Chapter One

He hadn't set foot in this city since the night of one of his infamous dances, all those decades ago. At least that was what he'd called his battles with Slayers — dances — but he could no longer put a fancy term on what he'd done.

What he'd done was bloody kill.

On that particular night, after he'd stripped the leather duster from Nikki Wood's body and made it his second skin, Spike had left her remains on the transit line roaring through the 149th Street Tunnel. He'd lived off the kill for days, triumphant euphoria bumping through his bloodstream.

Bloody hell, he'd loved that high.

Now he had to live with the bottomless fall.

Funny, how the spark of a soul turned that temporary euphoric glee into permanent self-loathing. Yeah, alright, he'd admit that he didn't deal with the guilt in the best of ways — avoidance and flippant sarcasm was still his preferred response when confronted with his horrific body count. Hey, it was better than hearing voices and giving into nutty insanity in a sodding school basement.

Sacrificing his life to save the world hadn't been the magic cure to absolve him of his sins, either. Spike wished that it was that easy. He may not have got his soul back from a bloody curse like Mr. Tall Dark and Brooding himself, but he knew the same hell as Angel.

And that included seeing the Slayer move on from afar.

Why couldn't she see that he'd only been trying to do what was best for both of them? Why didn't the chit understand that he was damaged goods, and that she'd been better thinking that he was still ashes at the bottom of the hellmouth?

The Slayer deserved better than a self-loathing vamp traipsing back into her life.

She'd had enough of that with Angel.

Spike walked down West 41st Street as a cold drizzle pelted in his face, staring straight ahead as he weaved through the evening crowd of frenzied New Yorkers. He hardly noticed, though, as thoughts of earlier that day fogged his mind…

"Say something, Slayer," Spike had said after several seconds had ticked by with no reply. This wasn't how he'd envisioned their reunion after almost five years. He'd thought that maybe she would give him a knockout punch, but not this bleeding silence on the other end of a fucking cellphone. He should have gone to Dawn's NYU campus apartment instead of calling, but once Dawn let him know that Andrew had let the cat out of the bag, Spike had to contact Buffy.

"I don't know," Buffy finally replied, her voice sounding hollow "What do you say to a supposed dead undead vamp that doesn't have the decency to let you know that he's alive?"

"You're brassed off."

"Uh-huh, that's a whopper of an understatement," she stated vehemently. "Spike, do you know how it felt when Andrew finally admitted that he'd seen you buddy-buddy with my other vamp ex playing Robin to his Batman?"

"I'm not buddy-buddy with Peaches," Spike countered. "And I'm definitely not Robin to his Batman."

"Not the point."

"Right," Spike closed his eyes, and then turned serious, "I— I was gonna come straight your way when I first came back, but then realized that it wasn't the best time. You were getting on well."

"Getting on well?" Buffy echoed. "Yeah, I was having a super- duper time after all the bloodshed and thinking you were gone for good, Spike," she sighed before continuing, "You of all people know I don't need another person deciding what's best for me. You know that. I thought you knew that."

Their night in that abandoned house flashed across his mind. The night where they'd both let down their brittle barriers and connected beyond the physical. The night when Spike had discovered what it was like to be truly close to someone else, not only to touch the warmth of another soul.

Buffy's soul.

She said that she believed in him.

But he didn't believe in himself.

"Buffy, that's not what I meant. Bloody hell." He sighed and then tried to explain "I wasn't ready. I'm not in my best mind. It's like I'm still being haunted even without the sodding First tinkering in my head…I'm trying—"

The Slayer cut him off, "Is this an 'it's not you; it's me' speech? Cause it's a pretty pathetic excuse, Spike." Her voice gentled, "After all that you said, Spike, after all that I said, after all that happened, I never thought you'd keep me in the dark." There was a pause before she said, "I-I gotta go help Dawn with something."

"Wait, that's it, is it? At least give me a chance to defend myself. Meet me, Slayer! C'mon now," Spike had begged.

"What's the rush?" Buffy had asked dryly. "You waited this long."

"Buffy?"

She'd sighed and said softly, "Tonight…Meet me tonight at the coffee shop …."

…..

Coffee shop? Spike stepped under the yellow awning of The True Love Bar &Grill. He looked down at the slip of paper in his hand. Yeah, it was the address Buffy had given him. How sodding ironic. True Love? Was this her way of aiming a stake at his bloody heart? To get back at him for not coming to her sooner, or to make it clear that she had moved on?

He'd known that her words in those final moments in the hellmouth hadn't been true, couldn't have been true, not after all their toxic history. All right, Spike admitted that he'd been foolish to think for a second that it had been real. It had sure seemed real as their intertwined hands had flamed together and her voice had cracked with emotion:

I love you.

That sweet yet torturous admission had haunted him for the last 1,742 days. Yeah, like a stupid nit he'd counted since the day Angel had resurrected him.

Spike shook off the melancholy as he stepped into the restaurant, hearing a bell chime above the door. Bollocks, this wasn't a coffee shop. The dim dining room looked like an intimate cabin of a ship. A couple of porthole windows were set on the two outside walls. Manufactured golden light projection danced around the room like shimmering ocean waves at sunset. Spike scanned the faces of the diners, talking and laughing as if they didn't have a bleeding care in the world.

The petite Slayer, though, wasn't among them.

Was she even coming?

Spike sighed and walked toward the bar to the right. The dark-haired bartender who handed a glass of wine to another customer turned toward Spike with an oddly, familiar smile.

"Hey, man, what can I get ya this evening?" the bartender asked.

"I thought," Spike replied without preamble, "this was a coffee shop."

"Yeah, it was," the man nodded. "But I'm afraid it went under about a year ago."

Bloody terrific, the vampire thought and then he asked dryly, "Who's the nit who decided to turn it into a poor man's idea of a pirate ship?"

The bloke chuckled, "That would be me, actually. And it's supposed to be a poor man's idea of a sailboat."

Spike raised his scarred brow, "The True Love?"

"It's all nostalgia for my fiancée and me."

"How sweet", Spike said trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. He knew that this meeting with Buffy had little to do with love, at least on her end, but here it was, knocking him over the head at every turn like a nasty beastie trying to get the upper hand. His eyes wandered toward the entrance.

In an empathetic tone, the owner said, "Hey, I'm Pacey, by the way. Can I get you a drink?"

Spike looked back at the bloke. He knew what he should do. He should run over to Dawn's and get the agony of seeing Buffy over with, once and for all. Instead, though, Spike chose to prolong the agony a bit longer. "Yeah, a beer." he nodded taking a seat on a stool.

…..

"Buffy, enough!" Dawn yelled.

The Slayer looked up from her very intense task of sweeping her little sister's kitchen. "What?" she asked, feigning ignorance.

Dawn rolled her eyes, "You've already swept my three- foot kitchen five times."

"Well," Buffy said, "You college kids are mighty messy."

"I'm a senior who's capable of cleaning up my own messes," Dawn crossed her arms. "You, on the other hand, are a Nutter Butter."

"Am not." Buffy shot back with a childish pout. "I'm just being a good sister and attentive guardian."

"Not anymore. I'm over eighteen."

"Not in my heart."

"Lame." Dawn shook her head. "Stop with the excuses, Buffy. Spike's alive. He's alive!. And instead of running to see him, you're going loony toons on a cleaning binge."

"Yeah, I know," Buffy scoffed. "You don't need to keep repeating it. Spike's been alive for six long years and he was in no rush to tell me. I'd still be clueless if Andrew hadn't had one too many Pina Coladas and let that little tiny fact slip, at my birthday party no less." Buffy had always wondered why Andrew decided to move to L.A. and help out Angel. They hadn't known each other, besides the Faith connection. Now, it all made sense. Spike had asked the pip-squeak to keep his trap shut. The wannabe sidekick had probably been all too eager to become Spike's obedient puppy until he couldn't resist an enticing bone in the form of a surprise party. If Buffy sounded a bit bitter and angry, well, that was because she had lots of bitterness and anger running through her veins.

She hadn't exactly had an easy relationship with Spike, Buffy knew. But after those last few days and nights before that last battle in the hellmouth, she'd thought that they'd been starting to heal those sharp and deep wounds of their past. She'd thought that she could trust and be truthful with Spike. She'd thought that they'd found a real connection.

A connection that she'd mourned after his death.

After their victory over The First, the days and months had blurred together like a mirage of a solid life... Everybody in the fight had had to find their own "normal" again. Nobody was the same. How could they be after seeing loved ones bravely die and Sunnydale crumble into nothing but a gigantic crater in the Earth? While Xander had gone off alone to grieve for Anya, hiking across country with only a camping pack on his back, Willow had broken up with Kennedy and decided to focus on herself and her new found wicca power. She'd also gone to Connecticut for a bit to help her parents settle into a new place and a new life. This had left Buffy and Dawn to figure out where to call home.

They'd ended up following Giles to London. Dawn had eventually gone back to school while Buffy and Giles figured out how to recruit and train the new slayers around the globe. It wasn't a simple task by any stretch, but Giles had been able to gather a less stuffy yet capable council. These men and women had been placed in charge of the recruitment process. In only one year, they'd opened a training academy for slayers in the heart of London. None of the young chosen ones had been forced to follow their "destined" path, but the majority had chosen to pursue it.

With the aid of the Slayers who had fought The First and eventually the aid of Willow and Xander, Buffy had created a successful yet intense training program for the students, including both physical and psychology classes.

For a while, the heavy workload had kept Buffy from her own psychological and emotional demons. The numbness had been like an old friend, an old friend who'd been there when she'd been resurrected from the grave It had helped her block out the unwelcome despair that had already been hanging over Buffy since the loss of her mother. When the numbness faded this time, Spike wasn't there to light the match for her to feel again.

Spike was dead and Buffy didn't want to feel again.

There had been no escaping her subconscious, though. Spike would come to her at night. Sometimes she'd only hear his voice whispering No you don't, but thanks for saying it. Sometimes he'd run to her, crumbling into dust before reaching her outstretched arms. Buffy would awaken with an overwhelming ache all over her body and the burden of many regrets, causing many sleepless nights.

Many sleepless nights, for nothing.

Spike had been alive all along, living it up in LA with Angel of all people. They'd probably gone clubbing every night, drinking and joking about that Slayer…

"Buffy, are you listening to me?" Dawn asked, waving her hand in front of her sister. 'Earth to Buffy."

"Huh? Sorry." She blinked, coming out of her reverie.

"You have to go to him." Dawn replied, grabbing the broom from Buffy.

"Will you stop it?" Buffy crossed her arms. "You know, I'm still mad at you for calling Spike and telling him to come to New York."

"Somebody had to let him know that you know."

"He didn't have to know that I know." Buffy closed her eyes and shook her head, walking into the living room. "And this conversation's over before it turns into that 'We know that they know' episode of Friends, I've had enough of pop culture references while researching The Entertainer," she explained, referring to the demon that she'd followed here in the first place.

Luckily Dawn just so happened to attend NYU, giving Buffy an excuse to visit the Big Apple. Buffy had to track down the demon before his portal opened that could potentially blend this world with a fictional dimension, which supposedly housed television show characters. However, there were still too many questions as to what could happen if The Entertainer succeeded. Hopefully, Buffy would stop him before she had to find out— if only she could find the portal located somewhere in the city.

"Don't change the subject." Dawn shadowed Buffy into the living room. "Admit it. You want to see Spike."

"Okay, fine." Buffy spun around. "I want to see Spike! Are you happy?"

Her smug sister smiled, "Where are you meeting him?"

"I thought a public place would be best." Buffy sighed. "The Brew, you know, that little coffee shop."

"A coffee shop?" Dawn smirked. "You're right. It's not like Friends at all."

Buffy rolled her eyes, "Are you done?"

Dawn ignored her, "You should know, though, that The Brew isn't there anymore. Now it's a bar & grill."

"Oh well," she shrugged. "No big…I mean, it has the same address, right?"

Her sister nodded. "The True Love Bar & Grill."

Buffy's eyes widened. "Tell me, you're kidding."

Dawn laughed. "Maybe it's fate."

"No, no," Buffy shook her head. "This isn't funny, Dawn. This reunion was supposed to be a no biggie. Just a quick, 'Howdy do? Okay, see ya, goodbye,' meeting, you know. Nowhere near the L word whatsoever."

"C'mon, Buffy," Dawn countered. "You really want that kind of reunion? It's Spike, Buffy. He's the vamp who fought to get his soul back for you, and then sacrificed his life for you, for us. Will you be satisfied with a drive-by greeting?" she asked.

"No need to lay it on too thick," Buffy sighed, letting some of the hardness around her heart crack. "You don't need to sell me on the great attributes of Spike. I just don't know what I want from tonight, from him, from me," she finally confessed as her stomach did a jittery little flip-flop. "I really don't know."

…

Spike glanced at the door of The True Love for like the tenth time in the last twenty minutes. Everybody came and went, it seemed, but the little bird. He should just call a spade a spade. Buffy wasn't coming.

"Why don't you just go to her?"

His head snapped back toward Pacey. "What did you say?"

"You're waiting for a woman, right?" Pacey asked as he handed a tub of dirty glasses to a busboy.

Spike straightened his shoulders, "How, uh, how did you —"

"Speaking from experience."

Spike scoffed and shook his head. "I'm not one of those besotted fools who spill their troubles to a complete stranger as he gets sloshed. No offense, mate," he said gulping down the last of his second beer.

"None taken." Pacey held up his hands and started to turn around.

But Spike couldn't stop himself from spilling. "It's just that she has every right to ditch me, to be upset, you know,"

Pacey stepped back up to the counter again, and nodded.

Spike continued. "I get that, really do. I never should've stayed away once I got back from—" he caught himself before saying being dead, "—uh, being out of the country."

"Why did you stay away?"

"Things were confusing, still are," Spike replied. "I mean, we went from trying to kill each other to shagging to what? I don't know." He shrugged. In those last few months, you could almost call what Spike had had with Buffy a friendship. They'd fought side-by-side; he'd helped her train the potentials; and she'd begun to trust Spike enough to have him go chip-free. Spike hadn't dared ask for more, especially after what he'd done to her while soulless. Unfortunately, one night of holding Buffy and watching her sleep had changed everything.

"Were you there with me?" Spike had asked Buffy, taking in her beauty as the glow of candlelight flickered across her face.

"I was."

Spike rubbed his eyes, forcing away the memory. He'd wanted to believe Buffy that night. God, he still wanted to believe her just like he still wanted to believe her loving admission in the Hellmouth. He just couldn't. How could she have anything but pity for the vamp who brought aggravation and agony into her life?

The excuse of self-hatred was just that, an excuse, Spike admitted to himself. He wasn't the second coming of Peaches. Spike didn't live to brood like tall, dark, and forehead. Yeah, he was disgusted with his Big Bad past. That wasn't, however, the main reason he'd stayed away. He just didn't want the Slayer's pity. And that made him an idiot, Spike knew. "She deserves better than a wanker like me in her life," he told Pacey.

Yeah, man, yeah." The fella bobbed his head, "I understand that feeling all too well. I let a particular woman get away, once or twice."

"What happened?"

"I'm marrying her now," the other man grinned. "I realized that in order for us both to be happy, I had to let her off the hook completely, once and for all, even if meant going our separate ways. Thank God, Jo wouldn't have my selfless overture."

Jo? His eyes narrowed at that name. Pacey? True Love? Off the hook? Why did all seem very familiar? Spike wondered, but he quickly shook it off. He returned to the conversation at hand. "Lucky for you, mate, but most of us fellas aren't that bloody lucky," he replied.

"True," Pacey nodded. "All I'm saying is, don't leave words unspoken or you may just have more regrets."

"Got that off a Hallmark card, did you now?"

Pacey chuckled. "Something like that. I grew up with friends with a high tolerance for dissecting your every emotion, including my bride to be."

"Hey, Pacey," a woman called from the kitchen entryway. "We're running low on your marinade for the roast beef."

"I better go take care of that," he told Spike. "Do you need anything else?"

Spike declined as he stood from the stool. As he took out some cash, he heard the chime from the bell over the front door.

He froze.

He sensed Buffy even before he turned his head. His un-beating heart squeezed agonizingly in his chest as his gaze caught hers. The glimmering dining room lights cascaded down her face, highlighting her golden locks, making her look even more radiant than he'd remembered. Her mouth, however, remained in an unreadable line as they stepped toward each other.

"Hey," Buffy said softly.

"Hey, Slayer," Spike returned, tilting his head to the side, his eyes never leaving hers. "I didn't think you'd make it."

"I wasn't sure, either," she replied, keeping her voice even. "That's why I wanted us to meet in public."

His brow lifted, "Is it really, Slayer?"

"Well," Buffy retorted, "that, and I thought a public place would stop me from kicking your ass and killing you. It's a toss up"

"The venue never stopped you before."

Buffy broke his gaze, "Things change."

Spike whispered, "I'm sorry, Buffy."

Her head snapped back at him. "Why didn't you tell me then, Spike? God, I thought that I meant more to you than that!"

Spike glanced behind Buffy and saw Pacey with his arm around a dark-haired woman. The man's earlier words echoed back at him. I realized that in order for us both to be happy, I had to let her off the hook completely, once and for all. Spike may not get the happy ending, but he was letting Buffy off the hook "You do mean more to be than that," he replied, stepping closer to the Slayer. "When I said that I love who you are, I meant that, Buffy. I do love who you are, but my part in your life isn't included in all of what I love about you. From the moment I walked into your life, I made it a bloody living hell."

"So, not telling me you were back from the dead, was, um, um, what? A selfless act?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying."

"That's such a load of crap, Spike," Buffy countered harshly. "Do you think I don't know how you truly feel? It was written all over your face in the Hellmouth just like now." She brought her hand to his cheek, saying softly "You're afraid, you're afraid of believing me, believing in my feelings for you."

Spike leaned into her touch even as he replied hoarsely. "I don't want your pity."

Tears glistened in her emerald eyes as her mouth quirked up. "God, you're a moron. Don't you get it? I missed you."

Spike sighed. "I missed you, too, love."

And then it happened for the first time. Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder, dissolving the tension between them.

"I meant it when I said I loved you," she whispered.

Spike closed his eyes, holding her tightly, letting her words sink in for the first time.