Spike looked up at the moon, hanging low in the night sky, and wondered if enough time had passed for him to force Willow into a confrontation. A week had gone by since their encounter in the training room of the Magic Box. A week of Willow completely avoiding him, and him completely avoiding all of them. She'd run from him after using him in a way he was all too familiar with. And why was he used to it? Because of the girl in front of him.
Tonight was probably a good time. Instead of sitting alone in his crypt after patrolling with Buffy, he'd head over to the Summers' house. Just as soon, he thought impatiently. Sighing, he turned his attention to the fight going on between Buffy and a newly risen vampire. Buffy got a fist in the face, which gave Spike a small amount of satisfaction.
She grabbed the vampire's arm and swung out at it, sending the poor sap flying over a headstone. Both disappeared from his view, then a roar and a cloud of dust sprang up with Buffy standing amidst it.
Spike nodded and moved on. Patrolling with Buffy had become a chore. She treated him the same as always, not knowing of his change in loyalties. She also hit him as often as possible, and tried to take out her own issues on him. Only now he wasn't taking it as passively as before the return to memory. As he passed her, she frowned and followed behind.
Now that he knew his love for Buffy wasn't real, and he was past the whole love-hate thing he had going with her, she was confused by his cold attitude. But, apparently tonight she'd made a decision for a confrontation as well.
He was grabbed from behind and slammed backward into the side of a mausoleum. Buffy's hand on his chest held him there, even though he wasn't struggling to get away. "What's wrong with you?" she demanded, dropping her hand to cross her arms over her chest. She thought he was up to something, her suspicious eyes and cautious manner told him that much. "Did I--" she began softly, then straightened her shoulders and glared some more. "What are you up to?"
Spike's eyes narrowed on her. She was fidgeting with the sleeve of her blouse, trying not to look as vulnerable as she was. Brushing by her, he shrugged. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong. I'm not up to anything. And you didn't do anything wrong."
She snorted, and yanked him back up against the crypt. "Nice try." Rolling her eyes at him, she sighed and held him there. "Ignoring me, is this a new phase to... whatever it is we're doing? Are you playing hard to get?" she taunted snidely.
Spike had no intention of staying and being ridiculed by Buffy. She was dead and empty inside, she had issues and she wanted to take them out on him, use him for her own needs, and he'd had enough, even before getting his memory back. Admittedly, if he'd still believed himself in love with her, he would be panting after her like usual, not doing one bloody thing about it. But now, he knew better, and he wanted better. His hand shot out, wrapping around her throat. Her eyes widened a brief second before he spun her around and slammed her against the crypt. See how you like it, he thought, grinning at the panic and slight fear that crossed over her face before disappearing under a mask of indifference.
"I'm not playing anything," he told her. "Not with you, not anymore." As he was about to let her go, she shifted and drew in a shuddering breath. His nostrils flared as he smelled her arousal. She got off on the darkness, the pain, the bad boy routine. Craved it like her body craved air. Needed it like a drug.
But she still needed to pretend she didn't. "Stop it," she hissed angrily, "that hurts."
He leaned into her, ready to tell her off for good, but as soon as his body touched hers, it began to responded in kind. His mouth breathed in her panting breaths, pushed past tight lips, his chest rose and fell with her heaving breasts, his body responded to the scent of her arousal in the air. Was this what he was destined to feel then? Turned on by the slayer? By Buffy? Tightening his hand on her throat, he once again leaned down toward her lips. She drew in a breath, waiting, anticipating the touch of his mouth on hers. She'd be waiting a long time.
Instead of kissing her, he turned his head to the side and whispered in her ear. "But you get off on it, don't you, baby?" Vamping out, he lowered the top of her shirt, exposing the swell of her breast. She made only minor efforts to stop him, lifting her hands to grab his wrist. He flicked his eyes to hers, and her hands dropped to her sides. Bending to her breast, he scraped his fangs along the skin, then bit into her flesh, covering one of his previous bites.
As he drank the heady mixture of her blood and fear, her hands lifted again, threading through his hair as she relaxed into him. Only her hands touched him, and only to keep him there. That was the only time she touched him, when it was absolutely necessary. A moan escaped her, and as soon as it did, he pulled away, licking his lips and grinning at her. "You need the pain. You *like* the pain."
That was probably the wrong thing to say, because a fist suddenly shot out and connected with his jaw. He dropped her in surprise, stumbling back a few feet. She was pissed and ready for a... well, he thought snidely, not a fight judging by the lust in her eyes. Those same eyes were narrowed, her mouth twisted into a grim line, and her whole body was just radiating tension. Tension she'd just moments before wanted him to relieve. And probably still did.
He chuckled, rubbing his chin lightly. "Apparently it doesn't matter whether you're giving or receiving."
"Shut up," she snarled, punching him again. This time, he went flying backward from the force of it, landing on his back on the lumpy ground. She came over to him and stood there glaring at him, hands on her hips, a sneer on her lips. "I get off on it?" she snickered, looking at the bulge in his pants.
He shrugged, resting his hands behind his head. "I'm a demon. Of course I like pain. What's your excuse?" As he'd known she would, she dropped to her knees, straddling him. She landed directly on him, forcing a groan from his lips.
"Twice dead and once ripped out of heaven," she mumbled, her hands stilling as they touched his jeans. The frown that had appeared was gone with a shrug, and her hands once again fumbled with the belt. With a jingle she'd unbuckled it and moved on to the button and zipper. Once they were undone, she scooted back and undid her own jeans, all silent, all without extra touching.
He didn't help her this time, and she didn't notice. His hands stayed behind his head, his eyes looking up at the night sky. The moon was still there, still big and bright, hanging low and looking too full. Keeping his mind off of the woman desperately clawing at her jeans wasn't helping him. He wanted her, despite himself. He loved Willow, but he still wanted Buffy. How did that work? Residual feelings left over from the monks and their damn spell? A spell that had completely bollixed up his life.
Hands found him, but didn't stroke him. Instead, he was positioned beneath her, and then, with a groan from Buffy, he was inside her. Inside her too hot body. She burned him with her touch, but the touches she didn't give him burned him more. He looked at her as she moved on him and was reminded of his brief tryst with the Buffy-bot. Even the bot felt more real than this girl did. The human Buffy was cold and distant these days, unfeeling and cruel.
Her hands clawed at his chest, forcing him back to the present. She was pleasuring herself more than him. Her hips moving up and down quickly were bringing him only a little pleasure. Her voice, which had lately begun grating on his nerves, was pushing out moan after moan between parted lips. Gray-blue eyes fastened on his face, a puzzled frown wrinkling that smooth brow of hers, like she just couldn't figure him out. His new attitude toward her had her all kinds of confused. She was staring at him, so intently, but still not seeing him for who he was. She never did.
He wanted her to know. Wanted her to be forced to feel him. Wanted to be more than just a quick shag to her. No matter how hard he tried not to feel it, he craved acceptance from Buffy. Not acceptance as a being, but as more than just a body beneath her.
Vamping out, he reached up, grabbing handfuls of her hair, forcing her down to his level.
"Hey," she ground out, trying to yank her head out of his grip.
He kissed her, ignoring her protests and her pathetically weak struggles. If she wanted free, she could easily do so.
She stopped moving, stopped breathing even, and he thought maybe this time he'd pushed her too far. Maybe he was about to become one with the dirt. She stared into his face, glanced quickly at the ridges on his forehead, and exhaled sharply. He smelled the fear pouring off of her, saw the disgust, and felt her legs loosen from his hips. Her lips stiffened under his, not moving for fear of cutting herself on his fangs.
He let his face morph back, and kissed her for real. She responded almost immediately, moaning at the punishing force he used, the bruising strength behind the kiss. His teeth pulled her lips roughly into his mouth, biting them just enough to draw a drop of blood. Her body shuddered around him, closing in on her climax. She raised and lowered herself faster, dropping down harder with each stroke. No longer able or wanting to play the indifferent lover, he thrust into her as hard and punishing as he could. She was moaning again, sliding her tongue into his mouth, clawing at his chest, and he hated her for all of it. Every sound she made irritated him. The way her body moved on his felt desperate, needy. Her fingernails, clutching at him like a cat's claws on a scratch post, had him vamping out again.
She yanked back with a hiss, licking her bloody lip and glaring at him as she shoved her long hair out of her face. He used to love her hair, the silky feel of it, the smell, the sight of it fanned out on the ground as they shagged. Now he was indifferent to it.
His tastes these days ran toward shorter, redder, and a whole other face and body. More personality too. Biting into his cheek to keep from yelling at Buffy to shut the hell up, he took his pleasure, using her just as she'd used him these past months. Panting and moaning, she tightened around him, throwing her head back as she came.
Spike closed his eyes, imagining Willow on top of him, her fingers running softly over his face, her mouth on his. The sound of her voice as she whispered 'I love you' in his ear. Rolling Buffy over, he moved inside her with a few quick thrusts, then came, groaning against her neck. Almost as soon as he was done, she tried to shove him off of her.
Holding himself still, exactly where he was, he grabbed her wrists and snarled down at her, still in vamp face. "Last time," he ground out.
She rolled her eyes and yanked her wrists free. "Yeah, right," she scoffed, shoving him off of her.
He didn't even look at her as she pulled her jeans up and buttoned them. Busy with his own jeans and the thought of finally talking to Willow again, he glanced up at the moon. Yeah, tonight was definitely the night. Whistling as he climbed to his feet, he buckled his belt, tossing Buffy a crooked grin. "Thanks for the shag, gotta go."
Buffy looked up from brushing herself off, a frown gracing her lips
and her brow. She watched him go, but didn't say anything.
Spike glanced up at the roof of the Summers' house, wondering what the best way in would be. Not through the front door. Way too many bad things lay that route. So, he'd have to sneak in. Through Willow's window? Or another window? Shrugging, he took a quick look around and grabbed the lowest tree branch, hoisting himself up. This way was familiar, to the lower roof of Buffy's window, then around the side to the back, and in Willow's window.
All went well as he circled the house via the roof. Once he reached the back, he cautiously crept closer to her window. Golden light flooded out onto the rooftop through the uncurtained bank of windows, joining with the moonlight currently bathing him in its glow. Too much light not to be seen by passerby, or nosy neighbors. Good thing he was around back, instead of facing the street.
Kneeling in front of the window, he looked in, watching her unobserved for a moment. She was sitting in the middle of her bed, fully dressed, with her legs crossed. His eyes swept over her tight red blouse, which was short on neck and sleeves. Her blue jeans were the kind popular these days, low in the hip and tight, definitely a flattering look for her. Her red hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, and her face was stripped of all make-up.
She looked beautiful.
The sadness that surrounded her however, was distracting. Green eyes, normally dancing with life and energy, were now dull and lifeless, her mouth was a thin, tight line as she bit her lip, keeping in emotions she didn't want to let out. His eyes flickered yellow when he caught sight of what was on the bed in front of her. Her hand ran along it, smoothing out the wrinkles in the dress. Tara's dress.
Her eyes stayed on the dress in front of her as her hand lifted, gesturing toward the window. The sash flew open with a soft thunk, and Spike jumped back in surprise.
His eyes sought out hers, and after a few seconds, she finally looked in his direction. "What are you doing here?" Her voice was husky, as if she hadn't used it in a while. Or had been crying.
Sliding his hand under the window to climb through, he was somewhat surprised when his hand was stopped by a barrier. Frowning at her, he held his hand up to the invisible barrier keeping him from entering her room. "Let me in."
She shook her head, climbing wearily to her feet. She was more than tired, he knew, and all the blame couldn't be laid at Tara's feet. He was in there somewhere, mixed around with her use of magick. Her steps were slow as she made her way toward the window with her arms crossed almost protectively over her stomach. Shoeless feet came to a stop at the window, a sigh escaping her as she looked up at him crouching outside her bedroom window.
"Did Buffy have you uninvite me?" he asked incredulously. She shook her head, bringing his attention back to her face. A thin line of blood ran from her nose to her lip. He reached out, stopping short of the barrier and gestured to her instead. "You're bleeding."
She released one of her arms and wiped at the blood with the back of her thumb. Looking down, uncaring, at the red on her fingers, she swiped at it with the tip of her thumb and sniffled, wiping it on her jeans. Another quick swipe, and her face was blood-free. "I guess I should go easy on the magick for a bit," she mused.
Spike's eyes settled on her hand, held by her side. She'd wiped the blood away without a thought, without even considering letting him have it. Should he have expected her to? Maybe not, but he had expected it. Wanted it. Her blood, the smell of it alone, had a powerful pull on him, sucking him toward her like a piece of steel to a magnet. He sighed in frustration, wishing that at the very least, he didn't have this stupid barrier between them. If he couldn't have her blood, couldn't he at least be able to touch her if he wanted to?
She glanced up when he sighed. Her eyes, still dull and lifeless, settled on his hand, which was still pressing against the barrier. He was leaning into it, without having realized it. She raised her hand, her fingertips touching his. He wasn't sure, but he could've sworn he felt a small jolt of electricity as she touched him. She didn't seem to notice though, so he remained silent. Pulling his hand back, just the smallest bit, he waited for Willow's hand to follow his. As soon as her warm flesh settled against his, he twined his fingers with hers and pulled her arm outside.
"Let me in," he repeated. When she shook her head this time, he chuckled and lifted her thumb to his mouth. Dried blood coated her finger, and he intended to taste it. His eyes stayed steady on her face as he slid her thumb into his mouth, running his tongue around the flesh, sucking on it. The faintest taste of her blood flooded his mouth, sending his senses reeling. Another jolt, this time from her blood, had him drawing in a breath. The sweetest sensations swept over him at her taste, filling him with such hunger that he felt his face turn. Licking the tip of her thumb as he slid it from his mouth, he bit down lightly on the pad of her thumb and kept a hold of her hand. "I knew you'd have the sweetest blood I've ever tasted. Even better than Buffy's." His face went back to human as quickly as it had turned to demon.
Her eyes flew to his and she tried to jerk her hand free. "How would you know what Buffy's blood tastes like?" she asked slowly.
"If you're not going to let me in, then come outside with me." He gave her arm a gentle tug when she remained where she was. A raised eyebrow was her only response, so he knelt down, getting more comfortable. "We've fought. A lot. Bound to be some blood shed at one time or another."
She nodded, her frown smoothing out to once again become expressionless. He preferred the suspicious glances to this nothingness.
"Oh. That makes sense, I guess. Can I have my hand back?" She tugged some more, a ghost of a smile turning up her lips when he shook his head stubbornly. "Fine, I'm coming out, but only to talk."
He sucked his teeth in regret, helping her through the window and out onto the sloped roof. "Shucks, and here I thought we could have a go up here. All this rough gravely stuff, the steep incline, and a big full moon above to top it all off... what's not to like?"
She stood cautiously, balancing herself on the outside wall of her bedroom as she brushed off her stark white socks. A sarcastic glance from under her brows, tossed in his direction, had him hiding a smile. Not as unemotional as he'd first thought.
Sitting back against the siding, he pulled her down with him, allowing her to arrange herself carefully on the rough shingles. She shifted a few times, mostly further away from him, and he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the roof being more comfortable a foot away. He couldn't really blame her though, after all, what was the first thing he'd done after telling her he was in love with her? He'd seduced her. True enough, she'd ended up begging him to take her, but not borne from any feelings she had for him, but he was just a means to an end, an escape from the emotional pain.
"Talked to your bird lately?" he asked, patting down his duster pockets for his crumpled pack of cigarettes. After finding them, he shook one out and lit it, inhaling deeply as he stared up at the moon. Anywhere but at Willow.
Even still, he saw her head duck down, and her hands start picking at her thumbnail. "I saw her at school today. In the hall. But, I didn't talk to her." Her voice was low and shaky, and he didn't think it was due to his presence.
"Why not?" Another deep drag from his cigarette, and still he tried not to look at her. His occasional sideways glances didn't really count.
Willow drew in a deep breath, and dropped her hands to her lap as she searched for something in the night sky to occupy her eyes. "She was kissing someone. Someone else." Her jeans scraped loudly on the shingles as she raised her legs, planting her feet flat on the roof in front of her. "I guess I don't have any room to judge... but it still hurts." She slid her arms inside her shirt and rested her chin on her knees. "Oh, hey, I de-ratted Amy tonight."
Leaving his cigarette dangling from his lips, he sat forward pulling his duster off. Planting his own feet flat, he reached over to her and draped the heavy leather around her shoulders. She gave him a quick smile, gone before it was fully formed, and looked down at the backyard with a sigh.
"Your witch is moving on then, huh? Good." Seeing her hands clench in her lap, he changed topic as quickly as she had. "So, Rat-girl run for the hills as soon as she realized she was free?" he chuckled. He hadn't heard any other heartbeats near Willow's room, didn't smell anyone else except Willow and Tara with lighter scents of Dawn, and even less of Buffy.
"Nah, she's downstairs watching the news, catching up on current events, and probably pigging out on brownies and ice cream... anything but cheese." The sound of leather creaking echoed in the empty night air as she removed her arms from inside her shirt and shoved them through the arms of his duster. The tips of her fingers barely reached the cuffs, so she shrugged deeper into it, keeping her hands inside for warmth. "Since you're here, I'm assuming it didn't go away?"
"It's still there," he confirmed. "And I still--"
"Willow," a voice called from inside her bedroom. "I was thinking. There's this-- Willow?"
Willow scooted even further away from him, sending small pieces of gravel to the gutter and grass below. Turning her head toward her room, she called softly, "Out here, Amy." Pasting a smile on her face, she waited until the girl peered out the window. "Hi."
A young girl, about the same age as Willow and Buffy, poked her head out the window. She was pretty, all long straight hair, and pointy features, but she didn't hold much interest for him, not until her eyes suddenly spotted him sitting there. Her own eyes widened almost comically, her smile freezing on her face. It took some willpower for her to turn her gaze back to Willow, but she finally managed it. "Hey," she tossed back, her eyes once again moving past Willow to fix on him. "Willow, could you come inside for a minute?" she asked, trying to be oh-so subtle with her head gestures and her pointed look at him. "I *really* need to talk to you. Inside."
Willow chuckled, and Spike was sure that was real amusement he heard. She even kept the smile on her lips. "It's okay, Amy, this is a friend of ours."
"But, he's a vampire," Amy told Willow as if she wasn't very smart for not having realized it. When Willow only nodded, Amy climbed outside to stand beside Willow, looking down at him. "He's a friend of yours?" she asked incredulously. "He's a vampire." Dropping her stiff stance for a second, she looked down at Willow. "Oh, does he have a soul too, like that Angel guy you told me about?"
"No," Spike answered for her, turning his attention to the yard below as he flicked his cigarette butt in a high arc. Red-orange sparks shot through the air in a trail, then disappeared as the butt sailed down below their view.
"It's okay," Willow told the other girl. "Like I said, a lot has changed since you were last... human. He's got something in his head that keeps him from hurting humans, he's safe... sort of." Trying to get Amy's attention away from Spike, she stood up. "What'd you need?"
Amy dragged her eyes from Spike, relaxing her posture slightly, although as soon as she got a good look at Willow in his duster, she tensed again. Spike felt an immense amount of magick simmering below the surface of the girl, not as much as Willow had, but certainly enough to make him wary of her.
"You're wearing his coat," she told Willow. "Are you dating him?" Her voice held a lot of uncertainty as she glanced from one to the other.
"Are we-- dating!" Willow laughed before apparently remembering the brand spanking new love he had for her, and what they'd done last week. Her smile slipped quite drastically, but didn't disappear altogether, but this new smile was rather sickly looking. "No, we're not da-- no. I'm gay now," she said almost desperately, her eyes skimming the tops of the trees. "Remember? I told you earlier..."
Amy drew in a breath and nodded jerkily, turning back to Willow. "Right. You're gay now." She frowned, shaking her head slightly. "I guess I kind of forgot in the excitement of not being surrounded by a big wheel and plastic tubes... so, no more Xander-lovin'?"
"No, no more Xander-lovin'," Willow agreed with a smile, shoving her hands into the pockets of his duster. "Except in a brotherly kind of way."
"Okay. So," Amy said, her smile a little less sure, "I was thinking. You, me, the Bronze? Maybe a little magick play?" Seeing Willow's frown, she sighed. "The Bronze is still there, right? It fared better than the high school?"
Spike's eyes landed on Willow, knowing bloody well she was tapped out and needed to rest before doing any more magick. He could see the desire to go, shining in her eyes, revealing itself in the way she bit her lip as she considered the offer. He shook his head angrily, not voicing his objections.
"Well?" Amy tempted, grabbing Willow's shoulders to turn her so they were face to face. "I've got all this magick in me, just begging to be released... and I can feel yours too."
Willow looked tempted, really tempted, but at the mention of the magick in her, she shook her head with a sigh. "I can't. I'm pretty much empty right now."
Amy laughed and waved away Willow's excuse. "Not a problem. I know this guy, Rack, he--"
"No," Spike interrupted, standing up and moving closer to the two girls. "You're not taking her to Rack," he told Amy, trying to rein in his anger.
Amy scoffed, glaring at him over her shoulder. "You heard her, she's not dating you. So, I think you have no say in where we go." Turning back to Willow, she grinned. "Come on. Please?"
Willow looked from to Spike to Amy, indecision plain on her face. "Who's Rack?" she finally asked.
"A not-so-nice warlock," Spike answered grimly, hoping Willow was smart enough not to go with Amy just at the chance of getting her magick replenished. "Definitely not someone you want to be running to in the middle of the night."
Once again Amy glared back at him, not liking him encroaching on her Willow-manipulating. "He knows spells that last for days. And the burnout factor is like, nothing."
Willow looked at Amy in uncertainty, not looking too keen on going to a warlock for magick fun, but not yet ready to say no. "But Amy, if this guy's a warlock, a warlock that a *vampire* is wary of--"
Amy shifted impatiently and tried to draw Willow back into the bedroom. "Maybe your pet vampire's a wimp. Look, I am not kidding you. This guy ... will blow your mind. He will take you to places that you can't even imagine."
"Yeah," Spike scoffed, fighting the urge to knock the former rat to the ground two stories below. "Like dark evil places you can't come back from. Use your brain, Willow. Rack's bad news, he deals dark magick. Black stuff, dangerous."
Willow looked somewhat like she didn't believe him, if her frown was anything to go by. "Amy? I thought, after your mom and everything, and the ratting of a lifetime... is it dangerous?" She'd barely paused, and there was something in her eyes that Spike didn't like seeing at the mention of danger. Interest.
Spike wasn't the only one to see it. Amy grinned triumphantly, as if Willow had just asked the magic words. "Would that stop you?"
Willow looked slightly indecisive, but far from turning down the offer. The chance of danger was tempting to her. She looked eager to go, until her eyes moved past Amy to him. When she saw his disapproving frown, her eyes stayed steady on his face for a few seconds before dropping to something more interesting on the roof shingles at her feet. A frustrated sigh escaped her. "Yeah, I think it will," she finally said softly, nodding as if to confirm the decision in her own mind.
Spike sighed in relief. "Don't let that stop you though, Amy, go, have fun, huh?" His eyes bored into hers when she turned around to face him. Letting his face turn, he leaned closer and whispered, "Leave. Now."
Willow didn't hear the exchange, or see his face. By the time he pulled back, he was wearing his human face again and it was rather blank.
Amy didn't jump back or squeal like he'd thought she would, instead she shook her head sadly. "You used to have better taste in friends, Willow. See you around." She climbed into the bedroom with one last look at Willow, and left the room.
Spike didn't relax until they heard the bedroom door slam shut. Silence fell once again. Why was it that he found himself at a loss for words when he was with her these days? Clearing his throat, he figured he'd best be on his way before Willow told him to leave, actually said the words. He didn't really want to hear them from her. But, she didn't say them, she sat down instead, looking as lost and empty as before. Her hands went back into his pockets as he sat beside her. Just as he got comfortable, she stretched her arm out, holding something in front of his face.
Pulling back slightly to focus on the object, he saw his crumpled pack of cigarettes. Taking them from her wordlessly, he started to fish one out before shoving it back in and setting the pack beside him. "You did good, Red."
"Yeah," she agreed, "I did good." Her face looked rather glum as she sighed and looked up at the moon. A few minutes of comfortable silence later, her voice came softly from a few feet away. "How did you know?"
"About Rack?" he asked, glancing over at her.
"That you could hurt Buffy without pain." His eyes slid away from her suspicious frown, but she mistook his guilt for anger, because she rushed to make her case. "I-- I mean, obviously you would have had to hit her to know. And-- and, why did you hit her?"
He stood up hastily--almost defensively--not liking the direction the conversation was headed in. His sudden movements sent his cigarettes sliding down the roof. Reaching down quickly, he snatched them before they went too far and scraped the tips of his fingers on the rough shingles. The tiny prickles of pain only served to anger him. Shoving the pack into his back pocket, he turned to face her. Her face was turned upward, watching him curiously, but not commenting. Fine, she wanted the truth? He'd tell her, no more saving her from the truth about her high and mighty Slayer.
"A man can only take so much, you know." He began to pace before realizing how stupid that was. His feet started to slide out from under him, but he caught his footing before making a complete ass of himself. "When you kiss someone, it's generally thought that you did it for a reason. Not Buffy, oh no, not her. She kissed me twice, twice," he stressed, "and then she turned around and called me a thing. An evil, disgusting thing. Which, if I'm just a 'thing' and she kissed me, what does that say about her, huh? What does that make her?" He was about to continue, tell her the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, while still leaving himself in a better light than Buffy, but her already completely shocked face and widened eyes changed his mind and he chickened out.
"What? She-- she kissed you? Buffy, the Slayer Buffy? Blonde, hates-vampires-with-a-vengeance, Buffy?" She stood up, frowning at him as if she wasn't quite sure what his words meant. Like he was speaking a foreign language. "But, what about all the, 'Oh, I hate Spike, he's so icky and evil'? that she's always spouting, and, you know, 'Why-oh-why does he love me? It's so gross'?" Seeing his narrowed eyes, she rushed to soothe his hurt feelings. "That's mean, yes, and she doesn't really say those things, not, you know, in that... exact phrasing, but--" she waved her hands in front of her helplessly. "I'm sorry, 'cause, now you're looking really angry, and I'll just... stop."
She shoved her hands into his duster pockets and stepped back. Then did so again, staying a few feet out of his reach.
Spike rolled his eyes. Didn't she know he wouldn't hurt her? He wouldn't, but he also wasn't going to keep repeating the words. She either believed it, or she didn't. Apparently, from her still-wide eyes, and her slight panting, she didn't believe him. And why should she? He'd just admitted to hitting Buffy after she kissed him.
"Bloody hell," he muttered, his anger at Buffy growing by the second. This, as with everything else bad in his life, was all her fault. Yeah, and now, Willow was afraid of him because of her. Bloody bitch. With no outlet for his anger, he kicked the wall, cracking the siding with a satisfying crunch. It felt so good, he did it again, this time with his fist, and a little more force. His knuckles tingled and burned in a rather pleasantly painful way, so he hauled back and tried it again, even harder.
"Spike," Willow sighed, darting towards him. "Stop beating up the house--"
Instead of his fist connecting solidly with the wall, he felt the brief touch of cloth and skin as his fist connected with her stomach.
Her eyes widened as she sank to her knees on the rooftop.
His own eyes widened in surprise, just before the pain shot through his head from the implant. Reeling back, he clutched at his head. His feet slid on the loose gravel of the shingles and his legs went out from under him. Rolling down the roof to the edge, he reached out to catch himself, but it was already too late, there was an absence of anything solid underneath him as he plunged over the gutter. Seconds later, the ground thumped into him with bone jarring impact. His head was the first priority though, because the pain from the implant was still spiraling through his brain, leaving him with one hell of a headache. He smelled blood, and knew it was from him, but he had no idea where from. Nor had he any intention of checking for it.
He was very comfortable right where he was, sprawled in Buffy's backyard. Hopefully, Willow would come play nursemaid... ah hell, Willow. He'd hit her. Hard.
Shoving himself to his elbows with a groan, he attempted to sit up, but the back door opened and a female shape stood silhouetted in the doorway, backlit by the kitchen light. He knew that shape, that body, and he relaxed, knowing it wasn't Buffy come to beat on him, or Dawn with too many questions for him to answer. It was Willow. She left the door wide open and came running over to him. She looked all right, for having gotten a gut full of fist from a vampire. Even Buffy would've been in some pain from that. Dropping his head to the hard, lumpy grass, he stared up at the night sky, searching for the moon. It was a bit higher than it had been, and partially obscured by a stray cloud and an overhanging tree branch, but it was still big and full.
Willow's face appeared above him, full of worry and concern. For him. Did that mean she cared about him, just the tiniest bit? Reaching up, he touched her cheek lightly, ignoring the way she flinched at his touch. His fingers were a whisper against her skin, so light, so soft. Threading them through the red strands of her ponytail, he wondered if it was his imagination, or if Willow's hair really was softer than Buffy's? Silkier? Smelled better too. His light touch sent a hint of peach stirring in the air. The bright moonlight washed her in its glow, and he couldn't help but comment on it. "You look beautiful bathed in moonlight, love."
Willow pulled away slowly, frowning while he dropped his hand to the cold grass beside him. "Um, are you okay?" Her hands skimmed over him softly, quickly, the touch gone almost before he felt it. "I could heal you if you need it, um, maybe. I'm not sure how much I've got left in me, but..." she shrugged, "I could try."
He opened his eyes, seeing new blood on her face. That's why she was hurt less than she should be. "Magick," he mumbled, closing his eyes with a resigned shake of his head. "I don't need a quick fix. But thanks for the offer." Reaching underneath him, he pulled his cigarettes from his jean pocket. "Don't mind if I have one of these, do you?"
She shook her head absently as she wiped the blood from beneath her nose again. Just as she was about to wipe the blood on her jeans, she sent him a quick glance. Her hand hovered over her thigh for a split second before she shook her head and wiped it off.
He sat up with a groan, trying not to be offended by twice not being offered her blood, but the truth was... he was offended. Searching his pockets for his lighter, he came up empty. Ah, duster pocket, which Willow had on. Planting the cigarette between his lips, he reached over to her and patted her down slowly, purposely missing the pockets in favor of higher pleasures. "Lighter," he explained when her eyes narrowed on him.
She snorted rudely and pushed him away, looking like she didn't believe him. "I'll get it." Her hands disappeared into the pockets with more creaks of leather, and finally came up with his Zippo. She tossed it to him, watching as he lit the cigarette. "You're sure you're okay?"
"Just dandy," he told her, squinting at her through the smoke. He snapped the Zippo shut with a metallic click and shoved it into his front pocket. "Thanks."
She sat back, crossing her legs like a kid at story time. "Welcome." His duster settled over her legs, making her look smaller than she was. Vulnerable too.
"How about you?" he asked, gesturing to her stomach with his cigarette. "You magick yourself better?"
She nodded, pushing the duster open and lifting her shirt to show him the partially healed, mottled bruising on her abdomen. "I healed it most of the way, couldn't do more than that. I don't have enough left in me. I think you broke a rib. Not-- not on purpose, I know, I'm just... it was an accident." She smoothed her shirt back down and frowned, pulling the duster back around her. "I think magick was definitely needed this time."
"It was," he agreed, not sure why she felt the need to defend herself. He hadn't even been thinking about chastising her. Well, not very much. He'd leave that up to her friends. "Healing and helping with the fighting are all valid reasons for using magick. Although," he conceded, shrugging a shoulder, "raising windows might not be quite as valid... and you were tempted to go with Rat-Girl."
She bit her lip, shifting her position a bit under his steady gaze. "Well, maybe this Rack guy isn't as bad as you think. Maybe he's--"
"Using witches and other magickal beings for his own amusement? You're absolutely right. He's not so bad. Kind of a charmer really, the way he mind-rapes his victims." Shaking his head, he climbed to his feet, massaging the back of his head lightly. His hand came away with blood smeared on it and went the same place Willow's had gone, only on his own jeans. Seeing she still wasn't completely convinced, he sighed, hoping detailed warnings would appeal to her common sense. "Rack feeds off of people, Willow. Slowly. He drains them of their essence, and--"
"So do you," she said reasonably, though not in defense of Rack. At his raised eyebrow, she shrugged. "Sorry, just pointing out the obvious."
Why did Willow never take things at face value? She always had to dig deeper, find out more, learn things. It ticked him off because that meant constantly explaining himself to her. It was a good thing that she didn't just mindlessly go along with him, on the other hand, it was an annoyance that he could live without. "Listen to me, love, he goes into a person's mind and helps himself to whatever appeals to him; memories, hopes, desires, doesn't really matter to him. And after that first time, you'll go back for more because he leaves you with a feeling of euphoria, temporary though it is. You'll end up an empty shell, and you'll keep going back until there's nothing left of you." He paused, seeing that, finally, his words had gotten through to her. "Just, stay away from him. I don't want you getting hurt."
"Okay," she agreed, nodding as she stood up. Her eyes found his, giving him the courtesy of looking him in the eye when she talked to him rather than only when she threatened him. No wonder he loved this girl. "You don't want me getting hurt?" she repeated with a small smile. "That's really sweet, Spike, and... you know, kind of weird, but mostly sweet. Thanks." Her smile grew, widening into a genuine expression of pleasure. A rarity in these days of break-ups and accusations.
"Hey, hey, keep it down, would you? You'll have every demon in town thinking I'm a ponce." He was mostly kidding, but he couldn't help a quick look around just to make sure nothing was nearby, listening.
She burst out laughing at his slightly panicked look. "Good thing you don't care about what other demons think then, huh?" she said pointedly. "Good thing you're an independent thinker."
He straightened up, nodding at her as he realized the truth of her words. "Bloody right I don't care what they think. I'm a rebel." Tossing his cigarette to the grass, he tugged lightly on her ponytail. "Hey, if I ever turn you, that unique little soul of yours? It's sticking around."
He was surprised when her smile stayed in place, not chased away by his less than thought out comment. "Huh. That-- that was sort of like a compliment, wasn't it?"
"Um, yeah," he agreed. "It was. I love the soul more than the-- Buffy." He felt the familiar tingle at the back of his neck that heralded the Slayer's presence, interrupting his quality time with Willow. He had to fight the urge to find her and hurt her for doing so. This was their time, damn it, not hers.
"I-- I'm sorry, what?" Willow asked, blinking at him in confusion.
"Buffy's home," he explained, grabbing her hand and pulling her with him as he went around to the side of the house. "I should go."
She looked behind her, into the dark night, but nothing was there. No brassed-off Slayer headed their way. "Okay," she said quietly, sliding her arms out of his duster and handing it to him. "Um, I'm sorry about before, you know, making you fall off the roof and all."
Spike took the coat and slid his own arms into it, shivering the tiniest bit at the feel of her warmth still lingering on the inside lining. Checking to make sure no one was out front, he turned to look back at her in surprise. "You're definitely one of a kind, love. That was my fault." When she started to protest, he stepped closer, sliding an arm around her waist to bring her up against him. She yelped a little in surprise as her chest and thighs were suddenly pressed flat against his, but didn't push him away or struggle to free herself. "It was my fault," he insisted, sighing briefly when she looked unconvinced.
He'd intended to leave it at that, to leave her like that. But one glance into her upturned face and he had to taste her. He settled his open mouth over hers, wasting no time with being sweet and tender. This kiss was all about leaving her wanting more, and, judging by the breathless state she was in when he set her gently away from him and left, she definitely wanted more.
Willow panted for breath as she watched Spike disappear into the darkness. The small smile on her lips, surprising her with its very presence, left her quite confused. He'd once again managed to take her mind off her troubles, but, in the process, he'd started her mind spinning. Dangerous thinking lay in that direction, the direction Spike had just melted into. Dangerous thinking and bad thoughts. Wanting thoughts. Was this the new way of things with her? Was she forever destined to want someone when she was busy being in love with someone else?
Thoughts of Tara came parading into her mind, as they always did when she least wanted them to. Memories of being loved, loving back, and feeling content. Safe. Warm and sated with her lover. Teasing kisses and soft touches. All of it served to remind her of her falling apart life with Tara, and the kiss she'd spied Tara giving the other girl in the hall outside class. Tara was moving on, so why couldn't she?
No reason whatsoever. Except that painful empty feeling in her heart that used to be filled with Tara-love.
Sighing in disgust at herself and her self-pity, she started back toward the porch. At least this time she hadn't done anything to feel too terribly guilty for. Nothing worth crying over anyway.
A kiss, one single kiss that had really taken her... not completely by surprise, but not completely without surprise either. That was all. A deliciously sinful kiss. And now, with her toes still tingling and her stomach the new home of at least a dozen butterflies, she had to color herself confused.
Turning the corner of the house, she spotted Buffy just approaching the open back door from the kitchen. Not wanting to worry her, she ran up the steps to the porch, and dashed inside.
"Hey," she greeted. "How was patrol?" Flipping the overhead light on, she shut the door and locked it before turning to face Buffy. Giving her a critical once over, she frowned. "Tough night?"
The knees of Buffy's faded blue jeans were dirty and grass stained, as was her jean jacket. Her hair was a wild mess, though she'd obviously tried to tame it with her fingers. She did so again, running her fingers through the tangled strands with a shrug. Her whole manner was distracted, just sort of... off. This was normal for Buffy lately. Distant and not completely there.
As Willow continued to watch Buffy, feeling guilty for bringing her back against her will, Buffy fidgeted slightly and smoothed her hands down her dirty jeans. "Nothing I couldn't handle." She unzipped her jacket, nodding her head toward the backyard as she tossed her jacket on the butcher block. "Is something out there? Do I need to slay?"
"Nope," Willow told her, smiling as she sat on one of the stools and rested her elbows on the island. "I just needed some fresh air. Are you okay?" she asked in concern, seeing the back of Buffy's jeans were equally as dirty and grass stained as the front.
"Mmm-hm." She waved away Willow's concern as she opened the fridge, grabbed a carton of orange juice and set it on the island. Moving slowly toward the cupboard by the sink, she retrieved a glass. "Although, I think I'm seeing things. Could've swore I saw Amy a few blocks from here." She chuckled, setting the glass on the island and filling it. "Want some?" she asked, making to grab another glass.
"No. Sit, I'm good." Taking a deep breath, she waited until Buffy was seated before saying, "Guess what?"
Buffy shrugged, downing half her glass in one gulp. "They discovered a fat-free chocolate that tastes better than the real thing?"
Willow chuckled, shaking her head sadly. "Don't I wish? Nope, that *was* Amy you saw. I de-ratted her."
Buffy set her glass back down on the island with a quiet thunk. "Really?" She looked over at Willow, impressed. "Wow."
"I know," Willow agreed, nodding and grinning like a fool. "It just came to me. I was--" her eyes widened as Buffy leaned forward tiredly and she saw blood on her dark gray high-necked sweater. "Buffy! You're bleeding." Jumping down from her stool, she gestured to Buffy's top.
Buffy jumped up as well, knocking her stool over in her haste to get up. She looked down at her sweater with wide eyes and slapped a hand over the spot. "It's-- it's nothing. A scratch really."
Not believing her for a minute, Willow reached out and pulled down the collar of Buffy's sweater. "There's too much blood to be just a scratch," she chided Buffy, then darted her eyes to Buffy's when she got a good look at the bitemark on her breast. "You got bit?" she asked incredulously. "Wow, that's like... unheard of, you know, unless it's Dracula, or Angel who's doing the biting. Are you okay?" she asked again. "He must've been strong."
"He was," Buffy mumbled, shrugging away from Willow's hands, her eyes sliding away as she fixed her shirt. "But, he's not a problem anymore." She pointed to the ceiling. "I should take a shower."
She started out of the kitchen, but Willow halted her with a hand on her arm. "Buffy, wait." Buffy stopped in the middle of the room, with her back to Willow. Willow cleared her throat, not exactly sure why she'd stopped her. There were some things that Spike had told her that she wanted to talk to Buffy about, to sort of clear the air. Things between them had been strained for some time now, and she knew it was her fault for ripping Buffy out of heaven. And she understood that, but... she wanted to make it up to her. To try to be there for her when she needed someone to talk to.
And the kissing thing was kind of... disturbing to her. Why on earth would Buffy kiss Spike?
"Can it wait?" Buffy asked quietly. "I'm sort of tired. I just want to take a shower and go to bed."
"Um, well, there are some things I wanted to talk to you about." Sighing heavily, she moved around to face Buffy since Buffy wasn't going to face her. "Okay, see... I talked to Spike, uh, recently, and he told me that you--"
"That bastard," Buffy hissed, her eyes narrowing in fury. She spun around and grabbed her jacket from the island, leaving the room, and Willow, behind. "I told him to keep his mouth shut. Why I expected him to do so, I have no idea. Big-mouthed braggart."
Willow followed behind Buffy as she headed toward the front door, muttering about Spike and pointy death things.
"Wait, it's okay, Buffy. It's not a big deal." Once again stopping Buffy with a hand to her arm, Willow shook her head. "I'm not judging, or--"
"Not judging?" Buffy repeated, looking away guiltily. "You should be. What I did was wrong. So very wrong."
Willow took Buffy's jacket from her and shut the front door quietly. Pushing Buffy back to sit on the steps, she wondered if it didn't bother Buffy more than it did Spike. Or her. Knowing the truth behind Spike's newly returned feelings... or what he thought he felt. Ugh. Confusing. "Look, Buffy, it was just a few--"
"Shags?" Buffy whispered harshly, shame flushing her face with heat. "Yeah, that's what Spike called it. I call it a freak show."
"Kisses," Willow finished softly, disbelief coursing through her. "Oh my, God. You slept with him?" Gone, were the fluttery butterflies of tingly happiness, in its place was a roiling bombardment of shock and astonishment. And yeah, just a bit of jealousy.
Buffy didn't notice her shock, or the way she sort of dropped to the stairs beside her with a thunk. All her mind was on her own shame and embarrassment. "I felt so dirty and wrong and disgusted afterwards, but I couldn't stop." She turned big, teary eyes Willow's way, her lip trembling in misery. "What's wrong with me? I'm a sick, sick person."
Willow shook her head as Buffy's pure misery got through to her. Gone were her own feelings. Buffy was hurting and she needed a friend, and that guilt was once again working its way through her. None of this would've happened if she hadn't torn Buffy out of heaven. "It's okay, Buffy. He's..." she sighed, trying to think of the right thing to say, but she was coming up empty. "Um, well, he was--is--in love with you, right? And, he's attractive, in an evil way. And you had issues, things that were going on, confusing things, and that had to be hard on you. Then Spike comes around, and-- he seduced you. That's what he did. He seduced you when you were, you know, all vulnerable and stuff, and you couldn't be expected to resist him. With the sweet way he--probably--talked to you, and--"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Will!" Buffy said loudly, halting her babble in mid-flow. "Calm down, it's okay. Really. It's bad, really, really bad, but not catastrophic bad, and you're taking this awfully personally." She eyed Willow cautiously, patting her knee comfortingly. "You're not going to go kill him for me, are you?" She ducked her head momentarily to her fidgeting hands, before looking up again. "'Cause, I don't want him dead."
Willow blinked at Buffy in confusion. She'd been so caught up in her babble and the fact that somewhere along the line it had gotten turned around on her. Over-identify much? Her rant was gone, and Buffy's words sank in. "What? No, God no. I would never... no. I'm sorry, I just--" she gestured to herself, "issues."
Buffy chuckled softly, pulling Willow to her feet and hugging her tightly. Willow held her best friend tight, feeling so lost. Being an adult sucked. Give her her old softer-side-of-Sears clothes any day if it meant she didn't have to go through all this tough, painful stuff anymore. Liar, she chastised herself.
"Hey," Buffy said quietly, pulling back to look at her. "Thanks for the concern and stuff, but I did the bad, wrong thing. Knowing you're there, and not being all... judge-y, well, it helps. A lot." Sighing heavily, she released Willow and glanced upstairs then back at Willow. "I'll have to get past it on my own, and you know, talking about it kind of helped to put things into perspective. It's nice having someone to talk to again." She rolled her eyes and scoffed. "No more Spike talking. That way only leads to badness."
"Right," Willow agreed, once again over-identifying. "No more Spike talking."
Buffy peeled her sweater away from the bitemark on her chest, the blood making it stick to her skin. "No more biting either," she muttered as she headed upstairs, and Willow was pretty sure Buffy hadn't intended for her to hear that last part.
But she had.
"Buffy," she called softly, gesturing to her bloody sweater, not wanting to know the answer, but not willing to not know it. "Did you... with Spike, tonight?" she asked weakly, her eyes on the stained knees of Buffy's jeans.
Buffy nodded slowly and continued up the stairs, her head hung low.
Willow watched Buffy disappear around the corner, unable to get her feet to move. Her mind was moving just fine, unfortunately, cranking out thought after thought that she'd rather not think about right now. Or ever.
She heard the shower turn on, and finally made her legs go. Why was she so bothered by this news? Okay, logically, this wasn't horrible. Buffy had slept with Spike. So what?
Not had, still was.
That was the difference. Before his supposed revelation concerning her and his non-existent feelings for Buffy, she wouldn't have been bothered too much by the news of Buffy and Spike having sex. Shagging, he called it. Screwing was more like it, she thought, slamming her bedroom door behind her. Screwing Buffy. Screwing Willow. Did it matter to him how much it hurt her to find out, not from him, when he could've come clean a dozen different times, no, she'd found out on accident, from Buffy. Her best friend.
Once again, Willow was panting, but this had nothing to do with want or need or happy thoughts. This was from anger and betrayal. Not Buffy's betrayal, this was all Spike's betrayal. He'd used her. Used her and Buffy and God knew who else. Pacing across her room, she glanced out the window she'd climbed through earlier, seeing the moon high in the sky. Its bright yellow light flooded her room with its sickly glow. Flicking her wrist toward the window, she paced away again, listening in satisfaction as the window slammed shut and the curtains closed with a swish.
That same nauseous feeling she'd had last week after her less than stellar tryst with Spike was back. She dashed into the bathroom, gagging. Fighting the retching, she stood shakily in front of the mirror, staring at her face. Pale skin, drawn and sunken eyes, definitely not healthy looking. Her eyes were cold and hard, dry, no sign of tears. Her heart felt the same way.
Turning the water all the way up, she plunged her hands into it and splashed her face until she felt clean again. Gripping the sink edge with her dripping hands, she leaned forward. Oz, Tara, Spike... even Xander. They'd all hurt her, betrayed her. Left her. She was once again alone and empty. As empty as one of Rack's victims.
Standing straighter, she yanked the towel off the rack, knocking the one beside it to the floor, and dried her face off. If she was destined to be hurt and empty, why not be empty with a bonus? Throwing the towel on the floor, she left the bathroom, and shoved her feet into her shoes by the bed. "Tie," she muttered, walking to the door as they tied themselves. Slamming her bedroom door, she headed downstairs, startled by Dawn poking her head out her bedroom door curiously.
"Hey," she whispered, covering her mouth as she yawned widely. "What's with all the slamming?"
"It's nothing, Dawnie," Willow told her, walking past the younger girl. "Go back to sleep."
"Okay," she mumbled. "But don't blame me if I'm cranky tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Willow repeated incredulously, turning back to face Dawn. She walked closer, chuckling at Dawn's confusion and nervousness. Tapping Dawn's cheek lightly, she shook her head at the obtuseness of the girl. "Dawn, honey, you're cranky everyday. In fact, sometimes I have to force myself to be around you. We all do." Rolling her eyes at the hurt look that crossed Dawn's face, she sighed and turned away. "See ya, Dawn. Gotta see a rat about a Rack."
Feeling better, she hopped down the stairs, laughing in delight as she heard Dawn's door slam shut. Stopping with her hands on her hips, she turned to look upstairs. "And she has the nerve to ask me what all the slamming is about?" Something tickled her nose, and she reached up to scratch it. Her hand came away with blood smeared across it. Shrugging, she wiped it on her jeans with the rest of the stains and left the house behind.