Sheila Rosenburg stumbled to a stop, her hand still resting on the doorknob to her daughter's open door, and gaped. Her mouth snapped shut with an audible click of teeth, and she clenched her eyes shut briefly. "Willow!" the word cut through the room, and the two previously occupied inhabitants of the bed fell apart.

The mussed blond man - older, Sheila thought with shell-shocked disapproval - looked at her with something closely resembling amusement before dropping back onto the pillows, one muscled arm resting behind his head.

"Eep?" Willow managed weakly as her eyes darted from her mother, around the room, and back again. Her face fell as she realized that the older woman was indeed actually there. At that moment, she would have preferred to see some icky Hellmouth related monster at her doorway. 'The woman's never home, and she picks _now_ to change that record!'

Sheila exhaled, slowly, calmly. "Get dressed, and then, I want to talk to you downstairs. _Both_ of you." She looked at Willow reproachfully for a long moment before cautiously backing out of the room, drawing the door shut behind her.

"Oh, Goddess!" Willow whimpered, tumbling out of the bed. She frantically crawled around the floor, gathering the scattered clothes that littered it. Her desperate search came to an abrupt stop at the sound of Spike's amused chuckle. Willow's head snapped up and she twisted around to glare at Spike. "There is _nothing_ amusing about this, Spike! That was my mother at the door, if you hadn't realized! My mother who is about to have a fit, and cram some of her psychobabble down our throats..." 'I'm not even supposed to have boys in my _room_!'

"What's she going to do, luv? Let her bitch and rave," Spike said, his voice still tinged with amusement. He slithered out of bed after Willow, drawing her to her feet in one smooth motion.

She stared at him in disbelief. "What can she do? She can... can tell me that I can't see you anymore!" Willow cried out, her eyes filling with horror at the thought of it.

Spike refrained from pointing out that the woman was home so little that she wouldn't realize that Willow was disobeying, even if he took up residence in the Rosenburg home. "We won't let it get to that, luv."

"...You're going to kill her?"

He grinned. "I was thinking more along the lines of impressing her, but if you'd prefer..."

"No! Impressing is good," Willow said. "If we're lucky, maybe she'll repress this like she did the burning-at-the-stake thing."

***

Sheila was waiting for them in the living room, her ankles crossed and her hands folded in her lap primly. She studied Spike and the still flushed Willow as they descended the stairs, her eyes not leaving them until they were seated on the couch across from her. Her eyes narrowed as Spike leaned back comfortably, one arm casually draped across Willow's shoulders.

"Uh... mom, this is Spi..." 'Oh, not a good name to give. She might read a bit too much into _that_.' "William." She'd never called him that before, and somehow, the new name made things seem all the more unreal.

Sheila inclined her head. "How long has this been going on?"

"The shagging or the lead up?" Spike answered, grinning at the horrified look that Willow shot at him. She dug her elbow into his side, the red tinge staining her cheeks deepening.

Sheila brought the full weight of her disapproving glare down upon Spike. "I have the feeling that you're not taking this situation very seriously, young man. But let me assure you, such matters may have a great impact on Willow's life. At this age, sexual experience is often a form of rebellion. I need to be able to dig into the beginning of this problem to be able to determine what drove Willow towards this path."

"My cheekbones, probably," Spike shrugged. "The chits seem to adore them."

"Eyes, actually," Willow mumbled.

"How old are you, Wilbert?"

"It's William, mom."

"That's not important, Willow." She leaned forward in her chair slightly. "I'd like to talk to him alone for a moment," Sheila said, waving her hand dismissively. Willow hesitated before following her mother's instructions.

The older woman waited until Willow had left the room before beginning. "You are obviously too old for my daughter. She is young, and doesn't possess the emotional maturity necessary for a sexual relationship. If you care for her in the slightest, you will leave her alone." That said, Sheila leaned back into her chair, clasped hands held beneath her uplifted chin, her face set.

"Willow is old enough to make her own decisions," Spike growled softly, irritated that this woman -- the woman who had remained on her business trip while her only daughter was missing, and had left only after a few days at Willow's bedside while she was in the hospital; the woman who left Willow alone for months on end; the woman who couldn't see the pain and knowledge that so often flashed to the surface of Willow's eyes -- should tell him that Willow was too young. She knew nothing about her daughter.

Sheila huffed. "Willow is a child," she said, exasperated. "I love my daughter, but I am well aware of her deficiencies. She is, needless to say, a shy and awkward individual. She has been sheltered for most of her life, and is in no way prepared for what have obviously pressured her into."

Spike's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You're gone so often that I doubt that you have any idea what Willow is capable of," he growled, tacking on a mental 'you bloody cow' for good measure. Obviously, the woman was out to make up for years of neglect by interfering in Willow's life as much as possible before she flittered off to her next trip.

"Are you implying that I am a bad mother, Wilbert?" Sheila said, her eyes and voice frosty.

"I thought that I went beyond implication."

One eyebrow arched upwards, and Sheila's lips compressed tightly. "You're a very clever young man. You're trying to shift the topic away from your utter lack of concern for my daughter's long term welfare and onto my relationship with her. I'm afraid that I can't allow that." She took a deep breath, her features set in what was obviously her most well thought out intimidation face. "I want you to stop seeing my daughter."

"I don't give a fuck what you want, you bloody bitch," Spike growled, his temper boiling over. He'd put up with interference from Willow's friends, his sire, Drusilla, and some bloody ridiculous prophecy. Now that things were finally working out, he wasn't about to let some third rate excuse for a psychologist derail things. 'I'll definitely leave an impression on her,' he thought, remembering his words to Willow before they'd come downstairs to meet the woman.

Sheila blinked, her mouth dropping open in surprise. "I won't have such vulgarities spoken within my home, Wilbert!"

Spike forced air through his dead lungs, trying to resist the urge to strangle some sense into her. "It's _William_, you daft cow!" He felt the ripple across his face that spoke of the shift in his features, and made no move to hide his true face.

Sheila's eyes went wide, and she pressed back into her chair. "What--"

He rose, taking the few steps that separated them, and loomed over the woman. His hands dropped onto the arms of the chair, trapping her with his body. "For the last time: Willow can make her own decisions! She is mature, and responsible, and knows her own mind. And unlike you, I'll never hurt her. If you don't stop trying to control Willow's life I will personally tear out every vital organ in your body."

Sheila's eyes rolled back in her head, her body going limp and slumping into the chair.

Spike straightened, a wide grin on his face. "Well, I think that went well!"

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