In Bits and Pieces

Author: Aileen E.

Pairing: S/W

Rating: NC-17 for language, torture, violence, probably smut. (Please, be aware that I’ve upped the rating from the original Hard R, because, hey!, it’s me doing the writing! Hehe)

Warnings: Characters’ deaths and general nastiness.

Sumary: Sequel to "Eternal Screams" by Laure Alexander, a fic set in an AU where Glory succeeds at opening the portal between dimensions and makes it back home, taking Spike with her.

AN: This fic was inspired by a piece called "Eternal Screams" written by Laure Alexander. The original concept is hers. Laure is a prolific and well known writer in the Buffy fandom and I don’t even pretend to come close to her as a writer. Since this is a sequel, I recommend that you read "Eternal Screams" first.

Feedback: You really like making me beg, don’t you?! Of course I want it! Send it to: aileene@sbcglobal.net

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~Prologue~

Don’t know how much time has gone by, maybe days, maybe years. One thing about torturing a vampire is that it can go on forever, literally. I’m in a dimension where there is no time, nor space, nor continuity – where nothing is real but the pain, the hunger and the darkness. It’s a fragmented and pliable reality, and my mind is in bits and pieces ... here and there... They don’t call this place a hell dimension for nothing.

It’s dark where I’m now. I’m surrounded by an impenetrable and unending darkness that is impervious even to my enhanced vision. The darkness masticates and swallows me, like a giant living, or un-living, monster. I don’t know how else to describe it – there’s no physical being in the room with me, it’s as if the darkness around me itself is a creature. Its jaws pulverize my bones. I can feel my skeleton constricting and collapsing with a sickening crunching sound ... and then the darkness slides over my skin, wet and cold, swallowing me whole.

No, not whole, I’m not whole anymore. "I’m in bits and pieces ... here and there ... bits and pieces everywhere."

I sing the words like a little tune in my head, over and over, and it makes me laugh, and I laugh and I laugh – even though I don’t know why I’m laughing – until my throat is sore and raw, and I can’t laugh anymore ... and then I scream ... and I swallow my own blood, along with bits of tissue that rip from the lining of my esophagus . "Bits and pieces ... here and there ..."

And then the darkness regurgitates me and I’m tumbling upwards, ‘round and around, my head spinning, my guts flying around inside me, like marbles in a skin pouch, crashing against each other, making clicking noises that echo in my ears from the inside out – and I’m spewed forth into another darkness. Except this darkness has color – it’s red darkness. Even with my eyes closed I can see the blood everywhere, stark red against the black. Blood red – the innocent and fresh blood of infants that wiggle in my hands, their hungry cries echoing in my brain. "Sorry, I’m hungry too," I say just before I sink my fangs into their tender flesh. There is also the putrid and dry blood of corpses, which I suck from the marrow of dried up bones and chunks of decomposing flesh that fall apart and wriggle themselves between my teeth – bits and pieces.

"Bits and pieces ... here and there ..."

This room is not the same as the other room. Not the room with the bed and the mirror. Not the room where Glory kept me tied to the bed – where she would come in and climb on my cock and ride me until I was red, and raw, and bleeding. Not that room. I’m in another room, the Dark Room. The room where there is nothing but me and the Darkness that chews and swallows only to spit me back out ... again and again.

I no longer see Glory, probably tired of me now, tired of my screams. Sometimes, I wonder if she remembers I’m here, and then I decide that she probably doesn’t. Someone remembers – someone feeds me – sometimes. Maybe it’s the darkness that feeds me, the darkness that hands me wiggly little babies and rotting corpses.

I don’t like the babies. She liked babies, but not me ... she was crazy ... only crazy vampires like to drink the blood of babies. But, I’m crazy now ... I know I am because when the scent of blood hits my nostrils and I crawl around the darkness looking for the source, I hope it’s a baby and not a dismembered old corpse; and when the crying sounds hit my ears, I lunge forward eagerly grasping for the little bundle so that I can sink my teeth into it. Slurping sounds echo in the room as I greedily suck and swallow – like I sucked and swallowed her blood.

First, I screamed and screamed – then, Glory grabbed my hair and pulled my head back. She suspended the disembodied head above my face, the severed piece of spinal cord dangling just above my lips, and when I opened my mouth to scream, the bone slipped into my mouth and I reflexively sucked and swallowed.

Something changes in the room. Someone is in the dark room with me and it’s not a wiggly baby or a corpse. I can’t see anything, but I feel it – around me, inside me, in my head! "Get out! Get the bloody hell out of me!" I scream. I bang my head on the wall, dig my nails into my scalp, tearing and pulling until I can feel blood and tissue coating my fingers and dripping down my face. The ‘something’ turns into a voice, a woman’s voice. At first I think it’s Glory and that she is coming for me, and I scramble in the darkness looking for a place to hide. But then I realize the voice doesn’t sound like Glory. I feel that I should know this voice, but I don’t, I don’t remember.

It says only one thing, over and over. "Spike, Spike, Spike." I don’t know what it means, I want it to stop, but it won’t stop. "Spike, Spike!"

"Leave me alone!" I scream, before I start falling – except that I can’t be falling because I’m already laying on the floor. I haven’t stood up in so long, I’m not even sure that my legs can still support me. How can one fall when one is already on the ground? I reach out with my hands, trying to grasp something, anything that will stop me from falling. Desperate hands grasp only air as my insides tumble and my head spins. A whistling noise rings in my ears, drowned out by the sound of my own screams.

Then, everything stops. A peaceful numbness cradles me for a moment before my senses are attacked by a myriad of sensations. My instincts alert me that there is light in this room. My eyes are closed, but I can see the light through the membrane of my eyelids. Huddling into a ball, I instinctively try to protect myself from the light that sears my body. When I don’t combust, I open my eyes a fraction – the light is still there and so is the burning and pain coursing through my skin and muscles like raging, liquid fire. At first, I think this is a new form of torture – light that burns but doesn’t kill me – but then I realize that the pain was already there, before the light.

All around me, there are sounds and smells, new and strange, yet oddly familiar. I can’t tell what any of them are, except for the voice. A woman’s voice next to my ear, still calling that one word. "Spike, Spike?" Softer now, more hesitant. Not Glory, someone else, but who? Who else would speak to me here, in this hell?

Unexpectedly, a hand touches my shoulder, causing me to convulse and scream in pain and terror. I don’t want to look. I don’t want to know what is with me in this new place. I’m certain it has to be something more horrible than the darkness. Torture doesn’t get easier, its intensity only increases – otherwise, what’s the point? But I look anyway.

I see a woman’s face above me, a small face with wide, green eyes staring down at me. I ask her who she is and she doesn’t answer me. Her head shakes and her eyes fill with tears and she weeps, but she doesn’t answer me. That’s when I realize that she doesn’t understand me. My throat is torn, my tongue mauled by my own teeth a long time ago. My words come out like gurgling sounds that she can’t understand.

And then she spins around and is gone. I’m left alone in the room ... a room like the one with the bed and the mirror, only smaller, less sumptuous. There is a bed in this room and I crawl to it. Using my hands and my arms, I hoist myself on the bed and lay down. I close my eyes and sleep, glad that, for a little while, I don’t have to pretend to be alive. I lay on the soft bed with my eyes closed and I wait for my new Mistress to return.

~Part: 1~

Willow ran from the room, stopping her mad dash only long enough to tightly close the door behind her. She stumbled into the bathroom and slid across the slick tile floor like a baseball player sliding across home-base, making it to the toilet just in time to empty the miserly contents of her stomach into the bowl.

She was crying, and vomiting, and trying to breath all at once, and it was not working. She asked herself what she had been expecting, and shook her head. "Not this, not this!" Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to block from her mind the image of the vampire in the other room. Her eyes had been closed while she chanted his name over and over, calling him to her from wherever he might have been. The first indication of his presence were the terrible screams that ripped through the room, followed by the unholy stench that she could still smell through the walls and on her skin, even though the vampire was in another room and she had barely touched him.

At the sound of his screams, she had stopped chanting and opened her eyes, only to strangle on a scream of her own. The mass of blood and tissue laying on the floor in front of her, had been barely recognizable as human in shape, let alone the vampire that she knew. The momentary thought that she had messed up the spell and brought forth some hideous, unknown hell-creature had sent a shiver of dread and apprehension through her spine. On closer inspection, she had recognized some of his features – a shock of white-blond hair peeking out from the red, tangled mass on the scalp, the feline contours of his body, and when he had turned to look at her, the stormy blue eyes, at the time clouded with pain, confusion and terror. The realization that what she was looking at was what remained of the vampire she had once known, had sent a wave of nausea crashing through her body.

Her stomach empty but still queasy, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and leaned against the porcelain tub. She wondered if she had done the right thing by bringing him back and wished that there was someone there to reassure her. The past eighteen months had been lonely and trying. The memories of the last time she had seen Spike and Dawn haunted her thoughts day and night, compounded by the growing horrors of the following months.

It had been chaos that night. Dawn had been on the platform, Buffy had been fighting Glory, Willow had been huddling out of the way, protecting Tara, and the others had been on the other side of the lot. It was Willow who had sent Spike up the platform to help Dawn when she had noticed someone up there with the girl. Willow had cleared a path for him and had watched as he ran up the make-shift tower – she should have been watching what was happening behind her instead. It wasn’t until she had seen Glory rush after him that Willow realized Glory must have defeated Buffy. Everything had happened so fast after that – Willow had barely enough time to react, pushing a still confused Tara out of harm’s way. When she turned around, she saw that Glory had knocked Spike out of the way and sliced Dawn’s stomach. The portal had opened and demons from other dimensions had started pouring in. Spike had regained his footing and started rushing toward Glory. The last thing Willow saw was Glory jumping through the portal dragging a disconcerted Spike with her just before the tower crumbled, taking Dawn down with it. Dawn was dead, they had buried her two days later. Buffy had just been unconscious and had been allowed to go home after an overnight stay at the hospital, but that had only been the start.

Some of the creatures that had entered through the portal were like nothing the slayer had ever fought before. To further aggravate matters, the portal had remained unstable, small fissures opening now and then, releasing new creatures. They had all tried. Giles had researched frantically, Willow and Tara had helped with their magic, Xander and Anya had been there, fighting next to Buffy who, in spite of the devastation from looseing Dawn, had still tried to answer her calling as the slayer. In the end, all had been for naught. Tara had been the first one to be killed by one of the demons. Anya had gotten herself a sweet deal in the vengeance demon business shortly after and jumped ship. Anya was always the practical type and after spending a thousand years as a demon, she knew how to tell when she was on the looseing end of a situation. When they had found Buffy’s decapitated body at one of the graveyards during one of their nightly patrols, it was obvious that they had been defeated. With no slayer in Sunnydale over whom to watch, and with little else that he could do, Giles had returned to England. Xander had moved away a few weeks later, after trying in vain to convince Willow to go with him. Willow had remained in Sunnydale. She had been surprised to find out that Buffy had willed the house to her, in the event of both hers and Dawn’s death, and Giles had placed her in charge of running the Magic Box before leaving.

The worst thing about living alone, other than the constant fear of demonic attacks, was that it gave Willow too much time to think about her friends, about their fate, about what she could have done differently, about what she could do now. Tara, Buffy and Dawn were dead, she couldn’t bring them back. Xander, Giles and Anya had left willingly and were better for it. But it was Spike that had haunted her the most. He had not died, he had not left because he wanted to – he had been ripped from this dimension into another one by a Hell Goddess with a grudge, because she had sent him up on that tower and then failed to watch his back. That’s when she had started thinking about a way to bring him back.

It had taken her months to find the right spell, and a few more weeks to put together all the ingredients. Having complete access to the Magic Box and its suppliers had been a great help. The one thing that she had worried about was that the spell required a personal item of the subject in order to track him. She had nothing that had belonged to Spike. His crypt had been looted by other vampires and demons shortly after his disappearance, not that he had owned much in the first place. Then, she had remembered that the night of the battle with Glory, just before he had rushed Glory on the tower, Spike had removed his duster and tossed it down out of the way. Xander had picked it out of the rubble the next day and taken it to Buffy’s house, where it had sat in a closet since. The duster was the last item she had needed. She would have preferred something smaller and less cumbersome, like a piece of jewelry or a lock of hair, but as far as personal, that duster was closer to being a part of Spike than anything else. There were even tiny specks of his blood on it, from a time when his nose had been broken while fighting another vampire. Willow smiled as she recalled Spike’s ire at getting blood on his precious duster. He had sworn and cursed up a storm in his stilted accent, using several words that to that day Willow had no idea what they meant. Funny, she had never thought before that day that blood on clothing was a big concern for a vampire, but then again, Spike was unlike any vampire she had ever met.

Willow stood up on shaky legs, wondering what she would do now that Spike was back. Disturbing thoughts were rushing into her mind, thoughts that she should have at least considered before doing the spell. She had learned from Giles and Anya that time progressed at other paces in different dimensions – for all she knew, what had been eighteen months for her, could have been centuries for Spike. It was possible that he didn’t even remember who she was. There was also the concern of his present condition and the fact that he had not been acting like himself, or even coherently. Whatever had happened to him in that hell dimension had obviously pushed him to the brink, both physically and mentally. Willow consoled herself with the thought that he was not human, he was a vampire and vampires healed, fast. She told herself that he would be fine if given enough time, but she couldn’t help shuddering as she thought of Drusilla, a vampire wandering through the centuries in perpetual insanity. *What am I going to do with an insane vampire? What if he doesn’t get any better, what if he doesn’t recognize me and attacks me?* She shook her head, dismissing the thoughts as she splashed water on her face.

Glancing warily at the bedroom door, she walked down the stairs to the kitchen. She removed two of four packets of blood from the fridge and tossed them in the microwave. While she waited for the blood to heat up, she tried to think of where she would get more. Willow had managed to convince a hospital worker to sell her the four packets of human blood without too many questions, but she knew that she would have to find more, and soon. Her nerves were so on edge that when the timer bell rang, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Carrying the two packets and a small towel, she made her way back up the stairs, bracing herself before entering the bedroom.

Spike laid in a fetal position on the bed, his arms holding his knees close to the chest. He had not bothered to pull down the comforter before laying down and Willow shifted uncomfortably, averting her eyes from the vampire’s naked body. He didn’t move nor did he acknowledge her presence in anyway. She hesitantly approached the bed.

"Spike? Are you awake? I brought you some blood."

Spike uncoiled his body and rolled onto his back, arms and legs splayed, displaying his body in front of her without any modesty. Willow tried to keep her eyes on his face and avoid looking anywhere below his waist, but her eyes kept getting drawn to his body, searching for a spot that was not marred by dirt, blood, bruises, gauges or cuts. A loud gasp escaped her lips when her eyes settled on his groin. Willow was not what anyone would call an expert in male genitalia, being a lesbian and all, but she felt certain that his genitals were not supposed to look like THAT. It looked mangled, bloody and raw, not unlike the rest of his body. She tried to think of what could possibly cause that kind of damage to a vampire and then decided that she was better off not knowing. Instead, she took a couple of cleansing breaths to calm herself. *Just remember he is a vampire, with enhanced healing abilities and infection – not a problem.* Even with that knowledge, she shuddered thinking about the kind of pain he must be feeling.

When he made no move to reach for the blood, Willow moved closer to the bed and stretched out her hand, holding the packets toward him. Spike raised his upper body slowly, propping himself on an elbow and eyeing the bags hungrily. *What on earth is he waiting for, a written invitation?!* She immediately felt remorseful for her exasperated thought and managed to smile weakly at him.

"Here, go ahead, take it," she encouraged.

She jumped back when he suddenly reached and snatched the packets from her hands. As Spike tore into the packets with his fangs, Willow looked around the room. The supplies she had used for the spell still laid on the floor where she had left them. She knew she should pick them up, but she was so tired she could barely move and she decided that getting Spike fed and cleaned up was more important than the mess on the bedroom floor.

With a deep sigh, she turned toward the bed and saw that the vampire had finished drinking the blood and was looking at her. He had spilt some of the blood in his haste to drink it and it was dripping down his chin. Looking at the kitchen towel in her hands, she decided that it wouldn’t do much good to wipe the blood off his chin, considering the state of the rest of his body.

She nervously wrung the towel between her hands while she spoke. "Uh ... yeah ... hum ... Spike, do you think ... would you like to ... you know, take a bath ... get cleaned up?"

He continued to look at her as if unable to understand her words. Willow pointed toward the bathroom down the hallway. "Baaaath," she explained slowly.

Without a word, Spike slid from the bed and began to crawl to the door.

"Oh, wait a minute, let me help you." Willow set the towel on the dresser and bent down to help Spike to his feet.

The moment her hand touched his arm, he jerked reflexively, bringing his arm up and knocking Willow backward against the bed. Willow didn’t try to approach him again, she leaned back on the bed, too exhausted to do anything but watch him crawl to the hallway. With a groan, she pushed herself up and walked around him, leading the way into the bathroom. Her eyes shifted between the tub and the showerhead, finally deciding that, considering how much blood and grime was on his body, a shower would be best. She turned on the shower and adjusted the temperature before indicating to Spike that he should get in. With some effort, he managed to get inside the tub and sat there, letting the warm water beat on his skin. Still averting her eyes from his body, Willow handed him a bar of soap and a washcloth. He took the proffered items, but made no move to use them.

Willow sank to her knees next to the tub, tears of exhaustion and frustration quickly welling up in her eyes.

"Spike, please, you have to help me. I understand that you are not ... well, but I can’t do this alone and there’s no one else here to help." She tentatively took the washcloth and soap from his hand. After lathering the cloth, she slowly touched it to his shoulder, awaiting his reaction. He flinched when she touched him, but didn’t knock her down this time. She began to gently wash his back, talking while her hand worked small circles on his skin.

"You know, we make a sorry pair, you and I. We are both so tired we can’t even move! What was that word you always used?" She paused for a moment, searching her memory for the elusive word. "Knackered! Yeah, that’s it ... we are both knackered out! Have you ever heard the phrase ‘misery loves company’? Well ... I don’t know who first said it ... but it’s wrong, because I may be miserable, but I’m SO not loving this!"

Willow didn’t expect Spike to participate in the conversation, she even doubted that he was listening to what she was saying. But the inconsequential chatter kept her mind off the task at hand and off all the questions about the future that were pounding in her brain.

When she had finished washing his back, Willow handed the washcloth back to Spike. "See? Like that. You can do the rest – can’t you?"

Her voice sounded more hopeful than she had intended, and she tried not to look too relieved when he took the washcloth and soap and began to wash his arms. She stood up and started to close the curtain, as much to afford him some privacy as to block his battered body from her view. Before she walked away, she pointed at his head and grimaced. "Uh ... don’t forget your hair, ok?" She closed the curtain without waiting for an answer.

Leaning back against the bathroom door, she slid down to sit on the floor. As she listened to the water cascade into the tub and watched the steam swirl around her, she thought about how tired she felt. She knew from previous experience that casting a powerful spell usually zapped her energy, both physically and magically, for a couple of days. A spell of this magnitude would probably keep her out of commission for a week – a week in which she had to deal with Spike, keep the house clean, work at the Magic Box, procure blood somehow, protect both of them from the demons and vampires that ran rampant in the streets of Sunnydale since the demise of the slayer, and hopefully keep her sanity. She was too frightened to think about what would happen if Spike didn’t get better after that first week. Exhaustion overcame her and she dozed off.

She awoke a while later, disoriented and confused.

"Why am I sleeping on the bathroom floor, and who’s in the shower?" "Spike!"

Willow ran to the tub and pulled back the curtain. She must have been sleeping for a while because the water had turned ice cold. Spike still sat in the tub where she had left him, the freezing water pounding on his head.

"I’m sorry! I’m SO sorry!" she exclaimed as she hurried to shut off the water and cover him with a towel.

Spike took the towel and began to dry his body as Willow stood nearby, trying to look anywhere but directly at him. She leaned heavily against the sink and tried to fight back the tears – her crying and carrying on would not help either one of them at the moment – but she knew that after she put him to bed, she would have a good cry over this.

Willow watched as Spike crawled out of the tub with some effort, but once he was out, he stood up on shaky legs, bracing himself against the sink for support. He looked at her and Willow got the impression that he was awaiting a reaction from her.

She smiled faintly. "Good ... you can stand ... that’s, good. Uh ... do you want me to help you ... can I ...?" She hesitated before placing an arm around his waist. When he didn’t pull away, she smiled up at him and asked, "Can I help you back to the room?"

Spike didn’t answer, but allowed her to help him as he limped slowly down the hallway. When they reached the bed, Willow pulled the soiled comforter down to the floor with her free hand and pulled the top sheet back. Spike collapsed on the bed, dragging Willow down with him. She quickly disentangled herself from his arm and jumped back, hastily throwing the sheet over his body.

"That’s better, isn’t it?" she asked nervously.

Spike didn’t respond. With a heavy sigh, Willow walked to the dresser in the corner of the room and pulled out a small pouch from the top drawer. Spike sank down into the mattress when she approached him again.

"It’s just to help you sleep, it won’t hurt you."

Willow dipped her fingers into the pouch before placing them over Spikes eyes and forehead, smearing a light, powdery substance on his skin. She cringed when he shrank back from her and whimpered, even though she knew she wasn’t hurting him. "Shhhhh," she whispered soothingly. A few words from her and Spike was sound asleep.

Willow looked at the hallway just outside the door and thought that crawling the distance was really not such a bad idea. She sleepily stumbled out to the hall and into her room, next to the one Spike occupied. Not bothering to undress, she collapsed on the bed and closed her eyes. The sleeping spell she had performed on Spike, as simple as it was, had used up her last modicum of energy, but she believed it had been necessary. There was no telling for how long she would sleep and she didn’t want Spike, for his own safety, to get up and wander outside of the house. She admitted to herself, albeit guiltily, that she had also been concerned about Spike waking up in the middle of the night and murdering her in her sleep.

Willow felt much better when she awoke the next day. Her magic was still topped out, and her body felt sluggish, but she had gotten quite a few hours of sleep and she felt definitely more rested than the previous night. After briefly checking on Spike to confirm that he was still sleeping, she took a long, hot shower and got dressed. She went to the kitchen where she quickly ate a bowl of cereal, thinking that the vampire upstairs must be hungry and that she should hurry up and take him his meal.

As she waited for the microwave to heat up the two remaining pouches of blood, she made a mental list of the things she had to do that day. She had closed the Magic Shop for the weekend, so she didn’t have to worry about work, but she did need to clean the house, do laundry, find Spike something to wear, and then she needed to go out and find some blood. She had decided that she would go to Willie’s. Willow wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea. Ever since Buffy’s death, the demon element in the area had grown rougher and more unruly. Some, mostly the ones that did not eat humans, left her pretty much alone because of her reputation as a witch – but many others still thought of her as the "slayer’s friend" and demons harbored grudges longer than any human she knew. But she also knew that Willie’s was her best bet to get some blood at a reasonable price. Even if he didn’t have any human blood, she was certain he could supply her with some pig’s blood.

Willow pulled out several jars from one of the kitchen cupboards before heading up the stairs with the two packets of warm blood and another small towel. She couldn’t do a spell, but she still had some herbs and ointments that might help Spike heal, or at least make him more comfortable.

She stepped into Spike’s dimly lit room slowly, so that she wouldn’t startle him. After turning on a lamp, she walked to the dresser.

"Wake-up sleepy head, I got something for you," she said cheerfully, in a low voice that she hoped was reassuring.

She placed the ointments and herbs on the dresser, along with one of the packets of blood. When she turned around to hand Spike the other packet and the towel, she froze, gawping at the sight on the bed in front of her. The packet of blood slipped from her hands to land on the floor, splashing over the small area rug, as she practically screeched, "Spike! What are you doing?!"

He was laying on his back with his eyes shut tight, there was an expression of both concentration and pain on his face. But what had scared Willow was that his fist was tightly wrapped around his flaccid, still injured member and he was harshly pulling on it, over and over. Willow whirled around and faced the wall.

"Spike, please stop that!"

Looking over her shoulder, she saw that he either had not heard her, or was ignoring her. She moved closer to the bed and spoke a little louder. "Please, stop!"

Her hand reached out to grab his arm but then pulled back. She didn’t want to touch him, not that close to THERE and not while he was doing THAT. Panicking and not knowing what to do, she screamed at him. "I said, stop!"

He immediately removed his hand and opened his eyes, looking at her with an expression that was as frightened and confused as she felt. Willow grabbed the extra bag of blood from the dresser and, along with the towel, threw it on the bed next to him before running out of the room. She slammed the door shut behind her and sat on the top step of the stairs.

"Oh, Goddess, please help me. I don’t know if I can do this."

Tears slid down her cheeks as she buried her face in her hands. She knew she had to go back into the bedroom – she had to clean the mess on the floor, she had to tend his wounds, and she couldn’t leave him alone all day locked in the room. The thought fleetingly crossed her mind that she should have never performed the spell that brought him back and she felt her heart twist with guilt at thinking it. She knew that whatever his condition, he was better off now than where he had been before.

It was not until that moment that Willow realized that her expectations had played as big a role in her decision to bring him back as her guilt had. Tired of being alone and feeling abandoned by her friends, she had longed for the old Spike to come back. She wanted the vampire who even with a chip in his brain knew how to instill fear into any creature, the painfully insightful Spike who always spoke his mind and did not hesitate to take charge of any situation. She had wanted the old Spike to come back and lessen her burden, keep her company, tell her what to do – not the wreck that now laid in that room unaware of who she was, possibly even who he was, and whom she would probably have to take care of for the rest of her life. She felt terrible for even having those thoughts, but the truth was that she had barely been able to take care of herself in the last few months, and she didn’t know if she had the stamina necessary to take care of somebody else as well.

~Part: 2~

Spike watched silently as the woman who had been taking care of him turned and ran out of the room, a look of horror and revulsion on her face. He then scrambled for the packet of blood she had left on the bed and sank his fangs into it, savoring the lukewarm blood. Three packets in less than twenty four hours was more than what a vampire needed to survive; she had been overfeeding him. But his body was injured and needed the extra blood to heal; plus he had been starved for so long, that the hunger never truly went away no matter how much he fed. After draining the packet, he eyed the other one on the floor. First glancing at the door, he slipped from the bed and crawled to the spot where the blood was beginning to soak into the small rug. He lapped up as much as he could, until the floor was wiped clean.

Unsure about what to do next, he scrambled back to the bed and laid down, trying to think about his situation and about the woman with the green eyes. There was something familiar about her, but his thoughts were so muddled that he couldn’t place her. Every-time he looked at her hair, the image of a younger version of her, wearing a fuzzy, purple sweater and scrunching her face at him flashed in his head. Other times, her voice brought images to his mind – images of her sitting at a table in front of a book, her holding a brown haired woman and apologizing to him for something about his hand, her voice commanding him to "get up there, now!". He knew all these things added up to something, but his thoughts were so fragmented that he couldn’t make sense of them.

Her actions were also confusing and contradictory – he knew that she was displeased with him, but he didn’t understand why. He had tried to make himself hard for her, and he knew he could have if she had only given him a moment. One of the things that had angered Glory the most, other than his early attempts to escape, was his failure to be hard and ready for her when she would come in the room. She had punished him many times for that, and was probably one of the reasons why she had grown bored with him and sent him to the dark room. He didn’t want to go back to the dark room, and he didn’t want to go back to Glory. If he was never going to have his freedom again, then he wanted to stay where he was, with this woman. She was kind and soft – it had been so long since he had been touched softly, the way she did in the tub. But she also looked sad all the time. He wanted to know why she was sad, and he wanted her to touch him again. Spike reasoned that if he didn’t find a way to please her, she would get tired of him, like Glory had, and would probably send him back to the dark room. He would do anything not to go back there, if he could only figure out what she wanted from him.

Through lowered lids, Spike watched as Willow entered the room and approached the bed. Without looking directly at him and without saying a word, she grabbed the bed-sheet and tossed it over his lower body. She then moved to the dresser, looking through several containers until finally finding the one she wanted and carrying it to the bed. She sat next to him and scrunched her face as she examined his chest, carefully avoiding looking any lower than that.

"This is going to help you ... do you understand that?" she asked him softly.

Spike nodded numbly, not certain what she was talking about, but not about to question her and risk upsetting her again.

"Uh ... ok ... let’s see ... how are we going to do this?" She seemed to be talking more to herself than to the vampire in the room.

"I know ... turn around and I’ll do your back, and ... uh ... you can do the front. Ok?"

Spike rolled on his stomach, not certain of her intentions but instinctively trusting her. He gasped and then sighed when her small hand began to gently touch his back. Her fingers fleeted across his skin, barely touching him and yet causing his skin to tingle lightly wherever she touched him. Her skin was warm and she was applying something cool and slippery to his body. Spike slowly relaxed, concentrating on her small, gentle caresses. She wasn’t talking to him, like she had in the bathtub, instead, she was humming to herself in a barely audible voice.

Spike closed his eyes and concentrated on the woman. For the first time since he had seen her the day before, he allowed himself to listen to the sounds of her body and to take in her scent. He was slightly surprised to realize that she was human, but not really – he felt that he somehow knew that all along. Her heartbeat was a little fast, her skin warm, he could smell her skin and her blood, and he wanted to feel more of her. Her voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Ok, now, turn around."

He rolled onto his back, the action bringing him closer to her so that the side of his body made contact with her thigh. She didn’t move away and started to hand him the small jar.

"Oh ... wait, one more thing."

She dipped the fingers into the jar and then applied the ointment to his face, starting at his forehead and running her fingers down to his cheekbones. As Spike stared deeply into her eyes, he brought up his hand and rested it on her back. He gently nudged her forward until she was almost laying on his chest and his face was buried in her neck. Her heart fluttered and he could smell fear tinge the scent of her blood, but she didn’t pull away. He took in her scent deeply and allowed it to fill him. As he closed his eyes, memories started flooding in. They were a little confusing at first, but they slowly took the form of coherent thoughts. He knew this woman, had known her for some time. He remembered her kindness to him and to others, her quirkiness that made him smile inwardly sometimes, he also remembered her power and her strength. She was a witch, and she was his friend, or at least, one of the closest things he had to a friend. Strange, how the sight of her had only given him glimpses of memories, but her scent had brought all these recollections of her suddenly back.

"You did a spell," he whispered softly.

His voice was still hoarse, but comprehensible.

Willow pulled her head back and looked at him with wide eyes.

"You remember who I am?" she sounded hopeful, but also hesitant.

Spike nodded his head. "Is this real, did you really do it? Did you bring me back?" he asked. She seemed real and so did everything around him, but he needed her to reassure him.

Willow smiled widely at him through her tears. "Yes! This is real and I brought you back. You’re back Spike, back where you belong!"She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. "You’re going to be ok, I know you are! You have to be!"

He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he didn’t know if anything would ever be "ok." That he was broken, and that there was no way to tell if the pieces of his shattered self could ever be put together again. All he knew was that he was grateful to the witch for bringing him back. Spike closed his eyes tightly as tears slid down his face and he whispered, "Thank you."

~Part: 3~

Spike awoke to darkness; oppressive, pervasive, impenetrable darkness. His body stilled, every muscle coiling and nerve ending screaming. "Back in the Dark Room!" Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes and he allowed them to fall unashamedly.

He had been dreaming. "Must’ve been delirious with hunger," he concluded. Or maybe it had not been a dream. "Glory! Back in the Dark Room." The goddess would not allow him even the small reprieve of a kind Mistress who touched him gently and fed him regularly. "Too good for me, don’t deserve it." Glory knew what was best for him, so she had brought him back – back to the Dark Room. The goddess knew what evil, filthy, dead things like him deserved and she wouldn’t let him escape his punishment. Gods were omnipotent and righteous that way. She was going to punish him for ... "What did I do to Glory?" He couldn’t remember for what he was being punished.

He closed his eyes and tried to think of the other Mistress, remember the feel of her warm, soft hands on his skin. He lifted one of his own hands and ran it gingerly over his chest, trying to recreate the feeling, wincing at the feel of scaly, torn, oozing flesh. He balled his hands into fists at his side. That Mistress didn’t want him, she had given him back to Glory. The tip of his torn tongue slipped between his lips as he tried to capture the remnants of her scent. It was still there, not as strong as it had been in the dream but he could still smell her, taste her peculiar scent on his tongue.

There was something about her scent. It had brought memories back to him, a trickle of images and words that had made sense at the time but now eluded him again. She had smelled sweet and clean, with a hint of saltiness, and maybe a wisp of musk somewhere. Or at least, that’s how he had dreamt her. "No, not a dream. The Mistress didn’t want to touch filthy, evil things; gave me back to Glory. Glory doesn’t want an ugly, putrid corpse in her bed, put me back in the Dark Room."

A thought popped into his head, a glimmer of hope. Maybe the Mistress was just angry with him and if he could see her again, explain to her, beg her forgiveness, she would take him back. Wishful thinking, the last stronghold of the desperate and hopeless. He tried to think, but the thoughts slipped from his grasp no sooner had they formed, like the details of a dream that linger at the edge of consciousness but disperse the moment one tries to recall it. Frantically, he grasped for those memories, trying to discern what he had done to displease his kind Mistress. He had not been hard and ready for her when she had entered the room; maybe that was what did it. But, he had tried, he had really tried, he was just ... "Useless, worthless ... a disgusting mess." More tears formed as he remembered the look of revulsion on the Mistress’s face. She had not wanted him to get hard, the mere sight of his body had disgusted her. "Filthy, disgusting mess. The Mistress wouldn’t want me in her, touching her, filling her with my filth."

Another thought came to him and panic filled him. "I touched her!" He had touched her back, buried his face in the crook of her neck. "She was good and kind to me and I fucked it all up by putting my filthy hands on her. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Wanker, tosser! I fucked it all up! Sodding wanker! Stupid, idiot, stupid!"

The self-recriminating litany that had started in his head turned into a rant that increased in pitch as Spike’s panic grew. Eyes still closed, tears flowing, he brought up his arms and pounded on his face and body, bruising already tender flesh. His nails clawed at the skin, tearing open nearly healed gashes and wounds. Words dissolved into wailing and keening sounds as he continued to strike and tear at his flesh.

The change in the room registered instinctively after a few moments. Spike stilled, heaving, taking in gulps of unnecessary air in an effort to regain control of his senses. A change in the Dark Room usually meant ... Spike braced himself for the pain that would soon follow, the undescribable agony of having every bone in his body pulverized by invisible jaws and his skin shredded by invisible fangs. When the anticipated sensation didn’t come, Spike ventured a look from below lowered lids. A figure stood a few feet in front of him, the silhouette shrouded in shadows and outlined by a dim light. No one had ever come into the Dark Room before, at least not that he could remember. Who would come into the hellish room and not be afraid of the darkness that chews and swallows? "Glory." Glory was a god, omnipotent, she was not afraid of anything, not even the Dark Room.

Spike’s hand moved reflexively to his flaccid member before he remembered. "A disgusting mess, don’t want to shag anymore. Why doesn’t she kill me? That’s right. I’m a filthy, evil thing, don’t deserve mercy, don’t deserve kindness, don’t deserve peace." Another glimmer of hope. If Glory was angry enough, maybe ... Spike inwardly battled with his own instinct of self-preservation and with his terror. If he made Glory angry enough, maybe she would just drive a stake into his heart, turn him to dust and then he would have escaped his torment. But what if she didn’t, what if she just ... the Dark Room. "Wanker, coward, you bloody stupid coward! Too stupid to make a decision, too afraid to move. Fucking coward!"

Spike detected the movement of the figure and gathering his last scrap of bravado and strength around him, he launched himself at it, screaming.

"Kill me ... just bloody kill me! You fucking bitch! Whore! ..."

His screams helped drown out the fear roaring inside him, they obliterated his senses until there was nothing but the strangling terror, the flimsy hope of deliverance and his own screams.

~*~

Willow had barely stepped into the bedroom when she found herself pinned against the wall by a ranting, raging vampire. All her training and experience fighting demons in the Hellmouth vanished when confronted with Spike’s violent assault. Her first instinct was to scream, and she did, attempting feebly to push him away. Neither her screams nor her struggle appeared to have any effect on him.

It was too dark in the room for her to see. Earlier, she had stayed with him until he had drifted into a calm sleep, then she had covered the window with thick blankets to block the sunlight from filtering into the room. She had closed his door and left to run a few errands. Willie’s was as far as she had made it. After half an hour of dodging the taunts and threats of a couple of demons, and Willie’s invasive interrogation about her need for human blood, she felt she had no energy left. Carrying her bag filled with containers of pig’s blood, the only kind that the bartender had claimed to have, Willow had made her way home.

Once back at her home, she had distracted herself by completing several menial tasks, allowing the vampire to get the sleep she had assumed he needed in order to heal. The small amount of progress that she had witnessed earlier that day had been enough to convince her that soon the vampire would be back to normal and maybe then, things wouldn’t be so bad. She had started some laundry, washed the few dishes that had accumulated in the sink and was just starting to clean the bathroom when she heard unidentifiable noises coming from Spike’s room.

The heart-wrenching sounds of an animal in agony reached her ears as she approached the room. Opening the door, Willow hesitated at the threshold, not sure what was happening or how to approach the situation. Maybe he was dreaming, and she didn’t want to startle him awake; maybe he was angry, and it wasn’t safe for her to approach him at that time. The darkness that protected the vampire made it impossible for her to assess the situation. What would he do if she stepped into the room and turned on a light? Would that help or would it make matters worst?

When the sounds suddenly stopped, she ventured a small step into the bedroom, and that was when he attacked her. His hands were on her now, his body pinning her effectively against the wall. Strong, relentless fingers ripped at her clothes, seeking contact with her skin. Willow flinched, as much from the pain inflicted by his hands as from the sting of his words. He was screaming terrible things at her.

"Whore! You used to like my cock, liked riding it until it bled. What’s the matter, Glory, you don’t want it anymore? What about this, you like this? Kill me, you fucking whore! ..."

He had ripped off her skirt, torn her underwear, and he had wedged his hand between her clenched thighs, prying them apart. His cold fingers were roughly pinching and pulling her delicate folds, eliciting gasps of pain from her throat.

"Why is he doing this, what is he saying?" Willow tried to force her mind to stop reeling and think coherently. "Glory. He called me Glory! He thinks I’m Glory!"

"Spike, no! It’s me, Willow. Remember? Willow. I brought you back! Glory is not here. Please, Spike, stop!"

Either he didn’t hear her or could not understand her words. His assault continued unabated. Willow looked around frantically in the darkness, trying to orient herself. The light-switch was not far away. If she could reach it, turn the light on, see his face, let him see her ... . She extended her arm as far as it would go and almost reached the switch, but he must have mistaken her movements for an attempt to escape his grasp and Willow felt his hand cruelly squeezing her breast, sending a bolt of pain through her chest.

He hissed in her ear. "Like it rough, Glory? Getting wet? Wanna ride? How about I rip off your nipple like you did me? Mine grew back, will yours grow back?"

His words sent Willow into a full blown panic, not wanting to believe that he would do what he had said, but knowing full well that he would. He hated Glory and he thought she was her, and no amount of talking, pleading or screaming would deter him.

She felt his erect member brush against her now bare thigh. Sometimes, a little old fashioned "girl wisdom" is better than any amount of demon slaying training. In an act of desperation, Willow brought her knee up, solidly connecting with his groin. The blow was enough to loosen his hold on her and Willow dove for the light-switch. The bright light of the overhead bulb flooded the room as Spike grabbed her arm and whirled her around.

Wide, green eyes met piercing, amber colored ones and for a second neither of them moved, until the words started pouring from Willow’s mouth.

"See? Not Glory, just me. She isn’t here and she is not coming back. Just me. Willow. See? ... Spike?"

She watched the vampire’s features change from an expression of fury, to confusion, to horror and finally settle on an expression she could not identify but that was the closest she had ever seen Spike come to looking afraid. No, not afraid, terrified! Instinctively wanting to reassure him, she started to move toward him but halted herself in mid-stride. "Hey! I’m the injured party here, why should I be the one doing the comforting?"

Her resolve to remain indignant dissolved as Spike dropped to his knees, bowing before her until his forehead was resting on the floor in front of her. His body was curled almost into a fetal position and he was mumbling something she could barely understand. She thought she heard him say something about "stupid," and a "dark room."

"Spike, I covered the windows to block the sunlight. It’s not dark any more," she attempted to explain. Willow frowned. "Is he upset because he woke up and the room was dark? Is he afraid of the dark?" A vampire afraid of the dark, the absurdity of the idea would have been funny had the situation been different.

Willow self-consciously wrapped her arms around her semi-nude body and continued talking to him, encouraging him to look up, worried that anything she did would provoke another attack. "Spike, look up at me. I turned the light on, it’s not dark anymore. Look around."

His only response was to inch forward until his face was pressed against the top of her feet as he continued to mumble incoherently. The weather was warm and Willow was wearing a pair of open sandals. She could feel the moisture of his cold tears wetting her feet; tears and something else, something slippery. The memory of his face during the seconds when their eyes had met came back to her. There had been fresh scratches on his face, no doubt self inflicted since she had not touched his face during their struggle, and the scratches had been bleeding. Willow winced but was too wary to move. The sight of the arrogant vampire prostrated at her feet, crying like a child, and the thought of his blood and tears covering her skin was enough to make Willow want to start crying herself.

"Spike, please don’t do that. Please move away," she managed to whisper between gasps.

While her earlier screams and words had not seemed to register on the vampire, her whispered plea caused him to immediately react. He slithered away from her as if she had burnt him, remaining on the floor but a good six inches away from her. She inhaled deeply, grateful for the space between them, however small. Her glance shifted quickly to the door, instinct telling her to run, compassion dictating that she could not leave Spike crying and bleeding on the floor.

His voice rose and Willow was able to discern his words a little better.

"Stupid, stupid. Wanker! Filthy, don’t touch, don’t touch. Have to remember, don’t touch. Mistress doesn’t want to be touched. Remember, idiot! Don’t touch, don’t touch, don’t touch ..."

Willow grasped at the only words that made sense to her. "Uh ... yeah, don’t touch. Not touching is good."

He nodded his head frantically. "Won’t touch. I remember, won’t touch."

Willow wondered if he was listening to her and he could understand what she was saying, or if his words and actions had been a coincidence.

"Spike, can you hear me, do you understand?"

More emphatic nodding.

"Can you do something for me?"

He was still nodding, but he wasn’t looking at her.

"Can you move over there, to the bed, please?" She pointed to the bed.

She watched apprehensively as Spike crawled across the room to climb on the bed. He curled into a tight ball, continuing to avert his eyes from her and still muttering to himself. For some reason, she still felt the need to continue reassuring him. Or maybe, it was herself that she needed to reassure.

"Good, that’s good. Not touching is good too." The thought occurred to her that she was talking to him as if he was a child, and that maybe the vampire would take offense at her actions. She watched him as she awaited his reaction.

Spike’s words were barely audible. "I’ll remember, don’t touch."

The instant Willow was convinced that Spike was not going to follow her or try to attack her again, she ran out the door.

Spike remained where his Mistress had instructed him, too afraid of the repercussions of his actions to attempt any movement. He laid on the bed and waited, his own thoughts continuing the relentless and unending torture that had become his existence.

"Stupid, not Dark Room; attacked the Mistress. Wanker, idiot! I’ll be punished, I deserve it! Hurt the Mistress, touched the Mistress. Have to remember, Mistress doesn’t want to be touched! Disgusting mess! Remember, don’t touch, don’t touch, don’t touch ..." Spike continued to repeat the phrase in his mind like a mantra, as if he was afraid he would forget the command the moment he stopped, knowing that he probably would.

A myriad of scenarios depicting what his punishment would be once the Mistress returned flashed before his mind’s eye, their level of gruesomeness increasing with each one. He wondered if she would skin him like Glory had, the horror of the experience still vivid in his mind even if the details of the memory seemed to come and go. He shook his head, denying the memory, or perhaps trying to shake it from his mind. "Not that, not that, please, not that." But if not that, then what? "The Dark Room. Back to Glory." He shivered, even thought the room was comfortably warm. He nodded his head. If that’s what it took for him not to be sent back, to be skinned and left suspended in the air until his skin grew back, he would endure it.

His gaze shifted nervously toward the door, looking for any signs that indicated the Mistress was returning. It was open a fraction and he could see out into the hall. Maybe he could make a run for it, escape before his mistress returned. The mere thought of defying the Mistress started a cacophony of voices shrilling in his brain. "Bad, idiot, evil! You deserve to be punished! Idiot, you bloody wanker! Coward, too afraid to run, too afraid to move! Run, run! Dark Room! You’ll be punished! Dark Room, back to Glory. She knows what to do with evil, disgusting things like you! Teach you a lesson. Too stupid to learn!"
 

Spike pounded the heels of his hands against his temples, trying to piece his thoughts together, discern what was true and which were the lies. Frozen in terror and too confused to make a decision, Spike did the only thing that had provided him with some measure of comfort during his time in the Dark Room, he wrapped his arms around himself and hummed the little, nonsensical tune in his head, "Bits and pieces, here and there, bits and pieces everywhere ..."

~Part: 4~

Willow ran down the hall and stumbled into her bedroom. Slamming the door shut behind her, she leaned against it, sliding down until she was huddled on the floor with her ear pressed to the door, listening, listening, listening. A minute passed, then two, then three before she finally let out the breath she didnt know she had been holding and she began to relax.

With an angry gesture, she pulled the tattered remains of her shirt from her body and briskly wiped the top of her feet, grimacing in disgust. Her mind was still trying to piece together what had happened, and her ears remained vigilant of any indication that the vampire had followed her. She scrubbed at her feet long after the last traces of fluid were wiped away, until her skin was pink and smarting, before tossing the rag into a corner and rising to her feet.

Willow winced at the pain that the movement accentuated between her legs. Her arms and legs were also sore, from the struggle and from where Spike had grabbed her, and pain radiated from her breast and across her chest. She realized it could have been a lot worst. Spike was obviously still weak from his ordeal, otherwise, Willow knew it was unlikely that she would have survived the attack. "But what about the next time?"

While she walked around the room, gathering underwear, a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, Willow tried to think about what could have set him off, certain that it was nothing she had done. Maybe it had been nothing more than the darkness. If that was the case, it would just be a matter of keeping the lights on all the time until Spike got over his new phobia. But that still didnt explain why Spike had not responded to the sound of her voice. It was as if he had been trapped inside a delusion in which she was Glory.

Trying not to think about the things Spike had said Glory did to him and concentrating on what useful information she had gathered, Willow walked to stand in front of a mirror. She gasped at her own reflection. There were scratches and red welts that would soon be turning to bruises on her arms and legs, her hair was disheveled, her face stained with tears she did not know she had been crying, and redness spread from her right breast almost to her neck. "He could have killed me." The thought splashed into her mind like a bucket of iced water. What if it really was a choice between Spikes life and her own? Kill me! Thats what Spike had been yelling at her during the assault, kill me.

Slowly, more details of the attack began to come back to her. There was something in the back of her mind that she couldnt quite grasp, something important. Her body shook as she studied her reflection in the mirror again. Spike had been able to hurt her and the chip had not stopped him! She didnt know how or why, but Spikes chip was malfunctioning!

As the shock wore off, the reality of her situation started to set in. She still wanted to help Spike, she just wasnt so sure anymore that she could do it alone. If she was going to do this, she had to talk to someone, find out more information. Willow sprung into action. She hastily dressed and hurried to the nightstand where her phone sat. She needed to know more about Spikes condition. He was obviously physically weakened and possibly insane, but she had to know what that meant in the case of a vampire. She resolutely picked up the phone receiver and started to dial, only to change her mind and hang up again.

"First things fist," she thought. The vampire was just down the hall from her and she knew that her bedroom door would not keep him out if he came after her. Her only escape route would be jumping out of the window, something that she certainly wanted to avoid having to do. Reaching into her nightstand drawer, she pulled out a long, sharp, wooden stake and a cross that she kept there just in case. Cautiously, she approached the bedroom door, leaning against it and listening for any sign that would indicate that the vampire was out and about. When she heard nothing, Willow tentatively opened the door a fraction and looked into the hallway. It was deserted and she couldnt hear any noise. Gathering her courage, Willow darted out of the room and vaulted for the stairs, not stopping and not even looking behind her until she was standing in the livingroom, in front of the exit door.

She whirled around and surveyed the room, the stake held high in the air, her body poised to attack. The living room was deserted. A glance toward the stairs confirmed that Spike was not following her. Willing her body to relax and her breathing to slow down, Willow walked to the telephone and picked up the receiver, dreading the call she was about to make.

It was only three rings before she heard the deep voice on the other end.

"Hello?"

"Uh, hi Angel, its me, Willow." She struggled to keep her greeting casual, as if several months had not passed since the last time she had spoken to the vampire, not since Buffys funeral.

"Willow? Is everything ok? Is something wrong?"

"No, no. Nothing is ... uh ... wrong. I just wanted to ask you a few questions."

Willow was already regretting making the call. All she had said was her name and the vampire sounded alarmed and ready to jump into his car and make the trip to Sunnydale. Willow didnt know how much she could trust Angel when it came to Spike, so she was not planning to give him too many details, just gather as much information as she could. She again tried to force her voice to sound casual. "Angel, are you there?"

"Yes, yes, Willow, Im here. What did you want to ask me?"

"Well, its kind of personal, I hope you dont mind."

"Personal? Willow, what is going on?"

Damn, he is not buying it already! Why did vampires have to be so insightful, or was it that she was no good at lying?

"Nothing is going on, Angel. I just wanted to ... I just wanted to ask you a few questions about ... well ... the time you spent in hell."

Angel sounded surprised. "What? Willow, its been years, why do you want to know about that now?"

"Angel, please, I just need to know." Her voice sounded more pleading than she had intended and Willow braced herself for the barrage of questions she was sure would follow.

There was a pause before she heard Angel say, "What exactly did you want to know?"

Willow almost sighed in relief and she quickly fell into her research girl mode, trying to keep her voice detached and her questions as direct as possible.

"When you first got back, what was it like?"

"Disorienting, very confusing. It was like my body had been hurled into this dimension so fast that my brain had not had a chance to catch up." She heard Angel chuckle derisively at the memory.

"Oh. But it got better. Right? After a while? Of course it did, because, youre better now."

"Yes it did. Buffys presence also helped. She helped reconnect me to this dimension."

Willow sat on the couch and scrunched her face in concentration. "So, you remembered who Buffy was ... you recognized her?"

"Yes, I remembered her."

Willow frowned. That didnt sound like what Spike was going through. She swallowed hard and glanced nervously at the stairs before asking her next question. "Angel, did you ... did you hurt anyone, I mean, when you got back?"

The pause on the other end was so heavy it was almost tangible. "Willow, I really dont remember a lot about that time, the time immediately after I got back. All I remember is the confusion, pain and Buffy being there for me. Now, Willow, are you gonna tell me what the hell is going on or are we both just going to sit here and pretend that Im a total idiot?"

Willow sighed regretfully. "I cant. I cant tell you what is going on, not yet. Youll just have to trust me. I need to know how to deal with an insane vampire," she whispered so low that she didnt think he had heard her.

"Kill it," was his unemotional answer.

Willow was taken aback by his callousness. "But, I cant, I mean ... he is just, I dont know,  Evil? Insane? Violent?  Confused, I guess ..."

"Willow, who are we talking about? Whats going on?"

His tone was insistent and Willow started to feel cornered. As the unwanted memory of the events that had taken place only a few minutes earlier came back to her, there was nothing she wanted more than to scream at Angel to hurry up and come to her, help her, take the whole awful mess she had created out of her hands. But Angels words about killing Spike gave her pause. She had worked too hard and too long to get him back, and she wasnt ready to just let Angel kill him, even if part of her told her that perhaps it was for the best.

"Listen, Angel, just, thanks for talking to me ... please dont tell anyone about this call, Like theres anyone left to tell, she thought bitterly, " and thank you," she concluded.

"Willow, wait! Just stay in touch, please. Keep me posted and let me know if theres anything I can do for you. Will you do that?"

Willow smiled sadly. "Yes, Angel, Ill keep in touch. Thanks again, for being so ... for everything." She hoped that he understood that she was thanking him for trusting her, when she didnt even trust herself.

"Take care, Willow, and be careful."

"Bye, Angel."

Willow hung up the phone and brought her legs up onto the couch, wrapping her arms around them in a subconsciously protective gesture, the stake still firmly in her grasp. Even if she had not gotten any information from him, just talking to Angel had helped assuage some of her fears. Just the action of reaching out to someone, even if she had not told him everything, and the knowledge that he would be there for her if she failed, when the time came to ... Willow didnt want to think about what would happen then, but she had found Angels willingness to help without pushing for details comforting.

She glanced toward the window, watching the dusk approach. Night would be coming soon. She rarely went out at night anymore, it was too dangerous under any circumstances, and without her magic to protect her, she may as well just prance into a den of vampires, wearing a sign that said "bite me!" She dreaded the idea of spending the entire night locked in a house with Spike, wondering if she would survive until morning. She could always go to The Magic Box and sleep there; she had done it often enough. When the memories got to be too much, when the silent house had begun to close in on her, threatening to choke her, when she had needed to regain a purpose for her life, she had gone to The Magic Box and worked on the books or stocking the shelves, until exhaustion overcame her and she would lay down to sleep in the back room.

She steeled her resolve even as she tightened the grip on the stake until her knuckles turned white. The house might be quiet, but it wasnt empty, and there was a purpose for her life, and it was not at The Magic Box, but in a bedroom just up the stairs. She had to try again and she would, just not yet. She couldnt face Spike again just yet. She would just lay on the couch for a while, close enough to the door that she could run out if she needed to, and think about a solution. Solving problems had always been one of her strengths, and this wasnt the first time she had put her life on the line for something in which she believed. All she needed was a little more time.

~Part: 5~

It was several hours later when she was awakened by the insistent ringing of the phone. Disoriented and startled, Willow jumped from the couch and looked around. Her sore body protested at the sudden movement and she winced as she remembered why she had spent the night on the couch. Glancing around wearily, she picked up the phone.

"He... hello?"

"Hey, Will! Did I wake you? Rough night?"

Still not fully awake, she frowned at the cheerful voice at the other end. "Xander? Whats wrong, what happened?"

Xander sounded as confused as she felt. "Uh ... Nothing happened. Willow, its Sunday morning. Ive been calling to check on my best girl every Sunday morning since I moved away. Are you alright?"

"Oh ... yes, Xander, Im fine. Im sorry, I ... the phone woke me up and I think I was confused for a minute, but Im fine now. How are you?"

"Im good, Willow. The new job is great. Did I tell you I switched jobs? Well, let me tell you, this construction company is way better than the other one. Its a new company, not as much work and the money is not as good ... But the foreman said theres a lot of opportunity for upward movement within the company, whatever that means, and ..."

Willow walked slowly toward the kitchen, stretching her taut muscles. She had slept more than she had intended, like she always did after performing a strong spell. It had been at least twelve hours since she had last fed Spike and she knew that a hungry vampire was never a good thing, under any circumstances. As she listened to Xanders chatter, she placed a mug of pigs blood into the microwave and pushed the timer, before gingerly walking to the coffee pot and starting some coffee.

She suddenly frowned when she realized that Xander had stopped talking and was apparently waiting for a reply from her. He had been saying something about watching movies and Sunday morning cartoons.

"Uh, what? Im sorry, I missed that last part, Xander."

She heard her friend sigh dramatically. "I was saying that maybe you should come visit me next weekend. We could order pizza and watch videos until we fall asleep on the couch, and then we can wake up and watch Sunday morning cartoons and eat cereal. It will be just like old times. Willow, are you sure youre alright?"

Yes, just like old times, except without all the death, bloodshed, vampires and demony stuff. Actually, that does sound good," she thought regretfully. She knew the reason why Xander never came to Sunnydale to visit her was because it was too much like old times.

"Yes, Im fine. I just cant make it this weekend. Im sorry, I just have too much to do," she said, thinking that it wasnt actually a lie, she did have a lot to do.

"Youre just gonna let it kill you, arent you?"

Willow was startled by his question. "Wha...,what?"

"That town, the store, everything that happened, youre just gonna let it consume you until theres nothing left of you."

Willow sighed, the joy she had felt at hearing a friendly voice when she most needed it obliterated by insidious observation.

"Xander, weve had this discussion before. This is my home, its where I belong. Besides, Im not saying Im never again coming to visit you, I just cant make it this time. But, maybe in a few weeks, when things are a little more settled around here ..." She tried to force some enthusiasm into her voice, but the effort was too much.

"Yeah, sure, maybe some other time."

"Ill talk to you again in a week then?"

"Sure, Will, you know Ill always call."

"And I never do. Ok, Xander, bye."

"Bye, Will. Take care."

Willow put down the receiver and turned to retrieve the mug of blood from the microwave. The weekly calls had become part of her Sunday morning routine, and they always went pretty much the same. Elation at hearing her old friends voice, followed by disinterest as Xander chattered about a world that was so foreign to her it was almost beyond her comprehension, until the recriminations started and then they both knew it was time to say good-bye  until the following Sunday when they would do it all over again.

Willow stopped in the living room and tucked the stake and cross into the back of her jeans, not wanting Spike to feel threatened, but wanting to be prepared in case of a repeat of the previous night. As she walked up the stairs, she thought about Xanders words. Was that really what she was doing? Punishing herself by letting herself be consumed by the past? Willow shook her head. This wasnt about the past, it was about the future, her future and Spikes.

The door was still slightly ajar and Willow could see the light was on inside the room. "Good, not dark." It made her feel more confident to be able to see what she was walking into. Pushing the door open without stepping inside, she looked at the figure huddled on the bed. Spike was in the same spot and in the same position in which she had left him. "Didnt he move the entire time?"

"Spike?" She called out tentatively.

When there was no response or movement from the vampire, Willow placed the mug she was carrying on the floor, just inside the door.

"Spike, I need to ... you know ..." She pointed toward the bathroom. "Ill be back in a moment, ok?"

She suspected that the vampire was awake and watching her, but he made no attempt to acknowledge her presence or her words. Her hands trembling, Willow turned around and hastily walked toward the bathroom. She was not ready to face him yet, she just needed a little more time.

~*~

Spike stared hungrily at the mug on the floor. He wanted it so badly that his mouth watered and his hands shook. But the Mistress had not said that he could take it. It could be a reward, he had been good after all. He had stayed where his Mistress had told him, and he had waited for her to come back. His muscles had ached and protested at his immobility, but he had stayed where he was supposed to, trying to show his Mistress that he could be good. But maybe the mug was a test. The Mistress didnt trust him and she was testing him, waiting to see if he would take it without her permission.

His eyes darted nervously between the open door and the mug of blood. When the hunger got too much, he clutched the sheet tightly in his fists to keep himself from leaping out of the bed and draining the contents of the mug. Mercifully, the Mistress didnt stay away long this time. Soon, Spike heard her light footsteps coming down the hall. She came to a sudden stop in front of the door, bending down delicately and picking up the mug.

"Spike, you didnt drink it. Arent you hungry?" Willow asked in a soft voice, as she slowly approached the bed.

Spikes eyes darted frantically between her hand that held the mug and her face. She didnt look angry and she was holding the mug out to him. But Spike wasnt about to let her benign expression fool him. Glory had smiled sweetly at him while inflicting the most painful tortures on his body.

She stopped a few feet away from him. "Are we going to have to do this all over again? Really, Spike, I need to know because I dont think I can. Just take the blood, please."

The slight edge to her voice registered immediately on the vampire. He was certain he had done something wrong, he could tell by the sudden change in her demeanor, he just didnt know what.

"Idiot! Too stupid to figure it out, to understand what she wants. Just do as she says and take the bloody mug!"

Spike reached more brusquely than he intended and took the mug from her hands, watching the girl jump back slightly. As he thirstily drank, he kept watching her face. There was something familiar about her, something that felt warm, right and safe. Spike wished he could remember more, make sense of what was going on around him.

"Thats good," she encouraged with a smile as she turned around, placing something he couldnt see on top of the dresser and looking at her reflection in the mirror.

Spike took the opportunity to let his eyes travel down her body, studying the woman in front of him. Her hair was red and it reminded him of blood and fire, maybe with a hint of copper. Her figure was lithe, maybe a little too thin around the hips but soft and alluring. Spike winced when he saw the bruises on her arms, remembering that he had been the one to put them there. He studied her face in the mirror, each delicate feature, the expressive green eyes...

"Mistress, youre beautiful," he whispered, and unlike when he had said it to Glory, he meant it.

Willow turned around, an expression of mistrust in her face.

"What did you just say?"

Spike shrank back from her probing eyes, dropping the empty mug on the floor. "Shut up, shut up, shut up! Stupid, she didnt ask you. Now, she is angry again."

"Spike, what did you call me?"

Her voice was more insistent this time, and Spike had to swallow a couple of times before he found the courage to answer her. "I called you Mi- Mistress," he mumble under his breath.

Willow walked closer to him and Spike looked down, avoiding her eyes.

"Spike look at me. Do you know who I am?"

Spike forced himself to do as she ordered, trying to control his fear and confusion. He nodded his head.

"Who am I?" She questioned.

"Youre my Mistress," he answered honestly, adoration clear in his eyes as he looked up at her.

But the girl shook her head.

"You know Im not Glory, right? I mean, you know that. You know Im Willow."

Spike nodded his head. Confusion overwhelmed him and tears threatened to fill his eyes. He couldnt understand this new game that his Mistress was playing. It had been different with Glory. She had never asked him questions or tried to explain things to him that he couldnt understand. Glory told him what to do and he either did it or paid the consequences. It was simple and it was easy. This new Mistress didnt tell him what she wanted from him and she asked too many questions; it was confusing and frightening. Spikes shoulders began to shake.

He felt the mattress dip as his Mistress sat next to him, putting her arms around him. "Dont touch, dont touch, filthy. Disgusting mess." Spike tried not to pull away from the gentle arms that encircled him, but he couldnt help flinching.

"Its ok, Im not going to hurt you. Youre safe here. Its just that ... well, you hurt me last night and Im still a little jumpy about the whole thing. Do you understand that?"

Spike nodded his head. He remembered all too well what he had done the night before, he had been bad. What he couldnt understand was why she was still nice to him.

"Spike, please look at me. Do you remember who I am, do you remember anything at all  I mean, from before?"

"From before?" He frowned, trying to remember. "Willow is my friend, from before. Witch, brought me back. Back?"

Spike nodded his head. "You brought me back, Willow."

Willow sighed, a small smile curving her lips. "Its a start," she said with a shrug of her shoulders.

"You know, I talked to Angel last night. Do you remember Angel?"

Spike shook his head. Not remembering anything and not wanting to think about anything other than the soft, warm woman sitting on the bed next to him, her small body pressed against his, the scent of her skin and her blood surrounding him.

"Im sorry, Mis-, Willow, about last night," he whispered softly, hoping he wasnt out of line for talking to her when she had not asked him.

"I believe you when you say youre sorry. Just, please try not to do it again."

She suddenly stood up and Spike whimpered at the loss of contact with her body. Somehow, this woman that he barely remembered made sense of everything his mind could not. When she was near, he felt calmer, more coherent; the voices receded and his thoughts were his once again. Maybe when he was better, if he was really good, she would allow him to pleasure her and then he would be able to lose himself in her scent, find out what her body really felt like.

~Part: 6~

Willow went to stand on the opposite side of the room from Spike. Something about the way the vampire was looking at her, the way he spoke to her, was unnerving. Not unnerving in the way that his violent behavior of the previous night had been, but in a way that unsettled her perhaps as much. There was such longing in his gaze, such reverence in his voice.

"Willow, stop it! He is insane, he doesn't know what he is doing, he barely remembers who you are."

She ventured a look toward the vampire still sitting on the bed. His head was lowered and he looked as if he was deep in thought.

"Spike."

He seemed to startle at the sound of her voice, but after a moment he raised his eyes to look at her.

Willow took a deep breath. "Spike, do you think we could start this over, you know? Forget about last night and just start fresh?"

Spike nodded.

"Good! I tell you what, why don't you go get in the shower, you have ... uh ... blood on you, and I'll go see if I can find you something to wear. Does that sound good?"

Another nod.

"Don't feel like talking much, huh? That's ok, just get in the shower and I'll go down into the basement and see if I can find you something to wear. And I'll close all the curtains so that you can come down. I have to go back to work tomorrow and you're going to have to be alone for a while; I want you to feel comfortable walking around the house. You feel up to it?"

There was another nod but when she started to walk away, she noticed that the vampire wasn't moving. Willow turned around.

"Spike, shower," she said pointing toward the bathroom and winced at how much her words and tone sounded like a command one would give to a dog.

Spike got off the bed, but was immediately on his knees.

"No," she said firmly, her voice growing harsh with exasperation. "Walk, you get up and walk, ok?"

Spike nodded and did what she said. Willow watched him walk into the bathroom before she headed toward the basement.

Several hours later, Willow sat on the couch pretending to watch the television while she studied the vampire sitting on the floor next to her feet. While there had been no more incidents of violence, after spending the day with Spike, Willow could no longer fool herself into believing that all was well with the vampire. Whatever was going on in his mind was more than the confusion that Angel had described.

After leaving Spike alone to shower, she had gone down to the basement to look through the boxes stored there. Most of Dawn's and Buffy's belongings were long gone from the house, but she had kept a few of Tara's things packed away, telling herself that she would give them away some day, but never quite having the courage to do it. She had found an old pair of sweat-pants and a t-shirt. They would be big on Spike, but that would be good because the wounds on his body were not healed yet and she doubted that he wanted to wear anything constricting.

Willow had returned to the upstairs floor to find the vampire standing in the middle of the bathroom staring at the shower with an anxious expression on his face.

"What's the matter, Spike?"

He had simply looked at her and then back at the shower. Understanding that he could not remember how to turn the shower on and off, Willow had guided him through the process, as she'd had to guide him through the process of turning the lights on and off, using the microwave and operating the tv's remote control.

Throughout the day she had also discovered other peculiarities about Spike. He seemed to follow behind her everywhere she went, standing uncomfortably close to her. The vampire had always valued his personal space and guarded it ferociously. Now it was Willow who felt like growling every time he stepped close to her, so close that had he breathed, she would have felt his breath on her neck. She had also caught him sniffing in her direction a few times, making her self-conscious until she had concluded that he was just trying to familiarize himself with her scent. He was also uncharacteristically taciturn, and any attempt on her part to engage him in conversation only seemed to confuse him, but he responded very quickly to anything she said, as long as it was worded briefly, to the point and expressed as a command. Calling her by her name also seemed to be a problem for him, often stopping halfway through calling her mistress and then becoming so flustered that he wouldn't say
 anything else. By mid-afternoon, Willow had given up trying to modify his behavior, allowing him to call her mistress, resigning herself to the fact that wherever she went he wouldn't be far behind, and trying to simply ignore him when he leaned toward her trying to catch her scent.

That's why several hours later the two of them were sitting together in the living room, Willow on the couch with Spike on the floor, after several unsuccessful attempts on Willow's part to convince him to sit next to her on the couch. He was rubbing his cheek against her leg and inhaling her scent.

"Spike, do you understand what we talked about earlier, about me having to go to work tomorrow and you staying here alone?"

Spike nodded and Willow sighed deeply. Another thing she had learned was that Spike's nodding didn't mean anything; it was merely a reflex reaction to agree with anything she said.

Willow was lifting her leg to place it in on the edge of the couch in order to turn toward Spike, when her calf muscle protested in pain. Wincing, Willow lowered her leg again. She was surprised when Spike placed his hands around her leg and began massaging the tense muscle.

"Uh, Spike, you don't have to do that, it's just a cramp."

Willow tensed when the vampire ignored her protests and continued to massage her leg, but she gradually relaxed when she realized that his hands were gentle and his touch inoffensive.

"Ok, but just this time, and you don't have to do it unless you want to."

Willow had found the vampire's inordinate need to please her disconcerting. She had told him on several occasions throughout the day that he didn't have to clean, or pick up dishes, or carry the laundry down to the basement, but he had insisted on doing all these things for her. One thing that had not changed about Spike was his stubbornness, and he had eventually wore Willow's protests down.

Tara had given Willow massages regularly, and it was one of the dozens of little things that Willow had missed since the other woman had been gone. She relaxed and let Spike work the tension out of the muscles in her leg, not objecting when the vampire put her leg down and started to work on the other one. A contented sigh escaped Willow's lips and she closed her eyes, leaning her head against the back of the couch. She was so relaxed she had almost fallen asleep when she felt the vampire move and she opened her eyes. Spike's hands had moved to her thighs and he was up on his knees, his upper body leaning slightly forward, his face poised over her pelvis and he was looking at the juncture of her legs.

She tried to keep her voice calm. "Spike, what are you doing?"

He turned his pleading eyes up to her. "Please, Mistress, let me pleasure you."

Willow frowned in confusion for a moment before the meaning of his words sank in. Her body tensed in anticipation of a fight if she couldn't talk some sense into the vampire.

"Spike, you can't ... we can't ... it wouldn't be right ..."

The phone rang and Willow leapt to her feet, pushing the vampire away and rushing for the telephone. Her hands were shaking when she picked up the receiver.

"He- Hello?"

"Willow? Is this a bad time?"

She almost sighed in relief when she heard Angel's voice. "No, it's not. I'm just surprised that you're calling me."

Willow glanced at Spike over her shoulder. He was once again on the floor in a bowed position, his forehead resting on the floor and he was muttering to himself again.

"I must have upset him when I jumped up."

"I was worried after our conversation last night. I wanted to see how things were going."

You mean you wanted to check to see if I was still alive. "Things are going - as well as can be expected," she said truthfully, watching the vampire on the floor of her living room.

Angel's voice was soft and hesitant. "Willow, how is he?"

Willow's attention was drawn back to the conversation by his question. "Huh, how is who?" She asked innocently.

"Spike, Willow, how is he?"

Willow frowned. She hadn't given Angel any details when she had talked to him, and she had certainly not mentioned Spike's name. She sighed in defeat. "How did you know it was Spike I was talking about?"

She heard Angel chuckle and she suspected that he was laughing at her naivety.

"Willow, how many other vampires do you know who have recently gone to a hell dimension that you would want to bring back?"

Damn, he's got me there. "He's, well, he is still very confused, but I think he is getting better." She decided against mentioning the fact that Spike's chip wasn't functioning; that would only alarm Angel even more and he might decide to pay her an impromptu visit.

As she talked on the phone, Willow tried to get Spike's attention to indicate that he should get up from the floor. But no matter how many gestures she made, the vampire refused to look at her.

"Willow, I think I should come down."

"No! I mean, we don't need you here, really. We are doing fine."

Angel's suggestion that she should kill Spike was still fresh in Willow's mind. Furthermore, she wanted to spare Spike the humiliation of anyone else witnessing his condition. As much as she wanted someone to help with and advise her about Spike's care, the way she saw it, allowing Angel access to the other, weakened vampire at that moment was out of the question.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, as if Angel was considering arguing with her. Finally, he said, "Ok, for now, but promise me you will keep in touch with me and let me know if you run into any problems."

"Yeah, sure. If I need you, I'll call. Or, even if I don't need you, I'll still call to let you know how things are going," she blurted out with relief.

"Can I talk to him?"

"Uh, I don't think now is a good time, Angel. Spike, he doesn't remember a lot of things. I mentioned your name to him and he didn't seem to know who you are. But, maybe in a few days we can try. Just, not now."

"Fine. But, Willow ... One word of advice, don't let Spike fool you."

Willow frowned. "What do you mean, Angel?"

"I mean, I know Spike. No matter how docile he may seem to you at the moment, he is still a killer: strong, swift and cunning. Whatever you do, don't let your guard down around him."

"Oh, ok, I won't." Willow could have told Angel that she had already learned that lesson the hard way, but it was still a lesson worth reminding. "I have to go now, Angel. But I'll call you again in a few days."

"All right, Willow. Remember what I said."

"I will. Bye."

She hung up the phone without waiting for the other to say his goodbyes.

Tentatively, she approached Spike.

"Spike, please get up."

Spike flinched when she stood next to him and his muttering increased in volume. "Don't touch, don't touch, I forgot. Stupid. Disgusting. Don't touch! Mistress doesn't want to be touched!"

Willow knelt down next to the vampire and spoke softly to him. "I didn't mean it that way. You're not disgusting, or stupid. You just can't... we can't... well, you just can't touch me in a certain way, because it wouldn't be right. But you can touch my hand if you want to."

Willow stretched her hand out to the vampire and watched him recoil from her. With a deep sigh she got up to her feet. "Spike, I think we should go to bed. I know you're a vampire and vampire's sleep during the day, but I have to get up early in the morning to go to the store."

Willow paused, remembering the futility of trying to explain things to Spike.

"Spike, go to bed." When the vampire started to crawl toward the stairs she said, "Don't. Stand up and walk."

Willow watched Spike walk away, his head bowed like a naughty child who had just been sent to bed without his dessert. Having no interest in witnessing his shame, Willow went to check the locks on the doors.

Before going to her room, she couldn't resist stopping in to check on Spike. He was laying on his side in the same fetal position she had found him in that morning. Slowly, she walked toward him.

"Spike, you did good today," she whispered softly to him. "You did really good."

When Spike looked up at her, Willow smiled warmly down at him. She playfully ran her fingers through his hair before leaving the room and heading for her bedroom. Once inside and remembering Angel's words, Willow locked her bedroom door, placed the stake that she had carried in the back of her waistband all day on her night stand, and collapsed on the bed, physically and emotionally exhausted.

~Part: 7~

Spike sat in the middle of the living room floor, his eyes fixed on a small crack on the wall in front of him. His gaze shifted nervously to the door, like it did every so often, and then returned to the same spot on the wall. It had been hours since his Mistress had left. She had awoken him early in the morning, telling him that she had to go but that she would be back, and to help himself to the blood in the fridge and anything else he wanted. Her only restrictions had been that he was not to open the door for anyone, leave the house or answer the telephone. Before he'd had a chance to throw himself at her feet and beg her not to leave him, she had gone.

Spike had remained in his room for hours afterward, until his hunger had drawn him out. Once in the main floor of the house, Spike had found himself wandering around aimlessly, at a loss for what to do. Finally, he had decided to follow the routine that his Mistress had established the previous day. He washed the few dishes in the sink and picked up and straightened things around the house. He had given up trying to figure out how to operate the washing machine, but had swept the floor twice to insure that it was done just the way the Mistress wanted it. By mid-afternoon he had run out of things to do and his anxiety started to peak.

His thoughts raced as Spike paced the length of the living room; doubts and fears tormented him. "What do I do if she doesn't come back? What if she forgets about me, like Glory did? What if I'm trapped here, alone, no food? Will someone come to feed me? Does anyone besides the Mistress know I'm here?"

Common sense told Spike that he wasn't trapped, that the exit door was right in front of him, and all he had to do was walk out. "Yeah, that's right, walk out. You think that's clever, don't you? Where would you go? Stupid, useless, who'd want you? Back to Glory? You think she wants you?"

"Not back to Glory. The Mistress will come back! She said she would, she said I did good. But what if she doesn't, what if she forgets. I'll be trapped here, alone, no food ..."

The circular thoughts continued to spin out of control inside Spike's brain, until with a roar, he picked up a vase from the coffee table and sent it crashing against the wall in frustration. That's when he had noticed the crack in the plaster. Stepping closer, Spike studied the small fracture, running his fingers over its jagged contour. He found that when all his concentration was focused on one specific point, his thoughts receded and his anxiety lessened. Spike sat in the middle of the living room, directly in front of the door, and stared at that one spot on the wall. He forced himself to not glance at the door to see if his Mistress was walking in, he ignored the noises that drifted in through the walls from the outside, he didn't look at the shifting shadows against the draperies that indicated the sun was setting outside; nothing existed at that time but him and that single crack on the wall.

~*~

Willow clumsily climbed the front steps, balancing the bags in her arms and trying to find the key for the door. Just when she thought she had it, one of the bags slipped from her hands and she scrambled to grab it, dropping the key chain on the floor. With a groan, Willow wondered if her day could possibly get any worst and she bent down to pick up the keys.

She finally managed to get the door open and stepped inside, coming to an abrupt halt when she found Spike sitting on the floor staring at the wall.

"Spike?" She called out to him.

When the vampire made no move to acknowledge her presence, Willow set the bags down on the floor and took a tentative step toward him.

"Spike, are you alright?" She looked curiously at the wall, trying to discern what the vampire was looking at.

Spike blinked and turned his eyes toward her, as if he had just realized that she was in the room. Willow frowned at the look in his eyes, the blue orbs looked glazed over and empty. She rushed forward.

"Spike, what's the matter, what happened, are you hurt?"

Before she could reach him Spike had risen onto his knees, kneeling before her.

"Mistress," he whispered and the empty look was gone, replaced by one of wonder and adoration.

"Spike, please get up. I told you before, you don't have to kneel in front of me, actually, I would appreciate it if you didn't, and you can call me by my name."

Willow watched the vampire slowly stand up while she wondered exactly what was going on in his mind and if there was a way for her to find out. She found his behavior so peculiar, so unlike the Spike she knew, that she had to wonder if he would ever again be the same as he had been before Glory took him. Willow dismissed the negative thought from her mind. She had to believe that his condition was temporary; otherwise, what was the point of everything she was doing?

"Spike, could you help me bring these bags into the kitchen?"

Not waiting for her, Spike took the bags and headed toward the kitchen, leaving Willow to follow. She found the vampire standing in the middle of the kitchen. The bags were neatly stacked on the table.

"I thought you weren't coming back," he stated simply. There was no accusation in his tone, only a hint of fear.

Willow frowned. "Spike, I live here - where else would I go?" Willow explained as she pulled the containers of pig's blood out of a bag and put them in the refrigerator. "It's just that I had to stop by Willy's on the way home, to get you some more blood, and I also stopped at a store and got you some clothes. You don't have to wear them now, but you know, for later." She retrieved two pairs of jeans and two t-shirts from another bag and offered them to the vampire, setting them down on the table when he made no move to take them.

"Spike, are you alright?"

The vampire took a couple of steps toward her and Willow fought hard against her instinct to retreat.

"I missed you, Mistress," Spike whispered huskily, bending his head down and inhaling deeply along the column of her neck.

His body didn't touch hers, but he was still standing a little too close for Willow's comfort. She suddenly understood the look she had seen in his eyes when she had first arrived, it had been fear. Spike was afraid that she was going to abandon him. It was a fear she knew well after having witnessed each of her friends move on without her. She put a hand on his arm.

"Spike, I'm not gonna leave you. I worked too long and too hard to get you back and I'm not going anywhere. But I still have to go to work. I run The Magic Box now, Giles left me in charge and I have to go to work everyday, but I'll always come back."

Spike pulled away from her and stared into her eyes, as if looking there for his memories. It was obvious that he understood that her words should mean something to him, but they didn't, and he was desperate to make sense of the world around him. An idea started to form in Willow's mind. Despite Spike's other problems, she felt his amnesia was the main obstacle to his recovery. If he could remember who and what he was, maybe it would be easier for him to be that vampire again.

"Spike, I have an idea," she said excitedly, grabbing Spike by the hand and guiding him to the living room couch. "You sit here and I'll be right back."

She ran down to the basement where she had found a forgotten box the day before, while looking for some clothes for Spike. Holding the box in her arms, she joined him in the living room. The vampire looked curiously at the box and Willow smiled at him reassuringly.

"They are just pictures. I want you to look at them, see if any of them sparks a memory."

She looked through the contents of the box, choosing a framed picture of Dawn. Spike had always been fond of Dawn, and Willow couldn't imagine Spike having any animosity toward her or bad memories about the girl. Turning toward him, Willow handed him the picture.

"This is Dawn, do you remember her?"

Spike studied the picture carefully, but eventually shook his head.

"She was The Key, but she was also human and Buffy's sister. They are both gone now, you know, dead. You were trying to save Dawn when Glory took you ..."

Spike looked sharply at Willow at the mention of Glory and Willow saw the uncertainty in his eyes. It was enough to make her realize that she had made a mistake by mentioning the Goddess' name.

"Spike, we are safe here, really. This house is protected, nothing can get in, and if something did, I would know about it in plenty of time. I think that if Glory wanted to come after me, she would have done it already. Besides, now that you're here, I'm going to find a way to seal the fissures in the portal for good, so that Glory can never come back."

Willow's words had been partially true. The house was well protected by an early detection spell that would let her know if anyone or anything even remotely dangerous approached it, and she had been looking for a spell to stabilize the portal and seal any fissure that Glory or one of her emissaries could use to gain access to them. The problem was that she was not certain she was strong enough to cast a spell of the magnitude needed to seal the portal. As it was, the spell she had done to take Spike back through the portal had drained her worst than she had anticipated. Before she attempted anything stronger than that, she had to find a way to boost her power, and the sooner the better.

The possibility that Glory would come after her once she realized that Willow had snatched Spike from right under her nose was real. Willow did not fool herself by thinking that she could ever defeat Glory. In the past, all she had managed to do against the Hell Goddess were quick hit and runs, with the emphasis on the running. Now that the Goddess was no longer bound to a mortal body and had returned to her dimension, the odds in favor of Willow were nonexistent. Her only hope was to seal the portal for good, and she thought that she had found a way. Willow didn't want to alarm Spike by informing him of her concerns regarding Glory, but she figured there wouldn't be any harm in letting him in on a bit of the good news.

"A guy came into the shop today and I think he might be able to help us. He is kind of creepy, but he said I had potential and that he could help make my magic stronger. I think he is a warlock or something. He said his name is Rack. He didn't leave an address or a number, but he said that I could find him whenever I wanted to. Do you think it's worth a try?"

Spike answered with his customary, meaningless nod before returning his eyes to the picture of Dawn. Willow smiled, satisfied that she had successfully distracted Spike from any thoughts of Glory.

Spike reached into the box and pulled out a second framed picture, staring at it as intently as he had done Dawn's. Willow nervously snatched the picture of Tara from his hands and put it back in the box. There were some ghosts that she was not yet ready to face herself.

"'Tell you what, Spike. Why don't we concentrate on you trying to remember Dawn for now. I'll leave the picture out and put it on the coffee table, so you can look at it anytime you want. If something comes back to you, let me know."

Spike watched the witch stand up and place the picture of the young girl on the table. Something about Dawn's picture had been familiar. He had disconnected memories of the girl, but none made much sense in isolation. It was as if he was looking at the pieces of a puzzle but was unable to bring the parts together to form a scene.

He was more interested in the other picture, the one the Mistress had tried to hide from him. He had seen something in her expression when she had taken the picture from him; pain, regret, and fear had all flashed across her face in that instant, and Spike wanted to know why.

~Part: 8~

From his hunched position in the corner, Spike watched Willow sleep. It was still dark outside, the first rays of sunlight were just beginning to lightly creep over the horizon, dispelling the clinging chill of the night. Inside the house it was bright and warm; electric lights were kept on day and night for the vampire who was afraid of the dark.

The woman on the bed shifted her body, stretching her arms outward and bending one leg at the knee. The sheet slipped away and a span of pale thigh was revealed. Spike wanted to move closer to the bed, feel that soft flesh against his own skin, bury his face between those silken thighs and lose himself in her scent.

Slowly, mindlessly, he crept forward, crawling the short distance to the bed and perching himself on the edge like a bird of prey. Willow shifted again and moaned, a small contented sound that ripped from her lips and straight through his dead heart. He wanted to be under her, around her and in her. Of their own volition, his fingers reached out to touch her flesh and then retracted like a cat's claws, reflexively. "The Mistress doesn't want to be touched. Would skin me alive if she even knew I was here. Maybe she already knows and she'll flay me anyway." Spike almost fled the room in terror at the false thoughts.

"What kind of bloody pathetic excuse for a demon are you? Want? Take! Grab her legs, spread them wide and put it to her. And if she screams? Bonus! You know she'll scream, they always do. You know you want her to."

Spike tilted his head slightly, studying the sleeping figure. Pale, long arms and legs protruded from the white cotton t-shirt and gray shorts. A cascade of red hair spread like a halo of fire around her head. She was laying on her stomach with the side of her face pressed against the pillow. Spike watched as her eyelids fluttered, her nose twitched and her lips parted slightly. Soft, full, rose petal colored lips. Spike ran his tongue over his own dry, cracked lips wondering what hers would taste like, how they would feel on his mouth, on his skin, on his cock. "Mistress wouldn't do that, she would never do that to me. I'm filthy, disgusting. I'm beneath her."

"You bloody wanker! She is a human, she is cattle, food, a happy meal on legs! You should be flayed, not for touching her, but for bowing down before her. It is she who should be on her knees before you, sucking your cock! Just bloody take her!"

"She is kind, she's been decent to me, I have no reason to want to hurt her. I won't hurt her."

The clock radio suddenly came on, blasting music from the speakers and interrupting Spike's inner dialogue. The unexpected sound startled the vampire and sent him staggering into the nearest corner of the room. Willow rolled over and batted with her hand at the clock several times before connecting with the snooze button. Spike knew the moment she realized she was not alone. Her body tensed and the scent of fear hit his nostrils like a crashing wave. He remained immobile in his corner, awaiting her reaction. She slowly sat up on the bed, her eyes scanning the room until they settled on his form which was illuminated by the light coming in from the hallway.

"Spike? What are you doing in here? Is something the matter?"

Spike began to shake his head, but stopped himself. What kind of demon walked around shaking and nodding his head, agreeing with anything a slip of a girl said? Instead, he asked Willow what he had been wondering since he had first arrived, but was only now able to put into words.

"Why did you do it? Why did you bring me back?"

Willow brushed the hair away from her face and gathered the covers closer to her, her sleep idled mind refusing to make sense of the situation.

"What? Why did I bring you back? Because, Glory took you and she was torturing you. I wanted to help you," she whispered unsurely.

"You know what I am. Why did you bring me back?" He asked more tersely. He could hear her breathing become heavier, her heartbeat faster.

"I, I, told you. You're my friend and - and I wanted to help you."

"Were we ever more?"

"Huh?"

Spike grew increasingly frustrated with her confusion. "More! Did - we - ever - fuck?" He ground out.

Willow's eyes grew wide and she shook her head vigorously, her long hair flailing wildly around her face. He saw her eyes shift nervously to the bedside table and back to him, and part of him wanted her to do what he knew she was thinking. She always carried the stake with her, hidden behind her back, thinking that he didn't notice. He imagined that she kept it nearby when she slept as well. It would be so easy, to kneel before her one last time knowing that he would never have to get back up. Part of him was already dead, the other part wanted to die, but the demon rebelled against the idea. The man wanted peace, the demon wanted vengeance.

Willow watched the vampire's stoic expression, the shifting color of his eyes the only clue to his inner turmoil. It was like watching a storm approach, its intensity building to a thundering crescendo. She gauged the distance between them, estimated the speed of the vampire, doubted that she could move fast enough if he decided to attack. Her body tensed in preparation to lunge for the stake hidden on the bedside table, behind the lamp. She didn't know if she would need it. After all, Spike had not exactly threatened her. But at that moment, the stunned woman did not know what to think.

The instant that the vampire moved, Willow turned and reached for the stake, her hand wrapping around it with practiced ease and confidence. She flung her head around to meet his attack and was confronted by the silence of an empty room.

Willow frowned and slowly lowered her hand, but kept her firm grip on the stake. She slowly left the bed and walked to the doorway, looking around the corner.

"Spike?"

With light footsteps she stepped out into the hall. Glancing behind her, she noticed the time on the clock. It would be daytime soon. She hoped that the vampire had not left the house. After checking the rest of the upstairs hallway and Spike's bedroom, Willow ventured down the stairs. She had not heard the front door open so she headed into the kitchen instead. A sound from the basement caught her attention and Willow headed in that direction.

The basement door was ajar and Willow called out.

"Spike! Spike, are you down there? Please answer me." Damn! I really don't want to go down there.

She walked down the first two steps and paused. "Spike, is it ok if I come down? Are you alright?" I'm just trying to help you, please don't kill me.

A few more tremulous steps and Willow was at the bottom of the stairs. The overhead light bulb that was always on provided a dim illumination, but Willow could not see the vampire anywhere.

"Spike, where are you?" She whispered, starting to doubt that the vampire was even in the basement.

"You shouldn't have done it. You should have left me where I was."

The voice had come from a darkened corner, and Willow turned in that direction. She could see the outline of the vampire sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall.

"Spike, can we maybe talk about this, like, maybe upstairs, where it is not so, you know, creepy? Not that I'm saying you're creepy, but you know, basement, shadows, vampire ..."

A rueful laugh reached her ears and Willow took a step back.

"A little late to start being afraid of monsters, don't you think, Red?"

"Spike, what is going on ...?" Her next words died in her throat when she realized what he had said. "What did you call me?"

She felt him hesitate, and Willow wished that she could make out his expressions, maybe find a clue there as to what was happening in his mind.

"I ... I called you, Red? I don't know why..."

"You always called me that! Is that what is happening, you are remembering?" Willow could not keep the excitement from her voice, although if Spike had regained his memories, his reaction was nothing like what she had expected.

"The demon remembers," he answered.

Willow frowned in confusion. Did that mean that he remembered or not?

"Spike, I don't understand." Unsure of the situation she was in, she glanced longingly at the stairs behind her, wondering if he would follow her up. She knew she would find being closer to the exit door comforting.

"The demon remembers what it is, knows what you are. I can feel it inside me, screaming to be let free. It wants revenge, it wants blood, it wants you."

"Revenge, blood ... Me!" Willow continued to back away toward the stairs. "Spike, I don't think I understand what you're trying to say ... but ... can we please go upstairs?"

She startled when Spike stood up and started walking toward her. "I'm sorry," he said as he came to a halt in front of her.

His tone was meek and his apology sounded sincere, although Willow was not certain exactly for what he was apologizing. Nevertheless, she started to walk backward up the stairs, keeping the stake hidden behind her back and her eyes on the vampire.

Once she reached the living room, Willow headed into the kitchen, remembering Spike's words about the demon wanting blood. By the time that Spike joined her in there, Willow already had a mug of blood heating in the microwave and the stake securely tucked into the waistband of her shorts. She turned around and carefully studied the vampire in front of her. Spike was standing in the entrance to the kitchen, nervously fidgeting, his eyes lowered. He looked almost shy, but mostly confused and Willow assessed that the immediate danger was past. She still wanted to know what had made him react the way he had and what he had meant by his words, but she was not sure where to begin. She concluded that the beginning was the best place to start.

She tried to keep her tone of voice even despite the still erratic beating of her heart. "Spike, why were you in my room?"

Spike' eyes did not meet hers. "I went in to beg you not to leave me. I didn't want to be here alone all day again. Things don't make sense when I'm alone," he explained.

"Ok, and then what happened?" She asked as she handed him a mug filled with warm blood. She noticed that this time there was no hesitation before he took it from her hand. Willow started the coffee pot, glancing at the clock on the wall. She would probably be late opening the store; she hoped no one was there waiting for her when she arrived.

"It felt wrong."

"What felt wrong?"

Spike clenched his jaw, causing the muscles in his face to twitch. "This whole bloody thing. Me being here, groveling before you, begging you not to leave me alone. I don't really remember who you are. Hell, I hardly remember anything about me, but part of me knows what I am and it knows that I'm not supposed to be following some human around like a bloody pup." His voice was low but loaded with resentment.

Willow stared agape at the vampire. "Spike, I never asked you to do any of those things! I tried to tell you not to, but you did and I let you because, you know, I didn't know what else to do," she tried to explain.

"I did it because I was scared; I still am. All I want to do right now is throw myself at your feet and do whatever I have to do to keep you from walking out that door, and I hate myself for it! I hate being this weak ..." He concluded with a sob.

Willow sighed deeply. Ironically, she'd had this same conversation with herself dozens of times. Each time she'd had to watch one of her friends die, the day of Buffy's funeral when she had watched Angel leave Sunnydale vowing never to return, the day she had seen Giles off at the airport, the day Xander had moved away for good ... She had wanted to throw herself down on her knees and beg not to be the one left behind and she had hated herself for it. The only difference was that while Spike could find solace in his amnesia, she carried each vivid memory around with her everyday.

"Spike, I don't think needing others makes us weak, maybe it just means that we are vulnerable. Nothing wrong with being vulnerable. It's part of what makes us ...." She paused, realizing that what she was about to say did not apply to Spike, and suddenly gained a new understanding. Vulnerability was a human condition and Spike was not human, or maybe he was more human than he wanted to admit and that's what was wrong.

Spike was staring at her intently, as if he was daring her to finish her sentence. Willow shifted uncomfortably, not sure how to ask her next question.

"Spike, why did you ask if we had ever, you know...?"

"If we ever shagged?" He finished for her. He shrugged when she nodded. "'Cause I can't figure out what you want from me. I thought maybe you had a thing for me at one time. Grasping at bloody straws here, I guess."

"Good question, what do I want from him, where is all this leading?" Willow thought to herself. "I don't want anything from you. I just wanted to help you."

How could she explain to him that it was her guilt, combined with her need to have someone by her side that had driven her to rescue him? What would he say if he knew that she had needed to bring him back for herself and not for him? That she needed him to get well for her. Spike seemed to accept her explanation and an uncomfortable silence ensued.

Willow's face suddenly lit up. "Spike, would you like to come to the store with me? I could drive you there in the trunk of my car and you could spend the day with me. That way you wouldn't have to stay here alone all day!"

For a moment she thought that Spike was going to protest, but he finally agreed, nodding his head. Willow forced a smile to her face. "Good, you can wear the new clothes I got you. We've got to hurry though, or we are going to be late."

Half an hour later, Willow was on her way to The Magic Shop with Spike safely stashed in the trunk of her car.

~Part: 9~

Spike paced across the livingroom floor, his anxiety escalating. It had been two weeks since the day Willow had first taken him with her to The Magic Box, and for several days after they had followed the same routine. Spike went with Willow to the shop in the morning, returned with her in the evening and he would watch t.v. while she made dinner. Each night after dinner, Willow would pull out a photograph from the box and tell him the person's name along with a bit of information about who they were. She would then ask him if he remembered anything and sighed her disappointment, placing the photo on the table, when he shook his head. Spike had waited for Willow to pull the photo of the girl with the long, brown hair out of the box and tell him about her, but she still hadn't.

Then a week earlier, Willow had announced after dinner that she had to leave the house, alone. That's when things had changed. This was the third night in a row that Willow had left the house shortly after dinner and not returned for hours.

Spike walked into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of vodka that Willow kept there for company that never came. After taking a healthy gulp, he walked back into the living room and slumped on the couch. His eyes stared vacantly at the pictures on the table while his mind tried to solve the puzzle of Willow.

Several more framed photographs had joined the photo of the girl named Dawn. There was the picture of a blonde girl that Willow had identified as a slayer, although Spike could not understand why a slayer would be significant to him, a young man with dark hair and dark eyes, a female demon with human features and an older man wearing glasses. They were ghosts, none of them meant anything to him, only Willow meant something and there were no photos of her in the house. He had thought about asking her to place a photo of herself on the table, along with the others, but he had changed his mind. It was bad enough that he couldn't stand to be away from the woman for more than a couple of hours at a time and that she was never out of his thoughts - he wasn't about to beg her for a photo of herself to keep him company when she left the house.

Spike heard the lock on the door click and felt every muscle in his body coil in anticipation. Her scent drifted into the room as she walked in and closed the door, and Spike inhaled deeply, letting the smell wrap itself around him like a comforting blanket.

"You were gone a long time," he pointed out, trying to keep the edge of bitterness and desperation from his voice.

If he failed, she didn't seem to notice. She stared at him with wide, glistening eyes before her lips stretched into a smile.

"Did you miss me?" She chirped.

The smile was artificial, too wide and fixed on her face, and her words were slurred.

The vampire frowned at her. "Always." It was an admission that tore at his gut, but no less true because of it.

She circumvented the couch, heading for the kitchen on unsteady legs. He felt the tips of her fingers ghost over his shoulder as she walked past behind him. His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, looking for the subtle scent that he already knew would be there. It had surprised him the first night when she had returned home and he had detected the distinct smell of sexual arousal on her. He knew that she was not going out to meet a lover, because there wasn't another's scent on her. Still, the smell of sex had been there every time she returned, for the past three nights.

Something was not right with her, not exactly wrong since she didn't seem injured or distraught in any way, but something was definitely amiss.

"Are you alright, Mistress?" He asked over his shoulder. He rarely used the title these days when he addressed her, only when he felt anxious or confused and needed to reassure himself that someone was in control when he wasn't.

"I'm fine, Spike, just a little tired. I told you, I've been going to see this guy who is helping me with my magic." Her voice had an odd sing-song tilt to it.

He heard the refrigerator door open and close, and he tuned into the faint sound of her throat constricting and relaxing as she drank something she had taken from the fridge.

"It's late, Spike. You should go to bed," he heard her say finally.

"I will," he answered absently, letting the tip of his tongue skim across his top lip, savoring the clinging scent of her arousal.

As she walked across the room and up the stairs, Spike thought about what it would be like to taste the real thing, to run his tongue over her moist curls and soft folds. His cock stirred inside his pants and he squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating on the sound of her steps fading down the upstairs hallway, until he heard the soft click of her door and knew that she was in her room. He waited, counting to ten in his head, his needless breath quickening at the knowledge that what he was about to do was so wrong and yet it would feel so right.

Slowly rising to his feet, he hesitated only an instant before he began to ascend the stairs. He continued down the hall, approaching her bedroom door with predatory stealth honed over a century of hunting.

He leaned against the door, listening for the sounds he hoped would soon be coming from inside the room. A loud gasp that ended in a moan reached his ears. She had started without him tonight. His fingers found the button of his pants and the zipper was lowered, freeing his hard and ready cock. He set a torturously slow rhythm of barely there strokes, picturing the scene inside the room. Willow on her bed, naked, legs splayed, both hands between her legs, fingers pushing into her slicked hole, rubbing the hard little nub. His lips set into a tight, grim line as he attempted to suppress the groan that built in his throat.

His balls ached. He wanted to clench his fist around his shaft, pull on it hard and fast until he came; instead, he continued the gentle strokes, prolonging the agony. It would be wrong to find his release. He would endure his longing until she had gotten her pleasure, and only then, maybe, he would he allow himself to cum.

The first night he had heard his mistress pleasuring herself had been purely by accident. Concerned over his mistresses' strange behavior when she had returned from her nighttime foray, and unable to sleep, he had paced restlessly around the house. A sound had caught his attention as he walked past her door. The scents and sounds coming from the room had been overwhelming. He had hunched down next to the door and masturbated quickly, terrified that the woman inside would somehow know what he was up to. He had caught his release in the palm of his hand and run to his room, ashamed of what he had done. The second night he had approached the door hesitantly, the voice in his head that he hardly paid heed to anymore telling him how nasty and wrong what he was about to do was, how bad he was for doing it. He had listened and stroked himself until the woman inside had wailed her orgasm, and then he had quietly drifted away to his room. Tonight, there had been hardly a moment of hesitation.
 He had found that he could assuage his fear by denying himself release.

He frowned and pressed the side of his face closer to the door. She was panting harshly now and mumbling incoherently. He strained to make sense of her rambling.

"Oh, yes. Yes! Right there, mmmmm. Oh, fuck, yes, Spike, yes!"

His name on her lips was like a siren call that sent a jolt down his spine and straight to his cock. One hand squeezed the swollen shaft it held while the fingers of the other crawled across the wall like a spider and wrapped themselves around the doorknob. A soft click, then a push, and the door gave. One step, two, then three and he was standing just inside the threshold, his swollen and dripping cock still cradled in his hand. She was a vision on the bed, carnal and obscene, the incarnation of all his fantasies and desires.

Willow saw through the slits of her half-closed lids the light that filtered in from the hallway as the door opened, heard him slip into the room, knew that his eyes could see all of her even in the dim illumination, and she didn't care. Her universe was a burning haze of unnatural and feral lust, the pivot of which was her cunt and nothing else mattered. She had considered stopping at one of the numerous bars on the way home, picking out a stranger and fucking his or her brains outs. It didn't matter who, any faceless body would do as long as it could make the craving in her stop. But she couldn't bring herself to do it, not her. Good, responsible girls didn't do things like that, instead, they went home and rubbed their pussies raw with their own fingers while fantasizing about demons and hoped that it would be enough.

The knowledge that Spike was watching only fanned the blaze and her hips bucked, driving her fingers deeper. She thought she heard him say something, softly and hesitantly, a single-word question.

"Mistress?"

The word, uttered from his lips, caused a myriad of tawdry and perverse images to burst into her mind. Visions of him tied to her bed, willing and helpless as she used his body to fill every hole in hers, satisfy every longing. She bent her knees and curled her toes as a guttural groan ripped from her throat and a flood of moisture bathed her fingers. The mattress dipped and cool fingers grasped her ankles, nudging her legs further apart. He brushed her hands aside and she let him, because she was as helpless as he was. A cool tongue laved her folds and it felt like ice against the furnace of her core. Her walls fluttered as a finger entered her, quickly joined by another.

She bolted upright, supporting her upper body with her forearms as she intently watched the figure lying between her spread thighs. It was too dark in the room to make out his features or to see what he was doing, and the anonymity of the encounter made it somehow permissible in her clouded mind. There was no Willow and Spike, just tongues and fingers and cunt and cock and cum. She writhed and keened and he added another finger, acknowledging her need.

"Don't... don't ... don't..." she panted.

His fingers immediately withdrew and she almost wailed at the loss.

"Don't stop, please don't stop!"

And the fingers were back, thrusting savagely into her. He added a fourth finger and her body flung back against the bed. Her arms flew up to grasp the headboard.

"More! Harder!" She commanded.

Her walls convulsed and protested as she found herself painfully stretched beyond her limit. She knew he was sliding his whole hand into her as his tongue lapped furiously at her clit; it was too much and not enough. Her skin grew moist with perspiration and she gritted her teeth and thrust against him, impaling herself on his fist. She heard him mumble against her skin, soothing words, encouraging words, terms of endearment, at one time she thought she heard him ask her for reassurance that what he was doing was alright. None of it mattered except that he was filling the void inside her as surely as he was filling her with his hand. A few more licks to her clit and Willow threw her head back, screaming her orgasm as her entire being seemed to erupt and pour out of her.

She was still quivering and panting when she felt him withdraw his hand and bury his face against her thigh. His tongue traveled over her skin, lapping up the juices there. Willow remained immobile, staring at the ceiling as she felt him lick her thighs, her mound, between her folds and further down, cleaning all evidence of her pleasure with his tongue. She knew she had crossed a line, not only with Spike but within herself, and the realization was numbing. It was not until she heard the door close and the room was swallowed in complete darkness that she realized Spike was gone.

~*~

The following evening, Willow stood in front of her kitchen sink glancing nervously at the clock while she furiously scrubbed an already pristine glass. When she had awakened that day and after the events of the previous night, she had promised herself that she would not go back to Rack's, that she would find another way to strengthen her powers and seal the rift in the portal. Now, several hours later, the decrepit den with its smell of incense and sin was all she could think about. Her skin tingled and her stomach clenched in anticipatory need, because she knew that she would go back and the looming threat of a pissed-off hell goddess had nothing to do with her reasons.

She shoved the soapy rag into the glass and gave her wrist a sharp twist. The glass split with the force of her thrust, the sharp edge catching and ripping the skin on the side of her hand.

"Damn it!" She yelled as she threw the broken glass against the sink, watching it shatter and glass splinters fly in every direction.

She jumped back to avoid the volley of tiny projectiles and winced at the soreness between her legs.

Hurried steps sounded in the other room.

"You alright?"

"Do I fucking look alright to you?!" She screamed as she snatched a kitchen towel from the counter and wrapped it around her hand.

Shame suffused her as she watched the vampire teeter unsurely at the entrance to the kitchen, his eyes innocently wide as he tried to make sense of her outburst.

"I'm fine. I just ... just cut myself ... and made a mess." She motioned toward her towel wrapped hand and then the sink.

Spike nodded silently before walking to the sink. He started picking up the pieces of glass with his bare hands.

"Use a towel or you'll cut yourself," she offered curtly before walking out of the kitchen.

He had been watching her closer than usual, she had felt his eyes on her at every turn, but other than that, there had been no allusions to what had transpired between them. If it wasn't for the soreness between her legs, she could have easily pretended that it had all been a dream.

She shut the bathroom door behind her and removed the towel from her hand to inspect the damage. As she cleansed the wound and applied antibiotic ointment to it, her eyes shifted occasionally to study her reflection in the mirror. It felt as if she should look different, as if the darkness that she felt cursing through her veins should evidence itself on her features to warn off unsuspecting souls. But like Dorian Gray's, her exterior seemed immutable by sin, except that she didn't have a portrait hidden anywhere, and so she had to carry the ugliness inside her.

Maybe if Spike could loath her half as much as she loathed herself she could deal with it. If he would yell at her what an ugly, nasty thing she was, then maybe it would lessen her burden. But his quiet acceptance of her actions cut her deeper than any insult he could have thrown at her. She hastily bandaged her hand and stormed out of the bathroom, grabbing her purse from the bedroom on her way.

She found Spike still in the kitchen, sweeping the floor.

"I'm going out. I got you some cigarettes and another bottle of vodka," she informed him, pointing to the counter.

He eyed the items suspiciously, but finally nodded and returned to his task. Strange how the acquisition of new vices makes one more tolerant of the vices of others, Willow mused as she walked out the front door.

~Part: 10~

Willow trudged through a deserted and singularly dreary stretch of Sunnydale, ignoring the late night chill. The light from the single lamppost flickered and Willow stopped, staring with unnatural fascination at the burst of colored lights that danced before her eyes.

"Wow," she whispered, before she resumed her aimless trajectory.

She was looking for her car, or maybe she had given up trying to find the spot where she had parked and she was just walking, she wasn't sure. Rack insisted on changing the location of his den on a frequent basis and Willow had to "feel" for it every time. She was sure this was the street where she had parked, but maybe that had been the previous night, or the night before that.

A rustling noise sounded from behind and Willow turned to glance curiously down the deserted street. Shrugging her shoulders when she didn't see anything but an empty paper sack being tossed around by the breeze, she returned her eyes to the road ahead of her. After taking a few more steps, Willow slumped against a large dumpster and sighed. Her situation struck her as ridiculous and she chuckled. A stray cat peered curiously at her from behind the dumpster and Willow dropped to her knees, staring with wide, dilated eyes at the small creature.

"Hey, kitty, kitty! You wouldn't happen to have seen my car, have you? I can conjure up some nummy salmon for you if you show me where it is!"

Willow giggled when the cat stared at her, its ears perked. She once again heard the rustling noise behind her, this time accompanied by what sounded like a wail. The cat's ears flattened and its fur bristled; it let out a menacing hiss before dodging behind the dumpster and scurrying away. Willow pouted.

"Don't be scared, kitty, it's just the wind."

She glanced over her shoulder and felt a gust of air rush past her before the street became once again deadly still.

Ok, creepy now, she thought to herself as she got up to her feet.

The car forgotten, she allowed her feet to lead her instinctively home. She was only a couple of blocks away from the house when out of the corner of her eye she saw a blur of movement, an instant before she was hit from the side and her body flew in the air, landing hard against the sidewalk. Scrambling to regain her balance, Willow turned around and saw a medium size, lizard-like demon standing in front of her, seconds before one of his claws hit her across the face, sending her careening back to the ground. Willow was momentarily stunned by the impact, and she felt her body being lifted like a rag doll's and flung into a neighbor's front yard.

She landed hard, the air knocked out of her lungs. Before she could react, the demon was on top of her, staring into her face with shiny, yellow eyes. Whispering an incantation under her breath, Willow pushed at the demon with both of her hands. It stumbled back, but didn't go far. Taking advantage of the momentary reprieve, Willow jumped to her feet and ran for the safety of the house.

As she reached her front yard, she felt the demon gaining on her. She turned around as the demon lunged at her, sending her flying back to the ground. Willow brought her legs up and kicked the demon in the midriff. It wavered slightly, but did not fall. The demon was fast and very strong. Summoning all her power, she sent a burst of energy at the creature, hitting it square in the chest. Two more bursts followed in quick succession. She was stunned to see that the demon seemed hardly affected, maybe only slightly disoriented. With as much power as she had put behind each burst, the demon should have been zapped into a pile of goo.

Starting to panic, Willow scrambled for her front porch. Inhaling a big gulp of air, she screamed for Spike at the top of her lungs. The noise seemed to startle the demon into action and it was once again upon her, grabbing Willow by the hair and flinging her around the front yard. Retrieving the wooden stake lodged into the waistband of her pants, she buried it into the demon's leg, eliciting a howl from it and momentarily stunning it. Willow broke free and ran for the door, her heart pounding.

"Spike, open the door!" She managed to yell before the demon was once more on top of her, knocking her back down to the ground.

She heard a roar, felt a swish of air brush against her body and the weight of the demon was gone. Lifting her head, Willow saw her front door wide open. She hoisted herself up on her hands and knees and crawled the short distance, collapsing just inside the threshold.

Aware of the sounds of a scuffle in her front yard, she looked over her shoulder to see Spike on top of the demon, attacking it with his bare hands.

"Spike, come inside! There's a protective barrier around the house, just run inside!" She yelled frantically, afraid that the demon would seriously injure the still somewhat weakened and confused vampire.

Spike ignored her plea, continuing to roar, ripping into the demon's flesh with fangs and claws until there was nothing left of the creature but an unidentifiable, quivering, gelatinous mass. Only then did the vampire turn toward Willow, his face human again, but his eyes still flashing amber. As he slowly approached her, Willow crawled backward into the house, clearing the doorway for the vampire.

She cautiously watched him step into the house and close the door behind him. Still stunned by the unexpected attack and Spike's display of rage against the demon, Willow remained immobile on the floor. Granted the demon had been trying to beat her to a pulp and doing a fine job of it, but she was certain that Spike's reaction qualified as overkill. Everything had happened so fast that Willow had not yet had time to digest the details, but she was almost certain that Spike had continued to rip the demon's body apart long after it was dead. She found some comfort in the fact that despite Spike's tenuous mental condition, he was still capable of defending himself; she also shuddered at the thought that he could one day unleash that kind of fury on her.

Groaning with pain and feeling as if her muscles had just been put through a blender, Willow allowed Spike to help lift her to her feet.

"Uh, that was ... that was ..." Willow grappled for the right words to describe what she had just witnessed in her front yard. "Ok, it was gross, and a little unnerving. Thank you, I guess?"

Spike turned empty eyes toward her.

Pain shot through her ribcage and she reached for the couch to keep herself from falling.

"Damn Glory!" Willow muttered as she sat down, rubbing her sore side. She didn't see the vampire tense next to her at the mention of the name.

"Glory?" He asked, his voice shaking.

Willow nodded. "It has to be. I threw everything I had at that demon. It's like it was protected from magic. I bested Glory a couple of times and now she occasionally sends something creepy and slimy after me, her little way of saying 'I'm thinking of you,' I guess."

"You defeated Glory?" Spike asked, a combination of awe and skepticism in his voice.

"Uh, I didn't exactly defeat her. It was more like I hit her and ran very fast. But, hey, I'm still here! We both are, so I guess that does kind on make it like we defeated her ... Except that she is not dead and can still send stuff after us ..."

Willow stopped talking when she saw the effect that her words were having on Spike. He had grown even more pale, if that was possible, and his eyes had a wild look about them as he scanned the room.

She tried to distract him from his thoughts. "Maybe you should get cleaned up," she suggested.

Spike's body was covered with the demon's thick, slippery, blood-like substance and Willow's clothes and hair were disheveled and soiled.

"I don't think she knows you're here. If she knew, I think it would have been a lot worst," she added reassuringly.

Looking anything but reassured, Spike nodded and headed in the direction of the bathroom. She watched him disappear up the stairs before she hobbled to the kitchen and withdrew a bottle of water from the refrigerator, leaning heavily against the counter while she drank.

She had not wanted to upset Spike, but Willow knew that the lizard-demon was more than just the fickle whim of a goddess bent on complicating her life. It had been a long time since Glory had sent something specifically after her and never anything that strong. She would have to cast the spell soon. She had picked up a few tricks from Rack, and was almost certain that she could now gather enough power for a spell that would close the fissure in the portal between dimensions for good, a fair trade in her estimation.

You have to give something to get something. It had taken her a little while to figure out what it was Rack had been taking from her. Not power, she had made sure of that. It wasn't until she took a good look at the others in the den's waiting room that the answer had come to her. Their gaps varied in degrees, but they were all missing the same thing, part of their souls. That was Rack's payment, and ironically also his product. He expertly incised and collected rice paper thin slices of each person's soul and with that the part of themselves they didn't want, their guilt, their restraint, their control - a piece of their conscience.

Willow had been surprised to discover that it wasn't the dicing and the slicing that was painful, the aftermath was right down liberating. It was the healing that always did her in - when the soul began to heal and scar, as all wounds except for the fatal ones do, and the area would become oversensitive to guilt and desperation. That's when she had to run back to Rack, to let him make the pain stop by scraping away the scar tissue and gouging out more of the soul underneath. You have to give something to get something. And she could live with that because the giving felt so good.

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