"Oh, good. You’re here," Parker said calmly, as if the situation between him and the other two people in the room was completely amiable.
"Yeah, we’re here," Buffy growled, crossing her arms and glaring at him. Riley closed the door behind them and stepped to her side. "And you have about five seconds to explain why *you’re* here before I kick your ass, throw you out that door, and call security."
"Your friend was…sick," Parker explained.
"Like you care," Buffy scoffed.
"Usually I wouldn’t," Parker admitted. "First Years drink themselves sick all the time. But there’s some things you just can’t walk away from."
*Thirty Minutes Earlier*
"Well, I’d like to go to France next year," Parker said to the girl beside him. "They say it’s difficult to do a semester abroad in your Senior year, but I don’t want to miss the chance. After all, that’s what college is all about, isn’t it? New experiences."
"Oh, definitely," the girl agreed warmly, nodding. Her name was Sung Olsen, and she was stunningly beautiful—one hell of a prize. Her skin was golden and her hair was night-dark, though there was a streak of white-blond in it that she swore was natural. Her almond-shaped eyes, currently wide and bright and impressed, were blue. He had once—carefully—asked about this unusual combination of features. "Ever seen 'Miss Saigon'?" She had asked in reply. When he had answered in the affirmative, she had said "I’m what happens a few years after a happy ending."
Parker took a sip of his drink and smiled. Sung smiled back, her delicate features warming. She didn’t know that the real reason he was smiling was because he was thinking: *Score! She has bitten on the "New Experiences" hook. Thank God for Freshwomen. Nobody else would fall for a line like that. Not that it’s a lie. Exactly. I would like to go to France. Kinda. Hell, a little luck and I might be able to reel her in tonight. It might not even be necessary to sink the "dead dad" hook into her.*
He was about to launch into his explanation about how he wanted to see all the great artwork and perfect his French—by the time you were done whispering a few French endearments in a girl’s ear she was usually standing in a slippery puddle—when he spotted something over her shoulder.
That girl, earlier this year. The one who’d given him so much trouble. What was her name? Buffy? Wasn’t that her little friend, the one who had yelled at him right before the fire? Willow? Funny, he didn’t think she was the type to end up passed out on a couch at a frat party. Ordinarily he wouldn’t care, but this was a Phi Kap party. It wasn’t a safe place to sleep.
Oh, well. He was turning his attention back to Sung—after all, Buffy or that stupid hulk Finn could take care of her—when a familiar figure sat down beside Willow on the couch. Short, black hair. Broad shoulders.
Darren Edwards.
"Are you okay?" Sung asked. "You’re looking kinda pale."
"Me?" Parker stumbled. "Oh. Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just my…friend over there," he explained, pointing.
"Her?" Sung asked, following his finger. "Oh, I know her. She’s in my drama class." She winced. "She looks kinda sick."
"Yeah, she does," Parker agreed quickly. "I’m a bit worried about her. I’d better get her home."
"It looks like that guy is taking care of her," Sung shrugged.
*That’s what I’m afraid of.* Parker thought. "Well, I don’t think she knows him at all. He probably doesn’t know where she lives—I do."
"Okay," she said, disappointed. "See you soon?"
"Wouldn’t miss it," Parker grinned, then headed for the couch where Willow slept.
*
Willow was awake again when Parker arrived at the couch—sort of. Darren had gotten her sitting up and semi-conscious and was trying to coax her to her feet.
"Thanks, Darren," he said as he arrived, nodding. "I can take it from here. I know her."
Darren stared up like a deer in the headlights. "But—"
"It’s okay," Parker continued. "I’ll make sure she gets home safe." Then he turned to Willow.
"Hey, Willow," He greeted her. He was loud and over-enthusiastic, hoping to wake her and catch her attention. It worked, sort of. Her eyes blinked open and she looked up at him blearily.
"You don’t look so good," he continued, crouching in front of her so he was on eye level. "Have too much to drink?"
"Don’t think so," she said in a dazed voice. "Can’t remember."
"You must have, then. How are you feeling?"
"Sleepy," she answered, her eyes starting to drift closed.
"Why don’t I take you home, then?" he suggested.
"She’s welcome to crash here," Darren offered quickly.
"No, she’s probably better off in her own bed," Parker waved the offer down. Darren glared at him in a way that clearly said *Piss off, punk, can’t you see I’m working*, but Parker kept his voice and expression deliberately innocent. Darren was bigger than he was, and he was alone in the Phi Kap house. If it seemed like he was deliberately cock-blocking Darren, he would probably get taken out back and beat up. "Thanks, though."
"I know you," Willow said, catching both young men’s attention. "You’re Parker," she said, pointing at him. "You were mean to Buffy."
Darren grinned. "Sounds like she doesn’t want to go home with you," he gloated.
"It’s not like that," Parker said. "I just want to make sure she makes it across campus. It’s chilly out there tonight. If she passes out on a bench somewhere, she could get hypothermia."
"I don’t like you," Willow said. "You’re a poop head."
Darren snorted laughter.
Parker flushed. "You’re right, I know, hurting Buffy was bad. But you know I’m not dangerous, right?"
"Yes," she admitted reluctantly.
"Well there are some dangerous things out there, and I’d worry if you tried to go home alone—"
"All alone. Buffy’s not coming back."
"You want to go home, don’t you?" he coaxed.
"Dude," Darren protested. "I don’t think—"
Willow nodded. "Sleepy," she said.
Parker rose to his feet and offered her a hand up. "Come on, then," he said. "Let’s get you home to bed."
Willow rose unsteadily to her feet, but Darren leaped up. "Seriously, you don’t have to go," he protested. "She’s free to crash here."
"Don’t feel so good," Willow said, swaying on her feet.
"Hear that, man? She’s sick," Parker said. "Don’t want puke everywhere, do you?"
Suddenly, the sound of loud retching came from across the room, followed by another voice raising a triumphant shout of "Power booting!"
"Well, any *more* puke everywhere," Parker corrected without missing a beat. "Thanks anyway, though." With that, he pulled one of Willow’s arms around his shoulders, wrapped a supporting arm around her, and led her out the door.
*Present*
"I had to carry her piggyback the last third of the way back," Parker finished. "She was just conscious enough to give me her key when we got here. You two arrived five minutes after we did, and here we are."
"Here we are," Buffy agreed, the words falling off into silence. "And I’m sure glad we got here when we did," she said, her voice tight.
Parker scowled. "Why would you say that?" he asked, pretty sure he already knew what she meant.
"By your own story, you were pretty eager to get her home."
Riley looked down at his girlfriend in surprise.
Parker scowled. "Look, I know that you and I had a misunderstanding, and I know that I hurt your feelings, but—"
Buffy’s eyes blazed, and Parker knew that he’d made a mistake. "Misunderstanding?" she demanded. "You *used* me. You lied to me and you tricked me—it was all just some kind of game to you, wasn’t it? You’re no better than this Darren Edwards! How do I know that you didn’t bring Willow home to do the same thing he wanted to?"
"Buffy!" Riley said, shocked.
Parker brought his fist down on Buffy’s dresser like a gavel, snapping their attention back to him. The solicitous, charming look was gone from his face, replaced by something Buffy had never seen there: cold fury.
"You know what?" he said. "It’s late, I’m tired, I passed up a pretty good chance to get laid and risked my ass to get your friend home safe. And you call me a rapist? Fuck you. I just got out of the mood to sugar-coat things for you."
Buffy, who had been shocked at first by Parker’s transformation, now met his gaze and held it firmly. She suspected that this was the first time she was hearing the truth from Parker Abrams.
"I’m a player," Parker continued. "I’m not ashamed of that. Sex *is* a game, and I play to win. If it comes out a draw, everyone wins, that’s all good, but it doesn’t happen that way often. You lost," he said, pointing at her. "And now you hate me. Fine. You’re not the first and you weren’t the last. Accuse me of cheating? Whatever. But I’ve never done anything with a woman—not you, not anyone else, *ever*—that she didn’t choose to do. Remember? ‘Making a choice’?"
Buffy flushed and balled her fists, but Parker pressed on.
"That’s *because* sex is a game, and games are about fun. What fun is it if the other side isn’t playing, too—willing and eager? And sometimes I lose! I tried to get into her pants once," he said, thrusting his thumb over his shoulder toward Willow. :"She turned me down flat. Laughed in my face. Called me ‘Id-Boy’, which I still don’t quite get. Did I get mad? No! I just put a mark in the Loss column and moved on. *That*’s the difference between me and Darren Edwards."
Still glaring, Buffy relaxed and unclenched her fists.
"Know what they call him?" Parker continued. "Date-Rape Darren. You might have met him yourself. Black hair, blue eyes—really hospitable with offering you a drink of punch?"
"I met him," Buffy, slowly-dawning horror spreading across her face. "The punch…wasn’t very good."
"It was drugged," Parker said bluntly. "And so was Willow’s. Roofies, I’d guess. Like I said, that’s the difference between him and me. For me, sex is a game. For him, it’s a hunt, and all he cares about is pretty little heads mounted on his wall. He doesn’t *hear* ‘no’. Hell, he doesn’t even listen for ‘yes’. You may not believe this, but I hate him even more than most guys would, because *he* cheats. He rigs and dishonors my game and he *cripples* women who might have been worthy opponents. He takes something that’s supposed to be fun and turns it into a weapon, and makes it so they don’t ever want to play again. I would *never* do that. Never. So don’t you *dare* call me a rapist."
They stood there for a moment in a silent tableau, Parker panting angrily while Buffy watched him, her expression unreadable. Riley prepared to step into the middle of any fight that might break out, hoping that Buffy wouldn’t break anything he put in her way.
"You’re right," Buffy said at last. "That was a terrible thing to accuse you of, even given our history. I’m sorry."
Parker watched her suspiciously for a moment, then took a deep breath and let it out, his customary smile returning.
Riley relaxed with a similar sigh. Danger past.
"You know," Parker grinned. "I think that may be the first time I’ve ever heard a woman actually say the words ‘you’re right’."
"You’ve saved Willow, and I can’t thank you enough for that," Buffy said. Then she stepped back, took the doorknob, and threw the door open. "Now please leave."
*
"Who is ‘they’?" Buffy asked, not turning around after she closed the door behind Parker.
"They?" Riley asked, confused.
"He said ‘they’ call this bastard ‘Date-Rape Darren’. Who is ‘they’?"
"His frat brothers," Riley answered. "They know."
"So do you," Buffy said, turning back to him. Her face was bleak with shock and anger. "Why haven’t you done anything about it?"
"What do you want me to do?" Riley asked, spreading his hands helplessly. "Have a street rumble between our fraternities? Nobody presses charges."
"Why didn’t you warn me?" she demanded.
"I thought you and Willow would be safe. What can hurt a Slayer and a witch at a frat party? Even at Phi Kap? I didn’t want to look like some possessive jerk of a boyfriend, trying to keep you from having fun without me."
"Oh, yeah, it was a blast," she snarled.
"I’m sorry."
"Sorry doesn’t do it!" She yelled. "He tried to rape *Willow*, Riley!" She paused, and she started to tremble as the other half hit home. "He tried to rape *me*! There has to be *something* we can do!" she insisted, her eyes filling with tears of helpless rage.
"I’m sorry," Riley repeated. "I just don’t know what that might be."
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