I'm only going to say this once: I don't own these characters, I didn't create them. Buffy and Co. belong to Joss and Mutant Enemy.

Spike looked in the mirror. It was wrong, all wrong. This wasn't the way he wanted her to see him. He glanced at the clock on the wall, he still had an hour. Grabbing his leather duster, he sauntered out the door.

Buffy was lost in thought on the moving sidewalk. The strap of her bag was slipping off her shoulder as she twisted a loose strand of hair between fingers whose nails had been bitten to the quick. Why was she here, again?

Spike stood waiting at the subway platform. An old lady next to him warily took in his appearance. The train arrived and they boarded the crowded car. Spike stood menacingly in front of a student sprawled in a seat. Scared, the kid stood up and offered Spike his place, retreating to the other side of the car. Spike turned to the elderly woman, gesturing for her to sit down.

Buffy nervously chewed her lower lip. She wasn't sure what she was looking for. Surely he wouldn't look the same as he had six years ago when they'd last seen each other. She felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned around. Relief flooded through her. Some things never change.

Spike was overjoyed. There she was, looking up at him. She hadn't changed much, her cheeks were thinner and her green eyes stood out more against skin that was a few shades paler than what he recalled. At first she looked ecstatic, then immediately she tensed.

Buffy had no idea what to say. 'Thank you' came to mind, but it didn't begin to express the depth of what she felt. He was saving her. And there was no reason for him to do so.

"Hey, what are you doing here?"

"Heard that an old friend was coming to town."

"Are they here yet?"

He smiled broadly, blue eyes twinkling. "Hi Buffy," he said, drawing her into a tight hug.

"Hi Spike," she replied, her voice muffled against his chest. He smelled of leather and cigarettes. Spike smell. Years after they'd said their goodbyes, it was still as dear to her as home. "Thank you."

He could hear the emotion thickening her voice and he wondered what had driven her across the continent to a city she didn't know. "Anytime, pet. Now, let me show you my city."

She smiled wanly up at him. "I'm tired. How about just showing me your apartment tonight?"

He swept his arm grandly as they came through his front door. "Welcome to my humble abode."

Buffy dropped her bags to look around in wonder. "Not so humble. How do you afford a place like this?"

"I'm good at my job. Plus, rent-control is God's gift to New Yorkers. Really though, compared to most of the other apartment buildings on this block, this place is just a hole-in-the-wall."

"That may be but this is the quintessential New York bachelor's pad. Oh God," she stared hard at him. "You're still a bachelor, right?"

He laughed. "Course I am, Buffy. I'm too young to settle down, and I intend to stay that way indefinitely."

There was an awkward pause.

"So, what's for dinner?"

"New York pizza."

"Nothing else would be acceptable for my first night in the Big Apple."

Later, she sat at his vintage formica table with the pizza box in front of her. Buffy looked around his kitchen. One wall was brick, and through the window she could see the top of the streetlamp outside. The other walls were plaster painted a bright white, the cupboards were dark mahogany and counters a blue-gray slate. His refrigerator and stove were brushed steel. He must be very good at his job, she decided. It was a surprise, Spike being as successful as he was. He was never a brilliant student, but then again, he never applied himself, either. He'd always thought himself above the system.

Spike watched her taking in her surroundings as he got out plates and napkins. He felt proud knowing she was impressed. He felt proud knowing Buffy was impressed. He was much better off than he ever expected to be.

"What'll you have to drink with dinner, Madame?"

"Oh, I'm afraid I didn't see the drinks menu. What are my options?" She smiled at him flirtatiously, making him blink.

He went on with the game, "Beer, red wine, Coke, Jack Daniels, or milk."

"If the wine's already open, I'll have a glass of that."

"Red wine it is. Tonight we have Yellow Tail shiraz, an excellent vintage."

"Hmmm," she said adopting a snooty tone, "it really is the only thing one should drink when dining on pizza." He poured two glasses then sat down with her. Buffy picked up her slice, folded it lengthways and shoved half of it into her mouth. She chewed, swallowed it down and followed with a gulp of her wine. Spike nodded approvingly before doing the same with his.

A bottle and a half later, they found themselves lounging on his plush sofa, laughing uproariously.

"Spike," she said, slurring his name and gasping for air through the tears streaming down her face, "You dated that moron?"

Spike, alternating between giggles and hiccups replied "Yep. And she was the worst shag of my life!"

This sent Buffy into another fit of hysterics. "Harmony Kendall!" she crowed, "Oh, that's beautiful."

He looked at her, breathless and contorted with joy, grabbing at her stomach. "No, pet, you're beautiful."

Buffy blinked through her alcoholic haze as his face drew nearer. "Spike?" she whispered before his lips pressed into hers. She felt a new flush of warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the wine. Her hands came up to stroke his cheeks, his hair as they continued to kiss. Tentatively she opened her mouth, tasting the wine on his lips and tongue.

He kept his eyes open out of sheer wonderment. He didn't have a clue why she was suddenly so golden and lovely or why he wanted so badly to hold and kiss her until they were both dizzy. He leaned her further back, drawing Buffy's legs up on the cushions so that they were both lying on the couch. Spike felt like he was in high school again and reveling in it. He rested his thigh between hers and ran a hand up one jean-clad leg.

She tilted her hips up slightly towards his pelvis and broke the kiss to draw in a ragged breath as his hand continued on to her breast. Buffy opened her eyes as Spike trailed kisses down her neck and collarbone, almost moaning at the wonderful sensations he was eliciting. She tugged at the hem of his shirt.

He stopped and looked at her questioningly. How far would they be taking this? After a moment's pause, she brought her lips into a line and, reaching down to the edge of her own sweater, arched her back and pulled it off.

He took in the sight of the woman in front of him and what she was offering. He sobered up in an instant and made his decision. Standing, he gave her his hand, helping her to her feet. He led her into his room. Shutting the door, he pulled her close, running a hand down her back. Her skin was so soft and warm, and Spike fought the impulse to rip away her remaining clothes. She tilted her face up to his, green eyes shining, cheeks flushed; swiftly he crushed his lips to hers.

They kissed until the world spun out of control and crashed down around them, tangled in blankets and bed sheets and their own sweaty limbs.

She lay in bed next to him, playing with his lighter. Flick. That little spurt of yellow flame. So hot that at the center it burned bright blue, like the eyes that were now opening and focusing on her. A smile played across his features.

"Morning, love." His arm snaked around her neck, pulling her down for a kiss. She melted into him, pressed against his chest, her thoughts spinning around that kiss. How long had it taken for them to reach that point of contact? How long had it taken for them to finally find some semblance of completion?