Part 9

Hank was never much of a drinker. Sure, he had a few now and then, mostly at parties, sometimes at diner, but the liquor he had at home had all been gifts for some occasion and had been collecting dust since their arrival. Until now. Tonight he'd cracked open a bottle of scotch and was on his third glass. His tie was a mess and his slacks had become wrinkled from sitting on them for too long. And somehow he couldn't seem to care.

For two days he had been staying up late, paranoid about a number of different explanations to what had happened at his office party. He'd received a startling piece of information from a particular unreliable character, and Hank didn't know what to believe. It was in Parker Abrams' nature to lie, but when the young man had approached him, his face was bruised and bloodied. It wasn't as if Parker had beat himself up just to let his story fly.

There was a soft knock on his door, and Hank stiffened a little when he saw who it was. "Buffy. What are you doing up so late?"

Hanging back at the door, she gave a little shrug. "Couldn't sleep." She chewed uncertainly on her bottom lip. "Daddy…are you OK?"

"Why would you ask that?" Hank asked, jumpy about the question.

"You're just acting kind of weird. I just wondered…"

He considered her carefully, wondering what was going through her mind. Finally, he let out an exhausted sigh and motioned her over. "Sit down, Buffy."

She frowned slightly when she caught sight of the alcohol resting on her father's desk but obliged and pulled back one of the chairs.

Hank faced her, folding his hands in a business-like manner, trying to not show too much fear in what he was about to say. Didn't fool Buffy in the least. "Listen, I talked to someone the other day, and it brought up some questions. Now, I've considered whether or not to come to you about this, but I think maybe it's best just to have everything out in the open." He adjusted his position in his seat once more before clearing his throat and beginning.

"Buffy, Parker Abrams spoke with me after the office party. He…well, he said some things that made me question you. I'm not saying I believe him but I need to hear it from you." Hank met his daughter's eyes with strained determination. "He said that he thinks Angel O'Connor was the man who got you pregnant."

Angel O'Connor…man…got you…got you pregnant…pregnant…man who got you pregnant… The words all seemed to roll together in Buffy's mind; her father's mouth spoke in slow motion, and she couldn't tell if this was a dream or not. She prayed it was. Prayed it was a nightmare.

But as Hank's stare bore into her eyes, she knew she was awake. So clearly, so painfully awake… Fear passed across her face – fear of her dad and fear of the words he had uttered so plainly.

"Buffy…is this…true?" Hank's voice told her that he was not completely assured that it wasn't. He even seemed horrified. And so was she. Angel had been her history teacher and had slowly progressed into her friend. But a teacher/student relationship? That was just wrong. Buffy knew it. Hank knew it. The whole world knew it. Then why was he sitting there, in his stupid little office with his stupid cup of scotch, asking her if her former teacher was the father of her baby? That was a preposterous idea! Yet…he was still asking. And Buffy still hadn't said anything. It should be the most obvious answer there was. What's your name? Buffy Summers. How old are you? Seventeen. Did you sleep with your teacher? Of course not. Simple questions suddenly became impossible.

"Yes." Buffy said it so quietly that even she wasn't sure she'd heard it. She continued focusing on her hands for another moment before she raised her head, undauntingly meeting the older man's eyes. "Yes."

Hank said nothing for the longest time. Time seemed to still, not daring to continue on. For the first time in what seemed like forever, Buffy didn't avert her gaze. The word yes. She was again struck at how stubborn it sounded, how strong she felt saying it. Her new found courage seemed to momentarily surpass all fear and doubt, and Buffy couldn't focus on anything but yes.

"I don't…I don't understand." Hank's eyes were wide with confusion and shock, making him look somewhat like a scared fish. It definitely would have been funny except that Buffy was so preoccupied with trying not back-down and run away that somehow, she didn't feel like laughing. "H-how do you even know him?"

Buffy's entire being seemed to slump, too tired to keep pretending to be strong. She was tired. God, so tired. Tired of lying, tired of faking, and just plain tired of being tired. And she knew sleep wasn't the answer to this one. "He was my teacher," she said. "History."

If the silence had been jolted before, this one was so much more than horrified. It wasn't silence, it wasn't quiet, it wasn't still. It was nothing, absolutely nothing. No sound, no breath, no movement. It was a museum of figures that were unable to do anything at all. Just nothing.

"Your…teacher?" Hank said, his voice hushed. Buffy could hear the pain in his voice and wanted nothing more than to wake up now.

"Y-yes. My teacher."

"Buffy…" He shook his head slowly, deliberately, glad he was sitting down. "Buffy… How… Why would you do this? You…how could you?"

She felt her eyes get ready for another wave of tears, a feeling that was so familiar that it made her want to cry (haha). "Because I…because I…" She faltered, not wanting to tell him. It was all she had left. She realized that she lost everything. Parker had been right: she was alone. And screwed. She had nothing left but one tiny notion in her head (and her heart) and a baby steadily growing deep inside her, unaware of what was going on in her family. Somehow, she apprehended, those would have to be enough.

"He didn't…rape you, did he?" Hank asked, still not knowing how to act or what to say. He hadn't fully reacted to what was just opened-up and he honestly didn't want to. Ignorance is truly the definition of bliss.

Buffy eyebrows arched, thrown. "N-no. No, he didn't."

Hank didn't know whether to be relieved or start crying. A huge mixture of confusion, shock and distress clouded his mind and senses, making him completely disoriented and overwhelmed. "Buffy, why did you do this? You're a good girl. You're nice and smart. Why did you do this? You would never do this. I know you wouldn't."

Buffy let the lull go on for a few more moments. The ticks of the clock seemed so loud she couldn't hear herself think. She squared her shoulders and gave him a look that told him she regretted what she was about to say. But she knew she had to. "You don't know I wouldn't. You're my father and I love you. But you don't know me. You hadn't seen me in two years. You called on my birthday. You missed one. The only reason you came for me was because you felt like you were obligated. I was pregnant, and I was your daughter so you had to come for me. You had to act happy. But we both know you weren't.

"You're my dad. All I ever wanted to do was make you proud of me. You always came home, talking about some new intern who was the smartest, nicest one you'd ever met, and all I wanted was to hear you say something like that about me. Not because you thought it would be nice, but because you meant it. I wanted you mean it.

"I'm sorry that I disappointed you. I'm sorry I disappointed Mom and my friends. But I'm not sorry for what happened. And I am not going to apologize for my baby. I love her. I'm going to be a wonderful mother. And I'm not going to be fake with her. I'm going to be everything she wants and everything she doesn't want. I'll be what she needs. And I couldn't be more happy about it."

As word after word flowed from her mouth, Buffy was seized by an unknown force, a power, which wouldn't allow her to stop. She poured every single drop of what was in her heart out and she couldn't stop. And she didn't want to. The emotion in her voice made the tears cascade endlessly, though she didn't notice.

"I know what love is. I know what it feels like. It's suffocating. It's powerful and scary and perfect all at the same time. I love my daughter and I…" She stopped. Hank was staring at her, frozen in his chair, hanging reluctantly on every word. Buffy suddenly knew he was listening, really listening. "And I love her father." Her voice broke considerably but she ignored it and continued. "I love him. And I miss him. I need him to be here. He's the only one who can understand. He was always the only one. And he's the one thing I can't have, and it kills me."

She took a few shaky breaths, trying to keep herself together. Her face felt stuck with fresh and dried tears of her past. She knew there would be many more. But not here. Not right now. "I'm going back to Sunnydale. I belong there. I miss Mom and I miss my friends. Thank you, Dad. I'm really glad I came. It helped me. A lot. But now…I need to go back home."

~~~

Buffy knocked softly on the front door, wondering if it was a mistake to be there. Fighting herself from having so many second thoughts, she braced herself as footsteps neared from inside the house. Her hands tightened around each other, nervously fidgeting. The door opened.

A look of surprise appeared on Joyce Summers' face when she saw who was there. Buffy hadn't said anything about coming back so soon (or at all), and she hadn't been expecting to see her. But relief coursed through her system at the sight of her here again.

Buffy took the first step in, and Joyce was soon to follow, giving that much needed embrace that had been dead for so long.

"Welcome back," Joyce whispered, fighting the lump in her throat. "Welcome home."

Buffy closed her eyes and relaxed into the familiar arms of her mom. Home.