Empty
7th Street Bus Station, Los Angeles
May 5, 1998 2 AM
Buffy hadn't spoken to Scott in nine months. But he had to let her come. Those were the rules. That's what family did. They took you in when no one wanted you and you had no where else to go.
She dropped the coins into the phone. She pressed five buttons before hanging up. The quarters fell into the coin return. Way to go, Buffy, she thought as she gathered the money and shoved it into her pocket. You made it to five this time.
Maybe I should go back to the bench and try to sleep until sunrise, she wondered dazedly.
It had been a long time since she'd slept. The bus station was hot. The bench was hard. She'd stabbed the love of her life in the chest and sent him to hell. None of these things were conducive to a good night's rest.
Pressing her forehead to the back of the payphone's receiver she tried to give herself a pep talk. Come on Buffy, she thought, just press ten little numbers and you'll have a dry, clean place to sleep tonight.
That didn't seem to work. Opting for the bench, Buffy turned and took three steps forward before the phone began to ring. Her body on auto-pilot, Buffy answered the phone.
"Hello?"
A warm, familiar voice said, "Buffy, it is Charles Xavier. Stay where you are. We've had a hard time finding you, but I've sent Scott and Ororo to come for you in the jet. They should be there soon."
Buffy managed a weak, "Ok," before collapsing to the floor in a dead faint.
(end chapter)
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