Another sign bites the dust. Spike figured he deserved an award of sorts
for destroying his, what, fourth "Welcome to Sunnydale" sign. Every time
he left Sunnyhell, he swore that he would never return, that is except the
last time. He left the last time fully intending to return. He had
unfinished business after all.
~*~
It had been four months, eight days, twelve hours, and sixteen minutes since Xander had pulled her back from the brink and she had spent every second of it in silence. Willow knew words would never even begin to come close to making amends for what she had done, so she had said nothing. She could barely even face her friends, let alone speak to them. She rarely left the house, let alone her room, and only then at night. And the place she went was always the same: Tara's grave.
~*~
Who was he kidding? He was a bleeding idiot for ever setting foot back on the Hellmouth after . . . after . . . he couldn't bare to think about it. But that's all he had been thinking about since he had returned from Africa.
And why had he come back after all? Did he enjoy torturing himself by seeing that which he was forever unworthy of? Beneath her he was and always would be. Maybe she would stake him on sight. That would be for the best, wouldn't it? The gig as love's bitch was getting old, but it was really the only gig he had ever known. If he wasn't such a love-sick ponce he'd just end it himself, but then there was a certain amount of satisfaction to be gained at having her do it.
He jumped out of the car and began to wander aimlessly. Drinking had lost its effect months ago, so there was nothing left to numb the pain. He last glimmer of enjoyment gone. And he would not brood. He was not going to be like Peaches and bemoan his fate. If only he hadn't listened to Dru and kept driving that day. Never come to Sunnyhell in the first place, usurp the Annoying One, dance with the Slayer, get reacquainted with Angelus . . .
Spike cringed at the thought of the "love" of most of his un-life. Talk about a stupid git. Sure she had been the first woman to ever take notice and there had been some good times, but, really, the whole crazy-woman thing wasn't really his style. He hadn't minded so much til the mess in Prague when he'd had to exist for them both. And then he had met the Slayer.
He nearly fell over the girl before he realized where he was. She could have been a statue adorning the simple grave she sat by. But what statue had hair the color of living coals, enticing and distancing at the same time. Then he saw the name on the stone. Now all that he had heard made sense.
"She was worth it, Red."
~*~
Willow turned imperceptibly toward the vampire. She had heard him approach, but unlike the other times she heard footsteps, she didn't bolt. She couldn't be here with the rest of them. It was her sanctuary, but only if she was alone. But Spike, she didn't mind so much. Maybe it was the fact that she felt, out of anyone, he could really understand.
"Thank you," she croaked, breaking four plus months of silence.
"May I?" he asked.
She nodded and he sat next to her.
"What a mess, huh?" she smiled after a few minutes of silence.
"Tell me about it, pet?" he smirked. "Ever wonder how good intentions can go so wonky?"
"And how you can lose so much time over doing something so foolish? Something you know will only wind up hurting you in the end, but you do it anyway because it's the only thing you can see to do?"
"Love makes you do the wacky," they mumbled simultaneously.
~*~
It had been four months, eight days, twelve hours, and sixteen minutes since Xander had pulled her back from the brink and she had spent every second of it in silence. Willow knew words would never even begin to come close to making amends for what she had done, so she had said nothing. She could barely even face her friends, let alone speak to them. She rarely left the house, let alone her room, and only then at night. And the place she went was always the same: Tara's grave.
~*~
Who was he kidding? He was a bleeding idiot for ever setting foot back on the Hellmouth after . . . after . . . he couldn't bare to think about it. But that's all he had been thinking about since he had returned from Africa.
And why had he come back after all? Did he enjoy torturing himself by seeing that which he was forever unworthy of? Beneath her he was and always would be. Maybe she would stake him on sight. That would be for the best, wouldn't it? The gig as love's bitch was getting old, but it was really the only gig he had ever known. If he wasn't such a love-sick ponce he'd just end it himself, but then there was a certain amount of satisfaction to be gained at having her do it.
He jumped out of the car and began to wander aimlessly. Drinking had lost its effect months ago, so there was nothing left to numb the pain. He last glimmer of enjoyment gone. And he would not brood. He was not going to be like Peaches and bemoan his fate. If only he hadn't listened to Dru and kept driving that day. Never come to Sunnyhell in the first place, usurp the Annoying One, dance with the Slayer, get reacquainted with Angelus . . .
Spike cringed at the thought of the "love" of most of his un-life. Talk about a stupid git. Sure she had been the first woman to ever take notice and there had been some good times, but, really, the whole crazy-woman thing wasn't really his style. He hadn't minded so much til the mess in Prague when he'd had to exist for them both. And then he had met the Slayer.
He nearly fell over the girl before he realized where he was. She could have been a statue adorning the simple grave she sat by. But what statue had hair the color of living coals, enticing and distancing at the same time. Then he saw the name on the stone. Now all that he had heard made sense.
"She was worth it, Red."
~*~
Willow turned imperceptibly toward the vampire. She had heard him approach, but unlike the other times she heard footsteps, she didn't bolt. She couldn't be here with the rest of them. It was her sanctuary, but only if she was alone. But Spike, she didn't mind so much. Maybe it was the fact that she felt, out of anyone, he could really understand.
"Thank you," she croaked, breaking four plus months of silence.
"May I?" he asked.
She nodded and he sat next to her.
"What a mess, huh?" she smiled after a few minutes of silence.
"Tell me about it, pet?" he smirked. "Ever wonder how good intentions can go so wonky?"
"And how you can lose so much time over doing something so foolish? Something you know will only wind up hurting you in the end, but you do it anyway because it's the only thing you can see to do?"
"Love makes you do the wacky," they mumbled simultaneously.