Angel stood outside the Hole In The Wall diner and watched as the blonde- haired girl arranged and rearranged the condiments on the table. She looked more frail than she had when he'd last seen her. Right before the end of the world. Well, it was supposed to be the end of the world. And maybe it had been... for her. He felt a strange sense of guilt wash over him as he watched her through the window.

"If you tell her, I'll kill you and anyone else who cares to flap his gums about me," he'd threatened.

"Why is this such a big secret? Don't you think she wants to know? Deserves to know?" he'd countered.

The blonde vamp brought his fists down angrily on Angel's desk. Angel felt like he was being staked by those angry, blue eyes.

"I told you not to tell her. This isn't your cross to bear, Peaches. It's mine. Let me do what I feel is right and let it be none of your concern."

Angel breathed deeply through his nose. No, he hadn't been followed. Nothing in the air. Nothing but the aroma of day-old fry grease and stale coffee. Buffy sure knew how to pick 'em, he thought, as he entered the nearly-empty diner.

She was still busily rearranging bottles of salt, pepper, ketchup and mustard when he reached her booth. He felt something coil tightly in his chest when he saw her up close.

"Buffy?"

She smiled weakly at him. He took in the sight of her. Pale. Deathly pale. She hadn't even bothered to try to cover up the shadows under her eyes with makeup. She was wearing a grey, hooded sweatshirt that looked two sizes too big. Her hair was pulled back in a low ponitail, brunette roots peaking through the blonde.

"Yeah. It's me," she told him, motioning for him to sit.

A waitress stopped at the table asking if he wanted anything. He told her he was fine, thankyou, and watched as the woman refilled Buffy's nearly- empty coffee cup before leaving them. She took the sugar canister and poured a hefty amount into the cup before stirring it.

"Buffy, why don't you let me get you something to eat," he offered, suddenly wanting to force-feed her big, greasy cheeseburgers and piles of fries.

She shook her head and gazed into her cup. Cheeseburgers and fries might have sounded good at one time. But anything remotely solid just didn't settle with her anymore. Not since the near-apocalypse at the Hellmouth. Not since...

"How's Dawn?" he suddenly asked.

"Good. Dawn's good. She's, uh... living here. With Dad. Here in LA," she told him.

"That's good. And the others?"

The others... she tried to smile as she looked into her coffee cup like it held all the answers.

"Um, good. Willow is in England. She's going to school...Oxford. Xander stayed in Sunnydale. Went back to Sunnydale. After."

After. Yes. After his eye was gouged out by Caleb. After Anya died at the hand of the Turok Han. After the earth swallowed the town whole. After.

"He... he wanted to make a difference. He said that he thought that it was God's plan for him. That he felt like he should be like Joseph and build. Rebuild," Buffy said uneasily.

"Sounds like he found religion," Angel observed.

"Mmm... more like religion found him. He's been rebuilding his life and the town. Piece by piece. He says it's God's will."

Angel shuffled in his seat.

"And how do you feel about that?" he asked her.

She shrugged and then took a long sip of coffee. She was rifling through her pockets. He was surprised when she pulled out a pack of Marlboro Reds. She pulled one out of the pack and smiled. He watched as she lit it with an all too familiar lighted. Spike's. He recognized it immediately. She took a quick drag to get it started and placed it in the ashtray.

"Stress got you taking up bad habits?" Angel asked, concerned.

She watched the smoke swirl from the cherry of the cigarette. She seemed almost mesmerized by it. She sat back in the booth, her back leaned against the window and her legs pulled up to her chest, feet resting on the seat in front of her.

"No. I don't smoke. I just... it's comforting. The smell," she explained.

This wasn't about him. This was about Spike. Angel felt the sharp pang of disappointment, immediately followed by guilt again. Of course, he'd known Spike had meant something to her. Something important.

"Buffy... do you want to talk about--"

"Giles went back to England," she told him, abruptly cutting him off. "He, uh... he sent me some things. Arranged for a salary, retroactive of course. Sent me a ticket to see him. Open. Maybe someday."

"Are you living with your Dad, too?" he asked.

She shook her head firmly.

"A world of no. It was all I could do to convince him to take Dawn. Not that I don't want her with me... but I think that maybe a real mother- figure would be good for her. Marianne, my Dad's wife... she's got a 14 year-old daughter, Sarah. She's really a great Mom. I thought Dawn would be better off with them. With a family."

"So, uh... what about you?" he asked cautiously. She seemed so fragile.

"Me? I... I've been around."

It was like pulling teeth to get any information out of her.

"Around where, Buffy? Do you have a place to live?"

She let out what she hoped would be a giggle. Instead, it caught in her throat and choked off a sob. He started to get up, to go comfort her, but she waved him off.

"I'm okay, Angel. I'm okay. Uh, to live. That would be a big 10-4. I have a place to... live." The word was hard to get out. "I have a little apartment a few blocks from the beach. Not too far from Dawn. I didn't want to be too far from her. In case she, you know, needed me or something."

She lived in LA. Angel was surprised. He figured she'd want to get as far away from Sunnydale and California as she could.

"Buffy," he reached across the table and touched her hand. She stiffened under his touch, but didn't pull away. Cold, so cold. Like him. It was strangely comforting and jarring at the same time.

"Buffy, why are you here? I mean, you know I'm always happy to see you... but there's something on your mind."

She looked into the ashtray. The cigarette had burned down to nothing. She felt the tears welling up in her eyes as she thought about it. Burned down to nothing. Nothing. Gone. Angel was trying to be patient, but he was having a hard time keeping a distance. It was obvious that she did not want his comfort. What did she want?

"A part of me... it doesn't want to believe he's gone. It... it keeps telling me he's not. Not really."

She was talking about Spike. Angel braced himself. One thing he hated was lying to her, especially seeing how vulnerable she was. He didn't say anything. Just waited for her to continue.

"Every night... every night, I see him and I tell him I love him. And he tells me 'no you don't, but thanks for saying it.' And then..." her voice was barely a whisper. "Then I save him. I rip him out of there. Or, sometimes I take his place. Or I just stay with him. Every night I save him."

Her lips were trembling as she brought the cup to them. She remembered how Spike had told her that he saved her. Every night he saved her. Now it was her turn.

"Remember when I told you I was cookie dough?" she asked Angel. He smiled at the memory of her trying to explain herself to him.

"Yeah, Buff," he said quietly. "I remember."

"Yeah... well, the truth is, I was done. I was already done, Angel. But I wasn't for you. And I just didn't want to hurt you."

Angel had known that even when she'd first told him. Even through the cookie dough analogy, he'd been hopeful, but could see her heart clearly. And it no longer belonged to him.

She snapped her head up and suddenly looked him in the eyes.

"I want to take you somewhere," she told him. "There's something I want you to see."

She left a wad of bills on the table and then led him out the door.