Whispered Fire

E-mail: quwinntessas@attbi.com

Rating: NC-17   I'm not playing with this rating!  We're talking adult themes, and while the sex is soft porn at best, this is definitely for mature audiences only.  I don't care if you're under 18, just be aware that it'll deal with what it means to be a vampire with a living girl!

Pairing: Spike/Willow  (for now)

Disclaimer:  Joss Whedon owns Buffy: The Vampire Slayer, and all other characters from the show.  Characters not mentioned in the show are of my own design.  I am not making any money or drawing any financial benefit from the use of these characters.  Thanks for letting me borrow them!

Summery:  Set after Spike kidnaps Willow to do the spell for him back in season 3.  Willow loses the will to live after something horrible happens with Oz.  Spike finds her and is drawn by something within her.  Captivated by the human girl, Spike takes Willow away from Sunnydale, and Willow's true test of life finally begins.  But Willow is not the girl everyone thought she was, and her past is almost as dark as Spike's, together, can they help each other, or are they both destined to become dust?  Trust me, a story like this, has not be done before!

Author's Note:  Just a few little odds and ends, please feel confident that if you want this story to archive it, I'm going to say yes, but please ask first, I just like to know where it's going so I visit and offer it cookies through the bars.  Also, please review.  I know every author asks that, but while this is considered the best story I've ever written, I usually think it's the worst, which means that the more ego boosting I get, the happier I am about how a chapter turned out.  However, I'm going to keep writing it no matter how many reviews I get because I've got my best friend and my MOM breathing down my neck to get them the chapters ASAP, so no worries on that front, it'd just be nice to know if you guys liked something that I did.  You may notice some cannon ideas about Spike are being thrown out the window, for example, Angelus made him, not Dru, I don't know who thought that plot device up, but not in my fic!  Other things may catch your attention, feel free to let me know about them--in a nice way (see Note to Flamers below), I'd like to see if I made the mistake or if it was intentional, and I'll let you know as well.  Finally, enjoy the chapter titles, I think I spend more time on the titles than I do writing the story itself!  The story is rather dark, deviling into the human conscious, which makes the sometimes comical chapter titles extremely ironic.  I love them!  If you do to send comments and reviews, then please be sure to mention the title, or something you thought might have been better, I'm always open to title revisions.

Note to Flamers:  Just to let you people know in advance, if you're planning on flaming me because you don't like my characterization, you think their OCC, or your just pissed about something in general, don't bother.  Constructive criticism is one thing--usually accompanied by kindness and an FYI notice--flames are just people bitching at you.  Like I said, don't bother, I've got enough to deal with without having to yell back at you for being immature.  So follow the golden rule: If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.  We should get along just fine then.  *smiles*

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The park was cold, but Willow didn't notice; she was too busy trying to drain the last drops from the bottle of Tequila. She pouted when she realized there was no more and threw the bottle against the jungle-gym and watched it shatter into a million pieces and tinkle down to rest in the sand. She giggled uncontrollably, her breath coming in short little gasps.

She had been out here for nearly an hour, but since their last battle with the bad guys nothing major had happened so Willow wasn't really afraid for her life. Which made her giggles turn to sobs. <Why is it that whenever someone wants to see a vampire, there's never one around?!>

Finally her voice rose to meet the accusation in her mind. "Where are all the God damned Vampires!!!" Realizing what she was saying, her hands flew to her mouth to cover it. Then the giggles started all over again.

She was rolling on the ground uncontrollably when Spike came out to greet her. Willow was a disheveled mess. Grass stains covered her pastel clothing, her hair had come out of its swept back style, and her make-up ran in long trails that cascaded down her face. All in all she didn’t look too appetizing to him. "Pet, what the hell are you doing?"

At the sound of Spike's deeply accented and masculine voice, Willow stopped her laughing and stared directly at him. Finally, after what seemed like minutes Willow broke eye contact with the British vampire and looked down at the ground.

Spike was sure this was the little redhead's cue to begin to weep like her namesake, crying 'Please don't kill me Mr. Spike.' But she didn't.

Instead, Willow picked herself up off the ground and approached the unmoving vampire. Her eyes became tangled in his as he watched her move towards him with a slow and slightly staggering--and yet determined--walk. When she was standing right in front of him, she closed her bright green eyes and drew a deep breath. Then she exhaled her wrath.

"Do you want to know what happened tonight?" She paused and waited for his answer. Spike for his part was slightly taken aback. Here was the Slayer’s little girly friend, the mousy one that liked computers more than real people. He had always thought she was insignificant, until he had needed her to do a spell for him. Spike didn't remember much of that night, so many months ago, but he did remember the way her cheeks had flushed and yet paled at the same time when he had threatened to kill her and her boyfriend the mega idiot. She had been so beautiful in that moment, that he had actually considered taking her right there and then; but she had been resourceful, bringing his mind back to the spell at hand and he had forgotten her under-defined beauty.

But she was still supposed to be the good, quiet one. So how come she was outside after midnight, on a school night, in the middle of the park, drinking some heavy booze, and screaming at the top of her lungs for vampires. Not to mention she had just walked up to her mortal enemy and wanted to hold a tea time conversation with him. Needless to say, Spike was slightly intrigue. <Why the bloody hell not? She's going to be the main course tonight anyway, so why not cater to her now? Besides, I want to know what turned the mouse into the cat. > "Alright, Ducks, I bite, what happened tonight?"

Willow tilted her head just so, exposing her long and graceful neck to Spike's dark eyes. He licked his lips involuntarily. Then she smiled at him and he was too stunned by her seemingly lack of common sense to make heads or tails of her. When she spoke, it was like she was reliving the entire thing over again, only this time taking him with her.

"We decided to go Bronzing tonight. Buffy thought it would do me some good, since I haven't been doing well lately. When we got there at eight, it was packed; what else is there to do on a school night after all? So we waded through the crowds of sweaty people and sat at our usually table.

"I picked the table a long time ago, when Jesse was still alive. I told him that there was no way I was going sit at the table next to the speakers for the next four years." She paused then and looked up at Spike, seeming to consider something, "Did you know Jesse?"

It was an innocent question, but Spike had no idea where it came from. Before he could say anything, she was shaking her head. "No I guess not, he was vamped before you even showed up. He was a great guy. He would never have let Oz treat me the way he did tonight; not ever!" The venom in her voice was so unlike the petite Slayerette, that Spike was once again startled. <Damn, I can't believe after two hundred years of living, this little red head has managed to startle me more than anyone else. I must be losing my edge. >

But Willow was continuing. "I know I started it." She cast her eyes away from him and looked down at the ground again. Her voice became a tiny whisper. "I kissed Xander and that started this whole thing. I know I messed things up for me and Oz, but I really wanted to make things right. I really wanted to get him to forgive me. I mean I tried everything; and I do mean everything!" Her face suddenly flooded with color which Spike--with his predator night-vision--could easily see. "But it didn't work.

"I knew his band was playing tonight. So I watched him all night from the table. I watched as he moved his lips silently to the words Devon was singing so as to keep up. I was so excited when the band took a break. I picked up my jacket, told Buffy I wasn’t feeling good so I was going to catch a cab home, and headed for the bathroom to get all prettied up for Oz. I was only in the bathroom for a few minutes. Then I slipped through the crowd and made for the backstage area. I knew where everything was from when Oz had let be go back with him…when we were still together.

"But when I got back there I wanted to surprise him, you know, get him excited to see me so maybe we could do more than the usual 'Hi Oz!', 'Willow I need space,' thing. So I threw open the door to the band set up area and there he was like always, sitting on one of the old speakers that the Bronze keeps back there as chairs. Only this time, he wasn't alone like usual. No this time he had that--that blond bimbo on his lap! And do you know what they were doing?" Spike shook his head, but he already knew the answer; he had be a teenage boy once after all. "They were playing Smoochies!"

A little sob escaped Willow’s lips at the sound of the now hated word. She brought her hands up and covered her face as she sobbed quietly into her palms. Spike was still so amazed that she wasn't running away from him in fear that he still hadn't done a thing. The sobs violently and yet silently wracked her body, causing her to tremble uncontrollably.

Cocking an eyebrow at the red head in confusion, he watched without moving as her knees gave out and her body descended to the waiting ground. With her on the ground and not in any position to get away, Spike took a second to look around the area where he was standing. It was then that sudden realization dawned on him as to why this little mousy red head had no fear when she looked into his eyes. Three shattered bottles lay at the bottom of a twisted metal climbing device. From the labels he could tell two were vodka, and one was tequila. He silently wondered how this little girl—obviously underage—had gotten the bottles. But he never had the chance to ask the question, the red head was standing up.

Willow teetered on the edge of standing fully erect or falling completely over, but she somehow managed to correct herself. Black lines flowed down her face, reminding Spike of the sad clowns at the carnival he'd seen in his youth. She looked suddenly so strange, with her dark eye make-up smudging her eyes into an almost gothic style. Spike was beginning to like the change in this little firecracker.

Her mouth opened to say something and then abruptly shut as if someone had smacked her in the face. Eyes really seeing him for the first time, she looked like she was about to scream. <Here we go. I bloody well knew we were going to get to this part sooner or later. > But he was disappointed. Instead of screaming, Willow began to giggle. And then her giggling turned into full-fledged laughter, until she was holding her sides and gasping. Spike was expecting her to start rolling on the ground again, like when he'd first sighted her this evening.

Then just as suddenly as it had begun, Willow stopped laughing, wiped the tears from her eyes and regarded him quizzically.

Shifting slightly under the red head’s gaze, Spike seemed almost nervous. Suddenly, Willow reached up and touched his nose. That thrust Spike out of his shyness real fast. "Just what the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" He had no idea whether this girl was going to laugh herself to death or startle him to a second one. He was also beginning to wonder why he hadn't killed her yet. He didn't have an answer.

Willow had withdrawn her hand nearly the moment she had touched his face and now she seemed to be struggling to answer his question. A question with a question. "Why haven't you killed me yet?"

Spike wasn't sure if she had read his mind or just had a death wish tonight. "Do you want me to kill you?"

He'd expected her to shake her head 'No' and to back away from him. But instead she looked right into his eyes once more and said in a loud voice. "Why the hell do you think I've been waiting out here all night!?"

Once again Spike was dumbfounded. Was this girl really asking to die? "Wait, let me get this straight, Pet. You've been waiting for me to get here so I could kill you? What the bloody hell did this Oz guy do to you?" He didn't know why he asked the last question, it wasn't like he cared, but he did expect an answer. He got it.

Willow stepped back and threw her arms out from her sides into a cross fashion and began to spin. She suddenly reminded Spike of one of the first nights he and Dru had gone hunting. Dru had wailed like a banshee after the kill and had spun in fast, tight circles until he'd caught her around the waist and brought her into his embrace.

But the girl in front of him was human, not an insane monster, and Spike was beginning to wonder, whether or not he should just kill her to end her misery or go after her ex-boyfriend. The sound of Willow screaming at the top of her lungs brought his senses back to reality.

"HE HURT ME!!! HE HURT ME!!! HE HURT ME!!! HE HURT ME!!! HE HUR--" He didn't know why he'd done it, but the moment he realized what the tiny girl was screaming he had grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into his arms and against his chest.

He felt her wrap her arms around him to clasp together behind his back. Her head rested against his chest and he could feel her warm breath touch his cold and long dead skin. Suddenly, her knees gave out and he was supporting her, holding her like he'd never done with a human he wasn't feeding from.

She didn't utter a sound for the longest time and Spike was beginning to wonder what had happened to the little firecracker who had been so intent on bring the wrath of the Slayer down on his head. When she finally spoke however, it was a whisper, which even his sensitive ears had to lean in to hear. "When I'm dead, please don't leave my body in my house like Angel did to Giles. I couldn't bare it if my parents had to find me."

Maybe it was her voice, or maybe the fact that the moonlight overhead was striking her hair just so, but Spike lifted her chin with is long, slim fingers and brought her eyes to look for a long moment into his. "I promise, Pet."

She nodded once and then allowed the vampire to tip her head slightly to the left. Then she closed her eyes and waited.

Bringing his human face down to her beautiful neck, Spike laid light kisses around the area before his face changed and he sunk his dagger like teeth into her jugular.

Willow moaned under the feel of her life slowly slipping away from her body and opened her eyes to look up at the moon. Suddenly, there was one more thing she had to do. Drawing in a shaky breath, she let it out in a whisper of death. "Thank you, Spike." And then silently, she let her world fall black with death.

The deep room swayed with the firelight of a hundred candles. Willow’s eyes watched the shadows crawl towards her and then recede. It was like watching a living thing move with ethereal beauty. Slowly, she lifted her head and looked at the whole of her surroundings.

She was lain out on a large four poster bed, which supported a black comforter and blood red satin sheets neatly contrasting over the lip. Farther away from the comfortable bed was a large bay window with a window seat that was currently littered with a dozen or so glowing candles of different colors and shapes. The moonless night sky allowed the glass to reflect all the light from the warm glow back into the room like a mirror.

Staring into the mirror-like window allowed Willow to examine her space without turning her head. Behind her she saw the tops of high backed chairs arranged around a fireplace frozen in time from a century long forgotten. A beautifully decorated door looked small in its reflection, and Willow reasoned that this room was quite large indeed.

Pulling away from the looking-glass, Willow's eyes turned to the walls which were covered in shadow and mystery. Every wall she looked to was covered in antiques she couldn't place. As her eyes swayed around the walls next to the window, her eyes came to rest upon the nightstand, which stood beside the bed. It was then that Willow realized just how high up the bed was off the floor. A good four feet below her rested her shoes and socks. Glancing up to her feet, she saw that indeed her feet were bare. She wiggled her toes for good measure and then turned around to examine the other side of the bed and bedroom. What she saw forced her to draw in a deep breath.

Standing regally next to the fireplace was Spike. He stood staring at her as intently as she was staring at him. Slowly, Willow realized he was not wearing the same trademark red shirt, but instead was draped beautifully in form fitting black leather pants and a white gothic looking poet shirt that was half open, exposing his upper chest.

The silence between them stretched on as both continued to stare at the other. Around them the living light swayed like the sea, lulling the two first closer together and then farther apart.

She didn't want to speak, but the absolute need of knowledge that was so Willow compelled her to break the standoff. "Am I dead?"

A slow and soft smile crept over the vampire’s pale face as he regarded her, then suddenly it came crashing in on its self. "If I said you weren't, would you be disappointed?"

Spike watched her closely as her eyes found her hands and she began to fidget. He couldn't understand her.

In the park, when she had told him she wanted to die, he had thought it was the liquor and circumstance talking. When he'd sunk his fangs into her delicately scented neck he'd been ready to do as she asked. But the first taste of her blood had immediately ended that thought.

Her blood had been rich, thick with a sweet innocence to it. There was no other way to describe it really. He'd wanted more, but he also wanted more for later too. He'd decided in the time of a thought that he'd drain her to unconsciousness and take her back to the factory. At least that was the plan until the girl had spoken. "Thank you, Spike." In reality it meant nothing, but Spike had been alone since Drusilla left him months earlier, and her whispered words of thanks had sealed both of their fates.

Stepping away from the fireplace, Spike made his way to the bed where Willow still sat examining her hands. When he reached her side he placed a single cool finger under her chin and tilted her eyes up to meet his. His words were soft, but also demanding. "I believe I asked you a question, Red."

Willow couldn't help it, his eyes demanded too much of her. "Yes, I am disappointed." Swiftly then, Willow rolled her head to the side to escape his stone cold fingertips. Eyes once again cast down she waited for him to laugh, to promise her that he had only brought her here to prolong her suffering. This was after all Spike, and Willow understood that these were her final moments.

But Spike wasn't interested in the kill at the moment; he was too busy examining her answer. <Why the bloody hell would she want to die so badly?! Sure she's the weak one, but this is ridiculous! Maybe she thinks I’m going to kill her and she's putting on a bloody show of indifference. That must be it. But still, her heart rate hasn't increased in the slightest; she's not afraid of me…well I'll be damned, the mousy little Slayerette does want to die.>

Moving his hand faster than human sight could comprehend, he captured Willow's face again and forced her to look at him once more. In her eyes he saw nothing. Her eyes were already dead; she was only waiting for the rest of her body to follow.

A sudden ache filled him and he swiftly removed his hand from her face and stepped away from the bed where a stunned Willow still sat unmoved from when he'd first walked over.

Spike returned to his perch by the fireplace.

Willow watched Spike as he seemed to stare off into a completely different world. She wasn't sure what she was suppose to make of him, but for some strange reason she didn't feel threatened by him—and that made her angry.

She had gotten drunk, in the middle of the night, in the middle of the park--which was major vampire hunting grounds--and then screamed at the top of her lungs for a vampire to come and kill her. And then when the most deadly of the bunch showed up, he didn't even kill her. What did she have to do, spell it out for him? Stupid vampire!

"Look Spike," at her voice, he turned his attention to look at her. "I realize this is a new concept to you, but I want to die; and you really do want to kill me. So why don't we get this stupid torture thing over with and you just gorge yourself on my oh so sweet blood. Or whatever you want to call it. Okay?"

One blink, then another. Willow watched in amazement as the vampire who had threatened to kill her and her friends numerous times just stood there staring at a free meal. He didn't even seem interested in her, like in reality she wasn't really there.

His next words proved her right. "Do you know how long you've been out? Or even where you are? Don't you think those would be some good questions to be asking yourself?"

Questions with questions. "Look Spike I don't really care where I am, or how long I've been here, or even why I’m here! Why is this so hard for you to understand? There are lots of people who want to die everyday. Why is this such a brain teaser that I'm one of them?"

"Because Pet, I've known you for a pretty long while and you never seemed the type. Sure you weren't the strongest of the bunch, but you weren't a quitter either. So I'm wondering, what made you change your mind, that’s all."

He'd struck a nerve, the moment he'd mentioned her friends, her head had shot down to watch her hands again. He called her on it. "This have something to do with those friends of yours?" No response. "Or that bloody Slayer?" That had done it.

At the mention of the Slayer, Willow's shoulders had tensed up and her whole body seemed to shake with uncontrolled emotions. Spike was about to press the obvious answer to his question, when she surprised him with a question of her own.

"How long have I been here?"

"Four days."

Willow's head flew up and she stared at the vampire less than twenty feet away from her. "Four days? But that's impossible! You bit me just last night. And even if it had been four days, Buffy would have come looking for me. There's no way you could keep me in Sunnydale for four days without Buffy finding me."

"That’s 'cause we aren't in Sunnydale any longer."

A flash of light, a hint of terror crossed the girl’s face. Suddenly she realized she didn't know where she was, how she had gotten there, or how to get home.

But fear doesn't last long in a body that's determined to end its own suffering, and Willow only cleared her throat and asked pointedly. "Then where are we?"

"Somewhere the bloody Slayer can't find you." It wasn't an answer really, but the girl on the bed didn't protest for a more detailed one.

Walking once more to the bed, Spike regarded Willow, who in return was regarding him. The next thing he did startled both of them; Spike sat down on the bed next to Willow and took her hand.

For Willow, his words echoed long after he had left her room, locking the door behind him; and long after she had blown out all of the candles. "You're here because I want you here. And you'll stay here until I let you go, or kill you which ever I choose. You want to die so badly Red, let’s see how you fair with just a little bit of death at a time."

But a little isn't enough, for a woman who’s met her match in life. Staring into the single remaining lit candle, Willow Rosenburg drifted off into an uneasy sleep, filled with dancing vampires and living flames.

<Another night.> Willow thought as she lit the many candles that had become her only source of light. Shortly after Spike left, Willow had fallen into a deep dream filled sleep. When she’d awoken, the sun had been high in the sky. Because of the position of the window she realized she had a million-dollar view; one that faced out over the great expanse of the ocean. Which ocean, she wasn’t quite sure, she didn’t know what time of day it had been either. Spike had said that she’d been out for four days. That was plenty of time for a vampire with his resources to get one girl to the other side of the country—or even beyond. His remark about them being somewhere the Slayer couldn’t find them, made the possibilities of their location innumerable. She tried not to think about it.

Moving from the last candle she crossed the large room and sat down on the floor before the fire. Pressing her back to the front of the chair so that her head tipped back to the cushion of the sitting portion, Willow examined the ceiling for a few moments, watching the light from the fire and the fifty or so candles play across the texture revealing hidden pictures.

Reaching up her hand to the dark marble table beside her, Willow brought the loaf of bread down to her level and tore off a hunk and stuck it into her mouth.

When she’d awoken for the first time during the day, she’d found a tray of food sitting on the black table; a loaf of French bead, a small hunk of cheese, and a bottle of water. The food had sickened her at first, but she’d been thankful for the water.

After getting up this second time, she’d found a small door she’d taken at first to be a closet, was really the door to a private wash room. She’d taken a few of the candles into the room and had a long warm bath to try to clear her head. When she’d finished, she dressed in her old clothes and lit the rest of the candles.

Now as she sat in front of the blazing fire all she could do was wait for her host to return to her. Normally—if she were in her right mind—Willow would have been terrified at being trapped in a room with Spike, the Master of Sunnydale, and the one vampire who had kidnapped her and promised her death. But she wasn’t in her right mind. All she could see was Oz and…it didn’t matter. Death was a welcomed friend now, and Spike was the death man’s chaffer.

She felt rather than heard his approach to her cell. The feeling of a dog who’s master has beaten him one to many times and now sits and waits for the next blow without emotion, came immediately to her mind; she ignored it. Willow sat where she was, head tipped back chewing quietly on a bite of bread and cheese, as the door opened and closed again.

Spike for his part was trying to look past the obviousness of her prone position. Head thrown back bearing her neck to the waiting vampire, the girl looked like a child sacrifice to a great dragon in this room lit only by firelight. He knew what she was trying to do, offer herself quietly, letting him know that she wasn’t going to put up a struggle. But for all that he understood what she was doing, her head thrown back like this, neck bared, firelight reflecting off her long red hair, it was one of the most erotic pictures he had ever been witness too. In that moment she was a thousand times more beautiful than Drusilla had ever been. And that one revelation was what was causing him to stay were he was, by the closed door, watching this red haired temptress with no desire to live, throw herself to the waiting jaws of the dragon.

He was trapped and he knew it. So like any great vampire, he played it off. "I didn’t think you’d still be tired, Red. Want some more time to sleep?" His smile was forced; he could feel the strain pull his muscles tight as he waited for her answer.

Willow turned her head, exposing the left side of her neck to Spikes hungry eyes. He couldn’t help it, he licked his lips. Smiling a knowing smile, Willow looked enticingly at her keeper. "Only if it’s the permanent kind. Think you could help me?"

<Damn it, she’s doing it again! What the hell is wrong with her?> "Damn it Red, what in the hell’s wrong with you?! You’re the only person I know who actually wants to die!"

For a fraction of a second, Willow’s eyes grew wide with fear. Then like a cloud over the moon, she was indifferent again. Spike couldn’t take it anymore. He was angry at himself for even caring what the little chit was feeling. <It’s not as if I’m souled or something equally as vampire stupefying. Her defiance is just grating the hell out of me!>

After he’d left her room the night before, he’d gone to the kitchen to bring her up something to eat. He wasn’t sure why he was doing what he was doing. To keep himself sane, he just chalked it up to all those years of taking care of Dru. But for some unknown reason, he knew that wasn’t the real reason. He tried not to think about it.

Once he’d gotten back up to the room with the food, he’d found that she’d fallen asleep. After laying the food on the table, Spike had walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed and watched the fallen red head sleep. In sleep, she looked almost happy, innocent like she didn’t when she was awake and her eyes haunted with a strange stillness.

That day he’d dreamed of her eyes haunting him from one corner of the house to the other, calling out to him to save her. He wasn’t sure why, but even in his dreams, he’d followed the sound of her voice as it permeated the seaside mansion, trying to find this lost child. For that is what he saw now as he looked at her prone form, just as he’d seen it in his dreams, a child. A child so utterly lost that it caused a two-hundred-year-old killer to feel compassion towards her.

In the end, he hadn’t found her, instead his dream self had taken him to the small door that let into her private bathroom, before it had stopped and he’d awoken to gasping breaths.

After the dream, sleep seemed pointless and he’d gone to check on her. He’d heard her moving around her bedroom, but a cold chill had passed over him as he’d heard her turn the water on for a bath. Thinking back to his dream, Spike had remained in the hallway outside her bedroom door, until he’d heard her again moving around her room after her bath. Only then, when he’d known that the bathroom door was shut tight, did he return to his quarters—just down the hall—and awaited the night.

Now as he stood in the doorway to her elegant room, he couldn’t help but glance away from the prone body of his suicidal captive to the flush wood door that moved into the adjoining washroom. Again the chill passed over him.

Willow’s eyes tracked the sudden movement of Spike as he rushed upon the bathroom door and went inside. Getting up from her position by the fire, Willow moved to follow the vampire into the room. Chilled from the loss of the fire’s heat, she shivered as she came into contact with the tiled floor.

The room was pitch black, the only light coming through the doorway she was herself currently blocking with her body; so she didn’t see Spike withdraw from the room. The contact was light, just the material of his Poet shirt brushing against her unclothed arm, but it was enough. A small shriek escaped her lips as she backed way from the vampire she could not see. Stumbling over the edge of the carpeting that heralded the main room, Willow braced herself for the fall she was in no capacity to prevent.

Suddenly, strong cool arms wrapped themselves around her waist and shoulders, catching her in mid-decent. In the blink of an eye, Willow found herself flush against the hard body of her savior.

The next thing that happened startled both her and Spike, but as he shifted his hold on her just slightly, Willow released the tension in her muscles and leaned into him.

He could feel the muscles shift under his hands and as the tension eased from her body he took more of her weight onto himself and cradled her in the protection of his arms. Using his heightened sense of smell he took in the delicate scent of her hair—the smell of a flower he couldn’t place wafted back at him and he basked in the sense of warmth that was this fragile girl. Bringing his hand up from her shoulder, he began to lightly pet her hair and whisper soothingly to her that he was sorry for scaring her.

For her part, Willow was in a place she thought was out of limits for her. Here in this monster’s arms, she’d found something she so desperately needed but could not name. At his soft words and light hands, she found herself snuggling into him and reveling in the solid expanse of his chest.

For a minute she forgot, as his hands worked wonders on her senses, that she was a prisoner. She forgot what she was trying to hide in the bathroom. But as she felt his hand about her waist tighten, felt the sharp edge of metal against her skin, she tensed immediately and look up into his face.

Spike wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he knew the feeling he and Willow were creating was one that he could never remember feeling with is cold dark goddess. She was like warm inviting sand, she molded into the impressions his muscles created and filled him with a heat he thought he’d forgotten to time and the nights his demon lived in. But now she tensed and suddenly realizing that he now knew what had been in the washroom; and it was time he confronted her. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to her.

Pulling away from her slightly, but still keeping his arms about her, he looked into her eyes and saw the question there.

"You know exactly what I found, don’t you, Willow?"

She couldn’t remember him ever using her real name, so she was startled into answering his question. "Yes."

Nodding his head, Spike moved the hand he had about her waist up into view of both of them. Shifting his other arm from around her shoulders to around her waist he kept her in his tight embrace where though she was still tensed, she had not made to move away.

In the light of the candles, the gleam of fire off metal caused the tiny razor blade to sparkle. Spike held it between two fingers now and due to his vampire enhanced senses, he could not only see, but also smell the blood on the razor.

While in the blackened bathroom, Spike had instantly known why he’d been drawn to the room. The smell of innocent blood permeated the walls around him, threatening to overwhelm him. He’d caught the glint of the razor blade just before Willow had walked into the room. It was the scent that rolled off of her that caused him to step back and nearly collide into her. In the moments after catching her, he’d been distracted by…her. Too distracted to notice the smell of blood. Just a little, the type of blood letting that accompanies testing a knife for sharpness against a thumb.

Now as Spike took a full step away from her, he could smell her essence more fully and it threatened again to overwhelm him. Kneeling down before her, like a man to pray before a goddess, he slipped his hands under the bottom of her long T-shirt and meant to pull it up a little before her hands flew to his and stopped the progress of both the T-shirt and his hands.

Willow knew it was over, but she didn’t want him to see the evidence that would incriminate her. Her eyes met his in a silent plea to stop, but a slight shake of Spike’s head ‘No’ caused her to drop her hands and wait for what was about to come.

The minute her hands left his, Spike stood and in a move he would later wonder about, lifted her into his arms and carried the unstrugling girl to the bed and laid her out on her back. With her arms slightly away from her body, he looked into her face and asked. "How bad is it, Luv?"

She couldn’t look at him. Turning her head to the side, she stared into the fire as Spike’s adept fingers lifted her shirt and exposed the flesh of her toned stomach. She heard him draw in a quick breath and wondered for a split second that she had made him draw oxygen. Then at the sound of her name on his lips, she turned her attention back to him.

She didn’t understand the look on his face. He was a killer after all, but just then the look on his face said otherwise. The look read across the spectrum. There was anger, pity, and for just a second a look of real worry. It was the worry that caught her attention and she suddenly felt a need to reassure him. "It’s not that bad really, I’m ok, it doesn’t hurt."

"Doesn’t hurt! You carved yourself up like a Jack-o-Lantern from hell! Don’t tell me this doesn’t hurt!" He punctuated his remark by poking a finger at one of the diagonal lines that ran across her stomach in a criss-cross pattern that created diamonds all over her stomach. His finger touched the skin that curled under itself and away from the cut. At the contact, Willow flinched but didn’t cry out. Instead, she squeezed her eyes shut tight and waited for the waves of pain to cease washing over her stomach.

Spike saw her expression and pulled his hand back. Looking over her entire frame he noticed the cuts seemed without pattern and were semi deep in some places, light welts in others. It looked to him like the type of cuts he’d inflicted on hundreds of his victims over the years; cuts designed not to kill, but to cause vast amounts of pain.

"Why?" He didn’t know what else to say to her.

She was quiet for a moment, while she let the question wash over her like the pain. Then opening her eyes she looked at him and gave a halfhearted grin. "I guess," the grin faded away. "It didn’t hurt when I did it."

"You were in the bathtub at the time." It wasn’t a question, but Willow nodded her confirmation anyway. Again the same question. "Why?"

She shrugged her shoulders, which caused the skin of her stomach to stretch and she grimaced slightly. "It made me feel better, I guess."

So simple really, the truth, where so many other lies could have been uttered, she’d spoken the absolute and total truth. He watched her face as the obvious pain from her torn skin showed on it like a book; but along with the pain he saw a determination, one that spoke volumes to a vampire as old and accomplished in the ways of torture as he was. Done. It was the look of a person who had finally conceded to death and was only waiting for the final blow. And it was then that Spike realized he couldn’t bear to see that look on this little girl’s face. For he’d decided just that, she was nothing but a little, lost girl, and she’d found a spot in his heart he’d thought long dead. Maybe it was because she seemed so much like his insane goddess, but he reasoned it was something completely different, something he couldn’t figure out right now because he had other things that had to be done first.

Rising from the bed, Spike went to the bathroom. Returning a few moments later he carried a towel and a basin filled with luke warm water. Placing the basin on the nightstand he proceeded to clean the wounds as delicately as possible. At her grimacing face, he began to speak to her in a low tone that seemed to draw Willow out of the pain that threatened to encompass her.

With determination, she listened to what he said and found a strange sense of comfort from the words he spoke. "The cuts should heal, but some of the deeper ones, may scare, I’m not quite sure at this point. Don’t worry about it though, Ducks, you’ll be fine. I’m not going to let anything hurt you again…shhhh, shhhh, I know, I know…I’m almost done pet. You don’t have to do this ever again. I know it hurts now, Luv, but I promise I’ll make it better…I’ll make it all better. Shhh…almost done. Do you like blackberries? How about raspberries? There’s a path along the shore that has a few bushes, I’m not sure which kind of berry grows on it, but as soon as you’re up to it we’ll go take a look, sound good? I’m sorry, Willow, this one’s deep, it’ll be over in just a sec Luv, promise…there, better? The berries should be ripe now, at least I’m pretty sure they will be, it’s been a while since I’ve eaten any, but you can tell me if they are or not later. How’s that sound?"

Lifting her hand from her side, Willow touched his wrist, causing Spike to stop and stare at first their joined hands and then her face. A roguish smile stole over his handsome face. "Don’t tell me, you hate berries, right?"

A shy smile stole over her face then. "No I like berries, it’s just I won’t be able to have any."

"Why’s that, Luv?"

"Because the first chance I have, I’m going to try to finish this." She moved her hand across her torso indicating the open cuts. Spike knew she didn’t mean finish the messy pattern, but the wish she had to kiss death goodnight.

Smiling down at her, the emotion touched his eyes, and caused them to crinkle. "We’ll pick those berries, Willow. And once you’ve tasted them, you can tell me if they’re ripe or not." Pausing he examine her face and saw the hint of her recognition of his power over her. Moving his hand to her face he caressed it for a moment before he caught her eyes again. "I’m not going to let you go, Red. I think it’s safe to say you’ve bewitched me; and while I don’t quite know what I’m doing right now, I’ll figure it out in time. Until then, you just worry about not moving too much until these wounds heal. I think when it doesn’t hurt you to stand anymore I’ll show you the rest of your home. It doesn’t seem right to keep you locked-up here in this room all day, now does it?"

He saw the desperation flash into her eyes and his heart lurched at it. "Please Spike, I just want to go, ok? Please understand, I just want this to be over with. Please…please."

Placing a cool finger over her lips, he hushed her and gave her a quick smile. "I don’t know what hurt you, Red, but eventually, when you’re ready, you’ll tell me. Until then, just know that nothing is going to hurt you ever again."

"Spike I don’t want this, I just want to-"

"Shhhh, Luv, get some rest."

With that, he rose from the bed and took the basin tinged pink into the washroom. When he came out he gave her another smile and moved towards the door.

"I’m not really sure about this thing I feel for you, Pet, but I’m not ready to ignore it yet. It seems ri…I’m not sure, but I’m going to find out. I knew a girl once, when I was still alive, who’s father used to beat her something awful. She used to take her father’s razor to the bruises he’d made and carve smiley faces into her body. She once told me that it made her feel better knowing she was the one causing the pain and not her father. That and I saw an info-mercial on it once. Whoever hurt you, will pay, I promise you that. Until then, you don’t have to worry about causing yourself anymore pain to cover up the old ones," another soft smile. "No more pain to for you my Red Queen, I won’t stand for it."

With that he left the room. As the lock sounded in the door, Willow looked to the ceiling and pondered over his words. When she fell asleep hours later, she still didn’t understand any more than the fact that Spike wouldn’t hurt her. She didn’t know if that thought made her want to laugh or cry.

For three days and two nights, Spike entered Willow’s room at sunset carrying food and medicine. Tonight he’d taken the tray over and placed it on her nightstand then moved around the room lighting candles all over. When he finished, he sat on the edge of her bed.

"Morning, Willow."

"It’s night." This particular game always caused the straight line of her mouth to twitch up in the corners—just a little.

"So it is, so it is. How’re the battle scares?" Spike had told Willow that all wounds should be viewed as battle scares; there was at least some honor in those.

"Fine. They don’t hurt when I move anymore."

"Good to hear, Luv. Need some help with that pesky shirt today?"

"No thank you, I’ll be fine."

Spike excepted her answer and stood. Pulling back the covers, he lifted Willow’s slight frame into his arms and carried her into the bathroom. Standing her up by the sink, Spike turned on the water and handed her, her toothbrush—which he’d brought for her before she’d awaken when she’d first arrived. Leaving her to her brushing, Spike moved to the bathtub and—setting the temperature just right—let it begin to fill.

On his way out the door he turned around and looked at the slight woman…girl…child, he didn’t know which. In one of his black poet shirts she was completely swamped, the cuffs, falling far past her fingers so she had to keep pushing them up as she brushed her teeth. The shirt told the whole truth though as it fell to her knees and wrapped around her too thin legs. She was so tiny. He’d have to remember to get her to eat a little more.

Moving his eyes back up her body, he noticed that she held her torso away from the edge of the counter so as not to rub her injured flesh against it. He could almost sense her pain in the way she held her body so straight. Since the incident, neither one had discussed the markings, though she had let him know in little ways that she wouldn’t do it again; including slipping a piece of broken glass she’d found into his pocket. She hadn’t said a thing as she’d done it, only briefly making eye contact with him. He was fairly certain she wouldn’t try to hurt herself again; it hadn’t worked and she knew it, she wasn’t one to repeat a botched attempt. Unlike some, she learned from her mistakes. This realization only made Spike more worried about her continued wish to die. However he had some hope. Over the last few days she’d been very quiet on the subject and he thought that just maybe she was reconsidering it.

Glancing at the bath he knew would ease the ache in her body, he opened the door. "If you decide you need some help, will you call for me?"

He watcher her eyes try to find his invisible one in the mirror by tracking his voice. Spike was amazed when her eyes locked on his as if she’d suddenly seen them in the looking glass. "I will."

It was all she said but Spike knew it to be enough. If she needed help she’d ask for it, she’d said so, and that was good enough for him. Shutting the door so only a sliver of light from the candles he’d lit escaped from inside, he left her eyes which still seemed to track his movements.

Moving over to the fireplace, Spike removed the old fashioned grating and began to put more wood on the fire. Everyday at noon he’d get out of bed to check on Willow. At first he’d told himself it was because the house could get cold easily so he’d gone in to stoke the fire. Then he said it was to make sure she hadn’t tried anything stupid—only in reality he knew that she wouldn’t. Right now she was weak, that was true, but not weak enough to try to end her life. After all, she could have done it herself in Sunnydale but instead had asked a Master Vampire. No, in the end he realized it wasn’t for either of those reasons, it was because of the way she slept.

In sleep alone she abandoned her death wish and it was then and only then he witnessed just how hurt and damaged she truly was. Face marred by stress and betrayal she would call out to the wolf, her parents, or the idiot. He didn’t know why yet but every night he watched her and waited for the phrase that would make all of her pain known to him. That very day she’d cried in her sleep for nearly half an hour, trapped in a nightmare none of her "friends and family" could save her from. In the end it was he who’d shaken her gently and soothed her nightmare away with calming sounds and quiet words.

Putting the grate back over the fire, Spike moved to the bed and straightened her sheets. The last two days Willow had been in too much pain to really move. He’d had to change the bandages around her stomach, but what he’d thought was going to be a hard thing to convince her of turned out to be quite simple.

When he’d explained what he was going to do Willow had just looked at him for a moment—a strange look he hadn’t understood then and still didn’t—then began to unbutton the poet shirt she was wearing. She didn’t react as the deep burgundy silk fell from her shoulders and revealed her pale yet perfect breasts. The only indication Spike had that she realized what she was doing was the slight blush that spread slowly from her cheeks, down her neck, and finally added a touch of rose color to her bosom. He’d been grateful she’d reacted, it meant she still cared who was looking at her body—it meant she hadn’t completely given up.

The relief culminated with the glorious sight of this seemingly beautiful virgin sacrifice, had left him unable to restrain himself. The word was out of his mouth before he even registered he’d said it. "Perfect."

Suddenly her eyes had shot from the patterns she was tracing on the comforter. Taking his hostage while she’d looked directly into what was left of his soul. She seemed to test his word, weighing her impressions of him and what he’d just whispered. Finally after a personal eternity she released his eyes and whispered back. "Thank you."

Now as he stopped to think about it, she had thanked him again. He’d taken her prisoner and yet there she had been only the night before, thanking him. He’d wanted to uncover the rest of her that night but instead had bandaged her red wounds and given her some painkillers. She’d fallen asleep soon after.

"Spike?"

Her soft call cut through his thoughts and brought him back to the present. Faster than human eyes could see he was across the room and at the door. "You called, Luv." A statement, but he wasn’t going to ask her if she needed his help; she’d have to request that on her own. The fact that she understood he was there for her was what mattered.

Knowing he was at the door, she spoke softly. "I can’t…I can’t bend over…it hurts too much."

"Did you re-open the cuts?"

"Just two, the deep ones…" She was waiting for him he knew, but he held his ground. She had to admit to herself that she needed his help, it was the only way she’d know it for herself. "Spike…"

"Right here, Luv." He hated this! Hated having to make her feel weaker than she was, but she had to realized she needed him; realized she had to trust him to get better.

"Will…will you please…I mean…help me?" Her voice was so small so afraid that he’d reject her, tell her to do it herself.

Pushing the door open slowly he saw her curtain of bright red hair shielding her face from her embarrassment, because now he understood why she’d needed his help. The towel he’d left on the warming rack for her had dropped from her body and lay in a puddle of wet cloth at her feet. Clutched in her tiny fist was her pair of black satin and lace knickers. She stood before him, naked and wet, her skin a glow from the heat of the water she’d just emerged from.

He felt his body stir at the sight of this beautiful wet fire sprite, but ignored it and went to her aid. She had to realize he wouldn’t hurt her, that she could trust him, and that her needs came first to him.

Kneeling before her, he placed gentle hands on her hips as his surprising posture startled her. "Stay." Picking up the towel from the ground he dabbed at the small amount of blood that had formed on the re-opened cuts. Her blood smelled of her innocents—it had to be removed first.

Taking one hand from her hip, he reached for the bit of fabric and lace and removed it from her grip. Sitting back on his knees he unfolded them and held the beautiful material open for her to step into. "Put your hands on my shoulders Red, then left leg first."

Doing what she was told he glided the material over her calves, up the incline of her thighs, and over the perfect curve of her hips. Glancing up he caught the look she was giving him before he smiled and said. "Perfect."

A deep blush immediately spread over her face but she did not look away, instead she replied, "Thank you," and made to step away. But Spike was faster. He had both hands on her hips once again holding her still before he hooked one arm under her knees and lifted her into his arms; her small uncovered breasts still damp from her bath, molded against his chest wetting his white shirt.

Not making a sound, she wound her arms around his neck and allowed him to carry her into the bedroom. Placing her on her feet beside the bed he moved to the closet and pulled out a green silk shirt he’d placed in there a few days before.

Draping it across the bed he spoke to her. "Rest the palms of your hands behind you on the bed."

She complied and Spike took the jar of salve and applied the medicine over her stomach liberally. Once he was satisfied he got a roll of gauze from the tray he’d brought in and wrapped her stomach loosely.

When he finished, he took his green shirt from the bed and after undoing all the buttons, helped her slip her arms into it. Ignoring the peeks of her nipples against the fabric, Spike secured the buttons and lifted her to lie on the bed.

"Thank you, Spike."

"Anytime, Willow, anytime."

Taking the top off the soup he’d brought up with him, Spike sat on the edge of the bed and fed Willow spoonful after spoonful of the hearty liquid. When she’d eaten all but a small portion, Spike reached over and broke off a section of the bread he’d also brought along and soaked the rest of the soup with it. Handing the soggy warm hunk to her waiting hands he stood and left her side to clean the bathroom.

* * *

Willow nibbled on the soup-warmed bread. She wasn’t hungry anymore but ate absently as she waited for Spike to return. Hearing the water drain from the tub she knew he wouldn’t be long.

Drawing in a deep breath she tested the tension on her aching yet warm and full tummy. Finding the wrappings not to tight, she examined the events of the evening so far, and couldn’t help but blush.

When she’d dropped the towel and realized she couldn’t pick it back up she hadn’t been sure what to do. Asking for Spike’s help and giving him a peep show at the same time had been the last resort, but she had started to get cold and since the only warmth was coming from the fire in the other room she’d had little choice.

Nothing of the Spike from Sunnydale had been apparent in the way he’d treated her so lovingly when he’d come to her rescue—that wasn’t true; he’d treated Drusilla just like he had her, with patience and understanding. He knew her limitations and didn’t say a word when he realized her situation and obvious discomfort. Spike had been a complete gentleman and then to let her know that his doctor like tact was just an act, he’d told her he thought her body was perfect. Maybe it was the way he said it or the hint of a smile on his sculptured face but she believed him, truly believed that in that moment, he’d found her perfect.

Over the last few nights Willow had been witness to not the Master of Sunnydale or even a desperate and shunned lover, but the vampire she’d begun to think of as the real Spike, the real William. And without wanting to, she’d found herself hoping he let her live just a little while longer so she could meet the rest of him.

She knew Spike felt something towards her but what she didn’t know; and she didn’t think he really did either. She would often find him just looking at her, studying her. When she’d asked him about it he’d simply say he was watching her live. Willow didn’t understand what he meant by it but against her wishes her heart had leapt.

The last few days and Spikes constant attention had quieted the voice inside her that told her to do whatever it took to stop hurting. Replacing it was a restless curiosity to see where she was, and more importantly, understand the vampire who had brought her here.

Spike had evaded all questions as to where she was and Willow didn’t think he was going to tell her for some time. She figured she was somewhere along the West Coast but because it was so cold in the middle of spring she figured she had to be in the North, maybe in Oregon or Washington. Again she realized that she didn’t really care, she was more interested in seeing what was outside her door than outside the house; although the beach was definitely something she wanted to explore.

Just the thought of leaving Spike sent a shiver down her spine and she reluctantly admitted to herself that she had come to enjoy their time together. The way he seemed to cherish her, devote all of his attention to her, make her feel as if she was the most important woman on the face of the Earth. He’d told her the night after her attempt with the razor that he didn’t want anything to happen to her. That for some reason he felt drawn to her. But most importantly that he was going to protect her. He’d told her not to worry about her friends, that she would just stay here with him and get better. She wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by "better"—she felt perfectly fine—but he’d spoken with such tenderness and devotion that she hadn’t said a word.

She couldn’t explain it, even to herself, but with Spike she felt safe, and safe was not how she needed to feel. The talk of her staying with him until she was better caused that voice inside her that called for death to struggle against the cage Spike had helped her build around it. She was confused. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to die or wanted to stay with Spike. The frustration she felt caused her to lash out at Spike every so often, but he just took it, and then would renew his efforts to touch her in little ways, both physically and emotionally. Now she was lost, trapped by Oz, her parents, and her "friends". So instead of trying to fight she clung to Spike; hoping he could tell her what to do without her having to admit to him or really, to herself.

The soft swoosh of the door announced Spike and Willow placed the last bite of bread into her mouth. She watched him move the candles he’d brought from the bathroom onto a shelf and cross the room to her side.

"Did I see you eat the last of the bread?"

She nodded her head and gave him a weak smile.

"Good your too skinny. You girls today, eating like little starving birds. Back when I was still human a man liked a girl who had some meat on her, you know, birthing weight! Now I’m not talking a fat sow or anything like that but a gal that doesn’t look like the starving of Africa. Used to be if a woman wanted an hour glass figure she tied whale bones around her waist and poof, instant time piece; now not only do you girls think you have to have it naturally but you’re removing your own bones to get it! Rib removal, have heard of this?! Now sure God took a rib from Adam, but damnit at least the bloke got a woman for it, you females just save whales." He paused and looked at her. "Does this make any sense to you?"

"You think I’m too skinny."

"Yes, exactly, good you were listening."

"I always listen to you." She blushed as the words were spoken and Spike couldn’t help the smile that touched his lips.

"Good thing, Pet, ‘cause I only say the truth. Now should I get a whale for you? You can eat it and get really fat and then we’ll have the bones made into a corset for you to wear to special functions." The smile was wide on his face and Willow had to laugh at the image of her trying to eat a whole whale and then tie its bones around her waist.

"You should know I worked on a campaign to save the whales last year. I raised a hundred and eleven dollars."

"Figures, you’d want to save the bloody whales. You want to save everybody. Especially those that don’t care to know you’re doing it for them."

His words struck home for Willow and she flinched under them. Over the course of the last few days, Spike had tried to talk to her about why she wanted to die. He’d surmised from what she’d said in her drunken stupor that Oz had hurt her in some way and that the Slayer was involved. But she hadn’t said anything, choosing to ignore his question. It was the only topic they’d discussed so far that she wouldn’t talk with him about. Now, instead of taking the bait he’d thrown at her she simply shifted her eyes from his beautiful face and watched the fire dance in its cage.

Sighing, Spike relented. "Sorry Luv, bad form on my part. I suppose you’ll tell me when you’re ready. Anyway, in the mean time, I’ve got a surprise for you."

Taking her attention away from the fire she looked at him quizzically and waited for him to continue.

"Well as I recall, I promised you when you were feeling better, I’d show you around the house." He paused at the light that shone in her eyes. "Think you’re ready for the trip, Pet?"

Nodding her head, Willow started to get out of bed but stopped at Spike’s hand on her shoulder. "I don’t think so Willow. No sense in showing you around the house and then having you too weak and tired to enjoy it. Besides," He lifted her into his arms and waited for her to wrap her arms around his neck lightly. "A woman such as yourself, should not have to exert herself in anyway. It just isn’t proper in a house like this."

"A house like what?"

He chuckled and she relaxed into his embrace as the vibrations washed over her like soothing water. "You’ll see."

Willow couldn’t shake the feeling of being safe in the arms of Spike; it was like a blanket of warm peace that settled over her chilled by death frame. She tried to ignore it.

The hallway he carried her down seemed to go on forever, yet every few steps she seemed to pass some door or opening that led into another room.

Spike noticed her watching the doors and rooms pass by. "Be patient, Luv. I’ll show them all to you in good time." He continued down the hallway until he reached a flight of stairs that descended quite a ways. Adjusting his grip around her body he climbed down the stairs as if he wasn’t carrying an additional 105 and a half pounds.

Closing her eyes, Willow allowed Spike to carry her down the staircase and beyond. She wanted him to show her everything, everything she’d been missing her whole life. In anticipation she waited keeping her eyes closed. It was like being reborn again. When she opened her eyes she knew she would be entering a world she would never leave alive. Holding her breath she waited for Spike to cease his movements.

Spike wrapped his arms tighter around Willow. She was so slight in his arms that all he felt he could do to keep her with him was to hold onto her for dear life. When he’d reentered her room after rearranging the bathroom and made the mistake of talking about her friends he’d seen a dark look pass over her face. He feared that his blunder would cause her to continue her death wish. Knowing he could do nothing but take her mind off of her thoughts he’d decided to keep his promise and show her around the mansion. Her face when he’d said that he was keeping his promise lit up, almost like she couldn’t remember the last time someone had kept their word to her. He knew he was speculating her reaction, but what he did know was a light had gone on in her eyes at his words; and whether it was because she would get to see where she was or something else, it didn’t matter as long as her eyes lit up like that always.

Realizing he was exactly where he wanted to begin her tour he stopped and whispered near her ear that lay on his chest. "Willow, take a breath and open your eyes."

She did as he said. With her eyes still closed she took a deep breath and exhaled her old life. As she inhaled her new one she opened her eyes and the new breath died on her lips.

A grand entranceway lay before her covered in white marble and glittering in the candle light which was housed in over twenty scones which lined the walls. The ceiling lifted two dozen feet above her and encompassed the second story while a staircase, the width of three-quarters of the entranceway, stood over thirty feet away from her. Beautiful pictures of grassy fields in the summer sun hung along the walls and seemed to shine in the candlelight. She could see four distinct hallways that branched away from the foyer, two to the left and the other two to the right. Recessed from the stairs in front of her were two double doors that were currently closed—the design, those of French doors. To her right, Willow saw a room made entirely of glass walls and beyond the walls she could see green plants growing, their broad leaves fanning out against the glass. Turning her head so she was looking over Spike’s shoulder, Willow saw the Grand Entrance with its two sturdy oak doors and delicate carvings.

She was speechless. All around her were things she had only seen in old movies like Gone with the Wind. Willow had never actually dreamed of ever being in a house like this one let alone living in one with a vampire. Turning her head around she looked into Spike’s eyes and just stared at him; she didn’t even know where to begin.

"Do you like it, Luv?" He smiled knowing from her expression that she loved the old place already.

Her reply came out in a whisper, her excitement was so great. "May I see the rest?"

Spike’s smile widened and the look of pleasure and happiness that plastered itself on his face lit up a place deeply stowed away inside Willow Rosenburg. She felt her heart trip over itself that she had made him happy; that she was able to make at least someone happy. The last thought brought her down a little but Willow ignored it and instead concentrated on getting Spike to show her the rest of her home.

"Are you going to grin all night long or show me this incredible house?" Her voice echoed down the hallway and came back at her in a slightly higher tone. She smiled and looked toward the direction her echo had come. "It’s so…beautiful."

He watched the instantaneous love and affection for the mansion come over her; much like it had himself all those decades ago. Her eyes sparkled and caught the light of the tapers, making them dance to a music only she could hear. Here in his arms, she was the most startlingly beautiful creature he had ever had the privilege of setting his eyes upon.

"I’ll show you your new home, Willow and so much more if you’ll let me."

He met her eyes as they sought his. A look of desperation came over them, as if she wanted his words to be true so badly that she ached inside for them. Drawing her closer into his body, he offered her shelter from those things that haunted her every moment. He felt her snuggle into him again searching for a body heat she would not find. Finally when she settled down she whispered sadly. "I can’t let you…may I see the house now?"

A pain radiated off of the small woman in his arms. She was turning to him for comfort and all he could give her was a cold shoulder to lean against. He wanted so much to reassure her, to let her know that he could give her the world and then some. That if she’d let him, he’d give her everything her short life had obviously been missing—if only she’d let him.

"Rest against me now, Luv. There’ll be plenty of time for me to convince you later. For now let me show you all that you now possess, for what is mine, is yours. It’s a long tour, why not close you’re eyes. I’ll tell you when we get somewhere exciting."

He could feel the smile against his chest, whether from relief or mirth, he couldn’t be sure. "I couldn’t possibly close my eyes, I’ve been waiting for this moment for…it seems like my whole life."

"It has been, Willow. Wait, you’ll see, I’ll show it to you." Moving away from the door, Spike stepped towards the hallway to the right.

One side of the hallway was against the glass room and consequently had one side of candles and summer paintings and the other a see-through glass of exotic flora. Willow watched the leaves and half hidden flowers pass by as Spike carried her the fifteen feet or so it took to reach the wood door at its end. Shifting her weight to the right side of his body, Spike used the hand that held her legs to open the door.

Her first glimpse inside afforded Willow a view of a large, formal looking parlor room, which included a set of couches, chairs, and end tables that all matched with there dark cherry wood finish. The upholstery of the cushions was a deep reddish brown.

Willow was instantly reminded that whoever decorated this room was most defiantly a vampire.

Candles sat in elaborate scones and lit the room, along with a roaring fire that lay directly in front of her and Spike. To her right Willow saw twelve-foot tall, floor to ceiling windows, that were currently covered by dark maroon velvet drapes. Paintings were scattered decoratively along the walls. These, unlike the summer paintings in the entranceway, depicted people. Whom, she did not know.

"How well do you know the lay-out of Victorian houses? Do they even teach you that stuff in school these days?"

"Well, I mean, I know that this is the parlor room, where the residence of the manor would greet guests, but I didn’t learn it in any class." A light blush fell across her features. "Um, I read it in a book, somewhere."

Spike let that one slide, he’d ask her about it later if it came up. "Good, then I don’t have to tell you that this is one of my least favorite rooms in this place—"

"Wait!—What do you mean? How come you don’t like this room?"

His voice took on a husky, sultry tone. "Come on, Luv. If you have to go into this room that means you have guests. And if you have guests, that means you have to stop whatever you were doing before they got here. Do you know how annoying that can be? Especially when you’re doing something you don’t want to be interrupted doing?"

An image of Spike being interrupted making love to Drusilla flashed through Willow’s mind. "Yeah, I guess I understand what you mean."

"Good, then you know how annoying it is to entertain guest when you’re trying to cook a Crème Brule."

Willow didn’t miss the wicked smile that settled onto his handsome features. "Ha, ha, very funny."

"It’s not my fault you’ve got your mind in the gutter like that."

Blood rose to her cheeks and stained them a lovely shade of pink. "It was not."

"Willow, a word to the wise," she looked up at him. "Your heart rate picks up a little when you’re lying." A hearty laugh left his sculptured mouth as he turned her around and took her back down the hallway they’d just come from.

Again crossing the foyer Spike carried her, down the opposite hallway and into the formal dinning room. It stretched over thirty feet long, with a grand table that nearly coincided with the length of the room. Against one wall was a massive stone fireplace that stood as tall as a man. Willow could only imagine the poor trees that had been sacrifice to feed the flames it would produce. Around the table were great winged-backed chairs, so many Willow couldn’t count them as Spike carried her from that room and through a recessed door into the kitchen.

And what a kitchen it was. White marble flooring covered wall to wall, while the same covered the counter tops. Decorated entirely in white, Willow took in the old style stove and other appliances. She also noted absently that there was a refrigerator in a house without electricity; she filed that tidbit away for later.

"Think you could cook in this kitchen?" A broad smile trekked across his face.

"I’ve been cooking for myself since I was six, I think I can manage to cook in here." There was a calm in her voice that she wished wasn’t there, it spoke volumes to her, and she knew, also to Spike.

"Doesn’t sound like your mom was a great cook? Actually sounds to me like she was a pretty lousy mom all around."

Willow jerked her head up and glared at the vampire who held her so intimately against him. "You don’t know anything about my family, so don’t you even think to presume anything about what type of mother I had!"

"Had, Luv? As in used to have, like when you were two. I listened to Angelus when the Great Angel of Death was still around. Even he thought we should do you a favor and dine at your house."

He’d struck a cord, he could tell that. Her face seemed to fall and yet register that her terrible home life was even a topic of the undead. Suddenly she began to struggle in his arms. "Willow quite that!"

"No! Put me down right now! I don’t want you to touch me!" She struggled with more fever, pushing against his chest and kicking her feet.

"Willow stop! NOW!" His voice echoed around the twenty-foot kitchen, bouncing back and forth across the counter tops, stopping only when running full force into Willow, who had ceased her movements the moment Spike had yelled at her.

Spike shifted her back into a more comfortable position in his arms and regarded her for a moment. In that time, Willow’s down cast eyes never met his and she seemed to curl into herself. It was then, at the point of her withdrawal from him, that Spike felt regret shoot through him like a blinding pain. "Ah Gods, Willow I’m sorry," His soft voice made her take pause in her retreat from him. "I didn’t mean to scare you, Luv. I shouldn’t have attacked you like that. For that I am sorry." Then suddenly his voice took on a ferociousness. "I however, will not ask for forgiveness for what I said about your mother—I meant it."

The icy steel in his words caused Willow to look up at him. In his eyes she saw the anger she wished she could express about her long absent parents. She felt through him the raw pain and screams for revenge she wished so desperately she could enact. To him she only said. "It’s ok."

He wasn’t sure if she meant that she forgave him for scaring her or for his comment about her mother. Taking her reply to mean the first, Spike ran his thumb comfortingly along the thigh he was holding her up by. Pulling her more fully into his body where she’d been before her struggles he moved away from the kitchen and out another door and into another hallway.

Stepping into the foyer, Spike moved to the glass wall on the right hand side of the hall, and using his right hand, opened the glass enclosure. Humidity instantly hit both human and vampire as Spike stepped into the room and kicked the door shut with his foot. He maneuvered the two down a stone path that had been placed among the many plants and flowering bushes.

"This used to be Dru’s favorite place to come during the day. She used to say that she could feel the sun’s rays shinning through the house to kiss the plants. Of course she was always saying crazy stuff like that."

Willow, still a little confused about what had transpired between the two in the kitchen, was brought out of her reverie at Spike’s confession. Looking around her, Willow felt the warmth, both physically and emotionally comforting. Moving one of her arms from around Spike’s neck, Willow pulled a night blooming flower closer to her nose. The smell of Jasmine filled her body with the peace she’d misplaced in the kitchen.

"I like it here."

Spike smiled, "I thought you might. Want to sit in here for a while? I could point out all the different types of flowers: I remember well having to learn all their names to please my dark Goddess."

Willow noted with surprise that he did not speak of Drusilla with as much reverence as she would have expected. Spike had spoken little about her since he’d brought her here. But from what Willow could glean from their conversations, Spike was either over her or had her buried deep inside himself to keep the pain of betrayal away. Willow understood betrayal. "Let’s keep going, I want to see the rest of the house."

"Willow, Willow, Willow, do you still think this is but a house?" There was mirth in him as he spoke and Willow was glad to hear that mentioning Drusilla did not seem to cut him deeply.

"I know it isn’t a house but mansion seems so…formal."

"Actually in the day it was called an estate. And this particular estate was—and is—called Windemere. It means—"

"’Home of the Wind’" she cut in. Then realizing she’d finished his sentence for him she blushed. "Giles made me learn a little Gaelic. That’s what it is isn’t it, Gaelic?"

"Yes, and you hit the translation right on the marker, good show, Luv."

His words, a small measure of admiration at her knowledge, swept through Willow like wild fire. She felt a rush of pride at her accomplishment and in herself. Not many people ever told her she’d done a good job. Willow was beginning to realize very quickly, Spike was no ordinary person.

"Show me more of Windemere."

"As the Lady commands."

What came next lay beyond the doors next to the stairs. The double sets of French doors led into the most amazing ballroom Willow had ever seen. Against where the stairs led up on the other side of the wall was a stage of sorts that would have housed—in the old days—a live band that would have played grand songs that begged to be danced to. Across the room on the right hand side stood another grand fireplace much like the one in the dinning room, only this was twice the size. The walls were lined with mirrors that made the ballroom seem three—four times the size it truly was which was huge. Along the far wall, interspersed between the mirrors, were French doors that led outside the manner, which Willow could not see for the light from half a dozen crystal candle-lit chandeliers reflected off the windows. The room was decorated in golds and whites, which added a pureness to the room that Willow found ironic since the estate was owned by a family of vampires.

Spike stepped into the middle of the room and stood facing the great fireplace, allowing Willow to soak up some of the heat it was spewing forth. Willow relaxed even more into Spike’s embrace and allowed the heat of the last two rooms to lull her into a feeling of even deeper security. Her eyes strayed to the mirrors on the far wall and she watched in stunned silence as she seemed to float in mid-air as Spike cast no reflection. Absently she mumbled. "Reflections of the soul."

"Hmm, Pet?" Spike noticed where she was looking and sighed. "Vampires cast no reflection because they have no souls. You’re right about that." Leaning into her he spoke softly into her ear. "But really, Luv, isn’t it more fun to dance with a man who has no soul?" And with that Spike began to turn around and around, spinning a tight circle that had Willow clinging to him for stability and shrieking with merriment. She watched as the mirror image of her seemed to float and spin on the dance floor as if she were some Great Spirit come back for one last dance.

When Spike deemed she’d had enough he stopped his turning to a small amount of protest by the girl in his arms.

"Don’t stop, please." She beseeched.

"Don’t you want to see the rest?" Was his only response.

Willow’s nod sealed their fate and Spike left the ballroom behind and climbed the stairs to the second landing.

At the top Willow noticed the two sets of double doors directly at the top of the stairs but dismissed them for later as Spike passed them and took the walkway to the left. Leaning over Spike’s embrace, Willow looked over the railing at the ground floor and marveled at the height they were at. Windemere was a very, very grand estate.

At the first door he shifted her again and opened it to reveal what Willow took as a study. Inside was a large desk made from a solid looking wood. Two chairs sat in front of the desk and one comfortable looking chair sat behind it. The room was done in browns and greens. Two oil lamps stood in the far corners of the room with green glass lampshades. Deep green carpet ran the floor, while wooden bookshelves the same color as the desk lined the walls to the left and right. No windows were in the room and Willow reasoned that business must have been conducted by the vampires during the day in this very room.

"It’s very…study-looking." Willow giggled at her inability to come up with a better adjective. "What I mean is it looks very, well, male." It was true, no respectable female would decorate the room in browns and greens, that was something only bachelors did.

Spike laughed, the motion rocking Willow gently, lovingly. "Oh Willow. It’s true. As a matter of fact, I decorated this room on my own."

At his admission of her assumption, Willow laughed outright. Spike thought it was one of the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard.

"You know, there’s still more and this room can’t even compare to the others I have yet to show you. What say we keep going?"

"I’d like that."

Outside in the hallway, Spike again bypassed the double sets of doors. "Spike?"

"Hm?"

"What about those doors?"

A coy smile drew itself upon Spike’s face. "All in good time, Red. And only if you’re a very good girl."

At Willow’s grumble, Spike laughed out right and took the hallway to the right of the stairs which led to yet another flight of stairs. Willow reasoned that whatever was behind those doors Spike had yet to show her must be huge since it seemed to encompass the entire second floor. She wanted to go back and see it, there was something about the way Spike mentioned it that had Willow instantly on her best behavior.

At the top of the second flight of stairs, Willow recognized the hallway her room was located off of. Spike stopped at the beginning of the hallway and motioned with his head to the left side. "That side has all the extra bedrooms. The third door is yours, remember?" At her nod he continued. "Ok, first stop, one of my favorites."

Taking the first door to the right, Spike and Willow stepped into a beautiful recreational room. A pool table sat in the center of the room and Willow could see the cues against the far wall. On the left wall lay a dartboard and underneath that lay a circular table that Willow guessed was used to play cards. The room was again decorated in greens and browns, but here it looked more in place, like it fit the atmosphere of the room better. A brown leather couch sat under a window against the far wall, providing a place for people to sit when their turn at pool was over.

Willow instantly fell in love with the room. She felt connected to Spike in this room. Her feelings were all a jumble but he seemed to fit into this room better than all the rest; as if Spike could have been the gambling sort while he still breathed.

"I like this one."

Spike looked around the room and then back to Willow, "Me too. Something about the sport of it all." He smiled and Willow returned the gesture.

"Do you play pool, Luv?"

Thinking back to all the times she, Xander…and Buffy… had played, Willow nodded her head. "Yeah, a little, but I’m not very good."

"Posh! Luv, you’ll probably play me under the table! Well, at least once you can hold a cue without wincing."

Suddenly Willow felt it again. That nagging feeling that she didn’t really know what Spike had planned for her. That she was nothing more than a pawn in this game where she had no idea of the rules. She admitted to herself that she felt safe with him, why she didn’t know, but she was willing to admit that at least. However, she had no idea of his plans for her or what he expected of her. Willow wasn’t sure what was going on in the vampire’s head and she wasn’t sure if she wanted too.

Choosing to ignore the remark rather than hear again from him how she was his to do with as he pleased, she asked. "How about the rest?"

"On our way, Pet."

They moved down the hallway, past another door to their left which Spike told her was another bedroom. "That’s the room for the blokes no one want’s around. See how it’s right next to the rec. room? On a good night, when the games go ‘till the early morning, not even the dead can sleep in there. Makes most wankers leave in a real hurry."

The next door Spike entered turned out to be a nicely decorated sitting room.

Decorated in whites and other assorted soft colors, it definitely had a woman’s touch. Lace curtains in the purest white hung over the windows and Willow knew if given the chance she would love to come here during the day to soak up the sun. Beautiful white couches with floral patterns rounded the walls while a naturally light colored wood Willow couldn’t name made intricately carved end and coffee tables.

Spike said something about this being one of his least favorite rooms and Willow couldn’t help the barb that escaped her lips. "That’s probably because you’d go ‘Poof’ if you came in here."

"How right you are, how right you are. Sun light isn’t good for my complexion you know."

"Ah ha." Their laughter carrying them out of the room.

After entering the hallway again, Spike took Willow to the last door that happened to be at the opposite end from the stairs they’d first come up. A huge set of double oak doors in a deep stain stood before her and Willow was slightly creeped out by their ominous appearance.

"This is my room." It was all he said, and yet Willow felt his seeming apprehension about his words, almost as if he was still convincing himself of their truth.

Willow looked into his face and caught his eyes. "You don’t have to show me, if you don’t want too."

Suddenly he squeezed her tighter to his chest causing Willow to wrap her arms more tightly in response around his neck. "No Willow, I want to show you." He paused. "I think you’ll like it."

Opening the doors in front of them, Spike carried her over the thresh hold like a new bride. Willow would have noticed the foreshadowing of that particular act if she hadn’t been stunned to silence by the breath taking beauty of the room before her.

All around her was excellence. Directly in front of her was another massive fireplace surrounded by two wing back chairs. To her left were two doors, one in the middle of the wall, the other to the left. But it was to the right of the door that had caught Willow’s breath, for there before her sat a bed on a platform of the most exquisite design.

It took two steps up of plush carpet to reach the platform bed. Willow’s stunned brain noted that the bed was too large not to have been custom made. Reasoning it most likely was made for at least three people her mind again flashed back to the vampire family that must have resided here. The wood of the four poster bed was stained in a dark almost black color and the canopy that draped from the bars connecting the four posters and wrapped around the posts was of velvet black. The coverlet, like the canopy, was made of black velvet but the sheets that peeked over the lip were of a red—almost brown satin. The ten or so pillows that lined the head of the bed were a mixture of black velvet and the red-brown satin of the sheets. Willow felt a need to just lay on the bed and soak up the love and affection that must have been confessed upon it. Blushing at her train of thought she broke her gaze with the bed and looked up at Spike, only to fine him staring at her.

"It’s the type of bed Lady Godiva would have slept in, don’t you think?"

He was teasing her and she knew it, knew he’d seen her face when she’d thought of just touching the magnificent piece of human craftsmanship. "I suppose. It’s not something an ordinary person would sleep in."

"How so?"

"Well…it’s not something I’d sleep in."

Willow watched his eyes catch the light coming from the fire across from them. "Well Willow, good thing no one in this house is an ordinary person."

She didn’t miss it, couldn’t miss the implications behind his words, and a part of her, a part she was afraid to listen to screamed its agreement with his statement and implications. Not wanting him to see what that part of her wanted, Willow broke eye contact and gestured to a door she’d just seen a few feet to the left of the bed. "What’s through there?"

Spike allowed her change of subject. "That Red, is the master bathroom. Care to take a look?" At her nod, Spike moved past the bed of Willows distraction and entered the bathroom. Once inside he set Willow on one of the counter tops and moved to a scone on the wall. "I can see just fine in here but I’m guessing you’ll have a hard time."

"Why is it that in all the rooms we’ve been to have always had fires going or candles lit? Even the chandeliers were lit. Just how many people are in this place anyway?"

Spike lit the scone and moved to the next one. "I knew I was going to show you around tonight. I figured I’d better light the old place up a bit or you wouldn’t be able to see much; that or I’d always be putting you down to light the rooms up." He caught her eyes, in the light of the match he was using to blaze the scone. "And besides you and I, Pet, there’s no one here."

Willow felt a shiver run down her spine at being alone with Spike; whether from fear or something else, she didn’t know. Just then the candle Spike was holding caught and Willow took the distraction afforded her to look around the bathroom. Against the wall was a large two-person shower stall. But it was the bathtub that caught her attention. Two steps led up to its lip before the tub sank into the provided platform. It was encased in white marble and again, looked like it was designed to fit three people conformably. Willow was amazed at the design of the estate and how it seemed to cater to vampires, and three at that.

"You must have been very happy here."

Startled by the question, Spike looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you, Drusilla, and Angelus must have been happy here."

Something in the silence that followed Willow’s statement caused her to wish she hadn’t said anything. Spike seemed to tense at her statement and she could see his hands balled up into fists.

When he spoke it was with a note of reserved violence. "Actually Luv, my last memories of this place are not my favorite." He paused. "Why don’t we agree on something?"

Willing to agree to anything he wanted so that he wouldn’t look like he was in so much pain, Willow readily agreed. "Sure, anything."

"I won’t mention how terrible your parents are, and you don’t mention Dru or Angelus. Deal?"

She didn’t hesitate. "Deal."

"Good, let’s get you out of here and show you the rest of this place, uh."

Lifting her off of the counter and into his arms, Spike almost reached the door before Willow spoke. "I’m sorry Spike."

"Don’t be, Willow, vampires in the closet and all that. Speaking of which, I think you’ll like this room." His smile seemed to return some of his earlier lightness, but a deep-seated pain still remained behind his eyes. Willow returned his smile.

She nodded and Spike carried her across the room, past the roaring fireplace, to the door on the far-left side of the wall. Inside was a massive closet that housed what anyone else would have considered a wardrobe of historical memorabilia, but Willow knew were the clothes of the times worn when the estate was still occupied. Long flowing dressed hung beside distinguished men’s formal suits. Willow could make out the hoops and petticoats that filled out the dresses around a corner and though Willow couldn’t see them, she was sure if she looked hard enough she’d find a whale bone corset.

"They look wearable."

"Well they should, don’t you think, for the price I paid for each and every one of them. They should survive a bloody nuclear war!"

"Spike, how much did you pay for them anyway? How about that dress over there?" She pointed to a delicate looking silk dress with enough fabric to make about half a dozen dresses nowadays.

"Oh I don’t know, maybe forty pounds or so."

"Forty pounds! If my conversion tables are right, that’s only about fifty dollars! What are you complaining about?"

"Luv, have you forgotten that I bought that dress almost two hundred years ago? Now let me see if my inflation table is right," he paused, letting her comment slap her jokingly in the face. "That would be about fifteen thousand dollars in today’s money, I think. Sound about right to you?"

His smile was mocking, but in a friendly way—Willow hated it. "Oh shut up."

His laughter carried them out of the room and to the second door lining the left wall. Once through it, Willow was astonished at what lay before her, a glass enclosed balcony. Two and a half walls and the ceiling were made from glass and as Willow gazed out beyond the glass she saw in the inky blackness of night just a glimmer of what the estate truly looked like. Drawing her eyes away from the glass she noticed the small oil lamp burning on a whitewashed patio table. Two chairs surrounded the table giving it an inviting look.

"This is incredible!"

"Glad you like it. When I first had the place built the workers broke three or four panes of glass before they could lay it right, but I think it was worth it."

"It was."

His soft chuckle caused Willow to blush and then blush even deeper when she realized how many times she’d blushed just that night.

"Come on, Luv. I think you’ve had enough shock for one night."

As they left the balcony, Willow took one longing look back and vowed she’d come back to this place.

Spike carried Willow down the hallway to her room and upon entering, deposited her on the bed and went to check the fire. Willow was so overwhelmed with all that she’d seen she barley remembered Spike’s promise until he’d come to turn down the bed and tuck her in.

"Spike?" She asked softly. "Do you think I was a good girl tonight?" She spoke the words and felt like a small child, one searching for praise from an adoring parent; which Willow was beginning to see as Spike.

"Course you were, Pet. Why do you…oh! Did I forget to show you something?" His wicked smile returned while at the same time Willow saw in his eyes his understanding of her question. He understood her. He understood her like no one else.

"Um, can I see that last room?"

Instead of answering he picked her up again and carried her down the hallway and then down the stairs to the second floor. Once there he stood in front of one set of double doors and waited.

Willow was getting impatient. "Um Spike, aren’t we going in?"

Spike looked down and her and smiled. "Willow, do you think you can stand on your own?"

"Oh, sure, I think."

"Let’s try, shall we?"

Placing her on her feet, and after making sure she had a good grasp on her balance, Spike reached for both door handles and push.

What lay beyond the doors rocked Willow on her feet so much so that Spike had to steady her by placing two hands on her shoulders. A massive library, the likes Willow had never seen lay before her in the fire lit room. Books to the twelve-foot ceiling lined the walls in front of her and to the left. Another fireplace, the size of a grown man lay to the right with floor to ceiling windows on either side. A plush brown carpet fell across the floor, except against the wall, which was wood, to provide ease traction for the multiple wheeled ladders that rounded the room. Chairs of all design and a few leather couches were scattered about along with a few tables and one great table that seemed to house a cubby of maps and other such scrolls below it.

Willow made a move to take her first step into the room but a sudden pull on her abdominal muscles caused her to wince and cry out. She grabbed for her stomach and would have fallen to the floor if Spike’s strong arms had not reached out and caught her. He lifted her into his embrace and spoke quietly into her ear, almost a whisper. "Command me where to take you, Lady."

Leaning into him for the comfort she so richly needed, Willow answer the only way she could. "Everywhere."

Again Spike carried her over the thresh hold of the room and towards the fire. Once there he placed her slight frame into one of the chairs and turned it so she could gaze into the depths of the room he had know she’d treasure above all others.

He watched her eyes travel first over one bookcase and then another, absorbing as much as she could by the light of the fire. Her skin was flush from her near fall and the heat of the fire and Spike noted how much a noble woman she looked then sitting in a chair built for royalty. Kneeling down beside her he raised his hand to her chin and drew her face around to look at him.

"Do you like your surprise?"

She could barley speak. "Yes."

"Tell me a title of a book you wish to read. I’ll get it for you."

Willow took her mind from staring at Spike’s perfection long enough to register that he had not said he would look for the book, only that he would bring it for her. Wanting him to move away from her and take the strange feelings she was developing for him away also she spoke. "Why don’t you get me the book you like the best." At Spike’s raised eyebrow, "The book a person holds as their favorite tells a lot about them, don’t you think?"

Nodding his head, Spike stood and moved across the room and around a corner Willow had not seen when she’d first entered. Now sitting by the left wall, Willow could see that the library wrapped around the entire second floor, leaving space only for Spike’s study, the hallway, and the staircase up and down. The sheer volume of books here rivaled almost any library Willow had ever been to, and made the Sunnydale Library look like a child’s bookcase. Willow traced the books with her eyes, following them from left of the fireplace, down around a corner and back up the wall before meeting with the doors, then continuing above the doors to the next and then around the other corner Spike had turned down. Willow could hardly wait until she was strong enough to peruse the books herself. Until then, she was content letting Spike help her.

The last though stunned Willow and she was so engrossed with her mental dialogue trying to figure out when she had begun to allowed Spike to see her weakness, that she didn’t see him approach and kneel before her.

"Willow?"

Startled she looked up guiltily. "Sorry, I got lost for a second."

Understanding seeped into his eyes. "Take your time, I’ll be here to help you find your way back home, always."

"You will…won’t you?"

"Yes."

A weight lifted off of Willow at his words and again she didn’t know what to think about this man who was suppose to kill her, and instead had taken her mind and…heart…captive. The part of her that still called for death screamed at her that he was dangerous, that he would only betray her like the rest; that she was better off not giving him a second thought and just begging for death. However a larger part of her sunk into the compassion he seemed to feel for her and the gentleness he used only made her want to remember, if only for a time, that there was another option besides death. She didn’t know what she wanted, she didn’t know who she could trust.

"What book did you pick?"

"See for yourself." He handed her the book and the moment Willow saw the title she started laughing.

"Um, Pet, what’s so funny?"

"Oh my Goddess! You never saw that movie with Mel Gibson, and Julia Roberts did you?"

"Don’t recall seeing a lot of movies and none in the last ten years or so. Want to fill me in, Luv?"

"Did you know that serial killers have like ten copies of this book in their homes? It’s like, have this book and you automatically have to kill people for fun."

"Willow, I do kill people for fun."

She stopped laughing. It wasn’t funny anymore. He was right, in a way he was a serial killer. The worst kind; the kind that came out at night and terrorized the innocent, killed those that had no hope of defending themselves. He was a demon, what better serial killer could you hope to get? One without a conscious, one that felt no guilt, no remorse, only the need to find another victim and end their own hunger.

She shivered, she couldn’t help it. The severity of the situation she was in came crashing down on her and she realized she had no one to blame but herself. Pushing herself to a standing position, she moved to stand in front of one of the windows, her back to Spike the book he’d brought still in her hand. The title, "The Catcher In The Rye" catching the firelight.

"Willow?"

She wanted to answer him, wanted to forget what he was, what he’d done to her in the past; but now she couldn’t. Now she wouldn’t allow herself to. He was a killer, she had to remember that; and she either had to get him to kill her, or die trying. There was no other way; she couldn’t live with the other way.

"When will you kill me, Spike?"

Again she’d stunned him into silence. The night had gone well as far as Spike knew, then all of a sudden she wanted to die again; it didn’t make sense. He needed answers and he needed them now.

"Tell me why you want to die, Willow."

"No."

"Why not!"

She turned to look at him, her face hollow and dark in the firelight. "I don’t trust you."

Standing Spike moved to her. Turning her back around so that she was facing the window, he wrapped his arms around hers and clasped his hands just below her breasts. He stood there for a long while, feeling Willow struggle with herself not to relax against him. When she finally failed and leaned into his embrace he spoke again.

"I want you to trust me, Willow. I need you too. So if I have to be the first one to bend, then I will." He could feel the question in her posture as she tried to turn and look at him, only to have him hold her steady, flush against his body. "I trust you, Willow. I do. To prove my trust in you, I give you free reign of this house. You may go anywhere and everywhere in it, both during the day and at night. I ask only three things: one that you don’t over do it while you’re still recovering from you injuries; two that you don’t leave this house under any circumstances; and three, that you will call on me at anytime, should you have need of me. Can you do those three things for me…Willow?"

"You give me too much freedom. You know I wish to die and now you give me the means to do it myself. You are very foolish."

"No, I don’t think so." Lifting her chin, he brought her face to look up at his. "If you truly wanted to kill yourself, Willow, you would have done so by now. It’s hard to keep a man or woman from taking their own life if they so choose. No, I think you won’t kill yourself for the same reason you asked me to kill you back in Sunnydale; you know in your heart that you don’t want to die." At the shake of her head against his words he continued. "You don’t want to die, Luv. It just seems easier that way, less painful. No, you don’t want me to kill you and you don’t want to kill yourself; you want someone to save you…save you from yourself." Her eyes were blank as they stared into his own and Spike knew that at least some part of her recognized he now understood.

"I trust you, Pet. I trust you to wait for me…to wait for me to save you from yourself. Promise me you’ll follow the rules, Luv, and I’ll let you free so you can learn to trust me."

She was so confused. She didn’t know what to do. He was right and yet he was wrong; wrong to think that she wasn’t desperate enough to stop the pain and yet right in that she wasn’t strong enough to do it herself. She wanted death, she craved it, and yet at the same time she wished for peace, the kind that she had never known in her short life time, the kind she was beginning to think this wayward vampire could bring her. She wanted peace.

"You’re a fool to trust me, Spike. But I…agree. I’ll follow all the rules."

"Willow…Pet…Luv, I promise you, I’m no fool. I only make safe bets. You’ll see."

Something in his words, in his voice, made Willow think, for just a moment, that he could really be the one, the one to bring her peace.

She allowed him to lift her into his arms and carry her back upstairs to her room. Once there she fell into a deep sleep, staged in a house with doors that led to hope and doors that led to quiet oblivion.

Water pored forth from the sky as the gods made their pain known to man and demon alike. Through it he ran towards the cliffs that over looked the ocean that stretched over lost cities and buried the victim of the deep from hunting eyes. He slipped, mud covering him from head to toe. He growled and then went on desperately through the rain, though the tears of the immortals calling for her. "WILLOW!!!"

"WILLOW!"

Spike sat up in bed, the silk sheets clinging to his body like drenched clothes in the storm. Hands shaking from reaction to his nightmare, Spike allowed his face to move into his hands and waited while the heart—that should not be beating in his chest—ceased its pumping.

Shaking his head back and forth to clear out the visions of his search, Spike remembered the earlier part of the dream. Willow walking towards him, a sad expression on her face, begging him to let her do something, pleading with him. At first he’d refused, he was worried for some reason he couldn’t remember; then he’d decided that it would be good for her, maybe get her to trust him a little more. So he’d let her do—something, he wished he could remember what. He remembered moving around the house and then this period of time where she’d been so happy, laughing and singing, her face a glow with an inner light that spoke of happiness, trust and love, all directed towards him. He couldn’t remember being happier as they danced in the ballroom and spoke animatedly about their growing feelings for each other. He remembered realizing the love she suddenly felt for him, he knew…

Then it had changed. He’d been alone wondering where Willow was, he wanted to talk with her; when suddenly he couldn’t hear her heart beat, couldn’t sense her in the house. So he’d ran to the window, ran to it just as the sun peeked above the crest of the water and he’d seen her, his Willow, running towards the cliffs; a dress of pure white wrapped about her body, incasing it in yard after yard of dense fabric. He didn’t know why now but he knew in the dream that she was crying, could sense the tears falling from her eyes as he watched her head towards the cliffs—to the place where she would jump.

The feeling of being trapped in Windemere suffocated him as he watched her race towards her death. He saw her rise to the top of the cliff—just at the top so she was silhouetted by the rising sun—before in the blink of an eye, she was gone.

The storm had come out of no where, blanketing the land in its grief and misery. With the sun gone behind the storm the sky was like night and Spike felt himself drenched in bitter cold rain as he raced towards the cliffs, towards Willow.

Running his hands through his short hair, Spike stood from the bed and stretched, loosening the muscles that felt like he’d gone three rounds with the slayer. Peeling the clothing off of his body, he took a quick shower and dressed in black pants and a black turtleneck sweater before heading down the hall to awaken Willow.

At the door he knocked and when he received no answer he assumed her asleep and entered. No heartbeat. No red haired sleeping beauty. Only an open window and the cool sea air blowing in.

* * *

Willow was pissed. Anyone with two eyes could see that, hell even someone with one bad eye could tell she was about ready to scream.

"I said, HELLO! Can you hear me? Of course you can hear me, you’re looking right at me! Hello!!! Do you speak English?"

The man before her dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a tee-shirt stating (Insert Irish Beer), was walking back and forth from the front door. He moved through the foyer and back down the second hallway to the left to the kitchen door, where he was dropping off the sacks of groceries he’d carried in from the mini-van parked in front of the stone steps leading up to the front door of Windemere. Then dutifully walking back out the kitchen, down the second hallway to the left, through the foyer—where Willow was standing—and back out the front door, to the mini-van for yet another few sacks. All the while he would stare at Willow as he walked by but refused to even utter a syllable in her direction.

"OH COME ON! I know you can hear me!" Then suddenly her hands flew to her mouth and covered it. "Oh goddess, you’re not mute are you?"

A deep laugh that sounded of humor and relief, rang out over the foyer. Willow looked up and glared at Spike as he descended the stairs and strode towards her, a determined look in his eye.

"He’s not dumb, Luv. What are you doing up so early?"

"He isn’t? Then why the hell won’t he say something? I feel like I’m talking to a silent movie. And it’s not early, its almost six PM!"

"You’re not in a silent movie. And he’s not talking to you because I told him not to. And you, Kitten, usually don’t get up until around seven or eight. Well at least since you started keeping vampire hours, that is. Now I would have thought you’d have been up and about after I showed you the house and told you you could go anywhere during the day. But no, instead for the last five days all you’ve done is sleep. Now I told you not to over do it but Pet, I’m starting to worry about you getting too much beauty sleep. I mean look what it did for that Sleeping Beauty chit. She slept for a hundred years and well, she didn’t look that much better than when she fell asleep. You know, maybe all that beauty sleep is nothing but a load of crap." Spike shrugged his shoulders. "Oh well, not my problem."

Willow shook her head and tried to make sense of everything Spike had just said. Over the course of the last five days she had awoken during the day, dressed, and waited patiently for Spike to fetch her in the evening after he awoke. She knew Spike had given her free reign of the house but on the first day she’d ventured out she’d felt so alone in the vastness of it that she’d returned to her room with a book from the library only a few hours later. It felt too much like her parent’s home in Sunnydale to be in the house, "seemingly" alone.

Since then she’d simply waited for Spike. She didn’t mind, taking the time to just rest herself. Also, she was finally getting some sleep. Ever since she was a little girl, Willow had been unable to sleep. The doctors had said it was all psychological and had told her parents to enroll her into therapy. In reality, Willow was just afraid to sleep by herself, alone in the house. In the end her parents had done nothing and over time, Willow had learned to make do on three to four house of sleep a night.

But since coming to Windemere, she’d sleep every night, seven, even eight hour of sleep; she’d never felt so refreshed and…well…safe.

Dragging her mind back to Spike she noticed he was looking at her, almost memorizing her face, looking for something. "What?"

"Uh? Oh nothing, Pet. You were going to tell me what you’re up so early for."

"Um, no I wasn’t. I was going to ask you something…something about…oh, something about that guy! Right, how come that guy won’t talk to me? Oh wait, you already answered that, didn’t you? What did you say again? Oh yeah." She paused, then. "What do you mean you told him not to talk to me!? Why not!?"

"Calm down, Willow. It’s not that big a deal." He studied her again. "You’re not putting on as much weight as I wanted you to have by now. Let’s get you into the kitchen for something to eat."

"Uh? No I don’t want to eat! Damnit, I want to know why that guy isn’t allowed to talk to me!" Just then the afro mentioned guy walked right past Willow and back out the door. "Ahhhhhh!!!!!"

"That’s it, it’s too early for theatrics!" Grabbing Willow’s hand, Spike half drug Willow to the kitchen. Once inside, he swung her in front of him, put both hands on her hips, and lifted her onto the counter. That done, he moved to the refrigerator and opened the door. "What type of sandwich do you want, Luv?"

Instead of answering, Willow reached into the sack of groceries closest to her, pulled something out of it and threw it with all of her strength at Spike’s head.

Faster than her eye could see, Spike caught the flying object, looked at it and smiled at her. "Thanks, Luv. How’d you know I needed the bread?"

Willow rolled her eyes and tried to bring him back to the topic at hand. "Spike, tell me!"

"What’s to tell, Willow. I already told you that I told Mat not to say a single word to you." Turning his head from opening the bread he caught her eyes. "No one talks to you but me."

The way he said it sent shivers down Willow’s spine. She didn’t speak; instead she expended all of her energy thinking of why Spike wouldn’t want the man—Mat—to speak with her. Suddenly she figured it out, it was so simple.

"You don’t want me to know where I am! That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t want Mat’s accent to give it away! Oh Spike you kill me, well, not really, but I already know that we’re in the Pacific Northwest somewhere. We’d have to be, I mean it’s nearly summer yet it’s still raining and kinda cold outside! So if you’re worried about me figuring out if we’re in Washington or Oregon, then don’t panic. I wouldn’t know that the sound of the letter "R" will tell you exactly which state you’re in."

A wide cocky smile spread over Spike’s full lips as he turned to face Willow. "Hate to burst your bubble, Willow but we’re no where near the Pacific Northwest." And with that, he turned around and went back to making her sandwich.

Willow sat on the countertop and stared at Spike, stunned. She couldn’t imagine not being in Washington or Oregon. It wasn’t possible! "No way Spike, I mean really! Look, we have to be in the Pacific Northwest. I mean, just look at the weather!"

"Do you like mayonnaise on your sandwich, Luv?"

"Yes, just a little. What I don’t understand it why you want me to think we’re not there. The least you could do is be a gracious looser and concede when you’re wrong. Come on, tell me. Are we in Washington or Oregon? Please tell me, I’m going to find out sooner or later."

Putting the knife down, still white with left over mayonnaise, Spike moved towards Willow and lifted her off the counter. Taking her hand again, he walked her towards the wide expanse of windows that looked out towards the water.

Placing her in front of him, Spike wrapped his arms around her, effectively trapping her arms by her sides. Unconsciously, Willow leaned into his body, comforted by the strength that emanated from him. Leaning his head down so he could speak directly into her ear he pointed a finger out the window and said. "What do you see, Willow?"
 

"The ocean, and the back yard…can you call it a back yard? I mean it’s so big, shouldn’t it have a formal name or something like that?"

Ignoring her last statement, he pointed again and said. "What do you see, Willow?"

"Um, Spike I already answered that question but if this is a trick, I don’t want to play anymore." She tried to escape his arms but Spike reflexively tightened his hold on her.

"What don’t you see, Luv? What should be there but isn’t?"

"I don’t know! Just tell me already! And what does this have to do with Washington or Oreg—"

Suddenly she understood, understood like she knew why Mat couldn’t speak to her. Outside the window at six PM, Willow Rosenburg could not see the sun. It wasn’t that it was covered by clouds or that it was already too dark, instead she couldn’t see the sun because the sun wasn’t setting on this body of water, it was moving away from it.

"The sun," was her weak reply.

"Right, now if we were on the West Coast, shouldn’t the sun be setting towards the water?" He already knew the answer, Willow wasn’t going to stroke his ego more for him. Instead, she stood there stunned and shaken as he moved away from her and went to work on the sandwich.

That feeling stole over her again; the one that accompanied her absolute knowledge that Spike controlled everything. As far as she was concerned, Spike was god to her. He commanded, she obeyed, that simple. Willow looked out to the water examining the waves as they formed and then disappeared beneath the cliffs and her watchful eyes.

"We’re on the East Coast?"

Spike said nothing.

"How did you get me all this way? How?" She didn’t know, didn’t know if she wanted to know. He was a mystery, a man—vampire—with a power over her that he could abuse but instead seemed only to use it to take care of her. She didn’t know if she wanted to know.

"It doesn’t matter, Luv. Here’s your sandwich. Why don’t you come sit down and eat? You really could stand to put on some weight."

She moved as if in a dream, from her spot at the window to the chair he held out for her. He placed the sandwich in front of her and when she did nothing, he moved her hand and placed the bread into it. "Now come on, Luv. You don’t want me to feed you again do you?"

That seemed to snap Willow out of it. Taking a bite, she looked at Spike. She saw that she had two choices, either scream and rant until Spike told her where she was—which probably wouldn’t work—or pretend like she’d never asked the question in the first place.

"How come the refrigerator runs but there’s no heat?"

She made her decision.

Spike laughed, almost as if he was relieved. "It’s got a generator. You have no idea how bloody marvelous that invention is! I remember having to go half away across town to get milk out of the river. Then there was the ice box, which was really nothing but a bloody pain in the ass considering you had to make sure the ice truck didn’t miss you or all your food was a lost cause."

Willow smiled and shook her head in understanding. She could live with her decision. "Is that the only thing that runs by generator?"

"Mostly. The water gets heated by it and then there’s the washing machine in the basement; but don’t worry, you’ll never have to see that thing." Spike gave a mock shake in fear. "Basements and rats, well, our basement doesn’t have any rats but you get the picture."

Again Willow nodded, then reached for the other half of the sandwich. "The stove? Does it use the generator too?"

"Yep, trusty old stove. In the day when there were wood stoves, forget it, nothing ever cooked evenly. If you’ve ever had a cake cook on one side and still be runny on the other you’d understand."

Willow giggled, she couldn’t help it; he could be so charming. "Why don’t you just put electricity throughout the whole house. Wouldn’t that make life easier?"

"Easier?! Luv, do you have any idea how much an electrician costs?"

"No, why?"
 

"Let’s just say that it would cost more for me to run wire through this house than half the cost was to build it! Not really fancying the bill."

Laughing, Willow finished her sandwich and looked around the kitchen. "Well, I guess we better put away this food before it spoils."

"Smart thinking, Willow."

The compliment didn’t go unnoticed.

Rising from their chairs, Willow and Spike began to sort through the mounds of groceries. Roughly thirty bags filled the kitchen and carried a wide variety of goods, from food to drug store essentials. Willow blushed as she pulled out a box of tampons and quickly pushed it back into the bag, choosing to use that one for any other personal products that might be revealed in the unpacking.

A few minutes later found Spike with the fridge door open trying unsuccessfully to stuff four bags worth of vegetables into a space for less than one and a half. "Bloody ice box designers! What do they expect, of course everyone’s going to bloody eat out, there’s no room for any real food in here! Look at this Pet, not even a place for vegetables! Not to mention a bloody turkey!"

From across the room came Willow’s heartfelt agreement and laughter.

They worked for about fifteen minutes separating things into piles, pantry, freezer, and refrigerator. As Willow gazed at the heaps of food around her a sudden question popped into her mind. "Are we having a party? I mean there’s so much food here!"

"Nope, don’t worry, Luv, no one’s going to eat anything you really wanted. Now, how am I going to fit this in there…"

But Willow wasn’t listening. All around her she began to look critically at the foodstuffs. Adding everything in her head she estimated about three months worth of food on the kitchen floor alone, not to mention some of the stores that were already present. Three months worth. That thought hit her like a ton of bricks. Spike was planning on keeping her for at least three months. No quick death, no fast retreat from existence. No, three months at least before he sent Mat out for more food. All around her the food and stores seemed more and more like a death sentence and less and less like something that would sustain her.

"How…" Spike turned in her direction, eyeing her quizzically. "How long are you planning on keeping me here?"

He sighed, there wasn’t anything else he could do besides hit some sense into her. "Look Willow, let’s not get into this again, alright. We’ve been over the blasted thing a hundred times." Turning away from her, Spike continued to put the rest of the vegetables away.

Noting the tone of voice Spike was using, Willow remained silent. The weight of her predicament again resting solely on her shoulders. She’d bare the burden in silence.

A sudden movement caught her attention at the kitchen entrance. In the doorway stood Mat, watching her with uninhibited interest. Not to be outdone, Willow herself returned his intent gaze. She was about to try talking to him again when Spike finally noticed the man’s appearance.

"Are you done bringing everything in?" When Mat nodded, Spike returned the nod and looked to Willow. "Stay here and I’ll be right back. Why don’t you finish putting the rest of this food away."

There was no warning to the sudden flash of fear that coursed through Willow. She’d been alone before, numerous times in fact—perhaps her whole life—but suddenly Willow didn’t want to be alone. Slivers of cold fear slammed into her chest, fear of being all alone in the kitchen, fear that maybe she’d angered Spike so much he didn’t want her to go anywhere with him. She protested. "No, I’ll—I’ll go with you."

"I said, stay here!" Spike nearly shouted and took a menacing step towards her. Willow’s eyes went wide and her fear of being alone was completely disregarded for this new fear of Spike. Retreating from him, Willow backed up into a counter and put her head down and gave a slight nod trying not to make eye contact with Spike.

Regret spiraled through Spike but now was not the time to show it. Giving her instructions to again put the food away, he moved out of the room, Mat right on his heels.

Willow breathed deeply, willing her heart to stop beating quite so fast. With a few more calming breaths she moved towards the food and tried to analyze what had gone wrong. She figured Spike was angry because she’d disobeyed him but then again she had said ‘No’ to him before and had never been yelled at. She was confused, and as the piles of foodstuffs were put away her mind still could not make any sense of it.

However a new thought entered her mind. As she looked into the refrigerator, she noted the apparent lack of vampire nourishment—blood. Looking about the kitchen she pulled out drawer after drawer looking for blood—or more importantly, something to keep her mind off of Spike’s outburst. After a few minutes of this, and still nothing, Willow pulled out a chair and sat down, effectively waiting for Spike to return.

She didn’t have to wait long. After barley enough time to sort out her jumbled thoughts, Spike entered the kitchen, took one look at her, and hung his head in apparent shame. Surprised, Willow watched as he crossed to her chair and knelt by her feet. When he looked up, she could see regret written plainly on his face.

"Willow," Spike took the hand closest to him and held it, running his thumb across her palm. "I’m…I’m sorry I yelled. I really messed up. I wasn’t mad at you, Luv. I—well, it’s complicated. But I’m not mad at you, only sorry that I didn’t pick up on your increased heart rate ‘till after I’d yelled."

Willow gave him a questioning look. "That’s what I mean, I’m stumped too. How come when I said I would be right back, you got so scared?"

He’d caught her, called her on the one thing she didn’t have an answer too—well, one thing of many it seemed. Taking her hand from his, she cradled it in her other hand, as if just by allowing herself to touch him, she’d loose the answer herself. Shrugging her shoulders she looked up at him again and gave a weak smile. "I don’t know. Doesn’t matter."

"No, Willow, it does matter. What happened?"

"Nothing, I—I just didn’t want to say in the kitchen. I guess I didn’t want to have to put all the food away myself." She tried to smile, to laugh it off as nothing, but she could see from his face it wasn’t working.

Then as if he realized she didn’t have any more answers than he did he changed the subject. "Oh, Luv, come with me. I’ve got a huge present for you!" Like a giddy schoolboy, Spike pulled Willow from her seat and half dragged her in his haste across the kitchen floor. Out through the hallway, past the foyer, and down the first hallway to the left that led into the parlor, Spike pulled Willow along.

When he pulled open the door, the first thing Willow noticed was something wasn’t right. She’d avoided this room, not liking the many portraits of the dead that hung on the walls. But now as she looked about, she realized the curtains were drawn back as if to air the room out and on every available surface were stacks and stacks of white boxes. All sizes ranging from those that looked like they could hold nothing but a small piece of jewelry to boxes that came up to her waist.

Turning to look at Spike, Willow watched him intently as he moved to retrieve one of the boxes and bring it back to her. Noticing she was still standing at the door, Spike took her hand and maneuvered her to one of the couches and after removing the boxes, had her take a seat.

Placing a box a little bigger than one that would normally hold a dress shirt onto her lap, Spike sat back on his heels and stared expectantly at her. When she didn’t do anything he cocked his head and asked. "Well aren’t you going to open it?"

Willow examined the box before her shaking it and hearing a light rattling sound she gave Spike a questioning look.

"You’re not going to have any idea ‘til you open it, Luv."

Carefully, so as not to damage the box, Willow worked the lid off and pushed aside the numerous pieces of tissue paper. What she uncovered took both her breath away and held her in place, frozen with happiness and fear.

A delicate dress of the purest white lay snuggled in the box on her lap. Willow could tell that it was made from silk by the mat-gloss of it. At Spike’s request, Willow stood—while holding the shoulders of the dress—and let the box fall at her feet with the hem of the dress. She didn’t have to try it on, she already knew it would fit, and fit perfectly. What she didn’t know was why Spike had gotten her a dress of such exquisite beauty. If he only planned on keeping her alive until he was done playing with—but no, she was his, he would take care of her and if he wanted her to have this beautiful dress until her dying breath, then so be it.

"Do you like it, Willow?"

"Would you like me to put it on?"

Spike smiled and Willow made a move to exit the room. Suddenly Spike’s strong arms wrapped about her waist and held her still. "You stay, Luv, I’ll be right outside." With that, Spike released her and moved out of the room, leaving her to change.

Willow removed her clothes and then lifted the dress over her head and let the cool material shift and fall gracefully over her too thin frame. The white sleeves of the dress fitted her arms snuggly but not uncomfortably, then tapered into points that rested lightly over the tops of her hands. Running parallel to her spine was a row of delicate mother of pearl buttons that ran from mid thigh to right under her bust. Over her breasts was a gathering of the material, which accentuated her modest figure. At her thighs the dress split, revealing her legs, which would have been fine in this day of bikinis but in this dress she felt scandalous, an image of tempting innocence; a sacrifice to some great and terrible beast. Not knowing what to make of the dress, Willow moved to the door and beckoned Spike to reenter.

She watched his eyes run over her body and couldn’t help the blush that suffused her skin with color. Instinctively, her hands raised to cover her too exposed breasts but then suddenly detoured and splayed flat against her stomach. Her posture spoke of a virgin bride on her wedding night, fearful and yet anticipating all of her dreams to come true.

Spike’s smile extended past his eyes to his whole body. He seemed to Willow to be gazing at a beautiful painting he knew would be destroyed before the viewing was over. She didn’t want to disturb the way he looked at her just now. She watched his hands shift as if to touch her only to return to his sides, as if he’d thought better of scaring her away.

How it happened, she didn’t know; didn’t realized she had moved towards him until she felt his cool hands resting on her hips and a now questioning look in his eyes. She blinked, lost in her own spell and simply stared up at him. Willow felt him squeeze her hips, almost asking if it were all right that he rested them there, asking permission to touch her.

It was liken to a shattering that caused Willow’s resolve of indifference to fall about her like broken crystal, beautiful, but deadly. She melted against him, allow his body to support her slight weight as she ran her hands up to rest against his chest. His hands wound their way around her as he tucked her gently and firmly into himself.

Willow felt the tears come unbidden to her eyes and they stung with their desire to be shed from the torment of her body. She shuttered once, twice, and then she couldn’t stand it any longer. For the first time in her entire life she felt safe, from the world, from those things that were not a part of the world and yet still remained, and mostly from herself. In Spike’s arms she found comfort, a need as great as her own to be loved, cherished, and needed. In the arms of a killer she found comfort from her own death.

Silent sobs shook her body as she wept for her lost life. She cried for Oz and Buffy, she cried for Xander and Cordelia, she wept for Angel, for Drusilla, for Spike, but mostly, she cried tears of pain for herself.

She felt her body lifted by strong arms but couldn’t stop the tears that now went in concert with great gasps of air as her body tried desperately to fuel the fires of her emotional release. The soft breeze against her face told her she was moving but she refused to look, wanting only to stay tucked in Spikes shoulder, away from a world that had given up on her a long time ago.

"Shhhh, Luv. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere." His voice cut through her haze and Willow realized she was speaking, realized that as she sobbed. She was begging him not to leave her, pleading with him not to let her go. She tried to stop her voice, to gain control over one part of her life, but even the simple act of silence was too much and she gave into the temptation to ride the wave of feelings that suffused her being.

Spike rocked her gently, running cool and comforting hands over her heated and tear stained face. Willow’s hand left Spike’s chest and latched onto the hand that now lay against her cheek and held it there. His fingers curled around her face, anchoring this part of himself to her.

It wasn’t spoken but his touch told her it was there. A mirror image of herself was reflected in Spike. He had control, he was old beyond her comprehension, and he was better at knowing what he wanted; better at realizing it without fanfare. Willow suddenly realized, what was really happening. Spike needed her as much as she needed him. He needed her comfort as much as she so desperately needed the solidness of his form. Strangely, knowing he was just as weak as she was a comfort. They were both lost, pushed away from everything and everyone they had ever loved; they were the same, only different.

Willow’s sobs quieted until only the occasional hiccup could be heard from her lips. Yet still Spike rocked her and whispered soothingly into her ear nonsense sounds that had no meaning other than the soothing tone used to utter them.

The night stretched on but still Spike held Willow locked in his embrace, giving and taking strength. Finally Willow lifted her head from his shoulder and looked into eyes so like the arctic sea.

"Thank you for the dress."

His hand brushed through her hair and around to the back of her neck. Pulling her forward, he placed a chase kiss on her forehead and whispered against her skin. "I hope you like it."

"I never dreamed of owning something as beautiful as it. I’ll…I’ll cherish it. Thank you."

His expression shifted and a wicked gleam entered his eye. "Well, we couldn’t have you running around in holie jeans, and my shirts now could we? Besides this dress and the others in the boxes you haven’t opened, seem more appropriate when in Windemere, don’t you think?"

She nodded her head and then returned it to his shoulder. She rested there for some time before daring to ask her next question. "Will this change things?"

Spike understood the question. He’d been wondering the same thing himself, now he knew the answer. "Yeah, Luv, it changes everything."

"How?" was her almost scared response.

"I’m never going to let you go now."

Silence, then one more question to end this evening of revelations.

"Will you promise to take care of me?"

No hesitation.

"Yes."

The fire continued to burn in the fireplace as the soft glow caressed the two figures that sat intertwined in one of the many couches. The embers died away, burred out of existence, only to give life in their death.

At dawn’s light, the last of the fire was gone, but in its absence lay the beginnings of a new life for two very lost souls.
 

The eyes of the long dead stared at her from their permanent places on the wall. She stood by the window, her hand resting lightly in the curtains, watching the sea breeze caress the well-manicured grass.

Her soul was heavy, that was the only way to describe the feeling that settled itself upon her shoulders and would not leave her. Nothing made sense anymore, and as the days stretched farther and farther, she found herself, loosing sight of everything. Spike’s constant attention, the only thing keeping her grounded.

But she fought against even him. Demanding he prove himself to her again and again. Despair was her constant companion, as every time she thought she could move forward, towards him, she found instead that she could only remain still. Something in her would not submit. And slowly but surely it was reaching out to destroy her.

Her thoughts settled on Spike. Could he keep his promise, could he protect her against everything? Could he stop this thing inside of her, that would not stop itself?

She returned to the window, but the glass held no more answers than her dying heart.

Spike…

* * *

Spike entered the parlor, where he knew Willow would be. He’d awakened every night that week to find her here, sometimes sitting on the couch, but most often, standing by the window, looking at something he couldn’t see.

He paused to look at her. She was still too thin, but he was beginning to think she always would be. Her body seemed to have a natural metabolism, and no matter how much food he fed her, she never seemed to gain any weight. That however, didn’t mean he was going to stop trying. Her hair hung lightly, just above her shoulders, it’s brilliance reflecting the firelight. Skin pale, he knew humans needed sun, but when he’d asked her about spending her days in the upstairs sitting room she’d simply said she preferred her room.

Suddenly she turned, he must have made a sound. Her green eyes caught his and held him, captivated by the look he saw there. It was the same as all the other nights. That same look would come into her eyes, and he knew the question she would ask, because it was the same one she asked every night.

Stepping way from the door, he moved in behind her, and spooned his body to hers. His arms wrapped about her, trapping her against him, his willing captive. Resting his chin on the top of her head, he spoke, "Good evening, Willow. Did you sleep well?"

She nodded her head, and then relaxed her body into his, as if she’d needed to hear his voice, confirming for herself that he was actually there, still at her side--that he hadn’t abandoned her--before she would allow any weakness to show. His hands were clasped under her breasts, and she moved her hands to cover his. He moved his head and nuzzled the side of her neck, laying a light kiss on her collarbone, "I’m still here, Luv. It’s ok."

Lifting her head, she looked into his face, looking again for that something she so desperately needed from him. The look, it was the same, always the same. The memories came to him, crashing into his senses.

The first night after Willow had broken down in his arms, he’d been in the library, sitting on one of the couches, reading the well loved copy of "The Catcher in the Rye." Willow had entered the room at some point, and he watched her walk around the library aimlessly.

She would stop at one bookcase or another, but never pulled out one of the books, only examined the titles and then moved to the next. She’d seemed like a waif to him, a ghost that had entered the library of a long forgotten past, to reminisce.

Another of the long dresses he’d had brought in from town adorned her body, draping over every curve, adding even more to her natural beauty. The white dress pulled the color from her skin, and made her look even paler than she was. For a moment, she looked so much like his dark goddess, that only the color of her hair helped make the difference know.

Wordlessly, she moved to the doors, only to think better of it, and return to the bookcases. He saw her reach for one of the many latter’s, only to again disregard it, and move to the next shelf. One by one, she absorbed the titles, but never once lifted one to examine. She seemed lost, looking for something, and yet, not.

Through it all Spike had remained where he was, laying across the couch, watching her intently. More than once he’d thought to call to her, ask her what was wrong, but he knew he couldn’t. Just as before, he knew she needed to come to him. The night before, when she’d broken apart in his arms had only been the first step, now his beautiful Red Queen, needed to come to him again, needed to realized that he could help her, but she had to be the one to ask.

Heartache fell across him, such a new emotion, to a man long dead, and even longer dead his heart. But he felt such overwhelming pain, as he sat watching Willow struggle with herself. He wanted to ease her agony, take all the things that haunted her short life and destroy them, shred them into tiny pieces and let them fly on the wind. And he would, he’d show her pleasures she’d never dreamed to imagine, he’d tempts her with delights few in the world ever had the privilege of seeing, he’d give her anything her heart desired; but first she had to come to him, and ask.

Finally after nearly an hour, she walked over to the fireplace and stood next to it, absorbing the heat it gave off. She rubbed her arms, trying to warm them; but it wasn’t cold that suffused her body, but fear. Spike knew, understood, because if it had been within his ability, he too would be shaking. So much of the rest of their lives rode on her next move. Everything that could be, or would be rested in her hands; hands that were so very worn and cold.

She moved from the fire, and with hesitant steps, stood before Spike and gazed at him. Still he said not a word, only looked at her with what must have been quizzical eyes. Her return look was one that gave away nothing, she was so very lost, lost so much that even she didn’t know how to call for help. In the end, she only prolonged the game.

"Will you promise to take care of me?" The same question as the night before, the same desperate plea. Reassurance. A promise. Would he deny her, retract his promise? Could she trust him?

"Yes, I promise." There was no fanfare, no long declarations of forever and always, there didn’t need to be, she’d eventually learn, he always kept his promises.

She said not a word, nor did she nod her head in acceptance. Instead she lifted his arms away from his chest, where they had situated while he’d watcher her move, and settled herself on the edge of the couch. A long pause followed, and Spike could see she was struggling with something, something she was so very afraid of. But she’d done enough for one night, she didn’t have the strength to end the game tonight, but she had continued it, she wasn’t ready to give up yet.

Reaching his arm around her waist, he drew her slight body down and against his chest, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder. For a moment she was still as stone, ridged in his arms, and then as if she no longer had the desire to fight, she sunk into him, molding her body into his. Eventually she shifted onto her side to get more comfortable, laying her right arm across his chest for comfort and stability.

"What are you reading?"

"My favorite book."

She seemed to think on this a moment, before saying, "You’re still a killer, you know." She wasn’t saying it for his benefit, but for her own; reaffirming what she knew, trying desperately to remind herself he was a vampire, not to be trusted, not to be allowed trust back.

"Yes I am. But in a way Luv, aren’t we all?"

He felt the hand across his chest clutch his shirt, the material bunching in her hand. She was silent for a long while, and then very quietly she answered, "Yes, we are."

Without another word, he lifted the book with his right hand and began to read. His voice was low and soothing, not matching the words he was reading at all, those of a desperate young man, slowly dying inside, but Willow relaxed more and more into him, until finally she fell asleep. Content, he continued to read aloud, softly now so as not to awaken her, as he ran his fingers lightly through her hair and over her delicate face.

"Spike?" Her voice brought him back to the present, to her searching eyes, so hungry for that precious answer she was seeking.

"Yes, Willow?"

"Do you promise to take care of me?"

So very delicate, she could break so easily, shatter into a thousand pieces. The game they played was dangerous, even deadly. One false word, one wrong meaning, and he could lose her.

"I promise, Willow."

She turned back to the window, staring at nothing. The game continued. So very delicate…

* * *

The knock that sounded on the door to his bedroom startled Spike who was about to take a shower before bed. He’d retired after making sure that Willow had been fed and was safely tucked into her room. He stood, a towel in his arms, and walked to the door, fear made his steps faster, and he deftly reached for the handle and threw the door open.

There, her face awash in tears, stood Willow, her body encased in a large fluffy white robe, that seemed to swallow her in the terri-cloth. Her face was red and she sniffled, but what concerned him the most was the look of blind terror in her face. She seemed to not know whether to speak or flee, but she was here, and he wasn’t going to let her go.

"Willow, what’s wrong, are you alright?" His words were rushed, speed being most important, he had to know she was all right.

Her eyes went wide, and if it was possible, she seemed even more afraid than she had been when he first opened the door. She took a step back, as if to retreat, run from him, only to retract her step, and then take another one forward. Her face fell then, crumpling into great gasping sobs that shook her body, and made her eyes dance dangerously close to insanity.

"Willow," he knelt down at her feet, hands grabbed for her upper arms, holding her still so she couldn’t run from him. At her feet he continued, "Tell me what’s wrong."

Suddenly, her gasping stopped, as if someone had literally unplugged all of her emotions and left her nothing more than a talking machine, her eyes dull and lifeless, as she asked her question, "Will you promise to take care of me?"

Shaking his head, Spike cupped her face with both of his hands, resting his cool fingers on her flush cheeks, "I promise, Willow. I promise to take care of you, no matter what." He caressed her face for a moment, watching as some of the light came back into her eyes, "What’s wrong Willow, you can tell me. I promise I won’t get angry."

And then it began, her body started to shake uncontrollable, so that only Spikes arms on her shoulders kept her from falling in a heap on the floor. Her face took on a look of terror filled agony, a looked he’d not seen in all of his two hundred years. Then she reached out to him, grasping him by the shoulders, and began shaking her head back and forth, her cries were accompanied by large tears that cascaded down her face, only to be followed by more, "I’m sorry Spike. I’m so sorry. I—I—I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad. Please! Please don’t be mad at me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!"

She continued on, repeating the same phrases over and over. Spike tried to quiet her, but she wasn’t listening, wasn’t able to hear his words of comfort. Finally, he brought his hands back up to her face, staying her head, and looking deeply into her soul. What he found there brought blood red tears to his eyes.

Willow was exposed, needy, standing in the doorway to his room, she had finally come to him, broken down, and now stood before him begging silently with her eyes for him to save her. She needed him, he needed her, they needed each other. He would not fail her.

"Willow, listen to me, Luv. You don’t have to be sorry. Whatever it is, I’ll take care of it, I’ll take care of you. You don’t ever have to be afraid to come to me. I’ll take care of you. All you have to do, Luv, is tell me what’s wrong, then I’ll take care of everything. I’ll take care of you, I promise."

She took a step back away from him, and for a second Spike thought he’d lost her, that even he couldn’t save her. But she simply stood there, not running, not coming back to him. So he stood, and closed the gap between them. And that was all it took, Willow seemed to see him for the first time, and she dropped her eyes, but not before he’d seen her expression. In that one solitary moment, she’d admitted to herself she needed him, she would trust him with whatever had happened to her. He’d finally gotten through.

When she again looked at him, he could tell it was going to be bad. Her mouth opened to say something, before closing and then opening again, her voice was hardly above a whisper. "I’m sorry Spike. I don’t want you to be angry. I couldn’t—I couldn’t help myself. I tried, I really did, but I just couldn’t. I’m sorry, please don’t be mad at me."

"It’s going to be alright, Willow. But you have to tell me what happened. I’ll make it all better, but you must tell me why you’re crying."

She looked down at her hands, which lay clasped in front of her, like a reprimanded child, "I’m crying…because I disappointed you."

"How could you, Willow? You could never disappoint me. Not ever."

Again her eyes focused on him, assessing whether or not he was telling the truth. Finally she saw what she needed, and held out her left arm. "I—I cut myself again." Such a tiny whisper, so small, so scared, so desperately searching to be found.

"Oh, Luv." He again knelt before her, and raised his left hand to touch her face. "How bad?"

She leaned into his touch before responding, drawing comfort and strength from him. "I—I don’t think it’s too bad. I tried—I mean I didn’t want to do it." Her voice once more got very tiny, "I really did try to stop myself."

"I believe you, Willow. May I look and see?" She nodded her head, and Spike pushed the terri-cloth robe from her wrist, and exposed the angry slash marks that ran horizontally across her forearm. He winced at the obvious pain they must have caused, "What did you do it with, Pet?"
 

There was no anger in his voice, and Willow was easily startled by its lacking, "My…dress, it got caught in one of the doorways…I broke one of those beautiful mother of pearl buttons. I was so worried you’d be mad, so worried you wouldn’t take care of me anymore if you found out. I tried to tell myself that you would, that you wouldn’t be mad at me. But…I…I couldn’t do it." She paused, collecting herself, "I--I used the broken button…it’s what started it." Desperation, blame a button for the pain one inflicts on ones self. Desperation.

"How long ago, Luv? These have already stopped bleeding."

"I didn’t want to tell you. I knew once I’d done it you’d be mad—"

"No Willow, I’m not mad. I’m sad that you did this, sad you were worried that I’d be angry, but I’m not mad at you. A broken button on a dress is easy to fix, and there isn’t anything you could possibly do that would make me not want you, or not keep my promise. I’m not mad at you." He punctuated the last sentence by rising to his feet, and laying a light kiss on her forehead.

Taking her by the hand he led her across the plush carpet, to the bathroom door. Once there he picked her up, and settled her on the countertop. Carefully, he pushed back the sleeve of her robe once again, and looked at the cuts from the taper light. "How long ago did you do this, Luv," he asked again.

"Maybe half an hour, maybe more, I—I don’t know."

"Can you trust me, Willow? Just for a little while, just until I’m done taking care of you tonight?" He needed her trust, what he was about to do demanded it.

She studied him for a moment, but it was brief, as if she was just reaffirming her answer, "I’ll try, Spike, I’ll try."

Nodding his head, he set her injured arm by her side, then moved his hands to the stays of her robe, and untied them. He glanced at her face, and noted that her expression had not changed, she was still willing to accept his help. Letting the ties go, he opened the robe, and helped her remove her injured arm from the sleeve, before moving to the other one.

When her robe was completely off, he stood her up, and looked deeply into her eyes, "Here comes the trust part, Pet. If it gets too much, I’ll stop, but you have to believe that I won’t hurt you. You have to believe that I’ll take care of you, that everything I will ever do from now on will be about taking care of you. Can you try to believe that?"

No hesitation, as if she was finally over the precipice, and had landed safely in his arms, she nodded her head, "Yes, I’ll try."

Spike leaned her silk clad body against the counter, and moved to the shower. He turned the hot water on, and allowed the steam to fog the glass enclosure. Then, adjusting the temperature to something Willow could stand, he moved back over to her. "Lift your arms Pet, let me get this off you."

Without word of protest or pause for thought, Willow lifted her arms and allowed Spike to pull the dark green nightgown from her body. Goosebumps rose on her flesh as the warm, moist air from the shower touched her skin. She said not a word, as she stood exposed before him, clad only in a pair of black lace underwear.

Dropping to his knees, Spike hooked his fingers through the waistband and eased the delicate material over her hips, and down her shapely legs. Then like the goddess Venus, she stood before him, her skin a glow from the heat in the room, and a deep flush on her skin from his presence. "Perfect."

Her eyes met his, and she gave a weak smile. "Thank you."

"What are you thanking me for Luv, I’m just telling you the truth."

She thought on that a moment, before her smile grew more bold, "For you, I know."

He returned her smile before stepping away from her and removing his own shirt. Next went his pants, and finally his boxers. He heard Willow’s startled gasp, and couldn’t prevent the smile that flew across his face. Then he took her uninjured arm, and led her to the shower.

Long ago, the shower had been built for two, a luxury that had had to be concealed in the society in which it was built. Now it served it purpose nicely as Spike stepped into the warming spray, and pulled Willow flush against him. She shook in his arms, not from fear, but something else, something Spike wouldn’t allow himself to think about. She didn’t need him to try and take advantage of her now, she needed him to take care of her; and that was exactly what he was going to do.

He pulled her head against his chest, and carefully and slowly stepped both of their bodies into the hot spray. Spike heard her startled gasp as the soothing water fell across her damaged skin, but the arm he had wrapped about her waist gave a tight squeeze, before he spoke softly over the mist, "I’m going to take care of you, Willow. Just trust me." Her nod alone answered him.

Lifting his hands to her hair, he worked the water past the first layer, running one hand through it’s length, while the other made a tent on her forehead to protect her eyes. He felt her move closer into him, wrapping her arms around his waist instead of resting them on his hips. Unconsciously she rubbed small circles across his back, and Spike had to concentrate, on the task at hand.

Once her hair was sufficiently wet, he reached for the bottle of shampoo that rested in a built in alcove. It wasn’t the right scent, more masculine than feminine, but that didn’t matter now. After a generous amount resided in his hand, he worked a lather into her hair, massaging her scalp and upper neck, hoping to ease some of the tension he could still feel lingering in her muscles. The more he touched her, the more she seemed to relax against him, his touch soothing the inner conflict, and ending the last of her will to fight. Her hands stopped moving against his back, and instead rested on the curve of his bottom. Spike rinsed one hand of the shampoo, and then tipped her head back into the spray, again covering her eyes from the tear causing foam. Gently he worked the lather out of her hair, mindful to reach the suds that were hiding at her neckline and behind her ears.

When the suds were finally rinsed away, he repeated the steps with the conditioner, which was again too masculine, but would have to do. He could hear her making soft sounds as he eventually worked the slick substance from her hair. The sound, music to a dying man’s ears. For here in his arms, she found pleasure, here by his side, she still stood, exposed to the world, bared to his imposing body, and still she found enough trust in him to sigh softly in pleasure. Music to a dying man…

He pulled her head against his chest again, before lowering his mouth to her ear, "Willow, I’m going to turn you around now, alright?" She waited a breath, and then nodded her head, accepting his question. Spike took her gently by the shoulders, and turned her body around, careful to make sure that her left arm did not enter beneath the spray.

Taking a washcloth, he ran a bar of soap over it, turning the blue towel almost white. Then taking the towel into his right hand he placed it below her breasts and waited. He knew this new position would frighten her a little. Before she could hide herself against him, but now she was truly exposed to his eyes. Her breath was held, muscles tight, but her posture turned questioningly as the towel stayed where it was.

Opening her eyes, she turned her head and looked at him. She flushed even more as she made eye contact, but did not drop her gaze.

"May I wash you, Willow?"

Her pupils dilated fractionally, but Spikes predatory vision allowed him to see the barely hidden stirring in her eyes.

At the nod of her head, he moved his hand to tuck her face once again into his shoulder, before he moved the washcloth. Large sweeping circles trekked slowly over her skin. As the towel passed over her stomach, he felt the last of the scabs from her first attempt with a razor fall away, leaving new skin, fresh skin behind. This would pass, her old form would eventually be shed, dropped aside for a new one. He had faith, something he hadn’t had in a very long time; she brought it out in him.

He felt her shutter as he swept the cloth over her breasts, careful to maintain some semblance of professionalism. He couldn’t help the word that formed once again on his lips, "Perfect."

Spike felt her smile against his skin, her lips parting, trapping a measure of his flesh between them by accident, "Thank you." He felt her words more than he heard them. Even if he died tomorrow, even if he never saw the moon again, never fed from the body of a virgin, he would be happy for eternity, simply on those two words.

Placing a steadying had on her lower back, he bent at the knees, and drew the washcloth down her long, thin legs, taking care to wash her feet and toes. She giggled slightly as worked under her food, and he made a mental note about that particular spot. He rose, bringing the cloth over the curve of her rump, and up her back, once again making wide, open circles. Soft white foam, covered the blades of her shoulders, marking the path he’d already taken. When he was finally satisfied—but not really—he again returned to her ear, "Willow, be a good girl for me, and step into the spray."

She sighed in regret, and then stepped away from him, allowing the warm water to sloth away the dirt, grime and guilt from her body. She turned in the water, unwittingly allowing Spike a full view of the woman he’d become obsessed with saving.

His hands caught her shoulders in mid-turn, and he once again pulled her back flush against his front. "Let me have your arm Luvey, the one that doesn’t hurt." She raised her arm to her side, and Spike caught it. Holding it by the elbow, he again lathered it, and then returned it to the spray. "Ok, Luv, now the hard part, let me have the other arm. I promise I’ll be as gentle as I can." Slowly she raised her left arm, and when Spike caught it, she automatically winced. "Sorry, Pet, it’ll only hurt for a second." Bringing the washcloth behind her body, he brushed it lightly over the uncut portion. Then gingerly, he brushed it over the open flesh, lightly bringing the rough edge of the towel against her skin. He heard her hiss in pain and softly whispered in her ear, words of reassurance, and once again promised her he’d take care of her, "Almost done, Luv. Just a little more, we don’t want it to get infected, now do we?" He felt her shake her head in response. When he’d done all he could, Spike brought her arm to the warm water, and washed the stinging suds away.

Finished, he pulled both of her arms to her sides, and then wrapped her close to his body. "You did so well, Willow. I’m very proud of you. It’s ok now, the worst is over, it’s all over." He continued to croon into her ear, starting a rocking motion that eased her.

When she’d calmed down to his satisfaction, he moved and rested her body lightly against the wall, being sure to direct the spray to keep her body warm. "Hold tight, Pet. Then we’ll get you all dried off." He watched her eyes follow his movements as he stepped under the spray. As he soaped his hair, he thought about how he’d spoken to her since entering the bathroom. Like a child, he’d reassured her with simple words, ones that held no double meaning, only the sureness of there definition. She was too smart for that, to be spoken to as a child, but she seemed to respond better to him, as if by those simple words she could be certain he meant exactly what he said. After rinsing his hair, he decided if she responded well to his childish speak, then he’d continue. Perhaps what she needed right now was to be treated exactly like a child; told what to do, how to do it. There was no room for error when instructed, she could be certain not to anger him if she did what he said. He remembered her words from earlier, ‘I just needed to be taken care of for a little while. Just until I can fix this, just until it’s better. Just a little while.’ Spike knew eventually she’d be able to stand tall, but right now, she still held her body curled tightly in a ball, and if she needed to be pampered a little to help her stand, then pampered she would be.

He was about to drop the cloth he’d been using to wash his body, when he felt fumbling fingers take it from him. He glanced behind, to see Willow’s shy smile, as she took the cloth and used it to carefully wash is back. At first her hands worked slowly, almost frightened by what she was doing, and then when he didn’t say anything in protest her strokes became bolder, more sure of themselves. With just enough pressure to have an effect, she ran the soap-covered cloth from the top of his shoulders to the middle of his back. She worked the muscles, applying pressure that caused his back to ripple, and she giggled softly to herself. Finally, when she was satisfied, she reached around his body, and placed the cloth once again in his hand, "I’m finished," was all she said.

Spike turned, allowing her a view of his body, still soapy. He again saw her pupils dilate, but chose to step into the water, rather than be engulfed by the need he saw there.

Clean, he reached over and turned the water off. He pulled Willow into his body--resting one arm around her back--knowing the lack of warmth would soon cause her chills. She moved into him, resting her head on his chest with a familiarity of always being there, as if this was so normal, so right.

Opening the glass door, he grabbed a dark blue towel off the warming rack, before closing the door again. He wrapped the soft material around her back and then, easing her body from his, brought it to her front. Rubbing the towel over her back, he brought the now slightly damp material to her dripping hair, and carefully massaged the moisture away. Kneeling, he took first one leg and then the other, buffing the droplets of water away. Standing, he dried her good arm, and then gingerly took the injured one in both hands. He wrapped the towel around her forearm, and with light pressure, removed all traces of dampness. He saw her wince and apologized before returning the towel to her shoulders and easing her back against the wall.

Again he reached outside the door, and took another towel, which he efficiently used to dry himself off, before wrapping it about his waist. He drew Willow to him, and slipped an arm about her shoulder, before opening the glass door, and helping her into the room.

The sudden change in temperature caused her to shiver, as he quickly removed the towel from her body, and deposited her again on the countertop. "Can you wait her for me, Luv. I’ll be right back. I’m just going into the other room for a second, to get you a shirt to wear, sound good?"

He saw her hesitate, as if weighing the options of his leaving. He could clearly see her inner struggle, battling with herself as to whether or not he would return. Relieve washed over him, as she finally looked him in the eye and nodded her head.

As quickly as he could, he moved to the other room. Reaching into the closet he chose a silk lined velvet shirt, of a rich dark black. He knew the color was too dark for her, but the silk and velvet would keep her warm, while the long sleeves would protect her arm.

Bringing the shirt back into the bathroom, he saw the relief enter her demeanor as he strode towards her. "I promised I’d come back, didn’t I, Pet?" She looked at him then with such adoration, like a child lovingly surprised by a new kitten that hadn’t been expected. The nod of her head was all she seemed to be able to give. "See Willow, I keep my promises, don’t I?" Again she nodded, and Spike opened the shirt, and helped her ease both her arms into it. Then, careful not to hurt her, he unbuttoned the cuff of the left arm, and curled the material back to expose her forearm.

Moving to one of the cabinets, he withdrew a few medical supplies, and then proceeded to wrap her arm in soft airy gauze. When he was happy with his work, he drew the dark sleeve over the top and re-secured the button.

Lifting her by the waist, he put her gently on the floor, and button by button, recovered her body. The last button in place he took her hand, and led her into the other room. It was warmer in this room, thanks to the roaring fire, and the light danced beautifully across her skin as he led her to the bed.

He placed a guiding hand on her back, as he had her take the two steps that led up to the mattress, before lifting her slightly and sitting her squarely on the edge. He brought his fingers to her cheek, and light brush them across the rosy color the heat had created. Spike’s eyes lit up as she moved her face to nuzzle his hand. Slowly, she raised hers, and rested it lightly on his hip, effectively holding him at his place in front of her. She opened her eyes, and gave him a real smile, one that spread across her face, and shone brighter than the sun.

"You should probably get some pants on, don’t you think?" She teased, allowing her fingers to innocently run along the rim of the towel about his waist.

He nodded his head, "You’ll be alright, if I step into the closet for a sec.?"

Again she smiled, "Yeah, I’ll be ok. But…hurry."

He returned her smile and then took the two steps down from the bed, before returning to the closet for a comfortable pair of black satin pants. Spike returned to her side, and was happy to see there was no look of relief in her eyes, she’d know he’d come back to her.

Settling in next to her, he maneuvered her body so she was more securely on the bed, and then scooted closer to her. Reaching across the bed he took the hairbrush he’d brought with him from the bathroom, and slowly began to run it through her damp hair.

She was like an entirely different person, the minute he’d completed the first stroke, she leaned into his touch, begging with her body language for him to continue. Again and again he pulled the bristles though her hair, and soon, she was sighing softly, and arching her back with contentment. He body craved the contact, as if she’d been deprived for so long of it, that it now completely overwhelmed her sense. Again he thought about her mother, didn’t mothers do this for their daughters, didn’t they brush their hair, and share womanly secretes together? He knew Dru had, knew because she’d often brought one brush or another to him, and begged in her sweet voice for him to run it through her hair. He hadn’t minded, it had always brought him a measure of peace, doing such a simple task to make her happy. But never had Dru responded like his Willow. Never had she leaned into his touch, and sighed softly, encouragingly for him to continue. Never had he wanted so badly to please anyone in his long life.

When her hair began to dry from the constant brushing, Spike lifted the brush away, and heard Willow sigh in both happiness and sadness; she didn’t want it to be over. "If I keep brushing, Pet, it’ll get all frizzy. Wouldn’t want that, now would we?"

He saw her shake her head no, and then she turned around to look at him, an odd look in her eye.

"What is it, Luv?"

"Thank you for doing that, it was…nice. My…I didn’t…that is…thank you." She smiled again, and Spike returned it.

"For you Willow, anytime."

She gave a soft laugh, "I may hold you to that."

"Good, I expect you too."

He touched her face, hoping the added contact would be welcomed. Willow leaned in yet again, craving and demanding his presence. He was surprise then, when she pulled away, a strange look coming over her face. It was almost a troubled look, but not exactly.

"It’s started hasn’t it. This is the end."

Spike understood, how could he not, this was exactly what he’d wanted to happen. "It isn’t the end, Willow. To quote a cheesy phrase, ‘It’s only the beginning.’"

A weak smile, and then, "Are you sure you’re not mad at me?"

"Yes, Willow. I’m not angry. You’ve been very confused these last few days, and it’s understandable that you’d lash out against someone. I only wish it had been me and not yourself. But don’t worry. Now that I’m the one taking care of you, you don’t have to worry anymore. I’ll keep you safe, from yourself, from everything.

"Anytime you feel so much pain that you want to hurt yourself, you tell me, and I’ll find a way to make the pain stop so you don’t have too, ok?"

She thought on it a moment, deciding if it was feasible, then, "I’ll try."

"That’s all I’m asking, Luv. You do your very best to need me, and I’ll do mine to take care of you. You don’t have anything to be afraid of anymore, I won’t let anything hurt you ever again."

"But," fear entered her eyes, casting shadows of doubt, "You can’t protect me from everything."

"What things can’t I keep from hurting you, Willow."

She was silent for a long time before finally answering in a voice almost too soft to hear, "The past."

Spike heard, and understood. Hooking an arm under her legs he pulled her to the head of the bed, and then laid her in the mountain of pillows. Shifting his own body, he lay down, and pulled her against him, fitting her into the crook of his shoulder. Slowly he ran his fingers through her damp hair, and curled the fingers of one hand around the curve of her hip.

"The past is a hard thing to control. It’s always with us, pushing into our daily lives. But the past cannot control us unless we let it. I want you to be safe Willow. I want to protect you more than I’ve ever wanted to do anything in my entire life. But you’re right, I can’t protect you from your past, at least not unless I know what it is. I know you can’t talk about it right now, it’s still too fresh a wound," he ran a light finger over her injured arm, "Just like this. But eventually Luv, the wounds will heal, and when they do, when they don’t hurt so much, you can tell me what hurt you, so I can make sure it never happens again. Until then, I’ll just have to make sure that nothing else gets to you, that nothing else harms you, while you wait for your past to stop hurting."

Using his index finger, he lifted her head so she could look at him, "I know you understand that I’ll take care of you now, that I won’t leave you. But I also know that you still can’t completely trust me, and that’s all right. I’m not asking for any more miracles tonight. So I’ll wait patiently for you Willow, and when you know that the time is right, you can come to me, just like you have about everything else. You’re such a strong woman, Luv. Strong and brave, take all the time you need, I’m not going anywhere."

She said nothing, made no motion that let him know she understood his words, but her lack of further protest told him what he needed to know.

"Are you warm enough, Pet?"

She nodded her head, "Am I going to sleep here tonight?"

"Would you like that?"

Silence, then, "Yes."

"Then of course you’ll sleep here tonight, and any other night you choose. Everything that I have is yours, Willow. Take all that you need from me."

She shifted, snuggling closer to him, getting comfortable. She rested her injured arm on his chest and flexed her fingers to lay lightly on his collarbone.

"I--," she paused, "I like it here with you. I don’t know how to describe it. I just—know that—it’s all right to be with you. I want so much—want you to be the one, Spike. You—you could be the one…" She trailed off, her voice catching in the air, leaving room for things to come. Room for things to grow.

"Hush now, Luv. Rest. I’ll be here when you wake up."

"I know." And with that, she fell asleep.
 

Heavy arms shifted restlessly in his grip. Willow was stirring, and he knew from past experiences she’d awaken soon. What he didn’t know was what she would do when she awoke.

The night before had been very difficult for her and him as well. Everything he’d hoped for came true as she came to him, finally asking him for help. The problem was she’d hurt herself to do it, again cutting her body to alleviate the fear she’d felt that he’d be angry at her for breaking a button off her dress. It saddened him to think that she was so afraid of him; but she was learning—had come to the realization last night in fact—that he was going to take care of her, that she didn’t need to be afraid anymore. He knew she understood now, that she believed that he wouldn’t hurt her, that he’d protect her, but there was so much more she wasn’t willing to understand yet.

She needed to learn to trust him, to believe in him beyond his words and actions. Willow needed to trust his intent, even when she didn’t know what was going to happen next. Last night she’d finally allowed herself to believe that he would keep his word, maybe even follow though on his actions, but she still couldn’t allow herself to trust him beyond both of those things.

But he wasn’t about to complain. She’d moved faster than he’d anticipated, gained surer footing with every step instead of stumbling. Willow was moving quickly towards him; not that it mattered anyway, he'd stay as long as it took, he had all the time in the world.

He felt her hand flex against the muscles of his chest and her fingers trailed fire against his skin as she moved her injured arm closer to her body. He wanted her desperately. Last night had been a true test of his willpower and stamina. Everything about him had wanted to claim her, mark her as his and make sure no one ever touched her again; but everything that was Willow begged him not to. Of course she’d been tempted, the flesh is always the greatest temptation; but while her body craved it, her mind needed to trust him and taking advantage of her body would not have gained her trust.

Eyelashes fluttered against his skin and a soft moan of abandoned dreaming left her beautiful mouth. Everything about this fire sprite spoke of perfection. Human eyes could not see the bone structure beneath her still young skin; she’d grow up to be one of the most beautiful women the planet had ever created, one year, maybe two, and the entire world would see what they’d missed. Spike intended to have claimed her by then, just in case.

"Spike?"

"I’m here, Luv. How do you feel, sleep well?"

Her voice was drowsy and her movements languid as she tried to stretch and still maintain as much contact with him as she could. When she’d settled again, she nodded against his chest, the fingers of her injured arm tracing light patterns on his collarbone.

When she said nothing more he became a little worried. She was being too quiet; he’d expected her to completely forget where she was and maybe even put up a half-hearted struggle when she realized where she’d spent the night. But instead she just lay tucked against him, running her fingers lightly over his chest.

Then he realized her words from the night before, during the time he’d made her dinner and they’d sat at the table together, her eating, him watching to make sure she finished it all. Her words had come out of nowhere; one minute she’d been eating, the next she’d looked up at him and just uttered them. Now he wished he’d paid more attention; now that he realized she’d been calling for his help even then. "I just need to be taken care of for a little while. Just until I can fix this, just until it’s better. Just a little while."

He realized then that she was waiting for instructions. She needed him to tell her what to do and how to do it. Like a mother to a daughter or even an overpowering lover, she needed to feel safe and secure and to do that she needed him to dictate her life to her; just until she could do it for herself. Spike hated to think that her pain was so great she couldn’t even allow her mind to think for itself; but he understood that everyone needed a break, and Willow had been taking care of herself and everyone else for the last seventeen years. It was time for someone to take care of her for a change.

"Are you comfortable, Willow?" His voice held honest desire to protect and ensure her comfort. He was sincere, he’d have to be when talking with her; they say dying men know all liars.

Her voice was muffled against his chest, her warm breath flowing over his skin. "Yes, thank you."

"Good. Are you tired? Do you want to sleep some more?"

Suddenly she sat up then, just a little to look into his eyes. Her stare was questioning, as if she were analyzing if he were ready to play the game, if he knew all the rules. He gave her a weak smile and asked again.

Shaking her head no she allowed her head to fall back against his chest. A whisper carried her words to him. "When I was little, my parents took me to a psychiatrist, actually they took me to a lot of them. I was—was having trouble sleeping. I couldn’t get to sleep and then when I did, I’d wake up screaming, terrible nightmares." Reflexively Spike tightened his hold about her body, drawing her closer to him. She snuggled against his chest before continuing. "After the first visit, they all told my parents that it was because I was afraid at night, that I was afraid to be alone in the house."

"Alone? I thought you said you were little."

She paused. "I was. I was only about eight when I went to see the psychiatrists, but I’d been having problems sleeping for years before that." Her voice grew quiet. "My parents have always left me alone in the house while they travel. I’ve been on my own since I was about six; they didn’t see a need for a nanny since I was so smart. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t, that I was stupid, then they would have had to stay with me or at least gotten someone else to."

He stroked his fingers through her hair, not trusting his voice to refrain from condemn her parents as he’d promised not to. But after a minute of silence she continued where she’d left off.

"The psychiatrists told my parents that I needed to be enrolled in therapy right away since I was barely sleeping four hours a night and was only eight. But my mother said it was nothing, just a phase—she’s a child psychiatrist you know one of the best in the world. My daddy’s a Rabbi, he does sermons all over the world and sometimes even in Sunnydale, but it’s been a long time since he’s been in Sunnydale." Quietly, she lay against him then, not saying a word, not volunteering any more information. Her revelations had wiped her out; she wasn’t used to telling people anything about herself.

"So what happened, Pet?"

Shifting, she again looked up at him, resting on her elbow before liking what she saw in his face and returning to his chest. "They took me home and put me to bed. My mom used all kinds of sleep aids on me; some nights she’d give me two or three Valium just to get me to sleep the night."

"Valium? That’s not for kids. I should know, they’ve had that stuff a long time. Your mum gave you that and you were only eight?"

"She’d been giving it to me since I was six, my daddy didn’t know. But when they were home, she didn’t want to hear me scream so she gave me the drugs. When they left she took them away. I eventually learned to get by on three to four hours of sleep."

He wanted to rage, wanted to find her parents and kill them painfully for their ignorance. Her father sounded like an idiot that didn’t know what his woman as doing and her mother—he was going to enjoy that kill very, very much.

Spike’s inner dialogue nearly caused him to miss her next words. "But, that’s what I mean."

"What do you mean?"

"I usually only sleep four hours a night and I still wake up with terrible nightmares most nights, at least twice a night. But since I got here, since you took me away, I’ve slept so long. I’ve gotten to sleep seven, even eight hours and then I haven’t had a single nightmare since I’ve been here.

"I’ve never had so much rest. I’ve never felt—" She paused, taking a deep breath and analyzing her next words carefully. "I’ve never felt safe enough to sleep the whole night. But with you—with you it’s different. I—I feel safe enough to sleep. Last night, sleeping here, I’ve never felt so safe and secure in my whole life, not ever…"

He wanted to hold her tight, to wrap her up in his arms and let her know that while bad things existed in the world none of them would ever touch her again. He settled on pulling her body flush against his own and enveloping her in an embrace that allowed only for her chest to rise and fall.

Willow snuggled into him, gripping at his arm to hold herself to him. So much pain and sorrow in one so young, so many feelings of abandonment and fear. How she’d managed to survive so long, Spike didn’t know, but he did know that she wouldn’t have to just survive from now on, now she would get to live.

"I know that was hard for you to tell me Willow. You were very, very brave to tell me all of that. And you did it all without my asking you to. I’m so proud of you. You can tell me anything Willow, anything at all and I’ll never get mad at you. I’ll never leave you. I’ll always protect you Willow, always."

She nodded her head and then he felt her close her eyes, allowing her body to rest against his.

A long while passed and Spike kept his grip about her. Willow kept her eyes closed, but he knew she wasn’t sleeping, just trusting in him to hold her tightly. He didn’t disappoint. When Spike was sure she knew that he would not leave her he spoke.

"If you’d like Willow, you could always sleep here with me. You don’t have to got back to your room unless you want to."

There was no sound, no movement from her for a moment. Then, "I’d like to sleep with you. I feel…happier with you."

"Then here you will sleep, Pet. In fact, got any ideas for redecorating, just let me know."

She sat up then and smiled at him, a warming smile that showed she’d gotten his joke and found it mildly entertaining, but that she was really smiling at him. It was a very good smile indeed.

"You hungry, Luv?"

She nodded her head. "Maybe a little."

"Then let’s get something in that stomach of yours, shall we?"

He made to rise, to sit up and bring her with him, only to have her wrap her arms around his waist and push him back down.

"Willow?" His voice held a note of concern. He shouldn’t have worried.

"I don’t want to get up, I like it here." Her voice was a mock pout, like a little girl not quite ready to face the day. He laughed and pulled her closer to him.

"But Pet, the whole world is out there waiting for you and me."

She shook her head. "Uuhu, no it isn’t, just the house and it isn’t going anywhere. I just want to stay here, it’s warm here." She smiled, letting him know that if he wanted her to she’d get up and go anywhere with him that she was only playing. Just like a child…

"Is that so, Luv. Well, then I suppose you don’t want to see your surprise then do you?"

Sitting up, Willow gazed into his face adoringly, excitement flowing across her face. "Surprise? What is it Spike?"
 

"Oh it isn’t much really, not that big a deal at all. I just thought you’d like to go outside for a while, maybe see the gardens or even the horses. But if you’d rather say in bed with me, well, who am I to complain?" She positively shook then with happiness and excitement.

"Really! I can really go outside?! And you have horses? I didn’t know you had horses?! I love horses! And the gardens, I can’t wait to see the gardens! Can we see the ocean to, all I’ve seen is from my window and I’d love to see the ocean, can we please, please see it?!" Her excitement was contagious and he found himself smiling right along with her.

"’Course we can. But first you have to eat a big, huge breakfast. Make me proud with how much you can pack away. Then while you get dressed, I’ll make some things for a picnic and we’ll make a night out of it. The moon’s full and you should be able to see almost everything. Sound good to you?"

Willow nodded her head emphatically.

"Alright. Then lets get a shower and head down stairs."

A bright blush flooded over Willow’s face then and she let lose a soft giggle as she remembered last nigh. "Um, Spike…"

He laughed out right, pulling her into a quick hug before releasing her and standing up.

"Don’t worry Pet, I’ll let you have the shower first." A wicked gleam passed into his eyes and he knew Willow saw it. "Besides, I don’t know if I could control myself around you—sleep tousled hair and that fresh out of bed look." It wasn’t a lie and they both knew it. Willow ducked her head in a sweet blush and let Spike help her from the bed.

He leaned down and whispered into her ear. "Don’t worry Willow, there’ll be plenty of time for all that later." He kissed her cheek and gave her bum a light tap in the direction of the bathroom. He saw the smile on her face as she turned at the door to look at him, a knowing look in her eye. She closed the door half way and then stepped deeper inside.

Spike sat on the bed and gave a great sigh. Willow didn’t seem as bad as he’d thought she’d be, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t covering it up. Deciding not to take any chances, he moved to the fire and stocked it, wanting the room to be warm when she returned.
 
 

* * *
 
 

As he walked back into the bedroom, water still clinging stubbornly to his blond hair, he started at seeing Willow still wrapped in her towel sitting in one of the chairs by the fireplace. She had her legs drawn up against her chest and under the towel and her head was resting against one of the arms, just laying, watching the flames dance.

"Willow? Are you alright, sweetheart?"

She looked up at him before quickly looking away. She seemed almost embarrassed. "I’m alright. I was waiting for you."

"I thought you were going to get dressed and I was to pick you up in your rooms?" He was worried, could she suddenly have lost all the nerve she’d gotten last night? Was she afraid he’d leave her again? He hoped no.

"I—I was. I went to my room and then—" She shrugged her shoulders, the towel slipping a little, revealing that she indeed wore a bra and perhaps even a pair of knickers. She’d gone to her room, but had barely dressed, he didn’t understand why.

"How come you didn’t put on one of the dresses I bought you? Or even a pair of ridding pants? I thought you were excited to get to go ridding?"

Her head shot up from it’s resting place, a look of fear crossing her face. "I am excited. I—I want to go ridding really, I do. I—I just…"

"What is it, Luv? You can tell me anything. I promise I won’t get angry." He meant it and the look in her eyes then told him that she knew it, which only confused him more. That is until she answered all his questions in one small answer.

"I didn’t know what you’d like me to wear." She gave him a small but bright smile.

It all fell into place. Everything she was right now needed to be explained, needed direction. She needed him to answer all questions, to tell her what to do, because he’d agreed to take care of her, agreed to tell her what to do. Willow wanted to please him, wanted him to be happy with her, just like any scared child wanted to please. There was reassurance in knowing that the person with all the power cared for and liked you. He remembered, he’d been the same way with Angelus…

"Oh Willow. Anything you wear would make you look absolutely beautiful. Though I have to say, you wearing nothing at all is just as tempting." His leering look caused a laugh of both pleasure and relief, she had been worried that he’d been angry, worried she’d upset him.

"Come with me, Luvey." He reached his hand down and took hers, pulling her body up and away from the towel and chair. When she stood he saw that she was in fact wearing all the required under-things of the day. He had to admit, it was a much better show than it had been a hundred years ago, more skin and yet more for the imagination to wonder at.

He escorted her to the closet, and once inside, dropped her hand at the door before moving deeper inside. Rounding a corner, he exchanged the towel for a pair of well-worn leather pants and a white poet shirt. Leaving the top few buttons undone, he moved back over to her and took her hand.

They left the closet and as they walked down the hallway, Willow spoke. "I like that shirt, it’s nice. I remember it from earlier, that first night I woke up. It’s—comforting."

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her close as he opened her door and led her to the closet. "Whatever makes my Red Queen happy." She smiled at the reference and snuggled into his embrace.

Opening the closet, he knew in the dim light from the fire he’d lit while she was in the shower, she would not be able to see in the enclosed space. He dropped her hand again and moved inside. Rustling around, he found two outfits he thought she’d like before exiting the closet and crossing to the bed where she’d settled.

Holding up the cream colored ridding outfit, he presented it for her inspection. Then holding up the other hand he showed her the jeans and emerald velvet shirt he’d also brought. "Which do you like better, Luv?"

For a moment, panic entered her eyes and he was afraid she’d break down into tears. He realized his mistake, too many choices, any choice at all was one too many. She wanted to please him, but didn’t know him well enough yet to know what he liked. His poor Willow found herself stuck, searching for answers and not having any. He could literally she her worry that she’d choose wrong and make him angry, angry enough to leave her. She believed in his words and actions, but not his future intent.

"It’s all right, Willow. I like both of these outfits, that’s why I picked them. I like them both equally. I thought you’d like to decide which one I got to see you in tonight. You know, add a little spice to my long life." His voice held the joke until he saw her accept it. Relief, for a moment it was all he could feel, she’d accepted his answer, she would choose.

Examining the two outfits, Willow finally reached for the jeans and shirt. Her fingers wrapped about the hangers and brushed his before taking the clothing from his hand and pulling it against herself. He gave her a large smile, one that let her know that she’d actually picked the one he’d really liked best. She beamed at him then.

Moving to the closet, he replaced the other outfit and then moved back to help her into her clothes.

Sitting her on the bed, he slipped the jeans over both of her legs and then pulled her into a standing position to ease them over her hips. He secured the fastenings and then without warning, kissed the tip of her nose. A surprised and then brightly-lit smile fell into place, a quick giggle escaping her tempting mouth. "Your nose looked a little under-appreciated. Thought I’d change its outlook and imagine that, it worked." She ducked her head as an embarrassed flush added color to her skin, he couldn’t help but laugh.

Taking the velvet shirt into his hands he weighed the material. "Think you’ll be warm enough in this, Luv? It’s really warm out there tonight, but I want to make sure." She nodded her head and with careful ease, he slipped the material around her re-bandaged arm. Straightening the collar, he leaned down and kissed her nose again. "I just wanted to see you blush again." And she did.

He fastened the buttons and then helped her tuck the shirt into her jeans. When she stood dressed in both clothes and shoes, he took her hand and led her down the stairs to the kitchen.

Through the windows, moonlight fluttered against the walls and lit the way to the taper that hung against the walls. He lit them, holding Willow’s hand and bringing her along with him to every one. The lighting revealed more and more of Willow’s beauty to him and he knew that if he’d still needed to breathe he would have stopped from just looking at her. The idea that he knew first hand what she looked like beneath her warm clothing nearly undid him.

Choosing to remove temptation before she saw the look he used to gaze at her, Spike settled her into a chair and moved to the refrigerator. He pulled out some eggs and bacon before moving to the stove and turning it on. "How do you like your eggs, Luv?"

She paused, and he held his breath for her answer. "Scrambled and with ketchup, if that’s alright?"

He nearly laughed with relief. He nodded his head; his look telling her he was proud. Then, making sure she knew he was joking, allowed his comment. "What is it with you Yanks. You drown everything with ketchup! You know there was a time when ketchup didn’t even exist! It’s true, I remember it! We use to eat the blasted things with salt and nothing else, we did. Now, it’s ketchup this and ketchup that. Maybe I should ask you what you’d like with your ketchup."

Her laughter made his day as he continued to cook her breakfast, setting the bacon in once the eggs had begun to set up. Spike never wanted this moment to end, but of course it had too.

"Spike?" Her voice held concern and he could tell from the inflection, a hint of fear.

"What is it, Luv? It’s all right." He had to reassure her, make her somehow understand.

"I—that is—um…I can’t—I mean, I don’t—I can’t eat bacon." The last came out in a rush and he found himself stumbling for an explanation. She provided it at his confusing. "It’s not that I don’t want to! Um…well, I’m—well I was Jewish and…we don’t exactly…pork is a no-no." She turned pleading eyes on him and he could see her begging him to understand.

Leaving the eggs to their own devices, he moved to her chair and kneelt before her. "I completely forgot, Luv. You’d told me your dad was a Rabbi and I didn’t even think about it. Sorry ‘bout that; but no worries, we’ll just make a new batch, how’s that sound?" She nodded and gave a smile before he returned to the stove and made a show of throwing out the offensive food. "Back! Back! You dirty, disgusting swine! Away from my Red Queen, she cares not for you horrid presence!" Willow’s laughter was music to his ears.

Once they’d settled on three eggs, toast, a glass of both juice and milk and then half a muffin, Spike sat down beside her to watch her eat. Willow made it through half the food before sitting back to let it settle. They’d exchanged small talk but mostly had remained quite, Spike wanted her to eat not talk.

"Spike, I have a question."

"Go ahead Luv, any question from you has to be an honor for a poor dumb fool like me to have an answer for."

She grinned only to have it disappear suddenly. Willow seemed to struggle with her question, as if she wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it. "I’m—well, I was wondering what you were going to have for breakfast?"

He started at her question, but she pressed on, not taking notice. "I looked in the kitchen when we put all the food away last week, but I didn’t see any blood at all and I know you’re not feeding off me. So I—I’m just curious…that’s all. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want too." Her last line was a rush to save herself, but Spike would never lie to her, never.

"I bet you tore this place apart looking for a food source, didn’t you?"

She nodded. "When you were still sleeping I went looking. I even when into the basement—I don’t like it down there."

"Oh Willow. Luvey, you should have just asked me—well hold on a sec. maybe it’s a good thing you waited. I wasn’t much looking forward to explaining this to you, but I think you’re able to handle it now." She looked at him expectantly, wait for him to continue.

"Mat. Well, Mat and Clara, then there’s Joshua and Philip, Devon, and Bridget." He counted silently in his head, "Yep, that’s the lot of them."

Her eyes grew wide at the mention of Mat’s name and then wider still as she recognized Bridget as being the woman that came every other day to clean the house. "You—you’re feeding from the help?"

"Of course, Luv. It’s how vampires in society have always done it."

"But—but don’t they fight, won’t they tell and get you killed? They don’t stay here they go home. Won’t they come back with a mob and stake you?"

He laughed, she was so innocent. Living in Sunnydale had done her many favors, learning the horrors the world could offer, but it did little to explain the far older European traditions. "Willow, not everyone wants to kill vampires, some blokes actually want to keep us around you know."

"What do you mean?"

"Answer me this, Willow. Besides Angel, myself, and a few others, how would you describe vampires?"

Quietly she thought about it. "I guess I’d say they were hungry, blood sucking monsters, that killed a lot of people and liked it."

"Pretty good description, now how would you describe me or Angel?"

She took longer to think about it. "I guess I’d say you were the same, but with more control—like you didn’t have to kill someone every night and while I think you enjoy it, your not so reckless about it."

"Close, really close. Those bloody Watcher Diaries have been filling your head with one-sided nonsense. What do they tell you, that vampires are hated and feared, that the world doesn’t know about them but needs to be protected from them. Sound about right?" She nodded her head. "Well that isn’t the case, Luv. Vampires have been around since the dawn of time, no one knows how long, but they were there standing right beside Moses when he parted the Red Sea and threw stones at Christ when he walked the path to his death. Those blasted volumes say that all vampires are savage killers but we’re not. We need food just like everyone else and we kill for it, just like everyone else. Do we enjoy the hunt? Damn straight we do! The kill is something we celebrate and a long time ago, back when mortals wore skins of dead animals and worshiped more than one god, they reveled in the kill as well.

"But there are some people that know this, some that want the power we posses. Not everyone is ignorant of vampires, there are some that seek us out, track us down and ask for what we have to offer. Eternal life is very tempting Willow, no matter what you have to give up to get it."

"Is that what you’ve done? Offered to turn your servants into vampires if they let you feed from them?"

"In a way, more like they came to me. For example Bridget, her husbands dying, has been for some years, cancer or something like that. She found me a long time ago, before I came to Sunnydale, and asked me to turn him, in return she’d work for me when I had need of her and offer her blood to quench my thirst. She needed something from me and I might have one day needed something from her, so I made the deal. Now she cleans the house we live in and before she leaves, I take a little from her," At Willow’s horrified shock he shook his head. "No Willow, not like back in Sunnydale. Killing on the Hellmouth is different than killing anywhere else. On the Hellmouth there’s a rush of power you feel as a soul leaves a body that doesn’t happen in the rest of the world. That’s why fledglings go on killing sprees, the rush is really something to die for." He smiled at his choice of words.

"So you don’t take enough to kill her and she still comes back?"

"Yeah. Her husband’s going to die soon, they couldn’t afford medical insurance so he’s not been getting really great treatment. When the time comes, I’ll turn him and leave him. I have no desire for another minion right now, they’re only a pain in the ass anyway."

"But won’t he hurt Bridget?"

"Probably. Not my problem."

Her eyes grew wide then and he started to protest. "No Willow, listen to me. This is the way it goes, this is the way it’s been for more centuries then are even known. There are very few solid deals when dealing with the devil and a vampire is closer than most think."

"But couldn’t you just tell her, warn her what will happen?" He shook his head. "But why?"

"Because God told his people not to make deals with the devil, that he could not be trusted. Like it or not, I’m the devils servant, even when I’m the master. We—vampires and the like—weed out the weak ones. Some will go to heaven, other to hell, that’s not my decision. But she knew the risk before she came to me. And besides, just because her husband gets turned, doesn’t mean he’ll go after her, not all vampires kill their loved ones."

"Did you?"

"Hell yes! But trust me Pet, they deserved it."

She said nothing more and for a moment he was fearful he’d scared her too much, afraid she had learned too much too quickly.

"Spike, I’m going to tell Bridget what you said. Even if she can’t talk to me, I’m going to tell her." She was tempting his wrath, at least that’s how she saw it; he saw her as being a weak soul, not yet ready to embrace the darkness he lived in completely. She’d eventually learn.

"As you like, Willow. But I doubt it will make much of a difference. She made her decision a long time ago now and her husband is too close to dying, her soul is too lost to believe you. You’ll only be wasting your breath."

"I know, I do. She chose this path and she’ll have to live with the consequences. But it just seems fairer to me to tell her, to give her all the information. She can’t bitch at the gates that way." On the other hand, maybe she would learn faster than he thought.

Nodding his head, he indicated her food. "Finish that up Luv, and let’s get out of here. You’re going to love the horses."

A flash of excitement entered her eyes and it was as if she put their discussion completely behind her. She raced to finish her food, leaving only a portion of her eggs and half a glass of milk. Satisfied that she’d eaten enough he took her dishes from her and deposited them in the sink.

"Run up to the library and get our book. I’ll put a lunch together and we’ll head out." Smiling brightly, Willow ran out of the room and he could hear her pound up the stairs to the library. Smiling to himself, he threw some sandwiches together and grabbed a few whole carrots for the horses. It was a beautiful night and an even more beautiful start.
 

The stable smelled musty, but not unkept, more like the way a stable would have smelt a hundred years ago. Willow’s eyes adjusted easily from the twilight outside to the candle lit interior. Around her she saw twelve stables, with another door directly across from her.

Spike held the candle out to her, and gingerly she took it. She followed him forward as he moved from the first few stalls—which Willow soon realized were empty—back towards the other door and a faint rustling sound.

A sudden whinny startled her, and she instinctively grabbed a hold of Spike’s arm. Blushing sheepishly, Willow made to move back, but Spike caught her and rested an arm about her shoulders.

"Don’t worry, Luv. She’s just saying hello."

"She?" Willow looked up to Spike for an answer, but he was already moving her closer to another one of the stalls. The rustling grew louder.

Excited, Willow stepped in front of Spike and stepped onto the footrest of the stable door. She wasn’t ready for the emergent face of one very large stallion.

"AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

"Willow!" Spike grabbed her about the waist and pulled her quickly from the door, shielding her with his own body. "I thought you said you rode horses?"
 

"When I was ten!" She drew in a shaky breath. Willow wasn’t frightened as much as she was startled. The twilight outside and the darkness of a candle lit stable were reeking havoc on her nervous system. Everything she’d been through the last three years told her to never walk outside at night, and to fear things that went bump. Red-eyed horses that jumped out of the dark were right up there on the "NO-WAY" list.

Squaring her shoulders, Willow peeked around Spike’s broad frame and looked into the darkened stall. "Is he friendly?"

"I should hope not! I trained the damn thing myself!" The indignation in Spike’s voice had Willow looking at him with a questioning look. His smile showed he was only partially kidding. "He’s safe enough for me to ride, but I think the mare will be more to you’re liking. Shall we have a look?"

She nodded, but held onto his hand as he led her directly across from the stallion to another box. Slowly Willow made out the shape of the beautiful auburn mare. Her coat shone and glistened in the candlelight, and Willow couldn’t help but carefully put her hand out to be examined.

With Spike’s hands at her hips, she felt confident as the mare took a step forward and sloppily nudged at her hand. Softly, Willow giggled; behind her, Spike smiled.

"What’s her name?"

"Mary, Bloody Mary."

Looking up at him, Willow gave Spike the most indignant look she could muster, before looking behind him towards the stallion's box. "I suppose that must be Jack, Jake Daniel's."

He blinked, before a wide grin encompassed his entire face, "Very good Luvy that's exactly right!"

"What!? You’re kidding right? Please tell me you didn’t name your horses after the happy hour drinks of choice!"

"I didn’t name them."

"Then who did?"

"Drusilla and Angelus."
 

"Oh."

Shifting nervously from foot to foot, Willow turned back around to lock eyes with the beautiful creature before her. Knowing Spike wouldn’t want to continue as the conversation had progressed—and not really wanting to ruin their night together, Willow stepped forward and held out the carrot she’d retrieved from her pocket. "Here Mary, it’s a carrot, you’ll like this. It’s very yummy."

She spoke softly and gently, doing her best not to startle the mare that now munched greedily on the offered vegetable; Willow smiled to herself. Slowly, she reached out her left hand and brought it up to caress the silken coat of its face. Her smile grew bigger, until she was giggling quietly, hand wet from an exploring snout.

Turning, Willow allowed her smile to be shared with the one man that was allowing her the pleasure. Bending down, Spike nuzzled her cheek before dropping a chase kiss. Willow looked at him from beneath her lashes.

"What say we take them out for a ride?"

Instantly, Willow was excited, scrambling from the door, she moved to the latch and undid it before stepping inside. Spike laughed the entire way.

Twenty minutes later, they crested the hill that separated the back lawn from the cliffs overlooking the crashing seashore. Willow inhaled a great gasp of air at the beauty of the place before her. As far as her eye could see stretched the expanse of the shore over a hundred feet below her. The cliffs stood like centuries, warding all that would ruin the magic of the place to stay away.

Turning Mary slightly, Willow looked to Spike and offered a smile.

Returning the gesture, Spike moved Jack closer, "Like the view, Luv?"

Suddenly, it was as if her world came strikingly into focus. Before her stood a man that reigned as the king of monsters, and yet treated her like a queen made from fragile china. Around her was the beauty of a storybook, and at the same time, a picture from a nightmare of universal proportions. A foreboding house atop a cliff that jutted out over the ocean, regal and kept, it spoke of old money, ghosts, and passion.

And it was her home, hers with Spike…with Spike. Was that true? He’d proven to her that she could trust him, that he would take care of her, that she could believe in him; but in the end, would it change anything? Could he make the voices inside of her head stop screaming?

"Willow?" She started at feeling his arm come around her waist, and even atop Mary, Willow leaned across the inches to rest her head against his chest. "You alright, Pet?"

For a moment she was silent, soaking in the strength of the man before her. She didn’t question if Spike was the one anymore; she knew it in her heart. He was the one that was going to change her--completely.

"Can we pick those berries now?"

And in that one statement, that one revelation, Willow had admitted to herself and him, that she was willing to let him try to heal her. She wasn't fooling herself, and as Spike pulled back slightly and raised her eyes to meet his, she knew it would be a long and difficult process. But his smile, the way it broke across his face and lit up his eyes, it seemed worth it, worth the pain this single action against the screaming in her head would cause her.

"Come on, Willow, I'll show you where they are."

The path they took was winding as they cut across the divide between two outcrops of forest near the back of the estate. Around them, large trees rose, blocking the moonlight with their density so that Willow had to stare directly at the blond of Spike's hair just to be able to see where she was going. But Mary seemed to know the way, and the mare followed her stallion unerringly into the dark woods.

They didn't speak; instead Spike listened to the sound of Willow breathing, the comforting sound of her heart beating rhythmically in her chest. He'd never cared for that sound before. As a human he hadn't been able to hear it, so it had been pointless to care about, and as a vampire, it was only the sound of a meal not yet eaten. But with Willow it was different, it was somewhat soothing, reassuring to him that she was still here with him, still trying. And she was trying; he recognized her admission of surrender to him as much as she did.

Days before--was it only days--when he'd first discovered her self-inflicted wounds across the delicate expanse of her stomach, he'd cleaned them while discussing the berries that grew along this path. At the time she'd refused his offer to taste them, insisting that she wouldn't be around long enough to do so, but he'd persisted as he'd bandaged her middle, insisted she'd have a taste. Today she'd admitted to both of them, that she was willing to fight the call of death that would not leave her, and he vowed on that part of him that was still decent, that he would help her ever step of the way.

The path bent sharply, and he raised a warning to Willow, before taking the path and stopping abruptly before the bushes of berries that continued down the path for a hundred yards or so. Carelessly he dismounted before going to Bloody Mary and lifting Willow down, conscious of sliding her body completely down his while their eyes remained locked.

He wanted her, wanted her more than he'd ever wanted Dru. That thought startled him for a moment, and to cover his thoughts up, he quickly set the precious woman down before him and turned her towards the bushes.

Leaning down, he spoke softly into her ear. "Here you go, a bush full of berries. Any idea what kind?" He smiled as she turned her head into the crook of his neck to look up at him. From this angle, with his night vision blocking the glare of all other forms of light, he could see her, as she'd look in but a few short years.

Thin, she'd always be thin, but this would be an ethereal kind of thin; a look of frailty that was so false it would be the downfall of all her future victims. Her eyes were wide and innocent now, but as time passed they'd grow less wide, more shuttered, more seductive. Her eyes would speak first, promising things her body would provide, if those poor fools would only follow her into the darkness. Her cheeks were full now, flushed from the heat of their bodies pressed together and his voice in her ear; but in time, the plumpness would thin out, elongating her features until she looked like a marble statue of Michaelangleo perfection. She'd never be a Venus, no; instead she'd be something so much darker, so much more inviting. Dark red hair against pale lifeless skin, green emerald eyes that would turn gold when angered…he could see where the ridges would form now, how beautiful she'd be then, to both him and his demon. Willow, would be more the Dark Goddess than any other before her; she's be a thousand times more amazing than Drusilla.

He didn't know he'd done it until the ambrosia of her blood passed slowly across his tongue. The thick liquid filled him with a heady glow of warmth, possessiveness, and desire, as he'd never known it. Beneath his mouth she moaned, the sound passed not though his ears, but through his lips. This wasn't a bit for food, or even one for claiming; it was pain for pleasure, hers as much as his.

With care, he grazed the wound with his fangs again, listening to her moan as her body fell against his, giving him all the control. His arms went around her, his hands meeting at her stomach, one anchored there for stability while the other moved just slightly higher to caress the underside of one breast.

Vampires learned quickly the ways of seduction; they had to if they wanted to survive their own masters. But Spike had been a willing learner, understanding early that seduction was a much easier way to both gather food and placate his sire. Now, all of his lessons took on a new meaning. This wasn't about food or dominance, it was about pleasure, Willow's and that thought sent a rush through him that rivaled the innocence of her blood. It didn't help that her blood told all her secrets, and he moaned as well, as he allowed his mind to realize she was still untouched.

Lovingly, he removed his fangs, lapping delicately at the open sore on her neck. Vampire saliva was a powerful antibacterial agent, and their blood even more amazing. With one quick moment, he sliced his tongue against one fang and then again licked at Willow's wounds. He felt the power in his blood transfer to her immediately as the open wounds began to heal on contact. They were long healed before Spike forced himself to pull away.

With even that small amount of his blood coursing through her, she swayed on her feet, intoxicated by the power and the barest hint of the demon that now resided in her. In the old days they'd healed the wounds to prevent being caught, sending their servants to bed in what the others considered a drunken stupor. Over time and without care, the small doses of blood could cause insanity, but Spike had known Willow would be in more jeopardy from infection if he left them open while they spent the night outdoors. She'd be a little drowsy, a little more open, and suddenly, he didn’t think that was such a bad idea for her.

He kissed up her neck, nibbling teasingly at her ear before spinning her a half turn and scooping her into his arms. Her head rolled perfectly into his shoulder, and when he looked down, into her eyes, he saw her lazy smile, and a peace that seemed to encompass her into a languid easiness.

"That was nice. I liked that." Her small hand gripped the hem of his jacket and she snuggled more deeply into his warmth, warmth provided soly by her blood. Human blood kicked a vampire's metabolism into high gear. He'd pay for it later since he'd taken less than a half a cup from her, and his body was burning all of his reserves, but if it kept her warm, that was all he cared about.

"I'm glad, Willow. I liked it too. You taste…like a sunset." She didn’t know how powerful a complement that was. To a vampire the sunset was freedom, was beauty in a way that no artist could ever capture. It was promise and pleasure, and so much more than words could portray. She was swiftly becoming his sunset, and he knew suddenly, as if a revelation had been delivered to him by the gods, she was his, all his, and he was never going to let her go.

With a kiss to her forehead, he moved them towards the bushes and let her examine the black berries at her leisure. She stared at them for a long time, as if not seeing them, before her delicate hand reached out and picked one from the branch. In a stray moonbeam, she examined it, turning it over and over in her hand before finally brining it slowly to her lips. Spike fought back a moan of his own as she pressed the fruit past her waiting lips.

In the euphoria of taste, she closed her eyes, savoring the flavor that exploded across her senses. And then, when there was nothing more to taste but the linger of something sweet and forgotten, Willow turned her face towards his and smiled.

"They're Blackberries. I made a pie out of them once, but I burned the bottom. I was going to throw it out when Jessie and Xander came over." She suddenly laughed. "Those two. They just dug right in, eating the sides and the middle without touching the bottom." Then she paused for a long time, reliving the memory. Spike held his breath. "That night, they even cleaned the pan for me. Jessie did it, but Xander had been the one to feed me bits of the pie. Sure he and Jessie ate most of it, but every now and then Xander would lean over with is fork and make me take a bit. That was a really nice night."

His blood was making her tongue loose, he could see that right away. But she wasn't so out of control that she didn't know what she was saying, or who she was saying it too. She'd feel no guilt in the morning, and that was all that mattered. He nuzzled her temple. "Thank you, Willow. Thank you for sharing that with me." He took a risk. "I'm glad he cleaned the pie pan for you."

She looked up at him then, and like he thought it had been, it was the real reason why the night had been so special. She'd tried to tell herself over the years that it had been Xander feeding her, but in reality, it had been the simple act of her friend Jessie taking care of her for a moment by cleaning the pan.

"Spike?" He looked down at her to continue. "How did you know?"

He smiled. "Oh, Luv, vampires have their ways. Now how about we do a little berry picking, we can eat them with lunch." Her smile brightened at that and his along with hers.

"Can we get a lot? If we can gather enough, I'll make another pie, and this time I'll try not to burn the bottom."

He kissed her noes. "Pet, you can burn the bottom all you want, I'll still feed you all the good parts and clean the pan myself."

They picked Blackberries for over an hour before they'd gathered enough. Instead of allowing Willow to ride Mary back, Spike set her firmly in front of him on Jack, having already tethered Mary to the saddle.

They left the forest with Willow leaning against him, her weight slight but comforting. He took them into the gardens, leaving the horses by the gate. "Wouldn't want them to eat the good plants."

Walking slowly for Willow's benefit, Spike settled them on a grassy knoll close enough to the fountain that they could just make out the flash of fish scales in the moonlight as the Koi rose to the surface to snatch some insect or other.

Closer to the house now, they could see into the ballroom that, while not lit up, did have a few of the gas lamps ablaze. That light diffused into the garden, casting faint shadows across the flowers and stone benches.

When the blanket was laid, and Willow gathered securely in the circle of his arms, he began to pull out bits of foodstuffs, feeding her bit by bit some fruit before passing her a sandwich. She ate disinterestingly, chewing the food before swallowing it mechanically, gazing about the garden and soaking in its beauty.

When she'd finished she suddenly moved away from him, shifting to the other side of the blanket and lying across it so that on her side, she looked up at him from the pillow of her arms.

"Tell me a secret, something no one else knows." It was a request, not a demand. She wanted to know something about him, and he understood the need for it to be a secret. She'd been allowing herself to be controlled completely by him, and while most of her needed that, a large part of her also needed to feel in control of herself. Having something over your controller was always an easy way to feel secure.

He made a show of thinking up something, until his constant "ums" and "ahs" coaxed a giggle out of her. Leaning back against his forearms he let out a sigh.

"All right, a secret. It's a secret no one living knows, will that work?" She seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding her head for him to continue. "Right then, ok, here's my secret: two hundred years ago, I was a poet. Not a writer, those blokes did books and novels and all that longwinded stuff. Nope, I wrote the good stuff, the twenty-liners that made chits weep their hearts out." He noted her open-mouthed expression. "What? Surprised ol' Spike used to write poetry?" He acted indignant. "Well, it's not like I do that stuff anymore. No, I've learned that actions speak a whole lot louder than words." The evil glint in his eye spoke of exactly what he meant.

For a moment Willow was too stunned to talk, just gazed at the vampire known as William the Bloody and tried to imagine him as a poet, slaving over paper and quill to create something beautiful. "W-were you any good?"

He laughed a self-depreciating laugh that struck Willow deeply making her want to cringe. "Well, I certainly thought so. Course, back then I was a whiner to the word. I probably wasn't too bad, but definitely not great, learned that the hard way." He trailed off for a moment, and Willow worried that she's pushed him into a very bad memory. Then suddenly, he seemed to shake it off before smiling at her. "I had a piece published once, in a collected bit of works from all over Britain. It wasn't much and to be honest I hated that piece most of all, but it's kind of a love hate relationship now. It was that stupid bit of paper and ink that caught Drusilla's eye. She read it and decided I was the one, so she made Angelus and Darla travel all the way to backwater London so she could turn me. I was in a sorry state that night. But by nights end, after my first kill, I was in much better mood."

Her eyes were huge, she could feel them. "D-do you mean, Drusilla was the one that turned you?"

Spike cocked an eyebrow at her. "Who did you think turned me? Angelus? That pillock would never even think about bringing another male into his little harem! Oh, my princess got a sure whipping for my induction into the family, but she didn't seem to mind. Nope, Dru changed me and taught me to kill, and by that I do mean just that, kill. Angelus, when the bastard finally realized I wasn't going to off myself by falling on a stake, was the one who finally taught me the rest." He purposefully trailed off then, not wanting to tell Willow about the nights of blood and screaming death he'd inflicted upon the world at the side of Angelus. His Grandsire had been like a god to him back then, and Spike wasn't willing to admit that to anyone after being betrayed as he'd been.

Deciding a change in subject was warranted, he returned her question. "What about you, Willow, how about a secret?"

When she was done, he wished he'd never asked.
 

"Did you ever have a pet?" Willow asked, a strange and distant expression suddenly upon her face. In the moonlight she looked beautiful and delicate, like the china doll that Spike had taken to thinking of her as. She was marvelous, her red hair perfectly straight like the fall of silk from the ream. Her eyes reflected the flames of the ballroom and shone like green fire while her lips held all the color of the flames. But her skin was by far the most amazing sight. Flawless, it glowed in the moonlight, a substance less like skin, and more like porcelain, colorless and perfect, smooth and unadorned with anything to detract from the simple splendor of itself.

"Not a pet as you’d like to hear about, Luv. Vampires don’t keep pets that humans would find entertaining." He saw it in her eyes, she understood what he meant. She’d no doubt read about his less fortunate victims whom he’d kept in cages for his own amusement; those damn Watcher Journals were more hindrance than help.

But the look passed quickly from her eyes, and soon she was staring at the fountain, watching morbidly as the insects paused and were quickly swallowed whole by the Koi. Her body was serene, but Spike could tell by her eyes she was anything but. Behind eyelashes the color of true blood, Willow’s eyes were haunted, clouded over with memory and past pain. Spike immediately wished he’d never asked the question. He tried to take it back.

"Luv, never mind, you’ll tell me when you’re ready. I was a fool to try and pus—"

"I had a kitten once," she began, a distant tone in her voice so that it swayed with the rise and fall of each word. "She was beautiful."

"My father adored me, he always did. He used to call me his little princess until Mother stopped him. Have you ever noticed in fairy tales, the mother is always called ‘mother’? I mean most children call their mothers ‘mom’ or ‘mamma’, not ‘mother.’ I always had a rule, when I wanted to be loved I’d call her ‘mamma’, and when I wanted to disappear I’d call her ‘mother.’ It usually worked, she’d respond to ‘mamma’ and ignore me when I called her ‘mother’; unless we were in a public place. Then I was required to call her ‘mother’, she liked it that way, said she felt more important. I didn’t care too much, I usually didn’t want to be loved by her anyway." She trailed off for a moment, her hands going from the blanket to her hair and then back again, finally folding in her lap before her eyes met his.

"My father adored me…until I told him things…" She paused now, before looking beseechingly into his pale blue eyes. "If I tell you a secret, will you still promise to take care of me? It’s not a nice secret, not nice like yours, yours was nice. I bet I’d like your poetry, I bet it’s very nice—romantic—I’ve always thought of you that way, especially when I think of you with Drusilla. You must have loved her very much. I want to be loved that much…daddy never loved me quite that much…

"I won’t tell you the secret if it’ll change things between us." Her haunted eyes turned to his, tiny pupils looking back at him in a mixture of fear and hope.

Suddenly the china doll image was gone, replaced by the look of a beaten and destroyed little girl, the girl Spike had been fighting against for weeks; a little girl that was the very essence of Willow. For a moment back on the ride, he’d thought she’d somehow managed to break out of the spell she’d come under, a spell that required her to act like a child and demand a child’s demands. But no, she was still very much the child, very much the frightened and confused little girl that needed as much direction as humanly—or vampirally possible.

Slowly, so she could track each and every move of his muscles, he reached for her, pulling her into his chest so that her head rested in the crook of his neck, her arms folded across her chest to be crossed by his, her legs bending slightly for stability against his own while one of his longer legs bent at the knee tenting over the top of hers and cocooning her body in his. Not one part of her was tense, but not a single part relaxed either, it was as if she waited, silently as the night around them, for some promise she was desperate to have him make to her. He obliged her, though he now believed he wanting nothing to do with this secret, and hated himself all the more for that selfish thought.

"No matter what you tell me, or how you say it; no matter what you do or why you do it, there isn’t a single thing that you could say or do that would ever make me break my promise to you Willow. I will care for you as you’ve never been cared for in the past, I’ll protect you as no living man or woman ever was capable of. You are wrapped in the arms of a master vampire, one that has never in his life broken a promise to any living soul." It wasn’t a lie. He’d broken many a promise to his vampire brethren, but none of them had souls, not even Angel, no matter what the wanker thought he had.

Spike felt her relax, her body finally easing itself of some of the tension it harbored. She let her neck loosen, so that her head fell back in just the right way, that should the desire hit him, Spike could once again drink of her essence, of her life. He saw with vampire eyes the scar she’d carry a lifetime with her. It was the scar of one who’d been supped from, one who’d given life to a vampire in the past. To vampires in Europe, such a mark was one of honor, it meant that the human had provided the vampire with a meal and had not been slain, it meant the vampire somehow respected the human, it meant she was not to be harmed. But it was not a mark; it was not a bite of possession. This mark told no one that Willow belonged to him; no, that mark was for later, when he could explain exactly what it meant, and what price it would come with. For now, against civilized vampires in Europe, she was safe; which was little comfort to him here.

He startled as he saw the muscles of her neck contract, realizing she was once again speaking. Spike cast all other distractions aside, he needed to hear her story, even if all he wanted to do was erase all her other memories and start again from scratch. But he had to know, had to understand this exquisite woman before him, so in quite patience that soon became quite rage, he listened to her story.

"My secret," she began, a soft and distant tone to her voice that made it seem as if she were no longer with him, but thousands of miles away, back in Sunnydale, California, in a large house on Greenville Drive. "I told papa the secret because I wanted it to stop. I thought papa could make it stop. That’s what papa’s are supposed to do, they’re supposed to make bad things stop. So I told papa about the kitten and he told mother, and then they fought, and papa didn’t believe me anymore." She paused as if to reconsider the memory. "No, I think papa believed me, it was just better if he didn’t, so he pretended that he didn’t believe me. Does that make sense?" She lifted her eyes beseechingly to his own blue ones, and at his nod, she continued.

"But that’s not really the secret is it? That’s just what happened. I-I don’t really want to tell it to you. Papa was supposed to take care of me, that’s what papa’s do, but after I told him he never did again. But you promised, you said you would not matter what I told you; and you told me I had to try to trust you, so I’m going to try. I’ll tell and then I’ll see if you still keep your promises. Is that fair, will that be ok? Will you be mad at me if I do it because I want to trust you?" Again she looked at him, and again, he nodded, not wanting to speak and break her rhythm.

At his nod, her eyes went hollow again, and Spike could easily tell she was once again in the memory of her secret. Willow was silent for a long time, the moon reflecting off her skin and hair, the sound of her heartbeat the only indication that this beautiful piece of artwork was indeed living and not simply stone.

The thing that struck him the most when she began to speak again, was that her voice was no longer that of a seventeen year old girl; it now possessed the inner innocence and calming nature of a child. For the moment, Willow was truly the child, and he was truly the master.

"Papa was gone a long time. He’d spent three months in Jerusalem, studying with some of the other Rabbis. I was ten at the time and mother left me at home easily when she went on trips now. Conferences and speaking engagements were her life now that her new book was selling like mad. "Raising Children After Spock", that was the title of her book. I read it when I was twelve, it was such bullshit, but I told my mother it was great; just like all good little girls should.

"But that was twelve and this was ten. Mother came back to the house two days before papa, and she’d been both mad and happy. Mad because the flowers I was supposed to water had died in the heat, and happy because their deaths were enough for her to convince papa that we needed a gardener since I wasn’t capable of watering a few flowers." She paused, gazing at the flowering splendor of the garden around them. "I had watered them, every day even, but the sun…it was just too much for them. They weren’t supposed to be planted that far down south, but mother insisted they’d bloom just fine. Now, now I think she did it because she knew I’d fail, that I’d kill them and I’d look bad in front of papa, and he’d have to give her the gardener she wanted. But…maybe I’m making something out of nothing." She shrugged, her shoulders shifting into his own and he felt her relax again at knowing how close to her he was.

"So mother got her gardener, and she was happy enough about that that she didn’t put me on restriction for the dead flowers. That meant I could still go to Xander’s birthday party. Mother didn’t like Xander very much, she said he was a bad influence. Xander was different, very different from anyone else I’d ever met. He wasn’t like Jessie and I, he was always trying to spend the night at our houses, and sometimes, when my parents were both away, I’d let him sleep in my bed, and I’d sleep on papa’s side in my parents room.

"But it wasn’t Xander’s fault that he was so different. His mom was a stripper when we were kids, and her sleazy boyfriend used to hit Xander all the time. He usually came to my house after getting hit because he didn’t want Jessie to see him cry, so I started making cold compresses and keeping them in the freezer. I also bought Xander steaks because they brought down the swelling and he liked to eat them afterwards. It used to be a big joke, how we’d use them on his face at first and then eat it, I think it was a kind of therapy in and of itself. But I guess that’s not the secret, is it?" She didn’t wait for his answer, just moved on.

"Mother didn’t want me to spend time with Xander and Jessie, but it was the one thing that I absolutely refused to give up; and since I whined to papa if I didn’t get to seem them regularly, and he stood up for me against mother, she usually let me go; though I think she secretly hated me for it.

"That was a Monday, by Wednesday, papa was home and he had a special surprise for me, a very special surprise.

"He told me that since Xander was going to get all kinds of presents on Saturday, and since I’d been such a good girl while he was away, I was going to get an extra special surprise. That’s what he told me on the phone when he called to say that he was going to be late getting back from the airport. I wasn’t so sad about the extra two hours after that.

"When he got home, he had his extra big suitcase in one hand, the kind on rollers that very important people used to carry until some knockoff made them affordable to everyone. Back then, only important people had them. But in his other hand, was a carrier, you know, the kind they put animals in on airplanes.

"It wasn’t too big, about this big, by that tall, and this deep." She indicated with her hands a medium sized kennel. "And it wasn’t that boring tan color either! No, papa had gone all out and bought an all black one, with black grading. But the rivets that held the top and bottom together were white, so that the whole thing was this very vogue black and white. I loved it the moment I saw it. We weren’t allowed to have much black and white in the house, mother said they were both colors of the dead in almost every culture for a reason. Even back then Sunnydale wasn’t a very friendly place, I think even my mother was worried about how many people died or just disappeared in those days.

"But isn’t it strange, I knew that I was getting a present—an extra special one at that—and I could seen the box clear as day and knew what it was for, but all I really cared about was seeing my papa again. He lifted me into his arms the moment he set his things down, swinging me into the air and kissing me all over. He even ignored mother’s warnings and kept calling me princess." She trailed off for a moment, her eyes and mouth smiling just the tiniest bit at that particular part of the memory.

"I wanted him to hold me forever. I missed everything about him, the way he smelled, the way his hair was parted even then to cover up the bald spot at the top of his head. I loved the mustache he grew even though mother didn’t like it, and I loved that I knew he was going to rub his stubbly cheek against mine any moment in his customary hello. I craved the sound of his voice directly in my ears and not passing over thousands of miles of cabling. But most of all I loved his mass. Sounds strange doesn’t it? To say I loved his mass and not his warmth. But it wasn’t the warmth, warmth came from blankets and hot showers, and those things I could get on my own, home alone in the house for days and weeks at a time. No, his mass, the simple physical substance that was papa was what I craved, needed so much that in those moments after he came home, I didn’t want to let him go, and cried when he tried to put me down. I didn’t cry often back then," Willow’s voice colored with embarrassment. "Not like now. But back then I only cried when I was happy…to cry because I was sad would mean I cried all the time.

"But papa didn’t want to see me cry and kept asking me what was wrong, and all I could do was hold him tighter and cry, I didn’t even have the words back then to make him understand—when I did have the words, I didn’t dare speak them."

Suddenly, her demeanor changed, and she was no longer the little girl she’d been. Once again Willow was the stone in the garden, a piece of marble, cold and unmoving, silent and witnessing. "Mother came in from the kitchen then. She saw I was crying and that papa was asking after me. She told him to stop and physically grabbed me out of his arms and put me in a chair. ‘Don’t coddle her Ira, that’s what she wants, if you give her what she wants like that she’ll always be a crybaby.’ But my father protested, tried to explain that something must be really wrong with me since I never cried and I was still crying in the chair, though for different reasons than before now. She wouldn't hear of it ‘Ira, if she doesn’t learn she’ll never understand. Willow!’ This she directed at me with ice in her voice and I knew better than to not look up and meet her gaze with my own tearstained one. ‘This is how you greet your father when he comes home.’ And she went to him, folding him into her arms and kissing him lightly before resting her head on his shoulder and then pulled away. ‘How was the flight, darling?’ And with one last glance in my direction, he told her, and she pulled him into the living room, to the couch farthest from the chair I was sitting in.

"Mother was always good at gaining and hold papa’s attention. I used to think she had some magic spell she’d placed over him when she came home. That she’d say some magic words and he’d instantly love her and want to spend every waking moment with her. Later, when I got older, I thought it was sex, that maybe she was just good in bed, at least that’s what the soap operas had you believing was the key to holding a man's attention. It wasn’t until much later that I realized what it was, he was afraid of her, absolutely afraid of her, and so he bent and broke to her will, because it was easier than anything she could come up with; and she could come up with the most devious things."

Willow paused again, shifting slightly so that she could look into his eyes. "Did you like your mother, Spike? Or should I say, did William like his mother?" The emptiness was still in her voice and Spike hazard a guess that she had no idea what she was really asking. He chose to answer her question anyway.

"No, Willow, neither I nor William cared much for our mother. She was a whore turned business woman who cared more for her girls than her son." That was a story for another day, and as he saw Willow fall back against his chest to continue her story, he knew she’d heard enough of the truth to continue.

"After about a half an hour of papa trying to include me in the conversation, and mother speaking right over me only to apologize haphazardly when papa called her on it, he turned back to me with a smile and stood to go to the entrance way. He told me to close my eyes and be very quiet. Mother asked him what the big deal was, but papa told her it was a special surprise for his princess. Mother told him to quit calling me that, but papa called me that anyway when he knelt down before me with the kennel. ‘Princess, papa feels really bad about not being here, and since a lot of the time your home all alone because of my and mamma’s work, I thought you deserved a special present. So I’ll open the little door, and you put your hand inside and tell me what you feel, no peeking now.’ Mother told him he was being ridiculous, but I was more excited then ever.

"I did what he told me to. With my eyes still closed, one hand covering them, I slowly reached in. For a second I couldn’t feel anything, and the bitter disappointment of it all nearly caused me to cry. But then I felt it. It was soft and warm, and behind that softness and warmth was mass, was substance that even from the distance of a foot I could hear breathing slowly.

"It seems silly now, but then I squealed with delight and popped both my eyes open and reached in with both hands to pull it out of the carrying case. What I saw was the most beautiful white kitten you’ve ever seen. She was all white except for her back left paw, that paw had a cute little black sock on it. The kitten was sleeping, and even when I held it and pet it over and over it didn’t wake up or even stir. Papa told me she’d just been spayed so that she couldn’t have any babies, and she was still sleeping off the procedure; but even her now forced imperfection didn’t bother me, she was adorable. But of course, mother had to ruin it, she always did."

At this, Willow curled tighter against him, going so far as to wrap her own hands around the arms that now rested against her breasts. She did not seem frightened, there was no shaking of limbs or increased heart rate, but never the less Spike understood that this moment from Willow’s past was a memory she had no desire to relive, and yet relived often. As if she could not escape the memory and while abhorred to recall it, was indeed a slave to it all the same. And so, Spike tightened his grip, and whispered soothing words to her until he deemed they were no long effective against the memory, and instead reasoned to hear the entire thing and later find a way to comfort her nightmares. He had no way of knowing it was hardly the memory she’d relive in nightmares for the next few weeks; there were other memories in this sequence even more engrained and horrifying.

"I’ll never forget the sound of her voice, so smug and superior, and even back then, back when little girls still adored their mothers and thought the world of them, I thought she sounded cold and unfeeling. It wasn’t the first time, but it did begin the realization that she was not the mother of stories, more like the evil stepmother. ‘Now Willow, that puppy is to stay out in the yard at all times! I don’t want you or any of your little friends to bring him into the house, do you understand? You know how allergic I am to animals, and it was only through a great deal of begging on your father’s part that you were even allowed that dog--a purebred Shitzu I might add. With enough attention, you might actually be able to show her.’

"I saw the moment the gravity of the situation hit my father. In my hands was no puppy, and definitely not a Shitzu; I was holding a tiny, fluffy white kitten, a kitten that was obviously never meant to be an outdoor kitty. My father’s eyes pleaded for me to be silent, and out of fear and desperation I obeyed as he turned back to my mother. His voice was soft as he spoke, meek. Now, I think he knew what was coming. 'Sheila, darling, I know we discussed a puppy for Willow, but I got a call from the breeder in Jerusalem saying that the last one had died and she’d sold the rest. I’d already gotten the case and such at the pet store over the phone, so when I went to pick it up, I figured I'd just grab another puppy there. But when I got there they didn’t have any toy dogs, only large ones and I know how fearful you are of large dogs.’ Looking back on it, I think he said that to try and placate her, to let her know that a part of this present wasn’t entirely for me but for her as well. That he’d considered her in this purchase and acquisition. At the time I didn’t care, I was just afraid of mother’s reaction. ‘So I tried to find something just as small to fit in the kennel, and the store had a litter of kittens. When I saw them I just knew Willow had to have one.’ But he didn’t get to finish the rest of his story, no, not then or ever, mother wouldn’t hear of it.

"In a leap she was upon me, wrestling the sleeping and still sore kitten from my hands as if it were nothing more than a new stuffed animal to add to my upstairs collection by the window. She held it out in front of her as if it were some kind of demon, some unholy thing that she didn’t dare cuddle or hold close. ‘What is this, Ira?! A cat! You know how much I hate cats! You know I can’t stand them! How dare you go against me like this! I told you that Willow could have a dog—under much protest I might add—and now you undermine me once again and get her a cat! How dare you!? Take it! Take it!’ And she thrust the kitten at my father like a bomb, and the poor creature whined in pain as its stitches pulled with the rough handling. My father held it gently until I grabbed it and pulled it out of the line of fire. My mother didn’t fail to notice. ‘Get rid of it, Ira! Get rid of it now!’"

Willow gave a sigh, the sound of a thousand such sighs meeting his vampire ears with just that one. Yes, this was a memory that Willow relived often, relived and regretted as much as she rejoiced in it. A sigh that meant a triumph and a failure, and the conflict between which had been greater.

"I’m not really sure what came over me. She was screaming by then, and papa looked as if he might cave in, as if he might actually take the little kitten away from me simply because it displeased mother. So, I did it. I did the one thing I knew would be worse for everyone in the end, I said no. I told her papa wasn’t going to get rid of the kitten that she was mine and I was going to keep her always. It was one of the few times in my life I’ve ever stood up to my mother, and like all the other times, it was one of the few times she looked as if she might hit me and never stop.

"She’s never hit me before. Did your mother ever hit you?" She didn’t pause for an answer, her subconscious telling her this was not a subject to discuss—that or her story needed telling more than his did. "She never once hit me. All of her books talk about raising children without violence, you know, treating children like children—not capable of reasoning like adults. I personally think that’s bullshit, but adults don’t listen if they don’t want too.

"But she was angry, angry with me, and papa; some days I think she was angry with the world. You could see it in her eyes, in the center of her soul. There was rage in her eyes, and I’m sure, if given the chance, she would have done something to expel that rage. But she didn’t have a chance; empowered by my own words, papa too agreed with me. I think she realized that against the two of us—drawn together on this united front—she couldn’t hope to win. Then again, maybe she was just biding her time. But she instantly relented, saying that if it meant that much to me then of course I could keep it, but that the kitten had to stay outside."

Willow paused, and Spike could hear the deep in drawing of breath that was so uncharacteristic of the Willow of Sunnydale, and the embodiment of the Willow of now. He held her closer to him, beginning a slow rocking motion that he hoped would make her telling easier. She remained quite for a moment longer, before the childlike continence of her voice was back.

"I told mother that I wanted the kitten to say inside, and papa—who was searching for a compromise—said I could as long as she stayed only in my room or outside. I didn’t like that too much, I wanted her to be able to come down and sit with me when I was lonely, or when I was waiting for mamma or papa to come home, but I gave in easily—it was better than nothing.

"Mamma kissed me then and sent me up to my room to play with the new kitten, and I went, because she was whispering to papa and I knew they’d been away from each other for a very long time. I was young, but I understood loneliness, and back then I thought even my mother felt it.

"So I took the kitten upstairs and sat down with her on the bed. She was still sleeping, more ruefully now that she wasn’t being manhandled. I think I must have stared at her for hours, just watching the rise and fall of her tiny little chest. In my eyes she was perfect, beautiful in a way that most creatures cannot attain." Willow turned, gazing up at him for but a second. "That’s the way I thought of you too. The night you asked me to do the spell for you, the night you came in and just talked to me. At first I didn’t think that way, I was scared, but when I really looked, when I saw what your face really looked like, I could see that this was the true you, the true William the…whatever your last name is."

"Randal. William Randal. There’s a middle name in there but if I told you I’d have to kill you." He smiled, leaning down to nip playfully at her neck, hoping to distract her from her sadness for just a moment before letting her continue.

"William Randal," she rolled the name around in her mouth, catching the feel for it and committing it to memory. "That’s a nice name, a good name for a poet. Spike’s a good name too, though. I think I’ll stick with Spike." He kissed her hair to show his approval.

Then she continued as if nothing had happened, as if her original track had never been interrupted. "I thought you were perfect when I first saw you. Not perfect of body, or mind, or anything like that. No, you were gorgeous, and smart; beautiful and dangerous. You were all those things but they didn’t define you, didn’t make you who you were, at least not individually. You were a product of those things and more, of circumstance and history, of the people around you and fate itself. And that’s what made you so mysterious, not because you were a demon or a vampire, or an immortal, but because you were all of those things, and because at your core, you were still human—and humanity is the greatest mystery of all."

He didn’t know how to respond to such a claim, so he remained silent, and she continued.

"That’s what I thought of the kitten, she was cute and soft, cuddly, and adorable. But she was other things too. She was a mystery to me, a tiny mystery that I thought I’d spend the rest of our days together unraveling. You see, she was mass, she was a living thing that could stay with me, be with me when all others abandoned me. In her I saw the answer to the mystery of why warmth was not mass to me, why heat could not comfort me. So I named her the epitome of the enigma. I named her after both heat and mass, the greatest of both that I understood at the time. I called her Star, and she was mine.

"I let her sleep all that night, tucked close to me, so that I would know the instant she woke up. And it was so strange, but on that night, with my parents having sex down the hall and my mother screaming the way I learned later that my father liked, I slept, quietly, and without nightmares. It was because of Star, because of mass, and I was grateful.

"In the morning, when I woke up, she was there, licking softly at my face, and I knew the way little girls know these things, that I would adore her far beyond her life, and possibly beyond my own.

"I called her Star so she’d learn her own name, and I carried her down stairs and pulled one of my mother's favorite crystal bowls from the expensive cabinet in the dinning room, and fed her milk and tuna from it. Later I had my father take me to the store where I got Star all kinds of adorable things, like a fluffy little kitty bed, a dozen toys I didn’t know she’d never play with, and an outdoor litter box for my balcony.

"When I got home, I presented each item to her, explaining how each was used and for what purpose, and she sat quietly, listening to the sound of my voice, before climbing into my lap and letting me love her. And I did love her. Even then, even then with only a day behind us, I knew that a part of my life which had always revolved around my father, was now transferred to the kitten he’d brought home for me and allowed me to keep against mother’s will. Star was precious to me for so many reasons."

And here Willow stopped, her shoulders tensing, her body going as taunt as a string upon a drawn bow. The tension around them rose, until she either had to speak or forget the story all together and go back to bed to ignore the entire day. Spike reasoned all these things for her, weighing the pros and cons of each, and finally, he remained where he was, rocking her slowly back and forth, and forcing her to continue.

Continue she did. "It wasn’t even a month really. Mother and papa had both left and come back twice already, and while they were gone, I’d brought Star downstairs to keep me company over the days when my family disappeared. But after a month, came the postcard from the vet saying that Star needed another round of shots and a check up for her previous procedures. Mamma convinced papa that Star needed to be de-clawed at the same time. So on a Friday, one of the last days of summer, I left Star with my mother as papa took me to Jesse's house for a slumber party before going to the airport for another trip.

"I didn’t call mother from Jesse's house, I never called her if I went away. She called from time to time on her business trips, usually to make sure the house was still standing and that Xander and Jessie hadn’t broken anymore furniture, but I never called her. This night was no different, and to be honest, it was a trying night. That night, Xander told Jessie about the beatings, and the three of us vowed to do everything we could to keep Xander away from that horrible man. We hatched scheme after scheme, finding ways to keep Xander at our houses; and over the years, those tricks would prove effective in reducing the number of steaks that got eaten in my kitchen.

"But when I got home I did things a little differently. I was still high off the plans the three of us had fostered the night before, and I was in a good enough mood to share with mamma. She’d been very nice to me the last few days, even taking me out to lunch a few days before when one of her lunch meetings had been canceled at the last minute.

"When I got there I hugged her—a rare occurrence between us, and sat at the table after grabbing a cookie from the jar on the counter. And while I sat there, cookie slowly turning to crumbs in my hand, she cooking dinner for the two of us at the stove, she told me what had happened to Star.

"Mother had been trying to get Star into the car, neglecting to use the kennel because Star had quite forcefully decided she hated the contraption. So mother had tried to carry her to the car and put her in the back seat. She told me she got Star into the car, but as she was trying to close the door, my kitty jumped out and ran for some bushes. When mother tried to get her, she scurried across the street and disappeared into the neighbor's wild backyard. She told me she’d called the Synclairs—the neighbors—and they’d promised to look for her. And that was how mother explained it, that Star had run away and was sure to come home tonight for dinner.

"But she didn’t come home that night, or the next; and each night I cried a little louder and a little longer, until my mother forced three Valium down my throat on the third night and I slept right through the night the day and the following night, so that she was gone on her next trip when I awoke.

"I was alone, no mother, no papa, no mass to comfort me. I cried still more as I tried to figure out why Star would leave me. Had I done something wrong? Had I hurt her? I couldn’t figure it out, why she’d run away when all I wanted to do was love her more than anything else in the entire world.

"Two days later, I pulled my bicycle out of the garage to visit Xander and Jesse. They’d been over the day before to help search the neighborhood for Star; they both knew how important to me she was. But with Xander comes a mountain of junkfood, and as I carried yesterday’s garbage out to the tin can and lifted the lid, something made me stop the throwing motion I set with the white bag I carried.

"Inside, was a big, black plastic bag that mother sometimes used for gardening weeds. But the bag was hardly full, and mother always insisted on keeping the bag until nothing more could fit into it. ‘Waste not, want not, Willow.’

"Something just wasn’t right, but even so, I can’t really tell you what made me set down the white bag in my right hand only to exchange it for the lumpy black one in the can. I put the lid back on the barrel to make a stage, and then slowly untied the pull strings.

"At the first smell, I knew. I knew, and as my stomach heaved, I thought I might just throw-up my heart along with everything else inside me. I told myself, don’t open the bag, don’t take that thing out wrapped in dirty brown towels used as rags. Don’t bring it into the light and see, just put it away and pretend you didn’t see anything strange in the trash, then just throw the candy wrappers and potato chip bags in there and go to Jesse's.

"But I couldn’t, not anymore than I’ve ever been able to forget something. So as my mind screamed at me not to, my hands pulled the towel from the bag and placed it on the trash can. I’m not really sure what happened to the plastic bag, later I couldn’t find it—but I guess that’s not important.

"The towels came back clean as I unwrapped Star’s body. How strange I thought, if she’d been hit by a car then there should at least be some blood, some guts, some bits and pieces of gravel that clung to her despite gravity. But there was no blood, and as I uncovered her rotting corpse—for the temperature had been unbearable these last few days, and the can metal, the bag black—I saw that her eyes were still open, still innocent looking.

"At that point I didn’t care about the smell any longer. I picked her up and held her, stroking her back on the side of my prestigious house at the end of Greenville Drive. I held her close and kissed her, calling her name over and over as my tears splashed onto her coat.

"I don’t know how long I stood there. I don’t know how long I petted her and called her name, but eventually I noticed that when I started my strokes at her head and moved down, her body moved, and something in that was so very wrong considering rigamotis had turned the rest of her body to mushy stone.

"I didn’t scream when I discovered that her tiny neck had been broken. Star was dead, my mass was gone, and I knew who’d done it, and even why. So I kissed her once more, and told her she’d been the best kitty ever. Then I left the blankets and garbage where they lay, and moved to the backyard. And there, in a back corner, under the Oak tree that had stood there for at least a century, I buried her among the roots and gravel. I left no marker, what point would there be to it? She was dead, and only I knew where her body was kept. I treasure the secret even now, and on nights I pray to the Goddess, I go to that spot because it represents my greatest joy and my greatest heartache.

"Because you see, Star didn’t die because she was as kitty, and she didn’t die because she caused my mother’s allergies to act up. No, she died because she was my kitty, she died because papa had given her to me against mother—because we’d both stood against mother and that was not allowed.

"She died because I rose my voice, she died because I wanted her. Star died for my mother’s jealousy of me, because of father’s love for me, because mother had to be number one or nothing. She died because of me, and I don’t think I’ll ever get over that."

Willow turned now, turned into his chest and grabbed onto the lapels of his jacket. Her tears were slow at first, gaining speed quickly until they tore form her in great gasping sobs that wet his jacket and soaked through to his heart. She sobbed without words, crying out years of frustration and rage, of sorrow that had eaten the heart and soul out of a little ten year old girl. Willow sobbed and screamed and pulled at his jacket, and all the while, Spike just rocked her, and let her cry.

She didn’t stop for a long time, long enough for the moon to move visibly across the sky above them, long enough that the milky light no longer fell directly upon her, but now hallowed her head, as if Willow’s great Goddess were comforting her daughter as best she could. And it was comfort, that much to Spike was assured. No god or goddess, no demon god either, would condemn the girl in his arms, not for a single action she’d taken. But he stayed silent, the tale wasn’t finished.

And after a long time, long enough for the night flowers to begin to close, she spoke again, her voice devoid of the tears that had long since run out. "I didn’t go to Jesse's that day. I only came out of the garden when it started to rain, and the sun had disappeared to be replaced by the moon. I waited a full day in the living room, waited because I knew papa would be home, and I would finally tell him exactly what I thought.

"When he did come home he knew something was wrong. I neither ran to greet him, nor moved from my spot in the chair mother had thrown me into only three weeks before. Something in my face must have prompted him to ignore the endearments. ‘What’s wrong, Willow?’ He stepped more fully into the room, then, squatted down to meet me at eye level while his hand moved to my knee. ‘Your wife,’ I said. ‘Killed Star, broke her neck and threw her away like garbage.’

"I knew instantly that he believed me. His face contorted in a way I cannot describe, but carried rage and sorrow in equal increments. He held me as I cried then. Held me close to his heart and stroked my back. He offered me another kitten, said we’d get her right now if I wanted, but I declined, I’d never ask for another kitten again, another piece of mass to keep me company; I didn’t dare tempt mother’s wrath.

"He put me to bed when he learned I hadn’t slept in two days, put me to sleep with a Valium I did not protest.

"When I awoke the next day, it was to the sound of screaming coming from my parent’s bedroom. Mother had come home, and it seemed as if father were finally going to do it, finally stand up to her. But as I listened, my father’s voice became smaller, and my mother’s larger, until only my mother’s voice could be heard through the walls. And I knew, just as I’d known by whom and why Star had died, that my father had lost, and mother had finally won.

"I didn’t leave my room that day, and no one came to see me either. I think now my father was ashamed, but who can ever be certain. One thing I do know is that when I came down the next morning for breakfast, my mother greeted me warmly and fed me my favorite breakfast food. Papa stayed hidden behind his newspaper.

"You see," and at this Willow pulled away from his rocking embrace, pulled away to stare at him away from the circle of his arms. "That was all mother wanted really, just to have the memory of Star gone. She told me later when I brought her up at dinner that she was gone and not to talk about her anymore. Mother had won and so she was kind to papa and me. She didn’t have anything more to worry about, the one defiance that we’d put forth had been silence. I don’t even think she knows why she did it.

"When I tried to talk to papa about it, he told me I’d overreached, that mamma had found Star dead in the road when she’d gone looking and hadn’t had the heart to tell me she was dead. When I protested that mother had killed her, he screamed at me for making such a judgment and sent me away. I never brought it up again with him.

"Later, about a month or so, I came home from school to find that mother had bought me a fish tank with a dozen tropical fish in it. ‘This is more of a pet for a ten year old, Willow. Here, I’ll even help you carry it up.’ That the fish had been her original and only idea of a decent pet for a ten year old, did not escape my mind as I watched them swimming methodically back and forth in the darkness of my room. I didn’t like them, but kept quiet, feeding them as was appropriate, and ignoring them the rest of the time. After a few months, the housekeeper took to caring for them, and that was it, they just sat on my desk, dying and being replaced until Angelus killed them all last summer. When mother questioned me about how they’d all died, I just told her I’d found them in the road with their necks broken. She didn’t talk to me for weeks after that."

Physically exhausted and emotionally drained, Willow turned her eyes from that distant memory she’d been living in and crawled back into his embrace. Once secure, he rocked her, cooing softly to her words that made no sense and weren’t meant to. He asked her no more questions and she volunteered no more information; and together they sat that way until the early morning light forced them inside to the comfort and security of a room ablaze with firelight.

He changed her clothing quickly, noting that even though the room was far too warm to be comfortable, Willow was shivering. Spike set her down on the coverlet and carefully brushed out her long trestles, mindful to work though the tangles without a hint of pain.

And that was the way Willow sat, letting the world effect her, and doing nothing to stand in its way. She allowed Spike to tuck her in later, curling her body obligingly around his as she laid her head upon his shoulder and closed her eyes. She allowed his fingers through her hair to lull her into sleep, though they did not soothe her.

As the day progressed and one nightmare after another raked her mind and body so that Spike had to awake her often to lessen her pain, Willow began to tire again of this place, of life. And yet, she drew her strength from the cold heat of Spike’s embrace, of his soft tones as he tried to coax her into a dreamless sleep, and the feel of his fingers against her back as she tried to calm her breathing. She was desperately tired of living, but not tired of Spike, of his gentle nature, of his infinite kindnesses towards her.

Somewhere between three and four in the afternoon, she sat up against him, looking down into his pale blue eyes as he gazed back at her, worry etched into his features. She looked at him a long time, remembering that he’d promised her secret would not compromise anything between them, and he had kept his word. If anything Willow now felt closer to him than she had in all her previous hours with the vampire. Perhaps that is what prompted her next words and actions.

With a deep breath, she explained the final action that had destroyed her will to live. "I left Buffy for only five minutes that night, just five to freshen-up before going back to see Oz. But it had to have been going on for a while because when I found them together they both looked so guilty. But it only lasted a second before Buffy started to defend her actions. That Oz and I weren’t together anymore, that I didn’t care about Oz since I’d wanted Xander for years now. She was trapped and I knew it, and it didn’t matter anymore. I didn’t say anything to her or Oz, just left with the both of them calling my name and begging me to wait. I bought the liquor using a fake ID I’d gotten to help me purchase magic supplies on the internet. Then I went to the park, got drunk and waited for you to show up. I knew it had to be you, just you and nobody else. I wouldn’t let anyone else kill me, because you and you alone would understand why I had to die."

In the dark room, with Willow hovering over his body like a conversing lover, Spike answered the only way he knew how. "You never really intended to die, did you, Willow. You knew that I was fascinated by you, you knew I’d turn you."

She smiled, a real smile that spoke instantly of her healing soul. He understood now, had learned her real secret.

Slowly, with hesitant pauses that spoke of remaining innocence and a hint of rejection, Willow brought her lips to Spike’s and kissed him, long and slow. Then, when the need for oxygen was just starting to come to her senses, she pulled back and settled once again against him. And his arms came up about her, and pulled her closer to his chest so that half of her lay across him in the darkness. With loving nudges, he brushed his lips against her hair, snuggling her so that her face rested in the crook of his neck.

"No more secrets, Willow. No more hiding. When the time is right, I'll turn you, and we'll be together forever. Dead but not dead. I'll kill you, and I'll bring you life, just like you've always wanted me to."

"I love you, Spike."

"I know, Willow. I love you too. Now, sleep, Pet. In the morning you're a child no longer, but a woman."

Then without another word to each other, they drifted back to sleep.

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