Chapter Rating: PG13
Chapter Title: Epilogue: Sunnydale, 2002
Chapter Summary: Back to 2002, Sunnydale. Spike and Buffy share a moment reminiscing about Spike's past.
Chapter Notes:  I wanted to bring this fiction full circle, looking at Spike as he was then, and became later, and maybe filling a little bit of the puzzle in as to why he is so unique compared to other vampires.
Fic Notes: I hope this will be one of many little explorations into Spike's chequered past. I had a lot of fun writing it, I hope you enjoyed reading it. If you want more or less of the same, FEEDBACK!
Disclaimer: As Always, everything belongs to Joss, I just take 'em out of the box to play. J
 

EPILOGUE: SUNNYDALE, 2002.

Buffy pushed against the screen door with her elbow, two steaming mugs of tea and the sugar bowl balanced precariously in her small hands.

Spike leapt up with eager grace, holding the door open, then watched as she settled herself on the familiar stair of the back porch of her home.

She knelt, placing her mug next to her knee, then held his brightly coloured novelty mug out to him.

"Very funny, Pet, " He remarked as he took it from her hand, and smiled a little as his fingers brushed hers.

"DIP ME IN HONEY, AND THROW ME TO THE LESBIANS."

He gave her a trademark withering glance.

"Yeah, well," She smiled back. "It belongs to Willow."

He raised an eyebrow at her, and she became suddenly very interested in the contents of her own mug.

He reached across her grabbing the sugar bowl, his leather creaking in protest.

Buffy started as his arm brushed her breast, then watched with an 'EEWWW' expression fixed on her features as he heaped six teaspoons of sugar in the mug, and stirred the concoction with a deliberate and practised hand.

"Well. Could be worse, Slayer" He reasoned.

" Could be blood in the mug." He laughed easily at his own joke.

" Blood and sugar. Yuck. Don't ever want to go there." She nudged him in the ribs, her manner casual and, um very disturbing in a really confusing way.

He laughed again, and then the silence stretched between them, tense and taught as a bowstring.

'A pretty thing this is,' he thought. 'The Slayer joking around with me like this, and making me tea.'

He looked at her evenly, an amused glint in his eyes, sipping his tea and looking at her, waiting for her to speak. After all, he had just told her something about himself that he had kept deep within him for over thirty years.

She had asked him about where he had been during the sixties, and he had told her the story of Woodstock, thinking it would impress her. He hadn't said too much about Miranda, only that he had met a beautiful flowerchild, and had spent a day or two watching his hand move after he had fed off a hippy. He omitted the carnage of the horny suitors, and the gratuitous sex and violence with all the hallmarks of a bad Roman Polanski film, but apart from that, he had pretty much stuck to the general thread of the Spike and Drusilla experience.

Didn't want her to think he was a complete Ponce, did he?

"So." She said eventually, breaking the silence.

 He waited while she cleared her throat.

"What you just told me, it's all true? You were there?"

He took another sip of his tea, warming his mouth, wishing he could kiss her.

"Yeah Pet. It was groovy."

She gave him the patented Summers 'you are such a dickwad' look.

How did she manage that? Completely disarm all his carefully constructed tough guy armour, and make him feel like a teenager with a large and prominent pimple on his face?

He turned his attention back to the tea.   Fascinating stuff, tea. Made in Ceylon.

She spoke again.

Speak again bright Angel!

"And the redhead. You didn't 'vamp' her?"

She wrapped her hands around her mug, and peered at him over the rim, she had inched a little closer, and he could feel her thigh pressing against him, warm and bloody uncomfortable. It was all he could do not to throw caution to the wind and take hold of her, plunder her mouth with kisses and...

"Spike!"

"What now? Oh! The redhead. No Slayer, I didn't 'vamp' her. Didn't kill her either.  Contrary to one's opinion, sometimes I just like to fuck a woman, and leave her replete with pleasant memories."

"'Sides," He continued,  "She looked a picture in my old hat, her red hair tumblin' down to her hips, all naked and soft in the moonlight."

"Yay!" said Buffy, "Goody for you. No murder at Woodstock then."

"Di'nt say that, Pet."

Buffy glared at him.

'When' He thought, 'Will I learn to keep my big trap shut?'

She had moved away from him, the cosy closeness was gone.

He chose not to defend himself, reminding her instead of what he really was.

"Big scary vampire here, Pet."

"I know." She said quietly. "It's just sometimes I forget."

He decided to take a chance, and tentatively put his arm around her shoulder. She tensed a little, but didn't hit him or try to stake him, so he was encouraged.

He kissed the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her, sunshine and vanilla.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, and for once, he really meant what he said, and the funny thing was, he didn't know whether he was saying  it to Miranda, Buffy or Drusilla.

The cold heavy stone of longing had settled over his heart again, and this time, he didn't think he would have the strength to walk away.
 

Feedback please! J I want to write more, but if it's crap, I won't. Promise.