Disclaimer: I claim no ownership to Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or the movie Mr & Mrs Smith.
A/N: The plot bunny just attacked. Hope you enjoy.
John Smith can hold his alcohol.
He knows it to be so. He has frequently had too much to drink, but has always had his wits with him. It is required in his line of work. Loss of wits equals loss of life, often one's own. John isn’t prepared to go just yet.
Unfortunately, it seems that King Alcohol got to him last night.
That has to be the reason for his current state of affairs: lying in a bed, naked, with no idea of where he is. John has made a habit of knowing where he and the exits are at all times.
That’s why this particular situation is, for lack of better words, bugging the crap out of him.
The last thing he knows he remembers, is last night. He’d done the job. He’d gotten the kill, after a long and exhausting chase, through several states. Not his usual mode of operations, but he does what he needs to do.
For Ricardo Mendes, it all ended in Vegas. Coincidentally, that’s also where John’s memories end. In Las Vegas.
Right now, he’s assessing his options.
Well, putting it like that makes it sound much better than saying that he’s terrified of what he will find, once he opens his eyes. But he is a strong man, who can take anything people throw at him, and use it to his own advantage. Most of the time, at least. So, he opens his eyes and finds himself looking down on a blonde. It is strange, because he tends to be more partial to brunettes. It is also strange, to John, because he doesn’t remember anything thing about her.
He removes his arm, which has been slumped across her waist for only God knows how long. When he does it, she begins to move, and two seconds later she is awake. Any thoughts he might have entertained of finding his clothes and sneaking out, are instantly thwarted.
“Hi,” he shrugs as she pulls up the linen to cover herself. “An embarrassing question, but do you remember anything that happened last night?”
She gets a blank look on her face, and frowns a bit.
“Uh, there was Giles, and a trip to Las Vegas, and I believe there was alcohol.”
“And then?” he prods. He needs to know if she knows anything incriminating about him, or if she can throw light on what has happened.
She throws up her hands. “How should I know?”
The hands move into the rays of the sun that are coming through the window, and he can see a glint of gold on one of her hands.
“Uh-oh,” he grabs it. “Was this on here before?”
Her eyes widens at what clearly is a wedding band. “No. That is… eh… it is new.”
They both look at his hand. He’s got an identical ring.
He sits up in the bed and looks around the room. It’s a stereotypical hotel room, a large double bed… and a table with some chairs. On the table he can see what he’s looking for, a piece of paper, and something else.
He goes over to look at it.
“We’re so screwed.”
“Oh, why?” she remembers to wrap the linen around herself before she joins him over by the table. “Oh, shit.”
The marriage certificate makes it all more real. And if that wasn’t enough, the Polaroid snapshot from their wedding ceremony, where they both look more than a little tipsy, is just icing on the cake. He can’t help but think that his boss is definitely not going to be pleased about recent events in his life.
“Can I assume you’re John Smith?” She smiles a bit awkwardly, as one is wont to do when it is discovered that one has married a total stranger in an alcoholic haze.
“I guess. Would it be safe to assume that you’re Joyce Summers, then?”
An hour later they are in the breakfast room at the hotel. Both of them are dressed. They’re silently eating cereal, and drinking coffee to cure or kill the hangover.
“I blame Mr. Giles.”
John remembers the name from before.
“My daughter ran away from home at the beginning of summer,” Joyce smiles sadly. “Mr. Giles suggested that I take some time off, in Las Vegas, or somewhere, to try to… well, I don’t know. It doesn’t seem to have worked very well. I drown my sorrows in alcohol on my first night here, and end up marrying a total stranger.”
“Buffy. She’s seventeen.”
She has a seventeen-year-old daughter?
“You don’t look old enough to have a seventeen-year-old daughter.”
“You don’t have to say that, Benjamin.”
“You don’t, Mrs. Robinson.”
She rolls her eyes a bit. “Seriously, what are we going to do about this whole marriage thing?”
“Okay, look, Joyce. You’re very sweet, but I can’t really be married at the moment,” He prays that she’ll understand. “I can’t be a part of a family at the moment. I’m always flying around the world, er… I’m in finance.”
“I don’t think staying married would be a good idea, no,” Joyce takes a sip of her coffee. “I’m fairly recently divorced, and I have absolutely no need for another man in my life at the moment. Trying to sort things out with Buffy… if or when she comes back is going to be difficult enough without adding a man many years my junior to the mix.”
“Can I just ask you something?”
“Sure,” she shrugs.
“What possessed you when you named her Buffy?”
Joyce laughs. John smiles.
“Thanks. I needed that.”
“So, we’re agreed? A quick divorce to top off our even quicker marriage?”
“Why, John… you have to be careful with that charm. A girl might think you were trying to get rid of her.” She laughs, again, and he finds himself laughing with her.
It feels good that at least something in his life is uncomplicated, and can be solved without big guns. Even if he likes the big guns.
John looks over at Jane. They have just gotten over the whole “secret identity/agents” mess. Now he’s got to ask her a bigger favour.
She’ll be irritated. It’s a pretty sure thing. He didn’t give her Joyce’s name, and as he didn’t know her Social security number, it was easy enough to not give her that.
But after the recent development in assignments, well, he cannot not tell her something at least.
He looks over the orders again and sighs.
There can’t be that many women in the world named Buffy Summers, unfortunately.
He wonders what he'll tell the therapist at the next meeting.