Chapter Text
Hawkeye put the phone down. He looked around the office and the boxes he had barely started to unpack, and closed his eyes, just briefly. Then he punched in their home number.
"Who is it?" Francis said. He sounded pre-occupied and exasperated.
"I have wonderful news," Hawkeye said.
"You're coming home early," Francis said.
"No. I mean, yes," Hawkeye said. "I probably am, but I've still got to talk to at least three people here before I can leave and you'll want me to go to the mall before I get home."
"Why?" Francis said, and then, a moment before Hawkeye said, he got it, from the complicated little noise he made down the phone.
"I'm pregnant," Hawkeye said.
He let himself grin then, as Francis made those noises of surprise, worry, astonishment, panic, and - despite everything - delight.
"You can't be," Francis said. "What - who - ? Why?"
"Caseworker called," Hawkeye said. "Mrs Conolly. Fifteen, troubled, mom died, dad's not in the picture, she's getting into fights at school - "
"She? We're having a girl?"
"Yes," Hawkeye said.
"You need to go to the mall before you come home, we have nothing in the house for a girl - "
"She'll be arriving with a couple of suitcases, caseworker said. Mom died about a month ago. All their things aside from the two cases are in store in Los Angeles. We're getting her because they decided she had to be moved out of the area, into a completely different school district, and they asked around and one of the people they asked was Peg Hunnicutt - "
"Oh," Francis said.
"Yeah, and Peg said, if you want her to have a new start in a good foster home, I know these two guys - "
"Ah," Francis said. In New York City, they had fostered troubled teens over twenty years, mostly boys, though there had been some brother-sister placements. "How long for?"
Hawkeye shrugged. "Depends if dad shows up. If not, and if the placement works out, I guess til she's eighteen. Caseworker said she knew our paperwork wasn't up-to-date for California - " They had only moved here three days ago, and they hadn't been intending to start fostering again " - but she'd rush it and we'd be registered from yesterday by next Monday."
"When is she arriving?" Francis asked.
"Our stork is due - " Hawkeye checked his watch " - in three hours and twenty minutes."
"Oh, Hawkeye - " Francis sounded really exasperated. "Be home in two hours, all right? I'll get her bedroom set up, even if nothing else is ready. Get the basics from the mall, we'll go shopping with her tomorrow."
"Tomorrow is the first day of term, that's why they're rushing it."
"We'll go shopping with her tomorrow after school," Francis said. "Did the caseworker - Mrs Conolly - mention any allergies, any diet issues?"
"Nope."
"Pizza, probably," Francis said. "What's her name?"
"Buffy Summers."
"Buffy?"
"We're in California now."
"Can you - "
"I know what to get," Hawkeye said. "I'll be home in two hours. I love you."
"I love you," Francis said, but he still sounded exasperated. They hung up on each other, and Hawkeye got up to speak to the first of three people he had decided he could not skip speaking to on his first day.
He made three stops at the mall, and was home with an hour to spare. "Or more, if the traffic is bad driving from Los Angeles," Hawkeye noted, kissing Francis.
Their front room had been set up with a sofa and a couple of armchairs, facing their television: some of their books had been unpacked, and boxes stood below part-filled shelves. Their spare room - the girl's room, now - was perfectly in order: bed neatly made with clean plain sheets and pillows and a duvet: chest of drawers by the wall: a clock and a bedside light on the bedside cabinet. Francis had even hung curtains in the windows. Hawkeye handed Francis the bag of things he'd got at CVS, and let Francis deal with that: he hung one set of bath towel, hand towel, and face cloth, and put the other two sets away in the chest of drawers.
"You need to shower and change," Hawkeye said. "You smell like you've been wrestling furniture all day."
Francis glanced at his watch.
"Relax. You have at least half an hour."
"Did you get - " Francis said, sounding pre-occupied.
" - yes, and I can follow a boxed recipe."
Francis stopped, and looked at Hawkeye. "Yes, I know you can," he said, and smiled at Hawkeye. "Thank you."
"I'm so excited I could plotz," Hawkeye said, cheerfully. "But instead, I'm just going to go downstairs and bake brownies." He kissed Francis, and Francis reached up and caught the back of his head and pulled him down and kissed him, and they used up at least five minutes they could not really spare, but Francis was quick in the shower when he wanted to be, and Hawkeye had bought the simplest generic cake mix he could find. The brownies were cooling on a rack, filling the house with a comfortable, homey aroma, and Francis was downstairs, fully-dressed, and filling the coffee maker, when the doorbell rang.
The next half hour was what it always was. The caseworker, Mrs Conolly, had forms to be filled in and signed: she accepted a cup of coffee and a brownie, and so did the girl - Mrs Conolly wouldn't let her leave her sight until both Francis and Hawkeye had filled in the required forms and signed them and provided their ID - and then, she collected the paperwork, and shook hands with each of them, and told the girl she would be back to see her in a few days or you have my number, call me, and left. Hawkeye had gone to show her out: when he came back, Francis and the girl were still sitting either side of the table, each with a cup of coffee in front of them. Neither had drunk very much, and the girl had barely nibbled on the brownie.
"Look," said the girl, "I know the score."
"Is that so?" Hawkeye said.
She had a clear, distinct voice, and sounded very sure of herself. "I can take care of myself. You guys just need to show me where the school is, and I'll be out of your hair most of the day. Anyway, this is just temporary, right?"
"Well," Francis said. "We're very happy to have you here, Miss Summers, however long you stay." He smiled. I'm Francis Mulcahy - you can call me Mr Mulcahy or Francis, whichever you prefer."
"And I'm Doctor Pierce, or Hawkeye."
"Hawkeye?" The girl sounded startled. "Like the - " She made gestures which Hawkeye, who was used to this reaction, understood to be miming a bow-and-arrow. " - from the comics?"
"No," Hawkeye said. "Same spelling, different hero. I'm a doctor - I work at a clinic the other side of the mall from here."
"Can I show you round the house, Miss Summers?" Francis said.
"Buffy," the girl said. She got up. She was eyeing both of them, not exactly warily, but as if she was suddenly less sure of herself. "You guys are gay, right?"
"I'm gay, Francis is delightful," Hawkeye said, solemnly.
She gave him a puzzled look, and Hawkeye smiled at her.
"We've only just moved in ourselves, Buffy," Francis said. "Let me give you the full tour. Hawkeye, could you find those take-out menus?"
Hawkeye could hear them moving around the house: the girl still sounded polite, well-mannered, and confident. She didn't look like someone who would get into fights, but who knew? He had picked up a pizza delivery menu at the mall, as Francis had known he would: they had never shown a new child around their home as a couple. Francis looked altogether more harmless, which was ridiculous, really. Also, for most kids, there was the height difference.
Hawkeye went to the open box and started shelving books on the lower shelves, so that he was on his knees when Francis came back in with the girl.
"You have a lovely house," she said, like a well-mannered lady paying a call.
"Thank you," Hawkeye said. "Can I help you upstairs with those?" The cases were heavy.
"I can manage," Buffy said.
"Before you unpack," Francis said "Hawkeye, did you find take-out menus?"
"I found one," Hawkeye said, and pointed. He did not get up off his knees.
"Pizza," Francis said. "Buffy, do you eat pizza?"
"Oh sure," Buffy said, politely.
"Then let's order and then we can eat when you're done unpacking?"
Buffy wanted a Meat Feast with extra garlic. Francis ordered for Hawkeye without needing to ask him: this wasn't the first time they'd had take-out pizza for a child's first meal with them, and they had a strategy for pizzas to share if the child had made a mistake in their order. Once ordered, Buffy picked up both cases - one in either hand, she was stronger than she looked - and went upstairs.
Francis and Hawkeye looked at each other.
"She's lovely," Hawkeye said.
"Beautiful manners," Francis said.
They looked at each other without saying anything else. By policy, at least the first evening the child was in their home, and often for weeks afterward, they'd assume the child could overhear everything they said to each other. Hawkeye shrugged, and Francis shrugged back. Evidently Francis was as bewildered by that level of self-control as he was.
"More coffee?" Hawkeye offered.
"Tea," Francis said.
"Excuse me," Buffy said, very politely. "I can get to school on my own."
"Of course you can," said Hawkeye. "And after today, that's what you're going to do. Got everything?" He opened the car door for her, waited until she had buckled in, and went round to the driver's seat, continuing as he closed his door and stated the car. "But for today I'm going to drive you there, and then we both have an appointment with the principal, whose name, God help me, is Bob Flutie. Buffy, if I start to make jokes about Flutie, kick me, because if you don't, Francis will kill me."
Buffy smiled, in the well-mannered way of a child noting that an adult has made a joke, and said, with some desperation, "Doctor Pierce, I can go meet Principal Flutie on my own."
"Sure you could," Hawkeye said. "In fact, you're going to." He had made a decision on the fly: he did not look in the least like he could be the father of this blonde California girl, and he suspected Buffy didn't want someone so obviously not a relative walking her into school. "Look, Bob Flutie is required by law to know you're in foster care. And he needs to know who I am, so that if anything happens, he knows to call me. But no one else has to know unless you decide to tell them, OK? I'll tell Principal Flutie that."
He pulled up at the school. "I'll drive round to the parking area, and meet you at the principal's office. Please don't get lost, okay?"
Buffy evidently realised that was the best she was going to get. She gave him a quick nod and headed into the school: Hawkeye put the car into gear and waited only long enough to check that she was headed towards the entrance doors. The car park in back of the school was the usual school muddle of drivers arriving: Hawkeye found a spot, locked, and walked briskly into the school, trying to look as if he was not in an internal panic. He didn't think it was likely that Buffy would have doubled round and run for it as soon as he got out of sight: but they'd had foster kids do weirder things.
The principal's office door was open, and Buffy was in the office. Robert Flutie was short, dark-haired, slightly frog-faced, and wore thick glasses. He was trying to start the meeting, and - Hawkeye realised as he walked in - Buffy was trying to stop him without saying anything to the point.
"Good morning, Mr Flutie," Hawkeye said, trying not to sound like the punchline of a joke. He closed the door firmly behind him. "My name is Doctor Pierce."
"Was I expecting you?" Robert Flutie asked.
Hawkeye gave his best smile. "I hope so. Mrs Conolly said she'd be in touch."
"Mrs Conolly," Robert Flutie said, and then, "Oh, Mrs Conolly! You're - Pierce, yes, Pierce. I thought you'd be..."
"Shorter," Hawkeye said, keeping his best smile on. He knew that Flutie had been about to say "a woman," and he had far too many jokes on that score to be safe in a school principal's office. "I get that a lot. I hope Miss Summers' school records were transferred?"
"Please, sit down, Doctor Pierce, Miss Summers," Robert Flutie said, recovering what poise he had and his manners, both at once. There was a high school transcript in front of him, and Hawkeye eyed it with interest. Mrs Conolly had given them a bullet-point summary of why Buffy had had to be transferred out of Los Angeles.
"Good morning," Hawkeye said again, and launched into his boilerplate explanation - he had said this dozens of times in school offices, explaining that a foster child had a legal right to privacy, and no one at the school except Principal Flutie himself and Miss Summers and anyone she chose to tell, would be aware that Miss Summers was in the foster care system. He and Francis had worked out a script for this, and Hawkeye was careful not to embellish it. Principals of high schools all understood certain buzzwords, and he and Francis had worked all of them in.
Robert Flutie listened, nodded, and picked up the transcript.
"Buffy Summers, hmm, late of Hemery High in Los Angeles. Interesting record, quite a career..." To Hawkeye's surprise, Flutie took the transcript and tore it into four pieces. "Welcome to Sunnydale!" Flutie said. " A clean slate, Buffy, that's what you get here. What's past is past. We're not interested in what it says on a piece of paper, even if it says... "
Flutie stopped short, looking down at one of the four pieces fallen on his desk. "Whoa."
Buffy Summers had, both he and Francis had noticed, beautiful manners. "Mr. Flutie," she said.
"All the kids here are free to call me Bob," Flutie said absently. He was still staring down at one piece of the torn transcript.
Hawkeye smirked. He tried to catch Buffy's eye, but she was quite focussed on the principal.
"Bob - "
"But they don't," Flutie said. He began putting back together the four pieces of paper he'd just ripped up.
"I know my transcripts are a little colourful," Buffy said. She sounded uncertain.
"Hey, we're not caring about that," Flutie said, as if by rote. He looked up, and caught Buffy's eyes on him. "Do you think 'colourful' is the word?" Flutie reached for sellotape, ripped off a length, and stuck two halves of the paper together. He ripped off another length of tape. "Not, ah, 'dismal?'" He taped the the two halves again.
Buffy cast Hawkeye an anguished look. Hawkeye realised she evidently wished he wasn't here for this. "Wasn't that bad!" she said, defensively.
Flutie looked up from the botched repair. "You burned down the gym."
Mrs Conolly hadn't mentioned that. Just as well he'd given up smoking. He must warn Francis they also had to give up the idea of a barbeque. Arson wasn't something they'd dealt with often.
"I did..." Buffy looked, again, at Hawkeye. Hawkeye managed his usual reassuring look. "I really did, but..." She sounded, at last, slightly panicked. "You're not seeing the big picture here, I mean, that gym was full of ... asbestos."
She had clearly not been about to say 'asbestos'. Hawkeye tucked that away for future consideration.
"Buffy, don't worry," Flutie said. This did not sound reassuring to Hawkeye, and Buffy had a thin, worried smile suggesting she wasn't reassured either. "Any other school they might say 'watch your step', or 'we'll be watching you'... But, that's just not the way here. We want to service your needs, and help you to respect our needs. And if your needs and our needs don't mesh..." Flutie trailed off. He put taped-together transcript into the file marked BUFFY SUMMERS and slapped it shut.
"Mr Flutie," Hawkeye said, politely. "I work at the Wilkins Clinic - I'm the new head of clinical services. The Wilkins Clinic is five minutes from here by car, fifteen minutes on foot. My partner is the new math teacher at Northridge High, over the other side of town."
Robert don't-call-me-Bob Flutie nodded.
"I am the responsible person you should contact, immediately." Hawkeye put his card down on the desk. "If called by the school, I will be here within half an hour - in fact, unless I'm actually with a patient, I'll be here within fifteen minutes. If you should find that things aren't ... meshing," Hawkeye said carefully, "if for any reason at all Buffy is asked to come to this office to talk with you, I expect to called here to take part in that meeting. I assure you, I will be here without delay."
Hawkeye reached out and tapped his card. "Please let me see you putting that card into Miss Summers' folder. I expect an instruction to be added that I should be called immediately."
"Doctor Pierce," Robert Flutie began.
"Mr Flutie, Miss Summers is in my care. The expectation of the California Department of Social Services is that I will be present and fully informed."
"We do prefer to handle things informally, Doctor Pierce."
"Wonderful. I'm very good at informal handling," Hawkeye said, and wished he hadn't, because Buffy's face went completely straight in a way that indicated she was trying to suppress a laugh. While Hawkeye liked making his foster kids laugh, this was not a good moment. "Just call me," he said, very firmly.
Outside, in the hall, Hawkeye said. "Well, that went well."
Buffy gave him a look that said she didn't think that was funny. Oh well, can't win them all.
Hawkeye glanced up and down the hall. Kids were moving quickly, ignoring both of them - the usual rush of a new first day. "School is out at four, and Francis will come by to pick you up. We're going shopping at the mall." He glanced up and down the hall. "Have a good day. Try not to fight any asbestos."
Buffy smiled, but not as if she thought his joke was funny. Hawkeye turned and walked away from her, not looking back.
Francis came out of the school with Buffy walking slightly ahead of him. She looked keen to get out of there. Hawkeye got out of the car and opened the door for her, to facilitate escape.
"Miss Summers was having a chat with the librarian," Francis said, as he got in on his side and closed the door.
"Oh, that's nice," Hawkeye said.
Francis gave him a look, indicating that it was not.
"The librarian? He's like, a textbook with arms," Buffy said.
Hawkeye choked. He put his hand up to his mouth. Francis gave him that look again.
Sunnydale was not a big town. The mall wasn't particularly big either. As Francis parked, Buffy said, "You know, you guys don't have to keep calling me 'Miss Summers'."
Hawkeye twisted round in his seat He caught Francis's eye. "Buffy?" he asked.
"Please," said Buffy. She hesitated. "Do you - 'Hawkeye'?" She sounded as if she could hardly believe it.
"Please," said Hawkeye. He beamed at her, then at Francis. "Let's go."
They had done this kind of shopping expedition many times in New York: they had always made a point of finishing up with a meal in the food court. They had flipped for it: it was Francis's turn to do Vietnamese. If Buffy had any issues about spicy food, finding out at the food court was less messy than finding out at home.
"What on earth is that?" Hawkeye said.
"Swimming pig," Francis said. He raised his eyebrows at Hawkeye. "That's what it's called," he said, with dignity. "Savoury crepe with pork belly."
Hawkeye had got a bowl of pasta with asparagus and parmesan, which tasted about how he expected food court pasta to taste.
Buffy had got a burger, rare, and a double-order of fries. She smiled politely at their banter over the Vietnamese stuffed pancake, showed no signs of distress at the smell of spices, and chomped into her burger with a healthy appetite.
She showed no signs of being worried she'd be seen, meaning that this mall was not a hangout for high school kids. They discussed the school lunch, how much allowance Buffy was going to need, school supplies, gym kit.
"You guys are buying me a lot of stuff," she said. "I've got things in store."
"We get an allowance from social services to get you anything extra you need," Francis said. "If there's anything you want from the things in your storage unit, let us know and we can organise a visit. How was your first day at school?"
Buffy didn't mention visiting the library, though that was where Francis had found her. She said she'd made a couple of friends.
"There's this club called the Bronze," she said, eyeing them both cautiously. "Some of the kids are going there tonight, there's a band."
"Okay," Hawkeye said, all set to say "Maybe next week," but Francis said "What band?"
"Sprung Monkey," Buffy said. "They're just locals."
"Where is the Bronze from here?" Francis asked.
Buffy seemed to have a good sense of locality. The Bronze was over by what Hawkeye had been told, by his white receptionist and all three white nurses and both his white general-practitioners, was "the bad side of town". It was about four or five blocks from where they lived. Sunnydale didn't have a lot of town, but it was firmly divided - as his all-white staff had made clear - into good and bad sides.
"Let's drive past it on the way home," Francis said, again surprising Hawkeye.
It was after eight when they got home. The Bronze looked like a bit of a dump from outside.
"Okay," Francis said. "You can go to Bronze tonight to meet your friends and hear the Sprung Monkey. For an hour."
"An hour?"
Francis shrugged. "Tonight - exactly an hour. Buffy, we do appreciate that you are fifteen - you'll be sixteen in a few months. We can't keep you here if you don't want to stay. It should take you quarter of an hour to walk there, and quarter of an hour to walk back. If you're not back here ninety minutes after you leave the house, Hawkeye will drive over to the Bronze and find you, and if he can't find you, we'll need to call people - starting with Mrs Conolly."
Starting with the police, Hawkeye mentally corrected. He didn't interrupt Francis or contradict hin,
"So do please be back here - "Francis glanced at the clock - by eleven. It's a school night."
Buffy glanced at the clock. "I thought you said ninety minutes?"
"I assumed you'd take at least twenty minutes to dress," Francis said.
Buffy grinned. She turned and ran upstairs. Hawkeye raised his eyebrows at Francis very hard. Francis made the ASL sign for "Later" and they went into the sitting-room. When they heard Buffy coming downstairs again, Hawkeye called "Come in here and let us see you!" He had practice sounding interested, not censorious.
Buffy was wearing a blue button-down shirt over a white tank top and brown pants: she looked very pretty and put-together.
"Obviously if I say that's a nice outfit it will be instantly not cool," Hawkeye said. "Have fun. See you in an hour or so."
"Take care of yourself," Francis said. He produced a ten dollar bill. "I expect you'll be able to get a coffee or something," he said.
Or something. Hawkeye kept a pleasant expression on his face until Buffy was gone.
"Francis, what are you doing?"
"Getting her out of the house," Francis said. "She has very good hearing. We need to transfer her out of that school."
"We do? We can't. Mrs Conolly checked her in there, we can't just change it. Why?"
"This is a sundown town," Francis said. "Whatever the Civil Rights Act said, Sunnydale High is segregated."
"Okay," Hawkeye agreed. "So is my clinic. I've been thinking of some ways to get around that. We can move her out of there at the start of next semester."
"No," Francis said. "As soon as possible."
"Why?"
"It's not just that it's segregated," Francis said, after a moment. "There is something wrong with that high school. The students at my school all know it. They joke about how the school paper has an obituaries page. There was a student killed there last night - a boy. The body was found today."
"At Buffy's school? Why didn't she mention that?"
"I don't know," Francis said. "The students at my school were talking about it. None of the staff were. I asked about it in the staff room and no one answered me, and then suddenly everyone was talking about something else. When I went to collect Buffy she was talking to the librarian, and I did not like him. I didn't like the way he was talking to Buffy, and I didn't like how she was trying to get away from him."
"Grabby hands?" Hawkeye said, outraged.
"No, nothing physical," Francis said. "He was leaning over her and she very obviously was relieved to see me."
"I was going to tell you this tomorrow at lunch," Hawkeye said, after a pause. He had not expected to be able to speak to Francis privately until they had lunch tomorrow. He mentioned the burning down the school gym. "Mrs Conolly should have told us we had an arsonist."
"Oh well," Francis said, after a moment. "At least you don't smoke any more."
"Just what I thought. We're not building you a barbeque til we're sure she's over burning things down. Aren't we jumping the gun a little letting her go out tonight?"
"Yes," Francis said. "But not by more than a couple of days. I would have suggested we let her go out before the weekend. Tonight we can justify her coming home early as she has school tomorrow."
"And if she comes home drunk? Or stoned?"
Francis shrugged. "I was going to suggest you leave at quarter of eleven and walk towards the Bronze to meet her. If she's drunk, you can tell her you won't tell me."
"Oy," Hawkeye said. "Fine."
Francis had taken risks in the past that Hawkeye had thought were unjustifiable: but experience had justified them. He left the house exactly when Francis suggested, and walked towards the dump. The Bronze. The streets felt quiet. New York would have been busier. He was not at all sure they were going to like it here.
The sound of running footsteps. Hawkeye took his hands out of his pockets. Buffy came at a dead run, head down, as if she was fleeing from someone.
"Buffy," Hawkeye said.
Buffy stopped on a dime and swung towards him, her hands out: her hair was flying loose. She looked young and very pretty and very wary and very surprised. "I'm not late - !"
"No," Hawkeye said. "I was just out for a walk."
Buffy gave him a thoroughly expressive side-eye. Hawkeye grinned.
"Young lady, you look like you don't believe me. I'm really a very truthful person."
"You didn't trust me to come back."
"Francis did," Hawkeye said. "I just thought - " He shrugged. "Surprisingly, I thought you might be held up at the club. You really didn't need to run like that."
They were walking casually homeward. The streets still felt too quiet. "Are you thinking of going out for track and field?" he asked.
Buffy gave him a startled upward look. "I was a cheerleader."
"Of course you were," Hawkeye said. He thought Buffy could do something more athletic than cheerleading, but it would be good for her to have a way to fit in. "Will you be trying out for the cheerleading squad here?"
"Maybe," Buffy said. "If I live past the weekend."
Hawkeye laughed, and then, glancing down at the blonde head, wondered if it was a joke. "Did your friends know the boy who was killed at your new school?"
There was a pause. Buffy seemed to walk faster. Hawkeye found himself lengthening his stride to keep up with her. "I don't know," she said, dryly . "No one was talking about him."
Francis had made them hot chocolate. Buffy drank only half of hers, and went up to bed quietly.