THE LAST DETAIL

AUTHOR: Leslie Diane aka Pez the Dispenser

RATING: I'm rating it NC-17 for sex, language and violence.

PAIRING: Spike/Willow

DISTRIBUTION: This is the only place so far but let me know and I'll probably let ya.

DISCLAIMER: Joss owns all.  If he wants to sue, that=s fine.  The only things I have are my imagination and the love of my life.

FEEDBACK: Please?  I=ll give you a shiny nickel.

SUMMERY: Complete AU fiction.  One night's mistake changes the course of attorney Spike Bradley's life.

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The Horizon
Sunrise, New York
Thursday, February 5, 2004
7 PM

Buffy Bradley glared at her husband Spike across the table as he scribbled almost furiously on a legal pad.  Her husband the lawyer.  What a pain in the ass.  She cleared her throat but he didn't look up.  In fact, it was a wonder that he even acknowledged her existence.  They had gotten married young, ten years earlier, when she was 22 and he was 25.  It was all Spike could do to tend on her back then.  He did and did and did for her, despite the fact that he had just joined a prestigious law firm in the city.  Now, all he did was work work work.  It was almost amazing that she even got pregnant eight months earlier.  Of course, her doctor wanted her to rest but it was the anniversary of their first date.

Spike was a lawyer.  Actually it was worse than that.  He was a corporate lawyer who wanted all the money, power and prestige that went with it.  He had changed so much during the course of their marriage.  She didn't like a lot of what he had become--arrogant, self-centered even--but she still loved him with all of her heart.  That love would not allow her to even entertain the idea of leaving him.  He had a lot to offer, despite the fact that he was so career-driven.

Spike had a non-conformist quality that she loved about him.  His looks suggested a rock star or a actor, not a lawyer.  It was his hair, his peroxide blonde hair.  She loved his hair.  It gave him a romantic quality she loved.  But now....  Her husband the romantic had been replaced by the man in front of her, a man who worked while out for what was supposed to be a romantic dinner with his wife.

"Spike?"

No response.

"Spike," she said more forcefully.

Finally he looked up.  "What?" he snapped, annoyed at the interruption.

"Can you leave the work alone, at least for one night?"

Spike looked at her, glaring for a moment before laying his gold-encrusted pen down.  He flashed her a dazzling smile, taking her hand and kissing the back of it.
 

"I'm sorry luv.  I really am."  He paused, looking at his legal pad then at his wife again.  "Maybe dinner tonight was the wrong idea.  I've got so much work, and this bleedin' case is driving me..."

Buffy sighed.  "Can't you just leave it completely alone for even an hour.  You haven't even asked me about the doctor appointment today."

Spike's eyebrows knitted close together.  "That was today?"  Buffy nodded.  "Bullocks.  I was going to go with you.  Is everything okay?  The nibblet?"

Buffy smiled, "Everything's fine.  The baby is healthy, the size it should be.  Everything's great.  She said that I've started to drop.  The baby is moving into place."  Spike still looked lost.  "The baby is getting ready for the delivery," she clarified.

Spike grinned.  "Oh.  Okay."  He paused a moment.  "I know that over the last so many years, it seems like I have no time or anything.  After I was hired by the first firm and now this one.  I know that I've worked so much more than I've had to."  Buffy nodded slightly, picking at the sleeve of her emerald-colored maternity dress.  "Pet, I know that I've stuffed what should have been twenty years of work into ten in order to make partner but this is something I've always wanted.  And I'm almost there.  This case will make me a partner.  You being there for me, with me, being able to share in my success...."

Buffy pulled her hand away, fiddled with her wedding and engagement rings, and pushed her blonde hair back off of her shoulders.  She picked up the salad fork.  "I just wish you were at home more.  I almost feel like I'm in this marriage all by myself."

"I'm sorry, Pet.  Really I am.  Tell you what.  This case I'm working on... it's hard work, especially since there's so much involved.  It should be over in about a month or so."  Spike paused, running a hand through his hair.  "Let me get this case over with and then we'll get ready for the baby.  What do you say?"

Buffy watched him carefully, searching his eyes.  "I'm supposed to have the baby in a month," she said, before pausing.  Then, "Okay.  Okay.  But if you're not sincere...." she trailed off, looking away.

Spike smiled, "I know.  But I swear.  This time I'll follow through.  Okay?"

Buffy smiled as Spike continued.  "I want to be involved in everything. You're my wife.  You're carrying our child."

Buffy pulled his hands to hers, still skeptical.  She was used to his broken promises.  "Well for now, can you just put your work away, just for now, so we can eat without you being engrossed in it?"

"Sure."

Spike picked up the pad and pen, sliding it into the briefcase near his feet.  A moment later, the maitre'd arrived with their main course.  They thanked him and dug in to the meal, talking about their son and the future, not noticing a dark-haired woman coming towards them.

"I thought you were working," she fumed, hands on hips.

Spike looked up, slightly alarmed.  "Faith, what are you doing here?"
 

"I thought you were working," she repeated.

"What, were you checking up on me?" he answered, anger rising.

Buffy looked from Spike to the blonde and back again.  "Do you mind?"

Faith Abbott glanced at her before staring back at Spike.  "Who's the broad?"

Buffy gaped at her.  "Broad?!"

Spike looked out her briefly.  "Buffy, calm down, I'll take care of this."

"'I'll take care of this,'" Faith mocked.  "You told me that we could see each other tonight."  Spike didn't answer.  "Who's the broad?" she repeated.

"That 'broad' is my wife.  Now go away."

Spike returned to his dinner, ignoring Faith when she swore at him before storming off.  Buffy glared at him, angry tears behind her eyelids.  It was true: He had cheated on her.

"Well?"

Spike looked at his wife.  "What?  Please, are you really going to take her seriously?"  He gestured to the woman who was gone.  "She's off her bloody rocker."

Buffy just glared at him, her vision blurry from the tears that couldn't stop falling.  "That's a bit of a convenient answer isn't it?  I can't believe you would do this to me."

Chills ran down Spike's spine.  He had only heard that tone of voice from her once before, when he had threatened to leave him.  "Buffy, please, can we not do this?" he implored, both hands in front of him.  She stood up and grabbed her small black purse.

"You son of a bitch!" Buffy said, lacking the volume but not the emphasis.

She reached down and grabbed her glass of water, flicking the contents into his face. She rushed towards the exit, not even grabbing her coat, leaving Spike scrambling.  He pulled out some bills to pay for the meal, grabbed a napkin to wipe his face, as well as his briefcase, then rushed after her, not noticing that between them were notorious mobsters Anthony Soleito and Jimmy Bardo.  In his rush to get to Buffy, he bumped into one of the men.  He hastily uttered some apologies, almost sprinting after his wife.
****

The Horizon
Sunrise, New York
February 5, 2004
7 PM
 

Anthony Soleito was a notorious mobster, had been for the better part of forty years.  He had been the prime suspect in countless murder investigations.  He was responsible of course, but the mob being what they were, there were at least a dozen witnesses that placed him elsewhere.  He hadn't actually dirtied his hands completing the killings, but he had ordered them.  It wasn't his way to dirty his hands dealing with the low lifes he felt they were.  But the New York police and the FBI blamed nearly every unsolved murder or unexplained death on Soleito's mob.

Soleito was also a fan of variety.  One person might be stabbed, the next shot, the next as food for a Jaws wannabe.  Shootings and stabbings and bombings, oh my.  It also helped to have a patsy to pawn the victims off on.  The cops' job would be way too easy otherwise.  Besides, it made for interesting headlines.  People were always so eager to revel in other people's misfortune and unhappiness.  It was so sad.

Presently, Anthony Soleito was turning heads in a restaurant called The Horizon.  He wasn't surprised; after all, he was a notorious public figure.  He was also a good-looking man in his own right.  At sixty, he still had all his own hair and teeth.  And with the constant help of Miss Clairol, he could easily pass for forty.

The Horizon was the place to be.  It was well-known and well-respected.  Obviously no one knew or even suspected that it was mob owned and operated.  A lot of bribing and blackmailing had taken place to make the joint look legitimate, making it the perfect front for the owners, who were rookie mobsters trying to impress Soleito with their knack for corruption.

One of the most discreet and vicious mobsters was Soleito's right-hand man, Jimmy Bardo, who looked every inch the mobster.  At 38, he stood six foot two, with longish coal black hair, which was graying at the temples, and was always pulled back into a tight ponytail, which offset his aging face and deep-set green eyes.

Soleito pulled himself out of his silence to address h is cohort.  "Have you taken care of that woman yet?"

Bardo sighed, "Just waiting for the opportunity."

"I want it done.  Tonight."

"If I go after her too fast, it'll tip somebody off."

Soleito sighed, hissing, "I wanted it done yesterday, Jimmy, and you are expected to follow orders, like everyone else."

Bardo immediately stiffened.  If anything, he hated to have his methods criticized, especially by Anthony Soleito.  Bardo prided himself on good work.

"Don't worry; it'll get done," Bardo responded as he watched Soleito's eyes scan the room, looking for trouble no doubt.  Soleito was a people watcher, always looking for someone to blackmail or ruin.  He thrived on that sort of thing.  Bardo noticed Soleito's eyes cloud over briefly.  He looked to the source of Soleito's anger and saw two undercover FBI agents.  They followed Soleito around like a bad smell.

But Bardo was nervous.  The FBI offered him a deal a week ago.  They had made it clear that when Soleito went down, Bardo was be right there behind him.  They had damning evidence.  All they were waiting for now was Bardo's answer to the deal.  Even if he did turn state's evidence and testify... The Witness Protection Program rarely worked.  He had been a part of some retrieval teams.  He knew that the Program wouldn't be able to save his sorry ass, but what could he do.  He was screwed either way.
 

Finally he stood up.  He needed to get out of there.  Needed to think.  What a choice, he thought.  Go to prison, or spend the rest of his life on the run.  He had told Soleito everything.  But he only knew part of the deal.  Soleito demanded loyalty and he knew that Bardo was loyal so there wasn't any reason to speculate.

Bardo reached into his coat pocket, intending to extract a few bills to pay for their meal.  Instead of touching his money clip, his fingers collided with the switchblade he religiously carried.  Before he had the change to close it, a tall blonde man collided with him, sending him crashing into Soleito.  Too late, he realized that the knife had penetrated Soleito's chest, evidence of such revealed when the blonde man spit out apologies, racing after a redhead just beyond the doors of the restaurant.  Bardo tried to hold him and Soleito upright but couldn't, falling on top of him, pushing the knife deeper into Soleito's heart.  When he was finally able to control his own body, Bardo pulled himself up, knowing his own fate was sealed when he saw that the switchblade was dripping blood.
****

Unknown Location
February 6, 2004
12:01 AM

"...I want it done as soon as possible," Ricardo Soleito said, his voice tinged with anger and sorrow.

The woman nodded, flipping through the dossier laid on the table in front of her.  She stopped at each picture.  A blue-eyed blonde man.  A blonde woman.  Several other pictures displayed the faces of people who would also die.

"Anthony was my oldest brother.  I deserve a just revenge.  The feds will expect retaliation.  Bardo has been taken care of but it might be a little more difficult for that fuckin' lawyer.  I don't care.  He must die.  It would almost be worth it, going to prison, knowing that he is responsible for my brother's death," Ricardo wiped his face with a hankerchief before downing a shot of vodka that had been placed in front of him by one of Anthony's people.  Well, his people now.  When Anthony died, Ricardo immediately took his place as leader of the organization.  It was expected of him.  He lost himself to his memories for several minutes before looking up at the woman who had been hired by the organization.  "It's all there... if you have questions--"

"May I make a suggestion, sir?"

Ricardo paused for several moments before nodding his assent.

"The police, the FBI, they'll expect you to go after this man, this Spike Bradley," she said, reading the name on the back of the picture.

Ricardo nodded.

"I'd like to suggest a different course of action."

The mobster sighed.  "Look, we hired you for one reason and one reason only--"

The woman smiled.  "Yes, I know.  But I think that revenge would be much sweeter if he suffered before he died."
 

Silence.  Ricardo pondered her words.  "And how do you suggest it be done?"

The woman smirked and picked up the photo of Spike Bradley.  "I suggest taking his life away before he dies.  Take everything he has and holds dear: his wife, his child, his reputation, his career.... everything.  Drag out the pain he will feel.  Rip his heart out... again and again... until he has lost absolutely everything."

Ricardo nodded slightly, as he pondered the red-headed woman's words.

She continued.  "It's not something the authorities would expect.  And I certainly don't look like I belong to a criminal organization."  She paused, "And I can get hired at his law firm."

Ricardo looked at her quizzically.  "How so?"

"I put myself through law school with money I earned as an assassin."  She paused.  "I can become his friend, his confidant, earn his trust, lure him into an affair...." she trailed off, allowing the man to draw his own conclusions.

"He'd never know what hit him," he finished.

The brunette nodded.  "I only require that I handle this alone, without any interference from anyone in your organization.  I realize that your brother was one of the most powerful men in the trade.  That's why I'd like to do this *my* way.  I would want to make Anthony proud, but since he isn't here... I want to make you proud, as if you were my father."

After a few more moments Ricardo said, "I like the way you think, girlie.  We'll do this your way.  For now.  I'll gather the family to fill them in.  The money has been placed in your account for services rendered."

"But I haven't done anything yet."

Ricardo smiled.  "Your reputation proceeds you."

She smiled.

"But I must remind you, you screw us and you'll be dead before he is."

The woman's eyes sparkled.  "Oh don't worry.  Failure is not an option."
*****

February 6, 2004
7:59 AM

Spike sighed heavily as he pushed open the inside glass doors to the law firm he worked at.  His eyes kept up with the design on the floor tiles, avoiding everyone else's faces.  He didn't want to deal with anything or anyone.  He was tired as hell, having been up all night arguing with Buffy.  Finally, Buffy had fallen to sleep around 6 am, thinking more about their son then herself.  Spike, however, had not slept at all.
 

He unlocked his office door, pushing it open until it banged against the coat rack behind it.  He tossed his suit jacket onto the leather sofa against the wall adjacent to his large mahogany desk before heading to the mini bar nearby, grabbing a bottle of whiskey, gulping a mouthful down before putting it back, realizing that he couldn't afford to get tanked this early in the day.  He blindly looked out the window, not seeing the snowflakes falling.  Buffy was not going to forgive him.  Well, not easily.  It would take a lot of work and gestures and God only knew what else.  He knew better than to get involved with Faith Abbott.  But he couldn't help himself.  She was there, willing, able and tempting as hell.  He had ended it almost before it began but he knew he would feel the repercussions for a long time to come.  What kind of man was he?  Cheating on his pregnant wife.  God.

Spike was still mentally chastising himself ten minutes later when Rupert Giles, one of the law firm's partners, stuck his head in the door.  "Spike, you're needed," he said bluntly.

Spike turned and followed Rupert into his office.  He was surprised to see the other firm's partners--Liam Angelus and Xander Harris--already there.  And staring at him.  Could they know about Faith?

"Uh... what's going on?" he asked hesitantly.

Rupert filled the chair behind the desk.  "Well, there's a rumor going around to the effect that you were at The Horizon last night.  Around the time a man died there."

Spike gasped.  "What?  Who died?"

Xander looked at him, a little surprised.  "You don't know?"

Spike shook his head.  "No.  Uh, Buffy and I had a bit of a blow-up."  He paused.  "Who died?"

Liam and Xander looked down, while Rupert turned away from him a little, rocking the chair.  Finally Liam answered.  "It was Anthony Soleito."

Spike felt the blood drain out of his head.  His eyes, now unseeing, almost rolled back into his head, and he would have surely fallen had Liam and Xander caught him.  They pulled him to the sofa across from Rupert.

"Soleito the mobster," Spike mumbled, more a statement than a question.

Liam confirmed.  "It was his right-hand man--"
"That's the guy I bumped into.  Bardo.  Bardo the Blade..."

"You do remember it," Xander said.

"Of course I do.  Buffy... something came up between us and she got pissed off and ran out... I ran out after her and I bumped into this git.  I didn't really see who it was, but...."

Rupert rounded the desk, leaning back against it.  "You shouldn't jump to any conclusions."

Spike just looked at him.  "How can you say that?  The mob's had people killed for cutting in front of them in traffic.  My actions, however inadvertent, caused the death of a mafia boss, a godfather.  Soddin' hell..."
 

Rupert moved near him, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.  "Nothing's going to happen to you.  If they wanted you dead, you'd be dead already.  But you're not.  Buffy's not.  You're both fine."

Spike leaned back on the sofa, sighing heavily, his mind in overdrive.  "They're going to blame someone," he rationed.

"Jimmy Bardo was found dead in his jail cell this morning," Liam said.  "It's been dealt with."

Spike closed his eyes briefly, before pulling himself to his feet.  "You're right."  He sighed.  "I'm just worried about nothing.  I had no idea Soleito or Bardo were even there.  I--I--" he broke off,

"Yes.  So stop worrying about it," Rupert said.  After a pause he spoke again, successfully changing the subject.  "We have just... ah, well, I guess you could say 'won' the services of an attorney.  She's comes highly recommended."
"Oh?" Spike said.

Rupert smiled, continuing as he cleaned his glasses, "She's ah... she's got quite a reputation even though she's young.  She's 28, very intelligent, very ambitious.  Here's her file," he said, handing it to Spike, who opened it up.  "You can see that she entered law school at 16.  Because she's that intelligent is why she's won some high profile cases, most recently the...."  He trailed off as Spike eyed the file.  "Finn, Osborne and Associates were lobbying for her but she doesn't want to be part of 'old money.'  She knows where the most action is going to be."

"Willow Rosenberg," he said before looking through her credentials.  "She handled Cordelia Chase's sex harassment suit against Drusilla Cahill and Darla McEnroe," he said, referring to a case that settled for $20 million two months earlier.

Liam smiled.  "Yes.  You can see why we're lucky to get Ms. Rosenberg.  The Chase case set precedents.  It's not often that a woman sues another woman for sexual harassment, let alone win it."

Spike nodded, still reviewing the file he held.  "When is she coming in?"
"A week from Monday," Rupert said, folding his arms across his chest.  "She had to finish off her cases and hand them off to someone else."

"I take it she'll be working on the Calendar case with me," he commented, looking at Rupert, who nodded.

"You can see from the file that she's worked a wide variety of cases," Liam said.  "Her talents cover all areas of the legal system.  Her intellect would be much welcomed to the Calendar Industries case.  The case could use more eyes and ears, and with Ms. Rosenberg's brain working the case, I expect that the judgment will fall in our favor."

Rupert nodded.  "I agree.  Spike," he said, turning to the young man.  "Fill her in on everything concerning the case as soon as she gets here."
****

Giles and Associates
Monday, February 16, 2004

8:30 AM

Spike headed to his office, exhausted again.  He and Buffy had been arguing almost non-stop since their dinner at The Horizon a week and a half ago.  It was going to take more than he thought to get her to forgive him.  When it came to Faith Abbott, he had obviously been using the wrong brain.

He greeted each person he passed, looking up before he entering his office.  He stopped when he saw a red-headed woman sitting on the leather sofa.  She stood, looking at him, smiling.  It occurred to him that it was probably Willow Rosenberg.  He had never seen her in person and the photo in her file didn't do her justice.  The photo looked like something that had been taken for a graduation photo.  This woman in front of him was stunning.

"Ms. Rosenberg?" he queried as he approached her where she stood.

The woman turned to completely face him.  She smiled, nodding.  She extended a hand to his, which he accepted.

"Spike Bradley," he said, shaking her hand warmly.  "I'm one of the non-partner attorneys here at Giles and Associates."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," her voice all but sang.

She was incredible, he thought.  Shoulder length, fiery red hair, gorgeous green eyes that sparkled like diamonds as she smiled.  Her discreetly checked her out as he ushered her to one of the seats in front of his large desk.  With her looks, he thought, she could easily be a model or an actress, but she was an attorney.  Quite an intelligent one too, according to her file.

But almost immediately, he felt a twinge in his heart, and he thought of Buffy.  He couldn't think of any other women like that anymore, not if he hoped to save his marriage.  He knew it would take time, but he felt sure that Buffy would forgive him.  He couldn't afford to be distracted by anything or anyone.  Blurring the lines between business and pleasure wasn't healthy either.

Finally, after about 15 minutes, Spike began to show Willow his files concerning the Calendar Industries insider trading case, a case that had absorbed Spike's attention over the last eight months.  Even though there were four attorneys working the case, from different angles, Spike still had a heavy workload.  And then he would finally make partner.  It was something he had wanted for as long as he could remember.

When he was a teenager, Spike's father was a corporate attorney.  Because of his lifestyle and workload, Spike's mother wanted no more to do with him and filed for divorce.  Unfortunately, his mother didn't have the connections or the money to get a good attorney, so his father's attorney had ripped his mother to shreds on the stand, and it made her look unstable and an unfit mother.  She eventually lost custody of Spike, his younger brother and two younger sisters.  It caused her to have a stroke and she died a few weeks later because of it.  And his father... his horrible father used her death to his advantage.  It was then, when he was 15 years old, that he vowed to become attorney, a better one, a smarter one, one with a heart, and one who would take down his father's firm.

And he had, with his firm's help, moved another step in that direction when Giles and Associates lured Willow Rosenberg away from his father's firm, Finn, Osborne and Associates.  His father was nothing but a cheat, a liar, a fraud, a power hungry son of a bitch, and Spike vowed never to allow himself to become like him, not realizing that by cheating on Buffy, he was more like his father than knew.

Shaking himself from his inner monologue, Spike smiled as Willow took one of the Calendar files and began reading it.  She immediately pulled out a legal pad and scribbled some notes, perhaps something new to look at in an effort to shut Calendar Industries down once and for all.  Yes, he thought, Willow Rosenberg was going to change things.  In more ways than one.
*****

February 16, 2004
11:45 AM

Willow Rosenberg watched as Spike Bradley left the room.  Finally.  He hadn't let her out of his sight since she got there, but he needed to speak to one of the other attorneys on the case.  Willow stuck her head out the door and saw Spike disappear around a corner.  She quickly went to her briefcase, pulling out a small electronic device.  She unscrewed the mouthpiece of the telephone and stuck the little bug in, clipping it to one of the wires connected inside.  Screwing the piece back in place and placing the phone in its cradle, she slid into the same place on the sofa, picking up her legal pad and pen just as Spike walked back in, a file in hand.

Willow recognized the look in his eyes when he looked at her.  He was quite the smitten kitten.  She had seen that look in the eyes of many other men since she became a killer for hire.  It was a big advantage.  If he--or she for that matter--was physically taken with her, they'd never see the bullet coming.  She was used to using her body and looks to get what she wanted.  Her choice of clothing for her first day at Giles and Associates was chosen specifically for Spike Bradley: An off-white skirt that ended mid-thigh; a sleeveless white scoop-neck blouse that was designed to accentuate her breasts, something that was not lost on Spike; and three-inch heels that drew attention to her legs.  The outfit could be viewed as subtle but at the same time, it showed off her body.  And her long red hair was pulled back and held together by a jeweled clip and called attention to her slender neck.

It was working.  Willow noticed his eyes all over her.  She thought it might be a challenge to lure him into an affair but it wouldn't take much.  He was ravishing her with his eyes, it was just a matter of time before he ravished her physically.  But it would need to tear his marriage apart.  That was part of the mission perimeters: destroy his marriage, destroy his career, destroy his life.  But she planned to have fun in the process.

Spike slid into the sofa next to her, pointing out a couple of things in the Calendar file.  Right now, they were preparing for a hearing that would hopefully gain authorities access to more of Calendar's computer files and hard copies.  The hearing would take at least a morning session which was why Spike and the other attorneys were working so hard at it.  The final hearing would take place in three weeks, when all the company's files would finally be handed over to the authorities.

After a few minutes, Willow decided she needed to give Spike another view so she swayed over to the encyclopedia library on shelves against one wall, which was adjacent to the sofa.  She felt his eyes on her and smiled darkly.  She bent slightly, pulling a step ladder to reach for the volume she wanted.  Carefully, she climbed up to the second step and began to flail as if the ladder was unstable.  Almost immediately, Spike rushed over with the intend to steady the ladder but just as he got there, she slipped off the ladder and fell into his arms.

"Are you okay?" Spike asked.

Willow sighed as if her neck had almost been broken.  "Yeah, I-I think so.  I must have been a little too enthusiastic about getting the case moving forward.  And this is an unfamiliar office..."

Spike set Willow down on her feet, but she clung to him.  "Don't worry about it."
Willow's hands covered her face, her head down.  "I feel absolutely mortified.  I mean, this is my first day in and I'm getting all... you know, I feel like I'm screwing up already."

Spike chuckled.  "Oh, you're not screwing up.  Everyone has a first day.  I remember my first day here," Spike said, leading her back to the sofa.  "I ended up in the wrong office twice, once in the middle of a meeting.  I hung up on three people because I couldn't get the phone system straight.  And I wasted coffee on papers I had to file the next day.  I was up all night typing it over because the disk was ruined by the coffee."

"Oh wow," Willow responded.  "Comparatively, this day is a walk in the park."

Spike smiled, nodding.  "Yeah."  He glanced at his watch.  "Listen, if you're up to it, how about I take you out to lunch?"

Willow just looked at him a moment, then smiled, "Sure, that'd be great."

"We can go now.  My car?"

Willow nodded.  "Sure.  Um, can I meet you out front?  I need to make a call first, if that's okay?"

Spike smiled.  "Not a problem.  After lunch, we can probably get your office underway."

"Great."

Willow watched as Spike made sure he had his wallet, car keys and cell phone with him before he picked up his suit jacket and headed out.  Willow waited a few moments then again poked her head out the door, spying as he stopped to talk to one of the firm's partners.  She went to the phone and punched in the Ricardo Soleito's phone number, which let him know that the plan was underway.  She placed the phone on the desk while she went to her briefcase, pulling out a small camera, which was disguised as a small totem statue nearly identical to the one Spike had on his shelf.  She went to the TV/VCR unit against the wall adjacent to his desk and replaced the real statue with the fake one, positioning it.  She checked the small screen she had in her briefcase, satisfied of its placement.  She had no worry about the camera; it was designed to feed off the electricity to within 50 feet.  He'd never know the difference.  Now she'd get a 24/7 view of Spike's office.

Glancing at her watch, Willow grabbed her purse, coat, and briefcase before hanging up the phone, gliding out of the room to meet up with Spike, who was waiting out front in his DeSoto.
*****

Dante's Cafe
Sunrise, New York
February 16, 2004
12:12 PM

Spike slid into the chair opposite Willow, smiling at her as he placed their order of coffee and muffins on the table.  He unconsciously adjusted the silk blue tie around his neck, pulling at the arms of his Armani suit.
 

"So how long have you been an attorney?" Spike asked Willow as she stirred her coffee.

"About five years," she responded, looking into his blue eyes with a smile.  He has beautiful eyes, she mused.  "But I've been a part of various cases since I got out of law school.  I was 20 then.  The last three years I spent working for Percy and Devon in New York City."

Spike was surprised.  "You've been a full-fledged attorney for five years?  You can't be that old.  I meanB" he broke off, mentally kicking himself over his choice of words.

Willow just smiled, finding it hard to pull her eyes from his.  "I know what you mean," she said, laying a hand on his briefly.  "I was able to skip a few grades.  I went from grade four to seven because I was learning at that grade level.  I was in grade 12 when I was just fifteen.  I applied to law school and began in September, just a couple of days after I turned sixteen."

"Wow," Spike said with a short chuckle.  "For some reason, that makes me feel like a stupid wanker."

"Stupid?  No, you shouldn't feel that way," Willow said, looking out the rain-streaked window briefly, a little unnerved about how affected she was by his presence.  "Some people are just... you know... faster... learn at different levels.  It shouldn't make you feel like that.  Just because you went through every grade doesn't make you any less capable or competent than me."

Spike nodded.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to get defensive.  It's just that my father never made me feel like I was good at anything.  He's the kind of father who would chastise me for getting an A when I could have gotten an A+."

Willow looked at him, having perfected her concerned face, happy to veer away the conversation away from her.  "Really.  What kind of father is that?" she commented, almost rhetorically.

"I don't know," he said absently, staring out through the window.

But she knew.  She knew everything about Spike Bradley.  Well, everything that was documented, from his birth place to the letter he tucked into his mother's casket.

Spike just nodded slightly, before glancing out the window.  "It's a touchy subject.  He's a heartless bastard who used his power and money to ruin my mother."

Willow laid a hand on his again, rubbing it slightly.  "I'm so sorry, Spike.  How old were you when she died?"

Spike looked at her, a little startled.  "How did you know she was dead?"

Willow pulled back, mind racing to find an answer.  "Well..." she started, a little nervously.  "Once I landed the job with the firm, I just did some research on the partners and associates.  Just to get an idea of who I'd be working with and for."

Spike stared at her a moment longer before his face relaxed.  "Of course.  Silly me.  I did the same thing before I took the job at Giles."  He paused a moment and glanced at his watch.  "Wow, look at the time.  We should head back to the office.  We can get going on your office."
 

Willow nodded and stood, leading Spike out of the cafe.  Her mind was screaming at her, at her mistake.  She could have easily screwed the whole plan up.  He was affecting her more than she thought.  What the hell was wrong with her?  But it was okay.  The plan wasn't blown.  She hadn't been made.  It was fine.  For now.
*****

February 16, 2004
12:43 PM

Spike pulled his car onto the road, heading back towards the law firm, glancing at Willow as she buckled his seat belt.  He wiped at the steam that covered the inside of the window as he pulled up behind a moving van that had stopped at the red light.  He glanced at his watch.  12:38.

"Hmm..."

Willow turned to him.  "What?"

Spike briefly smiled.  "I need to drop by my place to pick up a file.  Hope you don't mind."

Willow smiled.  "No, not at all."

"Oh, and you can meet Buffy."
Willow was floored.  "Your wife?"  Why was she so surprised?

Spike nodded, pulling into another lane.  "Yeah."

Willow searched through the memorized information about Spike that was filed away in her mind.  The Buffy information was going to be put in use earlier than she thought.  Distracted, she kept looking out the window.

"Worried?" she asked.

Spike chuckled.  "A little.  The last thing I need is to piss her off anymore than she already is at me.  I mean, her pregnancy hormones are so bloody out of whack it's not even funny."

Willow turned her head.  "How far along is she?"
Spike just stared out the windshield.  Finally, he sighed.  "She's due in a month."

Willow didn't miss the tone of his voice.  "You don't sound too happy about it."
"I've been putting off leaving her for years now," he confided.  "Six months ago, I decided I was going to follow through.  But before I could tell her I was leaving, that very same day, she found out she was pregnant.  And it locked me in for good."

Willow was a little surprised he would confide such intimate information to a woman he had only met a few hours ago.  Perhaps he really didn't have anyone to confide in.  Well, it was part of her plan to have him open up to her.  Still, something was different about this job.

"You don't want to be a father?"

Spike shook his head, clenching his teeth.  "Just the thought of it makes me... I don't know... it fills me with dread because I feel like my father's mistakes with me are going to come through, affect my son...  I never wanted to be in a place where my actions could affect the course of such an innocent life."

"Wow," Willow said, meaning it, genuinely struck by his words.  At least he's honest, she thought.

Silently, Spike turned the car into a paved driveway.  She looked up at the house.  First off, calling it a house would be an understatement.  It was a mansion.  And it looked like it should be on the cover of Home and Garden magazine, minus the snow of course.  She exited the vehicle as Spike did, and she looked up at the place in awe, as if she had never seen such a huge house before.  In truth, she lived in one that was larger, a sprawling mansion in Las Vegas, Nevada.  She could afford to have the best that money could buy but she didn't splurge too much.  She wasn't one of those people who bought expensive things just to show off what she had.  That would draw too much attention, and that's something she just didn't want or need.

Spike opened the front door, leading Willow inside.  She slipped out of her shoes as Spike did, but she stayed in the porch area, not wanting to take liberties and take the chance of stepping on Spike's toes.  He came back to her a moment later and ushered her into the kitchen.  Once in, the redhead looked into the eyes of a blonde, Buffy, she knew, from the picture Ricardo Soleito had put in the Spike Bradley file.

"Buffy, this is Willow Rosenberg.  She's just been added to the Calendar case.  Willow, my wife Buffy."
Willow shook Buffy's hand and smiled sincerely.  "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Bradley."

Buffy shook her hand, but remained guarded, something that wasn't lost on Willow.  "Same here."

Spike fluttered about in the kitchen, bringing Buffy some iced tea to go with her lunch.  He rubbed her belly and asked how she felt, smiling when they both felt the baby kick, Spike playing the part of excited father-to-be.  Willow, however, felt a pang.  This Buffy had everything Willow begrudgingly admitted she wanted.  A wonderful, successful husband.  To be well off financially.  To have a baby.  Well, she had one out of three.  She'd been close to all three once.  But like so many other things, it had been taken from her.  Just as quickly as the thought slipped into her mind, she forced it out.  She never let her emotions rule her anymore.  She hadn't had genuine feelings for another person in years.

Finally, Spike left the room to find the sought case file, while Willow opened up a conversation with the wife.

"Hi," Willow offered, leaning against the kitchen table.  She sat after Buffy offered the seat.  She looked at the woman, then dropped her head down before looking back.  "You don't like me," she said, surprising the woman.

"Why would you say that?" Buffy responded, curious.

Willow smiled sadly.  "I know by the look you had in your eyes when we shook hands.  You think Spike's going to cheat on you."

Buffy gaped at her.  After several moments, she found her voice.  "How could you... how could you possibly know that?"
 

Willow smiled nervously.  "I-I-I'm sorry if I'm being too forward.  I just got the feeling that he's cheated before.  That's why you've been on guard ever since I came in here.  This is your turf, your home.  You don't want any other woman in here."

Buffy drew in a shaky breath, but didn't answer.

"I'm sorry.  I've overstepped my boundaries.  I'll... I'll go wait in the car."

She stood, turning to go, but Buffy's voice stopped her.  "Am I that transparent?"

Willow stopped, sitting back down, memorizing the contours and planes of Buffy's face.  Quite a beautiful woman, she decided.  "It's a woman's instinct to protect her family from those who could be out to ruin it, but I'm not out to ruin your family.  I-I just work with Spike.  That's all.  To do that well, you and I should be friends.  I swear to you, I will not overstep those lines.  You have my word."

Buffy looked into Willow's eyes and finally, she smiled, shaking her head.  "I'm sorry--"

"Don't apologize," Willow interjected.

"I guess it's just... you know, once bitten, twice shy."

"I understand completely."  She paused.  "I just hope we can be friends."

Buffy nodded.  "I'm sure we will."

Spike re-entered the kitchen, file in hand.  "So how's everything?"

"Good," Buffy answered.  "Willow and I were just talking a bit.  Listen, Willow," Buffy said, looking from her husband back to Willow.  "Maybe you could have dinner here with us some night, you know, outside of work.  To allow the three of use to know each other more."

Willow mentally acknowledged the small victory.  "I'd like that."

"Great," Spike said, pleased that the two women were already getting along.  He leaned down, planting a kiss on Buffy's lips.

Buffy stood, a little unsteadily, and went towards the den.  Spike and Willow followed, Spike helping Buffy along.  Willow eyed shelves lined with CDs, DVDs, videotapes, books, little ornaments, framed pictures, and candles held by intricately designed holders.  She moved to one of the shelves, looking at some of the pictures.  Buffy and Spike at various stages of their marriage, she guessed.  Turning to see that Spike and Buffy were preoccupied, Willow reached into her coat pocket and removed a small electronic bug, attaching it to the bottom of one of the black candle holders.  Even if the object was picked up, the bug wouldn't be noticed, not to the naked eye.

She then heard Buffy's voice as she spoke to Spike.  "Well, I think I'm going to work on the baby's blanket, so--whoa!"
 

Willow turned as Spike chuckled and lifted a smiling Buffy into his arms.  He exited the room and ventured down the hall.  Willow followed them.  As Spike deposited his wife on the sofa, Willow again busied herself looking at various pictures of Spike and Buffy.  She pulled out another electronic bug and attached it to the bottom of one of the many candle holders on one of the shelves, one much like the one in the den.

She turned around.  "Could I use your washroom?" she asked, acting sheepish.

Buffy looked up.  "Sure.  It's three doors down the left hallway.  One past the master bedroom."

Willow flashed a quick smile and darted down the hallway.  Satisfied that Spike was preoccupied with Buffy, Willow slipped into the couple's expansive bedroom.  Retrieving another electronic bug, she attached it to the bottom of a candle holder similar to the one in the den.  This Buffy sure liked candles.  She rushed out of the room and slid into the washroom, pulling the door closed.  She flushed the toilet and ran the water for a few moments, before wiping her hands and exiting.  She retraced her steps to the porch to find Spike pulling his shoes on; she slid hers on as well.

"It was lovely to meet you," Buffy said to Willow from the doorway of the den.

"Same here.  We'll have that dinner soon."

Buffy nodded and went back in the den.  Willow stepped out of the porch onto the snowy walkway, Spike behind her.

"She's absolutely wonderful, Spike," she commented as she slid into the passenger seat of Spike's car.

Spike grinned.  "Yeah.  I'm a lucky bloke."

Yes, Willow thought, but not for long.
****

February 16, 2004
9:03 PM

Willow sipped at her coffee as she viewed the tape recording from the camera she put in Spike's office.  Or more importantly, tape of him when she wasn't there.  Bored now.  He spent very little time on the phone, opting to work.  She knew he was a workaholic.  She had been told that the night he and Buffy were at The Horizon, he had brought his briefcase to dinner with him.  How could Buffy have stayed married to him all these years?

Disregarding the video, she turned to the audio.  The bugs in Spike's house were designed to feed of the electricity, and, on her end, were linked to blip monitors.  Every time there was any talking, the monitors conveyed it, and tapes recorded it.  She hadn't learned too much thus far.  Spike was rarely at home.  He wasn't at the office either.  Willow suspected that what affair Buffy had found out about was probably continuing.

Something was bothering her but she couldn't figure out what.  It wasn't the job.  It's the reason she was five million dollars richer.  And she wasn't pondering the other five million that would be put in once Spike Bradley was dead either.  For some reason, she was thinking about Buffy.  Such a beautiful woman could do a lot better than the unFaithful, workaholic husband she had.  And no matter how many things came to light, making her second guess her plans when it came to destroying Spike Bradley, it had to be done.

Losing herself to her thoughts, she reluctantly returned to the past...

*1992*

"Hi Momma," 16-year-old Willow Rosenberg called, bounding in the front door of her parents split-level house in Greenwich, Connecticut.  She kicked off her Doc Martins in the porch before heading to the living room and flopping down on the sofa, discarding her law books, which fell to the floor.

"Hi sweetie," Laura Rosenberg responded.  "Watch it with those books, they're expensive."

"I know Momma," Willow said, taking her red pony-tailed hair out of the elastic holding it back.  "But my scholarship pays for them."

"Still," Laura said as she fluttered about in the kitchen.

Willow grabbed the TV remote, flipping through the stations until she found General Hospital.  She undid the top three buttons of her white blouse, getting comfortable.

"How were classes today?"

"Okay, I guess," she answered, her eyes not leaving the TV screen.
Laura entered the living room, wiping her hands on her apron.  "Just okay?"

Willow frowned.  "Some of the people in the class still say those little remarks to me.  'You should be in kindergarten where you belong,'" she mocked.  "It's really old.  I mean, I've been there for two whole months and they haven't eased up on it yet."

Laura sat down beside her, putting a reassuring arm around her daughter.  "Adults are worse that teenagers or children in some ways."

Willow shrugged.  "They're just defensive because I'm smarter than them.  Most of them are in their early 20s, then the 16-year-old me comes along."  She paused.  "Where's Daddy?"

This time Laura shrugged.  She rose up and headed back towards the kitchen, busying herself by icing the cake she made.  Willow followed her mother to the room.

"Momma?"

Laura kept her back to Willow, carefully avoiding eye contact.

"Momma, when are you going to tell him how you feel?"
Laura turned back around.  "Willow, this is not something I want to discuss with you.  I've said that before--"
Willow crossed her arms over her chest.  "But you're willing to let Daddy walk all over you like newly laid carpet."

"What's like newly laid carpet?" a booming voice thundered.
 

Willow and Laura turned towards the voice.  Laura almost looked terrified, Willow noted.  What was going on here?
"Laura?"

"Morris," Laura finally said.  "You're home early."

Morris Rosenberg nodded, his towering presence affecting his wife more and more by the second.

"Is that a problem?"

Laura strained to smile, to give the impression that everything was fine.  "Of... of course not, d-darling.  I-I just don't have anything started for dinner yet."
Morris stepped towards the two women in his life.  "Willow, could you go to your room.  Your mother and I have to talk."
Willow looked from her mother to her father.  She didn't want to leave the room, not if her mother was a scared as she looked.  "I-I think that, uh.... I should stay right here."
Morris glared at his daughter.  "Go!" he thundered.  "Now!"

Startled, Willow backed up, grabbed her books and nearly sprinted to her room downstairs.  She bolted into her room and slammed the door.  She reopened the door and crept halfway back up the steps.  She heard her father's angry voice first.

"I told you what was required of you, Laura.  If you're not going to abide by the rules--"

Laura interrupted him.  "Required?  I'm not one of your employees, Morris.  I'm your wife.  I'm the mother of your child.  I deserve some respect."

"You know damn well that you are not her mother.  You are her mother because I gave you that role.  You are her mother because her birth mother died giving birth to her."

Silence.  A slap.  Willow's eyes were wide.  She could hardly believe what she had just heard.  Her mother wasn't her mother?

"You stupid bitch!"

Willow didn't acknowledge the tears that were falling down her face.  She was numb as she heard a struggle and her mother's voice, begging for mercy.  Willow felt herself falling into a pit of darkness.  Her mother... she wasn't her mother.

She was yanked out of the darkness by a loud clang.  Then her father's voice.

"Good.  Now both of her mothers are dead."

Willow gasped and ran back into her closet, rummaging around until she found what she wanted.  She charged back up over the stairs to the kitchen and sobbed loudly when she say her father bent over her mother.  She saw a cast-iron pan on the floor, blood splattered all over the place.
 

"You killed her," she gasped.  "You killed her.... you killed her...." she kept repeating the words almost automatically.

Morris looked up at her, then he stood.  Willow pointed the gun in her hands at her father.

"Don't move," she told him.  He continued advancing towards her and she backed up, step by step, into the plush living room.  "Stop moving!"

He didn't.  "You won't hurt me, Willow.  I'm your Daddy.  I'm the only parent you have now," he told her, his tone trying to reason with her.  He took another step.

Willow lowered the gun.  He was right.  She couldn't kill her father.  She sank to the floor, the gun still in hand.  Morris slid down beside her, his arms around her.

"I'm so sorry baby," he said, trying to calm the river to tears.  "This is not the way I wanted you to find out.  Not like this."

Willow wiped her face with her free hand.  "She's not my momma?" she cried, her words broken.

Morris rubbed her back, comforting her.  "No.  She's not.  Your biological mother died bringing you into this world.  I couldn't let you grow up without a mother's love or a mother's touch.  Your mother--Laura," he corrected, "She was a woman I knew.  I cared about her and she loved me.  She wanted to help me raise you.  And she did a wonderful job of it."

Willow's tear-filled eyes again focused on the body of her dead mother.  She became aware that she was still holding a gun.  Almost automatically, she raised the weapon to her father's chest, point blank range.  Then she pulled the trigger once.  Then again.  And again.  And again.  She watched him fall, back onto the glass coffee table, shattering it into a million pieces.  The sound of the crash jolted Willow out of her daze.  Dropping the gun to the floor from her right hand, she walked to her mother.  She found no pulse.  Going back into the living room, she found no pulse from her father either.  She sat on the sofa, just watching the blood on her father's chest.  The smell was overwhelming.  She stood again, stepped over her father and lifted the phone receiver to call 911.

Half an hour later, police and ambulance personnel were crawling over the house.  The bodies of her parents were out of the house and on their way to the morgue.  Willow sat outside, staring off into space until one of the policeman sat beside her.  He gently touched her arm.

"Are you okay?"

Willow stared straight ahead.  "'Okay?'"  She chuckled bitterly.  "I'll never be okay again.  I heard my father kill my mother.  For all I knew he was going to kill me too."

"And where did the gun come from?" he asked gently.

"My mom had it.  She was afraid of him.  Afraid for me.... She kept it in my closet because she didn't want him to find it.  After I heard the loud clanging noise, I went to get the gun in my closet... and I ran upstairs.... and I saw him standing over her body..." she sobbed loudly, remembering.  Her sightless tear-filled eyes were overflowing with tears, the salty drops falling down her face.  "He was going to-to do something... I thought he might hurt me because I know what happened....  I had no choice!"  She turned to the policeman.  "I had no choice!  He was going to hurt me or kill me!  I had no choice!"

She repeated those four words over and over.  The policeman tentatively wrapped his arm around her, trying to comfort her.  Exhausted, she passed out....

*PRESENT*

Willow wiped away the tears that had fallen as she remembered.  That was her first kill, and when her heart died.  Since that time, she had never let anyone get close to her heart.  That would only open up the possibility of getting hurt, and she wasn't willing to risk it.  When she remembered the moment she pulled the trigger that first time, it made her feel like a little girl in some ways, but it also made her feel powerful.  So powerful.  It felt good to kill that man, her father.  He was a bad person, a man who brought pain and suffering to all of those around him.  It was at that point that Willow realized that law wasn't the only thing she could be good at.

She went to a website that promoted murder for hire.  She got in contact with someone from the page and took him up on his offer.  Her inaugural kill was of a politician in New York.  She'd killed the politician and never looked back.  She continued on with law school.  After her law school scholarship ran out, she used money received from clients to fund her studies.  No one would ever suspect that a would-be attorney was actually a killer for hire.

That was so long ago.  She was such a different person then.  And she hadn't thought about that night in such a long time.  So long.  She didn't know why she was thinking about it now.  It's not like she loved Spike.  It would be harder to kill him if she did, but she did not allow her heart to be bared to anyone anymore.

Willow shook her head and adjusted the volume, making sure that she hadn't missed any conversation.  Well, Spike wasn't home.  Not yet.  He was lucky she didn't kill for her beliefs anymore.  She killed for money.  If a person had the correct number of millions to offer, she'd be there, with no suspect for the police to follow.  Besides, she didn't look like a killer.  She looked like the girl next door.

She again picked up the headphones, listening in.  Spike had finally come home and was talking to Buffy.

"How was your day?" Spike asked.

"Day?" Buffy echoed.  "It's the night.  It's after ten o'clock.  Where the hell have you been?"
"Don't get your knickers in a bundle.  I'm a busy bloke."

Buffy scoffed.  "I called the firm at eight o'clock.  They said you had already left."

Caught in the lie, Spike sighed.  "So, I was out.  I'm allowed.  Or did I need a note or something?"

"Don't you dare talk down to me.  I am your wife."  She paused.  "I could have easily have gone into labor."

Spike remained silent.  Willow could hear the rustling of clothes.

"Where were you?  At Faith's?"

Willow listened more closely.  This was the first time Willow heard the name Faith, even though there were several type-written pages about her in the file she had on Spike Bradley's life.

"Of course not.  I've learned my lesson, Buffy."
"Have you really?"  Buffy paused.  "Then where were you?"
"Out!" Spike cried, exasperated.  "Do I have to clear everything with you first?  Can't I go to a bar and have a drink?  Or are you just being like this because you're in a snippy mood?"

Willow heard more rustling.  Then the sound of something being put down.  Probably a mug.

"You should be focusing on me and our child.  We are going to be parents very soon.  You haven't been to one appointment.  You have not asked me how the baby is.  You ask about me, but not the baby.  Sometimes I wonder if you even want this baby."
"Oh bullocks Buffy, of course I want this baby.  My work takes up a lot of my time.  You knew when we got married that I was going to be involved with a lot of different cases.  My workload was going to be severe.  You knew that.  I told you that I would be there for you once the Calendar case was over with."

"And when will that be?" Buffy asked tersely.

Spike sighed.  "There's a hearing tomorrow morning, which will get us access to some things we've been waiting for.  Then it's just a matter of time until it's all resolved."

Willow sat back, smiling, as Spike and Buffy's argument continued.  She found herself distracted, wondering about this Faith Abbott.  Perhaps she should pay Ms. Abbott a visit.

"...Look, Buffy, I am so sorry that so much of my time has been taken up with work.  Let me make it up to you.  How about I take you out to Giorgio's, have some dinner, go to a show..."

"I can't," Buffy said.  "I need to rest.  Doctor's orders."

"Buffy..."

"Spike, I said no."

Spike remained silent for a moment.  "Maybe I'll just call Faith," he said spitefully.

Silence.  Then, "Are you deliberately trying to hurt me?"
"I just want to make up for the bloody mistakes I've made!  Is that so wrong?"
Willow heard nothing for a few moments.  Then Spike spoke, cancelling his reservations at Giorgio's before hanging up.

"Where are you going?" Buffy demanded.

"Out.  Just because you don't want to doesn't mean I have to become a goddamn recluse."
 

A moment later, the door slammed.  Interesting, Willow noted, deciding to end her surveillance for now.  She rose up from her seat, exiting the room and locking it behind her.  She went to her briefcase, extracting the Spike Bradley file, flipping through the pages in search of the notes on Faith Abbott.  She changed out of her lawyer-esque clothing, opting for black jeans and a sleeveless black top.  Stopping in the washroom, she picked up a brush and carefully slicked her hair back over her head, securing it in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, spritzing lots of hairspray to keep it in place.  In the closet near the back door, she pulled out a long black jacket and pulled on a pair of boots.  She went back to the living room and grabbed her briefcase, making sure the Bradley file was inside.  Leaving the house, she quickly reached her car, sliding inside.  On an afterthought, she reached into her pockets, finding a pair of leather gloves.  She would need them.  Faith Abbott might not be too forthcoming about her relationship with Spike.  But Willow would see to it that she would be, even if she had to beat the information out of her.
****

February 16, 2004
9:54 PM

Faith Abbott sighed as she hung up the phone.  She hoped Spike was at the office but it was after ten o'clock.  She knew he wasn't there.  After all, he had only left her place a few hours ago.  She could still taste his lips, smell his cologne, how he felt inside of her.  She needed to see him so bad.  He was her addiction.  But God, why couldn't she have fallen for a single guy instead a married father-to-be.

It was stupid of her to confront Spike in public, that night at The Horizon.  She had done that in hopes that maybe his wife would leave him, but she was pregnant.  Stability is what Buffy needed in order to have a happy home and she would do just about anything, even forgive a cheating husband, to keep that stability.  Her child meant the most to her.  Faith knew that.

A second later, Faith picked up the phone again, punching in Spike's cell phone number, but she hung up before he answered.  No, she decided.  She had to go about it a different way, especially if she ever wanted her and Spike to be together.  She knew that he wanted to be with her, but his responsibilities as a father overwhelmed him.  Many times, he had voiced his desire to be a better father that his own was to him.  He would probably leave Buffy if he could wrangle custody of the baby.  And he was a lawyer, so he could probably make that happen.

Faith rose up and headed to her bedroom, pulling off her bathrobe and pulling on a pair of panties, a T-shirt and her favorite sleep pants.  Then she headed for the kitchen, reaching into the fridge to grab a beer.  She twisted the cover off and gulped down a few mouthfuls of the drink.  A moment later, she heard the back doorbell ring.  Perplexed, she put the beer on the counter and bounded down over the stairs.  Opening the door revealed a red-haired woman she had never seen before.

"Can I help you?" Faith asked.

The woman smiled.  "Um, are you Faith Abbott?"

Faith nodded.  "Yes.  Who are you?"

The woman pulled out a gun and pointed it at Faith's head.  "Your worst nightmare."

"Omigod," Faith rasped.

"Back up.  Do not run.  Not unless you want a bullet in your back."
Faith's hands went in front of her, as if trying to ward off the mystery woman, who walked in and closed the two doors.  Faith backed up over the few stairs to her living room.

"That's right.  Nice and slow."

Once in the living room, the woman forced Faith to sit back on the sofa.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Who I am is unimportant."
Faith's eyes widened.  "I beg to differ."

"Fine.  My name is Willow."

"Willow.  Okay, *Willow,* what the hell do you want?"
Willow smirked.  "Mocking me is not very smart of you."
Faith glanced around, trying to find something, anything to help her get away from this crazy woman.  She watched Willow as she closed the curtains and blinds, before lowering herself to the loveseat opposite her.

"What... do... you... want?!"

"Some answers.  About Spike Bradley."

Faith gaped at Willow.  "This is about Spike?!"

Willow didn't answer.

"What about him?"
"Tell me about him."

Faith just stared at the woman.  Spike was why Faith had a gun pointed at her?  God.

"Like what?"

"I need some evidence that proves him a cheater."  She paused.  "I know you showed up at The Horizon the night Anthony Soleito was killed."

Faith finally understood.  "You work for the mob."

Willow shook her head.  "No.  I work for myself."

"Well your boss sucks."

Willow stood, nearing Faith, looming over her.  "Not smart.  At all."

"I have pictures," Faith blurted out, looking helplessly at the woman.

"Get them for me."

Willow moved back, gun still pointed.  Faith hesitantly rose off the sofa and moved towards her bedroom.  She opened the door and rushed inside, shutting the door in Willow's face.  Willow, caught off guard, started kicking at the door.  After several kicks from her steel-toed boots, she threw herself into the door, breaking it down.  She ran to Faith, who had just picked up the phone.  Willow yanked the phone line out of the wall and backhanded Faith, before throwing her into a wall.  Willow yanked her up, dropping the silencer-equipped gun, her hands around Faith's throat.

"You must really want to die!" Willow yelled in her face.

"No please!  Don't kill me!  Please!"

Thinking Faith was immobilized, Willow reached for her gun, but was caught off guard as Faith managed to pull herself out of Willow's hands and tried to run past her.  Willow's arm shot out and grabbed Faith's hair, tossing her to the floor, making her howl in pain.  She yanked Faith up again and threw her into a full length mirror, knocking her out.

"Finally."
Willow picked up her gun, before reaching down to Faith Abbott.  Grabbing her by the hair, she pulled her from the glass.  Backhanding her several times finally roused Faith from her unconscious state.  She groaned, a hand going to her face.  She cried out when she it away covered in blood.

"Oh my God!"

"Shut up!  If you value anything or anyone, shut the hell up!  I am not in the mood!  You should know that by now."
"Please, don't kill me.  Just tell me what you want."
"Compliance, nice thought."
Willow picked up the cordless phone up from the floor.  After checking for a dial tone, she handed the phone to Faith.  She kept the gun trained on the woman.  "Call Spike right now.  Get him here.  If not..."

"Alright.  Alright."  Trembling, Faith took the phone, drawing in a shaky breath before dialing Spike's cell phone.  "And how would you suggest I get him here?  He doesn't want anything to do with me."
"The pictures," Willow stated.

"I don't have any pictures."
Willow rose an eyebrow.  "Lying to me isn't too smart, Ms. Abbott."

Faith looked at her helplessly.  "I know."
"Thought you'd buy yourself some time huh?"

Faith nodded.
 

"Well, he doesn't know the difference, does he?"  Faith shook her head.  "You can call him and tell him that pictures exist.  I'm sure he'd want to discuss that."
Faith nodded and finished dialing.  "Spike?... It's Faith... Please, don't hang up.  It's important.... I know you don't want anything to do with me.  But... there's something you need to know, something we should discuss... Well, there are pictures of us.... Yes, I understand that your wife knows but I don't think it would be good for you if those pictures ended up in a newspaper or on the Internet...."  After a few seconds more, Faith hung up.  "He's on his way."

"Good," Willow said, smiling darkly.  "Where is he right now?"
"Out, driving around."

Willow's eyebrows shot up, feigning surprise.  "Really?  How far away?"
Faith sighed.  "He said about a fifteen minute drive from here."

"Good."

Faith just looked at this Willow woman.  "You're going to kill me aren't you?" she said, a statement, not a question.

"You've figured out who I work for," Willow answered.  "You know far too much for me to let you live."

Faith leaned forward, her spine turning to jelly.  "Please, I beg you.  Let me work for you.  That way.... we could both get back at Spike for everything he's done."
Willow shook her head slightly.  "Sorry, I don't work well with other people, not when it comes to this.  People in this kind of a situation would promise the moon and stars to get out of this.  Besides, I don't have reason to get back at Spike.  This is just a job."

"Killing people."  Faith paused.  "Still, I could be of use to you."

Willow smiled sadly.  "No.  This is the way it has to be.  Let's suppose I agree to let you work with me.  The first chance you get, you'd run to the police."

Faith agonized, her mind racing.  She continually looked at the digital clock.  The minutes passed as if they were seconds.  After ten minutes, Faith just looked at the woman.  Willow was going to kill her and frame Spike for it.  And she had thought of everything, right down to the last detail.  She looked at the hitwoman, who looked back at her.  When Willow ordered her to stand up, Faith had no choice.  There were so many things she wanted to take care of before she died, so many things she wanted to accomplish, all of which would now never happen.  Tears began to fall down over her face.  She'd never see her mother again.  Or her father.  Her brothers and sister.  Her friends.  God, there were so many things.
 

Willow kept the gun trained on Faith as she went to the dresser and picked up a hammer that Faith brainlessly remembered putting there after she had put nails up to hang some pictures.  Willow neared her, ordering her to lie on the floor.  Faith tearfully complied, closing her eyes, sobbing loudly.  Willow knelt down, putting a pillow on the woman's head.  Then she lifted the hammer high above both their heads, bringing it down hard on Faith's skull.  She grunted once, then was silent, her skull cracked.  Waiting for several seconds, she reached down to Faith's neck.  Deader than JFK.  She picked up Faith's limp hand, scrawling Spike's name on the floor in her blood.  Then Willow grabbed Faith's phone, dialing 9-1-1.

"Help me," she rasped.  "He's trying to kill me.  Please, he's trying to kill me..."

Before the operator could say anything, Willow dropped the phone, and stuffed *her* pictures of Faith and Spike together into Faith's hand, getting Faith's blood and fingerprints on them, then she rushed out of the room and house.  She left the back door slightly ajar, but quietly shut the screen door.  She looked down, thankful that Faith at least knew how to shovel snow.  That way, no one could follow her footprints.  She moved to the side of the house, hiding just as she heard a car pull up.  Spike, Willow thought.  Right on time.  He went up to the door and banged on it, demanding Faith's presence.  When he got no answer, he banged even harder while cursing up a storm.  Fed up, he opened the door, barging inside.  Willow smiled faintly, hearing sirens in the distance.  She turned and climbed over the fence closing in the garden, sliding down over a snow-covered hill to start towards her car what was parked two blocks away.  She started off running, slowing to a walk so she wouldn't arouse suspicion.  She felt through her pockets, making sure the gun was still there.  Finally she got to her car, quickly starting it and heading back to her house.
****

Spike barreled into Faith Abbott's house, pissed beyond belief.  The bint better have a good fucking reason for demanding his presence tonight.  He had made it clear that he wanted nothing more to do with her, but now... now she was threatening to blackmail him.  Hell, there was no threat.  She'd been very clear that she was going to keep the pictures of them in bed together.

"Faith!  Where are you?" he thundered.  "Goddammit Faith!  Answer me!"

He turned down the hall to her room, frowning when he saw that the door looked like it had been kicked in.  He pushed it open and was stunned to see Faith facedown on the floor in the middle of the room, blood pooling under her face.  He ran to her, dropped to his knees and turned her over, her face, her head a bloody mess.  The pictures spread out on the floor, but Spike didn't notice.

"Oh my God, Faith.  Faith?  Wake up.  Come on," he urged her, tapping her cheek trying to get a response out of her.  Looking around the room, he noticed signs of a struggle.  He noticed a bloody hammer on the floor, and inadvertently grabbed it instead of the phone that was right by it.  Dropping the hammer, he picked up the phone to dial 9-1-1 when he head a loud voice.

"Police!  Step away from the woman."

Spike looked up, startled but couldn't pull himself away from Faith.

"Now!  Move back!"

Spike looked up again to see three policemen pointing their service weapons at him.  One of them turned to shout back at the paramedics who were apparently there.

"We need a paramedic in here!"

Two policemen went to Spike, pulling him away from Faith; he had already laid her back down.  Two policemen restrained him, even threatening to cuff him.  He kept fighting, needing to know that Faith was okay.

"I didn't do anything," he protested.  "I just got here!  She asked me to come here... to talk!"
"That's enough.  I would advise you to speak to an attorney before you talk to anyone else," one of the officers said.

"But I am an attorney," he spit out.  "I'm Spike Bradley.  I work at Giles!  Call them, they can tell you!"

"Mr. Bradley, I advise you to keep quiet."

"But--"

Spike wisely shut his mouth, watching as the paramedics attended to Faith.  His heart dropped to his feet when he saw one paramedic shake her head and lay a sheet over Faith's bloody head.

"No," Spike whispered.  "No, Faith!  Not you!  No.  NO!"  He fought back as he was lead out of the room, struggling every inch of the way.  "Faith!"

Inside, one officer pushed the bed, which jutted out in the room like a sore thumb, to one side, in order to start cataloguing the blood flow when he noticed something.  He turned to one of his partners.  "I think she may have named her killer," he said, pointing to the floor, at where Willow used Faith's fingers to spell out Spike's name in blood.
****

February 16, 2004
11:15 PM

"Look, I went there because she asked me to.  I didn't go there to kill her!" Spike cried, banging his fists on the cheap table separating him from two police detectives he knew, from various cases he had taken.

"So it just happened," one detective, Anya Jenkins, said.

"No.  No, you're screwing up what I'm saying."
"Well, say it again."

Spike sighed.  This was unbelievable.  Faith was dead and he had been in the interrogation room for the last half hour, trying to get his story out.  "I was out driving around.  I got a phone call from Faith, asking me to come to her house.  When I got there, I banged on the door.  She didn't answer and I opened the screen door to find the inside one slightly ajar, so I went inside."

The other detective, Harmony Kendall, just glared at Spike with contempt in her eyes.  "Mr. Bradley," she said, "We found pictures of you and Faith Abbott, showing the two of you in bed.  Care to explain that?"
Spike sighed  heavily.  "I had an affair with her, okay?  My wife found out about it and... and I've been trying to make it up to her.  I know, the fact that Buffy is pregnant makes it ten times worse but I... I'm going to be a father in just over a month.  Why in God's name would I do anything to-to mess up my life like this?"
 

Jenkins and Kendall seemed to concur.  But the evidence they had so far seemed to contradict his explanation.

"And I'm an attorney.  If I were going to kill someone, don't you think I'd be better prepared, I mean, so that the evidence didn't point to me?"

The detectives moved back to speak in quiet.  A moment later, the room door opened, admitting Liam Angelus.  Angelus was one of the firm's criminal attorneys, whereas Spike was a corporate attorney.

"Spike, not another word.  I'd like some time with my client."

Jenkins and Kendall nodded and left the room, while Liam moved further into the room.  Liam's eyes conveyed confusion as he looked down at Spike.  He looked tired, Liam noted.  Spike ran his hands through his short hair, pulling his loose tie from his neck.  He stood, hands on hips, going to the window, leaning against the wall and just looking out.

"Spike, what's going on?"
Spike turned to Liam.  "Damned if I know."

Liam remained standing, looking at Spike.  "Tell me everything.  Do not leave out a word, not a syllable, anything."

Spike nodded, sighing.  "I got home around 10.  Buffy and I had a spat because I left the firm at eight.  I went to see Faith Abbott."
Liam shook his head.  "I thought you had ended that."
"I did," he responded, flopping down in one of two chairs that were at the table.  His hands covered his face and he sighed heavily.  "I went to Faith's.  We had sex.  I left.  I went home.  Buffy and I had a spat because I hadn't come home right after work.  I told her I'd make it up to her, telling her I had reservations at Giorgio's.  I'd made the reservations last week.  She didn't want to go, so I called and cancelled.  I had no desire to stay at home so I went out.  Just drove around for a while.  Faith called my on my cell, demanding that I go to her place."
"And you left to see her," Liam finished.  He pulled out the other chair at the table and sat, facing Spike.

"Not at first.  I was going to hang up on the bint but... she claimed to have pictures of us in bed together.  She threatened give them to a newspaper or post them on the Internet... She demanded that I get to her place right then.  So I did.  I figured she would use the pictures to keep our affair going."
"You were angry," Liam said with a leading tone.

Spike looked at Liam.  "Yeah," he reluctantly admitted.  "I was pissed.  I wanted to tell her to sod off... I banged on the bloody door, then I just barged in.  I yelled for her, I searched around then I went to the bedroom.  The door was damaged as if someone had kicked it in.  Then I found her on the floor.  Facedown.  In a pool of blood.  I tried to wake her, then I went to grab the phone.  But I picked up a hammer that was on the floor.  I guess it was the weapon used to kill her."  Spike voice cracked as tears fell down over his face.  "I can't believe she's dead."  He angrily wiped the tears from his face before continuing.  "I picked up the hammer instead of the phone.  I dropped it, grabbed the phone, then the cops burst in."

Liam looked at Spike in amazement.  What a mess.  "Your fingerprints are on the murder weapon."  Spike nodded, eyes closed.  "You have no alibi for Faith Abbott's time of death.  You were angry when you got there... Spike, everything the police have points right at you."

Spike looked up at his friend.  "You don't think I know that?"  He paused.  "I can't believe this.  Faith was alive tonight when I saw her and when I went back she was dead.  Who would want her dead?  I don't get it."
Liam patted Spike's hand.  "That's what we have to figure out.  Who hated her that much."
Spike shook his head, standing, going to the window again.  It had started to snow but he didn't notice.  "No one hated her.  That's the thing.  She has a lot of friends.  *Had* a lot of friends.  They loved her where she worked.  I can't fathom who would want to hurt her."

Liam sighed, looking down at the legal pad he had been writing on.  "Well, when Jenkins and Kendall come back, do not say a word, not a sound, under any circumstances.  Even if you want to clarify anything they say.  Got it?"

Spike nodded, just as the door opened, re-admitting the two detectives.  Jenkins took a seat at the table opposite Liam and Spike, who filled the second chair.  Kendall remained standing, glaring at Spike, arms folded across her chest.  Spike recognized the intimidation she was trying to implement.

"Okay," Jenkins began.  "We have some preliminary information.  There was no forced entry into the house.  And a hammer was used to kill Faith Abbott."

Spike sighed.  "I knew that."
"Spike," Liam warned.

Spike nodded, hands covering his face.

"Mr. Bradley will not be answering any of your questions."

Jenkins interrupted.  "The investigation is, of course, ongoing.  You can go for now; there are no charges.  Yet.  Just don't leave town.  You got that Mr. Bradley," she said, glaring at the blonde man.

"He's got it," Liam interjected.  "If you wish to talk to him, you call me first.  Okay?  Or come down to Giles."  He took a pause.  "We're done."
****
February 17, 2004
12:30 AM (late night)

Spike sighed, unlocking the front door, mentally preparing himself for what was sure to be another verbal battle with his wife.  Thankfully, the door wasn't chained, so he wouldn't rouse Buffy if she was asleep.  He kicked his shoes off, hanging up his coat.  He noticed that the light in the living room was on.  Great, he thought.  He really didn't want to deal with anything else tonight, but shook his head, getting himself ready for the battle.

"Where in the hell have you been?" Buffy demanded, sitting among the numerous pillows on the sofa.

Spike rolled his eyes and tossed his keys on the dining room table that was visible from the living room.  He pulled off his suit coat and tie, draping it over the back of one of the table's six chairs before heading into the living room.

"Buffy, please.  This has been a crappy soddin' night.  I can't take anything else."
Buffy remained silent but kept her eyes on him.  Spike disappeared into the kitchen, grabbing a beer and making short work of it.  He grabbed another beer and walked back into the living room.  He flopped into the loveseat opposite Buffy.

"I was out driving around, okay?  I got a call from Faith Abbott and went to her house.  When I got there," he continued when Buffy tried to say something.  "I found her dead."

Buffy bolted up, stunned.  "What?"
He let his head fall back.  "I was pissed at her when I got there.  I banged on the door, I went in when she didn't answer.  I found her in her bedroom, face down on the floor in a pool of her own blood.  The cops showed up and found me with blood on my hands, so they took me downtown."

Buffy went to him, sitting by him on the loveseat.  "Have they charged you?"

Spike looked up at his wife.  "No.  But it's abundantly clear that I'm their #1 suspect."  He paused.  "When I left work tonight... I went to Faith's.  I don't know why.  I just did."
"Did you have sex with her?" Buffy asked, but she already knew the answer.

"Yes."  He paused.  "I've admitted to you that I slept with her.  I wasn't planning to when I went there tonight.  It just happened."  He couldn't look at her.  "She apparently had some pictures of us.  That's why I went back.  I was going to try to talk her out of using the pictures."
"And what was she planning--to blackmail you into continuing your affair?" Buffy asked, tears rolling down over her cheeks.

Spike nodded.  "Yeah, that was my guess."

"So what happened?  Did you have an argument?  Or--"
Spike sat up suddenly, nearly knocking her over, grabbing her by the shoulders.  "I didn't kill her Buffy!  You have to believe that!  Do you really think I'm capable of murder?"

Buffy pulled away from him, standing in front of him.  "I don't know what to believe anymore.  It's like you're talking out of both sides of your mouth.  I can't trust anything you say anymore."  She stopped and walked a few feet.  "I'm going to bed.  I'd rather you sleep somewhere else tonight, Spike."

She left, leaving Spike looking after her, crestfallen.  His own wife thought he could murder another human being?  His mind screamed at him.  He deserved all of this.  He made stupid choices.  If he'd never slept with Faith in the first place, Buffy would have never run out of The Horizon.  He would have never bumped into Jimmy Bardo, Anthony Soleito would still be alive and Faith would still be alive.
 

He was such a foolish git.  Buffy should have known better than getting involved with him too.  He had cheated when they were dating.  He had cheated when they were engaged.  Both those times, she had never discovered the ugly truth.  Their entire marriage he had been Faithful.  Well, up to Faith Abbott.

Spike stood, heading back to the kitchen.  Reaching in, he extracted another beer, quickly gulping half of it down.  He leaned against the refrigerator holding the cold bottle against his left temple.  What was he going to do?  Something occurred to him.  Soleito.  Could this just be an elaborate plan to destroy him from the inside out for his role in the mobster's death?  If it was, it was going very well.  But the mob didn't work that way.  If they wanted him to suffer, Buffy would be dead, his friends would be dead, his siblings would be dead.

He wandered back into the living room, stopping at the shelf where most of the pictures of him and Buffy when they got married.  They were so in love, but it didn't feel like Buffy loved him anymore.  Hell, he couldn't blame her.  He hated a lot of what he had become over the course of their marriage.  He was a self-absorbed bastard.  That was it.  A heartless bastard.

That's when he realized it.  He was just like his father.  He swore to himself and his siblings that he'd never be like him but God, he was on that road, and thinking back, had been on that road for years.  His father had lied, begged, stolen.  He presented himself as a loyal family man, meanwhile he was screwing any woman who came along.  But Spike had been Faithful up until Faith Abbott almost six months ago.  Still, he was slime for cheating, especially on his pregnant wife.

Taking a photo of his and Buffy's wedding from the shelf, he went over and slouched down in the love seat.  He looked at the picture while nursing his beer.  He was exhausted.  Hopefully, Faith's murder would be solved soon and he would be cleared of any wrong doing.  He finished off his beer, setting the bottle on a lamp table to one side of the love seat.  The exhaustion finally overcame him and he drifted off to a troubled sleep.
****

Giles and Associates
February 17, 2004
8:40 AM

"Spike, please.  Come in," Xander Harris said to Spike, who stood in the doorway of Rupert Giles's office.

Spike entered, taking one of the expensive chairs in front of Xander's desk.  Xander, Rupert and Liam were all behind the desk, looking at him with a mix of pity and disbelief.

"What's going on?" he asked, as if he didn't know.  This was not good.

Xander and Rupert looked at each other while Liam looked down.

"Come on, don't leave me hanging."
Rupert cleared his throat.  "Okay.  Liam has filled us in on everything that went down last night.  And you've seen the shitload of reporters out front."  He paused a moment, as if mentally preparing himself.  "You know what we think of you.  You're one of the brightest, most intelligent men that we've ever worked with.  But due to what has happened, we feel that... it's best to remove you from all your cases, including the Calendar case, effective immediately.  And we're suspending you, with pay, until the investigation of Faith Abbott's murder can be resolved."

Spike stared, stunned.  This couldn't be happening.  It just couldn't.  What was he going to do?  He stood and looked Rupert, Xander, then Liam in the eye.

"I did not kill her.  Even though my behavior has been reprehensible... even though I had an affair with her... even though every bit of evidence the cops have points at me... you have to believe me when I say I did not kill her."

Without even waiting for one of them to respond, Spike turned at walked out.  He went to his office and packed up a few things, even grabbing a few case files he could work on, despite what his superiors had said.  Hearing footsteps, he looked up to see Liam in the doorway, shifting from to foot to foot every few seconds.  He had his hands shoved in the pockets of his suit pants, his jacket open.

"Spike, this is only temporary--"
"Yeah, whatever," Spike mumbled, not placated, putting a few files in his leather briefcase.  He stood straight up, facing Liam.  "I understand that you are looking out for the best interest of the firm.  I get that.  But taking me off my cases is the worst thing you could do.  It's just throws all those cases up in the air.  By taking me off the cases, it just says, 'We believe you're guilty.'"  A book dropped to the floor.  Spike kicked it hard.  "After all the years I put into this firm, one thing comes up and you're ready to hang me out to dry.  I've been nothing but loyal to you.  All of you."

He finished filling his briefcase and grabbed his duster, brushing past Liam.  He ignored the looks from the firm's other employees, rushing outside, not even acknowledging the throngs of reporters as he made his way to his car, starting it up and speeding off.  When he pulled his car to a stop in his garage at home, he pressed the button to bring down the door.  He just sat there, elbows supported on the steering wheel, hands on his face.  What had his life come to?
****
February 20, 2004
1:06 PM

Spike stared through unseeing eyes at the TV.  He hadn't seen much since his meeting three days ago with the partners at Giles.  What he ate or drank, he didn't taste.  He hadn't slept.  He hadn't even changed out of his work clothes since he left the firm.

He shook his head, looking down at his feet.  He should hate himself, but he didn't.  He should hate what he did to Buffy but he didn't.  He wasn't just like his father, he had become him.  At least he didn't have the lives of four children to destroy.  Thinking of Buffy and his son, Spike sighed.

When he and Buffy married, he was determined never to father a child.  Buffy felt the same way, for a while.  Seven years ago, when she was 25 and he was 28, she decided that she wanted children.  He still didn't.  She knew and respected his reasons why.  His crappy family, he often cited to her.  She got it.  But Buffy came from a good home, a good family, and they all were close.  Buffy's sister Victoria lived less than an hour away.  Another sister, Molly, lived in New York City.  Her brother Hunter lived in Buffalo.  Buffy's parents and her third sister Ivory lived there in Sunrise.  All of Buffy's siblings had kids.  She loved her nieces and nephews and yearned to be a mother.  She and Spike had argued non-stop for weeks about the children issue.
 

Spike didn't hate children.  Quite the contrary.  He had seven nieces and nephews and loved them dearly.  He wanted to prevent the sins of his father from being visited on his own kids.  After much talking, they decided to have only one child.  Unfortunately though, Buffy hadn't been able to conceive for a long time.  They had both seen a fertility doctor and found that Spike had a low sperm count.  He had heaved a sigh of relief, privately of course, on learning that, thinking that Buffy would give up the idea of having a child.

That was why he had been shaken to his very core, when, six months ago, Buffy informed him that she was pregnant.  His first thought on that was that she might have had an affair but she would never do that.  It wasn't her.  When she came to a decision, she was committed to that reason 100%.  That included everything from her marriage to the color scheme she picked for the bathroom.

Thinking back to August 2003, he realized that it was then, when he had learned he was going to be a father, that things had changed for him.  He didn't want those responsibilities, no matter how often he told Buffy otherwise.  He would take the responsibilities but...  There was no 'but,' he thought.  He was going to be a father and he would enjoy it.  He had no way of conjuring up what kind of feelings his son's birth would cause.

He was a dog.  That was it.  He was the most useless form of human.  He was the worst husband since Jeff Gillouly took it upon himself to club Nancy Kerrigan in the knee in the name of his wife Tonya Harding.

Finally though, he pulled himself out of his pool of self-pity to tear himself away from The Young and the Restless and drag himself to the bathroom.  He pulled off his clothes, kicking the garments aside as if forgetting the invention of a clothes hamper.  He turned the shower on, making sure that the water was as hot as he could stand it, wincing slightly when stepping under the cascade of skin-reddening hot water.  He just stood there for endless minutes, trying to forget everything.

As the water started lose some of its heat, Spike grabbed the shampoo bottle, squeezing some out, vigorously washing his hair, his fingertips pressing so hard into his scalp that his head started to throb incessantly.  After he rinsed the shampoo out, he quickly washed the rest of himself before turning off the water, stepping out of the shower and grabbing a fluffy white towel.  He stared at the mirror, then wiped the steam from it with another towel, glaring at himself in the mirror, angry beyond words with himself.  He towel-dried his hair and brushed it out, before tossing the towel and the rest of his clothes into the hamper before exiting the bathroom.

He wandered into the bedroom, sighing at the mess he had made when he returned home from Giles and Associates three days earlier.  Books all over the place, clothes, candles all over the place, the bed unmade, drawers pulled out of the dressers, clothes spilling out of them.  He was not in the mood to clean it up either.  He just wanted to bury himself in a bottle of scotch and not wake up until Christmas.

Spike dried himself off, dressing quickly, pulling on boxer briefs, jeans and a red T-shirt.  He turned to head out of the room so fast, he nearly colliding with Buffy.

"Oh, Spike.  God, you scared me."
Spike's eyes avoided hers.  "Why?"
"Well, you haven't been off the sofa since you got home three days ago."

"So?"
 

"I wasn't saying anything was wrong--"
"Yes you were," he exclaimed, finally looking her in the eyes.  He sighed as he heard the phone ring again.  "Jesus Christ," he said, turning in the direction of the offending noise.  Buffy watched, startled, to see him rip the cord out of the wall.  He threw the phone with all his strength and it shattered the mirror on Buffy's makeup table five feet away.  Buffy sagged against the wall, unaccustomed to see her husband act with violence.

"Spike!  What in the name of God--"
He turned to face her.  "I am fucking sick of hearing the soddin' phone ringing!  I've had it up to here with every fucking thing!"  He picked up a lamp from the nightstand and threw it at their bathroom's closed door with every ounce of energy.  Buffy was flabbergasted, afraid.  She had never seen this Spike before.  "I am fucking sick of this!  My life!  God, what is happening to me!"  He broke off, shaking, tears of frustration falling down his face.  He slid to the floor.  Buffy tentatively went to him, carefully sliding down to him.

"Spike, please, calm down a bit.  You need to focus on getting cleared of the allegations.  I know you didn't do this."

"Yeah?" he replied, a little sarcastic.  "You haven't believed me since I first told you Faith was dead.  The only reason you're saying that now if because I've smashed some stuff."

Buffy, hurt, didn't refute it.  Spike rose up from the floor wiping his face, turning to his bureau, pulling out a pair of socks, bending to put them on.

Spike, back to her, continued.  "And even if I'm cleared, you'll leave me and take our child with you."

Buffy rubbed her belly, discomfort coursing through her at Spike's words.  He was right.  She would leave him.  She had decided the night Faith Abbott was murdered that she would ask him to leave the house as soon as she and the baby were out of the hospital, and she was going to ask her sister Ivory to help her out.  She was about to say something else when they both heard Spike's cell phone ring.  They looked at the object on top of the bureau as if it were alien to them.  Sighing, Spike picked it up and answered.

"Yeah.... What?  When was this?.... You're sure.... Okay.... yeah it is.  Yeah.  Okay, bye."  Spike hung up and looked at his wife.  "I've been cleared of any wrong doing in Faith's death."

Buffy was shocked, happily.  She breathed a sigh of relief to know she wasn't married to a killer.  She went to embrace him but stopped when she saw the look of disappointment in Spike's eyes.
"You believed that I killed her."

It was a statement, six words that hung in the air like a bad smell.  Spike glared at her a moment longer before grabbing his wallet and keys and heading out.  He bounded down the steps, yanking on a pair of sneakers, and slipping on his coat.  He turned to see Buffy at the top of the stairs.  She held out his cell phone which he reluctantly reached up to take.  Buffy could go into labour, so he needed the communication.  Opening the door, he stopped a moment, as if he was trying to decide whether or not to say something, but finally, he left, slamming the door hard.
****
 

"There he is!  Mr. Bradley, Mr. Bradley!  How does it feel to be cleared of these charges?"

"Are you going to sue the police department?"
"What are your plans now that you've been cleared?"
Spike was taken aback to see the number of reporters, all shouting at him from different directions, in front of the police station.  Instead of stopping, he pushed past them.  The clamoring continued, almost knocking him over with their demands for a statement.  Once in the building, Spike made his way over to where Detective Harmony Kendall was writing something in a folder file.  She looked up, then stood, when Spike came near the desk.

"Mr. Bradley.  I figured you'd be down here sometime today."
Spike's eyes glanced around, looking for someone to shed light on him being cleared of Faith's murder.

"So... why have I been cleared?" he asked succinctly.

Kendall lifted an eyebrow.  "You disappointed or something?"
Spike looked down, his sneakers poking at some invisible dirt on the floor.  "I just... you guys were so sure that I killed Faith.  The blood, my prints on the hammer, everything else--"

"A witness came forward proving that you couldn't have possibly killed Faith."
"Who?"
"A woman named Willow Rosenberg."

Spike looked away from the detective.  Willow.  She was nowhere near him that night, but she lied and got him off the hook.  Without saying anything, Spike turned and rushed out of the police department, forgetting about the reporters.  Bullocks, he thought.  Reluctantly, he gave a brief statement to the press, stating his gratitude for being cleared and mentioned his future plans, among them his cases and his upcoming role as a father.

Once clear of them, Spike jumped in his car and headed towards Willow's house.  He knew she was working at home today, hoping he remembered the address correctly.  Ten minutes later, he brought his DeSoto to a stop in front of a house, seeing, from the car in the driveway, that he was in the right place.  He backed up and pulled into the paved driveway, and rushed towards the front door.  He banged on the door, not even thinking about the doorbell button on the right side of the door.  A moment later, Willow opened the door.  She acted surprised to see him, but she wasn't.  She knew he'd get here as soon as she learned that she provided him with an alibi.

"Spike, what--"
He pushed in past her, taking the time to remove his sneakers on seeing the plush carpet of the living room.  Willow closed the door and followed his trail inside.

"Spike, uh--"

"Why did you lie for me?"

Willow adjusted her long-sleeved blue knit shirt, pulling the bottom end down to where it collided with the waist of her jeans.  She still felt a little too exposed.  She had mentally prepared herself for this confrontation but being face to face with him was another thing.  What was wrong with her?

"I, uh... I know you didn't do what they think you did."
Spike's eyes bored into hers as he removed his coat.  "Then why lie?  If you knew I wasn't guilty, why not let the evidence speak for itself?"
Willow looked away from him, opting to sit on the sofa.  She didn't look at him.  He just stood there, looking down at her, hands on hips.  Finally, she looked back up at him.

"If you were to go on trial for Faith Abbott's murder, and were found not guilty, there would still be those people who would believe you are guilty.  No matter what the evidence says, there would most likely be dissenters.  Look at the OJ Simpson trial.  All the evidence pointed to his guilt, yet he was found not guilty."

Spike conceded, albeit reluctantly, that she had a point.  He allowed his arms to drop from his hips before walking the few steps to the loveseat against one wall of the large living room.  He fell into the pillows, leaning back, closing his eyes, as if being there helped him escape the hell that was his life.

Willow could see his inner turmoil and was surprised to feel her heart twinge.  My God, she realized, to her shock, she had feelings for Spike.  Despite having committed such a cold-blooded murder just a few days earlier in order to implicate Spike, she felt bad about it.  How was that at all possible?

Lost in thought, Willow rose up and went to Spike, sitting beside him as if to comfort him.  Her left thigh pushed against his right one, and she rubbed his briefly.  Then she found herself talking, as if from far away.  "I'm sorry for what you've been going through.  I wish I could help you."

Spike glanced at her.  "Buffy says the same thing, then she goes out of her way to ignore me."
Willow scoffed.  "It doesn't sound like your marriage is a good one."

"Well... I think she's realizes that I'm not the man she married.  The man she married was naive, idealistic.  She wanted us to be the perfect power couple.  She was going to be a doctor.  I was going to be a lawyer.  Then she... she messed up her career.  She was too enthusiastic and injured a patient.  I don't think she ever really recovered from that.  No criminal charges were brought, but she lost her career.  She lost who she was and I know she still wants it.  She blames me for it a little."
Willow frowned.  "How can she blame you for something she did?" she asked, genuinely curious.

Spike smiled sadly, "She said that if I was a better lawyer, I could have found a way around what she did."

"Wow," Willow said, surprised to feel sympathy for him.
 

Spike made a sound of assent.  "She fell into some personal problems after that.  Abused alcohol, drugs.  I stayed to help her.  At the time, I had realized that the marriage wasn't making me happy.  It wasn't what I wanted.  If I had left her while she was going through this stuff, what kind of man would that make me?"
"Your guilt made you stay."
"Pretty much, yeah."  He paused, gathered his thoughts.  "It was a good marriage when we started off.  Buffy and I had decided not to have kids when we married.  It was after she lost her career that she decided she wanted kids.  Our marriage was a failure long before that, but I stayed because I didn't want to turn out like my father either.  That and Buffy's manipulations kept me in the marriage."

"And she comes across as such a delicate flower," Willow mused, more to herself than Spike.  "So, when did your affair with Faith Abbott begin?"
Spike just started at the shag dusty rose carpet.  He remained silent for several moments.  "Soon after I found out Buffy was pregnant."

They remained silent for several minutes.  Spike leaned back in the sofa, taking Willow with him.  He reached for her hand, still on his thigh, and just held it.

Spike was very aware of Willow's presence, her leg pressed against his, her warm body next to him, her hand in his.  He closed his eyes briefly, just thinking about his life.  What was it that he wanted?  He knew what he didn't want.  He didn't want to be like his rich and corrupted father, that was first and foremost.  His marriage had been on the skids for years.  Buffy thought he was a killer and hadn't said or done anything to show her support for him.  But this woman right here, she stuck up for him.  Willow Rosenberg, a woman he hardly knew in some ways, but he felt like he knew her intimately in other ways.

"I never doubted you, Spike," he heard Willow say.  "Not for one second.  I didn't like what they did at Giles.  They might as well have spray painted their belief in your guilt on the front of the building."

Spike turned to look at her, finding her trust refreshing.  In his chosen career, he didn't come across that kind of thing too often.  Sighing, he stood, pulling her up with him.  She looked into his eyes and saw what he wanted.  She found herself wanting it too.  She led him out of the living room, down a hall to her bedroom.  She went to the window, turning a long rod that closed the blind while Spike stood in the doorway.

Willow turned and smiled at him.  She went to her dresser and opened a drawer.  She pulled out a small disk-shaped object, showing it to Spike.  "Birth control pills."  He nodded, feeling some relief.  "I don't want any kids either," she said simply.

Spike took in a shaky breath, running his hands through his hair.  He became terribly aroused watching her undress.  Once naked, she neared him, pushing him against the wall and dropping to her knees, working at his jeans.  She pulled them down as he pulled his t-shirt off.  Pulling down his boxer briefs, she went to work, sucking at the already leaking head of his cock, wrapping one hand around the root and the other around his balls.  One of his hands went to her head, urging her to take more in, but she took her time, slowly taking him in inch by inch until her mouth collided with her hand around the root.  She rose and fell on him, apply so much suction that her cheeks hollowed.

Spike thrust gently into her mouth, feeling more aroused than he had ever been in his life.  He felt a spring coiling inside of him and a tingle over the back of his thighs, signaling that he was about to come.  He pushed her off of him, panting.
 

"Pet, I don't want this to be over that fast," he explained.

Willow was delighted to see the hunger in his eyes.  He gathered her in his arms, laying her on the bed.  He bent to her, kissing her fervently, their tongues sliding in to each other's mouth, seeking out every crevice.  Willow felt Spike's fingers pinching and fondling her nipples, molding them into stiff peaks.  He slid down her body, pulling her to the edge of the bed, with both legs bent at the knees, as he slipped to his knees on the floor.  He pushed her legs open and bent to kiss her pussy.  His fingers opened her cunt lips and his tongue slipped in to tantalize her throbbing clit, making her moan with pleasure.  He pushed two fingers into her wetness, searching for her G-spot, finding it, stroking it wantonly, pulling deep, rumbling moans from her throat.

Spike removed his fingers momentarily to push his talented tongue into her as far as he could.  He stretched Willow wide open as he maneuvered her trembling legs so that they hung over his shoulders, then he buried his face in her moist pussy, taking in the smell, the taste, the feel of it, loving it.  He pushed his fingers back into her to get them wet, then removed them in order to gently finger her asshole, slipping both slicked fingers in slowly.

Willow moaned at the sensations, thrusting her hips back and forth, desperate to come.  "Please, Spike, please.... I burn-please... I need to come...."
Spike didn't answer, his mouth, his tongue being busy.  But he heeded her cries as her pulled his fingers out of her asshole, gently tonguing the soft tissue.  His fingers worked at her clit, pinching, fondling it furiously, until finally, Willow was pushed over the edge, coming in a hot rush, her pussy juice being licked up eagerly by her lover.  He continued to manipulate her until he drew every last spasm out of her.

After several moments, Spike gently let her legs down and climbed up on the bed, pulling her up with him.  Then he covered her with his body, opening her legs, and smoothly sliding his erection into her.  She wrapped her aching legs around his waist and slid her hands through his damp hair, before kissing him passionately, her tongue battling with his for supremacy.  He began to move his hips, his cock seeming to reach deeper and deeper with each thrust.  As he began to pound into her, gutteral moans were wretched from both of their throats.

Finally, Willow could take no more and her orgasm, and a scream, was ripped out her body as she came, her body spasming and gripping around Spike's cock, which caused him to shoot deep inside of her.  After several moments, their climaxes had subsided, then Spike collapsed on top of her.  He quickly turned them both over, his cock still inside of her.

"Hey," Spike said, pushing the ends of Willow's damp hair from her face and neck.

"Hey," she responded, eyes closed.

Spike kissed her head, rubbing her hair.  "I can honestly say that this is the best sex I've ever had," he told her.
 

Willow smiled tiredly but was in turmoil.  She was falling for Spike Bradley, the target of a mob hit.  She couldn't believe it didn't occur to her before.  She had feelings for someone, and it was her job to kill him.  She laid her head on his chest, her fingers curling around the ends of his short blonde hair.  She looked up at him and saw that he had dozed off.  Eyes never leaving his face, she reached to her night table, feeling around for a few seconds before finding a filled syringe.  After pulling the cap off with her teeth, she impaled Spike with it, pushing the liquid into his neck.  His body spasmed for several moments then stilled.

Willow let out a shaky breath and climbed off of him, her body smarting when his spent penis slid out of her.  He'd be unconscious for several hours, giving her enough time to take care of what was the beginning of the end for Spike Bradley.
*****

February 20, 2004
8:56 PM

Spike moaned, his hands going to his head.  He rolled a little, moving to sit on the side of the bed.  Opening his eyes briefly, he was a little surprised to see that it was dark.  It was around two o'clock when he got to Willow's, and now it was...  He looked around for a clock and eventually saw the digital clock on the nightstand screaming 8:56.  Why was it so late?  He tried to stand but was overwhelmed by a devastating dizziness.  He sat there for several minutes, hands to his head, rubbing his eyes, trying to will the ache and dizziness away.  When he finally was able to open his eyes without pain, he began to look around.  He carefully stood and went to the door, flipping the lightswitch just left of it.  He turned to see Willow apparently sleeping on the bed.  She was gloriously naked, her eyes closed, one hand on her stomach, one over her head.  He went to her, reaching out, rousing her.

"Willow," Spike said softly, sitting on the bed by her.

Her eyes opened, and she smiled at him.  He spread out beside her, lowering his mouth to hers, his tongue happily colliding with hers.  His fingers roamed her body, settling on her nipples for a spell before heading lower.  Inching over the thatch of curls between her thighs, his index and middle fingers pushed into her wetness, quickly finding her clit, tracing invisible circles around it.  Willow opened her legs and bended them at the knees, urging Spike to slide his fingers into her.  He retracted his fingers again and again as his thumb played with her throbbing clit.

Willow felt her heart pounding in her ears, then pushed Spike away from her.  Spike stared, shocked.  She sat on the bed, back to him, her mind in a tizzy, her heart alive for the first time in many years.  What was happening to her?

"Willow?  Pet?"

She didn't turn, not wanting to see his face, his eyes.  He wouldn't understand, he couldn't....

"Spike... please go."

She felt Spike's hand on her back, and she pulled away more, standing and grabbing a silk robe to cover her nudity.  Pushing her hair out of her face, she started picking up her clothes on the floor near her bathroom door.  Hearing the bed springs protest under Spike's weight, Willow moved away from the bed, from Spike's touch.

"What have I done, Pet?  I thought you wanted this."

Finally, she faced him, her eyes and heart muddled with confusion and indecision.  What was she going to do?

"I think you should go."  Spike didn't move.  "Now!"

Spike stood, nearing her, blocking her when she tried to walk away.  "What have I done to upset you, Willow?  If I did something, I'll make amends for that, but God, I can't fix it if I don't know what it is."

Willow remained silent.  Spike gently cupped her face with one hand, lifting her eyes to his, brows knitting close together to see unshed tears in her eyes, glistening like diamonds.  She moved her head away from his hand, the tears falling from her eyes like a waterfall.

"What is it, Willow?  Tell me.  Please."

Willow ran her hands over her face, sighing.  She was reeling with true emotions.  It was so foreign to her.  She'd had so many clients over the years, and destroyed them from the inside out and was never suspected, let alone caught.  But Spike had found a place in her heart that died when her mother died.  She wanted to be with Spike but couldn't.  She had to kill him and Buffy and the baby in order for the mob to be sated.  She couldn't not kill them and get away unscathed.

She sighed and turned away from Spike without answering him.  "I want you to leave.  Okay?  This cannot be.  It can't--there can't be anything between us.  Now or ever.  I need you to go."
Spike looked at her, his heart breaking at the sound of her words.  He reluctantly dressed as she moved across the room, not letting her out of his sight.  He saw as she reached into her bureau drawer and pulled something out and his eyes widened in shock, his heart jumping, when she turned around and pointed a gun at his heart.

"Get out.  Now."
Spike took in a shaky breath, his eyes glued to the gun, which was equipped with a silencer.  "Willow..."
She took a step towards him.  "Get out now!"

Spike stepped back and hurried out the bedroom door.  Several moments later, she heard the door shut followed by the revving of his car's engine.  Willow locked the front and back doors before heading to her bedroom.  She looked at the bed she and Spike had made love on.  She pondered him.  What if she could get away with not killing him?  The mob would require proof that he was dead.  She could probably arrange a substitute body, but Spike would have to be willing.  Buffy would have to be killed for her and Spike to be together.  Spike wouldn't go for that.

Finally, she shook herself out of her inner monologue, heading for the shower.  She took her time, showering, and after that, dressing.  This was it.  Tonight was the night it would all end.  She wasn't surprised to find that she felt sad about it.  Not one bit.
****

Spike drove his car into the garage, curious as to why the garage door was open.  He knew he had closed it before leaving earlier that day.  Shrugging it off, he turned the car off, pulling the keys out of the ignition.  His mind wandered to Willow, or more to the point, that gun.  Why would she have a gun?  It's not like anyone could break into her place, not with the state of the art alarm system she had.

He wandered into the house, head down, going towards the kitchen in search of Buffy and beer, whichever he encountered first.  His thought of beer instantly left his mind as he looked up to find Buffy.  The place was ransacked.  The kitchen floor was littered with broken dishes, pots, pans, various condiments, and utensils.  He rushed out of the room.

"Buffy?" he called, looking around.

He saw the living room was just in disarray.  Pillows flung around, lamps broken, pictures ripped off the wall....  He ran towards the den.

"Buffy!"

Same mess.  Pictures smashed on the floor, videotapes, DVDs, CDs all littered the floor.  The TV was smashed in, the stereo system demolished.  Candles all over the place.  Books ripped up.  Bottles of nail polish had been thrown at the off-white colored walls.  The furniture pillows were all pulled out.  Phone ripped out of the wall.  He crossed the hall into the study.  The computer monitor, printer, and scanner were destroyed.  Probably with a sledgehammer, Spike brainlessly thought.

"Buffy?!  Where are you?!"

All his legal files were gone.  The computer CPU was gone.  Computer disks too.  Pens, papers, and other types of stationary covered the floor.  His law library booked looked like they had been burned.  He noticed a sticky substance on the floor, thinking that it was probably from the fire extinguisher.  Whoever did all of this wanted him to find it all.  But Buffy was nowhere.

He ran to the master bedroom, looking around frantically.  The room was ripped to shreds.  Blankets, pillows, clothing and makeup were all strewn about.  From the bedroom, he could see into the bathroom, eyes widening in shock to see the porcelain bathtub shattered, a sledgehammer on the floor.

Spike looked for the phone to call the police when his cell phone rang.  He dropped it twice before being able to stop shaking enough.  "Buffy!  Buffy?"

"It-it's me, Spike."

Spike let out a sigh of relief.  "Buffy, luv, where are you?"
Buffy didn't answer for a moment.  "Um, are you at home?"
"Yeah.  The whole fucking place is destroyed.... I-I-I have no idea--"
"I do.  I know who did it.  Um..."
Spike's brows furrowed, desperate to find his wife.  "Where the hell are you?"

"I'm at a building outside of Sunrise."
Spike was confused.  "Where?"
"I've been kidnapped.  I've been instructed to call you and tell you to come here.  And if you contact the police, the person who kidnapped me will kill me and our baby."

Spike felt like a cold fist had clenched around his heart.  "What else?"

Buffy sobbed.  "There's a black sedan outside the house.  Look out the bedroom window."
 

Spike crossed the room and parted the curtains.  He saw the car.  "Yeah?"
"Go with him.  He'll bring you here."

"What's all of this about Buffy?  Who's done this?"
*click*

"Dammit!" he yelled, turning and throwing the phone across the room.  "Fuck fuck fuck!"

He looked back out the window to see the sedan in the same place.  Seeing that he had no choice, he exited the house and neared the car.  Black tinted windows.  He opened the passenger's side and slid into the seat.  He became aware that there were two people in the car: one driving and one in the back seat, who now had a gun pointed at Spike's head.  The doors locked.  No words were spoken.  None were needed.  He was so screwed.

****

After what Spike guessed was 35 or 40 minutes later, the car began to slow down, going off the paved road to a dirt road.  Ten minutes later, the car stopped.  The pillock with the gun exited first, keeping the gun on Spike, who was then told to get out of the car.  The other wanker rounded the car.  Spike was terrified now.  Even more so when the gunman pointed the silencer-equipped gun at the driver's head, pulling the trigger.

"Very good," a voice said.

Spike turned to see Willow Rosenberg, clad in black clothing, nearing them.  She had a gun trained on Spike as well, stopping about five feet from both of them.  After telling the gunman to lower his weapon, she coldly fired a round from her gun into his head.  Spike turned to see both the men crumpled at his feet.

"You did all this?" Spike said, not even having the energy to be shocked.

"Move it," she said, ordering him towards a large building.  He knew he could take her, after all, he was about six feet tall, with quite a bit of muscle considering he was a lawyer.  She was maybe five-foot-two, maybe 120 pounds, but she had the gun, and it was quite obvious that she had ransacked his house and taken Buffy.

That was confirmed several moments later when Buffy came into sight.  Spike was going to run to her until he saw that she was cuffed to what looked to be some kind of metal chair, and it was bolted to the floor.  Then he saw that she wasn't looking at him.  She was looking at a TV that was on a table about six feet in front of her.  And crying.  He looked at the TV to see him and Willow... having sex.

Spike completely deflated.  Willow had used him.  He turned to look at her and saw her for the first time.  She pointed to a similar chair a few feet from Buffy, who couldn't take her eyes off the TV screen.  Spike's eyes moved from the TV to Buffy and back again.  Finally, he could take no more and in a burst of defiance, grabbed the TV and hurled it to the floor.  He angrily looked at Willow, who didn't look too surprised.  Instead, she calmly pointed the gun at his thigh and fired, his pained shout filling the air as the bullet ripped through him.  He fell back into the chair next to Buffy, hands gripping at his leg.

"Not very smart there, lover boy," she commented coldly.

"Fuck you," he cried, one hand on the wound, the other pulling his belt from his jean loops, wrapping it around his thigh to create a tourniquet.

Willow laughed.  "Oh, we've already played that game."

"You bitch," he said, head down.

"Yeah, I know."  She paused for a moment, keeping the gun on Spike.  Buffy remained silent, crying, not looking at her husband.  "So, I guess you'd like to know what all this is about."
Spike looked at her, his eyes tired.  "No kidding."
"The Horizon.  February 5.  That ring a bell?"

Spike finally realized it.  "You work for the mob."
Buffy looked up at her.

"Not exclusively.  They've hired me from time to time.  Mainly to get rid of someone high profile.  The cops and feds would automatically look to them if such and such a person died."  After a pause she continued.  "And here we all are."

Spike shook his head, head dropping to his bullet wound.

"Oh don't worry, Spike darling.  You won't last long enough to try to heal from that injury."
"So why not just fucking do it!"

Willow's arm didn't seem to be tiring of the weight of the gun.  "You don't get it."  She chuckled softly.  "The point, dear, is for you to suffer."

Spike looked at her, a pained expression of his face.  He shook his head and looked to his wife.  "Buffy."  She didn't respond.  "Buffy, pet.  Are you okay?  The baby?"

"Don't talk to me, Spike."  Her voice was low, her eyes focused straight ahead to where the TV used to be.  "You've ruined my life.  I wish I had never met you."

"Please don't say that."  Spike reached out to her, but pulled back upon noticing the blood on his hands.  "This is not my fault."
"Yes it is," she said, finally turning to look at him.  "If you had never slept with that whore, there would have been no reason for me to leave the damned restaurant.  You would have never--"
"Faith..." Spike looked up Willow, peering into her cold eyes.  "You killed her didn't you."

Willow just smiled.  Buffy looked up at her as well.  "What better way to discredit someone than set them up for murder."

"Okay.  Then why give me an alibi?"

"To gain your trust.  Do I need to spell every single thing out?"

Spike glared at her a moment before speaking.  "How could you have done all this?  You're heartless."

Willow shuffled a few feet to the left then back again.  She looked at Spike then Buffy, her crystal blue eyes ice cold.

"You still haven't figured it out have you?  Everything that has gone wrong in your life since February 5, it's all been me.  There are bugs in your house, your office, your car, in your phones.  Please tell me you aren't really that naive."

"Oh my God!"

Willow and Spike turned to Buffy, who was looking down.  Willow dropped her arm, gun still in hand.  Spike forgot about his bloody, aching leg.

"Buffy...?"
Buffy looked back up, her eyes full of shock.  "My water broke."

Spike was stunned a second before trying to get Buffy out of the chair forgetting about her hand bindings.  "I've been having cramps and contractions all day," she added, breathing harshly.  "I tried to tell her that."

"I have to get you to a hospital."  He looked over to where Willow stood, stunned over the unexpected event.  "Willow!" he yelled at her.

"No."
"She might die!  The baby might die!" he shouted.

"Then so be it."

"Has the blood in your veins turned to ice?  You're not human," he cried, eyes going back to Buffy, his mind in a tizzy.  He dropped to his knees, crying out from his leg wound, as his hands worked uselessly to get Buffy's hands out of the restraints.

Finally, though, Willow lifted the gun again.  Her other hand reached into her jeans, searching for the key.  Why didn't she just kill them all?

"Okay.  You can uncuff her and deliver the baby here."  Spike's shocked eyes rose to hers.  "It's the only way.  You aren't leaving here alive.  But before I give you this key, there is something you should know."

Spike watched as Willow moved to one side, pulling a sheet of some kind from the wall, revealing an intricately designed bomb.  She holstered the gun and picked up a detonator.  Eyes never leaving Spike's, she walked over, handing him the key.  She moved back a little, Buffy's pained groans filling the air.

"You try to run or try to get the gun from me, I will detonate, even if I die in the process."

"Again, why not kill us now?  Why wait?"

Willow's eyes conveyed a glimmer of feeling.  "Maybe I want you to at least see your son, hold him in your arms... just once.  To know what you destroyed...  To let you know what that indiscretion with Faith Abbott cost you.  It all falls on you, Spike," she said,  "It cost Anthony Soleito his life.  It cost Faith her life.  It will cost Buffy her life.  The baby's life.  You have to feel the weight of that before I kill you."

Spike shook his head, disbelief rolling through him.  He uncuffed Buffy, pushing her maternity dress up, which she grabbed at.  She slid out of the chair to the floor, panting harshly, grabbing at the chair.

"Oh Godddd.... Oh shit, not now!"

"Buffy, you gotta concentrate.  We can't go to a hospital."
She shrieked in pain.  "I need... to... Oh God!"

Spike looked to Willow, looking for any kind of compassion.  Unfortunately, he found none.  "Willow, for the love of Christ almighty, let me take her to a hospital," he implored.

Willow shook her head.  "Not a chance.  You know everything I've done.  My job is to kill you and that's what I plan to do."

In a burst of anger and courage, Spike used his legs as a springboard and launched himself at her.  He grabbed her hand and faintly heard the detonator clatter on the cement floor.  She tried to go for the gun, but it was wretched from her hands.

"You fucking bitch!" he screamed at her, grabbing her by the throat and slamming her against the wall behind her.  He let go and she groaned as she slid to the floor.  Spike turned back to the panting Buffy, trying to get her up.

"It's no good Spike," she said, moaning in pain, feeling like she was splitting in half.  "The baby is coming now!"

Spike whirled around, trying to find something to help him.  Finally, he just turned back to his wife.  "There's nothing I can do to-to-to help you here.  I-I-I can't...."
"Just catch!" she screamed, feeling the overwhelming urge to push taking over her existence.  She pushed again and again, not noticing Willow stirring to the left of her.  Spike's eyes were on the baby, who's head was pushed out, Buffy wailing in pain.

"Oh my God!  He's here, Buffy!  He's here!" Spike cried, as the baby was pushing out the rest of the way.

Tearing his coat off, he wrapped it around the baby boy, turning the infant over to get the liquid out of the mouth.  He knew he was successful when the baby's cries filled the air.  Suddenly he remembered something, feeling his pockets, finding a pocket knife.  Pulling out the blade, he carefully cut the umbilical cord.  Dropping the knife, he lifted the baby into his arms.  He looked at Buffy to see her unconscious.

"Oh no," he said, looking around to see if there was a phone nearby.  Too late, he realized that Willow was once again mobile, evidence of such coming when he felt a sharp pain in his head.  He turned to see Willow with the gun in her hand, her hair bloodstained.  He stumbled a little, the crying baby in one arm.

"Willow, for the love of God."  Spike's voice was full of emotion, full of rage and full of sorrow.  "Buffy might die."
Willow just stared at him, gun outstretched, the end of the barrel two inches from his face.  "I don't care."  Her left hand was holding the back of her head, the right one held the gun.  "Put the baby down."

Spike stood completely up, his son protectively in his arms, forcing Willow to back up, the gun and her eyes rising as he did.  He stood to his full five-ten, glaring down at her.  "No."

Anger flickered in Willow's eyes, her arm not waivering.  "Unless you want me to put a bullet in you and then him, I suggest you put him down."
Spike took in a deep breath before turning.  Buffy was semi-conscious and he carefully put their son into her arms.  As he turned back, he again caught Willow off guard by tackling her.  They struggled for the gun, Willow crying out in pain as Spike's fingers went to the wound on the back of her head.  He grabbed her head and tried to bang it at the floor, but howled in pain when she kneed him hard in the groin, his hands instinctively going around his penis.

Willow scrambled away from him, grabbing the gun and the bomb detonator, running outside.  In immense pain, Spike limped after her, one hand cupping himself.  Once outside, he was struck by how dark it was.  In the city, there were lights, buildings, streetlights, and street cars.  But there was no light to help him.

"Willow!  Where are you?  You bitch!"

For ten minutes, he continued to half-limp, half-run around, trying to locate her.  He had stopped yelling several minutes earlier, opting to silently find her, not giving her the benefit of knowing what direction he was coming from.  Moving around through the wooded area, he nearly fell a few times, hardly being able to see, the moon offering the main source of light.  He tripped over rocks and fallen trees, his emotions high, desperation flooding him.

"Spike."
He turned to see Willow standing about six feet away, with both the gun and detonator in hand.  Confusion filled him when she threw the gun down in front of him.  He went to pick it up until Willow held up the detonator.

"Are you fast enough?" she dared, her voice hoarse, holding the detonator near her face.  "Fast enough to kill me before I push this button?"

"You'd be surprised," he spit back.  He was panting, one hand pressed down on the wound in his leg, trying to stop the bloodflow.  He stood, the .357 magnum in hand.  "I have to try.  There's no way I'm going to let you feel the glory of killing me and my family."

Willow chuckled painfully.  "Fast enough to aim at my heart and fire, having maybe a split second to hit it dead on?"

She was baiting him.  Spike couldn't believe she was baiting him.

"After all," she continued.  "One press of this button--" she held up the detonator again, her thumb resting on the small red button "--and that building, holding your wife and your child becomes a raging inferno."

Spike's mind was reeling.  He tried a different approach.  "You wouldn't do this.  You couldn't.  I refuse to believe that there's no heart inside of you.  Buffy and my son are completely innocent.  Just kill me.  Let them live."
Willow's eyes seemed to slightly warm, a cynical smile covering her lips.  "There's no such thing as innocence in this world anymore, Spike.  Buffy and your son are not innocent.  They are bred of you.  Bred of the scum you are.  You are the reason they are in this predicament."  Spike shook his head in disbelief.  Willow sighed, looking to the heavens.  Her eyes were full of emotion as she looked back at him.  Tears fell from her eyes.  "Oh my God.  What has my life come to?  Why...  I'm sorry.  I can't... I ca... You're right.  I can't kill a baby.  I can't."

Spike heaved a sigh of relief when Willow tossed down the detonator a few feet away from her, grimacing, partly in physical pain, partly in emotional pain.  She knew what would happen to her now.  Even if she were arrested, the mob would have her killed for failing, then kill Spike and his family anyways.  She quickly changed her mind and started to reach for the detonator, but before she could touch it, Spike pointed the gun at her, firing three bullets into her back.  She fell to the ground, face first.  Spike dropped the gun, going to Willow, crouching down, picking up the detonator.  He looked into Willow's face to see her eyes open with surprise.

"You're fast," she said softly.

"It looks like the glory is mine, Willow," he said softly, relief careening through him as she died.  Then he turned to head back into the building.  Confused when he didn't immediately see the building door, he limped around.  Well, he had been running after Willow all over the place.  After about fifteen minutes of searching, he found his way back into the building.  He smiled upon seeing Buffy, the bundle that was their baby still in her arms.

****

Willow Rosenberg moaned as she moved to her knees, coughing.  God, that fucking hurt, she thought.  She dragged herself along for a few feet before stopping and standing.  She ripped off her ruined black mock-turtleneck shirt, unzipping what she had on under it, pulling it off and looking at it.  Briefly fingering the bullet holes in the back of the kevlar jacket, she shuddered, realizing how close she came to dying.  Spike could just as easily have shot her in the head.

Hearing a little noise, Willow pulled the jacket back on, zipping it before grabbing the ruined shirt, turning in another direction as she moved further away from the condemned building.  In a basket under some shrubs was the baby Buffy had given birth to less than half an hour ago.  Willow bent to retrieve the basket, smiling as she rubbed his head a little.  A few minutes more of walking got her to her car, which she had hidden in a cave a good distance away from the building.  She strapped the baby into the car seat and felt her heart swell as he grabbed hold of her index finger.  After a moment, she let him go, at least for the time being, pulling a blanket over him, then shutting and locking the back door, climbing into the driver's seat.

"So close," she said out loud.
 

She grabbed a bottle of water in the passenger seat and took several gulps before capping it, starting up the car and driving out of the cave.  She drove furiously for a few minutes, before pulling to a stop a moment, overlooking the building from the hill the road covered.  The building was very visible from where she was, but she was at a safe distance.  She picked up a small black box and pulled a metal rod out of it.

"Secondary detonator," she said proudly before looking at the building. "You think you won, Spike?  You didn't beat me.  You couldn't beat me.  You had those few minutes of glory, thinking you were the man.  But guess what?  Glory may be yours, but vengeance is mine."

And she smiled as she hit the button, watching the building as it became a ball of red and yellow as it tore into evening sky.

THE END

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