Buffy wandered through the graveyard and, for once, she didn't want to kill things. She just wanted… 'God, what is it I want?' she thought; nervous of the answer.
With a sigh she admitted to herself, 'I just wanna feel.' And she knew where she was headed. Knew he could help her; and that he was the only one.
Spike was pacing the lower part of his crypt. Trying and failing to reel in his emotions.
He laughed, overcome with joy that the woman he loved was back from the dead; then tried to hold back the tears for having lost her in the first place. He punched a rock, to see if that could help and, oddly enough, it did – a little.
That's when he heard his front door open and shut above him, and he mentally thanked the gods for a real distraction, while grabbing a dagger and climbing up to greet whatever awaited him.
Stunned, he took in the sight of her standing there, with her back to him.
"Buffy," he said, suddenly feeling shaky on his feet. She turned to look at him, and he tried to wipe the emotion from his face; pretended to be okay; tried to make his voice sound even. "You should be careful. Never know what kind of villain's got a knife at your back."
She glanced down at the dagger he held and said, softly, "Your hand is hurt."
He shrugged it off, "Same to you."
"Right," she agreed, nervously putting her injured knuckles behind her back.
The tension built around them, so he walked away, to set down the dagger at the opposite side of the room while attempting to collect his thoughts.
'Yeah,' he thought, turning back around. 'I'll change the topic. Good plan.'
"Willow's getting pretty strong, ain't she? Bringing you back." – 'Damn it.' He almost had it changed, but the discussion always returned to her and what happened. 'Would it always come back to this?' There was nothing for it but to carry on now, try to make a joke of it. "It's hard to get a good night's death around here."
'No!' he chastised himself, silently, 'Stupid, STUPID, comment'. He took a breath. 'Let's try this again.'
"You can sit down," he told her, gesturing to the chair directly behind her. "I've got furniture." – another breath. 'God, this is like pulling teeth.' – "You should see the downstairs too, it's quite posh."
Buffy remained silent despite his outward and internal conversations. She just looked at him, and the tension rose again. He walked back to where he stood earlier, slowly, and then sat down across from her with a sigh. Still she just continued to look at him, expectantly.
"Uh," he began, knowing he couldn't run away from the real conversation any longer. "I do remember what I said. The promise, to protect her…
"If I'd have done that, even if I didn't make it, you wouldn't have had to jump."
He bowed his head a little, unable to meet her eyes for a moment.
"But I want you to know I did save you," he said, then – temporarily moving past his guilt enough to sound almost happy. "Not when it counted, of course, but after that. Every night after that…
"I could see it all again, and do somethin' different. Faster. More clever, y'know? Dozens of times, lots of different ways."
His voice broke a little as he admitted out loud for the first time, the thoughts he'd kept hidden all summer, "Every night I save you."
She knew then, without any reservations, that that's what she wanted – no, needed – him to do: save her each night, now that she was drowning and didn't have the strength to swim to shore.
"Spike," she whispered, looking up at him with tired eyes, and face of apprehension. "Tell me you love me."
His eyes widened, and his un-beating heart swelled. "I… I love you. You know I do."
"Tell me you want me."
"I always want you," he admitted, despite his brain screaming at him that this was a trap. A dream.
They both cried, then. This is what she was searching for – a place in the world – and someone to share it with. Someone who adored her and would never leave – despite everything.
"Will you," she said, hesitantly. "Will you just hold me?"
He was speechless, but his body moved into action. Automatically going to comfort her, and wrap her in his arms. He took her downstairs and they lay together for a long time; not making love that night, but after that. Every night after that. They were inseparable. He never let her go again.