"Me, too." She tipped an empty hand towards him -- a superficial kind of gesture. The remaining trappings of a valley girl still used to talking expressively with her hands. The hand expected nothing -- no slap and no shake. It simple stood there, handishly, and existed. "Lucky us, huh?"

A note haunted her voice. Primarily, it was an understanding of what remaining myself meant for that particular time. Padded cells and institutionalization. Buffy had run, none to eager to experience that yet again. She was not yet cured of all the guilt running had inspired.

Her attention slipped to the door. She wondered, briefly, whether she ought to ask Albert to step outside with her. Ah, well. It could wait. Let gentle conversation flow a few minutes more before she had to be the Slayer again.