Skating: Skating
by KrazyGirl
"What was that, Riley?"

Buffy cocked an amused eyebrow at her boyfriend, sitting on the other edge of the couch, muttering. All the girls in her dorm had decided to steal a portable TV and hide in the student lounge to watch the National Figure Skating Championships. Riley turned to stare at Buffy with a look in his eyes that was somewhat reminiscent of a deer caught in the headlights. Or a rabbit, or a frog, or... whatever. The poor guy was terrified out of his wits. "What? Oh, nothing. Just sitting here saying how... great these guys in tights prancing around on ice was. Gorgeous. Great music... stunning."

Riley tried to melt his huge, hulking body into the couch, desperately wishing he could drop through the floor. And considering what Buffy had told him the other day about Hellmouths, there was a fair chance he might. Riley *hated* figure skating with a passion indescribable with mere words. He hated all forms of skating; even hockey gave him a faint, but persistent feeling of nausea. Riley simply failed to understand how and why people put pieces of metal on the bottoms of their boots and pranced around in moderately icy indoor weather. As he began to ponder the probability of a Hellmouth opening underneath him, he failed to notice the metaphorical sparks flashing in Buffy's eyes, and her hands clenching into fists. Riley did, however, notice the angry fist on his collar that lifted him to his feet and marched him out the door. "Riley?" Buffy asked in a tone that would have made any vampires in the vicinity shudder, should they happen to be in the hallway in broad daylight.

Riley, still calculating the average number of Hellmouths in the world and how likely it was that one would suck him in, and would that be pleasant or not, nodded vaguely. "Yeah... what?"

In a sugary tone, Buffy smiled icily at Riley. "Are you trying to imply that figure skating is boring, and that it's only for sissies?"

Lost in his number-filled reverie, Riley nodded once more. It was when he found himself unlocking his car and following Buffy's directions to the Sunnydale ice rink that he finally realized he was in you-know-what far over his head. As the pair entered the rink, Buffy immediately dragged him over to the skating rentals, and insisted he try on some skates. Even after his insistent disagreements and finally his downright begging, Buffy wouldn't relent.

Originally, Riley had found her stubbornness cute. He still found it cute. But when his pride and his butt remaining in one piece were at stake, he didn't find it cute. He tried to find it cute, and he tried to see how it might once have been cute. But after a while, he found himself trying to look for an exit instead. It was somewhere between the fifteenth and sixteenth pair of skates that didn't fit that he found it. A red, glowing sign with the hallowed word printed on it: EXIT.

He carefully slipped on his boots, while Buffy's back was turned to the counter. Hoping that his head start would be something like enough, he leapt up from the bench and sprinted through the confused masses, stepping on several toes and nearly running over an elderly couple on their way in. Making hasty apologies, he slammed into the door and dashed out into the badly lit brightness of the parking lot. Darting through rows of cars, looking for his own, he came to a screeching halt when a bright yellow, antiquated Cadillac opened its door into his chest, knocking him backwards and causing him to hit his head on a concrete divider.


* * *
When he finally came to, he was in his dorm being laughed at by Forrest and Graham, while a slightly hysterical Buffy tried to explain things to Giles and Maggie Walsh. Finally, Walsh seemed to notice that Riley was awake, because she immediately walked over to his bed – if you could call it that – in that rather annoying way she had, and fired off a rapid stream of questions that didn't manage to at all filter through the fuzzy feeling in his head. Finally mustering up the collective strength of his entire nervous system, he let forth the most eloquent and well thought out of replies. "What?"

"Who, what, where, when, why, how, is Buffy telling the truth, if she is, can she be locked up?"

Still reeling from her onslaught of questions, he ducked quickly and stood up, turning to Buffy. "Hey. Are you okay?"

Buffy sniffed and managed a slightly teary grin. "I've been better. How about you? Last I saw you had a bump on your head the size of the average goose, let alone their eggs."

Forrest laughed loudly, and said, "You still do, man."

Turning sharply, which caused his head to swim, Riley glared at his roommate. "You know, there are quite a few times when I have good cause to kill you. This would be one of them."

There was a soft touch on his arm, and he turned around to see Buffy pointing towards Walsh, who was looking extremely... displeased. While the larger part of his brain was occupied with thinking about how he wouldn't mind having Buffy keep her hand on his arm, the rest of his cerebral space was trying to get him to walk towards Walsh and give her an answer. "Who?"

Riley looked at her again, rather dumbly. "Who what?"

Walsh took a deep breath and looked at her in that odd way she had where you could actually *feel* the daggers shooting from her eyes. "Agent Finn, I am becoming extremely exasperated with you. Ever since your involvement with Miss Summers over there, I've noticed a decline in the time spent working *with* the Initiative. Now, let's see if you can answer me this. Who knocked you up? What was it, a demon... vampire... something else?"

Riley closed his eyes and pressed his forefingers to his throbbing temples. "I believe it was something else, Ma'am." A smile slowly began to make its way across his face. "You might know it... most people would call it a car door."

Maggie Walsh, for once in her entire career, was entirely devoid of something to say. However, habit forced her to say something. "Riley Finn, do you mean to tell me that Miss Summers is correct, and that a man of your training and ability was unconscious for three hours because of the door of a battered, yellow Cadillac?"

Riley was now hard-pressed to stifle a laugh. "Yes, that would be correct."

Suddenly, it was Ms. Walsh's turn to feel a pounding migraine coming on. She shook her head – very slowly – and began to pace. Eventually, she stopped and turned to face the assembly of teenagers and the aging man she absolutely hated, who was grinning smugly while he polished his glasses. "Dismissed. Agent Finn, you and Buffy Summers" – She said the name almost as though it was a disease – "are dismissed from all your classes. I'll see to it that you aren't penalized for any work you miss." She turned to face them once more. "However, if either of you pull a stunt like this again, you're both permanently out of the Initiative."

After the diminutive Psychology professor had left the room, a strange sensation began to build in the room. Starting slowly, but gradually building up steam, before long the occupants of the room recognized it as a wave of laughter. Gradually, little by little, the beginning giggles in the room grew, until everybody except a rather befuddled Giles was on the floor, faces red and eyes streaming. When they had managed to stand, Giles turned at the door, to ask, "Is she always that peculiar?"

Graham grinned and clapped the ex-librarian on the back. "No, sir. Only when she's beaten."


* * *
"So, Buffy, what are you and Riley doing today?"

Buffy shrugged her shoulders as she tied her shoes. "I don't know. He said he wanted to surprise me."

Willow nodded in understandingly. "Yeah. I have noticed he's been acting all mysterious lately. What do you think he's got planned for you?"

"I don't know. It's either going to be really sweet, really embarrassing, or both – oh, there he is."

Buffy opened the door and welcomed in a grinning Riley, who was holding something bulky behind his back. "Riley! How are you... come in."

Riley produced a huge – flat – box, wrapped in brown paper, from behind his back. "This is part of your surprise." As she unwrapped the layers of paper he'd covered his gift in it, he found himself smiling again. "See, I thought we'd go skating – "As Buffy hit the floor with a thump, he was still smiling as he moved to catch her head. " – and I wanted you to be prepared."

Willow shook her head, not having any idea what they were talking about. There, lying on the bed amongst a small mountain of paper, was a prominently dented yellow car door.


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