Sad. How apt, and how brief, almost to the point where it didn't feel like a word that did the emotions justice. Maybe that was unfair of me to say. It wasn't me who had encountered a ghost of a face. Having Spike around, however briefly, had been cathartic. It was him. Really him. And I could let out every single emotion with him around — or, as I did more often, nurse them in the privacy of my room.

If it was just a face... you know what? I think I would have found it frustrating. Just frustrating. And I probably would have opted to never see that person again.

As the kettle came to a whistle, I gave both of us a little time, pouring the water into two mugs and allowing the leaves time to steep as I brought them over. A quiet sort of movement, back and forth, as I went back for the milk and tea. Tea was better for these sorts of conversation than water was, I was convinced.

"I'm sorry that you had to see his face again like this," I said quietly, once I'd finally settled by her side. I glanced over, quiet, meeting her gaze. I genuinely... felt sorry about the situation. "It must have ached."