Learning Curve

Author:  Kat, a.k.a. KallieRose

Parts: 21 - 30

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~Part: 21~

It was late afternoon when Spike finally made his way down the stairs.  His childe barely looked up to acknowledge his presence, and a growl of disapproval was hastily squelched.  Not before Willow heard it though, he realized, when her head turned again to look at him searchingly.

"What's with the clackity?" he asked, watching as her fingers flew across the keyboard of her laptop computer.  She was seated at the dining room table, a half-empty bottle of water placed next to the computer.

Spike had never been much of a water drinker.  He knew that for humans it was a fairly common beverage, but to him it just tasted like nothing.  Pure, undiluted nothing.  He wondered if she drank it because of some habit left over from her days as a human, or if there was some other reason.

"I, um, got a job," she said uneasily, her eyes filling with a mix of emotions he couldn't quite fathom.  The cautious tone of her voice hinted that one of the emotions might be fear of his displeasure, although she hadn't seemed to mind it much in the past.

Spike raised an eyebrow inquiringly, and then moved into the dining room.  Pulling up a chair and sitting beside her, he gazed at the computer screen, curious about how she had managed to land herself a job so quickly.  He knew she was a computer whiz, but had no practical idea of what that really meant.  Computers were tools, and he knew how to perform simple searches, which sometimes worked, but somehow he suspected that there was a lot more to them than that.  "So how does this work?"

It took Willow a moment to realize that Spike wasn't just referring to the code she was writing, but to the computer in general.  "This thing?  The computer?"  She tried not to sound too incredulous.  Having Spike show an interest in something that didn't involve pain or death was a positive.  If she reacted in a way that made him think she was laughing at him, which she wasn't, he would probably get angry, or pout, or just go away.   For some reason, she didn't want that to happen.

Computers were easy for her.  Using them, telling them what to do and configuring them to do her bidding, was as natural as breathing.  Sure, she didn't know *everything* about them, but what little she didn't know was always easy to understand, once explained properly.

But Spike was from a different era, she realized.  As much as he seemed to live in the here and now, in reality he came from a time and place where computers weren't even a fantasy in some inventor's mind. It made sense that he would be uncomfortable with them, even though she had no doubt that his agile mind could pick up the basics quickly, should he decide to show an interest.  One thing she knew for certain:  Spike was anything but stupid.

He draped his arm over her shoulder in a gesture both casual and possessive, and it took a concerted effort to hide her nervousness.  But after a moment, Willow's natural interest in teaching kicked in, and she was able to forget about her pupil and concentrate on the subject.

"Have you ever used a computer?"

"A little bit, here and there," he admitted, his eyes looking curiously at the screen.  "Mostly just looking up info.  Punch the keys and watch the words come up.  No idea how it actually works, though."

She swiveled the computer a bit more towards him so he could see what she was working on.  "See, I'm building this webpage," she explained, shifting between one view and another, giving him an abbreviated explanation of how the text she typed on the screen could be interpreted and displayed as a webpage for her new employer.

"And they're paying you to make these webpages?"

"Yep, they sure are.  Eighteen bucks an hour.  It's not much for a start, but after they know I'm dependable, and that I'll do a good job, there'll be more."  Her smile was proud and excited, but also a little shy, as if she was waiting for him to say something mean and cutting.

A part of him wanted to burst her bubble; if her confidence were undermined, she would be less independent and easier to control.  But as he watched the excitement that bubbled beneath her words as she tried to explain everything to him, he knew that he wouldn't squash her enthusiasm, even though it would have been the smart thing to do.  The vampiric thing to do.

An unsettling thought occurred to him, rattling his composure.  Was living with her, the way that he was, turning him into a fucking pansy-assed Angel knock-off?  Only with better hair, of course.

His demon raged at him, mocking him and his domesticated status.  He and his childe were vampires, not members of the workforce.  Money, along with food, should be taken easily from whatever victim or victims they chose.

Living like this was unnatural.  Disgustingly, sickeningly wrong. It was, simply stated, unvampiric.  And while the damn chip was stuck in his head, there was nothing he could do about it.  He fumed impotently as his anger grew.

When Spike stayed silent, Willow turned to look at him.  The frown, coupled with the clenched jaw, alerted her to the fact that something was wrong.  He was angry; she could see it just by looking at him, and feel it trickling through the bond.

What had she done to anger him?  Was it the job?  Had he expected her to mooch off of Giles forever?  "What?" she demanded, irritation coloring her voice and making the word come out harsher than she had planned.

"Nothing," he shot back at her.  "Just fucking.nothing."  Spike pushed back from the table, coming swiftly to his feet.  Long, quick strides took him to the door.  He needed to think, needed to figure out who the hell he was these days.  Need to kill something.

He stopped for a moment, turning back and growling the words, "Don't wait up," to her before opening the door and leaving, slamming it behind him with such force that the pictures on the walls rattled.

Willow stared at the door, tears of anger and helplessness beginning to fill her eyes.  What had she done wrong?  Why was he so angry?  Because there was little doubt in her mind that he had left so abruptly because if he had stayed, he would have hurt her.

Somehow, in some way, it had to be her fault.

But if he didn't tell her why he was angry, what could she do?  Unless.

Getting up from the chair, Willow walked to the couch and sat down Indian-style.  She emptied her mind, pushing aside the anger and fear and turmoil that roiled beneath the surface.  Panicked shuddering breaths slowly gave way to deep cleansing breaths, until all that remained in her mind was peace and quiet.  Concentrating on the bond, she focused her full attention on it, feeling Spike's anger and bloodlust as it threatened to overwhelm her.  He was furious, but she still didn't know why.

Slowly, gently, she pulled on the bond, trying to gain more access.  Maybe she could uncover something that would explain Spike's sudden shift of behavior.  Admittedly, his moods were mercurial at best, but this had been different.  And she still didn't understand why.

Just as she felt something give, a door slammed down. The connection between them was severed completely.  Spike had felt her, and pushed her out ruthlessly.  Willow's body fell back limply against the couch, and once again the tears threatened to fall.

~~~*~~~

Crying was good, she decided.  It wasn't fun, but it usually managed to wash away the bad stuff and left her feeling open and hopeful.  Just because Spike was upset, didn't mean that *she* had to be upset.  At least that was the plan.

The sound of the phone ringing startled her.  Only a half-dozen people actually had her number, so that really cut down on the possible identities of the caller.

Grabbing the receiver, she raised it quickly to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hey, hi, Willow."  It was Buffy, and she was definitely nervous.  But she had pushed aside the nervousness and called, so that was a good thing.  And how Martha-bloody-Stewart of her, she thought, and then winced.  When had the word 'bloody' become part of her vocabulary?  That was a rather disturbing development, and one she would definitely be blaming on Spike.

"Willow?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry.  My mind kinda, um, wandered.  Hi, Buffy!"

"Hi.  So, I wondered, what are you doing tonight?"

'Depressing myself because my sire's angry and I can't figure out why.  And, I can't figure out why the fact that he's angry bothers me.'  Saying the words out loud was not an option, but thinking them reminded her that she and Buffy had been good friends who used to talk out their problems all the time.  Maybe they could have that again someday?

"Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  Do you want to come over?  We could do a girl's night kinda thing:  watch movies, eat chocolate, talk about boys?  You know, the important stuff."

Willow wondered if she imagined the sigh of relief, or if she was just projecting her own emotions onto Buffy.  Her mother could probably tell her, explain it all with technical terms and diagrams, but her mother was on the other side of the world, last she had heard.

Once she had gotten the computer working, a letter had been duly sent informing her parents that she was living off-campus this semester with a friend, but that her email address had not changed.  For once the fact that her parents were non-participants in her life had actually worked in her favor.

"Sounds like fun.  I'll just do a quick patrol and then I'm there," Buffy answered, bringing Willow's thoughts back to the conversation.  "I'll pick up the ice cream on the way.  Rocky Road, same as always?"

"You know me way too well," Willow agreed with a soft chuckle, even though she knew the words weren't true anymore.  But maybe they could be again, she thought, as hope surged in her heart.  Perhaps tonight would be the start of the next chapter in their friendship.

~Part: 22~

"Oh God, Willow, she's adorable," Buffy crooned, as she watched her namesake dispatch a dust-bunny with a quick flick of her paw.  "And wicked fast too."

"She's great, but she's bored.  She needs to go outside, but I'm just not sure she's ready yet," Willow said sadly.  Exactly how long she should wait before letting Buffy roam around outside again was a bit of a problem.  She worried that if they let her out too soon, the kitten wouldn't be able to find her way back to their new home.  But if they didn't let her out, they ran the risk of her becoming too lazy and comfortable to ever go outside again.  Hence Willow's dilemma.

"I think you should take her out," Buffy decided with a nod.  "Go out with her, maybe, and show her around.  Give her an idea where she is.  Oh!  Do you have a cat door?  Otherwise, if she wants in during the day."  She stopped uncertainly, not wanting to finish the whole 'sunlight is lethal to vampires,' thought.  Not that she really needed to.  They both understood it.

Willow looked mildly wistful for a moment, and then wiped the look from her face and replaced it with a smile.  "Yeah, actually, there's one in the kitchen.  I've kept it closed, just in case, you know?  But I guess maybe tomorrow or the next night I'll take her out."

"Good.  That way she'll know where home is, and with the added benefit of no more litter box duty."

They both smiled at that.  So far the evening had gone well.  Buffy had come over, bearing ice cream and chocolate, and a couple of movies.  There was a chick flick entitled Enchanted April, and an action flick called The Long Kiss Goodnight.  Because the mood seemed to call for something introspective, they chose Enchanted April.

At the end, when the women in the movie made their way back to the reality of their homes in England, Willow and Buffy were returned to their own reality as well. Tears wet both their cheeks as the final credits rolled.

"Wow, that was." Buffy began, her voice wavering from suppressed emotion.

"Yeah," Willow sighed.

They were both lost in thought for a moment, until the feline Buffy, who had been resting comfortably on Buffy's chest after an energetic game of 'catch the fake mouse,' reached up with a paw and batted at her chin lightly.  The blonde laughed, capturing the kitten's paw and rubbing it against her cheek.

"I wish they'd let us have pets on campus," she whined.  "I mean, I guess I understand why they don't, but still.  She's just way too cute."

"Hah!" Willow snorted.  "She's not quite as cute when it's the middle of the night, and she's attacking your feet."  The words were said like a complaint, but they both knew that the redhead wasn't serious.  "And if it were up to Spike, you could keep her."

The thought of her sire brought a look of uncertainty to her face, which she quickly hid.  But Buffy had seen the look and pressed gently for details.

"Where is he tonight, anyway?  Believe me, I'm not complaining.  But I half expected him to be here, giving me a bad time about everything."

A frown settled onto Willow's face, and she sank back into the chair she sat in.  "He's out.  I'm-I'm not sure where.  He was angry."  She was silent for a moment, her thoughts elsewhere.  "He gets mad sometimes, and usually I know why.  But this time, I'm just not sure.  Maybe it was because I got a job?"

Buffy was quick to pick up on Willow's tone, sensing the fear and unhappiness her friend tried to hide.  She came to her knees in front of the redhead, leaning forward and grasping Willow's hands.  "Did he-is he-I swear, if he hurt you!"

"No, no!  It-it wasn't like that.  He'd never hurt me."  As she said the words, she wondered if they were really true.  There was still so much about him-about them-that she didn't understand.  "He's just.angry."  She leaned forward, setting her head in her hands.  "I don't understand why."

Buffy watched sadly, wondering what she could do to take Willow's mind off of her unhappiness.  "Maybe he was just in a mood?  Sometimes guys get like that."

"No, I really don't think so.  I mean, we were talking, and I was showing him the computer, and telling him about my job."

"Wait, that's right, you said you got a job?  Go you!"  Willow's eyes brightened slightly at the praise, and Buffy settled back into her own chair, getting comfortable again.  "But it's really soon.  Are you sure you want to get one so, well, right away?"

"Yeah.  I mean, I think it was a good idea."  Her eyes got that far-away look in them again.  She curled her legs underneath her in the chair, and leaned slightly on the arm.  "I can't mooch off of Giles forever, ya know?"

Buffy nodded, surprised to hear Willow talk in such terms.  But the more she thought about it, the more it made sense.

Willow had always had a strong independent streak; considering who and what her parents were, she had needed to learn to fend for herself at an early age. As an adult, that ability to take care of herself evolved into a fierce independence, and a need to not have to depend on anyone else for her livelihood.

"Besides," Willow added, fighting away the tears that had begun to gather in her eyes, "Giles won't be there forever."  She lost the battle, and began to cry in earnest.

Buffy jumped to her feet, pulled Willow from her chair, and enveloped her in a comforting hug.  "It's going to be all right.  I promise."

"How can it?" she wailed, her tears continuing to fall.  "Oh Buffy, I don't want to be a vampire anymore!"  The despair in her voice tore at Buffy's heart, and she pulled Willow closer, running her hand soothingly over her hair.

How could she comfort her friend when she didn't have the words, Buffy wondered.  Willow would live forever, or at least for a long, long time, and Buffy was just now realizing that there were other consequences, besides the obvious ones.  A very small, very *human* part of her was slightly jealous.  Her friend would live forever, while as the Slayer she was destined to die young.  Neither one of them was going to live a 'normal' life.  She concentrated on it on that level, and felt compassion stir within her.

"Maybe you won't live the life you thought you would," she said softly, running her fingers through Willow's hair, in what she hoped was a comforting gesture.  As a Slayer, what she did best was kill vampires.  Consoling one wasn't something that came naturally to her.  But since Willow was a friend, she was bound and determined to try her best.  "That doesn't mean you can't make something of it.  Of yourself.  You can still be happy."

"We all do the best we can with the time we're allowed?" Willow answered sadly, her words, and a sniffle, coming from somewhere in the vicinity of Buffy's neck.

Buffy realized that despite the fact that Willow was so close to her, she knew she had nothing to fear from the vampire.  And it was in that moment that she finally realized that things between them would be okay, no matter what the future had in store.

Despite it all, she was still Buffy, and Willow was still Willow.  A smile broke across her face as the knowledge took root inside her.

"Wanna hear a secret?" Buffy asked, pulling back to look at Willow, who was now struggling to wipe away her tears and give Buffy a watery smile.

"Yeah.  You know I love secrets," she said with a trace of girlish enthusiasm.  They settled back onto their chairs, Willow giving Buffy her full attention.

"Well, remember Riley?  The T.A.?  Last night he asked me out."

Willow gave Buffy a gentle punch on the arm.  "Good for you!  I saw you talking to him the other night, but I didn't realize you were *talking* talking."

When a soft glow suffused Buffy's cheeks, Willow couldn't help but tease her.  "You've got it bad for him, don't you?  That's so cute!"

Buffy scowled, but still managed to look wistful and just a bit insecure.

A thought struck Willow as she considered Riley's status as a newly discovered member of the Initiative.  Should she tell Buffy?  Or keep quiet about it for now?

Riley being part of the initiative was information that Buffy should have, her soul reasoned.  It might cement the bond between them, and give Buffy someone in her life that she could share her secrets with.

On the other hand, Riley was initiative, which meant that he was trouble.  Willow knew their aims, and the depths of their cruelty.  If Buffy knew that Riley was one of them, she might do something ill-advised, plunging them all into deep trouble.

Willow made her decision.  She didn't want her friend to get hurt, but there was more at stake than just Buffy's love life.  Hopefully, if it ever came down to it, her friend would forgive her for the choice she made today.

"Um, you didn't tell him anything about me, did you?" Willow asked uncomfortably.

"You know, I think he asked how you were, mentioned that he hadn't seen you around anywhere.  I told him that you were having personal problems and probably wouldn't be on campus for a while."  Buffy watched her curiously, wondering why Willow would ask.

"Oh, okay.  I just don't want.well, I don't want him to know, okay?  I mean, obviously, I don't want him to know about the vampire thing.  Because, well, it would be a bit hard for anyone to take!"  Willow stopped for a moment, trying to settle her emotions.  "But about the-the rape, and the other stuff either.  I don't want anyone to know about that"

"Okay," Buffy said slowly, trying to think it through.  "So what should I tell him?  Or anyone else that asks?"

Willow hesitated for a moment, trying to decide what to do.  She could tell Buffy the truth, and hope for the best.  But 'the best' would be nothing.  Buffy couldn't hurt the men who attacked her.  And she certainly couldn't bring them to justice, not without a dead body, or any kind of evidence.  Knowing the truth would put them both in danger, and would gain them nothing.

"Could you..I don't know, maybe say that I went to visit my parents overseas?"  At Buffy's skeptical look, she rushed to continue, "I don't want to ask you to lie, but I'm just afraid that somehow, whoever it is will find out that I'm still alive.  Well, more or less.  And they'll try to find me, and.I don't want to get hurt again," she whispered, looking lost and forlorn.

It all became clear to Buffy.  If her attackers knew she was still around, still able to accuse them, they *would* come after her.  They didn't know for sure that she couldn't identify them.  "Don't worry, Willow.  I'll take care of it.  Nobody will know, I promise."

"Thanks, Buffy.  For everything.  For still being my friend, for listening to me ramble on," she smiled again.  "For tonight.  Because I *really* needed this."

"I'm always here for you, Willow.  Don't ever forget that.  Anything you need, just say the word and I'll do it."  Buffy got to her feet, as did Willow, and they embraced, just enjoying the feeling of being with a friend, someone who would go to the ends of the earth for them.  "And," Buffy whispered, "if you ever want me to take care of Spike for you, just say the word, and Mister Pointy and I are all over it."

The words were said teasingly, but Willow sensed a strong undercurrent of truth to them.  It enraged her demon that Buffy was still so eager to stake her sire, but the soul knew that she only wanted to protect a friend.

"Spike's fine, Buffy.  Don't worry."  She considered him for a moment.  "I guess he can be a bit grumpy, maybe, but then so can I.  And he's been really understanding about, well, stuff.  Most of the time."

Buffy looked a little disappointed, but then grinned again.  "I'd better get going.  It's really late, and I still need to drop off the car at mom's house."

"Does your mom know?  About me?  And the whole 'I'm a vampire' thing?"

"Nope.  I haven't told her," the blonde admitted.  "I'm kinda scared she might wig. Like, if it could happen to you, it could happen to me.  Which, well, I suppose she's got a point there."  Buffy stopped for a moment to consider that, then shook her head to dispel the notion.  "Do you want me to? Tell my mom, I mean?"

Willow gave the question some serious thought.  She liked Buffy's mom, and trusted her to keep a secret, even one like this.  "If you want to, you can," she finally allowed.  "Just ask her not to tell anyone.  Especially my parents!  Not that she'll be talking to my parents anytime soon, I'm sure, but you know what I mean."

Buffy opened the door and stepped outside, as Willow leaned against the doorjamb.  "I promise, if I tell her, and I'm not sure if I will, then I'll make sure she knows to keep it a secret."

"Thanks again, Buffy. This was-it felt like old times, you know?"

"I know.  We need to do this again, soon.  Maybe even invite Xander."  The fact that you couldn't have Xander without having Anya went unsaid.

Willow smiled at the thought.  "I hope he'll be okay with this.  With me."

"You know he will.  He may not be a rocket scientist, but he's pretty damn adaptable.  Especially when it comes to you, Will.  He'd do anything for you; you know that."

It made Willow smile, the fact that they still considered her to be, well, her.  Sometimes she, herself, wasn't so sure.  Things were changing in her mind, and in her life, and even though it was easier to pretend that wasn't the case, she knew it was true.

"Well, I'd better get going.  You know how mom worries," Buffy said, turning and heading to the sidewalk.  "I'll call you tomorrow?"

"Sounds good," Willow agreed, a smile on her face as she watched her friend walk purposefully down the street towards her mother's SUV, her head already moving from side to side as she searched the street for danger.

Willow closed the door, heading back into the living room to clear up the damage from their girl's evening, trying to keep her mind occupied while she waited for Spike's return.

~Part: 23~

The need for violence sizzled in Spike's blood, keying his body up to a fever pitch.  He needed to hurt something, kill something, inflict the maximum amount of damage.

So he did just that.

There was no discrimination against any type of creature in particular.  Demons of many types felt his ire, as did vampires, both older and newly risen.  By the end of the evening, as he returned home with his leftover possessions from the old crypt, he had more than a half-dozen kills under his belt.  Not bad, he considered.  But just imagine what he could have done without the chip..

Thinking back, he remembered the day that he had finally realized he could hurt other demons without pain.  The joy of victory, of violence and damage yet to be done.

If he hadn't found that out, Spike was sure he would have dusted himself.  Or let someone do it for him.  He'd tried to off himself, he remembered, thinking back to the day that the moron and Red had stopped him from doing just that.

Bit of odd, that was.  If she hadn't stopped him, he wouldn't have been there to turn her.  They both would have been dead, the permanent kind of death where there were no late night violent rampages, and no clickity-clack on that damn computer of hers.

It sobered him a bit, the thought of being gone.  Of being.nothing.  He still wasn't sure if he believed what he'd been told about what happened after you died.

For example, there were those who though you went straight to hell-end of story.  Others believed that death was merely a resting place, before heading on to something that would be unrecognizable and indescribable to mere mortals.  And of course there where others who took death to be simply the end.  Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Probably not any point in thinking about it, he decided.  By the time he knew the final answer, it would be too late to do anything.  Best just to live as you wanted and let the chips fall where they may, in the end.

His thoughts wandered back to Willow; his childe.  What was he going to do about her?  Would she be angry when he returned?  Or indifferent?  And did it really matter?

Still in the throes of a mental high, the result of a good spot of violence, he felt confident that she would come to him eventually.  It might take time, but fortunately for him, that was a commodity that he possessed a lot of.

Impatience, always a vital part of his personality, reared its head, whispering in his ear that he should not have to wait for her to accept him as a part of her life.  Instead, he should take her, remind her that he was her sire, and as such, she should follow his lead.

He considered the notion, not for the first time.  The thought of taking her, forcing her to acknowledge his superiority and submit to him, both excited and aroused him.  But there was another, more stubborn part of him that insisted that she come to him of her own free will.  Wouldn't the victory be that much sweeter, it insisted, if she was his because she wanted to be, not because he forced it to happen?

Thoughts of Drusilla filled his head; she had been his, for a long time.  Or at least he had thought she was.  But he had been disillusioned when he realized that her heart had always been elsewhere.  He would rather be alone than be second-best again, a replacement, someone to kill time with until the real thing came along.  Better to wait for her, see where her head was before he put himself in a position to be hurt again.  It went against everything he believed in, but maybe, just maybe, that was why it stood a chance of success.

The demon insisted that this was garbage; she was his childe, and he was her sire.  Nothing else mattered.  This was the way it had been done for centuries.  There was no reason to change now.

But she was not just a demon, he acknowledged.  She had a soul, and that made things different, as much as he hated to admit it.  The soul, mixed with her agile mind and her fiercely independent spirit, created a vampire completely unlike any he had encountered before.  She was unique, perhaps even more so than Angel.

It irked him to admit it, but she was one-of-a-kind.  And because of that, the textbook rules of their existence didn't apply.

Which left him even more confused and uncertain of how to deal with her than he had been before.

~~~*~~~

It was quiet when he entered the house.  Dawn was less than an hour away, so it made sense for her to have gone to bed already.  With a start of surprise, he realized that instead of going upstairs to the bedroom, she had curled herself into a nearly fetal position on the couch, her head resting on her hands in the universal pantomime of sleep.

There had been company, he noticed, wrinkling his nose in distaste as the Slayer's stench assaulted him.  Oh well, at least there had been someone there to keep her out of trouble.  Pathetic as it was, he would probably have to get used to it.  Such was his life now, where his childe had the Slayer over for tea and crumpets.  He curbed the growl that threatened to erupt.  Now was not the time to get into it.

Considering his options, Spike decided to let her sleep there, walking quietly up the stairs to the bedroom.  There had been no progress in making "his" room habitable, so instead he just shed his clothes onto the floor of "her" room and tumbled into bed naked.

~~~*~~~

It was early afternoon when Spike woke, mildly surprised to find a sea of red hair filling his vision.  Willow must have wandered upstairs at some point in the morning, slipping into bed fully clothed, her body pressing into his.  He was on his back, his arm around his childe, as she snuggled against him, her head nestled into the space under his chin.

It was all just too sickeningly sweet for words.

Not his fault.  Not hers either.  They were victims of circumstance.  The excuses cluttered his mind, and some of his anger from the previous night returned.

What was he going to do about it?  Should he yell at her, cursing his fate and the things that brought him to this place?  Brought *them* to this place?  Or would it be best just to ignore his problems, along with his childe, while he figured out what to do to change things?

Spike gently pushed Willow away, smothering a smile at her sleepy snarl of disapproval.  Getting to his feet, he looked down at her for a moment, taking the time to examine her carefully, glad that she wasn't awake to catch him at it.

In the shadows her hair looked almost black, the color of red faded and leached away by the darkness.  It somehow made her look even younger, even more innocent than she already did.  Although how that was possible, he couldn't even begin to imagine.

The darkness of her hair made her face look like alabaster.  In life it had been fair, but a sprinkle of freckles had dotted her cheeks.  The freckles were gone now; the face was pale as marble.  She was a statue, a piece of art, curled peacefully on his bed.

He was being fanciful, he acknowledged.  Silly as well.  Time to get something to eat before he decided to compose her a sonnet or some such garbage.

~~~*~~~

Spike stared blankly at the TV, wondering whether he should turn it on, or find something else to do.

That was the problem with the daytime; cooped up inside, a vampire could either eat, sleep, or fuck.  Or, in his case, eat or sleep.  The third option seemed to be a no-go for now, leaving him with far too much time to think.  Thinking was something that never seemed to work out well for him.

Thankfully, the box full of his possessions beckoned, and he remembered the old Nintendo set he had stolen long ago.  Too bad he hadn't been able to convince the Watcher to get him a new unit.  But this would do for now.

With an almost feral grin, he scooped up the controllers and the box, and quickly went about hooking it up.  He didn't have too many games, but he found one that promised maximum carnage and poked it into the machine, sitting back against the front of the couch and stretching his legs out in front of him.  Might as well be comfortable.

~~~*~~~

That was how Willow found him two hours later as she made her way downstairs.  Even without the supernatural hearing, she would have heard his grunts of satisfaction and shouts of anger as he played.  It was amusing; in some ways he reminded her of nothing more than an overgrown child.

A child that could have, up until recently, killed everyone she had ever met.  And done it with that same gleeful smile on his face, she reminded herself.

He turned towards her briefly, watching her as she watched him, then turned back to the television just in time to see his game end.

"Figures," he snorted, shooting her another look, as though blaming her for his misfortune.

"Still in a mood, are we?" she muttered, heading to the kitchen to heat up some lunch.

He ignored her, starting a new round of his game, and she went about fixing her meal.  When she was done, she came to sit on the couch behind him, a little curious to see what he was up to, but unwilling to actually ask.

"Here, give it a try," he said, throwing the words, and a second controller, carelessly over his shoulder.

Willow examined the controller, holding it tentatively in both hands.  She had played video games before, but always on the computer, using her keyboard to control the movements of the characters.  A controller like this one, much smaller and more mobile, took a bit of getting used to.

"What do I do?"

"See those blokes, the ones with the dripping skin?" he asked, "Well those are zombies.  You shoot to kill.  You're supposed to keep from killing the humans, but I don't usually bother with that.  Shoot everything that moves, and let the game figure out the rest of it."

Act first, figure out the plan later; typical Spike, she thought.  But soon she was playing the game, with Spike's minor modification, and enjoying herself.  The hand-held controller was easy to adapt to, and soon she was killing almost as many zombies, and people, as Spike.

They talked back and forth, trading boasts that meant nothing, and Willow felt almost comfortable again.  There was still a distance between them, as if serious talk was something best avoided, but at least for now they were pretty much getting along.

The sound of the phone ringing startled them both. They had been so caught up in the battle raging on the TV that nothing else outside of that world had seemed to exist. Both demons emerged momentarily, as eyes flashed yellow and fangs extending slightly.

They stared at each other in surprise, then their eyes shot back to the TV screen.

Again the phone rang.  "You gonna answer that?"

Willow barely gave the phone a glance.  "Might be for you," she countered, fingers pushing constantly to destroy a surprisingly quick-moving horde of zombies.

"Nah, I haven't given the number to anyone.  Probably Slutty."

"Buffy," she insisted, looking back at the phone for a moment and wondering.

"Whatever," Spike dismissed her rebuke, eyes still on the TV.

"Fine, I'll get the phone.  But you'd better put that game on pause.  It's not *my* fault that I have to get up, and I'm not losing any points for it."

Spike rolled his eyes, pushed the 'pause' button, and gave her an annoyed glance.  Moving quickly now, Willow got up and raced back to the kitchen to get the phone.  The minute her back was turned, the vampire pushed the 'pause' button again and continued playing.  Served her right for trying to tell him what to do, he figured.

Besides, it was his game in the first place.  He had only been letting her play because he was a nice guy.

"Hello?" she said as she grabbed the phone, hoping that the call hadn't already gone to their voicemail.

"Willow?"  It was Buffy, sounding a little bit more comfortable with her, the happy result of their evening spent together.

"Hi Buffy," she greeted, wincing slightly when she heard Spike's triumphant yell, and a muttered, "Take that, you snooty bastard."  He had started the game again, and that pissed her off.

"Hey Willow.  So I was thinking, maybe, you might want to help tonight?  I have to go patrolling, and Giles has some research thingy going on too.  You wanna come?"

Willow considered the offer, grateful for the excuse to get out.  It would seem almost like normal, spending time doing research at Giles' place, seeing Xander, eating junk food and talking about nothing in particular.  Just like they had done a hundred times before.

"Sure, sounds like fun," she agreed eagerly.

"So, you want to do the patrol thing with me?  I bet we could make a wicked team, huh?"

The patrol thing.  Willow hadn't considered that.  Research, yeah, she'd do that.  And gladly.  But patrolling-that was something else entirely.  Stalking demons, well, that wasn't necessarily anything she had a problem with.  But being outside, roaming Sunnydale, in the same part of town where she had been attacked, where she might be seen again by those same members of the Initiative.

"I can't do it," she blurted out, panic setting in and making her pace the kitchen nervously.  "I can't be out there.  Not-it's nothing personal, but I can't, okay?"  Her words were spoken quickly, her tone shaky.  She ran a hand across her forehead, trying not to notice how much it shook.  God, she just had to calm down.  She couldn't freak out like this every time she had to go outside at night.

"Hey, Will, relax, it's no biggie.  I mean, if you're not ready yet, that's okay.  I just thought I'd ask, ya know, since I thought it might be fun.  But research, that's fun too, right?  Yeay research!"

Willow could tell that Buffy was trying her best to cover the awkward moment, and had to smile slightly at the sudden pro-research stance.  "It's okay," she murmured, walking over and sitting down in one of the dining room chairs.  Deep, cleansing breaths were key, she thought.  "I just.you know, what if I saw them again?"  There, the words were out.  She hoped Buffy would understand.

"Oh.  Oh, I get it."  And Buffy did, she realized.  How many times had her friend been tied up, beaten, or mistreated in some way?  By some baddie?  And yet *she* managed to get through it and go back out there every night, even though she knew that her entire life could end, all in the blink of an eye.  How did she do it?

"That's okay.  I mean it.  I didn't realize I was pushing, but I was, so I'll stop now, and we'll just pretend this never happened, right?"

The oppressive panic she felt only moments before seemed to melt away.  A part of her still wanted to hide away from everything and everyone, even Spike, but she knew that wasn't the answer.  It might seem like the best course of action, but in reality it was a dead end.  What she really needed was to get back into life, into her routine.  That alone would help her to overcome what had happened to her.

But she couldn't do that, not really, until they had stopped the Initiative.

"It's okay, Buffy.  I'm-I'm going to be okay, I promise.  It's just going to take some time, you know?"

"I know, Willow," her friend replied, her voice uncharacteristically serious.  "But," she added, sounding perkier, "that doesn't mean we can't still have girl's night out and eat copious amounts of Rocky Road, right?"

That did it; Willow's spirits lifted, and she started to grin.  "Definitely."

"Okay, so we're good here, right?"  There was a note of tentative concern in Buffy's voice that warmed Willow's soul.  What on earth had she done to deserve such a friend?

"Definitely right!"

"Okay, then I'll be there at eight, and I'll personally escort you to Giles' place, where many jelly donuts, and thousands of musty, smelly books, will be waiting for you.  Sound good?"

"Sounds like heaven," she decided.

"Hey, I wouldn't go *that* far," Buffy disagreed, although she didn't sound like she was really interested in arguing about it.

"Thanks, Buffy," she said, meaning it.  I'll see you at eight."

~Part: 24~

Willow hung up the phone and looked over at Spike, not at all surprised that he had started playing again without her.  "Oh well, thanks a lot.  Don't wait for me.  I'd only slow you down," she muttered angrily.

"What's that, pet?"  The voice was dangerously quiet.

Stupid vampire hearing, she thought.  Spike knew exactly what she'd said, and the warning tone of his voice told her so.  He was willing to overlook it, one time, but this was his not-so-subtle way of telling her that he wasn't happy about it.

Which left her with two options:  backing down by denying or ignoring her comment, or pushing ahead and repeating it.

"I'm going over to Giles' place tonight," Willow announced instead, walking over and sitting on the couch again.  'Coward,' her demon hissed.  She fought it down, insisting that she hadn't exactly backed off; she had just changed the subject to one that was equally liable to cause problems.

"Excuse me?"  She had his full attention now.

"I said, I'm going over to Giles' place tonight.  Research session.  That was Buffy, calling to invite me."

Spike fought his demon and his temper.  As her sire, he had the right to veto any little get-together she might feel like attending.  Or anything else she did, for that matter.  She knew this too, but seemed to have conveniently forgotten the fact.  He was tempted to remind her-painfully.

It wouldn't take much effort.  Merely a quick pivot, moving to his feet, then pressing her body down onto the couch as he forced her to submit.  She would never see it coming.

But it was one of those things he was not allowed to do.  Couldn't hurt her, couldn't fuck her, couldn't make her obey him.  "Your funeral," he said, disgusted with himself, as he turned back to the TV set.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He rolled his eyes at the TV, taking a moment to attempt to unclench his jaw.  His hand moved to the back of his neck, squeezing and massaging it to relieve the tension.

"Initiative's still out there, ya know.  They see you, they capture you, they kill you.  Seems pretty obvious to me.  But if you want to go prancing off to see your little friends, then by all means, go right ahead.  Perfectly good blood I wasted, turning you, but hey, there's more where that came from."

"I know they're still out there, Spike.  Kinda hard to forget."  She was silent for a moment, and he chanced a look back at her.  Her face was still, her eyes closed, as if remembering what had happened to her.  "I dream about it, sometimes.  But I have to get over it, and this will help. I think." the words trailed off uncertainly, and he watched as her eyes opened again, finding himself troubled by the anguish he saw in them.

"I'll be careful," she said finally, turning her head from his embarrassing scrutiny.  "Buffy's coming to pick me up, and she'll walk me home too, so I'm sure it'll be okay."  Willow got up, brushing her hair back from her forehead nervously.  "I'd better go and get ready.  She'll be here in a little while."

The redhead left the room quickly, as if she half-expected him to try and stop her.

Spike let her go, turning back to his game, trying to put everything else out of his mind.

~~~*~~~

Buffy appeared at the appointed time, wearing her usual slaying uniform: tight, short black skirt with a nearly see-through top.  Willow breathed a sigh of relief when she realized that Spike had left sometime during the last hour, probably the moment the sun had moved below the horizon.  That was fine with her.it just made things easier.

They made their way quickly to Giles' apartment, both searching the shadows as they went.  In less than ten minutes, the building was comfortably within sight.

The first thing Willow saw as she walked in the door saw was Xander, half a jelly donut stuffed into his mouth.  The sight of the red raspberry jelly on his lips reminded the demon of blood, and it ached to taste some of his.

Willow fought with the demon, who gave up with only a cursory protest.  She felt more in control all the time, and the fact added a lightness to her step that didn't go unnoticed.

"Hi, everyone.  I'm here to help."  She grabbed a book from a pile on the coffee table and sat down on the couch, giving Xander and Anya a grin.

"Oh, hello Willow," Giles welcomed as he made his way down the stairs.  "I'm glad you could join us tonight."

"Hey!" Buffy whined, looking back at Xander.  "You were supposed to wait until Willow got here before you ate all the donuts!"  She shot a look at Giles, as if expecting him to referee.  "He promised!"

Through a mouth full of cakey goodness, Xander tried to defend himself.  "She's here!  I saw her walk in with you.  Therefore, donut in mouth!"

The words sounded more like, "Shwes zere!  Izaw er yalk in wizoo.  Zerefur dona in maw," but the general idea got across.  Giles shook his head in disgust and Buffy grabbed a donut of her own, sitting down next to Willow on the couch.

"You can't fault his logic," Anya called over to them, standing up for her man, no matter what.

"Ya want?" Buffy offered to her friend, holding the sticky donut in her hand.

Willow watched Giles flinch as a dollop of red jelly oozed from the end of the donut, destined to splatter all over the upholstery of his couch.  Before it could hit its target, she shot out her hand, catching the jelly and saving the couch.  Giles relaxed visibly.

"Thank you, Willow."  He handed Buffy a paper napkin.  "If you must eat on my furniture, please use a napkin, Buffy.  If it's not too much to ask?"

Willow hid a smile and contemplated the jelly still all over her hand.  She hadn't eaten anything-well, any human food-since she became a vampire.  When Buffy had been over the previous day with ice cream, she had looked at it and thought about it, but had finally decided to give it a pass.  She just wasn't sure whether food and vampires were all that mix-y.

Spike seemed to eat human food occasionally; in fact, he'd professed a fondness for chicken wings on at least one occasion.  But just how much and how often he ate, she had no idea.

Did it taste the same now, as it did before?  Or would her tastes have changed?  Only one way to find out, she supposed.  Willow poked out her tongue, running it hesitantly over the sticky surface of her hand.

Her eyes opened wide in surprise as the taste buds on her tongue exploded.  The sweet substance tasted exactly the same, only a hundred times stronger.  It was similar to the difference between a whisper and a scream, only for her mouth.  She marveled at it, losing herself in the taste, wondering how the sensation could be so much more intense.

Weren't her taste buds supposed to be dead, right along with the rest of her?  It didn't make any sense.  Then again, what did these days?

She looked up to see them all watching her curiously, and ducked her head in embarrassment.  Oh well, at least she didn't have to worry about blushing anymore.

"What is it?" Buffy asked curiously.

"I just-I wasn't sure whether I'd like it.  Now, I mean.  Because of the whole."

"Because you're dead now?" Anya chimed in helpfully.  Xander shot her a look, trying to head her off at the pass before she said anything else.

"What?  It's true.  She's a vampire now, so technically speaking, she *is* dead."

"Yes, Anya, we all understand that it's true," Giles said.  "But just because it's true, doesn't mean that you have to say it out loud.  You do understand that, don't you?"

Willow became even more embarrassed, if that was possible.  She *was* dead, and hearing Anya say it really didn't bother her.  At least, not much.  Watching both males chastising her for saying a simple truth, though, that troubled her.

"Anya's not bothering me," Willow insisted, raising her eyes to meet Giles'.  "I'm dead, just like she said.  That's a fact.  And you wouldn't jump all over her if she said that the sky was blue, would you?  Because that's another fact, too."

It took Willow a moment to figure out where this unusual Anya sympathy was coming from.  Oddly enough, she *identified* with the other woman.  They were both people who had experienced severe, life-changing situations, and they were trying their best to adapt.  Maybe Anya wasn't faring as well at it as she was.  Or maybe she was doing better.  Willow supposed it depended on who was doing the judging, and what criteria they were using to measure it.

Giles and Xander both looked a bit flabbergasted at her unexpected defense of Anya, but quickly hid it and managed to look a bit sheepish.  "I apologize, Anya.  Do forgive me."  Giles' words were mostly for show; Willow didn't really believe that he really meant them, but at least it was something.

Xander put his arm around his girlfriend, giving her a squeeze, and a sappy, apologetic face.  "Sorry, honey."

"It's okay.  Um, thanks, Willow."  Anya seemed a little surprised to find support from such an unexpected quarter, but was grateful all the same.  "For a dead person, you're still very nice," she added, her face completely serious.

Willow smiled at Anya, then looked back at Giles.  "So, what's the big research party about?  And can someone get me a donut?  A soda too?  I'm dying-um, well, I'm really curious to see what everything else tastes like.  If it's as good as I think it is, I'm gonna kick Spike's ass.  He should have told me that food tasted *this* good!"

"And just think, you can eat as much as you want, and never gain a pound!" Anya chimed in excitedly.

Buffy looked a little jealous when she heard that.  "Suddenly unlife is looking like the way to go."

Willow grinned, "I'm sure Spike would be happy to help you with that," she admitted, forgetting to think before she spoke.  It was a problem she had sometimes.  "Oops!  Not really.  You know what I mean," she mumbled uncomfortably.

"Hey," Buffy said, putting a hand on Willow's shoulder, "It's okay.  I know Spike and I aren't exactly friends.  But I can put up with him.  We all can, if it makes things easier for you."

"But if he's ever mean to you, or you get tired of him, just promise me that I get to be the one to stake him, okay?"  Xander gave her a smile, but she knew he was serious.  Time to clear the air a bit.

"Guys, I know this is weird, and kind of hard to explain, but Spike's been really good to me."  Xander and Buffy in particular looked skeptical at her claim.  "Well, we're not best buddies or anything.  We have our disagreements.  But he's really helping me.  So can we lay off on the 'Spike staking' jokes?"

"Yeah, if I have to," Xander muttered.  Buffy merely nodded, although she looked disappointed as well.

"I suppose I should go patrol," Buffy announced, sensing that the time for Spike-bashing had passed.  "I'll be back here by midnight to walk you home, Willow.  Sound about right?"

"Yeah, thanks Buffy.  Hey Giles, what am I looking for, anyway?"  Willow held up her book, eager to get the attention back onto research, the reason they were all here anyway.

"Oh, it's quite interesting, really," he saw the skeptical looks directed at him from Anya and Xander.  "Really, it is.  There's a prophecy-"

"That kind of goes without saying," Xander added, giving Willow a wink.

"If I may continue?"  At the nod from Xander, "Gernius of Hanover wrote this in his memoirs, back in 1537.  He said that there would be a volcano in the vale of the sun, and that evil would be belched forth from the volcano, and darkness would spread across the land."

"Ooh, ooh, I know this one!" Willow exclaimed excitedly, raising her hand high, as if waiting for the teacher to call on her.

"Willow, you're no longer in school.  You don't have to raise your hand, you know."

"Oops, sorry Giles, it's just reflex, ya know?  When you do that 'teacher' voice, I just feel like I'm back in school again.  But I get it.a vale is like a dale, and the dale of the sun is Sunnydale.  Right?"

"Gold star for the Willster.  Even as a vampire, she's still smarter than me!" Xander announced, not seeming the least bit upset to learn he was still low rung on the ladder.

"Yes, well, essentially you are correct, Willow.  And of course the volcano would equate to the hellmouth.  So we have a hellmouth, erm, belching evil.  And darkness spreading across the land."

"Why can't evil ever take a holiday?" Xander moaned, clutching the sides of his head and rocking from side to side.

"Oh, it does," Anya confirmed eagerly.  "It's just that when evil goes on holiday, it usually comes to Sunnydale."

Willow couldn't help it, she laughed so hard she actually snorted soda out her nose.  Huh, she thought.  It was good to know that some things never changed.

~Part: 25~

The research party crept on along the same lines it usually did.  Once everybody was settled, books firmly in hand, Buffy went out to cruise the cemeteries, promising Willow that she would be back before midnight to be her escort home.  The redhead thanked her, and before long she managed to lose herself in one of Giles' eighteenth century books on witches, and the finding and testing thereof.  Several times she found herself stifling laughter, or swallowing groans of dismay, as she read about how witches had been misunderstood back then.  Well, not that they were completely understood now, she admitted.  But progress had been made.

"Okay, I need fuel," Xander groaned, getting to his feet and heading for the front door.  "Taco run.  Who wants?"

"I'm good," Willow muttered without looking up, having already had a couple donuts, several dill pickles, and a bowl of ice cream.  She had considered it more of an experiment than anything, testing the various flavors and textures, deciding what she did and didn't like.

The vanilla ice cream had been almost *too* sweet, the sugary flavor so suffocating that she almost missed the vanilla.  The creamy texture was soft and seductive though, and the way that it didn't melt immediately on her cool tongue made eating it quite a different experience than it had been when she was alive.  The dill pickles had been a counterpoint, salty, zesty and crunchy, and just as delicious in their own way as the ice cream.  The flavors had exploded on her tongue, overwhelming her with their strength.

Unfortunately, all that food was making her slightly queasy, and she wasn't exactly sure why.  Perhaps it was because she was a vampire, and her system, such as it was, was rebelling to the addition of something foreign.  Or maybe the pickles had simply been a bad idea.  If Spike wasn't being a butthead when she got home, she'd ask him what he thought.

Giles gave Xander a long-suffering look.  Obviously the Watcher had seen through his ploy, and knew that the real reason he was leaving was because he was tired of pretending to research.  "I have plenty of food here, Xander.  You are more than welcome to eat whatever is in the kitchen.  There's no need to venture outside."

Xander considered the offer for a moment, and then shook his head.  "No offense, Giles, but that stuff isn't food.  Most of it is cardboard with flavoring sprinkled on. Or worse."  He gave a delicate shudder at some of the things he had seen in the Watcher's refrigerator.  Tripe was something that belonged inside a cow, and not on the dinner plate, as far as he was concerned.

"Fine," Giles mumbled.  "Go, then.  Just be careful."  To Willow and Anya he added, "I'm going to look for the Fendagular compendium.  I believe I put it upstairs, somewhere.  To keep Buffy from using it as a paperweight, if I remember correctly."

"Anything for you, oh light of my life?" Xander asked Anya.

"No, you go.  Get back quick so we can finish this and go home.  Oh, maybe bring back some of those crunchy cheesy things."

"Oh, the orange fingers of love.Cheetos it is."

Willow set her concentration back onto her book, ignoring the kissy faces that the couple shared before Xander finally headed out the door.  Once the room returned to its usual quiet, she assumed that Xander had gone, and that it was just she and Anya.

Anya.she remembered the last time she had been alone with the woman, and the rather personal questions the ex-demon had pelted her with.  Oh hell, it was going to happen again, she could feel it.

Willow buried her head deeper into the book, trying to make herself as small and easy to ignore as possible.  It would never work; she acknowledged that.  But she felt like she at least had to give it a try.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anya gazing curiously at her, and tried to look even more enthralled with her reading than she had before.

The conversation was inevitable.  She could see it, looming in the distance like a massive train wreck about to happen.  But all she could do was acknowledge it.  There was no way of avoiding it.

"So." Anya said, an opening volley meant to grab Willow's attention.

She gave Anya a quick look before setting her eyes back onto her book.  It was an acknowledgement, and nothing more.

Anya was nothing if not persistent.  A lack of response certainly wasn't going to deter her from asking questions.  "How are you and Spike getting along?"

Willow sighed, putting the book on the couch next to her.  Her eyes drifted down to the carpeted floor as she considered her answer.  "Do we have to do this now?" she asked plaintively.

Anya straightened up in her chair, much more serious and alert.  "Yes," she insisted firmly.  "If we wait until later, then all the others will be here, and you won't tell me all of the good stuff."

"You're assuming that there *is* good stuff," Willow muttered, looking longingly up the stairs in hopes that Giles would find his damn book and come back downstairs to interrupt this inquisition.

But Willow was realistic enough to know that Giles would not be coming down for a while yet.  Not until Anya had pried every last embarrassing detail from her.  It was just the way that her luck was going these days.

"Of course there's good stuff," Anya exclaimed, her enthusiasm bubbling over as she sensed a confidence about to be spilled.  She got up and shot across the room like a bullet, ending up sitting on the couch next to Willow.  Giles would have been horrified at the way Anya had casually tossed the ancient book Willow was reading to the ground.  But he wasn't there, so it served him right, actually.  Maybe next time he'd think twice before he left her alone with her nosy companion.

Willow pondered her situation.  Anya would undoubtedly prod, push, and pull, until she was satisfied that she knew everything there was to know about the vampires' relationship.  That much was a given.

But maybe.and she couldn't believe she was thinking this, maybe Anya could help her.  The woman *was* a former demon.  She had centuries of experience dealing with demons.  And since Spike, and now Willow herself, were demons, maybe she could explain why Spike was acting like such a dick.

Keenly aware of Anya's heavy gaze upon her, like a tiger waiting to pounce on an unwary mouse, Willow felt more and more rushed.  She resented being forced to make the decision, and anger stirred in her when she looked at Anya.

Her words, when she finally spoke them, were short and angry.  "We're not speaking.  Not really."

"We're not?  Why aren't we?  I mean, you were nice to me earlier.  I thought we were friends.  I even told you that you were a nice person, for a vampire."  The woman seemed unsure whether to be angry, hurt, or merely puzzled.

It took Willow a moment to realize that Anya, with her literal, straightforward way of thinking, had misunderstood what Willow said to her.  She sighed, running a hand through her hair to push it back from her face.  "No," she ground out finally, "Spike and I.  We're not really speaking.  And I don't know why."

"Oh!"  Understanding dawned in Anya's eyes as she listened to Willow's words.  Problems between the new vampire and her sire.  And Willow was giving her an opportunity to help.  The thought surprised and excited her.

They had never been close.  Something about her candor had always bothered Xander's friends, and around Willow in particular there had been a certain measure of reserve on both their parts.  The main thing that they had in common, Xander, seemed to push them away from each other, instead of bringing them closer.

They had roles they played, defined by their relationship to Xander.  Anya was the girlfriend, and Willow was the other woman.  There had been something between them, once upon a time.  Perhaps it had been a kind of experimentation, brought on by the fact that they had known each other for what seemed like forever.  Or maybe it had been driven by circumstance.  Whatever the cause, warning bells always went off in Anya's head whenever Willow got too close.

But things seemed different now.  Willow wasn't the threat she had been before.  Maybe it was because of Spike.  No matter what, Spike would never let go of what was his.  And whether the rest of them realized it yet or not, Willow belonged to Spike.  Blood was blood, and hers flowed in his veins.  And vice versa.

The realization that she might be able to help Willow adjust to her new life filled her with a sense of uncertainty.  Could she help?  Did she want to?  If she gave advice, would Willow even listen?  As a human, she had always been incredibly stubborn and independent.  Help was rarely something she asked for, and certainly never from Anya.  But Willow was a vampire now, and the changes were already taking place, turning her into a new person, even though the soul ensured that she retained much of her human personality.

Anya thought she might have an idea why the two vampires were having problems.  Whether her advice would be taken seriously was doubtful.  But it couldn't hurt to try.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Biter's remorse?" Willow asked incredulously, sounding slightly bewildered at the phrase.  "Is that-is that like buyer's remorse?"

"Oh yes," Anya affirmed, nodding her head eagerly.  Buying things, and the remorse people sometimes felt after the fact, was something the little capitalist was infinitely familiar with.  "It's exactly like that.  Only with biting.  Giles asked Spike to bite you, and now Spike is wondering if he did the right thing."

Willow closed her eyes, attempting to give the matter more than just the cursory thought she truly wanted to.  Was that really the problem?  Was Spike sorry he had turned her?  Certainly they had issues; they weren't the Ozzie and Harriet of vampires by a long shot.  But it wasn't that bad.was it?

Maybe it had something to do with the Drusilla issue.  It was always in the background, but rarely mentioned.  She knew Spike still had feelings for his dark princess.  So how did *she* fit into that complicated equation?

"If you had a normal relationship, you would have slept together a LOT by now," Anya continued, undaunted by Willow's silence.  "Vampires like sex.  I mean, who doesn't, right?  But they use it for lots of things.  Pleasure, discipline, as a show of dominance, all of that.  But Buffy would use his balls as Christmas tree ornaments if he even looked at you sideways, and he knows that.  So he's beginning to wonder if he didn't make a mistake after all."  She sat back primly on the couch, smoothing her skirt down over her knees, her appearance oddly incongruous to the subject matter she was spouting.  "At least, that's how I see it," she finished up, just as Giles appeared at the top of the stairs.

Willow did her best not to betray the emotions she was feeling to Giles' searching gaze.  She could tell that he knew something important had happened in his absence, but was unsure exactly what, if anything, he should do about it.  "Is everything." his question trailed off uncertainly as he took in the confusion that seemed to cover Willow like a blanket.

Giles cleared his throat nervously, before settling on the most likely source of trouble.  "Anya, what have you done?" he asked uneasily, his gaze darting back and forth between the almost self-satisfied Anya, and a rather bewildered Willow.

"Willow and I were bonding," she explained.  "Girl stuff. Talking about men.  That kind of stuff.  I can't tell you about it because, well, you're not a girl.  Plus, you tend to get that rather constipated look on your face whenever I bring up sex.  And then you usually get angry."

Giles gave Anya a look that Willow recognized as a prelude to a lecture, and possibly a serious scolding as well.  She tried to head him off before he reached full stuffy Watcher mode.  "So Giles, did you find your book?" she asked innocently, shoving her doubts aside.  She could consider Anya's theory, and do some deep self-examination, later on.  Right now, there were more important things to deal with.  Like averting an angry Giles from berating an almost gloating Anya.

Fortunately for Willow, a knock at the door grabbed their attention, and Giles somewhat gratefully went over to answer it.

His relief was short-lived, however, when he saw who stood at the threshold.  It was Spike, and judging by the scowl on his face, he didn't look particularly cheerful.

"Come to collect my childe," he drawled, brushing past Giles and scanning the room for the redhead.  "C'mon," he ordered.  "Time to get going."

~Part: 26~

"Time to call it a night, I guess," Willow told Anya and Giles, as she slipped her feet back into her shoes and stood up.  "I'm ready."

Spike didn't say much, just hung an arm around her as he steered her towards the door.  The contact may have seemed casual, but Willow suspected that it also served as a reminder to all of them that she was there only because he allowed her to be.  The thought of the power that a sire held over a childe disturbed her, as it usually did when she stopped to consider it.

She was independent.  Not a child, although she supposed she was a childe.

With parents it was different.  You were their responsibility for a limited amount of time, and then you were on your own.  There was often a feeling of obligation, but it was easily ignored, if one wanted to ignore it.

With the bond of sire and childe, it went far beyond obligation, and smack dab into the territory of ownership.  She *belonged* to him, according to vampire law, and under typical circumstances he could do whatever he wanted with her.

But he hadn't.  Which was where his anger and bitterness came into it.  Or so Anya supposed.  And upon closer scrutiny, Willow had to wonder if she was right.  He couldn't have sex with her, couldn't control her; he was probably wondering what the hell the point was in having a childe.

Willow wanted to feel sorry for him.  If their situation had been some abstract documentary on the Discovery channel, she probably would have felt bad for him.  But it was her life here, and that made the difference.  She didn't *want* to belong to anyone, not even Spike.

She had nothing against Spike; he was actually a pretty decent guy, for a member of the walking undead.  Even though it would have been easy, almost natural, for him to try to get her into bed-well, in the sexual way-he had taken into consideration her mental state, and her fear from the rape, and had treated her carefully.  She saw it all now, the little things he did as he tried to slowly ease her into the life of a vampire, which by its very nature was rife with sex and violence.

And in return, she had done very little to make things easier for him.  Oh, it wasn't like she should have lain on her back and welcomed him, to be crude about it.  But she could have been a little more patient; she could have tried to work with him, instead of against him.  She could have just done what he told her to, instead of arguing and defying him as she so often had.

Spike's arm tightened around her shoulder, stopping her and pulling her into the trees.  They were about halfway home, taking a shortcut through Rolling Hills Cemetery, before heading north on Sycamore, which would take them by the college.  Willow turned her curious eyes up to look at him, noticing how still he was.  And was that fear that she saw in his eyes?  Sure enough, she could scent it on the breeze and feel it humming along the bond, and her eyes searched the darkness in a slightly panicked manner, wondering what it was that could have her sire so spooked.

Sending her senses ranging out, she waited patiently, until she could hear them:  the crackle of the walkie-talkie, the sounds of low voices, talking quietly as they stalked their prey.

Them.

It was the Initiative.  There was not a doubt in her mind that they belonged to the noises she heard.  Nothing else would fit the circumstances.

And as she accepted that fact, panic held her in its grip again, and she saw the faces of the men who had raped her, hurt her, and ultimately killed her.

Willow went as still as Spike, her eyes wide, and if her heart had still beat, it would have burst.

Spike could not fight them.  But she could.  The soul put up not the slightest bit of protest.  It wanted them dead, just like the demon did.  She wondered briefly if that meant her soul was defective, but the thought slipped out of her mind again without causing a ripple, her attention too centered on her current predicament.

She would have the luxury of self-doubt later, if there *was* a later.

The sounds were getting closer.  Willow could tell.  Spike too, she realized, as she looked up at him.  They were louder now, no longer quite as careful about concealing the noise they made.  Perhaps they could tell it was Spike they were hunting, and knew that he was unable to hurt them.

But she could.  She would fight-and die again, if she had to-if Spike told her to.  If he thought it was their only chance.

Willow looked at Spike, hoping for guidance, and saw the slow, almost imperceptible shake of his head.  She wouldn't be fighting this time.  But she needed to be ready for.something.

And then it happened.  The patrol, two black-clad figures moving stealthily through the graveyard, passed by them, not more than thirty feet away, talking softly into their walkie-talkie as they did.  Her body was already frozen with terror, but now her mind was as well.

Spike nodded again, grabbing her hand in a death grip and tugging her, placing her behind him as they sidled around a large headstone for one Percival Pratt.

Willow followed quickly, trying her best to keep up with Spike while at the same time remaining completely silent.  The lessons she had learned that night they had spent stalking lovers in the park almost a week ago came back to her in a flash, and she hoped she wasn't doing too poor a job.

Once he figured they were out of the commandos' immediate vicinity, Spike's pace increased, and again he pulled Willow along with him.

He was heading directly for the other side of the cemetery, towards Sycamore, and Willow was right next to him, her feet blazing a path along the dirt trail, with only one thought in her mind:  safety.  As rarely used muscles burned in protest, trees and bushes whipped past her, carrying her faster and farther away from their would-be captors.

Spike tugged on her hand again, urging her to move even faster, as the wind rushed by her face.  The fact that he was moving even more rapidly than she was would have been fascinating, had her mind not been overwhelmed with thoughts of terror and flight.

They heard a sound off in the distance to the right, so Spike pulled her to the left, changing direction with ease and pulling her along for the ride.

Finally they were clear of the cemetery, but they didn't slow down.  Trees passed by, bushes, yards, fences were jumped, and still they ran, fear fueling their steps.

They ran for another ten or fifteen minutes, maybe more.  She could no longer even guess.  Finally, Spike came to a sudden stop, pulling her behind him and putting his finger to her lips.

Willow listened.  With all of her supernatural abilities, she let her senses range outward, searching for any bit, any scrap of noise.

But there was nothing.  No quiet voices, no sounds of a car, idling, searching; not even the gentle hum of a cell phone or the distant crackle of a walkie-talkie.

Silence.

Sensing that she was finally safe, Willow fell to her knees, the sharp pebbles of somebody's front yard gravel bed cutting carelessly into her shins and knees.  She didn't care; didn't even feel the pain.  All that mattered was that they were safe.

Spike pulled her to her feet, the scent of her blood and the tears she didn't even realize she was crying made all of his protective instincts kick in.  "Best not to stay too long, pet.  Don't want to attract too much attention, right?"

Willow followed him blindly, letting his body guide hers, since the tears she cried made it difficult to see much of anything.

The analytical part of her mind recognized that she was in shock.  The numbness, clammy hands, dry mouth; all of them were what her parents would have called symptomatic of the condition.  But emotionally, her mind seemed to race a million miles a minute.

They had been *so* close.  If not for vampire hearing, and vampire speed, the two of them would have been sharing a cell somewhere, waiting for their captors to kill them.  Or worse.  The thought sent her mind racing again, and inevitably it raced back to that night, the night her life had changed forever.

"We're home, pet." Spike's words penetrated the cotton that filled her head, but from the look of concern on his face, it had taken a while.  She let him guide her into the living room, where she stood, uncertain, until he shook his head, grabbed her hand, and pulled her until she followed him up the stairs and into the bedroom.

The sight of her furniture and familiar knick-knacks seemed to brush away some of the fog, but the pain and fear remained.  Tears began to fall again, and when Spike pulled her into his arms, she didn't resist.

For some reason, the feel of him near her, surrounding her, made the fear lessen just a bit, and she relaxed into his arms.  Technically speaking, when it came to the Initiative, he was actually more helpless than she was, but right now all she could feel was the blessed relief of knowing that nobody could hurt her now.

"I was so scared," she whispered finally, not willing to lift her head from its resting place against Spike's chest.

"I know, luv.  I know."

The words were the closest he would come to admitting his own fear, but she had smelled it thick in the air, mingling with her own.  He had been just as scared.

"I-I would have fought them, you know?  If you had wanted me to.  Maybe I could have-"

"There were too many of them.  Too many to fight.  They were trying to ring us in, come in on us from all sides.  Wasn't sure if you caught that.  But I could hear them coming from all directions, with their sneaky little footsteps."

Willow nodded against his chest.  She hadn't heard them all.  And she was glad she hadn't.  It had been bad enough as it was.  If she had known that the situation was even worse than she had thought, who knew what she might have done?

"Their sneakers squeaked," she offered shyly, trying to smile.

A soft chuckle reached her ears.  "Noticed that, did ya?  Be grateful for that, it was what I heard first."

She was silent for a moment.  "What if-"

"No," he told her gently, giving her a little shake to punctuate his words.  "You can't play that game.  We got away.  They didn't get us."

"But next time-"

Spike stepped away from her for a moment, taking her hand and leading her to the bed. He sat down next to her.  "Not gonna be a next time," he stated, his hand lifting her face up to meet his, so she could see the truth of it in his eyes.  "Next time we see them, it's on *our* terms.  When we kill them all."

Willow was silent for a moment, considering his statement.  "I think I could.  Kill them, I mean."

He nodded solemnly.  "I think you could too.  You've got a soul, but you've also got a brain.  The whole self-preservation thing comes into play.  You've never done a thing to them, but they'll kill you on sight.  Only makes sense that you'd kill them, if you could.  Nothing evil about it."

Willow knew he was right, but somehow it didn't make her feel much better.  "You need to teach me more.  How to fight.  How defend myself.  I need to be able to kill them, when the time comes."

She didn't look vindictive, or angry, or anything else.  Just small and scared and very matter-of-fact.  That was what convinced him that she meant it.

"We'll start tomorrow," he promised.

"I'm still scared," Willow confessed.

Spike could see that she wanted to ask him something, and it was something big.  Something so big that she didn't know how to say the words.

"What is it, luv?"

She couldn't say it.  Couldn't ask it of him.  The words wouldn't come out, so she tried to sneak up on it from behind.  "I-I've tried to deny it, and forget about it, and everything else.  But it never goes away.  The feel of their hands on my body, the way that they made sex something painful and dirty and hateful.  I don't want it to be like that anymore."

She trailed off nervously, unable to take that final step, to say the last words she wanted to say to him.

"You have to ask it, Willow.  It has to come from you."  He needed to hear it from her, and know that she meant it.

It took every bit of courage that she possessed, but finally the words came out in a tiny whisper.  "Could you-would you-make love to me?"

~Part: 27~

"Could you-would you-make love to me?"

Willow's whispered words hung heavy in the air between them, awkward and yet strangely endearing.

It was the tremor in her voice that got to him, making him fight against instinct and consider giving in to her plea.

"Pet?"

Willow stepped towards him again, smiling tremulously as his arms automatically encircled her.  "I feel safe here.  With you.  I want to forget everything they did to me, and remember what it felt like before, when I didn't have to worry about them being around every corner."  She hesitated for a moment, before plunging on.  "You can do that for me.  Please."

A part of him wanted to be blunt; to crush her fragile safety by telling her that she would never be truly safe until all of those Initiative bastards were dead.  It was true, and he suspected that she knew it just as well as he did.  But another part of him wanted to provide the comfort that she needed, even if it would only serve as a Band-Aid over her wounded heart.

Spike held her tightly, letting her relax against him as he ran a gentle hand over her hair.  And when her lips touched his neck, softly, uncertainly, he did nothing to stop her.

She became bolder when he chose not to crush her attempt at seduction, trailing soft kisses up to his jaw, her arms winding around his neck and finally up to the back of his head, pulling his lips down to meet hers.  Fingers tangled in his hair, balling into fists and then releasing.

Her lips were cool and dry against his, and he remembered the time he had come to her dorm room to turn her.  She had been warm and squirming and terrified then, but he realized that he preferred her like this:  her body cool and eager as it pressed against his, the two of them a perfect fit.

The thought surprised him, and for a moment he tried to find a reason why he would prefer her like this.  But then she opened her mouth against his, welcoming his exploring tongue, and all reason quickly fled, moving to regions to the south, just like most of the borrowed blood in his body.

"Willow," Spike groaned the words against her throat, as she moved her mouth to his ear, nipping with human teeth at the tender lobe.

He heard her answering moan, which turned to a growl of angry protest when he pulled away from her.  "Too many clothes," he whispered, his hands working quickly to rid himself of the pesky garments.  His shirt flew to the corner of the room, quickly followed by his pants, until he stood naked before her.  The evidence of his arousal stood proudly erect, and he wondered if it would be enough to frighten her back into her usual behavior.

Her response surprised him; or rather, her lack of it.  Instead of running in fear, which was what he had half-expected her to do, she gave him a bold, appraising glance, then began to unbutton her shirt with sure, determined fingers.  The flecks of gold in her eyes gave him insight; her demon was in charge tonight, or at least she was using it to guide her actions and fight back the fear.

Respect and surprise filled him as he realized how well she had managed to control the demon, learning to work with it, instead of against it.  That was something his sire had rarely managed to accomplish, even after all these years.  Either her demon was weak, or her will particularly strong.  Judging from past experience, he was banking on her strong will.  Or, as he often commented to himself, her pigheaded stubbornness.

Her shirt joined his on the floor, followed quickly by her red satiny bra.  Something must have crossed her mind then, because her movements slowed, her hands coming to rest awkwardly on the fly of her jeans.

Spike closed the gap between them, his hands tugging lightly on the waistband of her pants, his fingers brushing hers aside as he began working the buttons.  She offered no protest, not even when the buttons were unfastened, and his hands slowly pushed her pants downwards, his thumbs hooking into her underwear and pulling them down as well, letting the clothing fall to the floor.

Taking a step back, they watched each other curiously, each using the moment to examine the person before them.

Spike watched his childe through hooded eyes.  She was beautiful.  There was no point in denying it.  Delicate and innocent in spite of everything, yet she had a core of inner steel that she didn't seem to know she possessed.  He was more taken with her than he had a right to be, and the thought troubled and annoyed him.  His affection for her made him weak, made it easier not to discipline her the way that he knew he should.  This life that they were carving out together was making him soft, but right at this very moment, he couldn't care less.

Willow's mind screamed at her to flee, or at least to take a step back and think about this logically.  She was running on pure emotion right now, and decisions made under those kind of circumstances led to nothing but trouble.  Things would be done tonight that would change her life forever, and once done, they would be impossible to undo.

But another part of her felt that this was what she had been moving towards ever since the day she had met Spike, many years before, in an alley outside of the Bronze.  Fate, circumstance, destiny, whatever you wanted to call it, had pulled them apart for a time, but this final step would be the finish to a dance that had begun long ago.  If only she had the courage.

Spike took a step towards her, taking her chin in his hand and forcing her to meet his gaze.  "You're sure?"

'No,' her mind screamed, but oddly enough, the word, "Yes," was the one that passed between her lips.  "Make love to me, sire."

She knew what she was doing, what she was agreeing to, Spike told himself.  No reason to hold back, or to change things now.  He could just let go.

So he did.

Willow felt his lips as they brushed against hers, and marveled at the gentleness of his kiss.  His mouth opened against hers, and the kiss went deeper, tongues teasingly exploring new territory.

He broke the kiss, walking to the bed and pulling her behind him.  She laid back on the mattress, arranging herself in a way that made his cock jump even further to attention.  An innocent temptress, or so she appeared.  It was an appealing picture, and one he enjoyed immensely.

Watching for her reaction, he laid down on his side next to her, propping his head on his hand.  His fingers, drifting lightly over her bare stomach, brushed and teased the cool skin.  Willow drew in a sharp breath and held it for a moment before realizing that it wasn't really necessary.  The breath came out in a rush, followed by a low moan as one of his fingers brushed over her nipple, before moving back to her abdomen.

His fingers returned to her breast, circling around the nipple teasingly, and his eyes watched her reactions, cataloging them and figuring out what she liked best.  In time he would teach her to appreciate the fine line between pain and pleasure; he had enjoyed both sides of that particular coin.  But tonight was not about that.

Her nipples pebbled under his gentle teasing, and her unneeded breaths came swiftly now.  A quick glance told him that although her eyes were closed, there was an expression of pleasure and anticipation on her face.

"Ready, pet?"

A quick nod was her only response, so he moved to place his body between her splayed legs, holding his cock at the entrance to her vagina.  He pushed in gently, again watching her face for a sign that she was okay.

His demon insisted that he slam into her; give her such a pounding that she would feel it for days, but he pushed that aside and concentrated on her.  She was his childe, not some cheap fuck, and what he was doing tonight would color her attitude about sex, and about him, for a long time.  It took every ounce of willpower that he had to continue to enter her gently, but he did it, because he understood, somehow, that it was important.

When Spike was fully sheathed within her, he chanced a glance up to her face, and was surprised to find her staring back at him.  He saw something he thought might have been approval in her eyes, before she quickly closed them again.

"Look at me," he whispered, satisfied when her eyes fluttered open again.  "It's me, and nobody else.  You're safe.  Nobody will ever hurt you again, understand?"

She stared into his eyes and nodded silently, and Spike began to move within her.  It was a simple back and forth motion, and she gasped from the sensation, but the way that her eyes continued to hold his assured him that she was okay.

One of his hands headed back to her breasts, once again teasing the pebbled nipple and increasing the sensation.  The look on her face was one of relief and enjoyment, and he continued his ministrations, moving to the other nipple after a few moments to give it equal treatment.

He established a rhythm that had her relaxing into his strokes, and soon she was thrusting her hips up to meet his.  She had surrendered to the moment.  The twin specters of fear and despair were gone from her face, replaced by desire and lust.

"Spike," she whispered, arching her back slightly, as her muscles spasmed around his cock.  Her orgasm took them both by surprise; he had not realized she was even close.  But the pleasure and satisfaction he saw written plainly on her face convinced him that she had, indeed, enjoyed her orgasm.

"My turn," he told her, giving her a cocky grin.  His thrusts sped up, and he seemed to go even deeper inside her, the aftershocks of her orgasm milking him like a satin fist.

As he felt his orgasm approach, his face changed into that of the demon, and he leaned over her, his teeth inches from the side of her neck.  He would *not* ask for permission, his demon insisted.  She was his childe, and it was his right to take her blood whenever and however he pleased.

But he would give her fair warning, so he hung above her for a moment before striking, his fangs sinking deep into her neck at long last, as his body exploded in orgasm.

Mouthfuls of rich blood teased his taste buds until he drowned in the magic of it.  Even though he had known how good it would taste, it always managed to taste even richer than the time before.  Why that was, he couldn't begin to guess.

Spike felt her tongue touch his neck tentatively, and wondered if she would attempt to bite him without permission.  She had done it once before, but it had been done in her sleep, and he had let it slide.  If she did it again, there would have to be consequences.  He would not be able to ignore it this time.

His fangs disappeared as he laved his mark, his tongue catching the last few precious drops before her skin repaired itself before his eyes.

"Spike?" her whispered question pleased and surprised him.  Perhaps she had figured it out.

"Pet?"

"Can I?  Just a little sip?"  The words were soft and hesitant, as if she didn't want to break the mood.  He bared his neck without looking at her, waiting for the sting of her bite.

When it came, it wasn't the sharp pain he had expected.  Instead, she ran the tip of a fang lightly across his neck, breaking the skin, but just barely.  The cool feel of her rough tongue followed immediately, as she lapped at the blood that came to the surface.

It was the difference between a pinch and a tickle, and the unexpected sensation had his cock springing to life once more, although he quickly discarded the idea of taking her again.  Things were finally going his way; no need to screw it up now just because his dick was hard.

"Like that?" he asked instead, feeling her nod in the affirmative.  "Me too," he admitted.

"Thanks, sire," she said, curling her body against his and finally falling into the blessed relief of sleep.

~Part: 28~

Willow watched, without seeing, as the blood in her mug slowly swirled.  Eddies surrounded the straw she used to stir, sending the bright pink plastic dancing from side to side in her mug.  Her thoughts were far away, centering on her activities of the previous evening.

Fear had been a strong motivating factor in what she had done, what she had thought, and what she had asked Spike to do to her.  With her.  Whatever.

Sure, it had seemed like a good idea at the time, when fear and need had raced through her body, leaving her giddy and brainless.  And it certainly had been good-he had been good.  Patient and caring, Spike had taken his time to make sure that she had enjoyed the experience as much as he did.  And she had.

He had managed to help her wipe away her nightmares, and made her remember all the things she had enjoyed about sex.  Being close to another person, both physically and emotionally, was something that she had been missing for what seemed like forever.  To be able to have that again, with Spike, had been wonderful.

Her demon felt sated; it seemed happy and relaxed in a way it never had before.  The restlessness she had always felt in the back of her mind was gone, replaced by a sense of completeness and surety.

But her soul?  Her soul was torn and twisted like a pretzel.

She had slept with Spike, someone she didn't love.  She had used him to help her heal her broken psyche, although judging from his response he hadn't minded one little bit.

But that didn't make it right.

Twin pinpricks of pain shot through his arm, rousing Spike from his slumber.  Was it Willow, biting in her sleep again?  But no, when he opened his eyes, he was welcomed to the ass-end view of the gray fluffball he was forced to share accommodations with.  The other end of said fluffball, namely, its teeth, were disengaging from the skin of his arm.

"Do that again and I'll skin you.  You'd make a nice soft." he paused for a moment, trying to come up with an appropriate threat, couldn't, and then figured 'fuck it.'

Buffy, content that she had done her duty and caused maximum carnage, fled the room in search of a new target, careening wildly on the hardwood floor as she took a sharp turn too quickly.

Spike was alone in the bedroom.  His inner clock told him that it was early afternoon, and the slight scent of pig's blood told him that Willow had already had her breakfast, such as it was.

He felt a need to see her, touch her, and reassure himself that last night had been real, and not just a dream brought on by too many spicy chicken wings and an overactive imagination.  A strong desire filled him; he wanted to look into her eyes and know that she remembered everything that had happened, just as he did.

Plus, he was kind of hoping for a repeat performance.

The minute he saw her, sitting at the dining room table, the empty mug of blood and that silly pink straw set carefully to the side, he knew that something was off.  It was there in the tense muscles of her back, in the fact that she wouldn't turn to face him, and, finally, in the scent of the tears that he could still smell, even though her hands rubbed sporadically at her eyes.

It was regret.  And of course what she regretted was him.  Them.

"Hello, pet," he said, keeping his voice low and even.  The increased tension in the set of her shoulders did not come as a big surprise.

"Spike," she whispered, her voice small and uncertain.

She turned to face him then, and he saw everything he had expected to see, every emotion etched into the lines of her face and swimming beneath the surface of her watery eyes.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, before Willow broke the spell.  "Listen," she said finally, "last night." She took a deep breath, as if getting ready for a fight. "It was-"

The shrill ring of the phone destroyed whatever words she would have said, although Spike knew in his heart that they would have been "a mistake."  It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure *that* out.

Equal parts pain and anger flooded his system, but all he could do was stand by impotently and watch as Willow headed for the kitchen, studiously ignoring his gaze as she ran for the phone.

"Hello?"  Her voice sounded slightly broken, and Spike wondered who else was hearing it, and what they would make of it.

He listened in silence, trying to catch a scrap of the caller's conversation.

"Oh, hi, Angel."

Bugger!  It was bloody perfect, he thought angrily.  And just what he did not need right now.  Angel represented yet another complication to their lives, and another obstacle that Spike did not know how to overcome.

He watched his childe as she spoke.  Her tension level seemed to escalate as she talked to Angel, not lessen.  Spike wondered at that for a moment before figuring it out.

Her change in circumstances had turned Angel from a friend into a grandsire, something that made the demon respectful and the soul just plain nervous.  She still wasn't sure exactly what to expect from the older vampire, or how she should treat him.

"Uh, yeah, things are okay.  But," Willow hesitated awkwardly, glancing at Spike, then looking away quickly.  She was concerned about seeming impolite, he realized.  "Well, it's not really a good time for a chat right now," she said finally.

Spike couldn't make out Angel's exact words, but the concerned tone was easily discernible.  He had no doubt that Angel had already tried and convicted him of something, although who knew what, and that fact added more fuel to the fire of his anger; anger he couldn't wait to vent on his childe-the cause of all his problems.

Last night-last night had been real and good and the first time ever that he had felt like her sire, instead of just a blood donor.  They had connected, despite the circumstances that had led them to the bedroom, and Spike had hoped that the closeness would have spilled over from last night into today.  He had looked forward to waking up with her in his arms.  But from what he had seen, she was already regretting the things they had done, and was back to her usual, stubborn, independent, *soulful* self.

He had to wonder why it bothered him so much.  Certainly her regret was a bit of a blow, but *why* did it affect him so deeply?  Was it because he cared for her?

No, his demon hissed angrily.  He didn't care.  Well, not any more than he should.  But she was his childe; certain rights and responsibilities came with that fact.  Or at least they should.  But it had not been that way for him.

Spike remembered how it had been with Angelus.  The feeling of connection he had felt towards his sire, and the obvious bond between Angelus and Dru, came rushing back.  Even the damned minions had felt the tie of Angelus' blood.  But not *his* childe.  No, she would rather stake him than talk to him.  The thought was galling.

He listened as Willow made polite noises at Angel, his anger boiling over into rage.  Stalking towards her, he put his hands on her shoulders, whipping her around until she faced him.

Her eyes were wide and surprised, and she offered little resistance when he plucked the phone from her hands, interrupting Angel mid-sentence.

"We're busy.  She'll call you later."

He hit the 'talk' button, disconnecting the call, before throwing the phone into the living room.  Willow winced as it hit the wall with a crack, bounced off, and then landed on the floor.

She stared at him with those shimmering green eyes, on the edge of tears, and Spike growled at her, stalking back towards her.

"Don't do that!" Spike insisted, knowing that the fight he wanted, the fight he deserved, would be impossible if she started crying.  He wanted her angry, her eyes spitting fire.  He could rage at her and argue with her easily if she was angry.

But when her face crumpled, and tears glistened on her cheeks, Spike felt like he was kicking a defenseless puppy.  While the idea had a bit of appeal at this exact moment, he knew that it would be ultimately futile.

"What do you want from me?" Willow wailed, plunking herself down in one of the dining room chairs.  "I'm doing the best that I can!"

"What I want-" Spike cut the angry words off before they became something he couldn't take back.  He pulled up a chair next to her, turning his body slightly until he could see her face.  "What I want," he began again, a bit more quietly, "is for you to acknowledge what happened between us last night.  It wasn't something dirty or wrong; it was just sex."

"But it *was* wrong," she insisted, moving as far away as the chair allowed when he began to growl.  "If I'm going to *have sex* with someone, it should be someone I'm in love with.  But we're not in love.  You don't love me.  Hell, half the time I don't think you even *like* me.  And I don't love you-I hardly even know you, so how could I love you?"

She shook her head sadly, bringing up quivering hands to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

Spike studied her for a moment; nothing she said was a surprise to him.  She was still caught up in the human morality that insisted that sex was an act to be performed by two people in love.  It was something she had always believed in, and letting go of that concept seemed to be difficult.

But how was he going to explain that to her in a way that she would understand and accept?  How would he convince her that to vampires, sex was a tool?  It could make you feel good, it was a way of punishing or controlling another vampire, or even just an activity to pass a lazy afternoon.  Sure, sex between a childe and sire tended to be a bit more.intense, mostly because of the bond they shared.  But love, commitment and procreation?  Those things didn't matter to vampires.  And they certainly weren't prerequisites to having sex.

"You're still thinking like a soddin' human," he growled, his eyes raking her figure.  "You're a vampire now.  For us, it's not about wedding bells or cherry blossoms.  It's-arggh!  Why the hell am I explaining this?  You should *know* this."  He put his elbows on the table, cradling his head in his hands.  "You're giving me a headache," he muttered.

It was too early to storm out of the house, he knew.  Well, he could storm at least a step out of the house, but after that he would shower the walkway with his dust.  And while that was a perfectly good way to make a point, it would also be a rather final way to end their discussion, and he wasn't about to give her that satisfaction.

Willow watched Spike through compassionate, yet curious, eyes.  For a moment, she almost felt sorry for him.  His words did seem to validate Anya's suggestion that the vampire's anger was a result of dissatisfaction at his inability to be a true sire to her.  But there was no way in hell she was going to change herself, and her life, just because he was unhappy with the way things were.  She would not become some plaything, some object that he could control and use at his leisure.  This was the 21st century, for heaven's sake.

Instead, she would be his friend, if he was willing.  Maybe more, in time.  But it was still too soon for her to fall into the vampire lifestyle that he seemed to want her to embrace.  Maybe someday she could, but then again, maybe not.

Willow put a tentative hand on his shoulder, half-surprised when he didn't shrug it off.  He brought his head away from the cradle of his hands and looked up at her.

"This is me, Spike.  I am who I am; what I am.  I'm trying to adjust, but it won't all happen in a day.  Some things might not ever change.  The.the nakedness, and, well, the sex, I just can't do that."  She sighed, wishing for a moment that she *could* give in and become who he wanted her to be.  It would make both of their lives so much easier.

It was the soul, she knew.  She shouldn't have retained so much of herself and her ideas and fears after her turning, but because of the soul, it was different.  Angel had spent decades as Angelus before being cursed.  He knew what it was to be a vampire, how it felt, how to be what he should be.  Those things had probably just been instinct.  She had never had that time to be a vampire before being cursed.  All she was left with was her ideas of who and what she wanted to be, and a sire who always seemed to be angry and disappointed in her.

"I'm trying to be a good vampire, really.  Well, without the killing and stuff.  But I'm just not sure that I'll ever be what you want me to be."  Willow's eyes looked uncertain, but her voice was strong and determined.  "I know it's probably the soul," she admitted matter-of-factly, "but I don't ever want to be without it.  I wouldn't be *me*."  I'd just be a killer, she thought to herself.

"I have all of eternity to decide who I want to be.  If you want to stick around and help me, I'd be grateful.  But I can't promise that I'll turn out exactly the way you want."  Willow was silent for a moment, drawing on some well of inner strength, before she spoke her next words.

"If you want to leave-to forget about me, that's okay.  I won't hold it against you.  I won't try to force you to stay here.  It's all up to you."

Her eyes met his and held his gaze while she waited for his reply.

~Part: 29~

"If you want to leave-to forget about me, that's okay.  I won't hold it against you.  I won't try to force you to stay here.  It's all up to you."  She had said the words softly, her hand placed gently on his arm as she sat next to him at the dining room table, her face so very earnest.

Spike felt something akin to shock as he processed her words.  Was she throwing him out of her life, in her oh-so-polite way?  Did she think he would take such a pronouncement like a human boy would, acquiescing so very civilly, giving her what she seemed to want without a second thought?

But no.  He considered her words again and discarded the notion. It wasn't quite like that.  She was, in her own understated way, giving him an out, he realized.  She was simply being very subtle about it.

It was just like her.  Willow was stubborn enough to refuse his attempts to change her, but insecure enough to let him know that he could leave her if he wanted to, because she didn't want anyone to stay with her out of pity or a feeling of obligation.

The option of leaving was not even on the table as far as he was concerned.  As much as he hated to admit it, his first reaction, other than the rage he quickly tamped down, was respect and a faint feeling of affection.  Everything Willow had said earlier was true:  she was very much a work-in-progress.  He had hopes of swaying her in certain directions, molding her into what he envisioned her being.  But she was showing a surprising amount of backbone.  Certainly there was more self-awareness than he had ever suspected simmering beneath that deceptively innocent and affable façade she showed the rest of the world.

So no, leaving was not an option.

Besides, and he really hated to admit this, Sunnydale was actually beginning to feel a little bit like home to him.  Well, as much of a home as he had had since being turned.  His almost gypsy-ish lifestyle had never bothered him in the past, but now, for some reason, the thought of staying in one place for a few years didn't faze him one bit.  He had connections here, a circle of acquaintances he enjoyed, and a few demons he could even count on in a pinch.  Oddly enough, he found the familiarity gave him a lift.

Plus, and this was the big issue, really, where else could he find a population that was so completely oblivious to all that went on around them?  Not to mention butchers that were willing to sell a bloke pig's blood without ever asking why.

Yes, Sunnydale's unaware populace was definitely a point in its favor.

And then there was his childe.  She would not leave this town.  At least, not anytime soon.  Her roots were buried so deeply in the tree-lined streets and college campus of this town that she would never consider a move, despite the fact that staying here put her at risk.

He thought back to the days directly after Angelus left him, and the fear, abandonment and rejection he had fought not to feel.  His sire had been father, lover, mentor, and even, at times, a friend.  His desertion had cut deep.

In hindsight, Spike could acknowledge that if Angel had chosen to stay with them, it would never have worked.  Time, and having a childe of his own, had brought that truth home to him, even though he would never give Peaches the satisfaction of admitting it aloud.

But Willow-despite the anger she evoked and the petty annoyances-she needed him, even if she refused to admit it.  And he never wanted her to feel towards him the way he had felt towards his sire.

So he would stick with her.  He wouldn't stop trying to change her; that wasn't in his nature.  But maybe he would just have to find new ways of doing it.  If she could be subtle, so could he.  Maybe?

~~~*~~~

Willow watched her sire as he considered her offer, trying her best not to let her fear and uneasiness show.  She would do her best not to influence him, not to let him see how desperately she wanted him to stay.  The thought of being here, alone, without him, or anybody else, terrified her.  But better to be alone and miserable, than be with someone who didn't want her as she was, and wouldn't let her be who she needed to be.

He was so quiet, so deep in thought, that for a moment she was afraid that he wouldn't answer her.

But then, finally, he did, and the words would have taken the breath from her lungs, if there had been any there.

"I'll stay," he said simply, and those two words said a lot, but there was even more that they did not say.

Willow smiled at him, her expression nervous and uncertain.  She felt as if she had won something.  A small victory, or maybe some sort of prize.  Whatever it was, it made her feel gratitude towards her sire, and she wondered how she could make it up to him.

"Will you teach me how to defend myself?"  It wasn't exactly a gift; it was something that would benefit her more than it would him.  But she suspected that he might enjoy it.  And it was certainly something she needed to know.  The Initiative lurked beyond their front door, outside somewhere, and until she knew how to take care of herself, she would never be able to take them on.

"Sure, pet.  Just give me a chance to call Peaches.  I'm sure he's building up a head of steam, trying to figure out what's going on here.  Probably halfway to Sunnydale by now."  He was exaggerating, but just slightly, in an attempt to bring them back to more comfortable ground.

Willow nodded slowly, her eyes glancing over at the remains of the phone Spike had destroyed earlier.  "Probably need a new phone," she commented blandly.

A raised eyebrow was all the reply she received.  He wasn't going to apologize; in his eyes he had done nothing wrong.

"There's another phone upstairs.  Toss it down to me.  Then put on something comfortable, an outfit you can move around in."

She nodded at him, wondering, as she ascended the stairs, what he would say to Angel.  The two vampires had never gotten along, not in the admittedly limited time she had known them both.

Would Spike tell his sire what had gone on between them?  Would Angel believe him?  The urge to listen in on Spike's portion of the conversation was too big of a temptation to resist.

After passing the phone down to Spike, Willow returned to her room, closing the door behind her.  But instead of rifling through her closet for something loose-fitting and comfortable, she chose to sit on the floor, her back against the bedroom door, waiting and listening.

~~~*~~~

Spike punched in the number for Angel's office, trying his best to maintain a sense of calm he did not feel.  Getting angry at his sire would be great fun; a good old row would be even better.  But from a tactical point of view it was a mistake, since he was hoping to make plans to take on the Initiative, and he needed Peaches on his side.  So, as much as it galled him, he was determined to stay on his best behavior.

"Hello?"

"It's me.  And before you get your pants in a knot, I haven't killed her or anything.  She's fine."

Silence met his pronouncement, and Spike could imagine the way his sire would look, his face noncommittal, as he turned the situation over, trying to twist it around to his advantage.

"What did you do to her?" he asked at last, his voice flat and deadly.

"Nothing she didn't ask for," Spike answered truthfully, fully aware that the answer would only serve to antagonize Angel.  Well, just because he was on his best behavior didn't mean he couldn't have a little bit of fun, did it?

He could hear the anger crackling along the line, as Angel's voice whipped back at him.  "What the hell does that mean?"

The ghost of a smile curved Spike's lips as he reigned in his temper.  He crossed the room, flopping down on the couch and stretching out comfortably.  Much better.  Now just one more tweak before he got down to business.  "Which word didn't you understand, Peaches?"

Amazing how a growl could travel through phone lines and still send the hair on his arms straight up.  Chalk one up for the marvels of modern technology Spike thought.

"She was upset, Spike," Angel growled, through what Spike was sure were clenched teeth.  "When I talked to her, she was almost in tears."

"And you just thought you would play the knight in tarnished armor, did you?"

"What did you do to her?" his sire insisted.  "Why was she so upset?"

"I shagged her, okay?  Gave her exactly what she asked me for.  And what did I get for my pains?  Nothing but trouble!"

"You-she-" Angel wasn't sure where to start, but he had to pick something. So he chose the most unlikely part of the sentence and went with it.  "Why would she ask you to do that?"

Spike frowned.  Bloody wanker didn't need to make it sound *that* unlikely.  She was his childe; why wouldn't she have asked him?  But he pushed his insecurities back and answered coolly, giving Angel a brief description of the previous evening.  "She needed a little something to make her feel better.  I gave it to her.  Now she wants to pretend that it didn't happen, and I'm supposed to follow suit.  Well it *did* happen, and I'm not going to forget about it, just because she wants me to."

Angel sighed.  "She's still more human than vampire, Spike.  She needs time to adjust."

"Don't think I know that, Peaches?  Not a moron, ya know?  Figured out what was happening pretty quickly.  I'll deal with it," he added quickly, hoping to forestall any offers of help from the other vampire.  Last thing he needed was Peaches playing matchmaker.  "That's not why I called."

"No, I'm sure it's not."  They both knew that when Spike called, it was because he wanted something.

"Gotta figure out how to stop those Initiative bastards.  We got away from them last night, but what about next time?"  Spike sprang up off the couch and began pacing the floor, the movement helping him compose his thoughts.  He always thought better when he was in motion, for some reason.  "Can't go out during the day because of the sun; can't go out at night because of them.  The situation's gotta change, sire.  We need to find a way to take them out."

A moment of silence, and then Angel's tight, angry, "Yes."

"I have a couple blokes here that might help, but we need a plan.  Can't just go in blind.  That'd be suicide.  And since Slutty seems to be dating one of the soldier boys, I doubt we can count on her for any help..." Spike stopped pacing and winced; he hadn't planned on telling his sire about the Slayer's new boyfriend in such a blunt fashion, but it was out now.  Not much to be done there.

"Buffy-she's dating one of them?"

The kicked puppy sound to his sire's voice grated in his ear.  Having a soul had made part of the Scourge of Europe into this pathetic thing, and for once Spike was glad that he only had a chip.  At least he was still himself, and not some weak, lost creature.  Or maybe it was love that had done that to Angel.  He shook his head, chasing away the notion.

"Uh, yeah.  Just one date, if that makes it any better.  And I don't think she knows who he is yet."

"Willow-he's not-not one of the ones who."

"Nah, he wasn't there.  Just recognized him from when I was a 'guest' at their facility."

"Okay, then, well, that's Buffy's choice then.  I promised I wouldn't interfere, and I meant it."

Spike wasn't sure whether Angel was trying to convince Spike, or himself.  Didn't really matter, since Spike couldn't care less.

"So where do we start?" he asked.  Planning had never been his strong suit.  Sticking to a plan, once it had been established, was something else that tended to be a problem.

"Give me a couple of days, let me talk to some people, see what I can dig up.  Maybe Willow can talk to Buffy, see if there's some way we can use this.friend of hers, maybe he could get us inside?"

"Doubt it, but I'll see what I can do.  Talk to you in a day or two?" Spike was feeling a bit more optimistic, now that they had a plan.  He would enlist Willow's help as well.  Give her something to do during the long daytime hours.

"Sounds good.  I'll have something for you then, hopefully.  We can meet up somewhere in between and figure out a battle plan."

"Thanks, sire," Spike said, feeling the truth of the words as he said them.  A true sire watched out for his childer, regardless of the past, a soul, or the bad blood between them.  That was one more thing he needed to remember.

~Part: 30~

As Spike finished up his telephone conversation with Angel, Willow quickly changed, grabbing a pair of black sweat pants and a loose-fitting navy blue sweater.  She wasn't exactly sure what Spike had planned, but she figured these clothes were pretty much all-purpose.

Pulling her hair back into a ponytail, she wandered into the bathroom.  The lack of reflection caught her by surprise, as it always did.  Would she ever get used to it?  Willow was by no means a vain creature.  Back when she had been human, she had rarely spent much time in front of the mirror.

Well, okay, there had been "The Xander Years"-that embarrassing time in her life when she spent most of her waking hours trying to figure out how to get Xander to notice her.  But other than that brief lapse into obsessive mirror-staring, she had rarely spent much time looking into one.

But it sure would be nice to be able to see her reflection now, if only for frame of reference.  Like, what if she had a bloodstain on her collar and nobody told her?  Or-god forbid-a blood moustache?  Hey, if humans could get a milk moustache, then vampires could get a blood moustache, she reasoned.

Shaking her head at her foolishness, she finally left the bathroom and headed downstairs.  What she found there surprised her.

While she had been upstairs, Spike had been involved in a bit of redecorating.  The result was, instead of a living room filled with furniture and electronics, they now had a big empty space.  All the furniture had been pushed into the dining room and hallway, leaving a large carpeted room where they could spar in private, without having to worry about broken furniture or putting a foot through the TV set.

Spike stood waiting for her in the middle of the room.  Giving her a nod, he motioned for her to join him there.

'It's now or never,' Willow thought as she entered the room, coming to a stop in front of Spike.  She just hoped that this time it went better than the time that Buffy and Angel had tried to teach her to defend herself.  There had been a stake, lots of fumbling, a bit of nervous laughter-not hers-and then they had all decided that it would be better if she just stuck close to Buffy.

The thought of Angel brought her mind back to his conversation with Spike.  "What did Angel tell you?" she asked.

A quirked eyebrow and a slight smile met her question.  "Are you trying to tell me you weren't upstairs listening to every word?"

She hesitated at that, her brow furrowed, considering her answer, and wondering exactly what Spike knew, and what he simply suspected.

"Don't lie to me, childe," Spike growled, taking a step towards her.

The idea had been tempting, but the sharp steel running through his voice made her reconsider.  She pouted, somewhat curious to see if it would soften him.  "I could only hear your half of the conversation," she muttered.  "Didn't get to hear what Angel said."

Spike knew she was trying to manipulate him.  The adorable pout and the little-girl voice were being used for effect, and the frightening thing was, she was quite good at it.  He fought the urge to coddle her, and laughed instead.

"Must've been awfully frustrating for you," he commiserated, his expression mocking her as he refused to take the bait.  "I know how your inquisitive little mind just hates not knowing something," he said smugly.

Willow scowled at him, watching him laugh at her expense.  Okay, so the pout thing was not going to work on him.  Good to know, even if it got her laughed at.

The laughter died down, although it still lingered in his eyes as he watched her.  "Fine, ya wanna know what Peaches said?  He said to give him a couple of days and he'd talk to some demons he knows.  See if he can find out anything from them that will help us.  I'm going to do the same on this end, see if I can get any particulars.  Don't wanna be too conspicuous, since they're still out there, but there are a couple of blokes."

"We'll get them," he assured her.  "Soon.  And then we can do what we want, when we want."

"I'd settle for being able to take night classes," Willow said longingly.

Spike smothered a smile.  She was so eager to know *everything*, and that drive to know more, more, more, amused him.  What would she do when she knew everything?

"Ready to start this?" he asked.

Willow hesitated for a moment before nodding.  "I know I need to do this," she told him.  "It's just that previous attempts to turn me into a 'mean, lean, fighting machine' have been less than successful.  Promise you won't laugh at me?"

"Nope, no promises.  But if you try hard, listen to what I say, and watch what I do, you'll be breaking Harris' nose in no time.  And then I'll definitely laugh."

She scowled at him.  "There will be no hurting of friends.  Not even if they deserve it."

"Yeah, whatever.  Okay, try to copy this stance."  And the lessons began.

~~~*~~~

They had been at it for over two hours.  He had flipped her, kicked her, and even once bounced her off the wall.  Willow was amazed at his speed, flexibility, and ability to think on the fly.  She was also sore in more places than she could imagine.

All she had to do was say the simple word:  yield.  Once she did, their lesson was over for the evening.  But she refused to give up without at least once getting the better of him.  A couple of times she had come close; she had seen the surprise in his eyes when he had hastily blocked a side kick that had nearly connected.  Just one good kick, one punch that connected to wipe that ever-present smirk off of his face.  Was that too much to ask?

"Now you're just being stubborn," Spike goaded, watching the fire build in her eyes again.  He had been surprised by her abilities.  From what she mentioned earlier, previous attempts to teach her to fight had not ended well.  Must have been the fault of the teacher, and not the pupil, he decided.  She was fast, supple, and once she got into it, quite inventive.  All she needed was practice.

He would work with her, honing her instincts, and she would become a force to be reckoned with.  Not immediately.  But give her time and practice, and someday she might even beat the slayer.  Oh, not *this* slayer.  But maybe the next one.  Not that she'd ever go for that.  But it would certainly be fun to watch.  He was still disappointed that he had missed watching Dru bag her first slayer.

Spike could see that Willow was getting tired now; her moves were sloppier, and she wasn't following them all the way through.  Her kicks were slow and lower, and when she tried to hit him, she left herself open for a counter-attack.  Definitely time to bring this lesson to an end.

"Got anything you want to say to me?" he asked, deflecting a knee to the groin with ease.  It was a dirty trick, but that didn't bother him.  He wanted her to be able to fight dirty, if she needed to, to save herself.

"No," she gritted out through clenched teeth, moving away from him and attempting to come up on him from the right.  He seemed to be weaker on that side, and slower to defend himself.

He turned suddenly, catching her by surprise.  Her leg was extended in a kick that never connected, and he used her momentum against her, sweeping the other foot out from under her.  She fell to the ground with a thud, taking most of the impact on her back, which was undoubtedly already sore.  He wanted to wince in sympathy but didn't.

She was still for a moment, stunned from the impact.  Taking advantage of her inaction, he came to his knees, straddling her waist and grinning down at her.  She tried to buck him off, as he had taught her, but Spike knew how to combat that particular threat, and grabbed both of her hands, holding them to the floor above her head.  Her momentum gone, she just wriggled impotently underneath him.

"Say it," he drawled, staring into her eyes.  They alternated between green and yellow, and at times seemed almost teal.  Pretty eyes.  Eyes to lose yourself in.

Before he was even aware of it, he was kissing her softly, gently, feeling the cool, pliant lips beneath his part involuntarily in surprise.  His tongue delved deeper, his body straightening out and pushing down against hers, the movement grinding his hardening erection into her abdomen.

Willow knew she should say something, do something-anything that would make this all stop.  But the problem was, she was enjoying it.  Her body was reacting to his; her lips tingled from his touch, her nipples began to harden against his chest, and her arms had stopped their struggles, lying uselessly above her head.

Her demon clamored for control, determined to take the kiss somewhere deeper and darker, leading to things that would leave her sated and sore in all the right places.  She slapped that instinct down hard, even as she opened her legs slightly.

'Wrong, wrong, wrong!' her mind insisted, even as she kissed him back with a passion that surprised and embarrassed her.  She had to stop this now, before it led, as it inevitably would, to her bed.

"No," she blurted out, as her mind finally took control again.  She wrenched her head away from his, refusing to respond to him, even as his lips began to trail fiery cold kisses along her neck.

Willow laid completely still, like a deer hoping to escape the attention of a larger, stronger lion, waiting for Spike to give up and stop.

With an exaggerated sigh, Spike sat back up, looking down at her with unreadable eyes.  "I could, you know," he reminded her.  Or maybe it was a threat.

Willow considered it, her thoughts strangely dispassionate.  Yes, he could force her.  She might even enjoy it, if he went about it in the right way.  But somehow she knew that he wouldn't.

It was trust, she realized.  She trusted him.  It was new and fragile, but somehow she understood that he would not do something like that to her.  Perhaps it was because he cared for her, or maybe it was because he had his own ideas of right and wrong.  She wasn't sure which was the case, here, today.  All she knew was that she could trust him, and the fact gave her confidence and strength.

"You won't," she insisted, believing it.

He was quiet for a moment, wondering how she could be so sure.  She was right, though.  As a punishment, or in the heat of anger, maybe he would feel differently.  It was hard to say.  But not now, not like this.  "Nah, you're right."

The lesson was over and they both knew it.  Spike got to his feet reluctantly, holding out a hand to help her up.

By the way she winced, and the way that she took his hand for help, he knew that she was hurting.  She would get over it, but it would take a couple of hours for the bruising to heal a bit.

"Yield," she said softly, as she got to her feet.

She faced him, her radiant hair framing her face, her ponytail having long since disappeared.  He wanted to kiss her again, seduce her, anything, but he knew that would be a mistake.

Oh, it would happen.  He had no doubt in his mind that it would.  But a certain amount of patience and subtlety would be required.  Two things that were admittedly *not* his strong suits.

He had a feeling that raising Willow would definitely help teach him both.

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