Disclaimer: Don't own any of the Buffy cast/crew/characters/plotlines/etc. A several bits of dialogue are taken from the episode "Him". I write the poems, although I think this one sucks in comparison to the last two. I hate making it rhyme.
Author's Notes: I have no idea where this thing is going so don't expect regular updates of this, but I'll write as often as time and the muses allow. Although the muses have apparently run off somewhere and I haven't a clue where, so it's just me poking the keyboard, hoping that something reasonably good comes out. Thus, parts will be a bit shorter than usual. Heh. No really, I'm not kidding about the short parts. Please don't stone me.
As Xander watched the jacket burn, he couldn't stop turning the situation over and over in his head. I do not like Spike. Spike does not like me. We had no control over our bodies, it was all the jacket's work. Stupid jacket. Stupid Lance's family. I hate jocks.
Buffy smiles as she watched him staring into the fire, and misinterpereted his musings. "Xander, be honest. You didn't, you know, think about slipping that jacket on just a little bit?"
Been there, done that. Xander thought, But there is no way I'm going to tell you I just played tonsel hockey with Spike. "I refuse to answer that on the grounds that it didn't fit," he said. Hey, it's not lying... it's just selective truth-telling.
The girls continued to exchange and share their disbelief at the lengths they had been willing to go under the influence of the jacket. He mostly tuned it out, smiling a little at the knowledge that his "I can't believe I actually..." story would trump them all. Well, maybe not Anya, 'cause he had a feeling she was hiding a doozey of a story. Especially when she mentioned the legal ramifications...
"True." he'd replied. "You fell for a mystical, ancient curse. Who hasn't made that mistake seven, eight times?" Although how come every time I fall for a curse, I always end up being somebody's buttmonkey? It's not fair.
Once the jacket was ash and Willow proclaimed all traces of the love magic was gone, Xander excused himself from the girls and left. The evening had been stressful, but he still had a restless itch that wouldn't let him relax. Deciding to stop by the site to go through a few papers before morning, Xander headed over to the school.
He was half a block away when he saw a figure walk out of the front doors of the school. He instinctively crouched behind some bushes, watching as the figure - easily recognizable as Spike from the pale hair and unique stalk - walk away from the school and, luckily, away from where Xander was hiding. An uneasy knot of paranoia formed in the pit of his stomach, but he tried to shake it off. It wasn't his business what Spike was doing in the school.
When he was sure Spike was gone, he left the bushes and unlocked the door to the office, turning on the light and locking the door behind him. He booted up the computer and sat down, shuffling though a few papers as he waited for the computer to load. On a whim, he opened up the Internet and typed in the address of the poetry site, curious to see if any new poems had been posted by his secret admirer. The uneasy feeling increased when he saw that there was a new poem, and it had only been posted a half hour ago. He hesitantly clicked the link, heart pounding in his chest as he waited for the poem to load.
Mercutio and Tybalt
Two halves of a whole, two opposites,
two blokes with all their bobs and bits,
one day face off against each other,
neither willing to lose or blunder.
Unknown to them, the spell that's cast
surrounds them both with claws of glass,
seeps into their skin, controls their mind,
and to reality makes them blind.
And though they share true love's first kiss,
lacking in both is lover's bliss.
Intimacy forced has no worth,
as a joke badly told contains no mirth.
This moment of happiness is a blow
that weakens me, and still I know
the moment the spell breaks, you'll flee.
Despite my will, my heart's with thee.
Xander wasn't stupid. He'd paid attention in class when they were learning about poetry and Shakespeare, about symbols and their meanings... The more he read the poem, the more sense it made. It was about two people, sworn bitter enemies, who kiss under the influence of magic.
But only one other person knew about the kiss in the alley...
"Oh, my god! Searchforeffulgence is Spike!"
TBC...
