“Buffy,” Nathan said with a distant smile, watching the blond sit across from him in the small diner, “you’re late.”

“Yeah, well,” she hedged, “I got caught up at work, y’know. Ms. Perkins can be a real slave-driver.” As can those nasty Hashir Demons that’ve been terrorizing Spi—er, Shady Hill Cemetery lately... “You’re lucky you got me at all,” she finished with a perky smile.

Nathan didn’t look impressed. “I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you,” he commented bitterly into his coffee.

“No,” Buffy instantly denied it, “I’m not inconvenienced, really. I’ve just had a lot of work to do and—”

“At the Administration Office?” Nathan asked in disbelief. “The place was only open ‘til noon today. I’m not stupid.”

“No, of course not, not stupid,” she agreed, mildly panicked now.

“Buffy,” Nathan’s pained eyes looked into hers, “if there’s someone else, I want to know.”

“Someone else?” she let out a humorless laugh. “Of course there’s no one else.” Isn’t there? that naughty voice in the back of her mind couldn’t help from asking.

“Then, I don’t get it!” Nathan exclaimed, banging the table with his fist. “You act like you’re interested, like you like me, and then all of a sudden...you’re so distant. I feel like I don’t know you anymore, like I never did.”

That’s because you didn’t. Only one person’s ever known me, and I can never be with him...

“I-I’ve just been really busy lately,” she insisted, wide-eyed.

“You’re right,” Nathan nodded. “You’ve been too busy, too busy for me, at least.”

“No, I’m really not,” Buffy pleaded. “I’ve got the next two weeks off. We can get together this weekend, and—”

“Buffy, no,” Nathan said tiredly. “I’ve heard this all before, and I don’t think I can go through with it again.”

She sat there, stunned. “B-But, then...what do you want me to do?” she asked weakly.

“Nothing. I think,” Nathan sighed, “that this isn’t working out.”

“What do you mean, not working?” Buffy entered nervous babble mode. “It can work. We’ll make it work.” She reached for his hand.

Reluctantly, he pulled it away. “I’m sorry, Buffy,” he said, getting up, “but I think we both need some time and some space. I know I do. Good luck,” he added, and then he was gone.

Buffy blinked blankly at the table a few times before the waitress approached her table. “Coffee,” she managed to say numbly before she buried her head in her hands and said the one name that always came to her in these circumstances.

“Angel...”

“So, he dumped you,” Anya shrugged, sipping at her martini. “It’s not like you even liked him that much in the first place.”

“Some Vengeance Demon you are,” Buffy pouted. “Shouldn’t you be trying to get me to make some nasty wish concerning his balls right about now?”

Anya shrugged. “It’s no fun when the wisher’s heart isn’t in it,” she replied simply.

Buffy sighed. “OK, so maybe I never really liked him that much,” she conceded, “but at least he was better than Ryan...”

Anya cringed at the name of Buffy’s ex-husband. “Now, there’s a man I wouldn’t mind doing some vengeance on,” she commented. “Why you ever agreed to marry him is beyond me.”

“I was all confused after the Angel thing, part two,” Buffy admitted. “And needy. I wanted someone who would take care of me.”

“Which, of course, meant you had to marry a domineering, ‘women in the kitchen’ bastard,” Anya exclaimed, still enraged. “I mean, what was that?”

“Me caving in and realizing that I’d never be happy?” Buffy suggested.

“There’s a difference between being constantly miserable and not being happy,” Anya scolded.

“Yeah,” Buffy sighed, thinking wistfully of her lost love.

Anya frowned in response. “You don’t blame Angel nearly enough for how much he messed up your life. There’s someone else I wouldn’t mind doing a spot of vengeance on,” she announced, draining the last of her drink.

“Oh, let Angel get on with his new life,” Buffy said bitterly. “After all he’s been through, he deserves it.”

“You’re too forgiving,” Anya decided. “You blame everything on yourself, when—”

“This is my fault,” Buffy insisted. “I made my bed. Now I have to lie in it.”

“God, don’t you ever get tired of being a martyr?” Anya rolled her eyes.

Buffy cast her an annoyed look.

“What?” Anya protested. “I’m sure he’d agree with me.”

“I’m not going to ever find anyone who can replaced him,” Buffy insisted, hating herself for getting into this argument again but not being able to help herself.

“You don’t replace people,” Anya rolled her eyes. “You just move on.”

“From your soulmate?” Buffy protested.

Anya groaned. “Right, like I haven’t heard that one before...”

“This is different from you and Xander,” Buffy insisted. “You don’t understand. He was the only one who ever really understood me, who accepted me for what I am, who knew the real me.”

“And I felt the exact same way with Xander,” Anya countered, “but it didn’t stop him from leaving me at the altar.”

Buffy sighed. “Can we just not argue about this?” she requested. “We haven’t seen each other for weeks. I’m sure we have other things to discuss.”

“You’re the one who brought up exes,” Anya pointed out, “what with your new one and all.”

Buffy ignored the comment. “So, where’d you go off to this time?” she changed the topic of conversation.

“Demon dimension two worlds over and three up,” Anya reminisced. “They have these things there – like giant catfish but inside-out and covered with defensive parasols. It was a great time...if you discount the large, somewhat stern Jack-In-The-Box junipers...”

“Uh-huh,” Buffy looked at the Vengeance Demon like she was nuts. “So, vengeance served?”

“I’m back on call, amn’t I?” Anya answered before frowning. “And you shouldn’t ask me that. It’s strange and somewhat alarming, like you’re going to slay me or something.”

“What part of ‘retired’ don’t you understand?” Buffy assured her.

“The part where you still go out and kill things every night,” Anya answered readily enough.

“Anya,” Buffy informed her sternly, “you’re the only one of the Scoobies left. There’s no way I’m going to slay you.”

“Not even if I staked your ‘soulmate’?” Anya just couldn’t leave that scab unpicked.

“Anya...” Buffy warned.

“Right,” Anya agreed perkily. “So what have you been doing...being here and all...”

“Work, getting dumped, slayage,” Buffy sighed. “That pretty much covers it.”

“How...interesting...”

Anya was trying, she really was. Buffy had to give her that much. In the days right after the Hellmouth was closed for good, neither of them had really bothered to be civil to each other. Which, Buffy supposed, was reasonable given how shattered the experience had left both of them.

To this day, she could still hear the screams, echoing throughout the ruins of the old high-school as the Hellmouth was finally sealed with its last sacrifice...

“You’re remembering again,” Anya said with a kindness in her voice that Buffy had never noticed prior to The End.

“I am,” Buffy sighed. “I just wish...” That night she had gone back to the empty crypt, hoping against all hope that Spike would be back, that he would heal her like he had after she’d come back from the grave. Hell, that he would just hold her again, take her into his arms, tell her that he loved her...

“Yes?” Anya’s ears had perked up at the sound of those potent words.

“Nothing,” Buffy caught herself in time. “No wishing here.”

Anya pouted. “You’re no fun,” she complained.

“Just keep the vengeance confined to the demon dimensions, and I won’t get any less fun,” Buffy countered.

“See? There you go with the threatening slayage again! I think your latest ex, Brad...or, er, Brad...” Anya paused, frowning as she tried to remember the inconsequential name.

“Nathan,” Buffy reminded her.

“Whatever...was right,” Anya finished. “You are working too hard.” She shifted her shoulders uncomfortably. “You’re getting all slay-happy again. It’s like after—” She cut herself off when she realized where that train of thought was going.

Buffy let it slide. “Y’know,” she thought aloud, “maybe you’re right. I do have two weeks vacation coming up, and there is this ski lodge—”

“See, there you go.”

“—that’s having a demon problem. I was going to advise them to go elsewhere for help, but...”

Anya sighed. “What part of ‘vacation’ don’t you understand? You’re supposed to have fun, not kill things.”

“But killing things is what I do for fun,” Buffy insisted.

Anya mock-scowled at her. “It sounds pretty fishy to me...and not inverted-catfish fishy.”

“Huh?” Buffy blinked before shaking her head. “And this from someone who writes off all of her inter-dimensional traveling expenses as business trips?” she pointed out.

“Those salamanders were vital for inventory,” Anya insisted. “And they just don’t grow like that in this dimension.”

“Uh-huh.” Buffy was lost again.

“Although,” Anya said thoughtfully, “I suppose a working vacation is better than no vacation at all...unless it’s to the former Hellmouth. You do realize that I still get complaints about you slaying demon tourists, right?”

“He was engulfing a six-year-old in cytoplasm!” Buffy protested.

“I still say you would make a lot more money if you just posed for the pictures instead,” Anya continued to rattle on. “Just think! A former Vampire Slayer on a former Hellmouth. We can charge ten bucks a shot. I could manage, of course, order some merchandise – t-shirts, coffee mugs, those little things with the bobble heads and the eyes that move around...”

“I’m not posing for demon family albums,” Buffy insisted for the umpteenth time.

Anya shrugged. “Your loss...or, actually, mine as well, but you’re all morbid and moody, so I won’t complain.”

“I am not—!” Buffy began but was cut off by the sound of an inter-dimensional beeper playing the tune of ‘I’ll Fly Away’.

“This was supposed to be my night off!” Anya exclaimed in irritation before turning back to Buffy apologetically. “Sorry to cut and run, but duty calls.”

“It’s all right,” Buffy assured her. “We’ll have to do this again...”

“Soon,” Anya promised with a wave before vanishing in a white light.

Buffy sighed and looked at the empty space across from her, the straw in Anya’s glass still vibrating slightly from where Anya had just dropped it. The Vengeance Demon had only been gone a minute, and already Buffy felt the loneliness creep back into her. She was used to it now, though.

The real challenge had been the Year Of Hell. So many people gone from her life in such rapid succession: Giles, Spike, Tara, Xander, Willow, Dawn...

This last one was the only one she could really do anything about, but ever since Dawn had fled her custody she’d been implacable about reconciling. And once Dawn hit eighteen, it had been impossible. Buffy had recently managed to get a phone number somewhere in New York, but Dawn hadn’t returned her calls.

Not that Buffy could blame her after all that had happened...

But now, when she was alone, sitting in the dark of the Bronze, she felt the effects the most. Despite Anya’s reassurances, she had pushed people away, and now she was stuck with the aftermath.

The band on stage shifted to a heavily rhythmic number, the bass pulsing through the darkened club, making the whole place vibrate with the vitality of youth. It made Buffy feel like a dinosaur.

A little-known side-effect of Slayer healing had slowed down her aging process – although she doubted many Slayers lived long enough to find out about it. Probably none. But it made her look not much older than the kids here. However, she still felt her age in every muscle of her tired body and in her tired heart most of all. She’d seen more than any of these kids would see in their entire lives.

Plus, it just sucked to think that she was probably the oldest person in this place...

Time to reclaim my youth...

She got up and headed for the dance floor, scanning the crowd, searching, searching... A smile lit up her face as she watched the line of one man’s back. He was just her type, good height, good build, carried himself right.

He turned then, and she got a look at his face. Good, he was part of the older crowd, college or graduate school age. She didn’t care how youthful she looked; the idea of picking up high-school students gave her the creeps. Cute Guy’s face was disappointing, of course, but then she could never have what she wanted.

He watched her approach with obvious interest, a smile brightening his face.

“Hi, cutie,” Buffy said confidently, coming to a halt in front of him.

“Hi, yourself.”

OK, so his voice was blah. Definitely no tingles going down her spine. But she didn’t plan on doing much talking anyway, so that was all right.

“Wanna dance?” she inquired coquettishly.

“Sure,” he agreed, extending his hand to her.

She took it and followed him out onto the floor. Strobe lights flashed around them as Buffy wrapped her arms about his waist, molding her body to his. Their hips began gyrating slowly, moving to the sensual beat.

“You got a name?” he had to practically shout over the usual Bronze racket.

“Buffy,” she informed him. “You?”

“Tyler.”

A blah name, too. Nothing wrong with it, of course, but it wasn’t the sort of name that drew you in, intrigued you, made you want to learn more...

Fortunately, the racket on the dance floor halted any further conversation at the moment. The place was packed tonight, and they wouldn’t even have been able to hear the music were it not for the deep bass that vibrated through the floor in time with the beat.

Buffy turned her back to her dancing partner, grinding her hips back against his, closing her eyes against the prisma-colored flashing lights above the floor. Blinded, her other senses just became that more intense.

She’d made a good match with the build, she decided. She didn’t usually allow herself to indulge like this. Generally, she chose guys that weren’t anything like him, a way to break free of the past that haunted her every day. But, now, rejected by the ‘normal’ human guy once more, she just wanted a fraction of the old fire back, just a taste of what it had been like with him. And, really, what harm could it do just to pretend for a little while?

If she didn’t think about it, she could almost make herself believe it was him, that his hands were gripping her hips, that it was his hair her hands were running through.

A pause in the beat, a breath of quiet slipping through the normal chatter of the crowd, and a name slipped past her lips.

“Spike...”

Unfortunately, her partner heard it and halted his motions.

She turned to face him apologetically then, suddenly noticing all the telltale flaws in his appearance. Hair blond, but not shocking white. Leather jacket short and trendy, not long and battle-worn. Too soft cheekbones, too pale eyes, too straight lips. All in all, not Spike, not even close...

“I-I’m sorry,” Buffy mumbled, brushing past him and off of the dance floor, dashing out of the club, home, tears streaming down her face.

The next morning she got up, reaffirmed her decision, and reached for the phone.

“Hello, Ms. Danvers?” she said into the receiver. “This is Buffy Summers. I just wanted to let you know that, yes, I can help you with your problem. I’ll arrive this Sunday as we discussed.”

She hung up the phone after she’d left the message and stared into the small treasure box she kept on the shelf next to her bed.

Anya was right. She needed to get out of Sunnydale for a while, take a break from her normal routine, and escape all the ghosts of the past that lingered here. Most of all, what she needed to escape was the memory of him, battered and bloody, looking up at her with such heartbreak and betrayal, the image that haunted her every night when she closed her eyes...

Still confused? Still intrigued? Well, now you have to review for more. ~_^