Parts: 31 - 40
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~Part: 31~
Spike didn't realize he was asleep, and he had no idea that he was dreaming. It all seemed so real and completely natural in that it-all- seems-rational-and-normal-even-though-it-will-probably-seem-bizarre- when-I-wake-up kind of way that so many dreams possess. But in this case, it wasn't really Spike's fault that he didn't realize he was dreaming. It's not that he was unobservant or unintelligent, but the beginning of his dream picked up so naturally at where he had been when he was awake that he missed the transition. In his dream, he was in his Red's house, on her couch, in her arms, relishing the sweetness of her scent and her warmth and her touch as she nestled into him, holding him close. All of that was the same, in reality and in his dream. And in his dream, as in reality, there remained only minutes until dawn.
Really, the only difference in his dream world was that the curtains covering the windows were open. Wide open. And the window suddenly faced east, even though it hadn't last night. The sun was about to rise. Spike lay there calmly, not attempting to move, cradling Willow in his arms and looking at the windows with interest and curiosity. Even in his dream, he knew he was a vampire and that sunlight turned vampires to dust, but he felt no trace of fear or apprehension. He felt safe and protected, fully aware that he was in no danger as long as he was with Red. This belief gave him untroubled calm even as the sky began to lighten and the sun began to rise.
Somewhere there was a part of his brain that knew that the windows of the living room faced north, not east, but that part of his mind didn't interfere in the dream as Spike watched the sun come up directly in front of him, filling the sky with elaborate pinks and purples as a pre-show before rising slowly before him, in all of its golden glory. A silent tear slid down his cheek, unchecked. Spike didn't notice. He was enraptured by the sight before him. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Even in his mortal years, he had never been a religious man, but the sight before him made the beginning of the Bible run through his mind for the first time in a century.
"And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good."
No wonder God had started with light. It was, indeed, a good way to begin a world.
Sunlight filtered through the room, touching Spike's skin as it stole onto the couch, banishing the shadows. It's brightness shone on Willow's face, making her stir as she began to wake up. She shifted against him slightly, murmuring in her sleep and burrowing more tightly in his arms, trying to hold on to sleep. The movement caught Spike's attention and he dragged his eyes away from the window to look at her and for a moment, it seemed as if everything froze. The sunrise became the second most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
His first thought was that she looked like an angel. The sunlight brought out the warm, white radiance of her porcelain skin and highlighted the purity of her features, but it was her hair that truly dazzled him. He had thought her hair looked lovely under moonlight, lamplight, candlelight and even the fluorescent lights of her dorm room freshman year, but he had never dreamed it would look so wonderful in sunlight. It seemed to glow around her like a halo of fire. He was unable to resist the urge to touch it, stroking it softly and running his fingers through the silky strands. His gentle but insist caress finally woke her and he was dazzled again by the way the sunlight brought an extra sparkling flame into her beautiful eyes.
"But soft!" Spike whispered to her slowly opening eyes, "what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Willow is the sun." Spike smiled at the fittingness of the quote as he continued to stroke her hair. In his dream, he forgot his earlier vow not to associate Willow with the poetry of "Romeo and Juliet." The words just came out instinctively, as natural as a sun rising in the morning.
She smiled at him sleepily, leaning into his caress. As her eyes came into focus, an irrepressibly mischievous grin blossomed on her face.
"So I guess you like your present." she whispered, propping her head up on her hand so she could see out the window and nodding in the direction of the rising sun with adorably obvious pride.
At that moment he realized, not as a revelation but as one of those things that you just *know*, in the way you instinctively know things in dreams, that she had done it. She had given him the sunrise.
Spike chuckled. "You know you really didn't need to go all out like this, Red. You could have just gotten me an ashtray."
"Why bother?" she answered. "You wouldn't have used it anyway." She lowered her head back to his shoulder and snuggled against him, sighing with satisfaction as he pulled her closer to his body. "Besides," she continued, "I had a funny feeling that you might like this better."
"I love it, Red." Spike replied, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead. "How could I not? You gave me the sun."
She looked up into his eyes and he was surprised, even in his dream, at the warmth and devotion that he saw there.
"I'd give you the world, if I could." she whispered. She lifted her hand and placed it gently on the back of his neck, stroking the curling ends of his hair as she slowly, slowly, slowly pulled his mouth down on to hers, all the while staring into his eyes, until she closed them just as their lips made contact.
The kiss in the crypt had been sweet and dizzying and delicious, but it had been sudden and unexpected and Spike hadn't really had the opportunity to savor it. This kiss was slow and deep and claiming. Instead of teasing his lips as she had done before, her tongue slid into his mouth almost immediately and if Spike hadn't been so distracted by the beautiful feel of her opening to him so completely, he would have smiled at her obvious eagerness to taste him and touch him. He quickly returned the favor by slipping his tongue into her mouth as well, and moaned slightly at her exquisite flavor and perfect, searing warmth.
She wrapped her arms around him and held him as close as possible as he shifted her underneath him, sliding his body on top of hers. Not wanting to hurt her, he carefully rested his weight on his elbows but he allowed himself the pleasure of full-body contact with her soft, warm frame. She wrapped herself around him, seeking points of contact along her entire body. She whimpered deliciously at the feel of him, and he grinned when he smelled the skyrocketing scent of her arousal.
The kiss seemed to go on for days. Her hands drifted over his back and up and down the line of his spine, sliding under his t-shirt to trail her fingers along his bare skin, always pulling him closer. Meanwhile, his hands were equally occupied in stroked her shoulders, her neck, and the beautiful lines of her face while taking the kiss deeper and deeper until it made even his highly experienced head start to spin. Realizing that she needed to breathe, he forced his lips away from hers and refocused the full attention of his lips and his tongue onto the side of her neck. He closed his eyes, wanting to focus all of his senses on the feel and the taste of her.
She gasped at the feel of his cool lips on her neck and then gave a long drawn-out moan when he began licking at her pulse point. He grinned against the warm skin and redoubled his attentions. Obviously determined to prove that he was just as affected by her as she was by him, she started rubbing against him, sliding her hands down to his ass so that she could thrust her hips directly against his. He couldn't prevent a strangled moan. She smiled at her success.
He retaliated by adding his teeth to the arsenal at her neck, alternating licks and kisses with soft, gentle bites and nips at her beautiful throat. Immediately, Willow's hands flew up to Spike's head, threading her fingers through his hair and holding him firmly against her neck. Spike was careful to keep his human face on, not wanting to run the risk of damaging her with his fangs. He wasn't scared of the chip. As riled up as she was, she probably wouldn't even feel it if he bit her, and if she didn't experience pain, then neither would he. But he didn't want to hurt her. He never wanted to hurt her.
From the sounds she was making, he was pretty sure she was feeling nothing short of bliss as she whimpered with pleasure and panted for breath. The feel of her hot breath on his neck mixed with the scrumptious squirming of her delectable body underneath his was quickly driving him insane. He held her closer, tighter, sliding his hand behind her, under her t-shirt and up the silky skin of her back, enjoying the feel of her warm flesh under his fingers while using the leverage of the position to press her as close as possible. Her panting grew harsher, showing her approval. But then the sound of her panting changed. Her breathing patterns altered and she…
…began to whistle?
As Spike woke up, the sound of whistling became clearer. The paperboy was delivering the "Sunnydale News" and whistling as he worked. The whistling grew muted as he worked his way further down the street and finally faded away entirely as he turned at the corner. Spike didn't notice. He was in the moment when you first wake up when you want desperately to believe that it wasn't just a dream, and you find yourself trying to rationalize how it could be possible, could be real. Reluctantly, Spike opened his eyes, and wondered when the room had gotten so dark. Had Red whispered a spell to close the curtains while he had been focused on her neck? It was possible. Then he looked down at Red, sleeping sweetly in his arms. Instead of lips swollen with kisses and cheeks flushed with excitement, he saw smooth, untouched lips, a peaceful, relaxed expression and heard a gentle, slow heartbeat showing REM sleep patterns that couldn't have been achieved in the past two minutes.
The curtains were closed and Spike could feel the sun rising behind the wall with no windows. Red was soundly sleeping.
The dream had ended.
~Part: 32~
As Willow started to wake up, she automatically reached out for the person beside her. She wanted to snuggle a little longer before having to wake up completely. This time, she wasn't reaching for Tara. It wasn't that she was over Tara; she doubted she ever would truly get over her love for the girl. She never fully got over Oz. She wasn't the type to ever completely recover from loving someone. But as she remembered what the girl had said to her the last time they spoke, how hurt and bitter she had sounded over Willow's resolution to help her friend regardless of the cost. Tara had always been so quiet, that Willow had been able to ignore the other girl's more selfish side. Any time Tara objected to patrolling or researching, Willow was always able to talk her into it pretty quickly. She had allowed herself to believe that that meant that the blonde didn't mind. Willow had been so happy to finally be in a relationship with someone who loved her so completely and who truly understood her magic that she tried to ignore all the tiny warning signs in their relationship.
Though the night that Tara left had been the first time that Tara had truly gone off on Willow and her friends, Willow remembered a hundred little occasions where the other girl had reacted in similar, if not so vocal, ways; trying to put some distance between Willow and her Scooby ways. She had resented the role that Willow's friends played in her life, she had definitely resented the role that demonic forces played in all their lives, and most of all, she had seemed to resent the fact that she was expected to deal with it, help with it, put forth the time and effort to make the world a better place.
It was kind of ironic. Most people had a lot of trouble believing in vampires and slayers, but once they figured out what went bump in the night, they wanted to help. Heck, even Cordelia had been willing to fight vampires, once they finally convinced her that they were real. They didn't have the same kind of problems with Tara. As a hereditary witch, the girl had always known that vampires and demons and the forces of darkness were real and tangible. She just didn't care. Just as Tara had done when her family told her she was part demon, Tara's solution to the problem had been to run away and hide from what she believed to be the truth. That, in itself, wouldn't have been much of a problem. After all, bravery isn't something everyone possesses and there's no shame in getting scared. The problem was that when she ran to hide, she wanted to take Willow with her. And that was never an option for Willow.
So Willow knew, even in that misty half-awake dreamy state, she KNEW that what she had had with Tara had ended. No matter what had happened, she couldn't have built the life with Tara that she wanted. Sooner or later, it would have ended between the two of them. It hurt that it happened sooner rather than later. But life as a slayerette on the Hellmouth had taught her years before the brutal necessity of moving on from any and all broken hearts. In her mind and in her heart, she knew the girl was gone. The forever kind of gone. She still missed her, still loved her, would probably still dream about her on occasion, but she wouldn't be reaching for her again in those moments right before waking up. It wouldn't do any good.
No, this time the person she was reaching for was Spike. Not that she particularly wanted Spike to be beside her when she woke up (or so she told herself) but she had expected him to be there. In fact, she was expecting (and hoping) that he would still be asleep. That way, she could snuggle with him for a few minutes without disturbing him and then, fortified by the contact she always craved, she'd be ready to get up and face the day. She hated getting up in the morning. Snuggles were usually the only things that resigned her to having to wake up. She could snuggle up to an unconscious Spike. He wouldn't know the difference.
She clearly remembered falling asleep in his arms. It stood to reason that he'd still be there when she woke up. Spike should have been trapped in her house by the daylight just as he was trapped on the couch by her body, blocking him into the corner. But when she reached out for him leaning forward to nestle against him, all she felt was empty space, and then the back of the couch. He wasn't there.
Her eyes snapped open, and she examined the room. Everything else was just as she had left it the night before. The TV and VCR were off, the curtains were closed, the coffee table was littered with popcorn and coffee mugs and marshmallows and graham cracker crumbs, and the throw blanket from the back of the couch was securely wrapped around her, but there was no Spike. <He's gone.> she thought to herself. <Damn stealthy vampires. How did he pull that off?> She didn't know how exactly he had managed to get off of the couch without waking her, but since she wasn't covered in Spike-dust, it was pretty obvious that he had.
<He must have left before sunrise.> she reasoned. It made sense, really. If he had stayed, he would have been trapped in her house all day. Why would he want that? She wished he had woken her, let her know that he was going, but it was logical to assume that he thought she'd prefer to sleep. With a sigh, she curled up into a ball, snuggling against the back of the couch. It was far less satisfying than Spike's arms, but she needed to cuddle against something.
She tried to recapture the sense of lazy contentedness she had held before she woke, but it wouldn't come. As she shivered slightly under the blanket, she wondered how it was that lying in the arms of a corpse had made her feel so warm and comfortable, and how his absence now made her feel so cold and alone. Her vision blurred slightly with tears. She shut her eyes, willing them away, cursing herself for wanting to cry. She should be used to being alone by now. It wouldn't do any good to waste more tears.
She held her eyes firmly shut, scanning her memory for any sleep spells. She wasn't ready to get up yet. She didn't even want to go upstairs to her room. She wanted to stay on the couch and not have to move and not have to open her eyes for as long as possible. It would be easiest to do all of that if she was asleep. She knew that her attitude and her determination to avoid dealing with her problems for the time being was petty and childish and irresponsible, but she really wanted to sleep for, oh, maybe another week or so. Then she'd be able wake up and deal with the mess of her world. She wasn't ready for it yet; she needed that week of sleep first. After all the times she had stayed up late to ace the test, or be there for Buffy, or baby-sit Dawn or save the world, she had surely earned a week of sleep.
She knew she didn't have that option. She had responsibilities, she had obligations, she had placed to go and things to do, starting with an eleven o'clock class, immediately followed by a twelve thirty class, leading directly into the world-saving ritual at two o'clock, another class at three thirty and a Scooby meeting followed by patrol around seven. Tuesdays and Thursdays were her busy days. Even when they didn't include world save-age. She couldn't even sleep the rest of the day away, as exceptionally tempting as the thought sounded.
But it was still fairly early. As long as she was up by ten o'clock, she could still be on time for her class. Two more hours of sleep wouldn't hurt anything. And they would be two more hours where she had nothing to deal with, nothing to worry about, nothing to think about, and no unpleasant reminder that once again, she was sleeping alone. She would be responsible and organized and goal-oriented and emotionally secure later. For now, she would sleep.
Then she noticed the smell coming from the kitchen and suppressed a groan. It was sweet of Dawn to come over and make her breakfast again, but comforting an emotionally unbalanced witch was not an adequate excuse for skipping class. The school had been closed the previous day for teacher's meetings, but it was open for business today. Willow knew she'd have to talk to Dawn about what counted as a valid reason for missing school. Then she'd have to get dressed and get Dawn to school and her plan for two more hours of uninterrupted sleep would vanish like smoke. She sighed. There was also the slight factor that she didn't really want to be comforted or cheered up. She had sort of looked forward to the chance to be moping and miserable for a little while without having to put on a brave front. But at least the cooking smelled better today. No scent of scorched pancakes made with dubious ingredients. In fact, she noticed as she sat up, it smelled really good.
"Dawnie?" she murmured sleepily as she headed into the kitchen. "Whadja make me?" She stopped abruptly as she fully entered the kitchen and saw the person standing at the stove. It wasn't Dawn.
"I know it's early in the morning, but there's really no excuse for mixing me up with Niblet. Judging by the contents of the fridge, I'd say you don't keep kosher. So any objections to a bacon and cheese omelet, Red?"
~Part: 33~
It took her a minute, but she finally realized that Spike was waiting for her answer. "A bacon and cheese omelet sounds good." she managed to answer, numbly, as she half sit and half fell into one of the kitchen chairs. "You're making me an omelet?" she asked, still dazed.
"Would you rather I scrambled the eggs?" he asked, deliberately misunderstanding her question. He knew she wanted to know why he was still there. He thought that maybe if he surprised her with breakfast, she wouldn't ask him why he hadn't left. He had no idea what he was going to tell her. He had spent the last hour trying to come up with plausible answers but he hadn't been able to come up with a single bloody thing. He just hoped that if he could keep her distracted, she'd forget to ask.
After the damn paperboy had woken him up, he hadn't been able to fall back asleep. He just lay there for a while, cradling Willow in his arms, but he couldn't get himself to relax. He had to fight himself not to nuzzle her neck, pull her closer, wake her up with kisses and caresses and pick right back up where the dream left off… But he knew that that wasn't an option. She'd probably kick him out the door into the nice, sunny day. Or, worse still, she'd call her friends. If the slayer or the watcher or even the moron knew that he so much as considered molesting Red in her sleep, he'd be lucky to get dusted. More likely, they'd keep him undead and torture him for weeks before finally staking him out for the sunrise.
And he'd lose his friend. She'd never trust him again if he took advantage of her like that. He'd lose the chance to ever have another movie night, or hold her close, or watch her while she slept in his arms. He couldn't bear the thought of losing her friendship over some lust-driven urges. He was over a century old. He should be able to control himself. Besides, it wasn't as if he really wanted the chit, anyway. He was in love with the slayer, right? Right. Of course he was. The dream was just a fluke.
However, fluke or not, it got harder and harder for him to just lie on the couch next to her. He knew that if he didn't get up soon, he'd end up doing something he'd regret. He needed some distance so he could regain his control. With this in mind, he forced himself to let go of her. It was more difficult than he had ever suspected it would be. Carefully and oh so gently, he climbed over her, pulling himself off the couch. When he had detangled himself from her body, he seated himself on the outside corner of the couch and wrapped the blanket back around her. She whimpered slightly in her sleep, but calmed down when his hand gently stroked her hair. He stayed like that for a minute, sitting on the edge of the couch and gently stroking her impossibly soft hair. It looked so beautiful as it slid through his pale fingers. But after a minute or two of this, he forced his hand away and stood. He knew that he should leave. He could grab a blanket and make a run for it. There was a sewer entrance not far from her front door. It would be risky, but he had never let sunlight stop him from going where he wanted before.
He knew that he could pull it off. The only problem was… he didn't want to go. What the hell did he have to go home to? A cold, empty crypt where the only sign of feminine touches were some tacky unicorns left behind by Harmony and his shrine downstairs to the slayer. Was that worth rushing off to?
He had decided to make her breakfast. If he was in the kitchen, he'd be less tempted to touch her. Besides, she wouldn't mind that he had stayed if he had something to show for it. Anyway, he was a pretty decent cook, as long as he stuck with the recipes he knew. He had turned a chef once, years earlier. Spike hadn't realized the man was a chef until, at the bloke's request, he had been put in charge of feeding the people that they kept around for snacks during daylight hours. When he noticed the better quality blood from the humans, he traced it back to the excellent meals they were being served. Daylight hours were long and Spike had been in need of a new distraction, so he had the guy teach him how to cook.
He was good with omelets and she had all the ingredients he needed to show off his skills, so he began chopping and slicing. He could hear her heartbeat in the next room, and could tell when she began to wake up. His timing proved to be perfect. She walked into the kitchen about five minutes before breakfast was ready, staring at him with a look of unmitigated shock. He was glad she sat down. She looked ready to fall over.
"No, an omelet is fine." she answered. "I just…" <thought you had left like everyone else always does> she thought to herself, but didn't have the courage to say it, "didn't know you could cook." she finished, lamely. <He stayed.> was all she could think. <I thought he left, but he stayed. I'm so glad he stayed.>
"So you thought Li'l Bit had come over and I had decided to just sit back and watch her cook?" he asked. "Not likely. I've seen the Summers' kitchen after she tried cooking in it. Total disaster zone."
"I thought you had left." she said quietly, so quietly that he almost didn't hear her. He pretended that he hadn't.
"Okay, all ready." he said instead, loading the omelet on a plate with a few pieces of toast and a glass of orange juice in his other hand. He seated himself across from her with his elbows on the table and his chin resting on his hand, watching her, waiting to see her reaction to the food. He wasn't disappointed. Her eyes widened in pleased surprise after her first bite.
"This is great!" she exclaimed. He just smiled in response, and continued to watch her as she dug into the food with obvious relish. Then his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"When was the last time you had a decent meal?" he asked.
She blushed. "Um, right now?" she said, hoping to dodge the question. No such luck.
"Before this, Red. When was the last time you ate a full, complete meal?"
"It hasn't been that long." she hedged, refusing to make eye contact.
"I know you didn't have dinner last night because you went straight from my crypt to class and straight from class back here where you only had a little popcorn and two s'mores. Dawn made you pancakes that morning, which were mostly burnt, and you never had lunch. And the night before, all you had was some popcorn and hot chocolate with me. So when was the last time you had a decent meal?" His voice sounded strained, as if he was barely holding himself back from yelling at her.
"I had a bowl of cereal that morning at Buffy's house." she answered quietly.
"A bowl of cereal doesn't count as a full meal." Spike's voice grew harsher. He was getting angrier with every passing second. The girl was practically starving herself and it appeared that no one had even noticed!
"Yes, it does! Just look at the nutritional values!"
"Red, don't push me." he growled. He couldn't believe those so-called friends, not to mention her sodding girlfriend hadn't noticed that she only ate if someone reminded her. And since it seemed that no one had reminded her lately, the girl had gone at least three days (and possibly more) with practically all of her nutrition coming from a bowl of cereal eaten far too long ago. Red was always so busy looking out for everyone else: making sure that Dawn got her homework done, and the watcher had help with research, and Xapper had his snack foods and enough breaks during research to stay awake, and the slayer had enough patrol to work out her aggressions without so much that she exhausted herself. She even made sure that Spike had enough blood when he helped research. She always took care of everyone else and forgot to ever take the time or the trouble to take care of herself.
"I'm sorry." she whispered.
"For what?" he asked, genuinely confused. Why was she apologizing? It wasn't her fault that her friends were ninnies who didn't make any kind of effort to take care of her.
"I'm sorry I upset you." she said, wide, penitent eyes finally making direct contact with his, at last.
"You didn't upset me, Red." he said, his eyes softening. "Finish your breakfast." She quietly and obediently proceeded to do just that. He sipped at the mug of blood he had prepared for himself and watched her eat. She still seemed nervous, afraid that she had made him angry. He leaned over, taking her hand in his and squeezing it gently. She looked up at him and smiled. When he smiled back, she seemed to relax. They finished their respective meals in comfortable silence.
~Part: 34~
She blew off her classes. She justified it to herself and to Spike in a dozen different ways. After all, with all the research she had been doing on Glory, she hadn't really had a chance to get all of her reading done and she knew lots of people she could get notes off of later and Spike was her guest and was stuck in her house until sundown and it would be really rude of her to just leave him behind… but really, she blew off class because she didn't want to go. She wanted to stay home and play hooky. With Spike. So she did.
They had a glorious morning as they cleaned the house from top to bottom. They actually hadn't planned on all the cleaning, but they were each determined to clean the kitchen after Willow finished her breakfast. She had insisted that since he cooked, it was her obligation to clean. He insisted that since he was the one who made the mess, it was his job to take care of it. When they both realized that they couldn't convince the other, they started cleaning the kitchen together.
Willow switched on the radio over the sink and immediately oldies music filled the kitchen. Willow had blushed, afraid that Spike would laugh at her music choice, but to her surprise, he started singing along with the Sam Cooke song playing. To her further surprise, he had a very good voice. With a grin, she joined in, singing about how she didn't know much about history, biology, science books or the French she took. (The last bit was true, anyway, she thought to herself, trying to remember the last time she had practiced her French and following this as well as several other trains of thought even as she sang along with the words.) "But I do know that I love you./ And I know that if you loved me, too/ What a wonderful world this would be."
The oldies station had a pretty limited repertoire, but the music they played was fun and upbeat, and they had long sets of uninterrupted music. Willow and Spike discovered that they both knew all the words to all the songs they played, and sang loudly as they cleaned the kitchen. In fact, the sight of Willow dancing around the kitchen wiping down counters as she sang "Jailhouse Rock" into a spatula had Spike absolutely incapacitated as he leaned against the counter shaking with laughter as blood tears streamed down his face. Willow grinned and continued dancing and singing, making her movements even wilder, enjoying the sight of Spike laughing.
On the next number, Spike grabbed her as she danced by and started guiding her through the motions of swing dancing. Knowing that she didn't know the steps, he relied mostly on the showy combinations that had him swinging her through the air and spinning her in fast turns. She had no choice but to relax into his lead, trusting him completely as she enjoyed the roller-coaster ride of a dance. Willow was laughing so hard that she couldn't breathe as she clung to him, a little scared but mostly exhilarated by the way he swung her around so effortlessly. As the song ended, he spun her quickly into a triple turn and then guided her suddenly and abruptly back into a low, deep dip. She squealed and wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him as he slowly brought her back up. She was giggling madly and he had a huge grin covering his face as they stood still for a moment, letting her catch her breath.
"Oh!" Willow said, her eyes lighting up even further as a new thought occurred to her. "You could teach me how to dance! I've always wanted to learn and you know how and you could teach me. It would be fun! And we could go dancing together and I hear they have some great swing clubs in L.A. and it's not that far of a drive and we could go…" Suddenly she blushed and dropped her eyes, as if she had just realized what she had said. "I mean, if you wanted to. You don't have to, or anything. You wouldn't have to take me dancing, you don't even have to teach me if you're too busy, or if you just don't want to, or— I just meant that maybe, you know, if you didn't mind, or if it wouldn't be too much trouble that maybe hrmph—"
She was cut off abruptly as Spike placed his hand over her mouth. With his fingers covering her lips, he used his thumb to tilt up her chin so he could look her in the eye. Her eyes were wide with confusion and he couldn't help but smile at them.
"Hey, Red," he said, keeping his hand covering her mouth, "how about I teach you how to swing dance? Would you like that?" Using the hand covering her mouth and jaw, he guided her head in a nodding motion. Beneath his fingers, he could feel her lips start to curve into a smile.
"And maybe," Spike continued, "after you've learned enough, we could drive into L.A. one weekend and go to one of those swing clubs. I hear they have pretty good ones. Doesn't that sound like a good idea?" Once again, he guided her head into a nod. He felt her smile spreading even wider as she reached up and gently pried away his fingers from her lips.
"Oh, Spike," she said, breathily, batting her eyelashes in a parody of the adoring heroine looking at the dashing hero, "wherever do you get these wonderful ideas?"
"It's a gift, pet." he replied with a grin, releasing her. She giggled and returned to her counters.
They had so much fun cleaning the kitchen that they couldn't bear to stop, even when it was spotless. So they moved on to the living room. It was a mess after two movie nights and they cleaned it top to bottom, taking the radio in with them and continuing their sing along as they cleaned.
Even then, they weren't ready to stop. Together, they cleaned the dining room, the study, the downstairs bathroom, the upstairs bathroom, the master bathroom, the master bedroom, the guest room, and her own room. The radio got lost somewhere along the way, and instead of singing, they talked as they cleaned, discussing their favorite music, favorite books, favorite movies (obviously), and favorite everything elses, mixed in (of course) with dozens more stories.
Spike participated fully in the conversation, speaking freely of his own tastes and preferences and listening carefully as Willow detailed hers, but he also took the occasion to truly scope out her house. And the more he saw, the more annoyed he became. Her parents' room was practically empty. The closets held hardly any clothes and the bathroom held only a few, scarce personal items. It was obvious that they were hardly ever home. It looked more like a hotel room than the bedroom of a couple who had lived in that house for years.
Even worse than that were the pictures. Spike remembered spending time with Joyce once when she sent him up to her room to get something off her desk that she needed. Her dresser had been covered with pictures of Buffy and Dawn at various ages and little things that the girls had obviously made her in school: picture frames made out of cardboard with shells glued to them, jewelry boxes made out of clay roughly formed in the shape of a heart, hand-drawn Mother's Day cards covered in crayon smiley faces, and childhood awards too silly for the girls to want to keep in their own rooms, but too precious to Joyce to ever consider throwing them away (Spike remembered in particular an award that six year old Buffy had won for Best Use of Colored Glue in the Science Project). That was what a mother's dresser should look like.
The Rosenberg's dresser was mostly bare. It held a large framed print of their wedding picture, along with a few plaques for a variety of minor awards (Willow had explained that they kept their more important plaques and certificates in their offices) and a handful of snapshots of the pair on what appeared to be vacations. Willow told Spike of her parents' habit of going to conferences in interesting or exotic locales, and then staying an extra week or two on a mini- vacation. Since they never took Willow with them, she wasn't in any of the pictures. In fact, there was not a single picture of Willow, at any point, at any age. There was not a single childhood award or art project or class picture. A stranger looking at the room would not have guessed that the Sheila and Ira Rosenberg had any children at all.
Willow's room was in complete and utter contrast. Even though her dorm room still had most of her clothes and several of her favorite pictures and mementos, her room at the house was still crammed with personal touches. Here he found all the childhood awards that he had looked for in vain in her parents' room. But even when she was six years old, Willow was not the type of girl to win an award for Best Use of Colored Glue. Her awards showed her to be an honor role student every year with special honors in math, science, history and literature all the way through her school years. She also covered her walls with pictures. They were snapshots, mostly, of days at the beach with Xander and Buffy, late night research sessions, picnics, birthday parties, prom photos with the wolf, and everything else imaginable, through the years, with a few scattered pictures of Willow as a little girl with the same big eyes and wide smile, with both eyes and smile usually focused on the ever-present, ever- oblivious Xander.
In addition to decorating with photos, the girl was obviously also something of a packrat, having saved ticket stubs from movies, programs from plays, souvenirs from class trips, and mementos of all shapes and kinds, culminating in a scorched high school diploma next to a large, framed picture of the Scoobies at graduation looking worse for wear but unmistakably triumphant. Her bookcases were crammed with books that had seen a lot of use (including a row of journals on the bottom shelf that he would have loved to explore further) and her desk was dominated by a very impressive computer and stacks of carefully labeled discs, in addition to a small stereo and a surprisingly diverse collection of tapes and CDs. Spike wanted to stay in her room forever and explore her books, her music, her mementos, and, most of all, her journals. But he could tell right away that that wasn't an option.
Willow was more than a little embarrassed about having him in her room, so they cleaned it quickly. He did most of the talking, trying to relax her by telling her a detailed story about his first trip to France and his stay in Paris on New Year's Eve, 1900. As she grew more and more engrossed by his story, she grew less and less frantic in her need to clean the room quickly and move on. Spike deliberately dragged the story out, wanting to stay in the room as long as he could. It was drenched in his Red: he could see and smell and feel the traces of her covering every square inch, and something about that soothed his demon immeasurably.
When they finally finished cleaning the house they looked down and realized the last things that needed cleaning.
"We're disgusting." Willow said. Spike nodded in agreement. They had made good use of Spike's super strength to move furniture and clean behind things that hadn't been cleaned behind in far too many years. They were both covered head to toe in grit and grime and dust and furniture polish.
"I'm going to take a shower." she continued. "Do you, um, d-do you want to shower, too?" She mentally cursed herself for her stuttering and for the blush she could feel covering her cheeks. "In my parents' bathroom, I mean!" she hastened to add. "I have some sweats you could change into, and I could throw our clothes in the wash. They'd be clean and dry by sundown."
Spike smirked as his eyes ran up and down her body, intensifying her blush. "I don't really think your sweats would fit me, Red." His eyes carefully evaluated her form. She kept it hidden in those baggy clothes she seemed to enjoy so much, but he remembered the exact feel of her from holding her in his arms all night, and he knew she had a much better figure than she let on. No, he definitely wouldn't fit into her clothes. And he seriously doubted her father's sweats would fit him, either, even if there were any of them sitting around. From the looks of the pictures he had seen, Ira Rosenberg was a little shorter than him in height, and considerably larger in girth. His sweatpants would probably fall right off of Spike. And while Spike, personally, didn't object to walking around naked while his clothes were cleaned, he didn't think that Red would approve of that suggestion.
"Xander has a stash of clothes here." she answered. "I know you don't much care for his style, but I'm pretty sure there's a plain white t- shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants in the pile that should be pretty unobjectionable." She took him by the hand and led him back into her room, shifting through one of the drawers in her dresser until she found what she was looking for. She handed him the sweatpants and the t-shirt, then led him back into her parents' room.
"I'll just, um, go shower, too." she said, blushing again. He couldn't stop himself from smiling. He loved the way she blushed. "I'll meet you in the living room when I get out." she continued. "Just throw your dirty clothes in the washer. It's in the alcove next to the kitchen." With that, she turned and hurried to the door.
"Thanks, Red." he called after her, gently.
She turned and smiled at him, brightly. "It's no trouble, Spike. I'll see you in a few minutes." She headed back to her room. Moments later, he heard her enter the other bathroom and heard the water start. He could even hear her humming to herself in the shower, and his smile grew as he realized she was humming the song they had danced to. He got in the shower himself, and relaxed into the feel of the water beating down on him. Even though they rarely used it, the Rosenbergs had obviously invested a lot of money in their shower. Only one thought bothered him as he cleaned himself off.
What the hell was *his* Red doing with Xappers's clothes in her bedroom?
~Part: 35~
Spike had never really been one for long showers. He was dressed and already headed downstairs before he heard her shower shut off. The sound of her cheerful humming made him smile as he tossed his clothes in the washing machine and settled himself on the couch. He flipped on the TV just in time to see the opening credits for "Passions." He looked at the television in surprise. He hadn't realized it was two o'clock already. Time had a way of speeding along when he was with his witch.
He had planned to ask her about what the moron's clothes were doing in her bedroom as soon as he saw her, but by the time she came downstairs, he was fully engrossed in his show. Willow couldn't help but smile at the sight of him staring at the screen with such total concentration. She knew better than to interrupt, so she quietly seated herself beside him and tried to figure out what was going on in the show. She wasn't much of a fan of soap operas, but she figured that if Spike could watch 80s movies for her, then she could watch soap operas for him.
Various groups of men and women seemed to be arguing and kissing and plotting, which pretty much tallied with what she expected of soap operas. As the minutes passed, she began noticing little things. Some of the names of the characters sounded familiar. And she could have sworn that some of the plot lines rang a bell as well. Of course, she knew that most plot lines for soap operas are pretty repetitious, but it was more than that. There was some reason why all of this sounded more familiar than it should, some reason why she knew about this soap opera. The color ran out of her face as she began to make the connection. She had heard those names and situations mentioned before. By Spike. And Joyce. When they were talking about the television show "Passions:" Spike's favorite television show. The one that he never missed.
When the commercial break came, Spike turned to talk to his witch, to make some comment about the show or maybe to ask about the clothes he was wearing. Whatever he planned to say was forgotten when he saw the pale and pensive expression on her face. By now, he was learning her expressions. This one meant that she was blaming herself for something. Now all he needed to do was to find out what.
"Red? Something bothering you?"
She started at the sound of his voice, and turned to face him with an apologetic look on her face. "This is `Passions,' isn't it?" she asked.
"Yeah." he answered, still not understanding where the conversation was going.
"It comes on at 2:00?"
"Yeah."
"It came on yesterday at 2:00?"
"I guess so— oh, is that what's bothering you?" he asked, as he finally understood. Chit felt bad that she had made him miss his show. He should have known that she'd feel guilty about something like that.
She nodded several times in rapid succession. "I didn't mean to keep you from watching it. You should have said something! We could have done the ritual at some other time, or maybe even commercial breaks! because, you know, it doesn't take that long, and I didn't mean to mess up your day and I'm really sorry, and—"
"Red, stop." Spike commanded, once again placing his hand over her mouth. Obediently, she stopped talking, but kept looking up at him with those beseeching green eyes pleading for his forgiveness. He wondered yet again what she really thought of him. Did she think that he'd get angry, maybe even yell at her? Surely she wasn't afraid of him physically hurting her, she knew better than anyone about the power of the chip in his head. So what was she so scared of? He shifted his hand off of her mouth and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She smiled a little, hesitantly, at the contact, trying to figure out if it meant that she was forgiven. Suddenly, he knew why she was so nervous. She wasn't afraid that he'd hurt her physically. (Even if he had been capable of it, he doubted that the prospect of physical pain would scare her this much.) She wasn't even afraid that he'd yell at her. What really scared her was the thought that he would leave. She was afraid that since she had, in her opinion, screwed up, he wouldn't want to be her friend anymore.
He had thought of his Red as a mystery: a bundle of contradictions and surprises, but in that moment, he began to truly understand her. With all the scary things she had faced in her life, with all the terrifying experiences she had undergone, the only thing that truly scared her was not being loved. That was why she went so above and beyond for Buffy and Xander. That was why she showed such love and devotion to her two lovers (even though, in Spike's opinion, neither of them had deserved her attention, much less her love). She so desperately craved love and approval that she would do literally anything in her power to please the people she cared about. Once again he felt the urge to slowly and painfully slaughter her parents. It was their fault that she was so insecure. It was because of them that she felt that she had to constantly go the extra mile to earn anyone's affection. It was because of them that she felt that any error, any oversight, any mistake would cause someone to not like her anymore.
It's possible that Spike didn't realize, even at that time, that this was a characteristic that he shared. He tried to forget how desperate he had been for Cecily's approval when he was alive, Dru's approval once he was dead, and the slayer's approval now that he was defanged. He tried to block out of his mind all the extravagant things he had said and done and felt as he tried to win their love through his devotion and failed. Willow had it worse than Spike, simply because with her affectionate nature there were more people that she cared about and, therefore, more people who could hurt her with their neglect. But it's possible that Spike didn't make this connection. It was a part of his character that he tried to hide, even from himself. But even if he didn't recognize it consciously, this extra connection made him feel even closer to his witch.
And consciously, he couldn't stop himself from feeling a certain burst of pride that he was so important to her, and that she valued his friendship to the point where she panicked at the thought of losing it. He had promised Niblet that he wouldn't hurt her, but now he made that promise to himself, as well. Red was, miraculously, his friend. She was the first real friend he had had in a very, very long time and she was the first person he could ever remember who had given him her trust. He swore to himself that he'd do everything in his power to shield her from being hurt by anyone and most especially by himself. He wanted to be sure that she never for even a moment doubted the sincerity of his friendship.
But she obviously did, at the moment. She thought he'd be angry with her for making him miss "Passions." He wondered what he should tell her. He supposed he could tell her the truth: that he hadn't cared that she had made him miss "Passions." The only reason he got so wrapped up in the show was because there was sod all else for him to do during the day, especially when he was chained in a bathtub. He had gotten in the habit of watching it because he needed something to break up the monotony of his days. And, in typical Spike fashion, after watching the show with his usual intense concentration, he became a little addicted.
The first time they had done the ritual, the timing hadn't conflicted with the show. It had been on a Sunday. And by the second time that they did the ritual, he had decided that he didn't care if it made him miss his show. Her ritual had given him something to do, something to look forward to other than melodramatic television programming. If given the option, he'd choose an important ritual with his witch followed by hours of her conversation and her stories and the sheer pleasure of her presence over a cheesy soap opera any day of the week.
Could he tell her that? No, not really. Deep down, he knew that she wouldn't laugh at him, wouldn't ridicule him, and most certainly wouldn't use it against him, but he was too accustomed to having his emotions manipulated and scorned to trust his gut instinct to tell her the truth. So he'd just have to tell her something else.
"I'm not too crazy about the show these days, really." he said. "They introduced a new bloke who rubs me the wrong way, and they're cutting back on some of my favorite characters." Pretending to get a new idea, he turned to her with a big grin on his face. "Maybe when I get my bite back, I'll turn one of the writers and have them put things back the way they should be. Do you think that would work?"
Willow couldn't hold back her giggle as she sighed in relief, realizing he wasn't angry with her. "Well, it's a thought." she replied diplomatically.
"Well," Spike drawled, "I always was a vamp with vision."
Willow giggled again. "So when do you envision us doing the ritual?" she asked.
"Does it matter if we wait until 3:00?"
"Nope."
"Then let's do it then."
"Okay." Willow agreed and settled herself into the couch.
"Don't get too comfortable." Spike warned her. Willow immediately sat up straight.
"Why not?" she asked.
"Because you're going to march into that kitchen and make yourself some lunch, right now." Spike ordered.
"Spiiiiike, do I have to?" she whined.
"You can either go in there and make yourself something small you can bring in here to eat, or I'll go in and make you a three course meal and not let you leave the table until you finish it. Those are your only choices."
"Alright, alright, I get the picture. I'm going." Willow said as she stood from the couch, trying to deny to herself how good it made her feel that Spike fussed over her and made sure that she ate properly. "You're worse than my parents." she grumbled as she headed into the kitchen.
"That's the plan, Red." Spike murmured to himself as the kitchen door shut behind her. "That's the plan."
~Part: 36~
They performed the ritual once "Passions" was over. The ingredients it required were basic enough that Willow had a small supply of them already in the house, so they were able to do the ritual right away instead of having to run to the Magic Box or the crypt to pick up supplies. After that, Spike spent most of the afternoon explaining to her the characters and plot lines of the show. Willow considered it her penance for making him miss the show the previous day. Besides, she figured there must be something to the show if it held Spike so enthralled. Of course, after two hours of listening to the twists and turns of the plots, she was starting to question that. Willow listened patiently; silently thanking the Goddess that Spike only had one show that held his interest. One soap opera was more than enough for her to keep track of.
True to her word, Willow had Spike's clothes washed and dried by the time the sun set. Together, they headed off to the Magic Box for the Tuesday night Scooby meeting. As they walked down the street, Willow found herself, for the first time ever, dreading a Scooby meeting. What would her friends say about the new friendship between her and Spike? Would they be angry with her? Would they try to stake Spike? Would it erupt into another big argument? Willow forced herself to think about these questions so that she could block out the other tiny but persistent question that was nagging her mind: how would Spike react to being around Buffy again?
Over the past few days, Willow had kinda gotten used to having Spike to herself. Even when Buffy had come with her to the crypt to kiss Spike, she hadn't stayed long, and Willow had had Spike's undivided attention once she left. Even though Willow wasn't interested in Spike as anything but a friend (of course, she told herself, of COURSE she wasn't interested in him as anything but a friend) she had enjoyed having an undeniably attractive, intelligent, and interesting man give her so much of his time and his attention.
But that had been when they were alone. They'd be rejoining the group now. The group that held Buffy, the object of Spike's obsession. Spike had never paid attention to Willow before because he had always been completely focused on Buffy. As much as Willow cared about Buffy, she had to admit, she hated the way that she became of secondary importance once Buffy entered a room. It had been like that with all the men in her life: Xander, Giles, Angel, Riley, and now Spike. Oz was the only man who always focused on Willow, no matter who else was in the room. But then he started focusing on Veruca instead and it all went downhill from there.
Willow knew that Spike was in love with Buffy. She was the motivation behind everything he had done for the past year. The only reason he had bonded Willow to him was so he'd have an excuse to be near Buffy. It was only natural that he'd be thinking about her whenever she was in the room. But Willow couldn't stop herself from praying, quietly, that Spike would still have a little attention to give her. She didn't know what she would have done with herself if he hadn't been there the past few days. She wasn't quite ready to lose him, yet.
Spike noticed how quiet Willow was as they walked to the Magic Box. Willow was never that quiet. Even when he had kidnapped her and held a broken bottle to her face, she had had something to say. She looked worried, too. Spike took a drag off his cigarette (Willow wouldn't let him smoke in her parents house so he was enjoying his first cigarette of the day) and tried to figure out what that meant. Why would she be worried about going to the Magic Box? If anyone should be worried, it was him. Never knew when the moron might be in the mood for a game of kick the Spike, and it's not like there was much he could do to defend himself. But the moron would never deliberately hurt Willow. None of them would. They were her friends, after all.
Then it occurred to him. Maybe that was the problem. They were her friends, and he knew by now how important it was to Willow to make her friends happy and be sure that they approved of her. And since her friends hated him, was she trying to figure out a way to distance herself from him? Was she ashamed to let her friends know that he was her friend now? He puffed angrily on his cigarette. Sure, a little Spike would work to pass the long hours in the privacy of your home, but it wouldn't do to take him into public. Was that how it was? Was he not good enough to openly claim as a friend? She'd been friends with the moron since she was five years old and had no shame about letting everyone know that she was his friend even though the wanker dressed like a circus exhibit, ate like a Glutton demon, and ignored her most of the time to spend time with his whiny ex-demon. But Spike wasn't good enough for her. No, he was a bloody demon and that meant that he was beneath her. Always beneath her. That was how she saw him. That was how they always saw him.
Willow could tell that Spike was upset about something. He was doing that thing where he kept clenching his jaw, and wincing slightly. That was always a sign that he was thinking violent thoughts. She wanted to calm him down, cheer him up, distract him from whatever was upsetting him. And she wanted to touch him, claim him, have him be hers for the little while that they had left before he turned into a Buffy-whipped zombie again. She considered holding his hand, but decided against it. She wanted more contact than that. She remembered how safe and happy she had felt when she lay in his arms. She wanted to recapture that feeling. She slid her arm through his, like she had on the walk home the night before. But this time, instead of just linking her arm through his, she pulled his arm against her, snuggling into his side and resting her head against his shoulder as they walked.
<That was unexpected.> Spike thought, dazedly, as he felt her nestle against him. One second, he'd been thinking about how the entire female gender was determined to belittle him, and the next second, his Red was wrapping herself around his arm and plastering herself to his side. His first impulse was to stop in pure shock, but fortunately, his quick reflexes allowed him to keep moving. He knew if he stopped or made a big deal out of it, he'd only embarrass her. If she got too embarrassed, she'd probably pull away. She was embarrassed enough, already. He could feel the warmth of her blush radiating off her face where it lay on his shoulder. The last thing in the world that he wanted at the moment was for her to pull away. So instead of making a big deal out of it, he decided to ignore it, and just enjoy the moment.
Willow didn't see the beautiful smile that lit up his face, but she heard the soft sigh of pure contentment that he gave as he tucked her arm more firmly under his as they walked down the street. She smiled, too, and started to feel a little less embarrassed. After all, it just felt so… right to hold Spike and touch him as much as she could. She nestled a little bit closer and relaxed into the comfort and safety that she felt in his arms and it would have been perfect… if they hadn't arrived at the Magic Box. With a sigh, Willow released his arm to open the door to the shop, but held onto his hand as they entered. Spike didn't even try to wipe the smug look off his face at the way that Willow refused to let go of him.
Everyone looked up when they walked through the door. Dawn gave them a blissful smile, thrilled to see them together. Anya gave them an encouraging nod, wanting to show her support. Giles raised his eyebrows and cleared his throat, but gave no other sign of encouragement or discouragement. Xander looked annoyed. But, of course, it was only Buffy that Spike noticed.
When the door first opened and Willow walked in, Buffy smiled at the sight of her friend. Spike, walking in behind her, saw the smile and felt something twist in his heart. For a moment, he just stood there, contemplating how many years of his eternal life he'd give up to see her light up like that when he came into a room. Then Buffy's eyes slid off of Willow locked with his and he had the chance to witness Buffy's change in expression as the smile slid off her face, replaced with the scowl he was used to seeing whenever she looked at him.
This night, the scowl seemed darker than usual. It took Spike a minute to realize what had her so upset. Even though the ill-fated kiss she had given him in the crypt had happened only two days earlier, so much had happened since then that he had almost forgotten about it. But he could see in her eyes that she was remembering it, and the memory came back to him as well. He remembered how she had struggled in his arms, fighting for control, trying to dominate him, attacking his mouth with such ferocity as if she couldn't make up her mind whether to rip his throat out or rip off his clothes. Or both. It was a familiar feeling to him since that was what he felt whenever he thought of her.
He might have stood there, his eyes locked with hers forever, if she hadn't broken the gaze. Her eyes drifted down to where his hand was firmly clasped in Willow's, and Spike saw her expression change again. The scowl on her face grew darker and he could have sworn he heard her give a very slight growl.
"Ah, Willow and… ahem… Spike. You're here." Giles said, attempting to break the tension that suddenly filled the room.
"Here is where we are." Willow agreed with a smile, coming all the way into the room, dragging Spike with her by the hand she still held. She had noticed the passion filled stare between Spike and Buffy as soon as they walked through the door. It bothered her more than she would have admitted, even to herself. <And here we go again> she thought to herself with a slight sigh as she resigned herself to the fact that Buffy had taken precedence over her yet again. But she forced herself to smile and respond a moment later. After all, Spike's reaction was only what she had expected. "Any creature features we should know about?" she asked as she seated herself at the table. Spike pulled up a chair next to hers.
"Nothing terribly dangerous at the moment, fortunately." Giles answered. "I was rather curious as to how the ritual is going."
"Pretty well, actually." Willow replied. She turned to Spike. "Don't you think so?"
"Yeah," Spike agreed, "no problems so far. Mix some herbs, light some candles, chant some phrases, and poof! Instant connection."
"Fascinating!" Giles answered, walking over closer to the table. "So can you actually feel the connection building?"
Spike opened his mouth to answer, but Buffy cut him off before he got the chance. "Well, Giles, if there's no particular demony thing I should be researching, I'll head out on patrol." She stood and headed for the door. "Wills, want to come with?"
Willow was slightly surprised by the request since Buffy had been patrolling alone lately, but she stood anyway to join her friend. Spike stood as well, planning to tag along, but Buffy's glare kept him from moving forward.
"Biggest problem out there now are the Knights of Byzantium. Humans. You'd be useless, Spike, so don't bother coming along."
Willow saw the flash of pain and bitterness cross Spike's face at Buffy's words and flinched for his sake, knowing how that insult would hurt him. There was nothing that Spike hated more than feeling weak, unless it was to be reminded that he was weak by the woman for whom he felt such devoted and unrequited love. Willow desperately searched for a way to comfort him.
"Hey, maybe you can take Dawn back to the training room and put her through some of those self-defense moves," she suggested.
Since the gang found out that Dawn was the key, they had started training her in some self-defense. It wouldn't do her any good against Glory, but it might make her able to fight off one or two of her lumpy minions. Willow figured that spending time with Dawn would calm him down, and lashing out his aggressions at training dummies would help him relax.
"And," she added with a grin, focusing all her energy on making him smile, "maybe if you spend some time alone with all of the training dummies, one of them might even turn into a beautiful woman and fall in love with you! You could live happily ever after together. It's been known to happen before. Twice!"
It worked. She made him smile. Her grin grew wider with satisfaction at having made him happy, for the moment. He even turned away from Buffy to look at her with a twinkle in those beautiful blue eyes. "Nah," he answered, "that only happens to saps like McCarthy git." Willow continued to grin in response. "Don't worry about me, Red." Spike said teasingly. "I'll be fine. Niblet will protect me from the big bad books. Run along and beat up some humans for me, will you?"
"Well, I'll see what I can do." she replied, as she giggled. She went over to join Buffy at the door. The slayer had an annoyed expression on her face and seemed in a big hurry to get out the door. "I'll check in later, Giles!" she shouted before slamming the door behind her. Willow followed her out onto the street, watching the slayer storm down the sidewalk. Buffy was obviously pissed about something. Willow wished she could have stayed at the Magic Box with Spike. But Buffy seemed to need to talk to her. Willow sighed and rushed off after the other girl, bracing herself for what she instinctively knew would be a long night.
~Part: 37~
Buffy and Willow walked to the nearest cemetery in silence. Buffy was obviously, visibly angry. Buffy may not have been the most observant person in the Western Hemisphere but she did know her friend. For Willow to have that kind of comfort level with Spike meant that she had been spending a lot of time with him and the thought of Willow bonding with Spike made Buffy feel scared and sick and lost and confused. She hated that feeling; the one that reminded her that superpowers did not mean that she was in control. Pissed her off. So she stormed toward the cemetery in silence, aching for something to kill.
Willow knew better than to try to talk to her until she had had the chance to work off some steam. She kept her mouth shut and waited for Buffy to be ready to open up the conversation, after she worked out some of her anger. Therefore, it wasn't until Buffy had already gone three rounds with Miss Murphree, their newly risen high school French teacher who now sported a lethal overbite, that Buffy finally started talking. As usual, she cut to the heart of the matter with her first question.
"What's going on between you and Spike?" she asked, facing Miss Murphree but obviously directing her question to Willow, who was seated beside the grave, picking at her nail polish and waiting for the fight to end.
Willow wasn't exactly surprised to hear the question. She had spent the walk to the cemetery trying to think of what she was going to say, but now that the moment had come, she still didn't know quite how to answer. Her attention wandered away from Buffy's fight as she tried to decide, not for Buffy, but for herself, what was going on between her and Spike. She thought about cleaning the house with Spike, and watching 80s movies, and telling stories, and drinking hot chocolate, and how it felt to wake up in his arms. She thought about the answer she had given Dawn when the other Summers girl had been worried about the bond, telling her that being bonded to Spike was a little bit like being in love. Maybe more than a little bit. She couldn't deny that she was starting to care about Spike. She liked his company, she liked spending time with him, she liked the way she felt interesting and special and important when he was focused solely on her. She simply liked being near him, in a way that had nothing to do with the bond. Somehow, she didn't think that was the right thing to say to Buffy.
Buffy continued to slowly and deliberately kick the crap out of Miss Murphree. The fledgling vampire wasn't terribly strong or terribly bright and the fight could have ended in under a minute, but Buffy kept pummeling her. She was worried about Willow and pissed off at Spike and aggravated with the quirks of life on the Hellmouth and still nervous about Glory and Dawn's safety and the ritual and the bond and pretty much everything else in her life. She needed to work off some of her aggression. Slaying was, as always, comfort food for her. It made her feel in control. She always enjoyed fights she knew she would win. Besides, she had hated French class.
"You know that Spike can't be trusted, right?" she asked, in between blows. "He's not the type to do something for nothing. If he's hanging out with you, you can bet he has some kind of twisted plan."
"Buffy, I already know what his twisted plan is, remember?" Willow replied. "I bind myself to him, he kills Glory, and then I take out his chip. That's his twisted plan. I admit that it's not a day in the park. As plans go, it is a little twisted, but he hasn't exactly hidden it. And I already agreed to it. We all did."
"You know that that," <punch, punch, block, kick> "was not what I meant." Buffy answered. Suddenly her head jerked up as she senses something approaching. "Incoming," she said to Willow. "Just one. Closing in from behind the Sinclaire crypt. Could you hold it in place for me for a minute or two? I'm almost done with Mademoiselle, here."
"Sure," Willow answered obediently, turning to face the crypt. Sure enough, only seconds later, a fledgling charged out and tried to attack Buffy from behind. "Conglacio," Willow whispered and watched the vampire freeze in place. Buffy sparred with Miss Murphree for another few seconds before finally plunging the stake into place with a quick, mispronounced "Adieu." Both girls watched as the vampire disintegrated, then Buffy turned to the vampire behind her.'
"Thank you for waiting your turn," she said, in a falsely sweet voice. "Unfreeze him, Will. I could use some more action."
Willow snapped her fingers and the vampire sprang back into action. He was young and stupid and didn't stand a chance, but Buffy toyed with him for a while, like she had with Miss Murphree. As she had said, she needed more action. But the fight didn't distract her from the true purpose of her patrol, which was to lecture Willow on how dangerous Spike was and how he couldn't be trusted. She started in with the old litany of wrongs that Spike had perpetrated against the Scooby gang. Willow didn't really listen. She'd heard it all before, repeatedly. Hell, she'd BEEN there for most of it. She knew what Spike had done. Just like she knew what Angelus had done in his colorful past and during her junior year, and Anyanka, and Giles in his younger days, and Xander when he was possessed by hyenas, and even Buffy when she went through her rebellious stage with Faith or the time she ran out on her friends and abandoned them to the Hellmouth. She knew that everyone she loved, including herself, was capable of atrocity. That didn't stop her from loving all of them. Not that she loved Spike, she told herself, firmly. But if she started to, she wouldn't stop herself just because he had been a bad guy in the past. If what she felt for him started to grow into something that looked like love, she'd let it happen. She'd let herself love him.
Willow tuned back in to Buffy abruptly when she heard the new direction Buffy had taken. She had finished talking about all the things Spike had done in the past. Now, she was talking about the present.
"…I mean, he fell in love with the slayer! How sick is that? What kind of vampire falls in love with the slayer?"
<Buffy, do you even think before you speak?> Willow wondered. She also wondered what would happen if she brought up Angel's name at this point, just for kicks. She decided against it.
"And then when I wouldn't agree to do the creepy bond thing with him, he latches on to you instead. I know he didn't come out and say that he'll use you as an excuse to be near me, but we both know that he will, don't we?"
"You're wrong," Willow answered quietly.
Buffy huffed in exasperation. "Don't be naive, Willow. You know that tha—"
"No, Buffy. I meant that you're wrong when you said he didn't come out and admit that I was just an excuse for him to be near you. He did say it. That first day in the crypt when he made his offer. Actually, I said it and he agreed, but he never tried to hide that he was doing this to get close to you, to get under your skin any way he could."
For a second, Buffy froze. "He said that?" she asked, sounding shocked and just a teensy bit flattered. She hadn't thought that he would admit so openly that she was his motivation for everything he did.
Of course, the fledgling took advantage of her momentary distraction to get in a good right hook that smashed cleanly into Buffy's jaw. She growled in annoyance and returned to the fight.
"So you know he's just using you?"
"Yup."
"It doesn't bother you?"
"Nope."
"That's ridiculous, Wills. How could it not bother you?"
Dozens of memories rushed through Willow's mind. Xander using Willow to practice asking Buffy out on a date. The first time Angel deliberately sought out her company, so that he could track down information on Buffy's friend who made him jealous. Riley coming to visit her at the dorm to ask for help courting Buffy. Even Giles calling her up when she was sick with a stomach virus, throwing up five times an hour and unable to keep anything down, to ask her to do some research on a demon Buffy had encountered on patrol. Willow was accustomed to Buffy taking first priority with the people in her life. She knew that Buffy didn't do it on purpose. It was just the way that things were. She was hardly likely to hold it against Spike that he saw her as a way to get closer to Buffy. He wasn't the first. Besides, he seemed to honestly enjoy her company. And she certainly enjoyed his. They had fun together, just hanging out. Willow knew it wouldn't last long. She would remove Spike's chip and he'd go on his merry way and, if he kept his word, she'd never see him again. But for now she was going to enjoy his friendship. And if it meant more to her than it did to him, if HE meant more to her than she did to him, then so be it. She could handle that.
"I like being around Spike, Buffy. Whatever his motives may be, I have fun with him. He can't hurt me, so what's the harm?"
Buffy sighed and quickly staked the vamp in front of her. This was going to take all of her concentration. She dropped down next to Willow beside the open grave.
"Okay," she said, "tell me what happened."
Willow thought about truly telling her everything that had happened, including the conversation at the slumber party, but decided against it. As she had told Spike, Buffy knew he was there and had kept her mouth shut about it for her own reasons. It wasn't Willow's place to bring it up. Instead, she explained how Spike had come to visit her the next night. She left out the details, deliberately keeping things vague, but she gave Buffy a general portrait of the past two nights, also explaining that Spike had accidentally fallen asleep on the couch and had been forced to stay in her house all day. She left out the part where she fell asleep, too, in his arms.
Buffy listened carefully but, as always, only heard what she listened for. She didn't pick up on the examples of Spike's real friendship for Willow, or the growing hints that the vampire actually cared about the girl. She didn't notice how Spike had managed to keep her friend cheerful and occupied as she got over her break-up. All she noticed was that Spike had managed to spend far too much time with Willow, and that he had been able to do this because Buffy hadn't been around to put a stop to it.
"Wills, I'm so sorry," Buffy apologized. "I've been so wrapped up in spending time with Mom and Dawn and just being happy that this whole Glory mess was almost taken care of that I haven't been there for you." Willow was startled, to say the least. She hadn't expected an apology. But before she could reply, Buffy continued. "I'll make it up to you, I promise! You shouldn't have to spend so much time cooped up alone in that house of yours. You should come stay with us! You could move in! It would be fun! Dawn would be thrilled and I know Mom would love it and it would be—"
"Buffy, stop!" Willow interrupted, laughing. "I can't move in with you. I'm fine in my house. Really! I am!" she insisted, when Buffy looked ready to argue the point. "Besides, you don't have anywhere to put me."
"You could stay in my room," Buffy offered. "It would be like an extended sleepover."
"And wake you up every time I have to leave in the morning to go to class or the library? No, Buffy, I'm fine where I am. Don't think I don't appreciate the offer, but I'm perfectly happy in my parents house."
"Alright," Buffy conceded grudgingly, "but you should spend more time with us. Come over for dinner tomorrow!" she suggested, brightly, pleased with the idea.
"I can't," Willow replied. "I have a late lab for organic chemistry and then a study session with my lab group to prepare for the final. It won't be over till late." Buffy pouted, which made Willow giggle. "Come on, Buffy, you know better than that. That pout does nothing to me." Buffy stuck her tongue out in response. Willow stuck hers out as well. Both girls started to laugh.
"Okay, you win," Buffy said, standing. She helped pull Willow to her feet and they started to walk to the cemetery's exit. "How about dinner on Thursday? Could you come over then?"
"Wellll," Willow drawled, "I suppose I could fit you into my schedule."
"Oh great, I feel so honored," Buffy answered, rolling her eyes.
"You should," Willow replied, loftily, trying to hold in her grin. It didn't work and the two girls started giggling again.
Next, Buffy deliberately led them to one of the cemeteries near Willow's house and did a quick patrol. When they finished, Buffy insisted on walking Willow home instead of letting her go back to the Magic Box to do some more research. Willow wanted to argue, she wanted to go back and see if Spike was still there and maybe have him walk her home so they could hang out some more. But Buffy insisted, and Willow didn't feel like arguing anymore. With a sigh, she let Buffy lead her to her house. She went up to her room and switched on the computer. Maybe Spike would come over later.
A few hours passed as she aimlessly searched the web. Finally, she realized she had to give up on Spike for the night. He wouldn't be coming. She changed into her pajamas and tucked herself into bed. She had been foolish to think that Spike would come over. After all, Buffy had gone back to the Magic Box and it made sense that Spike would want to spend as much time with her as he could. Willow resolutely closed her eyes and concentrated on thinking of anything but Spike mooning over Buffy at the Magic Box. She was so busy concentrating on NOT thinking about Spike that she forgot to notice how easy it was for her to fall asleep. If she had looked for an explanation, she might have found it in the bleached blond figure standing outside her house, watching her window while smoking a cigarette. But she didn't notice. And once he finished his cigarette, he walked away.
~Part: 38~
When the monks created Dawn, they literally made her out of Buffy. She was designed to resemble Buffy physically, mentally, and emotionally, running on the assumption that the closer the slayer felt to her, the harder she would work to protect her. Of course, she was made by monks. They didn't really understand the concept of sisterly rivalry. Dawn, like most little sisters, spent huge quantities of her time and energy trying to prove that she was completely different from Buffy, that she was more than just Buffy's little sister. Therefore, in every way possible, she worked hard to NOT be like Buffy. But every now and then, when they weren't thinking about it, the resemblance between the two Summers' girls, in how they moved or what they said or how they acted, was startlingly obvious. So it's not that surprising that Buffy and Dawn had similar approaches to heart to heart talks. They both felt more comfortable digging information out of their friends while they were kicking some ass.
While Buffy was brushing up on her French in the cemetery, Dawn was busy forcing herself not to ask questions as Spike led her into the training room. They had done the training thing together once before, so Spike was brief as he explained what he was going to do. The previous time they had worked out, they had formulated a series of scenarios with set moves and set responses. This time, Spike explained that they'd run through the series, slowly, over and over until she was comfortable enough with it to bring it up to speed. Spike had told her that once she got in the habit of responding a certain way to a certain attack, it would become second nature and she'd do it instinctively. She said that it was like `Karate Kid.' Another movie from the 1980s that he'd never seen. Absently, instinctively, he filed it away as a movie to watch with his Red. That response was becoming HIS second nature.
Spike called out the attack scenario and Dawn got into position. She would fight him off, using the moves he had shown her as best she could, and then he'd go over what she had done, and tell her how she could improve it. Dawn didn't speak until Spike came up and grabbed her from behind. As she had been shown, Dawn stomped on his foot to get him to loosen his grip, and then elbowed him in the ribs to get him to let go. When she turned to face him, assuming the fighting position, she asked her first question.
"So what's going on between you and Willow?"
Spike wasn't exactly surprised to hear the question; he had, in fact, been expecting it; but he still didn't know quite how to answer.
"I guess you could say we're friends, Niblet," he answered, slowly.
Dawn obviously wasn't satisfied with that answer, so she kept questioning him as they went slowly through the moves of her self- defense routine.
"Good friends?" <block, block, punch>
"Yes, Niblet. Good friends." <punch, jump, punch>
"Do you hold hands with all your friends?" <kick, block>
"Hard to say, really. I don't have that many friends." <block, kick>
"Then why are you friends with Willow?"
The question made him pause for a minute. It's not like he'd wanted to be friends with Willow; it had just sort of happened. Dawn took advantage of his pause to throw in a lucky punch. Spike raised an eyebrow, but Dawn conjured up an innocent look on her face that almost completely hid the grin that was bursting to come out.
"I'm friends with her because I can't help myself. She just seems to bring it out in me."
At that, the grin really DID burst out on Dawn's face. She nodded enthusiastically.
"Yeah, Willow's like that. People always want to be near her. She doesn't see it, she thinks they only go after Buffy, but it isn't true. People like being around Willow. She makes them feel special."
Spike fought the urge to growl at the thought of people flocking around to be close to his Red so that she could make them feel special. And at that, a question of his own popped into his head.
"Funny thing happened today, Niblet," Spike said, casually, starting their training routine up again. "After Red and I cleaned her house—"
"Why were you cleaning her house?"
"Because it was dirty?"
"No, I mean, why were you at her house? Didn't the sun kinda get in your way?"
"I went over last night to watch movies and fell asleep on the couch. The sun came up before I woke up." He saw no reason to mention that Red had been on the couch with him, wrapped tightly in his arms, and he definitely saw no reason to admit that that was why he had stayed. Even if Niblet approved of his friendship with Red, that didn't mean she'd fully understand if he said that he did wake up in time to leave, but wanted to hold on to a warm body for a little while longer.
"You went over last night to watch movies?" she asked, eagerly. Spike hid a smile. He wondered if Dawn would end up as an investigative reporter. She certainly loved to dig around and find out people's secrets. She reminded him of Lois Lane. Yeah, she'd probably be a good reporter. Idealistic, open-minded, with a definite penchant for drama and a knack for getting to the bottom of things.
"Yeah," he answered, teasing her with the barest of replies.
"Well?" she asked, impatiently. "How did that happen?"
Spike couldn't stop his grin at her obvious eagerness and she pouted when she thought he was laughing at her. He took pity on her and told her the whole story of how he found Willow on campus with a bag of Blockbuster movies in his hand. He kept the story to a minimum, leaving out details like when she told him he had wasted his money and he felt embarrassed and rejected, but still managed to give her a decent thumbnail sketch of the night before and the day that they had passed together. He continued to leave out the part where Willow fell asleep with him on the couch. No reason to bring that up.
Dawn was absolutely thrilled with what she heard. It was all she could do to avoid jumping up and down and squealing with joy. This was going so much better than even she had dared to hope! She was so glad she and Anya and decided to be match facilitators instead of matchmakers because they never could have planned anything as perfectly as what happened all on its own. Oooh, she couldn't wait to tell Anya. The other girl would be just as thrilled as she was.
"So," Spike concluded, "after we finished cleaning the house our clothes were a mite rank, so she loaned me some of the moron's things to change into while she ran the wash. Any idea why she has the moron's clothes in her room?" Spike asked, casually.
Dawn wasn't fooled. She knew jealousy when she saw it. She could have put him out of his misery in no time, simply by telling him the truth. Buffy and Xander had gotten in the habit of leaving clothes over at Willow's place during high school. Their post-slayage clothes would often be covered in demon slime or blood and they didn't want their parents asking questions. Willow's parents were never home, so they'd go over to her house to take a shower and change. Even now, they still kept stuff over there so they could clean up after a messy patrol. They both had keys to the house and knew the security codes so they could use it even when Willow wasn't there. These days, Joyce would not be surprised to see Buffy covered in demon goo, but she would be worried at the thought of a particularly gruesome fight. Buffy was the slayer, but she was still Joyce's little girl. The blood and slime made Anya freak out, too. Showering and changing at Willow's reduced the oh-my-god-what-happened-to-you? factor in their lives. But Dawn didn't see any reason to tell all of this to Spike. She kinda liked seeing him jealous like that. It would be good for him.
"Well, you know how close Willow and Xander are," she stated, innocently. "They've been best friends since they were five. Don't even get his Mom started on how much time they spent together in high school. She says she never saw him for all four years because he was always staying overnight with Willow. I guess it's only natural that over all those years when he spent so much time at her house, he'd build up a stash of clothes that got left there." Dawn hid a grin. Everything she had said was technically true. Willow and Xander were close and had been since they were five. And his mother did rant and rave about how he stayed over with Willow all the time in high school. She didn't know that he really spent all those nights researching at the library, just calling his mom to say that he was staying with Willow so she wouldn't wonder why he didn't come home. But Dawn didn't say that he spent all that time at Willow's house, she just stated that that was what his mother said. Dawn noted with satisfaction that Spike was practically growling when she finished.
"We'd better stop, Bit," he said. He didn't quite trust himself at the moment to be as gentle with her training as he knew he should be. Thinking about that moron having sleepovers with Red made his borrowed blood boil. "Big Sis and Red should be back soon. Might as well go back in the other room and wait for them there."
"Alright," Dawn agreed, happily, bouncing back into the shop. Spike followed at a slower pace and, thinking over what Dawn had said. He stayed like that, pretending to read one of the books out on the table, until they heard someone begin to open the door. He brightened for a moment, but his face darkened almost instantly. He could feel the slayer, but not his Red. Buffy entered with a triumphant expression on her face and happily informed him that Willow had decided to go ahead home to sleep instead of coming back to the shop.
Spike found an excuse to leave a few minutes later. The slayer kept shooting him exultant looks that practically screamed that she had taken Willow away from him. He found it bitterly ironic that this was the first time since the incident with Dru in the crypt that Buffy had willing made eye contact with him. He couldn't stand it for long. His demon felt restless and cagey. Willow would have been able to calm him down, but Willow wasn't there. As soon as he left, he headed straight over to Willow's house. Two days ago, he hadn't even known that Willow had a house in that neighborhood but now, he headed there almost automatically.
The downstairs was dark, but when he walked around the house, he saw a light on from the room he knew to be hers. And there she was, clearly visible through her French windows. She was seated at her desk, playing around on her computer. She stayed like that for hours. Spike wouldn't have noticed the passage of time if it hadn't been for the cigarettes he went through. She had told the slayer that she was going home to sleep but she certainly didn't seem tired. Had she lied to get away from the slayer or had she lied to get away from him? Satan knew what the slayer had said about him while she and Red and patrolled together. The thought that she might have talked Willow out of her friendship with Spike made the vampire feel unaccountably shaken.
He wished he could wipe out the entire night. If only they hadn't gone to the research session. They would have stayed at her house all evening and he could have taught her how to dance or maybe they would have ended up watching some more movies. He wanted to do that now. He wanted to go knock on the door and see if she had that `Karate Kid' movie Dawn had been blathering on about. They could watch it together. He'd make popcorn. Maybe even make her some dinner; he was pretty sure she had skipped it. And they'd talk, and he'd hold her, and maybe she'd fall asleep again in his arms. But he didn't know if she would want him there: in her house, in her living room, in her life. So he just stood out there, watching as she finally switched off her computer and got ready for bed. He was still standing out there when she switched off the light and went to sleep. He finished his cigarette, and then walked away.
~Part: 39~
Willow woke up early to an empty house. She didn't like it. There was no Dawn downstairs scorching pancakes to surprise her, and definitely no Spike making her a superb omelet. There was only Willow. She had slept badly; her dreams had been a confusing mess of faces turning away from her, rings with emerald stones fading back to black, Buffy with a film crew following her around with her own personal spotlight so that everyone would always look at her, and Jonathan, the geek from high school, charging freshman admission fees to see a viewing of her panties. (She blamed that on watching `Sixteen Candles' too many times. Could she blame herself for always seeing Jonathan as the Anthony Michael Hall of Sunnydale High?) She woke up with a headache and found that she couldn't even manufacture an artificial pretense of a good mood. Breakfast ended up being a glass of orange juice. If Spike wanted to scold her later for her unsubstantial breakfast, then so be it. She'd deal with it then.
<Not that he's likely to> she thought. He hadn't even stopped by the house to check on her the night before. She knew that spending as many hours as possible staring at Buffy was top priority in his unlife, but she also knew that on nights without prophecies or apocalypses, research sessions ended fairly early and Buffy would head home and go straight to sleep. She had thought that Spike would come by to see her after that. She hadn't expected to come first in his unlife, but she had hoped that she might fill the second slot: that when he wasn't in his Buffy-stalker-state-of-mind, he might want to spend time with her. But the previous night had proven her wrong. For the first time since she bonded herself to him, she didn't even get the chance to tell him goodnight. She missed that.
After breakfast, Willow dragged out her books. Between world savage and bonding rituals and movie watching with Spike, she had a lot of homework to catch up on. <One thing to be said for solitude> Willow thought to herself, <you find yourself doing all the things you've been putting off.> She smiled, ruefully. <Of course, there's a lot to be said for companionship, too> her mind continued, <especially with Spike…> Willow shook herself out of her thoughts abruptly. Now was not the time to be thinking about Spike. She needed non-Spike thoughts. She buried herself in her textbooks. They were very non- Spike-like. She studied for hours, catching up on her reading and getting some research done for a few final papers. She liked being productive. It kept her mind off of other things. The hours didn't speed by, but they didn't crawl, either. But around noon, she started sneaking glances at the clock. She figured she'd try to get to Spike's crypt around three o'clock. That way, he could watch `Passions' without interruption. By two o'clock, she was sneaking over glances every other minute. It wasn't that she was eager to see Spike, she told herself, it was just that she didn't want to get caught up in something and forget to leave on time. An impartial observer might have doubted that she ran much of a risk of getting wrapped up in a book or a show since she kept the TV off and let the book in her lap slip, forgotten, to the floor while she practically counted the seconds, but Willow wasn't taking any chances. She arrived at Spike's crypt exactly at three o'clock.
Spike was going out of his mind with boredom. He had always hated the daylight hours, always detested the idea that he was trapped inside, unable to leave, caged in by sunlight, but his boredom and restlessness didn't usually get this bad. Usually, he would sleep through as much of the morning as he could, get up in time to watch his programs and then read or smoke or drink or listen to music or all of the above at the same time, until the sun set. Despite his impatience with daylight, he'd had over a century to get used to the idea that he'd be stuck inside all day, every day, for the rest of eternity and he'd gotten used to finding ways to fill the hours. But nothing seemed to be working.
He had slept badly. That was rare. There weren't many things that could break up the sleep of a vampire. He just couldn't seem to get comfortable, couldn't seem to relax. He managed to get a few, fitful hours of sleep. He didn't need the rest; vampires could go for days without sleep; but sleeping was the best way to pass the daylight hours. He tried reading his books, but they didn't hold his interest. He flipped on the TV but the commercials annoyed him. He had heard his records a million times and didn't feel like listening to them again. Even the blood he drank was flat and tasteless. He wished he had some hot chocolate. And movies to watch on videotapes with no commercials. And a comfortable couch with well-padded cushions to sit on while he watched them, and a soft, sweet redhead to snuggle up beside him and watch the movies with him and make funny comments and tell him stories and make him laugh. Yeah, that would be nice. He could relax then. He didn't NEED Red, he told himself. Of COURSE he didn't need her. He had gotten by for over a century without her. But… unlife in Sunnydale was more pleasant with her around.
<Not that she wants to be around> he reminded himself. <Didn't even see fit to swing by the Magic Box to tell a bloke goodnight.> He told himself again that he didn't care. And he also told himself that he wasn't checking the clock every five minutes to see when she would be coming over. After all, even if she had gotten over her be-nice-to- Spike-for-a-day phase, she still had to come by to do the ritual. But that wasn't why he was checking his watch. Of course not. He just… wanted to know how much longer it would be till `Passions' came on. Yeah. That was it. The fact that she had always come over at the same time that `Passions' began was sheer coincidence. Yeah. Coincidence. When two o'clock came, he switched `Passions' on and stared at the screen, blindly. He didn't notice when the show began. He didn't notice when the opening credits played. They could have interrupted the show with an announcement that Martians had invaded from outer space and were presently attacking the town of Sunnydale, CA and he wouldn't have noticed.
She hadn't come.
All day long, Spike had been restless, agitated. When he tried to read or watch TV, he would pop up after only a few minutes, unable to stay in place for long. He paced around the crypt for hours. But from two o'clock all the way through to three o'clock, he stayed still. He didn't pace. He didn't stand. He didn't shift in his seat. He didn't move so much as a muscle the entire time.
She hadn't come.
And then the knock came on the door of the crypt at three o'clock, precisely. Normally, Spike would simply yell for whoever it was to come in. This time, he sprung off of the couch, and yanked the door open himself. There she was. She looked startled, surprised to see him standing at the door, but she quickly threw on a slightly shaky smile, and slid around him into the crypt. Wordlessly, she gathered her materials from their corner in the room and began the preparations for the ritual. Spike closed the door and sat on the ground, facing her. She didn't look up.
"Running a little late today, Red?" Spike asked, when he couldn't take the silence any more. "Or is there some kind of American daylight savings nonsense going on that I don't know about?"
Willow looked up, surprised. "I-I thought you'd want to watch `Passions.' I feel bad enough that I made you miss it on Monday."
"I already told you not to feel bad about that," Spike answered softly.
"I know," Willow replied, equally softly, dropping her eyes to her ingredients again. Spike silently cursed the ingredients. She was using them as an excuse to avoid eye contact. He wanted to knock them away and force her to look at him. Why was she afraid to meet his eye? Was she hiding something from him? Had the slayer said something to her that made her afraid to be around him? Spike nearly growled in frustration. The slayer wasn't content with rejecting his love and making him feel worthless, she also wanted to take away the only friend that Spike had made in a century. Spike ached to ask Willow what was wrong, why she wouldn't look at him, why she wasn't talking him, but he didn't know what to say.
"You should have come over at two o'clock anyway," Spike stated. "We could have watched it together."
"I wouldn't want to intrude," Willow answered, still not looking up. She was confused. She didn't know how to read Spike. To listen to him now, it sounded like he wanted to spend time with her. But she certainly hadn't gotten that impression the previous night. Did he want her around or not? Maybe it was something in between: maybe he did want to spend time with her, but not quite so much time. After all, they had been practically inseparable the past few days. Maybe that was more than the daily allowance of Willowy goodness. With a sigh, Willow decided to play it by ear. She wouldn't assume that Spike wanted to hang around with her. If he invited her over, she'd accept. If he didn't, she'd stay out of his way.
Spike wondered how on earth she could think that she would be intruding. Didn't she know that she had rapidly become the best part of his day?
"Don't see how it would be much of an intrusion, pet," Spike replied. "Most of your mates don't think twice about barging in here with so much as a by your leave. The slayer doesn't even bother to knock."
Willow restrained a snort, with difficulty. Yes, it always managed to come back to Buffy, didn't it?
"The ingredients are ready," she said, finally looking up. Her expression was determinedly blank.
"What is it we're anointing today?" Spike asked.
"Your hand."
Spike reached his hand out and Willow took it in both of hers. Refusing to look Spike in the eye, she focused her attention on his hand. She turned it over, tracing a finger down the lines of his palm. Flawless. He had beautiful hands, like a Rodin sculpture. She stroked them gently for a minute, running just the tips of her fingers over the surface of his palm and the joints of his fingers. Spike shivered slightly. Convinced that he didn't like the way she was touching him, she let go. She hadn't expected his hand to grab hers, refusing to release her.
Spike couldn't remember anyone ever touching him with such gentleness, or examining him with such wide-eyed, innocent concentration. She looked at him and touched him as if he was the only thing of interest and beauty in the whole of the world. He shivered at the sensation, barely restraining a moan of pleasure. His eyes narrowed with pleasure, but they flew open wide when the sensation abruptly stopped and her hand began to release his. When she pulled away, he couldn't stop himself from grabbing at her hand. He didn't want her to stop touching him. He didn't want her to ever stop touching him.
Spike could tell from her heart rate that he had startled her, and cursed himself for scaring her. He released her hand, and avoided her eyes. She picked his hand up again, but this time, her touch was purely businesslike. She anointed his hand quickly, then released it to light the candles in the corners of the crypt. Spike's eyes followed her around the room. The ritual would be over soon for another day. He wished he could lengthen it somehow, stretch it out so that she'd have to stay at his crypt for a few more hours, at least. Then maybe they could rebuild their comfort level around each other. But he still couldn't think of anything to say.
Wordlessly, Willow handed him the book. She didn't bother telling him what to do. She didn't quite trust her voice at the moment. Besides, they had performed the ritual several times and he knew the routine by now. He didn't need her to tell him what to do. <He doesn't need me for anything> she reminded herself. <He's a master vampire: strong, capable, independent and completely in love with a strong, capable, independent woman. What could he possibly need with me?> She refused to look at him and kept her eyes focused on a candle's flame while Spike recited the petition. When he finished, she got out of there as quickly as she could. She managed to get outside the crypt before she started to cry. Whatever had happened between Spike and Buffy after she went home the previous night, it must have been something major. Spike no longer seemed interested in even talking to her. Willow angrily brushed away the tears. She and Spike had only spent a few days together as friends. She tried to convince herself that couldn't possibly miss his friendship very much. She tried to convince herself of that through the entire walk home. And she cried all the way.
Inside the crypt, Spike kicked over the sofa. He couldn't believe that she walked out on him without so much as saying goodbye. He could smell the beginnings of tears on her, lying just under the surface. He hated the thought that he had somehow made her cry. What the hell had the slayer said to her the previous night? Why wouldn't she talk to him? Why didn't she want to spend time with him anymore? Spike growled and paced the crypt, cursing the sunlight that kept him from going after her and forcing her to talk this out. But that wasn't an option. He kicked the couch again for good measure. Then he straightened the couch out, seated himself on it and, though he probably would have denied it, brooded for the rest of the afternoon.
As soon as the sun set, he headed out to patrol. He beat the hell out of some demons, but couldn't manage to calm his own. He sensed Buffy in one of the larger cemeteries, and watched her, unobserved, for a few minutes. She was beautiful. And strong. And capable. But seeing her brought him no comfort. He snuck away before she realized he was there. He swung by Willow's house, but she wasn't home. Agitated and edgy, he wandered around town for a while longer. It was nice to have more room to stalk around in than the confines of his crypt, but other than that, the town was no more successful than the crypt in getting rid of his restlessness.
It was nearly nine o'clock when he caved. Digging around in a trunk in the corner of his crypt, he pulled out a cell phone. Giles bought it for him when he moved into the crypt. The watcher wanted to be sure that Spike could be reached in case of an emergency. Giles had had the phone specially programmed so that it could only be used to dial specific numbers he pre-programmed. (He learned his lesson after receiving his phone bill the month after they stopped chaining Spike in the bathtub.) After discovering that he couldn't use the phone to rack up a bill for the watcher, Spike had tossed it in the trunk. It had never been used. Spike plugged it into his generator. Within half an hour, he decided it was charged enough to use. He scrolled down through the phone's memory and selected the second to last number. It rang twice, then there was a click.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Red."
Willow stared at the phone in shock. Spike was calling her on her cell phone?
"Spike?"
"Do you have any other Brits ringing you and calling you Red?"
"I was just surprised that you had this number," Willow answered. Only the Scooby gang had her cell phone number, and they only used it if they couldn't reach her at her home number. Half of the calls she got on her cell phone were wrong numbers. "Is something wrong? Is that why you called?"
"Now Red, what have I told you about always assuming something is wrong whenever you talk to me? At this rate, I'll need a therapist soon to help me work through my self-esteem issues."
"Well, I wouldn't want to cause that," Willow teased. "You'd probably make me pay your therapy bills. So…um…" she said with a sudden return of nervousness, "was there any reason why you called?"
"I…ah…" <come on, say it! > "The thing is that you… ah… well, you didn't come back to the Magic Box after patrolling with the slayer last night and then you ran in and ran out this afternoon without sticking around to chat, and…" < bloody hell, just spit it out!> "I missed you, pet."
"You… you missed me?" Willow asked. Her voice sounded so uncertain. Did she really find it so inconceivable that she could be missed?
"Yes, Red," Spike answered, gently. "I missed you. Quite a bit, actually."
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Even if Spike had had to breathe, he would have held his breath as he waited for her response. If she wanted to end what they had, this was the moment where she would do it. Was she going to reject him? Would this be the point where she said that she and Buffy had talked things over and decided that she couldn't be his friend anymore?
"I missed you, too," her voice was soft, but clear and certain. Spike exhaled slowly in relief. He had his friend back.
For the first time all day, Spike relaxed. He no longer felt restless or anxious. He no longer searched desperately for something to do. He settled himself comfortably on the couch and talked to his Red. The conversation lasted for hours on end, and he was perfectly content.
So was she.
~Part: 40~
Thursday had been a good day. Willow had slept soundly and dreamlessly for a solid six hours and woke up feeling luxuriously well-rested. The weather was beautiful and she had been in an excellent mood as she headed off to class. After her massive study bout the day before, she was fully prepared for all of her classes and had no problems keeping up with the discussions her professors led. She had even been able to bum the notes from Tuesday off of friends. She had headed over to Spike's crypt at two o'clock so that they could watch `Passions' together before performing the ritual. (In their hours long phone conversation the night before, he had insisted that she join him at two o'clock to watch the show with him. He had even taken the time to catch her up on what she missed the day before. Well, actually, he had made something up since he hadn't been paying attention at the time, but she didn't know the show well enough to notice.) After hanging out with him, she had gone back to the house and baked some cookies, rounding off the afternoon with some cookies and milk while she re-read some of `Persuasion.' She had been in a Jane Austen-ish kind of mood. That's how good the day had been.
But now she was facing the difficult part of her day, the part she had been anticipating and dreading since she woke up that morning. The time had finally come for her to go over to dinner with the Summers women. Buffy was her best friend, Dawn was practically her side-kick and Joyce was the loving mother she had never had, and she couldn't think of anything she wouldn't rather do than go over to their house for the first decent, well-cooked meal she had had since Spike made her breakfast.
Willow tried to shake off her feelings of nervousness as she knocked on the door to the Summers' house. She had had dinner over there dozens of times over the years. Why was she nervous? <Maybe because you know they'll all want to know all about Spike and the bond? Maybe because you know Buffy invited you over as an excuse to keep you away from Spike? Maybe because you're worried that you'll start babbling and admit how much you're starting to care about Spike? Maybe because you're an awful liar and you know that if the subject comes up, you might even admit that you slept in Spike's arms and, worse than that, that you liked it, and then Buffy will grab a stake and run over the crypt and even though she probably won't kill him, she might just beat the stew out of him, and he really needs, well, the stew to be in him if he's going to pull off the ritual and…> Willow shook her head abruptly. <No more babbling thoughts> she ordered herself. <No more babbling whatsoever.> Willow pasted a nervous smile on her face as the door opened.
"Ooh, what'd you bring?" Dawn squeaked, as she saw the covered dish in Willow's hands. Whenever Willow came over for dinner, she always brought dessert. Dawn hoped it was cookies. In the aftermath of the whole "my will be done" spell the year before, Willow had really perfected the art of cookie baking.
Willow smiled. "Chocolate chip cookies for us, and gingerbread cookies for your mom." The two of them headed toward the kitchen to drop off the plate, and Joyce caught the end of the sentence.
"Oh, Willow, you know you didn't have to bring anything."
"You say that every time," Willow replied, grinning as she put the cookie plate down on the counter. "And I always do anyway. Besides, I like baking and it's really not healthy for me to eat all of these cookies myself."
"Then I guess we'll just have to be good people and help you out with that, right Wills?" Buffy teased, entering the kitchen and smiling at her friend.
"That's right!" Willow answered.
"Well, if you two girls feel like being good people, you can start by setting the table," Joyce told Buffy and Dawn. They groaned and complained for a minute and then gathered up the plates and silverware to take into the dining room.
"Is there anything I can help with?" Willow asked.
"No, I think everything's just about done from this end," Joyce answered. "I'll have Buffy bring in the serving dishes. Why should I have to lug the things around when my daughter has slayer strength?" Joyce turned away from the stove, wiping her hands on her apron before untying it and hanging it up. When she turned back to face Willow, her mischievous smile had faded, replaced by a look of gentle concern.
"Willow, are you alright?" she asked.
Willow knew that this wasn't a superficial question, and that Joyce expected more than a superficial answer, so she didn't answer right away. She thought about it for a minute. She'd had to deal with a lot over the past few days. Was she alright?
"Yes," she answered. "I am."
"Good," Joyce replied, smiling.
"You believe me?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Buffy doesn't."
Joyce smiled, indulgently. "Buffy loves you very much. If you have a problem, she wants to be the one to fix it. She wants to beat up something to make you feel better. I think it bothers her a little that you're handling this on your own."
Willow took a step closer to Joyce. She could hear Dawn and Buffy verbally sparring in the dining room, but that didn't mean that they weren't eavesdropping. Between Buffy's slayer hearing and Dawn's gift for hearing things she wasn't supposed to hear, they always managed to eavesdrop.
"I'm not really handling this on my own. Spike's been helping. We've spent a lot of time together since the ritual. He's really been there for me, even when I didn't know I needed him to be. I think that that bothers Buffy most of all."
Joyce laughed. "It probably does. Buffy has always had a lot of fun disliking Spike. It's almost a hobby with her. He was probably her favorite enemy, back when you two girls were in high school. When he became an ally, Buffy didn't know how to shift gears. It's even worse now that he thinks he's in love with her. But I trust Spike. I trust him with my life, with Dawn's life, with Buffy's life. Buffy does, too, even though she won't admit it. And I trust him with your life, as well."
"So do I," Willow answered.
"Do you trust him with your heart?" Joyce asked, softly.
Willow's eyes flew up to meet hers. "M-m-my heart?"
"Dawn told me what you told her about the bond," Joyce explained. "You told her it was a little bit like being in love. You wouldn't think of it in those terms if the idea had never occurred to you. Are you in love with him?"
"I-I… I don't think so. Not yet. But over the past few days, I've come to care about him, very much. And I… I think I could be. In love with him. Later, I mean. I could see myself falling in love with him. It wouldn't be hard to do."
"You know that Dawn's pushing for it?"
Willow laughed. "Oh yeah. She's not as subtle as she likes to think she is. I can tell that she has gone into matchmaker mode. She's all for it."
"And you know that Buffy's all against it?"
"Oh yes, she's made that very clear. Your daughters have no problems with speaking their minds."
"Good," Joyce replied with a slightly wistful smile. "It took me sixteen years of marriage before I realized that I had the right to say what I thought. If I had learned the lesson sooner, my life might have gone in a very different direction. I'm glad that my daughters are much faster learners."
Willow smiled back at her. Joyce rarely talked about her marriage, especially when Buffy or Dawn were around. Willow decided to tactfully change the subject. "So to complete my Summers survey," she asked, "what would your opinion be?"
Joyce laughed. "My opinion would be that my opinion doesn't matter. Your love is your gift to give, Willow. Dawn can't tell you who to give it to, and neither can Buffy. And neither can I. I've watched you develop over the years into a very intelligent, very perceptive, very mature and very loving woman. I think you can handle falling in love on your own, without my help."
Joyce walked over and pulled Willow into a gentle hug. "Of course you know that whatever you decide, you'll always have my love and my support. If you or Spike ever need to talk," Joyce whispered in her ear, "to someone who loves you and Spike and who isn't aggressively trying to get the two of you together or bound and determined to keep you apart, you can always come and talk to me."
"I know," Willow answered, hugging her back. Talking with Joyce always made her feel better. "It's nice to know. I think Spike knows it, too. What's it like being the mother figure to a witch and a century old vampire?"
"I rather like it," Joyce answered, with a grin. "Now, in my role as mother figure, this is the point where I say let's eat!" Giggling, Willow followed her into the dining room.
A few hours later, Willow sighed in relief as she let herself into her house and shut the door behind her. Dinner had been nice. It was fun being part of something like a family. However, by the time the cookies had disappeared, Willow had been ready to leave. The food had been great and she always loved spending time with all three Summers ladies, but there was no denying that they could be more than a little exhausting. Dawn spent all of dinner trying to bring up Spike in casual conversation and Buffy spent all of dinner trying to avoid talking about him at all costs. It was like a contest. A very strange sort of contest, with Willow as the prize. By the end of the evening, she felt like a rope after a bout of tug of war, or a stretched out rubber band. She stood in the entryway of her house for a moment, just enjoying the peace and quiet. Of course, that didn't last long.
"Red, are you going to come in here already or were you planning to stand in the doorway all night long?" a voice called from the living room.
Willow laughed as she walked into the living room and plopped down next to Spike on the couch. "I thought that master vampires weren't supposed to whine," she teased.
"I wasn't whining, I was merely asking," Spike replied, trying to look innocent. He wasn't very good at looking innocent, and Willow laughed, again, at the expression on his face.
"Did you get the movie?" she asked.
"Yeah. It's all set. Just grab the popcorn and hit play." Willow reached forward and pulled the bowl of popcorn and the remote control off of the table. She put the bowl in her lap and handed the remote to Spike. He hit play, then set the remote back down, wrapping an arm around Willow and settling her against his side, where he could easily reach the popcorn.
"Did you know they have a `Karate Kid II' and a `Karate Kid III'?" Spike asked as Willow snuggled into his embrace, nestling herself comfortably against him.
"Yup," Willow answered. "I've seen them. They're awful. They also have `The Next Karate Kid' which is even worse, with the same guy as Mr. Miyagi but Hilary Swank instead of Ralph Macchio."
"Who?"
"You'll see. Quiet now, the movie's starting."