Title: The Buffy Effect

Series: Leather and Lace Ball

By: Toga

Date: May 17, 2004

Rated: PG-13

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He makes a good grunt when I land on his back, but in true Sully fashion, he just wraps his arms around my legs to hang on. I pepper his cheek with kisses before he can flash me that trademark boyish grin of his.

“'ey, Toga-pet, wha's all th's 'bou', th'n?” He jostles me on his back as I giggle.

“’Cause I need to do this.” Reaching over his shoulder, I tweak Grim’s nose.

My gods, how I love to tease that man.

My ride laughs right out loud, spinning me ‘round while I squeal. Sully’s such a good sport that I can’t help giving him another kiss.

Grimm still doesn’t know what to do.

“Wha's y'r pois'n?” Sully offers up a drink as he hoists me up on his back. I figure he’s trying to give me a bird’s eye view of the bar. He’s a sweetie that way.

“Whiskey, lot of it.” Slapping his hand down on the bar, Conner steps up rather – well, grimly. He’s all spiffed out for the party, that’s for sure, but he looks seven ways from unhappy.

Sully lets me slip from his back, sensing a mate’s need to comfort. I squeeze his ass gently as a thank you before wrapping my arms around the crux of Conner’s.

“Is it that bad?” I look u at him, but he doesn’t look at me.

“S’nothin’,” he slumps away drumming his fingers for his drinks.

Now, why do they do that with me? He should now by now that I’m like a dog with a bone on this shit. I can’t let it alone until the why-monster’s fed. So, as soon as poor Grim sets a bottle on the bar, I grab it and my mate, hauling both off with a growl.

It’s hard not to smile with Sully’s chuckle.

I manage to find a holo room that’s open before I toss his butt in there; not entirely sure he’s use to me using my strength on his ass. Right now, I don’t rightfully care.

“All right, spill.”

Thankfully, he does – the whole, sorted details of meeting Angelina. He crumbles on the floor, running a hand through his hair as if it’ll help him think. Yep, Conner’s usually friendly and I can’t imagine a pretty face throwing him a curve. Biting my lip, I get to fretting about why this is bothering him so and what I can do to help.

And that’s when I look around. It’s just a big blank room with lines running in a squared pattern all over the walls, floor and ceiling. Gray in color, an off holo room’s not much to see, but it suddenly gives me an idea.

If I can only remember Val’s instructions. He was so thorough too.

“Um, Computer?”

Nothing.

“Bob?”

Silence.

“Hal?”

“What are you doin’, love?”

I scowl and mutter under my breath. “Gods be damned, what the hell is the name?”

“Sally?” Con offers. His face contorts with all kinds of confusion.

There’s a bleeping sound that makes me think I’m on the Enterprise. D, of course, not the original. I’d have to kill Kirk.

“Um, Sally?”

“How can I be of assistance, Toga?”

Okay, that’s a little too Hal for me. I just about bolt for the door. But then there’s my mate’s sad little face and I just go squoosh.

The worst part is he isn’t even trying. He’s upset by his reaction – like he doesn’t understanding. And frankly, neither do I.

I’d often wondered how the Spikes would react to a Buffy – I know some of the clones are taught by a few from the female clone school before they’re released into the wild. But there should be some primal urges or deep-seated lust or something, I’d imagine. Could the lab-coats strip that away wit the need for blood?

“Sally, um, one Buffy, please, neatly dressed.” Thought I’d better specify; can imagine what the twins might do in this place. Hell, I can imagine what I would do in a holo room for days on end. It’d probably be the death of me – but what a way to go.

Before me, she phases in very much tangible. She’s not as tall as I thought she’d be and not really an indomitable figure. I always thought I’d be more impressed by a Slayer.

Huh.

I turn back to my mate and there’s an odd mixture of complex emotions waltzing around on his face. He blinks and opens his mouth, but no words spill out. And the oddest thing happens – I mean, I just about fall over to see it. Never, never in a million years did I think I’d see it.

Conner blushes.

Before my mind completely melts and dribbles out my ears, a small voice offers a suggestion. And before the manual override can kick in, I hear the words tumble out of my mouth.

“Sally? Dip her in mud.”

Boink. And there’s one, slender girl dripping with the wettest, sloppiest mud in the world. It even smells all earthy.

I think I like Sally.

My mate, on the other hand, tries to balk at me, but his eyes go back to our makeshift Buffy. He’s gone again. Mouth disengages from his mind and his eyes do the sort of weird glazey thing.

“Sally? Can we make her look like Bozo?”

Ta-da! Clown Buffy.

Conner whimpers.

“Buffy the Smurf.”

She does look so pretty in blue.

Continuing on in the fine tradition he’s started my mate proceeds to tie himself fin knots. He’s fun to watch for a while, but it really doesn’t get us anywhere.

“Sally? Let’s try Buffy the Vampire Layer.”

I really hope that wasn’t a circuit that popped in Conner.

“Okay, okay, okay. Enough, Sally. Put her away.” The figure fades as I cross to my mate. Wrapping him up in Toga-goodness, I coo and rock until his muscles start to loosen. “What is it, baby?”

“Don’t know,” he squeaks, still not happy with things. “It’s like – I can’t think or move. M’innards knot up an’ I turn into a dolt.”

“Pretty much.” I grin, trying to tell him it’s okay. It’s not working as he sighs. He’s kicking himself right now, I can tell – but I don’t understand why. It’s not like he doesn’t make his mates go all weak in the knees or anything.

“It doesn’t make sense,” he murmurs, burying his face in my shoulder. “Don’t even know ‘er.”

“Maybe it doesn’t matter, baby. Maybe it’s a Spike/Buffy thing and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Whimpering again, he snuggles. I can’t say I entirely hate the Buffy effect; the benefits are very nice. But I’d give anything to soothe that frown right about now. Only I have no idea how, outside of a long night of slow torture. And we just got to the party.

“Can’t find a damn thing,” he murmurs. His purr kicks on which means I’m having some say in his mood. Good, it’s a bash and my mate deserves a good time. He’s been working overtime, I know, at the shop. While he loves it, all work and no play makes Connor meltdown on Angelina.

“What’cha looking for, baby?” Lifting my head, I follow his eyes ‘round, thought he’s not looking at anything. They’re soft of glazed over.

“Level Two Diagnostic.”

Now, I know everyone thinks I’m smart. It’s part of the dyslexic’s curse; completely bone-head dumb on some things like reading, spelling, pronunciation, directions, verbal communication, logic and then slightly brilliant on some other stuff like deduction, reason, rhetoric, philosophy – real important stuff like that.

I roll my eyes at my stupidity. Connor’s a bot. Duh. How I tend to forget shall forever remain a mystery. Conner’s Conner in my head. You’d think I’d learn that there’s a difference and respect the divergence. But we’re all individuals. So, one at a time.

“Anything at all?”

“Should’ve found somethin’ by now.”

“If something was wrong…” A light bulb goes of over my head.

My mate jerks back as if he’s been smacked, not too hard, mind you, but enough. The purrs gone and so is the little lost boy look. “It’s gotta be wrong.”

“No, it doesn’t.” I whisper simply, giving back to full contact cuddling. “It could just be part of who you are.”

“Like part o’ m’ programmin’?”

“Sure, why not? I mean, my ability to whip up guilt out of thin air is part of my programming.” I smile all kinds of proud. “What if this is a part of yours? A diagnostic wouldn’t find it. Because, according to the parameters, you’re doing what you suppose to be doing.”

He falls all the way back, lying flat on the floor. A puff of air fills his cheeks before escaping as he rubs his forehead. It’s all a little much for him right now, I imagine. What he needs is a bit of time and distance – a distraction.

“Come on, buddy.” Getting to my fee, I reach down and pull him to his. “Take me dancing.”

“What?”

“I wanna dance with you. Come on…” He’s about the only one with whom I’d dance. It’s been a while since we’ve danced, so I figure my special man deserves a special treat.

We head out and I wonder about a bot’s programming. As a quasi-human (this is probably while I don’t deal with labels since I don’t have one for myself), I know that some of the stuff I was born and bred worth have been changed with time and effort. Is their programming hard coded onto their circuits like the old ROM chips or are they more A.I. and capable of over coming this stuff – learn to work it.

I know I’ve learned lots from Conner – about bots and bikes and love. I’d like to think he’d learned a lot from me too – but I know I’m not objective enough to see it. As we saunter through the crowd on the dance floor until we can find space, he hooks his thumbs into my jeans’ belt loops.

Heart goes boom.

My arms wrap around his neck and our foreheads touch. This, we understand. Maybe we won’t ever get the rest, but this we know. And that’s enough, really. Him and me – touching and feeling our way along. He’ll be okay, I know. Mostly because I love him so.