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Hanging Out -- by Luisa
Rating: G
Description: Willow and Spike find each other.
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns all.
I.
Hanging out at Giles' wasn't much fun. No music, no hunks, no Riley...hunk. Buffy stared at an empty wall, picturing Riley's smile. Warming her face like a big, bright sun. His arms around her waist, pressing into her spine until it hurt just a little, but felt so right and so good that she didn't mind. Riley's voice on his tongue, as he began kissing her slowly, sensuously, vibrantly...
"Slayer, you're drooling. Do I need to get a mop?" Spike glanced at her, bending down to pick up a newspaper. A shiny black mug seemed to have grown on his fingers. Every time Buffy saw him, he seemed to hold one.
"Eating again, Spike? You're lucky vamps don't get flab."
"Contrary to Slayers. I notice a little extra flesh wasting away around the hip-area. *Buffy*."
"You do *not*! Where?! Where????", Buffy yelled, checking her body for such monstrous evidence of her failure to lose weight. Spike smirked and turned his back, stretching out on the couch casually. Opening the paper, he ignored the girl. Buffy pouted and glared at his indifference.
"One of these days, mister, you're gonna find yourself in an urn." Getting up, she opened the curtains brutally, a shaft of sunlight missing the vampire by bare inches.
"HEY! WATCH IT, YOU SLOPPY *MORON*!", Spike snarled furiously, jumping off the couch. It was Buffy's turn to laugh. She didn't. A glimmer of triumph darted across her face before she returned to her weekly weapon check-up. Spike remained standing for a few seconds before deciding his safety-zone was safe once more. Rustling the paper angrily, he braced himself for the world's calamities which seemed rather tame compared to a vindictive Slayer. A door banged and Willow arrived.
"Hey guys! Stuck indoors on a sunny day...? Aw...", she chirped merrily, glancing at her friends. Red hair framed a funny, white face with large, green eyes. Spike peeped from behind the paper and nibbled on his lip moodily.
"Hey Will...this has got to win the Most-Boring-Day award! It's been so...yawny so far.", Buffy moaned, glancing sharply at Spike. He didn't look up.
"No Riley to provide the happies? Here, have some candy.", she offered, reaching out a bar of Buffy's favourite chocolate. The blonde girl immediately brightened and accepted. A shade of the most perplexed anxiety clouded her face a moment later.
"Will, I'm not fat around the hips, am I? Tell me the worst. I can deal." A contemptuous snort was heard from the opposite end of the room. Willow frowned at the Sunnydale Times before laying a compassionate hand on her best friend's shoulder. "No! Not *you*...you're pretty and...*skinny*!" Buffy opened her mouth in shock. "Skinny?! SKINNY???" Spike burst into a fit of chuckles, folding up the newspaper for the first time and enjoying the show. Willow imperiously gestured at him to stay out of it, gaining a highly diverted smirk in return.
"That didn't come out right. I meant...*SLENDER*, Buffy...I meant Christy Turlington." Buffy looked up, eyes gleaming with relief. Her day wasn't a total waste. Drawing out a chair, she made Willow sit down. Spike inched closer to catch the imminent girl talk.
"Where is Riley, anyway?", Willow asked cautiously, helping herself to the few remaining crumbs of the vanquished chocolate.
"In Iowa. With the dogs and the cows...and-"
"The hay. Perfect for a roll or two.", Spike tossed in, guzzling his lunch.
Buffy gave him her most crushing look before hitting him over the head with a magazine. Willow jumped.
"Hey! Girlie mags *hurt*, alright? Choose a bloody wrench next time!"
"How about one right now?"
Willow gazed around like a lost butterfly.
"S-So...he's I-Iowing. So? He'll be back in no time. You'll see!"
"Yeah. The thing is I miss him. It's kind of a shock finding out you miss someone you're not sure you-"
"Wanna take a tumble with? It's definitely unnatural, I can tell ya that."
Looking for something potentially maiming, Buffy reached for Mr Pointy, pointing it in front of her with a flourish. Spike shrugged. "Very impressive..." Turning away, he headed back to his perch. Willow sighed in relief. Whispering into her friend's ear, she ventured a prying question. "So, how are things in the tumbling department?" Buffy gasped in horror. "Tumbling...?!" Willow hastened to pour soothing balm on the scratch she had inflicted. "Sorry. I meant...uh-hum.", she coughed.
"Oh. Pretty dead right now.", Buffy sighed.
"Now *there's* a sign of good taste.", a callous voice stepped in.
"Shut up, before I show you a sign of *my* exquisite taste." Silence replied.
Rising from her comfortable seat, Buffy headed towards the kitchen in search of a drink. The sight of Giles' fridge turned her stomach. Nothing but Spike written all over it. Bags and bags of blood. Squishy, ice-cold, nauseating blood. His frozen meals...
II.
"Red, be a love. Pass me the remote." Spike begged, cocking a pleading eyebrow at the young redhead. Willow looked up from her copy of Seventeen.
"Spike, according to this article, girls should assert themselves around guys. So...no. Sorry...", she shrugged apologetically. Spike sighed, lifting naughty eyes from his own article.
"First of all, I'm no "guy". I'm undead. I bet that bloody article doesn't cover the vamp department, now does it? Second, I'm reading one that goes on and on about how men's masculinity is threatened by this whole Girl-Power crap. It's bleeding *scary*!"
Stifling a few uninvited giggles, Willow got up and walked over to the vamp's nest. Spike glanced upwards, smirking from ear to ear. Perfect.
"Let me see that. If you're kidding, I'll-"
"Here." Willow dropped next to him, unconsciously brushing her arm against his thigh. Spike gasped.
"Oh. It's true..." Spike stared at her, a hurt look on his cheekbones.
"Of course it's bloody true! I can *read*! Besides, it doesn't take a brain to figure out who should be wearing the pants around here!", he flung, expecting an outburst of ruffled femininity. Willow made a face.
"Giles, of course. He wears pants, he's the boss."
"Bloody hell! *Giles*?! The *boss*... Yeah, right. He stutters and melts if Buffy so much as threatens to bite. And Xander-oh man...-is *he* hopeless! Demon-girl has him by the balls. He's a dead goner.", the vampire illustrated, platinum hair in an uproar. Willow decided it was high time he was shoved back in his place.
"OK...so let me get this straight. *You're* the one who should be supreme guru, leader of the blind...is that it?", she asked, green eyes shining with dangerous mirth.
"Right on. You're all a bunch of shaggy-haired, underage, hormone-laden dweebs pretending to fight the forces of evil....while landing pathetically on your ass all the while. Well, except for the Slayer who actually has the *oomph* to crush...sometimes."
"And whom you so generously help do the job. Isn't that so...*Spike*?" The vampire almost choked on his meal at this. The girl had a most infuriating point. He was vegetating while the Slayer slayed. Struggling with an impending attack of mortifying shame, he looked the other way.
"I'm no Slayerette.", he muttered into his mug.
"Yeah, but you eat and drink and sleep with us." Realising her mistake, she quickly endeavoured to regain slippery ground. "I m-mean, n-not *sl-sleep* as i-in-". Stuttering on the words, she sank back into a pillow. Spike gave her a look.
"I? Sleep with you? You *wish*!" Willow tossed him an angry glance.
"I don't wish, alright? I don't. I wouldn't sleep with you if you-"
"Snapped my fingers? Oh I think you would." Pouncing on the girl's relaxed frame, he pressed his lips against her, startling her witless. Pushing him back, she slapped him. Spike drew away, scowling at Willow. "What the devil was *that* for?!"
"You deserve that and much more, mister! I'm not a smooch-delivery-girl, OK?! My lips are my own, thank you very much. I don't *share*." Spike stared in disbelief before shrugging. "Fine. I'm not sorry though. You had it coming. Girl-Power, my *foot*... your chats with the Slayer are anything but an ode to feminism." Hunching his shoulders, he sank into a deep sulk. Willow switched on the TV, hoping to prevent any more reckless attempts at communication. A minute passed in painful silence. Spike wasn't talking to Willow and Willow felt it keenly. As Buffy bounded into the room with two cans of Diet Coke, she leapt at the distraction, pointing to the empty armchair in front of the couch.
"Will, I kinda gotta go. Riley promised he'd call. Are you coming?" Willow hesitated, glancing guiltily at the morose vampire. Facing Buffy bravely, she shook her head, brain screaming in denial the whole time.
"Nah, I'll stick around till Xander comes." Buffy frowned in amazement.
"You're actually contemplating being *alone* with *that* fangy thug?" Spike sank deeper into his seat and mumbled something inaudible.
"Yeah, it's OK. Xander will be here soon anyway." Buffy shrugged and left, after a five-minute sermon to the undead rogue sighing on the couch.
III.
Willow's tongue decided to speak for her. Silence was very nice under radically different circumstances. She could still feel Spike's shock at her violent reaction to his kiss and the fact would gnaw at her insides mercilessly until she did something radical about it.
"Spike, I'm sorry I hit you.", she started remorsefully, green eyes begging for redemption. Spike didn't answer, flipping channels with a most oblivious thumb. Willow tried to catch his averted eye. "Hey! Are you listening...? Hello! Earth to Spike...?", she tried once more. A flicker of a smile appeared to colour his features for half a second before the same old arrogance took over. Willow felt frustrated.
"OK, you're not talking to me. I'm here grovelling like the "geek" you always say I am and you're not trying to improve my condition. As always, you're the epitome of selflessness." Turning a distressed back on him, she closed her lips in a grim line, only to part them in a gasp as strong arms pulled her backwards into a leather-clad lap. Bleached blonde hair hovered over her face before a second kiss was hers. This time she didn't pull away. Sheer impossibility seemed to be the main reason. In all honesty it wasn't the real one. Not by a long shot. Wrapping light arms around his neck, Willow returned Spike's kiss, half-laughingly, half-fearfully. The vampire lifted his head, grinning into her flushed face.
"I definitely felt a certain girl-power on that tongue of yours, Red. Might convert me in the end." Willow giggled. Then suddenly became serious as his hand settled casually on her hair and stroked it for what felt like a wonderful lifetime. Spike's eyes searched hers for an acknowledgement of some kind. Willow gazed at him questioningly.
"How are we gonna do this, Spike?", she whispered. Spike raised his eyes to some point beyond her.
"I don't have a bloody clue...but it'll be alright. You know that, don't you?"
"Yes. I kinda do. But it's gonna be hard...all the questions and accusations and yelling...", Willow hid her face in his hand, kissing it lovingly.
"It's all apart of it. When all's said and done, we'll have won, pet." His voice didn't waver for a second, he seemed perfectly convinced of the reality of such a thought. Willow smiled, grabbing the hand she had kissed. Cold...long fingers.
"Where did you get these fingers from, hon? They're so...*womanly*..." Spike's eyes darkened. "Womanly...?! Oh *hell*. If you must know, I got them from my Dad. He was a priest.", he offered reluctantly. Willow' startled gaze settled on his calmer look. "A priest...? Your *father*?!" Spike sighed.
"Yeah. Hard to take in, eh? Dad was a fine preacher. The Ten Commandments at dinner time. And whenever I looked up. We had no peace." His voice faltered in its quietness, as a clear path of memory was treaded again. The past was a vivid blur of voices without bodies and bodies without life. Spike writhed in his seat until Willow straightened up and turned to him. "What's wrong?", she murmured, unsure about her role as a listener. "Nothing. Let's jump ship. Go somewhere and just be...gone." Willow nodded and got up, reaching for her jacket. Spike lit up a cigarette, watching all her movements with a mix of perplexity and adoration. Willow was real. Unlike everything else he couldn't fight off. Her voice was grace. Drawing her into a hug, he whispered: "You're smashing." Willow felt tears. Smiling, she held him tight.
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