Three weeks had passed since Buffy thought the world would end at the hands of her very best friend. Giles had taken a healing Willow and Tara with him back to England where he thought a local, powerful, but peaceful coven and the fresh air of the countryside would be beneficial to them. Thanks to the doctors, all-natural therapeutic remedies, and Spike's fast actions, Tara was making a quick, full recovery and was cleared to fly.

The rest of them were still in the process of emotional recovery, though there was a lightness surrounding the group as summer began. Dawn was attending summer school, with only a little pushback; Xander was determined to be the beacon of hope and positivity and was even being kinder to Spike; Anya disappeared every so often but was talking more frequently to the group, including Xander, and still running a successful store; and Buffy herself felt the heaviness of her depression lifting. From Dawn, she knew that Spike was getting better too, and though he was talking to her more, there was never a mention of the soul or his feelings. He maintained safe and respectful distance from her.

He still spent a great deal of time downstairs in the basement, but more often, she was finding him cooped up in her living room and hogging the TV, yelling at the characters as though they could hear him and leaving his empty blood bags for her to pick up. The idiot needed to get out of the house and though she had been patient and kind to him these past few weeks, it was wearing down.

After work, she came home to find Spike, Dawn, and Xander- the traitor- camped out in front of the TV playing some kind of video game. Thumping back down the stairs after making a quick change, she stood in the entryway and cleared her throat. None of them turned around or paid her any attention. She walked over to the front of the TV, took the controller out of Xander's hands and paused the game.

"Xand?"

"Uh huh?"

"Could you watch Dawnie tonight?"

"Sure thing, Buffster."

"Dawnie?"

"Yup?"

"Get your homework done. I don't want to hear any more stories about how you talked Xander out of it. And the two of you, eat something other than pizza. Please?"

"Yeah huh."

"Spike?"

"Slayer?"

"Get up." She flung the remote at him. "We're patrolling."

She waited a moment at the door, fully expecting him to remain sitting and to have to put in more effort, but was surprised to find him right behind her, shrugging on his duster. Without a word, he opened the door, waited for her to walk through, followed, and closed it behind him.

Huh.

Buffy was starting to miss the rapport between them. He may have had a twisted way of looking at the world, but he still managed to charm her as much as annoy her and had at the very least, been entertaining. Conversation was easy between them, whether they were arguing or talking strategy. When words failed, she used to be able to use violence instead, punching him in the nose, nudging him with her shoulder, or giving him a nice kick in the rear, but now they were both cautious of any physical contact. She frowned, thinking more about it, and realized that she didn't want to resort to violence. During their affair, and when she hadn't been paying enough attention, Spike could be gentle and sweet, holding her hand, nuzzling her neck, or grazing his fingers over her body. She hadn't been in a position to appreciate it then, but now, she felt the loss of it.

What she really wanted, and needed now, was his friendship, but she didn't know how to ask for it. She'd have to settle for the roundabout way and try to show him.

"Hey, Spike?"

"Slayer?"

"Call me Buffy."

"Fine, Buffy."

"Never mind."

"What?"

"Don't call me that, it sounds weird when you say it."

She thought she heard him scoff, but he said, "Alright, Pet."

"Don't do that either."

"Bloody hell," he drew in a sharp breath. "What are you on about?"

"I don't like it when you just take it. Push back. It's more fun."

His response was to arch his scarred eyebrow at her, but he looked amused. Warmth spreading through her, she continued walking and trying to think of the best way to engage him.

"Spike?"

"Bugger it. What?"

"How's everything with the so-"

But she wasn't able to finish her sentence because they spotted a group of vampires convening up ahead and they were forced to get into attack mode. She couldn't deny that her heart thumped louder when she crouched down close to Spike and he looked at her, an odd sideways glance that was more considering and suggestive than she'd seen in a long time, and she cursed the vampires for not allowing her to pursue that. Instead, he grinned, a smile that actually met his eyes, and leaped into the fray. Beaming, Buffy wasn't far behind him.

Hours later, her and Spike sat on her couch having said goodnight to a suspicious, yet not altogether spiteful looking Xander who left for his apartment and Dawn who crawled upstairs. After a few minutes of sitting in silence, Spike picked up the deck of cards left behind by Xander and Dawn and started shuffling them. Still high on adrenaline and feeling just a little bit silly, Buffy stole the cards from his hand and started dealing.

"What's the game?"

Fixing him with her fiercest, most threatening glare, she said, "Go Fish."

Another smirk, and now she was determined to start keeping count.

They played until a touch of sunlight began creeping out from behind the moon and Buffy yawned, looking at the clock. They had gone from 'Go Fish' to 'Poker' and more fittingly, 'War,' laughing and talking quietly. Thankfully, it was a Saturday so she could sleep in, but she wasn't quite ready to call it a night. Despite herself, she enjoyed spending time with Spike and since it came so irregularly now, she wanted to take advantage. Him and his damn vampire senses, however, did not miss the yawn. With a dramatic stretch, he grabbed the cards from her hands and tossed the pile onto the table.

"Off to bed with you, Slayer."

"Don't wanna," but she couldn't help but relax against the cushion of the couch and rest her eyes.

"I demand it, Buffy."

She cracked an eye open to inspect him, planning on glaring at him, but his eyes were shining and he looked so damned charming, youthful, and handsome, her heart stopped.

Uh oh.

"Yeah, yeah."

Forcing herself off the couch and away from him, she slumped over to the stairs. Before heading up, she turned back around and fixed him with a sleepy grin.

"Night, Spike."

Without a word, he offered her another smile and a bit of a wave, then crossed the living room and started towards the kitchen. Buffy waited at the bottom of the stairs until he was gone from view and she heard the click of the basement door shut.

What once felt like a chore, was now the best part of her day. It was funny how passionate she could be about slaying when there was someone with her, in the thick of the battle, who understood the fight, that spark. The companionship was something she thought she might share with Faith back when the girl had first been called and before everything had crumbled, but it was another level with Spike. With a viable partner, Buffy could get in her zone and not have to worry about what the others were doing, but he was also there with her, tracking her every move and following up with one of his own. She wasn't alone and the idea alone was freeing.

Spike wasn't as serious anymore, though he did have his moments of soulful silence where she could watch the inner turmoil brew. Through the weeks, Buffy was learning to read his moods and how to react. When his eyes were flashing, she knew the thoughts were darker and she allowed him to retreat into the basement or the darkness of the night. If he was fidgety or pacing, she put him to work with various chores that he complained about in a way that gave him great joy. Tense shoulders meant he needed to curl up on the couch and watch his soaps, and at the first sign of snark, she'd let him talk at her until his rantings turned into concerns, insecurities, guilt and regrets and he'd talk to her.

He was in a particularly playful mood when she got home from work and found that Dawn had gone to Janice's for the night. There was no time to address the nerves bubbling in her stomach at the idea of being home alone with Spike because he was waiting for her at the door, itching to get out. She laughed and told him he could have gone out without her at the first sign of sundown, but he'd just given her this pointed look that suggested she was crazy for even saying it, and it was oddly touching.

It was a cooler night in August when the days had generally been muggy and hot and suffocating, but now that the air was swirling, everything felt lighter. Vampires and demons of the Hellmouth must have been turned off by it for whatever reason though because they remained absent throughout their evening and she watched as the playfulness started to change to something a little more ominous. Without the benefit of sewer access, Spike was more frequently cooped up in the house and the vampire had energy to burn. Buffy was trying to determine the best course of action, when her foot caught on something on the ground and she barreled over into the grass. Her confusion grew as she looked up into the smirking face of Spike hovering over her.

"Wha-?"

"Wanna play? Slayer?"

Panic swelled through her, more at the idea that she had misinterpreted his mood, but then she found his eyes and she saw the lightness emerging. That was all he was doing, playing.

It does take two.

In response, she lifted her foot in an effort to knock him down at the knees, but he caught her leg. Using that momentum, she thrust herself up, jabbing him in the shoulder and coming to a standing position. His smile widening, Spike came at her, his punches skilled and pointed, but not deadly. Buffy met him blow-for-blow, their sparring as natural and as matched to the other as if they were fighting on the same side, but she supposed in a way, they still were.

Sweat was dripping unlike it had in a long while and she wondered why it had taken them so long to reach this point. Spike was a gifted fighter who had years of experience and practical knowledge Giles could not have dreamed, and she had already learned a lot from him without a specific lesson. Leaping into the air, she caught him against the chest with her heel and sat on him, a wide smile of victory covering her face, as she looked down at him. Her arm raised to deliver the final, devastating blow, with a jolt, Buffy remembered exactly why they didn't do this, the violence thing anymore.

They were back in the alley, Buffy blinded and broken, pounding fist into flesh and Spike beneath her bloodied and beaten, taking it. She froze, her hand finding his face in a gentler, more possessive way as she rubbed his cheek. At her touch, he closed his eyes, but they flickered open again in confusion. There was no fear there, she could see that, and it comforted her, but she still felt the guilt ebbing.

"Spike, I-"

She swallowed her words, not knowing what to say. He smiled at her then and she choked back a sob, but then she was rolled over and he was on top, the smirk back and as devious as ever.

"Not like you to let your guard down, Slayer."

"Yeah, well-"

"It's fine, yeah? Me 'n you, this thing. Was different, not like before."

Looking at him, Buffy could tell that he meant it, but still, she felt like she needed to say it, for him to hear it.

"I am sorry for- For what I did- Hurting you. It wasn't right and I'm sorry."

"Not saying it was fun, but it was different then. I was your outlet, the Big Bad secret, through the good and the bad."

"I'm not that person anymore, Spike."

It was a whisper, said more like a question than she intended, and it startled her, how much she wanted his approval.

"And 'm not that vampire."

Eyes wide, she nodded, allowing the guilt and regret to seep away and be replaced by a sense of relief and forgiveness. At his expression, so serious in an almost pompous manner, she couldn't help but burst out laughing. Scoffing, he pulled away, muttering about silly bints.

"What exactly are you giggling at?"

"I'm sorry, but," she tried to breathe. "The two of us, getting along like this, it's almost too much."

Spike pulled away completely and shot up, putting space between them. Just like that he was self-defensive, insecure vampire again. Buffy did take a moment to breathe this time to collect herself. Putting her hands up, as if to say, I come in peace, Buffy walked over to him and took one of his hands in hers, guiding him to start walking.

"I didn't say it's bad, Spike. Just weird in kinda a really good way."

He only grunted his approval, but sneaking a sideways glance at him, she didn't miss the smile that brightened his face or the way his shoulders relaxed. Now she had to make sure he didn't realize just how good she was getting at reading him. He might think it was a thing.

She was learning to read him and it was becoming a thing. It was unsettling, this Buffy, so he supposed she was right in that way. When he'd first realized he loved her, he hated himself for it. His love for her, she, changed him and he fought it for so long, even when he admitted to his feelings. When she had first come back from the dead, so vulnerable and lost, coming to him when she couldn't anyone else, it startled him. As a man, he'd been bumbling and awkward, so un-attuned to his own emotions and life, never mind someone else's. After he was turned, he didn't have to handle anything particularly uncomfortable, excepting Drusilla, because he could just kill or destroy whatever got in his way. When faced with the opportunity of getting a chance to make a better impression on Buffy, Spike resorted to old, easier habits and tried to drag her down with him. He didn't realize, until it was too late, that he was meant to be brought into the light with her, and through that, they could both heal.

Though he supposed now, with things calmer, lighter, and more hopeful, maybe it wasn't too late after all. The chit was happy, all glowing as she accustomed to this new normal. It could be difficult to find inspiration and the will to live in the mundane, but the spark in her returned. And he had forgiven her, for taking advantage of him and for that night in the alley, and the way she held his hand now, walking him home with her, rambling on about gossip between co-workers, he realized that she had finally forgiven herself.

It didn't mean anything more than what it was. The old Spike might have viewed this opportunity as a crumb, but this one refused to pretend like anything more than friendship between him and Buffy would be burgeoning. Unlike the Ponce, he didn't think it was because he was unworthy or bad for her. He knew that and he'd still go for it anyways if he thought that was what she wanted. What mattered was how he tried and just the idea of being her friend was motivation enough.

But he was still fragile and healing, as was she, and he no longer found it important to jump ahead when what was happening now was beautiful and real and significant. They had patrolling, talking, and now sparring, and for now, that would do.