AN: There is reference to some physical 'action' in this longer chapter. So reader discretion advised. It's longer as it was a stand alone originally, but I preferred to integrate it into Spike's memories in the story, rather than use it as a prequel or intro chapter, especially since the Show tended to use memories with Spike to no adverse effect.

((($$$)))

Spike rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time, as the anxiety in his gullet morphed into a sensation far more nebulous. The noisy atmosphere dulled to a low, distant drone, and Buffy's still smiling face started to glow in a contemplative blur. He blinked several times, before realizing he could not help but slip into a memory-the first time Buffy and he had met, after he had died and come back to life.

Too tired to resist, and still bothered by his companion's odd behavior, he slipped deeper and deeper into what was now a graceless yet priceless jewel of recollection...

The faces of the demons and that nasty troll faded out, making room for other images.

(( ))

"What are you doing here?" She looked up following her instincts toward the shadow in the hall.

"I heard you went to Italy," a sulky but sexy voice proffered, quickly followed by the familiar sight of sallow cheeks and titanium blond. His face broke into a smile, "You obviously haven't gone soft. Still pulling me out of the dark."

"Hiding was never your strong point."

"What was?" He grinned knowingly, provoking her with a glance and the subtle movement of his torso.

"You had several if I remember correctly." She opted for cheery diplomacy, leaving him to guess if she was pushing him away or inviting him forward.

"Nice hair, Goldie, did the Italian stylists get to you?" He countered with his own backhanded compliment. Hesitant to reach out and touch her hair as he once did, he cocked his head at the serious expression spreading over her delicate features.

"I heard you came to Italy to see me. But you never saw me." She cast her eyes away after meeting his gaze pointedly.

"You were…occupied." A dull wrenching twist nagged at his gut. Must be the soul in me—regret? Regret you didn't come see her earlier. He blinked and tried to force himself to remember the last time he tried to see her, he'd been fighting with Angel and Buffy'd been having a fling with…

"Oh. Yeah, right…" She tucked a hair nervously behind her ear.

"You aren't still…occupied, are you?" He couldn't help but ask.

Her arm fell away from her chest and her body language opened slightly.

"Um, well no, not exactly."

"So did you ever get to bake that cookie of yours?" He wasn't about to let her fill the 'not exactly' part with excuses and so opted for a slightly different front.

"Angel told you that?" Her eyes bugged, and he realized he'd successfully diverted the conversation.

"Unfortunately," he mocked, sizing her up with his appetite behind the mask of frivolous disdain. It'd been so long since he'd seen her, held her…

"I guess. I'm different now. I've seen the world. Lived for myself. I'm not unique anymore. It's different, but…nice." She shrugged.

"Glad to hear."

"You still fight evil?"

"Surprises never cease, this time I don't even do it to impress women."

"What, trying men these days?"

"No," he coughed nervously, but smiled when he noticed her grin.

"So, Spike, you mean to tell me you died saving the world, came back to life and never planned on letting me know personally?" Spike gulped at Buffy's reproof. The conversation had obviously hit on the big pink elephant standing between them. A part of him was relieved Buffy had opted for the direct approach, even though another part of him wanted to weasel out of this leg of the conversation as quickly as possible. Her directness reminded him of the night after they first lay together, the night after their first real conversation. Grimacing, he tried his best to bury the hope that she might still want that from him.

"I thought about it, but then I didn't know if you wanted to see me. I mean, you thought I was dead. How could I just pop in?!"

"You didn't think I'd want to see you?" Incredulity and protest rose in her voice. Buffy was surprised at the strength of her own reaction.

"I thought maybe you needed to be yourself, do your thing, have your life…and that maybe you didn't need some loser vampire mucking up your life anymore," at last he'd said it. The expression in his eyes was raw, and slightly moist.

"Thank you. I mean, for thinking of me that way. But…don't think I didn't…"

"Oh, don't lie to me, don't try to tell me that you missed me! You went on bloody holiday as soon as I was out of the picture! And then you went off bonking what's his face…" He kicked himself for raising his tone at her.

"Well you could have told me you were alive!" She shouted back defensively, her eyes now a little moist as well, "And he was a rebound for all you care. It's not like I expected to settle down and share a life with him."

"Oh, you didn't?! Well great. Because, I really couldn't care either way. Your life is none of my business, Slayer. I'm just some git who reads poetry in one of the many countless holes in the walls of LA and saves the odd human here and there. Never mind I was a ghost without a body trapped inside a hell-bent law firm, not to mention my hands got cut off trying to rehabilitate a psycho killer slayer!" He felt himself loosing it and so shut up before he got any more incoherent.

"Your hands were cut off? But you have them."

"Surgery. Rehabbed with Nintendo," he exclaimed firmly in a bout of self-disgust, opening his palms and looking down at them with the recollection.

"You could have told me," her expression shifted, putting him off guard.

"Yeah, well, I didn't…I…couldn't." He uttered in spent exasperation.

"Couldn't?" She raised an eyebrow. He noticed she had moved closer but was too afraid to let the fact of it sink in.

"I was afraid."

"Of what?"

"I don't know. I just…When I died, it was…well you know…saving the world, you telling me you loved me…I didn't want to lose that. I know you can never love me like you loved Angel, but I felt what we had then and I…couldn't bear to lose it…" His head sunk at the admission.

"I don't see what this has to do with Angel. You were the one fighting by my side," she responded softly.

Spike lifted his head and smiled at the irony, "You said once you'd put us in a room, well we did just that you know…fighting over who was worthier to become human and…" He shot a telling glance.

"…and claim me?" She interrupted, "God you two never stop!"

"Guess you don't want to know who won, do you?" He began to strut subtly around her.

"Oh, like I care!" she dismissed, but her eyes followed him as he continued to circle her.

"I did. And I think you do care."

"Don't flatter yourself," she retorted. But before she'd finished her sentence, her hands were already gripping his shirt, and soon her body pressed forcefully into his.

"So the Slayer hasn't forgotten her little playmate after all…" He mused, sensual anticipation crawling through his skin. Her body was strong and warm, and God had he missed its touch!

"Quit that…" her mouth moved, but her hands kept at him.

"Quit what?" he asked half confused, half turned on.

"Quit acting like you're nothing, that you're no one. It isn't true…" she kissed him and came up for air to speak again, "You were more than a playmate when I last saw you; you'd been more than that for a long time. And you're not just some seedy git." She tried to kiss him again but he stopped her.

"Hey, I never said I was seedy," he lay a finger on her lip.

"I know. I just love giving you a hard time," she smiled.

"So what's it like being normal now? Not so unique anymore?"

"If by not unique you mean not having have had to save the world countless times, then honestly couldn't tell you." She scrunched her face that way she always did when she thought she was being smart. "But if you mean not being the only one on slayer duty, I'd say great. But maybe just a little boring…" her mouth clambered for his, "at least every once and a while…"

Buffy clawed at him, tearing away bits of clothing, and he responded vigorously. In seconds, he had her on the floor. It wasn't long before she threw him on his back and climbed on top of him. As she rode him, he thought he saw stars—it had been so long. The fire burned like it had so long ago.

Time and space ceased to exist until laying spent, the two finally returned to their surroundings wrapped in each other's nakedness.

"Well, at least we didn't make the building fall down this time."

"Hm…I suppose we didn't," his blond head snapped in bemused inspection of the structural integrity of their surroundings. Her hand stroked his chest, and he returned to feed on the vision of her face, and sundry other charms.

"How did you find me here?"

"Funny thing, I heard you were in this town and then I followed my nose…"

"Ewww, gross. Vampire smelly thing."

"Now luv, is that a complaint?" With a stealthy hand he reached to caress a slightly more sensitive area, causing her to close her eyes with pleasure.

"Fine, whatever…" her voice grew weak from the pleasure

"So, Slayer," he stopped his ministrations to look her squarely in the eyes, "Does this mean we're together?"

"Well, I guess given our history, it's probably a safe question to ask," she reflected out loud, knitting her brow.

His heart jumped and he tried his best to collect her more closely into his arms.

"So I'm taking it, you're not planning to run off to Angel boy, then?"

"Nah…" she shook her head and put a hand in his hair, vision softening with the sight of her lover's comeliness.

"So, together then." He plied, stomach in his throat.

She looked at him quizzically, then relaxed.

"If by together you mean in an actual relationship, I guess yes."

"There's a first," he nearly coughed.

She pulled his ear eliciting a cry of protest.

"Spike…" she started to warn, but melted into another kiss. The two of them lay back, resting their heads on the floor, looking into each other's eyes.

"Right," he said at last.

"Yep," she answered.

They lay there, silent but satisfied until morning.

((^^))

Spike continued to drift in the bittersweet space between the reality of the poker table and his memories for what seemed like an age. Buffy carried on oblivious.