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She descended the basement stairs, the floorboards creaking softly under her light weight. Spike sensed her approaching presence before he heard her, and he stood up, facing the stairs from where she emerged. They looked at each other across the room for a moment, unmoving, until Spike finally broke the silence.

"Buffy . . . I was just admiring my little trinket. Hasn't done any soddin' tricks yet." She gave a wry smile in response, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.

"So, not feeling any mystical energy brewing?" She inquired, pausing at the base of the stairs as her gaze drifted to the amulet dangling from his hand.

"Nope, nothing mystical yet, luv. By now I was bloody half expecting it to light up, or tingle with unforeseen power . . . .or possibly let loose another show-tune obsessed pyromaniac demon. Little entertainment wouldn't kill us right about now," He joked, holding up his hand to study the mysterious amulet.

"Nope, just a whole lot of big and shiny."

Buffy nodded solemnly, a distant expression clouding her features as her smile faded. As she worried her bottom lip between her teeth, Spike cautiously placed the amulet on a nearby chair, instantly noticing the change in her mood. He turned to face her.

"What's on your mind, pet?"

Buffy bit more vigorously on her bottom lip, shifting uncomfortably.

"You mean apart from the whole apocalypse thing? Not much." She responded with a shrug, breezing casually past him to sit on the edge of his cot.

"Buffy . . . ."

She lowered her head, averting her eyes from his gaze, knowing full well he could read her like a book. Spike seemed to have some sort of keen intuition.

"You seemed pretty sure of a victory yesterday. There's something else, what is it? C'mon, spill," He prodded knowingly.

Buffy sighed and lifted her head reluctantly. He always knew. "I was just doing some thinking." Spike moved closer, settling himself on the cot next to her and bracing his arms on either side of him, looking expectantly at her as she began to speak..

"It's just, if everything goes to plan tomorrow, and if . . . .when, we win, everything . . . . . my life will be completely different."

Spike remained silent, listening intently.

"For the first time I feel like I have the power to control my future, my destiny, and for once I don't have to do it alone." She continued, "But things . . . everything will change forever. And now that the power is finally in my hands, the power to choose, I have no idea what I'm gonna do with it, where I want to go with my life, you know?" She looked down at her hands folded in her lap, rubbing her thumbs together anxiously.

Spike nodded. "Just take it one step at a time, pet. Apocalypse first, then think of the road less traveled. Or more traveled, depending on how you look at it." Buffy lifted her head.

"Spike," She paused, staring directly into his piercing blue eyes. "I want you to be careful, ok? That amulet . . . .we don't know its powers yet. It could be dangerous, or . . ."

"Or", Spike interjected, "It could be a worthless piece of junk some sod bought of Ebay." He smirked slyly at the thought. "You know, I wonder how much something like that would go for on Ebay," His face lit up with mock enthusiasm, the ever-present smirk deepening into a mischievous grin. "People pay a lot for gaudy accessories these days. Bet they’d be willing to pay a little extra for one with apocalyptic powers."

"See, there you go being all shirty again," Buffy teased, nudging him lightly with her elbow.

She was always grateful that he tried to make her laugh, even though his sense of humor could be a bit off color at times, not to mention poorly timed.

"Luv, if you’re gonna steal my words you could at least use 'em correctly. Give a little respect to a fellow, huh?" She chuckled at that, rolling her eyes.

But her expression again grew serious. She paused, then reached for his hand and grasped it cautiously, raising her head to meet his cerulean gaze before speaking.

"Spike . . . ." Spike gave her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze and offered a lopsided smile.

"Don't worry about me, pet. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can, it's just . . . "

Buffy swallowed against the stubborn lump in her throat. He used his free hand to brush a lock of golden hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear gently as though she were a delicate porcelain doll that was bound to shatter. Then he spoke:

"You get out safe tomorrow, that's all that matters."

She looked into his face, almost startled by his intense expression, his eyes exuding nothing but blind devotion and admiration for her. She had often felt uncomfortable when he gazed at her with such adoration and love, like she was an open book and all he had to do was glance at her to read her every thought.

He believed in her, and she in him.

But Buffy often wondered if she deserved to be put on such a pedestal by anyone. She was by no means perfect, or anywhere near perfect for that matter. She made many mistakes, some small and some monumental, and some she would regret every single day for the rest of her life.

'It’s true,' she thought bitterly, 'I really am cookie dough. A big pile of mushy uncooked goo.'

She really had no clue what she would become, or how she would become it.

But Spike always stood by her, flanked her through thick and thin. She was truly touched by the sacrifices he had made for her. He seemed like a part of her now, in her heart, in the back of her mind, always by her side.

Overcome by the revelations saturating her mind, a single burning tear ran a trail down Buffy's cheek. She only realized she was crying when she saw Spike's face glaze over with concern. Buffy, feeling sheepish for her unexpected display of emotion, stood and strided across the room, stopping in front of the black punching bag as she tried to regain her composure. She hugged her arms around her middle, finally calming herself when her eyes fell upon Spike’s wonderfully artistic drawing of Angel from the other night, still attached to the bag. She couldn't help but snicker softly in spite of herself, though she didn’t want Spike to witness her amusement as she didn’t want to promote the whole jealously thing.

'Though it actually does have a slight resemblance,' Buffy thought wryly as she eyed the drawing.

When she finally turned to face Spike, he was standing in front of the cot, eyebrow arched, head tilted slightly with curiosity. Buffy forced her lips into a small smile to assure him she was fine, but knew it was pointless as he could always see through her bravados. He knew her better than herself, and that was fact. She reflected on this realization, fondly recalling the beautiful speech he had given her just two nights ago. He had seen the best and worst of her; he knew who she really was, yet somehow wasn't scared away by it all.

Buffy raised her head to meet his gaze and began walking purposefully across the room towards where he remained frozen in front of his cot. She stopped directly in front of him, inches from his face as she looked up into sparkling eyes.

"What is it, Buffy?" He inquired.

"The other night . . ." She began softly, "It really did mean a lot to me. I wasn't just saying that." She paused and sucked in a breath, noticing the uncertainty and confusion in his eyes "You . . . understand me. And I don't really know how, but it's . . . it's like you can see inside me. See my soul," She finished and looked at him cautiously, waiting for a response.

"Winning a lost soul from some scaly, foul smelling Linda Blair type demon a few months back doesn't exactly qualify me as an expert on the subject," He teased, "You need any bloody awfuly poetry lessons or crypt decorating tips, I'm your go-to-vamp. But the soul thing . . . Bugger . . ." He trailed off as her glare clearly indicated now wasn’t the time for joke telling.

"Spike, I'm serious. You were the only one I could turn to, the one who always had my back. You gave me the strength," Buffy whispered, reaching for his hand as she desperately tried to make him understand how much that meant to her.

He looked down at their joined hands questioningly, then back at her. She felt his long fingers tighten their hold on her hand, his thumb just barely moving over her knuckles in a slight caress, soft and cool on her heated skin.

'They seem to have a healing touch,' she thought. 'My God the things he could do with those hands' . . . .

Spike finally broke the silence, lightly teasing, "Bollocks," He said softly, smiling, "You hero types always have the strength. Just needed a little coaxing is all."

Buffy continued to stare blankly at him, her brain refusing to muster any fitting words.

"You know," Spike continued, misinterpreting her silence for indifference, "Little cold comfort from the cellar dweller goes a long way. Ought to recommend it to the whole lot."

Buffy sighed, instantly irritated by his words.

'Here he goes again, trying to skirt the whole issue.' She thought bitterly.

She yanked her hand from his in order to illustrate her frustration.

"Well, whatever you want to call it, it saved me, OK? Spike, God, don’t you get it? Don’t you understand?" She practically spit the words out, throwing up her hands in frustration. "You keep playing it off like it’s nothing, like it was all just some fluke! But what you don’t seem to want to admit is the fact that it meant something. It meant everything, Spike. It was real, and it-" She paused, her voice dropping a bit as she felt her resolve quickly fading, "It helped me find the way."

Her expression softened and she let out a long breath along with the last of her anger. "Spike, you don’t have to keep skirting the issue. I just want you to know that I appreciate you, what you did. I mean, I felt so lost and- and alone. I was done . . . . . with everyone, everything. I was so sure of it . . . . .until you found me and gave me a purpose again. And as much as you like to deny it, the truth is that it means so much more to me than you could know."

Spike stared at her, speechless, his eyebrows knitted together slightly. Compelled by her heartfelt confession, he slowly leaned forward until his lips came into contact with her forehead, feather light so Buffy barely felt them brush across her skin. She instinctively closed her eyes as the tension drained from her body, sighing when the brief contact ended, wanting it to linger.

Spike took a small step back to distance himself, waiting for her to make the next move.

He didn't have to wait long.

A/N - Ready for some Spuffy lovin? :)





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