Buffy turned away from the wall, yanking the bright comforter over her head as she prolonged the minutes before she had to leave the warmth of her bed. Her head pounded as she nestled beneath the sea of blankets, clutching the white cotton sheets tightly around her shoulders. Slowly she pried open her eyes, grimacing as her headache swelled to a crescendo. "Ugh," she groaned, sitting up groggily, uneasily pushing aside the blankets. "What the hell did I drink last night?" The last thing Buffy remembered was inviting Spike into her apartment, the rest was a blur.

She bolted out of bed in a momentary panic, but nothing indicated that Spike took advantage of her drunken state; she was still in the same clothes from last night and her boots were leaning against her dresser. Buffy sat back down on the edge of her bed, her headache throbbing painfully with the sudden movement. Stretching her legs out along the cold floorboards, Buffy bent her body forward, slowly releasing the tight muscles in her back and shoulders. She stood up, extending her arms towards the ceiling as her back let out a satisfying series of pops.

Dropping her clothes in a pile on the floor, Buffy pulled her violet bathrobe around her shoulders. She didn't want to go into the living room and see if Spike was still in her apartment. Her entire body throbbed with tension and stiffness; she needed a long shower before she could even think about dealing with her platinum blonde vampire. Buffy didn't even bother to turn on the lights, through her half-closed eyes she could see well enough to maneuver through the hallway. She stumbled into the bathroom, turning the hot water up as high as it could go. Leaving her bathrobe in a heap, Buffy stepped under the steaming cascade of water, hoping that everything in her tangled life would seem clearer once she got out.

It felt like she had been under the spray for hours when Buffy finally turned off the water. She took a deep breath of warm air; the shower had cleared some of the fuzz surrounding her brain, leaving her feeling refreshed. Buffy pulled her bathrobe over her wet form, not bothering to dry her hair as she walked back into her bedroom. Standing inside her closet, Buffy resisted the childish urge to stamp her foot in frustration. "I have no clue what to wear," she said, her voice whiny, "I mean I need something that says 'I'm over you', without saying 'I'm over you'!" In the end, she pulled on a pair of black cotton pants and a teal long-sleeved shirt. Brushing her hair into a loose topknot, Buffy put on some moisturizer and a light coat of lip gloss. "Casual," she kept repeating to herself, "just casual." Sliding her feet into a worn pair of black sandals, Buffy took a deep breath. She wandered into the living room, her heartbeat echoing the words, "don't screw this up, don't screw this up."

The blinds were closed when she entered the room, long shadows dancing eerily over the walls. Spike's low voice cut through the quiet room, "morning," he murmured, not caring that it was three in the afternoon. Outside, rain still poured down in a relentless torrent, making the apartment seem gloomy. Tension filled the room, thick ropes of uncertainty hung in every corner, constant reminders of how bizarre this situation was. This is awkward, Buffy thought, and for a moment it was like she was watching herself through someone else's eyes. Someone else, another woman with blonde curls and emerald eyes was standing in the entrance way of the room, her hands twisting slowly behind her back. She was looking anywhere but at Spike, focusing mostly on the chipped red polish on her big toe, digging the edge of her sandal into the carpet. Her mouth was opening and closing, like a fish trying to breathe out of the familiar ocean water. She looked so small, so lost; gone was her Slayer bravado or her hard-as-nails business face, her heart was naked before his penetrating glance, she could never pretend with Spike, never try to be someone she wasn't.

Shaking her head to silence the seemingly endless monologue inside her mind, Buffy looked back at Spike. It was as if she was seeing him for the first time, trying to memorize every contour of his face with a single glance, but knowing that she would never be able to truly capture every detail. She wasn't ready to deal with Spike but at the same time she was glad that he hadn't just left without any explanation. There were a dozen things she should be doing, work-related things, questions she needed to ask, explanations she needed to give, apologies she should make; instead all she could do was focus on was the bleached blonde vampire sitting on her sofa. She lifted her head, staring at him for a long minute, trying to remember why she had ever thought she could live without him.

Gnawing on her lower lip, Buffy attempted to break the tension, "do you want a cup of coffee," she asked. Without waiting for an answer she walked into the kitchen, leaving Spike staring at her retreating back in confusion. He had slept on Buffy's couch, not really sure where he fit into her life but not ready to disappoint her by leaving; he had done enough running to last a lifetime in the last three years, this time he was staying until she threw him out. He had put her to bed last night after she had passed out in his arms on the sofa. He didn't know how much of their conversation she would remember in the morning; she had to be pretty far gone in order to tell Spike that she missed him. There was something different about her, the fire in her eyes wasn't as bright as he had remembered, her smile didn't extend as far as he had pictured, something was missing from his golden goddess. He had stared at the ceiling for hours, trying to get comfortable on Buffy's couch as he pondered the differences in her. After a few hours he had succumbed to exhaustion, still not knowing what was bothering him about Buffy.

Buffy emerged from the kitchen, interrupting his musings, she was balancing a tray of coffee and some cinnamon rolls she had found in the back cabinet. The pitcher of cream tipped precariously and Spike grabbed the tray before Buffy's inherent clumsiness wrecked havoc on her tan carpet. Setting the tray on the edge of the coffee table, he watched Buffy as she paused before him, unsure where she should sit. She weighed her choices, wanting to keep as much distance between them as possible, but also craving physical contact. In a move of desperation, Buffy plopped down on the other end of the sofa, her knees turned towards Spike, hands clasped tightly in her lap.

Simultaneously they reached towards the tray, both withdrawing slightly when they saw the other's hand. Spike chuckled nervously, breaking the silence that had once again threatened to overwhelm the penthouse. He gestured for Buffy to pour the coffee, allowing her the first bit of control, the opportunity to start the conversation on her terms. Handing Spike his mug, she cursed her hands for trembling so much. If Spike noticed, he didn't say anything, instead concentrating on the steaming coffee. She silently stirred sugar into her mug, watching as the cream turned the liquid a muddy brown. Absently, Spike munched on a roll, ignoring the stale taste and brittle texture. "Sorry I don't have anything else," Buffy murmured, she knew Spike's body was probably craving blood. He shrugged, not really caring about food, just wanting to prolong the inevitable arguing as long as possible.

This shouldn't be that hard, Buffy chided herself mentally. After everything that had passed between her and Spike, it was absurd that they could not find anything to talk about. "So how's Nibblet enjoying Colorado," Spike asked, anxious to steer the conversation onto neutral territory. Buffy visibly relaxed at the mention of her sister, "she loves it. I was talking to her a coupla days ago and she just kept going on and on about her classes and her professors. She has this one class in ancient philosophy and I swear she went on about it for twenty minutes before she realized that I had no clue what she was saying." Spike chuckled, still not believing that his Nibblet was getting a master's degree in ancient civilizations; she had certainly grown up from the little girl he had met the first time he came to Sunnydale. He swelled with brotherly pride at the thought of Dawn becoming an accomplished academic.

Buffy kept talking about her sister, "she just moved into a little apartment off-campus and she keeps bugging me to redecorate it free of charge. Only problem is that she wants everything modern and I am so over the black and white geometric squares look." Licking her lips, she snuck a glance at Spike before continuing, "Dawn wants everything done her way but she doesn't want to do the work. If someone else does it, then she can whine about who it's not exactly the way she wanted." Spike chuckled; he knew better then to get involved in that battle of wills. Taking a sip of her coffee, Buffy laced her fingers around the warm mug. "sometimes I can't believe that Dawn isn't a little girl anymore. I just can't see her as an adult-I understand how my Mom felt when she had to watch us go off on our own." Sadness darkened Buffy's delicate features, "I wish she could be here to see us. She would be so proud of Dawnie." Spike reached over and patted Buffy's shoulder gently, "she'd be proud of you too."

At Spike's feather-light touch, Buffy's body surged with a familiar warmth. Her cheeks flushed and she reached for her coffee, breaking the contact between them. Trembling hands gripped the ceramic mug and she attempted to slow her breathing, knowing that Spike could sense the slightest change in her. Spike bit down hard on his lower lip, hoping that he hadn't ruined his chances with Buffy by overstepping their tentative boundaries. His fear dissipated quickly when she continued the conversation, never skipping a beat in an effort to appear composed. "Giles got married last year and he's still living in England. His wife, Katherine, she's a professor of religion at Oxford. The first time I went out to meet her, I almost fell asleep because the conversation is all intellectual." She giggled, "it was so boring! She's really sweet though, and it's nice to see Giles happy. He owns a bookshop in the middle of nowhere, this corner shop that's nothing like the Magic Box. But hey, it keeps him happy and he has the perfect cover to do wacky Council-related research. They keep him on retainer but basically he just putters around, selling boring books to stuffy British people."

She snuck another quick glance at Spike, not wanting to lose herself in the cerulean depths of his eyes. He smiled reassuringly, sinking back into the comfortable sofa, his arms draped loosely over the back of the cushions. Buffy continued to talk about the rest of the Scoobies, anxious to keep the silence at bay. "Xander and Anya just had another son last October. Poor Anya's outnumbered four to one; she keeps telling Xander that she wants a girl. The twins are turning five in a couple of weeks.it's insane, I mean it seems like they just got married last month." Spike nodded, remembering how terrified the poor Whelp had been at the wedding, it was hard to believe that the wedding was six years ago.

"Last time I talked to him, Xander was starting work on a new mall. His construction company is really taking off and now that Sunnydale's no longer an active Hellmouth, there's a ton of people moving in." Buffy nibbled nervously on the edge of a cinnamon roll, not tasting how dry it was. Staring down at her half-filled coffee cup, she tried to prolong the catch-up stories. She wasn't ready to talk about why Spike was in New York, nor was she ready for him to piece together all the embarrassing things she'd said in her drunken haze. Stretching his long legs, Spike's lean frame sunk further into the plush fabric of the sofa. "Tara went back to work last fall, Michaela started daycare and she couldn't deal with being home alone for so long. She really missed the kids.who knew Tara would end up a special ed teacher?" Spike shrugged his shoulders casually, he had heard most of the Scoobie news but it was always interesting to hear about the Wiccans. They had always been nice to him, even back in the days before he was a neutered domesticated vamp.

Spike looked over the lip of the coffee cup and steered the conversation back to Buffy. "I've read a lot about you," he said, "your designs are amazing." She blushed under his praise, remembering when they would sit on the porch of the house on Revello Drive, talking about the future. "Thanks," she said, pleased that he still followed her work. "But what about you? How've you been," Buffy asked, not ready to talk about her own life. For a moment the conversation resembled something normal; two friends meeting in the supermarket and catching up on old times. However, this exchange was wrought with tension, each word and gesture carefully weighed before delivery. Spike nodded offhandedly, draining his cup before answering. "I've been good. Done a bit of traveling, I actually stopped in LA for a spell before coming out here." Buffy smiled and gestured for him to continue, she didn't really care about Angel, but if that's where Spike wanted to start the conversation then she wasn't going to argue.

The vampire took a long swallow of coffee before filling in the gaps created by time and absence. "Peaches is doing alright, he still has the hotel and is doing that blasted hero bit. I was there for three days and I thought I was going to go crazy. It's like staying in a bloody tomb, after two hundred years you'd think he'd develop a personality or something remotely similar." Buffy giggled at the sarcasm in Spike's voice. At least some things never change, she thought, the day Spike and Angel bury the hatchet is the day Hell freezes over.

Spike snatched another cinnamon roll off the table, his crunching the only sound in the room. He swallowed, seamlessly continuing his narrative, "I told the Poof that he needs to hire more people, something to liven up that hotel. He just gives me that 'Stop talking now because I'm your grand-Sire and I'm not going to listen to your ideas no matter how good they are' look." Buffy smiled, pouring herself another cup of coffee as Spike continued bashing the elder vampire. "What can I say? He always was a stupid dolt. If you want my opinion, he's frustrated. Too many pent-up feelings." Buffy raised an eyebrow, "frustrated?" Spike grinned wickedly, his icy blue eyes dancing mirthlessly. "Yeah, seems to me that happiness clause has to get to you after a while." Buffy's shoulders shook with laughter as her confusion melted into a fit of giggles. "Spike, that's terrible!" He shrugged his shoulder before turning back to his coffee, "just a theory I had. Didn't say it was the truth."

As her giggles faded away, Buffy became acutely aware of her nearness to Spike. Sometime during their storytelling she had moved closer to him, their knees touching, hands a hairbreadth apart. She took a deep breath, squeezing her hands tightly together as the knuckles turned white. A chill had invaded Buffy's body and she trembled slightly, thinking that she should turn up the heat. Sensing her discomfort, Spike reached over and gently massaged her numb fingers, his tapered hands providing enough friction to return circulation. Involuntarily Buffy sighed, relaxing instantly at his touch.

She pulled away suddenly, remembering where she was and who she was with. Shaking her head slightly, Buffy mentally cursed herself for being so weak when it came to Spike. He closed his eyes, kicking himself for overstepping the tentative boundaries between them for the second time that afternoon. "So what about you," she asked, interested to know how Spike had spent the last three years. Spike looked at her in disbelief, not sure if she was truly curious or just trying to fill the awkward silence. She stared expectantly at him, her eyebrows raised as she waited for him to begin.

"Well, I've been living in Australia," Spike began. "Finally made use of all the fake documents that Giles gave me. I've been teaching at a university in Sydney, visiting professor of British lit and all that rot." Buffy raised her eyebrows in disbelief, so that was why she hadn't heard a single thing about him from anyone in Sunnydale. "It's not a bad job, gives me something to do," he said, sure that he was boring Buffy to tears by blabbering on about teaching. As if she read his mind, Buffy sat up on the couch, tucking her feet under her body. "It sounds so neat," she exclaimed, her voice filled with envy and intrigue. For the next forty minutes Spike told her stories about Australia, his rich voice sending shivers down Buffy's spine as she listened.

Night had fallen over the city when they finally stopped exchanging stories from the past three years. Spike stood up, stretching his arms over his head, "I better get back to my hotel," he said, "get out of these clothes and get something to eat." Buffy nodded, her face falling in disappointment that Spike was leaving. Even though they had talked all afternoon, there was still so much she wanted to say to him. She gnawed nervously on her lower lip, wanting to ask if he would be coming back but too scared to push him away again. The rain tapping against her window gave Buffy a perfect opening, "why don't you let me drive you, it's pouring buckets out there and it'll be hell trying to find a cab. My car's right down in the garage and I wouldn't mind giving you a lift there." Spike raised his scarred eyebrow, a familiar suggestive gleam in his eyes. "I've got a better idea. You give me your car keys and I'll go run to my hotel."

"Okay, but how am I going to get my car back," Buffy answered, hoping she knew what his answer would be. Spike didn't disappoint her, "I'll bring it back. And maybe I'll bring dinner. Chinese sound alright?" She nodded, amazed that he had remembered what she liked and even more amazed that he had offered. "Alright then, just give me the keys and I'll be back in a bit," Spike said. Tossing him the keys, Buffy said, "the garage is on the bottom level, just take the elevator down. It's parked right by the entrance." Spike tilted his head questioningly, "which car is it?" Laughing quietly, Buffy replied, "it's the blue Jeep. Same one as before." Pulling on his duster, Spike pocketed the keys, "alright luv, see you in a bit."

Buffy watched the door close behind Spike, shaking her head at the familiarity of the whole situation. It was like nothing had changed between them, like they were still together. "Shit, I better get changed," Buffy said, leaping off the couch. "Just because he's my ex doesn't mean I should look all icky," she justified to the empty living room, carrying the tray of empty coffee cups into the kitchen. Snatching her phone out of the cradle, Buffy dialed her office. "Yeah, Liza, it's Buffy. Listen, tell David that I'm taking the rest of the week off.yeah, finally using some of those vacation days.no, nothing's wrong.I'm sure..an old friend came to town..wanted to spend some time catching up.thanks Liza.I'll see you on Monday." Hanging up the phone, Buffy hummed idly to herself as she poured out the cold coffee and threw away the rolls.

Her thoughts drifted back to Spike, it was so easy to forget that they hadn't been together in years. Even though she wanted to talk to Spike about what had happened back in Sunnydale, it was easier to just live in the present moment. When the time was right, then they would talk about it. "Right now though, I have to get dressed," Buffy said as she opened her closet doors. She hadn't even noticed that she felt lighter, more relaxed, then she had felt in weeks; in the last few hours, her carefully sculptured façade had been slowly chipped away. Buffy was blissfully oblivious though, as she pulled on a fresh pair of jeans.