americas_son | Sunnydale AU: simple words

"Thanks."

Cal drives up the driveway and parks, saying,

"We've had it for like fifty years. Sunnydale was the only place in California Grandfather could afford a house this big. Real estate is really cheap here," he adds dryly.

Tina's door opens itself again. Cal's doesn't.

"If I didn't know better," Cal mutters to the car, "I'd think you were a smartass."

"Hmmm?"

She climbs out of the car and smooths down her skirt. She wonders if he has a butler. That would be totally bizarre.

"Nothing."

Cal gets out of the car and closes the door firmly.

He escorts Tina to the front door, where they are not greeted by a butler, and takes her to the living room.

The interior decoration fairly drips with expensive taste, without crossing the line into ostentation - fresh and trendy without looking like it's going to be dated in six months' time. Violet Chandler is very good.

It's the prettiest room Tina has ever seen. She stands a moment, just looking around.

Thankfully, there are no china vases to stumble into.

"Wow. This is- elegant. Really elegant."

That's the right word to use, she thinks.

"Mother's good at that stuff," Cal says. "You should see the parlor. It doesn't even look like people belong in it."

The living room at least looks livable. Barely livable, to Cal's eyes, but it doesn't feel like an intrusion to be in it without putting on his best suit first.

"I can't imagine. Nothing in my living room matches, so..."

Maybe that couch is more comfortable than it looks.

It is.

The door, partially closed, swings back open, revealing a blonde woman about a decade older than Cal and Tina.

"Welcome home, Mr Chandler," she says. "Will you and your guest be needing anything?"

"Thanks, Danielle," Cal says. "You hungry, Tina?"

"I- um-"

Is she an assistant? Or a maid? Her grandmother was a maid. This is so fucking weird.

"Yeah, a snack would be nice. And ice water? Please?"

Danielle smiles. "Certainly, Miss McCoy."

(Peter, of course, has been doing his research.)

"I'll have the same," Cal says. Danielle nods in acknowledgment and leaves.

How did she know her name?

"Did you mention I was coming over?"

Somehow?

"What - ? Oh. Nah, our head of security must have filled her in."

Cal forgets that things like this are weird to other people.

"He'll have looked you up as soon as we got to the Espresso Pump, probably. Don't worry, it's just to make sure you aren't, like, part of some plot to lure me to my doom or something. It's his job."

"Does that happen to all of your friends? Even Sherlock?"

Cal laughs, remembering the events of Angela's party.

"Especially Sherlock," he says.

He takes a seat on the couch, gesturing for Tina to join him.

"The first time we hung out, we got shot at."

"What? Oh my god... Why?"

She sits down beside him. The couch is more comfortable than it looked.

"Well," Cal amends, "technically he was shooting at Sherlock. He thought he was Tony."

His expression darkens a little.

"There was a - thing for a while with someone trying to kill Tony. But that's over."

He sounds absolutely positive about that last statement.

"Was it a person? Or people? I mean, is it not enough that we have to deal with-"

She lowers her voice to a whisper. "With monsters here in Sunnydale?"

Maybe what the news says about gangs on PCP is not entirely false.

His expression shades into a slight, humorless smile.

"It's okay, everyone here knows the score. You don't have to whisper."

The smile disappears.

"It was a human. Technically."

"Jesus. But you were okay? Are okay?"

She scoots a little closer to him. This is a big room, and these are big, scary things she's learning. At least, that's how they feel to her. She's not a histrionic kind of girl, but finding out the guy you really like was shot at during an assassination attempt on one of his close friends... that's pretty big and scary.

"Yeah. Fine. No one got hurt."

He summons another small smile, this one more on the genuine side.

"I didn't mean to freak you out."

"It's okay. I'm getting used to being in a surreal state of being when I'm with you."

Cal laughs a little.

"Anyway. I bet Peter investigated Sherlock extra hard after that."

And he must have been okay with whatever he found, since he never tried to intervene.

"So if they investigate me, they'll tell you everything? Like where I live?"

He looks at her a little more closely.

"Only if I ask."

He takes her hand, cupping it in both of his.

"I won't ask," he promises.

She looks down at their joined hands. She trusts Cal. She doesn't think anything she says will chase him off, but it makes her a little sick to admit anyway.

"No, it's just- I live in a crappy neighborhood in a rundown complex, and it's embarrassing. Oh, and I work at Hot Dog on a Stick, and you can never come to the mall when I'm in my fucking awful uniform. I'm, like, the typical girl from the other side of the tracks. Literally. You cross tracks to get to where I live."

"I don't care about that stuff. If I did, I wouldn't have said anything to you in the first place."

He knows most of that stuff without having to ask. If her family had money or status, he'd at least know about them even if they'd never officially met. He doesn't know a lot about clothes, but he can tell hers aren't designer. And he's pretty sure he's caught a faint whiff of hot dogs from her once or twice before, when they passed each other in the hall. None of that matters.

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