He visits her grave sometimes.
Every time he goes expecting resolution, expecting a sense of closure, maybe even just a closer bond to her. And every time he is faced with a cold hard rock inscribed with nothing but the words "Jennifer Calendar".
He can't help but think she would've hated this. She had been so free, so full of life, and the dull gray stone staring back at him seems like such an affront to her very nature. He had been the one to pick out the gravestone, and looking back, he has to wonder if he was selfish to bury her as "Jenny Calendar". Because, after all, had she even been Jenny Calendar? Or had she been Janna of the Kalderash all along? And would she have wanted to be buried marked by only half of her identity? He's not sure. He's not sure of anything anymore.
They discovered that Angel had been back from Hell about a month ago. At least, he and the rest of the gang had found out. Buffy had known long before. He remembers her pleading, indignant tone as she lectured him and her friends about love, and about how she couldn't kill him again. He had wanted to scream at her then, to scream that how could she dare lecture him about loving someone, to scream that she knew nothing. But he kept his head. Because that's what they expect him to do, that's what they need him to do. They're all still children he knows, even Buffy. And he shouldn't be mad at her. But he is.
He's been trying to look at Angel and see more than a monster, but it doesn't work. He looks, and all he can see is a cruel face, warped by the mask of a vampire, laughing at her demise. So he avoids Angel.
And when the one year anniversary of her death comes around, he avoids everyone. He locks himself in his apartment, the same one which lay littered with roses one year ago, and pulls out all of his old, fine whiskey. When he told Buffy he was taking a day off, she didn't ask why. She didn't think. She merely assumed he had Watcher business, or something of the like, and left it at that. She's too busy hooking up with Angel, he thinks bitterly, though he knows it's unfair to her. He knows that to her he's just an adult, something to look up to and to argue with, but not a person. Not a person who can be heartbroken and drunk and who can wish that it would just all end. So, he shouldn't blame her. He does anyway.
She had been the reason he'd shunned Jenny in the first place, after all. He was mad at her deception, yes, but he would've forgiven. Maybe he would've taken a week, or so, but he would've forgiven her, if not for Buffy. For every time he ventured close to taking her aside and telling her that it was okay, and he forgave her, Buffy would be there, and she'd look at Jenny and anyone with her with such antipathy that he couldn't bring himself to do it. After all, his slayer was his first priority; that was just the way it was. It didn't matter that seeing Jenny's beautiful, utterly sad face made him feel just as horrible. It didn't matter, he had told himself.
But looking back, he can't help but wonder if she would've been safe, wouldn't have died, if he had gone against Buffy's wishes and asked the group to include her again. Maybe she would've told them about trying to find the curse. Maybe they could've protected her. Helped her. But, no, he'd just let Buffy call the shots, and now Jenny was gone, nothing but a lifeless corpse buried under a lifeless dull gray stone which gave a fake name. Who is he kidding? He thinks angrily. It is Buffy's fault. It's his fault too. It's everyone's fault.
But does it really even matter now? She's gone, and he's alone, and nothing's going to change that.
So he simply sits, surrounded by a couple empty bottles at this point, and remembers. Remembers a darkly beautiful face, with dancing brown eyes and a delicate smile. Remembers smooth fingers dancing over the keyboard, remembers the laughing, happy woman who everyone else seems to have forgotten. And for an infinitesimal moment, he is happy.