Friends of the Devil 1/?

Willow sat with a thump on the park bench facing the
swings.  She was twirling a stake in her fingers and
wondering where she'd gone wrong.  Nine days ago
things had been perfect.  Buffy and Angel were in
love, Willow loved Xander and Xander liked Buffy, in
turn hating Angel a whole lot.  Angel himself had been
sweet, if broody and cryptic.  He had saved them more
times than not, and was always right behind the Slayer
herself when it came to the saving of the friends.
Now before she could say backstab, he had switched
teams and was batting a hundred for the underworld.
Buffy was so broken hearted that all she ever did was
mope and train, and Xander was caught up in exploring
the intimacy of the highschool broom closets with his
most hated adversary, that no one had best friend time
anymore.  Willow was confused and broken hearted as
well, just wishing she could turn back time and
totally erase Buffy's entire birthday if they could
all just go back to the happy place of ignorant bliss
that they had all occupied just over a week ago.
Xander was the cause of all of her emotional troubles
and Buffy's dwarfed hers so much that she would pull
out her own fingernails before mentioning any
emotional pain to the Slayer.
Willow looked at the swings which had been so
comforting as a child.  When she'd had a problem,
she'd simply run here and swung until all she could
feel was the wind rushing through her hair and
watching the ground rush past below.  By the time she
got off the swings all she could think about was how
mad her parents would be if they caught her sneaking
back in when she got home.  She would virtually forget
the problem.  It was the reason she and Xander had
been able to maintain a friendship since the diaper
days.
"Oh why not," Willow muttered, walking for the set.
Nothing else had worked and she was beginning to get
desperate.
She pushed off the ground, feeling the wind flow
through her hair just like she had since she was a
kid.  The swing went higher and higher, and her
feelings didn't soar with it for the first time in her
life.  The sob that was lodged in her throat pushed
its self forward escaping as a soft moan.  She stopped
swinging and just let the tears fall from her eyes
like she had been denying herself since the world as
she knew it had collapsed around her.
<Why can't I just reverse time?  It would be so easy
just to collapse and pretend that I have and that
everything was just as it was a few weeks ago.  This
delusion would most likely make me vampy munchies, but
there is a price that must be paid for every good
fantasy.  Why can't I just go back to a time when
everyone was happy?> The sobs got louder and the tears
fell from her eyes in a steady stream, she feared the
river that had cut its savage path through her hollow
heart may just drown her.  The swing slowed to a near
stop and she released the chains and buried her face
in her hands to block out the cruel world on the
outside.
Spike stopped his progress to the park when he heard
a strange noise.  It seemed dinner was delivering its
self to him tonight.  He wheeled out of the shadows to
have a look at tonight's meal.  A little redhead sat
on the swing set with her face buried in her hands.
She was crying like she's just lost her best friend,
but something about her was eerily familiar.  The
wheel on his chair squeaked and her head came up like
she'd been shot.  He cursed and wheeled himself out
into the open, his cover being blown.
"Spike! ," Willow squeaked, suddenly realizing her
mistake.  The stake was still on the laying on the
picnic table, and Spike was between her and it. <Shit,
shit, shit!>
"Red," he said with a smile, nodding cordially.
She scrambled off of the swing and began backing
away, pure terror suddenly welling up inside of her.
"What brings you here, now?," she asked, her tone
belying her terror.
"Just out for a bite to eat.  What's got you so
worked up?," he asked slightly concerned despite
himself.  He recognized the girl now; she was the
Slayer's little hacker friend.
"Like you care," she muttered, and then blanched.
<Way to go, Rosenburg, insulting the vampire is a good
way to convince him to not kill you.  Jackass!>
<Well at least she's afraid of me.  That's a plus.>
"Maybe I do care, mate.  Haven't had anyone to talk to
since the bloody Wanker moved in on my girl," he said
fury at Angel passing through his eyes with molten
hate.
"Oh . . .  okay," she said, looking at him curiously.
"So what's got you so depressed?," he asked passing
the swings.
"Everything," she stated dejectedly, her face
crumbling.  She looked like he felt.
"Make you a deal, I'm kinda lonely and I've got
whiskey, "he said softly, shaking the nearly full
bottle of amber liquid, "I'll let you get your stake,
I promise I won't hurt you, if you'll sit down and
talk with me for a bit."
"Um . . .  okay, but why?," she asked, giving him a
wide berth as she headed for the stake.  She grabbed
it and sat on the end of the bench as far away from
him as possible.
"You can come closer, ducks, I won't bite," he said
smiling to reveal blunt, normal looking teeth.
"Okay," she said warily, scooting just out of arms
reach.
"That's better," he replied, feeling for all the
world like he was trying to befriend a beaten puppy.
He wheeled up right next to her and sat back, looking
her in the eye.  He held the bottle out as a peace
offering, and she took it, uncapping it and taking a
swig to calm her nerves.  She almost coughed it back
up, but managed to just let it warm her nicely.
"You go first," he prompted, oddly pleased to have
someone to talk to.
She explained her situation, interjecting it with big
swallows of whiskey.  She told him her problems,
feeling good to get it off her chest.  Spike only
nodded, listened and patted her hand for comfort.  He
seemed to be willing to be her friend at least for the
night, and she was more than willing to let him.  More
than anything, she just needed to get everything out,
and if it was a soulless demon listening, so be it.
If she didn't wake up in the morning, she doubted
anyone would notice anyway.
By the end of her story, there were once again tears
rolling down her flushed cheeks.  He was amazed at the
girl's strength.  She had been with the rest when
they'd wrecked Dru's plan with the Judge.  Then she'd
shown no hint of the turmoil burning through her
veins, just beneath the surface.  He shook his head.
This one was stronger than Angelus, or even he for
that matter had ever imagined.  She was filled with
the kind of inner strength that was so rare in humans.
"Cor, pet, been a helluva week for you kids hasn't
it?," he asked, wrapping his cool, dry fingers around
her shaking ones.
Her eyes flew to his, "Why? Why am I still alive?"
"What?," he asked cocking his head in confusion.
"Why do you care if I cry, or if I scream, or if I
just use this stake on myself right now?  Why the hell
do you care?," she asked just as confused and in pain.
 The tears streamed from her eyes, sobs wracking her
small body.
He stared at her in shock, almost not believing his
ears.  The poor chit had reached the end of a
decidedly frayed rope, and for some highly disturbing
reason it really bothered him: the thought of this one
breaking.
He reached out and drew her into his lap, wrapping
his arms around her as he'd done so often when Dru had
gone off the deep end.  She clutched the collar of his
duster like a lifeline and continued to sob into his
shoulder.
"I don't want you to die, luv, because I'm half
afraid the world wouldn't be as bright without you,"
he whispered against her hair, too softly for her to
hear, fighting the rising tide of emotion.
Something in the girl was calling him like a siren
from the soft seas he was used to.  His dark world was
a flood of light, and it was all because of one small
girl sitting in his lap.  She represented something he
hadn't had in a long time, a confidante, a sane ear to
hear his problems, maybe even a friend.  Also the
ruining factor in her world was basically the same as
in his, Angelus, the bloody wanker.
The sobs finally subsided, and she raised her head,
green eyes still sparkling with residual tears locked
on his.
"Thank you.  For whatever reason, thank you.  If you
ever need anything, of a non-evil variety, I'll do
everything I can to help.  I swear it," she said the
truth of her words shining like a beacon from her
eyes.
He simply nodded and allowed her to climb off of his
lap, and out of his embrace, oddly missing the
sensation of her warm weight already.
"You oughta head home, Red.  Ya don't wanna get
caught out here alone, "he said, giving her a soft
shove in the right direction.
Willow offered him a small smile and a nod and headed
toward home, her palm wrapped firmly around the stake.
 She heard the wheels squeak and glanced around just
in time to see the blonde head disappear into the
trees from which he'd come.  She shook her head at the
night's events.  She truly didn't know what had
possessed her to go to the park alone at night, and
she silently thanked whoever was listening that it had
been Spike and not Angelus who had found her, or she
would most likely be sporting a new, pointy over bite.
 She sighed as her house came into view, and got the
eeriest feeling of eyes on her.   She sprinted to last
several yards to her house and quietly climbed the
trellis to her balcony.  It didn't matter how much
noise she made, her parents weren't home yet again,
but she climbed over the balcony silently from force
of habit.  She slipped into the sliding doors and
peered out at the dark night, trying to place the eyes
she still felt on her.  She couldn't find any sign of
anything moving on the darkened street, but also
couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.  Willow
slammed the glass door and pulled the curtains on the
invading stare.  She fell on her bed, asleep almost
before she hit the pillow.
Spike watched the girl from the safety of darkness,
still musing over what had happened.  She had bared
her soul to him, and he hadn't killed her for it.  He
must be getting soft in his old age.  She stood just
inside the doors of her bedroom, looking out at the
night, a slightly frightened look on her face.  For
the briefest moment her eyes rested on him in the
cover of darkness, then quickly spun away and slammed
the door, drawing the curtains.  Spike turned and
left, having made sure she made it home all right.  He
wondered what in the name of Christ had made him
follow the girl home just be assured of her safety,
but quickly avoided that thought, fearing he already
knew the answer.  She reminded him so much of himself
down inside.  He hurried to the mansion, hoping to get
the redhead's scent out of his nostrils.
 

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