A/N: Yay, chapter three! Not a lot of plot movement here, either, and the surprise guest is mostly thrown in for my amusement, but there you go. But it's fun. Lots of fun. So read...please!

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Wesley does the steely-eyed, covert, head-bob thing that Buffy takes to mean, "Let's get out of the queue, for methinks the general populace would not take kindly to your inevitable hysterics." Just on principle, Buffy huffs before allowing Dawn to tug her out of line. Not that Wesley would know, but she hasn't been prone to hysterics in a really, really long time, thanks very much. Buffy folds her arms and looks up at him and his ragtag team of assorted lackeys. What does he think is gonna happen? Small-talk and then some variation of dismemberment?

"And how have you been?" Wesley asks, genially enough. "Nice journey, I presume? On the Council dollar?"

Okay, fine, the small-talk had to be inevitable, but Buffy's trying very hard not to let this situation escalate into body-choppy areas. Not easy with the snippy tone Wesley's taking, but Buffy's always been a trooper.

"Life's been just great, Wes," Buffy deadpans, "I mean, between the vampires always big with the rising and the army of slayers we have to train and those annoying bad hair days, life's just peachy with the keen."

"Good, good." Wesley nods absently. "So what brings you to town, then?" His eyes sharpen and Buffy detects a hint of suspicion and hostility in his tone, underneath the standard briskness of a Watcher (or ex-Watcher, she thinks sort of gleefully) talking to a wayward Slayer. She's about to say something vague and cutting when Dawn beats her to the response.

"None of your beeswax, buddy," Dawn says, her tone subtly challenging, her gaze cool. "Well, maybe a bit of your beeswax, but only 'cause you're part of the whole evil law-firm conspiracy, hellfire and brimstone and all! You're never gonna breach the pearly gates now, you know. I mean lawyers are already destined for sticky ends, but add the breaking-bread-with-demons thing to it and you're pretty much done for. Consorting with tainted blood, y'know? It's never good."

Buffy slants an odd look to her sister, a little freaked out at her weirdo religious posturing. After all, Buffy has slept with demons. Two. And she's breached the pearly gates, which to be fair, defy any real description but are more gold than pearly if one has to be all poetic--

"No more talking, okay?" Buffy interrupts her own mental ramblings and scowls at her sister sternly. "Sorry," she apologizes to the others, who look sort of amused, actually. Like people must tell them they're going to hell all the time. Buffy fidgets and begins to speak again reluctantly, because Wes is still looking at her like she's toe-jam or something equally as horrible. "Dawn likes to talk to Sister Enza on the corner every morning, and I'm thinking her brain's started to leak idiocy at random intervals. I mean, I don't think you're necessarily going to hell..." She trails off. "Or at least, not all of you. Really." she adds, earnestly.

Wesley's left eyebrow does that raise, the one that is so utterly English that is makes Buffy want to scream. Giles pulls it out whenever she's being 'particularly worrisome,' but the only worrisome Buffy can see at this moment is the fact that she's now a second away from punching that smarmy expression off Wesley's face in an extremely public environment. His entire countenance just screams "you don't belong, little girl," and God, Buffy's had enough of male posturing and stupid British guys and smirky little smiles. She's tired and she wants to speak with Angel and kiss Spike, not have a fun session of kick-the-Slayer with the Watcher who made Andrew look positively macho.

Besides--she's definitely not a little girl anymore.

"Oh good," Buffy sighs, trying to reign in her temper, because insanity in a public place? So Faith. "You're going all Watcher-y on me, although I gotta say, you're four years way too late on that one, buddy. Soon it'll be ineffectual order-giving and possibly some manly screams as I give you a noogie."

For a moment, Buffy's almost afraid of the dark look that sifts over Wesley's features at the mention of his failure as a Watcher. Foot-in-mouth syndrome hits again, she thinks ruefully, but then the tension eases and a smile relaxes the lines of Wesley's face.

"Touche," he says amiably. "I suppose we are rather past that stage in our relationship. No need for violence, I suppose, nor do we have anything to prove to one another any longer." He gives a wry shrug. "There are those who will say my manly scream is much improved, however."

The black guy laughs at this and claps his hand onto Wesley's shoulder. "Damn straight, man," he chuckles and then he extends a hand to Buffy. "I'm Charles Gunn," he says, "Charles if that's your style, but never Chuck, Charlie, or Shaft--" he breaks off and looks at the green demon, who just waves his martini around dismissively, "--otherwise, you can call me Gunn."

Buffy grins and takes his hand. "You have a very cool name," she solemnly says as she squeezes. She likes his easy-going nature and his cute smile. If he was a little bit more dead, she would probably even be awfully attracted to him.

Gunn winces as he takes back his hand. "And you have a real, uh--cool grip." He shakes it a bit. "Slayer strength. I'd be down with that once the vamps come runnin'."

Buffy shrugs. "That's sorta the point," she informs him. "To be down with--okay, I shouldn't ever attempt to be cool. It never works." Then she turns to the girl. "You must be Winifred, right? Willow's said a lot of great things about you."

The girl blushes. "Um, hello, hi, Willow was--heh, well, you just tell Willow I liked her lots, too. You can--you can call me Fred, though, 'cause Winifred has this way of not rolling of the tongue quite right. It's interesting, you know, Fred seems to throw people off a bit, too, which I suppose I can really understand, seeing as I'm a girl and Fred's traditionally a boy's name, right? Right, but I figure that it's not so much a problem when I'm standing right here in front of you, 'cause you know, it's sorta obvious to see that I'm a girl and not a boy, although with more androgynous fellas--or ladies, it's harder to tell. Why, I once knew--"

"Fred," Buffy says, holding her hands up. "It's a good name. No judging. My name's Buffy, okay? I totally get what it's like to have the unusual name complex." A thought sounds in her brain. "Fred. Or the 'attractively bird-boned woman with the bountiful head of hair,' according to Andrew. Were you...were you the one who brought Spike back to form?"

Fred looks startled and the others exchange glances. "How did you--"

"And my name, blonde and brawn, is Lorne," the green demon interrupts, handing off his martini to a spooked-looking Fred and shoving a bemused Wes out of the way. "You and I haven't properly met, but I'd know a girl with destiny anywhere. You're a Slayer, hmm? I'm gonna bet you have a nice set of pipes under that golden throat. Lung support is key and you're healthier than the very healthiest horse on the farm, aren't you? I'd love to hear you belt out a coupla tunes when you can, dear heart, because kiddos like you have just got destiny written loud and clear all over your aura."

Buffy blinks. "Hi," she says. Then, helpfully, "You're a demon."

"An empath," he says smoothly, and then he's taking her hand in his, peering right into her eyes. "You've got a nice strong sense about you right now, in fact, a little maiming here, a little apocalypse there. But there's something else shining right through, and sweetling, we're gonna take care of that real soon." He clutches her hand gently. "But not now," he says meaningfully.

Buffy registers that. An empath. Singing. This was the bar owner--the demon whose home dimension Angel had just returned from that summer Willow went to LA to tell Angel about her death. Shivers run up her spine. She won't think about that, not now that she's finally happy to be here again. She tries to think about what he said instead. 'Something else shining right through' and 'taking care of that real soon.' Yay, the language of coded destiny, straight from the demon's mouth.

It'll be about Spike, she thinks. Or Angel. Because she certainly doesn't forsee any more great loves in her destiny-laden life. She hopes.

Dawn is introducing herself to everyone now, and Buffy is interested, and a little perturbed, to see that Gunn is giving Dawn that Look. The Look that says, 'Okay, so I'm gonna pretend I'm not looking at you like you're a hot piece of teenage lovin', 'cause that'd make me a very bad, bad old man.'

Buffy gives Gunn the fish eye for a second after her little sister disengages her hand from his. Gunn looks down at Buffy's knuckles cracking and he twitches before looking studiously away.

With an inward cackle, Buffy takes Wesley's hand and gives it a shake. "It's good to see you, Wes," she says, surprised that she means it. Now that the initial chill has thawed, Buffy can't help but think fondly of the namby-pamby Watcher wannabe Wes had once been. He looks dangerous now, with a thick scar peeking out from his turtleneck, and stubble lining his jaw. He also looks wearier, more jaded. The look in his eyes reminds her of that entire year she was all resurrected. Haunted. It saddens her that things have changed so much, that among all other things, they should be on such different ends of the fence, not knowing each other anymore.

That Wesley should know Angel and Angel's life better than she herself does.

"It's good to see you, too," Wesley says carefully. His hand touches her shoulder for a moment. "Forgive me, but Buffy, is there a reason you're here? A demon uprising, perhaps? Or did the Council finally get their head out of their bums and--"

Buffy snorts. Maybe Wesley hasn't changed so much. He's certainly being deliberately obtuse. "Uh, sorry, Wes. Nothing so Wyndham-Price-y, I'm sorry to say."

Dawn shoves Buffy's side. "Look, it's like this. When a vampire and a woman have feelings for one another, and a woman's precious garden starts getting primed for watering, wink, wink, nudge, nudge--"

"No talking," Buffy commands, slapping her hand over Dawn's mouth. An awkward silence reigns for a moment and then Buffy giggles. She can't help it. "Do-gooders are always the most transparent," she admits, her smile lopsided. "You know why I'm here. Precious garden, vampire watering, etcetra, etcetra."

Wesley nods in dawning realization before smiling uncertainly. "Are we do-gooders, then?" he asks softly, pointedly, and the question is loaded. Buffy immediately sobers. He is asking if he can trust her to tell her where the men she came here for are. She'll have to show him he can.

"You're do-gooders," she says seriously. "Giles--well, you know how difficult it is for him to see past the black and white when it comes to Angel. When he signed up with Wolfram&Hart, it just made Giles even more wary. And Andrew, he spends a lot of time with Giles, he's soaked up a lot of those prejudices, not that it matters what he thinks."

"That high-strung kid, the annoying one with the big whine? Andrew? He said you don't got a lotta trust for us here," Gunn says, and his voice is even, assessing.

Buffy looks down. "Andrew didn't have the right to speak for me. He wasn't even the one who was supposed to come, but I guess we're all big on the giveth of opportunities for redemption." She sighs. "My orders were not to leave the Slayer here, not because I don't trust you all. But because she's a Slayer, and she's one of ours." Buffy meets Wesley's gaze steadily. "You all have a family, here, right, Wes? Well, Slayers--they're mine. Sisters, daughters, whatever you want to call them. But they're in my blood, and they are my team's responsibility." Her hand reaches out to squeeze Wesley's arm as she sweeps her gaze to all of them. "It doesn't mean we don't trust your camp. If it's gonna be about separate camps at all, I'd be glad we're at least on the same side. I just had to make sure we were on the same side. Before I could leave a scared, teensy-bit-insane girl with a destiny in the hands of a law-firm that, frankly? Doesn't have the best reputation. It's Wolfram & Hart we don't trust--not you."

Dawn mutters something that sounds like 'Faaaiiitth junioorrr.' Buffy elbows her subtly. Dawn always did have problems with crazy people, and Dana isn't so bad once she was on her meds.

Fred looks shiny-eyed after Buffy's heartfelt speech, and she looks imploringly up at Wesley. "I think everything's cleared up now, right?" she asks. "We can all go into the club and have a few drinks and catch up a little." Her eyes light up. "Oooh, I'd love to hear some stories about your hometown. Sunnydale, right? A Hellmouth, Angel said. Wow. It all sounds so exciting, what you do there. Not the humdrum of little old LA. Why, just yesterday we had a N'agarthok demon, and heck, you live in the smallest hole in the wall you could see a N'argarthok demon. I heard y'all had Turok-hans--"

Buffy arches an eyebrow. "It's, uh, involved," Buffy manages. "Really involved and of the extreme humdrum." She turns to Dawn. "Long story, right, Dawnie?"

Dawn shrugs. "Evil came. We fought. We won. Sort of."

"Okay...not so long, then."

Wesley laughs. "You always were adept at the succinct," he says, almost fondly. Then, "Shall we go in? I know what you're looking for isn't here at the moment, but there's no reason why you and Dawn shouldn't enjoy yourself while you're here. The Cat and Fiddle is a highly-respected club, with exclusive clientele. I'm sure you two will have an immensely good time, and we can all catch up."

Dawn looks like she's about to explode with wanting to go in, so Buffy just sighs and nods. No point in running away now--and they did say Spike and Angel were nowhere in sight. Gunn grins and says, "Tight. We'll be right back, ladies. And Lorne."

Fred and Lorne begin to chat companionably as Wesley and Gunn get out of line to see about getting into the club. Buffy smiles to herself, feeling a little bit better that Angel's cronies aren't whackos, at least. Mostly nice people. Maybe they're not all gonna be Scooby Gang buddy-buddy, but while she's here, it's nice to have at least a few other allies besides her religion-spouting little sister. Speaking of...

Buffy grabs Dawn's arm. "What was that whole rant about pearly-gates and sin and the court of law about, dude?"

"Dude?" Dawn shoots Buffy a withering glance. "Your slang is severely lacking, Retro Barbie. This is not the nineties, hello, okay, buh-bye."

Buffy stares at Dawn for a full moment, willing her little sister to realize she had just basically vomited up standard nineties slang, before giving up and shaking her head in wonder. "You are really, really damaged," Buffy says. "Like, supremely."

"Just 'cause I went all Da Vinci Code and recognized the religious conspiracy at Wolfram & Hart for what it's worth," Dawn says loftily. "You know Jesus had this big beef with the Senior Partners, right? And that--"

"If you even tell me he was a Watcher, I'll tell Andrew you have a giant crush on him and secretly like when he takes your underwear. I swear I will."

Dawn rolls her eyes. "Whatever," she says. "Look, Wes and Gunn are coming back!"

Buffy looks and indeed, the two tall, dark, and handsome men are coming back. Wow, Buffy muses. Fighting evil really builds up the hottie potential. 'Course, Buffy corrects herself bemusedly, being evil is more likely to catch my attention.

"Come on, sweet things," Gunn says to Buffy and Dawn, giving a mock leer. "We're VIP's tonight, so you may wanna stick with us."

Buffy rolls her eyes and is about to retort when Lorne interjects. He arches his brow and waves his hand airily. "Loco for Cocoa, we're always VIP's." He winks at Buffy, who covers her smirk with a coughing fit. Dawn giggles out loud and skips ahead, taking a disgruntled Gunn by the arm, even as he looks wildly around for Buffy to behead him. Fred just shakes her head and hovers close to Wes, who looks down at the girl with an expression of fright and lust warring on his features.

Buffy can't help but think that relationship problems are like, unavoidable in the fight against evil.

The club is packed to the brim when they finally squeeze past the entrance and a surly bouncer, who eyes Buffy with just a little too much enthusiasm. There's a band who's vaguely familiar playing on the stage, and a whole bunch of sophisticated L.A types having their mojitos and schmoozing while they grind their silcone bodies as close as propriety will allow. Or even closer, actually, one of them has--okay. Ew. Buffy moves on, walking slowly behind the group and taking in the surroundings. The decor is okay, nothing compared to some of the upscale clubs in Rome, but it's got the dark mood lighting and flashy display around the stage working for it. Buffy relaxes. If nothing else, there's good drinks and company to be had. Maybe even some dancing.

"Buffy?"

Buffy freezes. Don't turn around, her inner monologue says. You'll be sorry. The voice comes again.

"Buffy Summers? Is that you?"

Buffy takes a deep breath and shoots a desperate look at the disappearing backs of her little sister and Team Angel. Giving in to the fact that the Universe has nothing but disgust for her, she counts to ten and then turns around, big smile plastered on her face.

"Pike?" she asks incredulously.

The world, Buffy decides dizzily, as the brunette beams happily, is a very strange place.

"God, Buffy, I wasn't sure if that was really you. You're all...tiny, now. Not as blonde either, but hey, that's a good thing, am I right? Haha. Whoa. How are you? Where have you been? God, how long has it been, what, eight, nine years? Geez, you look good. What the hell are you doing in L.A?"

Buffy closes her eyes for a moment. "Pike. It's Pike. How great. My crime-fighting buddy from the days of yore. My first non-vampy crush. Pike. Right."

"Buffy?"

Buffy opens her eyes again and finally takes a good look at the man speaking to her, trying to forget how beyond weird this is. For all the time nine years has been, Pike looks largely the same as he did the summer after their freshman year, when she saw him last. Still tall and skinny, with rangy muscles and a hollow-cheeked look. He's got a silly little soul-patch thing now, and tired lines around his mouth and eyes, but the crazy brown hair and doofy grin is still there. And his clothing...Buffy smiles. Still wearing the leather and the thrasher tee's. If it weren't for the obvious aging in his face, and the fact that his hand is very warm against her shoulder, she'd think Pike was a vampire for all he'd actually changed.

"Pike," she says, her voice warm. "God. It's good to see you." And then she can't help it, the familiarity of her old friend, the memory of him, how much of Xander's affable goofiness and Willow's kind concern and Spike's hot bad-boy look she sees in him, it just guts her. She has to hug him.

"Hey!" Pike laughs and tightens his arms around her. "You still have that Slayer muscle thing workin' for ya, huh?"

Buffy lets go and blushes. She forgets that she's stronger than she was when she was fifteen. "It's how I live," she says honestly, and shoves her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

"And what a good thing that is," Pike leers, looking at her up and down. He winks and Buffy just grins, knowing she looks hot. Mini-skirt and lollipop she may not have, but jeans and a strappy top? Ultimate weapons for those bronzed, blond, and frankly? Beautiful. She preens under his gaze and Pike tilts his head back, laughing again. "Man, you really haven't changed! Tinier around the waist, maybe, and you let you're roots grow in, but you still know you're hot. Must be hell on the vampires, right before you bam! Get 'em right in the heart." He mimes staking a vampire, and the crazy, frenetic energy that always made people think Pike was on drugs is still there in his eyes.

Buffy giggles. It feels good to talk to someone from her past who knows about her Slaying, without the baggage of the past seven years. If only Pike knew, she thinks, somewhat ruefully, and she is determined not to let him find out.

"Buffy. Just...wow. What have you been doing?" Pike takes her hand and tugs her to one the the tables near the edge of the club, and for a second, Buffy feels guilty about leaving the others. But this is Pike, this is the past, wonderful and uncomplicated like it's supposed to be, so she just swallows and lets Pike lead the way.

"Me? I'm not really that interesting. Slayed a couple vamps. Couple thousand. Maybe a million. Or two. Uh...averting the apocalypse is an annual event, I happen to think I excel. Hmm...Oh! I set fire to another school. Or blew it up. Same difference. And--let's see...oh, okay, yeah--my town fell into a sinkhole last year 'cause we defeated the First Evil to walk this earth!" Buffy smiles brightly. "So, how's your life been?"

The silence that follows declarations like this? Buffy could learn to love them.

"Um." Pike gives a disbelieving smile. "Okay, so. Nowhere near as intense as yours, I can already warn you about that. But, you know, not a Slayer, never was. Just a dude with his guitar and a motorcycle and a severe aversion to the undead."

Buffy smiles gently. "I wasn't trying to put you down," she explains. "My life is just...impossible to explain. I can't catch you up because there's miles and miles of backstory. But for what it's worth, I really wanna hear about what you've been doing."

Pike shrugs. "No big. You were never pretentious, Buff--oh, wait. There was that whole time that you sorta were." He gives a teasing smile as Buffy nudges him with her foot. "Nah, my life might not be all Adventures in Slayerdom, but I've had my share of gnarly experiences."

Buffy hides a grin. "Gnarly. Throwback to the golden days?"

"I hate change," Pike deadpanned. He shared a smile with Buffy and then launched into his tale. "I dunno, after freshman year, I decided I had to get outta L.A. I ended up in New York, of all places. Sixteen year old punk in the city, it was scary living for a while. But I found this dude, a nightclub owner. He gave me a job in cleaning the tables and shit after-hours. One night, this big dude with a serious Liberace complex wanders in. He and my boss get wordy, he ends up whipping off his big-ass sunglasses and flashing major teeth, and suddenly, it's like, whoa! Vampire! So my boss gets all flummoxed, starts screaming, and I just take the chair I'd been stacking on the table, break it, and dive at the vampire with the broken chair leg. I mean--I remember. Wooden stake. Chest. Poof."

Buffy nods. "Winning combination."

"Too right. So after the vamp got all ashy, my boss couldn't thank me enough, turns out he had lots of underworld vampire mafia dealings. I for one? Didn't know they existed, vampire mafia's, I mean...not vampires."

Unable to help herself, Buffy mutters darkly, "Kitten poker."

"Sorry?"

"Nothing," Buffy says quickly. "Go on."

"Yeah, so, anyway. He wanted to make me his bodyguard, but I was pretty sure I would've gotten him killed first night, so I settled on asking him for a steady job. He made me talent manager, and after a few years, just signed the club over to me, and disappeared into the night. I had some good help though, and lots of money he left, and I sorta turned the club around. It's really happening now, y'know? I mean, here I am, travelling, scouting for the coolest bands to play at my club. It's huge now. You're ever in New York, you gotta look us up. It's called Chosen."

Buffy arches an eyebrow.

"Strictly coincidental," Pike snickers, holding his hands up.

Buffy giggles. "Sure," she says, and she is strangely flattered. The band onstage begins playing a familiar song, and Buffy's eyes widen. "Oh my god, wasn't this playing during that party at Tyler Richardson's? The night we crashed and staked Jeremy Watson?"

Pike listens. "Hey, yeah!"

"Wow. Retro."

"Way."

They sit in nostalgia for a moment before Buffy hesitates and looks at Pike questioningly. "Hey, Pike?" she asks. "I gotta run soon, I have friends to meet with. And I dunno if we'll ever see each other again, but...do you wanna dance? For old time's sake?"

Pike's smile is slow, but blinding. "Um, yeah." Then he takes her hand and tugs her up, weaving through the crush of bodies and guiding her in one of those old, lamentable nineties dances that involved lots of head-bobbing and flailing arms.

Buffy hasn't had so much fun in a really long time.

But the universe has this rule. Fun-time for Buffy? A no-no. Soon, the dance is over, and a slow song comes on, its beat languid and sexual in a way Buffy's sort of shocked music can be. Pike pulls her close without a word, and for a second, Buffy doesn't even pull away. It's like the most natural thing in the world, to be pulled close to a thin, rangy body and to smell leather and smokes and--

Her eyes fly open. This is not Spike. This isPike, missing a letter in the front and crucial elements of hotness. Buffy's never been the taking solace in other people type of girl--

Well. Okay, so she has.

But she's not now. She's here to reform. She loves Spike, or at least, she's pretty sure she does. And there's that Angel thing to deal with, too! There's no freaking way she can afford to have Pike in the mix, too, for all his fabulously-timed arrival may have thrown her for a loop. No. No more living in the past. Buffy tells herself she will not take the easy, human-guy way out. She will fight for Spike, or fight with Spike, but whatever happens, it's with her bleached blond guy. Not her still-tripped-out-on-acid and owning-a-nightclub guy.

Although admittedly, he could be evil now. Which holds a certain allure but--

Buffy pushes Pike back when his hands begin making a gentle sweep of her back.

"Um. Yeah, so," she starts. "With the reminiscing. All of it good. Really. But I have--look. So, I have this guy. This thing, this relationship-slash-who knows sorta thing. And it's really fragile right now, and I'm really happy to see you, Pike, but fourteen was a long time ago, and I just don't think it'd be a good time to start anything between us."

Pike gives her a bewildred look. "What are you talking about?" he asks, genuinely confused.

"You. And me. With the slow dancing and the gentle touches and the woo-hoo remember when we fought vampires together how romantic-ey." Buffy must stand firm. No dallying. She is marked goods. Hot Vampires Only. No Touchy.

Pike arches a brow. "Uh, Buff. Hate to break it to ya, babe, but I got a girlfriend."

Oh.

"Oh," Buffy nods. "Okay."

Pike gives a sympathetic smile. "I saw you here and I couldn't help but be like, wow. Freshman year. The memories, and all. Sometimes you just gotta be reminded that the past isn't always so damn horrific...in order to move on, y'know?"

Buffy's smile is soft and self-deprecating. "Yeah," she says, shaking her head and chuckling at herself. "Yeah, I do know."

Pike leans in and gives her a kiss on the cheek. "Listen. You were a great girl then and you're a great girl now, several averted apocalypses or not. I'm glad I got to see you, and see that you're still Buffy. No matter what, you're still Buffy. The One. The Chosen One. Yeah?"

Buffy nods. "Yep."

"Look, I gotta go anyway. The band's taking a break and I wanna talk to 'em. I hate to sound yearbook, but just--never change, okay, Buff? You're good stuff."

Buffy dimples. "Thanks, Pike. You too."

"And whoever this guy is that you're in a relationship-slash-who knows thingie with? Lucky, lucky bastard."

Buffy smiles. She wishes she could introduce the two. 'Pike, meet Spike,' she'd say. She giggles and opens her mouth to speak but someone beats her to the punch.

"Duly noted, mate. The lucky bastard says thanks ever so."

A hand curls around and drapes casually over her shoulder. The voice which just spoke is low and rough, and a caress of superficial breath flits against her ear as the speaker blows an impromptu kiss at Pike. With slow dread mounting in her stomach, and watching as Pike shoots her a weird look before giving the peace sign and turning to go, Buffy takes a deep breath.

"British accent, cold hands, primal possessive streak. Gee, who could it be?" she asks in a shaky, disbelieving voice. She doesn't turn around, not yet. She can't.

"Heard you were looking for me, Slayer," comes the casual reply. "Well, here I am."

Buffy can't help herself. She has to look. And as soon as she spins around and sees the white-blond hair, the dark eyebrows, and the cocky smile, her heart starts that familiar jackhammer beat. "Spike," she breathes. And it's not like the movies, where time stops or doves sing. It's just, Spike's in front of her, and she thought he was dead, but he's here, and talking, and oh God, what does she do now!

Well, there's the possibility of Spike lips, she reminds herself. It is sorta what you flew halfway around the world for.

Spike gives a tiny smirk, his lip curling, but underneath the bravado she sees the tremor running through him, the sheer fear and uncertainty in his eyes. He's as lost as she is, but the difference is, he's dived headfirst right into the whole sordid mess of them, instead of standing there gaping, as she well would have. Or is, um, actually doing so currently. The look on her face probably mirrors what Spike is feeling now, that deer-in-the-headlights, I'm-not-ready-for-this-confrontation thing, and Buffy feels herself soften as she steps closer, ready to just take him and hug him and--

His voice is effortlessly nonchalant. "About time you got here, innit? Was about to go 'round the world myself, but got sidetracked. Big evil's a'brewin here and I'm needed, not like I was back in Sunnydale, you know, used and all abused by every Scoobie in sight. Looks like you and Junior Whelp over there are busy enough for you not to worry, though. Nice to know. Never knew you went for the living types, now--top soul patch, by the way. Very manly." His eyebrow is cocked, but that trademark defensive jealousy thing all the vampires she's known seem to have? Still there.

And suddenly all the goodwill just seeps away and in its place is just indignant fury. The smug grin, the devil-may-care attitude, the fact that he's back from the dead and obviously not sorry that he never once called and that she's thrown for a loop and that he just insulted her very non-existent relationship with Pike, who she certainly could do better than, that's for sure?

God, what a bastard.

The punch catches him in the gut before Buffy can catch up with her terminal disease of 'crazy, irrational, momentary anger.' Remorse zips through her for a full second but then her eyes narrow into slits, and she stands her ground.

"You are so dumb," she says finally. "You think I wanted those to be my first words to you upon my joyful return to the homeland? Nope, but there you go. You are as dumb as a sack full of very dumb rocks." She folds her arms. "I find out you're back from Andrew of all people, I fly halfway around the world to see what's what--the same day I find out, no less, so packing was an extreme issue, and you know how I feel about shortened packing time-- then the minute you see me, it's all, 'Look at me, I'm a jealous vampire with jealous vampire issues!' Not even a phone call or a hello, or, or, a good day, Buffy, guess what, I'm back, and the minute you finally see me again, you yell at me? God, what is wrong with you?"

"Been a bit incorporeal, haven't I?" Spike retorts, wheezing as he straightens. "Don't see you exactly combing the streets for me, either. Having a jolly old time at the Cat an' Fiddle with Boytoy over there, yeah that's real hard work, Slayer."

"Oh my God," Buffy groans, exasperated. "I ran into an old friend. What was I supposed to do? Introduce him as my super-cool long-lost older brother so as not to threaten your frankly ludicrous lack of self-security?"

"Well, yeah." Spike narrows his eyes and tilts a suspicious chin at her. "If you're not hiding anything, which I think you are. Appalling taste, to be more concise, but then, you never did get it right. Present company excluded of course." He preens. Actually preens!

"Are you kidding me?" Buffy spits. "He's not even dead, and you know that's so not my type. Unfortunately, seeing as losing your heartbeat also means losing some choice braincells, too."

"Ooh, I'd forgotten," Spike snips, his eyes flashing fire. "You're more into the tall, dark, and Poofy. Well, hate to disappoint you, sister. But Angel-face is a bit more preoccupied with the arrival of tall, dark, and leggy. His secretarial slag's awake, or haven't you heard?" The savage glee in Spike's expression cuts Buffy more than his actual words. He's actually waiting to see her be hurt at the news, eager to talk about Cordelia and Angel (like that's something Buffy will actually ever have to worry about, yeah right--) in order to see Buffy wince. Well, she won't let him have it. She'll show him how mature she is.

"I don't care about them," she says quietly. "I care about you, but you didn't believe me the first time I tried to tell you, why would you believe me now?" Then she turns, ready to walk away. Behind her, she hears Spike groan quietly and follow her.

Then her backhand is hitting him hard, the crack satisfying and carnal, and okay, disturbingly sexy.

So much for mature.

"That's for the low blow," she says primly. Then she crouches over where Spike is kneeling, holding his cheek and snarling. "We haven't even said hello yet, do you realize that? We both died, and we're still the exact same when we come back, where it matters. Stubborn as hell in the whole avoidance of issues way." She shifts and continues in a conversational tone, wiping the blood from his face, "I've dreamt of what this moment would be like, you know? Is that strange? Like, I used to wonder if...if we would ever see each other again. All summer, I had these wacky dreams of kissing you one more time, of feeling you next to me. It was you, not Angel, it wasyou and I was damned if I knew why. You drove me crazy, even when you were supposed to be dead." She extends a hand and hoists him up, tugging him closer impatiently. "Those dreams...they were...prophetic, I guess." She tilts her chin and looks hopefully up into Spike's eyes, pleading. "I mean, here you are. You. I want you, not Angel. You're back and you're not dead, and...the kissing. Prophetic. Yes?"

Spike looks at her for a long moment before he spurts into slightly hysterical laughter. "Are you having me on?" he asks in disbelief, his eyes wide.

Buffy pouts. "I'm not having you anywhere," she says teasingly, coming closer.

Spike shakes his head, backing away. "Buffy. You're... serious?" he asks, and his voice is worried, full of wonder.

"Well, kiss me hello and find out, for a start, idiot!"

But whatever Spike is about to do in the face of Buffy's bold encouragement is lost, because a movement in the crowd catches her eye.

It's Angel.

And he does not look happy.