The Old Switcheroo

Author: Sinecure

Distribution: This site, FanFiction.net, and anyone else who wants it. Let me know first though, please. I like to visit my babies sometimes ;)

Author's Note: This is another unfinished story. A big story. And, it's slow going. Seriously, I have, like, 30 or 40 stories going on. All BtVS too. I'm a big ole W/S 'shipper, and every one of my fanfics is just that; Willow and Spike. I've got close to 140 pages done on this one, and I'll be updating whenever I write more of this one.

Author's Other Note: I have to say this... it's been bugging me, so I'm telling you all right now. I wrote most of this during the summer between season 5 and 6. I had some exact ideas about some things that I wanted to happen, and then they happened in season 6, but I didn't take them from the show. I already had them written way before they happened on the actual show. That happens to me a lot in life. I think of something, write it down, and then I'll see it elsewhere... then I feel like I stole it, but I didn't. Why yes, I *am* insecure, why do you ask?

Feedback: Duh.

Rating: I'm going to go with NC17.

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~Part: 1~

    Willow coughed lightly as a gust of wind picked up the dust floating to the ground and blew it in her face.  She stuck her stake inside the waistband of her jeans and sighed heavily as a strand of her long blonde hair settled itself directly in front of her eyes.  For the tenth time that night, she unwrapped the hair tie from her ponytail and tucked the stray strand back in place before securing the tie once more.

    "I'm cutting it, I don't care whether Buffy likes it or not.   Long hair and slaying do not go hand in hand," she mumbled.

    She had no idea how Buffy managed it.  Slaying always looked so easy and effortless when Buffy was doing the slaying.  On Willow, it looked... well, awkward.

    In the week since their run-in with the demon, since Willow and Buffy had switched bodies, Willow had taken to secretly patrolling.  Giles and Buffy would probably have a fit if they found out, but she had no intention of telling them.  They didn't think she was skilled enough to take on the evil nasties that frequented the cemeteries at night, but she was.  Most of the time.  Admittedly, she could use a little training, but when wearing Buffy's body, she felt like she could take on the world.  She just hoped that wouldn't happen any time soon.

    Gathering her bag of weapons, she turned around and headed out of the cemetery.  Halfway there, she felt a vampire coming near and dropped her bag quietly to the ground.  Her hand snaked down and wrapped around the stake in her waistband.  Swinging around, with the stake at the ready, she faced the threat that was now directly behind her.

    "Spike," she gasped out.  She'd almost staked Spike.  Oops.  Bad Willow.  Spike, who had no idea she was Willow.  And who Buffy didn't want to know that they'd switched bodies.  Willow rolled her eyes, remembering Buffy's argument against telling Spike.  Like he would actually hurt us, Willow thought.  He has a chip, and he's in love with Buffy... and he's making me feel like I haven't a stitch of clothing on with those eyes.  Wow.

    "Buffy," he acknowledged, still looking at her with those piercing blue eyes of his.  His duster swirled around his legs, his hand rubbed absently at his abdomen, and a cigarette dangled from his lips.

    Spike was gorgeous personified, not that she would admit it to anyone ever, still... again, wow.  Wait, act like Buffy, be disgusted.  That would never happen, but she could pretend.  She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.  "What do you want?" she asked.  She groaned inwardly at the brief flicker of hurt in his eyes.

    He crossed his arms over his chest in imitation of her stance, and smirked in amusement.  "You mean besides--"

    "I mean besides," she said quickly.

    He stared at her long and hard, tossed his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out.  "Well I'll be damned... Willow."

    Buffy was here?  Meaning her?  Meaning uh-oh.  She glanced around them, squinting into the darkness.  "Where's Willow?  ‘Cause, I told her not to walk around alone at night, and--"

    "Not out there.  Right here.  I know it's you."  His eyes, piercing and appreciative just moments before, were now angry.  "I can just imagine that conversation.  ‘Let's not tell Spike ‘cause, gosh, he'll do something evil and naughty.'"

    Willow nodded sadly.  "Pretty close," she admitted.  "Though, I don't see what the big deal is.  It's not like you'd hurt her even if you could."

    "At times like these, I think I just might.  If I could," he added quickly.  "You don't have any overwhelming urges to dust me, do you?"

    She shrugged.  "Nope.  Just an overwhelming urge to eat."  No, that wasn't quite right.  She thought for a second, trying to identify the feeling that had been pushing itself to the forefront since she'd dusted her first vampire tonight.  Six vamps later, she had this need for... something.  Food might help, she thought, but that didn't sound right.  "Food, or something," she added.

    Spike's lips twitched slightly.  "Ever the word smith, Red.  I was just on my way to get something to eat.  Don't suppose you'd like to donate a little of that Slayer's blood running through your veins?"

    She rolled her eyes at him.  "I don't suppose."

    He shrugged.  "It was worth a try.  So... what happened?   Another one of your spell's gone wonky?"

    Willow huffed angrily.  "No, it was not a spell of mine gone wrong.  Why is it that as soon as something goes wrong, everyone asks me if I did a spell?  Like I'm to blame for everything," she grumbled.  She had issues.  She knew this.

    Spike nodded in understanding, looking away for a second before returning his gaze to her.  "Know what you mean."  He tensed suddenly, looking away again.  "Company."  His hand slid inside his duster pocket, disappearing for a second, before reappearing with a stake.  Instead of standing with her against the intruder, Spike stepped back a few feet and leaned against a tree, crossing his arms over his chest, the stake dangling between his fingers.

    She felt the vampire now, as well.  She had mistaken it for Spike's presence.  She couldn't mistake it now.  The constant tingling sensation that ran throughout her whole body was intensifying.  The vampire was behind her, approaching quickly.  Spike, though tensed and at the ready, seemed content to watch her in action.  No, not her.  Buffy.  She had to remember that.  But it felt good to be looked at like Spike was looking at her.  Like she was the most beautiful girl in the world.  Oh, bad, Willow.  Tara looks at you like that... or she used to, before this whole invasion of the body snatchers thing happened.

    Sighing heavily, she turned around, waiting.  The vamp walked unsteadily forward, looking extremely confused.  As she neared, Willow got a good look at her and gasped.  The vamp had to be eighty if she was a day.  She looked like a grandmother.  Probably was.  She had short, curly white hair, a purple flower print house dress on, and a string of those thick pearls old ladies seemed to like so much.

    "Who would turn someone her age?" Willow hissed to Spike.  "That's just cruel."

    Spike came up next to her.  "Someone who needed her knowledge, or a family member.  Happens more than you'd think.  Usually when someone this old is turned, it's for what they know.  And then you have an old vamp wandering around.  A lot of times vampires her age miss their life and the people in it.  Sometimes they turn their spouse for company.  Only thing is, mental capacity is non-returnable."

    Willow watched in horror as the vamped out old lady squinted at them.  A sickly smile creased her fanged mouth just before she launched herself at Willow.  Willow dodged to the side a split second before the old lady would have hit her.  She spun around and shoved her stake into the woman's heart, and the vamp went boom.  She accepted Spike's helping hand and dusted herself off.  Her stake went back into her waistband.

    "Not bad," he told her.

    She grinned, blowing a newly fallen lock of hair out of her face.  "Thanks."  She glared at the offending blonde hair and took out the hair tie.  "Damn it!"  She was about to braid her hair, but stopped, looking thoughtfully at Spike.  "What do you think?  Shoulder length?"

    Spike shook his head in confusion.  "Huh?"

    She made a cutting motion with her fingers.  "I'm gonna cut it... um, as soon as I work up the nerve."  She sighed sadly.  "Who am I kidding?  I'll never cut it, Buffy would kill me."

    Spike snorted with laughter.  "I'd cut it for you just to see the look on her face."

    "I know you would," Willow agreed with a nod.  "Not gonna happen though.  We'll find the reversal spell and I'll have my nice short hair back."  She smiled happily, picking up her bag once more.  "That's it for tonight.  See ya, Spike.  Oh, don't tell Buffy or any of the others that you know... ‘kay?  Please?  Uh, Spike?  Hello?"

    Spike looked deep in thought, staring ahead into the darkness.  Willow nudged his arm, and he snapped out of it.  "Huh?"

    She laughed lightly.  "You've been saying that a lot lately, Brainiac."

    He ignored her jibe.  "What kind of demon was it?"

    "Big, ugly, ora--"

    "Orange horns, and green skin," he finished with an explosive sigh.  "Kratham.  Just... tell me you didn't kill it, the one that did this."  He gestured to her.

    A sinking feeling started deep in the pit of her stomach.  She knew where he was going with his questions.  She just... knew.  Oh God, please don't let me be stuck in Buffy's body.  Please let there be a way to reverse it.  I don't want to be the Slayer forever.

    "Killed it dead," she whispered, starting to shake.  "There's a way to reverse this, right?  I mean, there has to be a way."

    Spike turned serious eyes to her.  "‘fraid not, Red."

    Willow blinked at him.  "But, see there has to be a way.  I can't be Buffy for the rest of my life."  She was getting hysterical, her voice rising with every word, probably attracting every vampire in town, but she didn't care.  "I have-- and Tara.  ‘Cause, Tara is already freaking out.  And Buffy.  Oh, God, Buffy.  She has to be me forever."  Willow, ever the optimist, straightened her shoulders and shook off the panic.  "No, wait.  There has to be a way.  A spell.  I'll just do a spell."  She nodded decisively, and took off running toward the Magic Box.

    Spike grabbed her arm just outside the cemetery and stopped her headlong flight into the street.  "Hold on--"

    Willow shook off his restraining hand, forgetting her slayer strength, and ended up elbowing him in the stomach.  He fell to the sidewalk with a grunt.  "I'm sorry.  I forgot about... ugh."  She sat down beside him, slumping to the ground.

    Spike patted her knee.  "S'alright, love, no damage done."  His hand remained on her knee a little longer than needed, and Willow shot him a pointed look.  He chuckled nervously.  "Right."  Standing up, he offered her a hand.

    She took it, letting go as soon as she was relatively steady on her feet.  "Thanks."  She pointed down the street.  "I need to go, Buffy's probably wondering where I am."

    "Staying at the slayer's house?" he asked.

    "Looking like her, staying at her house, pretty much being her," Willow muttered as she started off down the street.
 
 

    The next day, Willow strode into the Magic Box to tell them the information she'd gotten from Spike.  Well, she didn't so much stride, as she walked.  No, slunk would fit.  She slunk through the door, hoping the bell wouldn't go off.  It did.  Three faces turned toward her.  Her two best friends and Buffy's watcher were seated at the round table in the middle of the store.  Anya was behind the counter showing Dawn how to ring up sales.

    "Sis, long time no see," Dawn called cheerfully, earning an eye roll from Buffy.  Willow smiled as best she could, but it ended up as a miserable uplifting of lips.

    "Hey, guys," she called out to the room in general, dropping into a seat next to Buffy.

    Xander smiled widely, but refrained from voicing his greeting.  Willow smiled back.  Buffy, in her red-headed body, looked down at her from her seat on top of the table.

    "Hey, gorgeous."

    The whole room, having heard this a few times during the week, groaned collectively.

    "Hey."  Willow sat up a little straighter, fiddling with a large leather bound book in front of her.  "I, uh, found out the name of the demon," she told them.

    Giles' head shot up, interest clearly written on his face.  "Good morning, Buff- uh, Willow.  Didn't hear you come in."  He did the glasses manuever, pulling them off of his face and rubbing the bridge of his nose.  "Did you say you found it?"

    Buffy nudged Willow's leg with her own.  "Spill, chica.  Not that this isn't fun, but I'm rather anxious to be in my own body again."

    Willow understood exactly how Buffy felt, which is why her eyes teared up.  "It's a Kratham demon."  She had no idea whether any of them had heard of it, but she was hoping Giles had.  She thought maybe the news would come easier from him.  Or she was just a coward.

    "Dear God," Giles whispered, dropping his glasses to the floor.

    Definitely a coward.

    The whole room erupted into movement and questions at Giles' exclamation.  Buffy was on her feet in a second, demanding answers from Giles.  Xander, noticing Willow's mood, slung an arm around her shoulders.  Dawn looked from Willow to Buffy, then back to her.  Willow smiled reassuringly, only it came out sickly.

    "Calm down," Giles told them all, looking quickly around the store.  Only one customer besides them was there.  Giles walked over to the man and talked to him quietly for a second, before seeing him to the door and locking it behind him.  Giles leaned against it for a few moments, then turned back to the questioning looks of his charges.

    "The spell cannot be reversed," he told them, apparently deciding to just dive right in there.  "Buffy killed the demon that cast the spell, and he or she is the only one who would be able to reverse it."

    Willow sank even further into her chair.  Ever since Spike's pronouncement last night, she'd run the gamut of emotions.  Denial, panic, fear, desperation, they'd all been there.  And then she'd looked through every book she could find, trying to find something, anything on the elusive Kratham demons.  The internet had come next.  But she found nothing, and had held out hope that maybe, just maybe Spike had been wrong, and Giles would be able to fix things.

    Now she knew.  He couldn't.  She was stuck being Buffy, the Vampire Slayer.
 
 

    "You know, instead of constantly lamenting your situation, why don't you look on the bright side?  I mean, sure, you can't hurt people anymore... well, you could I suppose, but it would probably hurt you more than it would them.  And, sure, you feel helpless now, but--"

    "Red..." Spike interrupted, then, when she didn't seem to hear him, louder, "Red!"  Finally she turned toward him questioningly.  "I wasn't lamenting, I was... commenting on my non-biting condition, and the lack of concern and help coming from a certain group of people who promised to help me."

    Willow snorted rudely.  "Sounds like whining to me."  She tossed him a baleful look.  "At least you still have your own body."

    Spike rolled his eyes.  "Now who's whining?"  He lit a cigarette and exhaled a plume of smoke into the night air.  "Seems to me you should take your own advice.  Besides, your situation isn't all that bad, you've got super powers.  And I could think of worse bodies to be in."

    "Just because you'd do just about anything to get inside this body," Willow sneered, "doesn't mean I would."

    "That was downright spiteful, pet," Spike said, glaring at her.  "And keep it down, I don't need everyone in this blasted town knowing."

    Willow looked around them at the empty cemetery.  "Everyone who?  There's no one around."

    Spike gestured to her.  "How about that vamp you're straddling, and not staking?  Pummeling the enemy is all well and good.  A bit of violence?  Always.  But you've been beating on this guy for, like, ten minutes.  He's gonna heal before you get around to dusting him."

    Willow sighed and yanked her stake out of her sleeve, staking the unconscious vampire beneath her.  She sat on the ground, feeling empty, once again left wanting something, and not having any idea what it was.  She needed to ask Buffy about it.  "Anyone ever tell you you're a master exaggerator?"

    Spike smirked down at her.  "Anyone ever tell you that a good slay should be followed by a good lay?"

    Willow glared at him.  "Spike, you're being uncommonly rude lately.  If this is the way you talk to Buffy, it's no wonder she doesn't like you."  Where had that come from?  Her moods, of late, were leaning toward angry and rude as hell, a fact that the others, especially Tara, didn't like.  Spike seemed to be getting the brunt of it though, since he had taken to patrolling with her this past week.

    Spike flicked his cigarette to the ground and stalked toward her, yanking her to her feet.  "You've been rather belligerent yourself, Red.  You need to get over it already.  So you're the slayer now, big deal.  You'll live."

    Willow's eyes blazed up at him.  "No," she said, "I won't.  Ever seen an old slayer, Spike?"  He started to answer, but she didn't give him a chance.  "No, you haven't, because there is no such thing.  I've basically been handed a death sentence, and I'm not handling it well, ok?  I know that.  I'm trying to deal with it, to get over it.  But it's not that easy."

    Spike shrugged, unconcerned.  "What did you think hanging with the slayer would do?  Give you a nice, long life?  Husband, kids, white picket fence?"  He snorted rudely.  "Not bloody likely.  You probably wouldn't have lived past your twenty sixth."

    Willow sat down on a headstone, her hands in her lap.  The anger she'd felt only moments ago fading to frustration.  She knew she was being a witch, and not of the spell kind, but she couldn't seem to help it.  Maybe it was a part of the slayer package... to rail against the injustice of it all.  Lord knows Buffy had done it enough times.  But Buffy always stood up to each challenge, and therein lay the root of Willow's anger.  She was afraid that she wouldn't be able to step up to the challenges, when they came.  That she'd fail everyone and the world would end.  So she was lashing out.

    She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "Have you ever wanted something so badly, something so close to you that you could reach out and touch it, but not have it?"

    Spike gave her a scathing look.

    "Sorry.  I didn't mean-- forget it.  What I'm saying is, I want to be Willow again, you know, unassuming, mousy little Willow.  Not gorgeous, petite, blonde Buffy.  I don't do well with attention.  I'm better at handling it now then I was back in high school, but still, I'd prefer to remain out of the limelight thank you very much.  Not to mention all the vampires and demons now gunning for me."  She took a deep breath, sighing out her frustrations.  "Buffy is an awesome person.  And now she's reduced to being me.  She's gotta be freaking worse than I am."
 
 

    Buffy, curled up on the couch, a bowl of popcorn beside her, stared enraptured at the T.V.  Dawn flopped down next to her, nearly spilling the popcorn.  She groaned when she saw what Buffy was watching.

    "Again?  I mean, seriously, how many times can a person reasonably watch Ghost without going nuts?  ‘Cause I'm planning on doing that, you know."

    Buffy shoved a strand of short red hair out of her eyes and shushed Dawn.  A tissue, clenched tightly in Buffy's small hand, wiped at wet eyes.  "This is my favorite part.  Poor Molly."

    Dawn rolled her eyes at the obvious pity party hostess.  He's gone, and he's not coming back, Dawn wanted to tell Buffy, but she couldn't.  Angel was Buffy's soul mate, but he was also a vampire with a curse that had a happiness clause.  And Buffy was what made him happiest... so, no togetherness for those two.

    Riley, on the other hand, was someone Buffy could have... and had managed to chase away.  Or neglect away.  Dawn shook her head.  Whatever.

    And now, Spike.  She smiled to herself.  That man was gorgeous with a capital G.  Vampire or not, soulless or not, Spike had the goods, and Dawn secretly thought Buffy blind not to notice.  Or pretend not to notice.  Buffy would never, ever even think about considering dating Spike.

    Dawn's smile slipped.  Poor Spike.  He loved Buffy so much, had been tortured for hours for her.  Helped her save the world.  Tried to save Dawn from being shish-kabobbed by Glory... even if he did ultimately fail.  It wasn't his fault.  Nobody had seen Doc coming into play that night.  Never expected it.  And Buffy had died because of that failure.

    She shuddered lightly, sitting back against the couch and snuggling up next to her sister.  Buffy didn't look at her, her attention stayed focused on the T.V. as she smoothed Dawn's hair back.  Dawn sighed softly.  Buffy didn't need to look at Dawn to know when she was needed.  She just knew.
 
 

    Spike watched Buffy's body.  Not in a stalker way tonight.  Nope.  This time he was watching Willow walk in front of him.  She was moving with all the enthusiasm of an inmate headed to the electric chair.  She was depressed.

    What else was new?

    She was also angry and afraid.  No one else seemed to notice.  They were too busy trying to find a way to reverse the spell.  Both Willow and Buffy were nearing the breaking point, he knew, and he wasn't sure he wanted to be around when they finally blew.  He was afraid.  Buffy had all this magickal energy flowing through her and no outlet since she didn't know how to practice.  Willow had the slayer strength, and again, no outlet because she hadn't been trained.

    While he couldn't help Buffy with her problem, though he wished like hell he could, he was able to help Willow.  He could train her to fight.  Teach her some moves.  Maybe cop a cheap feel or two.  A twinge of guilt fluttered through him, but he shrugged it off.

    He was a vampire.  A demon.  What else was he supposed to do?

    So, here he was, watching Buffy's butt sway in front of him as they headed to the next cemetery on their nightly patrol.  Nightly patrols that no one knew they took.  Spike wasn't an idiot, he knew Willow hadn't told the others that she was patrolling with him after the gang's earlier sweeps.  The gang believed, rightly so, that she wasn't ready to be out on her own.  She agreed, but also had a nagging sense of guilt, and killing vampires and demons was a great way to alleviate that guilt.

    Spike had no clue why she felt guilty about the situation.  Not like she did anything.  It just happened.  No one was to blame.  Though he was rather amazed that Buffy hadn't found some way to pin it on him.  She liked to do that.  Blame the soulless demon for everything that went wrong.  Not this time though.  In fact, he suspected she was avoiding running into him at all cost because she was at a disadvantage.

    He was rather nervous being around her as well.  She had a hell of a temper and newly acquired magical powers that she didn't know how to control.  So he was content to stay away from her, for now.  Besides, it wasn't like he wasn't seeing her every night.  Her body anyway.

    "Spike?" Willow called, stopping but not turning around.

    "What?"  He walked slowly, catching up to her, wondering if there was a vampire or demon nearby.

    She turned amused eyes to him.  "Are you done watching my butt?"

    Spike pursed his lips in thought, then nodded.  "Yeah, I think so."

    Willow rolled her eyes and shoved him away.  "You're incorrigible."  She went through the gates of the Shady Pines cemetery, tossing a stake in the air and catching it.

    Spike followed her with a chuckle.  "Guess I was wrong," he called out, watching her jean-clad butt again.

    Willow turned around, walking backwards.  "So, I guess it wasn't love after all."

    Spike frowned.  "What are you talking about?"

    She seemed to be in a better mood than she'd been in earlier.  Spike hopped up on a headstone, then jumped on top of a crypt entrance, surveying the area.  Satisfied that there were no evil things lurking about--besides him--he sat down, hanging his legs over the edge.

    "I'm talking about you.  And Buffy.  I thought you really were in love with her, but since you're spending all your time hanging around with me, meaning Buffy's body, and not her, with her mind, then it was lust.  Not love."  She stepped up on the headstone beside the crypt and held her hand out to him.

    "Or," he said, pulling her up, "I'm avoiding being turned into a frog by Buffy and her new powers."

    Willow settled down next to him, shuddering slightly.  "Frogs," she said in disgust.  "If she turns you into a frog, you're on your own."  She swung her legs back and forth, looking younger than Buffy's twenty years.

    Spike laughed at the look of utter revulsion on her face.  "You face vampires and demons nightly... and you're afraid of frogs?"

    "Not afraid of them, per se... that's spiders.  Spiders I'm afraid of.  Frogs I'm just... icked by."

    Spike grinned.  "You're just a big ole girly girl."

    She brandished her stake, holding it against his chest.  "Hey.  I could kill you right here.  Right now.  And no one would ever know."  She stopped, her brow furrowed.  "Actually, that's kinda scary."

    "You're telling me," he agreed.  Staring down at the stake still poised against his undead heart, he raised an eyebrow at her.  "Could you remove the pointy piece of death, please?"

    Willow set the stake beside her, then froze.

    "Buffy?"  The voice was soft, but incredulous.  "Spike?"  The voice was no longer soft.  It was angry.

    Spike smirked at Angel, giving a mock bow.  "Your royal poofiness."

    A snort of laughter from beside him gave him a tiny thrill.  The voice was Buffy, but the unrestrained laughter was all Willow.  Plus, Angel looked all hurt and stuff.

    Willow got herself under control quickly and stood up.  "Angel.  Hi."  She jumped down, right in front of him, and hugged him.  Angel's arms wrapped around her tightly, holding her to him as Spike jumped down beside them.  He could see how uncomfortable Angel was making Willow, so he took pity on her.

    "Might wanna let go of... Buffy.  She's not yours anymore, mate."

    Angel ignored Spike, pulling Willow away slightly to look into her face.  "Are you all right?  Cordy had a vision.  You and Willow are in danger."

    Willow pulled away from Angel, far away.  She ended up standing a good three feet away from him.  "I'm fine... all things considered.  What's the danger?"

    Poor Angel looked all hurt again.  Spike nearly snorted with laughter.  Apparently Willow had no intention of telling Angel who she really was.  Could be fun then.

    Angel's eyes flickered to Spike's.  Seeing the amusement there, he attempted to drag Willow away.  She shook her head, refusing to go.  "What's the danger, Angel?"

    Angel shoved his hands in his duster and sighed.  "I'm not sure.  Cordy said there was a..." he paused, laughing, "a green-eyed monster stalking people here."

    Willow and Spike both stared at Angel in shock.  Spike stepped in front of Willow, who was too stunned to notice.  "Angelus," she whispered.

    Spike wasted no time talking about it.  He punched Angel in the face and delighted in watching him sail backwards to land on his ass.  He stood looking down at Angelus.  "So someone else brings you happiness now, huh?"

    Angel stood up with a snarl.  "Ok, this is getting really old.  Every time I come back here, people accuse me of being evil.  I... am not evil.  I went through some changes--"

    "Puberty?" Spike sneered.

    "I came to grips with things.  I'm still Angel."  He turned soulful, pleading eyes on Willow.  "It's me, Buffy."

    Willow relaxed, but kept staring at him.  She seemed to be looking for something, and Spike realized she was was waiting for Angel to figure out she wasn't Buffy.  He leaned against the crypt, waiting for the fireworks to go off.

    Willow stalked forward, staring Angel in the eye.  "Angel?"

    Angel looked down at her in confusion.  "Buffy?"  Suddenly his eyes windened.  "Willow?"

    Willow grinned at him.  "Yep."  She playfully swatted at his arm.  "Took you long enough.  Spike noticed almost immediately."

    Angel grabbed her arm, pulling her along with him.  This time, she went.  "Why are you hanging around with Spike?  He's evil."  He suddenly looked unsure.  "Isn't he?"

    Willow shrugged.  "We're not sure anymore.  He has the implant, can't hurt or kill humans now.  Seems to have tamed him somewhat."

    "I heard that," Spike yelled to her, not at all pleased.

    Willow grinned.  "Good," she yelled back.  "My devious plan has succeeded."  She turned back to Angel, who was watching her in amusement.  "He's been helping us since... wow, just after you moved to L.A., after that whole Gem of Amarra thing.  It's been a long time.  I'm surprised no one told you.  Like, maybe Drusilla?"

    "I haven't seen Drusilla in months.  She and Darla took off."

    "Darla?  Who-- oh, right.  Your sire.  Isn't she dead?"

    "She was.  A law firm in L.A. brought her back to life.  She was human, until one of the lawyers found Drusilla and had her turn Darla."

    Willow shook her head in confusion.  Why would a law firm want Darla brought back to life?  But that didn't matter at the moment.  "So, uh, this threat?  Any clues what it might be?"

    Angel smiled a bit.  "None."  His smile faded, and his eyes flickered to Spike before returning to her.  "Is Buffy all right?  I mean, how's she handling... this?"  He gestured at Buffy's body, and Willow felt a small amount of irritation.  Everyone was so worried about how Buffy was handling the switch, including her, that they never gave a thought to how she felt.

    "She's ok.  Not peachy keen, but... dealing."

    Spike, tired of waiting, joined them.  "And don't you go traipsing over there getting her all riled up either.  She's got Will's magic, and no outlet.  Best to stay away from her."

    Willow rolled her eyes.  "The only green-eyed monster I see is the one between you two.  I swear, you're like five year old siblings."  Both of them turned incredulous looks her way, and she laughed.  "See?"

    "Willow," Angel warned, watching Spike closely.

    "What?" she asked, laughing.  "Him?"  She elbowed Spike in the stomach and giggled when he reached for her with a low growl.  "He can't hurt me.  Besides, he doesn't want to, not as long as I'm--" she stopped, seeing the panicked look in Spike's eyes.  "Um, you know, human.  ‘Cause of the pain from the implant."  It was lame, and she could see that Angel didn't buy it for a second, but it was all she could think of on such short notice.  It probably wasn't a good idea to tell Angel that Spike was in love with the love of Angel's life, and that he wouldn't hurt Willow because she was wearing Buffy's body.

    "Yeah," Spike agreed.  "Humans.  Can't touch ‘em.  See?"  He pulled on the long braid hanging down her back.  Willow gasped in pain while Spike grabbed his head.  "Can't hurt ‘em," he ground out.

    Angel finally nodded, his expression serious.  "So... you're living off of animal blood?"

    Angel's lips twitched slightly, and Willow had a sneaking suspicion that he was laughing at Spike.  Having been the butt of too many jokes in her life, Willow couldn't stand it when she saw it happening to someone else.  Especially about something they couldn't help, something that wasn't their fault.

    Spike was glaring at Angel, barely holding himself in check.  "That's right, I'm brown bagging it now."  He got right in Angel's face.  "You got something to say?"

    Angel shook his head, grinning.  "Nah, I'm sure you've heard every joke there is by now, courtesy of Xander.  Not to mention the ones you heap on me every time I see you.  Suffice it to say that this is a more fitting punishment than I could ever give you."  He turned to Willow, the smile gone, replaced by anger.  "And you all just let him hang around, doing God knows what?  He tried to kill you."

    Willow glared at Angel, not believing what she was hearing.   Did Angel actually think he could come here and tell them what they should or shouldn't let Spike do?

    She yanked Angel away from Spike, and pushed him away.  When he attempted to grab Spike, she slapped his hand away.  "He tried to kill me?  What did you do, Angel?  You terrorized your girlfriend, killed Giles' girlfriend, and stole Spike's!  Not to mention everything else you put the rest of us through, and all the people you killed."  She got in his face much like Spike had done, and hissed, "Buffy felt every single death you caused.  She *still* blames herself."  Ignoring the pain and guilt on the older vampire's face, Willow continued.  "And yet we managed to forgive you.  Spike hasn't hurt any of us in two years, and not all of that is because he can't--"

    "That's going a bit far," Spike interrupted.  "I'd hurt Xander in a heartbeat--"

    Willow tossed him an exasperated look.  "I'm trying to help you here, so shut up."  Turning back to Angel, who looked rather like his usual broody-self, Willow's eyes softened.  "I didn't mean to... well, yes I did.  But, Angel, you haven't been here.  You don't know what's happened.  Spike saved the world with us.  A couple of times.  Sometimes a bit reluctantly, but he did it.  And I trust him as much as I trust you."

    Spike snorted from beside her.  "Guess she doesn't trust you much, Peaches.  Bummer, that."  He grinned at Angel's glaring look tossed his way.

    Willow turned to Spike.  "At the risk of being repetive, Spike..." she elbowed him again, "shut up.  I trust Angel a lot."

    Spike tossed her a surprised look.

    Willow turned back to Angel, who was watching Spike with something akin to wonder.  She grinned.  "I know.  It totally flips me out too, but it's how things are now."

    "And Buffy--" Angel began.

    "Trusts him.  So kiss and make up."  Both Spike and Angel glared at her, and Willow couldn't help it, she started laughing.  They both looked so disgusted.  "It's not like you haven't done it before."  At their even more incredulous looks, she frowned.  "I thought--"

    "You thought wrong," Angel practically yelled.

    Spike shuddered.  "Bloody hell, woman, keep your fantasies to yourself."  He managed to look repulsed and mocking at the same time.

    "You wish you made appearances in my fantasies, Blondie" she shot back.

    "Don't have to wish," Spike retorted, "I know I do."  He winked at her.

    "I can't believe this is happening," Angel hissed.  "Willow, you're flirting with Spike."

    "We're not flirting, we're bantering," she explained.  "Besides, I have a girlfriend... or, had one anyway," she finished sadly.

    Angel's eyes widened.  "You have a girlfriend?"

    "Had," she corrected.

    "You had a girlfriend?  Boy am I more out of the loop than I thought."

    Willow frowned at him.  "You mean Cordelia didn't tell you?"

    "Cordelia?" Angel practically shouted.  "You and Cordelia--"

    Willow rolled her eyes.  "No, not me and Cordelia.  I meant because I told her when I talked to her about Harmony--"

    "You and Harmony?"  Poor Angel's voice was rising with each word he said.

    Willow made a yuck face.  "God, no.  Harmony's just icky.  She terrorized me and Xander all throughout high school.  I would never... with Harmony.  Harmony and Spike--"

    "Harmony and Spike?" Angel asked, sounding a little more calm.

    Spike slid his arm around her waist, and she nearly jumped out of her skin at his touch.  She'd never been touched so intimately by the vampire before.  It felt kind of... good.  Tingly.  Until his words registered.

    "Oh, come on, sweetie.  Are you ashamed of our threesomes?  You know Harm's gonna be upset to hear you--"

    Willow slapped her hand over Spike's mouth and shoved his arm away.  There was such unrestrained laughter in his eyes that she had to fight hard not to giggle.  Seeing Angel spluttering a few feet away made it impossible, and she burst into laughter, dropping her hand from Spike's mouth.  His laughter joined hers and they both turned to look at Angel, looking for all the world like children.

~Part: 2~

  "I cannot believe you disregarded my orders," Giles said angrily.  "You put Buffy's body in danger by being out there every night, Willow.  What were you thinking?"

    Willow looked around at the assembled people at the magic shop.  Angel--the traitor--was leaning against the counter with a scowl.  Every few minutes, his eyes would fall on Buffy, then shoot back to her.

    Xander was frowning at Willow, concern etching itself into his features.  Anya was behind the counter ignoring them all as she straightened various jars and items on the shelves.  Buffy didn't look concerned in the slightest, in fact, she looked proud.  Of Willow.  Willow grinned at her, then cleared her throat and frowned again when Giles sighed.

    "Uh, Rupert?" Spike said from his seat on the steps, "that was pretty callous."  He grinned and leaned back on his elbows.  "It was almost worthy of me."

    Willow rolled her eyes, and stood up.  "Giles.  I'm being careful, and..." she tossed Angel a glare before straightening her shoulders.  "Spike's been patrolling with me.  He's also--"

    "Wait.  What?" Buffy exclaimed, jumping up from her seat.  She grabbed Willow's shoulder and spun her around to face her.  "You've been patrolling with *him* every night?" she asked hotly, hooking a thumb over her shoulder at the blonde vampire.

    Xander groaned and stood up as well, joining the four of them in the middle of the room.  "Will, what were you thinking?"

    "Obviously, she wasn't," Giles added, rubbing his forehead tiredly.

    "He's using you to get to Buffy."  Xander glared at Spike, who was watching and listening from his perch on the steps.  "Has he tried anything?"

    Willow shoved away from them and paced a few feet away.  "Guys," she said angrily.  "Hello.  I'm just as old as you two," she gestured to Buffy and Xander.  "So stop treating me like a baby.  I'm an experienced Wiccan, and woman.  I can handle myself."

    "Yes, but--" Giles began, but Willow cut him off.

    "I know what I'm doing, and I know what he's doing."  She sighed, tossing a glance at Spike, who was busy clenching his jaw angrily.  She ignored him.  "I'm not dead, Buffy's body is just fine, and I have no intention of getting killed.  So just... back off."  She grabbed her bag and stormed out, pausing at the door.  "Thanks, Angel.  I think this has been your best visit *ever*," she said sarcastically.

    Heading down the street toward the nearest cemetery, Willow listened for footsteps behind her, knowing Spike wasn't far behind.  He was always there.  And she knew why.  He was hanging around her because she had Buffy's body.  It was his only chance to be around Buffy and not get beat up.  But she enjoyed their time together.  Patrol was boring without him.  And they were sort of becoming friends.  At least, she thought they were.

    It angered her that they all thought so little of her.  Did they actually think she would recklessly enter into a fight?  Or that she didn't know Spike was copping cheap feels at every opportunity?  She knew.  She was a big girl, not the shy little witch they still thought she was.  Though, to be honest, they didn't treat her like that.  And she could understand their concern.  For Buffy.

    That's what ticked her off so much.  Nobody seemed concerned for her.  Just Buffy and her precious body.  She knew they loved her and wanted her safe too, but they never, ever said so.  They expressed concern for Buffy only.

    According to them, Buffy had lost her body, her slaying powers, and abilities.  Her life.  Her purpose.  Everything in Buffy's life was suudenly taken away from her, and now she had all this stored up magic in her and no outlet, so ooo, let's pity Buffy even more.  But what about Willow?  She was independant, always had been, kinda was forced to be with her parents, but sometimes she liked people to fuss over her.  To express their concerns.  To ask her how she was.  To treat her like Buffy.  And now that she was Buffy, they switched all their attentions to Willow.  Willow's body.  Nothing had changed, and she felt extremely whiny for even thinking all this stuff.  But she couldn't help it.  Maybe it was a Slayer thing.

    She giggled at the thought.  That was just plain mean.  Buffy wasn't whiny.  She was the bravest person Willow knew.  And the best friend.  And just an all around great person.  She just sometimes got too much attention.  And all the guys.

    Willow shoved her traitorous thoughts aside as she entered the first cemetery.  She felt a major tingling in her body, and headed to the left.  Staying behind a crypt to see what she was up against, she counted five vampires and one demon.  Great.  Hurry up, Spike.  She felt a tingling behind her, and knew Spike was there.  She stood up and strolled into the clearing.  All six demons turned to look at her.

    "Hi," she said pleasantly, joining them.  They all stared at her incredulously, and she couldn't hold back a grin.  All five vampires vamped out and started toward her, while the demon hung back to watch.  Willow shrugged, and dropped into a fighting stance.  "So much for pleasantries and mockery."

    The first vampire dove at her.  She stepped aside and he went flying a few feet away to land on a headstone.  Willow winced and turned back to the others.

    "Next?"

    Apparently these guys didn't like being made fun of, because they all attacked at once.  Willow was doing good for a novice only two weeks on the job.  She killed three and severely wounded one other.  The demon still hadn't made a move.  She staked the wounded vampire, and turned around to face the last one.  He wasn't there.  And neither was Spike.  Where was Spike?  She was sure she could handle this on her own now, but it would be nice if Spike let his presence be known.  At least to her.

    She turned in a circle searching for the last vampire and the yellow skinned demon... both were in front of her suddenly.  She swung her fist at the vampire and hit his jaw.  He reeled back, knocking into the demon.  The demon grabbed her by the arms, picked her up, and threw her across the clearing.  His snarl of satisfaction was almost drowned out by her groan.  Pain shot through her shoulder and back, but she ignored it.

    Kill or be killed, she thought, jumping to her feet again.  Or rather, climbing slowly to her feet.  The vampire growled, snaking a hand around her wrist.  He yanked her to him, and held her still while he sank his fangs into her neck.

    Buffy's neck.  Oh, God, Buffy was going to kill her for dying in her body.

    She had to get away.  She brought her knee up, slamming it into the vampire's crotch, and shoved him away at the same time.  He fell to the ground, holding himself and howling in pain.  Willow staked him effortlessly, and turned to the demon.

    He was backing away warily, but Willow wasn't about to let him go that easily.  She ran over to him and jumped up, dropping to the ground with him.  He struggled, and put up one hell of a fight, but she got him in the end.  And his blood all over her, not to mention lots more bruises and cuts.  Better stay away from Buffy and the gang for a day or so, she thought, just until I'm all healed.

    She sat on a headstone with a sigh.  Every inch of her was sore, and she felt like a giant walking bruise.  Her shoulder and neck were the worst of it, but she would live.  Thankfully.  She stood up with a groan and headed... home?  She couldn't go there, Buffy and Dawn would see her, and never let her out of the house again.  Leaving Sunnydale without a Slayer.  No, she couldn't go there.  Her own house?  The Rosenberg residence?  Her parents were sure to think it strange if Buffy showed up on their doorstep and spent the night.  Without Willow.  So, that was out.

    The Magic Box.  After everyone left she could sneak in and sleep there, then leave tomorrow before anyone got there.  If she had a key.  Damn.  Blood was trickling down her neck, and she wiped at it absently.  Wait, blood.  Vampire.  Spike.  No, Angel.  No.  Not Angel.  Spike.  Definitely Spike.

    First she needed to leave a note at Buffy's house, and let her know that she wouldn't be home.  She needed an excuse.  Ugh.  This is why she hated lying.  There was so much involved.  Tara.  That's the only thing she could think of.  Say she was staying at Tara's, for some time alone.  Platonically.  Otherwise Buffy would freak.  Willow giggled as she headed to Buffy's house.

    As soon as she got there, she used her key and crept upstairs, hoping to shower, change clothes, and leave again before Buffy and Dawn got home.  She slipped into Joyce's room, which she'd taken as her own a few weeks ago.  Grabbing some clothes and an overnight bag, she dashed into the bathroom and quickly showered.  Afterwards, she dressed in her favorite Buffy clothes.  Blue jean overalls and a t-shirt.

    Buffy had that annoying, perfect hair that everyone had but her.  Or so it seemed.  The kind that didn't need to be blow dried, or curled or even brushed in order to look great.  Willow loved it... except the length.  It was always flying free of the ponytail holders, clips, and braids she put it in.  She still wanted to cut it.  She just didn't have the nerve.  Brushing her hair as she left the bathroom, she grabbed the first aid kit and shoved it into her overnight bag along with her brush.

    She wrote out a short, to the point note, and quietly headed down the hall.  She didn't know if they were home, or not, but she didn't want to take the chance of running into them.  She crept down the stairs and put the note on the fridge, leaving by the back door.  A few blocks away, she sighed in relief and had just started whistling when she spotted Angel and Buffy up ahead.

    She darted behind a bush and waited for them to pass her.  After a minute in which they should have passed her, she lifted her head to look.  A gasp escaped her, and she ducked back down quickly.  Angel and Buffy were... kissing.  Not just kissing either, really going at it, right there on the street.  In Willow's body.  She wasn't sure how she felt about that.  Well, no, she was sure.  She didn't like it.  She was essentially making out with Angel, and she didn't like him like that.

    She wanted to jump up and pull the two apart, but she couldn't seem to make her legs move.  A few minutes later, she lifted her head again and saw Angel's hands on her butt.  On Willow's butt.  Ack.  What the hell were they thinking?  Did they want Angelus to-- oh, no.  What if they wanted to test that whole happiness issue with her body?  They better not!  They had no right to do anything in-- ok.  They pulled away from each other, panting heavily--even Angel--and straightened their clothes.

    As they finally walked past, Willow noticed the clothes she... Buffy, had on.  Small black mini skirt, and a low cut green blouse.  Definitely not Willow clothes.  Hey, Buffy wasn't playing by the rules.

    Willow glared after the couple and headed to the store.  She had some supplies to buy.
 
 

    "Love, are you sure about this?" Spike asked from his position behind Willow.

    She shook her head in the negative.  "Yes, absolutely.  Do it."  She closed her eyes, bracing herself.

    Spike chuckled, tugging lightly on a strand of her hair.  "All right, but when she finds out about this, it wasn't me who did it.  You went to a professional.  Got it?"

    "Ok," she quickly agreed.  "Just do it before I lose my nerve."

    Spike smoothed his hand down her hair and raised the scissors.  They both winced as the first cut was made.  Willow fearfully held the mirror up and pulled her hair over her shoulder to see how short it was.  She frowned when she saw the half inch missing from the strand.

    "Spike."  She dropped her hands to her lap and spun around, facing him.  "What the heck is that?"  She held the cut lock of hair up for him to see.  "I said six inches.  Six.  Not a half a one.  Not two, not four.  Six.  Six inches, no more, no less."

    Spike shrugged.  "I don't think I can do it.  Here," he handed her the scissors, "you do it."

    "Fine."  Willow took the scissors with a sigh and combed through her hair.  She held up a chunk of hair about three inches wide and positioned the scissors just below her shoulder, preparing to cut.

    "Wait," Spike yelled, "you're holding them crooked.  Give them here."  He took the scissors and pulled all her hair behind her back.  He brushed through it, a little more slowly than needed, then cut off a big hunk.

    Willow's eyes widened when she felt it fall away, suddenly unsure of what she was doing.  What right did she have to cut her best friend's hair without her permission?  And in that vein, what right did Buffy and Angel have to use her body for... kissing and hopefully nothing more?

    Spike combed her hair some more, and she shivered at the feel of it.  She loved having her hair brushed.  Buffy and Xander used to play with her hair all the time, and that was one of the reasons why she'd kept it long.  If it was long, Xander could always brush it, and back then she'd been all about Xander.  Oz hadn't really been a hair kind of person.  She'd had her hair cut soon after getting together with him.  A personal sign of her ending feelings for Xander.  She'd moved on.  And Tara.  Willow liked to comb Tara's hair, to play with it.  Tara sometimes played with hers as well, but it was so short.  Though, she was starting to grow it out again.

    If Buffy didn't freak and shave it all off when she saw her.

    Spike had cut off another piece of hair and was brushing through the rest again.  Still.  "Spike?"

    "Hmm?"

    He sounded distracted.  Probably thinking about Buffy.  He'd never gotten this close to her when she was herself, and Willow hadn't let him this close either.  She decided to leave him alone to his Buffy thoughts.  "Nothing."

    He cut again, and set to brushing, his movements so slow and soothing that she started to fall asleep.  Finally, he tapped her on the shoulder and set the brush and scissors down.

    "All done."  He moved away and lit a cigarette.

    Willow ran her fingers through her newly cut hair.  It was slightly longer than shoulder length, and it felt great.  She shook her head and lifted the mirror.  "Ooo, Buffy looks great," she exclaimed.  She spun around and faced Spike.  "Doesn't she look great?"

    He chuckled a bit.  "Yeah, reminiscent of the first time I saw her."

    She fluffed the blonde strands a bit and grinned.  "You have no idea how good this feels," she told him.

    Cigarette dangling from his mouth, smoke pillowing in the air around him, Spike rubbed the palm of his right hand with the thumb of his left.  "Hey, Witch?"

    "Yes, Vampire?" Willow answered, picking her hair up off the floor.

    "That cut on your neck didn't happen to be made by fangs, did it?"  He was watching her closely, his eyes fixed on the white square bandage taped to her neck.

    "Um, no?" she answered.  "I told you, I--"

    "Cut it.  On a branch.  Right."  He took a drag off his cigarette and flicked ashes on the floor.  "Willow.  You're a terrible liar.  So, what happened?  And why are you here anyway?"

    Willow straightened up, her hands full of Buffy's hair.  She looked around for somewhere to toss it, and finally settled on outside.  She changed the subject, a bit nervous with having to tell him what happened.  "Where were you when I left the magic shop?  I could've sworn I felt you back there."

    Spike's eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched.  "Nowhere."

    Willow knew that angry, hate-filled look.  "You want details from me about this," she pointed to her neck, "then I get details about what happened to you."

    Spike shrugged and pushed past her.  "Forget it then."  He left the crypt, a trail of smoke wafting behind him.

    Willow grabbed a stake and ran after him, shutting the door behind her.  "Hey, not so fast there, Bubba."  She fell into step beside him, matching his stride... which was hard considering his legs were a good foot longer than hers.  Or it seemed that way to her now, in Buffy's smaller body.  "What did she do now?"

    Spike sighed and slowed down, tossing his cigarette to the ground.  "What's it worth to you?" he asked.

    This game was familiar, they often traded information to each other, nothing too terribly important, just personal stuff, or a story from their pasts.  Slowly she was getting to know him, and felt like maybe he was starting to know her too.  Friends.  She thought so anyway.

    "Um, hello?  My neck isn't enough?"  She stopped walking and jumped up on a headstone, hopping from one to another.

    Spike walked along beside her, shaking his head.  "Nope.  I need more, Witch."

    She turned to face him, hands on hips.  "Like what?" she asked, not sure where he was going with this, but she had a feeling he had specific information in mind.

    He scratched his jaw in thought, staring up at the cloudy sky.  "What made you decide to cut your hair?  Her hair."

    She frowned down at him.  "Is it worth it?  Or am I going to tell you my secrets and end up with lame stuff again?"  She leaned down and poked at his chest.  "‘Cause you, sir, are a bit of a liar.  I always end up hearing about... um, stuff like Dru being a hundred and forty years old, while you get to hear about the time Xander was possessed by hyenas.  Short end of the stick here, Bubba."

    He laughed, jumping up on the headstone across from her.  "That's not lying.  It's gambling.  If you don't have the ba--"

    "Guts," she said loudly.

    "--to play, then don't play," he told her, grinning from his headstone podium.

    He always said that when she complained.  And he always ended up with the juicier info.  Well, not this time by gosh.  This time, she was getting the goods.  She hoped.  "No deal.  I want something more, or you get nothing."  He wanted a gamble?  Then he'd get a gamble.

    Again he shrugged.  "Not gonna happen, Witch."

    Willow crossed her arms over her chest, pouting and resisting the urge to stomp her foot.  "Oh, come on, Vampire."  She smiled and hopped down beside him.  "Ok.  Fine.  We both lose this time."

    "Do we?"  His hand shot out, pulling the gauze from her neck.

    She slapped her hand against the bitemark.  "Hey, that's cheating."

    "I never said I was a fair demon."  He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away from the bitemark, his eyes locking on the puncture holes in her neck.  "Is he dust?"

    Willow stared up at the sky while he examined her wound.  She rolled her eyes at his question.  "Yeah, he and his friends are all blowing in the wind."  He grabbed her shoulder to move her further into the light, and she winced, feeling the bruises under his hand.  Thankfully he didn't see or hear her.

    "How many friends?" he asked curiously.

    Willow shrugged.  "Uh, four other vamps."  She met his gaze evenly, daring him to say anything.  "And a demon."

    He shook his head in disbelief.  "I've never thought of you as stupid before.  Looks like I was wrong."

    Willow sighed, and sat down on the grass.  "Do you call Buffy stupid for fighting vampires?"

    "When she takes on too many at once?  Yes," he retorted.

    "And do I call you stupid for taking on more than you can handle at once?"

    Spike crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow at her.

    "Well, ok, I do.  But earlier, I could've sworn you were right behind me."  She frowned in confusion.  "If that wasn't you, where were you?"

    Spike leaned against a marble angel, stretching his legs out in front of him.  "It was me.  I left right after you did.  Buffy and Angel followed me.  I made it to the cemetery before I swung around the other way.  Figured I'd meet you at my crypt if that's where you were headed."

    "Oh.  See I knew I felt you back there, otherwise I wouldn't have gone in alone."  She laid back and stared at him.  "Mine was juicier," she said smugly.

    Spike knelt beside her, pulling her to her feet.  "Come on, before you decide to take on another ten vampires tonight."

    "Too tired now.  Can I do that tomorrow?"  She yawned halfway through the sentence.  Noticing that he was headed toward the cemetery entrance, Willow stopped.  "Oh.  I forgot.  Um, that whole thing at the magic shop about me being reckless with Buffy's body?  Well, right after I left there, I was rather reckless with Buffy's body, and I got bit," she explained, as if he hadn't just discovered that himself.  "So, in order to not get tied to a chair in the basement, I thought maybe I could stay with you.  Just until I heal.  One night probably."

    Spike sighed in irritation.  "I suppose."  He started back the other way again, his duster billowing behind him.  "Though, I think it's because you don't want her to see your hair.  Her hair.  Care to share the reasons for that yet?"

    Willow shook her head, though he couldn't see her.  "You don't want to know," she warned him, "believe me.  Let's just say that she wasn't obeying the body switching rules."

    "Well, I do want to know now, with that comment hanging in the air.  What'd she do?  Wear clothes that match?"  He laughed heartily at his own jest, forcing her to slap him in the arm.

    "You're a right funny vampire, aren't you, Bubba?"  She ignored his scowl at her latest nickname for him, wondering whether she should tell him or not.  How would he react?  Anger?  Hurt?  Pain?  All three?  "It was nothing.  Really," she assured him.

    Spike snorted at her pathetic attempt to brush his questions off.  "Right.  You cut her hair.  Without telling her," he stressed.  "This, from the girl who still asks permission to use the bathroom.  Sorry, Witch, your lies still suck.  Out with it."

    "Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you," she cautioned him.

    "Yeah, yeah, I've been warned.  Spill."  They were in front of his crypt now, but neither made a move to go inside.  Willow paced a few feet away while Spike leaned up against the wall.

    "I saw Buffy and Angel kissing."

    Spike was silent for a full minute, before pushing away from the stone wall and fishing a cigarette out of his duster and lighting it.  "In your body," he stated, nodding.  "They..."

    "Were making out.  Kissing, groping, the works."  Poor Spike looked like he wanted to kill something.  She was extremely grateful for the implant just then.  As it was, she still shrank away from him.  "I told you you didn't want to know," she whispered.  "Are you all right?"

    He shook his head angrily, and left.  She remained standing there for a few minutes, before heading inside.
 
 

    Willow woke up to the smell of cigarette smoke and a hand shaking her.

    "Move over, Witch."

    It was Spike.  And he sounded half asleep.  Goody, so was she.  She'd been completely asleep when he woke her up, and why had he?  "What?" she asked testily.

    "Move over.  Either move completely, or don't move at all and I'll lay on you.  Doesn't matter to me," he said.

    And now she was completely awake.  Amazing how that happened.  "I'm moving."  She sat up, jumped down, and was halfway across the crypt by the time Spike pulled back the blanket.  His amused gaze followed her to his chair.

    Hey, that wasn't exhaustion in his voice, it was liquor.  He was drunk.  Oh, yay.  Maybe she should leave... go to Buffy's house, sneak in, stay extremely covered up, and no one would be the wiser.  On the other hand, she was in no shape to fight if she ran into something.  His blanket suddenly went soaring through the air toward her.  She had time enough to gasp before it smacked her in the face, and knocked her back.  Definitely not in any shape to fight, she thought, pulling the blanket off her head and glaring at Spike.

    He shrugged from his spot on the bed and tossed his cigarette to the floor.  She watched in amazement as he laid back, rolled onto his side and closed his eyes.  With his cigarette still burning.  And candles lit as well.  Flames.  Fire.  He was a vampire, vampires were vulnerable to fire, what was he thinking?

    "Spike?" she called out.  He sighed restlessly, but didn't answer.  "Yoo hoo, Spike."  Still nothing.  "Fine then, I'll get them."

    She tossed the blanket aside, stood up with an extremely heavy sigh and stomped over to his still smoldering cigarette.  Picking it up with disgust, she smashed it carefully against the wall since she didn't have shoes on.  Red hot ashes harmlessly rained down on the floor.  As she continued on her stomping path by his bed to put out the candles, he grabbed her wrist.

    "Oh, now that I'm up and doing it, you're awake."  She rolled her eyes at his unabashed grin.

    "Leave ‘em lit."  He let go of her wrist with a yawn, and laid back down again.

    "Why?  You can die by fire.  And for that matter, so can I.  I'd rather not."  Her impatient tone didn't sway him in the least.

    "Just do it," he told her.

    "Aw, is Spikey wikey afraid of the darky wark--"

    His eyes snapped open.

    "Ok," she said.  "Since you put it like that."  She raised her hands up and backed away from his glowing yellow eyes.  "Leaving ‘em lit."

    Those scary yellow eyes were suddenly right in front of her face.  His hand was once again encircling her wrist, and damn if his other hand wasn't shoving her shirt up.

    "Hey!  What are you doing?" she yelled, scared now.  Trying to pull away from him wasn't doing any good.  His hand remained locked on her wrist.  His other hand ran across her left shoulder, arm, and back.  She winced from the immense pain assaulting her from even that light touch.  "Ow."

    He shook his head, caressing the bruised flesh with his hand.  "Slayers are strong.  Stronger than vampires and most demons.  What did this?"

    Willow shrugged to hide the shudder his touch was causing.  "Um, something... yellow?  It had yellow skin and--" pulling away from him, she moved a safe distance away and continued, "it was sort of tall."

    "Well that narrows it down, pet, thanks.  Look, I'm just saying there aren't a lot of things out there strong enough to bruise a Slayer."  His shrewd eyes lit on hers.  "How did he do it?"

    She stared off into the darkness, pretending to think about it.  "Uh... threw me," she mumbled.

    Spike chuckled humorlessly.  "Must have thrown you about twenty feet.  Onto a headstone."

    Willow nodded slowly.  "I guess.  Something like that."  Realizing he was treating her like a child, she bristled.  "Not that it's any concern of yours.  I can take care of myself, I've been doing it for years."

    "Yeah, but you haven't been a slayer for years," he said reasonably.  "You could've been killed."

    "Oh, sorry," she said sarcastically, "did I almost ruin your perfect Buffy's body?  Please... forgive me."  She'd almost forgotten that it wasn't her he was worried about.  It wasn't her he was looking at.  It was Buffy.

    "I didn't mean it like that.  Don't--"

    "What?  Say the truth?"  Anger was coursing through her and she wasn't sure why.  So he cared about Buffy.  So he wanted to keep her body safe just in case.  Did it matter to her?  Yes, it did.  No, wait, that was supposed to be a no.  He loved Buffy, big deal.

    Willow loved Tara.  Then why was she so angry that Spike didn't care about her?  Probably just that leftover stuff from the shop.  All that anger.  And then seeing Buffy and Angel making out in her body.  That's all it was.  Whew.

    Spike laid back and closed his eyes.  "I'm not about to argue with you.  I'm tired, I'm drunk, and I'm sick of being accused of using people."  So saying, he rolled away from her and settled in to sleep.

    Well.  Ok, that went well.  Her work here was done.  Shaking her head at herself, she flopped into his chair, yanked the blanket up to her chin and curled up on her side, closing her eyes.  Falling asleep was a little harder.  Her mind was going a million miles an hour, flitting from the gang treating her like a kid, to Buffy and Angel kissing.

    She just couldn't understand what Buffy had been thinking.  And Angel.  He was usually the voice of reason between those two.  Not this time, no siree bob.  So why was she feeling guilty about cutting her hair?  So far, Angel had ratted on her and Spike, made fun of Spike, and groped her body.  Not a stellar return to Sunnydale as far as she was concerned.

    So, no more thoughts, just go to sleep, she thought.  A few minutes later, her body agreed, and she drifted back to sleep.

~Part: 3~

    Spike reached out to open the door to Buffy's house, but then thought better of it.  He was here to get answers, maybe spend a little time with her, and it probably wouldn't endear him to her if he just walked in.  Especially if Angel was there.  With Buffy.  Kissing Buffy.  Doing things with her that Spike should be doing.

    Ok, now he was angry.

    Sighing, he turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.  No shouts of anger, or punches in the face greeted him, so he went inside.  The place was dark, except for the front room.  A single lamp was on in there, so he went in like he belonged.  That was a joke.  He would never belong anywhere that Buffy belonged.

    Buffy, in Willow's body, was sitting on the couch, leaning back against Angel.  Fury swept through him, and he had to clench his fists to keep from wrapping them around Angel's throat.  The bastard had no right to be here, once again taking something from him-- something that wasn't Spike's.  He realized this.

    But, she wasn't Angel's either.

    Neither of them noticed him standing there, watching.  They were too busy cuddling up and talking.  Holding hands, and touching.  Spike rolled his eyes, and spun away from the couple before he did something he'd regret.  He must have made some kind of noise, because suddenly, he was being shoved against the wall by the stairs, and came face to face with one of the objects of his anger.

    "Spike," Angel ground out.  "What are you doing here?"

    "Me?" Spike laughed bitterly, shoving Angel's hands off of him.  "I'm not the one groping my ex-girlfriend's best friend's body."  All three of them stopped for a second as they tried to figure that one out.

    Buffy shook her head dismissively, and shoved him back against the wall.  "Spike, don't make me regret inviting you in here.  You knock, or you stay the hell out.  Got it?"

    He shrugged and snickered at her pathetic attempts to hold him still.  Buffy didn't have her slayer strength.  Though she was looking kind of... wait.  That was Willow he was about to think looked sexy.  But, wasn't it Buffy's attitude that made her that way?  The way she held herself?  Sure it was.  It had to be.

    "Got it," he agreed.  "But, maybe you should worry less about me, and more about your supposed best friend."  He stepped away from them, and started up the stairs.

    "Willow?  What about her?" Buffy asked.  "And, where do you think you're going?"  She followed him up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

    "Buffy, wait--" Angel began, starting up the stairs after her.

    She stopped and turned around, halting him with a hand on his chest.  "It's ok, I'll handle this," she told him.  "Spike's safe."

    "So everyone keeps telling me, but I know him.  He's not safe, he's never been safe."  Tossing a glare up the stairs at Spike, who was watching the two of them, he lowered his voice.  "Spike's a killer, pure and simple.  If that thing in his head ever malfunctions, I can guarantee he'll go after all of you."

    "No," Spike corrected, descending a few steps, "that's the first thing you'd do.  Angelus doesn't feel, never felt a damn thing except the thrill of the hunt, the pleasure of the kill, and the joy of a good spot of torture."  He stalked down even further, fixing his angry eyes on Angel.  "Everyone thinks me and Dru are the anomolies... but it's actually you, soul boy.  Why don't you tell Buffy how, for two hundred and fifty years, you felt nothing while other vampires loved, and cared for each other?"

    Angel shot Buffy a guilty look, full of shame.  Instead of defending himself, he changed the subject.  "Why are you here?"

    Spike snorted with laughter.  "Real smooth, Angel."  He went back up the stairs, chuckling.  In his best southern accent, which was really terrible, he tossed back, "Guess all that there readin' is comin' in handy, ain't it?"

    "Angel?  Is that true?" Buffy asked softly.

    Spike could have kicked himself.  She sounded so hurt.  Well, duh, what had he expected her to feel?  Joy?  For finding out that the supposed love of her life couldn't feel anything without his soul?  She was probably blaming herself for-- wait.  Maybe this was exactly the right thing to do... maybe now she'd see him, Spike, as a possibility.

    He stopped in the hallway, just outside Joyce's former bedroom door, scoffing at himself.  It just wouldn't happen, he was pretty positive about that.  He should give it up.  But he couldn't.  He loved her, ached to be with her, wanted her more than he wanted Dru.  Now, he was able to be around her every night, hell, she'd slept in his crypt last night--her body had anyway--and the feelings were growing, becoming overwhelming.

    So, why didn't he take her?  Willow was in her body.  Maybe... maybe he could seduce Willow.  It was possible that she would be succeptible.  Tara had as good as left her.  She was vulnerable, and feeling useless with everyone worrying over Buffy.  A slow grin took place of his angry frown, and he began to whistle as he pushed into her room.

    "Excuse me," Buffy said, "what are you doing in Willow's room?"

    "Getting some things for her.  She asked me to stop by and pick up some... uh, clothes.  And... stuff."  Gosh, that was a very convincing lie there, Spike.  Maybe a two year old would believe him.  But, turning his failed visit into an errand for Willow would certainly look better for him than if he admitted to being there to check up on the two of them.

    "Why would she ask you?"  Buffy crossed her arms over her chest in that annoying way she had, staring at him as if he were guilty of everything under the sun.  Or moon.  "She's staying with Tara for a few days, which probably doesn't look good from an outsiders P.O.V., but, that's not the point.  Why isn't she here herself?"

    Oops, now he had to give away Willow's secret.  Part of it.  And sparks were sure to fly.  Gathering random clothes, he tossed them onto the bed, and looked around for a bag.  Buffy took one from the closet and held it out, but refused to give it to him when he grabbed for it.  "She's staying with me, that's why."

    Buffy threw the bag on the floor and punched him.  He burst out laughing, having barely felt the blow.

    "Ow," she yelled, cradling her fist in her other hand.  Her eyes raised to his.  "Why is she staying with you?" she asked hotly.

    Spike heard the fury in her voice, saw it in her eyes, and he also felt Angel just outside the door.  Listening?  Or coming to protect Buffy?  "Maybe she didn't like seeing you and Peaches practically shagging on the sidewalk last night.  Who knows?" he growled.  Just thinking about the two of them together brought his own fury to the fore.

    Buffy's eyes widened momentarily.  "She saw that?  It was--nothing happened... wait, why am I explaining this to you?  Is she still at your crypt?"

    Spike picked up the bag and started shoving the clothes from the bed into it.  "I wouldn't go there if I were you.  She's really pissed," he chuckled.

    Buffy turned in the doorway and shrugged.  "When I explain..." she trailed off, hearing his laughter.  "What's so funny?"

    "Nothing.  I'm just really happy she didn't have her magickal powers last night.  This fine town would probably be nothing more than a smoldering ember about now."  Finished packing, he went into the bathroom and grabbed brushes and toothbrushes, not knowing if they were even hers.  Shampoo and soap went next.  Shoving them all into the bag, he grinned at Buffy.  "You know," he mused, "shorter hair suits you better."  And with that cryptic statement, he went into the hall and down the stairs.

    She caught up to him just as he was opening the front door.  "Not that I care what you think, but since this obviously has something to do with Willow, I'll bite."  She sighed heavily.  "Huh?"

    Angel looked from one to the other, keeping out of the discussion like a good little puppy should.

    "Oh.  Well, Willow cut her--your--hair last night."  He reached out to touch her shoulder lightly.  "Just about to here... maybe a little longer."

    He turned around, and went out the door, leaving a stunned Buffy behind.  He was grinning like a fool.  Damn, that'd been fun.  Unfortunately, now he'd have to explain to Willow why he'd told Buffy where she was.  And the whole hair thing.  Picking up his pace, he decided maybe speed was best.  Buffy would probably be heading toward his crypt as soon as she recovered.
 
 

    Buffy stared after Spike, hardly able to formulate a thought.  "Cut my hair?  Willow *cut* my hair?"

    Angel came up behind her, settling his arm on her shoulders.  "Buffy, it'll grow back.  Besides, as far as you know, you're both stuck in each other's bodies for the rest of your--"

    "That is so not the point, Angel."  She ran her hand through her hair in agitation, then laughed bitterly when she realized what she was doing.  "If she didn't already such short hair, and if I was a meaner person, I'd cut hers."

    Angel smiled, tugging on a strand of her short red hair.  "Good thing you're not petty."

    "Yeah," she agreed.  "Good thing."

    "Angel!" Dawn suddenly shouted from the doorway, launching herself at the dark-haired vampire.  "When did you get here?  Why are you here?  You are here, aren't you?  Officially, I mean."  She hugged him tightly.  "‘Cause we missed you."

    "I missed you too, rugrat."  He ruffled her hair a bit, smiling at her.  "I brought you something... Cordy too.  They're in your--"

    Dawn was already halfway up the stairs.  "My room.  I know."

    Buffy rolled her eyes at her sister.  "And she's fifteen.  Was I ever that young?"

    Angel turned serious eyes to her.  "The glimpse I caught of you befoe Merrick found you... I think you were close.  You were so carefree, and young."

    "Yeah," she said quietly.  "Now I'm twice dead, still in love with my vampire ex-lover and playing mom to a mystical energy shaped into a sister... so, hey.  How's life in L.A.?"  She smiled and turned toward the stairs again just as Dawn came hopping down.

    "I love them," she squealed.  "Look, Buffy.  A necklace from Cordy, and a book from Angel."

    Angel cleared his throat, and took a step forward, fingering the necklace.  "Actually, the necklace is from me, and the book is from Cordelia."

    Dawn looked at the gifts again, wrinkling her brow in confusion.  "Really?" she asked, unsure.

    Buffy went up the stairs a few steps, looking at the book of poems.  She turned toward Angel.  "Really?" she echoed, a bemused look on her face.

    Angel chuckled and shook his head.  "No.  Not really."

    Dawn giggled and kissed his cheek.  "Thanks.  And tell Cordy thanks."  She headed back up the stairs.  "I'll email her."  She stopped and turned back around.  "Is it ok if I call her, Buffy?"

    Buffy smiled in amusement.  "Of course it's ok."

    Dawn grinned in excitement and ran upstairs.  "I take back that Howler Monkey thing.  You're the best sister ever."

    Buffy leaned against the banister and sighed.  "Great.  Now I feel terrible for what I'm going to do."

    Angel looked at her curiously.  "What are you going to do?"

    She pushed away from the banister with a shrug.  "Get even with Willow."
 
 

    "Duck!" Spike yelled angrily.  "Bloody hell, Willow, are you purposely not doing what I tell you?"  He reached down and grabbed her arm, yanking her to her feet.

    She pulled away from him, and brushed herself off.  "Yes, Spike," she said sarcastically.  "‘Cause it's *fun* to go soaring through the air to land on my ass!"  She stalked away a few feet, glaring at him.

    He glared right back at her, lighting a cigarette.  After a few drags, and even more glaring, he sighed.  "I'm through for tonight."

    She grabbed her bottle of water from the headstone, and took a long drink before she said something she'd possibly regret.  Her sore muscles rebelled at the sudden movement.  An hour of training with Spike, and she could hardly move.  Plus, there was all the yelling.  She was starting to think the yelling was fun for him, he did it so often.

    He went inside his crypt, leaving her to her thoughts.  She stared after him, feeling that strange urge to eat again.  Spike's words from last week came back to her, and she wondered if that could really be what it was.

    Faith had admitted to feeling... certain needs, after slaying, but Buffy said she didn't.  She craved food.  So, that's what Willow was feeling, not... other things.  No matter what Faith and Spike said.  Especially with Tara being so wigged out and absent.  Slipping on the oversized white shirt she'd been wearing before their impromptu training session, she headed back inside.

    "Honey, I'm home," she called out.  Spike was in his chair, watching a silent t.v..  She plopped down on the floor next to him.  "What's on?  And why are we watching it with no sound?"

    He jumped up, slapped the control on the t.v., turning it off, and paced away.  He was looking at her like she was about to stake him.  "Just a stupid show," he said with a shrug.  "I don't know."

    "Oh."  She sat in the chair he'd just vacated, feeling slightly hurt.  What was his problem?  She didn't have cooties.  Of the two of them, he was the dead one, so if anyone had anything it was him, and... that really wasn't an issue, she was sure.  He was probably just being a jerk because he was one.

    Boredom settled over her, and she wished she had something to do.  Other than stare at a blank television set while a weird vampire watched her.  Even a snack would provide a small distraction.  Too bad she didn't have anything.  Oh, wait, in her jeans pocket.  "Ooo, a Starburst.  Cherry."  She unwrapped the small candy, and popped it in her mouth.

    Spike cleared his throat, and dropped his cigarette to the floor.  "Uh, when are you gonna tell her about... that?" he asked, motioning toward her.

    "Never."  She thought about it for a second and admitted, "Well, maybe not never.  She'll find out eventually, but definitely not for a long time."

    "Oh."  He nodded, satisfied with her answer.  But then he shook his head in confusion.  "Won't she kind of notice next time you see her?"

    Willow took another long drink of water, trying to wash down the sour taste of the Starburst.  It was a futile effort.  "Nope.  I plan on not seeing her for a few days, and then I'll cover it up."  Searching through her overnight bag, she grunted in frustration when she didn't find anything to eat or drink.  "Why do I eat those things?  Yuck.  Didn't help either," she muttered.  Tomorrow, she was going to bring some food to the crypt.  Human food.

    "So what, you'll just... wear a hat for the next year?" Spike chuckled.  "That'll go over real well."

    Busy pacing the crypt, she barely registered his words, but then she did, and she turned toward him.  "What are you talking about?"

    "Your hair," he explained slowly.  "What are you talking about?"

    Willow laughed loudly.  "The bruises, and this stupid bitemark.  I'm not worried about the hair.  What good is getting back at someone if you don't show them what you did?"  Resuming her pacing, she stretched her neck from side to side, trying to ease her sore muscles.  "Ugh, I'm starting to get stiff," she sighed.

    "I know the feeling," Spike muttered.

    "What?" Willow asked absently, not sure she'd heard him right.  He was sore after what little he'd done?  She did all the flying through the air, and falling on numerous body parts.  Not him.  Bending her leg behind her, as she'd seen Buffy do on numerous occasions, she held it there for a few seconds, then did the same with the other leg.

    "Nothing."  Pushing away from the wall, he jumped up on his bed, watching her.  "It's good that you don't mind about the hair thing.  ‘Cause I sort of told her."

    Straightening up from her knee bends, she turned toward him.  "Why'd you do that?  I wanted to be there to see her face."

    He shrugged dismissively.  "I went to her house to make sure his poofiness didn't turn into his soullessness.  We argued, I got angry..."

    It was on the tip of her tongue to be huffy, but she ended up sighing instead.  "Oh, well.  I'm already starting to feel guilty," she admitted.  "Maybe it's best I didn't see her face.  My face.  Whatever."

    "Forget that guilt crap.  The two of them were all cuddly on the couch."  His eyes narrowed in anger, and his voice turned cold.  "Want me to cut it shorter?"

    He was furious, even more so than she was, or had been the night before.  Of course, he had more reason to be pissed than she did.  He was in love with the girl snuggling up to his former, and still current, enemy.  "Uh, no.  I think you and scissors should part ways for a while."

    "I wouldn't hurt you," he ground out.  "Or her.  Even if I bloody well could."  He jumped down and stalked over to her.

    "Liar," she said softly, tensing for a fight.  His anger was palpable, she could almost feel it rolling off of him.  This must be another aspect of the slayer package.  "You want nothing more than to hurt me.  Or her, through me."

    His face turned, as he circled around her.  "You're right," he said with a careless shrug.  "I want nothing more than to bloody that damn face of hers.  Make her hurt just a fraction as much as she's hurt me."  He growled at her, grinning when she flinched back.  "I want--"  He closed his eyes with a sigh, letting his face change back, and his voice soften.  "Her."

    "I know," she whispered, backing away from him, from the intense look in his eyes.  The desire and lust and want and need and-- turning away from him, she closed her eyes tightly, willing the pain on his face to leave her mind.  But she could still see it, still see the desperation.  It was all there, trapped in her mind.  "I wish I could help you."

    "You can," he whispered back.

    She turned around, startled.  He was directly behind her, so close they were almost touching.  She took a deep, steadying breath.  "How?  I don't--" and then she got what he was saying.  "No.  That'll never happen, Spike.  Not with me at the controls."  She pushed away from him, walking across the crypt, all the way to the other side, staying as far away from him as she could.  "You thought *I* was angry from seeing Angel and Buffy kissing?  God, she would kill me.  And I wouldn't blame her.  So, no."

    He clenched his jaw angrily, but nodded.  "Right.  You're right," he agreed.  "I don't like it, but..." he shrugged.

    She relaxed with a sigh, not even having realized how tense she'd been.  What had she expected him to do with that chip in his head?  Force himself on her?  Not likely.  Though her slayer's body wasn't as ready to believe that.  It still wanted to fight.  "Good.  Um, maybe I should go stay with Tara."  She twisted her fingers together nervously, and looked out the door, biting her lip.  "That would probably-- oh!"

    Spike was directly in front of her.  Again.  She was really starting to hate that vampiric speed thing.  Backing slightly away, she tried not to let her nervousness and fear show, but that was pretty impossible.

    "You're not staying with Tara," he told her, grabbing her arms.  He stared at her for a few seconds, then pulled her closer and kissed her.

    Willow was too stunned to resist.  Too stunned to push him away, and stop him.  Too stunned to say anything.

    But not too stunned to kiss him back.  With a groan of resignation, she gave in.  This was what she'd been lacking.  Missing.  After a good fight, especially one without a kill, she needed to do something to ease all that violence built up inside of her.  She just hadn't known this was what her body craved.

    Spike was backing her up, not letting up with the kiss in the slightest.  Her back hit the wall, and he kept coming, pressing his body completely against hers.  She let him be the aggressor, absolutely happy with that.  Not minding in the least.  It gave her the chance to explore him with her hands.  Sliding his t-shirt up, she pushed him away long enough to pull it off of him.

    He immediately leaned into her again, his forearms resting on the wall on either side of her head.  She pushed her hips forward, away from the wall, standing on tiptoe to cradle his erection, which was already prominent.  It'd been way too long since she'd been with a man.  Tara was all well and good, better than good actually, but sometimes... well, sometimes she craved a man.

    He brought his hands down to rest on her hips, holding her against him with a groan.  His mouth slanted across hers, devouring her with such fierceness that she could hardly breathe.

    "Mmm," she muttered against his lips.  "Human, needing air."

    He laughed shortly, and trailed kisses down her jaw to her neck, while his hands slid inside her shirt, shoving it off her shoulders.  It didn't slide off her arms to the floor like it would have if this were a movie.  It got stuck there.  She quickly yanked it off her arms, dropping it in favor of scraping her fingernails down his chest.

    He jerked away from her, startled, and looked down at his chest.  "Well, well," he drawled, grinning like he suddenly had her all figured out.

    Sighing in annoyance, she crossed her arms over her chest, and looked away.  "Fine.  If you don't want to--"

    "Does it look, or feel, like I don't want to?" he chuckled, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.  His hands came to rest on her waist again, while his thumbs brushed the undersides of her breasts.

    She bit her lip and gave in.  She wanted his hands on her.  Needed them on her.  He chuckled in victory and kissed her lips soundly.  Then her jaw, a little more softly.  Her shoulder, gently... it felt good.  So good.  His hands slid around to her back, then went to work on unfastening her bra.  As her breasts were released, she pulled her tank top off, then the useless bra.  They fell to the floor in the growing pile of clothes.

    Cold air hit her skin, and then cold hands.  She gasped, loving the strange sensation of having Spike's hands touching her heated flesh.  And when he finally cupped her breasts, teasing the nipples with his thumbs, all she could do was close her eyes and arch into his hands.

    He was ice to her fire, so how was it that every inch of skin he touched left a heated trail behind, burning her, leaving her gasping for breath?  Now wasn't the time for analyzing things.  Definitely not the time.

    Running her hands down his chest, making sure to keep her fingernails to herself this time, she came to rest on the waistband of his jeans.

    And that's when it struck her.

    She was doing this.  She was really doing this.  With Spike.  In Buffy's body.  And oddly enough, those thoughts didn't bring reason back to the fore, they actually shooed it further away.  Made her want this more.  Made her want him more.

    His teeth were on her neck, scraping the flesh, and drawing blood from the recently healed bitemark there.  No disgust jumped up and yelled, ‘ew'.  In fact, it was kind of... pleasant.  Must be a sex thing, ‘cause Harmony's bite hurt, and that vampire the other night had been very painful.

    He sucked lightly at the wound, like a hickey.  She almost giggled at that thought, but her mouth was soon occupied with his again.  His mouth and hands seemed to be everywhere at once, and she tried to return the favor.  Shocking even herself, she unbuttoned his jeans and slid her hands inside, pushing them down.  Ooo, no underwear.

    "Strip," he ordered, moving back to pull his boots off.  Tossing them to the floor, he stepped out of his jeans.  His eyes followed every move she made, his lust and desire obvious, especially when he stood before her in all his glory.

    And, wow, was he glorious.  She mentally rolled her eyes at herself for being so smooth with the adjectives when it came to describing him, but no other words were springing to mind.

    Half naked, and standing in front of Spike, was, for some reason, not making her feel nervous.  It should be.  She should be trying to cover herself, not toe off her tennis shoes, and slide her pants and socks off.

    Standing in nothing but her panties, Willow waited for him to make the first move.  He tilted his head slightly, looking at her so intently that she had to remember to breathe.  She felt like he was looking through her to her soul.  Truly seeing her.

    Oz used to look at her like that.  So had Tara.

    "Beautiful," he whispered huskily.  Stepping closer, he cradled her face in his hands, and kissed her lightly.  "So beautiful."

    Willow wasn't sure how to respond to that.  ‘Buffy thanks you', just didn't seem appropriate.  It was a bit of a mood killer.

    So she didn't respond.  Instead, she wrapped her arms around his waist, and pulled him closer, wanting to feel his skin against hers.  He ran his hands through her hair a few times, brushing it back from her face before kissing her again.  The kiss ended on a squeal when he picked her up and carried her to his bed.

    It was a bit harder than she liked, but it was all there was, except the chair... and maybe they'd try that out another time, but not the first time.

    First time?  Another time?  What the hell was she thinking?  This was a one time thing, never to happen again.  At least not as long as she was in someone elses body.

    Laying back, she closed her eyes, shutting off her mind, and waiting for him to join her.  Sensations were all she needed right now.  Comfort and contentment.  A little peace and serenity.  Her life, along with all the others, was so often complicated, and life threatening, that every once in a while she needed to just take comfort in someone else.

    At first, she'd wanted that someone to be Xander, but he'd never turned to her.  Every other girl in school drew his attention.  Then had come Oz, and she'd taken comfort from him.  After he left her, Willow had floundered, nearly losing herself to the memory of Oz, but then Tara came along.  But, Tara was keeping her distance now, and Willow was finding out that that was all right with her.  She didn't need anyone.

    Opening her eyes when she felt Spike beside her, she looked into his face, and amended that thought.  She didn't need someone at all times.

    "Willow."  His hand lightly caressed her cheek, then slid down her arm, and continued on to her thigh.

    "Hmm?"  She wondered why he was taking his time and being so gentle.  Was he like this with all the women he slept with?  Or just the ones who looked like the woman he loved?

    "Willow," he repeated, tipping her face to his with a finger under her chin.  "You don't want to do this," he guessed.

    He sounded so rejected that any doubts she might have had, fled her mind.  "What?  What do you mean I don't want to do this?  I want to do this.  See me doing this?  Let's--"

    "Do this?" he chuckled, all traces of his uncertainty gone.

    She nodded, smiling at him.  "Yeah.  I was just... thinking about some stuff.  But, I'm good to go."

    "I see that," he murmured, caressing her nipple, while watching her face.

    The way he kept watching her was starting to make her uncomfortable, so she reached up and slid her hand behind his neck, drawing him into a kiss.  Not just any kiss, this.  But a soul-searing kiss, meant to distract and arouse.

    After a few minutes, he tore his mouth from hers, and kissed his way down her chest, to her thighs.  He slid his hands down to her panties, and slowly pulled them off, kissing his way down her legs.  Working his way back up, he kissed her stomach, trailing small, patient kisses along the flesh.

    She moaned, urging him back up.  Finally, he rolled on top of her, sliding one of his legs between hers.  Her whole body was on fire for him, and her patience was at an end.  She wrapped her arms around him, scraping her nails down his back.  He drew in a deep breath, and readied himself to enter her.

    He questioned her with his eyes, waiting for her nod before slowly sliding inside her with a groan.  Willow bit her lip, holding her breath until he was fully inside her, then let it out in a sigh.  Wow, the feeling was still as great as she remembered.  Still as... wow.

    Thankfully, there was no pain, as she'd expected there to be, but then she remembered that this wasn't her body, it was Buffy's.

    She needed to remember that.

    Spike captured her mouth in a tender kiss, achingly sweet, and gentle.  It was odd how much she kept thinking about Spike being tender and sweet, gentle and loving.  He was a demon without a soul, and yet he was making love to her so compassionately.  So... slowly.

    She wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him to speed things up.  Or at least to start moving.  Do something.

    "Are you sure you're ready?" he asked tightly.

    Ah, so it wasn't as easy for him as it looked.  Good, then it wasn't just her.  She wiggled underneath him, trying to get more comfortable, and nodded.  "About ten minutes ago.  Taking your time is all well and good... sometimes.  This isn't one of those times."

    "Yeah?" he smirked.  "Then go."  He rolled them over, and rested his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.

    Well, ok.  This was new.  She'd never done it like this with Oz.  And... well, with Tara things were just a bit different.  She sat up slowly, resting her hands on his stomach.  His muscles tensed under her hands, and she watched his face.  The facade of impassiveness he was wearing was starting to crack.  He closed his eyes, sucking in a breath.

    "Um, I've never..." she shrugged, indicating their position, even though he couldn't see her.  "Like this.  This way, I mean."

    He grinned even wider, not making a move to help her.  "‘Bout time you learned, then."

    "Fine.  I can do this."  She knew the logistics of this position, had thought about a few times, fantasized, but actually doing it was a little harder than thinking about it.  "I'm smart," she muttered, "I don't need your help."  Lifting herself up slowly, experimentally, she gasped in surprise at the pleasure that shot through her.  "Ooo."

    Spike's laughter echoed through the crypt, and shook her, startling her into sinking down on him a little faster than she'd intended the second time.  "Bloody hell," he growled, grabbing her by the waist to hold her still.

    She looked down, expecting to see anger, or pain, or something, but he was still laughing.  Her lips twitched in response.  She was naked, sitting on top of a naked Spike, with him inside her, and she was trying to be analytical about it.  She burst out laughing, and leaned forward, resting herslf against his chest.

    His arms wrapped around her, and he ran his hands up and down her back.  "You're one of a kind, love," he chuckled in her ear.

    She lifted her head and grinned.  "Yeah?  Well, there's like, a million of you out there."  Another squeal escaped her as he growled and rolled over with her.

    Smirking, he slowly, oh so slowly, slid almost all the way out of her and dipped his head to her breasts, lightly biting her nipple.  The smile died on her lips.  The feel of his wet mouth on her, forced her to arch into him, pushing him inside her just a little more than he was.  It wasn't enough.  She wrapped her legs around his waist again, and used her heels to push as she lifted her hips to meet him.

    Thankfully he wasn't going to tease her anymore.  He thrust inside her, hard, and quickly slid back out again.  Her hands resumed their former place on his back, scraping along the flesh there.  Satisfaction shot through her when he shuddered.  Enjoying the genuine male feel of him surrounding her, she closed her eyes.

    She'd missed this.  Being with Tara was wonderful, and exciting.  And so perfect sometimes.  But there was always something missing.  She knew what it was she was missing, but Tara didn't.  Intelligently, Tara knew, but she didn't know what it felt like, nor did she want to know.  She was happy just being with Willow... and Willow was happy just being with Tara... but sometimes she wished for more.

    Right now, with Spike inside her, his eyes steady on her face as he thrust into her, she felt complete.  Not that cheesy kind of complete from Jerry McGuire, but physically complete.  The tingling she felt when a vampire was near, had turned into a humming, and it was coursing through her entire body, making her feel more alive than she ever had before.  This was what life was about.  This was living.

    And as he lowered his head to her neck and bit her, she welcomed it.  As much as she met and welcomed his thrusts.  As much as she welcomed his hands in her hair.  His body pressed against hers.  His muscles tensing under her fingers.

    The soft brushes of his rough hands on her face for some reason sent a thrill through her, made her feel soft and feminine.  Wanted.

    He raised his mouth from her neck after only a few seconds, and kissed her.  She moaned aloud, unable to contain herself.  Who knew Spike could do this to her?  Certainly not her.  She'd never imagined-- never thought about him.  Ever.  But now, *now* she was wondering why she'd never fantasized about him.

    When she opened her eyes, she found his yellow demon eyes staring back at her.  He started to turn his face away, but she reached up to stop him.  He was scary, and this was probably wrong, but she found him oddly handsome like this.  Pulling his head down to hers, she kissed him, hissing when his fangs scraped her lips, but not allowing him to pull away.

    He was thrusting faster now, kissing her with all the passion he'd ever felt, it seemed.  Drowning himself in her.  Willow tightened around him, lifting her hips higher, wanting to take all of him inside her.  It wasn't long before she felt herself soaring over the edge, gasping out his name.

    He moved faster, holding her face in his hands, not allowing her to look away.  Not that she wanted to.  She wanted to look at him.  Suddenly he stiffened, and buried his face in her neck as he came.

    "Buffy," he groaned against her neck, panting in a parody of humanity.

    Willow stiffened, trying to tell herself she'd missunderstood him.  He hadn't just called out Buffy's name.  He couldn't have done that, no matter what body she was in.  But, she knew he had.  Closing her eyes against the tears that threatened, she pressed her hands to her face.  Unfortunately, she couldn't block out the pain as easily.

    His lips pressed softly against her neck, before he rolled to the side.  Glad to have his weight off of her, she turned away from him, and stared at the wall.  His arm slid around her waist, drawing her back against him.

    She wanted to slap his hand away, but she didn't.  She wanted to cry, but she didn't.  Her eyes stayed fixed on a crack in the wall as he settled in behind her.  Traced the crack up to the ceiling as he drew the blanket over them, and kissed her shoulder.  Closed her eyes and bit back a sob when he whispered, "I love you, Buffy," before falling asleep.

~Part: 4~

    Spike woke up when Willow slid out from under his arm and climbed out of bed.  He watched her with a grin, enjoying seeing her nude body darting around his crypt in search of her clothes.  He was about to ask her where she thought she was going when he heard her sniffle.

    She was crying?

    He frowned, wondering what she was upset about.  Though he was pretty sure he already knew.  She regretted sleeping with him, of course.  Cheating on her girlfriend, and being in her best friend's body at the time, who wouldn't be screwed up after that?  Even he was feeling a bit guilty.  Maybe, since she felt so terrible about it, she wouldn't be inclined to tell Buffy.  Then he could keep his body intact for a little while longer.

    Waiting until she was dressed, not wanting to cause her any more embarrassment than she probably already felt, he sat up.  "Where are you going?"  She may be the slayer, but at the moment, she was a little less than in stellar condition.  Not only that, but he missed having her beside him.  "Come here, and--"

    "Been there, done that," she whispered, giggling almost hysterically, before raising her voice.  "Um, a vampire."  Pointing out the door, she finished tying her shoe and stood up.  "Outside.  I heard one.  So..."  Buttoning her shirt, she practically ran to the door and yanked it open.

    "Willow, wait," he yelled, but she was already gone.  Grabbing his clothes, he quickly dressed, and headed out after her.  Not having any idea which direction she'd gone in, he was about to start his search for the proverbial needle in the proverbial haystack.  "Bloody hell," he ground out, lighting a cigarette.

    Good thing there weren't a million cemeteries in Sunnydale, he thought sarcastically.
 
 

    Willow composed herself, wiped away all traces of her tears, and slipped in the back door of Buffy's house.  The lights were all out, and she assumed everyone was asleep.  Heading quietly through the kitchen, she came to a dead stop when she heard her own voice talking softly.  A sense of weirdness went through her, as it did every time she heard Buffy talking with her voice.

    Not wanting to interrupt, she crept up the stairs, wincing at every creak and groan of the old wood.  If she was very lucky, they wouldn't look in her room in the morning, and she could go unnoticed for one extra day.  One extra day to hide the even fresher bitemark on her neck.

    Damn it.  She'd forgotten about that.  Maybe this wasn't the best idea after all.  Her parents were still gone, she could go there.  Standing undecided on the stairs, she unconsciously tuned in the conversation in the front room.

    "I'm not actively attracted to her.  She's pretty, yes.  And sweet, and a friend," Angel stressed.

    Willow listened, knowing even as she did so that she probably wouldn't like what she overheard.  No one ever did.  Slipping stealthily back down the stairs, she tiptoed over to the doorway, and looked in.  Angel was half sitting, half laying on the couch, leaning against the arm.  Buffy was leaning against him, curled up on her side, facing the window.  The lights were out, leaving only moonlight coming in through the big picture window beside them.

    It was a sweet, romantic scene.  Willow felt a twinge of jealousy go through her.  Even a soulless demon couldn't pretend to like her, while Buffy had all the men in Sunnydale chasing after her.  Probably half the women too.

    "So, it doesn't bother you?" Buffy asked.  "I mean, that I'm kind of Willow-y?"

    Well of course it doesn't bother him, look at the two of you, she thought sadly.

    Angel's hand reached up to smooth back Buffy's hair, but stopped.  Willow frowned, seeing the movement, thinking maybe she'd been wrong.  Maybe it did bother him.  And then it struck her.

    Were they getting back together?  That was so wrong.  The curse.  And... and, Angelus, and Riley, and evil things that could happen if they ever slept together.  And Spike.  Ok, Buffy wouldn't add him in the decision making process of getting back together with Angel, but she should.  Someone had to.

    "No, I don't mind you being Willow-y" Angel said, interrupting her thoughts.  "I can look past the outside.  I see you--Buffy--when I look at... you."  They both chuckled softly.  "Anyway, I don't even see Willow anymore."

    A stab of pain went through her at his words.  Seemed to be an epidemic.  Nobody could see the Willow for the Buffy.  She felt invisible, like nothing she said or did, mattered.  Was she even here?

    Angel sighed and sat up.  Buffy moaned a little in protest, but sat up as well.  Willow turned to go just as Buffy climbed to her feet.  She gasped and slapped her hand to her mouth, pressing herself against the wall and out of sight.  A second later, not wanting to face them, Willow quietly opened the front door and slipped outside, shutting the door just as the couple came through the doorway into the hall.

    Deeply inhaling the chilly night air, she sat down on the steps and let the tears fall.  This day had started out so well.  She'd woken up and gone home--to the Rosenberg house--and showered.  Ate something... basically did the whole ‘being Willow' thing for a few hours.  Even wore Willow clothes for a bit.

    Afterwards, shorter hair hidden in a bun, she'd gone to the magick shop, hoping to maybe run into Tara, but no such luck.  Tara hadn't been to the shop for a few days.  Nobody seemed to have talked to her recently.  She was being scarce.  Well, Willow thought, she could handle that.  No big deal.  She was an independent woman, she didn't need anyone.

    On her way back to Spike's crypt, she ran into Xander, who told her how disappointed he was in her for trusting Spike.  Hadn't Spike tried to kill them numerous times, he said, kidnaped them and ruined their relationships with their respective partners?  Chained Buffy up under his crypt.  Blah, blah, blah, like she hadn't heard it all before.  Thought it all before.  Her good mood had prevailed, even after leaving Xander behind.

    Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she sniffled a few times, feeling extremely pathetic.  What did she have to bawl over?  Being alive, and healthy and surrounded by friends wasn't enough for her?  What more could she possibly want?

    Someone who wanted to be with her.  Really be with her.  Willow.  Not Buffy, or Buffy's body, or her mind, or... whatever.  She just wanted someone to hold her close, and whisper comforting words in her ear.  Someone who wouldn't mind too terribly if she had black hair.  A giggle escaped her.  Buffy had actually dyed her hair black.  Goth must be in.  Well, she *was* a witch, she might as well look the part.  Assuming they got their own bodies back.

    Standing up with a heavy sigh, she started back to Spike's crypt.  Why she was going back there, she didn't know, but her feet were headed that way, and her body was following.  Great, maybe he could call her Buffy some more.  Or-- or he could pretend they were married, and play house.

    She snickered, trying to hold back her laughter, but it wouldn't be contained.  She sat down on a tombstone and laughed, long and hard.  Laughed until she heard someone behind her, and felt pain in the back of her head.  She fell to the grass, unable to move.  As she drifted out of consciousness, she heard someone whistling, then everything went black.
 
 

    Buffy held tightly to Angel, not wanting to let him go.  When she did, he was going to leave her.  Leave Sunnydale.

    "Buffy..." Angel whispered.

    "I know," she whispered back, letting her arms drop to her sides.  She stood back, taking a deep breath.  "It just gets harder every time we say goodbye.  Every time we do... this."

    "Which is why I'm leaving."  He brushed a stray strand of hair out of her eyes, his eyes so tender and full of love.

    Her heart was tearing in two.  She wanted to throw herself into his arms, and hold him forever.  "Again, the knowledge is there..." she sighed in resignation, and folded her arms across her chest.  "I should get inside, and you should--"

    He nodded.  "Yeah, I really should."  He leaned in to kiss her cheek, but stopped and straightened up, clearing his throat.  "I love you."  His eyes held hers, making sure she knew he meant it.

    She swiped impatiently at her tears, shivering in the chilly air.  "I love you too."  They never said goodbye, never said the words.  It didn't make it any easier, but it wasn't any harder, and that's what counted.  Watching him turn and walk away wasn't something she wanted to do again, so she went inside, shutting the door behind her with a heavy sigh.

    "Hey," Dawn said softly.

    Buffy looked up, seeing her sister in the living room doorway.  She looked uncertainly from Buffy to the door behind her.

    "Hey."  Buffy hooked a thumb behind her, and smiled.  "He's gone.  But," she stressed, "I'm ok."  That was a lie only if you looked at it through percentages.  She was ok... about five percent ok.

    "Really?  ‘Cause, you don't look so ok."  She sighed and joined Buffy by the door.  "He's not coming back, is he?"

    Buffy shook her head, not trusting her voice.  Dawn hugged her tightly, smoothing back her hair in imitation of the way Buffy always smoothed back her hair.

    "Willow's gonna kill you," Dawn said with a grin.  She stood back a bit, tilting her head from side to side.  "I kind of like it.  It's... wicked looking.  Like evil-Willow, only not.  But, what's with the black lipstick?  Isn't the goth look out?"

    Buffy smiled, slung an arm around her sister's shoulders, and led her into the kitchen.  "Time for comfort food, and tales of revenge."
 
 

    Spike sighed furiously as he stalked through the cemetery.  He'd so far looked at her house, the magick shop, Giles' apartment, and a few cemeteries.  There'd been not a hint of Willow.  Now he was in his own cemetery again, just to make sure she hadn't come back while he was gone, but his crypt was still empty.

    He would check Buffy's and then she was on her own.  He wasn't her damn babysitter.

    Hearing whistling up ahead, he swung to the left, not in the mood to run into any demons.  Unfortunately, as he was crossing the street, he ran into a demon anyway.  Angel.  Well, a wanna-be demon.  He actually considered turning back around to fight the whistling demon in place of talking to Angel... lot less chance of dying that way.

    "Spike," Angel greeted tersely.  He strode up to Spike, his coat billowing out behind him dramatically.

    "Poof," Spike said with a nod, waiting for what would most likely prove to be a fascinating conversation.

    Angel's jaw clenched slightly.  "I'm leaving now, going back to L.A.," he began.

    "‘Bout time," Spike muttered.

    Angel's hands shot out and grabbed Spike by the lapels of his duster, false smile in place.  He looked around casually before dragging Spike closer.  "If you even think about hurting them, Spike, I'll--"

    Having had enough of the manhandling, Spike brought his arms up, and knocked Angel's hands away from him.  "What?  Kill me?" Spike asked, moving around him unhurriedly.  "Gosh, haven't heard that threat lately."

    "No.  I'll kill Drusilla... but not before I make her hurt.  A lot."  He looked over his shoulder at Spike, not even bothering to keep him in view as Spike circled around him.

    Spike clenched his fists at his sides.  The bastard always knew how to get to him.  Drusilla was still his sire, and the woman he'd spent a century with.  Even if he was no longer in love with her, he still loved her.  He'd never knowingly let anyone hurt her.

    Except himself.

    Angel crossed his arms over his chest, and waited until Spike came back around to face him.  Angel didn't think him a threat?  Fury pulsed through his useless veins, but he didn't act on it.  Buffy would never love him if he killed the great poofy love of her life.  Stopping in front of the dark-haired vampire, Spike raised an eyebrow and waited.  Angel didn't disappoint.

    "See, I may feel guilty for what I did to Dru, but that doesn't mean I won't kill her.  Almost did a few times in L.A.," he said absently.  "I set her and Darla on fire."  He stared into the distance for a few seconds, then shrugged and started off down the street.  He stopped with a snap of his fingers, and turned back.  "Buffy will never love you, Spike, and if she did suddenly develop feelings for you, she wouldn't do anything about it.  You're soulless... evil.  No matter what everyone here seems to think."

    "Yeah," Spike said with a forced smile, "have fun in L.A., won't you?  Buh-bye."  He watched Angel disappear into the darkness, then headed toward Buffy's house.

    It was close to two in the morning when he finally got there, but Buffy was up.  Damn.  This was the one time he didn't actually want to see her.  There were bound to be questions and accusations and... he didn't have any answers.  Not any that he would tell her.  Or any that made enough sense to have sent Willow running from him.

    Sure, he'd kind of manipulated her into sleeping with him.  But, she hadn't been complaining at the time.  She'd enjoyed it just as much as he did.  He was positive of that.  It wasn't something he'd said, because he'd gone over everything he could remember, and... he hadn't said anything that would make her flee.  They'd laughed, had fun, shagged, and then he'd fallen asleep.  So sue him.  If that's what had her freaked, good riddance.

    As he approached the Summer's house, he could see Buffy in the front room window.  All the lights were off, but he could see her just fine.  New hair and all.  Whoa, Willow was going to go ballistic when she saw her new hair color.  On the other hand, maybe she'd like it.  It was sort of... flattering.  Her pale skin was practically glowing.

    Or maybe that was just because he knew it was Buffy inside.

    Staring at her wasn't doing much to answer his burning question of, ‘where the hell is Willow?' so he climbed up the trellis to Buffy's bedroom window and quietly slid it open.  He could hear Buffy moving around downstairs, so he carefully climbed inside and crept through to the hall.  He was proud of himself for not lingering.  Not stopping to smell... things.

    Checking to make sure the hallway was clear, he headed to Willow's room, and slipped inside.  He found it empty, as he'd known he would, no sign of anyone having been here since his impromptu visit earlier.

    Well, he wasn't going to stick around here and get caught.  After climbing out the window, and shutting it behind him, he jumped off the roof and started back to his place.

    She could damn well stay wherever she was.  It was no skin off his nose.
 
 

    Willow dropped her hands to her side, trying to hide the fact that she'd been attempting to yank the chains out of the ceiling.  Her wrists were sore and bleeding, but not enough to hamper her efforts at getting free.

    The man who'd just entered through the door across the room, stopped in front of her and smiled charmingly.  "Ah, you're awake.  Great.  My name is Frank, and I'll be your sacrificer today."  He chuckled loudly, and shook his head.  "No, I'm kidding."

    Seeing her twisting her hands to ease the pain, he stepped forward and tsk-ed.  "I'm sorry about the chains, but we can't have you escaping, now can we?"

    Willow stared at him, unable to do anything except blink in surprise.  He was tall, dark, and handsome.  Also, he was one of the scariest people she'd run into in the past six years.  Under his charming manners and cute, innocent smile, she could see something dark.  And the green of his eyes hid something sinister.

    He sighed and clasped his hands behind his back, looking distressed.  "I've scared you.  That wasn't my intention."

    She laughed harshly, holding her hands out in front of her.  "Well, next time why don't you not chain me up?  That might help."

    "I already told you.  I had to do that.  You're very important to the ritual."  He moved to her left, toward a small table set up there, and pulled back the maroon velvet cloth on top.

    Willow gasped when she saw the medical instruments neatly lined up on the silver tray.  "Wh-- what are you going to--"  Hating herself for the quiver in her voice, she tried again, with better results.  "What are those for?"

    He fingered them lovingly, his face a mask of reverence.  "The ritual."

    Escape was definitely a priority now, but she could see no way out.  The room was empty of everything except a large bed in the middle, the table of surgical equipment, and her nifty chain bracelets hanging from the ceiling.  A few large rugs had been tossed carelessly on the floor, one under the bed, another under her chain area.  If she suddenly resumed her yanking on the chains, would he stop her?

    No, she thought sarcastically, he'd watch and cheer you on.

    Rolling her eyes at herself, she cleared her throat.  "Could, um, could you let me down from here?  My wrists are really sore.  And bloody."  He turned back to her, his eyes shooting to her wrists... er, hungrily.  Vampire?  She didn't think so, there was no tingling, no humming.  No Spike-like feelings.

    Spike.  Why hadn't she just stayed at his place?  ‘Cause, no, she had to run off like a big baby and get hit on the head and dragged... somewhere, and chained up, and sacrificed, or whatever was going to happen.  Now she'd never be able to tell Spike off.  Well if she died, she was going to become a ghost and haunt him, because this was all his fault.  In a roundabout way.

    But, in the meantime, Frank the Freak was still staring at her wrists and heading back to her.  "I think I can do that, but you have to promise not to try to escape."  He raised serious eyes to hers, waiting for an answer, then burst out laughing.  "Another joke, I'm afraid."

    And then his fist shot out and caught her in the jaw.  Her head snapped back with the force of the blow, and she went limp, sagging in the chains.  She pretended to pass out, letting her body hang solely by the chains at her wrists.

    He whistled tunelessly as he unlocked the shackles, and picked her up.  He was strong to be able to effortlessly pick her up and gently lay her down on the bed, rather than drop her to it.  As soon as she was let go, she jumped up and ran to the door.  Yanking on the knob, she realized it was locked.  And not budging an inch.  Magick was definitely in use, because no matter how hard she twisted, the knob wouldn't move.

    "Is it out of your system now?" he asked curiously, following her with his eyes as she circled around him.

    She shook her head defiantly.  "No.  Not yet."  Trailing her hands along the wall as she went, checking for gaps or holes, anything that might be an exit of some kind, she kept Frank in sight.

    He seemed content to let her have her way.  "You know," he said conversationally, "this demon that I'm raising is going to help the world so much.  See, the way I've got it figured, he comes forth--after I offer you to him of course--he frees me from... my little problem, and then the rest of the world.  Flawless plan really."

    Willow looked at him disbelievingly.  "Demons are generally evil.  Not all, but most of them?  Big evil."

    He nodded consideringly as she passed him, then darted out his hand and wrapped it around her forearm.  She screamed in surprise, and punched him in the face.  He barely felt the blow, his head didn't snap back like hers had, he didn't even blink... she was guessing demon.  He pulled the covers on the bed back, revealing... yay, more chains.  Her supposed superior strength didn't seem to be working, and she suspected more magick.

    He shoved her onto the bed and chained her up, this time both her arms and her ankles, completely ignoring her struggles.  "Let me go," she yelled in frustration, yanking on the chains.  Pain lanced through her arms and legs, forcing a cry of pain from her.

    "No."  And again he punched her, this time she was out within seconds.
 
 

    Willow woke up to more pain than she'd ever felt.  Every inch of her skin seemed to be on fire.  She opened her eyes slowly, looking around, but couldn't see anything.  Something was on her eyes.

    "Awake?" Frank the Freak inquired.  "Good, now we can get to the ritual."

    She heard him move closer, then felt the bed dip down.  A hand touched her cheek, startling her into jerking back.  Her head smacked into the wall.  "Ow," she moaned.

    "Don't worry," Frank soothed, caressing her cheek before pulling the blindfold off.  "It gets worse."

    Willow blinked a few times, not liking the sound of that.  The room was mostly dark now, with the bed being the only lit area.  Candles surrounded them, allowing her a terrifying glimpse of Frank.  Naked Frank.  And it hit her for the first time why he'd allowed her down, and tied her to the bed.

    "Oh, God, no," she whispered.  "Please.  Don't do this.  I'll do anything you want, just not this."

    He chuckled lightly, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead.  "This is all I need.  And then, the world will be saved."  He smiled, leaning down to kiss her.

    She reacted on instinct, and bit his tongue.  His hand slid down her face to the back of her head, yanking hard on her hair.  She winced, but didn't cry out this time.  The bastard wasn't going to get anymore of her pain or weakness.  In fact... she spit on him.

    "Ok, I tried to be nice," he said regretfully.  "But, you aren't cooperating.  So..."  He climbed on top of her, straddling her waist.  "We'll do it the hard way."

    Willow bucked as hard as she could, trying to dislodge him, but her efforts were pathetically weak.  "Bastard," she hissed.  "Why don't you get rid of the magick and fight me like the... evil demon you are?"

    He slid his hands down her arms, and that's when she realized she was naked.  It hadn't registered before because of the immediate fear of having Frank the Freak sitting beside her naked.  That fear seemed like a drop compared to the ocean assaulting her now.  She tried to sit up, but could only move a foot or so before her shackles stopped her.  But it was enough to let her see the cuts covering her whole body.

    Tiny, horizontal cuts lined the insides of her arms, legs, and stomach.  Even her breasts had a few.  Losing control, she yanked harder on the chains, desperately trying to get free.  His hands settled on her breasts, and she froze.

    "No," she whispered, then louder, "no.  No!  Help me," she screamed.  "Somebody..."  Her voice trailed off, knowing there was no help coming.  Nobody knew she was there.  They thought she was safe at Tara's.  Except for Spike, who was probably asleep in his crypt, unaware that she was even gone.  Well, no, he knew she was gone, but did he care?  Doubtful.

    Frank's hands were on her stomach now, and she resumed her struggles.  It was a futile effort, everything she tried seemed so impotent and minuscule.  None of it did any good.  He still touched her and rubbed her.  Still put his disgusting mouth on her breasts.  Still pushed himself inside her while she bit her lip to keep from screaming in pain.  And when it got too much for her, and staring at the ceiling wasn't enough, she tried a spell she'd learned back in high school.

    It didn't work.

    Tears fell from her eyes, into her hair.  Blonde hair, she thought incongrously.  Not her red Willow hair.  That seemed wrong.  She should have her own body right now, this should be happening to her body, not Buffy's.  She wanted her red hair back, her-- black hair now.  But it was still her hair, her body, her... magick.

    "Don't cry," Frank soothed, kissing her lips softly.  "You've done very well."  He grunted against her neck, thrusting into her again.  Every time he forced himself inside her, her skin was rubbed raw, her flesh torn.  And still he didn't stop.  "He'll be here soon," he whispered, kissing her mouth.

    She started to gag, and barely kept herself from throwing up.  Probably wouldn't go easy on her if she did that.

    Staring past his shoulder, she saw the first bolt of electricity arc through the room.  Her eyes widened, but she kept her mouth shut.  Maybe it would kill Frank the Freak.  Another bolt of blue licked at the ceiling, and walls.  Wind started to blow, chilling her already cold flesh, and ruffling her hair.  A deafening roar echoed throughout the room as the lightning grew in size, brightening up the whole room.  Forcing her to see Frank.

    He was grinning like a madman, craning his neck to see over his shoulder, still moving on her.  In her.  Unable to stand it any longer, she screamed.  She screamed long, and loud, until the only noise she could hear was the sound of her own voice.  Buffy's voice.  She screamed until her throat was raw, and her voice gave out.  And then she screamed some more.

    Darkness descended just as Frank stiffened on top of her.  She felt him climax, and shuddered in disgust.

    "Oh, no you don't.  Wake up."  A hand tapped her face lightly.

    Willow turned her head to the side, with a sob.  Her whole body, which had been on fire when she first came to, was now numb.  She couldn't feel anything.  Moving was easy enough, but feeling was something beyond her now.  She thought maybe Frank had slipped her something, or done something magickal to her, but she didn't care enough to think too hard on it.  She was actually kind of grateful.

    "Wake up."  The light taps on her cheek turned to forceful slaps.  "You're my sacrifice, you can't pass out."  He grabbed her head and lifted it up.  "Look, he's here.  Our salvation."

    She opened her eyes, gazing uncaringly at the tall demon standing beside the bed.  "Get off of me," she whispered harshly.  "Get off, or kill me already."  Death would be preferable to this.  She would welcome it.

    The tears running down her cheeks belied that thought.

    Frank shrugged, dropping her back to the bed.  "That's his job," he told her, nodding toward the red-skinned demon watching them.  Climbing off of her--finally--he stood up, and moved out of the way, patting the demon on the shoulder.  "She's all yours."

    The demon, a nasty looking thing with blue eyes and brown hair, leaned down in Frank's vacated spot and touched her forehead.  She drew back, trying to get away from his hand, but he held her still.  His eyes closed for a brief second, then re-opened.  He removed his hand, turned toward Frank and effortlessly snapped his neck.

    Willow watched silently as his body fell to the floor, not an ounce of sorrow in her.  In fact, she was pretty sure she was smiling.  Curiosity didn't even show its face when Frank's body went from human to scaly and black with green sigils on his arms and chest.  His bright green eyes stared sightlessly from the floor.

    The newly arrived red demon sighed heavily, and shook his head.  "Not the smartest half-breed, was he?  Not to mention the way he went about summoning me."  He kicked out with his booted foot, catching Frank the freak in the side.

    "Too bad he couldn't feel that," she muttered, frowning at her sudden vindictiveness.  She was entitled though, definitely entitled.  And now, she was finally going to die.  By a tall, red-skinned demon... who was suddenly shorter, blonde, and human.

    "Yes.  Pity," he remarked absently.  His hands waved in the air above her, and she was free of the shackles.  He raised an eyebrow at her when she remained where she was.  "Was I mistaken in thinking you wanted to get out of here?"

    Willow shook her head hesitantly, not trusting him at all.  She grabbed the blanket underneath her and covered up with it, heartened when he didn't try to stop her.  What game was he playing?  Why did he want her to think he was harmless?  She'd been at his mercy, and he'd let her go.  Was that a good strategy?  Not usually.

    Sitting up slowly, she discovered that the pain was back.  She didn't want the pain, she wanted the numbness.  Wanted the absence of feeling.

    "Get dressed," the demon said, turning around to give her privacy.

    Ok, what the hell was this?  Like he wasn't going to kill her?  Like she wasn't a sacrifice for... for... well.  The Freak hadn't said what the demon was for.  Ask away, she thought, death or not is what you'll get.  Either is acceptable at this point.  "What are you a demon of?" she asked, leaning back against the wall behind her to catch her breath.  Moving was hard.  Her legs and... other places, were so sore she could hardly stand it.

    He kept his back to her, so she used that time to climb out of the bed and find her clothes.  They were nowhere to be found, so she wrapped the blanket around her, shuddering even as she did so.  She didn't want anything he'd touched to touch her, but she was freezing, and naked, and in desperate need of something to wear.

    "I'm a wish demon."  He snapped his fingers and a pile of neatly folded clothes appeared on the rumpled bed.

    "Thanks," she whispered, unfolding the clothes and examining them.  Plain, long sleeved white shirt, black sweat pants, a bra, a pair of socks, and a pair of underwear.  Dressing was going to take a while since she could hardly move.  "What kind of wishes do you... uh, grant?"  Oddly enough, the more clothing she put on, the less broken she felt.

    "All."  He motioned to the body on the floor and laughed derisively.  "But Frank here didn't play by the rules, did ya Frank?  Takes a pure sacrifice to keep me.  You did the test wrong."

    "Pure?  A virgin?"  Wearing only the shirt, she dropped to the bed, closing her eyes in disbelief.  "He needed a virgin for the sacrifice?"  She glared at Frank's body, wishing he'd suffered more.  "Why the hell did he... do, what he did?  What test did he do wrong?"  Her mind was a jumble of thoughts, all of them clamboring to get out at once.  Fury was pulsing through her at an alarming rate, and she knew that if she didn't calm down soon, she'd end up doing something stupid.

    Finishing dressing, she forced herself to breathe in, to calm down.

    The demon turned back around when she was done.  "Did you mean it when you wished for Frank to suffer more?  Is that what you want?"  He prepared to snap his fingers.

    "No," she yelled, jumping to her feet in fear.  "No.  Don't... do anything.  I don't want him alive again.  I don't want-- just... don't.  Please."  Putting on the shoes on the floor in front of her, she stood up.  "Can I go?  I mean, are you going to kill me?"

    "You're free to go."  He bowed formally.  "And, I am yours to command."

    Halfway to the door, she stopped.  "Mine?  I don't want you."  Biting her lip nervously, she tossed a desperate glance at the door, then turned back to the demon.  "Me, demons, and wishes... bad idea.  So been there, done that.  Can't you just... go back to wherever you came from?" she asked hopefully.  She wanted him to leave so she could get out of there and go home.  That's all she wanted, was to be home.

    "You command it, I deliver."  He snapped his fingers before she could stop him.

    And then they were in front of her house.  Dark house, dark street, chilly air.  She rubbed her arms briskly, forgetting about the cuts there.  They did their duty by painfully reminding her.  "Were these part of the sacrifice, um... sir?" she asked, pushing up her sleeve.

    "My name is Darren.  And no.  The ritual called for a blood sacrifice, but, as usual, everyone assumes that means a lot.  It doesn't.  A simple finger prick would've sufficed."

    He reached out a finger to trace the cut nearest her wrist, but she yanked her arm away from him.  "Don't," she whispered harshly.

    He dropped his hand to his side with a shrug.  "Never.  Unless you wish it."

    "I don't.  Ever."  She unlocked the front door, but didn't open it yet.  "How many wishes do I get?  What are the rules?  And I mean everything, all those hidden, ironic clauses demons seem so fond of."

    He leaned against the doorframe, staring down the street.  "As many wishes as you want.  I'm yours until you send me back, you die, or you free me.  See, you were supposed to be pure, like I said before.  But you weren't.  Frank the freak--as you call him--had no idea you were with a werewolf, a witch, and a..." he frowned, tilting his head to the side, as if listening to something.  "A vampire?" he asked, sounding surprised.

    She shrugged, looking away from his knowing gaze.  "It was a mistake.  Can you switch our bodies back?  Without some kind of backlash?"

    "You and the slayer?"  He shook his head sadly.  "I'm sorry, no.  I can't undo that."

    Anger surged through her.  She'd been given the key to undo a lot of things that'd gone wrong, and here he was, telling her she couldn't.  "Then what good are you?  You said you could grant any wish."

    "Any wish that doesn't harm you," he corrected.  "I'm incapable of harming you in any way."  He straightened up, preparing to snap his fingers.  "Do you wish me to ease your current pain?  I can't take it all away, but I can ease it."

    She opened her front door, but didn't go in yet.  "Yes," she whispered.  She felt like a weakling for taking the easy road, for giving in, since she'd always considered herself strong, but after tonight, she had to reassess her opinion.

    He lifted his hand, ready to snap, but then he halted and dropped his hand.  "I can't.  Something has changed.  If I take the pain, you'll be hurt."

    She looked at him askance, sure he was lying now.  "How can taking my pain hurt me?"  Shaking her head, she sighed in impatience.  "Nevermind.  Look, you're kind of useless to me, and at the moment, I want nothing to do with you, Darren.  Rude, I know, but, you're the reason this happened.  So, I don't care what you do, just do it elsewhere."  She went inside the house and started to shut the door when she remembered something.  "Oh, whatever you do, don't grant any of my wishes unless you aske me first.  Ok?  I'll figure out how to send you back or free you tomorrow."

    He nodded solemnly.  "I'm sorry, Willow.  I'll stay away until you need me.  Goodbye."  He snapped his fingers and disappeared.

    Willow shut the door and locked it behind her.

~Part: 5~

    Three days.  It'd been three days since he'd seen Willow, and, no matter what Giles and the others said, Spike didn't think she was ‘just fine'.  They wouldn't tell him where she was either, though he suspected she was at her parent's house.  They were keeping as much information from him as possible, and he wasn't sure why.

    What was he going to do, hire assassins to take them out, armed with the information that Xander was working late on Tuesday?  Or send Harmony over to the Magic Box with her pathetic gang of misfits?  If she were still in Sunnydale.  Which, thankfully, she wasn't.  And why did he care what they held back from him?

    As he stood just inside the doorway to the training room, he asked himself that very thing.  She was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, looking despondent.  Disappointingly, she was wearing clothes.  A lot of them.  Long sleeved baseball jersey, sweat pants... what, no hat?  She looked ok, no obvious reasons as to why she hadn't been to the shop lately.  Or on patrol.  Or visiting him.

    If he were honest with himself, he'd have to admit it was that last one that bugged him the most.  He missed her visits.  Missed patrolling with her.  Just missed her.  But, he wasn't being honest with himself, so he shoved that info to the back of his mind.

    He was about to make himself known, when she opened her eyes and stared at the wall across from her, tears running down her cheeks.  Now, what the hell did she have to cry about?  Was this still about them sleeping together?  Her guilt?  If he'd known she was this unstable he wouldn't have seduced her.

    That was a bald faced lie.  He damn well would've done the exact same thing.

    "What do you want, Spike?"

    He looked up in surprise.  She was still staring at the wall, hadn't moved.  "Where'd you run off to the other night?" he asked, pushing away from the doorframe.  "And these past few days?"

    "After a vampire.  I told you that.  And, I've been sick.  I'm sure Giles told you."  Drawing her legs up to her chest, she turned her head to the side, and rested her head on her knees, watching him.

    The sick thing still.  It was a lie, he knew it was.  So what was the real reasoning?  "Sick how?"

    "Flu or something," she said, shrugging lightly.  "Just sick.  It's a human thing."

    Now she was taking barbs at him?  That wasn't like her.  Usually.  The scent of blood wafted to him.  He glanced away, thinking maybe that's what her problem was, her time of the month, but then he noticed the red line on her right sleeve.  "You're bleeding," he said casually, gesturing to her wrist.  Had she tried to kill herself?  Unlikely.

    She lifted her head, holding her arm straight out, looking at the stained cloth.  A tiny shrug lifted her shoulders.  "I cut myself."

    Again with the lying.  "I see that," was all he said.

    She frowned, knowing he didn't believe her.  "I was making dinner the other night," she insisted.  "The knife slipped."

    He nodded, gesturing to her other arm.  "Must've been a really slippery knife."  Another spot of red soaked through the cloth on her other sleeve.

    She wrapped her arms around her legs again, not bothering to look down.  "It was.  Don't you have to patrol or something?"

    He inhaled deeply and shrugged.  "Nope.  Big research session going on out there."  Circling around her slowly, he kept his eyes trained on the top of her head, waiting for some kind of clue as to what he'd done wrong.  It was pretty obvious he'd done something to brass her off.  Otherwise, she wouldn't be avoiding him.  "Buffy thinks there's a new demon in town.  Half demon actually."  Her heartbeat sped up dramatically, forcing a confused frown to his lips.

    She climbed to her feet, groaning once or twice as she moved.  "I should help them."

    Ok, that wasn't the response he'd been looking for.  An encore presentation of their sex session maybe, or something to pass the time, but not fear.  "You're afraid of me?" he asked incredulously, glaring at her back as she walked into the shop.  She didn't repsond.  He scowled, following her.  He was tempted to continue the one sided conversation in front of the others, but he preferred to keep his life how it was.  Undead, not dust-in-the-wind dead.

    Willow was standing by the counter, away from the others who were gathered around the table.  She kept her arms folded, hiding the blood on her sleeves.  He strolled casually into the shop, grabbed one of the chairs, and sat.  They all ignored him, as he'd known they would.  They'd been ingoring him since finding out Willow had stayed the night with him.

    The conversation continued unabated, droning on and on, so he tuned them out, focusing his attention on Willow.  She wasn't paying any attention either, her whole range of focus seemed to be the jar on the counter in front of her, but he knew by the stiffening of her body that she was indeed listening.

    "I think it might be the demon Cordy saw in her vision," Buffy was saying, forcing his attention back on the conversation.  "The gossip around the graveyards is that it wants me--well, Willow, in my body--for a ritual."

    Xander tossed her a skeptical look.  "There's graveyard gossip?"  He dropped the chair he was sitting in to the floor.

    She nodded, grinning impudently, her black hair falling loose from the clip she had it in.  "Uh-huh."  She tucked it absently behind her ears.

    Xander grinned like the idiot he was.  "Well what do you know?"

    "Everyone gossips, not just humans," Anya said from beside her boyfriend.  "And vampires--"

    "Can we please get back to the demon?" Giles said in exasperation.  He closed the book he'd been reading, set it on top of a large pile on the floor, and grabbed another one.  "What were they--" his head shot up, and pinned Buffy in place.  "Why were you in the cemetery?"

    All eyes turned to the former slayer, who was pretending to be oblivious.  Spike snorted in amusement.  Only Buffy could make Willow's face look that damn clueless.  He looked to Willow, wanting to share his amusement with her, before remembering Willow was angry with him.  And still occupied with the jar on the counter.  Something was definitely wrong with her.  He just wished he knew what it was.  And why it bothered him so much.

    "I-- um, I was just out for a walk," Buffy said slowly, reminding Spike of his own pathetic excuse for being in her front yard, spying on her.

    "Someone's lying," he taunted, smirking at the glare Buffy sent him.  It was a cute glare.  Not at all threatening, like Buffy's face normally was.  "You should hear her heart pounding," he told the others.

    Again, she was the focus of everyone's attention.  She shrugged helplessly, opened her mouth, shut it, then dropped her head to the table with a sigh.  "I missed it," she mumbled into her arms.

    "What?"  That was a question from everyone but Spike, and Willow.

    Buffy raised her head, looking embarrassed.  "I missed it, ok?  Being in them.  I mean, heck, I've spent all my time in Sunnydale hanging around them, they're like... my home away from home."

    "With dead bodies," Xander added, nodding in complete understanding.

    Giles sighed in annoyance.  "Buffy, not a week ago I berated Willow for acting carelessly in your body, and you turn around and do the same thing?  At least she has your slayer strength and fighting skills, you have--"

    "A crossbow, and great reflexes," she interrupted seriously.  "How about a little faith in me?  And as for Willow patrolling?  I say more power to her."  She stood up and joined Willow at the counter, slinging her arm across the smaller girl's shoulders.

    Willow stiffened as soon as Buffy touched her, and forced a smile.  "Power.  To me.  Right..." she mumbled, then suddenly pointed across the room to Giles and his big pile of tomes.  "Book."  Shrugging out from under Buffy's arm, Willow walked very slowly, very purposefully to Giles' chair and knelt down.

    Buffy hopped up on the counter, having no idea that Willow's heart was racing like she'd run a marathon.  No clue that Willow's whole body was shaking.  Spike watched her sift through the books on the floor, noticing every book she almost dropped due to her shaking hands.  When Giles pushed his chair away from the table, she jumped to her feet, covering her sudden movement by pretending to look through the books on the table.

    No one had the slightest idea that anything was wrong with Willow.  Only him.  And he thought he might have figured out what that something was.

    Guilt.  She was feeling guilty for sleeping with him.

    Enough to pretend to be sick for three days, and... and what?  Cut herself?  Not likely.  She'd probably gone out patrolling alone again and gotten her ass kicked.  And of course she wouldn't want anyone to know.  Made perfect sense.  Well too damn bad.  She'd get no sympathy from him.  He didn't regret anything, didn't feel at all guilty.

    He'd started the seduction out of anger, and because she'd gotten him all worked up from their short training session.  Being that close to her, and not being able to do anything... it was torture.  She was just so... nice, and sweet.  He'd wanted her.  Still wanted her.  Would have her again.

    Willow flinched just the tiniest bit when Giles reached for a book, and brushed her sleeve with his hand.  A quick look around assured her that no one had seen her sudden fear of Giles.  She didn't look behind her at Spike, because she knew what she would see there, and she didn't want to see it.

    He could damn well keep his anger and pity to himself.

    Since the conversation seemed to be all about berating Buffy, Willow cleared her throat and brought it back to the new demon threat.  It was possible the demon she was talking about was the one who-- it might be Frank.  "Um, this demon?" she reminded them.  "What is it?  What does he want?"

    "You," Buffy answered, shaking her head as she jumped down from the counter.

    Willow shuddered in disgust, feeling sweaty hands on her stomach, lips on her thigh, fingers on her breasts.  Oh, God.  She spun away from the others, swallowing back the fear trying to take over, and came face to face with Spike.  He was watching her as she'd known he would be.  She calmed considerably, seeing Spike above her instead of Frank, feeling Spike's hands gently cradling her face, his lips on hers.

    Buffy's name whispered in her ear.

    "Apparently slayer blood is needed for the ritual... which I haven't a clue about."  Buffy frowned, apparently trying to remember something.  A second later, her face cleared.  "He needs pure blood.  Or blood of the pure."  She shrugged, shaking her head.  "Something like that."

    Spike laughed suddenly, startling Willow, and angering Buffy.  His amused eyes fixed on Buffy, smirk firmly in place.  "Guess he'll have to go somewhere else for that last part."

    Buffy glared at him, but, for once, took the higher road by ignoring him.  Hey, cool, no hitting.  Of course, she'd probably break her hand if she tried.  Still, Willow was heartened.  Maybe Spike was too.  She snuck a look at him, and once again found his eyes on her.  Why wasn't he watching Buffy?  It was her he wanted.  Her he lusted after, and loved.

    But it was Willow's body the woman he loved was encased in.  He couldn't stand to look at her.  She should be glad.

    "What makes you think this is Cordelia's demon?" Xander asked.  "And does this mean we're through with the research?  Can't tell you how sick I am of it," he muttered, leaning back in his chair again.

    "Angel said it was a green-eyed monster, right?" Buffy inquired.  "And, putting aside the whole metaphor angle, this guy fits.  Apparently he's got green... symbols or something on his arms and chest, has green eyes, and is gunning for me."  She paused for a split second before remembering.  "I mean Willow."

    Willow closed the book she was idly flipping through, and faced the gang.  "He's dead."

    Giles removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.  "Please tell me you didn't face him alone, Willow."  His tone was weary.  His manner exhausted.

    She shrugged, hoping she looked suitably sheepish.  "Kinda."  The truth would never pass her lips, her guilt and shame would never be known.  Later, she'd make up more lies to explain away the cuts on her body if need be, but for now she just needed to admit to having killed a demon on her own.  "I was in the cemetery, and I heard whistling," she said, making it up as she went along.

    Spike sitting up straighter grabbed her attention, but she ignored him in favor of smiling at her friends.

    Anya shrugged and stood.  "Then we can go?  The shop is closed, and we had plans.  Dinner plans," she specified, pulling Xander to his feet.

    "Mmm-hmm," Giles said distractedly, gathering up the books to be locked up behind the counter.  "Yes."  He carried the books to the counter, nearly toppling the enormous pile before setting it down.  "Anya, don't forget to be here early tomorrow, for inven--"

    "Inventory.  I know.  Bye," she chirped, dragging a suddenly not-so-happy Xander along with her.

    "Will?  We still gonna do the magick thing?" Buffy asked.  "You know, teach me to control it?"

    Willow smiled.  "Of course.  Wouldn't want you turning anyone into frogs," she teased, remembering her and Spike's conversation the night Angel got to town.  She could feel Spike's eyes on her back as she spoke, and she was tempted to yell at him, or... something, to get him to quit.  What did he want from her?

    "Great," Buffy enthused.  "I was hoping you'd come back to the house, move back in.  We could have a girl's night in, since Dawn's staying with Tara tonight, and--"

    "What?" Willow asked in surprise.  "Tara... have you seen her?"  She looked down at her hands, twisting the sleeve of her shirt so that the blood stains didn't show.  "She, well, since we switched bodies and stuff, she hasn't exactly been... here.  With me."

    Buffy shook her head sympathetically.  "No, she called, and talked to Dawn.  I haven't seen her either."

    Willow fought the sadness threatening to overwhelm her.  So what if Tara didn't want to be around her anymore.  And so what if Spike did for all the wrong reasons.  Who was she to complain?  "You know what?" she said suddenly.  "Giles is pretty good with magick too.  He can help you with those control exercises.  Because, I have to go home and... be alone.  Bye."  She went through the door to the training room, not giving them time to stop her.

    Slamming through her bedroom door, she mentally yelled at herself.  She hated this.  Hated being like this.  But she couldn't seem to fight the despair and pain that was constantly trying to drag her under.  Her life was no longer her own.  Literally.  She had no control over anything, and what little control she felt she did have, she was losing.

    And Tara was leaving her.  It was pretty official.

    Though she was upset and hurt, she couldn't have been more relieved.  Just the thought of anyone touching her was appalling to her.  Dropping onto her bed, she sighed and rubbed her temples.  Another headache was coming on.  Eyes closed, she laid back, curling up on her side.

    She was just drifting off to sleep when she felt the bed dip down, and a hand smooth her hair back.  Warmth spread from her temple to the rest of her body.  "Thanks, Darren."  Her headache disappeared.  Now she could think some more.  Yay.

    "You're welcome," Darren said.  She could almost hear the smile in his voice.  "Pleasant dreams."

    "Dreams?" she repeated, sighing.  "I'd prefer not to dream."  Rolling onto her back, she stared up at the ceiling.  "I'm either plagued by nightmares, or have nice, pleasant dreams of stuff I can't have anymore."

    "Why can't you have them?"  He stood up, moving away from her as he always did.  He knew she didn't like to be touched.  It was only when he was healing her headaches that he touched her.  Never any other time.

    "I'm living someone else's life, so whatever I want is out of the question until I find out for sure that I'm stuck like this forever."  Left unsaid was the part where she didn't want any of the things she'd been dreaming about.  Tara, Spike, Oz.  These were just images her mind was taunting her with.  Showing her things she no longer wanted, but should need.  Should crave... with every fiber of her being.

    His blue eyes focused on her face as he scoffed at her.  Rudely.  "Liar."

    "Stop reading my mind," she said angrily.  Sitting on the edge of the bed, she glared at the Wish demon.  "You know, you could help in figuring out how to send you back to... wherever you come from."

    He shrugged, walking past her to the french doors.  "I told you, I don't want to go back.  I won't help you send me back, and I won't help you figure out how to do it."  He pushed the door open, and stepped outside.

    She stood up, sighing heavily.  Three nights of the same argument... it got old real quick.  "Fine.  Whatever.  I'm going on patrol."

    Darren sighed equally as heavily, and nodded.  "Get your weapons, I'll take you."

    She grabbed her bag of weapons, and stood in the middle of the room, waiting to be zapped to one of the cemeteries.  Seconds later, she was standing amidst headstones and trees.  To her right were sounds of fighting, so, ignoring Darren, she headed that way, pulling her new favorite weapon from the bag.  The crossbow.

    The vampire was a short, blue-haired punk rocker type.  She had a man pinned against a tree, and was apparently having a grand time.  She drank greedily from his neck, holding him to the tree with a tight grip on his jaw.  Willow quietly loaded and aimed the crossbow.  If she was careful, she could hit the vampire without fighting.

    The man was losing his struggle, and his life, as Willow waited for a good shot.

    "He's dying," Darren said, stating the obvious.

    He was right, though she didn't really want to admit that.  The victim started to sag, and Willow realized there wasn't anymore time to wait.

    "Hey," she called loudly, waiting for the vampire to drop the man and turn toward her.  Amazingly enough, she did.  And started stalking toward her.  Willow's punning was off lately, so she didn't even bother.  She raised the crossbow a little higher, and let the bolt fly.  It hit the vampire in the chest, directly in the heart.

    Punk rock girl went poof, and Willow mentally sighed in relief.  She felt no satisfaction, no thrill, no anything, except relief.  The man on the ground looked dead, but she could see his chest moving.

    "Darren, can you zap him to the hospital or something?"  Without waiting for an answer, she headed to the left, listening closely.  More noises up ahead.  More vampires to kill.
 
 

    Buffy watched Willow leave, wanting to go after her, but not doing so.  It was pretty obvious that she wanted to be alone.

    "Where did Willow go?" Giles asked, coming up beside her.  "Wasn't she supposed to help you with the control exercises?"

    "Yeah, but she wasn't feeling well," Buffy lied.  "She went home.  So I guess you get the job."  Spike was staring at the door like he'd missed something, looking a lot like Buffy herself had only seconds before.  "Spike?"

    His head turned toward her, his eyes regarded her with a question, but she could tell his attention was elsewhere.  Out-the-door-wearing-her-body elsewhere.  And why was that, exactly?  Three days ago, Buffy wouldn't have thought anything of it, but now?  Suspicion was rearing its ugly head.

    "You want something, Slayer, or did you suddenly develop Tourrette's Syndrome?"  He smirked at her, but it was a pathetic attempt... something was bothering him, and suspicion was there again, yelling Willow's name.

    "Speaking of suddenly developing things, can I talk to you for a second?"  Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the training room.  "Be right back, Giles."

    Once in the training room, Spike stared down at her hand on his arm.  "If you wanted a touching session, all you had to do was ask."  He moved closer to her, ignoring her attempt to step out of reach.  His hand grabbed hers, surprising her with the speed with which he moved.  She sighed, pulling out of his grasp, surprised when he let her go with a shrug, and even walked a few feet away.  "Whatever."

    "What's the deal with you and Willow?" she asked, deciding the direct approach was best.

    "First of all," he told her, his voice taut, "if there was any kind of deal between us, it would be none of your business.  Second of all, there's no deal between us."  He rolled his shoulders back, and stretched his neck a few times.  "And third of all, what's wrong with her?"

    "With who?  With Willow?"  At his nod, she shook her head with a shrug.  "Nothing.  Well, except that she's been saddled with my life, my responsibilities, and possibly my early death.  And Tara left her."  She paused to think, looking into the air in exaggerated thought.  Snapping her fingers loudly, she swung her arm in an ‘aw shucks' way.  "A vampire attacked her the other night.  Bit her, bruised her up pretty good.  Oh, and she just got over the flu.  But, really, other than that, she's just peachy.  Why do you ask?"

    Spike was half way out the back door by the time she finished her sarcastic tirade.  He stopped in the doorway, and turned back to her.  "So, I'm glad you decided to add to her troubles with the hair.  That's a nice way to twist the knife in a little further."

    "I didn't--" but he was already gone, the door slamming shut behind him.  Buffy sighed heavily, something she tended to do a lot whenever Spike was around.

    Giles came through the doorway from the shop, carrying candles and stinky herbs.  She held back a whiny moan, wishing her life were her own again.  Then she wouldn't need to learn how to control the magick simmering inside her with the aid of smelly herbs, and the less than fun Giles.
 
 

    Spike crossed the street to his cemetery, ignoring the urge to turn around and check on Willow.  She was an adult, she could damn well take care of herself.  And it wasn't his fault she'd had a lot of bad things happen to her.  He wasn't her boyfriend, wasn't her lover, or anyone who had any kind of claim on her.

    But he did care about her.  Against his will.

    Still, what was he supposed to do?  Obsess over her like he did with Buffy?  No, definitely didn't want to go that route again.  Dru and Buffy were enough obsessions for a century.  So, he would go home, maybe get drunk, read a book.  Watch T.V., something like that.  But first, he'd take care of some vampires and nasties wandering around the cemtery.

    Violence was a great thing.  Oh, and making the world safe for the wonderful humans.

    Sigh.

    It'd be nice to once again be able to hurt humans.  Humans that weren't Willow, Buffy, or Dawn.  Anya was ok too, she hadn't really done anything to make him want to kill her.  Xander and Giles were still iffy.  Come to think of it, Buffy was still iffy as well.  He did want to hurt her, like he'd told Willow, but he didn't think he could bring himself to do it.  Not seriously.  Maybe hit her a few times, give back everything she'd given him in the past two years.  Throw her around a bit.

    "Nice fantasy you got going there, Spike.  It'll never happen."  Groaning miserably at the truth in his own words, he took off running, hoping to chance upon something evil to fight.  Luck was with him.  "Oh, look," he drawled, walking up to the two vamps snacking on a teenager.  "The dumb feeding the dumb."

    Two vamped out faces looked up from the kid's neck, snarling and growling, trying to be manly and evil.  It was pretty pathetic really.  He rolled his eyes, and sighed.

    "Drop the kid, and let's have a go."  They snarled some more, and shared a grin.  Was that supposed to be malevolant? he wondered with a snicker.  "Well?" he urged, motioning them forward with his fingers.

    More snarling and growling, and finally they dropped the poor kid to the ground.  He moaned in pain and agony, half dead.  Spike pulled a stake out of his duster pocket and waited.  One stayed back while the other leapt at him.

    Spike swung his fist at the vamp's face while he was still mid-air.  The vamp stopped his flight with a sudden jerk, and fell at Spike's feet.  "Hey, guy..." he knelt beside the vampire, holding his stake to the vamp's chest.  "Here's a tip."  The vampire actually leaned forward, listening for Spike's words of wisdom.  Spike shoved the stake into his heart, watching him explode into dust.  Holding the stake up, he rubbed his thumb against the sharp point of the stake.  "Get it?" he asked the other vampire.  "Here's a tip?  Point?  The point of the story is the tip was the tip of my stake..." the vampire continued to stare at him in confusion.  "Christ, you're dense."

    "I'm gone," the vamp corrected, and took off running.

    Spike took off after him with a grin.  "All right.  Now we're talking."

    Two hours later, dusty and dirty, Spike shoved his crypt door open and stepped inside.  Hearing a heartbeat, he looked around his candle lit crypt.  "Come out, come out, whatever you are."

    Willow stood up on the other side of his bed, her duffle bag in hand.  "I just came for my stuff."  She looked caught, as if she hadn't been expecting to run into him.

    Pushing the door shut behind him, he leaned back against it.  Now was a good time to talk.  "Where you staying?" he asked, trying to figure out the best way to ask, ‘Hey, what the hell is your problem?' without actually saying, ‘Hey, what the hell is your problem?'.

    She carried her bag to his chair, shoving clothes into it.  "I'm moving back in with Buffy.  My parents come back tonight, and though I'm pretty sure I could say that I dyed my hair blonde and pass myself off as me..." she shrugged, going back to the spot she'd just left.  She bent down and picked up another bag.

    On her way past him again, he grabbed her arm, wanting her to hold still and talk to him.  Face to face, no lies, no packing, no friends waiting in the other room.  "Stop for a second," he told her in exasperation.

    She did.  Stopped in her tracks, and dropped the bag at her feet.  She tried, none too gently, to pull her wrist free, but Spike wasn't about to let go so she could run off again.

    "D--" was as far as she got in her protest.

    He slapped his hand over her mouth, gently, no force to it.  "Don't say ‘don't'," he told her.  "I swear if I hear that one more time from Buffy's lips, I'm going to..." he threw her wrist away from him, and moved away from the door.  "Forget it.  Go.  Just... get out."

    She grabbed her bags without a word and heaved them to the door.  Spike watched her go, not intending to stop her at all.  Even as his feet was carrying him over to her, he didn't intend to stop her.  He realized, as he grabbed her wrist, that he and his intentions had seperate ideas.

    Both bags once again dropped to the cement floor, and she yanked at her arm.  "Can't even stand it when I touch you now?" he asked angrily.  "Well too damn bad."  He took a step closer, grinning when she took two steps back.

    "Spike, don't--"

    "Ah-ah," he warned.  "I wouldn't use that word if I were you."  He wouldn't do anything to hurt her, but with all that fear pouring off of her, she obviously didn't know that.

    Backed up against the wall, she had nowhere left to go.  He didn't stop advancing, he kept going until he was pressed against her.  She looked about ready to scream.  Gazing deep into her eyes, he leaned forward, prepared to kiss her into submission when she kneed him between the legs, shoved him away from her, and ran to the other side of the crypt.

    "What the bloody hell was that for?" he growled, sinking to his knees in pain.  He resisted the urge to gasp in air, and settled for vamping out to glare at her.  "I've got this eff'in chip in my cranium.  I can't hurt you.  Son of a bitch," he groaned in anger and pain, pushing himself to his feet.

    She paced a few times, glancing over at him apologetically.  "I tried to tell you not to touch me."

    "Yeah, well."  His anger wasn't abated in the least.  "You should've tried harder.  And what's with the sudden aversion to me anyway?"  This went beyond guilt, he hoped.  Otherwise, she had some serious problems going on in that mind of hers.

    She stopped pacing and turned to face him.  "You?  It's not you.  It's..." she took a deep breath and shook her head.  "Nevermind.  I have to go.  Buffy threatened to come after me if I didn't make it quick."  She attempted a chuckle, but it came out sounding pretty damned pathetic.

    Smelling blood again, he stalked over to her, a little painfully, and yanked her sleeve up.  His jaw clenched when he saw the horizontal cuts lining her arm.  Pushing her other sleeve up more gently, he stared in complete non-surprise when he saw the equally cut flesh there.  And then it hit him.  He'd had his suspicions back at the shop.  When talking about the half demon, she'd gone all still and quiet.  More so than she'd been before.

    "The whistling, green-eyed, half demon," he guessed.

    She shrugged uncomfortably, and slid the sleeves of her shirt back down.  "It doesn't matter.  He's dead."  Her eyes fell to the floor where they stayed planted.

    He moved away, giving her room.  "So you keep saying.  But what did it want?  What was the ritual for?  Did it finish the ritual?"

    She looked about ready to bolt again, but didn't.  She stood straighter, raised her eyes to his and took a deep breath.  "He wanted to raise a demon, that's what these were for," she gestured to her arms, "blood.  For the ritual."  Crossing her arms over her chest, she moved over to his chair and sat on the arm.  "Ok?"

    Well, yeah, he had been satisfied with her answer.  Until she asked if he was.  That generally meant there was more.  "He carved you up in the cemetery?"  Spike shook his head, knowing the answer even as he asked the question.  "No.  He wouldn't be that stupid.  And obviously, he took his time.  So, where did he take you, how did you escape, and how did you kill him?  Oh, and what of the ritual?"

    "Fine," she sighed, sliding off the arm of the chair to sit the right way.  "I was sitting on a headstone, thinking, and I guess I wasn't paying attention because I didn't hear him, or see him, didn't sense him at all until he hit me over the head."  Her hand reached back to rub her shoulder tiredly.  "Just before I passed out, I heard him whistling."

    Spike circled the chair until he was in front of her.  "I heard him," he said absently.  "I was on my way to--" yeah, that's smart, let her know he'd gone chasing after her, that'd make him look less like a pansy.  Clearing his throat to cover his derisive snort, he took out a cigarette and lit it.  "Doesn't matter.  Heard whistling, in this cemetery, over by the south gate, didn't fancy a demon run-in just then, so I went the other way."  He rolled his eyes at himself, and scoffed.  "Got a demon anyway.  Angel."

    Her big gray-blue eyes were fixed on him, all wide and stunned looking.  "You were there?  You heard him?  And you knew he was a demon?" she asked angrily.

    Faced with her sudden fury, he grew angry himself.  Everything turned out all right in the end, so what was her problem already?  "Yeah.  Like I said, I wasn't in the mood for a fight."

    Her hands tightened on the chair arms, turning the knuckles white.  "Did it ever occur to you that someone might be in trouble?  That someone could use your help?"  Her voice was getting louder with each word, and he was convinced she was about to launch herself at him at any second.  "No, it didn't, because you're Mr. Bad Ass Vampire.  Mr. I don't care about anything or anyone if it doesn't have something to do with me directly.  Mr.--"

    Spike threw his cigarette to the floor and leaned down, getting in her face.  His hands covered hers, refusing her attempts to free them.  "Mr. out looking for you and not wanting to be waylaid by a demon," he snarled.  "This isn't all about those little cuts on your arms, so spit it out.  I'm tired of trying to get a straight answer out of you.  What the hell happened that night?"

    Her angry eyes lifted to his, daring him to look away.  "He chained me to a bed and-- raised the demon.  By giving me all these nice little reminders of our time together."

    She was lying.  She'd been about to tell him something, but then stopped.  Why?  What was so horrible that she didn't want him to know?

    "He raised the demon, and it killed him.  Can I go now?" she asked, moving around him.

    He hated to keep asking this, but... "Where's the demon, Willow?"  What if this wasn't Willow at all?  What if this was the demon?

    In the process of picking up her bags, she straightened up slowly, keeping her back to him.  "He freed me," she said softly, begging him with her voice to leave the matter alone.

    She was just avoiding the question.  She hadn't answered a damn thing.  "I said, where the hell is he?"  Tired of glaring at her back, he yanked on her arm, spinning her around.

    "Spike, please."  Her eyes were pleading with him now.  "Leave it alone.  I can't do this now.  Please.  I just want to go home."

    Seeing the pain and hurt on her face, he wanted to leave her alone, wanted to soothe her, and ease her pain... wanted to, but couldn't.  Especially if he was right, and this wasn't Willow.  "Sorry, babe, not gonna happen.  Now, either you tell me where the demon is," he tightened his hand on her arm, "or I figure out if my theory is right by planting a fist in your face."  He shrugged expansively.  "Your choice."

    Her eyes widened, and she tried to pull away.  "You'll only hurt yourself.  Trust me when I say you don't want to know what happened, ok?  Please, just--"

    He shook his head in mock sadness, convinced this wasn't Willow.  "I warned you."  He drew his fist back, ready to hit her--it--whatever, but she just stood there, unmoving.  Dropping his fist, he sighed.  "Last chance."

    "Frank," she said quietly, never once taking her eyes from his.  "His name was Frank.  I woke up in chains."  She frowned, sliding her arm away from his grip.  "I don't know where he took me, all I saw was the bedroom, so..." she shrugged, backing away a foot, and then another.

    He let her.  She wasn't getting by him if she decided to flee, so there was no harm in it.  "And?"  He crossed his arms over his chest, listening.

    She sighed, and looked away.  Then she turned away.  "I tried to break the chains, but I couldn't.  I wasn't strong enough."  She paced a couple of times, passing him only at a distance.  "I should've been able to break them.  I'm the Slayer now.  I should've been able to."

    Spike took out a cigarette and lit it, listening to her self deprecating tirade for all of ten seconds.  Impatient, he'd always been.  "But you didn't.  So how did you escape?"

    She quit pacing, busying herself with pulling her sleeves down, and straightening the hem of her shirt.  "He moved me.  To the bed.  He chained me there, and--" she swallowed, and sucked in a breath, trying again.  "He-- he was-- I-- Darren.  His name is Darren."  She lowered her eyes to her fingernails, which she was currently picking at.

    "Wait, wait, wait.  Who's Darren?  I thought you said his name was Frank?"  What was this?  Subterfusion?  Lies?  She was acting weirder than he'd ever seen her, and boy had he seen her act weird.  But why?

    "Darren is the demon Frank raised," she explained quietly.  "He's a Wish demon.  He grants wishes."

    Spike nodded, and sucked his teeth.  "Yeah, I kind of guessed that on my own.  So where is he?"  Probably in another country by now.

    She ducked her head again, staring at her damn nails.  "He's around.  I-- I don't know where he goes when he's not here.  He kind of pops in and out."

    "Willow?  Make sense," he ordered.  He was so far beyond annoyed right now.

    "Leave her alone," a voice said from behind them.  They both spun around, facing the demon that had appeared there.

    Spike growled and started forward, intent on making this demon his tenth kill of the night, but Willow ran past him and stood in front of the guy.  "What are you doing?" he asked incredulously.

    She held one hand out toward him, halting him, while her other hand held the demon behind her.  "This is Darren," she explained.  "You can't kill him, I mean it, Spike.  He's a good guy.  He saved me."

    Darren, for his part, was looking threateningly toward Spike.  "Are you all right?  Do you want me to kill him for you?"

    Willow turned around, facing Darren.  "No.  Absolutely not, got it?  Spike isn't a bad guy anymore."  She frowned and sighed heavily.  "He's one of us sort of."

    Darren nodded, taking her word for it.  "He's the vampire?" he asked, raising his eyebrow as if far from impressed with Spike.

    "Yes," Willow answered, "this is Spike.  Spike... meet Darren."  She stepped back, leaving them alone to stare each other down.

    Spike nodded at Darren, not at all impressed.  Short, blonde, goody-goody looking.  Annoying.  Was this guy--demon--the reason Willow was so distant lately?  He didn't look like much.  A bit overprotective, but who wasn't when Willow was involved?  She had that effect on most people.

    Darren raised his hand as if to shake hands, but dropped it when Spike raised an incredulous eyebrow at him.  He shrugged, and turned away, walking over to Willow.  "Do you want me to take you home?"

    She shook her head with a sigh.  "I'm moving back in with--" She stopped mid-sentence when Spike grabbed Darren and threw him back against the wall, holding him there with a hand to his neck.  She tried to pry his arm loose, but Spike wasn't letting go.  "What the hell are you doing?" she shouted.  "Let him go."

    Spike shook his head grimly.  "Whatever you think happened, didn't.  Nothing, since meeting this guy really happened."  He tilted Darren's head to the side, showing Willow a tattoo on the back of his neck.  "See that?  Means he's a fear demon of some kind.  Feeds off fear."

    Willow frowned uncertainly, looking from him to Darren.  "That's not true.  It did happen.  I-- I felt it.  Can still feel it," she muttered, pacing away from him.

    Spike suddenly had an idea what had happened to her.  What she thought had happened.  "Tell her, you bastard," he instructed Darren.

    Darren shook his head, looking frightened and worried.  "Don't believe him, Willow.  Frank did do those things to you.  The vampire's just trying to--"

    "Shut up," Spike ground out, slamming Darren's head against the stone wall.  For her part, Willow looked like she wanted to believe him, but couldn't.  Thinking desperately, Spike tried to remember some of the signs of being fed off of by a fear demon.  "Headaches... have you been getting bad headaches lately?"

    "Yes," Willow said in surprise.  "Ever since..." her jaw tightened and she strode over to the suddenly scaly black demon with green sigils on his arms and chest.  His bright green eyes watched Willow with amusement.  "Frank," she whispered, coming to a halt.  Her whole body started shaking with fear, and pain.

    "Ah, now don't look like that," Darren said regretfully, "you're a sweet one.  Very tasty.  I've had a lot of fun feeding off of your fear."

    Spike punched him in the face.  His fury needed an outlet, and it looked like he'd get one.  Beating the demon who'd hurt Willow so badly would be great fun.  He punched him again, grinning when Darren's nose broke, and started to bleed.

    "That's why I couldn't find out how to send you back..." Willow said softly, "and why you wouldn't help me find a way."  Her back straightened a tiny bit, some of the defeated manner of her posture leaving her as she glared at the demon.  "How do we kill him?" she asked, her eyes never leaving Darren's face.

    Spike shrugged, then snapped Darren's neck, letting his body fall to the floor.  "Guess we'll just have to go through all the tried and trues, 'til we find one that works."

    Willow nodded slowly.  "If we don't figure it out after a few painful tries, let's take him to the magic shop, tie him up and figure it out there.  But first," she went over to her duffel bag and unzipped it, pulling out a stake, "I think a stake to the heart is a good place to start."  Her eyes were hard, her mouth twisted in a furious frown as she approached the body on the floor.

    Spike stood by, watching as Willow, with great relish, staked Darren.  They both moved back slightly when he suddenly turned into green goo and disappeared into the floor, leaving behind nothing more than a dark, wet stain that was rapidly disappearing as well.

    Willow stood up, refusing his hand.  "That was unsatisfying."  she sighed and went over to her bags by the door.  "Thank you," she said softly, turning to face him.

    He hated to see her so... beaten.  Thinking to help, he reminded her, "It didn't happen.  He didn't really--"

    "Yes, he did," she told him.  "It's all still a part of me, as if it really happened.  So, in that way, it did happen."

    He didn't understand what she was talking about.  "They're just memories.  False memories.  He planted them there to feed off of your fear."  She should be relived and all better now.  Even grateful that she wasn't actually raped.  Why was she still acting as if it had occurred?

    "I've gotta go.  Buffy's waiting for me."  She picked up her bags and left, shutting the door behind her.

    Spike started after her, but decided to give her some time.  She'd get over it.

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