Summary: Angst, sex and dancing...my twisted idea of romance.
Spoiler: This story is set late in Season Three of BtVS. For my own
reasons Faith did not remain in Sunnydale nor is the Mayor any sort of
threat.
Yes, yes, I know, destroy the whole season. Set a few months
after "Lovers Walk".
A/N: A little warning, this story is nothing but romantic drivel ~ you know, fluff and drivel.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
~Part: 3~
Willow stared down at her feet, watching the movements whilst she concentrated on the soft sound. It was Friday afternoon, about an hour until the sun would set, and Willow was making her way home through one of the many shadowed streets of suburbia. She was lost in a maze of thoughts, at the forefront of which was Bronzing, that was the plan for tonight. Well, according to Buffy and Xander it was. Oz had no say, he hadn’t been in school or at home all day, apparently taking off early for yet another gig in some other town. Willow had shrugged off the suggestion, feigning a headache, although she knew that in all probability she would end up going and it would end up like every other Friday night at the Bronze - she would be the bag girl while Buffy and Xander danced, at least until Angel showed up, then she’d have Xander for company.
Willow shook her head, chastising herself for her own gloomy train of thought, this time last week she would never have entertained such a pessimistic outlook of her usual Friday night entertainment. It was all Spike’s fault, the things he’d said to her that first night in the library, they were clouding her judgment. She kept trying to justify herself and her lifestyle, trying to prove him wrong and that was the problem. No matter what she told herself, his words seemed to ring true and it was infuriating.
And still she hadn’t told anyone of his nightly appearances.
Of course she’d had the perfect opportunity to tell all when Angel had exploded through the library doors on Wednesday night. Willow blushed at the memory, standing on the table, music blaring away in the background and not a trace of evidence that the blond had even been there. Angel had, after his initial surprise, demanded an explanation and she’d once more fallen back on her well-known phobia of frogs. It explained everything or at least provided a reasonably stable foundation for most of the situation that the vampire had walked into. It had been too easy to lie about everything, assuring Angel that Oz had been sedated due to hysteria, evidence of which could be seen in the additional dents in the book cage, and that the music had been turned on in attempt to soothe herself and the werewolf.
Willow frowned, Angel hadn’t been as accepting or as gullible as Giles and last night, the final night of Oz’s cycle, the dark haired vampire had stayed with her the entire night. It had been strange though, not long after Angel’s arrival the werewolf had become rabid, throwing himself at the cage with his teeth bared in a frenzied fit of violence, and so for the third evening Oz had been tranquilized. At the time Willow had wondered if it was the smell of vampires in general, or whether Spike was somewhere close by. Either way she had no real opportunity to explore the possibilities since the remainder of the long night had been spent chatting with Angel. He’d skillfully prodded and probed, asking her any number of questions that she’d tried to side step, especially when he turned the subject to her and it was something that hadn’t gone unnoticed by him. Willow winced, undoubtedly if she did end up going to the Bronze tonight then Angel might want to continue their little tête-à-tête and she didn’t think that she could avoid his questions, she’d just blurt everything out. Why then did she feel so guilty? Shouldn’t she tell her friends, tell Angel the truth of what had been happening, let him protect her?
The low hum of a powerful car engine disrupted her guilty thoughts and Willow glanced back over her shoulder as a strangely familiar black car turned into the end of the street. Rolling her eyes briefly, she turned her attention back to her feet. Undoubtedly the car belonged to one of the jocks at school, some hoon who had decided that some drive-by abuse would be funny. It wasn’t the first time that Willow had been subjected to it and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. She could see it clearly in her mind’s eye, the car would slow as it approached her, abuse would be hollered and the car would speed off amongst the sounds of laughter and the squeal of tires.
Only it didn’t happen like that.
The car slowed, pulling closer to the curb, but there was no abuse. Instead the driver’s door swung open and an arm wrapped about her waist, and with a quick tug she was drawn into the interior. The door was jerked shut and the accelerator was slammed to the floor as the car sped off. Surprise was soon replaced with panic as Willow found herself sprawled across Spike’s lap, and she scrambled from his hold, into the passenger seat, blindly reaching for the door handle.
"You know, pet, you really don’t want to do that,” he stated, spinning the wheel, making the tires screech as they turned a corner, and reached for a pack of cigarettes that were on the dashboard. He glanced over at her as he pulled out a cigarette and smirked while she jerked uselessly on the door handle.
"Oh, okay,” Willow said sarcastically, still frantically trying to open the door, twisting the handle and leaning her full weight back against it. “You think I should just sit calmly in the car while you drive us to…to wherever you think we’re going…"
"LA. We’re going dancing,” Spike stated, lighting up the cigarette and taking a deep drag. He watched as she continued to struggle with the handle and he blew the smoke in her direction, smirking as she glared at him. "You won’t get anywhere doing that, it doesn’t open from the inside."
The trip was relatively short, thanks to Spike’s manic driving ability and total disregard for the speed limit. Willow spent most of it trying to talk the blond into letting her go, presenting various logical arguments that he simply laughed off. He had assured her that she wouldn’t be missed – until it was too late – and that there was nothing for her to do but sit back and enjoy the ride. Not that she had, preferring instead to try and formulate some plan of escape once they were in the city and free of the confines of the car. The only scheme she had was relatively simple, as Spike opened the door she stood up, gained her balance and tried to run for it.
Unfortunately Spike was preternaturally fast in his reactions and easily caught her fleeing arm, spinning her back and with the full force of her frantic flight still influencing her, she crashed into his chest.
"Now, now, you don’t want to upset me. After all, I could just leave you here at the mercy of the city. No money, no ID, no protection…how long do you think you’d last?" he sneered down at her, his fingers gripping her upper arm and the sneer became a smirk as he practically dragged her along the street they were in. "I doubt you’d even make it to a pay phone to call home. First stop…" he disdainfully glanced over her as they continued to walk. "Clothes."
There was no time for her to argue or protest and the vampire never relented his hold on her as he pushed open the double doors that led into what was obviously a boutique of sorts. It was deceptive though, the building had been non descript, there was no mega large neon sign brightly announcing to all of LA what the building held, there were just the huge doors that opened into a whole new reality. A reality that had its own species of silicon enhanced aliens and one of them was rushing over to the couple, the perfect plastic blonde who nearly blinded them with a million watt smile.
“Hi,” she greeted them in a bubbly voice. “Can I help you with anything?”
“Yeah,” Spike stated, releasing his hold on Willow. "I’d like to speak to Andrew. You can tell him that it’s Spike and a little bundle of joy that needs wrapping."
With her newfound freedom, Willow wrapped her arms about herself and slowly took in the foyer. She was trying to be inconspicuous as she turned about in the area, judging the distance to the doors and wondering if Spike would notice her slowly inching towards them. A chuckle from beside her dashed all hopes and she turned back to find the vampire watching her intently. The study was short-lived, interrupted by the arrival of a man so well dressed and groomed that he simply he had to be gay, and Spike reached out to take his hand in greeting before casually throwing an arm across his shoulder to turn him to face Willow.
"Andrew, this is my little bundle,” Spike cocked his head, seeing for the first time exactly what Willow was wearing. “As you can see, she isn’t exactly dressed for any occasion and I need you to fix that for me."
"An occasion? " asked Andrew, also looking at her current outfit of a baby blue mini skirt, matching tights with sneakers and a fluffy sweater. He almost grimaced at her before turning back to the blond vampire. “What, pray tell, does she need to be dressed for?”
"Dancing, mate,” Spike turned away from Willow. “We’re going to the Club.”
“The Club? Well,” Andrew arched an eyebrow as he crossed his arms and brought one hand up to his face, tapping his fingers against his lips as he shook his head slightly. “She certainly will need something…different. One does suppose that we could offer our assistance, do you have anything in particular in that deviant mind of yours?”
“No,” Spike grunted and turned back to face the redhead. “Give her options, she can make her own choice.”
“Do you think that’s entirely,” Andrew paused and once more looked her over in the most condescending and critical way. “Wise?”
Willow wanted the floor to swallow her. Defensively, she folded her arms across her chest and turned away from the unlikely duo to look about the store. The foyer was decorated in rich, warm wood paneling and it seemed to lead into three different areas, all filled with a variety of clothes and numerous accessories. As far as she could tell anything you wanted seemed to be there. But perhaps the most intimidating thought was that for all intents and purposes Spike was quite well known to the staff. Considering that she’d only ever seen him in one outfit it was a disturbing and unnerving revelation.
"…then take what she’s wearing and burn the bloody stuff," it was the tail end of the conversation and Willow had no idea as to what Spike was talking about. "How long do you reckon this will take?"
"How long have you got?" Andrew demanded dramatically.
"I’ll give you an hour,” he stated as he turned to Willow. “Now, then, be a good little girl while I’m gone and you won’t be spanked…unless of course you beg…”
“Oh beg,” Andrew drawled from behind them. “He’s so damn good at it.”
It was a simultaneous movement for both Willow and Spike, to turn and stare at the man with his eyes glazed over in a long lost memory.
“Andrew, I want you to take special care of this little bundle,” Spike smirked, turning his attention back to Willow, the smirk dissolving into a malevolent look and his eyes hardened. “Like your life depended on it, because if she’s not here when I get back, then you die.”
Never once while making the threat did Spike take his eyes off Willow and she knew that although the warning had been directed at someone else, Andrew’s well being depended completely on her. So she was stuck and even more so as Andrew grabbed her hand and started leading her into one of the three chambers of the store.
“Run along,” Andrew waved at the vampire as he led Willow away. “We will be perfectly fine without you…”
An hour later and Andrew was thoroughly regretting that blasé statement. They were in one of the sumptuous fitting rooms and clothes covered nearly every available surface, except for the lavish red velvet chaise lounge that he was sitting on in a state of shock while Willow stood in the middle of the maelstrom, chewing on her bottom lip.
"I don’t know, what do you think? I mean, you’ve obviously heard of this place and I’ve got no idea how they dress. Is there a dress code? Should I go for a dress, or would pants be better? I’m not sure…"
“Enough,” shrieked Andrew, jumping off the chaise and rubbing at his temples as he approached her. Bringing his hands down and clasping them together in an overwrought imitation of prayer, he smiled at her, one of those anxious smiles that were the forerunner to a nervous breakdown. “It is not a difficult concept, my dear. One sees something one likes and one takes it. Now, out of all of these beautiful, exquisite clothes, is there not one item that you completely and utterly adore? That you desire? That you simply cannot live without? All you have to do is pick it out and take it…”
"Not a hard thing to do, love, " Willow spun around at the sound of Spike’s voice. He was leaning against the archway, watching her. "I do it every day…I see something I want and I take it. Don’t tell me you can’t make up your own mind, little witch. Kids these days,” he laughed half-heartedly, pushing himself away from the archway to wander over to the chaise. “They have everything done for them. It’s a crying shame.”
Willow remained silent. There was something terribly disturbing about his words, they said far too much and yet said nothing at all. Dragging her eyes away from the blond sprawled on the lounge, she turned her attention back to the clothes that were spread so haphazardly about the fitting room.
“You do know what you want, don’t you?"
"Of course I know what I want," she almost spat at him, her head whipping around at the double-edged question. He was smirking again, the tip of his tongue wetting down his lower lip and Willow turned away, trying to compose herself. Her nerves were practically raw and she could almost feel the tiny hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.
"So,” he muttered, fumbling around for his cigarettes. “Show me what you like so far."
"Well, there are a couple of things,” she sighed softly, tucking her hair behind her ears. Frowning at the mass of clothes, she shrugged and pointed to an unexceptional outfit. “That dress there and…"
"Don’t tell me,” he insisted, leaning back on the lounge and lighting a cigarette. “Show me."
Willow turned her head slightly, not quite willing to face him but needing to acknowledge his presence, and watched from the corner of her eye as Andrew moved to join Spike. There was no mistaking what Spike wanted her to do, show him the clothes while she was wearing them. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the closest outfit and made her way to the dressing room. When she emerged some five minutes later, Spike and Andrew were fervently discussing something and Willow had to cough to get their attention. Spike’s contempt for the outfit was obvious before he even opened his mouth.
"Bloody hell, I said something you liked, not what that prat of a Slayer would have you wear," Spike growled and before Willow could defend herself, he’d bolted to his feet and grabbed her by the back of the neck, dragging her to one of the many full length mirrors that were in the lavish room. He held her there, forcing her to look at her own reflection. "Look at you, do you really see yourself like that? Shapeless, fluffy and angelic, is that you? Is that what you are?"
The force of the act had scared Willow and reinforced that he was a demon, not that she needed any reminding of that fact. His fingers were biting into her neck, forcing her to do what he wanted and he wanted an answer. For the first time Willow looked at herself. She had chosen an outfit that represented what her friends expected her to be and was basically what Spike had said, fluffy, sweet and innocent.
"Well," Spike growled into her ear. “I’m waiting for an answer.”
"No," it was barely a whisper but as soon as it crossed her lips Spike released his painful hold on her.
“No, it’s not you,” he stated, gently pushing back the hair that had fallen across her face before turning on his heel and walking back to the couch, throwing himself down on it. "Pick something you like. There’s no one here who knows you, no one to judge…you have a clean slate to reinvent yourself. "
Willow was still staring at her reflection, she’d barely heard what Spike had said and he had resumed his conversation with Andrew, both of them ignoring her. Turning away from the mirror, she glanced at the numerous outfits that were strewn about the room and her eyes fell on a dress. A dress that had been her first choice of the evening, but after trying it on she had decided that it was too daring and would’ve earned Buffy’s ‘Oh, that’s so not you’ comment. It was on top of a pile of three outfits that she had thought were gorgeous but had fallen under the same category, they weren’t what her friends would have expected of her and to a certain extent she didn’t feel she had the confidence necessary to carry them off. But that was then, this was now and as Spike said, no one in LA knew her, she could do and wear whatever she wanted. With a quick glance in the general direction of the chaise, she wandered over to the small pile of clothes, picked them up and slinked back into the change room.
The first outfit was a simple, basic black dress. It was a form-fitting, sleeveless little number that fell to a few inches above her knees with a high cut split on the front right thigh. The cut of the dress, while not overly revealing, was enough to be pleasantly tantalizing, but perhaps the most appealing thing about it was that its very simplicity accentuated and intensified Willow’s natural beauty, her pale skin, green eyes and fiery hair. Settling into the dress, Willow fussed and fiddled, pulling it down and squirming about in the form fitting material. Opening the changing room door slightly, Willow risked a quick peek, taking in the empty room and she cautiously stepped out into the room. It was completely devoid of any form of life, which she didn’t mind at all as she made her way back to the mirror. The reflection was of a stranger, but it was someone that Willow thought she could get to like and her hands smoothed over the material as a smile crept onto her face.
"Much better. Elegant and sexy, unequivocally you," Spike murmured into her ear, making her start and turn. There was no arrogant smirk this time, nor was she met with a malevolent stare, no the look that greeted her was pure admiration. "Go try on some others."
Willow frowned and bit her bottom lip, turning back to look at her reflection. "I…I thought we were going dancing? I mean I’ll only need the one and I like this dress."
"Amuse me," Spike murmured, the back of his fingers slowly running down over the length of her bare arm, a teasingly light touch before he pulled away. "Andrew’s gone to get you some…essentials."
Willow had no idea what he meant by ‘essentials’ but she was pretty certain that she should have been worried, considering the smirk that had accompanied the word. Still, she had other outfits to try on and she really didn’t need any further encouragement, turning away she made her way back to the change room. The next outfit she donned was a black leather skirt, with a split on either side, and she teamed it with a tight fitting, low cut, long sleeve, forest-green top. There was no real reason behind her attraction to the outfit, it had simply appealed to her and that was what Spike was urging her to act on. Pushing open the door, she strode out into the room.
"Oh, pet. The skirt is just to die for," he practically purred at her, taking her hand and leading her over to the mirror. "And the top,” he drawled, his eyes fixed on the subtle swell of her breasts covered by the luscious color and he smirked, licking his lips and raising his gaze to meet with hers. He cocked his scarred eyebrow. “Well, it certainly draws attention to your eyes."
Willow snatched her hand away from his and rolled her eyes. Chuckling, Spike left her alone, strolling back to the lounge and sprawling across it, watching as she took in her reflection. There was one terrible thought playing on her mind as she stared at herself, she wasn’t knock-kneed. It was silly, but also an irksome thing that got her about Buffy, she was knock-kneed and always wore the tinniest of skirts. Blushing, Willow turned away only to find Spike smirking at her from the lounge. Sparing him a chagrined glance, she once more traipsed over to the change room and tried on the final outfit she’d picked out. As the door opened again, Spike got to his feet, his eyes darkening as they swept over her.
"And here she is, the siren that will tempt all to their deaths through her beautiful song of promise," Spike murmured, grabbing her hand and dragging her to him, twirling her about in the room before bringing them to a halt in front of the mirror. " Can you see everything you promise to be?"
Willow turned away from the wicked indigo eyes and studied her reflection. The outfit was skintight and a beautiful dark cherry red. A short silken skirt was matched with a tiny shoestring top and over it all was a transparent, long sleeve, fitted top that simply clung to her. The dark red color seemed to lend luminosity to her skin and enhanced the green of her eyes. But there was something wrong, something was missing.
"I don’t have any shoes," Willow barely whispered as she glanced up at Spike and he chuckled.
"Shoes! Andrew, the bundle needs shoes," Spike turned her around and pushed her back into the change room, a room from which Andrew was just emerging with something hidden behind his back. "Get changed into whatever you want to wear for tonight, Andrew’s left some things in there for you, and then we’ll get you some bloody shoes."
The "things" were underwear. Seven pairs to be exact, a mixture of lace and silk delicately created with colors from basic blacks and whites through to two sets of rich burgundy. Willow had never actually owned underwear of that sort and it seemed to be something of a deviant act to even imagine what they would be like and now…well now she would actually wear some. Slipping on the set of black underwear and the little black dress she’d first picked out, she nervously pushed back her hair, smoothed down her dress and went back out. She was greeted by Andrew, who led her through the various archways of the store until they ended up in a room that contained nothing but shoes ~ and they would have had Cordelia fainting in ecstasy. The shoes took less time than the outfits. Five minutes was all it took for Willow to have gathered enough shoes to match her outfits. There were a pair of knee high black boots with a squared, inch high heel, a pair of strappy cherry red heels and the final pair, which remained on her feet, were patent black leather high-heels with diamante straps and a savagely pointed toe.
"What do you think, Andrew,” asked Spike, leaning against the wall and watching as she practiced walking in the fine heels, the light catching on the decorated straps.
“Oh, she will be attracting attention,” Andrew stated gleefully. “And fortunately it will not be for massacring good taste.” He rolled his eyes, reaching out to latch onto Spike’s arm as if he’d grown faint from the sheer exertion of getting the girl clothed. “I would never have been able to show my face again in this town if…oh, I just don’t want to think about it!” He declared, releasing his hold on the blond and clapping his hands in delight at the redhead. “They are just going to love her at the Club.” The look of pure delight fell from his face, his features twisting into an agonized grimace and Willow frowned. “Although that does present a problem…”
“Problem?” questioned Willow, not quite sure that she actually wanted to know why being loved at the Club was going to be a problem.
“Well,” Andrew faltered, giving the redhead one of those false and totally disconcerting ‘reassuring’ smiles before quickly turning to Spike and lowering his voice, so as not to upset her. “She’s not exactly…” again the smile was flashed at the redhead as she stepped in closer to hear what he was going to say. “Well, how can I put this? She’s not exactly marked and no matter how civilized they pretend to be it could be seen that she is…well, dinner.”
“Dinner?” squeaked Willow, her face paling as she took a step back. “You’re taking me dancing at some vampire club?”
“Oh no,” insisted Andrew, not even giving Spike an opportunity to answer her horrified question. “It’s not a vampire club per say, there’s also any number of warlocks…” Andrew offered as a pacifier, thinking that a witch would find comfort in her own kind. Only it seemed to upset her more and her eyes grew wider, so he struggled with anything that might put her at ease. “And of course demons…some very nice demons?” he half asked as the girl stared at him, apparently totally appalled by what he was saying. “You know it is quite elitist, it has to be now since all those pesky Hollywood brats decided it was the only place to be seen…thank goodness they put a stop to that nonsense. Paparazzi at the Club, how horrendous would that be?”
“Vampires, warlocks and demons?” Willow whispered at Spike as she fought back her natural instinct to hyperventilate.
“Maybe a werewolf or two, if you’re lucky,” Spike said sarcastically as he drew out a black jewelry box from one of the many pockets in his duster. Fixing his eyes on her, he opened the box and watched as her eyes once more grew wide, only this time in wasn’t in horror.
“Oh,” Willow managed to exhale.
“Oh? OH?” demanded Andrew, with probably more excitement than is fitting a man. “William here pulls out the most exquisite piece of jewelry I have seen in, in, well goodness knows how long, and let me tell you it has been entirely too long, and all you can say is ‘oh’?” Andrew shook his head in disbelief and threw his hands to the heavens. “If you don’t want it, I’ll have it,” he declared, reaching out towards the box. “Here pretty, pretty…”
He didn’t have a chance to touch it, Spike slapped his fingers hard enough for the man to let out the most unbecoming squeal of pain. For a moment Willow actually thought he was going to cry. Indeed, his lips were drawn together in a tight line while his chin trembled and his eyes grew glassy. Then, with the air of a man greatly wronged, he took a loud and haughty sniff and threw his head back.
“Well, I do hope you enjoy your evening,” he stated to Spike and then turned to Willow, taking her hand in his and bowing gallantly over it. “Mademoiselle, it has been…well, a nightmare actually. Au revoir.”
Cradling his slapped hand in the other, Andrew made a hasty exit, leaving Willow and Spike alone. Apart from Andrew leaving, nothing had changed. The black box with its precious necklace was still held by Spike and Willow stood staring in awe. Slowly, she reached out and caressed the cold, heavy black gems with the very tips of her fingers. She half expected for Spike to try and slam the box down on her fingers, or for him to pull the choker away, but he didn’t. Instead he moved forward, encouraging her cautious caress of the necklace, his own fingers joining hers to free the choker from its prison of the jewelry box. Without a word being spoken, Willow dropped her hands down, leaning forward to let him fasten the ornate piece of jewelry in place.
"Come on, pet,” Spike murmured against the fiery strands of her hair before he pulled back and grinned, reaching down to grab her hand. “Can’t keep everyone waiting."
***
The Club was like the store. On the outside there was nothing of any great significance, nothing to suggest that there was even a club housed in the building, no signs or lights, just a huge black door. Inside it was decadent. The lighting was soft, the floors were polished wood and there were tables spread about, all packed to maximum. The bar itself was huge and ran the full length of one wall, mirrored panels reflecting the names of the bottle of alcohol that lined the shelves as well as the patrons of the bar that carried a reflection. As Willow sat next to Spike, she noted that there were very few patrons who had a reflection.
Spike glanced at her. Since entering the club her body temperature and heartbeat had increased as well as the trembling. Spike smirked and motioned to the bartender.
"I’ll have an ale and the little girl will have a…" he looked at her quizzically. "Slippery Nipple thanks mate."
"A what?" Willow turned to look him in disgust. "I am not having body parts thank you!"
"Sambucca and Baileys, you’ll like it." Spike said as the drinks were laid in front of them. Willow looked at her small shot glass compared to Spikes huge glass of beer. Hesitatingly, she bought the glass up to her nose to smell, wrinkling her forehead in thought. "It won’t bite you, pet."
Willow took a final look at the drink before closing her eyes and gulping it down in one go. Her eyes watered as the liquid burnt its way down her throat. Opening her mouth she let out an extended sigh. She put the glass back down on the bar and found another waiting for her. Glancing sideways at Spike, she picked up the drink and again drank it in one gulp. It was easier this time.
"It tastes like liquorice," Willow said, blinking away the alcohol-induced tears. She could feel the fiery liquid working its way into her system - like warm fingers massaging from the inside.
"That’s the Sambucca." Spike raised an eyebrow at her. He had expected her to sip the first drink, making it last all night. It was probably just as well she had a couple of quick shots, it was already affecting her, lowering her heartbeat and lessening her anxiety. He called the bar tender back, instructing him to get her another shot, this time straight Sambucca. Again she threw it back.
"That is so nice – like aniseed. You know, Bulls Eyes." Willow smiled at him. "Can I have another one?"
"If you like," Spike smiled to himself as he indicated to the bartender for another, she was going to be smashed if she kept this up. Willow grasped the little glass as soon as it was placed in front of her, preparing to lift it to her lips, but Spike placed his hand over her arm. "Just sip this one."
"Okay," she put the glass back down on the bar. "I thought you wanted to come here to dance, not drink."
"Oh we’ll dance, love. Don’t worry about that." He smiled as he sipped his beer.
"Where? I mean it’s packed in here – worst than the Bronze. If you really wanted to go dancing we could have done it just as well in Sunnydale. Sure, not at the Bronze because that would be bad – don’t you think? But there are other places we could have gone. LA, though, isn’t that just taking things a little too far?" Willow babbled, her alcohol-loosened tongue quite happy to run on and on.
"Willow," Spike cut through her incoherent ramblings.
"Yes?"
"Drink your drink," Spike watched as she carelessly threw back the drink and called to the bartender.
"Hi, can I have another one of these please?" she asked. The tender looked to Spike, who nodded and poured out another shot. Spike reached out and took the bottle from him, placing it in front of Willow. Cocking his eyebrow, he watched as she downed her shot and held out her glass for another. Shaking his head, he poured her another, but pulled the little glass away from her, leaving it near his beer glass.
“Come on, before you drink yourself into oblivion,” he stated, taking her hand and leading her through the throng do the dance floor.
"Yay, we’re going to dance." Willow giggled as Spike pulled her into his arms.
Spike laughed down at the sight of Willow looking up at him grinning like a Cheshire cat. Five drinks in ten minutes and she’d forgotten all her foibles, or those that were enforced upon her by her peers – without them she was quite the little spitfire. And not at all as tense as she had been. Her body molded to his and she let him lead her through the various movements of the dance, trusting him completely.
It was how they spent the night, alternately dancing and drinking...well, Willow drank and Spike watched in amusement, amazed that it didn’t seem to affect her co-ordination. She was dancing well and as for walking she was fine - except for drifting to the left occasionally. It suited her ~ she smiled and laughed, danced with others (after Spike had made it known that she off limits for anything apart from dancing) and flirted outrageously with the bar tender, who, unbeknown to Spike, slipped her his phone number. She resembled nothing of the timid little teenager of Sunnydale.
So Spike really shouldn’t have been so surprised when she accepted an offer to dance with a girl who had approached her. The reason was, according the young lady in question, that she wanted to get her boyfriend hot and bothered, Spike sipped his beer watching Willow and waiting for her to refuse. Instead, she threw back her drink, put down the empty glass and shrugged.
“Why not?” she asked, giggling as the girl grabbed her hand and dragged her off to the dance floor.
"Well this could be interesting," Spike murmured to no one in particular as he put down his drink and leant back against the bar to watch.
The dance wasn’t anything highly sexual, but considering that the two dancers were drunk and so were most of the patriots of the bar, it was enough. The two girls, although both of similar height and weight, were the reverse of each other. Willow with her pale skin, green eyes and copper hair was dressed in black, while her partner in crime was a stark contrast with a honey gold tan, deep chocolate brown eyes and dark hair all wrapped up in white. It wasn’t so much a contrast between the two, more that they complimented each other, as did their movements to the slow beat of the song they were dancing to. They played off each other, mirroring their movements as their hands traced the contours of their bodies, hips and shoulders moving slowly in time to the music, leaning towards each other, getting closer.
Spike watched as they moved, his eyes straying over Willow’s svelte form. The high heels accentuated her relatively long legs, the material of the dress clung to them as they swept up to the soft curve of her ass. It was enthralling to watch as she danced, her body swaying, her hands tantalizingly tracing the curves of her body as her head was thrown back, her eyes half closed as she listened to the music. Without taking his eyes off her, Spike lit up a cigarette and continued to watch her provocative display. He watched only her and was grateful when the other girl’s boyfriend dragged his girl away into the dark confines of the club, leaving Willow to continue dancing. She was lost in the music, in her movements, in the moment. Spike’s eyes darkened and hers closed as her movements became bolder, her hands running up over her body until she twirled them up above her, her fingers reaching blindly to the heavens as she swayed, her hips moving and swaying to the beat.
It wasn’t just Spike’s attention she was attracting. A burly beast of a man moved forward, sweat glistened in his hair and he was practically panting as he wrapped an arm about her waist and pulled her back against his hot, smelly body.
"Spike!" Willow screamed as she bought her heel down on the cretin’s foot and her elbow roughly back into his gut. She could hear the air hiss out of his lungs, but he didn’t surrender his filthy hold on her. A white blur buzzed pass the side of her face and she heard the sickening crack of bone being broken and then a hand clamped down on her arm. Glancing back over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of the creep slumped on the floor, clutching his shattered jaw as he hollered in pain. Willow stared back up Spike, unfortunately he was swaying.
“How the hell did you move so fast…” Willow asked, turning her attention back to Spike and she frowned. “And why are you swaying?”
Her only reply was the vampire disappearing from view and the feel of a shoulder in her stomach as an arm wrapped about her legs, and the floor suddenly became the ceiling.
“Spike,” Willow squealed as her hands grabbed at his waist. “Your feet are walking on the ceiling.”
With a roll of his eyes, Spike shook his head and remained silent as he carried her from the club and out to the car. There was probably about an hour before sunrise and he needed to get both of them out of there as well as take care of a few other important things. One of which was filling up the car. As Spike headed toward the shop front, Willow wound down the window and leaned out of the car and put in an order for candy corn. Spike rolled his eyes and quietly cursed the effects of alcohol, but none-the-less he picked up two bags of candy covered popcorn much to the amusement of the early morning clerk.
“Yay, popcorn,” giggled Willow, diving for the candy corn, only to have Spike pull it out of her grasp.
"You can wait,” he stated sullenly.
“Wait? Until when? I’m starving.”
“’Til we get to where we’re going,” Spike turned over the motor and pulled out of the gas station, applying his foot to the accelerator and heading out of the city.
Willow fell silent, her light-hearted mood suddenly darkened with the possibility of impending death…or perhaps worse. During the twenty minute trip she’d run through all sorts of scenarios, none of which were pretty, which was probably why she was left speechless as they drove up to an isolated beach house. She was silent as Spike maneuvered the car into the garage, the automatic door closing behind them, and he got out, leaving his door open. He started to walk away, but paused and turned back to duck down and look at her still sitting in the passenger seat.
"Come on, pet. Unless you want to sit in the car all bloody day," he said and Willow bemusedly slid across the seat to get out. Spike smirked, lighting himself another cigarette as he watched her fidgeting. There was that heady scent of fear mixed in with too much alcohol and the stale stench of the club, and he turned his back to her, disappearing down a dark corridor.
Willow hesitated, but only for a moment. Her head was spinning from the alcohol and too many wild ideas that mainly involved trying to second-guess what the vampire had planned. Was he really expecting her just to blindly follow him into a dark and empty house? Apparently so and she sighed, wrapping herself up in her arms as she slowly, tentatively made to follow him. She hadn’t gone very far when there was a sharp click and the passageway was flooded with a bright light.
“Ow,” whimpered Willow, screwing up her eyes and raising one of her hands to shield her eyes against the sudden and unexpected brightness. But as her eyes adjusted to the illumination and she followed the light to the doorway, her breath caught in surprise. “Wow.”
It was a massive room, casual and elegant with soft carpet. The furniture in the room was both practical and comfortable. Three midnight blue sofas, all large enough to be used comfortably as beds, were spread about in a rough u-shape, framing an entertainment unit fitted with state of the art audio and visual systems that took up an entire wall. Spike casually picked up a remote control and flicked on the wide screen television to MTV, the sound playing from hidden speakers around the room, and Willow moved deeper into the room.
“Heads up,” he said quietly, tossing the popcorn in Willow’s direction before crossing over to a cabinet and pulling out a bottle and two glasses. Willow grinned as she recognized the bottle.
“Sambucca!”
"Last drink before you go to bed, love," Spike said as he poured her out a drink, causing Willow to pout.
"I don’t want to go to bed – it’s too early," Willow sang, taking the drink from Spike and plonking down on the nearest sofa, sinking into the wickedly soft cushions. "I haven’t even had my dinner yet."
Spike sat down next to her, laughing lightly. She had been drinking all night on an empty stomach, he was amazed she hadn’t passed out yet.
"What’s so funny?" Willow asked struggling to free herself of the soft confines of the cushions so she could pour herself another shot.
"You,” Spike stated, watching as she sipped her drink and narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re completely smashed."
"Are you, sir, suggesting that I am inebriated? Because I can assure you that although I may have indulged in one or two libations, I am by no means intoxicated."
The speech, although very pretty, would have sounded better if Willow had not been slurring slightly. Spike just shook his head and watched as she poured herself another drink. She continued to drink until the bottle was empty – some two hours later. That was when she had discovered that she was hungry, spotted the popcorn and started to shove handfuls into her mouth. Spike had left her alone until then, just amusing himself by watching her, listening to the ramblings that she offered up, but the idea of her eating the sickly sweet confectionary on top of at least one full bottle of Sambucca was too much.
"Pet, I really don’t think you should do that," he said quietly, taking the second bag of corn and the empty bottle back over to the cabinet.
"Why not?" Willow asked through a mouthful of popcorn.
"You’ve been drinking for hours, on an empty stomach no less, the last thing you want to do is eat that crap," Spike stated calmly as he leant back against the cabinet to watch her and he couldn’t hide the smirk as she struggled to stand up, wobbling towards him on the flashy heels she still wore.
"Well, you know, I’m really sick of you and everyone else telling me what I should or should not do. It’s my choice and if I want to stuff my face with popcorn, I will," she stated narkily, the frustrations of his niggling little comments had finally demanded to be vented ~ and who better to tell off than the very creature who had pointed out the short comings in her life. She nodded in agreement with herself and defiantly stuffed another handful of corn in her mouth.
The smirk fell away from Spike’s lips and the mask of stoicism fell into place as he closed the small distance between them.
"Fine, Willow,” his voice was low, but threatening. It was also the first time since they’d arrived at the house that he had said her name and it seemed to roll of his tongue, as sweet as honey. “Be like that. But just consider this. You have copious amounts of alcohol running through your blood, something you’re not use to…its like a poison. Any moment now your body is going to rebel against the toxicity, close in on itself. Your stomach will jettison anything that it contains, your blood will struggle to move, and your body’s self-defense system will kick-in, trying to eliminate what you have consumed. So imagine how you’ll feel bringing all that popcorn back up. The sugar coating mixing together, perhaps some distinct colors will still be noticeable, the feel of the undigested corn scraping along your throat. Then, of course, there will be that delicious taste of stomach acid…"
"Bastard!" spat Willow as she felt her stomach lurch and she brought her hand up to cover her mouth. Grabbing her arm, Spike hurried her down another corridor and into the bathroom, letting her go as she made a dive for the toilet.
"That was just too easy," Spike chuckled and headed back to the living room. Shaking his head, he sat down on a sofa and listened as she threw up, again and again. As she continued to heave in the bathroom, he slowly stripped off, starting with his boots and removing each layer of clothing until he was left only in his jeans. The heaving had stopped and he made his way back to the bathroom. She was exactly where he had left her, a forlorn form huddled next to the toilet, her head resting on the lid. Quietly, he walked over to her, crouching down next to her and brushing the dampened hair from her face. "I did warn you."
"You… are such a bastard," Willow said softly, drawing a chuckle from Spike as he hauled her to her feet and shoved her towards the shower. He reached in and turned the taps on, the water hissing through the showerhead at full force and Willow squinted at him suspiciously. "Are you naked?"
"Not quite, soon will be…” he grinned, pulling her in close, his hand straying to the hidden zip in the side of her dress “And so will you."
"What are you doing?” Willow demanded, frantically slapping at his hands, trying to stop him. “I don’t want to get naked with you!"
Her struggles, however, were in vain. Spike caught her hands and held them while he undressed her. Unceremoniously, he shoved her in the shower, directly under the spray of hot water. As the water ran over her, Willow lost her will to fight, instead she was blasé about all that was going on around her and only vaguely aware that Spike had joined her in the shower. Well, she was vague about his presence until his cool hands touched her, fingers traipsing over her body and she dropped her heavy head down to watch them play over her flesh.
“Soft hands,” it was a vague thought, almost disturbing in its simplicity. As was the idea that for some reason his hands were made of soap, they had to be considering the lather they were creating. Willow giggled at the idea of a vampire having hands made of soap, especially Spike. With a drunken and exhausted sigh, she leaned back against him, her head falling against his shoulder.
"Don’t pass out yet," he murmured against her ear.
"Okey dokey," mumbled Willow, her eyes becoming to heavy to keep open and darkness enveloped her.
***
"Willow."
The voice was calling her from beyond the darkness.
"Mmmm?" Willow struggled to open her eyes, she couldn’t - it was just too hard.
"Come on, we have to get back."
It was definitely a familiar voice, but one that she shouldn’t be hearing while she was asleep. Now, who was it?
“Pet? Come on, we have to get going…”
Pet, who said pet…only Spike. Spike? As the realization hit Willow, she forced her eyes open to slowly focus on the blond vampire.
"Okay," she said, more to herself than the blond and she squirmed on the bed, trying to sit up and quite certain that she was still asleep…any moment now she was going to wake up.
Spike raised an eyebrow as he studied her, quickly coming to the decision that she must have still been drunk. Not that he should really have been surprised by that since she’d consumed quite a bit of alcohol. Shaking his head, he took hold of her hands and helped her up off the bed, carefully watching as she stood, swaying unsteadily.
Willow frowned, keeping a tight hold on his arm as she glanced down at herself. "I’ve changed."
Indeed she had, the black dress was gone, as was the powder blue outfit she’d originally started out with. Instead, she was dressed in a pair of soft, black linen trousers matched with a rich claret, long sleeve T-shirt. But that wasn’t the most disturbing discovery ~ she raised her hand to her hair and it was still damp. There was a sudden flash of being in the shower. Naked. With Spike! She blushed the same color as her shirt.
"You saw me naked!" she hissed at Spike, pulling her hand away from him, causing her to collapse back onto the bed. Bringing her hands up, she covered her face. "Oh God! You saw me naked…you were naked…OH GOD!"
Spike looked at her fallen form and rolled his eyes in exasperation. She was definitely on the tail end of the effects of the alcohol. He had let her sleep most of the day after she’d passed out in the shower and expected her to be suffering from a hangover when she woke up – not still bloody drunk! The plan was to leave now so that they could be back in Sunnydale just after sunset, he didn’t have the time or inclination to try and sober her up before they left. Sighing, he bent down, gathered her up in his arms and easily carried her out to the car, dumping her in the passenger seat before climbing in behind the wheel. Hitting the button on the garage door opener, he winced as the late afternoon sunshine crept through the garage. Willow let out a groan as Spike turned the engine over.
"Does it have to be so loud?"
Spike grinned, she was drunk but starting to sober up. He pulled her limp body to his, pressing her head to his shoulder and felt her forehead. It was already warm beneath his cool hand, she was going to be as sick as a dog.
"Go back to sleep, love," he murmured softly, not releasing his hold on her as he backed the car out.
***
"Willow."
This time there was no mistaking the voice and Willow’s eyes flew open which was a big mistake. Her head was throbbing like someone had been using a jackhammer in it for the last 24 hours.
"Oh God," she groaned, struggling to move a body that felt like it had been hit by a truck.
Spike smirked to himself, knowing she was only going to get worse. "Go inside, have a shower and go to bed."
Willow could hear Spike’s voice softly breaking through the horrendous screaming of her mind and body.
"Okay," she mumbled, struggling to get the door open. It seemed an eternity before the door swung open and she was able to stumble out of the car. Just as she was about to shut the door when she heard Spike call to her, and she bent down to look at him. “What?”
He held up her house keys and jingled them. With a scowl that turned into a wince, Willow snatched her keys away from him and slammed the car door shut, instantly regretting it as her head screamed in protest. Somehow she managed to stagger over to her front door and get her keys in the lock, thankful when she could stumble over her threshold and close the door behind her. Leaning back against the closed door, she listened as Spike pulled away.
“If I survive this,” Willow thought, grimacing as she practically crawled up the stairs. “I am never, ever going to drink again. Oh God, I’m going to die.”
Picking up her silk shorts and tank top from her bedroom, she slowly made her way to the bathroom, stopping twice to lean against the wall so she wouldn’t pass out. As soon as she saw the toilet a wave of nausea and the phantom taste of candy corn hit her. She spent the next fifteen minutes sitting in front of the toilet debating whether she would feel better if she just threw up. Giving it up as a lost cause, she crawled into the shower and laid down as the water poured over her. At least that help ease the ache of her body. Finally she forced herself out of the shower, partially dried off and got dressed, blindly wandering back to her bedroom.
All Willow wanted to do was crawl into bed and die. That was her plan, that was all she cared about, but it wasn’t to be. A rapping at the French doors of her room made her jump and she winced, tears of pain swelling in her eyes as her head protested at the sudden movement and loud noise.
“What does he want now,” Willow cried to herself, quite certain that her tormentor had come back, not satisfied to leave her with a killer hangover. Warily, she made her way over, pulling back the light curtain that covered the door to peer out, certain to find Spike smirking at her. Only it wasn’t him, it was Angel. It was a shock, he was the last person she expected to see and she let the curtain fall back across the glass, blocking out the sight of the dark haired vampire. For a moment she stood there, shaking and practically in tears, all the while uncertain what to do, and then she heard the soft sound of him calling her name. There was nothing else for it, she opened the door and stood back, letting him into her room.
"Hey,” he said in greeting as he stepped into the room. “I just came by to make sure you were okay. You weren’t around last night..." He stopped short, taking in her appearance, the tears and her trembling body. "Willow, what is it? What’s wrong?"
She shook her head, desperately trying to hold back the tears. "Nothing... I just don’t feel…"
There was a flash of candy corn and the phantom taste of sugar rich vomit in her mouth, then everything went black.
***
From the dark recess of the backyard, Spike observed the whole scene, watching as the older vampire moved quickly to catch the girl, ensuring that she came to no harm and easily picking her up and carrying her over to her bed. It was enough to make him grind his teeth in disgust. He continued to watch as Angel shut the doors and went back to Willow, clucking like a mother hen over the fallen girl. There was little peace of mind for Spike to know that Angel wouldn’t leave Willow by herself until he was satisfied that she was alright, and by the way she was burning up in the car that probably wouldn’t be until the following evening. A hangover from hell and a guardian angel, it was just too perfect.
Spike stubbed out his cigarette and watched for a little longer and then turned to leave, destruction on his mind.
"Think I’ll go find myself a Slayer."
***
Willow was first aware of a burning pain in her head, then a throbbing ache that seem to work its way from her stomach all the way out to her fingers and toes. Subsequently, she became aware that she was lying against something firm and cool, while an equally cool hand was resting on her forehead with the thumb stroking her hair, and another hand was softly rubbing her stomach in a comforting action. She shifted her position trying to make out what was going on.
"Ssshh, Willow,” Angel’s voice rumbled under her shoulder. “It’s okay, you fainted.”
"Fainted?" Willow asked quietly, keeping her eyes closed against the pain. "Where am I?"
"You’re at home, Willow,” he said quietly, watching as the pain flittered across her face and he cringed, she must have been sick if she didn’t even know where she was. He had known something wasn’t right with her on Thursday night. “Where are your parents?"
Angel had to ask, they were never home and he sometimes thought that they didn’t even exist.
"Angel, my head hurts so much," he looked down at her, she was speaking so quietly and her eyes were screwed close. Silently, he wondered if it was anything serious, fooling with the idea of calling a doctor. She was warm, not overly feverish. Probably it was nothing more than one of those pesky 24-hour bugs that plagued mankind, in which case there was nothing to do but give her aspirin and keep her fluids up. Gently, he lifted her back onto the pillows and went in search of aspirins.
The logical place would be the bathroom and so that’s where he started. But the room itself was a complete mess, clothes and towels were scattered over the floor while the shower was still gently running and soggy footprints marked the floor. Angel sighed as he stepped toward the bathroom cabinet, but he stopped as he picked up a faint but distinctive aroma. He glanced around the room, once more taking in the disorder. He couldn’t place the scent, but he knew it wasn’t what he associated with Willow. For a moment it was a distraction, but the thought of the pale redhead soon displaced it and he once more returned to the search for aspirin, pulling open the cabinet he found none. Cursing silently, he stepped over to the shower and turned the faucet off before picking up the towels and hanging them on the rack, then he picked up the clothes. The unique scent was stronger on the clothes. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying unsuccessfully to place it. Shaking his head, he took them back to Willow’s room, folding them neatly over the back of a chair. For the first time he looked at the clothes and frowned, they weren’t what Willow would normally wear and he wondered if perhaps she had borrowed them from someone, although they certainly weren’t Buffy’s style either. His fingers ran across the linen of the pants and he tapped his index finger against the material lightly before turning away and once more going in search of aspirin.
The kitchen, that would be the next logical place to keep a household medication. Heading downstairs, Angel searched the cupboards before finally coming across some dissolvable aspirin. He took the box, a glass and a bottle of water back to the bedroom.
Willow was still on the bed, but she’d curled up into a fetal position, knees drawn up to her chest. Reaching out, Angel placed a cool hand against her forehead, causing her to jerk back, eyes flying open only to be filled with tears of pain as she bought her hands up to her head.
"Willow, I want you try and drink this, okay?" he held the glass out to her, but she just shook her head.
"I can’t," she whimpered, quite certain that if she even tried to take a small sip of it she would throw up. She could feel tears burning behind her eyes.
"Willow, you’re sick and dehydrated. I need you to at least have a drink. Come on, just one glass," Angel urged as he held the glass to her lips, watching as she slowly drank. He could see tears welling in her eyes and putting the glass down he pulled her back against his chest, rocking her and stroking her hair. "It’s alright, Willow, I’m here and I’m not going to leave you, okay? Go to sleep now."
Willow hiccupped into his shoulder, allowing his gentle rocking to lull her back to sleep.
Angel rested his chin on the sleeping girl’s head, wondering how something like this could happen. Last night at the Bronze both Buffy and Xander seem nonplussed at her absence, dismissing it with a wave of the hand and mumbling something about a headache. He knew exactly where Buffy and Xander would be tonight, at their usual table at the Bronze, probably not even noticing the non-appearance of their friend for another night. He wondered if either of them had even bothered to call to find out if Willow was okay. Perturbed, Angel thought they would have only rung if they needed something. Angel didn’t think that Buffy was intentionally selfish, it was nonetheless one of her traits. He had often wondered at the differences between the two girls. Although Buffy had physical strength and was a striking girl, Willow had other qualities not so immediately arresting. Physically Angel had always thought her to be pretty, but she had a strength of character that Buffy seemed to lack, maybe it was her intelligence, her unusual sense of humor or the fact that she was always genuine in her concern unlike the façade Buffy often presented.
A shudder from Willow brought Angel out of his reverie of thoughts and he rested the back of his hand against her cheek, she wasn’t as warm as before and her hands were cold against his chest. Holding her carefully, he reached down and pulled the comforter up over both of them, making sure it was securely tucked around Willow. Leaning back against the pillows, Angel allowed himself enjoy the sensation of Willow’s warm body pressed against his own. Closing his eyes, he drifted to sleep.
And while they slept, others were out hunting.
Buffy drove the wooden stake in deep and true, immediately striking the vampire’s heart and he turned to dust before her. Unfortunately she chose that moment to breathe in and she choked on the ashes.
“I’ve got to stop doing that,” she muttered to herself, spluttering against the grit that had invaded her lungs and mouth, and half-heartedly she thumped herself on the chest, trying to clear the congestion.
“Be ironic, wouldn’t it, if you choked to death from some vamp’s ashes?”
Buffy spun, raising her stake in preparation to strike, knowing only to well who she would find behind her.
Spike was too fast though, easily blocking her intended blow and knocking the stake from her hand, sending it flying through the night air. Even so the Slayer was striking out again, a fist connecting with his mouth, making him stumble slightly and with inherent grace he kicked out, knocking her off her feet with one simple swipe of his leg as his open palm slammed into the underside of her chin, sending her crashing to the ground. He chuckled at her as she sprung back up on her feet, bracing herself for another attack. Instead of continuing the fight, he smirked and pulled out his cigarettes from his duster.
“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” he tapped out a cigarette and bought it up to his lips, nonchalantly lighting it and taking a deep drag, blowing the smoke out at her. “People will start to talk.”
“What do you want, Spike,” she demanded, never once dropping her fighting stance and he shrugged indifferently.
“Thought we could chat, muse over the good old days.”
“Good old days?” Buffy repeated contemptuously. “The only good day is today, ‘cause you’re going to die.”
“You’re all talk, Slayer,” Spike wetted down his lips and smirked before taking another drag on his cigarette, calmly watching her as the taut stance she’d taken wavered slightly.
Narrowing her eyes she stared him down, disconcerted by the fact that he wasn’t trying to kill her. “What the hell do you want?”
“Same things as you, we’re not so different…you and I…”
“You want a manicure and a facial?” she asked mockingly. Those cerulean eyes met hers and he smiled.
“I don’t want to be alone.”
It was a quiet statement, something that Buffy wasn’t expecting and for a moment she faltered, buying into his game before she admonished herself for being so stupid .
“I’m not alone.”
“No?” he asked incredulously, raising his scarred eyebrow cynically. “No, you’re not alone are you, Slayer? You’ve got the wanker and he adores you, spends every moment he can with you, he’s your constant shadow…so where the hell is he right now?”
Buffy felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise as a cold fear gripped at her heart. She hadn’t seen Angel since the previous evening and now Spike was wanting to have a quiet tête-à-tête about him.
“I’m not playing your games, Spike,” she snarled, taking a step back away from him, her mind set on only getting to the mansion as soon as she could to placate her fears that something had happened to the dark haired vampire. Turning her back to the blond, she started to walk away, but Spike’s chuckle stopped her.
“You think you’re special?” he asked her, the question making her turn to face him. “That you’re the one, the one he can’t live without?”
“What are you talking about?” she asked, her words barely audible in the still night.
“The good old days, Slayer. You know what I mean. Remember what he was like? He couldn’t get enough of you, followed you everywhere, his eyes always fixed on you and hanging off your every word. And now?” he smirked and tossed aside his half-smoked cigarette, crushing it beneath his boot. Slowly, he meandered closer to her, his eyes fixing on hers. “How’s it feel to be a passing fancy?” Spike chuckled again as she flinched slightly. “I wouldn’t worry about it, love, you’re not the first and certainly not the last.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she spat at him, furious at what he was implying.
“No, of course not,” a cruel smile curled the corners of his lips. “After all, I only knew Darla ~ now there was a lasting obsession, a hundred years or so before his attention wandered to Dru, and then…”
“Shut up,” Buffy hissed, not willing to listen to contemptuous comments any longer.
“If he loves you, Buffy,” he asked softly, closing the space between them so he was barely a hairsbreadth away from her, fixing his eyes on hers. “Then where is he?”
She was silent but not still, casting the blond a final disdainful look, she turned on her heel and walked away.
“I can tell you where he is,” Spike’s voice carried across the distance between them, but she kept walking. “He’s in another woman’s bed with his arms wrapped about her.”
Buffy stopped dead, her breath catching in her throat for one painful moment before she furiously spun to face the vampire. “You’re lying!”
“Am I?” there was no mistaking the malevolence in his smile this time as he raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “Where is he then?”
The question echoed about the empty space and Buffy turned, walking away, heading towards the mansion across town.
Behind her, Spike laughed.
***
Angel awoke at the slight movement in his arms.
"Willow," he asked, shifting slightly to glance down at the pale redhead.
"I’m going to be sick."
The statement forced him into action and he sat up, grabbing the waste-basket to use as a bucket. Even before she began to dry heave, Angel had her sitting upright and leant over the little bin, softly rubbing her back as her body convulsed, unable to bring anything up and she shook her head slightly.
"Nope, I was wrong," she mumbled, collapsing back against him and he quietly put the bin down beside the bed, never once releasing his hold on her.
The bedside clock read 4am and Angel stared down at her pale features, tenderly pushing the sweat riddled hair back from her face as he cupped her cheek. Once more it was warm.
"How you feeling?" he asked, reluctantly releasing his hold on her to pick up the glass of water that he’d kept by her bed and dropping two aspirin in, swirling the concoction around until they dissolved.
"Better," Willow mumbled, even though she was shaking and there was a dull ache behind her eyes, all intensified by the constant fight she had to make against gagging. But at least her head wasn’t pounding and she had stopped aching. She could feel Angel’s hand on her shoulder urging her to lean back against him. His hand pressed against her forehead, feeling delightfully cool against her clammy skin.
"Good, drink this," he said softly, knowing full well that she was lying, he could see her hand tremble as she took the glass from him. Slowly, she sipped the contents and Angel watched as it all disappeared before reaching down to take the empty glass from her hands and she relaxed against him.
"You don’t have to stay, Angel,” she barely managed to whisper the words, but Angel heard them easily enough. “I’ll be fine."
Angel didn’t have the opportunity to tell her he had no intentions of leaving her alone, she had fallen soundly asleep. Just to satisfy himself, he watched her sleep for a little while before he shifted and laid her back against the pillows and covered her with the light comforter. With a final glance, he turned away to ensure that when sunrise came he’d still be able to make his way around the entire house safely.
***
Across town, in the mansion, Buffy sat in front of the fireplace.
Waiting.
Her impatience growing with every second that past.
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