The Road Home
Summary: AU; everyone's human. Buffy Summers dodges family and friends to escape her wedding and make it back home, single. But when she returns to L.A., she finds herself stuck with a grumpy, homeless roommate without who, she soon finds, home wouldn't be home at all.
Disclaimer: 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and all associated with it belongs to Mutant Enemy, Fox, Joss Whedon etc. I own squat.

A/N: After this chapter, I'm going to try to keep Angel, Xander and Anya out for a bit. Can you guys live with that? Tell me!

7. Sights and Sounds

The sun had already begun its descent form the sky when Buffy woke up. She frowned as she realized she was in her own room, and wondered how she'd got there. Lying in bed for a while, she squinted in the darkness that came from drawing the curtains then decided she was hungry. Rolling out of bed, she wobbled for a moment on her feet then stepped out of her room.

The hallway's brightness hurt her eyes and she shut them for a moment. Unfortunately, a moment was all it took to crash into Will, who was just leaving the guest room.

"Whoa, there, tiger," he said, holding her up so she wouldn't fall. "Watch where you're going, luv."

Buffy frowned, and pulled away from him. Blinking in the brightness, she asked him, grumbling, "Must you always crash into me so?"

"As far as I can recall, it's you, pet, who's done the crashing bit so far. You've been the crasher; I'm merely the crashee."

She rolled her eyes, and with a final, "oh, shut up," ambled down the stairs.

Will grinned after her, then reached out to close the door to her room. Looked like living in L.A. was going to be fun . . .

"So, let me get this straight: you opened my purse. You took out the keys to my room. You carried me upstairs. You unlocked and entered my room. You put me on my bed and drew the curtains. You took off my shoes. Am I right so far?"

Will grinned. "Yeah, luv. You are."

Absently, she rubbed her forehead and said, "I asked you not to call me names."

"You also asked me to get out. An', if I haven' done that, why should I listen to your other demand?"

She snorted. Then, as though coming out of a daze, Buffy said, "All right. Now, if you're going to live here, we're going to need some rules."

Will nodded solemnly, straightening up in his chair.

"Now, the first is—"

"—not to call you names?"

She looked at him. Probably wondering where I come from, he thought, a sly grin spreading over his lips. Women tend to think of that . . .

"Well, yes, that too, but I was thinking more along the lines of no entering my room."

"Sound like a disgruntled teen talkin' to her parents."

"Shush. Now, secondly, I will—"

"—buy me all the beer I want?" He stretched out, grabbing a can of said beverage from the open fridge, and taking a gulp. She noticed the way his lean arms stretched, and swallowed.

However, she waged on, "No, I will . . . um, I'll . . . oh, god. Great. I've forgotten what I'll do."

"Thinking of my hot body, ducks?" He winked at her playfully.

Her dry throat, suddenly, loosened up, as she remembered an important fact about him. A spurt of laughter escaped her, and she said, in between giggles, "Not likely." And she pushed her head against the fridge to keep her amusement in check.

Over at the stove, Will rolled his eyes. "You just wait, luv," He said, adding garlic to the sauce he was making. "I'll have you worshipping at the altar of my body soon enough."

As she burst into laughs again, Will's cell phone rang out. As the polyphonic sounds of the Macarena filled the kitchen, Buffy's laughter increased by quite a few decibels. Reddening, Will put the flame on low and, shooting filthy looks at the blonde who was now crying with mirth, he stepped out of the room.

A thumb to a button killed the source of Buffy's fun. Will spoke into his phone, "Hello?"

Rupert Giles' desk was a mess. When he entered his study late one night, he moaned at the sight of it. How was it, he couldn't help thinking, that a senior partner, heck, co-owner, even, of a major firm had to clean up his own desk?

"Incompetent secretaries," he muttered, stacking files and putting pens and pencils into their place at the pencil stand. "Should fire the entire bloody lot of them . . ."

It was about then that his phone pierced the air with its high pitched ringing. Giles jumped into the air, then, as he realized it was the phone, calmed down. His calm, however, lasted barely a second. After all, now he had to hunt for the phone . . .

Cushions went flying as Giles looked all through his study for the cordless phone. He finally found it under his chair, but the ringing stopped. Uttering curses that would turn his own son red, Giles dropped the offending object back onto the carpeted floor and turned back to his cleaning.

That was when the phone rang again.

Grabbing it from the floor, he barked into it, "Hello?"

For a moment, there was silence on the other end. Then, a timid voice said, "Um, Giles? That you?"

"No, it's the bloody Queen. Of course it's me," he said crossly. "Who is this?"

"Liam."

Instantly, Giles calmed down. "Oh, Liam. Great. Wonderful to hear from you. Everything all right? Are you in London, yet?"

"No, Giles," Liam was speaking with caution, knowing one wrong word would set his uncle off. "In Rome, actually."

"Oh. I see. Did you need something, then, Liam? Because I'm rather busy at the moment . . ."

"Well, yes, actually. I needed Will's number. He changes it so often, I never seem to have the correct one."

In his study, Giles stiffened. "Will," he said to his nephew, "Is a piece of useless flesh. I'd rather you didn't spend too much time with him, or you, too, will become the utterly lazy, no good dog he is . . ."

Liam laughed. "There's a lot of truth in what you're saying, Giles, but I do need his number. Can I have it?"

"Of course," Giles said dryly. "It's your funeral to be in contact with him, not mine . . . do you have some paper with you?"

"Hello?"

Relief flooded Angel at the sound of his cousin's accented voice. "Will? Is that you?"

"No, it's the bloody Queen. Like hell it's me. Who's this?"

Amusement filled Angel at the likeness of father and son. "Liam. Will, I need—"

"Oh, yes. Liam Spencer the great needs something. How may I serve you, king?"

"Well, actually, I heard you were in London, so—"

"Wrong, matey. 'm not in London, or the Isles, at all." Will's drawl seemed to echo in his head.

"Oh." This was quite a change. "Are you in New York, then?"

"Nope."

"Oh . . ." Well, so much for that plan. "Well, then . . . I don't think—"

"I can't help you?" Will brightened. "Great! Buh-bye, now!"

And he hung up.

"Who was that?" Buffy asked as he reentered the kitchen. She'd calmed down from before and was stirring the sauce. Not just stirring it, told the slight red mark on her cheek.

Coming to a stand beside her so he could evaluate their process, he said, "Nobody," He checked the if the fettuccini was soft enough, then looked at Buffy. Taking the spatula from her, he said, "You've got . . ." He motioned towards her cheek.

She blushed. "Just tasting," she muttered, clearly embarrassed, as she tried wiping it on her shoulder.

"No, let me," he said, and gently batted her hand away. He gently wiped the red sauce from her cheek, then said, "You were spreading it."

Swallowing hard, Buffy nodded. His hands were callused, but yet so soft on her cheek. The strong arms she'd dreamed of during her afternoon nap made her blush. Those arms had distracted her earlier in the evening, too, as they flexed beneath his black tee. Sad, she thought, that there is something wrong with every good guy . . .

"So, who was it?" She took out the cottage cheese that needed to be diced.

He looked at her, not gently like before, but curious to her curiosity. "Curiosity killed the cat," he said.

"Tell that to Mr. Pointy. Who was it? And what's with the Macarena?"

He stopped stirring, and looked at her. "What's your fiancé doin' in Rome for so long?" His bluntness made her angry, again.

She resumed chopping the cheese. "None of your business," she let out through gritted teeth.

Will nodded. "Same goes for you, pet. Let's make that rule number two." He started stirring again, then paused. "But I can tell you one thing— the Macarena is the only tune your cat doesn' seem to mind."

And, instantly, the tense mood evaporated. Buffy burst into peals of laughter, and the sound seemed to bring a sense of serenity to Will's mind.