Disclaimer: Joss owns them. Besides, why would be writing Fanfiction?
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: this is totally AU. I hate Marti Noxon so much, that I needed to write a future fic. I can't believe she actually said the Yoko Factor was supposed to be the complete end of B/A. Grrr!
Timeline: Five years after "Into the Woods"
Spoilers: "Into the Woods"
Distribution: *laughter* you want this? Well, sure, just send me the URL for your site and it's all yours, baby! If you already have my fics, take it as usual
Feedback: *sigh* do I really have to tell you at this point?
Translations: Ciao -Hello, Come Sta -How are you?, Mi Dispiace -I'm sorry
Dedication: to Sara-Lee, who got me thinking about writing a longer story, and Deb Nockels, for her great and inspiring feedback.

Buffy Summers wiped a stray bead of sweat from her forehead as she walked out into the hot sun and neared a table full of young people. "Ciao," she said brightly. "Come sta?"

They looked confused and pulled out a phrase book. Buffy saw their intention and quickly switched to English. "It's all right. I'm American. What can I get for you today?"

They appeared visibly relieved and a flushed and pretty black haired woman asked her, "What would you recommend?"

"The pistachio," she uttered automatically as she was trained to do. "Best in Venice."

"Four please then," one man said cheerfully and Buffy nodded, turning away and heading back to the counter.

"Four pistachio George," she told the thin man behind the counter who scowled at her.

"Bad mood today, Anne?"

Buffy grimaced and smiled. Her boss was a master at reading moods. "Just a case of the same olds, same olds. If I have to tell people our ice cream is the best in Venice one more time." she trailed off threateningly and pulled at the white cotton of her dress. "And I gotta work tonight. Can you believe?"

"I thought Paradiso was closed on Sundays," he commented, referring to the bar where Buffy worked at night. She watched him as he scooped out the light green ice cream absently and leaned on the cool counter.

"Nope. Rafe decided to make it live music night." She grabbed a tray and assembled the four ice creams on it, careful not to let them drip as she headed out into the sunlight again, straightening the "Paolin" sign that hung at the door, as she went.

Handing out the ices with a practiced smile, she looked around and breathed a sigh of relief at the lack of customers. Of course, all the sensible Italians were having their siestas on such a brutally hot afternoon, but usually there was the influx of tourists.

Sinking down onto a chair, she wiped her soaking brow and straightened the messy bun she kept her long blonde locks confined to. Maybe it was time for a change. She had been living in Venice for two years now, and that was usually her limit. In fact, she reminded herself, one year was her desired length of time to spend in one place, but she hadn't been able to resist staying for longer. Venice had her under its spell and she had to get away before she became too comfortable. She couldn't make any place her home.

Sunnydale.

How long had it been? Five and a half years now. It all seemed so far away. She could barely believe California existed.

When she left all those years ago, running away, she hadn't had a clear idea where she was going. She just wanted to get away. Riley had left her, and her sister wasn't really her sister, and her mother had nearly died, and Buffy couldn't take it anymore.

She didn't know if they still looked for her. She assumed they did, because Giles was not one to give up. Her mother probably thought she was dead. *Well, I might as well be* Buffy thought, wringing her hands and staring up at the blue sky. She would never go home again, that she knew. She was dead to them now.

How would they ever be able to forgive her?

Yes, the first time they had, because her reason was so great. Angel. But this time? She had just broken down. Her life hadn't made sense anymore. It hadn't been for any specific reason, everything had simply accumulated into a mess that left her head aching and her stomach heaving.

First it had been New York City. She hadn't even considered LA, realizing how stupid that would be, with Angel in town. He would've sensed her a mile away. New York was her choice, and it had a comforting anonymity. A girl like her could get lost in crowds like those in the City that never slept, and she had taken advantage of that fact. With three waitressing jobs all she had been able to afford was a tiny apartment infested with roaches. Buffy didn't last long in New York.

With all the money she had, she then bought a plane ticket. For Europe. Europe was so far way, and it represented something Buffy had never had. Pure, unadulterated freedom. What an exhilarating, frightening ride it had been. Through London, Paris and then inevitable, Rome. Bella Roma. She would go back there again, but Venice had called and that was when Buffy fell in love.

Not with a man. With a city. She loved everything about Venice, and when she had first arrived, spent countless hours exploring the canals, the lonely streets, the Cathedrals.the ambiance, the beauty, the heart-breaking ancientness of Venice spoke to her. For she was old to. An old being, who had seen too much.

Now here she was, twenty-five and working two jobs, only one that paid well, and in possession of a small apartment overlooking the Moisorine.

Standing up, she noticed the group of tourists had finished their ice creams, and left, leaving a good tip. With a slight smile, she gathered up the cash and the tray, carrying it into the café with ease. "George.are we closing?" she asked, as she noticed her boss, and the owner of the shop, sweeping around the tables inside as he hummed a sad love song.

"Mi dispiace, Anne, but we must. I have a date this evening and wish to get ready."

"I see, I see," she laughed, a melodious sound and wiggled her eyebrows. "And who is the lucky lady?"

He flushed and set down the broom, as she turned to the sink and filled it rapidly with hot water and detergent to clean the empty bowls, sticky with ice cream. "Signora Colonna," he muttered and she gaped at him as she scrubbed the dishes.

" Mrs. Colonna? Geez.George, she's about fifty years older than you! And married might I add!"

He shrugged and scratched his neck. "She likes me," he whispered, and his skin went even redder as Buffy grinned.

"I bet she does. A young stud like you."

"Stop it, Anne," he growled menacingly and then his face dissolved into laughter. "She is old isn't she?"

"Like fifty or something," Buffy giggled. "But hey, if that's what turns your crank."

"Turn my crank?" he repeated, his accent thick as it twisted around the unfamiliar phrase. "I don't know what you mean, Anne."

"Never mind," she swatted him with the rag. "Go on, get ready for Colonna. I'll finish the cleaning."

"Grazie!" he called as he sped out the door. Buffy turned back to the washing, still chucking. He was the weirdest, and best boss she had had so far. One in New York had been a pervert, and one in Rome forced her to work almost twenty hours a day. But George.he was almost as young as her, and completely easy going. He had come into an inheritance from an elderly Uncle, which was how he had taken over control of the café, and business boomed. Buffy was one of many waitresses. Two local girls called Teresa, and Maria worked at the café as well, as did an older woman named Ava.

Squirting more detergent into the water, she plunged her hands in and scrubbed furiously at the bowls. If she finished fast she might be able to take a walk and have a nice dinner before she had to head off to Paradiso. A sound at the door caught her attention, and without turning around, she called, "Mi dispiace" and then tried to remember how to say, "we're closed" in Italian.

"Buffy."

It was a voice she had heard thousand of times in her head but never out loud. It was a voice she knew better than her own. "Angel?" she asked in a very small voice, and began to turn around.

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