Title: Hello Buffy

Spoilers: After Chosen

Summary: Spike struggles to find a way to say hello.

Spike spent most of Saturday and all of Sunday in Angel's office, staring blankly at the phone. Her cell phone number crumpled in his hand, his eyes vacant, his mind working a mile a minute.

Call her? What could he possibly say? Hey love, guess who? Or, Hey pet, guess we have yet another thing in common. Or his personal favorite, That heaven, it's some place isn't it?

Angel told him that she would be happy to hear from him. Angel told him that she was traveling all over the world looking for new Slayers and baking, whatever the hell that meant. She had called once since Spike's been back, and he could tell from Angel's side of the conversation that she was happy with her new life. She loved seeing the world and training the girls.

This was probably the happiest she had ever been, Spike knew. So what could he possibly accomplish by calling her? Would it make her even happier to know that he was back somehow, or would it bring back a flood of horrible memories better left alone?

I love you. No you don't. Who did he believe? Maybe she did love him, in her own way. But did that mean she needed the added burden he would surely introduce into her life? But God, he missed her. He missed everything about her, but it was her smile he missed most of all. Those final nights before he died, she had smiled at him often. Who needed heaven when he had that memory?

It was hard adjusting to this new life…this literally new life. He and Angel had declared an unsteady truce until they got to the bottom of his reappearance, and he was getting along with the rest of Angel's mates. The ex-watcher seemed particularly interested in Spike's experience, his soul, and well, whatever the fuck he was now. Not human, not vampire, not alive, not dead, just sitting in an office with the sun pouring on his face, staring at the phone like it was alive.

What harm could it do to call her, really? Just a quick "Hey, how ya doing?" He could assure her he was fine in LA, and that he just wanted to say hello, hear her voice. But what good could it do? From the sounds of it, she had made her peace with whatever happened between the two of them, and had moved on.

He remembered how he felt the first time he saw Buffy after she came back. He wanted to sing and shout, thought he was going to explode, happiness and joy, confusion, elation bubbling to the surface. And all he could do was stare at her. What if she only felt confusion, anger that he was back, even resentment? He could not deal with that. He just couldn't.

More than once, he reached for the receiver. Twice he actually dialed the first three numbers. Once he called the operator just to talk. Angel came in more than once, bringing him food. Spike stopped trying to explain that he wasn't hungry, at all, for anything. Nothing appealed to him, and he couldn't keep anything down. Angel was probably only checking on him. Making sure he didn't steal anything, most likely.

Hi, Buffy. It's me, I'm well, back. No, I don't know how, and neither does anybody else. I'm here with Angel…I just kinda showed up. No, I don't remember where I was before now, funny init?

Spike sighed and discarded that speech. He didn't want to lie to her, or make her think she had to rush to LA, or make her think he didn't need her. Fuck. He paced the room, glancing occasionally out the huge windows to downtown LA. Nice place. He wondered if he could walk down those sunny, bustling streets. He hadn't left Wolfram and Hart with their protected windows and ability to cater to his every need.

It occurred to him that if he wasn't quite a vampire anymore, he could just leave. No need to hang out around here all day. He was a big boy, he could take care of himself. He wouldn't have to put up with Angel, or worry about calling Buffy. He could start an entirely new life for himself somewhere far away. No more demons, no more slayers, no more vampires, no more apocalypses. He could join the nameless, faceless void of humanity, get a little apartment, and read poetry all day. He could probably find a job doing something somewhere. Billions of people survived every day, no reason he couldn't either.

Spike thought of his century plus of mayhem and murder, and knew that he had atoned for that. Going to Heaven pretty much proved that. He didn't need to continue to fight to seek redemption or anything else. It was entirely possible that he was sent back to Earth to fulfill some role, but nobody bothered to inform of him of what exactly that role was. How could he be expected to do anything more when he was completely ignorant?

A normal life…the kind that Buffy was always yearning for. Was it so bad that he was tired? Was it so awful that he really had no interest in killing anymore? Was it so terrible that he wanted to lead a quiet life without bloodshed and mayhem? Was it so wrong?

He sighed, yes it was. He should continue to help, if only because he could. He still had his strength, he had his knowledge, he knew what he was doing. Which goes back to the initial question: should he call Buffy? He could offer to help her, or he could stay and help Angel if she wanted.

Buffy, I know this is a surprise. Trust me, nobody is more surprised than me. But I showed up in LA a few weeks ago, and well, I thought you might want to know.

Would she? Spike shook his head. The only thing he ever brought her was pain and grief. He died for her so she could live and he would gladly do it again. If it made it easier for her to live without him there, then it was the least he could do. He only wanted to make sure she could live in the world she deserved with the life she wanted, and he had no place in that life. Not now, maybe not ever.

He dropped her number in the wastebasket by the side of the desk, and gave one last lingering look at the phone. Maybe on day. Maybe never. She had her chance to say goodbye, and it wouldn't be fair to force her to say hello again.

Spike turned off the light and shut the door behind him.