Fanfic: Sweet Nothings
Title: Sweet Nothings
Pair: Spike/Willow
Rating: G
Word Count: 677
Prompt: "Just once I'd like something to go my way."@staringout
Disclaimer: As much as I may wish this wasn't the case, the fandom, characters and plot of Buffy the Vampire Slayer don't belong to me at all. That privilege belongs to the combined brilliance of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.
A/N: Just a short, almost-sweet little ficlet. I could possibly see it becoming the first of a series if the mood ever strikes. And seriously, truly, if you take the time to leave a review - or even just a rating - I'll appreciate it more than you know (unless of course you're an author as well). Thank you and enjoy ~
( - - - )
The night was dark, chill air (by Californian standards, anyway) purified, burning her lungs on the way in, and easing her pain on the way out. Willow walked alone in silence, a stark contrast to the chaos and confusion that was her mind. She tried almost desperately to keep her focus outward, but despite her best attempts, her attention was consistently drawn back inward, into the tempest. And wasn't that just the way of it? No matter how hard she - they, collectively - tried, no matter how much good they did, or thought they were doing, there was so much evil, so much taint, in the world, that it just seemed to go on indefinitely.
And now - now Willow herself was tainted, she housed some of that evil that they tried so desperately to destroy. To be sure, she wasn't a major player - more of a pawn to the universe's King - but she had made Tara cry. She had driven away the one person who had cared for her, loved her unconditionally and selflessly. She had hurt Tara. 'Violated her mind'. And now she was alone.
"Oi, Red! A bit late for a pretty thing like yourself to be out alone!" Or ... not so alone. Willow whirled about to face her watcher (and not Watcher in the protective, paternal, Giles-y way, but in the 'what are you doing skulking around in the shadows' way), sending out a preliminary pulse of magic. A warning.
"Hey!" the voice continued. "No need to get short with me." And the speaker's identity finally clicked, leaving Willow to wonder how it hadn't sooner. Spike. William the not-so-Bloody. The neutered vampire. He sat alone in the dark, on a wooden bench (Willow allowed herself a moment to fret about splinters), his head bowed and his hands clasped together between his knees. He watched her from the corners of his eyes.
"Oh, hi Spike. I didn't see you there," she explained hastily, trying to keep her voice neutral. He had enough on his plate already, if the stories Buffy told were to be believed, without adding Willow's troubles. The vampire in love with the Slayer. It was sweet when it was Angel, but when it was Spike, apparently not.
"Well? Have a seat then," he prompted, hands disconnected, one patting the bare expanse of bench to his right, the other still hanging limp between his legs. His black nailpolish was chipped, flaking.
Without really thinking about it, Willow did as bade. She sat close enough that her left leg was flush against Spike's right. She wondered if he could feel her warmth; she did feel unusually hot.
Only when she was down and settled did Spike venture a beatific glance at her face, before dropping his gaze back down. Undoubtedly, he had heard about the split from one source or another (one source being Buffy, other being unaware Buffy), but he offered no consolations or delusional words of advice, and for that Willow was grateful. All day it had been the same, 'Things will work out', 'Oh Will, I'm so sorry', 'She'll come around', or Willow's all time favourite, 'She just needs some time to think'. Oz had needed time to think too. He had taken his time, come back, and then hadn't even been able to look her in the eye.
Willow lowered her head onto Spike's shoulder, a direct inversion of the last time one of the two had had relationship problems. Apparently, the significance of this position was not lost on Spike, and he huffed out a quiet laugh, and laid his arm across her shoulders in turn. She fancied that, if he were alive, his heartbeat would have picked up.
Silence settled over them like a silken shroud, tickling their eyelashes and fluttering about their ears. Like wings. Spike almost didn't hear Willow's whispered confession.
"Just once I'd like something to go my way."
It floated on a breath between them, and Spike frowned, tightening his hold on her. "Now where'd be the fun in that?"