For Now, We're Strangers
by: Lily
Rated NC-17
Buffy sighed. They'd been in this stuffy room for hours now, getting nowhere. She sat at an old, peeling, wooden table with some doctors and a policeman- a local sheriff by the looks of him.
She had no recollection of how she'd gotten there or who these people were, and, more alarming, she hadn't been able to tell them her own name.
Directly across the table sat an older British man who she'd never seen before. The doctors were taking turns interrogating him, turning their questions to her when they grew frustrated with his lack of knowledge. Apparently, she and the Englishman had been found together, unconscious, and when revived, unable to remember a thing.
She stared at him until she noticed that he was staring back with the same curious intensity. She quickly looked down at the table, tracing a spot where someone had carved their initials. His eyes were green.
"Okay, let's go over it again." The sheriff said, shuffling some papers. [Not again!] She felt a sudden urge to jump over the table and drive...something...through his chest. Her eyes widened at this shocking thought. [Whoa! Maybe I don't want to know more about myself.]
"So.." he pressed on. "What we do know is that the two of you checked into the Traveler's Lodge motel two nights ago, registered under the name 'Brad Majors.'"
He looked up from his notes, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "We're thinking that may be an alias." Giles looked helplessly at Buffy, who shrugged at the implied question. "Told the clerk you were traveling with your daughter." He motioned towards Buffy, keeping his eyes on the spiral bound notebook that he'd been writing in.
"And you had a car, which is now missing. We'll give the two of you a ride back to the motel and let you know when we find something out." Buffy jumped to her feet, eager to be out from under such close scrutiny. The sheriff gave Buffy an awkward pat on the shoulder. "We'll figure this all out." He assured her unconvincingly.
"You two are lucky..." the sheriff said as he stood. "We have ourselves a killer on the loose, and it looks like you two almost ended up being the next victims. Yep, a small town like this with our very own serial killer. It's a darn shame."
********
Giles opened the door to the dim, dingy motel room. He turned apprehensively to Buffy, then entered, looking around, feeling disappointed when nothing came rushing back to him. Buffy followed and closed the door, flipping on the lamp before staring at her surroundings blankly.
She sat on the bed, running her fingers over the faded, tacky bedspread, brushing off some crumbs. "Well, two separate beds, both slept in...that answers my first nagging question." She muttered, not loud enough for her companion to overhear.
"So..." She called in the direction of the bathroom, where he was rummaging around in their stuff. "I guess I can call you dad..." It didn't sound familiar, but then again, neither did anything else.
He stepped out, looking as confused as she felt. took off his glasses, and rubbed his hand over his weary looking face. "Yes, I suppose that's one thing we can..." He shook his head. "..not remember."
Buffy pulled at the knob on the night table attached to the wall. The drawer stuck, and she gave it a frustrated yank, causing the entire nightstand to rip from the wall, taking a large section of the wall with it.
"Oh my..." The low, stunned voice came from behind her.
She turned, still holding the table in her hand, before quickly trying to hide it behind her back. He simply stood there, gaping in shock.
"You can't seriously think that I don't see that piece of furniture you're holding, not to mention the enormous hole in the wall." he asked her incredulously.
"Uhh...this?" she put down the nightstand. "It just kind of...fell off." He continued to watch her in disbelief. "What?" she snapped.
"Nothing." he replied quickly, trying to appease her, somewhat fearing another display of her obviously abnormal strength.
He watched the girl as she sat on the floor, unzipping a suitcase. She probably felt as off as he did, not even recognizing your own belongings-it was perplexing, to say the least.
He couldn't help but notice her lovely features and smooth, toned skin as he watched her opening the bag, her hair falling forward, blocking his view of her face. As he moved to get a closer view, he saw her whole body jerk, then freeze.
"This is our stuff?" she said quietly, before shouting. "Oh my God! We're freaks! You, me, both of us! We're two freaks who apparently have a huge weapon fetish...at least I hope that's all it is...Look!" She turned suddenly, thrusting a large sword in his direction.
"Ah!" Giles jumped back in surprise, losing his balance. He fell and landed sprawled on the floor, regarding the girl with suspicion. She covered her mouth to conceal a giggle.
"Sorry." she squeaked, finding great pleasure in his frustrated, distrusting expression. "Come see." she added, losing the smile for the sake of his ego.
He knelt beside her, lifting an item out of the bag. It was a crossbow, and from the way he handled it, he had experience using it. Underneath it , they found a pile of wooden sticks, sharpened at the ends, swords, crosses, and a cornucopia of other oddities.
She sneaked a look at him as he ran his fingers over the crossbow thoughtfully. "Do you remember anything?" she asked hopefully.
"No..." he answered slowly. "It has a familiar feel to it, though. Quite comforting, actually."
"Oh, great. What kind of person gets warm fuzzy feelings from a deadly weapon?" she snorted.
She brightened, giving him a smile. "Hey...I think I like to make fun of you!"
He didn't answer, nodding absently. What would they be doing with this type of equipment? Certainly not anything legal.
"So...what do we know?"
She bit her lip, thinking hard. "Well...we're freaks..." she mumbled. "But I guess we already covered that."
He instinctively gave her a stern, frowning glare. "We don't know any such thing. We know that we're in Nebraska, that we checked into this motel room, and that we're together."
"You're... my father." She offered, and he nodded.
"Yes, it would seem so."
They fell into silence, looking at one another. She was searching for anything in his face, anything that could fill the empty void inside her. He had a nice face, [very nice] and his eyes seemed to see right through her as he did his own searching. She had to look away, a little embarrassed by the blush creeping onto her face. [Uh-oh. Go away, bad thoughts!] When she looked back at him, he was smiling at her knowingly. Her stomach did a little flip-flop.
"Something tells me that despite the sheriff's comments, I am not your father." he said softly, not taking his eyes from hers.
"Oh really?" she asked hopefully. [Duh.] He had felt it too, then. "Why do you say that?" she asked playfully, as he moved closer, close enough to touch her. She held her breath.
"Isn't it obvious? Your accent..." he told her, brushing a lock of her hair from her face. His fingers brushed her cheek lightly. "You're American." he finished, enjoying her fallen expression. She was too beautiful, turning her disappointed eyes downward, as her lower lip pushed forward slightly in an almost imperceptible pout.
"Oh." she said flatly, stepping away from him. "I'm gonna go wash up."
"Wait." he called after her as she disappeared into the bathroom. It was a confusing situation, but there had been no need for him to bait her like that. Just as he began to think that she hadn't heard him, the girl stepped out from the doorway, her eyebrows raised as though waiting for an apology. But there was really nothing to apologize for. After all, what had passed between them in that moment wasn't tangible, it had no name; therefore, it couldn't be mentioned. Still, he'd made her uneasy, and felt he should say something. "I..." She waited, her expression softening slightly.
"There are some clean towels in the closet." he finished, the apology in his tone rather than his words. She accepted, gracing him with a smile before closing the door behind her.
By the time Buffy stepped out of the shower, she found herself feeling strangely lightened. One good thing about losing your memory is that things are suddenly very simple. No burdens to bear, no complicated relationships...except for this man on the other side of the door, of course. And the thought of him definitely wasn't a mood killer. [No, definitely not.] She smiled as his face entered her thoughts, and hummed as she rummaged through her makeup bag looking for some lotion. If she were going to be stuck with someone, he was definitely not her last choice.
The room was chilly in contrast to the steamy bathroom when she opened the door. Buffy counted her plush robe and slippers a blessing as she came out.
He stood at the sink, a towel wrapped around his waist, shaving. A smile playing on her lips as she feasted her eyes on, first, his reflection in the mirror, then the view she had from behind. As he lowered his razor to the stream of water rushing from the faucet, Buffy caught a glimpse of a dark image on his arm. Without thinking, she stepped forward and caught his wrist in her grasp, turning his arm to get a better view.
He instinctively pulled away from her , but she didn't let go, instead looking up at him with honesty, asking permission. His eyes reflected a tiny amount of fear at first, but only for a second.
"You're strong." he commented, following her gaze down to the tattoo on the inside of his arm. She traced her finger from the crook of his elbow, following the twisted emblem up to where it ended, still holding tightly to him.
"I know," she whispered. "We're different." A long silence passed as she stared at the mark under her fingers. "We're different than other people. But the two of us, we're the same. I can tell...can't you?"
He nodded, watching her cautiously. He'd first felt their connection in the room where they'd sat with the sheriff, even from across the table, even without words.
"Do you know what this is?" she asked, tracing the tattoo again with her thumb. Slowly relaxing her grip, she slid her hands down his arm until they reached his hand. There, she found a perfect fit for her own.
"No." he answered, distracted when she entwined her fingers with his. A slight tug brought him closer. "But it could prove helpful in discovering our identities...we'll have to find out what it is." She nodded, some of the hair that framed her face brushing his chest as she looked down at their hands. His free arm went around the girl, holding her to him tightly. He somehow knew that this was what she wanted, and that she wouldn't resist.
Buffy allowed herself to relax into his arms and leaned her head against his chest. She felt his hands gather her cold wet hair away from his body, pushing it to the side. She closed her eyes at the feel of his fingers softly touching her neck. [Wow, fast mover] she thought nervously.
"Did you see this scar?" he asked.
"What?" She pulled away slightly. "Scar?" Buffy turned to the mirror. Sure enough, in the place where his fingers had caressed her skin was a ragged whitish looking scar. She frowned, an image of her neck being ripped open sneaking into her head. "Gross...you know, you have a lot of scars, too..." she trailed off, not really knowing where she was going with that comment.
"Well, considering what's in our suitcases, I'm not surprised." he commented, standing behind her as they looked in the mirror. "We've probably been involved in...some sort of violence."
They stared at their reflections for a while. "Oh! Oh...oh no!" Her eyes were wide with shock as she shook her head furiously.
"Don't you get it? We're the killers! The sheriff...he said there was a killer, and...well...do the math! Look at our goody bag of weapons. What do you think those are for!? Unless we're contenders on the Olympic crossbow and stake team, we have a serious problem here!"
She gazed into the mirror, looking from his face, to hers, then back again. He did the same. Buffy tilted her head, staring at her features intently. "Hmm. Not what I pictured a serial killer looking like."
"Oh, really," he said, raising an eyebrow. "What did you imagine one to look like?" His expression was one of amusement.
"Well..." she began, still regarding her own face with morbid fascination. "I guess, I thought a little more like..." She smiled helplessly. "John Tesh?" When she saw his face, she quickly continued. "Well, they say it's always the ones you least suspect."
Buffy's joking was only a cover for her true, troubled thoughts. "I don't want to hurt anyone," she said, her voice a quiet plea.
His head bowed down to look at her and, for the first time, he caught the troubled expression in her eyes.
"Nor do I." he said solemnly. "We don't have to hurt anyone." He tried to ignore the nagging doubts in his heart about his words. Why should he tell her that when he'd seen the mark upon his arm, he'd been filled with a mixture of dread and regret? The closest thing he'd had all day to a memory, and it was a dark image. Was he capable of taking a life? Possibly.
"What are you thinking?" she asked him, the negative thoughts not slipping past her.
Giles leaned down further, planting a kiss on her forehead and smiling at her shy expression. "Nothing." he lied. "I was just thinking that perhaps I should get dressed." Her gaze dropped to his bare chest, then the towel around his waist. [Or undressed] she thought, her innocent smile contradicting what was really going on in her head.
As Giles showered and dressed, Buffy went through her smaller suitcase, despairing over the lack of selection. Finally, she settled on a beige tank top with matching drawstring pants. Not knowing if they were actually pajamas or not, she decided that they would do, since they were light and comfy. As she dug around for some socks, her hand closed around a piece of paper. She pulled it out, and the neat, feminine handwriting caught her eye. Slowly she unfolded the note and read:
Your names are Buffy Summers and Rupert Giles. If you don't remember anything, don't worry. Stay where you are. Your friends are coming to help you. Don't go anywhere or talk to anyone. Your friends will explain everything when they come.
"Buffy," she whispered the word, turning it over in her mind, examining it from every angle. Buffy. Not even a glimmer of recognition, but that didn't squelch the joy she felt at finally having a name. And friends, at that!
Giles emerged from the bathroom, barefoot, wearing casual pants and a towel draped around his neck. His glasses were gone, leaving him looking simultaneously vulnerable and dangerous. Buffy smiled, overwhelmed with optimism. Things were looking up.
"Rupert..." she tested, watching his expression. Nothing, except a mild look of confusion. She handed him the note, waiting as his eyes skimmed over the brief message. When he finished, his eyes met hers.
"Buffy" He said thoughtfully, and she decided that her name sounded beautiful when he spoke it. "Well, Buffy..." He tried the new word again, and she liked it even more the second time around. "It looks like there's nothing to do but wait."
Buffy pointed the remote at the television and began to flip through channels.
"Believe it or not, I don't even want to *try* to figure out what is going on here. I know that it involves weirdness of the largest kind, and that's enough for me." She turned away from the TV to Giles for a moment.
"Come...relax...watch," she ordered.
He complied, piling some pillows up next to her and leaning back. She let the channel rest on a station that played music videos, and Giles closed his eyes, planning on getting a chance to doze. But Buffy wanted to chat.
"What do you think we are?" she asked. Even without opening his eyes, Giles knew she was inches away from his face, looking down at him in that curious, expectant way that he'd grown used to by now. The expression that suggested that he had all the answers, and could make everything better.
"Hmm." He kept his eyes closed. Well they were most likely some type of felons, but that topic disturbed her, so he couldn't say that. Maybe she meant their relationship to one another, and in that case he was even less certain. With a sigh, he answered. "I don't know. But, if I had to make an educated guess...a man and a woman staying in a motel together, what do you think?
"Oh" was all she could say.
*******
"It's been a week!" Xander said with enthusiasm. "They're in trouble!" He couldn't keep the excitement out of his voice. This was the happiest he could ever remember being while in the confines of his basement dwelling. Willow gave him a stern frown.
"Xander..." she began cautiously.
"Ah ah ah!" he corrected, shaking a finger in her direction. "No buts. Giles specifically said, if they're not back in a week, and haven't called, it's time to bring out key guy...And what do you know?" He dramatically looked down at his shirt, placing a hand on his chest. "Here he is!"
Willow rolled her eyes, wondering if he would ever get over his one moment of glory. Apparently not today, as he was already straightened to his full height, pacing as he thought aloud.
"Okay, so this demon they went out to find is the memory sucking type. Obviously they didn't kill it, which means that they don't know anything." He stopped for a minute, then grinned. "Giles doesn't know anything...I know more than Giles!" Willow's look banished the proud digression. "Okay, sorry. So now *we* need to kill this thing. You and I are going...to...kill...this...demon." With every word, his tone grew more despondent as realization set in. A wave of nausea hit the boy.
Willow gave him a sympathetic pat. "It's different going off to fight evil when Buffy and Giles aren't with us, isn't it?" she asked. "It's less of an exciting adrenaline rush, and more like a great big, terrifying rush for the Pepto Bismol."
Xander nodded, sinking down onto his couch.
*******
"Hurry up, Rupert!" Buffy complained as Giles put on his shoes, still not fully awake. She'd let him sleep for a while, taking the opportunity to study him, and go through his things, but boredom had won out. She needed to get out. Besides, he hadn't had anything interesting in his suitcase but a few books, and they weren't even in English. She'd taken the time to look through the pictures, coming away none too pleased. After viewing the drawings that his books had contained, combined with his shady looking tattoo, it was pretty obvious that Rupert Giles was a serious Satan Worshiper.
"I'm not certain that going out is a good idea," He warned for the third time, pulling his shoestring tightly. "The note said to stay here. It may not be safe."
"I'm not worried. You won't let anything happen to me." Her attempt at stroking his ego didn't work. He stood, reluctantly sliding his arms into his coat.
"On the contrary...your strength seems to greatly exceed my own. If anything I'm the one who needs protection."
Giles turned, and, in synch with Buffy, reached for the weapons bag. They froze when their heads almost collided.
"What are you doing?" They demanded in unison, each drawing away from the other. Buffy crossed her arms over her chest and returned the accusing stare that he was throwing her way.
"You said you didn't want to hurt anyone," he reminded her dryly.
"I don't!" She swung into full defensive mode. "I was just going to-to- put some of those sharp wood thingys in my pocket! What were you doing? Geez, we're only going out for a bite to eat, not looking to put another notch on our belts. Can't you check your sociopathic tendencies at the door for one night?"
"Me?!" He shot back. "I hope that nobody makes you angry while we're out, should they meet with the same fate as the bloody bedside table! I don't fancy going to prison just because you can't control your..." He stopped, breaking off as he considered the hurtful words that had almost escaped his lips. They couldn't blame one another for things that they couldn't understand or control.
Even though he'd curbed his words, their meaning was hanging obviously between he and Buffy. He wondered how fragile she was, and braced himself for tears or an outburst of anger. She did neither, instead lifting her chin in defiance, daring him to finish the sentence. It was as though they'd done this a thousand times before; Buffy giving him this rebellious glare, leaving him at a complete loss for words.
Giles was suddenly struck with understanding of some kind. Their places were clear to him, the part they each played in their relationship, and he knew at that instant that she was his. And that he belonged to her as well, with or without memories.
Overcome with a pleasant possessiveness, he took the girl by surprise, pulling her up against him. His hand ran over the back of her head, through the blond locks, and twisted slightly, so that her hair wrapped around his fingers, giving him a degree of control. He used this to his advantage, pulling ever so gently, guiding her mouth to his own.
The expression she'd held was imprinted on his mind as he closed his eyes, feeling her sigh as their lips rubbed together, softly at first, then with more certainty. It had been an expression that couldn't be construed as anything but wanting. She wanted this, and that gave him the courage to go further. He used the hand in her hair to deepen the kiss, while the other hand took liberties that Giles without amnesia would've never taken, no matter how many times he'd wanted to. A nagging thought crept in. Something telling him to stop, that he shouldn't be doing this. He defied this idea by pressing his body against hers to show her exactly where he wanted this to go. Buffy responded eagerly, making a little impatient sound when he didn't do anything more.
He wrenched away from her with great effort, turning away from her, trying to banish these whispers that were so contradictory to his desires.
[What the hell is the matter with me?]