Two days. Two days and he’d seen neither supple hide nor golden hair of Buffy. Yeah, he told her to take all the time she needed and he’d meant it, truly he had, but he wasn’t prepared for her actually taking all the time she needed.

He was going out of his bleedin’ mind.

With all his head tilting and ears cocking up, every little sound had him looking like some dog who had been left alone by his master for far too long. No doubt there’d be some Pavlovian slavering and excited arse wagging next.

Pathetic

Though their recent time together was far different than any other, he knew he shouldn’t be holding his proverbial breath over a couple of chaste kisses and a single solitary hour without bloodshed and threats. This was hardly the makings of an endless love and devotion. He should just be grateful she hadn’t staked his arse for keeping his return from her. Regardless if their conversation would’ve gone any further than a simple, “Hello cutie.”

Who’s he fooling? Nothing was ever simple between them.

Head tilt. Ears cocked.

Inwardly cursing himself again for being an all-around wanker, especially since Buffy hadn’t a clue where he was staying, he headed to the fridge. Eying the meager contents, he grumbled a few choice words about the bottles of piss poor swill impersonating a beer before grabbing one, flopping down on the couch and staring at a blank telly screen.

This lasted all of about two minutes.

Draining the bottle, he went for his leather. He couldn’t just sit there. He needed to do something. First he considered a spot of violence to take the edge off. That was until it took him two attempts to grab his keys. A glaring reminder he was still on the mend.

Bar it is.

Or was. Until there was a knock at the door and the revelation of who stood on the other side—Buffy.

Almost instantly, they began another round of a bizarre staring contest. Neither looking away until Spike blinked.

“I’m winning, two to one.” Buffy gave him a teasing smile.

For the second time in so many days, Spike was speechless. Not only was Buffy here, but she’d actually made a point of seeking him out. This wasn’t an accidental bumping into, or even what happened the other day, a matter of her seeking him out to more or less tear him a new one. She was here. To see him. And for the unlife of him, he couldn’t make it past that notion to actually make sense of what she was saying.

“Pardon?” Spike absently wiped the corner of his mouth, making sure he was drool-free.

“Our staring contests. You won the first round. Then I won and now, I won again. So it’s Buffy two, Spike one.”

Going by the tiny furrow between her brows growing deeper by the moment, this one-side conversation was going nowhere fast. Not to mention, he was still staring at her like a dim-witted simpleton to boot.

Bloody brilliant

“O-kay. I guess I caught you at a bad time. I’ll just be going. Oh…”—Buffy held up a brown paper bag in each hand—“you know, with the whole hospital stay and you being a bachelor and all. Thought you’d be hungry, so, um, here.”

Buffy held out each bag to him. The spicy mélange of blood, grease and tabasco, finally snapped him out of his stupor.

“Thanks.” Spike stepped aside and swept out his arm. “Sorry, come in.”

Buffy passed over the threshold and Spike quietly closed the door.

“Huh, I guess invites work on slayers too. Not that I ever waited for one before. You know, with the whole not knocking and just barging in, part of our relationship.” Buffy stood in the center of the room, clearly waiting for Spike’s lead.

Still needing time to wrap his head around her being there, Spike headed to the kitchenette. He opened the fridge and leaned in, frowning at the nearly empty shelves.

“Um, don’t have much in the way of, well, anything. Either a half-drained bag of pig’s blood or what you Americans call beer. Pick your poison.” Even with having to raise his voice, Spike tried to sound calm and was doing a pretty good job of it too, until he felt her approaching.

“No worries. Brought my own.”

He heard her set down the bags on the kitchen table, then move to the cupboards and drawers. He knew she’d find nothing but mouse droppings and a mini creepy-crawlies cemetery. Clearly, he was right. When after five failed attempts, she returned to the table and with the distinctive crinkling of cellophane, she settled on what the take away place had provided.

“You coming out anytime soon, Spike? The food’s getting cold and it’s kinda hard to carry on a conversation with your butt.”

Spike didn’t realize how close she was until she touched his shoulder, which caused him to jump and hit the back of his head on the underside of the cold-store door.

So much for vamp reflexes and heightened senses

“Spike!”

Alarmed, Buffy rushed to his side, then led Spike over to the couch and helped him sit. With a quick, “be right back” she dashed into the kitchenette, where he heard her rummaging through the cold-store. In a flash she was back, placing and holding a compress on his rapidly forming goose-egg.

“So I’m guessing with you playing ostrich and nearly knocking yourself out while trying to get away from me, you didn’t exactly expect me to come here. If you want me to leave, you just have to say…”

“No!” Spike stood and wobbled a bit. The last time he’d felt like this was during the first days of trying to feed after being strapped with the chip.

Buffy dropped the compress and instinctually wrapped one arm around his back, placing her free hand on his stomach to steady him. She helped him sit back down.

Picking up and handing him the compress, she went to the other side of the couch and sat. When he caught sight of her form-fitting, nearly-see-through, silky camisole, he nearly forgotten all about the circling birdies and stars. Evidently, she’d used her shirt for a makeshift compress. That or he’d knocked himself good and proper, and he was imagining things. If that was the case, he was lovin’ the hallucination.

“Okay, fine, you want me here. So spill. What’s with the spaz routine, Spike?”

“Just surprised is all. Truth be told, was figurin’ me seeing you again meant heading to Wolfram and Hart and waiting. And if that didn’t work…well, don’t rightly know. Hadn’t exactly planned that far. Though it was a long shot, was hoping you’d be there. But now here you are, and it’s throwing me for a bloody loop. Not complaining mind you.” Spike placed the compress on his injury. The two sat in silence for several moments, before he spoke again. “So how’d you find me, exactly?”

“Lorne? Is that his name?” On Spike’s nod, she continued. “Even after he witnessed everything going down between me and Angel, he was surprisingly helpful. Well, helpful in the way of asking me to sing for him. Which, okay, super strange. But after living in Sunnydale, this wasn’t exactly the weirdest thing I’ve done, so I sang. One line in, he stopped me, rushed me outside and pretty much threw me in a cab. I’m thinking he wanted me outta there before I made his ears bleed.” Buffy dropped her gaze, focusing on a worn patch of cushion.

“He’s an Empath demon. The singing gives him a look-see at auras and futures. Pretty neat trick. Well, it is, until you get some blighter who can’t carry a tune even in a bucket.” Buffy’s gaze lifted and her eyes narrowed. “Not that that’s you, luv. A brilliant songstress you are.”

“Yeah, right. Laying it on pretty thick, dontcha think? No worries, I’ll just chalk up the misplaced ass kissage to a possible concussion talking.” Buffy looked around. “So this is where you hang your hat, well, coat? It’s, um…”

“A bloody dump, is what it is. Can’t complain too much. M’ not footin’ the bill or having to stomach watching grand pappy and the other fools keeping their devil’s bargain with Wolfram and Hart.”

“Yeah, Wolfram and Hart's why I went all Secret Squirrel. Well, them and Angel. Giles didn’t want me to come here. But I needed to see Evil Inc. up close-and-personal and even more so, find out where Angel’s alliances stood. But I couldn’t exactly do that while being littl’ ol’ me, so I had the Coven whip me up a glamour. Short stint as a brunette Southern belle later, I can report that Angel didn’t try swaying me, not me, to the dark side. Actually, he’d tried putting me on the right path, which was of the good. But then things went south. Way south. Can you believe that after all this time and everything that’s happened, he still thinks he can run my life, and that he knows what’s best for me?”

“No surprise, there. No matter, Angel or Angelus, he always believed he’s the boss of everyone. Nothin’s stopping that juggernaut of an ego he’s got, and nothin’ ever will. Especially now that the Senior Partners gave him the golden ticket to the chocolate factory.”

“Well, he’d better watch out or he’ll end up going down the chute with the other bad eggs.”

“No doubt. But if he’s lucky, the Umpa Lumpas will sing his dirge.” Spike lowered the compress and gingerly touched the injured spot, wincing slightly on contact.

“Can I see?”

Spike bowed his head and Buffy scooted closer to get a look, their knees now touching. He tensed, and apparently she noticed.

“When did it start being this awkward between us?”

Spike looked up and he heard her heartbeat quickening. He chalked it up to the unresolved uneasiness between them.

“Don’t rightly know.”

“Well, not counting me not knowing that you were back… and don’t think for one minute that I don’t still owe you an ass kicking for that…I have a theory.”

“Do tell.”

“We hadn’t had the chance to figure out how we exactly fit in each other’s lives, and what to expect from the other. Hence, the weirdness.”

Spike tilted his head, studying her and waiting for her to continue. Buffy pressed on.

“Okay, so first we were just a vampire and slayer. I tried to stake you. You tried to kill me. And it worked. Then you got the chip and things kinda changed, but we still had this mutual mistrust and loathing going on. And that worked too. I mean, it got a little weird there with your liking me and me still hating you, and let’s not to forget the whole chaining me up stunt. Yet all in all, we still had an understanding. Then I died and came back, and you were there for me. But it changed to this whole complicated and messy boy, girl thing. That so didn’t work. For either of us.”

On Spike’s raised brow, Buffy clarified, “not working as in unhealthy and toxic, not as in you know Not. Working. Then you left and got a soul while I got my head on straight. When you came back, you were crazy and then adding to that, the First, a steady stream of potentials, nearly indestructible ubervamps and how everyday-felt-like-an-endless Tuesday to the whole unmixy mix, we never had the time to really figure out what we were to each other. I mean, I’d like to think during those last weeks we trusted one another and we were friends.”

“So you want to be friends?” Spike tried to keep the slight disappointment from his voice. Not that friends were bad per se; he just wanted this and then some. Wanted it all.

“Yeah. No. I mean, yes, friends, but more importantly, I want us to be Buffy and Spike.”

“Not really sure ‘m following you, luv.”

“Maybe this will explain better.” Buffy leaned forward and kissed Spike.

It took a moment before he responded in kind. Soft and insistent, but never hurried, their kisses were a gentle exploration of one another after all this time. After several blissful moments, Buffy was the first to pull away.

She was a sight to see: cheeks flushed, chest heaving and pupils blown.

Simply glorious

“Whoa, that was, yeah, so do you get, um, what I’m trying say now?”

Spike pulled Buffy into his arms; their lips mere inches apart.

“No. Tell me again.”