The voice interrupts Buffy as she stars out the window. Sunset is approaching, and she is in that no-man's-land she always dangles in now between daylight and nighttime. Daylight is nearly gone, too close to a memory for her to feel safe, but night is too far off for her to feel... useful.

Distracted, Buffy turns to Dawn, to see her holding a few sheets of drawing paper. "Huh?"

Her sister's eyes dart towards the ceiling, and she drops the papers, then flounces back towards her bedroom. Buffy stares at the papers for a few moments, then rises and picked them up slowly, confused as to what her sister is on about now.

As soon as she sees the papers, Buffy lets out a ragged gasp and drops them as if burned, stares at them for a moment, liquid-dry flames slowly profaning her carpet, catches her breath.

Afraid, she circles them for a few long moments, purple suede boots shuffling around them, vultures waiting for a predator to die. Finally, she reaches down again, picks them up, and looks at them for a long moment.

Drawings. The one she looks at is of herself, asleep, much like the one she found on her pillow not too long ago, after--

She strays away from that stream of thought, staring at the rest of the pictures. Only one of the five is of herself.

Almost as a reflex, Buffy looks towards the window, trying to see him concealed in the shadows.

No-man's-land. Right. The time when he is probably doing exactly what she is doing -- pacing about, feet striking the floor in anticipation of tonight's hunt.

Or maybe he's just sitting in some chair, lost in some book or other, patient. He was a pretty patient person. Patient as...death, she finishes her own thought, grimacing at a pun so bad that Xander wouldn't have been caught dead making it.

Buffy directs another glance down the hall, at her sister's closed bedroom door. Glances at the window, where sunset is rapidly progressing in all its technicolor splendor. Stands, moves carefully down the hall. Unsure what to do.

Knocks on Dawn's door. Miffed little sister stares at her.

"Uh..."

"What *is* it?" Dawn demands.

"I...Dawn, I have to go out for a little while."

"With Angel?"

Buffy is stuck. Can't begin to describe how much a part of her wants to tell her sister every little thing of the story, to collapse against someone and cry her eyes out over this, this aching wound ripped open again at every mention of him, at every little thing which reminds her of him. Her entire being, it seems, remains swollen, tender, sensitive to everything because everything reminds her of him.

And hurting even more, because telling her little sister everything would entail telling her little sister everything.

"Uh...yeah, Angel might be making an appearance," she mumbles, chickening out. "Listen, Dawn, if Angel comes by-"

"What?" Dawn says, rolling her eyes again. "God, you can be so dumb!"

"I...never mind," Buffy says, turning away, as Dawn slams the door.