pairings: w/s
rating: seriously? like pg-13. i went easy this time.
summary: this is for the "take a gamble" challenge at heat... desire... the story had to involve a song, gambling or betting, or an ultimate fantasy, or any combination of the three.
spoilers: none, i think. i screwed around with stuff, so it's sort of AU, i guess.
distribution: while i'm submitting it to heat... desire... nobody really wants this crap, so i’ll just stick it up on my site, hey?
http://www.angelfire.com/moon/booth/home.html
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~Part: 1~
Every now and then, the fates conspired. Usually, it was over tea, with Ella Fitzgerald playing in the background. But they’d been in a silly mood ever since Britney Spears had defied their Musical Popularity Regulations, becoming entirely too famous for her own good, and they felt it was time to start making up for their lax enforcement record.
Meeting for the first time in nearly forty years, they quickly got down to the juicy stuff: the universe’s all-too-dramatic romantic gossip. They sat in order of age, beginning with the oldest. Memory was at the head of the table, Thought was to her right, Idea was beside her, then Word, and finally Action. Sipping their spiked lemonade, they ran through a list of possible scenarios.
As a whole, the fates were hard-tempered, strong-willed, grudge-holding bitches. But deep down, they were die-hard romantics with a penchant for childish games. So it was that this rather sunny Thursday afternoon, they decided to do a bit of matchmaking. The three eldest of the fates all rubbed their hands together in a disgraceful imitation of the theatrical villains of old, while Word and Action rolled their eyes in amused superiority. Giggling, they tried to decide on just who the lucky couple should be. Squaring her shoulders, the youngest of the fates stood up.
"I may have an idea."
The rest of the fates stared at their youngest sister, a tad surprised. She rarely ever had ideas. She was the mover, the doer, not the thinker. However, they had to admit that the few times she did join the brainstorming, she had some rather interesting opinions.
"Yes?" Thought prodded.
"Well," Action began. "I’m in the mood for a bit of a challenge." At this, all of the fates scooted forward in their chairs, interest visible in their eyes.
"We’re listening."
"Well, I propose that we make a wager. We choose one man and one woman, and we each use our own methods to try and get them together. Over the course of one week, we each have one day to play with their lives and try to affect the outcome of their relationship to our liking."
Memory and Word exchanged knowing glances. After a minor staring battle, Word decided to ask what was on their minds.
"Tell me, Action, I don’t suppose you have a man in mind already, do you?"
Action blushed and looked down. "Erm…well, I might."
"I knew it!" Word bellowed. "It’s that vampire again, isn’t it? I swear, you have been stuck on him since he was turned."
"I can’t help it," Action whined. "He’s one of my own. His emotion lies in his action. Act first, think later. And he’s had such a rough time with his love life. First, that stuck up society snob, Cecily. Then, that sire-obsessed lover of his, Drusilla. He simply isn’t appreciated enough, and I’d like to see him happy for once. He’s a decent man, for a demon."
The four other fates sat silently for a bit, quietly thinking over the possibilities.
"I agree," Memory said, finally. Action started, staring deep into her sister’s eyes, checking for any sign of trickery. When she found none, she sighed in relief and smiled. Memory nodded. "You’re right, Action. He is a decent man, for a demon. And he is a hopeless romantic, which I simply cannot resist. We will set him up with his true love. And we’ll have a bit of fun doing it."
Thought, Idea, and Word grinned and nodded. "We’re in," they announced happily.
"The usual stakes?" Idea asked. Action nodded. "Right then. I know just what woman Action has in mind, and I have to agree that she’s perfect for him. His complete opposite, and absolutely everything he needs and deserves in a true mate. One of mine, matter of fact. She’s had a bit of trouble in the love department lately, as well. I think it’s about time we started working in her favor."
"But if they’re so perfect for each other, where’s the challenge?" Thought asked.
"Just because they’re perfect for each other, doesn’t mean they’re perfect. They’re both helplessly blind to the feelings of the other. Contrary to popular belief, he isn’t too confident when it comes to love. And for her, confidence is nonexistent, full-stop. Believe me, this is going to take some doing."
Word nodded. "Okay, try to keep things simple, girls, no tampering with reality. And don’t go altering time again, Thought." She sent a withering glare towards her sister, who shrunk in her seat, blushing. "And absolutely no messing about with his heart, or the heart of the target. They have to realize their love naturally. Other than that, anything goes."
"Okay, then. I assume it’s the normal order," Word said. "Memory will go Monday, Thought has Tuesday, Idea goes on Wednesday, I’ve got Thursday, and Action has Friday. The day they admit their love to one another aloud is the end of the game. The sister who works that day is the winner. So, we’ve got the weekend to study them both."
"Alright, let’s see our targets. Where is the vampire now, Action?" Memory asked.
"Oh, Spike’s been in Sunnydale for some time."
"Sunnydale? The hellmouth? Well, that ought to make things interesting. I suppose the woman is there, as well? I don’t particularly fancy having to waste my day getting her across the globe."
Idea nodded brightly. "She’s there. Her name is Willow. Sweet little thing. Friend of the Slayer, as luck would have it."
Memory snickered. "Alright. Let’s see what we’ve got to work with, then."
Turning towards the large TV screen against the back wall, they zoomed in on Sunnydale, intent on finding their newest project.
~~~
That Sunday saw the youngest fate’s favorite vampire busy trying not to get his ass kicked. The latest of baddies had a mean right hook, and Spike was beginning to really dislike those talons. Behind him, Buffy, Xander, Willow, and Anya were all watching in mute amusement.
"Little help here, Slayer," Spike grumbled loudly. Rolling her eyes, Buffy jumped into the battle, hacking at every spiny limb that flew in her general direction. Within a few minutes, the demon was mush, and the two unnatural blondes turned back to the rest of the crew.
Anya was sighing heavily, rolling her eyes periodically, and attempting to molest Xander. Xander, meanwhile, was batting Anya’s hands away playfully, grinning hugely around a handful of Doritos from the bag he was sharing with Willow. Willow was simply munching and watching Spike and Buffy swipe gunk off of their clothing.
Spike felt the little witch’s eyes on him and turned in her direction, flashing her what he hoped was a debonair smirk. She blushed furiously and turned to watch Xander and Anya instead. Anya was trying, once again, to slip her hands into Xander’s pants unnoticed, but he was having none of it.
Rolling slightly away from his girlfriend, he shoved another handful of Doritos into his mouth and, chewing loudly, wiped his hands on the front of his pants. Anya retracted her own hands immediately, grimacing at the cheesy remnants that littered her boyfriend’s legs. Pouting considerably, she crossed her arms and ‘harumphed’. Willow and Xander chuckled at her annoyance.
"Oh, dear," Willow said, in a horrible imitation of Giles’ accent, "Foiled again."
Anya made a face and stood up, putting her hand out to help Willow up. Slowly, everyone stood up and stretched out, then headed out of the cemetery.
"Anyone hungry?" Xander asked.
"I could eat," Buffy replied quickly. "Wendy’s okay?" The group nodded and made their way to Xander’s car, shoving various weapons in the trunk before packing themselves into the front and back seats. Xander slouched into the driver’s seat, across from Buffy. Anya sat directly behind Xander, leaning forward every few seconds to whisper dirty nothings into his ear. Willow, being the smallest in the back seat, sat in the middle, and Spike was on her right side.
Well, most of Spike was on her right side. His arm was attempting to crawl behind her head across the back of the seat, and his leg kept rubbing her knee whenever Xander took a turn. Willow’s breathing was getting heavy, and she could feel her heart pounding all the way down her legs. Blushing furiously, and making a rather vain attempt to keep her arousal under control, she ignored the smirking vampire.
Dammit! Why does he always do that, Willow wondered unhappily. Always touching ‘accidentally’, or leering, or smirking, or inserting random innuendo into his dialogue. Probably thinks it’s hilarious that mousy little Willow’s got a crush. Always trying to make me blush. Well, one of these days I’m gonna surprise him. And then, won’t he be…surprised. Geez, he’s got me so worked up, I can’t even think of a suitable synonym for ‘surprised’. Don’t be turned on, don’t be turned on, don’t be turned on.
Willow risked a glance at the vampire of her thoughts, and blushed darker when she saw the way he was looking at her. It was…predatory. Instantly, her heart rate doubled. She turned her head back to the front, staring sightlessly out the window and prayed to all deities that he couldn’t smell her arousal.
Fortunately for her, there must have been a few deities who were still on her side. Spike’s sensitive nostrils, and the car, were so filled with the scent of Xander’s and Anya’s unresolved sexual energy, that he could hardly make out the Slayer’s perfume, more less Willow’s own arousal. And that was saying something. Pushing thoughts of the moron and the demon-girl out of his head, he instead concentrated on the redhead beside him.
He loved the way she flushed whenever he walked towards her, the way her heartbeat picked up. He loved when she stammered responses to his thinly-veiled proposals, how she couldn’t look him in the eye whenever she sat beside him. He especially loved the way she would look at him curiously whenever he made something innocent sound dirty, then as understanding dawned, her eyes would go wide and she would blush furiously. He loved her intelligence, her dry humor, her hair, her smell, her eyes, the way chewed on her bottom lip when she was thinking.
In short, he loved her. And that made him extremely nervous. His every fiber screamed for him to just tell her, claim her, and be done with it. But if he did tell her, she would inevitably reject him, he was sure. So he kept a good safe distance from any serious remarks and teased her mercilessly instead. If he was lucky, maybe one day he’d wear her down and she’d actually take him up on one of his offers. The odds were against him, but it was all the hope he had, so he clung to it.
His mind now drifting safely back towards impure thoughts of the little witch, he decided to play with her a bit. Scrounging up his best nonchalant expression, he peered out the window and began to ease his arm into position.
Ever so slowly, Spike maneuvered his arm along the back of her seat, trying to appear casual, and careful not to allow his arm to brush across her skin as anything more than a slight caress. He wanted to give her goosebumps. He could feel the heat radiating off of her in thick waves, pounding against the thick leather of his duster. When his arm was finally stretched full-length behind her, he let his middle finger trail ever-so-lightly against the soft skin at the nape of her neck.
Her eyes went wide, and she inhaled a large amount of air. She shivered and…goosebumps!
Ha, Spike thought to himself. That’s right, little witch. I give you goosebumps. What do you say to that, eh?
Checking the front seat to be sure the Slayer wasn’t paying attention, Spike leaned over towards Willow and gently whispered in her ear, "What’s wrong, luv? Cold?"
Willow turned slightly to look at Spike, causing her cheek to rub lightly against his lips. Spike managed to suppress his shiver of pleasure, but Willow couldn’t help herself. Abruptly, Spike pulled back, having assumed that the shiver was one of disgust, instead. His amusement thus successfully spoiled, he sneered at the flushed redhead as he spoke.
"I can think of a couple ways to warm you up. Get you nice and hot. Maybe a bit bothered, as well." He smirked at her blush and turned back to the front, grateful to have arrived at their destination. If she was so hesitant to be near him, well…okay, so he didn’t really care whether or not she wanted him near her. He was pretty much going to end up beside her anyway.
Hopping out of the car, Spike took off for the fast food restaurant, never stopping to wait for the others. Willow sat in the car, trying to process Spike’s illogical actions, until Anya reached back in and pulled lightly on her arm. "Are you coming or not?" the girl asked. "Because I want to eat, but I don’t know what’s good here. You have to tell me what to get."
Shaken from her lust-filled reverie, Willow quickly exited the car, linking her arm with Anya’s. "Why don’t you just ask Buffy or Xander what’s good here?" she asked.
"Well, because Buffy only ever gets lettuce and fat-free ranch dressing, and Xander eats everything else. You’re the only one who can help me. So you have to tell me, what’s good here?"
Willow giggled at her unlikely friend. "Anya, this is Wendy’s. Everything here is good."
"Xander said that about Taco Bell. I don’t like Taco Bell."
"She’s right, Wills," Xander broke in. "I bought her a couple of burritos once, she took two bites and that was it. She left them in my car, now that I think about it. Like five weeks later, I cleaned my car out, and there they were, under the front passenger seat."
Willow’s eyes sparked with amused recognition as they entered the restaurant and moved towards the line, where Spike was already waiting. "Burrito shrapnel?" she asked suspiciously. Xander nodded, grinning hugely, and Willow burst out laughing.
"Wait. What’s burrito shrapnel? Am I missing something here?" Buffy asked brightly, leaning towards the ever-giggling duo.
"I was helping Xander clean out his car a while ago," Willow began, speaking between giggles. "And we ran across these two burritos. When I asked him how old they were, he just shrugged and took them from me, aiming to throw them into the trashcan on the curb. But he missed, and they landed on the pavement instead, and they shattered. They actually shattered! I didn’t know burritos could shatter! But they did! It was the funniest thing! And when I made him clean it up, he made this huge fuss about always getting stuck cleaning up weird stuff like monster goo and burrito shrapnel."
Buffy and Anya looked at each other, struggling to find the funny. When neither found it, and Willow and Xander resumed their giggles, they simply shrugged and smiled, tugging their hapless friends up to the counter. When the two had finally quieted down, Buffy ordered a small side salad with fat-free ranch, and Willow burst into a fresh bout of giggles. This time, Xander was the one struggling to find the funny. Anya only smiled and whispered into Willow’s ear, causing the redhead to laugh harder.
Rolling his eyes, Xander ordered. A lot. When he’d finished, he walked his food over to a booth on the right side of the restaurant and sat down in the booth with Anya. Buffy grabbed her food and followed them, pulling a chair up to the end of the table. Spike waited beside Willow for a moment, then shrugged and joined the others, sliding into the other side of the booth. Willow looked up at the menu, looking over all of the new items, before ordering the same thing she always got from Wendy’s.
"Can I have a large frosty and a large order of fries, please?" she asked. The girl behind the counter punched a few buttons, while Willow glanced over at her friends. Xander was systematically working through his food, having Anya try at least a bite of everything. Anya was grumbling, she was sure, but she enjoyed the attention. Buffy was picking at her salad and talking to Xander. Spike was just sitting there.
Frowning, Willow studied him for a moment. It looked like he was staring out the window. But upon closer inspection, Willow realized that he was watching Xander and Anya out of the corner of his eye. Willow wondered suddenly if he really hadn’t ordered because he didn’t like normal-person food, as he’d made the situation out to be, but that didn’t make sense. He was always eating Xander’s hidden snack stashes at Giles’. It then occurred to her that he probably didn’t have any money for food. Her brow furrowed and she turned back to the girl behind the counter. "Sorry?" she asked, after she realized that the girl had said something.
"I said, is that all? Or can I get you something else?"
"Actually, yeah. Make it two fries and two frosties, please." The girl nodded and punched the buttons, then told Willow the amount. Willow handed her a ten and took her change, then waited for her food. When the girl had set the two cups and the fries on the tray, Willow headed for the condiment counter, loading up a few tiny paper cups with ketchup. Strolling over to the booth her friends had conquered, she slid in next to Spike and took the items off of her tray. Then, eyeing Xander’s trays scattered on the table, she turned around to drop her own empty tray on the table behind them.
Spike watched her unload and discard the tray, waiting until she had turned back around to speak. "Little hungry, pet?"
"Yeah," she replied casually. "But this isn’t all for me." Ignoring his questioning gaze, she pushed one of the frosty cups in his direction. Then, she took one of Xander’s empty trays and put it between them, dumping the contents of both fry containers on the tray. She set two paper cups of ketchup on Spike’s side of the tray, and two on her own.
Spike watched in surprise, struggling to understand what she was doing. "Explain this to me, pet," he said finally.
"Oh. Well, while I admit that a frosty is certainly tasty enough to stand on its own, nothing is better than Wendy’s fries dipped in frosty. The ketchup is in case of brainfreeze, it gives you another dipping option. Though, I’m not sure whether vampires can even get brainfreeze, so it may not be necessary. Do you get brainfreeze?" she asked curiously.
Spike stared at Willow, unable to think clearly. When he didn’t answer, Willow merely shrugged and went on. "Like this." Picking up a french fry, she popped the lid off of her frosty and set it aside, then dipped the french fry into the frosty, swirling it around. When she was sure that the frosty goodness would not make an escape attempt, she extracted the fry and shoved it into her mouth. The entire process took all of one and a half seconds.
Spike was frozen in thought. She’d bought these things for him. She’d made the conscious decision to buy him food, even though she knew that he didn’t need to eat. Which meant it wasn’t something she did to help him, she did it for him…just to be nice. It was like…a present, sort of. And Spike was paralyzed with indecision as to how to react.
"You have to be quick," she said, around a mouthful of fry and frosty. "Otherwise, the frosty will make the fries cold, which is no good. Go on, try it."
Spike looked at her, then at the fries, then at her lips as she chewed. Deciding he wanted something to do with that, no matter how remote the relation, he picked up a fry and dipped it into his own frosty, swirling as she’d shown him. Pulling the fry back up, he eyed it thoroughly before shoving it into his mouth. His eyes closed as he chewed, the sensations overwhelming him. Warm and cold and salty and sweet and chocolatey. Mmmm… he thought. He couldn’t help the slow smile that spread across his face. And when he saw her answering smile, he suddenly didn’t care how poofy he looked.
Willow smiled, glad that he seemed to be enjoying her little treat. A smile on her face, she turned back to her own fries and began to share with Spike hers and Xander’s fast food exploits.
~~~
"Oh, this is gonna be cake," Memory said. "They’ll be shouting their ‘I love you’s from the rooftops by noon tomorrow."
"Suuuuuure," Action said. "You say that now. But you don’t know my boy down there."
"And you certainly don’t know my girl, either. You are all in over your heads," Idea chuckled. Thought rolled her eyes and smacked her on the side of the head, earning a sharp scowl from Idea, as well as some loud laughter from Word and Action.
"Aaaaaaand, we’re back," Memory murmured in a deep radio voice. "If you’re through, I’d like to get started."
"Suit yourself," Word said snidely, grabbing a colorful drink off the table in front of them. The girls all looked at Memory, who had a decidedly peculiar look in her eye. Curious to see how things would begin, they all turned toward the screen, eagerly awaiting the show.
~Part: 2~
While, somewhere in L.A., a souled vampire was searching high and low for a missing book, the fates were busy taking bets on Memory’s proposed success. Thought and Word both had money on her efforts working toward a positive outcome, while Idea and Action were both convinced that anything she had in mind would only make matters for their unfortunate couple worse. Memory huffed overdramatically and elbowed Action in the side.
"Hey! Watch the limbs there, senior. I’d like to keep the use of my vital organs, if you don’t mind," Action glowered.
"Why?" Memory asked, chuckling. "We’re the fates, we don’t need them."
"So?" Action scowled. "We don’t need food or drink to nourish ourselves, either. Lush."
Memory scowled back, then grinned, picking up the heavy book on her lap.
"So, what’s that for, anyway?" Thought asked.
"This?"
"Yeah, that."
"Just thought I’d spark Willow’s interest a bit. Make her realize that she and William have more in common than she thinks," Memory answered, carefully stressing Spike’s human name. As she spoke, she threw the book at the TV on the wall, watching as it slid right through the screen, landing on the table next to Giles’ computer just as Willow walked into the otherwise-empty room.
Action grinned smugly, anticipating the day’s outcome.
~~~
Willow sat down at Giles’ computer, ready to get to work cataloguing the information they’d gathered on the demon Spike and Buffy had killed the night before. Stretching languidly, she booted up the computer. As she waited for the computer to get through the start-up program, she noticed the book sitting next to her left elbow.
Huh, she thought. That wasn’t there last night. I wonder if it’s Giles’? Probably another book that needs to be scanned in. Sighing slightly, she reached for the untitled book, searching for some indication of its contents. Opening to the first few pages, she was startled to discover that it was a sketchbook, not something that Giles was likely to have lying around. Her curiosity piqued, she straightened slightly in her seat and checked to make sure that there was no one else around. Satisfied that she was alone, she began to flip through the pages.
The first few pages were skillful renderings of various strangers, possibly random passers-by that the artist took interest in. She even ran across a few drawings of vampires hunting some of those same passers-by. As she flipped through the pages, she was possessed by a feeling of familiarity. Intrigued, she skipped towards the middle of the book, and gasped at what she saw.
A careful sketch of Drusilla lying alone on a bed. The artwork was beautiful in its detail and construction. Studying the picture, she suddenly realized why the artwork seemed so familiar. It belonged to the hand of Angelus. This was one of Angel’s sketchbooks. Momentarily, she was overcome with fear and guilt at having pried into something so personal. But her curiosity quickly overrode those thoughts.
More than anything, she wanted to know why the book was here, how it had gotten there…and if there were any pictures of Spike. She blushed at her incorrigible thirst for knowledge and answers. But it didn’t stop her from flipping further into the book. Finally, about three-quarters of the way through the book, she ran across it. A beautiful rendering of Spike, she assumed just after he had been turned. At the bottom of the page, there was only one word, a name: "William".
It was strange to look at. She had expected something dark, haunting, vicious perhaps. After all, Spike had probably been no more than a fledgling when the picture had been worked. But instead, she was mesmerized by the kind, intelligent face of an English gentleman. He was wearing a suit, which amused her, and spectacles, which took her quite by surprise. His hair was slightly longer and curly, as well as a light shade of brown. And he was smiling. Willow giggled, realizing that she’d just been consumed by the thought that Spike was…adorable.
Seeing him like that, she wondered vaguely about his life as a human, before he’d been turned. She had always assumed he was a rogue or a scoundrel. A thief, perhaps, or a dirty gambler. She’d thought he was like Angel as a human. Now, she was face to face with proof positive that he had been anything but. Her curiosity now suitably sparked, she set the book down and went to look for Spike.
~~~
She found him upstairs, asleep on Giles’ bed for the day. He was sprawled haphazardly across the bed, his arms buried under the pillows. And he was shirtless. Willow froze in the doorway, struggling to keep her breathing even. When she’d managed to get her body under control again, she quietly walked over to the bed, a warm mug of blood in hand.
As she moved to shake him, he shifted, turning his head to face her. For a few moments, her face was spot-on a deer in headlights. Then, when she realized he was still fast asleep, she let out a silent sigh of relief, and found her eyes drawn to his face. She was struck by the strong resemblance he held with the man in Angel’s sketchbook. Sleeping, his face held none of the cynicism or rancor that was usually so harshly engraved into his features. He looked innocent, elegant.
Willow stifled a swoon, and shook herself from her thoughts. Softly, she cleared her throat and gently nudged Spike’s shoulder. He growled lightly in his sleep and swatted at her, his sleepy countenance causing him to miss. Willow giggled and rolled her eyes, calling his name again. She also had the forethought to put the mug near his nose, so that he could smell the blood. This time, his eyes fluttered a bit, and he moved to sit up.
"Ngggrgh…Red?" he asked, his throat raspy from sleep.
"Erm…yep, it’s me. Red. Uh, well…I thought you might be hungry. A-and I…uh…I sort of had a question I wanted to ask you."
Spike stretched out on the bed, rubbing absently at his eyes, nearly causing Willow to moan. "What is it, then?" he asked, still too sleepy to put the usual harsh edge into his voice.
"A-actually, I don’t know if you’ll even want to tell me. But I was just curious, so I figured I’d ask anyway. Can’t hurt to ask, right? And if you don’t want to tell me, then no harm done, really. But if you do tell me, well…I guess that’s better, since that’s why I’m asking. But if-"
"Red," Spike interrupted, taking the mug of blood from her trembling hands and sipping at it lightly. "Get to the point."
"Oh, right. Um…what were you like as a human?"
Spike’s eyes shot open immediately, surprise warring with suspicion in his stare. Willow fidgeted nervously, waiting for his response.
"Why do you ask?" he asked slowly.
"I told you. I’m just curious. I’m always curious. And I’m always curious about the strangest things, you know that. You tease me about it all the time. It just popped into my head and I thought I’d ask you."
"And why should I tell you?" he asked, his own curiosity now evident.
Willow let out a deep breath, glad that she’d actually thought through this part, though a little hesitant to actually put her half-cocked plan into action. "Well," she began. "If you tell me what you were like as a human, I’ll tell you what I was like as a vampire."
Spike spat out the blood that he’d just sipped, coughing slightly, his eyebrows high with astonishment. "Do what?"
"Well, this one time, Anya and I did this little spell, and it went a bit wonky, and we accidentally pulled an alternate me from another dimension. And she was a vampire. And I thought if you’d tell me what you were like, I’ll tell you what I was like. Trade a story for a story, you know."
"And what makes you think I have any interest in what you were like as a vampire?" he asked, trying to remain calm.
Willow snorted lightly and rolled her eyes. "Because Angel wouldn’t shut up about her for weeks. Kept saying it was a good thing you weren’t around to see VampMe or they’d have to keep me under twenty-four hour surveillance. Said you’d turn me in a heartbeat, and how that would likely be the end of civilization as we know it."
"Really?" Spike said, eyeing Willow with a decidedly hungry look in his eye. Willow stiffened abruptly and swallowed heavily.
"I’m pretty sure he was joking, though. Ha. That Angel, what a sense of humor. Heh, heh, ehhh…" Willow stammered, her nervous laughter dying out quickly.
Spike leered a bit longer, trying to buy himself some time to think through what she’d just told him. When he realized how uncomfortable she was becoming, though, he eased off. "Alright," he said, shrugging. "I suppose that’d be an even trade. But you go first."
Willow smiled and nodded happily, her previous discomfort forgotten in light of her success. Squeaking happily, she hopped onto the bed and launched into her tale, careful to include all of the little details that she knew he’d enjoy.
~~~
As Willow finished relaying her alternate-self’s adventures in death and destruction, and Spike began to weave his own tale of a shy youth with a knack for over-worded prose, the fates were having a grand time. The observing sisters were easily amused by Willow’s and Spike’s stories. Meanwhile, Memory was giggling merrily, drunk off her ass. When Spike had agreed to trade tales, she had announced that it was "in the bag" and practically dove for a bottle of Kahlua to celebrate.
Unfortunately, that meant that she was no longer in control of the situation slowly unraveling in Giles’ bedroom.
~~~
Spike had just finished telling Willow about his turning, and she was slowly slipping out of her enraptured state. The poetry, the romantic notions, the whole Cecily situation…it completely altered her perception of Spike. He’d been just like her. No wonder Angel had said those things…
Lost in thought, she didn’t notice Spike’s suddenly clouded features. Doubts and concerns were beginning to filter into his head. He couldn’t remember why he’d told her all of those humiliating things. What if she laughed at him, thought him pathetic? What if she told the others? He’d told her secrets and memories he hadn’t shared with anyone else in nearly a hundred years. All she’d done was give him a story about her dominatrix double. She had nothing to be ashamed of.
Consumed with self-deprecating thoughts and anger at his own weakness, he stood abruptly and pulled on a t-shirt, anxious to leave. Ignoring Willow’s concerned questions, he shrugged on his duster and headed out of the bedroom.
Willow stood up, confused about what had just happened. One minute, he’d been sharing confidences with her, vulnerable and open and accepting. The next, he was completely closed off, rage radiating off of him, and she could only assume that she’d done something to upset him. Silently berating herself for her stupidity, she wandered out to the living room in time to see Spike storming out into the night, slamming the door behind him.
Sighing, Willow sat down at the computer and began to work on the database, never noticing that the sketchbook had disappeared.
~~~
"Whoa, what was that?" Thought asked.
Action smirked. "That was my boy, Mr. Self-Assured, in action."
Idea smiled and shook her head. "And little Miss Confident is no better." She nodded towards the screen, where Willow was typing away, soft tears escaping her eyes.
Thought crossed her arms. "Alright, screw this. The way their minds work, there’s no freaking way I’m gonna win. I forfeit."
"Really?" Idea asked, surprised. "You’ve never done before."
"Yeah, well, I know when a situation is beyond my control. And that," she said, pointing at the screen. "Is beyond my control. Any thoughts I put into their heads are only gonna be shot down by doubts and assumptions."
Idea nodded. "I guess you’re right. They’re going to need more than just thoughts and ideas."
"Yeah, they need a miracle, is what they need," came Word’s amused reply. "So I guess you’re down for the count, as well?"
Idea considered her question carefully, then nodded. "I suppose so. Which leaves it up to you two. Word, we’ll bump you up to tomorrow, and Action has Wednesday. Ooh! Perfect! Now, I won’t have to miss Friends. Did you guys catch last week’s episode?" She gestured towards Word and Action, who were both trying to hide secretive glances. Idea frowned. "What is going on with you two?"
"Well," Action said. "We sort of figured you guys would give in. And Memory’s out, which just leaves us. And it’s no fun if it’s just me and her. So we decided to work together to win and then share the winnings. Word’s got a plan, which I helped with. She’s going to set things up, and I’m going to use the results to my advantage, successfully ending ‘Operation: Where There’s a Will’. Hopefully, by then, Memory will have recovered from the hangover she is definitely going to have, and we can rub our success in her face."
"I’m sorry. ‘Operation: Where There’s a Will’?" Idea giggled.
"Yeah, get it?" Word chuckled. "Will-iam and Will-ow." Idea and Thought rolled their eyes and ignored their younger sisters for the rest of the night.
~Part: 3~
The next day, Spike was sitting on the couch in the living room, his mind on various situations featuring VampWillow, all of them naughty. He had been thinking about the conversation he’d had with Willow the day before, and he had the sneaking suspicion that he’d completely overreacted. The thought sort of pissed him off. He was forever screwing up any chance of a successful romantic relationship with…well, anybody.
He’d been waiting around all day long, hoping that Willow might stop by. She’d been gone when he’d gotten home the night before, and he was worried that she might be avoiding him. While he hadn’t said anything particularly hurtful, he knew that she had a tendency to blame herself for situations beyond her control. He didn’t want her to think that she’d done anything wrong.
So he waited. And waited. And waited. It was nearly afternoon now, and she still hadn’t come. Usually, she would have been there and working happily at the computer by now. But there was no sign of her, and Spike was beginning to drift off. He hadn’t slept since the day before, and even then, he’d been pulled from sleep prematurely. Drowsy, and unwilling to miss Willow, should she show up, he decided he’d have to find a way to keep himself occupied.
Looking around, he tried to find a non-demon-related book, or a movie to watch. But Giles had nothing outside the realm of the dangerously supernatural, and when he flicked on the TV, he found nothing but infomercials. Sighing heavily, he sent a silent plea to the fates, begging for some clue, some shred, some proof that he was doing the right thing. Word was more than happy to oblige.
Abruptly, Spike’s head was filled with the lyrics to a song he had no memory of. He couldn’t recall the title of the song, the name of the band it was by, or even where he’d heard it. But it kept playing, over and over, in his head. So he must have heard it somewhere, right? The tune was catchy enough, and except for one tiny little flaw, it described his situation perfectly. Unable to concentrate on anything else, he finally gave in to the fates and began singing softly to keep himself alert.
Outside, Willow was debating whether or not she should go inside. She had been running over yesterday’s occurrences all night long, trying to pinpoint whatever it was that she’d said, or done, to offend Spike. She hadn’t slept all night, her mind too busy running through possibilities. But she’d come up with nothing. So, she’d finally come to the conclusion that it had not, in fact, been her fault. That whatever it was, it was something only Spike knew about.
But she still hadn’t been sure if she should go inside. When she’d first arrived, she had assumed that Giles would be there to ease her discomfort, but his car was nowhere to be seen. Then, she’d calmed herself by remembering that it was daytime, and Spike would probably still be asleep, possibly even for a few more hours, giving Giles plenty of time to get home. But her hopes had been dashed when she’d spotted the vampire through a small part in the curtains of the front window. He’d just been sitting there.
Once more, Willow had found herself watching the man without his knowledge. She’d studied his features, the expression on his face, his posture. He appeared to have been deep in thought. Finally, after nearly ten minutes, he’d begun to move about. He had flipped through a few books, though apparently had not found anything of interest. Then, he’d turned on the TV and flipped through channel after channel. Eventually, he’d just turned it off and gone back to thinking.
Sighing, Willow straightened her shoulders. She would simply act as though nothing had happened. If he wanted to talk about whatever was on her mind, she would be happy to oblige, but she wouldn’t push him. Decision made, she went to the front door and moved to go inside. But just as she’d cracked it open, she was assaulted by the most alluring voice she’d ever heard. Spike was singing.
She froze there in the doorway, unwilling that she might disturb him in any way. If she disturbed him, he might stop singing. And she would do anything if he would just keep singing that song. That song. It felt so familiar, somehow. But she knew, instinctively, that she’d never heard it before. Her eyes drifted closed, and she concentrated on the wood of the door beneath her fingertips, the smell of musty books filling her senses, the sound of Spike’s voicing singing those words…those words…she began to focus on the words.
I don’t think you know my name
I think you’d leave me to stand in the rain
You’re a pretty little thing, got a thing
for me
But you’d cut me open and let me bleed
But I’m lookin’ at you with your sweet red
hair
Pretty little feet sparkling everywhere
You look so good when you come my way
But I have to look down when you talk to me
‘Cause you’re dangerous and you don’t even
know it
Willow’s breath caught in her throat, and she had to will herself to keep from shaking with emotion.
Don’t let him hear me, don’t let him hear me, don’t let him hear me. The please flitted through her mind stubbornly. I just want to listen to him sing. I just want to listen to shoe words. Please let him sing. Please don’t let him hear me.
Willow continued her prayer in silence, thanking the fates for their compliance. Meanwhile, Spike’s voice began to pick up in volume slightly as he warmed to the song, the words reaching into him and pulling at him, tugging at him, begging to be let out.
One baby, two, maybe three more years
You’ll be a full hot baby, have all your curves
And here’s a little taste of irony
You’ll be a ten hot baby, too good for me
But I’ll be looking at you with your sweet
red hair
Pretty little feet sparkling everywhere
You look so good when you come my way
But I have to look down when you talk to me
‘Cause you’re dangerous and you don’t even know it
Somewhere inside herself, Willow could feel something straining to get out. The force of the struggle inside her took her breath away, and she stumbled slightly. Spike’s voice never faltered. Slowly, slowly, Willow made her way towards the sound with her eyes closed. When she could feel the timbre of his voice in her stomach, she sat down, only inches away from Spike on the couch. Neither acknowledged the presence of the other, too caught up in the sensations around them to be able to focus on any one particular sensation.
So little baby, you better stay set
Play with fire when you get too wet
So set me down and leave me be
You’ll find a devil when you unchain me
But I’ll be looking at you with your sweet
red hair
Pretty little feet sparkling everywhere
You look so good when you come my way
But I have to look down when you talk to me
‘Cause you’re dangerous and you don’t even know it
Once he’d finished the song, they both sat in silence, their eyes closed, their bodies practically melting into the couch cushions. Both were breathing heavily. Willow struggling to concentrate, only realizing her own need for oxygen on a fundamental level. Spike’s chest heaved softly with a long-forgotten notion of need, of necessity. Something he hadn’t felt on such a primal level in decades.
Slowly, their eyes peeled open, the bright lights of the room’s lamps burning temporary superficial auras into their retinas. All at once, they both turned towards each other, recognition and wonder in their eyes.
"You don’t even know it," he whispered, his voice hoarse from the power he’d used before. Willow stared at him, as if seeing him, not for the first time, but finally after a long stretch of being apart. It was as if she hadn’t seen him for so long that she had begun to think she’d never remember what he looked like, and now, faced with him, her heart screamed for her to memorize him. Quick, memorize everything about him before he’s gone again. And so her eyes ran over his body, panicked and hurried, until she met his gaze once more.
In his eyes, she read solace. No, his eyes said, take your time. We have forever now. And her gaze softened, and his gaze sharpened. Now, he looked over her, remembering and rediscovering what he’d forgotten in the short time since he’d last seen her. And he knew, now, that he must always remember, must always rediscover her. He met her eyes now, and they both smiled with relief.
"You don’t even know it," he whispered again, his voice soft this time with the realization that he never had to raise his voice to get her attention again. Leaning forward, his eyes charged, wired to hers, he made to claim her sweetly, softly, before he truly made her his own.
Just as their lips brushed softly against each other, the door burst open.
"Hey, guys!" Buffy called out.
Pulled from their trance, Willow and Spike both blinked. But they didn’t pull away from each other, they didn’t try to recover, because there was nothing to recover from. This was right. Instead, they smiled softly and settled back into the couch, leaning against one another. Turning to face the oblivious slayer, Willow waved slightly and called out to her.
"Hi, Buff."
Spike dropped his eyes to Willow’s hands, exploring them softly with his fingertips. "Slayer," he called out, the slight acknowledgement all he had for her.
One by one, Giles, Xander, and Anya filtered into the small apartment, and research commenced. Nobody noticed Willow sitting closer to Spike than usual. Or if they did, they simply didn’t care.
~~~
"Unbelievable! You could have easily diverted Buffy’s attention for two minutes! You’re doing this on purpose. You’re gonna make us wait twenty-four hours, just to be annoying," Memory grumbled. Her head was still throbbing, and she hadn’t been too pleased to find out that her plan hadn’t worked, either.
Her sisters rolled their eyes at her snarky behavior. Action even went so far as to stick her tongue out at the old fate.
"Don’t worry, I’m too impatient for that," Action responded. "Just wait a bit."
Memory rolled her eyes, causing a fresh bout of fireworks behind her eyelids, and she groaned as she laid back on the couch. "tell me when it gets to the good part, would you?"
~~~
Giles started suddenly in his chair. Yawning ferociously, he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Replacing his glasses, he looked around at the sleeping figures. Xander and Anya were cuddled on the floor, books scattered around them. Buffy had passed out in one of the chairs, her feet extended and crossed in front of her. Spike had stretched his legs out on the couch, his chin resting on Willow’s head, her slight body curled up in his arms. Spike’s arms were wrapped around her tiny figure, and she had one of her tiny hands wrapped tightly around three of his fingers.
Grinning sleepily, Giles snickered. About bloody time, he figured. Stretching, he glanced at the clock. It was nearly three in the morning, no wonder everyone was asleep. Pulling the books from the fingers of the sleeping kids, he carefully stacked them on one of the bookcases and began to make his way upstairs to bed. As he passed the couch, however, he stumbled slightly, knocking a half-empty glass of soda over. The liquid splashed across his leg and onto the couch, splattering Willow with warm brownish spots.
Immediately, Willow jerked, inhaling swiftly. At her movement, Spike also snapped awake, carefully untangling himself and rubbing his eyes. Giles froze and studied the others. Buffy, Any, and Xander were still fast asleep.
"Watcher?" Spike asked, his voice heavy and quiet.
"Sorry," Giles whispered. "I’ll clean it up tomorrow. Go back to sleep."
Nodding, Willow assured him that it was quite alright, and he headed upstairs. Spike glanced at Willow, smiling softly as she yawned in a distractingly cute manner. "Go back to sleep, luv?"
"Nnngg," she replied. "Can’t. I’ll be all sticky in the morning. Have to wash up first." She stood up, wavering slightly, and Spike quickly stood up to steady her.
"I’ll help," he whispered, leading her towards the bathroom as she smiled gratefully.
They tiptoed into the small bathroom and shut the door before they turned on the light and the fan, neither wishing to disturb the others. Willow put the seat of the toilet down, before slouching down onto it, yawning again and rubbing at her face. Spike fished out a washcloth and wet it with warm water.
Bending down before Willow, he plucked at the hem of her shirt and pulled it slightly from her body, causing the fabric to go taut, and he softly began to scrub at the spots on her shirt. Willow smiled sleepily, and Spike smirked at her expression.
"How do you do that?" she asked, her mind still trying to come to terms with her body’s insistence towards wakefulness.
"Do what?" he asked.
"Smirk like that. Do you practice or something? Or is it just natural? And how do you practice? Do you have someone you smirk at, who tells you which smirk is best? You don’t have a reflection, so you can’t practice in the mirror. Do you just remember what you look like when you smirk?"
Spike grinned at her slow ramble, actually able to keep up with her thought process for once. "No, I don’t practice. And no, I don’t remember what I look like when I smirk, either." His expression took on a slightly pained edge, suddenly. "I don’t remember what I look like at all."
Willow’s eyes widened fractionally. "Not at all?" He shook his head, his gaze never leaving the wet washcloth as he scrubbed her shirt.
"Hmm-mmm," he murmured sadly. "Forgot a few decades ago. I used to have this dream, this fantasy, where I was walking in one of those houses of mirrors, and I could see my reflection. But when I’d wake up, I could never remember what I’d seen. Eventually, I stopped having the dream. I guess it’s better that way."
Willow studied him in silence. Then, slowly, she lifted her fingers to his face, causing him to jump slightly in surprise.
"Your eyes are blue," she said softly, studying him with her fingertips. "Light blue. But bright. Like…brand new jeans, maybe. You’re pale, too. But not too pale. Makes you look…pure, almost. I don’t know what color your hair is naturally, brown, maybe, or dirty blonde. But when it’s bleached, it’s the color of white gold. And your face is sharp. Not mean-sharp, but actually sharp. Your cheekbones…it looks as if I could cut myself if I touched them."
She ran her hands through his sleep-mussed hair, then down the sides of his face as she described to him his features. Her eyes focused on his lips, and she trailed her thumb across his bottom lip. "Your lips. They’re thin, soft. They aren’t pouty, really, but when you smirk, or you smile…they just beg to be kissed." Her thumb left his lips, and she pulled her hands away from his face, the slightly glazed look slowly leaving her eyes.
She pulled away from him slightly, looking at his entire face instead of each separate feature. "Except for the scar over your eye, you’re flawless," she whispered, her voice nearing awe. "The scar, it’s kind of a triangle. I like it, I think. If you didn’t have it, I might think you weren’t real. Too perfect."
Spike had frozen when she’d begun to describe him, and as she’d run her hands over his face, painting him a picture he never thought he’d see again, his throat constricted. He had to force himself not to gulp in air or sob or pull her into his arms. When she finally stopped and pulled away, finally finished, she looked at him expectantly, a small tired smile on her face. She hoped she’d done okay. But Spike couldn’t speak, not even to thank her. His heart was in his throat, effectively squashing any hopes of speech.
Willow frowned slightly when he produced no visible reaction, no sound. She debated momentarily, trying to find a way to make him happy. But her tired mind refused to comply. Glancing around the room, her gaze settled on the mirror over the sink, and her addled brain finally gave her an intelligent response.
Smiling brightly, she jumped off the toilet, startling Spike once again. Grabbing his arm, she pulled him in front of the mirror. Spike stared at her, trying frantically to force some sound, any sound, out of his body. He hardly noticed when Willow began speaking in Latin, motioning towards the mirror. It wasn’t until she poked him sharply in the side and raised her eyebrows at him that he thought to look.
Still overwhelmed, he turned towards the mirror, expecting to see Willow, the wall behind him, and perhaps a floating washcloth. What he saw instead nearly caused him to faint from shock. His reflection. It was his reflection.
He stepped towards the mirror, his hand raising to brush across the glass. He looked at himself, really looked, for the first time in a hundred and twenty years. He looked at his eyes, his hair, his jawbone and lips…and he tried to make it all fit with what Willow had described. Finally, Spike’s heart warmed and slid back into his chest, leaving him free to speak. Only he didn’t speak, he couldn’t. He could only smile, a huge, happy, silly grin, and he began to laugh. Softly, softly, so as not to disturb anyone, he began to laugh.
Looking at his witch’s reflection, he saw the pleased expression on her face and abruptly pulled her to him. Cradling her in his arms, he softly turned her head to look at their tangled reflection in the mirror. She smiled happily, leaning her head onto his chest, snuggling into his cool embrace.
"Too perfect," he whispered. "And you don’t even know it."
Willow looked up at him and smiled brightly. "I love you, Spike."
"I love you, too, Willow."
And they kissed.
~~~
"WOOHOO! About damn time." Word laughed heartily and swapped high-fives with Action and Idea.
"Hey, that song was perfect," Idea gushed. "Couldn’t have planned it better myself."
"Yeah, but in the end, actions spoke louder than words." Elbowing Action gently, Word giggled and turned off the TV.
"Right, then," Action announced. "Pay up."
Muttering in false agitation, Memory, Thought, and Idea each pulled out their coin purses and extracted a one-dollar bill. Handing the cash to Word, they turned their attentions back to the steamy scene unfolding in the tiny bathroom in Sunnydale.
"Here," Word said casually, pulling out another one-dollar bill and handing the total of four dollars to her younger sister.
"Huh? But I thought we were splitting the winnings?" Action said.
"Nah, you won. They admitted their love to one another aloud at 3:37am on Wednesday, your day. So, you win."
"Thanks," Action gushed.
"So, what are you gonna so with it? Not gonna spend it all in one place, I hope?" Word teased.
"Actually…"
Leaning towards her sister, Action began to bounce ideas off of her. Quietly, with four dollars in their hands and visions of a happy couple in their minds, the fates conspired.
~~~
The next afternoon, Willow and Spike were pleasantly surprised to wake up to two ice-cold frosties and a large pile of piping-hot french fries with ketchup (for optional dipping) on the side. A delicious way to start eternity together.
the end