A/N1:Well, I didn't get much in the way of feedback as to whether to wait on my editor or post the unedited chapters. As I'm rather an impatient sort, and there's a lot going on in my editor's life, I cautiously offer to you the unedited version of the story. Be kind.

A/N2:For those who don't recall, our setting for this chapter, The Grotto, was the coffee house where Willow confronted Parker in "Beer Bad." I'm saying that the damage from the fire was mostly smoke damage, and they were able to reopen quickly.

Chapter 6
Coffee Talk

"You could ask him for coffee some night.
It's the non-relationship drink of choice.
It's not a date, it's a caffeinated beverage."
-Willow, 'Reptile Boy'

"You're late."

Spike stood at the bottom of the short staircase, looking up at the redhead just entering the coffee house.

"I know, I'm sorry," Willow responded hurriedly, "I couldn't decide what to wear…" She flushed slightly, as if she had revealed more than she'd planned to.

The vampire snorted in reply, before taking a moment to survey the outfit in question. The witch wore a simple, off-the-shoulder peasant blouse along with a pair of leather pants. It was an odd combo, but somehow, the result was rather striking on her.

"You look beautiful," Spike reassured her, placing his hand low on her back as he steered them towards the counter.

"Thanks," she blushed, and ducked her head, "I didn't want to wear anything too not-me, but I wanted to look…" she trailed off again, once more worried that she'd said too much.

"Too 'not-me'? You mean 'too sexy', don't you? No such thing on you, love."

He looked into her eyes while she flushed a deeper crimson, then looked away from him.

"What'll you have?" he added, changing the subject.

"A mocha grande with extra whipped cream," was the relieved reply.

Spike refrained from rolling his eyes, dutifully ordering it along with his own black coffee, then got them settled at a dark corner table. Out came his trusty flask, as he doctored his drink liberally. Willow rolled her eyes at that, so Spike offered her the mug in jest. She started to shake her head, then seemed to change her mind.

"Well…just a little sip," she said instead. He passed the cup over, and suppressed a chuckle at the face she made when she tasted it. It didn't matter if she liked it or not, the important thing was that she'd been willing to try it.

Reclaiming his beverage, Spike took a long drink. He regretted that he couldn't light up in the coffee house – a good cup of java had always come with a craving for cigarettes afterward – but he couldn't afford a scene in his current condition. He'd just have to distract himself with conversation.

He'd given a lot of thought to the subject, wanting to further Willow's disaffection with her friends, but not wanting to alert her to his plans. Magic, for example, was off the list of possible topics. He'd done all he could in that department for now. If she brought it up, he'd be supportive, of course, but it could be disastrous if Spike introduced the subject once too often. Luckily, there were other areas with potential for discord among the Scoobies. He thought he'd come up with a good one.

"If you could do anything you wanted, had all the money in the world, what would you do?" he offered, starting in what he thought was a nicely round-about manner.

"I'd want to help people," Willow responded instantly.

"Help people?" He barely kept the disdain out of his voice.

"Yes, set up some sort of charitable organization, give out grants, that sort of thing."

"You're missing the point, princess. Let's put it this way: what would you do if you had all the money in the world, and were incredibly selfish?"

Willow giggled at that, then thought about what he had asked.

"Europe," ventured Spike before she could reply. Willow's eyebrows flew up, and he knew that he had guessed right.

"How did you know?"

Spike shrugged. "You're the type that wants to go to Europe. See the museums, the art, the old buildings."

"I'd love to visit Paris, Milan, Vienna, all sorts of places," she confessed, "It'd be great to see the museums, the castles, maybe even catch an opera somewhere."

"Opera? Seriously? Fat ladies in pointy-horned hats?" Spike was surprised, "I had you pegged as more of a ballet person."

"Oh, I love Italian opera," she amended, "Aida, La Bohème – pretty much anything except Madame Butterfly."

Spike raised an eyebrow at this strange qualifier, but Willow only blushed and said, "Long story."

"So why aren't you there?" he queried, getting the conversation back on the track he wanted.

Willow frowned into her coffee.

"What do you mean?"

"With brains like yours, I'd have thought at least one school in Europe would have wanted you."

"Several, actually." She started ticking them off on her fingers, "Oxford, the Sorbonne, a polytech in Germany,…"

Spike cut her off. "All those schools, and you ended up here? How come?"

"Lots of reasons. Cost being the biggest one," she replied defensively.

"Come off it, Red. You're bound to have scholarships. In fact, I bet you don't pay a dime to go here."

Willow shrugged in acknowledgement. "It's true. But a foreign school is a whole different matter," she rationalized.

"It's still not the reason that you're attending a third-rate school like this," he pressed, sensing that he was closing in on the truth.

"It's not third-rate," she contradicted reflexively.

Spike snorted at that. "The only thing this school is famous for is its death rate. It's hardly the place for an intellectual sort like yourself. There must be a reason you stayed in Sunnydale."

"They have some very fine departments, like… Native American Studies," she hedged, before finally caving, "Alright, I stayed in town so I could help Buffy. Happy?"

"Well, that's certainly working out wonderfully for you," he scoffed disdainfully.

"I knew you'd say that," Willow pouted, "Just because Buffy's not around much doesn't mean that she doesn't need my help. We're still a team!"

"Mmm-hmm. If you say so, love." Spike left it at that and took a sip of coffee.

"It's true!" she said in a quavering voice that caused him to wonder which of them she was trying to convince, "And I also stayed so I could work on my magic, really get a chance to improve as a witch."

"And you're getting lots of support in that area, aren't you," was the sarcastic reply.

"You know, I don't think I want to talk about this anymore," she said, rising from her seat, "In fact, I think I'd better get back to my dorm."

"Whoa, now, don't go rushing off!" Spike laid a hand on her arm, instantly contrite. Willow stomping out was not in his game plan for tonight. "I didn't mean to upset you, kitten. I was just curious, that's all. Let me buy you another mocha-whatever."

Willow eyed him cautiously, still clearly intent on leaving.

"Please," he wheedled, putting on his most charming manner.

She caved under the influence of his blue eyes, and sat down again. Spike hid a sigh of relief, and went to fetch her another drink. He also began pummeling his brain for a new, safer, conversation topic.

"So, what exactly were you rushing off to do, then? More homework?" he asked as he returned.

She shrugged a bit. "I have to do it some time. Probably my English Lit. paper, it's due in a few days."

Spike was intrigued in spite of himself. "What sort of literature?"

"It's my Survey of 18th and 19th Century Literature class. Nothing you could help with."

"Of course not, seeing as I was actually around during the 19th Century, or part of it at least. I couldn't possibly be of any help."

"Just because you were there doesn't mean…"

"What's this paper about, then?" he interrupted, a little annoyed at her quick dismissal of his abilities.

She looked up at him for a moment, probably trying to figure out if he was serious, then said, "Well, we're supposed to pick out a poet to study and explain why their writing was a good example of Romantic Era poetry. It's a little before your time."

"Who'd you pick?"

"Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley."

"You're not serious?"

"Why, because I'm not doing something on Blake, or Keats? Because it's a woman? You sound just like my professor!"

"Did I say any of that?" he challenged. "I just don't think you made a very good choice, especially if you're trying to show up your teacher."

"Oh, and who would you pick to write about?" Willow shot back.

The obvious disdain in the witch's voice pricked at Spike's pride. Before he'd thought about what he was saying, he responded, "What about Anna Laetitia Barbauld instead?"

Willow's jaw hit the floor. Then she actually digested what he had said.

"But she's so, so…" Willow seemed disgusted.

"Feminine?" he guessed. She grimaced, and nodded. "Now, are you writing a paper about someone who was a typical Romantic, or are you trying to prove some sort of girl-power nonsense?"

"I…" It was obvious that she hadn't really thought about it.

"Barbauld would be a much better choice, honestly," Spike was becoming interested in the project, despite himself. "I can tell you all about her, even quote some stuff that might help, if you need."

Red was still staring at him, open-mouthed. He nearly blushed as he realized how much he'd given away. He tried to cover.

"What, you think I never went to university? I wasn't always a vampire, you know." He was becoming tired of people thinking he didn't know anything, just because he hadn't killed the Slayer yet. Note to self: kill Slayer, he thought sourly.

She recovered a bit from her shock. "I guess I never thought about it. I just assumed…"

"Most people do, love, and usually I like it that way. So don't go spreading it around," he warned, taking a sip of his coffee to cover his own inner agitation. What am I doing? I left all this in the past!

"Well, they say turnabout is fair play. Your secret's safe with me, too." She grinned at him and he smiled back, his bad mood lifting a bit.

"I appreciate you trying to help," she continued, "But how on earth would I put that in my 'Works Cited' page? Interview with a vampire?"

He groaned, as she giggled. "God, I hate that sodding book."

"It's nice of you to offer, really, but I'd have to do some research on her. I'm not sure I have that kind of time, Spike. I'll just have to stick with what I have."

"I could go break into the library for you, steal a few books," he offered, getting caught up once more in the conversation. "You wouldn't even need to read them, I can probably tell you most of what you'd need to know."

"Spike! You can't do that, it's wrong!" she exclaimed, eyes wide.

"This from the girl who steals weapons from the local army base."

"That was different, we were saving the world," she said defensively, "Besides, you wouldn't have to break in, the library's still open right now. Of course, you wouldn't be able to check out any of the books without a card."

"Who said I was checking anything out?"

"Spike!"

"Fine, have it your way."

He wanted to pace in frustration. Breaking in would have been fun. So would nicking a few books for her. Plus, she'd have a much better paper. Not that I care about some bloody paper, he reminded himself, I just need her happy with me.

"So, I borrow your card, do it on the up and up – sort of."

She shook her head. "It's also my college I.D., it has my picture on it."

He collapsed in on himself, defeated. She'd turned and was examining him with an odd look on her face.

"What?" he snarled defensively.

"This really is important to you, isn't it?" she said with dawning surprise.

"Is not!" he snapped, wishing once more that he could have a smoke. He looked away from her curious eyes, thinking fast.

"I just know how much your grades mean to you," he said, turning back to face her now that he had a good excuse, "High marks all around, and so forth, right?"

He didn't think she was fooled. She opened her mouth to say something else, but he never gave her the chance. "Red, one more word on the subject, and I'll pay someone to have you killed."

Her eyes widened with fright at the venom of his tone. He seethed in frustration. He never should have said a word in the first place, shouldn't have let her goad him into revealing so much. Now he was back at square one again. He really needed a cigarette, now. He tried to shake it off, but it didn't work.

"I'll be back in a mo," he said casually, hoping to erase the sting of his earlier comment, "I just need a quick smoke."

"That stuff's bad for you, Spike," was her automatic response.

"It's hardly going to kill me, now, is it?"

She blushed in embarrassment for her unthinking comment. Spike ruffled her hair as he stood, then took himself outside.

Willow sat quietly as she waited for Spike to return. His last comment echoed in her mind, sparking curiosity about topics she usually didn't bother with.

"So what's it like?" she asked the moment he sat back down at the table.

Spike looked confused. "What, smoking?"

"Being a vampire. Becoming a vampire. I don't know," she sighed, "I guess I just realized how little I do know about it."

He smiled down at her, "I don't imagine you would. It's not exactly required reading for slaying." His eyes grew distant as he searched for the right words. "It's beyond description, the change that takes place. The way you feel when you first start to realize what you've become. It's powerful stuff, love."

He looked down at her earnestly, his eyes practically glowing with emotion. "You can't even begin to imagine how it feels, to suddenly know deep down how strong you are, how free…" He trailed off then, the light in his eyes dimming as reality caught up. Spike wasn't free, not anymore. The thought seemed so sad to Willow, caught up in the moment, so wrong somehow. She moved a little closer to him, and gave his arm a quick squeeze, trying to give him a little comfort. He'd done so much for her in the past few days, it was the least she could do. He put his arm around her and kissed her gently on the top of her head.

"I should have turned you when I had the chance," he murmured, running a hand through her hair.

"You tried, Spike. You couldn't," she said softly, trying not to hurt him more with the reminder.

"Not the other week, back last year, at the factory," he said, "Remember? There was that moment when you stood up to me, put me in my place, even though I could have killed you. Pretty gutsy move for someone like you, if you ask me. There's a lot more to you than meets the eye, Red."

"And you…" Her emotions were a big muddle, remembered fear from those memories warring with the amazement that she'd actually impressed him that much. She found herself even a bit wistful at the lost opportunity. He'd wanted her, for a moment at least.

"Thought about it. Well, I told you that already. I should have turned you then, but I was too wrapped up in Drusilla to realize it. We both would have been better off by now."

"You think I'm better off dead? Gee, thanks!" She pushed away from him a bit, suddenly coming back to the reality of what they were talking about.

"Not dead, love, undead. You'd make a beautiful vampire, I'd wager."

"I've seen me as a vampire," she scoffed, "all skanky in leather and…" She broke off as Spike's eyebrows headed upwards.

"Now, how did you manage…Never mind, you can tell me all about it later." She could practically see the image that she'd inadvertently conjured in his mind. She winced, wondering what his next words would be.

"All sexy in leather, hmm? I think I'd like to see that someday," he leered. She punched him a bit on the arm, but he just smiled at her.

"The point is, neither of us would even be here right now. You with a broken heart, always in the Slayer's shadow, me with this bloody spell. We could be in Europe by now, or anywhere else you fancied."

"I'm not in Buffy's shadow," she protested.

"Oh, you like playing the meek, helpless sidekick?" his tone was scornful.

"I'm not her sidekick! Goddess! Why does everyone think that?" Anger flared in her green eyes at the word.

"So stop acting like one, pet."

Willow was rather miffed at Spike. Partly for the way he constantly seemed to be bringing up topics like this, but mostly due to the fact that she knew he was right. She did tend to end up in a glorified supporting role whenever there was danger. How often did Buffy complain about having to protect her and Xander when there was fighting? Anger turned into despondency as she considered her actual contributions to the gang. Was she any good for anything at all?

Tears welled up in her eyes, and Spike hastened to comfort her.

"Hey, now. It's not all that bad. You've been making some big strides lately."

She thought about it, trying to figure out what he meant.

"You mean my new magic lessons?" she ventured softly.

"Exactly. You stood up to Giles, and you're learning skills that will help you in the future. Pretty soon, they'll find you're indispensable." He placed one cool hand atop hers and gave it a little squeeze. Willow managed a wan smile.

"You're just saying that," she protested.

"I don't 'just say' anything. If I say it, I mean it," he responded with conviction.

Spike handed her a napkin, and she dried her eyes. Greatly daring, Willow leaned against the vampire's shoulder. Spike obliged her by putting his arm around her again, and resting his head on hers. She closed her eyes and indulged in the comfort he was providing her. She wanted so much to believe in the things that he told her, to know that she could really trust him.

Willow considered everything he'd said to her so far in this strange friendship of theirs. Not once had he said something that she could point to as a definite lie. In fact, he'd given her a lot of harsh truths over the past few days. She had to give him the benefit of the doubt, didn't she? Even if he was a vampire, he wasn't like any other vampire she'd met. In fact, he wasn't even like the Spike she'd always thought she'd known. Take today, for instance. Who would have thought that Spike would know about a little-known poet like Barbauld? There were some serious layers to this vampire, and Willow was becoming intrigued with the idea of exploring those layers.

A beeping noise startled her. It was her watch, bringing her back to reality.

"Time to go, princess?" Spike asked gently.

Willow nodded reluctantly, suddenly feeling like Cinderella at the ball. She didn't want to return to the everyday world of essays and exams.

"We'll get together another time, soon," the vampire reassured her.

"Walk me to my dorm?" she asked hopefully.

"Anything you like," was the immediate response.

They headed out of the coffee house, arm in arm.