. And lots of sex.”
The middle-aged man choked. Then the choke became a chuckle. He was sure then of why he liked this woman. He pressed his lips against hers firmly, and was not surprised when she forced her tongue into his mouth greedily. He picked the girl up, walked swiftly to the back room, and slid them both through the door. Hitting the light due to the unfamiliar surroundings, he was confused by the décor – it being a workout room instead of inventory.
Instead of being confused, however, Anya shivered with excitement. “Oh! A vaulting horse!” She felt her fiancé’s grip tighten, and his palms began to sweat. She pulled his head down closer to her, seductively nipped his earlobe. “I think I’m remembering something fun…”
THE SUMMERS RESIDENCE
Joan was vibrating like an atom as she stood on the stairwell.
“Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to come in?” she urged the vampire in her doorway.
“Right,” he agreed absent-mindedly, crossing the threshold and clicking the door softly shut behind him.
Joan wasted no time, bounding up the stairs. “Hurry up! I need to figure out my name!” she called to him.
He followed slowly, savoring the bounce in her blonde curls, the picture of her firm ass that had just escaped his view. “Don’t be in too much of a rush, Joanie! I’ve just started to like your current name!”
Upstairs, it was like a game show. Door number one, she narrated for herself as she walked into a room obviously decked out for a hip girl. Not sure if it was hers – after all, she had no idea who lived in the house besides she and her sister – she scoped out the décor, trying the room on like a shirt in a store.
Gotta say, love the parental advisory poster. She skimmed the books that lined the shelves, but realized none of them could ring a bell. If she had read any of them, none of the titles conjured plots in her head. She sighed, and moved to the CDs.
“Panic at the Disco,” she read aloud to herself. She popped it into the CD player, skimming through the tracks. The dance-beat riffs and sharp singing got her to bob her head a bit, but didn’t call to her. Turning the player off, she moved to the closet. The sea of conservative shirts and distinct lack of leather made her walk out of the room.
“Obviously not mine,” she declared, not sure of what she had been looking for in the closet, but knowing it had to be better than that.
Then she caught the glare of her superheroing partner’s white shirt in a lit up room down the hall. Somehow seeing that ‘70s – she could instinctively tell it was outdated – bleached-blonde head made her feel sort of bubbly. She wanted to sneak up on him, but realized the super-senses would probably prevent that. Nonetheless, she wanted to see what he could tell her that she couldn’t figure herself.
Randy watched her for a moment from the top of the stairs before he reoriented himself. He felt like he should have been picking up new scents, but truth be told, they were all familiar. Ignoring Joan’s overpowering scent, he walked past her room – it was easy to tell which room was hers – and headed for the largest bedroom. The walls were covered in pieces that screamed both vintage and new-age at the same time, many with goddesses and inspirational phrases. He wandered towards the dresser and found some photos of the redhead and the other blondie that had been with them. The college students.
He walked over to the bed, leaned over, and curiously smelled the comforter.
“Study buddies. Right,” he said with a wicked grin.
“Randy?”
He straightened up like a dog caught on the furniture. The vampire pressed his lips together and tried to bring an innocent look to his face before responding, “Yeah?”
“Is this my mom’s room?”
“Your…” he trailed, worried. Focusing, he tried to pick up any new human scent, but he couldn’t. He shook his head, then clarified, “Just you, your sis, and the two college girls from the magic shop.”
She looked around frantically as if panic itself had snuck up behind her and tapped her shoulder. “Are you sure?” she asked, not waiting for an answer as her feet started towards the other end of the hall.
A real hand on her shoulder calmed her. Joan turned to be assailed by Randy’s eyes, caught in them. Somehow she’d never noticed how glaring blue they were, like water, which struck her as funny, because the dull warmth resonating from his hand felt much like cooled bath water – the kind you cursed after being interrupted by a long phone call. Feels just fine now, though.
His words were equally calming. “S’okay, Joan. Those birds are college students. You could all be renting the house, with parents safe at your real home.”
It made sense, and more importantly, reasoned away her worry, so she nodded.
But Randy choked back guilt. He had no clue if what he said could be true, but it didn’t make sense that the teen would be with them if it were. He really felt like he had lied, but with their memories gone, he didn’t want the girl with him to be upset before she even knew her own name.
“That wasn’t my room,” she said, distracting herself right back to her original task.
“I know,” he boasted.
She huffed, driving a finger into his chest. “You know which one is my room,” she accused.
“ ‘Course.” He grinned coyly, secretly getting off on all the little touches they’d been exchanging.
She crossed her arms impatiently, and he obliged, pointing at a closed white door.
Then she tapped his nose, and he blinked, shifting like she could have knocked him over.
“That nose of yours is handy, Randy,” she rhymed. Unconsciously, she made a display of going to her room – a slow saunter down the catwalk of a hallway.
Randy was fixated on her hips and groaned his appreciation quietly.
“Something with my name…” she mused, heading toward a shelf. A stuffed pink pig caught her eye before any books did, however. And surrounded by her things, she realized that while they didn’t invoke any memories, then did invoke feelings. She squeezed the animal to her chest, and warm fuzzies fluttered inside her.
“I’m helping,” the vampire stated, not wanting to ask if he could rifle through her things for fear she’d say no. He moved to her closet, feeling almost high from the onslaught on his senses as he opened the door. Clothes, shoes… he noted, …bag. He knelt on the floor amidst a sea of shoes and picked up a messenger bag. It was equally trendy and heavy.
“Whoa!” Joan’s voice stopped his inspection. “I am hot!”
Randy looked at her as she eyed herself in the mirror over her vanity. “I could have told you that.”
She made a funny face, paying close attention to her eyes, then leaned toward the glass and studied her own cleavage. Her hands cupped her breasts for a second as she gauged just how much was padding and how much natural.
Randy hid his snicker with his hand, and she jumped as he hovered behind her.
“Wonder what I look…”
He reached out and tapped the glass as Joan’s eyebrows crinkled. He heard the tap, felt the glass, but his image didn’t reflect. “How the bloody hell does that work?”
“I guess because you’re a vampire?”
“You’d think at least my clothes would show or something. Or, for that matter,” he ranted, “maybe I’d have a reflection, if I have a soul or something.”
He looked down at his free hand and forearm. Damn, I’m pale. Bit thin for a bloke – although I don’t seem to be too tall, either. His tight muscles, quite frankly, impressed him. Nonetheless, he couldn’t picture his face at all. He began to pace, pissed that he was robbed of something so basic. “Well this is bloody great! Not only do I not have a memory, but I don’t even get to know what I look like.”
“You’re really handsome, actually.”
Pacing stopped immediately. “Really,” he more said than asked, innately sensing it was true. I’m apparently full of myself, too, he noted.
“Well,” she began, taking the time to study his features. “…your hair is pretty cool, despite being so two decades ago.” Inwardly, she wondered how she could possibly remember fashion trends.
“Come again?”
“Well, you have it bleached blonde.”
“How blonde?” He arched his brow as he looked up, pulling a gelled strand into his line of vision.
“Oh,” was all he could find in his vocabulary, his ego deflating.
“It actually looks pretty good on you,” Joan consoled. “I mean, you’d look pretty edgy if you weren’t… ah…”
“Dressed like a ponce,” he finished for her, cursing his tweed pants.
“Well, yeah,” she cringed, then forced a smile. “But you’re thin, and you’ve got amazing cheekbones and a strong jaw to match.” She stepped toward him. “And your eyes are this really piercing light blue.”
Those blue eyes were narrowed and staring straight into her green ones as his chest puffed.
“You’re sorta dreamy, actually.” She said warmly, then quickly turned toward the shelf again. “Based purely on how you look, of course.”
“Of course.” He took another glance at the emptiness in the mirror, then noticed the pictures lining the frame. Everyone at that shop was apparently pretty close friends, based on the pictures, the girls and the boy in various places, grinning in all of them. Randy felt like his reflection when he noticed he wasn’t in a single photo, though. There was even one of his dad, though his stepmum-to-be wasn’t in it. Matter of fact…
“I think that girl might not be your stepmom,” Joan offered, and Randy jumped. He’d been so lost in thought that she actually snuck up on him. She grinned broadly at that.
“Yeah. She seems to be all over that college bloke.” He was starting to have doubts about Rupert being his dad as well, but he pushed that aside. “Do you think I photograph?” he asked.
“I… I don’t know.” She sweeped the mirror. “Maybe not, though. I mean, there aren’t any photos of you here.”
“Do you think you’d have one?” he found himself asking, although he kicked himself – too late – and tried to recover. “I mean, if you could have one, do you feel like…”
He choked, not even sure what he was trying to say, but feeling very naked.
Joan eyed him up and down. Besides his good looks, she didn’t really have a bead on him at all. She couldn’t tell if they were friends or anything else beyond crime-fighting partners, couldn’t sense anything inside her besides a physical attraction she might have for any hot guy.
So she gave the only answer she could. “I don’t know.”
He then had an inkling of what it was like to be one of those vamps he staked, because a wave of pain rippled through his empty ribcage. It all the more reinforced that sense he had that he loved her. More importantly though, he realized, the girl didn’t love him back.
His stomach turned, and he hoped her lackluster response was because she didn’t know how he felt about her or know him well enough to have that sort of attachment. God, I hope I’ve never told her. Something deep down – maybe his soul, he thought – told him if he had already told her, then she had already rejected him at some point.
He drilled his attention into the bag he was holding. “I found this,” he said, pulling out a notebook stuffed with papers resting against a thick textbook.
“Oh!” Joan seemed to dance in eager anticipation, studying the vampire’s face as he dropped the bag to flip through the sheets. She tapped her foot behind her in impatience as she tried – and was denied – to see over the edge of the notebook. She held her breath as his eyebrow piqued and his eyes narrowed. She tilted her head with his in a moment of silence and curiosity. Then she damn near jumped out of her skin as he burst into a fit of laughter.
“What the hell?!” she yelled as he laughed, head tilted back, eyes closed. It was obviously genuine laughter, Joan knew, although she also thought it sounded maniacal. She grabbed the book out of his hand, but lost the page he was on.
He wiped the start of a tear from his eye and coughed as he regained his composure, but not without whimsy in his voice. “Oh, that’s great. Makes me feel a hell of a lot better about Randy.”
“What’s my name?!” she demanded.
“I’m sorry,” he said, wanting desperately to sound as honest as he felt, but unable to stifle his amusement. “I really am, Buffy.”
“BUFFY!?!” she screeched. “You’re making that up!” Her fingers raced through the pages, finally pulling out a test. Her heart sank.
“Buffy,” she read off the top of the page.
Randy finally swallowed back the last of his laughter. “It’s not that bad,” he thought aloud. “Sort of cute. Very blonde.” He rolled it off his tongue, and found it came out low and hushed, “Buffy.”
Ultimately, it sounded needy to him, and he shuddered. But Buffy shuddered, too.
She opened her mouth to respond, felt on a very primal level she had to respond, but found that ‘Randy’ just wouldn’t come out.
“… We should get to the hospital,” she offered instead.
Shell Presto can be reached at mangetsuDELETEME@email.com
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Note: This takes place in the season six episode, “Tabula Rasa.” The premise is simple, what if Xander had not stepped on that stone, and the gang’s memories were not restored at that moment? Also, I don’t own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Joss Whedon does; but I do own this piece of fanfiction, which is meant solely to entertain.
Chapter End Notes:
Special thanks to Dorians Kitten for the beta read.
Comments greatly appreciated, good or bad! (C’mon, make my day!)
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Comments greatly appreciated, good or bad! (C’mon, make my day!)
www.insomn.com