Six months of trotting the world over to stay on her heels. 179 days spent hiding from the sun and nights spent on the trail of her ever present scent; vanilla and cherries with a twist of power.

But the oddity that was Buffy Summers, this night he found himself standing among hundreds of thousands of drunken, cold, idiots standing in the middle of Time Square. All of whom were staring up at a 1,070 pound Waterford crystal ball, waiting for the hour to strike midnight, for the old year to fall away and the next year to ring in new. When you had seen as many years pass as he had, after a while, you find the entire concept asinine. But tonight was different. For the first time in 150 years this stupid night meant something. Or would if he could gather up the stones to stop being a ponce and go tell her he was alive.

“Bloody fucking hell,” he mumbled to no one in particular. As the north wind blew across the crowd, he saw her blonde hair billowing behind. Golden locks shimmering with silver glitter from her ‘Happy New Year’ novelty tiara. Her shoulders were tense, squared back; even now, so long after Sunnydale, she never stood in the open unprepared. She always expected the fight to come to her, 128 slayers or not, it was always after her.

Taking easy steps, trying his best to move near to her without causing too much of a ruckus in this throng of glorified happy meals. ‘I have to get to her without her noticing me before I am ready,’ was his only thought. He edged ever closer, still masking his thoughts. Little more than an arms length away from her back he stopped, dropping his long cold cigarette to the ground before grinding it up the heal of his black, worn, Doc Martins.

Without moving he let his guard down and concentrated on sending out every vibe he could. Trying to make her slayer senses pick him up. Almost immediately, she turned to find the source of that singular feeling. His eyes locked with her’s as the count down closed in on midnight.

Fireworks exploded, noise-makers squealed, people screamed and yelled and broke into Auld Lang Syne, ringing in 2006 with the typical flair. Without words, they pushed passed those that stood between them closing in the small distance.

“Spike?”

“Hey, Goldilocks.”

A single tear peeked from the corner of her glistening eyes; he reached and brushed it away with his thumb. “Are you real? Please tell me I’m not dreaming.”

“You’re not dreaming pet. I’m really here…with you. Took far too bloody long for me to get here.” Despite his own will, tears of his own slowly trickled down his alabaster face.

Her emerald eyes locked with his cool blue ones. “You’re supposed to be dead…”
“Still am, just not as dead as I was. Come on, ya know nothing ever stays dead too long in Sunnydale. Look at you, twice back from it yourself.” His attempt at levity went unnoticed by Buffy.

Finding herself oddly as a loss for words she said the only thing else she could think of, “…You know I really meant what I said…I do love you…still that is.”

“I knew then, but you couldn’t stay there with me. I had to do what I had to luv. You dieing in the Hellmouth too wouldn’t have done anyone any good. You needed to live.” He paused to gather up what was left of his courage. “You may not love me when you finish hearing what I have to say.”

“Nev…” He cut her off cold.

“Buffy, I’ve been alive for most of the past 2 years. The last 6 months, I have followed you all over this sodding world trying to gather up the courage to reveal myself to you. I am so sorry. I know I told you I would never leave you and that is just what I did. I really did try to come back to your sooner. First, there was the whole haunting Wolfram and Hart business, then Fred, and then Angel’s sodding apocalypse. When all was said and done and I finally felt I could let myself run to you, I get there only to find you… you were lost and not ready for me. I have stood in the shadows watching you find yourself in this big old world. Find yourself apart from being a friend to the Scoobies, daughter of a dead mum, daughter of a sort to the Watcher, a sister and a surrogate mother to Dawn, and a slayer. In the end, it would have hurt us both if I hadn’t let you finish finding yourself. I’m so bloody sorry if I have hurt you and I know you must hate me now, but I couldn’t lie to you on top of all of the time we lost.”

Realization closed in on her. All those feelings, those times when she could swear she felt him near by only to find nothing. It had really been him lurking just far enough to evade her searches. As mad as she wanted to be at him she just couldn’t. She has missed him far too much. Spent too many nights crying and begging the Powers for just this, no way was she fucking it up right off the bat. She stepped up, invading his personal space, putting her hand behind his head and pulling his face to hers. The kiss started slow and tentative, soon turning to tender emotion, every feeling, every pain, every wish being poured into that one kiss. No words needed to be said to cover what one action so boldly told. But none the less, Buffy pulled just far enough away to whisper.

“I love you. Happy New Year Spike.”

“Love you too and oh, what a year it will be luv!”