Set in season six just after Buffy has been raised from the dead. Sorta takes a part from season 7.
Buffy sat, knees drawn up to her chest on her bed, escaped through the pretense of a need to sleep when truthfully, it was impossible. She stretched her fingers straight and gazed on the rough sores, already beginning to heal. A soft knock at the door made her jump in terror, vivid images of her grave returning, though of no relevance.
"It's me, can I come in?" Spikes soft voice broke through into her mind and she mumbled a "yeah" in reply.
He turned to gently shut the door behind him before coming to sit facing her on the bed. Without saying anything he took her hurt hands in his and cautiously ran his thumbs over the knuckles. He kept his head bent, denying the emotion he felt as they talked.
"How are you?"
"Peachy," Buffy weakly attempted cheerfulness, feigning happy was somehow easier than truth.
"You?"
"Buffy.. I" Spike stuttered, unable to speak.
"I just wanted you to know.. I.. I saved you, not when it counted of course, but I did, every night after that." He raised his head, gingerly regarding her expression.
"Thank you, for," Buffy hesitated, "everything." Spike reached one hand up to gently stroke the side of her face.
"Spike?"
"Mmm?"
"Could you stay here?" Spike said nothing but shifted so he was lying beside her and wrapped his arm around her, his hand resting on her hair.
"You can sleep now," He whispered to her as she relaxed into him, finally feeling safe and unafraid.