A/N:

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

Ok, I have changed this a lot since I first posted it. I changed it a few thousand times, actually. Still not sure about it!

Chapter 9

Spike stood by the door letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. In the bed, Buffy was propped up by several pillows. Her face was turned towards the door. They were separated by a few feet of scuffed linoleum and a thousand miles of history and baggage and feelings. The seeming fragility of Buffy's slender body hidden under the sheets was belied by the fearsomeness of the light blazing out of her eyes. Even across the room he could see the anger and hurt and God knows what else besides, all concentrated in the blinding look she was giving him.

He walked slowly towards the bed. As he got closer, her gaze faltered and she closed her eyes. He could see a glistening tear escape and roll slowly down her pale cheek. Without speaking, he sat down on the chair next to the bed, and gently took her hand. Her eyes flew open and she whispered, so faintly he could hardly hear it. 'Oh, Spike. I've missed you so. Thank God you have come back to me at last.' There was a world of love and forgiveness in those luminous hazel eyes, shining with tears and joy. The vampire bent his head and, with infinite tenderness, kissed those soft, pink, trembling...

God, you are so pathetic! Spike's voice resonated inside his head. The alluring vision, which had flashed into his mind as he stood there, vanished. As if the touching reunion scene was going to play out like that. Not in this vampire's lifetime, which could possibly be a bloody long time!

And as they both stayed where they were, saying nothing, another picture flashed before him.

Of him walking towards the bed. He would sit down and look at her for a long moment. Then he would say, 'I'm sorry, Buffy. Please believe me, I never meant to hurt you. I thought it was all for the best.' And she would smile sweetly at him and then, even though it took all of her strength, she would pull back her arm and punch him viciously on the nose, breaking it for the third (? - he'd lost track) time. And this alternate version of their reunion actually rather pleased him because it would be a return to normality. Or at least their normality; he had learnt not to ask for anything more than that, because, after all, wouldn't he give anything to have one more day with her in Sunnydale, even if it meant she was kicking him from here to kingdom come? At the moment, Buffy looked incapable of getting out of bed, let alone kicking anyone.

He started to feel fury building up inside him. Anything rather than dwell on Buffy's current state of health. Why didn't she say something? He had come all this way and damn well saved her life, and not for the first time, so why the silent treatment? Didn't she realise that, according to the curse, he was her true love?

The thought of it terrified him so much and yet filled him with such a dazzlingly bright spark of joy, that he smothered it with cynicism and anger, those old favourites of his. The torments of hell (and he knew something of those) would have been insufficient to get him to mention the whole soul mates theory to her first. Let her bring up the miraculous healing powers of his kiss. Wild horses couldn't drag it out of him.

He clenched his fists tightly at his sides.

For a long, long time, neither of them moved or said anything. They were both unsure where to start because an eternity might not be enough to say all that needed to be said, and yet, what could they say? They had lost each other to save the world and that had been okay. It had been worth the price. So where to go on from there? They knew that they were willing to give each other up and so what more could they say to each other? Because shouldn't true love be worth more than the world? So if it wasn't true love, what was it? And how had Spike woken Buffy up if it wasn't? It had always been complicated between them and how was now going to be any different?

All these questions swirling round, all the possible answers shouting at them in their heads.

And that cruel little voice in his head continued to whisper to him of another universe, a parallel world where this scene was playing out so differently. Where, after some anger and recriminations and the 'Why Spike, whys?', Buffy was weeping tears of joy at his return, and all was forgiven. And the scene would end on a kiss amid a sweeping crescendo of violins. In that parallel place where fantasies came true. And the voice gave a sardonic laugh and said, 'There is NOWHERE in this universe or any of the billions of others in this multidimensional existence of ours where that would happen!' More likely was the 'Buffy breaking his nose and then beating him to a bloody pulp' scenario, once she was well again. Now that he could really see happening.

And still they said nothing. The silence outside was a perfect counterpoint to the storms going on inside both of them.

Buffy stared at the still figure by the door, furious that she could not leap out of bed and tell him just what she thought of him the best way she knew how; through that violent ballet at which they had been so good. She could not think of what to say or how to start this scene. And she clenched her fists on top of the sheet, in a unconscious echo of the vampire.

She was so angry at him. How could he have been back for so many months without a word? Did he have any idea what she had been through since Sunnydale?

All the sleepless nights, the terrible dreams from which she woke with nothing but a bottomless pit of loss inside her. All those months of trying to be ok, to be normal, for Dawn's sake. Her complete lack of desire to get involved with the Council and do something really worthwhile. Those hedonistic, pointless months of shopping and dating and occasional patrolling, just so she felt like she was doing something. A stalled life. That's what it had been like. And she had known, somewhere deep inside her, unacknowledged and unaccepted, the truth behind it all.

It had been because she was still grieving for Spike. It had taken her so long to tell herself and him that she loved him. But, once the words were out there, it was like the dam had burst. In the days after Sunnydale she had ached for the vampire, an ache deep in her bones, in her soul. He had become, so gradually that she had never seen it happen, such a vital part of her life, of what gave her strength and comfort and the will to go on.

Those last few nights when she had slept in his arms had helped her do what she needed to do. She had given him the amulet saying it had to be worn by a champion. She had meant someone who could save the world, but now she realised that he had been the greatest champion she had ever had and that he had saved her. And that was despite their terrible history and all the appalling things he had done or tried to do to her.

So she had lain awake, night after night, thinking that she would never be warm again without those pale, strong, cool arms around her.

And then, with characteristic Buffy pragmatism, she had tried to push it all aside and just get through the days. She had started dating the Immortal and talking to Giles about what her next step should be. She had told herself that everything was going to be fine. But she had never let the Immortal get beyond a goodnight kiss, and she had kept telling Giles that she was weighing her options and hadn't made a decision yet. All the time she had been waiting for something, without knowing what it was.

And now she wondered if some part of her had known that the vampire was back. Yes, that was ridiculous, but seeing him now, as full of rage as she was, as ill as she was, still she felt like a huge weight had been lifted from her chest and she could finally draw a deep breath and fill her lungs. All these months of shallow breathing were over.

Watching him standing there, an inscrutable expression on his face, she wanted so badly to touch his face that it was a physical ache inside her. She wanted to run her hand over those pointed cheekbones, that smooth, cold, white skin, that still madly bleached hair. She could see those eyes, the colour of a summer sky, a sky that he had not been able to stand under for over a century, boring into her. His firm mouth was set hard. She shivered at the sudden memory of what those lips could do, had done, to every part of her.

And, with a sudden, dazzling, ray of insight, she knew that, even if she ranted and raved at him for not coming to her as soon as the powers that be returned him to this world, even if she never understood why he had not done so, even if she beat him to a pulp at the first opportunity, even if there was no future for them; well, despite all of that, she knew that she would forgive him, in the end. Maybe she wouldn't tell him this, because the son of a bitch deserved to suffer, but the sight of him filled her with such a fierce, blazing joy that the little poisonous shoots of fury and disappointment and shock, and all those other negative feelings he'd conjured up, shrivelled into nothingness. But he did not need to know that yet. First, he had some explaining to do.

'William.'

'Slayer.'

And at last he started to walk towards the bed.

'I..'

'You.'

They both spoke at the same time. Buffy tried again. 'Sit down, Spike.'

He sat on the chair next to her bed. As he looked down at that familiar face which had come between him and his sleep every night in all the years since he had first met her, he felt himself give a little, involuntary sigh. Whatever happened, he was with Buffy. And that was all he had wanted for longer than he could remember. However, he was determined not to show her any weakness. He had no idea what was going on in her mind, but he had had enough of acting like a lovesick puppy.

But all his bravado, his determination to stay in control, his carefully created sense of being hard done by, wavered as he looked into her brilliant green eyes, which seemed too large and bright in her thin, white face. He pushed his hands deep into his jacket pocket to stop himself wrapping his arms around her and never letting her go. How could he still love her with every atom in his body? How could that tsunami of emotion still wash over him when he found himself looking at her? Would he never be free? Would he want that, even if it were possible?

He kept a neutral expression on his face, using all the control he had. But he looked away sooner than she did, because he knew his eyes would be telling her the whole story. And maybe she would be disgusted and he couldn't bear that.