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Thanks to FM, Anez and Constance for the lovely curse. You gals are great!
"What?" Spike's voice was loud and angry. He rose from his chair and slammed both hands on the desk, leaning forward. The realtor instinctively leaned back.
"The seller made a mistake. He didn't get a contract on the house he wants to buy so he can't sell to you," she babbled nervously.
Utter disappointment filled Willow, but she realized the danger the realtor was in and gently grabbed one of Spike's wrists, murmuring, "William."
"Don't 'William' me, luv," he snarled, not looking at her. "I'll rip his intestines out and make him eat them."
Willow's fingernails dug into his skin making him yelp and look back at her. She frowned, her eyes flashing a warning, and his angry look turned sheepish.
"Sorry, luv," he muttered.
"I understand your anger and disappointment," the realtor began. "It's unfortunate. It would have been so much better if he'd let me know this earlier, before you'd settled on this particular property."
"Yes, well, thank you for letting us know so quickly," Willow answered softly, rising to her feet and sliding her hand into Spike's.
"I really am sorry," the woman apologized helplessly.
Nodding wordlessly, Willow began to pull her still fuming fiance towards the door. They left as the realtor continued to apologize.
"This bites," Spike growled as he stomped out of the office into the early summer night. Willow trotted to keep up with him, trying to quell her own intense disappointment, that icky sinking feeling in her stomach.
The townhouse had been just perfect. The last two weeks had been such fun--going to open houses, checking out neighborhoods, getting pre-approved for the loan. They had both fallen in love with this one property at first sight. The color schemes were dramatic and different, there was a nice size yard, a brick fireplace to snuggle in front off and a loft for Willow's office. The thing that had really sold them was the spacious, windowless storage room where Spike could spend the days in comfort.
Now, thanks to the moron of a seller, their dream house was off the market.
"If you'd just let me do things the vampire way, we'd be living in the place now," Spike muttered as he stomped across main street towards the park.
"You promised to do this right, Spike. To do it like normal people."
"We're not normal people," he growled, not looking at her, just tugging her deeper into the dark park.
Finally, Willow had enough of being pulled like a child's toy and yanked her hand free. The force necessary to disengage her hand, sent her falling backwards onto her butt. She yelped and Spike spun around, contrition on his face.
"Baby, are you okay?" He dropped to one knee next to her.
One lone tear trickled down her cheek and she shook her head, gasping suddenly for air. "N--ooo. I really...I really loved that house." She began to cry and Spike sighed in distress, scooping her into his arms and carrying her to a nearby bench. Sitting down, he held her on his lap and she buried her face in his shoulder.
"There, there, pet. We'll find another house."
"I wanted that one," she sobbed brokenly. "It was so exciting, so...adult."
Spike frowned, having totally lost her train of thought. The house was adult? "Pet?"
"Getting the loan, calling the broker, you know, grown-up stuff." Her hands tightened on his shoulders and he patted her back awkwardly.
Spike was still a little confused as to why all that was important to her, but he had long ago determined that anything necessary to make her happy, he would do. "Pet, what do you want me to do?"
"There's nothing we CAN do." Willow cried even harder and Spike winced visibly, silently swearing to make the wanker pay.
*****
Thirty minutes later, Willow sat on her living room couch, still sniffling, as her parents murmured condolences. Her mother frowned as Spike paced.
"Willow, your crying is bothering William. These things happen. You know men can't be trusted to follow the accepted rules of these sorts of transactions."
Ira Rosenburg ignored his wife, as he often did, especially when she acted like a stereotypical mother from the '50s one minute, and a male-hating amazon the next. He puffed contentedly on his pipe, watching his daughter's fiance wear a hole in the rug.
"It was the perfect house," Willow wailed. "It had everything we wanted."
"Darling, there are plenty of houses available in Sunnydale. We really have a booming real estate market," her father said, trying to cheer her up.
"I don't WANT a house where the people died so I could get it."
"Why not? That's how I usually do it," Spike muttered, then stopped pacing and glanced at his future in-laws. "Um, estate sales." The Rosenburgs nodded sagely and Spike resumed his pacing, really wanting a cigarette, but knowing that would only piss off Willow even more.
"I'm so depressed."
At that over dramatic wail, Spike rolled his eyes, reached for his fiance and jerked her to her feet. "That's enough, Willow," he scolded sternly. "You're an adult, act like one."
She promptly stuck her tongue out at him, kicked him in the shin and fled to her room. Muttering obscenities under his breath, Spike grabbed his wounded leg, trying to hop on one foot, and finally collapsing onto the couch. "This night just sucks."
"I don't know what has gotten into Willow, William. She's behaving very badly,"
Knowing full well what Willow was up to, Spike held his tongue. His little redhead was pissed and upset and depressed and feeling very helpless. She was trying to anger him into spanking her, so that she could turn her anger on someone she could actually make pay.
The idiotic wanker really did deserve to have his guts force-fed to him. As Spike's future mother-in-law yammered on and on about Willow's usual serene emotional state, images of the seller screaming for mercy as Spike stomped on his face flowed through the blonde vampire's wicked mind.
Finally--after he'd calmed down too--he excused himself and walked down the hall to Willow's room.
Willow lay on her bed furiously writing in her journal, as Tori Amos sang loudly about something highly depressing. Spike closed the door and sat down on her desk chair, leaning forward so that his elbows rested on his knees and his chin on his fists.
"Leave me alone," Willow snapped.
"Willow, you're not mad at me..."
"Yeah, well, getting mad at him solves nothing." She glared at him, her eyes glittering with tears, before resuming writing out her anger.
"Luv, I'm disappointed, too."
The pen dropped onto the bed and Willow's shoulders sagged. "It was such a nice place, so pretty and just the right size...and the yard was just perfect...for a child." Her voice broke on a sob and Spike dropped to his knees next to the bed, his hand gently stroking her shoulders.
"Luv, we have time," he soothed. "Another house will come along. The wedding isn't for another eight months."
"I know," she sighed, swallowing her tears. "I just got so excited about this one."
"So did I," Spike admitted.
Willow turned her head to look at him, surprised. "I thought...you were just doing this for me."
Tenderly he brushed his lips over hers. "At first, yeah. But, your enthusiasm is infectious, luv. Okay, I thought it kind of ridiculous to be applying for a loan when I have several million stashed away, but I came to understand your reasoning. And, sure it's easier to just kill the owners and move in, but..." He gave her a chagrined look. "I guess that's something only a demon could enjoy."
"Oh...I'd like to kill the dick," Willow muttered evilly, then shook her head at Spike's hopeful look. "No, we can't."
Spike sighed and sat back on his heels, scowling. "You know, I'm going to be the laughing stock of the clan. I can already see prick boy's glee."
Willow sat up and pulled a book out from under her mattress. "Well...maybe the seller shouldn't get off scot free."
Glancing at the title on the leather cover, Spike slowly grinned. "Luv, 'Curses of the Romani'?"
"Well, I got it to see if I could find a spell to restore Angel's soul." She held up her hand to forestall the coming proclamation of joy. "Buffy doesn't want that."
"It would sure solve one of our major problems," Spike muttered under his breath.
"There's no soul-restoration spell in here, anyway, so it's kind of mootville, but..." Willow flipped through the book until she found the page she was looking for. "I'll need a few things from Ethan's, and you'll have to do the actual curse because my goddess would majorly frown on it. I'm going to be in enough trouble as it is, but you're already going to Hell, so..." she finished in a teasing tone, a grin on her face.
Spike stuck his tongue out and took the book. "'Wing of bat and eye of newt'. Do I want to know what I do with those?"
"Not particularly."
He made a face and continued, "'Slime of frog and dried crow's foot.' Doesn't quite rhyme."
"It's a translation."
"'Feather of raven, black as the night, and, should you get this curse right? In one fell swoop his parts will off and ne'r again will he boff.' Will?" Choking with laughter, Spike toppled over sideways.
Laughing herself, Willow pounced on him, making him grunt, then kissed him passionately, making him purr.
End