Spike strode through the streets of Sunnydale radiating a confidence
and blatant happiness he hadn't known since those brief hours he'd
been in possession of the Gem of Amarra. And in some ways, this week
had been even better; thrilling though being invincible and expecting
to kill a third Slayer had been, it had never given him this feeling
of...glee. The reason for his current mood would probably have
described it as "giddy". Hell, he kept wanting to start whistling or
something. Good thing he managed to restrain the impulse; the broad
smile that spread across his face whenever he thought about recent
events was bad enough.

On second thought, sod his image; at the moment, he didn't care what
random people thought. He was in love, and better yet, for the first
time, someone loved him. Oh, sure, Dru had loved him in her way--for a
while. But her heart had always belonged to their sire. This
time...this time, it was different. He may not have been Willow's
first love, but during his months in Sunnydale he'd seen enough to
know she would never tell someone she loved them if it wasn't true.
And she'd told *him* that, in so many words, just six days ago.

He'd also seen enough of how the loss of the wolf had affected her to
know that she loved like he did, throwing all of her self into the
other person. There was no way either of them could love two people at
the same time, not with that kind of intensity. Which meant that she
was over Oz at last, and her heart was free to be his alone. He could
be her world the way she was already his. He still couldn't really
believe it.

Which meant there was but one thing he could do: get back to her as
quickly as he could, so he could resume basking in that look in her
eyes, her shy but happy smiles. The way she made him feel.

He wanted to spend every second with her. The instant the sun went
down, he'd headed to the Rosenberg house, glad that it was summer
despite the shorter nights--things would have been a lot less pleasant
if their relationship began while she was living at the dorm, with the
Slayer. He hadn't wanted to leave her even for this short time, but
hunger called, and she'd run out of blood. And as long as he was still
branded a traitor by the local demon community, Spike didn't want
Willow going anywhere near Willy's.

He turned onto her street, and against his will a bounce forced its
way into his step. Mentally shaking his head in despair over what he'd
turned into, he nonetheless was smiling as he approached Willow's. The
porch was empty; she'd moved inside while he was gone, like he'd
asked. The light was on in the living room, and he couldn't resist the
temptation to observe her through the window before going in.

He drew close enough to make out the room, and the world came crashing
down around him.

Willow--his precious Willow--was sitting on the couch. Sitting far too
close for his liking was a man he'd never seen before. She looked
about as happy as Spike had ever seen her; and as he looked on, unable
to move, Willow's face lit up even more and she leaned over to embrace
the stranger. He was a bleeding master vampire, yet all he could do
was stand and watch as some human interloper's arms wrapped around the
woman he loved so utterly.

This wasn't happening. It couldn't be. He'd only just found her, and
she was supposed to be the one. The one who accepted him. The one who
didn't wish he were someone else.

The one who loved him as much as he loved her.

He didn't know how long it was before he became aware of anything
besides his own pain. Somehow without realising he'd backed as far
away from the sight before him as it was possible to get without
leaving the porch entirely. From this angle it was no longer possible
to see through the window; vaguely Spike was aware that he should be
relieved that at least he no longer had to watch, but he was still in
shock.

He struggled to gain control of his emotions and figure out what he
was going to do next. The only thing he was certain of at that moment
was that there was no way he'd be able to keep his temper in check if
he went in there and confronted the bastard. And with that sodding
chip in his head, all he could do was cause a scene, and all *that*
would accomplish was letting Willow know how much she'd hurt him. If
she'd changed her mind already, there was no need for her to see just
how deep his own feelings already ran. He still had his pride, if
nothing else.

The problem with that plan was that the one possession he truly cared
about was currently in the house with them. Before he'd left for
Willy's, Willow had convinced him that anyone seen wearing a long
leather coat in the middle of a California heat wave was guaranteed to
attract the kind of attention a defenseless vampire could ill afford.
She could throw him aside like so much rubbish and there wasn't much
he could do about that, but there was no bloody way he was leaving his
duster behind. So, he decided, he'd sit out here until the ponce had
left, then sneak in, grab it, and leave again before he gave in to the
temptation to confront Willow. Even if he had to sit there all night
to do it.

He settled down on the floor and leaned back against the porch rail to
wait. An hour went by, then another. He tried to think of anything
other than what he'd seen, hoping to block out the pain for as long as
he could, but his thoughts kept coming back torment him. Why did
things like this keep happening to him, why did everyone he ever loved
decide he wasn't good enough? Why didn't Willow want him anymore? Why
hadn't Dru, or--any of them? Why did everyone always leave him alone?

Of course, he thought, his expression darkening further, why wouldn't
they? Nearly a hundred and fifty years he'd been around, demon and
human, and in all that time not a single bloody person had ever really
cared about him at all. They couldn't all be wrong; so why would
Willow be any different? Clearly there was something wrong with him,
something that made it impossible for anyone to ever love him.

Well, they could all just go straight to Hell for all he cared. That's
right, he decided, sod the lot of 'em; from here on out, the Big Bad
would be the Lone Wolf for real. No more of that mushy stuff for
Spike; just murder, mayhem, and--migraines. Bugger. So it'd just be
him, all alone, without even the fun of ripping girls to shreds the
way they'd done to him.

He scowled. Let her, he thought. If she wanted to tear his heart out
and stomp all over it, she could have the damn thing. He sure as hell
didn't need it; what the hell did the sodding thing ever get him,
anyway? Sod all, that's what. So he was done with it all, through
caring about anyone but himself.

But bloody hell, it hurt.

Why couldn't she have just flat out told him she didn't care in the
first place, instead of making him believe that she actually felt
something, that at last he didn't have to be so bleedin' alone?  That
whole week was probably just a huge joke to her, some kind of set-up.
She had to have known when he'd be getting back, which meant she
wanted him to see her in that other bloke's arms. Probably expected
him to burst in and try to rip him apart. Must've thought it would be
a good laugh when the chip kicked in. Well, why should he give them
the satisfaction?

The Big Bad didn't let mere mortals manipulate him.

Of course, it seemed to be a bit late for that....

As the shock began to wear off, Spike's natural restlessness made
doing nothing but stare at the door increasingly difficult. His eyes
wandered over the porch furniture; it seemed after that sod inside had
arrived, Willow had left the books she was researching from behind
when going indoors. Realising there was a way he could vent some of
his feelings after all, he grabbed her notebook and pen, and began to
write.

He scribbled off and on throughout the night, as some of the thoughts
and emotions and accusations besieging him demanded an outlet. More
than once, he had to start over, as his anger got the better of him
and he ended up tearing the paper to shreds, since he couldn't do the
same to that man inside.

He was such a fool. Why had he ever believed her when she said she
returned his feelings? He should've known better. But she was smart;
she knew exactly how to work him. That was probably why she'd conned
him into leaving his duster; she knew he would never leave it behind,
so she was holding it hostage, thinking she'd lure him in and get her
jollies that way. Well, he'd show her. He wasn't setting a foot in
that house until the guy was gone.

Why hadn't he gone?

It was only an hour till sun-up and he was still in there. They'd been
together a week and she still hadn't let Spike spend the night. Too
soon, she said. Wasn't ready, she said. So fine, he did the
considerate, gentlemanly thing and didn't push her. Not ready?
Bollocks. Just part of the act. Shoulda just pressed her a little; she
didn't care about him, why the hell should he have cared what she
wanted?

Ironic, wasn't it? The one time since being a vampire that he tried to
do the right thing and he still ended up getting screwed. And not in
the good way, either.

Eternities had passed, and still Spike waited. The sky began to
lighten. Knowing now how all this was going to end, he allowed the
notebook to fall from his hand as he leaned his head back to rest
against the railing, resigned. The emotional turmoil of the night left
him drained; instead of enjoying the sunrise, he merely gazed blankly
at the line of light as it crept towards him.
 

                              *************

Willow woke slowly, with a vague feeling that something was wrong.
Then her stiff back forced its way into her still-fuzzy brain, and she
remembered: she'd fallen asleep waiting for Spike to return. She
opened her eyes to see that she was still curled up in the armchair
she'd settled in after showing her cousin Dan to the guest room. A
smile crossed her face as she relived the surprise of answering the
door to see him standing there.  They'd spent much of the evening
catching up; he'd been so happy for her when she'd told him about
being in love again at last.... She'd been looking forward to
introducing them.

Eventually, though, Dan grew too tired to wait any longer and went to
bed. She'd continued to sit up until, apparently, falling asleep, and
she was a little surprised that Spike hadn't moved her whenever it was
he'd come back from Willy's. She didn't expect him to wake her--as
she'd been discovering, he could be very sweet in that way--but surely
he could've just carried her upstairs and laid her on her bed! Unless
having been a vampire for so long made him forget that people with
actual circulation found sleeping all night in a chair less than
comfortable. Always possible, she supposed.

Then she realised that the light was still on, and worse yet, his
duster was still lying over the back of the couch, where she'd put it
after convincing him it would make him too conspicuous. Spike adored
that coat; he would never have left it behind when he went home for
the day. Which could only mean that he'd never returned from his blood
run; had Willy's other patrons ganged up on him again?

She felt the panic beginning and tried to force herself to think
logically. Simply running off to check the back alleys would resolve
nothing; if he'd been beaten too badly to move, he was probably dust
already--a thought, she realised too late, that was hardly reassuring.
She told herself that he was probably fine, and had been able to get
himself to shelter somewhere before sunrise; in which case she'd never
find him. Nevertheless, she was determined to go search for him as
soon as Dan was awake.

In the meantime, she would bring her books in from the porch and try
to continue the research that had been interrupted the night before.

She began gathering her things together, but couldn't locate her
notebook and pen. She even picked up the seat cushions, but found
nothing. With a frown, Willow started searching all over the porch.
She found them over near the edge, amidst scraps of what must have
been several sheets of paper. Funny; she couldn't remember tearing any
of her notes up. Shrugging, she picked up the notebook and was
starting to close it when the handwriting caught her eye: it wasn't
hers.

Curious, she took a seat and began to read.
 

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