Disclaimer, etc as on first chapter.

A/N: First and foremost – SORRY FOR THE DELAY! This is what happens when we lose first drafts…

To all those who are curious after the last chapter: I have indeed met the fabulous James Marsters. SFX magazine's first convention was in June and he was their star guest along with Emma Caulfield and several "Farscape", "Star Trek", "Roswell", "Mutant X" and other scifi peeps. I didn't get to meet Emma, but I did get hugged by James. Twice. He's very cuddly. He's also a very nice bloke.

Anyway, on with the fic, now I'm done making you all horribly jealous ;) More Spuffy for y'all, and Xander comes back from the hospital. And thank you to everyone who helped me reach those 100 reviews. This is a first for me. Just keep them coming, and maybe I can reach 150 =)

Oh yes. I am what is known in the trade as a 'fluffbeast' *points to sign over head to prove it*. So prepare for fluff. Consider it a thank you for the 100 reviews :D

Chapter Eighteen

Due to the harrowing experience of the night before, everyone slept in late the next morning; Willow and Dawn, especially, had slept into the early afternoon. Giles had stayed with Xander at the hospital, and called that morning (to Dawn's irritation as he'd woken her up) to say that Xander had been checked over and would be allowed out later that afternoon. Knowing how slow hospital discharge tended to be, Buffy gave them until the evening. After Giles' call, she'd found it impossible to go back to sleep and had busied herself with attempting to clear up the debris of the lounge and surrounding rooms.

Most of it was a write-off, especially the stair-rail, which would probably need to be professionally mended. She figured Xander could probably fix the sofa and the broken coffee table. One of the chairs in the dining room had gotten overturned, but was still intact. The same was more or less true of the kitchen, although the varnish on the door had seen better days. Most of the carnage was, in fact, broken ornaments on the floor. Some of them, she noted, had been her mother's favourites; she managed to retrieve most of the larger pieces of the majority of them, but some were definitely beyond redemption. Somewhat sadly, she'd had to throw them away.

The photograph that Spike had so lovingly admired – but Buffy didn't know this – was about the only thing that was still intact, having managed to escape the battle by some miracle. Most of the other photos had ended up with their frames cracked or smashed, but at least they were easily replaceable.

Buffy finished sweeping up the smaller debris. She fought down a shudder at the memory of finding her best friend and her… whatever Spike was, seemingly frozen in time on the floor. She'd woken up hoping it was a dream, but the state of the living room proved horribly otherwise. With a sigh, she placed the salvaged ornaments on the mantelpiece with the photographs, and went to put the broom away. Dawn, typically, had left it out; it belonged in the basement.

Without thinking, she opened the door and headed down to put the broom away in its corner. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs when she remembered that Spike was still asleep down there, and tiptoed quietly past him as she put it away. Just as she was about to head back up to the kitchen, there was a soft, practically inaudible moan from the direction of the cot. Against her better judgement, and damning herself all the while, she walked over to see if Spike was all right.

For all intents and purposes, he appeared to be fine, and deeply asleep – although, with vampires, one could never tell. Buffy stood over him for a few seconds. He was silent. She was just beginning to think that perhaps she'd imagined it, when there was another moan, this time slightly louder. Sighing, Buffy pulled up a box of old school junk and sat down on it to watch over him, only for a while.

Spike had perfected a way of not letting the soul and his new conscience bother him during the day, by distracting himself. At night, however, the memories came as strongly as they had when he'd been granted the soul, and they manifested themselves as nightmares. By the somewhat anguished look on his face, they were obviously horrific – considering that they were hellishly recreated images of Spike's own previous deeds, however, this was no surprise – and he began to roll around on the cot. Several times he almost fell off.

Buffy didn't know what to do for the best. If she woke him, he'd probably be embarrassed that she'd seen him like it. If she didn't wake him up, then she'd have no choice but to sit there and make sure he didn't damage himself. Noticing that the blanket Dawn had procured for him had escaped to the floor, she conceded that 'tucking him in' was the best she could manage at this particular moment.

She covered him carefully so as not to accidentally aggravate his stab wound – she refused to refer to it as a stake wound – and then sat back again. He seemed to calm for a moment, sensing her presence while he dreamt. Then, the nightmare took hold again and his expression reflected it. The hollow, remorseful look on his face, the one she'd seen only briefly on his return, was mirrored even in sleep. It pained her to see him so helpless. Dreams were the one thing Buffy couldn't fight.

Lately, Spike was making her feel things, things that she'd managed to ignore before he came back. Right now, she had more important things to deal with - such as what could be another impending apocalypse situation - than how she felt about Spike. That could wait until after they'd stopped the Magic.

Absently, not completely aware of what she was doing, Buffy brushed a stray and slightly blood-stained strand of hair away from his forehead; in the back of her mind, she realised she probably should have offered him the use of the shower, even if he'd refused. She doubted he'd want to go anywhere near her bathroom for a while, but at least the offer would have been there. She continued to absently run a hand through his hair while she thought. Remembering, against her better judgement, what had happened, it barely seemed like the same Spike. His ordeal in Africa had changed him far beyond the gaining of a soul.

She came back to reality with a mental bang and pulled herself out of her thoughts, looking down to find him sleeping peacefully again. 'Let me rest in peace…' she thought, with a smile. Their all-singing, all-dancing escapade had proven more than they'd realised. And maybe Spike had been right when he'd told her he needed her. Even when he didn't know she was there, she'd calmed him. Buffy couldn't help feeling slightly proud of that.

He opened his eyes, and she stopped her hand to save herself embarrassment, even though she got the distinct impression he'd been awake for a while. He looked up at her briefly, then closed his eyes again, and muttered, "Don't stop. 'Snice."

"No need," she said, removing the hand completely and returning it to her lap, "now the dreams have stopped."

Spike opened his eyes again and sat up, looking confused. "Dreams? What dreams?"

"You don't remember?" He shook his head. "Oh. Well, that's probably for the best…"

There was an empty pause. "Xander back yet?"

"No. Not 'til later, I think."

"How'd the talk go with him?"

"I don't know. He's genuinely sorry, though. Actually, I think he's shaken that he managed to… uh…" She couldn't bring herself to say it.

"Stake me?" supplied Spike.

Buffy nodded. At least he was more comfortable with his near-death experience than she was. "How are you feeling?"

When Spike recovered from the fact that she still seemed to be concerned for his well-being (having put the first time down to the sheer shock of finding him like she did), he said, "Um… still smarts a bit. It'll heal."

"Oh, that's it," she said, remembering something that had been bugging her. "I meant to ask – why didn't the chip kick in? And no cracks about Xander not being human…"

"I think…" pondered Spike, "it was because Xander wanted me to fight him. He just stood there and asked me to fight back, willingly, and it was enough to confuse the chip. The only other thing I can figure is that the technology's gettin' glitches after all this time."

That made sense to Buffy. After a while, all technology, no matter how advanced it was, ended up with problems. Either that or the chip had always had that particular design fault and nobody had thought to find out. Of course, there was always the possibility that one day the chip would merely fail to work, having served its time – presumably, the Initiative were intending to starve to death any vampire they installed it in, and it had been an accident that Spike had discovered he could harm anything non-human. Buffy wondered briefly what might happen if Spike could kill again.

Spike broke through the silence. "How's Red?"

"What?" asked Buffy, starting.

"I said, how's Willow?"

"Oh… I don't know, she's not up yet. But I'm sure she's fine. Thanks for… you know… being there for her. Last night."

"It was the least I could do," he said. "After she patched me up."

"Yeah…" The air between them was getting decidedly awkward, and Buffy knew why. It was her fault. She'd hugged him last night, which, in Spike's current emotional state, hadn't been a good idea. She'd also kissed him. That definitely hadn't been a good idea. She'd done what she promised herself she wouldn't do when he came back – given him hope. Even though they'd more or less reconciled, and she was more than willing to offer her friendship – especially right now, when they all needed him – she got the distinct impression that Spike wanted more. He still wanted the love she couldn't bring herself to give.

They'd both been staring at anything but each other for some time. The words Buffy had overheard the night before – Spike's heartfelt confession to Willow about how he felt – were ringing through her ears. 'She's my whole life… I'd let her be my death… she makes me feel like what I was…' Suddenly, it all made sense.

The entire time she'd been with Spike, it had all felt horribly familiar, for a reason she couldn't figure out. But, sitting as she was with him in front of her, a memory struck from two years ago. When Willow's ill-cast 'I-will-it-so' spell had gone awry, she'd loved him. She'd even agreed to spend the rest of her life with him, and it had seemed right… better than right, in fact.

She was constantly telling herself and her friends – and Spike – that she didn't love him. What scared her was that she remembered what it felt like to love him, and she could sense that same feeling sweeping over her the longer he was around. Moreover, she remembered what it was like to have Spike love her, and, even under the influence of the spell, it was exactly the same. Everything was the same – they argued over pathetic, petty things, Buffy's friends didn't approve, and with a single kiss, she could forget why she was supposed to hate him.

Buffy was, essentially, scared. The part of her brain that kept telling her being with Spike was wrong no longer functioned. Being with Angel had overridden it because he'd had a soul. Now, Spike had a soul. He was 'good', too. For all intents and purposes, she had no reason to hate him any more, and that terrified her. She also knew that anyone who ever loved her – and anyone she'd ever loved back – had a tendency to leave. Her father. Her mom. Angel. Giles; admittedly, he'd come back, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he left again. Spike, so far, had been the only one who, despite leaving, had come back… but that didn't guarantee he wouldn't leave again. She had no way of knowing for sure if, by giving Spike her heart, he would mangle it like everyone else did.

What she'd told Giles was true – she wanted to love Spike. It was no longer a matter of not being able to; she was too scared to allow herself the luxury. Those 'three little words' were all he needed to hear… but to Buffy, they were like an automatic cue for him to walk away from her.

Her thoughts turned to the situation in hand. They all needed his help (and, more to the point, his deSoto to use in order to get everyone across town) in Buffy's upcoming plan. She needed him to protect Dawn, as always. And Spike would agree, unquestioningly. And, being Spike, he'd inevitably end up getting himself hurt; in his currently weakened state, he could even get himself killed if he wasn't careful.

They'd both been staring at the floor for some time, so they wouldn't have to look at each other. Buffy suddenly got the urge to look up, hoping to examine his eyes. Undoubtedly, she could always see the love there (and dreaded it, more often than not), but she was searching for some flicker of doubt, anything that might indicate it was at all possible he could stop loving her. If she found that, if there was hope of him losing interest, then she wouldn't have to worry about the fact that, despite all of her better judgement, she was starting to fall in love with him…

Just as she thought this, she tried to divert her attention elsewhere. Unfortunately, the only thing in her direct line of vision was Spike, who was still staring at the ground. Absently, she noticed the cut on his forehead, already healing, and it set off a chain reaction of thoughts. He'd got the cut in the fight with Xander. The fight with Xander had resulted in him being staked. It had started because Xander was still mad at Spike. It wouldn't have started at all, had Buffy not told Spike to meet her at the house… and, if he did get himself hurt or killed when they fought the Magic, that would be Buffy's fault, too.

Unconsciously, she began to reach out to the cut, not entirely certain why. Her fingers grazed it only slightly, causing Spike to jerk his head up in surprise at the brief contact. She recoiled immediately. Completely by accident, their gazes met, and she searched for that elusive flicker of doubt she was counting on to be her saviour. All she saw was her own reflection, the pain neither of them could fight, and love so deep she was drowning in it.

Buffy dropped her head, and suddenly, tears were trailing down her cheeks against her will. Spike, surprised by the sob she failed to conceal, looked briefly confused.

"Buffy?" he asked, softly, trying to get her attention. She didn't answer, only shook her head as if to block him out. He tried again. "Buffy? Look at me…" When he still couldn't illicit a response, he physically lifted her chin with one hand to force her look in his direction. "What is it, pet? What's wrong?"

She blinked at him, then averted her gaze to her hands. "Don't wanna lose you again…" she mumbled.

"You're not going to," he reassured her. "I'm not going anywhere."

His words apparently didn't register. "They all leave."

"Who all leave?"

"Everyone," she said. "Everyone… they say they love me, then they're gone."

He understood, realising with some sadness that she was right. "Well… I'm not everyone…" Releasing her chin, he grasped both of her hands in his. Her flow of tears seemed to have subsided, at least for the moment, but her thoughts were still tumultuous as she looked at him again.

"God," she said, looking him over with some curiosity, "I'm going to get you killed…"

"What?"

She scoffed at his stupidity. "You nearly died last night, Spike… because of me. And you could get hurt – badly – because I've asked you to help." She wrenched free of his grasp. "Get out of here. For your own good…"

He almost laughed, had he not realised how serious she was. "Buffy-"

"I'm serious. I know, I said I needed your help, but… forget I mentioned it. I don't need you for this."

"But-"

"You said to me yourself, that thing skinned a vamp, for no apparent reason. I don't want to risk it. Just… go to your crypt and stay there."

"No. You're not getting rid of me that easily. I'm going to help. Whatever it takes."

Buffy sighed; she knew she was never going to convince him to leave. "I can't keep doing this – putting everyone at risk. That's why a Slayer is meant to work alone. I'm going to get you all killed…"

Spike placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Maybe you will, one day. But it's either us or you. Buffy, if you hadn't had your friends around, you might not even be sittin' here today."

"Oh, yeah, and they all do it because they love me so much, right?" she asked, somewhat mockingly.

"No," he said, smiling, "they do it because they're bloody idiots with death wishes." That raised a small smile. "I do it because I love you." He cautiously moved the hand from her shoulder to her cheek. "Enough to risk everything…"

Tears stung her eyes again, as more memories of Willow's spell came unbidden to her brain, with the familiar feeling of Spike being the be-all and end-all of her universe. Quietly, staring at him the whole time, still searching for even the smallest amount of doubt in his eyes, she said, "Say you love me again…"

Failing completely to conceal the hope in his expression, he wiped the single tear from her cheek with a thumb. "I love you…"

She stared at him numbly for several seconds. Then, before she knew what was happening, or what she was doing, she found herself leaning closer. Her lips brushed against his and she tasted her own tears (or were they Spike's, too?) and blood from his split lip. The brief contact was all it took. He knew it was a bad idea, but he instantly responded in kind, pulling her closer, off the box she was sitting on, and practically into his lap. The kiss was of relief, from too long apart, and Buffy continued to silently cry, tears coursing down her cheeks as it deepened.

"Buffy? Are you up? Anyone?"

They broke apart at the sound of Giles' voice calling from the front door, and Buffy leapt to her feet, looking at the door to the kitchen in a state of panic. She wiped her eyes hastily and scrabbled away from Spike, staring at him in brief horror before fleeing to the relative safety of the main part of the house.

Spike watched the open door, and listened to the distant voices in the lounge, in mild shock. Then, after a pause, he let out a quiet curse, punched the cot in frustration, and violently kicked the box into a corner.

Buffy straightened her clothes self-consciously as she entered the living room to greet Giles. Xander was with him, his left arm in a sling, but otherwise unscathed except for the bruises she'd seen the previous night.

"Ah, there you are," said Giles. "Where is everyone?"

"Still in bed, I should think. It was a pretty rough night." She headed to the bottom of the stairs and called up. "Dawn! Will! Anya! Scooby meeting in the dining room in ten minutes!" Neither Giles nor Xander questioned why she didn't call for Spike, too, but they figured he could probably hear from the basement.

The three of them moved to the dining room to wait for the others. Buffy hovered by the door while the other two sat down. Eventually, the other three occupants of the house meandered downstairs to join them. Dawn, momentarily disappointed that Spike hadn't appeared yet, cast a disdainful glance at Xander and sat as far away from him as possible. Willow smiled supportively, understanding that he hadn't been entirely aware of his actions at the time, and looked sympathetic when she saw the sling. She sat next to him. Anya gave a nervous smile and sat opposite Giles.

Spike, as yet, still hadn't emerged from the basement, and Buffy was starting to worry about him. She didn't know what had possessed her to kiss him, but whatever level their friendship was at, she'd probably just ruined it. She decided it would be best to go and check on him.

"I'll be right with you, guys. Let me just go get Spike." There was a murmur of acknowledgement as she left the room, heading back towards the basement. She didn't go down there, just stood at the top of the steps and called down. "Spike?" He didn't reply, but she heard shuffling in the semi-dark. She sighed impatiently. "Come on, everyone's waiting for you." There was a crash, one that sounded distinctly annoyed, and then he emerged. He pushed past her without a word and headed towards the dining room.

She caught up with him at the threshold to the kitchen and grabbed his arm to stop him. He whirled around to face her, his expression hurt and angry. "Unless it's a matter of life or death, Slayer, I don't want to hear it." With that, he wrenched his arm free of her grasp.

"I'm sorry…" she managed to say as he walked off, stopping him in his tracks momentarily.

Without turning, he said, "I know. But you're only sorry for your own weakness. Next time you want some cold comfort, try somewhere else." He turned slightly, adding, "I'm done. I'll help you, but that's it. You can either admit that you love me, or leave me alone."

He walked off without another word, leaving a shocked Buffy in his wake…

To be continued…

Okay… so the plan will be next chapter… I wanted something resembling a cliffhanger for the ending… But hey, at least you had some fluff! Review please; I've got a craving…