Time Stitches You

Author: sinecure

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~Part: 6~

Willow strode slowly along the cobblestone street, her destination just ahead, her mind years ahead.  She missed her friends, her girlfriend, her parents, Sunnydale... even her dorm room.  Basically, if it was from her time, she missed it.  Chocolate.  Oh, and soda.  Coffee was what they had here.  And tea, not to mention ale, and that was all well and good, but she really missed the fast foods and drinks from her time.

Oh, to have a nice big juicy, greasy cheeseburger again.  With fries.  And a shake.  If the world were a perfect place, she'd be on her way to McDonald's right now.  But it wasn't, so she wasn't.

Opening one of the heavy wooden doors, she took a deep breath and went inside.  Immediately she was assaulted by the heat and silence of the church.  Dark wooden pews lined either side of her, and seemed to be a recurring theme.  The whole building was dark wood, the walls, floor, ceiling, pretty much everything.  Stained glass windows, not too detailed, not too gaudy like some she'd seen.  Tall gold candlesticks were placed here and there, and at the altar was the obligatory Jesus on the cross.

Spotting what she needed, she quickly stepped over to it and filled the small vial she'd brought with her.  The water didn't  look too clean, it certainly didn't invite her to drink it, but she would.  Um, later.  Maybe she could boil it, or something.  Would that take the 'holy' out of the holy water?  Water during these times was seriously gross, she was lucky if it wasn't brown.  This holy water was only slightly yellow... but, hey, maybe it was the gold bowl it was in.

She capped the vial and held the bottle up to the candles beside her.  Nope, not just the bowl.  "Yuck," she whispered, nearly jumping at the sound of her own voice.

"May I help you, lass?" a hushed voice inquired from behind her.

This time she did jump, slapping her free hand over her heart to calm its sudden erratic beat.  "God, you scared me.  Um," seeing a thunderous frown appear on the priest's face, she amended her words, "I mean, goodness, Father, you frightened me."  Simpering smile, act like a brainless twit, it was easy.

He smiled condescendingly, as she knew he would, and even went so far as to pat her back like a child.  "Forgive me, I didn't mean to startle you.  I'm Father Ian McNeil."  His kindly old face made her want to smile, despite her anger.

Telling herself that it wasn't his fault, that it was just the time he happened to be born in, she smiled even wider, hiding the vial of holy water in her hand.  "That's all right, Father."  Casting a look around her, she laced her hands behind her back.   "This is a beautiful church."  If she was lucky, he wouldn't notice the holy water, and she wouldn't have to explain why she was taking some.

"It is, isn't it?" a childish voice commented sweetly.  The two of them turned toward the front of the church, toward the young woman kneeling at the altar, lighting a candle.

Willow knew the voice, had hoped never to hear it again, or see the petite blonde woman it belonged to again.  She was a vampire, what was she doing in a church?  Especially during the day?

"Ah, Darla."  Father McNeil smiled widely and started up the aisle.

Willow, thinking fast, rushed over and grabbed his arm, halting his progress toward the evil vampire... who was currently in game face, and yet still smiling sweetly over Father McNeil's shoulder.  "Wait," Willow told him.  "Um, I-- uh," she dropped her hand from his arm at his pointed look, and bit her lip.  What the heck was she supposed to do now?  "I need some marital advice.  My husband is..." dropping her eyes to the floor, she faked a sniffle.  "I think he has a mistress, Father."

Father McNeil patted her shoulder kindly, and motioned for her to sit at one of the pews.  "I'll be right with you.  Darla?"  He turned to find Darla right beside them, watching with a small smirk, which seemed to only be noticeable to Willow.

She stepped between Willow and Father McNeil, trailing her hand along the top of the pew in front of them.  "Don't you know she's evil, Father?"

Willow tried to stand up, but Darla pushed her back down.  "Run," Willow told the priest.  Fighting the panic that was eating at her insides, she fumbled for her cross necklace.  "Go outside, in the sun.  Please," she begged him, but he didn't move.

He shook his head, and reached out a hand to Darla.  "Careful," he chastised her.  "Now, what's this about evil?"

"It's simple," Darla explained.  "She's a witch."  She turned her innocent eyes on the priest, and perched primly on the edge of the pew beside Willow.  "She's come here to kill you, Father."

Unable to find her cross, the same cross she carried with her at all times, Willow jumped up and grabbed the priest's hand, trying to drag him with her toward the doors, but he resisted her efforts.  "Please, just come outside with me, I'll explain everything there."

"It's all right," he assured Willow, "we're safe here."  He gestured to the church around them.  "Whatever it is you fear cannot get us here.  This is a house of God."

"That may be," she muttered, once again dragging him toward the front doors, "but sometimes evil things hide behind perfectly  innocent looking faces. And if we don't get out of here, right now," she insisted, "we'll both die, so come on."

He sighed heavily, finally giving in and following her outside.  "Would you mind telling me what this is all about?"

A few safe yards away from the entrance, Willow nodded toward the doors where Darla stood just inside, peering out at them from the gloom of the interior.  "Look, Father.  Look at her face."

He did so, gasping and stepping back as Darla hissed at them.  "What-- what is it?  Her face is... she's--"

"Father, don't let her whisper evil things to you," Darla called out to them, letting her face change back.  "She's bewitching you.  Whatever you think you see isn't real.  It's witchcraft."  And then she grinned, laughing evilly, and flying--actually flying--out the door, straight at them.

Willow screamed, and pushed Father McNeil out of the way, then-- woke up with a start, groaning miserably.  Damn it.  The nightmare again.  Night after night of the same nightmare was starting to wear on her nerves.  If she got any sleep at all, what with Spike coming and going at all hours, she was lucky if she got an hour without a nightmare.  Yay.  Stifling a yawn, she decided to give up on trying to sleep for a while.  She uncurled herself from Spike and climbed out of bed, dressing quietly.

~~~*~~~

The bright sun shining through the trees was warm, beautiful, and so completely bugging Willow.  Sitting in the grass just outside town had been a great idea.  She'd taken a blanket and herself, and nothing else.  It was a chance to relax, and read a book, not to mention get something she'd been lacking for a few weeks.

Sun.

She'd spent so many nights out, and so many days in, that she was starting to look like a vampire.  Spike had more color to his skin than she did.  So she'd walked a mile or so just outside of town, leaving behind the noise, the smell of horses and other livestock, and... um, the people who didn't know that water was their friend.  Which pretty much described everyone except her and Spike.

The innkeeper still gave them weird looks when they requested water brought up for bathing.  Spike usually left the water for her to use and bathed in the stream near where she was at that very moment.  She never went with him since he had to do it in the dark, and she preferred not to have an animal, human-shaped or not, attack her while she was her most vulnerable, thank you very much.  Not to mention the weirdness of Spike being naked just a few feet away.

Their days had become routine.  A week passed, and then another as she searched for the reason behind the spell screw-up.   So far, she'd found not a damn thing.  Galway had few books in their one and only book shop, and none on magick at all, so she used a spell she'd learned just before Spike witch-napped her, and conjured the books for a short time.  Hanging suspended in the air in front of her at the moment was one of those books, and the sun was shining directly down on it, keeping her from seeing the tiny printed words on the glaringly bright page.

After turning her head this way and that, standing to throw her shadow over the book, and just plain making a fool out of herself for anyone to see, she sighed heavily and checked her watch.  It was time to head back to town anyway.  It was late, getting later by the second, and both Darla and Angelus were still out there, which was probably why she kept having nightmares about them.  She'd thought they'd split town as soon as Angelus woke up, but, nope.  They were sticking around.  As were her and Spike.  At least until she found a way to guarantee their next trip.  Which wasn't happening.

Spike was ticked at her slow progress, but he refused to participate in the spell until he knew they'd show up in the right place and time.

"Finis," she said on a yawn, climbing to her feet as the book disappeared in a flash of light.  She grabbed the blanket and shook it out, watching absently as grass, dirt, and leaves went flying.  Her mind was busy trying to think of another book  to check, but she was quickly running out of options.  She couldn't for the life of her figure out what went wrong.  As far as she could tell, it wasn't something she'd done wrong.

She made her way back home, which is how she now thought of their room, and opted not to go upstairs yet.  She headed into the pub, sitting at the empty bar in the empty room.  The barkeep looked up from his meal as she sat, but continued to shovel food into his mouth.

"Ah, good evenin', wee one," he said with a nod, his soft brogue bringing a smile to her face.  She just loved that accent, even if it was coming from a big, greasy, burly guy with only a tuft of hair ringing the back of his mostly bald head.

"Evening, Sean.  Um, the usual, please.  When you're finished."  A mug of ale, lamb stew and a hunk of bread was her usual dinner, and, as he always did, Sean stopped eating his own dinner to dish up hers.  She smiled gratefully.  "Thanks."

"Not a problem, lass."  He pointed to her blanket with his spoon.  "Meeting your husband here?"  He looked around briefly for Spike, before going back to his own lamb stew.

She shrugged, tearing off a piece of bread.  "Nope.  Told you, he's not much of a day person."  Scooping the bread in the thick stew, she savored the flavor, hardly wincing at the saltiness of it.  As soon as they got home, she was sticking to yogurt and rice cakes for a year.  It amazed her that she hadn't  gained a pound, her clothes still fit perfectly, leading her to believe the healing properties of the spell had a hand in this too.  Nifty thing to have.  Maybe she could figure out how to work it so Buffy had something similar during patrol.

As soon as she thought of Buffy, she changed the course of her thoughts, it would only force her to think of all her friends, and how much she missed them.  And until she knew for sure that she'd be going home soon, she avoided thinking about them altogether.  Especially Tara, whom she missed more than anything.  She missed being with her, and holding her, and kissing her.  Talking with her.  Not to mention the sex.

And she needed to not think about that right now.  Not until she knew.

~~~*~~~

Willow closed the door quietly behind her, and turned to see if she'd woken Spike up.  Considering he was standing right in front of her when she turned, she thought that, no, maybe she hadn't.

"Could you not do that?" she practically yelled.  "My heart isn't dead, it actually beats, and if you don't stop scaring the heck out of me, it won't be beating for long."  She dropped into the chair by the door and glared at him.

"Anything?"  He was going to completely ignore her griping, that much was obvious from the lack of return-griping.

Gypped out of a nice, healthy argument, Willow shook her head.  "No, and why, yes, Spike, I'm just fine.  How are you?"  He tossed her an uncaring snort and went back to staring at her and doing nothing else.  She rolled her eyes, leaning her head against the chair back.  "We never talk these days," she joked, "don't you love me anymore?"  Judging by the finger he aimed her way, she thought the answer was once again, no.

He paced a few times, running his hands through his not-completely-bleach-blonde-anymore hair.  "This isn't a vacation, Willow.  We're--"

"Stuck here," she yawned, finishing his oft repeated complaint.  "I know.  And I'm working on it."  She sat up, watching him as he began pacing again.  "So far, I've come up with absolutely no reason for us being here."  Hesitating, she brought up an idea that she'd been tossing around for a while.  "Maybe we were supposed to come here.  What if... fate, or destiny, or the powers that be, or something brought us here for a reason?"

He obviously didn't agree with her, his sneer was cruel and evil, two things he was good at being.  "And what reason would that be, love?  To keep Angel from being turned?  To kill him?  Keep Dru, then me, from ever being turned?  Is that it?" he snarled.  He stopped pacing, and advanced on her threateningly.

"Get over yourself," she said tiredly.  "I am so sick of hearing you obsess about Angel.  You hate him, I get that, but not everything I do is because of Angel."  She pushed herself to her feet before she fell asleep in the chair, and laid down on the bed.  "You know, the way I see it, Angelus has to be made a vampire and survive long enough to turn Dru.  Dru has to turn you, and all three of you have to make your merry way to Sunnydale."  A yawn escaped her despite her best efforts, and she closed her eyes against the dull yellow light from the single lit tallow candle on the dresser, and Spike's equally dull glare.

"You're going to bed now?" he asked incredulously.  "It's only..." he paused, probably to look at his watch, "eight."

"Couldn't sleep last night," she said around another yawn, "so I didn't."

"Oh," he said warily.  "Why, uh, why didn't you wake me up?"

Since he sounded so worried, did that mean he knew he'd ended up wrapped around her?  Of course, she'd been wrapped around him first.  Every day she woke up like that, but hadn't once tried to extricate herself from him, just fallen back to sleep.  "Why?  No reason for both of us to be miserable."  Hardly able to keep her eyes open, she stopped trying, and fell asleep.

~~~*~~~

The next afternoon, Willow was so completely enmeshed in the book she was reading that it took her a minute to realize Spike was talking to her.  She looked up from her spot on the bed as she turned another page in the magick book.  "What?"

He was leering at her, and his voice had a suggestive tone to it.  "I said I can help you with that."  Given that he was sitting bare-chested, aside from the gold chain hanging around his neck, she figured that anything he said, and any tone he used would come out sounding suggestive.

Ignoring that, along with his half-naked state, she sat up a little, a confused expression replacing her curious one.  "With my book?  Um, no, I think I can handle it all on my own."  His grin was huge, and annoying, and so much more sexy than it had a right to be.  "I'm a big girl," she added, regretting it immediately when his grin widened.

"You were singing," he told her, lowering his book.  He could do that since his was in his hand.  Not a conjured one like hers.  "The Stones.  I can help you with that lack of satisfaction.  Although," he paused, a disappointed frown tipping down the corners of his lips, "not with the girlie action part.  I could try real hard though."

Oh boy, and that was not a pleasant tingly feeling in her stomach trying to tickle her to death.  Spike didn't engender those kinds of feelings.  But then the other thing he's said penetrated her mind, and she paled slightly.  Singing?  In front of Spike?  Ack.  She couldn't sing well under the best circumstances, but to be caught singing without even realizing it?  Horror.  "Um, no.  No, that's all right.  I'm okay with my lack of satisfact-- I mean--" she groaned miserably, damning her tongue for getting her into trouble again.

His laughter cut off anything she'd been about to say.  "Admitting the problem is half the cure."  He was trying to look all helpful and supportive, but failing miserably due to the laughter.

Knowing he was teasing her, which, marvel at that, she hunkered down a little, grumbling, "Shut up.  I have no satisfaction problems."

"Well, if you do start feeling a little... peckish, you just let me know.  I'll take right good care of you."  He laughed some more and went back to his book.

She tried to do the same, but a thought popped into her head and it wouldn't go away.  Not wanting to give him any more fuel for the fire that was her, she tried to stop herself from speaking, but her mouth was already moving, and words were forming.  "Besides, isn't all your satisfaction-giving reserved for Drusilla?"  A blush was already staining her cheeks by the time the last word was out of her mouth, but she couldn't stop there.  "Or actually Harmony now, I guess."

"Well, yeah.  It used to be," he admitted with a snicker and a shrug.  "But, I don't see either of them around, do you?"  He winked exaggeratedly, waggling his eyebrows a bit.  Teasing her once again.  "Live a little," he encouraged, "be wild.  You know, they say once you've gone vamp..." he trailed off, turning his attention back to his book, leaving her to imagine the rest.

And there it should've ended, but her darn mind just couldn't leave it at that.  Oh no, not her, she of the big brain and bigger mouth.  "When Angel grabbed me that night, he said--  it got me, you know, thinking-- and, um, do you... you know, with your victims?  The ones you eat?"  Her blush, still not gone from before, deepened even more at her poor choice of words.  "I mean-- oh, hey, neat book you've got there.  Taming of the Shrew.  Good one.  Shakespeare... he's kind of... an old friend of mine... shutting up now," she finished with an embarrassed mumble.

He raised an eyebrow at her.  That's all he did, raise one eyebrow.  Of course, after that there was a lot of laughter, but she hadn't really expected differently.  "No," he finally choked out, "I don't."

She nodded, hunkering down even further behind the floating book.  God, kill me now, she thought.  Why couldn't she ever just keep her mouth shut?  Would it kill her not to speak?  No.  She'd probably not keel over just because she didn't ask one stupid question.

A few minutes later, after not having read one single word of the ten pages she'd just flipped through, she chanced a look at Spike.  Still reading, yay.  Wow, he really liked that book, judging by the smile on his lips.  Who knew Spike was into Shakespeare?  Who knew Spike was into reading at all?

"Finis," she sighed, climbing out of bed as the book disappeared.  Wandering around the room was boring, she'd done it enough times to know without doing so again.  There was nothing to do.  No laptop to turn on, no books except Spike's, and her magick ones, no friends to talk with.  Nothing to do at all.

"Am I boring you?" he asked without looking up from the book.

"There's nothing to do here," she complained, sitting back down on the bed.  "Staring at these ugly wood walls, and looking down on the cobblestones lost its charm a long time ago.  And, at the risk of starting another conversation like the one we just had, do you have any suggestions?  I mean, you lived during a time similar to this.  What did you do for entertainment?"

Instead of dirty suggestions and smirking answers, he simply held his book up.  "This."

Conversation was better than nothing, and even though he hadn't offered any, she chose to take it anyway.  "I didn't know you liked to read.  What else have you read?"

He glared at her, slapping the book down on his thigh.  "I may be a demon, but I do know how to read.  And I'm not talking about the Pokey Little Puppy.  That's more Angelus' bag."

Willow folded her hands primly in her lap and sat up straight, asking in a serious tone, "And did he also enjoy Green Eggs and Ham, and Sam I Am?  'Cause those ones were really good too."  She tried not to laugh, but she just couldn't help the giggles that escaped.

Amusement flickered in his eyes and he shook his head.  "Guess I'm a little touchy."

"A little?  Please.  You had this little eye tic thing happening, and a muscle in your jaw was just... going crazy, not to mention the furious glare.  I was very afraid for my life just then."  She flopped backward on the bed, flinging her arms over her head, then rolled over to look at Spike.  "I was asking you what other Shakespeare you've read."

He stood up with a stretch, and Willow couldn't help but watch him, even at the chance of being caught.  He was just kind of... mesmerizing.  All muscle and sinew and... think bad thoughts, think bone and gristle.  Ew.  That certainly got her thoughts off of naked Spike.

Finished stretching, he cast a glance at the darkening window.  "Only a few."

Only a few? she thought.  What were they talking about?  Naked Spike?  Nope, not that.

After lighting the sconces with his Zippo, he leaned against the wall, looking down at her.  "I've read more Poe than Shakespeare."

Poe, right, Shakespeare, reading, that's what they'd been discussing.  Good save there, Willow.  She wrinkled her nose as the smell of the tallow candles drifted through the room.  Pretty soon, she knew, smoke would start to fill the tiny room and burn her eyes.  "Well that makes sense in an odd way, doesn't it?  Can you open the window yet?"

"Not without getting an unhealthy tan."  He dropped down onto the bed.  "You'd better get it."

She stood up with a sigh, tossing him a look.  "Sometimes I think you use your sun aversion as an excuse not to do anything."

"You know it."  He grinned unabashedly.

She pushed the shutter open and unlatched the window, allowing it to swing open.  Cool air gusted in, blowing her hair across her face.  "I was actually reading the Telltale Heart to Tara the night you grabbed me."  Combing her hair back from her face, she sat down in the chair he'd vacated.

"Grabbed you?" he repeated with a frown.  "I didn't grab you.  I tricked you, plain and simple.  Can I help it if you're gullible?"

She sat up straighter, irked at him.  "Gullible?  I so don't think so.  It's absolutely conceivable that Buffy, Xander and Giles were hurt in that warehouse, therefore, I wasn't being gullible.  I was just foolish."  Sore points with her, all.  She hadn't been gullible, but she was ashamed of herself for believing Spike without question.  She should've known better.

Dropping that subject, he went on to another.  "What is it exactly that you see in that girl?  She's boring, and pasty."

"Tara isn't boring, or pasty.  She's sweet, and nice, and pretty, and fun, and I like being with her."  Uncomfortable with where the conversation was going, she turned it around on him.  "What do you see in Harmony?  She has maybe one thought a day, and it's usually, 'Wow, I'm so pretty and vapid and annoying.'"

Spike snorted with laughter, agreeing wholeheartedly.  "It's not her mind I'm interested in."

Willow rolled her eyes.  "Duh.  A rock has more thoughts than Harmony, so I kind of figured out what you wanted her for."

"Jealous?" he snickered, laughing at her utterly disgusted look.

"Uh, no!  I have never, ever had... those kind of thoughts about Harmony.  Ever."  She shuddered, feeling grossed-out and oogie.  That was worse than thinking of Buffy or Cordelia in that way.  Yuck.

His eyebrows lifted briefly before settling down in a frown.  "I meant-- never mind."

She wondered what he'd been about to say, but for once, she kept her mouth shut.  She was in training.  Mouth Shut classes began at noon and four o'clock; don't be late.  "Doesn't she kind of bore you?"

"Hell yes, Harmony bores me.  I mean, sex is all well and good, but after a while I crave a good conversation.  One that doesn't involve her hair, her make-up, her clothes, her wants, her needs... or her, at all."  He rolled his eyes in disgust.  "She actually thinks I'm gonna take her to France.  I told her to go by herself, because there's no way in hell I'll take her, but she won't listen.  Thinks I'm kidding."

Willow nodded, remembering all those tutoring sessions she'd had with the blonde back in the sixth grade.  In one ear and out the other wasn't even close to describing Harmony's thought process.  "Yep, sounds like Harmony."  Vacating the chair for the more comfortable bed, she laid down on her stomach, propping her chin in her hands.  "Tell me about Drusilla.  Did you love her right away?"

His eyes dropped to hers, his eyebrows raising in question.  "What do you want to know about Dru for?"

She shrugged expansively.  "I'm bored.  Reading has lost its appeal for me these past few days, and since there's nothing else to do... regale me?"

He sighed, sounding so put upon she had to slap his leg.  A glare was tossed her way before he fixed his gaze somewhere on the wall behind her, and his eyes softened just the smallest bit.  "Fell in love with her the moment I laid eyes on her," he said quietly.

She kept silent, not wanting to disturb him from his reverie, preferring to keep her envy to herself.  Tara was as close as she'd come to love at first sight, though that was more like love at first touch.  The feelings were extremely powerful, but she'd never seen anything on Tara's face that even came close to the love on Spike's.

"She was sitting on the grass," Spike continued, "her black gown pooled around her, and such unrestrained joy on her face that it took my breath away.  Uh, if I'd had breath anyway."

Okay, not interrupting him was forgotten in her curiosity and confusion.  "But... wait, you told me before that Drusilla turned you.  How could she do that if the first time you saw her you were already a vampire?"

"That was William," he explained, "the soul.  The first time I saw Drusilla was when I clawed my way out of the grave.  She was there waiting for me, grinning like a kid at Christmastime, clapping her hands..."  His own smile widened in remembrance.  "I was her first."

"First?" Willow repeated hesitantly.  "First... lover?"

Spike snorted disdainfully, tossing her a look that told her what he thought of her question.  "Hardly.  You think Angelus didn't get there first?  Darla too?  No, I meant her first time turning someone."

"Oh."  Feeling a little stupid, she rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling.  "Was it scary?  Waking up in a coffin?"

Spike looked down at Willow, wondering why she was asking so many questions.  Was it just her bored state, or was there more to it than that?  He'd been halfway serious with his offer of satisfaction, testing the waters to see if she was amenable.  After weeks of her being wrapped around him while they slept, and no Harmony or Drusilla around to take care of certain needs, she was the next obvious choice, though it was more than that, he knew.  Had known since the last time he bit her.  The combination of her blood and body always being in such close proximity was enough to drive him near batty.

But, she'd dismissed him like a pest, brassing him off more than a little.  As if he didn't matter.  Well, she wanted to know things?  He'd give her details.  "Wasn't pleasant.  I woke up in darkness, with no idea of where I was, or how I'd gotten there.  And this tremendous, pulsing hate was just... flowing through me, eatin' away at my insides, pushing out all thought."

He could feel her stiffen beside him, and knew she wasn't enjoying the conversation anymore, but he didn't want to stop.  He wanted her to know what it was like, had a need to describe it all to her.  To make her understand.

"I could move, but just barely.  I felt around in the dark, trying to figure out where I was, and touched wood above me, and just started... kicking and clawing at it to get free.  That's all I wanted, was to get free and kill.  And eat.  Though I had no idea at the time what I hungered for."  He could remember that night as if it happened only that week, rather than a century before.  Feeling the desperation and anger at being enclosed in such a small space.  Claustrophobia had descended on him like a blanket, choking him as much as the dirt that fell inside the coffin.

Shaking free of the memories, he looked down at Willow, tempted to smooth the frown off of her brow.  His hand remained at his side, and when she urged him on with a light nudge on his leg, he continued as if it didn't bother him to recount the details of his birth as a vampire.

"Once I broke through and the dirt fell in on me, I knew I was in a grave.  Knew I was dead.  I didn't care, just wanted out so I could kill whoever was responsible for putting me there."  He paused, wondering if that concerned frown on Willow's face was for him.

"That must've been-- I can't imagine... God, it sounds so," she stopped, trying to find the word she wanted, then settled on, "awful."

"Understatement," he chuckled, nudging her arm with his leg.  "But I survived it.  Clawed my way through the dirt and mud handful by handful, and as I neared the surface, I heard someone singing."

"Drusilla," she whispered.

Spike nodded, though she couldn't see it.  "I wanted to rip her apart with my bare hands, bruised and bloodied though they were.  Wanted to tear her skin from her bones, and leave her there to die."

Her eyes darted to his briefly before landing on the ceiling again.  "Talk about an issue-inducing event.  I'm surprised all vampires aren't insane."

"You eventually get past it," he laughed, silently agreeing with her.  He was cruel, and evil, sadistic as hell, and he got off on pain... but he still shuddered at the thought of being buried alive.

"Once I'd broken through, I couldn't see much.  I was covered in dirt and mud, and hadn't stopped to wipe my eyes.  I didn't need to.  I could see without seeing.  I sensed her there, and decided not to just kill her, but to hurt her.  A lot."  Sitting back more comfortably was a little hard with Willow partially on his side of the bed, so he nudged her over, waiting until she scooted out of the way before stretching his legs out, and crossing his hands behind his head.

"She was only a foot or two away, no longer singing.  I dragged myself out of the hole I'd dug, crawled over to her and grabbed her, ready to break her apart."

Willow rolled over again when he stopped, watching him with wide eyes, urging him to continue.  "Why didn't you?" she finally asked.

Spike shrugged, not sure himself.  "I looked into her eyes, and fell in love."

Willow blinked a couple of times, frowned, started to say something then stopped.  A second later, as he'd known would happen, she opened her mouth again.  "That's... extremely sappy, Spike."

He nodded in agreement, laughing lightly at her rolled eyes.  "Every story needs an ending, love."

"So it's not true?" she asked.  "You didn't fall at her feet and proclaim your undying love for her?"  She giggled a little, trying to hide it from him, but he could hear her plain as day.

"Actually I did fall at her feet, but not to proclaim my love.  Angelus was nearby, watching the whole thing.  He decided to taunt the new guy, showing Dru just how bad a choice she made.  He tore me away from Dru, beat me to a bloody pulp, and dropped me at her feet."  He remembered well the laughing words Angelus tossed down at him as he lay on the cold ground, bleeding and confused.  'Welcome to the family.  Boy.'

Willow sat up with a sigh, stretching her neck from side to side.  "I really don't like that guy.  Kind of hate him, in fact."

"Aw."  Spike grinned, grabbing a cigarette from the tilting nightstand.  "Angry on my behalf, love?  I'm touched."  Snapping the Zippo shut, he went over to the window, giving Willow a break from the smoke.  The tallow candles were bad enough without the added cigarette smoke.

"It's more just a general kind of hate-thing," she assured him.  "Not that I wouldn't hate him on your behalf, it's just that... well, you're sort of as evil as he is, only not quite as much."

Deciding not to take offense, he nodded, staring outside into the night.  "Yeah.  I'm evil."

"And I'm hungry."  She pushed herself to her feet and opened the nightstand drawer, checking for money.  Finding none, she bit her lip and looked at him.  She wouldn't ask him for the money because she knew where it came from, and it was completely against everything she stood for to ask for money that she knew came from his victims.

Preferring not to have her stand there staring at him for the next ten minutes, he sighed and tossed a handful of coins on the bed.  As she always did, she took only one and left the rest.  When she was gone, he scooped up the coins and put them in the nightstand drawer, then left for his own dinner.

"Evil," he sighed, shutting the door behind him.

~~~*~~~

Moonlight still shone brightly in the night sky when Spike stumbled through the door.  The alcohol swimming through his veins forced him to squint and reach out three times before finding the right doorknob amidst the trio suddenly there.  His boots scuffed loudly on the wooden floor, and he quickly looked toward the bed to see if he'd woken Willow up.

She moaned lightly and rolled over, but remained asleep.  Good.  No need to wake her up and let her know he was as drunk as a skunk.

"Drunk as a skunk," he whispered, snickering a bit.  What the bloody hell does that mean anyway?  Dropping into the chair, he yanked his boots off with a grunt.  Derived from the phrase 'stinking drunk'?  Hmm, he'd have to ask Willow if she knew, she was smart.  A smart witch.  A Willow witch.

He looked down at himself with a sigh.  Next came the shirt.  Lots of tiny little buttons to undo.  After the first three, he grew impatient and pulled it off over his head, tossing it to the floor.  Willow moaned again, shifting under the covers.  Another nightmare.  She had a lot of those.  Probably about him killing her.

Oh, yeah, she fears me, he thought with a self-important sniff as he climbed quietly under the covers, careful not to wake her.  Almost immediately, she rolled into him, probably because he'd dipped the bed low enough to force her to.  No matter the reason, he took the opportunity to settle an arm over her stomach.  And what a nice, tight little tummy it was too.

Her hair brushed against his chest, and he blew at it.  When that didn't work, he swatted at it.

"What are you doing?" the owner of the hair asked.  She moved slightly away from him, forcing him to remove his arm from her waist.

"Your hair's ticklin' me."  He blew again, grinning when she shivered lightly.  "Go back to sleep," he mumbled, halfway there himself.

"I can't yet."  She yawned widely, the action belying her words.  "I had a nightmare, and if I fall right back to sleep, it'll just start over again.  Or pick up where it left off."

Forcing his eyes open, he focused on her profile in the meager light coming through the closed shutters.  She looked tired.  As tired as he felt.

"Have you read the Telltale Heart?" she asked around another yawn, looking over at him.

"Yeah, a few times," he answered, propping his head on his hand.  "Humans get a thrill out of it, but it doesn't hold the same appeal to us vampires."

"Oh."  She was silent for a minute, and he thought she was falling back to sleep when she spoke again.  "It doesn't give you the heebie-jeebies?  'Cause, it did me."

He laughed when she shuddered.  "No, love, no heebie-jeebies for me.  I hear heartbeats all the time.  What's to scare me?"  Her leg brushed his when she turned onto her side, imitating his position.

"Not scare so much as give me the major oogies."  She fidgeted with the edge of the blanket, pulling it higher.  "I always wondered if the sound stopped after he confessed.  Do you think it did?  'Cause, just the thought of hearing something that doesn't ever stop is enough to make me panic.  It's-- it's like that episode of Star Trek where they find a ship, and go to investigate--"

"Sounds like just about every episode every written.  All generations," he chuckled, receiving a soft slap to his arm.

"I can't remember who it was, but one of them got something on his hand, only there was nothing there.  He kept scratching at it, 'cause it itched, but there was nothing there, and... the thought of something being there that isn't actually there but noticeable... well it's just creepy to me."

He closed his eyes and leaned back.  "Kinda like the Taos Hum?" he asked absently.

"Yes," she said loudly, then lowered her voice, "exactly.  Just like that."

Spike had to laugh at her exuberance.  She was always so excited about the smallest things.  He liked that about her.  "Is that what you were dreaming about?  Non-stop beating hearts?"

"No," she said quietly.  "Darla and Angelus."

Obviously she was upset and not wanting to talk about it, so he changed the subject.  "Have you read The Sphinx?  By Poe?"

She shook her head, rolling onto her back again.  "What's it about?"  Her bright eyes were shining in the moonlight as she gazed him, looking so innocent and trusting.

He shook his head at himself.  What was he doing?  Discussing literature with Willow?  Any other time he'd be tearing into her neck, not trying to occupy her until she was ready to fall back to sleep.  Instead of dampening his feelings, the alcohol had actually intensified them.

"Spike."  She nudged his arm a few times, trying to grab his attention.  "Earth to Spike."

Opening his eyes, he kept his gaze from Willow, and turned it instead to the ceiling.  "It's about a guy who needs to learn some perspective," he said softly.

"Um, wow, that's, uh... that's vague."

"That's because I'm tired, and it's late.  I'll tell you about it tomorrow.  Go to sleep," he ordered softly, rolling away from her, and her enticing smell.

But she didn't.  "Are you drunk because of what you told me earlier?  The stuff about Drusilla and Angelus?"  She paused for a second, and he just knew she was going to apologize.

He had this thing where he didn't like being apologized to by annoying little girls with sweet-smelling hair and big, innocent eyes.  "Does it matter?" he asked her, sighing heavily.

"I-- I guess not," she mumbled, rolling away from him.  "Sorry."

Bloody hell, she'd gotten to say it anyway.

~Part: 7~

"Leaving," Willow repeated for the third time, tossing a wide smile at her overbearing vampire companion.  "Well, yay.  It's about time.  Are we going home?  'Cause I can't wait to see Tara and--"
 

Spike interrupted her and ignored her question, which she found rather suspicious.
 

"Hey, if you want to end up running from dinosaurs, be my guest, but I, for one, would like to end up in the right place, and the right time.  And, I also wanted to make sure nothing went wrong with Angelus, because... as much as I hate to admit it, I need him."  Leaning against the dresser, Spike folded his arms across his chest, watching Willow pace around the cramped space.
 

She stopped right in front of him and put her hands on her hips.  "Make sure nothing went wrong with Angel?  Like what, Spike?  Like make sure someone didn't kick Liam when he was down and then allow them to be drawn into a fight with him?" she asked sarcastically.  "You know, you could've told me what you'd done weeks ago."  She flopped into the chair in front of the bed, her skirts billowing around her.  Spike watched in amusement as she tried to get comfortable in her seat.  It was a vain attempt, soon given up.
 

He shouldn't have told her, should've kept it to himself.  But, she had asked, and he had told her.  "Doesn't matter now.  And how was I supposed to know he was awake when I kicked him?"
 

She pursed her lips thoughtfully.  "Oh, I don't know, listen for a change in breathing, or heartbeat?"
 

"All this sarcasm in one so young," he lamented.  "Look, Angel was an ass.  Back then... now, I mean, and in the future.  Toleration was about as good as it got between us.  If it hadn't been for Dru, I'd have left long before he got his soul."
 

"So are we going home then?" she asked again.
 

"No."  He took a deep breath, and steeled himself.  "I've a hankering to see my sire."  Trying to get past this anger she'd had for him since this morning, he kept his tone light.
 

Willow closed her eyes, sinking back into the chair.  "When?"
 

"Eighteen-sixty."  He pushed away from the dresser, opening one of the drawers.  "Since you can't seem to find anything on the spell, I figured why not just... go for it.  I got all the stuff we need right here."
 

"How convenient," Willow sighed.  "Spike, have you at all stopped to consider that, maybe I don't want to traipse around Europe with you?  I mean, this whole extra healing thing is cool and all, but definitely not worth it.  I miss Buffy and Xander, and Tara, and Giles, and... I want to go home."
 

Spike tossed the candles and sea salt on the bed.  "I considered it.  And then I remembered that I don't give a flying-- wait a minute.  What extra healing thing?"
 

She pushed her hair back, revealing the healed bite marks there.  Spike's eyes narrowed on her, and she had the sudden urge to shrink back, which she did.  His eyes followed her, and then his body.  He reached out and grabbed her arm, yanking her closer.  His hand roughly shoved her head to the side.
 

"What the bloody hell is this?  You said the others healed from the spell... you lied?" he asked in disbelief.
 

Willow shuddered when his fingers traced the scars on her neck, but her voice was strong when she replied.  "No, I didn't-- well, yeah, actually, I did.  But, what was I supposed to do?  Tell you that I'm basically an all you can eat buffet, and that I'll never be off the menu?"  Her eyes widened at her confession, and she swallowed nervously.  "Um, I didn't, 'cause of the way you're looking at me right now."  She backed away nervously, holding her hand against his chest, halting his progress toward her.  "Spike... you don't want to eat me.  I'm not very tasty.  Pretty scrawny and icky in fact."
 

Spike chuckled darkly, reaching around her.  She jerked away from his hand and ended up plastered against his chest.  Oh, frying pan, fire, how I have missed thee, she thought, moving back.
 

"Holy water cocktails, remember?  Unless that was a lie too?"  He raised an eyebrow at her in question, and tossed the candle he'd picked up from the bed back and forth in his hands.
 

She shook her head.  "Not a lie.  I just didn't want to go through all the pain it would take to, um, teach you a lesson."  Okay, so it had been a lie.  Only not on purpose.  She had fully intended to have a glass of water blessed daily and drink it down.  But, the only priest in town, Father McNeil, wanted to know why she wanted a glass of water blessed.  He'd started to talk about witchcraft, and wondered why she was out alone... and it was just more of a hassle than she wanted.  Besides, the threat was out there, and hopefully it was enough to deter him.
 

He tossed her a wink.  "Doesn't have to hurt."
 

"So not going there."  And then she went there anyway.  "It doesn't?  'Cause I've been bitten five times, four since you forced me to do this stupid spell, and each and every one of them hurt.  Yours included."
 

"Six times.  I bit you in the warehouse.  Which proves my point."
 

Her hand raised to her neck, and she pushed him away from her.  The mirror was crappy, but it was the only one there.  She stomped over to the dresser and leaned forward, examining her scars.  One on the left side of her neck, courtesy of Harmony.  Two on the right side, courtesy of Pete and Spike.  She tilted her head back slightly, looking at the one just under her jaw on the left.  And, one more on her right shoulder.  Faintly, she  could see that there were actually three bite marks on the right side of her neck.  "Why did you bite me?  When?"
 

"Told you.  In the warehouse."  He grinned at her.  "Wasn't just naughty licking I was doing, pet.  The spell called for one of two things.  Shagging or biting."  He shrugged and tossed the candles on the bed.  "If you want to do the shagging--"
 

"Uh, no," she said, backing away from him.  Again.  Boy, she must be making him feel all manly.  Since this whole thing had started, she'd done nothing but run from him, and ward him off.  "Biting worked.  I'm good.  You good?"  She nodded and smiled.  "Good.  So.  You want to do the spell now?  Or..."
 

"Now.  Change back into you clothes and wrap the new ones up in a sheet or something.  Just in case they don't make the leap with us.  Don't want to land in the middle of London without any clothes on."  His leer at her said otherwise.
 

"Yes, sir."  She saluted him and clicked her heels together, then went about gathering their clothes.  Spike was already wearing his Sunnydale clothes minus his T-Shirt, which she now used as a nightshirt.  She sat on the bed and slid her jeans under her numerous skirts, easily sliding them over her hips and buttoning them.  The shirt was a little harder.  She took it under the dress, and pulled the bodice off and up until she was under the skirts, then slid his T-Shirt over her head and pulled  it down.  Yanking the dress off of her, she tossed it onto the bed and stood up.
 

Spike was standing in the middle of the room, grinning and shaking his head at her.  "I would've turned around if you'd asked."  He laughed at her disgruntled expression and grabbed the jar of sea salt.
 

"Why wouldn't the clothes make the trip?  In all the books I've read since we got here, I didn't see one reference to material items not making the big Quantum Leap."  She balled up her gowns, and stood waiting.
 

He shrugged, taking her clothes from her so she could draw the circle with the sea salt.  "I don't know.  It was just a thought.  The candles and bowl of crap you burned in the warehouse didn't make the trip.  I figured, better safe than sorry, right?  Unless of course you *want* to end up naked in the middle of the street or something."  And again, there was a whole lot of leering.
 

"Well," pressing the cork stopper back in the jar of sea salt, she set it down outside the circle and took the white porcelain basin Spike offered her, "those didn't come because they were part of the ritual.  Our clothes aren't."
 

"Right, makes sense.  Want me to turn around this time?"
 

His snicker of amusement had her sighing in annoyance.  He was enjoying himself way too much.  If she didn't know better, which she didn't, she'd think he made that up just to put her through dressing and undressing.  "Nope.  I'll just slip the gown on over my jeans and stuff.  If people think it's weird, I'll just blame it on you somehow."
 

"Yeah," he chuckled, tossing the blue gown at her, "you do that."
 

She caught it, but just barely.  Most of the circle she'd just drawn was now smudged and broken.  "Jerk."  Slipping the gown on, she quickly did up the buttons, which meant it only took five minutes instead of ten.  The fit was a little tight, but at least she wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb.
 

Spike kept his Sunnydale clothes on, took the sheet from the bed and tossed the rest of their clothes in the middle of the sheet and wrapped it up, tying the ends.  While he was busy with that, she checked the room, just to make sure she wasn't leaving anything behind... like, say, her bloodied blouse.  She shoved it into the bundle, lifted her skirts and checked her front pocket for the scrap of cloth from Spike's shirt.  When her hand closed around it, she relaxed, and re-drew the circle.
 

"Let's do it," she said.

~Part: 8~

Spike stuffed his red shirt into the sheet now filled with the rest of his Sunnydale clothes and Willow's brown gown.  Too bad she was nowhere to be found.  Shoving the bundle under his arm, he glared at the empty alleyway one last time, then headed off down the street.  What the hell had happened this time?  Everything felt the same.  The spell shot from Willow into him, same as the first time.  The light blinded him again, and damn if he hadn't fallen a few feet to the cobblestone alleyway, bruising his shoulder.

Now, he was alone.  Without Willow.  And why could nothing ever go his way?

"Son of a bitch," he growled, pushing past a trio of drunk men.  They growled and bitched right back at him, until he put on his game face and snarled threateningly.  After that, they pretty much ran screaming.  Like women.  In a slightly lighter mood now, he stopped and looked around him.  London.  At least Willow had gotten that right.

Now all he had to do was figure out what time period he was in, and where the hell Willow had disappeared to.  Unable to tell by simply standing there staring at the people and carriages moving around him, he decided to stop in the first pub he happened upon and ask there.  It had nothing to do with him wanting a drink.  A big drink.

Halfway down the block, he got lucky in the pub department.  Yanking the door open, he took a quick look around the place.  Dark wood floor, wood walls, wood... everything.  Apparently a lot of thought had gone into the decor.  Sawdust on the floor... small tables set around the room, and a lot of people.  And every one of them were human.

He'd have a few drinks, nab some information, and then maybe go out for a snack.

He made his way through the crowd, ignoring the loud conversations floating around the room, and sat at the bar, waving over the dark-haired guy behind the counter.  "Bottle of whiskey," spike told him, before he remembered his less than filled pockets.  He rifled through his pockets, found the coins from Galway, and set one on the counter.

The guy stared at Spike with curiosity but remained silent.  He could stare all he wanted to, Spike thought, so long as he didn't hold back the booze.  He reached out to take the bottle, but just as his hand brushed it, the barkeep pulled it back, out of reach.

"Owner doesn't accept anything but English coin," he said, nodding at the coin on the counter.

His Irish accent had Spike doing a double-take.  He had seen London out there, hadn't he?  Yeah, definitely saw London.  "It's Irish, my, uh, my... grandfather gave it to me."  He shoved it across the counter toward the barkeeper.  "It's old, an antique.  Worth a lot of money.  You can buy this place with it."  When the guy didn't move, Spike rolled his eyes.  "Just give me the damn bottle."

The guy looked tempted, but he still didn't reach for it.  "And why would you be giving me this 'antique coin' for free?"

He sounded a bit skeptical, Spike could understand that, since he was of a skeptical nature himself.  "I've got lots of 'em.  And I'm rich.  So I don't give a damn about one stupid coin.  Now give me the bottle."

The barkeeper finally shrugged and handed Spike the bottle, grabbing the coin off the counter and sliding it inside his vest pocket.  "Thanks."

"Yeah."  Spike took the whiskey bottle, grabbed a shot glass from the counter, and moved to a corner table, lamenting his lot.  Damn it.  He'd forgotten to ask the Irish bloke what year it was.  He was alone, and Willow was lost out there somewhere, she could be hurt, or dead... or, what if she'd sent him here on purpose?  To some unknown time in London.  "Hey," he called to the waitress hurrying past his table, "what's the date?"

She stopped on a dime, the tray held above her head not even wobbling at the sudden halting of movement.  Her blonde hair swung free down her back, held back only by a blue silk ribbon at the nape of her neck.  She didn't look happy at the moment, even less happy that he'd stopped to ask her so mundane a question.  "Fifth of March."  When he continued to stare at her expectantly, she sighed and added, "Eighteen hundred and fifty-five."

He nodded, poured a shot and downed it.  He poured four more and was well on his way to being slightly tipsy when he left.  Carrying the bottle in one hand, and their clothes in the other, he stood there, wondering where to go.  Shrugging, knowing it wouldn't really matter which direction he went in, he headed to his left.

Five years off the mark.  A chuckle escaped him.  She was getting closer.  At least it wasn't two hundred and forty-six years this time.  Still, she'd definitely screwed things up again.  Not only was he in the wrong time, but she'd made herself scarce.

Could she be back in her own time, in Sunnydale, waiting for him to show up brassed off?

A few miles away, he found an old warehouse and decided to crash there.  Just like old times.  He crossed the street and headed toward it, taking another healthy drink of his whiskey.  The door was barely hanging on its hinges, so he kicked it in, and made himself at home.  The warehouse itself was empty of everything except dust, but the office wasn't too bad off.  He went into the office, slammed the door shut, and took a seat at the broken desk, falling on his ass when the chair broke.

"Bloody hell," he snarled, "my life is turning into a farce... could it possibly get any worse?"

"Yeah," a voice snickered from behind him, his cockney accent putting Spike's to shame.  "It just did."

Spike tilted his head back.  There was a tall blond vampire standing behind him.  Tall because Spike was still sitting on the floor.  "Go to hell," he spat, pissed that his new home was being invaded.  He was in no mood to fight at the moment.

"I was here first," the vamp said incredulously, "I live here, I'm not leaving."  He walked around to Spike's other side, and sat on the sagging desk, crossing his arms over his chest like an arrogant bully.  "You leave."

"Nya, nya," Spike sneered, feeling extremely petty, yet not willing to fight for the dubious comfort of the filthy office... maybe he was spoiled from staying at the Watcher's flat.  He climbed to his feet, grabbed the clothes-filled sheet, hugging it to him like it was an academy award, and left the room, not bothering to look behind him as he slammed the door shut.  He stood still for a minute, looking across the cavernous warehouse.  There was another office over there, and it was empty.  Now all he had to do was get there.  Heaving the sigh of his life, he shuffled across the room, stopping three times to finish off the bottle, and once to pick up the clothes bundle.

Finally reaching the other office, he sighed at the dust covering everything, shut the door, locked it and laid down on the desk, using the bundle as a pillow.

He was asleep within minutes.

~~~*~~~

Spike was pissed off.  He'd looked everywhere for Willow, and come to one conclusion; she wasn't in eighteen fifty-five, and if she was, she was doing a damn good job of hiding.  He was about to find out for sure, once and for all.  It had taken him a month, but he'd finally done it, finally found a magick shop.  One that dealt with real magick, not that crap people sold at the apothecary's.

Normally, Spike was great at culling information... normally being not this time.  Snarling at the annoying tinkle of the annoying bell above the door, he stomped past the rows of shelves and up to the counter.  And there he waited.  And waited.

He glanced around while he had plenty of time to do so, checking out the small one room shop, which was mostly filled with books and candles. Not a whole lot going on in the customers department... in fact, he was the only customer.  The shopkeeper behind the counter should damn well be scraping and bowing to him, but, she was too busy reading her book.  So busy in fact that she hadn't even heard him come in, didn't know he was standing there about to rip her head off.  He opened his mouth, lots of cuss words on the tip of his tongue, when she held her finger up to shush him.

"Save the language for when you're with other vampires please."  She looked up from her book and smiled at him.

Spike rolled his eyes.  "You're psychic?"  Great, just what he needed, someone poking around inside his head.

"Not really."  She grinned, obviously thinking he was in a good mood and wanted to chit-chat.  "The way you stomped in here, I could read your mood rather easily, and your eyes are yellow.  My name is Christine, what can I get for you?"

Spike could care less what her name was, or whatever else she felt she needed to tell him, all he wanted was an answer to his question, and maybe some ingredients for a spell.  "I need to find someone, but I don't know if she's here.  Can you help me with that?"

His question came out sounding like a challenge, and she took it, nodding slowly.  "You don't know if she's here in London?  Or here in England?"

He crossed his arms and leaned against the low counter.  "I don't think she's in eighteen fifty-five," he explained.  "She did a spell, and she screwed it up.  Certainly wasn't the first time.  She's always--" realizing he was sharing too much, he cleared his throat and started over.  "I need to find her, and the sooner the better."

That didn't surprise her like he'd thought it would, she simply nodded wisely, grabbing ingredients from under the  counter, and looking for more on the shelf over his shoulder.  "I know of a rather easy spell to find someone, but I'm not sure if it'll work through time."  Biting her lip in a very Willow-like way, she moved around the counter, grabbing jars and bottles as she went.
Spike stayed where he was, watching her flit about the shop.  It wasn't just her lip-biting that reminded him of Willow, she also moved like her, sort of looked like her... in the way that she didn't really resemble her at all except she was small, had red hair, and was pretty, but other than that, she was nothing like Willow.

"I think this is everything," she mumbled, setting three jars filled with brown things on the counter.  "That's about two pounds worth of stuff... can you pay, or are you planning on killing me for them?"

He snickered, finding no end of amusement at her offhanded question, and handed her some of the money he'd taken off a guy earlier in the evening.  "And you're doing the spell, right?  Because, I have no clue how to do it."

She shrugged.  "I could do it if you want me to, but typically--"

"Do it," Spike told her impatiently.  "I have to find her, or at least find out when she is, so do it.  Light stuff, burn  things, chant words," he gestured irritably at the ingredients atop the counter.

She took a jar of sand, stepped back a bit and poured a circle around herself, on the floor.  "Yes, Milord."

Her tone was more sarcastic than not, but Spike took umbrage.  Complete umbrage.  He frowned thunderously, barely keeping himself from draining her.  "I am not a lord," he snarled.  "Not by a long shot.  So keep your insults to yourself."

She didn't bother looking up at him, just continued to mix her herbs.  "You used to be."  Dumping what looked like a mushroom into a gold-plated bowl, she smoothed a few stray hairs behind her ear.

"No.  William used to be.  I'm not him."  Two different people, they were two different people, why didn't humans get that?  Just because he wore the skin of William, didn't mean he was William.

"All right," she said, placating him as she dropped three red flowers into the mixture, "I didn't mean to offend you, M'lo-- um, sir."  She lifted her head and smiled apologetically.  "I sometimes forget.  Vampire, human, not the same person."

"Right," he snorted, not at all mollified, but deciding to drop it.  "So how does this work?"

She sat on the floor, closing her eyes.  "Tell me about her. The better I know her, the better my chances are of finding her."

Spike sighed heavily.  He didn't know anything about Willow, just the basics.  "She's, uh, about yea high," he held his hand up to his shoulder, "has red hair, um... oh, she's smart.  Real smart, knows all about computers and stuff."

"What are computers?" she asked without opening her eyes.  Her hands hovered over the bowl in front of her which was starting to smoke and glow.

Realizing he'd shared too much, once again, he back-pedaled.  "They're-- never mind.  She's smart is all I'm saying."  He pushed away from the counter, walking cautiously closer to her protective circle.

"Mmm," she mumbled.

The glowing in the bowl brightened considerably, turning from dark green to dark blue, and he could've sworn he smelled sulfur burning.

"What else?"  The words were whispered, hushed.

Rolling his eyes would be fruitless since she couldn't see it, but he went ahead and did it anyway, feeling justified in his irritation.  "I don't know.  She's... about twenty years old, in college.  Dated a werewolf, became a witch, turned out to be gay, fell in love with a witch, and screwed up the spell to bring us here.  Okay?  Need more?" he asked sarcastically.

She smiled widely, looking really happy about something.  "That's enough, thank you."  Her eyes opened, but stared straight ahead, into space.  "She's in London.  Not in this time though.  I can feel..." she stopped suddenly, inhaling as if she'd been  sucker-punched, "Pain.  So much pain,"  She turned her eyes to him, pain and fear plain on her face.  "He's forcing her to--"

"To what?" Spike ground out, not liking where this was going.  If anyone was forcing Willow to do anything, it should damn well be him, not some nameless, faceless bastard who had no right to look at her, much less touch her.

"He's forcing himself on her.  He's going to kill her," she gasped out, still looking and sounding like pain was a close personal friend.

There was really no decision making needed, it was obvious what needed to be done.  "Send me there, do a spell and--"

She was already shaking her head, wiping at the tears on her cheeks.  "I can't.  I'm not that skilled yet, I'm still learning."

Spike didn't want to hear it.  He stepped inside her supposed magick circle, scattering sea salt across the floor.  His boots scuffed and crunched loudly as he grabbed her arms and hauled her up, shaking her fiercely.  "Then find someone who can, you bloody phony."  He shook her again, feeling such rage that he had to hurt someone, and she was the nearest someone to him at the moment.  When she only cried more, he dropped her back to the floor in frustration.  "Worthless bitch."

She didn't huddle on the floor, sobbing like he'd expected her to do, no, she stood up, facing him, and Spike knew fear.  Her eyes had turned black, and suddenly, her voice was deep and  masculine as she stared straight ahead.  "Your journey began the moment you did the spell, as did the witch's, neither can be halted now.  Continue here, and you'll find her.  Try to reach her before your time is done, and you'll lose her."

Spike frowned, unsure what the hell was going on.  "Who are you?"  He was for damn sure not going to go on the advice of a mystery voice without knowing the who or why of it.  "And why do you get to tell me what to do?"

Christine held her hands out, palms toward him.  Dark green electricity flitted around them, licking its way up her arms.  "I am the stabilizer of time."

"Really?"  If he didn't sound impressed, it was because he wasn't.  "How neat.  What's this got to do with me?"

"You're trying to change what has already been written.  Cease."  Christine's hands were still aimed at him, even though he was circling around her now.  Her eyes were all black and swirly, following him eerily.

"Cease what, exactly?" he asked.  "I'm just trying to find the witch.  The sooner I do that, the sooner I can get out of here and stop screwing with your time.  Isn't that what you want?"  He was doing a pretty damn good job of hiding his anger from this thing inhabiting Christine's body, but he was quickly losing his control.  What right did this thing have to tell anyone what to do?  Time Stabilizer...?  Whatever.

"I want nothing.  I manage what has already gone wrong."  She turned toward him, blinking slowly.  "You will inquire about Willow Rosenberg no more, and you will finish out your time here.  If you do this, your future is assured.  If you do not..." the voice drifted off, the threat obvious.

Spike wasn't satisfied with just a threat, he wanted details.  Lighting a cigarette in his typically arrogant fashion, he sniffed importantly, and leaned against the counter.  "If I don't, then... what?"

"Both you and Willow will die," the voice explained patiently, before raising her hands higher and letting loose a bolt or two of the green electricity.  "And the world shall end."

That was the last thing Spike heard before hitting the wall and falling to the ground in a heap.

~~~*~~~

Willow felt Spike's hands tighten around hers as something flowed through her looking for a way out.  Her head fell back and her mouth opened, letting the energy escape and envelop the two of them.  Darkness followed.  She felt no pressure on top of her this time.  She opened her eyes carefully, afraid of what she might see.  After their last snafu, she'd made sure to concentrate on eighteen-sixty and Drusilla.

She was in an alley.  Alone.  And it was day.  Oh, no.  She sat up quickly, ignoring the pounding in her head, and looked  around for Spike.  He wasn't there.  "Spike?" she called, her voice shaking.  What if he hadn't come with her?  What if he got stuck back in seventeen fifty-three?  What if the sun had killed him?

She stood up, looking around the alley for piles of dust.  He couldn't be dead.  He couldn't have left her here alone.  What was she going to do?

"Spike," she yelled, wiping at the tears gathering in her eyes.  Now wasn't the time for crying.  She had to find Spike, and get somewhere safe.  This wasn't a modern alley.  Or even an American one, she suspected.  It looked like the spell had worked... only she'd lost Spike somewhere.  What if he *had* gotten stuck back in seventeen fifty-three?  He'd be here now, somewhere, knowing she was on her way... and she was sure he'd be mad.  Furious.  Raging.

Even though he'd had a hundred and seven years to get over it.

Why did that thought not calm her down?  Taking deep breaths, she carefully looked around the alley.  Maybe he'd been hurt and she had just missed him on her first glance.  Filthy cobblestones on the ground.  A stack of wooden crates by a doorway.  Trash, and puddles of things she didn't want to know about.  Water stains down the walls.  But no Spike.

Willow didn't know what to do.  Wait here for him in case he'd left her there for some reason?  Like sun issues.  Or, leave and try to find shelter?  With no money, damn it.  She looked frantically around.  Their bundle of clothes and money was gone.  Not that the currency was the same, but still.  She could have sold the coins she was sure.  And now she was stuck in an alley in who knew what year, what country or what universe even, with no money, no clothes, and no place to stay.

And she still refused to shed any tears.  She was an independent woman.  Resourceful.  A witch.  She would figure something out.  Until Spike found her?  Hopefully?  Please?

Chicken, she berated herself.  She was being a chicken.  She didn't need Spike to get by.  It would certainly help, but-- no, damn it.  She could do this on her own.  She lifted her skirts, and put her hand in her pocket, wrapping her fingers around the small scrap of Spike's torn T-Shirt.  It was like a good luck charm, made her feel like he was with her.  Of course, so did wearing the T-Shirt that the scrap was from.

Taking a deep breath, she made a decision.  First, get out of the alley.  Okay.  She could do that.  Determined now, she headed toward the alley entrance and looked around.  Horse drawn carriages, cobblestone streets, women in long gowns, and men in breeches.  Yep, this was about the right time.  Judging by the accents she heard, it was also the right place.

When she left the alley and started off down the street, she could've sworn that every single person on the street turned to look at her.  She looked down self-consciously.  Her blue gown was way out of fashion, and Spike's black T-Shirt was sort of noticeable underneath the bodice.  At least her bright red jeans weren't.

And no Spike around to blame, she thought with a sad smile.

Keeping her eyes straight ahead, she walked, heading... she didn't know where.  An inn?  Hotel?  Did they have hotels?  Not that she had any money to pay for one.  Which meant she was quite possibly royally screwed.  She was receiving a lot of curious stares, which could be attributed to her own stare into space.  Feeling uber uncomfortable, she headed inside the first store she came across.

Oh, not a store.  A pub; a nice dark shadowy pub.  Good for her!

At this time of day, the place was pretty empty.  But there were enough people that, once again, Willow was the center of attention.  Something that she had never liked.  She preferred to stay on the fringes, blend in the background, not be stared at by the five people in the place.

The room was indeed dark.  And smoky.  Primarily, the owner had gone with wood as the theme when decorating.  Dark, old wood floor, covered in sawdust, wood walls, scarred and pitted, long wooden counter.  Even the ceiling was wood.  She felt like she'd stepped onto a movie set.  The patrons, three men sitting at one of the small round tables that littered the room, were eyeing her  curiously.  And, ick, lasciviously.  She felt extremely under-dressed, even though she had two sets of clothes on.

All three men were at least in their forties, not old per se, 'cause Giles was somewhere around there too, but these men actually looked it.  She knew, from statistics, that people didn't live to be very old back then... back now, or whatever, because sickness and disease was rampant.

Two of the men, formerly with their backs to her, were turned around in their seats.  One was licking his lips, while the other two were content with downing their drinks and wiping their mouths with the backs of their hands.

Nervous with their attention, she turned to the bar, and the man behind it.  Had to be the owner.  He was watching her surreptitiously, under the pretext of wiping down the bar.  He was young, probably late twenties, handsome, and clean shaven, unlike the three men at the table.  His short black hair was slicked back, his dark, almost black eyes, were raised, watching her openly now.

Judging by the possessive glances being sent toward him by the sole woman in the place aside from Willow, he was also taken.  The woman was tall and blonde, with hardly a wrinkle on her face.  Her brown eyes were warm and inviting, not cold and weary.

In this day and age it was rare to find someone so unaffected by a life of hard work and hard times...  especially someone working in a pub.  The woman carried a tray of mugs to the table of guys, casting Willow a curious look as she passed her.

Gosh, Willow thought, you'd think they'd never seen a woman with short red hair wearing two sets of clothes before.  A giggle threatened, but she managed to hold it back.  She went to the bar and sat down on one of the stools.  The barkeep, or owner, whoever he was, turned a dazzling smile her way, and walked over.

"Can I help you, lass?"  His Irish brogue was familiar after having spent so long in Galway, and Willow found herself smiling back.

"Um, hi.  I-- I was just..." she sighed, and started again.  "I need a place to stay.  I'm new around here," she added.  "Is there, uh, maybe an inn or something nearby?  Cheap?"  Hope laced her voice, not to mention a little desperation.  All of which must have been heard by the woman because she sat down next to Willow and smiled.

"Are you lost, love?" she asked kindly.  Her accent was all British, not a hint of Irish in there at all.  "This isn't a place for the likes of one so young."

Willow nodded frantically.  "Lost, yes.  I'm lost.  And broke... out of money, I mean, and I need somewhere to stay.  But, again, there's the lack of money, so... um, yes, I'm lost," she finished softly, hating herself for sounding like such a doofus.  Why could she never just say what she wanted to say, rather than babble, and trip over her tongue as it splayed itself all over the floor?  Ugh.

The waitress beside her looked Willow up and down appraisingly, and nodded.  "You're not in trouble, are you?"

"Trouble?" Willow repeated, not understanding the meaning behind the innocent question.  "Not that I know of."

The barkeep, silent until now, finally spoke up.  "Are you in the family way, lass?"

"Fam-- no."  Nearly laughing aloud at the scandalous look on the woman's face, Willow shook her head.  "No, I'm not pregnant.  I'm just... stranded."

"Are you looking just for lodging, or are you in need of a job too?" the blonde asked.  "My husband, Joe here, has been thinking about hiring another girl."  She eyed Willow's short hair with a frown.  "You look strong enough to take on the job if you need it, but your hair... have you been ill?"

"Um, no.  There was an unfortunate incident with my niece and a-- uh, taffy."

"Taffy?" they both queried, puzzled looks stretched across both their brows.

"A sticky candy, um, sweetmeat," she answered absently.  This was quickly turning into another Willow Babble-Fest.  "You know, about that job, I'm not sure.  I was supposed to meet someone here.  In town.  My husband, actually.  William, is his name.  I was supposed to meet him, but he didn't show up, and I don't have anymore money, 'cause I spent it all on the trip here.  And now I need a place to stay to wait for him.  And new clothes, um, obviously, and money, I guess."  She smiled tremulously.  "So, maybe I do need a job."

Both Joe and his wife stared at her for a few seconds before realizing she was done babbling.  "Honey," the woman began, "um, what's your name, love?"

Willow smiled at the familiar pet name, it made her feel like maybe Spike wasn't so far away after all.  "Willow."

She held her hand out to shake before remembering that women didn't do that.  She dropped her hand and cleared her throat nervously, noticing that, despite Joe's warning looks at the men behind her, their conversation had never resumed.  A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that they were watching the three at the bar intently.

"I'm Samantha, and this is my husband Joe.  We've got an extra room upstairs for employees, and if you want the job, you're welcome to it."

Willow smiled gratefully at the couple.  "I'll take it," she practically yelled.  "Um, I mean, yes.  Absolutely.  Thank you."

Samantha smiled in amusement and put a hand on Willow's shoulder.  "Come on, I'll show you your room while Joe teaches these guys some manners."  She put an arm around Willow's  shoulders and led her around the bar to a door that was almost invisible unless you were right upon it.

Behind the door and straight ahead was a steep, narrow stairwell, while to the right was a hallway that she assumed went to Samantha and Joe's rooms.  They went up the stairs in silence and down the short hallway at the top.  It was brighter up here because of the row of wall sconces lining both walls on either side of them.  A door on the left was standing open, and that's where they headed.  Samantha pushed the door open all the way and waved Willow in.

"Here you go.  It's nothing fancy, but it has all you need.  A bed," she pointed to the double bed against the wall in the middle of the room.  "Dressing table," Willow saw the battered wooden table beside the door.  "A wash basin," on top of the dressing table.  "And a wardrobe."  Yep, there it was in the opposite corner from them.

Willow had to force a smile to keep from offending Samantha.  She wasn't upset with her room, she just missed her own room.  And the gang.  And Tara.  And, if she let herself admit it, she missed Spike.  "Thanks," she said sincerely.  "I really appreciate this."  Sitting on the bed experimentally, she bounced a few times, or tried to.  This being the past, they didn't have springs, they had rope strips tied across a wooden frame in which a straw-filled mattress sat.  Just like in Galway.  "Um, what will I have to do?  My job, I mean."

Samantha stepped over to the wardrobe and pulled it open, showing Willow the dress inside.  It was similar to hers, but pale yellow instead of blue.  "Serving drinks is all you're to do.  Nothing more, nothing less.  It's not easy work, but I think you'll be able to handle it."  She went to the door and started to shut it, leaving Willow alone with her thoughts.  Just before the door clicked shut, she stuck her head back in.  "Have a bath, there's a tub down the hall.  Get some rest, and you can start tomorrow.  Sleep well."

Willow smiled again, feeling like her face was going to get stuck in that position.  All this false smiling had to be bad for a person.  As soon as the door clicked shut, she fell back on the bed and closed her eyes, feeling exhausted.  Time travel took a lot out of a person.

Almost without realizing it, she reached into her front pocket and pulled out the small scrap of Spike's T-Shirt.  Rolling over onto her side, she tucked her hands under her cheek, inhaling deeply.

~Part: 9~

The pub was extremely busy tonight, and Willow's aching body was screaming for a break.  She made her way over to the bar, weaving her way in between customers.  Setting her tray on the counter, she rubbed her back and stretched her neck.

Samantha patted her shoulder in empathy as she passed by with a tray full of mugs and pitchers held above her head.  It still amazed Willow to see the older woman do that.  Willow herself hadn't mastered the technique yet, but she had hope.  It had only been a year and eight months.

Ah, who was she kidding?  She would never be able to do that unless she used magick, which she wouldn't do.  Getting burned at the stake, or stoned to death wasn't on her list of Things To Do While Stuck in the Past.

"Why don't you take a break?" Samantha asked, returning to the bar with an empty tray, and slumping onto a stool beside Willow.  "I can hold things down for a bit.  Go on," she urged.

Willow shook her head, picking up her tray of mugs.  "Nope.  I'm good."

Samantha rolled her eyes and shook her head.  "That lie doesn't work anymore, remember?  I know you, and I know that frown.  Go on, take a little time, I've got things here."

Willow hesitated, not wanting to strand her friend alone with all the customers, but Samantha shook her head and pointed to the door.  Willow smiled.  "Okay, okay, I'm going, just as soon as I drop these off.  Slave driver."

Samantha laughed.  "And don't you forget it, love.  Take your time.  More tips for me," she said with a wink.

Willow grinned and rolled her eyes.  "More gropes for you too.  I'll pass on that, thank you very much."  Hefting her tray high, she pushed through the crowd with a lot less grace than Samantha, but quite a bit of skill.  The table in the back, where she was headed, was crowded with drunken lords; young men who had too much money and too little sense.

College boys in her time, gentlemen in this time.  They acted the same.  Groping and laughing, thinking they were God's gift to the population at large.  Willow set her tray down on the table, handed out their drinks, and forced a smile when one of them likened her red hair to an orange poppy.  As soon as she was finished, she walked away, rolling her eyes and rubbing the two new bruises on her legs from pinching fingers.

As she neared the bar, Stewart, a newer regular, looked up from his conversation with Joe.

"Aye, is he having me on, love?" Stewart asked her, hitching his thumb at Joe.  His craggy face and slicked back hair, both weathered and aged, showed disbelief mixed with amusement.

"About what?" she asked, tossing a glance at Joe as she set her tray on the counter.  Joe gave her his best, most charming smile, trying to look innocent, and failing miserably.  She had to laugh, knowing exactly what it was they were discussing.  "He's not having you on, but I think he stretches the truth a bit."

Now Joe looked offended.  "I'm not stretching any sort of truth.  It happened just as I've said it did."

"Mmm, I've no doubt it happened.  The part I have trouble with is how a man so rude could be considered a guardian angel," Willow said, slipping behind the bar to grab her cloak.  November in London was cold and wet, and the simple thin material of her dress wouldn't provide much in the way of warmth.  She was just glad that styles these days were less revealing in the breast area, and a little more cover-uppish than they were in Galway a century before.

"'Tis true he was rude, but he was kind enough to pay for the bottle of whiskey and leave a couple extra coins on the table that were worth enough to buy this pub.  Even suggested it, he did."  Joe eyed her cloak as she wrapped it around her shoulders.  "Where you going, then?  Taking in the fine London air again?"  He shook his head, frowning.  "Be careful, lass."

Samantha breezed by on her way to another table, sharing a smile with Willow at Joe's mothering.  "I always am.  Careful Willow, that's what they call me."  At their blank looks, she shook her head dismissively.  "Um, never mind.  Joe, thanks for the worry, but I'll be right outside."

He shook his head again, filling a pitcher with ale and setting it on Samantha's tray as Willow slipped from behind the  bar.  She wove through the crowd to get to the door, letting out a relieved sigh as the cool night air hit her face.  Leaning back against the wall and inhaling deeply, she pulled the pins from her hair, letting it fall free from the loose bun she'd had it in.  I should cut it, she thought.  Long hair was the style, but for her, it was just annoying.  She took another deep breath, and closed her eyes.

By now, she was used to the stifling air of London, the cold, wet weather, and the fact that she was stuck in the past.  Alone.  No, not alone.  She had Samantha and Joe now.  But, it had taken her a while to come to terms with it.  She'd been angry, spending all her time away from Joe's Pub searching for the British vampire that had stranded her here.  She'd searched for him during the day, going to every place she could find that had lodging, and then moved on to empty warehouses and abandoned buildings.  She hadn't seen hide nor bleached hair of the jerk.

Desperation had taken her to the local apothecary in search of the ingredients to do the time travel spell.  She'd tried it three times, but nothing happened.  Apparently Spike was needed for the spell to work.  Which meant that he hadn't gotten stuck in seventeen fifty-three.  More likely he'd gone somewhere else, like her.  She'd ended up in March of eighteen fifty-nine instead of eighteen sixty.  And now, here she was over a year and a half  later, working in a British pub, living on her own, and taking care of herself.

She'd dealt with her insecurities, gotten over them, and realized that it wasn't so bad.  Eighteen fifty-nine hadn't been terrible, and eighteen sixty was even better.  Not a bad time to be stuck in.  She just hoped Spike was doing as well as she was.  She hoped he was still alive.  Undead, whatever.

A man stumbled out the door, startling her.  Her hand fell to her sleeve, and the stake hidden there.  When he apologized and nodded politely to her before leaving, Willow relaxed.  In the year and eight months that she'd been here, she had only run into a total of four vampires, and all of them had been in the abandoned buildings she'd been searching.  None had survived long enough to snack on anyone else.  She had a few new bite marks added to the six previous ones, but they weren't in visible places.  And the vamp that bit her had been killed in a very un-Willow-like way.

Until that night she'd had no idea how good revenge felt, even if it was a fleeting feeling.  A few hours later, as she cried herself to sleep, she realized that some of her tears were for what she'd done to the vampire, rather than what he'd done to her.

Neither Sam or Joe knew, thankfully.  She didn't want anyone to know.  Besides, they'd probably keep her locked up in her room  if they found out.  And with good reason.  But she needed to be out there.  Looking for Spike and Drusilla.

Gathering her cloak tighter around her shoulders, Willow sat down on the bench Joe had put there a few months after she arrived.  Samantha and Willow often sat on the bench, watching people as they hurried about their own lives.  People watching.  She'd never known how much fun it could be just to watch people.  To make up stories about who or what they were.

A breeze blew a lock of her hair into her face, and she sighed, securing it with the hairpins again.  What she wouldn't give for a nice headband, or barrette, or even one of those scrunch-y things.  As it was, she could hardly keep it out of her face and eyes.  She stood up, ready to go back inside when she heard a woman scream from a nearby alley.

She headed down the street with only the briefest of hesitation.  Whether it be a human or demon attacker, she was prepared.  A stake would deter both.  She hoped.

The gas lamps along the street didn't light the way very well, but she knew these streets almost as well as she did Sunnydale's.  Another muffled yell came just as she rounded the corner, and she pulled her stake free, creeping forward quickly, but quietly.  Pretty sure the scream had come from the same alley she'd first arrived in, she tamped down on the fear threatening to take hold of her, and moved toward it, peering into the obscuring night.

A tall man with shoulder length dark hair was holding a small brunette woman against the wall.  One of his legs was between hers, both of his hands were on her shoulders, and his face was at her neck.  Vampire?

Willow shuddered, memories of herself struggling against a vampire coming unbidden to mind.  A dirty abandoned warehouse, cold night air on her naked skin, a flash of blonde hair.  Gleaming yellowed teeth ripping at her stomach.  Pain, and blood.  The bruises had faded and the bite marks had scarred, but inside, she sometimes still felt like an open wound.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Willow moved forward, lifting her stake high.

"Please, don't kill me," the woman whimpered, horror spreading across her face as a growl sounded.  Her eyes widened, and she looked around desperately for help.  When she saw Willow, her struggles increased.  "Help me," she screamed.

Willow groaned silently, and straightened up.  So much for the element of surprise.  The vampire loosened his grip on the frightened woman, and she fell to the ground, sobbing.  She wasted no time in running out of the alley, freeing herself and leaving Willow to face the vampire alone.

You're welcome, Willow thought, sarcastically.

The vampire turned around, vampire visage on, snarl on his lips, growl in his throat, and Willow gasped.

"Oh, God," she whispered, her eyes widening.  Running now, would be good.  Real good.  She turned and did just that, fleeing the alley, fleeing Angelus.  Unfortunately, he had that vampire speed-thing going for him, and she didn't make it ten steps before his hand grabbed her wrist and spun her around.  Just as it had over a hundred years ago in Galway, Willow's head hit the brick wall, stunning her.  Wow, the memories.  No, more like, wow, the pain.

He looked exactly the same as the last time she'd seen him.  Minus the dying part.  Dark hair pulled back with a leather thong, long coat--must be a vampire thing--brown eyes watching her curiously.  She found no evidence of Angel in him, just the demon.  He wouldn't have a soul for another twenty-nine years or so... too late for her.  She tightened her hand on the stake and waited.  For what, she didn't know.  She couldn't kill him, that would screw up the future so badly she was sure she'd go to hell for doing it.

So, what was she supposed to do?  Lay down and die?  Oh no, not I, I will survive, she thought with a giggle, the Gloria Gaynor song playing in her mind.

Angelus stood a few feet away, watching her curiously.  His hand plucked the stake from her unresisting hand, and held it up to her face.  "You carry a stake, so you obviously know about vampires.  Why then did you run, Red?"  His Irish brogue was  still there, Willow noted, but it was much fainter than it had been.

"Don't call me that," she said automatically, then could've bitten her tongue when he tilted his head to one side, watching her closely.  Her words had possibly done what her changed looks had not.  Maybe she should use the slight British accent she occasionally slipped into without noticing.  Would that keep him from recognizing her?

He moved closer, his eyes roaming over her neck.  "That's quite a collection of bite marks you've got there..." his eyes lifted to hers, and he smiled cruelly, "Red."

Willow's jaw tightened and her knee shot up, catching him in the crotch.  He let go of her in surprise, but then grabbed her again as she ran past him.  "Not so fast," he ground out.  "I think you and I should get better acquainted.  Don't you?"  His hand tightened around her wrist.

When Angel had first turned back into Angelus and grabbed her around the neck in the high school, threatening to kill her... well, that had been child's play compared to this.  Right now, there was no help for her.  Xander wasn't just down the hall, Ms. Calendar wasn't holding up a cross, and Buffy wasn't moving toward them.  Fear settled in the pit of her stomach, disgust joined it, and the two of them partied with revulsion.

She was on her own.  "Better acquainted?  Um, no, that's okay.  I think we're just enough acquainted.  I don't need more.  So, I'll be going..."

She tried to free her wrist from his bruising grip, but he wasn't budging.  She chanced a glance up at his face and had to hold back a groan.  He was baffled, a little lost, and a lot vamped out.  Escape wasn't looking too good right now.

"You talk too much, lass."  He started to drag her out of the alley with him.

Willow yanked continually on her arm, not caring that she was either going to break it, dislocate it, or sprain it... it didn't matter.  If she went with Angelus, she would never see the light of day again.  She would end up either dead, or a vampire, or worse.  Of all the things he could do to her, it was the 'worse' part that had her scared to death.  She yanked even harder.  She also kicked him a few times, making it difficult for him to drag her along and dodge her feet.  Not content with that, she screamed and hit him with her free hand.

Finally, Angelus stopped, and elation shot through her.  It was too much trouble to drag her through the streets, and they were attracting too much attention.  He had to let her go.  It was the smartest thing to do.

She had only enough time to realize how wrong she was when his fist came flying at her, knocking her out.

~~~*~~~

Willow stared at the vampire across the room from her, all the contempt and disgust she felt for him in that one look.  She ignored the fearful pounding of her heart, the pain in her jaw from his fist to her face, and the blood trickling down her lip.  She'd have plenty of time for that later, right now she wanted to let Angelus know how much she hated him.

Maybe that way he'd kill her instead of turning her.  Kill her instead of crawling on top of her, touching, and biting, and groping.  She swallowed hard, knowing she had to get hold of herself, otherwise panic would overwhelm her.

She shivered, something she pretty much hadn't stopped doing since waking up here.  The abandoned townhouse they were in was cold and breezy, not to mention empty, both of humans and demons aside from the two of them.  And it was a grand place too; old, ripped wallpaper on the walls, threadbare carpets, water-stained ceilings, broken pieces of furniture... it just screamed 'evil vampire lair'.

She idly wondered where Darla was, but had more important staring to do.  Angelus was playing with something in the corner, and from the soft clink of metal, she was afraid she knew what it was.  Chains.  But, it was too dark for her to see across the former parlor and through Angelus' back.

Finally, he turned around and walked over to where she was, tied to a chair.  She now knew how Spike had felt earlier that year.  Or, whenever.  After coming to Giles and Buffy for help.  She knew what it felt like to be trussed up like a Christmas turkey, and if she ever saw him again, she would sincerely  apologize to him.  Profusely even.  Heck, she wasn't too proud, she'd get down and kiss his feet if it meant she could live through this.

Angelus ran a finger down her cheek, and she wrenched her head out of his reach, revulsion once again making an appearance.

"You're a pretty one, darlin'.  You remind me of someone, only I can't figure out who."  He shook his head, tossing away the memories.

"Look, um, Mr. Vampire... you don't want to hurt me.  O-- or kill me.  It would be bad," she insisted.  "Very bad."

Angelus laughed at her pathetic attempts to reason with him.

She turned steady eyes to his.  "I'm a witch.  I'll... curse you.  Yep.  Boils and-- and warts too."

He left the room, paying her no attention.  She stared after him in confusion.  Was he going to leave her tied here to starve?  Or die of exposure?  What was going on here?

What do you care? she thought.  At least he's not doing other things.  Alone is good, very good.

Licking her dry lips, she shifted her feet into a more comfortable position and waited.  Cold air blew under her skirt from the broken window beside her, forcing another shiver from her.

As long as he didn't touch her, she was fine.  As long as he didn't try to do anything to her, she could stand it.  Every time  he touched her, she shuddered in disgust and revulsion, but it was tolerable.  For now.

He came back into the room a few minutes later, while Willow was trying to magically free herself from the shackles.  More magick studying was in store for her when she got back to her own time.  If she ever got back.  Hearing a noise to her left, she opened her eyes and watched as Angelus strode toward her.  He wasted no time with talking, or pleasantries.  He simply grabbed her by her hair and yanked her head back.

She screamed as his mouth descended to her neck, his fangs sliding into the flesh too easily.  The familiar sucking feeling that accompanied vampire bites began immediately, and she panicked.  She screamed and tried to pull away from his touch, feeling like insects were crawling along her flesh wherever his hands touched her.  His lips felt like leeches.  Bile rose to her throat and she barely kept herself from throwing up on him.

Blood loss was making her dizzy and she started to lose consciousness.  Finally, in desperation, she whispered, "You can't kill me."

He pulled away from her neck, and she almost cheered.  If it weren't for the darkness closing in on her vision, she may well have done just that.  But then he slapped her cheek a few times, waking her up and forcing her to remember what was happening.

"I can do that and more," he said harshly, yanking hard on her hair.

Willow blinked at him.  "What do you want?"

Angelus shrugged, grinning.  "Would you be flattered if I said you?"

She bit her lip, and shook her head frantically.  Tears pricked her eyes and she let them fall.  There was no way she could go through that again.  None.  She cleared her throat.  "I'd rather you kill me."

He seemed to consider her words... for all of five seconds, then his brown eyes snapped back to hers and she could see laughter there.  "No."

Panic threatened to choke her, and desperation forced her to try magick again.  She didn't bother with asking the Goddess for protection, at this point she didn't care about that.  She closed her eyes and dropped her head to her chest, speaking the Latin words for release and free.  Suddenly, the ropes around her loosened and dropped to the floor.  Angelus stood up, backing away from her.  Grabbing the chair before he came to his senses, she swung it at him, hitting him in the head and knocking him out.  He fell to the floor in a crumpled heap.

She raised the chair over her head and brought it down on him again and again.  He was battered and bleeding by the time she realized what she was doing and dropped the chair on top of  him.  Grabbing one of the chair legs that had broken off, she hastily left the abandoned house.  Heading toward Joe's pub, she took a shortcut through one of the nicer streets.

People were milling about, some stopped to stare at her, and she looked down at herself.  One sleeve was torn, hanging half off her shoulder.  Her skirts were filthy and ripped.  Blood dripped into the bodice of her dress from her neck wound.  Dried blood was on her now swollen and bruised jaw.  Her hair had fallen from the bun, and was flying about her face in the breeze.  She must look like an escapee from a mental asylum.  Looking quickly around, she spotted a church up ahead and ran to it.  Sticking the make-shift stake into her good sleeve, she blended in with the crowd and entered the church.

Being Jewish, and later Wiccan, Willow hadn't spent much time in churches.  Even still, she knew exactly where to go thanks to the Galway, and all the numerous vampires and demons that inhabited Sunnydale.  In the entryway, she went directly to the holy water and, not caring who saw her, or what they thought of her, she dipped her hands in the brass bowl and used them like a cup.  She drank down two handfuls, hearing shocked whispers, and gasps, but she paid them no attention.  She turned around to leave, and bumped into a small group of well-dressed women.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, keeping her head down, and her eyes on the maroon gown of the woman in front of her.

The woman steadied Willow with a hand to her arm, surprising Willow.  "Are you all right?" she asked softly.

Willow's head shot up and she stared into the face of the woman she'd been searching for for almost two years.  Drusilla.  A completely sane and human Drusilla.

Drusilla was a very beautiful woman when she wasn't insane. Or a vampire.  Or trying to kill her.  Her long, dark brown hair was pulled back elegantly, and her gown fit her to a tee.  Probably tailor made.  She wasn't quite as thin as she'd been in Sunnydale.  Of course, she'd been sick then.

Willow could understand Spike's fascination with her.  His almost obsessive love for the dark-haired beauty.  And in no way did she envy this woman for it.

Realizing that she was blocking traffic, and staring at Drusilla like she was a freak in a sideshow carnival, she mumbled, "I... I'm... yes.  I'm fine."  She wanted to warn Drusilla.  Tell her to stay away from tall dark-haired men with long teeth, but she knew she couldn't do that.  Just as she couldn't kill Angelus, she couldn't prevent Drusilla being made, and Spike, in turn.

Spike, she thought excitedly.  Is he around?  Is he here?

She smiled at Drusilla, and nodded.  "I'm all right now.  Thank you."  She started to walk away, when Drusilla suddenly  grabbed her shoulder and pulled her away from the other two girls, who were doing their best to ignore Willow.

"Don't go," Drusilla pleaded, her eyes begging the smaller girl to stay.  "You're changing things.  Don't change too much, or we'll all die."  She shook her head slightly, as if to clear it, and smiled a little in confusion.

Willow stared at Drusilla.  Wow, that psychic thing was really working tonight.  Too bad it wasn't more specific, like, 'Don't go outside, Angelus is out there' or maybe, 'Spike is one block over, two blocks down, second house on the left'.  That would be helpful.

"Thank you, I understand," Willow told her, then couldn't help adding, "Be safe."  With one last look at the love of Spike's life--unlife--willow ran out the door, looking around.  A few people still wandered about, heading toward the church, but there was no sign of Spike.  And, thankfully, Angelus.

Her steps were quick, but full of despair as she made her way across the street.  She would wait here in the shadows until Drusilla went home, then she would follow her.  Maybe Spike would be there.  If he already knew Dru's routine, maybe he hadn't felt the need to follow her to church, a place he probably wasn't too fond of.  Maybe he was dead.  Maybe he didn't care anymore, and just wanted to live out the next century by himself.

Sure were a lot of maybes.  She sat down on the curb, making sure to stay well hidden, and let the tears fall.  Again.  What was she?  A baby?  No, but she was tired of being alone in a strange country, during a strange time.  Tired of being bitten, and attacked.  Tired of death and destruction.  Tired of not having anyone she could really talk to, really confide in.

She drew her knees up and rested her elbows on them, dropping her head into her hands.  Her life sucked.  It wasn't even a life.  It was an existence.  Barely living.  She was waiting more than anything else.  Waiting for something to happen so that she could go home to her real life.  Though sometimes, real life blurred into this existence she was living now, and she was left to wonder if it was real, or a dream.  Those times were few and far between, but they still plagued her.

After that last vampire attack, the one before Angelus, she had fallen into a depression that Samantha barely helped her out of.  She'd kept her silence about the cause, allowing Sam to think it was because her husband hadn't shown up for her.  That was also a part of the problem, Spike's absence.  Though the main reason was the almost successful rape by a vampire the night before.  She stayed in bed for a week; didn't get up; didn't work; didn't get dressed; hardly ate.  Samantha finally had to force her to get up.  Literally, she picked her up and dropped her into a cold bath.

During that week, Willow had dreamed a lot, mostly about Sunnydale.  Xander, Buffy, and Giles were the most prevalent.  Tara showed up a few times too, but not as often as Willow thought she should have.  It wasn't until a few weeks later that Willow realized why.  She wasn't in love with Tara anymore.  She still loved her, but she didn't feel that all-consuming passion for her.  Didn't feel the ache that accompanies absence.  But, she wasn't sad... in fact, at the time, she'd been relieved.  The thought of going back to her old life and resuming her relationship with Tara had disgusted her.  The thought of being with anyone disgusted her.

"Where you been, Red?" a soft voice asked from directly behind her.  "I've been looking all over for you."

She jumped up, but that was as far as she made it.  A hand snaked around her neck and held her still.  Another hand smoothed down her hair.  "Can't you take a hint?" she muttered in frustration.  Dropping her arm straight at her side, she shook it a bit, until the makeshift stake hidden there fell into her hand.

Angelus' laughter held no amusement.  His arm tightened around her neck, almost cutting off her air.  "No.  Never was very good at takin' hints."  He grabbed the stake from her hand just as she swung it toward his leg.  His hand crushed hers until she let go, and the stake clattered to the ground at her feet.

"Obviously," she ground out, tired of being manhandled.  Why was it that every vampire she'd ever come across had to grab and  hold and grope and touch and... what did they think humans were?  Their personal playthings?

More like chew toys, she thought with an hysterical giggle.

The giggle died in throat when his hand moved back to her hair.  She was angry and exhausted, and still waiting for the adrenaline to leave her system from earlier, and damn it, what was Angelus' problem?  "Look, if you kill me, you'll be real upset later on, okay?  Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but in about twenty nine years or so.  So do yourself a favor and just say no."  Just call her movie quotes and cliché central.

The dark night was suddenly lit up with warm yellow light from the church doors opening.  People slowly meandered out the doors and down the street while Angelus held her still, nearly choking the life out of her.  A familiar figure, with her two companions, left the church and started off down the middle of the road, laughing and talking.  Willow groaned aloud, seeing her one chance at finding Spike slipping away.

Hidden in the shadows as they were, Willow knew no one could see them, and in this day and age, even if they were seen, would anyone help her?  She doubted it.

Drusilla was almost out of sight when she suddenly stopped and turned around, facing them.  They were a good thirty yards away, cloaked in darkness and partially behind a tree, and yet, Willow could have sworn Dru's eyes locked with hers.

"Friend of yours?" Angelus whispered.  The hand he was using to smooth her hair down in a parody of caring, slid down to encircle her waist, holding her still when she tried to pull away.  She sucked in a breath to yell for help, but his mouth by her ear made her freeze.  "Ah-ah, not a word.  I have plans for you, and she's not invited.  Yet."

Willow watched in dread as Drusilla motioned her friends to wait for her, then glided gracefully toward her and Angelus.  Her steps didn't falter, and her gaze never wavered.  As Drusilla neared them, her eyes glazed over and her face grew cloudy.  When she was directly in front of them, Angelus stepped forward with Willow, just enough to put them in the light.

"You're not an angel," she told Angelus, "not an angel at all.  You've had your wings clipped."  She smiled sweetly and leaned forward conspiratorially, none of the insane vampire in residence yet.  "You're going to get new ones."

Angelus' hold on Willow loosened a bit.  Just enough for her to breathe easy again.  His voice, when he spoke, was seductive and enticing, his brogue more pronounced.  "And is it an angel you're lookin' for, darlin'?"

Willow rolled her eyes.  She certainly hoped Angel had the sense to be ashamed of himself when she got back to Sunnydale.  He was pathetically cheesy in his overtures.  To her surprise, the mouse bit.

Drusilla seemed uncertain at first, then she smiled and took a step forward, her eyes locked on Angelus'.  Willow's shock knew no bounds when Angelus suddenly released her and took a step toward Drusilla.

Once again, Willow was forgotten in Angelus' pursuit of a woman.  She should feel slighted, or hurt, and if she had any type of romantic feelings toward the vampire, she would've been.  But all she could feel now was relief.  And gratitude to Fate or Destiny or the Powers That Be... whoever seemed determined to keep Angelus' life on track.  She watched as Angelus hooked Drusilla's arm through his and walked her back to her friends.

Drusilla smiled sweetly while the other two girls simpered and flirted.  The pair hardly paid them any attention, they were focused entirely on each other.  So much so, in fact, that they didn't see Willow slip into the shadows.

And again, she had a dilemma.  Leave and be safe, maybe never find Spike?  Or follow Dru and Angelus, risk Angelus nabbing her--again--and increase her chances of finding Spike?  The choice was already made, she realized, as her feet started her walking in the opposite direction from Joe's Pub.

Damn.

~Part: 10~

Willow fell into bed a few hours later, exhausted and sore.  She'd followed Angelus and Drusilla to her house, where, amazingly enough Angelus hadn't hurt anyone.  Apparently he still planned to drive her insane first.  To Willow's disappointment, there'd been no sign of Spike at all.  After Angelus left, Willow had carefully examined the entire area surrounding Drusilla's house, not sure what she expected to find.

A cigarette butt?  Spike and Dru's names carved into a tree?

Regardless of what she expected, she found nothing, except the fact that Dru's house was only a mile or so away from the pub, and the church she'd met her at earlier was one that Willow had checked months before.  So, vowing to return the next night, she went back to the pub, running through explanation after explanation.

Which meant lie after lie.

She'd cleaned up as best she could on her way.  Letting her hair down to cover the bloody wound at her neck.  Straightening her clothes.  Combing her fingers through the tangled mass of her hair.  There was nothing she could do to hide the bruise on her jaw, or the ring of bruises on her wrist, but she hoped that Joe and Sam wouldn't see them.

A lengthy discussion followed their first sight of her.  Her three hour absence had left them worried, but knowing she was safe overcame any anger they might have felt.  Tales of a lost and hurt little girl, a mugger... a frightened child not wanting to be alone in the hospital.  And finally, a quick bath to wash away the filth of Angelus' touch.  And the blood and dirt too.

Now she was under the covers in her own bed, the small strip of black cloth once again clutched tightly in her hand.  It was almost like a life preserver.  When she felt overwhelmed, or sad, or, well... it didn't really matter what she was feeling, she usually pulled the scrap of cloth out from under her pillow and held it while she slept.

But tonight, instead of falling asleep, she was wide awake.  The more time that passed, the further away Sunnydale felt.  Her only chance at getting home was with Spike, but after almost two years, and no sign from him, she had to consider the fact that he might be dead.  She didn't want to believe that.  The spell had worked.  She'd come almost to the time he wanted.  A little early, but closer than the first time.  So, where was he?  Had he landed in another time?  Was he home?  In Sunnydale?

Rolling over, she allowed herself to think the unthinkable.  She was stuck in the past for the rest of her life.  What was she supposed to do here?  Was time being affected by her absence?  She'd run into Angelus twice, but she had no memories of Angel mentioning their encounters.  He may have kept silent, not knowing if it was her or not.  Or he didn't want to alter what she did in the past.  Most likely he didn't remember her.

Or, the changes weren't taking affect until she returned... if she ever did.

She wiped the tears from her cheeks in impatience.  She'd done more crying in the past twelve hours than she'd done in the past month.  But this time, she wasn't crying for herself, she was crying for Spike.

She hadn't fully realized it until tonight, but she missed him.  She missed his sarcastic comments, his voice, his face, his body curled around hers in the night.  Rolling onto her side again, she inhaled deeply, wishing his scent was still on the strip of cloth in her hand, or the T-Shirt she wore as a nightgown.

~~~*~~~

Casting one last glance at Drusilla's window, Willow turned away and started back to Joe's.  Three nights she'd watched Dru's house, waiting for Spike to show up, but as yet, he was a no-show, and she was almost convinced that he was dead.  Otherwise, wouldn't he be here?  Watching over the woman he loved?  Being near her?

A tired sigh escaped her as she walked along the empty street.  The full moon overhead cast yellow light over everything not shadowed by trees or houses, it was a sickly color, filtering through the branches, and coating the cobblestone streets.  A carriage clattered past her, but she hardly noticed it, which really struck her.  She was so used to this time and place, that it wasn't unusual to her anymore.

A hand grabbed her shoulder and yanked her out of the street.  Startled, she looked up from her musings and watched as another fast moving carriage barreled past her.  She discreetly  pulled away from the man's hand, barely registering his handsome face, and dark blonde hair.  What she did note was that his skin was pale and cold, and though pale was the style, it most likely meant vampire.

"Thank you, sir," she mumbled, walking around him.  If he was a vampire, he probably wouldn't let her go.  She walked a little faster, holding her breath, and waiting.

Vampire.

A cold hand slid around her neck and pulled her back against a hard chest.  Her first instinct was to scream.  Her second was to run.  Screaming would get her nowhere, and running wasn't an option, she'd be caught after only a few steps, so she fought back the panic that was coursing through her, dropped her stake from her sleeve and spun around with it, holding it firmly against the vampire's heart.  "Your first mistake was saving me, your second was touching me.  There won't be a third."

She swung the stake back and brought it forward again, crying out in pain when he grabbed her hand, stopping the stake just before it made contact.  To her surprise, his grip on her wrist loosened at her yelp of pain.  But he didn't let go.  He was too busy looking her over.  She resisted the urge to look down at herself; she already knew what she was wearing.  High-collared midnight blue cotton dress, trimmed in white lace and tiny black buttons.  Black cloak.  Hair in a chignon.  Fashionable stake clutched in her fist.

His gaze, when it finally returned to her face, was blank.  She flicked her eyes over his black Hessians, black breeches, white shirt, and black cloak.  Wow, a lot of thought must have gone into that outfit, she though derisively.  Moving her gaze up, she took in his clenched jaw, intense pale blue eyes... familiar blue eyes.  Her heart skipped a beat.  This couldn't be him, finally.  Could it?  She wouldn't let herself get her hopes up.

Until she saw the scar on his eyebrow.

"Spike?" she whispered, hope making her voice shake.  She was so afraid that she was just seeing what she wanted to see.

He shrugged lazily, a grin turning up the corners of his mouth.  "Sure as hell ain't Elvis."

Willow was rooted to the spot, unsure of what she wanted to do.  Hug him because she was relieved, and she'd missed him?  Yell at him for stranding her here alone?  Or slap him for forcing her to do the spell in the first place?

He stumbled back a few steps when she threw herself at him, hugging him so tight that, had he not been a vampire, he would've had breathing issues.  He laughed, wrapping his arms around her, his deep voice enveloping her as much as his arms did.

"Miss me, pet?" he chuckled in her ear.

"No," she mumbled, her voice muffled by his chest.  "Not one whit."

"Yeah," he agreed, "me either."

Willow chuckled, pulling away.  Her smile faded into a frown as she got a good look at him.  His hair was pretty long--as was stylish these days--and no longer in a bleached way.  "Where did you go?  'Cause I looked all over for you, and--"

He looked past her, shaking his head.  "This little reunion's gonna have to wait, love.  Something's near.  Probably a less friendly vampire."  He grabbed her hand and pulled her along.  "You got somewhere we can go?"

Willow had to run to keep up with him, and that was no easy feat.  "Yeah, I have a place, but-- slow down, Spike.  Short, human type person here."  She stopped and yanked her hand from his.  "I think I should warn you, Sam's not gonna be happy to see you."

Spike raised an eyebrow at her.  "He your lover?  You're cheating on the witch?  I am shocked and amazed, Red."  He looked almost proud of her.

Willow rolled her eyes.  "Sam's a she.  Short for Samantha, and she's--"

"A woman?  Go, Red," he said with respect.  He grinned slyly, and nudged her arm.  "I'd like to request front row seats. Is there audience participation, or is it just a spectator sport?"

Willow sighed in amusement.  Spike hadn't changed a bit, except physically.  "Still perverted, I see."

He nodded, his face serious.  "'Til the end, love."

"Okay, and we're moving on to reality.  Samantha is married to Joe who owns--"

"A threesome, huh?"  He sniffled and wiped an imaginary tear from his dry eye, giving her a one-armed maternal hug.  "My baby's all grown up.  It happens so fast..."

"Oh, brother."  She smoothly shrugged out from under his arm, a little uncomfortable with his touch.  He was her friend.  Sort of.  Well, okay, he was her time travel companion.  She should feel comfortable around him.  Was she going to have to constantly worry about whether or not he was going to touch her?  That was definitely not something she wanted on her mind.  Starting off down the street, she shook her head, leaving him to catch up with her.  "Gosh, I guess we're past that awkward silence part that can sometimes happen after long absences."

Spike shrugged dismissively.  "Who needs that?  Get right into the thick of things, that's what I always say.  So... where's this place of yours?"

Willow stopped in front of Joe's Pub and gestured to the door.  "This is it.  Couple things you ought to know before we go in though.  You're my husband, William.  You left me stranded  here, and I haven't seen you since.  And, um," she thought for a minute.  "I guess that's it.  Let's have fun out there, kids."

Spike waggled his eyebrows.  "Husband, huh?  I think I can play the part.  Lots of public displays of affection are called for, I think."  He reached for her, but she quickly moved away from him.

"No."  Sounded a bit rude, she realized, so she softened her tone.  "I mean, um, Samantha wouldn't buy it.  You know, the touchy feely thing after this long.  So, uh... let's go."  She unlocked the door, ignoring his frown.  Since she hadn't left Joe's until after it closed, she was hoping they wouldn't still be up and about to ask questions.  She wanted some time alone with Spike to get the lowdown on where he'd been.

"This place looks familiar," Spike muttered, looking around the darkened room.

Willow grinned back at him.  "Maybe you were here in a past life."

His eye roll told her how much he appreciated her attempt at humor.  "Yeah right.  I think I've been here before.  In this life," he added with a chuckle.

"Spike in a bar?  Say it ain't so," she said, feigning shock.  She ducked away from his hand with a laugh when he swatted half-heartedly at her.  "Well, this is it, Rebecca... this is the valley."

Spike's eyebrows rose a bit in confusion.  "What?"  He looked a little lost... well, actually, he looked a lot lost, and she couldn't blame him, it was an obscure reference.

She shook her head with another laugh.  "Nothing.  Just a stupid commercial they used to show.  Xander and I used to say it a lot... it just sort of stuck."

He still looked really lost, but all he did was nod.

Thankfully Sam and Joe didn't come rushing out to greet them.  The place remained dark and empty.  Looked like she would get some quiet time with Spike after all.  Saying a tiny prayer of thanks, Willow locked the door behind her and quietly led Spike through the darkened pub.

He stopped by the bar, grabbed a bottle of whiskey from one of the shelves behind the counter, and waited for her to continue.  "Lead on."  Just before he exited the bar area, he stopped and took another look around.  "Hang on.  I *have* been here.  That first night, I ended up not far from here.  Stopped in for, uh, information--"

"You mean a drink," Willow corrected with a grin.  "That's kind of weird, 'cause this is the first place I ended up too.  Not for a drink, but for a place to get away from the stares of-- wait a minute!  You *are* the angel!  I used to think you were, but--"

Spike narrowed his eyes at her, probably none too happy with her choice of words.  "Ain't no sort of angel.  You take that back," he ordered, sounding very petulant.

She laughed, unable to believe Spike was the man Joe had been talking about this whole time.  "Did you come in here a few years ago and pay for a bottle of whiskey with an antique coin?"

"Yeah, that first night."  He paused, thinking back.  "I also left a few more on the table, forgetting they were worth so much.  But, in my defense, I was a little preoccupied with ending up Willow-less, and at the wrong time."  He shrugged, as if it didn't matter.

Ignoring his disinterest, she hurried on excitedly, convinced she was right.  "It had to have been you, it's so obvious now.  White hair," she snickered a little.  She'd always assumed it was a distinguished, older man.  "And gray eyes... but, hey, you're eyes are blue."  She frowned, then shook her head, undeterred by the discrepancies.  "This place is pretty dark.  The old Irish coin fits though, and the accent."  She laughed lightly, feeling a sense of giddiness.  She'd found Spike and solved a myth all in one night.  Her work here was done.

"Yeah, sounds just like me," he agreed sarcastically.  "So why the angel status?"  He uncorked the bottle, taking a big long swig of the fiery liquid.

"You gave the coin to Joe.  Irish guy behind the bar?  His wife, Samantha, was your friendly neighborhood waitress."

"And?" he encouraged, tipping the bottle back a second time, taking another healthy swig.

He wasn't as pleased as she was by the story.  She could understand that.  Still, it irked her.  "And you gave him one of our coins from Galway."

He nodded.  "Yeah, you said that.  What of it?"

"He bought this place from the owner and turned it into the popular pub it is today."  She shook her head with a laugh.  "They refer to you as an angel."

"Huh."  Again he nodded.

That's it?  Well, okay, he hadn't lived with hearing the story told a hundred different times.  He wasn't one of the regulars who could recite the story by heart.  Still, he could show a little interest.  "Because they own this place, I have somewhere to live.  That might not have happened."

"Good on them, then."  He ducked his head around the doorway, glancing at the stairway.  "Upstairs?"

Slightly disgruntled at his lack of enthusiasm, Willow sighed and held a finger to her lips, heading up to her room.  She held the door open for Spike, and once he was through, she shut it, and leaned back against it.  He wanted business, then fine.  That's what he'd get.  "So?" she inquired.

Spike tossed her a look.  Setting the bottle down beside the bed, he examined her room.  "Nice place.  How long you been here?"  He took off his cloak, dropped himself and the cloak to the bed and leaned back against the headboard.

"You first," she told him, staring at her quilt under his boots.  The image was so odd, that she couldn't quite wrap her mind around it.  She pushed away from the door with a yawn.  These late nights were wearing her out.  But, now that she'd found Spike, hopefully the late nights would end after her shift rather than hours later.  Or, ooo, even better... end altogether.  Maybe now they could go home.  To Sunnydale.  She unbuttoned her cloak and tossed it on the bed.

Spike uncorked the whiskey bottle and took a long drink, then leaned back and relaxed.  "Well," he began, sounding like a teacher during story time, "it all started when a certain witch--who shall remain nameless--screwed up a spell, and sent me to the wrong time.  Twice."

"You're not the only one who got sent to the wrong time, you know.  And don't blame it on me, I did the spell exactly like I was supposed to."  She stood in front of the dressing mirror, searching for Spike in it, knowing she wouldn't see him.  Knowing he was invisible in the eyes of the mirror.  Removing the pins from her hair, she turned back to face him, finding it creepy in the extreme to be talking to someone who, essentially, wasn't there.  It made her feel like maybe she had imagined him.

Spike took another long drink, frowning at her.  "Yeah, well, no offense, love, but your magical skills have, so far, left a lot to be desired.  I ended up in eighteen fifty-five with nothing but our clothes from Glasgow."

Willow dropped the pins to the dresser and shook her hair out, feeling the usual ache she felt when she took her hair down.  "Five years?" she whispered, leaning back against the dresser.  "How did you... oh, right.  Vampire.  Killing.  Death and robbery.  You had all that going for you, I guess."

He chuckled and rolled his eyes.  "Willow," he chastised, "would you rather I didn't feed, didn't take money, and didn't survive, thereby leaving you stranded here?  I tend to doubt even you'd want that.  So back off with the criticism.  I did what I had to do to survive, as I'm sure you did."

Willow turned away from him, knowing he was right and not wanting him to see the admission on her face.  "Sorry.  For the  criticism, and for stranding you there.  Even if it wasn't my fault."  She joined him on the bed, as far from him as possible, which wasn't easy since he was in the middle of the bed.  And here again was that uncomfortable feeling.

She reached out for the bottle, but stopped, raising a questioning eyebrow at him when she saw him staring at her with the bottle halfway to his mouth.  "What?"  She hopped up, looking around frantically.  "It's not another spider, is it?"

"How long have you been here?" he asked, ignoring her question.  His eyes stayed on what had had him so enraptured before her spider freak-out; her hair.  After a second, the bottle continued its journey to his mouth, and then to Willow's hand.

She sat back down and took a quick drink before answering.  "For a while.  Where did you end up?"  She felt something touch her hair, and visions of a blonde vampire that wasn't Spike, assailed her.  Her back went stiff and her breathing stopped for what felt like an eternity before starting again.  Spike's hand, she told herself.  It's just Spike's hand.  He's safe.

"An alley," he said absently.  "I had the money, obviously, and the clothes, so how did you survive?"  His fingers had grabbed a lock of her hair and was playing with it.

She had to stop herself from shivering in disgust.  Force herself not to cringe away from his touch.  "I-- got a job, could you *not* do that?"

Spike dropped her hair with a shrug.  "A job?" he repeated, and then his eyebrows rose.  "Here?  You work here?"  His voice rose even higher than his eyebrows.  "Doing what exactly?"

"Not what you're thinking," she said with a shudder.  "I'm an un-glorified waitress."  He sighed, and she was sure she heard relief in there.  Why would he be relieved?  Or even care?  He was an evil vampire that had kidnapped her, and forced her to do his bidding.  What did he care that she might have been a prostitute?  And that's definitely what he'd thought.  Obviously he didn't know her at all.  She would rather starve or freeze to death than do... that.

On the other hand, she'd never been tested that much.  How did she know what she would do when desperate?  It was possible that she would fall into the lifestyle gratefully if she was cold and starving, and living on the streets.

"Always thought you were a wench," Spike was saying, snapping her out of her musings.  He stretched out even more, lacing his fingers behind his head and closing his eyes.  "So tell me, Wench, what've you been doing?"

"Working in the pub.  Searching for you and Drusilla."  Her excitement at finding him was once again starting to take over, and a giddy feeling was coursing through her.  They'd be going home soon.  They had to be.  What else could he want to do back  here?  See himself?  And if he did want to?  Would she protest?

It would be kind of interesting to see a human Spike.

Though she was seeing a different Spike right now, with longer, darker hair--his natural hair color--and period dress, she wouldn't mind seeing a human Spike.  William.  Before Dru got to him.  Which brought her back to the conversation at hand.  "Have you found her yet?"

He nodded slowly.  "Yeah, I found her.  That's how I happened to run into you tonight."

Willow settled the whiskey bottle on his stomach and waited until he took it from her.  "How long have you known where she was?  I only found her a few days ago, and I've been searching for her since I got here."

He took a drink and handed it back to her.  "Few months."  He grinned, staring up at the ceiling.  "I had a nice debate going with myself on whether or not to find her yet.  So, how long have you been here?"

Ignoring his question, she set the bottle on the floor at her feet.  "'cause of the getting involved factor?  Hope you stayed out of her life, Spike.  Otherwise, you could've... well, no, you didn't change anything."

He sat up slowly, leaning on an elbow.  "What do you mean, I didn't change anything?  How exactly do you know that?"

His voice was low and dangerous, and her heart was suddenly in her throat.  "I-- well, the other night... Angelus--"

Spike sat all the way up and shoved his hands through his hair agitatedly.  "He's here?  Now?  Why the hell didn't you tell me that earlier?"

Willow shrugged, not understanding his anger.  "Why would I?  What's the big deal?"

He sighed heavily, shaking his head at himself.  "Never mind.  I've got time."

She studied him, trying to figure out what he was talking about.  He still had time to do... what?  Stop Dru from being turned?  Stop her from being driven insane?  He couldn't do that.  The future would be irrevocably changed if he did.  They'd already screwed with things enough since traveling back in time, she couldn't allow him to tamper with anything more.

"Spike, you're not--"

He stopped her with a hand to her arm.  "Wait a second.  You ran into Angelus?"  His blue eyes ran over her, checking for injuries, she assumed.  "You're lucky you're still alive."

"Yeah," she agreed, her hand moving, of its own volition, to the newest member of the Scar Society on her neck.  Spike's eyes followed the movement, and she hastily turned the rub into a scratch, then dropped her hand altogether.  His eyes stayed on her neck.

"He bit you."  It wasn't a question.  He could see the evidence himself.  His hand reached out to touch the mark, but she stood up, busying herself with picking up and corking the bottle of whiskey.  She set it on the dresser, all the way across the room from him.  "Why are you so damn jumpy?  I mean, is it me, or what?"

She turned back to him, a confused expression in place.  "What?  I'm not jumpy.  Well, a little.  I mean, it's been a while since I saw you.  I've been on my own for a long time, and I'm not used to being around anyone except customers and Sam and Joe."
She shrugged casually.  "It's nothing personal."

"Nothing personal?  Right.  You just can't stand to be touched..." his eyes widened as realization hit him.  "He raped you?  Angelus raped you?"  Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed his cloak and headed purposely toward the door.

Willow grabbed his arm and held him still, fighting back the instant repulsion she got from touching vampire flesh.  "What is it with you constantly assuming I've been raped?  I haven't been.  Okay?"  She dropped her hand from his arm with a shudder and smiled to hide it.  "Thanks for the freak-out on my behalf, but it's not needed. Angelus didn't rape me, the guys in the warehouse that first night didn't rape me, and-- I mean, I'm fine," she told him.

"You're sure?" he asked, hand still on the door knob.

Willow rolled her eyes.  "Am I sure?" she repeated with a laugh.  "Yes.  I'm sure."

"Okay."  He nodded, dropping his hand.  "All right."  Grabbing the whiskey from the dresser, he sat back down on her bed, setting his cloak beside him.  "Wouldn't be the first time," he sighed.

"Oh," she whispered.  That was news she could've lived without for the rest of her life.  Already she was going to have a hard time facing Angel when they got back to their own time, this was just going to make it even worse.  By leaps and bounds.

Spike was watching her solemnly, and she suddenly felt the need to confess.  To clear Angel's name.  Though she realized that Spike would never soften toward Angel, she thought it might help a bit.  "It wasn't Angelus."

"I knew it," he muttered.  "She said-- bloody hell."  He jumped to his feet again, striding to the door as he downed a swig of whiskey.

"The only reason I'm telling you is to clear things up, okay?   It's none of your business, it has nothing to do with you, and if you go after Angelus, I'll have to stop you.  It wasn't him," she repeated more firmly.

"Fine then.  Give me his name, and I'll kill him for you," he promised, waiting by the door.

"Um, yeah, because attackers usually give out their name and address," she laughed.  She was touched in a weird way... but also a little unnerved.  Was he going to go off and kill Angelus anyway, even knowing Angelus wasn't the one who'd done it?  Almost done it.  "He's dead."  She made her way to the bed and sat wearily.

"And?" Spike pressed.

"And I don't want to talk about it."  That was a bald-faced lie.  She had a burning need to tell someone, but Spike wouldn't be that someone.  He didn't give a damn for her, so she wasn't going to confide in him.  "I dusted him."

Spike snorted in contempt.  "Vampire.  I figured as much."  He set the bottle of whiskey on the dresser and leaned back against the drawers, crossing his arms and feet.  "Did you at least hurt him first?  Make him pay a bit?"

She forced herself not to gag as the memories came flooding back.  She hated the memories.  Hated seeing all the blood, feeling the pain, smelling the stench of the warehouse.  Feeling the vampire's hair, his sweaty face, his fangs as they sank into her breast and stomach.  Her thigh.  "He-- he paid."

Spike nodded.  "Good.  Though I have to admit I wish you hadn't killed him.  I haven't killed someone for the simple pleasure of it in way too long.  Would've been fun."

A yawn forced itself past her lips, and she stood up, biting her lip.  "Um, it's almost dawn, and I need some sleep--"

He nodded, pushing away from the dresser.  "Always trying to get rid of me," he teased.  "Well, I'm afraid you're out of luck this time.  I lost you five years ago, I'm not about to take the chance of losing you again.  I'm staying."

"But, no," she said hurriedly, realizing she'd sounded exactly like she was trying to get rid of him.  "I don't want you to leave.  I-- actually, I want you to stay.  I don't want to lose you again either.  The spell is useless without you."

He grinned and chuckled a bit.  "You tried the spell without me?  Tried to leave me here?"

"Um, yes?" she admitted.

He laughed outright at her admission.  "Good.  I'd be surprised if you hadn't.  A bit disappointed too."

"So you're staying?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound desperate and pathetic and lonely and everything else she was feeling.

He smirked and opened his mouth to say something, then closed it with a nod.  "Couldn't get rid of me if you tried."

She smiled as she unlaced her tennis shoes, happy beyond belief that he was here, and staying and, uh-oh, taking off his boots as well.  What if he took off more?

He snorted with laughter when he saw her shoes.  "Nice look you got there, love."

She patted her favorite, life-saving shoes fondly.  "I do a lot of walking.  These are tons more comfortable than my boots."

"I'd imagine so," he agreed, cracking his neck with a loud pop.

Willow shuddered, it sounded like he'd just broken his neck.  "So, um," she motioned to the bed, "you take the bed, and I'll... not take the bed," she mumbled.

"Don't mind if I do," he told her, removing his coat and shirt.  He tossed them on the floor beside the bed, and threw his cloak on the pile as well.  His pants, thankfully, stayed on, as he sat back on the bed, patting the space beside him.  "But, not alone."

Willow shook her head and gestured to the floor.  "I'm good here.  Here is good."  Tucking her tennis shoes under the bed, she stood back up with a yawn.

"On the bed, Willow," he said irritably, watching her practically dive into the closet to change into her nightshirt--which was actually his T-Shirt.  His voice raised slightly in order for her to hear him inside the small, dark closet.  "Modesty at this late date?"

"Not modesty," she mumbled, then raised her own voice at his urging.  "I said it's not modesty.  It's been a few years, Spike, I'm a little uncomfortable with sleeping with someone I just ran into, okay?"  Leaving the safety of the closet behind, she stood uneasily by the window.

He shook his head, lighting another disgustingly stinky cigarette.  "No, not okay.  Avoidance won't help.  Lay down."

Glad to have something to do with her hands, she pushed open the shutters, inhaling the cool night air.  Coughing when the sooty, chimney smoke-filled air entered her lungs, she wondered which was worse; Spike's cigarettes, or the polluted air outside?  Turning back to the bed, she leaned against the window sill.  "Suddenly you're an expert on human feelings?"

"I've seen the Afterschool Specials too, you know.  I think it's high time you faced your fears and all that."  A grin lit his lips at her shocked look.  "Had to pass my time in the wheelchair somehow, didn't I?"

"Really?" she asked, unsure if he was having her on or not.  Spike's lips twitched the slightest bit, and Willow burst out laughing at the unrestrained grin spreading across his face.  "I can't believe I almost fell for that.  You're shameless."

He nodded, agreeing with her one hundred percent.  "I really am."  But then his eyes found hers, and the laughter was gone, quick as a wink.  "But, I'm also serious.  You know I won't hurt you."

A slow head shake accompanied the frown she knew was spreading across her brow.  She didn't know that, did she?  "You bit me," she told him, only a hint of accusation in her voice.  "Twice."  She damned herself for remembering that.  Damned herself for not simply slipping into bed with him, because she'd really missed this.  The ease with which they got along, being able to talk to someone who knew exactly what she meant when she mentioned burritos, or computers.

And, she missed Spike.

Missed how safe and secure she'd felt waking up in his arms every afternoon in Galway, though, he never knew he ended up wrapped around her.  She sighed, wanting nothing more than to climb into bed next to him, and be held, comforted.

His frown was even more thunderous than hers.  "That was five years ago, Willow."

"Two years ago," she corrected.  "For me it was only two."

"Yeah."  He stood up, moving toward her, looking exactly how she remembered him from some of their days in Ireland.  His hair was longer, and the cigarette dangling from his lips was hand rolled, but he looked the same.  Shirtless, but for the gold chain hanging around his neck, squinting through the smoke at her.  "I guess it was at that."

She fought the urge to back away, to press herself into the corner of the room just to get away from him.  But, when he stopped in front of the window, she realized he was only tossing his cigarette out.

She'd been about to wig out just because he'd walked in her general direction?  Maybe he was right.  Maybe she did need to face her fears.  She certainly couldn't see spending the next however long with him, always afraid, always flinching away.  With a deep breath filling her lungs, she slowly moved around him to the bed.  He closed the window, latching the shutters as she slid under the covers.  Lying as still as humanly possible on the very edge of the bed, she waited for him to join her, wondering if he could hear her heart pounding.

Looking like he'd done it a hundred times before, Spike blew out the wall sconces and slid under the covers with her.  He didn't force her to move, or even suggest it.  He let her stay where she was; on the far side of the bed, shivering and afraid.

She adjusted the blankets a few times, lifting them higher, then folding over the top and smoothing it down.  After a few minutes, she started to relax a little, but was by no means comfortable.

"Have you read Berenice?" Spike asked from the other side of the bed.

"Bare a whoozee?" she asked with a chuckle.  She'd expected maybe orders for her to stop moving, or to relax, or something... anything other than what he'd asked.

"Berenice.  B-E-R-E-N-I-C-E, pronounced bare-a-nicee.  It's, uh... by Poe.  H-- have you read it?" he asked again, sounding extremely embarrassed.

She smiled a little at the familiar question.  Remembering asking him the same thing about the Telltale Heart back in Galway.  "No," she answered, rolling onto her other side, so that she could face him.

He was on his back, staring at the ceiling.  Tossing a quick glance at her, he shrugged.  "It's about a guy who has an unhealthy obsession with teeth."  He turned his head toward her and vamped out, licking his fangs with a grin before morphing back.

Willow, not at all afraid by his display, laughed lightly and rolled her eyes.  "I'm starting to wonder if you're making these up."

He actually looked offended by her suggestion.  "Hell no, I'd do a much better job.  I walk in worlds others can't begin to imagine."

She frowned in confusion, not having one iota of a clue as to what he was talking about.  "What?"

"Nothing," he chuckled, rolling onto his side.  "Get some sleep."

What was that about? she wondered, staring at his back.  But, after the long day and even longer night she'd had, sleep was quick to claim her.

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