Disclaimer: Buffy and the gang are the creation of that brilliant guy we know and love, Joss Whedon. Only the story is mine, and whatever characters I may choose to add from my own imagination.

Note: Now, since I, as a viewer, do not want the gang to welcome him back with open arms... and I don't want him to be able to forgive himself, for that matter, everything will not be smooth sailing for Buffy and Angel.

"Angel!" Buffy called out frantically. She jerked up in bed to a full sitting position for the fourth time that night. This time however, she was greeted by the ever-pleasant blaring of her alarm clock. Groaning, she forced herself to get up and prepare for school.

***

"Hey, hon. Sleep well?" Joyce Summers inquired cheerfully.

"Great," Buffy replied distantly and not very convincingly. she thought to herself exhaustedly, noticing how insincere her reply had sounded, and at the same time not really caring.

For a moment worry flashed across Joyce's face. Buffy's former enthusiasm for life had recently been replaced by complete indifference to the world; as if nothing in her life mattered anymore. Her obvious depression showed not only in her actions but also in the way she looked. The old Buffy had always taken pride in her appearance, Joyce reflected, remembering how she had went through several outfits, trying to find the most flattering one, and how she had taken such good care of herself physically. Lately her daughter had just been throwing on any old outfit and didn't seem to care much about how she looked. Both aspects worried Joyce immensly. The thought that Buffy may need counceling had crossed her mind more than a few times.

"Are you ready for school, Buffy? I'm just about to leave, and I think we need to have a little talk," Joyce stated, hoping against all odds her daughter would open up to her for once.

Buffy, not in the mood for questioning of any sort, replied, "Actually, mom, I think I'm going to walk to school today. I'll be home for dinner. Love ya." Attempting a half hearted smile, quite unsuccessfully, she retreated from the kitchen and out the door before her mother had a chance to respond. Joyce let out a long sigh. Her heart went out to her daughter, but there was nothing she could do at the moment. Vowing to force her daughter to talk to her later, she grabbed the new shipment of paintings and left for work.

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