Author's Note: Okay, so again with the angst warning, but I had to put in the … thing that happens in the second part … to get the fic moving the way I want it to. In either the next chapter or the one after that I'll have Buffy start at Sunnydale High, and hopefully there will be a lot less angst after that. Feedback is uber-welcome.

11. The Call

By the time she sensed him, she was already in bed and waiting for sleep to tug her into unconsciousness. It took a while to convince her body to leave the warm comfort of the bed, but eventually she managed it. She slipped on a pair of jeans under her nightgown and pulled a jacket over it before sliding her bedroom window open as quietly as possible. After having climbed out the window once before on the night she'd run away, doing it a second time was comparatively easy.

He was waiting underneath the tree that stood just outside of the house, its shade making it even harder for any curious neighbors to see him. Buffy would've been more worried about meeting him out in front of the house if she hadn't known that her mother's bedroom window faced the back yard, and at this time of night there was very little chance that Joyce would be roaming outside of her own bedroom and spot them.

"Where were you?" she asked as soon as she reached him. Her tone was highly accusatory. "I turn around and suddenly there's just an Angel-shaped hole in the air. You could've at least stayed to lurk comfortingly somewhere nearby."

It struck him that the only time he ever felt like smiling was around her. There was something about the way she treated him that made him feel almost human, as though he naturally belonged in her wholesome, sunlit world. It was a delusion, certainly, but one that was too good to want to let go of.

He'd only been away from her for a day and he'd already had time to miss her, although of course he wasn't about to say so. "Don't you think your neighbors might have had a problem with that?"

She thought about this for a moment. "Okay, so maybe lurking strangers are the number one fear of any normal suburban family – but trust me, no one around here is normal, so you'd be safe."

She pointed to house number 1628. "For example, if Mrs. Kalish over there caught sight of you, she'd probably keep you tied up in her basement until you agreed to become her seventh husband."

Angel raised his eyebrows in evident amusement. "Am I supposed to be flattered?"

Buffy shrugged. "Not really. She tried the same thing on Kenny the postman yesterday. He barely got away in one piece."

"Then I guess it was lucky for me that I couldn't stay. And before you ask again," he said, seeing from her expression that she was about to berate him for not telling her where he'd gone, "I had to see a man about a house."

She looked doubtful. "What, like a vampire real estate agent?"

He smiled briefly. "Something like that. There's a mansion just south of Arguyle cemetery – you probably haven't seen it, it's pretty well hidden – which apparently could use an owner."

"So… you bought it?" Now she looked even more doubtful. "I always thought you were, you know... I mean, maybe not poor, but not exactly Bill Gates either." At Angel's quizzical expression, she added, "He's really rich."

"Oh. Well, no, I'm not. I didn't really buy the place, more like … earned it."

She raised her eyebrows. "Do I even want to know what you mean by that?"

"No, probably not." He paused to look up at the house; he could've sworn he'd seen something move behind one of the curtains. But there was nothing there as far as he could tell, and there was no need to alarm Buffy. "So, how have you been? How is your mother doing?"

She smiled at the complete normalcy of those two questions and told him about meeting her mother and everything that had happened since. She left the cute blonde guy out of her story about taking Dawn to the park.

Hey, it's not like it was anything important, so there's no need to tell Angel about it. Not telling him has nothing at all to do with feeling guilty about finding some other guy as attractive as him. Not that I should feel guilty, because Angel's not my boyfriend, or anything. So I can oogle other guys all I want. Can't I?

Unfortunately, this wasn't the kind of thought that she was good at keeping to herself. "Angel – what are you?"

He was extremely taken aback by the question, which seemed to him to have come out of nowhere. "I'm a vampire," he said cautiously. "We've been over this already. Remember?"

"No, that's… not what I meant." She was fervently wishing she hadn't opened her mouth in the first place. "I mean, what are you to me?"

God, could I sound any more Days Of Our Lives?

"That's your call," he said slowly, realizing that the question was important to her. "But I'd say I'm a friend."

"In the you'll be there if I ever need you kind of way, or the you'll be around once a month kind of way?"

"The first one." There wasn't even the hint of hesitation, either in his voice or in the look he gave her.

She tried not to seem too relieved. "Okay. Good. So, no more disappearances?"

"No more disappearances. I promise."

---

There was only about an hour left until sunrise when Buffy slipped back in through her bedroom window. She considered staying up and then realized that she was far too tired to continue the rest of the day without any sleep. She was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow and by the time she awoke it was already one p.m., according to the clock on her bedside table.

She expected to hear Joyce and Dawn's voices as she walked downstairs; usually they'd be having lunch now, and no meal at the Summers home was ever a quiet one. So she was surprised when she made it to the kitchen to see that her mother and sister were sitting at the table, but there were no plates out and they were both ominously silent.

"Good morning," she said hesitantly, slipping into a seat next to Dawn. "Or good afternoon, I guess, although no one ever really says that unless they're English." There was no reply to this; Dawn kept her face turned away and Joyce simply gave her a blank, emotionless look. "Um – is everything all right? I mean, are you guys…"

"We're fine," Joyce said quietly. "But no, Buffy, everything is not all right." The phone receiver was resting in one hand, while the other one was clenched in a fist on the table. "I've just had a very interesting conversation with a complete stranger. Do you want to know what he told me?"

Buffy couldn't reply; she was suddenly in the grip of an intuitive panic. This wasn't going to be good news. "He told me that my eldest daughter is a… a 'Slayer', and that she spends her time hunting … things that shouldn't even exist. So at least you weren't lying about that."

Buffy made an attempt to speak and was cut off by her mother's rising voice. "He also said that you've been spending the last few weeks in Los Angeles, which apparently is where you ran away to. So not only were you not at the Bluebird motel, you weren't even in Sunnydale."

"Mom, please. I can explain, I –"

"No, wait. There's more. He said …" Joyce took a deep breath. "He said that Hank knew that you were in LA. That he came to see you, and that he was with you when he … when the fire broke out." There were tears in her eyes as she looked at her daughter. "And for all I know, it was fire you started."

Buffy was shocked. "What? Mom, no. No. I would never –"

"I don't want to hear any more of your lies!" Joyce yelled, unable to keep her temper any longer. "Not only are you living some sort of sick double life, but you've lied about everything you've done since you've left this house, including the fact that you were the last person ever to see Hank alive." Here her voice quivered and she had to pause to keep herself from bursting into tears.

"You come here – here, to my home – and act as though you've just jaunted off for a nice little holiday. And amazingly enough, that's not all. You even have the audacity to meet strange men in the middle of the night, in front of the house and in full view of everyone – including your little sister!" She gestured avidly at Dawn. "She saw you with him, Buffy. How am I supposed to explain any of this to a twelve-year-old?"

Buffy felt tears welling in her own eyes and she tried desperately to explain. This can't be happening. It cannot be happening. "He's not a stranger! I met him a few weeks ago, he –"

"So how come you've never mentioned him before?" Joyce asked icily.

Buffy didn't know what to say to this. "Mom, listen. I swear on – on everything I've ever seen or done or owned, everyone I've ever known – that I had nothing to do with the fire that killed dad. I didn't start it! I didn't even know it was going to happen. Please. You have to believe me."

As she looked at Buffy, there was no affection whatsoever in Joyce's eyes; only grief and anger. And pain. "No," she said softly. "I don't 'have to' believe you. I can't, not after all the lies and the secrets. And quite frankly, Buffy, I don't want to take the chance that I'll be fooled again. Even I have my limits."

Joyce took a breath so deep she seemed to be pulling it from the ground upwards through her body. "I want you out of this house. Today. Now."

Buffy desperately wanted to be able to say something that would make it all better; something that would make her mother believe that she wasn't some sort of pathological liar. She considered asking how her mother could so easily believe things that were told to her by a complete stranger, but then she realized that she had given herself away by attempting to explain things – thereby confirming the stranger's story. And I guess, after what happened at Hemery, it wouldn't be hard for her to believe pretty much anything bad about me.

Her entire body felt numb and for a long time she couldn't move. She turned to Dawn, but her sister's face was obscured by the curtain of her hair. There were two damp patches on her skirt where her tears had fallen, but she hadn't spoken a single word since Buffy came downstairs. "Dawnie?"

"Don't call me that." Buffy had never heard her sound so harsh before. "You called me that yesterday. Remember? The day I told you I wanted to see the place where dad died? You could've said that you'd seen it – been there, even. You could have told me what happened. You didn't have to keep secrets from me." Droplets fell onto the damp patches and she clenched her hands together tightly. "I thought we were friends," she whispered.

"We are," Buffy assured her, in an unsteady voice. "Dawn, you're my sister and I love you."

"Why would you lie, then? About being at the Bluebird all this time? About that guy? You could've told me, Buffy. I would've kept it secret for you. Instead you sneak around and act like I won't notice, because I'm just some dumb kid." She raised her head enough for Buffy to see that her eyes were puffy and her face was tearstained, in direct contrast to Joyce's very pale, dry-cheeked one. "Well, I'm not," she whispered. "I'm not dumb. And I'm not a little kid."

"I'll give you two hours," Joyce said evenly, having regained most of her composure. She looked broken and drained of all energy, all emotion, and despite everything Buffy felt sorry for her. "Two hours to pack your things and get out."

---

The sun was beginning to set, and Angel had only just risen to begin working on his adjustments to the mansion. He had already boarded up the windows in the master bedroom where he slept, but most of the other rooms still needed to have their windows covered safely and even with vampire speed and strength, the job was going to take a while.

He was just starting on the window in one of the leisure rooms when the familiar sensation that he experienced whenever Buffy was nearby threaded its way lightly through his body. That can't be right. He was preparing to ignore it when there was an outbreak of loud thudding on the mansion's huge wooden front doors. Or, okay, maybe it can.

He unlocked and slid the door open cautiously, and there she was. She was unusually pale and there was something extremely uncertain in her posture, as though she could be about to collapse at any moment. And her eyes… she wouldn't look at him, but the dim glaze of despair in them was unmistakable.

"Buffy?" He said her name with a compassionate tenderness that would've startled her if she'd been aware enough to notice it.

But she wasn't. And she still wouldn't look up at him. "I… I need… I mean, I wanted to ask…" She paused, eyes fixed on the ground, body motionless. "I need a place to stay," she said finally, in a voice so low that he only just heard it.

"Not for long," she continued, hesitantly. "I won't be here long, and I wouldn't want… I don't even have the right to ask, not really, it's just… there's nowhere else I can go right now. I'm sorry," she added in a whisper. "There's just nowhere else."

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