Still drenched from the never ending rain, Spike walked into his flat near King's Cross focusing only on drying off. It wasn't until he had thrown down his coat on a chair and reached for the light that he realised someone was in there, waiting for him.

He switched on the light, and there was Buffy. She stared at him, he at her.

"Hi." She said, hovering over the lameness of the word. Spike continued to stare at her, every fibre of his being suddenly felt like it had fired up and fizzled out all at once. "Sorry, for just dropping in like this."

Spike let a dry laugh escape. "Sorry. Just funny coming from you." It had been seven months, seven months of being back, taking on the armies of hell in LA, winning and wondering if he'd ever get to see Buffy again. He had assumed that he was in her rear view mirror, and he'd be damned if he was going to spend eternity waiting for her. "So, you're here. To what do I owe the pleasure? Do you mind?" Spike signalled to his wet shirt.

Buffy stood up nervously. "Right no, you should change, sorry, I'll just..." Spike walked into the next room, already pulling off his wet shirt and Buffy felt a slight redness creeping up from her neck at the sight of his bare chest and shoulders. "Wait here."

He disappeared into the next room, and came back in a dry shirt and trousers and with a towel which he used to pat himself dry. "So what brings you over to this side of the pond?" Spike's nonchalance, his coldness to her threw her off somewhat, though it wasn't wholly unexpected. "I thought you and Little Bit were back in the States, finishing school or some such."

"We are, she is, she's at school right now actually, but um, I thought I..." Buffy pinched her finger, trying to regain some composure, trying to find the words. Spike stared at her; she hated that he could do that, stare at her and actually see her, it felt like a weight that bared down on her. "I needed to see you."

Spike smiled, "Well, yeah. But when I needed to see you..." The room divided them, Spike had set the terms for the distance and Buffy didn't challenge them.

"I know. I'm sorry." And Buffy meant it.

"Yeah, well." Spike said sadly. "At least I got your letter. That cheered things right up." He added dryly, and went to get some blood from the fridge.

The letter. When Buffy found out Spike was alive, she had sent him a letter. It was all she could think to do, to acknowledge him without falling back into what she called 'The Sunnydale Hole'. In her distance from Sunnydale, she had recognised the vacuum of misery Sunnydale really was, everything she had had to give up there, everything she had lost. For a while, Spike was included on that list, and she had packed it away, determined to plunge forward into the future. When she had found out he was alive, it was like Sunnydale had come back, and part of her past had bitten into her new future, poisoning it somehow. She had made the difficult decision to leave him in Sunnydale, and so had effectively written him a Dear John letter. She knew it was cold, but deep down she also knew that if she actually saw him, she didn't trust what might come of it.

Buffy followed him into the kitchen after a moment's pause. "Spike, the letter..."

"Hey, I understand it, Buffy, we really don't need to hash it out." Spike put a mug of blood in the microwave and turned it on. The whirring of the microwave hung in the air between them. "And it looks like we've both moved on, so it all worked out."

There was a pang of pain in Buffy's chest when he said that. "Right." She smiled feebly and looked down to her hands. "I wanted you to know that I am sorry. I should have seen you, after..."

"After my return trip to hell? What's to discuss. Who among us hasn't done that trip once or twice? It's fine." Spike nodded genuinely.

Buffy felt like everything she had said, Spike had shut down. She apologised, he acknowledged it. She mentioned the letter, hell, he shut it down. She had hoped he would be in a more receptive place, but now she saw that was wishful thinking. Buffy looked up at him, smiling weakly, "Right. It's old hat at this point. Whatever that actually means."

Spike's microwave pinged, which seemed to Buffy like an alarm that said, 'Your time is up'. She looked at Spike who seemed to be having the same thought. He was angry, he was hurt, she knew him well enough to know that. The bravado, the smokescreen as he'd once called it, she understood it. She hadn't come when he needed her, which probably cemented in his mind what she always suspected he thought, that she didn't care for him as much as he did. Once, that may have been true, and she'd tried to hold onto that, it was more convenient if her feelings for Spike were wrapped up in an apocalyptic battle and all the insecurities, vulnerabilities and fears that were involved in that. When the battle was over, so was her relationship with Spike. Simple. But the battle was over, and Spike was back, and those feelings had intensified with distance, not extinguished. And now here she was, looking at him, and her heart felt heavy in her chest.

"I should go." Buffy moved out of the kitchen, towards the door. Spike followed her slowly. Buffy turned to face Spike once more, and gathered up all her bravery. "I know I've done this all wrong, and I am so truly sorry that it's taken me so long to get here. But... can I just..." Spike looked slightly bewildered, he knew Buffy wasn't much one for the heart to heart, and it caught him even more off guard when she swooped towards him, slid her arms around his waist and back and held him, her head resting in his chest. He took a moment, and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, inhaling her familiar scent. She held him tightly, keeping her eyes closed, in that moment, she let herself just miss him the way she had tried to deny. The feeling of his arms, of him holding her, she came alive. Spike relaxed, the wall he had up came down in that instant, he placed his hand on the top of her head, feeling her soft hair in his palm.

Eventually Buffy pulled ever so slightly away to look him in the face, Spike's hand rested on her cheek. "And here I was thinking nothing you do could surprise me, Slayer." Buffy smiled, and rested her head back on his chest.

Her eyes remained closed, she relaxed in his arms. She hadn't imagined it; she felt just as safe in his arms now as she had in Sunnydale. It was real. "Spike?" Buffy waited for the silence that followed. "I missed you." He didn't respond, he didn't need to. He just held her.