For notes, warnings and disclaimers please see Chapter 1.

Chapter 3: Good Intentions

As soon as we get home I suggest to Buffy that maybe she should take a shower, thinking that maybe it will help her relax. I know she needs a chance to unwind after everything that happened back at her mother's house and the truth is that I too could use a chance to gather my thoughts before I confront her again. I know we are in for a long night and I know it's not going to be pretty but there are too many questions I need her to answer and there are also things I don't think it would be healthy to allow Buffy to keep to herself... and as painful as this is going to be now, getting her to talk to me would be a lot harder if I were to give her a chance to regroup and rebuild her defenses.

While I listen to the shower I keep myself busy in the kitchen fixing us a tray with tea and her favorite cookies... comfort food that I know will offer little comfort. When I hear the water stop I know I'm out of time. A couple of minutes later she emerges from the bathroom and I'm shocked by how tiny she looks. She's barefoot, thinner than she was and her sweats seem to be about two sizes too big... with her hair pulled back into a simple ponytail and no make up she looks about fourteen.

"Those are my favorites," she says in a small voice, eying the cookies.

"I know," I tell her, though for some reason I can't bring myself to admit that over these past few months I've always kept a considerable stash of them at hand in hopes that she would come home to eat them... that I ate them myself because they reminded me of her. When she remains silent I look at her and I realize that she's still staring at those cookies. "What is it?" I prompt her.

"Nothing, it's just that..." she trails off.

"What?"

She doesn't answer, she just shakes her head and I can see she's on the verge of tears. Something is obviously upsetting her but I can't even begin to imagine what it could possibly be. I struggle against myself for a moment before finally gathering the courage to go up to her, pull her into a hug and ask her again what is the matter.

"It's just that..." she still doesn't seem to be able to bring herself to tell me and I decide to wait her out. I'm rewarded when after a few seconds she goes on, "I hadn't even allowed myself to think how long it's really been since anyone gave a damn about what I liked or what I wanted."

"It's okay, you are home now, you are safe," I say steering her toward the couch and urging her to sit down.

"Just don't go, please."

"I'm not going anywhere. Are you ready to talk?" I know she's confused right now but I don't think this can wait.

"Why do I get the feeling that it's not like you will take 'no' for an answer?" she asks, almost teasingly. I can see her weak attempt at humor for the defense mechanism it is but I decide to play along.

"Maybe because you know me," I say before asking as softly as I can, "why didn't you just come home, Buffy?"

"I didn't know if I had a home to come to. I mean, I kept hoping my mom hadn't really meant what she'd said but I wasn't sure and I didn't think I could take her rejection if she'd really meant it so I stayed away and after what Angelus did to you I just couldn't bring myself to face you... besides there was the whole thing with the police and Kendra's death and I really didn't know what to do. That's why I ran."

It takes me a while to make sense out of her ramblings and then I try to imagine what that must have been like for her, I promised myself that I'd try to understand, that I wouldn't judge her, but I need to know what happened after she left, where she's been... and what she did while she was gone.

"Where did you go?"

"LA," she says refusing to go into any more detail than that.

"Can you tell me about it?" I say, trying to encourage her to open up a little.

"I think you already know... I wasn't exactly subtle back at my mom's."

"Yes, you are right, but I know you. You are strong, courageous and resourceful so I don't understand what could possibly have driven you to do that," I say, unable to bring myself to speak --or even think-- the words... I don't have to, I know she understands.

"Good intentions, I guess," comes the sarcastic reply.

"What do you mean 'good intentions'?" I ask, truly confused as to what she could possibly mean by that.

"Child protection laws," she explains, "when I arrived in LA I discovered almost immediately that I couldn't get a real job without my mom's consent... not a legal one anyway. Eventually I managed to get one washing dishes at a small diner. The owner was a sleazeball, shifts lasted twelve hours or more and pay was way below minimum wage but I wasn't exactly in a position to complain about it. Anyway, after that --when I went looking for a place to live-- I ran once again into the same problem: being underage and having no parental permission meant almost no one was willing to rent me a room and the creeps who were willing to look the other way wanted far more money than I could afford to pay so I was stuck. My boss told me that he had a small storage room with a cot in it in the back and that I could stay there... I was so relieved. That same night he came into the room looking for 'the rent', if you know what I mean."

And I do, not trusting my voice I just nod and she goes on.

"I didn't want to do it but the bastard owned me and he knew it. Without him I didn't have a job or even a roof over my head, besides he threatened to turn me in to social services, to have me sent home or put into the system. He thought I was just another runaway but I was terrified because I didn't really know whether or not the police were still after me for Kendra's murder so I just let him do what he wanted. I hated it. The first time, when he was pounding into me, it was all I could do to keep myself from throwing up. Before he left he warned me that I'd better be ready for him the next evening or I'd regret it. I didn't know what to do. It wasn't a good situation but I figured I was still better off servicing him than working the streets and I knew I didn't really have any other options so I stayed.

"On the third night something happened. He was rough and he bit me, hard enough to draw blood..." she says, rubbing her right shoulder and I can see she's reliving the pain. By now she's almost in a trance, lost in the memories and I decide against trying to pull her out of it, realizing that she needs to distance herself from her own story. I wait and eventually she goes on.

"I didn't really think much of it at first but then the next evening when he came back he noticed that the bite was completely healed and after that things got worse... a lot worse. He became fascinated with my healing so he kept hurting me more and more, seeing how much I could take. A little over a week after that I decided that I'd had enough. I knew my choices were still basically the same --staying there or working the streets-- but by that time I'd figured I'd be safer choosing the streets. I mean, I knew I could handle any john that got too rough and they wouldn't know me so I'd have an advantage. In a sense working the streets I'd be able to say 'no', to choose which cars I was willing to get into and set some boundaries as to the things I was willing to do... besides, as long as they were strangers they wouldn't know to use my slayer healing against me.

"I moved into an abandoned warehouse, way across town from the diner. There were a bunch of kids there... some were dealing drugs, most were working the streets. I started working myself, not much, just what I needed in order to keep myself from starving... that usually meant a couple of tricks a night, except when I really needed to save a few bucks, then it was more than that. It was bad but not nearly as bad as what I had been through before... I guess the worst part was the feeling that I was losing myself. After a while I didn't really know who I was any more. It was like I was invisible... just there to be used. I didn't have a name and even though I tried to make myself look pretty, attractive, I knew the johns didn't really care about that. It wasn't my face they were interested in.

"At one point I thought about coming home... after a whino took me in an alley. It was just a quickie but I remember that there were garbage cans all around me and I remember the stench... and I remember thinking that that was where I belonged. I knew something was wrong with me then and I almost got on the bus after that but in the end I got scared."

"What convinced you to return?" I ask softly, doing my best to keep the shock out of my voice... and failing miserably.

"A demon. One of the girls living in the warehouse was someone I had helped here in Sunnydale. She knew who I really was so I tried to avoid her as much as I could. I just didn't want the reminder and she usually respected that but when her boyfriend disappeared she asked me to help her. I didn't want to do it at first but then we found his body only he wasn't a kid any more, he was an old man and I knew my calling had caught up with me. Anyway, Lily and I ended up in a hell dimension and the creeps who were running that show tried to rob us of our identities... they wanted me to say I was no one and I realized that that was who I was becoming, no one. I kicked their asses and then I came back. I still didn't know what I was going to do. I didn't know whether my mom would take me in or not, but I knew I was the slayer and this was still the hellmouth... and I figured that even if my mom didn't want me chances were I'd find enough daddy types here in Sunnydale that I could make it until my eighteenth birthday if I really had to. The only problem was that I knew slipping under the radar here was bound to be far more difficult than in LA."

"'Daddy types'?" I ask, not wanting to dwell on the implications of some of what I've just heard.

"Yes, you know, the family man type of guy who goes cruising looking for the youngest girl he can find --usually choosing one who looks like him and reminds him of his daughter-- and pays extra to be called 'daddy'... but it doesn't matter. I mean, it looks like my mom will take me back so it's not like I'll have to turn to plan B," she says, shrugging off her comment and still sounding oddly detached.

I am appalled, there's no other word for it. She really has no idea, even now she still believes her mother or the streets are her only options. Ever since she came back I've been fighting to hold on to my composure, trying to keep myself from letting her see what I really feel, how relieved I am to have her back and the result is that she truly doesn't know. I struggle to find the right words for almost a full minute before saying, "I'm just going to say this once so I want you to listen and I want you to listen carefully, do you understand?" I wait for her hesitant nod before going on, "if you hear nothing else tonight I want you to understand that no matter what happens, no matter what you do, for as long as I live you'll always have a home here with me."

With that something inside Buffy seems to snap and suddenly she looks at me. I can almost see the moment in which everything sinks in and a fraction of a second later I have a sobbing slayer in my arms. I hold her, letting her cry it all out, knowing there's nothing more I can do for the time being.

I don't know how we are going to deal with all of this but at least now she's home, she's safe. Tomorrow I'll talk to Snyder and I'll do whatever it takes to get Buffy back in school where she belongs, taking care of the minor problems before tackling the major ones. I think it will be at least a couple of weeks before Buffy is ready to move back in with her mother, but after that I'll be free to go to LA for a few hours without her knowing. I wish I could track them all down, every single scumbag who dared to touch her, but I know I can't... there's one, however, I can find: her 'boss'.

Yes, it will be a couple of weeks before I can go looking for him and that should be just long enough for me to figure out exactly what am I going to do to him. I guess it's kind of funny... I never thought I'd be grateful for the lessons Angelus taught me.