TITLE: Romantic At Heart
AUTHOR: Ragna (writinggoddess@aol.com)
RATING: FRC
SPILERS: None
DISTRIBUTION: Sure, just keep my name on it and let me know.
DISCLAIMER: If you don't recognize it, chances are it's my own creation. If you do, Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Kazui Sandollar, FOX and the WB own it or them. I'm just holding Spike, Xander and Oz hostage. You may see them by appointment only.
FEEDBACK: Sorry I'm not home right now I'm walking in the spiderwebs so leave a message and I'll call you back...in other words, I want it.
AUTHORS NOTES: This is in the answer to a fic challenge put up by Cassandra, involving France, a cream white rosebud and a certain quote. Hehehehe...I answered.

***

The lone woman sat at the bistro, sipping her mocha quietly. Staring at the man in the back, who was busy cleaning up, she sighed. She hated her destiny, and had wanted to escape. Thank the Goddess she wasn't a Slayer, or even a very active Watcher; then she wouldn't have been able to escape. And France was such a lovely place to escape to...

Her thoughts drifted to the vampire she'd left behind. It was a painful realm of thinking, about what should have been, what could have been. He loved her; that she knew. He'd told her, and she believed him. She always did. A tear fell on the book she had next to her. It was from Phantom. She'd picked it up at the airport, on her way to France. She looked at it, and carefully wiped the tear of the hardbound cover. She leaned back in her seat a bit. She'd been in France for over a week; she wondered if anyone had bothered to look for her. If anyone but him had cared.

Shaking her head, she continued to sip the mocha, trying to forget the worries in her head, the nagging doubts that depressed her and made her run in the first place. At almost that same time, she heard a beautiful tenor voice singing, and she left the money needed to pay for the mocha on the table, craning her neck to see over the crowd. They were singing in English, five very gorgeous men.

One of them, the tenor, reminded her of her lover. Same blonde hair, same distinct cheekbones and mysterious eyes. She turned around and headed to her hotel, and upon arriving realized she'd left her book on the table. As dusk fell slowly over the horizon, she walked briskly to the bistro, praying that it was still open. Her hopes were dashed by the sign in the window, and the dark bistro looked back at her.

"Mademoiselle?"

She turned around, her short red hair whipped into her face. Pulling it away, she saw the waiter, holding out the book. "You left this," he said in heavily accented English.

"Thank you." He smiled at her, and walked off. She started to head to her hotel room, but changed her mind and headed towards the Eiffel Tower. She was so preoccupied that she didn't notice the shadowed person following her. She walked around the base, enjoying the area around it. However, with the tower being closed, there was no way for her to go and see the lights of the City of Love.

Love.

Ha.

That word, when put between "I" and "you," had brought down a wall of self-constructed delusions that had kept her safe for all those years. And it had to be a vampire, she muttered, shaking her head. He'd never die, never grow old, while she'd wither away like a prune. It wasn't that she was afraid of death...she was afraid of getting old. And she sat down, hoping to cry for a bit before heading back to her hotel for another night of dreams, dreams that berated her for leaving.

"'You really shouldn't be frightened of death. He's very approachable, really, not at all aloof, never passes by on the other side of the street simply because he's not been introduced. He makes no distinction of class...a flea-bitten rat or a beautiful princess, it's all the same to death.' It's from that book in your hands."

She looked up at the voice, hitting her head on a part of the Tower. That voice...that was the one...the one who'd stopped her delusions with three simple words.

"Hello, love. I thought you'd be here." Turning around, in all his glory, albeit dead, was her lover.

"Why?" It was all she could utter. He shrugged, than sat down beside her.

"You're not the only one who can escape, love," he said, his British accent seeming out of place in France. He looked at his hands. "Besides, I hit *69 and talked to the travel agent you'd talked to."

"No, why'd you come after me? I left you, remember?"

"Because I knew why. Sweet, I'm almost 200 years old, and even I remember the feeling I had the first time a woman said I love you. I wanted to bolt." He finally looked at her. "But back then, it wasn't possible."

"So, you knew?"

"Yes, I did." He leaned over and touched her face gently, his cold hand melting into the coldness upon her face. "And I understand. And, I want to be with you, laws of nature be damned."

"What about destiny?"

"What about it?" he asked right as he captured her lips with his, pulling her into an embrace and a kiss that wiped her fears away.

***

"So, what'd you think?"

Spike looked at Alex. "A bit too romantic for me. And I think the Council might object to having the word Slayer in there. And I do believe that the lover is based on me, right?"

"No, Spike. It's a figment of my imagination."

"I'd tone down the sarcasm a bit, love. You're scary when you're sarcastic."

"Look who's talking, Mr. Undead." Alex sighed and stood up. "I never should have shown this to you."

"Why?"

"Because you don't like it." The stress from finishing the story, running her business, and being a Watcher were getting to be too much.

"I never said I didn't like it. I just said it was a bit too romantic," Spike said, hoping that she wouldn't stay upset for long and that his present would help a bit.

Alex raised an eybrow. "Uh-huh. And you're the expert on romance because...?"

Spike smiled a bit and set down the pieces of paper. "I may be a vampire, love, but I happen to be a romantic at heart. If you'll just follow me, I'll show you," he finished, offering her his hand. Intrigued, she accepted and followed.

"Oh, my..." she said upon entering her study. The room was filled with long stemmed red roses.

"I cleaned out every florist in Sunnyhell," he replied, wrapping his arms around her.

"Wow. Why'd you do it?"

"You were stressed, and I thought it'd be a nice idea. I saw the look on your face when Xander got Gaby those flowers for Valentine's Day last week."

"Okay, I give. You are an expert on romance."

"One more thing, though." He reached over to a bouquet and pulled out one cream colored rosebud. Very carefully, he ran the rosebud under her nose for her to smell.

"You shouldn't have," Alex said before kissing him.

"Why not? I have to live up to my character, I suppose. Now, out of character, do you suppose I could dance with my very beautiful and talented lover for a bit?"

Alex blushed at the compliment. "What type of dance?"

Spike's eyes got a mischievous glint in them. "Tango."

"Then by all means, lead away."