A/N: Hello, all. I'm new to the fandom. -ducks flying tomatoes-. I wrote this little oneshot to take place after S7 of Buffy but before S8. Tips and criticism are welcome!

It was dark, and she was alone.

The moonlight shone dully through the bedroom window, just barely illuminating the outline of the small frame of a young woman, curled up under the bed covers. Her blonde hair had fallen slightly in front of her face, casting a bit of a shadow against her closed eyes.

She was not asleep. Rather, she couldn't sleep, in fear of the recurring dreams that were ever-present in the back of her mind.

It was dark, and Buffy Summers was alone.

They had won the final battle. It was finished. The power of the Slayer was now shared with girls around the world, everywhere.

Didn't mean she could turn in her stake and put up for the retirement home, though; Buffy was sure of that. The only thing she could do at the moment was move on.

And now here she was, in a nice two-bedroom apartment just outside of Los Angeles, for the time being. Just until she got things settled as to where Dawn was to be enrolled in school, and what the hell she herself was going to do with her life. Willow and Xander and Giles regularly kept in touch. It was a nice little break in between the next Slayer-related crisis that Buffy knew was bound to occur soon.

She liked to consider all of this "moving on", though she knew damn well it wasn't.

The one person she was supposed to despise happened to be the one she missed---ached for---the most. Initially, it disgusted her that she still felt this way about a man who wasn't a man at all...technically he hadn't even been alive. He'd been a member of the living dead, the creatures of the night, the 'bad guys' on whom it was her job as the Slayer to go stake-happy.

But now that he was dead, really dead, because of fighting for a good cause, her cause...she'd moved past the 'disgusted' stage quickly.

The first night after the battle was when the dreams started.

It had been three and a half weeks since she moved into the apartment, and not one night had gone by that she didn't dream of him.

Every night, it was the same. She would tell him how much he missed him, and that she loved him, and then he was gone. And she was alone...

In her dreams, she saves him. She sees the flickering fire in his blue eyes as they reflect the flames surrounding them. He is burning, but this time, she knows she can save him. Take him away from all of this pain. In her dreams, she takes his hand and pulls him away just as all the earth around them is crashing down.

They ascend from the depths of the destructed Hellmouth to solid ground. All around them is glowing brightly.

He is holding her. She buries her face against his chest, and he wraps his arms around her.

''You did it,'' she whispers, her voice muffled against his coat, ''You saved the world.''

He chuckles a little. ''Me? Nah. That was all you, pet. I was just helping you along, that's all.''

She looks up at him, smiling slightly, and reaches up to cup his face in her hand. It feels so real. She can feel his strong arms around her, his lips as he gently presses them to her forehead.

''I miss you,'' she says, ''I wish...I wish this was how it happened. I wish...you were still here.''

''I know, Buffy,'' he replies, ''I know.''

She grasps his hands, staring down at her shoes. ''I meant it, you know,'' she says. It's what she always says. Every single night.

And he retorts with the usual question: ''Meant what?''

''I meant it when I told you I loved you.''
His pale skin is translucent in the brightness around him, and she watches as he throws her that playful smirk he'd been wearing the first day they'd met six years ago.

Back then, though, it had been different. The smirk was there, but his eyes had been cold as ice

reflecting the same hatred in her own stare.
Now, he gazes at her with nothing but adoration. That silly grin, ever a part of his coy, manipulative but protective personality that she loved to hate and hated to love.

He takes a deep breath. ''Well,'' he says, ''It's nice to hear, anyway.''

He doesn't believe her. He didn't believe her in the last few seconds before his death, and he didn't believe her now. And why should he? She'd told him for years and years how she could never love someone like him.

It was this part that haunted her so much. The part that scared her.

''Spike,'' she says his name for the first time, and the ache it brings her is almost more than she can stand. ''Please...please believe me. I love what you've become. What you've sacrificed---''

''I know you do,'' he interrupts, ''But not enough. You don't love me enough to even admit it to yourself, let alone to anyone else.''

He said these words without the slightest resentment, but regardless, it broke her heart to hear them.

''I'm alright, Buffy,'' he whispers against her hair, ''You don't have to worry about me anymore. Your dreams should be about what you've gained; what's to come. Not about what you've lost.''

She shakes her head, sensing that this is the part where he begins to fade away.

''Spike, don't!'' she cries out, feeling his presence start to deteriorate in front of her, ''I feel...I...I feel so...''

Here come the inevitable tears. She's bound to wake up soon, she doesn't want to.

''I feel so alone,'' she finishes shakily.

She feels his tingling breath close to her as he speaks again: ''You're not alone, Buffy. You have your family. Your friends.''

''I know, but---''

''But what?'' he presses on, ''Isn't that all you need? You got a future ahead of you. You're gonna find a nice beau who treats you right, make a family, all that jazz. Dwelling on the past won't help any.''

She doesn't remember this part. Silence, as she takes this all in. She thinks of her sister Dawn, of her friends that have become more of a family to her than she could have ever imagined.

She is not alone. Funny how it took three weeks and a vampire in a dream to help her realize it fully. She is not alone. She is going to be alright.

And so is he.

''I got faith in you,'' his voice is barely above a whisper, ''You're gonna be alright, Slayer.''

''Spike---''

''Just look at it this way, love.'' He steps away from her, his blue eyes sparkling confidently. ''I'll be with you, no matter what. Only if you want me to. If your heart wants to lend me a nice little room in a corner, you'll know it when it happens.''

She is still holding his hand as it fades. She looks at him one last time, before replying, ''It already has.''

The last thing she sees is that smile, and this time, she smiles back.

Buffy Summers opened her eyes to find that she was alone.

This time, though, she had not awoken with the sinking feeling of emptiness and lack of fulfillment. This dream had been different than the others...a wake-up call, so to speak.

Spike had always known that Buffy had feelings for him, even if they hadn't been the feelings he felt for her. Those feelings had been what kept him pursuing his relationship with her.

All this time she had pushed him away, and it was too late to take the horrible words back.

But he understood. He'd always understood. Maybe that was what made Buffy love him so much---not in the way he'd hoped, but undeniably, the feeling was there.

Yes, Buffy Summers was alone in her bed. But her sister was in the next room. Her friends were just a phone call away. And who knew what would be in store for her in the next few months? Years? It was for her to decide now. The door of opportunity had been unlocked, and only then had Buffy realized that she could walk through it.

Buffy Anne Summers closed her eyes once more, with a sense of knowing that she was most certainly not alone.

She could have sworn she heard that familiar deep voice in the whisper of the wind outside:

"Told ya so, love."