Author's Note: I don't speak Italian. I only speak English and some haphazard French, so all the Italian that is spoken hear was done using an internet translation (which I am sure makes the translation come out quite broken). If anybody reads this who happens to speak Italian I would be forever in your debt if you could correct me as to what I've done wrong. For those of you (like myself) that don't speak Italian, I have included at the bottom everything that is said within the context of the chapter and the English translation for it. It just didn't make sense (from a literary standpoint) to do it completely in English, so here goes…

Buffy threw herself into that night's patrol with a fervor that surprised even her. She was angry and that always showed in her slaying. Anger fueled her fire, made her stronger, more aggressive, harder. It made her care less about what happened to her, and more about what happened to her enemies.

She wanted the kill. Wanted the satisfaction of seeing them turn to dust, or in the case of demons, the life leave their eyes as they fell to the ground. It made her feel as if there were still some things she had control over. Apocalypses came unbidden and all Buffy could do was react to them. Her mother had been right when she said her job was largely reactionary. But that didn't mean it was pointless and with each demon that fell, Buffy felt she was just one step closer.

To what though she had no idea. She used to think it meant that she was one step closer to being able to quit, to lead a normal life. But that hadn't been it. She had tried that, and it hadn't worked. She couldn't stay away, however much she thought she wanted to. Staying away meant someone else had to pick up the mantle, and although there were thousands of those 'someone else's' training right this moment, Buffy couldn't bear the idea of someone doing this because she refused to. One slayer dies, the next one is born. That was how it had always been. She had tried to change it, but her conscience would not allow it. Some rules, no matter how hard she tried just shouldn't be broken. She would do this until she died. Even then, it didn't always mean it was over for her. She had learned that the hard way.

She had killed three vampires already this evening, but it wasn't enough. Vampires were old hat. Easy. She needed a challenge, she needed to put her frustration into the fight, needed to feel the fire she seemed only able to feel when she was fighting.
Fighting…or making love. No. She SO wasn't going there.

But even as she thought that, an image of Methos sprang into her mind. She tried to block it out, to forget the hurt she had seen in his eyes this evening when she had shut the door in his face, but she couldn't. He was in her now, a part of her no matter how hard she tried to deny it. He didn't know it, but he mattered more than she wanted to admit.

And part of her hated him for it.

And just as her thoughts turned in that direction, a sharp cry of distress pierced the night air. She turned in the direction it came from and without thinking, was off running towards the nearby grave yard.

It was fairly generic as far as grave yards went. It had all the ingredients: tomb stones, dead people and vampires. Six as a matter of fact and it seemed they had two young victims captive.

Likely a couple, Buffy reflected as she ran towards them. Out for a walk, decided to cut through the grave yard…damn why do they always think this place is safe?

She reached the vamps with renewed determination and launched into a flying sidekick, hitting one of the vamps square in the head and knocking him a few feet backwards. She landed on her knees next to the stunned vampire and wasted no time in staking him and then turning to face the remaining five.

"Who wants the next dance?" She queried innocently. They were staring at her with rather stunned looks on their faces. The only good thing about being new to this particular Hellmouth was that most demons didn't realize she was the slayer until they were already at the wrong end of her stake.

One of the demons holding the teenage male said something in Italian that Buffy didn't understand. It was likely a threat, but it annoyed her nonetheless that she couldn't follow.

The only bad thing about the new Hellmouth of course would be the inability for the vampires and demons she fought to understand English. Well, the new ones couldn't anyway. Older vamps and demons tended to have done a little more traveling. Either way, these guys would obviously not be affected by her witty slaying banter, which tended to give her an edge in a fight.

"Well I'll just have to talk with my fists," she said with a shrug as she approached the group. She looked at the couple. "If you guys can understand even a little of what I'm saying, the minute you get the chance to, I want you to run."

Three of the vamps rushed her as she said this while the other two held the teenagers and leaned into bite them.

Buffy rolled underneath the approaching vamps and managed to elbow the vamp about to bite the young girl in the face before it could do so.

"Run!" She shouted at her as she tackled the vamp to the grass, and staked it. It turned to dust, but there was no reprieve as another was attacked her from behind. She stood up and threw her head back and was rewarded with the solidity of the approaching vampire's head cracking against the back of hers. It hurt for a bit, but it did the job, staggering the vampire so she could whirl on him and stake him as well.

There were three vampires left and one was still holding the boy captive. The girl had stood and watched Buffy, completely stunned while Buffy shouted at her. Even after she had ordered her to run, the girl did not comply. Either she didn't understand the universal language of danger, or she was in shock. Neither was a good.

Buffy threw herself at the vamp holding the boy, attacking it swiftly and without mercy. The boy scrambled away onto the grass and Buffy fought harder. He was difficult-moreso than the other vamps which had been fairly easy to dust. He fought back with a fierceness that she hadn't seen from a vampire in a good long while.

He's older, she thought as she landed a roundhouse kick to the face. And he knows who I am. That was a key factor in this fight. He knew her. He was ready for her. He hadn't underestimated her and he was giving as good as he got. He was ready for a fight.

She ducked a heavy handed punch, grabbed the arm that had shot out at her and twisted it, throwing the vampire to the ground. She shot down to the ground just as quickly as she could, but the vampire had already rolled away to regroup and charge again.

A sharp unexpected kick to the stomach had her on the ground, winded and surprised. She hadn't even seen it coming. She had concentrated on this one vampire to the exclusion of the others and it had resulted in both approaching at once.

Ignoring the sharp pain in her stomach, she launched herself back up and managed to stake the closest vampire to her before turning on the other one. There were two left, including the old vamp.

"No, fa non per favore!" The sound of the boy's voice distracted her for a brief second and it cost her a sharp blow to the face via the younger vampire. She tasted blood, which only served to anger her more.

"You messed up my smile," she muttered angrily. "That's gonna cost you."

She delivered a harsh uppercut to the vampire's chin, followed by a kick to the side. It did the trick, causing him to falter slightly. She took the opportunity and drove a stake into his chest.

There was only one left. The older one. She turned, and was horrified to see the young girl lying on the grass, her eyes glassy, open and staring in her final expression of terror. She hadn't been able to save her.

She didn't have any time to dwell on her failure however, as the vampire had grabbed the boy who was too upset by his girlfriend's death to put up much resistance.

"Oh no you don't," she growled, gritting her teeth and making a run for the vamp. He had just sunk his teeth into the young boy's neck when she reached him, kicking upwards and hitting his forehead with the edge of her toe.

It drove the vampire back just enough so that the boy was free. But he didn't run. Instead he staggered over to the body of his girlfriend and cradled her head in his lap, crying noisily. Buffy should have felt bad for him, but her anger was too great for that now.

"You wanna get killed too? Run!"

He didn't seem to hear her though, and she didn't have time to argue. Turning back to the fight, she ducked as a fist came close to her cheek and returned it with a harsh blow of her own. The vampire was obviously surprised by her force as he was knocked back a step or two. She felt herself grin, though her smile was slightly bloody.

"Yea, that's right. Now you've made me mad."

She jumped and kicked him hard mid-air in the chest, landing and rolling into a summersault which allowed her to leap up behind him and stake him from behind before he could react.

All the vamps were dusted, but it was far too late to save the girl. Buffy turned, not wanting to look, but knowing she had no other choice.

The young boy still held her, sobbing quietly now. He didn't even look up as Buffy approached him. She didn't know if he had even seen her dust the vamp. For all he knew she could be the creature. But he didn't move. He couldn't. He was too frozen with grief.

She knew the feeling.

Her heart constricted as she laid a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. He flinched, and looked up at her, eyes filled with tears.

"I….I'm sorry," she whispered, the guilt crashing over her like an angry title wave.

"È morta," he whispered brokenly. He looked back at the girl, then up at Buffy angrily. His eyes filled with rage and pain. "È morta!" He was yelling now, and Buffy could only stand there watching the boy grieve and feeling every bit responsible for his pain.

"What…what was her name?" Her voice was hoarse as she tried to keep the tears at bay. In her mind she could see the young girl standing there, too scared to run. She probably didn't want to leave her boyfriend. She probably stayed for him. And Buffy couldn't protect her.

They boy didn't know what she was saying, but Buffy needed to know. She needed to know that this girl had a name. That she wasn't just another faceless victim. It would hurt more, but she needed the hurt. She needed the consequences. They were all that was keeping her human anymore. All that was keeping her from becoming like Xander, or Faith or a hundred other examples of those she had failed.

"Her name," she said gently to the boy. She pointed to herself and said, "Buffy."

He still looked confused, so she did it again. She then pointed to the young girl.

"What was her name?"

"Si chiamava Francesca." The boy replied. He swallowed heavily and pointed at her, his voice rising in octave. "Si chiamava Francesca. È morta!"

"I'm sorry," she whispered weakly. She felt a tear slide down her cheek, and pushed it away fiercely. She knelt down next to the boy, trying to offer whatever comfort she could. But he was inconsolable. "I'm so sorry. I…I tried…."

"È morta e è la sua colpa! È tutta la colpa!" He clutched her fiercely and Buffy turned away from his gaze, unable to bear the hate and blame in his eyes. She should have saved her, should have been quicker, faster, stronger. She was the slayer.

She didn't know what he was saying precisely, but she knew he blamed her. And he had every right. She tried to stop the tears that now flowed freely from her eyes, but it was like an emotional dam had burst and Buffy had no control over it.

Turning back to the boy, she attempted to apologize again, but before she could say anything he spat in her face.

"Appena andare. Lei lascia muore. Uscire da qui!" His voice came out a furious hiss. Angrily he reached out and shoved her back, motioning for her to leave with his hand.

She stared at him helplessly, transfixed by the naked pain on his face, racked with guilt and completely unable to do anything about it. He didn't want her there, that much was plain, but could she really just leave? What if more demons happened along in her absence? What if he lost his life the same way?

From the look on his face at the moment she guessed he didn't much care if he lived or died. But she did. That's all she could do anymore.

Yanking the boy to his feet, she hauled him angrily against the wall of a mausoleum and shook him sharply to get his attention.

"She's gone." She said firmly, her heart breaking along with his. "This place isn't safe. Leave her. I will take care of her. Just go."

He shook his head fiercely, obviously understanding the meaning in her eyes, if not the words themselves.

"Posso non. Non posso partirla." He glanced at her body and wiped the tears away with the back of his sleave. Shaking his head, he stared at her. "Non posso partirla."

"I know how you feel," she told him. "I do. But you have to go." There was still no reaction, and Buffy knew that somehow she had to get the boy out of the graveyard. Stealing herself against what she knew she had to do, she grabbed the boy by the collar once more and hit him in the face, hard enough to split his lip. He stared at her in shock.

"I was being gentle." She said angrily. "I won't be next time. Go."

She shoved him for emphasis, but he seemed to have got the message. Taking one last look at the girl laying on the ground, he ran swiftly from the graveyard leaving Buffy there to deal with the lifeless body on the ground.

She couldn't take her with her. She had no idea who the girl was, beyond her first name, which the boy had provided. She couldn't take the body to the police. They would not understand her and that could lead to complications including the possibility of her arrest for the girl's murder.

She couldn't bury her in an unmarked grave. That was out of the question. The girl deserved a proper funeral, proper mourning. She owed her that much. Besides, the boy would be back and if he could not find her, it would only make it worse.

But she certainly couldn't just leave her lying out in the open like this.

Looking around, she saw the door to the mausoleum had a very thin padlock on the outside. It wasn't a proper grave, but it was shelter of a sort.

Making her decision, she hit the padlock as hard as she could with the butt of her stake and wrenched open the large cement door. She picked up Francesca as gently as she could, placing her down on the cold cement as comfortably as she could. It was a hollow comfort for Francesca felt neither the stone floor, nor the grass now. She was elsewhere. All that remained was a shell.

"I'm sorry," she whispered one more time. "You don't know how much."

She leaned down and kissed the girl softly on the forehead and exited the mausoleum. Finding the largest rock she could, she carved the girl's name into the stone of the mausoleum, hoping the boy would be able to figure out that was where she was.

Heart heavy, she headed back home, trying desperately to convince herself that this was just another night on the job.

Glossary of Italian sentences (badly translated, I apologize):

"No, fa non per favore": "No, please no!"

"E Morta!": "She's dead!"

"Si chiamava Francesca": "Her name was Francesca."

"È morta e è la sua colpa! È tutta la colpa": "She's dead and it's all your fault. It's all your fault!"

"Appena andare. Lei lascia muore. Uscire da qui": "Just go. You let her die. Get out of here!"

"Posso non. Non posso partirla": "I can't. I can't leave her."