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Xander set a large box on the ground and sat at the kitchen table next to Buffy. She glanced up from the psychological profile she was reading and flashed him a small smile.

“This everything the forensic guys picked up,” he told her. “I skimmed through the report and something really caught my eye. They only found 2 mugs. They've been identified as the ones your mother and your father used. The third one's missing.” He reached into the box and pulled out a thin stack of paper.

Buffy stared at the report but made no move to take it from him. After a moment of silent contemplation, she jumped to her feet. “Take me to the house.”

“I don’t think that's a good idea, Buff. You avoided the crime scene before, but this would mean having to actually go into those rooms. I've seen the pictures. It's not a pretty sight. The cleaning crew --” Xander started to argue.

“Either you go with me or I’m going by myself. It’s your choice,” she interrupted, already halfway out the door.

Cursing under his breath, Xander followed the petite blonde out of the house. When he got outside, she was standing beside his truck, waiting for him to open it. Tara and Anya had used Buffy’s Jeep to get the groceries she had forgotten the day before. Willow and Spike were at the office updating Jack and retrieving a few more files.

“How’s Dawn doing?” Xander asked as he drove from Baltimore to Annapolis. He’d hinted a few times, but two blondes were tight-lipped on the subject of Dawn’s location.

“Not so good. She tries to be strong when I call but I can tell she’s still miserable. Last night she asked about funeral arrangements and that started a two hour sob-fest.” Buffy closed her eyes and slid down in the seat. “God, I haven’t even started thinking about that yet. The ME’s releasing… my family… in two days, and I have no idea what I’m going to do. I should have called Dad’s lawyer and his insurance agent but with the investigation and Dawn…”

Xander reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “We’re all here to help you, Buffy. I’m sure Will and Tara could make a few phone calls for you. I bet I could talk the head medical examiner into holding the bodies until you’re ready. She and I dated for a few months and we’re still pretty close.”

Buffy opened one eye and turned slightly to stare at her companion. “You and Morticia Addams? Your taste in significant others is only slightly better than mine.”

“Oh no, I have the market cornered when it comes to bad relationships,” Xander argued, relieved by the change of subject. A light-hearted discussion was most definitely in order. “My first girlfriend dumped me because my hair ‘looked silly.’”

She raised an eyebrow incredulously. Xander caught the look and smiled sheepishly. “Okay, so I was five,” he confessed, “but that still counts.”

“My one real long-term relationship was a disaster from the beginning,” Buffy began. There was no way he was going to beat her in the bad-relationship department. “You’ve probably met him. He was a weapons instructor at Quantico. Our first meeting I shot him in the ass. Literally.”

She paused while Xander let out a short laugh. “I actually think that was the highlight of our relationship. Even though it was against regulations, we started dating. I gotta tell you, keeping a relationship a secret is not as easy or romantic as it sounds. I think he missed more dates than he kept. Somehow we managed to stay together and the day after I graduated from the Academy, he proposed. A few months later he quit the FBI and joined the CIA. Perfect, wouldn’t you think? We could finally bring our relationship out into the open and be a normal couple. Not likely. One day, completely out of the blue, he announced that he needed to focus more on his career and that I was holding him back. When I got home from work the next day, all his stuff was gone.” A hint of bitterness crept into Buffy’s voice. The callous way Angel had ended things had been a sore spot for years. It was Spike's defection that had pushed her into returning Angel's calls and starting a friendship with her former lover.

“Ah, workplace relationships: they never work. I tried it once, never going to try it again. Well, probably never. I mean… maybe. Okay, okay, I’m sure I’ll do it again,” Xander argued with himself “Anyway, I met a pretty redhead when I was at a briefing in D.C. After a week of begging and pleading, she agreed to go out with me. I went all out, we're talking candlelight, French wine, food with names that I can't pronounce. We spent the whole evening talking and laughing. I thought things were going great. A first date leads to four or five more. After walking her to her front door and a small goodnight kiss on the fifth date, she hangs her head and starts sobbing. Being the gentleman that I am, I hand her a tissue and wait for her to tell me what’s wrong. She gives me this pituful look and says that my kiss confirmed it for her. She’s a lesbian.”

Buffy stared at Xander for a moment, feeling a tug of sympathy for the blow to his male ego. “Wow. I didn’t know you and Willow dated.”

“How’d you know it was Will?” Xander was curious. They had taken great lengths to ensure that their past relationship was never brought up. Although the incident was the beginning of their friendship, it was embarrassing for both.

“They way you greeted each other when she first arrived in Baltimore. The rest of us were polite but you jumped right in and took her to lunch. All right, I’m up next, right?” At Xander’s nod, she continued. “I met Riley three months after Angel left. I wasn’t ready to start dating again, but he was just so damn persistent. As a Baltimore police officer, I thought we had quite a bit in common. I should have realized something was wrong when he didn’t want to hear about my job. We dated for four or five months and then he drops a bombshell on me. He says that the only way he’ll continue to see is if I quit my job. Turns out I wasn’t damsel-in-distress-y for him.”

“Ouch. Reminds of my brief and tragic affair with the high and mighty Miss Cordelia Chase. In high school her biggest hobby was making my life hell. We met again right after I was assigned to Baltimore. We had dates in Annapolis because she didn’t want any of her friends in Baltimore to see her out with me. Finally she got up the nerve to introduce me to her parents. You should have seen the way their noses turned up when I told them what I did for a living. I was in love with Cordy, so I dealt with it. The final straw came when she had me lie to her friends about my job. Man, part of the reason I became a fed was so that I could brag about my job.” Xander related, mentally putting a point in his favor. “Your turn.”

Buffy shook her head. Aside from a horrible one-night stand she’d rather forget, there were no more relationships to discuss. In high school she’d been too involved with her studies to date. After a string of failures with Angel, Riley and Parker, she’d sworn off men for good.

“Okay, I have one more for you then. As I’ve already said, I dated Laura Simmons, the medical examiner. Under all those glares and scowls, she’s a wild woman. It broke my heart when she said that I was too dull for her. Can you imagine, me, too dull for a medical examiner?” Xander finished the story as he turned down Buffy’s street.

“I give, you win. You are the king of pathetic,” Buffy laughed, wiping tears from her eyes. The smile slid off her face when she realized where they were.

He pulled into the driveway and stared at the house in front of him. He’d been to dozens of crime scenes before, but never to one that belonged to someone he knew. Following Buffy’s lead, he got out of the truck and slowly trudged up the driveway. Buffy ducked under the yellow crime scene tape and unlocked the front door. She wrinkled her nose as a dank, musty smell assaulted her senses.

“Ugh, the house has been shut up for too long. Mom hates it when-“ Buffy stopped abruptly and shook her head. “Never mind. The sitting room is this way.” She paused in front of the doorway and summoned up her fading resolve. If she was going to get through this, she had to act like an FBI agent, not a grieving daughter.

Xander put a comforting hand on her shoulder, recognizing his friend’s turmoil. He admired and was amazed by her strength and courage. Few people could face what life had thrown at her without breaking down. She smiled up at him gratefully before opening the pocket doors. Staring incredulously at the room she’d played in as a child, Buffy blinked once, then twice.

“What’s wrong?” Xander queried, pushing past the frozen blond. Was there some gory detail or telltale clue the photographer had missed?

“It looks exactly the same,” she answered softly. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but it doesn’t look like anything’s changed.”

He quickly scanned the elegantly furnished room. Aside from a taped off section in the center, the room looked as if it belonged in the pages of Better Homes and Gardens. The forest green couch and the thick beige carpeting were stained with blood. “It’s peaceful, in a weird way.” he observed, moving towards the couch.

“Mom loved her gallery downtown, but this was her personal collection. I remember she would come home with a new piece and just gaze at it for hours," Buffy smiled at the recollection. She paused for a moment and savored the memory before putting it aside. "I want to replay the sequence of events. You're the male victim and I'm the killer."

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Xander was having second thoughts about Buffy's plan. She'd referred to her father as the "male victim." Was it a slip or was she shutting down part of her mind? While she was stronger than most people he knew, he didn't want to be around when she finally reached her breaking point. "I don't think you want to get inside this guy's head. I'll take you back to Spike's. We can bring the others back here and then re-enact…what happened."

"I've just sent the child out for ice cream,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “You head for this room while I help your wife with the coffee tray. The three of us share a whole pot, which means we each consume at least two cups, leaving enough for me to have another cup later. After setting my cup down, I stand up and shoot your wife in the head. I pick up her cup off the floor and…something’s not right," Buffy strode purposefully toward the mahogany coffee table. She yanked open the center drawer and pulled out a polished black Walter PPK. "Mom insisted Dad buy this to protect her collection. According to the coroner's report, the killer shot Mom and then Dad. If there were a suspicious man in the house, Dad would have taken the gun out and put it in his pocket. When the killer stooped to pick up the cup, Dad would have had plenty of time to get a shot off."

"Maybe your father was frozen in horror," Xander hazarded a guess. He was trying to see things from the victim's point of view, but it was hard to think for someone that you'd only met a handful of times.

Buffy shook her head, a lock of blonde hair falling in her face. "Dad was a very responsive person. He preferred to act first and think later. They knew who this was," she announced confidently. The victorious smile slid off her face and her eyes widened in horror at the implications. "Oh God, it was someone they knew. Someone they trusted." She sank to her knees and buried her head in her hands.

Xander lifted the petite blonde to her feet and brushed the hair out of her eyes. "You're looking at this the wrong way, Buff. It means that the investigation hasn't hit a brick wall. We just need to revise our list of suspects."

She conceded his logical point and led the way to the kitchen. "The note was left on the refrigerator, but no prints were found on the paper or the magnet. There was no pen found, so we assume the killer took it with him," she explained. Taking a quick glance around the kitchen, her eyes landed on to the dishes in the sink. "He's good, I'll give him that. He washed his cup then wiped down the faucet and the bottle of dishwashing liquid There's not a trace of evidence to be found in here."

They wandered around the house for a few more minutes, trying to find anything that would reveal the murderer’s identity. Knowing that she would spend the rest of the day in the house if he let her, Xander insisted they return to Spike's house. A flash of white attached to his windshield wiper caught his attention. He tried to reach it before Buffy could see it, but was too late. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach worsened when her face went ashen and her hands trembled.

"What does it say?" Xander asked, making no move to take the sheet of paper from her.

"'Did you think it would be that easy? I could have killed you right now, while you were in the house, but I'm going to make you wait. Hope the reunion with Brennan went well. By the way, love the new haircut.'" Buffy read, her voice void of all emotion. Her hand immediately flew to her head. Willow had given her a haircut that morning, leaving her blonde tresses shoulder-length. She slowly folded the paper, and, after stuffing it in the back pocket of her jeans, joined Xander in the truck. The return trip was silent, both parties lost in thought.

Spike was waiting for them on the front porch when they arrived. He jumped to his feet at the sight of the battered truck. "Where have you been? Red and I have been calling everyone looking for you," Spike demanded, opening the truck door for Buffy.

"We went to the house," Xander answered, desperately wishing he could run inside the house. Spike was fiercely protective of his former partner, and understandably so in Xander’s opinion.

"You brainless idiot! What were you thinking? That's the last place she needs to be! Of all the bloody insensitive..." Spike's face turned a bright red, his tightly clenched fists resting on the hood of the truck.

"Lay off Spike, it was my idea," Buffy interrupted, putting a hand on Spike's chest.

"I don't care whose idea it was, he had no right to take you back there!" Spike would not be soothed. He'd seen the pain and anguish on Buffy's face when she'd entered the house to collect her things and he'd be damned if he let anyone put her through that again.

"Go on inside, Xander, I'll talk to Spike," Buffy urged, hazel eyes locked with blue. Beating Xander to a pulp was not going to make the bleached blonde feel any better.

"Yeah, go inside whelp and hide behind Anya's skirts," Spike taunted. He let out a hiss of pain when Buffy tugged on a peroxide blonde curl. "What in the bloody hell did you do that for?"

"I told you to lay off. Xander didn't want to go with me. I told him that if he didn't take me I would go by myself," she explained with a sigh. The pair walked to the back of the truck. Spike let down the tailgate and hopped up next to Buffy.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Spike inquired, putting an arm around Buffy's shoulders. He didn't want to admit that it was fear, not anger, which had him lashing out at Xander. When he'd returned to the house to find her gone, his imagination had gone into overdrive. Visions of her dead body in an alley or being tortured by the murderer had assaulted his mind.

Buffy slowly shook her head, and then lowered it to rest on his shoulder. "Just more questions. I still don't understand it all, William."

Spike shifted so that she was sitting in his lap. He wrapped both arms around her slight form and rested his chin on the top of her head. "Very few things in this world make sense, pet," he murmured sagely.

"One minute they were here with plans and dreams and life, and the next they're gone. All I have is memories and photographs and they don't seem like nearly enough. I want to go home and find Mom and Celia making cookies in the kitchen. I want Dad to be in his study surrounded by piles of paperwork. I want to go back to that house and hear laughter and chatter and arguments, for it to feel like a home again and not a damn mausoleum," Buffy raged tearfully, her voice muffled by Spike's black t-shirt.

Spike, unsure of what to say, rubbed Buffy's back in slow circular motions, wordlessly encouraging her to get everything off her chest. He was relieved to know that she was secure enough in their relationship to let him see her weaker side.

"We can't stay in that house. As soon as this investigation's over, I'm going to have to sell it," she told him firmly. With all the memories and ghosts that now haunted the house, she and Dawn would never know a moment's peace. There were some wounds even time couldn't heal.

"You and the Bit are welcome to stay with me for as long as you need," Spike invited, ignoring the other voice in his head telling him he had ulterior motives for issuing the invitation. "Red mentioned the funeral and offered to take care of things for you."

"Thank you. Everyone's been so wonderful. I don't know how I would have survived if you hadn't been there for me," Buffy said, voice thick with emotion. She lifted her head to press a soft kiss to Spike's cheek. "Especially you. I'll never be able to thank you for everything you've done for me."

"What are friends for?" he chuckled, breaking the moment. He reluctantly released her, instantly missing the feel of her in his arms. "Did you make any startling revelations while you were at the house?" he asked, attempting to get his mind off the memory of Buffy's lips pressed against his cheek.

Her eyes clouded over as she wrapped her arms around herself protectively. "We've been looking in the wrong places. It's someone they knew," she revealed.

Spike jumped off the tailgate and turned to help Buffy down. He snaked his arm around her waist and set her gently on the ground. When he moved his arm, his fingers brushed against something dully pointed. Without warning, he reached into her back pocket and pulled out the note. Buffy hung her head as he read the threatening note.

"Were you going to tell me about this? And why does he mention tall dark and forehead? I didn't think you and the poof were on speaking terms," Spike demanded, waving the note in her face.

"Angel and I are friends now... sort of. He was helping me out with a problem. I was going to tell you about the note, when the time was right," Buffy retrieved the note from him and returned it to the pocket.

"That's how you got Dru's address." It was more of a statement than a question. She nodded affirmatively, seeing no point in lying to him more.

"This was before you apologized, Spike. I didn't think I had a choice. Dawn is my number one concern. I had to make sure she would be protected," Buffy pleaded, reaching out to him.

Spike moved out of her grasp and crossed his arms over his chest. "I would never let anything happen to your or your sister. I thought you knew that by now."

"I do Spike, I do. I'm sorry I doubted you. There was so much unfinished business between us still. I had to clear the air so that we could move forward," Buffy assured him. She was willing to say anything to melt his icy glare.

"Move forward to what?" Spike's voice was suspicious. Years of working with Buffy had taught him that she'd do just about anything to get her way. She had no qualms about using her feminine wiles to win an argument.

"I don't know yet. I just know that I need you and these last few years have felt so empty without you around," Buffy confessed. This time when she reached for him, he didn't move away. She wrapped her arms around his waist and stared imploringly into his eyes.

"All right, you're forgiven. Get rid of those puppy-dog eyes," Spike growled. The sincerity behind Buffy's confession moved him in ways he didn't understand. The rest of the note's meaning had him tightening his grasp on the blonde.

"You're not going anywhere without me, you understand?"

"Spike I--" started, intending to remind him that she was, in fact, a federal agent.

He lifted her chin so she couldn't look away. "You could have been killed today. I've just gotten my best friend back, and I'm sure as hell not going to lose her again so soon."





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