Author Note: This fic ignores everything from the Buffy Season Eight Comics
Part One (Teaser)
"Dancing. Why did it have to be dancing?" Angel griped.
Ignoring him, Spike said to the bartender, "You speak English, Love?"
The bartender nodded, also ignoring the sulking Angel. "Si, si. I love the English."
Spike flashed her a smile. "We'll get along fine, then."
"We're looking for a girl," Angel butted in. "American. Blond hair. Blue eyes."
"Green."
Angel turned to Spike. "What?"
"Buffy. She has green eyes, you idiot."
"No, she– really?"
Spike rolled his eyes and went back to ignoring the elder vampire, turning to the bartender once more. "She's in trouble. This ponce called The Immortal is–"
"Ah, si. Si," she replied, interrupting as she looked out into the crowd. "The Immortal's new ragazza. They come, while ago… there!" she pointed, and both Angel and Spike looked.
There she was, dancing; hair flying all around her and the light bouncing off it, reminding Spike of a halo.
The sight took his breath away and acted like a homing beacon all at once. He was walking towards her on autopilot, like a moth to a flame, before he had time to think and before Angel had time to say anything else.
It was like an echo of a lifetime before, circling her on the edge of the dance floor as she let loose in the middle of it. This time, though, he didn't stay on the edge.
Walking straight up to Buffy, Spike put a hand on her shoulder, deliriously happy to be fully corporeal again.
"Buffy," he said, and she turned around…
