Buffy Summers walked slowly through the cemetery, tapping the sharp point of her stake lightly against her hip. It was a slow night, something that Buffy was growing used to these days. Demons seemed to be taking a vacation. She just wished they would have told her that before leaving so she wouldn’t have had to come out for ridiculous hours at a time.

Sighing, Buffy lowered herself onto the ground and leaned against a headstone behind her. And with the girly side that was Buffy, started studying her nails. The dark red paint she had applied to them the night before was chipped and ruined. Her nail had split earlier in the day after she snagged it on the fabric of her wool sweater and tugged to hard. She had just given herself a manicure the night before, too.

The thing Buffy hated most about Slaying was the fact that she could never keep an outfit in the right shape for more than a week. The constant blood that seemed to get on her clothes stained, and automatically ruined an outfit. Buffy snorted softly as she realized she was thinking normal things for once—besides the Slaying half.

“Is there a reason you’re snorting like a barn animal, pet?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. She was not in the mood for this. “What do you want, Spike?” she asked, impatient and annoyed before he even opened his mouth. Spike approached the gravestone Buffy was leaned against and sat on it, lighting a cigarette and stuffing his lighter back in the pocket of his black leather duster. “Need some help? Looks pretty slow. Could give you a good workout. Bit of a rough-n-tumble, eh luv?” Spike said. Buffy glared up at him. “No. Thank you. I think I’ll live with the incredible slowness that is my life without your help,” she said, and went back to studying and picking at the paint on her nails.

Spike rolled his eyes and took a long drag from the cig. Blowing the smoke out, he smirked a little. “Up for a little—“

“No.”

“You didn’ let me finish.”

“I don’t have to. No.”

Spike’s eyebrow raised slightly as he slid onto the ground next to Buffy. Buffy’s first thought was to move before he touched her, but he was quicker than her, and his hand was trailing along her inner thigh within seconds of him landing on the ground. Buffy swatted his hand away. “Stop,” she said. “Not tonight.” Spike smirked, but moved his hand away from her and didn’t put it back. “Whatever you say, luv,” he said, and took another drag form the cigarette. Buffy tensed. “Don’t call me luv,” she snapped. Spike chuckled.

Buffy stood up. She was not in the mood to deal with him, and she had some time to kill before she had to head back to the house. Giving Spike a look that said she’d stake him if he followed her, Buffy turned and headed out of the cemetery. She was upset. Again.

But about what she wasn’t to sure. It always seemed to strike whenever Spike called her love. She hated it, but it hurt her to know that he had called so many other women that before her, and that she was probably going to end up just that if she ever did decide to start something with him: another woman. And it hurt. She knew she shouldn’t have been thinking those things, that Spike was dead, no soul, and the only thing keeping him from killing her friends was that chip. The only thing keeping him from killing her was the fact that her friends would go after him, and he couldn’t fight.

Walking down the alley to the Bronze, Buffy crossed her arms over her chest and lowered her head, watching the ground as she walked. The wind blew and she shivered. She quickened her pace, then entered the Bronze. She realized tears were streaming down her cheeks. This couldn’t have all been about Spike. She never cried over something she didn’t care about.

Sitting at the bar, Buffy wiped her eyes and ordered a drink. The bartender studied her, and Buffy imagined how she must look. Horrible, no doubt about that. The bartended was a pretty young girl, twenty at the most, and seemed to understand right away what was going on. “Guy problems, huh?” she asked, as she poured Buffy’s drink. Buffy nodded slightly, still not to sure herself. The bartender handed Buffy her drink. “Want to talk about it?”

One hour later, Buffy and Leah (the bartender) were seated in the back corner of the Bronze, dark and more likely to get privacy. Buffy hadn’t realized how easy it would be to talk to a stranger. It was like everything she felt about Spike, about her friends, and about herself were much simpler to explain to someone who wouldn’t lecture her or be confused by her actions.

“So you feel like your friends don’t accept you anymore since you’ve come back from LA?” Leah asked. Buffy nodded. She had told Leah that she had been away in LA, instead of dead. Buffy really didn’t want to think of the reaction she would get if she told Leah the truth. Buffy shifted slightly, holding her third coke of the night between her palms.

“It’s just that...when I left, I needed some time to collect myself. When I came back, things were so different, and no matter how much I tried to fit in, nothing worked,” Buffy said. Leah nodded thoughtfully, and Buffy suddenly felt like she was talking to a therapist. “So this Spike guy,” Leah said. “He’s been helping you?” Again, Buffy nodded. “In...different...ways,” she replied. Leah frowned. “He’s been helping me get back into the swing of things. But he’s also in love with me, and we kind of...well...I wouldn’t know how to explain it without sounding horrible,” Buffy said. Leah smiled, amusement flashing in her eyes. “You slept together?” she asked.

“In an abandoned house.”

“You naughty girl.”

Buffy smiled a little and took a drink of her coke. Leah was looking Buffy over with more thoughtfulness. “Do you love him?”

Buffy choked. “What?” she asked when she could breathe. Leah looked her dead in the eye. “Spike. Do you love him?” she asked. Buffy started at Leah, thrown off for a minute. Then she answered, “No. But I do care for him. I don’t think I’m capable of loving him yet.” Leah nodded. “You need to let him know that,” she said.

Buffy looked around the club, thinking. Leah was right. Buffy’s eyes stopped on a figure in a black leather duster, standing in the corner on the other side of the room, drink in hand, watching her. Buffy sighed. “Thanks, Leah. I think I’ll do that now.” With that, Buffy stood and made her way across the room towards Spike, feeling like a whole weight was being lifted from her chest. She would wait. And he would still love her when she was ready.

She hoped.

Buffy jumped up and spin kicked the vampire backwards into a crypt. “You know,” she said, pulling out her stake and twirling it once. “Sneaking up on girls, especially ones that can kick your ass from here to hell, is very rude.” The vampire snarled and leapt at her, but Buffy dodged out of the way. Life sucked. All it was for her anymore is Slay, take care of her sister, fight off a lust crazed vampire, and slay some more.

The vampire smashed into a tree and growled in a mixture of pain and severe annoyance. Good, Buffy thought, Maybe I’ll get a decent fight tonight. She had just finished the thought when three more vampires jumped down from a tree not to far in front of her. She sighed. Great.

The vampire she had been fighting first hissed something at his friends, who looked like they had a serious case of the chicken pox. They advanced on her. Buffy raised her stake, and they stopped. Buffy slammed her fist into the first one’s chest, sending it reeling backwards to the ground. How long was she going to have to put up with crap like this? All vampires ever did anymore was step out and fight. Where was the fun in that? Where were the plots? Where were the apocalypses?

But on second thought, Buffy really needed a break. She had been back from the dead for a few months now, and things were getting to be too hard to handle. Her friends had moved on with their lives, and she didn’t seem to fit in anymore. The only person who seemed to stay hooked on her anymore was Spike. Big annoyance.

Buffy stakes the first vampire she had fought, then turned on the other three. They had formed a semi circle around her. Buffy raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. She had learned how to get out of situations like this years ago. Which was another thing that was annoying her. She knew so much about being a Slayer, and the evil nasties weren’t giving her a big challenge. Sometimes she wished the fight with Glory had been drawn out more.

Buffy roundhouse kicked one of the vampires to the ground, spun, and grabbed the wrist of the one that tried throwing a punch at her. Without letting go of the one’s wrist, she turned and kicked the other in the stomach, sending it into a tree. She twisted evil nasty number one’s wrist, then threw him backwards into a tree branch. He dusted.

Everyday was like a repeat of the one before. Things were getting to be boring, and she couldn’t think of anything to fix it. She didn’t belong here. She was supposed to be dead. She did her duty, and her time was up. But no, she had been brought back. She had been confused, and the only person willing to help her was a soulless evil vampire that she hated with all her being but somehow had a connection with him. Ever since she slept with him, she had felt drawn to him. Just another mishap in the glorious life of Buffy Summers.

Buffy dusted the last two vampires and brushed off. All could she could really come up with as a conclusion was that her life was twisted. Twisted, bent, and completely abnormal. The life of a Slayer. And there was nothing she could do to fix it.

Buffy Summers walked slowly into Sunnydale Catholic Church, arms crossed. She hated what she was about to do, but she needed some sign that she was forgiven for some of the things she had done. She had no clue how she was going to explain herself to a Priest, especially when she had to make up alternate topics for vampires and demons and The First.

Buffy walked to the front pew and sat down. The priest in Sunnydale Catholic never used confession boxes anymore. She did not have to wait long for the priest to appear. “Confession?” he asked, and she nodded. He sat down next to her, fingering the cross around his neck. He was dressed in the traditional priest outfit, and his black hair was messed up and poofed. His dark skin looked dry, and he looked exhausted.

“I am father Thompson,” he said. “You may begin.” Buffy shifted a little. “Do I have to say the whole forgive me father speech?” she asked. Father Thompson smiled. “No child. Just tell me why you are here,” he replied. Buffy uncrossed her arms and leaned back in the pew. “I feel like I am shutting the ones I love most out of my life,” she said. Father Thompson’s eyebrows rose. “Oh?” he said. She nodded. “I’ve been so...harsh...with them for the past few weeks. My little sister pointed out this morning that I wouldn’t talk to anyone. But there’s been so much going on, I don’t know who to talk to, who would understand. Its like I’m leading everything, with no outlet.”

“Did you ever consider the fact that you could be doing just that? Leading everything, but finding no outlet to take the pressure off of yourself?”

Buffy sighed. “Yes,” she said. “But something—someone—is after me. And I can’t put my friends in danger like that,” she said.

“Who is after you?”

“It’s a long story,” Buffy replied.

“Care to share it?”

“Not really.”

Father Thompson nodded. “Continue,” he said. Buffy shut her eyes briefly. “I have a rough job,” she said cautiously, “And it takes up a lot of my time. And a lot of energy. But I can’t seem to split down the middle; friends versus job.”

“What do you do?”

Buffy paused. She had no idea how to answer that. “Uh...Law, uh...enforcement,” she said. Father Thompson nodded, and Buffy continued. “My job is to save people, and I seem to be getting more killed. And what really bothers me, is that there’s nothing I can do about it. I feel like I’ve caused it.”

“How on earth could you be responsible, child?”

“I don’t know. I mean I do, but I don’t know how to explain it.”

Father Thompson was quite for a moment. “What is your name?” he asked. “Buffy Summers,” Buffy replied. Father Thompson nodded. “Buffy, god will see you through this. You have not sinned. You have simply caught yourself in a mess that you did not create,” he said. Buffy pondered that, then nodded. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Was there anything else you wished to discuss?”

“No.”

“Then I wish you a pleasant night, and leave you with this advice: follow in the steps of the Lord, and you will remain pure.”

Buffy smiled a little and stood. “Have a good night,” she said, and walked towards the doors. She felt that the last remark he gave her was a bit over the top. As she opened the doors, Spike stood up from the steps. “Alright, pet?” he asked. “Got all of your tears out?” he smirked, and she rolled her eyes. “Very funny, Spike. Let’s go.” With that, the two descended the steps and made their way towards Revello Drive.