Special thanks to Sandy for the gorgeous artwork for this story!
Willow wasn’t really all that surprised that the kitchen wasn’t vacant when she crept inside. Darkness had fallen, dozens of hormone-bombs in Potential-shaped packages had been calmed and fed and finally sent off to tuck themselves in for the sake of the Scoobies’ sanity, and the Scoobies themselves had long since given up the waking ghost.
All except for Willow, who couldn’t sleep, the nervous energy that was so much a part of her being sent into overdrive by the overstimulation inherent in her surroundings. Twenty minutes of staring at the ceiling had convinced her that tea would be the best thing she could do for herself, and she’d crept downstairs, dodging stray houseguests with an agility she didn’t know she had, grateful when she reached the relative sanctuary of the kitchen. A sanctuary that she was going to be sharing, it seemed, with Spike, who was staring out the window with a sort of implacable look on his face, and who didn’t seem to realize that she was there.
“Hi.” The word was whispered, but accompanied with a little wave nonetheless, and she was gratified by the small smile that the vampire gave her as he turned to face her.
“Red,” he whispered back by way of greeting. “Trouble sleepin’?”
“Too much raw energy in the house. All the magickal grounding meditation is great for making me, you know… not all psychotic, but it makes sleeping hard when you’re surrounded by dozens of people and, well, primordial evil. I feel kinda like a plug in an outlet most of the time,” Willow answered off-handedly as she filled the teapot she’d taken off of the stovetop.
Spike’s muffled snicker made her look up, and he just shook his head as he held out the box of chamomile he’d removed from the cabinet. “You make it sound like par for the course.”
“Thanks. And… well, it’s Sunnydale. It is the course. Primordial evil and psychosis… it’s what keeps the tourists at bay. Alliterative value aside, it’s not the snappiest slogan to have on the brochures.”
It was good to see him laugh, she decided as she turned on the stove; nice to see him smiling, to see some of the age and gravity that his features had acquired in the wake of the soul depart for a few moments. That he understood Willow humor was just a nice little bonus for her, made the conversation easy.
“So how are you?” she asked as she plundered the cabinets, searching for midnight snack fodder. There wasn’t much fodder for anytime snacking, really, with all the extra mouths, but she was certain that she knew Xander and Dawn well enough that there would be… “Cookies! Ha!”
“Found Harris’ stash, then, did you? Bloke has the most obvious hiding places…”
“Yeah. He lacks ingenuity, but the quality of cookieness makes up for it. You want?” she answered, tilting the box towards him as she sat on one of the stools by the island.
Spike’s surprise showed on his face, though he attempted to cover it quickly. Willow saw it, however, and nudged one of the other stools towards him with her foot. “Sit, Spike. Cookies, tea, socialization. Things have changed in a hundred years, but the basics are still tried and true.”
“Ta, then,” he answered, perching on the stool and taking a cookie. They munched in companionable silence for a few seconds before the squealing of the kettle made them both jump, and Willow snatched it from the burner as quickly as possible. Spike watched, again stunned, as she began wordlessly preparing two mugs, collecting the milk from the refrigerator before setting her burdens down on the island. She pushed the sugarbowl towards him, along with his mug, and he raised a brow in question.
“You seem like the sugar type,” she shrugged, hiding her smug grin behind the edge of her cup as he began scooping spoonfuls of the white powder into his mug.
“Why are you…” he asked hesitantly as he stirred his tea, eyes fixed carefully on the steaming liquid.
“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked in response. “You’re one of us, Spike… took me long enough to realize it, but you are. And I don’t like seeing you so lonely all the time.”
“’s not so bad,” he murmured, eyes still fixed on his cup. Willow’s snort, however, made him raise his eyes to her.
“Please, Spike. I don’t know many people more like a puppy than you—you need people. Even if you don’t necessarily like them, you want them around.”
“Jus’ don’ like quiet,” he muttered uncomfortably, shifting in his seat.
She reached over, just the barest touch of her fingers on the back of his hand. “Spike… how are you?”
He didn’t want to answer—didn’t really know how—but the look on her face said that she really cared, that it wasn’t a platitude, and that was enough to make him try. “Some days are better than others… everything’s quieter. Better now that I’m out of that basement. I just… I don’ want to hurt anybody, an’ stayin’ away is easier in case the First decides to play with my brain again.”
“I don’t believe you’d hurt one of us.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No, I don’t know, but I don’t believe it. And neither does Buffy, or you wouldn’t be here.”
Spike looked away, jaw tense. “Buffy just feels responsible… doesn’t know what to do.”
“Bullshit.”
“Willow?” Spike asked, slightly scandalized.
“What? I curse... in the bad word sense, I mean. I’m a grown woman, and I can, and I call bullshit. Buffy knows what to do, and she’s doing it—well, trying to do it. She’s Buffy… it takes her a while sometimes. You’re not here for any other reason than that she wants you to be.”
“She just…” Spike started, only to be quickly interrupted.
“Psssht.” Willow’s nonverbal dismissal cut him off mid-denial. “I’m only going to say this once, Spike, so listen and listen good. When Angel came back from hell and was all crazy-flakes, she kept him chained to the wall in the mansion. She didn’t bring him into her home, with her friends and her sister and a houseful of other people. He just showed up, and she dealt; you got snatched, and she was ready to march into the mouth of hell to drag you out if she had to. See where I’m going with this?” Willow rolled her eyes as he began to shake his head, and she reached over and put her index finger under his chin, forcing him to look at her. “You’re here, Spike. He never was. All the rest of us have figured out what that means—we’re just waiting for you and Buffy to catch on.”
The boyish wonder that sparked on his face was a sight to behold, and Willow was officially tremendously thankful for her insomnia for the first time ever. It was nice to be able to do that, to bring some sort of happiness in the middle of the nightmare going on around them.
For his part, Spike didn't seem to be able to say a word; his mouth worked silently as he attempted to verbalize what he was thinking and feeling, though his eyes said everything he was failing to express aloud. She could see, in the grateful look he gave, that he understood, that he knew that what she’d done—the hope that she’d given him, the joy, the insight—had been done for his sake, and only his sake. No ulterior motive, nothing to gain—Willow had just tried to make him happy. She watched the corners of his eyes crinkle, watched his lips curve upwards in an expression so overwhelmingly joyful that she was certain she'd never seen such a smile on his face; she realized that not only had her mission been accomplished, but that she had apparently succeeded in a way that few others could. Her eyes widened a bit when he took her hand from below his chin and kissed it, and he chuckled at the blush that colored her features as he released the light grip he’d had on her fingers.
“So that’s me sorted, then… let’s talk about you an’ the bird.”
“What?” Willow’s eyes grew wide as she looked at him. “No! No… bird.”
“Yes, bird. Bossy little bint, more mouth an’ balls than sense, tongue ring… ringin’ any bells?”
Willow’s face was positively incandescent now, and Spike’s muffled snickers weren’t helping. The sharp little kick she delivered to his shin, however, leveled the playing field a bit, at least wiping the smile off his face.
“That’s just… you’re just… ooh! Evil, evil vampire!” she huffed, although there was more than a hint of a giggle to her tone.
“’s not my fault I can smell her on you,” he shot back, prompting a new round of blushing.
“Yeah, well…” she stammered helplessly, grabbing a cookie from the box before them and shoving it into his mouth before dissolving into giggles at the look on his face. Long minutes passed before she recovered, Spike watching contentedly all the while, munching on the cookie she’d forced on him.
“So?” he prompted when she finally pulled herself together, and she rolled her eyes as she formulated a response.
“So… yeah. And her name’s Kennedy, incidentally,” she answered, brow arched as she looked at him. “She’s… different. Fun. And, hey, available and accessible, which are also two in the plus column. But… she’s not Tara.” The last words were a whisper, and Spike mirrored her bittersweet smile.
“Don’t suspect there’s anybody that’s ever gonna be, pet. Glinda was a bit of all right, sharp an’ sweet an’… well, you knew her better than I did. But she was somethin’ special. I’m sorry ‘bout her, Willow. Don’t think I ever got to tell you that.”
Willow just nodded, sipping at her tea and blinking back her tears. It still ached to think of Tara, and she couldn’t let herself do it often; she was afraid of getting lost in the grief and the rage again, and her hold on everything was still too new and tenuous. But as much as it hurt, it was nice to know that others remembered and missed her, that others thought of her as fondly as Willow did. Clearing her throat, she said quietly, “That she’s not Tara is also another point in the plus column. Kennedy’s just so… not her that it doesn’t hurt to be with her, you know?”
“I know.” Looking at Spike, she could tell that he really did, that he understood exactly what she was saying with no need for further elaboration. It was a good feeling.
She tried to smother the yawn she felt building, but was unsuccessful, and she was a bit surprised when Spike stood and carried their mugs to the sink.
“Looks like it’s past bedtime for all little witches,” he teased, smiling as she yawned again even as she shook her head. “Go to sleep, Red.”
“OK, OK,” she mumbled, looking very much like a child being shuttled off against her will. She paused for a moment at the door, turning just slightly. “Spike…” she whispered.
“You, too, Red,” he answered, voice low but thick with gratitude. They exchanged a brief smile, and she edged her way back upstairs.
As Willow drifted off, she couldn’t help but grin. She was sure that the hopeful half-smile that she had seen on Spike’s face as he had turned back to the window would be an image that would stay imprinted in her mind for a while. She could feel the wheels in her head turning, even as her body relaxed; it looked like a chat with Buffy would be the mission for tomorrow.