He'd been asleep again when she caught him by surprise for the second time. Instead of a phone call, it was a pounding on his door. Groggily, Wes dragged himself to his feet, not even bothering to put on a shirt. He swung open the door and there she stood, her eyes shooting fire at him. Those angry eyes looked him up and down. What she saw didn't seem to mitigate her wrath.

He hadn't seen Buffy in a person in quite a while. She was slighter but stronger-looking somehow. All the plumpness in the cheeks that marked her as a teenager were gone. Her face was leaner like her frame; she looked like she'd been honed by the passage of time. Wesley realized that the last time he'd really looked at her had been at her mother's funeral. He and Cordelia had gone down. She'd hugged them both, but she'd been so distraught, he wondered if she even remembered that he'd been there.

They'd corresponded regularly for quite awhile, consulting one another on cases, but more than that. She'd shared herself with him and he'd become close to her. After her mother's death, that all changed. Her messages became sporadic, before stopping entirely.

"Why didn't you call me, Wes? I thought we were friends."

"Buffy? What is this about?"

She pushed past him, a tidy wrecking ball. "Why didn't you talk to me before you kidnapped Angel's son?"

"That was months ago."

"Which means you are super-delinquent about telling. I'm here because Angel and Cordy are missing."

"I know."

"You know?" She threw her hands in the air. "Oh, by the way, thanks for mentioning that in the non-existent e-mails you didn't send me." She folded her arms over her chest, indomitable. He sighed heavily and clasped his hands behind his back.

"You died, Buffy. Do you know how excruciating it was to go to your funeral? How much I resented Dawn on sight because you sacrificed yourself for her? I mourned you. Then you returned by some sort of miracle and I found out from Angel. You didn't feel I was important enough to merit a phone call. I thought you made yourself quite clear."

Her shoulders lost their hard edges. She went from a defiant woman to a defeated young girl in seconds. He'd never seen her defeated before and honestly, he hated it.

"I didn't ask to be brought back."

"And I didn't ask to be born, yet here we are."

She shook her head and sank down onto his settee, her elbows on her knees. "No. I mean...I think I was in heaven, and then I was ripped out. It was hard to adjust. Nothing felt right. I made bad decisions. Hurt other people and myself. So I didn't keep in contact with my friends because I was barely making it day to day. I'm sorry for that."

Wesley sat down beside her, feeling ashamed of himself.

"I shouldn't have let my hurt feelings dictate the situation. I didn't know you were in pain."

"How could you have known, Wes? Nobody else did."

"I should have known you were in heaven. You've always been too good for this world."

She laughed, but she didn't tell him he was being corny. Instead, she rested her head against his. "Tell me what happened with you and Connor."

So he did. He told her about the prophecy, the Loa, Holtz. Once again, she was the first to ask. After he'd disgorged all the misery of his soul, she leveled a compassionate gaze at him.

"You should've called me Wes." She ghosted her fingers across his hair.

"My own pettiness aside, you would've told Angel."

"You're right, but you know I can handle him."

"That's true. In fact, I thought you were the only being who could, which has left me at a loss as to who may have taken him."

She straightened up, becoming all business in a movement. "He didn't exactly come to L.A. to make friends. Isn't there a whole law firm that just exists to mess with him?"

"Essentially. I fear he might be gone."

"No. He's alive. I'd know. I'd feel it if he wasn't. It's kind of a slayer thing."

They discussed Angel's enemies. Buffy had begun her own investigation and landed on the most flagrant candidate, Justine. The redhead had a flashy grudge and had left a trail of vampire dust around where Angel disappeared.

Wesley moved away from Buffy to offer her a drink. To his surprise, she took it. The way she sipped her Scotch was testament enough that she'd changed. The girl he'd known never imbibed anything stronger than iced coffee. She flicked her short hair back and uncrossed her legs. He felt less and less like Angel's loyal soldier the more she relaxed. Buffy took an envelope out of her backpack.

"Here's everything I could scrape together about Angel. I haven't had luck with Cordy. Willow would normally magick up some information, but she's not well. She's in England with Giles, so this was the best I could do."

He took the packet.

"I'll add it to what I've got. We'll find them."

"I wish I could be more help, but things are crazed in Sunnydale. There's the normally stacked slayer schedule, plus taking care of Dawn. I've been working two jobs so we can afford all the stuff she needs for high school."

"Giles hasn't been able to help you?"

"He has, but there are limits. He doesn't want to drop in like my fairy godfather and fix things. It's about me being the grown up now."

"I still haven't figured that out myself."

They shared another smile.

"How do you sleep now, Wes?" She reached over and touched the scar on his neck. "Did your nightmares ever stop?" He covered her hand with his.

"No. They've worsened. When I do sleep it is poorly and alone."

"I'm sorry. I wish I could help." She looked mortified. Something of the young woman he'd known long ago came back to her face. Buffy hurriedly withdrew her hand. "Not the alone part. That came out wrong."

He smiled, genuine and reassuring. "I understand."

"I know you do."

They shared a protracted look and for the second time since he'd known her, he had to stop himself from leaning in to kiss her lips. This time it had nothing to do with Angel and everything to do with Buffy herself. The hint of sex hadn't just embarrassed her—the thought of sleeping next to him seemed to make her afraid. Her pupils were pin pricks.

"I have to go. Keep me updated." She stood up fast, sending her skirt fluttering. He rose as well.

"Naturally."

He walked her to the door. She lingered for a moment and he thought she would change her mind and stay the night. Instead, she hugged him. Buffy wore a tank top and the feel of her skin sliding against his was unbearable. Luckily, it was brief. She stole out without another word.

Buffy had nearly told Wes about Spike assaulting her. The words had been there, ready to go, but they wouldn't line up into coherent sentences. It was stupid. Wesley would have understood better than anyone how she felt because his situation was so close to hers—the guilt for what she'd done with and to Spike, the way she still cared about him, the conviction that what he'd done was wholly wrong, but that he might still be able to be redeemed. Of course, with Wes it had been worse in every respect. He hadn't been able to fight back and he'd been tortured. The last time they'd written, he'd told her he was still talking to Faith. Buffy wanted to know where he found that strength, but she'd been afraid to ask. She was mature enough to know now that not every guy was Xander. Showing up in the middle of the night when a dude was all shirtless and having a drink with him wasn't just a hang out. Even if it meant nothing to Buffy, men tended to take that as a signal. For a moment-a little longer than a moment-she almost wanted him to. Then Spike's face flashed in her mind and she bolted.