The meeting with Andrew stirred it all up, set the thought in motion, but it was the phone call from Giles that was the trigger. He'd listened to the calm, reasonable words of the watcher, heard the unease under the perfunctory words of praise, the threat in the advice. He'd listened, but he'd said nothing, and as Giles' voice had tailed away, he had quietly hung up the phone.

It was easier to stay with Angel. Wouldn't admit it to the sod's face, naturally, but he... wasn't sure he was ready not to be there. Lame or what? The thing was... the thing was... Angel was his rock – his one solid reference in the madness of the world he'd been thrust back into. Their history, everything they'd shared, the cut and thrust of their relationship, the half hate, half lo... whatever – went back a long way. It was reassuringly constant, despite everything. Despite everything, Angel was still bloody lame and his hair still grew straight up. And he knew where he stood with Angel - mostly.

But Buffy? All his certainties, all the truths he had faced up to over the long months leading up to that day – the acceptance that he could be her confidant, her comfort, her champion even, but she could never love him; that in the end, when he had found his peace, it was enough – all of them had been blown away at the Hellmouth. I love you. The words that now tore him apart, gave him hope he was afraid to have, hope that hurt more than all her words of denial. So, what now? Stay here – get you kicks pissing Angel off and beating up the odd demon for the fun of it? Or... He'd told her once she was the one, and despite it all she still was. And he was still the fool for love – try as he might he wasn't going to change that – but he wasn't fool enough to go back. And he wasn't sure there was a way forward either. But there was one thing he knew he had to do.

xxxxx

The phone call from Andrew had started the longing, but it was Giles who was the trigger. He'd turned up on her doorstep within hours of Andrew leaving LA. She'd listened to his reasonable words, his calm arguments, heard the reluctance underlying the understanding, the plea and the persuasion. She'd listened, and she'd nodded, but her eyes told him she was closed to him. Giles knew she was beyond him in this – she'd make her own decisions, and the thought of those decisions weighed on him.

It was easier to stay with Dawn. She would never tell her this, but Dawn kept her grounded – she relied on Dawn much more than Dawn relied on her. Dawn was her one constant point of reference in the confusion that was normality. Their relationship, despite its roots, was familiar – normal, sisterly – full of arguments and laughter, secret-sharing and secret-keeping, caring and loving. Reassuringly constant, despite everything. Despite everything, Dawn had grown into a beautiful and well-balanced young woman, and the pride of this warmed Buffy's heart. Sisters and more - they understood each other.

But Spike? She hadn't tried to understand, not during the long months last year. Too many responsibilities, too much fear, too little hope, no time to see what was happening. Until there, at the Hellmouth, with the world falling around them – then she'd seen. Then she knew. Too late – and the pain of would have destroyed her had she let it. It would be easier to stay where life ticked by and you could lock the pain away until, eventually, it became bearable again – mostly. But he was back, and maybe it wasn't too late... but, oh, what if it was? She was afraid of what she might find; afraid of he had become, afraid of what she had become. But she knew what she had to do.

xxxxx

Angel had asked him where he was going. Was he going to Europe? Was he going after Buffy, because, frankly... Spike had stopped him with a snarl, told him he was fed up with holier-than-thou Angel and his whole bloody crew, and he just needed to get away because otherwise he'd go completely out of his tree and it was really none of Angel's damn business if he was going back to renew the pillow talk with the slayer, because, after all, Angel was well out of favour with his ex-honey... Angel had winced and Spike had relented and sighed, and told him he hadn't the first bloody idea where he was going, but he needed to be somewhere else. They'd locked eyes for a moment, then Angel had given a brusque nod and a half-hearted attempt at wishing him ill and hoping he'd stay wherever it was he ended up and not bother coming back to LA, and by the way? Don't touch the Viper. If he knew Spike was lying, he chose not to say anything. The thing was - Spike knew exactly where he was going.

xxxxx

Dawn had asked her where she was going. Was she going to LA? Was she going to see Spike, and was she really sure, because, in Dawn's opinion ... Buffy had stopped her with a sigh. It had been a hard few months and now... this. She just needed to get away, to think; she needed time alone without any well-meaning advice from family and friends... Dawn had winced and Buffy had felt a pang of guilt and hugged her hard. She told her she really wasn't sure where she was going, but it wouldn't be for long. They'd locked eyes for a moment, then Dawn had given a slight smile and made a half-hearted joke about finding somewhere with good shoe shops and hoping she'd stay somewhere where she could maybe find her a rich and handsome man, and she was not to forget to phone, because, you know, she'd just worry. If she knew Buffy was lying, this time she chose not to say anything. And as Buffy kissed her goodbye, the lie lay hard and heavy inside her – she knew exactly where she was going.

xxxxx

He had forgotten how far it was. The road through the desert stretched ahead, blindingly bright in the sun despite the necro-tempered glass of the Viper. For the first few hours he'd cranked up the music, car throbbing to Billy Idol, The Pistols and The Clash. He'd thrown back his head and sung along, with the fierce glee of freedom resounding in his voice. But once he'd hit the desert the music didn't feel right and he'd driven on in silence, subdued by the emptiness around him. For the last hour he hadn't seen another car. Come to think of it he hadn't seen a living thing – not a bird, not a beast – not even road-kill. Must be getting close, then. And the road stretched on, and the car growled softly, and the miles passed. And he was almost there.

xxxxx

It felt strange to be back. To be... home... she supposed. Good old US of A. Except it wasn't really home, was it? There was no home, not any more. She picked up the hire car from the airport, still proud of her new license (Hey! Look at me! Buffy's all grown up!), took a deep breath and hit the LA highway in the deepening twilight. She had this theory that if she saw... it... at dawn, maybe it would help. Maybe the sight of a new day rising over the scars of the past would give her hope for the future. Maybe it would give her the confidence she needed to do what she had to. Maybe it would give her back the fire she'd lost when she lost him. So she'd driven through the night, hypnotised by the headlights of the car on the smooth surface of the road in front of her, the thought of what she would find a knot of pain in her chest.

xxxxx

He stopped the car by the side of the road. The sun was almost down and the sky at the horizon was painted in brilliant hues of red and orange. Trapped in the glass and concrete jungle of LA, he'd forgotten how vivid the sunset could be. He leaned back in the bucket seat of the car, and lit a cigarette, gleefully blowing the smoke around the car, knowing how much the lingering smell would annoy Angel - if he went back. And that's why he was here. To get – what was it they called it? Oh, yeah – closure. Poncy word. Put it behind him. Move on. That was supposed to help, wasn't it? Christ knew he needed all the help he could get.

It was long after the sun had finally slipped below the horizon that he got out of the car, stretching and easing stiff joints. He looked down the road to where the tarmac ended, to where Sunnydale had once begun and where now there was... what? He'd never seen it - sort of heard about it, but never actually seen it. The moon had risen, bright and full, and the extent of the crater was becoming clearer. He let out a low whistle. Well, bloody hell – I did that? He lit another cigarette, frowning at the unsteadiness of his hands, and stood in the moonlight looking at the scarred landscape. Home sweet home. Squaring his shoulders, he strode forward to the crater's edge.

xxxxx

She stopped the car in the middle of the road to nowhere. Outside, the sky was crystal clear, the sheets of stars dazzling – she'd forgotten, after just a few months beneath the darkened air of Europe, how bright they could be here. Taking a deep breath, she opened the car door and stepped outside. The cool air was clean and soft on her skin – untainted. The moon was full, casting strong shadows over the empty landscape. She saw the empty car parked by the side of the road, glanced over at it as a slight breeze raised a swirl of dust by the open door. She wrapped her arms around herself and started to walk forward.

She halted a few steps back from the crater edge, hugging herself against the ache in her heart. Too many lost dreams, too many shattered hopes - too many memories vied for attention. But one memory was strongest of all; a memory of love and fire, of hope and loss, and the gift of a life. And it hurt. Then she heard the rasp of metal and a muttered curse so familiar she gasped. Stepping forward, she looked down into the crater.

xxxxx

Finding the sign had helped. He had smiled, remembering how often he'd demolished it in the past, and for a moment he'd forgotten the rest. He jumped down on top of it, cursing and staggering as it shifted under his weight, wondering if there was any way he could take it with him. There was a sudden gasp, an odd sound in the quiet of the desert night. And although he had no reason to hope, his eyes searched the crater rim.

xxxxx

There was the old "Welcome to Sunnydale" sign. And there... standing on it, gazing up at her, heartbreakingly beautiful in the moonlight...

xxxxx

The moonlight was strong, throwing shapes and shadows into sharp relief. And there... silhouetted against the shining sky, hand pressed to her mouth...

xxxxx

You came.

And for a long moment, time stood still.