One Year On
A/N: And, thus, Accidental comes to a conclusion. Only took me over 2 years.
Title: One Year On
Author: Jinni (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Disclaimer: All things BtVS belong to Joss Whedon, et al. All things West Wing belong to Aaron Sorkin, et al.
Summary: The final installment of Accidental, one year after the duo woke up together for the first time.
I never thought I’d see this day. I mean, one thing for Will to go and get herself hitched on a drunken spree in Vegas.
Another thing entirely for it to last a year and make it all the way to a recommitment ceremony.
Did I mention that this recommitment ceremony looks a lot like a wedding?
I know that voice and I cringe before I turn around to face my stalker.
The President found me.
No matter how much I dodge this guy, he just keeps right on popping up, wanting to hear a story like he’s five or something.
If he wasn’t the President –
“Finish the one about the dancing demon while we wait?”
I force myself to smile and bite back a sarcastic bit of comment that might get me shot.
Ha! Xander’s playing babysitter to the President again. This gives me a blessed five minutes of peace and qu—
“There you are.”
“Hey there,” I grin at Donna, seeing my peace and quiet go flying out the window in light of the storm brewing in her eyes. I hang back, careful to not get too close with all the press that are milling around, waiting to take pictures of this ‘blessed event’. “What’s up?”
“You’re supposed to be waiting with Sam.”
Oh, right. Knew I was forgetting something. “Where’s he at?”
She cocks her head in the direction of the gazebo-like thing that’s waiting at the front of the assembled crowd. Yeah, there’s Sam. Right where he’s supposed to be.
“Move it, mister, or don’t even bother trying to sneak into my hotel room tonight.”
It’s a good threat. A valid threat, even. I mean, I guess I really should be standing next to him, given the whole ‘Best Man’ title.
I came. I saw. I cried. I touched up makeup and then cried some more.
Sort of glad that Willow did this on the down low last time. Not really sure how I would have taken it then. It’s hard enough right here and now, with her and Sam just doing the whole recommit thing.
“You’re getting all teary again.”
“Am not,” I argue, but wipe at my eyes anyway. Soooo glad that I went mascara-less today. “You look good, Will.”
She smiles, just as shy as ever. All that time she spent in the spotlight and she still gets nervous when people look at her too closely. I personally think that she doesn’t bother even picking up the papers or magazines when she’s in them with Sam. Sort of that whole – if I can’t see them, they can’t see me theory.
The dress is cream and long. It’s not quite a wedding dress, but the point is clear. We spent three weeks trying to find the perfect dress, all over Los Angeles and San Diego. And, in the end, the perfect dress had been in a consignment shop in good old Sunnyhell.
So, here she was – mucho spells later to make sure that the dress wasn’t haunted or evil – and glowing.
Not literally, but you know – her face is all smiley and glow-y like.
Sam makes her happy.
I guess that’s about as much as I could have hoped for any of my friends.
I’m feeling all wobbly and rumbly in the tummy.
“Nerves,” Buffy mutters and I agree, sort of. We share a little look and then laugh.
Yeah, nerves. Right.
“We ready to do this?” she asks, looking out the window and into the spacious backyard. I had thought it was too big when Sam and I first looked at this house, but now it seems just right. Perfect for what we’re doing today and not so big that the Secret Service is freaking out trying to protect the President.
It’s a good backyard. A good house.
And a good day to get re-married-like.
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
Everything hushes and people take their places when the music starts. Not the wedding march, but something similar. The back door to the house opens, Buffy first, and then –
The sight of her takes my breath away, but that’s nothing new. When she steps out of the house and starts the walk towards the waiting guests, all I can do is try to do is remember to start breathing again.
“If you faint, I’m not catching you,” Josh murmurs. I grin at him for a second over my shoulder before turning back to Willow.
Everything next is a blur. She’s at my side and we’re repeating some vows that we wrote for one another. The press is snapping pictures, eating this up. It’s sweet, to have this ceremony on the one year anniversary of our wedding, they think. Really, this is for ourselves and our friends. For everyone that couldn’t be there when we did this the first time.
A blessing, a benediction, the priest is offering us to the crowd once again as man and wife and I’m kissing her. When we break, we’re both breathless. In a flash of memory, I’m thinking of that first time we had a kiss that we could remember – stepping off of the elevator at Caesar’s Palace, the press around us and dying for a little bit of our attention. That kiss, as nice as it was at the time, was nothing like this. Because this kiss means something.
I’ve turned into a sap. Josh tells me that almost every time he calls. Says he can hear it in my voice. Maybe he can, who am I to say?
I don’t know how we made it work – how two people that really should never have been put together managed to fall in love. Maybe opposites really do attract.
Or maybe it was meant to be.
I don’t know. Nor do I care.
“I love you,” I say with a smile as clapping breaks out all around us.
“Love you, too.”
And, as I look out over our guests – friends and family alike – I find myself thinking of one thing and one thing only –
In six months they’ll all be back for the baby shower.