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It was a much chastened Buffy that shuffled into the gallery the following day. She got it now. Alcohol was so not the answer. After finally coming out of her champagne induced langor the previous day, all of the pain had still been there, lying dormant in her heart until she got around to noticing it. Although, god knows, she still had no idea what was the answer. More than anything, she wanted to call Spike. But she couldn't. Wouldn't. He had gone out of town to get away from her, and though she knew he would answer if she called his cell, she didn't want to do that to him. There didn't seem to be much she could do for him these days, but she could leave him alone now, for the moment.

Hesitantly, she perused the gallery, eyes sweeping left to right over the big room. The lights were on, so Dru had to be here. Quickly, Buffy began to walk toward the back, thinking that if she could get to the stockroom, maybe she could avoid her boss for a little while longer. She no longer felt any anger toward the older woman; there was no point. Spike was right - she had no room to be jealous. As long as she was married to Angel, she had no say in what he did or whom he did it with. At least, that's what her mind said. Her heart screamed in pain at the thought of what could have happened after the party. She had seen them leave together...

"Buffy?" Dru's voice called absently from the direction of the office. "Is that you?"

"Yes," she answered, sighing. Almost made it. But what was the saying? Almost only counted in hand grenades?

"Come in here, would you?" her boss asked, dulcet tones making it more of a command than a request.

Hesitantly, Buffy edged into the room. Drusilla sat behind the desk, going over an inventory list and sipping a mug of coffee. Another cup sat on the opposite side of the desk, still steaming. "Have a seat," Dru waved airly at the chair opposite.

Slumping down into it, Buffy gripped the mug gratefully. She could really use the caffeine. When she was settled, she reluctantly looked up at Drusilla, who was regarding her gently with compassion in her dark eyes.

"How are you?"

The kindness in Dru's voice almost made Buffy cry. How could she have ever spoken so hatefully about this woman who had never been anything but nice to her? Even if she and Spike had...Buffy's stomach lurched and a jolt of jealousy rocked through her. It must have shown on her face, because Drusilla reached out to take her free hand over the desk.

"Buffy," she said firmly. "Nothing happened. Nothing was ever going to happen."

"But, I saw you...and he..." There was no point in wondering how her boss knew what was going through her mind. This was Drusilla. She always knew.

"No. What you saw was," the older woman sighed, searching for the best words. "What you saw was comfort. He needed some, badly. And I was there," she shrugged and then levelled a sharp look at Buffy. "You are aware, aren't you? That he is so desperately in love with you that no one else even exists."

Dropping her gaze, Buffy twisted her hands together in her lap. "I guess."

Incredulous, Dru spoke more sharply than she intended. "You 'guess'? Don't play coy, Buffy. You know. And you feel the same way." Buffy refused to look up and Dru cast her eyes skyward, trying to regain patience. This would take finesse, not blunt force. Taking a deep breath, she changed tactics.

"Buffy, what do you feel for Angel?"

Buffy glanced up, surprised. "I'm not sure anymore," she answered softly, shock making her honest.

"Think about it," Drusilla urged.

Closing her eyes, Buffy let snippets of memory play at her brain. Images of their first dates, their wedding, holidays, last Valentine's day, the birthday dinner two days ago, that awful night last month...There were tears in her memories, plenty of them, but it hadn't all been bad. Still though...She shook her head and opened her eyes to look at Dru who still regarding her with so much compassion Buffy could hardly stand it. "It's not what I feel for him. It never has been," she admitted softly. There was no doubt who the "him" in question was.

Drusilla checked her smile. Finally, some honestly. Now maybe she could be a little more candid herself. "Buffy," she began softly, praying it wasn't too soon. "I've known you for years now. I've seen you since the beginning of your marriage to Angel. There's no doubt that you've changed since then." She held up one sliim hand to forestall the inevitable protests. "I know that everyone changes through time. But the way you've changed..." Dru stopped to take a breath. This was proving harder than she thought it would be, her very real affection for the confused blond getting in the way of what needed to be said. "I don't think the way you are now is the way you're supposed to be. Angel takes something away from you, but Spike, he gives it back."

Immediately Buffy's brain set up a protest, but the little voice that always niggled at the back of her mind sighed, feeling something like truth in the other woman's words. She thought of all the times Angel corrected her, bypassed her opinions, flat-out told her she was wrong. Maybe there was something there.

"I don't - " she began, a repressed breath heavy in her voice. Startled by the sudden buzzing of her cell phone, she jumped startled out of her seat, accidentally bumping the table and splashing coffee onto her sweather. Groaning, she pulled the phone from her purse, brows wrinkling at the caller id. It was her home number. Angel had been gone when she had woken up, so who could be calling from their phone? Curious, the flipped the cell open and answered. "Hello?"

"Buffy." Her husband's voice was heavy and hard. "Come home. Now."

"Angel? What are you doing there? And I just got to work..." she trailed off in confusion.

"Now."

"Ummm, okay." He was obviously upset over something. Probably better if she went home and got it over with. A ball of fear curdled in her stomach as she thought over the events of the past few months. He couldn't know about Spike, could he?

"Dru, I've got to run home," she grabbed her purse and all but sprinted out the door. "I'll be back in later, and I promise I'll make up the hours!"

Left alone in the office, Drusilla stared at nothing, eyes unfocused. After a few moments, she reached for the phone and rapidly began dialing.

********************************************************************************************************************************************************************

"Angel?" Buffy blew through the front door, dropping her purse on the floor and calling into the quiet house. "I'm here, what - " She broke off as her husband suddenly loomed up in front of her.

"What the hell were you doing?" he snapped.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, heart racing.

"You know. And at your birthday dinner. The big dinner that I planned and paid for, invited all your little friends," Angel sneered the word, watching her flinch with impassive eyes.

Buffy's mind tore through the confusing events of that evening. Had someone seen her and Spike kissing in the alley? "Angel," she said softly, placatingly. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"I am referring," he enunciated every word with careful precision, as though speaking to a very young child. "To this."

Taking a step back to catch the newspaper he forcefully thrust at her, she fearfully glanced at the cover. It wasn't really a newspaper, just a gossip magazine. But there on the cover, in bitter black and white was a photo of the two of them. Not kissing though. With a sigh of relief mingled with frustration, Buffy dropped in onto the floor.

"This?" she asked incredulously. "This is what you drag me home from work over?"

"It's plenty," Angel answered tersely.

Sweeping past him, Buffy started toward the stairs. "This is ridiculous. I'm going to go change my shirt, and then I'm going back to the gallery."

"You aren't going anywhere until I get an explanation!" He grabbed her arm roughly, but she pulled away from his grasp and stormed up the stairs.

He quickly followed her, spinning her around in the bedroom doorway. "What is this about?" Her husband was yelling now, and puncuated each of his words with a poke at the page of print he had recovered from the floor.

"Why do you care?" Buffy replied, frustration mounting. "I know you don't like him. So a picture of us arguing ought to make your day!" Pivoting, she headed back for the stairs, deciding to forego a clean sweater and just get the hell out of there.

"Don't walk away from me!" Again, Angel grabbed her and again she pulled away. "It doesn't make my day to have your picture splashed all over the pages of paper like this," he shook it disgustedly before hurling it to the wall. "Everyone saw you, do you know that, everyone I know saw this and laughed!"

"And that's what you care about isn't it?" Buffy started down the stairs, but anger blurred her vision and somehow her foot never quite connected with the step. She felt - or did she?- a sudden pressure at her back and then she was falling, spinning, head banging sharply on a succession of stairs before finally coming to rest in a heap on the floor.

Dazed, she looked up, pain making sight hazy. Angel was standing frozen at the top of the steps, face deathly white in shock. Could she move? Yes, it hurt a lot, but she could. Gingerly, she picked herself up. Her husband took a step toward her, foot hovering over the stair she had missed.

"No," her voice was tiny but forceful and he stopped his movement. As quickly as she could, Buffy limped to the door, grabbed her purse, and made her way outside, running, once again, from her husband.





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