He allowed her to move away and said, "Okay, love. I understand." He sighed and shook his head. "Goodnight, Buffy." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked away, leaving a very confused and very upset Slayer behind.

Systematically, she began her walk home. She hugged her jacket closer to her as she tried to decipher tonight's events. Spike told her what she wanted to know, but he didn't take the money, which was strange. It's not like it was much to begin with, but that's beside the point. He had kissed her, very well, too. She didn't know—oh, yes she did. That spell. She did know how well he could kiss; however, she hadn't remembered how he could take her breath away. She found herself touching her lips, remembering how it felt to have his on hers. Quickly dropping her hand, she realized Riley had never made her feel that way. God, am I some kind of freak? Do I have some kind of vampire fettish?

As if on cue, a stray vampire appeared in front of her and she groaned. "Not now," she said as she swiftly staked him.

"Ssssslayerrr…" it hissed as it turned to dust.

She slipped the stake back into its place and turned towards her house. She was surprised to see lights on. It wasn't very late, but her mom and Dawn were usually asleep by now. She opened the door and called upwards. "Mom?"

"Up here, Buffy." She hung her jacket up and began walking up the stairs. She looked in to check on Dawn, and then she realized she wasn't in there.

"Mom, where's Dawn?" she asked, forcing herself not to sound panicked.

"Oh, she's at Janice's," Joyce said calmly. Buffy rounded the corner into her mother's room and was surprised to see her mother packing an overnight bag.

"Mom, are you okay? Where are you going?"

"Have you seen my conditioner? I can't find it," she said.

"Have you checked under the sink?"

Joyce walked into her bathroom, and Buffy could hear her shifting objects around. "Ah ha!" she said triumphantly. "Thanks, sweetie."

"Mom, where are you going?" she asked again.

Joyce sighed. "You know those headaches I've been having? It might not be nothing."

"What is it?"

Well, my doctor wants to do some more tests and have me stay overnight for observation. I'm going to have a CAT scan." Joyce finally said reluctantly. She didn't want her daughter to worry about her. The young woman had too many things to deal with.

"Oh," was all the younger Summers woman could say. She watched as her mother zipped her bag and came towards her.

"I'll be fine, sweetie. Really," she said, not fully believing it herself. But she had to be brave. She kissed her daughter's forehead and began her descent down the stairs.

"Do you want me to go with you? Or to drive you? I'm not very good, but I'll be careful…" she promised.

"No, it's fine. Stay and get some rest. You look like you had a rough night."

She didn't say anything. She followed her mother out to her car, and gave her a (humanly) tight hug. "I love you, Mom," she said, trying not to cry right then.

"I love you, too, Buffy. I'll see you tomorrow. Sleep good." She stayed in the driveway until the car was out of sight. She willed herself to move. She walked through the front door and locked it. She didn't want to be inside. It was too quiet, too empty. Her feet carried her out the backdoor, until she finally stopped on the steps. It wasn't so quiet out here. Out here, she could hear the crickets, the wind, and the cars going down the street. Anything was better than the stillness that was inside her home.

She sat down and pulled her knees as close to her chest as she could get. She held her knees and put her head on them. It didn't take long before her tears began to fall from her eyes. She had held these in too long tonight, and it almost hurt to finally release them.

She cried for how unfair life is. For herself, for being the Slayer and for being the much less than perfect daughter. She cried for Dawn. She was so young, and yet, she already knew of all the things that go bump in the night. She was being hunted by a demonic hell goddess, who wanted to kill her so she could go back to her own dimension.

She cried for the slayers that had been called and hadn't had everything she did. They were too young to have so much responsibility thrust upon them. They were too young to be killed.

She cried for the two Spike had killed. He sought them out, and it wasn't fair. She could only image how much longer they would have lived if he hadn't been there. If that woman would have loved him, then he wouldn't have been turned by Drusilla, and then those slayers wouldn't have died.

Most importantly, she cried for her mother. It wasn't fair. Her mother was too young be sick. She still needed her. Dawn still needed her. There was so much she still needed to learn from her. She couldn't let her die. She wouldn't!

She heard something in front of her, and her head snapped up. It was the number one—well, number two—person that she didn't want to see. "What do you want?" she asked, not bothering to remove the tears from her face.

"What's wrong?" he asked, ignoring her question. She scoffed. "I saw your mum drivin' and I came to see if you were alright."

She laughed. It wasn't a happy sound. It was more of a sarcastic, oh-god-you-can't-be-serious, kind of laugh. "Spike, don't pretend to be my friend. We're not friends. We're nothing to each other. If you didn't have that chip in your head, one of us would be dead by now." She wiped her face, and looked away.

"What's wrong?" he asked, again ignoring what she had said.

"She's sick," she whispered. "She… She's been having headaches… She's staying overnight at the hospital. She's getting a CAT scan…" She never looked to him. She stared at a section of grass, and mentally mapped out patterns she saw in the different shades. It wasn't until she heard a muffled thunk that she looked up. His hand was bleeding, and there was a fist shaped dent in the tree next to him. "What the hell?"

"Sorry. Needed to punch somethin'," he replied, ignoring her curious looks.

"Why—"

"Just needed to, Slayer. I like your mum. She doesn't deserve to be sick."

"No one deserves it," she replied.

"Well, yeah. But you know what I meant," he said, taking a seat next to her.

She didn't move. She watched as he flexed his hand, and she could hear the joints grinding together. She remembered many times where her fists looked similar to his own. Bloody knuckles, sharp pain. Part of being the Slayer. "Think you fractured it," she said, taking his hurt hand into both of her own. "Does this hurt?" she asked, pushing on one of the knuckles.

He hissed, "Yes!" But he didn't jerk his hand away. He relished the feeling of her small fingers poking and prodding his. Who knew such a small hand could pack such a punch? He did. The things he'd imagined her doing with those hands…