A/N: Well, here's the next part. I've not been getting too many reviews of late, so I hope you guys are still reading and enjoying. To those who are reviewing, thanks a bunch, you're fuel to the creative fire!! :D Lemme know what ya think!











Buffy blew into the house like a hurricane, slamming her duffle and the bag of Doublemeat Palace goodies she'd brought home for dinner on the kitchen counter. She took a deep breath, swallowing her anger, composing herself. "Dawn, dinner!"

Dawn thundered down the stairs, into the kitchen. "Geez, Buffy, where were you? I was waiting for dinner an hour ago!"

Buffy looked at the set table, and cringed. "Sorry. That's what I wanted to talk to you about anyway."

Dawn gave her a curious look, as she sat down to her burger and fries. She lifted up the bun, looking at the meat patty. "Aww, again?"

"We can't really afford anything else until pay day," Buffy apologized. "But, that'll change soon."

Dawn eyed her up. "What d'you mean?"

"I got a new job," Buffy said proudly.

Dawn's face lit up. "Really? Oh, my God, that's great! Where?"

"Sunnydale High," Buffy finished up.

Dawn blanched. "My…high school?"

"Yuh huh," Buffy answered, sipping her diet soda, oblivious to Dawn's petrified look.

"You're not gonna be…serving in the cafeteria, are you?" Dawn asked, not sure she wanted to know.

"Nope," Buffy said, chewing a mouthful of fries.

"Well, what then!?" Dawn cried.

Buffy laughed. "The office, Dawn. I'm going to be a counselor!"

Dawn's eyes went wide. "The OFFICE? Are you trying to end my social life?"

"You don't have a social life, " Buffy cracked.

"Well…are you trying to prevent me from getting one?" Dawn rephrased.

"Hey, look on the bright side," Buffy replied. "Now I can get you out of class every now and then. Say in the midst of a pesky…math test?"

Dawn grinned. "Okay, there's a bright side. But…you're not gonna try to be all mature and stuff, right? Like making me go to bed early?"
"Nothing's going to change much," Buffy replied. "Just the job…and the income."

"And the smell," Dawn said. "It'll be weird not smelling that Doublemeat Fragrance everywhere I go."

Buffy threw a fry at her. "Hey!"

Dawn grabbed the fry and popped it in her mouth and grinned.




There was an uncomfortable sort of silence hanging thickly in the air of Xander's apartment. Both his and Anya sat stiffly, across the table from each other, staring at a point beyond the other's head.

Xander cleared his throat.

Anya looked at him pointedly. "Did you have something to say?"

"Oh, no," he stumbled. " I was just…all the dust from the school renovations…"

"Oh," she nodded, going back to her point.

Xander berated himself inwardly. 'Time to finally be a man, Harris.'

He took a deep breath. "An…I do have something to say. I've been needing to say I it all along. I love you. I really do…and that scares me. I've never had much to love, and when I have I usually screwed it up. I couldn't stand the thought of hurting you, or making you unhappy. I wasn't ready to deal with that. I wasn't man enough. But now…you made me see, Anya. I love you more than anything I've ever loved before. I can't do this without you. I need you."

She stared at him with glistening eyes. "How can I forgive you, Xander? You walked out on our wedding! You left me standing at the alter!"

"You slept with Spike!" he shouted, then immediately wanted to slap himself. Smart move. "But I forgive you. Because you were trying to comfort yourself."

She bit her lip. Damn emotions.

"An…I can't promise you a life of glamour, and I can't promise we're always going to be perfect…but if you give me another chance, I swear that I will never stop loving you. I will never doubt us again."

"I don't want glamour, and perfection, Xander," Anya sobbed softly. "All I ever wanted was you…"

It was so unlike either of them to act this way, but they didn't care. All they cared was how good and right it felt to be back in each other's arms.




Willow sat in her and Tara's room. Only now, she guessed, it was only hers. There were belongings littered everywhere. Some she recognized immediately as Tara's. The clothes in the closet, the books, everything held a story. A story that told of a love that promised so many great things only to end tragically.


Sniffing back tears Willow clutched a favorite dress of Tara's to her face, rubbing the silky material against her cheek, inhaling her scent.

"I miss you, baby," she whispered.

And then she did the final act.

She carefully folded the dress and carefully set it with the others in one of many cardboard boxes.

"It's not good-bye," she told herself. "It's not good-bye."




The cemetery was peaceful, a rare event in Sunnydale. The moon rose high and full above the trees and a cool wind rustled the trees, spinning fallen leaves like a phantom dancer.

Feeling new strength from even the little amount of blood he'd consumed, Spike walked through the somber place of rest, a restless soul.

"Innit ironic?" he spoke softly, smirking.

He sighed as he made his way through the grounds, stopping briefly to light up a cigarette and inhale deeply.

He didn't know where he was going or why, but he soon found himself walking the streets of Sunnydale aimlessly, one hand shoved deep in his pocket, the other holding his smoke when it wasn't between his lips.

Somewhere during the previous night he'd realized that he wasn't doing a damned thing in the right direction by starving away, and though it was hard to keep the blood down…he knew he had to endure it. Even the little bit he'd downed had renewed enough lost strength for him to have this little constitutional of his. None of this meant that he knew exactly what the right direction WAS, but at least he knew he wasn't still headed in the opposite direction.

Up ahead a fire burned in a barrel, surrounded by three homeless guys, all chatting it up easily, as if nothing in their life had ever gone wrong.

Spike sighed again. He'd been doing that a lot lately.

He turned into an alley, escaping the orange firelight. Still staring back there, he grunted in surprise as he slammed into a solid body.

"Oof!"

He had no trouble recognizing Buffy, not even in the dark, not even with just a tiny noise.

He lay there, dazed, on the wet and dirty pavement, staring back at her wondering eyes.

"Spike…" she said slowly.

"'S what they call me," he replied, making no move to get up.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, standing up and brushing her clothes off, retrieving her stake from where it had rolled.

"Was walkin'," he mumbled, looking down.

She arched an eyebrow curiously, then held out a hand, a gesture to help him up.

He looked at the hand, then looked away, not taking it.

"What, you wanna sleep in the alley?" she asked, stretching her hand.

He still ignored the hand, pushing himself up with shaky hands, his cigarette wet and mushy in a puddle nearby.

Buffy retracted her hand, looking slightly hurt.

"I don't sleep," he muttered, fumbling for another cigarette.

"Maybe you need a stuffed animal," she said, hoping to get a laugh, anything.

He smiled a fractured smile. "All I need is death."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

He laughed shortly. "Don't try to seem concerned, Slayer. Lying never did suit you."

He lit up another cigarette and blew out a breath of smoke.

She made a face. "Who says I'm pretending? No matter what you think, I care."

He scoffed.

Again, she looked hurt.

"What're you doing out here, Buffy?" he asked her, grinding the butt of his smoke under his heal. "This is a far cry from your usual territory."

"I was…just walking," she said with a shrug, gripping her stake.

"What a coincidence," he said disinterestedly.

"Spike, what's going on with you?" she pleaded, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He wrenched away, backing roughly into the brick wall of the alley. "Don't touch me!!"

She gasped to avoid his flying hands as he shot away.

He slid down the wall, wrapping his arms around his knees, as flashes of the past overtook him.

Buffy stood there in utter shock as he began to sob loudly, his body shaking, and little whimpers and moans of pain coming from his throat.

"Spike?" she asked softly.

He didn't answer.

"Spike!" she said again, louder this time.

He looked up with red, swollen eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Don't touch me," he whispered hoarsely.

"I'm not gonna touch you," she said, staring worriedly at him. "Just…tell me what's wrong."

He buried his head back in his arms, crying softly.

She stood there, not knowing what to do.

"Spike, do you want me to leave?" she asked, not wanting to hear the answer she knew he had.

He nodded, not looking up at her.

She swallowed hard. "Okay, I'm gonna leave now…"

He sniffed, still crying, and she finally turned, disappearing into the darkness of the alley.




Buffy was, to say the least, weirded out by the incident in the alley. She was hurt, too, but she tried not to let that show. She shut the door, locked it, and hung up her jacket in the closet, taking the time to stare at his old duster hanging there.

With a shake of her head, she shut the door.

"Dawn, are you in bed, yet?" she called up the stairs.

"Yeah!" she called back. "Night, Buff!"

"Night," she replied, heading to the living room.

She had some thinking to do. But first she needed chocolate chip cookie doug hice cream and late night movies.























.