Two
"Glad we settled that question," spoke Veronica with relieved confidence, as she lay beside Buffy in her girlfriend's bed.
Buffy agreed, trying to return her heart rate to normal levels. "I think I finally get the whole, 'make up sex' craze, now."
They'd walked their way to her house, Buffy saying she needed to find a ricer. Topics of conversation included: how it was such a shame Dean O'Dell committed suicide over learning of his wife's affair with Veronica's Criminology professor, the frightening, deepening relationship between Keith and Joyce, and the trials and tribulations surrounding Buffy's dinner plans.
It wasn't that they were playing it safe, it was just that they didn't know how to begin. Both wanted to make sure "it" was still there between them--the bonds of friendship, "The Look"...so they didn't force anything. Whatever happened, happened, was the guiding philosophy.
When they got inside the house, Veronica faux-marveled (as she did every time she stepped into the Summers' foyer), at the fact that her girlfriend's home had multiple floors and didn't share walls with a chronically unemployed birthday clown, and a shut-in named Rusty. Something about that must have turned Buffy on, because, next thing? The couple was doing some serious looking and re-bonding.
"Did we?" Veronica asked as she rolled on her side underneath the sheet to face the other blonde, honestly curious. "Make up? ‘Cause I was planning to try this new-fangled concept...um, 'apologizing' or whatever?"
A hint of "Valley Girl" crept into her voice, then took it over. "It sounds *so* hard; I think it's like, Canadian. It wouldn't even matter, except my advisor's being a total 'Edie' about how I need a foreign language credit. Hello! I already know all this Spanish--I've been to Cancun like, immersing myself in culture, how many times? But he completely didn't care."
That right there? Why Buffy missed Veronica. She--and them together--was fun. Though she was having flashbacks of Harmony Kendall, and that was scary. She thought it wise to soldier on.
"You aren't apologizing before me," Buffy smiled, stating it as fact, and naturally, Veronica saw this as a challenge.
A silent, battle of wills commenced, until the slayer abruptly kissed the lips in front of her, just long enough to throw their owner off her game.
"I'm sorry." The sly grin happened without Buffy's conscious knowledge. Truly. "See? Wouldn't fib."
"Well played," admitted Veronica, respectfully. Then, her smile? Both warm and regretting. "And no...you wouldn't."
That was called, "trust." Probably unconditional.
"Fighting? With you? Brand new experience, didn't care for it. I know we're going to--when two people are haulin' it long, that's just playing the percentages." If there was one thing you couldn't label Veronica as, it was "naïve." "But going *there* for our dry run? Now I don't have to imagine what ‘Zero' to ‘Whiplash' feels like anymore."
She kissed her this time. "I'm sorry, too."
"Yeah, there should've been talking. Before the bubbling over ever happened," the slayer said, and what they wouldn't give for a Delorean. "But I guess I didn't wanna get in your way. I mean, you've been honing your inner-'Agatha' for years; it's what you do. Me? Rarely sleuth-y. So I just..."
She made a motion like she was dragging a zipper over her lips. "...till the bubbling over."
"And I'm no Pink Ranger," Veronica simultaneously teased while admitting to adopting a similar policy. "So my word hole..."
She demonstrated by pressing under Buffy's chin, and closing her mouth. "...just as clamped."
Buffy's look said that remark wouldn't be forgotten, but for now she stayed on point. "I seriously never saw a downside. But then, you know...there was the whiplash."
"Who could've predicted?" Veronica smirked at the dumbness of their choice, whose consequence seemed so obvious in hindsight. "Remember the day after Parker was raped? In between telling Lamb I was there, and setting my red-eyed sights?"
The eve before, Willow, Mac, Buffy and Veronica had tickets to a midnight movie, which Mac had left in her room. Thinking Parker was inside just having sex, Veronica volunteered to brave possible awkwardness and fetch; she did so as quickly as she could. Then following their outing, Mac offered to let Willow crash, so an inebriated and frisky couple could go get biblical.
"I remember my girlfriend feeling like crap, and me forgetting I had class to attend because of; I wasn't gonna let the guilt avalanche. Know how deep it can get," said Buffy in answer.
"Well, I remember feeling awwwful content in that room. Too content. Almost forgot I had a compulsion to give into," Veronica started to explain. "If I didn't shut you out, not only was I gonna sidetrack...I wasn't gonna realize it. Somebody had to collar Mercer, and you never leave that to the Fuzz.
"But trust? She weren't no issue."
It was kind of complimentary, but it had still hurt.
"It shoulda been you." Buffy looked like she sought penance. "I collared by accident."
The detective was befuddled. "You saved my hair, maybe even my life...Mercer and Moe are Tiffany's love bucket...no more girls have to wake up like Parker did..."
The slayer was just as befuddled, having thought differently.
Her girlfriend asked her, "How big does 'Gen-Pop' think my ego is?"
Buffy pretended to cough, and looked away.
"Well, shiv," sighed Veronica. "I was angry at myself. Don't love it when an Oolong-downing 'Screech' gets the drop on me. Every 'Saved By the Bell' rerun? Triggers flashbacks. Damn man-bitch."
She rolled overtop. "If I *had been* mad at you, hypothetically, it was because I promised Parker...then didn't personally deliver the silver platter. But like I said..."
This time, non-verbally, with lips and tongue.
"More than willing to 'make up' as hard as you want--yunno, if you aren't convinced," she then spoke.
Never had Buffy been so tempted to lie. However, Veronica's cell phone loudly spared her from having to. Of course, it also prevented the chatting from reaching a natural conclusion; they hadn't even gotten to her yet. Later, hopefully.
"Why's it sound like it's coming from the hallway?" Veronica wondered.
"'Cause that's where your pants are?" Buffy suggested from below her.
Veronica nodded. "Ah. Yes. How quickly it all falls into place."
She reluctantly rolled off of her girlfriend and got to her feet, then Buffy started to reach for the folded blanket sitting at the end of the bed. Veronica held her hands up, declining the fabric.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa--why cover myself in a blanket, when I can cover myself in you?" As she smirked, it kept ringing. "Hurry...what if it's my dad?"
Buffy stared at her until it sunk in.
"Oh. You argue a strong case. Blanket?"
Veronica got handed the fabric, wrapped herself in it, and booked it for her pants. When she came back in, she held phone in one hand, and various garments in the other. After tossing them at Buffy, she covered the phone and said to her, "Good call," then spoke to Keith again.
"Yeah, no, we...Why didn't we hear the phone? Uh, do you think potatoes mash themselves? You wouldn't believe how loud Giles' mixer is."
#Didn't mean to interrupt, honey. Just thought I'd check in, see if you were imprisoned.#
"Only by each other's hearts, Pa," she said in a melodramatic, Southern accent, "only by each other's hearts."
When Buffy heard "mashed potatoes," after getting past Veronica's odd euphemism choice, she remembered it was Thanksgiving. And that without her, there'd be no Thanksgiving dinner. Panicking, she searched through the clothing, and intended to set a "speed-dressing" record.
#That's nice. Oh, uh, Joyce and I are going to the chapel.#
"Be careful how you close that lyric." Veronica paled and covered the phone again, speaking low through gritted teeth. "They're going to the chapel!"
Buffy froze, bra still unclasped in the back and leg up in the air, that she still had to put in her pants. She hopped to keep her balance.
"What chapel?"
"Start elaborating," daughter interrogated father.
#There's one in town that Buffy's uncle did the stained-glass for.#
"Local," Veronica said to Buffy, and the rest was hazy. "And for some reason, your uncle's a Stain'd fan."
"Who elopes to Ohio?"
"Drew Carey?"
All the sudden, Veronica beckoned her over and Buffy hopped her way there. The phone was angled so she could hear her mother laughing in the background. Cruel.
"You know what we just were? Naked. Lacking clothes. Together," announced Buffy.
"And not, 'just out of the shower' naked, either," Veronica added readily.
"Try happy, '*need* a shower now,' naked."
"Were there actually mashed potatoes? We'd tell you, but, nobody uses their imaginations today. And that's sad."
A click sounded on the other end.
"Hey! They don't get to hang up!" Buffy complained, feeling cheated. Then her "Thanksgiving ADD" came back with a vengeance. "Clothes. Dinner. Evil spirit. Gotta rework schedule. Gotta be moving."
And the "speed dressing" resumed. Veronica knew when not to argue. Except...
"What about the B.O.? I mean, don't get me wrong. We definitely oughta think about getting our surprisingly fragrant selves waxed into an overpriced candle." Where did Veronica come up with this stuff? "Still--"
"Giles has a shower," responded Buffy, to which her girlfriend's eyebrows rose. "With room for self-cleaning only."
"Yeah, you better head over," Veronica suggested, slipping her shirt over her head. "But my inner-Agatha and I have to be onboard the Orient Express by six."
Judging by the "Don't even try it" look, there was no way she was getting out of helping.
"How you can still deny being the butch one, with a ‘straight' face--she adds for the heckler in the back--is constantly beyond even *my* well-honed, deductive skills."
"Maybe that'll be your next mystery cracked," Buffy said with a smile, now dressed enough to venture from her bedroom. "I'm going to get the ricer and find our shoes."
But not before kissing some more. "Well, my shoes, your boots. Meet you downstairs?"
She didn't wait for a reply, she just went.
Veronica stood there a moment, smiling at the empty doorway. She'd never cop to it, but it was okay if some mysteries stayed un-cracked. Though she would see her gripes addressed before the night was out.
"What the frak is a ricer, anyway?" She yelled down.
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