In the weeks that had passed since Buffy’s "encounter" with Spike in the graveyard, she had thought of little else. She was occasionally distracted by the drama which had ensued since Oz and Cordelia’s discovery of Willow and Xander kissing at the factory. Cordelia had physically healed but her emotional pain at what she had witnessed had not. Xander was devastated - he didn’t know how to make things right, and it seemed everything he did to try and fix things was useless. Oz had retreated and wasn’t around so much anymore - he seemed to be using his music as his therapy. Willow was so guilt-ridden and upset, she just wasn’t herself, either. It was as though the whole thing had cast them all to different corners of the globe. Everyone was alone, and nobody was dealing. And Buffy. The night at the graveyard kept playing on her mind. It had been the strangest thing - one moment, she had been lost in her thoughts about Angel, next minute she was in serious lip-lock with Spike. She hated thinking about it.

But it was virtually all she did.

The thing that worried her most was that he was going to turn up unexpectedly and that she’d have no idea of what to do. She HAD no idea. Of one thing she was sure, though.

What had happened had been a mistake. A HUGE one. How it had happened still had her wigged. She could’ve sworn she was kissing Angel - at least in her imagination. Then to find Spike there instead - she nearly had an aneurysm on the spot.

Spike, for his part, appeared to have either left or was lying low. She doubted he’d initiated what had happened - but then, could she be so sure? After all, he’d been so kind, relatively speaking - and tried to calm her down when she’d gotten upset about Angel. He hadn’t come after her when she’d run away, despite him turning vamp. The whole thing was just too confusing for words.

She hadn’t spoken to anyone about it - first and foremost because she could just imagine the response to something like THAT. Secondly, she doubted anyone else needed more things to stew over. She decided to put it out of her mind. And set out to help the others get themselves worked out. The way the gang had come apart had only caused more problems. She hoped there was a way to make things right...and keep her mind off the Spike track.

*****

In the dark basement of an apartment in the middle of Sunnydale was Spike, the burning tip of his cigarette the only light in the room. It’d been as many weeks since his encounter with the Slayer, and he was still confused. Day after day, he sat at the table, smoked and thought. It was beginning to hurt. He hadn’t even gone out to feed - for fear he’d meet up with her.

Fear? It wasn’t that Spike was afraid of her - it was the fact that what had happened that night in the graveyard had happened purely by accident - and he didn’t want any more of those. He had managed to find a few young vamps willing to be at his beck and call - he had them hunt and bring him food. Some had fallen victim to the Slayer - and when he heard this, Spike struggled to keep his face neutral. He had no doubt his young charges wondered what was going on - but it wasn’t as though he was about to confide in any of them. He wasn’t being much of a vicious killer, that much was for sure.

He didn’t love the Slayer. He had felt sorry for her. He knew how much she was hurting - the same went for himself. But, he could’ve sworn that night the girl he’d been kissing was Drusilla. Oh, if only THAT had been the case. It had meant nothing - but it had changed everything.

Spike stood up and stretched his legs. There had to be a way to get things back to normal. He started pacing around the room. And paced and paced. And paced.

*****

"So, Will - you want to come over and study tonight?" Buffy asked her friend as they walked out the front of school. She got no response to her question.

"Willow?"

"Huh?" said the petite redhead. She shook her head, as if to clear it. "What did you say?" Buffy smiled sadly. It was tragic the way this disaster had taken its toll on her friends - particularly Willow. It had been so long since she’d seen her smile.

"I asked if you’d like to come over to my place and study tonight?" Buffy repeated. Willow looked at the ground. "I just thought, you know, it might help you get your mind off things - at least for a little

while."

"Well, sure," Willow replied, sounding anything other than enthusiastic. "But I’m not sure I’ll be much for company."

"You know what they say, Will - misery loves company. So come to my place and study - which pretty much guarantees that we’ll BOTH be miserable. Okay?" Willow nodded and Buffy hooked her arm through her friend’s and they headed home.

*****

By eight o’clock that night, Buffy had done her homework. Willow, on the other hand, had decorated her notebook with little Pez witch pictures. Where she hadn’t drawn them, she had written "Oz" with love hearts around it. Buffy looked over and sighed. So much for the distraction. At least SHE’D gotten her work done, which almost went against the laws of God and man. Her mother was out at some function or another, so the house was...silent.

"Uh, Will?" she asked tentatively. "Will? You in there?" No response. She leaned over and tapped her on the shoulder. "Will?"

"Oz?" Willow replied, looking up. Buffy shook her head.

"Sorry, Will. Just little old me." As she spoke, the doorbell rang. "Hang on, I’ll just get that. Don’t move, okay?" Something told Buffy that that really wasn’t an issue. She got up and walked to the front door. She peered through the window before she opened it, but couldn’t see anybody. She unlocked the door and stuck her head out.

"Hello!" came a voice from beside her. Buffy nearly shot through the roof. Standing to her right was Whistler. Whistler had been responsible for turning Angel from a street-vampire into a reasonable excuse for a souled, undead person, when he’d been living like a bum on the streets of Manhattan. She hadn’t seen him since the night she had sent Angel to hell and stopped Acathla from sucking the world into the vortex.

"So, sunshine - looks like you saved the world!" Whistler said cheerily. "Nice work." He looked at her and gestured towards the door. "Gonna let me in?"

Buffy sighed. "If you ask nicely. Look," she said, opening the door, "I sincerely hope you’re not here to bring me news of another world-threatening demon or something, because really, I have enough on my plate right now." She stepped back and let Whistler pass.

"Nice place. Cosy." He said, looking around the living room.

"Look, it’s great that you like the house and all, but I’m pretty sure you didn’t come here to make small talk - unless you’ve had a sudden career change and become a door to door salesman. What’s your point?" She stood there, arms crossed, waiting.

Whistler continued moseying around the room. He stopped, looked at pictures and kept walking again. Buffy rolled her eyes in disgust.

"Okay, well, the not-so-guided tour of the living room is over..." Whistler picked up a photo and looked at it. "He doesn’t love you." Buffy was shocked.

"What?" she managed to stammer out. Whistler turned and looked her straight in the eye.

"I know what you’ve been thinking. Ever since that night at the graveyard, you’ve been worrying about it. Don’t. He doesn’t love you. He barely likes you."

Buffy was too shocked about the fact that the guy seemingly knew what was going on to speak. He looked at her, watching her reaction. Finally she managed to untangle her tongue.

"What do you mean?" she said, warily. Whistler laughed, and started walking around the room again. "Look, buddy, can you just quit with the wandering? You’re making me nervous."

He laughed again. "It’s not ME making you nervous, sweetheart. It’s him." That did it for Buffy. The thing was - Whistler mostly DID have something worthwhile to say. It was the fact that it ended up scattered amongst seemingly pointless statements that ticked her off.

"Great, well, thanks for the psychic reading - what do you charge?" She pretended to look in her pockets for change. "However inaccurate you might be, you did a good job of trying. Thanks anyway - see you later." She walked to the door and opened it, waiting for him to leave. He gave her a knowing look, and walked out the door.

"You need to talk," he said, as he walked down the steps. "You both have issues to resolve." He stopped and turned around. "It doesn’t mean anything. But you’re feeling the same thing. He’s in pain - you’re in pain. You can work it out. Just try talking." And he walked away.

Buffy went back inside the house, locking the door behind her, and shaking her head. Some miracle had occurred during her absence, for Willow appeared to be alive and actually studying. "Hey," she said, as Buffy walked into the room.

"Hey." She sat down, and held her head in her hands. Willow frowned.

"What’s wrong? I thought you were supposed to be distracting me! Who was at the door?"

"Nobody." Buffy answered. "Nobody at all."

*****

"Talk to her? Are you MAD?" Spike yelled, getting up from his chair. "Don’t you know what that could do?" He started pacing. "It could ‘appen again - who woulda thought it the first time ‘round? No thank you. I’m staying well away from her."

"Fine. So you’re just going to stay down here, drive yourself round the twist just like your former sweetheart..." In an instance, the voice was reduced to a squeak, as its owner was lifted two feet off the floor, in a vice-like grip.

"Don’t you ever," Spike growled menacingly, his face bearing its vamp features. "speak about Drusilla that way again." He let go and the person stood on the floor, rubbing his neck. "You did enough. Let her be."

"I love Buffy," Angel said softly. "And seeing her so upset is breaking my heart."

Spike laughed. "Well, excuse me for not jumping on the bandwagon, mate. She’s the Slayer. She can fend for herself." Angel walked over to where Spike had sat at the table.

"Whatever happened with you two, I don’t care. I’m not supposed to care, anyway. But my point is - things have to get back to normal. You’re supposed to be a bad guy, and you sit down here mooning. She’s supposed to be the Slayer, and her heart’s not in it. You have to move on. I’m not saying anything has to happen between the two of you - and God forbid, it won’t - but you’re both unsettled and I think the only way anyone’s going to get anywhere is by working out what’s happened and deal with it."

Spike shook his head and laughed bitterly. "Thanks for the pearls of wisdom. Since when did you start being logical?"

"I’m just calling ‘em as I see ‘em." Angel turned and started walking away. "Do whatever you want, Spike. You usually do." The door shut and Spike stood up, and kicked the nearest chair.

"Oh, yeah, I’m Angel, I know EVERYTHING!" he muttered. "I know how to fix EVERYONE’S problems." Suddenly he picked up the chair and threw it across the room, where it hit a lamp and shattered it. "And how does he even KNOW?!"

*****

That night, Buffy patrolled, again keeping a watchful eye out for any sign of Spike. She’d been thinking about what Whistler had said. So, what, she was supposed to go visit Spike and say "Hey, so, about that kiss? What was up with that?" Uh, no. She wasn’t doing that.

She walked home and headed up to her bedroom. She dumped her bag by the cupboard and changed into her pyjamas. She turned and picked up her hairbrush from her dresser, and as she turned to sit down on her bed, she noticed a white envelope sitting on her nightstand. She put down the brush and picked it up, running a fingernail under the seal. She sat down and took out the paper inside. In black writing were the words "We need to talk".

She lay back on the bed and closed her eyes, putting her hands over them. "Wonderful."

The End