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He let her in first, holding the heavy door while she stepped through.

Sturdy metal swung shut and latched behind her. Buffy walked to the middle of the first room. The second was fully lit, bleeding illumination into the small circular space around her. Gray stone walls climbed into a dome shaped ceiling, bare except for shadows.

Spike extended his arm to encourage her forward, towards the room preceded by a pointed entrance. She walked through to find a desk, neat and orderly, topped by a small unlit lamp. The main source of light came from the one standing beside a shuttered window. The floor was bare. A roller chair sat against the wall, underneath a picture of people she didn't know shaking hands.

The tiny building was just warm enough to be comfortable, courtesy of a space heater sitting on the ground. Several books were gathered in a pile on top of an old shelving unit. Above her, Buffy noticed the ceiling was wood paneled and came to a high point in the center.

"Here."

Spike pulled the chair over so she could sit. She smiled in thanks and descended into the stiff backed seat. Spike made himself comfortable on the desk. He opened one of the drawers beside his left knee. A first aid kit emerged.

Abruptly, Buffy felt as scattered as her own thoughts. She lowered her hands with her coat zipper. Beneath, she wore a simple white T-shirt made of thick cotton. The source of her discomfort was just visible above the scoop neckline.

A small red mark stained the fair color of her skin. Buffy pulled the fabric aside to get a better look, and hissed when she found a bluish tinge sprinkled across her lower chest. From the pain, especially when she tried touching it, the color was bound to darken over the next few days.

A shadow flew over her body and Buffy looked up. Spike was standing in front of her. He spotted the injury, glancing away before she could bother to press her shirt back into place. "Just a bruise."

He frowned. "Hurts though?"

"Yeah, a bit."

"When you press on it?"

"More. But I don't think anything's broken."

"It'll get darker." The frown did, too. He sighed at the first aid kit, jamming it away. "Nothin' I've got will help. Put some ice on it when you get home, then a warm compress in a couple days."

Buffy smiled. "Thanks, doc." She pulled her coat off the rest of the way.

Spike blinked in confusion. "What're you doin'?"

"Getting comfortable," she said, peering innocuously at him. "I told you, I came to see you."

He remembered, Spike was just too afraid to ask her why. His curiosity thrummed like a pulse, and he tried beating it down to no avail. Despite a previous urgency to leave her house before the threat of a break down climbed over his shoulder, seeing Buffy now was just one more gift he couldn't pass up.

She didn't seem upset. Nervous, maybe, but he didn't think anything was wrong; call it instinct. She could have phoned him, too, to talk of some minor thing. Silly girl would have avoided nearly killing herself if she had.

"You don't expect me to fall into a grave and then just leave with nothing, do you?"

Spike's mouth lifted on one side. Dame could read his mind sometimes. "I'd hope not."

"So you're not annoyed I showed up at your work?"

There was a hint of trepidation in her eyes that thoroughly warmed his heart. "Would've been nice if you'd shown up at the door rather than six feet under, but no, I don't mind."

Buffy smiled despite herself. "Good. Because we need to talk."

Tension rose again, as suddenly as a fire that had grown too hot too quickly. He flattened his hands against the desk behind him. A shudder ran the length of his arms as noise from the space heater grew louder, blaring alongside the sound of his own pulse. "What about?"

Clarity fought its way to the forefront. Buffy struggled to let it in, smooth the way. "Why did you bring me the flowers?"

"... The flowers?"

"Yes, the flowers. The ones you found in my office." Her voice fell, firm but soft. "Why'd you give them to me?"

Spike swallowed his confusion, his uncertainty, but it all showed in his eyes. "Because I knew you'd want them." He looked down, something else occurring. "Didn't know 'bout the cat matter if that's what-"

"It's not," Buffy said. "Who do you think I got them from?"

His lips tightened, jaw too. Chest filling with pain like a leaky boat fills with water, he answered, "Wasn't my right to hazard a guess."

She paused. "You're right. It wasn't."

He stared at her in bewildered apprehension.

"But you could have."

"So?"

"You also could have thrown them out. Or hidden them," she said, "hoping I'd forget about them." His obvious shock somehow made it easier to go on. "One of the kids at school, Penny, gave them to me as a thank you for helping her with a boy problem. The same day everything happened with Shaun and Michael. I completely forgot about them after that."

A visible charge of relief went through him. Spike's sigh sounded like an answered prayer, but he swallowed the majority of it, made it seem as if it had never been. "Didn't think... I mean, I'm glad I brought 'em to you then. Wouldn't want to hurt the girl's feelings."

"I thought-... worried you might have thought they were from someone else."

He swallowed again. "Like who?"

"Like someone that would make you upset. You stormed out pretty quick after giving them back to me."

His guard shot high. In a hundred years, he never would have anticipated this sort of discussion taking root between them. But here he was, listening to Buffy point out his earlier bad mood and question the cause of it. Discussing a reaction he wasn't supposed to have for prohibited fears.

Fears she killed with one simple explanation.

"I didn't want to wear out my welcome," was all he said.

"You wouldn't have." Buffy sighed and left her chair. She didn't feel she could have this conversation sitting down.

"No?"

"No." She licked her lips, glancing at the floor. "I need to ask you something."

"Three for three then."

"Do you feel invisible?"

Spike blinked, shaking his head. "What?"

"It was something..." she frowned indistinctly, moving closer. "Something a student said to me. When he explained how being bullied used to make him feel. I know you went through it... I guess I want to know if that feel-... if the feeling was there for you."

Such a personal question, like a punch in the chest; and Spike was as prepared for it as he'd been to find her in a hole. He didn't know how to answer. The unguarded truth seemed like the best and only option.

Far inside his heart a forgotten, nearly filled void shook with a tremor. "The feelin' hasn't lasted," he muttered. "Took a long time for it to fade, but... it did, eventually."

She nodded like some unvoiced doubt had been assuaged. He was too shaken to question her.

"You know what you did... you know it was wrong."

He paused; but the knowledge was there. Too close below to surface to bother rippling it with a fierce topic change. He didn't react, only answered. "Yeah, I know."

"I mean, you've said it before... how you knew it wasn't right. But you took the pictures and followed me anyway and I think I'm starting to understand why you did it, even if it'll never make it okay and it wasn't a good reason. There can't be a good reason. But what's the difference if you understood that before? I just need to... find out if-"

A veritable cave in of words; Spike had to steady himself with help from the desk. "You think I-... You still think I'd do it? Even now? After everything-"

"No, I don't. I-" A personal sigh cut her off, bleeding into the next onslaught of feeling. "I don't think that. You told me already, and I believe you. It's not that I even think you're trying to get somewhere by helping me, like with Tabitha and Joe tonight-"

"You think I did that 'cause I want something from you?" he demanded.

"I said I didn't!"

"Bloody right, 'cause m'not!" She quieted in response to his shout. "Yeah, I still lo- have feelings. S'not like I can help it. It's out of my sodding control, Buffy, and believe it when I say I've tried to mend that. My luck's been buggered there, as you can guess, m'sure."

She flinched.

"But I'm not expectin' forgiveness out of helpin'. Hoping, maybe, and that's sure as hell no picnic- Always been a romantic idiot, though. All my life. Won't change with flippin' a switch. So, I'm here," he sighed recklessly, eyes bright, "when and where you need me. But not because I'm so bleedin' sure you'll let me in if I just stick around long enough. I can't help myself from helpin' you, and that's all there is to it."

She swallowed, gaze wide and as misty as spring. "I know."

"Never thought you'd look at me again without hatin' me blind, so if I can do anything..." The man waved desperately, jaw clenching so tightly he had to stop. Voiceless meaning flattened the air and made it harder to breathe. His throat worked hard beneath his pale skin.

Buffy looked him in the eye. "I don't believe you would do it again," she murmured, backpedaling. "Even the pictures..."

"Especially the pictures."

His voice was an implacable gravel and hers turned solemn. "But you did, before. And that's the issue." His gaze filled with confusion and tangible heartache. She gulped again, forging on. "Was it... Was it the invisible thing? You felt... that low and- and alone you thought your chances were better from afar than they were up close?"

"Never believed in chances back then."

"And that's changed?"

"Among other things." He sighed hoarsely. "I stopped feelin' invisible because of you."

Her heart stalled, in sync with the capability to think. "What?"

"Not before we started out. Was durin' that. Spending time with you... that's what made the difference. Wasn't me. Couldn't do it alone, don't think." He looked down. "You changed me. Know damn well it was for the better, too."

Like snow crumbling under the heat of a March sun, Buffy felt her protective wall cracking down the middle. She took a deep, silent breath. "I think I..."

"What?"

*Believe you,* but she couldn't say that. "I believe that you're not the same person you were."

He smiled sadly, a grunt of irony popping out. "If I could do it again, know I'd do it differently, then? Ask you out like a normal bloke, treat you proper." His monotone lowered. "Wouldn't have wasted two sodding years."

"That would have been nice." Buffy felt her throat constrict. "Though I don't know where we would have gone out to in this town."

Spike sniffed a silent laugh founded entirely in reluctance. The discussion finally felt too much, too heavy, and once his sad grin wavered, he sent a short prayer to whatever deity might give a damn and asked her, "What is all this, Buffy?"

She looked down again. "I wanted to talk."

He gave her a frown. "Figured. But it's bleedin' awful out and you nearly got buried for your troubles."

"You didn't want to see me?"

"That's not it, and you know it."

She took a step closer. Her arms had crossed over her chest what seemed like hours ago. They fell to her sides now. "You said you can't quit hoping... and I know it isn't the same kind of hope as before. I... know you're not going to hurt me, that you wouldn't..."

"Never."

She caught his startled gaze dancing over her face, the same hope they talked about igniting from a watery spark into a full-fledged fire in his eyes. Courage threatened to abandon her with the same speed it rushed to Spike's side. A growing flame. A prayer of blue sapphire with endless black centers; and she knew.

She knew so much. She kept using that word. They kept saying it to each other. It finally counted for something.

"I didn't think I could do this... or that I'd want to, ever again. But..."

He stood straight. The desk was a short shadow behind him as he stepped closer, nearly right up against her. She didn't move away. "What was that?"

"I forgive you," she said, let the voice around those words belly the seriousness behind them. Mild confusion settled on Buffy's beautiful face, lining it. "The trust... Maybe it's still growing, but it's there and I-... Everything you've done to help, me, Jack, and to make up for what happened- It means something."

He sucked in air like a man gasping for breath at the bottom of a lake. Quiet but unfaltering, pain sacrificed itself to light, making him dizzy. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," she inhaled, buying time, repossessing fortitude, "I want another shot."

He stared fixedly at her face. Open, bright, faithful-

She reached up, for him, to stroke his cheek. He turned into her unbidden. "Buffy..."

Another smile he couldn't believe was there, emerged. "Is this... I mean, I don't know exactly what we can work for yet, but I'm willing to try..."

He found her wrist, fingers wrapping tentatively around the skin inches from his mouth. He began to shake with restraint. Words proved much less gentle in sound and voice but they left his mouth like falling snow. "It's more than I could have ever asked for." Breath ragged, their gazes held like magnets, vibrating with pull and attraction. "I won't let you down again."

"You might..." timidly, she stood a little taller. "If you don't kiss me soon."

Half a second, and she pressed closer until every inch between them evaporated like steam. They came together softly, then stronger. Lips met inside the same breath, electricity skipping between pulses.

Gasping, Spike's hands latched onto her waist and Buffy tugged on his neck. A moment made once in two lifetimes. She spread her fingers across his tense jaw, caressed the underside. A whimper tickled her lips.

She pulled back, just slightly, and met blue eyes full of wondrous disbelief. She caught her breath. "Spike?"

"Don't go," he choked. "Don't change your mind. Whatever you... don't, Buffy, please..."

Her head tilted to one side. "I'm here." Feminine hands ran across his arms, up and down in comfort. "Not leaving."

"I'll do everything I can... I'll make the most of this chance, I promise."

She nodded. She believed he would.

And the kiss resumed.

It took off from a low simmer and skyrocketed to the height of clouds. Something small into something more. Emotion gunning for control.

His arms surrounded her. They sank and enveloped her hips. Scaled her body to trap her ribcage. They sucked her in, closer despite all lack of space between two working chests. Buffy framed his jaw again, in that way he remembered nightly. Dreams both old and recent fell like cities to approaching bombs, a sense of rebirth stunning them cold, then hotter than volcanic embers.

They backed into one cool wall. Buffy's spine pressed flat before arcing, her fingers biting into the lapels of Spike's duster while he kissed her senses away. She stole air in between passionate separations neither wanted nor anticipated. The taste of him, the silky glide of his tongue between her teeth was like water after a long run. A run from wishing, and waiting, and never believing in chance. Running from the risk of getting hurt worse than you'd already been.

Buffy moaned, abandoned, holding tighter. She believed in him. Right now, that was all that mattered. He felt her with greedy hands and a beggar's heart; and she had never experienced that sort of want, or been treasured so honestly, before, by anyone else.

The moment grew further into a gasping, sweaty revelation of feeling. Spike wouldn't let up, beginning to forfeit breath to keep her close and rediscover every contoured, faithfully covered slant of her body. His skin descended beneath the press of her nails. He sought her neck. Gasps left a working throat, and he scaled back, tongue gliding once again into her open mouth.

She moaned again, this time needier, finding his stomach after stuffing eager hands beneath his shirt. Spike couldn't breathe if he wanted to. Her warm hands raked his body, finding indents and goose bumps with the wanderlust of a curious traveler. She knew these planes but she insisted on revisiting.

She learned, all over again and with the tumultuous plummet of a shooting star, how quickly Spike spun her off balance. How fast he got her entire inner world pirouetting and eradicated the outer with little effort. His wealth of desire accomplished more than Buffy could take; she could feel it through the tremors.

Her spine bent and her legs shook. Thighs rubbing together, she clawed the leather around his arms. Harder became the pressure between them, no room for slow. It spiraled from Buffy's quickly fogging brain to the small of her back. Her abdomen clenched and her lower body may as well have electrical pulses pinging all throughout. Heat gathered, climbed up her chest with every heaving breath stolen from Spike's insistent lips.

It took a very long time for speed to dwindle, while the flame never faltered. It merely changed, from weaving and blue into something gentle, less urgent and more golden hued. It might have accumulated to an hour, it could have been ten; neither knew. Buffy merely felt passion succumb to peace and land on a pillow. Her feet still felt as if they were inches off the ground.

Heartwarming sensations bled from their sources into every limb and nerve ending. A kiss of leisurely satisfaction allowed for unhurried partings. Threats of abandonment fell to dust.

Spike was in no hurry to move for the next five years or so. He felt every joyful tilt of her mouth as grateful sighs found a home against her lips or collarbone. Each time he saw her eyes, the bliss of reality rocked him all over again. He couldn't maintain balance unless he was holding her, unless the painfully familiar taste of her filled his mouth. Unless Buffy's sighs and sweet moans drowned out every viable sound.

This time was different from all the rest. This time, she knew what he had done, knew the sins he'd committed; and she forgave.

Spike held tighter. Their lips smashed together in a way that hadn't happened for some minutes now. Demanding proof of the moment stood side by side with cherishing it, praying he never had to let it go.

He wasn't giving up. Never again would he make her fear him. Betrayal was present and lost all at once, because the past was still there to be reckoned with, in its way, but it was also the past.

Spike caressed the back of her neck, sliding his palm across hot skin. Fingers delved into soft, golden hair and he squeezed the strands gently. Confident in her staying power, the man parted her lips with his tongue again and delicately touched every thin edge of her teeth. Deeper again, a duel was renewed.

Buffy whimpered low in her throat. "I've missed you."

"Have you?" He was nibbling her bottom lip diligently, tugging on it.

"Mhmm... mmm..."

"Understatement on this end, sweetheart."

They continued for several minutes, quiet but for breathy pleasure sounds and murmurs of satisfaction.

Buffy wound her arms around his neck, smiling resplendently. She traced the top edge of his lip with her tongue. "You realize I won't be asking you to stop anytime soon, right?"

Spike took her in, keeping things silent for several lazy moments. "Not goin' to remind you of the notion, if that's what you're gettin' at."

"Just making sure we're on the same page."

And they came together again. And again, and again, and again.





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