She turned the water up extra-hot so that when she stepped out of the shower, her skin was pink and flushed from the heat. The evening had been a success, yes -- but she still felt the need to sanitize. Sterilize. Like after a patrol and like moving from one iteration of herself into another. Gone was the hostess, evaporated in the steam.

She dried herself off with a towel before tucking it around herself like a little towel-dress. She combed her hair and she brushed her teeth and she groomed away a pesky hangnail.

Buffy picked the chain holding Jack's ring up off the bathroom counter and clasped it back around her neck. She resettled it against the terry cloth. Fittingly enough, she too was humming the whale song as she wandered back to her bedroom -- a few moments later than Jack.