Buffy awoke the next morning with a splitting headache and a deep, penetrating sense of disgust. "Ohhh," she moaned, clutching her head, looking down to see Spike lying next to her. "That's great, Buffy," she thought to herself. "The minute something gets too overwhelming for you to deal with, you run to Spike's crypt like I don't know…a trained dog or something. I'm sure fucking Spike will really help your longstanding trust issues."

She tried to get dressed without waking Spike but unfortunately he seemed to have an uncanny sense of what the Slayer was doing at all times, and sleepily propped himself up on his elbow, the thin sheet slipping down his defined chest. "Morning love, you wouldn't be thinking of runnin' out on me would ya," he leered at her, raising an eyebrow at her when she began to stand.

Buffy rolled her eyes and clutched the fallen sheet to her. "Grow up Spike," she said, shaking her head. "For someone who's in his mid-hundreds, you have the maturity level of a 15 year old guy. A 15 year old guy who has been locked in an isolation chamber for all of his known life and has never seen a woman, let alone a naked one before."

Spike clutched his chest, hands over heart. "How you wound me Slayer." He leaned over and began to nuzzle her neck, letting his hands wander over her body, caressing, groping, until he felt a sharp pain in his stomach as Buffy's knee met his crotch.

"Bloody hell! Shit! What was that for??" Spike demanded as he convulsed on the ground.

"Sun's almost up Spike. Normality awaits," Buffy called as she finished gathering her loose clothing and started to leave the crypt.

"Bugger that!" he yelled after her. "You'll be back!" "You can't stay away, he thought to himself."

"Not this time," Buffy promised herself. "Never again."

************************************************************************

In Los Angeles, it was just after 5:00, and the city was starting to come to life. Angel woke up with a horrible hangover, not having had a good night's sleep since Conner was taken. With Buffy having died, and then coming back to life, and then almost dieing again, and now that haunting phone call in the middle of the night, something Angel was used to, the haunting phone call bit, after all he did run Angel Investigations. But there was something about the person on the other end, something familiar…Angel shrugged it off, figuring that sooner or later it would come to him, that is if he didn't have some kind of breakdown first.

It was the middle of June, and Angel had given the A.I. gang some much needed time off, so he had the whole hotel to himself. He wasn't sure if he liked that or not. It was too quiet, too calm. He shook his head. "Since when did I start complaining about those things?" he wondered. He thought he knew why. Because life had never been especially kind to him-the one woman he ever truly loved in the entire fucked up universe he couldn't have, all the women that he could have he didn't want, and the only other person in the world the thought he might truly love was Conner, and even Conner was gone. He figured that if the only reason he had peace now was because the Powers that Be had something really good planned for him later. Angel sighed. He knew that he had to get of this city, it was making him insane. Let everyone handle their own problems for once. He needed a break. Actually, if he let himself be honest for once, he needed to see Buffy. Prove to him once and for all that they had done everything they could to salvage their relationship, that there really was no hope for a future for them. Because if there was, even the slightest bit, he wouldn't rest until he had Buffy in his arms again. She was his reason for being. She defined him. She made him whole. And he wouldn't rest until she was his again. His mind being made up, he grabbed his keys, not even bothering to pack, and made for the quickest route back to Sunnydale. The Hellmouth. Buffy.









*Authors Note-More up soon I promise! *