Future updates will be less frequent, but here's chapter 2, close on the heels of chapter 1...hope you like...

A few hours passed as Spike stood out front, waiting. Dawn came home and passed the tree by obliviously, focused on her destination. The witches made dinner and he heard them all chattering and clattering over it, though he had a hard time picking out any of Buffy's mumbled contributions. Things quieted and wound down, and he waited. And after an interval, the door opened and Buffy came out dressed to patrol, immediately looking over and sighing as she eased the front door closed behind her.

"I told you to leave me alone, Spike! What do you want now?" she asked, but it lacked conviction. It certainly didn't have any of the fire she'd displayed earlier.

"Not wanting anything really," he lied, "just checking in. Go for a bit of patrol? A little violence, maybe a drink? Maybe you could tell me what the hell is going on?"

"I so don't need this right now. Go home, go anywhere, leave me alone, go kill things and have as many drinks as you want—of alcohol! Liquor! Drink lots of liquor!" she added quickly.

"Yeah, liquor," he said steadily, "since when is that in question? Couple days with the soul man and suddenly you forgot that some of us don't need some as-seen-on-TV trashy fake-gypsy curse to not drain the populace? Plus, fucking chipped! Can't really stray if I wanted to, which I wouldn't anyway, and why the hell are we even having this talk?"

"Fake gypsy? The gypsies were fake?" she looked interested. "I thought Ms Calendar was a real gypsy— they had a tribe and that headmaster guy and everything-"

"I don't know! I'm sure they were real gypsies, they had the proper little wagons and all that, it just seems a bit showy— never mind about that!" She seemed determined to get him off the track. Fine. Don't want to talk about it? We won't talk about it. Only... she yelled! And cried! And she came to him, it's not like he was coming around begging her for details before she sought him out! The least she could do is let him in on the big secret before going right back to being all new post-resurrection style apathy Buffy!

"Buffy!" he tried again.

She rolled her eyes and trod single-mindedly towards her chosen graveyard.

He trailed behind as she turned past a large pillar with "Skylawn" carved into the stone. Skylawn, he thought, what the—

"Skylawn." she said flatly. "What's that about anyway? It doesn't even make any sense. How can a lawn be in the sky? Or be like the sky? I guess it's because they're supposed to be in the sky, the dead people. Ha! If they knew..."

"I reckon it's on account of they have more cemeteries than names in this town, love. Can only have so many variations on Happy Acres without getting into pet cemetery territory, eh?" He kept watching her, carefully. "Look, I'm all for lettin bygones be gone and all that, but I kinda like to know what we're letting go, you know? I mean, a couple hours is right quick even for me..."

She just kept on going, not even slowing down to look at a new grave on the left or looking around, just plodding along, shoulders slightly slumped. Suddenly she stumbled— "Ugh! Ew what is it? You must be joking! There's some kind of rotten mini slime demon on my shoe? Oh boy is it gonna be sorry!" she cried, kicking at a dark gelatinous looking mass that had wrapped itself around her foot and ankle while whipping out a stake, but slowing down when it didn't appear to be reacting. "ugh- ew- WHAT IS IT?"

Spike pulled the mass off her boot, straightening up with it in his hands. It was a clump of leathery strands knotted and tangled into a loosely held together fishy smelling ball. "Seaweed," he said- "good and dead. You won't be needing that stake after all."

"What- but it grabbed me! It was all, with the... it seemed like it grabbed me," she trailed off. "Huh. But still! Seaweed in the cemetery, where we're, like, a mile from the ocean—that's weird, right? Abnormal?"

"It's a damn seaside town, luv, I really don't think it's all that peculiar! Look, what were you on about earlier? That 'I know' all about? Cause I can tell you right now, I really do not have a bleedin clue what it is you're talking about! Can't we just—hey! Look, just stop walking away and tell me, and we'll have a good laugh and go kill something and forget all about it right?"

"Sure," she said, "but just the killing something part—" and took off at an easy lope towards a shadow across the lawn, behind some large plinths. Even with his enhanced vision he couldn't clearly see what it was, but it did look like it could, possibly, be a large figure bent over a smaller, slumped and motionless one. "Dusting time!" he muttered and trotted after her.

By the time he caught up to her, she had caught up to them, and they had, apparently, turned into something else entirely, namely a single large, hunched demon with pasty, translucent blue-ish gray skin. It appeared to be cowering as the Slayer pummeled it with kicks and jabs; it turned this way and that trying to minimize the effects of the attack but didn't fight back.

"Come on!" she was saying, "do something! What are you, useless? Good for nothing, can't even do your job right? You're a demon! Don't you know who I am? Let's go!"

Some kind of clear liquid was squirting out of it where her blows landed and running down the figure's sides, forming what was beginning to be a pretty sizable puddle around it's spatula-like feet. It made a soft gurgling noise now and again and seemed to fold further in on itself.

"Hey now," Spike said, "I'm all for meaningless violence, me, but this bloke seems a bit—well, kind of like shooting a fish in a barrel or something don't you think? Maybe you should cut him a break?"

The Slayer turned to him, red cheeked and tight lipped. "Yeah, just let it run off and kill someone you mean? Sure, why not? I mean, who am I to tell him he shouldn't, what kind of example do I set, hanging out with William the fucking Bloody! And it's nothing like shooting fish, why the hell would I try to SHOOT a fish— it's like kicking a jellyfish is what it is!"

He stared at her; he felt hurt (inexplicably, considering that he didn't really know what she was so worked up about) but chose instead to focus on the feelings of confusion. She was at least partially making sense—now that she mentioned it, it was clearly salt water pooling around this thing, and it did have a certain undersea quality to it. The jellyfish in question, meanwhile, had slumped to the ground with its extremities so tucked into its torso that it had the appearance of a large mound of gelatin. The blob was marked with darker, more opaque patches that seemed to be where Buffy's blows had connected, which continued to ooze brine.

"Well, I think it's been tenderized enough; maybe we should try to figure out what it's doing here?"

"WE are not going to figure out anything—what do you think we are, some detective couple, like Batman and Robin or something?"

"Batman and Robin? Detectives?" Spike was outraged. "Have you never— we're going to watch some movies together, you and I! William Powell and Myrna Loy and—"

"We are not going to snuggle up and watch any kind of movies together Spike! I am going to kill this pile of slime, and then I'm going to go home, alone!"

Now he really did feel hurt, followed quickly by shame. She was right of course—what right did he have to think they were friends? With over a dozen decades' worth of experience, he quickly stifled the feelings of worthlessness. In their place, he found himself suddenly very angry.

"I really don't see why you have to kill this bloke!" he retorted—"I mean, look at it! You don't know anything about it! Why don't you have the old gang look him up and make sure he's a danger to something besides krill before you get all Captain Ahab on him!"

"Like you care—you kill things for fun, remember? Well, I don't—this is my job. I'm going to do it and then I'm going to do the next thing I have to and the next, and then I'm going to go home and wash this damn saltwater off my clothes! It's a demon, it's lurking around a cemetery, and I'm not going to wait for it to hurt someone—I'm going to deal with it, now!" As she finished speaking, Buffy pulled out a long knife and swept it in a smooth downward arc that severed its head cleanly. The body collapsed in a flood of water and seemed to deflate to a fraction of its size.

Spike stared at it in shock. She was right; he did kill demons for fun; but this just wasn't fun. There was no fun had anywhere in that, he thought. Not by her, not by me, and certainly not by that lump of jelly. She was off across the grass again and he almost let her go—she clearly needed some time—but he just couldn't do it. He followed, trying to figure out how to make her see the wrongness of what had just happened, how unlike her it seemed. But he couldn't quite figure it out—she would just say, I killed a demon, that's what I do, how is that in any way not like me? (With an implied "you moron" for good measure.) He might not know how to explain the difference, just as he wasn't sure what she should have done instead; but somehow he knew that before the jump, the death, the spell—Buffy would not have done that.

—

Buffy heard Spike's footsteps resume behind her after a long pause—she had almost thought he would stop following her. She hadn't decided yet how she felt about that, but here he came, just as sure as sunshine in Sunnydale; so another night could pass in which she didn't have to try to figure it out.

On the trip back from LA she had been filled with determination—everything had seemed so clear! She had figured it out— she knew what had to happen, and what had to stop happening. But she'd forgotten, had been so glad to forget for a day, what it was like to be here, to live in the world again— to live in Sunnydale again! Easy to decide, no more vampire pals; harder to find herself surrounded by the cheerful, the needy, the anxious bustling talking bickering gossiping chattering mob that the living had increasingly become to her. All she wanted when they all surrounded her was to be alone, but when she got her wish, she found Spike's company more of a comfort than she liked to admit. But he was only pretending! What did they share, really? What could they ever have in common? He might seem different, he might have done things, helpful things, noble things; he might even make her feel safer, less alone, but he wasn't a person. And a person and a vampire, they were just different. Look at Angel!

If any vampire had something in common with the Slayer— with her, Buffy— it was Angel! He was a champion, and the love of her life, and he had a soul— which made him a person, practically! And yet he and she were as different as, as... well, sometimes she thought her and Cordy had more in common. At least you always knew what Cordelia was thinking. Did Angel think her and Cordy were alike? How much? Was he really glad that she, Buffy, was back? Maybe it had been easier for him—he'd said, back when, that he couldn't move on like she could. Maybe with her dead and buried he'd found that he could...

She whipped around suddenly and kicked a headstone, causing Spike, a few feet behind her, to flinch violently. She felt a flash of guilt, which only made her madder. The marker flew through the air and shattered on the lawn. Spike looked at her warily, his mouth open as if he was about to speak, but she whirled away and strode off again, only to change her mind and spin towards him again.

"No," she said, "I get it. I'm acting crazy, you're following me trying to talk me out of it, it's what we do; but not tonight okay? I mean it. Just let me alone for a while. I'm sorry—but I need to think. I need... I need you to go away. I'm sorry, Spike. Thank you, I guess, but... I'm sorry."

And she left him standing there. She walked, and thought, and killed everything she could find but it didn't help. The clarity was long gone. She couldn't imagine feeling less clear; it was as if her head was stuffed with cotton, and all her attempts to think things through just made her more tired and confused. It was like Sunnydale was an alternate universe where nothing made sense— maybe she should go away. But she couldn't go away. Even going to see Angel (who couldn't even be bothered to come all the way here? When she'd been DEAD?) had obviously worried her sister and her friends and Giles... they needed her here so much they made her come back from the grave to take care of them! No that wasn't right—they wanted to take care of her—but then why did it feel like this? And around and around and on and on... The only one who didn't want to be reassured was Spike, but why not? And what did it matter, no more vampires, right? But why not? Oh, right, because it was wrong. No, because it was fake, because it wasn't real, not like her real friendships with real people who she had actual things in common with... But that didn't seem right. What did it say about her if she had more in common with Spike than with her friends? But she didn't of course— it just seemed that way sometimes because... because... well because he was there. That was the only reason. So, no more hanging around together, no more problem.

She detoured around a large crypt and was amazed to find herself blinded by a ray of light. It was morning? Already? Oh no, she had to go home and say good morning to Dawn and sleep and get up and figure out what to do with her life... suddenly she was exhausted and more than ready for bed.

—

Spike let Buffy go, shocked and hurt. He wasn't bloody crowding her! He was only trying to help! And what did Angel say to her anyway? Things had been going so well— maybe he was just so glad to have her back that he only thought so? But she had really seemed to accept him since her return, to finally recognize that he had changed and that he was there for her and Dawn... Sometimes he'd even fancied that she might be seeing him as, well, a person. Certainly a friend! Oh god, just look at him. He had been right in the first place, first thing today—he really had sunk beyond anything. They were right! All the lowlifes—his people!—who told him he was crazy for switching sides (usually with their fists, before he ended them)—he was crazy! What kind of life was this! He should just, just...well. No. Not leave, not kill... he wouldn't leave his Slayer now. This was just another part of her adjustment process, he would give her time. He watched daytime television, he knew about these modern folk and their lashing out and projecting and all that. She was only turning on him because she knew he wouldn't leave. He needed to be strong for her! And so he would, tomorrow. She didn't want him around tonight? Fine. He had things he could do then, and he would, by hell!