Order Now

Author: sinecure

PAIRING: W/S

RATED: R

DISCLAIMER: Joss and ME own BtVS, I don't, and the way these past seasons are going, I'm glad I don't.

DEDICATED: To Claudia, because, not only is she the best beta ever, but she's also quite the friend. She kicks ass on grammar--just call her the Hyphen Queen, I do--spelling, characterization, plot. She makes my job a whole hell of a lot easier... even when she's killing my poor little defenseless plot-babies. ;)

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~Prologue~

Spike tore down all the pictures of Buffy from the altar he'd practically worshiped at and threw them into a cardboard box. Everything went.  Photos, the soft, pale blue sweater he'd spent too many hours sniffing, the drawings, everything.  Shoving the crumpled pieces of paper into the box with a snarl, he ended up tipping it over and the entire contents fell to the floor.

He rolled his eyes in irritation.  "Bloody... hell!"  Stooping down to pick it all up, he growled at the turn his life had taken in recent years.  "Bloody slayer and her bloody friends mucking up the works at every bloody turn.  Needs to be taught a lesson is what she needs." Once again the sweater went into the box, the smell of it, faded almost to nothing, wafting to his nose, tickling his senses.

He dropped into a sitting position, setting the box beside him on the dusty floor.  Leaning back against the wall with a sigh, he eyed the box.  Pictures of Buffy peered back at him around the sleeve of the blue sweater.  He reached for the top picture and unfolded it, smoothing out the wrinkled creases.  It was taken sometime during a bright sunny afternoon.  In it, Buffy and Willow, both with an arm wrapped around Xander, grinned at the camera, while Xander gazed surreptitiously at Buffy.

He ran his fingertip along Buffy's face, hating Xander for having ever been that close to her, when he himself couldn't get to within a hundred feet without her beating him soundly.

~~~*~~~

Tara's hand tightened on Willow's, her eyes widening as the magick came up around them, wrapping them in bright red light.  Warmth flowed through her, and she could see that Willow felt the same thing.  Her skin was glistening with sweat, her eyes wide as they stared straight ahead.  The red silk of her blouse shimmered darker and lighter as her chest rose up and down in rapid pants.

A frisson of worry went through Tara as Willow's breathing became even more ragged, her eyes darkening to black.  "Willow--" she began, but Willow's eyes shot to her, silencing her.  The fingers wrapped around her hands tightened painfully, but she didn't let go.  She trusted Willow.

"Goddess," Willow whispered on a breath of a sigh, "hear my plea and grant my--" her hands went slack for a split second before tightening even more, her head went back, staring straight up at the ceiling.

Tara tried to drop Willow's hands to stop the magick, but she was trapped.  "Willow!"  She stared in panic at the red magick flowing around her, faster and faster, encompassing her body and outstretched hands.  "Willow, stop--" the magick flowed into her body, choking the breath out of her, shoving her thoughts to the side as it went deeper, shoving into her mind.  Picking through her thoughts like a child going through a toy box.  It was hard to breathe, hard to stay focused on what was happening to her.  Her eyes slid shut as consciousness left her.

~~~*~~~

Spike rolled his eyes as he listened to the geek try to talk his girl into forgiving him.  It didn't appear to be working real well.  He heard the click signaling the other end had been hung up and waited.

After a second, Warren sighed and turned to hang up the phone.  He saw Spike standing there with his box of Buffy stuff and gasped.  "How-- how'd you get in here?"

"Your mum let me in."  He walked a little closer to the geek, his anger carefully controlled.  Didn't want to scare him too much.  "I'm placing an order."

"Oh, no, no," Warren said, shaking his head.  "I'm not making any more girls."  He looked very determined.

But Spike was even more so.  "Sure you are."  He shoved the box into Warren's hands, hardly sparing a glance at the contents.  He knew every picture, every object, and every smell by heart.  Now he wanted the real thing.  "Here's your specs."

Warren looked down at the box.  A few strands of blonde hair from the wig Spike had nabbed from the dump were hooked over the edge.  His eyes lifted again to stare at Spike.

"You're gonna make her real good for me," Spike told him, the threat there in his tone, if not his smile.

~~~*~~~

Willow tapped Tara's face gently, tamping down on the panic threatening to overwhelm her.  "Come on, baby, wake up.  Please."

Tara exhaled heavily, her whole body shaking with the force of it before going limp.  Her eyes fluttered open slowly, and she glanced around in confusion.  "What--" she paused to lick her dry lips, "what happened?"

Willow laughed, blinking back tears, the overwhelming panic turning into overwhelming relief.  "I don't know," she told her girlfriend, hugging her tight.  "God, I thought... you weren't breathing for a second, and then there was light and it went-- whoosh!  Right out of you, out the window... are you okay?" she asked softly, kissing Tara's forehead.

Tara nodded, pushing herself up.  Willow helped her into a sitting position, but wouldn't let her get to her feet.  "I'm fine," Tara told her, smiling a little tiredly.  She kissed Willow and climbed to her feet.  Her steps were a little unsteady as she walked to the foot of the bed and collapsed down on it.  "Well, maybe not running-a-marathon-soon fine, but stumbling-across-a-room fine."

Willow sat beside her, smoothing her hand down Tara's hair.  Her eyes moved over her girlfriend slowly, taking in every small gasp, every shaking movement.  She wasn't as fine as she wanted Willow to believe. "That shouldn't have happened," Willow said quietly, her guilt showing quite plainly on her face.  "It was just a stupid happiness spell.  To make us feel--"

"--the full extent of our happiness," Tara finished with a sigh, patting Willow's hand absently.  "I know.  That... that wasn't right. Something happened, something that, as usual, we didn't expect."  She turned heavy eyes Willow's way, her forehead wrinkling in a frown. "We should slow down with the magick, I think.  Nothing ever goes right when we do spells."  She rubbed a shaking hand across her forehead.  "Maybe it's me," she whispered, so low that Willow almost didn't hear her.

"What?  No, it's... it's not you," Willow insisted, grabbing Tara's hands with more force than she'd intended.  "Sorry, but, it's me. I've always been unstable when it comes to magick, and Giles always tells me to be careful, and I am, but things always happen... it's me. Not you.  Or us.  Just me."

Tara nodded, though she looked far from convinced.

~~~*~~~

Warren watched Spike leave, not daring to move or breathe until the door shut quietly behind him.  With the click of the knob snapping back into position, he dropped the box to the floor as if burned. What the hell was he supposed to do now?  He couldn't make another girl, especially not the girl who'd fought April and won.  There was some serious strength behind that girl.  And he had no intention of messing with her, or her strength.

He looked down at the box, shoving the strands of blonde wig back inside.  It gave him the creeps.  What was that guy doing with this stuff?  And, yuck, what had he done to it?

Stepping back in disgust, he rubbed his hands over his face, sighing heavily.  Things were getting too complicated, too involved.  He should just leave.

But he wouldn't.  He'd do as the guy asked and then leave.  He didn't want to end up dead after all.  And there was still Katrina to-- dropping his hands from his face, he kicked at the box.  It skidded a foot, then tipped.

The red wig spilled to the floor along with all the pictures.  Warren stared at it for a second, frowning in confusion.  Hadn't the wig been blonde?

~Part: 1~

Spike stared at the robot in front of him, then past her to Warren. No trace of what he was feeling was showing on his face, which was a good thing, otherwise Warren would probably be running for his life right now.  "Some say it's better'n the real thing," he told Warren.

Warren nodded nervously.  "Better than the real thing."

Spike's eyes turned gold as they shot once more to the robot girl. His hands fisted at his sides, teeth grinding together.  He could feel a muscle in his jaw ticking.  All he wanted to do was jump on Warren and rip his head from his shoulders, then stick a straw in his neck and suck the bastard dry.  "You know what's even better though?" he asked softly, his eyes lifting to Warren.

Warren's eyes widened and he gulped loudly, stepping back a foot, and then another.  A single glance behind him confirmed that he was trapped between Spike and the wall.  "Um, wh-- what's that?"

"The right... girl!"

Warren gulped again, gesturing to the robot.  "She's just like you told me to make her."  He grabbed some pictures from his back pocket and unfolded them.  "See?  There she is.  Looks just like her."  He held the photos out, pointing to the girl with a shaking hand. "Just-- just like her."

Spike nodded, putting a hand to his chin as he walked around the robot, looking her up and down.  A pair of red tennis shoes covered the feet of the robot.  Her legs were encased in black jeans, her top-- Spike chuckled darkly, remembering the pink fuzzy sweater with the lilacs on it.  Biteable, he'd told her.  Well, the real her, not the robot her.  And even now she looked entirely biteable, but she wasn't who he wanted.  Her red hair, cut just as it had been that night, was brushing against her shoulders.

He reached out a hand, smoothing it down the strands.  Felt like real hair.  Just as he remembered hers feeling that night.  He inhaled deeply.  Smelled a bit the same too.  But something was off... and what the hell did he care?

"Destroy her and do it over."  He spun around to face Warren, the bot no longer between them.  "I wanted Buffy, not Willow.  I gave you pictures of Buffy.  Her sweater, a blonde wig, how the hell did you come up with me wanting Willow?"

Warren frowned down at the pictures crumpled tightly in his hands.  He held them out again, gesturing to Willow, the lone occupant of the pictures.  "It was a red wig.  With her pictures.  There wasn't any bl-- blonde..." he trailed off at Spike's glare, looking over at the box of things he'd made Willow from.  "The stuff you brought me is over there."

Spike circled around to look into Willow's face.  It was... eerie. Kind of creepy.  Her eyes, green he assumed, were closed, her head held high.  She stood with her hands by her side, unresponsive to everything around her.  It was the most still he'd ever seen her.  He chuckled, liking her this way.  She talked way too much at times. Reaching up with his right hand, he fingered her hair by her face. She didn't flinch this time, like she had in the warehouse, didn't pull back and tell him there'd be no having with her.

This robot had no spunk in her.  No life.  But Spike found himself more than a little curious to see what she'd be like once turned on. Besides, maybe they could learn from their mistakes with this one, use Willow as a learning tool.  Whatever she did wrong, he'd have Warren fix on the new bot he made.  And he would be making another one.

Glancing at Warren in irritation, he strode over to the box.  Looking down, he saw a red wig, and photos of Willow and the others.  Mostly there were pictures of Willow, drawings of her, jewelry that he didn't recognize.  The blue sweater was gone.  He looked over his shoulder at the pink sweater Willow was wearing.

"This isn't my stuff.  Is this a joke?  Did they put you up to this?" he demanded, throwing the box and its contents to the floor.  Items he didn't recognize fell out, along with pictures he did recognize, but instead of Willow and Xander being folded back, it was Buffy and Xander.  "What the hell is going on here?  Did they do this?"  Had they found out about his plans and thought to teach him a lesson by... by what?  Giving him his very own lesbian witch?

"Who-- who's they?  I don't... no.  You're the only one who's been here."  Warren stepped forward, closer to the Willow-Bot.  "You don't like her?  She's, uh, she's pretty, huh?"

"Oh yeah," Spike said, getting to his feet and stalking over to the Willow-Bot.  "She looks good, just great.  But she's not the girl I wanted."  He stared at Willow, hating her for ruining his perfect fantasy.  He'd been so close to having Buffy, to finally having Buffy... but she'd ruined it.  Maybe he'd keep her around to torture. Beat on her a bit... he shrugged, turning back to Warren.  "You're making me another, twerp.  The girl I want is the blonde.  Buffy! Make me a Buffy!"

Warren nodded his head hastily, shoving the pictures back into his pocket.  "O-- okay.  All right.  I'll..." he trailed off, heading back to the box to sift through the pictures there.  "The blonde, right?"

"Yes," Spike said absently, trailing a hand down Willow's cheek.  It was soft, like silk.  Did the real Willow's skin feel like this?  He closed his eyes, trying to remember, but came up with a blank.  "Turn her on," he told Warren, "I want to see her in action."

Warren picked up the box, dropping it onto the side table to look fearfully at Spike.  "Why?  I-- I thought she was the wrong one..."

Spike raised an eyebrow at him, letting his eyes go gold again.  "Just do it."

"Okay.  Um, hold on a second..."

"A little walk, a little talk..." Spike mused, wondering how exactly he could use this to his advantage.  The possibilities were endless really.  And to have one of Buffy as well... he was getting all excited just thinking about it.  He'd keep Willow around for fun, turn her on all her friends or something equally as neat as that.  But Buffy, he'd have her around for other things.  "Make her do things... show me what Buffy will be able to do... perhaps a zippy cartwheel..."

Warren moved forward, gesturing to Willow.  "Hey, she's, uh, great. You'll be real happy, I swear, she's got everything you asked for. All the extra programming, tons of real-world knowledge, the profiles you gave me about her family and friends."  He ran a hand over her stomach, lifting up the fuzzy pink sweater and pressing on the flesh.

Spike watched him curiously.  "*All* the extra programming, right?" Hmm, perhaps he could test them on Willow, and they could be fine-tuned for Buffy.

Warren's hand opened a door on Willow's stomach, revealing wires and chips, little lights and all sorts of things running behind the skin. "Ah, the, the stuff that you wanted, the, uh, scenario responses, you know, the, uh, uh, special... skills..." he paused, laughing nervously, glancing at Spike as he pressed a button then shut the door, smoothing the sweater back into place.  "Her plug's in here too, um, just recharge her once a week or so... she won't remember it.  I programmed her to think she's sleeping.  She even has dreams."

"Great.  And the extras?" Spike repeated, making sure they were all there.

"All of it," Warren told him, nodding hastily.  "You sure you don't want just her?"

Spike rolled his eyes.  "I'm sure."  He touched Willow's cheek again, then pressed a finger into the simulated skin.  It had give, much like human skin did, but there was something a little off about it.  He'd have to have Warren fix that for Buffy.  "She looks a little shiny to me, you know, uh... touch of plasticine..."

Willow's eyes opened--more brown than green, he noticed--startling him slightly, causing him to jump in a very unmanly way.

"Spike?" she queried, smiling widely.  "Oh, Spike!"  She hurried over to him, put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him, then pulled back, still smiling.

Spike jerked back, startled.  "Definitely make sure to put this programming into the other one," he told Warren approvingly, looking over Willow's shoulder.

Warren nodded nervously.  "Uh-huh, I can do that.  Um, but it'll take me a few weeks again."  He straightened up, nodding to the box on the table.  "I have the stuff though.  I can get started right away."  He looked pointedly at the two of them, waiting for Spike to take Willow and go.

"Right," Spike sighed, glancing at Willow with a frown.  She was still standing there, right in front of him, smiling and waiting for... "What's she waiting for?" he asked Warren.

"Instructions," Warren said absently, hefting the box and starting out of the room.

"Right," Spike said again.  "I'll be back, so get crackin' on it, hmm?"  Stepping away from Willow, he headed out the door.  "Come on, Willow."

"Yes, Spike," she agreed, following him out the door with a smile.

"Stop that," Spike snapped in irritation, taking a drag off of his cigarette.

"Stop what, Spike?" Willow asked, her mile-wide grin still firmly in place.  She blinked at him innocently a few times, looking extremely interested in what he had to say.

He rolled his eyes at her through the gray and white cloud of smoke floating between them.  The dark interior of his crypt held no lights, but he knew she could see him just as well as he could see her. Possibly even better.  "Stop staring at me."

She nodded pleasantly, dropping her hands from under her chin to turn her head to the side.  "Okay, Spike."

He frowned at her and, realizing he was being petty, snapped again. "Stop that too."

She kept her head turned to the side, glancing his way only with her eyes.  "Stop what?"

"Quit calling me 'Spike'," he answered, standing up.  Dropping his cigarette to the floor, he stomped on it with another irritated look tossed her way.  Heading to the door, he yanked it open.

"What would you like me to call you?" she inquired politely.  "The Big Bad?  Snuggle Bunny?  My Blonde God?  Lover?"

Spike snorted with derision.  "We're not lovers, pet.  Not even friends.  And if you call me any of those names, I'll have to deactivate you."  He fixed his eyes on her, raising an eyebrow. "Permanently."

"Ooo," she practically purred.  "You're very sexy when you do that." She frowned momentarily, turning her head fully his way.  "We're not lovers?"  She tilted her head in confusion, and then smiled slightly. "Yes, we are."

Spike sighed, ignoring the small amount of satisfaction her empty compliment gave him.  "No, we're not.  We're not lovers, we're not friends..." he tossed her an annoyed look as he closed the door, "I don't even like you much."

She frowned even more deeply, watching him curiously.  "Then why do you make sweet, sweet love to me?"  A grin split her face as she rose to her feet.  "In many positions?"

"Uh, many positions, huh?" he repeated, looking at her with a little more interest.  She looked about ready to pounce on him.  He was the predator, and yet, he felt like the prey all of a sudden.  "What, uh, what sorts of positions, love?"  Realizing what he'd said, he shook his head.  "I mean, didn't happen."

"I have memories of you shagging me.  Sexing me up.  Boning me.  We bumped uglies."  There was suddenly a whole heck of a lot of desire on her face.  She moved closer, her eyes fixed on him.  "You make me scream in ecstasy.  I get hot when I look at you.  I love you, Spike."

"Scream, huh?" he muttered, his eyes dropping to her pink and purple covered chest.  It rose and fell in a parody of breathing, pressing her breasts tight against the fuzzy fabric.  It was soft; he remembered that much from his drunken musings that night.  And her smell was definitely intoxicating.  Sweet with a hint of spice, something like cinnamon.

He loved Buffy, but it'd be a few more weeks before Warren would have her ready.  If he could use Harmony to satisfy a few of his urges, why not Willow?  A robotic version of Willow.  He didn't need to like the chit.

She was annoying.  Beautiful, yes, but almost as annoying as Harm.  He briefly contemplated waiting for his Buffy robot, but shook his head decisively.  "What else do you remember, love?"

She stared at the wall behind him for a few seconds, and then her eyes cleared and she focused on him once more.  "I remember your hands touching me."  She ran her own hands along her sides.  "Your mouth pressing soft, but firm kisses on my hot, yielding flesh."

Spike hopped up on his bed casually, trying to pretend he wasn't affected.  Scoffing at himself for being turned on by a few words and actions by a woman he wasn't even really attracted to, he shrugged nonchalantly, mentally reminding himself that she wasn't real.

She licked her lips seductively.  "Your fingers were inside me.  So was your cold, hard male member."  Her breathing was slightly more erratic now, mimicking humanity.  "I screamed for you as you thrust your cold, hard love muscle inside me and--"

"Okay," he interrupted loudly, shifting a little on the sarcophagus. "That's enough.  I get the picture."  It made more and more sense to use her to slake his desires.  She was willing.  He wasn't currently hooked with anyone real and the woman he loved wanted nothing to do with him.  Buffy.  God, sometimes he really despised her.

Yet still wanted her so much he ached.

"Poor Spike," she whispered softly.  "What's the matter?  Are you nervous?"

"Uh, no," he answered, frowning as she moved directly in front of him, stopping right between his legs.  She settled her hands on his legs, moving her thumbs up and down along the inside of his thighs.  "I'm fine.  Could you... back off a little?"

Ignoring his attempts to remove her hands, she smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of you, Love Bunny."  She dropped her head back, closing her eyes.

"Don't ever call me th-- what are you doing?"

Her chest rose and fell as she panted and moaned.  A fine sheen of sweat formed on her face and neck.  Her hands, still on his thighs, tightened, balling up the material of his jeans.  "Take me, Spike. Yes, Spike... faster..." she moaned.  "Oh, God, Spike, yes... yes!"

Spike's eyes widened and his own breathing... well, that he was breathing at all was a testimony in and of itself.

All he could think was: Is that what she looked like during sex? Would she lock her arms around him and hold him to her?  Wrap her legs around his waist as he moved inside her?  Pant her need and desire for him into his ear?  Whisper her love to him, kiss him as he thrust-- bloody hell, he needed a woman.

It'd been too long.  Harmony had left him for the last time a few months back and he'd been alone since then.  Forced to take matters into his own hands... quite literally.

And here was Willow, right in front of him, waiting for him to take her into his arms.  She was beautiful and willing and there.  Three things he looked for in a woman.

She thought she loved him.  Well, she was programmed to love him.

She was so unlike Buffy.  All the Slayer had going for her was the beautiful part of the equation.  He glanced down into Willow's face, wondering what it'd be like to use her for a little tension reduction. She was Buffy's best friend.  And gay.  It was almost like forbidden fruit.  So tempting.

She was watching him with a smile, her eyes steady on his face. "Don't you want me, Spike?"  Her hand slid up his thigh into his crotch, cupping the hardening bulge there.  "You do want me."  Her smile turned into one of satisfaction, her eyes glittering in the moonlight coming through the window.  "I can please you, Spike.  I need you."  She leaned into him, letting her lips hover in front of his mouth.  "Take me.  Take me to places I've never been before."

His eyes, fixed on her mouth, just inches from his own, shot up to hers with amusement.  "Warren didn't happen to add a few bodice rippers into your programming, did he?"

"Bodice rippers..." she pulled back a little ways, dropping her eyes to his chest.  "Romance novels."  Sliding her hand along his chest, she smiled at him.  "Do you wish me to heave my breasts and toss my flowing red locks over my shoulder as you pick me up in your well-muscled arms?  Will you carry me to your soft, but firm, bed, and seduce me with a few well-placed touches of your hands?"

Spike chuckled, resting his forehead against hers.  "Sure.  Heave away."

"Okay, Spike," she agreed, sliding her hands back down to his thighs. She took one step back and stood before him.  Lowering her head to stare at her chest, she breathed in deeply, then out.  After a third time, she raised her hand and moved back to where she'd been.  "Did that please you, Spike?"

He lifted amused eyes to her face.  "Not as much as other things will."

She rested her hands on his thighs once more, looking at him enquiringly.  "May I touch you now?"

He tilted his head to the side.  "I'd be disappointed if you didn't, love."

"See, you do love me."  Her hands pushed him back and she climbed up on the sarcophagus with him, straddling his legs.  She settled on his lap, lowering herself onto his jean-covered erection with a moan.

He rested his hands on her hips lightly, holding her still against him for a few seconds, just enjoying the feeling of another body so close to his again after so long.  "God, that feels good."  His voice was low, but she heard him and rubbed herself back and forth a few times.

"You make me feel good too."  She leaned forward, settling her hands on his chest as she rocked against him.  "Can we take our clothes off, Spike?  I want to feel your smooth, hard flesh and taste your salty, manly skin."

He lifted his head, opening his eyes to glance at her.  "We're gonna have to work on your vocabulary."

When she only blinked back at him, he sighed.  For the moment, he was fine with their current position, but he did want to feel more skin. See what she tasted like.  He wanted her, fully and completely, wanted to be inside a woman again.  So, he nodded, lifting her up, helping her crawl off of his lap.  She knelt on the coffin as he jumped to the floor and yanked his shirt off.

Tossing it to the floor, he turned to watch her, his hands pausing on the buckle of his belt as he caught sight of her naked back.  The white of her bra was the only thing breaking up the pale expanse of her flesh, the skin pulling taut as she moved.  Her hands slid around behind her, unhooking the bra and shrugging out of it.

"Do I please you?" she asked, looking over her shoulder, catching his eyes on her.  She turned toward him, dropping her arms to her sides. Her breasts were perfect perky mounds of flesh, tipped by hardening nipples.  They puckered and tightened as he watched, and he wondered at that.  Was she programmed to respond to him?  Would a touch make her moan?  A kiss?

"You're perfect," he told her, turning back to his belt.  That she was a robot did bother him a little.  That she was programmed to say and do things in response to him was a little unnerving.  But he still wanted her.  "I'll have to thank Warren."

"Why will you thank him for how I look?" she asked, pausing in her own undressing.

She didn't know she was a robot?  She actually thought she was Willow? "No, uh, no reason.  Don't worry about it."

She nodded pleasantly, throwing her tennis shoes to the floor and shimmying out of her jeans.  Underwear went next, and again, she was perfect.  Not a flaw on her anywhere.  Did the real Willow have scars? Or freckles?  Maybe a birthmark?  The smooth flesh of the robot in front of him was sexy, most definitely, but a little too perfect. He'd have to tell Warren to give Buffy a few scars and freckles.  A mole here and there.

He finished stripping off his jeans and crooked his finger at her. "Come down here, pet."

She sat down and jumped off the coffin, striding right up to him.  Her naked body was perfect; the stomach taut, breasts perky, thighs toned. Everything about her was... perfect.

He grabbed the blanket off of his chair and spread it out on the floor.  "Lay down."

She smiled and did so, lying on her back, propping herself up on her elbows, watching him.  One leg lifted up, bent at the knee.  Her eyes sparkled at him, her smile turning seductive.  Changing to suit his mood.

He knelt at her feet, glancing between her legs briefly as he crawled toward her.  She held her breath, her chest rising in anticipation of his touch.  Sliding one hand up her calf, he had to reassess his opinion of the feel of her skin.  It didn't feel at all fake; it felt quite real in fact.  Just like a human's.

She gasped as his hand trailed along her leg, up to her thigh. "Please touch me, Spike."  Her head dropped back, her eyes falling shut.  Her breath left her on a sigh.

"All in good time, baby," he muttered, watching his hand as he slid it up to her abdomen.  His other hand rested on the curve of her hip.

She hitched in a breath, wriggling around on the peach comforter. "You're teasing me," she accused, grinning happily.

He pulled her legs down and crawled up to straddle her waist.  Almost as soon as he sat down, Willow looked down at him, her eyes widening.

"You're so very big, Spike," she said approvingly.  "Take me now with your manly--"

He held a finger to her lips, pressing lightly to keep her quiet. "Don't... don't talk.  All right?"

She nodded, darting her tongue out to lick his finger and suck it into her mouth.  His body tightened in response, hardening even more if that was possible.

He took his finger out of her mouth and rolled them over, settling her on him, carefully maneuvering her around his erection.  She placed her knees on either side of his thighs and pressed her hands flat against his chest.

"Can--" she darted a look down at him, asking for permission to speak.

He lifted a hand to cup her cheek.  Drawing her closer, he pressed his lips to hers, kissing her softly before nodding.

"Mmm," she moaned, licking her lips.  "You taste good.  Can I touch you?"  Her eager eyes dropped to his lap, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Leaning on his forearms, he inhaled deeply, closing his eyes with a nod.  If he concentrated hard enough, could he make himself believe it was Buffy there instead of Willow?  It'd never worked long with Harmony.  She always ended up ruining the fantasy with her whining voice.

Willow's hands slid up to his shoulders, then down again, continuing all the way.  He drew in a deep breath as her hand wrapped around the base of his length.  She stroked him, tightening gradually as she moved up, running her thumb along the tip.  All of this was done with extreme skill, way more skill than Willow probably had.

An emotionless, uncaring robot, programmed to respond to him was giving him a handjob.  That took a bit of the fun out of things.  As good as it felt to have her hand wrapped around him and stroking him, he wished it was Buffy and, barring that, at least the real Willow.

"Should I heave my breasts again?" she asked, biting her lip in a mockery of the real Willow.  Her wide, innocent eyes looked up at him from under her lashes, the hazel orbs widening with desire.  Her dark lashes brushed lightly against her skin as she blinked, waiting for his answer.

He dropped back with a groan, watching her watch him.  "Heave, thrust, throb all you want," he told her.  She was beginning to ruin the fantasy.  Every time she opened her mouth, he lost a little more of his ardor for her.  Wanting to get it over with before she completely ruined things, he lifted her up in the middle of a particularly large heave of her chest, to position her over himself.

She grinned widely, nodding as she sucked her lip into her mouth. "You want me to ride you.  Like I did when you were chained up in the bathtub."

"What?"  Just as he started to sit up, she settled herself over him, sliding along his length with extreme slowness.  "Oh God," he moaned, clenching his hands on her hips.  The sensations she was creating as she tightened on him were strong and overpowering.  Reminded him a bit of Dru.

She stayed sitting on him, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes. Her fingers spread out on his chest, clenching and unclenching as she wiggled on his lap.  "Does this feel good, Spike?"

He nodded, raising her up a bit.  "Faster, love."

She lifted herself, tightening her muscles every inch of the way. When he was almost pulled completely free of her, she slammed down on him.  He thrust up at the same time, making them both moan.  A rhythmic pace was set up, quick and pleasant.  Suiting him just fine.

She threw her head back, just as she had earlier, panting and moaning as she lifted herself on him, clenching her muscles so tightly it was almost painful.  A sheen of sweat covered her body and face.  She raised her hands, threading them through her hair as she moved on him, licking her lips and panting.

His hands moved from her waist to her back, drawing her down to him. She opened her eyes, focusing on his face as she lowered herself to kiss him.  Her tongue thrust forcefully into his mouth, playing along his teeth and sliding across the roof of his mouth.

He pulled back a ways, frowning at her.  "Slow down-- oh God," he moaned, closing his eyes as she bit and sucked on his neck.  One of her hands slid behind his neck, holding him still while she sucked on his skin, the other slipped between their bodies, resting on his hip.

She rolled them over, drawing away from his neck as she did so. Baring her own neck to him.  He wanted to bite her, more than anything in the world, but he couldn't do it.  He'd probably get a mouthful of motor oil or something equally as disgusting.  Instead, he thrust into her, reaching around behind him to encourage her to wrap her legs around his waist.

She did so, gasping and panting as he moved inside her.  "Oh, Spike," she moaned.  "You really are the Big Bad."  Her nails scraped down his back so forcefully that he arched into her trying to escape her hands, but rolled his shoulders back for more of the delicious pain.

Reaching a hand up to cup her face, he kissed her thoroughly, then pulled back, threading his hands through her hair.  "That's right, baby.  I am the Big Bad."  Grinning down at her, he quickened his pace, caressing her breasts, which were swaying so enticingly in front of his face.  The nipples tightened even more, puckering into perfect buds.  He leaned down, taking one into his mouth, biting the flesh lightly.

She squealed in delight, tightening around him.  "Yes, Spike... oh, yes," she screamed, arching into him.

He halted for a moment, watching her face.  Her eyes were closed tightly, her mouth open, gasping for air.  Her skin was flushed red, and slicked with sweat.  The hair by her temples was damp, slicked back from him running his fingers through it.

As he watched, she relaxed, still panting, though the muscles underneath him went soft.  He began moving again, speeding up his pace to find his own release.  Resting his weight on his arms, he slid into her with long, sure strokes.  She kept her legs wrapped around him, stroking his back softly as he moved, running her hands over the muscles moving underneath his skin.

"I love you, Spike," she said contentedly, sliding one hand down along his arm.

Hearing the words, even though they didn't come from the woman he wanted them to come from, sent him over the edge.  He thrust into her once more and then again, his whole body stiffening as he came.  His hips bucked against hers, but her legs, still around his waist, held him still.

He collapsed on top of her with a groan.  She continued to smooth her hand down his back and arm.

He laid on her, enjoying the feeling of a woman underneath him, the softness of her breasts and stomach.  The curve of her legs entwined with his.  Her chest rose up and down, lifting him as she breathed. Something--oil?--moved beneath her skin in a parody of blood in her veins.  He lifted himself up, rolling to the side with a sigh.

"Do you want me to start the program over?" she asked pleasantly.

Spike frowned at her, running his hand down her stomach.  "Don't say that.  Just... be Willow."  The muscles under his hand bunched and tightened as he touched her, but they weren't muscles.  They were wires and tubes.  And she wasn't human.  Wasn't even alive.

He removed his hand from her stomach and dropped his arm over his eyes.  He'd just had sex with a robot version of Buffy's best friend.

He was lower than low.

~Part: 2~

"Stay there," Spike told Willow, starting to shut the trap door on her loving smile.  Jerking it open again, he added, "And don't come up unless I say it's okay.  For any reason.  Got it?"

Willow nodded, smiling a little in confusion.  "Where are you going, Spike?  Why can't I come with you?"

"Uh," he tried to think of a convincing lie, then wondered why the hell he was bothering.  "I'm going to the Bronze.  I need a beer or ten. Stay here.  And keep quiet."

She nodded eagerly.  "Anything for you, my Blonde God."  She bent down to keep him in sight as he started to shut the door, the lantern light behind her keeping her mostly in shadows.  "Come back for me soon so we can make love over and over again."

"Right," he agreed, slamming the door shut.  He stood up, dusting off his jeans and headed out the door into the cool night.  "She calls me that again, I'm definitely deactivating her."

The cemetery was dark, no moon lighting his way.  No streetlights to blind him as he passed beneath them.  And no Slayer to beat him up for annoying her.  That was a good thing though, right?

Although, at times, it did turn him on more than off.  Still, it got to be old hat sometimes.  Leaving his cemetery behind, he headed for the Bronze, making sure he had money enough to pay for a few beers.  Dusting vamps had its perks.

The streets were rather quiet, almost too quiet.  It made him a bit nervous.  His skin started to crawl, his hair rising on the back of his neck.  Something was going down tonight.  Shrugging his shoulders back to loosen the tight muscles, he continued on his way to the Bronze. Whatever was going on, he wasn't a part of it, and didn't care.  Even if Buffy was up against something big.  Something bad.

Glory.

Growling in annoyance and disgust at himself, he ran back the way he'd come, turning left instead of right at the corner of Wilshire.  The Magic Box was the most likely place to find information, so he headed there.  The lights of the main street in downtown Sunnydale were as brightly lit as a haunted house.  No wonder this place was a demon magnet, he thought darkly, the Hellmouth probably only played a small part in it.  Dark streets and ignorant people played the bigger part. He'd certainly found it a big help to snack on the populace when he was still able to.

Rounding the corner at a dead run, he went right past the Espresso Pump and straight up to the Magic Box.  Lights were on inside, big surprise. Stopping outside the door, he didn't take the time to look inside before yanking the door open and going in.

No one tossed insults at him.  Dawn didn't greet him happily, not that she would anyway given her mum's death and all.  But she usually at least had a 'hello' for him.  Someone always groaned when he came in, someone always tossed insults his way, and Anya always looked up hopefully from behind the counter, expecting rich, paying customers.  At the moment though, the store was empty except for one person, and she was the last person he wanted to see right now.

She looked up from behind the register, biting her lip guiltily.  Her hands grabbed something from the counter, sticking whatever it was on a shelf in front of her.  She frowned, staring at the door behind him.  "I thought I locked that."  Her eyes found his, her brows raising innocently.  "Uh, hi."

He grinned at her, knowing full well what she was doing.  "Stealing supplies again?  Didn't we learn our lesson the last time?  Big ogre. Lots of damage."

"No," she denied, shaking her head for extra measure.  "No, I'm not... well, yes I am, but I'm fully planning on paying for them.  Uh, you know, sometime not tonight."

"Right," he agreed.  They both knew she had no intention of paying for her things.  Glancing around idly, he looked up at the second level. "Where's, uh--"

"She's on a quest," Willow interrupted, hefting her five-fingered items back up on the counter.  "Won't be back for hours probably."  A jar of what looked like pickled eggs was set on the counter by the cash register.  She turned the jar, leaning down to peer into the murky liquid as she scribbled on a pad in beside the jar.

"Oh.  Then no nasties tonight, huh?  No Glory?"  He hopped up on the counter, hefting the jar in his hands as he settled comfortably beside the cash register.  The liquid inside sloshed as he tossed it lightly into the air.  "I was looking for a bit of a fight.  Something to occupy me for a bit."

"Hey!  Hey!"  She watched him anxiously.  After the third toss, she reached out and caught the jar, yanking it from him in irritation. "Give me that."

He sighed, thoroughly bored with the world at the moment.  "Nothing on the agenda then?"  Tapping a beat on the counter, he raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

She glanced up momentarily before going back to peering at the jar.  Not telling him how sexy he was when he raised his eyebrow.  The minute disappointment was gone almost before it appeared.

"Nope.  Tara's watching Dawn.  Xander and Anya are patrolling, and I'm--"

"Stealing from Giles," he said with a grin.

She snorted, all defensive-like, acting the little innocent.  "I'm steal-- taking these pickled Lornack eyes for a reason, thank you very much."  She pulled a spell book from the shelf below.  Opening the book to a marked page, she scribbled on her paper some more.

"That reason being...?"  He leaned over to read what she was writing, squinting at her small, flowing script.  "Maybe I can help.  What do you need a--" he raised his eyes to her face, widening them in surprise. "Condom?" he laughed.  "What sort of spell is it we're doing exactly?" He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively.  "Because, I'd be glad to offer my services."

"Keep your services to yourself," she told him, barely lifting her eyes to him in irritation.  "It says condor.  Specifically a condor's feather."

He shrugged, glancing at the paper.  "Looked like condom to me.  Don't blame me if you're writing is illegible," he protested, holding a hand to his chest as his eyes dropped to hers.

She set the pad and pencil down with a sigh, turning more fully to him. "Do you... need something?  Is this a--"

"Do you have any birthmarks?" he asked curiously, looking up from his perusal of her chest to find her watching him suspiciously.  His eyes slid back down to her naked neck, enjoying the view.  The bot was so close in design to this Willow's flesh, the color was right.  The pale shade was dead on.  But the real Willow had freckles.  Lots of them, spread all over her chest, neck, and shoulders, pale and almost indiscernible, but there.  Maybe he'd take his bot back to Warren and have him add those in.

Though why bother?  He'd have his Buffy bot soon enough.

She backed away slightly, widening her eyes at him suspiciously. "What?  Why?"  Her hand shot out to the counter, picking up her pencil and holding it aloft threateningly.  "Is it still working?" she asked, her voice only shaking a little.  "The chip.  Does the chip still work?"

He hopped down from the counter, moving away to give her room to feel safe.  And to help him feel safe from the pencil in case she got trigger happy.  "Every minute of every day."

"Oh."  She moved closer to the counter again, staying firmly behind it. "Oh, good.  That's-- that's good."

"Mm," was his only reply.  He noticed she hadn't dropped the pencil yet.  She was cautious, careful.  Good.  She should stay that way around him.  He wasn't safe, he wasn't her friend, or-- anything.  Deciding that now was a good time to leave, he turned on his heel and came face to face with one of the ugliest little trolls he'd ever seen.  "What the hell is this?" he asked, moving closer to it.  He grabbed it by its fluffy hair and lifted it to face level.  The troll's beady little eyes stared back at him with a secretive smile, fully of... happy-thoughts.

"Um, oh," Willow said, coming around the counter to grab the doll from him.  Her voice and face held a little embarrassment.  She stroked the doll's bushy pink hair back, smoothing it away from the ugly brown face.  "That's Freddy, um, it was mine.  A-- a long time ago.  When I was little.  I was going to give it to Dawn.  She's been kind of... well, you know, since Joyce..."

He nodded, taking the doll from her to look into its eternally happy face.  "That thing is going to give her nightmares."

She chuckled, moving back to her books and pickled demon eyes.  "Spike, she's the Slayer's sister.  She's seen worse things than a troll doll." She lifted her eyes to him, gesturing in his general direction.  "You, for instance."

"Me, right," he scoffed, waving a hand in dismissal.  "Please.  Oh, wait."  Now that he thought about it, she'd just complimented him. "Yeah."  He grinned, nodding happily.  "You're right.  I am worse than that thi-- not as ugly, but just as scary.  Thanks, love."

She frowned, raising an eyebrow at him.  "That wasn't actually a compli--"

He looked over at her from under his brows.

"Um, you're welcome."  She smiled nervously, half watching him, half reading her spell book.

His eyes stayed on her long after she'd finished talking.  She was beautiful.  A gorgeous creature with so many possibilities to her.  Her hair, redder than he'd ever seen it, was shorter than he liked, but a nice color and style.  He preferred the color and style the bot had, but this was good too.

Realizing she was talking to him, he snapped his attention back to her. "What?"

"...here, Spike?" she was saying.

"What?" he repeated, frowning at the annoyed look she tossed him.  "You got a bloody date?  You can't spare five minutes of your time?"  It infuriated him that that's all he was to these people anymore.  A nuisance.  He was a bloody evil vampire, feared throughout the world, and with good reason.  What right did these puny humans have to be annoyed by his presence?  Like he wasn't worthy of their time.  It was the other way around.  They weren't worthy of him.

And why was he even here anyway?

"No.  No, it's not that.  I just... well you're acting really weird. Staring.  And-- and with the birthmark, and the fact that you're here at all."  She sighed and closed the book, setting the pencil beside it. "You don't hang around me.  Ever."

"So something has to be up for me to be near you?" he asked with a snort, knowing she was right.  The most time he'd ever spent with her was when he wanted her to cast a spell.  Or when he'd been actively trying to kill her.  Or turn her.  Of course, she wasn't going to stay dead long if he had a hand in it.  "I just came to see how the little one was."

"Dawn," she said suspiciously.  "You came all the way to the Magic Box to ask how Dawn is."  She rolled her eyes, talking to him like he was ten.  "And did you not think to go to--"

"What?  Buffy's house?" he interrupted, stalking closer to the counter. "I don't seem to be welcome there anymore.  A little witch uninvited me."

"Oh, boo hoo," she said scornfully.  "You're evil.  Right?"

He nodded, fighting the impulse to jump over the counter and tear her throat out.  Or yank her over it.  Either way worked for him.

"Well there's your reason right there.  Get over it."  Tearing the piece of paper from her pad, she folded it and stuck it into her back pocket. She grabbed a bag, shaking it open wide enough to slide her jar inside. A few more items followed, mostly small jars of herbs, a few claws and one condor feather.

He watched her silently, trying to figure out the best way to kill her without setting off the chip.  Hiring someone else to do the deed was the best way, but he wanted her undead.  Not dead-dead.  So, maybe if he--

"Buffy has too much on her mind right now to deal with you too."  Willow looked straight at him, waiting until she had his full attention before continuing.  "So maybe you could just... leave her alone for a while." She grinned, chuckling as she grabbed her bag from the counter.  "I'd say forever, but I don't see that happening."

She was right on both counts.  Buffy did have a lot going on at the moment.  And he was only adding to it.  But he couldn't help himself. She was the flame and he was the bloody moth, trapped by her heat and her beauty.  He couldn't resist her if he tried.  And he had certainly tried.  In every possible way, at every possible turn.

"Right," he agreed as she grabbed the other bag from the counter.  He followed her to the door, inhaling subtly.  She smelled so feminine. Like fruity things, with a hint of spice.  Apples, he realized.  Apples and cinnamon.  Leaning closer to her as she reached for the light switch, he inhaled again.  He'd have to get his robot some of that-- what was it?  Not perfume.  Soap, shampoo?  "So what's the spell for?" he asked, trying to think of the best way to ask her how she got to smelling so good.

"Damn it," she said, setting both bags on the floor.  She flicked off the far lights.  "Could you, um," she tossed a look behind her at the counter.  "Could you grab Freddy?  Please?"

Heaving a heavy sigh, he went back and picked up the ugly little troll. Rolling his eyes, he shoved it into his pocket.  "The spell?" he reminded her once they were outside.  A whiff of cinnamon hit his nose and he moved closer, right behind her as she set her bags back down. Closing his eyes, he inhaled, letting the smell surround him.  The heat from her body drifted toward him, and he caught his hands just before they settled on her shoulders.

She looked over her shoulder at him, frowning at his close proximity. "A little room here, Spike?  Are you-- did you just sniff me?" she asked in a high voice.

What the hell was he doing?  Stalking a few feet away, he shook himself, trying to rid his mind of her intoxicating smell and the feel of her warmth.  "Oh, right.  That's what I'm doing, sniffing you."  He rolled his eyes for good measure, hoping she bought his lies.  "So, the spell?"

She turned from locking the door and stuck her keys in her pocket, avoiding looking his way.  "Um, just a little thing.  Not really important to anything."  She darted a look up.  "It's personal."

"Personal," he mused, taking in her flushed cheeks and hastily turned away eyes.  His smile spread across his face, and he made no move to stop it.  "You sure that wasn't condoms on the list?" he chuckled.

"I'm sure," she said seriously.  "And don't you go telling Tara it was. Or anyone else for that matter.  In fact, don't say anything about it. Ever.  To anyone."  Grabbing her bags from the sidewalk, she stomped past.

"Oh ho, Willow's got a secret," he said softly, hurrying to catch up with her.  "Well now you've got my curiosity all piqued.  You can't just say something like that and expect me to leave it alone."

"Can too."  Her voice was all grumpy and irritated sounding.  Again. Apparently, she really didn't like him.  "And, look, just did."

"Mm," he agreed, stopping to light a cigarette.  She continued walking without him, unaware of his eyes watching her every move.  The sway of her hair.  The curve of her hips.  The bot was very close in shape, but he thought maybe the height was off just a bit.  Willow was taller than the bot.

Drawing smoke into his lungs, he squinted through the haze of gray and shoved his pack back into his pocket.  Instead of following her like he'd intended, badgering her for answers, he decided to go see Warren. Make a few adjustments.  See if he couldn't figure out how to get his robot smelling like the real Willow.

Spike knocked on the door to Warren's house, glancing at his Willow bot as he waited.  She was standing straight, her hands by her sides, a pleasantly expectant smile on her lips.  She looked like she was readying herself for dinner with his parents.

He sighed lightly.  "Relax, don't look so... robot-like."

She smiled in confusion.  "Why would I look like a robot?  I'm not--"

The door opened, halting the rest of her words.  They both turned to see Warren's mum standing there.  "Hello.  Oh.  You're a friend of Warren's, right?" she asked, taking in Spike's appearance with a slightly disapproving look.

"Yeah," Spike answered, "friends.  We'll just--" he tried to go inside, knowing the way to Warren's basement laboratory, but his mum stepped in his way.

"I'm afraid he's not here," she said with no remorse whatsoever.  "He's gone back to school."  She smiled stiffly and attempted to shut the door.

"But, he has to be here," Willow said in desperation, frowning at the woman.  "He's going to help me."

Spike groaned as Warren's mum fixed her eyes on the robot.  "She didn't mean--" he squeezed Willow's hand, warning her to be quiet.

"Help you how?" the woman asked, her tone turning more disapproving by the second.  "If you expect my son to... give you drugs, or-- or--"

"No," Willow interrupted, squeezing Spike's hand back, practically crushing his bones, "he's going to make me--"

"She's... uh, on meds," Spike told the older lady, smiling a bit, trying to smooth over the situation at the same time as he cursed himself for bothering.  He needed information from the bastard's mother and he couldn't get that if he killed her.  Or set Willow to killing her. "Could you give me his number so I can ring him?"

"No," she told him, shaking her head.  "I don't know you, and I don't know what you want him for."

"He has... something of mine," Spike ground out, resisting the urge to vamp out and snack a bit.  "I'd like to get it back."

"Oh," she said suddenly, looking to something out of sight of the door. She bent down and picked up a box, taped shut several times over.  His box, full of his... Willow-stuff.  "Is this yours then?"  She peered at the box, turning it sideways trying to read something.  "Are you Sp--" she glanced up with a frown.  "Spike?"

"Yes, he is," Willow said happily.  "He's Spike.  My Blonde God."

He exhaled loudly, turning a warning look Willow's way.  "Not now, love.  The nice lady doesn't care to hear about that."  Shaking his head at the situation he was in, he glanced at Warren's mum.  "Yes, I'm Spike.  That's my stuff.  But he also--"

She handed him the box, practically tossing it at him, like it was contaminated.  "That's yours then.  Goodbye."  She shut the door in their faces, and turned a few locks.

Spike glared at the door for a minute wondering where the hell Warren had gone.  He'd left without making his Buffy robot.  "Bloody... God damn... bastard," he finally ground out, turning on his heel and heading back to his crypt.  He shoved the box of stuff into Willow's arms and ran his hands through his hair in irritation.

Willow followed along beside him silently, her eyes on him most of the time, but also on the surrounding darkness.  "A vampire is coming," she told him.  "Do you want me to use my unreliable magick on it?"

Spike snorted with laughter.  Whoever had given Warren the specs for Willow had definitely done their homework.  Sliding a stake from his pocket, he stepped in front of Willow, idly wondering if she really could do magick.

A vampire turned the corner, strolling unhurriedly down the street toward them, human guise in place.

"Hey," the vampire said as he passed by, nodding pleasantly.  "Dinner time, eh?"  He laughed, eyeing Willow with a smirk.  "Have fun."

Spike watched the vampire, waiting to see if he'd make a move against them, but he simply continued on his way down the street.

"Why didn't he try to eat me?" she asked, also watching the vampire disappear.  "Am I not appetizing enough?"  Her lips pursed into a pout, her eyes dropping to the sidewalk.

"You're very appetizing," he assured her, feeling a sense of deja vu. She seemed to be acting more Willow-like.  She'd even rambled on their way to Warren's.  Had someone--the person or thing that'd made him get her--made adjustments to her?

Willow set her bags gently on the floor of her bedroom, looking around curiously.  It'd been a few months since she'd been here.  Her parents were obviously dusting and that was about it.  Nothing was out of place, not even a pencil in the cup on her desk.  A pile of folded up clothes sat on top of her dresser.  A book on her night stand.

It looked like she'd just left this morning instead of months ago.

Sighing, she closed the door with a quiet click.  Spike's odd behavior from earlier was forgotten as she set her mind to doing her spell.  She needed answers and those could only come from another spell.  Taking each item from the bags, she lined them up on the floor in front of her and then grabbed her stash of candles from under the bed.  Emergency candle supplies; she was probably the only girl in America who hid her candles and Marjoram.

A smile tilted her lips but was quickly gone again.  Setting up her supplies and marking her circle with the candles only took a few minutes.  It was the rest that would be the hard part.

Pulling the ceremonial bowl nearer to her, she slowly opened the jar of Lornack eyes.  Staring inside the wide-mouthed jar at the huge, golf ball-sized eyes she wished she'd been insightful enough to bring a spoon or something to scoop one out.  'Cause this was grossness in the extreme.

Closing her eyes, she turned her head to the side, gagging at the smell wafting up from the jar, and slipped her hand inside.  "Oh, ew," she whispered, feeling the cold, slimy water envelop her hand.

An eyeball touched the backs of her fingers and she squealed in disgust, yanking her hand free.  Water flew across the room, dripping down the wall and door, it soaked from her hand into her jeans as she stared at the jar, willing herself to try again.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she plunged her hand inside and wrapped her fingers around an eye.  "Oh God, oh gross, ew, ew, ew."  Holding the slimy eye in her hand, she pulled her hand free of the jar and almost dropped the eye in her haste to get rid of it.  Flinging it into the bowl, cringing at the wet plunking sound it made when it plopped into the bowl, she frantically wiped her hands on her wet jeans.

She shuddered in disgust and shook her whole body as a shiver of revulsion swept through her.  "Eugh!  So, so gross!"

If it wasn't necessary for her to do the spell, she would be in the shower, scrubbing her hands and thighs.  Everywhere the water and eyeball had touched.  Just thinking about it was freaking her out. Needing to calm down, she wiped her hands dry on her jeans and picked up the jar of sea salt.

Climbing to her feet, she walked clockwise, drawing her circle.  She pushed the stopper back into the jar and set it aside, kneeling toward the north, closing her eyes and focusing her breathing.  In and out, slowly, purposely.  She concentrated on her questions and calmed enough to start her spell.

Taking her silver athame with her, she climbed to her feet again and pointed it toward the north, walking clockwise around the circle three times.

With the way her spells had been going lately, she was taking no chances.  This spell was being done by the book.  Crossing all the t's and dotting all the i's.  By the letter.

Digging her lighter out of her jean pocket, she knelt before the bowl, avoiding looking at the wet, slimy eyeball as much as possible as she lit the candles she'd placed around the bowl.  Yellow candlelight filled the room, casting a pale glow around her and the items of her circle.

The sea salt began to shimmer as she added herbs to the bowl.  A pinch of this, a twig of that.  The claws were placed around the eye, four of them to represent the elements.  The last item, the condor feather, was placed on top of the bowl.  Resisting the urge to smirk at Spike's insistence that it was a condom, she sat back on her heels and closed her eyes.

Her hands raised from her thighs to hover over the bowl as she silently asked for protection.

"Goddess Diana, I bring an offering in return for answers.  An eye of Lornack."  She bowed her head in supplication, lowering her hands to the floor beside the bowl and waiting.

Time passed as she slipped into a trance.  Minutes, possibly hours went by.  The shimmering sand faded to a slight blue glow.  The smell permeating the room faded.  Darkness enveloped her.

"What do you ask of me?" a voice whispered in her mind.

Willow's eyes opened slowly, her head rising in search of the owner of the voice.  A disembodied head floated in front of her, lighting the darkness of the... wherever she was.  Glancing quickly around, she saw only blackness and the glowing head.  Nervousness shot through her.

This could be bad.  She hadn't had much experience with actually speaking to Goddesses and now she was here with one.  Somewhere. Licking her dry lips, she lowered her head respectfully.  "I seek answers to--"

The woman in front of her smiled.  "You wish to know why you no longer find happiness with your lover."

Willow swallowed and nodded jerkily.  Hearing someone else say it when she'd barely admitted it to herself was scary.  It made things real, more than just her imagination.  "Yes," she said softly, needing answers.  Needing to know why she couldn't seem to be happy with Tara anymore.  Something had happened and she suspected it was associated with the spell they'd done a few weeks back, asking for the full extent of their happiness to come through in all things.  "Was it the spell we did?  Did I--" she cleared her throat, dropping her eyes from the glowing face.  "Did I do something wrong?"

She heard the smile in Diana's voice, though she kept her head down. "No.  Your happiness lies elsewhere."

"But-- no," Willow disagreed, lifting her head and looking directly at Diana.  "I love Tara.  She's what makes me happy... or she used to before that stupid spell.  It's her I want to be happy with.  Not someone else."

Diana's smile faded, her eyes turning black.  "You asked for happiness, we gave you happiness.  Now you ask for it back?"

Fear shot through Willow.  This wasn't Diana's good side anymore.  She'd pissed her off, and the look Diana was giving her was frightening.  "N-- no," she rushed to assure the Goddess.  "I accept my gift.  Thank you." Bowing her head, she closed her eyes and lifted the bowl as her offering.  When nothing happened, she slowly opened her eyes.

Back in her room.  Safely ensconced in her girlhood bedroom with an empty bowl and some burned down candles.  Ugh, and some really stinky Lornack eyes in the open jar.

~Part: 3~

Well, she had her answers.  Apparently she wasn't meant to find happiness with Tara anymore.  Too bad, she thought, kicking at a rock as she entered the cemetery gates, I'm going to be happy with Tara anyway. "So there," she muttered.

Clutching tighter to her stake, she paid more attention to her surroundings, listening for sounds of something coming.  This stupid shortcut back to campus was the dumbest possible move the city could've made.  She was halfway convinced the city planners were all vampires; everything seemed to favor them in someway.

Noises up to her left drew her attention from her ruminating thoughts. Thinking at night got ya dead.  She needed to pay more attention to where she was and what she was doing.

Crunching leaves and breaking twigs sounded, drawing closer.  She was undecided.  Leave and increase her odds of living, or stay and fight, decreasing her odds of living?

As the sounds grew louder, the decision was taken out of her hands.  Two figures came toward her in the darkness, a man and a woman.  Familiar figures.  Thank God.

"Xander, Anya," she called, waving to them and moving closer.  "You scared me.  The bejesus?  It's gone.  Yep, right out of me."

Xander chuckled.  "Willow mine?  Why are you out here alone with no super power backing you up?"

Anya scoffed at Xander, dropping his hand to turn to him.  "I wanted super powers backing us up too, but you said we were fine.  I want super powers, or I want to go home."  She paused, frowning for a second, but then her face cleared.  "Buffy's gone, so let's go home."

"Nice try, Anya," Xander laughed.  "We're taking up the slack Buffy left behind by questing, remember?"

Willow laughed at the frustrated look that crossed Anya's face.

"Spike," Anya said suddenly.  "He's strong.  I've seen his arms, they're all muscular and--"

"Hey," Xander interrupted, holding his hand up for silence.  "When did you see Spike's arms and why do you care what his arms look like?"

"He lived in your basement, Xander," Anya sighed, hugging his arm to her.  "He was always there and sometimes he had his shirt off."  She smiled, squeezing his biceps.  "I like your arms too."

Willow clamped her mouth shut tight to keep from saying anything.  A smirk was trying so hard to make it to her lips, but she refused to let it.  Xander was irritated enough, he didn't need her riding him too. "Uh, so... you go do that then, and I'll go..." she giggled, trying to cover it up by clearing her throat.  "I'll go help Tara with Dawn."

"Oh no you don't," Xander said loudly, grabbing her arm and swinging her back around.  "You're helping.  In fact," he said with relish, seeing her snickering, "you're going to go get him."

"Me?" she asked, her eyes widening on Xander and Anya's smirking faces. "But, why me?  You're the two who are patrolling.  I'm just..." she moved her hands in a slope in front of her, "passing through.  To protect Dawn.  I need to help protect Dawn."

"Nice try," Anya said, echoing Xander's words from earlier.  She grabbed Willow's other arm and together she and Xander dragged Willow along with them toward Spike's crypt.

Since he lived in this very cemetery, the walk was a short one.  Two minutes.  Two minutes of her trying to talk them out of this.  "Guys, guys, come on, really, I don't like Spike... a whole lot, uh, at all," she admitted, keeping to herself the part where she was afraid of him. He just made her really nervous and jittery.  "I don't talk to Spike, you know, at all, and when I do it's 'cause I'm trying to talk him out of killing me.  Not a conversation conducive to getting to know someone.  So I'm not the right person to talk to him... about anything. He's, you know, a vampire, what could I possibly have to say to make him do anything?" she asked, looking from one silent face to the other. "I'll tell you what.  Nothing, that's what.  He makes me nervous and babble-y.  I don't want to--"

Xander pushed her in front of Spike's crypt and held her there while he knocked on the door.  Loudly and with a lot of force.  He was sure to hear it.  More than likely so had a zillion other creatures in the cemetery.

Xander and Anya walked a few yards away, watching her to make sure she didn't run off.  Well, fine.

"Uh, Spike..." she called softly.  Clearing her throat, she raised her voice a little.  "Spike, it's-- it's me, Willow.  I was... um, could I--" hearing groaning coming from inside, she leaned closer to the door, listening.  Was he hurt?

"Oh God-- come in."

He had to be hurt, she thought.  Turning the handle on the door, she shoved it open and hurried inside.  Her eyes scanned the candle-lit interior for him.  Why else would he sound so-- "Oh my God!" she gasped, closing her eyes and turning away, covering her eyes with her hands for good measure.

"Willow!" he ground out, sounding way more than just angry.  "What the hell, don't you guys knock?"  She heard a lot of rustling around, and feet scuffling.  Naked feet to go along with naked Spike.

"I knocked," she said quickly.  "Well, Xander knocked and I called, and you said come... oh."  Realization hit her.  He hadn't been inviting her in.  He'd been-- oh boy.  Laughter bubbled up.

"What the bloody hell is so funny?" he asked in irritation.

You, she wanted to say.  Naked you doing sex things with-- was anyone there with him?  Resisting the urge to turn around and look, she kept her eyes tightly closed and headed toward the door, peeking quickly so she wouldn't smack into the wall, knocking herself out.  That would be the perfect ending to the worst night of... this month.

"Spike, who's--" a woman started to ask.

"Shh.  Willow," he said quickly, "don't uh... don't-- just stay there, damn it."  She halted in her tracks, wondering why on Earth he wanted her to remain there.  "And be quiet."

"I didn't say anything," she scoffed, planting her hands on her hips. He didn't have to be such a jerk.  It wasn't her fault she'd walked in on him and... whoever she was.  Curiosity was eating away at her, but she refused to turn around, that would make for an awkward introduction.

Not to mention seeing more naked Spike.  Although... her head was turning and her eyes were opening to get another gander at him before she realized it.  Snapping them shut again, she turned back around.

No ogling Spike!  Even if he was completely ogle-able... or something.

"Um, ya know what?" she called loudly, "I'm s-- sorry.  I'm sorry.  I'll just--" she pointed to the door and started heading that way again.  She had to get out of there right now because her hormones were going nuts. For some reason she was hyper-aware of him and growing way more aware than she needed to be by the second.

"Stay there," she heard him say, but she wasn't sure who he was talking to this time.  So she remained still.  Shuffling footsteps sounded behind her as he moved from behind the end of the sarcophagus.  The woman, who had to be kneeling or sitting on the floor by where he'd been standing, didn't move or say anything.

A tiny twinge of... something unidentifiable slithered through her, making her shift uncomfortably.  Who was Spike having sex with?  Well, she assumed they were having sex, at the moment he'd only been getting... um, oral sex and-- wow, why did that make her want to squirm?

She heard cloth moving against skin and tried very hard not to imagine Spike stepping into a tight pair of jeans.  His well-muscled arms, just like Anya had said, would pull the material up, encasing those trim hips she'd gotten only a glimpse of and-- Tara.  Think Tara.  That was safe. Sweet, loving, caring Tara who's soft pale body was... okay, not so great an alternate train of thought.

No more naked thoughts.  Bad, bad, bad.  Better to think of everyone clothed, much better.

A zipper sounded, followed closely by a jangling belt being buckled.  If she groaned, would he hear it? she wondered.

"Spike," the woman tried again, and Willow was sure she knew that voice, but she couldn't place it.

"Quiet," he warned.  Willow heard boots ringing on the stone floor and then a whispered conversation.  "Stay here, no matter what," he told the woman.  "Just like before, okay?"

"Ye--" the woman began, once again cut off by Spike.

"No," he told her.  "Shh."  A kiss followed, and Willow blushed, not entirely comfortable with witnessing such an intimate moment, even if her back was turned and her eyes... well, they were now wide open, but turned away.

"Come on," Spike told her, grabbing her arm and yanking her out the door.  Slamming the door shut behind him, he slipped his duster on and then hauled her toward the others.  "What do you want?" he asked rudely, digging through his pockets and pulling out his cigarettes.

Xander moved forward, frowning at Spike's rough treatment of her. "Hey," he said harshly, waving his stake in front of him, "hands off her, Fang."

"What did you do?" Anya asked Willow.  "He's angry.  Now he won't help us."  She scowled at Willow, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I-- I didn't do anything," she protested, glaring at Anya.  Why did Anya always have to accuse people of trying to ruin her precious time, her precious night?  Other people lived in this world too.  "It's your fault.  You and Xander made me go talk to him.  So, blame yourselves."

Spike sucked a huge amount of smoke into his lungs with a long, drawn out sigh.  "I don't care whose fault it is.  What the hell do you want?"

"You," Xander answered, "to help us patrol while Buffy's gone.  And don't bother asking where she is, 'cause I won't--"

"On a quest," Spike said, his tone bored.  "Why should I help you?"

"Because you'd be helping Buffy," Willow said softly, darting a look in his direction.

He nodded, tossing a glance over his shoulder at his crypt.  "Great. Fine.  Lead on then," he told them, motioning to the darkness.  "Let's get this done with... I've got things to do."

More like people to do, Willow thought testily.  "Okay then..." she told Xander, clapping her hands together quietly.  "I've done my part, I'll just be--"

"What?" Spike demanded, yanking his cigarette from his mouth.  He eyed her speculatively, shaking his head with a scoff.  "Oh, no, you don't. If I go, you go.  You roped me into this."

Willow shook her head, desperately wanting to get away from them now. She'd seen way more than she needed to tonight, she couldn't now spend time with him after... seeing all that stuff. Heck, it still made her blush when she and Tara did things together.

Well, mostly it made her feel really, really good, but there was also the embarrassment.

"I-- I don't... but, Xander."  She turned to her best friend.  Her biggest bestest friend in the whole world aside from Buffy, imploring him to help extricate her from going.  "Tell him."

Xander shrugged, taking Anya's hand and pulling her along with him. "Sorry, Will.  Looks like you're coming."

"Well now, wouldn't that be fun?" Spike drawled, eyeing her like a big ole pastry puff as he took a drag off his cigarette.

"Yeah," Xander enthused, looking back over his shoulder.  "It'll be fun!  Just like the old days, only less with the Buffy and more with the Spike."

Anya smiled encouragingly at her, pointing to the left.  "You two go that way, we'll go..." she looked around and gestured to a tree-filled part of the cemetery, "that way.  We'll go that way."

Willow narrowed her eyes at Anya.  "You just wanna make out," she accused, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Oh, no," Anya denied, "we're looking for evil things.  You know, go good guys," she enthused, then grabbed Xander's arm and practically dragged him away with her.  "Come on," she said impatiently when he stopped to look over his shoulder at her.

"You gonna be okay?" he asked Willow, tossing Spike a look that said he didn't trust him.

"No," she practically pouted, angry at being roped into this whole thing.  All she'd wanted to do tonight was find out what went wrong with her spell, and maybe cuddle a little with Tara.  Not get caught stealing from Giles, be forced to deal with Spike, do the spell, be forced to talk Spike into joining patrol and then be forced to patrol *with* Spike.  Argh!

"Will..." Xander said, coming back toward them, pulling his arm free of Anya's tight grip.  "If you want, we'll patrol together, or I could go with him and you go with Anya."

Willow took one look at Anya and knew by the furious scowl on her face that she didn't want to be anywhere near her.  And Spike was looking equally angry.  Xander wasn't happy and-- "Go," she said with a sigh, dropping her defensive stance.  "I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" Xander asked, not making a move to go yet.

"She's sure, Xander, come on," Anya said with a stomp of her foot, moving forward to drag him with her again.

"She's fine with me," Spike finally said, annoyance just radiating from him.  Though he also looked relieved that he wasn't going to be forced to deal with Xander.

Good, everyone was happy and there was all around goodness, except for her.  Sigh.

"Okay."  Xander glared hard at Spike and did the threatening thing. "Hurt her and I'll blah blah blah, you know the deal by now."

"Yes," Spike agreed with a growl, "I do."

"Good.  Then you won't hurt her or let her get hurt," Xander said evenly.  "We'll meet at the gates.  See ya, Willow.  Be careful."

"I will," she mumbled, rolling her eyes at the order.  Like she was going to purposely be careless and get herself killed.  That was a heck of a plan.

"Oh, and hey, I'll be careful too," Spike called loudly, laughing at the finger Xander tossed back at him.  "Thanks for the concern!"

"Great," Willow muttered, watching Xander and Anya walk off and leave her there with the king of smirking.  Who was now smirking at her. "What are you looking at?" she griped, striding past him.

"Aw," he teased spitefully, following after her, "pout-y little witch. Forced to be in the company of the Big Bad."

"Big Bad," she snorted, rolling her eyes at him.  "When you have to give yourself a title, you're lame.  I was a geeky nerd in school and I'm still cooler than you'll ever be, Spike."

"Heart, arrow, ouch," he retorted sarcastically, tossing his cigarette to the grass.  "You've gotten a girlfriend, gotten a little bit better at magick--a little," he specified, "and it's been another year, but you're still the same highschool loser you were two years ago."

She stopped walking and grabbed his arm, turning to face him.  "That isn't going to work on me again, Spike."  Glancing in the direction Xander and Anya were heading, she said, "It *has* been a year and I get that you need to make others feel lower than you to boost yourself up into a big manly guy-type... thing, but--"

Spike snorted, his body shaking with laughter, his eyes amused as they landed on her.  "You just have this amazing way with words, love."

"But," she said louder, talking over him, "I'm on to you, pal.  Yeah, that's right, so don't expect sad faces and moping this time."

"Aw shucks," he sighed dramatically, swinging his arm as he snapped his fingers.  "There goes my entire evil plan."  Rolling his eyes, he started after the others.

She didn't get it.  She'd expected anger from him, possibly embarrassment, which is one reason she hadn't wanted to come along, but what she hadn't expected was this teasing mood he seemed to be in.  What was going on in that mind of his?  Did sex put vampires in a better mood too?

Hmm.  Strolling along behind him, she studied his back, wishing she had enough courage to ask him the questions swimming around in her mind. Like, who was the woman in his crypt-- oh my God!  She stopped, turning around to gape at his crypt in the distance.  She knew the voice, and since she didn't know too many women, it had to be...

"It's not Buffy," Spike tossed over his shoulder, not even bothering to turn around and face her.

She spared one last look toward his home and then hurried after him. "How'd you know I was thinking that?"

"Body language.  Breathing."  He glanced sideways at her.  "You're like an open book."

"Am not," she denied, but left off on arguing about that in favor of finding out who the mystery woman was.  "So then, who--"

"That'd be telling."  He quickened his pace, forcing her to quicken her own in order to keep up with him.

She snorted rudely.  "Well, duh.  See, the whole reason I asked was so you'd tell me."  Tired of practically running to keep pace with him, she slowed her steps.

His pace slowed a little as well and she wondered when he'd gained manners.

"Get your condom spell done?" he inquired, tossing a glance at her.  Oh, and look, there was a smile on his face; a genuine smile with no smirking.

"Yes.  I did."  Unzipping her sheepskin coat, she pulled the feather from the inside pocket and held it out to him.  "Condor feather."

He took the feather from her, holding it in front of his eyes as he twirled it in his fingers.  "What's this?  Presents, love?  Tsk, I'm not that kinda guy," he said, acting all offended.  He handed it back to her with a frown, stiffening beside her as he looked around cautiously.

"Vampire?" she asked, exchanging the feather for her stake.  The stake dropped to the ground as a hand slid around her mouth, cutting off her scream.  She was hauled back into a cold, hard body.

"Well, this is odd," a voice said from behind her.  "You're alive." Another hand slipped around her waist, holding her tight against him, not even letting her elbow swing back to catch him in the gut.

Rude vampire.

"Yeah," she snorted, shrugging at his stupid comment, "we humans usually are alive.  It's a thing."

Spike sighed and rubbed his forehead in irritation.  "Let her go," he said flatly, as if reading lines from a prompter.  "If you don't let her go, I'll have to kill you."

Willow stared at him as the vampire behind her burst out laughing. "Excuse me?" she yelled, staring angrily at Spike.  The hand over her mouth muffled her words, and the tiny little cuss word she aimed Spike's way.  Judging by his chuckle, he got the gist of it though.  "Jerk," she muttered.

Spike moved closer... so slowly that he actually wouldn't be any help this century.  She rolled her eyes at him in annoyance.

"When I saw you earlier," the vampire behind her began, "wasn't she... different?"

"Yeah," Willow muttered, "a different woman entirely, you idiot."

"So, uh, what happened?"  His hand tightened on her mouth as he lowered his mouth to her neck.

She screamed in that wonderfully muffled way that his hand was allowing and struggled to get free, but he was stronger than her.  Much stronger.  Time for some kick-butt magick.  She closed her eyes and concentrated all her energy on being released, but suddenly the conversation going on around her caught her attention.

"... your pet?" the vampire behind her was laughing.  "I don't see any marks on her.  Oh, wait..." his voice went high and squeaky, "there's one tiny little bite mark right..." he fastened his mouth over the bite mark Harmony had left behind and started to press down.

"Ow!  Ow!" she yelled, kicking him in the shin.

Spike moved directly in front of her, staring past her at the vampire. "Hey," he said, his voice low, his tone even.  "Didn't I just say she was mine?"

"Yours?" Willow laughed, realizing the stupidity of that comment as soon as she said it.  He was trying to help, and here she was being an idiot by refuting him.  She abruptly stopped laughing and nodded frantically. "I mean, yes, I'm his, absolutely.  Yes, his.  Spike's... I'm all Spike's.  Uh..." she tried to turn her head to look behind her, but all she could move was her eyes, "let me go now?"

He didn't let her go, but he did lower his hand from her mouth, which was moist from her breathing all over it.  "That right, sweety?" the vampire whispered.  "Is this Billy Idol wannabe yours?"

"Yes," she stated with conviction, glaring at Spike when he smirked at her.  "We're, uh, like that," she said, crossing her fingers and holding them up for the vampire to see.  "Like two peas in a pod."

"Where are your bite marks then?  All I see is this one."  His finger traced the pulse point along her neck, making her shiver at the light touch.

"They're--" she began, but Spike cut her off.

"They're in more... intimate spots."  He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to the side, smirking at the other vampire.  "Right, love?"

She nodded slowly, sighing at the position she was currently in.  All this Spike exposure could not be good for a person.  And the sex talk with Spike exposure, was verging on dangerous.  The way his eyes were dipping down her blouse and his lips were curling into a sexy smile, it was doing things to her that it shouldn't be.  He was gross, a pig.  In love with Buffy and she was gay and there was no reason for her to wonder just where Drusilla had bite marks.  Or the woman in the crypt.

She looked away quickly, not wanting Spike to guess her train of thought which went way beyond wrong.

"Yes, right," she agreed softly, shifting uncomfortably against the vampire behind her.  His hand slipped under her shirt, touching the skin of her stomach.  She slapped his hand away, pushing against it, but it remained there.  "Do you mind?  I'm his, remember?  Not yours.  So back off!" she said angrily, tired of being manhandled.

He growled at her, bravely ignoring both of them in his pursuit of touching her.  "Nothing here," he told them.  "No bites.  Now that's odd.  With her being your pet and all."

Spike's eyes dropped back down to her breasts, causing all sorts of red colors to come out from her blush.  So many men, so many vampires, so many heated looks.  This wasn't her idea of a fun night.

"Higher," he told the vampire, his eyes flicking towards hers and then away again.  "And lower."

The vampire's hand started to drift up toward her breasts and she had enough.  "Stop right there, mister!  Spike," she said angrily, "hello, I'm *yours* so why are you letting him feel me up?"  She grabbed the vampire's hand, halting its slow journey up and sank her fingernails into the flesh, hearing a nice hiss of pain behind her.  Ha.  "And you!"  She spun around in the vampire's grip and shoved him away from her.  "Keep your filthy hands off of me."

The vampire stumbled backward from surprise more than any strength she possessed and lost his footing, tripping over his own feet to fall on his ass on the ground.  "Bi--"

"Call me a bitch and I swear I'm going to stake you."  She shrugged, grabbing the stake at her feet and moving forward.  "Oops, gonna do it anyway."

The vampire jumped to his feet, reaching out for her at the same time as she threw the stake.  She'd been aiming at the ground, since that's where he'd been laying, so it hit him in the thigh.  He growled and snarled, doing the usual angry vampire routine and leapt at her.

She jumped to the side, getting an added extra push from Spike who obviously thought she was in the way.

He yanked the stake from the vampire's leg and shoved him back down to the ground.  Dropping to one knee beside the vampire, Spike planted the stake firmly in its chest.

"Yours," Willow snorted, standing up and brushing herself off.  "Yeah, that's a plan."  Rolling her eyes, she yanked her stake from his hands and stalked off.

"Saved you, didn't I?" he called after her, jumping to his feet and striding along with her.  "And if you'd kept your big mouth shut he wouldn't have--"

"Eaten me too much?" she asked incredulously.  He didn't get that she was mad at him for letting it go on so long, but he also didn't get that she'd had to rely on him.  In times of trouble, she was supposed to be the big gun, the magick friend.  The witch with the mojo.  She'd come up empty this time though, and had to be saved by Spike.

That galled her no end.

"Wouldn't that be fun?" he laughed, passing by her with long strides.

She stopped walking, staring at his back furiously.  "No.  No, that would *not* be fun, Spike.  Fun is something normal people have with things that don't include death and torture and dismemberment."  She kicked at a headstone as she resumed walking, hurting her foot in the process.  "Stupid vampire."

He turned around impatiently, waiting for her to catch up with him, rolling his eyes when he saw her limping.  "Didn't mention dying.  Or pain or torture.  Not even dismemberment."

She frowned at him, wondering what on Earth he was talking about, and then she got it, mostly because of his sudden leer.  "You're a--"

"Pig," he sighed, walking beside her when she finally caught up.  "And a monster.  I'm not worthy of being near you precious human beings."  He recited the words almost by rote, sounding nothing more than disappointed.  In her?

She tossed him a sideways glance.  "I didn't say that.  It's just that you're... well, you always have to be disgusting when you're around us. It gets old.  And annoying.  And irritating.  And--"

He raised an eyebrow at her.  "I get it.  And you know, being around you all is no picnic for me.  All that ooey gooey sappiness seeping from you, contaminating me with its very presence."  He gave a shudder, looking so disgusted she rolled her eyes.

"Whatever, Spike."

~Part: 4~

Spike and Willow walked in silence for a ways, each lost in their own thoughts.

Willow had thoughts of human pets dancing in her head.  Did vampires really do that?  And did they get the studded collars to wear around their necks, perhaps one of those half-sweaters that dog owners got for their-- or, just naked.  Walking around naked while the vampire did what?  Made it do tricks?

She giggled at that, picturing Harmony leading a human around by a diamond collar with a silver chain attached to it.  And no clothes, or maybe one of those poodle sweaters.  Oh, and a small pink bow in their hair.  Harmony always was about appearances.  She'd make the human crawl around on all fours and roll over.  Maybe sit up and beg... okay, not so funny anymore.

Images of crawling around on the floor, filthy and bleeding, naked but for the collar attached to her neck, being forced to do stupid human tricks was now foremost in her mind.  Being beaten and bit when she tried to escape.

She started to panic, wondering if that girl in Spike's crypt was his pet.  If he had her chained up there, forcing her to stay when all she wanted to do was go home.

But, no, the woman hadn't sounded like she wanted to leave.  Her imagination was just working overtime, that was all.

Spike sighed beside her, tossing her an irritated look.  "Is that a plan you came up with?  Speed your heartbeat up and get all that hot..." he paused, closing his eyes for a brief second, "hot blood of yours pumping to tempt the vampires into trying to snack on you?"  He swallowed thickly, once again looking at her like she was a tasty treat.

"Hey, I'm not a hot sticky bun, so stop looking at me like that."  She sidled away a little, trying not to look frightened.  It was true, Spike still scared her.  He was evil, what could she say?  All that unrestrained evilness-- well, now it was restrained really, but that just made it all the worse.  One day that chip wouldn't be there, or would stop working and he would do what he constantly threatened to do, bathe in their blood.

And she'd like to avoid that, please.

"A hot sticky bun," he mused, chuckling in surprise, "I haven't had one of those in months.  With the frosting and cin--"

"Cinnamon!" she agreed, laughing and nodding.  "The Espresso Pump has the *best* sticky buns.  Mm.  To die for, only, you know, not in the actual dying kind of way."  She was getting hungry just thinking about them.  Maybe after patrol she'd swing by the Pump and pick one up.  And a cup of coffee.  No sticky bun was complete without the coffee.  "You should try them.  And the coff..." realizing who she was talking to, who she was discussing food with--the very person who was at that moment probably imagining her as food--she trailed off with a shrug.

"And the what?" he asked, not noticing her sudden uneasiness.  There was genuine interest on his face.  No smirking, no taunting, just a normal conversation that was going on between two oddly matched beings.

She gave him a small, nervous head shake, grasping the stake tightly with both hands.  "Oh, um, they have this coffee that-- that goes perfect with them.  With the sticky buns."  She nodded and smiled quickly, just a showing of teeth and then it was gone.

His back straightened and he nodded, his narrowed eyes watching her with disappointment.  "Right.  I should try that some day."  His pace sped up, his strides growing wider, quickly leaving her behind.

Again with the disappointment.  Why did he keep looking at her like that?  Like she'd done something wrong.  Something he hadn't expected her to do, or had hoped she wouldn't do.  Well, what was that?  She wasn't being mean, just nervous.

And really, she couldn't help that she was afraid of him, she just was.  Although, talking about sticky buns with a guy didn't really lead to scary thoughts.  Maybe it was because she didn't know him well.  His time around her was spent trying to kill her, and that wasn't a pastime that led to getting to know one another.

The rest of his time was spent trying to kill her friends.  Or it used to be.  Now it was spent taunting them.  And following Buffy around.  Pestering her.  Bothering her.  Annoying the holy heck out of her.

Still, that was no reason for her to be rude to him.  Well, actually it was, but she could be the bigger person and take the higher road.

She sighed heavily, catching up with him.  "Sorry.  I'm sorry, it's just that... well, you scare me."  Nodding at his incredulous look, and then ignoring his prideful look, she shrugged, not sure how to explain it.  "When you tried to kill me in my room?  Wow," she said seriously, feeling a residual tremor of fear slither down her spine, "I have never been more frightened in my life.  Before, or since."

"Really," he said skeptically, frowning in her direction.  "I find that hard to believe."

"Really," she assured him.  "Although, don't get me wrong, the kidnaping thing was way scary too, with the sniffing and the 'not having had a woman in ages' comment, believe me, it was ultra-scary."  Feeling a little better getting it off her chest, she poured it all out there for him, telling him exactly why she wasn't too fond of him.  She smiled a little, thinking that was an understatement.  "But, what scared me most was that... for a split, split--very minute--split second, I thought about just letting you kill me.  I thought, hey, it couldn't be any worse than the constant pain of Oz's betrayal."

Those were thoughts she hadn't even admitted to herself before now.  She was just as shocked as Spike was at the admission.

"You wanted to die?" he scoffed, shaking his head as he paused to light a cigarette.  "No, can't see it.  There's too much life in you." He snapped his lighter shut with a click, squinting at her through the smoke.  "You're the one with the pep."

"Well, I was pretty much pep-less then."  She frowned at the memories pushing their way forward, forcing her to remember the pain and anguish.  "I wasn't big with the pep," she muttered, resuming her normal stride toward the cemetery entrance.  And, she thought to herself, it looks like you're about to become reacquainted with those feelings.

No happiness with Tara.  And she knew Tara had lost her happiness in the relationship as well.  It was there in their lovemaking.  In her eyes when she watched Willow.  In the small touches that were no longer shared between them.

"Well, everyone thinks about it at least once.  Doesn't mean they want it to happen."  He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, his face serious, his eyes intent.  "But if you do want it to happen," he told her, "ever.  Just know that... I'm here for you, baby."  He grinned, winking at her.  "I'd kill you in a heartbeat."

For a minute there, he'd actually had her thinking he was a decent vampire.  Silly her.  "If I ever do feel like dying, I'll go to Angel."  She grinned right back at him, loving seeing that grin of his fade.  She looked up, noting their location with a bit of relief.  "Oh, look, here we are.  Gotta go, Tara's waiting."

His eyes slid away from hers, and she could've sworn she saw envy in there.  But, he had his own girlfriend, right?  Why would he envy her hers?  No reason, she was just seeing things that weren't there.

"Yeah, yeah," he said in a bored tone, taking a long drag off his cigarette, "go be with your bird."  His steps slowed as they neared the entrance, and the couple currently standing under a streetlight with their lips and arms locked around each other.

"My bird," she repeated with a little smile.  Tara was a bird, a pretty bird about to fly away from her, taking all her love with-- "Oh!"  She took the condor feather out of her pocket and turned around, presenting Spike with it.  "Trade ya."

He frowned down at the feather, looking nonplused.  "Eh?  What do I want your condom feather for?"

She rolled her eyes at him, wondering how far he'd take the joke already.  "Freddy.  I want Freddy back."

"Freddy... oh."  He left his cigarette dangling from his lips as he used both hands to dig her troll doll out of the pocket of his duster.  He tossed it to her with a nod.  "Take the ugly little thing."  Another shudder escaped him, and she started to wonder if it wasn't real.

"Um, thanks," she laughed, sticking Freddy in her jacket pocket as she handed him the feather with a regal nod.

He took it by the end, twirling it between his fingers.  The black feather blurred as it spun, drawing her attention to it.  "What am I supposed to do with this?" he asked her.

She frowned at the feather as it started to shimmer iridescently, like a handful of glitter had been thrown into the air around it.  Glancing up to see if Spike noticed, she was confused to see that he hadn't.  "I... I don't know.  Did you see that?" she asked in a rush, still staring at the feather.

"See what?"  He lifted the feather up to the moonlight, seeing her unwavering attention on it, and squinted at it, taking the cigarette from his mouth.

Maybe she'd been mistaken.  Maybe it was just the smoke.  That's all it was, still, she reached out for the feather, just to make sure.  "Can I see it for a second?"

He shrugged, handing it to her as he replaced the cigarette between his lips.  "Sure, take it.  I didn't..." his eyes widened as she lifted it up to the moonlight like he had and twirled it.  "What's that?"

She looked at him quickly, wondering what he was seeing.  She saw nothing more than an ordinary feather now.  No sparklies, no glimmery shimmering.  "What do you see?" she asked.

He shook his head, looking a little unsure.  "Glitter.  Like," he held his hands out toward the feather, waving his fingers a little, "iridescent.  And sparkling."  He grabbed the cigarette from his lips and dropped it to the grass, stomping it out absently.  "You don't see it?"  His eyes moved past the feather to her face, widening even more.  "It's, uh, it's all over you too."

She looked down at herself, still not seeing anything out of the ordinary.  "I don't see it.  But that's what I saw too, when you were holding it."  She frowned, holding it out to him again.  "I didn't see it on you though."

He reached out to take the feather, hesitating for a second before closing his fingers around the stem.  "I better not be glittery," he blustered, not quite angry, but not all right with being one of the ones effected by... something.

"You are," she said in awe, seeing the silver glitter sprinkling slowly to the ground around him, landing on his shoulders and hair.  One piece landed on his cheek and she reached out to touch it without thinking, cupping his cheek with her palm and using her thumb to wipe at the piece of silver.  "You're covered in... it's all silver.  Was I silver too?" she asked excitedly.  Everything was all Christmas-y.  It was cool in the extreme.

"Yeah.  Yeah, you were."  His hand touched hers, which was still on his cheek and then the glitter was falling all around them, both of them.  "Huh," he muttered, looking up into the sky above them.

"It's like snow."  She grinned, holding her other hand out to catch some of it.  A few pieces landed in her upturned palm and she blew at it, watching it dance and swirl around in the air.  "This is so weird."

"Weird is right," Xander said from behind her.  "What the heck is going on?"

Willow spun around, sliding her hand free of Spike's, holding her hands out to catch the glitter as she grinned at Xander and Anya.  "Isn't it cool?"  She looked down at the grass, seeing it starting to collect down there.  "We could make glitter angels," she laughed.

"It's so *not* cool that you were making with the touching of Spike," Xander told her, his voice high and freaked out.

Spike stepped up behind her, brushing off her shoulders.  "I don't think they can see it."

"Stop touching her," Xander told Spike, stepping forward to take Willow's hand and pull her away.  As soon as his fingers touched hers, he stopped with an audible gasp.  "Holy... cow."

"I think he does now," Willow chuckled, biting her lip to keep in her excitement.  "Do you see it now, Xander?  Do you--"

"What is it?" he asked, looking around him in awe.  The glitter spread out to encompass him as well, and when Anya moved closer, grabbing Xander's hand, it grew even bigger.  All four of them were now under it.

"We're being sprinkled with pixie dust!"  Willow spun around, laughing with abandon.  She felt like she was five again, visiting her grandma, and seeing snow for the first time.  And playing in it.  Oh, that had been so much fun!

"That's not pixie dust," Anya grumped, letting Xander's hand drop.  She hurriedly moved free of them, shaking her hair out and squirming around like she had bugs crawling all over her.

"Ahn, hon," Xander laughed, moving closer to her, "I don't think it'll hurt you."  He frowned, suddenly wondering if it could do exactly that.  "Will it?"

"I hate that stuff," Anya said in irritation, "it's hard to get out of your hair and clothes.  It's magick.  Pure magick."

"I didn't do it," Willow immediately protested, knowing they were about to start accusing her of being careless with her magick again.  "It was not me."

Xander didn't look too convinced of that, and Spike was looking from the feather to her, also not too convinced.  Anya, however, snorted at her.

"Oh, please, like you could possibly be doing this."  She continued brushing her clothes off as the others stared at her, waiting for an explanation.  "Only a God or Goddess can rain magick down on us."  She stopped and headed toward Xander, pulling him free of the magick.  "Get out of it," she warned Willow and Spike.  "Don't wish for anything, don't rhyme, and for God's sake, don't speak in Latin."

Willow looked down at the gathering glitter, kicking at it with the toe of her boot.  It was so shiny and pretty.  Hardly harmful.  Maybe she could take it home and put it away for use later, for spells and stuff.  She knelt down, scooping her hands in it, letting it flow through her fingers and flutter to the ground a few times.  She looked up when Anya approached, but she wasn't trying to stop Willow.

"Hey, hey!  Hands off," Spike ground out, slapping at Anya's grasping hands trying to pull him free of the magick.  When Anya dropped her hands from him with a huff, he rubbed his forehead with a sigh.  "Just wait until I get this chip out." Willow rolled her eyes, wondering why he insisted on doing stupid stuff that would only hurt him.  And the constant threats were certainly nothing more than annoying to the rest of them.

When Anya started forward again, Spike growled at her.  "Back off."  His voice was low and threatening.

"Anya, leave Spike alone," Xander sighed, taking her hand in his.  "If he wants to play in the pretty glitter, let him play in the pretty glitter."

"But, Xander... it's magick.  It could be dangerous," she whispered frantically, gesturing to the two of them still in the magick waterfall.

"But you just said it wasn't," Xander told her reasonably.

"No, I didn't," Anya protested, huffing angrily.  "Get them out of there."

Willow snorted at Anya.  Everything was dangerous according to her.  Even fluffy little bunnies.  Scooping up a few handfuls of the magick, she slipped it into her jacket pocket, thinking the blue jar that sat on the shelf above the dresser would be a perfect place to put the magick.

"What are you doing?" Anya shouted in panic, grabbing her arm and yanking her away from the magick.

Startled, Willow dropped most of it on the ground, only managing to slip a tiny amount into her pocket.  She yanked her arm free of Anya and stood with her hands on her hips.  "Do you mind?  I can use this..." she gestured to all the magick dust still fluttering to the ground.  "It's just gonna sit there, going to waste?  I don't think so.  I'm gonna--"

"Leave it right where it's at," Anya said evenly.  She got in Willow's face, looking so disgusted Willow had to keep herself from reverting to a third grader to call her names.  "It's dangerous.  It's pure magick.  Stronger than anything you've ever used."

"Will, maybe you should leave it."  Xander's wise words, following the advice of his eleven-hundred-year-old girlfriend.

"Yeah," she scoffed, rolling her eyes at Xander.  "Maybe I should.  Or, maybe you should grow a backbone and stop bowing and scraping to Anyanka, an ex-demon that tortured men for centuries."  Ignoring Xander's narrowing eyes, she turned around and went back to the magick.  No way was she wasting this stuff.

"Uh, Willow," Spike said slowly, "could be she's right."

She looked up at Spike, glaring at him.  Now he was going to pass judgment on her?  Please, he was evil incarnate.  The murderer of thousands.  His advice held little sway with her.  Actually, it held none at all.  "I didn't ask for your advice, Spike," she said dismissively.

"You're looking a little evil there," he told her, grabbing her arm and hauling her to her feet.  His eyes were narrowed, his mouth clenched tight.

She'd infuriated him.  Aw, poor baby.  "Evil?  What, because I want this magick.  Ooo," she held her hands out, waving them around in a spooky fashion, "I'm evil.  Grr.  Fear me."

"Willow," Xander said loudly, stepping closer, but looking quite like he didn't want to.  "Your eyes are black."

"It's the magick," she said, unconcerned.  Scooping more into her hands, she shoved it into her pocket, wishing she had an easier way to do this.  A dust buster appeared at her feet and she grabbed it with a laugh.  "This'll work."

"Stop it," Anya warned her.  "It's corrupting you.  You're going to end up evil and you're going to kill us all.  And then where will you be, huh?  Friendless and evil."  She threw her hands in the air in frustration.  "Xander tell her."

"I'm trying, Ahn," Xander bit out.  "Spike, help?"

Willow ignored the three of them; they were being ridiculous.  She wasn't going to get corrupted by taking some magick dust home with her.  Turning the dust buster on, she calmly vacuumed it up, thinking of all the spells she could do with the stuff.  Glory?  Pshaw, she could kill Glory with a word.  In fact: she would.  Right now.  Taking a handful of the powder in her hands, she thought of Glory.  Stupid, self-involved Glory, all powerful and evil to the core.  "Send Glory, the super bitch, back to where she came from," she whispered, blowing the powder from her hand.

"Hey, she's got a point there," Spike said, making no move to stop her.

Xander and Anya also paused, but suddenly, it didn't matter anymore.  There was someone else to focus their attention on now.

"What this," Glory said in amusement, standing a few yards away with her hands on her hips, "you think you can get rid of me that easily?"  She tapped her red-tipped nails against her hips with an annoyed sigh, shaking her curly blond hair with a huff.  "If it were that easy, don't you think I'd have tried it already?"  She stalked closer, her slinky red dress shimmering in the moonlight, swaying as she neared them.

"Oh, good going," Spike snarled angrily, grabbing Willow's arm and yanking her to her feet.  "Bring her here, why don't you?  Excellent plan."

Willow brushed her hair over her shoulder and dusted her hands off, shaking free of Spike's hold.  "Time to take the trash out," she mumbled, walking toward Glory.

Glory crossed her arms over her chest with a snide laugh, watching Willow approach.  She frowned suddenly and yanked her foot up, glaring at the muddy heels of her spiked shoes.  "I hate this dimension," she groused, slamming her foot down on the ground only to get it stuck again.  "Ugh."

Anya backed away, dragging Xander with her.  Xander reached out to grab Willow's arm to take her with them, but she shrugged out of his grip.  "Willow," Xander hissed, "it's time to split.  Buffy couldn't take her, what chance do we have?"

Spike strode forward, yanking her back with the group.  "Thinking of dying again?"

"No."  She pushed Spike back, watching as he stumbled and bumped into Anya, dropping the three of them to the ground.

"Bloody hell," he shouted angrily.  "If she doesn't kill you, Willow, I will."

Willow sighed and tossed her hand in the direction of the people-pile.  "Hold."  They stopped moving, staying frozen in time... only not completely frozen, their eyes were moving.  She resisted the urge to wave at them.

"Willow, the witch," Glory mused, walking around the frozen pile of bodies.  "I like it.  I could use something like this."  She gestured at Spike, Xander, and Anya.  "You have no idea how irritating my minions can get with their whining and complaining."  She rolled her eyes and joined Willow, circling around her.  "They bleed all over my pretty things and blood does not come out," she sighed.

Willow watched Glory dubiously.  This was what was so scary?  Annoying and whiny she could understand, but a big fighter that kicked Buffy's ass?  "Uh, excuse me," she said in confusion, "are we friends?"

Glory stopped circling her and shook her head.  "It's called girl talk," she snapped.  "I was sharing."

"Oh, 'cause I was kind of wondering when we were going to get to the fighting part?"  She smirked at Glory, making sure the other woman saw how unimpressed she was with her.  "That's why you're here, right?"

"No, I'm here because you tried to send me back, which is all I've wanted from the beginning.  However, that's impossible," she said angrily, grinding out each word, "without... my... key!"  She lifted her hands and reached out to touch Willow's head, shoving her hands forcefully inside.  "Maybe you can tell me something so my trip here isn't wasted."

Willow screamed, feeling the invading fingers reaching into her mind, scrounging around, looking, searching... wanting something specific.  "Stop," she ground out, falling to her knees.  "Get out!"

Glory's hands slipped free, releasing the intense pressure on Willow's mind.  "I'm not done yet," she told Willow, rolling her eyes when all Willow did was stare up at her, panting.  She reached down and started forcing her hands into Willow's head again.

Willow shook free of the invading fingers, shoving at Glory with both hands, feeling the magick swimming through her veins, empowering her.  "Die."

Glory stumbled backwards with an irritated look.  "Do you mind?  I'm trying to steal your sanity here, maybe get a little information... and you're not cooperating."  She darted froward, grabbing Willow by the arms.  "Now, I'm mad."

Glory lifted her a few feet off the ground, her arms not straining, no sign that she was lifting anything heavier than a pillow.  Willow reached forward, grabbing Glory's arms, but barely had time to circle her fingers around her before she was tossed backward.  She yelled in surprise, anticipating the pain which was so much less than she thought it would be when she smacked into a tree, hitting her head and back.

She rolled over with a groan, feeling a headache coming on.  Her back was a bit sore, but nothing she couldn't handle.  "Gonna feel that tomorrow."  She climbed to her feet, pushing herself up with a little effort.  Staring across the distance at Glory, who was watching her like she was her own little personal TV show, Willow frowned.  "Why aren't you dying?"

"Um, because I'm immortal and invincible?" Glory laughed, crooking her finger Willow's way.  "But, I could use a little aggression therapy.  I get all tight and tense sometimes."

Willow sighed and started toward her again, wondering if magic was the way to go.  Specifically the magick dust in her pocket.  But she would need to be close enough to her to get the full effect.  How she knew that, she had no idea.  Stopping in front of glory, she slipped her hands into her jacket pockets.

Glory, still going on and on, talking like they were old friends, shrugged and grabbed Willow's arm, holding her still so she could talk.  "My minions are always telling me, 'loosen up', you know?  And 'don't get so upset', but I can't seem to help it.  Being a girl in this day and age is hard work."

"Yeah," Willow agreed, nodding as if she was right there with her.  She slowly pulled her hands free of her pockets, a handful of the magick in each hand.  "It really is.  Just the other day I was--"

Glory scowled at her.  "I was talking about me.  Not you.  This is me-time.  Why does everyone always interrupt me when I'm talking?" she practically screeched, yanking Willow closer to her, forcing her to drop the magick to the ground.  "You're all alike, you little human... meat sacks."

Her fingers tightened on Willow's arms, ignoring the struggles Willow was trying to put up and was getting nowhere with.  She once again lifted Willow up and threw her backward.

She hit her back again, on a headstone this time.  She lay crumpled up against it for a few precious seconds, feeling every ache and pain in her body before it started to fade away.  She sat up with a groan, feeling the skin of her back split open, and blood soak into her shirt and drip below the waistband of her jeans.

Considering the two trips through the air, and what had stopped her falls, she wasn't too bad off.

Glory stomped forward, stopping a few times to yank her heels free of the soft ground before bending down to pick her up again.  "You're fun.  Not like that annoying Slayer.  She's always jumping up again, running after me, like she could actually hurt me.  I mean how pathetic is she?  A lowly vampire slayer.  I'm a HellGod; I was killing people before this dimension was a dimension."

Willow wondered if Glory ever shut up.  Maybe that was her secret weapon, talk her enemies to death while throwing them around like a rag doll.  "Could you just... shut up, for like, five seconds?"

"I could," Glory agreed pleasantly, "but only after I kill you."

"Yeah, that'll happen," she said bravely.  "So, you're immortal, huh?  Well, we'll just see about that."  Grabbing a handful of the magick from her pockets, she blew it in Glory's face.  "Reveal."

Glory straightened up with a cough, waving her hands in front of her.  "My hair!  I just..." she began, but then her voice deepened, and her body started to remold itself.  Her hair shortened and went straight, her body grew slightly taller and definitely more masculine.  By the time her body finished reshaping itself, she was no longer Glory, but Ben, the intern.

"... washed it," Ben finished, looking around him in confusion.  "Where am I?" he mumbled, sighing when he saw the small red dress he had on.  He looked up when she moved closer, circling around him.  "Uh, hi... I'm just--"

"Glory," Willow said in fascination.  "You share a body with Glory.  That is so cool."

"You're not supposed to know that," he mumbled, bending down to unstrap the heeled shoes on his too-big feet.  He caught sight of the trio on the ground, still frozen, and straightened up again.  "What are they doing?" he asked curiously.  "Did Glory do something?"  He straightened up, frowning at her.  "Why do you remember?"

"Magick," Willow answered, still circling around him.  "Are you... whatever she is, or human?"  Why had Ben been revealed to her?  Was he the key to taking Glory out?  Did he know how?

"I'm human," he answered slowly.  When she said nothing more, he moved over to the trio on the ground.  "They're..."

"Bound by magick.  I had to keep them away from Glory.  She would've killed them."  Joining him by her friends, she glanced down, seeing the fear in Xander's eyes.  Anya looked annoyed and the smallest bit fearful while Spike just looked furious.

"She'll kill you," Ben told her, spinning around toward her.  "You have to go.  All of you, get out of here.  She won't stay away for long."  His worried eyes darted around frantically.

"If I kill you," Willow said slowly, "will she die?"  This could be her chance.  That's what the magick was showing her, revealing to her.  If she killed Ben, which maybe she could do, he *was* one half of an evil duo after all, Glory would die as well.  She'd have no body to take over anymore.  Unless she could just take over another body.  "Is she bound to you, or can she take over anyone's body?"

"She's bound to me.  We're bound together forever."  He backed away a few steps, watching her warily.  "Where's Buffy?  You're one of her friends, aren't you?  I remember the leather guy."  He pointed toward Spike, his eyes flicking that way for a split second.  "And you.  You were at the party.  He got thrown through a window."  He stopped walking, yanking at the short skirt, trying to get it to cover him more.

Willow followed him every step of the way, feeling something wash over her.  Peace.  She felt peaceful.  Like everything was coming together and this was right.  She would kill Ben and take care of Glory.  Dawn would be safe.  Buffy would be safe.  All of them would.  No more hyped-up evil bitch looking for her key.  She reached into her pocket and drew out a handful of the magick.

Ben looked fearfully toward her hand and then took off running.  Willow blew on the dust and whispered, "Die."

Ben made it a few more feet before coming to a halt and spinning around, grabbing his throat desperately.  He sank to his knees, clawing at his throat, his eyes, wide and fearful, fixing on her face.

She walked slowly toward him, watching him turn red as he gasped for air.  His skin matched his dress, she thought with a giggle.  Stopping in front of him, she sank to her knees as well, watching him curiously.  His face was losing all color now, turning white.  His lips were blue.  Like the flag; red, white, and blue.  She smiled, reaching out a hand to touch his cheek.  "I'm sorry, but Glory can't have the Key.  She can't be allowed to touch Dawn."

He gasped frantically, his eyes sliding shut.  Claw marks of red, dripping blood, marked the expanse of his throat, open to her eyes by the low neckline of the dress.  He stiffened with a last gasp of air and then crumpled to the grass, unmoving.  She sighed and leaned froward, checking his pulse to make sure he wasn't faking it.

There was nothing there.  No pulse, no heartbeat.  Ben was dead.  Even better, Glory was dead.  No more worrying about that bimbo.  She pushed herself to her feet in one fluid movement and brushed her hands off.

Turning from the sight of Ben's body, she approached her friends, anticipating the happiness and relief in their eyes.  But that wasn't what awaited her.

Xander's eyes were shut, squeezed tight.  When she knelt down to his level, reaching out a hand to touch his face, he looked up at her from his position underneath Anya, disappointment and sorrow showing plainly.

Anya glared at her, saying with her eyes what she couldn't say with words, which was obviously along the lines of, 'Let us go!'.  Only with more anger and disgust.

Spike didn't look away.  But he didn't look happy either.  He wasn't disappointed, or angry, there was no sorrow filling his eyes, no fear, but there was something there.  Something she couldn't figure out.

What was with them?  She'd taken care of an evil enemy, they should be jumping for joy.  "Release," she muttered, watching as they completed their fall.  Xander, on the bottom, groaned once or twice as Spike rolled off of Anya and Anya followed suit.

Willow stood as they began to move.

Xander laid still for a few seconds and then sat up slowly, bending his knees as he stared up at her.  "You killed Ben," he whispered torturously, his face showing his unwillingness to conceive of the idea.  "Why?  Why did you do that?"

She frowned at him.  He'd been there the whole time, he'd seen everything.  Why would he even need to ask?  "She was evil," Willow told him, unable to understand why he was looking so disgusted and accusing.

"She?" he ground out, jumping to his feet and grabbing her arms.  "She?  She was a he, Willow.  A man.  It was the magick... it made you crazy," he said desperately, looking around frantically with his eyes as if trying to come up with an explanation for her actions.  "Ben wasn't evil.  He had-- he had nothing to do with any of this."

"Wasn't evil," Spike scoffed, striding closer to Xander to stare at him stupidly.  "What the bloody hell would you call him then?  He was evil--"

Xander exploded, shoving Spike away from him.  "Why?  Because Buffy liked him?  Because he liked Buffy?  Were you jealous, Spike, glad that Willow got rid of the competition when you couldn't do it yourself?"  He swung a fist at Spike's jaw, shouting in frustration as Spike ducked away.

Anya stepped in front of him and held him back with her hands on his chest.  "Xander, stop it."

"No, Ahn, no, I will not stop-- did you not just see what I saw?  Willow killed Ben."  Xander clenched his fists and stomped away, glaring at Spike as he paced by him.

"I didn't just kill Ben," Willow told them, imploring Spike or Anya to explain it to Xander.  Why didn't he understand?  "I killed Glory."

"Glory?" Xander tossed back, throwing his hand out towards Ben.  "Glory's not here, Willow.  That's Ben!"

"Are you blind as well as stupid?" Spike asked him, staring at him incredulously.  He grabbed Xander's arm and yanked him over to Ben's body.  "That's Glory."

Xander shook Spike off of him.  "No, that's Ben.  The intern."

"Ben, the intern," Spike sneered, shoving Xander closer, holding him by the neck as he forced him to look.  "Why's he wearing a dress, Xander?  Why's he got make-up on?"  He let go of Xander's neck and stalked a few feet away.  "And why was he wearing these," he asked, bending down to pick up the muddy heels Ben had taken off. "He *was* Glory, nimrod"

Anya shoved by Spike, pushing him out of the way to get to Xander who was rubbing his neck and frowning at the shoes in Spike's hands.

"No, he wasn't."  Xander shook his head, looking down at Ben in confusion.  "How could that be?  Glory was here and then..."

"And then she was gone," Anya finished for him, staring at Spike and Willow like they were the insane ones.  "Ben came and-- and... he--" she frowned, glancing at Xander as she tried to remember.  "Ben was here."  She shrugged, glancing down at Ben.  "In a dress."

"He was Glory?" Xander asked cautiously, as if he didn't dare hope they were telling him the truth.  "Ben was Glory."  He sighed, dropping to a headstone, his eyes shining with relief.  "Oh, thank God."  He looked up at Willow and jumped up, running to hug her tight.  "I'm sorry.  I thought--"

"Yeah, we all know what you thought," Spike said in irritation.  "We were there for that."

Willow looked at Spike over Xander's shoulder, arching her eyebrows at him.  He snorted at her in disgust as he lit a cigarette.  "It's okay, Xander," Willow said after a minute, when he didn't let her go.  She patted his back once, then again.  "Um, Xander?  Life's going to be hard to get through with a Xander-shaped person attached to me."

Anya sighed and yanked Xander from her.  "Okay.  Can we go home now?"

Xander pulled away from Willow and stared into her face.  "Are you okay?  Something... something happened back there."  He held his hand up, motioning to the spot where she'd frozen them.  "You went a little nuts on us."

"I did," she agreed, starting to feel the magick fade from her.  As it faded, the pain came in its place.  "I really did, but I'm good now.  It's wearing off."  She brushed her hands off, and even emptied her pockets, trying not to touch the stuff.  She didn't need any more evil-Willow invading her.  Wow, that had been wicked.  "It's... oh, ow, oh... pain."  She sank to the ground, breathing slowly, holding herself as still as possible without halting her breathing altogether.  Her eyes widened as she remembered flying through the air and smacking into a tree.  "All that Superman stuff is starting to take its toll," she whispered, gasping for breath.

"What is it?" Xander asked, hovering nearby, afraid to touch her.  "What hurts?"

"Oh, just, you know, my everywhere," she admitted, "but mostly my back.  And my head."  If she stayed there all night, unmoving, would the vampires and other evil creatures of the night think she was a part of the scenery and leave her to her dying?  'Cause, boy did she feel like she was dying.

"It's no wonder," Anya told her with not an ounce of sympathy, "you're not a Slayer.  Even Buffy hurts after fighting Glory."

On the heels of the physical pain came the emotional pain.  Her eyes landed on Ben's dead, lifeless body.  One hand was flung out from his side, the fingers curled in a fist.  A fist that would never open again, because of her.  She'd killed him.  Taken a human's life without thought.

A wrenching feeling twisted in her gut, tightening until she couldn't stand it any longer and began to sob.  Guilt and shame washed over her, filling her with self loathing.

Gasping for breath she suddenly didn't have and trying not to hyperventilate, she tore her eyes away from Ben.  "Oh... oh God, oh God.  I killed him," she sobbed.  "I-- I killed him.  Oh God."

She felt dirty, like snakes were crawling under her skin.

~Part: 5~

Willow woke up to a room that was dark but for the moonlight shining through the windows.  Hushed voices whispered outside her bedroom door, but she didn't strain to hear them.

They were discussing her and her descent into evil.  She'd killed a man, and though he'd been a part of a greater evil, that didn't make it any easier to take.

In the four days since killing Ben, Buffy had moved her into Joyce's old bedroom, insisting she stay there because her parents were out of town and she needed help to get around.  That Tara didn't protest too much didn't matter anymore.  That she didn't care that Tara didn't protest also didn't matter.  Nothing mattered much anymore.

So, Willow did as she was told and moved into the Summers' house.  Life was different these days.  Like now, she occasionally caught hushed conversations and saw furtive looks.  Mostly from Anya and Giles.

Giles was worried.  Afraid she'd suddenly turn evil again, sporting black eyes and who knew what else.  He didn't want to take the chance that she'd be overwhelmed by magick again, so he asked her not to do any spells for a while.  That was fine with her, she was afraid too.

Not just afraid of the magick and what it'd done to her, but also afraid that it might be gone.  Forever.  Since that night, she hadn't felt it swirling around inside of her.  She was fearful that the pure magick had done something to her that had lasting effects.  She had frequent nosebleeds and headaches.  Signs of using too much magick, but she hadn't even lit a candle since killing Glo-- Ben.

Since killing Ben.

Buffy treated her no differently than before, but Willow could see it in her eyes, in the way Buffy looked away instead of making eye contact. Something had changed between them, she just wasn't sure exactly what it was.

Rolling over with a groan, she stared out the window, looking up at the sliver of a moon darting behind the wisps of gray clouds out and about.

The hushed voices stopped and silence descended once again.  She felt her shoulders relax, her stiff posture--an automatic response to company these days--melted away.

A minute later, she heard the downstairs door shut and footsteps ascend the stairs.  The person stopped outside her door, hesitating for a minute before knocking lightly.

"Willow?"  It was Buffy.

She heard the door open slowly and was halfway inclined to let Buffy think she was asleep.  She didn't feel like talking.  But she didn't do that.  If she acted fine, then they'd stop treating her like a piece of glass.

"Hi, Buffy."  She rolled over slightly, as far as she could with her back being the way it was.  A smile lifted the corners of her mouth, but it was an effort to keep it there.

"Um, I'm here to take you downstairs.  Giles and I talked about it, and we agree that it's okay as long as I carry you and you don't do any actual moving."  She laughed a little, the sound dying almost as soon as it made an appearance.  As if the room wasn't meant for happiness.  She looked around, her eyes landing on a picture of her, Dawn and Joyce.  A brief look of pain crossed her face before she forced herself to continue.  "So, what do you say?  Wanna hop on the Buffy Express?"

She'd thought about going downstairs many times in the past few days, but she couldn't do it.  Couldn't face everyone and the silence that would fall as soon as she came into the room.  "I-- I don't think so," she whispered, shaking her head and looking away.

"Come on," Buffy encouraged, moving closer to the bed.  "It's just you and me.  Dawn's at a friend's house and Anya's at the shop with Giles."

"Where's Xander?" Willow asked curiously.  Maybe it wouldn't be so hard.  Maybe she could go downstairs, take a step towards forgiving herself.  As soon as the thought entered her mind, she shied away from it.

"Home.  Probably pigging out on pizza."  She grinned, rolling her eyes. "It's two for--"

"Tuesday," Willow laughed, rolling her eyes too.  "The boy with the metabolism that won't stop."  Xander and his pizza days were legendary around them.  His record was one pizza by himself, two sodas and a piece of pie.  Later that night, Willow was sure he'd visited the bathroom a few times.  He'd looked a little green as he walked home, holding his stomach and groaning.

"Yep."  Buffy sat on the edge of the bed, her smile going the way of Willow's memories of Xander and the pizza.  "You haven't left the room all week, and not because of your back."  She traced a fingernail along the edge of the bedspread, frowning as she glanced up at Willow. "Please," she whispered.  "I miss you."

Willow closed her eyes against the pleading on Buffy's face.  She didn't want to be normal again, and going downstairs to sit would be the first step back to Normalville.  She didn't want to-- that was a lie.  She wanted more than anything to be normal again, but she couldn't let herself have that elusive feeling of belonging again.  It wasn't hers anymore.

"I'd rather not..." she began, but trailed off when Buffy stood up, staring down at her.

"Well, you're going to," she insisted, yanking back the comforter. "What you did was necessary, Willow.  Glory would've taken Dawn and killed her while sucking this whole dimension into hell."  She reached forward, ignoring Willow as she tried to move away from her hands.  "I, for one, like the world just like it is, thank you very mucho much."

"Buffy, I don't want to go downstairs," she protested, stopping just short of slapping at Buffy's hands as they grabbed her shoulders and held her still.  "I want to be left alone.  I-- I just need to work through--"

"The pain and the guilt and the other things you're feeling," Buffy interrupted, nodding in agreement.  "And you should.  But downstairs is just as easy a place to do it as up here."  She shook Willow a little, staring into her eyes.  "You're my best friend, Willow.  I love you. What you did was awful, and horrible, and yeah, I am a little wigged out by it, as we all should be, but I am not going to let it tear you apart.  Clothes or no clothes?"

Willow blinked at her, confusion showing plainly on her face.  "What?" She looked down at herself, noting the loose white T-Shirt she'd been wearing as a nightgown and beneath that, nothing more than a pair of panties.  "Oh.  Clothes," she managed to get out before Buffy was tossing some at her from the dresser against the wall.  "Actually," she conceded, hoping to stall Buffy.  "I... I think I want a shower.  I'm sick of baths.  I want to stand up and do a little of the work.  My back is healing, but it needs stretching."  As she said the words, she realized she wasn't lying.  She did want to get up and shower.  To do something besides lie there and think.

"All right," Buffy agreed, circling the bed to help her to her feet. Once she was standing, Buffy wrapped a robe around her shoulders, shaking her head at the thin body beneath the terrycloth.  "Set the massager to low, trust me on this, and take it easy.  Ew, your nose is bleeding again."

Willow reached up to touch under her nose, feeling a small amount of blood trickling out.  She groaned in annoyance.  "At least they're slowing down," she muttered, shuffling into the large bathroom.

The shower attached to Joyce's room was a shower only, and she had yet to use it.  So far, all her bathing had been done in the main bathroom down the hall, where there was a tub.  This, though, looked a lot more comfortable.  Massagers were always good.  Showers with warm water, even better.

Buffy was right.  The low setting on the massager was perfect.  She actually couldn't let the water spray touch her back at all without pain, but letting it wash down her skin from her head... it was perfect.  It was a little hard to wash her hair with her arms only being able to move halfway up, but she managed it.

After a too-short shower, she stood in front of the mirror, examining her back.  Bruises lined the entire expanse but for her right shoulder blade.  A finger of bruises stretched their reach around her abdomen and hip on the right, along with a few scrapes and cuts.  One particularly nasty gash ran from the middle of her neck down to her right breast. She figured it was from the headstone.  She'd missed the thing partially, landing smack dab on the side of the stone.

She tried to dress in the clothes Buffy had brought her, but they scratched her back too much.  She kept the towel loosely around her and shuffled back to the bedroom.

Buffy was just coming through the doorway, probably having heard the water shut off.  "Hey, all ready?"  Her eyes lowered to the fluffy yellow towel wrapped around Willow's body.  "In a towel?"

Willow shook her head, the ghost of a smile touching her lips.  "It hurts to wear these," she told Buffy, dropping the clothes to the bed. "I'll stay up here.  I'm good."  She started to sit on the bed, but Buffy rushed forward, halting her downward mobility.

"Uh-uh, no.  I have something you can wear."  She carefully settled her arm around Willow's shoulders and led her down the hall and into her own room.  "Remember that halter thingy I got a few summers back?  The white one?"  She pushed her closet door open and searched through the clothes hanging there.

"Um, yeah.  I think."  Willow looked around the room she'd spent so much time in over the past five years.  Their teenage memories had taken shape here.  Good ones, bad ones, just about every variety you could imagine, it was all felt here.  They'd been so naive then, even with the vampires and demons they fought almost nightly.

Back then, there'd been a simplicity to their lives.  Get up, go to school, converse about the bad things in town, fight the bad things, then Bronze it.  Sometimes it didn't happen in that order, but that was their life in high school.  She missed that.  Now, things were different.  She was gay, Xander was the one in a steady relationship, Giles owned a magic shop, Buffy had a sister.  Joyce was dead.

Ben was dead.

"Will?" Buffy said, waving something white in front of her face.  "Found it."

Willow sighed and took the shirt from Buffy, trying to lift it higher than shoulder height.  After the third try, Buffy gently took it from her shaking hands and slipped it over her head, straightening the neck piece carefully.

"Want to tie it, or no?"

Willow looked down.  The white cloth, held up only by a strip around her neck, hung loosely to her abdomen, the ends, which were supposed to tie around the back at her waist, fell to points at her knees.  "Maybe loosely."  She felt naked with her back completely exposed.  But no one was around anyway, just her and Buffy.

Buffy tied the straps loosely around her waist, letting it fall past her waist, then helped her into a pair of black sweat pants.

"Let's go, Speedy," Buffy teased, walking along beside her, despite the slow pace she kept up.  "I was thinking a movie.  Or we could talk.  We haven't just talked in forever."

"Movies are good," Willow immediately said, not wanting to be trapped downstairs, forced to talk things over.  To figure things out.  To show Buffy and everyone else how much of a failure she was.  How weak she'd been for allowing the magick to take over.

Liar, her mind tossed at her.  Liar.  She scoffed at herself, deliberately not allowing herself to think the truth.  That she knew what she was doing the whole time, that she knew she was killing a human and that it was wrong.  That she'd weighed the pros and cons and found the cons to killing Ben wanting.

He'd had to die.

"You sure?" Buffy asked, taking the first step down with her.  "Talking is--"

"Overrated."  Seeing the hurt look Buffy quickly tried to hide, she bit her lip and took the next step, despite the pain shooting through her back.  "Sorry.  I'm just not ready yet."

"That's okay," Buffy bluffed, "when you're ready, I'm here."

Willow hissed in a breath, feeling the skin pulling taut over her muscles.  "Oh, this is..." she laughed shortly, thinking it fitting punishment for her, "this is fun.  I'm ready to go back upstairs now."

Buffy laughed lightly, ignoring Willow's tiny-voiced plea.  She moved in front of her and turned her back, bending her knees to lower herself to a decent height.  "Put your arms around me and hang on."

Willow lifted her arms higher than the screaming pain in her muscles wanted her to and dropped them over Buffy's shoulders with a gasp of relief.  "Okay," she mumbled, grabbing her left wrist with her right hand and hanging on tight.

"Hang on."  Buffy stood up straight and slowly moved down the stairs, carrying a dangling Willow on her back.  Once they reached the bottom, Buffy kept going, all the way to the front room.

Willow had to bend her knees a little to keep them from dragging on the floor, but they finally made it.  She glanced down at the couch, noting the pillow and sheets covering it.  "Am I being banished to the couch?" she asked, only half-joking.

Buffy rolled her eyes and shook her head.  "Right, Will.  That's what's happening."  She bent over and tucked a corner of the white sheet into the back of the couch.  "I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable while we talked."  Seeing Willow about to protest, she quickly added, "Or watched movies."

"Thanks."  Willow sat on one end, keeping her back perfectly straight and her knees tightly together.  "Oh, this is comfy," she lied.

Buffy chuckled.  "Lie down.  I'll fix some popcorn and grab something to drink.  Think of a movie you wanna watch," she tossed over her shoulder as she headed into the kitchen.

Willow tried to think of a movie she felt like watching, but came up empty.  One title popped into her head from her parent's video collection, which had hardly been touched by them at all: Defending Your Life.  She'd never seen it before, but maybe now was a good time to do so.

She settled back a little, loosening up as much as she could without resting against the couch, and picked up the remote from beside her. Just as she turned the TV on, the phone rang.  She turned the volume up, not wanting to hear Buffy's hushed conversation to whoever was on the other end, and flipped through the channels, hoping to find something interesting already on.

Commercials, documentaries.  A science fiction show about traveling through space.  Could be neat.  She left it there for a few minutes, watching MacGuyver and a woman with short blond hair walk into a large ring of shimmering blue liquid.

Buffy returned a few minutes later carrying a bowl overflowing with popcorn and a bottle of water.  "What's this?" she asked curiously, nodding at the TV.

Willow started to shrug, but halted the movement before she upset her cranky muscles.  "I dunno.  MacGuyver, the Space Traveler?" she guessed.

Buffy laughed a little louder and longer than was necessary over the poor joke, and judging by the sheepish look on her face, she knew she wasn't fooling Willow.  She set the popcorn and water on the table before sitting beside her.  She didn't get comfortable, she looked poised to flee.

Her hands moved restlessly, fluffing the pillow behind her and covering Willow with the sheet.  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "That was Giles," she finally said, sighing as she pushed herself to her feet.  "Another woman was... uh, killed, in the park by Ridge, and he wants me to check things out.  Look around."

Willow didn't feel too disappointed that Buffy was leaving.  In fact, the more alone she was, the better.  At least that way she didn't have to pretend.  "Of course," Willow said without hesitation.  "You need to go.  Don't worry, I'm good here."  She smiled widely, holding up her remote.  "Over a hundred channels?  There's bound to be something to hold my interest."

Buffy didn't look too convinced.  She frowned down at Willow and twisted her hands a few times before heading to the closet for her jacket.  "Are you sure?  I can have Dawn come home, or send Xander over," she offered, stopping in the doorway.

"Go and be productive, Buffy.  I'll be all right alone."  She grinned, leaning forward slowly to grab the bottle of water from the table. "See?  I'm a big girl."

Buffy nodded a few times, her eyes still showing her worry.  "Still, maybe I should--"

"Get your weapons and go patrol?  Excellent idea!"  She waved her hands in a shooing motion and gave Buffy a stern look.  Not Resolve-Face-worthy, but still effective.  "Look," she said lightly, "I've got MacGuyver and that girl to watch, both being equally good-looking."

Buffy laughed softly and headed up the stairs for her weapons.  "I don't think I'll ever get used to you saying things like that," she called over her shoulder.  "You're supposed to be the shy one."

Willow nodded in agreement.  She was still a little surprised when she said things like that too.  Her confidence level had gone up nearly fifty percent since meeting Buffy, and another twenty percent since falling in love with Tara.  But that she found women attractive was odd for her.  She'd never considered it before meeting Tara.  Sure, she'd thought this girl was pretty, or that girl had nice lips, but that she was attracted to them?  Not a chance in heck.

As Buffy came down the stairs with stakes hidden somewhere on her person, Willow wondered if she truly was gay, or if she just fell in love with someone who happened to be a woman.  Round and round you go, she thought, waving a few fingers in Buffy's direction.  "Be careful," she said automatically.

"Always," Buffy called back.  "I'll be back as soon as I can.  If something happens, I'll send--"

"Buffy, don't send anyone over.  I'm okay," she stressed, feeling like an invalid all of a sudden.  Her nerves were nearing the breaking point and all this sudden concern for her well-being was just making things worse.  "Go.  Have lots of slaying."

With a final look, Buffy turned and left the house, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Willow let out a sigh of relief and got comfortable.  The popcorn bowl was near enough for her to grab, but still difficult to get.  She hooked her fingers over the edge and drew it toward her enough to get a good hold on it, but unfortunately, the bowl had other ideas.  It spun to the side and off the edge of the table, dropping popcorn all over the carpet.

"So much for snacking," she sighed, not even considering cleaning up the mess.  It just wasn't possible.  Un-muting the TV, she scooted around to get comfy, shifting this way and that, but each position left her back slumping or pressing against the back of the couch.  "Okay, lying down it is."

Making sure her sweat pants stayed low on her back, she laid on her stomach, facing the television set.  A big guy with a gold insignia on his forehead was currently raising an eyebrow at MacGuyver, ignoring the smile from the girl and the guy with the glasses.  "Lots of cute, pretty people," she muttered, resting her head on her folded arms and losing herself in the show in order to keep her mind off other things.

Willow woke up to a darkened room, frowning at the feeling of the too-soft bed beneath her.  Where was she?  Opening her eyes slowly, she focused on the pillow in front of her eyes.  Her back hurt too much to move, so she stayed still, not moving anything but her eyes.  A pillow was under her arms and a few inches beyond that, was the couch arm.

Front room.  Buffy's front room, watching TV.  Right.  Only the television was no longer on.  Why wasn't it on?  She'd fallen asleep after MacGuyver, the Space Traveler, which turned out to be Stargate SG1.

A hand slid down her back and she gasped, jerking her head toward the person kneeling in the popcorn on the floor.  "Buffy?"  It wasn't Buffy, she knew that for a fact.

The hand had calluses and was bigger than Buffy's.  It was a man's hand, cool to the touch and soothing.  But that was neither here nor there, someone was feeling her up and she didn't know who and she was scared. She couldn't defend herself if she needed to.

When her eyes adjusted to the dim light from the streetlights shining through the window, she saw a shock of short blond hair.  A leather coat.  An unlit cigarette dangling from Spike-lips.

She let her breath out in a rush, wanting so badly to slap him for scaring her, but she couldn't move.  And why exactly was he caressing her back?  "Spike... what are you doing?"

He looked down at her face, adding another hand to the one already getting a little too close to parts he shouldn't be touching.  Like all of her.  "Your back's one giant bruise, isn't it?" he asked softly, almost reverently.  His blue eyes shined in the light from the window.

"Uh, yeah," she agreed, moving a little toward the back of the couch, hoping to get out of his reach, or at the very least, give him a hint to stop touching her.  "Oh, hey," she gasped, "that's-- that's not a bruise.  And it's not my back.  Could you not do that, please?"  His fingers, sliding along the sides of her exposed breasts, went still.

"I brought a salve."  He held up a small jar filled with a green substance.  "Giles told me to bring it over.  Supposed to help heal you."  He sat back on his heels, taking the cigarette from his lips and sticking it in his duster pocket.  "Buffy's gonna be a while."  He took his coat off, tossing it on the chair across from him.  "So you get me."

"I don't want you."  Seeing his eyebrows raise up, she sighed.  "I don't want your salve.  I killed someone and if I have a little pain to pass the time with, hey, more power to me."  She struggled to sit up, but he pressed a hand to the one uninjured part of her back and held her still.

"Rupert's orders.  Don't wanna disappoint him do we?"  His smirking chuckle told her otherwise, but he kept his hand on her shoulder. "Besides, he and your girl went to a lot of trouble to make this thing."

"She's not my girl anymore," Willow muttered under her breath.

"Heard about that."  He opened the jar, sniffing it cautiously.  "Mm, Eau De Sewers," he muttered, scooping a few fingers into the toxic-looking paste.  "She still cares though, right?  So you should be grateful."

"Spike, don't touch me with that-- oh!  Cold!"  She wriggled around, ignoring the pain and his restraining hand to sit up.  Her efforts only bunched the sheet up underneath her and left it pressing against her stomach in discomfort.  "What the hell is the matter with you?" she huffed, almost breathless with pain, seeing his face turn as he leaned down and sniffed her back.

"You smell good.  Like..." he paused, his gold eyes landing on her face, "cinnamon and apples.  How do you do that?  Where's it come from?  Is it soap or shampoo?"

She frowned, struggling in earnest now.  He was scaring her.  Sine when did Spike notice her at all, let alone know what she smelled like? Something was wrong here.  "Spike, get away from me."

He nodded and did as she asked, but not to leave her alone.  He stripped off his shirt, yanking it over his head and tossing it to the popcorn-strewn floor.  "It's you, isn't it?  The smell?  It's all you. I thought soap or something, but this is good.  This is better."  He leaned down and, his hand no longer coated in the salve, reached up to caress her back softly.  "You and the blood, that's heady stuff, baby."

Where'd the salve go?  And why couldn't she move?  Screaming as loud as she could, she hoped someone was nearby, someone able to hear her.  To help her.  "Somebody, please," she whispered, crying, "help me.  Please, Spike," she begged, "don't kill me.  Help me!"

Spike smiled wide.  "Of course I'll help you.  That's what I'm here for.  To soothe you.  To heal your aches and pains and cure what ails ya."  He lifted the jar in his hands, his fingers once again coated in the green paste.  And now, not only was his shirt missing, but his pants too.  He was completely naked and the bareness of his body was there, in all its glory.  And wow, was it glorious.

"What...?" she began, sitting up with no pain.  He grabbed her arms and hauled her to him, pressing his mouth desperately against hers.  She moaned, and shoved at him.  The moan turned from one of distress to one of desire as his lips moved on hers, his tongue slipping between her parted lips.

She threaded her hands through his hair, which was soft and baby fine. Not sticky and hard-crusted like she'd always thought.  She couldn't help but press closer, to want to feel more of him.  "Spike," she whispered, pulling back to look at him.  "Why do I want you?"

But it wasn't Spike staring back at her.  It was Ben.

He grinned, a demonic look on his face.  His rotting flesh dropped to the floor, his hair, long and curly--Glory's hair--slid sideways in a wet mushy pile to his lap, the curls sticking up in odd spots with blood and goo.  "We can't do this," he said regretfully, "we're coworkers, and it would never work out between us."

She screamed and yanked free of him, jumping to her feet and running past him.  The floor beneath her thickened and her bare feet sank into the carpet.  Each step she took was slow and hard.  The door stretched out in front of her, looking a mile away.  She screamed again as a hand touched her shoulder.

"Uh, sorry," a man said, sounding a little confused by her response. "I-- I didn't mean to... what are you doing?"

She turned to look at the man, her own confusion just as high as his. It was the guy from the TV.  The guy with the glasses.  He looked behind him briefly, like he wasn't sure where he was, or why.

Willow frowned with him, crossing her arms over her chest.  Which was bare.  Why was it bare?  Where were her clothes?  There had been some clothing on her earlier.  She thought back, trying to remember the last time she'd had clothes on.  They'd gone through the stargate into a pyramid and she'd had clothes then.  Fatigues even.  And all through the running and the hiding from aliens.  But now she didn't.  Huh.

"What are you doing?" the man repeated, gesturing to her lack of clothing.  "Where's your towel?  All SG1 operatives must wear towels at all times.  And a gun."  He looked pointedly at her lack of a towel. And gun.

Willow nodded.  They were all there, wearing their fluffy yellow towels, but hers was missing.  "Sorry, I-- I don't know where mine is.  Can someone tell me where it is?"  She looked around the pyramid, searching desperately for her towel.  If she didn't find it, she'd be reprimanded and not be able to work with her friends anymore.  She wanted to work with them, wanted to be friends with them.  Needed them.  "I can't find it," she said frantically, dropping to the dirt floor and digging with her hands.  Shoveling the dusty ground wasn't helping.  She looked around quickly and picked up the dust buster, sucking up the dust with it.  "Help me find it!" she implored them.  "I can't find my... my towel, where is it?  I don't want to be fired."  She looked over at the big guy, who was emotionless and staring straight ahead.  "Help me!" she screamed.  "Help me find my--"

"--self," Spike said in annoyance.

She stopped digging and looked over her shoulder at him.  "What?"  He was no longer naked.  He too had on a towel.  Everyone had one but her.

"I said, find it yourself," he repeated, eyeing the blond woman with a leer.  "You are looking quite delicious," he muttered, reaching out to touch her bare back.  His face vamped out and he nipped lightly at her neck.

"Sir?" she queried MacGuyver, frowning over her shoulder at Spike, who was standing behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist as he dropped his mouth to her shoulder.  He bent down a little to hold her better, like a lover.

Willow scowled at him, feeling jealousy flare up in her.  "Fickle vampire," she muttered, resuming her digging.

The woman spoke again, ignoring Spike.  "I think we need to get out of here.  The reactor's going to blow, and if we're still here when it does..." she shrugged, looking glum, "unknown bad things will happen to us."

"Unknown bad things?" the colonel asked, the resigned look on his face tightening the smallest bit.  "We need to go.  Now."

Willow got to her feet, intending to follow them through the entrance, but the colonel turned back to her and shook his head.  "Not you.  You need to, uh..." he looked around with just his eyes, stopping on the dust buster on the ground at her feet, "vacuum up that popcorn.  Then you can come.  The rest of you, you're with me.  Let's go!"

Willow watched them go.  Spike was the last one out the entrance, turning back to her sadly.

"Hurry up with that."  His eyes dropped to the vacuum at her feet.

She looked down at all the popcorn littering the pyramid floor and sighed, bending down to get to work on the mess.  "Wait for me," she beseeched Spike, but he shook his head.

"Can't do that.  It's now or never.  Got places to go, people to kill." He started out the entrance, still facing her, fading into the night beyond.

"Spike, wait!" she yelled, crying now as she tried desperately to vacuum up all the pieces of white fluff.  But they seemed to be multiplying. For every piece she vacuumed up, three more appeared.  "Please," she sobbed, "I don't want to be alone.  Please come back."  Dropping the dust buster to the dirt floor, she sobbed into her hands.  "I don't want to be alone."

Willow woke up with a sob, staring at the couch arm through teary eyes. The TV was still on, playing low.  The lamp beside the couch was shining brightly, hurting her eyes.  A shudder shook her body as she hitched in a breath.  Nice, vivid dreams, a byproduct of her guilty conscience. Sighing into her crossed arms, she pushed herself into a sitting position, hissing at the pain as her skin stretched tight.

Looking around, she was somewhat relieved not to see Spike, naked or not.  Just a popcorn-covered floor.  Clicking the TV off, she rested her elbows on her knees and leaned forward, purposely sitting through the pain that flared up.  It got her mind off of things.  Kept her from thinking too much.

"Willow, are you-- Willow?"

Willow raised her head and stared at Giles, who went from looking concerned to sorrowful.  He moved to the couch and sat beside her.

"Buffy asked that I stop by to make sure you were all right."  He glanced at her and smiled the tiniest bit.  "I'd say she had reason to be concerned."  He stood up, removing his jacking and grabbing a box of tissues from the side table.  He pulled a few out and handed one to her.  "Your nose is bleeding."

She took the tissue and wiped the blood from her nose, but stayed silent, still fighting tears.  It was a constant battle.  After a few minutes, she sniffed and sighed.  "It's just a nightmare.  I've... I've been having nightmares," she admitted.

"Good."  He smiled for real this time, looking relieved.  When she frowned and opened her mouth to ask him why it was good that she was suffering through nightmares, he patted her arm awkwardly.  "I'd be concerned if you weren't having nightmares, Willow."

"Why?"  She hated them.  They always made her feel so... useless and hopeless.  Like a vital piece of her was missing, left somewhere, lost in the dream.

"They show that you're remorseful."

"I am," she sighed.  "But not completely.  That I took a life, a human life, is hard.  It's... I lost something when I did that."  She frowned, trying to find the words she wanted, but couldn't adequately describe what she meant.  "But I'd do it again.  Dawn is safe, and Buffy--"

Giles nodded, his smile gone, his eyes blank.  "I know.  If I could change it," he paused, looking straight at her, "I wouldn't."  His head dropped a little, his eyes falling to his hands.  "Except maybe to do it myself.  This is hard for you, I know, for-- for all of us really, but I believe that it was necessary."  He pushed himself to his feet and removed his jacket.  "Who knows what may have happened if you hadn't stopped Glory."  With barely a pause, he headed toward the kitchen. "I'm going to make some tea.  Would you like some?"

She thought about it, wondered if maybe it had all those healing qualities Giles sometimes acted like it had--heals the spirit, heals the soul--but decided against it.  It just tasted so bland.  "No, thanks.  I have water."  Her eyes fell to the table and the water bottle atop it.

That table had been pushed back in her dream, making room for Spike.

"All right.  Back in a jiffy."  He tossed his jacket on the banister as he passed by it and left her to bang around in the kitchen.

Willow's eyes were still fixed to the spot where Spike had been.  Fully naked Spike.  Why did that thought make her tingle?  She was gay. Although, there was Oz.  And Xander.  So maybe she wasn't completely, one hundred percent, grade A gay.

Pushing herself slowly to her feet, she decided she needed some air, just for a few minutes.  Somewhere to clear her head and think.  Not about Ben for once, but about this new thing with Spike.  Was there a new thing with Spike?

Usually when she thought about Spike it was with irritation and anger. Fury and fear.  There weren't a lot of 'ooo, he makes me giggle like a little girl' thoughts.  Sure, he was cute.  Duh, anyone with eyes could see that, even Xander.  But, did that mean she liked Spike?  No.  It meant she was aware of him.

Her bare feet padded softly across the carpet, and she thought about getting shoes, but it was way too much trouble.  There'd be bending over factors, and she couldn't do that at the moment.

Opening the front door, she breathed in the cool night air, shivering slightly as a small gust of wind blew her hair across her face.  She smiled and, leaving the door wide open, sat carefully on the porch steps, well within the pool of light coming from inside.  The cement under her feet was cool, but felt wonderful against her skin.  Crossing her arms over her chest, she breathed in deeply, smelling trees and flowers, growing things.

Alive things.  Dirt and-- rain?  Hadn't rained in a while, it'd be nice for a change.

Okay.  So if she was aware of Spike, so what?  Out here in the night air, feeling refreshed and alive for the first time in days, the thought of her being attracted to Spike wasn't a horrible one.  A little scary, a little creepy, but... not too crazy.

"Maybe that gay thing comes with a money back guarantee," she whispered to herself.

Bisexual.  That was a new title for her.  She'd never thought of herself as being bisexual.  It was straight, and then gay.  There'd been no in-between.  But now... well, maybe there was an in-between.  Maybe gender didn't matter as long as the feelings were there.

That made her smile.  She was an equal opportunity lover.  Titles were so confining.  To hell with them.  She'd be... Willow.  Just, Willow. Lover of all genders.  And species?  Werewolf, human, witch... and now vampire?  Was there something there?

Thinking about Spike now, after he'd helped carry her home and explain things to Buffy and Giles... sat with Dawn while the others talked to her... there wasn't as much anger and fear as there used to be.  A little less of the irritation.  He was... a friend.  Hm.  Friend.  A vampire friend.  Spike, the vampire friend.  Sure, it was weird, but was it any more weird than having Angel as a friend?

Yes.  Angel had a soul.  Spike didn't.

So, she liked a soulless killer who hated her.  Definitely made her weird.

But... he was cute.  Oh yeah, that was the argument that would win it. She could just imagine her explaining things to Buffy and Xander. They'd say, 'But, Willow, he's a soulless killer, killer of humans and despite the fact that you are now too,' okay, maybe they wouldn't add that last part, but the gist of the idea was there.  They'd say, 'He's evil.'

She'd come back with her brilliant reply of, 'But... he's cute.' and that would be the clincher.  They'd smile and celebrate, planning a wedding fit for a queen.

In fairytale land, which was where she was currently residing apparently.

Oy.  Okay, so the cute thing didn't enter into it except to notice it. There were other things.  He'd helped them a lot lately.  Although, yes, he mostly did it for money, for blood, or for his own personal gain, he'd still done it.

Then he'd done it for Buffy.  She was what was keeping him around now.

"Oh," she whispered.  "Buffy.  Kinda forgot about that."

Well, that was the end of that.  He loved Drusilla.  Loved Buffy.  Had a girlfriend.  It was idiotic to think of any kind of relationship with Spike.  If she did have feelings for him, she'd simply ignore them.

Sighing into the cool air, she inhaled deeply, loving the smell of rain in the air.

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