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: Tired. V. tired. Forgive any mistakes?

9. True Male Machismo (And a Little Spying)

Will woke late the next day because of his nighttime chat with Buffy. Rolling out of bed, he stretched and looked out the open window. It looked like it was eleven, so after a quick stop at the bathroom to rid himself of bad breath, he made his way downstairs.

Ambling into the living room, Will looked around, scratching his head and wondering where she could be. Then he heard quiet noises from the kitchen, so he moved towards it. At the doorway of the room, he stopped.

Buffy sat in a chair at the table with her back to him, Pontiac on her lap and a scrap of paper on the wood before her. One hand pressed the phone against her ear while the other, clenched in a fist that held a pen, supported her forehead. Her back shook lightly, in time with soft sniffles she was letting out.

Concerned, Will made a move forwards but she spoke up. "No, don't, it's alright."

He frowned, and looked about the room. Had she just spoken to him?

Before he could voice his question, she spoke up again. "I'm okay, Tara, really. Don't worry." A pause, then, "Fine."

Oh. She was on the phone.

Thinking he should give her some privacy, he quietly started backing away but his curiosity got the better of him. He stayed, leaning against the wall just outside the kitchen. Come on, pet, he encouraged her mentally, speak up, now.

"Honestly, Buffy, do you expect me to let it go so easily?" Tara fumbled with the latch on her suitcase as she held the phone with one hand. "Damned case," She mumbled, trying to lock it and failing. "Oh, Buffy, can you hold on a moment?"

"Fine."

The sullenness in her friend's voice made Tara smile. She put down the phone, quickly shut her case, and picked it up again. "You still on?"

"Where'd I go?" She sniffed.

"Yeah, so tell me: why do you think you woke up to find yourself crying about Angel?"

"God, Tara, I called you so you can help me straighten out, not confuse me further!"

"Look, Buffy, unless you know what the problem is, how can you fix it?"

Miles away, Buffy sighed. "You're right (as always)," She said, muttering the last part inaudibly. But Tara picked it up.

"Yes, I'm always right. Now, speak away." Getting comfortable in an old armchair, Tara glanced at the clock to make sure she had enough time.

"Fine." A bit of silence, then Buffy said, "Well, I guess I'm feeling guilty, leaving things that way. I mean, as far as I know, he doesn't even know what I've done."

Tara nodded, supporting, then realized Buffy couldn't see her. "Yeah, go on."

"Perhaps the fact that he's still thinking that he's . . . oh, what am I thinking . . .?"

"Perhaps he thinks he still has to be loyal to you while you're moving on—" Tara froze in mid-sentence, eyes narrowing in the dim light of her apartment. "Buffy, have you met someone? Are you thinking of going out? Need I remind you you've just broken—"

"No! No, no, of course not," Buffy's voice, however, was laced with a tinge of guilt. "No, there has been no . . . moving anywhere, actually, just wondering if I did the right thing there . . ."

"Oh." Tara was silent, then said, "Well, I'm sorry, that wasn't very therapist of me. I'm not supposed to give you my own feelings, see. I'm supposed to be neutral. But the friend in me, I guess, kicked out . . ."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know." Both blondes were silent, then Buffy asked quietly, through her blocked nose, "So, should I go back?"

"I don't know."

Buffy sighed. "I need a friend, Tara, not a therapist." Eying her bare ring finger, she continued, "Tell me."

In New York, Tara massaged her temples with her free hand. "Okay," she sighed, "it comes down to this: do you think, even if you go back and convince Anya and Xander—no, sorry, Anya—convince Anya to shut up about it, will it work out between the two of you?"

That was easy. "No."

"Why?"

"Because of the doubt."

"Good. So, shouldn't you stay put at home in bed with chicken soup till I arrive instead of worrying about these little things?"

Buffy laughed through her dry-from-crying throat, but it was a humorless laugh. "Little. Yeah right. I think there's something wrong with this new cell phone, because it isn't receiving any calls, so I don't know if he's called me. The planner has called Anya, like, eight times and Anya's mailing me all sort of weird stuff asking me about the invitations. Little, Tara? This was my wedding! It isn't little, believe me."

"Was." Upon Buffy's silence, she elaborated. "Was your wedding."

Buffy was still silent for a while, then she said, "Yeah. Yeah, you're right." Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she asked, "Yeah, so when do you arrive?"

"Don't come to pick me up if you're sick."

"Not sick. At least, not really. A bit of a headache, but nothing Aspirin can't cure."

"Have you taken your temperature?" When Buffy mumbled an answer, Tara repeated, louder, "I said, have you taken your temperature?"

"No, MOM, I haven't taken my temperature because I know I do not have fever."

"You're a lousy nurse, Buff. Take it once you've put the phone down."

"Tara—"

"Take it."

"Fine," Buffy said, frowning with irritation. "Now tell me your flight and stuff, Tara."

"Fine. Note it down."

"I've got a pen with me, so shoot." After a few moments of scribbling, Buffy said, "Great. Oh, and Tara?"

"Hm?"

"You're going to have to sleep in Anya's room."

Tara's nose wrinkled. "Why? Because I asked you to take your temperature!"

"Nooo," Buffy's voice was as patronizing as it could be through a runny nose. "Because I've got another guest."

"Really? Who?"

"That's for me to know, and you to find out, Tara. Bye, and have a safe trip.

"But—" Tara started to say but was cut off by a click.

Buffy had been staring at her writing on the small bit of paper in front of her when Will decided to stroll in. She started as he plonked himself on the chair next to her, shaken from her thoughts.

"Do you have to scare me like that?" Her tone was only mildly annoyed.

He shrugged, picking up the paper. "'s fun," he offered. Looking interestedly at the paper, he asked, "What's this?"

Buffy couldn't see the trivial amount of panic behind his casualness. "A friend. She'll be attending a seminar so she needs a place to stay."

He nodded thoughtfully and eyed her, noticing her red eyes and nose, the hastily wiped tear tracks smearing her make up a little. When she looked at him, he said, "Seminar?"

Her gaze turned to one of amusement, and she said, "Yes. Seminar. Conference, meeting, convention, forum. Any of those words familiar to you?" She poured him a clean glass of orange juice from the carton on the table as she teased him.

Will snorted, and accepted the glass. Finishing it in one go, he brought the glass down on the table as though to slam it. But then he saw her face and, thinking better of it, set it quietly onto the wood.

Buffy rolled her eyes and got up. She walked to the fridge and bent, pretending to look for something while she wiped her eyes subtly. However, Will noticed, and when she came back to the table with two apples, he asked her, "'ve you been crying?"

Buffy shook her head, perhaps a bit too quickly. Will let it go. If she didn't want to talk about it, he wouldn't force her.

Biting into the red fruit, he looked her up and down and said, "Where're you off to?"

Buffy looked down at her ensemble of black trousers, coupled with a light, button down blouse in white. Black stilettos she knew she'd die in by the end of the day added that extra zing to her outfit. She shrugged as a response to him, and said, "Going out for groceries, then shopping, then putting in an appearance at the gallery." Looking at him, still clad in t-shirt and sweats, she added, "Unlike you. Slob."

Will chose to ignore that comment. Frowning, he asked her, "Why? We've got enough food, you certainly have enough clothes, and aren't you on holiday?"

She nodded, but said, deprecatingly, "Yeah, but you expect me to trust Harmony's work?"

Will sighed, shaking his head dramatically. "Have to have confidence in people, luv. Who knows, maybe with your assurance, Harm could raise herse—"

Buffy snorted. "Your Harm does nothing but harm." She stood up, abruptly, and said, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have—" She broke off unexpectedly and one hand flew to her head. Grabbing the chair for support, Buffy swayed on the spot, trying to find balance.

Will stood up immediately, forgotten apple falling to the floor, and he grasped Buffy tightly to give her support. With a brow knitted with worry, he asked, "'Lizabeth? You okay?" Grabbing the bottle of water on the table, he pressed its open mouth against her lips, saying, "Here. Drink."

She drank, and he gently sank to the kitchen floor, holding her in his lap. She rested against him while he felt her forehead. "Aw, pet," He spoke softly, his voice hardly curbing his concern for her. That concern was echoed in his expression. "You're burning up!"

Buffy swallowed the water in her mouth and said, "Am I?" Her tone was lighthearted. "Well, that's sad." Freeing herself from his grip, she stood shakily and continued in the same jovial manner, "Oh, well, work is work and someone has to do it."

Will's eyes narrowed as he stood to match her. "But it won't be you today." He wound an arm around her waist and steered her towards the living room. When she protested, he gave her a good glare, and she was quiet. But only for a while.

When they reached the bottom of the staircase, Buffy dug in her heels and refused to climb. Will came down from the two steps he'd climbed and said to her, evenly, "Climb."

Eyes flashing at his resolve, she said, "No," her chin lifting in defiance.

Will shrugged and, with a quick, "As you wish," he lifted her into his arms and carried her up the stairs, well aware of the black eyes and bruises he'd get for this, but nonetheless pleased at having her in his arms again.