Author's Notes: Even though writing angst is my default mode... even though I love a good well-written, angsty S6 story... even though I've watched S6 the most... I don't actually like writing canon S6. I've only ever tried it once before... and I still haven't posted that piece. *Shudders*

All this to say... I kinda had to go with the angst this chapter. Set after 'Gone'. Also, yes, there will be a S8! I'm in the middle of writing it... we'll see where it goes. Thanks for the responses. :) And a Happy 2013 to all!

Season Six – 2001

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"Well, there you are."

Buffy sighed. "You found me."

"Thought you might come to me. Tonight of all nights." Pain and anger flashed in his eyes, and she looked away.

She'd wanted to. God, how she'd wanted to. But it was different this year. This year, it meant something, if she went to him. He would read some kind of feeling into it; see it as her acceptance of him, of them. And that was a big no in the world of Buffy. Rather than go to him, she'd hidden away at Willy's.

She was smart enough to know that she could have made it impossible for the vampire to find her... and yet she hadn't. There was a hidden message there, but she wasn't going to think about it. Instead, she nodded at the bench opposite the table, waiting for him to sit, then leaned across so nobody else could hear her. "You want to know the reason I didn't go looking for you?"

The one I'll tell you, at any rate.

He leaned forward too, head cocked.

"This?" Buffy motioned between them with one hand. "Feels like we're cheating on each other. With ourselves." Spike's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "We're only supposed to be each other's date when there's nobody else," she explained. "But if I wasn't here with you, I'd be… with you." She let her statement stand, hoping he'd get the implications. When he drew back, face thoughtful, she knew understood.

"So see, it's just all kinds of fucked up. Neither of us is really alone this year." She frowned. "And don't take that as any kind of tacit approval of our… whatever we have. Because we don't have anything. I am not in a relationship with you. Of any kind."

Spike frowned too. "You sure know how to make a bloke feel wanted, Slayer." He shook his head in disgust. "And yet, I still seek out your company. Maybe I'll stop hating myself so much, one of these days."

Saluting him with her glass, Buffy said, "Welcome to my world." He got up to leave, eyes flashing dangerously, and she panicked. "Please. I… don't go. I'll play nice. For tonight."

He hesitated, then slid back into the booth, slouching sullenly. "For tonight, then."

"So…" Buffy cast about for a topic. "Who wins the award this year for worst year?"

Spike didn't even stop to consider his answer. "That would be me."

"How d'you figure?" she scoffed. "Let's add up my points. First, Riley, which ok, technically last year, but kinda ruined at least the whole month of January. My mother died, when she was supposed to be getting better. You chained me up, sicced your loony ex on me, and made a sex robot that wore my face. My sister was hunted by a Hellgod, and almost killed, which lead to an almost apocalypse. I got ripped out of Heaven to find I have no money, no job, a mountain of debt and no skills other than killing evil creatures – which doesn't pay squat, by the way – and instead of helping, my father figure abandons me to it. I can hardly stand my oh-so-unasked for life, made worse by the fact that the only way I can tolerate it is to spend most of my time with an evil creature I don't even like."

Buffy paused for a breath, took a sip of her drink. "And let's not forget the icing on the cake. Oh yeah, I died. Unpleasantly, I might add, in case you were wondering."

Spike laughed, but it was a hollow, bitter sound. "And that would be why my year was worse. Because you died." His expression was so intense, his eyes filled with so much pain and sorrow and regret that Buffy couldn't look away.

"Don't. Just… don't do that. Don't say things like that."

"And why not? S'true. A hundred and fifty odd years on this planet, and those five months were the worst of them all. Hell," he said. "Wouldn't even be here to have this conversation, if not for kid Sis. She's the only thing what kept me going."

Why did he have to look at her that way? With those eyes that were far too human for a soulless creature. "You don't have real feelings, Spike."

He made a noise of disbelief. "So much for playing nice."

"Well, you don't. What are you? Not a person. William is dead. And long gone. You're just… a parasite. Reanimating his body. There's nothing real about you." She rose to leave. "And I can't lo-" She snapped her mouth shut. "I can't like a parasite."

Buffy fled the bar, hoping that maybe she'd managed to drive Spike off for good this time. Maybe he'd leave her alone, stop making her feel things she didn't want to.

Halfway across town, she heard the heavy tread of his boots behind her.

She sighed. This was Spike. He would never leave her alone. The one man she didn't want wouldn't run out on her, no matter how she tried to hurt him.

Not man, she reminded herself. Soulless, bloodsucking parasite.

His hand fell on her shoulder, and he spun her far more gently than she'd expected. She let her fist fly anyways, but he knew her too well, catching it with his hand, then wrapping his arms around her.

"Stop," she protested, even as she slumped into him.

"Never." Spike took her by the hand, leading her through town, to his crypt. Buffy followed without argument. She'd used up all her anger for the night, and all that was left was the emptiness only he seemed to fill.

The moment he shut the door, she pressed herself to him, desperate for his passion, his fire, his rage. "Make me forget, Spike. Please."

He ran his hands through her shorn hair, shook his head. "Not tonight, Buffy. This isn't who we are, tonight."

"Why?"

He didn't answer, only pressed a kiss to her forehead, then turned to the television, finding their usual program. Satisfied, he flopped back into his tatty old armchair, pulling her onto his lap as he kicked off his boots. Once she was comfortable in his arms, he said in a rough voice, "Didn't think I'd ever get another chance to do this. Count down to the New Year with you. Think that's what hurt the most, when you were gone, knowing this year I'd really be all alone. That I wouldn't have this one kiss to get me through the next year."

Her heart caught in her throat. Buffy worked so hard to remember that Spike was nothing but a soulless demon, and then he would do things, say things – make her feel things – that no one else could. And she would remember why she turned to him over and over, even when she hated herself for it.

She tried to shrug off his admission. "Well, I'd say you've had plenty of kisses to get you through next year. No reason to worry about it now."

"And yet…" Spike laced his fingers through hers. "Something special about New Year's Eve, love. Because this one night a year, we aren't enemies. And you don't hate me. No matter how much you protest otherwise," he said with a wry smile.

"I seem to remember a whole lotta hate spewing out of your mouth too, Spikey."

"Didn't mean it. Not really. Not anymore than you did." He nuzzled her hair, breathing deeply. "Even when I thought I hated you, I treasured these kisses. Dreamt of them all year long."

Okay, no fair, she was officially gooey inside. Buffy didn't want to be. She wanted to hate him, to hurt him. To stop the warm-and-fuzzy-making words pouring out of his mouth.

But he was right. That wasn't who they were tonight.

Why buck tradition?

She answered him, low and urgent and just a little breathless with fear. "I dreamt of them too. If you pressed me hard enough, I might even tell you how I always looked forward to New Year's Eve, just so I could kiss you again."

God, she loved it when he looked at her like that. Like she'd made his entire life worth living. Buffy could admit it, just for this moment, even if she'd be firmly denying any such thought in only a few hours time.

"You know the drill, though," she added. "Anything I say to you tonight doesn't count. Not out in the real world. You don't ever get to bring it up."

Spike looked like he wanted to retort, say something cutting and rude, but he shut his eyes, jaw ticking, chest heaving, until he was in control once more. "'Course not. Haven't broken the rules yet." He opened his eyes again, and they were soft and pleading. "So you can say anything you want. Anything at all."

Her eyes welled up. "Spike…"

"Need to hear it. Just once, Buffy. Whatever's in your heart, that you're too afraid to say."

Oh no. No way. She was already way too vulnerable to this soulless creature. "Turn it up," she whispered instead. "The countdown's started."

He did, twisting under her to reach the knob, then resettling her on his lap, his eyes holding hers.

Twenty… nineteen… eighteen…

Neither of them spoke. Buffy's breathing accelerated as he leaned into her, her lips tingling in anticipation.

Five… four… three…

His kiss was just as soft, just as sweet as it had ever been. Buffy fought the urge to tangle her tongue with his, to open her thighs to hardness beneath her, to give into the raging need his touch aroused in her.

Tonight, she wasn't that person.

Happy New Year!

Heart pounding in her ears, Buffy pulled away, her eyes searching the blue ones in front of her. She took a deep breath, then leaned in to whisper in his ear.

"Sometimes, I wish I could love you back."

She fled into the night, not giving him a chance to respond.