AN: Thanks to everyone for the reviews! Sorry if this is a bit short/ off topic/ etc, I've been cramming for finals all night. Random apology: I warned you I didn't know anything about Canada. I did write that with an encyclopedia in hand, though. I know, I know, this is going on a bit longer than I expected it to. There are just too many amusing things Spike could run into, and it would be a crime not to explore them all. Come on, admit it, you laughed at at least one of those things. No? Not even the marshmallow part? Hmmm. Well, have fun with this one. Tell me if you like, please!

Disclaimer: All characters (except for the ones that belong to me…) belong to UPN, Mutant Enemy, and the all-powerful Joss.

Absence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder

            Dingdong…

            "Coming!" Buffy hopped up, grabbing her crutches and hobbling over to the door. She greeted a very concerned looking Xander, Willow, Kennedy and Dawn. Giles was in the kitchen, preparing some tea. They all went into the small family room.

            "Buffy! What happened?" Xander gestured wildly to her leg. "I mean-did you-demon-grrr-pow!-yelp?" He paused in his reenactment of what he thought had happened.

            "No." Buffy shrugged a little. "Just your run of the mill crazy drunk guy."

            Dawn snuggled closer to her sister. "I'm glad your okay."

            Buffy smiled.

            "So, that's it?" Willow wrung her hands nervously. "No Big Bad? No apocalypse?" 

            "Nope." Buffy shook her head for extra emphasis. "No end of the world today." She saw the downcast look on her friends face. "Maybe tomorrow, though."

"No, it's not that." Willow wriggled uncomfortably in her seat. "I just feel like the longer there's no Big Bad, the bigger and badder the next Big Bad's going to be."

Kennedy smirked at Willow's statement. She reached over, taking her hand in hers. "Nothing is going to happen." She looked her deep in the eyes. "We took care of it. You took care of it." She smiled.

Buffy watched the two with mild amusement. It must be great to love somebody like that. She let her fingers run over the mark on her hand. Too bad I'll never know.

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            Spike pulled the oar through the water effortlessly. He gazed around, noting the never changing scenery. Aren't I on the bloody cost of Quebec? Why is everything all forest-y? Good lord. He was starting to sound like Buffy. Absence makes the heart grow fonder…

            He turned towards the coastline again. There had to be something. Somewhere. He'd been paddling for four days straight. Or had it been five? It could have been a month at this point; the days all ebbed together. He even slept in this stupid boat. Damn uncomfortable, if I do say so myself. 

            He came upon a cluster of small islands stretched along the coast. Mentally, he debated whether or not to stop and try to find food. Eventually the more rational side of his mind won out, and he kept going. It wasn't as if he needed the food, after all. Sure, it would be nice. And he was horribly hungry. But he didn't need it the way he needed the blood.

            He'd learned several things living on the water. One, fish are really hard to catch with your hands. Two, birds generally try to stay away from your boat when you jump out and swim frantically towards them. Three, further tearing of the blanket created a very spiffy net that had caught, upon various things, a shoe. Alas, there was no blood in the shoe. So now he had a shoe to throw at the birds. And, on one very joyous occasion, he'd hit a duck with his shoe. And when you hit ducks with shoes, they don't tend to be very happy. This one didn't tend to be very alive. He wetted his lips slightly, remembering the duck.

            As he went around the island, he saw something in the distance. Not sure of what it was, he rowed faster. The sunlight reflected off of the water, blinding him. What the hell is that? A cloud passed overhead, momentarily blocking the sun's warm gaze. He peered out over the surface of the bay.

            "Boat." He whispered to himself, blinking. He rubbed his eyes. "Boat. Boat!" He stood up, in his excitement forgetting he was still in his skiff. "Boat!" He shifted, causing the boat to rock and, thus, dump its passenger into the water. He surfaced, sputtering and whipping the water droplets from his eyes. "Boat."

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            She sat on the edge of her bed, painfully lifting her leg up onto the mattress. It was healing quickly, even for Slayer healing. Doesn't mean it can't hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, though. It was time for more painkillers. Oh well. She felt like being stubborn. She scooted herself up to her pillow, feeling around under it. She frowned. Propping the pillow up behind her back, she looked around her room. Her eyes lit up on the suitcase next to the bed. Using her amazing stretching skills, she grabbed it by the handle and drug it up next to her.

            She dug around inside the main pocket. Putting the carton of cigarettes on her nightstand, she pulled out the dog-eared manila envelope. She opened the flap slowly, inhaling the scent of ink and paper and leather and cigarettes and peroxide all blended together into intoxicating cologne. Gently, she fingered the worn paper. She looked back to her cast.

            No. She shook herself violently at the thought that surfaced in her mind. But she couldn't help it. It was a voice from deep inside her, something she could not control.

            Why couldn't he have just killed me?

            No. She was alive, goddammit, and she intended to stay that way. This scenario was too familiar. She sang quietly to herself. "I live in hell…." Why was it she fell in love with people who weren't there? She had loved Angel more than ever after she'd killed him. She'd never loved Riley more than that day he'd gone away. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

            Damn. She'd thought she'd gotten past this. It's been over three months, she told herself stubbornly. Now is not the depressed-weepy stage of mourning. Mourning? She cocked her head, brooding on the word. Mourn. Did she ever mourn? She couldn't-she was the Slayer. Not the only one, granted, but still. She couldn't be all weepy eyed in front of her troops. She had to be the strong one.

            And they always let that fall to me. She looked down at the paper again. Everyone but him. It was ironic; the one person who didn't think the less of her when she was weak and scared was the one person she felt like being weak and scared about.

            She didn't even wipe it away as the tear slid down her cheek.

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