“You sure you’re ready?” Faith whispered as if she might jinx Buffy’s courage.
“Yeah,” Buffy replied, toying with a strand of her hair. “I have to do this and honestly, I’m not sure I could, you know, without you.”
Faith’s warm hand squeezed hers briefly before she unlocked the white front door. It swung open revealing everything exactly the way Buffy had left it.
“No one’s been here?” Buffy asked, hesitantly taking a step forward.
“Hell no,” Faith answered. “I told you I’d keep my promise. But his firm said that they need some files that are in Angel’s office. And some stuff off the computer.”
“Right, of course.” Buffy nodded rapidly. “It’s stuff they need to work and…do cases.” She took another step closer to the entryway.
“B,” Faith began, “it’ll be okay. Let’s just…” she reached out to guide Buffy in, “go in and get your clothes and shit.”
They took the final step inside the foyer together, and Buffy inhaled sharply at the sight of her home. She sniffled as they walked into the kitchen where Buffy’s running jacket was casually thrown over one of the stools.
Everything was exactly the same as she had left it: her jacket, the banana on the counter, the radio playing quietly.
Buffy half-expected Angel to barrel around the corner or come in through garage door. In this dead house, he was a ghost she couldn’t shake off.
“You good?” Faith questioned, touching her shoulder lightly.
“No,” Buffy replied with a shaky, bitter bark of a laugh. She sat down in the stool, fingering the material of her running jacket. Faith sat down in the other stool uncharacteristically quiet. For a long time they sat there as Buffy tried not to burst into endless sobs.
“Anything you want me to do, B?” Faith asked finally.
“Um…” Buffy looked around. “The garbage needs to be taken out,” she began slowly, “and emptied around the house. Tomorrow’s garbage day. And there’s laundry in the washer, I should probably finish it. And someone has to call Maria and tell her… what h-happened, but I think she should continuing coming to keep the place clean.” As Buffy listed her chores, she felt a little of the unbearable sadness melt away.
Faith nodded. “I’ll do laundry, you do garbage.”
Buffy smiled a little at that. “Figures,” she said pointedly and stood up, tying her hair back.
After a half an hour, Buffy stood in front her bedroom with a large trash bag. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open. She spotted her robe in a puddle on the floor where she left. She picked it up and set it on her bed.
Their bed.
Sitting down on the soft comforter, Buffy smoothed her fingers over the material as sorrow crashed back down like hammer. She pressed her hands to her face and gave into great heaving sobs.
Faith must have heard her, because she walked in cautiously. “B…” she said sympathetically, taking the garbage bag away. “I’ll do this one.”
Buffy stopped her, straightening her spine. “No,” she said slowly. “I have to do this.” And with deliberate movements, she went through all three garbage cans in both the master bedroom and bathroom.
“Now all that’s left is his office,” Buffy said wearily.
“Need help?” Faith offered unnecessarily, already heading back to the laundry room.
“Nope, I got it,” Buffy answered, gathering her strength. As she entered the office, she was struck again by how masculine it was. The dark, solid wood desk and matching shelves with all its smooth lines and the dark navy rug seamlessly flowed together.
Buffy’s hand skimmed over the antique globe that Angel had once told her had belonged to his estranged parents. She emptied the small wastebasket by the desk that had piles of crumpled paper.
In fact, the desk was also littered with paper, and with a heavy exhale, Buffy started putting them into her trash bag as well. Underneath, she found stacks of manila folders from the firm, and Buffy placed them carefully by the door.
She choked on a sob as she touched the suit jacket he had unusually left on the back of his chair. Buffy set her trash bag down, tightening the strings, and then slipped the too large jacket on.
It faintly smelled of him, the whiff of his cologne and the scent of him…Angel. Inhaling deeply, Buffy slipped her fingers into the pockets to enfold herself in the jacket and frowned as her hand caught on a piece of paper.
She pulled it out, examining the cryptic message.
‘D. 1-312-489-9038—'
The end of the note was a smear of ink.
“B, you in here?” Faith called out, poking her head into the room.
Buffy shoved the paper into the pocket of her jeans. “Yeah…” she gestured lamely to the coat. “Just taking a break.” She shrugged out of the suit jacket, placing it back in its spot on the chair.
She felt numb and shaky as she picked up the trash bag. “I should take this outside.” Brushing past Faith, Buffy tried not to dwell on the slip of paper too much. It’s just a client, she told herself. Or an expert for a case. Angel always tried to find the best in the country.
Dragging the trash cans to the curb, Buffy stopped and stared out at the rows and rows of houses. Across the street the two little girls, Megan and Jessie, were playing on the sidewalk.
They had talked about children sometimes, but only in an abstract way because Angel wanted to wait until his job was secure, and Buffy had readily agreed.
But now they would never have kids, Buffy realized and her heart splintered once again.
Faith came up from behind her and said, “Laundry’s all done now, and I got the pants and clothes you wanted.” She held up the small duffle as evidence.
Her newfound sense of loss seemed too personal to say out loud, even to Faith. “Garbage is done. I guess we can get going,” Buffy said instead and then asked impulsively, “Why didn’t you or Angel tell me about the Giles family?”
Looking vaguely uncomfortable, Faith shrugged. “Wasn’t my thing to tell, you know? And I think they had a little falling out or something after high school.”
“Really?” Buffy asked, genuinely surprised. “Angel and Spike?”
Again, Faith shrugged. “Listen, when Angel an’ I were kids, it was different.” She kicked a rock, sending it bouncing across the pavement. “In high school, three years is a big diff, ya know? I didn’t hang with them much, and Angel and I didn’t talk much ‘bout it.”
“You knew Giles though,” Buffy reminded her as they closed the garage and headed back to Faith’s car.
“Of course, but we didn’t all spend time together like one big happy family,” Faith answered as she backed out of the driveway before adding, “Spike and I still talk from time to time, and he told me he was comin’ for the funeral.”
“Spike called,” Buffy finally told the brunette. “That night. It was supposed to be a message for Angel...for when he came home.” It took Buffy a second to catch her breath after saying that.
“Yeah?” Faith’s gaze stayed on the road. “Maybe they were patching shit up.”
“I guess so.” Buffy leaned back her seat, trying to ignore the press of the paper against her hip.