And then he did move towards her, a sudden, desperate lunge, like he couldn't stop himself. His arms closed around her, and she could feel the press of his body against hers as he nuzzled her neck, his fangs just grazing the skin. For one brief second, she let herself forget all the years between them and just relished the feel of his body close to hers. No matter what else had gone wrong between them, this had always been right, from the first moment she let herself feel it. But then reality intruded, and it was all she could do not to break his arms for having the nerve to touch her again. He had lost the right the last time he had left her, and it was high time she reminded him of the fact. Feeling almost joyful in the act, she slammed an elbow into his gut to break his hold on her.
"Sloppy, Spike," she taunted, dancing out of his reach and turning to face him again. "Which is it? Are you losing your touch or is it just that you're still in love with pain? Cause if it's the former, I can help you out there. Happily."
His face was expressionless as he stared at her. The move to touch her, hold her, had been the only emotion he had shown since he had said hello. She couldn't adjust to this new Spike, solemn under the mask of his old confidence, an enigma in black. Too much like the Angel of her teenage years, a marked man- vampire- who didn't trust himself to love her. Even Spike's trademark smirk just seemed like artifice, a prop to hide behind. Deep inside of herself, she sighed. She already had one Angel; two would be redundant. Those two years had changed Spike profoundly, it was clear, and the change confused her. She had always thought of Spike as a force of nature, something too elemental to be controlled. But now he was as still as the grave, his face smooth and empty in the moonlight. When he spoke, his words were empty of passion or interest; he might have simply stepped on her foot by accident.
"Sorry about that. My nature got the better of me for a moment. It was hearing you say you love me again."
"Loved, Spike. I loved you. Past tense. Very past. You ruined that, like you ruin everything." The bitterness welled up in her again. All the pain that she had felt that morning after waking up in an empty bed came rushing back, and she tried to hide it with anger. "You weren't really kidding yourself that I could still feel anything for you but disgust, were you?"
For a second, a glint of the old Spike, the wicked and wild vampire who had stalked her to the grave and back, flashed in his eyes, but new-Spike stamped it down and simply said, "You said love, not loved. And I'm not too likely to let you forget that, Buffy. I'm back, and I'm staying."
There was something about the way that he said the words, something in the flat certainty of his voice, that made her shiver. This Spike may not have been implosive and charismatic vampire she had known all those years ago, but the nature of his obsession hadn't changed. Anymore than her reaction to it had.
Angry, she told herself. You're angry. There is zero turn-on is obsessive boy saying he still wants you. You're a happily taken woman. But the words weren't convincing, even to herself. Had she really said love instead of loved? Without another word, she turned and bolted for the house, leaving Spike in all his cryptic glory out in the garden. She was too old for this crap.