Buffy felt a distinct sense of deja vu as she made her way to the address Jack had supplied her with via texts. How many times had she done this? She couldn't even remember, but it needed to stop. Not that she didn't want to help Jack, or any of the other friends she'd made in this L.A. (no matter what cranky things Spike had to say), but he'd gotten his share of blows by now, and she didn't want it to keep happening like this. Buffy didn't like seeing her friends hurt, period.
She'd brought along a knife, but that was it. She figured something was wrong with Jack, physically, and he would need help to get back home or wherever he wanted to go, and so she wanted to be light enough to help him.
It didn't take long to spot him, nearly slumped against the wall, and her face fell into a frown. She was angry and worried all at once, but at least there was a sense of relief mixed in knowing he was alive.
"Jack," she called, striding up to him and immediately moving his arm around her shoulder for support. "What the hell happened this time?"