Buffy felt bruised. Raw.

Not physically, though. Not this time and somehow that was worse.

Feeling strangely hollow, she watched Spike take his leave, his last kiss dwindling on her lips that seemed to burn with a heat he didn't even possess.

Maybe that was what hurt this time; that she was watching him leave. It had always been her walking away. She sought him out, and then she left, and yet this time she was watching his retreating figure with a pitiful ache cinching her lungs tight. His black leather coat swayed, white-blond hair glowing softly in the light of the streetlamps until he was out of sight.

Buffy pulled at her neck to ease some of the tension there. This was dangerous and had to stop. Every single moment in Spike's company was letting him in closer and closer without her permission. He was worming his way into her heart like a splinter she couldn't get out and—-for some inexplicable reason—seemed to actually be pushing deeper.

In comparison to their usual bouts of biting, clawing passion, this last time had been practically tender. Practically loving. And now it was like she'd been cut open and left with her heart exposed.

No, not going there. It's just sex. So what if I kissed him goodbye? So what?

It doesn't mean anything.

She blinked hard to try and push what they'd just done out of her mind, but her usual disassociation didn't want to play ball this time.

"I want you… You want me…"

And God she did—

She shook her head, trying to unlatch those words. Stupid Spike. How did he always have such an easy time saying exactly what he wanted? Whatever thought popped into his head half the time he voiced it. Probably more than half the time. Disastrous or not, honesty seemed to be the absolute only policy where he was concerned, and sometimes she hated it. And sometimes, when she was smiling fakely among her friends, nodding along and pretending to be there and happy and present, sometimes she really really envied it.

Appreciated it, too. No one else ever seemed to tell her the truth. She couldn't fault them, seeing as she was right there with them on this whole let's-pretend-we're-all-okay theater production that seemed to never have its final curtain.

I like that about him, she thought tiredly, clutching the Doublemeat bag to her chest like a little kid with a security blanket as she fumbled in her pocket for her keys.

A weighted guilt still draped across her shoulders and she sighed heavily.

She'd said she liked him sometimes. Sometimes. Like a coward. Because that was so ridiculously untrue when the fact was he was the only one she could stand right now.

Xander was so obnoxiously chipper, unwaveringly jovial, as Anya planned their wedding that being around him felt like getting into a tanning bed when you were already burnt all over. So horribly caustic that she could only bear his company in tiny little intervals.

Willow was suffering. Who knew how deeply. Waving at Buffy from within choppy waters of her own making and Buffy just knew if she reached out a hand to pull her out she would be dragged down with her. So she just watched. Watched as her friend drowned, and offered occasional advice like "hang in there," and "it'll get better, it takes time." All the cliché things people had parroted to her so many times that she didn't even need to connect her mouth to her brain to say them. Pat, pat. There, there Willow.

And Dawn…

She just wants me back like I was before.

But that person died.

Buffy tightened her lips, willing her emotions back into that cold, dead place inside of her but they wouldn't play ball. Wouldn't sit still. Maybe only a minute and a half after leaving Spike's company— two minutes if she counted pulling her coat back into place and dusting off the paper bag containing Dawn's now fully squashed Doublemeat burger—she already wanted to crawl right back into his embrace.

It felt like–

…She swallowed, allowing a momentary piece of truth to float to the surface of her denial…

—Like despite how badly she treated him, no matter what awful things she said to him or how much she pulverized him (both bodily and emotionally) he just kept being there. Being available, and none judgemental, and dependably there even when she hated him for it.

Hated him for being the only one she had who saw it all and didn't flinch at it. Didn't pretend it wasn't all there bubbling underneath the surface. He made it so clear that he could be more than just a fling, he could really be her friend, and that he considered her to be even more than that to him. That he would listen if she just opened her mouth and spoke some actual truths for once instead of denials and lies.

But being honest seemed like a shore she'd drifted too far away from at this point.

What is wrong with me?

If Spike thought of her as his best friend, and that was something she was genuinely craving, how completely off-kilter had things become?

She let herself in through the front door, heading to the kitchen, and halted, frozen to the spot.

"Oh- h-hi Buffy," Dawn stammered, lowering her cup of cocoa as her eyes darted to their guest. "Look who dropped by."

Halfrek smiled pleasantly, blowing on her own mug of cocoa with demonically veined lips.