Buffy stared at the monitor, her forehead furrowed and her lips pressed together as she clicked on one page of the Word doc after another. She pushed back from her desk with an audible sigh, flopping down on her bed with enough force that the various opened books that surrounded her jumped a bit.

Many years had passed since she'd first been called as the slayer, but she still wasn't research girl. She was pretty sure that either Willow or Dawn would figure out what demon they had come across and how to kill it (although Buffy still tended to feel that separating head from shoulders was always a good start), but she still felt obligated to go through the motions. She pulled one of the books toward her, hoping that it would reveal a hint, when a loud banging on her door interrupted her studies. "Come on in. My door is always open! Well, not in the actual open sense."

The girl who stuck her head in was at least four inches shorter than Buffy, and close to bouncing with excitement. "Lolly, what is it?" At fourteen, soon to be fifteen, Lolly was the youngest girl at the school, having been called only two months earlier. Buffy had never heard of anyone else with that particular name, but then she wasn't one to cast stones when it came to unusual first names.

"Ms. Summers?"

"Lolly, remember it's just Buffy. No need to be so formal." Buffy smiled, but the girl flushed anyway.

"Ma'am - I mean Miss, ah, Buffy." Buffy barely refrained from rolling her eyes. All this miss and ma'am stuff was making her feel ancient. Considering she was thirty-two, maybe she iwas/i ancient in the younger slayer's eyes.

"Someone's at the front door. Tania said I should come get you."

That was new. They didn't get visitors out here. They weren't even in the middle of nowhere, more like to the left of it. The school deliberately kept a low profile, no sense advertising, just in case demon central was listening. For supplies they drove into one of the nearby towns. She doubted they were in any danger, as bad guys didn't normally knock. And even if it was an extremely polite demon, there were a hundred slayers and a powerful witch in residence. But the thought of a stranger turning up here was definitely out of the ordinary. "I'll be down in a minute, ok?"

Buffy took two steps into the hallway. She was wearing ratty sweatpants and a T that had a picture of a large stalk of broccoli on the rampage with the caption "broc-zilla", not exactly meet and greet attire for the head slayer. Besides, what if Bradley Cooper had gotten lost and was at the door, asking for directions? She quickly changed into a pair of jeans and a blue sweater, and began walking slowly down the steps. She couldn't see who or what (always a possibility in her line of work) was at the door, because practically every single slayer in the building was crowded into the front entranceway, obscuring her vision. The space wasn't that small (apparently this had once been a boarding school for rich kids, and she suspected the entrance had contained potted plants, an imposing desk, a nice couch and other things to assuage rich people guilt for dumping their kids), but it was still a tight squeeze for one hundred girls. She could hear the random chatter of the girls even if she couldn't exactly see.

"Oh, early Christmas."

"I've got a spare bed."

"I call dibs."

The lower on the staircase Buffy got, the less she could see. She was too short to peer over the heads of a hundred girls, all pushing forward toward the door. (Although it was obvious that a lot of the girls were also hoping for a Bradley Cooper moment, since quite a few of them were way overdressed for a Wednesday evening.) She frowned for a moment, and then began climbing back up the steps, standing on her tiptoes and craning her neck, hoping that would help. Halfway up, she had a better sight line, although she still didn't really know what was happening. She could see the top of the door frame, but there were just too many people in the way. That's when she saw a red head, pushing through the crowd with purpose.

As Willow made her way to the door, the cacophony of voices began to quiet to a low murmur. Almost as if a hive mind was present, the slayers as one began to back away from the door the closer Willow got to the front. Buffy could see the open door now, but the visitor was just beyond the threshold.

"Oh, my goddess!" Buffy could clearly hear Willow's joy and shock. "We thought you were dead and then we knew you weren't, but we didn't know where you were, and then we thought you were dead after all, and mister, you have a lot of explaining to do. And now, you better get ready for a big hug."

Buffy's heart began to pound like something out of "The Tell-tale Heart". She could still hear Willow chattering away. "Come in. Of course, you're invited, I invite you in. And don't even think of not staying, we've got spare rooms."

Buffy watched, not sure whether she was going to throw up or cry as Willow tugged Angel over the threshold. He was the very last person on earth she expected to see. She hadn't heard word one from him in nine years. And now he just shows up out of nowhere? She pressed the palm of her right hand to her temple. The urge to run down the steps, push him back out the door and slam it closed was close to overwhelming

Why had he chosen now, after all this time, to come find her? Her mouth felt desert parched, her body unable to move even as her mind raced, trying to understand. Something in Willow's tone made her refocus her attention on them.

Willow was no longer hugging Angel, but instead had taken a half step back. "You're warm," she said, her voice sounding astonished and excited. Buffy watched, still not comprehending, as Willow grabbed Angel's hand, no, his wrist,and held it tightly. "Angel, you're-" and then she abruptly stopped, likely mindful of the fact that they weren't alone.

Feeling incredibly lightheaded, Buffy wondered if she was about to discover if people still swooned. Instead, she shut her eyes and took several deep breaths. She could hear the voices of the girls, all of whom were mumbling about who this guy was, and how did Willow know him? Angel was looking over Willow's head now, scanning the crowd. Looking for her, obviously. All he would have to do would be to look up, and there she'd be.

She began to slowly, quietly, carefully walk backwards up the staircase, her eyes focused on the mass of people beneath, silently ordering them not to lift their heads and give her away. When her right foot hit the landing, she spun around and bolted for her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Human, human, human.

Buffy's hands were trembling. She sank onto her bed, her palms pressed hard into the mattress.

When she had been young and stupid in love, she had spent a large amount of time dreaming of how Angel would become human. She would walk into the library and Giles, in that reserved, understated way, would casually remark that he had stumbled upon a spell. Or they would save a powerful wizard from certain death, and in repayment, he would grant them the one thing they both wanted. Or Angel would be mortally wounded (and how that was even possible, she had no idea, but at the time it seemed poetic and fitting), and an actual Angel would appear, and poof! a real boy, because he had already suffered more than enough (it now occurred to her that seeing Disney's Pinocchio at age four might have had some influence on this particular scenario). Even in the early, idyllic days she had known deep down that a relationship between a person and a vampire couldn't last, even if the person was the slayer. And so she had day dreamed, unwilling to believe that the world would be so cruel. Stupid indeed.

But of course, the world wasn't particularly benevolent, and so they eventually parted.

Those wishes and that girl seemed very far away now.

Why had he shown up out of the blue like this? Did he expect them to pick up where they had left off so long ago? It seemed faintly ridiculous and seriously presumptuous. Nine years was a long time and he no longer occupied her thoughts. She paced the room, her thoughts and emotions an absolute jumble, her stomach in knots. She had no idea how to respond to this situation.

She went over to her oak chest at the foot of her bed and calmly grabbed a handful of stakes. Although she hadn't found it necessary to do so in over a decade, she opened her window, silently climbed down to the back of the house, and snuck out to go kill some demons.

She wandered aimlessly for an hour, trying to make sense of it all.

The last time she had seen him, they had parted with a vague promise of someday, the taste of him on her lips. Fifteen months after that, her cell had rung.

"Xander, I told you already, the one with the rooster..."

"'Lo, pet."

"Spike?" Her voice had instantly hardened. "So nice of you to let me know you're alive, a year after the fact."

"That story telling git managed to keep a secret?"

Buffy sighed. "No, Andrew spilled the beans. But you were back a long time before then. Were you ever going-"

Spike abruptly cut her off. "You can give me the full measure of your wrath another day, slayer. Just wanted to let you know that the broody one and I are having a spot of trouble on our tails, but we'll be ok. Been in tighter jams than this."

"Spike, do you need help? Just tell me where you are."

"No. Just wanted to hear your voice. That's all. Take care of yourself."

"You going to be ok? You and Angel?"

"I was barbequed, but I'm still here," Spike pointed out. "Don't worry."

Of course she had worried. Her first instinct had been to hop a plane, force them to tell her what the hell was going on, and then help them take down the threat. But that just wasn't a possibility. There were hundreds of girls she was directly and indirectly responsible for. Her life no longer belonged to just her. Instead, she put out feelers to some demon underworld contacts, and three months later she was told that the two of them were alive, but had moved on before actually being seen by her scouts. Five months later she received a similar report, and then nothing. Finally, she turned to her last resort. Faith had screamed at her for five minutes straight for not clueing her in sooner, and then abruptly hung up. Months later, when Faith had turned up at the school, one look had told Buffy everything she needed to know. Letting go this time had been both harder and easier. Easier, because she had moved on with her life long ago. She had never had a choice. Harder, because coming back once from death was a miracle. Twice wasn't going to happen.

And now it seemed that Angel had never been dead at all. She apparently just wasn't important enough to let her know his status. If Spike hadn't called, he would have simply vanished, out of her life nine years ago.

Later that evening, she was seated on a headstone, elbows on her knees, her head cradled in her hands. Opposite her, a slightly younger girl mirrored her pose. She was dressed pretty similarly to Buffy, low rise slim jeans, deep purple crew neck sweater. She had explained to Buffy that she was trying to make a living as a writer, and found that cemeteries sparked her creativity. As soon as her companion was finished, Buffy launched into a rant about her stressful life heading up a school for gifted girls, and as if that wasn't enough, a guy she hadn't seen for nine years had just waltzed back into her life.

"I really don't know what to do."

"What do your friends think?"

"Half of them can't stand him. The other half probably think I should be making with the big smoochies."

"Is that what you want?"

Buffy's eyes blazed. "He dumped me thirteen years ago, and for the past nine years there hasn't even been a Christmas card."

"So, that would be a no then," The girl made a clicking sound with her tongue. "You should just tell him that you're not buying what he's selling and send him on his way." She shrugged. "He's just a guy."

Buffy wasn't sure that Angel had ever been just a guy, but still…"That's actually pretty good advice."

"I've had a lot of bad breakups," the other girl explained. "Especially the last one," she said as she absentmindedly rubbed the slope of her shoulder.

Both girls stood up from their respective perches. "Thanks. Talking to you helped a lot."

"No biggie. If you're in the area, I'm around."

"Unfortunately," Buffy shifted, and the stake suddenly appeared in her hand, "I think your advice- giving days are over," she said as she was showered with dust.

She felt a lot better about the situation. Her life was always crazy, but she was finally balancing all the moving pieces. She had a life she was happy with, and she didn't want or need complications.

By the time Buffy returned, it was late enough that even a house full of people who spent their nights working were all home and asleep. Quietly, she walked around to the back, planning to climb back in through her bedroom window rather than risk waking anyone by using the front door. Just as she turned the corner, she froze. Angel was sitting on a bench, overlooking the flower garden.

After a minute had passed, and he still hadn't looked at her, she relaxed. Obviously he hadn't seen her (and being able to sneak up on him was one more reminder that he was not who he had been). She stood there, not moving a muscle and silently studied him in the dark. He barely looked like the man she had known. She had expected the superficial differences – the way his chest rose and fell, the fact that he shifted and twitched as he sat, how, even in the dark, his skin tone was no longer alabaster but a more natural pink. But he was also thin to the point of near gauntness, his expression haunted. Angel had always seemed invincible, even through the guilt that shadowed his eyes. This Angel seemed completely beaten down.

Buffy watched from the shadows until Angel got up and slowly went inside. She let another ten minutes pass, and then went to bed.