He stood at the window. A few dozen paces away: just far enough that she wouldn't be able to sense him, but he could still see her.

Golden, shining, magnificent. Effulgent.

She was curled into an arm chair, her hair swept over the arm rest. He couldn't quite tell if she was sleeping, but he would guess that she wasn't.

He could kill Angel for making and/or letting him stay away for so long, but that wasn't a possibility anymore. Angel, Lorne, Wes, Fred, Illyria, Gunn—all gone. He was alone. Where else could he go?

She stirred in the chair, straightened just a little. He finally tore his eyes away from her and glanced around the rest of the room. It looked like the room had exploded with glad tidings of great joy. Was it really Christmas?

Dawn was across from her sister, a bland-looking boy with brown hair next to her. Giles was next to the bit, hair and face grayer than ever. Willow and Xander sat in the chairs on either side of Buffy, both still mourning the losses of their loved ones.

None of the little slayers were there, much to his relief. Nothing wrong with new ones, of course, but Christmas is for family. The young ones weren't family, couldn't be like these were.

Like he wasn't, like he could never be.

This was his gift to himself. He would make sure she was okay, prowl around the little English town for a while. Be alone like he hadn't been since before Dru found him. Protect the Bit and the one he could never stop loving. Stay away from the sunlight.

Buffy suddenly stood up and he realized with consternation that he'd taken four steps forward, closer to the house and well within Buffy's sensory range. He took a few steps back, tried to escape her notice, but it wasn't soon enough, for the front door burst open.

Light poured around her. She took two steps onto the front porch, her eyes finding him with ease. He watched as her eyes widened. He took another step away but it wasn't quick enough, because she ran across the snow-covered yard to stand a few yards away from him. The others in the living room didn't leave the room or scarcely move.

He blinked and she was standing right in front of him. They stared at each other for a moment. Buffy's green eyes were glowing in what he flattered himself might be shock. Some sort of pleased shock. She took one step closer. "How are you alive?" she asked.

He took an unneeded breath for courage. "The bloody jewelry held onto my essence or some nonsense and eventually Angel's posse figured out how to solidify me—"

"I know that part," she interrupted, her eyes sparking with anger. "Andrew told me. He was very eager to tell the tale and I had to threaten dismemberment before he agreed not to write up the whole story. How did you survive Los Angeles?"

His heart sank into the dark puddle that sort of wailed at the increase of sorrow. It was about to overflow, that depth of sadness. She only cared about Angel—just the same as ever. He never learned. "I don't know."

She inhaled slowly, the breath shaking a little. "I heard about Angel and the others. A demon came bragging a few weeks ago, actually."

"I hope you ripped it head to toe," he muttered, the anger flowing through him for a moment.

"But it didn't mention you before I hacked it into pieces." She stepped toward him, one more pace. "I thought you were dead. Based on the destruction it described—you should be dead."

He smirked, unable to control the impulse to tease even in the darkest of moments. "I am dead, love, last I checked—"

Then he found himself with an armful of Buffy. She threw herself into his arms with a little sob and he stepped back to balance himself. He felt her tears on his neck as she buried her face away and he pulled her closer, his shock taking over the situation.

"Buffy…" he whispered into the wisps of long blonde sunshine hair that were trying to invade his mouth.

"I thought you were gone, you idiot," she murmured into his jacket. "I would never have gotten the chance to see you again. Because you didn't say hi in Rome and you never dropped by for the littlest of hellos even though you were still in the same state. California's big, but not so huge as to not stop by."

"Angel and I thought it would be best to let you move on—"

She scoffed, the sound simultaneously fond and scathing. "Since when do you listen to Angel?" She pulled away as he readjusted her in his arms—her legs had somehow ended up completely wrapped around his hips, and it was a slight weight he was incredibly surprised he was blessed to be able to relearn—and stared him down. "You were afraid."

He didn't see much point in arguing, so he just nodded a little as he wrapped his arms around her even tighter. The moment was finite and he intended to enjoy it as long and closely as possible.

"Why? I begged you not to stay in the cavern. I practically tugged you out of there before your stubborn self insisted on staying. I told you I love you."

He was rendered fairly flabbergasted. Which, for him, was pretty silent and mouth opening and closing not unlike a fish.

It had been so long since he last saw her, but he looked into her eyes and realized he could still read every flash of a thought that raced through them. She hadn't been lying. Those words that had kept him alive in the first few weeks of being incorporeal and then the long months afterward—they weren't just the beautiful dream of placation he'd convinced himself they were. She meant it.

"I—I didn't know how to believe it," he whispered.

Her eyes shone. She smiled and draped her arms over his shoulders, one hand weaving into his slightly too-long and definitely-not-bleached hair. "I still mean it, you idiot."

And then she leaned down and kissed him.

He'd kissed Buffy a thousand times before, but this was different. First time he'd ever been sure she loved him back. There'd been occasions before when he thought she did love him, but it was never like this. He felt like pure sunshine was touching him. Eventually, it was him making the desperate moan and losing his balance.

As they laid there, sprawled in the snow, switching back and forth between laughing at the situation and snogging each other's brains out, Spike realized something he had to tell her.

He pulled away with a reluctant groan, his hands resting on Buffy's hips.

"What?" she asked, an irresistible pout forming. He kissed her again, to bring back the smile. She beamed, and it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

He let his head fall back into the snow and just stared up at Buffy. He heard Dawn and Giles stepping into the front lawn. "For the first time since the Hellmouth… I'm happy. Completely and incandescently happy."

Buffy's grin only grew. "You romantic." She stared at him for a second, mapping out his face again. He felt her eyes rest on the new scars that hadn't quite healed. "Me too."

And she kissed him again.

And the rest of the world faded away, leaving just the two of them, light blooming around them.