Spike stared after Buffy and Xander as they headed over to the weapon's chest, hoping he hadn't heard them right.
Willow had gone to see Rack?
He sighed heavily, letting his breath out with a disgusted scoff. Unfortunately, he wasn't nearly as surprised as he should've been. He'd managed to convince himself last night that she wouldn't go to see the warlock after his warning, but something had changed her mind. He hadn't counted on that.
And now she was missing?
He was undecided on whether he should leave Buffy to fight the bloody demon alone and go searching for Willow, risking raising Buffy's suspicions even more.
When the bell over the front door jingled, he was saved from making the decision by the arrival of the very person he wanted to search out. He forced himself to relax and unclench his fists, allowing the burning sensation in his palms from where his nails had dug into the flesh help him clear his mind. He still had to physically stop himself from breathing, to keep his chest from rising and falling with forced air.
Inhaling deeply one last time, he was nearly overwhelmed by the thick smell of sweat in the room. The air was close in here, heavy. But just when it was becoming too much, he smelled the tiniest hint of Willow as she neared the training room.
Like strawberries.
Seconds later, Willow walked gingerly into the training room, looking like she'd just spent the night in close quarters with a few bottles of Jack Daniels.
Or a few hours with Rack.
Anger, jealousy, and anxiety raged through him, burning at the edges of his control.
Willow didn't even notice. She wasn't paying attention to anything as she walked listlessly into the room. Her face was pale and chalky, contrasting starkly with the black circles rimming her eyes with weariness. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail again, as if she hadn't cared enough to do more than keep it out of her face. And her movements were slow and careful, measured.
He opened his mouth to ask her what in bloody hell she'd been thinking, but though better of it. Now wasn't the time, not with Buffy and Xander mere feet away. They'd probably be a bit curious as to why he cared, so he remained silent, watching her with a worried frown.
When she finally took notice of him, her eyes lit with... something he couldn't identify before going completely blank.
"Oh, hey, Will," Buffy called in an overly cheerful voice. "You made it."
Willow didn't even bother looking toward her friends, her eyes stayed solely on him. Her whole body was stiff, like she was holding herself in check, fighting the urge to hit him. Her face gave nothing of her thoughts away, but her eyes, narrowing even further, finally flickered very briefly toward Buffy.
He darted a glance toward Buffy, hoping she hadn't noticed anything. There was a confused frown forming on her face along with a slightly panicked look. She probably thought he was going to give away her dirty little secret. Little did she know.
Turning his attention back to Willow, he watched her force herself to relax, unclenching her fists just as he had.
Her tight lips relaxed the smallest bit as she tossed a look at Buffy while hooking her thumb at him. "Why is he here?" she asked, then chuckled nastily as her eyes turned to his, burning with scorn. "No, wait, let me guess. You need money," she said snidely, raising a single finger. "You need blood," another finger went up along with her sneer. "Or..." she gasped dramatically, "you need to tell everyone, once again, how much you're in love with Buffy." She paused to shoot him a cold look. "How 'yawn' is that?"
He forced himself not to react, not to dart across the room to grab her and shake her. To insist she tell him why she'd done it. He made himself remain where he was standing rather than hurl accusations and threats her way.
She seemed a little disappointed with that.
Xander laughed snidely, tossing Spike a smug grin before turning his attention to Willow, looking her over with a sudden frown. "You had us worried. We called... and Giles left you a message."
Willow shrugged, tossing Spike one last look of disdain as she joined her friends by the weapon's chest. "I was asleep, or in the shower. Sorry," she said, but she didn't sound too apologetic. Or interested. Or... anything really. It was like she was there, and that was the extent of her participation.
"Another shower?" Buffy asked absently, studying Willow closer.
Apparently he wasn't the only one to notice the difference in Willow, Buffy saw it as well. And even the moron had noticed something was off, but as usual with this group, they didn't mention it. Just ignored it, probably hoping it would go away. That Willow was... kind of twitchy and nervous obviously didn't ring any alarm bells in their minds. How could they be so blind? he wondered.
"The first one was an out-all-night shower," Willow was saying. "The second was a slept-all-day shower." She yawned, covering her mouth as she looked down at the chest. "Why are we getting weapons?"
"You okay?" Xander asked, watching her as closely as Buffy. "Looks like you and Amy had too much fun. Though, don't get me wrong, I'm happy you're getting back out there, doing the... post-relationship thing--"
Willow's head swung toward him, her eyes burning into his.
He chuckled nervously. "Not-- not that you're, you know, looking for love again. So soon. I just meant, you're... going out and having fun again." The last was added with a smile, a smile that begged with her to understand.
After a few seconds, Willow's expression softened and she nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, Amy and I did have... fun." She forced a smile that looked almost real, enough so that no one mentioned it.
"Fun," Spike muttered, seeing right through the pathetic expression. Her eyes flickered toward him so briefly he wasn't sure if he'd imagined it or not. Her back straightened and he sighed heavily, disappointed in her, and in the night he'd imagined having with her. Moving toward the couch, sitting on the arm as he listened in on their conversation, he leaned back against the wall, watching her.
He saw her eyes slide toward him as she shrugged. "Yeah, we, uh, we had a great time," she repeated, then explained, "that's why I'm so tired." She paused, wincing slightly as she leaned over to look into the weapons chest. "I'm just a little drained."
"Drained," Buffy repeated in confusion. "What--"
Willow shook her head dismissively and turned away, offering the others a view of her back as she answered, her voice abrupt. "I-- I just meant... you know, what with Tara not being around anymore. And, the missing of her."
Spike's eyes narrowed on Willow, knowing full well that her words were for his benefit. If she was drained already, this soon after seeing Rack and getting a boost from him... then she was using some extremely powerful magick.
He sighed, feeling like a hot air balloon losing its steam.
Buffy stood up with an annoyed look at him. "Spike, do you have something to say?" she prompted, sounding like a kindergarten teacher talking to a hesitant student. When his eyes slid toward her, she gestured to the back door. "If not, we have to get going, so choose your weapons." She pulled a double-headed axe out of the chest, hefting it in her hands a few times.
The small smile she let show was one he knew well. He used to live to see one aimed his way. Now, it held no attraction for him at all. He was definitely over her.
And on to someone better.
Someone that couldn't stand to look at him any more than Buffy could. And why was that exactly? As soon as they were alone, he'd find out. Just as soon.
Giles came back into the room as Spike pushed himself to his feet.
Buffy turned to him with a slightly hopeful look on her face. "Giles, are you sure I can't do this solo?" she asked, her eyes darting quickly toward Spike.
His own eyes widened in surprise. Was she really hoping Giles would tell her to go solo, or did she want him to go with her? Judging by the guilt and shame scurrying across her expressive face, she wanted him to go with her. And she wasn't entirely happy about that.
Yeah, there wouldn't be much patrolling going on if he went with her alone. Not if she had her way. They'd kick a little demon ass, and then afterwards she would try to get a piece of ass.
But that wasn't something he was doing anymore. Not with her. His desire for her was cooling daily, for which he was extremely grateful. Willow most likely wouldn't be happy if she ever... found-- oh bugger it. Is that what happened last night to send her to Rack? Had she found out about him and Buffy?
Darting his eyes in Willow's direction, he found her staring down at the weapons, not paying anyone the slightest bit of attention. If that's what was wrong with her... bloody hell.
Spike tossed an irate look in Buffy's direction wanting to blame her for this whole thing-- wanting to, but not really being able to do so. All that false want and need she'd stoked in him courtesy of the monks wasn't her fault, it was theirs. Though most everything else that had gone wrong in his life, to date, was her fault in one way or another, this wasn't one of them. Not entirely.
That he'd slept with her after declaring his love to Willow... that was unforgivable. There was no excuse for it. Only inadequate reasons, such as frustration, leftover desire, and the fact that Buffy had thrown him on the ground and seduced him.
When Giles shook his head, he sighed in relief. He wouldn't be alone with Buffy, adding further fuel to the fire burning within Willow, feeding her rage toward him.
Giles pulled a small bag out of his jacket coat, presumably full of magick ingredients, and handed it to Willow, who took it with a curious frown.
"What's this?" she asked, sniffing the black velvet bag. "Ew, way strong garlic. Giles, have I taught you nothing about beautifying your spells?" She shoved the bag into her jean pocket and brushed her hands off. "A little Lavender here, some rose hips there..." she shrugged. "Works wonders for stinky people and stinky spells."
"Oh," Giles replied, glancing at her pocket. "Sorry. I-- I, um, I forgot. Anyhow, it's a spell I found to reveal the path of the demon you're looking for. Just sprinkle it on the ground as you say the demon's name. Yipral," he added helpfully.
"Oh," she muttered, shrugging. "Okay. Whatever."
Giles frowned at her. "You'll also need to do a binding spell while Buffy kills it." He lowered his head a bit, looking over the tops of his glasses at her. "Can you do this, or--"
She nodded jerkily, bending down to take a silver dagger from the weapon's chest. "Ooo, this is pretty." Clearing her throat, she glanced over her shoulder at Giles and scoffed. "I could do that in my sleep." She ran her hand over the black and silver handle of the dagger, staring at it as if mesmerized.
Okay, Spike thought, now they had to notice something was wrong with her. She was acting more than a little off. But, after a few seconds of silence, he realized that they still didn't see it. Were they all complete idiots?
He watched her with a frown. She was staring at the dagger, moving it back and forth the tiniest bit, trying to catch the light with the blade.
"... Spike as extra protection and strength," Giles was saying, snapping Spike out of his thoughts. "Please use caution, Buffy, this demon is strong." His eyes found hers, warning her without words to be careful.
Buffy nodded though it wasn't needed. Had she ever not been careful? It didn't matter anyway, you still got dead.
Xander grabbed a stake from the chest, handing it to Willow, who had finally stopped playing with the dagger. She took the stake with a small smile. When Spike headed over, she clumsily got to her feet, watching him warily as she moved out of his path. He hardly paid her any attention, just gave her a brief look before reaching into the chest. With a clatter that echoed throughout the large room, he dug into the bottom, coming up with an axe similar to Buffy's.
Ah, his favorite. Great for beheading.
Xander rolled his eyes and grabbed a sword. Backing away slightly, standing a bit in front of Willow as if he was protecting her, he took the sword in both hands and swung it back and forth a few times, grinning. "Don't worry, I'll save you, madam," he drawled in a horrible accent that was indescribable. When Buffy glanced at him, raising an eyebrow, he shrugged. "The more the merrier, right? I can keep an eye out and act as a punching bag if a distraction is called for." Hugging Willow one-armed, he chuckled. "I'm there for ya "
Well, this was turning into an all-out demon hunt. Hopefully he'd be able to get Willow alone sometime during the patrol. They usually split up to cover more ground during these things, so he'd appeal to Buffy's common sense to pair him up with Willow and talk to her then.
"Okay, Xander," Buffy agreed, nodding decisively. "Will, you up for this?"
Willow, busy scooting out from under Xander's arm, snapped her head up to look at Buffy. She forced a smile and an eager nod. "Oh. Um, yeah, let's-- let's kill some things, and create mayhem." She shoved the stake into the same hand as the dagger and raised her clenched fist in the air, waving it halfheartedly. "Go us."
Spike frowned at Willow, noticing that, finally, everyone else was watching her as well. And yet, they probably assumed it was just Tara. He bloody well remembered how they'd treated her after Oz left. And they were doing it again.
"Okay," Buffy repeated, glancing around at the small assembled group.
Spike looked at them as well, realizing that, once again, it came down to a motley few. A slayer, a witch, a vampire, and one incredibly idiotic construction worker. Hiding a grin at his thoughts, he turned Giles. "So, where do we start?"
Giles, staring at the mess of weapons in the chest and a few that had somehow gotten on the floor, looked up, clearing his throat. "Oh, uh, well when I ran into it with my car, it was on Vine Street--"
"The penis-mobile," Xander lamented, snorting with laughter at the scowl that immediately crossed Giles' face. He leaned forward in concern. "Is it going to be okay?"
Patently ignoring all of their snickers, Giles rolled his eyes. "I knocked the demon off its feet, but other than that, I don't believe I harmed it. The Shady Glen Cemetery is just a block from there." He frowned, pulling a handkerchief from his pant pocket and dabbing at his forehead. "By all accounts, Yipral demons like to hang out in cemeteries, so I'd start there. Use the revealing spell, and it should be a piece of cake."
"Great," Buffy said. "Let's head 'em up and move 'em out."
"Piece of cake," Spike repeated, knowing it wouldn't be any such thing.
Hefting his axe over his shoulder, he started for the door.
The night was brightly lit so they were able to make their way to Vine Street rather quickly. Spike spent most of the walk behind the others, watching Willow, who was also lagging behind. He'd hoped to catch her alone, but had so far been unable to.
His brain, which seemed to consist of one thought and one thought alone, once again asked the question foremost in mind: Why had she gone to see Rack?
Bloody hell, he'd warned her away from the bastard and that hadn't been enough to frighten her off. It had to be that she knew of him and Buffy. But--and here was the kicker--why did that bother her so much? Was it because she didn't like her best friend sleeping with a demon? Or because she cared about Spike? Or, then again, it could just be that she felt betrayed.
Of course she was feeling betrayed. Who wouldn't?
Unfortunately, during the entire trip, Willow never strayed far enough behind the others to allow him more than a quick glance in her direction. And then she was gone with a glare, picking up her pace to join the others.
Once on Vine Street, they drew to a stop in front of a construction site. There was a six-foot chain link fence surrounding the area, warning off intruders. This was the bad part of town. A few businesses were around, but mostly just bars and motels. Spike sat on the hood of an old black Mazda, hooking the heel of his boot on the bumper. Dropping his axe on the hood of the car, he waited. And watched Willow.
"Okay, Will," Buffy said, "do your thing." Her eyes surveyed the darkness before falling on him with a sigh. "Spike." She stared pointedly at his axe. "That's somebody's car." When he shrugged, she rolled her eyes and stalked over to him. Grabbing the axe, she set it carefully on the street, resting the handle against the bumper.
Spike's eyes barely left Willow. She stood on the sidewalk, the stake and dagger in one hand. She was struggling to pull the bag of magick from her pocket without dropping the weapons and doing a poor job of it. The bag was stuck. When she pulled hard on it, it came free, jerking her arm up and forcing her into dropping both weapons.
She tossed him a quick glare before bending down to pick up the stake and dagger. Like it was his fault she was clumsy and a little bit strung out. Obviously she knew he was watching her. Judging her. Did she also know that he was upset with her for disregarding him and going to see Rack? He was bewildered by her need to do so, positive that it had something to do with him. Was that why she couldn't come to him rather than going to see Rack? He kept asking himself the same questions, letting them roam around his mind searching for answers. The only possible answer was that she knew about him and Buffy. But his mind refused to accept it.
Sighing, he dropped his foot to the ground and busied himself with digging in his pockets for a cigarette. Damn her anyway. And Buffy, constantly watching him, puzzling over his mood, annoying him with her irritating voice. Finding a crumpled pack in his duster pocket, he dug through it, fishing out the last cigarette. Lighting it, he drew the soothing smoke into his lungs, watching the three friends commiserate over exactly where to spread the magick pixie dust.
"Ah, hell," Spike bit out after a minute, "will you just dump the bloody thing?" His head was starting to ache. All the questions swimming around in his brain were giving him no peace of mind, and their chatter was just aggravating it.
All three of them stopped talking. Two of them told him to shut up, and one of them ignored him completely.
Willow yanked the tie on the small black velvet bag open, and poured some of the herbs into her hand. Holding her open hand to her mouth, she blew on the powder, and mumbled, "Yipral." The green powder swished and swirled in the breeze, floating slowly to the sidewalk. As soon as it settled on the ground, glowing orange footprints began lighting up.
Buffy sighed, shaking her head in irritation and disappointment. "The cemetery," she told them, following the footprints down the sidewalk. "Don't demons have anything better to do than hang around in cemeteries?" she wondered aloud.
Xander followed her closely, stepping around the footprints. "I dunno, let's ask Spike." He turned to glance at Spike over his shoulder. "When you're not with us, and not in a cemetery, what exactly do you do?"
"Buffy," Willow muttered.
Spike's eyes shot to Willow, hoping he hadn't heard her right. And if he had, he really wanted it to be because she was trying to get Buffy's attention. He did not want this to be why she'd gone to see Rack. Because of him.
If she knew, she had to think he'd lied to her about his feelings. That he'd used her. Betrayal was probably one of the emotions flitting across her hostile face. Betrayal and hurt.
But maybe she didn't know. Maybe she'd just been trying to get Buffy's attention. Yeah, right, he scoffed, nonetheless watching her closely.
She didn't look in Buffy's direction, or his, and he had to come up with different lies to suit his denial-filled thoughts. Maybe his ears were playing tricks on him. Or his mind was. Guilt did strange things to a person.
She stepped forward with her right foot, lining her shoe up with the orange imprint of the demon's footprint nearest her. Settling all her weight on that foot, she lined up the next one. He picked up his axe, swinging it onto his shoulder as he caught up with her. She was still walking in the footprints, carefully lining up each step before making it. She did this the entire way to the cemetery, staying just within hearing distance of Buffy and Xander, but far enough behind not to have to participate.
If he didn't know better, he'd think she was high. May as well be, his mind tossed back at him.
As they reached the stone gates of the cemetery, Spike grabbed Willow's arm, hauling her back onto the sidewalk with him as Buffy and Xander continued following the prints. "I want answers," he told her in a low voice, "so you'd better start coming up with something that satisfies."
She boldly met his eyes, lifting her chin in defiance. "You know," she said idly, "I think I speak for all of us when I say-- Buffy!" She grinned smugly, tugging lightly on her arm as she waited for Buffy and Xander to hightail it back to them, but it only made him tighten his grip.
His fingers dug into the flesh of her upper arm, forcing a twinge of pain to course through his head. Dragging Willow through the gates, he met Buffy and Xander, shoving Willow toward them angrily. "Cat scared her," he said in disgust, stalking past them.
Following the footprints, he tossed his cigarette to the grass, leaving it smoldering on the ground somewhere behind him. The orange prints circled a mausoleum and stopped just outside the door. "Gosh," Spike said loudly, kicking open the crypt door, "I wonder where it could be?" The door flew open, slamming against the wall and trying to bounce shut again. His booted foot stopped it.
Glancing around at the mostly empty interior of the small space, he found it devoid of anything alive or dead--
Pain flashed through the back of his head, stunning him. Waves of more pain crashed through his skull, dropping him to his knees. His head felt heavy as it hung down, too heavy to lift. His eyes slid shut. He was falling forward.
Blackness descended just as Willow screamed.
When Spike woke up, he tried to climb to his feet and go to Willow's aid. She'd screamed, hadn't she? She was in trouble, possibly hurt. His brain knew all this, but his body didn't want to move right away. Fingers twitched as silence continued to be the only sound he could hear. Hands moved as crickets hesitantly restarted their chirping.
One by one he gained control of his limbs and was finally able to push himself into a kneeling position. The crypt, now sporting a small blood stain, was still empty but for the single sarcophagus.
His whole head screamed at him to stay still, not to move another inch or else it planned to explode on him. He got unsteadily to his feet, ignoring his head as he searched for Willow. As he left the crypt, stepping down clumsily, he tripped over Buffy's body. Glancing around quickly, he spotted Xander a few yards away, also unconscious. Both were alive and-- asleep? Their heartbeats were normal, breathing regular and even.
Kneeling down beside Buffy, he felt her pulse, rested his hand on her forehead. As far as he could tell, they were asleep.
But where was Willow? Orange prints were near both Buffy and Xander, and a few had started in one direction before backing up and running to the left.
He'd only been out for a minute; his head hadn't bled enough for him to have been out for much longer than that. But apparently that was long enough for the demon to make a run for it, and where the hell was Willow? He spun around in a circle, hoping he'd just missed her body and heartbeat.
"Bloody hell," he ground out, trying not to panic. She'd just run, that was all. She wasn't hurt. Or dead. She was *not* dead. Not after he'd just found her again. "Bloody hell," he repeated, running in the direction the footprints led. "Willow "
Halfway through the cemetery he heard a heartbeat, strong and steady, straight ahead. The footsteps led that way as well. Picking up his pace, he ran forward, jumping over a few headstones and a bush. "Willow," he said in relief.
She was kneeling beside the orange demon, her back to him, her shoulders slumped. All he could see of the demon was his legs and head. Eyes closed. Dead.
"I killed it," she said softly, raising her shoulders in a heavy sigh, letting them slump again when she was through.
Spike circled around them, to the other side of the demon. "It tried to kill us," he reasoned, wondering why it bothered her so much to have killed a demon. She'd done so with Buffy many times, hadn't she? Maybe not physically, but definitely with magick. She'd helped Buffy kill demons for the past six years, what was so-- oh. Getting a better look at the Yipral demon, he could see what had her so upset.
Her pants, hair, and the whole front of her shirt were spattered with drying droplets of orange blood. Xander's sword, lying on the grass beside her, was also covered in drying blood, along with grass blades and some fleshy parts of the demon. She didn't bother looking at him as he knelt on the other side of the dead demon.
The dark green Yipral demon, all scales and claws, had two large slash marks on her stomach, and a hole in her chest. Blood was no longer flowing from any of the sword wounds, but it was smeared all over the demon, running in drying rivulets down its flesh to the grass below.
A small, green, baby Yipral, still in its mother's stomach, had tried to claw its way out, but died in the process. A single clawed hand was showing through the torn flaps of skin over the stomach.
"Did it?" she asked absently. "Did it try to kill us? I mean, it did something to you guys... knocked you all out somehow, but..." she looked straight at him, for the first time that night, without animosity. But her expression was empty. "I just-- I wanted to get this whole stupid demon thing over and done with so I could--" she stopped, her eyes sliding away from his. Her breath left her on another sigh as she shrugged.
"Go see Rack?" he ground out, shooting to his feet. He reached across the demon to grab her arm and pull her up. "You're not that bloody stupid, Willow. So what the hell is the matter with you?" he asked furiously.
She ripped her arm out of his grip, staring at him angrily. Leaning down, she picked up her sword before starting back to her friends. "It's so very much none of your business--" she stomped a few yards away before coming to a halt and turning back to face him. Stabbing the sword into the grass between them, she settled her hands on the top of the hilt. She was covered in blood and looking slightly insane as she rationally tried to explain things to him. "And I am nothing like those other people. I don't have to beg Rack to do... well," she said with an odd smile, "anything really."
"Willow, he's a bloody warlock." He strode over to her, reaching out to grab her arm again. She hastily grabbed the sword from the grass and hefted it up as he half-pulled, half-dragged her along with him.
She shrugged in response to his comment, allowing him to pull her along. "So? You're a bloody vampire." He could almost feel her eyes burning into his back as she softly added, "And at least he's honest about what he wants."
As they reached the clearing with Buffy and Xander's bodies, he yanked her around in front of him, shaking her hard. The sword dropped to the ground at their feet. "Willow, Rack's evil," he said incredulously, unable to believe that wouldn't matter to her. "You're a witch, you should damn well be able to feel it--"
"I can feel it," she said with a roll of her eyes. "I know what he is. And I'm okay with that. As long as I'm careful..." she shrugged, smiling widely, "no harm done." When he stayed silent, she yanked her arm free, smoothing her hand down her wrist. "And like I said before, it's none of your business."
"That's it," he snarled, looking around for somewhere to take her before deciding on the crypt nearby. Yanking her along with him, ignoring her attempts to free herself, even with the warning pains he was getting in his brain, he tossed her roughly through the door, releasing her arm and slamming the door shut. "I want to know what the hell happened." He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the door, barring her exit. "And I want to know now."
Her feet slipped on the dust, nearly sending her to the floor. When she caught her footing, she slowly turned toward him, straightening up furiously. After a moment, she relaxed with a small smile and a shrug. "Fine. The demon was hanging from the ceiling when you came in playing John Wayne, and it--"
"Not with the demon," he practically yelled, shoving away from the door as he dropped his casual stance. He was frustrated beyond words and she knew it. "Last night. I want to know what--" he dropped his eyes to the floor, wondering if he should give anything away. Whether he should encourage her to tell him. She had to know. That had to be why she'd immediately gone to Rack. "I want to know what I did."
She laughed shortly, shaking her head. "What you did-- God, you're arrogant," she scoffed. "It wasn't anything you did," she assured him, leaning closer to raise an imperious eyebrow his way. "You don't have that much influence on me." She tilted her head to one side, considering her words. "Buffy maybe, but not me."
Spike stared back at her for a minute, not sure if she was confirming his fears or not, and he wasn't about to ask her outright, not yet. If she didn't have any idea about the two of them, then something else had sent her to Rack and this news might just send her back. As it was, he hoped he could talk her out of going again. "I don't have any influence over Buffy. Not, uh, not..." the denial died in his throat. Heaping more lies into the mix wouldn't solve anything. He did have some influence on Buffy... but only when it came to sex.
"Really?" she said thoughtfully, idly scratching her chest above her heart. Frowning, she lowered her head, glancing down at her chest. After a second, her eyes raised up toward his, just her eyes, swirling black pits of nothingness. When she blinked, they were normal again. She shrugged. "Huh. I could've sworn..." she sighed, her cold eyes settling on his, "Well, it doesn't matter. I have to go. Buffy and Xander are--"
"Asleep," he told her, moving closer. She definitely knew, he was sure of that. Question was, how did he explain himself without making things worse? "Tell me," he insisted.
"I'm bored with this conversation," she said in frustration, kicking out at the sarcophagus. "Let me go."
"No."
He settled one arm on either side of her, effectively trapping her in place.
She pushed at his chest, glaring up at him. "Move," she told him, her voice low and angry. She had to tilt her head back to look into his face, but she still managed to look in control when she did it.
He shook his head, keeping his hands firmly planted on either side of her. Leaning down into her face, he fixed his eyes on hers. "Willow, don't go see Rack," he said earnestly. "He's using you. He takes your memories, and your feelings, and he paws through them. When he finds one he likes, one that promises high emotion, he twists the memory to suit himself and sits back, feeding off of your fear, your pain, your pleasures..."
Her eyes widened briefly before narrowing on him, once again empty and bored.
A niggling suspicion wormed its way into his mind, forcing him to come to a conclusion he'd rather not think about. Softening his voice and his expression, he asked her again, "What did he make you see?"
"Stuff," she answered flippantly. "And I survived, didn't I? The very fact that I'm standing here," she motioned to the floor at her feet, "being--" she sighed heavily, "being... badgered by you, I mean, hello! Proof that I'm just fine."
"Then tell me," he insisted fiercely, dropping his casual attitude. He leaned in even closer, so that he was literally breathing down her neck and stared into eyes seething with as much anger and pain as his own. Clenching his teeth to keep himself from hurting her, he slid one hand behind her head, cupping it gently. "Tell me what he did to you." His voice was low and filled with barely suppressed emotions.
At this point he wasn't sure if he wanted to hurt her or kiss her. Both thoughts were garnering equal time and he wasn't sure which one would win out so he released her and paced away.
He spun back around to face her after a few seconds of silence. "Why ignore my warnings?" he asked belligerently. "Huh?"
"It's none of your business," she screamed, throwing her hands out toward him.
He went flying backwards, slamming into the wall behind him with more force than Buffy could throw him on her best night. Chunks of broken and cracked concrete rained down on him as he dropped to his side on the floor. Dust swirled around the dark interior, choking him with the chalky, sour, acridness of concrete.
Willow stalked toward him, holding her hands out in preparation for another assault. He slowly got to one knee, bracing his weight with his hands. Every inch of skin, bone, and muscle itched for him to jump to his feet and grab her, throw against a wall as she'd done with him. To hit her. Something--anything--to get rid of the upset roiling inside of him.
Instead, he looked up at her, carefully studying her face before rising fluidly to his feet.
She jerked back stiffly, her eyes widening minutely. She was afraid of him? Of him! After she'd just thrown him across a bloody crypt without coming near him, the bloody bitch was afraid of him... no, maybe it wasn't fear for her safety that was driving her back... he could see the turmoil in her eyes. Turmoil she was doing her hardest to mask. He laughed bitterly and without humor. "Yeah," he said quietly, "I can see just how 'fine' you are."
She blinked in confusion and her eyes slowly faded back to green. Tight-lipped, she stepped past him, yanking the door open. Sparing him not a glance, she went to Xander to wake him up. "Better wake up Buffy, she'll be suspicious if you don't fawn over her."
Fisting his hands at his sides, he dusted himself off and left the crypt behind. He had his answers. As far as he was concerned, Willow knew about Buffy, about the sex, about... everything. And he knew about Rack. He hoped the bastard was having a grand time tonight, because it would be his last.
Kneeling beside Buffy, he glanced down at her peaceful face before tapping her cheek a few times. She moaned and shifted, stretching languidly.
Tossing a glance over his shoulder at Willow as Xander snorted into wakefulness, he watched her smile and chuckle, playing 'fine' for the troops. She looked over at him just as Buffy moaned his name and rolled onto her side. Spike sighed, glaring down at Buffy.
"Buffy," he growled, having no patience for tenderness and secrets. "Wake up." Shaking her shoulder, he waited until her eyes fluttered open and she got a nice, panic-filled look around her.
Climbing to his feet, he moved back, away from Buffy, away from Willow. Away from the whole lot of them. Lighting a much-needed cigarette, he sat on a headstone and worked his neck back and forth, cracking it a few times.
"What happened?" Buffy asked with a yawn, pushing herself to her feet. Her eyes landed on him very briefly before sliding away. "I feel--"
"Well rested," Xander interjected, rubbing his face with his hands. He yawned widely and loudly, shaking himself like a wet dog. "Tell me I didn't just fall asleep during a demon attack," he muttered.
"You did," Willow told him, gesturing to Buffy as well. "Both of you actually." She watched Xander retrieve his sword, explaining as they stretched and woke up. "It was on the ceiling in the crypt. When Spike went in there, it dropped on him, knocking him out."
"Is everyone okay?" Buffy asked, looking at the three of them in turn.
Her eyes breezed right over him, but for once, he didn't care about her lack of caring. Or her pretending not to care.
"Willow, why are you covered in... what is that?" Buffy asked, squinting in the darkness.
"Demon blood," Willow answered, ignoring the previous question completely. "I killed the Yipral. Uh, I was doing the binding spell when it did the sleeping thing on you guys..." she shrugged, looking apologetic, "I guess that's why it didn't work on me."
"You killed it?" Buffy asked in surprise. She looked around the clearing with a frown. "Did it do the goo thing?"
Willow ducked her head down, biting her lip. "No. Uh, no, it's," she nodded her head to the west, "they're over there."
"They?" Xander repeated. "How many were there? And why aren't you the Slayer?" He glanced at Buffy with a frown. "Didn't Giles say this guy was tough?"
Buffy nodded, bending down to pick up a stake from the grass at her feet. "Yeah, he did. Magick, Will?" she asked absently, searching the ground with irritation. "Where the heck is my axe?"
Spike gestured to the other side of the crypt with his cigarette. "Look, kiddies. The demon put you both to sleep, knocked me out, chased Willow, she killed it--and the baby inside it--and then we came back here. Can we get on with our lives now?"
Buffy looked up from where she'd been retrieving her axe. "Baby?" both she and Xander said together, turning to Willow.
"Oh, Willow, are you okay?" Buffy asked in concern, heading in her friend's direction.
Willow nodded, smiling, faking her way through yet another conversation. She was getting good at that. "I'm fine," she told them, and then stopped with a frown, seeing their raised eyebrows. "I-- I mean, not fine-fine, but not, you know, freaking out or anything. Really."
Spike scoffed silently, looking away from her. "Great, now that the witch has been psychologically examined, can we go? I have things to do. People to kill."
"You mean demons to kill," Xander corrected. "Don't mistake the two, they're not the same thing."
Not taking the bait for once, Spike nodded, tossing his cigarette to the grass. "Right, demons. Can't mistake the two." Striding purposefully in the direction of the entrance, he tossed a single glance Willow's way, and then strode past her.
"Um, S-- Spike," Buffy called after him. "Um..."
Spike stopped, but didn't turn around. "What?"
"Guys, why don't you head home?" she said quickly. "Spike and I still need to patrol. So... I'll see you later."
Spike spun around, a denial already on his lips as she ran to catch up with him. Willow's eyes narrowed on Buffy as she joined him.
"Uh, you know, Slayer... I really have to... uh--" at a loss as to what to say without giving away his intentions to Willow, he looked around for an excuse. Catching Xander's yawn, he snagged on it. "I should see the kiddies home, yeah? Obviously Xander can't protect them." Gesturing to Xander and Willow, he scoffed at them. "They're meals on wheels out there, so..." he stared at her pointedly, hoping she'd take the hint and let him go, but she didn't.
Frowning at her friends, she looked them over. Xander and Willow both stood straighter, though for very different reasons. "You guys need an escort?" she asked.
"No," Xander said, offended by the implication, true as it was. "We're good. Aren't we, Will?"
"Absolutely," Willow agreed, her eyes solely on Spike. "Go on, Spike. Patrol with Buffy." She grabbed Xander's arm and dragged him with her. As she passed Spike and Buffy, she said snidely, "Have... lots of fun."
Spike sighed heavily. Tossing Buffy a scathing glance as Xander
and Willow disappeared into the night. And let's have a hand for
the Slayer for once again bollixing everything up, thank you very much
Willow clenched her fists, spinning from the alley with a grunt of frustration. Where the hell had Rack's place gone? Emerging from the alley, she stopped where she was, forcing herself to calm down and reach out with her senses. Closing her eyes, she allowed everything to touch her, people, demons, every living thing in town, living and un-living. Good and evil. Man and woman.
As she stretched her senses out, further and further, she finally felt it. A slight tug on her magick, pulling her toward it, drawing her in. Sighing in relief, she followed the feelings. A mile away, she found it. Rack's place.
Striding straight up to the brick wall, she shoved her hand through the barrier and stepped through. Going through this time was a little bit harder, due to the brick wall, but she made it easily enough. As before, there was a roomful of people, all looking like they belonged in a crack house.
I am nothing like them, she thought in disgust, watching as a small girl with stringy black hair scratched repeatedly at her forearm, drawing blood from the scrapes. Her eyes, rimmed in darkness, lifted to Willow's when she noticed her watching. She stared apathetically back at Willow, blinking every few seconds.
Glad that she'd taken the time to run home and shower again, erasing all traces of demon blood from her body, removing herself as far from these people as possible, she shrugged mentally, sliding her eyes from the girl. She was nothing like them. At all.
Heading to the door across the room, she took a deep breath and lifted her hand to knock, barely brushing her knuckles against the filthy aged wood before it flew open. Jumping back slightly in surprise, she looked through the doorway as the hinges creaked, revealing Rack inside, sitting on the couch, alone.
"Come in," he told her, lifting his head and brushing his hair out of his face.
She swallowed a few times, uncertain all of a sudden. Inside her, there was a churning need for her to go to him, a pull that wasn't being answered or satisfied by anything or anyone but him. Her magick was calling to him, and he'd answered. There was no turning back now. Or possibly ever.
Taking another steadying breath, she stepped into the room and shut the door behind her.
He gave her a heavy-lidded look, smiling at her with lazy familiarity as she walked toward him. She could already feel the waves of magick flowing from him, dark and slithering. She shivered with desire as it buffeted her, remembering the feel of his hands on her body. How he had taken a tour of her very being while screwing her until she was boneless with pleasure. He'd poked around in all those dark recesses of her mind, examining her innermost desires, rifling through her darkest secrets. She'd felt his mind inside hers while his hands caressed her body. Every now and then, something had given him particular delight and he'd thrust into her with increased ardor.
She remembered all of that and tried to look at him dispassionately, but it was impossible. This man knew her, really knew her. The rest of them thought they did, but they didn't. Not like Rack did. There was no need for subterfuge with him, and that both comforted and aroused her.
Realizing she'd been holding her breath since entering the room, she released a shuddering sigh.
He gracefully unwound his lanky body from the sofa and strode over to her. The walls of the room were disappearing as the magick flowed between them, filling her up inside, slithering through her body. But she didn't care.
He placed his hands on her hips, pulling her to him, pressing his erection into her belly.
"Back for another taste, I see," he whispered before kissing her. Flooded with equal parts magic and desire, Willow's mouth opened to his insistent tongue, and she wound her arms around him as she pressed her body tightly against his. She could feel laughter rumbling inside him, and felt a flash of irritation that disappeared quickly as the magick pulsated throughout her body, making her knees weak.
The room had long since melted away, replaced by a cool forest glade. The air was still and warm, with the muffled sounds of birds and insects in the distance.
He shifted his hands under her thighs and hoisted her up around his waist. Willow moaned at the increased friction, as he backed her up against a spruce tree. With one hand he reached under her skirt, smoothly removed her panties, and trailed his thumb up her thigh. She wanted to stop him, to shudder in disgust, but ended up shuddering in pleasure instead as he went higher, then inside. Almost mindless with rapture, Willow suddenly felt a chill as he also prodded into her memories, tapping into the anguish she'd felt when Oz left.
"Look at me," he commanded. Unable to disobey, she opened her eyes and saw... Oz. But the eyes... the eyes still belonged to Rack. He plunged into her, impossibly huge and hard, his pleasure heightened by her misery and confusion. As she watched, he threw his head back and howled like a wolf, shaking with laughter he was no longer able to contain. Willow closed her eyes in self-loathing as her body continued to respond to his touch. Hiding her face in the crook of his neck, she lost all control and fell over the edge.
This time when he pulled out of her, there was nothing to break her
fall.
Willow landed face down on the floor again. Shoving herself slowly to her feet, she spotted Rack across the room, exactly where she'd first seen him when she entered the room. He hadn't moved at all. Relief flooded through her as dizziness swept over her. Her eyes closed, and she gave herself up to being swept across town.
When next she opened her eyes she found herself lying on her stomach in the alley. Rack's place was gone, but night was still covering the town. Wrinkling her nose in disgust, she was grateful for the darkness because it kept her from knowing exactly what she was lying in. Gave her no clue what the sticky stuff on her hands was.
Pushing herself to her knees with a groan of discomfort, she hastily wiped her hands on her tan skirt, looking around her. Wetness had seeped into the front of her blue blouse and was currently dripping onto her thighs in cold drops, soaking into the thick fabric of her skirt.
A shiver worked its way through her cold body. Feeling like a block of ice, even in the warm night, she wrapped her arms around herself rubbing her hands up and down the loose sleeves of her blouse. A breeze blew through the narrow alley, bringing with it more smells and sounds than she was comfortable with.
Jumping to her feet, she took off running toward home.
Spike sighed in frustration and dropped to a headstone. "I'm not sleeping with you," he told Buffy's back.
She grabbed the vampire she was fighting by the lapels of his suit coat and spun him around so that she could face Spike. "What?" she asked in surprise. Punching the vampire in the face, sending him reeling back a few feet, she stalked after it. "I'm a little busy here, Spike, could we talk about this, oh say... later?" she ground out sarcastically.
Spike shrugged, watching the two beat the bloody hell out of each other. "Need a hand?" he asked conversationally.
She kicked the vampire in the face with a grunt. Following him as he flew over a headstone, she jumped on him, straddling his waist. A stake appeared in her hands and then dust flew by on the breeze. "Nope," she answered, brushing her hands off as she got to her feet. Turning to him with a glare, she stuck her stake back into... wherever she'd pulled it from. "Appropriate conversations during a life or death struggle do not include our sex life."
Resting his hands on his thighs, he pushed himself to his feet with another sigh. "We never had a sex life. We had a few quick shags when the urge hit us."
"Oh yeah," she said, "speaking of which--" her fist shot out, catching him in the jaw. "That's for telling Willow about us. I specifically told you to never mention it to anyone. Ever."
"Me?" he asked in disbelief, rubbing his jaw as he worked it back and forth. Touching his bleeding lip with his tongue, he checked for damage. "I didn't tell her a bloody thing," he ground out.
"Well, she knew," Buffy said angrily. "She said you'd talked to her recently-- and since when do you talk to Willow at all? You just felt like you had to tell her I was sleeping with you?" Rolling her eyes when he only stared back at her, she rubbed her hand over her chest in much the same manner as Willow had in the crypt earlier. "I think she also knows about this." Lowering the collar of shirt, she examined the bitemark there.
Spike closed his eyes with a groan.