Methos' place in Paris was not an apartment like the one in Seacouver. He told her that he used to own one, but after quitting the Watcher's Council, he saw no need to keep up the pretense of Adam Pierson's poverty and bought a three bedroom home. He also had a large basement that he told her could serve as an extra bedroom complete with a pull-out couch.

Both Xander and Dawn were asleep in the back of his Range Rover, exhausted from the flight as he explained this. Buffy decided that she would take the basement and Dawn and Xander could have the two other bedrooms. The idea of an entire basement to herself appealed to her.

She barely took the time to glance out the window as the city of Paris flew by them. It had been so long since she'd talked with Methos that she focused all her attention to staying awake so that she could talk to him. Looking at him in profile as he spoke kept her mind off of so many other things, Spike in particular. It still hurt so much.

She woke Xander and Dawn up when they reached their destination and the four weary travelers trudged inside Methos' home, rubbing their eyes as they adjusted to the lights.

"Your beds are all made up," he told Dawn and Xander. "I put some extra sleeping bags in them, as well as the basement and the living room. I thought I might be housing more people than this."

"We might need them yet," Buffy told him. "Things aren't exactly set in stone right now." She stretched and yawned at the same time. All that sleeping on the plane and she was still exhausted.

"You should all get your rest," Methos told them. "I'll show you where the rooms are."

He gave Buffy a look that told her he would be back for her in a moment, and gestured for Dawn and Xander to follow him. They did so, too bleary to speak and Buffy was left standing in his living room, just as she had been five years ago.

It was decorated much the same way as the other apartment had been, although the furniture was different and so were some of the wall coverings. His CD collection and bookshelf varied greatly from before as well, leaving Buffy to wonder if he kept houses like this, furnished and stocked with his favourite things all over the world. He had a vast amount of tastes, and they were showcased in this one simple living room. He had the money, so it made sense that he would need many places to keep everything. It was an enviable thought, especially after all the money trouble Buffy had gone through after her mother died.

At least Dawn will be provided for while we stay here, she thought idly though she knew she could not impose on Methos' generosity for too long, no matter how good of a friend he was.

The sound of his feet touching the carpet as he descended the stairs brought her out of her reverie and she smiled when he came into view.

"It's a nice place." She told him. He shrugged as if to say it's OK for now.

"I figured you would want the basement, so there's something on the couch down there for you." He told her, motioning for her to follow him. Her face brightened.

"Oooh, present!"

The basement was a cozy little room, with plush carpets, a couch, television with DVD player and VCR as well as stereo system, and appropriate cabinets and drawers. On the couch which was already pulled out, was a small box, wrapped neatly with a ribbon tied around it.

When she reached it, she eagerly ripped off the paper, then laughed when she saw what was inside. It was an English to French translation dictionary.

"I figured you would need it, since you were always telling me how bad you were in French." He spoke seriously, but there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. She laughed.

"Thanks. I'll need this, believe me." She grinned and put it back on the couch. He walked over to the drawers and opened them. Inside were various items of clothing, some with the price tags still on them.

"I bought some clothes for you." He told her in explanation. "I figured since you said you had nothing…." He trailed off and shrugged once more.

She walked over to the drawer and began to pull out some of the items one by one.

"I think I remembered your size right," he continued as she looked through them. "Although my actual fashion sense might leave something to be desired."

She smiled and opened the top drawer, only to close it again, face reddening as she discovered various pairs of bras and panties inside. Methos sensed her embarrassment and blushed as well.

"I had to get you everything." He said in explanation.

"You didn't," she said, allowing the gratefulness she felt to enter her voice. "You didn't have to do any of this. I…I don't know when I can pay you back, but thank you."

"These are gifts Buffy," he murmured. "Payment isn't necessary. We can go shopping tomorrow for Xander and Dawn as well. I didn't know how many were coming so I couldn't buy stuff for everyone."

"Don't worry about Dawn, she'll just steal my stuff." Buffy said lightly, attempting a joke. His lips quirked upwards in a half smile, but his eyes remained serious.

"I know you're tired, but…" he paused, trying to think of a proper way to form his words. "Do you want to talk? About anything? I'm not asking for a full play-by-play on the 101 slayers, but you sounded pretty…upset on the phone."

"Lots of people died a few days ago," Buffy said quietly, refusing to meet the concern in his eyes. He had been so wonderful to her that it took almost everything inside her, not to break down in his arms right there and sob until she had nothing left. Instead, she forced a smile.

"Friends of yours," he said softly. She nodded and bit her lip. He touched her shoulder. "And maybe someone else…a man you cared about?"

"Spike," she whispered, the word barely audible. "He saved us. He sacrificed himself to save the world."

"And you loved him." He reached out and gently cupped her chin, tipping her face to look him in the eye. She was trying desperately to hold her emotions in check. She did not want to break down in front of him. She wasn't the same fragile girl he had known five years ago. She had hardened herself, learned to put up walls so that others couldn't see her pain. It was a survival tactic, something that had kept her alive, kept her a good slayer.

But Methos didn't care about any of that. He wanted to be there for her like he had been before, to comfort her. He could see the hurt that lie across her face, plain as day and it tore at him. She was different in so many ways and yet she still wore her heart on her sleeve for those that knew where to look.

"I don't want to talk about this," she was saying as she tried to turn away. He gripped her shoulders firmly, refusing to let her go.

"Buffy please don't shut me out." He took a deep breath. "I know you're hurting. I just want to help you."

"What if you can't?" She looked up at him, eyes wide, searching for answers that she knew he couldn't' give. "I feel like I'm the only one Methos. The only one who knew him, who can grieve for him, who loved him. The others…they can't understand and you didn't know him…"

"I know you," he told her gently. "I know your capacity to love. I know you would do anything for someone you cared about."

"He didn't even know." She continued. He wasn't even sure she had heard him. "I told him before he died, and he didn't believe me. I don't think he wanted to. I should have told him sooner, but I couldn't. My stupid pride kept me from it. And he'll never know. He'll never know that the only other person I ever said that to was Angel. Not even Riley…"

She trailed off, and looked up at Methos suddenly, tears glistening in her eyes. She started to tremble and he watched as days of grief, hardship, pain and sacrifice caught up to her all at once. He pulled her closer.

"Sssh, it's OK." He murmured, trailing a finger down her cheek. "Go ahead Buffy, it's OK. I'm here."

"Methos…" her voice was little more than a ragged whisper as the sobs overtook her. For the first time since they closed the Sunnydale Hellmouth, Buffy Summers allowed herself to truly grieve. She let the pain of those she had lost course through her, allowed the tears to flow down her cheeks and onto Methos' sweater. She felt his strong arms wrap around her, and felt safe in a way she hadn't in a good long while. Nothing could touch her here and now. He would shelter her, hold her, and not think any less of her for breaking down.

She was the slayer, but he also knew she was a person. He understood her vulnerabilities and she understood his.

His heart broke for the young woman who cried against his chest, so fiercely. He had wanted nothing more than to see her again, but not like this. Not for this reason. Everything she knew was gone. Her town, friends, a lover?

He had always been in awe of her for her resilience, but to escape such devastation, with only her friends and the clothes on her back was truly a remarkable thing. He was grateful beyond words that it was him she could turn to when it got to be too much to handle. She would never know how much that meant to him.

Finally, after she had felt she had no more tears to shed, she backed up from him, sniffling and allowing a little embarrassment to creep over her face.

"Every time I see you it seems all I do is cry all over you about someone else."

"Sure makes a guy feel loved," he joked, trying to alleviate some of the tension. "I'm sorry if I pushed you, but you looked like you needed that."

"I did," she told him with a shuddered breath. "Thank you."

"We'll talk more tomorrow." He promised as he turned to head upstairs. "And you can tell me all about how you managed to create your band of slayers."

"G'night Methos," she said as she allowed herself another yawn. "Thanks for the underwear."

"A phrase I always hoped to hear from you slayer," he teased as he headed for the door. "Sleep well."