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Spike sat on the coffin beside her and placed two shot glasses between them. He filled both glasses with whiskey and then waited curiously to see if his companion would actually drink.

Buffy smiled and lifted a glass. “This is gonna be great.”

Spike watched her down its contents with muted amusement. He smiled as she screwed up her face and shook her head at the taste.

“Blaaah-ah!”

Spike lifted his own glass to his lips and drained it dry, making no humorous noises as it burned down his throat.

“Life is stupid,” Buffy said with a pout.

“I have a dim memory of that, yeah. And I didn't figure you were here cadging my whiskey 'cause life's all full of blood and peaches.”

“No, I’ve just…” she sighed, shaking her head as if deciding against something. “Bad day.”

“Well,” he said, lifting the bottle and refilling the shot glasses. “Let’s see what we can do to make it better.”

“Wha’s yourreal haircolor?” Buffy asked.

Although her speech was slurred and her eyes were a bit glazed, she didn’t seem drunk. She seemed to be relaxing, actually. Although, she was beginning to ask some stupid questions.

“It’s a bit like your real hair color, I imagine” he said with a smirk, downing the final drops of whiskey.

Buffy looked from his empty shot glass to the empty bottle and gasped loudly with affront. “I can’t believe you drank it all!”

He grinned at her as he set the glass down on the coffin. “I seem to recall you downing two or three extra shots when I wasn’t looking.”

“How could you know I was downing if you weren’t looking?” she asked.

“Point,” he said fairly, lifting the empty bottle and placing it on the floor.

“You go’ any more?”

Spike sighed. “’Fraid not. You’ve cleaned me out, Slayer. We could go get some more if you feel like a trip to Willy’s.”

Buffy groaned and placed her head in her hands. Spike took that as a “no.”

“Why is life so hard?” she asked, her voice muffled by her drunkenness and the hands covering her face.

“Dunno, love. Kind of took the easy way out on that one.”

She lifted her head and quirked a brow at him. “So did I.”

Spike frowned at that. He didn’t like hearing her talk about her death as some kind of freedom. He could understand her missing where she’d been, but he never wanted to hear her talk about her death that way. Even though he was the one who had told her about the death wish. Hopefully that was behind her now that her wish had been granted.

“Yeah,” he finally said, his voice gruff. “Hope you don’t see that as an option anymore.”

Buffy lowered her eyes. “I think about it. Sometimes. It’s just… having to take care of Dawn and all these financial problems?” she began, her pain sobering her slightly. “I’m…” She met his eyes. “I’m not ready to be a grownup.”

Spike offered her a small smile and touched the side of her face. “I dunno. You’ve always seemed older than your years.”

Buffy snorted, choking on the tears she was trying desperately not to shed. Getting drunk and crying in front of the vampire was not on the agenda. “So I look old?”

“God, no.” He smiled and leaned towards her. “You’re youth personified.”

Buffy frowned and swatted his hand away. “You’re teasing me.”

Spike chuckled. “Just a little bit. ‘S ridiculous, the notion of you being anything but beautiful.”

Buffy blushed and looked away, wetting her lips with her tongue before she replied, “So, are you saying that old people are ugly? ‘Cause if that’s the case you’d the biggest dog in town.”

Spike sent a searing glare her way, but its force was dulled by the smile tugging on the corners of his lips. “Don’t have a mirror, but the ladies have never complained.”

“Ugh,” Buffy groaned, shifting uncomfortably. Spike was about to get all man pridey on her. “Yeah, you and the ladies.”

“What, you think I’m ugly?” he asked teasingly, his lower lip jutting out in the biggest pout she’d ever seen. It made him look sort of clowny.

Buffy’s eyes brightened and she tried to suppress the grin forming on her face, but it was no use. She snorted and doubled over, her shoulders shaking in silent mirth. Spike frowned down at her, now with a genuine pout on his face.

“Oi,” he protested, nudging her knee with the tip of his boot.

Buffy sat up, her face bright red from laughing. Being drunk and hanging her head upside down might’ve played a part in the breathtaking flush as well.

“Wow, you just lost fifty Big Bad points,” she said breathlessly, her laughter dying out.

He grabbed her elbow tightly, his voice low and menacing but his eyes bright and playful. “Give me the chance and I’ll earn ‘em right back.”

Buffy went still, her smile fading as she looked at him. Maybe it was the firm grip he had on her arm or the hint of promise behind his threat that made everything seem serious again. She didn’t want to be serious.

For some reason her natural response was to close the distance between them and kiss him on the lips.

Buffy pulled back after a mere second of contact, looking into his eyes to gauge his reaction. Spike stared at her in disbelief before grabbing both of her shoulders and pulling her closer. Their lips met again. After another brief, rather chaste kiss, they pulled back and looked into each other’s eyes, as if checking to make sure the other knew what they were doing. Or maybe it was more along the lines of checking if they knew what they were doing.

Buffy slowly scooted forward, placing her hands on his shoulders and lifting herself into his lap. Their lips came together again, the taste of whiskey heightening as their tongues met in a languid, drunken kiss. Spike placed his hands on her hips as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

Somewhere far in the background, two shot glasses crashed to the ground and shattered.

It seemed impossible, but the kiss deepened, and Spike was the first to moan when his hands slid under the hem of her shirt, his fingers skating across her warm skin. Buffy pulled back and gasped, her tepid breath hitting his lips before she reclaimed them. His hands moved all over her then—up and down her back, down the curves at her waist and over her hips, resting on her backside. They soon found their way to her hair and he removed the small elastic band holding it up, allowing the golden tresses to freely flow down her back. Spike gripped handfuls of her hair as their kissing became more heated. He made sure her arms were wrapped tightly around his neck before he lowered her down onto the surface of the coffin, their lips never parting. They didn’t break apart until the first small thrust of his hips against hers.

“No,” Buffy gasped, pulling away from him.

Spike looked down at her, shame boiling up inside of him. Good God, what was he doing? She didn’t want him. She must think he was taking advantage of her. Then again, she had been the one to kiss him…

Buffy’s eyes followed her fingers as they flitted to the neckline of his t-shirt, nervously picking at the black fabric. “Do you,” she panted, taking a deep breath before trying to speak again. “Do you have a bed?”

Spike was grinning on the inside, but he was too relieved that she wanted him to actually grin like the idiot he was. His lips met hers again as he lifted her off of the coffin, gripping her thighs tightly as he carried her over to his bed. The distance from the coffin to their destination seemed ungodly long, but once they’d arrived he laid her gently across the bed, her hair fanning beneath her as she looked up at him.

She was a sight.

Spike lowered himself until he was hovering above her, his gaze never leaving hers. He wanted to stop, to ask her if this is what she wanted, but he was too afraid that she’d say no and leave. He wanted her so badly, and she was on his bed, looking up at him expectantly with her legs still tightly wrapped around his waist.

His lips claimed hers and it seemed an eternity before he pulled back and allowed her to breathe. When their lips met again his hand slid over her hip to the front of her jeans, tugging the button loose and pulling the zipper down.

She pulled back, and he knew with every fiber of his being that he’d gone too far, that she didn’t really want this. She’d never…

He felt his shirt being lifted over his head and stared at her in surprise as he watched it sail over the foot of the bed.

Yes, Buffy, he thought, placing his doubts on the backburner as they finished undressing each other. I have a bed.

She was lost to the feel of him; in her, surrounding her, moving above and beneath her. It seemed like hours before they separated, her body so slick with sweat that the sheets clung to her skin when she fell on them.

Buffy wanted to look at him, but the muscles in her neck didn’t seem to be working. She closed her eyes, willing herself to move, but again finding herself unable to. She couldn’t even move her lips. Not after what they’d been through.

Everything’s better now, she told him, wishing that he could read her mind. Somehow you make everything better.

The feel of his arm wrapping around her middle and his chin resting on her shoulder was the last thing she was aware of before drifting off.

She didn’t dream that night. It was a relief.

Buffy opened her eyes slowly, her head throbbing. She moaned and pulled the sheet over her head, blocking out what little light reached her eyes. It was when she rolled onto her side and found herself on top of long cold sheets that she realized she was alone.

And where she was. And what she did the night before.

“Spike?” she called, her head peeking up from beneath the sheet. No answer. She pulled the sheet down to her chest and sat up, looking around the still unfamiliar lower level of his crypt.

“Spike?”

She called his name one more time before she gave in to the awful truth. She was waking up alone.

Buffy pulled the sheet tighter around her body, blinking back the tears of shame and disappointment and sheer and utter anguish that flooded to her eyes. He left me.

This was something she didn’t miss, but remembered all too well. High up on her metaphorical cloud in heaven she never felt like this. Up there she couldn’t even remember the times she’d woken up naked and alone.

Now the memories hit her fresh with full force. Buffy drew her knees up to her chest and sobbed into them.

Spike left her.

It shouldn’t hurt this much. She wasn’t in love with Spike. Was she? That didn’t really matter at the moment. Waking up alone after being with any man was enough to break a woman’s heart. Even the Slayer’s.

“You awake, love?”

Buffy’s head shot up and she saw two black boots appear at the top of the ladder. Before he could see her she swiped at her face, rubbing any trace of tears away. She didn’t want him to see what his not being there did to her. She still didn’t know exactly what it meant that it did.

Spike descended, facing the ground and not daring to look at her. He stood for a moment after his feet met the ground before lifting his gaze to meet hers. A small smile appeared on his face briefly.

“Thought you’d sleep all day.”

“What time is it?” she asked self-consciously, searching around the room for an alarm clock – anything.

“It’s not yet noon,” he replied, slowly making his way towards the bed. Buffy watched him anxiously, the urge to ask him several questions regarding his absence when she awoke almost too strong to resist. But resist she did. Spike stared at the twisted sheets wrapped around her naked body before slowly sitting on the edge of the bed farthest from her.

“How’s your head?”

Her eyes didn’t leave his. “A little poundy.”

“I don’t have anything for hangovers. Looked around in the fridge, but there’s not much. Got a couple of herbs, but I don’t think they go well straight up. Don’t reckon you’d like them with blood, but if you’d like I could go to the store. It’s daylight, but there’s a little shop on the far edge of town I can get to by the sewers. It doesn’t have much, but it might have coffee or whatever you need. There aren’t many windows there, so there’s low risk of sunlight exposure.”

Spike was babbling. Could she ever remember Spike babbling? Buffy wracked her brain but couldn’t call up a specific instance. There must’ve been a time, surely.

Although it could be the fact that they’d gotten drunk and had sex the night before that was making him act this way…

“I was gonna go, while you were asleep,” he continued, choosing to ignore the confused look on her face. “But I didn’t want you to be alone when you…” he dropped his head.

Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks.

He’d really bollixed things up now. Buffy was probably thinking of the most graceful way to gather her clothes and stake him while keeping the one shred of dignity he hadn’t managed to strip away from her. Spike didn’t know why he felt so guilty. Thought it was a soul that made you felt guilt, but obviously that was wrong.

He’d awoken with his arms wrapped around her waist and his nose pressed into her neck, the hum of her blood singing to him beneath her skin. A new form of lust bubbled inside of him and he’d scrambled away, gently peeling her arms off of him and hopping from the bed. After a moment he realized that to be a strange reaction. He’d often lusted for the Slayer’s blood, even after he’d fallen in love with her. Spike didn’t plan on acting on it, even during the times when her blood seemed to call to him, inviting him to drink heavily. It’s not like he could, not when the mere thought of feeding gave him a headache.

That’s when it hit him. He was still thinking about it, about plunging his fangs deep within her flesh and drinking greedily of her blood until there was nothing left. The thought equally horrified and aroused him. It was the awareness that not even a twinge of pain shot through his cranium that sent him over the edge into Horrorsville.

Spike had dressed and gotten as far as he could from her without actually leaving the crypt. Gone upstairs, had a pack of blood, but still he hungered for her. What did this mean? Was his chip not working?

He’d thought on that for a good hour or two until the night before came flooding back to him. The languid kisses, the high pitched gasps and sighs, the taste and feel of her. It wasn’t until he heard the faint sound of her voice below that he stopped reveling in their night of passion and felt true shame.

She’d been drunk and depressed, and he’d taken advantage of her. That’s how she’d see it, anyway. So that’s how he saw it. He loved her too much to muck things up now, but as far as he could tell it was too late.

“Is that why…” Buffy swallowed hard. “Why you were gone?”

She lifted her eyes to his and suddenly he felt incredibly large. Or maybe it was the look on her face that made her seem so small. “What?”

Buffy looked away again, holding the sheet tightly to her chest with one hand and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear with the other. “You weren’t here.”

“Oh,” he said.

He stared at his hands. Even he couldn’t tell you why they became utterly fascinating to him. Why did a person’s hands always look older than they should, anyway? Maybe that didn’t chronologically fit with him, but it did given the rest of his appearance. Hands always looked… older.

“I didn’t leave you,” he assured her after an agonizing silence.

Buffy shifted slightly. “But you weren’t here.”

He met her eyes then, or would’ve if she’d been looking at him. “I’m sorry, love.”

She winced at the word “love.”

“I wasn’t runnin’ out on you. I… well, I needed to clear my head, is all. Couldn’t very well do that with you wrapped around me.”

“So it’s my fault?” she asked, angry and hurt all at once.

“Fault?” he repeated, preparing for the attack. “No…”

Buffy blinked rapidly before standing, bringing the sheet with her. “I have to get back. Dawn and Giles, a-and Tara and Willow…” She said each name as if she were placing four weights on her shoulders. “They’ll be worried.”

Spike stood. “Well… did you tell them you were comin’ here last night?”

“Yes,” she answered, her eyes tearing up again as she started searching for her clothes.

This was bad, this was monumentally bad. He was the one person she could turn to and now they couldn’t even look at each other.

“Oh,” he said dejectedly. “I guess they will be worried, then.”

He watched for a moment more as she searched under the bed for her shoe before it became too much for him.

“Buffy, stop,” he said, moving around the bed. Spike placed his hands on her shoulders and forced her to look him in the eye. “If you walk through that door will you ever come back?”

Her eyes didn’t leave his, but it took awhile for the answer to form on her lips. “I don’t know.”

“I didn’t mean to do this. Please believe me,” he pleaded, affectionately squeezing her upper arms. “I’d never hurt you.”

Buffy smiled bashfully, the ice breaking slightly. “You didn’t hurt me, Spike.”

He touched the side of her face and stepped closer, knowing that she wouldn’t back away if he did. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she asked, fearing his answer.

“For whatever I need to be sorry for.”

Buffy closed her eyes. So not what she wanted to hear.

“I love you, Buffy,” he added ardently.

“I know,” she acknowledged calmly. “But this… we…”

She didn’t want be the one to say it. She didn’t want to call it a mistake. Buffy was more afraid that he would, though.

When she opened her mouth to declare it as such he kissed her, stealing the words from her mouth before they could even form. Buffy kissed him back, afraid he’d let go of her if she simply stood and basked in the feel of him. His grip tightened on her arms before he pulled back and looked into her eyes.

“I can’t do this, Spike.”

“What’s that, love?”

“Be with you,” she replied as if admitting defeat.

Spike’s eyes narrowed in curiosity. “Do you want to be?”

“I… I don’t know. I don’t want to be not with you. Or I don’t want to not be with you. W-which one?” she asked, tears falling from her eyes. She suddenly felt very naked and stupid. Part of her knew she was only really one of those.

She had the sheet on, after all.

“Doesn’t matter, pet. They mean the same.”

She shivered as he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and Spike pulled back, thinking her reaction adverse.

“I feel safe when I’m with you,” she admitted. “That doesn’t make any sense. And last night…” She paused breathlessly. “I haven’t felt like that since…”

Spike smiled in awe as her meaning hit him. “You sayin’ I gave you a little piece of heaven?”

Buffy ducked her head as she laughed and sobbed at once. Spike’s cool hands smoothed her hair back, comforting her and thrilling her at the same time. She was just a bundle of mixed emotions.

Her watery eyes met his at once.

Spike made her feel.

“I…” Say it, she told herself. You feel it, don’t you? Isn’t that was this was? Buffy switched gears. “You love me.”

Spike sighed with disappointment, but nodded. “I do.”

“That means something.”

His heart warmed at hearing that. It was almost a declaration of love in itself. “Does it?”

Buffy nodded. “If I come back tonight… will you be here?”

“Will be if you are,” he answered, unable to believe what was happening.

Buffy blinked and remembered his words from a few weeks ago.

Every night I save you.

Please save me, she begged silently of him. As if hearing her unspoken words, he drew her close. “I’ll be wherever you want.”

She cried happily into his shoulder. “Here,” she told him, placing his hands on her hips and pulling him with her onto the bed. “Here.”

As scared as she was of what this new level of their—God, she was going to say it—relationship meant, at that moment only one thought fluttered through her mind besides guuuh…

This was the best morning after she’d ever experienced. Instead of dread, it held buckets of promise. It was going to take her awhile to become accustomed to her new view of Spike, but he’d already changed in her mind. Especially after she learned of his behavior during her… absence. Now she just had to settle in that mindset or this relationship they were forming could get ugly, and fast.

“I love you,” he whispered against her collarbone.

Buffy smiled and shook her head at her previous thought. This wasn’t ugly, this was beautiful. As hard as it was to believe that this was happening, she embraced it. Spike had been gone when she’d awoken, but he was here now. He wasn’t leaving her.

“Spike never leaves,” she whispered as his lips sought hers out.

He smiled above her. “He never will, love. He never will.”

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