He had stayed away for three long days, three endless days spent struggling with the truth: Buffy was alive. She had climbed out of her grave and was walking around Sunnydale once more, as if she had never been gone. He simply couldn’t bring himself to comprehend what had happened and even more so what Buffy must have gone through, must still be going through.

So he had stayed away, afraid of what he might find – afraid of seeing that blank look still haunting her expression. She had changed, it was clear, and he was afraid to find out just how much. What kind of emotional trauma would she be suffering after a trip to Hell and back? How would she adjust to life once more? Would she ever be the same as before? He had no answers for his questions: none of his study of Psychology had ever covered anything like this.

There was only one person he knew who had any idea what Buffy was going through – because he too had once had to crawl out of his own grave, many years ago now. Spike had been nowhere to be found in the last few days though and Riley couldn’t help but worry about how the vampire might be coping. He had been so angry the other day, so evidently upset by the circumstances surrounding Buffy’s resurrection.

Spike was sure to be suffering as much as he was, if his original reaction was anything to go by. Riley had seen no sign of him though: when visiting the vampire’s crypt the night before, he had found nothing but a mess of empty bottles. It was a different type of grieving, but there was no doubt in Riley’s mind that it was anything else.



For his part, disbelief was playing more of a role than grief. It had finally got to the point where he could not bear to stay away any longer – he had to see Buffy, even if he was scared of the Buffy he might find. He had to see her, to know that he hadn’t dreamt the events of the other day. He needed the confirmation of what he already knew because he was still too overwhelmed to process his reunion with her.

So this was how he found himself hurrying through Sunnydale just after noon, heading for the shop after an unsuccessful trip to the Summers’ house. He slipped through the familiar alleys, weaving his way towards the shop, desperate now to see this resurrected Buffy. He needed to hear her voice, needed to know that he hadn’t been tricked with the robot. It couldn’t be though – he had seen Buffy, the real Buffy.

He knew it, yet some part of him doubted – the part of him that was still a naïve boy from Iowa. How could Willow so simply have brought a dead person back to life? The magic involved was beyond his comprehension, beyond anything he had ever known and it made the whole thing that much harder to believe: in the world of that simple Iowan boy, magic was a thing of fantasy and resurrection was the work of God.



He was nearing the shop now and he felt his whole body tense in anticipation. He would see her once more and he would know for certain that Buffy had been returned to them. He rounded another corner and collided with someone coming in the opposite direction. He went to steady the other person and jerked his gaze up in shock as he came face to face with Buffy. For a long moment, all he could do was take her in silently, wide eyes flicking from head to toe.

“Buffy,” he got out, his voice barely a whisper.

She slipped her arm out of his grasp and took a step back, eyes flicking to his and away again. She wrapped her arms around herself, looking awkward, uncomfortable, and he realised he was still staring at her. To his surprise, before he could say anything, it was she that spoke up in a quiet voice.

“I heard you came back.”

“Yeah.”

She nodded, her gaze not meeting his.

“Another thing that’s changed.”

She shook her head a moment later and raised her eyes to his finally, her expression still unnervingly blank.

“How long have you been back?”

“Almost two months now,” he answered, trying to puzzle out this new version of Buffy. She seemed distracted and there was a troubled look wrinkling her brow.

“That’s good,” she answered absentmindedly.



There was a long silence and he couldn’t help but take her in, mentally spotting differences between then and now. The silence stretched on though and, seeing that her gaze was fixed on the floor, he spoke up.

“And you… how are you?”

He wanted to kick himself for asking such a stupid question but this Buffy left him lost for words in a way the old Buffy never had. She raised her eyes to his and gave him a half smile.

“I’m okay.”

He regarded her for a moment, considering the truth of this statement. She looked normal enough, but her bland expression was still troubling him.

“I mean, I’m coping,” she added, as if guessing his thoughts.

“I’m glad,” he murmured.

There was another pause, soon broken as the words came from him unbidden.

“If you ever… I’m here, if you need anything,” he said softly, “If you need to talk or…”

He trailed off uncertainly as emotionless eyes regarded him.

“I really have to…” she suddenly got out, gesturing past him.

“Of course. I mean-“

“I’ll see you.”

Before he could say anything, she was gone, leaving him staring after her in a daze. She was Buffy, that was certain – but a Buffy so altered as to be almost unrecognisable. She was so quiet, so uncertain and so easily spooked – a shadow of the Slayer she had once been.



He shook off his daze and turned back to the path in front of him, his mind whirling with thoughts. He made his way further along the alleyway and rounded the last corner, coming to a stop as he spotted a figure in front of him once more. He stood stock-still as he took in Spike’s hunched figure.

The vampire sat on a nearby crate - just outside the shop’s back door - with his head buried in his hands, his shoulders shaking ever so slightly. His head whipped up as he sensed Riley’s presence and he wiped a hand quickly over his eyes, by no means erasing the signs of his distress. It wasn’t difficult to guess that Spike had had an encounter with Buffy only minutes before and Riley only wondered what had upset the vampire so much.

Spike got to his feet and pulled out a cigarette, obviously fighting for a calm that he did not feel.

“Alright,” he called in greeting, giving Riley a slight nod.

“You’re out early,” Riley commented, glancing up at the bright sky.

Spike shrugged, thrusting his free hand in his pocket.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Seeing that Spike was not in the most sociable mood, he made a few steps towards the shop.

“Well, I’m heading inside. What about you?”

“I’ll pass,” Spike replied with a scoff, “Scoobies will be patting themselves on the back still.”

After this statement, Spike quickly turned, rounded a corner and disappeared into the shade, leaving him to ponder on these words. It seemed there was more going on than he had any idea of and not for the first time, he felt like he was on the outside, looking in – and struggling to understand what he was seeing.