Spike breezed out the doors of Heathrow airport into the night and took in a deep, greedy breath of the crisp English air. It was a refreshing change from the smog filled atmosphere of Los Angeles. It had been years since he had set foot on his native soil. It was good to be home. He had stayed far too long in that cesspool excuse for a city, and in California in general. Though, prior to his stint in the city of Angels he had a good reason to hang around, Buffy.

She was the reason now for his return to the mother country. Apparently, she and Dawn had had enough of La dolce vita in Rome and decided to move closer to Giles. It took awhile before he was able to track her down – he'd went to Rome first and found no trace of her. He asked around the demon community and heard that the 'True Slayer' was in London. He used regular human resources – the internet– to get her exact address.

Bugger me, Spike thought as a bitter British wind slapped him in the face. Has it always been this bloody cold here? He wondered. He reasoned that it probably had, colder even, he just didn't notice as much before.

He hugged his woollen charcoal-gray peacoat tighter around himself. He pulled a matching knit cap out of its pocket and pulled it over his head. He rubbed his gloved hands together, hoping the friction would bring some heat to his numbing fingers; it didn't work as well as he'd hoped. He peeled back the seam of the glove on his right hand, brought it to his mouth and expelled a gust of hot breath underneath. He closed his eyes in delight as his digits began tingling with feeling. He repeated the gesture with the left hand. Afterwards he stuck both hands under his armpits wanting to hold on to the warmth as long as possible.

Spike kept himself moving, hopping foot to foot, as he waited to catch a free taxi. Finally he caught the sight of a man exiting one out of the corner of his eye.

"Oi, cabby!" He hailed, rushing to the empty car. He made it there just ahead of a fellow, weary looking, traveler. "Sorry, mate," he said, sliding in the back seat a smug smirk on his lips.

"Where to?" The cabby enquired.

"Ah..." Spike dug the piece of paper that had the Summers' new address on it out of his jeans pocket. He squinted at the writing. "Um..." Bollocks. "Just a tick." He took out his spectacles from his breast pocket. That's much better, he thought with a touch of bitterness. He wasn't pleased at having to rely on glasses once again. He cleared his throat, "Take me to ..."

''''''''''''

Spike looked up at the building he knew Buffy was inside of somewhere at this very moment. His senses may not be what they used to be, but he could still feel Buffy's essence as strongly as ever. Or maybe it was just an illusion. He wondered not for the first time if he was making a mistake, showing up here like this, on today of all days; Valentine's Day.

He looked at the bouquet of flowers he held in his hands he'd gotten from a shop he'd seen along the way; they were violets. He knew that roses were the more traditional choice of course. But he wryly reasoned that things between him and Buffy had never been all that traditional anyway. Besides, she seemed to him like a violet.

Oh god, Spike thought. This is really it. It was the moment he had been waiting for for so long; to see Buffy again.

What would she say when she saw him?

Hell, forget about what she'd say; what would she do?

Spike closed his eyes and envisioned it, her opening up the door to see him standing their, her face would be one of disbelief that would soon give way to utter joy. She'd fling herself into his waiting arms and kiss him with in an inch of his life. Then she'd pull him into the flat and they'd shag like rabbits.

Yeah, right. Spike thought derisively, still grinning just the same. She'll probably hit me more like.

With a resigned, yet determined sigh, Spike strode toward the entrance to the building.

Taking in a breath he ran his finger along the nameplates next to the buzzers. It stopped when he found the one that read, Buffy and Dawn Summers.

He smiled at the thought of seeing his girls again. His heart warmed at the idea, overpowering his anxieties about the confrontation that would no doubt ensue.

Resolve renewed, he pressed the buzzer.

Then waited.

"Yes?" Came her voice after a moment.

Oh, god. That voice washed over him like a balm.

"Helllooo?" She singsonged when she didn't receive a response.

Spike opened his mouth, but no sound came out; his throat had closed up.

"Is somebody there?" Buffy's demanded, voice tinged with irritation.

Again Spike's mouth moved, but all he released was air.

"Ugh, wanker!" Buffy cursed, and then she was gone.

"No wait!" Spike croaked, now his voice was working. But it was too late.

He poised his finger to ring her again, but feared she wouldn't answer this time. So, instead he moved his hand down and pressed someone else at random.

" 'Ello?" said and elderly sounding female voice.

"Uh...I, um," Spike floundered not knowing what to say to get this woman to buzz him in. He rubbed his and over his forehead, hoping for inspiration, then remembered what was in his other hand. "I got flowers," he blurted, not a lie. He had flowers, they just weren't for...Mrs. McDougall.

"Oh, 'ow lovely!" The woman gushed. Spike winced at how happy she sounded. When this was all over and done with, Spike vowed to go back to the flower shop and get one hell of a bouquet to leave on the woman's doorstep.

The buzzer sounded and the door yielded to allow Spike inside. Spike was greeted with a blast of warm air from the heating vents; he paused for a moment to let the sensation wash over him, before preceding on to the lift.

Spike heaved a sigh as he hit the button to the sixth floor. Yep, he thought, she's probably goin' to hit me.

He watched as the light ascended on the numbers as the lift climbed upward. A ding sounded when it came to the six and the doors slid open. A young man and young woman were waiting and rushed inside immediately. The man reached over to the press the lobby button.

"Oi, hold it," Spike protested. "This is where I get off."

The man pulled his hand back.

Spike made no move to leave the lift.

The man cleared his throat impatiently. "Oi, mate you gettin' off or no'. We got reservations."

"Yeah, gotta few of those m' self," Spike muttered staring out into the hallway. Just a few steps away behind one of these doors was the woman of his dreams.

"Eh?"

Spike shook himself. He spared a glance at the couple. "Sorry," he said slipping out of the elevator.

"Tosser," the man said, hitting a button.

"Hope the Mickey D's don't give your table to someone else." Spike rejoined as the doors started to close.

The man's face reddened and he took a step forward with clenched fist; he was a big man, out did Spike by a good five inches and fifty pounds, at least. "Oi, you little shi–"

The doors closed in his face cutting him off.

Spike grinned. "Have fun you two."

He turned and with a confidence imbued swagger made his way to Buffy's door. His hubris immediately faltered once he was standing before number 12; Buffy's door.

Spike poised his hand to knock. He hesitated. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then rapped on the door three times. He put down his hand and waited.

He heard her foot steps coming closer, he cast a glance at the elevator considering backing out. The door flung open; too late.

Buffy's eyes went wide; The disbelief in them exactly how Spike had imagined. She was speechless for a moment. Spike stayed quiet as well to allow her time to digest his being there.

"Oh my god...Spike?" she murmured her voice mirrored her stunned expression.

Spike gave her a shy, timid smile and took a step forward. "Hello, Buffy."

"A-are you real?" She asked the same as she had when she saw him that first time in the basement of Sunnydale high after his return from getting his soul.

Spike chuckled slightly. "Yeah, pet, I'm real."

In an instant the shock was gone from Buffy's eyes, a burning anger taking its place. "You son of a—" Too angry to even finished the epithet, Buffy reared back her balled fist and thrust into Spike's face.

Light exploded behind his eyes. His arms windmilled trying to keep from losing his balance. He failed and went crashing into the wall, his head banging against it as he went down.

"Spike!" Buffy shrieked.

Spike's eyes were crossed as they were each trying to follow the flock of birds that were going about his head in opposing directions. He blinked and shook his head. He looked up into Buffy's worried face and smiled. He held up the bouquet of violets– which had lost a few petals– and proclaimed, "These are for you."

Then his eyes closed and the world went dark.

TBC...

"Spike!" Buffy cried, shaking his limp figure. "Oh, god. Spike, wake up!" she gave him a light slap. He didn't move. Oh god, oh god. She fretted. She hadn't thought she had hit him that hard. Buffy had had ample experience when it came to punching Spike, she thought she knew how much force he could handle.

She figured she must have misjudged the power of her own rage at him for not deigning to show up until now. She had known about his resurrection for nearly two years. All this time she'd been wondering what the hell was keeping him from coming to her. And now here was her golden opportunity to find out and she ruined it by knocking him out cold.

"Come on," Buddy pleaded with the unconscious man. "Wake up." She sighed when she got no response. She got up and grabbed him by the ankles and pulled him into her flat. She hauled him up onto the sofa and gently put a pillow under his head. She stood up and gazed down at him taking in how much he'd changed. His clothing was a lot different from what he used to wear; the peacoat instead of his leather duster, the knit cap– she couldn't recall Spike ever wearing a hat before– and she could see chestnut curls peaking underneath it, he'd stopped bleaching his hair.

He also looked older somehow, she thought, but knew that must just be her imagination.

As she looked at him lying there a lump began to form in her throat, her chest clenched and her eyes stung with tears. She'd missed him so much.

She blinked the thought away, it didn't matter. No matter how much she missed him, it didn't change the fact that he had kept his being back from her all this time. The man had some major explaining to do.

Once he comes to of course. Buffy bit her lip in worry that he still hadn't come around. She really didn't think she had hit him that hard.

He'll be fine, she told herself. It's not like I could make him any deader.

She looked down at the flowers he was still clutching in his hand.

She shook her head with a wry smile. Leave it to Spike to think he could just show up after all this time and fix everything with flowers. She tsked and gingerly removed the bouquet from his fist. She smiled again as smoothed out the petals. They are awfully pretty though. She brought them to her nose and inhaled the sweet scent.

She carried them in the kitchen to put the flowers in some water.

She dropped the flowers in a vase and carried them out to the place them on the table in the small dining area between the living room and kitchen. She arranged them a little and smiled and wondered how Spike new orchids were her favourite; well, he always did seem to have an uncanny ability to read her.

She cast a glance at Spike on the couch, that pressure building in her chest again, she turned briskly and went back into the kitchen to busy herself by making some tea.

''''''''''''

A high pitch squeal pierced through the hazy darkness in Spike's mind. He moaned his hand going automatically to the side of his pounding head. His eyes opened cautiously to blurry, unfamiliar surroundings.

Where am I?

He tried to set up, but his head swam in protest.

"Careful,” urged a voice that sent a shiver through his body. Buffy. Spike's memory came flying back to him. He looked up to see her standing over him, a crease of worry in her brow. "Just take it easy, you took quite a fall there."

After you punched me, ya mean? Spike thought, but didn't say, she was more than justified in doing so he figured. "Yeah. Guess I did."

"So welcome back to the land of the waking," Buffy flippantly remarked, shaking off her air of concern for an impassive one. She crossed her arms over her chest going into that guarded stance Spike knew so well.

He threw her a smirk, but even that tiny action put his head to aching.

"I don't have any blood," Buffy blurted out of nowhere.

Spike was thrown for a moment by the Slayer’s proclamation. Where had that come from? Oh right. Spike didn’t think about blood that often anymore himself, but there was no way Buffy could know that, could she?

"But I can get some if you need it," she added, her expression and tone still offering Spike nothing of what she was feeling.

"No, thanks, p-Buffy," he amended, not sure if after all this time he was allowed to call her by pet names anymore. Was I ever, really? "I'm all right, don't need any blood."

"Well, how about a cuppa, then? I just made some tea."

Spike couldn't help but chuckle. "Sure, a cuppa'd be great."

"What?" Buffy demanded not getting the joke.

"Oh, it's just... well, from the sound of things you've really gone native; Wanker, cuppa."

"Ah," Buffy said a glimmer of animation finally coming to her face. "So that was you who buzzed me and didn't say anything. I should have guessed the minute I opened the door."

Spike winced. "Yeah, sorry 'bout that. I jus' gotta bit tongue tied."

Buffy snorted. "Well, that had to be first."

Spike looked up and saw her smiling and a smile of his own curved his lips. He laughed. "Yeah, guess I never really had problem comin' up with things to say."

"No, you certainly didn't."

They continued to just stare, smiling at each other for a moment, feeling so strange, yet familiar together. But, Buffy blinked and cleared her face of expression, she stood abruptly. "I should get that tea."

She whirled around and left the room so quickly it set Spike's sensitive head to spinning. "Yeah, right." he muttered after her. He bent forward and rubbed his hands roughly over his face.

Damn, he thought, a small rueful snicker escaping him. The moment he'd just shared with Buffy was all too familiar; the way they used to look at each other and for just a moment it would be like she was looking past the monster and staring into the eyes of a man. His heart used to soar in those moments, but in a blink she would always turn away and run, shattering his illusion.

Spike had expected this though. He hardly thought that she would accept him back into her life after all this time, and him turning up out of the blue. He just hoped that once he explained everything she would understand.

''''''

Buffy's hands were shaking slightly as she put the tea on a serving tray. She put everything down and gripped the counter. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She wanted to be strong, to keep up her resolve until she got some answers. But she was being overwhelmed by the power of the emotions she felt seeing him again.

She was so happy. She had to use all her Slayer strength to keep herself from throwing herself into his arms and kissing him. She wanted to hold him, feel him in her arms so she would know that he was really real.

She remembered the way her heart had nearly burst with joy when she found out that he had somehow been resurrected. And how it had nearly shattered when she found out he didn't want her to know about his return.

Why?

That question had burned inside her for years. Now was the time to find out and she wasn't going to let sentimentality get in the way.

She blinked back the moisture that had pooled in her eyes and sniffed. Steeling herself she picked up the tray and went to get her answers.

TBC...

Here we are," Buffy announced setting down the tray on the coffee table. Spike smiled awkwardly up at her. He and Buffy had done a good many things together, but having tea wasn't one of them.

Buffy poured the steaming liquid into the cups. "Sugar?" she asked Spike.

"No, thanks."

"Milk?"

"Nah."

"Um, okay." She handed him the plain cup of tea.

"Thanks," Spike said. The cup rattled on the saucer as his shaky hands accepted it.

"No problem," Buffy murmured, trying not to show she noticed him trembling. She put two scoops of sugar in her own tea and a splash of milk, mostly to keep herself occupied. She suddenly felt nervous and anxious. And, after all this time waiting for answers, she couldn't seem to ask the questions.

Spike took a sip of the hot tea, his eyes closing in bliss as it traveled down his throat. He still hadn't been able to get warm even though he was now inside Buffy's heated apartment. He felt as though a sheet of ice had gathered around his bones and the tea was helping to melt it, warming him from the inside out.

Buffy watched him curiously – she had seen him drink blood before and his enjoyment had always been clear on his face. But nothing like this level of ecstasy she saw on him now. No, but she had seen his face look similar to the way it did at this moment.

She felt herself flush at the memories that flooded her mind. She waited for Spike to open his eyes, his nostrils flaring, as he fixed those icy blues on her knowingly.

But he didn't.

Instead he leaned forward and put down the saucer on the coffee table. " 'S good tea," he complimented, taking another drink.

"Thanks," Buffy murmured, her brow crinkling. Something was different about him, something she just couldn't figure. It reminded her of the feeling she had when he came back to Sunnydale after getting his soul.

Spike set down his cup so he could pull off his gloves and cap. He picked the cup back up wrapping his hands around the warm mug. He raised it to his lips to drink again but froze when he heard Buffy snicker.

He looked up at her, eyebrows raised.

"Sorry," she snorted. "it's just... your hair."

Spike's eyes rolled up as if he could see the top of his head. He huffed as he realised what she was on about. "Oh, right." he muttered. "I stopped colourin' it a while back now."

"It looks good." Buffy remarked.

Spike's brows hitched dubiously.

"I wasn't laughing because I think it's bad. I was just laughing because it's so...different, you know?"

"Yeah," Spike drawled. "I know. A lot of things about me have changed, Buffy, not just my look." He sucked in some air readying himself.

All right, moment of truth time, yeah.

Spike never had been one for dancing about the big issues.

Well, 'cept for when I got m' soul, he thought. I had been a bit evasive then at first.

But, it hadn't done him any good.

No, it was best to just come out with it.

"Buffy," he ventured, rubbing his hands on his thighs.

"Yeah?" Buffy prodded after a pause.

He licked his lips and leaned forward. "Buffy," he said again.

"Spike..." Buffy drawled.

"There's something I've gotta tell, you. Something pretty incredible.

Buffy put her cup down and folded her hands in her lap, as if preparing herself for the news.

Spike took another breath and looked Buffy straight in the eye. "I'm alive," he solemnly declared.

"Um, yeah." Buffy drawled, unfazed. "I kinda already knew that. You knocking on my door was enough confirmation."

Spike shook his head. "No you don't understand. What I mean is– " He faltered looking up at her sharply, "What do you mean you already knew? How'd you find out?"

"I'll give you one guess, rhymes with Smandrew."

"Andrew."

"We have a winner," Buffy proclaimed. "Just FYI, for future reference; the boy can't keep a secret."

"I'll file that away," Spike dryly replied. "Little ponce. I shoulda known."

"Ah, don't be too hard on him," Buffy defended. "I put the Slayer squeeze on him. It was obvious the second he got back that something was up – he was acting all shirty. He didn't want to give it up, though."

Spike was smirking at her.

"What?"

"Nothin'. Just... shirty. One would think after your time livin' here you would have picked up the proper meanin' is all."

Buffy glared at him.

Spike shook himself and tried to jump back on the right track. "Anyway, like I was sayin' before I interrupted myself; I'm not dead, or undead anymore. I'm fully alive – heart beat an' all." He looked down at his hand finishing quietly, "I'm human, Buffy."

If Spike thought Buffy looked surprised when she opened the door...

Buffy dropped her cup, it went clattering to the floor. "Y-you're... what? H-how?"

"Shansu," Spike proclaimed simply.

Buffy's brow crinkled. "The whale?"

"No, that's Shamu. Shans,." he emphasised "is a prophecy." Spike took a big breath before launching into the whole unabridged explanation –he went into explicit detail when he got to the part when he and Angel vied for The Cup of Perpetual Torment and his right kicking of his sire's ass – his animation flagged somewhat when he told Buffy the goblet turned out to be filled with Mountain Dew, and that it had all been a ruse.

"Everybody thought it was going to be Angel," he said coming to the conclusion, "no-one thought I had any real shot – hell, I didn't even really think it was goin' to be me. I mostly just wagged the idea that it could be in Angel's face to get at 'im. But..." His jaw muscles were pulsing as he looked up at Buffy to gauge her reaction. "So," he ventured, "are you disappointed, that it wasn't Angel too, I mean."

Buffy blinked slowly and shook her head, trying to overcome her shock. "I feel sorry for Angel. I'm sure he was hoping it would be him. But, I am not sorry that you're..." She swallowed a lump in her throat. "You really are?"

Spike's mouth twitched. "Yeah, I am. I'm hot blooded" – he held open his arms– "Check it and see." He had been joking, so he was surprised when Buffy shot up from her seat and came around to him. He looked up at her, eyes wide. She held out her hand like she was going to touch his face, but then dropped down to her knees and put her ear to his chest.

"Oh my god!" she cried after a second. "Your heart...it's beating." A pause. "God, that's a good sound."

She was clearly crying, Spike could hear the tears in her voice.

"Buffy..." he entreated, wanting her look at him. Slowly she turned up her head and gazed up at him, hazel eyes swimming with tears of joy. Spike put his hand gently on her cheek and swiped the tears that had already fallen. Buffy closed her eyes and turned into the caress.

"You're warm," she whispered. Her hand going up to touch his face. Her eyes snapped open, startled. "No," she amended, "you're hot." – she put her other hand on his other cheek and shot to her feet – "In fact you're burning up." She looked into his eyes and noticed how glassy they were. "You have a fever!"

"Yeah, I've been comin' down with a bit of a cold," he informed. " 'S nothin' to worry about though."

"Oh my god!" Buffy's hands went to her mouth, eyes wide, horrified. "You need to have your head looked at."

Spike snorted. "Not the first time I've had that suggested to me. An' more 'n once by you in fact."

"No. Spike, I'm serious," Buffy asserted. "I hit you. You hit your head, hard, you were unconscious. You're human and you're sick – you need to go to the hospital!"

"Pet," Spike cajoled, rising to his feet. "I appreciate that you're concerned about me, but really nothin's so wrong with me that a good kip won't cure."

"Sleep?" Buffy spluttered. "You can't sleep. You could have a concussion. No. I am taking you to the hospital and that's that." She grabbed his cap, put it on his head, and thrust his gloves at him. "Come on.

TBC...

Spike had never been more aware of the fact that he was no longer immortal than he was while riding in the passenger's seat with Buffy sat behind the wheel.

The beating of his heart was completely apparent as it banged in panic against his rib cage.

He loved Buffy and new she was amazing at many thing – driving was not among them.

"Hey pet, take it easy, eh?" he implored. "A hospital ain't gonna do me much good if I'm dead by the time I get there."

Buffy just made a sort of dismissive grunting noise.

Spike held tight to the dashboard, his eyes clenched shut as Buffy made a sharp left turn. His life was flashing before his eyes, and then his unlife, then his life again. His human constitution wasn't holding up very well to the speed. He kept silently praying that Buffy didn't turn into a roundabout.

Finally, they made it to the hospital. Spike patted himself, breathing a sigh of relief finding he was still in one piece. He closed his eyes and rested his head against his seat, gulping in air. He fumbled in his pockets for his cigarettes and popped one in his mouth.

"Uh, I don't think so," Buffy said reaching over and grabbing the cigarette from his mouth. She tossed it out the window. "You're human now; smoking can kill you. No way I'm going to let that happen. I just got you back, I plan to do everything in my power to keep you around for awhile. So, NO SMOKING."

Spike would have argued but he was too pleased by the fact Buffy had admitted to wanting him around, the words died on his tongue. "What ever you want, pet."

Buffy looked uncomfortable again after a moment of looking at him and hustled herself out of the car. She came around to Spike's side and helped him out.

"Hi, we need a doctor," Buffy promptly informed the nurse behind the desk when they walked in.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"It's... my husband, he's been sick – with a fever– and earlier he... sort of fell and hit his head. He was unconscious for about ten minutes."

"Here," the nurse handed Buffy a clipboard with papers on it, "just need you to fill in these forms, love, and we'll see to him."

"Thank you," Buffy murmured.

"Husband?" Spike asked when they were clear of the nurse.

Buffy shrugged. "They'll only give information to family members. Did you want to be my brother?"

"No," Spike smirked. "Husband's good."

''''''

"Mrs. Summers?"

Buffy's head snapped up to the man in the white coat. "Yes?" she confirmed, getting to her feet.

The doctor smiled at her reassuringly. "Well, there doesn't appear to be any severe damage to your husband's head – he's got quite a bump," Buffy cringed with guilt, "but no signs of concussion."

"Oh, that's good." Buffy remarked with relief.

"He does appear to have flu, howeve," The doctor went on. "It'll be good for him to keep in bed and get plenty of fluids."

"I'll make sure he does," Buffy vowed.

The doctor gave her a small smile. "Good,"

"So then," Buffy ventured. "Can I take him...home?"

"I don't see why not. We gave him something to bring down the fever, but if it comes back or he gets worse in a couple days bring him back in."

"Thank you. I will."

The doctor gave her a departing smile and took off down the hall.

Buffy let out the breath she had been holding and sank down into the plastic waiting room chair.

Oh, thank god, he's okay, she internally rejoiced. He's here, he's alive, and he's okay.

She sniffed back some tears and pulled herself together, then got up to fill in the release forms and take her husband home.

''''''''''

"You know, you don't 'ave to do this," Spike said, not for the first time, as Buffy unlocked the door to her flat. "I can really take care of m' self. I can get a room somewhere."

"Don't be silly," Buffy replied, "You're sick and Dawn isn't going to be home tonight so you can have her room. Besides, I signed that form that said I was responsible for you and I take my responsibilities very seriously. So I don't want to hear anymore about it, all right?"

Spike's lips twitched. "All right."

Buffy smiled. "Good." She pushed the door open.

"Sit," She instructed Spike pointing to the sofa. "The doctor said plenty of fluids, so I'm going to put the kettle on. Make yourself comfortable. That's an order," she added sternly.

Spike gave her a mock salute.

Buffy rolled her eyes and disappeared into the kitchen.

Spike, doing as he was told, ambled over to the plush sofa and sank down. He let out an Ahhh of pleasure as his weight was taken off of his aching muscles. He kicked off his boots and put his legs up, leaning back.

Buffy did say to get comfortable after all.

Only a moment after he sat down, Spike's eyelids started to drift closed.

Must be that medicine they gave me at the hospital, he figured, his limbs feeling heavy.

He was nearly dozing when Buffy came bustling back in.

"It'll be ready in a minute," she announced, her voice snapping Spike to attention.

"Oh, good," he mumbled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

"Oh god, were you sleeping?" Buffy asked. "I'm so sorry. If you wanna just go ahead and crash that's fine..."

"No, no," Spike interjected. "I don't wanna go to sleep. Not yet. 'M not ready for the day to end yet."

"There'll be another tomorrow just like it."

Spike smiled. " 'm not so sure of that."

"I am."

Their gaze held for a moment.

"So," Buffy broached into the pause. "Can I get you anything besides tea? Soup maybe, I open a mean can of chicken noodle."

Spike chuckled. "I'm fine, love. But maybe later."

"Okay." Buffy settled herself in the chair across from him.

A bout of silence lapsed.

Buffy took in a breath then let it out. "Okay," she ventured. "Now that we know you're not going to die, I can ask you some questions."

Spike took a breath, leaning back and nodding; he’d expecting this. "Okay."

"Okay," Buffy repeated. "First of all, why didn't you tell me you were back?"

Spike blew out a breath and rubbed his hands together. "I wanted to – it was the first thing I wanted to do, actually. But like I told you earlier when I was explainin' about the Shansu business, I couldn't leave at first. And the not being able to take action like I was used to, gave me the time to think. And the more I thought about it, the more I realised that... I left your life in a blaze of glory. I was a champion. I didn't want to ruin that image you had of me. And I figured, sooner or later, if I came back I would end up doin' somethin' that would. So..."

"Well," Buffy remarked after a moment of letting Spike's words sink in. "That's one explanation – it's not a very good one – but it's an explanation. So, next question, how long after you were Shansu'd did you wait to come and find me?"

Spike hesitated a moment. "About six months."

"Six months!" Buffy spluttered. "What the hell?"

Spike sighed. "I needed time," he defended. "I had to adjust to the whole being human thing. I needed to figure it all out. I didn't know if I could fit into your world now that I don't have super strength anymore."

"Okay," Buffy said slowly. "I guess I can accept that. So what made you decide to come and see me now?"

Spike shrugged. "I realised that having a heart that beat was useless unless I was with the person it beat for. I took a chance."

Tears threatened to spring into Buffy's eyes.

"Was I right to?" Spike asked, nervous.

Buffy nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think you were."

They smiled at each other.

This time Buffy didn't baulk when her emotions began to overwhelm her. "Spike, I just want you to know that I really am – "

The whistling of the tea kettle cut her off.

She cleared her throat and stood up. "I should get that." she mumbled and went to the kitchen.

''''''

Even though Dawn's bed was unoccupied, when Spike started yawning, Buffy ushered him into her own room.

He quickly fell asleep. Buffy lay down next to him and just watched him sleep. The way she had done that night when he found her in that house after she had been thrown out of her own; that had been the night she finally started to admit to herself how much he meant to her, that she loved him.

She brushed a wayward curl from his eye and whispered the thing she had been prevented from saying earlier, "I'm really glad you're here." She kissed his forehead– it was warm, but normal human warm; the fever had gone.

She hunkered down and laid her head on his chest. With the combination of his beating heart as a lullaby and his chest's gentle rocking as he breathed steadily, Buffy too, was soon fast asleep.

The end...