A/N: This story has been written as a gift for the very wonderful and talented cd85 over at EF! Many happy returns!

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Spike picked at the label on his beer bottle. There had been a time when he used to have a drink in honor of each year he had traversed the sun, but that had gotten old about seventy years ago. He wasn't sure why he even bothered with his birthday anymore. Not since Drusilla had left him at least.

She had always made a point to celebrate birthdays, true that sometimes it wasn't even the correct month but she had always tried. Now there was no one.

He picked up a slice of the birthday cake he had got himself, wondering if he should have invited Clem over or maybe even Buffy. At least he might have been able to get a birthday fuck, but no he hadn't brought it up. He could only imagine what her response would have been. Probably along the lines of "Yes, and?", the thought made his stomach clench. He couldn't bear to put himself through that.

That line of thinking had taken him down yet another rabbit hole of self destruction and doubt. He was drinking his way through a 24-pack and eating the cake sitting in his lap with his bare hands, when his crypt door opened suddenly. Spike froze with his third slice of cake halfway to his mouth.

Buffy closed the door, coming down the steps towards him cautiously, "Do I even want to know why you are eating cake like it's a pizza?" She tilted her head, looking around at the empty bottles of whiskey and beer cans littering the floor and the two cases of beer on the other side of his chair. His duster was hanging over a wall sconce and his black t-shirt showed the scratches she had left on his biceps the last time she had ridden him into oblivion.

"Bloke can't sate his sweet tooth and get drunk at the same time?" he grunted, wiping frosting off his lips with his thumb. "What are you doing here anyway? Planning on getting your jollies off and flitting away without a backward glance? Not today, Luv."

From the look on her face he could tell his harsh tone had landed hard. How hard he didn't know and he was sure he was beyond caring. She dropped her gaze to the cake in his lap as she sat down on the overturned crate he used as a footstool. "What's going on with you?"

Spike, snorted derisively. "Like it matters. Don't want your pity anyway, Slayer, not that you'd give it." He could hear the contradiction of his words and yet couldn't seem to figure out how to sort them out. His alcohol saturated brain wasn't cooperating with him. It was almost maddening.

Buffy stood up with a huff. "You know what, honestly, I'm only here because Dawn wants to have a game night on Friday and she insisted on inviting you."

A lance of brotherly affection rushed through him and he set his beer down. "And you're alright with this?"

"I— well yeah, I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

"Wouldn't you though?" he asked, rocking back in his seat, blue eyes blazing with pain and double meaning. He dropped his gaze, finishing the neglected slice of cake in his hand. It didn't seem to have the same appeal it had earlier but he felt stupid just sitting there holding the slice in his hand like an idiot.

Spike's eyes tracked her as Buffy crossed her arms over her chest, he could practically see the wheels turning in her brain, putting together clues like Legos as she watched him chew and swallow.

Her eyes softened suddenly as realization dawned and Spike braced himself for what was coming. "Why didn't you tell me it was your birthday?" she asked sternly.

"Didn't see the point. Not like I was expecting a gift, seeing as I'm nothing but a convenient shag," he spat, picking up his beer and downing it.

"That's not true," she said and clamped her mouth shut like it had just betrayed her.

"Oh no?"

Buffy shifted awkwardly and cleared her throat. "I'm pretty sure you're too drunk for this conversation."

"Rot," he said, standing up and only swaying slightly. "I can't imagine there's enough alcohol in all of Sunnydale for the conversation we should be having."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I'm tired of being your bloody doormat!" He collapsed back into his chair, words spewing out in a torrent. "All I've ever been— Nearly a century and a half and all I've ever been is a sodden glorified caregiver and fuck-toy. Dru, Angelus, Darla- you— No one ever gives two fucks 'bout old Spike. Not really. Dru tried when it suited her but that was just—" He broke off, shifting glassy eyes down to the birthday cake. "Some birthday this has been."

He hadn't meant to say so much, maybe he was more drunk than he thought. All his doubts about his self-worth seemed to be bubbling to the surface under her stunned stare. What he wouldn't give for a stake right about now.

(*)

Buffy blinked, she had only seen him like this one other time, but somehow he seemed even more devastated than when Dru had left. She knew he had a point but he hadn't called her out on it before and she was surprised by how much it hurt. Her heart cracked in her chest as she watched him. It was true, she had been awful to him. The thought that they had known each other for years and he hadn't even shared his birthday with her because of it just seemed so— sad.

She didn't know what to say, everything seemed so minimal.

Empty.

So very, very empty.

The same void she had been feeling since her return. She had been so desperate to fill that space inside with something, anything, and ended up just using him. She hadn't truly realized it before. It seemed like self-punishment. A one-sided pain that couldn't touch him; clearly she was wrong. Watching him now, it was obvious just how badly he had been hurt, most of his unnatural life it would seem, and she wasn't treating him any better. Her callousness was tearing him apart.

Her heart ached, as though she had shoved a stake into her own chest.

This had to stop.

She had to stop.

Buffy shifted the cake to the crate she had been sitting on and knelt, between his knees. Spike rotated his head slowly to meet her gaze. "Last thing I want or need is your damn pity," he groused.

"It's not. Okay well, maybe a little but no… I've been using you— to, well to hurt myself and— it's wrong. I'm sorry and you don't deserve to be treated like this… God knows I've unloaded enough on you. I could have—"

"Punched me in the fucking nose?"

"I—" Buffy swallowed, her throat raw with emotion. "I could have tried harder. I could have maybe- maybe I could have treated you better. Maybe even been your friend."

He pulled back forcefully. "Friend. Yeah, 'cause that's just what I need."

"Says the guy sitting alone in the dark drinking and eating cake without a fork on his birthday. Yeah, I'd say you could use a friend," she snapped back but didn't move, determination written in the set of her jaw.

"I'm not looking for a sodding friend, Buffy! I'm in love with you and you treat me like your punching bag. The fists I can take, but—" He cut off, retreating into himself.

She didn't speak immediately. "I have an idea," she said, finally able to pluck up the courage to say what she needed to.

"What?" he growled.

"A reset button."

He turned cold, pain-filled eyes on her. "Maybe it's the booze making me slow, but I don't follow."

"We start over. You and me. We do the friendship thing the right way and see if the sexy time stuff follows."

"You're barmy."

Buffy frowned. "I thought you were all upset about the way I've been treating you— I thought this would make you happy."

"Oh I'll take the bloody 'reset' but I ain't goin' back to 'just friends', bugger that. We do a reset, it's going to be as a full-on couple. No skulking about behind your mates' backs. No more running off, virtue fluttering. No more kick-the-Spike."

Buffy couldn't help a small flirtatious smirk. "I was kind of under the impression you didn't mind it so much."

"Fine line, pet. You know I like a bit of rough and tumble but I can do without the kick to the head when you leave. I'll let you keep the claws, kitten."

Buffy swallowed hard and nodded. "You have a deal, Birthday Boy," she murmured as she leaned in for a kiss.

Spike pulled back. "Does this mean you'll go on an actual date with me?"

"We'll see how well you play with my friends on Friday."

"Friday?"

"Game night, remember? Ice Cream too. I can't really have everyone over without inviting my boyfriend, right? I mean I'm guessing that's what you mean by—"

Buffy didn't get a chance to finish before Spike scooped her into his lap, kissing her deeply. "This birthday just got a whole lot better."

She shifted off his lap grinning as she pulled him up to stand.

"What are you doing?" he asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

"You can't hang out here by yourself, what do you think about taking the rest of that cake over to my place? I bet Dawn would love some."

"Are you inviting me to a sleepover?"

Buffy smiled softly. "I think maybe I am."

Spike's fingers coiled into her hair as he pulled her into a searing kiss that sent electricity straight to her core. She pulled away reluctantly, before they could fall back into bad habits. It wouldn't be easy but Buffy was already thinking of ways to make things right with Spike, starting with a very happy birthday night.