She ran. Pounded the concrete as if she wanted to personally assault it. Which, given the situation, was entirely accurate.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to cry.

She wanted to heave.

Her run slowed into a march out of necessity as nausea swept up from her stomach, but even as she gagged she didn't stop. Had to get as far away as possible. The smell of the place was still thick in her nostrils—claggy and sour; the scent of blood and sweat and sex and mold.

She took a deep breath in, trying to clear the smell from her mind, and with it came the sting of tears as her adrenaline ebbed.

I can't believe he- I can't believe-

Her mind stuttered over the image seared into her mind, trying to twist it into something reasonable, trying to find an angle for denial to work its will on, and finding nothing but the sickening reality—

"BUFFY! CHRIST- Would you STOP!"

She didn't slow down even as Spike caught up with her, falling into hurried step next to her.

"I'm sorry-"

"Don't," she shut him down with clenched teeth. "Don't you even say it."

"What? Can't offer commiserations?" he huffed angrily. "I was just trying to help!"

"Oh PLEASE!" She spun on her heel and he pulled himself up to a halt. "You just wanted to inflict some pain! Except, hey, now you have that chip blinking away in your stupid head so yeah, guess it had to be the emotional kind!"

"Wha- that's not true!" he sputtered, clearly offended. "I was just doing you a favor!"

"Yeah, right!" she screamed, holding tight to the anger and desperately hoping it would carry her out away from the other emotions waiting to infiltrate her aching heart. If she could just keep fighting with Spike maybe she wouldn't have to face the rest of it.

"I WAS!" he shouted back. "Hate to be the one to tell you, honey, but this whole thing was doomed from the start. What, did you really think you were gonna prance off out of here be some Army Housewife with 2.5 kids baking apple pies every sodding weekend? You honestly think you could've stomached that?"

Buffy flinched.

That hurt.

Oh, that hurt.

Why did it hurt so bad?

It stung like she was sucking on a lemon with a mouth full of cuts.

Because you did want that a little, a small part of her said. The shitty, deadpan, nasty part, that was about to point out how stupid she would look if she started crying right then and there. The part that was always waiting to tell her what an idiot she was being. You wanted normal, the voice sneered like it was the dumbest thing in the world to crave.

You didn't even really love Riley, not like you know love is supposed to be, you were just in love with the idea of normal.

With safe.

And boring.

Buffy swallowed, trying to think of words to argue with herself—to argue with Spike—and finding nothing but that detached voice telling her all the things she didn't want to hear.

Face it, you would have gotten sick of that super quickly… you were already getting sick of it…

She bit her lip to stop it trembling.

Plus you suck at baking…

Rather than say anything else and risk the words sounding unconvincing—or worse, heartbroken—she punched him in the face and stalked off with tears threatening to spill.

Pained curses over her shoulder made the bitterness in her heart burn.