“It’s a little early in the day for something that strong, isn’t it? It’s barely ten a.m.”

Buffy glanced to her left. Lorne, Angel’s demon friend who owned the bar she was currently sitting at, had moved the purse she strategically placed in the seat next to her to avoid company. “Not when it’s the kind of day I’ve had,” she replied.

“Well, to bad days then.” He lifted his own glass of water in a mock toast.

Buffy lifted her drink, tipped it in his direction, and downed the contents. It burned all the way to her stomach and she set the empty glass back on the bar with a grimace. “I haven’t had a drop in months.”

“Should I be stopping you? Telling your boss that you’re drinking on the clock?”

Buffy motioned for the bartender to fill her glass again. “No. And I don’t want you telling Spike either.”

“Ooh, sounds bad, precious. Trouble in paradise?”

“Paradise is perfect. It’s the rest of the damn world that needs to piss off.” She tossed back the next, more liberal, helping of cognac and made a face. “I had forgotten what this junk tastes like.”

Lorne shook his head at the bartender as he started to refresh her glass again. “I heard about Miles. He was a good one. Used to come and sing on the weekends.”

“He liked to sing when we patrolled, too.”

The bartender laid the bill on the table and Lorne glanced down at it, eyes widening. The Slayer had downed seven shots in the thirty minutes she had been inside the bar. He watched as she dug through her pocket and pulled out a crumpled fifty dollar bill and laid it on the counter. When she reached for her purse, he caught her arm. “You really don’t need to drive.”

“Unless Wolfram and Hart has moved in the time I’ve been gone, I’m walking back across the street.”

“Why don’t you favor us with a song?”

“Trust me, Lorne, you don’t want to get inside my head.”

“Sometimes singing is the best therapy in the world.”

Buffy glanced up at the stage. Spike had tried repeatedly to get her to sing for The Host since she had returned to Los Angeles, but she had refused each time, saying that she had done enough singing in Sunnydale to last her a lifetime. A part of her wanted to, wanted to stand up and lay herself bare for the demon’s perusal. She wanted to find out what life had in store for her. “What do you see when people sing for you?”

“It’s always different. Sometimes I see their fears, their passions. Sometimes I see glimpses of their future or relive the pain in their past. It can be an emotional ride.”

“Does it matter what the person sings?”

“Not at all.”

She surveyed the deserted bar and shrugged, beginning to feel the effects of the cognac. “Why the hell not?”

“Excellent.” Lorne stood, pulling her barstool back for her.

Buffy followed him up to the stage and took the hand he extended as she climbed the six stairs. He handed her a book, telling her to choose her poison, but she handed it back to him and pointed to the piano. “May I?”

“You play?”

“Once upon a time, my parents entertained the notion that I would be a famous concert pianist. They forced me to take lessons from birth.”

“Are you any good?”

“I used to be. Hell, it’s like riding a bike, right?”

“You’re a woman of many talents.” He lifted the lid on the piano and eased the microphone stand down into the correct position. “Trip the light fantastic, babycakes.”

Buffy sat down, stroking her fingertips along the ivory keys. She glanced out at all the empty chairs and found Lorne sitting midway in the room. “Any requests?”

“Whatever turns you on.”

Taking a deep breath, she began to play a slow, familiar tune that her mother used to beg her to play and sing: ‘Yesterday’ by the Beatles. Closing her eyes, it was easy to imagine that she was a little girl again, needing phonebooks under her bottom to raise her high enough to press the keys on the old black piano that had belonged to her grandmother. With each word that she sang, she could imagine her mother’s face, beaming at her from across the room. She could imagine Miles singing, badly, with her on patrol. She envisioned a million yesterdays in Sunnydale with her friends, back when the weight of the world had been heavy, but they’d propped her up under the pressure. God, how she missed them all. How she missed her old life.

As the song ended, Lorne was snapped from his reverie by the bartender clapping loudly. Blotting the tears from his eyes, Lorne stood and walked back to the stage. For someone so unbelievably strong and tough, the writings on her heart and soul were painful to behold. He had known that she had suffered in her short life, but nothing prepared him for the glimpses of what she had endured as a Slayer, as a friend, as a child, as a lover. Most of all, he had been shattered by the glimpse of what was to come for her, something only she had the power to prevent. Taking her hand, he helped her down the stairs, noting the way she wobbled on her feet.

Buffy smiled at him. “It was bad, right? Bad enough to make you cry.”

Lorne sniffled. “No. It was beautiful. Sit with me for a moment.”

She complied, sitting across from him and propping her chin on the palm of her hand. Her mind was fuzzy, the alcohol clearly working to rid her of the pain, just as she had known it would. “So what crazy things did you see?”

“You’ve had more pain and suffering than anyone I’ve ever read.” Lorne leaned forward a little, taking her hand. “But you’ve also loved more and better than anyone I’ve read, too. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever seen. But, you should know that big things are about to happen. I’m not completely sure of what, but I saw you on the beach, fighting a demon, alone. It was killing you, Buffy, and you were trying so hard not to let it, but it was. It will. Don’t fight alone. No matter what, don’t fight anything alone. You run if something attacks you.”

“Run?”

“I mean it, kitten. I know it goes against your nature to haul ass, but something nasty this way comes.”

“What kind of demon was it?”

“Big. Ugly. And with pieces of you all over it.”

Buffy stood, reaching past him for her purse. “In other words, Angel is really trying to drive home the fact that I don’t work alone, right? He told you to tell me this?”

Lorne shook his head. “I can’t control what I see. I wish there was a white picket fence in your future and maybe there will be if you listen to me, and get through this. Don’t go out alone. Not for a while.”

“How long is a while? Is there a time frame on your visions?”

“Give it a week and then sing for me again.”

“Fine,” Buffy said absently. “Whatever. I need to go.”

“Come back in a week,” Lorne called after her as she staggered for the front door. “One week! I mean it!”

*~*

Spike could hear her retching when he opened the door. Frowning, he dropped his jacket and made his way to the hallway bathroom where she was praying to the porcelain so fiercely that he half expected her pass out from lack of oxygen. The smell of alcohol was strong and he leaned over, flushing the toilet of its contents as another round of nausea hit her and she rose to her knees to empty the remaining contents of her stomach.

He wet a washcloth and moved behind her, pulling her hair back and wiping down her face. She moaned. “Oh god. I’m dying.”

“Serves you right.” Spike held her hair as she dry heaved a while longer, then she slumped back down, resting her forehead on the rim of the toilet. He said, “I’m gonna let you have this one, love, but we are not going down this road again. Alcohol isn’t a cure-all and I’ll be damned-”

“You can’t yell at someone who is sick!”

“Do you want me to show you what yelling is?”

“No.” She sniffed, holding her hand out for the washcloth which he gave to her. “I really don’t.”

“How much did you drink?”

Buffy shrugged. “No more than I used to. It just hit me all at once.”

“‘Used to’ being the key words there. It’s been a while. Did you eat breakfast?”

“No.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Lorne.” Buffy moaned again and adjusted her weight, trying to find a more comfortable position. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon. You want to tell me why you did this?”

“Angel is an asshole. I hate him.”

“If everyone who hated Angel got shit faced then we’d all be drunk all the time.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“He told me what happened, Buffy. He said he suspended you with pay.”

“Talk about kicking someone while they’re down. He’s such a prick.”

“You do realize that you deserved that and more, right?”

“What?” She looked up at him so quickly that it made her dizzy and she had to puke again. Spent, she moved away from the toilet and sat with her back against the bathtub, her knees drawn to her chest. “Don’t talk to me.”

“You’re not in any position to demand anything. You got what was coming to you! You have got to learn, sooner or later, that there are consequences-”

“Will you stop channeling Giles!? If I needed to hear this shit I would call him!”

“And the problem is that you won’t listen to him either!”

“Shut up! Do you not see that I’m miserable?”

“I do see it and I’m enjoying it.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Right! How could I have forgotten that you want to be alone. You want to slay demons alone. You want to drink alone. You only want me around when it’s convenient for you. I hope you drank to old times this morning, Buffy, because that’s right back where we are.”

“Spike, I didn’t-”

Saying nothing, Spike turned on his heel and left the room, slamming the door behind him. Feeling sorrier for herself than she had in a while, Buffy curled up on the floor and willed the room to stop spinning.

*~*~