Willow strode purposefully down the garbage-strewn alley toward her destination, the smooth metal door at the end that led to the Bronze. Her footfalls sounded loud in the near silence of the night. The only other sounds, coming from the Bronze, a soft, thumping sound that grew louder as she neared the entrance.
Her anger and sense of betrayal had only grown in the past twenty minutes, rather than fading as she'd secretly hoped it would. There was a tiny part of her, way far in the back of her mind, that didn't want to go to Rack, didn't want to disregard both Tara and Spike's words. But the furious part of her, the part that was now in control, could've cared less.
She wanted to see Rack, to see what he could do for her. She wanted that small sense of danger that she craved. Forgetting what her life was at the moment, the things she'd done--ripping Buffy out of heaven, doing a spell on Tara to erase their fight, cheating on Tara with Spike--forgetting all of that and the fact that she'd allowed Spike to fool her into believing he cared about her, that held a great deal of appeal to her too.
Darkness surrounded her but for the pale yellow light from the rising moon. The streetlights lining the alley along with the light above the door, did little to chase away the encroaching night and what hid in it.
But Willow wasn't worried about the creatures of the night. She wasn't afraid for her life. She could take care of herself. She *would* take care of herself.
She raised her hand in front of her, and flicked it at the heavy door as she approached it, watching with a delighted smile as it flew open. She stepped forward, standing in the entryway, surveying the crowded club. Heads turned her way, men and women alike watching her with appreciation, envy, and disinterest. The apathetic teens of Sunnydale, as with teens everywhere, knew little, but instinct, and the presence of a Hellmouth had taught most of them when to approach someone, and when not to.
One look at her face as she stood backlit by the moon, had everyone with just an ounce of self-preservation and common sense leaving her alone.
Willow, ignored everyone in favor of finding Amy, her fellow witch, the person who could take her to see Rack. Spotting a girl with long, straight, golden-brown hair on the dance floor, Willow pushed her way through the crowded club.
Eyes watched the redhead as she passed them. She seemed to crackle with an energy that was visible. People stepped out of her way, most didn't even realize they were doing it, but some silently swore--never out loud--that it was because they'd looked into her eyes and found an emptiness there that unnerved them.
As she neared the dance floor, Willow could see that it was indeed Amy she'd seen. The other girl, surrounded by dancing couples, was gyrating slowly against two beefy bo-hunks, one blonde, one black-haired. They were muscular, bodybuilder muscular, huge. They had on white T-Shirts, and black jeans, looking a bit like bouncers, but Willow had never seen them before. She was pretty up-to-date on the people who worked in the Bronze, and those two did not.
The current song the band was playing came to an end and a new one started. The soft, slow, rhythmic sounds of an acoustic guitar floated through the air, wrapping the patrons in a melody that was haunting as much as it was beautiful. The atmosphere in the club changed, going from frenetic to sensuous.
Willow paused on the outskirts of the dance floor, glancing curiously toward the stage. The sound of the band reminded her of the Dingoes. Reminded her of Oz. Sweet, simple tunes, not too difficult for Oz's fingers to wrap around.
When he left Sunnydale the first time, he'd still been having trouble with the G chord. Had he learned it by now? Mastered it?
Closing her eyes, she tapped her fingers along her thigh, keeping beat with the song, wondering where Oz was tonight. Was he chained up somewhere because of the full moon? Or was he running free, chasing rabbits?
Humans, her mind scoffed at her, he'd be chasing humans. Killing them and ripping them apart with claws and teeth. He'd be feasting on a dinner of humanity.
Her eyes snapped open, and she narrowed her eyes on the band, waving her hand in their direction to shut them up with magick.
Nothing happened. The music continued to play, the lead singer continued to wail mournfully into the microphone, and Willow grew more furious with every note saturating her ears. She tried again, waving both hands toward the stage, whispering, "Silence."
Again, nothing happened.
Frowning down at her hands as the band went on as if she hadn't just tried to use powerful magick on them, she spun around toward the dance floor. Shoving her way through the sweaty throng of dancers that were cradling each other close, practically having sex right there on the dance floor, she stopped in front of Amy and her two male partners.
Amy was sandwiched between the men, her eyes closed, her lips moving in time with the words. A year ago, seeing Amy sliding her body up and down the man behind her would've had Willow blushing. That naivete had left her with so many other parts of her childhood. Before she'd been loved and then left--or betrayed--by a werewolf, a witch, and a vampire. She'd learned to move past the little things.
At the moment, Willow had no patience for this. She wanted to get out of there and start forgetting. Start moving on with her life like Tara obviously was. Like Buffy was. Like Spike was. Even Amy was, and she'd only just returned from Rat-World a few hours before.
Sighing impatiently, she grabbed Amy by the arm and yanked her out of her man-meat sandwich.
Amy's eyes opened slowly, a seductive smile playing along her lips as she caught sight of Willow. "Oh, hey, Willow," she said huskily, licking her lips and letting her eyes slide shut as she leaned back against her dark-haired partner. He tried to pull her back into the dance, but Amy stayed where she was, sighing as she ran her hands up and down his legs behind her. "Which flavor you want?" she giggled, patting the man she was gyrating on before gesturing to the blonde, who was glaring at them for taking away his lap-dancer. "Chocolate, or vanilla?" She grinned, sliding her eyes to a girl dancing with her boyfriend a few yards away. "Or would you prefer strawberry?"
Not caring for either, or, Willow yanked Amy away from the dancers. "Come on. I wanna go see Rack." Ignoring that tiny voice springing up in the back of her mind, the one that was warning her not to go through with this, she rolled her eyes.
She just wanted a taste of his magick. Hers was gone, and wouldn't be replenished for at least a few days. She might need it before then. What if Dawn was attacked and Buffy wasn't around? She'd need at least a chance at helping.
Despite Dawn being an all-around pain most times, she was still Buffy's sister, and Willow didn't want anything bad happen to her... mostly. A bad case of laryngitis wouldn't hurt.
That she wanted and needed the magick was silly, Tara had no idea what she was talking about. And the danger, sure it appealed to her a little, but who didn't it appeal to? It was a normal thing, everyone craved a little danger. Like watching a horror movie, or riding a roller coaster. The thrill of it all gave her a rush of adrenaline, a natural high. Going to Rack would be no different.
Amy jerked out of Willow's grip, stumbling back a few steps when her arm was released. Her eyes narrowed on Willow, her mouth forming a thin line. "What about your pet?" she said testily. "What's he got to say about it?" She looked around, searching for Spike. "Doesn't he wanna weigh in on what Willow should or shouldn't do?"
Willow clenched her teeth, seething with mounting anger. "Spike has no say in anything I do." Her voice was sharp, her eyes cold. "Are you coming, or do I have to go find him myself?"
Amy considered for a minute, glancing around the Bronze with a raised
eyebrow. "I'm bored here anyway," she said lightly, flicking her
hand toward the dancers. Both disappeared in a puff of smoke.
The crowd on the dance floor surged closer together, having no idea why
they'd left a spot so large unoccupied. She took Willow's arm with
a wide smile, her eyes shining as she dragged her toward the door.
"You're in for a treat," she told Willow, "Rack is..." she paused, sucking
in a breath, searching for the right word, "phenomenal," she finally breathed.
"Yay, another alley," Willow sighed, looking around them at the filthy, dark space. Black garbage bags, garbage cans, crates--both broken and unbroken--lined the ground by the walls, making the small alley feel even narrower. Claustrophobics beware, she thought caustically. Stepping around a puddle of what she hoped was water, she turned around, facing Amy.
Amy turned to walk backwards, grinning at Willow. "This is it." She spun back around, continuing to the end of the alley, her steps hurried.
"Where?" Willow asked, seeing no doors. Heck, there wasn't even a window to climb through. "I thought you said the guy lived around here."
Amy nodded, coming to a stop at the end of the alley. "He does," she told Willow, frowning at her. "You can't feel it?"
Willow looked around them again, seeing nothing that could be construed as living quarters. And as for feeling anything, all that she could feel was a slight tug on her insides. But that could be nervousness. The alley, stretching out in front of them, was completely empty. "What do you--"
Amy reached down, taking Willow's hand in her own. She held it up, moving it forward. "Here."
"It's hot," Willow said wonderingly. A twinge of uneasiness settled in her, giving rise to misgivings that were increasing by the minute.
Amy grinned, her excitement almost palpable. Turning to face Willow, she walked backwards. "Come on." The air around Amy rippled, distorting her as she disappeared into the nothingness on the other side of... whatever was there.
Willow stretched her hand out in front of her, moving forward slowly. Her mind was warning her not to go in there, not to go through with this, but she paid her conscience no attention. As she watched, her hand and arm rippled like Amy's had, then disappeared. Taking a deep breath, she put one foot in front of the other, and went through the magick field.
As she emerged into the dilapidated room, she saw Amy grinning like a kid who'd gotten a pony for Christmas. Or Hanukkah. She dropped her hand, staring around at the place, wide-eyed. 'Wow', she wanted to shout, but remained silent, not wanting to draw any more attention to herself than she already had. The people looked a little... strung-out.
Are these them then? she wondered. The people Spike had warned her about. Were they empty shells filled with want and need?
She wasn't like them at all. She wanted magick, yes, but she kind of had to have it. The world was often at stake, and sometimes only magick saved it. Or helped anyway.
"It's cool, isn't it?" Amy asked, looking as pleased as punch. "The place is cloaked."
Willow nodded. The place was... well, kind of past its prime. It was pretty standard for an old, run-down motel room. Chairs, sofas, and lamps, lined the walls, with people lining the seats. Most of them were young. In fact, they all were. But they looked old. Their eyes looked like they'd seen and done too much. "Yeah," she agreed, tamping down on the nervousness threatening to draw her down into its murky depths.
"Moves around a lot too." Amy glanced around the room, not at all thrown by the odd scene, and not noticing Willow's sudden unease. "Keeps Rack out of trouble."
"Rack," Willow said, grabbing onto that subject, hoping to learn a little more before actually meeting him and letting him do... whatever it was he did. "What's--"
A door across the room opened, and a man emerged. His eyes fastened on Amy and Willow.
A girl sprung up from her seat on one of the chairs. "Rack, Rack, it's my turn," she said anxiously.
"No, man, you said I was up," a guy joined in, standing on the other side of Rack.
The girl looked angrily past Rack, glaring at the guy trying to take her turn from her. "Bull, I've been here for hours!"
Rack ignored them both, his eyes still solely on the newcomers.
Willow clenched her hands into fists as he neared. Tiny pinpricks of pain forced her to loosen her grip as he approached. She swallowed hard, not wanting to give in to the fear, but not able to completely let it go. Okay, so his long, stringy brown hair was kind of gross, but she wasn't the type to judge people by their appearances. That was Cordelia and Harmony's job. Even if the scar on his face did make him look sort of evil and scary. But, hey, he had a nice, pretty amulet around his neck, and that was... neat and stuff. So, who cared if his eyes were kind of... well, odd? She wasn't judgmental.
Buffy said so.
She hadn't judged Buffy about sleeping with Spike. It wasn't Buffy's fault. She needed comfort she couldn't find elsewhere. Spike was the one at fault. He'd-- ugh.
Rolling her eyes mentally, she looked up at Rack, even more determined to do this.
As if he heard her, Rack told the room. "I believe these two are next."
Willow glanced sideways at Amy whose wide eyes were shining brightly, a smile of anticipation turning up the corners of her mouth. Willow's heart pounded and her breathing quickened. Wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans, she followed Rack as he turned on his heel and led the way into the other room.
Willow looked around the small room, barely registering the peeling paint on the walls, the outdated furniture that'd seen better days before she was born, and the carpet that had stains on it that she didn't want to know about.
"Thanks, Rack, for taking us," Amy said, removing her jacket to get more comfortable. She set the jacket down on the couch. "I know it's been a while. You'll never believe--"
"You were a rat," he said slowly, and Willow had to wonder why Amy wasn't asking the question that was uppermost in her own mind at the moment, chiefly being, if he knew she was a rat, why didn't he help her somehow?
Amy looked like she wanted to ask, but she didn't. Instead she asked, "How did you know?"
Rack chuckled, and Willow had the feeling that he knew what they were thinking, and was amused that they didn't dare ask him. "I hope that taught you not to mess with spells you can't handle. You should leave that in the hands of a professional." He rubbed his hands together, causing little sparks of magick to fly this way and that.
Willow watched him in amazement. This, oh this was exactly what she'd been wanting. Someone to share their magick with her, to teach her how to use it rather than constantly nag her about it, warning her off of it. She wanted someone who would encourage her, not tell her to be careful.
Rack watched her just as intently, staring at her as he rubbed his hands. The magick flying off of him called to her, tugging at her insides with promises of filling the emptiness.
He looked delighted with Willow, like Amy had brought him a new toy. "Oh," he said softly, "this one's givin' off vibes." He walked closer to her, forcing her unease right back up to the forefront.
She'd never been comfortable with being the center of attention. The limelight just wasn't for her. She preferred to sit quietly in a corner, watching other people. The way Rack kept looking at her, she started to wonder if he wasn't just a little bit of a pervert. "I don't mean to... vibe at you, i-- if it's in a negative way," she told him, hating herself for being reduced to her old nervous stuttering ways.
He walked behind her, out of sight, his voice almost as awed as she had been at seeing this place. "No, no, I-- I mean you... have power, girl, it's just," he waved his hands around her, startling her, "coming off you in waves."
"Not so much," she returned, looking away in embarrassment. He moved back around in front of her, still staring. She felt like a bug under a microscope. Or a prostitute on a street corner. If it wasn't for what he was able to do, which she still wasn't sure what that was, she'd probably be halfway home by now, because Rack was one creepy guy, but she wanted what he had. Needed what he could do. "I mean, I-- I can do stuff, but, I get tapped out quick, and I've used practically every spell I know."
That was hard for her to admit. That she wasn't as knowledgeable and skillful as she'd like to be. As many other Wiccans were. She had power, she knew that, but because of Giles and Tara and... so many other factors over the years, her learning had been retarded.
"And what do you want me to do about that?" he asked knowingly.
Her face clouded with uncertainty, not sure exactly what he wanted from her. The urge to run was rising within her again. "I--I don't know, I-- I thought--" she looked back at Amy, who was watching them with curiosity. "Amy said--"
"Amy said," he interrupted, nodding. "Amy said I could help you." He paused ever so slightly, hardly at all really, but she heard it, and it wasn't reassuring. "But did Amy say how you could help me?"
And therein lies the rub, she thought. What did Rack want for sharing his magick with her? For bolstering her own powers. What was her need for this worth? "No, I-- I have some money, a-- a bit--" Oh, how she wished she could stop her stuttering tongue from giving away her nervousness.
He shook his head, not satisfied with her offer. "Not money."
Well, what else was there that he could possibly want from her? She didn't have much in the way of worldly possessions. All she did have was her book smarts and her-- oh, ooo, maybe that's what he wanted. "I could help you with your computer, I'm really handy--"
A wave of apprehension coursed through her when he moved near, holding his hand out toward her chest. Her stomach clenched tight as she fought to keep a hold on her fragile control.
"Just relax," he told her, and she wondered if he was trying to be reassuring, because he was failing miserably if that was the case. "I'm not gonna hurt you." Another one of those minuscule, almost not-there pauses as he added, "You gotta give a little to get a little, right?"
Her pulse began to beat more erratically, her breath catching in her throat. She looked over at Amy, wondering what she was getting herself into.
"It's okay," Amy whispered, her eyes flat, expressionless. "It's over fast."
Willow nodded once, her expression wooden, though she knew she was fooling no one with her impassivity. Turning back to face Rack, she waited for what she hoped wouldn't be too unpleasant.
"That's right," he said softly. "I'm just gonna take a little tour." He raised his hand, holding it over her chest, but not actually touching her.
She felt the heat from his skin, and something else, itching along her own skin at his nearness. Before she could figure out what it was, magick shot from his hand into her chest. She gasped, closing her eyes as a wave of energy flooded into her. Breathing became an issue as air was dragged from her lungs, leaving her feeling empty and aching. The magick flowing into her quickly filled her up, saturating every inch of her body, inside and out.
She panted as the sounds outside of her own breathing faded away to nothing. Wrapped up in a cocoon of near-stifling nothingness, she whimpered, feeling the magick cut off, but oh... still there. Still soaring through her.
A voice, the only sound in her now narrow little world, whispered in her ear. "You taste... like strawberries."
The sound of his voice made her want to shudder in distaste, but the magick coursing through her drowned her in ecstasy.
Time stopped being anything she knew, or was familiar with. She was just... Willow, nothing else existed. She was fully, blissfully alive. Her smile widened, broadening until she thought her face would split, and she was happy with that. In fact, she was happy with everything.
Opening her eyes slowly, she saw the room below her, impossibly below her, but right where it was supposed to be. Stretching languidly, she watched grass grow over everything, blanketing the entire room in green. She rolled onto her side with a sigh, her thoughts wonderfully empty of all things Willow. Pleasure existed here, warm sunshine on her face.
She squinted up at the clear blue sky. The sun was mostly obscured by tree branches, which swayed in a slight warm breeze, causing dappled sunlight to dance along her skin. The sweet smell of roses drifted to her and she inhaled deeply, also taking in the rich, earthy smell of soil.
A hand, smooth and silky, drifted along her thigh, the fingers teasing and feather light. At the same time, she felt lips, raining delicate kisses on the flesh of her other leg. Such soft lips, so tender. Lips that slowly made their way up her body. Hands, gently but firmly, parted her thighs and the kisses turned into suckling and her body writhed, aching for more.
Locked in the welcoming world of magick, a world all her own, she reacted wholly to the mouth moving on her. The intense state of arousal left her gasping, fisting her hands in the wool blanket beneath her. Her hips arched up from the ground, her eyes fastening on the leaves moving in the breeze, the lone white cloud floating lazily in the sky. A tongue slid inside her, teeth nipped at her.
The muscles in her stomach tightened, clenching with the promise of release. This was more than physical, it was sensual, carnal. Phenomenal.
Her heart drummed inside her chest, her pulse quickening as she pushed out breaths through slightly parted lips. Shivers of delight whispered through her, making her skin tingle.
And then she was standing there, on the precipice, taking a swan dive from the cliff. Thoughts--a hundred, a million of them--flooded through her mind as she screamed her release, arching her hips higher, closer to the mouth, clamping her legs around her lover's head. Panting with short, quick breaths, she settled back down against the blanket, loosening her fisted hands from the soft cloth beneath her.
Her eyes followed the light gray clouds soaring across the sky, watched the tree branches blow heavily in the gentle wind. The mouth left her, and a body lifted over hers. She looked up as her lover entered her.
Her eyes widened when she saw Rack poised above her. Inside her.
There was a lazy, predatory smile on his lips. Glistening lips, covered in--
"Oh, God," she whispered, as the waves of pleasure continued to roll through her body. She made a feeble attempt to push him off, but her body refused to cooperate. Her traitorous body had a mind of its own. Her legs wrapped themselves around him, as he thrust increasingly deeper and faster. "Oh God," she repeated.
His eyes, dark and knowing, settled on hers as he tilted his head to the side. She couldn't turn away. "That's right, you know who I am," he whispered, his voice deepening, reverberating through her mind. "Now let's see who you are."
Overcome with sexual pleasure and despair, she closed her eyes to the dark gray clouds starting to obscure the cerulean sky, and hitched in a shallow breath as tree branches whipped overhead. The smell of roses had faded, all she could smell now was strawberries. And decay.
He grunted, the knowing look on his face replaced with an intense expression of ecstasy as he thrust even deeper into her--God, had anyone ever gone that deep?--forcing a gasp from her. She didn't want to respond, she didn't want this, or him, or anything but this to be over. But her body wasn't agreeing. It was enjoying the sensation of having him inside her and his hands on her.
When her body tightened around him in a second orgasm, he laughed and continued thrusting until he spilled himself inside her.
She closed her eyes and waited breathlessly as the weight on top of her was lifted. Silence descended. Rolling over with a sob, she was surprised to feel herself falling. She snapped her eyes open. The floor was quickly advancing on her. Reaching her arms out, she broke her fall, landing on her stomach. A moan escaped her. Unable to move, she closed her eyes.
The sensation of movement rushed through her, creating a sense of vertigo. She opened her eyes and found herself standing up... in the Bronze? People surrounded her, the noise hurting her ears. She swayed slightly as the vertigo feeling returned. Reaching a hand out to one of the tables to catch herself, she suddenly found herself not there anymore.
Looking around in a panic, she saw the Espresso Pump in front of her, and a pool of light beneath her feet, which meant that the Magic Box was-- she was gone again before the thought could completely form.
She panted fearfully, feeling the floor beneath her. Frowning, she pushed herself to her hands and knees, looking around at her own bedroom.
Climbing hastily to her feet as memory returned, and stillness settled in her, she stood in the middle of the room, gasping for breath.
What have I done? she thought desperately, running to the bathroom to throw up. Her insides clenched, her throat forcing her to retch as images flooded into her mind. Rack. The field. Shame swept through her. Bile rose up into her throat and she gagged again, throwing up until there was nothing left inside her. She flushed the toilet with a shaking hand, dropping to the floor as dry, heaving sobs wracked her body.
Resting her head on her knees, she cried. For all the things she'd
done to Tara, for sleeping with Spike, for tearing Buffy out of heaven,
and for going to Rack. For letting her body respond to his.
But most of all, she cried because she wanted to go back, to feel that
rush of power flowing through her. That feeling of ecstasy as magick
filled the empty places in her.
Water pipes shook and rattled in the walls, reverberating throughout the house as one of the upstairs showers was turned on. Buffy glanced at the ceiling, hoping it wasn't Dawn just now hopping into the shower. Hers took half an hour, and she still hadn't come down for breakfast. Sighing in annoyance, she turned off the stove and used the spatula to pry the scrambled eggs off of the pan they were sticking to.
"Hey," Dawn said, startling Buffy into dropping a few of the fluffy yellow bits of egg to the counter.
She looked over her shoulder, relieved to see Dawn completely dressed and ready for school. "Hey," she tossed back, turning back to finish her task. "Breakfast is..." she set the spatula down, picked up the plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon strips, setting it on the butcher block island in front of her sister, "done," she finished proudly. Smiling eagerly, waiting for the wide Dawn-grin that always accompanied her excited squeals, Buffy crossed her arms over her chest.
Dawn looked down at the plate of food with a frown. "Oh," she said softly, disinterest in her voice. "Eggs. Cool."
Buffy raised her eyebrows at Dawn, and her uninterested attitude. "Yeah, eggs. 'Cause you said yesterday morning, when I made you cereal, that you wanted eggs and stuff. So that's what I made you."
"Yeah," Dawn sighed, picking up her fork and playing with the eggs, pushing them around on the plate. "I wanted them yesterday. Today I wanted French toast." She smiled, taking a tiny bite of the eggs. "But this is good too."
Buffy nodded, turning to the sink to rinse the dishes. "Well, maybe you could tell me what you'll be wanting tomorrow, that way I don't make French toast and screw up again." A streak of irritation rushed through her. As always when it came to Dawn, she'd done the wrong thing. Although, it wasn't just with Dawn. It was everything. Whatever she did, or said, it didn't seem to be the right thing. Today it was breakfast, last night it was Spike-- sighing, she slammed the frying pan into the bottom of the sink. She'd agreed not to think about Spike. She couldn't even do that right.
"Hey, it's okay," Dawn called over the sound of the water. "I'm just cranky from last night. What happened anyway?"
"Last night?" Buffy repeated, starting to panic. Did Dawn know? How could she? Willow would never tell her. Spike definitely wouldn't. She herself hadn't. So she couldn't know, didn't know. "What do you mean?" she asked mildly, shaking her head in confusion. She shut off the water, wiping her hands on the dish towel as she turned to face Dawn.
"Just... with the banging doors, and--" she frowned, her mouth twisted into an expression of skepticism. "I swear I heard someone walking on the roof." Her expression cleared, turning into a self-deprecating smile. "Although, that could've been a dream, 'cause there's this one I have where clowns--"
"I really wish Xander would keep his fears to himself," Buffy muttered.
Dawn rolled her eyes. "The clown fear isn't a transference, Buffy, I've always been afraid of them. Anyway, the clowns have these huge balloon swords, and they walk around, peering in all the windows on the second floor." She paused, shuddering delicately. "Then they take their balloon-shaped swords, and," she held her fork in her fist, like a knife, making a stabbing motion straight in front of her, "stab it at the window, trying to break the glass to get in, but the glass isn't glass anymore, it's this... stretchy kind of stuff that stretches and stretches as they poke at it, but--"
Buffy tried and failed to hide her grin. "Freud would have a field day with you," she snickered, tossing the dish towel on the counter as the water upstairs shut off.
"What? Why?" Dawn asked in confusion, her brow furrowed in thought. "Why would--"
"Never mind," Buffy chuckled, hiding another grin, this time more successfully. "Eat, don't talk. You're going to be late for school."
Dawn dutifully took a few bites of her eggs, followed by a bite of toast. Instead of taking another bite, she swallowed quickly and continued talking. "Anyway, then there was all sorts of banging, and when I asked Willow about it, she was sort of mean." She looked down at her plate, picking up her toast to take another slow bite. "I thought maybe she'd had another fight with Tara."
"Willow, mean?" Buffy asked skeptically. "I don't think so, it must have been another dream. That's all," she assured Dawn. "Willow doesn't do mean."
Dawn looked up at her, raising an eyebrow. "Glory."
Buffy winced, knowing Dawn was right. "There were circumstances then. Tara's fine, and that's no reason for her to be mean to you." She moved around the island, sitting on the stool beside Dawn. "I'm sure it was just a dream. What did she say?" she encouraged.
Dawn hesitated, looking up at the ceiling. "That I was always cranky." She pushed her plate away and stood up. "And something about a rat with a rack." Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she shifted a bit and smiled. "I better go, I'm gonna be late." Heading out of the room, she rushed right by Buffy, bumping into Willow as she entered the kitchen. "Oh, sorry," Dawn mumbled, keeping her eyes on the floor as she hurried past.
"It's okay, Dawn. I sort of wanted to--" Willow started to say, but Dawn was already gone. Willow looked after the retreating girl with a frown. "Is she mad?" she asked Buffy.
Buffy sighed, taking a piece of uneaten toast from Dawn's plate. She bit into it, wondering why things always had to be so hard these days. "Apparently. She says you called her cranky last night." Buffy tossed her a smile, trying to share in the amusement that came from knowing Dawn could be a pain in the rump, but Willow wasn't looking her way.
She nodded, sitting in Dawn's vacated seat. "I did," she admitted quietly, propping her elbows on the table and resting her head in her hands. "I didn't mean to say it, but... with the magick, and de-ratting Amy, and Tara... I was sort of cranky myself, and I took it out on Dawn." She didn't apologize, Buffy noticed, but she didn't look happy about it either.
"That's okay," Buffy said slowly. "She probably knows you didn't mean it." Frowning, she took in Willow's pajamas and wet hair. "Aren't you a little underdressed for school?" she asked, tugging on the sleeve of her red, flannel PJ's.
Willow nodded, leaning her head on one hand as she glanced quickly toward her, then away again. "I don't feel so good. I think I'm going to go back to bed for awhile." She sighed heavily, tracing a fingernail along the counter edge. "Shouldn't have stayed out all night with Amy I guess."
Amy. A small twinge of jealousy bit Buffy in the ass. She had no right to be envious, and she certainly wasn't going to tell Willow about it.
"Oh, okay." Frowning at her friend and looking at her--really looking at her--for the first time in a few days, she was a bit surprised by what she saw. The dark circles ringing Willow's eyes, stood out in stark relief against her pale, chalky-white skin. Her wet hair, shoved back, but for a few stringy strands currently falling over her face, was uncombed. "I'm gonna head to the Magic Box for a little training fun, and then I'm work-bound. Whoo and yay," she said flatly, not at all looking forward to her shift at the DoubleMeat Palace.
Willow smiled weakly, dragging her eyes open and standing up in exhaustion. She yawned, heading out of the kitchen. "I'll stop by the Magic Box later, after you get off work. Night."
Buffy watched her go, waited until she heard Willow's door shut, then gathered her jacket and keys and left.
Her own life, with everything going on with Spike, and Giles getting ready to leave, and the new... whatever it was that was screwing with her lately... had been her sole focus of late. She hadn't had much time to notice her friends hurting, and as horrible as it sounded, there were times when she didn't even care enough to wonder. But that was her life these days. Patrolling, and seeing Dawn off to school. Training and saving Dawn from whatever tried to grab her that day. And work.
So, she had other things to worry about. She couldn't constantly wonder and worry that her friends, adults in their own right, were okay, and not hurting. She couldn't fix their hurt anyway.
She couldn't even fix her own, how was she expected to fix theirs?
So, she worried about herself and Dawn. Mostly Dawn actually. And the unhealthy, really wrong thing with Spike.
Shutting the front door behind her, she made sure it was locked before heading off down the street. Squinting into the bright morning sun, she slipped a pair of sunglasses from her jacket pocket and tried to imagine the sun was warming her. Tried to pretend like she was just another girl, walking down the street to her destination, and not something dead that'd been ripped out of Heaven.
Sometimes it worked, today it didn't. But she would not seek out Spike. Not ever again. No more. She was done with that, and with him.
And, according to him, he was done with her. She wasn't sure if she believed him. She thought maybe it was more along the lines of him trying to... do what? Gain the upper hand? Take control?
She sighed heavily. Spike, she thought derisively. Of all the people she could've chosen to use to get over the whole being-dead-again thing, she'd had to choose him. Him of the evil, biting, vampy, soullessness. What the hell is wrong with me? she wondered, he's not only soulless, but he's bite-y again. At least with her.
Her breath caught in her throat, remembering last night's bite. When he touched her--even just the smallest touch--she burned for more. His teeth piercing her flesh hadn't even turned her off of him, even after she'd vowed to herself not to let him do that anymore. Or to let herself sleep with him again.
Why couldn't she resist him? Well she could now. She actually was resisting him this very moment by not going to his crypt.
Yep, she was a rebel.
Still. She wanted to go to him. Was he right, was she just as dark as he was? Did she get off on pain? No, she thought desperately, it's not that at all. It's just comfort. No matter how she had to go about getting it, she needed the comfort of another body. Another body that understood death.
Another sigh escaped her as her mind tried to return to the ever-present
thoughts of Heaven. "Get over it," she muttered, wishing she could
do just that.
"Okay, Buffy! Buffy!" Giles shouted over the sound of her fists hitting the punching bag. His body jerked with every blow she rained on it, making him sound like he was driving over a constant stream of cow grates. "That's enough for now, I think." He was panting slightly, gasping for breath, but trying not to look it. "Perhaps you could save some of that hostility for the Yipral demon."
When she finally stopped beating up the bag, he released it and stepped back, wiping sweat from his face with his shirt sleeve. The gray sweatshirt was apparently living up to its name, because at the moment, it was soaked with it.
And she was the one doing all the work.
"Yipral demon," she repeated, dropping her fighter's stance, and letting her arms fall to her sides. "Right, forgot about him." She stepped away from the bag, grabbing a towel from the pommel horse. Since her face was sporting only a fine mist of sweat, she tossed it to Giles instead. "Sorry, guess I got a little carried away." Her shirt on the other hand, was kind of icky-sticky.
"No, no. I'm just..." he sighed, grinning ruefully. "Not as young as I used to be."
"Please, you're as buff as the next fifty year-old guy," she teased, turning away from him, ostensibly to grab the other towel from the horse. Her smile disappeared with her sight of him. She hated this. Hated that he was leaving soon, and leaving her to deal with it all alone. Dawn, Spike, everything. It was all falling even more solidly on her shoulders now that England was in his near future.
The minute he got on that plane, she was one hundred percent in charge of the house, her sister, the Slaying gig.
And she was afraid she couldn't do it. Not alone.
"Hey," Xander said from the doorway, snapping her out of her thoughts.
She smiled at him, her best friend. Someone to help her if things got too hard? He had his own life though. He was going to get married soon. Something she would never do.
Sighing, she looked toward where Xander was standing, envying him for the simplicity of his life. Even if that life included demons almost as much as hers did.
He was leaning against the doorway with two bottles of water, watching Giles wipe himself down. He tilted his head to the side, his mouth quirked up a little when he saw that she had barely broken a sweat. He shook his head at her in mock sorrow. "What did I tell you about beating up Giles, Buffy?"
"But it's so much fun," she pouted, peeling her sweaty shirt away from her body. "Ugh, is a shower too much to ask for in this place?"
"Yes," they answered together.
Xander moved further into the room, handing them both a bottle of water. "Construction alone would cost a pretty penny," Xander told her. "Not to mention labor."
"You could do the labor," she said absently, feeling an itch that tingled along her skin, it only happened when vampires were around, which meant one of two things. Vampires had just entered the store, or one particular vampire had entered the store. Ignoring the panic that assailed her at the thought--she didn't want to see him when other people were around, not after the things they'd done, the things she'd allowed him to do--she headed for the front of the store, hoping it was a gang of vampires.
Bad luck for her.
Spike appeared in the doorway Xander had just vacated, halting her mad dash toward him. He nodded to her, that's all, just a nod, but she imagined the others were reading more into it than that.
So she reacted defensively. "What do you want, Spike?" Her tone wasn't as harsh as she'd like, it was more pleading. And she didn't like that.
Giles sighed, looking tired-- no, not tired, weary. His eyes skimmed over her and Spike with irritation. "I called him in to help with the Yipral demon," he announced, striding across the silent room, and pushing past Spike.
Spike shrugged casually, making her even more nervous. "Yeah, Slayer, I'm just here to kick a little demon ass. Seems you sorry lot need all the help you can get." He paused, looking around casually. "So where's the witch? Why isn't she here researching this demon?"
Ignoring his jibe at them, she decided to be civil. Maybe he'd repay the favor and they could have a nice, decent working relationship with the others none the wiser. "She stayed home sick. Said she'd be here later." Frowning, she glanced over at Xander. "Only, it now is later. Did you try calling her?"
Xander nodded, pushing away from the door. "Twice," he answered. "How sick was she? Maybe she's, uh, maybe she's just sleeping." His voice was hopeful, not allowing too much worry to creep in.
"I can--" Spike began, falling silent when Buffy and Xander both tossed him a 'shut up' glare. Her angry stare had his features hardening in rage.
She ignored him, turning away from his glowering eyes. Tough luck, she wanted to sneer at him. If he wanted to be pissed, he could do it elsewhere. Willow wasn't anything he cared about. "Um, she didn't say. But, she stayed out with Amy all night, so maybe... hangover type sick?"
"She got drunk and hung out with a rat all night?" Xander asked, grinning crookedly. "That would've been a sight to see."
"Oh," Buffy added, "um, she de-ratted Amy and they pulled an all-nighter. You know, to celebrate Amy's freedom." Laughing lightly, she added, "You know, Willow said something odd to Dawn last night--who she griped at, remind me to tell you about that later--something about... a rat with a rack. So, obviously she and Amy had big plans for the evening. We'll have to get the scoop from her later."
"A spice rack?" Xander chuckled, and they both broke into laughter.
Neither Buffy nor Xander noticed Spike's mouth tighten, as they made their way to the weapons chest.