I started writing this story ages ago but I've finally decided to carry on with it. Please review if you like it and I promise to update very soon. Sorry for any spelling errors.

Buffy let out a loud sigh as she poured herself yet another shot of vodka, spilling half of it over the coffee table as she lifted it to her lips and downed it in one, wincing slightly. Wiping her mouth unnecessarily, she went to pour herself another. The bottle was empty.

Buffy let out a lazy groan. Hadn't the bottle just been full a few hours ago? She couldn't have drunk that much, surely.

Getting up off the couch to go into the kitchen, she stumbled over the empty bottles, laid on their side next to her. The pile had dramatically increased since the morning's trip to the store.

The kitchen lights flickered on suddenly as Buffy fumbled with the switch and the Slayer squinted as the light shone in her eyes. After sitting in the dark for at least three hours, she wasn't ready for anything but shadows.

To her disappointment, the cupboard was empty of any kind of alcoholic drinks. Nothing, not even the tiny bottles of whisky Andrew drank once every month.

Her voice higher than usual, and echoing in her ears, the drunken Buffy began to hum the nursery rhyme "Old Mother Hubbard" for no apparent reason. She had always found the rhyme amusing as a child. Now, the more she hummed it, it seemed like the worst song in the world.

Stumbling back into the living room, she slumped onto the couch, switching on the tv with the remote and curling up as the adverts blared. It was quite loud but she didn't even care, not even if Andrew was woken.

The adverts were still on a few minutes later when she heard the front door creak open. A second or so later, Pike was there, turning down the volume on the TV and scooping up the empty vodka bottles. She pretended to be asleep. She remembered just how perceptive her old friend was. She didn't want to talk about anything. She most certainly didn't want his pity.

Without noticing she had uttered the last thought aloud- Pike placed the bottles on the table and studied her carefully before sitting at the end of the sofa.

"I know you don't," He said, playing with the tassels on the edges of the scatter cushion next to him. " You don't have my pity."

Buffy snorted. " Yeah. Like everyone's not going to be feeling sorry for me. Buffy, the girl who got dumped for Sunnydale's good old bitch."

There was silence. Pike didn't seem to know what to say.

"See, that's the part where your supposed to try and convince me to move on, " Buffy slurred helpfully, " You're supposed to tell me that Cordelia isn't a bitch and that it's not her fault."

Pike laughed quietly. " From what you've told me, Cordelia seems like the worlds biggest bitch. Even bitchier than you."

Buffy slapped him on his arm ( probably harder than she intended, thanks to the amount of vodka in her system) but he didn't react, except to smile at her.

"C'mere, " He said. After a moments hesitation, she moved closer, leaning against him as he wrapped his arms comfortingly around her, "You don't need either of them Buffy. You were happy this morning, right? Before we saw them together?"

He felt her nod slowly and continued, " So forget it. I know how much this hurts for you but at the end of the day, if there going to hurt you, not help you…they're not worth it, hon."

He kept talking to her until she fell asleep. Maybe if he kept telling her what was obvious, then she would eventually start to believe it.

Angel sat in his office. It was late at night, the sky outside of his protected windows dark, lit only by the stars. He didn't bother with the lights.

Head in his hands, he thought back to the morning for possibly the thousandth time. Buffy- God, she had looked so beautiful. Her hair, longer that ever, golden and wavy, had framed her perfect lightly tanned face. He remembered the flash of surprise and disbelief that flickered across her perfect features and let out a groan. The look on her face when she had seen Cordy's ring and realised…it had been enough to break his already dead heart. All he had wanted to do was take her aside, explain…or take her in his arms, and explain with much less talking.

Make that no talking. Just looking at her had brought back all the old memories, late nights in the graveyard, at the mansion, sat at the window of her bedroom, being as quiet as possible so that her Mom didn't realise she was making out with her Vampire-With-A-Soul-Boyfriend.

"Boyfriend sounds so childish, " He had once teased her, stood in front of her as she perched on a gravestone, swinging her legs, "Barely suitable for someone who's lived through more than two centuries."

Buffy pulled him closer, linking her arms together round his neck.

"So, what should I call you? My friend?" He had moved even closer, burying his fingers in her soft hair and brushing his lips against hers. She had smelt like strawberries and honey as he brushed his mouth against the delicate skin on her face.

"My close…friend," She had murmured, distracted by the sudden pressure of his cool lips against hers.

All of that seemed like a whole other lifetime to him. Now he was engaged…

But the one memory that stood out was the look of utter pain this morning-

He had betrayed her. He was engaged. He had promised her forever once, and that had now all amounted to nothing. Just another broken promise, another time he had hurt her.

With a growl, he had picked up a nearby bottle of whisky balanced on a tray of files and had thrown it at the wall in a single movement. Without even realising it, he had vamped out but he couldn't force himself to revert back. All he wanted to do was kill something, behead something, do something to get rid of this horrible feeling of guilt-

"Angel?"

As soon as he heard the calling voice from the outer office, his features had shifted back to his regular human face. For a single, impossible second, he had thought it was Buffy but as he paced out of the room, he saw his fiancé, standing, hands on hips, seductively watching him.

He barely noticed that, or the skimpy negligee she had donned specially. Every part of him wanted to fight, get so bruised and broken and hurt that he couldn't be fixed, to make amends with the pain he had caused his golden slayer-

But she wasn't his. The brunette, batting her eyelashes as she opened up the silky dressing gown to give him a better look was soon to be his wife.

She was slinking towards him, pulling him closer to her by the front of his shirt and licking the cool flesh on his neck. She smelt too sweet, like bubblegum and syrup and all things sugary. What if he didn't like this? What is instead of bubblegum or syrup he wanted strawberries and honey? What if-

"Angel," Cordelia purred, running a hand up his frozen body, "Come to bed."