The day after Christmas Buffy looked up the address Spike had listed. The British called it Boxing Day for some incomprehensible reason, but it was just the day after Christmas to Buffy. Christmas itself had been a sad and mostly lonely affair – new friends hardly took the place of the old. Giles and Xander were both gone, Dawn out of town with her new husband, and Willow, well, she and Willow hadn’t really been friends for years now, although Willow had made a brief appearance for Dawn’s wedding. Nevertheless, Buffy felt the lack of family and close friends more than she had in years. It had happened so gradually, she had thought she had gotten used to it, but apparently there were some losses that never faded completely. Since today was one of the few sunny winter days she had encountered while living across the pond, and she was determined to try to enjoy it. And so she had traveled across town to see if the house where Spike had once lived was still standing, or if it had been replaced by a shopping mall or tube station.

Relieved to find the neighborhood still much intact, Buffy found the house easily. In fact, it appeared to be some sort of museum, open to the public twice per week. Just as it said, it was a Tuesday, but she wasn’t sure the museum would be open on Boxing Day. Nevertheless, she worked up the courage to knock on the door. At the very least, she might get a peek inside, or, if she was very lucky, she could talk the owner into letting her have a tour of the place today, despite its being some inexplicable holiday no one else had ever hear of.

The door opened to reveal a small round woman, who was so short she had to look up to talk to Buffy. Heartened, Buffy peered eagerly over her shoulder into the elaborate foyer. During her time in London with the new Council, she’d been in some of these old homes before. For the most part, they seemed to all have a charm that more modern houses lacked. This one seemed to have the period furnishings as well. As she launched into her hastily prepared story, she soaked in as much of the ambiance of the place as she could, trying to imagine if this was what it must have been like when Spike had lived here.

She stopped talking and her heart started pounding as she heard a man’s voice call out from across the hall, “Who’s at the door, Martha?” The accent was all wrong, but something about the voice sent shivers down her spine.

Buffy was already shoving the small woman aside as Martha began to answer, “Some American wants to see the house. And she’s pretty determined too.” Martha ended with a huff.

But Buffy had forgotten the small woman entirely, as she blinked at a sight that couldn’t possibly exist. For there was Spike, or an older and much-subdued looking version of him, sitting at a large antique desk strewn with papers and a half empty cup of tea. A middle-aged man sitting in the sunlight, wearing glasses, and pecking at a laptop computer. No, of course it couldn’t be Spike. Perhaps this modest widower was some distant modern-day relation that happened to bear an uncanny likeness to the man she had known.

“I’m sorry sir,” murmured the housekeeper. “She just barged in like I wasn’t there. Should I call the constable?”

“No.” Was it just her perception, or was there a tremble in his voice as the man slowly stood? He seemed to remember himself as he turned his attention back to the woman, “Put on some more tea, and bring the cart around, Martha. Then you can take your day off.” The resemblance was remarkable. But even if she could account for the change in his accent, she knew that Spike would never age. Would never sit in the sunlight. And she would never see him again.

Finally, the man put away his things and he turned his full attention back towards her. His eyes were bright, intense and unfaltering as he walked boldly across the sunlit room. Despite how impossible it was, she knew that look. Knew it in her bones, so that it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when he spoke again, although it did. “You’d better sit down, Buffy. Before you fall. Your color doesn’t look too good. Almost as if you’d seen a ghost.”

“It can’t be you,” she whispered as she stumbled into the offered chair. But it had to be true – he knew her name. Knew her. “Spike?”

But he was shaking his head as he sat beside her. “It’s William now. Been just William for a long time.”

“William St. James.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” he smiled shyly and nodded as he reached to take her hand. “It’s been a long time.”

“How is it possible? How long have you been here? Why didn’t you let me know you were alive?” The questions came fast and furious now, and behind them, a growing sense of hurt.

Letting go of her hand to move away, he attempted to explain, but the words wouldn’t come. He mumbled something or other. It didn’t matter. She was here. For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Martha came back with their tea and a disapproving look, then they could hear her gather her things together and depart with another huff.

A few more minutes passed in silence.

Finally Buffy asked, “Aren’t you going to tell me what happened? How can you be here, and why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s a long story,” he prevaricated. “Don’t really know why that last time was different than any of the others. But when I came to after that big showdown in L.A., I was like this.” He flexed his hands in the light streaming in from the window, smiled softly and amended, “Well, it took a while for the wrinkles to start setting in, but it wasn’t like I hadn’t earned them a hundred times over.”

Buffy wasn’t to be put off, and the hurt was bewilderment was starting to turn into anger. “Why didn’t you tell me? Come to me? Let me know that you were alive? Really alive. All these years. First I thought you’d died back in Sunnydale. Later they told me you had been re-incarnated and had been working with Angel against the Black Thorn. It didn’t seem like anyone could have survived that near apocalypse. Why didn’t you tell me, Spike?”

“I wanted to,” he temporized, “but it was complicated. And Angel…” Buffy knew he was regretting ever having listened to anything Angel had said. “And then, after… I’m no good to you like this, Buffy.” He went on to explain, “I’m just as bad as that wanker Harris was, and you know how that worked out. Weak, soft…human. How would I have fit into the life of a Slayer?”

“Spike, you should have known it wouldn’t make any difference to me one way or the other.” She couldn’t believe that his hands had actually been warm – and a little dry from the cold London climate. She remembered what holding his hand had been like, that last time, enveloped in flames. “I told you, back in the Hellmouth. I told you then that I loved you.”

With a sudden gasp of pain, a new thought occurred to her. Why didn’t she ever think things through? But it was only fair if he had. It had been more than ten years – everyone else had moved on, of course he must have too. It was obvious that he didn’t love her anymore. Perhaps he had stopped as early as when he’d gotten the soul. He’d certainly never come out and said it again – although he had said other things… She sighed so softly she wasn’t completely certain that his merely normal human hearing would make it out. “Did you…did you stop loving me? Is that why?”

To her relief he reached out with his callused hands to caress her face. “Buffy, no. I’ve never stopped loving you. Not for one second of one day.”

“Then why?” It was hard to understand, and she never thought well when she was upset. Tears started to form in the corners of her eyes, but she did her best to hold them back – give Spike a chance to explain. And she’d always thought that she knew him so well.

Spike just shrugged. “I’m sorry, Buffy. You know me, always doing or saying the exact wrong thing. Seemed like the thing to do at the time.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She finally decided, and reached over to touch his face in turn. Somehow, they wound up in an embrace, her body fitting so perfectly against him, just like it always had. As if the intervening years hadn’t happened. Sniffling a bit and blinking back tears, she pulled back to look into his eyes. They were just as blue as they always had been, although behind spectacles now. “It doesn’t matter at all,” she smiled, and wiped at her nose, “We’re together now. That’s all that’s important.”

“Are we?” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear. “Are we together now? Is this really what you want, this poor weak sot who couldn’t fight his way out of a Girl Scout convention?” He stepped out of her embrace and moved back over to the desk. “Was told the sodding Powers thought they were giving me a gift, this Shanshu. But I never wanted it. Never wanted to be human again. Didn’t even think to ask for it when I’d had the chance, back in Africa.”

He was fiddling with the few items on the desk, before he turned to look up at her, his eyes tearing now also. “Think before you answer Buffy, because I don’t think I could take it if you decide to leave me again after you’ve said otherwise. Just make a quick getaway now, and we’ll be done with it. Forget you ever found me.” He puzzled a moment. “Why now, Buffy? After all this time? ”

“I quit the council. Wanted to start out again, fresh. Thought maybe I’d go back to college, try out that normal life I thought I wanted. I went to the jewelers where you bought that necklace, and they had all this information about you, and it made me curious… But none of that matters now. Now that I’ve found you, I’m not leaving you. Not ever. I’ll do just what I said I would. Leave the Council. Retire from being a Slayer. Start a new life. Decided that before I ever came here and found you.” She smiled, and continued babbling “You’re my New Year’s Resolution. And I never break a New Year’s Resolution.”

“That right?” As he approached her again, she noticed there was a hint of the old smile about his eyes now. “Well, then. I suppose we’ll have to go back there then, and I’ll buy it back for you. Get you something to go with it.”

“No, I didn’t sell it. He offered to buy just a few strands, and I figured that was enough. I nearly fainted when I saw how much he recommended I insure it for. How did you ever manage to pay for a thing like that? I know you didn’t steal it. The purchase records are how I found this address.”

“Told you I had money,” he shrugged, “you just weren’t always too good at listening. But they’ll be closed today.” Suddenly he was unsure again. “Could buy you a ring to match, if you’ll have it.”

Was this his way of asking… It couldn’t be, could it? “Spike, I…”

“Say yes, and make me the happiest man on earth.” Through the thudding in her chest, Buffy could barely speak, all she could manage was a nod – which he didn’t even see. Stupid vam - - stupid man. Why was he still talking and not kissing her senseless? “Don’t have to answer now, kitten. It’s like we’ve just met for the first time, isn’t it? Buffy, meet the sentimental sot, William St. James.”

Still at a loss for words, she did what she should have done to begin with, and kissed him. “Of course it’s yes.”

Unfortunately they both needed to breathe now, and pulled apart reluctantly. “No use going out today, pet. How about I give you a tour of the house?” In that low tone of voice she always thought of as his bedroom voice he whispered into her ear, “Did you know it has six bedrooms?”

“Six?” Pulling away to look at him, Buffy made a face, “Isn’t that rather a lot to clean?”

“Umm,” he snorted, “like you’ve ever cleaned a day in your life. But, no need to start now. Though I may have to give Martha a better Boxing Day gift along with a raise in salary for all the extra laundry she’ll be doing.”

At Buffy’s puzzled face he explained, “The sheets, love. She’ll have to wash all of our dirty sheets.” He breathed in the soft shampoo smell of her hair. He’d always loved that smell. “Besides, if we’re not careful, it’s possible between the two of us that we’ll manage to fill all those bedrooms, and then she’ll have even more wash to do.”

“What is wrong with you? Has all that sunlight gone to your brain?” For some reason known only to former vampires, he was blathering on about housework, when he should be going back to the kissage. “Why are you going on about wash and sheets, when we’ve only just found each other? There’s absolutely no reason to taunt me about my cleaning abilities. And I’ll have you know that I’ve learned to cook as well. But if you expect me to do all the housework, you’ve got another think coming!”

They may not have seen one another for years, but the two of them hadn’t changed at all. Buffy still misunderstood everything he was trying to tell her, and she was still absolutely gorgeous when she was angry. “Well, I have mentioned it, but maybe you didn’t quite think it through, love. I’m human now, Buffy. And there is one thing I can do as a human that I couldn’t as a vamp.”

“I know. You’ve been standing in the sun all morning.”

“Not what I meant, love,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “ What I meant was that we could fill up those rooms with little bitty Buffys. Even put up a white picket fence outside if you want.”

“But that… I mean…” This novel idea would take some getting used to. There’d been too many shocks in one day. It was too much to take in all at once. There was only one thing that she was sure of, and he was standing right in front of her.

“What do you say, love? If we get started right away, maybe by next Christmas…”

All she could do was to fall into his arms, like she has always belonged there and always would.