***
 

The stitches were a lost cause.  That was the first thing that Spike noticed, swearing silently to himself as he raised Willow's arms to take off
the sweat soaked t-shirt, but thankfully that was the only part of her that was actually bleeding.  However there wasn't any part of her body
that didn't carry some sort of mark - raised, red welts covered her back, legs and arms.  If he hadn't known better he would have said she'd
been beaten with a whip, and pretty badly at that.  Perhaps the thing he found most disconcerting about the whole episode, apart from the
fact that 2 hours ago she didn't have any marks on her at all, was the decorative A that was weeping on her chest, the feet of which curled
around her nipples, in a grotesque caricature of a frame.  He'd seen that A so many times, had it carved and burnt into various parts of his
own body...too many times.

Shaking his head, he gave up trying to work out a way of touching her without causing her too much pain and hooked his arms about her
knees and shoulders, picking her up off the bed.  She whimpered and buried her face in the crook of his neck.

"Shhh, love," he murmured soothingly as he carried her into the bathroom and slowly lowered her into a warm bath.  She was in shock, he'd
seen it enough times to know that, the glazed eyes, the inability to respond, the confusion, disorientation.  Sighing he grabbed the bath sponge and began to sluice water over her shoulders and back.  "What were you dreaming of pet?"

Spike had to ask even though he knew he wouldn't get a response.  "Little boy blue" that's what she had called him when he'd finally woken
her.  He hadn't been called that in nearly a century, not since Angelus had been cursed, well more precisely not since he'd last pissed off
Angelus and been reminded of his place ~ a lesson that had taken weeks to recover from.  Little boy blue, he hated that name, Angelus' pet
name for him.  Dru had first mentioned it in her ramblings about poems and nursery rhymes and Angelus had picked it up, using it when they were alone together.  Little boy blue, it conjured memories of both pain and pleasure...and Angelus, only Angelus.

"Fuck," Spike grunted as his fingers found their way to the A on Willow's chest, softly tracing the elaborate curls and swirls that Angelus was
so fond of using.  He didn't want to remember those times, the past was dead to him, useless and obsolete.  But tonight, with those three
words this battered girl had bought it all back to him, clear and vivid.  He shook his head, trying to shake free of those memories, and turned
his attention back to Willow.  She was taking deep shuddering breaths, half sobs, half coughs.  He was relieved she seemed to be coming
back from wherever she had gone.  "Willow?"

As he called her name she looked at him, eyes still glassy but at least she was aware of him.  Frowning she looked back down at her body
submerged in the water and flexed her feet and hands.  Spike dipped his hand down and caught her wrist, pulling her stitched arm from the
water and resting it on a towel on the edge of the bath. Carefully he began to remove the stitches, most of which had broken during her
nightmare.

"This is a nasty cut, love.  Where'd you get it?" he asked, hoping to draw her attention, get her talking.  Willow turned and stared blindly at her arm, bringing her free hand up to caress the half healed wound.  Spike stopped what he was doing and watched her for a moment, she was crying again but silently this time, tears making slow trails down her cheeks.

"Chicago...I was in...Chicago," she murmured softly.  Gently he brushed aside her hand and continued his task of removing the stitches, before moving onto the ones on her stomach.  That done he moved on to wash and condition her hair, his fingers massaging her scalp, almost sending her to sleep.  Finally he helped her out of the tub, towelling her down and wrapping her hair up in another while he dressed her various marks and abrasions with salve, although he did notice that some of them were already fading.  When he was happy with his work he wrapped her up in the towel and carried her back to the bedroom.  As he approached the bed her arms tightened about his neck.
"Please...I...I can't...I don't want to..."

Sighing he glanced about the apartment.  He really wanted nothing more than to get out of the place for a few hours.

"Tell you what love, why don't we go for a drive?" he whispered in her ear, smiling when he felt her nod against his neck.  Setting her down
on the edge of the bed he squatted down in front of her.  "You'll need clothes."

Willow's eyes widened and she looked about the bedroom and frowned.  "I don't know where they are."

Spike couldn't help but laugh at that.  "You can tell the great poof I had to ransack his apartment to find your clothes when he gets back then."

Fifteen minutes later, after Spike had joyfully pulled every single item of clothing from Angel's wardrobe, trunk and drawers, Willow was
dressed in a simple pair of jeans, t-shirt and black suede loafers with no regard to underwear.  He'd actually found her clothes, or rather the
clothes Angel had bought for her, straight away but he couldn't resist the urge to empty out his sire's stuff.

"Ready then?" he asked.  She nodded and attempted to stand up, her legs wobbling. Spike grabbed her arm, causing her to gasp and wince, moving slightly he picked her up and carried her out to Giles' Citroen.

"I can walk you know," Willow protested feebly, resting her head against his shoulder.

"I like to carry girls about," joked Spike and tossed her up slightly.  "Makes me feel all manly."

Willow groaned against his shoulder and shook her head lightly.

Spike hated the Citroen, but still it was a car of sorts and managed to get them out of the city. After a brief stop at liquor store to pick up a
bottle of whiskey and some cigarettes they were soon in some scenic spot sitting on the bonnet of the car leaning back against the windscreen staring at the stars.  Well Willow was staring, Spike was drinking and smoking and amusing himself with the memory of the last time he was alone with the same redhead and a bottle of whiskey.  Those were the good old days he thought taking a glance at her.  She'd changed since then, lost weight, far too much weight, and she looked like shit...but then Angel had said she was sick.  He turned his head and openly stared at her.

"You cold?" he asked, noticing she was shivering.  Without waiting for an answer he shrugged off his duster and covered her up with it, pulling her against him, she even felt cold to touch.

"Thank you," she murmured softly, fighting to keep her eyes open.  Spike smirked and took a swig from the bottle before holding it out to her. She shook her head.

"Come on, it'll warm you up," he offered.  Eying him warily she took the bottle and sipped, nearly choking as the amber liquid burnt a trail
down her throat.  Spike laughed at her, rubbing her back.  "Have you downing shots in no time at all, love."

For the rest of the evening they stayed in that little clearing, watching the sky, both lost in their own thoughts and the strange comforting
warmth of alcohol and silence.

                  ***

In Las Vegas things weren't going so well.  Cordelia had complained the whole trip, causing them to stop numerous times so that she could
change places with Doyle, get gum, get a drink and then of course the general toilet stops.  A greater part of the trip was spent with Angel
glancing at his watch and worrying that the sun might actually rise before they covered the 250 odd miles to Las Vegas.  Of course it didn't.
The trip, for Angel, was trying not just because of Cordelia and her demands but also because of his demon.  The further they got from LA the more the demon raged.  By the time they reached Las Vegas it was screaming and rattling it's cage, demanding a bloody and violent kill of anything and everything...and Cordelia really wasn't helping.

"I don't believe it, you spend all this money ~ more money than I make in a week ~ on a hotel room.  A single hotel suite and we all have to
share?  Why?  I mean one girl two guys ~ one with abnormal sleeping habits ~ and you expect us to live in the same suite for however long
we're here for?" she looked expectantly at her large suitcase that was sitting on the floor and then at Angel, and pointed to the bed.  "The
bed."

"What?" he frowned at her.

"The bed, suitcase to the bed, so I can unpack," Cordelia stated, storming off into the bathroom.  Angel looked at Doyle who merely shrugged and mouthed 'women'.  Sighing he went to lift the case, only to be shocked at how heavy it was and heaved it up onto the bed.  "Oh god, we're all going to have to share a bathroom..." Cordelia walked out the aforementioned room and looked at the two men in disgust before turning to face Angel, her hands on her hips.  "Do you know how badly Doyle's feet smell?"

"Hey, I resent that," stated Doyle as he looked from Cordelia to Angel.  "Well ok," he conceded.  "They do sometimes have a unique aroma,
but I wouldn't say they smelt..."

"And then there's the sharing of the bathroom and...and...the whole suite.  What were you thinking?" Cordelia asked Angel, turning on her
heel and continuing to rant and rave about the ridiculousness of them all in the same suite.

<Kill her, rip her throat out, but first rip her tongue out then you won't have to listen to her scream,> the thought filtered through Angel's mind before he shook it free and rubbed at his temples.  As Cordy continued in her pacing and ranting Angel made his way over to the telephone, picked it up and dialled his number.  It rang out.  He dialled again, waited and it still rang out. Slowly and carefully he punched in his number and waited only to have it ring out again.  If possible he paled.  Carefully he replaced the hand piece back in its cradle and let his fingers drag across the surface for a moment.

"Angel?" Cordelia called to him, hands on hips, fury written all over her face. "Angel I said I am not staying in this room with both of you."

"There's no answer at the apartment," he stated, turning to face them both.  Doyle shrugged and pouted.

"Maybe he's turned the phone down so she can sleep?" he offered.  Angel shook his head and narrowed his eyes.

"No, no, he'd still be able to hear it..."

"So what?" asked Cordy, she had more important matters they needed to discuss than Spike and Willow.  "Get over it Angel, he can't hurt her, you know that and it's not important anyway.  What are we going to do about this suite, because there is no way I am sharing with you two."

"Shut the hell up Cordy," Angel screamed at the brunette.  She was shocked, he'd never ever yelled at her before, unless it was to be heard
over noise.

"You...you...yelled at me," she stated, flabbergasted.  She could feel the tears welling behind her eyes and had no intention of crying in front
of either Doyle or Angel, especially not Angel after he had yelled at her.  So she did the only thing possible, stormed into the bathroom and
locked the door.

"Oh great, this is just fantastic," Doyle threw his hands up in the air and rolled his eyes.  Turning around he glared at Angel.  "What the hell
was that all about man?"

Angel, already feeling guilty, was at the bathroom door, knocking on it.

"Cordy?  I'm...I'm..." he looked at Doyle who gestured with his hands to go on.  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you."

He waited only to receive no reply.  Sighing he looked besiegingly at Doyle who merely shook his head.  Cursing silently he walked over to
Doyle and dragged him as far away from the bathroom door as possible.

"Look you go check out the club, see what you can find out, what the deal is and I'll..." he paused and looked toward the bathroom door,
grimacing. "Try and talk Cordy into coming out."

"You know it won't work without her," Doyle stated.  It was true; they had devised a perfectly believable deception of Angel and Cordy posing as a newly married wealthy couple and it wouldn't work if half of the newlywed couple stayed in the bathroom for the whole trip.  Shaking his
head Doyle glanced at the bathroom door.  "I think I've got the easy part of tonight's assignment."

He was right.  It would take Angel three hours of apologies and the promise to buy her at least one weeks worth of outfits and a raise to get
Cordelia to finally leave the bathroom.

                  ***

"What are you doing?" asked Willow from the couch where she was bundled up in the quilt from Angel's bed, somewhere she still didn't want to go, even though it was now early morning and she hadn't slept since Spike had woken her from her nightmare.

Spike turned and looked up the flushed redhead, she had consumed a fair bit of the whisky bottle before they discovered it was empty.
Smirking he shook his head and looked back down at the decreasing piles of records and covers.

"I am putting the covers on the records, love.  What does it look like?" he asked cockily slipping another record back into a cover.

"Honestly?" asked Willow from the couch, watching his careful movements, he was making sure that none of the records were being
scratched.  "It looks more like you are trying to piss off Angel by putting his records in the wrong covers."

Spike's smirk grew.  "Maybe."

Willow smiled softly to herself.  She was struggling to stay awake, unfortunately the whiskey she had consumed wasn't helping her at all, and
she closed her eyes, listening to Spike humming some tune.

                  ***

Doyle stumbled through the door of the hotel suite, bloodied and beaten, almost blinded by the blood that was pouring out of a wound that
marked his forehead.

"What the hell?" asked Angel, helping the little Irishman into the bathroom, using towels to try and stem the flow of blood.  "What happened
Doyle?"

"Well I don't think I'm going to be much help here," Doyle stated quietly, holding onto the sink for support.

"Oh god, what happened?" ask Cordelia, stumbling into the bathroom, half asleep.  Taking the towel from Doyle she held onto his arm guiding him back to the toilet to sit down.

"I was apparently asking too many questions and management didn't take kindly to it," Doyle cracked a smile and tried to laugh, wincing and grabbing at his ribs.  "They have really great security there."

"Damn it," swore Angel softly.  Undoubtedly by now the whole demon population would have been told about Doyle, he wouldn't be any help in Las Vegas at all.  Silently Angel made up his mind, it wasn't safe for Doyle anymore.  "Cordelia, call the airport, book the first flight available to LA.  Make the reservation in Doyle's name."

                  ***

"Shhh, Willow, it's okay I'm here," Angel voice called to her, his arms wrapping about her.  "You were dreaming."

"I was?" she asked, disorientated.  Angel nodded as he rocked her.

"Play something for me?" he asked standing up and leading her over to a baby grand piano, smiling as he let her fingers slip from his.  Willow sat down on the piano stool her fingers finding the keys and playing some tune she didn't recognize.  Frowning she stopped playing, resting her fingers on the ivory keys.  "Angel?"

"Now my sweet," a soft Irish brogue rumbled from behind her and she tried to take a breath, only to have it stifled by a tight-laced whalebone corset.  A cool hand massaged her neck.  "Keep playing, you know how much I enjoy listening to you play."

So she kept going as Angelus stood behind her and played with her soft ringlets, wrapping the fine hair around his fingers, lifting it up to kiss, his lips tracing the hair down to the nape of her throat.

"You're music is as almost as pretty as yourself," he whispered, his lips travelling along her neck and up to the outline of her jaw.  One hand
rose up and caressed the swell of her breasts above the delicate lace that covered her corset.

"Angelus, Lord Atworth he'll..." a pretty upper class voice rang foreign to her ears.  Angelus kissed her mouth, silencing her protests.

"Your fiancé is with his political friends discussing the abomination of today's society over cigars and brandy," his finger slipped between her cleavage tickling the bound flesh.  "So my sweet, it is just us and the music."

She groaned as his hard body pressed into her back.

                  ***

Spike looked at the record, Ode to Joy.  "Pathetic..."

Willow groaned on the couch rolling her head back, drawing his attention away from the distasteful piece of vinyl he held.  "Pet?"

She didn't reply.  Putting the record aside for a moment he crawled over to her, his hands cupping her flushed face.  He frowned for a
moment, her face seemed peaceful and she appeared to be sleeping soundly.  Thinking there was no harm in letting her continue to sleep he went back to the problem of Ode to Joy.

"Sleep well, pet," he murmured.

                  ***

"Keep playing," Angel whispered in her ear and walked away to lean against the end of the piano, watching her.

"Keep playing," Angelus whispered in the other, his hands roaming over her body and inching her forward, easily slipping in behind her.  His legs framed hers as his mouth worked on her neck and face, distracting her from the fact that his hands were pulling up the long skirts that
covered her legs. Slowly his hands moved between the warmth of her legs, stroking the silk covered thighs, his thumbs tracing circles on the
small expanse of flesh that was naked.

"Angelus...please, his Lordship could..." Willow could feel the arousal screaming through this girl, aching for more, but filled with Victorian
trepidation about carnal knowledge.  Still Angelus pushed her, his fingers brushing against her.

"His Lordship," he purred in her ear, starting to move his body against her in the mimic of things to come, his fingers caressing her moist
folds.  "Owes me."

The girl didn't answer, couldn't, she was too caught up in the physical pleasure he was giving.  Inside Willow began to whimper looking up at
Angel who merely shrugged and grinned.  Her hands dropped from the keys grabbing at Angelus' hard thighs, her hips thrusting forward
against his fingers, her breath coming in short gasping moans.

"Now that's sweet music," he whispered against her ear, bringing one hand up to encircle her waist and rock her against him.  His fingers
pinched at her clit, sending her over the edge, her head rolling back on to his shoulder moaning his name.  Smiling his face changed and he
sank his fangs into her throat.  The pain ripped through her, combined with the heady sensations of an orgasm and she opened her mouth,
screaming in a strange mixture of both pleasure and pain.

                  ***

Willow bucked up against the couch and screamed, her body trembling.  Spike dropped the record and it shattered on the hard wood floor as he spun around to look at her.

"Oh bloody hell, not again," he muttered striding over and grabbing her shoulders, trying to shake her awake.  "Willow...wake up."

                  ***

"Wake up."

"You are awake, Willow," Angel smiled at her as she clawed desperately at Angelus' hair trying to pull him away.  Suddenly he stood up, both hands moving to her waist, spinning her around and lifting her up onto the top of the piano.

"Oh god," she screeched, trying to crawl away from his distorted face.  "What are you sir?"

Angelus grinned, his fangs looking almost comical hanging over his bottom lip.

"Your death." He snarled at her, his hands ripping at the delicate Victorian clothing and pushing it aside in tatters.  Desperately she struggled against him, her tiny hands batting at his chest and strangled cries of help making her throat hoarse.  Grinning he spread her legs and thrust forward into her tight virginal passage, making her scream with renewed pain and fear.  With a self-satisfied smirk he began to thrust deep and hard with no regard to her.  He tore at her virgin passage making it slick with her own blood and as her cries began to fade and she trembled beneath him.  Grunting and growling he continued to pound into her, tangling his fist in her ringlets and lifting her up to his mouth. Snarling he sank his teeth into the unblemished side of her neck, drinking freely, draining her.

Willow could feel the body dying, the pain, the hurt and then came the pleasure, the blinding pleasure accumulating in Angelus tearing his
mouth away from her neck and howling as he came.

                  ***

Willow struck out against him, her hands clawing at his face, catching him on his high cheekbone.

"Bloody hell woman, stop it," Spike muttered, trying to hold her closer to him, to still her movements.  "Come on Willow, wake up."

Her eyes flew open and she stared at him, her body trembling in his arms, sobs wracking her body.

"Spike?" she hiccupped.  She buried her head in the crook of his neck, sobbing against him.  "Oh god he...he hurt..."

"Shhh, love, it's okay, you were just dreaming," he whispered, stroking her hair trying to soothe her.
 

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