Hi! I've never seen Angel or read the comics, but I have a general idea about the themes and happenings, which might pop up loosely in my story. Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the original ideas that allow me to play with these characters.

It had been nineteen days since the apocalypse, since Sunnydale existed, since Buffy, her friends, and the rest of the survivors had come to LA, to Angel, for recovery. Buffy felt like she was staying on some bizarre vacation, living in a hotel, surrounded by her friends, away from home, except the mood was somber. They had lost and gained so much and though nineteen days felt like nothing, everything that had happened felt like a lifetime ago.

They were crowding Angel's office, Angel sitting in his chair fiddling with the shiny amulet that had been sent back to him in an anonymous package, Giles scouring the bookshelf, Willow sitting criss-crossed on the floor leafing through a book, Dawn in a chair across from Angel, her legs up on his desk nodding off, Xander looking pensive out the window, and Buffy fluttering her eyes over all of them, an overwhelming feeling of love and fondness comforting her. They were silent now, having spent a good chunk of the past few weeks with nothing to do other than talking and clearing the air of so much tension and unsaid words. It was comfortable now, to sit with them again, to trust them, and Buffy found that for all that they had lost, so much good had already been found.

Although, a small part of her was bored. They were too quiet. She sat, waiting for something and missing the someone who always made that something happen.

Buffy's eyes kept glancing over at the amulet that appeared dull and mediocre in Angel's hands, so unlike the brightness it exuded when displayed around Spike's neck. She watched as the trinket slipped through Angel's fingers and shattered to the ground.

A loud popping noise echoed through the silent room and there he stood. His eyes found Angel's first and he let out an exaggerated sigh of annoyance. His usual bleached-blond hair lay in its natural state of curly dark locks, his black t-shirt tattered, and his black jeans ripped and stained. His eyes sparked with outrage, confusion, and fear.

"Oh, well, isn't this just bloody brilliant? Thought I was in hell before. Sent me to the next layer, have they?"

Angel stood from the chair, on guard, but surprised, allowing Spike to take in more of his surroundings. Giles wiped hard at his glasses, placing them on his nose, and shaking his head in awe. Dawn leaped from her own chair, stumbling over Willow who looked amused and bewildered. Xander turned slowly from the window his eyes showing no hint of surprise, but gave a nod, as though to say, 'of course'. Buffy couldn't move from her place behind where Spike stood.

"Just great, you're all here looking cozy. Am I just to be bored to death? Because if you think-"

Angel took a step closer to him, causing Spike to raise his arms in defense and take a step backwards.

"Now you look here, Peaches. I know we didn't leave things off on a good note and I'm supposed to be dead and all, but I'm the real me, innocent as I can be, soul-intact, it's just been, well, I've been in hell and now I'm here and I think I might prefer it back there. Better than all of you just bleeding standing there, mouths gaping, like-"

"Spike-"

Spike's mouth snapped shut, his entire body tensing. He took his time turning around to face her, not knowing what to expect, but he was graced by her exuberant smile. When she saw his face for the first time in nineteen days, all she found in his eyes was a deep hurt and resignation. Smile faltering, she tried again.

"Spike-"

He held up his hand and smirked with no trace of amusement.

"Don't- you- you're not- I've been here before, both in living and in death. You can't- I won't let you."

She took a step towards him, confusion lacing her face, trying to make him understand, but he moved violently away from her.

"I thought the bleedin' Powers got me out of there. They promised me, I'd-"

While Buffy stood immobile, not knowing how to approach him or to understand his words, it was Xander who strode towards him, attempting to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. His hand slid through Spike.

"Oi, what did you do to yourself?"

Xander looked aghast. "Me? You 're all misty."

"I'm not misty, you berk, I-"

Spike's words cut out when he tried to swat Xander and watched as his hand passed through him again. He was frantic, waving his hands in front of his face, trying to touch all over his body, attempting to whack Xander who was laughing.

"Welcome back to the world of the living, Deadboy. We've kinda missed you."

Spike was speechless at that and paused, seeking any semblance of mocking or hatred in the other man's face, but he was met with none.

"Can't say the ghosty look is a bad one on you."

"I am not a ghost, you whelp, I'm, well, I'm- incorporeal is all."

Xander laughed harder at this, while Spike turned appalled.

"Well incorporeal suits you, Spike."

As he looked at her, Spike noticed that the witch appeared brighter, her eyes alight with wisdom and serenity. He couldn't help but feel a tug of tenderness towards her. It had been a long time since someone had looked at him with kindness. The connection broke when Angel coughed and their eyes met. The older vampire frowned, an expression of concentration on his face.

"How Spike?"

Giles nodded his agreement. "I'd quite like to know that as well."

"Simple really. Last thing I remember from this world, I was in the Hellmouth and burning up. Next thing I know, I'm in hell, and then I'm in front of this group calling themselves the Powers, least I think it was a group, never got a glimpse of their faces, just voices, offering me three wishes for my reward for sacrificin' myself and all, they listen to two of 'em, then all of a sudden I'm here standing in front of you lot."

"How long were you in hell?"

There was no hesitation in her voice, but Willow managed to sound appropriately sympathetic and comforting.

"No idea, lose your sense of time when there's nothing but agony, don't you? How long was it here? Since I've been gone?"

"Nineteen days." Buffy's voice rang out, hoarse, but clear.

Spike could no longer resist the urge to look at her, to really see that she was alright, that she was real and not the same face of torment that had plagued him in hell. Shaking arms yearned to hold her, but his lack of solidity and inability to move stifled it.

With another pop, he was gone again.

"No!" Buffy staggered over to where Spike had been standing only a second before, her eyes searching her friends for a source of explanation.

"Was that-was he real?"

No one could offer her a proper explanation, so they just looked after him in silence.