Sequel and Companion Piece to Tea and Empathy (Spike/Willow friendship, PG-13)
(Title from from a lyric in Sarah McLachlan's Ice Cream)
Special thanks to Selene for the beautiful artwork for this story.
Willow straightened her shirt nervously, tugging at the hem and then the sleeves as she stood on the sidewalk in front of the new, improved Hellmouth High. All these years later and this place still made her feel… well, ooky. She didn’t know how Buffy got up and came back here every morning, much less spent her days inside; Willow hadn’t even gone near the site after graduation, potential apocalypses notwithstanding.
Shaking herself out of her musings, Willow came back to herself just in time to hear a low wolf-whistle coming from someone in a football jersey—someone who was, upon her investigative glance, most definitely looking at her. *Hee! Take that, Percy! Looks like little loser Willow is hot chick Willow now!* she thought with a smug little grin. She started to chasten herself for her vanity, but then decided that confidence bolstered, no matter the reason, was never a bad thing when you were walking into hell. Straightening her shoulders and clutching the bags of food she’d picked up on the drive over, Willow headed back towards the threshold of which she had once doubted she’d ever live to see the other side.
A quick check-in at the office provided her with a hall pass and yet another feeling that she was stepping back into the not-so-yet-somehow-very-distant past. She made her way down the hall as classes changed, picking her way through the teeming masses with an ease that was very much a part of older, wiser Willow before coming to a stop at Buffy’s door.
Only to burst into giggles at the site that greeted her through the glass. Really, did Buffy not know how to use the shade on the window? Or was she just that bored? She stood there for a few moments, watching as her friend made faces in her compact mirror, twisting her face, sticking out her tongue, narrowing and widening her eyes - a whole parade of expressions that seemed so out of place on the serious face that Buffy seemed to have adopted as a default that Willow was nearly in tears by the time she opened the door.
“You know, I’m probably supposed to warn you that it could freeze that way,” she said as she entered the room, laughing as Buffy slammed the compact closed and jumped, only to glare playfully at the laughing face of her friend.
“Yeah, yeah. You try sitting behind a desk for eight hours waiting on somebody to decide they’re just crazy enough to need help from Dawn’s ‘creepy yet hot’ mom/sister/cousin/whatever they think I am,” Buffy groused playfully, rolling backwards in her chair. “That?” she added, gesturing towards the compact on her desk calendar. “That’s the daily wrinkle check. Ooh! Food!”
“Yep! Tacos.” Willow opened one of the bags and held it out for inspection before pulling it back, giving Buffy a confused look. “Wait—mom? Dawn’s mom? And wrinkles? Buffy, you’re 22.”
“Yes. Yes, I am. And I have been mistaken for Dawn’s mom. That was a ‘way’ with a side order of ‘sucky.’ So yes, daily wrinkle check. It’s a thing. Lucky me—I get to fight both the worst that evil can throw at me and the insidious yet subtle signs of premature aging.”
“Yours is a weighty burden,” Willow agreed, nodding with mock solemnity as she walked over and took Buffy’s hand, tugging her into a standing position. “So consider me the weight lifter. I come bearing greasy, cheesy goodness from that place on Embry that you like. And chocolate. And it’s a beautiful day, so we’re going outside to make with the munchies.”
“And when you make offers like that, what can a girl do but follow blindly? Lead on,” Buffy laughed, following Willow out of her office.
~*~*~*~*
“I’m too full,” Buffy groaned dramatically, leaning back against the next-level bleacher and stretching her legs out before her, attempting to sip at her now-empty soda and grimacing at the resulting loud noise.
“Yeah. I’m kinda starting to remember why we don’t go there very often. We tend towards the piggish,” agreed Willow, digging out another can and handing it to Buffy, who smiled gratefully. “Do you need to get back?” she asked casually.
“Nope. Drop-in hours are over, and no appointments, and the wrinkle check is complete, so I can either balance my pencil cup on my nose like a seal or hang with you. I choose to hang. So what’s up?” Buffy asked as she emptied the soda into her cup, looking up at Willow and smirking skeptically at the too-innocent look on her friend’s face. “Willow?”
“What? Can’t a girl want to have a lunch—a nice, friendly, lunchable lunch—with her friend that she hardly ever sees, even though she lives with her? ‘Cause if not, then that just sucks. And you, missy, are just way too skeptical, and need to learn to trust and… okay, so I want to talk to you,” Willow grumbled, righteously indignant rant crumbling under Buffy’s canny stare.
“And again I say, what’s up?” Buffy repeated, brow raised.
“Spike,” Willow answered. “I want to talk about Spike.”
Buffy’s hand flew to her mouth as she choked on her drink, wide eyes meeting Willow’s. She recovered herself and coughed a little, clearing her throat before saying, “OK. So we’re talking about Spike.” A few seconds of silence followed, and then she continued, tone guarded, “What exactly about Spike do you want to talk about?”
“Well… maybe less about Spike in general, and more about you and Spike.”
“Me and Spike,” Buffy repeated, growing more wary by the moment.
“Boy, you’d make a great parrot,” Willow remarked dryly, rolling her eyes. “Yes, you and Spike. As in, as a couple. Which you were, I think. And I think you ought to try again,” she finished, giggling at the look of utter disbelief on Buffy’s face.
For her part, Buffy was certain that she was going into shock. One of her best friends had not just said the ‘c’ word with regards to she and Spike, had she? And been happy about it? Well, that would make things simpler, she thought, private smile curving her lips for a moment before wariness again took hold. “OK… so Spike and I, as in couple. What exactly do you want to know?”
“Whatever you want to tell me, but remember that I’m on your side here, OK? Just keep in mind the rules, and you’ll be fine.”
“Rules? What rules?” Buffy asked, confused.
“Oh, come on. It’s not been that long since girl talk, has it? I know you know the rules.” At Buffy’s still-befuddled look, Willow sighed and continued, “I’m the best friend; ergo, I am owed details of any and all smoochies and smoochie partners, presented with honesty and minimal dissembling. It’s in the contract.”
“Contract? Why do I feel like you’ve had a whole little friendship storefront going on that nobody ever told me about? Either that or you’ve spent way too much time with Anya.”
“The friendship contract: unofficial doctrine by which relationships among females are ruled. So go on, look it up. It’s in there, right next to ‘you shall stop your best friend from sucking the world into hell’ and ‘you shall always let her have the chocolate if her angst is angstier than yours.’” Willow grinned as a flurry of giggles spilled from Buffy, and she waved a playfully accusative finger at her laughing friend. “You got all my treats for the last two years of high school, missy—including ice cream!! And in this bag? Reese Cups. Your favorite. So you, Buffy Summers, will commence with the spillage of Spike smoochie secrets, or no chocolate for you. I will choose to believe that there is no worthy drama and will therefore partake in yummy goodness all by my lonesome.”
“Willow!” Buffy gasped, indignant. “It’s not my fault that there were extenuating Angel circumstances for a long time. And there is too drama with Spike and I!” she objected, reaching for the bag that held the candy treasure. “Besides,” she added sweetly, “I seem to remember that I brought you Godiva when you had Oz-angst.” A self-satisfied grin shaped her features as her fingers closed around the bag.
Willow smacked Buffy’s questing hand playfully, pulling the bag out of the other girl’s grasp and shielding it with her arm. “True. But that was only once. And I baked you cookies during my Oz angst—chocolatey ones!” she reminded, fully prepared to play one-up until Buffy surrendered.
“Because you tried to marry me off to Spike!” Buffy squeaked in protest.
“And look what a visionary I was! So sad that no one acknowledges my genius. Sometimes I feel just like Cassandra—destined to be disbelieved,” Willow lamented melodramatically, all the while waving the Reese Cups just out of Buffy’s grasp and shooting her a mischievous grin. “You know, now that I look back on it… I’ve WAY earned this. Here I try and give you what you want years early and what do you do? Set me to bakin’. And with a broken heart to boot. I’m clearly the more injured party here. Peanut buttery goodness all for me…”
“But that’s not fair!” Buffy whined, making another failed grab for the candy.
“A little bit of truth and it’ll all be yours, then. You and Spike. Smoochies. Drama. Details. Then candy. Got me?” Willow teased, a smile modifying her resolve face only slightly as she wiggled the candy enticingly.
“One now, the other one after,” Buffy bargained.
Willow’s eyes narrowed for a moment as she studied her friend’s face carefully. “Deal,” she judged finally, tearing open the wrapper and handing Buffy one of the chocolate-coated discs. “Now start talking.”
~*~*~*~*
“I’m not going to ask why you never told me,” Willow said quietly when Buffy had finished recounting all the details that pain and resentment and then healing and new beginnings had kept them from sharing any earlier. Buffy looked disbelievingly at her for a moment, and Willow shrugged, a bittersweet twist to her lips as her gaze darted sideways for an instant. “I don’t need to, Buffy—I wasn’t there for you. I don’t need to make you tell me that. I just… I wish I had been, though. For a lot of reasons. But I can be now—I want to be now.”
“What, you would’ve been thrilled if I had come and told you that I wanted to be with Spike?” Buffy asked, a tinge of bitterness to her tone.
“I didn’t say that I would’ve been thrilled. I would’ve been concerned, and I would’ve had reservations, but I would’ve heard you out—at least, the ‘I’ in my head would have. The kinda crazy ‘I’ I was last year wouldn’t have. But I’m trying to be that other ‘I’ now… and now my head hurts.” Willow rubbed her left temple as Buffy laughed a little and looked away. “Besides, I wasn’t the only one who could’ve helped. You could’ve… I know you talked to her a little, but Tara could’ve really understood. Both of you.”
“But…” Buffy began, only to trail off, biting her lip.
Willow couldn’t tell whether her friend was biting back words or trying to formulate them; choosing to fill the silence, she forged ahead. “You think she didn’t know what it was like to be part of a relationship that she was terrified people were going to tear apart because they didn’t understand? Or that she didn’t know what it was like to be kept a secret because the woman she loved was so afraid of what her friends would say that she didn’t know how to introduce her?” Willow’s voice grew just a bit fainter. “Or how it felt to watch the woman you love tear herself down and defy every attempt to help her?”
“When you put it that way…” Buffy exchanged a remorseful smile with Willow. “I guess Tara really did understand. It felt like she did.” Leaning back against the bleacher, Buffy sighed heavily, “It’s just a shame I didn’t listen to her, though, isn’t it? ‘Cause everything now? Royally screwed, Will.”
“I don’t know about that,” Willow said thoughtfully, copying Buffy’s position and joining her in looking at up at the clouds. “Complicated, yes. But screwed? Not so much. From what I can tell from both of you, there was a big chunk of bad and messy mixed in with the good, and things got all twisted up. But Buffy, that happens, and you can get beyond it. You are getting beyond it; both of you are. There’s something big there between the two of you, and anybody not willfully clueless can see it. And look at how far you’ve already come. You brought him home with you, Buffy—emphasis on usage of the word ‘home’ by you.” She could tell that Buffy was waffling, so close to letting her heart take the lead, and pulled out her trump card. “And Buffy—‘Why does everybody think I’m still in love with Spike’? With the big, drama queen, ‘watch my arms and not my eyes’ windmill impression? It fooled me not.” A fit of laughter overtook her at the sight of Buffy’s widened eyes and open-mouthed gape; a more perfect expression to demonstrate the word busted had never been.
Encouraged by Willow’s gales of laughter, the kindness in her eyes, and the return of the easy familiarity that the two of them had long shared but nearly lost, Buffy succumbed to giggles as well. The laughter felt good, felt like a balm covering the still-present but ever-fading wound that still existed between them, and so they let it go on until tears streamed down their faces and their sides ached. Looking at each other seemed to only result in more giggles, and Willow soon occupied herself with foraging for clean napkins from the bags around their feet.
They sobered as they dried their eyes, calming and casting their eyes skyward again. Buffy’s voice broke the silence, a quiet sigh followed by a question. “I just… I don’t know, Will. I mean, is this the way to start something again? With evil hanging over our heads?”
Willow sat up, casting understanding eyes on her friend. “Buffy, it’s us. When isn’t there evil hanging over our heads? I mean, really?” Willow sighed as she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Buffy, Tara and I had one night. One night of starting something again before she… before Warren. I wish we’d had longer—wish we’d had forever—but Buffy, we had a night that we wouldn’t have had if she hadn’t taken that step, if she hadn’t just let go of the past and gone after a future.” Willow sniffled and blinked back tears, pausing for a moment to take a deep breath before continuing. “How many more nights are you willing to throw away without even trying?”
“None,” Buffy answered, her voice husky with unshed tears. “God, Willow, I’m so tired of wasting time, and of him acting like he doesn’t know what to say or do around me, and of not knowing what to say or do around him. We were never like that, Will, even when we hated each other. And I hate it. It’s awkward and it’s weird and it’s not us, you know? I miss my friend, and I miss my confidante, and my patrolling partner, and my lover…” The last word was nearly soundless, and Buffy looked hesitantly up to gauge Willow’s reaction, only to be met with gentle eyes and a tender little smile. She smiled tentatively in response, and asked quietly, “But what about everybody else, Will? It’s not just about me—it’s never just about me.”
“You're right; it’s not just about you. It’s about you and Spike, and the rest of them can just deal with it,” Willow answered, tone firm. “I’m serious, Buffy. You’ve lived enough according to what everybody else wants. You’re living because of what everybody else wanted. It’s only right that now you get to make yourself happy in the life we forced you to live.”
Buffy sighed again, bringing a hand to her temple. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate what you’re doing here, Will, but… there’s a whole other houseful of people who are going to be dying to have a say. Dawn…”
“Dawnie does fine with Spike when she forgets that she’s trying to fight Xander’s grudge match. And the longer Spike’s around, the more often she’s forgetting to play mini-Xander,” Willow interrupted. “They need to have a talk, yes—and you need to have a talk with her, too, Buffy. But when it all comes down to it, Dawnie’s going to be on your side.”
Buffy chewed her lip thoughtfully, dropping her head back and closing her eyes. “But then there’s Xander, and Giles, and…”
“Oh, Xander’s gonna have a heart attack. And Giles… well, he’ll turn colors, and there’ll be a lot of very refined-sounding British cursing, and then he’ll restrain himself to just glaring for a good long while. And who else is going to say something—Anya? It doesn’t matter to her except that you’ll be taking one available man out of rotation.” Willow grinned at Buffy’s amused snort and forged ahead. “Besides, it’s not like any of us are living lives so good that we’re experts on how to deal. We’re all just blundering through, and that’s ok. None of it—not what Xander or Giles or me or Anya or Dawn or anyone else has to say—matters in the long run, because Buffy, we might not have a long run. What we’re up against… we’re trying, but we may have run out of rabbits in our hats this time. So please, don’t waste this time. Don’t do that to yourself.”
“You’re right.” Buffy cleared her throat, sitting up and turning towards Willow. “You know how right you are, don’t you?”
“I might be aware,” Willow answered, proud little smile curving her lips.
“All right, you who have it all figured out,” Buffy shot back, brow raised. “Just one last little thing.”
“And that would be?” Willow asked, racking her brain to find a flaw in her arguments.
“How do you know he still wants me?”
Willow would’ve laughed had it not been for the lost little girl tone in Buffy’s voice; she curbed the amusement, but the slightly incredulous snort escaped nonetheless. “Buffy, he got a soul for you. He held steady through the worst the First could throw at him. He sleeps in a basement and is surrounded by teenaged girls and people who haven’t ever really treated him the best, and I don’t think it’s for the ambiance. He’s in love with you, and you know it." Willow's exasperated tone softened a bit as she took in the insecurity etched into her friend's features. "I think you’re afraid of what that means, because you have been ever since Angel. I get it—really, I do, but I don’t think you have to be this time. Let yourself be in love, Buffy.”
“I want to, Willow. I do, but…”
“But you’re scared, and you think you’ve forgotten how. But... I think Spike can show you, Buffy, and I think you can show him, too, if you’ll let yourself. As unsure as you are… well, he’s suffering, too. You could be so good for each other now, but you have to be willing to try to get past all those times when you weren't.”
Buffy swiped at her eyes before leaning forward impulsively to embrace Willow. “You’re right,” she whispered in her friend’s ear, voice full of conviction. Pulling back from the embrace, Buffy stood and smoothed her skirt and her hair. “OK, then. Looks like I have an appointment this afternoon after all,” she said with a coy grin.
“You do,” Willow responded, rising to her feet and handing Buffy the long-forgotten, if well-earned, piece of candy, earning a smile she was only too happy to return. Linking her arm with her friend’s, she directed Buffy towards the steps at the end of the bleachers. “So come on already. We need to get you home to your vampire.”