He couldn't quite believe what was happening to him, here, in this moment.

When Spike had gotten caught by Figg's spell, his mind had thrown this nightmare at him, right, one that showed him trapped in an endless fog, surrounded by nothing and no one. Not so bad on the surface, yeah? Except that Spike had been alone, and useless, and he'd hated it. Worse, in his heart of hearts, Spike had dreaded facing the rest of his existence in exactly that state – alone, useless, with no one to care about and no reason for being. No purpose.

No one who cared about him, either, but he'd gotten used to that over the decades.

Yeah, fine, Drusilla had come to him in that dream. Yes, she had insisted to him that Buffy's heart was calling out for his – for him – that Buffy needed him and none other to come to her, quick as he could. "She needs you. Go to her." Had even insisted to him that Buffy would come for him, despite every bloody thing that stood between them. But until he'd actually woken up to see her looking down at him, Spike hadn't quite been able to believe what his dream was telling him.

After all, escaping LA had made it clear that being alone and useless was a much more likely outcome than it was for him to be important to anyone's plans. Never mind his being necessary for anyone to be bloody happy and whole or any such rubbish. Soul or no soul, bollixed prophecies aside, he was… expendable. Replaceable. Certainly, a woman like Buffy could easily have found someone to take his place in her life. Spike had been convinced that she would have, by now.

Except…

"I mourned you," she whispered to him.

She, Buffy, had mourned him.

Considering everything he'd been expecting to hear, that was a bit much for a bloke to take in, yeah?

Bloody sweet, balm to his soul and all, but still.

"There's something I don't understand," he said. No idea how much time had passed, but Buffy was sitting curled on the floor now, with her head leaned against the cot. The way she was sitting, Spike could bury the fingers of one hand in her hair, and stroke her head softly with the other. Draw a fingertip around the lovely shell of her ear. Tears still dropped from her eyes now and again, but the worst of her storm seemed to be over for now.

She was so warm.

"The way you tell it," he said, "you found out I was still kickin' instead of getting flash-fried in the Hellmouth the way we all thought, and you're furious at ol' Rupes for keeping that a secret all this time." He reached under her to cup her chin, turn her to face him. "Oughtn't you to be angry with me, too, then? After all," he admitted, glancing away, "I kept me from you as much as he did."

Buffy sighed. "I wanted to be angry," she said after a moment. "And I might still get mad at you, once you're healed up and I can kick your ass for you again." She gave him this odd, sad little smile. "But I can… I can sort of understand why you wouldn't want to tell me you were back. I mean." She looked down again, voice all wobbly in that way that gave him an ache in his chest. "I mean I put you through a lot of… of crap. While we were together. And I could see you wanting to… to put Sunnydale behind you." She swallowed, sighed. "I can't really be angry with you for that."

He closed his eyes, stroked her hair. She couldn't possibly mean that she was willing to forgive him.

Her voice hardened. "But Giles doesn't have that excuse," she went on. "I made the mistake of trusting him, after everything else he's done over the years." She laughed bitterly, caught his eye. "After he tried to have you killed. Did you know he took me out on patrol that night, tried to keep me occupied with some Zen crap while Wood…?" She looked away again, sighed. "So yeah. I could kinda see it if you had decided you were just… over it all. If you decided it was easier to just leave all of us behind forever."

Behind her words, though, he could hear it. "All of us" meant "Buffy". She blamed herself for his vanishing act.

"Oh, love," said Spike. "That's not why I – that isn't the reason at all, pet. Or, I suppose in a way it is."

Buffy looked up at him, confused. "See, I thought maybe you would want to leave all that behind. That I would just remind you of times best forgotten. God knows I – I hurt you often enough. Tried to drag you into the dark, with me. Tried to –" But he couldn't say it. Over a century of bloodshed, and the one thing he would never forgive himself for was a brief moment, one night, in a bathroom, where she had stopped him from actually finishing what he'd started. "You deserve better," he said instead.

To his surprise, Buffy snorted. "Seriously," she said, "that is really starting to piss me off." But she didn't move from her spot except to burrow her head more deeply into the side of his hip, nuzzling his hand where it was buried in her hair.

So warm.

"People keep trying to decide for me, give me what they think I deserve," she said. "Whatever they think is best for me. And okay, I get that people are looking out for me and they care, and they want what's best, but at this point in my life it'd really be nice if I could have a little input into what I think I deserve. What I want. I mean, I'm a little old to send to bed after supper so everyone can talk about me once I'm asleep." She looked up at him. "You know?"

He smiled down at her. Curled up like a kitten, she was, and he wanted to do nothing so much as pet her until she fell asleep. The sigils on his palms were easier to ignore when he was touching her. But then, it'd always been easier to ignore what hurt when she was with him.

"I understand, pet, but… have you considered I might also have been thinking of what I thought I deserved?" he asked. "Or maybe, what I didn't think I deserved?"

Buffy frowned. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Spike's hands stilled, and to his surprise he found it difficult to speak the words out loud. "I'm not enough for you," he finally said.

"That's not true," Buffy began, but he cut her off.

"I tried to drag you into my world, once," he said softly, "but you were already there. Of course the Slayer lives in the shadows, yeah? But even at your darkest," said William, "you were in the light as well. I can only ever be in half of your world, I'm afraid."

But she was sitting up now, pulling away and staring at him with wide eyes. "Don't say that," she whispered. "Please don't ever say that."

"Pet?"

"I need you in my life," she said. "The past year – without you – I may not have learned anything else this past year, but I've learned I need you."

Spike closed his eyes. Opened his mouth to speak, shut it again when he couldn't find the words.

"I told you," she said. "I told you I wasn't ready for you not to be with me, back before the… before we closed – before you closed the Hellmouth," she corrected herself. Stroked a hand along the outside of his leg, up and under the blanket, careful to keep away from the cuts there. "And then I told you – um. In the Hellmouth, before you… before you d– and you didn't believe me." She looked down at her knees. "I guess I never gave you reasons to believe me."

He looked at her in disbelief. She couldn't be saying… could she? But the tears were starting again, and she looked so… so small and lost…

Could she really have meant it? Spike swallowed, hard. Didn't want to ask. Had to.

"You… meant those words, love?"

She nodded. Still looking at her knees.

"Still do," she said softly.

It took him a moment for that to sink in, and then, in an instant, he was undone. All his breath left him in a rush; he could feel the tears spring to his own eyes, and his hands started to shake. He wound a lock of her hair through his fingers, unsure whether to laugh or cry. Likely end up doing both, like the nancy boy he was underneath the Big Bad armor he wore.

'Course, sitting there wearing only a blanket didn't give him much armor to hide behind, so he had an excuse.

"You," he started. Had nothing to finish it with.

"I never thought…" he swallowed again, trying to keep control of his voice. "Never dared hope." He could've sworn he felt dizzy, and wasn't that a weird sensation for someone who had no circulation.

Slowly, she pulled one hand up from where she'd curled it around her legs. Reached into her hair and found his fingers. Intertwined them with her own, dragged them down to rub his knuckles against her cheek. She sighed, and he felt the breath ghost across the back of his hand.

God, she was so warm. He could bask in her warmth till he dusted, and die a happy man.

Again, he didn't want to ask, and again he was unable to stop himself. The words just came out of his mouth.

"Buffy," he said. "Could you…?"

She looked up at him, the ghost of a smile hanging about the corners of her mouth.

"Say it again?" he breathed. Tried to meet her gaze and couldn't make himself do it. Ponce.

Her face grew solemn as she shifted her weight on the floor. Got up on her knees and leaned forward till he could feel the warmth coming off her, soaking into his bare skin.

Bask in her forever.

Buffy let go of his hand and brought her fingers up to trace his eyebrow. A feather-touch along his cheek; her palm along the line of his jaw. His eyes closed, and he nuzzled into her hand, helpless to stop himself.

One by one, she kissed his eyelids. Sweet breath across his face, and he sighed in contentment.

Finally, she rested her face cheek to cheek with his. Brought her hand up along the side of his face and stroked through his hair once, twice.

Her mouth was right at his ear when she said softly, "I love you."

He trembled.

"I love you, Spike. I love you, William. Believe it. Please believe me. I love you."

Looked like it was his turn to weep. Slowly, Spike dropped his head to her shoulder, burrowed his face into the crook of her neck, and let the tears come.

His arms came up around her waist, carefully, loosely, not wanting to crowd. She forgot herself and pulled him into her embrace, not hard, but his ribs ground out an agonizing protest. Sod 'em, he thought. Buffy loved him. Of all people, Buffy loved him. Loved him.

Something inside him cracked apart as he let the realization sink in. He'd been the last of Angel's LA crew, the sole survivor of their battle, the only one to escape as the entire soddin' city was pulled down into a bloody hell dimension. He hadn't let himself realize just what that meant, just how alone he'd been – how without hope under Figg's binding – until now, this very moment.

He'd had no one. Been more alone than he'd ever been in his entire existence as a vampire, with no hope of that changing… and then Buffy said she loved him, meant it, and he felt his whole world shift back into place. Felt the ground coming together under his feet again.

His heart felt like it was breaking open and the tears were pouring out from deep within him.

Buffy just held him, moved so he could shift around his ribs and held him gently after that, letting his tears soak into her shirt. Whispering "I love you" into his ear, breaking him open again and again until he was quivering uncontrollably. Felt his heart empty itself of tears; felt her love filling it, bit by bit.

Felt her warmth inside him, now.

"Buffy," he whispered, over and over. "Oh, Buffy. I love you so much. I love you, Buffy. I love you. Never stopped. Never could. I love you so much."

God, she was so warm.