PART ONE

Things had been strained within the group. Sure, things were always strained to some extent. You couldn't know the things this group knew and do the things this group did and not have a perpetual weirdness going on.

But this time around, the weirdness, the strain, it was all different. The group had lost its leader and, to some extent, its focus. Giles wasn't really a Watcher without a Slayer. He stayed to be Dawn's guardian, but it was a strained relationship. Dawn appeared to be suffering from survivor's guilt. Xander and Anya were engaged; that was something new. Spike, for unknown reasons, was still hanging around. Nobody wanted to bother with asking him to leave town, so instead they just incorporated him into the group. Tara was always at odds with him, and she was slowly withdrawing from Willow. Willow. It had fallen to her to hold the group together through this very rough stage. And all she wanted to do was fall apart.

But the bad guys just kept coming. No rest for the weary and broken-hearted. Nope. There were always fledglings to be dusted, new threats to be thwarted. Now the "sidekick" was centerstage, and the pressure was killing her.

Willow sat back from the table in the magic shop and gripped the arms of her chair. Her brow was deeply furrowed in thought. There was a book open before her, but her eyes weren't focused on it. She'd already read the page a dozen times. Hiershas. That was what they called themselves. They'd been around since the Renaissance. Human. Black arts magic. But they'd given up blood rituals and sacrifice at the turn of the last century, which was cause for question as to why the latest body found in Sunnydale had the ritual markings of a Hiersha sacrifice.

She was too busy having an "unreality" moment to really concentrate her intellect on something useful. No, instead Willow was thinking to herself "did we ever really use to go Bronzing?" And she was trying to remember the way Buffy looked wrapped in Angel's arms. She couldn't even remember what the sting of seeing Xander and Cordelia felt like. But that was reality, wasn't it? No. Angel and Cordelia lived in LA now. Xander worked in construction and is engaged to be married. We blew up the school and Giles bought the magic shop. I'm a real witch and I have a girlfriend. Willow smiled to herself. And Buffy's gone. The smile became a grimace.

She stood up from the book, but didn't bother to close it. "Giles, I have to go."

"Alright, Willow," was the muffled reply she received from across the room. "Be careful."

"Always," she answered and left.

She didn't notice the figure that came out of the shadows and began to follow her.

He'd been checking up on her since she got out of the hospital, watching her movements when he was with them, following her places when she didn't know he was there. He knew she was wearing thin. What Spike didn't know was when she was going to start ripping at the seams. She wasn't cut out for this; this wasn't her duty. But he'd made her part of his. Her. Dawn. Hell, even the Watcher and the ex-demon and the boy. Buffy would have wanted someone looking out for them, and so he was.

They just didn't know it.

Willow was staying at her parent's house over the summer, but she spent a lot of nights with Tara. Tonight, however, she couldn't fathom being indoors at all. So instead of walking home like she'd meant to do, she started walking towards the cemetary. She wandered to the grave of her best friend and said a few words broken by sobs. She passed Joyce's grave and told her she'd always be there for Dawn. And then Willow kept wandering until she was deep in the woods, where she slumped to her feet, crying, and began drawing a circle around herself in the dirt.

What does she think she's doing? Spike asked himself when the young witch didn't go home. He had half a mind to catch her now and drag her to her home. Then he saw that she was going to Buffy's grave. He couldn't fault her for that; many were the nights that he was there himself. But she didn't stay there. She just kept ambling about. She did know it was night and she was in Sunnydale, right? There were beasties about. He was proof.

She knew it was wrong to mess with the elements. She didn't care. She felt numb. Grief. Fear. Loneliness. Despair. They had all added up and left her with nothing. There was still one thing she could feel. Power. She started whispering.

And midnight-clad figures in the night began listening.

The calm of the night turned to a cool wind, and the clear sky became a cloud cover. Willow's whispering turned to chanting. She closed her eyes and felt the power start to run through her veins.

Spike hung back in the trees, watching her. He understood what she was doing. So did the other figures that had begun approaching the kneeling witch. Figures Spike didn't notice because the sounds of their movements were lost in the rustling of the leaves overhead.

As the gentle rain began to fall, Willow turned her face to the sky. It felt good. She rose to her feet and held her arms to the sky. She'd made this and it was calming to her soul. She was in control. With a half-hearted glance to make sure no one was around, she started unbuttoning her shirt and kicking off her shoes.

When Spike saw the first appearance of her bare shoulders, he was intrigued. When he saw the expanse of her back as the shirt fell all the way to the ground, he looked down. He would so get yelled at if she knew he was there. He argued with himself that he wasn't averting his eyes to be good, but to be gentlemanly. Vampires could do that if they wanted. Yes they could.

When Willow was just in her jeans and her bra, she threw her arms to the sky again and shouted "More!" The rain began to fall in sheets. She gasped and shivered, then laughed and began doing the Snoopy dance.

A dagger glinted behind one of the trees and a voice said "She will be a fine sacrifice." Another voice commented "Wait until she breaks the circle."

And Spike argued with himself that watching after the Slayer's pals didn't make him a softie... it made him a romantic. And making sure the witch was protected was noble and you couldn't be noble if you were peeping at who you were protecting... and being noble didn't have to mean you were good... evil could be noble...

...and Willow was spinning in the rain, not carefree like a child, but frantic like a madman, her head tossed back, her arms from her sides, trying to make herself dizzy enough to fall down...

...and robed figures were encircling...

...and Spike finally told his newly developed "conscious" or whatever it was to sod the hell off cause if he was gonna make sure some chit wasn't devoured, he sure as hell had the right to watch her frolic in her underthings. He looked up. It seemed like slow-motion to him. Willow twirling frantically until she toppled over, arms and legs sprawled over the circle she'd drawn, scattering it. And four dark shadows descending on her. She screamed, but Spike was already on his way to her.
 

PART TWO

Willow opened her eyes as soon as she hit the ground so she could watch the sky zoom. Instead, she saw a mass of hands coming out of dark robes to grab at her. Panic immediately gripped her; screaming, she tried to roll away from them. Two pairs of hands had grabbed her before she heard the growling. She jerked her head in the direction of it and in the first second she saw the vampiric ridges, her heart stopped. Then she recognized the hair and the face and her heart jumped for joy. She'd never been so glad to see Spike. He was pushing the other two robed guys away from her. Only, they must have been human, because he wasn't pushing them very hard.

The two who had Willow's arms settled for trying to get her away from her would-be champion rather than tying her up with the rope she saw in their hands. She'd be damned if she was going anywhere with them. She closed her eyes and tried to calm down. She needed to focus, but that was nearly impossible under the circumstances. Her captors mistook her stilled movement for acquiesence and began binding her arms.

Human bloody beings, Spike was cursing to himself. This would have been over in a heartbeat if he could just take a good swing at them. Then he heard it. Concise, but clear. "Spike, get down." Willow's voice. Calm, but serious. He whipped his head in the direction of the witch. She'd appeared to go limp in the arms of her captors. She raised her head and their eyes met. He dropped abruptly to the ground, and felt a surge of energy go over him. The two robed figures he'd been fending off cried out in pain and fell back.

"Atta girl, Red," Spike thought as he got up. The rain was still coming down, but the menacing glare he gave the men holding Willow was not lost on them.

The men in robes tightened their hold on Willow's arms. "Jacob," one of the men hissed. "She did that. And that one - he's a vampire. Let him have her."

Jacob shook his head. When he spoke, he kept his eyes on Spike's slowly approaching form. "You'll pay for what you did to our brothers, witch," he said lowly, pulling his dagger from his robe.

Willow closed her eyes and held her breath. The only light illuminating the clearing came from the moon. Willow slowly let out the breath she was holding, and as she did, the moonlight faded. Then, it was just the sound of the rain in an inky darkness.

Spike? This time, her voice in his head was less clear, less strong. I'm drained. That's about all I can do. Spike didn't know if she'd be able to hear him, but he spoke to her in his mind anyway. "That's alright, love. You did good. I can still see."

"Jacob?" came a tremulous voice. "Where is the vampire?"

Jacob, who saw no reason to dally with the witch's punishment, had raised his hand with the dagger, ready to plunge it in to her, as soon as he could be sure it was her he was aiming at and not his fellow comrade. "Be quiet, Samuel" he ordered impatiently. "And step away from the girl." The younger man complied.

"Now," Jacob said into Willow's ear. "Where's your demon friend?" He pulled his hand up, ready to swing the blade into her.

"He's right here, mate," a voice said and caught Jacob's wrist. "And he's tired of your lip." He wrenched the dagger out of the man's hand and let it fall to the ground. Willow stood rigidly still, listening to what she could not see. She was so tired, and her magicks were failing. The moonlight was returning and the rain was letting up. Her head was hung in mental and physical exhaustion, but she could still ascertain what was going on. The one called Samuel was crouched down about five feet to her left. Jacob had a strong grip on the back of her neck, but his other arm was twisted and being held behind his back by Spike.

"Let her go," Spike said. "Or I rip this arm off." Jacob lifted his chin in defiance. Spike growled.

Willow felt Jacob release her neck and she stumbled forward.

"You," Spike addressed Samuel. "Untie her." The young man scrambled over to do as he was told. He'd known they shouldn't mess with a witch, and that was before he knew she had a vampire with her.

When Willow was no longer bound, she looked at Samuel for a moment. He shifted his weight uncomfortably. She waited until his guilty eyes met hers and then she slapped him. Then she went back to where her circle, now long washed away, had been and retrieved her shirt. She struggled into the soaking garment as she came back to Spike and Jacob.

"What do we do with this one?" Spike asked and heaved Jacob up by his robe. Willow looked thoughtful for a moment.

All she said was "Samuel. Rope. Now."

With little effort, they bound him to the tree. Despite Spike's disapproval, Willow had allowed Samuel to run off into the night. But while their focus was elsewhere, neither Willow nor Spike noticed as one of Jacob's men got up from where Willow's magic had knocked him down. He made his way to the group of trees where they had been hiding originally, because among the ritual preparations, there was also a crossbow there.

"You're both vile creatures," Jacob spat out. Spike smirked at him. He looked at Willow. "You want to get his dagger, cut him up a bit?"

Willow smiled rather evilly, and Spike was impressed. Apparently, she didn't take being nearly killed too kindly. She retrieved Jacob's dagger and approached the man. What was she going to do? Spike wondered. If he still had a heartbeat, he imagined it might be speeding up right now.

"See?" Willow said sweetly. "You've made me cranky." She held the dagger at Jacob's throat and twirled the tip.

An unexplained chill ran down Spike's spine. He knew the girl was smart. He knew she'd become quite a powerful witch. And he knew she had a big heart. A heart, so it seemed, big enough to house a room of darkness. He had a vampire's ability to see the potential for real darkness that this girl posessed. And until now, he couldn't remember ever even glimpsing it. The thought chilled him.

Willow was looking into Jacob's face. He would have killed her tonight and yet now the tables were turned and he was at her mercy.

"You wouldn't," Jacob said. But his voice betrayed him, for he had seen in her face what Spike had heard in her voice. She wanted to hurt him. And there was nothing in her confident manner that said she wasn't going to.

The rain was but a drizzle now, and did nothing to mask the sounds of movement of the man behind the trees. Nevertheless, he retrieved and loaded the bow without drawing attention from the witch or the vampire. But it was a painstakingly slow process.

Willow decided she'd unnerved the man enough. She took his dagger and cut a portion of his robe off. Then, she forced it into his mouth. "I am not the vile creature here." The man's eyes darted to Spike. Willow looked at him, too. "Spike, on the other hand..." She turned back to Jacob. "Let's just say you're getting off real lucky, 'kay?"

Spike smiled almost imperceptibly. He and Willow both knew he couldn't lay a finger on this man if he meant any real harm by it. But here she was, talking about him as if he were still the big bad. Funny, it didn't seem patronizing. He was flattered. And his eye was suddenly caught by someone stepping out from behind a tree, crossbow in hand and aimed at... Willow.

She turned just in time to see the man with the crossbow aimed in her direction. Her mouth opened silently as he fired, but it was already happening. She heard the arrow whizzing toward her and flinched, but Spike had seen what was about to happen sooner. He jumped in front of her, facing her. He knew the arrow was going to hit him; he just hoped it wouldn't be in the heart.

On contact, Willow screamed. Spike roared. And a bolt of lightning hit the clearing, shaking the ground, splitting the night sky with intense light and mind blowing sound. The man dropped the crossbow and fled the scene. Jacob gaped. The rain was falling again and the very air seemed charged, whether it be from the lighting or the witch.

Willow lacked the clarity of mind to wonder about the attacker with crossbow and whether he'd take another shot. All she was thinking about was the pain in her left shoulder. Spike's hands were gripping her waist. The arrow had shot him in the back and come straight through his chest, pinning him to Willow. His eyes were clamped shut. He opened them and looked at Willow.

Her green eyes were wide in terror. What with the rain, it was hard to tell she was crying. She was taking little breaths. The arrow wasn't too deep, two inches at the most, but it hurt like hell. She started shaking. She grabbed onto Spike's arms. She didn't want to think about what was coming up. "Willow," he said calmly. "You'll have to..." Her eyes shot to his and he shut up. He looked at her steadily. "One... tw-"

"Aaagh!" She pushed back from him on two and stumbled away, hand pressed to the wound. "Ow ow ow ow..."

"Three," Spike said anti-climactically. He closed his hand around the shaft of the arrow and closed his eyes. He let loose with a string of curses as he pulled it from his chest.

Willow had fallen to the ground. She was crying in earnest, now. Sobbing would be more accurate. This was too hard. How had Buffy done this? Villains trying to kill her. Like every night. And now she was bleeding. And there was mud all over her jeans.

Spike went to her. He took her by the shoulders and pulled her to a standing position. She kept crying and moved automatically into his arms. She buried her face in the side of his chest that wasn't bleeding and twisted her fist in his shirt with the hand that wasn't pressed to her open wound. And he just held her. There were times when Spike didn't know how to treat humans if he wasn't killing them. There were times that he didn't know how to act around the Scoobies. This was neither of those times. He held her. Tight.

When the heaving sobs subsided, he loosened his grip and began rubbing her back. She relaxed away from him and let out a shaky breath. "If you hadn't been..." she didn't finish.

"Hey," he said. "No, look at me. You did good." She looked away. "You did, Red. Very impressive. Would I lie?" She half-smiled. "Impressed me. She'd be proud, she would."

"You don't have to say that," Willow said quietly. "But thank you. And for, y'know, saving my life a couple of times tonight."

"Pfft. Nothing to it. Hey, I ought to thank you for the excitement. A little violence, a little skin..."

Her eyes widened and even in the rain and her disheveled state, he knew she was blushing. "Spike!"

He could have let go of her then. He didn't. "You made it rain," he said.

She nodded and looked away. Embarrassed? Ashamed? "So did you," she mumbled.

Then, standing there, in the supernatural rain, both of them bleeding, Spike had a moment where he thought he knew what he was doing. He leaned down and kissed the girl he was holding in his arms.

For a moment, it just seemed natural. He was the hero, and she was the heroine, and together they had vanquished the foe. But in the next moment, she was Willow and he was Spike and she had pulled herself out of his arms and clamped her hand over her mouth. She looked at him with her wide green eyes for all of a second before she turned and fled from the clearing without a word.

Spike cursed. What had he done that for? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Jacob had watched the whole thing and was now looking at him smugly. Or, as smugly as one can while still bound and gagged. Spike turned his back on him. His eyes were drawn to a pair of orange sneakers gathering rain. Damn it. He couldn't very well let her stumble all the way home in this weather barefoot. He picked them up and took off after her.
 

PART THREE

Willow had made it back to the cemetary. "I am a crazy person," she thought. She slumped down in front of a gravestone, wincing as she kept her fist balled up in the wound on her shoulder. Why hadn't she just gone home tonight? Like a normal person? No, she'd had to go wandering in the woods. Had to prove something to herself. Had to be nearly killed. Had to kiss Spike. She drew her knees to her chest and laid her head on them.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt something touch her foot. She jerked her head up so fast, it smacked against the headstone. Spike was kneeling in front of her. He held up one of her shoes. Then, rather roughly, he grabbed her foot and began shoving a shoe onto it. He didn't speak and he didn't look at her. Willow got the hint; he was mad.

When he was finished, he took her arm and pulled her up. She didn't protest when he started dragging her off. Numbly, she just followed.

They made it inside his crypt. It was very dark, and Willow couldn't even hear her own breathing over the sound of the rain outiside. Spike lit a torch. Being a vampire, he didn't keep much in the way of first aid. He did have whiskey and something that resembled a clean sheet. They would have to do.

Willow watched him apprehensively as he prepared her a bandage. Why was he being so helpful? She unbuttoned her shirt with her free hand. He didn't say a word when he came over and slipped his hands into her open shirt; he just wrapped the torn cloth under her arm and over the puncture. She ground her teeth together when the alcohol-soaked cloth touched her skin, but she didn't say anything, either.

When he was finished, he stepped bacj from her and just stood there, soaking wet, not moving a muscle. He gave her the stare. The Spike stare of anger. Willow could feel water dripping from her eyelashes; she couldn't stop shaking. He waited patiently for her to speak. He knew she couldn't stand not to.

"I got scared," was all she said.

Long pause.

"Of me?" he responded slowly and evenly.

She shook her head once, sharply enough that wet strands of hair stuck to her face and neck from the movement. "Of something happening... with you." She hesitated. "And me. Us. I'm afraid of there being an 'us' out of you and me." She didn't look at him; her eyes remained fixed to the wall. It suddenly seemed less like Willow had her arms crossed over her chest and more like she was giving herself a hug for support in a moment of need.

"And why is that?" Same even tone.

Her arms fell to her sides and she looked at him incredulously. "Why?" Her voice rose on the one small word. "Why?"

He didn't let her tone affect him. "It was just a kiss. One kiss."

Willow started shaking her head. "No. No 'just' anything. Don't pretend otherwise; it's insulting."

Spike didn't argue the point.

She turned her back to him. It was easier to say the things she was thinking if she didn't look at him. "Why were you following me tonight, Spike? Why did I wake up when you came to me in the hospital? Why have I begun to feel for you... whatever this is that I now feel for you?"

He started advancing on her. Screw being patient.

Willow spoke to the floor. "I don't understand. Buffy's gone and you loved Buffy. And Tara's here and I love her. You don't love me and I don't love you, but now I think about you and you do strange things to me and I don't understand. I'm a good person. Or I thought I was a good person and this doesn't feel right, this doesn't feel..."

He grabbed her from behind, spun her around and had her backed up against the wall before she knew what was happening. She gasped, in shock from his sudden action and discomfort from her shoulder. He was inches from her, and his hands were gripping her upper arms. He was giving her another Spike stare, but this one wasn't about anger. This was the stare that said he could devour her any number of ways and she would beg for just a little more. It was an intoxicating stare. She could look away. She didn't.

Spike didn't quite get it. She was supposed to be unnerved by this posture. He was invading her personal space. He was boring into her with his eyes. Only, she wasn't cowering. Her breath was ragged and her rapid heartbeat gave her away. Oh, yes, she was affected, no doubting that. But a gleam was creeping into her eyes, one that made him falter. A gleam that said that she was about to be the one in control of the situation.

"Back off, Spike," she whispered, not like a plea, but like a warning.

He leaned in. "Or what?"

She closed her eyes. "Or all the rules change. Get your hands off me and this stays sane."

He released her arms, but he didn't move away. He placed a hand on the wall on each side of her head. He was so close to her, he knew when he spoke, she'd be able to feel his breath on her face. "Is that better?" he asked lowly. "I haven't a finger on you now."

Willow opened her eyes and Spike blinked once, in surprise. Her eyes were solid black. She could feel the power between them, like electric sparks. And she knew what she was about to do was reckless, and dangerous and stupid. And that she was going to do it anyway. She heard Tara's voice in her head, but it wasn't telling her to stop and it wasn't asking her how she could do such a thing. It was saying "People do strange things when someone they love dies."

When she grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him, it was a fury. It was a passionate act of desperation, to block out the pain of the last months with something unthinkable. When she tackled him to the ground and pulled at his clothes, it was a frenzy. When they came together, it was fast and rough. And when it was over, the rain outside had ceased.

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