Title: Snack Run (sequel to "A Little Night Music." I still don't like that title, or this one, but I can't think of anything better.)

Summary: Spike and Willow go shopping.

Spoilers: Let's just say "Lovers Walk"

Disclaimer: Of *course* they belong to someone else. I could never come up with characters like this. Specifically, they belong to Mutant Enemy, Fox, WB, and anyone else I forgot.

Rating: G, I think.

Distribution: Please ask. I'm not too sure anyone would really want it, though.

Feedback: Um, sure, I think. I'm not really a writer. I'm just trying to sort out what the voices in my head want me to do. There are just so *many* of them, telling me all sorts of different things, and I'm not sure which ones to listen to. Feedback would probably help. So would therapy, but I can't afford that right now, so I'll just try to keep on writing. The big question is this: Does anyone want to see any more of this?

Notes: To Gail who wanted to know when Buffy would get that Cherry Coke. And to Laure who just insisted on more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hello, cutie. I was hoping you would come."

Simple words, really. But did he mean them? Or was this just a clever plan to get her alone yet again? Well, okay, if it was a clever plan to get her alone, then he really *did* mean what he said, so the answers to both questions could be yes. What was the question again? The convenience store was on the corner right up the street, so she could actually run there -- away from him -- if necessary. Maybe she should say something. "I'm with Buffy tonight. I'm getting snacks. I'm expected back in a few minutes."

So that was the problem. She thought he wanted something from her. Well, maybe she was right, but not in the way she assumed. "Oh, that's all right. Maybe I should make sure you get back safely. You never know what sorts of. . . challenges you'll run into after dark."

Okay, that was decidedly creepy. What exactly did he think she would encounter that was any different or more horrible than what she faced on a nightly basis at home? On the other hand, maybe he was referring to himself. What was the question again?

Her introspection was unappreciated by Spike. Sighing, he simply walked to her, folded her hand in his, and began strolling to the convenience store. On second thought, not so creepy. Kind of. . . a secure feeling. But what will the convenience store cashier think when one customer casts a reflection on the beer coolers but the other doesn't? It would be a bad thing if something as sweet (shocking as it was to realize, she did think it was sweet) as a simple hand-in-hand trip to a convenience store for snacks turned into a bloodbath because someone made the wrong comment at the wrong time.

~~~~~~

The convenience store cashier turned out to be a very stoned college student. So stoned that Spike's lack of reflection merely caused him to comment, "Wow, dude, that guy has no reflection!" Just what she expected. "My eyes are broken again!" *Not* what she expected. Spike pretended to be oblivious, examining the Hostess products display while Willow looked at the cashier, possibly for further explanation. The cashier happily obliged. "Dude, a friend has this movie poster. Anyway, a bunch of us spent some quality time on the balcony at this party, and when I went back in to the living room, my eyes were broken! The poster was backwards!"

Nodding, Willow commented, "Wow, what an experience." Spike simply observed her humoring the cashier. "Do your eyes get better?"

"Oh, yeah. Tomorrow, I'll be fine."

Rather than listen to this inane exchange, Spike opted to peruse the health and beauty section for expiration dates. It was frightening what remained on the shelves. Aspirin that expired last week, cough syrup that expired last year. . . And since he was who he was, he quite naturally palmed a few things along the way. Dental floss. Gotta have dental floss, especially when you're a vampire. It just won't do to have pieces of your victims' flesh caught between your front teeth, especially when you're trying to convince your next victim that you're not scary. Chapstick for smooth lips. Chapped lips are painful, especially when dealing with salt. A shower cap -- that could come in handy the next time he had to touch up his roots. He hated the way that stuff dripped down the back of his neck, and the fumes sometimes stung his eyes. He continued down the aisle in this manner until his pockets were full, and still the cashier babbled on, oblivious to Spike's methodical reappropriation.

"Dude, you really have to see that movie! It will change your whole life!"

Nodding, Willow slowly backed away from the counter. "Well, I'll have to keep it mind for the next trip to the video store."

Spike caught her as she stumbled into the Slush Puppy machine. "What movie is he talking about?"

Grinning up at him, she replied, "I'm not sure." The cashier's patter changed to semi-identifiable song. "I tuned him out when he started talking about his eighth Phish show. I get a lot of practice tuning out Buffy and Xander." The grin faded. She remembered who they were: A witch in league with a vampire slayer, and a vampire who had tried to kill the lot of them.

This was not how he had planned on spending the evening. He had everything written in stone. He was going to cruise the city, looking for tender young morsels to terrorize. He was going to find the hidden hot spots and prove that he still had what it took to get into any club, any time. He was going to start over and blaze a trail of horror that would not soon be forgotten, making everyone forget that Angelus ever returned. He was going to put Sunnydale and all its memories behind him. Instead, he found himself in a cluttered convenience store, arms wrapped around one of the key reasons he felt the need to run, shirt developing warm wet spots from. . . tears? Yes, indeed, tears. "Shh, it's okay. You're not Willow the Witch right now. You're Red."

"And who are you?"

"That's for you to decide." Gently, he tilted her face up towards his. "Who would you like me to be?"

She licked her lips and realized that she was clutching the edges of his coat as if she was afraid he was going to run away if she let go. "How about. . . Just some guy -- that won't hurt me -- that I met on the way to the store?"

He pretended to contemplate that for a minute. Then he shrugged. "Works for me. Now, Red, are we forgetting why we came here in the first place?"

Distracted by his fingers running along her jaw, she stared blankly at his mouth. "What? Oh, yeah. If she noticed I left, she'll be wondering where I am." It just seemed wrong to utter her best friend's name at that moment. But the distraction was enough to cause her to remember the mission at hand. "I'm supposed to bring back a Cherry Coke and some Cheetos."

"Ugh. Well, I guess if anyone can handle that crap, it's her. Personally, it makes me ill just *thinking* about it." He realized his fingers were still caressing her face. Then he realized that she realized it as well. Ah, to hell with self-control. The other hand went to the other side of her face, thumb tracing her mouth. "Red? Just tell me when to stop."

~~~~~~

A very distracted Willow returned to Buffy bearing snacks. "Finally! The auto club guy still hasn't showed. Diet Mountain Dew and pork rinds? Uh, Will, I don't know how to break this to you, but I'm not pregnant."

"Huh? I'm not pregnant! I can't be pregnant! We just -- Oh, sorry. I guess I was a little distracted. Um, the guy in the store was really stoned and kept singing to us. I mean to me." Oh, pleaseplease*please* let Buffy be as self-absorbed as usual and miss that little slip.

Fortunately for Willow, the assorted gods were looking out for her that night. Despite her objections, the slayer had happily torn into the bag and thus missed every word Willow said. Then a small red convertible sped past. "Hey, Will, did you see that guy? It looked just like Spike."

Relieved, Willow just smiled. "Oh, it must be someone else."

~~~ the end ~~~