Law's eyes slid back to her. She's distressed, and as much as she needed to get away from the subject, she needed to get away from him as well. The doctor in him zeroed in on the hitch of her breath, and the pirate and the Captain and the fighter wondered what in hell bloody happened out there. Albert's words were a clue, but a clue didn't paint the entire story.

This was bad. This was compromising as all get. And this wasn't the woman he had watched on the journals and from afar on missions and drafts and the day to day life of the village. Not the Slayer.

This was someone else and she felt to him like glass. Spun glass riddled with fractures. He took the paper and made sure not to touch her flesh. He didn't want to provoke a shattering.

"... you got to make sure it's just right for the show, I know. You've been working on it for so long."

Though her routine in this condition might be a little unwise. Or a lot.

Breathe, Buffy Summers, breathe.

"But you know, we've been going at it all day, Orensa, and it was a rough ride in, and I don't think I've seen you take a break yet. Don't think the Boss will mind you stopping for some water first."

There were security cameras in the Hall. There were guards and servants. He was unarmed and made an ordinary man.

Law missed his strength to fall back on too.