A Match Made In Sunnydale (Part 1)

A Match Made In Sunnydale  
  
  
  
Before I get into this I just want to clear up that there are no spoilers here.  
This is purely my imagination at work. I'm not trying to offend anyone, prove  
any point, or make any grand statements. I'll apologize in advance for any  
incorrect usage of British slang.   
Also, I've been pretty minimal in describing Willow and Spike's actions on  
purpose. This way you can imagine what they're doing instead of me telling you.  
And this isn't all of it. If there's an interest, I'll post more as I write it.  
And lastly -- I know this isn't a fanfic site (which is probably where this should  
be posted), but I feel like more of the opinions I care about will be given  
through here. Thanks for reading.  
  
Spike is standing in Willow's room staring out the window. He's just outside of  
the direct sunlight coming in and the curtain has been pulled aside to reveal the  
cross. He hears soft footsteps in the hall and turns as Willow enters carrying a  
tray with a coffee cup of blood and a few airline size bottles of alcohol on it.  
She sets it on her desk and he steps away from the window.  
S: "Not exactly the most Jewish of religious icons, is it?" he says gesturing to  
the cross.  
W: "We weren't entirely sure a Star of David would work."  
Spike takes a sip from the mug. "Work for what?"  
W: "For keeping An...an un-invitation ritual."  
S: "Ah. Don't say the 'A' word around Spike. He hates that."  
W: "Well don't you?"  
S: "It's all in the past. Old hat."  
W: "Oh yeah. And you're so not one to hold a grudge, are you?"  
S: "Now that's just...okay -- you're right. I can be rather single minded, I  
suppose. But really, d'you think I'm gonna go all berzerk just because someone  
says his name?"  
W: "Angel."  
S: "ALRIGHT! That's enough of that! No need to rub it in." He drinks the  
remaining blood and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Um...thanks. For  
that. You know, heatin' it and all."  
W: "Well that's a first."  
S: "What is?"  
W: "A 'Thank you' from you. Just a little...unusual."  
S: "Am I ever going to get out of this obnoxious, pain in the arse mold I've been  
mashed into?"  
She gives him an 'Oh, please' look.  
S: "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Right again. Two points for the witch. I'm just set in my  
ways is all. Now I've got to have people - actual people - around to bloody feed  
me. Don't get me wrong, I think deep down somewhere I'm probably quite  
grateful, but ugh...this whole thing just reeks."  
W: "I'll take that as a recinding of the thanks. Why is doing everything  
yourself such a picnic anyway? I like asking for help. I mean, to me it just  
means I'm learning something new. It's not something to get upset over."  
S: "Would you ask me for help?"  
W: "Sure."  
S: "Would you askme for help if I was still able to kill you?"  
W: "Oh."  
S: "Not bloody likely. You see where I'm comin' from now? This is humiliating.  
I'm tied to chairs, chained in bathtubs, made to drink bugger knows how old  
pig's blood through a straw from a sodding novelty mug. I just don't know how  
much more I can take."  
W: "I'm sorry. Are those ropes too tight for you?"  
S: "Huh? Oh, damn. You're just doing that 'cause you know I'm helpless."  
W: "That's right. My favorite game lately is 'Let's tease the psycho bad guy  
while he's free to roam around in my house'. I just can't get enough of it."  
S: "You're doing it again."  
W: "Because you're being stubborn. And whiny. I guess I can sort of  
understand the stubborn part...but not the complaining. It's not like you're still  
locked in a cage, you know."  
S: "Leave it to you to make your point with logic and reason. At least Buffy  
might threaten me or smack me around a little."  
W: "I can call her."  
S: "Ehh. Why bother? You'll just torment me with common sense until she gets  
here."  
W: "You can't be nice for two minutes can you? Every time somebody shows  
you a little compassion, you turn into a poophead. You must really hate us. I  
mean, all we've done is kept you alive. No...wait. We've kept you alive and  
comfortable. We let you walk around, watch tv, eat our food that you don't  
need, badger us with your take on everything, and...and...okay I'm running out of  
bad things you do these days, but you know they're there."  
S: "You're rather fetching when you're angry."  
W: "Well I think you can just...what?"  
S: "You heard me."  
W: "No. I'm not sure I did."  
S: "Why'd you bring me here anyway?"  
W: "Giles, Xander, and Buffy all had stuff to do and they didn't want to leave  
you alone."  
S: "But why am I here? In your house. Why didn't you come to where I was?"  
W: "I guess I didn't really think about doing it that way."  
S: "So you volunteered for this? That's quite touching."  
W: "See? There you go again."  
S: "No. Really. I mean it. None of the others would have done that would they?  
Come to think of it, they wouldn't have brought me anything to eat without me  
asking first, either. Why are you being so nice to me? What d'you want?"  
W: "Why do I have to want something? Can't I just be nice?"  
S: "Sure. But to me? Come on."  
W: "No, you come on. What would I want from you?"  
S: "Point taken." He takes a couple of bottles from the tray. "You want one?"  
Willow shakes her head. "You go ahead."  
Spike puts them back on the tray. "It's no fun drinkin' alone. Unless you're  
already drunk. Or in deep physical pain. Maybe when you're torturing someone.  
Because then you aren't really alone are you? And I might be makin' the other  
bloke swallow poison, but at least he's drinkin' you know?"  
W: "Sure. No. Not really."  
S: "That's okay. Can't quite see you as the torturing type anyway."  
W: "Um...thanks?"  



End file.
