California - XLI

'It fell around you like the stars

You picked up everything they dropped

And though it breaks you like a song

You had some secrets of your own…'

California by Low

Sunnydale

Three days later…

She had neglected to call first and yet somehow that had seemed like the right decision. After over a month of unexplained absence at a time when those around her needed her most, Buffy was both uncertain and reluctant to broach any conversation that may herald her return. Instead she had decided that an element of surprise would be best for all involved. That was, of course, right up until the second her feet had come to rest on the front step and her key was poised mid-flight towards the lock. It was during that exact moment that Buffy had become paralysed in the grip of what she recognised almost immediately as the familiar fear of rejection. Unable to do much else, Buffy lowered the hand that gripped her key to her side, and stared at the front door of her home. The sense of foreboding she felt was unnatural and yet Buffy felt wholly justified. Suddenly, she wished she had called.

In the long weeks of her absence she had frequently wondered about the friends and family that she had left behind. The first few days had been the most difficult and Buffy had been haunted by an overpowering sense of responsibility until she had finally relented and made contact with Giles. It was a comfort to know that her former Watcher at least understood the reasons behind her departure and, although his support remained unspoken, it had undeniably been leant. Buffy had promised to check in at least weekly with Giles and this was a vow she upheld, knowing only too well that those who loved her needed to know of her welfare as she did theirs. Somehow this fact had made the prospect of going home a little easier to consider; knowing that her return would not be met with the hostility of those who had been forced to worry unnecessarily. It was only Angel's name that had not once pervaded her conversations with Giles. He had always alluded to Angel's general wellbeing but was evidently wise enough to know that Buffy had not been ready for anything more detailed.

The early morning sunshine refracted off a mobile of hanging crystal prisms that had been placed on the eaves of the porch sometime after Buffy's departure. She stared mutely at the beautiful miniature rainbows the swaying crystals cast onto the step, and raked her fingers through to the ends of her ponytail. The internal flight from Seattle had been a short one but Buffy had enjoyed little rest since her decision to return to Sunnydale, and she was aware that this fact was reflected in her unusually unkempt appearance. Her jeans hung a little lower than they ought given that she had lost some weight in her absence, and her eyes were rimmed by dark circles that cast a sallow hue to her usually bronzed complexion. Groaning at the hesitation that served only to prolong her unease, Buffy jammed her key into the lock and twisted. Her breath caught in her throat as the lock hit a glitch and refused to turn. In the few seconds it took for the mechanism to yield to her touch, Buffy had already considered the possibility that the locks had been changed with the purpose of shutting her out. Hearing the familiar click of the latch sliding back, Buffy's cheeks coloured a little with embarrassment.

With only three deep breaths to steady her, Buffy pushed open the front door and stepped into the hallway of her home. The quiet was overwhelming and Buffy allowed her one bag to drop heavily to the polished floor only for the company of the dull thud it made.

Buffy peered up the staircase hopefully, straining to detect the sounds of several bodies stirring. Glancing at her watch, Buffy grimaced at the ungodly hour at which she would usually have still been tucked up in bed. Realising that it was too early for either Willow or Dawn to be contemplating getting ready for school, Buffy abandoned her bag and moved towards the kitchen in search of coffee. Rather than wake the entire household, she resolved to greet them with a breakfast feast that would hopefully absorb even a little of the shock of her return. As she pulled open the door of the refrigerator, Buffy could not help but dwell once more on the fact that a wiser woman really would have called.

Breakfast banquets had been Joyce Summers' forte but, much to Dawn's chagrin, one that had been reserved only for the most special of occasions. It now seemed oddly fitting to Buffy that this day should rank in such a category. Nodding in approval at the sight of the fully stocked fridge, Buffy began pulling out ingredients and balancing them on the counter at her side. Half an hour later, and after several unidentifiable concoctions had been disposed of, a rather more dishevelled Buffy stood gazing proudly at her efforts; a stack of only mildly charred pancakes, fruit salad, French toast, freshly squeezed orange juice, and a pot of coffee that had been stewing for twenty minutes. The bacon, eggs and sausages that she had intended to form the bones of the meal were among those lost to the garbage disposal but even this had done little to dampen Buffy's enthusiasm. It was as she laid the final plate on the dining room table that the sound of footsteps descending the staircase two at a time reached Buffy's ears. Straightening up and attempting to ignore the sudden stab of fear seizing her heart, Buffy turned to the doorway of the dining room with a smile that was agonizingly forced.

No more than seconds later Dawn appeared in the doorway, sniffing curiously at the mixture of odours permeating the air. Her gaze ticked first tothe laden table and then to Buffy, who stood with her hands jammed in her pockets. Dawn's mouth fell open and, although her arms almost instantly stretched out in welcoming before her, she remained rooted to the spot. Buffy's bottom lip began to tremble and her smile grew watery as she closed the distance between her and Dawn in less than two strides. Flinging herself into her sister's arms, Buffy laid her head against Dawn's shoulder and struggled to contain the tears that would otherwise overwhelm her.

"Buffy, you're really here," Dawn whispered, her tone awed and her voice cracking at the edges. Buffy nodded, unable to offer more for the moment, and simply breathed deeply allowing the scent of her sister to flood her nostrils.

"I'm here," Buffy finally choked out, drawing away from Dawn and holding the girl at arms length in order to examine her. As Buffy had expected, little about Dawn had changed in the last few months, save for the slightly healthier glow that now radiated from her skin and the tell-tale soft bulge where once the flat plane of her stomach had existed.

Buffy was relieved to see that her sister looked well despite the trials of the last few months.

"You are here, right?" Dawn suddenly demanded, her smile sobering as she stared at Buffy. "I mean, this isn't just a flying visit or something?"

"I'm here," Buffy repeated, rubbing gentle circles with her thumbs across the top of Dawn's arms, "for good."

"Oh Buffy," Dawn gasped, startling Buffy with the intensity of her grip as she seized her sister in another embrace. "I'm so sorry."

Buffy swallowed hard and extricated herself from Dawn's arms with great care. She paused in order to catch her own breath and offered Dawn a smile that came easier than she ever could have hoped.

"No, I'm sorry," she replied, cupping Dawn's cheek in her palm and gently inclining her sister's head in order to meet her gaze. "I am so proud of you and I never should have made you doubt that."

Dawn nodded, sniffing back tears whilst Buffy pulled a chair from the table.

"The parts of the breakfast that were mildly tepid are getting cold," Buffy explained as she gestured towards the seat. She could not mask the sigh of evident relief that escaped her as Dawn tucked herself carefully behind the table. The sisters exchanged smiles that, although slightly guarded, were sincere and ready. Buffy was undeniably still stinging from the news of Dawn's pregnancy and also reeling from the revelation of Spike's involvement in it all, and yet she had some time ago come to terms with the way things were to be. She was now both prepared and eager to offer her full support to Dawn in whatever sense it may be required. Buffy's guilt at her initial explosion had plagued her for weeks, and she was keen to get to work at dispelling it as soon as possible.

"S'good," Dawn mumbled through a mouthful of pancakes drenched in syrup, whilst wasting little time in adding three more to the pile on her plate. Smiling in satisfaction, Buffy planted herself in front of the coffee pot and settled for nibbling on a slice of French toast.

"So is Willow almost done in the bathroom?" Buffy inquired, glancing at her watch and noting the surprisingly rapid passage of time. "She's going to be late."

Dawn shook her head and raised a glass of juice to her lips, allowing the liquid to fill her mouth before the pancake had even been swallowed. Buffy hid a grimace behind the palm of her hand, glad that the bizarre tastes apparently afforded by pregnancy were not hers.

"Willow uhm… she kind of moved out," Dawn replied, laying her fork by the side of her plate and peering at Buffy. Feeling her smile falter, Buffy quickly raised her coffee mug to her lips.

"Oh?" she managed after a pause.

"About a week ago," Dawn continued somewhat delicately, clearly unwilling to risk upsetting Buffy further, "a space came up in the dorms and what with the new baby and stuff, Willow thought it would be best to take it."

"Oh," Buffy repeated, mentally wincing at her own sudden inadequacy to converse.

"She still comes by a whole lot," Dawn said, her tone becoming somewhat more breezy. She picked up her fork and resumed her attack on the stack of soggy pancakes.

"So has anything else… changed… whilst I've been gone?" Buffy asked softly, circling the rim of her mug with her index finger and peering glumly into the bowl of fruit salad immediately before her.

"Angel got a job," said Dawn and almost instantly her fork clattered to her plate as she wondered how that name might effect Buffy's mood. However, Buffy simply nodded in a manner that seemed both calm and approving.

"That's great. What does he do?" Buffy inquired with interest, spurred on by the sudden more positive turn of events to resume picking at her breakfast.

"Night guard," Dawn revealed, desperately attempting to thwart the smirk that tugged at the corners of her lips. There was a moment of pause before Buffy slumped forward across the table and dissolved into a bout of hysterical laughter. She slammed her fist down on the tabletop, causing the cutlery to raise an inch in the air, and clutched desperately at the ache of amusement afflicting her chest. Tears streamed down Buffy's cheeks, adding new light to her eyes, and it was not long before Dawn had succumbed to her own laughter.

After several minutes, the sisters recovered themselves and Buffy began dabbing at her eyes with a napkin. Occasionally an amused snort would escape her as images of Angel clad in polyester and wielding a can of mace dominated her mind.

"He should actually be getting back soon," Dawn said quietly, her eyes averted to her almost empty plate. She used the prongs of the fork to weave a syrupy pattern across the surface of the china, refusing to meet Buffy's gaze. Dawn's cheeks flushed crimson and Buffy watched her sister curiously, bemused by the nature of her embarrassment.

"Buffy, I'm so sorry that I lied to you," Dawn breathed in a rush, her gaze suddenly snapping up to hold Buffy's.

Buffy raised her hand in a gesture designed to silence Dawn but the girl shook her head and continued nonetheless. Her eyes shone with vehemence and she leaned closer across the table.

"No, I need to say this," said Dawn somewhat sharply, "I never meant to lie to you or to anyone. I was just too scared of admitting the truth and letting everyone down. I know now I was wrong and I'd do anything to take it back but please, Buffy… please don't punish Angel for my mistakes. You guys… you're like… Romeo and Juliet without the mutually agreed suicide and stuff. You were made for each other."

"Dawn, nothing you did or didn't do made me angry at Angel," Buffy replied patiently before taking another swig from her mug. Her mouth felt suddenly unbearably dry but the bitter coffee that she had neglected to sweeten did little to remedy this. Buffy cleared her throat before continuing.

"And I'm not mad at Angel… not anymore," she soothed, "I guess I got a little perspective whilst I was away."

Dawn nodded and reached towards the mound of toast, grabbing a slice which she then dunked in the pool of syrup remaining on her plate.

"I don't know what's going to happen between me and Angel," Buffy resumed, now more thinking aloud to herself than truly conversing, "I know what I'd like and what I want and what's probably for the best… but none of those things are meshing right now."

The sound of a key turning in the lock for the second time that morning interrupted Buffy's monologue. She fell silent quickly and exchanged glances with Dawn who had swept up her plate and disappeared into the kitchen with it before the sound of the front door closing had even ended. Blinking in surprise at her sudden solitude, Buffy rose to her feet and gripped the side of the table for support, should it be required. She listened with a faint smile to the sound of muted but familiar humming now emanating from the hallway.

The dark head that appeared seconds later around the doorway was bowed and so Angel did not immediately notice the presence of another body in the room. His nostrils first twitched, drawing his eyes to the welcome sight of the coffee pot, and then a beat later to the blonde figure who stood behind it. Realisation dawning upon him in a rush, Angel swept the peaked uniform cap he had been wearing from his head and tossed it over his shoulder in embarrassment. It skittered across the hall floor and landed by the front door in a slightly misshapen heap. Buffy and Angel regarded each other, neither managing speech or even the slightest expression of emotion. Normally, Angel's atrocious hat hair would have been enough to melt the almost painful silence.

"Hi," Angel eventually murmured, his dark eyes scanning Buffy's figure in a concerned manner. He was evidently searching for visible signs of injury and his tensed shoulders did not relax until he was fully satisfied of Buffy's wellbeing.

"Hi," Buffy answered, punctuating her greeting with a shy but warm smile that caused Angel's heart to skip a succession of beats.

"Giles didn't mention…" Angel began softly as though he were talking to a timid animal that was particularly likely to bolt at any given second. Buffy shook her head.

"I didn't tell him," she explained, her tone a little more apologetic than she had intended. The tension between the couple was palpable and Buffy sighed with the realisation that she had no idea how to fracture it.

"You look…" Angel began, searching for an adjective as inoffensive as possible, "a little beat."

"You too," Buffy observed, a grin breaking through the stony mask of her features as she observed Angel's midnight blue uniform complete with handcuffs hanging from the belt. "And- wow, by the way."

After a moments pause, Angel allowed a smile to spread across his lips and, in that instant, the mood seemed to lift just a degree. Angel lowered himself into the chair that Dawn had occupied, his eyes still trained upon Buffy as though he were afraid that she might disappear should he become distracted even for a second.

"Buffy, I…" Angel attempted, his head suddenly whipping up in Buffy's direction. The Slayer intervened before Angel could even contemplate continuing.

"Angel, there's more to say here than we can cover right now and I for one am kinda too bushed to even try," Buffy said, her stern gaze commanding Angel's silence. He simply nodded in response and lowered his eyes to the table.

"Sure, I'm sorry," he stammered, "I guess you've had a long journey. If you wanna go upstairs- oh, I didn't mean… I can take the couch or Willow's old room… or I could just go out if you'd prefer?"

The series of questions hung unanswered in the air for what seemed to Angel like several hours. In reality, Buffy allowed no more than a few seconds to elapse.

"I don't want you to go out," Buffy said gently, reaching towards Angel and brushing her fingertips across the back of his hand. She felt the thin dark hairs stand erect in the wake of her touch and as the contact of her skin ended, Angel visibly shuddered a little.

"I… well, I was kind of hoping that you…" Buffy paused, struggling to find the words that would not imbue Angel with a false hope, "I was hoping that you would join me?"

Slowly, Angel lifted his eyes to meet Buffy's and they exchanged a lingering glance. It was clear that neither of them expected too much of this first meeting, and yet both were almost physically aching for the promise of more. Clearing his throat a little self consciously, Angel tentatively interlinked the little finger of his left hand with Buffy's. Glancing at their laced hands, Angel was surprised but thrilled to note the diamond engagement band still in place. His heart thrummed a little faster, spurred on for the moment by hope.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" Angel pressed, his expression belaying that he would understand and accept any answer that Buffy chose to offer him. It was clear to Buffy that Angel was prepared to allow her to call all the shots; a fact which served only to renew the guilt gnawing at her conscience. She knew that the time would inevitably come when her absence demanded explanation, but she was willing for the moment at least to delay that particular conversation and simply bask in the warmth of the home she had missed. Buffy knew there were many bridges to be mended but it seemed not nearly enough time to do it in.

"I'm not making any promises," Buffy whispered, propping one elbow on the table and resting her forehead in her palm, "but I'm just so tired, Angel… I can't…"

"Later then," Angel promised. Buffy nodded and attempted unsuccessfully to stifle the yawn that burst from her pursed lips.

Exchanging weary smiles that were tinged now with optimism, the couple rose to their feet and Angel led Buffy gently upstairs by the hand to the bed that he had occupied alone for almost three seemingly unending months. No more than ten minutes later, both lay in the most peaceful slumber they had managed to procure in as long as could be recalled.

Hands still tenderly interlaced and heads inclined toward each other, Buffy and Angel simply slept; both fully clothed atop the still made bed- and both dreaming of the future they dared hope might be theirs.

x-x-x

Duke Farmer removed the uniform cap from his head and rubbed wearily at the bald spot that had devastated his crop of once magnificent golden hair. It had crept up upon him; one day he was busy enjoying the throes of his youth and the next he was middle-aged and balding, carrying a hefty paunch that provided endless amusement for his bitter shrew of a wife. Duke grumbled discontentedly under his breath and shot a glance at his wristwatch. He had sent the other fellow on his way little over fifteen minutes ago, deciding that he would much rather undertake the final sweep of the perimeter alone than endure anymore mundane prattle than was really necessary. Duke did not truly care for his co-worker, a tall and rugged young man with an inconceivably queer name, who would have been better suited to a career in the movies; however, Duke Farmer was not a people person and did not truly care for many. In fact, he had come to view even his grandbabies as trivial annoyances to be tolerated until the latest visit had ended.

Sweeping his gaze casually across the underground car park, which was empty save for his own battered Ford Chevy pick-up, Duke nodded in satisfaction. Turning on his heel, he moved with surprising fluidity back towards the elevators leading to the upper security office, where he could in mere moments hand over his shift to the day team. However, the sudden screeching sound of metal grating against metal forced Duke to a standstill. Less than a second later, the already dim overhead lighting flickered and then died. Duke stood in still silence for a while as he waited for the emergency generator to kick in, or for the problem to simply rectify itself. When neither eventuality occurred, he began searching his pocket for the flashlight he always carried. As Duke's clammy hand found purchase on the shaft of the torch, the terrible shrieking sound resounded once more. It almost sounded to Duke's ears as though something wicked were ripping through the tarmac.

Duke, a man not easily spooked, stood his ground and instead hefted the small flashlight in his hand as though preparing to use it as a weapon. Although an inexperienced fighter, Duke carried himself with the air of one who could undoubtedly hold his own.

"Who's there?" he barked gruffly, his tone remarkably calm and assertive. Thirty plus years in the security trade had served him well and Duke had not once encountered a situation that was above his handling. He was confident that today would prove no different.

Hearing no response, Duke shook his head and turned back towards the row of elevators. Before he had taken more than a step, the shrill screaming of his car alarm pierced the silence and Duke instinctively spun back towards the direction of the sound. As the headlights of the Chevy blinked furiously along to the rhythm of the alarm, they threw a shaft of light only momentarily across a hulking dark figure that darted across Duke's peripheral line of vision. Suddenly unnerved, Duke reached for the can of pepper spray that hung from his belt, and battled to control the frantic pounding of his heart. Suddenly, he found himself wishing that he favoured a nightstick like his young colleague.

"Who is it?" Duke demanded, his vice rising an octave as fear began to creep beneath his composure. "You damned kids. When will you learn. This is trespassing, you know."

Duke's blood ran cold as somewhere to the left, the distinct sound of growling arose. Flinging the useless flashlight aside, Duke broke into a run. His feet pounded heavily against the tarmac as he propelled his body towards the flight of stairs that usually he avoided like the plague. Now, with his hand reaching desperately towards the doorknob, and with the animal hot on his heels, Duke longed to reach that goddamn staircase. It was as his fingertips brushed the cool metal of the handle that Duke was lifted clear off his feet. He emitted a strangled scream as talons pierced first the fabric of his shirt and then the meaty flesh of his shoulders. Blood pooled rapidly from the wounds and began trickling down his forearms, causing the monster or whatever it was to growl as its hunger was renewed. Duke kicked his legs and thrashed furiously, dangling almost eight feet off the floor like a fish caught on a line. He attempted to cry out once again but fear prevented little more than a strangled squeak escaping his lips. He was sure that whatever held him must be as big as a grizzly and twice as mean.

Tears welled in his eyes and in his desperation Duke kicked out at his attacker. There was a startled yelp and then Duke's body was tumbling heavily to the ground. He landed hard on his shoulder, grunting with the pain of impact, but barely had time to roll onto his back before the creature lunged. Then, razor sharp talons were tearing through Duke's flesh as though it were butter, cutting deep and ragged tracks across his throat, stomach and arms where he raised them in protection. Duke Farmer died in mere moments with a scream upon his lips and terror in his heart.

Several hours later, after he had failed to return home to his irate wife, the security day staff at Sunnydale mall launched a search for Duke. His body was discovered some time later underneath his beloved Chevrolet truck, his arms locked across his chest and his mouth frozen wide open in horror. There was not a single scratch to be found on Duke Farmer, for which his wife Laura was grateful since she found open-casket funerals a far more tasteful state of affairs.

The coroner would later conclude that Duke had died of a massive heart attack, no doubt brought on by a combination of high cholesterol and a stressful working environment. Although it would forever remain a mystery to Duke's family and drinking buds just exactly how he had come to lie underneath that old truck, their consideration of such a thing was short-lived. His death was reported in the local press and discussed briefly by his former work colleagues but little of truth or consequence was ever expressed.

Inevitably, the staff of Sunnydale mall moved onto more pressing issues; such as how best to repair the long, deep cracks that had inexplicably formed on the tarmac of the third story car park the very day that sour old Duke Farmer had been claimed by his bum ticker.