'Blood...

There was blood everywhere, dripping, dripping, trickling down. The walls were covered with the splattered mess, the white paint marred with a violent red stain that screamed of an unthinkable past horror.

But suddenly the tainted walls began to shake, starting to vibrate at a slow tremble before the earth began to quake from its very core. The movement was relentless. There was nowhere to go. She was trapped, inside a nameless room covered in blood, powerless to do anything but kneel and pray the earth wouldn't swallow her whole.

But it did.

The ground opened, a large gash in the floor that appeared right beneath her and before she knew what was happening, she was falling, her stomach up in her throat as she fell for what felt like miles before she came to a sudden halt inside the blackest darkness she had ever seen. Had she landed? Was she in Hell? She seemed to float amidst a shroud of darkness, the air thick and heavy and choking the breath from her lungs. She couldn't scream, couldn't talk, couldn't move.

But what was that?

Her tired eyes focused on a little light in the darkness, a golden speck of hope amidst the terror threatening to consume her. The light moved closer. Slowly, steadily, it grew brighter, gaining intensity as the warmth from the luminescent orb washed over her face. And suddenly, she understood. It was trying to show her something. Images playing inside the little light, projected before her as though she were watching old family videos on a movie reel. There were images from her life, rushing before her eyes, starting from birth and not ceasing or slowing until she was inside the cave. Slayers, she could see them now, hundreds, maybe thousands, everywhere in the world, newly given the power. She could see herself inside the cave, fighting against an army of the undead. And then, there he was, in all his glory, sheer white and black, a contradiction in every sense. There was fire, and terror. She saw the walls crumbling, and she ran to him, faster than she had ever run in her life.

But as she looked into his eyes, she realized something was wrong. This wasn't how she remembered it, because those intense blue eyes were no longer blue, but an eerie shade of amber. They glowed with their own fire, his face contorted and blood dripping from the mouth that seemed forever twisted into an evil smile.

She gasped as his cold hand closed around her neck, cutting off her air as well as her scream. Her eyes widened and began to roll back in her head. His grip was so tight that he lifted her off the ground with one hand, her feet dangling helplessly as she was brought to eye level with him. And just as she felt about ready to keel over from lack of oxygen, she saw his face begin to melt away.

He was turning to ash.

The hand around her neck dissolved into dust and she fell to the ground soundly, gasping for breath. But as she lay on the ground, she felt a sharp pain that radiated from her stomach and nearly blinded her with the sheer agony, and that was when she remembered.

The Turok Han. She had been run through with a sword, and she was dying.

And as she lay there, having accepted her fate, she felt the raindrops begin to fall upon her face. She closed her eyes and let it wash over her as the slow trickle steadily became a downpour. It pelted her broken body.

The girl watched this image that played before her with amazement as she remained caught in the darkness, eyes transfixed on what the light had shown to her. But now, it was finished, and then the light was gone. It had simply clicked off, almost like flicking a light switch. And now the only thing left was pure darkness.

But even the darkness spat her out.

It let her out of its grasp and she was falling again into an unknown abyss.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling...'

"Buffy!"

Someone was shaking her awake. The fog in her mind began to clear, slowly.

"Buffy, wake up!"

Her eyes flew open on command, and suddenly she was greeted by the most welcome pair of blue eyes she had ever seen, glazed over with concern for her.

Sitting upright, she threw her arms around him, sobbing. She clung to him like he was her only lifeline, her hands clutching at his back so tightly it would have crushed any normal human being.

But Spike wasn't normal.

He returned her desperate embrace, rubbing small circles on her back as he whispered soothing words into her ear.

"Shhh, it's ok." A hand trailed upwards to her golden hair, stroking her comfortingly. His cheek, cool to the touch, was gently pressed against hers.

"Hush, luv," He whispered. And suddenly, her entire body stiffened as she felt his lips grazing the curve of her neck. His tongue lightly tasting the smooth flesh, and he could practically smell the life-giving blood pumping wildly just beneath the surface. Buffy sucked in a breath as he placed a gentle, moist kiss on her exposed neck, and her eyes slowly fluttered shut.

"It'll all be over soon."

But before Buffy had a chance to ask him what he meant, her eyes widened in shock and she cried out as she felt two sharp fangs piercing the base of her neck. He tore into her fiercely, and the initial pain spread through her body like wildfire.

"Spike, stop!" Tears sprang to her eyes, stinging them. But he ignored her, holding her to him like a vice and preventing her escape as he continued to take long, greedy pulls from her neck.

"Please." She pleaded again, but her voice came out weak and raspy, and she tried with all her might to push him away. But he wouldn't budge. And her efforts grew weaker by the second as he fed off her because, despite her protests, the pain began to fade into a dull burn that soon dissolved into something akin to pleasure. A tingling sensation coursed through her veins, quickly moving throughout her body. Her fingernails dug into his back.

He was draining her, sucking out her life force hungrily and she knew with gut certainty that he wouldn't stop until she was completely dry. She clutched at his shoulders, using him as her only anchor to this conscious reality. The room around her seemed to bleed together in front of her eyes, so she closed them.

She could still hear him sucking lavishly from her, pulling and swallowing. And as she felt herself begin to grow dizzier, her mind let out a final warning cry.

"Spike." It was a final plea, but her voice was barely audible now. She was growing too weak, and she realized, she didn't care. Suddenly, all that mattered was that he didn't stop. Even if that meant her death.

Her limbs felt like lead weights and she let them fall to her sides, completely limp and increasingly numb.

And then, everything went black...

*****


"Wake up, Buffy!" Spike was leaning over her, grasping her upper arms as he tried to shake her from the throes of her nightmare.

Suddenly, she jolted forward.

And inadvertently slammed her head into his in the process.

Yep, this was definitely the real world.

"Bloody hell!"

"Ow!"

They simultaneously cried out in pain, both rubbing their foreheads. Yet, despite the throbbing pain in her skull and the strange dream, she couldn't help but chuckle at the current situation. And Spike looked at her with confusion until he realized she was laughing at the ridiculousness of the scenario. Their eyes met, and they shared an amused moment.

Spike was the first to break the silence.

"I heard you scream, so I came in here to see what happened, 'n you wouldn't wake up," He explained. His gaze wavered slightly, and his words were softly spoken. "You scared me," He said quietly.

Buffy sighed. "I've been doing a lot of scaring these days," She shook her head,"Mostly myself."

They fell into silence again, until Spike looked at her with furrowed brows. Buffy felt his cool fingers close around her wrist, and he gently pulled her hand away from her forehead where she had been rubbing the sore spot. He narrowed his eyes, as though examining her.

"You'll have a nice knot there," He said after a minute, giving a resolute nod. "I'll go get you some ice."

"What about you?" Buffy asked, indicating the red spot that stood out on his pale skin where she'd bumped him.

"I'm immortal," He said, "I'll live."

Standing up, he began to move away from her but she stopped him, grabbing his hand before he could leave. Spike turned again, glancing briefly at their joined hands, her little one warm against his larger one, and then he looked up at her with questioning eyes,

"Spike, forget the ice," Buffy told him, "I'll be fine," She tugged on his hand gently until he was sitting next to her again on the edge of the bed. He was so close to her, their bodies mere inches apart and only their hands touching. Spike remained silent as he looked at Buffy expectantly, her emerald eyes glistening as she began to speak.

"I think it's time we talk."



Buffy looked at him expectantly, and Spike abruptly averted his gaze. Neither knew exactly how to begin after all those months of leading entirely separate lives.

Secret lives, almost... at least from each other.

Clearing her throat and looking downward, Buffy studied their joined hands as though it were the most fascinating thing in the world. Spike wasn't a large man, but he still had all the right proportions to make Buffy feel petite in comparison. His hands, for example, dwarfed her own. Long, slender yet large-knuckled fingers wrapped around hers delicately, his skin cool and smooth. She let her thumb absentmindedly trace small patterns over the tiny blue veins that ran just beneath the surface. Veins she knew didn't pump any blood, and that hadn't for well over a hundred years.

Spike felt her gentle caress and stiffened slightly. He never knew how to take things when it came to Buffy, as she hadn't exactly been straightforward with her feelings in the past, her emotions often conflicting with her actions. The slayer was guarded. Always had been, and probably always would be, to some extent.

But then again, so was Spike. Especially when it came to Buffy.

After all those years, and their long and complicated past together, somehow breaking the ice was still an issue.

Shifting uncomfortably, Spike knew one of them had to make a move sooner or later.

'Why not sooner?'

But just as he opened his mouth to speak, Buffy took the words right out of his mouth.

"I guess I'll start."

The intense crystal blue of his eyes were suddenly piercing through hers, and Buffy clamped her mouth shut as she returned his gaze, still trying to gauge the range of emotions she saw on his face.

She could tell he was conflicted. And so was she.

Her words hung heavily in the air between them, and silence once again enveloped them. Sighing, Buffy gently extracted her hand from his, staring down as she folded both her hands in her lap.

'God, this is almost unbearable.'

'Just say something, you wanker.'

"Spike..."

"Buffy, I..."

Their simultaneous responses earned a nervous chuckle from both.

"Go on, stage is yours," Spike offered politely, waving his hand to encourage her to continue.

Buffy nodded, quickly making a decision as she realized it was probably best to get it all in the open right away.

"Why didn't you tell me you were alive?"

'Now there's the question of the century.'

Buffy's bluntness caught Spike slightly off guard. It wasn't often the slayer got right down to the point like that, but here she was, giving him a glare hardened with accusations. Spike could practically smell those accusations waiting to spill from her lips. She couldn't understand his reasoning, could she? She wouldn't.

Spike sighed, debating how exactly he should go about answering that question. There were a thousand different ways to respond, maybe a million. But, when it came down to it, there was really only one honest explanation...

"I was scared."

Now it was his turn to be blunt.

Buffy looked taken aback slightly. She blinked, tilting her head.

"Of what?"

Suddenly, the conversation sounded strangely reminiscent of another they'd had just two nights before the battle with the First Evil. And that night, they had been completely honest with each other, saying how they truly felt. Though the problem was, they hadn't been honest with themselves.

They'd both been guarded, afraid, letting their own insecurities get in the way once again.

Spike remembered the way the candlelight had danced across her face while she told him that their night together meant something to her.

Now, her eyes glowed with the same fire, and conflict.

Spike shook his head.

"'M not sure, really." He shrugged. "Guess part of it was because I had a purpose there, at Wolfram and Hart. Angel couldn't do it himself. The Nancy boy needed me."

Buffy winced as she heard Angel's name. It still stung, but she quickly shrugged it off as she turned her attention to the man before her.

"So that explains why you didn't drop in for a visit, but not why you neglected to tell me you didn't actually burn up in the Hellmouth. So, I'm waiting. Splainy." She folded her arms across her chest.

"It's not that simple, pet."

He patted his jean pocket in a vain attempt to locate his cigarettes, because Lord knows he needed one then now then ever. Though he inwardly cursed when he remembered his smokes were in his duster pocket, which just so happened to be downstairs.

"Sod it," He mumbled. Looking up, he caught Buffy's gaze and sucked in an unnecessary breath. It was time for the truth.

"I wanted you to remember me the way I was. Going out in a blaze of glory, dying a noble death and all that rot. I'd done all that, to save the world..." He trailed off, swallowing hard. "For you."

She didn't answer, but continued to stare at him solemnly, lost in thought. So, he continued.

"I didn't want to just show up on your doorstep... I guess I thought it would take away that meaning, the memory you had of me being a hero. Or at least, trying to be one..."

Buffy couldn't bite her tongue any longer.

"So in other words, you were being selfish."

Spike looked at her incredulously.

'Here I've worn my bleedin' heart on my sleeve and she shugs it off again, like it's nothing...'

But he quickly calmed himself. She had reason to be upset with him. He'd been expecting as much.

"Yeah, I s'pose I was being a little selfish..."

"A LITTLE selfish?!" Buffy jumped up from the bed suddenly, standing before him as her anger rose to new levels. How could he have let her go all those months thinking he was dead, and merely shrug it off as "being a little selfish"?

"So, so what? You thought you could just play the martyr and let me suffer here, thinking you were dead all this time?" She shook her head, violently. "God, I can't even begin to tell you what warped logic that is."

Warped?

Suddenly, Spike was on the defensive. He'd come too far during his time at Wolfram and Hart to back down from a confrontation now, not even from Buffy.

"You know what, Summers?" She recognized that he was putting his guard up, too. The cocky voice, the snarky comments, it all seemed too familiar. He stood up, curling his tongue behind his teeth and towering over her as he leered down at her "I did visit you once, and you were too tied up with your honey to even give a bleedin' piss."

"Don't start with this, Spike," But there was challenge in her eyes as she spoke to him. "You know what? I didn't even know you were alive until yesterday. Until Andrew told me. I didn't even get to hear it from you." She raised her chin defiantly. "So don't you dare throw that in my face."

Spike raked a hand through his platinum hair in frustration.

"I'm sorry, Buffy, alright?" He threw his arms up in the air. "Really I am. I was a fucking coward, a ponce, a ninny." He paused, weighing his options.

"But to be honest, I didn't think you'd even care."

That was a lie. He knew she had cared. To some extent, he'd always known. But, damn it, he wanted to get a reaction from her.

Buffy's mouth fell open in shock. Her chest heaved.

"How could you even think that?"

Spike snorted.

"I'm not too far off, am I, luv?" He stressed the word intentionally, stepping closer to her, their faces now mere inches apart. "For missing me so much, it didn't take you long to spread your legs for that Immortal wanker, now did it?"

A sharp crack rang out in the room as she slapped him, right across the cheek. Not with slayer strength, but with enough force to attempt to knock some sense into him.

Spike clenched his jaw, realizing he'd once again managed to royally fuck things up by blurting out another foot-in-mouth comment.

'You should have just quit while you were ahead, mate,' He mentally scolded himself.

'But that's just the thing, you never were.'

He hadn't seen her in over a year. They were both confused, conflicted, battling emotions and trying to get to the bottom of things.


But as Buffy looked up at him with tears glistening, Spike immediately felt regretful. He saw it then, in her eyes, the answer he needed but she was too afraid to say, and he was partially too afraid to hear. And at this point, Spike was running on pure impulse, because he didn't know what else to do. So, he did the most impulsive thing he could.

He kissed her.

Grabbing her by the upper arms, he smashed his mouth to hers, and Buffy squeaked in surprise. She struggled at first, weakly pushing against his chest to make him stop, but realizing she didn't want him to. Her vain attempts quickly dwindled as she fully gave into the kiss, realizing how much she'd been craving this moment, practically tasting it in her sleep. It had been far too long.


Wrapping her arms around his neck, she drew him closer to her, needing to feel him as close as humanly possible. Her fingers crept upward, and he shuddered as they twined in his silky hair, tickling the back of his neck. She breathed deeply, inhaling his masculine scent.

His tongue gently coaxed her lips open, and she granted him entrance without hesitation, letting her tongue glide against his. It felt right, so very right. And Buffy was so lost in him that she didn't even realize when he slowly backed her up towards the wall until her back was suddenly pinned against it, and the hard lines of his body pressing against her. And then another type of hardness prodded her stomach, and she gasped.


Suddenly, reality came crashing back.

They couldn't do this, she realized, because this would only lead to sex. And then they'd be doomed to use sex as an excuse every time they wanted to avoid talking.

She didn't want them to use sex as a crutch like they had before. She just couldn't let that happen.

As his lips left her mouth and trailed downwards, lightly grazing the smooth flesh of her neck, Buffy finally forced herself to put a stop to this. She gently pushed against him.

"We, we can't."

Spike merely nodded his understanding, releasing her from his grasp and stepping aside so she could leave.

"Buffy?" He said, almost as an afterthought.

"What?"

She paused, but didn't turn to face him.

He took a hesitant step closer. "Did you mean it?" Finally, the question was there, perhaps the main thing he'd come here for, to get some validation, some closure, a crumb...

"You mean, when I said I loved you?"

She turned around, her eyes full of sorrow, and she bit her lip, nodding very slowly.

"I meant it."

And there it was. Spike felt his heart leap into his throat. After all that time, he finally had his answer.

It had been real, after all.

"But now?"

Buffy just looked at him tearfully, her lower lip trembling slightly, before turning slowly toward the door.

How could they feel the way they did for each other, and yet, every time, let their emotions, their own stupid insecurities somehow muck it up? Yet again. After all that time apart, it was like they were still caught in a loop, somewhere between wanting to start a relationship and actually starting one.

When would they get it together? Could they ever?

And as Buffy left the room, leaving Spike alone with his thoughts, he realized he might never know.