Andrew had filmed it. She didn't know how he got there, or why, only that he had and with his cinematographic ineptness, he'd destroyed her world before she was able to rebuild it again. Before she was to know Spike was back—but now gone again.

Her heart couldn't take this many batterings before it broke completely. The Slayer in her had managed to hold it together with the superglue abilities of her friends and only acknowledgeable family, but it was of the bandaid variety. And she knew how easy it was to pull off one of those suckers—if they'd managed to properly stick to the skin in the first place.

The little twerp hadn't even brought it straight to her. He'd done the grand first preview showing for Giles and Willow, all of them remaining terrifyingly quiet as they stared at the screen. Just so happened, Andrew didn't know Buffy was in London, delivering The Immortal's head in a glossy little black bowling bag. She thought it was all manner of cuteness and nobody at security asked to check after the initial scan showed nothing to be concerned about. Sure, it lacked all that cryogenicy 'keep the head preserved' stuff that would have really floated Giles' boat, but hey, Bounty Hunter Girl here. She wasn't into the research. Action girls did the kill, and handed over the dry-cleaning bill. It was a perfect arrangement, and if Giles had really wanted the thing cared for in a scientific manner, he should have sent Willow to play girlfriend and kill her faux lover.

Not that she'd ever let him touch her. Dancing she could handle—a little wiggle, a little grind. But anything below the belt? She so wasn't ready to go there. Wasn't sure if she ever could again without imagining how nobody could possibly love her like Spike.

And then stupid Andrew showed up with footage of LA that made her want to scream, but which kept her silent in the study's doorway while she watched her heart be beheaded and fried by the breath of a dragon.

He was all wet, that startling hair plastered to his head this time with water, not gel-type substance. And something had blossomed, making her take the first quiet step into the room, bowling bag deposited silently on the table by the door as her other hand drifted to cover her wobbly lips. And then she'd seen the hordes, watched as Angel played at being a hero on the dragon's back and Spike got a fiery beating.

When he went up like a Roman candle, she screamed, making everyone in the room jump in sudden shock and terror.

"B-Buffy? I- I thought you were in Rome," Andrew stuttered bravely, a shaky smile on his face as he stood in front of the too large television screen.

"No," she croaked in answer, and as she saw the dimmed light in Giles's eyes, the too late apology at the strain he continuously put her under, she knew it was true. They'd managed to keep Spike from her again and this time she'd lost him for good.

And her heart could never be mended again.