Least Complicated (taken from the Indigo Girls' song title, but not a song-fic)
Rating: PG
Spoilers: AU post-"Damage"
Summary: Buffy and Spike meet in a hallway
Disclaimer: I own none of these characters. They belong to Joss Whedon and a whole lot of other people and corporations. I'm just having some good, clean fun with them. Don't sue.

AN: Originally published on my LJ blog. Only minor grammatical changes made.

Spike cursed a blue streak as he fumbled with the door to his apartment building, struggling with his tender, still healing hands to maintain a semi-grip on his paper bag of blood and smokes. His lack of dexterity made holding the bag while simultaneously twisting the door handle and the key in the lock a Herculean feat. After a few more fumbles and a lot more cursing his timing clicked and the door finally opened up. He pushed his way in, uncaring of the reverberating door as he slammed it open against the wall.

Wearily he made his way down the hall and then the stairs to his basement apartment. Gaze focused on the floor, the fight having left him now, Spike failed to notice the person waiting patiently against the wall opposite his door. Just as he reached the threshold of his apartment a familiar sensation crawled up his spine and he stopped, bringing his focus up to see the person before him. Floored, Spike could only stare dumbly.

Buffy cautiously stepped away from the wall, making a tentative move forward. Inscrutable eyes swept over him, assessing the truth before her – Spike was back.

Stepping towards him with a bravado she wasn't quite feeling, Buffy reached up and placed her hand on Spike's cheek and said, a tender tone to her voice, "You're an idiot. You know that right?"

Spike chuckled softly at her words, breaking out of his trance-like state and replied, in a self-deprecating tone, "Yeah, luv. I know."

Tension broken, they both stood there in Spike's poorly lit, dingy hallway with big, silly grins on their faces, basking in the pleasure of being in one another's presence again.

Releasing her hand from his face, Buffy grabbed the paper bag from Spike's arms, suddenly noticing the awkward way it was balanced and asked, "So…am I worthy of the fifty cent tour or what?"

His grin growing even bigger, Spike scratched the back of his neck, as was his habit, and pulled his keys out of his pocket. Giving Buffy another glance he opened the door to his apartment and ushered her inside, a gentle hand pressed against the curve of her low back. He followed behind her filled with a sense of rightness that had been missing since his return.

"Well, pet," he began, "It's no crypt, but…."

- The End -