Wesley rested his head against his forearm and stared sideways at the glass of Glen Morangie beside him. The warm caramel glow of the light through the liquid was seductive. If he could drink enough he might forget if only for a short while. He closed his eyes and bit back the curse that rose to his lips. His father had been right about him. He was weak and foolish. He had failed and the cost was beyond measure. Angel's son was lost and it was his fault. He pushed back from the bar and walked toward door. He needed guidance, perhaps Rupert would help him. He strode out of the less than reputable establishment, mounted his motorcycle, and pulled onto the road heading toward Sunnydale.

The miles flew by, but he didn't appreciate the drive on the coastal highway. His thoughts were of the pain he had wrought for those he loved. Rupert had survived similar issues. He would have advice or at least a not unfriendly face. He drove by the dented Welcome to Sunnydale sign and felt a certain relief flow through him. It was here that his life had deviated from its mapped course. This was where he had first failed. He cringed as images of Faith and his torture at her hands flashed through his mind. He forced his mind from the dark slayer and found himself thinking of Buffy.

She was back again from the dead. Angel had said she was fine, but Wesley doubted it. She would never burden her beloved ex with her pain. She had done so many things over the years to ease the cursed vampire's pain, but none of the others realized it, not even Angel. They weren't used to seeing her sacrifices. Rupert had taught him to look for them, to perceive her differently. If he had learned it quickly enough, he might have found a place among the Scoobies and the world would have been better for it. Instead he had fought against the older man's knowledge and harmed both slayers in his arrogance.

He looked around pensively as he came to halt outside the house on Revello Drive. He shook his head. Rupert wouldn't be here. He should head over to the man's flat.

"Is that you, Wes?" Buffy asked as she approached the house quickly. "Is there trouble in Los Angeles? Do you need help?"

He smiled at her rapid fire questions and held up a hand to halt them before he lost track of the conversation.

"Yes, yes, and yes, I do. I've come to see Rupert." He smiled at her and watched as she cocked her head.

"Wrong place then, he's back in Merry Olde. He wanted me to learn to stand on my own." The fleeting anger and pain that chased across her face alarmed him, despite her light tone. She was suffering. He reached out and shoved a stray hair behind her ear. "I'm surprised the news hasn't reached L. A."

"Angel only told us you were back and seemed okay." The quick flash of rage across her features alarmed him.

"Yes, I guess I am fine. I sure haven't been, but I'm doing okay now. So, I'm guessing you need a place to stay." She looked him over carefully and gestured toward the house. He followed her, in the dark jeans and turtleneck, she moved like a panther. He forced his eyes away from her lean form. It wouldn't do to ogle his hostess.

"What has been happening here on the hellmouth? Anything unusual?" He asked hoping for something to distract himself.

"There's Xander and Anya's wedding tomorrow, want to be my plus one? Although I should warn you, my dress is hideous and Spike might make things difficult for you."

"Yes, we had a great deal of difficulty with Angel and Spike at your funeral," he said casually and she laughed, but the sound was brittle, not the full bodied joyful one he remembered.

"So, the dead things made a scene at my secret funeral service. Why am I not surprised?" She shook her head and her short hair brushed her shoulders.

"I shouldn't have brought up such a painful subject. I'm quite sorry for my gauche behavior." Wesley retreated into the comfort of propriety.

"I'm not much for secrets anymore. They sure didn't help me any." Buffy smiled at him sweetly and touched his arm. "If I had been honest and upfront about what happened things might be better now. At least, I might have a watcher in the same country with me."

"Rupert must be coming back soon." He said with quiet surety.

"No, he's back in Bath." She shrugged and opened the front door. "Dawn says he seems happy enough."

"You haven't spoken with him?" He stepped over the threshold and stood awkwardly in the entry to her home.

"Not much to say." She shrugged. "He found out they ripped me out of heaven and he was on a plane. I needed him. He left."

Wesley could see how hurt and bewildered she was. He wanted to pull her into his arms for a hug, but doubted she would welcome it from him. He looked around the house. Everything was tidy,but the place lacked the warmth he remembered.

Buffy walked down the hall into the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator and a frown played across her face.

"I'm sorry there isn't much to offer you. Want some olives? The locusts ate my after slaying food." She shrugged and shut the door. "We might have some cereal."

"I really don't need food, but you do, Buffy. Let me take you out for something. You need to eat, slayer metabolism isn't forgiving." He paused when he heard her chuckle.

"I think I missed you, Wes. I can't ask you to feed me and without some money in my pocket there's no real option in or out of the house. I'll be okay." She stroked his arm from shoulder to elbow before dropping her hand to her side. "I've gotten used to it."

"How often are you going hungry?" Wes demanded. She shrugged. The gesture was becoming annoying. She needed a watcher, someone to care, someone to make sure her needs were met. It was the duty owed to her. What could have made Rupert Giles abandon her? It made no sense. "I insist we go out for food. I assume many of the restaurants still have extended hours?"

Buffy looked at him with wide eyes and nodded. He dropped his bags by the counter and offered Buffy his elbow. She tucked her delicate fingers in the crook of his arm, and they walked back to his bike together, pausing only to lock the door.