Time Stitches You

Author: sinecure

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~Part: 11~

Spike woke up to Willow untangling herself from around him.  Her arm slid out from under his back, her leg from his.  Without opening his eyes, he asked her where she was going.

"Downstairs," she whispered, "otherwise Sam's going to come up here."

"So what if she does?"  He knew he sounded less than nice, but at the moment, he was feeling less than nice.  He liked having Willow in bed with him again, and he didn't want her to leave.

"I thought maybe you'd want some more sleep," she said slowly.  "Maybe be a little more rested when you meet them, and not be assailed by tons of questions and explanations.  But, if you'd rather meet them now, I can--"

He rolled onto his side, away from her.  She got the idea and left quietly.  Normally he wouldn't mind being up this early, but lately, ever since-- he sighed explosively, not liking the direction his thoughts were taking.  Grabbing Willow's pillow from behind him, he smashed it on his head.  How he fell asleep with her scent wafting over him, he had no idea.
 
 

A few hours later, he woke up again, this time to someone sitting next to him.  It was Willow again.  Her smell, her heartbeat.  Her body laying next to his.  Just like old times.  Once again, she stayed as far away from him as she could get.  He wanted her to curl up against him like she used to do.  He missed having her beside him.

As if she'd heard his thoughts, she sighed and whispered, "I sort of missed you, vampire."
 
 

Spike jerked awake as the noises he'd been hearing for a few seconds penetrated his mind, forcing him into consciousness.  Two more loud thumps followed the first three.  He sat up and crept to the door, listening.  A muffled scream reached his ears, and he double checked to make sure Willow was still in the room.  She was asleep on the bed, practically falling off the opposite side he'd been on, oblivious to anything happening.

He sat on the bed to yank his boots on.  "Willow, wake up," he whispered loudly.  "Come on, Red, we've got company."

Willow woke up with a yawn.  "What's going on?"  She sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

Boots on, he stood up and started for the door.  "Stay here.  If I don't come back in a few minutes, or if you get scared, leave."  He looked around quickly, and motioned to the window.  "Go out there, and don't look back."

Eyes wide, she quickly put on her tennis shoes, then grabbed stakes, holy water, and crosses.  A loud crash sounded from downstairs, followed a second later by glass breaking.  "What's  down there?" she asked quietly.  She didn't look scared, like he'd expected her to be, she actually looked angry.

"Vampires," he said dismissively, not about to tell her what specific vampires they were.  She'd be sure to stomp down the stairs right behind him, if not in front of him, intending to save her friends, and then Angelus.

Spike wasn't worried about Angelus in the slightest, he could go to hell again for all Spike cared.  But he was worried about Drusilla.  He hadn't heard her downstairs, so he didn't think she was a vampire yet... she'd be here if she was.  This was just the kind of thing she was into.  But if she wasn't a vampire yet, then he had to refrain from going down there and killing Angelus... pity.

She looked up from stuffing her pockets full of her slaying paraphernalia.  "How many?"

Spike shook his head at her.  "Don't even think about it, Willow.  You stay here," he told her in no uncertain terms.  "Lock the door after me."

She looked about ready to protest, but then finally dropped her arms to her sides and nodded.

Taking one of the stakes from her, he looked her in the eye, made sure she saw how serious he was, and left her room, shutting the door tightly behind him.  He waited for her to lock the door, then started cautiously down the hallway.

~~~*~~~

Willow stopped her pacing, listened closely, then continued on her way.  Five minutes had passed since Spike left the room.  Five minutes of waiting and listening, hoping for the best for Joe, Sam, and Spike, and knowing that it was pretty likely that everyone down there was dead.  Some more so than others.  She had to get down there and help them.  Help Spike.  If he wasn't already dust.

That thought caused her chest to tighten and her breath to catch.  Spike couldn't be dead, it just wasn't possible.  Refusal to believe in something wasn't usually a problem for Willow, but for some reason... well, she just couldn't believe it.  Stopping to listen again, she was startled to hear footsteps in the hall outside her door.

Spike's warning rang through her mind, and she moved to the window, waiting to see what the person was going to do.  When she saw the round brass doorknob twist slowly back and forth, she shoved the window open and started to climb through just as the door flew open, slamming against the dresser.  The sound of splintering wood rang through the quiet room, echoing for what seemed like forever.

"Hey," a voice yelled.

Willow didn't bother to turn around and look, she climbed over the sash, onto the rooftop.  A pair of hands grabbed her roughly by the arms, his fingers digging into the flesh there,  and spun her around.  She screamed as the vampire grinned at her, showing her his mouthful of sharp yellow fangs.  He pushed her backward, and her feet went out from under her.  She reached out blindly, as she started to fall, and lucked out by grabbing the window frame.  Scrambling away on her hands and knees, she tried to get far enough away to get to her feet and get away, but he was right behind her.  He picked her up, carried her back to the window, and shoved her through, back into her room.

She fell forward, landing on her hands and knees, wincing as wood slivers went into all four points of contact.

"That's right, bitch.  On your knees," he hissed.

Willow drew in a deep breath as pain and anger swept through her.  Being a victim sucked, and she didn't want to be one anymore.  Just because this guy was a vampire, and bigger than her by at least a foot, and a demon, and-- well, none of that mattered, right?  She had her brain, and her magick, and her... knowledge of the future which probably wouldn't help her, but just might.

"Go to hell," she bit out, hoping to anger him.  And sure enough, it worked.  Predictable.  He came up behind her, grabbed her by the hair, and yanked her up.  As soon as he turned her around, she raised her left hand, raked her nails along his neck, and staked him with the stake she'd dropped into her right hand.  She was halfway down the stairs by the time the dust settled to the floor.

Slipping down the hallway and stairwell was a breeze compared to working up enough courage to peer through the doorway at the scene before her.  And it took her two tries, because she  didn't look long enough the first time.  Finally, she was able to see a group of vampires in the far left corner of the pub, grouped around something, or someone.  She couldn't be sure.

All the tables and chairs were grouped along the right wall, including in front of the door to the outside, which was directly across from her.  Not that she'd leave without Spike, Joe and Sam.  Leaning back against the wall, she saw something blue to her left.  She turned her head, dreading what she would see.

Samantha's favorite color was sky blue, so she had a lot of blue dresses, boots, shoes, and ribbons.  Right now, most of the blue was covered in red and brown stains.  Joe's hair was covered in blood as well, from where Samantha's neck wound had bled onto the floor and pooled underneath his head, mixing with his own blood which was also pooling under him.

Willow ducked back into the hall and swallowed hard, pressing her hands into her eyes to stop the tears trying to fall.  Now wasn't the time, damn it.  Not now.  Halting the sob in her throat, she peered once more around the corner.  The gang of vamps were still there, still doing whatever it was they were doing, and now, her fury getting the better of her, she wanted to know what the hell was going on.  Stake in hand, she dropped to the ground and crawled through the doorway, hiding behind the bar.

Ignoring the dead couple a few feet away from her, wasn't easy.  Her hand landed in the blood beside Sam's arm, and she  slid forward, catching herself just before smacking into the bar.  She frantically wiped her bloody hand on her skirt, and took a deep breath, dreading what she was about to do.  Standing up, she looked around the room, seeing five vampires in the corner--three men, two women--and Spike.  He was unconscious and bloody.  Bruised too.  And looking pretty bad.

Two other vampires were standing off to the side, watching the spectacle in the corner.  The vampires grouped around Spike occasionally kicked or hit him.  One of them was feeding off of him, her mouth was attached to his arm.  Ew, gross.

She had to stop them.  Not only was it wrong, and mean, it was extremely gross and disgusting.

"Angelus."  Her voice wasn't loud, but it didn't have to be.

He heard her immediately.  His brown eyes fixed on hers, a malevolent grin lifting the corners of his mouth.  Every other head in the room turned toward her as one.  The vampire feeding off Spike dropped his arm, and stood up with the rest of them.  And all the snarling, sneering vampires, their fangs glistening, their eyes glowing, advanced on her.  Angelus stopped them with a single look.

Holding her stake up for Angelus to see, Willow tossed it harmlessly to the floor on the other side of the bar.  "I won't kill you."  Lifting her other hand, which held a satchel filled  with useless herbs meant to protect, she added, "But I will hurt you, so I suggest you get out."

"Angelus?" a small voice inquired.  "Who is this?"  Darla, standing beside Angelus, her hand resting possessively on his arm, looked Willow over, apparently finding her lacking.  "This is the one you captured?  The one who hurt you?" she giggled.  "She is only a human."

Angelus shrugged out from under her touch, his eyes never leaving Willow's.  He walked forward a few feet, his boots loud in the ensuing silence.  At his movements, the vampires seemed to decide as one that it was time to get back to what they'd been doing.

"Your husband," Angelus said suddenly, a light going on in his eyes.  Remembrance was flooding through him from a hundred and seven years ago.

Flicking her eyes to the corner, checking to make sure Spike was still there and not dust, she hoped she hadn't given herself away.  Hoped she didn't look as frightened as she felt.  Fear was racing through her, her heart was beating a million miles an hour, and through it all, she kept her expression blank.  She hoped.

She nodded, trying not to shrink away from the glare in Darla's eyes.  If looks could kill... the trick to looking tough, was looking tough.  Willow crossed her arms over her chest and glared right back.  That'll teach her to-- or not.  Darla growled  at her and started forward.  Angelus' hand shot out and grabbed her arm.

"She's mine," he growled, shoving Darla back.  "I owe her."

Willow gulped, and turned toward the vampires holding Spike.  "Let him go."

Angelus chuckled ruefully.  "Oh, no, I don't think so.  See, I also owe him."

Reminding him of the herbs in her hand, she motioned toward the corner.  "Let him go, and I won't kill you."

Darla laughed delightedly.  "Kill us?  My dear," she said condescendingly, "you won't kill us.  Not if you want everything to be as it should."

Willow hid the frown that was forming on her brow.  How did she know?  How could she possibly have guessed?  "Will so," she disagreed, starting to lose her cool.  There'd been no sound from Spike, no movement from him either.  She could hardly even see him anymore.

"The girl told us.  The one you found for my boy."  She sneered at Willow, her face becoming demonic for a moment.  "She says you're a traveler."  Darla smiled sweetly.  "I say you're a puny human, not worthy of my Angelus."

Willow refused to be drawn into an argument with a jealous vampire.  She turned her eyes to her future-friend.  "Let him go, Angelus."

"You know, back in Galway, when I generously told you of your 'husband's' infidelity, I couldn't figure out why you were so uncaring."  He circled around the bar, stalking toward her.  She glanced behind herself, knowing she only had a few feet left before she ran into the wall.  When her back finally hit it, he grinned and stepped closer, trailing his finger along the polished wood counter.

"You knew her in Galway?" Darla asked suspiciously, then looked more closely at her.  "The loon was right?  She really is a traveler?"

Angelus ignored Darla, keeping his attention on Willow.  "I realize now that he was feeding, not fu--"

Two of the vampires guarding Spike, suddenly went flying across the room.  Another one was reduced to dust.  Spike jumped up, backing away from the remaining two, planting his back against the same wall she was against, a chair leg in his hand.

Angelus wasted no time in grabbing Willow when he saw his minions falling to the floor in useless piles of dust.  His hand did the usual wrapping around her neck move... must be a vampire thing.  Freud would have a field day with them.  He slid behind her, holding her still with his other arm, which he wrapped around her stomach.  All kinds of icky feelings were washing over her from the contact, but she shoved it away.  Later.  Later, she would cry for her lost friends, cry for herself, and scream and  yell at the situation she'd been forced into, but right now, she needed to keep a level head.

Angelus seemed to be waiting for Spike to notice the position they were in, so she called out to him, whispering around the hand at her throat.  "William."

He dusted the last two vampires that were attempting to charge him, and brushed himself off before turning toward them.  His jaw tightened, and Willow was pretty sure he was angry at her for not getting away.  "Didn't I tell you to run, Red?"

"Red," Angelus repeated.  "Is that his pet name for you?" he whispered in her ear, making her cringe.  "Is that why you got so angry when I called you that?  Well, gosh, isn't that sweet?"

"I tried," Willow told Spike, ignoring Angelus completely.  "But the dust pile in my room-- ow."

"Quiet," Angelus barked, squeezing her neck tightly.  Darla moved behind them, her hand threading through Willow's hair and pulling her head back, baring it to Angelus' mouth.  Thankfully he didn't take advantage of the offer.

"Let her go, Angelus, you've already got one plaything."  Spike jumped over the counter and advanced on them.  Angelus laughed and walked backwards, dragging Willow with him.

She was starting to feel like a rag doll.  Everyone seemed to want to force her to do what they wanted.  But this was Angelus, she couldn't simply stake him and walk away, even if she  could manage it.  Buffy barely had, so she didn't really hold any hope of being able to herself.  And she didn't want to.  Angel was her friend.  Buffy's love.  He'd saved their lives on numerous occasions... from Spike a few times too.  Truthfully, she shouldn't be anywhere near any of these three vampires.

And yet.

Someone up there seemed to take great pleasure in throwing them together.  A nice big jumble of vampires and witches.  Well, witch.  Singular.  And... um, they were discussing her, and she was thinking way too much about things, and not paying enough attention.

"Drusilla not enough for you, mate?" Spike snarled.  "Driving her batty not satisfying you?"  He vamped out, sneering at Angelus.

"Sp-- William, don't," she whispered, trying to get his attention away from Angelus.  His eyes flicked momentarily to hers, but she didn't see a speck of warmth in them.  Uh-oh.  His entire attention was focused on Angelus, and she feared that maybe he was letting his anger and hatred get the best of him.  He was a demon after all, they tended to do stuff like that.  A lot.

"Yeah, William," Angelus taunted.  "Don't."  He laughed at the fury on Spike's face, and licked Willow's neck.

"Ew," she said, not wisely, and automatically tried to shrug him off of her.  Obviously, he wasn't about to be displaced that easily.  And she was pretty sure she'd angered him, because his arms tightened around her even more.  Now would be a good time to get free.  The spell she'd done before, when Angelus had her tied to a chair, seemed like a good idea.  The Latin words fell easily from her lips, and her head fell back as the power flowed through her.

"Oh, bloody hell," Spike ground out, before jumping over the counter, and ducking down behind it.

Darla, who Willow had all but forgotten about, grabbed her arm just as Willow's eyes slid shut and the magick shot through her.  Darla and Angelus both yelled in surprise and pain.  Good.  She liked that she'd caused them a little bit of the pain they'd caused her.  Without opening her eyes, she drew in a deep breath, and stood straighter, working out the kinks in her neck.

She could see Angelus and Darla on the floor behind her, watching her warily, fearfully, and she reveled in it, not stopping to wonder how she could see them when they were behind her, and her eyes were closed.  She was too busy thinking that they should fear her.  Cower before her.  Opening her eyes, she searched for Spike.  He was just getting to his feet on the other side of the bar again.  Behind her, the other two vampires were climbing to their feet as well, still watching her cautiously.   She grinned and turned toward them, fixing them in place with a look.

And then everything went black.

~~~*~~~

Spike heard Willow speak Latin, and dove over the bar, knowing something bad was about to happen.  Just as he made it to safety, Darla and Angelus screamed and went flying backwards, smacking into the wall behind Willow, and slumping to the floor in a heap.  His grin of satisfaction didn't last long.  In his experience, Willow and magick usually equaled badness.  Proposing to the slayer, ending up two hundred and forty-six years in the past, and then five years from when he wanted to end up... these were not good things.

Standing up cautiously, he peered over the counter at Willow and saw her standing perfectly straight and still, like a statue.  Angelus and Darla were standing as well, just as Willow turned toward them, opening her eyes.  She grinned at them, and then suddenly sagged.  Her eyes turned black, and all emotion and life left her in a breath.  He knew this look, he'd almost been killed by the last witch to be possessed by this thing.  If it was indeed the same thing.

"Leave," she told the couple glaring at her from their spot against the wall.

Spike sighed when he heard the deep, rumbling voice that left Willow's lips.  It was the same voice from five years ago all right.  The big and mighty Time Stabilizer.

Angelus didn't seem to realize the trouble he was in.  He stalked forward, sneering at Willow.

"You don't tell me, Red, I tell you."  He stood in front of Willow, daring her to do something.

Spike shook his head with a sigh.  Angelus always was a bloody stupid idiot.  "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

They both ignored Spike.  Willow lifted her hands up, palms out, facing Angelus.  "She doesn't wish you to call her that, vampire."  Her hands started to glow a dark green color.  "Leave," the voice repeated.  "This time has already been irrevocably altered.  Alter it more and you will cease to exist."  She turned her eyes to Darla, who had joined Angelus.

"Come on, Angelus, let's go.  I'm not having fun any more," Darla declared, pulling on his arm.  Spike sneered at her, she always had been the type to run at the first sign of trouble.

Angelus shook her hand off his arm and straightened up.  His eyes stayed fixed on Willow, and he looked about ready to attack her.  Spike tensed, preparing to jump across the counter again to protect Willow.  She was still his ticket home.  He didn't exactly fancy living out the next hundred and forty years here.

Finally, Angelus nodded, trying to act casual and unafraid.  "Let's go, Darla.  This... place has lost its appeal."  He  stepped closer to Willow, leaning in to whisper, though he made sure to speak loud enough so everyone present heard him.  "Make no mistake, I'll find you again... *Red*."

Spike rolled his eyes, and moved back a few feet, making sure to stay shielded by the counter.  Willow's hands didn't glow brighter, or raise up, the light simply shot out from her palms, and struck Angelus in the chest.  He went flying backwards for the second time that night, and Darla with him.  Furious snarls and growling sounded from the couple, but they decided they'd had enough abuse for one night, and quickly left.

Spike chuckled at their hasty retreat, then circled around the counter to Willow.  She sagged again, collapsing to the floor.  He caught her before her head could smack on a shelf behind the bar, and lifted her up.  He almost dropped her when the heat from her skin penetrated his clothes.

"Christ," he ground out, carrying her upstairs quickly.  Setting her on her bed, he stood back, wondering what he was supposed to do now.  She was hot as hell, but shivering.

This hadn't happened to Christine.  She'd woken up on her own, given him some supplies for a protection spell, and showed him out the door.

What was it humans said?  Feed a fever, starve a cold?  Feed a cold, starve a fever?  She wasn't even conscious, how was he supposed to feed her?  And what was he supposed to feed her?  He  doubted food, or a lack of it, would help her at this point.  Maybe a cold bath to bring her temperature down... if he knew where a bathtub was.  Not to mention indoor plumbing.

He covered her up, and sat back to wait.  After a good twenty minutes, and nothing happened, he went downstairs for a bottle of whiskey to pass the time.  Stepping over her dead friends, he grabbed a bottle and headed back upstairs.  Willow was tossing and turning, trying to shove the blanket off.  Her eyes slid open for a second before closing again.  "I'm hot, Mom.  No more covers," she moaned.

Spike set the whiskey on the dresser and covered her back up.  "You have a fever or something.  What am I supposed to do?"  She didn't answer.  "Fine," he muttered.  "More covers it is."  He went through her dresser drawers and closet, tossing every dress he could find on top of her.  His own black T-Shirt went as well, along with her red jeans.  She tried to shove them off, but he held her hands still.

"Mmm, cold.  Feels good," she whispered, pressing his hands against her face.  Her skin heated his almost immediately, sapping all the coolness from him.  She dropped his hands, opening her eyes again.  "Oz?  Not Oz."  She frowned, shivering, and turned onto her side, snuggling into the covers.  A second later, she drew in a deep breath.  "Spike," she mumbled.  "It smells like you again."

He looked down at her, wondering what the hell she was talking about.  What smelled like him?  Seeing the black cotton garment under her cheek, he realized she was talking about his T-Shirt.  "If you say so, pet."  Grabbing the bottle of whiskey from the dresser, he uncorked it and took a swig, then poured some of it over the bitemark on his arm.  Bloody bitch had taken a good chunk out of him.  Who the hell taught her how to fight? he wondered.  Generally, vampires didn't bite each other unless they had sex in mind.  Or dominance.  Considering they were there to kill, he was pretty sure sex hadn't entered into it.  And she was a long way off of being dominant over anyone except maybe a month old vampire.

Taking another swig as his arm dripped with whiskey and blood, he shifted slightly to get more comfortable.  His right side ached like a bastard.  Most of the kicking and blows he'd been given had somehow ended up on that side.  Lifting his eyes to Willow's form, he sighed.  She was huddled on the bed, looking so small and lost that he couldn't help but feel for her.

Unfortunately, she showed no signs of waking up anytime soon.  It was going to be a long night.

~~~~*~~~~

Spike dropped his cigarette to the floor, and crushed it under his boot.  Standing up with a yawn, he stumbled over to the bed, staring down at Willow with a baleful eye.  Kicking off his boots, and taking off his shirt, he climbed into bed beside her.  She'd been silent in the four hours since she'd discovered he wasn't dogboy, hadn't moved much either.  If he hadn't been able to hear her heartbeat, he'd have wondered if she was still alive.

After he slid under the covers, and got comfortable, settling on one side of the bed, she rolled over and snuggled up against him.  Yep.  Definitely still alive.  And warm, though no longer overly so.  A sigh escaped her, and he felt her breath fan across his chest as her hand curled under her cheek.  He held himself still, waiting for her to wake up and realize where she was, but it didn't happen.  Lifting his arm up cautiously, he wrapped it around her, enjoying the familiar feeling of holding her again after so long.

Just as he was drifting off to sleep, he felt her stiffen.  She held her breath for a few seconds, then slowly tried to move away from him.  Her heartbeat was taking off as panic settled over her.

"It's just me," he whispered, letting go of her to show her he meant no harm.

Silence greeted him, then a soft, "S-- Spike?"

"Still not Elvis."  He was surprised when she didn't move away from him.  "You okay now?"

She shook her head frantically, close to tears.  "No."  She was trying hard not to cry, sniffling every few seconds, and swallowing her sobs.  "They're dead," she whispered.  "Angelus and Darla killed them."

He wondered for a second who she was talking about before remembering her dead friends downstairs.  "I know."  He smoothed his hand down her back, feeling the need to comfort her, though it certainly wasn't something he was used to doing.  Killing, and maiming, now those things he knew how to do.  Comforting anyone except Dru was beyond him.  "I'm sorry."

Was it okay to lie to the person you were trying to comfort?  Didn't seem right.  But what was he supposed to say?  'I know they're dead, but I could care less.  So hey, goodnight and sweet dreams.'  That probably wouldn't go over too well.

Unable to hold back any longer, she started crying, her whole body shaking with sobs.  Tears wet his chest, but he didn't  mind too much.  She'd been through a lot in the past year, or however long she'd been here.  He was used to living in the past.  He'd lived through it once.  She hadn't.  And yet, she'd survived her time here.  Now her friends were dead, friends who'd helped her survive.

Her sobs quieted after a few minutes, her tears dried up, and her breathing evened out.  "I miss Sunnydale," she whispered.  "I want to go home."

Spike had been thinking about that recently, about leaving.  Seeing Dru was great, watching her with her family, her friends, seeing her laugh without the insanity... well, it was beyond description, though he wasn't sure why.  Knowing her before she became the demon he loved was great.  But, she didn't know him, didn't care a thing about him.  In fact, the few times he'd approached her, she'd cowered from him.  Apparently that psychic thing was in full swing even now, because she was afraid of him.

Why she wasn't afraid of Angelus baffled him no end.

Spike wanted to stick around to make sure things went like they were supposed to, and considering how much they'd screwed with things already, there was no guarantee that Dru would be made at all.  The thing speaking through Willow had fueled that fear in Spike, and now he was back to thinking they needed to stick around.

When he didn't answer right away, she sighed heavily, and sniffled.  "Never mind."  Pushing away from him, she settled on the other side of the bed.

"We can't," he said regretfully.  "Not yet.  After the whole near-miss in Galway, I think we should stick around to make sure Angelus turns Dru."

She didn't fight him like he'd expected, just sniffled some more, and nodded in resignation.  "I know.  You're right, we should stay and make sure."  She sighed, and continued on in a hesitant voice.  "As much as I want to go home right now... I think we need to stick around to make sure you get turned too.  We screwed things up so badly that--"

He sat up, startled.  "What?  Things are mostly still on track, or at least, not that off-track, the only difference is that they know who we are now."  Bloody hell.  He didn't want to go to eighteen-eighty.  Didn't want to see his human counterpart.  "There's no need to go there."

She sat up as well, resting against the wall behind them.  "But, there is.  What if Angelus recognizes you... I mean William?  He'd probably kill him on the spot."

Damn it, she was right.  Why did his plans always go so wrong?  It had seemed like a nice, solid plan.  Grab the witch, force her to do the time travel spell, go back a few months, keep him from being captured.  Simple plan.  Easy.

Stupid.

He should've known.  Nothing he did ever went right.  At least not since coming to Sunnydale.  The blasted slayer was at the root of most of his screw-ups.  Bloody bitch.  Shoving himself out of Willow's bed, he grabbed his coat and fished out one of the cigarettes he'd rolled a few days ago.  He leaned  against the dresser as he lit it.  "What if I don't want to go to eighteen-eighty?"

Willow was folding the clothes he'd thrown on her hours before.  She stopped with a shrug, playing with the belt loop on her jeans.  "You didn't give me a choice, so, I'm not giving you a choice," she said with a brave and hopeful look.

He just lifted an eyebrow at her.  Like she could force him to do anything.  Please.

The hope and bravery melted into worry.  "But," she reasoned, looking up at him, "what if you don't get turned?"

He rolled his eyes, sitting on the edge of the bed.  "Looking back on some of the things I've done, maybe that wouldn't be a bad thing."  Well, yes, actually it would be a bad thing.  He happened to like his unlife, thank you very much.

"Wait," she said, sitting up straighter.  "You're regretting stuff you've done?"  She held her hand against his forehead with a concerned frown.  "Are you all right?  You feel okay?  You're not getting a soul, are you?"

"Yeah, that's what's happening," he said with a chuckle.  "Of course I regret things.  Like the Halloween Buffy turned into an innocent little frail weakling.  I regret not killing her faster.  And when I got caught by the Initiative.  I regret that.  Or the time Dru--"

Willow snorted and pushed him away with a laugh.  A second later, her smile faded, and she went back to folding her clothes.  "Did-- back in Galway, when you said being bitten doesn't have to hurt, did you mean it?"

"Yeah.  Why?  You want to test out that theory?"  He waggled his eyebrows at her lasciviously.

She shook her head with a shudder, staring down at his T-Shirt.  "Do you think Sam and Joe--"

Feeling somewhat responsible for her friends' deaths, what with him being a vampire and their killers being vampires, he sighed heavily, and spoke more harshly than he needed to.  "You want me to lie, Willow?  You saw Darla bite Angelus.  You yourself have been bitten by him, and by others.  Did Darla's bite hurt him?  Sure looked like it to me.  And I can pretty much guarantee that that newest one on your neck was painful."

She went to the window and carefully opened the shutters, making sure not to let the sun hit him.  Leaning against the wall below the sash, she folded her arms across her chest.  "Every bite I have was painful, Spike.  Ten bites, each one painful."

His eyes flickered to her neck, seeing seven bite marks.  He knew who owned those... but where were the other three?  Joining her by the window, he tossed his cigarette out, dodging the dangerous golden rays of death.

"Where are they?"  Anger was coursing through him, and he had to work to keep his face from changing.  How dare someone else mark her.  She was his.  Well... in the sense that she was marked by him--twice--and was traveling with him.  They'd slept together for a week.  Technically been together for a century.  If one didn't count the years they'd been apart, and okay, didn't  sound like he had much of a claim on her after all.  But neither did anyone else.

Willow shook her head in confusion.  "Where are who?"

He sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward slightly, watching her intently.  "The other three bite marks."  He'd bet his right arm they'd been done by the bastard that tried to rape her.  And that was something he didn't want to think about.  He'd already gone through the whole guilt thing for not being there when it happened.  And the fury that someone else had touched her.  He'd gone through all that five years ago, he didn't need to replay it again now.

No.  It wasn't just that he'd touched her.  It was that he'd forced her.  Touched her when she didn't want to be touched.

Forcing the anger back again, he raised a questioning eyebrow at her.  "Well?"

"Why?" she countered.  "Does it really matter?"  Judging by the nauseous look on her face, she didn't want to discuss it.

Tough.  "Yes, it does."

She moved further into the sunlight, looking trapped.  "You know what?"  She threw the shutters open all the way, and walked quickly out of the room, staying out of reach in the sunlight.  "I don't think it's any of your business."  Stopping at the door, she turned back around and was surprised to find him right beside her.  She eeped.  Literally.

Spike had to laugh.  Willow was one of a kind.  He doubted there was another one of her in the world.  "Just answer the question."

"No," she said adamantly.  "You don't own me.  I don't have to do what you say.  Got it?"  She backed away from him, going into the hall.

He followed her, shutting the door quickly behind him to block the sun from killing him.  Didn't want to ruin his already sucky day, now did he?  "Actually, you do kind of belong to me.  And, as for not having to do what I say?  You do.  See... I no longer have that pesky implant to worry about."

She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned to face him.  "Fine, Spike.  Bite me, kill me... go ahead."

He grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her away from him.  She slid across the floor, slamming her head into the wall, and dropped to the floor unconscious.  The two vampires that'd been sneaking up behind her, snarled at their lost prey.  Spike vamped out, and stepped in front of her, facing down her dead friends.

"Should've gotten out while it was dark," he told them.  Yep, he definitely remembered these two from his trip here five years ago.  They were a little older, a lot deader, and considerably more bloody, but it was them.

They both halted their progress when they saw his face.  "Why are you protecting her?" Joe asked, his Irish accent thick, made thicker by a mouthful of fangs.

Samantha, her blonde hair ratted and bloody, stepped forward with more confidence than her husband.  "The girl is ours.  We want her."

"Wrong," he snarled.  "She's mine.  Remember that husband she was waiting for?"  They nodded, looking at each other fearfully.  "I'm him."

"Oh," they said together.  And then they ran.  Not out the front door, like Angelus and Darla had done, but toward their bedroom.  He heard a door slam, and then another.  Must be another way out.  Either that, or they'd just trapped themselves.

He ran after them with a quick glance over his shoulder at Willow, and found himself in an empty bedroom.  There was a lot of furniture--a large bed, dresser, table and chairs, wardrobe--but nothing with a lot of room for two adults to hide in.  Door number two then, he thought, crossing the room to it.  Cautiously, making sure not to let any sunlight in, he opened the door and let it swing wide.  Darkness greeted him, not sunlight.  It opened onto a narrow alley, thick with shadows.  The vampires were nowhere to be seen, so he shut the door and shoved a dresser in front of it.  Back out in the bar, he looked down at Willow, wondering why it was that whenever the two of them got together, one or the other ended up either unconscious, or bleeding.

Sighing in exasperation, he went over to her and picked her up, once again carrying her upstairs to her room.  Laying her down gently, he slammed the shutters closed, shut her door, and pushed the dresser in front of it.  Shoving her clothes to the floor, he climbed into bed beside her, and pulled her against him.

She'd be real angry when she woke up.  Probably think he'd tried to kill her.  Well, let her.  She couldn't hurt him.

~Part: 12~

"Ow!" Spike yelled, gritting his teeth as Willow tied the strip of cloth around his stomach.  "Could you possibly make it hurt more?"

She shrugged, and tightened it until he winced and pulled away from her.  "How's that?" she asked.  "Good for you?  'Cause it was great for me."

Spike sighed and laid back on the bed, forcing himself to relax his tensed up muscles.  "Willow, get over it.  Bloody hell, woman, it's been two weeks."  He shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable, and ended up causing himself more pain than comfort.  God, he couldn't wait to get back to the twentieth century, where comfort was only a mattress away.

"Well, yeah, okay, I'll get over it," she told him, cleaning up the bloodied sheet and torn strips of what was left of Spike's shirt.  The strips went into the trash with the sheet.  Carrying the basin of bloody water to the window, she dumped it out, tossing him another glare over her shoulder.  "As soon as you tell me what really happened."

Spike clenched his jaw in irritation.  Two weeks of the same conversations and arguments got old real quick.  So why didn't he just tell her the truth and end it now?  Because he was a big pansy and he didn't want to cause her anymore pain than she'd  already been through.  "I've told you a thousand times.  There was a vampire--"

"Behind me," she said, sitting back down on the bed.  "Right.  I know."  She sounded about as exasperated as he felt.

Good.  Maybe she'd drop it.

"But you threw me against the wall, Spike.  Knocked me out.  And I never saw a vampire.  Never saw a pile of dust afterward."

Or not.  Shoving her hand away from him, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.  "Leave it," he bit out angrily.  Nausea rose up in his stomach, and he held still for a few seconds before pushing himself to his feet.  Pain tore through his stomach, dropping him to his knees.  Pressing the bandage tighter to the suddenly bleeding-again wound, he tried to get up, but couldn't quite manage it.  "Christ," he muttered, feeling humiliated.

Willow sighed and knelt beside him, helping him up.  As soon as he was steady on his feet, he pushed her away.

"You're only making it worse," she muttered, slipping under his arm.  She led him back to the bed, and forced him to sit down.  "I'd prefer not to nurse you any longer than I have to.  Stupid vampire."

Spike laid down and covered his eyes with his arm, ignoring her.  He'd prefer not to have her nurse him at all.  This felt all too familiar, this helplessness.  But, at least he wasn't in  a wheelchair.  And Angelus wasn't around.  Well, not in the immediate vicinity anyway.

"You gonna tell me what happened tonight then?  Or do I have to guess about that too?"

He took his arm off his eyes and glared at her.  "No."  Tell her he'd been taken down the very vampires whose presence he was trying to keep from her?  Not likely.  Especially since they were fledglings that shouldn't have been able to get the drop on him.  He should've been able to dust them.  Or at least fight them better than he had.  Not ending with a knife in his stomach.

She sat in the arm chair next to the bed.  "Spike, something is going on.  You're getting the crap beat out of you every night... that's not a normal thing.  Is it?"

He remained silent, choosing not to exercise his right to bitch at her.

She sighed heavily, sounding so put upon he almost laughed.  "You dragged me here to this stupid demon boarding house, you make me stay inside all night, not allowing me to go with you... I could use a little aggression-getting-out too, you know.  And Mrs. Pressman is extremely creepy, I swear she stands outside the room all night while you're gone.  Listening."  She waited a split second for a reply, then went on, not giving him a chance to respond even had he been going to.  "I've heard her out there.  The floor creaks."

"Have you tried looking to see if she's out there?" he asked, hiding his laughter.  Mrs. Pressman was rather creepy,  even he thought so, but he doubted she was listening outside their room.  She was just an old woman.  A bitch, yes, but human and harmless.

"Yes.  I haven't caught her yet, but I know she's out there."  She frowned and shook her head.  "I can feel her.  Or I can feel something anyway."

Spike shrugged lightly, making sure not to jar his wound.  "Don't know what to tell you, pet."  The old lady wasn't a something, sure she ran a demon boarding house, but she herself wasn't one, at least not to his knowledge.

After Angelus' attack at Willow's place, Spike had decided it would be best if they left.  Joe and Sam were out there, and chances were they'd be coming back.  He didn't want Willow to know about them, didn't want her to run into them.  Using the excuse that she'd be looked at as a murder suspect if she didn't disappear too, he got her to come with him.  She packed all her things and left with him without a word.  He thought maybe she was relieved to be getting out of there.  Bad memories and all that.

Willow tapped his foot with her hand, trying to get his attention.  "Hey, space case."

"What?" he yawned.  "Trying to get some sleep here."

"I said, how's Dru doing?"  The window suddenly held a lot of interest for her.  She went over to it, opened it, leaned out of it, all just to avoid looking at him.

He could've told her he didn't mind when she asked about Dru.  But, then he'd have to give up these amusing avoidance scenes.  He didn't like what Angelus and Darla were doing to Dru, but he knew it was necessary for her to become the woman he fell in love with.  Insanity and all.  So it didn't bother him to talk about it.  It was the watching that angered him.  And he had to watch.  Had to see for himself exactly what they'd done to her.

"Child's play tonight.  Just followed her around, making sure she knew someone was there.  Never let her see him though."

"Does he ever?" she asked.  "I mean, does she know he's the one that's killing her family?"  She frowned, looking out the window again.

"No.  She still thinks he's her savior."  Oops, he'd let a little anger through that time.

"Spike?"

Her voice was quiet, hesitant, and he knew she was about to ask him something she didn't really want to know about.  She seemed to ask those kinds of questions a lot lately.  "Hmm?" was all he said, just a simple inquiry to let her know he was listening.

"Did you really torture people with railroad spikes?"  She closed the window, and sat beside him.  "I mean-- well, did you?"

He considered lying, or telling her half the truth, but as he opened his mouth to lie, the truth came out.  "Yes."  Ah, hell, now she was going to be weird around him.  Might as well go all the way.  "Liked it too."  Honesty probably wasn't the best policy here, since she was looking a bit angry.

"Why?  I mean, sure, you're a demon and all that.  But what is it about causing people pain that's so fun for you?"  He shrugged, but that wasn't enough for her.  "I really want to know."

He didn't know how to answer that one.  Hurting people was just fun.  That's all.  Seeing the hurt and pain on their faces as he cut into them, or stabbed them... well, it just did something for him.  Admittedly he wasn't as bloodthirsty as Angelus, Dru, or Darla, but he still liked to hurt people.  Even now, he wouldn't mind hurting Willow.  And yet, at the same time, he wanted to spare her pain... though her neck was looking rather tempting at the moment.

He needed to feed.  Get some of his strength back.  But it wouldn't be from her.  Unless, of course, she offered herself to him.  No, not even then.

"I don't know.  I just like it," he said irritably.  There was no way to explain to a human what it felt like to be a demon.  "Why do you like ice cream?  Or jumping out of airplanes?  It's a demon-thing."

She nodded and bit her lip.  "Okay."  And that's all she said.  She took him at his word, and went back to the armchair.  The book she'd been reading when he came stumbling through the door, bleeding and damn near passing out, was on the floor beside her.  She picked it up with a sigh, and started reading.

Though she was angry at him, and possibly the world in general, she was quickly engrossed in the stories she was reading.  He'd bought her that book and a couple of others a few nights before.  Poe and Shakespeare.  He smiled, remembering her reaction to the small gifts.

She'd squealed and jumped up to take them from him, grinning from ear to ear.  He'd been pleased with himself for making her so happy, because it wasn't often that she smiled anymore.  And the small kiss on his cheek hadn't been bad either.

Spike sighed and got to his feet, more carefully this time.  Her blood was tempting him, and he was in desperate need of some.   "I'll be back... later," he muttered, holding his stomach with one arm and putting his T-Shirt on with the other.

"Where are you going?" she asked, standing up to help him.  Ignoring his glaring look, she took the shirt from him, and put it on him.  "You can hardly move, you can't dress yourself, and you're probably low on blood... oh."  She frowned, stepping away from him in alarm.  "But, you can't go out there like this."

"Why the bloody hell not?" he snarled, anger at her making him growl a bit more than he'd intended.  What the hell was she backing away from him for?  Wasn't like he was going to eat her.  He could damn well control himself.

For the time being.

Instead of answering, she tossed him her book.  "Here."

He caught it against his chest with one hand, groaning when his wound sent sharp jabbing pains in every direction, and started a dull ache to accompany the rest of his sore muscles.

"Bloody God damn hell," he ground out, throwing the book across the room.  It banged against the wall with a loud thump, startling Willow.  She jumped a little, but didn't back down.  Stupid human didn't know how much danger she was in at the moment.  Forcing his face not to change was easier said than done, but he managed it.  Just barely.  "What the hell'd you do that for?" he yelled.

"To prove a point," she told him, sounding like a teacher lecturing a student.  "And... hello.  Point proven."  She gestured to him with her open hands.  "You can't protect yourself against a book, let alone anything else that might be out there.  And if you die, I'm stuck here, so--"

"Right."  Of course, that was what was wrong.  She wasn't worried about him.  And that pissed him off.  Pissed him off to no end.  Why the hell didn't she care about him?  He cared about her.  He didn't want her to die.  Or get hurt.

Well, he wasn't sticking around to worry about it now.  "I don't have a whole lot of choice here.  If I want to heal faster, which I do, I need to eat."

"Well," she looked around them as if bags of blood were just going to be sitting there waiting for her to notice them.  "But, I don't want to be stuck here.  And..."  She looked away for a second, then straightened her back.  "Do you have to have a lot?  To heal?"

He had a pretty good idea where she was going with her questions, and he was all for nibbling on her.  She tasted absolutely wonderful... or she had a century before.  Still did, he was sure.  "Yes."

"Do you need it all at once, or can you pace it out?" she wondered.  "Because, I have blood, and it's just sitting there  doing nothing.  Except keeping me alive," she added with a nervous chuckle.

He was shaking his head before she finished talking.  "I'd love to snack on you, but I don't want to take the chance that I can't control myself."  Grabbing his cloak from the back of the chair, he slid one arm in, and was trying to get his other arm in without all the pain when she put her hand on his arm to stop him.  "Willow, go away.  I'm leaving."

She yanked on his cloak, trying to get him to relinquish it, but he wasn't giving in.  And then she stunned the hell out of him by shoving him against the wall.  "Take it or leave it, Spike, it's the only time I'm offering it to you.  And only because I need you so that I can get back to Sunnydale."  She tilted her head to the side, offering him her neck.

Spike snarled, in a not-entirely human way, and shoved her away from him.  Well no wonder, he thought to himself, feeling the familiar ridges decorating his face.  It had turned sometime after she'd shoved him, he wasn't even sure when, and he was reaching out to grab her.  To yank her head aside, and take what he so badly wanted.  But he stopped.  "Get away from me.  Now," he ordered.  The stupid bint stayed where she was, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning closer.

"Here's your chance to show me just how 'pleasurable' it can be," she told him, and by the way she said it, he knew she didn't believe it was possible.

So, maybe he should just show her how much fun it could be-- no.  Bloody hell, he wouldn't be able to stop himself if he tasted her now.  Contrary to his earlier thoughts, he was quickly losing control.  His hunger was fast approaching the point where instinct took over, and control went out the window.

"Come on," she taunted, "I'm not letting you out of here, so, it's either me, or Mrs. Pressman."  She giggled a little, and started toward the door when he remained crouched on the floor.  "Mrs. Pressman it is then."

He was so far beyond control now, that when he saw his prey getting away, he jumped on her with a growl, knocking them both to the floor.  His stomach got jarred in the process, but he paid it no heed.  Straddling her waist, he bared his fangs to her, and shoved her head to the side.  The high collar of her dress was in the way, so he ripped it all the way down the front, ignoring her shout of surprise, and her sudden struggles.  He slid his fangs into her neck with a groan, tasting her blood for the first time in too long.

It was as good as he remembered.

She stiffened underneath him, went absolutely still.  He was pretty sure even her breathing had stopped.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was scaring her, but he didn't care.

"Pleasurable," she whispered, "it's supposed to be pleasurable."  She started to shove at him in panic.

He held her tighter, sucking her blood out of her as quickly as he could, wanting to drain her dry.  His free hand slid down to her waist, holding her against him.  "Fight me," he whispered against her neck, grinning widely, "I enjoy it."

Her struggles stopped.  A few seconds later, her hands moved under his shirt, caressing his chest.  She raked her nails down his flesh, getting him all worked up, then pressed a finger to his wound.  He growled and sat up, glaring down at her.  "Bitch," he snarled.

She didn't look at him, or acknowledge him in any way, just grabbed the ripped ends of her dress and tried to close it.  "So much for pleasant."  Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared up at the ceiling.

With fresh blood in him, Spike was quickly regaining control.  He suddenly realized that he was straddling Willow, and eyeing her bare stomach.  Her blood was in his mouth, on his lips, and dripping down her neck.  Without thought, he leaned down and licked the blood dripping down her shoulder, pushing away the torn edges of her dress to get better access.

"Please stop," she whispered, stiffening up again.

Spike forced his face to change back, and lifted his head.  Damn the guilt.  He shouldn't be feeling any.  Christ, his life sucked.

Her eyes darted to his, then went back to ceiling-watching.

"I tried to tell you," he insisted.  "To warn you.  But, you wouldn't listen.  As usual."  She was pretty mad.  Well, she could stay that way, he wasn't about to soothe her hurt feelings.  He'd fought against this.  She was the only one to blame here.

"Done yet?" she asked, sounding disinterested.  "It's cold down here."

He looked down at her half naked body under his.  She was beautiful, as he'd always known she would be.  He'd felt her against him, held her, been held by her, even undressed her to clean up a wound, but this was the first time he'd actually *seen* her body.  Part of it.

"Almost," he said softly.

Leaning down, he let his face turn, and slowly, gently slid his fangs into the holes he'd already made.  He darted his tongue out, tasting her blood, flesh, and sweat.  It was intoxicating and heady stuff, but this time he kept control.  Sucking lightly at the wounds, he drew her blood into his mouth, caressing her stiff shoulders until she started to relax.  He shifted his face again, and kissed the wound.

"Pleasant," he told her smugly, getting to his feet.  His stomach was feeling better.  It was far from being healed, but it didn't hurt with every move he made.

She sat up, holding her dress closed.  "Next time I try to goad you into biting me, remind me of tonight."  Pressing her hand to her neck, she stood up, sighing, completely giving up on holding her dress together.

Once again, his eyes fell to her stomach and breasts, and the bite marks there.  Bite marks?  These then, were the bite marks she'd refused to tell him about.  "Those are his?" he asked, motioning to her.

"What?" she asked, looking down with a frown.  Her eyes widened, and she spun away.  "No, they're mine.  Happy now?"  Grabbing his T-Shirt from the bed, she started to undress.  "Turn."

Spike turned, not wanting to tick her off anymore than she already was.  "Is that why you wouldn't tell me back at the pub?  You thought I'd be celebrating?  What do you think vampires do?  Sit around high five-ing each other for killing humans?"  Anger was making another appearance.  This time it wasn't focused on Willow, it was focused on the son of a bitch who'd bitten her, unfortunately, he wasn't here, and she was.  So she was getting the brunt of it.

"Maybe.  How should I know?" she asked, tossing her torn dress on the chair and sitting on the bed.  "In my experience, vampires aren't the kindest of creatures."

He turned back around, leaning against the wall.  "The one that did those... he's dead, right?  He's the one that--"

"Yes," she said impatiently, crawling under the covers.  The elaborately decorated bedspread bulged slightly when she drew her knees up to her chest.  "Yes, it is.  And yes he is.  He's dead, Spike.  I killed him.  I--" she stopped with a frown, rolled over and pulled the covers up to her chin.  "Good night."
 
 

Spike shut the door quietly behind him, leaving the oblivious sleeping Willow in their room.  She'd finally fallen asleep an hour before, but he'd forced himself to wait, rather than charging out the door, possibly to be stopped by her again.  He crept down the dark, narrow hallway, before realizing what he was doing.  Creeping through a demon boarding house like a bleedin' human would.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he patted down his pockets for his cigarettes.  "Bloody hell," he muttered, stopping near the bottom of the stairwell.  He'd left his cigarettes up in the room.  Shrugging, he continued down, not willing to chance returning and waking her up.

"Mr. Giles," a voice called from the front parlor.

As he always did upon hearing himself called the name he'd chosen on the spur of the moment, Spike rolled his eyes.  Willow had gotten quite a kick out of it, after looking around for Rupert or one of his relatives.

Sighing, he headed through the double doors across from the stairs.  Mrs. Pressman was standing at the window with her back to the room, her favorite position.

He looked around the dark room with distaste.  He hated this room.  It was all dark wood, dark purple drapes, and oriental rugs.  A huge oak desk sat proudly across the room from him, its surface neat and orderly, like the rest of the house.

Ignoring the overwhelmingly stuffy décor, he turned his attention back to the elderly woman at the window, dressed in--what else?--purple.  "Yeah?"  Was Willow right?  Was Mrs. Pressman more than she pretended to be?  It was possible.  So many odd things had happened lately that he'd almost be surprised if nothing was off here.

"I hope this isn't going to be a recurring situation," she said sternly.  "I may run a demon boarding house, but I have no tolerance for disruptions in my home."  She turned, eyeing him reproachfully, then went back to staring out the window.

"Won't happen again," he assured her, glaring at her back.  How did she know what had happened upstairs?  Had she been listening like Willow believed she was?  It was possible the older woman had been walking by, or they'd been loud enough to be heard downstairs.  Maybe one of the other tenants complained.

It made him angry that others had heard their argument, and might know more of their business than they needed to.  "By the way, my wife--" he heard a quiet snort from Mrs. Pressman, but continued on, "says she's heard someone outside our door while I'm out.  You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" he asked suspiciously.

She turned again, facing him fully.  "And what is this person doing?" she inquired politely.

"Listening."  He raised an eyebrow at her, waiting.

She shook her head sharply.  "Your... wife, must be imagining it.  Perhaps she's afraid.  After all, she is one human among a house full of demons, and not a very strong human at that."  She gave him a false smile, tucking her hands under her shawl.

Spike strode over to the old lady, not grabbing her like he wanted to, not even getting in her face, no, he simply frowned, letting her see his anger.  "That 'human' is also an experienced Wiccan--" she looked at him blankly, not understanding the term.  He rolled his eyes.  "Witch, Mrs. Pressman.  She's a witch.  Filled with magick.  She could do more damage than most of the demons living here."  He kept to himself the part where it would probably be on accident.  "So I'd be mindful of that if I were you."

The corners of her lips turned up into a secretive little smirking smile.  "Oh, I see," was all she said.

He gritted his teeth together to keep from reaching out and snapping her neck.  "You see what?" he snarled.  Why had he never realized what a snobby bitch the woman was?  Probably because he hadn't dealt much with her.  His time was spent either out watching Dru, out eating, or in with Willow.

"That answers my question as to how she kept from being killed by you."  She swished her skirted self over to the door, dismissing him with a small nod.  "Good night, Mr. Giles."

He was pretty damn proud of himself for keeping control when what he really wanted to do was... well, gosh, once again he wanted to snap her neck.  Nothing like an old favorite.  He walked past her, out the door, across the hall, and outside.  Fury coursed through him at her insinuation.  How dare she think he was bewitched?  That Willow was controlling him.

No one controlled him, no one pushed his buttons or flipped his switches, damn it.  No one.  'Cept maybe Dru, but that was different.  Crossing the wet cobblestone street lit only by the minuscule light escaping behind the clouds, he stretched his neck, cracking it.  Enough of this non killing crap, first human he saw--that didn't look too nasty--well, he was catching up on some much needed killing.  Possibly even some torturing.
 
 

Instead of maiming and torturing, Spike found himself outside Joe's Pub, listening to the sounds of drunken laughter and loud voices pouring through the door.

His run-in with Joe and Sam had been in the park, not here.  He hadn't been back here until tonight.  Apparently it was now a demon pub.

"Guess Joe and Sam didn't close up shop," he muttered as a vampire pushed past him with a snarl and a glare.  Shoving the door open, Spike walked in like he owned the place.  No one turned to look at him this time, and Spike wasn't surprised, because he was among his own kind.  Things looked much the same as they had before, aside from all the demons, the slime on the walls, and blood trails on the floor.  And he was pretty sure that the pile of dead bodies in the corner was new.  Most of the tables and chairs were filled with drunken demons of all colors, sizes, and shapes; some playing cards, some eating, others simply sitting by themselves, tossing back a few drinks.

Kinda reminded him of the pub scene in Gremlins.

The bar looked like a good place to start, so he headed that way, hoping to find a familiar dark-haired Irish bloke to serve him.  He had a bone to pick with that guy... well, actually he had a stake to poke that guy with.

The joint was packed to the gills, most of the seats taken by grotesquely misshapen demons, and vampires that didn't look too friendly.  Shoving a vampire off of one of the seats, Spike sat down with a sigh, ignoring the shouts and growls swirling around him.  The demon beside him smiled and nodded, looking all friendly and talkative.  Spike looked away, not in any mood to make conversation.

"Hey!" the evicted vampire growled, grabbing Spike's shoulder to turn him around.  "I was sitting there, mate."

Spike rolled his eyes and turned around under his own volition, not getting off the stool.  Planting his feet firmly on the floor, he sized up the demon in front of him and found him extremely lacking.  Reminded him a little of Xander.  "And now I'm sitting here.  Go be somewhere else."  His mood hadn't lightened much since leaving the boarding house, and was growing steadily worse.

If Willow decided to come by here one day--or night--she was sure to be killed, and he couldn't let that happen.  At the very least, she'd be upset.  She'd lived here for almost two years, made this place her home, and now her friends were dead and running around as the very things that had killed them.

And it was all Angelus' fault.  He had issues, he knew this.

The vampire still in front of him, now looking extremely pissed at Spike's easy dismissal of him, aimed a fist at Spike's face.  Having anticipated this, Spike ducked, and pulled a stake from his cloak, neatly dusting him.  He kicked at the pile of dust in front of him, causing plumes of dead vampire to float around in the air, getting all over his clothes.  He brushed himself off, and turned back to the bar.

The demon next to him started laughing uproariously, like that was the funniest thing he'd ever seen.  He was a big, tall, hairy Chewbacca looking thing, and he was annoying.  Spike raised an imperious eyebrow at him.

Tall, dark, and hairy chuckled some more, slapping him on the back.  "That's funny."

Turning back to the bar, Spike leaned over, looking for Joe.  "Whatever, mate.  Where's Joe?  The, uh, owner, I guess?  Or Samantha."  All that was behind the bar at the moment were two green and blue iridescent demons fighting over a bottle of whiskey, their big bug eyes glaring at each other.  The place was in complete chaos.  Spike actually found himself respecting Willy for keeping his place orderly and basically fight-free.  "They here?" he asked Chewy, turning to face the hairy behemoth.

Chewy grinned, nodding as if Spike had told him a joke.  "I don't know."

Spike stared at him for a moment.  "Yeah, right," he muttered, "smile and nod, you bloody idiot."  Standing up, he weaved his way through demon after demon to make it to the stairs.  Blood smeared the walls all the way upstairs, and most of the steps were covered as well.  The stairs were empty, and only one vampire was in the hall upstairs, she was feeding off a human girl, holding the body close as she watched him approach.

Spike spared her barely a glance as he pushed past them and into Willow's room.  Shoving open the door, he stood in the entrance, glancing around for her former friends.  Anger and fury flowed through him as he took everything in.  Bloody hell, if he'd shown up one night later, Willow might be one of the bodies strewn around the room, or one of the vampires feeding from them.  If his heart could beat, it would be pounding right now.  Was him finding her that night a coincidence?

Among all the dead humans were at least twenty vampires, most of them were naked and in the midst of one sex act or another.  On the floor, the dresser, against the walls... on her bed.  Fangs and flesh, bodies and moans, shouts of pleasure, screams of pain; they were everywhere.

"Join us," one of the gyrating bodies whispered from across the room.  "Cor, you're a handsome one, aren't you?"

Spike ignored the man, and turned to leave, but found Chewy blocking his path.  "Move," Spike growled, when the demon simply stood there, staring down at him.  Sidestepping him, he descended the stairs two at a time, shoving a few newly arrived people out of his way as he went, and took off in the direction of the other bedroom.  It was in a similar shape as Willow's, but empty of anything alive, or undead.  Human bodies were strewn across the bed, the dresser, the table.  Every available surface held something bloody or fleshy.

Spike's hunger flared, and he was a little disgusted at himself.  Grabbing one of the fresher bodies, a teenage girl who looked a bit like Willow's witch, he sank his teeth into the cleanest area he could find and drained what was left of her.  Two more bodies later, and his immediate hunger was satisfied.  The voices in the outer area had grown louder, and he could still hear the voices upstairs raised in pleasure.  Sickened by the place, he left through the back way.

In his experience alleys had a way of turning out badly, so he didn't linger.  As he neared the street, he saw a tall figure standing there, facing him.  Annoyed beyond belief now, he pushed past the Chewbacca wannabe and started back home.  Willow would not know about this place, there was no way on Earth he would ever tell her about Joe and Sam now.  She'd want to come down here and dust the vampires in residence, and chase off all the demons she could, and he couldn't allow that.  Without a doubt, she'd die.  There were just too damn many of them.

A few blocks past Joe's Pub, he heard footsteps behind him, and turned to face Chewbacca.  "Stop following me home, I'm not keeping you."  Chuckling at his own words, he muttered, "You're probably not even house broken."

Chewy laughed loudly and Spike tossed him a look over his shoulder.

"Freak."  Ignoring the dog following him, Spike headed home.  After getting a good look at the worst behavior vampires could be involved in... it was time to go back home to Willow.

"Spike."

Not stopping to answer, Spike continued down the street, crossing near the gardens.  As he was about to cross another street, he realized Chewy had called him by name.  He spun around and faced the tall hairy demon.  "Who the hell are you and what do you want?"  He attempted to shove Chewy back against a tree and hold him there until he got his answers, but the demon didn't budge an inch when Spike's hand grabbed him.  Revising his strategy, Spike stood back a few feet and waited.  No loss of manliness there, nope.  None at all.

Chewy stood up to his full height of approximately six foot seven, and stared down at Spike.  "I was sent here to make sure you didn't kill the two you were after tonight.  And to make sure you don't."

"That right?" Spike asked, raising an eyebrow like he was impressed.  Chewy nodded, forcing a snort from Spike.  "Well, tough shit.  I find them, they die."  He turned away and crossed the street, hoping Willow was still asleep, because he wasn't looking forward to the conversation he just knew she'd drag out of him.

"You kill them," Chewy began, but Spike cut him off.

"You still here?"  He rolled his eyes at the tenacity of hired goons.  "Be a good little doggy and run back to your master and tell him you didn't find me."

"You kill them," he continued, as if Spike hadn't even spoken, "and you'll stop everything from happening.  You don't want that.  It'd go badly for you."

Spike stopped in his tracks, and slowly turned around to face the demon.  He stared at him for a second, and then another, then let his anger out.  "Jesus Christ, does every bloody person in Europe know I'm traveling through time?" he yelled.

Bloody hell, who *didn't* know about him and Willow?  He suddenly felt like every move they made was being directed by an unseen hand.  He wasn't sure he was even in control anymore.  Had he ever been?

Chewy glanced around them in amusement.  "They do now," he chuckled, tossing Spike a crooked grin.

Spike was anything but amused.  He sighed explosively, narrowing his eyes at the demon.  "Who are you?"

Chewy's ears perked up at the sound of a barking dog off in the distance, and Spike had to fight back the ridiculous urge to laugh at the picture the demon made.  He was tall, covered in brown hair over most of his body, except his face, which was completely bare, and huge paws that were brushing absently at his black silk suit.

"My name isn't important, it's constantly changing.  You can call me anything you like."  He reached out a paw, waiting for Spike to shake it.

Spike ignored the paw, preferring to dig a cigarette out of his cloak and light it.  "How about Fido?  That good for you?  Or maybe Spot?"  With the cigarette clamped firmly in his lips, he looked sideways at the demon.  "I'm getting sick of being jerked around by the fates, or powers, or whatever you guys are."  He paused for a second, looking dangerously at the demon.  "You that stupid Time Stabilizer thing?  If so, I owe you one."

Ole Chewy shook his head, stepping closer after glancing around to make sure they were alone.  "I'm not the Stabilizer.  I told you, I'm on your side.  I was sent here to keep you and Willow from changing too much."

Spike's eyes narrowed at the demon.  "That's what the Time guy said.  You should check with each other, maybe read your memos every once in a while, because I've gotten the message already.  Coulda saved you a trip."

"The Time Stabilizer didn't send me," Chewy told him, looking around again.  "I'm here on my own.  The Stabilizer's gotten a little... Well he's not as involved as he should be, so he doesn't have your best interests at heart."

"And you do?" Spike asked dubiously.  "Why should I believe you?"  He spun around, stalking a few feet away before turning back angrily.  "Why should I believe any of you?  Quit yanking my blasted chain and tell me what's going on, because I'm tired of it.  All of it.  I want this whole thing over."

Instead of answering his question, he decided to state a fact that Spike already knew.  "You came here to kill Joe and Samantha."  His puppy dog eyes focused on Spike's face as if he'd just solved all the world's problems in one fell swoop.

Spike sighed explosively.  "So?  What the hell does that mean?"

Chewy was no longer as detached as he had been.  His own anger was sweeping over him.  "If you want this whole thing over, as you just said, then kill them.  But if you'd like to continue down the path you were chosen for, then you'll leave them be," he growled.  "Things are in play here that you have no idea about, and those two worthless vampires are still needed for time to proceed as it was meant to, so I suggest you leave them alone until they've completed their end of things."

"Well, thanks, yeah that clears it all up.  I'll just be on my merry way then."  He threw his cigarette to the ground and started off again.  His stomach hurt, he was tired as hell, pissed beyond belief, and now there was a big Chewbacca-looking thing telling him to leave a couple of pathetic vampires alone because it could stop it all time.  Right.

Fido sighed and grabbed Spike's cloak, slamming him against a tree.  He had much better luck at it than Spike had earlier.  He sighed and moved closer, towering over Spike.  "I told you to lay off of them."

Spike rubbed the back of his head.  "And I told you to go to hell."

Fido grinned widely, showing for the first time, the big long fangs he owned.  "No, you didn't.  And you won't."

Spike pushed him away and moved past the tree... well, he tried, but Chewy grabbed him and yanked him back into place.  "See, I can't kill you or Willow, but I can do other things... things that she might not like.  Things that'll make sure you do what I say."  He backed away, looking like he was listening to something, then smiled.  "I hear Willow likes furry demons," he chuckled, "but doesn't like to be touched... now what *could* I do with that information?"

"Touch her and I'll--" Spike began, but Chewy didn't like being growled at apparently, because he punched Spike in the mouth.

"I won't touch her unless you give me a reason to."  He leaned forward conspiratorially.  "Don't give me a reason," he whispered, then suddenly he was gone in flash of yellow light.

Spike didn't waste time looking for him, he took off running toward the boarding house.
 
 

Willow's eyes, already stretched open to the breaking point, widened even further when she heard another creak outside the door.  Her hand tightened around the scrap of black cloth she still clung to, even though Spike was with her every day now.  It'd become a security blanket, and since he wasn't here at the moment... she felt she needed it.

She wished she knew where he was.  What had he been thinking, going off somewhere, doing  who knew what, leaving her alone?  By herself.  With the scary Mrs. Pressman listening in on her.  Or maybe--she shuddered--watching her.  Wait a damn minute.  She was no longer the scaredy cat she'd been when this stupid trip began.  She was an independent woman used to depending on no one except herself, and here she was huddled on the bed like a coward.

Well, no more damn it.

She threw the covers back, climbed out of bed, shoved her arms into her robe, the strip of cloth into the pocket, and unlocked the door.  All quickly, but quietly.

When she opened the door, she was surprised to find, not Mrs. Pressman, but a man on his way past her door.  Mid twenties, shorter-than-was-the-style black hair, tall... and definitely handsome.  Probably had beautiful eyes too, but it was too dark in the hallway to see them.

It was kind of sad, because she felt nothing, just a simple appreciation for his handsome good looks.

He turned from unlocking the door beside hers, an apologetic smile on his face.  Oh, cute smile.  She smiled in return, trying not to look like she'd just woken up and gone storming out the door.

"I'm very sorry, ma'am, I didn't mean to startle you."  His eyes fell on her state of undress, and she could've sworn he blushed.  How adorable.

"You're American," she said, as if he weren't aware of the fact.  Embarrassed, she closed her thin white robe a little tighter, and brushed her hair over Spike's bitemark.  "I mean, I'm American too.  From California."

His smile grew even wider.  "Yes, ma'am, I just arrived this week.  I'm from Denver.  Uh, that's in Colorado in case you didn't know.  Name's Phillip, Phillip John Harris."  He closed the distance between them, and held out his hand.

Strange coincidence.  Could this guy be a relative of Xander's?  He could be Xander's great-great-great-great grandfather.  What were the odds?  Only about a trillion to one.   She shook his hand absently.  Brown.  His eyes were brown.  Not beautiful, just pleasant to look at.

He cleared his throat, and she realized she hadn't introduced herself.  That she'd been, instead, staring at him like a doofus.  "Um, I'm sorry.  I'm Willow Ro-- um, Giles.  Willow Giles."

"Charmed, Miss Giles," he smiled again, a nice sweet, shy smile.  "I wonder if we mightn't have coffee tomorrow?  Or tea if you prefer.  It's been a while since I've talked to anyone from home."

Willow grinned, knowing exactly what he meant.  The British were all well and good, and London was cool in the extreme, especially eighteen-sixty London, but she missed California, and Phillip was about as close as she'd come in years.  "I'd love to, thank you."  Hearing a door close downstairs, she leaned over the edge of the railing to see if it was who she thought it was.

Sure enough, Spike strode quickly into view.  Looked like he was still hurt too... she looked closer, biting back a groan.  He had blood on his mouth.  Great.  Phillip, the one and only other human in the house that she cared to talk to, and Spike was about to scare him off.

She quickly made plans to meet him at noon the next day, and went inside her room, hoping Phillip would do the same.

Throwing off her robe, she hopped into bed and covered up.  Exhaustion was nipping at her heels.  After all, she'd had a full day.  She'd patched up Spike, argued with Spike, been bitten by Spike, been ogled by Spike, and met a gorgeous guy that she was having coffee with tomorrow... if Spike didn't scare him off.  Pretty darn full day if you asked her.

Ten minutes later, the door creaked open, and she could see Spike silhouetted in the doorway.  He was facing out, talking to someone.  Damn it.  Had to be Phillip.  Well, now he'd freak out and run off to another boarding house probably.

"Yeah," Spike was saying, nodding a few times... sounding impatient and annoyed... just like she'd expected him to be.  "No, I don't mind."  He turned to look at her a few times, and she thought maybe there was a worried look in there, but she couldn't be sure, it was gone too fast.

Willow watched him close the door, and lock it.  Watched him remove his cloak and boots.  Watched him toss her short, indecipherable looks.  Though she was more comfortable with his presence now, she still had to force herself to watch him ditch the shirt and waistcoat.  When he dropped his hands to the waistband of his breeches, she looked away.  Nausea roiled in her stomach, churning like waves in the ocean.  He's not going to take them off, she told herself, he's not going to take them off, because he's never done that before, and he knows I don't want him to.

"You think that punk's the one that's been listening outside the door?" Spike asked, turning back toward the bed, his pants still on.

She shook her head, sitting up.  "I doubt it, he just moved in.  Besides, I'm convinced it's Mrs. Pressman, she's a freak."

Spike didn't disagree with her.  "I think the boy's got his eye on you.  Seemed real interested to know if we were married."  He raised his eyes to hers, gauging her reaction to this news.

She shrugged, smoothing down the blanket.  "You're bleeding."

He wiped his mouth off, checking for blood.  "Ran into a demon."  He sat beside her, tossing her a sideways glance.  "Do me a favor and don't leave here without me."

"Anything particular reason why?" she asked.  Something had given Spike a bloody lip, and if he wanted her to stay inside for a few days until he cleared out of London, she'd do so.  Not like she had anywhere she wanted to go anyway.

"Chewbacca," he answered with a grin, then quickly changed the subject to one she was less comfortable with.  "Willow, you've been faithful to little miss for over a hundred years, I think she'll understand if you--"

She laid back down, curling up on her side.  Away from Spike.  "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not real fond of being touched."

"I've noticed," he said quietly, laying back as well.  "You don't mind me touching you too much.  Why not him?"

"Because I don't want him to," she said angrily.  The anger was mostly directed at herself for not being able to move past this as fast as she thought she should.  "I don't even want you to, but it's a small room, with one bed, and I mostly don't realize it since I'm asleep, and you don't touch me like... that, and--" a sob escaped her, tears following closely behind.  The first tears she'd cried since the night Joe and Sam died.

Everything she'd told herself earlier were lies, she didn't like it here.  Not during this time, and not to live for months, or years at a time.  "I want to go home.  I know we can't, but I want to so badly.  I hate it here, Spike, I hate the smell, and the sounds, and the people, and... I just want to go home."

"I know," he said sympathetically, lightly nudging her arm.  "Even I miss Sunnydale.  And the nineteen-nineties."  He fell silent, giving her time to cry it out, or cry some more, whichever she chose.

She chose to cry some more.  Cried herself to sleep, quietly, hoping he didn't realize she was still being a baby.

~Part: 13~

"I can't believe this was here all along, and I never knew it," Willow laughed.  She grinned at Phillip as they walked along the path, munching on their crushed, flavored ice.  It wasn't quite the same as an Italian Ice, or a Slurpee, but it wasn't bad.  It suited the mood and the affair.  Vauxhall Gardens was an amazing place.

Couples milled about the paths, consumed by each other's company.  It was the first time Willow had seen normal behavior--for her--from lovers, and married couples.  The night was nice, not too chilly, or warm, not too dark, but more importantly, not too brightly lit.  She could've swore she heard moaning coming from one of the bushes just off the path, but she didn't investigate.

"And you've been here for almost two years?" Phillip chuckled.  "You and your husband should get out more."  His voice was light, but she heard the disdain in there for Spike.  So many times over the past month, Willow caught the dislike, and the glares for her 'husband', so many times, she'd caught Phillip's appraising looks in her direction.  But she'd never given him any reason to think there was any hope.  Ever.  Nor would she.  First of all, she was gay now.  Second of all, she didn't have the slightest inkling to be with someone, male or female, in a relationship capacity.

Determined not to lose her good mood, she settled her hand on his arm and strolled unhurriedly beside him.  "I keep telling  William that, but you know him.  He's more a homebody than a... outbody."

Phillip nodded, staying quiet.  Probably keeping his opinion to himself.  "Except when he's gone all night long that is."  Or not.

She opened her mouth to tell him that Spike needed to be out at night to eat and avoid sun damage, but of course Phillip had no idea Spike was a vampire.  Or that demons and such existed.  Unbelievable for a man living in a demon boarding house, but, in the month since he'd moved in beside them, Willow hadn't seen one iota of weird behavior from him.  No horns, or evilness.  No blood drinking, or sacrificing.  Nothing to make her go hmm, he's a demon.

Instead of chiding him, she merely smiled, and stayed quiet.  Neither spoke for the next few minutes, they just enjoyed the sights, sounds, and smells.  Tired of holding her mask up, she dropped her arm for a second, looking around fully.  Ooo, gymnasts, she thought, seeing a woman do a handspring in the grass off to the side.  But another glance told another story.

Twenty yards away, partially hidden by trees, there was snarling, growling, and vampires.  The woman Willow had mistaken for a gymnast ran toward two of them, dusting one as she jumped on him.  Willow bit her lip, wanting to help, but not wanting to  alert Phillip.  She also didn't want to get in the way of what looked to be the slayer.

She slid her arm free of his, blocking his view.  "Um, could you--" think, quick!  "Get us some more of these ice... thingies?  Please?"

"Sure.  Come on."  He tried to pull her with him, but she shook her head.

"I'll wait here."  At his surprised look, she shrugged.  "It's such a pretty view here."  She made a show of looking around and enjoying the sights.  "Lovely."

"Willow, I can't leave you here alone.  I--" he frowned, looking over her shoulder.

Panicked and desperate now, she pushed him down the path a little.  "Hurry.  I am so parched."

"I think we should go help that woman first, don't you?" he asked reprovingly.  "Not all vampires are like William."

Shocked didn't even begin to describe what she was feeling at the moment.  Hearing a grunt of pain, she decided to be surprised later, and concentrate on the now.  Sparing him a single confused look, she turned and ran to the trees with Phillip right behind her.

The one vampire left had the girl on the ground, straddling her as he took out his obviously huge aggressions on her.  She and Phillip ran, panting, into the trees, both of them tackling the vampire to the ground.  Willow ended up in the best spot, far away from the vampire, and close to a stake.  The woman who'd been pinned, jumped up, moving unbelievably fast in her long skirts.  She grabbed the stake by Willow, tossed her a confused glare, and jumped on the vampire's back.

"Get off, you bloody bint," the vampire roared, throwing his arms back as he stood up, trying to shake the girl off.  The girl drew her arm back, and plunged the stake into the vampire's back.

Willow almost had a heart attack right then and there.  His accent was cockney, and his voice very similar to Spike's.  For a moment, she thought it was Spike.  And as he fell to the damp grass in a pile of dust, and the slayer dropped down onto his remains, Willow felt such an immediate sense of loss that it scared her.

But it wasn't Spike, and she didn't have to examine the reasoning behind her fear of losing him.

"All right," the girl said, standing and spinning toward Willow in one quick motion, her blonde hair fell loosely about her shoulders as she moved, reminding her a bit of Buffy.  Her hands rested on her hips while her head tilted suspiciously to the side.  "Who are you?  What are you doing here?"  Her British accent wasn't as clipped and harsh as Spike's, it was more like Giles' accent.  Softer and smoother.  But her tone and look was rude.

Willow resisted the urge to put her own hands on her hips, settling instead for clasping her hands primly in front of her.  "We're just--" she began, but the impatient slayer cut her off.

"Demons.  Well, he is," she corrected, pointing to Phillip, "I'm not quite sure what you are yet."

"We're not demons," Willow insisted, deciding that she didn't like this girl.  She was a snobby know-it-all, obviously upper crust.  Bluebloods, Spike called them.  The dreaded nobility.  "I'm a witch.  He's a human."  Now she did cross her arms over her chest, feeling very defensive.  "And you're the Slayer."

"How did you know that?" she gasped, looking around them for a possible side-swipe attack.  "Only demons themselves know of the slayer."

"Watchers know too," Willow countered smugly, closing the distance between them.  "And the Watcher's Council."  Seeing Phillip watching them warily, she smiled at him, trying to reassure him.  "Besides, I've known three different slayers in my time."

The slayer raised her stake threateningly.  "You're a witch?" she asked in her haughty tone.  "A witch who is as young as you and has seen three slayers must be involved with dark magic."

     "Uh, no," Phillip said quickly, stepping in front of Willow to protect her.  "She's a good witch.  Though you'd never know it by the company she keeps."  He tossed her a reproachful look before reaching out to disarm the slayer.

"Phillip, don't--" Willow tried to warn him, but it was too late.  He already had the stake in his hand, and two dumbfounded women staring at him.  "Phillip?"  How had he done that with such precision and speed?  A niggling suspicion was worming its way through her mind.

"I told you he was a demon," the slayer snapped with another glaring look.

That was the suspicion that was trying to jump around her mind.  She turned to Phillip, the man she'd known and lived next door to for a month.  Had coffee and tea and lunch and dinner with.  Talked with daily, and never heard a word about him being a demon.

"You're a demon?" she asked disbelievingly, stomping her foot petulantly.  "Dude, I can't believe you never said anything."  She sighed deeply, extremely angry at him, and... "William never said anything either."

"William probably doesn't know," Phillip shot back.  "No one knows.  I'm only half demon, and that half is Galapos, a peaceful race, so it doesn't matter."  He straightened his shoulders, doing his fair share of glaring.  "And I am not a dude," he told her, sounding extremely offended.

"Whatever," Willow said dismissively.  "And maybe it doesn't matter to you, but it certainly does to me."  She took complete advantage of her long skirts, and flounced angrily away, unfortunately, her strides weren't long enough to gain any headway from the two.

"Excuse me," the slayer said imperiously, "hey, witch.  I'm not through with you."

"Yeah, well I'm through with you," Willow tossed back, furious for having been lied to.  "So go run to your Watcher and the Council, and leave me alone.  And you," she told Phillip--no, the half-demon--walking beside her, "stay away from me.  I get enough lies from William."

"Who's William?" the slayer asked, walking on her other side, and showing no signs of leaving her alone.  "Is he another demon?"  There was definitely a sneer in her voice when she said that.

Willow fisted her hands at her sides, forcing herself not to hit the slayer, or throw a fireball at her.  "I'll bet your name is Fifi, or something like that," Willow sneered.

The younger girl shook her head.  "I'm not French.  My name is Laura.  Why?"  She got in front of Willow and tried to halt  their mad dash through the grounds of Vauxhall, but Willow didn't slow down or stop.

"No reason, really.  Just wanted to know.  Slayer's generally have outrageous names, like Lucretia or Babette."  She continued stomping down the path until she reached the entrance to the gardens.  Looking both ways before crossing the street was something she did religiously now, since Spike had saved her from a painful death under the hooves of a horse that first night.  Sometime during that quick left-right check, Laura left for greener pastures, hopefully for good.

Unfortunately, Phillip hadn't.
 
 

"Hey, Spike," Willow greeted loudly and with false cheer, slamming the door shut in Phillip's face.  During the silence that fell after the door stopped rattling in its frame, she heard Phillip growl angrily.  A human growl, not a demonic one.  Hmph.  "Guess what?"

Spike, either asleep, or just resting, was lying in bed with his eyes closed.  At her entrance, he sat up, opening his eyes.  He looked bored.  Of course he did.  Didn't he always?  Unless he was snacking on her.  Then he was happy and growl-y.

"What?"  No interest whatsoever was in his voice, or on his face.  He even yawned.

Stupid vampire.  "I ran into the Slayer tonight."  Ah, she had his attention now, though he tried to hide it.  He sat forward as she continued on in an angry voice.  "Oh, and Phil's a demon.  Isn't that nice?"  She sat heavily on the chair across from the bed, shoving her skirts under her legs when they started to poof up in an annoying manner.  She was really beginning to hate long skirts... in fact, when she got back to her own time, she'd wear only jeans, and sweats.  For the rest of her life.  When she got married, she wasn't going to wear a wedding dress; she'd wear shorts.  "Her name's Laura," she added, glaring at the offending blue material.

Spike nodded, unconcerned.  "Great, I'll watch out for her."  He laid back down, closing his eyes with another yawn.

That was it?  After his sudden interest, she'd been sure he'd say more than that.  "You'll watch out for her," she repeated dumbly.

"Mmm," he mumbled.

"And Phillip being a demon means nothing to you?"  She glared at his relaxed form.  "Did you know?"  He had better say no, otherwise she was going to hurt him.  When he didn't answer at all, she called his name a few times.  Still nothing, so she got up and shook him.

"What?" he asked, finally rolling over to stare at her.  "Slayer; got it.  I'll be on the lookout.  Anything else?"

She looked down at him, not out of anger this time, but out of concern.  It was only early evening, Spike was usually up much sooner than this.  "Why are you so tired?  Did something happen while I was gone?"  She held her hand against his forehead, checking for... what?  A fever?  Did vampires even get sick?

"No."  He removed her hand from his forehead and settled back in to sleep.  "Just tired."

"You've been tired a lot lately.  Maybe something's wrong," she told him, sitting back on her heels.  She bit her lip, thinking.  "Oh, ooo, I could do a spell to find out if--"

His eyes snapped open, focusing on her face.  "Willow, we have piss-poor luck when it comes to spells.  Don't do any unnecessarily, okay?"  He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her nod of assent.  When she gave it to him, he sat up and stretched.  "And, yes, I knew about Phillip.  He's not dangerous though, so I didn't think it mattered."

He'd known!  Why that... jerk.  "That's *so* not the point," she said angrily.  Climbing to her feet, she moved over to the door and locked it.  "You should've told me.  He should've told me."  She dragged the chair over in front of the door.  If Phillip or Laura decided they wanted in, at least Spike and Willow would have a little warning before they were attacked.

Spike watched her silently.  "Is it the not knowing that bothers you, or the part where he's a demon?"

She turned to him with her hands on her hips.  He had to ask?  Obviously he didn't know her at all.  "What do you think, Spike?"

He sat up, reaching out for his cigarettes.  Finding the table by the bed empty, he threw the covers back and stalked over to his cloak, digging in the pockets.  "I think this has less to do with not being told, and a whole lot more to do with what he is.  I think," he told her, pausing momentarily to light his cigarette, "you don't like the fact that he's a demon, and that's what's got you miffed."

Willow huffed at him, unable to believe he thought her species-ist.  "Wrong," she growled in a fair imitation of him.  "So very wrong."  Doing a little more of that flouncing, she turned away and began undressing.  It wasn't the easiest thing to do in these dresses, so she'd learned way back in the beginning to get front buttoning gowns if at all possible.  The dark blue one she was wearing now was a front buttoned one, thankfully, and rather easy to remove.  It only took about ten minutes all told.  Grabbing Spike's worn T-Shirt, she shoved her arms into it, took a blanket and pillow from the bed, and settled down in the chair.

Spike leaned back against the wall, smoking and watching her.

She should make *him* take the chair.  The very stiff, extremely upright chair.  Sighing heavily, she drew her legs up and turned to the side, trying to get comfortable.  A minute later she turned the other way, dropping her legs to the floor, and sinking down.  Ugh.  This was a bad idea.  Finally giving up on the wing-backed chair, she tossed her pillow on the floor and joined it, covering up and closing her eyes.  Shutting out the sight of Spike's knowing look was a whole lot easier than shutting out the nasty stench of his cigarette.

And darn it, she was *not* species-ist.  Her anger had nothing to do with finding out that Phillip was a demon.  It was due to the fact that no one had felt the need to inform her.  What if there'd been an emergency?  What if they were attacked, and he was lying there bleeding to death, and the only thing that could save him was something she didn't know about because no one had informed her of the need to stand on one leg and chant Beatles lyrics backwards to stop his bleeding?

How could Spike even ask her that?  After all, her whole life in Sunnydale had revolved around demons and vampires.  All evil creatures Giles said; that's why Buffy fought them, and yet, over the years she'd come to realize that wasn't always necessarily so.  She didn't immediately damn them all for eternity just because they were demons.  She'd even dated one.  Sort of.  Well, a werewolf.  He was sort of a demon.  An in-between.  And Angel was too.  Demon might've equaled evil in the beginning, but not anymore.

And she'd had that opinion reinforced when Spike came along and he was all chipped and hanging around, and, okay, not real nice, or even friendly, but not constantly trying to kill them either.  Hello, he'd kidnapped her to get the chip out of his head, not caring one whit about her or anything else, which was of the evil, but not of the hurting kind.

She'd grown fond of him since that fateful night.  How could she not?  They spent all their time together when they weren't separated by five years.  And tonight, when she thought Spike was being dusted by the slayer, for that one tiny moment when she'd thought it was him, her heart had froze and her mind had panicked.

Now she was being accused of being prejudiced?  Please, she scoffed, forcing herself not to listen to her aching back and climb into bed with the person doing the accusing.
 
 

Spike knelt down beside Willow as she slept, listening to her deep, even breathing.  He reached his hand out, smoothing back a stray lock of hair that'd fallen over her face.  It still amazed him to see how long and dark it was now.  Things had changed since they'd gotten separated.  She'd changed.  She was more mature, more independent.  Stronger than she had been.

He slid his hands under her and effortlessly picked her up, laying her down where she belonged.  As he walked around the bed to his own side, he snatched the blanket and pillow from the floor and tossed them on the bed.  Climbing under the covers beside Willow, he tried to think of one way in which he'd changed since Galway.

No matter how hard he thought on it, he came up with a blank.  Was it possible that he hadn't changed at all?  That he was still the same vampire that left Sunnydale all those years ago?

When he'd forced Willow to leave Sunnydale, he amended.

He'd been quite the bastard, hadn't he?  Looking back now, he couldn't believe some of the things he'd done to her.  Hit her, bit her... nearly gotten her raped.  His hands clenched in the bed sheets.  As it stood now, if anyone else even thought of biting Willow, or hitting her, touching her... doing anything to harm her, he'd have to kill that person.  Painfully.  Torture would come into play.

So perhaps he had changed.

Spending so much time together traveling through time had bound them together.  They were forced to rely on each other, to trust each other.  To keep each other out of harm's way so that they could get back safely.

He sighed, resisting the urge to light a cigarette.  The hand-rolled cigarettes he pre-rolled every night left a lot to be desired.  He didn't remember them tasting this bad the first time around.  He leaned back, letting the blanket fall to his lap, resting his head on the flowered wallpaper behind him.

He could feel a vampire near by, probably hunting his meal, killing without discrimination.  Doing what Spike himself wanted to do.  Would it be a quick death, or all full of torture and long drawn out pain?  That was a question he used to ponder nightly, back when it was just him and Dru.  But then life happened, and she left him, the implant was shoved into his cranium, and he'd forced a human witch to do a spell that got screwed up.

Now he was laying in bed in a demon boarding house a hundred and forty years in the past, trying to ignore the feelings the human beside him was starting to make him feel.  More than just lust, though that was a given.  There was something else there too.  Respect, admiration, and even a little caring.  He'd prefer not to care about her, but it was already a foregone conclusion.  There was no help for it now.

And if he hoped to keep her close to him, in more ways than one, he needed to be careful, and not screw up.

When Willow had slammed through that door earlier and mentioned the slayer, in his sleep befuddled mind he'd wanted nothing more than to jump up and go after her.  Then reality hit, and he remembered where he was and who he was with.  If he went out and killed the slayer of this time, he could just possibly set off a whole chain of events.  Knock down a house of cards.

Couldn't do that.  Not if he wanted the chance to go back to a mostly unchanged future.

His own well-being was uppermost in his mind, but thoughts of Willow returning to a future without having ever been born was also constantly there, on the edge of his mind.

"Spike?"

He looked down at the girl who'd come to mean a lot to him.  Her back was to him, but somehow, she knew he was awake.  He'd probably been sighing a lot or something, he did that when he was frustrated.  "Mmm?"

"Thanks for moving me.  That floor was killing me."

He shrugged dismissively.  "Got tired of listening to you moaning down there is all."

She rolled over and looked up at him, her bright green eyes shining in the moonlight coming through the window.  "Still, thanks."  Her smile slipped a bit and she bit her lip slightly.  "Do you really think I'm prejudiced?"

He nodded in absolute affirmation.  "Of course you are.  Demons are evil creatures.  Bad things.  I'd be more surprised if you weren't"

"But, I'm not.  The really evil ones, yeah, I kind of hate, and Angelus, I'm not his biggest fan.  But I don't hate you, or Phillip, or Oz... well, okay, I don't un-hate him, but that's because he hurt me.  And even Anya," she added with a chuckle.

He didn't believe her for one second.  There was just no way she couldn't have anything against demons.  "Did you trust Angel?" he asked her.

She sat up in confusion.  "Yes.  I still do."

"Angel turned into Angelus, stalked your best friend, tortured the watcher, killed that teacher."

"Strung up my fish," she said with a humorless smile.

He waved his hand at her as if to say, 'See there?'.  "Strung up your fish.  Killed how many people?  That's gotta make you feel a little a betrayed.  And then there's me.  I--"

"I don't hate you, Spike.  I forgave you a long--"

He went on as if she hadn't spoken.  "I kidnapped you a few times, threatened your best friend and your girlfriend, tried to kill you too many times to count.  Tore you out of your own time, and forced you to travel with me to different times just so I could get a gander at the woman who left me.  Gotta be some hate there."  Was there a little bit of guilt in his tone?  A little.

She shoved the covers off of herself and knelt on the bed, facing him angrily.  "Well, if we follow that vein of thinking, we can't forget about Thomas, the vampire who introduced me to the demon world.  Or Moloch the Corruptor, who made me fall in love with him so I could be the demonic robot's bride, and failing that, he tried to do something novel, like kill me.  And Phillip, let's toss him in there too, not because he did anything evil, but because he abused my trust, and then we can throw in all the other demons in the known world.  How's that?" she asked him, stopping for a much needed breath before continuing in a calmer tone.  "Are you done?"

He looked up at the ceiling in consideration, then nodded.  "Rounds out rather nicely, yeah."

She nodded curtly and settled back down under the covers.  "I forgave you a long time ago, Spike.  I don't hate you.  Do you really think I'd sleep in the same bed, let alone the same *room* with you if I hated you?"

"I guess not," he said softly, realization washing over him.  She was right.  If she couldn't stand him, she'd have insisted on separate rooms, and probably gone out of her way to ignore him.  She'd done neither, and had actually gone out of her way to make sure he knew that she didn't hate him.  And there was that kiss on the cheek.  Would she really have kissed him if she didn't like him?  Not a chance in hell.

"Good."  She nodded almost to herself, and laid back down.  "Just so we're straight here."

"We're straight," he assured her, watching as she snuggled down under the covers with a shiver.  Well, wasn't that all life affirming, and what not?  The witch liked him.  Or rather, didn't dislike him.  There was a difference.  He'd quibble over technicalities later, right now he was just happy to hear that he wasn't as hated as he'd thought.

Crushing his cigarette out on the floor, he laid down next to her, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around her and hold her warm body next to his cold one.  As he listened to her breathe, something she'd said came back to him.

"Wait a minute... who's Moloch the Corruptor?"

Instead of answering his question, she rolled back toward him, and asked one of her own.  "Is something wrong?  With you, I mean."

Deciding not to take offense, he shrugged.  Nothing much, he thought to himself, just that Sam and Joe are vampires.  Vampires that he couldn't hunt due to a Chewbacca wannabe threatening Willow.  Oh, and Dru was officially a vampire now.

Wisely, he kept his mouth shut and settled for a head shake.

Her forehead wrinkled and her brow furrowed in thought... a common look for her.  She pushed herself into a sitting position, with a yawn.  Instead of continuing with her current line of questioning, she switched to one of her least favorite topics.  "How's Drusilla doing?"

It was as if she'd read his mind.  Dru had been turned two nights before.  She was an insane and insatiable vampire.  Different than his lover, and yet, so like her.  It was apparent that she needed the extra twenty years to tame somewhat, because right now, she was a live wire, a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at the slightest provocation.

He'd kept Dru's sudden vampire-status to himself for two reasons.  One, he wanted to stick around for a bit to make absolutely sure that everything went all right.  And two, he was stalling their next journey.

"She's doing," he answered vaguely.  "Same as she has been.  No change.  There's been no change."  Yeah, that ought to convince her, you bloody ponce.

She raised an eyebrow at him, looking rather imperious.  "Really."  That's all she said, but her tone of voice was disbelieving.

Did she know?  How could she?  She didn't know, there was no way she could've gotten the information from the time she went to bed two hours before, to the time she woke up.  "Really."  He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and snickered in her ear.   "Would I lie to you, love?  I--"

"You what?" she scoffed.  "You want to admit that you've been lying about Drusilla?  You want to tell me that she was turned two nights ago?  I just had a very interesting dream, sponsored by the Time Stabilizer, he's the thing that--"

"I know who he is," Spike sighed.

"Oh."  She looked like she wanted to ask how, but kept her curiosity to herself for the moment.  "Well, he showed me what happened... to her, and told us to move on."  She slapped his leg reproachfully and shook her head.  "You should be ashamed of yourself."

"Oh, I am," he joked, paying more attention to what she felt like in his arms than to what she was saying.  The only time he got to touch her was when she was asleep... and he usually was too, so he couldn't enjoy it.  Not that he should be enjoying it.  "Very ashamed," he added.

"Spike," she said in a more serious tone, "is it true?  Was she turned already?"

Looked like his stalling days were over.  "And what if she was?  I just wanted to make sure she was gonna be okay and all before we left."  He shrugged casually, as if it hadn't hurt him to see her tortured by the dynamic duo bastards.  "I guess she's fine though, yeah?"  He was trying for a light, jovial mood, but Willow wasn't playing along.

She sat forward, pulling her knees up and resting her head on them.  Her eyes turned his way, full of sadness.  "I'm sorry.  I actually kind of liked human Drusilla... not that I knew her, just ran into her the one time, but... I liked the human Drusilla better than the vampire Drusilla."  A small smile graced her lips, forcing one from him as well.

He rolled his eyes, and lit a cigarette.  So much for not having any.  He'd cut back to less than three a day, at least until he'd run into Willow again.  Now he was closer to twenty a day.  "Why be sorry?  What they did to her is what made her the woman I fell in love with."

"I know, but I'm still sorry."  She laid back down with another yawn, bringing the covers up to her chin.  "So... when do we leave?"  There was a slightly hopeful tone to her voice, but it was mostly hidden beneath the weariness.

There was nothing more he could do.  Willow knew as well as he did that Dru had been turned and everything was on track again, so there was no reason not to go.  If he was a whiner, he'd be doing some right about now.  "Tomorrow night, I guess.  Unless you've got a burning need to stay here."

She shook her head slowly.  "No.  I have no desire to stay here at all.  Nothing but bad memories and demons."  A small shrug lifted her shoulders.

Yay, they were leaving.  His unbeating heart didn't leap with joy.  More like... slunk slowly in dread.  Well, it would have if it wasn't permanently still.  He stubbed out his cigarette butt on the floor, laid back, and stared at the ceiling until dawn.

~Part: 14~

Willow sighed and stretched, letting her happiness flow through her.  They were leaving today.  Or tonight.  Either way, they were one step closer to going back to their own time.  She could hardly wait.  But, she was feeling rather languid and sleepy and happy and not wanting to get out of bed yet.

Spike was asleep beside her, looking like the most innocent creature in the world.  She chuckled to herself, knowing he'd probably kill her if he knew her thoughts.  Or at least threaten her a lot.  He liked to do that.  He couldn't kill her, so he threatened her a lot.  Well, not so much lately.  She stretched again, closing her eyes with a smile and a moan of pure pleasure, a thank you from her grateful muscles.

Rolling onto her side, she studied her vampire companion.  He was gorgeous with a capital 'Gor', not that she'd ever admit that to anyone but maybe herself.  She wondered what he'd do if he knew she was ogling him.  Probably smirk a lot and pretend to be offended, all the while drinking in the praise.  His chest would probably puff out a little too.  She giggled, rolling her eyes at herself.

"Definitely not going there with Spike," she whispered to her suddenly way too appraising mind.

They were friends, nothing more.  Nor would there be more.  If there was, it would end badly.  Relationships always ended badly, and she didn't want that.  She couldn't lose Spike.  Not when they were trapped a hundred and forty years in the past, forced to rely on each other to get back home.  Plus, she liked him.

He was smart, and funny, and sweet.  Sometimes.  Protective, and loyal, and-- she was going to stop this line of thought right now, before she convinced herself of the reasons to *become* involved with Spike rather than convince herself why she shouldn't.

She sighed contentedly again, her eyes flying open in surprise when a hand slid across her stomach.  A hand that wasn't hers.  Okay, she thought, calming her breathing, no biggie, it was just Spike's hand, and he'd done it many times before.  She was just usually asleep when it happened.  She bit her lip and reached down to remove his now caressing hand, tossing a quick look at his face to see if he was awake.  Nope, no awake-ness there.  Just a very asleep, very smiling Spike.

And why was he smiling? she wondered.  What dreams were going through his mind?

Not really the point, she told herself, picking up his hand and laying it on the bed beside him.  As soon as she dropped his hand, she started to sit up, intending to get out of bed, but Spike rolled over, throwing his arm over her, effectively holding her there.  She gasped and went still, waiting for the panic to assail her.  When it didn't, she opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling in relief.

It was good to know that her fear was lessening, and that Spike didn't bring out the emotions he used to when they first met up again.  She was much more comfortable with his presence now, both in her life and in her bed.  Usually.  Like when he wasn't wrapped around her, sliding his leg between hers and nibbling on her neck.  Ack.

"Spike," she whispered, only it came out as more of a gasp when his hand slid up to her breast and started to caress her.  It'd been a while since she'd had any sort of sexual thoughts that didn't involve nausea and blood, but feeling a hand on her breast, caressing it, and a mouth on her neck, she suddenly started to feel a little deprived in the sex department.  It'd been a while.  A long while.  Years even.

She rolled her eyes at herself.  No matter how long it'd been, and how much she missed this, she was not going to let Spike feel her up in his sleep.  She shoved at his chest and pushed at him, trying to get him off of her, but he wasn't moving.  And then he did move, on his own.  His hands grabbed her waist, and pulled her with him as he rolled over.  Oh sure, now he rolls over, she thought, and takes me with him to land smack dab on top of him.

And, oh, feeling every inch of him.  She was pretty sure she knew what he was dreaming about now.

Had it been a long time for him too?  Her brow furrowed in thought.  Huh, did Spike have a girlfriend?  He had to have been sleeping with someone.  Vampires were very sexual creatures, surely he hadn't been celibate these past five years.  Surely he hadn't always taken care of it himself--

"Shut up," she whispered to herself in disgust.  She was lying on top of a man who happened to be very gorgeous, very turned on, and very asleep.  Groaning miserably, she took a deep breath and pushed herself up.

"Willow?" he mumbled sleepily.

She went still.  Her eyes, the only thing to move, slid to his with something akin to dread.  Awkwardness was sure to follow.  Ugh.  Biting her lip, she stared into his stormy blue eyes.  One of her legs was still across him, and in fact, she was straddling his waist, looking like quite the wanton hussy.  "Hi?"

That scarred eyebrow of his raised up just the smallest amount, and his lips did the same.  His... excitement hadn't lessened the slightest bit, and in fact seemed to have grown more pronounced.  "Hi," he chuckled.

His hands, still on her waist, were unmoving except his thumbs.  They were tracing small circles on her skin.  When had her shirt ridden up that far?  "Um, I was just leaving," she told him, pointing to her side of the bed.

He nodded, glancing at the empty spot next to them with a smirk.  "Probably would've been easier to get out of bed on that side, rather than climbing over me."

She narrowed her eyes at him.  He was amused?  She was straddling him, feeling way too many things that she shouldn't be because she was gay, and he wasn't a girl, and he was laughing at her?  "Yeah, obviously.  Won't make that mistake again."  She glanced up at him, raising her own curious eyebrow.  "Can I get off now?"

When he burst out laughing, she knew she'd chosen the wrong words to toss at him.  Her face burned with embarrassment and she hastily climbed off of him.  If she happened to be a little rougher climbing off of him than she needed to be, well, it wasn't her fault, was it?  She heard his sharp intake of breath, and smirked to herself.  Ha.  And there.  He was much more turned on than her, and a lot more visibly too, so she had no reason to be embarrassed.  He did.

But he wasn't.  Was he ever?  Once, a long time ago, when they'd been talking about Poe.  But about sex, or naked things?  Nope.

She sat with her back to him, willing her heart to slow down, and her breathing to return to normal.  She wanted to get up, put as much space between them as possible, but all she had on was his T-Shirt, which only went mid-thigh.

She was grateful that this was the first time this had happened in all the time they'd spent in the same bed.  Hopefully it would also be the last, because she didn't think she could handle this again.  Not without a little follow through.  And there would definitely be no follow through.

Tossing a quick look at him over her shoulder, she was surprised to find his eyes on her, his expression one of puzzlement.  What on earth was he confused about?

"Willow?"  His voice was serious, the amusement from earlier was gone.

She refused to turn to look at him again, settling for keeping her eyes trained on a torn piece of wallpaper across from her.  "Yeah?"

"You all right then?  Didn't scare you, did I?"  He sounded a bit hesitant, like he was afraid she'd confirm that he had indeed scared her, and then run screaming from the room or something.

She shook her head.  "You didn't scare me," she assured him.

"Good," he sighed, sounding more distracted than relieved.

"Um, my clothes are over there... by the chair, which is against the door, which is across the room, could you... ya know, turn around?"  She heard him scoff lightly, but was very happy when he agreed.

He sat up on his side of the bed, with his back to her.  She jumped up quickly, ran across the room, picked up the cold material, and stepped into it with a speed she hadn't known she possessed.  Tossing a harried look over her right shoulder she was surprised to see Spike gone.  Spinning around, hands on the tiny row of buttons at her chest, she was even more surprised to find him right in front of her.

"God, Spike," she gasped out, holding her dress closed.  An annoyed look passed over her face.  "Now I'm scared.  Happy?"

He shook his head, his eyes darting from her hands, still holding her dress closed, to her face.  He sighed, coming no closer than he already was.  "No, I'm--" he stopped, shaking his head with a frown.  "Ah, bloody hell," he muttered, closing the distance between them.  His hands cupped her face, drawing her toward him at the same time as he stepped closer.

She had only a split second to be surprised before his mouth settled hungrily over hers, his lips cold, but quickly warming with contact from hers.  She gasped again when he pressed her back against the wall, the length of his body settling comfortably into hers.  His hands threaded through her hair, then returned to her face.

And then as suddenly as that, he wasn't there anymore.  Her eyes flew open at the sudden loss.  Spike was pacing in front of her, looking none too happy.  He tossed a few frustrated looks her way.

"It's not easy, you know.  Waking up with you wrapped around me every blasted day.  Or me wrapped around you."  He stopped for a second, pausing to light a cigarette.  The Zippo did nothing more than shoot useless sparks, so he snapped it shut, and shoved it into his pocket, tossing the cigarette on the dresser.  "Ending up like this," he gestured to himself, "more often than not."  A short laugh escaped him as he looked over at her.  "And you none the wiser."

Willow blinked at him, at a loss as to where all this was coming from.  'Out of the blue' was not just a phrase at the moment.  She'd never seen him like... that.  Not that she'd spent any time looking, but still.  "I--"

"Yeah, you," he scoffed.  "Just because you're no longer into wanting to be touched doesn't mean the rest of the world feels the same."  He moved closer, looking very defensive.  "I like to be touched."  He nodded to himself, then to her.  "And you, maybe you're asleep when it happens, but you like to touch."

She didn't deny it.  How could she?  If she was asleep, she wasn't aware of what she was doing, wasn't aware that she was touching Spike.  She touched Spike?  Oh, she really hoped she hadn't done any really naughty touching.  "Sorry?" she offered, unsure what to say.

"Sorry?" he repeated, turning away from her.  "Don't apologize.  I don't want apologies."  He paced away again and stayed there.

"Then what do you want me to say?  I didn't know I was... or that you were... I'm sorry," she said again, buttoning her dress once more.

"I said I didn't want your apologies," he ground out angrily.

She was getting a little angry herself.  Finished with the tiny annoying buttons, she dropped her hands, smoothing the poofy skirt into place.  "Then what the heck do you want from me?"

Spike tilted his head to the side with a frown, staring at her incredulously.  "I don't want anything from you."

"Well that clears everything up, thanks, Spike."  She rolled her eyes, moving past him.  "We should have these chats more often--"

Spike's hand closed on her wrist, and he yanked her back to him.  His eyes bore into hers, his look one of pure sex.  He backed her up again, pushing her as far as she could go.  Her shoudlers hit the wall, and her eyes widened causing Spike's smile to widen.  "Well, maybe there is one thing I want from you," he said softly.

"What--" now she was a little scared... well, no, it wasn't fear, it was nervousness.  She was nervous because, hello, Spike was stalking her.

His hands landed on the wall on either side of her head, effectively trapping her there, had she wanted to run away.  Too bad the thought hadn't crossed her mind.  She was supposed to be saying, 'no', supposed to be pushing him away and explaining to him why this was a bad idea.  Really bad.  But she wasn't doing that, and it was obvious to her, now, at this moment, that she didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of stopping this.  She wasn't as unaffected by Spike's attentions as she'd thought she was.  But Spike didn't get that.  Any other time, she might deny it, might even try to fight this attraction she had for him, but she couldn't seem to find the words to halt him.

Not today.  So she wasn't fighting him.  Nor would she.

He inhaled deeply, his amused eyes settling on hers.  "Not as unaffected as you'd like me to think, are you?" he drawled.
Instead of answering with her voice, she shook her head.

His eyes narrowed at her confession, but he didn't waste any time talking about it, he finally took action.  His mouth once again settled on hers, and she sighed.  After a moment's hesitation, she threaded her hands through his hair.  So soft, she thought, how could be so soft and silky smooth when he was dead?  His hands were on the bodice of her dress, sliding down to cup her breasts for a moment before tearing open the dress she'd just spent the past five minutes buttoning.  At that point, she stopped thinking and just felt.

Felt his bare chest against hers, felt his hands on her skin, making it hum, felt his mouth on her breast.  She moaned, pushing away from the wall and closer to him.  Her hands slid down his back, along his arms and back up, urging him up as well.  The need in her eyes matched his, and they tore away from each other, undressing as they made their way to the bed.

She pushed the dress off her shoulders and down her hips, stepping out of the voluminous material as Spike shoved his breeches down.  Tenderness and slow loving had no place in this room.  The only thing either of them was concerned about was the want and need they both possessed.  Urges that needed to be satisfied.  And if there happened to be a little bit of feeling mixed in, all the better, but neither one of them were admitting to it.

Spike, standing nude before her, was... well, her speech and reasoning faculties were somewhat lacking at the moment.  Plus, he wasn't standing there for long, almost as soon as he stepped out of his breeches, he was moving toward her, all pale skin and hard, lean muscles.  She didn't make any move to stop him, or expect any whispered words of love or caring, so it was with some surprise that he stopped and looked his fill.

His grin filled her heart with warm fuzzy feelings, and her stomach with fluttery butterfly feelings.  She couldn't help the smile that crept across her face as he pulled her closer for another soul-searing kiss.  Or at least toe-curling.  He pushed her backward, onto the bed, laughing at her shout of surprise.  Her laughter matched his deep chuckling as he tripped over her dress, falling on top of her.

"Yeah, yeah, yuk it up," he told her, kissing her soundly.

She shrugged carelessly, smirking at him.  "Nothing yuck here."

Laying half on top of her and half off, he slid one hand down her stomach, causing those same butterflies to start their fluttering again.  The hand continued its journey around her hip and down her thigh.  She inhaled deeply, enjoying being touched again after so long.  Being asleep and unaware of Spike's hands on her didn't lead to much satisfaction.  This was much better.  Much, much better.

He leaned down, taking her mouth with his again, nipping at her lower lip with his teeth before opening his mouth, sliding his tongue into her mouth.  She had this thing about kissing.  She loved it.  Loved to be kissed, loved to kiss back.  Just all around loved kissing.  And, she was discovering, she had this thing about Spike too.  The combination of two things she loved--really liked a lot--had her arching her back in contentment.

Spike pressed closer to her when she drew her nails lightly against his back.  His deep chuckle sent shivers of need and longing through her as he dipped his head to take her nipple into his mouth.  Heaven was within reach now.  Heaven being that plateau she was striving to reach for the first time in two years.  She'd missed this.

And then his hand slid between her legs.

Panic flowed through her at an astonishing rate, due, not to her fear or nervousness, but to losing Spike.  Irrational as her thinking was, she knew that if their sex session got too personally involved, she'd lose Spike.  Her eyes snapped open, her hand sliding down to his, halting its progress.

He lifted his head from her breasts, his eyes questioning.  "What's wrong?" he asked, concern and worry written all over his face.  "Am I scaring you?  I'm scaring you," he decided, moving his hand to her neck as he started to roll off of her.

She halted him with a hand on his bicep.  The muscles jerked under her hand, and she fixed her eyes there, rather than face him.  "It's not fear.  I just-- I don't..."

He lowered himself onto her fully, supporting his weight on his elbows.  "You don't what?" he asked, leaning down to kiss her softly, almost tenderly.

It was too much for her.  "Just don't," she whispered miserably.

He kissed her again, mistaking her misery for embarrassment.  As he pulled back to look down at her, she caught sight of his reassuring smile and looked away.

She shouldn't have let this happen.  It was making things too personal, too involved.  She'd wanted this to be a straight forward thing.  Scratch an itch, soothe an ache, satisfy an urge.  If he touched her... there, it wouldn't be a one time thing.  And she definitely wanted this to be a one time thing.

When things got personal, she reiterated in her mind, and relationships started, bad things happened.  Angel and Buffy, her and Oz, Xander and Cordelia, Giles and Jenny, Spike and Drusilla.  Buffy and Parker, her and Xander.  She repeated the names like a mantra.  Every single one of those relationships had ended.  She didn't want to lose Spike, and if she let it become personal, that's exactly what would happen.

And now all she wanted was for this to end.  End with them still friends.

She slid her arms around to his back again, holding him closer, holding him so that he couldn't run from her.  Not yet.  Lifting her head from the mattress, she took his mouth with hers, playing the wanton.  "Now, Spike.  I need you now."

He frowned slightly, but didn't stop to question her.  Instead of rushing further into things though, he watched her face as he slid his hand back down her abdomen.  She barely kept herself from screaming at him to stop when his thumb played over the scar there; once, twice, and then his hand halted completely.  He started to sit up, pull away from her, but she didn't want that.

She wanted Spike.

Holding him still with her hands on his shoulder blades, she whispered, "Don't stop."  Shame flooded through her at being reduced to begging.  She kissed him again, desperately, then let her head drop back to the pillow.  She didn't want to look, but she couldn't seem to stop her eyes from turning his way when he leaned down and kissed the scar.  His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes showing just the briefest hint of guilt before it was gone.

He was angry and feeling guilty, but she knew that he wanted her--no, this--he wanted *this* as much as she did.  She had unwittingly turned him on sometime during the day, and now he was using her to slake his lust.  And it was the same for her.

If she continued to tell herself that, she just might start to believe it.

He moved back over her, holding himself up by his arms, and stared at her.  Just stared at her.  She kept her own eyes on the ceiling above her, waiting for him to slide inside of her, to finish what they'd started.  To give her the release she so desperately craved.  When he only held himself there, she lowered her eyes to his, sucking in a breath as he thrust inside of her, filling her to the point of near-pain.

She groaned when he shifted slightly, closed her eyes as he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her softly.  When he didn't immediately start to move, she bit her lip to keep from telling him to hurry up.  Pleasure was overwhelming her and forcing all sorts of feelings to course through her, and she was afraid she'd say something she didn't want to.  The pleasure, however, was quickly evaporating under his tense posture, and she just knew his eyes were equally as intense.

"Look at me," he told her, cupping her face with his callused hands.

She frowned, but opened her eyes, staring up the ceiling, avoiding looking at Spike, or his body.  Too personal, she wanted to say, this is too personal, but she kept her mouth tightly closed, and swallowed back the words.

"Willow, look at me," he ground out, not so much in restrained desire, but in anger.

Her eyes flickered to his quickly before settling somewhere on his lips, rather than his eyes.  Was he going to roll off of her and leave?  Could he do that?

Whether he could or not, she didn't know, but he didn't, and she was grateful for that.  He leaned down, kissing her softly, then more demandingly, forcing a response from her.  "At least *pretend* it means something to you," he said harshly.

Her eyes widened, flying to his.  "It does... you do.  I--"

His furious gaze halted the flow of protestations on her tongue.  "Save it."  He looked away from her, preferring the pillow underneath her head to her face.

His body tensed on hers, and she was sure he was about to leave her, but he started to move instead.  Move inside of her, around her, all without looking at her.  There was no tenderness, no gentleness, nothing to say.  They were nothing more than two people having a meaningless sexual encounter.  Willow felt tears burning behind her eyelids, and let them drift shut.

He didn't hurt her, he wasn't rough with her, but he also didn't go out of his way to touch her anymore.  His mouth never settled on hers again as he thrust inside of her.  She felt each thrust, felt him deep inside, heightening her pleasure with each stroke.  She kept her hands to herself, balling the sheet under her in her fists rather than hold him to her.  Wanting this over as quickly as possible was now uppermost on her mind, second to that was release.

Tension needed to be relieved, for both of them, and then they could go about their lives again.  Pretend this never happened.

Soon, she stopped worrying and went back to feeling.  Just feeling, allowing the smell of Spike's skin to fill her senses; that enticing aroma of Spike and tobacco and something earthy that always hung around him.  The taste of him, still on her lips, was salty and altogether too arousing.  His flesh, the muscles rippling under the skin, gave her eyes something to focus on.  And him, inside of her, well, that was the most tremendous feeling of all.  The fullness of his flesh filling her, the friction he was creating with every thrust, all of it leading to an ultimate pinnacle that she anticipated with every taut nerve ending in her body.

After two years of abstinence, and emotions riding high, and, well frankly, being turned on to the point of insanity, she was ready.

He was too, she knew.  She'd both seen and felt the proof of that before he'd even woken up.  Now here they were ten, fifteen minutes later, he had to be way more than ready.

Unable to keep completely distant from him, she wrapped one of her legs around his, sliding it up to secure her ankle around his waist.  Her other leg joined the first, and she locked them together.

At that small gesture, Spike seemed to lose his tight control.  He buried his face into her neck, sucking her flesh into his mouth, sliding deeper inside her with a groan, then right back out again.  They kissed, thrust, arched, and caressed each other into a frenzy.  No tenderness, no sweet words, no mention of love.  When she came, she gasped his name.  When he came, his whole body went still, his mouth continuing to move on her neck.

In fact, as he gave her one heck of a hickey, she began to relax.  The combination of unbelievable sex and sudden release coupled with the sucking feeling on her neck caused her to drift off to sleep.
 
 

Spike's eyes slid over Willow as she slept, enjoying the sight of her completely naked body which was practically aglow with satisfaction.  She rolled over with a sigh, and a smile on her lips and he had to wonder what she was dreaming about.  If it was anything like his dream before he'd woken up to find Willow on top of him, then it was entirely possible there'd be a repeat performance soon.  It was only fair that he star in her dreams when she played such a pivotal role in his.

Well, no, that wasn't going to happen again.  She didn't want him touching her anymore.  So he'd keep his distance.

A furious scowl turned down his mouth when he remembered her reaction to him touching her.  Not fear, not embarrassment, but something altogether different.  He still wasn't sure what it was.  All he did know was that she hadn't wanted him to touch her.  Didn't want to look at him, and didn't want his hands on her.  Did that mean that she'd been thinking of someone else, like Tara, and his male hands had ruined the fantasy?

A lock of her hair fell over her face and Spike had to resist the urge to brush it away.  But it was hard with her moaning and stretching.  The sheets slid further from her body, lower than they already were, which was down on her thighs.

Spike grabbed the edge and pulled it up, covering her.  The sheet settled over her like a second skin, not obscuring a whole lot from his appreciative gaze.  He was glad he could watch her unobserved for a while because he knew, like he knew his own name, that as soon as she woke up there'd be nervousness and awkwardness.  Why shouldn't there be?  He'd prefer there not to be, but he wasn't a nitwit.  He'd hope for at least a small reprieve, but he wasn't going to hold his breath.

He sighed and settled down beside her wondering why she couldn't just let things happen.  Couldn't just accept that they'd had sex and leave it at that.  Why should she regret it?  He was a good lover, and he'd made sure she was taken care of before him.  His own control amazed him, especially since, at the time, all he'd wanted to do was finish and get away from her.  But he hadn't done that to her.  Hadn't vamped out, hadn't tried to feed from her either.

She stretched again, rolling over into him.  He hesitated for a second before settling his arm around her waist.  Her lips pressed against his chest as she mumbled something and he had to strain to hear the words.  He held still, forcing himself not to go off on her when she said the blonde witch's name, but she didn't.  Not this time.

"...for you, Spike."

He waited for more, but that was all there was.  Well that was informative, cleared things right up.  Nevertheless, he was smiling again.  She was dreaming about him, and she seemed real happy about something.

He started to drift off to sleep himself when she suddenly pushed him away from her, shoving desperately at him, getting tangled in the bed sheets.  A few deep shuddering breaths escaped her as he tried to shake her awake.  Her heart was racing, and fear was rolling off of her, battering against him, forcing him to take a few deep breaths of his own.

"No, get off.  Don't-- please..." she yelled, struggling against his grip on her shoulders.  She went limp a few seconds later, and rolled away from him, curling in on herself.  "Spike, help me," she whispered, her terrified voice sending guilt through him like the blood in his veins could no longer do.

He shook her harder, wanting to rid himself of the sound of her whispered words still ringing through his head.  Her eyes snapped open, and she looked around them frantically before dropping back to the bed with a groan.

Spike looked down at her silently for a minute before rolling over to go to sleep.

Willow sighed, watching his stiff back.  Things were going to be bad between them now, she just knew it.  And to top it off, she was having the nightmares again.  As if things weren't complicated enough.

Something had been different with this nightmare though.  She'd been having them since the attack in the warehouse, but this time Spike had been there too.  She frowned, remembering Spike and nakedness and lust-filled glances.

Well, no, that was real, they'd really had sex, the part with Spike turning into the guy from the warehouse and feasting on her intestines... that was the nightmare.  But not quite the same one as usual.

In the previous dreams, Spike hadn't been there trying to seduce her, he'd been nearby watching.  Always watching, never helping.  In this nightmare, Spike had tried to seduce her.  Due to their recent activities, obviously her mind had decided to embellish his role to that of a lover.

Turning her head to him with a sigh, she wished things were different.  Well, they actually were different now.  What she wanted though, was for them to be back in Sunnydale, and away from each other so there was no chance of being tempted.  As she got up and dressed, she wondered if he was still tempted, or if, now that he'd slaked his immediate lust, he didn't want her anymore.

~Part: 15~

Willow quietly closed the door behind her and crept down the stairs, stopping each time they creaked.  Spike was asleep.  At least she thought he was, it was hard to tell with him sometimes.  If he was, she wanted him to stay that way.  She had supplies to buy and if she allowed herself to think it, she just really wanted to get out of their room, to get away from him and the deafening silence that had fallen hours before.

Things were just too complicated between them now.  She'd screwed up by allowing herself to find comfort in him.  By taking that comfort with every greedy ounce of her soul.

She hadn't gotten a whole lot of sleep since her nightmare, only a few hours here and there, broken by points of awkwardness when she awoke to find herself wrapped around Spike.  Extricating herself slowly and quietly wasn't as easy as she'd tried to make it.  She was sure he was awake and completely aware of her moving away from him.  One time she'd even caught him watching her, his face blank, his eyes hard and cold.

Yeah, things between them were definitely weird now.  That was the whole reason she'd wanted to keep it from getting too personal.  But she'd failed.

The satisfaction and no-longer-tense muscles in her body were good side effects of their encounter, but that was a thought best left for another time.  Perhaps late one night when she was unable to sleep.

She tried to creep by the open door of the parlor, not wanting a run-in with Mrs. Pressman, but, as usual, the old woman was there, listening and watching as everyone passed by.  The chill that swept over Willow every time she was near the old woman made its way down her spine not bothering to stop when she pulled her shawl tighter around her.

"Mrs. Giles," the old lady called out imperiously.

Willow, having no other alternative, straightened her shoulders, and glided into the dark room, hiding her distaste of the plum colors dominating the room.  Her sneakered shoes were silent on the wooden floor, even more so on when she stepped on one of the numerous oriental rugs.  Stopping in front of the desk where Mrs. Pressman was seated, she folded her hands in front of her, and smiled politely.  "Yes?"

A wrinkled hand lifted, holding a folded piece of paper out to her.  "This was left for you.  An invitation it seems."  A false smile lit her mouth, the only kind Mrs. Pressman had ever shown, Willow was sure.  Her gray hair, stretched tightly back into a bun, seemed to move with her mouth, loosening the slightest bit.

Suppressing a nervous giggle, Willow reached out to take the paper, curiosity burning in her.  No one knew she was here, except the people--demons--that lived here, and she was pretty sure none of them would invite her to anything.

Mrs. Pressman didn't extend her hand any further than an inch, making Willow reach for it.  When her fingers closed over it, she yanked it rudely out of Mrs. Pressman's hand, turned away, and left the room.

She heard quiet cackling behind her, but ignored the old biddy.

Unfolding the thick, rough paper, she read the flowing black script with confusion.  Who was Lady Winchester, and why was she inviting Willow... make that Mrs. Giles, to tea?  So not gonna happen.  There was no way she could go anywhere, she had to get supplies to do the spell, and pack their stuff.  And then they would no longer be in this time.  Ah, darn, she thought sarcastically, what a bummer.

As she headed toward the front door, she heard slow, steady footsteps on the wood floor behind her.  She turned to find Mrs. Pressman standing in the doorway, studying her.

"You are planning on attending, are you not?"  One of her thin gray eyebrows soared nearly into her hairline.

Willow, more than ready to get the hell out of Dodge--meaning Mrs. Pressman's boarding house--merely shook her head.  "I don't think so.  I mean, I don't even know this Lady Winchester."  She shrugged and headed for the door again, wanting to get away from the creepy woman.

Mrs. Pressman cleared her throat, clearly waiting for Willow to stop and turn around.  Willow didn't want to do it, but she couldn't help herself.  She stopped and turned.  Damn it.

Her brown eyes pinned Willow in place, forcing another shiver from the younger woman.  "Lady Winchester is the Slayer.  If she has contacted you, then she must have a good reason."  Her lips once again turned up slightly.  "Or a good friend."  And with that, Mrs. Pressman left Willow alone, her heeled shoes echoing loudly in the open space.

Willow hardly noticed her departure, she was stuck on the woman's last words.  She knew only two demons in London that she cared anything about.  And one of them was upstairs, asleep.  She closed her eyes for a second, hating her life, before running upstairs and banging on Phillip's door.  As she'd feared would happen, it stayed closed.  Crap.  Now what?

Get dressed in her jeans, hire a hansom cab, sneak into the Slayer's house and rescue Phillip?  Yeah, right.
 
 

Okay, so she wasn't sneaking into the house, she was ringing the bell.  And she wasn't dressed in jeans, she was in her one and only tea gown.  Dressing up wasn't her idea of a fun time, but since Spike had ripped open her only other clean gown... it was this or half-nakedness.

The tea gown was one that Samantha had insisted she buy, and Willow had given in after numerous attempts to explain why she didn't need one.  Closing her eyes, she forced the pain away, and focused on the here and now.  The possible death awaiting her... here and now.

After a few minutes of waiting, and no answer, she stood back, looking up at the windows above her.  She saw someone move as a curtain dropped back into place.  She was being watched by... something.  With new purpose, she strode forward and banged on the door.

"Hello?" she called loudly.  A carriage barreled down the street, drowning out her voice.  She turned to glare at the noisy vehicle as it passed, and didn't see the door open.  Suddenly her arm was grabbed, and she was pulled inside the house.

Willow screamed, clawing at the hand holding her arm, and yanked herself backward.  Her head smacked on the doorjamb, stopping her struggles and basically all bodily movement.  Pain lanced through her head, then numbness.  As she sagged to the ground, her eyes focused on the figure standing over her.  The interior of the house was so dark that all she was able to make out was a silhouette before she drifted into unconsciousness.
 
 

Pain throbbed behind Willow's eyes as she tried to focus on one single thing around her, to figure out where she was.  Blinding lights and pain shot through her head, traveling to the rest of her body when she squinted at the shape in front of her.  It moved a little, so she was sure it was alive.  Or maybe she was the one doing the moving.

Her head pounded erratically with-- no, that wasn't her head.  It was hammering, distant hammering keeping time with the pain in her head.

"Ow," she moaned, holding herself still.  Why was it that she always seemed to end up unconscious and tied-- oh, oh!  She was tied up somewhere again?  Moving her hands minutely, she confirmed her suspicions.  There were definite bondage things happening here.  Angelus?

No, she was at the Slayer's house.  Laura had tied her up?  And was now hammering things?

Listening for sounds to tell her where she was seemed safer than thinking for the moment, because her head was still raging and nausea was roiling in her stomach.  She heard voices outside the room--they were too far away to be inside--and what sounded like humming.  That was closer though.  In fact... she opened her eyes cautiously and turned her head just enough to be able to see the dark-haired vampire sitting on the floor watching her.

Drusilla grinned sweetly at her, her huge brown eyes taking in everything with excitement and anticipation.  Willow closed her eyes against the sight of Spike's future lover, looking much like she must've the night Spike climbed out of the grave.

Well, here now was confirmation, wasn't it?  She was deeply stupid for listening to Mrs. Pressman, and even more stupid for not waking Spike up to tell him where she was going.  No, 'cause then he might've talked you out of going alone, or at all.  Then you might be safe, you dummy.

"I remember you," Drusilla whispered from her right side.  "You're a witch."  Willow felt hands on the back of the chair she was tied to, and then Drusilla's voice was whispering in her left ear.  "Daddy's afraid of you, but he doesn't know."

Willow opened her eyes to find Drusilla right in front of her, leaning forward as if imparting a secret, her lips turned up in a secretive smile.  "Doesn't know--" Willow whispered through dry, cracked lips.  She swallowed and tried again, finding her voice slightly louder.  "Doesn't know what?"

And again there was that secret smile and a playful look.  "I'll not tell."  She held a single finger to her lips.  "You're not to know yet."

Oh, and once again her conversation with Drusilla was clearing things up, only in a way that was not.  Sure she'd figure out what Drusilla meant someday, probably in a hundred years or so, if she lived that long, but what about now?  What good were the supposed powers for, if not to warn someone, or give information when needed?  Looking back one day in the future and going, 'Oh!  That's what she meant when she said such and such...' didn't help at all.

"Angelus is here?"  Straining her ears to hear the voices she'd picked up earlier, she almost missed Drusilla's giggled answer.

"No.  Daddy has a new friend to play with."

"New friend..." Willow repeated, her mind racing.  Angelus and Darla were up to something.  Obviously, otherwise why bring her here?

Spike!  She was bait.  She hated being bait, dang it.

"Dru," she implored, dipping her head to catch Dru's eyes.  Her hair fell forward, obscuring her view.  She shook her head back and the strands fell behind her shoulder.  Drusilla looked back at her, unconcerned, her eyes glazed over.  "Um, Drusilla, listen.  Angelus, um your daddy, is doing something he really can't do.  He's going to kill my friend.  Your friend in the future, you--"

"Hush now," Dru whispered, pressing her fingers against Willow's lips again.  "Daddy promised he wouldn't kill him."  Her smile turned evil, her eyes glowing with maniacal glee.  "He's only going to teach him a lesson."

Angelus' lessons would probably make Spike wish he were dead.  She had to get out of there.  Now.  Closing her eyes she forced herself to concentrate her magick on getting free.  It'd worked when she was tied up the last time.  Hopefully this time would go as well.

Dru circled around her, dancing in circles as she mimicked whispering voices.  "Psst, psst, psst, psst."

"Hecate," Willow whispered, fighting the panic for Spike coursing through her, "release me!"  She wasn't too shocked when the ropes around her loosened and dropped away, but she was a bit surprised that that's all it'd taken.

Her spells used to require quite a bit of pleading and desperation.  This was a bit easy, maybe even too easy.  Then again, practice makes perfect... not that she was perfect.  Far from it, in fact, but at least she was heading in the right direction.

"Oh.  Uh, thanks," she mumbled, opening her eyes.

Question now was: Could she really get by Dru and out of the house without being killed?  Probably not.

"Run and catch..." Drusilla sang, spinning in a circle to the door.  "Run and catch."  She spun around and faced Willow as she stood up from the chair.  Her smile, still firmly in place, and still completely laced with evil intentions, slid even further up her face.  "You'll not catch them, lovey..." she looked down almost shyly, then back up again, her face vamped out.  "But I'll catch you."

Willow shot forward, hoping to get past Drusilla and out into the hall where she'd be better off.  Or hoped to be anyway.  Chances were, she'd be worse off with the vampires out there.  They had no compunctions about killing her, they didn't know she was supposed to stay alive.  Did Drusilla?  She'd warned Angelus and Darla, but would she herself have enough restraint to hold back when the bloodlust hit her?

Darting out of Drusilla's grasp, Willow dodged away, further back into the room.  Pacing backwards, toward the chair, she considered staking Drusilla and ending it all right then and there, but she couldn't.  Spike wouldn't live if she did that.  Dru needed to live, and so did Spike.

She needed Spike to live.

"Okay, Dru... see, you can't eat me," she told the other woman, wincing when she saw her lick the corner of her lips.  "I'm from the future.  You'll ruin things there."  She shrugged, hoping Dru would buy the story.

Her demonic grin slipped a little and she looked like a kid who'd had her favorite toy taken away.  "But I wanted to play," she said sadly, un-vamping.  Her head tilted to the side, her eyes taking in Willow's clutched hands and frightened eyes.  "You are from the future," she agreed, but then her smile returned and her eyes cleared.  "But your time has already gone by.  If I kill you, nothing changes."  She leaned closer, her eyes sliding past Willow as if she was listening to someone or something that wasn't there.  "A little birdy told me," she confided secretly.

Willow watched fearfully as Drusilla vamped out again and darted froward, jumping at her.  Her thin hands circled around Willow's wrists, dragging her closer to her, spinning her around so her back was against the vampire's.  "You don't want to do this," Willow told her, pulling desperately at the hands wrapped around her, scraping her nails along Dru's wrists and forearms.  "I don't taste very good."

"We'll see about that," Drusilla muttered, snarling as she drew her mouth closer to Willow's neck.  "Give us a taste, pet."

She struggled frantically, kicking out, doing everything she could to stop the fangs about to pierce her flesh, but nothing was working.  "Spi-- William's not going to like this," she threatened, hoping Drusilla knew what she was talking about without actually knowing.  Maybe the little birdy had something to say about that.

Pain ripped into her neck, piercing the tender flesh.  Sharp, slicing knives scissored into her, forcing a scream from her lips.

Fury and rage bubbled up inside her, forcing its way to the surface.  She could feel the magick simmering around inside her, whispering to her to use it.  To taste the true power that comes with vengeance.  To hurl Drusilla across the room and shove a stake into her dead heart.

She didn't listen.  Not completely.  Reaching her hands around behind her as the vampire drank deeply from her, she touched Drusilla's skirts and sent a jolt of energy surging through her hands.  Drusilla screamed and reared back with a force and speed that was terrifying, sending tiny shockwaves of pain soaring through Willow's abused body.  Her hands no longer clamped around Willow's arms.

She was free.  Spinning around to face Drusilla, she had the urge to send another jolt of magick at her, but she was also afraid Drusilla was dead.  That lasted for only a second of course, since Drusilla wasn't a pile of ash.

Weakness flooded through her and her knees went out from under her.  She sagged limply to the floor.  The burst of magick she'd used had drained her a little.  She felt empty.  No, that wasn't right.  She felt emptier.  Her magick wasn't completely gone, just diminished.

The door opened, startling her and Drusilla who was just coming to.

"Dru, Dru, Dru," Angelus scolded from the doorway.  "You let a little slip of a girl like... that," he said derisively, "get the better of you?"  He shook his head from side to side in mock shame.  "Tsk, tsk, tsk.  I expected much better from you."

"Angelus," Drusilla whispered, licking the blood dripping down her lip.  She climbed gracefully to her feet, turning to face the doorway.

Willow groaned, sliding her hand up to her neck, stemming the slowly flowing blood still escaping.  Nausea roiled in her stomach, and she started to gag.

"Hey," Angelus called loudly, no longer amused as he strode further into the room, his boots clomping on the wooden floor.  "Don't mess the floor up."  He waited until she stopped gagging and turned baleful eyes his way before leaning down and whispering, "Red."  He stood back up, grinning ferally.

She closed her eyes as Darla sauntered in behind Angelus, her hand sliding possessively up his back as she approached.  The small superior smile she always seemed to wear, was there, curling up the corners of her lips and lighting her eyes with malevolence.  "Oh, look," she commented, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at Willow, "she's already in the right position."

Willow fought the cold fear trying to run through her veins, knowing it would only make the vampires more excited.  More amused with her predicament.  Turning an equally unimpressed eye to Darla, Willow looked her up and down, her lips turning up in a smug smile.  "Oh, I see," she chided, "you're just not getting the job done yourself, are you?"

Angelus laughed, his amused eyes running over her from head to toe as he held Darla back.  "Well now, lass, aren't you just full of piss and vinegar?" he drawled, his accent growing thicker.  He tilted his head to the side, and then turned around and left the room.  The echo of his boots receded with the three vampires.

Drusilla turned around to hiss at her before she left, holding out two fingers in a hook-like gesture, and then she was gone with the rest of them and the only sounds left were the slamming of the door.

No locks turned, but with vampire guards, they didn't need them.

Shivering in the sudden emptiness of the cold room, she hugged her knees to her, looking around her for a way out.  The room was empty but for her former seat and the ropes on the floor.  There was one door, guarded, and one boarded-up window.

Turning to face the back wall, she crossed her feet at the ankles and held her hands out to the nailed boards across the window.  She tried to think of a specific spell she could use on the boards, but came up empty.  Well, okay, she could pray with the best of them.

"Hecate, or Diana, really any Goddess out there, um, could you please help me out here?  I-- I don't have any offerings, or a spell really, but free the window, and uh," she thought frantically trying to come up with something a Goddess might like, but her mind was empty.  Frustrated with herself, she realized that she was thinking like a victim, not a survivor.  Since meeting up again with Spike, she'd seriously neglected her studies, falling back on old habits, allowing him to protect her rather than her own powers and strengths.

She should know better than that.  This incident proved to her once again that she had only herself to rely on.  "Well, okay," she began again, "I'll set up a plate of offerings that'll make your mouth water.  If you have a mouth-- which is not really the point.  So, free the window, and, um, a ladder wouldn't be turned down."  Swallowing past the dryness in her throat, she opened her eyes, hoping to see the boards drop to the floor and feel warm sunshine flooding over her cold body.

But the boards were still firmly in place.

Fine, if the Powers That Be didn't want to help her, she'd have to help herself.  Standing a little shakily, she strode over to the window, sliding her fingers under the boards.
 
 

Spike paced the room restlessly, tossing a glance at the door every few minutes.  It was well past dark and still there was no sign of Willow.  Where the hell was she?

Hearing a lock turn next door, he strode to his own door and yanked it open.  Phillip was there, in the hall, about to go inside his room.  He turned his head in Spike's direction then looked away briefly, shaking his head.

"William," he greeted, his tone just derisive enough to irk Spike.

"Where's Willow?" Spike asked, glaring at him across the twenty foot distance.  Phillip was his last chance at finding her safe.  If he didn't know where she was, then something had happened.  Chewbacca?  Or Angelus?  Clenching his fists, he vamped out, crossing to Phillip.  "Where's my wife?"

"You lost Willow?" he asked, stopping midway into his room to turn to Spike.  His eyes stayed fast on Spike's face, his mouth tightening in anger.

The concern in his voice grated against Spike's nerves.  He had no right to be concerned about Willow.  She was his phony wife, not Phillip's.

"Do you know where she is?" Spike snarled, grabbing fistfuls of Phillip's frilly white shirt.  "Start talking or I'll start tearing your bits off."

Phillip pushed his hands between Spike's arms and pried himself free, snarling right back at Spike.  His eyes went red, and his face started to shimmer.  "Never touch me, vampire.  I'll kill you, even against Willow's wishes."  The shape of his head began to move and reform, the air around them hummed.  Phillip closed his eyes and then everything shifted again, snapping back into place.  When his eyes opened again, they were human.  "I haven't seen her since last night."  He shoved his door open and went inside, slamming the door shut.  The wood shook in its frame, rattling the doorknob.

Spike slammed his fist down on the wooden railing, spinning back around to his room.  Grabbing his frock coat from the chair inside, he left, shutting the door behind him.  Halfway down the stairs, he felt Mrs. Pressman watching him and turned to see her standing in the doorway of the drawing room.

Ignoring her beady eyes following him through the foyer, he stomped to the door.  As his hand closed around it, she spoke, her words surprising him.

"Your wife is with the Slayer."

Spike dropped his hand, took a single breath in, and turned to face the old lady.  "The Slayer has her?" he ground out, striding across the foyer toward her.  "Where is she?"

Mrs. Pressman held out a thin, folded piece of paper, shaking her head regally.  "The Slayer does not... have her.  She was invited, and your wife willingly chose to go."

Willow went to see the Slayer?  What the hell for?  They were supposed to be leaving tonight, right now.  Suspicious that this had something to do with their earlier activities, he swallowed back a groan.  Bloody hell!  Couldn't she wait until they left to freak out?

Opening the folded sheet of paper, he read the flowing black script with a frown.

'Mrs. Giles,' it read, 'I would be happy to take care of your husband for you.  Please meet me at my home.'  It was signed, Laura.

Not believing it for a minute, Spike crumpled the note up and left the house, shoving the paper into his coat pocket.  Willow hadn't gone to the Slayer about him, no matter how bad things now were between them.  And really, this morning had been more good than bad.  That meant someone wanted him to think she had.

The Slayer, or Angelus?  Chewbacca couldn't be ruled out either.  The address on the card was the Slayer's, but it could be from anyone.  Bloody hell, why were their time travel adventures always so complicated?

It could be a trap set by the Slayer to catch him.  It could be Angelus.  Chewbacca was in there somewhere too, Spike just wasn't sure where.

The address on the card was the only clue he had, so that's where he was going.  If nothing else, he could ask for help from the bint.

As he waited impatiently for a carriage to pass by, he heard the front door slam, and turned to see Phillip striding purposefully down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.

"Oh, who's the manly man?" he snickered to himself.  "The big bad half demon is going searching for the damsel in distress."  Rolling his eyes at the boy, he dashed across the street, dodging another carriage as it barreled past, then took off at a run.
 
 

Willow uncrossed her legs and pushed herself to her feet.  The room was cold, with no fire to warm her.  And no central heating, of course.  Blowing on her hands to keep them warm, she jumped in place a few times, thanking whatever foresight she'd had to put on her tennies today.

Running quickly away might be something she needed to do and she was ready for it.

Hopefully it wouldn't come to that.  Angelus and Darla knew they couldn't... well, no that wasn't true.  They could hurt her as much as they wanted to, even kill her as long as the Time Stabilizer thingie didn't stop them.

The real question was: Did they fear it enough to keep from killing her?  Oh, she really hoped so.

Why wasn't the stupid Time Geek here now, helping her escape?  It wanted her and Spike to continue on to eighteen-eighty, so why wasn't it here preventing bad things from happening to her?  And bad things would certainly be happening, she had no doubt of that.  Angelus was one mean SOB, and with Darla and Drusilla backing him up?  He was as close to the devil as she ever hoped to get.

Darkness had fallen hours ago and with it the heat.  She could see her breath puff into the air every time she exhaled.  Her arms, bare in the sleeveless gown, felt like icicles.  Curling her fingers up to keep them from becoming too stiff, she hopped up and down a couple more times, getting her blood circulating.

Her sore and bloody fingers screamed quietly in protest as they bent and straightened.  Finally taking pity on them, she slipped them under her arms, hugging herself for warmth as she moved toward the window.

A single crack on the side of the boards, a hard won victory she'd achieved while the sun was setting, let in a slice of moonlight and more cold air.

The pounding had ceased an hour ago leaving her to wonder what it was they'd been doing.  Boarding up all the windows?

Loud growling and snarling sounded outside her room, followed by laughter and shouting.  A woman yelled, startling Willow.  She turned toward the door in annoyance.

Most of the vampires had left just after the sun went down, but she knew Angelus and his bimbos were still around.  She could just feel it.

She paced across the room, her tennis shoes mostly noiseless on the wooden floor, only sending up the occasional creak from a loose floorboard.  She darted a glance toward the door, knowing he was out there somewhere, knowing he wanted her to sweat, well, figuratively.

"Too bloody cold in here to sweat for real," she yelled at the door, forgetting she wanted to remain under their radar and not draw their attention.

No one came, which only made her more nervous.  He wanted her to grow panicked, to freak out and beg him to release her.  He was the type that got off on begging.

Her skirts swirled about her ankles as she turned on her heel, pacing back the way she'd come, muttering to herself.  On the edge of her mind, way in the back, was Darla's comment about her being in the right position.  She refused to think about it, because that way lay panic and fear, sprinkled with unease.  Things better left not thought about.

Being on her knees brought too many bad thoughts to mind.  Things she couldn't and wouldn't think about.  Things she couldn't stop thinking about.  Ever.  Images of a dark blond vampire grinning at her came to mind, but she shook it away, closing her eyes with a groan.  Now was not the time to think about that.

Another image sprang to mind: This one of a snarling vampire tied with old rags, bruised and bleeding, cussing at her with every ounce of fury in him.  She pressed her fingers against her eyes, hoping to erase the images, to put out of her mind the things he'd done to her, the things she'd done to him, but they just kept coming.

"Stop it," she muttered, kicking at the wall in front of her.  A sigh escaped her and she sank down to the floor.  This wasn't like that night.  This night would be different.  She wouldn't-- she wouldn't do those things again.  Angelus couldn't die.  A tiny voice in the back of her mind whispered words of pain and torture.  Stuff that wouldn't kill a vampire, but would definitely make him think twice about attacking her again.

She shoved the thoughts away, not liking the part of her that wanted Angelus to suffer for everything he'd done to her.  Everything he'd done to her friends.  To Jenny.

Jenny was dead, so she couldn't exact her own revenge.  She was safe from the dark thoughts swirling around in Willow's mind.

Willow wasn't safe.  She was in a house of vampires and possibly a dead slayer.

She dropped her head back against the wall, trying to halt the memories of that night.

Tiredness crept over her after a while, from the head injury and the loss of blood.  She curled up on the floor, falling asleep as the memories flowed through her.

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