Buffy grinned at the expression on the bellhop's face as she politely waved away his offer of help, instead tossing the large duffel bag over her shoulder as if it weighed nothing at all. 'Slayerness' could be fun, sometimes!

Angel had chosen well, the hotel was crowded, but beautiful. She had gotten a few wide eyes at the check-in desk when they pulled up the account her reservation was booked under. Buffy could only imagine the odd crowds that Angel had covered rooms for here in the past; from the sounds of it, he had a near-permanent room assigned to his needs. Poor girl probably thought I might leave a trail of slime or flames behind me! She nearly giggled out loud, imagining the poor housekeeper's potentially traumatic experiences, some demons could leave quite a mess behind them! A small flash entered her mind of the condemned house she and Spike had once destroyed. No, no more, time to get ready for dinner with Angel.

Unable to decide between the only two dresses she owned, Buffy had brought them both. One was soft and long, pale yellow, out of character for her, but it had been a gift from Willow. Despite herself, she had to admit looked amazing with the leather jacket she had bought shortly after her arrival in Cleveland, managing somehow to find one almost exactly like the one Angel had given her years before. Would that seem like I was here to relive the past? I didn't come here for that. Grinning wickedly as she glanced at her other dress, she realized that her little black mini-dress could come off even worse. Pulling it on anyway, she admired herself in the mirror. She wasn't sure where Angel wanted to go tonight, and her second option was the more versatile. Plus, she mused, the shorter skirt won't get so in the way if we hit trouble.

She hadn't gotten any calls from him at her room's answering machine, no messages at the front desk, no answer at his office, so she decided to pick him up at his place, despite his earlier evasiveness. Hopefully he didn't forget I was coming! Or worse, chalk it up to a dream?

When Sunnydale had fallen off the map, Los Angeles had been the first stop for their ragtag little group. Faith and Robin hadn't gotten that far, instead splitting off from the group at the exit for Las Vegas, joking that they had to have earned some good fortune after all that had happened. The rest of the potentials and friends had holed up at Angel's apartment and with his various friends in the city, as more permanent housing arrangements were hurriedly made for those that were unable to return home. Giles and Angel had sprung to action with impressive speed, pairing the displaced survivors off into roommates to ensure that everyone had a companion to recover alongside.

Buffy herself had spent two extra days with Angel at his apartment before following the others to Cleveland, at his insistence. Those extra days were wonderful in their own way, Angel treating her as though she was coming off of a bad flu, bringing her meals in bed, hearing her out when she felt like talking, and most of all, letting her sleep. Even with his kindness and efforts, the distance between them had been palpable, each of them feeling a deep sense of loss, neither of them ready to discuss it with the other. When he had finally driven her to the airport, he held her tight for several minutes, kissed her on the forehead, and bowed to go, silently. She knew he sensed her inner grief at Spike's death, even if he didn't completely understand it. She had promised him during one of their talks to give him a proper explanation, but if she was honest with herself, would never be fully ready to tell Angel how she really felt about the blonde vampire, just as she knew a part of him would never want to hear it. Some things in this world, there just aren't decent words for.

Reaching Angel's door, she knocked nervously, hoping she wouldn't upset him by showing up unexpectedly. No answer. Buffy's hair stood up on the back of her neck. Someone was home, she could feel it. She knocked again, louder, more urgently. Soft footsteps could be faintly heard, someone clearly trying to hide their presence. A small flicker of movement was briefly visible through the peephole, and the door flew open, catching her off-guard, her body instinctively taking a fight stance before she nearly collapsed in shock, waves of numbness sweeping through her limbs.

Spike stood in front of her. Spike.

"Slayer," he whispered, reverently. His blue eyes were wide with shock, wide as hers. "Wasn't expecting…" he cursed softly. "You look… stunning."

She reached out, trembling, and put a hand on his cheek. He felt solid, his skin cool. Their eyes locked. "You're real?" she whispered, her hands shaking violently.

He gripped her hands tightly to still them, his fingers moving constantly over hers, to savor as much as to soothe. Despite himself, tears rushed to his eyes, and he swore again. His eyes instinctively went to the floor to hide his shame, but only for a moment, unable to resist the urge to look at her, drink her presence in. Instead he stared openly, feeling another rush of emotions as he realized tears were already falling from her long lashes, running down her cheeks in silent streams.

Buffy slid her hands out of his, still shaking, running her hands up his muscled arms, around the back of his neck. Her whole body shook, and in a simultaneous motion, they pulled towards each other, falling to their knees in a tight embrace. As the door clicked shut, her tears began to flow faster, and she buried herself in his shoulder.

"Buffy," he whispered quietly, after her shaking began to slow. "Buffy..." she looked up at him with wide, shining eyes. He couldn't continue, he didn't even know where he had meant the sentence to end. Her lips trembled, and on instinct, he moved to still them too. Before he could pull himself back, she jumped to meet him, kissing him deeply, emotions spilling out through her movements that he couldn't dare let himself hope were real. She tasted of salt, and… Buffy. She tastes like… Buffy.

As her lips met his, Buffy felt like she had in her repeating dreams; on fire, but no pain, only heat. She pulled him in closer, over and over, kissing him with urgency. His body responded in kind, following her lead, pressing themselves together as close as they possibly could. Finally, she broke for air, Spike watching her with wondering, hopeful eyes. Gently leading his body back to her, she tenderly pulled his shirt over his shoulders, and began kissing him everywhere she could reach.

Finally beginning to find confidence in her obvious need, Spike breathed in her scent as her lips traced the many scars on his chest, face, arms. He pulled her back to him again, whispering her name in his head with every kiss. Buffy… Buffy, Buffy… Their speed increased, his adrenaline flaming to life. To his shock, her nimble hands found the button of his jeans next, and she pushed them off of his hips with her small heels. Her dress seemed to vanish, neither of them sure who initiated removing it, neither of them caring.

Their cheeks still wet with tears, they lost themselves entirely to their burning need to embrace each other as closely as possible.

"How is this real?" Buffy whispered, finally able to speak. They were sprawled across Angel's living room rug, the fading evening light shining through the window with a soft pink glow. She shivered, and he pulled her to his chest, pulling a blanket from the nearby couch to cover them both. Noticing the couch for the first time, Buffy smiled a little. We never seem to make it to the bed, do we?

"I don't know, love" he whispered back. "I'm not entirely convinced yet that it is." His hands roamed her figure, stroking her hips, her breastbone, before settling in her long hair, gently brushing it with his fingers.

At his words, something clicked in Buffy's memory, something important. Sitting up sharply to face him, she cupped his face with her hand. "I love you," she whispered.

"You do?" Incredulous, Spike's eyes danced across her face, scarcely believing it was really her, really those words. "You really mean that?"

"I do."

Spike felt a tingling sensation of incredible warmth spreading through his body. Grinning like a fool, he pulled her back down onto his chest, smiling even wider at the small, happy giggle that escaped Buffy. They both sighed happily, laughter coming from both of them as they both realized the cliché of it all.

Their laughter caught in their throats as the door swung open.