Buffy took a deep breath as she stood in front of his crypt door.

Four days. It had been four days since she’d seen him last. He hadn’t been at her house, the Magic Box, patrol…Just “poof”—no Spike. It disturbed her that she was more disturbed that she hadn’t seen him in nearly a week as opposed to being disturbed by his chip not working on her. Shaking her head while mentally trying to shake off her concern about that, she opened his door.

She closed the door behind her with caution, spying him behind the counter in his fridge, rummaging through it.

“Hey. You haven’t been around in awhile,” she said nonchalantly, not moving from the door.

“Could say the same about you, pet. Sides, told you I’d give you—us both some space, didn’t I?”

“Didn’t think you meant it.”

“Well, I did,” he responded casually. “Surprised?” he asked, back still to her as he closed the fridge door after finding what he wanted.

“Yeah. Not just…I missed you,” she admittedly quietly, confusion crossing her face as she said the words.

“That shock you, did it?” he asked monotonously.

“I just said that it did,” she said irritably. “I hear it takes twenty-nine days to form a habit. We’ve spent more time together than that.”

“Ready to break the nasty habit then?” His tone was innocent, hiding his true emotions. What those were—anger, genuine curiosity, hurt—she wasn’t sure. And it annoyed the hell out of her that she couldn’t read him.

“I didn’t say it was ‘nasty.’ Just a habit.”

“Uh huh,” he answered blithely, fixing himself a drink.

She stood there, watching as he purposely kept his back to her.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“I have, pet. Had a nice dialogue going, didn’t we?”

“I mean…say anything else? Look at me, at least?”

He sighed, taking his drink in hand as he walked to his comfy chair, sitting down with his eyes on her all the while.

“Well, clearly you had something else to add. What do you have on your mind, slayer?”

She walked further into the room, hands at her sides, and then folded her arms as she stood in front of him.

“I do have something to add, I just…don’t know what it is, exactly.”

Spike sat back in his chair, rolling his eyes at what he was about to say, knowing just how poncy it was going to make him sound. He wasn’t sure if he was more miffed at her or himself for this next bit.

Eh, let’s go with her for the hell of it.

“Well, don’t know if it means much, but if it does, for the record, I missed you too.”

“You did?” she asked, voice small.

He looked up at her, his gaze soft and his smile…sad. “Buffy, of course I did.”

“Oh,” she said with a smile, shoulders loosening as she sat on the crate across from him, hands folded neatly in her lap. She looked at him, her expression slightly pensive.

“So…what now?”

“Don’t rightly know. I suppose the first question now would be…what is it that you want?”

“Well, what do you want?” she countered.

He gave her a sideways glance at that, a smirk on his face. He brought the glass to his lips to cover it, taking a long drink. Once he collected himself, he looked at her, his expression humorless. “I want you, Buffy.” Her back involuntarily stiffened at attention to the drop in octave of his voice. “Not just your friendship or a shoulder to cry on. Or a patrol partner or…a few stolen kisses. I want all of it.” He paused, leaning forward in the chair, forearms braced on his knees as he looked down. “I want to take you out. Dance with you. Sit on your couch for an evening and watch the telly.” He gave a self deprecating smile at that. “I want to sodding hold your hand. Happy now?”

He looked at her then, seeing her eyebrows raised practically to her hairline. She said nothing. Spike cleared his throat, suddenly more nervous than he recalled ever being.

“So uh…what is it that you want, then?”

“Me? Oh…” she trailed off, looking down at the ground. “To get rid of this…weight in the pit of my stomach, you know?” she asked, looking up at him. “Being back here—it’s been rough. Understatement, okay. But it’s easier to bear when I’m with you. And when you weren’t around, it was harder. And lonely. And I think, maybe…”

Spike gripped his glass and clenched his jaw, willing himself not to say or do anything, waiting for her to finish. She looked up at him, eyes tender, yet curious.

“I think maybe we should try to be something…more. I mean, you don’t have a soul to lose. So a plus—in a weird, bizarro kind of way.”

“Yeah. And uh, I don’t have an inferiority complex over you being stronger than me. In fact, I think it’s right sexy.”

“Huh?”

“Come on pet—Captain Cardboard?”

“Oh,” she replied with an uneasy smile.

“So…how do we start, love?”

“Actually, I’m not so good with the…Tell you what—you lead, I’ll follow. I’m progressive enough to allow someone else to take the reins. Not that I’m not capable of handling reins, with the steering and the…yeah.”

Spike smiled, putting down his glass as he stood up. He reached for her hand.

“Well, in that case, I say I steer us to the Bronze then, eh? This calls for a celebration.”

“Celebration?” she asked, taking his hand. He led her towards the door, grabbing his coat on the way.

“Absolutely. Drinks, dancing, spicy wings and blooming onions. Maybe some pool, if you’re up for it.”

“For…?”

“To commemorate our ‘something more,’ huh? With an actual date. Simple, sure, but I figure, baby steps is where it’s at.” He paused, releasing her hand briefly to put on his coat. He swallowed nervously, opening the door and holding it for her. “Is that all right?” he asked quietly.

Buffy smiled, hesitantly taking his hand again. She walked across the threshold, leading the way.

The crypt door closed gently behind them.