Many tactics had been tried and failed. Countless attempts had been made and botched. Willow was at her wit's end and the dregs of her resources, without resorting to magic, that is - and that would be cheating and so not right. She'd hold off on that for one more week. So now she fell back on her last hope, her only untapped resource whose aid could help to win Buffy's love.
"Xander briefed me on your objective and I've done some poking around for you, but I don't see what's so special about these pants," stated Andrew, holding up a pair of small sized, red leather pants in front of Willow. "I mean, I don't even think you could fit into these. They're awfully tight."
Willow felt a migraine coming on. Sometimes he was just unfathomably dense. She massaged her temples gingerly, groaning, "Andrew..."
"Kidding. You were so quick to believe that. The respect you have for me is awesome, isn't it." He tossed the unimportant pants to the side. "Now come over here to the Big Board as I lay out for you the details of what I like to call 'Operation: Get Into Buffy's Pants'."
"That's such a ridiculous name."
"Sorry, I couldn't think of anything better. I wanted to come up with something like 'Overlord' or 'Barbarossa' that's punchy or cool, but it's not exactly an awe-inspiring endeavor we're dealing with, no offense." Willow found that offensive. She though the idea of her and Buffy together was awe-inspiring.
"I'm still not entirely sure why you're doing this," Andrew continued, not noticing Willow's upset mood. "I mean, you just had a night of passion with Faith and Xander, and from what I hear they'd be happy to have you as a permanent member of their ménage à trois, yet you still covet another woman."
"It's complicated," was all that she was willing to tell him. It wasn't, really, she just didn't want to tell him. Then he'd start getting all sappy and romance-novelly and she'd have to reconsider not killing him.
Andrew nodded in a sage manner, humming and hawing over her lack of answer. "I understand," he said, though he did not. "Come. Let me impart my wisdom upon you," he said, and she rolled her eyes. "Anthropological research has demonstrated that the availability of sustinance has always been a driving factor for selection of mates," he said, pointing to a sketch of what appeared to be a pork chop on the Big Board. "Metaphysically speaking, individuals are attracted to members of their species who are providers. The presense of dopamine in foods rich in protein is thought to increase excitement levels and emotional arousal." A chemical formula was displayed on the board. He'd gotten it wrong, but it really didn't add anything to the presentation, so Willow ignored him. The sociology diagram was much worse - and a little lewd. It made her inwardly shudder. "Though physiological differences exist," Andrew continued, "satisfaction of the stomach's needs has been anecdotally linked to success in seducing the male of the species. A careful analysis of this information yields a likely plan of attack."
"Do you mean we went through all this rigmarole and hyperbole just to say 'feed her'?"
Now it was Andrew's turn to be offended. "Definitely not. Minute details elevate this operation beyond merely feeding. The intricate interplay between social interaction and... well, yes. I just hadn't had the oportunity to use the Big Board recently."
"Yeah. Do you think cooking for her will be enough? I mean, it seems kinda chincy."
"Little grasshopper, you fail because you believe you will fail. To succeed you must believe you will succeed."
"Uh... Thanks..."
Willow's meal was almost ready. She had forgone the pork chops since, well, Jewish-ish...? Damn, they couldn't make that any more confusing? But she had got a great spread with marinaded vegetables, conchiglie with homemade sauce, pan-fried trout, salad, and fresh baked bread. She was so nervous and jumpy. Why? Because she was finally committed to opening her heart to Buffy. This meal was it. She would summon up all her nerve, ply her with food and alcohol (and herself for that matter) and tell her. And to make it perfectly clear she had gotten some candles out and dimmed the lights, using the best cloth napkins and everything. The fish was bubbling away in it's oil when the sound of Buffy entering the apartment caused her to jump. She had just turned the fish, so it would be a few more minutes before it was ready. Willow took a deep breath and went to greet her destiny.
"Buffy. Welcome home."
"Uh... Thanks, Wills... What's with the festive decor? And the fancy cooking," Buffy took in a deep breath. "Smells good."
"Oh, I really wanted to do something to thank you for all that you've done for me since I crashed on your doorstep, teary eyed with suitcases and melted tv. I hope you like fish." Nervousness premeated Willow's bloodstream. Some sort of chemical imbalance thing. Oh, she definitely wouldn't be able to make it to the end of dinner like she had planned. She'd either explode or let this one slide through her fingers.
"Actually, it's more than that," Willow said, sure her face was turning red, which must be so alluring. "You've been so great to me... not just the past few days, but always."
Buffy smiled. "Aww... that's sweet, Will." She sniffed the air. "Are we having blackened trout?"
"And, well, I've been thinking for a while now," yeah, three days, but really there's no need to elaborate on that, "that I really like you, and that we go so well together." A concerned look crossed Buffy's brow, and Willow was mortified. Was it all going to belly-up so soon? Best to push on quickly. "And these last few days with you here has made me realize-"
"Do you smell something?"
"Please, Buffy. This is important and I have to say it. These last few days have been great. They made me remember what I was missing when I was away from you in Brazil. I realize now that-"
"Will. I think something's burning-"
"Just let me finish," shouted Willow, as she grasphed the much stronger woman by the arm. "Buffy I-"
Buffy's eyes went wide. "Oh my God! The kitchen's on fire!" She broke Willow's grip and dashed off to the smouldering room. Moments (and one misguided attempt at putting the fire out) later, Buffy emerged from the blazing inferno. "Quick! Call 9-1-1. Umm... Does 9-1-1 work in this country?" No, it does not. "What the hell is the number for the fire department in this friggin' country?" she screamed waving the phone dangerously through the air and running around the apartment in a state of hysteria.
Willow sighed and dialed 1-1-5. This was going to be a long night.
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