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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you for the nice things you all have said so far. Again, I am REALLY REALLY REALLY sorry to confuse folks by posting the wrong chapters.
Hope you all enjoy.
Chapter 4

When he came to, he was cradling the left side of his face and his nose.

"Ow! Bloody hell woman! That hurt!"

He sat up and spat blood out onto the cement. "Guess I deserved it though," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm.

When he looked up, he noticed he was alone, but he could hear Willow yelling after Buffy from the entrance to the hotel. He slowly got up and ambled into the hotel.

"Where'd she run off to, Red?" he asked the still yelling Willow.

"I don't know and she's mentally blocking me too," Willow said exasperated. She closed the front door and came back into the hotel. She plopped herself on the round couch in the lobby. "I guess I could do a locator spell," she said tiredly.

"Whaddya need?" he offered. He needed something to do, besides pacing the lobby.

"Hand me her bag," Willow instructed. Spike grabbed Buffy's bag and handed it to the witch. Willow closed her eyes and started murmuring. Within a few moments her eyes flew open and she yelled at him, "Beach. She's heading to a beach."

He looked at her. "A little more specific there, Red. It's sodding California. Most of the state is a beach," he said sarcastically.

She looked at him with a cockeyed grin. "I know that. Let me concentrate a little more." She closed her eyes again and reopened them just as quickly. "A Ferris wheel?" she asked.

He immediately knew where Buffy had gone to. "She's at the Santa Monica Pier. I'll bring her back," he said as he rushed out of the back of the hotel.

Willow called after him, "Duck next time!"


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He hopped onto his motorcycle and was quickly in pursuit of his prey. He took every shortcut he knew and was at the pier in 15 minutes. He parked his motorcycle and saw her sitting alone on the sand, absently watching the waves. He made his way down to the beach and sat down a couple of feet away from her. He snuck a sideways glance at her and could see her face was red and blotchy from crying.

"What are you doing here?" she sniffled.

He stifled a grin. "I've come to bring you back to the hotel," he said. "Fancy a motorcycle ride? Nice day for it," he gazed up at the brilliant blue sky.

She ignored him. He knew he had groveling aplenty to do.

"I've been coming out here to get some sun the last few weeks. Try and get some color. Been pasty for the last 130 years, figure I should ease myself back into the daylight. Even been thinking of taking up surfing."

She glanced at him, eyes narrowed. "Caught me. Never could be a surfer. Too bloody scared of the water." She turned her head back to gazing at the waves. He decided to employ a different tactic.

"Listen, pet, I don't know what else to tell you. I'm sorry. I know you're mad at me, but the past is past. Can't go back and change it. Wish I could." He gazed out at the ocean. He was hoping honesty would make her stop ignoring him.

She rolled to her knees to get herself closer to him. As he was gazing at the ocean, she placed her hand on his cheek. It felt warm and she could see he was slightly tanned. He turned his face to look at her fully. He reached for her free hand and placed it on his chest, covering it with his own hand. She closed her eyes as she felt his heartbeat for the first time. Uncontrollable tears leaked out from under her eyelids. He reached his free hand out to cup her cheek.

"I missed you so much," she whispered, opening her eyes to see his blue ones gazing at her lovingly. "Did you even miss me?" she asked. He looked at her in disbelief.

"Would I still be human if I didn't miss you?" he asked rhetorically. She looked at him quizzically.

"If I hadn't missed you, I would've found someone to turn me back since those poncy Powers wouldn't," he explained. "I missed you every bloody day, pet. Didn't have anyone to trade witty barbs with. Or have a decent spar with," he said smiling.

She finally cracked a smile and giggled. She took her hands from his cheek and chest and wiped her eyes.

"I must look like a mess," she said, embarrassed that he had to see her like this. She knew he had seen her at her worst, but it had been so long and so much had happened, he felt like a stranger. He took her chin in between his thumb and forefinger.

"You look beautiful, love," he said quietly, gazing into her eyes. She moved her hand back to his cheek. He tilted his head into her hand. She gazed into his eyes for what seemed like hours before he whispered,

"I should get you back to the hotel before Willow goes off her head." She smiled at him and accepted his offer to help her up. They walked in casual silence to the motorcycle. She hopped on the back and wrapped her arms tightly around his middle, resting her head against his shoulder. He kicked the bike into life and roared off in the direction of the hotel.

Willow was gone when they returned. She had scribbled a short apology to Buffy before popping herself back to Italy. She wasn't sure what kind of mood Buffy would be in when she returned to the hotel, but she didn't want to stick around and find out. Buffy's bag was still sitting on the couch in the lobby. She grabbed it after reading Willow's note.

"Well, guess I'm stuck here 'til my ride comes back. Any of those rooms have a bathtub?" she asked, gazing around the lobby, taking in the details of the room this time. Spike waved at the upper floors.

"Take your pick. First empty one you find is yours." Buffy started up the steps, but turned around and looked back at him. He had gone into Angel's office. He looked at her through the window, waved at her, and pulled the blinds closed. She turned around and continued up the stairs.

When she reached the hallway, she walked down to the end to find a room with a garden view. She tried one door; locked. The next door opened easily and as she stepped into it, she immediately knew it was his.

Leather duster draped over a chair, brown leather journal open on the bed, various clothes strewn on the floor. She picked up a blue t-shirt and inhaled. It smelled like him. She set her bag down on the floor and crossed over to the bed. A small picture frame stood on his nightstand. She picked up the frame and was shocked when her own smiling face looked back at her. The edges of the small picture were a little burned and the picture had several wrinkles like it had been folded and refolded countless times. He must have salvaged it from his "shrine" he had erected in his crypt all those years ago. Tears sprang to her eyes again.

She set the little picture back down on the nightstand and picked up the leather journal that lay on the bed. She leafed through the pages and found poetry; beautiful, haunting poetry. Poem after poem were all about the same thing: her. How much he loved her, how much he missed her, how his new life meant nothing if he couldn't have her. She lay down on the bed and continued to read until she couldn't fight the sleep her body desperately craved.





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