This is an eventual Angel/OC. However, it's a slow burn fic. Beginning in the present day, then jumping back to the past and focusing on the protagonist Amalia and her relationship with the Reyes family through the years before concluding back in the present. Projected to run about thirty chapters. Comments and Reviews are life! xo

June 2018

Present Day

The office phone rang once.

Reaching over the stack of court filings on her desk Amalia grabbed the large conference line distractedly. "This is Amalia." Her voice sounding a little sharper than she had intended, it was a Sunday after all, 10 a.m. on a Sunday, but still.

"Hi, Ms. Kane," answered Carrie, the new, perky receptionist for the Justice Department's White Collar Division. "I have a Dr. Ellis on the phone for you."

"I'm sorry what?" She said only half listening as she continued to type up file notations.

"Um" Amalia could hear the shuffling of papers on the other end as Carrie looked for something. She was young and upbeat but really needed to work on her professionalism, Amalia thought absently.

"A Dr. Steven Ellis, he's calling from Santo Padre Regional Medical Center…"

Santo Padre. Her heart clenched. Carrie had her full attention now.

"…he's calling about…"

"Put him through." Her sharp interruption cut Carrie off immediately.

"Yes, right away Ms. Kane."

She replaced the receiver and took a deep breath, staring at the large number one on the conference line. A moment later her phone began to beep and the light flashed red. Exhaling her earlier breath, she picked up the line. "This is Amalia Kane."

"Yes, hi Ms. Kane." The clinical voice on the other line waited a breath clearly expecting an acknowledgment. When she remained silent, he continued. "I'm Dr. Steven Ellis, calling from Santo Padre Regional Medical Center." The voice on the other line stopped again awaiting a response.

"What happened?" Amalia clenched her hand into a fist, a sick sense of dread washing over her as she stared at the blinking number one.

"I'm calling about a patient who was admitted this morning, a Ms. Dora Santos; she has you listed as her emergency contact and I…"

She cut him off immediately, "What happened? Is she alright?" Amalia could not help the strain that flooded her voice.

"I'm afraid she suffered a heart attack this morning. We have her stabilized, but we are rushing her into surgery to assess the extent of the blockage and the damage. She does not have an advanced directive on file with us and we need to discuss what to do in the event that…" He left the sentence hanging, silence stretched over the line as the seconds ticked by.

Amalia's knees buckled, her hand reaching out as she leaned forward to catch herself, spilling her steaming cup of coffee all over the recent interrogatory copies from the Mickelson case.

"Shit!"

"I'm sorry?" The doctor queried on the other end of the line.

"Anything you have to do doctor, anything to save..." She could not finish that sentence. Taking a breath, she collected herself. I'll be on the next flight out. Please let me know as soon as she is out of surgery, I…" She paused a moment, "please, take care of her…please."

The voice on the other end lost the clinical tone that had been an undercurrent for most of the conversation. "We'll do all that we can."

"Thank you." With that, the line went dead. She blinked for a moment staring out her office window at the fluffy white clouds that dotted the sky, hinting at an afternoon shower. It was June, and though the temperature has just beginning to climb, it would be blistering today. She could just see the top of the Washington Monument and the throngs of tourists already lining up for the Newseum. She never understood why tourists chose summer to visit the nation's capital; summer in D.C. had to be one of the worst times all year.

"Shit!" The sting of hot liquid burning her thigh brought her back to the present. "Shit." Grabbing the dripping Mickelson files, she shook off the excess liquid as best as she could. Good thing, these were only copies. Her notes were a lost cause, but there was nothing that she could do about that.

"Ok" She muttered to herself. Mentally cataloging everything, she had to do as quickly as possible to get herself on the next flight out of DCA or Dulles. Picking up the phone, she called Carrie back.

"Ms. Kane, what can I…"

Amalia cut her off.

"Carrie can you put a call through to Adela in H.R.? I need to speak with her regarding Family Medical Leave ASAP."

"Um, sure."

Amalia continued, "I'm stepping out of the office for the next few minutes, I need to speak with Daniel. If you don't get me, patch Adela through to my voicemail."

"Sure, Ms. Kane. Anything else? I hope everything is ok" Carrie's voice had lost some of its usual perky quality as she continued to speak but her query was sincere.

"No, that's all for the moment." She paused a second, "Thank you, Carrie."

"No problem Ms. Kane."

Pushing away from her desk, Amalia grabbed the Mickelson file, along with the dripping interrogatories and headed to see Daniel Nisman, her boss at the DOJ's White Collar Division. The halls were empty as she walked down the vast stone corridor. Most government workers would not be caught dead in the office after 5 p.m. on a weekday, let alone on a Sunday morning. However, with the complex federal trial of White, Stone, and Monahan, the disgraced K Street Lobbying firm quickly approaching, this had become her weekend norm for the last few months.

Knocking on Daniel's door, she saw that he was on the phone. However, after glancing in her direction, he motioned her in and she closed the door. Daniel Nisman was a venerable force to be reckoned with in the hallowed halls of the DOJ. A tall, slim, mid-50's New York transplant with dark brown hair, graying at the temples and blue hawkish eyes. He brokered no bullshit. He was a tough, no non-sense boss, but he was fair and worked just as hard as the attorney's that he supervised. Daniel had hired her as an intern her 2L summer in law school, more than mildly surprised that the pretty Stanford law student had decided to pursue a career in the public sector, and in D.C. of all places, thousands of miles away from the golden state she called home. Lawyers knew the importance of the 2L summer job as it usually lead to full-time employment upon graduation. The competition for a summer hire at a law firm was huge, and he was surprised to say the least that the high achieving Amalia had not chosen a career path in one of the monolithic law firms in L.A. or even New York. Her looks had not hurt, he thought absently. But once she had accepted the job, he said no more on the subject. Her ease with co-workers and litigation skills had received quite a bit of praise within the DOJ and he was pleased that he was the one responsible for her rise at the agency.

"That was Mickelson's lawyer, they're trying to prolong discovery," Daniel grumbled. "Bunch of bullshit, but they're attempting a stall again." He sat down in his oversized chair and rubbed his eyes absently. "Have you finished reviewing the interrogatories that we received last night?" He said, eyeing the case files clutched in her arms.

"That's partly why I'm here," Amalia said. "I need to take FMLA leave," she said glancing at her watch, "starting in about 30 minutes."

Daniel's eyes had gotten wide. "I'm sorry come again."

Amalia blew out a sigh, "it's a family thing, I…I have to get on the next plane out to California tonight."

Daniel assessed her critically. She never mentioned family, ever.

"Look," she said continuing, "I fully understand that this is quite possibly the worst timing imaginable, but I have to go. Before heading over here, I had Carrie call Adela in H.R., I'm not sure that she'll be able to reach her, but I need to see how much time I have stored and…." She let the sentence hang.

Daniel was still considering her with grave eyes.

"You're right," he said with a scowl. "This is the worst possible time that you could leave, but…" his blue eyes softened. "If it's that serious, of course, you take leave. I'll have to okay the official paperwork of course, but I'll have Adela email over everything if she hasn't gotten ahold of you by start of business Monday. I'll personally fast track the paperwork."

"Thank you, Daniel, I…" Amalia let out an unconscious sigh she had not realized that she had been holding.

"Amalia, what's going on? You barely mention your family." There was legitimate concern in his eyes as he assessed her.

"It's…it's my Nana," she coughed the endearment choking her, "my grandma, she's had a heart attack. The doctor called me a few minutes ago. They don't know how bad it is, and they're rushing her into surgery now. I'm not sure how long I'll need, I just, I need to see her and I don't…" Her voice had gotten heavy and she cleared her throat to cover up its stickiness.

Daniel shook his head, "you're never sick, and hardly take vacation days, except for those trips out that California prison every few months." Amalia's head shot up, unconcealed surprise in her eyes. "Yes," he said before she could ask. "I know about those trips. Uncle Sam's curiosity gets peaked when one of his DOJ employees pays multiple trips to an inmate in San Quentin."

Amalia's cheeks flamed.

"The point is that I don't give a shit about that," he said dismissively waving his hand in the air. "What you do on your own time is your own business. Look, what I'm trying to say, is that you're a hard worker, and I know that if this wasn't serious you wouldn't be asking. I know that you have at least three months in vacation time alone, and as much as it pains me to say this, you take the time you need."

"Thank you Daniel, I really appreciate it." Clearing her throat, she began to rise, back to business mode and pushing her emotions aside. "I'll drop the remaining files off with Reggie, and Harvey is up to speed on where we are with the depositions. I can update the rest of the team inflight."

"Good, now go, and close the door on your way out."

She offered him a tight smile and headed for the door.

X

Amalia was back at her apartment an hour and a half later and running around trying to pack. She had checked flights on the short Uber ride over from the office, and the earliest flight she was able to book was a 5 pm out of DCA into San Diego. With the time change, the straight flight would put her into San Diego at 8 p.m., but by the time she rented a car and drove the hour out to Santo Padre, she prayed that she would be at the hospital by 11 p.m. She still had three hours before she needed to leave for the airport, but a growing sense of urgency pervaded each of her decisions, so she hurried.

Thirty minutes later, she placed both her suitcase and shoulder bag by the door. Glancing at the clock, it was only 1 p.m. Even with traffic; she wouldn't need to leave until 3:30 p.m. running a hand through her long red hair, she felt a tug and winced as the large, twinkling diamond on her right ring finger caught. "Fuck," she cursed under her breath. In her singled focus to wrap up work and pack, she had completely forgotten to call Kenneth. "Fuck," she whispered again.

Kenneth Carson Wells was her live in boyfriend, turned fiancée. The two had met shortly after Amalia had first moved to D.C. two years ago. Fresh out of law school and alone in a new city, she looked up and connected with a Stanford alumni group in the hopes of meeting new people. She met Kenneth her first night at an impromptu alumni gathering at a bar downtown to watch the Stanford/Berkley game. She had noticed him right away, tall with blonde hair and icy blue eyes; he was the epitome of an east coast prep school jock and looked like he had just stepped off the cover of a Ralph Lauren cover. It still brought an unbidden smile to her lips when she thought back to their first encounter. What in D.C. was a well-known flirting ritual had felt to her like a job interview. Introductions, questions about where she had gone to school, where she worked, who she knew, and an exchange of business cards, she hadn't had hers yet and felt a bit ridiculous scribbling her information on the back of a napkin. She did not think anything more of their encounter until she had received a call from him a few days later asking her out to dinner. She was more comfortable with it now, but she still hated the pervasive qualifiers that came with meeting working professionals in this city.

Pulling out her phone, she took a deep breath. He wouldn't be happy. They were supposed to meet his parents in Connecticut this weekend to look at venues for the wedding. Kenneth had popped the question four months ago during an intimate dinner at one of their favorite restaurants downtown. She would be lying if she said that she wasn't expecting it. They had been together for almost two years. She had grown close with his parents who were thrilled that their eldest son had decided to settle down. His mother had burst into tears when they had called, ecstatic at the prospect of grandchildren. Kenneth had even met Dora, never in Santo Padre, but they flew out to California the last two Thanksgivings and spent Christmas in San Diego with her daughters and their kids. When he had asked, she knew that she would say yes, they had talked about building a life together, of kids, and about marriage. They were on the same page about the future and about their careers.

However, after he told her that he loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, for the briefest of seconds, no more than the space of a moment really, her heart had clenched. As he gazed at her, she had seen another set of eyes. Not icy blue, but a deep, warm, chocolate color. She was not sitting in a beautiful candle lit restaurant in downtown D.C., dressed in a finely tailored black dress. Instead, she was outside, curled against a solid muscular chest, laying on a dusty old blanket under the stars somewhere near the U.S./Mexico border. The hand entwined with hers wasn't white, cool, and smooth with perfectly manicured nails. Instead, it was brown, rough, and callused from hours spent working in a garage.

I love you quiriña.

I love you Amalia.

Clenching her eyes shut, she bid the memory away to where it belong and had immediately said yes. They had come home and made love in their large king bed and it was perfect, and tender, and sweet, and wonderful. After Kenneth had drifted off, she held the ring up, watching as the large diamond caught the ambient lights from the city between the curtains. The ring he slid onto her finger was beautiful; there was no doubt about it. It was huge and sparkled brilliantly when it caught the light. It was stunning, her co-workers and friends had oohed and awed over it for days that first week back at work. But, gazing at it in bed that first night with Kenneth lightly snoring beside her she wondered, did he really think that this would be perfect for her? She loved it, but given a choice, she would have picked something smaller, something more subtle. It was so large, almost as if he wanted to announce to everyone that she was his. It was an unfair thought; and she had only it once the night that he proposed.

Shaking her head and grounding herself firmly back in the present Amalia dialed his personal number. It went straight to voicemail. "Crap," he had unofficial meetings on the Hill all afternoon in advance of the new Farming Bill coming before the House on Monday. She hung up before the recording started. Biting her lip, Amalia called his office.

"Offices of Black and Case, this Cassandra speaking, how may I direct your call?"

"Hi Cassandra, this is Amalia Kane, is Kenneth in this afternoon?"

"Oh Ms. Kane, Mr. Wells stepped out this morning to meet with Senator Porter's aid and left instructions to forward all of his messages. I do not believe that he will be back for the rest of the day."

"Cassandra, you know that you can call me Amalia right?" She had attended countless corporate functions and company-wide holiday parties in addition to calling Kenneth's office for almost two years now, yet the polite secretary had never once referred to her as anything other than Ms. Kane.

"Yes, Ms. Kane, I will take that under advisement." She was not sure, but Amalia thought she could detect the faintest hint of humor in the older woman's reply. "Was there a message that you wanted me to take?"

Amalia hesitated for a brief moment, before deciding, "No, that's ok Cassandra, thank you."

"Not a problem Ms. Kane, have a good afternoon."

"You to."

Ending the call, she redialed Kenneth's number. Again, it went straight to voicemail. This was not how she wanted to communicate the fact that she would be gone when he got home, but she would have to make due. The phone beeped the beginning of the message, "Hey its, me" she waited a moment before continuing. "I had a family emergency come up this morning, it's Nana Dora. She had a heart attack this morning. I…I don't know much, I got the call from the doctor at work this morning. I took leave this afternoon from work and talked to Daniel, but I'm on the next flight out to San Diego from DCA at 5 tonight. Please tell your parents how sorry I am that I can't make it up this weekend, I…I'll call you as soon as I land. I love you." With that, she ended the call.

Slipping her phone back into her purse, she looked at the clock again. 1:30. she still had two hours. Walking back into the bedroom she glanced in the mirror. She really could do with a shower. They had been out with friends late last night and she had been so tired that she had forgone the shower this morning in the hopes of making it to the office by 7 a.m. Well she had time now. Stripping quickly she got in. She had packed most of her primary toilettes in the suitcase out in the hall, but because of Kenneth's preference for unisex brands, she was able to use his shampoo and conditioner. Absent-mindedly she let her mind wander as she went through the motions of lathering and rinsing her hair.

"Quiriña? Nana what does that even mean?"

Ha!" Dora laughed as she stood over the tiny stove peeling potatoes for dinner. "Who called you that chica?"

"EZ's jerk of a brother" she had huffed, setting her textbooks down on the kitchen table with a thud.

"Ah, Felipe's boy no?" Dora's eyes held a twinkle, though it was unclear whether this was from the onion she had cut earlier or not.

"You sure that's what he said Mira?"

"Ya, Amalia replied opening her Geometry and sitting down. "I asked him what Quiriña meant and he just laughed."

"Haha, it's gibberish chica."

"I figured, god he's such an asshole."

"Mira! Language aye! Not in this house."

"Sorry, Nana." Amalia said sheepishly.

"Aye, ok, now back to the school work huh."

"Yes, Nana."

Turning off the water and stepping out of the shower, she quickly towel dried her hair as she stood in front of the mirror. She hadn't been back to Santo Padre since, well since before Emily's wedding two years ago and that hadn't even really counted. She had flown in for Christmas and only driven up to pick up Dora so they could spend Christmas with her daughters back in San Diego. A sick feeling settled in her gut. Guilt. She knew what it was. It would prickle at her from time to time when she had a moment alone to breathe during the workday. She still called every other day, had one of Dora's grandchildren set up Skype so that she and Kenneth could share the engagement, and show her the ring. But, she should have visited more, should have driven down to see Dora, taken an extra day every couple of month when she flew out to visit the prison…

"I'm sorry Nana," she whispered to the empty bathroom. "I'm sorry…" She didn't like to dwell on her reluctance to visit, the reason she avoided the tiny town that had been her home all throughout junior high and high school. But that didn't matter now, she was going home and no matter what she would stay as long as Dora needed her. With a few final yanks of the brush through her slightly curling hair, she moved to the bedroom to get dressed. Once she had changed, she headed back out to the living room to check her phone. Nothing from the hospital and nothing from Kenneth, although she noticed a missed call on her screen from a number that she didn't recognize. Thinking that it could still be from the hospital, Amalia tapped the number and hit the call button. She paced for a moment as the line rang, once, twice, three times, before the recording picked up.

"Carniceria Reyes, please leave a message and we'll…"

She hung up immediately her heart pounding. She would recognize that gruff measured voice anywhere. That voice and the man behind it had patiently helped her review for many tests throughout high school, stood as a silent sounding board when she practiced her mock trial closing arguments, and exasperatedly scolded her when she was caught doing something she knew she shouldn't, usually because one of his two cheeky sons had thought it was a good idea at the time…she would recognize Felipe's voice anywhere.

She was not ready to call.

Not yet.

She sighed as she rubbed a hand over her face. She had tried to segment her life. Not consciously at first, but it had been so easy to move forward and not to look back. So, that was what she had continued to do. Her past and her present. They had been kept so separate, with only a few strings connecting the two. Dora and her trips out to San Quentin, and even Emily at first before her marriage and her husband's business caused them to drift. There had been more people who had cared for her, was it really so easy for her to just shut them out? Cut them off slowly until she did not think about the people and places that had meant so much to her. She looked at the number on the screen again. She would go crazy if she had to just sit here and wait. "Fuck it." Heading back into the bedroom she threw on her jacket and headed out the door.

She was going home.

X

She usually did not mind flying it; was not bad. With her laptop and the customary pile of paperwork, the hours between coasts usually flew by. However, she had managed to send off all her required staff memos and the FMLA paperwork to Daniel and Adela within the first hours of the flight. Now she just felt anxious. The overly friendly businessman sitting next to her in 10B did not help. The fact that she was furiously typing out emails nor the giant sparkler on her were deterrents. Typically she would have told a guy like him to fuck off. However, the fact that they still had four hours crammed together did not make her feel optimistic about that option. However, lucky enough for her one of the flight attendants took pity and continued to entertain the man and ply him with alcohol.

Slipping in her earbuds, she turned up the music and closed her eyes.