Portal

"Can I at least buy you another coffee?" I offer, but I really hope he doesn't take me up on my offer. I seem to be low on cash. When I left the house this evening for patrol, I hadn't exactly planned on bringing enough money to feed and shelter me for a week.

"No, it's fine," he says, not looking up. "It's okay."

"Is she friend of yours?" I pointedly ask. No beating around the bush tonight.

He clears his throat, and looks up sheepishly. "Ah, you caught me staring, huh?"

I nod, forcing my mouth into a twisted smile. "Yeah, you're kind of obvious."

He continues to stare at her across the room with a dreamy-far-off look in his puppy-dog eyes. "She's something, isn't she?"

I follow his gaze and watch as she laughs easily with some of her admirers. She looks like she's used to being the center of men's attention and enjoys it. A touch of her hand on someone's arm, the way she throws her head back slightly and laughs a throaty chuckle. The way her face goes serious when she's talking one-on-one, her gaze not wandering as though you're the most interesting thing in the room.

"Who is she?" I ask, a little mesmerized myself.

"City Hall."

"That's a name?" I snort in disbelief.

"Yeah...I guess so," he nods. "I-I introduced myself to her a few weeks ago. I've actually been trying to work up the courage to talk to her again, actually. I think her poetry is beautiful."

"But you think she's more beautiful than her writing," I smirk.

Busted. The guy blushes slighting and I'd find it endearing if I didn't want to knock his head off of his neck.

Wow. That's quite the visual. People sitting, unaware, drinking their cafИ mochas when suddenly the head of a patron flies off his neck, blood spraying all over the walls, staining the latest copy of the Wall Street Journal.

I shake my head briskly. All this time-traveling must be getting to me.

He sticks out his hand. "I'm Barkley, by the way."

I laugh again, and shake his pro-offered greeting. "That's a name, too? What's with you people?"

He smirks. "And I'm sure your parents did a better job?"

I narrow my eyes at him. Seriously. There's nothing wrong with the name `Buffy!' I don't know how many times I've had to defend it just tonight. Which, granted, has felt more like a week than a night out on patrol. But there's no way I'm telling him my name, only to have him laugh at it.

I realize that Barkley's been talking about something, and I've been completely ignoring him. I nod a few times and smile, feigning that I've actually been listening to him the entire time. I had lots of practice doing that in school. And with Giles. I'm a professional at not-listening-to-you-but-I'd-feel-bad-if-you-knew-I-was-really-drowning-you-out-with-other-more-interesting-thoughts.

His face looks suddenly alarmed and he hastily puts his ceramic cup on a nearby table.

"I'm sorry, she's about to leave," he apologizes. Barkley wipes at his mouth absentmindedly and starts for the door. "I'm...I've gotta go. It was, uh, nice to meet you!" he calls out behind his retreating form.

As he's making his exit, Barkley stumbles, catches himself on someone's shoulder, and apologizes. But he won't be denied. I watch as he pushes through the dense crowd until he's outside and standing next to her.

I lean against a bookshelf and watch as the two start an uncomfortable conversation. I wonder if Barkley has the balls to ask her out. She's way out of his league, but her poetry revealed a side to her that might not rank attractiveness as a top priority. He's not that bad looking, I guess, but I wouldn't call him God's Gift to Women, either. It looks like he cuts his own hair and he's got enough stubble that tells me he couldn't grow a full beard if he tried.

I squint my eyes. Although I've got a clear view of them beyond the plate-glass window, I can't make out what they're saying. Now I'm regretting never training with Giles on how to read lips. But in my defense, it's not like the creepy-crawlies I usually fight even have lips.

He looks rattled, raking his fingers through his hair as he talks to her, no doubt gushing about how beautiful her "poetry" is. She gives him a small smile and looks shyly away at his compliments.

I watch Barkley turn away from her briefly to unchain an old ten-speed from the bike rack in front of the coffee shop. Damn it. It's the same bike I stopped from getting stolen earlier. I'm slightly annoyed with myself for saving this guy's bike. If I'd known he was such a creeper, I would have stolen his bike myself.

He looks like he's saying goodbye, and she looks like she doesn't want him to go.

I make my way through the cafИ's crowd and out the front door just in time to see Barkley climb on his bike and push his foot against the first pedal.

"Call me!" Faith's clone calls out wistfully.

Barkley turns back briefly at her and the front tire of his bike wobbles unsteadily. He catches himself before crashing into a fire hydrant and continues down the street.

City Hall looks momentarily confused, and I stand beside her, unnoticed.

"Don't tell me you wanted to go home with that guy?" I ask in a low voice so only she can hear.

She turns and looks at me, surprise in her dark eyes. It takes me a moment to collect my thoughts. This certainly isn't the first time I've run into one of Faith's doppelgangers, but each time is still unnerving.

"I thought he was kind of sweet," she says in that effected voice that somehow sounds wrong coming out of her familiar mouth. "Don't tell me he's your boyfriend or something?"

I watch Barkley ride off into the distance, his lean form disappearing around a corner. "No," I chuckle. "Not my boyfriend."

The Faith look-alike regards me for a moment. "So what's it to you if I wanted him to come over to my place tonight?"

I hold up my hands in retreat. "Sorry," I apologize. "Bad habit. I shouldn't be sticking my nose into other people's business." I start to walk away, although I have no intension of actually leaving this girl.

"I've never seen you around," she calls after me. "You new?"

Hah. I'm in. I stop my retreat and turn to give her an award-winning smile. "Something like that."

City Hall regards me for a moment. "Well, a new girl in town could always use a few new friends, right?"

I eyeball her suspiciously. After listening to her poetry, I'm not sure City is the kind of girl I'd be BFF with.

"I have a car," she blurts out when I remain silent.

I raise my eyebrow comically. "Random thought of the evening?"

"No," she laughs, realizing how bizarre and out-of-place her admission must seem. "I just thought maybe you'd like to get dinner? I mean, no offense, but you look a little worn around the edges."

I look down at my grimy jeans and frown. She has a point.

"Come over to my place," she offers with a dimpled smile. "You can take a shower there, and I'll order us some Moo Sho. My treat." She bats her eyelashes at me playfully. "Unless that is, you think I'm a serial killer."

I'm taken aback by this stranger's kindness. In fact, I've been routinely taken aback by how...generous all of Faith's clones have been. I'm not sure if I was in her position I would be so altruistic, and I'm not entirely sure I know what "Moo Sho" is either.

As if on cue, my stomach growls. I grimace and grab at it lightly. I look down at my abdomen. "Traitor," I mutter.

"C'mon," she says with renewed playfulness, grabbing my hand. "I'm parked over here."

"By the way," she says, pulling me in the direction of a four-door tin can on wheels, "I'm City Hall. What's your name?"

I return City's carefree smile. "I'm Buffy," I tell her. "My name is Buffy."

City drops her keys on the black painted table near the front entrance. "Bathroom's down that hallway to the right," she tells me. She spins lightly on her toes and gives me a wink. "I'll order us some dinner so it'll be here by the time you're done."

I nod once and pad down the dark corridor in search of a bathroom. I suppose I should be more cautious, but nothing about City Hall raises any red flags.

The apartment's decor oddly doesn't surprise me. If City's poetry is dark and obscure, so is her taste in furniture and accessories. Spattered on the wall are numerous art projects, which I assume are all her own handiwork.

I find the bathroom with little trouble. The room is small — just enough space for a toilet, one sink vanity, and a stand-up shower, but it's well-lit and clean.

I quickly strip out of my clothes, thankful to finally let my feet breathe when I pull off my boots. These boots weren't exactly made for walkin', but then again I never suspected I'd be having these uncertain adventures tonight when I'd left the house I share with Dawn and Willow.

I stare at myself in the mirror. City was right; I do look a little rough around the edges. My eyeliner is smudged and my ponytail is messy, and my clothes look like I've worn them far longer than the evening. Can you say "Bag Lady"? I'm so frumptastic, it's amazing that Barkley ever said a word to me.

I slide into the running shower and sigh loudly, running my hands through my dampening hair. The water is hot and helps to erase the muck that has accumulated — physical and mental. This has been such a wild ride, I really haven't had a moment to myself to just reflect on everything. I don't know how long I've been gone. It feels like days, but the way these portals work, it could be minutes, weeks, or even years.

And it's still unclear why I'm here. At first I thought it had something to do with my Mom, but new portals are continually appearing, like I'm stuck in some messed up chain-of-events. It can't be just my bad luck that a random monster showed up in Cleveland and tossed me through a dimensional portal, right? But what I can't figure out is why. The only common thread seems to be Faith — or rather girls who look just like Faith, but really aren't.

The water starts to go a little cold, and I figure City's gonna worry I drowned in here if I don't come out soon. Plus, I don't want to run up her water bill. It doesn't look like she's exactly rollin' in the money.

I turn the faucet off, feeling amazingly refreshed. I open the shower door and notice words scrawled on the foggy vanity mirror: "Dinner's on the roof. C'mon up when you're ready."

There's also a fresh towel on the countertop, a tank top, and some pajama pants.

Huh. City must have snuck in while I was showering. I'm oddly not weirded-out by the idea of a stranger walking in on me in the shower, though. Look at me growing and maturing.

Still towel-drying my hair, I exit the bathroom and find that City's left behind a trail of post-it notes to guide me toward the roof access stairs. I follow the small, yellow notes out her apartment door, down a dimly lit hallway, and up a metal set of stairs.

When I reach the rooftop access, I'm not disappointed. Decorating the brick fence that forms the parameter of the roof is what looks like hundreds of lit candles. And in the center of the concrete rooftop is a box-spring mattress covered in an old-fashioned quilt.

Although it looks like a page torn out of a cheesy romance-novel, I can't help but be impressed.

"Wow," I exclaim, taken aback by my surroundings. "You don't really sleep up here, do you?"

City is crouched and looks over at me after lighting the final candle. She's changed out of her black dress and now wears a sheer, dark blue mini-dress that hugs her slight curves. It's more like a slip than a dress, really. It's ridden high on her thighs and I can't help but admire the sinewy muscles in her calves.

"I've got another bed in the apartment," she reveals nonchalantly, "but I stay up here in the summer. There's just something so...freeing about living without walls. I don't like to be boxed in."

I laugh and shake my head. "You sleep outside? In the city? That's crazy."

City drops her matchsticks abruptly and glares at me. She looks offended by my word choice. Her eyes are wild in the dim candlelight and her hair looks wilder than it had been when I last saw her. In fact, it reminds me a little too much of the looks a teenaged Faith used to give me back in Sunnydale.

"Crazy's just a choice, Buffy," she rasps, her voice cracking.

"I'm sorry...I-I didn't mean crazy," I stutter, standing awkwardly before her. I wring my hands in front of my body. "I meant, uhm, unique and interesting."

Her smile quickly returns to her playful mouth. "That's better," she murmurs.

I feel an odd rush of relief that she's smiling again. I don't know why it worried me so much that I might have insulted her. Maybe it's because of all the "Faith's" I've met so far, City Hall reminds me the most of the girl I abandoned. Not the woman back in that alleyway in Cleveland. But the scared, defiant, teenager who showed up in Sunnydale so many years ago.

"I hope you brought your appetite," City smiles, straightening herself and walking toward me.

I nod. "Just point me in the direction of the food," I warmly respond.

A shrill noise unexpectedly fills the night air, and I jump slightly. "Oh!" I call out in surprise. I turn quickly to see a full-sized cat land gracefully on the ledge of the rooftop.

"Meet Marvel," City laughs from her position behind me. "He's a thief. A cat thief," she says in all seriousness. "If you leave things out, he'll take them, and you never see them again. And I bet he wants to steal our food."

I watch the cat balance precariously on the ledge of the building. It's an orange tabby that looks well-fed. I eyeball him suspiciously. I've never been a fan of animals. In my experience, they're usually possessed. Plus if this cat thinks he's getting my dinner, he's gonna have to fight a Slayer for it.

"Buffy."

I turn around when she says my name. It takes me a second to realize that her blue tank dress has somehow magically disappeared. And with it, her bra.

I swallow audibly. Her dress is on the ground, pooled around her ankles. Her breasts are bare, and she wears only a sexy pair of black-lace underwear that rest high on her hips. I can't help but think that my version of Faith wouldn't be caught dead wearing something so feminine.

Her well-proportioned body is on display for only me. The candlelight flickers across her naked form, creating shadows and highlighting the lines of her slender curves.

Even when I saw all the candles, the thought of her trying to seduce me never crossed my mind. I just was coming up for Moo Sho. Wait. "Moo Sho" isn't like Chinese for "sex," is it?

"Am I beautiful?" she asks, staring at me hard.

My jaw drops. The words are out my mouth before I ever have time to harness them in: "God, yes."