Work Text:
Lights flashed blindingly as artificial wind whipped her hair around her face, a cacophony of voices and thumping bass from a nearby speaker overwhelming her senses.
How in the hell did I get here?
Buffy couldn’t believe she had let Andrew talk her into this. Well, it had started with Andrew. Then he had roped Dawn into it. Then Willow had caught wind of the idea during one of her layovers at Slayer Central. Once the surviving newly-minted slayers heard, it had really just spiraled out of control from there.
Andrew, ever the melodramatic entertainer, had discovered fairly immediately that the Watcher life wasn’t for him. All that tweed was stifling to the soul, he claimed. Buffy wasn’t sure when he’d had the chance to try some on but she did have to agree with him on that front, at least.
She was much less quick to agree with him on the new role he carved out for himself in the aftermath of Sunnydale. As the surviving Scoobies and baby slayers made their way across the pond to sift through the literal and metaphorical ashes of the Watcher’s Council, they soon realized they had an outreach problem.
“Oh goddess, Buffy,” Willow had said, a soft white light emanating from her palms as they hovered over the charred remains of a registry documenting names and locations of Potentials. “There are so many more of them than we thought. Even with the ones The First got to early on—they’re everywhere. We have to find them! They need to know what’s happened to them!”
Cue a whole heaping extra serving of guilt for Buffy, Queen Slayer, Numero Uno. The one who had made the choice to take away the choice she always wished she had had herself. Up against The First at the eleventh hour, the idea to activate all the Potentials had seemed equally a stroke of genius and a flailing desperate reach. In the numb and chaotic weeks following the collapse of the Hellmouth, she hadn’t exactly taken the time to process what her decision meant in the long run. She was surrounded by super powered girls just like her now. And she had never felt more lost and alone.
Perhaps that’s why Andrew’s big PR idea for a Slayers Monthly magazine featuring Buffy as the first cover girl rankled so much. She didn’t feel connected to these girls the way she ought to. The way she had when it was just her and Kendra or in those early wild days of her and Faith. The idea of this expansive sisterhood felt daunting and suffocating.
Buffy had played the hardened general during the big battle, sending some girls to their deaths along the way. She had stoically returned to lead them after their unceremonious coup that banished her from her own home. She had tried her best to remember all the names and faces of the girls they’d lost as well as the ones who made it to the other side. She’d be lying if she said she was over it; she’d be lying if she said she really knew any of them.
Buffy didn’t feel like a cover girl. Someone for all these newly minted slayers to look up to. What did she have to offer them? Promises of making it into your mid-twenties only if you happened to cheat death or be unwillingly resurrected by well-meaning friends? The best way to dress to hide scars from should-have-been mortal wounds? How to make vampires fall in lo—
No .
God, if only he were here with her. He would know just how to reign in her doubts and cast away the tools of her self-flagellation. He would tell her that she was beautiful and perfect, a shining beacon of strength and survival, a warrior woman worthy of admiration and aspiration. Buffy could hear all the words in his soft rumbling voice, but somehow she couldn’t believe them when they only lived in her own head.
Shit, don’t cry Buffy, they’ll send you back to makeup if your mascara starts to run and you’ll be stuck at this photoshoot even longer.
Buffy grit her teeth into her best plastic Buffybot smile and shook out her hair as she stared down the never ending flash of the camera. Her face felt hot and heavy, the bright studio lights doing their best to melt away the layers of bronzer, highlighter, and blush the makeup artist had to slather on her to bring some much-needed warmth to her sallow complexion. Let’s liven you up , the pink-haired young woman had said in her lilting Scottish accent.
And didn’t that feel ironic. Buffy, the once-golden California girl who couldn’t seem to stay dead, was now drifting like a ghost through her own afterlife. That’s what it felt like to her sometimes. Life after Sunnydale. Life after being The Chosen One . Life after…
God, she couldn’t even think his name most days. He had died so she could live— so one of us is living —and she was doing a pretty piss poor job of it.
I’m sorry, Spike. I wish I hadn’t been such an idiot. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I’m sorry I couldn’t make you believe me. I wish you could help me be what these girls need .
He had become such a constant for her in that last year of Sunnydale, despite the awkward dance they had engaged in. Looks and touches never too lingering, conversations hovering around all their bruises but never quite pressing against them. God, had she ever even told him that she forgave him? No , she thought bitterly. That would have been too easy . Buffy had never done easy, and neither had Spike. That fight, that uphill battle, was a part of who they were as warriors. As much as she had wanted to escape that in her personal life, to leave the fight on the battlefield, she never could. And Spike had understood that, in a way no one else ever truly had.
As she spun around under the lights, the beads on her dress sending a kaleidoscope of rainbows across the studio, Buffy thought about all the things Spike had taught her about herself, both as a slayer and a woman. All of the love he had given her, which she had finally come to accept and cherish. He saw her in a way she had never seen herself, and that had given her a kind of deep-rooted strength and certainty she had never known before. Even just thinking about it made her glow a little brighter, despite the heavy weight of her grief.
And in that moment, she realized she could honor him, give him the credit he deserved but never received from her back in Sunnydale. Buffy had been particularly dreading the interview portion of this feature, but now she was looking at it with new enthusiasm. If there was anything she could give him after this final death, it was to secure his status as a Champion in the supernatural history books.
She would make sure that this new generation of girls, no longer destined to be alone in their calling, knew the importance of emotional connection, of earthly tethers and motivation beyond duty. Maybe Buffy didn’t feel like she was giving life her all these days, but she had learned the hard way that there was truth in the phrase “fake it til you make it.” While she may have changed the trajectory of these girls’ lives toward something dangerous and dark, Buffy also had an airline’s worth of baggage and experience to offer up in the hopes that she could ease their inevitable burdens. It was a new world order when it came to slayers and she was at the helm, so why not make the most of it, carving out a new definition of their calling?
She had never read the original handbook anyway.
***
Two months later
Angel sat stiffly behind his desk staring down at the gleaming smile of Buffy Summers plastered across the front of the glossy Slayers Monthly that had mysteriously appeared in his stack of mail.
God, she looked beautiful, all bright and shining, just like he remembered from the very first time he saw her sitting on her school steps in the afternoon sun. But his trip down memory lane jarred to a halt. Now that he thought about it, what the hell was she doing spending time on frivolous things like gaudy dresses and photoshoots for a magazine? And since when did the Slayers have a magazine? Shouldn’t they be focused on training and learning about the importance of their duty? Dispatching demons and foiling the next apocalypse?
Angel gave the static smile a derisive scoff as he tried to tear his eyes away, but his self control when it came to all things Buffy? Well, there was a reason he had left Sunnydale all those years ago. His attention locked back helplessly into place when he finally focused on the tagline next to her glowing face: Slayer General tells all about love, inner strength, and what it really takes to be a hero.
His long-dead heart leapt and his fingers quickly fumbled through the pages. Angel couldn’t wait to see what she had said about the beautiful love and connection they shared, about how they gave each other strength even as they sacrificed their love for a greater sense of honor and responsibility to the world. Even though they weren’t in each other’s lives much anymore, he knew he had been there for the most important parts. The times in her early days of slaying where she had really needed his guidance. Maybe he couldn’t be there for her all the time, but he could be proud of knowing he had a hand in making her the woman she was today.
Ah! He had finally found the article. Angel sat back in his cushy office chair with a confident smile on his face and began to read.
***
Harmony huffed as she used all her vampiric strength to hurl the blood-soaked wad of tissues into the garbage can under her desk.
Angel had been a total bear this afternoon, with all kinds of growls and crashing noises coming from behind his closed office doors. Ugh, he was such a drama queen. And she had been a member of the Cordettes! She would know.
She was just trying to be nice and proactive when she dared to buzz him and ask if he wanted a mug of otter. He had grunted in response, which was totally weird but not that uncommon, so she went ahead and took it as a yes. After carefully darting in with the too-full steaming mug, Harmony rushed back out to the safety of her desk, wondering what had her boss practically foaming at the mouth. But her curiosity was rudely interrupted by the grouch himself barreling back through his office doors, mug and a bright pink magazine in hand. His usually perfectly gelled hair and sharply pressed Armani suit were both way rumpled.
Something was definitely wrong and suddenly Harmony’s dust flashed before her eyes. Her boss might be super mean most of the time but she was rarely scared of him.
With a snarl, he slammed the mug of blood down on her desk, causing it to splatter all over her silk blouse. Okay, well it wasn’t real silk, it was a poly blend satin, but it looked totally Gucci. It’s not like she could afford the real thing on her salary. Either way, her blouse was totally ruined and Angel was yelling at her about the body temperature of otters and microwaves being a scourge of the modern world—whatever the hell that meant—and she just did. Not. Care. Grabbing a handful of tissues from the box on her desk, she started to dab fruitlessly at the spatter as she waited for him to wrap up his tirade.
Angel had finished by slapping the magazine down alongside the mug, allowing it to stick to another small puddle of otter blood with an icky splat .
“I need this thing out of my sight,” he snarled, before purposely catching her eye. “But whatever you do—do not let Spike see this. That’s an order.”
And then he whirled around, storming back into his office and slamming the door.
Harmony wanted to screech. She wanted to throw that mug of blood right in his stupid face. She wanted to take a picture of him looking all gross and unprofessional and put it up all over Wolfram & Hart. She wanted to…she wanted…
Her eyes landed on the magazine, which had the stupidly perfect everyone-loves-me Buffy Summers on the cover. Something about this had set Angel off, and suddenly her curiosity reared its head once more. She picked it up, avoiding the sticky spots because ew , and flipped the pages until she found the right page. And as she started to read, a perfectly vampiric, totally evil smile settled across her face.
Despite that moment of freakness from the other week when he got his body back, Harmony knew that Blondie Bear would never be hers again. She had already given up on those dreams of feeding each other blood and bonbons under the twinkling lights of the Paris nightlife.
These days she was on the straight and mostly narrow, like, a total do-gooder for a vampire. And do-gooders did good deeds, didn’t they? And if that good deed that reunited two lost heartbroken souls also happened to piss off her one hundred percent jerkface of a boss by betraying his direct order and losing his soulmate to one of his least favorite people?
Well, what could she say? Harmony was still a soulless vampire, after all. She could totally do good by being a little bad.
***
Spike stumbled toward the heavy metal door of his dingy basement apartment just before morning light broke the horizon. He was full of booze and high off the adrenaline of a demon bar fight he hadn’t been sure he could win but, of course, did.
Didn’t mean he had walked away unscathed. Far from it, and thank fuck for that. Barely more than a week since he’d been recorporealized and he was still reveling in the sensation of…well, sensation. Although he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t intentionally leaning into the familiar haze of drunkenness and the steady stinging ache that came from physical violence.
He was drowning himself in a wash of pain and disorientation. Anything to keep him from drowning in the bloody intangible feeling of loss that was life without Buffy.
It had been marginally easier to deal with when he’d been without a body, disconnected from his earthly cravings and distracted by the uncertainty of his existence. Sure, he’d had plenty of time to think about her, wallow in the doubts that his prick of a grandsire kept feeding him, wearing him down like the drip drip drip of water torture. But he had been equally tied up with fighting his way out of hell and losing stretches of time altogether.
Tethered to the here and now, all he was left with was the empty feeling in his chest, a Buffy-shaped maw, scar tissue cauterized by her love and his soulfire down in the depths of the Sunnydale Hellmouth.
At least, she had said it was her love. He thought he could see it in those last moments, shining through her eyes like never before. Could have sworn he felt it in his soul, too—a fitting notion for William the romantic. But along with William and that shiny soul came the knowledge of what was necessary. What would affirm his rightful place as her chosen Champion. So he had done what he had to and sent her on her way— so one of us is living .
Joke was on him though. Now apparently they were both living—or unliving in his case—and what the bloody hell did that mean for his sacrifice? He had given her the chance for a better life, free of the Hellmouth, but also free of their painful history. Angel had told him over and over that she was doing well, happy with life and moving on, but no details beyond that. Said it wouldn’t do to know anyway, because what business did he have going to muck up her new life just when she was finally settled?
It didn’t feel right. It sounded like something Angel would do, not him. Spike was not known for giving up. But then again, when had a relentless pursuit of Buffy gotten him anywhere? He had made it clear last year that he just wanted her to be happy, even if it meant with someone else. And despite their closeness at the very end, he couldn’t rely on that still being true with months in between then and now.
Spike maneuvered his key into the lock and pushed through the door, tripping on something as he moved to close it behind him. He bent down to pick it up, wary due to the faint smell of blood coming from the unmarked manila envelope that had been dropped through his mail slot.
He was exhausted but curious so he tossed it on his rickety coffee table before shucking off his duster and laying it over one arm of the couch. Trying to stave off the strange anticipation that had gripped him, he made a detour through his tiny kitchenette to grab a half-gone bottle of whiskey. Spike made his way back to the sofa, dropping into it heavily and taking a fortifying pull from the bottle as he eyed the envelope.
Now that he was a bit more focused, he could tell that the blood was dried and that it smelled of the fancy fucking otter blend that the Great Git insisted on having in constant supply at the Wolfram & Hart offices. Anything coming from Evil Inc spattered in blood didn’t bode well but Spike had never been a coward so he tore off the edge of the envelope and dumped its contents onto the table.
Before he could take a closer look, an extra slip of paper fluttered to the ground and he leaned down to grab it. He immediately recognized Harmony’s bubbly handwriting, but what it spelled out froze the borrowed blood in his veins.
A phone number. Buffy’s phone number.
What in the hell was Harm up to? He hadn’t seen her since the bloody—literally—fiasco when he had gotten his body back. In the disorientation of recovering his senses, he had embarrassingly started to snog her until his brain and body caught up to remind him that this was the wrong blonde, just as she had been years ago when they had first shacked up, even if he hadn’t known it at the time. Harmony had rightfully pushed him away, equally uninterested in being used once again and they had quickly gone their separate ways amidst the chaos. Spike thought she might have succumbed to that whole bleeding eye bit. He couldn’t imagine why she would be reaching out to provide him with Buffy’s phone number after all that.
Not only did it go against the directive that Angel had obviously given his crew, it was just plain bloody weird. And unexpected. And intriguing… He tore his gaze away from those precious digits to finally see what he’d been sent. The unneeded air was stolen from his lungs.
Fuck , she looked bloody radiant. His heart and soul ached seeing that sunny smile and golden hair. His eyes scanned the glossy but slightly crinkled cover. So the Slayers had their own magazine, did they? He chuckled to himself. Looks like they’d been busy finding ways to wrangle and connect with all those new girls. Clever bunch.
Double fuck . She did look happy. And was obviously stepping gracefully into her continued role as Slayer General—as the cover of the magazine proclaimed. Was Angel right? Had she settled into something new? Something better , the bitter heartbroken part of his mind warned him. His eyes caught the tagline of her interview and his stomach plummeted. Had she found a new love? Some suave European demon hunter with an untarnished soul and no resentment or sordid history hanging heavily between them? The thought made every part of him clench in agony.
But it all came back to the number. He took a deep breath. Harmony had sent him Buffy’s contact info for a reason. If she had merely wanted to torture him with the contents of the interview she wouldn’t have included it alongside the magazine.
Spike took another swig of whiskey, this time draining the bottle before slamming it down on the creaky table and picking up the curiously blood-stained copy of Slayers Monthly . He ran his fingers gently over her smiling face before flipping the pages to find her feature.
As he started to read, a soft awed smile played at the corners of his lips and a sense of humbleness he had never known overtook him. His name was peppered throughout her interview, coming up alongside familiar lessons and hard truths he thought she had done her best to never absorb. But not only had she apparently listened—she had remembered, finding something worthy in his words after all this time. Buffy Summers was mourning him. And celebrating him. Him. And not only as her Champion but as her companion and confidante, her dear friend and great love. Tears poured down his face as he traced over her final answer again and again.
This calling can be lonely, but it doesn’t have to be. Not everyone will fit into your life as a Slayer. It’s the sucky truth. But when you find those who do? Hold them tight. And if you’re lucky, you just might find true love. Never deny or let go of a love that lifts you up, that celebrates you for who you are. A love that sees you and supports you. A love that’s steadfast and loyal. A love that sticks by your side, accepts you at your best and your worst—that’s what’s worth fighting for. Spike taught me that, and I’ll love him forever for it. Sometimes it sucks loving a hero and I’d do anything to have him back. But I also know I carry so much pride along with my love for him. Doing the right thing is hard, whether you’re a Slayer or not. Duty can only carry you so far. Love will take you the rest of the way.
Spike’s hands were shaking as he leaned over to fumble for the cell phone in his duster pocket and wiped his eyes clear so he could read the number on the sticky note. He flipped it open and started to punch in the international number, the beeps of the keypad sounding deafening to his shocked senses. He raised the phone to his ear and listened to it click through the overseas connection as he tried to keep his unnecessary breathing under control. Finally the dial tone clicked and silenced.
“Hello?”
“Buffy,” he gasped.
***
Buffy had been having a terrible day, but hey, what was new there?
Andrew had been hounding her about responding to letters from Slayers posted around the globe who had written in after the first issue of the magazine had gone out, Kennedy was in-residence for a while visiting Willow and had decided to join in—more like butt in—on the morning training session for 12-13 year olds, Giles had been breathing down her neck about meeting to discuss expense reports of all evil-sounding things, and all she wanted to do was escape to the suite she shared with Dawn to shower and have a quiet lunch break. Alone.
She was hurrying across the main hall of the Slayer Central castle when her cell phone started to buzz in her bag. Buffy grumbled. Of course , somebody else needed something from her. She took a deep breath as she pulled the phone out—she really was trying to work on her snappage and temper these days—and pressed the call button.
“Hello?”
“Buffy,” a hauntingly familiar voice gasped through the line.
She stopped dead in her tracks. Emphasis on dead. Spike was dead. Dead dead dead. She had watched him light up and burn burn burn with the power of his soul and she had left him down there and he was dead.
“ Buffy? ” the voice asked, this time with uncertainty.
“Sp—Spike?” she squeaked out. “Is that—how are—Spike?”
The softly rumbling chuckle on the other end of the line was the best confirmation she could ask for.
“ Yeah, luv, it’s me ,” he replied.
A sob burst out of her as she sank to the stone floor, uncaring of the attention she was attracting.
“Where are you?” she demanded when she noticed Willow rushing over to her in concern. A plan started to prick at Buffy’s brain.
“I’m uh, I’m in LA, luv. It’s a long story. Can tell—”
“Are you out somewhere? Or do you have a—a crypt or a place—”
“I’m at my place, little basement grotto but it’s—”
“Stay put! Okay, just—just please, stay right where you are and hold on one second.”
“Slayer, wha—” but Buffy had already hung up the phone and was scrambling to her feet while she grabbed a hold of Willow. World-ending moments aside, there were certain times she was uber grateful that her best friend was a scary powerful witch.
“Buffy!” Willow cried as she allowed herself to be propelled through the hall and up a set of stairs that led to the dormitory suites. “What the heck is going on? Was that—?”
“Spike,” she said as she pulled Willow with her into her room and started toward her bed. “Spike is alive. And I need you to send me to him. Now.”
She dug around on the bed, reaching under a pillow to only slightly sheepishly pull out a worn silky dark red button up shirt before meeting her gaze head-on.
“You need something of his, right? Will this work?”
“Yeah, Buffy, it should. Um, yeah. Wow. Okay,” Willow said, taking a grounding breath and looking like she was running through lists in her head. “I just need to grab a couple things from my room. I’ll be right back.”
Buffy paced and fidgeted as she waited for her friend to return. Now, in the glaring silence, she was suddenly terrified. She rushed over to her mirror and started to frantically try to tame her sweaty post-training session hair. Did she stink? Wait. Spike loved her stink. He was strange that way. She was just debating changing into a new outfit when Willow hurried back into the room and caught her eye.
“Buffy, this is Spike. Pretty sure he’s gonna be thrilled to see you no matter what you’re wearing,” her friend said as she rolled her eyes. “Now let me set up my salt circle and then we can begin.”
Buffy watched Willow carefully prepare the portal spell, laying out candles at four points and blending a few herbs and powders into a bowl that she then added to the salt circle.
“Alright, step into the circle and hold onto his shirt. It wouldn’t hurt for you to get a nice clear picture of him in your mind, too. Here we go.”
Buffy hugged the shirt tightly to her chest and closed her eyes, picturing his striking blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, his soft lips and his strong jaw. She imagined the taut slope of his neck down to his collarbones and broad shoulders. She could feel the hard planes of his chest, the jut of his hip bones, the grip of his long fingers against her skin. And all of it, wrapped up in the attitude of platinum blond and black on black on black, hiding the tender man within.
As the image coalesced in her head, she felt the magic rising around her while Willow’s voice intoned softly in the background, uttering words that Buffy couldn’t understand but could definitely feel. Just as the pressure in her ears became uncomfortable, all the air sucked out of her lungs and everything went white.
***
Spike was left with his mouth hanging open, staring down at the now-silent device in his hand. He felt like he had just experienced a whirlwind through the phone. Had that really just happened? Had he really heard her voice? He was rather drunk and knackered, and it would hardly be the first time he had imagined speaking with her again.
But before he could ruminate himself into the all too familiar depths of despair, a sudden charge prickled the air and all the oxygen was sucked out of the room.
“What the—“
Everything went white and then the air all whooshed back in as he felt a warm weight crash against him. He was only stunned for a moment before the scent hit him and then it all came rushing to him—the warmth of her body, the tickle of her hair, the hot panting of her catching her breath against his neck.
“Buffy?” he croaked out, feeling bewildered.
She extracted herself slowly, almost tentatively, before pulling back far enough to meet his gaze. Their eyes were both glassy and wide, darting over each other to take in every detail.
“Wow!” she giggled breathlessly. “Looks like Willow’s location pinpointing has gotten really accurate.”
He stared up at her, absolutely mesmerized.
“Red delivered you straight into my lap, did she? I’ll have to thank her for that,” Spike breathed out softly, still caught up in his awe and disbelief. His eyes drifted down to the side where he noticed a soft tickle against his arm. “Is that…my shirt?”
“What? Oh, yeah. It’s what helped Willow find you,” she explained before looking down as tears filled her eyes again. “It was all I had left of you…”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Spike said, reaching up to stroke her cheek. “Where did you—“
“Dawn,” she cut him off. “She actually thought to grab a few things from the house at the very end. She grabbed this for me, but she kept your lighter for herself.”
“The Bi—Dawn, she kept my lighter?” he asked in confusion.
“Spike, she misses you so much,” Buffy confessed. “You guys can talk but…she’s so sorry. She hated that you never got to make up. She said the lighter…well, she said it was a deserving reminder of the threat she made to you that she never got to apologize for.”
Spike stared at her, completely dazed. What had he done to deserve such forgiveness from these women he had let down more times than he cared to remember? His throat was tight, words seemingly out of reach. He didn’t realize he was crying again until he felt Buffy’s soft warm hand wipe gently across his face. Gentleness from Buffy. That was something novel, and he marveled at his good fortune to be basking in her presence again. He was brought out of his reverie with her jumbled attempt at a question.
“How—whe—what…” She took a deep breath before trying again. “How are you here? What happened? Are you—are you real?”
“I’m pretty sure I’m real, luv. Hope I’m not dreaming,” he said as he squeezed her to him once more. “Don’t know exactly how to explain it all but, far as I can tell, that amulet was sent back to Angel at his big bad law firm and I popped out of it a little over two weeks after we brought down Sunnyhell.”
“That long?” Buffy shrieked indignantly as she tried to extract herself from his arms.
“Shh no, please, Buffy, let me explain,” he placated her as he rubbed his hands soothingly up and down her arms, calming her without holding her in place. When she heaved another deep breath and seemed willing to listen, he continued. “Was some sort of ghosty for months, pet. Couldn’t touch anything, wasn’t even exactly tied to this plane, kept flitting in and out, losing stretches of time. Couldn’t pick up a bloody phone to call you, even if someone on Angel’s crew dared to defy the bastard and give me your number. Had to listen to him go on and on about how happy you were now, how you’d already moved on and adjusted to your new life and wouldn’t want to hear from me.”
Buffy was shaking with a new dose of delayed grief and rage. Spike had been there for her when she had been unwillingly resurrected, feeling like a ghost in her own life. She should have been able to do the same for him. But once again, her ex was making choices for her, deciding his own version of what was right for everyone.
“I can’t believe him,” she hissed out. When Spike looked like he was ready to start arguing, she added, “I mean, yes, I totally can. It’s perfectly believable from him. I just…ugh!”
He laughed, but the smile faded when he saw a sad look overtake her.
“What’s wrong, Buffy?”
She sniffled, hesitating before she dared to meet his eye.
“I’m sorry. For kissing him,” she said, and she hated the feeling of watching him shutter his emotions in defense. “I know you probably don’t want to think about that. But I have to say it. I was…well, it wasn’t the first time he showed up and spun my head to suddenly make me feel sixteen again. But I can promise you that it was the last.”
She watched him as he absorbed her apology, weighing her words against the decades of hurt between him and Angel. Spike’s piercing blue gaze darted over her face, taking in the sweet flush of her cheeks and the glassy regret of her eyes, the steady pulse at the base of her neck that thrummed her honesty and certainty. Buffy was telling the truth. But before he could respond, her resolve wore thin.
“Please, Spike,” she whispered as she threaded her fingers around his neck and into his hair, holding his head in place as she stared into him, into the soul she swore she could see through his eyes. “I—I love you. Please believe me. I need you to believe me this time.”
Spike quieted her pleading with a searing kiss, before pulling back to softly wipe the tears from her cheeks.
“I did believe you, sweet, I just…needed to get you out of there. Needed to finish what I had set out to do,” he said while running his hands up and down her back. “And then I came back, and I didn’t know if it would still be true. So much time had passed and my sacrifice had meant something, you know? You could love me as a hero, hold that memory without all the rest of the shit I always seem to bring into your life.”
“Spike, no, you bring me everything I need. I know that now. And I do still love you. I really do.”
“And I still love you, too. But you gotta know, it was damn scary thinkin’ about reaching out to you,” he said, hesitating before he continued. “Just couldn’t handle having you take it back, couldn’t do that any—“ but he cut himself off again.
“Anymore…” she finished for him, dropping her eyes from his in shame. “Grief and time…I’ve had nothing to do but think. And I get it now. How much it hurts to have your love denied. And I never gave you any reason to believe me, did I?” As he shook his head to argue she continued quickly before he could interrupt. “At least not any reason to believe I wouldn’t just take it back. Change my mind the next time things felt uncomfortable. I was just…back then, I was so scared.”
“Of me?” Spike asked with a sad and confused look.
“No, of me . Of what I felt. What it said about me,” she replied shame-faced. “I couldn’t deal and I took it out on you.”
“Deal with what? The fact that a soulless vampire could make you feel somethin’?” But his derision quickly transformed into pained chagrin. “Though I s’pose you ended up being right about that one. Know that now, what I couldn’t see before…”
“But that’s just it, Spike,” Buffy interjected, wanting to stop his descent into self-flagellation. She didn’t want that for either of them anymore. “It was never just you. You had been trying to prove to me over and over that you were changing without the soul. And I wouldn’t— couldn’t —let it be true. And I really don’t want to talk about why right now because we both already know why anyway.”
Spike smirked in satisfaction at her unwillingness to even bring her ex’s name into the space between them. She leaned into him, murmuring a shut up and kissing him before he could run his mouth. She wasn’t done yet.
“It was also the when of it all,” she sighed out as she pulled back from his soft lips. He looked back at her, attentive but uncertain. “I…Before I jumped, I didn’t think I could love anymore. That’s what that whole desert questage was about when you were taken by Glory.”
Buffy shook her head at him when she could tell he wanted to jump in, reassure her, likely with the same words the First Slayer had given her.
“I felt like I was turning to stone, but the spirit of the First Slayer told me that I was full of love. And that death was my gift.” Spike scoffed but she pushed on. “Up on that tower, it made sense. I could see it so clearly. The only way I could love Dawn, love the world, was to die for it.”
Spike clutched her desperately to him, his shaking limbs betraying that ever-lingering grief from the long months of her death. Buffy turned her face to burrow into his neck, taking in the comforting familiar scent of leather and tobacco and musk before continuing to unload her heart and mind.
“After I came back, you know how I was. Out of it and angry and lost. Cold.” She shivered as if in remembrance and he squeezed a bit tighter. “Except when I was with you. You made me feel loved. And—and all these warm safe feelings that I was only supposed to feel in heaven. All these things that felt like love but I couldn’t let them be love. It didn’t make sense that I could finally feel like that only after being dead. Ripped out of heaven and forced from my grave. Walking through my life like a zombie. And at some point, I remembered what else the First Slayer had said. She said that love would lead me to my gift. Heaven had been my gift, not just death itself. Eternal peace.”
“Felt like your gift had been taken away from you,” Spike murmured in understanding. She nodded into his neck.
“Yeah,” she said. “But again, it was confusing. Because every quiet moment with you, every night of peace. Those felt like gifts, too. And they just kept on coming. Love and death had led me to heaven but I didn’t stop there. I came back. To you—a soulless vampire who was some twisted mix of enemy and ally and kind-of friend and obsesso-guy who had kept this crazy promise to a dead woman. And I didn’t know what to do with that. So I made it something ugly. Something hard. Something that couldn’t be warm or safe or loving.”
“I let it get there, too, Buffy. It wasn’t just you,” Spike said roughly as his throat tightened in pained remembrance. He dislodged her from where she was burrowed into him, meeting her eye and making sure he had her full attention. “Speaking of things we probably don’t want to think about, I have to…”
Fuck, it was hard to do this while looking right at her. But he had to if they were going to move forward. He took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry,” he said, letting all the sorrow and regret pour through his eyes. “I’m sorry that I hurt you and didn’t listen to you. I’m sorry that I pushed. I never meant to—well, doesn’t matter what I meant or not when all I did was hurt you.”
“It does matter, Spike,” Buffy said, hurrying on before he could start again. “You didn’t come into the—that room meaning to do that. What you did that night…well, it started kind of like most of the other times, didn’t it? That stupid push and pull, me saying no but both of us knowing I was just waiting for you to push back. I know things were different that night. It was…it was awful and it shouldn’t have happened. But I forgive you, because now, I can look back and see how we got there.”
“I don’t know how you can—“
“And I have to forgive you so that I can forgive myself,” Buffy pressed on. God, she was shaking and this was terrifying. She had never done well with this being super vulnerable part, so she took refuge in the comforting crook of his neck and shoulder once again. “I need to be honest with myself about the way I treated you, too. It makes me sick to think about what you looked like after I—“
She broke off, taking a deep shuddering breath before deciding that it wouldn’t do them any good to keep rehashing their worst hits right now. Right now, it was time to start again, two heart-hardened soul-weary warriors given a miracle of a second chance.
“I’m sorry, too. Like I said, I couldn’t deal. But I can now.” Her voice turned sly and teasing. “Now, I really really wanna deal with you. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of dealing with you ever again, vampire.”
“You want to deal with me, eh Slayer?” he rumbled in a low voice that she had desperately missed. Spike had definitely picked up on her desire to shift the mood, and he was just as eager to move on from their past hurts to explore something better. The mire of grief they had unloaded on each other evaporated into steam that pulsed through her veins down to her core where she was pressed against Spike’s denim-clad bulge. He gripped her hips and nudged his shoulder to encourage her to meet his eyes, and when they did they burned with the most glorious long-banked but newly rekindled desire. “What are you gonna do, Buffy?”
Her fingernails dug deliciously into the nape of his neck as she tugged his face to her mouth and consumed him with her kiss. Spike drank her down, quenching the thirst that had plagued him for months and months, both before and after his second death and rebirth. As Buffy pulled away, gasping to catch her breath, he trailed lingering kisses down her neck until he reached the soft dip of her clavicle. Spike let himself melt against her, sinking into the sensory symphony of her scent and heartbeat and life . Buffy was here, wanting him, loving him, making promises he could actually believe. He never wanted to forget this feeling.
“I’m gonna prove it to you,” she finally answered, drawing his attention back to her. “That I love you. And that you should never leave me ever again.”
Buffy claimed his mouth and raked her hands down his chest until she met his heavy belt. Spike released her hips to run his hands up her torso, cool fingers meeting hot flesh as he slowly pushed her shirt up. They pulled back from the kiss and their eyes met, breaths heavy with anticipation, and as if they had understood each other’s silent question, they both nodded, laughing softly into mouths and cheeks and foreheads, unwilling to fully part as they started to battle their clothing.
“Fuck, Buffy, I’ve missed you,” Spike murmured into the valley of her breasts after he tugged the soft tee and sports bra over her head and arms. Buffy flung her clothes to the side and clasped her arms around his head, reveling in the feeling of being so adored while he took in deep lungfuls of her scent. “Were you patrolling before this or summat, luv? You smell bloody fantastic.”
She giggled before moving back to remove his black tee, enjoying the way it ruffled the curls free from the gel he used to tame them.
“Training session with the baby Slayers,” Buffy said, tossing his shirt aside to join hers. She descended on his chiseled chest, kissing and licking her way along the dips and planes, teasing around his nipples to make him gasp. “Didn’t want to waste any time showering before coming to find you. Knew you’d like me stinky anyway, you weirdo.”
“Bloody right, I do,” he replied, before encouraging her to rise from her position straddling his thighs to stand on the couch. She gripped his head to help keep her balance and he groaned softly as he tugged the drawstring of her soft knit pants loose, grabbing the waistband and pulling them down to reveal her burgundy lace panties. Spike carefully lifted up each foot one by one, removing her shoes, socks, and pants, before settling her feet back in place. He pressed his nose firmly to her mound and breathed in. “Best fuckin’ scent in the world right there. Pure unfiltered Buffy Summers.”
“Oh god, Spike!” Buffy was overwhelmed with raw need and her legs shook as she tried to maintain her balance while he mouthed at her covered pussy.
“Best taste, too,” he mumbled into her as he started to pull her panties down her thighs. Despite the soul he had these days, he maintained that he was still a slightly evil bloke, so he decided to hobble her a bit further by leaving the lace where it was, stretched tight around her legs, keeping them close together. “Better hold on, luv.”
Buffy shrieked at the vibrating rumble that rolled through her core when she took his direction and gripped at his hair with all her strength. The entire world focused down into pinpoints of pleasure with the cool lash of Spike’s tongue swirling against her clit and the cut of the lace digging into her thighs and the strain of her muscles as she kept her boneless body from toppling over. His hands had curled under her to grip her ass, long fingers pressing her to his face so he could devour her with that single minded focus only he had ever shown her.
Spike was drunk in a whole new way, the whiskey in his body long-forgotten as he drank down the nectar of his goddess, showing her devotion in one of his favorite ways. He had dreamed about this so many times, and a sudden sliver of fear shot through him that this was just another fantasy, that he would once again wake up in his cold twin bed, alone, unloved, and unsatisfied. Buffy’s breathy moan from above reverberated through him and it shook him free of his panic, reminding him of the delectable feast of sensations surrounding him that proved this was real. He dug his fingers harder into the soft globes of her ass while he strained his neck forward, delving his tongue into her hot channel as the taut lace of her panties cut across his throat, sending a thrill through him despite the fact that he didn’t need the air. The tremors coming from her thighs signaled her impending peak, so he returned his tongue’s attention to her clit and pressed two long fingers into her soaked core, pumping and building his way to a frantic rhythm until she exploded, shrieking his name and collapsing over his head just before he gently propelled them both sideways onto the couch.
As Buffy caught her breath, Spike situated them so they were face to face, then trailed his hand down her side to free her legs from her panties. She moved to her back as he crawled over her, softly kissing the red chafed lines left behind. Once she was finally gloriously naked in front of him, he leaned back on his knees and gazed at her, shaking his head with joy and disbelief.
“You, my love, are a wonder,” he said reverently.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she replied as she coyly trailed a toe down his chest, poking him once she reached the edge of his jeans. “It would be a lot more wonderful if you were naked, too, though.”
Was Buffy flirting with him? Christ, he never thought he’d see the day she would be so relaxed and playful with her intimacy. Spike shook his head again and laughed softly as he caressed her foot before standing up to remove the last of his clothes.
As soon as he had his jeans around the tops of his boots, Buffy pounced on her opportunity to take some revenge, sitting up to face his hard jutting cock and looking up into his eyes as she took a long slow lick. Spike groaned and shuddered at the sudden trail of fire. When she took his head into her mouth, his knees buckled and he pitched forward, gripping at her shoulder and the back of the couch. Before he could choke her, a small firm hand slid up his stomach to press against his chest, holding him upright as she hummed and sucked and licked away like she had missed the damn thing. Feeling her effortless strength keeping him firmly in place as she devoured him was more than his senses could handle. Spike wanted to draw out this first release, smolder through the burn that was being with Buffy, so he gently squeezed and pushed back at her shoulders, watching with glazed eyes as his glistening cock slid out of her mouth.
“Wanna be in you, baby,” he said, smirking at the pout on her face.
Buffy’s expression transformed to desire once again as she pulled him over her, twisting to lay down along the couch. He settled in between her thighs, sighing at the warmth that embraced him. Spike leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes and taking a shuddering breath that betrayed his lingering disbelief at the sudden turn his unlife had taken.
Like she could read his mind, she nudged his nose softly and said, “Still pretty crazy to believe we’re here, huh?”
“Yeah,” he whispered back before taking her into a deep, lingering kiss, playing the softness of his lips against the hungry nips of his teeth. Buffy opened up to him, sucking his tongue into her mouth to make him moan and clutch desperately at her shoulders. She curled her legs tightly around his narrow hips, pulling herself up to feel every hard part of him, needing the contact, the friction, the proof that he was solid and real and hers .
Spike rubbed against her, almost coming undone at the hot feel of her slick coating him and when he could wait no longer, he pulled back, looking into her eyes before slowly pressing into her fiery core. They both cried out at the feeling of being joined once more after so long apart, the fit so familiar and wonderful it rocked them both unexpectedly. They continued to stare at each other, captivated as they caught their breath and regained their senses.
“ Fuck , Buffy,” Spike gasped, dropping his face into her neck as he pulled slowly back out and groaned when he pushed back in.
“Yes, please,” Buffy giggled, giving him an internal squeeze that spurred him into action.
But it wasn’t the hard rutting and detached servicing she had enforced during their previous affair. He knew he was allowed now, finally able to infuse every ounce of pleasure with tenderness and adoration and love, all of that love, fierce and powerful, that had always been a raging beast trying to burst out of its cage. No longer under lock and key, it had tempered and blossomed and Buffy felt it in every touch, every graze of his lips and whisper of sweet poetic filth that spilled out of his mouth uncontrollably, and the softness of it all made her want to weep for the beautiful monster that she had shunned for so long, using and abusing when she could have had this .
And of course, Spike always saw straight through her, always read her every thought and feeling, so he knew, and he pulled her away from the dark place she had gone in her head, the place of past regrets that they had already shared and deemed forgiven.
“Shh sweetheart,” he murmured, kissing her damp eyes and cheeks. “Everything in our past, it’s all buried under the rubble of Sunnyhell, yeah? Let’s leave it where it belongs.”
She nodded, grateful for his uncanny ability to always drag her out of the spiral of her own mind. Spike took her into another kiss and pulled her up to face him, keeping himself tucked inside her clenching pussy. Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck, shivering at the feel of her nipples rubbing against his cool chest. He started moving once again, a slow sinuous undulation that hit just the right spot and sent sparks jangling through every nerve, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. God, she had missed this feeling, this transcendent full-body experience of being thoroughly loved by Spike. And it was even better now that she was sinking into it fully aware and open, rather than clinging to the haze of overstimulation and escapism. She tightened the grip of her legs around his waist, wanting to hold him deep inside her, stop him from ever leaving again as she put all that Slayer strength to use—the muscles that gripped and rippled and squeezed, as well as that heart of hers that was so full of love.
Buffy understood it now, the power of love—both hers she had to offer and the love she was willing to accept. And now that she had fully opened herself to the love Spike offered her, had allowed herself to share the love she held for him, she couldn’t imagine ever going without this. Spike had once smugly taunted that he would ruin her for other men, but now she was thoroughly grateful. No other man— vampire —could pick up on her body’s every cue, reading all the signs that told him just the right spot on her neck to nibble, and just how slow to trail his long fingers over her breast, and just the right time to bring his thumb to her clit to start catapulting her toward her release.
Each and every signal, the cadences of her heart and the rush of her blood layered against her gasps and moans and whispered curses, was music to Spike’s ears. She gave so freely, as she never had before, and it spurred him to a new level of passion. He felt free to be himself, both man and demon, so he let instinct take over as his face shifted, yellow eyes staring lovingly into green. The caress of his free hand remained gentle as it roved across the smooth skin of her back even as he put all his vampiric strength into thrusting faster and faster, both of them nearing their peak.
In that moment, Buffy felt like she was seeing him as purely and truly as she had when he had been burning with his soulfire in the Hellmouth, except now all of that gorgeous glowing light was shining through his eyes, the eyes of a demon who shouldn’t have been her perfect match but was. A demon that was her mirror and her shadow, all of the best and worst bits of her swirled up and shaped in a slightly different way. And she knew then, that she— they— needed to experience that fully, bring it to completion in the way only a vampire and a slayer could.
“Oh, god, Spike! So close.” Buffy held Spike tightly against her, one hand stroking his vampiric ridges as she stared into his eyes while he pounded into her and said, “Please, I want you to bite me.”
He only faltered for a moment. He had asked her just once during their affair and learned to never bring it up again. But the desire and love and certainty pouring out of her eyes as she gazed upon his demonic visage was enough to convince him. Didn’t really take a lot of bloody convincing for an offer like that from the woman he loved. Spike nodded, and he warmed at the obvious relief that crossed her face.
He sped up his pace again, cradling her close to him as he bent down to lick her neck, laving the silky skin and sucking softly to bring the blood to the surface. Buffy’s breath hitched with anticipation and she whimpered when his sharp teeth started to teasingly graze a path from her clavicle to her jaw. Just when Spike could feel her pussy sheath tightly around him with her impending orgasm, he placed a whisper of a kiss below her ear and then eased his fangs into her neck.
Buffy screamed out as her entire world detonated, every cell in her body going supernova. Bliss like she had never experienced overtook her, the feeling of him drawing her blood as he filled her with his release incomparable to any sensation she knew how to describe. It was almost like heaven but the pressure against her throat and the intoxicating sounds of Spike’s guttural moans grounded her in the tangible world, reminding her that this was better than heaven because they were together and here and they could have this always, this incredible joining of bodies and hearts and souls. And blood , she thought as she felt him slowly withdraw his fangs and lick over the marks he left behind. But it felt incomplete, this unending circle between them, joining them together, so she followed her own instincts and sprung forward.
Spike yelped in delighted surprise as Buffy dove for his neck, using her human teeth to tear against the long-established scars that made him a vampire, that made him Dru’s . The sudden possessive show of force squeezed at his heart and shot all of his borrowed blood straight back to his cock.
“Oh fuck , Buffy, yes,” he howled. “Mark me up, make me yours. Wanna let everyone know who I belong to.”
His words added fresh fuel to the fire that was blazing inside of her, a boiling rush of energy that had begun to flow through her at their exchange of blood. She pulled back from his neck and his eyes burned with their own flames as he took in the sight of her, freshly fucked, freshly bitten, with remnants of his blood on her sweet lips, and he couldn’t stop himself from kissing her, sipping himself from her mouth as it mixed with her own lingering taste on his tongue.
“That’s right, vampire, you’re mine,” Buffy declared as she pushed against his chest, palms sliding over hard pecs to trail up his arms before she grabbed his wrists and pressed him into the couch. Spike groaned and bucked against her where he was still seated inside her and she tensed her muscles in retaliation, holding him down harder. In a sweet contrast, she brushed his lips with a soft kiss and whispered, “And I’m yours.”
***
“Bloody hell, Buffy,” Spike breathed out, his chest still heaving with unneeded breaths as they recovered from their last round. “Only ever dared to dream we would be here. Never thought…”
“I dreamed about it, too,” she said as she tucked herself under his arm and snuggled into his side to fit them both comfortably on the couch. “I never even thought it could have been possible until I heard your voice a couple hours ago.”
“I didn’t dare to hope for so long, but…” Buffy looked up at him curiously when he trailed off once more.
“Right, we kind of skipped over that part earlier. You said Angel was telling you all kinds of crap and no one would help you contact me,” she said with an edge of anger returning to her voice. “So what changed? How did this even happen?”
Spike reached over her to the coffee table to retrieve the magazine she hadn’t noticed yet, waving it in front of her with a cheeky smile.
“You’d never guess this, pet, but believe it or not, it was Harmony,” Spike said with a chuckle.
“Harmony?,” Buffy asked sharply, rising slightly out of his arms to glare down at him. Before she could get worked up in a tizzy of jealousy—and Spike basked in that feeling of possession all over again—he rushed on to explain.
“She’s been working for Angel as his secretary these days,” he said. “Found this and a post-it with your number in her handwriting stuffed through my mail slot just before dawn.”
“Huh, I wonder how Harmony got a copy,” she mused before shrugging it off and returning her thoughts back to Spike’s surprising revelation. “Wow, I guess it’s a good thing I never dusted her all those times back in Sunnydale. I really really owe her, don’t I? I feel like I should thank her or something.”
“Could do, I suppose,” he said, looking upon her with a dopey smile. But he was brought out of his happy haze when he saw her nose crinkle in disgust as she took a closer look at the magazine.
“Why is it all crumpled up and covered in blood?” she demanded, holding it carefully now between the tip of her thumb and forefinger.
“Hell if I know, Slayer. Can at least assure you it’s not human—definitely the exotic animal blood the law firm keeps on tap,” Spike replied before narrowing his eyes in thought. He took the magazine out of her hand and opened it to her article, bringing it up to his nose to take a long sniff. A malicious look of glee crossed his face. “Think ol’ grandad got a hold of this originally. Don’t think he was a big fan of the content.”
Buffy’s eyes popped open wide, and Spike tensed, waiting for the other shoe to finally drop, for her to realize what mistake she had made by making such a public declaration of love for him if it had made it all the way to her ex honey, but before he could work himself into a panic, she descended into uncontrollable giggles, clutching at his sides as she shook with mirth. Relief unlike any other washed over him and he joined in her infectious laughter.
“Oh god,” Buffy said as she caught her breath. “I really don’t wanna see him or his evil law firm, so stopping by is out. Maybe we can call her?”
“If you want,” he replied, and then leaned over once again, holding her in place as he set the magazine down and picked up his phone from where it had dropped to the floor when Buffy had first landed in his lap. He opened the contacts folder, scrolled through to Angel’s office extension at Wolfram & Hart, and then handed Buffy the phone. “Honor is yours, luv.”
She took the phone and pressed the call button, smiling at him as she listened to the line ringing.
“ Wolfram & Hart, Mr. Angel’s office. How can I help you today? ” a gratingly perky and familiar voice chirped.
“Uh, hey Harmony, it’s Buffy,” she started awkwardly. Suddenly, she wasn’t quite sure what to say to the love of her life’s ex-fling who had inexplicably decided to play matchmaker. “I just, uh, well, I wanted to thank you. For helping Spike contact me.”
Buffy pulled the phone away from her ear as a squeal to rival Dawn’s pierced through the phone.
“ Oh good, I knew that would work! I mean, I was never going to go back to playing his little Slayer games anyway—” Buffy frowned in confusion at a sheepish looking Spike “ —but once I read your interview I just knew you guys, like, really did totally need each other, no matter what stupid Angel said. And, you know, I really am trying to be good, and I thought, what’s more good than curing broken hearts and facilitating true love?”
Buffy and Spike held in their silent laughter as they listened to Harmony babble on about her matchmaking heroics. But their attention was drawn back when they heard another voice erupt through the line.
“Harmony! Are you talking to Buffy?”
“Maybe, but she didn’t ask to talk to you—she called for me!”
“Why the hell is Buffy calling you?”
“She wanted to thank me for curing her broken heart!”
“Harmony…what did you do?...Wait! Isn’t this Spike’s number?”
Their giggles turned to curiosity as they heard a scuffle at the other end, with grunting and screeching, and what sounded like a few slaps, before the phone clattered and a voice came through.
“Buffy? Is that you? Are you—are you really with him right now?” Angel asked, using that same puppy dog tone that had worked on her so many times before but now just sounded pitiful to her grown-up ears.
“Hi Angel,” she replied curtly. “Yes, I am. And will continue to be. Forever. And he won’t be returning to the office. He’s mine.”
“ Wait—” but she hung up before she had to listen to another moment of his guilting, judgemental crap. She was done with that. Forever.
“Fuck, I love you, Buffy,” Spike murmured into her lips before drawing her back into a passionate kiss. After a moment, he pulled back and eyed her with an amused expression. “So, you’re packing me up and taking me back to Scotland with you, eh?”
He laughed at the deer-in-headlights look that appeared on her face when Buffy realized she had made that declaration without really asking him about it first. Before she could get too flustered and take it back, he reassured her with another kiss.
“No worries, Slayer,” he said lovingly. “Of course, I’m coming back with you. Where you go, I go, if I have anything to say about it.”
“I like the sound of that,” she said as she placed his phone on the coffee table so she could curl back into his side. They both sighed deeply as they settled into each other, soft fingers stroking lightly over bare skin, simply enjoying the feeling of being together. After a few quiet moments, Spike broke the easy silence.
“Loving you is the best thing I’ve ever done, Buffy. Just hope I won’t muck it up this time,” he admitted. She squeezed him in a firm hug and smiled up into his blue eyes.
“Well, we’ve already done this at our worst. What do you think we’ll be like at our best?”
“Dunno, luv, but I can’t bloody wait to find out.”
******