Reviews! Wen and littlewiccan: thanks so much guys! Here's another chapter, then :-)

Disclaimer: Buffy and Angel belong to Joss and whoever else...i.e., not me.

A/N: This takes place right after Tabula Rasa, before Smashed.

Another night of patrolling. Another night of wandering aimlessly through town, avoiding her friends and sister. Killing a few vampires. Alternately avoiding or secretly hoping to see Spike. Another night of fulfilling her destiny to save the world.

Somebody stop the fun wagon.

Back in high school, and in college, even right before, she would grumble to herself about how her life on the Hellmouth was, at times, quite hellish. No matter what was happening at the time, the irony always held at least the smallest bit of humor; even after dying at the hands of the Master.

Okay, to be fair, it did take me a summer of shoe shopping and almost losing the Scoobies in a vampire ritual sacrifice to get over that one.

But this was different. With the Master, she had been dead for what? All of one and a half, two minutes? Her heart had stopped, some oxygen deprivation to the brain, blackness...and back to normal thanks to Xander's CPR. The second time, there was no blackness. Just light and peace and happiness, a perfection that she had only experienced once before, on her one night with Angel. Simple, unadulterated bliss.

Should've known it wouldn't last.

The bliss ended when Willow's spell brought her back to life, if you could call it life. More of an existance, one that made her feel more dead and lonely than death ever had. Now the only time she felt alive was when she was kissing Spike.

Find comfort from friends? No way. Just in kisses from a bloodthirsty vampire that's only on our side because of a some government migrane-giving behavior brain chip. Way to go, Buffy. I'll bet that—

She hit her head on a grave as she tripped over the body.


The body in question belonged to a man wearing a hideous orange jumpsuit that read "Sunnydale City Jail." A particularly messy bite mark disfigured his neck.

Not a drop of blood left. Time for some slaying.

Pulling a stake from her jacket, she had barely walked twenty feet when, propped up against another gravestone, another orange-clad dead guy, this one with his jugular hanging out, blocked her path.

Geez. Was there a jailbreak or something?

Someone screamed from a nearby masoleum. Stake raised and ready to dust, she burst inside and nearly dropped the wooden stick.

How...what the...and she's...WHAT?!

Darla looked up and smiled, pointy teeth dripping blood onto the bright orange of her nearly dead victims's jumpsuit.

"Well, if it isn't Buffy the Vampire Slayer."

Thanks for reading, and let me know if you want more:-)