What Buffy didn't know when she bought that ticket of hers was that she was being watched. See, living in the same building as Buffy granted Spike the ability to keep track of her a bit more easily than it would be from afar. It wasn't because the two of them were so terribly close that they spent so much time together to the point where he knew every last detail of her life. Not really. In fact, Spike was pretty bloody sure that Buffy didn't know what to make of him at all, least of all to the degree that they spend all kinds of fun time bonding with one another. However, being a vampire gave Spike an advantage over that particular misfortune. Spike didn't have to be around Buffy to know as to whether or not she was in the area. He could smell her. Slayer scent was pretty distinctive. The scent of this particular Slayer, additionally, was even more so. All Spike had to do was take a walk down her hall and he'd know. Not that he did it often. Because he didn't.
...at least he'd claim that if he was asked. What? He had good reason for it! Apocalyptic world, Slayer stuck with all sorts of internal teen issues, people constantly being screwed 'round with. Spike was entitled to at least watch her back, whether Buffy wanted anything to do with him or not. She didn't have to know. No one did.
This time though? Spike hadn't been checking up on her. In fact, he had actually been trudging back into the building. The night was coming to an end, the world was put back into it's proper time (or as close to their proper time as they were going to get, seeing as it was now early winter rather than summer), and it only seemed fitting that Spike turn in. He'd wake up later and fret over all the headache inducing details. Right now, there was nothing more that Spike wanted to do than crawl into his bed and pass out to the sound of Passions playing on his TV set. Instead, as Spike had been heading back in, he found himself catching a whiff of Buffy, shortly followed by the sight of her ducking out of the complex building.
Spike probably wouldn't have thought much of it, if not for the obviously stealthy manner in which Buffy departed. A single scarred brow rose upward and Spike instinctively began to move forward, only hesitating when he realized that the sun was beginning to dip upward along the horizon. Rolling his eyes in irritation, Spike slipped to the side and kept to the shadows, silently following Buffy straight over to the Greyhound station. He was stalking her, sort of. But that was okay, really. It wasn't the first time that he'd stalked Buffy, nor would it likely be the last. It was probably a good thing that he'd followed her out this time too, seeing as it looked very much like Buffy was about to make a break for it.
Huh. Spike hadn't been around when Buffy had taken off back in high school, but he'd heard plenty of talk about it. She was around that age, wasn't she? In that run away from everything mindset, just having gotten away from a traumatic, future apocalypse experience...yeah. It only seemed right that someone be here to stop her. Or at least follow her, should she refuse to see reason. Pointedly avoiding the bits of light that were starting to take form in the surrounding area, Spike tugged up the collar of his leather duster and strode over to stand beside Buffy.
"So," he began, squinting out at the road, "where are we going?"