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~*~

This whole thing was really getting old.

She was tired of avoiding not just Spike, but half the town—because while everyone sympathized with her, they had a seriously annoying tendency to sympathize while reminding her that they’d been right and now her heart was broken.

Really, really stupid. And Buffy couldn’t even hit them, because half of them were looking for an excuse to turn her in to some crazyass psychiatrist.

It was Faith who finally got her to snap out of it. Willow, Oz, and Tara had been careful around her all week, treating her like she was a walking, not-talking-much bundle of nitroglycerin. Faith had been avoiding her altogether, which Buffy honestly thought was for the best.

But then in between fourth and fifth period Faith walked up to her, tapped her on the shoulder, and promptly broke her nose.

“Ow!” Buffy cried, hands flying up to protect her face.

Instead of stepping back and apologizing for—what, temporary insanity?—Faith drew back her fist again. “Better block this one,” she warned, and let fly.

Buffy ducked instinctively, coming up to slam her hand into Faith’s shoulder. “What the hell is your problem?” she cried, scrambling backwards.

Faith just grinned and dove at her again.

Shit. Okay, clearly her friend had gone crazy. Fine. Buffy pulled her fist back before planting it squarely on Faith’s nose.

A crunch, a gush of blood, and the next thing Buffy knew they were sitting side-by-side in Snyder’s office and he was suspending them both.

Buffy just ducked her head and agreed that yes, she was a horrible terrible no-good juvenile delinquent who would benefit from being forced to dig ditches for the next ten years. She endured everyone staring at her as she exited the building, Faith walking right next to her. She even put up with Faith following her off campus.

But the second they stepped out of the fence that marked the Sunnydale High School entrance, she shoved Faith so hard that the brunette went flying onto the pavement.

“Are you insane?” Buffy yelled, clenching her fists.

Faith raised a skinned hand and brushed her hair from her face. “’bout time you started fighting back,” she said with what could only be called an ironic smile.

Buffy stared at her friend for half a second before bursting into tears.

Faith was there immediately, holding her up and brushing her tears off. Buffy finally let herself lean into someone, allowed arms to hold her up as she sobbed.

She’d cried before but this was different—it wasn’t denial or anger, just acceptance. Spike was gone, and she knew it.

They’d both been too immature, too stubborn, to make it work out. And she could blame everybody else if she wanted to, but the simple fact of the matter was that sooner or later, they probably would’ve broken up anyway. The pressure everyone put on them only made things go a little faster.

She wondered, now, if she was crying for what she’d lost or what she could have had if he’d been a little more patient, if she’d been a little more mature. She cried for the fact that they’d done—what they’d done—and she cried because she’d loved it so much. She cried because she knew him now, and she knew that it would never work.

When she finally finished, Faith offered her a Kleenex. Buffy accepted gratefully, wiping her eyes and fighting not to blush at the fact that they were kneeling on the sidewalk. She was dirty and gritty and tired.

God. So tired.

“I’m going to go home, clean up,” she said, and wobbled to her feet.

Faith was there instantly, holding her up. “Whoa, now. You think I’m going to let you go off alone like this?”

“Um,” was all Buffy could say.

Faith rolled her eyes. “We’re gonna go to my place. You’ll clean up and I’ll grab some ice cream, and then we’ll watch dumbass movies and talk about how the guys who took our virginity are such fucktards.”

It sounded like more of a Willow thing to do—minus the whole virginity thing, anyway. Buffy smiled. “Not that I’m not glad, but how about we go to the beach instead?”

“Pick up guys?”

Privately Buffy didn’t think she was up to that, but she just grinned. “Sure, why not.”

“Now we’re talkin’,” Faith laughed, and they started for home.

~*~

The beach was surprisingly nice. Sunny, and Buffy couldn’t believe how ironic it was that she’d barely registered the existence of the sun for the past few days. And hey, Sunnydale had way more cute guys than she’d thought.

She leaned back and smiled at the boy currently trying to impress her with his volleyball skills—Owen, maybe? Yeah. Owen. He was cute—not Spike-cute, but perfectly passable for some fun.

And Buffy definitely planned on having fun.

She stumbled home that night at midnight, giddy from a daiquiri or two and a serious makeout session in Owen’s car. They hadn’t done anything serious, but Buffy was already making plans for a second date.

The next day she and Faith went out again, and this time when Buffy smiled, it didn’t hurt quite so much.

~*~

“You’ve got to stop this.”

“Anya,” Spike sighed, “’m at work, what more do you want?”

“I want you to be you,” Anya said impatiently. “You turned in only three outlines for ads this week.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, all of them featured funerals.”

Spike didn’t look up, knowing instinctively that his friend would be glaring at him hard enough to burn holes. “They were depressing ads.”

“One of them was for a baby product!”

Well, alright, yeah. “So?”

Wonderful. Now he sounded like the sulky brat he’d broken up with.

Not fair, his conscience chimed in, and dammit, he knew it wasn’t. If there’d been a sulky, immature brat in the relationship, it certainly wasn’t Buffy.

“So, you’re broken and I can’t fix it.”

He should object to being called broken, except it didn’t really matter, did it? God knows there was some truth in her accusation. “Why the hell d’you want to?”

“Because you’re my friend, dumbass.” Anya paused, considering him, before saying, “You need to have more orgasms.”

“What?”

“You need to have more orgasms,” Anya repeated patiently. “Normally I’d offer, but Xander’s kind of possessive and I don’t think he’s up for a threesome yet.”

God, he couldn’t even crack a pun about that. “Mental image, Ayn! Mental image!”

“At least you care about that,” she muttered. “Fine then. What will make you happy?”

Spike had no early idea, and he said as much.

“Fine then.” And suddenly Anya was grabbing his sleeve, pulling him up. “Let’s go.”

She marched him down the elevator and out of the building, and despite all of Spike’s protestations about bloody crazy bints, he let her do it. He let her shove him into his car, let her peal out of the parking lot, and he let her pay their way into a strip club on the edge of Sunnydale. He even let her pay for the lap dance.

When the anonymous woman’s tits were shoved in his face he let himself get hard, let himself enjoy it. The woman was a sultry brunette, nothing like the girl who still danced carelessly through his mind.

Buffy was gone, and it was time to accept that.

~*~

Time passed. They’d been friend for four years, lovers for a week, and exes for six months now. Spike came to the diner every now and then, but only when he knew Buffy wouldn’t be working; Buffy occasionally walked past Spike’s office building, but not when she thought there was any chance he’d be there.

Sunnydale suddenly seemed miles bigger than it’d been before, and they both skirted the edges of the city, avoiding one another at all costs. Faith sometimes sent Buffy disapproving looks, but she’d just clench Owen’s hand tighter, kiss him a little harder.

Spike had no one to glare at him accusingly, and he liked it that way.

Autumn passed into winter, which in turn passed into spring and then summer again. A year of laughing, of bitching at Harmony and joking with Willow, and after awhile Buffy got used to the hole in her heart that seemed to make the most trouble when she made love with Owen.

Summer was winding to a close when Cordelia came into the diner.

Buffy was doing inventory, so at first she didn’t notice the unusual customer. It was only when the manicured hand shoved a ten dollar bill in her face that she realized who was waiting at the counter.

“Hello, I’d like to order some time this century,” Cordelia said in a bored voice.

“Too bad, we’re closed till 2100.” Buffy smiled sweetly. “You can wait, right?”

“Very funny.” Buffy watched Cordelia purse her overly lipsticked lips, tapping her nails on the counter. “Look, I wanted to apologize.”

Buffy played with her apron string, a nervous habit she’d picked up from years of irritating customers. “For?”

“Last fall. Look, I know it’s none of my business,” Cordelia added hastily, “but I just—I feel bad about it, okay? It wasn’t fair for Harmony and Angel to break you guys up like that.”

Buffy gave a short, sharp laugh. Her stomach didn’t twist at that statement. It didn’t. “Believe me, it wasn’t them.”

Cordelia obviously didn’t believe her, but luckily for Buffy she let it go. “Whatever. My point is, I’m sorry.”

For a second Buffy just stood there and studied her. Cordelia was the kind of person who was always perfectly groomed to the point of where it was kind of scary. She was perfect, and Buffy—wasn’t.

But it was Cordelia who was apologizing to Buffy, not the other way around.

“Apology accepted,” she said finally, and was almost shocked to notice Cordelia visibly relax. It was that action that had her offering, “A bunch of us are going to the movies later.”

The slight smile told her it had been a good move. “Want me to come with?”

“It’d boost all our cool factors through the floor,” Buffy joked.

“Well, okay then!” Now Cordelia was smiling for real, shiny white teeth out in full force. It was kind of intimidating, actually. “I’ll see you there!”

And that was that.

~*~





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