Maybe it was the water that did it. It seemed like every time she washed the dishes, or washed her face, or took a shower, it would start. Made sense, maybe, that water would kick-start more water pouring.

But now, there wasn’t any water to excuse it. There was only a crumpled flyer with a peer counselor’s number on it, all mashed up like Willow’s face had been when she’d given it to Buffy. “If you won’t talk to me,” she’d said, obviously pained about it. And then Buffy had gone and made it worse because she’d laughed, like an idiot, and made some oh-so-witty comment about heaven and how the peer counselors were gonna take that. Like it was just any old problem you could solve by talking to someone. The way Willow had sort of hunched in… It hurt her, you could tell it hurt her, and it didn’t do a damn bit of good because Buffy just couldn’t pull far away enough to understand. Willow was scared, maybe, and sad, yeah, but Willow brimmed with her puppy energy that begged you to be ok and got that puppy resentment when you wouldn’t, no matter what she did. If she did anything. God, to even think that about Willow for a second… If anything was the trouble, it was that she worried too much, tried to help too much, not that she… Even if that look in her eyes was always a little disappointed.

Stupid. Stupid to think like that, stupid to stand here in the hallway, clutching a day-glo flyer and leaking from the eyes. Just standing. Nothing handy to kill, not when she’d already done two patrols. Stupid just to stand here when Dawn could wake up any minute and find her, or worse yet Willow, who get all pinched and worried and sad, that she’d hurt when she meant to help. Not good to pour anything else on her, not with Tara acting so weird… But, honestly. Stupid peer counselors. Buffy could understand the impulse, almost, to do something, anything, even if it wasn’t the plan with the mostest, just because you wanted to fix it so bad, fix something anyway. God, if she saw Buffy like this…

Buffy squared her shoulders. Time to get serious, time to beat those stupid tears back. It wasn’t like she was sobbing or anything. She should be able to stop that slow drip. She scrubbed one cheek with the back of her hand, erasing the tears. But more followed after, no matter how hard she tried to keep them there, floating on top of her eyes until they got just big enough and poured off despite her. Oughta be able to stop them, couldn’t. Now that sounds like a little slayer-style deja-vu.

Something rustled in Dawn’s room. Buffy froze, heard her sister rise from her bed. Her voice carried through the door. Good. Smart enough to keep the door closed till she knew what she was dealing with. “Buffy?”

“Shh, Dawnie. I was just going out on patrol.”

“But…”

“I ran into a nest. I want to take it out before I go to sleep.”

“Isn’t it, like, a little late?”

“Which is why I’d better step on it if I’m gonna get them before breakfast. Which will be a nutritious way to start your day.”

“Whatever.”

“Go back to bed, Dawnie.” Buffy waited until the rustling stopped before moving. Going to her room was too risky – Dawn might catch the lie, not to mention that if the sobs came – which they were NOT going to – but if they did, Dawn might be able to hear and if she knew how… Anyway, it might scare her.

Buffy padded down the steps, slipped out the kitchen door. Ah, porch steps. We meet again, my old nemesis. Because it’s never a happy meeting, not out here. She flopped down in her usual spot, stuffing her hands between her legs, and stared at the ground. Drip. Drip. Drip. Buffy took a deep breath. There wasn’t even a good reason to cry, not right now. God, she should be able to control this, control herself because now she just had to… God, now she was panting. Panting… That happened sometimes before the sobs came, and they were NOT going to come anytime soon. Slow breaths, Buffy. Stop crying. Nothing to cry about. You cry when you can’t change anything. Just breathe.

She could feel it creeping up on her, and there was no reason, none at all that she should feel it so much, now. Nothing extra right now, and so she should be able to just work through it. But there it was, gathering up and it was going to come out no matter how hard she pushed it down. Breathe, Buffy. Just breathe.

It took a moment to register that scuffed boots had replaced the patch of grass she’d been staring at. Oh, God. Not now, not when she wasn’t sure that she could hold it in and if anyone saw her, God, if HE saw her… “Not a good time, Spike,” she ground out.

“Luv, I just thought…”

She turned her face, letting her hair shield anything that he might be able to see even with her head bowed. Get a hold of yourself, Buffy, or you’re going to… Unthinkable. “Just… It’s just not a good time.”

The boots were replaced with bent knees and dangling hands. “What’s this, then?” A hand reached out and she turned her head further, digging her chin into her shoulder. Cool fingers underneath it, and it suddenly seemed so hard to resist their tug toward him. She closed her eyes, took a long slow breath. It was building inside of her, but she could keep it there, she could.


A teardrop squeezed past her shut eyelid. Shit, he’d see it. He was always noticing too much. God, how she wanted to shove him away, say something, drive him out. But she was teetering on the edge of control, and if she moved or spoke it would probably start, right in front of him and nothing, NOTHING could be worse than that.

She could feel his fingers brushing the tear away. It felt… oh God, there was the panting again. Buffy bit her lip and tried to slow her breathing because he’d notice, he’d KNOW and then…

Hands on her shoulders, pulling her toward him. She pushed back, hands gripping the edge of the porch hard enough to feel the grain of the wood beneath them. That’s good. Think about that. Focus on the wood.

One hand moving on her bicep, light and slow. Buffy pressed her teeth down harder into her lip. That was almost enough, almost enough to let it out. “Let up on that lip, love. You’ll hurt yourself.”

She made the mistake of opening her eyes up to glare at him and there he was, squatting in front of her, head titled, face all soft, looking at her like he care and understood and OH GOD it was starting to happen. The sobs came bubbling up and then somehow or other her face was buried in his neck and she was probably getting snot all over him and it hurt and what must he think, and what would he say and what had become of her that she could do this while he was here, let him hold her while she blubbered like a complete idiot and she was probably being so loud that Dawn could hear her from the window if it was open. Oh, God.

Who knew how long she had sat there humiliating herself! It seemed like her stomach had been jerking forever, like she’d never stop crying and now that it was mostly over… She let her head rest against him, even after the tears slowed a bit and she started to regain a little control. It felt good, to be held, and what did that say about her that she’d let him and what must he think? Oh, God. She couldn’t start thinking about it or else she’d just start up again and make everything even worse. She screwed her eyes shut and nestled her face in closer, so close that it was dark and she didn’t have to see who was holding her. A hand – not his, just a – stroking up and down her back. Like it meant to protect her, like someone was going to do something about all this and she could just huddle here until she felt better. So good just to relax into it.

It hurt to pull away – and how sick was it, that it hurt, that she even let herself – and the look on his face, all soft and a little bewildered and so, so focused on her like nobody seemed to be these days… It hurt to stand up, and back away, back toward the kitchen, What did it mean, that she couldn’t look away from him, that she just fixated right on him until the doorknob brushed the back of her hand? What did it say about her, that even after she’d slipped inside, she’d peered out the window to see if he was still there? And worst of all, that she’d felt… better, maybe even good that he was still out there, watching the door?

Buffy braced her hands on the door and slid to the floor. God. She really had come back wrong.