Stones crumbling

Disclaimer: All things Buffy belong to Joss, the WB, Mutant Enemy, and Fox. And Meatloaf is a gift from God. No, I'm not obsessed.

Distribution: If you want this, just let me know, if you already don't have some of my stuff.

Notes: I suck at sequels. I should not write them. There should be a law. Nonetheless, this got written because the makeup of cell membranes is really boring and is completely irreverent for a history major to know. But I'm digressing again. Anywho, this started out one way and ended up someplace completely different. Once again, I blame the crack that is being marketed as Pixie Stix.

I got to Vegas the same night as Willow. I followed her, discreetly of course, to a shabby motel. I checked in to the room right next door to her, believe it or not, being careful so she wouldn't see me. I know why she left. Hell, I left for the same reasons. The pain you feel when you realize how much you hurt someone you love is intense. And add to that the agony of believing that the one you're in love with doesn't feel the same, and you've got quiet a combination. We've been in Sin City for a week, and I still haven't made my presence known. She only leaves her room once a day, when she goes to the public library down the road to read to the after school club. Other than that, she sits in her room and cries, and talks to herself. She talks about how much she loves everyone, and about how much she loves me especially. But mainly she beats herself up practically non-stop, saying how she's no good, a worthless, incompetent witch, a rotten, undeserving friend who never deserves to be forgiven. This afternoon, right before she left, she said that everyone would be better off if she weren't around to fuck stuff up anymore. That made my mind up. I'm going to tell her what's been on my mind as soon as she returns from the library.

I hear the key turning in the lock and sit up on her bed. "Hey Wills" I say quietly as she opens the door.

"Xander?" she asks, her voice shaky. "What are you doing here?"

"You left before I could answer you."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Your song, the karaoke bar, the night you left? You asked me if I'd come along. You ran off before I could say yes."

"You don't mean that" Willow said with tears in her eyes.

"Yes I do. I love you, and I'm sorry for never telling it to you in words, or to your face, or while you were conscious, but I'm so in love with you that it's unreal. And I forgive you. Yeah, you hurt me. A lot. But I've hurt you too. No matter how angry I got at you, or how hurt I was, I still loved you."

"I don't deserve it-"

"No one deserves love. It's kinda like forgiveness. You don't forgive someone because they deserve it. You forgive someone because you need to. I love you because I need to."

"But the things I've done" Willow trailed off weakly.

"Stop. I've been listening to you beat up on the woman I love for the past week. The new Willow did those things, and you aren't her anymore. That person would never really feel remorse about how she treated her friends. You said you were leaving Sunnydale because you didn't like the person you'd become. I thought you were coming to bring my Willow home, not berate her. Are you going to bring her back?"

"Yes."

"And are you sorry, truly sorry, for how you hurt everyone?" I asked her as I grabbed her hand.

"More than you'll ever know."

I took a deep breath. "And do you love me?"

She looked deep into my eyes and grinned. "Let me sleep on it."

"That's my girl. Quoting Meatloaf right back at me."

"Xander?" Willow asked me.

"Yeah Wills?"

"Do we have to go back right away?"

I laughed nervously. "It's funny you should mention that. Do you remember what she asks Meatloaf near the end of 'Paradise'?"

She looks puzzled as she runs the lyrics through her head. "Yes...Oh. My. God. Yes, Xander. I'll be your wife."

"Then I've got a call to make." I reach over to pick up the phone and dial a familiar number.

" 'Ello?" a sleep slurred voice asks.

"Spike? It's me. Listen, go get everyone and tell them they need to come to Vegas pronto."

"And why is that? I'm busy!"

"Yes, I hear. Anya has a very distinctive snore. Just get everyone. And call Cordy and Angel in L.A."

"Oh sod off and call back at a decent hour."

"Spike, it's almost sunset. Time to wakey-wakey. Besides, if you can all be on a flight by nine, you'll be here in plenty of time?"

"Time for what? What the hell is going on!"

"Look, do you want to come to our wedding or not?"

"Hell yeah! It's about bloody time!"

The End