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Title: Pillow Talk Author: Miss Murchison Rating: PG so far. That will change. Disclaimer: All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine. Notes: A Spuffy story that starts in early Season 6 before deviating from canon.
Thanks:
To
Keswindhover and
The story begins here.
“I’m really glad you happened by yesterday,” said Nancy as she went through the motions of running the espresso machine one more time for a confused Buffy. “I'm all for diversity and I don't want any complaints filed with the EEOC, but it's just not that easy to find humans who are willing to work like demons—no offense. At least I know you won’t run off just because some big hulk wanders in here, and the fact that you’re the Slayer will keep out most of the demon riff-raff instead of bringing in human dreck like that last girl did.” She cast a sideways glance at Buffy. “You don’t have a crazy, stalker ex-boyfriend, do you?”
“Not Spike?" Nancy held up a round, metal, scoop-shaped device by its black handle. "Don't fill this with too many grounds. It isn't just wasteful; you'll choke the brew." Buffy nodded. “You know Spike?” “Everyone knows Spike. I told him months ago he could hang out here in the evenings as long as he wasn’t drunk or chasing something.” She looked at Buffy speculatively. “I wonder if you fall into the second category and I should ban him permanently?” “We haven’t beaten each other up for months and months,” was all Buffy could think to reply. Nancy pushed a button and almost immediately a stream of black liquid hissed out of the machine into the cup she'd placed on the drip tray. “Huh. Does that mean you’re over that stage, or that you’re due for a good fight?” She pushed the button again. "A good shot shouldn't take more than 30 seconds. Remember that." “I’m not really sure. About Spike, I mean. Over it, I think. Most of the time.” “Well, he can still come in here then. But only if he orders something, pays for it, doesn’t break the furniture, and doesn’t try to kill the customers or staff. First violation, and I’ll personally sever his head from his body, and he knows he wouldn’t be the first vampire I’ve dusted.” Nancy turned a knob and the machine let off a cloud of steam. "Keep your skin clear of this when you're foaming the milk." She turned the knob off. "You've got all that?" "Not too many grounds, no more than thirty seconds, no fighting with Spike, watch out for the steam when doing the foamy. Got it." "Okay. I'll show you where we keep the dairy and we'll practice doing the foamy. And pay close attention. No one, but no one, is going to get food poisoning in my shop."
A half-hour later, Buffy finally succeeded in making a moderately successful cappuccino. She passed it to a customer and turned to beam at Nancy, feeling ridiculously pleased with herself over the accomplishment. "Not bad," said her employer. The Slayer struck a pose. "Get ready, world, it's Buffy the Barista!" Nancy frowned. "No, it's Buffy the cashier, who can stand in for the rest of us in an emergency. Leave most of the brewing to George until you get used to it, and let me show you how to work the register." Buffy was disappointed, but she was determined to make this job work. "Okay. I can count. I'm very good with the counting." Ned, the nondescript middle-aged demon-who-looked-like-an-ordinary-guy Buffy had seen the night before, had been working the register. Now he slipped away to restock the display case of cakes and pies, so that Nancy could demonstrate the art of ringing up soy lattes and chocolate biscotti. Nancy watched Buffy make change, and seemed to decide she'd been a bit harsh. "George makes the best espresso in town, and most of the customers know it. If they're on the sidewalk and they see someone else grinding the beans, they may pass by instead of coming inside." Buffy watched out of the corner of her eye as the artiste returned from mid-morning break and picked up an order slip. George was a slender, dark-haired and dark-eyed androgynous being whose slender hands danced across the controls of the big espresso machine. But when the next customer asked for a white chocolate truffle mocha with whole milk and extra whipped cream, Buffy was glad enough to pass the order on to the master. Or mistress. Buffy glanced at George again, but her brain still wobbled back and forth between the two words. "Uh, does George work in the evenings too?" "On busy nights. We all do. Except for you and Jennifer, who you'll meet later, everyone here is family. Ned takes care of inventory and our daughter Bess helps out after school and on weekends." Buffy rang up two more venti mochas with side orders of an apple torte and a lemon bar, thinking that some people started in on dessert really early in the day. But she had to admit the food looked good, even after her binge of the night before. "Uh, are those your real names?" "No, we wanted to sound more American." Nancy set some quiches she'd been warming up on the counter. A man snatched the plates up eagerly, and a thin, anxious-looking woman immediately took his place in the line of customers waiting for their orders. "On the trip over here, we found these names in some old book I'm sure no one reads any more." "Ah." Buffy smiled as smartly as she could at the disheveled woman who'd just stepped to the front of the line at the register. "I want a sweet potato latte and a granny apple torte." Buffy rang up the torte, but looked in vain for a code for the latte. She turned to Nancy. customer. "Maybe a caramel or—" "Nooo!" The woman shook her head violently, her whole body quivering. "I need a sweet potato latte." Buffy knew homicidal rage when she saw it, and she backed up a step. Damn. She really hadn't wanted to start her new career by beating up two customers in less than 24 hours. "Move it, bitch," growled someone down the line, increasing the prospective body count. "There are people here dying for a macchiato." Nancy leaned over the counter and whispered, "I think The Daily Grind may have some sweet potato inventory left…" Before she was done speaking, the wild-eyed customer snatched up her purse and bolted for the door, where she scuffled with a few people on line in her haste to leave. "Try to get the ones with anger management issues out of here as fast as possible," muttered Nancy. "Lie if necessary." She turned her head and called out, "Ned! We're running out of panini already! Can you make up some more sandwiches?" "Wow," said Buffy. She cancelled the torte and rang up a double chocolate chip frappuccino and a raspberry scone, then stood on tiptoe, trying to see the end of the line of customers. It snaked out the door and past the pickup truck and black van parked outside. "Is it always this busy before lunch?"
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Please send feedback to: missmurchison@mchsi.com
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