Spike woke with a start, when a sudden movement left the chill night air washing over his previously warm body. He stared blindly into the blackness, attempting to determine where he was and what had woken him.

"Spike?"

Right. Of course. Buffy's room.

Her voice echoed from some feet over. "Spike… Why are you in my bed?"

With a glance at the clock, Spike sat up and swung his legs over the side, trying to locate Buffy in the gloom. He'd expected to have this conversation, but not at five in the morning, when inky darkness surrounded them. Then again, maybe it would easier this way.

"I needed to talk to you."

Buffy was silent, and he could see the faint outline of her body as she moved towards her desk and sat. "You know, they make these things called phones. People use them to talk to me during daylight hours. From somewhere other than my bed. Tends to lower the creepiness factor. Unless you do the whole heavy breathing thing, which, honestly, I really don't recommend."

He fidgeted, not sure how to explain himself. "Problem is, over the phone's not the best way to have a proper heart-to-heart. See…" He blew out a breath, and plowed ahead. "Look. I wanted to talk to you last night, but you'd scarpered off… And then you were asleep-"

"So you figured, what? You'd just climb into bed with me? Seems like a pretty big liberty, regardless of what happened earlier. Just because we fucked for old time's sakes-"

"No we bloody well didn't!"

"I was there, Spike. You and me, we got groiny… unless you have a twin I hooked up with in my old office. Hey, maybe a geeky poet type? Somebody who goes by the name of William? You don't happen to know him, do you?"

He clenched her bed sheets in his fists, trying to stay calm despite the torrent of emotions brought on by her callous needling. "So that's all it was to you? A quick tumble, scratch an itch, send me on my merry way again?"

"You know, it really doesn't matter. It was a mistake, okay? We got caught up in the moment. So, you don't have to pretend to spare my feelings, or whatever this is."

As Buffy spoke, he rose and moved closer, until he could dimly make out the features of her face. The slight tremble in her voice told him she wasn't as calm as she was trying to project. He knelt before her and took hold of her hand. "Why does it have to be a mistake?"

"I know casual sex doesn't bother you, Spike. But I'm not that girl, remember?"

"Nothing casual 'bout earlier. And maybe if you'd stuck around, listened to my side for a change…" Buffy took her hand back and stood. She moved past him, to pace her room, and he swiveled to follow her with his eyes. She was pulling away from him. Blocking him out. Again. Spike set his jaw. "Can we talk things through, for once? I think you owe me that."

Buffy came to a standstill in front of him. "Owe you? What exactly do I owe you? I – Oh…" She took the chair again. "You're right." Her voice was oddly penitent, and again Spike wished he could see her expression more clearly. "After all you've done for us. Please… say your piece."

Spike frowned. "What? No, that's not why. Buffy, the money, everything… it's freely given. I don't want you to feel obligated to me because of it."

"Kind of hard not to."

"Well, don't," he snapped. They both were silent, and Spike considered getting up and leaving. Giving up. Because she obviously wasn't about to make this any easier for him. But even so, he couldn't help but feel comforted by her proximity, couldn't help wanting to be near her. And Spike wasn't the type to give up easily. "Buffy," he said, trying to gentle his voice. "I only meant as one friend to another. As someone who once cared for me. Hear me out for a change."

He could hear her swallow, and then in a quiet voice, she said, "You're right. Go on."

Spike reached for her hand again, using the moment to gather his thoughts. "I had ice cream, you know. Back at the club. Thought a little Phish Food would make this go smoother." His plan had been to remind her of better times, of how freely they'd spoken to each other while sitting on the edge of the stage and sharing a pint of Ben and Jerry's at the end of the evening. He'd hoped the familiar setting would make it easier for them to do the same once more, but the opportunity was lost now.

"What… really? When did you go get ice cream?"

"This afternoon."

"Well, that was kind of presumptuous of you. How did you know we were going to… Oh," Buffy said. "I think I just figured something out."

Leaning up onto his knees, Spike peered through the shadows and caught a hint of the turmoil etched on her face. "That this has nothing to do with us shagging? That me wanting to be with you now would've happened either way, because I missed the woman I love?"

Buffy jerked, and burst into tears. "That's n-not what you said earlier." The hitching of her chest making her muffled words hard to understand.

At a loss, he pulled her to him, onto his lap, and rocked her while she cried. "What do you mean?" he asked when she quieted, completely baffled by her response.

She shook her head against his shoulder. "Doesn't matter."

"Have a feeling it does. Please, Buffy, let's not do this. I'm so tired of dancing 'round what we really want to say. Feels like you've been holding back as much as I know I have, these past weeks." When she stayed quiet, he added, "Tell me what you meant."

She buried her head into the crook of his neck. "You said 'this'. When we were… You said you missed 'this'. Not me. I thought you meant sex. Just sex. And I thought – I thought it didn't mean anything to you."

He held her quietly, unable to think of a response, wounded by how little she thought of him. But when she tried to pull away, he tightened his embrace and found the words he needed. "Not going to pretend that doesn't sting. Because it does. There's some part of me what hopes you know me better than to think I could do such a thing to you. And maybe it's my fault you don't." The first faint tendrils of dawn had crept into the room, allowing him to see her tear-streaked face when he pulled back to look into her eyes. "But you listen to me. You could never be a casual shag. Told you long ago. Every time I'm with you, I'm making love to you, and it holds true now as much as it did then. This is what I've been waiting to tell you all night. You're still everything to me. And I was a fool to give up on us. I've missed you every day since."

Buffy raised her hand to ghost a finger along his lower lip, her eyes soft and questioning. "You have?"

"Every second of every day."

"Oh, Spike." Her fluttering hand found the back of his neck and tangled in his hair, and she stretched up to kiss him, her lips as ephemeral upon his as her fingertip had been moments earlier.

"Does this mean you missed me too?"

"Missing you has never been the issue."

"So… what does it mean? For us?" Buffy ducked her head against the crook of his neck once more, fingers playing with the hairs at his nape. "Love? Is there still something there? Something worth fighting for?"

Buffy had drifted into consciousness slowly, reluctant to leave behind the cocoon of warmth and peace that had enveloped her, until she'd been thrust into full alertness by the realization that she wasn't alone in her bed. She'd scrambled out from under the arm holding her close, heart pounding in terror until she'd determined it was Spike in her bed.

Which was only slightly less wig-worthy.

And now he was asking her the very question she'd wanted to ask him earlier in the night, and though Buffy wanted to scream Yes! at the top of her lungs, she found herself saying something entirely different.

"It wouldn't be fair."

"Huh now?"

Being wrapped in his arms made it too hard to think clearly, so she removed herself from his embrace and perched on the edge of her chair once more. The room was light enough she could see the blue of his eyes now, and the swirling emotions within. He was so beautiful. So loving. Buffy wanted him to be loved the way he deserved.

"My first reaction tonight? Was to not trust you… I automatically believed the worst, and I ran. Again. Honestly, Spike, you deserve better than what I can give you. You deserve better than me."

"Don't want better than you." He shook his head. "And that came out wrong. You're daft, Buffy, if you think I could ever want anybody other than you."

"But maybe you should. Maybe I'm too, I don't know. Broken. To love you properly. To trust you again."

"Buffy…"

"I'm serious, Spike."

He tipped his head. "I hear you. But I don't agree. You're scared, I get it. I'm scared too," he said with a crooked smile. "You have the power to destroy me completely. Already have, in some ways."

"And that's why-"

"But love is worth it. Worth that leap of faith. It'll bring more joy than either of us'll ever know alone. More potential for heartache, but more joy too. And I know you have that love in you." He reached up to place a hand over her heart, palm flat, fingers splayed. "I know I screwed up, Buffy. I know I don't deserve your trust or your love. But you can love. I've seen the way you love your friends. Your family. I've seen your heart, and it's not broken. It's big, and beautiful, and whoever you finally give it to will be the luckiest bloke in the world."

She swallowed heavily, her heart thudding against her ribs, against his hand, and wondered if he was right. Could she love him properly, if only she dared try?

Spike stood and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. "Just hope it'll be me when the time comes."

Buffy leapt to her feet. "Wait. Are – are you leaving?"

"Is there a reason for me to stay?"

And there it was. The six-million dollar question. Spike had made his feelings plain, given her the words she'd longed to hear, and now it was time for her to do the same. Again, she found herself saying something different from what she'd intended. "I – I don't know." Buffy hadn't expected Spike to be so easily convinced – or rather, to be the one trying to convince her. She'd fallen asleep thinking he no longer loved her, and woken to him in her bed, as though he'd never left it. Holding her close and professing his love the same as he'd once done, easily and freely. She'd doubted him and believed the worst of him even as she wanted him back, and no matter what he said, Buffy couldn't shake the feeling that he deserved better than her. That trying again would only break them both.

Spike had moved to her door, and he stood there now, his hand upon the handle. "I tried to forget about you," he said. "Couldn't. Doubt I ever will. But much as I've loved talking to you these last few weeks, it's been torture. Because I know what we could have. What I've lost. And I don't think I can do casual anymore, kitten. I want the whole package with you. If I can't have it… then you need to tell me, so I can try to move on with my life." He paused, eyes trained on her, awaiting a response that wasn't forthcoming.

He turned the handle and still Buffy remained frozen, unwilling to let him go but terrified of putting her trust in him when he had broken her heart once already. The door opened. With a tortured cry, she raced to his side and then halted, unable to take the last step. Spike smiled ruefully at her inability, a tiny, disappointed nod acknowledging his understanding.

"Tell you what. Maybe I'll come back after my tour ends, and we can suss it out then. See where things stand in a few weeks, yeah?"

She'd let him go. He'd offered her everything she wanted, heart on his sleeve, and she had let him leave without even a sliver of hope.

Buffy tried to blame it on the early hour, or maybe the unexpectedness of the situation, but deep in her heart, she knew the truth. She'd failed. Spike could say whatever he wanted about her ability to love, but the proof was in the pudding, wasn't it?

Alone at the gallery, she stared sightlessly ahead, her mind a million miles away from the shipment of figurines she was supposed to be arranging on the display shelves. Joyce was due to arrive in an hour. She'd begun coming into the gallery for a few hours a day as her treatment progressed, the cancer seemingly in remission, but Buffy still insisted on handling all physical labor. She shook away her thoughts and hefted one of the bronze pieces, managing to set it on the top shelf before she lost herself in her musings once more.

Part of her still wished Spike hadn't turned out to be William, because then she could have continued to hold William in a special place in her heart, untouched by the pain of betrayal. He could have remained the bittersweet memory of what might have been with a man who had been her secret ideal for years. But that perfection had been tarnished by the reality of Spike and his secrets. Now his memory was a reminder of Spike's lies. Buffy shifted the bronze horse over an inch, wondering what might have happened if William had been the version to come to Sunnydale, rather than Spike. She missed the gentle, honorable, well-bred young poet she'd met in Flagstaff. She missed the brash, sexy-as-hell punk too, perhaps even more so, and Buffy found herself trying to reconcile the two versions of the same man, both of whom had stolen her heart despite being diametric opposites.

If only Spike hadn't kept William a secret from her.

Of course, he didn't seem to lie anymore – seem being the key word, and the crux of the problem. That she felt the need to qualify his honesty meant she didn't yet trust in it. On the other hand, Spike was so devoted to telling the truth now, she sometimes wished he'd stop being so honest.

But could she trust him?

A second horse joined the first. For a year now, she'd tried to understand how William and Spike could be one and the same. Physically, it was obvious, but personality-wise… Buffy wished could meet William again. Compare the two. See if the fantasy held up to reality. She had the vague idea that if she could see Spike choose to behave as William once more, rather than hide that side of his personality away from her, it would somehow help her to overcome her mistrust of him. Of course, Spike was off on tour right now, and would be for several more weeks, which meant her wish would go unfulfilled.

Buffy wondered if he intended to contact her before then. It had been a week since he'd walked out of her room in the early morning hours, and there'd been no word from him since, her only updates coming from the band's websites. A dozen times a day, she reached for her phone to call him, but always ended up chickening out. What if she'd driven him away for good this time?

As she lifted the final figurine out of the straw-stuffed crate, Buffy had a sudden thought. There was, in a way, a chance to see the two sides of his personality. Both Spike and William. Through the emails he'd sent her last year. The long, soul-baring emails she'd ignored so long, she'd somehow forgotten them. If the rest were similar to the first two she'd read, then maybe Buffy could find gallant, poetry-loving William within.

In her room later that night, Buffy shut her laptop, eyes dry. She'd cried herself silly several times over already, most notably when she'd read the lines of poetry he'd written for her. Poetry that was rough, but as heartfelt as his prose.

She was done crying now, done waffling. Perhaps she should have realized it sooner, but Spike was William. The gentle poet had been there all along, hidden in plain sight beneath the bleach and attitude. How she had missed it, Buffy had no clue, but it was plain as day in his words and actions. William had attracted her with his sweet, thoughtful, gallant persona, and despite the brash punk re-packaging, Spike – once he'd quit drinking – had displayed all the same characteristics. William had seemed to admire the strength of her convictions, and so had his punk alter ego. Spike had believed in her and her ability to do her job, and been as proud of her accomplishments as she had been, much as William had been interested in Buffy and her schoolwork. As her boyfriend, he'd found small, thoughtful ways to improve her daily life without asking anything in return. Most telling, Spike had never pushed her for more than she'd been willing to give. Contrary to her expectations, he'd turned out to be courteous and doting, a perfect gentleman beneath the innuendo and snark.

Although she still wished he hadn't, Buffy understood now why he'd hidden himself from her, and why he'd lied. Now that she'd finally read his letters to her. She'd forgiven him long ago, but for the first time in a year, she began to feel as though she could also forget and move on.

With him.

As she readied herself for bed, one particular passage Spike had written stood out, repeating itself in her head while she brushed her teeth and climbed under the sheets.

You bring out all the best in me, Buffy. When I'm with you, I can believe in myself.

The thing of it was, Spike-slash-William did the same for her.

"Hey Giles. Mom's in the kitchen," Buffy said when she answered the door. "She said to make yourself comfortable and she'll be out soon." She trailed the older man into the living room, then settled on the couch next to him, making small talk until she found the courage to say, "Have you heard from Spike lately?"

Giles contemplated her before answering. "Just a brief note, here and there. Yourself?"

She downplayed her interest. "Oh, we've both been so busy. You know how it is. Maybe when his tour ends in a few weeks we'll have the chance to reconnect." She blinked, and with forced casualness added, "He mentioned anything about what he's going to do when it's over? Made plans to visit you, maybe?"

He removed his spectacles to polish them, cleaning them carefully and deliberately before answering. "Not that I am aware of. Of course, William can be rather impulsive with his decisions, and it may be that he'll decide to do so at the last moment." Giles replaced his glasses and offered Buffy a sympathetic smile. "I'm certain he'd welcome a call from you. If you were so inclined."

Buffy glanced towards the kitchen door, and seeing no sign of her mom, decided to take the risk of confiding in her one-time mentor. "I miss him, Giles. But I'm also…"

"Afraid?"

"Yeah."

"If it's any consolation, William regrets his choices immensely."

"I know. I get that." After a moment's hesitation, she said, "You know, I fell in love with William first. We didn't even spend an hour together, but I held a candle for him for years."

Giles leaned towards her. "Buffy, Spike is William, beneath it all. Just as I've always been Rupert Giles, no matter what moniker I've adopted or how I've comported myself."

She nodded. "I finally figured that out." With a rueful twist of her lips, she added, "I just wish he'd let me see it sooner."

Joyce interrupted, bustling out of the kitchen with a tea tray, and Buffy sprang to her feet. "Mom! You were supposed to let me carry it out."

"Nonsense. I'm not an invalid, sweetie. Not anymore." Her smile was bright and chipper. "I'm tired of being made to feel like I'm in my dotage."

"I suspect you'll never be properly capable of appearing old or infirm, but always be young and beautiful," Giles murmured, rising to take the tea tray. Buffy rolled her eyes and slipped upstairs, already forgotten by the lovebirds. Flopping backwards on her bed, she speculated on whether Giles was going to pop the question soon. She knew he'd planned to once her mother was stronger, and it appeared as though that day had arrived.

For a moment, she considered calling Willow or Dawn, both of whom had begun their fall semesters this week, but decided the time for thinking everything through and talking it over was gone. It was time for action.

She picked up the phone. "Hey Brad," she said when the Dingoes' booking agent answered. "I have a favor to ask."