Anya pushed the door open angrily, unable to control her emotions. She was the fifth place that had turned her down. It was a "we feel you just aren't suited for the job" or "we're sorry, but it looks as though we have a lot of other people lined up for the job..." It was always a no. She didn't know what was wrong with her. This time she had been turned down as a waitress for Bickford's. A waitress! If she couldn't land a job like that, she didn't know what she would do with her life. And she was so excited when she saw the "Help Wanted" sign plastered in the window. It was only a block away from the house, it would have been so convenient, she could have helped Xander pay bills, help with the grocery, but no. They had turned her down. She was walking up the steps now to the front door, and she regretted the moment she would have to tell Xander that she was turned down... again. She fumbled with fitting the key in the lock in the new darkness, but finally the door swung open.

As soon as Anya walked into the house, a strong smell rushed at her like a gust of wind. She coughed, quite aware of what it was.

"Xander?" She called, dropping her purse on the kitchen counter. She meandered into the living room to find Xander sitting cross-legged on the ground with a bottle of vodka in his hand and an array of pictures spread out in front of him.

Anya walked over to him, sitting down in front of him. He didn't look up. "Xander?" She questioned and he titled his head up to look at her. A drowsy smile spread over his face.

"Anya!" He exclaimed. "I was looking at some pictures from when we used to take pictures and stuff." The last words were a slur. Anya looked down at the pictures. She felt like a knife was going through her heart each time she saw. There was one of her kissing Xander on the cheek, and one Willow had took of them just hugging, one where her and Willow were hugging each other and beaming with Buffy doing bunny ears in the background, one of her posing in her bunny Halloween costume, she swallowed when she saw the one of her and Tara in midst of thumb war and laughing like idiots. She grabbed that one.

"Xander, please don't go through my things." She said as if scolding a child. There were too many happy memories in that pile, and she was supposed to forget them. She looked down at the picture in her hand. This wasn't supposed to surface again. This was supposed to be hidden, to help her forget that her friend was gone. It was hard for Anya, though she didn't show it, when she realized she was alone. After D'Hoffryn let her go, she had no one. She really felt the only ones who ever fully understood her were Tara and Spike. And they were both dead. Anya sighed, putting the picture face down carpet. At least Spike was back. At least.

Xander moved across to Anya, grabbing her hands. "What's the matter, An, you don't like the pictures?"

She shook his hands off hers. "No, I don't! Xander, you're drunk! It's disgusting!" She exclaimed, standing up and storming out of the room. He followed her, wobbling.

"Anya, I'm fine!" He grabbed her shoulders and spun her around.

"No, you're not! Let go of me!" She shouted, but he held tight to her shoulders and brought her body closer in an attempt to kiss her. She shoved him back viciously.

"Xander, stop! We are not together, and we are never going to be together, ever!" Anya yelled, backing away from him. "I just got turned down for another job and I am not in the mood to deal with your drunk ass!"

Suddenly, Anya regretted yelling at him like she did because he face got serious and he slammed the vodka glass on the floor, the shatter echoing. His forehead creased with anger.

"You are so ungrateful!" He raged, getting closer to her. "I'm providing all of this for you for FREE! And how do you pay me back?! By getting turned down by every job you try for!"

Anya's heart raced. She hadn't seen this side of Xander before, and she had to admit she started to get a bit frightened. "Xander, please, it's not my fault, they just... they don't like me!"

"And I can't wonder why! Most people don't like when you insult them, Anya!"

"I don't! Xander, I'm different now, I am! I never- please, Xander, just stop! Think about what you're saying, you've been drinking too much!"

He advanced even closer on her and she scurried into the kitchen. Xander followed, banging his hand on the counter as if to release frustration. "I'm drinking too much?! Don't think I've forgotten that night when you and Spike had too much to drink!"

Anya could nearly hear her heart pounding out of her chest. She gripped the table,standing behind it as if it was her security. "Xander, please, you know I was hurting!"

"It's always all about you!" Xander shouted, pushing down a kitchen chair violently. It fell to the floor with an echoing clatter. "You, you, you! All about what you're feeling!" Suddenly Xander's face got more menacing as a silence surrounded. In a frightening, deadly whisper that was more terrifying than the loudest yell from him. "Get out of my house now or I swear to God you won't make it out of hear alive tonight. God, no wonder I left you at the alter."

Anya trembled with fright. She couldn't move, couldn't think. This isn't right, this wasn't Xander. Xander would never say that. Xander would never hurt her. But his cold eyes stared right into hers and she moved slowly past him towards the door. She wanted to go faster, but her limbs refused to cooperate. This wasn't Xander, this wasn't. Something was wrong. A demon, something.

As she closed the door behind her and settled down on the step, she began to worry that Xander himself was his only demon.

It was two hours later, and, having nowhere to go, was leaning against the rail with her eyes closed in an attempt to doze. A voice startled her from her thoughts.

"Is that comfortable?"

Anya shook her head, clearing the haziness from her eyes. Spike stood at the bottom of the staircase.

"Very." Anya replied in an attempt at sarcasm, but her voice came out strained.

Spike climbed the steps and sat down next to her. "Why do I have the feeling that something is up?"

"What if I just wanted to take a nap in the fresh night air?"

"You're really not good at concealing your emotions, luv." He shared.

Anya sighed. "I used to be."

Spike waited for her to explain, but she just said there with her head against the railing, staring out blankly into the night. "So, what is the real reason you're sitting out on your front steps at nine p.m.?"

Anya turned to him, sighing. "Xander yelled at me."

"And you haven't seen scarier in your demon days? You shouldn't let him get to you."

"No, I haven't seen scarier. Spike, there was something wrong. He had been drinking- and he started yelling. At first I was scared, but then I was terrified. He threatened me, Spike."

Spike couldn't help but scoff, a smile burst through onto his face. "That little boy threatened you?"

Anya shook her head at him in disbelief. "God, I can't even talk to you? You and Tara were gone, gone, and you were the only two I could really talk to without any judgment, any, any laughter! But I guess you've changed." Anya stood up and raced down the steps, not sure where she was going. And as she speed-walked down the sidewalk to her unknown destination, all of the emotions that had been pent up fled back to her in the blink of an eye. Everything. Xander abandoning her, crushing her childhood dream, Tara's death, Halfrek's death just because of her own mistake, Buffy losing all trust in her and her disconnection from the rest of the Scoobies after all that had happened. Xander's horrible statement to her not two hours ago. And Hell. Hell was where the pain had never stopped, but she couldn't do anything about it. She couldn't scream, she couldn't cry. It's like someone had bound every release of emotions she had had. There were people, people screaming all around her, dying, being tortured. The fire, it wouldn't stop. And there was always the baby. The young baby not ten feet from her that just cried. And cried. And every time she ran to it, it would get further, she could do nothing to save it. For the first time since she was brought back, all of the memories she had tried to block just rushed at her like a freight train. And it hit her. She couldn't do anything, she succumbed to the pain. Her legs collapsed under her and she fell to the sidewalk, tears streaming down her face. She stared at the sidewalk and hit it with her palm, hit it as hard as she could as if it was God. She wanted to hit God so badly. She had no doubt in her mind that God existed after what she had been through, and she knew he had something against her. She wanted to scream, but her lungs were convulsing so badly that no sound would come out. And suddenly, in a rush of movement, Spike was across the ground from her and grabbing her hands, red and raw from scraping and hitting the sidewalk.

"Stop it!" He shouted, "You're going to hurt yourself!"

She fought against him, trying to rip her hands from his grasp. But he overpowered her and pulled her closer. She wanted to yell at him so badly, she wanted to tell him to get away, to leave her alone. But the words would not come out of her mouth and she gave up trying to fight against him. She put her arms around him and held onto him as if he was her life support. He was the only one she had to comfort her right now, and she accepted it. Spike obviously did not know what to say, or do, so he just hugged her tightly back.

As they sat, crumpled on the sidewalk, the sobs finally escaped Anya's mouth, they came uncontrollably. She buried her anguished cries in Spike's shoulder as she held tightly onto his back. Spike heard her say something, but he couldn't understand her muffled words. Then she repeated it.

"Will... you be... my friend?" She managed to get out in between sobs.

Spike knew it was a weird question she was asking, he knew that it didn't make much sense. But Spike knew what she was really asking. Will you never leave me? She was asking. When I need to talk, will you listen? Will you pick me up when I'm down, hold me when I cry? Will you be there?

He nodded, more to himself then her. "Of course I'll be your friend, luv." He whispered, preparing not to let go of her until her crying ceased.