AN: Buffy's already been dead and resurrected. She's not happy about it either. Angel called her and asked to see her. She met with him, and has just returned to Sunnydale and come to find Spike.

There she stood.

He had answered the door, never expecting it to be her. Never expecting a visit with Angel to be so short. God knows last time the poofter came to town there was practically a bloody parade and then she was gone for the whole sodding next day. He had figured for her to be gone a good long while, and to come back with no need of him, Spike, the vampire in second place.

But here she stood. She had knocked so softly he had figured Dawn for his visitor. He hadn't told Buffy about how he and Dawn had sometimes sat up all night, watching the Buffybot charge, trying desperately to imagine it was really her. Dawn was the only one who understood. But now with Buffy back, alive but certainly not kicking, Dawn was more fragile than ever. And Spike didn't want Buffy to know.

Buffy was standing there, staring at him, her eyes filled with tears, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, as if she was trying to hold herself together in one piece.

"Spike," she whimpered, her chin shaking, the tears finally spilling over as she stepped into his crypt and sank to the floor, curled into a ball, rocking herself slightly.

Spike shut the door. And then he didn't know what to do. Sit down beside her and put his arm around her? Or just continue to stand there, hands in pockets, and wait for her to say something?

"What can I do?" He finally asked, when she hadn't moved for a few minutes. These last couple weeks with Buffy had been…indescribable. He knew he was the only thing holding her together and God help him he would not fuck it up.

"Angel," she whispered.

Did she think somehow that he was Angel? She hadn't exactly been Miss Sanity Fair since she'd been back. No, that was horrible to even think.

"Angel," she whispered, obviously trying again, "He and I. It was…"

"Terrible," he supplied hopefully. She snorted and laughed through her tears at the obvious hope in his voice, which only made her shake her head ruefully and then cry harder.

"Yes," she admitted, and then, "And no."

Spike finally sat down beside her and ran a soothing hand down her back. When she didn't object he continued to stroke her hair, working out the tangles, waiting for her to speak again.

"We met at this place…it's just a spot along the road, a little look out. But it's exactly half-way. We had planned to meet there…not just this time, but before, when he left…turned out he didn't need me like I thought he did."

She swallowed a fresh lump in her throat at that and then took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh,

"Anyway, water under the bridge, or over it or whatever. It was dark when he got there, obviously. He saw…I mean he knew…that I was…the way I am."

Spike nodded. And for the first time since she'd arrived she looked him straight in the eyes.

"I asked him to kill me."

"What?" Spike asked, alarmed.

"I…we were…I mean we started to. And he said he could feel it, feel his soul, burning, falling away. And I…I said he was useless, that he couldn't give me even…in that moment, Spike, with him inside me, it was Heaven."

Spike felt his chest tightening, longing to pull her into his arms and give her that Heaven. But he knew it wasn't his to give.

"What happened next?" Spike asked, dreading the answer.

"I said I was in Heaven. And I begged him to send me back there. If he couldn't give me even the basest consolation, to let me go home instead."

Spike's eyes overflowed with tears and suddenly she was in his arms, and he wasn't entirely sure how she got there, only that she was soft, and warm, and holding onto him for dear life.

"He wouldn't even look at me, Spike. He wouldn't even look at me," she sobbed into his neck.

He brushed away his tears with one hand and then grabbed her chin.

"Look at me, love," he demanded low.

She resisted, but his hand was insistent.

"Look at me," he ordered softly.

Almost defiantly she lifted her face to look into his eyes.

"I'm looking at you," he said in a whisper.

She swallowed, and he could see the fear growing in her eyes. She wasn't ready for this. She wasn't ready to face anything she could see written on his face. She was terrified, but there were worse fears than this, she realized. This was what she needed, she thought, as she pulled herself up. She would get back there, she promised herself as she pressed her lips gently to his.

She drew back and whispered against his lips, "Let me go home."

He froze but she kissed him again, fiercely this time.

"No, love, I can't do that," Spike said roughly, holding her back.

"Come on," she ordered through gritted teeth, pulling an arm free from his grip and smacking him across the face.

"No," he repeated quietly, and pinned her arms to her sides again.

"I can't live like this," she screamed at him. This time it was he who hit her. Hard across the mouth, hard enough that she fell to the stone floor.

"You will live like this, I will make you live like this," he replied, and scooped her back up into his lap again.

"Spike, please," she begged. He could see her fighting with herself. Half of her ashamed to be begging, and the other half completely helpless against it.

"I wouldn't be that selfish, Buffy."

A confused frown crossed her face at that. He smiled; she was so adorable when she was upset. He traced a finger over her lips. Oh what he wouldn't give to be able to give her back her home, her Death. He would do anything to make her happy.

"If it was just for me I'd kill you now. I'd be making love to you and just when you were coming I'd drain you, and you'd die in Heaven with a smile on your face," he murmured, "But this isn't about me. It's about Dawn. And a promise you made to her when you jumped through that portal. And a promise I made to you about taking care of her."

She was silenced by that, his words ringing with all the clarity of truth. All she could do then was to curl into his chest, her forehead tucked against his neck, and pray for the strength to drag herself off the floor, and go back home to the friends who loved her.