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Authors Chapter Notes:
This is my first fic evar. It's un-betaed and a little rough around the edges, but it gets better as it goes along. And I'm a very dialogue-driven writer. So be prepared for that. Oh, and Banner by Tanit.


“If it isn’t the enigmatic Ms. Summers.” The dark haired, dark eyed bartender announced as the flouncy, jovial blonde plopped down on the barstool like she was at home. “What’ll it be?” He then added.

“I dunno. What do you recommend?”

“Honestly? That you slow down, before we have a repeat of last weekend’s performance.” Despite this warning, his hands, seemingly with a mind of their own, began grabbing various bottles and pouring measured amounts of their contents into a shaker.

“God, Xander, what are you? My big brother or something?”

“As a matter of fact…”

“We’re just steps, you big dork.”

“Close enough for me. Besides, I have solemnly sworn to protect you from the evils of public drunkenness and the not so pleasant after effects of mixing hard liquors.”

“You’re still mad that I puked in your car last weekend, aren’t you?”

“Little bit, yeah.”

“But I cleaned it out! It doesn’t smell or anything!”

“Your cleaning prowess will never be disputed behind this bar. Here. Have another one of my famous ‘Mai Tai thingies’.” He handed her the drink he’d been steadily shaking and mixing as their exchange took place. There was about 50% less rum in it than usual.

“Mmmm. Thanks, Xand. How much?”

“Your money’s no good here. You know that.”

“Such conflicting signals I get from you. Slow it down, but everything’s free. What’s a girl supposed to think?”

“I don’t have to charge you, Buffy. Your tab’s already been picked up by that guy and that guy and that one down there.” Xander replied, pointing out several college aged guys seated around the bar.

“Awww. Thank you boys!” She said in an elevated voice, lifting her drink in a toast-like fashion.

She leaned towards Xander conspiratorially.

“You have the number to give them if any of them ask, right?” She asked, barely above a whisper.

“The rejection hotline?” He whispered back. “Armed and ready, Buffster.” He finished when she nodded.

“Do not- I repeat- do not give out my real number, no matter how funny you think it’d be, or you’ll buy me a new phone number next time.” Xander laughed.

“Scouts honor.” He said, holding up three fingers.

“You got kicked out of the scouts.” She pointed out.

“I can still have honor.” He said defensively. She eyed him warily.

“All right.” She said, drawling. “I now return to the safety of my no guys allowed girl’s night out.” Then, with a wink and a grin (and a curious glance at the white haired stranger directly to her right), she grabbed her drink and was gone.


The white haired stranger eyed Xander curiously.

“That’s your step-sister, mate?” He asked. Xander was immediately defensive. Or, rather, protective.

“Yeah. Why?”

“She’s gorgeous enough, I’ll give you that. Seems a bit heartless, though. Rejection hotline?” Xander shrugged.

“Yeah. It’s a number you give out when you don’t want to give your real number…”

“I know what it is. Seems a bit harsh. Like I said.”

“Well, when you get hit on or asked about as much as Buffy, it’s best to have a back up plan. And all these guys know I’m her step-brother. What am I supposed to do?”

“Think like Nancy Regan. Just say No.”

“That’s less harsh than a rejection hotline?” The stranger looked at him with an expression that said, clearly, “Duh.”

“Hell yes. You’re a guy mate, you know how it is. No is just no, right? But a phone number is a phone number. It’s like… hope, yeah? Until you call it and get some cheesy automated voicec cheerfully telling you you’ve been rejected, treating you like a joke. It’s heartless.”

“I take it you’ve been rejected.” Xander said slyly. The white-haired fellow smirked.

“No, actually. Mate of mine told me about it.”

“Uh-huh.” Xander intoned with much sarcasm.

“Believe me or don’t. I don’t rightly care. I will have another one of those ‘fancy European beers’, though.”

“Comin’ right up.”

~*~

The club was emptying out and Buffy was more than a little drunk as she stumbled back up to the bar.

“You okay, little sis?” Xander asked.

“Peachy keen. And you’re only like a month older than me so…” She ended the statement with a strange, garbled noise that sounded vaguely like “pssshaw.”

“A month is enough.” Xander replied wisely.

“Whatever, Xander.” Buffy was going to say more when something distracted her. “Why’s your hair that color?” She asked, thoroughly invading the man to her right's space to bury her left hand in the hair in question. His hand immediately snapped up and grabbed her wrist, an action that, while it seemed to thoroughly escape Buffy’s attention, did not escape Xander’s.

“It’s called Peroxide.” He said through gritted teeth.

“But your hair’s so soft…” Buffy pressed on, burying her right hand in his hair instead.

“Uhhh… Buffy… remember that little chat we had about personal space recently?” Xander attempted to interject. Buffy looked at him, thoroughly confused.

“What? No. He doesn’t care. Do you?” She looked at the man now tightly gripping both of her wrists for all of a second.

“Well, actually…” He started to say.

“Nooo.” Buffy finished. “He doesn’t care, Xand. No big.”

“Actually. I. Do.” He emphasized each word and let go of her wrists with an emphatic thrust. Buffy’s face immediately grew shocked an offended.

“God, I’m sorry.” She spat. “I didn’t mean to offend your sensitive hair sensibilities or whatever.”

“Listen, girl, just because you’re cute doesn’t mean you can go ‘round doing whatever you like, putting your nosey little hands all over anybody within reach.” She immediately started sputtering.

“That… that is not… I did not… I’d hardly say all over… and you know what, you’re cute, too, so just… just…” She knew after she’d said it that it wasn’t particularly logical, but it had made a weird kind of sense in her head.

“And yet, I have somehow managed to keep my hands to myself, all night.”

“God, whatever. It’s not like I groped your crotch or something.” What? “Not that I would, I mean…” Stop. Stop now. Abort! Abort! “I mean, whatever, I wasn’t hitting on you or anything, Mr. Keep-to-Myself, so don’t worry.”

“Oh, I wasn’t worrying, pet. You’re not my type. About a thousand miles from it.” Was he enjoying how flustered she was getting right now? He almost couldn’t wait to see how she’d respond to that one. Her eyes narrowed and the dark red blush faded a little from her cheeks. Uh-oh.

“What is your type, huh? No, no, let me guess: dark haired, gothed out, and tragic, right? Like I’d even want to be ‘your type’.” She finished with a bitterly sarcastic tone and finger quotes, swaying on her seat a little. Something flashed behind his eyes—something dark— and he clenched his jaw.

“I’m gonna get you some water, Buffy. Some cold water. From the back.” Xander once again tried to interject, but was ignored by both parties. With a worried glance and a sigh, he went to fulfill his stated mission.

“And you know what? Don’t just assume ‘cause I’ve got blonde hair I’m all… stupid and slutty. Like you’re even one to talk you… you… Billy Idol looking freak!” Buffy continued.

He noticed that, good god, he hadn’t been this frustrated by a woman in… ever. Then he noticed something else. Something he hadn’t noticed in a good, long while. Before he even thought about it, he stood, took her face in his hands, and kissed her, hard, his tongue lashing fervently and invasively against hers.

“Mmmf!” She intoned angrily, wiggling her shoulders and trying to twist away, until he pulled back just a touch, and kissed her with slightly less gusto and slightly more tenderness, his tongue sliding gently against hers.

“Mmmm.” She moaned and buried her hands in his hair, and this time, he didn’t mind a bit. “Mmmf!” She called out again as he pulled away.

“Come with me.” He said huskily. He said it firmly, if not gruffly, and did not phrase it as a question, though he knew all along that it was. A very important question.

“O-okay.” She answered, a bit breathlessly. He grabbed her hand and led her resolutely to the door.


“Okay, Buffy. Let’s have some cold water and leave the nice rock star a… lone?” Xander said, trailing off as he emerged from the back room. “Buffy?” He asked the empty bar, but of course, there was no response. The guy had, at least, left a $100 bill on the bar to pay for his tab, which was only about $14.95 in the first place.




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