Part 12

Her room was empty. Painfully bare. No one went in there anymore – not since last week when the movers had come to remove the furniture. The bureau, the two shelves and the bed had been the last things to leave. It was amazing how four men could come into the somber house and take the remaining tangible parts of someone who had lived there only a short time ago. It was just furniture – just a bunch of wood thrown together and sold for books and mattresses and pictures to rest on – but it felt like so much more than that. It was her bed and her shelves. It was what she used everyday to get her clothes from; it was what she slept on. But she would never again use them. She couldn't…

It had taken Joyce four weeks to realize Buffy wasn't coming back. It was strange. At the funeral, she had stood over her daughter's coffin, listening dizzily to the priest repeat words that had been used since before time. She'd felt Hank's hand on her arm and was quiet as he cried next to her. Out of the corner of her eye, Jenny and Giles were standing, tears falling silently down their faces. Cordelia hadn't been able to hold herself together, retreating early. She'd stumbled away from the small gathering, walking blindly away from where her friend now lay. Willow's hand was clasped in Xander's as they tried to provide each other with something resembling comfort. Joyce had been struck with how much older he both looked and seemed. He had shed his bright, mixed-matched shirts and goofy smile, and now wore a stiff suit. His tie was even straight.

As a pile of soil was thrown over the mahogany casket, heads had turned away, unable to watch. Joyce was led away from the hole in the ground, which was slowly filling. As people branched off through the sea of graves, she could still hear the sound of earth falling onto the wooden box, bringing her farther and farther away from her baby. Her eyes downcast to the occasional blocks of concrete stones and grass, she never noticed the sun descend over the horizon, shadowing the figure that stood alone by a looming tree.

That had been three weeks ago, and now Joyce sat in the empty kitchen, in the empty house, her mind devoid of thoughts. Sitting was the only thing that she could do because she sure couldn't sleep. She'd wake up every five minutes, her whole body wondering if maybe, just maybe, if she got up and walked down the hall, Buffy would be in her bedroom, sleeping in peace. After twenty times of hoping, she realized that no one was in that room. She was alone.

Willow and Jenny had come by last weeks to help her go through Buffy's stuff. They'd sorted through pictures and letters and stuffed animals, all bursting with character and life. It felt wrong. Deciding what things were to be donated to charity or go to various people or be kept in storage was a task all of them hoped to have never had to do. But I seemed to fall upon them.

The phone rang loudly, suddenly, a sound that would have startled most people. But Joyce was so tired – both mentally and physically – that she just raised her head in the direction of the receiver and let the machine get it.

"Hi, Mrs. Summers," a man's voice said cheerfully through the speaker, "this is Doctor Abrams from Sunnydale General, and I'm calling about little Katherine. If you could, please stop by the hospital whenever you have time. I'd just like to discuss some things with you. Great. Thank you. Bye!"

~~~

"It's pretty, huh?"

Xander smiled sadly at her and nodded. "It is."

Cordelia glanced up at him returned the gesture. "I never knew she could draw so well…"

"I didn't either."

She looked back down at the paper in her hand and felt that familiar tightening in her chest. The sketch was of two hands, gently holding each other. Though in pencil, the beauty was not lost on anyone who saw. Through the two joined hands, the love was evident. The way they held… The grasp was soft, yet firm. Cordelia had never examined art long enough to grasp the depth of it, but if all of it was like this, she would definitely start looking.

"I wish we had talked more," she said quietly. "Maybe is I had been a better person…"

Xander shook his head. "Cordy…you were a wonderful friend to Buffy. You were there for her."

"Sure I was – in the past year. But before…" She trailed off, trying not to think about it, though these thoughts had nagged at her brain since Buffy's death.

"Cordelia, listen to me: we all know about before. But it's over; it's in the past. You can't beat yourself up for how you acted."

"I was horrible," she said, her voice hushed. "I was such a bitch to her and to you and…and to everyone. I was awful."

"Key word being 'was.' " Xander waited until she would meet his eyes. "I watched you. I saw you change. I know you changed. And so did Buffy and so does Willow and so does everyone else. You aren't like that anymore. You aren't that girl."

Cordelia's eyes released a tear and she took in a shaky breath. "I just…I just didn't realized how much I would miss her. And now…she's gone."

"I know," Xander said, his voice breaking as well. "I know."

~~~

"I'm glad you two could come in so soon." The doctor smiled widely, an expression that seemed so inappropriate for the situation that Joyce wondered if he was even human. Hank, obviously having similar thoughts, shifted in the seat next to her. Glad he was here, she scooted a little closer. She just couldn't come back into this building alone. She feared it, and he had been more than willing to.

"As you both know, we have incubated Katherine for almost a month and have continued to monitor her condition. During the birth, she underwent a lot of trauma, and sometimes, on a baby that small, it is hard to get them to ever recover. But, much to out delight and surprise, Katherine seems to be fully recovered."

Dr. Abrams smiled more, watching the faces of the two people in front of him as the news set in. A new light seemed to be brought to both their eyes, making the clear exhaustion overweighed by relief.

Joyce covered her hand with her mouth, shock coming off in waves.

"And," the doctor continued, "she is ready to leave the hospital."

A small, choked cry escaped from her throat, and Hank's body slumped in assuagement. Mixed thoughts raced through their minds. Though the joy seemed to outshine all else, there was still the lingering notion that Buffy would never walk out of here with her daughter in her arms. In fact, she had never even gotten the chance to hold her…

"Now, the reason I wanted to talk to you in person if the part about custody." Dr. Abrams glanced down at the file in his hand and said, "I understand you are divorced. I would like to send Katherine home as soon as possible so the sooner you make your decision, the sooner she will be home. I, uh, have never met her father so I don't know about… Well, have you three discussed it?"

Joyce winced a little, the pain of not-knowing still there. She was surprised the doctor didn't know about…well, the lack of the paternal side.

"We haven't," Hank said, feeling slightly uncomfortable about the topic. "He's in New York. I'm not sure when he'll be back, assuming he's coming back." He paused, flashing back to the look at the man's face at Buffy's funeral. All that had filled Hank's mind had been doubts about what had happened between his daughter and Angel, but the expression he wore as he stared at the place where she was being buried… The doubt had been abolished instantly. The raw, unconcealed pain etched into every corner of his body hid nothing from the world, something that was extremely unlike him.

"I see," the doctor said with a nod. "Well, in that case, do you two think-"

"Wait, what?"

Both men looked over at Joyce, who was looking thoroughly confused and alarmed.

"Well, I don't know for sure that he won't be back," Hank said, "but the way he-"

"You know who the father is?"

Hank frowned a little. "Of course. Buffy told me when she was in LA. Why do you ask? Did you think she wouldn't tell me?"

Joyce's jaw went slack, his words registering suddenly in her mind. "She never told me."

"What? What do you mean?"

"Buffy never told me who the father of the baby was," Joyce said, her voice shaking. "You know…? Who…? I don't understand. W-who…?"

"Angel O'Connor," Hank said, still not grasping the fact that Buffy hadn't told her own mother, even after her confession to him.

Joyce didn't move for the longest time, didn't blink. Finally, as the name sunk in, her eyes widened in horror. "Her…teacher?"

~~~

Empty conferences rooms are strange to be in all alone. The quiet seems solid, and you always think that someone's going to come in at any second. But no one ever does. Angel almost wished that somebody would enter. Maybe it could distract him from the spiral he was ever so willing to go down. His powerful presence seemed weak and defeated as he sat in silence by the large glass windows. The city outside was buzzing with life and activity, two things he hadn't known for some time. Soundproof walls, soundproof windows. He was blocked off. He could see them moving, see them talking, but he couldn't do the same. He couldn't be apart of it. He had no idea what he was going to do. Resigning from teaching and putting a house on the market didn't mean he had decided his future. And to think that only a few month ago it had been so clear…

A question that remained almost hidden in back of his mind was the thought that it was all worth nothing. To feel, to hate, to love… It was all meaningless. Feeling led to taking away the simplicity, if there was any, from life and adding complications. Dangerous, wonderful, scary complications. Were they worth it?

He heard the door open and turned to see who was bothering him.

"Darla, I thought I told you not to disturb me."

"I know but you have a call," the blond said urgently.

Angel frowned. "And I told you to hold all my calls."

The secretary nodded but said, "You did but he says it's important. Really important."

He tried not to lose patients with his employees but sometimes enough was enough. "Darla-"

"It's Hank Summers," she interrupted.

Angel stopped. "It's… W-why is he calling?"

Darla shrugged a little. "I don't know but I told him you weren't taking calls but he was insistent about talking to you. What should I say?"

"Never mind," he said, his voice becoming stiff, trying to block feeling. "What line is he on?"

"Three."

Angel nodded a little. He gave Darla a small nod of acknowledgement and she hurried off, not wishing to be yelled at.

He considered the phone for what seemed like hours. What could Hank Summers possibly want? Why was he calling? He tried to convince himself it was business related but somehow couldn't see how it could be. Hank had seen him at the hospital. He had been cradling Buffy's body to his own when the group had come running up. Maybe Hank had thought Angel was just trying to be nice. It was weird though; he hadn't even asked why he had been there in the first place. Knowing how protective he was over his family, Angel was have thought that he would be bombarded with questions the second Hank arrived at the scene. Instead, the man had just gone off to get a nurse and some towels to clean up the spilled coffee.

It was definitely a bad idea to answer the phone, just plain bad. Yet his hand went to the cold, black plastic and picked it up in an almost stone-like way. Putting it to his ear, he took a calming breath, which didn't seem to work at all, and opened his mouth to speak.

"Hello?"

"Mr. O'Connor. I'm glad I reached you."

"Y-yes. I mean…" He took another shaky inhale. "Yes. Is there something you needed to discuss with me?"

There was pause from the other line, causing Angel's anxiety to increase greatly. This was such a bad idea…

"Katherine was released from the hospital the other day," Hank's said finally. "She's ready to go home. I want you to come back to California and get her."

He frowned a little. "Who's Katherine?"

From Hank's lack of immediate answer, Angel could tell he was surprised for some reason. "Who's Katherine?" he echoed, a little confused. "She's…she's your daughter."

Of all the crazy things he'd ever been told, this by far took home the gold. Angel usually handled things in a calm, collected way, never showing what he was really thinking. But not now. He couldn't now. He felt himself sink into a chair, felt the upholstery stoop to his weight. Just how he got to the seat he didn't know. But he was there. Thankfully.

"Yes, I know you're the father," Hank was saying, unable to even fathom what was racing through the other man's mind. "I found out last spring."

"Her…her name is Katherine…?" Angel asked weakly.

Hank said nothing. He could hear uneven breathing from the other line. He'd had no idea Angel didn't know what his own child's name was. He almost felt sorry…

"Yes, Katherine Elizabeth. Summers."

Hank listened intently for a reaction but was surprised when he could almost hear the sound of a man's heart being torn in two. "I want you to come to Sunnydale. As soon as possible."

Hank took a breath and tried to steady himself. He would not back down; he knew what he had to do and he'd planned to do it for the past day, ever since Joyce had broken down about the news. He shook the thought out of his head. This was not the time to fixate on the way she'd reacted. He just had to speak.

"I want you to have custody of Katherine."

"What?" Angel asked, whispering.

"I…I don't like you," Hank said quietly. "I don't know if I ever will be able to. But Buffy loved you. I could see it. I could tell she needed you and I didn't do anything…and I regret it more than anything." He closed his eyes briefly, quickly rubbing his fingers over his eyes. "You…you're her father. And as much as I'd like to ignore that…I can't. She needs you. Buffy… She would have wanted it to be this way."

"I-" Angel swallowed as his voice came out scratchy and dry. What could he say? No words… "I'll be there tonight."

"Good."