“Quick, Xander, Anya carry Spike out the back door. They mustn’t find
him
here,” Giles hissed at the young couple, urging them outside. “Take
him
home, keep him safe.” Nodding, the young couple helped Spike out the
back
door of the shop.
“Only one cutbroken glass.” Cordelia called back. “Come on through.”
Giles marvelled at the abilities that all of his ‘children’ had shown
under
pressure. He had a brief surge of intense pride, and forced it down
as the
firemen came closer.
They were still looking around, and seeing a middle-aged man with two
young
womenone holding a still bloody handasked Giles what had happened.
Giles
had had enough time to think up an answer that he hoped would work.
He
turned, and appearing very angry, he said, “I’ll tell you what’s bloody
happened. What’s happened is that we’ve been on the receiving end of
the
twenty-first century version of a bloody drive by. They aren’t content
with
fucking guns any more, the bastards are using grenades. Bloody stupid
country!”
“Someone threw grenades in here?” The fireman was confused.
“No, they threw bloody marshmallows, what do you think!” Giles semblance
of
righteous anger and fear had become real, and was in full flow now.
What he
wanted, more than anything, was to tear the two idiots who had done
this to
pieces. That being impossible he was more than happy to vent at anyone
within range.
The two firemen, used to distraught civilians, essentially ignored the
diatribe and concentrated on looking after the three people who had
survived whatever had happened. As they looked around, the level of
devastation was impressive, to say the least. One of them moved towards
Willow, taking her hand and examining it. “This is the only injury?”
“Yes,” Giles said, a lot more calmly, “we were very lucky.”
As the fireman examined Willow’s wound, another siren could be heard
over
the sounds of Giles’ alarms. A policeman came into the building, weapon
drawn and demanding to know what had happened. Giles turned to explain,
and
saw the pistol. All of his anger at the assassins rose again. He knew,
intellectually that he couldn’t blame society for the behaviour of
people
like the Order, but emotionally he couldn’t control himself. It was
the one
aspect of American society that horrified him; the ease of access to
firearms. “This is my shop and you’ll do me the courtesy of putting
that …
thing away, or leave.” Giles snapped as he gestured at the policeman’s
weapon.
“What?” the policeman looked confused.
“Holster that … thing. Or leave the building. There are three victims
and
two firemen here. You don’t need your security blanket.”
The policeman blinked and thought a moment before he realised what Giles
was saying. He did as Giles asked, looking strangely at the irate
Englishman as he did so.
Willow leant over and whispered to Cordelia, “Principal Snyder was right
about one thing. The police of Sunnydale are deeply stupid.” Catching
her
comment the fireman dressing Willow’s hand burst into laughter, as
did
Cordelia.
“Now,” the fireman explained, “you’ll need to get this stitched. I guess
it
was glass but it looks like a knife wound to me.”
Willow realised she had an opportunity to help Giles’ cover story and
grabbed it. “It is a knife wound. I was looking at an athame when the
thing
exploded and I cut myself then.”
The fireman looked at her and nodded, “That would explain it. You want
to
tell me what you remember?”
Willow gave him a wan little smile. “There’s not very much to tell,
I heard
the glass breaking and almost immediately after, that horrible explosion.
Then the alarms and the water and … I must look a sight!”
“A lady as beautiful as you could never look bad.” The fireman said
gallantly. “I’m Dave, by the way.”
“Sorry, possessive boyfriend, very possessive.” Willow answered, a
contented and slightly dreamy smile coming over her.
“That’s okay,” he smiled, “I can take a hint.”
“That wasn’t a hint, that was a bludgeon.” Cordelia quipped as she grinned
at her friend.
“Well, back to business,” said Dave, perhaps too cheerfully. “You’ll
need
to go to the hospital and get this stitched. It seems to be healing
very
quickly, but unless it’s stitched it’ll scar.”
Willow nodded. “I know, I hope the police don’t keep me here too long.”
“Let me speak to them,” Dave offered. “I should be able to convince
them to
take the names of you two girls and interview you tomorrow.” Willow
and
Cordelia exchanged glances, both worried about what else could happen.
Cordelia having vivid memories of ‘bug-man’ the assassin of many years
ago.
Dave’s helpfulness and interest seemed out of place to both girls.
Giles discussions with the policeman were beginning to degenerate. Instead
of answering the policeman’s questions, Giles had gone on another angry
but
rambling discourse on the issues surrounding the second amendment.
Rather
unfortunately, the policeman had taken the comments more seriously
than
Giles had intended. Dave’s interruption rather fortunately eased the
situation as he spoke quietly to the policeman about the need for Cordelia
and Willow to get to the hospital. As soon as the policeman had given
his
consent, he broke of from his argument with Giles and came over to
get the
names of both other witnesses. He took their names and addresses, then
told
them they could head to the hospital.
Giles, in the meantime, had realised that the policeman he had been
dealing
with was not seeing eye to eye with him about things. Aware that he
had to
calm down the increasingly irate member of Sunnydale’s finest, he began
to
explain, at length and with all of his natural gift for minutiae and
pedantry, precisely what had happened that evening. <The mundane
aspects at
least.> He thought to himself. <If nothing else works, I’ll bore
the bugger
to death.>
* * * *
Spike was still not entirely capable of walking when he arrived at Xander
and Anya’s apartment. They got Spike to a seat and Anya went for more
blood. He was primarily interested in getting back to Willow, but neither
the ex-demon or Xander would hear of it. Anya returned with a mug of
microwaved blood and handed it to the vampire. Spike drank gratefully,
so
worn down he didn’t complain about it’s being pigs blood. As he continued
to recover, he became aware of the condition of his clothing. “Xand,
mate,
can I borrow some gear, I think this lot’s had it.”
Xander nodded and went to get Spike some jeans and a tee shirt. He reasoned
that Spike would wear the duster, even if all that was left was one
sleeve
and the collar. In fact, the duster had got off surprisingly lightly,
one
major rent near the bottom was the primary damage done to it. Xander
returned with the jeans and a white tee shirt and handed them wordlessly
to
Spike. The blond vampire took them equally silently and moved to the
bathroom to dress. Returning, he looked much less disreputable, and,
as he
retied his laces, asked “Can you give me a lift back to the shop, I’m
worried about my Willow.”
Anya sighed. “Spike, why don’t you wait and recover. Willow’s fine.
Giles
and Cordy are there and we want to thank you, you literally saved our
lives.”
Spike looked slightly uncomfortable before he said, “Yeah, perhaps.
I was
only worried about my girl though.”
Anya simply looked at him, her expression speaking volumes, while Xander
responded to the comment in his usual style. “Well, Junior. Don’t forget
we
saved your sorry ass as well.”
Spike’s response was to look at Anya, “Is it really sorry luv?”
Anya looked openly at Spike’s behind giving it serious consideration.
“Not
too bad at all, I could imagine the muscles clenching when …”
“Anya!” Xander’s voice cut the ex-demon off in mid-sentence. “Please,
Anya.
I so don’t want to hear that.” She looked at Xander and shrugged, and
then
grinned to herself.
“So, can we get a bloody move on?” Spike’s impatience was rearing up
as he
began to worry more and more about Willow.
“Don’t have a coronary Junior, oh, that’s right, you can’t.” Xander
snapped, still hurting from Spike’s earlier comment. Sighing, he grabbed
the car keys as he and Anya escorted Spike out and into the car. The
drive
was a little tense, with Spike and Xander still bristling over their
earlier exchange. Eventually, however, they reached the shop, to see
the
fire crews and police still mopping up.
Spike was out of the car before it had stopped moving completely and
running toward the shop, crossing the crime scene tapes like a hurdler.
As
he ran inside, he was calling Willow’s name. As he did so, and got
no
reply, his voice got shriller and louder each time he called her, taking
on
an edge of panic. One of the policemen came over and said, “I’m sorry
Sir,
but you can’t come in here.”
Spike shouldered roughly past the policeman, still calling for Willow.
Seeing Giles, he came to a halt. “Ripper! Where’s my Willow?”
Giles looked up at the partially rejuvenated Spike. “It’s all right,
Spike,
she’s just gone to the hospital with Cordelia, she needs some stitches
in
her hand.”
“Oh shit!” Even though Spike knew the extent of her injuries, thinking
of
them still hurt him severely. To him, it was a badge of shame, a failure
of
his promise to protect her. The circumstances were of no importance
to him,
it was failure.
“Great! Another Goddamn Limey!” Giles’ policeman was obviously unhappy.
Spike looked at Giles. “Do rozzers count as human?”
“Unfortunately,” Giles replied, “yes. Only just, but yes.”
The officious policeman approached Spike. “What reason do you have for
being here. Are you aware that you broke a police cordon?”
“I didn’t break it, I jumped over it. And I’m Willow’s Ma-partner.”
Spike
turned away and muttered, “bloody pillock.”
“So how did you hear about … this?”
“What? Oh go away, I need to get to the hospital.” Spike turned and
began
to walk away. The policeman’s call to stop received a two-finger gesture
that baffled him and Spike was outside.
He briskly walked back to the car, where Anya and Xander were waiting
for
him. “She’s at the hospital, Sunnydale General I assume, getting her
hand
stitched.”
“Right, that’s where we go then.” Xander was equally determined to make
sure Willow was all right. She was his best friend, he worried if she
skinned her knee.
As Xander pulled into the parking lot at Sunnydale General, Spike was
out of the car and running towards the entrance. His worry and self-recrimination
were peaking. The
logical part of his brain told him that Willow was fine. He’d seen
the wound, it was deeper than it should have been, but not severely so.
This was simple anxiety arising
from his feelings of failure. It in fact only briefly crossed his mindand
he had already dismissed the ideathat he could get some human blood here.
He burst through the automatic opening doors to the Emergency Room.
As he looked, he saw no-one waiting for treatment, and wondered what to
do next. He thought a
moment and then puzzled out that he needed to ask for her by name.
Walking to the admissions counter, he remembered back to his days as a
living man and used his
best public school accent. “Excuse me,” Spike began, “but I’m wondering
f you could help me. I’m looking for a Ms Willow Rosenberg. She was self
admitted, and not very
long ago.”
“What’s your relationship with this person Sir?”
Spike decided to play it as the dumb Briton abroad. “Isn’t that a rather … personal question?”
“I mean, Sir, why would you have any reason to know if we have a Willow Rosen … stein?”
Spike put on a look he hoped was reminiscent of Giles at his most confused.
“Errr … because you’re at the reception and information desk?” He asked
brightly. “And it’s
Rosenberg.”
The receptionist fixed him with a glare. “I meant, sir, if we have such a patient, what relationship do you have with her?”
Spike glared back, becoming irritated. “I’m her lover, sweetie, her
life partner, the light of her bleedin’ life. And should you be asking
such personal
questions anyway?” {It’s times like this,} the thought went through
his brain, {that I really hate this damn chip.} “Tell you what, luv, why
don’t
you see who she’s listed as her next of kin or contact.”
She looked distinctly unimpressed at Spike’s request, but sighed and
complied. “Very well, sir.” She turned to the computer terminal and began
typing with what Spike saw as maddening slowness. “What is your name,
sir.”
“Blood.”
The receptionist looked up strangely at him. “Pardon.” The interrogatory came out is a very irritating nasal whine.
“My name is Blood, William Blood.”
She looked at the computer screen and raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry
sir, yes; you are listed as her next of kin, but you appear to have no
legal
status as that. I can’t permit you into the ER.”
Spike was beginning to seethe. {Yelling or terrorising won’t do any
good.} He said to himself. {I have to be cleverer than that. I can do this.
I’m
just out of practice.} He fixed the gimlet-eyed receptionist with an
equally steely stare. “Marriage offends my religious beliefs. Now, can
I see my
partner, or do I have to return with a writ from a legal company …
say … Wolfram and Hart? The writ would, of course, charge you with religious
discrimination and the compensation sought for such terrible behaviour
appropriately astronomical. Then of course, there’s all the publicity;
especially the publicity over your discrimination against a person
with a disability. Me”
The receptionist looked at Spike, worry beginning to cloud her face. She decided to go on the offensive. “You don’t look disabled to me!”
Spike continued his line of attack. “I have a rare genetic condition called porphyria. Now pet, you just look that up while I see my Willow, okay?”
“I’ll need to refer this to my superiors sir. Please take a seat.” For
her, it was an admission of defeat, and she decided she didn’t like the
blond
Englishman at all. {He may have won this round,} she thought, {but
she would fix him in the end.} She made a telephone call, and Spike could
heareven without his improved hearingoccasional bursts of staticy shouting.
Eventually, she hung up and looked daggers at Spike. “You can go
through.” She ungraciously told him.
Spike nodded coldly as he walked through the now open electronic door.
He looked left and right in the corridor he had entered, and saw the
‘Emergency’ sign. He walked rapidly in that direction, flicking glances
left and right as he passed rooms with open doors.
As he reached the main nurses station, he could see lots of cubicles,
separated by curtaining. He walked to the main desk. “Is Willow Rosenberg
still
here?”
The nurse-receptionist, this time a man in his mid thirties, looked
up at Spike. He gave the blond vampire a very appraising look up and down,
then
sighed. “Yes sir, she’s in 4B.”
“Thanks mate,” Spike said gratefully as he headed onward in his quest.
Behind him, his hearing allowed him to just catch the whispered “All the cute ones are straight.” Spike smirked and strutted towards Willow.
He paused just outside the curtain and called out “Everyone decent in there?”
Willow, hearing his voice, laughingly called out “Yes, all decent and proper.”
“Damn!” was Spike’s response as he walked in, to see both Willow and
Cordelia sitting, Willow on the bed and the brunette on one of the visitor
chairs. He saw immediately that Willow’s hand had been stitched and
rebandaged.
Willow looked up at Spike and marvelled at both his recuperative powers
and the fact that he had got into see her so quickly. She immediately saw
that he was in Xander’s clothes, and at least he looked less silly
than the last time he was forced to wear Xander’s clothing.
“Hi there handsome. You’re looking as good as you can for an exploded corpse.” Willow chirped her greeting to him, almost giggling as she did so.
Cordelia grinned as she interjected “As good as you can for an exploded
corpse having to suffer Xanderwear. Tragedy much?” All three looked at
one another and burst into laughter.
Spike’s attempt at appearing offended was both feeble and short-lived.
His relief at seeing Willowconfirming to himself that she was all rightwas
palpable. It suddenly dawned on him that Willow had already had her
hand stitched and that she and Cordy were sitting around chatting. “Shouldn’t
we be going or something?” He asked.
“Sorry lover, I still have to get my tetanus booster first. It’s why
we’re waiting.” Willow’s answer was flip, almost pert, and Spike wondered
if she
was all right.
“Ummm … pet, you seem rather … chipper considering the wound you caused
yourself.” Willow blushed at the edge in Spike’s voice. She knew that
‘Sir’ was speaking and she was in trouble. “Now, pet,” Spike used the
term in it’s usual affectionate sense, but she again sensed the strange
emphasis in his voice. “Why don’t you tell me everything that’s happened
here.”
Willow began to look down before remembering his instruction of a few
days ago. She looked him in the eyes as she began. “Well … they said that
I-I had been cut deeply, almost to the tendons, and I needed painkillers
for the stitches. Th-they also told me that I’d bled quite a bit b-because
I
nicked a vein, s-so they gave me a unit of blood.” She was alternately
blushing and going pale under Spike’s steady stare.
Spike sighed as he embraced the little redhead. He could see the fear
on her face, and read it like a book. She continued looking at him, even
as
she began to tremble, the anxiety of potential desertion welling up
powerfully inside her. Looking at her, he kissed her forehead and then
tightened
the embrace significantly. He looked at her again, and recognised the
look in her face, and he spoke gently. “Yes, pet, you know what you need
when we get home, don’t you.”
Willow looked up, desire, embarrassment, fear and raw arousal all warring over her face. She nodded and blushed. “Yes, I do,” Willow murmured.
“Good.” Spike answered, smiling.
Cordelia had watched the interchange, getting rather confused as she did so. “I seem to be missing something here. What’s going on?”
Willow’s head shot around to look at Cordy, flushing a full beet-red as she did so. “W-what do you mean, C-cordy?”
Cordelia looked from Spike to Willow and back. “I know I’m not following
half of what you’re saying. And for some reason, I’m not sure if I want
to.
What is going on?”
Spike looked startled, having genuinely forgotten Cordelia’s presence.
“Well … ummmm … Willow and I have an agreement, and we’ll need to … talk
about part of it.”
“Okay.” Cordelia’s mind immediately danced onto the next topic. It wasn’t
that she was flighty or stupid, but rather that her brain continuously
sped
and she could never easily settle onto a topic unless it was of profound
importance. “So, Willow, when are we shopping?”
Willow looked up, momentarily confused. “Shopping? For what?”
Cordelia sighed. “Remember when we were coming here, we agreed to take you clothes shopping in a day or two?”
“We did?”
“Willow, I know you’re smart, everyone knows you’re smart. How could you possibly forget something as important as this?”
Spike looked at Willow and shook his head, teasingly. He then looked
over at Cordelia and grinned evilly. “Better take her to Victoria’s Secret
then,
the day she goes out with you, I’m throwing out all her non-thong panties.”
“Spike!” Willow squawked in shock, as Cordelia broke into peals of full-throated laughter.
Looking at the blond vampire, the brunette grinned. “I like your style, Mr Blood!”
Spike winked at Cordelia and then also at Willow. As she looked up at
her lover, Willow knew she’d have to answer for her cutting of herself.
She
was terrified. Spike had promised to punish her if she harmed herself
again. The circumstances would not matter to him. She surprised herself
as she
realised that they should not matter. The simple fact was that she
had disobeyed an order.
At that moment, a doctor returned with a vial of tetanus innoculant,
plus the necessary syringe and needle. He looked at Willow. “I’m sorry
but this
will hurt, I’m afraid.”
Willow merely extended her arm and continued speaking. “Spike! Do you really have to?”
“Yes pet, I really do. I want you wearing things that accentuate your
beauty, not hide it.” Spike did not miss the momentary flash of arousal
in
Willow’s eyes as the needle penetrated her upper arm.
As soon as the doctor withdrew the needle and band-aided her arm, she let her sleeve drop and slid off the couch. “Can I go now?”
“Well, I see no reason why not, Ms Rosenberg,” the doctor mumbled, continuing to annotate the scanty additions to Willow’s medical notes.
“Good, let’s get started then. I’m tired and cranky as it is Doctor.
Shall we?” She immediately slid off the patient couch and began to prepare
to
leave. She bent to pick her bagthe only thing she had carried in with
herfrom under the couch and stood, flipping her hair back. “Is there anything
I
need to sign, Doctor?”
“Only these release forms, and then you can leave. We have all your insurance details, I assume?”
“Yes, all of them. I’m so glad I didn’t cut my writing hand.”
The doctor chuckled wryly. “Good,” he said, “because before you can leave, you will need to sign this release form. Oh, is your next of kin here?”
Willow nodded and smiled dreamily at Spike. “Oh yes.”
The doctor followed her gaze. “I may not be Sherlock Holmes, but I can
deduce that you must be the next of kin, Mr … Blood. I suppose it’s too
much to hope you’re a phlebotomist?”
Spike smiled wryly. “Well, I have been known to take blood, but no, I’m not a professional phlebotomist.”
A pity, never mind. These are for you, Mr blood, they describe the necessary aftercare of Ms Rosenberg’s wound.”
Spike took them, signing the acknowledgement form. “Okay, not a problem.
Thanks, doc. I’ve had some experience dealing with wound cleaning
‘n’such.”
Willow looked at Cordelia and then Spike. “How did you get here lover? Xander?” Willow asked.
Spike nodded as he replied. “Yeah, him and yo-yo knickers drove me here pet. Why?”
“Well, who would you rather ride home with? Xander and Anya, or Cordy?”
Spike chuckled. “No contest, avoiding Chubs is one of my primary religious
tenets.” Cordelia laughed, while Willow shot him a mock long-suffering
look.
“Okay,” Willow sighed. “Let’s go out and tell Xander and Anya--and by
the way Spike, I never want to hear that disgusting nickname for her
again--that we’ll be riding with Cordy.” So saying, the three left
the hospital, under the vicious glare of the admittance receptionist.
* * * *
As they saw Cordelia off from the driveway, Spike turned and looked
at the little redhead. “Well, pet. You know what has to happen, don’t you.”
His
voice had slipped almost an octave and took on a tone that made Willow
quiver.
She looked up and said, simply, “Yes Sir, you have to punish me. I’m
ready.”
Willow shuddered uncontrollably. In a matter of seconds she was naked, her clothes scattered around her in her desperation to comply with Spike’s order. “Good.” Spike almost purred his approval of her compliance. “Now girl, you told me what you need to feel when you’ve been bad, when you’ve been in trouble, didn’t you.”
“Yes Sir.”
“Tell me again, girl, now.”
“I need to feel pain, Sir, I need to hurt, to pay.”
“Why, girl?”
“B-because I have no knowledge of the real consequences of right and wrong, thanks to my parents.” Willow, even though feeling vulnerable, and more than a little apprehensive, spat the last word out with considerable venom.
Spike looked at her, his face a strange combination of compassion and sternness. “Follow me, girl. Three paces behind. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir.” Willow turned and walked, keeping pace carefully, somehow knowing that he would detect any slip on her part. She was confused as he led her into the hallway and then stopped.
Spike bent to roll up a Persian runner carpet. When he had done so, Willow saw a recessed handle fitted into the floorboards. It was a trapdoor. Spike pulled on the ring and the trap hinged up silently. As he reached down, Willow could hear the click of a light being turned on. “Down the steps girl, I’ll be right behind you.” Spike’s tone left Willow no room for argument or debate.
As she descended, she felt as if she were moving into another world. She could see, courtesy of muted indirect lighting, walls covered in implements of pain and pleasure. As she reached the bottom of the stairwell, she looked around more fully and caught her breath. She could see things that she had read about in the books Spike had bought, but their reality was still shocking. Some she knew instantly; like the large wooden X shape bolted to the wall, with leather restraints at each apex; a Saint Andrew’s Cross. Others puzzled her, like the lengths of PVC tubing with leather cuffs at both ends and a large wing nut in the centre {At least the cuffs are padded,} was the thought that drifted, whimsically, through Willow’s mind. She continued turning and looked at the walls. There was a wide variety of sex toys, lingerie, paddles, crops, cats of nine tails, both leather and chainmail cuffs and collars, a stockwhip, and things that she did not even know the names for. She felt as if she had descended into a strange and exciting combination of heaven and hell.
Spike chuckled, startling her from her reverie and daydreams. “You like what you see girl?”
Willow jumped and turned. “I-I-I dear Goddess! How did all this get here?” Spike looked at her, his eyes hardening and one eyebrow raised. “Sorry. How did this get here Sir?” Willow corrected herself instantly.
Spike grinned at her. “Later, after your punishment. Understand?”
Willow’s back unconsciously straightened as she replied, “yes, Sir.”
Spike moved in close to Willow and taking her roughly by the hair, led her to the Saint Andrew’s Cross. He lifted first one arm to one of the points of the cross and by using the attached leather cuff, secured her arm there. He repeated the action and secured Willow’s other arm in the same manner. Kneeling, he pulled Willow’s left ankle to the restraint and cuffed her ankle securely to the cross. After making sure her whole foot was flat on the ground, he repeated the exercise with her other foot. He then checked each fastening to make sure it was secure on the cross as well as not cutting the redhead’s circulation, or so loose that a hand or foot could slip out. “Now girl, you know what I have to do, don’t you?” Spikes voice was pitched both deeper and harsher than usual.
“I have to be punished, Sir. For cutting myself. You have to punish me. I’m sorry, so sorry” Willow’s voice was small, and she felt herself trembling. What truly surprised her, however, was the fact that simply incurring Spike’s displeasure hurt more than any physical punishment possibly could. She could hear Spike’s boots clattering across the floor behind her, and the occasional sounds of things ‘whooshing’ through the air behind her. Spike remained silent as he practiced or tested or tortured her.
She was uncertain which it was. Time seemed to both slow and stretch for her; she had no idea of how long she had been there. Finally, something touched her naked back. It felt like leather. Spike began to trail something down over her shoulders. As he did so, he began to speak in a low, penetrating almost hypnotic voice. “This is called a flogger, girl. It’s a light multi-tailed whip. It can be used to tease, like this, or lightly stimulate, or really hurt. Remember it. This time it’s too early for you to taste it.” Willow was unsure whether she should be grateful to him or not. She still had no idea what was to happen.
The hard, unexpected slap of Spike’s hand on her naked bottom caught Willow utterly unprepared. Unable to stop herself, she let out a cry. Then the rain of blows began in earnest. He struck hard and fast, accompanying every stroke was a repeated phrase that became almost a mantra. ‘You must not harm yourself!’ Spike was chanting the phrase with each stroke of his hand. Willow began to lose control of her limbs and sank, supported only by the wrist cuffs. Pain, pleasure, desire and frantic arousal coursed through her simultaneously as the comforting sensation of subspace enveloped her. Spike’s onslaught continued remorselessly. He could see her cheeks first reddening and then almost welting as he administered what he saw as appropriate chastisement for her transgression. Willow had become incoherent, her moans of pleasure mixing with cries and gasps. Even before Spike stopped she had orgasmed, her body writhing and lashing back and forth within the cuffs.
At length, Spike stopped and gently, lovingly, uncuffed her ankles, and then supporting her as he did so, her wrists. As he shouldered her weight he was constantly murmuring reassurances in her ear. He carried her to the far side of the room, and lay her on the bed there. Immediately wrapping her in a blanket, he then opened the small bar fridge next to the bed, taking out chocolate and lemonade.
He then began talking to Willow, who was still incoherent. “You did fine, pet, punishment’s over now. I’m so very proud of you, little one.” He took one of the redhead’s small hands and gripped it firmly. “Pet, if you can hear me, squeeze hard.” Willow’s answering squeeze was all the response he needed. “It’s all right luv, I’m here. I’ll hold you, I won’t ignore you, I’ll be right here for as long as you want.” Spike’s murmuring litany continued, “I want you to open your mouth slightly pet. I’m going to place a piece of chocolate on it. Suck on it, pet. Let it dissolve. You need it. You’ve burned massive amounts of blood sugar. I’m going to pour a small glass of lemonade too pet. It’s just as good to rebalance your electrolytes as Gatorade and that stuff.”
Willow’s head rolled around to look at him. “Thanks,” she murmured. As she turned to take the glass, her bottom came into contact with the mattress for the first time. Her eyes bulged open and she gasped as the stinging hit her. “Jesus Spike, My bottom hurts!”
Spike chuckled, this time without menace. “Pet, I just punished you. What did you expect?”
“But it didn’t hurtI mean it hurt, but not like that. It hurt so good.” The last word was long and drawn out, lasting seconds. “It scared me, Spike. I came! I had an orgasm, without you ever touching me erotically. The pain made me cum! What does that say about me?”
“Nothing pet. You didn’t orgasm because of the pain. You came because I was punishing you.”
Willow looked at him, and Spike could actually watch her beginning to process that idea. She thought in silence for at least a half minute. “I think I understand,” she said, tentatively. “You’re saying that I orgasmed because …” Willow came to a halt as she reconsidered what she was about to say. “No, that wasn’t right. Wait a moment.” She was in full research mode now, and Spike was surprised at how quickly she had made the transition.
As the little redhead pondered and analysed, Spike thought back to what had happened. He was aware that, to hit subspace so fast, she had to have already been in an acute state of anxiety, coupled with unlimited trust in him. Anxious that he would desert her for her ‘transgression’ and her trust in him to keep his word warring together. He smiled as he thought of her arousal levels and, just as he was drifting into a gratifying reverie, her voice interrupted. “I think I understand. You’re saying that I orgasmed because you kept your word, you showed me that you cared; cared enough to punish me when I was bad.”
“That’s part of it pet, but what else do you think there is?”
“Oh! I just realised, while you were doing it, you called me ‘girl’; never anything else. And you’ve not called me that before. Why was that?”
“It’s called a cue, pet. A way to tell you that you've displeased me ...” Spike stopped as Willow went a pasty white. “What’s wrong pet?” Spike’s voice was full of concern.
“Oh, sorry lover. I don’t quite know what happened. When you mentioned my displeasing you, I felt my tummy flip over and got nauseous.”
“Oh luv.” Spike beamed as she explained. “Let me explain. This is what power exchange is about. You’ve always been a very giving person, eager to please others. A power exchange, a D/s relationship allows you to express that openly, you don’t have to hide that desire behind symbols like birthdays, anniversaries and so on.”
Willow began to understand what Spike was saying. “This makes a lot of sense, Sir.” Willow looked surprised. “Why did I just fall back into calling you Sir then, Sir?”
Spike wrapped His arms around the little redhead once again, kissing her forehead. “Well luv,” he began, “I think that you realised that, since you don’t need the symbols to hide behind, doing this feels natural.”
Willow gave the idea some consideration before replying. Then, momentarily forgetting, she rolled back onto her bottom. “Ahhhhhhh! Blood---Dammit Spike. I won’t sit for days! And why am I talking like you? Do I look British? Goddess that hurts!” Willow ruefully rubbed her burning backside, wincing.
“Okay pet, let’s get back to the main line of the discussion, shall we? What we’re really talking about is trust and faith. You trust me to keep faith with you. It’s a two-way street luv. We both open ourselves more than in a vanilla relationship, and we’re both more vulnerable to the other hurting us, either by omission or commission. It means we have to talk about everything pet. No holding back, no secrets. In short, you orgasmed during that spanking for a variety of reasons. There was the fact, as you said, that it proved to you that I cared. There was also the fact that it showed each other our trust and faith. Lastly, and not unimportantly, when you were doing that self harm during puberty, you linked pleasure and pain together in your mind.”
Spike pulled the little redhead in close, embracing her fiercely. “Just remember pet, I love you. I always will. I won’t desert you, I won’t run from you.”
Willow looked at her blond lover, and suddenly a wave of pure emotion rolled over and through her with the force of a tsunami. Tears burst forth, a mixture of sheer amazement and growing unrelieved joy that anyone could care for her that deeply.
Spike looked totally bewildered. “Pet, Red, what on Earth’s wrong?”
“N-n-n-nothing,” Willow sobbed uncontrollably. “I-I-I j-just …” Willow’s tears returned full force as she blindly reached out for the comfort of the blond vampire’s arms. As she felt the muscles of his chest she burrowed blindly into him, getting as close as she possibly could. Her arms snaked around his chest and waist, her face buried into his torso just below the neck. The little witch gripped Spike so tightly that, if he had been human, he would have had some trouble breathing.
“Willow, luv. Talk to me. Why’re you crying?” The concern in his voice was palpable.
Willow sniffed and looked up at him, tears staining both cheeks. “You’re the most wonderful man I’ve ever met, Spike, but sometimes you really are a … a … man.”
Spike met her statement with a look of total bafflement. “Sorry luv. Can you explain that a bit for me.”
The little redhead made a sound part way between a giggle and a sigh. “I’ll try,” she whispered.
Chuckling somewhat ruefully, Willow sat up to explain the mysteries of women’s tears and winced as she did so. “I’m going to have to stand!” She moaned petulantly. “Sometimes, just sometimes, women, and occasionally men, cry for reasons other than sadness, dearest heart. Tears are a response to overwhelming emotion, it can be grief, or sadness, or joy, or relief, or anger or … lots of other things.” Willow had already slipped into what she thought of as ‘lecture mode’ and was building a good head of steam. She continued, almost before she could draw breath. “Culturally, we’re conditioned to accept the image of women crying, but not men. This is the basis of patriarchal power structures endemic throughout the world. It denies men the ability to express their emotions, whilst enslaving women to theirs. This controlled manipulation of social … dear Goddess! I’m not just babbling, I’m raving.” Willow looked both astonished and slightly embarrassed by what she had just said.
Blinking while still trying to absorb Willow’s verbal onslaught, Spike decided the most enjoyable way to prevent her starting up again was to silence her. He simply reached out and pulled her, almost roughly, into his arms and kissed her. Searingly. His tongue forced it’s way into her mouth and explored every inch of it. It tasted her, felt the formation of her palate, teeth and cheeks. It entwined her tongue as if it was a separate living being. When he finally broke the kiss, the little witch’s face was as red as her behind. Willow slowly drew breath several times to regain her composure before she asked. “Are you going to stop me babbling like that every time?”
Spike laughed wickedly. “No pet, only on special occasions.”
The redheads response of “Oh.” Was filled with a combination of regret
and winsome hopefulness.
Spike rolled out of bed just before sunset. He ached from the previous day’s exertions. He felt as if he had muscle knots where he didn’t even realise he had muscles. He groggily got to his feet and staggered into the kitchen. He blinked and looked around. The place was a mess. Then memories of the previous night, after the punishment session, began to appear. He had been unaware of all the uses to which a spatula could be put. Chuckling to himself, he wondered how his lover would cope when she woke.
He pottered around the kitchen, casually tidying and preparing some blood. In the back of his mind, the concept of the Big Bad pottering was vaguely disturbing, but he was too relaxed, too happy to really care. As the microwave chimed, he removed the cup and sipped, his mind wandering. He started the coffee machine so that Willow would not have to. After all, he reasoned, she was going to be decidedly sorer than he.
* * * *
Willow woke, and the first thing she noticed was that, unusually, she was alone in bed. Usually, she woke before Spike. The next thing she noticed, as she rolled languidly from her side to her back, was a vicious burning sensation all over her bottom. As she completed the roll, and her backside took her full weight, she shot straight up, shrieking. “Jesus fucking Christ!” In her pain, all thoughts of the goddess had gone from her head and she was digging into the curses that she had heard as a youngster at school. She walked toward the dressing mirror and began to try and look at her butt, certain that it must have been flayed.
Spike walked in to see Willow craning around and trying to work out what had actually happened to her previously tender buttocks. “Red, I love you dearly, but you look more than a little … silly like that. Can I take a polaroid?”
“If you even think about that again, Spike, all that beautiful blond hair will somehow fall out, overnight.”
Spike chuckled. “There’s my girl. Damn I love you pet. Hold on and relax, I’ll get a hand mirror for you love.” Spike grabbed the vanity mirror from Willow’s dresser and held it so that it reflected her naked bottom into the main mirror.
“Oh my!” was the little redhead’s first articulation at the sight of the redness and welting still present from the previous night’s spanking and the later, straightforwardly kinky, session. Spike had done things with kitchen implements that would have made Martha Stewart faint, has she known of it, Willow recalled. As she began softly tracing her fingers along some of the raised welts, she gasped. The gentle, tender touches she was applying had the opposite effect to that of her weight pressing down. Rather than simply burning and hurting, it felt … good, arousing. Spike’s fingers joined hers and, automatically, the witch pressed back into his hand, already beginning to moan softly.
Spike began to softly kiss her neck, one hand teasing her welts while the other ran over her flat, and surprisingly muscular, tummy. Moaning softly, his hands slid down, to the edge of the small auburn matt of curls. He had just begun tickling the curls when the telephone rang. “Bloody Hell!” Spike screamed. “If Bell wasn’t dead, I’d kill him!”
Willow laughed and moved to answer the phone. “Hello?”
She heard Giles’ voice, tinny through the receiver. “Willow? Is that you?”
“No Giles, it’s Elizabeth Taylor. Who do you think?”
“You’ve been associating with that bloody vampire far too much. Anyway, it looks like Ethan has come through with the goods. He wants to meet tonight. Can you get here as soon as possible?”
“Sure! We need to try and get this mess resolved. I don’t like the idea that the Order will have yet another go at us. We’ll be there.”
She turned and looked at Spike. “We’re going to have to go to Giles’. Apparently Rayne has some information on the new contact for the Order.”
“Good. Now luv, how’re you going to handle sitting? Your bum’s still going to hurt.”
Willow blushed in response. “Th-they’ll all know, won’t they.”
Spike grinned, almost malevolently. “Most of ‘em pet. Ripper and the demon chick for sure.”
“Goddess! I can’t possibly go! What’ll they think of me?”
“Actually, pet, you will go. You entered this lifestyle voluntarily. Now, if you start to let it take over your whole life, the submissive aspects of your personality will eventually bind and limit you. You’ll hide from the world taking refuge in your submission. Are you more than your submission Willow?” The question came at her fast and unexpectedly.
“Of course I am!” Willow’s offended reaction spoke volumes as Spike sat back and waited for her to make the connection. Willow sighed, looked at Spike and poutily threw a cushion at him. She grinned wryly and walked towards him, her hips swinging sensually, seductively. Gracefully, she allowed herself to sink to her knees and she grinned again as she looked up at Spike. “It shall be as you instruct, O great and Glorious Leader,” she commented cheekily as she lowered her head to his feet. As her lips touched his toe, in what appeared until that moment to be a playful but genuine act of homage, she bit Spike’s little toe. Hard.
“Owwwwwwwww!” Spike jerked his foot back in reaction. “Bloody hell pet! What was that for?”
“You were beginning to look a little too smug about that spanking.” Willow was blushing as she looked up at him from her position, kneeling at his feet.
Spike also saw, heard and scented the sudden surge of her arousal. He could see the light flush in her cheeks, hear her increased respiration, see her lips, slightly parted and moist as her tongue licked occasionally over them. He was aware that Willow was trying to initiate play, in such a way as to keep them from the gathering. “Pet, you’re looking for some more punishment, aren’t you. Not severe but just enough, am I right?” The little redhead blushed uncontrollably. She both adored and hated the fact that Spike could see into her so well. She looked up in a mixture of open arousal and mild fear. “Pet, you’ve got your wish, I’ll punish you. I was going to suggest that you wore satin panties to Giles’, it’d have reduced the soreness a little, but now, no panties under your jeans. Understand?”
Willow looked at the blond vampire and nodded, her teeth biting her bottom lip in a strange mixture of chagrin, arousal and annoyance. “Yes Sir,” she muttered as Spike turned to go and dress.
Clambering to her feet a lot less gracefully than she had sunk to the floor, Willow walked off behind her lover, realising that once he had spoken, there was no way around the punishment. As she reached the bedroom, she recalled that she had meant to ask Spike about the … basement. Walking in to get her clothing for the meeting, she raised the subject. She opened the wardrobe to find a loose tee shirt and posed the question. “Spike, how did the … basement get there?”
The blond vampire looked at his lover and grinned. “I had it built when I bought this place luv. The basic layout was already here. I just had the mode of access altered and expanded it a bit. Oh, and full electrics of course.”
“You knew? Even back then?” Willow was shocked, and more than a little scared.
“Course I did luv. Right from the get-go. Even before you told me about your self-harm. I remember the combined fear and arousal you gave off when I kidnapped you. And when I tried to turn you, just after I was chipped, you were high with the thrill of not having control. Course, rationality reasserted itself later and you belted me with a lamp.” Spike smiled gently as he reminisced. The little redhead, watching the emotions play over his face, saw that he actually treasured those memories. That relaxed her and eased away some of the fear.
The striking vampire pulled Willow into a close embrace and looked at her. “Remember my lesson on Dominance? With the canes?” Willow nodded, allowing him to continue. “I am what I am. I’m a vampire, a predator. Ergo I need a relationship based on unequal power. In the long run, I can’t be attracted to anyone who can’t provide that. You, my dear heart, are the first person to be able to do that, properly, in the whole of my existence.”
“The first ever?” Willow squawked, shocked.
“Yes Red, the first ever.” Spike smiled, then grinned slightly maliciously. “Red at both ends now, aren’t we pet?” Willow lost the modicum of control she had gained over her blush reflex and instantly turned crimson. “Now, luv, get dressed. We don’t have a lot of time to waste.” Spike watched as the bright red redhead dressed, taking a small but definite delight in the gasp of discomfort she released when she drew her jeans over her hips.
* * * *
Spike opened the door to Giles apartment as he and Willow entered. They looked around the living room, to see Giles, Ethan Rayne and Cordelia already there. As they walked in, greeting everyone, Spike guided his lover to a seat. He flopped back into the vacant lounge and waited for the little redhead to sit beside him. He watched, inwardly amused as Willow sat gingerly, and thrilled at the nearly soundless gasp she emitted as her butt came into contact with the lounge cushion.
“So, just Anya and Chubs to come?” Spike was trying to fill the silences with small talk. In part to ease Willow’s worry that people would notice her soreness, and in part because he did not like the silence, it unnerved him. Not getting an answer, he continued, blithely. “You been okay Huntress? Have a good day?”
Cordelia took a moment to realise that Spike was talking to her. She looked up slowly. “Not too bad, a slow day at work. There were no customers of course and Giles is a bit upset about it being so messy. So am I. I got utterly filthy today.”
Spike nodded, it was hard, trying to keep this group animated. “Well, Ripper, what’s bothering you?” Spike’s inquiry was a little forced, as if he was becoming frustrated.
Giles looked up a little absently. “What? Oh, I’ve been doing some research. It has me a little disturbed. And before anyone asks, no, I’m not happy talking about my tentative conclusions yet.”
Spike’s eyes rolled. He was not getting close to starting a general conversation. He noticed Willow glaring at Ethan Rayne, her eyes harder then he’d ever seen them, other than the glamour spell she had worked a little under a week ago. This, however, was all Willow. It appeared that she was even able to overcome the distracting chafing of her jeans, she was that angry. “Giles,” Willow began in a deceptively mild tone of voice. “Do you remember when Spike first joined our little gang?”
“Of course, Willow, why?”
“Well, even though we knew he was harmless, we kept him tied to chairs and chained up in your bathroom. Remember?”
“Er … yes Willow, I do. I was living here, after all.”
“Well, I’m wondering … what gives? After all, your ‘old school tie’ chum there is considerably more dangerous, even with his soul in a jar, than Spike was then. I really think we have some discrimination issues going on here.”
“Pet, it’s all right.” Spike was worried. He’d never seen this side of Willow so blatantly exposed before. He knew the fire, the steel, the passion and the sheer determination was there, as well as a core of ruthlessness that both thrilled and terrified him. At the moment, however, these aspects of her personality also threatened to put her at risk. {As far as I’m concerned, she can gut the tosser and bathe naked in his blood after he tells us what we need to know. Oh Gods! Calm down William. Don’t distract yourself}
The door opened, to reveal Xander and Anya, incidentally also breaking up a potentially explosive situation. “G-man, Junior, Wills, Cordy! Hi one and all.”
“Don’t worry about Xander,” interjected Anya. “He had a heavy day at work and is in Twinkie overload.”
Xander flopped on the remaining seat, bodily pulling Anya into his lap. “What? If Junior over there can do it, why can’t I?”
Anya gazed at her lover, and pointed out, with all her usual tact and discretion, “Spike has one kind of style, dear; and you have another. Spike can get away with the tough guy stuff. Just be you. If I wanted Spike, I’d have sex with Spike, now wouldn’t I?”
“Er … would I get any say in this?” Spike’s question was jolted out of him in sheer surprise. A level of surprise matched by Xander’s look of sheer astonishment.
Willow, however, looked daggers at Anya. The normally shy redhead growled, very credibly, at the former demon. “Don't even think about trying that for real.” She locked her hand around the blond vampire's arm in a fierce grip--one that said over my dead body.
Giles cleared his throat. “Children, children. It’s time to pay attention.” He looked oddly at the petite redhead for a moment, “Willow, stop fidgeting. You’re acting like a fourteen year old.”
“S-s-sorry Giles.” Willow flushed bright red as she stuttered her apology, and was concerned to see Anya looking curiously at her.
“Let’s just get on with it shall we? We’ll deal with Ethan first, and if we think he’s come through, we’ll release his soul, agreed?” Various words or nods signified the agreement of all the others, with the exception of Willow.
“Giles,” Willow shifted as she spoke. “I do not trust this man. I want to cast a Truth spell on him while he talks, and I also want to cast a spell afterwards. It won’t hurt him, I give you my word.”
“Just why do you hate me so much, little girl?” Ethan’s question earned him a vicious glare from Willow and a full-blooded growl from Spike.
“Because you made me dead! I despise you.”
“Er … All right Willow. Fine. Cast your spells.” In response to the look Ethan turned on him Giles simply asked, “Would you rather be a cockroach? In all seriousness, Ethan I’d suggest that you tell us all you know now, rather than annoy Willow any further.”
“I quite take your point, Ripper.” Ethan was beginning to look decidedly uneasy as Willow took two crystals from her bag. She lobbed both at Ethan, intoning two Latin phrases as she did so. There were two discrete subdued flashes of light as both crystals launched the spells stored inside.
“Ethan, what can you tell us about the contact?” Giles suddenly became all business.
Ethan sighed. “It’s like this, Ripper.” He looked at everyone in turn. “All of you know the contact. It’s some stupid bird you went to school with. Name of …” He paused and took out a notepad. Looking at each face in turn, wincing slightly under Willow's icy glare, he carefully checked his notes before gleefully adding, “Holly Charleston.”
He waited for the cries of disbelief and derision. They came immediately in an instant Tower of Babel. “That’s just not possible!” Cordelia’s voice sliced through the others. “That airheaded little hussy couldn’t organise a raffle in a bingo hall!”
Willow looked shocked, while Xander was simply bemused. Giles just looked over at Willow and asked “Are you sure the spells are working?” She nodded in reply, a little absently, and Giles realised that she was concentrating on the spells to check them.
“Yes, they’re working fine Giles. He’s either telling the truth or he’s running a counterspell.” Giles nodded in response.
“Anya,” Giles asked, “Do you still have the ability to see magic as it’s being worked?”
“I’ve never really tried to use it since I changed, Giles, but I’ll try if you want.”
“Thank you dear, that’s most kind. Would you?”
Anya nodded and let her eyes lose focus as she attempted to use perceptions that she had not bothered accessing since before she had become human. “I’m sorry Giles, but I can’t see anything, neither of Willow’s spells or if Ethan’s doing anything. I guess I can’t do any of this without spell casting.”
Giles smiled at the former demon. “I am sorry Anya. I know you were hoping something other than your memories remained.”
Anya smiled wanly back, and the group’s attention returned to Ethan. “As I was saying, before I was so coarsely interrupted, the contact is Holly Charleston. She’s an Asian girl, and she works out of a rather tacky nightclub called The Bronze. I don’t know if you need any kind of password or reference to speak with her, but I somehow rather doubt that will worry you. As for me getting anywhere near her. Well, she took one look at me and feigned nausea because of my age!”
Cordelia laughed. “Oh she hasn’t changed. All the tact of a rabid Rottweiler. So she’s gone from character assassin to real assassin huh. Not much of a stretch if you ask me. And I find her reaction to him,” she gestured contemptuously at Ethan, “totally convincing.”
“Willow, can you detect any dissembling or untruth?” Giles wanted to be as certain as he could be.
“As much as I can be Giles.” Breaking her concentration, Willow stood up and walked over to Ethan. Reaching out, she pulled a few of his hairs out, viciously. “I need these.” Returning to her seat, Willow began a slow, almost hypnotic incantation. Parts were barely audible while others rose to a strange ululating shriek. She was totally immersed in the spell.
Xander looked over to Giles. “What language is that, G-man?”
“It seems to be a mixture, I can hear some Sumerian, some Kadeshite, some Demotic Greek and at least three languages with which I’m unfamiliar. I have no idea what she’s doing.”
“Let’s just hope it works properly then.” Xander still had very little faith in Willow’s magical abilities, despite the growing evidence to the contrary.
Willow’s incantation finished in a malevolent hiss, her eyes appearing totally black as if carapaced like an insect’s. As she returned to a normal state of perception, the blackness flowed away, and she blinked once or twice. Looking at Ethan, she said, in a cold, emotionless voice, “Rayne, I just cursed you. The curse will take effect at sunrise. If you come within ten miles of the Sunnydale city boundaries, you will begin to get sick. After an hour, you’ll have severe stomach cramps, after two hours you will be vomiting, after six hours you’ll have bleeding ulcers and after twelve hours you’ll be dead, from apparently natural causes. Is that totally clear? Oh, by the way, the spell is anchored to the city itself, not me, so even if I die, the spell will continue.” Ethan looked profoundly shocked, as did Giles. Willow looked levelly at the Watcher. “I promised not to harm him. I haven’t. All I’ve done is to prevent him ever returning here.”
“If it’s all the same to you, Ripper, I’ll be off now. Just as soon as you release my soul back to me. And of course, there’s the issue of my fee.”
“Bloody Hell!” Giles was annoyed. “Stay there. I have to make a call.” The Watcher stalked out, snatching the cordless phone as he went. They could hear bits and pieces of the conversation, presumably with an airline. It wasn’t going well, Spike concluded, as he heard Giles slip into his North London street accent. When he returned to the living room, he looked very angry.
“Right, now listen, Ethan.” The North London accent was very much in evidence. “You fly out of Los Angeles tomorrow afternoon with British Airways, direct to Heathrow. How you get to Los Angeles airport I neither know nor care; now please leave my home and this town.”
Ethan Rayne looked shocked. He had never expected Ripper to be so cold towards him. Nodding slowly, he stood and walked out. No-one watched him go.
As the door shut, everyone began to speak simultaneously. The uproar was deafening. Giles simply unscrewed the lid of the soul jar as he bellowed above the din “QUIET!!!” He looked at the shocked faces all gazing at him and smiled inwardly. “Good,” he resumed in a normal voice, “now that I have your attention, we have two issues left to discuss. First, what to do about this Holly Charleston, and second tomorrow’s meeting with this Doctor McKeon. I propose we deal with meeting Doctor McKeon first.”
“Works for me, Ripper.” Spike spoke up quickly. “Did you find the Webley?”
“Yes, and I cleaned it too. I didn’t have a lot else I could do today.”
Spike smiled, almost apologetically. “I am sorry about the shop, mate. We’ll deal with this daft bint after we see McKeon. First things first though. You’ve got the Webley and I’ve got my sawn-off. That should do for armament, although I’m going to have to remember to take slugs not pellets for it.”
Cordelia and Willow both looked slightly shocked. Neither had heard such light talk about firearms previously. Xander had followed the discussion and volunteered, “I’ve still got that stash of weapons I requisitioned when I was soldier boy, would they help?”
Spike was shocked. “They let you have weapons! Dear god, how on earth did you did you help us win two world wars with policies like that?”
Xander took the bait immediately. “Whaddaya mean, helped?”
Spike grinned and replied maliciously, “Well, as I recall you were rather late arriving for both.”
Willow headed off the argument that was about to develop. “Xander you never paid attention in history anyway, so don’t worry about it. We have more important things to think about than that. And everyone knows the Russians won World War Two anyway.” She looked at Spike and Giles. “What else do we need? Last time you mentioned a tape recorder lover.”
“Yeah. Does anyone have a small dictaphone or something like that?”
“Giles does.” Xander offered. “He and Buffy used it when they saved me from the giant bug lady.”
“Yes! Yes! That’s right. I remember now.” Willow’s sudden excitement caused her to bounce slightly in excitement, and a small gasp of pain escaped her lips.
“Are you all right?” Giles’ solicitous expression terrified Willow.
“F-f-fine. Just a little sore is all. I fell in the kitchen, you know how linoleum floors are. My feet just went out from under me, whoosh!” Willow’s babble began to dry up as she began to see that the inquiry was more one of courtesy than substance.
“Of course. That is still around here somewhere. It’ll need new batteries of course.” Giles began, rather ineffectually, to search his cupboards for the small recorder.
“Why don’t you let me do that,” offered Anya, “while the rest of you work out what you plan on doing.”
Giles face broke into one of his rare but dazzling genuine smiles. “Why, thank you Anya. That’ll be a great help.” Looking back to the others, he continued. “Now, what other precautions will we need?”
“A getaway vehicle, if it becomes necessary.” Cordelia spoke up. “Does anyone here have a decent car?”
“What classifies as ‘decent’ Huntress?” Spike asked the question because he was afraid they would otherwise go around in circles all night.
“Something large, solid and preferably fast.”
“So it’s my DeSoto then, I assume. You feel up to handling her?”
“I’ll do what I have to.” Cordelia sounded utterly confident.
“Well, then, that should do it.” Spike sounded relaxed, even calm now that the basic arrangements were in place. “Just remember, Ripper, call him tomorrow around eight and tell him to be at Willie’s, alone, at eleven. You meet him at the door and walk him over. That way we don’t get hassles from drunken demon tossers wanting to pick a fight. So, that’s one of the problems, now for the other.”
“Ah, yes. Holly Charleston.” Giles removed his glasses and pinched at the bridge of his nose, already thinking.
“Why don’t we just grab her as she leaves the Bronze?” Willow asked, thinking that simplicity had merit in this case.
“I have a feeling that she would have bodyguards luv. And I don’t really fancy taking on up to, say, half a dozen armed men and demons. Messy and far too public.”
“Oh. No we don’t want that.”
“What we need,” Xander interjected, “is a way to get one person to talk to her. I’m thinking Cordy.”
Giles looked at Xander. “That has some possibilities.” He seemed vaguely surprised that Xander had come up with such a sensible kernel of an idea. Following his train of thought, he asked, “Cordelia, were you ever friends with this girl?”
“Not really, we would be polite to each other, that’s all.”
“So you had a passing acquaintance?”
“At most, Giles. She and I actually had very little in common, other than superficially.”
“Oh, well. Let’s just kick this around for a while then,” Giles suggested. “Anyone can make any suggestion without fear or favour. We can’t just jump on it, we have to explain why it wouldn’t work.”
“All right then,” Spike spoke up. “Just how do we do this? We need to isolate her from any guards she may have. How about we watch her and count noses. See if she is snatchable. Errrr … kidnappable. The more I think about it, the more sensible it’d be to do some quiet surveillance over a few days, see what her habits are.”
He looked over at Willow. “I know you’re eager to resolve this as quickly as you can, pet, but we’ll probably only get one chance. If the order thinks a contact has been compromised they’ll move to kill the contact.”
Willow looked shocked, and, as she began to think about it, saw the logic of what Spike was saying. She sighed. “I really don’t like either you, or us, being the target or targets of these people. It scares me, the very thought that I could lose you.”
The blond vampire wrapped both his arms around the scared little witch, and kissed her softly. “Luv, they haven’t got us yet, and each time they try, it becomes harder for them too. It’s harder to get another person to undertake the contract, we get more cautious and harder to target. I think we’ve probably got at least a week before there’s another attempt.”
Willow looked up at him, a little nervously. “I guess we better make the most of it then.”
“So,” asked Spike, “Surveillance?”
“Surveillance.” Giles concurred.
Spike, Willow and Giles moved cautiously through the crowd at Willy’s Place. All had dressed somewhat differently from their norms. Spike was wearing his usual duster and ammunition boots, but was otherwise dressed in plain khaki combat pants, a woodland camouflage shirt and his flak jacket. Willow was in loose dark clothing, and carried a small pouch at her hip. Giles was dressed almost like he used to in his Ripper days. Heavy black leather jacket, jeans tucked into heavy boots and a loose flannel shirt.
The music, such as it was, was almost drowned by the level of ambient noise emanating from the multitude of conversations. Giles eased away from Willow and Spike to position himself near the entrance while leaving them to manoeuvre towards a table near the back wall. Spike paused and asked, “Want a drink luv?”
“Just water, I’m nervous enough as it is.”
“Okay pet.”
Spike led the little redhead deftly towards the bar, and eased up to the counter. Catching Willy’s eye he placed the order. “Glass of water, iced and my usual, but in a stein.”
Accepting and paying for them, Spike continued to deftly lead Willow through the crowded bar. Reaching the table he had mentally tagged, he saw it was occupied by a couple of fledgelings. “Move along boys, grown ups want to sit here.”
The two fledgelings, already in game face, glared up at the Briton who had spoken with such assurance. One looked carefully for a moment before he hissed “Spike!”
“Ooooh! Advanced cognitive facilities.” Willow said spitefully. “Use those facilities and move before he dusts you, or worse, lets me play with you.” The calm certainty in the tiny human’s voice was unnerving to the pair of fledgelings. That she seemed to be on equal terms with a Master vampire like Spike made them even more nervous. Quickly deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, they moved away.
With Spike ushering Willow to the now vacant chairs, they sat, side by side and watched the doorway discreetly. While they awaited developments, the pair made idle small talk which ranged over their usual wide variety of subjects. Compared to many of their discussions, however, it was stilted and shallow at best. Both were nervous on behalf of the other and Willow was also worried on Buffy’s behalf.
They looked anxiously each time the door opened. There were a surprising number of human, or at least human-appearing, customers amongst Willy’s rather mixed clientele. Spike and Willow looked at one another. “At least he’ll know us.” Willow whispered to Spike. She had moved in closer and closer, embracing him more fully as time went on and her nervousness increased.
After what seemed hours, they saw Giles escorting a rather nondescript man towards them. Giles and the other man sat opposite the vampire and his lover. Spike quirked up an eyebrow and asked “Dr McKeon, I presume?”
The psychiatrist smiled back, mirthlessly. “Yes, and you would be Willow and the infamous ‘Spike’ I assume.” Both the blond and the redhead nodded in response.
“What can we do for you?” Willow asked, fighting to keep any hint of emotion from her voice. She was still scared that this meeting was some kind of trap.
“It’s fairly simple, really. I need to know a little about your relationship. Not details but just basic facts. May I ask these questions?”
“If, for each question you ask, we can ask one in exchange.” Willow’s tone, although polite, clearly indicated that if he didn’t agree, then the meeting ended immediately. McKeon nodded his understanding and agreement curtly.
“So, if I may start? What is the relationship between you?”
“We’re lovers.” Willow’s answer was direct and closed. Her distrust of McKeon was evident to see.
Spike fired back the return question, just as Willow dropped a crystal and murmured a word. “And are you currently a member of the organisation known as ‘The Initiative’, or any successor body with a similar agenda?”
“No.” McKeon had decided that he would respond in kind. The hand Willow had wrapped around Spike’s arm tapped once, below table height, letting Spike know that her truth spell had not indicated any falsehood. McKeon followed up with his second question. Looking at Spike, he asked, “Are you a real vampire?”
“Yes.” Spike’s answer was equally curt. “Have you ever worked for an entity such as ‘The Initiative’ in the past?”
“No.” Again the single tap on Spike’s arm. “Why haven’t you killed your ‘lover’. You are a vampire, after all.”
“Because I choose not to. You’re stereotyping.” Spike’s voice was flat and emotionless. “If you’ve never been involved with the Initiative, how did you hear about it?”
“From treating former members as patients.” For a third time, Willow’s hand tapped Spike’s forearm once. “Don’t you worry about Spike feeding from you?” This question was fired directly at Willow, and without any kind of advanced warning.
“You’re making the same mistake that the Initiative did.” Willow’s voice was almost harsh as she spoke. “You’re assuming that vampires are mindless predators. They aren’t. They used to be human and retain all of their reasoning faculties, memories and intelligence.” She paused, thinking for a moment, before asking a question in return. “What’s the core of Buffy’s problem?”
McKeon paused and thought a moment before answering. “She’s suffering from a form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It’s sometimes referred to as battle fatigue. The British Army used to refer to it as ‘lack of moral fibre’. Whatever it’s called, it’s really a form of nervous breakdown from excessive stress. Unimportant things become magnified for her, are blown out of all reasonable proportion. As a result of this, Willow, I’m afraid you are going to be put into an unenviable position once Buffy is released. She’ll demand that you choose between her and … Spike.”
Willow looked shocked. “She would really do that?”
“I’m afraid so. I believe she’s jealous of your success in a relationship with a vampire, while she and ... Angel was it? Were unable to make theirs work.”
Spike looked thoughtful and nodded. “I can see that. She is very egotistical, and feels everything should revolve around her. She’s got very little empathy for other people’s difficulties.”
“I must say, that you don’t seem to be at all like the Spike that Buffy described to me.” Spike merely shrugged in response to McKeon’s comment.
“Do you think she’ll try and kill Spike?” Willow asked the question clinically, trying to hold off the grief that was welling up inside her at the thought of losing her closest friend over what she could only call ‘boyfriend issues’.
“I think it highly likely, if you refuse to end your relationship with him.”
“In that case, Dr McKeon, you had better let her know that I think it’s in her best interests to leave Sunnydale, alone, as soon as she is discharged.” Spike was shocked, and Giles aghast at the cold-blooded venom in her words. “Of course, it’s her decision, Doctor, she might want to live out her life as a silverfish, or perhaps a carrot.”
McKeon gaped at her. “Y-y-you mean that was true!”
Willow nodded. “Yes, but it was only for a few seconds, and only because she was trying to kill Spike. Plus,” the little witch hurried on, defensively, “I really didn’t know she had a phobia about cockroaches. I thought it was just the girly thing.” She finished in a rush, looking almost embarrassed.
McKeon was still in shock as he gabbled “B-but how?”
Willow shrugged. “A spell. Transmogrification of living tissue.”
The psychiatrist blinked. “How can you accept that so casually?”
Spike looked hard at McKeon for a moment. “Why is it that you find it so easily to accept the existence of demons, but not witches? I’d guess you’ve had direct experience with them, despite your implied answer earlier.”
Slowly, he nodded. “Yes, that’s why I found treating the ex-Initiative members easier than other mental health professionals. Of course, I had to get fairly creative with the reports.” He grinned as he spoke, obviously reminiscing about what he had done.
The petite but determined redhead spoke again, looked at him levelly. “Trust me, Dr McKeon,” she said flatly, “if I say I can do something, I’m not kidding. And I can transmogrify living tissue, and I can also teleport people. If Buffy decides to go after Spike or I, she will regret it.” Although Willow was shocked at her reaction, she was aware that she would do whatever was necessary without a moment’s thought. She also knew that, if she did anything permanent, she would regret it her whole life.
McKeon nodded again, obviously thinking. After a moment he spoke up. “Now, I probably know more about ‘the slayer’ than anyone not directly involved in all of … this. What I’m going to suggest to Buffy is that she approach the council and request a … transfer, I suppose, to allow her to recover fully. Operating away from this Hellmouth, and with a new watcher to allow her to recuperate properly. I’ll write a report for the Council to that effect.”
Giles, who until then had been silent, spoke. “Could I suggest that you send the report via me. The council will take the news better for coming via a Watcher. And I can probably make some suggestions to them to make the facts somewhat more palatable. For what it’s worth, I’m going to suggest to the council that they let Buffy retire and train new slayers, rather than continue in active service. She has the talent to become a very good teacher, and after her time as a slayer, may help influence the council towards a more pragmatic position.”
All three looked at Giles. Spike and Willow were well aware of how intelligent he was, and how compassionate. Nevertheless he continued to surprise all around him with his wisdom. Sending Buffy to the council to train other slayers was a clever and subtle solution to the problem, leaving only the question of Dawn to be resolved. McKeon, who had never encountered a watcher previously, was amazed at how quickly Giles had absorbed the information and improved on the original idea. And he was quite correct, McKeon knew, about Buffy finding solace in teaching.
The three Scoobies looked at one another, before Giles asked the obvious question. “Do we approach the council to arrange Faith’s release from prison, or do we work without a slayer?”
Willow and Spike both thought deeply before Spike answered, with a counter question. “Can you trust her? She’s done a lot of damage over the years mate.”
“I really don’t know Spike. Perhaps we could engage Dr McKeon here to make an assessment. I could include that in the recommendations to the Council, I suppose.” Giles took his glasses off for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose as he thought. Then, putting his glasses back on, he looked at McKeon and asked, “Are you based in Sunnydale, Doctor?”
“Yes, I live and work here now. I relocated from San Francisco after I started to treat the ex-Initiative members.”
“Good. In that case, we can contact you if Buffy needs assistance or if the Council gives approval for Faith to be assessed.”
“Ummm … Giles,” Willow paused, unsure of how to proceed. “Faith is in prison, how are we going to fix that?"
“Do you remember what the Council threatened me with, earlier this year?” Willow nodded and Giles continued. “Well, if they can bring that much pressure to bear, they can certainly arrange a simple prison release on parole.”
“I suppose so, but I don’t really like the idea of arranging it unless Faith has really changed.” Willow said, thinking the possibilities through as she spoke.
Giles nodded his agreement before he spoke again. “I’ll also ask the council if there really is a ritual to remove a slayer as was threatened with Buffy. If there is, and if Faith is still a danger, I’ll pressure the Council to perform it on her. However, if worst comes to worst, then we can continue here without a slayer. Between us we have a reasonable set of combat skills now.”
“I suppose so, but I’d still feel happier with a slayer present.” All three looked at Spike, surprised, to say the least. “What? A Hellmouth needs something to counterbalance it. A sane and organised slayer provides that. The only real request I have is that the next one has better dress sense.” Willow sniggered and Giles laughed openly. Even McKeon looked slightly amused. Somehow, the offhand comment helped the four cement an alliance, if not a friendship.
“So, is there anything else that we need to discuss?” Giles asked. “I know we have cell phone numbers for contact.”
“I can’t think of anything.” Willow said quietly. As Spike and McKeon nodded their agreement, they stood and began working back to the door, manoeuvering between the other customers. Spike reached the door first and opened it for the others.
As he did so, a massive flash occurred. They were all diving for the ground before the almost simultaneous thunderclap sounded. All four got up and brushed themselves off, looking sheepishly at one another. “Perhaps there’s a certain level of combat fatigue for all of us.” McKeon commented ruefully.
Giles chuckled wryly and looked around him as the heavens opened. “How about we run to the cars?”
The small group broke into a sprint, running for the cars. They all ran; McKeon in one direction, the Scoobies in another. As the three by now soaking Scoobies reached the car and dove in, Giles said, simply, “My place.”
Cordelia, mistaking their speed for pursuit, shot out of the car park as if all the demons of hell were after her. Skidding and squealing on the wet road surface, she got control of the DeSoto in time to avoid any collisions. “Bloody Hell, Huntress, what’s the rush?” Spike’s squawked question came out almost like a curse.
“I don’t know, bleach boy! You three dive in here like the hounds of hell are after you and tell me ‘Giles place.’ So I’m going there.”
“Cordelia,” Giles gentle and even tone somehow permeated the whole vehicle as he spoke. “We were running to get out of the rain. You don’t have to speed.”
“Oh.” Cordelia’s response was somewhat abashed, and she slowed to the speed limit. “So, what did happen?”
“We’ll explain when we get everyone together.” Willow made it clear that she only wanted to talk about this once. Spike, sensing her pain, simply wrapped his arms around her and held her as Cordelia drove steadily through the pouring rain.