Buffy picked out some clean clothes and headed back into the bathroom to towel off and change. As peaceful as Spike looked, as much as she wanted to curl up next to him, the truth was that he needed his rest and she was both wide awake and hungry enough to eat something, for a change. Plus she wasn't sure she'd be able to let him actually sleep if she did get in bed with him. All this kissing and teasing was having its effect on her, too.

No, an escape to forage the kitchen for dinner was definitely of the good if she wanted to keep her hands to herself.

She heated some leftovers in the microwave and thought about the things Spike had said before their nap together. Yes, she probably did need to get in touch with her friends. Eventually. Maybe. But it was also important that she establish herself here in this new life she was trying to build – especially considering that it looked like her new life would have Spike in it – and that was something she had to do on her own. Wasn't it?

Having Spike back was a completely unexpected gift that Buffy wasn't going to throw away. She knew she needed him in her life, and wanted him to stay if he'd still have her. What she didn't know was whether she'd be able to keep him if her friends started pressuring her to give him up. Wouldn't having all her friends weighing in on everything undermine the relationship she wanted to have with him?

It wasn't like she had a whole lot of practice standing on her own without their input; knowing what she wanted was hard enough. Figuring that out, and then sticking to her guns in the face of their well-intentioned meddling?

From where Buffy was sitting, from what she knew of herself, that sounded pretty much impossible.

As if to underscore what she was thinking, the phone started to ring right as Buffy finished spooning her dinner onto a plate. She walked over and checked the caller ID, sighed. International number. One of hers, then. The machine could get it.

So yeah. Right now talking to her friends was just – something she wasn't ready for. In the meantime, she'd set up her new bank account, get her driver's license renewed, and… yes. Definitely needed to look into a place of her own to live. Xander was a hero for letting her stay with him, but he deserved his privacy and as far as Buffy was concerned, "new life" meant "new home". And she really, really wanted to have a place to call her own after a year of hotels and apartments all over Europe.

The phone didn't ring again until Buffy was nearly finished eating, maybe a half-hour later. She could feel her shoulders tighten as she checked the ID. Another international number.

Buffy sighed. Rolled the tension out of her shoulders, rinsed her plate and put it in the sink.

She found the day's paper, already in the recycling, and spread it out on the countertop of the "bar" at the entrance to the kitchen. Leafed through the pages until she found the classifieds, hunted up a pen, and sat down. Started circling places that sounded interesting.

The next time the phone rang it was somebody local, but that meant it was for Xander and she didn't need to pick up, so she let the machine take that one too.

Buffy took her sweet time looking through the apartments section, longer than she really needed. She told herself it was because she wanted to give Spike time to sleep without her disturbing him once she climbed into bed, but if she were being honest with herself it was because she liked the quiet. Unfortunately the quiet kept getting interrupted by a ringing phone – they were all for Xander, but still – and in order to relax after each call, Buffy felt like she had to start her quiet time over again from the beginning.

She looked at the thing out of the corner of her eye, mounted there on the wall next to her. Should she turn the ringer off? She sighed again. No… because if she forgot to turn it back on, Xander might miss out on important business.

Just when she was finally starting to get settled, and her shoulders were coming back down from around her ears, the ringing started. Again.

She checked the caller ID. International number.

Buffy gathered up the newspaper and pen and took them back into her bedroom. Hopefully the little table lamp being on wouldn't bother Spike – shouldn't, being as he literally slept like the dead – and she'd be able to finish apartment hunting in peace.

Another hour or so went by before Spike woke up. Long, slow intake of breath – a hitch and tiny grunt as he found the sore spot in his side. Bedsprings creaking as he stretched and shifted. Buffy looked over her shoulder at him.

"Hey," she smiled. "How're you feeling?"

"Clean," he said. Voice still husky from sleep. "Peckish, again. 'S like I have hollow legs or something."

"Well, I sure don't know where you're putting it all," Buffy teased. "Do vampires get fat?"

"Hey, none of that from you, missy," he growled. Saw him smile as he looked her up and down. "You could stand to eat a bit more yourself."

"Just had dinner," she said. "Let me get yours, 'kay?"

"Appreciate that," he replied. Tried to sit up, bared his teeth as his arms started shaking. "Bloody hell."

"Here, let me," said Buffy. Let him lean on her as they carefully got him upright, arranged a couple pillows behind him. "Should you still be this… you know. Wobbly?"

Spike licked his lips, looked away for a second in thought. "Takes a lot to kill a vampire, love," he said finally. "Spell nearly did the job. Reckon I've got reserves need filling up, get my full strength back." He shrugged with one shoulder. "Now the spell's off completely, shouldn't take too long. Healing should go faster, all that." He turned a hand palm up, held it out with a smile. "You wait, these chicken scratches will be so many scars by tomorrow. Gone in a week."

"I hope you're right," she said. Brought her shoulders up, hugged her elbows. "Anyway. Dinner." She pointed a thumb behind her towards the kitchen. "I'll just."

Spike nodded, settled himself more comfortably against the pillows as she stepped out the door.

She was on her way back when the phone began to ring. Buffy stopped, closed her eyes for a second, then walked back up the hall to her room. Handed the mug of blood to Spike without a word, set the thermos on the side table where he could reach it.

"You going to get that, love?" he asked.

"No," she replied. Spike raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as he emptied his mug of blood.

The ringing continued. Buffy gritted her teeth for a second, then purposefully blew out a breath and turned back to the newspaper.

"Care to tell us what you're doing," he asked, "that's so important you can't stop long enough to answer the phone?"

"I'm looking for apartments," said Buffy. "Xander's great, but I can't stay here forever."

Spike shifted in the bed. She heard him hiss and glanced over to see him clutching his ribs. "That's funny," he grunted. "From here I thought for certain you were playing that Sudoku game instead."

"I'm taking a break," muttered Buffy. "Anyway the calls are mostly for Xander. I don't need to answer those."

"And if it isn't for Harris?" he asked.

She scribbled a seven into one of the squares of the grid. "I don't have to answer those, either," she said evenly.

Spike snorted quietly, shook his head at her. "You can't hide from them forever, you know," he said.

"I'm not hiding from them," Buffy insisted. "I'm trying to set up a new life that involves me, standing on my own two feet for once."

"For once?" Spike looked at her, incredulous, brows lowered. "Buffy, you're one of the strongest people I know. You've done plenty of standing on your own. You've survived apocalypses, for God's sake – to say nothing of handling your mother's passing, raising Dawn…" He stopped, squinted at her. "What's this about, really?"

"God, Spike, don't you see?" she asked him tiredly. Propped her elbows on the desk and dug her thumbs into her eyebrows. "I haven't ever done anything on my own, no matter what it might have looked like. Willow, Xander, Giles," her mouth twisted as she said his name, "my mom – those guys have always been there, looking over my shoulder, making sure I didn't screw anything up – or, you know, making sure I didn't do anything that didn't fit with their ideas of how I should behave."

She huffed a sad little laugh. "Even you pointed out to me that the only reason I lasted so long as a Slayer was because I had support instead of going it alone."

"But that's a good thing, innit," said Spike. "You do better with them around. Doesn't make you less strong because you have friends."

"This is different," said Buffy. "It isn't a matter of us – saving each others' lives, or something. It's about the manipulation, about people keeping secrets from me, about them sticking their noses and their opinions and their judgments where they don't belong."

She sighed, turned to face him wearily. "I'm trying to get away from all that," she said. "I'm trying to start over, here in the States. New place to live, new job, new… relationship," she smiled shyly at him. "New everything."

"But not new friends," Spike pointed out.

"What – no," Buffy said. "Nothing like that. I'm just – I'm not ready, yet."

"That's not how it looks from here, pet," he said. Eyes serious.

Buffy's eyes grew wide. "What are you saying?" she asked.

"I'm saying that if I were them, I'd be starting to wonder, right about now, whether or not you were walking away from me as part of your 'new life' too," said Spike. "Whether or not you were lumping me in with Giles, leaving me behind, without bothering to ask first whether I had anything to do with his secret-keeping and lies."

"That's not what this is," said Buffy, upset. "I just need to have some time to myself."

"And again I'll tell you," he insisted, "that that isn't what things look like from where I'm sitting. Likely not from where they're sitting either." He set the mug to one side, tried to fold his arms. Screwed his face up in annoyance and pain. "It looks a lot like you're just dumping them the way you dumped Giles. Like you don't even want them as friends anymore."

"But that's not true!" she exclaimed.

"Then why aren't they here, with you," he asked quietly.

"How can you ask me that?" she demanded. "Do you think I could have just dropped everything and come to find you if they were here? What are the odds we'd still be debating what the messages really meant, or whether or not we could trust them, or if maybe 'go to him, he needs you' was just some stupid metaphor? God, Spike – it's you. Do you really think I would have been allowed to come after you without the whole committee getting their two cents' in, first? 'Gosh, Buffy, I don't know, is he really good for you? Are you sure that's not just your own interpretation, Buffy? Is that really a good idea?'"

She threw her hands in the air, brought them down to tug at her hair. "I'm not in the mood to deal with that kind of pressure from them anymore. I'm not stronger when I have to deal with all that – that crap." She rubbed her hands over her face, sighed again. "It's because of that crap that I've never learned how to deal with real life or trust my own decisions." She looked at him again, eyes heavy. "Weren't you the one who said I didn't have to defend myself to them anymore?"

"I was," said Spike, "but this isn't the same. You're worried about pressure – the longer you avoid them, the more that pressure is going to build. If not from them, then from your own conscience, Buffy. Every time that phone rings it will eat at you, knowing that you're hiding from your friends, from your family, telling yourself you're not."

"But I just want to be left alone!" she exclaimed.

"And I was left alone!" Spike shouted, then grunted and hunched over, holding his broken ribs. "Nngh. Damn it, Buffy. Everyone in Los Angeles – everyone I had a hope of calling a friend – Christ, even the ones I didn't trust enough to call friends. They're all gone, Buffy. They're dead. I will never get the chance to speak to any of them, ever again. I left LA completely alone, my personal hell, and you saw what happened to me. And there's another one – Figg? That old demon running the greenhouse? He was insane, Buffy, because he'd been left alone, the way you seem to want so badly. His family were all destroyed and he had nothing left."

Buffy started to speak, but Spike held up a hand to stop her while he caught his breath. "They love you," he went on after a moment, "your sister, your friends. They love you, and you are on the verge of throwing their friendship away because – what? You don't want to have to answer their questions?" He looked at her, eyes pained. "How soon before you do that to me too, Buffy?" he asked her softly.

Buffy's heart twisted painfully at the expression on his face. She moved from her chair to sit on the bed facing him, reached up to touch his face. "I love you," she said. "I would never – you have to believe me."

"You love them," he said, closing his eyes; "that isn't stopping you." He reached up and caught her hand, pressed his face into her palm for a moment before he opened his eyes again. "I can't do this again," he said sadly. "I can't live, hearing you say that you love me, and still wondering how long it will be before you push me away over something trivial, something you don't have the courage to face," he said. "I can't do it, Buffy. I –" he swallowed, glanced away for a second before finding her eyes again. "I haven't got anyone else."

She took him in, his posture, his vulnerable, open expression. Slid forward so she could wrap her arms around his shoulders, gently. Rested her forehead against his for a moment. "I just," she said finally, "I don't want to have to defend leaving England. Leaving Giles. Or being with you. I'm not even sure what to tell them about finding you still alive." Pulled back, rolled her eyes with a little smile. "Undead, whatever."

Spike smiled too, and Buffy's heart lifted a little. "So don't defend yourself," he said. "You've done nothing wrong, love. But they have no idea where you've even been these past days, and they're likely worried sick. You do owe it to them to let them know you're not dead or in prison." She laughed a little, but she could see he was serious. "You may not owe them anything else, but you do owe them that," he finished.

Buffy looked away. Bit her lip, fidgeted with her hands in her lap. Finally she sighed.

"I don't even know who to call first," she said, and Spike leaned back against his pillows, visibly relieved.

"Try your family," he suggested. "Dawn. If any of the Scoobies will be understanding and supportive of your choices, it should be her, yeah?"

"I guess so," said Buffy.

"Get the gossip from your sister," he said. "Find out 'what's the what', like you're always saying. Decide from there whether you want to talk to anyone else or just have Dawn relay a message."

"You're giving me an out?" she asked, eyebrow raised.

Spike answered her eyebrow with one of his own. "I'm giving you a start," he replied. "'S better than keeping your head in the sand and pretending your friends aren't still on your mind."

"Yeah," said Buffy. She got up, went to her dresser and pulled open the top drawer.

Pulled out her cell phone and charger, stared at them for a moment, chewing her lip.

Hooked them together, and plugged them in.

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