Living on the Hellmouth and being the Slayer's best friend had shown Willow a thing or two about fear. She'd nearly been eaten, had her neck snapped, and all the other potential gruesome deaths that happened so often within the small, demon infested town where she had lived her entire life.
She'd learned of fear before, but what she felt now surpassed all those former lessons. Then the fear had been pulsing through her body in a rush that seemed to have settled in permanently when Buffy came to town. Now, she recognized those feelings as a distant cousin of the terror that had claimed her.
It was dark. So very dark. Sunlight was becoming a distant memory, one from a lifetime ago. She feared that a memory was all that it would remain. Her life was all darkness now... she didn't know how many days she'd been locked away in a monster's lair, always in the dark, but it seemed an eternity.
Her throat was raw from the screams that echoed throughout her prison, and her hands were scrapped and bloody from where she had clawed at the rough stone floor she was cowered on. The distant pain was the only remains of her attempt to fight.
The familiar scraping of flesh against the cool stones made Willow curl in on herself. Her eyes snapped shut, the darkness behind her closed lids nowhere near as dark as the world beyond them. The delicate Star of David strung around her neck burned into her palm as she clutched at it. Her mind no longer remembered why she held it so tightly, and yet she always did.
Skin brushed over the exposed flesh of her arm, and her hand tightened around the necklace until it bit into the shredded flesh it found there. The skin of her captor was moist and warm against her, and the feel of it nearly made Willow cry out in revulsion.
Deep in her mind, she latched onto a familiar face. It gave her the comfort that the symbol she wore couldn't provide, and as his name flared bright through her, for a moment, she didn't fear.
"Spike!" Buffy's voice rang through the vampire's current home, echoing eerily in the cavernous rooms. She stepped further into the room, her clunky black heels loud in the otherwise silent room.
Buffy's eyes narrowed angrily, her lips pulling back into a snarl that would have made any vampire proud. "I know you're here, Spike!" she screamed, swirling around with her empty hands held outwards. "I need to talk to you!" Buffy drew in a deep breath, fighting her distaste at approaching her mortal enemy. "It's about Willow."
Time seemed to stop for a long, unbearable minute before Spike emerged from the shadows. His face was expressionless as he faced Buffy, but his eyes burned. Buffy nearly fell back at the sight of them. "What about her?" Spike said, his voice clipped.
"Cordelia told me," Buffy replied evenly, trying to keep the censure from her voice. She shook her head impatiently and held out a silencing hand when Spike began to speak. "That's not what I'm here for, though. Not now. I need your help."
"With what?" Spike said warily. "Where's Willow?" Her name was said with a fervor that matched the burning in his eyes, and for a moment, Buffy almost understood what had drawn the nascent witch to him.
"She's gone. Taken," Buffy's voice trembled at that word as she remembered the chaos in Willow's room. And the blood. Her stomach churned as it always did at the thought of Willow desperately fighting off an attacker in the sanctity of her own room. Alone. "She's been gone almost a week and we haven't been able to find any clues."
Across from her, Spike's breath would have caught had he needed to breath. "Why didn't you come to me sooner?" he growled, silently cursing himself for not visiting Willow sooner. If he'd done so, he wouldn't have needed to wait, oblivious of her danger until the Slayer came to him.
Buffy fidgeted uncomfortably under his glare. "I didn't trust you," she admitted defensively before tacking on: "and how was I to know that _you_ weren't the one who took her!"
Spike shook his head slowly, trying to resist the urge to howl at the ignorant chit before him. "That doesn't matter now. We need to find Willow." He strode forward, pushing past Buffy without another glance. "Well are you coming or not, Slayer?"
Slayer and vampire stood together in uneasy alliance, looking around Willow's room. Even now, the sent of blood and fear was strong to Spike's enhanced senses. Rage boiled in him at the thought of someone taking Willow, and as his anger grew, his game face slid on. The demon inside him snarled, urging him to give into his anger and strike out, to hurt, to kill, until the girl was returned to him.
Spike ignored the look of distaste on Buffy's face as she took in the sight of his demon's face. "You found nothing?" he asked, his eyes catching on the plain black ring resting on Willow's nightstand. Spike was at the side of one of the few standing pieces of furniture in the room in moments, the ring in hand. He had never been impressed with Angel, but he had to admit that the whole ring idea had been a good idea.
"Nothing," Buffy told him, oblivious to the pain tearing through Spike's long dead heart.
He pocketed the smooth metal ring as Buffy shuffled through the papers scattered on the carpeted floor. He could _feel_ it, Spike realized suddenly. Beneath all the blood and the fear, there was something decidedly off.
His mind ranged back over a century of living, searching through vast mental catalogues for the information that matched the scent. He hissed in an unneeded breath as the memory surfaced.
Buffy was at his side in an instant. "What! What is it?!" she demanded, nearly shaking Spike in her frustrated wait for a reply.
Spike shook off Buffy's hands. "I need to speak to that Watcher of yours," he said shortly. 'I'm coming, Willow. Hang on just a while longer, luv...'
Their brief trip to the library had confirmed Spike's suspicions. The Watcher had politely excused himself in order to relieve his lunch in a nearby garbage can when Spike had told him of his findings. Spike would have done the same had he had the luxury of time to do so.
"You sure he's here?" Buffy asked softly, fearfully shifting a stake from hand to hand.
"I'm sure, Slayer," Spike growled back, his game face firmly in place. He could feel the hunger emanating from within the old church tucked away at the edges of the city limit. The distant part of him which wasn't focused on Willow was relieved that Drusilla had elected to remain with the Chaos Demon. Running into the creature housed inside the church was sure to shatter the thin remains of her sanity.
He hadn't wanted the Slayer to accompany him, but she had insisted with such ferocity that he had relented. Spike had to admit that it would be easier if she were to rescue Willow while he took care of the demon, but a part of him insisted that he be the one to take care of matters on his own. "Remember, get her out of there immediately," Spike told Buffy as they crept forward warily.
Buffy nodded mutely as they disappeared into the demon's lair.
She was so very cold. The chill cut through the thin t-shirt she was wearing and headed straight down into her very bones. The only warmth she felt anymore was the hand of the creature that held her, and Willow would have gladly taken the cold as opposed to that.
She heard sounds, loud, different. One eye peeled open. The darkness burned against it. Her hand spasmed against her necklace and her eye dropped back down. She was so tired.
Her eyes opened again when someone knelt down next to her. She saw a flash of blinding gold in the darkness, and her eyes watered.
"Oh, God. Willow..." a feminine voice whispered, loud against Willow's ears. She blinked blearily, dry lips parting.
"Spike...?" she said hopefully, though she no longer knew why his name should make her feel so.
"He's here, Willow," the voice answered on a choked sob. Willow could only wonder why that answer made her want to cry. "Hold on. I'm going to get you out of here..."
Strong arms wrapped around her, warming her cold body. She sighed wearily and rested her head against the other girl's shoulder.
"Oh, Willow... What's happened to you?"
The hospital room was mercifully empty, save for the small form buried under the sheets. Spike hesitated briefly at the door before slipping towards the bed. He sat down at the edge of it, his hand reaching out to brush across Willow's pale cheek.
Her eyes fluttered open at his touch, and Spike found himself staring into familiar eyes. "Hey," she said weakly, her lips pulling up slightly.
Spike found that all he could do was smile back at her in return.
"I knew you'd come," Willow said softly before her eyes shut once more, her breath slow and even.
"I'll always be there for you, luv," Spike told her just as softly, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. He straightened, his hand reaching out for hers. They stayed like that until the sun rose.
~end~