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The words hit her harder than Olaf’s troll hammer.

“Dead?” She squeaked, barely audible. Her knees buckled and she sank into the chair. “Both . . . .dead . . . . how?” She felt dizzy, nauseous. It was as though someone had driven a knife in her gut and was now twisting it for all they were worth. Andrew looked upon her with sympathy, Knowing that the news hadn't exactly been easy for him to take in either.

“Angel," He continued, "He went against the senior partners at Wolfram and Hart. I, uh . . . . happen to know an - insider there who told me all this." Andrew momentarily averted his eyes, but not quickly enough to hide an unreadable flicker of emotion in his eyes as he said those words. It was only for a split second, but Buffy noticed it nonetheless. But she merely decided to shrug it off in light of the extenuating circumstances as Andrew again continued speaking,

"But anyway, the senior partners were evil, corrupt, and they did horrible things. Unspeakable things. Angel wanted to put a stop to it, and he tried to convince them he was on their side, so he could stop things from the inside. But they found him out- discovered the truth. Spike supported Angel, fought alongside him, and they were able to successfully defeat the senior partners, but not without a price.”

Andrew gulped as he paused to take a breath, his voice wavering slightly, “So, as punishment, the partners raised an army against them, an army of the worst kind. Dragons, monsters, thousands of them . . . . .” His voice cracked, “And there were no survivors.”

He looked up at Buffy to see how she was taking the news, knowing it wouldn’t be easy for her, as it wasn’t for him.

Buffy was again out of her seat in a flash, waving her arms around wildly as she paced the room and attempted to grasp the situation and absorb all that Andrew had just revealed.

“Angel, Spike, dead? But, they can’t be . . . . . No, it’s not right!" She declared. "Spike- he... I’ve only just found out he was alive!” She shook her head emphatically, trying desperately to convince herself it wasn't real, and failing miserably. Andrew walked over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder to try and calm her down, his touch jarring her back into reality.

“Buffy, I’m so sorry.” He said.

With that Buffy put her head in her hands and sank to the floor, eyes wide, shoulders heaving under the strain of her disbelief. It was an overwhelming feeling of shock and sadness bound together.

It wasn't fair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Bloody hell!”

Spike growled furiously, rubbing his head where a lump seemed to be forming.

He shot a murderous glare at the empty suitcase that had fallen on his head when he tried to get it down from the top shelf of the closet.

“Soddin’ luggage.” He muttered.

He walked to his bedroom and began emptying his dresser, shoving his clothes haphazardly into the suitcase. He didn’t have many belongings, so everything easily fit into the modest suitcase and one small black duffel bag. He zipped the bags with a sigh when he finished packing, and began searching his apartment to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything.

When he was satisfied nothing important would be left behind, he glanced at his watch and realized he’d have to get moving as he needed to be at the airport in a little over an hour.

He couldn’t fly during the day, unless he felt like spontaneously combusting, and he felt he was over his whole 'turning to dust' phase. Since the flight from LA to Italy was so long, he would be forced to make a pit stop so he could take two different flights and avoid traveling while the sun was up.

Spike pulled on his boots and shrugged into his leather duster, shoved a pack of cigarettes in his pocket, and grabbed his bags off the bed. Then he took once last look at his apartment before heading out the door.

‘Well, this is it,’ He thought, ‘Rome, here I come.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy didn’t know what day it was, didn’t know how long her sorrow had kept her confined to her bedroom, hidden under the covers. She hadn't showered or brushed her teeth. She knew she probably smelled and looked like ten nights in a bar. But she didn't care.

She knew it was the weekend now, and that Dawn would be spending the night over at her friend’s house.

Dawn had asked her what was wrong, obviously concerned for her older sister’s well being, but Buffy assured her she’d be fine, that she just needed a little time, and then she’d explain everything to her. She’d only spoken to Andrew briefly since he told her the devastating news, and she recalled that he was supposed to stop by sometime today, though she didn’t know exactly when.

So she was left alone to wallow in her misery, only getting up to shower and go to the bathroom, food the farthest thing from her mind.

Two men she had loved were dead.

One who she’d already thought was dead only to find out he’d been alive the whole time, immediately followed by the revelation that he had died again. It was all just too much to take, the emotions completely overwhelming and brutal, like a punch to the gut. Only a simple punch didn’t hurt nearly this badly, or linger so long.

She loved Angel, and a part of her always would. He was her first love, the man she’d lost her virginity to, and he’d always have a piece of her heart. But it took his returning to Sunnydale right before the battle with the First to realize she was no longer in love with him. They had gone down separate paths in life, had grown apart, had moved on. And it was at that moment when she realized with gut certainty he was no longer the one she wanted in her life.

So why had it taken her so long to finally realize that Spike was the one she wanted?

'Because you were afraid of being hurt again, of opening your heart only to have it trampled on. Because you have issues,' She inwardly reminded herself. And she cursed her fear. Cursed her stupid cookie analogy. It had been a weakness that kept her from admitting her true feelings for Spike until it was too late.

Buffy didn’t even know what time of day it was, and it made no difference. Everything seemed to bleed together, and time seemed to be a foreign concept as Buffy’s thoughts tormented her incessantly, plaguing her mind with a myriad of “what ifs” and “why’s”.

What might have been.

Just as Buffy felt herself nodding off again, she heard a knock on the door.

She opened one eye and groaned.

‘Why does Andrew have to show up at the most inopportune times,’ She thought bitterly, praying he had no more bad news to reveal. She couldn't take it.

She reluctantly dragged herself out of bed, absentmindedly smoothed down her hair and dried her eyes on her sleeve, and shuffled to the door.

“You know Andrew,” She said as she opened the door, “I really hope you don’t have anymore news, because I really don’t think I could handle it right-“

She immediately stopped, the last word caught in her throat, when she saw that the person on the other side of the door wasn’t Andrew. She tried to remember to breath as she took in the sight before her.

“Hello, luv.”

But it couldn’t be. He had died! Twice! It couldn’t be who she thought it was standing in her doorway. But there was no mistaking that voice, that accent, or the platinum hair and chiseled cheekbones, the sparkling blue eyes and black leather duster.

Buffy stood in shock, gaping, frozen in place.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in, Pet?”

“C-come in,” Buffy stammered, startled by her own voice that seemed to float disembodied in the air.

This just couldn’t be happening. It had to be a dream, an illusion.

“Spike?” She whispered incredulously, convinced her eyes were deceiving her as she continued to stare at him, “Are you real?”

She couldn't remember what happened next, because the room faded to black.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy’s eyes slowly flickered open, adjusting to the darkness as she struggled to recall where she was. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in her surroundings as the moonlight streamed through the window, casting eerie shadows on the walls. She could vaguely make out the outline of the dresser against the far wall, and she realized she was in her own room. But there was something in the back of her mind, an unsettling feeling. Something wasn’t quite right, something was different: she could feel it, but couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

She tried to remember exactly how or when she had come to be in her room. Her mind frantically grasped at the events of her day as she pulled herself to a sitting position in bed.

'Let’s see' She recounted in her mind, 'I cried, talked to Dawn, showered, cried again, slept, waited for Andrew to arrive, went to sleep again, Spike showed up at my door . . . . .'

Now where did that come from?

It was then Buffy remembered. Her eyes went wide as she pictured him standing in her door, her inviting him in, the world fading to black around her.

But now he wasn’t in the room with her. Where was he?

Buffy’s thoughts grew increasingly frantic as she jumped out of bed and dashed down the stairs, taking two at a time as graceful and soundlessly as a cat.

'Ohgodohgodohgodohdgodoh-'

As Buffy emerged in her living room she stopped short and drew in a sharp breath. Her prayers had been answered because suddenly there he was, fast asleep on her leather couch. He looked peaceful, almost angelic as the moonlight glistened in his platinum hair, accenting the shadows of his defined cheekbones, his long eyelashes twitching slightly.

His lean body, all clad in his characteristic black, was sprawled out casually across the couch, one leg hanging slightly off the edge. His black boots were strewn off to the side, his duster draped across the back of the couch. She was close enough to catch a whiff of that familiar and oh-so-welcome smell of leather, smoke, and some slightly spicy cologne.

'Spike smell.' Buffy thought fondly.

'Oh God, he’s really here!'

As Buffy’s mind struggled to register these thoughts, her body unconsciously crept closer to him, not wanting to wake him but desperate to prove to herself that this was really happening. It just seemed to surreal.

She knelt in front of the couch and noticed his body stiffen slightly. He could sense someone in the room, though he still caught somewhere in the stages between sleep and consciousness. Buffy paused to admire him. God, he was still just as gorgeous as she remembered, those wonderfully full lips, fabulous bone structure, every perfect contour. Buffy opened her mouth to speak but her voice refused to cooperate, coming out as a barely audible squeak. She let out a breath and tried once more.

“Spike” . . . . She whispered simply, softly.

His eyes instantly flew open, taking a mere second to adjust before locking his gaze with Buffy’s. And there she was, staring into the eyes of the man she thought she had lost forever, those gorgeous, sparkling, expressive blue eyes that could convey so much with one glance. Emerald eyes stared into blue for a long while before either spoke.

It was Buffy who broke the silence.

“Spike,” Again just barely above a whisper. “Are you really here?”

“I’m really here, pet.” Spike’s voice was husky, still thick with sleep, soothing and just as sexy as Buffy remembered.

She reached out a small hand to gently touch his face, feeling soft skin, lightly caressing every available inch of flesh on his face, trying to prove to herself that he was really there. She reacquainted herself with every contour, every plane, traced the scar above his brow, just one of his sexy imperfections that made him unique, made him Spike. Spike watched with fascination as her eyes drank him in, looking far away and dreamy. He closed his eyes and shivered slightly under her gentle touch. Her small fingers danced across his face, leaving a trail of warmth that sent tingles up and down his spine.

Buffy withdrew her hand, finally satisfied, and Spike’s eyes fluttered open. He was really there, she could feel him, touch him, smell him. She clamped a hand to her mouth as she let out a small sound of wonder, trying to choke back the tears constricting her throat. “Oh, God," was all she could muster. She felt such a myriad of emotions that she couldn't even cry. Tears pooled in her eyes and she simply gasped, almost dry heaving as her shoulders spasmed as though a violent case of hiccups, and she couldn't catch her breath. Spike sat up, instantly concerned but unsure of what to do. He opted to lift an awkward hand and stroke her golden hair, almost as a pet.

“I’m-I’m ok,” Buffy quietly assured him, using her sleeve to dab her eyes as she got a hold of herself. She began talking quickly, almost as though she was afraid he would disappear before she could finish. “Spike, it’s just, how did you - Why didn’t you . . . . I thought you were gone - and then I found out . . . . .Andrew told me- you were alive- but then you were dead again, and I- I just wanted . . .” She sputtered incoherently.

“Hey” Spike interrupted softly. He reached out a hand toward her face, then thought better of it and let his arm drop before he could touch her. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk about this in the morning. I’ll tell you everything, I promise. But right now you need to rest. You look like Hell, Slayer.” He smirked at her.

“Gee, thanks,” Buffy mumbled, a watery, half-hearted smile playing on her lips. She shook her head. "I still can't believe I passed out. I don't think I've done that in... well, ever."

"Sank like a stone," Spike said, grinning.

Buffy shrugged. "Yeah, well, been kinda weak lately. Guess I've gotten wimpy since quitting the slayer gig."

She brushed a hand through her hair and stood slowly, reluctant to leave the room. She was about to walk back up the stairs when she spun around, once again meeting his gaze.

“Spike?” Her voice was heavy with emotion.

“Yeah, pet?”

She drew in a breath. “So, you’ll be here tomorrow? You’re not going anywhere, right? Please promise me you won’t disappear.” Her voice cracked slightly, growing lower as she bowed her head. “Because I don’t think I could handle it if you were gone again. God, if this were all just another dream, or hallucination, or something... I just don’t think..." She bit her lip, unable to finish the sentence as she waited for a response.

Spike stared at her, slightly taken aback and swallowing hard, not knowing what to make of what she had just said. Had she really missed him that much? Did she love him?

“Buffy, look at me luv.”

And she did.

“I promise you that this is real. It’s not a dream. I’ll be here tomorrow, and we’ll say everything we’ve been wanting to say to each other. I’m not going anywhere, I swear, or else you have my permission to put a stake in my heart.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that one.” Then Buffy smiled fully, the first genuine smile in months.

But before leaving the room, she suddenly remembered she had reason to be angry with him, "And by the way, you're an asshole." She said as an afterthought.

Spike did a double take, eyebrow raised.

"I'm a what?"

"You heard me," Buffy said. "And you better believe I'm gonna kick your ass tomorrow for not telling me you were alive in the first place." Spike didn't know how to respond. At first he was about to laugh, thinking she was joking, but one look in her eyes told him she was dead serious.

Buffy yawned. "But I'm too tired tonight." She continued, "Mostly because I've been staying up crying over you, you . . .shirty, bleached . . . vampire asshole!" Spike was now thoroughly amused, a smirk playing on his lips.

In an urge to wipe that smug look off his face, Buffy picked up the nearest thing she could find, which happened to be one of her boots lying carelessly on the floor, and threw it at him as hard as she could, hitting him square in the chest. Spike stumbled back a few steps, completely stunned.

"Buggerin' hell, slayer! That bloody well hurt!" He exclaimed, rubbing his throbbing chest in indignation. Buffy gave a small, satisfactory smile.

"You deserved it, and you know it." She stated matter of factly. "And don't think you're off the hook yet," Spike raised his head to look at her, and she met his gaze with fire in her eyes, "We haven't even begun to dance . . . . William." And with those words, she spun on her heel and disappeared up the stars, leaving a somewhat flabbergasted Spike in her wake.

Ever so slowly, a grin appeared on his handsome face, growing wider with each passing second.

"Well," He thought aloud, "My girl certainly hasn't lost that fire of hers. No doubt about that."

Anticipating what the next day would bring, Spike flopped back down on the couch and settled in for the remainder of the night, the grin never leaving his face.





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