Rating: PG
Summary: Willow and Spike get caught in the rain. Blatant fluff.
Disclaimer: All "Buffy: the Vampire Slayer" and/or "Angel" characters aren't mine. They're Joss', Marti's, David's, et cetera. Don't sue, as I don't even own a working computer at the moment. All songs belong to the eminent Dave Matthews Band, whose boots I would gladly lick. =) Well, maybe not really, but they *rock*.
Distribution: The usual-UCSL, Fanfiction.Net, Bite Me. Please?, STTEOT, Near Her Always, Temptation Embraced, all my lists. And, uh, my own personal site. Duh. If you want, just ask and tell me where it's going.
Context/Spoilers: Pick your own timeline. It's after sixth season, a good old-fashioned futurefic. Buffy and Willow have graduated college; Willow now lives in her parent's house by herself. Riley's gone, Tara left, Spike's still chipped and never did the wacky or got a crush on Buffy, Willow never got addicted. You get the idea. It's a Happyverse.
Author's Notes: Okay, my computer is still on the blink, so I'm floppy-disking it-so if any of the formatting is @$%!ed up, that's why. =) This is written to make myself feel better because my computer is insane and the guy I like won't get a clue. Also, there's a drought in New York City (where I live), and it's also, like, ninety degrees out even though it's only April (I swear I'm being literal) and I need a break from conjugating Latin. This is in honor of the random rainstorm we had today with lots of thunder and lightning, and of the shoes that eventually began to squelch. Enjoy!
Dedication: Okay, guys, don't get jealous, but this is for a few people. This is for Lisa, because I haven't dedicated something to her in what seems like forever, and she deserves it; Lisa, you rock! And I'm working on "Morning" using pen & paper. I promise. And this is also for Len, because she's recommended books to me and because she's a hoopy frood; and this is also for Meltha, because she dedicated "Toosies" to me, and that was just about the cutest thing I ever read. So! With that said, on to the story.
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~Part: 1~
Willow lay head-to-head with Xander on the blessedly cool linoleum of the Magic Box and wiped her sweaty forehead. "This gets grosser by the second."
Xander made a grunting noise. Willow assumed that meant that he agreed with her.
Anya sighed. "This weather is ridiculous. Look! The money is sticking to my fingers." The corners of her mouth turned down in a pout and she held one hand up as evidence. Indeed, a green bill seemed to have adhered itself to her hand by way of the inevitable sweat.
"Wills, can't you do some sort of magic thing where you twitch your fingers and suddenly snow's falling?" Buffy begged, slumping across the table. Her normally immaculate blonde hair was slightly frizzy, and wisps stuck to her pink-tinged face.
"Messing with the weather is a big no-no, Buff, you know that," Willow muttered from the floor. "Besides, you saw that episode of The Powerpuff Girls."
Buffy made a Xander-grunt and flopped off her chair with a thump next to Willow and Xander on the floor. "I can feel my pores sweating."
"I can't believe the air conditioner malfunctioned," Anya hissed. She made a frustrated sound and slammed the cash register closed.
"I can't believe Giles is away on vacation with Olivia," Willow said. She rolled over and groaned with the exertion.
"Me neither. Because he's old and it's gross," Buffy said.
"Lots of stuff is gross today, huh?" Xander commented.
"No," Anya said. She kicked of her stilettos and exhaustedly made her way around the counter to the group collapsed on the floor. "Willow means she can't believe Giles is away because he's the only capable male in the whole entire world who *knows* how to *fix* an *air conditioner*!"
"Hey," Xander protested weakly, but made no further remarks in his defense.
"Supposedly it's supposed to rain," Willow said.
"Oh, yeah, and *that* will help my hair so much," Buffy groaned. She flopped bonelessly onto her other arm to face her best friend. "I reiterate that this is gross."
"April," Willow said. "April and it's ninety-five degrees."
"Poor Dawnie's in school," Xander said nobly. "We should be feeling sorry for her."
"Feeling sorry for her?" Willow snorted. "Please. I went with Buffy to drop her off at school and they've got central air conditioning there!"
"Gross, gross, gross, gross, gross," Buffy sing-songed tonelessly.
"I would suggest we get ice cream," Anya said helpfully from her supine position by Xander's knee. "But it would be melted before it got into the cone."
Willow shoved sticky hair away from her eyes impatiently. "I really hope it rains."
The door to the basement of the Magic Box slammed open. Nobody who was on the floor moved, but Xander volunteered: "Spike! Feeling nice and cold today?"
The heavy thud of the blonde vampire's Doc Martens could be heard on the floor, and then a chair scraped as he pulled it away from the table. "I wish, Chubs. I'm room temperature, and that's eighty-five degrees right about now."
"Here, Spike," Willow said generously, shifting slightly. "Join us on the floor."
"Oh, God, must he?" Buffy moaned. "Vampire cooties are the *last* thing I need."
"Oh, don't worry, Slayer," Spike retorted. His amusement was almost tangible. "Vampires aren't disease-carriers like you mortals. But, uh, you knew that, didn't you?"
"If I weren't so hot right now, I'd come up with a cutting retort," Buffy informed him matter-of-factly. "Is there any water?"
"No," Anya said.
Spike shook off his duster and sat down on the floor next to Willow. "Is this what you lot have been doing all day?"
"You were wearing a leather coat? In this heat? You're mad," Willow muttered, closing her eyes.
"Sitting on the floor, that's what you've been doing," Spike said. "Pathetic."
"Hey, I'll have you know that we have not been *sitting* on the floor," Xander said, sounding offended. "*You* are the sitting one. We are *lying* on the floor."
"Of course that's a totally different vibe." Spike rolled his eyes.
"It is," Xander confirmed. "Nor have we been here the whole day. I was sitting in that very chair a little under an hour ago."
"Do you have anything interesting to do?" Willow asked. "That doesn't involve strenuous activity?"
Buffy shoved Spike's abandoned duster listlessly towards her friend, and Willow grabbed it and began going through the pockets. "Cigarettes-gross. Lighter-heat. Gross. Handcuffs? Spike, please. That's gross. Playing cards? Not so gross." She put the deck of cards down on the floor and held the duster up so she could feel inside its pockets while still lying down. "More cigarettes-more gross. Black nailpolish. Can I borrow this?"
"Do you *mind,* woman?" Spike demanded, taking hold of his duster. "That's mine!"
"He doesn't care if you snoop through the cigarettes or the handcuffs," Xander said incredulously, "But he gets testy when you threaten the nailpolish."
"I wasn't threatening!" Willow protested.
"Handcuffs?" Anya asked.
"Give me back your duster, Spike," Willow said patiently.
Spike pulled at his end. "No!"
"Resolve Face," Willow said, letting go of the pocket with one hand and pointing to her set features.
Spike, though admittedly great and powerful, was not so omnipotent that he could boast immunity to the resolve face. He let go of his coat. "Fine." He punctuated this remark with a back-cracking flop to the floor.
"Let me see the handcuffs," Anya said petulantly. Spike reached for them, and then threw the handcuffs to her.
Willow fiddled with the heavy material of Spike's duster until she could turn it around and search the pocket on the other side. "A discman?" She pulled it out. "Nice. G-Protection, of course. And cool headphones." She flipped them around.
"You know you're cool when Tech Girl condones your stuff," Xander informed Spike as he kept a wary eye on his girlfriend.
"What make are these?" Anya asked Spike.
"What, the handcuffs?" Spike asked.
"What do you have in here?" Willow asked. She flicked the catch of the CD player and the top popped open. Her eyes widened. "A guy after my own heart."
"What CD?" Buffy asked, opening one eye curiously.
"Oh, please," Spike said, raising a hand to take his discman back. Willow presented him with her Resolve Face carefully combined with the slightest bit of Sad Puppy Eyes and even a hint of Condescending Raised Eyebrow (she'd learned that one from Cordelia). Spike, helpless against such a weapon, let his arm drop to the ground again.
"Dave Matthews Band," Willow told Buffy, tilting the discman so her friend could see. "I *love* them."
" 'Ah did it,'" Buffy howled.
" 'D'you think Ah've gawn too far?'" Willow crooned back.
" 'Ah did it,'" Buffy continued.
" 'Guilty as charged!'" Willow and Xander yelled in reply.
"Good God, do you always sing like this?" Spike groaned.
"No!" Willow 'hrumped.' " 'Satellite.'"
"Give me back the CD player," Spike said.
"You've tried that tactic already, and it hasn't worked," Anya pointed out. "So, where do you think I could get a pair of these?"
"What, the handcuffs?" Xander asked.
"Oh, yeah, there's this 'naughty' shop downtown," Spike began. Anya propelled herself over to him, using her elbows to move across the floor.
"Anya, must you?" Xander moaned.
Willow ignored them and handed one earphone to Buffy, keeping the other for herself, and skipped to the middle of the CD. She tapped out the rhythm on her stomach and closed her eyes. " 'Sometimes I feel lost.'"
* * *
Several hours later, all of Spike's belongings had been returned to the pockets of his duster (with the exception of his playing cards, with which the five of them played BS); the electrician had unexpectedly had an appointment fall through, and had come to fix the air conditioner; Dawn had come in after school and been sent to fetch ice cream and water bottles, along with Anya, who could not be made to stop talking about the handcuffs; and finally, night had fallen, taking with it some of the still-inescapable heat.
And then it began to rain.
The storm was quite sudden, actually. The whole group (six, now, including Dawn) had pulled chairs up to the table and were playing BS again. Buffy had just lain down two cards that she insisted were Aces and Spike had contemptuously declared her call a blatant lie when it spontaneously began to pour outside.
Everyone looked up.
"I told you it was supposed to rain," Willow said smugly.
"But we don't need it to rain now! We've got air conditioning!" Buffy protested.
"I don't have an umbrella," Dawn said.
"Xander, this is most fortunate. Come. We can get wet and then ravish each other," Anya suggested.
"This is going to *ruin* my duster," Spike muttered.
"Anya, what have I told you about appropriate public conversation?" Xander asked, putting his face in his hands.
"C'mon, Buff, this'll be fun!" Willow said cheerfully. "Let's go patrol."
"In the rain?" Buffy sighed.
"In the rain!" Willow replied.
"In the rain," Buffy groaned. "God, I hate cheerful people."
"So do I!" Willow agreed happily. "Come on, let's go get wet!"
Spike looked like he was on the verge of making a crude comment. Anya leaned forward in anticipation, and Xander jumped in quickly. "Spare us, Junior."
Anya made an exasperated noise. "Is there *anything* we're allowed to say?"
"Dawn, you wanna go home or patrol with us?" Buffy asked.
"I think I'll help patrol on a less squishy night," Dawn said hurriedly. "I have a lot of homework."
"She never admits that when she *wants* to do something," Buffy whispered to Willow. "Fine. Xander, Anya, can you drive Dawn home?"
"Peachy keen," Xander said with a nod.
"Promise me you'll never say that again." Anya nudged her boyfriend viciously.
"We're gone," Willow said, linking her elbow with Buffy's. "Spike? You wanna come with?"
"Must you invite him everywhere?" Buffy complained. Then, off Willow's disapproving look, the Slayer sighed and rolled her eyes in acquiescence. "Fine. Can we go?"
"One sec," Spike said, draping his duster over a chair. "I'm picking this up tomorrow. I'm not ruining the leather or my smokes or my CD player."
"The nasties aren't waiting around and twiddling their thumbs for us," Buffy hollered from the doorway. Willow skipped up the steps to the dais and joined her friend at the door. "Well?"
Spike strode towards them. "'Night, Bit," he called over his shoulder. "Chubs, Vengeance Girl." He stopped when he reached Buffy and Willow. "*Well*?"
"It's wet," Buffy whimpered. She stuck a hand out of the doorway and grimaced at the downpour. "Very wet."
"Of course it's bloody wet, it's raining, innit? Don't tell me you're scared of a little rain."
Willow pulled a tie from her wrist and secured her long hair in a high ponytail. "Buff, do you have another hair-tie scrunchie-thing?" Buffy held out her wrist, where almost twenty ties in a myriad of colors were wound. Willow peeled a bright pink one away from her friend's collection and twisted her ponytail into a bun.
"My hair takes a long time to do, Spike," Buffy reprimanded the vampire curtly. "I mean, the perming alone-"
"I don't want to hear it," Spike said. He held out a hand to Willow and gave her his best measuring stare. "You look like a daring one, Red. Wanna brave a little rain?"
Willow grinned at him and placed her long-fingered slender hand in his big one. "Damn straight I'm daring." They both ducked their shoulders and dashed out into the storm.
Buffy stomped her foot and tried her best pout. "Will-*ow*!"
"I think that's your cue to get goin', Buffster," Xander called from the table.
Buffy shot a glare at him, tugged at the straps of her spaghetti-strap
top in an attempt to further cover her shoulders, let loose one last despairing
sigh, and followed Willow and Spike into the darkness.
Part Two: Because of the Wonderful Things He Does
Buffy could hardly see anything. It was pitch dark outside in the rain except for the faint distant glow of the completely useless lampposts. She stood still for a moment, already soaked to the skin, trying to figure out where Willow and Spike were.
"Buffy?"
Ha! Apparently they were over there. Buffy wrapped her arms around herself and tripped squishily in the direction of her best friend's voice. "Willow?"
She bumped into Spike's muscled form a few seconds later. "Easy there, Slayer," he chuckled. "I know I'm irresistible, but don't you think we should get to know each other first? Dinner and a movie, maybe?"
"Oh, please," Buffy groaned. "Innuendo from Spike is the last thing I need right now."
"Just let your eyes adapt for a second," Willow advised. "Then we can go patrol!"
"Why are you so psyched about this?" Buffy gurgled through a mouthful of rain. "It's cold, it's wet, it's miserable, it'll be muddy and my hair is *ruined*!"
"I'll give you the muddy, the wet and the ruined hair," Willow said patiently, "But it's not cold at all and it wouldn't be miserable if you stopped complaining."
Buffy sighed, putting her hands on her hips. "Fine." Her eyes were finally beginning to adjust to the darkness, and as her gaze settled on Willow and Spike standing side by side, she noticed that their hands were still clasped. "Eek! Willow! Hands! Hands of Spike!"
Witch and vampire blinked uncomprehendingly. Buffy leapt forward and wrenched her best friend's hand from her best enemy's. "Please, Willow, never do that to me again."
"Buffy, you and I hold hands all the time."
"But-but-we're friends and we've been friends forever and I *know* that you and Spike are friends but the holding hands thing insinuates non-friendly things and that's more than I can take right now so please, please, please, for my sake, don't do it, at least not while I'm around."
Willow grinned. "You sounded *so* much like me right there." She shrugged at Spike, who shrugged back. Buffy couldn't help but think he looked mildly disappointed, and she glowered at him.
"Okay," Willow said. "No hand-holding with Spike while you're around. Patrol now? Kick some demon ass?"
Buffy wiped water-logged hair away from her eyes and gave a half-hearted smile. "Yeah, sure." She linked arms with Willow and turned towards the cemetery.
"Spike?" Willow said, holding out her other arm.
"Willow!" Buffy protested.
"What?" Willow sighed. "Buffy, you're gonna have to get used to my friendship with Spike sometime, and we won't be holding hands. We're linking arms, which is a strictly platonic gesture and is, I might add, the same thing you and I are doing right now."
"I *know*," Buffy muttered. "But-"
Willow cleverly sampled a large dosage of Sad Puppy Eyes strengthened with just the right amount of Resolve Face plus a bit of You-Owe-Me-This, I-Put-Up-With-Riley-PDA-And-That-*Wasn't*-Platonic Face.
Buffy crumpled under pressure. "Fine, fine, fine."
Willow grinned at Spike. He grinned back and linked his rain-slicked arm with hers. "Now, on the count of three.?"
She nodded eagerly. "One."
"Guys, what are you doing?" Buffy asked nervously.
"Two."
"Willow?" Buffy squeaked.
"Three!" Willow yelled, and she and Spike started skipping like maniacs, pulling a startled Buffy behind them.
" 'We're. *off* to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz.'" Willow trilled.
" 'We hear we is a Whiz of a Whiz if ever a Whiz there was!'" Spike yodeled, an octave lower.
They both paused and looked at Buffy expectantly. "Who, me?" she said, and then sighed.
" 'If. ever-oh-ever a Whiz there was, the Wizard of Oz is one because.'"
" 'Because.'" Willow continued.
" 'Because.'" Spike added.
" 'Because.'" Willow hinted again.
" 'Because.'" Spike whooped.
" 'Be-*cause*." Buffy yelled at the top of her lungs.
" 'Because of the Wonderful Things he does!" all three bellowed, beginning to skip down the street again. " 'We're. *off* to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz!'"
Any demons that might have been lurking immediately ran away in fright.
The Wizard of Oz was *not* something to be messed with.
* * *
The rain had stopped about ten minutes ago, and Spike had left them for the smokes he had back in his crypt. Soaking wet, the girls walked along slowly, keeping half an eye out for any poor sodden demons that looked like they needed Slaying.
"So." Buffy began, flipping a stake idly.
"So.?" Willow asked, watching Buffy flip the stake.
"Now that Spike's gone off to inhale nicotine and cyanide into non-functional lungs, why don't you tell me what's up with you and him?" Buffy said.
" 'Up'?" Willow repeated. "With me and him?"
"Would you stop saying everything I say?" Buffy begged. "I just want to know what's going on."
"Spike and I are just friends," Willow said assuredly. "Trust me."
"You sure?" Buffy asked, peering at her friend closely.
"Um, Buffy, what's with the interrogation?" Willow questioned, confused. "Spike doesn't think of me that way."
"A-ha!" Buffy crowed triumphantly. "But do *you* think of *Spike* that way?"
Willow pretended to be looking at something else: "What way?"
Buffy stopped and stared at Willow, her jaw dropping. "You do!"
"What?" Willow said nervously.
"You think of Spike that way! Naked Spike thoughts! You want to get naked with Spike!"
"No," Willow said, sounding doubtful. Buffy intensified her stare, a small smile on her face. "Not really," Willow clarified. Buffy leaned forward and grinned knowingly. Willow groaned and drew her hands down her face. "Maybe a little."
"Just a little?"
"Maybe a lot of a little," Willow whispered.
"Don't blame you," Buffy said smugly, straightening up and walking forward. "He's pretty sexy, for the undead."
"*Isn't* he?" Willow agreed, bouncing forward to catch up with the Slayer. "With-with the pants, and the boots, and. Oh, Goddess, with the duster, and the hair-and the nailpolish."
"Willow, please," Buffy said. "I'm aware of the merits of Spike. It's a little unnerving hearing it from you, though."
"He listens to Dave Matthews Band," Willow half-moaned, "And he plays guitar. And he sings! And he's really, really sweet when he wants to be, and have you *ever* seen him without a shirt on?"
Buffy blinked. "Yes."
"He has abs and pecs and biceps and triceps and any other -cep-ty thing you can think of, and he has *gorgeous* hands." Willow trailed off, looking thoughtful. Buffy rolled her eyes.
"No thinking naughty Spike-thoughts when I'm here and I *know* you're thinking naughty Spike-thoughts, don't deny it," she said.
"And of course-and this is the best part," Willow continued after shooting a glare at her best friend. "Of *course* he's my friend. Because the ones I like and can't have are always my friends! 'Oh, you're like a sister to me,' or, 'Oh, it's so nice to have someone to talk to about the other girl I like'-"
"Spike *likes* someone?" Buffy demanded. ".Else?"
"No, that was Xander," Willow said. She glared at the sky. "Darn it."
"How do you know Spike doesn't like you?" Buffy asked hesitantly.
Willow rolled her eyes. "Please. Hot guys don't go for Willow. It's, like, a rule. Or something."
"Why wouldn't he?" Buffy asked. "You're pretty sexy yourself, miss."
Willow struck a pose and grinned. "You know you want it."
Buffy laughed and smacked the taller girl on the arm. " 'I want you, I need you, oh baby, oh baby.'"
"Come on, he holds hands with me," Willow said after a moment, when they'd begun walking again. "Spike doesn't really strike me as the win-her-over-slowly type."
"More of the ravish-her-'til-she-can't-move-and-hope-that-convinces-her-to-stay type," Buffy agreed.
"Doesn't sound too bad," Willow said with a grin.
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Uh-huh. But, still. If he can instigate mad Wizard-of-Oz sessions, don't you think hand-holding could be a little sign that he cared?"
Willow sighed. "Isn't he cute when he does that?"
"I don't know if I'd ever describe Spike as 'cute'," Buffy said thoughtfully. "He's more swelteringly hot than adorable. But I really want to know-since when does the Big Bad skip down the street with the Slayer and her pal singing "The Wizard of Oz"?"
"Since I did it to him, once," Willow explained. "He thought I was nuts, and he told me it would ruin his reputation. I told him his reputation was already ruined, and if he needed an excuse he could tell his friend either that I put a spell on him or that he was playing with his food."
"That's either really funny or really gross or both."
"Blah. At least it's stopped raining."
"Blah indeed," Buffy said, holding a strand of wet hair up for inspection. "Come with me to get my hair done tomorrow? We can have a girls' day out-hair, manicures, pedicures. A trip to Sephora?"
Willow looked doubtful.
"Come *on*," Buffy said. "We can go and shop around. The Limited! Starbucks! The mall! And we'll look all gorgeous and make ourselves feel better and try to ignore the blatant lack of any sexual activity in our lives."
It was Willow's turn to do the arm-smacking. "*Buff*-y!"
The Slayer shrugged unrepentantly. "You know it's true. It'll be fun."
"Okay," Willow shrugged. "Sounds fun. Spike'll probably want to sleep over, so he and I will be over in the morning to take Dawn to school, and then I'll drop him off and-" She paused. "What?"
Buffy's jaw had dropped again. "Spike *sleeps* *over*?"
"All the time." Willow nodded. "And he's never made a move on me. Not *once.*"
"Geez," Buffy said. "I wonder what's wrong with him? I would have made a move by now." She blinked. "If I were him. Um."
"It's okay, Buffster. I know what you mean," Willow assured her. "And, by the way, what suddenly changed your mind? Before you were like, and I quote, 'Spike hands! Hands of Spike!' and now you're all gung-ho."
"I just wanted to know what was going on first," Buffy said. "I hate being out of the loop."
"There's not much of a loop to be in," Willow muttered. "Ah, well."
"Hmm," Buffy said sympathetically. "What do you think would be a sign from the Powers That Be that he likes you?"
"Eggs," Willow said promptly, and then giggled.
"Eggs?" Buffy asked. "Care to fill me in?"
"I just realized how silly that sounded, but it's totally true. There's this way to make scrambled eggs so they taste *really* good-you whisk them for a really long time, like five or ten minutes, and then you cook them on a really low flame until they're done all the way through. And you have to stir them. It's a sure sign that someone loves you if they'll stir some stupid eggs for twenty minutes just to make you breakfast."
At the end of this explanation, Willow sounded pretty angry. Buffy blinked. "You've made those eggs for Spike, haven't you?"
"Argh!" Willow growled in confirmation. "I mean, you can always make scrambled eggs on a high flame. It takes three minutes, and that's if you're going slowly. But. These eggs." She sighed. "Stupid male-person."
"Well, maybe he just doesn't know," Buffy pointed out. "I didn't know about the eggs."
"Spike *told* me about the eggs," Willow muttered. "He used to make them for his mother when he was human. He got all wistful-sounding, so I made them for him the next time he came over and he didn't even notice! And I'm so certain I did them right!"
"I'd say all men should be castrated," Buffy suggested, "But then. what would they be good for?"
Willow giggled. "You always know just what to say, Buffy."
"One of my many talents," the Slayer said.
"What's this? A party without me?" Spike interrupted, emerging from a side-path through the bushes. "You gals move bloody fast. I was looking all round for you about a mile back."
Willow and Buffy exchanged glances. "Did he hear anything?" Willow mouthed. Buffy shrugged, wide-eyed.
"Keeping secrets, eh?" Spike said, watching them closely. " 'Secrets, secrets are no fun unless you share with everyone.'"
Willow rolled her eyes. "And you left preschool when?"
He raised an eyebrow at her. "Testy, are we?"
"Have a good smoke, Spike?" Buffy asked.
Spike looked back to her, confusion written across his features. "Since when do you care?"
Buffy did her best to look affronted. "Just being considerate."
"Right. Isn't it time for all good little Slayers to be in bed?"
"Is that a not-so-subtle hint to get me out of here?" Buffy asked sweetly.
"It'll get less subtle," he threatened, and then smiled. "But yes."
"It's fine, Buff," Willow assured her. "We'll do one last sweep and then head back to my place. We'll pick you and Dawn up in the morning."
"Peachy," Buffy said. "See you in the mawnin'."
Willow gave her friend a quick peck on the cheek. "Looking forward to Sephora."
"You better be," Buffy answered, and gave Spike a quick glare, just in case. "Take care of her."
Spike tilted his head and met his nemesis' gaze evenly. "When haven't I?"
This deep and meaningful moment between the two enemies was interrupted by the subject of their bonding. "Since when have I not been able to take care of myself?" Willow demanded.
Spike sighed. Buffy grinned. Willow raised an eyebrow. "I'll show you. I'll show you all. Spike, protect me? Ha! I'll protect *him*." She seized his hand and dragged him back towards the cemetery.
Buffy shook her head and turned towards home.
Soon after, it began to rain again.
Part Three: What A Glorious Feeling
Two lone figures could be seen in the darkness of the Mary Magdalen cemetery. Darkness shadowed their features. Soaked to the bone, they huddled pitifully together.
. Until the taller one burst into song: " 'I'm *sing*-in' in the rain. Just *sing*-in' in the rain.'"
And then, of course, his slightly shorter partner interrupted him in a higher octave: "'What a *glo*-ri-ous *feel*-in', I'm *ha*-ppy again.'"
" 'I *walk* down the lane.'"
" 'With a *ha*-ppy refrain.'"
And then, hands clasped, they lifted haggard faces to the deluge from the firmament and joined their voices in triumph.
" 'I'm *sing*-in', just singin' *in* the *rain*!'"
Spike laughed and opened his mouth to the downpour, gargling. "Aaaagh."
Willow rolled her eyes. "Please. Acid rain. It's probably acidic. I bet it's acidic. It'll make your throat break out in hives."
Spike raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Vampires don't get hives."
"I'm sure the Powers That Be will make an exception, just for you."
"Throat hives?"
"Whatever." Willow let go of Spike's hands and stretched her arms out, beaming close-eyed up at the grim sky. "I love it when it rains."
"It reminds me of." Spike began, and then stopped himself just in time.
". the music video for 'The Space Between'?" Willow asked cleverly.
"No," Spike said, too quickly. Willow laughed.
"I'm right, aren't I? I'm always right." She stepped directly into a puddle and mimicked a hold on an imaginary guitar. "Dunh dunh dunh dunh." She gave Spike an anticipatory look. "Well?"
Spike sighed. "Fine. Start again."
"Wait!" Willow fumbled with the ties that kept her long heavy hair in its now haphazard bun until they finally slipped out. Her hair plopped onto her shoulders wetly. "Okay." She stood straight again, took hold of her imaginary guitar, put her fingers on the strings and offered up the best sound she had: "Dunh dunh dunh dunh."
" 'You cannot quit me so quickly,'" Spike sang softly.
"Dunh dunh dunh dunh," Willow hummed, watching him closely.
" 'There's no hope in *you* for me.'"
"-Dunh dunh dunh dunh."
" 'No corner ya could *squeeze* me.'"
"Dunh dunh dunh dunh."
" '-But I got all the time for you, love.'"
Willow gave her best impersonation of the entering of another guitar and assorted string instruments and kept the beat with the tapping of her foot, which splashed gently in the puddle.
" 'The *space* bet-*ween* the tears we've cried is the laughter keeps us coming back for more. The *space* between the wicked *lies* we tell and *hope* to keep safe from the pain.'" Spike slowly focused his eyes on Willow, who had long since stopped her sound effects but whose fingers still twitched on imaginary guitar strings and whose foot still gently kept time.
" 'But will I hold you again? These fickle, fuddled words con-*fuse* me.'" Spike laughed shortly, " 'Like will it *rain* today? We waste the hours with talking, talking. These twisted games we're play-*ing*."
Willow's hands dropped from the air where she'd held her guitar and her foot stopped splashing. Spike closed his eyes and turned his face back up to the rainfall. He didn't stop singing, and Willow didn't stop watching him.
* * *
An hour and a half later, nearly all sung out and convinced they'd patrolled every single possible corner of Mary Magdalen, Willow and Spike headed home.
Ownership of Willow's parents' house had been passed to the redhead long ago, as Sheila and Ira Rosenberg were very nearly never home; after years of holding up against the pressure of her friends to make the house truly her own, Willow had gone out one weekend without telling anybody and completely redecorated.
No longer a bright, sterile white, she'd had the outside of the house painted a pale rosy color, with the roof and the shutters a darker shade. A sign swung from her porch roof just above the steps to the front door, a phrase taken from one of her favorite books. Gold letters on black paint, it read:
NONE OF THIS NONSENSE, PLEASE
Spike chuckled every time he saw that sign. Willow had finally thrown the book at him so at least he'd know the context, but knowing the origins of Willow's practical but amusing form of greeting had only made him laugh harder.
Inside, the floors were a dark cherry wood, every room homey and spacious. Willow's own room (formerly her parent's bedroom) was decorated with brightly colored silk scarves hanging on the walls and delicate white strings of lights bathing the space with a soft glow. A small wrought-iron daybed was nestled in front of the French windows and covered with a plethora of throw pillows and stuffed animals. One wall was completely lined with bookshelves and graced with a rolling ladder. Willow loved coming home.
Spike loved coming home with Willow.
The guestroom was very rarely used by anyone except himself, and he'd all but moved in anyhow. One near-dawn miss had led to "accident" after "accident" until both of them had admitted that, in theory, Spike *could* have managed to get home on time; Willow had simply smiled and opened her home to him, and he had accepted whole-heartedly. He and Willow usually ended their evenings with a cup of tea or hot chocolate (with those little marshmallows), curled up in armchairs in the living room, and usually it was Spike's duty to carry a sleeping redhead up the stairs, to clear a space on her crowded bed, and to tuck her in.
On other nights, though, their tradition varied. Willow might hop down the hall to Spike's bedroom in a sleeping bag, and they might watch late-night movies; Spike might dress in sweatpants and a T-shirt to sleep and then make his way to Willow's room, where he'd watch her brush and braid her hair and paint her toenails, and where they might tell stories.
For almost a year they'd been doing this, as well as patrolling together, bursting into random song together and even going grocery-shopping together, and it had taken until this very evening-when Spike had heard Willow commiserating with Buffy while he lurked in the bushes-for the vampire to realize that the feelings he'd been having lately meant that while he might not be in love, he was in serious like. As well as in lust.
Damn.
* * *
With great difficulty, leaning against the door, Willow squeezed a hand into her soaked jeans pocket and tried to extract her keys. "Mmph."
"Need some help there, luv?" Spike offered coyly.
Willow treated him to an undiluted Condescending Raised Eyebrow and finally managed to catch her keys. "A-ha! Stupid jeans. Don't you hate wearing soaked jeans?"
Willow unlocked the door, keeping an eye on Spike as he gestured to his own denims. "They're impossible. Do I have a change of clothes here?" he asked.
Willow pushed the front door open with her shoulder and stumbled inside, dropping the keys with a clatter on the hall table. Spike followed her inside and locked the door behind them.
Willow stopped to pull off a sneaker. She hopped precariously on one foot as she wrestled with her wet and sticky sock. "C'mere. I need a balancing assistant."
Spike grinned as Willow gripped his shoulder with one hand, finally triumphing over the sock. She threw it up the stairs in the vague direction of her bedroom. "Don't go anywhere!" she exclaimed when Spike was about to move away. "I have two feet you know."
When her shoes and socks were safely off her feet, Willow turned away and tripped up the stairs, picking up the socks she'd thrown as she went. "Check your room," she called down to Spike. "You should have some sweatpants left from last time. If you don't, I have some of Xander's clothes here." She turned towards her room and was gone from Spike's line of sight.
Spike smiled fondly after her and wondered why the Hell it had taken him so long to realize he liked Willow more than was strictly platonic. Perhaps it was because she wasn't much what he thought of as his type-he usually went for more striking girls, like Drusilla or Buffy with their undeniable good looks as well as their undeniable bosoms. That wasn't to say Willow wasn't good-looking. Not at all. And he wasn't about to complain about her proportions in the bosom department.
Spike groaned and rubbed his temples. This train of thought wasn't getting him anywhere.
He trudged up the stairs and lingered in the middle of the hallway, leaning slightly towards the left. Towards Willow's bedroom, where he could already hear a shower running and hear her singing faintly beneath the louder sound of water falling.
" 'Our love is so right. I won't waste a minute here tonight. Our love is so right. And tonight my dance is all about you.'"
Willow's voice trailed off, and Spike slowly turned towards the right, towards his own bedroom, humming softly.
" 'I'm going crazy. And it's all 'cause of you. I'm going under. over you.'"
* * *
Willow stepped gingerly out of the shower and reached for her towel, relieved to be clean and unsweaty at last. She bent and flipped her hair forward to wrap the thick locks in her towel and pulled her bathrobe around her slender frame. A gentle kick of her foot opened the bathroom door, and she inadvertently shivered as she entered her air-conditioned bedroom, billows of spice-scented steam following her.
She tiptoed to her bedroom door and peeked out, looking for a sign of Spike. No? Good. She closed her door and danced lightly to her CD player, which she turned on and then browsed through. Careful to keep the volume low and praying that nobody would ever find her out-as she'd never hear the end of it-Willow pressed play and skipped to her closet, searching for pajamas as the song began.
She dropped her bathrobe to the floor and replaced it with a long-sleeved T-shirt and loose pajama bottoms as she unconsciously began to sing along.
" 'You know. everything that I'm afraid of; You do. everything I wish I did; Everybody wants you, everybody loves you. I know. I should tell you how I feel; I wish. everyone would disappear. Every time you call me, I'm too scared to be me and I'm too shy to say.'"
Here Willow started bouncing lightly from side to side, shaking her damp hair loose from its impromptu turban and hopping around the room. " 'Oooh, I got a crush. on. you; I hope you feel. the way that I do. I get a rush. when I'm with you. Oooh, I got a crush on you. A crush on you.'"
Willow made her rhythmic way back into the bathroom and emerged momentarily with a small bottle of freesia-scented leave-in conditioner and a hairbrush. She continued her singing as she massaged the conditioner into her hair, shook her waves out and began to brush slowly.
" 'You know. I'm the one that you can talk to; Sometimes. you tell me things that I don't wanna know. I just wanna hold you! You say. exactly how you feel about her. I wonder, could you ever think of me that way?'"
Spike, hearing the bubblegum-esque beat from his bedroom, curiously toweled his hair dry, tugged the loose T-shirt back into place from where it hung, slightly crooked, on his shoulders and stepped into the hallway. He made his way to Willow's bedroom door, which stood slightly ajar and squinted in, biting his lip to keep himself from laughing at the sight of Willow singing into her hairbrush as though it were a mic.
" 'I got a crush. on. you; I hope you feel. the way that I do. I get a rush. when I'm with you. Oooh, I got a crush on you. A crush on you."
Unfortunately, at this interval Willow's eyes scanned the room and met Spike's peering amusedly through the door. Instead of blushing and scampering to turn off the CD, though, Willow just smiled and skipped to the door, flung it open, took Spike's hands and pulled him into the room, telling him frankly:
" 'Oh, I wish I could tell somebody but there's no-one to talk to, nobody knows I got a crush on you, a crush on you. I got a crush.'"
Spike laughed and let go one of Willow's hands. He lifted his arm and twirled her gently as the long instrumental played out. The scent of her shampoos, conditioners and soaps floated lightly in the air between them and Spike inhaled deeply.
He loved the way she smelled.
Damn again.
Willow lifted *her* arm and Spike bent a little to let himself be twirled, relishing her smile. Her shirt rode up her flat stomach slightly, treating Spike to a quick peek at her adorable belly button.
Willow broke away from him as the last verse began, spinning in circles on her own. "'You say. everything that no-one says, but I feel. everything that you're afraid to feel. I will always want you, I will always love you.'"
Her eyes couldn't help but flick up to meet Spike's at the last line, and a small smile tickled her lips. Spike swallowed and leaned forward to turn off the CD player.
The expression on Willow's face was hard to read, but Spike could tell she was hurt. He extended his hand and offered an apologetic smile. "I came to ask if you wanted hot cocoa, pet," he told her.
There was a significant pause that tore Spike's heart before Willow slowly placed her hands in his, and the smile she gave him was a poor mockery of her usual sunny grin.
"I'm sorry," Spike said, closing his fingers around hers.
"For what?" Willow asked, not looking at him.
"For. turning off." Spike gestured to the silent CD player. "I should have thought first."
"So should I," Willow said quickly. "Can we drop it, please?"
This was not going well at all. "No," Spike said. At a loss for anything else to say, he blurted, "I heard you and Buffy talking."
Willow's eyes widened. "You *what*?"
"It's naughty to eavesdrop, I know," Spike said unapologetically, "But I'd been through three smokes in about as many minutes and I just wanted to know what you talked about when I wasn't there. That's all."
Willow nodded slowly, her eyes still wide. "Uh huh. Can we *drop* it?"
"No," Spike growled, "Because you've got it in your thick little head that I don't like you, and you're wrong."
"I know you *like* me, and I know you just want to be friends and that's fine, Spike. Can we please, please drop it?"
"Do you have 'naked Spike-thoughts'?" Spike demanded. Willow looked away. "Well, fine then. I have naked *Willow*-thoughts."
Willow's mouth dropped open as her eyes swung back to meet his. "You what?"
"I have." Spike sighed. "You heard me. But it's not just that. I like walking with you, I like talking with you, I like singing with you, I like skipping along to "The Wizard of Oz" with you, I like having cocoa with you, I even like having bloody research parties with you. I like your friends because you like them even if they're a bunch of bloody wankers, I like your silly fluffy sweaters, I like your beaded jewelry, I like your Beanie Babies collection, I like the way your hair smells, I like your laugh, I like your smile, I like your Resolve Face, I like how hyper you get if you have too much coffee, I like the way you cry during old movies, *I* *like* *you*."
Somehow Willow still looked doubtful.
"What will it take for you to understand?"
Willow blinked slowly, and then:
"Wow," she said. She took a few steps backwards and sat on her bed with a plop, as if she were a marionette whose strings had just been cut. "*Wow.*"
"Do you believe me yet?" Spike asked, crouching in front of her. She looked down at him dazedly and he grinned. "Chin up, pet. Can't be that bad, a sexy bloke like me fancying you."
The corners of her lips twitched. "You really do?"
"I *really* do." Spike leaned forward, crossing his arms and balancing his elbows on Willow's knees. "Scout's honor."
Willow hesitantly stroked his cheek. "Wow." At his raised eyebrow, she said, "On cloud fourteen right now. Sorry if I'm kinda monosyllabic."
"Cloud *fourteen*, huh? Stroke for my ego."
"I'll stroke more than your ego," Willow informed him with a wink.
"*Willow!*.That a promise?"
Willow rolled her eyes. "You're incorrigible."
"I know."
Willow crossed her arms and laid them across his, leaned forward very slowly and carefully brushed her lips against his. Spike stretched up into the kiss and stroked his hand along her arm until he could tangle his fingers in her hair, pressing her closer.
At long last they separated. Willow gazed down at him with stars in her eyes. "Wow."
"I've been getting a lot of that this evening," Spike commented smugly, and then added, "But, yeah, I'd have to agree. *Wow.*"
Willow laughed and took his hand. "Cocoa?"
He smiled at her. "Sure."
They stood together and walked with their hands still tightly clasped to the kitchen. Somehow, they managed to warm milk in a pan, set out cocoa mix, sugar and vanilla, mix each drink and not spill anything using only one hand each.
They just didn't want to let go.
Willow hopped up onto the counter and braced herself with the hand that held Spike's. Probably her hand would cramp from being kept in the same position for such a long time, but she didn't care. She smiled at Spike, who stood between her pajama-clad legs with a chocolate moustache on his upper lip. She leaned forward and delicately licked it away and gave him a quick kiss. "Chocolate," she said by way of explanation.
Spike smiled and raised his mug. Willow did the same, and they paused to think of a toast.
"To us," Spike said. That one was obvious. They knocked mugs and took sips.
"To air conditioners that enable us to have cocoa in ninety-degree weather," Willow suggested. They drank again.
"To the Slayer," Spike said. Willow looked at him, surprised. "Because if she hadn't pestered you about me, we might not be right here right now," he elaborated, and couldn't help adding, "'S not like I like her or anything. Bloody busybody."
Willow kicked him in the side lightly. "That toast *was* fine."
They drank again.
Every sip was a toast-to Dave Matthews Band was one; to Mandy Moore was another, once Willow explained who Mandy Moore was to Spike. They toasted the cemetery, for being patrolable; they toasted the air conditioner at the Magic Box for breaking; they toasted the insane weather, for raining; they toasted Judy Garland for being Dorothy in "The Wizard of Oz"; they toasted Daw; they toasted Xander and Anya, and finally they ran out of cocoa.
They ran water into their mugs and adjusted their grip on each other's hands. As they walked up the stairs, Willow gently hummed,
" 'Our love is so right.'"
" 'Forget the clouds that rain on your light,'" Spike added softly
" 'Our love is so right.'"
" 'And tonight my dance is all about you,'" Spike whispered. They paused on the top step to kiss softly, and then stood awkwardly in the hallway between their two bedrooms.
"You could. sleep with me, if you want," Willow suggested. "I don't think. That is, if you promise to behave. For tonight."
Spike brightened. "Yeah?"
"Only if you're very, very good," Willow said primly.
Spike leaned in to nuzzle her cheek. "What if I'm very, very bad?"
Willow shivered at the low tone of his voice but managed to keep her own voice steady. "No misbehaving," she said decisively.
Spike sighed. "I can behave."
* * *
While Willow brushed her teeth and braided her hair for the night, Spike gently rid her small bed of all of its stuffed occupants. "Sorry, mates," he told some particularly dejected-looking ones. "'S my turn now." He grinned.
Willow reentered her bedroom with her hair French-braided into two pigtails and gestured to the bed. "What side do you want?"
"You need a bigger bed, luv," Spike commented, but got in and gestured to the empty space next to him. "Hop in."
"You promise to behave?" Willow said suspiciously.
"Promise."
Willow gently lay down next to Spike, pressing her back against his chest. She stretched her arm out to set her alarm clock, but Spike stopped her hand. "Nah, don't bother," he said.
"I have to get up to go with Buffy to take Dawn to school!" Willow protested.
"I'll get you up," Spike informed her. "You sleep in."
"But-"
"I'll have breakfast ready for you," Spike said. "It'll take awhile. I'm making scrambled eggs."
He could hear Willow's heartbeat speed up. "R-really?"
"Only for you," he told her, and draped an arm across her waist.
Willow smiled and lifted his hand to her mouth to kiss it softly. Then she laid her arm along his. Spike spooned snugly against her back, and they slept.
~Part: 4~
"All right, Slayer," Spike muttered impatiently. "I've been here for *bloody* hour now, let's just get it over with."
Spike stood alone in the middle of Sunnydale's usually more populated cemeteries, and the one that he himself resided in. On any normal day, Buffy would have been out patrolling at least an hour and a half ago, but so far she hadn't showed up.
All Spike wanted to do was let her give him the inevitable "If you hurt her, I'll kill you" speech and some punches for good measure so he could go home, to Willow, but of course on the one night that he *wanted* to see the Slayer, *wanted* her to beat up on him (just a little! Not a lot!), the bloody bitch was nowhere to be found.
She was always around when she wasn't needed, too. Bloody nosey idiot.
"Damn it!" Spike growled, sitting on a headstone. "Is it *really* so much to ask?"
Willow was probably at home now-listening to music, singing along, perhaps making some hot chocolate, all without him and why? Because the Slayer was skipping out on her sacred duty.
Nothing is worse than boredom except for boredom with the knowledge that your time could be spent far more constructively.
Kissing Willow, for instance.
Spike tapped his foot to some unknown rhythm against Haley Montague's final resting place and sighed. "Dum de dum."
Singing in graveyards was no fun without Willow there.
"I don't care!" Spike announced to the graves all around him. "I don't care! Buffy can beat up on me tomorrow, then!"
He hopped off the headstone and turned west, heading towards Willow's house on Westminster Drive.
He'd only walked a few steps before Buffy showed up.
"Spike! Fancy seeing you here." She sauntered casually towards him, hands clasped behind her back.
"Slayer," Spike said, steeling himself. Then he did a double take. "You look nice."
Buffy looked surprised but pleased. "Thank you."
And she did. Look nice, that is. Today had been the day she and Willow had gone out together for some 'girl time,' and it seemed they'd taken it to the extreme. Buffy's hair was newly trimmed, layered and re-tinted with gold. Spike thought there were some strange shadows until Buffy turned her head and he realized that the darkness he'd been seeing streaked throughout her hair was actually chunks of green and blue.
She smelled strongly of nail polish, which made sense, as both her fingers and toes were French-manicured, and her clothes-knee-length maroon skirt, black tank top and platform sandals-smelled like they'd never been worn before.
"Willow and I had a lot of fun," Buffy said cheerfully, and then her mood abruptly changed. "Speaking of Willow," she said grimly. "Why the *hell* are you standing out here like a dork in the middle of the cemetery? Willow said she was expecting you!"
Spike was taken aback. "*What*? I was waiting for you to come and kick my ass so that I could go home!"
Buffy shook her head. "That makes so little sense it's pathetic, Spike."
"Excuse me?" Spike demanded, furious. "You're supposed to hunt me down, give me the same long, tiresome speech I'll have to get from all of you bloody White-Hats about how if I hurt Willow, you'll use my guts for garters-" (here Buffy made a face at the imagery. Spike ignored her.) "-And then you're supposed to give me a moderate beating, just to remind me who's in charge, and then I would crawl home to Willow and we would never, ever, ever talk about what transpired unless I did hurt Willow and then I'd meet the sociable end of Mr. Pointy!"
Thoroughly out of breath, though he didn't need to breathe, Spike paused and gave Buffy a loaded glare. She appeared to be amused.
Spike didn't much appreciate being a source of mirth for his worst enemy.
"Well?"
Buffy laughed. "Spike, Willow would wear *my* guts for garters if I beat up her boyfriend. Are you telling me you've been standing around for almost two hours waiting for me to whoop your ass?"
Spike clenched his jaw and decided that some statements were far too ridiculous to be graced with answers.
"That's so pathetic!" Buffy was really cracking up now. Spike rolled his eyes and crossed his arms and waited impatiently for the Slayer to get ahold of herself.
"Are you quite done?" he asked politely when there seemed to be a break in Buffy's hysterics.
Buffy looked up at him, panting, and gasped, "You are the funniest guy, do you know that?"
She started laughing again.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Spike swore under his breath, and then swore again when he realized he'd used one of Angelus' favorite expletives.
"Look, Spike," Buffy said consolingly after she'd got herself under some kind of control, "Under normal circumstances-say, if you were human-I might make some sort of threat. But really, you know what I'd do to you if you hurt Willow, and you can also figure that whatever I'd do, I'd be doing it to whatever Anya's vengeance friends, Giles with some archaic weapons and Xander with a four-by-four would have left. So."
"How comforting," Spike remarked sulkily.
"Look, Spike, if you really want me to, I'll beat you up next week. It's just-" Buffy sighed and looked despairingly at her French manicure. "I just got my nails done, and no matter how careful I was punching you, I'd probably break one. So you'll have to wait."
"Oh, that's lovely!" Spike exclaimed. "Put on hold for the Slayer's bloody manicure! Just peachy." His jaw clenched again.
"If you're not careful," Buffy pointed out kindly, "You'll grind your teeth down like that. Come on, I'll walk you back to Willow's." She winked at him, giving Spike a glimpse of silver eyeliner. "She looks great, by the way."
Spike, utterly bewildered, walked next to Buffy quietly for a good seven minutes before he said, "I still don't get it."
"I think you really like her," Buffy said. "And she really does like you. You don't seem that bad, now that you're not trying to kill us anymore, and. Yeah."
Spike raised his eyebrows and lowered them again, surprised. "I've got the Slayer Seal of Approval, then? Is that it?"
"Don't sound so disappointed," Buffy said tartly. She sneaked a mischievous glance up at Spike. "If you feel like you haven't really *earned* the Slayer Seal of Approval, then tell me exactly how you feel about Willow."
Spike paused, confused. "What?"
"You have to *sing* it," Buffy explained gleefully. "Pick a song, any song, and make it good!"
Spike's jaw dropped. "You're joking."
"Nope." Buffy looked disgustingly pleased with herself. "Hop to it!"
Spike was completely incredulous. "You can't be serious."
"You bet I am, buster. Dancing's a plus."
"*Dancing*!"
Buffy pushed herself up onto a nearby headstone and sat expectantly, swinging her legs back and forth.
Shit. She *was* serious. She meant it!
<How do I get myself into these messes?> Spike wondered silently, and without warning, dropped into a tense crouch. Buffy snickered.
" 'My defenses are down-'" Spike stood and began walking around casually. " 'She's broken my resistance and I don't know where I am!'"
Here he executed an impressive impromptu backflip. " 'I went into the fight like a lion, and I came out like a lamb.'"
* * *
"You look gorgeous!" Spike exclaimed when Willow opened the door. She'd had her hair redyed with henna (Spike could smell it) and streaked with gold. She, too, had a French manicure, but hers was sparkly, with little studs towards the bottom of each fingernail.
"Hey!" she said happily, and gave him a hug, waving to Buffy, who stood behind him. "What took you guys so long?"
"Spike was waiting in Restfield for me to beat him up," Buffy said matter-of-factly.
Willow shot Spike a confused look before standing aside and letting him and Buffy enter. "Okay."
"It was this whole thing," Buffy said, obviously relishing the chance to describe Spike's foolishness. Spike shot her a death-glare, but it didn't work. Fortunately, Buffy had some pity on him and said, "Spike'll explain. But he sang! From 'Annie, Get Your Gun.' It was great."
Willow looked thrilled. "Really?"
Spike rolled his eyes. "It wasn't that wonderful, love. You didn't miss anything."
Willow pouted, but then grinned. "Okay. Buffy!" she said, shifting her attention to her best friend. "Don't you have somewhere else to be at." She checked her watch. "Eleven-thirty PM?"
Buffy sighed but took the not-so-subtle hint. "Yeah, yeah. I'll go patrol." She winked at Willow and Spike. "You kids behave, okay?"
Spike coughed. Willow smacked him lightly on the arm and gave Buffy a hug and peck on the cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
Buffy grinned and returned the peck. "Sure thing. And if he sings any more, promise you'll tell me all about it."
"You betcha." Willow smiled brightly at Spike. He grinned back, happy to finally be back with her.
Buffy left, closing the front door softly behind her.
Spike waited for a moment, listening for returning footsteps in gigantic shoes, but they were thankfully not forthcoming. He bent a little to press his lips to Willow's. She kissed him back softly and then said, " 'Annie, Get Your Gun,' huh?"
"Oy!" Spike exclaimed. "Is that gonna haunt me for the rest of my days? Because I've got a lot of them left."
"What did you sing?" Willow asked.
"I sang 'My Defenses Are Down,' and then Buffy sang 'You Can't Get a Man With a Gun,' which was actually really funny, and then we finished off with a resounding chorus of 'I Can Do Anything.'"
Willow raised her eyebrows, impressed. "Wish I'd been there."
Spike groaned. "My singing talent has become a laughingstock."
Willow looked surprised. "No, it hasn't. I just wish I'd been there for 'I Can Do Anything.' The two of you are such rivals anyway."
"Mortal enemies, maybe," Spike said, bristling slightly, "But not *rivals*. That sounds so trivial."
"Hey, cutie, calm down," she said with a smile, taking his face in her hands. "It's okay," she added patronizingly, and then eliminated any further protests he might have had by kissing him soundly.
"My defenses *are* down," he remarked smugly once they separated.
Willow had an even more self-satisfied look on her face. "Oh, indeed?"
Spike grinned. "Indeed. Is there hot cocoa? With the marshmallows?"
Willow rolled her eyes, but took his hand. "Let's go make some."
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, they sat in Spike's bedroom on the carpet, mugs of hot cocoa on coasters beside them. Spike held his guitar in his lap and was tuning it intently.
"There is something *wrong*," he muttered, annoyed.
Willow held her arms out for the guitar, strummed a chord, twisted a knob incrementally and handed it back. "There."
Spike's mouth twisted ruefully. "How is that fair?"
Willow grinned. "It's not. I just have perfect pitch." Her smile grew.
"Fine, rub it in." Spike strummed a chord. "Perfect." He started fluidly picking out the introductory notes to "Californication." " 'Psychic spies from China try to steal your mind's elation, little girls from Sweden dream of silver-screen quotation, and if you want these kinds of dreams it's Californication.'"
Willow joined in. " 'It's the edge of the world in all of western civilization. The sun may rise in the East, at least it settles in a final location. It's understood that Hollywood sells Californication.'"
"Oddly appropriate, seeing as we're mere miles from Hollywood itself," Spike said, pausing to take a sip of his cocoa.
"I'm sure every single other person in California has thought of that," Willow pointed out, amused.
Spike rolled his eyes and put the cocoa down. "Probably." He peered at her half-full mug of cocoa. "Are you going to drink that?"
"Yup. Sing something else," Willow half-commanded.
Spike looked thoughtful as his fingers wandered across the strings of the guitar, stroking out notes so soft they were barely audible. "Hmmm. 'When the world ends, collect your things; you're coming with me when the world ends. You tuckle up yourself with me, watch it as the stars disappear to nothing. The day the world is over, we'll be lying in bed.'"
Spike lifted his eyes from where they were intently watching the guitar strings to meet Willow's clear gaze. " 'I'm gonna rock you like a baby when the cities fall. We will rise as the buildings crumble, float there and watch it all. Amidst the burning, we'll be churning. You know, love will be our wings. The passion rises up from the ashes when the world ends.'"
<Wow.> That was all Willow could think. She loved Dave Matthews Band and had listened to all of their CDs so many times, but somehow she'd never realized exactly how sexually loaded "When the World Ends" was until Spike sang it, looking at her like. like.
<Wow.>
" 'When the world ends, you're gonna come with me, we're gonna be crazy like a river bends, we're gonna float through the criss-cross of the mountains, watch them fade to nothing when the world ends. You know that's what's happening now, I'm gonna be there with you somehow, oh.'"
Willow gulped when the look in Spike's eyes intensified at the next chorus. He looked like he wanted to devour her.
Upon reflection, that didn't sound too bad.
" 'I'm gonna tie you up like a baby in a carriage car. Your legs don't work 'cause you want me so you just lie spread to the wall, the love you got is surely all the love that I would ever need! I'm gonna take you by my side and love you tall 'til the world ends.'"
<Wow.>
Spike tilted his head a little and closed his eyes for the next few lines. " 'But don't you worry 'bout a thing.'"
Willow cut him off by leaning forward over the guitar and kissing him. He smiled against her mouth and moved the guitar away so that he could pull her into his lap. "What, don't like my singing?" He pouted.
<Irresistible!> Willow kissed him again. "No. I like your singing a little *too* much."
"Oh, really? Am I making you all hot and bothered?"
The glee on his face was almost palpable. Willow grinned and touched her nose to his. "You're so cute."
Spike looked offended. "I'm not cute! I'm dangerous, sexy, irresistible, gorgeous, indescribably handsome and I have, on occasion, been accurately called adorable but I am *not* cute. Pets are cute. I'm not a pet."
"You're my pet," Willow said. She chuckled. "I've got a pet Spike!"
"Good God."
"You called?"
Spike snorted and reached for his guitar. Willow shifted in his lap so he could hold the guitar on top of her legs. "Can you actually see the guitar?" she asked. "I don't think I'm quite that skinny."
"I'll manage," he said, and fumbled on the guitar strings for the right note. ".If I could just get started."
Willow laughed and sucked her stomach in. "Does that help?"
"No." Spike finally settled on a chord. "Here we go. 'Pick me up, love!'" he began.
" 'Pick me up, love,'" Willow responded, " 'Everyday!'"
Spike's arm brushed against her stomach every time he moved it. Willow smiled and laid her hand over his gently, thankful she wasn't too ticklish.
" 'Pick me up, love, from the bottom, up to the top, love, everyday. Pay no mind to taunts or advances; I take my chances on everyday. Left to right, up and down, love. I push up love, love, everyday. Jump in the mud, oh, get your hands dirty with, love it up on everyday.'"
Willow loved singing with Spike. They sounded so. right together, their voices twining so perfectly, in harmony.
" 'All you need is, all you want is, all you need is *love*. All you need is, what you want is, all you need is *love*, oh.'"
Willow could only play a few chords on guitar-the main one being E flat diminished ninth. It seemed to greatly amuse Spike that while she couldn't manage a basic A minor, she could tune and pick out an E flat diminished ninth in half the time it took him.
Willow twisted around to kiss Spike again, trying to keep a hold on the guitar at the same time. Spike leaned forward to meet her and put the guitar to the side. " 'All you need is love.'" he hummed, changing the tune.
" 'All you need is love,'" Willow echoed.
" 'All you need is love-love,'" they sang together. " 'Love is all you need.'"
There wasn't much more talking-or singing-that night.
THE END