Poor creature. Buffy dropped her gifts gently onto her -- their -- side table and undid her zips and buttons as fast as she could. There was a small window of opportunity available to shrug into warm pajamas without freezing in the interim, and so she worked fast. Other pre-bed duties went neglected. Face-washing and hair-brushing and one last look over the journals. Such routines could be abandoned in the depths of sorrow. Or the depths of sympathy -- because she was trying very hard to take all that pent up sadness and evolve it into sympathy for the wounded pirate. It was easier to feel for him than for herself; after all, his hurts were visible. Surface. Fixable.

Though -- she did wonder just how it had happened...

Buffy pushed a pillow or two aside and sat on the bed's edge. Jack was stretched out, using up most of the space. It wouldn't even be such a terrible thing and she'd usually snuggle her way into his arms, but she couldn't imagine doing that now without hurting him.

And she truly did not want to hurt him. Not any more. And she doubted she could sleep, either. So she folded her legs under and reached for the Cosmo, skipping straight to the quiz. Hah. She sighed a sigh of exasperation and flipped backwards, a night-sentinel picking up fashion tips as she watched over her sleeping charge.