Willow hesitated in front of the door, her fist in
mid-air, poised to knock. She squeaked and stepped
back as the door suddenly swung open.
Spike grinned down at the little redhead "Coming in?
Or are you just inspecting the fine woodwork on my
front--"
"How long have you known I've been standing here?" she
asked, mildly annoyed.
"I've been watching," he confessed gesturing toward
the window.
"Oh," she replied and shifted nervously from one foot
to the other. "Got a minute? I mean, if you don't,
that's okay. I can just--"
"Pet, I've got centuries. C'mon in," he stepped back
and reached for her hand to usher her inside.
She followed him into the living room, where he sat
down and picked up a mug from the table beside his
chair. He looked disgustedly at its contents before
downing it quickly.
"I hate this," he said and put the mug back. "Sorry,
luv. You probably didn't want to see that."
"It's okay," she grinned and sank down onto the sofa
across from him. "Actually, I just came to ask you a
question."
"You can't have it back," he told her.
"What?" her confused eyes darted over to him.
"The picture. If you came to ask for it, you can't
have it back."
"Oh. No, I wasn't going to...I mean, I don't want it
back."
"Good," he smiled.
"You do still have it though, right?" she asked,
suddenly worried. "You haven't--"
"I still have it," he promised. "Ask away, then.
Whatever you want."
"You don't know the question, yet," she cautioned him.
He slid slightly forward in his chair and pierced her
with his eyes, "Well, I would if you'd ask it."
"Right. It's probably a stupid idea, anyway. You don't
have to say yes if you don't want to--"
"Willow, ask!" he demanded.
She nodded apologetically and took a breath, "There's
a concert, an open-air concert, on campus tonight, and
Buffy said she doesn't need us to help her patrol. So,
I wondered if maybe you'd like to--"
Her eyes dropped away from him, and he reached over to
brush his fingers over hers, "Go with you?"
"I told you it was a stupid idea. I mean, listening to
an orchestra is probably the last thing you want to
do. I just couldn't stand the idea of another night
all alone in that dorm room, and I was whining to
Buffy about it, and then, for some reason, she made a
big deal about not needing us tonight, and I--" she
sighed and stood up. "Never mind. I shouldn't even
have--"
"I'll go," he said softly, standing up and curling his
hand around hers to prevent her stepping away.
Her green eyes glittered up at him, "You will?"
"A beautiful woman shows up on my doorstep to ask me
to come out and listen to music under the stars? I'd
be a fool to refuse."
She blushed uncomfortably and looked away from him
again, "You're nice."
One corner of his mouth quirked upward, "That's a new
one."
She laughed softly and quickly added, "In a demonic
sort of way."
"Much better," he chuckled.
***
Spike had chosen a grassy spot under a tree well away
from the rest of the audience. The soft strains of
Pachelbel drifted across the lawn, but in truth, he
was much more captivated by the redhead's quiet
conversation. He looked over at her as she rested her
head against the trunk of the tree, eyes closed, legs
stretched out in front of her, ankles crossed.
"Tired?" he asked, leaning back next to her, his
shoulder just pressing against hers.
"Mmmm, it's nice," she answered contentedly, then
opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him.
"Are you bored out of your mind?"
He smiled and shook his head, "What were you thinking,
just now?"
"How perfect this evening is, and how glad I am that
you agreed to share it with me," she answered, then
blushed softly as she realized what she'd said.
He'd been concerned she was brooding over her wolf,
again, and his smile widened a bit at her confession
that she'd been thinking of him.
"I'm glad, too," he said.
"Spike?"
"Yeah."
"Thank you," she said softly.
"For what, pet?"
"For everything," she answered. "For letting me tell
you things I can't tell anyone else. I don't know why
it's so easy to talk to you. Maybe because you know
what it feels like to have to let go when you don't
really want to."
"And are you? Letting go?" he asked.
"It's getting easier," she told him. "Because of you."
"Willow, I don't want this to be about me. You have to
let go for yourself, because you want to, or--"
"That's what I'm trying to say," she responded. "You
help me see that. Everyone else just tiptoes around it
or treats me like an emotional invalid. I know they
only do that because they care about me, and they
don't like to see me hurting. But it doesn't help,
much. You make me look at it, head-on, and deal with
it, deal with the pain and the anger and the
frustration. Even when I don't want to. Even when I'd
rather crawl into a hole and pull it in over me."
She leaned closer against him and rested her hand over
his.
"It's scary sometimes, you know? Like walking a
tightrope without a net. I want to let go, but I'm
worried I'll fall, and he won't be there to catch me,"
she paused and smiled softly, "And now you're going to
tell me I shouldn't need anyone to catch me."
He returned the smile and placed his other hand over
hers, "You're much stronger than you give yourself
credit for, pet."
"But people aren't normally solitary creatures," she
pointed out. "Sometimes, we need to know someone will
be there if we fall, even if it's just so we can show
that someone our bruises."
"I'd do that for you," he said quietly.
Her eyes met his, and she nodded, "I believe you
would."
He squeezed her hand and shifted a little to allow her
head to rest against his shoulder. They listened to
the music in comfortable silence for a few minutes
until he bent his head to speak next to her ear.
"You say it's getting easier. Care to prove that,
ducks?"
"How?" she asked.
"Let go, just a little. Let me tear up that picture."
She lapsed back into silence, considering his request.
"You won't fall, luv," he prodded. "And even if you
do, I'll help you back up."
She tilted her head to look up into his eyes,
"Promise?"
"On my unlife," he grinned slightly.
"Okay," she whipsered.
"Tear it up?" he asked hopefully.
"Tear it up," she agreed.
End.