Parts: 21 - 25
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~Part: 21~
Giles spent the rest of his afternoon in the library at his desk, researching feverishly, finding out every scrap of information that he could track down about Angelus and Spike. Despite what he told the children, he was hoping to find some talisman, some weakness, some back door into their minds that he could sneak through to get back Willow. He didn’t find one. He hadn’t really expected to. He was researching, not out of any real hope of finding a solution, but because he had to either concentrate on research, or get blazingly drunk off the bottle of scotch hidden in his desk. He knew that getting drunk was not an option, at this time. Buffy would need him. They all would need him to be strong. Getting drunk would wait until he was home alone at night and Willow sweet face and soft, pleading voice was added to the ghosts of the past in the shadows that kept him from sleeping at night. He’d drink the bottle then.
So instead of drinking, he researched. And instead of solutions or even clues on how to fight the vampires, he found further proof of their strength and their ruthlessness in detailed accounts of torture and degradation performed on countless faceless humans by Angelus, by Spike, and by Spike and Angelus when they worked together. The stories he read made his blood run cold. He had been famed at the Watcher’s Academy for his strong stomach. He could handle any situation, any scenario without allowing it to affect him. It was one of the reasons he had been chosen to supervise a slayer. But the things that he found in the dry, strictly factual accounts of the watchers’ diaries had him retching into a wastebasket, several times over, until there was nothing left in his stomach but bile. And still he continued researching. He carefully read and re-read every word. It was his form of penance, a type of hair shirt. Willow was gone and this was what they were probably doing to her, and it was his fault.
<Your fault.> Those words pounded through him like a mantra, over and over again. <Your fault. Your fault.> He couldn’t escape from the weight of the words that repeated in an unceasingly echo. <Your fault.> This was all his fault. He knew how important the uninvite spell could be. He knew that Angelus had an invitation to Buffy and Willow’s homes and no scruples about putting those invitations to use. He should have given them the spell as soon as he received it. Did he really need to check it over so many times? Why *had* he checked it over so many times?
Jenny.
It was because he had gotten it from Jenny.
He hadn’t trusted it because it had come from Jenny. That was why he had wanted to check it over first. That was why he analyzed it so carefully. He was clinging to his grudge against Jenny. She had lied to him to protect her family and to keep her word to the people that she loved most and he had used it as a reason to take away his love and his trust. His behavior had been pompous and harsh and unforgiving and it had caused an unnecessary delay with unforgivable results. <Your fault.> The mantra grew louder. His fault that he had rejected Jenny for keeping her past a secret from him. His fault that he had refused give credence to anything that came from her. His fault that the uninvite spell had not been performed and Willow had not been protected and was now subject to the tender mercies of the same vampires who had captured that girl one time in Romania shortly before the gypsy curse and had spent days doing things to her like… he started heaving once again into the wastebasket as he remembered what he had read.
None of this would have happened if he had forgiven Jenny, as he had been aching to do for so very long. He had held on to blaming her because he needed someone to blame, but he knew that it wasn’t her fault. He wanted to apologize to her. He wanted to beg her forgiveness. He wanted to cry in her arms and take the comfort she offered and give her comfort in return. He wanted to soothe away her guilt and let her soothe away his. He wanted to hold her and tell her that they would work it out together. He wanted to tell her that if Cordelia and Xander could build a successful relationship then so could they. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, that he had fallen in love with her months ago and that he was finally ready to admit it.
Giles finally looked at his watch and realized how late it had become. Too late to get anything else done. The building was probably deserted except for himself and the night janitor. He should go home. There was a bottle of scotch waiting for him. He’d drown his sorrows and wait for the inevitable nightmares and then sleep it off and come back in to work tomorrow. Maybe he could talk to Jenny then, offer her his forgiveness and beg for hers in return. He sighed as he gathered his papers into his briefcase and headed out of the library. He saw the light still on in the computer lab. Was Jenny still there?
Jenny’s eyes were tearing up from staring at the computer for so long, but she couldn’t bear to leave just yet. She almost had it, she *knew* she did. It was almost there. She’d decipher the curse, and she’d recurse Angelus and Giles and Buffy and the rest of them would be safe again. It might even be in time to save Willow. And maybe, just maybe, in the distant future, they might forgive her, let her start over with a fresh slate.
It shouldn’t be much longer now. The translating program that she had composed seemed to be doing the trick. She was so close that she could almost taste it. She absently sipped at her coffee, barely even aware of it. An earthquake could have hit at the moment, and she would have been barely aware of it. That’s why the voice behind her managed to so completely catch her off guard.
Giles looked in the doorway, and there she was, sitting at her desk, working on something on that dread machine. He smiled slightly as he remembered the number of times she had tried to teach him how to work the computer. He had played the dunce, enjoying the feel of her leaning over him, trying to instruct him, guiding his hand over the mouse. She was obviously absorbed in whatever it was she was working on. She hadn’t even noticed that he was standing there. Gathering all his courage, he finally managed to speak.
“Hello.”
Jenny jumped slightly in her seat and turned to look at him. She grew even more flustered and typed something quickly that caused the screen to change. Then she turned back.
“Oh! Hi.” She waited expectantly for him to explain why he was there. Giles wracked his brain for something interesting or intelligent to say.
“You're working late.”
Giles was unaccountably reminded of the time a few months earlier, when he had come to beg her forgiveness after the miserable Eyghon fiasco. Then as well, he had trumped up a supremely weak excuse to talk to her, to check on her, to make sure that she was alright after he had put her life in danger. She had forgiven him. How was it that he had been so ridiculously petty as to refuse to show her the same forgiveness?
“Special project.”
“Oh.”
“Was there… was there something you wanted?” she asked hopefully. The day before, when he had borrowed the book and they had had the brief opportunity to talk, she had thought he was softening towards her. She had told him that she loved him. Had he thought about that? Did it mean anything to him? Was he here to borrow another book, or maybe something more?
“No,” he answered. Her face fell. “I-I mean to say I wouldn’t want to, ah, keep you from your work.”
“You’re not keeping me from anything,” she said eagerly. “I could use a break. I’ve been staring at this screen for hours.” Her hopes started to rise again. He couldn’t be here for a book. If he was, he wouldn’t look so nervous.
“You should be careful about that,” he replied. “There have been studies on that, you know. You could damage your eyes.” He held his breath, hoping, wishing, praying that she would let him do this. His hand was shaking as he lifted it slowly, ever so slowly, to touch her cheek. At every moment, he expected her to pull away. After the way he had behaved, did he really deserve her forgiveness?
She didn’t pull away. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes and nestling her cheek against his hand. A tear slid under her eyelid and down her cheek as a soft, shaky smile formed on her lips. He brushed the tear away gently, wordlessly. He had forgiven her. Maybe, someday, she could forgive herself. And suddenly, she wanted to tell him, wanted to let him know what she was working on.
“Rupert,” she said, knowing it was too soon to say anything for sure, but unable to hold herself back from sharing her almost-news with someone. “Okay, I don't want to say anything if I'm wrong, but I may have some news. Now, I need to finish up here.” She bit her lip and mustered all of her courage to say the next line.
“Could I see you later?” She held her breath. <Please let him say yes, please let him say yes, please, please, please…>
“Y-yes, yes. You could stop by my house.”
“Okay,” Jenny answered, with a smile that lit up her whole face.
“Good,” Giles said, smiling as he stood. He looked at her again and smiled wider before leaving. Maybe things would finally start looking up. After all, out of all of this mess, one thing was finally going right.
Jenny turned her attention back to her computer, all the more determined to solve the problem, as quickly as possible. She could do this. She could solve this. And then she’d be able to go to Rupert and show him what she had done and then… she smiled as she thought of the ways the evening might end. She was grinning as she continued to type away at the computer.
Meanwhile, across town, a shopkeeper was closing up the tarot shop, thinking about the mysterious woman, Janna, who wanted to give her friend a soul. He shivered at the thought. Gypsy curses were tricky business. He shook his head. It was not his concern. All he did was run the shop. What they did with his supplies was none of his business. He was just grateful that he was able to earn a decent living, and go home to his family at the end of each day. He was, in fact, looking forward to going home to his family within the hour, after cleaning up the shop, when he heard the door open one more time. He sighed to himself. He just wanted to get home. He didn’t have the time or the motivation to deal with any more customers.
“Sorry, honey,” he called out in the direction of the door. “We're closed.”
He hoped to hear an apology and the sound of a door shutting again. When that didn’t happen, he looked up to see a dark-haired woman cradling a puppy. The image looked so innocent that he couldn’t understand why he shivered. The woman was concentrating on the puppy and didn’t look at him.
“W-what do you want?” the shopkeeper asked.
The woman continued playing with the puppy, but finally responded. “Miss Sunshine here tells me you had a visit today.”
The man didn’t answer.
Finally, she looked up and the man started shaking at the obvious insanity that he saw in her eyes. “But she worries,” the woman continued. “She wants to know what you and the mean teacher talked about.”
~Part: 22~
Spike was rapidly reaching the end of his not-very-extensive patience. 'Macbeth' had become his least favorite play. He'd never been that big on Shakespeare in the first place. Too long, too flowery, and too much talk in between the far too few violent scenes. Besides, his moronic sap of a human self had loved it. That was reason enough. But now, instead of a general dislike for Shakespeare, he was consumed by a burning hatred for the play 'Macbeth.' His new pet had been reciting it for hours and Spike didn't think he could take much more. It wasn't that he was displeased with his pet. No, truthfully, he was damn impressed that she was managing to get through it. Even he would admit that she had had a hell of a day. Most humans would barely be able to remember their names at this point. Her bewilderingly agile and capable mind, coupled with her surprisingly determined nature, continued to most pleasantly surprise him.
But as proud as he was of his remarkable new pet, he couldn't help but wish that she'd pass out, already. The longer she lasted, the more she intrigued Angelus, and as long as Angelus continued to be intrigued, the damn wanker refused to leave. His desire to sketch her, watch her, touch her, and listen to her seemed to be truly unending. They could paper a blasted room with sketches Angelus had made of her throughout the afternoon, if they wanted to. Though Angelus had been surprisingly considerate of the girl's injuries whenever he touched her, he had, nonetheless, taken every occasion to reposition her, liberally sliding his hands over every inch of her body and running his fingers repeatedly through her long hair as he arranged her to his satisfaction. Spike growled every time Angelus touched the girl, but that only seemed to spur him on. Spike's only consolation was that she continued to flinch away from Angelus' touch and showed obvious relief every time he stepped away from her.
Spike had been relieved to see Angelus run out of drawing paper some time around the end of Act I. Spike had hoped that that would be the end of his visit, but, once again, Spike's luck was against him. Angelus had called for a brief intermission while he put his drawings away and had a minion fetch him some bloodwine. Once he had resettled himself, he had her continue. Angelus was a true connoisseur, and he took a keen delight in reclining at his leisure while he sipped at his bloodwine, enjoying the fine vintage of the wine, the excellent quality of the blood, the superior amusement of a Shakespeare recitation performed so flawlessly for him, and the delectable sight of Willow, her face set in firm lines of pain and determination as she struggled through her task while her beautiful body shook with the strain of holding herself together.
Willow's voice had died out completely in the middle of the second act. It had been a bit of an awkward situation. Technically, Willow could only receive food or drink from her master. It was an essential part of a pet's training. Willow was supposed to learn to depend entirely on Spike for all of her needs. Anyone who provided her with refreshment would be dividing her loyalty away from her master. Spike could tell that the girl desperately needed water. If he had been alone with her, he would have given her water as soon as she woke up. She deserved some sort of reward for how well she had behaved under his discipline. But he wasn't alone with her. Giving her water would restore her voice so she could continue to recite for Angelus' pleasure. And so, when Angelus suggested that Spike give Willow some water (he couldn't order Spike to do it, but he could *suggest*) Spike flatly refused. Angelus' eyes had flashed in annoyance, much to Spike's delight. Unfortunately, Spike didn't notice the devious gleam that built in Angelus' eye as he decided on his response.
"Well," Angelus had drawled, lazily, "then I suppose I had better be going. After all, if the charming entertainment here has ended, I'll just have to find a way to amuse myself somewhere else."
"Hate to see you leave and all," Spike smirked, "but like you said, the show's over. Don't let the door hit you on your way out."
"Yes," Angelus answered, ignoring the second sentence and focusing on the first, as he remained seated in his chair, "I suppose the show in here is over. Pity. I would have willingly stayed here just watching and listening to Willow until sundown. But since it appears that I have worn her out for now, I guess I'll go see if *Dru* is up to. entertaining me until then."
Spike's smirk rapidly faded.
Angelus stretched in his seat, raising his arms above his head and then lowering them gradually, sliding his right hand slowly and deliberately down his chest and torso to rest on his crotch, which he rubbed firmly with the heel of his hand, shifting his hips to increase the pressure. "I do want to try out your suggestion, roller boy, and see if I can sketch someone while they suck my cock. I'll practice on Dru. It might take several times before I get it right, but it is a skill worth developing. Dru won't mind helping me work out the kinks. After all, I want it to be perfect for Willow," he purred, giving her a lazy grin while he traced the lines of his lower lip with the thumb of his left hand.
Though Angelus kept his eyes on Willow, he could feel the frustration pouring off of Spike in waves, and it made his grin grow even wider. Willow remained deliberately and determinedly expressionless, and was once again thankful that she had nothing in her stomach to throw up.
<Why couldn't the bastard have a hobby?> Spike wondered to himself. <Why couldn't he enjoy chess, or carpentry, or watching soap operas, or anything that would fill his afternoons other than playing with what's *mine*?>
Reluctantly, Spike wheeled himself over to the mini-fridge Angelus had set up for him, and pulled out a bottle of water. He hated to let Angelus win this round, but he knew that he had no other option. If he had to choose between Angelus passing the time with Dru or passing the time with Willow, Spike would choose Willow, without question and without hesitation. Nothing mattered to him more than keeping Dru away from Angelus. If he had to throw Willow to the lions to achieve that, then so be it. As much as his new pet intrigued him, nothing truly mattered but his princess.
Once he had the bottle of water, he wheeled himself over to the bed and lifted himself up. He scooted over until he was lying next to Willow. He suppressed his growl at the smell of her. She reeked of Angelus; the scent of his skin, his saliva, and his cum covered her like a cloud. When Angelus finally left, Spike decided, he'd give his pet a bath. Then he'd find a few ways to pass the time that would guarantee that she smelled like nothing but him. Until then, he had to play along.
Willow gasped when she felt Spike's body slide alongside hers. She wanted to turn to look at him, to try to read his intentions in his eyes, but he had told her not to take her eyes off of Angelus, and she didn't want to disobey him. Then she felt the cool touch of his surprisingly gentle fingers slide up against the side of her face, turning her head toward him.
"Look at me, pet," he whispered.
Willow turned her head to face him, her eyes wide and nervous. She had heard the exchange between Angelus and Spike and she knew what it meant. Even though it was obvious that Spike would rather have Angelus here with her than upstairs with Dru, Angelus had still used that fact to force Spike to back down. She knew from the Watcher's diaries as well as her own experience that Spike hated to back down and admit defeat. Would he blame her? She stared into his startlingly blue eyes and was shocked by what she saw there.
Compassion. Spike knew what it was like to be a pawn, especially when it came to Angelus. He didn't blame her. He even felt a little sorry for her. Her strength, intelligence, and beauty deserved a better reward than this. She reminded him a little of his princess as she lay there, so broken and so scared. He felt the unaccountable urge to apologize to her for making her the scapegoat in Drusilla's place. He bit back the words. Master vampires don't apologize. But he couldn't stop himself from being as gentle with her as possible. She deserved that, at the very least.
He uncapped the bottle of water and held it gently to her lips. "Drink," he whispered. With one hand, he held the bottle steady, while the other hand gently stroked her hair. He whispered to her softly, telling her to drink slowly, to be careful, not to overload herself. There was nothing especially soothing in what he said, but Willow found herself comforted by the gentle tone of his voice and relaxed by the cool touch of his fingers running through her hair. Angelus' every word and every touch had been designed to provoke her, seduce her, or simply put her in her place as something in his power and under his dominion. Spike's touch was totally, blessed, different. Its sole intention was to comfort her.
Willow spent the last day undergoing every conceivable type of torture: physical, psychological, sexual, and emotional. And throughout all of it, she had not cried. She had steeled herself against every pain, every indignity, and every action that they forced upon her. But she could not steel herself against tenderness. Spike's gentle touch, softly sincere words and the quiet sympathy in his eyes moved something inside her that caught her totally off-guard. A single tear slid down her cheek. Spike brushed it away with such care that two more fell in its place. He brushed those away as well, continuing to whisper to her quietly, encouraging her to drink her water, and relax.
Finally, the bottle was empty. Spike tossed it aside and continued stroking her hair and her cheek. She had stopped crying, and was staring at him with a look of wonder and confusion. She forgot about Angelus glowering behind her. All she was aware of was Spike, and this new side of him that he had revealed.
"Talk to me, pet," Spike whispered. "Let's see if your voice is back."
"I'm fine, master," Willow answered quietly. Her voice was still slightly rough and she couldn't raise it much above a whisper, but it was back. "Thank you," she added, very, very softly.
"I told you, pet," Spike answered, "you're mine now. I'll always take care of you."
Meanwhile, Angelus was getting seriously annoyed. He smelled the saline in the air and knew that Spike had accomplished something that Angelus, himself, had failed to do. He had managed to make Willow cry. After all Angelus' taunts and insinuations, after all his touches and casual violations, Willow's unbroken calm had shattered at last, thanks to Spike. A sharp pain spread through Angelus that he was at a loss to define. The demon could not remember having ever felt it before, but something about it seemed vaguely familiar. Finally he placed it.
Jealousy. *Angelus* had never been jealous in all his years on earth. He had never had reason to be. Anything he wanted, he took. But the soul had felt jealousy. Though Angelus tried to block out all of the memories of the soul's interaction with the slayer, he clearly remembered meeting Buffy's so-called friend, Ford, and being wracked with jealousy. This was what it felt like. This same bitter pain of watching a person and wanting desperately to be in their place, to have what they had, to hold what they held. He saw how Willow responded to Spike and at that moment, he would have given anything to have her respond like that to him.
Willow had started out for him as a nonentity with no value other than her potential to cause the slayer and her miserable slayerettes a great deal of pain. From there, she had shifted into an item of interest, an intriguing conversationalist and an amusing entertainment to pass the daylight hours, not just for that day but for several days to come. She was proving to be a bit of a challenge, and Angelus was always intrigued by a challenge. He wanted to make her want him, wanting to shatter that resistance of hers and see her helpless to deny her desire for him.
But in that moment, under the unfamiliar pain of his first true bout of jealousy, Angelus shifted her into a new category. She was now a project. He wanted her to need him. Angelus knew that he could not be content until she was completely responsive to him, and him alone. She would be more than just a conquest; she would be a masterpiece: his ultimate creation. That fascinating mind and exquisite body and unquenchable spirit would be his to shape and form. He had given her to Spike, but he would find a way to make her his. Completely his. Only his.
Starting now.
Of course, there wasn't much he could do at the moment. Willow was not only Spike's pet, she was Spike's pet-in-training. Until her training was completed, there were severe restrictions on what Angelus could do to her, and he could never be alone with her. But such an obedient pet would no doubt finish her training soon. Then he would have his chance. He ached to possess her, but he knew he would have to wait until then. For now, he would use his time wisely: laying the foundation and enjoying her as much as he could, within the proscribed limits.
And right now, he had a deal in place with Spike. He agreed to leave Dru alone for the rest of the afternoon as long as he was compensated by being able to play with Willow. If Spike agreed to it once, he would agree to it again. Every man had his price, and Angelus had always been aware of Spike's weakness when it came to Dru. He had been exploiting it since the boy first rose, over a century ago, manipulating the weakness to hurt Spike or get his way. Now, he would use it to get Willow. Effective immediately. Spike had restored her voice. Now it was Angelus' turn to play. That was the deal. She was supposed to be staring into *his* eyes and experiencing *his* touch. No one else's. He cleared his throat to get their attention. It didn't work. With his annoyance continuing to mount, Angelus finally spoke.
"Willow, your voice trailed off in the end of scene 2 of Act II. Repeat Macbeth's final speech and then continue on to the next scene. You will not stop any more without my permission. And you will not look away from me again. Is that clear?" Angelus' voice had lost its tone of silky amusement and condescension. It was no longer seductive and teasing. It was hard, cold, imperiously demanding and, if you listened very carefully, slightly tinged with desperation.
Willow looked to Spike, making it clear to all of them that she would do whatever *he* told her to do. He smiled, stroked her hair one last time, and nodded. Willow nodded as well, and turned back to face Angelus. She continued with the Shakespeare, her face slipping back into its unemotional mask and her eyes once more focusing on the tip of Angelus' nose. Angelus' face was unemotional as well but a slight edge of tension relaxed in him when her eyes were once more focused on him and she was, once more, reciting for him.
~Part: 23~
Willow was halfway through Act III when the next interruption occurred. They were at Angelus' favorite part: when the ghost of Banquo arrives and takes Macbeth's seat at the feast. Angelus had always loved that scene. In fact, he enjoyed the plot device so much that he had recreated it several times, himself. He'd turn someone, and then have them show up at the houses of their enemies, peering in through windows and surprising them in their gardens. The shock of the enemy at being faced with the "ghost" never failed to delight Angelus. The sheer panic in their blood was intoxicating.
Angelus was literally on the edge of his seat, drinking in the sound of Willow's voice as she recited the familiar, beautiful, devastating lines of Macbeth's guilt and torment. He was aware of nothing but her. Then, suddenly, he felt that familiar tingle slide over his skin, coming from the other side of the door. He glanced over to Spike and saw that Spike had noticed it as well. Drusilla. She was standing outside the door. Damn. He'd forgotten about her.
He should have known that she'd want to interrupt. After all, since Angelus had returned, he had spent most of his afternoons allowing Drusilla to amuse him and she was bound to be annoyed at spending all day alone in bed. Spike had spoiled the girl over the past century and she had developed the bad habit of pouting when she didn't get her way. It was taking her some time to learn that her pouting didn't faze Angelus, and that he really didn't care whether or not she felt neglected. But Drusilla had never been terribly quick on the uptake.
Angelus could hear her growling outside at the guard, demanding to be let in, but he was determined to ignore her. She already had her instructions for the evening; she didn't require anything from him. He wanted to enjoy the moment he was having with Willow and he refused to allow anything to interrupt it. His blasted childe could wait. Unfortunately, Spike had other ideas.
"Are you just going to ignore her?" he asked, bitterly, his angry voice easily overriding the whispered sound of Willow's recitation. Willow paused for a moment, uncertain if she should continue, but then kept going. After all, no one had told her to stop. And her voice was definitely weak enough that they would have no problem holding a conversation over the sound of her recitation.
"That was my plan," Angelus growled in response, trying to block out Spike, Drusilla, and the minion guarding the door and concentrate only on Willow. All he wanted was to listen to Willow.
"After ignoring her all day, the least you could do is hear her out right now."
"I thought you wanted me to stay away from her, roller-boy," Angelus snapped at Spike, aggravated that he wouldn't let the point drop. "Having a change of heart?"
"It breaks her heart when you get like this," Spike replied, his voice low and intense and shaking ever so slightly with fury. "You're the one who made her so damned dependent on you, don't you think you should take some responsibility for her?
"I keep her clothed, fed, and sheltered," Angelus answered. "I see no reason why I should be obliged to keep her entertained, as well. She should be able to amuse herself without my supervision or participation."
"You know full well that the second you walk back into her life, she can't even handle thinking for herself without you telling her what to think, what to say, what to do," Spike retorted, his voice growing louder each second. "And then once you've gotten her broken in again, you find a new way to amuse yourself and leave her alone to 'entertain herself' which she does by begging her damn dolls for some answer as to why her Daddy doesn't want to play with her anymore and I'm always left to pick up all the piec-"
"ENOUGH!!" Angelus roared, morphing into his vamp face. "You want me to talk to her? I'll talk to her." He stormed over to the door and yanked it open, confronting the terrified guard and his perpetually bewildered childe. A minute later, when the minion was dusted and his childe was disposed of, Angelus re-entered the room, slamming the door behind him. He turned, leaning his back against the door. Willow's quiet recitation had continued the entire time, but only then was the room silent enough for her soft voice to fill it again.
"It will have blood; they say," she recited, never taking her eyes off of him. He froze at the quiet intensity of her voice. "Blood will have blood."
"Stop," Angelus commanded, quietly. Willow instantly obeyed. A lazy, seductive grin filled Angelus' face as he stalked over to his chair, keeping his eyes fastened on Willow who lay silent, awaiting his command. Angelus took his time, settling into his chair and sipping on his glass of bloodwine before speaking again.
"You continued reciting all that time?" Angelus asked.
"Yes, Angelus."
"Why?"
"You didn't tell me to stop."
Angelus' grin grew at her words, and Spike could detect the faint sound of a low-pitched purr of pleasure. "You were right, William," he stated, directing the words to Spike, but keeping his eyes on Willow. "She is a good pet. Such an obedient little thing. Almost as if she instinctively knows what to do to please me." He brushed his thumb across his lips again, subtly. "Continue, Willow. I'm ready to hear more."
And so she continued. She finished Act III, and moved into Act IV. Act IV was so short that she even had a chance to begin Act V before the next interruption, when Drusilla returned. Once again, Angelus and Spike felt it when she came up to the room. Angelus let out a slight growl of annoyance (he had hoped that Willow would be able to finish the play before he had to deal with his childe again), but yelled out to the minion guarding the door that she could come in.
She crept into the room shyly, like a little girl intruding on her parents and nervous about their reaction. Her actions seemed oddly out of character with her appearance, since her beautiful dress was heavily stained with blood. She relaxed when Angelus gestured for her to come over to him. Happily, she seated herself in his lap, settling herself on top of him comfortably before even bothering to notice that there were other people that were also in the room.
"I went shopping!" she said, with childish enthusiasm. "Such a pretty little magic shop. I got myself candles, and spices, and blood."
"Did you find out what the computer teacher bought?" Angelus asked, impatiently.
Drusilla snuggled against Angelus, laying her head on his shoulder before answering. "She bought a such nasty toy. They hummed on the shelf, full of power and pure intentions. They gave me a headache. I smashed all the other ones that they had left. They splintered apart beautifully, like showers of diamonds. It was such fun! Will you buy me diamonds, Daddy?"
Spike could see the muscles tensing in Angelus' jaw and knew that he was close to losing his patience.
"Dru, princess, why don't you tell us more about the nasty toy that the gypsy girl bought?" Spike interceded, trying to bring her back to the point at hand before Angelus lost his temper.
"Spike!" Dru exclaimed, finally noticing her childe seated in the corner. "Will you buy me diamonds?"
Spike's eyes softened. "I'll buy you anything you want, princess. You know that. But we need to find out what the gypsy is doing first. Come on, princess. Tell me what it is that she bought."
"She bought a magnet," Drusilla answered, at last. "It pulls in your soul from the empty space and then shoves it back inside you."
Spike and Angelus exchanged a look over Dru's head. An Orb of Thessulah. It had to be. Damn. Angelus had assumed that Jenny was looking for some curse to weaken him or maybe even kill him. It didn't occur to him that she might be trying to resoul him. After all, everyone knew that the translations of the text of the curse had been lost years ago. Darla, in her fury over what had been done to her "darling boy," had seen to that. Jenny must have used the computer to track down a way to translate the gibberish that remained. That settled it. He'd have to dispose of her that night, and make sure all of her notes were destroyed as well. Wouldn't do to leave a resouling curse around where Rupert could find it, after all. With a sigh, Angelus lifted Drusilla to her feet, and then stood as well.
"Well, princess," he said, "it looks like we'll be hunting gypsy tonight." Drusilla smiled and started spinning in circles, obviously pleased with the news. "Wish you could come, William, but we all know you wouldn't be able to keep up. Tend to your pet. See to it that she's fed and rested. I might decide to play with her again tomorrow." Angelus went to the doorway and started relaying instructions to the minions, ignoring the people he left in the room.
Drusilla stopped spinning as she registered her sire's words and, for the first time, truly noticed the girl lying on the bed. Her head cocked to the side as she examined the girl, stepping closer to look at her more carefully.
"This is your new pet, isn't she, my Spike?" she asked, in a tone of innocent curiosity. She had seen the girl that morning, when Angelus brought her out to explain about the memory box, but Drusilla had been in her Daddy's arms at the time, so she hadn't paid much attention to the girl then. If Drusilla had been in her Daddy's arms at that moment, she probably would have ignored the girl then, as well. But Daddy wasn't there with his princess. He had walked away from her again. Drusilla frowned as she realized that Miss Edith had never given her an answer on why Daddy had left her that afternoon. Something stirred in her mind, telling her she already knew the answer, telling her that the answer was lying right in front of her. And then it occurred to her. Spike's pet was covered in a familiar scent but it wasn't Spike. It was Angelus.
"Yes, Dru," Spike replied. "She's the toy that Daddy gave *me* to play with." Spike's subtle emphasis was ignored.
Drusilla walked over to the bed and ran her fingers through Willow's hair, lifting a strand, and then watching it drop back onto the pillow. Whatever it is she saw in the girl, she obviously wasn't impressed. "She smells like Daddy," Drusilla stated, with a frown on her face, turning to face Spike. "Why did Daddy want to play with her today, instead of his princess?"
"I don't know, Dru," Spike answered, quietly.
"I don't like her," Drusilla announced abruptly, troubled by Angelus' apparent fascination with the pitiful human. Dru didn't want to play with anyone but Daddy, so she didn't understand why Daddy would want to play with anyone but her. "May I eat her?" she asked eagerly.
"No, Dru," Angelus' voice boomed from the doorway of the room. "You must never eat Willow. Do you understand?"
"But Daddy," Drusilla tried to protest.
"I said you are never to eat Willow. Do you understand?" Angelus asked again.
Drusilla's eyes dropped to the floor. "Yes, sire," she answered, meekly.
"Alright then, princess. Let's go hunt."
"Yes, sire," Drusilla answered, looking up at him with a smile of pure adoration. She blew Spike a kiss and then danced out the door, heading outside into her beloved moonlight where she began to sing with the stars. Angelus lingered for another minute to say his goodbyes.
"Sit-n-Spin, enjoy your evening in. Willow, we'll finish this recitation some other time. Until then, 'I will most humbly take my leave of you.'"
Willow sighed weakly, recognizing the quote from one of her favorite scenes from 'Hamlet' and responding correctly and quite honestly in kind:
"You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that I will more willingly part withal." Willow smiled before completing the line, "Except my life."
Angelus smiled back at her, a smile full of sinister promise. "Fare you well, my lady," he answered, with a sweeping bow, and then headed out the door to join his childe. The minion shut the door behind him and Spike was finally left alone with his pet.
~Part: 24~
Spike closed his eyes for a moment in pure relief when the front door finally shut behind Angelus. For a minute, he had been afraid that the bastard would never leave; that he'd stay with them, "playing" with Willow all damn night long. But he was gone now, and Spike could finally spend some quality time alone with his lovely new pet. When he opened his eyes again, they were drawn, almost instinctively, to the barely conscious girl arranged so artistically on his bed. Her body was limp with exhaustion and her breathing was labored, but her eyes were clear and steady and focused solely on him, alert and cautious as she waited for his next move. She didn't have to wait for long.
"Marcus!" Spike yelled out, without taking his eyes off of her. Immediately, an enormous and rather bumbling minion stumbled into the room. Spike gave the minion a list of orders, spoken too quietly for Willow's straining ears to hear. Marcus nodded deferentially, and then left, exiting into the hallway. Willow heard the soft murmur of voices as Marcus passed some of the orders along to the other minions. Then he returned, nodding in confirmation to Spike and walked through another door on the side of the room. Seconds later, Willow heard the sound of bathwater running.
Willow barely restrained herself from moaning at the thought of how wonderful a bath would feel. All the things that Angelus had spent the afternoon doing to her made her feel incomparably dirty. She wanted nothing more than to wash the feel of him off her skin. Washing the blood off wouldn't hurt, either. And she wouldn't say no the chance to brush her teeth. And eat a decent meal. Or any meal, for that matter. And drink some more water. And have some clothes to wear. Was Spike going to allow her to wear clothes, or would she have to wander around naked all the time? Would she even be allowed to wander, or would she be chained to the bed all day and night? What if she needed to go to the bathroom? Did vampires bother with toilets in their lairs?
She had a million questions she wanted to ask. First and foremost, she wanted to ask Spike if the bath was for her, but she didn't quite dare. She opened her mouth a few times to form the question, but the words wouldn't come. Spike hadn't told her if she was allowed to speak when she wasn't answering a question, and the last thing she wanted was to make him angry again.
Spike watched with growing amusement as his pet fought her obvious curiosity. She had been nothing less than honest with him when she told him that she was a very bad liar. Her thoughts and feelings were clearly written all over her face. She seemed to be physically incapable of deception. It was refreshing. She was an entertaining little thing. His pleasure in watching her slowly erased his anger at Angelus and his heartsick despair over Drusilla. Soon, all his thoughts were filled only with the pleasant distraction of his lovely and intriguing new pet. He decided to put her out of her misery.
"Pet?"
"Yes, master?"
"I have a new rule for you."
"Yes, master."
"When we're around the minions, or even Angelus or Dru, only speak if you're spoken to, unless I order you otherwise. But when we're alone, just the two of us like this, speak freely. If you have a question, ask it. If you have something you want to say, say it. I will be very angry if you hold anything back from me. Remember, your thoughts and questions belong to me now, and I am in charge of all of your concerns. Do you understand?"
"Yes, master."
"So ask your bloody question, pet, before you explode." Willow flushed. She hadn't realized that she had been so obvious. But she pushed her embarrassment to the back of her mind. Spike had given her this opening to get her questions out, and she certainly wasn't going to reject it.
"Is the bath for me, master?"
"Yes."
"I-I don't think I can walk to the bathtub, master." At that point, it would be ambitious of her to attempt to stand at all. She had never felt weaker in her life.
"I wouldn't expect you to, pet. Marcus will put you in once the bath finishes running."
"Thank you, master."
For a moment, Willow's face lit up with pleasure at the thought of a bath, but then it clouded again.
"What is it now, pet?"
Willow blushed scarlet, which made Spike laugh out loud. He couldn't believe that she was still capable of blushing after the day that she'd had. Her blush darkened when she heard his laughter and he could tell that she wanted to look away, but she didn't. Despite her obvious struggle, she kept her eyes firmly locked onto his. Spike's laughter faded to a pleased smile. She was such an obedient pet.
"I-I'm grateful for the chance to take a bath, master, but."
"But what?"
Her gaze slipped slowly and deliberately down from his eyes to his lap. Spike was sporting a rather impressive erection from his brief conversation with Drusilla and its outline was clearly visible through his jeans.
"What form do you expect my gratitude to take?" she asked quietly, staring at his hard on with a visible mixture of dread and resignation.
To Spike's surprise, he found himself hardening further under her innocent scrutiny and the obvious implication of her words. The meaning behind her question was perfectly clear. She had had to suck him off four times the previous night for no reason other than that he needed some tension removed. What, then, would he expect from her as an actual return on a kindness from him? She was a clever little thing; she had proven that already. She was also surprisingly well informed on vampiric custom. She knew what was expected of her. A vampire's pet wouldn't remain a virgin for long. Her only question was when.
His pants got even tighter as he realized how truly tempting the idea was. His sire was off somewhere, probably fucking Angelus in the blood of the gypsy. He couldn't have her, couldn't touch her. Angelus and that bitch of a slayer had seen to that. But that didn't mean that he couldn't find a little satisfaction for himself on the unresisting body of his pretty little pet. Willow was there, and she was eminently touchable. Fucking her would hurt Angelus and the slayer. He knew that Angelus wanted the girl for himself. Spike would love nothing better than for Angelus to walk into the house to the sounds of Spike shagging the living daylights out of his pet while she screamed his name in pleasure. Let the bastard see how it felt to be the one on the outside looking in, for a change.
Spike ran his eyes up and down Willow's body. It was lovely, without
question, and he wanted to touch it, touch her, taste her, teach her, make
her moan. But then his eyes slid all the way up and locked once more with
hers. His smile faded. She was trying desperately to be brave, trying to
hold herself together, but he could see that she was fighting tears. Something
inside Spike softened. It wasn't his cock; that was still hard and aching.
It might have been his heart. His heart was cold and dead but there was
a part of it, a part of *him* completely separate from the demon. It was
that part of him that allowed him to love Drusilla so devotedly. It was
that part that loved to make Drusilla happy, would do anything to cheer
her up when she was sad, ached to shelter and protect her when she was
scared, and yearned to take care of her for eternity. That soft, vulnerable
part of him was all that remained of William the Bloody Awful Poet. Drusilla
had always been the only one capable of
bringing it out in him, but the sight of his beautiful, brave,
broken-hearted pet made it rise in spite of himself. She was his and he
would have her in every possible way. but not yet. Not tonight. It had
been a very long day for his pet and she had done so well, all day long.
Now she needed a hot bath and some food and as much sleep as she could
get. His needs, for once, could wait.
"We'll discuss your gratitude tomorrow," he answered, at last "after you've had a good night's rest. We can explore the depth of it then. Make no mistake, pet, you're mine and in exchange for the life that I allow you to have, I will expect your grateful submission to every action I give you to perform. But I have no demands to make of you tonight. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master. Thank you, master," Willow answered with a sigh of relief.
A silence fell over the room again, but the silence felt more comfortable, more relaxed. A minute later, they both heard the bathwater shut off, and then Marcus re-entered the room. Obviously following pre-arranged orders from Spike, he lifted Willow gently into his arms, carefully holding her so as not to strain her slowly closing injuries. Again Willow wondered if she'd ever have the time or the energy to feel embarrassed over so many vampires seeing her naked and exposed. With a sigh, she closed her eyes. Too many thoughts. Anyway, it didn't matter now. She'd worry about it later. Along with everything else. Once she was arranged in Marcus' arms, he carried her into the bathroom. Willow sighed again in relief when she saw that there was a toilet. <One less question to ask.> she thought to herself.
Marcus lowered her into the bathtub, and her eyes slammed shut again as she hissed with a mixture of pain and pleasure. The water was more warm that hot, but it still stung all her not-quite-closed injuries. Despite that, the heat, mixed with the soothing fragrance of the bath salts, immediately worked to ease the tension in her overly strained muscles. She heard the creak of the wheelchair and opened her eyes to see Spike wheel himself into the bathroom, next to the tub. His expression was oddly gentle as he looked at her. Wordlessly, he picked up a sponge and began washing her. He cleaned the blood away from her wounds gently, carefully and efficiently, tending to them with practiced ease. Willow felt her body relax completely under the cool certainty of his hands. It was a struggle to keep her eyes open but they opened wide easily enough when she heard someone start to enter the bathroom.
To her relief, it was Marcus, holding two coffee mugs in his hands. Spike took them and laid them on the floor next to his foot and then dismissed Marcus with a wave of his hand. With his hand hidden from Willow's view next to the floor, he dug a fingernail into the pad of his finger, drawing blood. Carefully, he added three drops of his blood to each of the mugs. When that was done, he casually lifted his hand to his face and pretended to scratch at his lip as he wiped away the last traces of blood from his finger. Then he lifted one of the mugs and held it to her lips.
"Drink," he said, in a tone that brooked no argument. Willow obeyed,
tentatively at first, and then enthusiastically as she realized what the
cup held. Chicken broth. Perfect. Warm, not hot, so it didn't burn her
mouth or her sore, sensitive throat and there was nothing she needed to
chew. She could almost feel the vitamins in the broth spreading through
her body, helping her heal. Spike held the cup gently to her lips, letting
her drink at her own pace, until the mug was empty. Then he lifted the
other mug to her mouth. This time, she obeyed without hesitation. Tea.
Chamomile with honey and lemon. She quickly drained that, as well. Spike
smiled with satisfaction at the empty mugs. The food would do her good,
helping her body heal, and the drops of his own blood that he had added
to the mugs would speed the healing process, dull some of the pain, and
increase her strength. They would also form a bond between the two of them,
tying her more securely to her master. Laying the mugs on a
counter, Spike returned to cleaning her off.
"M-master?" Willow asked, tentatively.
"Yes, pet?"
"I, um, have some more questions."
"Of course you do," Spike answered with a glimmer of something that looked like a smile playing on his lips. His eyes had been focused on her arm as he treated two parallel cuts that he had made alongside a vein, but as he said this, he looked up into her eyes again. He reached out and gently brushed her hair out of her eyes. Spike noted that while Willow didn't relax into his touch, she didn't tense up from it, the way she had with Angelus. That was good. That was very good.
"Ask away, pet," he continued. "We have all night."
~Part: 25~
Willow mentally debated what to say. There were so many questions, so many things that she wanted to know. But she was so unbearably tired. She didn't know where she would find the strength to keep her eyes open and focused, much less formulate and propose questions for discussion. But there was one question in her that burned to be asked. Even though she was terrified of what the answer might be, she wouldn't be able to sleep until she knew the truth.
"Will she suffer?" she asked, softly.
Spike's forehead creased slightly in confusion. He had expected his pet to ask questions about her own situation. What could possibly be more important to her than that? For a moment, he had no idea who she was talking about. Then he realized.
"The computer teacher?"
"Yes, master," Willow answered, even more softly. "Jenny. I know Angelus is going after her tonight. I know he's going to kill her. But. will she suffer?"
Spike thought about it for a moment. Angelus had always been the sadistic type. He definitely got off on the pain of his victims. He loved his role as the personification of nightmares. And in this case, the victim was something of a mentor to the slayer and the watcher's girlfriend, to boot, which would make all the pain inflicted that much sweeter. Spike had seen the woman before. Jenny was beautiful, strong, and stubborn: she was Angelus' favorite type of toy. And Angelus had always loved to play. From that perspective, it seemed certain that Jenny would suffer for hours, maybe even days, before Angelus would put her out of her misery.
But Angelus, despite his carefully honed image of invulnerable evil, had nightmares of his own. Spike had heard the muffled moans and curses coming from Angelus' room as he slept. It was one of the reasons that Angelus avoided sleeping, as much as possible. The big, tough master vampire whimpered like an injured puppy when the nightmares started playing in his head. He wasn't afraid of demons or monsters or slayers or hell itself, but he was terrified of gypsies. They had succeeded where endless demons, slayers, watchers, and other assorted enemies had failed: they had defeated the mighty Angelus.
For nearly a century, he had been caged, unable to act or speak or even move freely and trapped inside a body that brooded constantly, ate only animal blood, and wanted desperately to help humanity. Angelus had been known as a master of imaginative torment, but the curse the gypsies laid on him was the most vindictive, diabolical, creative torture Angelus had ever encountered. Even though the translations of Angel's specific curse were lost, Spike knew that Angelus was still afraid to spend any time in extended contact with gypsies. You never knew what they might have up their sleeves.
"I doubt it," Spike answered, at last. "He'll probably find some way to use her dead body to make your little friends suffer, but I imagine he'll kill her pretty fast."
Willow processed this, and then nodded. "My life is strange," she muttered to herself.
"What was that, pet?"
Willow's suddenly panicked eyes flew over to Spike. Damn. She hadn't meant to say that out loud. She had spoken without making eye contact, and she had forgotten to call him master. Was he angry? He didn't look angry.
"I was just thinking that my life is strange, master," Willow said, tentatively.
"Why's that, pet?"
"It's. I'm." Willow took a deep breath, and put her thoughts in order. Babbling like an idiot might be fine when she was with her friends; they would love her anyway. She wasn't sure whether Spike would tolerate it or not. "I'm glad that Jenny won't suffer, master. Even though I know that Giles and Buffy will probably be suffering instead. Just like I'm glad that I belong to you, instead of Angelus. In an ideal world, I wouldn't want any of my friends to suffer or die, and I wouldn't want to belong to a vampire. But I don't live in an ideal world. I live in Sunnydale, and I have to thank heaven for small favors. Your answer was sad and depressing and more than a little horrifying, and it's the best I could have hoped for. Therefore, my life is strange."
Spike looked up from the injuries he was tending and his eyes locked with hers. Then he did something totally unexpected. He smiled. The smile wasn't harsh, or cold, or domineering or sneering. It was just a smile. A mostly pleasant, slightly rueful, completely sincere smile.
"Yes, pet, I'd say it is."
Willow didn't know how to respond to that. Spike was confusing her. Angelus was easy to understand. He was evil, plain and simple. She had committed the unforgivable sin of befriending him when he had a soul, and to punish her for that, he wanted to do everything in his power to humiliate her, degrade her, and break her spirit. As much as Willow hated the thought of what he'd do to achieve those ends, she could understand his actions. More importantly, she could deal with them. She'd been subjected to daily mortification by Cordelia and Harmony ever since she was five years old. She had developed a fairly thick skin in such matters. It was easy for her to block him out. Spike was another matter entirely. Willow lay back in the tub, watching Spike as he gently angled her legs, working at the injuries that covered her skin. Spike had her confused.
He didn't care about her. That much was clear. He certainly had no scruples about hurting her as he had spent one hundred and ten minutes proving to her only that morning. And the very faint residue in her mouth that the water, chicken broth and tea hadn't quite washed away showed that he had no problem using her for his own pleasure. But he didn't seem to have any burning desire to hurt her, either. Capturing her and breaking her had been Angelus' idea, not his.
Only a limited amount of Willow's understanding of vampires came from personal experience. Though she often patrolled with Buffy, she never really had the opportunity to see vampires do anything but fight. The only vampire she had ever had a conversation with was Angel, and he wasn't much of an example of the type. He also wasn't much of a conversationalist. Always eager for more understanding, Willow had tried to expand her knowledge through second-hand experience gleaned from the watcher's diaries she snuck peeks at while Giles wasn't looking.
All the evidence stated clearly that vampires were heartless, soulless, vindictive demons. The younger ones were mostly controlled by bloodlust. They were vicious and violent, but not too bright. The older ones were equally callous and destructive, but they had more intelligence, which they used to torture and manipulate their prey. Vampires were ruled by hunger, lust, and greed with the ultimate goal of unlimited blood, sex, and power. Vampires enjoyed inflicting pain, seeming to find an almost orgasmic pleasure in the suffering of their victims. They hunted as much for pleasure as for survival.
Humans were only useful for a meal or a fuck. Occasionally, a master vampire might show his power and authority by taking a human for a pet, using the pet's body for food and for sex and using their enforced subservience to cater to his or her twisted desires, but such humans rarely lasted long. If they did not die from disease, starvation, or massive, untreated injury, the vampire would no doubt tire of them quickly, passing them along to the minions who would tear the human apart. Vampires were incapable of emotional bonds with humans and had difficulty maintaining them even with other demons. A pretty face might tempt a vampire to turn a human, but even the companionship between sire and childe was limited. Vampires had a horror of all human-like actions or emotions, and shied away from the concept of tenderness or affection. Any vampire who was capable of even a small degree of love was unquestionably weak and would, no doubt, be quickly destroyed.
All the sources agreed. All the watchers and demon hunters and supernatural historians were in perfect accord. Vampire psychology had been established for over a thousand years and all new evidence only served to corroborate the existing theories. Willow had no reason to question a single thing she had learned about vampires.
Except that it was wrong.
Willow had no problem reconciling that image of vampires with the Master Buffy had destroyed the previous year, or with Darla, or with Angelus. Even her brief, heart-breaking experience with the vampire Jesse had become backed up the evidence. But Spike was different.
First of all, he seemed to have no particular interest in causing her pain. He didn't object to hurting her, if the occasion called for it, but he didn't make a point of hurting her every single minute, just because he could. Secondly, vampires were supposed to use humans only for sex and blood, but Spike had yet to feed from her, and she was still a virgin after nearly twenty-four hours in his custody. Third, Spike took scrupulously good care of her, tending her injuries and making sure she was fed. He even bathed her by hand when she was too weak to lift a sponge herself. Fourth, and most shocking of all, he was completely, head over heels, down-to-the-depths-of-his-being in love with Drusilla. He demonstrated a degree of love that most humans would be unable to match. He shouldn't have been capable of that kind of emotion. But he was.
Willow searched for an explanation. How could Spike of all creatures be able to love like that? It certainly could not be argued that Spike was mentally weak. Spike was strong and capable, a full master with two slayers under his belt and a trail of extremely bloody deaths in his wake. It could not be argued that Spike's emotions were faked. His love for Drusilla was not in any way beneficial to his reputation or his peace of mind. He would have no reason to fake it. It most definitely could not be argued that he clung to Drusilla for any type of protection she could offer. Drusilla was nutty as a fruitcake and was far more likely to depend on Spike's protection than be able to offer any of her own. The only possibility was that it was true, real, undeniable love.
Like most young intellectuals who read too much, Willow had devoured the stories of Sherlock Holmes. She was perfectly familiar with the quote, "When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." Spike loved Drusilla. Regardless of the opinions of the experts, it was the only possible conclusion. And that meant that everything she had believed about vampires was wrong. It was a terrifying thought. If she was Angelus' pet, she would know exactly what to expect. But she belonged to Spike. And she had no clue what her future held. How could she defend her mind or her soul (.or even her heart.) against a master whose actions she could not anticipate? Blocking out Angelus was easy. Blocking out Spike was proving to be far more difficult. Already he had made her cry. She had sworn that she wouldn't let them do that to her. She had promised herself that she wouldn't let them get under her skin and in the first day alone, she had already failed.
Of course, Spike didn't seem at all interested in her, anyway. Maybe
he planned to ignore her most of the time, unless he needed some tension
relieved or a vein in her neck opened as a mid-afternoon snack. Willow
knew she could handle that. She could shut off her emotions and concentrate
on keeping herself sane if Spike ignored her. She told herself that she
didn't want Spike interested in her, anyway. She didn't wish that he was
the one, instead of Angelus, who couldn't seem to take his eyes off of
her. She didn't wonder what it would be like to be desired with the passion
Spike was obviously capable of. She wasn't in the least bit curious as
to how Spike's hands would feel on her body if he touched her with something
other than the professional disinterest he had shown so far. And she didn't
feel even the least bit rejected because he seemed to have no interest
in tasting her blood or taking her virginity. Of course not. It was best
this way. Once again, she could thank heaven for
small favors.
Very small favors.
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