Pairing: W/S
Rating: R
Dedication: To Inell, my fabulous, wonderful goddess, for her anniversary. I wish I could get you something more, but I couldn't afford the diamonds you deserve.
Distribution: Angelic Vamps, Soulmates, Near Her Always, and Bite Me, Please? Anyone else, if you want it, just ask. I always say yes.
Disclaimer: The basic premise and characters belong to lots of people who aren't me.
Spoilers: It’s set on Halloween in season 5, but I changed some canon from the beginning of that season to suit my own nefarious purposes. Just read carefully and it should all make sense.
Summary: A party gives Spike and Willow the chance to show their true feelings.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
~Part: 1~
Willow collapsed, exhausted, into the chair at the mall food court. She had been shopping with Buffy since the mall opened that morning and it was already dinnertime. Even with three trips to the car to drop off bags, she was still holding enough to make her fingers go numb. Plus, she was starving. Once Buffy got into super-shopping mode, she tended to forget things like food. With a sigh of relief, Willow dropped the bags she’d been struggling with, and whimpered slightly as she started flexing her fingers several times to get circulation back into them. Working her face into the most pitiful expression she could manage, she looked up at Buffy.
“Feed me?” she asked, hopefully.
Buffy laughed. “Cholesterol-filled goodness, coming right up.” She left Willow at the table to guard the bags and came back five minutes later with a pair of large, greasy, wonderfully fattening slices of pizza. She smirked as she seated herself across from her friend, scanning her eyes over the bags. “Not that I’m not impressed, but do you think you might have gone just a little bit overboard, Wills?”
Willow groaned. “Overboard? Shipwrecked, is more like it. I don’t know how you do this marathon shopping thing.”
“Sweetie, when I said I’d take you marathon shopping, I didn’t mean that you *had* to buy absolutely everything in the mall. It is alright to leave some things for the people who want to shop tomorrow, you know.”
Willow shrugged. “Alright, I admit I might have gotten a little carried away. But really, how long have you been telling me that we needed to go shopping? How can you blame me if I finally decided to seize the day?” Willow looked up at the mall’s skylight ceiling and noted how dark it was outside. “Correction: seize the night.”
Buffy grinned and dug into her pizza. “Yeah, but you seized your parents credit cards while you were at it. I know they don’t pay much attention to the bills but don’t you think you’re tempting fate, going on a spree like this?”
“I didn’t use my credit card,” Willow explained. “I used my check card. My parents deposited $1000 in my checking account last week for my twenty first birthday.”
Buffy looked confused. “But your birthday was two months ago. And you turned twenty, not twenty one.”
“I know,” Willow sighed. “Last week was their wedding anniversary. I think they got the dates mixed up.”
“And thinking you’re twenty one instead of twenty?”
Willow shrugged again. “Survival lesson number one of living with my parents: if they send a gift, for whatever reason, take it and enjoy it. It could be five years before they remember to send me a birthday present again.”
“Ouch.” Buffy was sorry she had brought it up. She knew that Willow didn’t like talking about her parents. It was no secret that Willow had been pretty thoroughly neglected as a child, but Willow had to be pretty angry with her parents before she’d talk about it. The birthday mix-up must have upset her more than she was letting on.
“No, ouch was when I was five years old and came home from my first day of kindergarten to discover both my parents had gone out of town that morning, and wouldn’t be back for two weeks. That was my ‘end of innocence’ experience with my parents. After that, nothing else hurt so much.”
“What did you do?” Buffy asked softly.
“I went to Xander’s,” she answered with a smile. “He had saved me that morning, giving me his yellow crayon after mine broke, so I figured he could save me again. His parents weren’t home, either, so we raided the cabinets, eating all the things we knew we weren’t supposed to eat. I think dinner consisted of popcorn, ice cream, Coco puffs, and gummi bears. Then we collapsed on the couch and watched that old Hitchcock movie ‘Strangers on a Train’ and he told me that it didn’t matter where my parents were, because he’d always be there for me.”
“That’s sweet.”
Willow’s smile grew. “That’s Xander. Things happen, things change, but Xander stays the same.” The grin faded. “So do my parents.” She tried to shrug it off, forcing a smile back on to her face. “But hey, at least my parents send money. Nothing that involves large quantities of money could be all bad, could it?”
“Willow!” Buffy gasped, pretending to be shocked.
“What? After all, we’re living in a material world, and I am a material girl!” she grinned.
“Yes, Madonna,” Buffy rolled her eyes.
Willow stuck her tongue out at Buffy, and then gobbled down her pizza. When it was finished, she sighed with satisfaction and smiled again at her friend. “Okay, now that I’ve been revitalized, are we ready to head home?”
“Home? We can’t go home. We haven’t gotten the costumes yet.”
Willow groaned. “Buffy, don’t start on this again. Didn’t I already tell you that I don’t want to go to the stupid party?”
“You told me, and I ignored you. You’re going. End of story.”
“But Buuuuuffffffy—”
“Don’t whine. And stop pouting.”
“Can’t stop,” Willow replied, continuing to pout. She knew it was childish, but she didn’t care. “*Won’t* stop. And I won’t go the party, either. You know I *hate* costume parties. I have awful luck with them. Does the word Ampata mean anything to you? Hmm? How about Ethan’s costume shop? No, we put on costumes and bad things happen. Besides, Halloween parties are silly.”
“This one won’t be. Come on, Wills, you know that Xander had to pull a lot of strings to get all of us tickets. Giles even agreed to give us all the night off. He’d be coming himself if I hadn’t asked him to stay with Mom and Dawn. It’s *the* event in Sunnydale for the year! Half the town will be there! Great food, live band, the works. But it won’t be any fun if you’re not there.”
“Why not?” Willow challenged. “It’s a dance, Buffy. So you’ll dance with Riley. Xander will dance with Anya. Tara will dance with Shannon. Fun times for all! Where would I fit in, in that picture?”
“Does it bother you that Tara will be there with Shannon?” Buffy asked, tentatively. She’d been looking for an opening to ask that question. Tara had been with Shannon for a few months now, and both girls had become members of the gang. Willow didn’t *seem* to mind, but Buffy knew it couldn’t be easy for her to see her ex with someone else when Willow was still alone.
“No, of course not. I’m the one who introduced them, and I’m happy that things are going so well for them. My problem is that everyone there will be part of a happy couple except me.”
“You could dance with Spike?” Buffy suggested weakly. Willow had a point, she had to admit. They did tend to pair up when they went dancing, leaving Willow as the odd man out, especially since Tara had gotten a new girlfriend. But Buffy was still determined to get Willow to the dance, and she wouldn’t let a little thing like logic change her mind.
“Oh yeah, because he’d so *love* to dance with me,” Willow muttered. “Anyway, you know he’s only going because Tara’s making him. He’ll probably duck out as soon as he can. And even if he stuck around, it’s not like the two of us have anything in common other than the fact that we both have no one to be with. What would the two of us talk about? Drusilla? Oz? Tara? Harmony? The way he’s lonely and miserable or my—”
“Your… what?”
“Nothing.”
“Your crush?”
“Yes,” Willow answered shortly, looking away from her friend, her tone clearly indicating that she didn’t want the conversation to continue.
“The one you refuse to talk to me about, other than to say that your feelings aren’t returned, and that it’s the reason why you called things off with Tara?”
“That’s the one,” Willow replied, still avoiding eye contact.
“Don’t you trust me anymore, Willow?” Buffy asked, very quietly.
Willow softened. “You know I do, Buffy, it’s just… something I’m not comfortable talking about, okay? You know that thing called love never works well for me, especially when it’s unrequited. And this crush stands absolutely no chance of going anywhere. Honestly, I just want to forget about it.”
“Maybe this party could help?” Buffy suggested, almost timidly. She hated seeing her friend in pain and knew that this unreciprocated crush was hurting her more than she was letting on. She wanted to see Willow move on with her life and have some fun again. Parties were supposed to be good for that, weren’t they?
“I doubt it.”
“Will you try? Please? Just this once?”
“I don’t know, Buffy…”
“If you go to this party, I promise not to try to play matchmaker with you!” Buffy bargained.
Willow paused. “You promise?”
Buffy brightened, sensing victory. “I promise! No matchmaking.”
“Ever again?”
“Well… how about no matchmaking for the rest of the year?”
Willow sighed. “You’re not going to give up on this, are you?”
Buffy grinned and shook her head.
Willow rolled her eyes and sighed again. “Fine. Let’s go get costumes.”
Buffy bounced up and down, doing the chair version of her happy dance. Willow smiled weakly in reply, and tried to think positive thoughts. Maybe Buffy was right. Maybe she could go to this dance, get seduced by a stranger, and get completely over her hopeless crush. Maybe this dance was the one thing she needed to finally drive Spike out of her mind and her heart.
Maybe.
~Part: 2~
“Maybe you should just tell her.”
“Right, pet, and how exactly do you think I could work that into conversation? Yes, love, I know you sent your ex-boyfriend packing and broke up with your girlfriend because of some mysterious crush that’s breaking your heart. But why don’t you forget all about that person who’s making you miserable and come play house with me instead, even though I’m probably the wrong gender for you and a demon, to boot?”
“You don’t know that you’re the wrong gender for her,” Tara responded, logically. “Her crush could be on a guy.”
Spike glared at her. “You’re missing the point.”
“Am I? I thought the point was that you should tell her how you feel. You keep coming up with excuses not to, and I keep telling you that your excuses are silly.”
“They’re not silly,” Spike pouted.
“Yes. They are. If you want to be with Willow then the only way it’s going to happen is if you tell her how you feel.”
“But I don’t even know how I feel!”
Tara rolled her eyes. “You feel miserable. Isn’t that right? Isn’t that why you’ve been here every day for the past two weeks to cry to me over your hopeless love?”
“But that’s just it! It’s only been two weeks! How can I be so in love after only two weeks? It’s not possible. It *can’t* be real.”
Tara’s smile was slightly wistful. “Willow has that effect on people.” Then she shook her head, as if shaking off the memory, and her smile became bright again. “Besides, you and I became good friends after only two days this summer. All it took was some bratty kid grabbing your blanket right outside my dorm when you decided you just *had* to walk outside during the day to get a drink from Willie’s. Who knew that bonding over your burning corpse would turn us into friends? It doesn’t have to take a long time for feelings to change. Anyway, you said yesterday that you thought you’d been in love with her all along, ever since the chip, you just didn’t realize it until that dream.”
The dream. Spike still got all misty eyed when he remembered the dream. It had happened two weeks before, on one of the most miserable days of his unlife. There had been a doctor from the Initiative, and Spike had been so certain that he was finally going to get the chip out and that his restless nights of chowing down on pig’s blood and whaling on demons while every two bit minion in town feasted on human blood were finally over. Harmony was standing over the doctor’s shoulder, watching while he operated on Spike and she seemed to think that everything was going as planned. (Dumb bitch. The doctor could have been scrambling Spike’s brains into an omelet and she probably wouldn’t have noticed. Spike had kicked her out on her skanky, aggravating ass after that.) So when he tried to take a bite out of the slayer and was zapped to hell by the chip, he was ready to scream. After tossing and turning for hours, he finally fell asleep.
And then he had the dream. It started out absolutely horribly. The slayer, aggressive bint that she was, broke down his door and started yelling at him for what he had done. Nothing new, there. Then she threatened to stake him. Again, nothing new. She’d been singing that tune for years. The horrible part came next: in his dream, Spike had been so absolutely miserable, so completely lost in despair that he told the slayer to go for it. He practically begged her to stake him. She didn’t. She wouldn’t. The dream intensified his emotions until he felt consumed by rage and misery and… and fine, he’d admit it. Lust. He wanted to break something apart, bury his rage in a human body and since he couldn’t hit the slayer, he did the next thing he could think of to break her. He grabbed the slayer and kissed her passionately, telling her that he loved her, listening to her say that she wanted him. The kiss escalated. Spike felt nauseous and repulsed and damnably horny. He hadn’t held a living woman that close in so very long and he wanted to consume her, let her consume him, until all the pain was gone.
He should have known better than to expect any kind of relief from the slayer, even in his dreams. After a minute or so of heated kissing, the dream-slayer shoved him away, punched him hard, told him that he disgusted her, and then left him, bleeding on the floor. In his dream he cried. And that was when it happened. He felt a soft, warm touch on his shoulder from a soft, warm hand, and looked up to see soft, warm eyes looking at him with tenderness and love. Willow. She stroked his hair softly as she knelt next to him.
“Didn’t you know you could come to me, Spike?” she asked. “Didn’t you know you could cry on my shoulder and I’d never send you away?” Spike closed his eyes and reveled in her gentle touch, thinking how absolutely right it felt, how absolutely right *she* felt, how absolutely right she *was*. He realized that he had always instinctively gone to her for comfort in the past. She was the one he kidnapped when Dru left him, and she was the one he went after when he broke out of the Initiative. He’d cried on her shoulder and poured his heart out to her before, and she’d always replied so sweetly. He shifted his body against hers and rested his head on her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him and let him cry, whispering soft words of comfort until his tears were gone. In gratitude, he brushed his lips across hers, not knowing any other way to thank her. But then she responded. Oh God, how she responded. Her lips were sweeter than blood and hotter than hell and he never wanted to let them go. His arms slid around her, pulling her against him and he nearly groaned at the sensation, especially when she melted into his arms, molding her body against his.
He made love to her on the floor of the crypt. For the first time in his life after death, it wasn’t just sex, it wasn’t just passion, it wasn’t just two bodies coming together for mutual pleasure; it was making love. She kissed him the entire time, her lips constantly exploring his skin, as if she needed nothing in the world so much as him. He returned the favor, touching and tasting every inch of her, unable to get enough of her. And when he buried himself inside her, finding a completion that had eluded him for nearly two centuries, she pulled his face up to hers, staring deeply into his eyes as she whispered that she loved him.
He buried his face in her neck. “Say it again,” he pleaded in her ear as he drove himself deeply into her. “Again and again and again. Never stop saying it.”
“I love you, Spike,” she replied, her words punctuated with kisses and caresses as she wrapped herself around him. “I love you. I love you. I’ll never stop loving you.”
He came so hard, he woke himself up. He reached for her, wanting to pull his sweet witch back into his arms. Of course, she wasn’t there. But his hands closed on a small, oddly squishy shape. Pulling it in front of him, he realized it was a Red Cross blood pack, with a note taped onto it.
Dear Spike,
I won’t say that I’m sorry you didn’t get your chip out, because if you had gotten it out, you’d probably be killing me right about now. But I am sorry that you were disappointed. I hope this cheers you up!
~Willow
Spike had read the note, and smiled. Then he read the note again. Then he drank the blood that she had left him. Then he read the note again. Then he cleaned up his bed. Then he read the note again. Then he smelled the note to see if it had picked up any of Willow’s scent. And then he read the note again. He brought the note with him when he went by Tara’s, and he told the blonde witch who had somehow become his best friend that he had fallen in love. She had smiled and complimented him on his taste. That had been two weeks ago. He’d read the note about a thousand more times, poured his heart out to Tara at least a dozen times, and fallen more in love with Willow every day.
“… and then Xander stood on his head while Willow danced around him, dressed only in strategically placed Tropical Fruit lifesavers, and—”
“What was that about Willow in Tropical Fruit lifesavers?”
Tara giggled. “I thought that would get your attention. You were on Cloud Willow, and I was tired of you not listening to me.”
Spike frowned. “Then it never happened? Pity. I’d have loved to have seen pictures of that.” Spike perked up. “I don’t suppose you or Willow ever had the foresight to set up a video camera while the two of you—”
“No,” Tara interjected firmly. “We didn’t. Now, back to the topic at hand.”
“I know, I know. You think I should tell her.”
“Yes, you should.”
“And I think you’re wrong. And here we are, back where we started.”
Tara groaned in frustration. Spike was the most insecure, stubborn, exasperating creature she had ever met. “Just tell her! What harm can it do?”
“What *good* can it do?” Spike replied. “How could it possibly improve the situation for me to tell her that I love her, just so she can tell me that she’s in love with someone else? Some bloody moron who doesn’t deserve her and is idiot enough not to have her,” he growled under his breath. “What I wouldn’t give for a name, an address, and five minutes alone with the idiot, without the chip getting in the way.”
<Wouldn’t work, Spike,> Tara thought to herself. <Not unless you’re into self-mutilation.> When Willow had broken up with her during the summer, she had confessed to Tara that she had feelings for Spike. Willow told Tara that she treasured what the two girls had shared, but that in spite of her efforts to force herself not to care, she loved Spike. Tara was willing to stay with her and try to make things work, but Willow insisted that it wasn’t fair to Tara to hold her in a relationship where she didn’t come first with her lover. And once Tara began her wonderful relationship with Shannon, she had to admit that Willow had been right.
Now all Tara wanted was for Willow to find that happiness, as well. It should have been so easy. After all, Willow loved Spike. And now, Spike loved Willow. How difficult could it be for two people who loved each other and spent time together to realize that they belonged together? <Too long,> Tara discovered. <Far too long.> Spike had insecurities when it came to love that were nearly impossible to overcome. He positively refused to believe that Willow could care about him. A dozen times a day, Tara was tempted to tell Spike that Willow was already in love with him, but when Willow told Tara about her feelings for Spike, she had made Tara promise that she would never breathe a word of her secret to anyone. At the time, Tara found the promise very easy to give. When, only a few weeks later, Spike ended up in a cloud of smoke outside her dorm and their friendship was born, the promise was *still* easy to keep. After all, Spike didn’t love Willow at that time. Telling him how Willow felt wouldn’t do any good. But he loved her now. So much. And she loved him just as much. And it was driving Tara crazy to be in the middle and not be able to help.
“Spike, Willow needs someone to love her right now. The person that she loves is breaking her heart by not loving her back. It’s the perfect opportunity to show her that you could make her happy. At least give her a hint, some idea that you might care for her so she can get used to the idea. She probably thinks you hate her!” <Scratch that, she *definitely thinks you hate her, but it probably isn’t a good idea to bring that up. If I did, you’d want to know how I know, if I’ve talked to her about you. And then what would I say?> Tara sighed as she thought about all the lies she had told Spike and Willow, in order to keep their secrets. <I was such an honest girl back home where I didn’t have any friends,> she mused. <Now, I have tons of friends and I lie all the time. If I had known friends were such a corrupting influence, I would have gotten some years ago.>
Spike bounced up off the floor and started pacing. “It’s not like I haven’t tried!” he said, throwing his hands up in the air. “I try to talk to her, try to show her that I care about her. But every time I start to get close to her, the slayer is always there, or the moron, or the watcher. They never leave me alone near her for more than a minute!”
“And how long does it take to say ‘I love you’?” Tara countered. “A minute is enough time if you put it to good use.”
“No,” Spike growled. “I won’t let this be rushed. It calls for a certain place, a certain mood, a certain timing. When I tell her how I feel, it has to be perfect.”
Tara rolled her eyes. “You have control issues.”
Spike rolled his eyes as well. “I’m a master vampire, pet. It comes with the territory. How many vamps do you know who like losing control?” He stopped pacing and flopped onto the floor next to her. “Besides, my only hope is to make it absolutely perfect. If it isn’t perfect, if I don’t find some way to absolutely sweep her off her feet, then how can I ever convince her to even consider loving me back?” He lay down on his back and stared up at the ceiling. “What am I saying? She’ll never love me back.”
Tara bit back a growl of frustration and lay down next to him. “Never say never. Don’t give up before you’ve even tried.”
“Why should she love me?” he whispered. “They never have before.”
“Life’s full of second chances,” Tara replied, trying to sound optimistic.
Spike snorted. “Dru was my second chance, and look at where that got me. Matching wits for a century with a nutcase who couldn’t care less about me.”
“Do you still love her?” Tara asked. It was a something she had been wondering for a while. After all, she was doing everything she could to fix up Willow and Spike. She cared deeply for both of them and wanted them to be happy. But if she thought there was any chance that Spike might win Willow and then abandon him for Dru, then he wouldn’t be getting any more help from her.
“No. I’m not sure I ever did. I thought I loved her… but now I’m thinking it might have been just a lust thing.” Tara groaned and rolled her eyes. “Hey, don’t look at me like that! I was in my mid twenties when I died and I was still a virgin! I may have been a sap, but I was still a man. Do you blame me for being desperate to get laid? When a beautiful woman came along and handed me immortality, power, and her own exquisite body on a silver platter, is it so strange that I thought I was in love?”
“Thanks for reminding me why I’m a lesbian.”
Spike flashed her a grin. “Any time.”
“Tomorrow night is your chance, Spike. Everyone at the party will be in masks. You’ll be able to talk to Willow and no one will even know that it’s you.”
“But what am I supposed to say?”
“How about, ‘may I have this dance?’”
Spike sighed. “It’s not that simple.”
“It *is* that simple. You love her. You’ll tell her. It’s as simple as that.”
~Part: 3~
“I’m going for simple this year,” Buffy announced as they browsed through the racks at the costume store. “Something easy to move around in. And something tough. That way, even if we turn into our costumes again, I’ll still be able to kick ass.”
Willow laughed, in spite of herself. “It’s a good idea,” she said. “For you. Remind me why I need to buy a costume again?”
“Probably because the authorities would frown on you arriving naked?” Buffy suggested with a smirk.
Willow rolled her eyes and ignored her comment. “I could go to the drugstore and buy a black cloak and pointy hat for five dollars. And I’d be *done*. Why do I need to spend fifty dollars on an outfit that I’m only going to wear once, anyway?”
“Willow, you’re missing out on the whole point of going to a masquerade. It’s not just about wearing a costume; it’s about allowing yourself to be someone else for the night. That’s the whole fun of it! For one night, you get to be whoever you want.” Buffy was busy browsing through a rack of clothes and didn’t notice the way that Willow froze as the words sunk in. Tomorrow night, she could be anyone she wanted. She could *say* anything she wanted, *do* anything she wanted and no one would have to know that it was her. Especially Spike.
Willow had been in love with Spike for nearly a year, ever since that disastrous night when he showed up at her dorm room, ready to kill. For the first time since Oz left, Willow had felt something other than pain. It had amazed her. She was convinced that she had made a breakthrough, until Spike left… and the pain came back. Telling herself that it was just a fluke, Willow tried to continue normally. But then Spike showed up and Giles’ door and became a daily part of their lives. Willow realized that the pain always stopped when she was near Spike.
She didn’t figure out the reason until the “my will be done” spell. Everyone knew that her “will” had made Giles blind, and Buffy and Spike fall in love, and had turned Xander into a demon magnet, but no one knew the final piece: the one wish she made that had to do with herself. She had stated out loud that all she really wanted was to find someone who could make her happy again. She had been overpowered by a vision of Spike and, as always, looking at him made the pain she felt disappear. The truth struck home at that moment. Spike was the one who could make her happy.
But she was convinced that she had ruined any chance she might have had with him. He downright *hated* her for that “my will be done” spell, glaring at her every time he complained about having slayer taste in his mouth. When he finally stopped talking about the spell, he fell into the habit of ignoring her. Willow was sad, but not surprised. After all, good looking guys had never noticed her before, why should they start now? She had even entered into a relationship with Tara, hoping that the sweet witch could distract her from her feelings for Spike.
It didn’t work. It was a shame, really. Willow had Tara had an almost ideal relationship. They liked each other, enjoyed each other’s company, and respected each other’s abilities. Physical attraction was never a problem, which is a definite plus in any romantic relationship. And Willow loved having someone she could practice witchcraft with. They would have been very happy together… if they were in love. But they weren’t. Willow’s heart belonged to Spike too completely for her to ever give it to Tara. Willow stuck it out for months, hoping that she’d fall in love with Tara, but it just didn’t happen. Finally, she decided that she was only making things worse by trying to lie to herself. She wasn’t being fair to Tara, holding onto her like that. So she called it off, and gave herself up to the inevitability of being hopelessly in love with Spike forever.
It never occurred to her that Spike would ever return her feelings. After all, he never gave her a second look. Why would he? He liked glamorous, mysterious, unpredictable women, like Drusilla. Glamorous, mysterious and unpredictable were not usually words people used to describe Willow. No, she was more of a reliable, dog-geyser type girl.
But Spike would be there, at the party, and he wouldn’t be looking at Willow, the shy witch he usually ignored. Instead, he’d be looking at whoever she decided to be. Once she was in a costume, she could say whatever she wanted, *do* whatever she wanted, and no one would be any the wiser. No one would ever even know that it was her.
“Aren’t you going to try anything on?”
Willow looked up to see Buffy in front of her, her arms almost overflowing with costumes. “I don’t see anything here that really strikes me,” she answered carefully. “Once you pick something, I’ll drop you back at home, and then maybe I’ll head over to the costume shop on Church Street. I have to run some errands out there anyway, and I hear they have nice things.”
Buffy looked skeptical. “Are you sure this isn’t some excuse for you to back out of the party? You’re not going to call me tomorrow night and say that you couldn’t find anything, so now you can’t go, are you?”
“No, Buffy,” Willow laughed. “I promise I won’t do that. I’ll find a costume; don’t worry. The idea of this Halloween party is actually starting to grow on me.”
Buffy picked a costume quickly, a Xena knockoff that made Willow laugh. She chattered to Willow the whole ride to her house, talking about the party and how excited she was. She didn’t notice that Willow didn’t reply, merely nodding at appropriate moments as she drove through the streets of Sunnydale with a funny little smile on her face.
“You’re sure you don’t want me to come with you and help you find something?” Buffy asked as she got out of the car, gathering her bags.
“No,” Willow replied with a small, secretive smile. “I think this is something that I should do on my own. You’ll see it at the party tomorrow.”
Buffy sighed overdramatically. “Fine, fine. I can see when I’m not wanted. I’ll be seeing you at the party at seven o’clock, right?”
“Right.”
“And don’t forget what I said before. This party is your chance to be whoever you want! Go out and pick something fun to wear!”
“I will, Buffy,” Willow promised. “Believe me, I will.”
Two hours later, Willow stood in front of the costume shop mirror staring at her reflection with a critical eye. To her surprise, she liked the way she looked. She was dressed in the costume of a gypsy fortuneteller. (She had figured that being able to tell the future would come in handy, just in case.) The skirt was made of a number of silk scarves, in different, vibrant colors, stitched together with gold thread. The hem of the skirt was uneven, dipping and rising according to the joining of the scarves, and the material flowed loose and thin, showing off Willow’s legs. The top was blood red and low-cut with short, puffy sleeves and elastic in the top and bottom hem, holding the bottom of the shirt in place just a few inches below her breasts. It had an intricate pattern stitched on it in the same gold thread that held together the skirt.
The mask was her favorite part. It was jet black, and had the same design stitched on the shirt painted on it in miniature with gold paint. The man who ran the shop had spent several years in Venice where he learned the art of mask making. He had made the mask himself, by hand, to go with the costume. (When he told her this, she wondered why anyone would leave Venice for Sunnydale, CA, but when he sneezed and turned spiky and scaly and kinda green, the answer became obvious. Even a half-Brachen demon who only manifested some of the time might have a little bit of trouble living in a violently Catholic and anti-paranormal country like Italy. Sunnydale was much better about things like that.)
Even though the mask only covered her eyes, she was amazed at the difference when she put it on. She hardly recognized herself. She didn’t look like Willow Rosenberg, inexperienced witch and geek extraordinaire; she looked enticing, alluring, and even slightly dangerous. She liked it. Yes, she liked it a lot. It was perfect, all of it. It fit beautifully, it suited her admirably, it would still be useful just in case she turned into her costume and, most important of all, it definitely wasn’t something that anyone who knew her would expect her to wear.
“You can ring up everything here,” she said, gesturing to the costume she was wearing. “I’ll be taking it all.”
It was late when she arrived back home after finishing her shopping. After her break-up with Tara, it would have been awkward to share a dorm room for the year, like they had planned, and it was too late to get any other good housing on campus, so she had moved back into her parents house. She unloaded all the bags from the car from the day of marathon shopping, but abandoned the bags in the living room while she ran up to her room with the costume to try it on again.
When she reached her room, her first move was to switch on her stereo, and cue up her Sarah McLachlan CD, putting on the song she knew would put her in the right mood. It was, after all, a song she had always associated with Spike. She slipped out of her jeans and t-shirt and started to pull on her costume as the music cued up:
“You come out at night
That's when the energy comes
And the dark side's light
And the vampires roam”
She grinned as she listened to the music. Building a mystery. That was what Spike did to her. That was what she wanted to do to him.
“Oh you're so beautiful
With an edge and a charm”
<Oh, *hell* yes.>
“But so careful
When I'm in your arms”
<*Sigh* I can only hope…>
She spent the next few hours listening to the song on repeat, practicing moving around in her costume, planning how she would act the next night at the party, and putting together the final touches that the costume required. Shoes were, at first, a problem. She certainly couldn’t wear her usual sneakers with it. Finally, a solution appeared. The one thing Willow and her mother had in common was their shoe size. Of course, Sheila didn’t like it when Willow borrowed her things but, well, Sheila wasn’t home *and* Sheila had forgotten her birthday, not to mention how old she was. Therefore, Willow decided that she didn’t really care if Sheila didn’t want her going through her things. She found a pair of gold colored high-heeled sandals in her mother’s closet that went with the outfit perfectly. It took her nearly an hour, but she finally got the hang of walking in them without falling flat on her face.
Raiding her mother’s jewelry supply as well (in for the penny, in for the pound, she decided) she borrowed a pair of heavy gold earrings, a heavy gold necklace, and several thin gold bracelets. She smiled with satisfaction at her appearance in the mirror. A glamour had changed her hair, switching it from distinctive, flyaway red to long, curly dark brown with red and gold highlights, and she changed her eyes to match. Another glamour changed her voice, making it sound smoky and slightly foreign. She was tempted to use magic for her make-up as well, but glamour spells took concentration to maintain, and Spike had a way of making her forget everything else when she was near him. The simpler she could keep the glamours, the better.
Finally, she was satisfied. The illusion was perfect; no one would ever realize it was her. She looked at the clock and realized that it was past midnight. With a sigh, she stripped off her costume and scrubbed her face, pulling on some pajamas and slipping into bed. As she switched off the light, she listened to the song one last time, in the dark, thinking of the mystery she would build in less than twenty-four hours.
“‘Cause you're working
Building a mystery
Holding on and holding it in
Yeah you're working
Building a mystery
And choosing so carefully
Building a mystery…”
~Part: 4~
It was no mystery that Buffy was running late. Truth be told, it was pretty typical. The gang had all learned years before that telling Buffy to come at seven o’clock meant seeing Buffy arrive at seven thirty. But this time, Buffy was arriving forty five minutes later than expected. That was late, even by her standard. She rushed into the ballroom at Sunnydale’s only nice hotel, shoving her invitation into the guard’s hand and immediately scanning the crowd in a way that was half slayer-looking-for-anything-suspicious, and half late-girl-who-wanted-to-find-her-best-friend-and-be-very-apologetic-for-keeping-her-waiting. Willow bit back a laugh as she saw the slight frown develop on Buffy’s face as she scanned the crowd a second time, and then a third. She knew that Buffy had expected to spot her right away. Willow smiled to herself. She knew her costume was good, but she hadn’t known it was *this* good. Wanting to put her costume (and her acting) to another test, Willow approached the slayer who was still scanning over the crowd with an increasingly worried look on her face.
“Would you like your fortune read?” she asked, forcing herself not to bounce up and down in excitement when Buffy turned to face her and looked at her with absolutely no recognition in her expression.
“Not now,” she answered. “Thanks anyway.” She turned back to the crowd, obviously expecting the fortuneteller in front of her to walk away.
“Your aura is clouded,” Willow commented, innocently. “Is something troubling you?”
Willow nearly laughed out loud at the look of annoyance on Buffy’s face as the slayer struggled to be polite. “I’m a little distracted at the moment; I was supposed to meet a friend here and I can’t find her.”
“Maybe I can find the answer for you?” Willow suggested.
Buffy’s expression was clearly skeptical. “I doubt that,” she said dismissively. “Unless you already know her. Her name is Willow Rosenberg, she has red hair and—”
“Quiet,” Willow commanded, taking Buffy’s hand and turning it palm up. “I will see for myself.” Forcing her expression to remain serious, she pored over the lines on Buffy’s hand. “Hmm, I see that your friend… I see your friend… standing right in front of you and pretending to read your palm.” Willow’s voice slipped back into her normal tone as she looked up and grinned at Buffy.
“Willow?” Buffy asked, her voice weak with surprise. “But how… what… how…?”
“Yes,” Willow replied with an irrepressible grin. “Me Willow, you Buffy. How? Costume shop, a few glamour spells, and lots of make-up. What? Gypsy fortuneteller. How? Well, we already covered that, didn’t we?”
“Wills, you look amazing, but it’s so…”
“So not me?” Willow asked, laughing when Buffy nodded violently. “I know, Buffy. That’s kinda the point, remember? I decided to take your advice. Tonight, I’m going to enjoy not being me. I’m going to dance, I’m going to have fun, I’m going to see if I can find anyone who’ll take my mind off my crush, and most of all, I’m going to follow the advice that you gave me the very first day that we met. I’m going to seize the day.”
“Wills, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Buffy asked when she had shaken off enough of her shock to form complete sentences again. “I mean, last time you listened to my advice to seize the day, you ended up in a cemetery getting chewed on by a vamp and I had to save you. Not that I minded saving you!” Buffy backtracked quickly. “I was happy to save you! I’m always happy to save you, it’s just—”
Willow grinned. “It’s okay, Buffy. Really it is. I’m not going to do anything stupid, I promise. Look, I know you’ve been sort of walking on eggshells around me in any kind of social situation since I told you about my crush, but really, you don’t have to worry about me. No more crying-in-a-corner Willow. I’m just going to enjoy the night.” At that moment, a tall, dark-haired man dressed as a pirate came up and asked Willow to dance. She accepted, winked at Buffy, and disappeared into the crowd.
Riley, dressed as Hercules, stepped up behind Buffy and wrapped his arms around her waist. “There you are,” he purred in her ear. “I’ve been looking for you.” He planted a soft kiss on her neck, just below her ear. He got a little worried when she didn’t respond. Buffy, like most vampire slayers, had issues with anyone touching her neck. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
Buffy shook herself out of her daze and turned to smile at him. “No,” she answered. “Nothing’s wrong, exactly. It’s just that Willow—”
Buffy cut off her comment as she saw Xander and Anya approaching, dressed as characters Anya claimed were very popular in tenth century folktales.
“Cute costume, Xan” Buffy said, hiding a giggle. “I love the shaved legs.”
Xander rolled his eyes. “Anya insisted. But she let me use her hair removal gel so at least it didn’t hurt. Besides, my hair has always grown fast. It should be back in a few days.” Anya leaned over and whispered something in his ear and Xander went dead white. “What do mean it won't grow back?” he hissed, loud enough for the others to hear. Anya leaned over and whispered something else in his ear that made him turn bright red, and rapidly change the subject.
“Hey, where’s Wills?” he asked. “Has anyone seen her? She better not have backed out.”
“No, she’s here,” Buffy answered. “But she’s going to do her own thing tonight.”
Anya looked relieved. “Oh, so she’s finally stopped moping about that pointless crush of hers and decided to have some fun?”
Buffy stifled a laugh. “Yes, Anya. As a matter of fact, that’s it, exactly.”
“Good,” Anya said, then turned to Xander. “Let’s dance.”
“But Willow—” Xander began.
“Willow is a fully grown, highly intelligent, very powerful witch, Xander. I think she can take care of herself. Dance with me. Now.”
Xander looked to Buffy for help, but she smiled innocently in reply. “I think you had better do what she says, Xan. Those folktale creatures can be vicious.”
Anya dragged a still sputtering Xander out with her onto the dance floor, leaving behind Buffy and Riley, trying desperately to keep from laughing.
“Do you think she’s right?” Buffy asked, her grin fading into concern for her friend. “Do you think Willow will be alright, or should I keep an eye out for her, tonight?”
“I think she’s absolutely right,” Riley replied. “Take a look at Willow wherever she is right now and tell me if you think she looks like she needs any help.” Buffy looked over to where Willow was dancing with the pirate. As she watched, the pirate said something that made Willow throw her head back with laughter. She looked radiant. Buffy’s expression softened.
“You’re right,” she said. “Brains and beauty,” she grinned, wrapping her arms around Riley’s waist. “How did I get so lucky?”
“Beats me,” Riley replied, grinning. “But would you be willing to make it up to me by giving me this dance?” Buffy laughed and let him lead her onto the dance floor. She slid her arms around his neck and beamed up at him and hoped that Willow would find someone that made the redhead as happy as Buffy was at that moment.
The dance with the pirate turned into two dances, and then Willow was stolen away by a man dressed in a tux with a wolf’s mask over his face. A dance with the devil came next, and then two dances with a very persistent Jolly Green Giant. She had a marvelous time, enjoying the dances and the food and the compliments and the freedom of not being herself for the time being.
Then Spike walked in and everything else sort of faded away. <That’s what fallen angels must look like> she thought to herself as she watched him from across the room. If he had looked less gorgeous, she might have been amused at his costume. After all, he looked like he had just stepped out of an Anne Rice novel. But she was incapable of laughing, even at the idea of Spike dressing up as a vampire for Halloween.
His clothes were all black, including tailored black pants, a black silk shirt, and a black vest with silver embroidery. The black velvet cape around his shoulders was the finishing touch. On another man, it might have looked silly. On Spike, it looked so unbearably sensual, Willow had trouble standing upright. His hair was curly around his face instead of being slicked back and he had dyed it a light brown that suited him so well, she wondered if it was his natural color. A black mask covered the top half of his face, but it couldn’t disguise him from her. Only Spike could look like that. Only Spike could move like that. Only Spike could make her feel like that.
<Still breathing?> she asked herself. <Check.> <Not drooling?> She surreptitiously checked her chin. <Check.> <Mouth closed, check as well. Good for me, I’m almost functioning.> She took a deep breath. <Approaching him, very nearly che— oh sweet heaven, he’s walking this way.>
Spike stepped into the party and forced himself to take in a deep breath. He nearly gagged. He’d been in brothels that smelled better. He never understood why human women felt the need to pour on such obscene amounts of perfume, especially when going to a party. Didn’t they know that their scents, mixed in with the scents of the other women attending would make the men downright nauseous? Spike thanked heaven he had a strong stomach, and forced himself to inhale again. There. There it was. The soft, sweet, subtle scent of jasmine shampoo and vanilla body lotion. Willow. Once he located the scent, tracking it was easy. He was thrown a bit by the long, dark brown hair cascading down her back, but the lines and curves of her body (so beautifully displayed by the wonderful costume that he ached to peel away from her soft skin) were unmistakable. He’d given them enough of his attention over the past few weeks to recognize them instantly.
She was watching him, he realized. He almost couldn’t believe it. He had been afraid that his costume wasn’t good enough; that she would know it was him and wouldn’t give him the time of day. But she was watching him with, dare he hope, anticipation? Her eyes followed him as he crossed the floor toward her. At any rate, she wasn’t running away; that was good. Very good. Gods below, she was so beautiful. The fortuneteller’s costume she wore was something he never would have imagined her choosing, but it suited her perfectly. She looked mysterious and provocative, like she knew the secrets to all the mysteries in the world and could tell you every single one, if you could convince her to speak. Never in all his years had he wanted anyone more. Some idiot in a lion tamer’s costume walked over and asked her to dance, but she refused, never taking her eyes off of Spike. Finally, he reached her.
“Have you come to have your fortune told?” she asked in a soft, slightly husky voice. Wordlessly, he presented her with his hand. She took it in both of hers, running her fingers gently across the lines on his palm, causing both of them to shiver.
“Are you in my future?” he asked. He’d altered his voice slightly, she noticed. The accent was still British, but it sounded more refined. She had read somewhere that the Cockney accent Spike was so noted for was something he developed after his turning and that in his lifetime, he had actually been part of rather high society. She wondered if this was his real accent. She loved the cockney twang, but there was something about his voice at that moment that sent shivers up her spine. Or maybe the shivers came from what he said.
“I’m here, now,” she answered, giving up all pretense of reading his palm and turning her hand so that it lay against his, palm to palm. “It’s up to you where we go from here.” His slid his fingers around her hand, holding it tightly in his, and smiled. The smile made her glad for the support of his hand, because she was sure she would have fallen without it. She followed blindly, barely even aware that they were moving as he led her to the dance floor. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close as he rocked her, gently, back and forth. Fortunately, it was a slow number, because Willow got the feeling that the band could have played “Build Me Up, Buttercup” and he would have danced with her in exactly the same way. She rested her head against his chest and settled her body against his, thinking how perfectly happy she felt at that moment.
Spike decided that he loved the song that was playing. Sure, he wasn’t really listening to it (something about loving a girl and holding her close “in the still of the night”), but it was slow and sweet and it was allowing him to hold his Willow tightly in his arms. He was convinced that he was in heaven. He had been prepared for her indifference, prepared for her rejection. Nothing on earth could have prepared him for her acceptance. She was allowing him to dance with her and cuddling into his arms and it felt more right than anything ever had before. Gently, gradually, he steered the two of them toward the french doors that led out back to the garden. When the music finally ended, he pulled her out into the garden with him. She looked up at him and smiled and he couldn’t help himself. He gathered her tightly against him and kissed her.
The moment was so perfect that Willow was terrified her alarm was about to go off and prove to her that it was only a dream. Moments that wonderful couldn’t possibly happen in real life. She couldn’t possibly be standing in a garden of white roses, wrapped in Spike’s arms in the moonlight while he kissed her like he… like he… like he loved her. His lips left hers, hovering slightly over them to give her a chance to pull away if she wanted to. Willow exhaled in a shaky gasp and made a decision. If this was a dream, she was going to enjoy it as long as it lasted. Her arms wrapped themselves around Spike’s neck as she pulled him down for another kiss.
~Part: 5~
The first kiss had been sweet and tentative, gently asking her if she minded, if she objected, if she would let him. The second kiss could have burned down Rome. Willow threw into it all the passion she had built up for him over the past year. All the love she had been unable to give to Tara, all the pain and loneliness she had felt, all the lust and longing that she had been stockpiling away for him since the moment she realized that he alone could make her happy, she poured into him in that one, delirious kiss. Spike responded in kind, pouring into her all his frustration, all his desperation, all his hopes and dreams and plans and aspirations that he had finally realized were embodied in her. He kissed her like she was his salvation. He kissed her like he would never let her go. The kiss might have lasted indefinitely if it weren’t for…
“Ahem,” a voice stated, trying to discreetly draw their attention. They didn’t look up. “Ahhhhhem.” Still nothing. “AHEM!”
Willow finally registered the voice next to them and pulled away, blushing. Spike looked up and growled. The man in the waiters uniform went pale and wondered if it was really worth the twenty that the blonde in the witch’s costume had slipped him to deliver this envelope outside.
“A…um… letter for you, sir,” he managed to squeak out, and then ducked quickly back into the party. He had the good sense not to wait around for a tip. Spike tore open the envelope with a snarl, pulling out a note wrapped around a piece of cardboard.
Dear Spike,
Don’t bother to thank me; it’s a present for both of you. GO FOR IT!
~Tara
P.S. She’s ticklish on the backs of her knees, and goes through the roof when you suck on her neck. Have fun!!
The piece of cardboard the letter had been wrapped around was the key to a suite in the hotel. If Spike was human, he might have blushed. But he wasn’t, so he merely smirked, crammed the note into his pocket, and turned his attention back to Willow.
He tried to think of the perfect way to phrase his request: something that incorporated how stunningly beautiful she looked, how badly he wanted to have her all to himself, how desperately he desired her, and how happy he could make her if she would just let him… “Would you like to come up to my room?” he blurted out.
She just stood there looking shocked for a moment, and he kicked himself mentally for being so inept. “I just thought you might like to get away from the crowd,” he said, trying to cover. “Of course, if you wanted to stay, I’d be more than happy to stay with you. That is, if you wouldn’t mind if I stayed with you. That is to say—” Spike couldn’t believe it. He was rambling. He hadn’t been like this since the night he proposed to Cecily. And he couldn’t seem to stop! The words just kept coming out, and he almost hoped the slayer would come out and attack him for kissing Willow because with every word out of his mouth he was just making it worse and any second now Willow was going to give up entirely and just walk away and she was, in fact, opening her mouth and was probably about to give him the brush-off and—
“I’d love to go to your room,” she answered, softly. She was blushing violently, but kept her eyes locked on his, showing him how very happy she was to accept his invitation. Her hand slipped gently into his and he lifted it to his face, staring at it with a mixture of awe and reverence as he placed a heartbreakingly gentle kiss on her palm. She squeezed his hand, and some of his habitual self-assurance seemed to return to him. He flashed her a dangerously beautiful smile and led her back to the door. “Shall we, then?” Willow smiled radiantly in reply, and nodded.
They actually managed to keep their hands off of each other until they hit the elevator. But as soon as the door slid shut, Spike pounced. In seconds, Willow was in his arms, his hands were buried in her long hair, and his tongue was thoroughly plundering her mouth. She didn’t seem to object as she ran her warm hands up and down his back, pulling him as close as she could and making little whimpering sounds in the back of her throat as her tongue rubbed against his. The “ting” sound barely registered with either of them before the elevator doors slid open again. Fortunately, no one was there to see them pull apart, breathless and disheveled, as they tumbled into the hallway.
“This way,” Spike said, his voice low and ragged as he tugged Willow down the hallway. He was so close to having what he wanted that he could hardly stand it. He stopped her in the middle of the hallway to pull her into another blinding kiss, unable to go any longer without the taste of her. Reinforced, he dragged her the rest of the way. His hands shook as they inserted the cardboard key into the lock. For a single, terrifying moment, he couldn’t get the key to work. He was wondering how he was going to explain to Willow that he was a perfectly normal guy (well, maybe not perfectly normal, but he was at least a *non-violent* guy who would never hurt her) who had the ability to break down doors (since he knew for damned sure that he was getting her inside that room in the next thirty seconds, or else he would spontaneously combust) but the lock clicked open before he was driven to such acts of desperation.
He pulled her through the door and slammed it shut with his back, leaning against it as he pulled her once again into the cradle of his body. She settled against him eagerly, pressing him into the door as she ran her tongue over his teeth. His back teeth. His hands scrambled along her back, sliding up her spine and underneath the elastic hemline of her shirt, moaning when he encountered smooth, warm skin without a sign of a bra strap. He was about to shift his hands around to enjoy the front of bra-less Willow when her hands, enjoying their own explorations, trailed down to the front of his pants, gently rubbing his crotch. Spike gasped and forgot to move his hand, forgot to keep kissing Willow, forgot to do anything but enjoy the sensation of her hand against his aching erection. He’d been hard ever since he laid eyes on her that evening and her touch was enough to make him forget everything else.
“Willow,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “God, that feels good.” He actually wasn’t aware that he had spoken out loud. If she had kept doing… what she was doing… he might never have realized. But as soon as her name hit the air, she froze. She looked up at him with wide, startled eyes and then pulled away abruptly. He started to open his mouth to stop her, but realized he didn’t know what to say. During his hesitation, Willow crossed to the windows, and stood with her back to him.
“How long have you known?” she asked quietly, without turning around.
“Since I walked in tonight,” he answered, assuming she was talking about her costume. “Glamours can hide a lot, but they can’t change your scent.”
Willow leaned her forehead against the glass and closed her eyes. The bitter, salty scent of her tears filled the air. The thought of his Willow crying broke through Spike’s fear of doing or saying the wrong thing, and he reacted on instinct. In under a second, he had crossed the room to her and pulled her into his arms. “Don’t cry, love. Please don’t cry,” he whispered over and over again as he gently stroked her hair. Her concentration was thoroughly shattered, breaking through her glamours, and her hair turned into its soft, familiar red under his fingers. She pulled away from him, sniffling, and untied the mask, tossing it onto the floor.
“I guess masks are pointless now, aren’t they?” she said. “I should have known better than to think I could hide from you. I just thought…” her voice broke slightly, but she refused to give back into tears. “I just thought that maybe if I could turn myself into someone else then I could make you notice me for a night.” She shook her head at her own stupidity. “I should have known you’d be able to smell it. Hell, as aroused as I get whenever I’m around you, I’m surprised you haven’t smelled it before now.” Spike’s jaw dropped but Willow didn’t notice. She was too busy staring at the pattern on the carpet and trying to figure out how she could leave before her heart got irrevocably broken.
“So now you know,” she continued, “that you were my crush all along.” Her voice dropped into the barest, most fragile of whispers. “Did you bring me up here to laugh at me? To show me what a fool I was for thinking you could ever want someone like me? Is that why you brought me up here?”
Spike was so floored by her announcement that he was her crush that it took him a minute to process the rest of what she was saying. But once the message got through, his reaction was instantaneous. He ripped off his mask and threw it to the side, next to hers. Then he stood in front of her, gripping her chin to force her to look at him. Her tear filled green eyes nearly broke his heart. He wanted nothing more than to kiss each one of those tears away, but he steeled himself against the thought. There was something he needed to say to her first.
“You’re right, Willow. No more masks, no more lies, no more evasions. I’ll never hide anything from you again. I swear it.” He paused for a moment and steeled himself to begin his confession. “Until about two minutes ago, I had no idea that I was your crush. When you asked me how long I had known, I thought you were asking when I figured out that it was you under the costume. That was the question I answered. If I had known that I was your crush, I would have said this a long time ago.”
His eyes burned with passion and sincerity and he kept them locked with hers as he slowly lowered himself to his knees in front of her. He grabbed hold of her hands and held them tightly in his. “I love you, Willow. I love you, and I thought you could never love me and that’s why I did everything I’ve done tonight.” He paused to let her process this. Her expression looked frozen, as if she were in a state of shock. Taking this as approval to continue, he plunged into his explanation. “I knew you had a crush on someone, and I figured that I didn’t stand a chance. But I thought that if I could get you to see me as something other than a demon, if I could show you how much I love you, how absolutely devoted I am to you, then maybe you could learn, someday, to love me back. So I put on that mask tonight and I changed my voice and I tried to pretend to be someone else. Someone that you could let yourself love.”
“I knew it was you,” she said softly. “From the moment you walked through the door.”
A spark of hope lit Spike’s beautiful blue eyes. “You knew it was me all along,” he said, “and you still agreed to come up here with me?”
“Of course,” she answered, blushing slightly and looking away. “That was the whole point. After being in love with you for nearly a year, I was willing to do whatever it took to get your attention. When you asked me to come up here with you, I could hardly believe it. I was so happy—”
Spike jumped to his feet and grabbed her shoulders. “Repeat what you just said,” he whispered, his voice strained.
“When you asked me to come up here with you—”
“Not that. The part before it.”
“The part before…? Oh!” Her blush darkened as she realized what he meant. “After being in love with you for nearly a year.”
Spike’s legs gave out and he landed in a heap on the floor. “I was convinced you were going to tell me that I didn’t stand a chance,” he said. “I was so convinced that you would send me away.”
He felt a soft, warm touch on his shoulder from a soft, warm hand, and looked up to see soft, warm eyes looking at him with tenderness and love. Willow. She stroked his hair softly as she knelt next to him.
“Didn’t you know, Spike?” she asked. “Didn’t you know I’d never send you away?” Spike closed his eyes and reveled in her gentle touch, thinking how absolutely right it felt, how absolutely right *she* felt, how absolutely right she *was*. He shifted his body against hers and rested his head on her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him and let him cry, whispering soft words of comfort until his tears were gone. He brushed his lips across hers and thought he’d melt right into the floor when she responded. Oh God, how she responded. Her lips were sweeter than blood and hotter than hell and he never wanted to let them go. His arms slid around her, pulling her against him and he nearly groaned at the sensation, especially when she melted into his arms, molding her body against his.
He made love to her on the floor of the hotel room. He simply couldn’t make it to the bed. For the first time in his life after death, it wasn’t just sex, it wasn’t just passion, it wasn’t just two bodies coming together for mutual pleasure; it was making love. She kissed him the entire time, her lips constantly exploring his skin, as if she needed nothing in the world so much as him. He returned the favor, touching and tasting every inch of her, unable to get enough of her. And when he buried himself inside her, finding a completion that had eluded him for nearly two centuries, she pulled his face up to hers, staring deeply into his eyes as she whispered that she loved him.
He buried his face in her neck. “Say it again,” he pleaded in her ear as he drove himself deeply into her. “Again and again and again. Never stop saying it.”
“I love you, Spike,” she replied, her words punctuated with kisses and caresses as she wrapped herself around him. “I love you. I love you. I’ll never stop loving you.”
“I love you, Willow,” he whispered in her ear. “I love you.”
He woke up with a start, terrified that it was all a dream. But then he reached for her, and she was there, sleeping like an angel beside him. He pulled her into his arms, smiled and fell back asleep. Downstairs, the unmasking had begun, but in their room, in their bed, Spike and Willow were oblivious as they slept in each other’s arms exposed, unmasked, and truly content.
THE END