Title: In Sickness and In Health, Chapter Three- To Love
Author: Am-Chau Yarkona
E-mail: spam@hagden169.fsnet.co.uk
Summary: Preparations contiune, and emotions run high.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Giles/Spike
Spoilers: None (season four)
Warnings: Mild slashy overtones, but you know what pairing it is, so…
Author Notes: I don't know why, but I'm very partial to "William cries on Willow's shoulder". So here I go again.
Story Notes: None.
Disclaimer: Just borrowing. Joss is God of all the Buffyverse.

A few hours later

Spike woke with a start when the doorbell went, and it was a moment or two before he was coherent enough to answer the door.

"Hey there Spike," Willow said when he did so, trying to hide her smile at his sleepy eyes and tousled hair. "Nice rest?"

"Soft bed, better than the table in the basement. And you're early."

"True- but that could be a good thing. If you let me put these down inside, I'll go and fetch the rest- Xander gave me a lift, but he couldn't stay to help carry."

For the second time that day he stood back to allow the red head to enter. This time, however, she went back past him almost at once, saying, "I can help for maybe two hours, then I must be off again." Spike didn't comment, just nodded, which she took to mean, "Yes, I'd like that." Given what she knew of his organisational skills- and what she knew he knew of hers- she hadn't expected anything else.

When she returned, staggering under the weight of a large suitcase, he let her get inside and then shut the door.

"So, bossy, tell me what to do."

"Planning is a good beginning. You sound like you know what you want, but a bit precarious on the how-to-get-it-front. Yeah?"

Quietly, "It's been a long time since I last did this." (And I don't really want to remember the other times.)

"Well…" She looked around, thoughtfully. "What I do, is cooking and cleaning first, then you chose what to wear, set the table, and wait for the man of your dreams to arrive." he raised an eyebrow at that. "What? You can't tell me you never dream about him."

"No comment. From the way you summarised that, it sounds like as case of, "what do you want, cooking or cleaning?"" He caught her look, and added, "You did say you'd help," in his best you-don't-love-me-anymore voice. He'd never had the courage to try it on Giles, but it had worked a treat with Dru.

"Cooking, then. But you might have to give me some pointers on the proper British way of doing things."

"How about the proper British recipe book I was going to use?"

She grinned. "Sounds good to me. Let's get going, then." They did so, quietly at first, but soon chattering like old friends on a marathon gossip.

"You never did tell me if you ever dream about him."

"No? Fact is- and I'd rather this didn't get around- I do, sometimes. The other night, I dreamt that he found a spell that would make me human, make him able to…"

"To what?"

"To…to… look, can't we change the subject? I may not be able to bite humans any more, but I can tell when they're trying to get me to say embarrassing things."

"What is it, Sp.. William? Do you think he doesn't love you?"

"I know he doesn't," he snaps, struggling to remain in human guise, his eyes glinting amber. "Now are you going to shut up and help, or leave?"

She ignores his threatening manner, seeing the gold in his eyes but confidant that she is right. "Neither. I'm going to help as best I can- and number one thing is you have to be honest about what you feel. No point aiming for romantic if you're going to back out of the really important part. You've always prided yourself on being honest, haven't you? Well, be honest now. You love him, he loves you."

"That's easy for you to say. You're beautiful. People love you. They have to be dead and barmy before they even want to be around me."

"Not true. I don't know about in the past. I wasn't there, and I suspect you've changed a lot. What I can say is- Giles loves you, I like you, Tara likes you, even Xander and Buffy could come round to it. They don't actively hate you anymore, anyway. So there."

"Three people who like me. Yeah, that's a real fan club." He turns away.

"Now you're just being sarky and wiseass. You never said you wanted a fan club- it's asking a bit much- and one of the three loves you. Isn't that enough?"

Subdued now and still facing away from her, he replies, "I don't know. I've never had this before."

Willow stares at his back for a moment, and then realises that this is the absolute truth.

She steps across to him, cautiously, unsure how much she has hurt his feelings and aware that his shoulders are heaving with silent sobs, to put a hand on his back.

"That's okay, William. You don't have to know."

Seeming to need the touch, he turns around to bury his head in the little hollow between her shoulder and neck. Somewhere at the back of his mind he wonders, (when did she start calling me William?) but it was quickly squashed by his fears: that he wasn't loved by the man he'd fallen for, that he was going to be rejected once again, that no one could truly care about him.

Later, when he has calmed down, they finish cleaning and cooking, and when they stop for coffee and blood, Willow gets around to asking him what was in the box she'd been asked to bring from its hiding place in his crypt.

"Clothes," he tells her, knowing that a vague answer wouldn't be accepted, but determined to try it anyway. (Dammit, I'm a vampire. An evil vampire. Does no one take that seriously anymore?)

Apparently Willow doesn't notice his attempt at badassness, because she only says, "What kind of clothes, silly? Some of us where under the impression you only have the one set."

"Well, officially I do."

"But unofficially?"

"It was D…" His voice tails off, pain suddenly flooding him again.

She comes to sit by him on the sofa, ready to return to her role as vampire comforter. "Drusilla?"

He swallows hard, and nods. "She liked to… to play dressing up. Sometimes just her, but sometimes me as well. I kept…some things, for the purpose. I thought maybe… but maybe not."

"You thought they would be nicer than the jeans-and-t-shirt look, for the romantic dinner? I'm only guessing here, but based on what I've seen of her taste in clothes, I'd say you're right. If you can't stand wearing things with memories like that, then we'll see about something else- I expect Xander or Riley has something smarter that would fit you- but I think we should look at what you've got, first."

Her speech gives him the fresh confidence that he needs, and he grins. "Some of it's a bit strange- stuff we took from the people we killed- but some of it's passable. I hope."

"We won't know if we don't look," she says, and moves across to get the suitcase.

One by one, she takes out the items, all carefully cleaned and neatly folded up, ready to be worn, barring the occasional tear or bloodstain. There are shirts on top- t-shirts and the red over shirts he wears everyday, but after two or three layers of those she comes to more exotic things. As she lifts them out, she names what she recognises, and turns to him for explanations of what she doesn't.

"White shirt, dressing gown, umm…"

"Norfolk jacket."

She frowns, looking at the pocket covered garment, before moving on. "Smart shoes, baseball cap, err.."

"Zoot suit."

"Oh." It is a long jacket, blue with pinstripes, with padded shoulders and a fitted waist. The trousers that match it taper to narrow cuffs, and it occurs to her that it probably really does suit Spike. The blue is a little darker than his eyes, just enough to bring them out, and she sets it aside from the main pile. He frowns, wondering why, but she goes on.

"Several ties, army jacket and finally…" She hold up a pair of baggy trousers, too short to come much below the knee, made of a light cotton.

"Knickerbockers," he tells her, half embarrassed, half smiling. "So, red, what do you think I should wear tonight?"

She looks at the pile again, then at the zoot suit. "That," she says, pointing. "The- what did you say- zoot suit. It's a good colour, and smart. I'd say a tux, if you had one, but since you don't, I think the suit is good. With the white shirt, and the matching tie."

"I only wore it once. We killed the guy who was wearing it because D.. she thought the colour would suit me."

"She was right," Willow says quietly. "Go and put it on, let me see how you look."

He leaves the room, carrying the clothes and trying to hold back the memories- not to mention the feelings that go with them.