What Comes Around, Goes Around

Author: Sinecure

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

Author's Note: This starts in season 5... but is rather AU. It has spoilers for basically all of season 4 and some of 5. I'm a Spike/Willow 'shipper, and this story is W/S. Also, this is a work in progress. I've been working on it for over two years now. It's very long, and involed. Please hang in there, and don't give up on me if I don't update regularly. Reviews would be most welcome.

Feedback: Duh.

Rating: I'm going to go with R

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~Part: 1~

Willow examined herself in the mirror one last time before heading out.  She was dressed rather conservatively for her; faded blue jeans, a short-sleeved green blouse with a low neckline, and white tennis shoes.  Satisfied with her appearance, she headed to the door just as the phone started ringing.  She debated on whether or not to answer it, but finally ran and picked it up.

"Hello?"  She winced at the impatience in her voice, but Giles didn't even notice, or pretended not to.  Willow tended to think it was the latter.

"Willow?  I'm glad I caught you."  He sounded distracted, nothing new there.  "I tried to get hold of Buffy or Xander, but neither were home.  I need a favor."  He paused, apparently awaiting a response.

Willow rolled her eyes good-naturedly at his slow, roundabout way of asking her for something.  "Sure, Giles, what do you need?"

She could hear the relief in his voice at her easy acceptance.  "I just need you to stop by Spike's crypt and ask-- no, *tell* him to come over here.  There's a spell I wanted to try, but it's missing a prime ingredient.  Namely, vampire blood.  The tamer the vampire, the better, since it'd be rather hard for me to go out and extract blood from one while Buffy's pummeling him."  He chuckled, "Don't tell Spike though.  I'd prefer not to be regaled with his evil exploits."

Willow laughed, remembering the time she'd called Spike tame.  He'd spent the next week forcing her to listen to story after gruesome story whenever he saw her.  During research, and patrol, while watching TV, and even while she tried to eat.  Her stomach felt oogie just thinking about it.  "Got ya, Giles.  I don't think I'll be making that mistake again."  She looked at her watch, calculating the time it would take to get to Spike's crypt, convince him to go to Giles', and then to walk to the Bronze.  She sighed, knowing she'd be at least a half an hour late.  "I'll have him there in twenty," she said cheerily, and hung up.  "Damn."

Luck was with her though, because she spotted him walking down the middle of the street just as she was shutting her front door.  "Spike!  Spike!"  She locked the door quickly and ran after the apparently deaf vampire.  She looked down momentarily to shove her keys into her pants pocket and ended up slamming right into the bleach blonde vamp.  "Ow."  She wobbled on her feet for a second, before straightening herself with a hand to his arm, giving him a dirty look for not helping, and not stopping when she'd called him.

He smirked at her in that annoying way he had, causing his cheekbones to become more prominent than they already were.  His blue eyes danced with malicious delight, mocking her.  She hated when he got like this.  She just knew he was going to make everything that much harder for her.  He always did.  Apparently, teasing her was a favorite pastime of his.

"I feel just like a rock star," he smirked, his scarred eyebrow quirking up in amusement.  "Got my own groupie and everything."

She rolled her eyes.  "Oh, please, ha ha ha.  You're killing me.  Too bad that's the only kind of killing you can do these days, eh, Spike?"  Oops.  There she'd done it again, and after just telling Giles she wouldn't make that mistake again.  She really hoped he overlooked her slip-up this time.  He narrowed his eyes at her, but that was all.  She wasn't afraid.  A chipped Spike, was a safe Spike, so, back to the business at hand.  "Giles needs you at his place.  He, um, needs help with a spell," she told him.

Spike rolled his eyes.  "Great.  The watcher wanker needs help, and I'm supposed to come running?  What am I, Zorro?"  He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, blowing smoke in her face.

Willow barely noticed, she was too busy looking pointedly at his long black duster fanning out behind him in the breeze, his tight black jeans, and black T-Shirt.  A gorgeous face, a sexy voice, and a yummy accent completed the picture.  Willow blushed furiously when she realized that her pointed look had turned into an appreciative perusal.  One which he'd caught.

His smirk knew no bounds.  He crossed his arms protectively over his chest, and shuddered dramatically.  "I feel so... violated," he laughed.

"Hmph.  You, sir, are no Zorro.  He was sexy, and charming, and a gentleman."  She danced out of his way when he snarled at her and made a grab for her arm.

"I was a gentleman at one time too, pet.  Makes no difference.  Look how I turned out."

She snorted.  "Yeah, you were such a gentleman back in the last century.  What's gotten into you?  Could it be... a demon?" she gasped dramatically.

Spike nudged her.  "Back off, Witch, I've got tons more stories to tell if you don't."  He grinned eagerly.

She shook her head quickly, pushing him right back.  "Oh, no you don't.  If I have to hear one more story about entrails and railroad spikes, I'm gonna have to stake you.  Oh, darn," she frowned in mock regret, "this is where we part ways.  Adieu."  And with a little wave, she headed down the street toward the Bronze.  She hadn't gone more than a block before she heard someone behind her.

"Ahem."

Willow stopped with a frustrated sigh.  She wasn't really angry, in fact she enjoyed Spike's company when he wasn't in share mode.  She just felt like she had to give him a hard time. Always.  "Spike, notice how I said we were parting ways, as in, you go that-a-way and I go this-a-way?"  She turned around, and was faced with Spike.  In different clothes.  Blue jeans, blue T-shirt, gray button-up shirt, and no duster?  What was going on here?

He grinned malevolently as he grabbed her by the arm, twisting her around in his grip.  She slammed back against him, and immediately felt his fangs sink into her neck.  Willow screamed.

He held her tight against him so that she couldn't struggle.  She felt the sucking sensation he was creating on her neck, and tried to pull away.  She couldn't even move her hands, let alone her whole body.  He drank until she felt faint.  Drank until her knees gave out.  Instead of stopping, he held her up, and continued to kill her.  Slowly.

A few pain-filled and terrifying minutes later, his fangs left her neck, tearing the skin even more.  He grabbed her wrist and pulled her along with him.  Feeling nauseous and weak, she tripped a couple of times, but he always yanked her up, forcing her to either walk or be dragged.  She tried numerous times to get free, but his grip was too strong.  Her tearful face fell on his handsome features as one thought ran through her mind.

"Why?"

He didn't even bother looking at her, just continued pulling her along like a child.  "I'm thinking it's because I'm a vampire and you're food, but I could be wrong," he laughed.

When she realized where he was taking her, she nearly collapsed in relief.  Giles' apartment.  Giles was there, and maybe Buffy and Xander.  Please let Buffy be there, she prayed silently.

Her heart was beating a million miles an hour.  Hoping to distract him, to keep him from being on alert, she stammered, "How did you change your clothes so fast?"

He finally looked at her, his brow furrowed as if he had no idea what she was talking about.  Almost like he was trying to decipher a code of some kind.  She started to think that maybe this wasn't Spike.  It was kind of obvious now, but when she was getting her blood sucked out of her neck, and then getting dragged all over town, the last thing she'd stopped to think about was whether or not the vampire she'd just been attacked by was really the vampire she thought he was.  But now that she had a minute to think on it, she was sure this wasn't Spike.  Different clothes, plus him biting her with no pain, did not equal a clear picture of Spike.  Knowing that now, relief poured through her.  She liked Spike, and she didn't want him to go bad again.

They made it to Giles' a few minutes later.  She held her breath when he opened the door and walked in, two thoughts entering her mind.  One: despite his remarkable impression of Spike, and his attack on her, he was not a vampire.  Vampires needed invitations to enter people's homes, and since he had walked right in, he was not a vampire.  And, two: no one except Giles was home, and he wasn't paying any attention to them.

"Giles," she yelled, before Fake Spike clamped a hand over her mouth.

Giles jumped up, dropping the book he'd been reading, and clutched his chest.  "Good Lord, Willow you scared me nearly to death.  Oh, good, Spike, you're here."  He bent to retrieve his book, so used to seeing Spike there, that he didn't realize what was going on.  Willow frantically rolled her eyes, trying to get him to look her way.  Giles straightened and set the book on the table, then headed toward the kitchen.

"What'd you need me for, Watcher?"  Now Willow could hear it.  Fake Spike's accent was slightly off.  She closed her eyes and prayed for Buffy to miraculously appear.

Giles came out a second later, smiling.  "Oh, nothing too big, just a spell."  His smile turned grim as he pulled a crossbow from behind his back.

Willow's eyes went wide.  She made a small noise of happiness, and Giles nodded at her, not taking his eyes off Fake Spike.

"Let her go.  Apparently the implant is gone, so why don't you just leave town?"

Willow frantically shook her head, but Fake Spike's hand over her mouth was holding her head still as well.

She felt Fake Spike shrug.  "No thanks.  First I'd like to kill you all.  Then I'll go."

Giles didn't seem to realize it wasn't Spike standing before him.  Not that she had any room to talk.  She hadn't known right away either.  She started making noises again, and Giles' eyes flicked toward her.  She tried to tell him with her eyes.  She stared at his pants and shirt, which probably looked more like she was ogling him, than trying to tell him something.  He obviously wasn't getting the message.  Finally, out of desperation, she stomped on Fake Spike's foot.  He let go of her in surprise, and she tried to get away, but he immediately grabbed her again.

"Not Spike," she yelled out, before he clamped his hand around her mouth again.  She groaned angrily.

Giles raised an eyebrow at her in question, and she nodded.

"You're not Spike?" Giles asked the man holding her.  She could see the skepticism on his face.

Willow shook her head, but Fake Spike held her head still again.  She stomped her foot in frustration, careful not to hit his foot again.  The crossbow was still trained on Fake Spike, but it was starting to waver slightly.  Giles' hand was getting tired.

"Shoot him," she yelled, but it came out sounding more like a mumble.

Giles understood though, and he let the bolt fly.  Fake Spike anticipated the shot, and dodged away, holding Willow in front of him.  The bolt burned a path into her shoulder, and her legs collapsed under her.  He let her fall to the floor, no longer needing her as leverage.  Giles wanted to go to her, she could see it on his face, but she couldn't let him.  He was their only hope.  "Run," she whispered, before passing out.

~~~*~~~

When she came to, she found him.  He was dead.  The living room was covered in blood.  Giles' blood.  She crawled over to him.  He was partially in the living room, and partially in the hall.  She checked for a pulse, which was hard to do.  There was so much blood, and his neck was torn open.  After determining he was dead, she crawled away and threw up.

She sat back, panting heavily as her stomach tried to heave up everything she'd eaten that day.  Her eyes fell on Giles again, and she had to bite her lip to keep it from trembling.  Poor Giles.  He had bite marks on his neck, and slashes all over his face, a crossbow bolt sticking out of his chest... his glasses broken and bloodied on the floor beside him.

She sniffled, trying to stem the tears, and was assaulted by the stench of blood and death.  She hastily got to her feet and went out the door, not wanting to throw up again.

There was no sign of Fake Spike.  Or anyone else for that matter, for which she was grateful.  She stumbled over to the fountain in the courtyard and sat on the low brick wall.  Gasping from the pain in her shoulder, and the hurt in her heart, Willow cried.

After what seemed like hours, she realized she needed to get help.  Call Buffy.  But the phone was inside with Giles.  What was left of Giles.  She really didn't want to go back in there, but she knew she had to.  She stood up, on shaky legs, and slowly made her way toward the door.  Blood loss and pain were starting to take their toll.  She made it as far as the doorway before she fainted again.

When she came to, she found herself propped against the wall outside of Giles' apartment.  Lamplight flooded out from the interior, warmer and more inviting than it had a right to be under the circumstances.  She tried to stand, but her body wasn't having any of it.  Footsteps inside alerted her to the presence of someone else, and she held her breath, listening.  The footsteps faded.  She looked around her quickly, searching for anything that could be used as a weapon.

There was a lawn chair a few doors down.  No help at all.  A rock by the fountain.  Why hadn't she fainted over there?  A slight breeze rustled the leaves of a bush on the other side of Giles' door.  Branches... wood.  Perfect.  She hoped.

She scooted herself across the ground as quickly and quietly as possible, glancing inside as she passed the doorway.  A pair of jean-clad legs were headed her way.  With a whimper of despair, Willow pulled herself along faster.

"Hold still."  It was Spike's voice.

A hand grabbed her and she jerked away from him.

"Don't touch me.  Get away from me."  She could no longer hold back the tears.  Giles was dead.  Her shoulder and arm were painfully numb, and her neck hurt from the bite mark.  Loss of blood factored in there somewhere as well, and she just couldn't do it anymore.  She wasn't Buffy, she wasn't stoic, and strong.  She was just Willow.  "Just... please.  Leave me alone," she sobbed, covering her face with her hands, and wincing in pain.

"Witch," Fake Spike snapped.  Or maybe it was Real Spike.  She didn't know anymore.  "What happened?"

When she only continued to cry, he pulled her to her feet, forcing her to look at him.  His jaw was clenched angrily, and his eyes blazed at her.  This was Real Spike, she realized.  His voice was right, and he had on the right clothes again.

"You want to die?  Fine.  I can leave you here to bleed to death."  He looked as if he wanted to do that very thing.

Her knees gave way, but she didn't fall to the ground.  Spike caught her with an aggravated curse and carried her over to the fountain, setting her down.  He stood back up and stared down at her.

Willow swallowed a sob.  "Giles is dead."

He nodded, his eyes moving toward the open doorway.  "I know.  I was just in there."

She took a deep, calming breath.  "We need to call Buffy--"

His eyes closed for a second, his voice held no emotion whatsoever.  "We can't.  She's dead too.  Found her in an alley just after I left you."

Willow blinked a few times, sure she'd misunderstood him.  Buffy dead?  It wasn't possible.  Buffy was the Slayer.  She couldn't die.  Not again.  He had to be wrong.  She would correct him later.

"... to the hospital," he was saying, "you're bleeding to death.  I can't carry you with that bolt sticking out of your shoulder.  I'm gonna have to break it off."

Willow nodded.  "Okay.  Then we can go get Buffy, right?" she asked hopefully.

He paused a second, then nodded.  "Sure thing, pet.  Now, scoot down onto the ground, and brace yourself against the wall here."  Willow did as he said and waited.  "Ready?"

She nodded, her face grim.  "No."

He chuckled humorlessly and knelt in front of her, grabbing the thin piece of wood embedded in her right shoulder.

When he snapped it off, Willow bit her lip to keep from screaming.  She felt fresh blood seeping from the wound.  Clutching Spike's arm, she held on until the pain subsided.  "I think a hospital would be good now," she told him.

He didn't reply, simply swung her up into his arms and started walking.

~Part: 2~

Spike strode up to Giles' apartment door and went in without knocking, knowing the door wouldn't be locked.  As usual, at least one of the Slayer's friends was there, sitting on the couch, researching something or other.  It was the witch, completely engrossed in the book on her lap, so engrossed in fact, that she hadn't heard him come in.  Closing the door quietly behind him, he leaned against it and watched her for a minute.

She was smart, cute, funny in an odd way, and so damn innocent that he wanted nothing more than to kill her.  If he still could, he would.  Especially after that botched spell that had him and the slayer engaged.

Pushing away from the door with a mental sigh, he snuck up behind her, leaned in by her ear, and whispered, "Boo," at the same time as he tapped her on the shoulder.

Willow shot up off the couch with a scream, her book went flying off her lap to land on the table with a thud.  She spun around, facing him, and put a hand to her mouth, looking around her in confusion.  "How--" she breathed, "how did I get here?"

Spike, busy laughing, shrugged.  "Walked?"

She shook her head in frustration.  "No, how-- when--" she licked her lips and started over, "When did I get here?  How?"

Spike gave her an irritated look.  "I don't know.  Do I look like your bloody keeper?  I just got here, you've been with you all day, and if you don't know, then how am I supposed to know?"

She looked directly at him, her green eyes wide with fear.  It was then that he was struck by the terror pouring off of her.  He smirked at her.

"Score one for the big bad neutered one," he chuckled, "because, apparently, I *can* still scare you."

She didn't say anything, just stood there staring at him with her huge eyes full of terror and confusion, and it was making him feel all good about himself.  He took a step toward her, intending to-- well, he wasn't sure what he intended to do, since there was nothing he could do anymore.  She was looking at him like he'd just killed her best friend, and it felt good.  He missed this.

She backed away from him, jerking out of his reach even though he was still several feet from her.  She backed into the corner by the bookcase, warding him off with her hands.  "Get away from me."

Spike stopped a few feet away from her, wondering what the hell was wrong with her.  He shrugged.  "Gladly.  Just came for some blood I stashed here last night--"

Her head snapped up suddenly, her eyes boring into him.  "Oh my God," she whispered.  "You killed Giles.  You-- you're not him.  The implant, it's gone.  You--" she stopped suddenly, gagging.  She shoved her hand against her mouth, pushing past him and running down the hall, into the bathroom.

Spike stood there, distantly hearing her retch, his mind on what she'd said.  He wasn't him?  Who the hell was him?  And his implant was gone?  What the hell did she mean by that?  It was still there, a painful reminder of all he hated about this damn town and everyone in it.  Did she really think he'd killed Giles, or another of her damn friends?  He hadn't.  Not that he wouldn't if he were able to, but he wasn't able to.  So far as he knew they were alive and well somewhere.

He stomped down the hall to the bathroom, pissed at her for accusing him of something he hadn't done.  Something her and her friends tended to do too often for his liking.

"Hey.  What the hell is wrong with you?"  He tried the knob, but it was locked, so he pounded on the door.  "I don't know what kind of drugs you've been taking, Red, but maybe you should share."  When she didn't answer, he twisted the knob, breaking it off, and shoved the door open.

Willow was sitting with her back to the wall, her legs tucked up against her chest, her arms wrapped around them.  Her eyes were wide and frightened.  When he burst through the door, she turned her eyes his way; eyes full of accusation, blame, and hatred.

Sick of being the object of such unwarranted hate, Spike grew angry.  "Stop staring at me," he snapped.  "I'm still chipped, so whatever you think I did, you were dreaming.  Get over it."

"Think?" she nearly shouted.  "I know what you did.  I was there," she whispered harshly.  "If you touch me, I'll kill you."  Her eyes flashed with conviction, and he had no doubt that at that moment she gladly would have killed him with a song in her heart.

Spike glared at her.  "Yeah, okay, Red, you stay here in your delusional world, I'm going back to the real world.  You oughta try it some time."  He stomped down the hall to the kitchen, but then turned back around.  He went into the bathroom again, stood directly in front of her and swung his fist at her.  He reared back in pain, not even coming close to touching her.  Clutching his head, he left her crying on the floor of the bathroom.

Willow stared at the spot Spike had just vacated, still seeing him in her mind's eye, grabbing his head in pain after taking a swing at her.

It was him.  Chipped Spike.

She stood up slowly, her brow furrowed.  That wasn't the only weirdness.  She had no idea how she'd gotten to Giles' apartment.  Wasn't she supposed to be in the hospital?  And there was no blood on the walls and floor.

She thought back to earlier that night, before everything had fallen apart, trying to remember what had happened.  Suddenly it all came flooding back.

Willow jumped up and ran after Spike.  She found him sitting on the stairs by the street, smoking a cigarette.  She sat down next to him.

"It wasn't you," she said quietly.  "I thought you were him, but I was just confused, because one minute I'm there, and then I'm here, and there's no blood, and I don't understand what's going on," she finished with a sigh, leaning against him slightly.

He stiffened, and jerked away from her.  "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, Witch?"  He looked appalled.

Willow sniffled and scooted away from him.  "I'm sorry," she mumbled, "I thought you were my friend."  She knew she sounded pathetic, but she couldn't help it.  She was confused, and could still see Giles' body laying on the floor, covered in blood.  Still feel the pain in her neck and shoulder.

Spike jumped to his feet and stared down at her.  "Friends?  I don't even like you.  How could you possibly think I'd be friends with you?  With any of you?"  He threw his cigarette into the street angrily, and kicked the curb.  "God, what will it take for you people to remember that I'm evil?  Three months of being implanted and you all think I'm just like you.  I'm not, got it?"

Willow stared at him.  "Three months?"  She snorted rudely.  "Try a year and a half, Fangless.  And you don't have to be rude.  I get it."  She got to her feet and walked away.

"Seek a psychiatrist's help, love, you obviously need it," he called after her.  She paused and turned back to face him.  "I've been chipped for three months.  Believe me, if it lasts much longer, I'll stake myself."

Willow stared at him.  "What's the date?" she asked, not sure she wanted to know.

"February something."

She shook her head, a frown marring her brow.  "It's September."

Spike rolled his eyes.  "It's February of two thousand.  Why am I even bothering?  Look, Witch, just go find one of your little friends and leave me alone."

His attitude rankled her, so she took out all her anger and frustration on him.  "You're just trying to mess with my head," she told him, as if she had figured out his secret.  "It's September of two thousand and one, and you and I *are* friends, albeit the kind that taunt, and take great delight in torturing each other.  Buffy's mom is dead, you brought her flowers.  Buffy's sister is... do you remember Dawn?  And now Giles and Buffy are dead too, you killed them.  And you bit me," she added in a small voice, as if this offense were worse than all the others.  "Only it wasn't you."

She knew she wasn't making a whole lot of sense, but she was starting to panic.  This couldn't be February of two thousand, she remembered all the other stuff that had happened.  She started pacing back and forth, muttering to herself, ignoring Spike.

"I have a girlfriend named Tara.  Giles owns the Magic Box.  Riley left for Belize.  Glory was a Goddess.  You're in love with Buffy."

"What?" Spike demanded.

She stopped and smiled brilliantly, finally getting it.  "Time travel.  I've somehow gone back in time.  I don't know why, or how, or even if this is real.  It's possible I'm dreaming this, but I don't feel like I'm dreaming.  I certainly wouldn't dream you like this.  Oh!  I'll prove it to you."

He was still staring at her, his eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched, still stuck back at that last statement.  She sighed, but truthfully, she felt better now that she'd figured out what was going on.

"In a year, actually less, you'll realize you've fallen in love with Buffy."  She shook her finger at him, feeling like her old self again.  "She doesn't feel the same way, so be forewarned."

He closed his eyes for a second, then stormed past her, into Giles' apartment.  By the time she joined him, and shut the door behind her, he was downing a mug of something.  From the smell, she knew it wasn't blood.  Her suspicions were confirmed when he grabbed a bottle of scotch off the counter and poured another drink, downing it too.

She went around the couch, avoiding looking at the spot where Giles' body had lain.  The splashes of blood that covered the walls.  The stench of death.  Those were things of the future, not of the now.

She sat down to wait for the vampire to join her.  She was going to give him a history lesson.  Future history, she amended.

Spike sat down in the chair in the corner of the room.  He was still trying to get his mind around the witch's rambling.  Who was Tara?  Willow had a girlfriend?  Giles had a magic box?  Dawn who?  Glory who?  He loved Buffy?

It was this last one that had him caught up.  He'd gulped a third glass before finally joining the redhead in the living room, the bottle in his hand, the empty cup still on the counter.  He took a good long swig from the bottle.  It was impossible.  He, bad-ass vampire, could not be in love with her, bad-ass vampire slayer.  Hell, the girl was only shaggable to him when he was under a spell.  His eyes flew to the witch.

"You cast a spell.  Undo it," he ordered, sounding for all the world like a petulant child.  He didn't care.  Loving the slayer was not an option.

She shook her head sadly.  "I can't, Spike.  I already told you... or, I will tell you... or, whatever.  It's not a spell, and I can't do a spell to 'make it go away' either."  She smiled softly, making him cringe.  "Though, I think maybe you're starting to move on.  When I last saw you... " her face fell.  She was about to lie to him, flat out lie.  "She was dead, and you weren't too overly concerned.  Of course, I was kind of out of it at the time, so I could be wrong--" seeing his angry glare, she added, "but I'm not.  You're over it.  Completely.  Yep."

He nodded eagerly.  "Good, good.  Hang on," he said, as something occurred to him.  "Now that I know about it, maybe I can stop it from happening."

She shrugged.  "Maybe that's why I'm back.  To change the future.  Especially their deaths, but maybe other stuff too.  Like you betraying us to Adam."

He snorted.  "And we're supposed to be friends?" he asked snidely.

"Not then we weren't.  Well, a little bit.  But mostly not.  You weren't very nice, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a right bastard," he said, in better spirits now that there was a possibility of changing his future.  If she was right.  Why was he taking her word for it?  She hadn't proved anything yet, and she had said she had proof.  Sure, she had on different clothes than she normally wore.  Those appallingly bright and fuzzy outfits more suited to colorblind six year olds trying to make their own style, than to college aged young women.

She looked kind of good actually, in her faded blue jeans and short-sleeved green blouse.  Low neckline too... a style preferred by most vampires.  Even her hair looked different.  Longer and softer somehow.  He shook himself out of his thoughts, and spoke up, "What's your proof then?  Why should I believe all this crap you're spouting?"

She sighed heavily, finding her nails extremely interesting all of a sudden.  "You're not gonna like my proof," she said quietly.  "Just... don't go all Glory on me, okay?"

"Who?"  He shook his head impatiently.  "Just get on with it, pet.  I can't hurt you even if I do get mad, remember?"

"Right."  She smiled.  "You're the Vanilla Chip."

He rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling.  "Please tell me I don't actually *like* that name," he spat.

"Absolutely not," she giggled.  "That's why I use it."

Spike glared at her.  He couldn't imagine actually being friends with the infuriating chit.  He couldn't imagine her or her friends letting him get closer than arm's reach, especially if she was right, and he did end up betraying them to this Adam guy.

Willow scooted to the end of the couch closest to him.  "All right.  Here goes nothing."  She took a deep breath and plunged ahead.  "Um, Drusilla's your sire, not Angelus like we'd assumed, 'cause of what you said to Angel in the school?  That first night... you said something like, Angelus was your sire, you're Yoda, I think that's what Xander said.  You were turned in eighteen-eighty."  She paused, and Spike could see a blush stealing up her cheeks.  "You killed your first slayer in nineteen hundred, in China, during the Boxer Rebellion.  She gave you that scar on your eyebrow, and after you killed her, Drusilla found you and um, it's like an aphrodisiac, and you... and her... and there was sex," she finished lamely.

Where the hell had she learned all this? Spike thought.  He didn't go about telling people the details of his life.  Only a few select vampires knew the absolute truth when it came to his life.  One was dead, one was crazy as a loon and shagging a fungus demon, and the other had a soul, and was currently residing in L.A., and none of them would have told the witch these details.  He jumped up, grabbing her arm.  Tight enough to hold her there, but not enough to hurt.  "A future me told you all this?" he demanded.

"Yes.  You also told some of it to Buffy.  She wanted to know how you killed those two slayers."  She pulled her arm free, and looked him straight in the eye.  "A little advice, Spike?  When you tell her, and you're in the alley behind the Bronze--"

"What?" he asked impatiently.

"It'd pretty much be a good idea not to ask Buffy to dance."

Spike started laughing.  "Dance, pet?  I don't dance with slayers."

"Not the shuffling feet kind of dancing.  The other kind."

His eyes shot to hers, knowing exactly what other kind she was talking about.

"Just don't do it.  Don't do any of it.  Tell her what she needs to know, and leave it at that."

He snickered at her.  "Awfully concerned with my well being, aren't you, pet?  You sure we're not more than friends?"

She laughed at the idea.  "Definitely not more.  I have a girlfriend, and you have a thing for Buffy, and... um, well, Harmony comes back a few times."

"Then I'll know to avoid her.  Tell me more."  Knowing of future events before they happened could be very helpful to him.

"I'm serious, Spike.  I mean it.  You may not think so now, but I'm only looking out for your best interests.  I don't agree with what Buffy did.  So just... don't, okay?

"Yeah, right, I won't dance with my enemy," he said dismissively.

She didn't look convinced, and he once again rolled his eyes.  His only expression lately, it seemed.  "Spike," she said carefully, "look, I'm trying to be a good friend, and Buffy really hurt you that night, and I don't want it to happen again.  Not if I can help it."

Spike snorted derisively.  "How could the slayer possibly hurt me without staking me?"

"She told you... she said you were beneath her," Willow whispered.

Spike's furious gaze flew to hers, and she nodded unhappily.  "How," he asked carefully, "did she know about that?  There's no way I'd tell her that.  No way," he repeated, trying to convince himself more than Willow.  He would never, ever share those details of his former life, especially not with the slayer.  Even if he loved her.  His eyes were still on the witch in front of him, waiting impatiently, but she wasn't answering his question.  Why wasn't she answering his blasted question?  "How?" he yelled.

Willow jumped back slightly, biting her lip in that nervous manner he hated.  She seemed to be trying to make a decision, so he stood up, stalking toward her.  Seeing him approach, she finally yelled, "You.  You told me."

And now she was looking all sad again, like he was the most pathetic creature on Earth and needed her pity.  He didn't need a bloody thing from this, or any other, human.

Instead of yelling at her some more, he decided to just show her his disbelief by scoffing at her.  "Yeah, not likely."

"You did," she insisted.  "I went to your crypt after you... well, you chained up Buffy and I was angry, so I went there to, I don't know, chew you out, or do a spell to make you perpetually itchy, or something, but you were all drunk and I couldn't do it."

Spike stared at her for a minute, got slowly to his feet, moved around the couch, and left the apartment.

~Part: 3~

(February 2000)

Spike went home to his crypt.  The familiar setting did little to lighten his mood, which had sunk to unfathomable depths upon hearing three words.  He'd hoped to never again hear those words in his life.  He'd been hoping for too much.  Not only were they thrown at him again, but to be uttered by the slayer of all people.  The blond bitch that had ruined his life.

He picked up his television set and threw it against the wall.  Next went the stand, and his armchair.  The small table beside his chair followed the rest.  By the time he was finished, he had calmed somewhat, but he was still furious.  He jumped up on the tomb he called a bed, laid down and closed his eyes.  He had to force himself to stay still, otherwise he'd be out the door and hunting down the slayer.  Since he was still chipped, there wasn't a whole lot he could do to her, and he somehow doubted that pointing at her and laughing would help him feel better.

Vanilla Chip.

He laughed derisively, that's what he'd become.  A laughing stock.  A joke.  He wasn't the big bad anymore, he was William the Bloody awful Poet once again.  The old feelings of inadequacy were assaulting him just as they had when he was human.  He hated these feelings.  Drusilla had sometimes made him feel this way, and a part of him was glad that she was gone.  The tiny, minuscule part of him that wasn't missing her with every fiber of his being.  He dropped his arm over his eyes and sighed.  His life had become crap, why didn't he just end it all?  Especially since it wasn't going to get any better, according to Willow.

The door swung open, and he knew without looking who it was.

"Haven't done enough damage yet, Red?  Wanna help me stake myself or something?  Or, I know, you could tell me more stories about that pansy-assed poof I turn into."

She was right next to him now.  He could smell her and her fear, could hear her rapid heartbeat, and he knew that she was about to apologize to him.  He took his arm off of his eyes and grabbed her wrist without even looking.  He sat up, holding here there, ignoring her pathetic struggle to get free, and swung his legs to the side, jumping down.

"If you even think about saying you're sorry, I'll kill you," he said harshly.  He pushed her back, still holding her arm.  Step by step, he edged her back until she was against the wall.  "I don't need your apology.  I don't need your pity.  And I sure as hell don't need your friendship."

Her eyes were wide, staring up at him with none of the pity he'd expected.  Instead, they were filled with understanding.  Something else he didn't need.  She was a human, how could she possibly think she understood anything about him?  He pushed her back against the wall and got right in her face, his mouth inches from hers.

"I may hang around with you in the future, but I'm sure it's because I'm using you.  Maybe for your electronic abilities?"

She stiffened, and he grinned, letting his face turn.  He stared at her neck, making sure to show plenty of fang.

"What's the matter?" he asked in mock concern.  "Did I hit a nerve?"  He stared at her neck again, wanting so much to just sink his fangs into the pale flesh and drink her dry.  She shrank away from him, and her hair moved back slightly, giving him the perfect view of a bite mark.

He traced the scar with his fingers, wondering who had bitten her.  Hell, they were such *great* friends in the future, maybe she let him feed off of her occasionally.

"Who's the lucky owner of the fangs that did this?" he asked.

She frowned in confusion.  "Harmony, but it's on the other side."  She lifted her hair slightly and showed him the faint scar on the other side of her neck.  Spike barely glanced at it.  "And this one?" he asked.  He didn't know why he was so interested in this mark, but there was something... odd about it.  "Who bit you here?"

Willow slapped his hand away.  "No one.  I was only bit once.  By Harmony.  Oh," she said in sudden realization, "and that guy.  The Fake you."

"Fake me?"  He pushed away from her, needing some distance, otherwise he was going to say to hell with the excruciating pain and bite her anyway.

"Yeah, the Fake Spike," she said angrily.  "And you know what?  I don't know why I'm bothering.  In the past few hours, I have been shot with a crossbow, bitten, and woken up to find Giles dead.  No, not just dead," she continued in a harsh voice, holding back the tears.  "He'd been beaten, and tortured.  He had bite marks all over his neck, his face was a bruised and bloody mess, and he'd been shot through the heart with a crossbow bolt."

Her voice grew quieter, "There was blood everywhere.  On the floor, the walls, the furniture.  Even on the ceiling," she added, wiping angrily at a tear that had managed to escape.  "And then, I found out that Buffy was dead too, and I was in so much pain I couldn't think straight, and then I woke up again, and I find out that none of it happened, and that I've gone back in time, and you're being mean, and I'm finding out that I don't much like you."

She stomped out of the crypt without so much as a backwards glance.

Spike watched her go.  She did look like she'd been through hell and back.  But what did that have to do with him?  He hadn't done anything to her.  It was the work of that Fake Spike she kept talking about, not him.

He shrugged.  She was gone, and no longer his problem.  Out of sight, out of mind.

~~~*~~~

Willow was fuming.  She stormed through the cemetery, not even caring if something was out there waiting to kill her.  The way she felt right now, she'd kill it without even breaking a sweat.  Her thoughts were on the vampire she'd just left.

Spike was an ass, how could she have not realized that before?  Simple, her mind told her, you never dealt much with him until after Adam was defeated.  Still, he was nice to her in her time period.

Maybe he's using you, her mind taunted.

No.  She pushed that thought away, like she always did.  It was the un-confident part of her that tended to rear its ugly head whenever she was feeling down.  There was no reason why a handsome century old vampire wouldn't want to be friends with her.  No reason at all, she thought glumly.

She didn't know where she was going, until she got there.  Stevenson Hall.  Where she and Buffy used to room together.  Were still rooming together in this time period.

Where Buffy's first roommate had tried to steal Buffy's soul and kill her.

Where Spike had tried to kill Willow after escaping from the Initiative.

Where Riley and the rest of his team had tried to kill them in the name of science and the re-capture of Hostile Seventeen.

Where the Gentlemen had tried to kill Tara and Willow.

She shuddered, wondering where all the happy memories were.  She made her way inside, hoping against hope that the other her wasn't home.  She tried to remember where she'd been on this particular night, but since she didn't know the exact date, she had no idea.  She'd have to find out as soon as possible.

Keeping her head down to avoid being seen, Willow made her way through the hallway to the door of her old dorm room.

Home sweet home.

She raised her hand to knock on the door, before she realized what she was doing.  She'd been worried about drawing attention to herself, and here she was about to knock on her own door.  She quickly ran a hand through her hair and pushed the door open.

The room was dark.  Empty.  Thank goodness, she thought, sighing lightly.  She quietly shut the door behind her and flipped on the light.  Everything looked just as she remembered it.  Their beds, on opposite sides of the room, each with a night stand between them.  Computer.  Desk.  TV.  All normal.

Except her.  She was alien.

She knelt down at the end of her bed and shoved her hand between the mattress and box spring, pulling out her diary.  She wrote in it everyday, even if it was only a sentence, or a word.  More importantly, she dated it.  She flipped it open, and stared at the last date penned in.

A groan escaped her.

She now knew where her other self was.  She also knew that Faith was out of her coma and hell-bent on revenge.

~~~*~~~

Spike leaned against the alley wall and sighed.  Buffy.  The Slayer.  And he loved her.  Not now, but in the future.  Well, not if he could help it.  Maybe he should just leave Sunnydale.  The only reason he was still here was on the off chance that the gang of misfits could remove the chip.  Apparently that doesn't happen though, so why not leave?  Go somewhere else.  Maybe find a shaman or something to take it out.  What was keeping him here?

A noise at the other end of the alley caught his attention.  Xander and Giles were standing there like idiots, peering down the alley.  Xander was messing with some sort of gun.  Spike grinned.  He needed a diversion from his thoughts.

He stayed in the shadows until they were close enough to touch, then stepped forward, lighting a cigarette.

"Spike," Xander sighed, sounding annoyingly relieved.  He lowered the weapon.

"What are you doing here?" Giles asked.

Spike stared at them.  "Me?  I'm not the one out of place here."

"For your information, smarty, we've got a rogue Slayer on our hands," Xander told him, fidgeting with the gun some more.  "Real psycho killer, too."

Slayers.  Great, he thought.  It was pretty much a fantasy come true, two slayers to kill and drain, and him with a chip in his head.  And here they were, asking him for help.  He hated his life.  He decided to play along, gain any information he could.  He schooled his expression into one of concern.  "Sounds serious."

"It is.  What do you know?" Giles asked him.

Spike almost snorted in contempt.  Of course.  Something goes wrong, Spike must know something about it.  He forced himself to look and sound helpful.  "What do you need?"  Besides me to kill you, he thought.

"Her," Xander answered.  "Dark hair, yea tall," he held his hand up about shoulder height.  "Name of Faith.  Criminally insane."

"Have you seen her?" Giles asked.

Spike refrained from beating on the ex-watcher, but just barely.  "Is this bird after you?"  He really hoped she was, because then maybe, just maybe, she would find them, with his help, and take out the blonde bitch.  No more love threat hanging over his head.

Xander nodded.  "In a bad way.  Yeah."

Spike laid it on thick.  "Tell you what I'll do then.  Head out, find this girl," and now for the truth, "tell her exactly where all of you are, and then watch as she kills you."  He grinned at them.  They both stood there gaping at him.  Spike rolled his eyes and sighed.  "Can anyone of your damn little Scooby club at least try to remember that I hate you all?  Just because I can't do the damage myself doesn't stop me from aiming a loose cannon your way.  And here I thought the evening'd be dull."  He pushed past Xander, purposely bumping into him, and took a long drag off his almost forgotten cigarette.

Xander called after him, sounding exactly like the geek he was.  "Go ahead!  You wouldn't even recognize her!"

Spike turned around, walking backwards.  "Dark hair, this tall, name of Faith.  Criminally insane."  He turned back around and headed out of the alley.  "I like this girl already."

"We're dumb," he heard Xander tell Giles, and he chuckled to himself.  They were just now figuring that out?  Feeling rather good now, he headed home to his crypt.

~~~*~~~

Willow checked the time, willing the printer to go faster, but it wasn't complying.  Her other self was going to be home soon, and she'd really rather avoid running into her.  Explanations would be long, and what if she didn't have time?  She'd decided a few hours ago that she couldn't let it happen again.

She couldn't let all her friends die without at least trying to save them.

Shoving all her misgivings down, ignoring Giles' tks-ing in her head, she'd sat down and typed out all that she could remember of the last year and a half.  She'd make sure things were fixed, even if she wasn't still around to fix them herself.  Too many things had gone wrong in her time, and she needed to correct them.  That had to be why she was here.  Right?  Briefly, she wondered if she was doing the right thing, messing with the future, but she pushed those thoughts away.  The ends would most definitely justify the means.

She glanced at the clock again as the last page was spit into her waiting hand.  She placed it on top of the pile on the bed.  Turning off the computer, and putting everything back the way it was before she got there, she left with the stack of papers.

She hurried down the hall, keeping her head down, so busy trying to avoid people, that she ran straight into someone.  She glanced up automatically.  "Oh, I'm sorry.  I... oh, Riley, hi."

He gave her one of his patented goofy grins.  "Hi.  I was actually sort of looking for Buffy.  Have you seen her?  With this Faith thing, she's kind of freaked.  I was worried."

Willow knew exactly where Buffy was at the moment, but when she opened her mouth to tell him, nothing came out.  Maybe this was one wrong she couldn't right.  On the heels of that thought, a memory surfaced.  She wondered if she could warn him.  "No, I haven't seen her in a bit.  But there is something... Riley, look into her eyes.  If you really love her, you'll know."  She hated to sound like a vague prophecy, but she didn't want to outright tell him.  She had always thought that Riley hadn't noticed Faith in Buffy's body because he didn't love Buffy enough, didn't know her well enough.  She had never told anyone else her thoughts, especially Buffy, but they'd always been there.

Riley was smiling a little in confusion.  "Um, okay.  Thanks.  I-- I gotta go.  Send her my way would ya, if you see her?"

"Absolutely."  They walked out of the dorm together, then went their separate ways.  Willow quickly headed to the cemetery and Spike's crypt.

A few minutes later, she knocked loudly on his door and waited.  There was no answer, so she ducked her head inside and peeked.  It was dark, but she assumed it was empty as well.  She pushed the door all the way open and went inside, leaving the door open for the light the moon provided.  She looked around for a good hiding spot out in the open.  A place that didn't get disturbed often, but was in plain sight.

The place was really too bare, especially after Spike's little temper tantrum last night.  She decided on the floor in the corner.  He'd be sure to see them when she wanted him to, but not bump into them on accident.  She hoped.  She set them down, and stepped back.  Pulling a piece of paper out of her pocket, she cast a quick glance behind her.  The coast was still clear.  She spoke the spell, then tossed a handful of herbs into the corner.  The pages disappeared.  She sighed heavily and put the spell back in her pocket.

"Ah, bloody hell, what do you want?" Spike yelled in frustration from the doorway.  "Can't you people just leave me alone?"

Willow shrugged and headed out.  She was still angry and hurt from earlier, so she decided to ignore him, and avoid him until she was gone.  He was blocking her exit, so she pushed past him.  "Go to hell, Spike."

"Oh, it's you."  He grabbed her arm as she shoved by him, holding her there.

She stopped just outside the crypt, but didn't turn to face him.  "What do you want?" she asked coldly.

He turned her around by her arm, forcing her to look at him.  "What's with this second slayer chick?  What happens?  Maybe I can help."  He tried so hard to sound sincere, but Willow knew him too well to be fooled.

She thought for a minute, then glanced at her watch.  "Let's see, by now you've already promised to send her after us if you find her.  So, yeah, I can really see you helping."  She raised an eyebrow at him.  "I already know everything you've done, Spike, you can't fool me.  Plus, your lies... not so believable to me anymore."  She yanked her arm away from him.

Spike glared at her for a few seconds then went inside his crypt.

"You'll meet Faith tomorrow night," she called after him, then left.  She needed to get home, to her parent's house.  It was the safest and only place to stay.  They were gone, if she remembered right, on an overnight conference in New York.  They'd be back tomorrow night, but by then she was sure she'd be gone.  Back to her time.

~Part: 4~

(February 2000)

The next night, Spike was in a foul mood.  He was at the Bronze, standing under the staircase, having a beer and watching all the people he couldn't eat.  What he wouldn't give to be able to just taste warm human blood again.  He could get the violence elsewhere, so he didn't actually miss that, just the taste of warm, human blood as it filled his mouth, slid down his throat.  He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again with a sigh, deciding to head out.  A small, feminine body bumped into his, and he stepped back.

"Ooo," the girl said.

When Spike saw who it was, he sighed again.  Bugger it, how was he supposed to not fall in love with her if he was constantly confronted by her.  "Oh, *you*," he said derisively.

"And you," she said after a second.

"What?  Are you keeping tabs on me?  You're gonna give me a hard time now?"  She looked at him questioningly, and he wondered what her problem was.  Was she drunk?

"Um, do I usually give you a hard time?" she asked.

Spike was not amused by her game, whatever it was.  "Very funny.  Well, you don't have to worry about me drinking."  He raised his beer bottle for her to see.  "Unless you're here to protect innocent beers."  He walked away from her, back under the stairs.  Buffy followed him, leaning against one of the supports.

"You're a vampire," she said matter-of-factly.

Spike glared at her.  What the hell was she playing at?  "Was.  And as soon as I get this chip out of my head, I'll be a vampire again.  But until then, I'm just as helpless as a kitten up a tree.  So why don't you sod off?"  Her holier than thou attitude was really starting to piss him off, and if she didn't get her smug face out of his sight soon, she'd be sporting a few bruises, chip or not.

"Okay," she said, and started to walk away.

That was it.  Now he was brassed off.  "Oh, fine!  Throw it in my face!"  She turned back toward him.  'Spike's not a threat anymore, I'll turn my back!  He can't hurt me.'"

"Spike?"

Spike stared at her.  She said his name and was looking at him like she didn't know who he was.  Then suddenly, recognition flashed in her eyes.

"Spike."  She smiled at him, looking too damn sexy for her own good.  She walked back, and stood right in front of him.  "William the Bloody with a chip in his head.  I kind of love this town."

Spike snorted rudely.  "You know why I really hate you, Summers?"

She answered him cheerfully.  "'Cause I'm a stuck-up tight-ass with no sense of fun?"

Spike was caught off guard.  "Well-- Yeah, that covers a lot of it."

"'Cause I could do anything I want, and instead I choose to pout and whine and feel the burden of Slayerness?"  She shrugged.  "I mean, I could be rich.  I could be famous.  I could have anything."  She paused meaningfully.  "Anyone."

She moved closer to him, and put her hands on his chest.  Their faces were only inches apart now.  Spike backed up until he ran into one of the supports, and wasn't able to go any further.  Buffy stayed right with him, every step he took.  What the hell was the bitch up to now?

"Even you, Spike."  Her voice was sultry, and Spike found himself responding to her despite himself.  "I could ride you at a gallop until your legs buckled and your eyes rolled up.  I've got muscles you've never even dreamed of.  I could squeeze you until you pop like warm champagne and you'd beg me to hurt you just a little bit more.  And you know why I don't?"

Her mouth was very close to his, and Spike considered kissing her, but only for a second.  He kept silent, not voicing his interest.

"Because it's wrong," she said with a chuckle, then stepped around him, and backed away.  Spike glared at her, and she grinned back.

"I get this chip out," he said menacingly, "you and me are gonna have a confrontation."

"Count on it," she told him, sounding just as menacing, before walking away.

Spike turned around, and hurled his bottle against the wall.  He needed to kill something.  Preferably someone.  Damn this bloody chip, he growled silently.

He stalked across the club towards the door, shoving his way through a couple of teenagers.  The implant went off, sending waves of pain throughout his head.  He held his head with his hand, waiting for the pain to subside, then continued on his way out.

~~~*~~~

Willow left the Bronze through the same door Spike had just stormed through.  She had known, from talking to Future Spike, that he'd had an encounter with Faith in Buffy's body, but he hadn't elaborated.  When he'd spoken of it, his jaw would clench, and his eyes would turn cold.  So, last night, when Willow had told him about meeting up with Faith, she'd been trying to tell him without telling him.  She figured it was what would happen after she was gone that would matter in the long run.

Curiosity had forced her into the Bronze, despite knowing she might bump into Tara or herself, or any of the others.  She was wearing a sort of disguise, in so much as it was an outfit that she wouldn't have been seen in a year or two ago.

The black skirt that fell to mid-thigh, was something Buffy had left at Willow's house during the summer.  A white tank top under a powder blue button up shirt that she'd tied instead of buttoning, completed the outfit.  She had pulled her hair back on the sides, and secured it with a gold barrette, and finished her disguise with a light layer of make-up.

Anybody who knew her wouldn't be fooled for too long.  But, she hoped to avoid them all anyway.  And if they did see her, hopefully they'd dismiss her as someone they didn't know, because Willow didn't wear clothes like these.  She felt kind of free, like she could do anything she wanted.  The feeling was similar to the one she'd had on Halloween when she'd gotten her body back and ditched the ghost costume.

She headed toward the cemetery, and Spike's crypt.  She didn't really like this Spike very much, but she had seen the hate and pain on his face after Buffy/Faith left.  Even if he was a jerk, she still hated to see him in pain.  He was going to be her friend in a year or so, and what kind of a friend would she be if she didn't try to help him?

When she got to his mausoleum, she found the door open and the crypt empty.  She looked around the moonlit cemetery, but couldn't see much.  The moon was half hidden by clouds, and there were too many trees to let what little light was shining get through, so she went inside, hopped up on his coffin-cum-bed, and waited.

Sitting in the darkness, there wasn't a whole lot to do except think.  Which was the one thing she didn't want to do.  Had avoided doing, until now.  She didn't want to remember that one of her best friends was dead.  And Giles.  The man who'd been more of a father to her than her own father.  He was like that with all of them.  Even to Spike in some respects.  And now they were dead.  Maybe Xander and Anya were too.  And Tara.

Pain lanced through her, overwhelming her.

She closed her eyes, shutting out the thoughts.  A small relaxation spell helped her focus her attention away from the pain and death of the future.  The possibly-not-going-to-happen-if-she-had-anything-to-say-about-it future.

Ten minutes later, she started to doze off, so she laid down and covered up with Spike's blanket.  She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.  His pillow smelled like him, and she found herself suddenly missing him.  Missing her Spike, not the mean Spike from this time.  She missed their conversations, and the taunting, and teasing.  She even missed having him follow her around just to tell her his most disgusting stories.  She snuggled closer to his pillow and fell asleep.

~~~*~~~

Spike threw the demon against a headstone and smashed his fist into its face.  The demon, a big brown thing with scales all over it, horns on its head, and claws for hands, howled in fury and pain.  Spike had no idea what kind of a demon it was, or how to kill it, nor did he care.  He'd needed to take out his anger and frustrations on something, and since humans, or, more specifically, Buffy, wasn't something he could hurt anymore, he'd attacked the first creature he came across.  And then the second. And the third.  They'd been vampires, and now he was working on this ugly demon.

Spike picked it up over his head, and heaved it a good twenty feet.  The thing jumped up to face Spike, as he ran over to it.  He took a few good punches in the stomach and face, but he barely felt them.  The blow to the side of his head however, dropped him, and his sight went black for a moment.  He jumped up and grinned, having the time of his life.

The demon did a back-flip away from Spike, but he was undeterred.  He stalked toward it, grabbed its arms and pulled it forward, head butting it.  Old Scaly let out a horrible, ear-piercing howl and fell to the ground, unmoving.  Spike stared at it, wondering if it was dead.  He listened for a heartbeat, but couldn't hear one.  Shrugging, he pulled a stake from his duster pocket, plunged the piece of wood into the demon's chest, and watched in satisfaction as Scaley turned into a puddle of brown goo and soaked into the grass.

Sticking the stake back into his pocket, he stretched, working out the kinks in his sore muscles.  His other pocket held a flask of scotch, which he took out and downed.

"Ahhh, bracing," he said, holding the flask up to the brown goo.  The goo remained silent, so he got up and headed home.  He was drunk, and happy.  Three beers at the Bronze, a bottle of whiskey, and a flask full of scotch, and he was well in his cups by now.  Fighting had relieved most of his stress and frustration.  Two bags of blood from Willy's had helped.  Drinking had relieved the rest.  Now all he needed was a good shag, and he could die happily.  For tonight was the night he was going to kill himself.

His one and only love was off with one demon or another, she didn't love him anymore.  He was a laughing stock in the demon community, and he was dependant on the slayer and her kin.

It was time to end it.  And this time Willow and Xander weren't going to stop him.

A dive from his bed to a stake below, and he'd be no more.

He was actually looking forward to dying.  He whistled to himself as he went inside his crypt.

The whistle died on his lips when he heard a heartbeat inside, then saw the small feminine body curled up under his blankets.  He closed his eyes in impatience, shut the crypt door, and stomped over to his bed.  Red hair.  Gosh, I wonder who it could be, he thought sarcastically.

She was smiling in her sleep, looking so sweet that he had to fight the urge to snap her neck.  She rolled onto her back and flung her arm out, hitting his hand.  He found himself staring down at it, feeling the warmth pouring off of her in waves.  He touched her hand with his own, and intertwined their fingers.

She moaned, and turned over again, taking her hand with her.  The sudden loss of her hand created an empty, cold feeling within him, but he shook it off.

He was still going to kill himself, he'd just have to take the plunge elsewhere.  Maybe from the top of the crypt.  She'd never even know he'd been there.  He turned away, and started rifling through his things, looking for a drawing Angelus had done of Dru.  Spike had taken it, and others, from Angelus' sketch book when he'd been stuck in the wheelchair.

He found what he was looking for and put the folded paper in his duster pocket, casting a glance at the sleeping girl.  She whimpered quietly, and rolled over again, obviously in the throes of a nightmare.

"Buffy, no," she cried out softly.

Spike's bleary eyes narrowed at the mention of the blonde bitch.  "Figures."  Probably dreaming about her dying.  After what the slayer had said and done to him tonight, he hoped it was a painful, torturous death.  It was what she deserved.

"That's mean," Willow whispered.

Already on his way out, Spike spun around, wondering if the witch was reading his mind.  But, no, she was still asleep, and even more agitated.  She screamed suddenly, startling him.  "No, Spike, don't," she whimpered.  There was more hurt and pain in that one statement than she'd shown when telling him of the recently dead Buffy and Giles.  He found himself moving closer to her, wanting to hear more.  Wanting to know what he'd done to hurt her so much.  He knew hurt, he knew pain, and it never ceased to fascinate him.  It was even downright enjoyable when it came to the Slayer.

The alcohol was screwing with his mind, because if he was sober, he never would've reached out to touch her.  To smooth back a lock of her hair.

"Don't touch me," she cried, shrinking away from him in her dream.  Spike jerked his hand back.  "Just... please.  Leave me alone," she whispered, sounding as broken as he'd felt when Dru had left him.

Whatever she was dreaming about, or reliving, it was tearing her apart.  Spike felt the unfamiliar need to comfort her.  The only person he'd ever comforted besides himself, was Dru.  And he didn't like this feeling at all.  She was a naive, stupid little witch who couldn't get even the simplest spells to work right.

Spike once again started out of the crypt, but stopped and turned when he heard her whisper his name.

She was sitting up, looking at him.  Her green eyes wide and trusting.  She pulled the blanket off and swung her legs over the side of the sarcophagus, jumping down to walk over to him.

Spike hardly heard what she was saying as she approached him.  That small black skirt she was wearing hugged her hips like a second skin, the hem swaying against her thighs with every step she took.  The blue button up blouse, tied at her waist, was open and revealing, even with the white tank top underneath.

Willow had a body.  Who knew?  Fit and trim, and rounded in all the right places.  Long skirts, and cute little shirts be damned, if she dressed like this in the future, he knew why he was hanging around her.

She was looking at him expectantly.  "What?" he asked.

"I said, I'm sorry.  Um, you know, about what Buffy said tonight.  It... it wasn't really her.  It was--"

"None of your business," he ground out, seething with anger and humiliation.  She'd witnessed the display?  Or had Buffy told her about it in the future?  Either way, it angered him more.  It was one thing to be taken down a few pegs in private, it was another thing to have witnesses.

She shook her head, her softly curled hair flying around her face.  Spike once again found himself mesmerized.  Damn, he'd have to not drink around her in future.  What future? he thought, you're killing yourself as soon as you get rid of her.

"No," she was saying.  "I mean, it really wasn't Buffy.  It was Faith.  You know, the other slayer?"

"What's that, like, the other white meat?" he asked sarcastically.  It didn't matter to him.  One slayer was pretty much like another, and when all was said and done, he'd still been humiliated.

A flash of humor crossed her face and she grinned.  "Something like that."

She was standing so close to him that her heat was warming him.  He took a step closer to her, before he caught himself.

What the hell was he doing?

He needed to get rid of her.  Now.  He needed to humor her, agree with everything she said, anything, just get her out of there before he did something he'd regret.

"Great.  I'm happy again.  So, you can go now."  He smiled broadly and waited for her to leave.

She tilted her head to the side, studying him.  "What are you up to?" she asked suspiciously.

"Me?" he scoffed.  "Nothing.  Not a thing.  Bye."  Her eyes narrowed and he cursed himself.  He'd laid it on too thick.  Rolling his eyes, he tried to push past her, but she stopped him.  "Oh, go on now," he told her, "can't you see you're not wanted here?"

She closed her mouth on what she'd been about to say and looked away.  He'd hurt her?  Good.

Who'd she think he was, one of her little friends?  His future-self, the Angel wannabe?  Good thing he was offing himself, he thought, shuddering in revulsion.  "Oh, did I hurt you?  Good on me then," he told her.  "Leave now.  I'm busy."

"Why do you always have to be so mean?" she asked angrily.  "God, you gonna call me a high school loser again?  Or tell Xander--" and then her eyes widened and she smacked him on the side of the arm.  In his drunken state, he stumbled back a few steps, falling out the door, and tripping down the step.  "You're gonna try to kill yourself again!"

"Am not!"  He backed away from her, and held his hands up in innocence.

"I know that look.  I saved you the last time, remember?  Which wasn't that long ago."  Suddenly, she jumped toward him, reached into his duster pocket, and pulled out the stake, holding it up and glaring at him.

He shrugged nonchalantly.  "I need protection too, ya know.  And I also happen to like violence, and if the only way I can get that is to kill demons, then so be it.  Don't know what nancy-boy me told you in the future, but I still like to kill."

Willow nodded, not at all shocked by his revelation.  "I know, Spike.  I mean, hello.  You're a demon, of course you like violence.  I'm not stupid."  She flashed him a mischievous grin.  "I once called you tame... in the nicest way, of course," she rushed to assure him, "and you followed me around for a whole week telling me of your exploits.  From railroad spikes to Drusilla's high heel.  I don't think I ate that whole week."

He chuckled deeply.  "Told you about that one, did I?"  He looked her up and down.  "And yeah, I'd agree on the eating part.  You're too skinny."  The appreciative glint in his eyes belied his words.

Completely missing his approval, she scowled in mock anger, tossing the stake from hand to hand.  "Hey.  I told you not to call me skinny, Vanilla."

His grin faded, and he grabbed the stake from her.

A veil of sadness seemed to drop over her features.  "Or I will tell you.  If you don't kill yourself."

"I already told you, Red.  I'm not gonna kill myself.  So, just leave.  Go bug someone else."

"I can't.  They've already got a 'me'.  And there'd be too many questions.  And my parents came home tonight, so I can't stay there again without risking being found out.  Also, the whole Faith thing is coming to a head tonight.  So, pretty much... " she took a deep breath.  "I was wondering, you know, if you don't mind, and if you aren't going to be a grouch about it... if I could, well, stay here."

Spike sighed, rolled his eyes, threw his arms up and just generally tried to make it known that he was not happy about this.  But, the thought of her wandering around outside with no place to stay didn't appeal to him either.  He didn't know why he cared, but he did.  Besides, if his future self found her company and friendship worthwhile, then he guessed she couldn't be all that bad.  Ah hell, he thought, what happened to wanting to kill yourself?

"Fine.  Do what you want," he said gruffly, walking back inside the crypt.

She grinned and followed him.  "Thank you, Spike."  She hopped up on the edge of the bed and watched as he shoved a piece of paper into a drawer in the table.  "Is that Dru's picture?" she asked.

He spun around, his face hard and resentful.  "God, what didn't I tell you about?" he yelled angrily.  Dru was his, not a thing, not a secret to share. *He* loved her, *he* missed her, *he* wanted to die because he didn't have her anymore.  Not *her*!

Faced with his sudden, drunken anger, Willow shrank back, no doubt remembering when he'd kidnapped her and the moron.  He tended to be one of two things when he drank.  Sappy, or violent.  And given the fact that he was a demon, violent usually won out.

She tossed a sideways glance at the door.

Seeing her afraid, and smelling her fear, was like ambrosia.   He wanted to keep her afraid, to drink in the smell of her fear like he couldn't drink her blood.

She was watching him closely, her eyes wide and fearful, untrusting.  He liked it.  She took a step toward the door and he moved.  He was in front of her in a second, grabbing her arm roughly.  He'd have to be careful, couldn't hurt her enough to set off his chip.  Good thing it didn't mind mental pain.

He sneered at her gasp.  He was drunk, and she knew it.  He was also extremely turned on by her.  He hauled her up against him, and she knew that too.  He slid his hand down her back, pressing her against him.  His other hand caressed her cheek, his thumb brushing along her jaw.

She pushed against him, turning her face away.  "Spike, let me go.  You're drunk."

She was wriggling around, trying to get away, and he was loving every second of it.  Her soft body was touching every inch of his.  He grabbed her jaw, turning her face back to his.  "Yeah, pet, I am drunk," he agreed, his lips hovering an inch above hers.  "Come on, you can't tell me we haven't done this before.  All that stuff I tell you in the future?  Gotta be getting something in return."

She stared at him, hurt in her eyes.  "We haven't.  I wouldn't, and you--future you--knows it.  Let me go," she begged.

"No," he whispered, his voice husky, his eyes burning into hers.  He backed her into the sarcophagus, and pressed himself against her, holding her with his body.  Cradling her face in his hands, he lightly pressed his mouth to hers, halfway expecting her to bite him.  He was pleasantly surprised when she didn't.

One small taste of her was satisfying, and yet, nowhere near enough.  He traced her mouth with his tongue and pressed his lips to hers, softly at first, then more demandingly.  His mouth moved over hers hungrily, his fingers threading through her hair, and still she didn't fight him.  She had to know that if she truly fought him, he'd have to let her go, since the chip wouldn't let him hurt her.  Not that he wanted to hurt her, he didn't need to force women into his bed.  They fell into it.

He raised his head and looked down at her.

She stood there, not doing anything, not fighting him, not responding in any way.  That was more frustrating than if she'd fought him off.  Indifference wasn't something that turned him on.

Her hands were fisted at her sides, her eyes closed, her face blank.  She opened her eyes when he stepped away from her and dropped his hands.  He could see the anger, fear, hurt, and guilt there.

Guilt?  What the hell for?  Did she actually consider that passionless kiss, cheating on her girlfriend?  He turned his back on her angrily.

Willow blinked in confusion.  She was free of Spike, but she felt empty.  This was what she wanted, wasn't it?  He was drunk, and not *her* Spike, and she didn't think about Spike like that anyway.  He was her friend, nothing more.  She liked him, but she didn't love him.  She loved Tara.  Not Spike.

So, why then did she feel like she'd just lost something she hadn't even realized she wanted until it was gone?  And she did want it.  Him.  She wanted him.  Willow wanted Spike.  Damn him and his sexy good looks and sexy voice and accent and... damn her for being the type of person who always wanted someone other than the person she was in a relationship with.

It didn't matter, she decided.  She couldn't, and wouldn't, sleep with Spike.  She wasn't about to screw up another relationship.  She'd just have to hide her attraction to him, and pretend it never happened.  And getting out of here would be step one.

Spike was standing a few feet away.  He hadn't moved since turning away from her, and she was grateful.  It would allow her to slip out unnoticed.  She moved past him quietly and had her hand on the door when he grabbed her again.

He spun her around, pushed her up against the door and pressed himself to her.  She gasped, both at the anger in his actions and the feel of his body against hers.  She tried to push him away, but he was bigger and stronger, and not in the mood to play games.  He kissed her again, but there was no soft tenderness this time, it was hard and punishing, and more sensual than a kiss had a right to be.

Her hands, which had been pushing him away, were now pressed uselessly against his chest, trapped between them.  He pulled back, grinning at her, his eyes full of promise.

"Here's the thing, Red, you and me, we're gonna end up shagging.  So, we might as well get it out of the way now.  What do you say?"

She snorted at him.  "Arrogant, much?"

"No," he said seriously.  "Well, yeah, but I don't need to be to know that you want me.  Maybe it doesn't show in your face or your eyes, but you can't slow your heartbeat."  He leaned forward and lightly nipped the pulse point in her neck.  "Can't cover the smell of your arousal either."  He ran his tongue over her skin, kissing her shoulder.

Willow gasped and arched into him.  His lips traced a path along her neck while his hands caressed her back.  His touch felt so good.  Better than Oz.  Better than-- Tara.  Think of Tara.  She shoved at him, and he let her go, confidence radiating off of him in waves.

"I have a--"

"Girlfriend.  Yeah, I know.  You've told me at least ten times now," he smirked, following her as she paced away from him.

"And you and I--"  She moved out of his grasp as he reached for her.

"Are friends.  Know that too, pet."  He once again tried to grab her, but she escaped again.

Willow moved quickly around the coffin, trying to get away from him.  "We've never--"

"Done this.  I know.  First time for everything."  He jumped up on the coffin and crouched down, watching her like the predator he was.  She backed away from him, and made a dash for the door.  He jumped from the coffin and easily caught her from behind, pressing her back against him, one hand snaking around her stomach, the other brushing the hair from her neck.

Willow shivered at his touch.  What was happening to her?   She'd touched Spike plenty of times before, usually in jest or anger, but never in this manner, and never had it felt so good.  His lips played along her neck, while his hands untied her top shirt.  He pulled it off of her and dropped it to the floor, sliding his hands underneath her tank top.

The feel of his hands touching her so intimately sent shivers of anticipation through her.  All thoughts of Tara fled her mind.  She turned around in his embrace and waited.  Waited for him to kiss her.  He wasted no time in pressing his lips to hers, kissing her with so much hunger she was left wondering who it was for.

But then she stopped wondering, and started kissing him back.

He gave a throaty chuckle and backed her up until she was pressed up along the sarcophagus again.  His tongue traced her lips, then slid inside her mouth.

She pressed herself to him and pulled his duster off his shoulders, dropping it to the floor and sliding her hands down his back.  Next went his red shirt and black T-Shirt.

He swept his hands under her tank top and pushed it up slowly, exposing her skin inch by inch.  She grabbed the hem and yanked it off, tossing it across the crypt.

Spike laughed and hauled her back against him.  "Impatient?"

Impatient?  Definitely.  Yes.  She wanted him with every fiber of her being, and she didn't care if she had to sacrifice her modesty and pride to have him.  Where had this wanton part of her come from? she thought briefly.  Very briefly.

Her hands fumbled with the buttons on the back of her skirt, but she couldn't seem to undo it.  He pushed her hands away and turned her around.  He knelt behind her and leaned in close, his lips trailing along her waist and back as his hands undid the button.  An electric heat pulsed through her every time he touched her.  Feeling weak-kneed, she leaned against his bed.

He unzipped the skirt and slid it down her thighs, pressing feather-soft kisses on her exposed skin.  Willow stepped out of the material and turned back around at the same time as he stood up.  She unhooked her bra and dropped it to the floor with the rest of her clothes.

Fighting the urge to turn away or hold her hands up to cover herself, she allowed his eyes to roam over her.  The appreciative grin on his face was enough to reassure her.  He lifted her up and sat her on his bed, leaning forward to kiss her stomach lightly.

"Not bad," he smirked, his grin widening as he trailed kisses along her abdomen.  Willow felt a ridiculous sense of joy at his admiration.  The desire and hunger she felt for Spike was different than what she'd experienced before.  Oz was tender and mellow.  Tara was loving and sweet.

Spike was fire and passion.

She sucked in a breath when she felt his mouth on her breast, his tongue flicking the nipple.  She arched her back and combed her fingers through his hair, holding his mouth to her breast.  His hair was so soft.  As long as she'd known Spike, she'd never touched his hair.  It was something she'd always wondered about.  It looked so soft and inviting to the touch.

His mouth left her breast, leaving her feeling bereft.  She opened her eyes to see him tossing his socks to the floor.  She waited and watched in anticipation as he unbuttoned his pants and pushed them down his hips, then stepped out of them.  No underwear, she wasn't surprised.  He was gorgeous.  All muscles and lines and hard, pale flesh.

He stood still, completely naked, letting her look her fill.  Warmth shot through her stomach at the evidence of his arousal.  He closed the distance between them and climbed beside her on the coffin.  Her eyes, filled with heat and longing, met his.

He pushed her back, and laid next to her, splaying his hands on her stomach.  She leaned forward and kissed his chest, her tongue darting out to flick his nipple as he'd done hers.  He groaned, and closed his eyes, encouraging her to touch him some more.  Feeling bold, Willow slid her hand along his stomach, delighting in the way his flesh rippled under her touch, then moved her hand lower.  He pulled back with a gasp, and she saw the surprised expression on his face.

She couldn't help but laugh.  "I'm not exactly a virgin," she told him.

Spike rolled his eyes and kissed her deeply.  "So I noticed."

He knelt over her, pulling her panties off, and she shivered at the feel of his hands on her legs and stomach.  It was extremely intimate and arousing.  She laid back and enjoyed the sensations and feelings he was invoking as he kissed his way up her legs, around to the inside of her thigh and higher--

She nearly shot up off the bed when his mouth pressed against her.  He grinned and flicked his tongue against her clit.  She arched her hips, tangling her hands in the blankets underneath her.  The tingling wave of heat working its way through her body was driving her wild.

She whimpered, wanting him inside of her, now.  She sat up, pulling him up as well.  She kissed him, hard, then laid back, taking him with her.

He raised an eyebrow.  "There's that impatience again," he teased.

She moved her hands along his chest, around his back and down further, pressing him to her.

He got the message and slid inside of her, holding himself still.  Pain shot through her and she gasped, unused to the feeling of a man inside her.  A few seconds later, the pain passed and pleasure replaced it.  He was watching her, waiting.  She nodded and held him closer.  He dipped his head down and caught her lips, moving out of her at the same time.

He thrust into her and she arched against him.  After only a few thrusts, he suddenly tore his lips from hers and buried his head in her shoulder.  She ran her hands through his hair and tried to bring his mouth back to hers, but as he continued to thrust in and out of her, he kept his head down.

She suddenly understood.  He couldn't look at her, not if he wanted to imagine he was with Drusilla.  Her caressing hands shoved at him, trying to push him off of her.

"Stop," she bit out, "get off of me.  Get off," she yelled.

"Willow," he ground out.  "Stop it."  He raised his head and she stared into his yellow eyes and ridged forehead.

"Then stop thinking about Drusilla," she demanded, hating the hurt evident in her voice.

His face returned to normal, and she saw the confusion in his eyes.  "What the hell are you talking about?" he groaned.

She looked away, suddenly unsure.  Maybe he hadn't been thinking about Drusilla.  Maybe he just didn't want to look at Willow.  Maybe he was already regretting sleeping with her, and they were still in the act, God, what if--

Spike sighed heavily, and rested his forehead against hers.  "Willow, can't you just stop thinking for a few minutes and enjoy yourself?"  She could hear the strain in his voice, and she felt guilty for being the cause of it, but she had to know.

"Then why won't you look at me?" she whispered.

His laughter shook her, and sent delightful shivers down her spine.  "Is that what this is about?"

She nodded, and he pulled back to look at her.  "I didn't want to scare you.  Or disgust you."

She frowned in confusion.  "How--"

He vamped out, and looked down at her.  "Like this," he told her.

She reached up and touched his forehead and cheek.  "I've seen you like this a lot of times, and it hasn't disgusted me yet."  She leaned forward and kissed him, fangs and all.  "Kinda sexy," she said with a wink.

He laughed and kissed her back, being careful not to cut her... too much.  A little nip wouldn't hurt her.  He hoped.

They kissed deeply, and she ran her hands down his back, urging him to begin again.  He complied, pulling out of her and thrusting back in again.  He didn't turn away this time.  He kept his eyes locked with hers when they weren't kissing.

He thrust faster, knowing she was close.  She was panting, and arching up against him with wild abandon.  His own climax was approaching, and he decided to speed hers up.  He leaned down and nipped her neck lightly with his fangs, licking the blood that seeped out.  She tightened around him, screaming his name.

While she was in the throes of ecstasy, he bit deeper into her neck.  She came again, and he grinned.

He drank deeply from her and found his own release a few seconds later, thrusting into her one last time.  She held him close, pressing his fangs even deeper into her flesh.

After recovering from their love making, Willow snuggled into Spike's side, closing her eyes in contentment.

"Now *that*, is something I could never imagine wanting to do with Slutty the Vampire Slayer," Spike chuckled.

"Me either," Willow said with a disgusted shudder, making him laugh.  Realizing how callous that sounded, she tried to explain.  "No, no, I mean, because, you know, there are some people you never, ever want to think about in a sexual way, or having sex with, and, well, Buffy's one of those for me.  She's a friend, I'd just never want to sleep with her... in the non-sleeping sense of the word."

Spike pulled the sheet up around her, covering her chilled body.  "I get it, love.  Every one of your friends are on that list for me."

"Same here, except, of course, Tara.  And Oz.  Ow."  She pulled away from his suddenly tight grip and slapped his chest lightly.  "Let up with the manhandling, 'cause, ow."

"Sorry."  He sat up, giving her a quick kiss on the lips, then walked, completely naked, over to his duster and grabbed a pack of cigarettes, and his lighter.

She watched him, loving the way he moved.  He was like a giant cat, all sinewy grace.  And this would be the one and only time she'd get to see him like this, so she had to get her fill.  He lit a cigarette and sat back down next to her.  She ran her hand lightly up and down his back, making him shiver.

"Ready for seconds already?" he asked in amusement.  "Or should I say thirds?"  He tossed her a grin and swung back around toward her.

She looked away from him, not wanting him to see the sadness in her face.  She didn't know how he would feel if he knew this was the only time she was going to let this happen.  Maybe he didn't even want it to happen again.  Either way, it wouldn't be happening again, and she was depressed.  She kissed him softly, but thoroughly, saying with her lips what she couldn't say with words.

Spike watched her as she laid back down, resting her head on his knee.  His eyes narrowed.  If she thought this was a one time deal, she was sadly mistaken.  But they'd worry about that later.

In love with Buffy, huh?  Not if he could help it.  Substitute one woman for another.  Worked in theory.

He smoked his cigarette, and ran his hands absently through her hair.  It was shoulder length, longer than Willow's hair in this time.  He liked this style better than the other, and he hoped she continued to grow it out.  There was nothing more erotic than seeing a woman with her hair spread out on your pillow.  He looked down.  Or your leg.

~Part: 5~

(February 2000)

Spike pulled Willow closer to him in his sleep, hugging her soft body to his.  She squished against him, and he groaned, throwing the pillow aside and searching for Willow and her warm body.  When he didn't find her next to him, he opened his eyes and searched the crypt.  She wasn't there.  He sat up, his jaw clenching.  Damn her.  She was bound and determined to piss him off at every turn.  He'd decided last night wasn't going to be a one time thing, and he meant it, so where did she get off leaving him?

Next time he should tell her his decisions, he thought with a chuckle.

He got dressed and smoked a cigarette before checking for daylight.  There wasn't any; the night had once again claimed the day as its own, so he headed out.  He figured he'd pick up a couple of bags of blood, and maybe some food for Willow, then he'd go find her.

Never once did it cross his mind that she wouldn't be there.  She was from another time, he knew this, and he accepted it, but he hadn't thought she'd be going back any time soon.  He hadn't thought about it at all.  Willow was just a part of his life.  Had been in one form or another for the past two years.  But, now she was gone.  The one he liked was gone, the one he'd slept with was gone.  And in her place was a replica that was her, but not quite.  She didn't share his memories of last night, or the past two days.  She didn't even like him.  She was afraid of him.

Now Spike knew how Willow had felt with him.  Her Spike was different.

His Willow was different.

After searching for her most of the night, Spike headed back home.  She wasn't there.  He hadn't expected her to be.  He put his armchair back where it belonged, but one of the legs was broken, and the chair fell forward.  He left it and sat on the sarcophagus instead.

She was gone.

He didn't know how he knew, but he was certain she was.  Now, he had to wait a year and a half to see her again.  He was an impatient sort, never one for waiting around when there was something to do, or someone to kill.  But this time there was nothing to do but wait.  Maybe he could work on this Willow.  Befriend her, seduce her.  Maybe-- no.  He would keep an eye on her, and make sure she was safe, but other than that, he would leave her alone.  Maybe.

He sighed heavily, dropping his cigarette to the floor and stepping on it.  He went to the corner, where the table had, miraculously, fallen in one piece and pulled out the drawings of Dru.  Further inside were drawings of Buffy, Willow and Cordelia.  Angelus had a good eye.  He always managed to capture the person he was drawing.  Spike had always thought it was because he drew them in their most vulnerable moments.

In Dru's drawings, she was always looking up at something, a hopeful expression on her face.  She looked like a child waiting for a treat.  Vulnerable.

Buffy was sleeping, her hand curled slightly, an innocent look on her face.  She was younger than today, more trusting.  Spike had always been drawn to this sketch.  He hadn't known why, but with the information Willow had given him, he wasn't going to examine the reasons.

Cordelia was bent over slightly, her hands on her knees, screaming at whatever horror she was seeing.  Most likely the moron being killed.

Willow.  He tossed the other drawings aside and examined hers.  She was young, much younger than his Willow.  She looked vulnerable in every drawing.  Whether she was happy or sad or laughing or crying, she looked one word away from breaking apart.

It was weird how things worked out.  Two years ago, Spike had been happy and in love.  A few months later, he was in hell.  Angelus was back, Spike was in a wheel chair and Drusilla was parading around with her precious sire.  Back then, when Spike had time in abundance, he'd spent most of it in the mansion.  Angelus' sketch pads littered every room in the house, and Spike had taken a few.  For spite.  For need.  For want.  For something to do.  No matter how he explained it to himself, he ended up with sketch after sketch of Dru, Buffy, Cordelia and Willow.

The weird thing was that he had more of Buffy and Willow than he did of Cordelia, or even Dru.  Since he hardly knew the cheerleader, except by sight, there was no mystery there, but why not more of Dru?  How had that happened?  It was as if he was being forced to make a choice.  If he had a choice, he already knew which one he'd pick.

Willow.

But he didn't think it was as simple as that.  Nothing in life ever was.

He stood up, tossing all but Willow's drawings inside the coffin.  Willow's went back into the drawer of the table.  He set the table back in its normal spot by the broken chair.  As he straightened up, he spotted a stack of papers in the opposite corner.  He didn't remember them being there last night.  He picked them up and set them on top of his bed.  He sat down and grabbed the top sheet.  It was a hand written letter, and he knew it was from Willow.

Spike,

    If you're reading this, then the spell worked, and I'm either back in my time, or dead.  I choose to believe I'm back in good old 2001, but this being the Hellmouth, both possibilities are... possible.

    The spell I'm talking about was a simple one to keep these papers hidden from you until my death, or my departure from this time.  (I'm still hoping I'm alive)

    Anyway.  Earlier today, just after arriving, I got the distinct impression that I wasn't going to be sticking around very long.  I was pretty sure I was being sent back to my time.  So I typed up everything you need to know to fix things.  It's impossible for you to change everything.  And I don't expect you to.  But, I would be very appreciative if you'd at least try to change some things.  Please.

    If you don't want to, or can't change these things, then skip to the back, and fix the last one, because I can't stand the thought of Giles and Buffy dying.  I don't know this part for sure, but I think Xander and Anya are dead too.  Maybe even Dawn and Tara.  I know you don't know them, and you never really get to like Tara, but, I love her.  So please, keep her safe.  And Dawn, you don't know her yet either, but you will.  I can't tell you anything about her, but believe me when I say that she is more precious than anything in this world.  Not just to me, but to everyone, including you.  So keeping her safe is a big priority.

    Now, on to the good stuff.  Happy reading!

    Willow

Spike flipped through the pages, straight to the end.  He wanted to know what had happened to her.  When he'd first seen her on Giles' couch, she'd had such a violent reaction to him.  And then the nightmare last night.

He found the part he wanted and began reading.

September, 15, 2001

    I knew you couldn't wait, Oh Impatient One.  I'm rolling my eyes here, even though you can't see it.  Or me.

    Anyway.  You want to know what happened.  It started with a phone call from Giles.  He asked me to stop by your crypt because he needed your help with a spell.  I was on my way to the Bronze, and saw you just as I was leaving, (lucky break for me) and caught up with you.  You were your usual cocky, smart aleck-y self, and then we parted ways.

    Now, here's where it gets weird.  I walked a block and suddenly you were behind me.  I didn't think anything of it at first, even though you had on different clothes.  Actually, the same clothes, just different colors.  And, gasp, no duster.

Spike chuckled.  The chit thought she was a comedian.

    But then you grabbed me and bit me.  (It's the bite mark you asked me about)  And it hurt more than anything I've ever felt before.  Harmony's bite was like a push pin compared to a... um, sorry about the comparison, but, railroad spike.  Then you, or rather, Fake Spike, dragged me to Giles' apartment.  Long story short, Giles shot a crossbow bolt at him, and he pushed me in front of him.  Nice of him, huh?  I passed out, and when I woke up, Giles was dead, and the demon (it had to have been some kind of demon, unless you've got an evil twin you've never told anyone about... and yes, I do think I'm funny) was gone.  I went outside into the courtyard, because the smell was making me nauseous.

    I passed out again.  I think I was running on borrowed time at that point.  Most of my blood was gone, and shock was taking over.  When I woke up this time, you were there, but I didn't know it was you, so I kind of freaked and yelled at you to leave me alone.  Sorry.  I thought you were Fake You.  Does that make sense?  I should've known, I mean, you had on the right clothes and everything.  I should've just... known.  And here I claim to be your friend.

    Moving on.  You helped me over to the fountain and told me Buffy was dead.  I sort of lied to you when I said you were getting over her.  You weren't.  I could see the pain on your face, though you tried to hide it.  Please don't throw this across the room.  I know I warned you against falling in love with her, at least, I tried, but I don't think it's something you can stop.  I think it's your destiny.

    Okay, so where was I?  Right.  Buffy is dead.  Giles is dead.  I'm pretty close to death myself, I think.  But you helped me.  Maybe I made it to the hospital in time.  I wanted to thank you for that.  You carried me there.

    So, I don't know how you can stop this.  Or even if you can, but I would appreciate it if you tried.

    Be good!

    Willow

(September 2001)

Willow woke up reaching for Spike, but she couldn't find him in the soft bed.

Soft bed?

Her eyes flew open, searching the dark room.  "Spike?" she whispered.  She cleared her throat and tried to speak louder, but a whisper was all she could manage.  "Spike?"

"Here."  His voice came from the other side of her, cutting through the darkness.  She sighed in relief.  She hadn't lost him.  He was still here.  She settled back into bed and closed her eyes.

Where was here?

Her eyes snapped open again, and she tried to sit up, but the pain in her everywhere kept her still.  Faintly, the sound of electronic beeping came to her, and she realized she was in the hospital.

"Spike?"

He was sitting in a chair beside her bed, looking tired and haggard.  He stood up and reached above her.  Sudden light filled the room by the bed and she blinked against it.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

She looked down at herself, surprised to see all the tubes and wires connected to her arms.  Her heartbeat and pulse, being monitored by the cart of machinery by her head, were faintly beeping.  She was covered up to her chin by a glaringly white sheet and sickly yellow blanket.

Hospital.  That meant Giles was dead.  And Buffy.  Dead.  They were dead.  She'd been shot with a crossbow and bitten.

Tears pricked her eyes.  She hadn't gone back in time.  It was just a dream, a drug induced dream.  But it had seemed so real.

She rolled over onto her side, facing him.  A lock of hair fell into her eyes, and she reached up to brush it away.  Her muscles were weak, and they didn't want to respond to her simple movements, but eventually she managed to move the hair enough to see again.

Spike was looking in the direction of the window, hardly paying her any attention.

Her voice was barely above a whisper when she finally spoke.  "They're really dead?"  She turned pleading eyes to him, willing him to deny it, but he couldn't.  He nodded, still without looking her way.  "Xander and Anya?"  After a quick look at her, he gave another small nod, then went back to looking out the window.  "All of them?" she whispered.  One final nod, and it was official.  Everyone she knew was dead.  Willow closed her eyes, shutting out the pain along with the light.  "Tara?"

"She's fine," he said quickly, startling her.  "Whatever it was didn't go after her.  But Dawn--"

Willow turned her head away from Spike.  They were all dead.  Almost everyone she cared about was dead.  Except Spike, and Tara.  "Does Tara know?  Is she safe?"

"She's safe," he reassured her, "she was here a few times while you were out."

Willow heard the hard tone of his voice and looked at him.  His jaw was clenched tight.  His eyes were cold and filled with bitterness.  Everyone he cared about was dead.  She still had Tara and Spike.  He had no one, except her, and she wasn't sure that even mattered to him.  That she even mattered to him.  He'd lost everyone he knew and liked here.  She sometimes forgot he liked the gang, he managed to hide it so well.  Plus Buffy.  Especially Buffy.  "I'm sorry.  About Buffy, I mean.  I can't believe she's gone... again"

He looked away from her, and shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal, but she knew better.  She'd been there the last time he'd grieved for Buffy.

This Spike, her Spike, was in love with the slayer.  He'd almost died for her a few times, and Willow admired him for that.  He was so different than the Spike in her dream.  The one she'd slept with.  The one she had left everybody's future entrusted to.

It couldn't have all been a dream.  But, if it wasn't, shouldn't Spike remember their night together?  If it had been real, shouldn't the time line have already changed?

"Spike, um, back when you first got implanted, did I come visit you?  In-- in your crypt?"  She waited for some form of recognition.  A flicker in his eyes.  Tightening of his jaw.  Anything.  There was nothing.

He looked confused.  And maybe a little concerned about her sanity.  "No.  Not that I remember.  Why?"  He ran his hands through his hair, messing it up slightly.

She resisted the urge to touch it.  "No reason."  It had been a dream.  She rolled onto her other side, away from him.  "I'm tired."  She listened, waiting for him to leave, but he didn't.

"What did it?" he asked, after a few minutes of silence.

She shrugged and the tubes and wires connected to her arm moved with her.

He sighed in frustration.  "I didn't see it, but that bite on your neck looks like a vampire bite."

She nodded.  "It was you," she whispered.  "You--"

"What?" he snapped, anger pouring off of him.  "You think I did it?  Killed them?  Killed Buffy?"

She rolled back over, facing him again.  Her eyes flashed angrily.  "No.  You didn't let me finish.  It looked like you.  It has to be a shapeshifter or something.  I ran into it right after I left you."  She closed her eyes, trying to remember everything she could, yet remain detached from the pain.  "He was you, except his clothes.  Blue shirt.  Blue jeans.  Grey button-up shirt, no duster."

"Why would a shapeshifter go after the slayer?  They're generally non-violent.  And this one not only went after the slayer, but her friends as well."  He frowned.  "Are you sure?"

"Positive."  She massaged her neck lightly where a large bandage covered the bite mark from the demon.  "He did this.  Believe me, I got close enough to see.  He was you, down to the scar on your eyebrow."

He absently rubbed the scar with his thumb.  "Why didn't it kill you?  Or me?  Or Tara?  It obviously knows about us."

She yawned, covering her mouth with her hand.  "I was wondering that too.  Maybe it thought I would die.  Left me for dead.  Or, maybe it just used me to get to Giles."

"Maybe," he agreed.

~~~*~~~

Spike's eyes drifted away from the sleeping form of Willow, and back out into the night.  He itched to be out there, hunting down the demon that had done this, but he had no idea where to start.  He needed more information, and he wouldn't be getting that until tomorrow.  Willow was exhausted, she didn't need him waking her up.

All he knew about the shapeshifter was that it had killed almost everyone he cared about.  And he did care about them.  About Buffy.

A sigh escaped him.

Buffy.  She had disliked him to the end.  Tolerated him for his ability to help her protect Dawn, but other than that, she despised him.  And he despised himself just as strongly for falling for her.  If he'd had a choice, he most definitely would not have chosen the slayer to fall in love with.

Losing Buffy--twice--was harder than losing Dru.  At least Dru was still out there somewhere, walking around, talking to her bloody stars, shagging this demon and that.  But Buffy was in the morgue, and she wasn't going to walk again.  Ever.

Willow moaned in her sleep, crying out for Xander.  The moron.  Spike had often called him that, just to taunt the boy, anger him.  It was all he could do anymore, so he had to get his fun where he could.

"Spike?"

"Yeah, pet?"  Spike turned from the window, expecting to find Willow watching him, but she was still asleep, thrashing around on the bed, tossing her blankets off.  He grabbed her shoulders and held her still until she calmed down, then covered her back up.

"Spike," she said more forcefully, "stop.  Get off of me.  Get off," she yelled.

He sat back down in the chair.  Was she dreaming about him hurting her, or the demon in his form?  Was she still afraid of him?  He didn't think she was.  He shook her lightly.

"Wake up, Willow, you're having a nightmare."

She opened her eyes, and, sunken though they were, they were startlingly bright in contrast to her pale skin.  Her eyes found his, and her face softened as she reached up to touch his forehead.  "I'm not disgusted by you, Spike."  Her hand dropped to the bed, and her eyes slid shut again.  She was asleep.

He raised his hand to his forehead, the spot she'd touched was where the ridges were when he vamped out.  He knew she wasn't disgusted by his demon visage, but why had she felt the need to reassure him of that in her semi-sleep induced mind?

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