She sometimes thought she could almost remember a time when he wasn't such a rat bastard (although he had always been a rat). She thought she remembered smooth fur against her feeler, two eyes admiring her eight, and her own grayish green hair. But maybe it wasn't so.
Wilbur slept on, and it was just the two of them, alone in a world of the night. And sometimes it mattered to her, and sometimes it didn't.
But she always knew when he watched her spinning her web, and she always knew when she moved just a little more gracefully for his benefit.
He sometimes thought that he remembered a time when she wasn't so uptight, so moral and determined and damned clever. He thought he heard her singing in the night, thought that maybe, just for once, it wasn't a lullaby for the dumb pig—that maybe it was for him. But he figured it was a dream. A weird one.
Indigestion.
At night, he would wait and know that she was trying extra hard to be beautiful, and it made him smirk, partly because—for goodness' sake—she was a spider, and hideous, and partly because she was already, unfortunately, the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
She didn't let him know that she thought the way he hunted for his food was very practical, very cunning, and very brave.
He didn't mention that it made him grin when he watched her wrapping up her breakfast.
When she laid her eggs, she thought of him.
When he took the sack, he paused, just for a moment, to look at her. She wasn't as beautiful, up close, but that didn't seem to really matter.
A/N: Always thought those two acted like a divorced couple. Just sayin'. Hopefully more will come of this...I've always shipped these two.