Emotional content - nothing higher than the series.
Disclaimer: I do not own anyone from the show Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
Distribution: any lists that I send this to, WLS, Bite Me, Cat, Feen, Soulmates, WWW - anyone else please ask
note: set in AU season 6. Many thanks to Gabrielle for her encouragement and for the beta-reading.
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Willow stared into her closet, feeling an unfamiliar nervousness. She had a date with Spike tonight. She could try to tell herself that they were just going to listen to some poetry, that they were just trying to be friends, but it was still a date. What should she wear for this? What did you wear to go listen to poetry with the guy who'd broken your heart, but who you still loved?
It was too bad that she didn't have anyone to ask for advice. But who could she explain the whole mess to? The parts about vampires, and no-longer-dead-ex-best-friends and, well...and Sunnydale. Willow shuddered at the image of trying to explain those things to someone else. Maybe she should just try to figure out what she wanted her wardrobe to say, and then see if she had something to manage it?
This whole dating-wardrobe mess was hard. Her hand settled over a fuzzy pink sweater, and she smiled. It had been the one that she'd been wearing all those years ago, when he'd kidnapped her and Xander and locked them in the old factory. It still looked good on her, and there were memories. He'd said that she looked lovely in that sweater, good enough to eat. That settled things enough for her to figure out the rest. Something casual, but not so insecure-teenagerish as the original outfit. Grabbing a pair of jeans and using a wisp of magic to drag out a pair of purple sneakers, she smiled. Outfit planned, her hair would just have to do, although maybe a little spray to keep it under control.
She was nervous. What if this went badly, and he hated the poetry? What if it went wonderfully, and she wanted to throw herself back into his arms, as if the whole nightmare had never happened? Shaking her head, she changed her clothing, expecting that the evening would probably fall somewhere in between.
She fussed with her hair, and debated makeup, wanting to look beautiful. Then, she frowned, and pushed the makeup away, not wanting Spike to think that she was desperate to win him back. Willow sighed, and tried to calm her nerves. Things would unfold however they would, regardless of how nervous or calm she was, or how she dressed.
Trying to think hopeful thoughts, she made her way to the front of the building to wait on the steps for Spike. Settling on the low wall beside the stairs, she sighed. This vulnerable waiting felt miserable, and she really hoped that he didn't keep her waiting too long, or stand her up.
"You look smashing, luv." Spike's voice was the most wonderful sound that Willow had heard in a long time.
She turned to look at him, surprised that he had abandoned his usual look for a pair of faded blue jeans and a shirt in soft gray, bearing letters and an unfamiliar flag that had a distinctly sportish cast. The shirt looked vaguely familiar, though she couldn't quite place it. "I'm glad to see you too."
"Ready to go listen to poetry?" He held one hand out to her, offering to help her down from the wall, even if she didn't really need that much help.
"I guess so." She let him help her down from the wall, the gesture hinting at the gentleman that he'd once admitted to having been, long ago when he was mortal. He'd also mumbled something about not being a very good gentleman, though he'd refused to elaborate. With a little grin, Willow admitted, "I know I've seen that flag on your shirt before, and I'm trying to place it."
"Manchester United" He chuckled, and his hand slid along hers until their fingers could entwine, and he slid his between hers. "As I've been saying for years, it's a much better sport than that pathetic game you Americans call football."
She giggled, and shook her head. "Well, I never quite got the appeal of football either, so I can't explain it to you."
They spoke of simple things, ordinary things that they could have talked about if they'd been normal people with normal lives instead of a witch born and raised on a Hellmouth and a vampire who'd lived for over a century. Willow felt better as she led him to the small almost-club for the poetry reading. They took a seat, and Willow absently picked up one of the slender menus, opening it to look inside. "They've got onion blossoms here, but I have no idea if they're any good or not. I normally stick to the breadsticks."
"I might as well find out." He offered her a small smile as his hand shuffled the salt and pepper shakers around. "So, what can I expect from tonight?"
Willow blinked as it dawned on her that Spike was actually nervous. He was nervous, just like she was, and that made her feel much better. "Well, I guess we find out how good the onion blooms are as we listen to a couple of hours of aspiring poets. I'm not sure how good or bad they might be, but we'll find out. Maybe go for a little walk outside, around part of the campus afterwards, if you don't want to rush away."
"I wouldn't want to rush away from you, Willow." The soft words were almost drowned out by the background noise.
Willow smiled, reaching out to let her fingers brush against his. She wanted to believe him, wanted to be able to trust him again.
The waitress came over, someone that Willow vaguely remembered seeing at the building where she had her math class, and they placed their orders, coffee for Willow, cocoa for Spike, and an onion bloom to split. As it turned out, the onion wasn't bad, though it wasn't remarkably good either, and the poetry ranged from not too bad to good to weird.
Willow realized that Spike was watching her more than the poets, and it gave her a fluttery, happy feeling, as well as making her blush a little. When the readings ended, she stood up, leaving some money on the table for the food, and started towards the door, Spike once again holding her hand. It seemed almost like a pleasant blur as they walked outside into the cool night air.
They'd walked for a while, just quietly being together, before he spoke. "I used to write poetry, before. When I was a young man living in London."
Willow looked at him in surprise. She hadn't expected the confession, and didn't quite understand why he seemed like he wasn't sure he wanted to say it. "Really? Did you have anything published?"
"No, I never got published." His fingers tightened a bit on hers, the grip just shy of painful. "Truth is. I wasn't very good."
"You weren't?" Willow blinked, and put her hand on his cheek, looking into his eyes. "I can't quite see you doing badly at something that you put your mind to."
"I can make a right mess of things sometimes." His voice was soft, and he lowered his head, until they were almost touching. "I want to do better here, this time."
Willow moved, wrapping her arm around him and just leaning against him. "I hope so. Maybe someday you can be one of the hopeful poets up there?"
"Ehhh, don't count on it, luv. They were the real reason that I first came to be William the Bloody - it was short for William the Bloody Awful Poet." He sounded distinctly nervous.
"Then maybe you'll just be willing to let me see? If you ever write anything new, that is." Her voice was soft, and she wasn't certain how he'd react. He'd said once that he'd changed a lot since he was human, maybe he wouldn't want to let her know anything about the man that he'd been. Only the vampire that he'd become. Would he understand that it wasn't just a request to see the poetry, but an invitation for him to stick around, to stay in her life?
For a moment, he was silent, his body suddenly tense. His fingers slowly found her chin, and tilted her head so that he could look into her eyes. "Maybe. If I ever write anything. I think. maybe you'd understand that sometimes, it's the effort, not how well you actually succeed."
Willow smiled, and leaning against him and letting herself hope. "Sometimes all we can do is try."
"All of me, this time." He whispered, arms holding tight around her. "All of me, and all of you. No more holding back, no more thinking that you couldn't understand."
"I want to know you, the good and the bad both." Willow insisted, her stomach feeling quivery and tense. "Nobody's perfect, and since I know I'm not, why should I expect you to be?"
"Maybe it's the balance of light and darkness inside that makes us more interesting." Spike murmured, contentedly holding her. "You're all fire and shadow, Willow."
"Marble and shadow and moonlight." Willow murmured, enjoying his embrace. Maybe this would work out after all.
End
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