Who: Buffy and Spike. What: Spike could never turn her down. She's coming to stay with him. When: Evening. Where: His apartment. Rating: PG-13.
It was a relief, having the Slayer back the way that she was supposed to be. A little worse for wear, unfortunately, but at least she wasn't running about, making a mockery of everything that Spike knew that she stood for. There were scrapes and bruises on the inside that would need to be mended. He wasn't exactly the best doctor for most things in the world, but Spike knew a thing or two about coming back from being a murderer. He was, after all, one for over a hundred years. It was a terrible thing to go through and the blood of those broken at his hands would always stain his pale flesh. Just like it would hers now. Because if he knew Buffy, and he really did, then Spike figured she'd be taking this all to heart. She'd killed. Now it was going to kill her in return. Or it was going to try to. He would never let that damned guilt take her away from the world that she belonged to.
There wasn't really much to his apartment. A couch, a TV set, and a small fridge tucked away in one corner, the kitchen in the next, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. That was it. Spike hadn't quite furnished everything in the way that he wanted for it to be, but it was a work in progress. It sure as hell beat living out of a hotel room. There weren't any windows to be found down here, at the bottom of an apartment complex. It was a great deal for the space. No one wanted a home without a view of the scenery.
He sat in front of the computer that he'd knicked from a few gang members downtown. The damned thing ran slower than the plague did and he'd lost his temper with it more than once, but it had managed to get the conversation between himself and Buffy through so that was all that he needed from it now. Jabbing at the on/off button for the screen, Spike stood from his chair and moved toward the kitchen to retrieve a blood packet for dinner (or lunch, technically in his case).