Author's Note: I've changed the difference between Dawn and Buffy's ages here from six to four years (I figured a twelve-year-old would be more useful to have in the story than ten-year-old), and my description of Riley is slightly different from Marc Blucas's actual appearance (I swear, that man's eye color is impossible to pin down). As always, reviews would be greatly appreciated.

10. The Return

Buffy spent another week at the East Hills Shelter, during which she devoted nearly every spare moment to trying to track down the people responsible for the fire. Angel initially tried to dissuade her, but after seeing how determined she was, he kept quiet on the improbability of finding the arsonists and instead spent his waking hours helping her to question information-pandering demons and following trails that always turned out to be either completely false or a dead end.

Anne had cleared out a decent-sized area of the shelter's basement to make room for a bed, and Angel usually slept there between sunrise and noon. At noon Buffy would come down to see him and they'd plan that day's itinerary, which often involved at least a few hours' sojourn through the city's sewer system until the sun set and Angel was able to walk aboveground.

They were usually businesslike with each other, but ever since the night he'd arrived at the shelter there was an undeniable connection between them, something they quietly accepted but never talked about. Each of them was afraid of pushing the other one away by discussing it.

At the end of the sixth day of tireless searching, Buffy admitted defeat. She still desperately wanted to take her revenge on whoever had been behind the fire that took her father's life, but it had proven impossible to track them – they'd left no traces at the scene – and she finally agreed to stop searching, at least for the time being.

---

"So hey, here's a plan." Buffy sat on Angel's bed on the afternoon of the seventh day, legs crossed, back resting against the headboard and hands clasped firmly around a much-needed cup of coffee. She'd become extremely familiar with the basement in the past week and it was easier to spend time down there with him than upstairs with people who kept asking how she was doing. "Let's go to Vegas."

Angel looked at her quizzically. He was testing a sword that he had 'borrowed' from the last demon they questioned, and had just finished bringing it through an elegant three-sixty swing. "Why Vegas?"

She shrugged. "First place that came to mind. I mean, we don't have any reason to stay in LA any longer. So I'm thinking, Sin City would be a good place to go. You know, 'cause of the bright lights and the, uh, sin. And I mean fun sin," she added hurriedly, "not evil sin. Tequila-and-gambling-type sin, rather than the kind that results in dead bodies and general mayhem."

He placed the sword carefully on the floor. "Buffy –"

"All right," she interrupted, "maybe I'm too young for tequila and gambling. But I've never been to San Francisco. We could go there. Or … or anywhere, really. The world is our generic shellfish of choice."

The look he gave her was unmistakably solemn. "You know where we need to go."

"New York?" she said hopefully, although she had a good idea that wasn't what he meant.

The solemn expression didn't budge. "You need to return to Sunnydale. Your mother is worried about you – you said so yourself –"

"My dad said it," she corrected him harshly. "Personally, I think she'll get over it. Two, maybe three weeks tops and then it's 'Buffy who?'."

"That's not true, and you know it. And besides, that's not the only issue here." He sighed and ran a hand through the short mass of his dark hair. "This place – the way you're living now – it's not right. You're too young to be spending your days in the basement of a homeless shelter with a 240-year-old vampire. You should be going to school, and –"

"There are schools in LA," she pointed out. "Lots of them. I can show you pictures if you don't believe me."

"And living with your family," he continued, ignoring the interruption. "You should be around people your own age, people who care about you."

You care about me. Don't you? She didn't bother saying it. It sounded too needy, too girlish. And besides, she was afraid of what his answer might be. "I'm fine here," she said. "And let me tell you, normal life? Not that big a deal. Been there, done that, bought the handmade mugs. I don't want to go back to pretending I'm something that I'm not."

"You won't need to pretend. You're sixteen-year-old girl, as well as a Slayer. You should be living the same kind of life as other girls." She opened her mouth to argue with this, but he wouldn't give her the chance. "And since you've decided to accept the fact that you are the Slayer, there's no better place to do your job than the Hellmouth. They'll need you there."

She didn't want to see the sense in what he was saying, but she couldn't seem to help it. "'They' who?"

"All the people who will die if you're not around to save them." He gave her a searching, faintly amused look. "After all, that's what you do, isn't it? Save people?"

"Only because they never seem to manage to save themselves," she groused. "And besides, you do it too." But she could no longer deny that he was right. She needed to be in Sunnydale. She peered into her near-empty coffee mug to avoid looking at his face before asking the question that had been on her mind ever since he started talking about going back. "What about you? Are you planning on staying here, or…?"

The silence stretched for so long that she was forced, out of a sudden need to know the worst, to look up at him. She was both surprised and touched by the emotion in his dark eyes. It told her that it had been a long time since anyone had placed so much importance on what he did or where he went, and that it meant a lot to him that she'd asked.

She decided to spare him the trouble of expressing that emotion in words. "You know what, don't bother answering that one. When are we leaving?"

---

They traveled by night, of course. Saying goodbye to the people at the shelter was quickly done, and not as painful as Buffy had thought it would be, and then before she knew it they were on the train to Sunnydale. She could almost have sworn it was exactly the same train that had taken them to Los Angeles, but maybe that was just déjà vu. Luckily Angel knew his way around Sunnydale better than Buffy did, or else it would have taken them a lot longer than a mere half an hour to find 1630 Revello Drive from the train station.

They were the only two people in sight on the street, which probably had something to do with the fact that it was past midnight and Sunnydale inhabitants, as a rule, didn't like to venture out of their homes at night. None of the lights were on in the Summers' residence, but Joyce's car was parked in the driveway, so they could only assume that she was at home.

They made it all the way to the porch before Buffy lost her nerve. "If I ring the doorbell now, I'll wake them. And let me tell you, being woken up at whatever dead-of-the-night time it is now would be enough to make anyone cranky. Let's come back in the morning."

She turned to walk off the porch, but Angel caught hold of her shoulders and gently swiveled her around to face the front door. "You belong here. And I'm pretty sure the fact that you're still alive will more than make up for your bad timing. Now ring the bell."

She stared at the doorbell and bit her lip indecisively, until Angel finally leaned forward and moved one of his hands from her shoulder to take hold of her right hand. He lifted it until it was barely an inch away from the doorbell and pressed her forefinger into it lightly until they could hear the ringing from inside the house. Then he let go and stepped back. "There," he whispered, and she could hear rather than see his smile. "Not so hard after all, was it?"

When she turned to respond, he was gone. She spent a bewildered moment looking down the street for him before the front door opened and her attention was absorbed by the sight of the woman standing in the doorway.

---

Joyce Summers had transformed almost completely since the night Buffy left. First the disappearance of her daughter, and then the death of her ex-husband, had taken its toll on her wellbeing. There were dark circles under her eyes and a fine webbing of wrinkles that Buffy couldn't remember seeing before. She had lost weight as well, to the point of unhealthy gauntness, and she had the air of a woman who was only waiting for even worse news to come along to finish her off completely.

But as she recognized her daughter, amazement, hope and joy blended and crept into her features. The face that had been dispirited and nearly lifeless a moment ago was suddenly alight with happiness. "Buffy! Oh my God!" She enveloped her daughter in a hug that was so tight it was almost bone-crushing. "You're back. You're here." Buffy could feel her mother's tears on her neck. "I called the police, but of course they were useless, and then I thought … when I heard about the fire, I assumed you'd … and they were talking to me about holding a – a double memorial service, I think they called it – but I couldn't stop hoping that you were still out there somewhere…"

She pulled back and semi-laughed at herself. "God, look at me, keeping you outside like this! Come in, honey." She led Buffy into the living room and made sure she was comfortable on the couch before bustling into the kitchen. "You must be starving – you just sit right there and I'll get you something. Won't take me a minute."

---

Buffy sat in the living room she barely recognized – she had barely lived in the house for a week, and there had been a lot of changes made since she left – and tried to dispel the extreme awkwardness that had come over her. This is where I belong, she thought, repeating Angel's words to herself. This is home. But the words sounded hollow and she knew they weren't true. The basement of the shelter had felt more like home.

Joyce returned to the living room holding a tray loaded with sandwiches and two mugs of hot chocolate. "There." She set it down on the coffee table and then sat down next to Buffy on the sofa. She held her daughter's hands in both of her own as though to assure herself that Buffy was really there. "So tell me everything. How are you? Where have you been? Have you…" her face darkened and she took a deep breath. "Did you hear about your father?"

Buffy looked down at the carpet so that her mother wouldn't see the guilt in her eyes. "Yeah," she said quietly. "I heard." Then she gave her mother an edited version of what she'd done after running away. She made it sound as though she'd only made it to the outskirts of Sunnydale before achecking into the Bluebird motel – which she could accurately describe after having been there with Angel. She didn't gave any indication whatsoever of having been in LA, or having been involved in the fire that killed her father.

Luckily, her mother didn't question her story: she only said she was glad nothing bad had happened to her and hoped that next time she was upset, she wouldn't turn to running away as a solution. "We'll get through this together," she told her. "You, me and Dawn. We still have each other, thank God." Her eyes had filled with tears and she wiped them away with her hand. "I don't want to wake her now – the poor child doesn't sleep enough as it is – but I know she'll be happy to see you."

They talked for another hour, during which Buffy tried to keep up her end of the conversation despite the fact that her mind was mostly occupied with wondering about where Angel had disappeared to and planning the scolding she was going to give him for leaving her to face her mother alone without warning her first.

Eventually her mother remarked that she looked exhausted and led her upstairs to her old bedroom, which had been untouched since she left it. "I wanted it to stay exactly the way you remembered it, so that if – when you came back, you'd be comfortable in it."

Buffy thanked her, and after her mother had left, she realized that she had been right. Her bedroom was probably the only part of the house that actually felt something like home; the only part she could be truly comfortable in. This place isn't home, not yet. But I guess it still could be.

---

Buffy was awoken the next morning by shrill screams as her twelve-year-old sister flung herself through the bedroom door and onto her bed, nearly knocking all the breath out of her body. "You're home! I can't believe this! I mean, mom said you were back and I was like, no way, but you're really here!"

Buffy laughed and tried to sit up despite the fact that Dawn's arms were wrapped tightly around her torso. "Um, Dawnie? Some breathing space would be nice."

"Oh. Right." Dawn pulled back and expressed her feelings in a beaming smile instead. "So, what happened? Mom says I'm not supposed to say anything about how stupid it was for you to run away in the first place – well, it was," she added defensively, as Buffy gave her a look, "you could've just stayed here and, you know, resolved your issues."

Buffy was surprised by her sister's vocabulary. "'Resolved my issues'?" Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Have you been watching Dr. Phil again?"

Dawn shrugged, looking sheepish. "Only when there's nothing better on," she lied. "Anyway, point is, you didn't have to scare everyone by running off like that. I mean, you could at least have taken me with you."

Buffy grinned. "Oh, so that's what this is about. Listen, you didn't miss out on anything. Really. All I did was mooch around the Bluebird for a couple of weeks, so even if you had come with me you'd have been bored out of your mind."

Dawn didn't look completely convinced. "Really? You never left Sunnydale?"

Buffy felt the pang of a guilty conscience and smiled to cover it. "Yup. I was only a few blocks away this whole time."

"That's so lame. If I was going to run away, I'd totally head to Vegas. Or if I couldn't get that far, maybe LA."

"Let me guess." Buffy arched an eyebrow, grinning. "To be in the Dr. Phil audience?"

Dawn stuck her tongue out at her sister and aimed a punch at Buffy's shoulder. She missed, giving Buffy the opportunity to reach out and grab her, tickling her mercilessly until she finally confessed the truth.

"I'd want to see the place where Dad … where it happened," Dawn admitted, and the giggling that had filled the room while Buffy was tickling her was suddenly replaced by hushed silence. "Just once."

Buffy felt remorse twist itself like a knife blade through her ribs, and she couldn't think of anything to say in response. Her mouth opened and she struggled to formulate a sentence, but no sound came out. Not a single word.

---

During breakfast, Joyce encouraged them to spend the day outdoors. "After all," she pointed out, "you've only got a week left until school starts. You might as well make the most of it."

They headed to Sunnydale's only real park, which was depressingly enough situated right next to Restfield cemetery (with twelve cemeteries in one town, it was hard to avoid them). It was a mild, sunny day, and it seemed as though half of Sunnydale's population had decided to spend it at the park. Dawn had brought a bright orange Frisbee along, and although Buffy made a lighthearted remark about Frisbees being for kids with dogs, not older sisters, she agreed to play with her. She felt like she owed her that – and a lot more – for the part she had played in their father's death.

"Ready?" Dawn stood as far away as she could without losing sight of Buffy, and had to yell to make herself heard above the talking and laughter of the people surrounding them. She raised the Frisbee and prepared to throw it. "Okay, here it comes!"

Buffy was prepared and reached out as Dawn tossed the Frisbee, but it didn't come anywhere near her outstretched hands – instead it whizzed past about four feet to her right, missing her range completely. Buffy gave Dawn an exasperated look which she probably couldn't see (although she did yell "Sorry! It wasn't meant to do that!") and turned to look for the Frisbee among the sea of picnic blankets spread out over the improbably green park grass.

She spent a few minutes looking around and asking people if they'd seen a bright orange Frisbee go by (she felt very silly doing it and got several odd looks from other park visitors) before she felt a light tap on her shoulder.

"This yours?" A male voice asked, and she turned to see a boy around her own age holding Dawn's Frisbee. It took a moment for Buffy to stop staring at him long enough to answer him. He was tall and decently broad-shouldered, with sea-green eyes and dark blonde hair. He was also one of the most attractive guys Buffy had ever laid eyes on.

"Uhh…" Say something! "Uh, yeah. It is. I… uh… thank you." Oh, great. Just great. I might as well have 'idiot' stamped on my forehead. She smiled nervously and took the Frisbee from him. To her surprise he returned her smile and stayed where he was, rather than running to get away from her as fast as possible, which is what she'd assumed he'd do.

"I heard you asking about it," he explained. "Not many Frisbees that color lying around here."

"No. I guess most people prefer colors that aren't bright enough to cause permanent eye damage," she said lightly. She was a little surprised and extremely gratified when he laughed. Okay. This isn't going so bad. I might not have to kill myself after all. "It's actually my little sister's. She picked it out."

"Sure, blame it on the younger sibling," he teased. "That's never been done before."

She pretended to be offended. "You're accusing me of being unoriginal? Isn't that a little hypocritical coming from someone who looks a lot like Beach Party Ken?"

He laughed again and arched an eyebrow at her. "Doesn't that make you Beach Party Barbie?"

"Only with the help of a few growth hormones and a lot of bleach," she answered, deciding to forgive his less-than-clever reply and focus instead on his heart-melting smile. After all, one moment of lameness doesn't make him any less cute.

"Listen, I should probably be heading back now," he said reluctantly. "My friends have already left; I'm supposed to catch up with them down at the Bronze. But I'll see you around, right?"

She smiled. "Probably. I'm not planning to skip town any time soon." He nodded and walked away, turning back once to wave at her.

As she made her way back slowly to where Dawn was waiting, she rewound the conversation in her head and it struck her suddenly that the entire time she'd been talking to Mr. Tall And Blonde, she hadn't once thought about Angel.

And for some reason, that made her feel ashamed of herself.

---