Learning Curve

Author:  Kat, a.k.a. KallieRose

Parts: 41 - 50

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
 
 
 
 
 

~Part: 41~

Spike watched the fledgling curled up on the floor in front of him, waiting for a sign of life.  Unlife.  Whatever.
 
 

For a moment he had entertained the whimsical idea of doing this the traditional way, burying the vampire in the cemetery and waiting for him to claw his way out.  There was a symbolism to it-making the bastard into the thing that he had fought all those years-that appealed to Spike.
 
 

But there were too many risks these days to pull something like that.  Either the Initiative could find him, or Buffy could wander by.  He would certainly be hard-pressed to come up with an excuse for standing over a recently dug grave, should anyone ask why he was there.
 
 

So instead, he had whiled away the hours in the basement of the old mansion, waiting for sleeping beauty to awaken.  He gave a vicious kick to the vampire, hoping to speed up the process, but to no avail.
 
 

It had been almost twenty hours since Angel had drained the human, and not only was Spike incredibly bored, but he was also ready for a little payback.  The mansion was dark and gloomy, and chock full of memories he didn't want to think about.  If he managed to ignore the memories, there were still the random thoughts of Willow.
 
 

All he really wanted was to be *done* with this.
 
 

There was a sound--something between a groan and a growl, and his eyes shifted to his captive.  The vampire was beginning to stir, and was probably surprised to find himself secured to the spot by shackles on his hands and feet.  Spike watched as he figured it out, lifting his hands as far as he could, about three feet from the ground, before the chains stopped his progress.
 
 

The demon sensed him, both as his sire, and as another presence in the room, and those golden eyes sought his in the darkness.
 
 

"Hungry," he breathed, waiting for a response.
 
 

"Yeah, well, not my problem," Spike said, making his way into the light.  He eyed the creature dispassionately, wondering what to do next.  He had had plenty of time to think while he waited for the vampire to rise, but still didn't know what to do about feeding.  Give it bagged shit?  Take it hunting?  Give it his own blood?  He shuddered at that idea.
 
 

When Willow fed from him she was gentle and careful, almost apologetic.  Spike was sure that this new fledgling would display none of those qualities.  He would be ruthless, even savage, in his feeding.  The thought brought a tingling to his groin, but he ignored it.  Things were complicated enough as it was.
 
 

Another possibility came to mind.  Angel would be back soon for a little Q&A with their captive.  Hunger was always a motivator.  Why not let the git starve until they knew everything they wanted?
 
 

"Hungry," the demon demanded, his voice stronger this time.  Right on cue.
 
 

"I bet you are," Spiked smirked.  "It's probably burning a hole in your stomach as we speak, huh?"
 
 

The fledgling nodded, eyes blazing with anger.
 
 

"We've got some questions we're gonna ask you, and if you answer them to our liking, maybe I'll let you have a little snack.  Sound fair?"
 
 

"HUNGRY!"
 
 

Spike sighed.  His foot shot out quickly, connecting with ribs that cracked ominously from the impact.  Silence returned.
 
 

There was no sense reasoning with a newly-risen vampire.  They just didn't have the ability to control their baser instincts.  It was all 'hungry' and 'thirsty' and 'want, take, have.'  They wouldn't be able to control themselves at all for the first couple of days.  Not at all like Willow had been when she--
 
 

Fuck.
 
 

She seemed to haunt him these days, and he resented the hell out of it.  At least three or four times he had caught himself reaching for the cell phone he had confiscated from his captive, their home number on the tip of his finger.  His anger at her still burned brightly, but it had been over two days since he'd seen her, and something kept pulling him back towards her.
 
 

So what would he say if he did call her?  Would he apologize?  Hell no!  Would he at least let her explain and tell her side of the story?  Maybe.
 
 

When it came down to it, he knew exactly what she would say.  She was scared that he'd kill her friends.  End of story.
 
 

And what would he say to that?  Other than that she was wrong, and that she should have trusted him, there wasn't much else *to* say.
 
 

So there was no point in talking to her.

~~~*~~~
 
 
 
 
 

Willow paced the short space between the living room and dining room, bored out of her mind.  There were so many things that she wanted to do, but she was stuck inside until the sun went down, and unable to do anything except think.  Considering the direction her thoughts seemed to take lately, thinking was *not* that good of a way to pass the time.
 
 

She had done some work, but her employers were a little short on things for her to do at the moment, so she surfed, looking for more information on the Initiative, but finding very little.  Finally, as a last resort, she sat down to watch TV.
 
 

When the phone rang, it was almost like the answer to a prayer.  Willow ran to grab it out of its charger, practically tripping over her own feet in her eagerness.
 
 

"Hi," she chirped, curious about who was on the other end of the line.  Would it be Buffy, Xander, Angel, or Spike?  God, she hoped it was Spike.
 
 

"Willow."
 
 

Oh, Angel.  Well, it was almost as good as Spike.  In the same way that broccoli was almost as good as chocolate.  No, that wasn't fair.  Angel was just trying to let her know what was going on.  She should be grateful to him, not upset that he wasn't Spike.
 
 

"Hi Angel.  Um, how did things go?  Last night?  With the..."
 
 

"They went fine, Willow.  Don't worry."  He just wished *he* felt fine about it.  In point of fact, when he thought about what he did last night, he felt sick to his stomach and weary to his soul.  The end justified the means, he reminded himself.  The words were quickly becoming his mantra.
 
 

What would The Powers That Be think of his choice?  Would they see the big picture?  Would they agree that what the Initiative did was wrong?  Or would they condemn him for his choice to help the innocent, instead of the humans?
 
 

"So, um, what happens next?  Is Spike okay?  I haven't heard from him since..."
 
 

He smiled at her tendency to let her sentences trail off, as if she wasn't sure how to finish them, and had just decided to let them end themselves.  "He's fine, Willow.  He's just working on some stuff.  His.associate has risen.  There are questions to ask, information to be obtained."
 
 

"Oh."  She considered that, trying to decide how much she wanted to know.  It seemed almost hypocritical to not be part of what they were doing tonight, and what they did last night.  A large part of what was happening had to do with her.
 
 

"I could meet you there.  Do you need help?"  The offer was sincere, but he could tell that she hoped he would say no.
 
 

He prevaricated, talking around her question.  It was odd how they both instinctively protected her.  After all, vampires weren't known for their delicate sensibilities.  And even though what he said now would hurt her, it would still hurt far less than if she had to watch what they would do tonight.  "I don't think Spike's ready to see you yet.  If he talks to you now, while he's still angry, it won't be good for either of you.  You do understand that, don't you?"
 
 

It was a simple truth, easy to understand, but it didn't stop the hurt.  "I get it," she told him sadly.  "I just--I wish I could talk to him.  Find the words that would make everything right again, you know?"
 
 

Angel understood.  But those magic words didn't exist, and he wasn't sure exactly how to say that to Willow.  "Just give him some more time.  It's only been a couple of days."
 
 

"I know.  It just--it seems like a lot longer."  Especially when I'm so alone here, she thought.

.
 
 

The line went quiet for a moment, save for the slight hiss of distance.  "I miss him.  Tell him, okay?"  She sounded young and confused and hurt.  If Spike could hear her like this, Angel had no doubt that he would forgive her anything.  Maybe it wasn't so much a matter of magic words that would dampen Spike's anger, as it was the way the words were spoken.

~~~*~~~
 
 
 
 
 
 

Spike met him in the mansion's foyer.  It was a formal room, but looked forlorn now, with the antique furniture covered by white sheets, and the walls bare, save for the tattered gold and white striped wallpaper.  Angel owned this house now, although he doubted Spike was aware of that fact.  It made sense for him to have a place to stay in Sunnydale.  Just in case.  But there was no need to advertise the fact.
 
 

Angel looked around, remembering how the room had looked and smelled when it had last been inhabited.  Drusilla had been in her element then, calling out orders to minions and humans alike, refusing to rest until each of the rooms had met her stringent specifications.
 
 

She had developed a habit of snacking on interior decorators.  Every single one they had invited to the house had ended up in her stomach.  For a while Angelus wondered if she really wanted the opinions of the decorators, or whether she just enjoyed their taste.
 
 

Angel smiled fondly at the memory, even though he knew he shouldn't.
 
 

"Talked to Willow today," he remarked, continuing his visual examination of the room.  He said it casually, as if he was discussing the weather.
 
 

"Yeah?"  Spike's response was equally casual, if slightly more wary.
 
 

"She misses you.  Says she's sorry."   Well, she hadn't exactly said the last bit, but then again she wasn't here to deny it, so that was good enough, as far as Angel was concerned.
 
 

"She tell you to say that?"  A slight smile played around the corners of Spike's lips.   He already knew the answer.
 
 

"More or less," Angel agreed.  Just when the hell had he become 'therapist to the undead,' anyway?
 
 

Spike grunted his reply.  "We have a plan yet?  For that?"  He jerked his head towards the pantry, obviously referring to their guest.  His hands searched his pockets for a cigarette, found one, and lit it up.  He couldn't hide the smirk when he saw Angel's sharp glance of annoyance
 
 

"Is he hungry?" Angel asked, ignoring the acrid scent of burning tobacco.
 
 

"Oh yeah," Spike said, his smile widening to an all-out grin.  "Hungry enough to tell us just about anything we want to know."
 
 

An answering smile, grim and predatory, formed on Angel's lips.  "Let's go then, get this thing over with."

~Part: 42~

The phrase 'it's all over but the shouting,' seemed oddly appropriate to Angel as he made his way into the basement of the mansion.  There would be a lot of shouting and screaming tonight, unless their informant was cooperative.  But judging by the look on Spike's face, even that might not be enough to help the chained-up vampire.  There was a hard, brutal set to his features that Angel had seen before, but was unsure how to account for today.
 
 

"Trevor, huh?" Angel asked, looking down at the pathetic heap chained to the basement floor.  The scent of fear reached him, awakening his demon.  He ignored it, as he always did, and walked over to Spike instead.  They considered the newly-made vampire, who looked back up at them fearfully.
 
 

"Got some questions for you," Spike snapped, watching as Trevor's eyes flickered from Spike to Angel, and then back to Spike.  Even the youngest minion could sense power and age.  The fact that the younger of the two vampires was taking charge seemed to confuse him.
 
 

"Questions?  Then food?"  His hopeful gaze ping-ponged back and forth between them again, as if trying to decide which of them to appeal to.
 
 

"If we like your answers."  Angel approached him from one side, while Spike approached from the other.  Once again the fledgling was forced to split his attention between the two of them.
 
 

Trevor was eager to please, almost slavish in his devotion to them.  He spilled information like a child spilled milk:  all in one big, long wave, packing as much knowledge into a sentence as possible.
 
 

"So there's a back entrance?  How well guarded is it?"
 
 

Angel smiled.  Spike seemed quite curious about this other, less heavily guarded entrance.  As was he.
 
 

The Initiative's arrogant belief in their own superiority was the one thing that would hurt them the most.  They knew that a demon would never attempt to attack them; it would be suicide.  Because of that knowledge, they concentrated most of their security on the obvious point of entrance:  the frat house.  Certainly there was plenty of security on their back door entrance, but not nearly as much as there should have been.
 
 

Cameras and motion sensors monitored the man-made caves that led into the Initiative's compound, but as luck would have it, Trevor knew where they were controlled.  With her aptitude for all things electronic, Willow would surely be able to 'persuade' the electrical devices to ignore them.  The human patrols would be a little trickier, but Trevor knew the routine, having done that job himself on occasion.
 
 

>From there, it would be a short jog through nearly empty corridors to the server room, where Willow would disable their system, turn off their electricity, release the gas, and open the containment cages.
 
 

The bastards wouldn't know what hit them.
 
 

Oh, Spike was sure it wouldn't be quite as simple as that, but it was a start.  A plan.
 
 

It also meant that he needed to see Willow.
 
 

A planning session was going to be in order, and she would have to be a part of it.  He and Angel needed to know how much she would be able to do, and whether she really could handle this.
 
 

He thought back to the last night they had all been together.  Her apprehension had been obvious.  She had exhibited a need to be involved, yet not be touched by any of it.  But if she was going to help them, she would have to get her hands dirty.
 
 

Honestly, he wasn't sure if she could do it.
 

~~~*~~~
 
 
 
 
 

"So, tomorrow night?" Spike asked, leaning against the side of the black convertible as Angel started the car.  It was an ancient monstrosity, built in the days when getting ten miles to the gallon was normal, and a tank full of gas was cheaper than a double-feature on a Saturday night.  Then again, his Desoto had similar attributes.  Except for the convertible thing.  He wasn't suicidal, after all.
 
 

Was the affinity for large, black vehicles something that Willow would term 'a vampire thing?'  It amused him sometimes, the way that she would classify something by species.  As if humans never felt that need to drive something big, black and bad.
 
 

Angel nodded his agreement.  "I'll swing by and pick up Willow and the floor plans.  We can look at them together and fine-tune the details.  The faster we do this, the less chance they have to prepare."
 
 

Spike nodded, considering the last bit.  Just how worried would the soldier-boys be that one of their own was missing?  Their world was rife with rules and regulations.  When one of them went AWOL, certain assumptions were bound to be made.   He just hoped they would figure that Trevor was on an unusually long bender, or perhaps the victim of a random vampire kill.  If they struck quickly enough, his superiors would never have the chance to consider the idea that he had been taken as part of a plot meant to bring the organization to their knees.
 
 

"What about your little friend?"  Spike watched as Angel clenched his jaw.  Teasing Peaches about the humans he consorted with always got a rise out of him.
 
 

"I'll bring Doyle.  Just." Angel sighed and shook his head, knowing the futility of the request even before he spoke it, "try to get along."  Somehow he knew that no matter what he asked, the two of them would not get along.  And if Doyle tried to turn his Irish charm on Willow.Angel didn't even want to contemplate Spike's reaction.
 
 

"Who me?  I'll be the soul of friendliness."  He tried to don a mask of hurt innocence, but neither of them were buying it, so he broke into a grin instead.
 
 

"Sure you don't want me to drop you home?  You could talk to Willow and clear things up before you see her tomorrow."
 
 

Spike shook his head, and then let his eyes seek out the horizon.  He wanted to glare at his sire and tell him to mind his own bloody business, but the truth was, he had expected this much earlier.  And much more often.  Yes, as much as he hated to admit it, Angel had been decent about the whole 'Willow' issue.
 
 

"I'll see her tomorrow.  That's soon enough."
 
 

Angel gave him one last glance, then released the brake and backed the car down the long driveway and onto the road.  As Spike watched the car drive off into the night, he wondered what he was going to do to kill time until tomorrow night.
 

~~~*~~~
 
 
 
 
 

He slept a little, but boredom inevitably led Spike back to the basement.  He hated the daylight hours.  Especially now.  The house had little to offer in entertainment value, filled as it was with nothing but dusty, sheet-covered furniture, and many unpleasant memories.  After a quick nap, followed by the wretchedness of waking up alone, there was little else to do to pass the time.  Trevor wasn't a good companion, but he was better than nothing.  Just barely.
 
 

Spike had always held fledgling vampires in rather low regard.  Like a human child, they didn't do much besides sleep and eat for the first part of their life.  Later, during what he supposed would be the human equivalent of their teenaged years, if they survived that long, most had an 'I'm gonna live forever' vibe that inevitably led to their death.  Sometimes the Slayer got them, sometimes their sire.
 
 

Most vampires weren't worth knowing until they were dead for a good twenty or thirty years.  Some, and the name Angelus sprang to mind, were always going to be unbearable bastards.
 
 

"Hungry," Trevor complained right off, the minute he sensed his sire's presence.
 
 

Spike grabbed a couple of blood bags and threw them in the general direction of the fledgling, watching as the vampire tore into them.  "Gettin' more on you than in you," he muttered, disgusted that he was forced to resort to this as a way to pass the day.  Even the Slayer was more entertaining than this waste of space, and she had the conversational skills of a small houseplant.
 
 

Trevor licked his lips hungrily.  "When can I hunt?" he asked.  His expression was complacent, but Spike noticed the poorly-disguised fire in his eyes.  The packaged blood was sustenance, but somehow the young vampire knew that there was something better out there.  A flicker of memory from the days the demon labeled 'before' told him that he could, he *should*, be out hunting for food.  For humans.  Why had he not been allowed that?  The need to experience it burned in the blood that thrummed in his veins.
 
 

"You'll hunt when I tell you to," Spike snapped back.  That was mostly a lie.  He had no intention of letting this vampire live past the attack on the Initiative.  If the bugger made it through the attack, which Spike thought unlikely, he would stake him.  There was no point in keeping him alive, and every chance that he could cause trouble with Willow.  His fate had been sealed the moment his human counterpart had attacked her.
 
 

The young demon's eyes flashed at the denial.  He wanted to hunt.  Needed to hunt.  He opened his mouth to protest, but Spike put a stop to that with a quick kick to the stomach, and another to the head.  And then another, and another.
 
 

In his mind's eye Spike saw Willow, her broken body on the ground where they had left her to die; then curled against him, crying in her sleep; and at last he saw the fear in her eyes the night they were almost captured again.
 
 

It fueled his anger, and he lashed out at the vampire again and again.
 
 

Until at last his anger was spent.  For the moment.  Or maybe he was just afraid he would go too far and kill Trevor before he had served his purpose.  Either way, the vampire would survive.
 
 

He surveyed his work with the silent satisfaction of an artist viewing his newest creation.  Bloody lips and a black eye were all that was visible, but from the way that he was holding his side, curled in upon himself, Spike was sure that there were other, less visible injuries as well.  His only regret was that the vampire's quick healing abilities would diminish the cuts and bruises quickly, leaving little visible reminder of the encounter.
 
 

Squatting down beside Trevor, he grabbed his chin, forcing him to meet his sire's angry eyes.  "One more thing.there will be a woman here tonight.  You *will* ignore her.  Say one word to her, any word, unsolicited, and what happened just now will seem like a love tap.  Understood?"  He released the vampire's head, listening in satisfaction to the whimper of pain that was emitted from between bloody lips.
 
 

"Understood," he whispered.
 
 

The affirmation soothed Spike somewhat, and he turned and left the room.  His point had been made.  Hopefully the demon would be smart enough to remember the warning when he saw Willow tonight.  If not, if he gave her any hint that he was one of the ones who had hurt her, then Spike would dust him on the spot, consequences be damned.

~~~*~~~
 
 
 
 
 
 

Willow surveyed her wardrobe for what seemed like the hundredth time, trying to figure out what to wear tonight.  What clothing said, 'I'm a bad-ass killer, and I'm serious about kicking some Initiative ass?'  Black, probably, she realized.  And black was really *not* her color.  Maybe dark blue would be okay?  It would be more of an, 'I could be a bad-ass killer if I had to be, and I'm going to help kick some bad-guy ass,' type of statement, but that wasn't too bad, was it?  Close enough, she figured, grabbing the navy blue sweater that Spike had bought for her when she had first been turned and burying her face in the fabric, hoping to use the soft texture to calm her nerves.
 
 

Alone in her room, the oppressive silence threatened to overwhelm her.  She hated this.  This alone thing.  Spike was out there, somewhere, and she knew it.  But he was as distant and indistinct as a mirage.
 
 

But she would be seeing him tonight.
 
 

That thought, more than any other, soothed her.  Maybe he'd talk to her.  Maybe he'd let her explain, and maybe he'd listen, really listen, and try to understand.
 
 

Maybe he'd come home with her.
 
 

She wanted it with a fierceness that startled and frightened her.  And it was more than just wanting company.  If that was all it was about, she could have gone to stay with Buffy, or Giles, or even Xander and Anya.
 
 

It was Spike.
 
 

The level of his importance in her life was something that had previously eluded her.  Or maybe she had tried to deny it.  But now, alone and lonely, she had to admit to herself that her feelings for him went much deeper than just casual friendship.
 
 

And it wasn't just a vampire thing, either.
 
 

"Spike, I miss you," she whispered.  She looked around her room, taking in the little bits and pieces in it that had 'Spike' indelibly stamped on them:  a pair of pants, strewn casually across a chair; the book he was in the middle of, sitting on his nightstand; his record collection, housed in the shelves next to the door.
 
 

She had watched him put them away when they first moved in, sitting quietly and listening to the stories attached to each and every one of them.  Music was almost always playing when Spike was home, a subtle soundtrack to his life.  Willow smiled now as she thought about it.  'I bet he's really missing his Sex Pistols right about now.'
 
 

The sound of a car honking somewhere outside pulled her from her thoughts.  A quick glance at the clock on the nightstand told her that she had better get moving.  Angel would be here soon, and she needed to be ready.
 
 

Casting her previous clothing decisions aside, she grabbed a pale green silk blouse and a pair of dark green pants.  He always enjoyed her in green-said it brought out her eyes.
 
 

Maybe it would bring him home.

~Part: 43~

It was eight o'clock and Willow was ready to leave.  Heck, she had been ready to go at six o'clock, but since sundown hadn't been until five thirty-eight, she knew that Angel wouldn't be picking her up for quite a while.  So she had gone back and checked her email.  Again.  Then she had wandered into the living room to watch a little TV.  Again.
 
 

The kitten had wandered inside at some point in the early evening, and, in an unusual display of patience, Buffy had consented to sit on Willow's lap for nearly an hour, allowing the girl to pet her and talk nonsense to her until they both lost interest in the exercise.  The kitten had eventually wandered off to look for trouble elsewhere, leaving Willow alone once again.
 
 

When Angel's knock finally came, Willow shot to the door.  One hand gripped the floor plans and other assorted documents they had come across, while her other hand held the carrying case containing her laptop computer.  Better to be prepared for any contingency, she figured.  Her purse swung from her shoulder, threatening to upset the delicate balance she maintained as she pulled the door open.
 
 

"Hi, Angel."
 
 

Angel hid a smile at the eagerness in her voice.  "Hey, Willow.  You're all ready?"  The question was unnecessary; he was merely being polite.  It was obvious that she was ready because of the way she was already closing the front door behind her, locking it and turning to face him.  The dim glow from inside the house lit half her face, leaving the other half in darkness.  Even so, he could sense her nervousness.
 
 

"Relax," he admonished, taking her case from her and leading her to the street.  Angel saw her body tense slightly when she noticed the stranger sitting in the passenger seat.
 
 

"Willow, this is Doyle," he told her, once she was settled into the back seat.  "He works with me in L.A.  He's here to help us."
 
 

"Pleased ta meet ya," the stranger said, turning around to face her.  There was a smile in his voice that she heard, rather than saw.  The kind expression on his face convinced her that this was a friend, or rather, someone who might be a friend, if she was willing to put the time and effort into it.
 
 

"Hi, Doyle," Willow's voice was quiet and subdued.  Doyle had a sense that she was waiting for something, although he wasn't sure what.
 
 

"How's Spike?" she asked Angel as they took off down the road, and then Doyle knew exactly what it was she was waiting for.  Just from those two softly spoken words, he could tell that she was head over heels for Angel's childe.  Rather a shame, too, since she was a bit of a looker.  And Spike, from his experience, was a bit of an arse.  Probably didn't appreciate what he had.
 
 

Angel had given him the Cliffs Notes version on the way from Los Angeles, but Doyle was certain that he had left out more of the story than he had kept in.  Willow was Spike's childe; that much he knew.  And from what he inferred, she had been wronged by those Initiative soldiers in some way.  But not chipped, apparently.  That honor had befallen Spike.  Other than that, all details had been left frustratingly vague and cryptic, as only Angel could do.  Leave it to his boss to tell a story, but leave out.well.most of the actual story.
 
 

"Spike's fine," Angel replied, his jaw clenching slightly.  It was a gesture that Willow couldn't see, but Doyle could.  That told him something else.  That Angel wasn't happy about the way things were going with his childe.  Then again, considering their situation, that didn't surprise him all that much.
 
 

His own experience with Spike had been unpleasant in the extreme.  Angel's kidnapping and torture at Spike's hands was something he would never forget, obviously.  In spite of Angel's assurances that it was ancient history, and not important, Doyle didn't find it as easy to forgive and forget all that had happened.
 
 

He was involved in this endeavor because of his affection for Angel, and his interest in stopping the Initiative.  The fact that it helped Spike as well was more of a negative than a positive.
 

~~~*~~~
 
 
 
 
 

Spike watched from an upstairs window as Angel's car approached.  Darkness surrounded him, making him feel safe and anonymous.  His gaze flew inevitably to Willow, sitting in the back seat, and, if his eyes didn't deceive him, looking more than a little nervous.
 
 

Inevitable.  Spike rolled the word around on his tongue, considering it.  Impossible to avoid or prevent, if one wanted to get technical.  Were he and Willow inevitable?  Would they end up together, no matter what?  He imagined himself as a worm, wiggling on the hook of fate.
 
 

The fact that he didn't necessarily think it was a bad thing scared him a little.  Or at least it would scare him, if he allowed himself to feel it.
 
 

He turned away from the window, allowing his gaze to sweep the room.  It had been a nursery once, a place for new life, new beginnings.  The symbolism was not lost on him.
 
 

Time and distance had given him a chance to think.  A chance to miss her.  A chance to admit to himself that having her in his life was better than being alone.
 
 

But there were assurances that would need to be made.  He would not go back to the relationship that they had before, where they were two strangers who shared a house.
 
 

And no, this wasn't about sex.  Well, not entirely.  Mostly, it was about trust.  About him being able to trust her not to turn on him, or place his well being behind that of her friends.  And, he admitted grudgingly, it was about him acting in a way that made her able to trust him.
 
 

If she couldn't trust him, as either a sire, or as someone who would take care of her, then he would walk away.  It would hurt, he wouldn't deny that, but that was the only way things would work.  Her trust was that important.

~~~*~~~
 
 
 
 
 

Their eyes met across a crowded room.  Okay, so it was a bit of a cliché, and yeah, the room wasn't crowded so much as just small and overly full of furniture, but still, that was how it felt to Willow.  It was just like in the movies, where two peoples' eyes met, and then everything else in the room faded away to nothing, and all that was left was the two of them.
 
 

Spike was in the foyer, amidst a sea of furniture covered with sheets. She sensed him before she saw him, before she even entered the room, and was drawn to him like an addict to the drug they craved.
 
 

She feasted on him with her eyes, examining every inch of his face, every movement of his body, every scent that she had missed during the last few days.  Fighting the urge to throw herself into his arms, she slipped between Angel and Doyle and walked over to him and said the only thing she could think of.
 
 

"Hi," she whispered, trying to look brave and assured, and failing miserably.
 
 

His eyes gave nothing away, and her nervousness returned with a vengeance.  Maybe he hadn't missed her as much as she had him.  Or maybe he was still angry.  Or maybe.
 
 

"Hello," he replied, his fingers reaching out to push a lock of hair behind her ear, and then lingering to run lightly down her cheek.   She leaned into the gesture, craving the contact she had missed so much.
 
 

"I missed you," she whispered, for his ears alone, tilting her head slightly so that her face was hidden by her hair.
 
 

He made no reply, but grabbed her hand and held it in a gesture that was both casual, yet promising.  She changed their grip, sliding her fingers between his and intertwining them, turning the act into something less casual and more intimate.
 
 

"We'll have to talk," he promised, watching the hopeful smile that brightened her face.
 
 

A muffled cough caught their attention, and two startled sets of eyes looked back at Angel and his companion.
 
 

"Oh, that's Doyle," Willow announced, waving her free hand vaguely in Doyle's direction.
 
 

"We've met, actually," Doyle announced, and Willow was a little surprised to hear the hostility in his voice.  He had seemed nice enough in the car, but now there was a dangerous undercurrent of resentment that she hadn't noticed before.
 
 

"Oh," she said, curious.  "When did you-?"
 
 

"Los Angeles.  When he tried to kill us all for the Gem of Amara."  The words were stated baldly, and anger glittered in his eyes.
 
 

Ah, so that was it.  Willow studied Spike, wondering what had happened between them.  She remembered how angry he had been when Buffy had taken the ring from him, and how close he had come to killing her in the process.
 
 

Giles had mentioned something about Spike following Oz to Los Angeles, but the details had been vague.  Angel was fine, the Gem was destroyed, and Spike had escaped with his unlife, but not the Gem.  Those were the high points.
 
 

The other details hadn't been important back then.  Wasn't it funny how time could change your perspective?
 
 

"If we're going to work together, you two will have to let it go," Angel stated, his gaze shifting between the two.  He considered Doyle. "I told you, this isn't your fight.  You decide you don't want to do this, it's still okay."
 
 

Doyle's face went blank, but Willow could still sense his anger.  And if she could, then Angel and Spike could as well.  "I'm good.  I can do this."  The look on his face belied his words, but nobody challenged him.
 
 

Angel nodded.  "Thanks, Doyle."
 
 

"I need to talk to Willow," Spike announced.  "You two-do whatever it is you do.  We'll be back in a bit."
 

~~~*~~~
 
 
 
 
 

Spike led her through a labyrinth of rooms and hallways, finally stopping when they were in what looked like a kitchen.  Willow glanced around curiously, wondering when the room had last been used.  The previous occupants of the house had been vampires, and their idea of cooking ran mostly to humans, hanging from the ceiling in chains, with pain and screams and blood dripping.her mind shied away from the picture, and set itself resolutely back onto a path that was safe and normal.  Well, as normal as it could be, considering.
 
 

She leaned against the ancient refrigerator, trying not to notice the scents of mildew and decay that filled the air.  Instead, she concentrated on Spike, watching curiously as he jumped up onto one of the countertops and considered her, as if trying to come to a decision about something.
 
 

Turning her face away from him slightly, she fiddled nervously with a lock of hair.  The sudden understanding came to her that he was nervous as well, which was confusing.  Spike usually had a pretty strong idea of what he was doing and how any given situation would play out.  Like a stage director, he set the scene with the props and backdrops that he thought would best fit the situation.  So why was he nervous?
 
 

"There's something you should know," he began, jumping off the countertop and moving towards her until he was standing in front of her.  "Something about the fledgling.  He's." Spike trailed off.  Should he tell her slowly, giving her the time to accept it?  Or should he do it quickly, like ripping a bandage off all at once?  Give her a shock, but then have it over with.
 
 

Something in his demeanor convinced her that this was bad, really bad, and her eyes widened as her mind tried to figure out what it was that he would not say.  "It's not-Riley, is it?  You-you said you wouldn't."
 
 

The look on his face assured her that her guess was incorrect.  She relaxed slightly.  But she had seen a flash of pain there as well, pain brought about because of the fact that she still didn't trust him.
 
 

Willow wanted to take it back, to somehow unsay the words, but it was too late for that.  "Sorry," she whispered, "I keep doing it, don't I?"
 
 

Spike nodded, his gaze fixed at a spot on the floor between them.
 
 

"It's not that I don't trust you," Willow insisted.  She reached out to touch his chin, encouraged that he allowed it.  She lifted his face up so that she could look into his eyes.  "It's just, sometimes, I get nervous.  So I talk without thinking first.  That's all it is."
 
 

"It's okay.  But-we'll need to talk about it.  Later."
 
 

Willow blinked, trying to stave off the flow of tears. She knew it was silly and weak, but she was here with him, again, getting the chance she wanted so badly, and she had already managed to screw it up.  "Talk.  Later."  The words were strangled, but she managed to get them out without making a complete fool of herself.
 
 

He smiled at her then, like he used to smile, and she had a sudden, exciting rush of emotion.  Everything would be all right.  She was sure of it.
 
 

"So what did you want to tell me?"
 
 

Spike hesitated, still trying to figure out how to approach it.  Do it quick and get it over with, he decided.
 
 

"The minion-his name is Trevor.  He's one of the ones who-who attacked you."

~Part: 44~

"The minion-his name is Trevor.  He's one of the ones who-who attacked you."
 
 

Willow didn't know what she had been expecting to hear from Spike, but this tidbit of information certainly wasn't it.  It caught her by surprise and blew over her with the force of a hurricane, leaving her uncertain and shaken.
 
 

Why hadn't she considered the possibility?  Prepared herself for it?  Certainly there was a high likelihood that if they kidnapped someone, it might be one of the bastards who had raped her.  Hurt her.  Left her for dead.
 
 

Her demon fought for control, cold rage simmering beneath its surface.  It wanted to hurt him, to cause pain beyond this Trevor's ability to suffer it.  She wanted-needed-to hear him scream and beg and bleed and die, just like she had done.
 
 

The soul was bewildered by the demon's strength, as it found itself beaten down and hidden beneath a towering rage.  She felt her face change; her fangs elongated, and unnatural ridges formed where previously none had been.  Things were beyond her control, and she felt battered and trashed by the waves of fury that assaulted her.
 
 

"Help me," she whimpered, her eyes wide and panic-stricken, flickering erratically between green and gold.  "I-I can't control it."
 
 

Spike wrapped his arms around her, squeezing tightly.  "Listen to me.  Concentrate on the sound of my voice."  His hands sought her hair, running down the length of it, calming her, helping her to focus.  "You can do this, pet.  You can control this.  Just relax and let the emotions go away, somewhere far away, where they can't hurt you."
 
 

They stood like that for a minute or two, maybe longer, and then Willow felt her ridges recede, felt the anger draw back, as if it was still within her, but distant from her.  Raising her hands to Spike's chest, she pushed away a bit, letting him know that she was okay.
 
 

"I'll have Peaches take you home," he told her, pulling away slightly and looking down at her.  "Okay?"
 
 

Oh god, she wanted to say yes so badly.  To hide away from all the bad stuff.  But instead of giving a knee-jerk response, she considered the offer, and the consequences if she accepted it.  Tears of frustration welled in her eyes, but she refused to shed them.  This was important.  She understood that.  Not being here during their planning and plotting-that would be a liability.  They all needed to be there, to be able to toss ideas back and forth, in order to formulate a plan.
 
 

As much as she wanted to run home and hide under the covers, she just couldn't do it.
 
 

Spike could tell the moment she made her decision.  Her back grew stiff under his hands, her eyes became clear and cold, and there was a slight tilt to her chin that spoke of determination and strength.  He smiled, a touch of pride in his eyes, then quickly wiped all traces of it from his face.
 
 

"I'm staying here," she insisted, daring him to make something of it.  "I can do this."
 
 

"I didn't doubt it for a minute," he assured her, taking her hand and leading her back to the room where Angel and Doyle waited.

~~~*~~~
 
 
 
 
 
 

"What do ya think they're talking about?" Doyle asked curiously.  By his count, it had been almost ten minutes since the two had left, and it seemed like a simple conversation would have been over long ago.
 
 

Angel shrugged, distracted.  He was glad that things seemed to be going well between Spike and Willow, but he was still concerned about her ability to perform under pressure. What would happen when it was crunch time?  Could she do what needed to be done?
 
 

Oh, enough with the ridiculous euphemisms.  What it really boiled down to was, could Willow kill a human?  Or would she turn into a liability?  He needed to know the answer to that question, or they might all end up dead in a very permanent sort of way.
 
 

Angel heard them approach, and noticed the hushed voices that stopped before they were close enough to be understood.  He observed the way that Spike still held her hand, and while part of him thought that was promising, the tactician in him knew that it would be a liability.  He needed Spike concentrating on the job at hand, not concerned about Willow.
 
 

"Let's get this over with," Spike said, motioning Angel and Doyle towards the stairway that led to the basement.  He felt Willow tense slightly as they descended, and gave her hand a light squeeze.  Her eyes flew to his face, examined it, and then looked back down.  But she relaxed a little, and the death grip that was crushing his hand lessened slightly.

~~~*~~~
 
 
 
 
 
 

They trailed into the room one by one, forming a rough semi-circle around the fledgling.  His eyes examined each of them, finally resting on Willow.  A quick flash of recognition shone in their depths, and then a feral smile touched his lips.
 
 

"You," he breathed, the sound unnaturally loud in the silence of the room.  His smile was cruel and mocking, and he watched with satisfaction as she seemed to shrink in upon herself.  "You were fun," he taunted.
 
 

Willow moved so quickly that nobody realized what she was doing until it was too late.  One moment she was standing next to Spike, and the next, she was standing above Trevor, her leg swinging back before slamming into his side.
 
 

"How about now, Trevor?  Am I still fun?" her demon hissed, as it watched the vampire huddle into a ball, trying desperately to protect himself.  She knelt down next to him, raining blows across his face and his shoulders, putting some real effort into it.
 
 

"I know *I'm* having fun," she whispered.  Fingers that looked more like talons raked across his face, leaving him howling with rage and pain.
 
 

Spike had to admit that her demon was incredible.  It had obviously been paying attention to the lessons he'd given her.  Each blow had been well placed, intentionally inflicting great pain, but not completely incapacitating the victim.  The idea belonged to the demon, but the execution behind it showed signs of Willow's intelligence.
 
 

A screech brought his eyes back to Trevor, and he watched as sharp nails slashed across his face.  Another good choice, he thought admiringly.  Painful, but not at all debilitating.
 
 

A movement at his side caught his eye; Doyle appeared to want to do something, although Spike had no idea what.  Fortunately, Angel's hand on the other man's arm was enough to stay him.
 
 

Angel's eyes shot him a question, and Spike nodded his head infinitesimally.  To anyone else, the gesture would have meant nothing, but decades together made each of them able to read the subtle signs of the other.  Angel's slightly confused look disappeared.  He understood, and was willing to let Willow work out a little of her frustration.  She had that right.
 
 

She wound down eventually, her blows becoming fewer and less forceful.  Finally, Willow stood up, gave Trevor one last vicious kick, and then said sweetly, "I feel much better now."
 
 

Angel flashed back for a moment to Willow's doppelganger.  The words were said with the same sad innocence as her trademark 'bored now.'  The resemblance made him shiver slightly as he recalled the casual cruelty of the other vampire.  He hoped that 'their' Willow would never become that.
 
 

The demon receded and Willow was back with them, a slightly bewildered look in her eyes that assured him that she had not really been the one in control.  He watched as she realized what she had done, her eyes narrowing on the vampire still lying motionless on the floor.
 
 

"I will not be ashamed," she insisted, facing them.  Her eyes begged for reassurance, despite the brave face she put on it.
 
 

"Revenge not all that sweet?" Spike asked curiously.
 
 

She frowned, reliving the last several minutes.  The crack of bone, the screams of her victim, the feeling of power she felt when he suffered.  Was that how it had felt to them, when they killed her?  That incredible rush of power and indestructibility?  The feelings had been compelling and satisfying, and as far as the demon was concerned, pleasing.  She tried not to draw any parallels between their behavior and that of her demon, but it was inevitable.
 
 

Were people like that soulless?  Was that what made it easy for them to hurt and kill?  Or had they merely learned to ignore what their soul told them was right?  She wanted to consider the matter in greater depth, but knew that now was not the time.
 
 

A part of her wanted to cringe in shame at what she had done to Trevor.  But it was a very *small* part of her.  She had not gone looking for this; this was retribution.  And maybe a tiny bit of closure.  "It's.it's not revenge.  Revenge will be when they're all dead.  This was just." she searched for the word she wanted.  "This was just foreplay."  She smiled shyly, satisfied with her choice.
 
 

"Well," Doyle reminded them, still slightly confused by everything he had seen, "if we want to get back to that part where we make them pay, we need a plan."

~~~*~~~
 
 
 
 
 
 

They had roughed it out, changed it a dozen times, and then set it in stone.  It was a simple plan, but workable.  The general agreement was, the simpler it was, the less there was to go wrong.
 
 

The important thing was the timing.
 
 

The cameras and motion detectors that monitored the caves that comprised the back entrance to the Initiative's compound could be manipulated.  Willow knew she could do it, without a doubt.  But they needed to be sure to avoid the human patrols for long enough for her to work her magic, otherwise they would be in trouble.  That was where a reluctant Trevor would come in.
 
 

When everything was set, they would race through the corridors to the server room.  They would strike at night; tomorrow night, to be exact.  The back corridors would be nearly empty then, and with any luck they could reach their destination without detection.
 
 

Once they reached the servers Willow would have a little chat with their computer, convincing it to turn off the electricity, release the toxic gas, and open the containment cages.  Any soldier who was smart enough to figure out what was going on and put on a gas mask still ran the chance of being ripped from limb to limb by one of his former 'guests.'
 
 

After the chaos had died down a bit, Willow and Spike would slip off to one of the labs.  Once he was 'properly motivated,' Trevor had admitted that he had seen a machine that would release the localized electro-magnetic pulse that would disable Spike's chip.
 
 

"So, tomorrow night?"  Spike was surprised by the nervousness he felt, although he completely expected the accompanying rush of adrenaline.  Still, it was one thing to talk about the attack in the abstract, but another entirely to realize that at this time tomorrow, they would be involved in a fight that would leave them either free, or dust.  Or, in Doyle's case, just dead.
 
 

"Guess so," Angel agreed.  "We'd better get back to L.A.  Need to do some things. We'll be back tomorrow night, after sundown."
 
 

Willow and Doyle were in the kitchen, chattering away about some museum exhibit.  Turns out they shared an interest in ancient Incan artifacts, and had sat down together at the oversized kitchen table to compare notes.
 
 

"You ought to come see the exhibit in L.A. before it leaves town," Doyle told her.  "It's really cool.  That stuff is older than both of them put together," he added with a grin, jerking his head towards Angel and Spike.
 
 

Willow laughed softly, and Spike wanted to hang the little Irish bastard by his thumbs and bleed him slowly for the way he was looking at Willow.  But that anger was tempered by the sound of her laughter, something he heard all too rarely.
 
 

"Tell you what," Doyle said, flashing her a smile.  "When this is all over, you come up to L.A., and I'll take you there myself.  We'll have fun."
 
 

A soft growl reached their ears; they turned to see Spike staring at them, eyes flashing with anger as he pinned them with a glare.
 
 

Doyle merely rolled his eyes, using the motion to show that he refused to take Spike seriously.  "Don't worry, I know who she belongs to."
 
 

"Hey," Willow yelped, "I don't belong to anyone.  I mean, sure, you're my sire," she glanced apologetically at Spike,  "and you're great," she said softly.  "I-I care about you.  But-even so, I don't belong to anyone but me!"
 
 

Angel came to his grandchilde, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.  "Willow," he said, his voice reassuring, yet insistent, "You belong to Spike.  Just like he belongs to me, and I belonged to Darla.  It's just the way it is.  And fighting it will only hurt you."
 
 

Willow fixed him with a watery stare.  She could feel Spike standing behind her, silent, and wondered desperately what he was thinking.
 
 

"It's not like you think it is," Angel continued.  "It's not ownership; it's belonging.  Having a piece of someone else so deep inside you that they become a part of you.  That's what it's really about."
 
 

Somehow she understood.  She felt the bond like a tether, tying her inexorably to Spike, no matter where either of them were.  "I get it," she whispered, turning to look at Spike.  "I feel it."  She felt that, and so much more.
 
 

They were building something tenuous between them, even as she clawed at it with her poor decisions and her lack of trust.  But the feelings remained, and although she refused to say it aloud, what she felt seemed an awful lot like love.
 
 

"You need a ride home?" Angel asked Willow, although the question was mostly for politeness' sake.   He wasn't surprised at all when Spike shook his head, dismissing them with a glance.
 
 

"Got some talking to do," he mumbled, grabbing Willow by the hand and pulling her out of the kitchen, leaving the other two occupants of the room to stare at each other in bemusement.
 
 

"Was it something I said?" Doyle asked, a grin splitting his handsome face.

~Part: 45~

They were sitting, appropriately enough, in the sitting room.  Spike had pulled the white dust covers off of a couple of chairs and they faced each other, surrounded by other covered chairs and tables.  Willow felt like she was an extra from the movie Titanic, lost amongst the icebergs.  At any moment she fully expected to see Leonardo DiCaprio float by looking plucky and noble.
 
 

Spike observed Willow closely.  There were many telltale signs of her apprehension:  her hands twisted around each other restlessly, her eyes darted about the room, and her scent had that decidedly bitter smell it had when she was nervous.
 
 

He wished he could do something to dispel her uneasiness, take it all away, but he was just as lost as she was.
 
 

"What happens next?" she blurted out, her eyes darting to meet his briefly, before dancing away again.
 
 

He shrugged, reaching out and grabbing her hands to still their movements.  She was making him dizzy with all the frenzied fluttering.  "What do you want to happen next?"
 
 

Willow frowned.  That wasn't the response she expected.  Spike was usually the one who made the plans, told her how it was.  The fact that he was leaving it up to her was surprising.  It also put more pressure on her.
 
 

She wished he would let go of her hands.  It was hard to think when he was touching her.  Not that he was doing anything special.  Just.touching her.
 
 

What did she want?
 
 

Time, she decided.  Time to find out how she really felt.  How *he* really felt.  Did he care for her at all?  And if he did, was it because he was her sire?  Did he look at her and see bits and pieces of himself?  Or did he see her as she was:  Willow Rosenberg, the girl with the demon and the soul.
 
 

Time, and a clean slate.  Sure, some things couldn't be undone.  But if they could just be themselves, decide for themselves what was right, without any interference, then maybe they had a chance.
 
 

That was what she was hoping, at least.
 
 

She looked up, saw Spike's eyes on her, and realized that he was still waiting for an answer.  Oops.  "I-maybe a clean slate?  If we could start over?"
 
 

He considered that, cocking his head to the side and watching her.  "What would you do differently, if you had another chance?" he asked finally.
 
 

"Try to-to trust you," she stuttered nervously, hoping that it was what he wanted to hear.
 
 

"Do you think you can?  Trust me unconditionally?"
 
 

Willow nodded, but he could tell that she didn't seem very sure about it.  There were unasked questions in her eyes, and he wished she would get it over with.  If things were going to go poorly, they might as well get to the bad stuff quickly.
 
 

"Say it."
 
 

She started at his harsh tone of voice, but managed to choke out the words.  "I want to.  Trust you, that is.  But what happens tomorrow?  When the chip is gone.  How much will change?"
 
 

He dropped her hands, breaking their physical connection, and leaned back into his chair.  His eyes closed and his body tensed as he considered her question.
 
 

How much could she handle, he wondered?  What would be her breaking point?  When would she decide that loving him, being with him, was too hard for her soul?
 
 

How much of a demon could she live with?
 
 

"I could promise not to feed," he began slowly, watching her eyes cloud slightly, "but we both know that's a lie.  Oh, I might mean it when I say it, but in time the craving for warm food, spiced with fear, would be too big a temptation to resist."
 
 

She closed her eyes, hiding the regret that flashed in their depths, looking as if her worst fears had been confirmed.  "I know I can't ask you not to kill.  There-I just wish there was some sort of middle ground.  Some sort of compromise."
 
 

Spike leaned forward again, reaching out to run a finger along her cheek, snatching a tear as it fell.  A wry smile twisted his lips.
 
 

"I could promise only to eat on odd numbered days," he suggested, trying to wring an answering smile from her lips.
 
 

She tried, but it ended up as more of a grimace than anything.
 
 

"Maybe we're-we're trying to think too long-term," she whispered.
 
 

"Yeah?"
 
 

"Yeah," she echoed.  "I mean, I know that I trust you now.  Right here.  Tonight.  I trust you with.everything."
 
 

He looked at the hope on her face.  She was so fragile, and in a way that Drusilla never had been.  Drusilla's fragility had been something she wore when it suited her, using it as a tool to extract whatever she wanted from her victim.  Or her childe.  Or her sire.  But Willow's was something real and permanent, with roots deep inside her heart.  And in a world where he almost always knew the answers, with her, he didn't even know the questions.
 
 

And that scared him more than all the Initiative's soldiers put together.
 
 

Betraying her, betraying her trust, was something that he couldn't do. Whatever promises he made to her tonight, he knew he would have to keep them.
 
 

That was why it was so important to be honest.
 
 

"C'mere," Spike commanded, getting to his feet.
 
 

Willow came to him, standing before him, her eyes cast down.
 
 

"Look at me," he said softly, a smile on his face, reflected in his eyes, as she met them.
 
 

He saw confusion there, mingled with fear and hope and maybe even love.  They were all there, and they were all for him.
 
 

"I can't make any promises about tomorrow.  About-after."
 
 

Willow nodded, sad, but understanding.
 
 

"We'll have to work that out," he continued, "day by day, night by night.  Maybe we can find some compromise.  Or maybe there's something that hasn't even occurred to us yet.  I just know that I won't make any promises I can't keep, just because I want you with me now.  And I do," he added, staring at her with an intensity that frightened her and left her with little doubt as to his intentions.
 
 

He loved her; she could see it swimming in the depths of his eyes, and in the quirk of his lips, and in the way he often knew what she was thinking before she did.  Whether it was the love of a sire for a childe, or the love of a man for a woman, or something somewhere in between, it didn't really matter at the moment.  Not to her.
 
 

What mattered was that she loved him, and he loved her, and that this might be the last chance they had to feel that love.  And Willow was damned if she would throw that away because of fears about a tomorrow that might never come.
 
 

"I can live with that," she whispered, standing on tiptoe and leaning in, placing her hands against his chest as she brushed her lips against his.
 
 

She felt sparks fly as he opened his lips, deepening the kiss.  The things he could do with his tongue.she moaned into his mouth, pressing her body flush against his.
 
 

And then she was in his arms, one arm under the curve of her knees, the other supporting her back, and Spike was carrying her up the long flight of stairs.  "More comfortable upstairs," he said briefly, tearing his lips away for a moment, before bringing them back to hers.
 
 

His boot connected with the first door on the left and it flew open.  Willow received glimpses into a room filled with more furniture, but in this room the ever-present white sheets were missing, and she realized that this was where Spike had slept for the last couple of days.
 
 

The only thing she really had time to notice properly was the bed.  And that was only because he tossed her onto it.  Spike left her briefly so that he could take off his clothes.  When he joined her again, he was naked.
 
 

"I'm overdressed," she giggled, a little embarrassed, a little uncertain. She sat up and pulled her blouse over her head.  The quicker she moved, the less time she would have to think.  Thinking, at a time like this, was definitely a no-no.
 
 

Spike helped, his fingers brushing against her stomach as he pulled her pants off and dropped them to the floor.  Soon all that covered her were her bra and panties.
 
 

Willow knew that, physiologically speaking, she could no longer blush.  Yet she could swear she felt a flush of embarrassment as she saw the naked hunger in Spike's eyes.  She wondered briefly if her body was giving off similar signs of interest.
 
 

Then Spike's fingers skimmed along her abdomen on the way up to the clasp of her bra, and all coherent thought fled.  He pushed her down onto her back, and she let him, relaxing onto the smooth cotton sheets, enjoying the feel of them against her sensitive skin.
 
 

"Gotta love these new bras," Spike murmured as he popped the front clasp of her light yellow bra.  The sides pulled away, and he gazed at the skin now revealed.  Perfect rosy nipples topped her perky breasts, and he couldn't help but lean over and kiss the tip of one, swirling his tongue around in circles as he laved the tight bud.
 
 

He heard a soft gasp filled with surprise and appreciation, and then moved to the other breast to give it similar treatment.  Hands tangled in his hair, grasping and pulling his head ever closer to her body.
 
 

His mouth tightened on the peak, his teeth latching on and worrying the tip, tightening the pressure until at last he heard her gasp, the sound a reaction to the perfect mixture of pleasure and pain.  There was the breaking point, he thought.
 
 

He moved back to her other nipple, repeating the performance until he felt her tense with that perfect blending of sensations, moaning and writhing beneath him.  She panted, even though she didn't need to breathe, and arched her back wantonly, pressing her breasts towards his mouth in a gesture that clearly said, 'more.'
 
 

And even if he didn't have the gestures to go by, the sound of her voice surrounded him, the little sighs and moans telling him what she wanted and needed.
 
 

"Spike, more.  Now, please.  Please, please, please, please, please."  She chanted the single word over and over, her tone becoming high-pitched and frantic as he continued to tease her with his mouth and tongue.
 
 

Willow heard Spike's low rumbling laugh and tightened her hands in his hair, grabbing and pulling, until the laughter changed to a growl.  Spike's head came up and he regarded her with eyes that flickered between blue and gold.
 
 

"No more teasing," she begged, her eyes glazed with desire.  And then, to show him she was serious, she rolled them over so that she was on top, grabbing his wrists and holding them above his head.
 
 

She let go of his wrists, and with a look that entreated him to stay still, she brought her hands to his face, thumbs and fingers playing over the cheekbones, down to his chin.  Her mouth soon followed, raining soft kisses down his cheek to his neck, stopping to suck momentarily at a spot just below his jaw.
 
 

The blood was singing to her from below the surface, calling to her, teasing her, tantalizing her.  She felt her fangs fighting to drop, but was able to push back that instinct, choosing instead to suck lightly at the skin.  The salty, tangy flavor of him was almost as good as the blood, and she moaned at the taste of it, her human teeth scraping against his flesh over and over.
 
 

Hands gripped her shoulders, and she felt them turning again, and then Spike was on top, grinning down at her.  She felt his thumbs at her waist, tugging at her underwear, and she lifted her hips so that he could slide them down her legs.  They caught around her left ankle so she kicked them off, trying to remember where they landed because she didn't bring a spare change of clothes with her.
 
 

He turned serious as his eyes examined her face, taking the time to commit every inch of it to memory.  Briefly he wished for Angelus' gift of drawing; he would love to capture this moment forever.
 
 

She was beautiful-the alabaster skin, the fiery blood-red hair, the cat's-eyes that were glazed with innocence and passion-they all sang to him, both the man and the demon.  He answered their call the only way he could.
 
 

"Ready?" he asked, no longer playful.
 
 

She stared back, eager and excited and more than a little bit nervous, although she sought to hide it.  "Ready for anything," she lied.
 
 

He covered her body with his own, positioning his cock so that it was just outside her entrance.  Wetting himself in her juices, he teased her body, running his cock up and down the length of her slit.
 
 

Growling in frustration, she glared up at his laughing eyes.  "Sometime today, Spike," she muttered, quickly silenced when he bent down to kiss her.
 
 

"Hush, woman.  I know what I'm doing," he replied, his lips trailing cool kisses from her mouth to a point behind the shell of her ear.
 
 

She rocked her hips forward, hoping to push him inside her, but willing to settle for friction.  What she got, however, was more laughter at her expense, from a vampire determined to drive her absolutely crazy.
 
 

"I'm making the rules, luv," he told her, relenting slightly at the mutinous look in her eye.
 
 

She felt the feather-light touch of his finger on her clit, brushing teasingly along the tip, just a brief touch here, then a longer one there, until he grabbed it between his thumb and finger, twisting it quickly and releasing it.
 
 

Willow began to mewl softly, her pitch rising as his attentions became more serious.  She could feel the pressure building, her body becoming tense and brittle.  Each touch, each stroke, each pinch, added to the tension, until it was a fight to keep her body still.  She wanted to shake, to scream, to let the sensation burst free, but Spike was keeping her on the edge, backing away to the teasing touches each time he felt her release getting closer.
 
 

She lay there with her eyes closed, praying to him, and cursing him, and wishing she could figure out the magic words to get him to be *serious* about this, because if she didn't cum soon, she might just die.  Again.
 
 

The words of the 'my will be done' spell floated through her mind, and for a moment she considered using it, but discarded the idea as selfish, and besides, it hadn't really worked out that well the first time, so why would she want to set herself up for another failure?
 
 

Something about the look in her eyes must have tipped him off that she was losing all patience, because suddenly he renewed his attack on her clit.  Grasping it again between his finger and thumb, he plucked it repeatedly, swirling his thumb around the base in between.  The tension began to build again, and suddenly she was flying and exploding into pieces, her body pulsing and her cunt spasming as she came.
 
 

He plunged into her as her cunt still quaked, grabbing and releasing the intruder as he surged inside of her. A moan broke from his lips, and she felt excited, and a little proud, knowing that she was the one who brought such pleasure to him.
 
 

His eyes were closed, a look of intense concentration on his face as she pulled it down to hers, kissing his eyelids and cheeks, nipping her way down to his earlobe with teeth that scraped and tickled.
 
 

His eyes opened suddenly, and she watched as blue and gold battled for control.  He was still more man than demon at the moment, but she sensed that it was a losing battle.  As she watched, the flashes of blue became briefer, and soon all that was left was the gold.
 
 

As the demon took control, Spike sped up his thrusts, pushing in and out of her with manic speed.  It was primal and feral and beautiful and painful and satisfying and so many other things that she couldn't even begin to explain, even if she knew the words for them all, and she wasn't sure that she did.
 
 

And then she felt him cum, sending his seed deep inside of her, filling her up, while he continued to thrust in and out of her.
 
 

The demon melted away like snow in a warm rain, and Spike's hips came to a stop, his cock still buried inside her.  He smiled at her, and somehow she knew what he wanted, so she tilted her neck, offering him her blood.
 
 

He leaned over her, and she watched the demon appear again, the change almost gentle in its slow transition.  She watched as the fangs elongated, her eyes following them until it was no longer possible, and then a second later she felt the soft sting of penetration, and the gentle pull of her blood as it left her body.
 
 

He sucked slowly, taking small sips, sometimes not even sucking at all, merely letting his fangs immerse themselves in her blood.
 
 

She relaxed, letting the residual tension ease away from her body, as she concentrated on the sensation of his gentle sucking.  Within seconds she was half asleep, only stirring slightly when she felt Spike withdraw his fangs, and then curl himself around her from behind.
 
 

Within seconds they were both fast asleep.

~Part: 46~

Willow awoke alone, the distant sound of water running alerting her to Spike's location.  The normal noises of what she still thought of as 'morning' comforted her, and she stretched languidly, feeling the effects of their previous activities in the small aches and twinges of her stretching muscles.  It felt good though, and she was oddly reassured by them.
 
 

There was a strong urge to join Spike in the shower and take up their relationship where it had left off, but in the end nervousness led her down another path.  She wandered downstairs to the sitting room, grabbing her laptop off of the coffee table and settling comfortably on one of the long couches.
 
 

The seriousness of what they would do tonight was beginning to affect her. Although she tried not to think about it, she had to acknowledge that tonight might be it for her; the end of the road, the end of her rather short life.  What happened after death, if anything, was a mystery to her.  Death still scared her, because no matter what she hoped, there was no way to tell if an afterlife existed.  And if it did, what would the nature of it be?
 
 

Her parents had raised her in the Jewish faith, but that was something she had discarded quickly once she had learned to make her own decisions.  There was nothing intrinsically wrong with it, but like most religions, it required a leap of faith that her scientific mind was not willing to make.
 
 

The thought of her parents brought other things to mind.  She needed to tell them good-bye.  But how do you say good-bye to people who were never really there to begin with? What could she say to them, when they had basically opted out of her life while she was in junior high, finding their own lives much more interesting and important?
 
 

Nonetheless, she felt a need to reach out one last time, even if they would never realize that that was what she was doing.
 
 

Email was the obvious choice.  A phone call would be awkward, and there was always the chance that they would ask a question she didn't want to answer.  But with an email, she could say exactly what she wanted and then send it off into the ether, safe in the knowledge that by the time they had read her missive, all of her problems would be over, one way or another.
 
 

She struggled with the words, finally settling for an upbeat letter with small tidbits about her life, mostly made-up stories that she thought they would approve of.  A desire to get away was mentioned, and a vague date given for when she might go.
 
 

Maybe it was better that they weren't close, she decided.  It certainly made saying good-bye a whole lot easier.
 
 

She thought of her friends and wondered how she could go without saying good-bye to them as well.  They were much more real to her than her parents had ever been, and she knew she couldn't leave without some sort of word to them.
 
 

The idea of an email or a written note was quickly discarded.  She was hit with a sudden need to hear their voices and the sounds of their laughter, but that left her with a dilemma.  The sun still shone brightly outside.  Maybe she couldn't see it, but she could definitely feel it, like an ever-present danger lurking just out of sight.  It was barely past 2pm, and that meant showing up on Buffy or Xander's doorstep was out of the question.
 
 

A phone call would be okay.  Not as good as being there in person, but it would do.
 
 

A small cell phone was on the table next to her.  If she wanted, she could open it, dial a number, and be instantly connected to one of her friends.
 
 

But what would she say?
 
 

She thought for a bit before deciding that what she said wasn't as important as actually making the call.  So she picked up the phone and dialed the familiar number, waiting as the phone rang twice, three times.
 
 

"Hello?"
 
 

"Hi, Buffy, it's me.  I just wanted to see how you were doing."  Okay, so she would lose points for honesty, but the truth?  Not even on the menu.
 
 

"Hey, Willow.  I'm glad you called.  What are you doing tonight?  You want to get together and have a study session?  School is kicking my ass, especially now that I'm all alone in this big, lonely dorm room."  The line was silent for a moment, and then Buffy added, "Okay, so I'm bored to death, and I'm really just looking for an excuse to hang out.  We don't have to study.  In fact, ugh, I'd rather do just about anything *but* study.  Maybe we could just hang out and watch TV and eat pizza?"
 
 

Willow smiled.  Things were so simple when she talked to Buffy.  She never had to worry about the big, scary questions.  It was all about TV and pizza and hanging out.
 
 

Tonight, however, was not a good night for hanging out, seeing as how she had plans that involved mayhem and slaughter.  And possibly Riley, she realized with a jolt of uneasiness.
 
 

She couldn't warn Riley or Buffy.  The risk was too great.  Hours had been spent searching for ways to manufacture an emergency that only Riley could cope with, but in the end she had come up with nothing.  The thought made her sick to her stomach, but the fact was, she couldn't figure out how to get Riley away from the Initiative compound without sending up red flags all over the place.
 
 

But now perhaps that opportunity was presenting itself, in the form of a bored Buffy.  If she was subtle enough, maybe Willow could push her friend into asking Riley out tonight, which would ensure that he was out of the line of fire.  A living and breathing Riley equaled a happy slayer and a very happy ending.
 
 

In theory, at least.  The tricky part was going to be getting Buffy to pick up the phone and call him.
 
 

"Um, I don't think tonight is going to work," Willow said, true regret filling her voice.  "Spike and I were talking, and, um, we're thinking about going to L.A. for a couple of days."
 
 

"L.A.?  To see Angel?  But I thought they didn't get along?"  The mention of her ex-boyfriend brought a bit of excitement to Buffy's voice.  Even though she and Angel were history, the mere mention of his name of him always seemed to bring out something in Buffy.  Her voice was more animated, her smile a little brighter.  Willow wondered if she would ever have the same sort of reaction when she heard Spike's name.
 
 

"Eh, well, they do sometimes.  It's kind of.better now, I suppose.  Mostly because they have to get along for my sake, I think," she explained.  It was probably true.
 
 

"So, if we *do* end up going to L.A., do you think you might be able to watch the kitten?" Willow asked.  If they didn't come back tonight, Buffy needed to be taken care of.  Admittedly, it wasn't as high on her list of priorities as surviving until tomorrow was, but the thought of the kitten coming home to an empty house made her feel just horrible.
 
 

"Sure," Buffy agreed.  "If you're going to be gone for a while, I'll just take her home.  Mom is always complaining about how big and empty the house is now.  This'll shut her up, at least for a while.  I've gotta warn you though, don't be gone too long. Mom gets attached easily, and there's no way she'll let little Buffy go if she has her for more than a week."
 
 

Willow shifted uneasily on the couch.  If Buffy's mom had the kitten for more than a week, that meant that she and Spike were dead.  In that case, Mrs. Summers would probably be a pretty decent owner for the kitten.
 
 

"Oh, we'll only be gone for a day or two," she said, trying to force cheerfulness into her voice.  "If you can come by tomorrow night and pick her up, that'd be cool.  Or, if you can't get her to come to you, maybe just fill up her food and water bowls.  That would probably work too."  At least for a day or two.
 
 

Goddess, there were so many loose ends to tie up.  People to talk to, pets to take care of. Had she turned the TV off the other night before she left with Angel and Doyle?  Because she'd hate for it to be left on forever, and then have her parents hit with her huge utility bill.  Or maybe the utilities were under Giles' name, and he would get the bill.  Either way, someone would have to pay it.
 
 

Should she have made a will?  Not that she had much of anything to give away, but still...
 
 

She was lost so deep in her thoughts that she only half-heard Buffy's next question.
 
 

".ask him out?"
 
 

"Huh?" Willow said, shaking her head to force the worries and concerns out of the way.
 
 

"You okay, Will?  You seem kinda distracted."
 
 

"Oh, yeah, I'm okay.  I'm just tired, I guess.  Maybe I'll take a nap in a little bit."
 
 

"Well, okay, I just wanted to ask.  Anyway, I was talking about Riley."
 
 

Tension had crept back into Buffy's voice when she mentioned Riley.  "What about Riley?"
 
 

"Oh, well, I was just wondering whether I should take the initiative and ask him out.  You know, I haven't heard from him since our date."
 
 

Willow winced at the use of the word 'initiative,' in conjunction with Riley, even though she knew that her friend hadn't meant anything by it.  The word had a whole other meaning, she scolded herself, and people were bound to use it innocently.
 
 

"Well," she started, wondering how to best word her suggestion, "maybe you should take the," she refused to use the 'i' word, "bull by the horns," yeah, that was better, "and call him yourself?  I mean, there's nothing wrong with that.  You're a-an independent woman, right?  So you could call him, and-and ask him out.  Tonight, right?  Because, you don't really have anything going on tonight, so you're free, and stuff.  Right?"
 
 

Buffy's laughter had her ducking her head in embarrassment, even though there was nobody in the room with her to see the gesture. Yep, she was still geek girl, even with fangs and ridges.  But she didn't mind that so much anymore.
 
 

"I guess I could.if you think I should?"
 
 

"Definitely should.  Really should," she added for emphasis.  "Tonight, because there's no time like the present, right?"
 
 

"Okay, okay, tonight, I get it," Buffy replied, the last vestiges of laughter still evident in her voice.  Then she sobered slightly.  "What would I do without you, Willow?" she asked softly.
 
 

I hope you never have to find out, Willow thought.  "You'd manage your life just fine," she scolded.  "Just promise me you'll call him as soon as you get off the phone.  No chickening out, okay?  You're the slayer.  A big, powerful girl who deserves a guy who will treat her right.  Agreed?"
 
 

"Agreed," Buffy confirmed.  "Thanks, Willow."
 
 

"Anything for you, Buffy.  I love you, you know.  No matter what, always remember that."  Willow felt the tears starting to gather and slammed her eyes shut, willing the sadness away.  If this was her last conversation with Buffy, she didn't want it to end in tears.
 
 

"Same here.  You'll always be my Willow, no matter what.  And I promise, I'll call Riley right now."
 
 

"Then I guess I'd better hang up, huh?  You've got a phone call to make."
 
 

"Right.  I'll talk to you later.  And have fun in L.A.  If you go.  If you don't, then I guess you can still have fun.  Just, not there." her voice trailed off as Buffy tried to figure out exactly what it was she was trying to say.
 
 

Willow laughed quietly.  "Hang up, Buffy.  Call Riley.  And enjoy yourself tonight.  Okay?"
 
 

"Okay," Buffy said between strangled giggles.  "Bye."
 
 

"Bye," Willow replied, hoping that she wasn't saying it for the last time.

~~~*~~~
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

"Hello, Willow," Giles' precise tones came over the line, calming and reassuring.  "I'm so happy to hear from you.  How have you been?"
 
 

"Good, Giles.  Really good.  I mean, it's been an adjustment.  But-but I think I'm getting pretty good at adjusting.  The human animal is unique in its ability to adapt, after all."
 
 

"Yes, yes, quite.  So, um."
 
 

She sensed that Giles was a bit at a loss as to where to go from here.  It was her dime, so to speak, so she took pity on him and filled the silence.
 
 

"I just wanted to say hello, and, well, tell you I'm doing fine.  We haven't really talked much lately, and I just wanted to thank you again for all your help.  I don't really know what I would have done without it," she admitted.
 
 

"Willow, child, you know I will always do whatever I can to help," Giles replied, the affection in his voice warming her to the soul.  "I don't-I'll never know whether I made the right decision."  She heard him sigh, and then start again.  "I made a decision for you that you should have made for yourself, and I am sorry.  But I'm not sorry that you're with us now.  I'll never be sorry for that," he added a trifle fiercely.
 
 

Willow smiled, imagining the look on his face as he said the words.  He would be polishing his glasses, of course, cradling the phone between his ear and his shoulder.
 
 

"Don't worry," she said, her voice soft and forgiving.  "We don't know how we'll react to a situation until we find ourselves stuck in the middle of it.  I know you did what you thought was best."  Willow was well aware of the significance those words held for her as well.  She could only do what she thought was best.
 
 

"Oh drat," she heard, as a crash sounded in the background.  "That girl is going to drive me to drink," he said.  "In fact, that may actually be her intended plan.  Although I have no idea why.  I never did anything to her in a previous life."
 
 

Willow assumed that he was talking about Anya.  Buffy had mentioned that she was helping Giles catalog some of his volumes.  Willow had been slightly jealous because that was a job she would have liked to have helped with herself, but things being as they were, it made sense that Anya would take on the task instead.
 
 

"Yes, all right, I'm coming," Giles yelled, making Willow yank the phone away from her sensitive ear.
 
 

"Oh, terribly sorry," Giles muttered, "I should not have yelled in your ear like that.  I'd better go, but I would like to talk to you again soon.  Perhaps tomorrow-" another crash in the background, and then a muttered, "God help me," and the line went dead.
 
 

Willow held the phone in her hand, staring at it in bemused wonder, as she replayed the conversation in her head.  It hadn't quite been everything she had hoped for.  For one thing, she had wanted to do more to reassure Giles that she held no ill will towards him and his decision to let Spike turn her.
 
 

The situation had been difficult, and every second had counted.  If he had waited too long to make his decision, she would have been dead for real, and that would have been just as difficult to deal with, albeit in a different way.
 
 

Now that she was getting used to it, Willow wasn't regretting the decision Giles had made with such haste.  Unlife with a soul wasn't so terrible, and once the specter of the Initiative was no longer hanging over her head, things would be different.  Better, she hoped.
 
 

One more call to make, she thought.  And this one would be the most difficult.  She had known Xander for so long, shared with him so many of the same memories and experiences, that sometimes she thought they shared a brain.
 
 

And then he'd do something stupid like dating Cordelia, and she would realize that they didn't share a brain.  In fact, for a while there she wasn't even sure they shared membership in the same species.
 
 

But they had made it through the bad times, even through the awkwardness of their post-fluke relationship.  And things had gotten better again.
 
 

Until she had been turned.
 
 

She had tried to ignore it or deny it, but the evidence was there, if she was brave enough to look for it.  Xander had been friendly with her since things had changed.  But there was a certain distance between them now that had never been there before.  Their relationship had changed; it was almost as if the foundation of it had shifted in some fundamental way, and she was still trying to figure it out.
 
 

Still, he was Xander, and he was her friend.  Before she went through hell and-hopefully-back, she wanted to talk to him one last time.
 
 

"Hey, Willow."  His voice was welcoming, but she could hear an undercurrent of reserve behind the words.  "What's up?"
 
 

"Hi, Xander.  I just checking in, you know?  See how you are.  I haven't seen you since." she thought back, trying to remember.
 
 

"Since we got together at Giles' house," Xander agreed, then started in with the excuses.  "Anya and I have been, well, a little busy.  And my new job has kept me from doing much besides eat and sleep.  It's a pain.  I mean, I know I have to work to survive and all that, but it sure makes me wish for the days when all I had to do was get my ass to school on time.  Or close to on time.  Those were the days," he said softly.
 
 

"Yeah," she agreed wistfully, "Life sure was easier then.  Just do your assignments, get the A, and everything else would work itself out."
 
 

"Now there's no sleeping in class, no study periods, no tests-not that I miss that last bit, but I could always depend on you to slip me the right answers.  I kind of miss that," he admitted shyly.
 
 

"Me too," Willow agreed.  "Now it's all, 'don't go out in the sunlight, don't go to school, don't get a job.'  I mean, I guess this is part of growing up, but sometimes I still hate it," she muttered.
 
 

Rueful laughter met her complaints.  "I know, growing up is a bitch.  I wish just once I could call in sick and ask for a make-up day.  Or ask if I can bring my friend Willow to work with me, so she can handle the tough stuff."  He paused for a moment, thinking it through.  "But I guess I couldn't have you come with me, because of that whole sunlight thing," he said sadly.
 
 

Willow nodded, the voice sounding so clear that for a moment she forgot that Xander was on the phone, and not on the couch next to her.  "Yeah, the sunlight thing is kind of a killjoy," she agreed.
 
 

Silence filled the line, and then Xander said quietly, "I miss you, Will.  Miss seeing you every day, hearing your voice, making you laugh."
 
 

The tears that had refused to be shed earlier came down her cheeks now, big fat drops that dripped from her cheek to her shirt, leaving a dark stain on the silk blouse.  Her voice was strangled as she answered him.  "I miss you too.  I love you, Xan.  You know that, right?  No matter how much things change, or what happens in the future, that won't change."
 
 

"I-me too," he answered quickly, and Willow thought she might have heard tears blurring his voice as well.
 
 

"Okay," she said, trying to cheer them both up, "I need to get going.  But we'll get together soon.  We can have a movie night.  You know, like we used to?  Only crappy flicks allowed, right?  I'll bring the movie, and you bring the pizza.  And Anya, of course."
 
 

"I'm there.  Just give me the day and the time.  I'll even put up with Spike, if I have to," he was joking; she could hear the hint of laughter in his voice.
 
 

"Cool, I'll give you a call soon and we'll set the date.  Deal?"
 
 

"Deal.  And Willow?  Thanks for calling."

~Part: 47~

She was still sitting on the couch, deep in thought, when Spike found her.  He had wandered downstairs at some point during her conversation with Giles, and shortly afterwards she had heard the sounds of domesticity in the kitchen.
 
 

He held two mugs of blood in his hands and silently offered one to her before sitting down beside her.  She smiled at him, feeling a happy, comfortable zinging deep inside just because he was near her.
 
 

"Get everything done?" he asked quietly, watching her with curious eyes.  He had listened in, without really intending to, as she spoke to the people in her life.  Vampire hearing made it almost impossible not to.
 
 

She had wanted to say her good-byes, and he could understand that.  It was not something that he felt any need to do, but he could see that it was important to her.  She had ties still, connections to those she called friends, even if she kept large parts of her life a secret from them now.  Other than Willow and Angel, and possibly Drusilla, he had nobody who would mourn his passing.  Not that it would come to that.
 
 

He had a good feeling about tonight.  And not the kind of 'good feeling' he had had in the past when he took on the forces of 'good' in Sunnydale.  Tonight things would go right for him in this damned town, just this once.  They would decimate the Initiative, his chip would be disabled, and then.
 
 

The part that came after 'and then' was still a big question mark, but he realized that for once he was content to figure it out as he went.
 
 

"I think it went well," Willow said, drawing his attention back to her.  "I didn't get to say everything I wanted to, but, if I don't come back, at least they'll know that I cared.  And god, could that sound any sappier if it was in a movie on the Hallmark channel?"
 
 

She looked down at the pig's blood in her cup, wishing it was something better.  Sire's blood, perhaps.  But no, he hadn't offered.  And she wouldn't ask.
 
 

It smelled vile, as it always did.  Experience reminded her that it wouldn't taste much better.  But human food wouldn't stop the pangs of hunger that would burn in her veins if she didn't have blood, so in a throwback to childhood, she plugged her nose and drank it down, chugging it fast until there was nothing left but an empty mug, and a thin film of blood on her upper lip.
 
 

Spike smiled at her, and before she realized what he was doing, he was running his tongue lightly over her upper lip, stealing the remains of her meal.  He leaned back on the couch, putting his hands behind his head and his feet up on the coffee table.
 
 

"Thief," she said without rancor.  "S'okay.  I didn't like it anyway."
 
 

"Couldn't leave you to go around all afternoon with a blood moustache," he claimed virtuously, and then gave her a grin that was pure devious playfulness.  "Besides, if the Initiative blokes saw that, they'd take you for a vamp in a second.  Might as well wear a neon sign."
 
 

She smiled at that, and then looked down at her fidgeting fingers.
 
 

"Nervous about tonight?"
 
 

"Yeah, just a little."  And how was that for an understatement?  "I don't want to screw up.  I mean, what if something happens, and I can't crack the computer system, or someone finds us and sets off the alarms before I have a chance to disable them, or-"
 
 

Spike leaned over and covered her mouth with his hand.  Her nervous babble stopped instantly, and he felt the smile her lips formed underneath his hand.
 
 

"I've got a good feeling, pet.  Everything's going to go just fine tonight.  You're too damned smart for it not to.  Besides," he added with a wry grin, "you're one of the white hats.  Things go right for you lot.  That's just the way it is."
 
 

Yeah, Willow though a little bitterly, because things have gone so well for me so far.  Then she immediately felt a pang of guilt.  Stupid soul.  But she supposed it did have a point.  If she hadn't been turned, she would never have gotten the chance to know Spike.  And she wouldn't give that up, not for anything.
 
 

Suddenly it seemed important for him to know that.  "I wouldn't change things even if I could," she said softly, looking over at him.
 
 

Right now, just the two of them together and talking; it felt so right.  Sure, the sex had been hot and savage and wonderful, but this was what she liked best.  The quiet moments when they could just relax and not think about the future or their friends, or anything else, except enjoying this exact moment in time.
 
 

"No regrets here either," Spike agreed, pulling her head down to rest on his shoulder.
 
 

They sat like that for a while, in quiet contemplation of all the events that had led them to this place.  Or at least that was where Willow's thoughts led her.  For all she knew, Spike might have been thinking about the Manchester United game he had watched last week.  With him, she was never quite sure.  Maybe that was part of the attraction.
 
 

"Sun's down," he said after a while.
 
 

Willow nodded, lifting her head from his shoulder and peering up at him.  "Want to take a walk?  Angel and Doyle won't be here for a while yet."
 
 

He nodded, coming to his feet with the grace of a cat.  He held out a hand to pull her up, and she wondered if she would ever have even a smidgen of his elegance.
 
 

They wandered the grounds of the estate in the hazy twilight of early evening, visiting all the small hidden places that he had discovered the last time he was there.  Unpleasant memories crowded him at first, but he wiped them away by creating new ones, pulling Willow into a small gazebo and stealing kisses from her, making her moan, and making him wish they had more time so that he could take her properly.
 
 

Maybe when this was all over he would take her for a picnic in the garden.  The moon and stars would be their only audience as they made love slowly, for hours on end, until impending daylight sent them scurrying inside to sleep the day away.
 
 

The yard was filled with exotic scents and sights, and Willow sighed in satisfaction as she discovered each one.  Sharing all this with Spike made it seem even more special, and she wished that they could stay in this place forever, shutting out the world beyond the stone walls for as long as it took all the Initiative members to die, and their bodies to turn to dust.
 
 

But she knew that that was just a dream, and an unrealistic one to boot.  Sooner or later they would need to feed, and that would necessitate going out and getting blood.  Besides, she thought with a sigh, sooner or later she would miss her friends.  And pizza.  And cable TV as well.  Well, okay, she could probably do without cable.  But pizza and Xander?  Not likely.
 
 

"Ready to go back in?" Spike asked, misinterpreting her sigh.
 
 

"I guess.  I need to get changed for-oh no!  I don't have any other clothes!  I mean, I thought I'd be going back home instead of staying here, so I never really thought about it."
 
 

Spike frowned.  Black was a way of life for him.  Having to dress differently for the raid was something that had never crossed his mind.  But for Willow.
 
 

"As beautiful as you look in green, you're right; it's not the color for a covert run into a heavily fortified underground compound.  Never even thought about it," he admitted.  "But I can fix it," he added.  "Your pants are fine.  They're dark enough that nobody's going to notice a difference.  I'll call Peaches and have him stop somewhere on the way into town.  I'm sure there are a half-dozen Wal-Marts between there and here."
 
 

A self-satisfied smile twisted his lips.  He considered Wal-Mart and their 'one size fits all' shopping experience to be on par with one of the rings of hell, and the thought of forcing his sire to experience that particular slice of Americana made him want to grin from ear to ear.
 
 

"Angel's going to hate it," Willow said uncomfortably.
 
 

"That's just an added bonus," Spike agreed with a smirk.

~~~*~~~
 
 
 
 
 
 

It was a little after eight-thirty and Willow had begun to pace nervously about half an hour ago.  Spike had called Angel at six, asking him to stop somewhere and get a shirt for her.  Angel had been less than thrilled, from what Willow could hear of their conversation, but he had seen the necessity and agreed to do it.
 
 

And that was the last they had heard from him.
 
 

Was it possible that he had been caught?  That somehow the Initiative had figured out their plans, and at that very moment Doyle and Angel were being held somewhere?  Or worse, maybe Buffy had run into Angel and was even now grilling him as to his presence in Sunnydale.  Well, okay, maybe that wasn't worse than Angel being picked up by the Initiative, but it certainly wasn't much better, either.
 
 

She turned to Spike, who watched her progress up and down the hall with thinly veiled amusement, as he sat comfortably on the sofa in the sitting room.
 
 

"Do you think they're okay?" she asked anxiously.
 
 

"They're fine.  Probably just stopped off for a drink or something," he assured her.  "Personally, I hope he's still stuck at Wal-Mart in line behind a teeny-bopper who pops her gum in his ear.  Or maybe one of those silly gits who wear their pants halfway down their arse."
 
 

"Spike," she protested, rolling her eyes at him.
 
 

"Willow," he mocked, rolling his eyes back at her, returning the gesture.
 
 

She giggled.  "That looks ridiculous," she told him.
 
 

"I've always thought so," he agreed, with a pointed look in her direction.
 
 

"Oh.  Hey!" she yelped, as she caught the implied insult.  "Not nice!"
 
 

"Never claimed to be nice," he smirked.  "Just good in bed."
 
 

This was another of those moments where Willow was glad she couldn't blush.  "Um, yeah, okay.  I guess I have to give you that," she murmured, his laughter following her as she resumed her pacing.
 
 

"C'mere. Sit.  You're making me tired," Spike said, patting a spot next to him on the couch.
 
 

She sat down, looking like she might be ready to bolt at a moment's notice.
 
 

"Still nervous about tonight?"
 
 

Willow nodded, her eyes wide and uncertain as they met his.  "What if I can't-"
 
 

"Nope, not gonna play that game," he answered, cupping her face with his hands.  He stared into her eyes, forcing her to meet his gaze as he continued, "You are an amazingly talented person.  Stop it," he added, as she opened her mouth to contradict him.  "Just listen.  Tonight you are going to do what needs to be done, and we are going to be free.  You won't have to worry about those bastards anymore, and I won't have to worry about this damned chip."
 
 

She wanted him to be right.  She really did.  Wanted it more than almost anything else at that moment.  But there were just so many variables.
 
 

The silence was broken by the sound of Angel's car rumbling up the drive.  Their eyes met for a moment as they both came to their feet.  "This is it," Spike said fatalistically, holding his hand out to her.  "Your destiny awaits."
 
 

Willow smiled and ducked her head nervously.  "I just hope it doesn't suck," she murmured.

~Part: 48~

Large clouds raced across the sky, revealing and obscuring the moon and its light as if flicking a light switch on and off.
 
 

Four vampires and a demon hid together, concealed by a series of large bushes.  Their senses hummed with the life around them, filtering out the white noise of everyday activity as they concentrated on the sounds and movements of the Initiative patrol that had just passed them by without a second look.
 
 

“That should be it,” Trevor said, glancing furtively towards Spike, and then down towards the ground again.  The newest vampire had been quiet ever since they released him from his chains.  The promise of a bloodbath was keeping him in line, but the others wondered how long that would last.  Hopefully it would be long enough for him to serve his purpose.  “We have ten minutes until they come back this way.”
 
 

“So where’s this access panel?” Angel asked.
 
 

“This way,” Trevor grunted, leading them to what looked like an oak tree.  The others watched as Trevor approached the tree, and then seemed to reach into it, flipping a catch and opening a door to reveal a sophisticated panel filled with flashing lights and computer ports.
 
 

“Cool,” Willow breathed, shooing the others away so that she could get a closer look at the marvel.  She stood on tip-toe, leaning in to read the labels that designated the different types of sensing equipment.
 
 

“Can you fool it?” Doyle asked anxiously, moving from foot to foot, fighting the cold breezes that didn’t seem to faze any of his companions.
 
 

Willow gave an unladylike short.  “This won’t even be a challenge.  The wrapping was neat, but the technology’s at least a couple of years old.”  She shot Trevor a disdainful look.  “Your friends were careless,” she muttered, taking her computer out of her carrying case and getting to work.
 
 

Trevor remained silent, ignoring her rebuke.  He may have been young, but he wasn’t completely stupid.  He learned eventually.  And what he had learned so far was that this little redhead was under the protection of two master vampires.  So she was off limits.  At least for now.
 
 

Using her feet and the trunk of the tree for leverage, Willow grabbed the faceplate panel and pulled, yanking off the ‘front’ part of the panel that had the labels and the lights. Reaching into her pocket for some electrical wire, she attached one end of the wire to one port, cut another wire and spliced it to the original wire, and then looped it through to another port.
 
 

The males crowded over her shoulder until she turned and shooed them back again.  “You’re making me claustrophobic,” she complained, turning back to the panel.
 
 

“Five minutes,” Trevor growled.
 
 

“Almost done?” Angel asked.
 
 

Willow turned and bared her fangs at him, flashing him a glance at her game face.  “Woulda been done already if you’d just left me alone,” she grumbled.
 
 

She heard Spike chuckling behind her, but no longer felt the oppressive closeness of bodies clustering around her.
 
 

Giving a final check to her work, she tossed the faceplate into the bushes and then closed the door to the panel.  Once again the tree looked like…a tree.  She knocked on it, reassured when she heard a metal clunking sound.  That was truly the only clue that it really wasn’t a tree.
 
 

“All done,” she announced proudly.  “All sensors are on a loop.  All anyone will see on the cameras is an empty cave.  No heat readings, no sound readings, no nothin’.  We should be able to enter undetected and get to the server room before anyone even knows we’re here.”

~~~*~~~
 
 
 
 
 
 

They raced through the underground passageways in silence.  The sound of sneakers on cement was the only evidence of their progress, and since nobody was around to hear it, things went smoothly.
 
 

As they continued to run, their surroundings changed:  the cement gave way to linoleum, and the rough-hewn walls of the cave became white-painted drywall.  On the ceiling, the lighting now consisted of long halogen fluorescent lights that gave off a quiet buzzing sound.
 
 

Trevor threw out a hand to stop them just before they turned a corner.  They stopped behind him, waiting as he peered around the corner and into the next hallway.
 
 

“Empty,” he said, turning the corner and moving to a door on the left that housed the server room, while motioning for the rest of them to stay behind the corner.
 
 

He knocked on the door, two soft knocks, then two quick loud ones that echoed like gunshots in the silence.  A muffled voice answered him, asking his name.  “Trevor,” they heard him answer, and then the door opened wide and a friendly voice greeted him.
 
 

“Hey, buddy, we wondered where you disappeared to.  Haven’t seen you in class for a couple of days.  Figured you were on a bender.  Walsh has been pissed.”
 
 

Willow found the voice vaguely familiar, but without the context of a face she couldn’t connect it with a name.  Still, it didn’t really matter.  Within seconds the owner of the voice was struggling against Trevor, his neck a blood-spattered mess, as the vampire ripped into it, sending blood flying in all directions.  It was his first kill, and he wasn’t wasting any time or trying to keep things clean.
 
 

She smelled the blood, spiced with fear and pain, and felt her demon fidgeting restlessly inside of her.  It whispered things in her ear that she tried to ignore; things about the taste of fresh blood, the way it coated the throat when it was warm, pumped into your mouth by the heart of a frantic victim fighting for his life.
 
 

Shaking her head violently as if to quell the voice, she concentrated on the task at hand.  Grabbing Spike’s arm, she pulled him into the room, motioning the others in behind her.  Trevor followed, pulling the body of his victim in alongside him and closing the door behind him.  He gave the others a moment to find their places, and then dragged his prize into a corner.
 
 

The sound of his slurping disgusted Willow, even as her demon continued to attempt to seduce her into looking.  She could tell by the small contented sounds he made that Trevor was enjoying himself greatly, and she wondered if they would be able to keep him under control until their mission was over.
 
 

In an attempt to move her attention away from the bloody scene behind her, Willow surveyed the room she found herself in, her eyes quickly bypassing the corner where Trevor still sat eating.  The space was boring but functional.  Desks of all shapes and sizes were pushed up against all the walls except for the one that contained the door.  The tops of the desks were covered with computers, keyboards, monitors, and security screens; this was obviously the nerve center for the Initiative.  If something happened within the compound, it was recorded and observed here.
 
 

Willow found a terminal and sat down, familiarizing herself with the main menu and several submenus.  Fortunately for her, the previous user of the computer hadn’t bothered to log out before answering the door to Trevor.  That saved precious seconds, as Willow now had no need to search for a password, or attempt to bypass their security measures.
 
 

She scanned down a list of actions, stopping when she saw the submenu for the ventilation system.  “Okay,” she muttered, “let’s see what we have here.”
 
 

There were several options, numbered one through five, but none of them offered her what she needed.  There had to be another menu for security options; that was where she expected to find the menu for the different gasses she hoped to release.
 
 

Her eyes crossed in frustration.  There had to be something she was missing.  Was the option on another menu?  If she couldn’t figure this out, they would be in real trouble.
 
 

Pressure?  No pressure at all.
 
 

She saw Doyle out of the corner of her eye, putting on the gas mask that he had brought with him, securing it, testing it, and then giving Angel the thumbs-up sign that told them he was ready.
 
 

Great.  Now if only *she* was ready.
 
 

“I don’t get it,” she groaned.  “It’s not here.  How do I get to where I can release the gas?”  Panic assailed her; so much was hanging on this.  Her eyes flickered across the computer screen again, looking desperately for clues.  Maybe if she—
 
 

Her flesh seemed to crawl with thousands of small ants, and then she heard Trevor’s voice from directly behind her.  “Choose option 88,” he growled.
 
 

“88?  There is no 88.”  It was some sort of crazy fail-safe, she supposed.  Sure enough, when she typed in the number 88, it took her to the menu she had been looking for.
 
 

Trevor wandered away again and Willow relaxed, trying to clear her head of the self-doubt that had materialized like magic when she couldn’t find what she needed.  She was Net Girl, she reminded herself.  No self-respecting computer nerd should be stymied by a government computer system.  It just wasn’t right.
 
 

Still, these were extenuating circumstances, weren’t they?
 
 

“Willow?  Any progress?”
 
 

She glanced up at Angel’s worried face, then down at the monitor, and then at her fingers.  “Soon.  I’m ready to release the gas.  Doyle?”
 
 

A quick glance at Doyle, a nod, and another thumb’s up sign.  Okay, he was ready.
 
 

She chose the option she was looking for, which took her to a schematic of the facility.  Apparently one could isolate which areas the gas was released into.  It didn’t really matter; she wanted it everywhere.  Wanted them all to breathe it in, suffocate in it, until they were nothing but inert bags of flesh and bones.
 
 

A shudder of horror went through Willow as a previously unconsidered consequence occurred to her.  She turned suddenly, swiveling in her chair to face Angel and Spike.  “What about—what about the other demons?  The ones that need to breathe?  What’s going to happen to them?”
 
 

In all their planning and considering, the fact that there were non-vampire demons being held here had never really sunk in.  And now that it had, the thought that they might breathe in the deadly gas and be killed right along with the Initiative soldiers was a new and disturbing idea.
 
 

Angel looked shocked, and then conflicted, and Willow realized he had not considered this either.
 
 

“There’s no time for philosophical discussion,” Spike muttered angrily as he stared at them.  “Any minute now we’re going to be discovered, and I’m not going to die just because you’re worried about the fate of some damn Fyarl demon.”
 
 

Willow stared at him open-mouthed, her expression stuck somewhere between disappointment and self-righteousness.  Spike knelt down before her and placed his hands on her thighs.
 
 

“These are demons we’re talking about, pet.  Not big fluffy bunnies.  Look at them,” he invited, pointing at the black and white monitors that kept watch on the containment cages.   She watched the demons as they paced back and forth, or threw themselves against the barriers of their containment, or ate or slept or…
 
 

“They’re evil things.  Not like you or Angel, or even Angel’s little friend there.  If they saw you on the street, the only thing they’d think about is how good it would feel as they killed you.”
 
 

“But—there are good demons.  There’s Doyle, for instance.”
 
 

“Willow, if I were here, I’d rather be dead than have one of those little chips in my head,” Doyle said bitterly.  “’Sides, we don’t even know for sure that this stuff will kill them.  Might just knock them out.  Or it might not even harm them at all.”
 
 

Willow nibbled on her bottom lip as she thought, considering the arguments and theories they had given her.  Rationalizations—that was what they really were.  Ways to make her feel better about killing all those people and all those demons.
 
 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of knocks at the door.  Two soft knocks, then two quick loud ones.  The same signal that Trevor had used.  All conversation ceased as their eyes flew to the security monitors.  Even Trevor stopped feeding, albeit briefly.
 
 

Outside the door stood two soldiers, their expressions stoic, their eyes empty.  They held guns in their hands, big black guns, and they were pointed directly at the door.  Suddenly one of the men eyed the security camera.  With a speed that spoke of hours of practice, he acquired the new target, and suddenly their security monitor showed only static.
 
 

Spike looked at Willow, his expression serious.  “Do it now, pet, or we all die right here.”

~Part: 49~

“Do it now, pet, or we all die right here.”
 
 

Tension and fear warred inside Willow; she shot another glance at the security monitor.  Still static.  They had destroyed it, without a doubt, because they were afraid that someone inside this room was using it to observe them.  Well, they were right.
 
 

If she didn’t do something now to release the gas, it was just a matter of time before the Initiative forces figured out how to get into this room, or notified someone else of the potential threat.  And once that happened, they were all dead.  Or chipped.  It didn’t matter which, since it would all lead to the same thing eventually:  death.  Whether it happened here and now, or a few months down the road when the chip was activated, it didn’t really matter much.
 
 

They would still be just as dead.
 
 

With shaking fingers, she typed in the word ‘all,’ and then hit the return key, instructing the computer to release the toxic gas into all areas of the Initiative compound.  In the background she heard a quiet sigh of relief and felt Spike’s hand as he brought it to rest reassuringly on her shoulder.  It was a simple touch, but it made her feel centered and relaxed.  And it made her feel like she had done the right thing, whether that was really true or not.
 
 

She had done it.  Released the gas into the compound.  Sentenced dozens—maybe even hundreds—of people to death.  Bad people, she reminded herself fiercely.  People who would hurt her, kill her, and do the same to her friends.
 
 

Her eyes were drawn back to Trevor and the remains of the soldier he held in his hands.  Somehow she knew with a certainty that was unbreakable that his victim was one of the ones who had helped kill her.  Maybe it was something in his voice, or in the way that he had reacted to Trevor.  It didn’t matter.  Bottom line was, he had hurt her, and he had paid.  Just like the rest of them would pay.
 
 

It was the demon talking, she knew.  Or at least most of it was.  There was a piece of darkness within her that was in agreement with the demon, just this once.  It was that little bit of her that tended to brand anyone involved with the Initiative as evil, just like those who had hurt her.  Intellectually she knew that wasn’t true, but right now that kind of black and white thinking made things easier, so she let it be.
 
 

“The containment cages,” Spike reminded her, his voice calm and unemotional; it was as if he were reminding her to take out the garbage or feed the kitten.  A bubble of nervous laughter was quickly quelled.  Hysterics would do her no good now.  Too much depended on her.
 
 

Before she could distract herself by focusing in on the absurdity of that concept, she forced herself to concentrate on the sound of Spike’s voice, and the feel of his hand on her shoulder, his thumb brushing lightly against her collarbone.
 
 

She needed to find a way to release the demons from their cages.  Through the magic of the security monitors they could see that most of the demons were still alive; they paced their cages in confusion as they watched the Initiative soldiers fall to the ground one by one, as the gas worked its way into the humans' respiratory system.
 
 

A few of the quick learners in the bunch had searched for and found gas masks, she realized with dismay.  They were trying to help the others, but mostly they were too late.  Still, it looked like a dozen of them were congregating, led by Professor Walsh, she noticed.  They seemed to be working on some sort of a plan.
 
 

It was well past time to open the door to the zoo’s cages and let the animals run free.
 
 

Turning back to the computer screen, Willow quickly went back to the menu for the containment functions.  It was child’s play to unlock all the cages, and they watched with satisfaction, and in some cases malevolent glee, as the former inmates quickly overran the asylum.
 
 

“Oi, that’s gotta hurt,” Spike gloated as he watched a Fyarl demon launch an attack on one of the soldiers who had been fortunate enough to find a gas mask.  As his meaty arm crushed the throat of the soldier, the chip seemed to kick in, because both creatures fell to the ground.  The soldier was dead, but the demon recovered quickly, shaking his head angrily and charging into the fray once again.  Apparently a little headache wasn’t enough to stop him from trying to kill as many of his captors as he could.  More power to him, Spike thought.
 
 

While Spike found all of this much more entertaining than watching WWF on TV, there was still the little matter of his chip to take care of.  “C’mon, Willow,” he said quietly, watching as she came back from that place she went to inside of her head when things were too much to deal with in the real world.  They would talk about this later, he was sure.  Her soul would need it.  Demand it.
 
 

But right now he needed to keep her on an even keel.  His touch, the sound of his voice; these things would distract her from what she had done, and what she had yet to do.
 
 

Angel stood by the door, his restless eyes moving from person to person as he listened for signs of the soldiers who had been outside earlier.  He could smell them still, just barely, but heard nothing.  He motioned to Spike and Trevor to join him, and they listened intently for well over a minute.  Nothing.
 
 

“They’re dead,” Spike said.
 
 

“Maybe.  Or maybe they’re trying to make us think they are, so we’ll open the door and they can come charging in,” Doyle suggested, his voice sounding oddly distorted by the gas mask.  “They probably want back into this room pretty badly.”
 
 

“Perhaps,” Angel considered, closing his eyes briefly as he thought.  “But I’m inclined to think that the damage has been done, as far as they’re concerned.  About the only advantage that they can get from regaining possession of this room is to turn off the gas, and it’s already too late for that.”
 
 

“What about the security monitors?” Willow piped up.  “I mean, they could see where we’re going and track us down, if they could get back in here.”
 
 

“Good point, luv.  We need to keep this room secure.  Or else destroy the monitors.  What do you think?”
 
 

“Keep it secure,” Willow decided quickly.  “We might need the security monitors to see what’s going on later. ”
 
 

“Willow’s right,” Angel agreed.  He thought for a moment, sizing up their chances; figuring the angles.  “Doyle and I will stay here.  Trevor, you take Spike and Willow to the laboratory you mentioned.  We’ll follow your progress on the monitors.  If you run into trouble, I can sneak out and hit them from behind.”
 
 

Trevor looked up at the mention of his name, his eyes glowing amber at the thought of more carnage.  He would guide them to the lab, but once they were distracted he would take the first chance to slip away and see what kind of fun was to be had.  He didn’t intend to dangle on Spike’s string forever.
 
 

“Willow, once you disable Spike’s chip, head back here.  We’ll have to play it by ear from there.”
 
 

Willow nodded, coming to her feet and standing next to Spike.
 
 

“Everyone ready?” Angel asked.  Each of them shifted or braced themselves, letting their body language answer the question for them.
 
 

Angel put his hand on the metal door release, shifting away from the entrance as the door slid open.
 
 

It was almost anticlimactic to see the two dead bodies on the ground, their guns drawn, but ultimately useless against the poison gas.  Spike picked up one of the guns, studied it curiously, then handed it to Willow.  He grabbed the other for himself, tucking it under his shirt, enjoying the feel of it against the small of his back.
 
 

“I can’t—” Willow began quietly, looking at the piece of metal in her hand as if she expected it to jump up and bite her.
 
 

“You can,” Spike insisted, his hands reaching out and grabbing her upper arms.  “If it comes down to you against them, you can.  You’d better.”  It was almost a threat.  He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear.  “I’m not going to lose you now, pet.  I’ve worked too hard, invested too much time and energy, to let you go.”
 
 

He kissed her, caring little about who might see them.  It was a quick kiss; Willow barely had time to register what he had done before it was over, but it gave her a sense of confidence and hope that she badly needed.  They *would* get through this.  And if she had to point that gun at someone and shoot them in order to save her life, she would do it.  Probably.  Maybe?  Doubts assailed her again, but she had no time for them.  Mirroring Spike's motion, she pushed the gun down until it nestled uncomfortably in the small of her back, trying to forget exactly what it was that was touching her so intimately.
 
 

It soon became easy to forget, what with the way Spike was pulling her down the corridor at breakneck speed.  Her mind simply moved on to other things.  Things like trying to keep track of their progress through this confusing maze.
 
 

Every inch of it looked the same, from the white walls to the tightly closed doors.  A siren blared in the distance, but Willow filtered the sound out easily, concentrating on listening for sounds of pursuit; footsteps, voices, doors opening or closing.  But they saw nothing, and nobody greeted them.  And that was just fine with her.
 
 

Trevor came to a stop in front of another featureless door.  “In here,” he motioned, punching a four-digit code into the keypad next to the door.  They slipped inside and Willow immediately went to work analyzing the equipment in the room.
 
 

Spike pulled Trevor in behind them, growling when the other vampire tried to break away from him.  With a casual flick of his wrist, Spike propelled Trevor face-first into the wall, pinning him there with a hand wrapped around the back of his neck.  “I still need you.  Once we’re done, you’re welcome to bugger off to wherever you think it is you want to be.  But until I give the all clear, you’re stuck with me.  Got it?” He gave the fledgling a shake for emphasis.
 
 

“Got it,” Trevor croaked.  When Spike released him, he sank to his knees, his posture one of obsequiousness.  But his eyes blazed yellow with the heat of his anger.
 
 

“Spike, over here.”  Willow’s voice reached him from one of the far corners of the huge room.  Dozens of machines and computers lined the walls; the room looked like something out of a bad 60’s horror movie.  “I think this is the one.”
 
 

He grabbed Trevor by the scruff of his jacket and pulled him along behind.  “You think?  Couldn’t you do a little better than that, pet?  You turn me into a pile of goo and I swear I’ll come back and haunt you until—”
 
 

“I’m sure, Spike,” she said, rolling her eyes at him.
 
 

Spike didn’t think she looked 100 percent certain, but it wasn’t like he had a lot of options, he reminded himself.  Besides, the clock was ticking.
 
 

Willow sensed his skepticism.  “Well, what do you expect?” she asked, and he could see the tension beginning to wear on her.  “They’re not going to put a little plaque on the machine that says, ‘this will disable Spike’s chip.’  I’m doing the best I can here, okay?”
 
 

He took a deep breath and then released it.  “Okay, pet.  Sorry.  It’s just—this is kind of important to me, you know?”
 
 

She closed her eyes, fighting to get her emotions under control.  “It’s important to me too,” she reminded him.
 
 

“It’s the right machine.  Get on with it.”  Their eyes flew to Trevor, who they had forgotten about entirely.  “I saw Walsh fiddling with it once during the testing phase.  Set the dial to 53, and zap him for about 10 seconds.  That should do it.”
 
 

“Does he…need to stand anywhere in particular?” Willow asked nervously.  There was nothing about the machine that indicated a place to stand, or a way to aim it.
 
 

“No, the pulse will be sent out in all directions.  As long as he’s standing close to the machine, it should work.”
 
 

“Well you heard the bloke.  Let’s get this over with,” Spike said with a bravado that he clearly didn’t feel.  “Give me a kiss for luck?”
 
 

Willow nodded, her eyes big and luminous.  She floated into Spike’s arms and tried not to tremble as he held her.  “It’ll be okay, pet,” he whispered into her ear.  “In another week we’ll look back on this as a grand adventure, right?”
 
 

“Right,” she answered, her voice tremulous but determined.
 
 

His lips brushed against hers, and she parted her lips immediately, her tongue sliding into his mouth eagerly, tasting and memorizing every inch of him.  She poured all of her emotions into the kiss:  hope, fear, desire, uncertainty, but most of all, love.  If this was the last time they would kiss, she wanted it to be something they would both remember.
 
 

Spike pulled away regretfully.  “As much as I enjoyed that, and would like to spend the better part of my life doing more of it, we’d better get this done.”  He left unsaid the fact that even if this was successful, they still had to find their way back out of the compound, preferably without running into any unfriendlies.
 
 

Willow nodded, turning away from him so that he wouldn’t see the fear in her eyes.  She fiddled with the knob, turning it to 53 as Trevor had instructed.  Then, without warning and without taking the time for second thoughts, she flipped the switch, counted to ten in her head, and then flipped it off again.
 
 

“That it?” he asked curiously.
 
 

She nodded, relief shining from her eyes as she looked at him.  She had expected it to work, probably, but now that it was over, she could admit to herself how scared she had been.  Her knees weakened, and she collapsed weakly into a chair.  “Does it feel any different?  You don’t look any different.”
 
 

He shook his head.  Mostly he was just grateful it was still attached to his neck.  If this didn’t work, if the chip still fired, they could still try something else.  Or he would learn to live with it.
 
 

“Uh, Spike?  Where’s Trevor?” Willow asked, standing up and searching the corners of the room for the fledgling.
 
 

Fuck.  Spike gave the room the same once-over that Willow was giving it, with similar results.  The little bastard had skipped out on them.  Reaching through the bond, Spike could sense him.  Feelings of excitement, bloodlust, and a primitive joy washed over him.  “He’s history.  C’mon, let’s get out of here.”
 
 

He grabbed her hand and they ran for the open door, stopping suddenly when Maggie Walsh stepped into view.  A gas mask obscured her face, but they could still tell she was furious from the waves of anger that filled their senses.  She held a gun, and it was pointed straight at Spike’s head.

~Part: 50~

The good news was that Maggie Walsh was alone.
 
 

The bad news was that she was holding a gun pointed right at Spike’s head.  Willow knew that a shot from a gun wouldn’t kill a vampire, but what kind of brain damage could it cause if it went straight into the brain, churning and chewing up grey matter every inch of the way?  Could the brain regenerate itself like other parts of the body?  She just didn’t know.  Her uncertainty left her frozen in place.
 
 

“Ms. Rosenberg?”  There was shock and disappointment in her former teacher’s voice.  “I must say, I’m rather surprised to find you here.  Although I suppose I shouldn’t be.  You have missed a lot of class this term.  Now I know why.”  The woman held the gun steady, the emotions in her voice making no mark on the way that she held them at her mercy.
 
 

Backing them into the laboratory, Maggie leaned against the wall as she studied her two prisoners.  Willow could smell her blood, could see the unnatural angle of her left arm, and realized that the woman was hurt.  The scent of the blood was tempting, calling to her demon, and she mentally calculated her chances.  She could spring now, knock the gun out of the woman’s hand, and snap her neck quickly.  It would probably work.
 
 

But probably wasn’t going to be good enough.  If something were to happen to Spike, she’d never forgive herself.  She would bide her time, Willow decided.  There had to be a better opportunity than this.  She just had to watch and listen; wait for the smallest moment of distraction.  And then…
 
 

“This is your doing, Hostile 17?” she asked Spike, a thin thread of anger coloring her voice.  “She was a very promising student, you know,” she added, throwing a glance at Willow.  “I had high hopes for her.  And then you had to come along.  Now everything’s ruined,” she said coldly.
 
 

Willow had had enough of Maggie’s unfounded accusations.  “It’s your fault I’m dead,” she claimed quietly.  And then, slowly, the beginnings of an idea came to her.  The woman didn’t seem to be in a hurry to kill them; for some reason she wanted to chat first.  That was just fine with Willow.  She put on her best ‘helpless,’ act, letting her body close in on itself and pushing the soul to the forefront.  Sadness and vulnerability filled her eyes as she trained them on her former teacher.
 
 

“You think you and your soldiers are above the law?  Do you?”
 
 

“What do you mean?  Above the law?  We didn’t do this to you.”  Maggie looked briefly confused, but then shook it off impatiently.  That was just what Willow was hoping.  She wanted the other woman to realize that she wasn’t just a ‘normal’ vampire.  That would put her off-guard even more, and then maybe she would let her guard down for that one vital moment where Willow could kill her.
 
 

Disable her.  That’s what she meant.  She didn’t need to kill Maggie.  All she needed was to get that gun away from Spike’s head so that they could make their escape.
 
 

That may have been what she needed, but it wasn’t necessarily what she wanted, she realized.  The woman was holding a gun on Spike.  Surely that was enough reason for her to die.  Wasn’t it?
 
 

These thoughts spun around in her brain, but she was careful to keep her face as soft and helpless as she could.  She couldn’t afford to make any mistakes now.
 
 

“They—they raped me,” she wailed, covering her mouth briefly with her hand as if trying to hold back the horror of it.  “Trevor, and—and some of the others.  I don’t know their names.  They wore masks.  But they had your walkie-talkies, and the black outfits, and—and they were *your* boys.  And they raped me, and cut me, and then, when they were done, they left me for dead.  DEAD!”  Tears gathered in her eyes now, and Willow gave them permission to fall.  It felt good to cry.  To let all of that pent-up frustration come bubbling to the surface.
 
 

Maggie watched her, and as hard as she tried to hide it, some of the things Willow said affected her.  There had been rumors floating around about some of her men.  Rumors she had discounted, ignored, and waved away.  But deep down in the darkest regions of her heart, she somehow knew that what this young woman said was true.
 
 

“Then how did…” she looked at Spike, wiggling the gun for emphasis.
 
 

A quick look at Spike’s face showed that he was watching the show, but Willow had no idea how he felt about it.  Did he realize that she was playing for time?
 
 

“We—I knew him.  From before.  I’ve been helping him since you people messed with his brain and left him defenseless.  It’s cruel, what you’ve done.  You understand that, don’t you?  Leaving a creature defenseless, no way to eat, no way to live or fight against you.  That’s cruel beyond belief.  Killing them is one thing, but what you've done...”
 
 

Maggie’s eyes flashed in anger as she looked at the redhead.  “Cruel?  You have the gall to talk to me about cruelty?  How many meals have you eaten since you’ve been turned?  How many people—innocent people—have died at your hands?  How many have you held for your sire while he dined on their cooling bodies?”  She shook her head dismissively.  “I don’t hold the monopoly on cruel.”
 
 

“How many?  Me personally?  How many innocents have I killed?  None.  Not one,” she answered softly.  At the disbelieving look she received, Willow continued.  “I have a soul, Professor Walsh, something you seem to be sorely lacking.”  She did her best to look tortured and naive, and projected it for all she was worth, trying to bombard the other woman with images of sweet, innocent, helpless Willow.
 
 

“How?  How can you have a soul?  You’re a vampire.  Vampires don’t have souls.”   Her mumbled words seemed confused.  She hesitated for a moment, for the blink of an eye, but before Willow could take advantage of the lapse, it was gone, and the cool administrator stood before her again.  “You’re lying,” she said flatly.
 
 

“No, I’m not.  I have a soul, and there is one other vampire who does too.”  Maggie’s eyes slid to Spike.  “No, not him,” Willow agreed with a small smile.  “Although sometimes I wonder…”  She trailed off, and then felt herself cringe just a bit at the angry look Spike sent her way.  “It’s someone else.  But that’s not really the point.  You know, not all demons are evil.  Some just want to be left alone.  To live their lives—”
 
 

“Up with people.  I get it.  Or, up with the demonic equivalent, at any rate,” Maggie’s voice was brittle and sarcastic, and she watched curiously as the light in Willow’s eyes dimmed a bit.  The young woman couldn’t seriously expect her to believe this, could she?
 
 

“I thought as someone with a scientific mind, you’d at least consider the possibility,” Willow admitted.  “Life is composed of more than what we can see, and the things around us.  Think about the possibility, at least.”
 
 

“You’re not alive,” Maggie reminded her, watching with clinical curiosity as the girl flinched at her words.  “You’re a demon, wearing the body of someone I used to know.  If you expect me to believe anything else, then that’s just more proof that you’re not the intelligent young woman I remember.”
 
 

“Oh, bugger this,” Spike snarled, catching them both by surprise.  He’d rather be dust than listen to a moment more of their preachy moralizing.  Good demon, bad demon, it made no difference to him.
 
 

Spike dropped to the floor like a dead weight.  He was certain that he could move faster than she could.  Kicking his legs out, he caught the back of her calf with the front of his foot.   She fell to the ground with a thud, but as luck would have it, she still held the gun in her hands.  With a pained gasp, she aimed the gun back at his head.
 
 

He sprang to his feet, and then jerked to the right as she fired.  The air burned along his left shoulder, and he knew that she’d grazed him, but the pain was somewhere distant.  He could feel it later.  Right now he had bigger concerns.
 
 

Another report filled the air, and he waited for the bullet to rip through him.  When nothing happened, he looked curiously at the woman holding the gun.  His eyes widened in surprise as he watched a red flower bloom against the white of her lab jacket.  She was bleeding.  A stomach wound, he realized.  That would hurt like a bastard, he knew from personal experience.
 
 

His eyes focused on the person who had shot her—his childe, with a gun in her hand, and a look of horror on her face that was so intense that he wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms.
 
 

He kicked the gun out of Maggie’s hands, listening with satisfaction as it skittered across the room.  Then he turned to Willow, took the gun from her hands, and threw it as far away as he could.
 
 

“Thank you,” he said, pulling her into his arms and holding her as she shook against him.
 
 

Her tears were wet and cold as they dried on his shirt, but he held onto her tightly, letting her release her tension and fear.
 
 

As she cried, he replayed the scene in his mind.  Then something occurred to him.  He had kicked her—that bitch Maggie Walsh.  Kicked her and sent her down to the floor in a way that was bound to be painful.
 
 

But the chip hadn’t fired.
 
 

“It worked,” he murmured, surprise and pleasure suffusing him.  He had lived for this day for so long; had hoped without really believing that a way existed to destroy the chip.  And now here he was, chip-free, in a compound full of bright young lads just dying to…well…die.
 
 

It was all going to be such fun!
 
 

Just to be sure, he released Willow, walked over to the good professor, and kicked her hard in the shoulder, smiling when he heard the crack of broken bones and the whimper that she couldn’t help but let out.
 
 

And still there was no pain.  Well, none for him, at least.  He was sure that the woman on the floor felt plenty of it
 
 

He glanced back at Willow, curious about her reaction.  Her face was carefully neutral.  She realized what this meant, what he had just proved to her and himself.  He could kill now.
 
 

“It doesn’t matter, you know.”  The words were said slowly, as if it took every bit of life force that Maggie had to utter them.  “We’ll all be dead in a few minutes anyway.”  The last sentence was nothing more than a whisper.
 
 

Spike’s attention was back on the professor.  “What do you mean, bitch?” he growled, watching as an almost maniacal happiness seemed to dance in her eyes.
 
 

“Self-destruct sequence,” she wheezed.  “We’ll all die together…”

~~~*~~~
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”  They raced down the white corridors together, Spike’s spoken words echoed silently by Willow’s own thoughts.  There was no telling how long they had before the self-destruct sequence was completed.  It could be seconds; it could be minutes.  The only thing they knew for sure was that they needed to get out of there.  Fast.  Or they would die here.  For good.
 
 

“She’s lying,” Willow said as they ran.
 
 

Was her opinion based on the study of her former teacher, or merely wishful thinking?  Spike couldn’t be sure.  “No, pet, it makes sense.  Destroy the evidence against you.  This place is too damning for the government to keep intact.  If it explodes, taking all the evidence with it, then all the loose ends are tied up in one neat little package.”
 
 

“But—how do they explain it?  A huge explosion rocks the campus—someone’s going to be suspicious.”
 
 

Spike grinned.  “C’mon, you’ve heard the stock excuses before.  If it were up to me, I’d say it was a natural gas leak.  Explains why the explosion happened underground, plus it covers discovery of the gas we released.”
 
 

“The gas,” she gasped.  Oh damn.  Sure, a lot of it would dissipate in the air, but what if there was enough to cause serious harm to people?  Innocent people.  And if rescue workers encountered pockets of it when they tried to investigate, or looked for survivors, as they inevitably would…
 
 

“What have I done?”  Misery covered her like a shroud.  She slowed down for a moment, so shocked by the potential of what could happen.
 
 

Spike grabbed her arm, yanking her along behind him.  “What you had to, of course.  You can beat yourself up about it later.  If there is a later, that is.”
 
 

They came to a crossroads, and he tried to remember which way they had come on the way here.  He had been trying to pay attention, but there had been so much to think about.  And all the damned corridors looked the same.
 
 

“This way,” Willow insisted, taking a right at the intersection and dragging him along for the ride.
 
 

“You sure?”
 
 

“Yep.  Didn’t trust Trevor, so I did my best to remember which turns we took where.”
 
 

Damn, she was smart.  Not for distrusting Trevor, he had certainly expected the bastard to run out on them at the first chance; but because she had paid attention to their trail, when his thoughts had been filled with getting his chip out.
 
 

Other than the ‘whoop, whoop, whoop’ of distant sirens, the hallways were silent.  There had never been any heavy fighting here, and as far as Spike could tell, the last of the soldiers were either dead or running for their lives.
 
 

Willow stopped abruptly in front of a white door, the same as all the others.  “They’re in here,” she said, beginning to bang desperately at the door.  “Angel, open up!” she called out as she continued hitting the door with her small fists.
 
 

“Willow?”  The sound came from the next door down, and she saw Angel poke his head out the door to look at her.
 
 

“Oops,” she murmured.  “I was close.”  She gave Spike a shaky grin.
 
 

“Close enough,” he agreed, grinning back at her.  “C’mon out, Angel.  This place is rigged to blow any minute now.  We need to get the hell out of here.”
 
 

“Shit,” was his only reply.  He stepped inside, grabbed Doyle, and off they ran.

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