“Remind me again why you can’t just wear the pant-suit?” Mac asked, watching Veronica examine another out-fit in the mirror.
She’d decided that since Mac and Parker were already in on The Case of the Missing Monkey she might as well let them in on her and her father’s attempts to figure out Dean O’Dell’s questionable death. Sure, her dad hadn’t officially taken on the case yet – but Veronica had been too close to too many questionable deaths before this to just turn away. Something had been overlooked, that much was obvious. Now it was just a matter of determining what.
“Because this one considers herself smart, and on the off chance she isn’t as completely brainless as those two idiots who ripped off the Student Casino – I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot and insult her intelligence.”
“So the floor-length floral skirt…?” Parker asked, sitting on the couch.
“Gonna play the odds. Security officer, so probably butch by default, trying to give off that Femme-vibe. Dressing cruelty free just in case she’s one of those morally conscious lesbians.” She said, pulling on an olive-green sweater over the white collared shirt she wore.
“You could crack out a sharpie and draw on a nice, thick unibrow too.” Mac suggested, grinning.
“I could pull some hair out of the shower drains and we could past it under your arms?” Parker offered, laughing, “Which sounds more hippy – under-arm dreads, or beaded-braids…?” she asked, pensively.
“Whoa guys! I’m just trying to pick her up, not spending the weekend with her at Dina Shore.” Veronica had to put a stop to the disturbing visuals her friends were suggesting.
“How reliable is the intel you got?” Mac asked, her still amused but doubting tone not lost on Veronica.
“Weevle said he’s seen her around, constantly getting hit on by the men of Hearst’s proud Rent-A-Force, but every offer? Declined.”
“So far that just sounds like good taste, not gayness.” The taller blonde pointed out. Veronica barely suppressed a grin.
“Isolated by itself, yes.” She said as she pulled her hair up into a bun at the top of her head. “But in the broad spectrum of circumstantial evidence? Weevil, Piz, Logan...even you, Mac, have seen her in the company of one, age-appropriate, Willow Rosenberg. Only her, I might add.”
“My Tech teacher?” Mac clarified, “That is a bit more convincing.” She nodded, eyebrows slightly raised.
“Why? What does that mean?”
“Professor Rosenberg teaches Modern Compiling, Information in the Age of Google,” Veronica clarified as she finally turned away from the mirror and towards Parker. “She’s open about her sexuality, and also quite anti-social. Sounds like Down-Low dating of a fellow Hearst employee to me.” Parker decided not to argue.
“What’s your angle?” Mac asked, almost excitedly, “How’re you gonna get close to her?”
“I figured a good’ole fashion stalking would do the trick.” She said as she grabbed her bag and headed for the door. “Wish me luck!” and she was gone.
“She does know that she looks more like a straight prude than a Lesbian, right?” Parker asked her roommate while Mac re-arranged all the clothes Veronica had tried on and rejected.
“Veronica may be smart, but a lot of her hunches are based on the law of averages.” Mac sighed. “And being gay… it’s a divergence from the average. But I can’t deny her effectiveness. Sometimes, working with stereotypes is better than going in blind.”
-
A gay bar. Not just any gay bar; a lesbian joint called Velvet.
“How I got here, I do not know…” Buffy mumbled to herself as she leaned her elbows on the slab, drinking her Iced Tea. A moment later a flute of Champaign was set in front of her by the bartender.
“From the lady on the end.”
Buffy didn’t even look up.
“Send it back.” She almost grunted, keeping her eyes fixed on the surface of the counter.
“You’re not even curious enough to look?” The bartender asked. That meant she was jealous, her admirer must have been quite a looker. As if she cared?
“Send it back.” She said, locking eyes with the server. “As politely as possible.” The girl shook her head and poured the glass out into a sink hidden below the bar with a great flourish, scowling. The Slayer scowled right back. “You call that polite?”
“No. I call that a waste. That’s the third drink you’ve been offered tonight and you’ve been here barely an hour. Might as well make it obvious to anyone else wanting to buy you a drink that it’s a waste of money.” The girl leaned towards the blonde conspiratorially, “So, why do you come here?” Buffy sighed.
“You see the wisp of a redhead out on the dance floor?” She asked, not turning around. The bartender took a second to locate the target over Buffy’s shoulder before nodding. “Roommate.” She clarified, taking a long drink of her Tea, “She’s the lesbian. Had some bad luck finding a new girlfriend. I’m the wingman, here to provide moral support and a ride home.”
“But this is your forth visit here in three weeks.” The bartender noted, “And there have been nights when she didn’t need you for a ride home.” Her tone was suggestive.
“You ever see Coyote Ugly?”
“You kidding? I’m a gay bartender.”
“What’s the name of the bar mean?” The grin fell off the other woman’s face.
“Oh. I see your point.”
“She’s looking for a girlfriend, not one-night-stands. Which is turning out to be surprisingly hard to come by in this small town. And since she’s a Professor at Hearst, and can’t date students…” the bartender nodded again, taking empty beer bottles from patrons as they handed them back.
“I getcha.” She muttered, uncapping more MGDs and handing them to rather man-ish looking women next to Buffy, “You’re welcome to park here, so long as you don’t cause too much of a pile-up.” The blonde smiled in thanks and raised her glass briefly in salute as the bartender winked and walked further down the line. But she didn’t leave for long.
“What’s this?” Buffy asked as the bartender set an empty glass in front of her.
“This is something new, so I thought I’d at least let you hear them out.” She told the blonde, her grin fairly sly.
“Is it a tall, dark and hansom man?” she asked, voice slightly irritated, “Before they started T-Treatment, I mean? Or would that be asking too much?” She shook her head.
“Admirer said you can fill the glass with whatever you want.” At this the blonde’s eyebrows rose, “Just as long as you talk to her while you drink it.” Buffy shot the server a look. “Hey, ask for a shot of tequila and down it. That’ll take just long enough to say ‘hello’ quickly followed with ‘goodbye’.” Buffy chuckled and shook her head. “Come on! Worse case scenario, you have an actual conversation.”
“Fine.” Buffy relented. “Double Glenfiddich and two maraschino cherries.”
“What?” the bartender asked, slightly disgusted, “A fine scotch, and candied fruit?” Buffy nodded. “In the same glass?”
“I like to suck on the cherries at the end.” The bartender smirked in a way that implied that her mind had just gone to a dirty place. The blonde sat, pointedly waiting.
“Right on it, then.”
“Which one is she?” Buffy asked, hesitantly, suddenly wondering if the smirk her server wore was due to the appearance of the woman she’d just accepted a drink from.
“She’ll come to you.” She winked as she handed over the odd drink. “Good luck.” Buffy nodded and took a small sip, savoring the clean taste of quickly evaporating, oak-barrel-aged Scottish whisky with just a hint of sweetness in the background.
“So who finally got to you?”
Buffy turned to look at the woman standing directly to her left. She wore a curious grin and a floor-length floral skirt. Buffy smirked at her.
“Dunno. They haven’t made themselves known to me yet. And I’m a very impatient person. Not gonna let my drink vanish waiting for them to show up.” She said as she took another sip, this one a little fuller.
“You here alone?” her neighbor asked.
“Not exactly.” She set her drink down carefully on the counter, eyes fixed ahead of her at the bottles lining the mirrored shelves. “I’m here to keep an eye on my roommate. She hates going out to places like this alone.” She felt the girl next to her shift, but didn’t turn to look as she very nearly finished her Scotch.
“So you are alone. In the sense of… no romantic ties?” Buffy couldn’t help but smirk.
“Not here, no.”
“My name’s Alma.” She said, holding out a small, soft hand.
“And my name’s Joannie Stubbs.” Buffy said, turning to face her. Noticing the way the girl’s eyes squinted ever so slightly at the name, she knew it was half familiar. “I know who you are, Veronica. Most of us do.” Veronica’s grin fell slack on her face.
“Frak.” The younger blonde muttered. Buffy just smirked at her and didn’t bother to hide the amused tone in her voice.
“I take it you took campus rumor to be true,” she said, eyeing her up and down. “Why else would you be here. And dressed like that.” Veronica smiled tightly. “I mean, I know you’re a librarian, but that outfit is – ”
“How do you know where I work?” Veronica countered quickly. Buffy just smiled.
“I work on campus too. But you already know that. That’s why you’re here. That’s why you followed me in your gray Saturn, student parking pass 24854.” It wasn’t hard to notice the hardening of the young woman’s features.
“What do you want?” Veronica asked, voice stiff. Buffy just shook her head.
“The question is what do you want, Veronica. I want to know why you would go through all this trouble?” The smaller woman frowned. She’d lost control of the situation and couldn’t seem to regain her footing.
“Trouble?”
“The stake-out, the drink, the lie, not to mention the outfit…” at which point Buffy laughed, Veronica self-consciously popping the top-most button of her starched shirt. “I can only assume it’s because you know exactly what my job entails.”
“Let’s say, hypothetically, that I do.” She started, her tone all business, “I’m not about to tell you my sources.” Buffy grinned, this time without amusement, just honest.
“I know your source already. It’s you. You must have asked around, or simply put it together through observation; I don’t know.” She stepped closer to the younger woman, and Veronica was surprised by how uncomfortable the close proximity made her. Not because of any kind of fear, but more the lack thereof. An excited nervousness. Once again, she was slightly thrown off beat, and the increasing number of causes didn’t help.
“But you have yet to answer my question.” Buffy pointed out, “Why are you here Veronica? What do you want from me?” she asked, leaning in and almost whispering, the noise of the club really not all that noisy suddenly. Veronica was a little shocked to say the least when the first mental image she had after that question was of the blonde leaning closer still. She shook it off and fixed her eyes on the older woman. Buffy certainly didn’t seem unsettled, if anything she looked mildly smug. She hated that look on other people.
“I know that portions of the campus are monitored. I want to know what parts, where the feeds lead, who knows about them, and whom might have access to them.” She asked, no nonsense. Buffy nodded.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Veronica asked, skeptically. “Just like that?” Buffy nodded. “Now the coercion technique I’ve been fine-tuning is all for naught - what am I supposed to do with all that bamboo?” The older girl allowed herself a chuckled as she leaned back against the bar once more.
“I helped clear the pot out of that sorority you busted. I also heard about your part in catching the rapists.” The look she got from Buffy was sober and almost kind. “The reason campus security has it out for you has more to do with ego than morality. You busted two of our guys, and now whenever we try to pull authority on a student we get even less respect – a damn near impossible feat.” Veronica had the feeling she should be showing at least a little bit of remorse, but Buffy’s expression was one of amusement.
“But that’s never really bothered me, since the most responsibility I’m allowed is guard-dogging a nest of monitors. The only other guy I have working with me is a former deputy that Lamb forced into retirement when he took over. And he’s a big fan of your Dad. Especially after this summer when he finally caught Woody Goodman.” The two blondes smiled at each other, faces almost mirrors of one another. Somehow, their close proximity had lost all hostility.
“Buffy!” The Slayer turned to see Willow happily approaching from the small, crowded dance floor. “This place is even more of a bust than – ” The redhead took a moment to take in the situation before her. Buffy was talking to a woman in a gay bar, the two of them smirking over drinks as they spoke quietly to one another. She blinked a few times, just in case. “Uh… you made a friend?” Veronica shook her head.
“Something like that.” Buffy grunted, pushing off the bar. “I take it you didn’t get any nibbles at the line?” Willow grimaced.
“Not exactly. But let me put it this way; it’s no fish I’d wanna eat.” Both blondes grimaced at oddly symmetrical mental images they never wished to revisit. Ones that occurred to Willow far too late to stop the words from leaving her mouth. “Let me rephrase – ”
“Hey, Cherry!” a woman in a black leather vest and purple jeans called from behind her. The redhead’s face became pale, standing suddenly stock-still. Willow stared at Buffy pleadingly; the woman wrapped an arm around the young professor as she found her mark, “Thought I’d lost you out there. What say you and I find a quieter place to dance…?” she said, burying her nose in Willow’s neck and sniffing deeply. The blondes saw her visibly shudder. “God, Cherry, you smell good.” The creepy woman muttered.
“Hey! Amy Ray wannabe!” the woman looked up at the angry little blonde stepping into her personal space, “You wanna get your sweaty hands off my girl? Or do you want me to break them for you?” The stranger raised her palms and backed away, fading into the populace on the dance floor as Buffy wrapped an arm low around Willow’s waist, chuckling.
“What would you call that? Catfish?”
“More like a Mudskipper.” Willow groaned. “Please, take me home before I cave and call Kennedy for lack of better options?” she pleaded and Buffy chuckled as she turned them towards the door and started for it.
“Wait!” Veronica called, “We were about to collude?” Buffy barely glanced back over her shoulder in response.
“Find me tomorrow. And next time you decide to come out of the closet? Try a little bit more lipstick.”