Disclaimer: I will not claim to own anything of this story. Joss Whedon created the characters, Billie Letts wrote "Where the Heart Is", which this is based on.

Rating: This will be rated R! Sorry kiddies, but I like using inappropriate language.

Author's Notes: More! Oh, I'm so glad that you think Angel got what he deserved! Speaking of Angel, did you all see last week's episode? Very, very cool. Oh, and today is a new episode with everyone's favorite person! Hurrah! So, new chapter in honor of today. The first part is a journal entry from Buffy, if you didn't understand that. But, hope you like. Read, review, and I will shower praises on you.

PS: Boo. ____________________________________________________________________________

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Chapter Five- First Impressions

'Today was such a weird one. All three of my alarm clock woke me up an hour early, but I had a good amount of time to finally shave my legs. I haven't had the luxury of doing it since I decided to live at the Wal-Mart two weeks ago, and my legs were starting to look all hairy, like a man's. Or like that woman, Aunt Helen, who took me in for a month up in Spokane.

'Sunnydale isn't as junky as I thought when I first got here. It's only the part that faces the highway that gives it that "white-trash" appearance. Actually, it's quite a nice, suburban town. They've got all sorts of places to shop. Not just The Gap and Borders, like you'd expect from most places that define suburbia. There are a lot of small shops and specialty stores; places for tourists to shop and the townies to rest.

'I especially like the park. When my legs feel like they're going to give out, I go to the park and rest on a bench. There's one by a small, hidden fountain that I especially like, and I can sit there for hours, reading the novel or the pregnancy handbook I borrowed from the store.

'I have been borrowing a lot from Wal-Mart lately. Just today, I took a new box of crackers, one package of juice boxes, a thing of meat slices, some grapes, a sundress (because the other one I took needs to be cleaned, which I will do tomorrow), and a bag to hold everything in (remember my old bag? Well, it broke, so I had to get a new one). So far, I've filled up two pages of my notebook with everything I've helped myself to. It's like that Jimmy Buffett song. "We never took more than we could eat,/ There was plenty left on the rack./ And we all swore if we ever got rich,/ We would pay the mini-mart back."

'Anyway, I wandered around town today for a while, stopping at the strip mall to window shop. Tomorrow looks pretty much the same.

'Got home around ten, and spent most of it in the big storage area in the back. Someone had put a mop in my space in the closet where I hide, so I moved it. Everyone left pretty early today, so I got in quickly.

'Well, I'm very tired, and I need to sleep. Night'

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At four-thirty in the morning, soft music began to play. It source was a pink alarm clock, battery powered, and placed in the outdoor furniture section of Wal-Mart.

One minute later, a second alarm clock went off, this one black, and playing some local AM station. The two noises did not blend together, and the sudden cacophony was annoying. Exactly their purpose.

But, on the chance that the two didn't work, another clock was set to go off one minute after the second. It was an old-fashioned gold one, with the two little bells and the ringer placed at the top. This clock had a place of honor on top of a glass patio table, three feet away.

Exactly on time, the clock began to ring, and the sound would jolt anyone who happened to be sleeping. And Buffy immediately sat up. Grumbling, she threw the cover of her sleeping bag open, stood up as quickly as a pregnant lady could, and went over to the patio table to turn off the clock.

Silence once again settled over the store as the blonde began to pack everything away. First, the batteries were removed from the clocks, put into a pocket in her bag, and the clocks were re-packaged up. Then, the bag was rolled up and placed again into the plastic it came in. Finally, she would take her nightgown off, carefully fold it, and place it in her bag.

The night before, she'd lay out her clothes for the next morning. Today's choice was a light blue sundress she had borrowed from the Wal-Mart, along with the sandals she bought on her first day.

When everything was clean and stored, she would go to the bathroom, brush her teeth, and take a quick shower in the faucet. Not quite easy, but she got it done.

It would be around six when she was ready for the day, and when the employees of the Wal-Mart started coming to work. Buffy would run to her spot in the back room, and wait until all fourteen of the morning crew had come in.

Today, she was especially tired as she stood in the closet, peeking out through a crack to watch everyone. In the middle of the night, she had a little bit of indigestion, which had woken her up.

"Nine, ten, eleven twelve . . . thirteen," she counted, as she waited for the fourteenth to pass by. "Fourteen!"

After she heard the door to the retail area close, Buffy got out of her spot. As she did every day, she hid the possessions that she didn't take with her for the day. So her large bag and her tea rose tree were placed in the closet, hidden underneath a large tarp.

But, as she put her plant away, she noticed how unhealthy it looked. For a while, it looked like some buds were going to bloom. All but two remained on the plant, the rest dead on the soil. Many of the leaves had turned brown, while others were curling up.

Voices from the store were coming close to her, so she quickly picked up the plant, hid her other items, and made her way outside.

Passing by the stores of downtown Sunnydale, Buffy was questioning what to do with her plant. Looking at it in natural light showed off how sick it actually was, and she decided to take care of it right away.

For a while, she considered taking the plant to Tara. A week earlier, Buffy found Tara's greenhouse three blocks away from Main St. But Buffy wondered what the shy woman would think if she brought her gift back, sick and almost dead.

'If I only had some real books to look this up . . .' she thought.

Then, as if someone upstairs heard her thoughts, Buffy saw a sign across the street.

SUNNYDALE PUBLIC LIBRARY

She had seen the building a while ago, but hadn't seen the bronze plaque near the left of the main entrance, two French doors, glass with wood trim, and white blinds shading the sun. It was a large, old building, taking up almost half the street. The front grounds were immaculately neat and trimmed.

Grinning, Buffy crossed the street over to the library. She climbed the white stone steps, then hid her rose tree behind a large potted plant at the top.

The noisy outside ceased as Buffy let the doors close behind her. But it wasn't silence that confronted her. Music was coming from somewhere in the building, a light classical piece that fit with the atmosphere.

The inside looked older than the front. Off to her left was a reading room, with various desks and comfortable chairs to read in. A grand staircase, those elaborate ones that start off center then split in half and circle up, was to the left, the carpet a deep crimson. Poised in front of the entrance was the front desk, the surface scattered with piles of dusty books. If someone were to stand at the desk, they could look out to the actual book part of the library, which took up the rest of the space.

The floors, front desk, bookshelves, and trim were made of a rich, dark wood, carefully dusted and polished. Large paintings in elaborately guilded frames hung from the walls, painted a muted tan. Windows, with colored glass panes to keep the sun out, ran the length of the wall, up to the high ceilings. But, in the back, the windows were clear, looking out to what appeared to be a garden.

Amazed by this new world, Buffy did not notice the man walk up behind her, pushing a cart laden with books, until he tapped her on the shoulder.

"How can I help you?" asked the man when Buffy turned around.

"Oh . . . hi." Buffy recovered from the shock. "I'm looking for some books . . . duh, I'm a moron. That's what you probably guessed when you saw me come in."

The man laughed slightly. He was an older, middle-aged spectacle wearer. Despite the heat outside, he was fully dressed in a tweed suit and tie. In his youth, he must have been a handsome man, because it still lingered in places. It was his hair, a short, wavy cut that topped his head, that took away from his appearance.

"My name is Rupert Giles, and I'm the librarian," he said, and Buffy then noticed that he was British.

"Buffy. Summers. Buffy Summers. Hi."

They shook hands, and then he began to walk to the front desk, signaling her to follow.

"What type of books are you looking for?" he inquired, going towards a large freestanding box with small file-like doors.

"Plant books. What's that?" she asked pointing to the box.

"It's a card catalog." He pulled out a file, which was, in fact, filled with cards, and began to flip through them. "What type of plant books? Gardening, identification, breeding, care, health?"

"Ooh! Health!"

Grinning, he pulled out a couple of cards. "What type of plant?"

"Um . . . tea rose? It's kinda a bush thingy, and these, I think, antique pink flowers are supposed to bloom off of it."

"And what is wrong with the plant?"

"Well," she sighed, "It's drooping, and almost all the buds fell off, and now the leaves are starting to do it, too."

Finally, he put the rest of the cards down, holding only a single card, and began to walk into the library. Buffy followed him through the shelves.

It was almost like he was going through a maze, turning right, then left, then going down a bit, until he stopped in front of one shelf. He ran his fingers across the books, trying to locate the exact one.

With an air of conquering, Mr. Giles pulled out a medium sized, red leather bound book.

"Now, if you turn to the index-"

But Mr. Giles stopped talking when the front door opened, then slammed shut.

"RUPES?" screamed a voice, also male, and also British.

Mr. Giles turned in the direction of the voice. A frown had replaced the light-hearted one he wore seconds ago.

"I-if you excuse me, Miss Summers, I will be right with you." He was almost too polite.

"Sure, not like I'm going anywhere."

Nodding almost absently, Mr. Giles handed the book to her, then made his way to the front.

Buffy looked at the book like it was a foreign object. She hadn't dealt with many old books. Most of the books she read were paperback, usually trashy novels she stole from friends.

This library was a foreign place, too. When she was younger, before she dropped out of school, the libraries she went to were Bookmobiles, little vans that drove from school to school handing out various things to read.

She could hear the whispered conversation of Mr. Giles and the other British guy at the other end of the library. Moving to get a good angle, but not wanting to intrude much, Buffy tried to locate them.

Mr. Giles had removed his glasses, and was using a white handkerchief to wipe the lenses, as he spoke gravely to his companion. From where she stood, Buffy could just barely see the staircase, where a beautiful woman, wearing an old-fashioned silk nightgown, slowly walked up the stairs, her dark black hair dangling loosely over her shoulders and down her back.

But she obviously wasn't the voice that had called for Mr. Giles. The owner of that voice was still talking to him, although Buffy could only see an arm, clad in apparently black leather, waving wildly around.

When the librarian headed off in the direction of the woman, Buffy turned away, hoping that no one would notice her pathetic attempt at spying.

As she tried hard to locate the section Giles called the index, she heard someone stomping towards her, the steps angry.

The stomps got closer, until they turned the corner, and Buffy was able to see the person. And when she did, her mouth flopped open.

British guys must have no sense of temperature, because he was dressed in black from head to toe, and the long, black leather trenchcoat he wore hung to the tops of his combat boots. In contrast to the all-black attire, his hair was completely bleached, then slicked back with gel.

From the look on his face, he was 100% pissed off. Had he been even remotely calm, Buffy would have noticed his clear, pure blue eyes, and sculpted handsomeness of his face. And, had Buffy not been pregnant and sworn off men the day Angel left her, she would've started to have lusty feelings for various . . . parts of this man's body, which were (for lack of better words) very yummy.

But, since this guy was obviously mad at the world, it shone on his face. From the continuous clenching of his jaw, his sharp cheekbones stuck out and his face was beet red. The knuckles of his hands were white, from him attempting to control the urge to hit something.

"Whaddya want," he inquired gruffly, as if helping her were, in some way, killing him.

For some reason, Buffy felt like she was back in school, and this young man was a teacher, scolding her for being so dumb. "I need to know why my tea rose tree's sick."

Leaning up against the opposite bookshelf, he roughly grabbed the book from her, flipped to the back, looked at a page, then flipped to a section in the middle of the book.

"There." He pushed the book back to her, folded his arms across his chest, and stared at her expectantly.

Stupidity took over as Buffy glanced down at the book, then back to the man.

"What do I havta do?"

He actually growled as he grabbed the book back and began to read.

"It says, 'Illness can be caused by many factors. While diseases common to the species could be reasons, many such illnesses are the result of dehydration, cramped living habitats, nitrogen deficiency, change in temperature and climate, seasonal changes, etc.' Which one is it?"

"What's nitrogen deficiency?" She felt even more foolish by the second.

"Means there's not enough nitrogen."

"Why does a plant need nitrogen?"

"'Cause that's what they live off of."

Exasperated, Buffy sighed. "Where does it get the nitrogen from?"

The man suddenly pushed himself off of the shelves and came to tower over her. "From the fucking ground! So, if you want it to get better, put it in some fucking soil! S'not my job to explain every little detail of plant- life to you! I have more important things to do than help some mentally challenged bint take care of some damn tree! Go up front, check the book out, read it on your own time, and stop bothering me!"

A year earlier, if some guy dared to talked to her like this, he would've been on the ground in a second, both his nose and nuts in terrible pain.

But, it could have been because she was alone, because she lived in a Wal- Mart, because she had no idea how she could care for a child if she couldn't take care of some silly plant, or more likely, because she was hormonally imbalanced, she found only one solution.

She cried.

No, it wasn't an extreme, dramatic breakdown. Her eyes only clouded over with water, with one lone tear trickling down her cheek.

When he saw that tear, the guy changed emotions as if someone threw a switch. His face fell from the angry grimace into one of fear.

"H-hey," he stuttered, trying hard to figure out what to do. "Um, sorry luv, but . . . you don't . . . you don't need to cry."

Wiping the tear away, Buffy looked away from the blond man. She had no desire to speak to him. Adjusting the strap of her purse, she turned on her heels and, as quickly and gracefully as she could, walked away.

She didn't look back, but she could hear him trying to catch up with her. So, she turned in another direction, and made some random path, hoping to loose him.

When the sounds of his boots stomping seemed far away, she headed towards the front desk, and hurried to the entrance.

The door slammed shut just as the guy called out to her.