Draped in baggy overalls, with a handkerchief covering her hair, Buffy poured fresh paint into a pan and Willow dipped her long-handled roller into it. The pair had been refurbishing the chipped walls of the bedrooms all day. Having a friend to share the work had turned the mundane chore into a funny, memorable day. And there had only been one small paint fight.
Willow turned back to the wall she had been working on, and began to smooth on more of the sage green color. “Buffy,” she began with a note of hesitance, “can I ask you something?”
The blond dipped her own roller in the paint as her eyes narrowed warily. “Yes. What’s up?”
“Well, I’ve been counting, and I was curious if you were aware of the number of times you’ve mentioned a certain British farmhand since we started painting this morning?”
Buffy could practically hear Willow’s cheeky grin. Turning to the redhead with a raised eyebrow, she placed one hand on her hip. “Your point being?” she challenged. Perhaps she had mentioned him in passing once or twice, but it wasn’t like she had been yammering about him all day.
“My point,” the other woman countered, not backing down under the pointed stare of her best friend, “is that you haven’t shut up about him all day. I’ve counted up to fourteen so far.”
Oh.
Willow continued her N-shaped stroked along the wall. “So, what’s up with you two?”
Not liking the direction this conversation was taking at all, Buffy tried the old standby: denial. “Up? Nothing’s up with us. I mean, not us, because there isn’t even an us to be up. Yeah,” she nodded to herself in confirmation, “no up or us to speak of.”
“Right,” Willow said condescendingly. “Which would explain why you two are constantly holed up in each other’s bedrooms, and every spare moment of the day you’re in the garage with him working on that old car, or he’s helping you around the house. And it’s not like I’ve caught you making googly moon-eyes at him when you think nobody’s watching. Yup, definitely nothing of interest there…”
Scowling intently at her roller, Buffy continued painting. “I do not make googly moon-eyes, thank you. Maybe you just happened to catch me in a moment of thoughtful reflection.”
“Yeah,” Willow snorted, “if you were thoughtfully reflecting on Spike’s butt.”
Buffy had to laugh at that. “I’m not going to win this one, am I?” She sighed in defeat.
The other woman shook her head. “Not unless you can look me straight in the eye and tell me you’re not the least bit interested in Spike Blood.”
Turning to her friend defiantly, the blond opened her mouth, then closed it again with an audible snap.
“Ha! I knew it! So, when are you going to make with the smoochies?”
Buffy rolled her eyes, but couldn’t completely hide her blush. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Wills. There won’t be any smoochies. It’s not like that. He’s nineteen, for one thing. And last I checked, cradle-robbing wasn’t exactly on my ‘list of wacky things to try’.”
“Oh, pish-posh,” Willow said with a dismissive gesture. “Age ain’t nothin’ but a number, baby.”
“He’s a teenager!”
“And? He’s older than you were when you got married, for crying out loud! So, why not? Spike’s funny and smart and really nice under all the bad-assity; not to mention he’s got the body of a Greek god. Plus, he’s totally crazy about you. So why can’t it be ‘like that’?” she demanded, using air quotes.
Setting her roller down in the pan, Buffy’s shoulders slumped, and a small, defeated sigh escaped her lips. “Because it can’t. I can’t.”
Willow saw the sadness in her friend’s eyes, comprehension dawning on her. She set down her own roller and crossed the room noisily, the plastic protective sheeting rustling under her feet, and rested her hand gently on Buffy’s arm. “Buffy, look at me.” She waited for Buffy to comply before she continued. “The three people in the world who knew Riley Finn best live under this roof, myself being one of them. In all the time I had with him, there was one thing about him I was more sure of than anything else: he loved you. And when you love someone, you want more than anything for them to be happy, right?”
Buffy nodded, blinking hard to clear misty eyes.
“Now, since he’s been gone,” the redhead continued, “there hasn’t exactly been a whole lot of singing and dancing for joy around here. Especially not from you. But whenever Spike is near you, every time I catch the two of you talking or working together, you’re different. Happier. Even Xander’s noticed it,” she said pointedly.
Recognizing the gravity of that last statement, Buffy’s eyebrows raised.
Giving her friend’s arm a gentle squeeze, Willow pressed on. “Riley, Xander, myself—we all love you. You know that, right?” There was a nod in the affirmative. “Which means we want you to be happy. Now the question is, do you want to be happy?”
One of the tears Buffy had been struggling to keep at bay escaped and slid quickly down her cheek. She swiped at it and drew a deep, steadying breath. “I care about Spike. A lot more than I thought I would, or maybe even could. And you’re right; there’s something about him that makes me feel so…light. But how could I ever act on it? What, I’m supposed to just turn my back on Riley? Forget the man I married? What kind of person would I be if I did something like that?”
Willow bit her lip and stared at the floor for a moment. “Buffy, did you love your mom?”
Her eyebrows came together. “Of course.”
“So, when you married Riley, did you stop loving her?”
“No,” Buffy asserted. “That’s ridiculous.”
“And Xander and me,” Willow continued, “When you met us did you stop loving Riley?”
“Wills, no, but—“
“But what, Buffy? Letting one person into your heart doesn’t push another person out of it. Having a relationship with Spike won’t in any way detract from what you had with your husband. If the situation were reversed, would you want Riley going around miserable and lonely for the rest of his life?”
The look in her green eyes was answer enough.
“I didn’t think so. It’s up to you, now. You’re the one who has to choose how you live and what you can’t live without.” Willow wrapped her arms around the tiny woman, hugging her tightly. “Don’t be afraid to live your life, to get what you want. To be happy,” she said, her words almost a whisper.
They parted after a moment, smiling watery smiles at each other.
“Now,” Willow said in a cheery voice, lightening the mood, “enough about you. Let’s talk about my boyfriend and his rock band.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you to Flibble for her superhuman betaing skills, Bree, for being my sounding board and not being afraid to tell me when I'm being stupid, and to the good people of IHOP.