It seemed like time froze in that instant when the elevator doors opened, revealing the very same Spike she'd remembered from what felt like so long ago. Not a mark or a scratch on him, no burns or tears in his clothing. His face wasn't melting away as he sacrificed himself for the good of the world, for the good of humanity. That was the very last memory Buffy had had of him, and try as she might, it was the one she kept replaying over and over again in her mind. Even after leaving Sunnydale, leaving California completely, she'd thought about him almost nonstop, but not in the way she wanted to. Granted, she only had a handful of really good, genuine memories of him, but she just wished they would've outweighed his last moments alive. But all she could think about was that look in his eyes when she told him, finally, that she loved him. It wasn't a trick, wasn't just a way to manipulate him so that he would satisfy that animalistic urge in her to sleep with him, but it was honest and real. She only hoped he knew that before he went up in flames, swallowed whole in them to save everyone else. It was what got her through the next few months, after all. Hope.
"Spike." His name left her lips in the midst of a breath, almost sounding like a quiet gasp at the same time. She was surprised, but she wasn't quite sure why. And his name seemed to be all she could say in response to him speaking her own.