Unbroken
In Washington, Friday afternoons had meant ungodly traffic on the Beltway, and in the summer they meant that the already-stifling humidity was mingled with the traffic fumes and the city smell. Usually she and Mulder would just go out for an early dinner someplace where the air conditioning blasted until they shivered and joke and laugh like normal people, waiting for traffic to become more bearable.
Mulder had called her scant hours after she first came back to Sunnydale. She had seen his name on her phone's face when it rang the first time, and on the sixth ring, she turned the phone off.
These days, Friday afternoons meant leaving work early, thank you god. No more LA field office bullpen, no more "Yo, Mrs. Spooky!". They meant filling the car up, and she'd found a station that was just slightly out of the way and had prices that made up for the minor inconvenience.
They meant driving, and usually getting through a CD and a half (usually Ella Fitzgerald and Billie Holiday), up to Sunnydale, and the afternoon sun warm on her skin through the window.
"They've shut down the X-Files," she had said blankly when he opened the door in late May. "And even if it hadn't been," she added, wanting him to know and the universe to know that fine, you've won, I give up, "someone torched our office; it was all lost."
He stared at her for a few moments, and stepped aside, letting her in. "Buffy's missing," he said, and she remembered quite clearly who Buffy was.
Weekends meant trying to talk to someone who was far more reluctant to share his emotions than even Mulder had been (for Mulder, at least, was always willing to let the world know that his life was misery). They meant soft and angry sex in Rupert's bed. They meant quiet and time to read and helping four teenagers form battle plans for fighting creatures she didn't believe in that were there nonetheless.
They had held each other for a long time, with the dark cool of his apartment at her back and the brassy Sunnydale summer air floating gently inside.
Mulder had called her scant hours after she first came back to Sunnydale. She had seen his name on her phone's face when it rang the first time, and on the sixth ring, she turned the phone off.
Sunday afternoons meant driving back to Los Angeles (both of them saying nothing and knowing that they might well not see each other again).
He was always gentle and quiet. This was because it was his way, and it was because he knew his own strength, and it was because he didn't want to hurt her. She knew that he needed to feel like he could do something right, and enjoyed debating with him, and let him be gentle without babying her.
Monday mornings meant breakfast at a ghastly little diner with strong coffee a couple blocks from the office, and that was where, in late August, she thought she had caught a glimpse of the girl, who'd brought her the menu and whose eyes had widened when she realized it was the woman who'd come to Sunnydale months ago. Scully's own reaction must have told Buffy that she wouldn't let her slip away again, for the girl had said, her voice suggesting that she'd be facing an interrogation, "My break's at eleven, come by for lunch."
"I promised Rupert that I'd pull all the strings I could to find you. He, your friends, your mother -- they're all terrified for you."
"I'm not going back."
"Look, Buffy, I'm working in the Los Angeles field office now -- it's only a couple blocks away. I go to Sunnydale nearly every weekend. It's Monday morning. I'm going to come back here on Friday evening, and until then, I want you to promise me you'll think about this. Or -- "
"Are you going to tell Giles you've found me?"
"When I go back to Sunnydale this weekend, yes. He just wants to know that you're all right."
"I'm not."
"Your second choice is to come back to Sunnydale with me this weekend."
"No."
"Promise me you'll think about it, and that you'll be here on Friday to tell me what you've decided. Promise me, Buffy."
"Fine. I promise. And -- it's Anne now."
On Wednesday, the girl had turned up at the field office, and she'd been called down to the front to talk to her. "I need your help," the blonde had said reluctantly.
The facts had all pointed to one thing, and, desperate for a reasonable explanation, she had picked up the phone and called the one person who could be guaranteed not to provide her with one, but when she had hung up the phone, things were all right between her and Mulder again, and that was worth not having a single explanation that made sense.
On Friday, the girl was waiting outside the building for Scully when she left. She hadn't been wearing the apron.
"Have you thought about what I told you, Anne?"
"Um..."
"What is it?"
"First of all, the uniform? So 1950s. Which, unless I'm mistaken, it isn't anymore. And second of all... my name is Buffy."
That weekend was warm and sunny, as every weekend was.
They'd made one stop in Sunnydale, one stop so that Scully could drop off her bag and tell Rupert that there was something he needed to see in the car. He had stared, stared for several moments and stepped towards her car, then stopped himself, and stared as Scully drove off, following Buffy's directions to Revelo Drive.
Out of protective habit, she watched Buffy walk up to the door, but the girl stared at her from the step. She took the message and left what was to come to the girl and her mother.
The second she'd returned to his house, Rupert had kissed her harder than she had ever been kissed, and as soon as they were inside they had fucked, hard and joyously, against the wall.