Disclaimer: Again, I own nothing. Joss Whedon owns all, and no profit is being made from this work.


Buffy walked out of the diner with a frown on her face. It wasn't really the job that bothered her, though her boss certainly thought so. The pay sucked, and Buffy was definitely annoyed by the stupid old men who harassed her, but what really bothered her was the situation she was in. She was stuck in Los Angeles after fleeing from Sunnydale like a dog with its tail tucked, with almost no money and a crappy apartment. She felt insanely guilty; although she hadn't actually killed Angelus, she still felt responsible for his death. She had lost a large part of her life, in a few short seconds. She desperately missed her friends, though she thought her decision to stay away was a good one; they could never understand what she was going through. Her staying in Sunnydale would have meant more pain for everyone. Oddly enough, the only thing that comforted her was Spike.

He had been through a tough time himself, grieving over Drusilla. He blamed himself for being the cause of her death, much like Buffy thought herself to blame for Angel's. Buffy knew it hadn't really been his fault—her death had been an accident. And although Buffy loathed Drusilla, particularly for her part in Kendra's death, she was sad that Spike was in so much pain over it.

Buffy had tried to get Spike to talk about his feelings on the subject, but the only time he ever spoke of either Drusilla's or Angel's death was whenever Buffy broke down into sobs, which unfortunately she did often. He would wrap his arms around her and hold her to him, and for some strange reason, Buffy couldn't bring herself to push him away. She also refused to battle vampires anymore, cutting herself off completely from anything remotely related to her destiny. She wanted it to all go away. Following Kendra's death, a new Slayer would be called soon—she could take on the responsibilities of the Slayer. Buffy was done.

Spike, hiding from the sunlight in the decrepit apartment he shared with the Slayer, continued to brood on the death of his beloved Drusilla. He recalled how he kicked Angelus into the furniture that killed Dru, and how he blamed Angelus for her death. But truthfully, Spike was the reason she was dead. He had been so desperate to be ride of Angelus that he wasn't as cautious as he should have been. He thought about the years that he had spent with Drusilla, the places they had gone and the things they had done together. Visions of Dru naked and splattered with blood, and of her expression as she fed, crossed his mind. He heaved a sigh.

" Keep goin' on like this and I'll be just like Peaches," he said to himself, taking a drag off a cigarette.

And the funny thing? Buffy was the only comfort. Seriously, six months ago he dreamed of tearing her lungs out and using them as decorations for his bedroom. Now he was upset when she wasn't around because she was working at that damned diner. He understood her need not to slay, too; it was much like his desire to stay in the apartment instead of feeding. He hadn't fed off a human since they had arrived here; Buffy brought him blood every night instead.

Spike was still trying to understand why he had stopped and helped Buffy in the first place. She was supposed to be his mortal enemy, wasn't she? So why did he feel such a strong desire to protect her? He felt his heart shatter every time he saw tears in Buffy's eyes, and he would give anything to make her feel better. Maybe he just empathized with her a little too well.

He lied down on the bed and thought once more about Buffy. "Poor little chit," he said. She had gone through so much. Yet Spike was still glad Angelus was finished; it gave him a chance to get to know the Slayer. They weren't really friends, per se, but they understood each other. Spike honestly didn't know how he would function if he had to go through Drusilla's death alone, and he was glad he was there to help Buffy


Buffy walked away from the man a little uneasy. What a night. Lily had recognized her; she had moved here so that she could get away from everything having remotely to do with Sunnydale. And then she got hit by a car, and walked away without a scratch. Yeah, there's a way to be normal. And now she had some weird guy coming up to her talking about a place for runaways. Oh, the things she would give now for a vacation to the Bahamas . . .

She walked up the stairs of the apartment building and up the three flights of stairs to the one she shared with Spike. She saw him lying on his bed. She placed the blood she had gotten for him on her lunch break on the tiny table they had in the kitchen.

"Hey," she said softly.

He looked up at her and brightened a bit. "Hey love." He nodded his head toward the plastic container that held his dinner. "Thanks." Buffy nodded.

She looked around the room. It looked like hardly anything had been touched, except the television. He had been sitting there all day? She scrunched up her nose a bit; he had been smoking in here. She didn't bother saying anything about it.

Buffy sat down next to him on his bed and looked at the TV, trying to make it seem like she wasn't as uncomfortable as she was. This was Spike, for God's sake. She should be staking him, not watching T.V and living with him.

Spike noticed her unease. "How was work today, pet?" he asked, trying to relieve the tension in the room.

Buffy was grateful to see that he noticed how weird this was for her. "Same as always. Stupid guys trying to hit on you, crummy hours, crummy pay."

Spike chuckled. "Better than stayin' here, I reckon. Telly doesn't work right, couldn't even get Passions in." He scowled at this, clearly upset.

Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Passions? I remember my mom watching that . . ." she stopped; thoughts of her mother brought back thoughts of Sunnydale, and Angel. She remembered how she had simply walked out on her mother- she really should have given the poor woman the time to understand her daughter's place in the world. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she turned her head away slightly so that Spike wouldn't see her cry again. Too late.

"Love, come on, don't . . ." Spike tried. Buffy attempted to stifle a sob, to no avail. Spike pulled Buffy to his chest rocking slightly as she sobbed into his t-shirt. The Slayer apologized profusely for the waterworks.

"Don't be an idiot, love. It's fine. You just get some rest." He pulled her gently into a relaxed position on the bed and lay next to her, wrapping his arms around her tenderly. This is ridiculous. I'm a vampire, for God's sake.

Buffy fell asleep after a few minutes of crying, head on his chest. Spike continuously stroked her hair in an effort to calm her. And he still wasn't sure why. Bollocks. This is complicated.