a/n: After plotting out how the rest of this season and the start of next season is going to go, I'm very curious to know what your predictions are. As always, thanks for reading and reviewing!

Chapter 88

The City That Never Sleeps

"I just don't trust him. Sebastian Smythe has only ever looked out for number one and this is just another one of his schemes."

Kurt squirmed in the back of a cab, in the narrow middle seat, which he'd been cajoled into taking even though was taller than the two who squished him on either side: Quinn and Blaine. Meanwhile, Rachel sat upfront with the cab driver, quietly looking out of the window with a thin smile spread on her lips.

"I thought we agreed to give him a chance," Kurt huffed.

"We did. Turns out, he's as uncooperative as I remember, and controlling, too."

"Maybe if you tried harder to get along with him-"

"Shhh!" Rachel ordered suddenly, spreading her hands against the car door window and staring wide-eyed out at the scene in front of them.

Quinn glanced at her girlfriend and then peered out of her own window. She had to admit, it was impressive. Rows of taxis and town cars were packed on the wide street and looking down at them were great, shining lights of billboards and screens lit up on the sides of building, advertizing 'Phantom of the Opera' and 'Jersey Boys'. It was Broadway. And despite the fact that Rachel visited nearly every summer to see a new show with her fathers, she looked as dazzled as Carrie Bradshaw in Paris. Kurt struggled over Blaine's lap to get a good, starry-eyed look at the iconic landmark.

Quinn smiled at her friends piled into the taxi and then back at the giant, towering billboards. She had balked at Rachel's excitement the whole bus-ride there as she played her iPod's New York playlist over and over for them - 'New York State of Mind', 'Empire State of Mind', 'Bright Lights Bigger City' - and the cabbie had seemed irritated that the small brunette had ordered that he take them this way, since they could have reached their hotel through a much shorter route. But it was worth it. This was Broadway. This was New York. For a fleeting moment, Quinn could appreciate what all the fuss was about.

xxx

"Buffy, what would I do with forty candy bars?"

Buffy thoughtfully leaned over her Chinese take-out, chopsticks expertly poised over a morsel of General Tso's chicken. "You could hand them out at the gallery!" she said brightly, swallowing a mouthful of rice, "'Buy something pre-Columbian, get a free cavity.'"

Joyce rolled her eyes and chewed her soy-soaked broccoli. "Twenty."

"You're a good mom," Buffy smiled, quickly picking up her box of candy bars and dumping half of them onto the island counter, where they ate.

Since there were ten smaller boxes of chocolate in the one big box Rachel had ordered the glee club to sell before she left for her interview in New York. All of the glee clubbers, plus Kitty, took one box to sell, and Tina good-naturedly took two.

"I'm the best," Joyce shrugged.

Buffy took a sip of water. "Mm, I'm pretty sure the best moms let their daughter's drive."

Joyce shrugged. "And yet."

"Oh, come on."

"Buffy, let's not have this conversation again."

"Mom, I took the class. I watched the gory after-school specials. I'm totally prepped."

Joyce rolled her eyes and stood to pour herself more water from a pitcher in the fridge. "You failed the written test," she reminded Buffy, "They wouldn't even let you take the road test."

"That was a year ago. And I don't test well."

"I wouldn't say that two days before the SATs," Joyce teased, and sighed, "Look, I spend enough time not knowing where you are. I don't want to have to entertain the possibility that you're tailing it to Miami with a couple of hitchhikers."

Buffy flinched. "Mom, please. I'm not taking off again. And if I really wanted to, I could get a bus."

Joyce grimaced. "Don't joke like that. Just… let it go, Buffy. I said no."

Buffy pursed her lips and pushed her dinner away. "Fine," she sighed, resigned, "I gotta go."

"You're going out?"

"Going for a slay-study double feature with Will."

"Again? Don't you think Mr. Schuester is asking a lot from you? He seems to be monopolizing a lot of your time, if you ask me."

Buffy sighed. "If it makes you feel any better, he's never expressed an interest in hitchhiking to Miami."

xxx

Shelby rushed from her seat on the living room couch as an incessant knocking came thudding from the front door. She peered through the peephole to see Puck standing in the hall with a small, cardboard box tucked under his arm. She wrinkled her nose and looked down at what she was wearing - tube socks, yoga pants and an oversized college sweatshirt. She almost didn't want to answer the door before mentally scolding herself for caring about how she looked to a teenage boy.

She unlocked the latch and opened the door. "Puck. I didn't know you were coming over."

"I wasn't. I mean, I never said I was. I just… I was in the neighborhood and since I'm in glee club, I have to sell these stupid candy bars and I thought you…" Puck trailed off, looking embarrassed.

Shelby glanced at the box under his arm. "You wanted to sell me candy?"

Puck shrugged. "Yeah, whatever, you don't have to buy it. Is Beth around?"

The boy stepped into the apartment and Shelby stumbled back to let him through. He walked through the living room, peering around for his daughter, as Shelby shut the door, forgetting to lock it as she hastily followed him in.

"She's already asleep, actually," said Shelby, trailing after him.

Puck looked back at her, only a little disappointed. "Oh. Well, listen, while I'm here… I wanted to apologize."

"You did?" Shelby asked, taken aback.

"When I spray-painted the gym after homecoming, I wasn't really thinking. I didn't think about how far I've come, in school and with Beth. I feel like I've become a better person and most of it is thanks to her and to you, for bringing her back. I feel like so much has changed and the rest of the world hasn't caught up yet. Like, the universe still thinks I'm a teenage boy, even though I feel like a man. So, I think I did it because I was frustrated. Like, 'if it's a teenager you want, it's a teenager you'll get'. You know?"

Shelby smiled warmly. "I think I know what you mean. But, Puck, you don't have to be so eager to grow up. Enjoy being young while you can. I wish I had."

Puck sighed. "Why? I mean, what was so great about living in Lima as a teenager?"

Shelby nodded. "You know, you're right. It wasn't great. I was an angry kid and I didn't get much attention from my family. I went looking for love and acceptance in the wrong places and spent most of my time so badly wanting to be in complete control of my life. But that's the thing, Puck. When you're in complete control, there's no-one but yourself to blame when something goes wrong."

Puck wrinkled his brow. He couldn't really understand what she meant but he knew there was an ocean of depth behind her brown eyes and he wanted to swim in it.

"Would you go back if you could?" he asked, surprisingly serious as he stared at her, ready to drink in her reply.

Shelby smirked a little and thought about it. "Would I want to be a teenager all over again? No, maybe not. But I think I'd be better off if I hadn't forced myself to grow up so fast."

"What do you mean?"

Shelby sighed. "Dating older guys. Moving to New York as soon as I turned eighteen. I was a waitress, a bartender, a maid and even a nanny before I finally went back to school. Took some classes and started teaching. By then, I realized if I had just held onto my innocence a little longer…"

Puck smiled wryly as she drifted off. "I think it might be a little too late for my innocence."

Shelby smiled. "I wouldn't be so sure."

Puck stared at her for a moment, before blinking and sighing. "I should go. I'll see you at school on Monday, I guess."

Shelby frowned. "Wait… Would you mind helping me with some paperwork? If you don't have any plans."

Puck looked behind him, at the messy stacks of paper that littered the living room coffee table. "Yeah, totally. What do you need?"

Shelby took a seat on the couch and Puck sat next to her. "Well, the papers with the green tabs go into this pile, and the yellow tabs go over here. Um, the red tabs go in the trash, and the blue ones… just write down this serial number here and then I can toss them. Got it?"

"Got it," Puck said, and quickly started to working, taking a strange comfort in the repetition.

Shelby smiled at him as he quickly fell into a rhythm of concentration. "Ms. Pillsbury seemed to have a pretty airtight system, but I haven't figured it out as of yet," she said softly, tossing a few red-tabbed pages into a wastepaper basket.

"She was pretty into organizing," said Puck, "Around this time of year she used to give a class for seniors on note-taking. And you could always go to her if you needed a highlighter or a binder."

"The students really loved her."

"Well, I think they mostly felt bad for her. She was this bug-eyed ginger lady and before she started dating Mr. Schue, there was this rumor that she had, like, eighteen cats and named them all after characters from Sweet Valley High," Puck rattled off, before looking up at Shelby, "Is that a totally not cool way to talk about a dead lady?"

Shelby shrugged. "You didn't start the rumor, did you?"

"Nah, I'm not really into the gossip mill. Now, name-calling, that's my expertise. There isn't a single name I haven't carefully chosen for a freshman nerd that hasn't stuck with him for the rest of his four years at McKinley. Not that I'm into that anymore. Plus, Rachel has us doing this Bully Whips thing. She's really…"

"Ambitious?"

"Pushy. But she's kind of cool. She does her own thing. You should be proud of her."

Shelby blushed. "Her fathers should be proud of her. They raised her into a very impressive young woman. I don't get to take credit for that."

Puck looked back at her, imploring. "Is that one of the things you meant when you said you grew up too fast? Having Rachel?"

Shelby sighed, lying an absentminded hand on a crisp sheet of paper.

"Sorry, you don't have to answer that," Puck said quickly.

"No, it's a fair question. I was eighteen years old when I had Rachel and it was definitely an experience that kept me from thinking of myself as a child ever again. I lied to her fathers about how old I was. I just really needed the money and when I heard about them looking for a surrogate, I thought it was the perfect opportunity. They advise against being the surrogate and the egg donor, afraid you'll get too attached, I guess. But I didn't think it would be a problem. I signed the contract and that was that."

"What contract?"

"The one that permits me from being in contact with Rachel until she's eighteen. Obviously that didn't work out, but it kept me away for a while."

Puck opened his mouth, wondering if he was out of line as soon as the question left his mouth. "Did you miss her?"

Shelby thought about it for so long that Puck almost thought she was going to ignore him. "She was born a little earlier than we expected. Her dads didn't make it to the delivery room in time to see her being born. The doctor let me hold her, for a while, before they showed up. The nurses didn't know the situation, so they left me alone, to bond with her," Shelby sighed, staring down at the coffee table, "She was so perfect. Pink little toes. Gentle little breaths. For a moment - less than a moment, probably - I thought about taking her with me."

Puck widened his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Picking her up. Leaving against doctors orders. Packing and skipping town with my money and my baby," Shelby sighed, before shaking her head, "But that would have been a disaster. I wouldn't have been able to give her the life she deserved."

Puck nodded slowly. The Berrys were good people, he knew that. But he couldn't help thinking of teenage Shelby in a thin hospital gown, marvelling at her newborn daughter's round toes. He could picture it perfectly, because it was the same thing Quinn had done when Beth had just been born. She had leaned over the baby's cot in the hospital's nursery and marvelled at the tiny pink fingers and toes, carefully counting each of them while Puck watched anxiously by the door, afraid that Beth would break if he touched her. All he had to add was dark hair, dark eyes and an air of wisdom to the scene to make it Shelby's.

"Sorry," Shelby shook her head, her cheeks getting warm, "I don't know why I'm making you listen to all of this."

"No, I asked. I'm interested. Besides, you can trust me," he said, putting a hand on her knee.

She scrunched her face like she was going to cry. "Yeah, I can," she sighed, and looked back at him, both sets of dark eyes parallel and searching.

Hopeful and terrified, he squeezed her knee harder and leaned in, breathing in her smoky scent just before his lips landed on hers, awkwardly pressing into her before he could get his bearings and slide his tongue daringly against hers. Shelby shivered when he did and by some grace of God, she kissed him back, breathing in deeply through her nose. He felt his body warm as she slid her hand against his chest and then tightly gripped his shoulder, but before he realized it, she was pushing him back, gasping for air, her wild eyes wide.

"You need to leave!" she ordered angrily, though he was still leaning toward her, his wet lips half-open.

"But-" he started.

"No, Puck, you have to go. This is a horrible, stupid, stupid mistake. God, what am I doing?" she stood up, running her hand through her dark hair.

"Shelby, it's okay!" he said, rising from the couch and reaching for her.

"No!" she yelled, "Go, Puck, just go!"

In the nursery, Beth started to wail. Shelby deflated, looking close to tears.

"I'll get her," said Puck.

"No," Shelby said, calming down, shaking her head, "Please, I need you to leave. Please."

Puck nodded, bewildered, and left the apartment.

xxx

Rachel stood with the curtains open on either side of her, smiling widely behind the floor-to-ceiling window. It was a small-ish hotel room the Berrys and the Andersons had pooled together for the kids, but the view was great. Quinn couldn't name any of the buildings she saw, but that didn't mean they weren't beautiful. It was a city that demanded your attention and she couldn't think of a more perfect place for her girlfriend. She was also impressed by how much her fathers trusted their daughter. Quinn couldn't imagine her own parents trusting her enough to book her a hotel room with her girlfriend. Then again, her parents would have a coronary if they knew she had a girlfriend.

"We need to go do something tonight," Rachel insisted, spinning around to look at the others, who were inspecting the pay-per-view movies on the room's TV set, the crisp room service menu and the mini-bar.

"Seven dollars for water?!" Kurt exclaimed.

"What do you mean?" asked Quinn, looking up at Rachel.

"We need to experience New York while we're here," said Rachel, "We have checkout in the morning, the interview and the tour of NYADA in the afternoon and then we have to catch a bus back to Ohio. We have to make tonight special!"

"You know, we can save up some money and take a weekend trip to New York any time," Quinn shrugged.

Rachel pursed her lips. "This is different. We have a hotel room and all four of us are free. We should celebrate!"

"Rachel's right," Kurt nodded, "And I don't say that every day."

"Where would we go?" asked Quinn, "We don't know our way around the city."

"But Jesse does, right?" asked Blaine, "You were planning to call him up while we were here, right?"

"Right," Quinn nodded.

"So, he's lived here for a few months now. He probably knows somewhere fun."

Quinn shrugged and glanced at Rachel. "That okay with you?"

After what happened to Santana over the summer, Jesse leaving Lima had been like a slap in the face to Quinn, but even though she missed him like crazy, she never brought it up to Rachel. The two had spent some time together working on restoring Santana's soul, but always with Quinn as a buffer. There was still some serious tension between the two prima-donnas, and why shouldn't there be? Jesse had dated Rachel while dating her mother, only to abruptly dump her and then be abruptly dumped himself.

To Quinn's surprised, Rachel nodded gingerly, a smile still on her face. "Of course," she said, "We're in New York City! Seize the day!"

xxx

Will leaned forward on his living room couch, his face illuminated by his laptop screen. His plate of Indian takeout laid on the coffee table, untouched. He had ordered himself food but was now too distracted to eat it. There was virtually no record of Al Motta, but he had found considerably more on his wife, Cookie. She was, apparently, a beauty-pageant queen from Indiana who married into a high-society family and divorced only a few years ago. Will blinked at the screen, aware that that must mean that Sugar was her child from a previous marriage - Al's step-daughter.

Things were starting to make just a little more sense when a knock came on Will's apartment door. He shook at the sound and stood up, only now realizing that he'd forgotten to turn the lights on when the sun set. He flipped on a few light switches and headed to the door, peering through the peephole and blinking a few times before he could really understand that Terri was standing out in his hall.

He threw open the door and furrowed his brow at her. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

Terri rolled her eyes. "Hello to you too, Will."

"Sorry, hi," Will sighed, "I'm a little distracted. I've been working."

"Surprise, surprise," Terri smirked, "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, sure," said Will, standing back to let her in, still a little confused.

He noticed as she walked in that she was carrying two plastic grocery bags. "You brought food?" he asked.

"Mm hm," Terri said proudly, "I'm going to make you a meal!"

Will loosened his tie, watching helplessly as Terri headed for his kitchen. He followed her, perplexed. "You're going to make dinner?"

"Yes, I am!" Terri chirped, laying the grocery bags down on the counter and removing several packages of organic food, "I was going to take you to lunch, and you said rain check. Well, Will, it's raining!"

"It is?"

Terri rolled her blue eyes again. "Will, crack open a window sometime. This place is so dark and colorless. You need a woman's touch in your life."

Will pressed his lips together, standing stiffly in the kitchen's entrance. "Look, Terri, you-"

"Don't have to do this," Terri sighed, "I know. But I want to. We've been on such bad terms for so long and I want to make it up to you. I still care about you, Will, and I know when you're not doing well."

Will squeezed the frame of the archway into the kitchen, his lips still pursed. He couldn't deny that she was right: he wasn't doing too well. His work as a watcher was better than it's ever been but his work as a teacher was dwindling and his personal life was virtually non-existent. He couldn't say much more when another knock came on his door. He sighed and left the kitchen, walking down the hall to peer through the peephole and see another blonde waiting behind the door.

He opened it, trying on a smile this time. "Hey, Buffy."

"Hey," Buffy smiled back at him, carrying a small box of candy bars in one hand. Her smiled faded as she heard the clank of frying pans coming from the kitchen. "You have company?"

"I guess so," Will sighed, "Come in. Were we supposed to have a meeting?"

"No," said Buffy, walking into the apartment as he closed the door behind her, "I just finished patrolling. Was in the neighborhood. Had twenty more candy bars to sell."

"Oh, no," Will laughed, "I already bought my share of chocolate."

Buffy shrugged. "Well, maybe your lady friend would like some."

Buffy made a beeline for the kitchen, curiosity piqued, just as Terri came out to them, carrying one bottle of red wine and one bottle of white.

"Oh, Buffy," Terri looked wide-eyed at the slayer, a little embarrassed.

"Terri," Buffy raised an eyebrow, "Uh, hi."

"Are you two doing some work?"

"Uh, no, I just stopped by the sell some more candy."

"Right," Terri nodded.

"You wouldn't want any, would you? I have twenty left. I'll cut you a deal. Five percent off."

"That's a one cent discount."

"It's the best I can do," Buffy shrugged.

Will frowned. "Buffy-"

"And it goes to us poor theater kids. We already get picked on enough. Don't make us join the Mock UN, like common nerds."

Terri laughed. "Anything for Will's favorite student. I'll find my wallet."

She disappeared back into the kitchen just as Buffy smugly set her candy down on and end table and lifted an eyebrow at Will. "Round two with the old wifey?"

Will looked mortified. "No," he said sternly, "She just showed up. She wants to cook for me."

"Been there," Buffy frowned.

"It's not like that. She's just worried about me."

"I'm sure she is. Welp, I'd better go."

"Already?" asked Will, "You know, I made a little bit of progress with the research on Al Motta. If you wanted to stay-"

"Can't," Buffy shrugged, "Mom's in hyperdrive. She wants me home, like, ten minutes ago."

"You can't tell her you're with me? We haven't had a real meeting about this situation yet-"

"Sorry, you know her," Buffy shrugged, already backing away, "Tell Terri she can give me the money on Monday, okay?"

Before Will could say much more, Buffy had sped out of the apartment and Terri popped her head back in, making him jump.

"I think I left my cash in the car. Where's Buffy?" she asked.

"Um, she left. She said you could give her the money on Monday."

"Oh, okay," Terri shrugged, and then once again lifted up her bottles of wine with a smile, "Merlot or chardonnay?"

xxx

Once again, Quinn and the gang piled into a cab and jetted right through the bright lights of Broadway - this time glowing in New York's not-quite-darkness - and toward a cocktail bar, where Jesse had promised over the phone he would meet them. They quickly emptied out of the cab when they reached their destination. The place was called A Minor and the kids' eyes sparkled at the long line of well-groomed twenty-somethings lining up to get in, wearing thick-framed glasses and thrift store t-shirts under sleek, expensive Alexander McQueen blazers. Kurt's fashion-forward eyes boggled out at them.

"Jesse!" Quinn called, instantly spotting the boy dawdling on the sidewalk, typing absently into his phone.

He looked up and his gray eyes warmed as he bounded forward and threw one arm over Quinn, pulling her into a friendly and much-needed hug. He looked good, his hair somehow darker, his eyes lighter and his clothes expensive.

"You're blond!" he smiled widely, looking down at Quinn as he pulled away from her hug.

Quinn touched the ends of her now pinkless bob. "I went back for homecoming," she shrugged.

"Well, thank God," he said, and glanced at the others, "Rachel. Doublemint Twins. Welcome to New York."

"How've you been?"asked Quinn.

"Let's talk in there," said Jesse, pointing toward the club, "Come on, I know a guy."

Jesse had used the same cryptic phrase when Quinn had talked to him on the phone. The scoobies-abroad followed him as he strolled past those who were waiting in line. The queuers scowled at them as they reached the front of the line, where a surprisingly slender bouncer was waiting, his head shaved and a black suit draped over his leanness.

"Jesse St. James," he said, smiling coyly up at the bouncer, "I think you'll find I have a reservation."

The bouncer snorted. "We don't do reservations."

"Well, then I'm on the list. I'm V.I.P. Whatever the term is that'll get you to let me in."

The bouncer curled a distasteful lip up at Jesse. "And why should I let you in, Timberlake?"

"The club owner is a good friend of my employer."

"Oh, yeah, and who's that?" the bouncer asked, unimpressed.

Jesse reached inside the breast of his jacket and removed a small, black business card, handing it smugly to the bouncer, who took one wide-eyed look at it and stood back, removing a thin velvet rope in front of the door. Jesse glanced at the scoobies behind him and beckoned them to follow. Stunned, they did, and took in their surroundings as they entered a darkened yet colorful, jazzy bar full of high-society hipsters. A youthful band, who no-one was paying much attention to, played a melancholy, hard-to-recognize version of 'Happy', with lots of cymbal and bass guitar.

"This place is amazing," Kurt exclaimed as Jesse led them to a quiet corner of the club, where turquoise couches were collected in a semi-circle.

"Who's your employer?" Quinn wrinkled her nose, "I didn't even know you had a steady job."

Jesse shrugged. "Well, the orange juice commercial fell through."

"And now you're working for…?" Quinn asked, not letting up.

Jesse smirked, rolled his eyes, and handed another black business card to Quinn, who scrunched up her face at it.

"Tiffany Greenwood?"

Kurt gasped and grabbed the card from her. "The Tiffany Greenwood? This is not real!"

"'Fraid it is," Jesse shrugged, unable to look as aloof as he wanted to. He was just too delighted by the attention.

Even Rachel snatched the card away from Kurt, sucking in some air. "No way are you working for Tiffany Greenwood," she shook her head, "This has to be a different Tiffany Greenwood. Not the two-time Oscar nominee!"

Jesse smiled wider. "I actually prefer her forays into independant film. Very underrated performances."

Kurt almost screamed. "How do you work for her?! Are you her apprentice? Her protege?!"

"Almost. I'm her nanny."

Quinn snorted. "You're a nanny?"

"Just until this acting thing shakes out," Jesse shrugs.

"How did you manage to get hired by Tiffany Greenwood?" asked Blaine.

"I just had to tell her about my years in childcare education and adorable anecdotes about my beloved younger siblings, and she didn't want anyone else but me," Jesse shrugged proudly.

"So you lied?" Quinn smiled, "And she didn't think to do a background check?"

"Please," Jesse waved her away, "One voice augmentation spell and a phone call of recommendation from Angelina Jolie, and I was the hottest nanny in Manhattan. Figuratively and literally."

"Nope, just figuratively," Quinn shook her head.

"Be nice. I got you in here, didn't I?"

"No, technically Tiffany Greenwood got us in here."

"You have to tell us everything about her!" Kurt gushed.

"Please, there's plenty of time for that," Jesse shook his head with faux modesty, "Facebook. Texting. Even old-fashioned e-mail. You're in New York City tonight. Go, soak it up."

Rachel smiled widely and leaned in closer to Jesse. "Is it still magical? Living here?" she asked.

Jesse smiled and nodded. "Maybe after a year I'll be a jaded New Yorker, but for now, yeah. It's downright enchanting."

Looking satisfied, Rachel stood up and smoothed down the lime-colored dress she'd borrowed from Quinn (who'd taken it from Santana's old closet) and squealed, "I'm going to go see if I can spot some famous people!"

"I'll order us some drinks," said Jesse.

"Ooh!" Rachel buzzed excitedly, "Get me a Manhattan!"

xxx

Santana was stretching when Buffy came into the condo. Reaching for the tips of her toes to stretch the limber, vampiric joints of hers that normally needed no stretching. It must have been a habit, Buffy thought, from her cheerleading days. Stretching and warming up before a workout. Santana would never need to work out ever again for any other reason than relaxation.

"Buffy," she sighed, looking up as the slayer strolled in.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, scrunching up a brown paper bag of pigs' blood in her hand.

"Better," Santana replied, and stood up from her yoga mat, centered in a room that could have been a dining room if it had any furniture.

"We're going to need to make a trip to Ikea some time," Buffy mumbled as she eyed the crown molding.

"I'm sorry about the other day," Santana said quickly, like it was her plan all along to force the stiff sentence out of her mouth.

Buffy blinked at her. "No, don't be. You're going through a lot right now."

"Yeah, I just… I didn't mean to…" Santana stammered, running a hand through her thick, black hair. Always so bad at apologizing. "How's your boyfriend?"

Buffy blanched at the sentence, delivered without a hint of sarcasm. "My what?"

"You said you were seeing someone. Joe."

"Oh. No, Joe is no more. N-Not like he's dead. He's just not my- He's fine. This is for you," she said, awkwardly holding out the paper bag, "It's fresh from the butcher."

"Thanks."

Santana took the bag from her, holding it tensely by her side, her expression inscrutable. No, not inscrutable, Buffy realized. She was embarrassed.

"Have you seen Angel?" the vampire asked.

"No," Buffy shook her head, "I mean, not since school started. He's still in New York. He doesn't know. I don't have any way to contact him… but things get back to him, right? He has his mysterious sources."

"He should come back. I mean, I'd like him to."

"Yeah," Buffy nodded.

"He could help me get better. Get blood for me. Keep me company... And you wouldn't have to come around anymore."

Buffy flinched. "No, I guess not."