~Part 1~

The phone wouldn't stop ringing.

At length a pale arm made its way out of the covers and found the receiver. "Yeah?" a sleepy voice asked. It took a few moments to wake up enough to understand what was being said, then he rolled over and gently shook his companion awake.

"Red? Willow, love, wake up. It's for you."

"'lo?" she mumbled, trying to force her brain into at least a semi-coherent state. "Giles, do you have any idea what time it is here?" Suddenly she sat up, wide awake. "What? How? Oh, gods.... I can't--Yeah. Thanks for telling me." Turning off the phone, she faced her partner and forced herself to speak the words she'd been dreading for more than a decade. "I-it's Buffy. Spike, she...she's dead," she managed before breaking down.

Annoyance at having been awakened all but forgotten, Spike sat up. "Oh, baby," he said, kissing her gently on the forehead, "I'm so sorry." He held her as she sobbed, with a tenderness he showed but rarely even now, after more than five years together.

Grateful for his presence, his strength, Willow clung to him as she began to absorb the fact that one of her best friends was gone.

Four days later, the couple finally arrived in Sunnydale. They'd gotten very good at travelling great distances without exposure to direct sunlight, but it wasn't easy, and this time Willow had neither the time nor the will to put in the effort it required, so Spike had had to make all the arrangements. On such short notice, their options were limited, and by the time they pulled into the Rosenbergs' driveway they'd been travelling for well over 24 hours. Spike tried to get Willow to take a nap before attempting to deal with anyone, but she insisted on going to see Giles after nothing more than a quick shower.

A very tired, haggard-looking Giles opened the door. Without a word, he enfolded Willow in his arms as her tears once again began to fall. Once they had both managed to regain some semblance of control, he greeted Spike and invited them inside.

"Um...Xander and Anya arrived in town yesterday; they should be over shortly. W-would you like something to drink or, or eat, perhaps?"

Willow started to decline, but Spike cut her off. "She needs to eat. Hardly had a bite since we got your call."

"Yes, well, I-I'll be right back."

Spike took a seat on the couch and pulled Willow down next to him as they waited in silence for their host to return from the kitchen. >From what he could tell, it sounded like the former Watcher had to pause several times in the course of his preparations to pull himself together. For Willow's sake, he forebore commenting when at last Giles did return, carrying a well-laden tray.

Taking a seat near Willow, he set a plate of sandwiches on the coffee table in front of her. Pouring two mugs of tea, he gave her one and placed the other before himself. Wordlessly, he handed a third to Spike, who took it automatically, too surprised at realising it contained warmed blood to even be aware of thanking him.

For the next twenty minutes little was said aside from Spike's attempts to coax Willow into eating. There was a knock on the door, and Giles got up to let in Xander and Anya. Willow flew into Xander's arms. As they held each other and cried, Anya took a seat at a discreet  distance, knowing she still hadn't mastered the too-human art of offering sympathy and that Xander needed someone who could understand what he was feeling.

After observing the former Scoobies for a while, Spike went to join her. "You lost in all this?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," Anya admitted. "I just don't get it. They've always been human, so you'd think they'd have accepted mortality a long time ago. And they always knew Buffy would die even younger than most."

"I don't really know what I ought to do, either," he confessed. "I mean, a Slayer's dead. From my perspective, that's cause for rejoicing. Only I can't enjoy it, because of Willow."

Anya sighed in agreement. "Do you still miss it? Being a real vampire?"

"Every bleeding day. Not a day goes by that I don't curse that bloody Initiative for crippling me. You?"

"Absolutely. Humans would be so much easier to deal with if I still had my powers. I can't believe Willow turned down D'Hoffryn's offer to elevate her. I'd kill for that chance again."

"Yeah, well, I'm glad she's still human. This is hard enough without living with someone who's got full demonic powers while I'm still...like this." As he spoke of Willow, Spike's eyes automatically sought her out, wanting to make sure she was holding up all right. The Watcher seemed to be telling them the story of just how the Slayer died, but otherwise she appeared as well as could be expected.

Anya studied him, noting the way his expression unconsciously softened as he caught sight of Willow, and came to a surprising conclusion. "You really do love her!"

Startled, he returned his attention to the woman next to him. "Yes, I do," he replied, daring her to comment.

"Hey, that's cool. Not like I'd have any right to complain about a demon loving a human. Just not too often you see that with a vampire. At least there's one good thing about no longer being a demon: I'm mortal like Xander now. How are you two dealing with that?"

Spike shifted uncomfortably in his seat and sighed. "We've sorta...agreed not to discuss that yet. Willow wanted...she wanted a few years without that question hanging over us, or some such thing. I can't help worrying about it anyway."

"So you going to turn her?"

There was no accusation in her voice, the way there would be if one of the others had asked the same question, so he answered honestly. "I don't bloody know. I want to, but unless her opinion's changed drastically in the last five years, she's so dead-set against it...an idea that's ingrained like that could well carry over into the demon--like Dru's madness, in a way. And from what I've heard about that alternate Willow you brought over several years ago, she'd probably turn against her sire for forcing the decision on her--and I'm not sure I'd have the will to fight her. Of course, it's starting to look like this bloody chip will be with me forever, so it's not like I could actually turn her anyway," he grumbled.

"So that's why you hate Angel so much? You didn't want to be turned?"

"No, no. I have completely different reasons for hating the old sod. No, for most people, though they don't want to be turned, that's new. Usually they don't realise we're real until it's too late, and even then the fear overrides it. But Willow...she's had years for her aversion to being one of us to become a part of her. We do keep some aspects of the human--the bloke this body originally belonged to was a bleeding hopeless romantic, which is why I'm such a sap, for example. And I'm just not sure I want to run the risk that the revulsion she feels at the idea of being sired would be a trait she'd keep. Hell, with my luck, it'd be the *only* trait she kept. So while I'll gladly try to change her mind--even offer to restore her soul if
that's what it takes--I doubt I'll do it against her will. Probably."

"Wait, though. If strong emotions still exist after you become a vampire, she'll also still love you, right? So she'll maybe be mad, and you'll fight, and in a few years you'll make up and can live happily ever after," Anya pointed out, proud of having found a solution.

Spike froze, his mouth suddenly dry. Trust the vengeance demon to bring up the topic he least wanted to think about. "Perhaps," he whispered hoarsely, "but I'm just not sure she loves me that much."

Taken aback, Anya was unable to think of a reply. As they sat in uncomfortable silence, the conversation on the other side of the room was coming to a close. Soon Willow stood, hugged Xander and Giles one last time, then came over to them.

"Spike?" He looked up at her, any harshness in his expression melting away. "Take me home?"

"Anything, love."
 

~Part 2~

The trip back to the house was conducted in silence, Willow too emotionally exhausted to talk yet and Spike not wanting to make things more difficult for her. Instead he put his arm around her, offering the only comfort he could until she was ready to discuss her feelings. He hated feeling so helpless.

Willow finally spoke as she was getting ready for bed. "The, um, funeral's tomorrow." Spike didn't know what to say to that, so he settled for making a noncommittal sound. "W-would you come with me?" she ventured.

"Willow, love, you know I'd be there for you if I could, but it's supposed to be sunny tomorrow."

"No, Giles said it's not until after sundown. Please?"

That surprised him. "What, are they insane? Do they *want* a bunch of vampires to show up?"

"Um...just two, I think. I...I told him you might not want to come. I mean...I know you never liked her. And, and then there's the fact that, um, Angel will be there. So if you don't want to come, I understand...."

"Pet, I knew Peaches would be here when I agreed to come with you. If you want me at the funeral, I can refrain from killing the poof. Just say the word, ducks."

"Really? Thank you, Spike. I love you."

He smiled fondly at her as she joined him in bed. "Love you too, pet."

Eventually Willow fell into a fitful sleep. Spike stayed awake, watching over her as he had every night since Giles had called. After about an hour he heard her begin crying in her sleep. He tried to soothe her out of the dream; when that didn't seem to work, he sighed and woke her up. She clung to him, sobbing, for several long minutes before gaining enough control to tell him why.

"Oh, gods, Spike," she managed at last, "B-Buffy's dead, and it's a-all m-my fault...."

He couldn't believe his ears. "What on earth--? Love, that's bloody nonsense and you know it. Even aside from the fact that you would never hurt anyone--not even a bloody demon like me who probably deserves it--you couldn't possibly have had anything to do with her death. You were halfway around the world at the time."

"Don't you see? That's the problem! I, I should've been there for her, been helping her! But no, I was selfish and thought only of myself and left her!"

"Willow, sweet, that's nonsense. No one could ever accuse you of being selfish." He could tell she didn't believe him, so he searched for a way to convince her. "Listen, pet, when you found out about the Slayer and the Hellmouth and all that rot, did you run screaming in the other direction, like most people would do? Or even tell yourself it wasn't your problem and go on with your life as though nothing had changed?" He waited until she shook her head before going on. "That's right, you began helping the Slayer, protecting the clueless of Sunnyhell. Doesn't sound very selfish to me. You could've gone to any university you wanted, gotten the kind of education you'd always dreamed about, but you stayed here--to help Buffy. At least twice you reacted to having your life threatened by some moronic, blind vampire by trying to comfort him," he reminded her, receiving a slight smile in return. "And I may be biased, but I also don't think it was very selfish of you to back up said vampire when he came begging for help.
But back to the Slayer...you put your life on hold for her for, what, seven years? Then even after you finished uni, you stayed nearby to get your master's. After all that, only a bloody idiot would blame you for taking that job, Willow! There was nothing for you here, no...no environment that would challenge you, intellectually speaking. Don't you deserve the chance to grow? To learn?

"And it's not even like you've given up trying to save the world. Do you think I don't know that one of the reasons you accepted the job in Vienna, even though it was so far from all your friends, was because you would be so near all the vampire activity in central Europe? Love, I can think of only one selfish thing you've done since I've known you, and we all forgave you for that bloody annoying spell long ago. Look, did the Watcher give you any reason to think he blamed you for this? Would Buffy?"

"Well...no, but--"

"But nothing. No matter how good she is, a Slayer's always going to die young. There's no way around that. You can't stop it. But you did delay it, and that's what you should keep in mind. Buffy would never have made it this long without you Slayerettes. Even if you had stayed, she still would have died; maybe a little later--maybe sooner. The only thing that would be different is that you might have seen it happen. Do you really want that, ducks?"

"N-no...."

"Willow, I know this is probably hard for you to hear right now, but you need to. You can't go blaming yourself for something you had nothing to do with. I can't bear the thought of seeing you torture yourself like that, you understand? I just love you too bloody much...," he admitted, at a loss. His words didn't really seem to be getting through to her; though her crying had slowed somewhat, she still didn't seem very comforted. "Will you at least try not to think about it tonight? There will be enough time to worry tomorrow; for now, it's far more important that you get some sleep for a change. Can you do that for me, baby? Just put it out of your mind for a few hours?"

"I-I'll try," she agreed shakily.

"That's my girl," he whispered, lying back and drawing her with him. He held her close, one hand rubbing soothing circles on her back until she fell back asleep at last. Even then, he continued to lie awake, unable to stop worrying about her. Once Willow got an idea like this in her head, it could be next to impossible to convince her she was wrong. He hated to think of her spending months tearing herself apart with guilt over something so completely out of her control. By the time he sensed the sun about to rise Spike had resigned himself to the prospect of spending the next several weeks, at the very least, reassuring her that she was in no way responsible for her friend's death. From prior experience, he knew it would take
constant reinforcement before she could really believe it. He'd have to keep a close eye on her physically, as well; the blasted chip made protecting her the way he'd like to difficult, but he'd manage it. In her current state of mind, she'd be too easily distracted by her thoughts to be as aware of what was going on around her as she ought, so it was up to him to keep her safe when they went out. He just hoped they didn't run into any trouble of the human variety.
 

~Part 3~

Some time after dawn Spike too fell asleep. By the time he awoke, Willow was gone--spending some time with Xander and Anya, according to the note she'd left on her pillow. He felt relieved that she was up to seeing her friends; maybe it was a sign he'd gotten through to her. Surely she wouldn't be so willing to see other former Slayerettes if she was completely convinced she'd been to blame for their leader's death. Right? In which case, having to spend the day alone, in an unfamiliar house, was a small price for him to pay.

Unfortunately, he hadn't had a chance the night before to pick up a stock of blood, which meant no eating until the sun went down and he could pop over to Willy's. He tried turning on the telly, but there was nothing on except soaps and talk shows, and his taste for such melodrama had long since faded. In the end he amused himself by examining the books Willow had left behind when she'd moved out and flipping through a few that seemed interesting. Around mid-afternoon Willow returned, looking slightly better than she had the night before. Her replies when he asked after her day were nearly monosyllabic, but at least she joined him on the couch rather than retreating upstairs to her room. When he put his arm around her, she snuggled into him; within minutes, he was happy to note, she was asleep.

The sun went down and Spike decided he'd let her sleep as long as he could. Reluctantly he gave her a gentle shake. "Willow, love, you need to wake up, baby."

She turned her face into his shoulder and mumbled a protest.

"I'm sorry, sweet, but you have to get up. I've got to go to Willy's, get something to eat, and you'll want to get ready for the funeral."

She sat up, grumbling good-naturedly for a moment at being awakened until his last words sank in and she sobered, remembering why they were there. He suggested she take a shower while he was out, waiting for her nod before kissing her forehead and setting off in search of blood. He wasn't happy about leaving her alone just then, but there was no other choice. He steadfastly ignored the comments of a couple of Willy's patrons who recognised him as the vampire who'd actually helped the Slayer, clenching his jaw to keep himself from responding. He didn't have the time to get in a brawl, however much he'd love to just pound on something. He stayed only long enough to get a supply that should last several days and returned to Willow before his resolve broke.

He could hear her upstairs, but he wanted to get his anger and frustration under control before seeing her--the last thing she needed was for him to add to her distress. Instead he went into the kitchen and fixed dinner for Willow in between sips of his own. When she came down he managed to coax her into eating nearly half of it; resigned to the fact that it was, for the moment, the best he could do, Spike wordlessly cleaned up after them both. All too soon, it was time for them to go.

Once more they walked in silence through streets Spike would have preferred never to see again. This was the third trip back they'd made since leaving Sunnydale, and each time he hoped it would be his last. He hated this town. True, it's where he'd found his Willow, but that was the only positive thing that had ever happened there as far as he was concerned. By far the vast majority of his memories of the place were, frankly, ones he'd much rather forget.

But for now, he had a funeral to get through. While he was sorry for Willow's sake, he couldn't help but hope that, with the Slayer gone, she would have no further desire to return.

True to his word, he acknowledged his sire's presence with a simple nod, then proceeded to ignore him entirely. During the service Spike kept his arms wrapped securely around the girl in front of him, but his mind wasn't on the people around them. Instead he strained his senses for any sign of approaching vampires or other demons. If these people, knowing all they did about life on the Hellmouth, were still having a Slayer's funeral after dark, they needed him to keep an eye out for trouble. They certainly weren't in any condition to do so themselves.

Much to his surprise, his vigilance proved unnecessary; apparently the demons had chosen somewhere else to hold their inevitable party. Despite everything--despite Willow--he longed to find out where, and join in. Yet he kept guard against it instead until the service was over, then released Willow so she could go join the other original Slayerettes to do...whatever humans did at such times. Looking around, he noticed the only other person present he gave a damn about, and decided to repay old favours. Approaching the lone figure at the graveside, he stood in silence for a couple of minutes before venturing to offer his meager attempt at comfort.

"I'm not going to lie and say I ever liked her, or that I'm sorry she's gone except for Willow's sake. But...she was a good fighter. Lasted a lot longer than most Slayers, too, and they're usually not stuck on Hellmouths. I guess what I'm trying to say is that she stopped a lot of evil in her time, and while it's just one more reason for me to hate her...well, I figure it's probably something you can be proud of," he concluded with a shrug.

With a wry chuckle at his awkwardness, Joyce looked over at him and gave a weak smile. "Thank you, Spike. I know how difficult that must have been for you."

One corner of his mouth quirked up in acknowledgement. "I'd offer you hot chocolate with marshmallows, but I'm afraid you'd have to make it."

"I appreciate the thought, anyway." She fell silent for a few moments. When she spoke again, the faint trace of levity was gone from her voice. "Thank you for coming, Spike. I'm sure you didn't want to, but I also know it means a great deal to Willow. She...she's the closest thing to a daughter I have left, and it helps to know she's got someone like you looking out for her."

He raised his brows, surprised. "You do realise you're the only person here who finds my involvement with Willow *reassuring*, right? They all still think I'm the worst thing that could have happened to her, more like."

"If they do, they're mistaken. But they don't know how long you'd had feelings for her before you ever got together. I do, and I have an idea of just how important the people you care about are to you. You won't hurt her. And with her so far away, I feel better knowing she's got you to turn to, especially now that--" she broke off, sobbing.

Glancing over his shoulder to make sure nobody was watching, Spike put an arm around her and pulled her in to cry into his shoulder. He seemed to be in this position a lot lately. He had no idea what to say to Joyce--somehow he doubted that "you've had several years to get used to the idea that she'd die young, and anyway Buffy was pretty much just a selfish little bitch" would go down well--so he just held her.

It wasn't too long, luckily, before she pulled herself together and stepped away. "Sorry, I-I know this is probably the last thing you want to deal with."

"Eh, 's okay, love. I figure I owe you. Just don't go around telling people I've let the Slayer's mum cry on my shoulder, and I won't need to have you killed."

"Don't worry, I understand."

They stood in silence for a few moments before Spike spoke up again. "Um, Joyce...you have, you know, our email addresses, right? In case...."

"Yeah, I do. Thanks. I'll keep you and Willow in mind if I need someone to talk to."

The remaining members of the Scooby Gang appeared to be saying goodnight; Joyce couldn't fail to notice that Spike's gaze kept drifting in Willow's direction. "You can't fix this. All you can do is listen when she wants to talk, and make sure she knows you will be there for her."

He turned back to her, confused. "Huh?"

"She's come a long way in terms of recognising when a situation requires...special behaviour, but Anya still has a lot to learn about when and, and who to ask for explanations. I just thought you might want advice on dealing with a grieving human yourself."

"Oh."

"Now, go on, take her home. I'll be all right."

"You sure?"

"Yes. Don't worry about me. Go."

He didn't need to be told again.
 
 

~Part 4~

Spike walked up behind Willow as she watched her friends leave the cemetary; when he put his arm around her shoulders, she turned into him and he just held her for a couple of minutes, relieved that at least she seemed to have stopped crying temporarily. At length she pulled back, and he asked if she was ready to go.

"Ye--no, wait, not yet. I, I have to...." Without explaining what it was she had to do, Willow left the safety of his arms and almost ran to the nearest trees. He followed, worried about what might come out of the shadows, and watched as she knelt, frantically searching the ground for... something. Snatching something triumphantly, she finally looked up and met his eyes for the first time. Their expression was slightly wild, as if she were not entirely rational at the moment. Which, he supposed, was possible; grief was one of Angel's primary tools in driving Drusilla insane, after all, and human psychology surely hadn't changed *that* much in a mere century.

Of course, he wasn't his sire; he didn't *want* Willow to be insane. He crouched down next to her, hoping he could get through before...well, he wasn't sure what. "Willow? Willow, pet, let me see what you have there," he urged gently. At the sound of his voice, she seemed to focus on him again, and opened her hand so he could see.

"Just a, a rock. I need one."

"Whatever for?"

Instead of replying, she stood and went back over to Buffy's grave. Curious, Spike followed, and saw her somberly place the rock on the tombstone. After a moment or two of silence, she glanced up at him and seemed to notice his confusion, since she offered an explanation. "Tradition," she said simply.

"Ah." Not that it cleared anything up for him; it certainly wasn't any tradition he'd ever been familiar with. But it seemed to have calmed Willow somewhat, which was all that mattered, so he didn't bother questioning further.

"Okay, now we can leave. I just...I needed to do that."

"It's all right, love, I understand. Now let's get you home; you've had a rough day, you'll need to sleep."

                              ***********

Spike didn't really relax until they finally got back to Vienna a few days later; the city was so much safer than Sunnydale ever was, doubly so now that there was no longer a Slayer to keep the Hellmouth population under control. Even here, he wasn't prepared to take any chances where Willow's safety was concerned, but at least he could let down his guard a bit. The biggest relief was knowing that the danger from human sources was minimal; anything else, he could handle.

Willow continued to be rather introspective, even more so than usual. He supposed it was only to be expected--for all her time on the Hellmouth, she hadn't lost many people who were very close to her--but it was a little strange, seeing her so quiet. He hoped she was talking more at work, and only withdrew so much at home because she had no choice about interacting with others all day.

One evening her voice broke through his worried thoughts. "What were you like as a human?"

His eyes flew to her in surprise; they'd never discussed anything like that before. "Why do you want to know, love?"

She shrugged in that self-effacing way he'd hoped he had cured her of. "I've just been thinking...about life, and stuff. Wanted to know what you were like b-before you, uh, died. N-never mind, you don't have to answer."

Spike frowned; he didn't want to make her think he was angry or upset with her for asking, but it also wasn't something he cared to talk about. Then he saw her withdraw further into herself, and sighed. "C'mere, Willow," he said, stretching an arm out to her.  He waited until she was settled at his side before continuing.

"You're right, I don't have to answer, and I won't, but I want you to at least understand *why* I'm not going to. It has nothing to do with you, sweet, and I'm not mad or anything that you asked. I just...I don't like remembering all that. I hate who I was back then, and am just thankful that it really *wasn't* me. Sure, like any vampire I've got a few of the same personality traits, and the memories, but they and this body are all that link me to that bloody pathetic git. In a very real way I didn't even exist until he was turned, and I have spent all the time since then distancing myself from him. Can you understand that, pet? And accept why I don't want to talk about him?"

Willow sighed and said, "I guess. It wasn't really important anyway."

He briefly tightened his arm around her, then patted her back. "C'mon, love, let's get you out of the house tonight. Been too long since you've done anything but work. What do you say we go snag some seats to whatever's on at the opera, hmm?" He hoped she agreed; he was perfectly happy to pamper her all she needed, but he wanted her to return to the more happy, lively Willow he hadn't seen since Buffy's death.

                              ***********

Willow turned her key as slowly as she could, wishing there were some spell that could prevent the sound of the lock opening from reaching vampire ears. Easing the door open, she poked her head into the apartment, only to find what she didn't want: an agitated Spike bounding towards her.

"Willow! Are you all right? Where the bloody hell have you been?" he demanded as he pulled her all the way inside, moving from obvious concern to anger with a speed that still sometimes caught her off-guard.

"Spike, I'm fine, really," she assured him, pulling her pendant over her head now that she was home. "I left you a message saying I would be home late."

"Late? *Late*? It's nearly midnight! I've been worried sick since dusk!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you. Something came up during the day, and I had to go help with an emergency exorcism as soon as I got off work. Gods, Spike, I gotta say, that was the nastiest ghost I've ever run across. Even you would've found it too evil--"

"I don't care. You know I don't want you out after dark without me. It's not safe; I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you, baby."

Willow rolled her eyes. "I know. But I'm fine; I wasn't alone, and anyway, I can usually manage to take care of myself, remember? I appreciate your concern, but--"

"Take care of yourself? Pet, what if you'd been...been ambushed by demons? You're not strong enough to protect yourself. You shouldn't be out after dark without me," he repeated firmly.

Sighing in frustration, she decided it was more than time she tried to cure him of this recently-developed paranoia. "Look, Spike, I love you, and I know you're just concerned for my welfare, but this has got to stop! Ever since--ever since Buffy died, you've been treating me like I'm about to break. And, okay, at first maybe I needed that, but damn it, Spike, it's been *months*! You act like I don't have a shred of common sense or, or survival instinct or anything--have you forgotten how long I lived on the Hellmouth before you were around to protect me? While you were even attempting to *kill* me? Yes, there are times when I need help, but I'm not a child!"

She could see that the concern he'd exhibited when she came home was entirely replaced by anger. Good; maybe what she'd said would get through to him this time. He could be so infuriating, and she was tired of him acting as if she were made of glass.

"I know you're not a bloody child!" he retorted.

"Then try acting like it!" she yelled back. "You won't let me so much as set foot outdoors without hovering, unless it's daylight and you have no choice! When will you get it through your head that I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself in normal situations? I will *not* let you keep treating me like I'm Drusilla!"

"What the bloody hell are you talking about? I know you're not Dru! That's one of the reasons I was first attracted to you, remember? Or did you lose your memory along with your good sense?"

"I haven't lost anything except for what *you* have taken from me! I'm like a prisoner in my own home. Your constant concern stopped being sweet a hell of a long time ago, Spike, and is stifling me! Why can't you credit me with enough intelligence to figure out for myself when I might be in danger? You never used to have a problem with that. What changed, huh? When did I suddenly become an idiot to you?"

She could see his anger close in on itself; it was clearly still there, but his expression had shut down. They stood there glaring at each other in silence for several long moments before he muttered fiercely, "Sod this for a game of soldiers."

All she could do was watch as he turned and strode angrily out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.
 

~Part 5~

Spike stalked furiously through the streets of Vienna, paying no attention to his surroundings. He just wanted to get as far away from the apartment--and the fight--as possible. What had Willow been thinking, to blatantly ignore the danger she could have been in, and reject his attempts to help ensure her safety, like that? Did she not care about what might happen to her--or how he'd feel if it did?

He continued to fume and wander brazenly across the city, daring any creatures that might also be out at that time of night to attack. Nothing did, and for once he wished they lived in some other city, where he could be guaranteed a good shot of violence to help release some of his rage, rather than being stuck having to walk it off like this. Eventually, though, he began to cool down some; enough to admit that his fears that Willow didn't care were nonsense, at least. She may not have returned the full extent of his feelings, but she had to know how it would affect him if she got hurt, and if nothing else, she'd at least feel guilty for being the reason someone she cared about felt bad. And deep down he knew that she *did* care about him, in her own way.

Once he admitted that she wasn't likely to disregard her own safety for no reason, as he'd claimed, it wasn't long before he began to consider her accusations. Had he really been smothering her? Sure, he'd been trying to take extra care of her since the Slayer's death, but he was just concerned that losing her friend might have left Willow vulnerable...surely she understood that. Right?

She must. In the more than five years since they'd allowed themselves to be more than "just friends", he'd made a conscious effort to make it clear how much he cared about her. He was naturally demonstrative towards those he loved--well, those who loved him as well; he wasn't some ponce, to go around making a fuss over people who couldn't care less--but he'd made a special effort where Willow was concerned. She'd once said something about her tendency to doubt people's affection, and he was determined she'd never have a chance to do so with him. So there was no way she could have misunderstood his intentions. She must have just been lashing out because she knew he'd forgive her, letting off steam about something else entirely.

Which was all right with Spike, now that he realised that she wasn't really mad at him. He would let her know he forgave her for the things she'd said, and then together they could figure out what needed to be done about whatever she was actually upset about.

That decision made, he looked around, taking note of where he was for the first time since he'd stormed out of their apartment. He'd managed to cross a good portion of the city, and somehow ended up in Willow's favourite park. She liked to claim she went there so often the ducks recognised her, he remembered fondly. Well, maybe it was time they returned together some evening.

He'd barely turned to begin retracing his steps when a jolt of pain swept through him, and he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

                              ***********

When he came to, Spike was temporarily disoriented before remembering the fight, and how he'd ended up there in the park. Noticing that the sky was significantly lighter than he was comfortable with, he decided the question of what had happened to him could wait--dawn was far more pressing an issue at the moment.

He quickly calculated that, although getting to the metro from where he was would still be possible, by the time he arrived in their part of the city the sun would in all likelihood be up already, and there was no way he could make it from the nearest station to their building. It was still too early for shops or museums to be open, though, which didn't leave much in the way of hiding places. He'd have to make do with figuring out where to spend the day *after* he was safely underground, it seemed.

As he rode the elevator down to the platforms, he debated where he might have the most luck. Most of the stations were nothing more than the platforms themselves, but he could get to two of the regular train stations without having to either change lines or worry about stretches where the tracks did not actually run underground. Wien Mitte was only one stop away, but then, he had plenty of time to waste, and Westbahnhof was closer to home. Since he didn't plan to buy a ticket--even if he wanted to, he didn't have any money with him--Spike thought it would be best to limit the amount of time he spent actually riding the trains; the last thing he needed was to run into a ticket inspector, and get dragged off to a police station where he'd most likely be unable to avoid that pesky sun. So...Westbahnhof now, then finish the trip after dusk, rather than making the full journey at once later on.

By the time he got off the train, he could tell the sun was already up. He wanted to call Willow, let her know he was all right, but, again, he hadn't thought to grab a phone card when he'd left. He considered spending the day wandering around the station--reading train schedules and browsing the few shops was bound to become boring long before it was safe for him to leave, but it wasn't like he had many options--but soon discarded the idea; someone was bound to notice that he'd been hanging around for hours, without luggage or any apparent reason for being there, and get suspicious. So, that left...where? He tried to act casually as he looked around for a decent hiding place. Eventually he spotted one--not his first choice, but at least he would be guaranteed not to be disturbed all day. Waiting for a moment when no early-morning commuters were within sight, he quickly broke the lock and slipped inside.

William the Bloody would be spending the day inside the "nights only" public toilet.

He shook his head in mock despair over what he'd been reduced to, as he pulled the door closed and did what he could to minimize the visible damage he'd done when he broke in. The only thing worse than being stuck spending the day in a loo would be if someone actually saw him doing so.

Satisfied he was as safe from detection as he was likely to get, he sat on the floor with his back to the wall, hoping he could at least get a bit of sleep while he waited.

He hadn't been waiting long before another jolt of pain burst through his head; although he managed to retain consciousness this time, when it was over he wished he hadn't. Spike had experienced lots of piercing headaches in the several years he'd been chipped, but none had him on the ground in tears before. When he finally stopped whimpering, he felt only a moment's relief that no one had witnessed his weakness; instead, he was growing worried. That was twice in just a few hours that he'd been crippled for no apparent reason, and on top of the danger it could put him--or, worse, Willow--in if it happened at the wrong time, he was very much not liking how painful the process was.

Getting up and splashing some water on his face, he stared into the mirror, for once glad he didn't have to see what he looked like. If it was even a fraction of how he *felt*, he didn't want to see.

"Okay, mate, let's look at this rationally," he muttered to himself. "What would Willow say? Well, pain in me head--that sounds like the bloody chip. But I wasn't even thinking of trying to hurt anyone either time, and besides, it never hurt like that before. So...what else could it be? Brain tumor? Hardly," he snorted. "At least I've still got *some* of the benefits of being a vampire. Don't know what a stroke feels like, but I'm pretty sure there's supposed to be some effect other than just the sodding pain. And since I never watched those bloody medical programs enough to learn anything, that brings us back to everyone's favourite Initiative relic." He stopped pacing the limited space and once more stared intently into the empty mirror. "But how?"

He wasn't able to get any closer to an answer; they just didn't know enough about how the chip worked, and the attacks he continued to suffer throughout the day were too severe for him to think much. By mid-afternoon they were coming more frequently, and though they didn't seem to last as long as they had at first, the pain was more intense, and it took him longer to recover. The only thing he could come up with was the fact that the chip had always been somewhat unstable: somehow he'd been able to fight the Initiative wankers during his escape, but not when they'd attacked Willow's dorm room. One day he couldn't point a bleeding toy gun just for fun, the next he could threaten the Slayer. Clearly his chip was not the final release version. Either that, or it was made by Microsoft.

And just in case he needed any proof that he'd spent too much time around Willow the past several years, that thought would have confirmed it.

But nonetheless, faulty chipmanship was the only thing he could think of that might be causing these sudden headaches. Which left him little hope for fixing it.

As soon as he felt the sun starting to go down, he waited until the sounds outside his hiding place indicated minimal traffic, and slipped out. All he wanted at the moment was to get home, to Willow. The sooner she knew what was going on, the sooner she could start researching a solution.

Assuming he made it that far.
 

~Part 6~

Willow had been unable to concentrate all day. She hadn't been too concerned when Spike stormed out the night before--he was prone to that kind of thing, and when he came back he'd usually have calmed himself down some--but when she woke up that morning, he still hadn't returned. She couldn't help but worry, and images of all those vampires she and her friends had dusted over the years just made things worse, since it was all too easy to picture the same happening to Spike. Too distracted to have accomplished anything even if she stayed, Willow rushed home from work as if by some miracle he'd be there waiting.

She never thought she could miss Sunnydale's bizarrely extensive sewer system this much. No matter where you were, you could pretty much count on having a sewer access nearby. And while she wasn't exactly fond of hanging out in sewers herself, knowing they were there providing handy shelter from the sun would have helped reduce her fears.

When the sun finally went down, she realised she ought to have made a choice already: go out and search the city, hoping to somehow stumble
across him? Or wait where she was, to be there if--when, she had to believe that--he came home?

In the end she decided to stay home; wandering around looking for someone might be a viable option in Sunnydale, but Vienna was just too large for that. So she continued to pace, and fret, and glance at the door every thirty seconds in hopes that Spike would magically appear.

She went weak-kneed with relief when at last he stumbled through the door. Instantly she flew to the entryway, throwing her arms around his neck. "Thank the gods you're okay! I was so worried. Whatever I said, I'm sorry, just please, Spike, don't ever stay out all day without letting me know you're all right again," she begged.

"Willow, I--" he began before his arms tightened convulsively around her and he suddenly collapsed. Struggling to support his full weight, Willow staggered to the couch. It was obvious he was in a great deal of pain, but she didn't know what she could do to help. Instead she just held him, unconsciously rocking back and forth as she cried for him.

She had no idea how long it was before she felt his body start to relax, and he turned in her arms to face her. "Willow, help me," he pled, his voice hoarse. "I think the chip's gone all wonky on me; that's why I couldn't make it home last night, was in the Stadtpark when it hit, when I came to it was nearly dawn. It's going off for no reason, I'm not even *thinkin'* 'bout hurting anyone when it goes off. It's happened several times today, and they're getting closer together. Whatever's wrong, it seems to be getting worse."

She looked down at him, helpless. "Oh, Spike...," she whispered. "We've got to fix this! It, it's just not right. B-but how? We don't know anything about that chip, really, and with Riley and the rest of the Initiative long gone...."

"I don't know, love, but I was hoping some of that research you're so good at might turn up something we'd missed before."

"Research! Right. I can do that. I just...I hate the idea of me being off messing around online while you're--"

"Shh, pet, I know. But you'll be helping me, in the long run," he assured her, gradually beginning to look and sound more like himself.

"Yeah," Willow agreed, reluctantly. "Oh! You must be hungry. Being unexpectedly away from home all day, and everything. Want me to heat some blood for you?"

"That'd be great, yeah," he said with a small smile. "A couple of bags, if you don't mind."

"Sure thing." Glad to have something concrete to do, she went into the kitchen, mind already working on Spike's problem.

She couldn't do anything yet about fixing the chip, so while the blood was heating she focused on ways they could at least keep him more comfortable in the meantime. It was a depressingly short list. It had just been so long since he'd really had any chip-induced headaches; over the years, he'd gotten good at controlling the impulses that led to them, and now she couldn't remember what he'd already tried when it came to alleviating the pain.

Over-the-counter human painkillers didn't help, she recalled. And while they hadn't really tried prescription drugs, getting them was a problem--it wasn't like Spike could visit a doctor without running into awkward questions about body temperature and pulse and other things he didn't have. They'd used alcohol as a makeshift anesthetic once back during the Initiative days, but...it took more to affect a vampire than a human, and  besides, did she really want him drunk all the time, even between headaches? He wouldn't be able to do anything to help find a solution, that way.

The sound of the microwave drew her attention back to the present; gathering the mugs, Willow returned to the living room, no closer to anything resembling answers than she had been a few minutes earlier. At least Spike looked better, and was sitting up now, acting almost as if nothing had happened. His face brightened considerably when he saw her bringing what had to be his first meal since the previous day. She watched, concerned, as he gulped down the first bag's worth, only slowing a little when he reached for the second.

Finally setting down the last mug, he noticed her watching him. "Sorry, ducks, I guess I was hungrier than I thought."

"No, it's okay, just...I was thinking. I don't have the faintest idea what could have happened to the chip, or how it could be fixed. Worse, I can't even think where to begin looking for information. And, and I can't bear the thought of seeing you like this...."

He slid closer and pulled her against him. "Don't worry, Red, you'll come up with something. And maybe it will take a while, but I'm not going anywhere. Believe me, after today I mean that literally," he joked, coaxing a faint smile out of her.

                              ***********

The next several days got progressively harder. At first Spike could go as long as an hour or two without feeling the effects of the chip, and he tried to keep both their spirits up during those times, but all too soon the pain-free intervals were down to forty-five minutes, then half an hour. Before the week was out, he barely had time to recover from one attack before the next hit.

Willow was close to collapsing. Between staying up all hours trying desperately to find a way to stop this, trying to take care of the increasingly incapacitated Spike, and irrational guilt over having driven him out the night that it all started, she was a wreck. And then in one of his few lucid moments he begged her to stake him rather than leave him in constant pain, if she couldn't figure out how to fix him soon. That was a promise she just couldn't make, even under the current circumstances.

She wished the Scoobies were there. There'd been nothing they couldn't resolve together, if they put their minds to it. But Buffy was--gone, and even before that the rest of them had scattered. By the time she'd contacted them all and they had a chance to get to Vienna, it could be too late to undo whatever was happening to Spike--assuming they were willing to help him in the first place. And she just didn't have the time or energy to spare for trying to convince them.

She was close to tears--tears of worry, of frustration, of exhaustion--and wishing they'd just gone ahead and fixed Spike back when they still had Riley's access to the Initiative to help them. Sure, he'd probably have left town and gone back to killing and she'd never have had these past few, wonderful years with him or gotten to know what a great person he could be, once he let you past all the macho posturing, and okay, so she would have missed out on a lot if she'd never had even his friendship, but at least if they'd fixed him in the beginning she'd have been spared this anguish now, not only seeing the person she loved most in the world suffering like this, and not being able to do anything about it, but also *knowing* they
could have gotten the information she needed, if only they'd ever thought to try. But no, back then Spike was still Evil, and besides, they had more immediate concerns and then once they'd defeated Adam, the Initiative was gone as well, so even if they'd thought to try to look for anything on the chip it wouldn't've mattered, all the files were destroyed when the base was shut down, at least, that's what Riley was told.

If only they had talked him into copying those blasted files before he was kicked out and his access was revoked.

Then it hit her, and hope started growing in her for the first time.

Trying not to get too optimistic before she even had a chance to see if she still had what she was looking for, Willow ran to the guest bedroom's closet, which they'd been using as a storage space for the boxes of things she hadn't wanted to leave behind when they moved, but hadn't bothered unpacking. She frantically tore through each one, tossing the contents recklessly behind her until, at the bottom of the fifth box, she found what she'd been desperately been hoping to see: the disks Adam had given Spike, to lure Buffy into the Initiative battle. She'd completely forgotten she still had them. It was a long shot, but just maybe they contained information on the chip.... The Scoobies had never really gone through their contents; at the time, all they cared about was finding ways to stop Adam, and uncovering the horrid hybrid soldier plan. Later, the Initiative was destroyed so it didn't seem to matter.

Now, however, those files Spike had been given as part of Adam's plan to defeat the Slayer could well end up saving his life. While their source was suspect, the information they *did* look at had all turned out to be accurate; the whole point was to help Buffy find out what Adam was planning so she'd go try to stop him, not to keep it from them.

With renewed determination, Willow slid the first of the disks into her laptop.
 

~Part 7~

Slowly Spike awoke. The first thing he became aware of was a warm body next to him, head on his shoulder, arm sprawled across his chest. He wrapped an arm around Willow, her presence comforting as he fought his way through the fog of sleep, confusion, and the all-too-familiar post-migraine pain and disorientation.

When he remembered what had been going on with the chip the last time he was fully aware of his surroundings, a cautious smile spread over his face. He didn't want to let himself get too excited, not until he'd had a chance to confirm things at least, but it appeared Willow had done it again. He knew if anyone could fix him, it'd be her.

Deciding that knowing the chip wasn't just taking a break from torturing him was more important than watching Willow sleep, he gently shook her awake. She blinked up at him blearily for a few seconds before realisation lit her eyes.

"Oh! You're awake! And--not hurting?"

"Not really," he said with a small grin. "Just a bit of fuzziness; should go away soon. I take it you figured out what was wrong?"

"Well...sorta. I mean, I found the old disks you'd gotten from Adam, remember? And eventually I discovered they've had info on the chip all along, and we just never thought to look! It was all there, some technical stuff and a diagram of just where it was in your brain, and everything. So I got online and started asking around, and eventually found a neurosurgeon who takes his oaths to ease suffering to apply to *everyone*, not just humans, and he was willing to remove the chip when I explained what it was doing to you, and, well, since then I've just been waiting for you to wake up." She paused for breath, and when she resumed speaking, it was with some reluctance. "I, um, didn't tell him what the chip was for, just that you'd been an unwilling part of a military experiment, and had learned to live with the effects until it went haywire. He didn't know it was keeping you from killing people."

Dismissing her little moral qualm with barely a thought, Spike gazed up at her in awe. "Willow, you're a marvel," he told her sincerely, drawing her to him for a kiss.

The phone rang, and Willow pulled away to answer it. Playing idly with a lock of her hair, Spike listened in annoyance to her side of the conversation. As soon as she'd hung up, he said, "Don't."

She turned to look at him almost sadly. "I have to. They need me to help with this spell, and it really has to be done tonight."

Spike frowned. "I don't care. I want you to stay with me tonight; they can find some other witch."

"Did nothing I said that night get through to you? I can take care of myself. You haven't been able to protect me the past couple weeks, and I've done just fine. Well, not *fine*, 'cause you were hurting, but you know what I mean." She turned her Resolve Face on him. "Don't make me get all Girl Power on you."

"I didn't mean it like that, love. I just want to be with you; I just went all this time unable to enjoy being near you, and would like to spend at least one night together, just us. Is that too much to ask?"

The anger faded from her expression, though unfortunately the determination remained. "No, it isn't, and I'm sorry. But this is important. I'll be back as soon as I can, promise."

She gave him a quick kiss and left while he was still trying to figure out how he could change her mind. With a sigh of resignation, Spike got out of the bed and went to the kitchen, where he began to automatically get a bag of blood out of the fridge. Then he remembered.

The chip was gone.

He didn't have to feed from bags anymore.

A grin spread over his face. There was no telling how long it would be before Willow came back, so there wasn't much sense in hanging around, was there? Grabbing coat and keys--and a few hundred schilling, just in case; he didn't expect to get caught out when dawn came, but then, he hadn't the last time either--Spike left the apartment.

                              ***********

A few hours later he returned, humming cheerfully to himself. He was once again met by an anxious Willow.

"There you are! Where've you been?"

Spike couldn't stop the grin that spread over his face. "Been out test-driving my new chip-free state."

Willow froze, but he was too excited to notice. "Y-you were--hurting people?"

"Of course; I have to eat, don't I?" He laughed from sheer joy. "It was wonderful, ducks! Going on a proper hunt again after all this time...I can't describe it! And I have you to thank."

"Oh." Willow's face fell.

"Something wrong, love?"

"I just...I mean...I thought--do you have to?"

"What?"

"You know. Do you really have to kill people?"

"Well, yeah. Like I said, I've got to eat. What did you think I was going to do now that I'm finally rid of that bleeding chip?"

"I--well, I kinda assumed things would continue as they've been, only now you'd be able to fight back if we ran into, well, humans of the evil variety."

His glee faded as he realised what she really meant. "You want me to keep feeding out of bags."

"Well...yeah."

"You want me to keep feeding out of bags even though you've heard me complain I don't know how many times that it's thoroughly revolting," he repeated, struggling to keep his temper in check.

"I thought that by now you'd have grown used to it."

"Is that why you waited so long to de-chippify me, when you knew the answer was sitting there on those disks all along? Wanted to wait until I'd had the sodding thing long enough that you decided I'd been tamed and no longer needed the things I've been denied all these years?"

"But I'd forgotten about those disks until just recently! And anyway, vampires don't *need* to kill people. I mean, look at Angel--"

That did it. "I am NOT Angel! If you wanted Angel, you should never have got involved with me. I'm not Angel, I'll never be him, and I damn well don't want to be!"

"I don't *want* Angel! I want you, Spike. I just don't want anyone to get hurt."

"Yeah, well, it's a bit too late for that," he sneered.

Willow looked up at him, confused. "I-I don't understand. Why are you being like this? You know how much I hate when people are killed. You act like you don't care that this is important to me." She looked like she was about to cry. "Don't you love me anymore?" she asked plaintively.

Spike deflated, his usual passion for any sort of fight suddenly gone. He was just so tired of pretending everything was fine between them. "More than you know, pet. That's never been our problem. Quite the opposite."

"What do you mean? You think--you think--Spike, that's nonsense! I love you, so very much...."

"No, you don't. You never have done. You may be in love with something, but it's not me. Not really."

"How can you say that?"

"How can you say you love me when you can't deal with who I am?" he countered. "All these years, and you still haven't accepted the fact that I'm a vampire."

"Spike, that's crazy! Of course I know you're a vampire--"

"No, love, you don't," he broke in, five years' worth of frustration and bitterness and pain refusing to be suppressed any longer. "You seem to think being a vampire is just about drinking blood and having a face that goes bumpy on occasion. Well, it's not. I kill people, Willow. I like killing people. I told you up front that wasn't going to change, and you even said you wouldn't want it to. 'The violence was a part of me' or some such rot. Yet now here you are, expecting me to be all tame, like your little wolf. Well, sorry, ducks, but that's not going to happen!" Willow tried to respond, but he kept talking over her. "Why can't you just accept who and what I am? I love you the way you are--ill-advised spells, friendship with the Slayer,
habit of killing my fellow demons, and all. Why is it so damn hard for anyone to return the favour?!"

"Please, stop yelling! I can't think when you're yelling at me!" she cried. "And you're wrong! I'm well aware of what you are, and I love you anyway, and I don't know why you think I don't!"

"The hell you do! I'm a *vampire*, pet. And in five years, have you ever, even *once*, let me drink from you? Allowed me to taste the few drops that escaped from a particularly deep paper cut? Offered me the blood spilt when you sliced your hand chopping vegetables? No! Even knowing how starved I was for fresh human blood, and how much I love you, you never gave that to me. Because if you did that, you'd have to admit that it's a demon sharing your bed every night."

"Hey now! How can you think I care about that? Okay, so I didn't know Tara was a demon while we were together, but there was Oz!"

"Oh, right," he scoffed, his voice now as hard as his gaze, "he turned into the wolf three nights a month, during which he went and locked himself in a bloody cage like a good little mutt. Well, hate to break it to you, pet, but I'm a vampire *all* *the* *time*. And though you prefer to ignore what that means, deep down you know what I am. And it terrifies you."

Willow began to protest, but by this point he was beyond hearing her, too wrapped up in finally expressing all the things he'd held back for so long. "Deny it all you want, but your body doesn't lie. Not once have I tried to hurt you since we became friends, yet despite all your claims of trust your heart rate still picks up if you see this," he allowed his real features to show as he began to stalk towards her, "when you're not expecting it. Seeing what I am scares you. Even while I had the chip, you were afraid of me, and you still are. You think I don't know why you 'forgot' to take this off when you came home?" He had backed her into a wall, and drew the Kamarás Pendant out from under her shirt, ignoring the tears streaming down her cheeks. "I scare you, Willow. Oh, you're fine with blood-in-a-mug and my not being able to go out in the sun, but it's clear you can't handle the
darker side of who I am. Because if you really loved and trusted me, as you say you do, it wouldn't bother you when I do this," he accused, yanking on the pendant hard enough to break the chain, then leaning in to rest his fangs on her neck.

Willow tried to shrink away from him, and whimpered. And in that moment the small part of him that had continued to hope that he was wrong, that she truly did love the real him and not some imaginary, safe Spike her mind had created, died. He couldn't do it anymore, couldn't keep settling for pretending to be someone else just to be near the person he loved. He'd already done that for more than a century with Dru, and in the end it had nearly torn him apart. Willow was supposed to be different. She wasn't supposed to be cowering from him like this. Yet still, he wasn't good enough. Literally, this time.

Briefly he considered biting down and having the memory of what she tasted like to look back on, but he'd wanted her to be willing. Also, he was afraid that if he drank from her now, he wouldn't have the strength for what he knew he had to do next.

Slowly he pulled away to look at her, resigned. "I can't keep trying to be something I'm not," he told her sadly. "And I don't want to force you to be like me, even though I could. I'm sorry."

He forced himself to tune out the sound of her sobs as he walked away from her, closing the apartment door firmly behind him.
 

THE END

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