“I haven’t done anything, you stupid bloody cow,”
Spike hissed, pushing himself away from the wall under
the murderous stare of the Slayer. Over her shoulder,
he could clearly see Willow, deathly pale and staring
transfixed at the murky depths of the mirror.

“Funny,” Buffy’s hands clamped down on his duster and
spun him away from the wall. Spike stumbled, his
hands clamping down on Buffy’s wrists to stop from
falling, so that he wouldn’t crush the redhead they
were precariously standing in front of. Still, Buffy
continued to pull him about by the stranglehold on his
duster. “I don’t believe that.”

“Leave him alone, Buffy,” the demand was spoken in a
low hoarse voice, barely audible to anyone else but
Spike.

“Can’t keep your hands off me, Slayer?” he smirked.
With an aggravated grunt of frustration and disgust,
Buffy released her hold on the leather and freed one
of her hands. Spike, on the other hand, wasn’t
letting her go so easily and his fingers remained
tightly wrapped about her captured wrist.

“That’s it, someone get me a stake,” Buffy demanded,
preparing to strike the vampire who still held her.

“I said leave him alone.”

It was the last thing Spike clearly heard before he
was thrown across the room, colliding with the edge of
the sofa, clearing it of its two occupants before it
was pulled over as he fell to the ground. The rest
was just a jumble of voices, all screaming for Buffy.
That’d teach the Slayer to beat up on a souled
vampire, or so he thought, until he pushed himself up.
Buffy wasn’t being berated by her friends for her
cruelty, she was lying in a crumpled heap beneath a
fallen bookcase on the other side of the room.

“Buffy?” Spike whispered as Angel easily pushed the
bookcase away and Giles rushed to help. Spike was
certain that Buffy had hit him, but then again there
had been no physical pain, just some force hurling him
away. The room was smothered with questions and
panicked voices amongst which he could clearly hear
the Slayer moaning as Angel, with Giles hovering
protectively and voicing his concern, helped her up
from the debris of books.

One voice remained ominously silent and Spike turned
to stare at the witch who still stood at the base of
the stairs, the mirror held firmly in her hand.
However, it had dropped down, like it was too heavy
for her to bear, and the glass with its murky surface
was clearly visible to all in the room. Beneath the
gloom, jagged flashes of red tainted the pewter and
her flushed face reflected that anger as dark green
eyes fixed firmly on the thoroughly shaken Slayer.

“Willow,” it was a startled gasp from the Slayer as
she struggled comprehend her current position and all
eyes were drawn to the lithe figure that had such a
strong hold on Spike’s attention.

“I told you to leave him alone,” Willow stated, the
flashes of red becoming stronger under the murkiness
of the glass.

“You did this?” Xander asked, stepping forward to
confront the redhead.

“Don’t,” she spat taking a step back up onto the
stairs. “Don’t come near me.”

“Willow, what’s gotten into you?” he failed to heed
the warning and took another step forward.

Spike felt it, an energy surging forward, even before
the surface of the mirror cracked. First there was a
deafening roar and the mirror exploded in an
impressive display of light and shattering glass,
splintering, doubling and blinding all in the room.
Then the room seemed to implode, folding in on itself
and its occupants, collapsing completely before the
ruins came to rest in a crumpled heap.

“Xander?” Anya’s panicked cry was the first thing
that Spike heard above the painful buzzing in his
ears. “Oh god, Xander, are you alright? Tell me
you’re alright!”

Spike was on the floor again, he was pretty sure he’d
been standing a moment ago. Pushing himself up, he
shook his head, trying to clear away the chaos and
work out what had just happened. A brief glance
towards one end of Giles’ living room proved that the
rest of the Scooby Gang, who had also been knocked to
the ground, seemed unscathed, except for Xander who
was bleeding from a cut along his cheek. Ruefully,
Spike shook his head at the sight of the Slayer
helping Angel stand and he turned to check on Willow.
The bottom of the stairwell was empty.

“I’m okay, Anya,” Xander muttered from the floor, his
hand pressed firmly against his cheek, trying to still
the flow of blood. “Does someone want to tell me what
just happened?”

Spike frowned and craned his neck to glance down the
small hallway that led to the bathroom and kitchen.
It too was empty.

“I have no idea,” Giles stated, wincing as he picked
up his glasses, the lenses were cracked, and glanced
about the debris that was apparently his apartment.

“Where is she?” asked Spike, frantically scanning the
room again.

“What?” Giles frowned as he did a quick head count of
the room, paling as he realized they were one short.

“Willow, where the hell is she?” Spike demanded,
before spinning and taking the stairs two at time.
“Willow?” the small area of Giles loft bedroom was
empty, there was no sign of her. Descending the
stairs just as quickly, he strode into the small
hallway, pushing open the few doors he came across.
“Red? Bloody hell, she’s not here.”

“What do you mean she’s not here?” Xander asked
incredulously. “Of course she’s here, she couldn’t
have just disappeared.”

“Yeah,” Spike turned to glare at the youth. “Well
then, where is she?”

“I think if we all just calm…”

“She’s got to be here somewhere,” Buffy declared,
cutting off Giles as he tried to thwart the rising
panic that was beginning to spread through the group.
“She would have had to walk past us to leave…wouldn’t
she?” Frowning, she glanced up at Angel and then
turned to Giles for confirmation. Silently, Spike
fumed. “Giles, what’s going on? Something’s gone
wrong, hasn’t it?”

“Well…I…” Giles shrugged and frowned down at his
broken glasses. Shaking his head and tossing the
spectacles aside, he turned away from the expectant
Slayer to look over the ruins of his lounge room. “Oh
bloody hell, how am I supposed to know? Look at this
place…what possible explanation could there be?”

“She’s evil,” stated Anya, clutching at Xander and
drawing everyone’s attention. “See, this is what you
get for messing with magic. And this is exactly why
D’hoffren was so eager to make her a vengeance
demon…she’s evil. It’s as obvious as the nose on your
face…oh, I get that expression now.”

“Red’s not evil,” spat Spike, scowling defiantly.

“No?” challenged Anya as she fussed over Xander.
“What about the mirror? How do you explain that? And
look at what she did to Buffy, not to mention poor
Xander.”

“We don’t know that it was Willow, it could have been
anything,” Buffy frowned and turned to Giles. “Right?
I mean Willow isn’t…she couldn’t be…”

Spike didn’t wait to hear the rest of the ifs, buts or
where-hows. He left, easily slipping out of the
Watcher’s and leaving the chaos of confusion behind.
For all his talk and snide comments about Willow
stuffing up her magic, Spike had seen enough of the
witch in the last few months to be more than confident
in her abilities. Admittedly, the backlash of the
castings were taking their toll on the redhead, but
the power she was capable of channeling was
impressive. However it was that power, the strength
and type of magic that she was channeling that
concerned him at the moment. Time and time again he’d
seen or heard Tara pull the other witch back, caution
her against doing the very thing the redhead loved
doing - making the spells bigger and more powerful.
Tara had been her anchor and now that the blonde witch
was gone…

“Where do you think you’re going?” it was an all too
familiar voice that stopped Spike dead in his tracks
and interrupted his train of thought.

“You know,” Spike turned slowly and took a step toward
Angel. “You really need to get a new hobby other than
getting in my way…maybe knitting, like good old Rufus.
Remember him, do you?”

“He fell asleep from boredom and ended up staking
himself,” Angel stated. “On a knitting needle, if I
remember correctly.”

“That’s why I suggested it,” he waved as he continued
on his way, calling back over his shoulder. “I’ll
even send you the good old fashioned wooden needles,
just to show I care.”

“Where are you going, Spike?”

“For fuck’s sake,” spat Spike, spinning around to face
the older vampire. “Where do you think I’m going?”

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage for
tonight?”

Spike shook his head at the glowering vampire. “You
just don’t get it, do you, mate? What am I meant to
do?”

“Leave Willow alone,” Angel took a step closer to the
blond. “Let her friends look after her.”

“Her friends?” he asked incredulously. “They’re back
at the Watcher’s, scratching their heads and wondering
where in the name of god she is, while she’s somewhere
alone and hurting.”

“And you know where she is?”

“I’ve got a pretty good idea where she’d be…” Spike
turned away only to be spun back by his grandsire.
“Will you get off me!”

“Then let her friends take care of her, that’s what
she needs right now.”

“Needs,” Spike shook his head and narrowed his eyes in
contempt at the dark haired vampire. “How the hell
would you know what she needs? Are you blind? Did
you not see what she did to her friends back there?
They’re the last thing she needs.”

“Yet she needs you?” sarcasm and scorn tainted the
words and Angel’s mouth twisted into a condescending
sneer.

Curbing his ever-increasing frustration, Spike took a
step forward, closing the distance between them. “Red
needs someone.”

“And that’s you, now you’re all…soulful…” Angel spat
out the word.

“I’ve asked you this once before tonight,” Spike
growled. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“Still the same thing - you.”

“You’re wasting my time and worse than that you’re
getting in the way.

“In the way of what, you going off to save the maiden?
Aren’t you the knight in the leather duster…”

“What is it, Angelus? What the fuck do you want from
me?” Spike ground his teeth together and once more
turned to face the dark haired vampire, only this time
there was no reining in of the anger.

“Don’t call me that, William.”

“Why? Because that’s not who you are anymore? Poor
Angelus, burdened with a soul, trying to amend for his
past…” Spike balefully glared at the brooding vampire
before him. “You’re such a selfish bastard that you
want this all to be about you. Well, I’ve got news
for you Angelus, it’s not about you, hell, it’s not
even about me. It’s about Willow, she needs me

“And is that your idea of working for redemption?
Playing lapdog,” Angel used the word that Spike had
always been so happy to apply to him. “To the witch
who cursed you?”

“Redemption?” Spike chuckled and shook his head.

“Now you’re souled I would have thought that
redemption was the whole point of your existence…”

“Is it yours?”

“It took time for me to realize why I’m here…”

“You’re going to save the world, right Angelus,” Spike
shook his head in wonder. “The world will go on,
whether you exist or not, but you’re so much of an
egocentric bastard you don’t realize that. Working
for your great redemption…got news for you, mate.
Nothing you do, now or in the future, will make amends
for your past. Nothing. You were a demon, destroying
everything you touched, and we still are demons…we
just have souls, a conscience that damns everything we
naturally are. There is no way of wiping the slate
clean, of starting over…and that’s where we’re
different. I know what I did, I acknowledge my
history and it’s long dead, I don’t let it shape my
future. But you…” the distain was clearly audible in
his voice. “Your existence is your past, you let it
mold everything you do. Always have and always bloody
well will. What we’ve done and what we are…that’s
never going to change.”

“You’ve been cursed for a few hours and you think you
have all the answers?” Angel asked sarcastically.
“You’re fooling yourself, Spike. You don’t know
anything. You haven’t even mourned for what you’ve
done.”

“You think that because I don’t sit and dwell on that
past, let it corrupt me until I disappear in my own
memories, that I don’t care? I remember every single
life I took, every horrendous act that I reveled in,
the smell of fear, the taste of every individual…” his
voice hitched slightly and for the first time that
night his eyes reflected the torture of a vampire with
a soul. “Just because I’m not a selfish sod like you
and going around being a misery guts doesn’t mean I
don’t feel remorse or regret for what I’ve done. What
we’ve done, what we are, that’s never going to change.
No matter how many times we say sorry, in words or
actions, it’s not going to change our history.
Nothing ever can. Nothing we do now will amend for
what we did in our past...”

Spike closed his eyes and ground his teeth together,
he was going to be doubly damned before he’d display
any sign of weakness in front of Angel. A hand
clamped down on the nape of his neck, dragging him
forward until his forehead came to rest against
Angel’s, the older vampire’s fingers massaging the
tense muscles in his neck as he tried to regain some
type of control over the conflicting emotions that
were running riot. It didn’t help that he was so
close to Angel, the scent of the other vampire
assaulting his senses and he twisted his head
slightly, his nose brushing across the older man’s.
It was a purely intimate moment, one that Spike
decided to seal with a kiss.

A Liverpool kiss.

Spike pulled back slightly and slammed his forehead
against the bridge of Angel’s nose with enough force
to send the dark haired vampire sprawling to the
ground and leave Spike staggering backwards. He was
going to have a headache for a week, but it was well
worth it to see Angel slumped on the ground, blood
spurting from his broken nose.

“I don’t need you,” Spike spoke quietly, his past, so
intimately entwined with the fallen vampire, coming
sharply into focus. “I never have.”

Spike turned on his heel and walked away, never once
looking back. There were no more distractions for the
blond as he made his way back to the college campus
and as he made his way up the corridor to Willow’s
rather battered dorm room door, he was certain he’d
been correct in his assumption that Willow had
disappeared to somewhere where she felt safe. The air
in the corridor had that same oppressive feeling that
had filled Giles apartment before she’d disappeared.
The sensation grew with each step he took toward the
door.

“Willow,” Spike called her name softly as he pushed
open the thoroughly battered door. There was no reply
but he could see her, standing in the half-light that
fell across the floor from one of her windows.
Cautiously, he took a step into the room, it was
humming with energy, so much so that it was nearly
visible, ebbing and flowing. Things would swim out of
focus before snapping back in, sharp and clear. For a
moment, he felt like he was back at Woodstock…watching
his hand move. “Red?”

“How did I get here,” Willow asked, still not moving
from her spot near the window. Spike closed the door.
Well, he shut it and it seemed to stay in place even
though the locking mechanism was shot to hell after
being kicked open earlier on in the evening. Spike
felt like his feet were made of lead as he moved
toward the redhead. The energy was wrapping around
him, pushing him away and he had to fight to move
forward. “Did you bring me back?”

“No,” he stated, keeping his voice low and giving her
the once over. Apart from the fact that she was
deathly pale and swaying on her feet, she seemed fine,
no bloody nose or any other tell tale sign that she’d
been casting.

“I don’t know how I got here, we were all at Giles
and…and everyone was yelling and you and Buffy were
fighting…and then, then…” she paused, glancing down at
the tightly clenched fist that had held the mirror.
Slowly, she unfurled her fingers, the skin on her palm
was blistered. “The mirror, it was…so dark…”

“It’s alright, Willow,” cautiously he reached out and
took hold of her damaged hand. It was freezing cold
and she stared, transfixed by it.

“The mirror was dark.”

“It’s all right,” Spike repeated, his free hand
reaching up to stroke her cheek and she flinched away
from the contact. “You’re all right, Willow.”

“Am I? I don’t know what happened and there’s
something…” she paused and took a deep shuddering
breath, her free hand resting above her heart.
“Growing inside me, building up…I can feel it…”

“Ssshh, love,” Spike could feel the weight of the room
grow and his hold tightened on the redhead, the last
thing he wanted was for her to feel threatened and do
another disappearing act.

“Eating away at me until there’s nothing left…” she
was starting to hyperventilate. “Nothing but this
empty darkness…”

“Don’t talk like that,” Spike snapped, although he was
certain the words were nothing more than an exhausted
rant, they unnerved him. “Listen to me, Red, it’s
just the magic. You’ve got to shut it down.”

“I can’t,” Willow whispered hoarsely, gasping for
breath. “It’s too hard…too much…”

“Yes, you can.”

“I can’t. I don’t want this…” she shook her head and
tried to pull away from him. “I don’t want to be…the
mirror was so dark…”

“You have to stop this, Willow,” he urged, brushing
the hair from her eyes and caressing her cool cheek.
“Forget the mirror, it was a reflection of something
that’s constantly changing. What you saw was one
brief moment, a moment full of pain and confusion,
that’s all.”

“No…no…it was nearly black and dead and…and...”

“Listen to me,” Spike ground his teeth together, his
hands clasping her head forcing her to do the very
thing she was trying to avoid and what he was
demanding of her. “No, look at me, Willow. Listen to
me…the reflection means nothing. You’re exhausted,
and not just physically, you went against your
friends' wishes as well as your girlfriend’s, and what
you did…the curse…you’re summoning a lot of power.
The mirror was a reflection of all of that…”

“I don’t want that darkness, Spike, but I can feel
it…”

“Then shut it down, love, that’s all you’ve got to
do.”

“I can’t,” Willow reached up, her fingers wrapping
around his wrists, clinging to him.

“Yes you can, Red,” Spike drew her in closer, his
hands still forcing her to concentrate on him.
“Control it, you’ve done it before.”

“There’s too much,” she closed her eyes, the tears
freely flowing and he felt her hold loosen. “My head
aches from everything. There so much, words and
spells…things I never could have imagined…”

“Then use it to your advantage, but right now you have
to shut it down. Come on, Red,” he whispered
urgently, his thumbs caressing her wet cheeks as
clouded green eyes locked on piercing blue for the
first time since he’d found her. “Show me what you’re
made of.”

Spike wasn’t sure she’d heard him, the hold on his
wrists was growing weaker and for a brief moment he
was terrified that he was going to lose her. Then,
with a huge hiccupping gulp of air, Willow collapsed,
taking the blond vampire with her. As she fell, Spike
could feel the oppressive weight of the room being
lifted and the energy cleared. Closing his eyes in
relief, he wrapped the sobbing girl up in his arms.

“That’s it, let it all out,” Spike whispered against
her hair, dropping a kiss against the fine strands.
He held her, rocking her back and forth, until the
great hiccupping sobs gave way to silent tears. Even
after the tears had stopped falling and she was limp
in his arms as she slept, he continued to hold her
safe. Had he not been so tired himself, he would have
smirked at the irony of coming a full circle during
the course of the past 24 hours and they were back to
where it had all started…Willow’s room, or more
precisely, as he carefully picked her up and held her
close for the short trek to her bed, at least one of
them asleep in that oh so soft and tempting bed.
Sighing as he gently laid her down on the soft
surface, he pulled off her sneakers and covered her
with the warm quilt.

Spike wasn’t certain that he’d been speaking the truth
about the mirror, he was as much in the dark as
everyone else. Even as he picked up her phone and
dialed the Watcher’s number, he had hoped he’d been
right, that it was just the magic, an overload of
sorts.

“I’ve got her,” he spoke softly in reply to Giles
terse greeting, so as not to wake the exhausted
redhead. He waited until the Watcher finished with
the usual questions of how, where and other concerns.
“No, she seems okay, exhausted mainly…back at her dorm
room,” Spike shrugged off his duster and tossed it
over the back of a chair. “She was confused, she
didn’t know how she got back here…no, she’s sleeping
and I don’t want to wake her, she’s had enough for
tonight…”

Spike moved quietly and stretched out on the
comfortable bed beside the witch, watching her closely
and not paying any particular heed to what the Watcher
was raving on about. She was dreaming, he could tell
by the movement of her eyes beneath their closed lids,
the rapid movement making the lids ripple. Cupping
her cheek, his thumb caressed one of her lids, trying
to still the movement. With no success his fingers
moved to comb through her hair.

“Let her be. She’s safe,” Spike assured the Watcher.
“She’s with me.”
 

Part 17

"With Spike?"  Xander's voice cracked.  "And in what
twisted universe does that qualify as 'safe'?"

Giles sighed.  "On the Hellmouth, nothing is
completely safe.  He can't hurt her.  Doubly so, if he
does indeed have a soul."  The Watcher pinched the
bridge of his nose.  After a pause, he continued, "If
you think it's necessary, you can watch her yourself."

"No, he can't.  He's mine.  I have plans for tonight.
With honey."

"Ahn, NOT NOW!"  Xander turned back to Giles.  "That
sounds like a plan.  I don't care if he *is* souled.
He's a vampire. He's tried to kill her before, there's
no saying he won't do it again.  He's already stolen
her soul."

Buffy raised her head from her hands. "He hasn't.  I
won't believe it.  And it's my job to protect her, not
yours."

"Since when?  I've known Willow a hell of a lot longer
than you have. You never got around to staking Spike
before, what makes you think you could do it now?  It
isn't as if Angel ever got what he had--"

"This stops now.  Do you hear me?"

Buffy, Xander, and Anya stared at the Watcher in
shock.

"Willow may well be in serious danger.  There is no
time for childish bickering.

"If Buffy thinks Willow isn't safe with Spike, she is
welcome to go to the dormitory.  The rest of you have
other duties.  We need to understand what has happened
to Willow, and what, if anything, can be done about
it."

"Research *again*?  I don't know why I even bother
buying handcuffs."

"ANYA!"

#####

Buffy strode up to Willow's door.  She noticed that
the lock was still broken, and that the calligraphed
"Power of Two" sign had vanished. She shoved the door
open.

With the usual vampire speed, Spike was in her face
before she had gone two steps.  With the usual Slayer
speed, she had a stake to his chest.

"Give me one good reason not to use this."

He hissed, "You'll wake Willow.  Can we kindly discuss
this in the hall?"

"Trust me.  I can dust you without disturbing her one
tiny bit."  She glanced at the bed; Willow was indeed
sleeping.

"Then do it, but for God's sake stop talking about
it!"

Buffy rolled her eyes but backed into the hall, stake
still targeted on Spike's heart.  He followed at a
leisurely pace, allowing the distance between them to
widen.  When they reached the hall, he pulled the door
to behind them.

Buffy whispered, "Let's get back to basics.  Why
shouldn't I kill you right now?"

He smirked.  "Because you can't bear to lose my
extremely attractive body?"

She pressed the stake back into his chest.  Too angry
to whisper, she snarled, "Try again.  I think you'd be
far, far more attractive as a pile of dust.  And
useful, too.  Miss Kitty's litterbox..."

The smirk was replaced by fury. "Will you keep it
DOWN?  Your friend is exhausted, she's had a brutal
day, and she needs to rest."

Buffy snorted.  "As if you care.  Maybe you have a
soul, but you still don't have a heart.  You used
Willow.  You want to use her again.  I won't stand for
it."

"And you don't?  Every bloody time you lot have a
problem, it's 'Please, Willow, could you cast this?'
And 'Oh, Willow, do some mojo.' Fat lot of time you
spend worrying about the consequences.

He shrugged.  "Should have thought you'd be sodding
delighted.  One more souled vampire -- minus the
brooding and the hedgehog up top -- one less evil to
vanquish.  Unless you get off on adrenaline?"  He gave
her a sultry look. "That could still be arranged...
one way or another..."

There was a crash in the room.  Spike spun around,
giving her a clear shot at his back.  Buffy took it;
without turning, he reached back and grabbed her
wrist.

"Can you hold the righteous vengeance until I find out
what just happened to your supposed best friend?
Where the hell is your brain?"  He dropped her wrist
and strode into the room.

Buffy stared at his back.  "Who are you, and what have
you done with Spike?"  Then she followed him into the
room.

Willow lay crumpled on the floor. Spike knelt next to
her, one pale hand on her forehead.  Buffy pushed him
away and grabbed Willow's shoulders.

"Willow?  Wills?  What happened?"

Willow's eyes flew open.  "Stay away! Don't come near
me!  I might..."  Her eyes began to glow.

Buffy rocked back on her heels.  "Wills... I think you
need help.  I'll get..."

Willow began to shake.  Spike pushed Buffy away.
"Will you get the Hell out of here before she jumps
someplace we can't find her?"

Buffy stood and ran.  This was a job for Giles.

######

Willow tried to sit up, but abandoned the idea befrore
her head was a micron off the floor.  She stared up at
the pale blob she assumed must be a face.  "My head
hurts.  The room's gone all wavy."

"Not surprised.  Back to bed with you."  An arm
slipped under her shoulders.

"I don't want you near me!" She could feel the power,
rising up within her and spilling over.   Her eyes
swam; she reached to rub them, but her hand felt odd
somehow.  She waved it in the air, trying to figure
out what was wrong.

A cold hand closed over her eyes.  The arm beneath her
never wavered.  "Calm down.  You're in no state--"

She struggled frantically.  "Let me go!  It's dark and
scary enough without your help.  I'll make you..."

Oh, God.  Memory washed over her.  The last spell
she'd cast had cost Willow  her true love.  And
probably her soul.  She clawed at Spike's hand.  "Let
me go.  Let me get away before I hurt somebody else!
I need to die!"
 

Part 18

Ever wary of the Initiative's chip buried in his
brain, Spike fought to keep his hold and avoid hurting
Willow.  He was rapidly losing the fight against both
as Willow twisted one arm free and the chip sent
warning twinges of lightning flashing behind his eyes.
 

"Damn it," he cursed as one flailing hand caught the
side of his head, pink painted nails scratching long
furrows across his cheek.  That did it.  He'd had
enough.  Pulling back he released the struggling
witch, upsetting her balance so that she fell back
against the floor with a whoosh of breath.  Moving
quickly before she could scramble to her feet or
perform her disappearing act on him again, Spike
hauled back and punched her.

Blinding pain blossomed behind Spike's eyes, blurring
his vision. Shaking his head to clear the lingering
tendrils of pain, he ran sensitive fingertips across
the red mark along Willow's jaw.  "Sorry about that,
Red."   He'd worry about how she'd react to that
sucker punch later.  For now, getting her unconscious
had definitely been worth the brief flash of his own
pain.

"Good thing Buffy didn't see that, huh luv?" he asked
the slumped girl.  "And I am sorry about hitting you,
but you were panicking and I didn't want you
teleporting off again . . . or even worse, doing
something magically nasty to me."

Gathering Willow up in his arms he transferred her
back to her bed, still carrying on his one-sided
conversation.  "Frog . . . you'd probably like turning
me into a frog."  Tossing back the covers he carefully
placed his burden down.  "Though," he continued, "I
have to say, Buffy'd probably like something slimier .
. . a newt maybe."

As the words left his mouth he cast a quick glance up
at Willow's face, and let out a tiny sigh of relief
when he saw her eyes were still closed.  Pulling the
sheets and comforter back up he set about tucking her
in and then picked back up on his conversion.

"The newt thing was just a for instance, mind you, not
a recommendation.  So don't let that thought gel in
your subconscious anywhere to come back to haunt me
later."

Satisfied that Willow was at least comfortable for
now, he stood awkwardly beside the bed.  He wasn't
exactly sure what do now.  This wasn't exactly how
he'd pictured the whole souling in his head.  In his
dreams, Buffy was suppose to be comforting him and
protesting undying love and devotion after witnessing
the lengths that he was willing to go for her.
Somehow or another it had all gotten off on the wrong
foot. But for the life of him, or the death for that
matter, he couldn't see where exactly everything had
gone wrong.   He'd really like to blame this all on
Willow somehow but something soft and squishy inside
of him, which he highly suspected was his soul making
itself known, wouldn't let him.  The witch had been
nothing but supportive.

He heaved a sigh.  Shit.  Why couldn't he ever have
anything go according to plan?  If it wasn't one
thing, it was another -- Slayer's with mothers,
grandsire's with souls, witches that smelled good,
torturers that didn't fulfill their contracts . . .
actually, good help in general.  He'd always had lousy
luck when it came to good minions.  It figured that
his souling would follow the established pattern of
his life.

Spying the neglected mirror laying on the floor Spike
picked it up and glanced within.  Like any ordinary
mirror should, it reflected only the room behind him
now.  No silver mist or swirling colors obscured the
view.  Pulling his arm back he made to toss the thing
across the room, only to stop, mirror raised high over
his head.  With a muttered curse against mirrors and
spells and witches, and seven years bad luck, which he
**really** didn't need, he set it back down onto
Willow's dresser making sure that the damning glass
faced downwards.

He could feel dawn's approach, a tingling awareness
along his nerve endings that every vampire learned to
heed.  With the dawn, his own body's natural rhythms
were setting in, urging him to seek safety and sleep.
He eyed the busted door to the room.  It was hanging
on only by one twisted hinge and was tilted at a
strange angle.  It would offer no protection if anyone
was trying to get in.

He looked back at Willow sleeping unaware on the bed
and then out into the darkness beyond the windows.  He
could make it back to his crypt if he hurried.  He
eyed the door again.  Damn.  So this was what a soul
felt like.

Forcing a sigh of exasperation he didn't really feel,
Spike did he best to straighten the door.  Pulling the
desk chair across the room, he pushed it against the
door.  It wouldn't stop anyone from coming in but the
noise would alert him.  Stepping back to admire his
handiwork, he tried very hard not to enjoy the feeling
of satisfaction he felt at making sure that Willow
would remain safe in his care.

But safe in his care didn't mean that he couldn't be
comfortable too, right?  It had been a long day for
him.

"You don't mind, do you Red?  After all, it's not like
we're strangers in bed."  He tried to add a lascivious
grin to his words but the effect was spoiled when a
yawn caught him mid-grin.  His bed companion remained
silent.  "Well, then, if you aren't offering any
objections, I think I'll take the left side."

Kicking off his boots, he crawled in next to Willow
and settled down, human warmth and soft down embracing
him.  Oh yeah, he was definitely going to have to get
himself one of these.  Slowly, enjoying the release of
tension from each muscle, he let himself relax.  He
didn't expect the Slayer back again that night.  She
and the others would be combing the books to figure
out what exactly had happened.  Even Willow seemed to
be resting quietly now, her breathing deep and even.
There was something restful in that steady sound,
soothing in its own way.  Surely, he too could close
his eyes for a while and rest?

Letting his eyelids fall, he pictured the Slayer as
she'd been earlier, anger making her eyes flash with
hidden fire. He smiled dreamily as the image shifted
and this time instead of simply grasping the arm that
held the stake above him, he jerked her in close to
his body, smothering her startled exclamation with a
hungry kiss.  A kiss that in that half-waking,
half-dreaming moment, Buffy returned with equal
passion.  With a soft smile on his face, Spike slipped
into sleep.

As Spike dropped into sleep the room settled into
silence, the sounds of the awakening dorm around them
muted and blurred. Neither sleeper stirred as morning
greetings were called. The shouts from the students
below sitting on the grass or walking along shaded
paths to class never reached them to disturb their
slumber. If anyone had dared to poke their head past
the shattered door that sat haphazardly in its frame,
they would have seen what looked to be a scene that
was enacted across college campuses everywhere, two
lovers curled around each other in blissful sleep,
ignoring the wider world around them for the peace
found only in each others arms.

But this was Sunnydale. No curious student braved that
battered door to peek within, the illusion of lovers
hid the truth of enemies with no one else to turn too,
and peace was the last thing that either was likely to
find.

Willow dreamed.

She knew she was dreaming but that didn't matter,
because Willow also knew she was being pursued. She
didn't know what chased her with such intent but she
knew she couldn't let it catch her. So Willow ran, her
heart pounding in time with her footsteps, terror
lending her strength as she ran through a city
landscape twisted into nightmare form. Around her tall
buildings blackened with soot and grime twisted into
gravity defying forms, while stone gargoyles with
gleaming red eyes stared down at her from lofty
perches, stone wings unfurled as if to catch the foul
breeze that swirled around her running feet.

The sky above her was the color of lead, thick clouds
roiling in heaving patterns that made Willow nauseous
when she dared to look upwards and away from the
street down which she ran. She never looked up at that
sky for long. Nor did she try to look at her feet
because she'd looked down once and seen that the
scummed over puddles through which she ran where not
rainwater as she'd thought but blood, dark red and
warm, that clung to her legs and stained her jeans as
she splashed through each one in her headlong flight.

Willow kept her eyes forward on a horizon she couldn't
see, looking neither up nor down and all the time she
ran.

Locked in her nightmare, Willow whimpered softly in
her sleep, her eyes shifting wildly beneath her closed
eyelids. While her mind ran, her body sought it own
escape, frantic electric signals to flee making her
arms and legs twitch and gold sparkles of magic to
skitter across her skin like small lightening bolts.
But all magic exacts a cost and Willow's reserves were
past depleted. As the sun climbed higher in the sky,
the gold that limed her body became less and less
common until it faded altogether, completely
exhausted.

And still Willow dreamed.

Besides her, curled into the warmth that emanated from
Willow, Spike stirred in his own restless dreams.  But
where Willow ran from something alien that hunted her
across her dreams, Spike hunted for something that
seemed to always be just beyond his grasp.  Phantom
voices from dark alleys reached out to tease his
hearing, igniting pain where once there had been
arrogant indifference.

"Why this one Dru?  He's weak."

Only to fade back away again as his search continued,
his quarry always moving, always ahead of him.

"His pain is exquisite.  Can I keep him, Daddy?"

The voices out of the darkness dogged his steps no
matter how fast he moved, pacing along with him
through the endless darkness, the words cutting him as
he passed.

"You are beneath me."

Like the sharpest of knives, he didn't feel the cuts
as he flew past them, only once he'd moved on did he
notice the sting, the hurt, the horror of the words.

"William the Bloody   . . . Bloody awful if you ask
me."

Only when he was past did he realize he was bleeding.

And still Spike dreamed.

+++++

Across town Giles snapped the book in front of him
closed with a softly muttered curse.  Pulling off his
glasses, he reached up to rub tired eyes, digging his
index fingers into his eye sockets until colored
sparkles danced behind his closed lids, well aware
that Angel was staring at him from across the table.
He'd sent Buffy, Xander and Anya home hours ago.  Now
it was just down to him and Angel and his books.

"You're tired, Giles, you should get some sleep."

Looking up, he blinked a few times to clear his
vision, only to find himself caught up in the
compassionate gaze looking back so steadily at him.
He wondered, not for the first time, how eyes so
expressive could belong to a vampire.  God, he was
waxing poetic about Angel.  He really was tired.

"Not yet."

"Rupert . . ."

"No."   And that was it, discussion over.  Angel
nodded once and both returned to their books, neither
one ready to be the first to admit out loud that they
had no idea what had gone wrong with Spike's
resouling.
 

Part 19

Willow awoke first and to the familiar feeling of
being wrapped securely in someone's arms, strong and
comforting.  Yet even in her sleep, she hadn't been
allowed the delusion that it was her lover's arms
cradling her close, Tara's fingers tangled in her
hair.  No, even in her sleep, the horrifying
nightmares that eventually faded to vague yet still
disturbing dreams, Willow knew that Tara was gone.
She'd driven her away.   As Willow's eyes fluttered
open, she was only sure of two things--that the arms
about her weren't Tara's, they were Spike's.

And that her jaw hurt.

Willow carefully untangled herself from the vampire
who was still asleep beside her, and sat up in bed.
Rubbing her jaw, she contemplated Spike has he slept,
the memories of the previous days events coming back
to her.  To say that she'd lost control, more than
once, was putting it mildly.  She grimaced, realizing
how close she had come to seriously hurting someone.
She honestly felt as if she could have exploded with
power several times the night before, but now she only
felt strangely calm, strangely empty, strangely full.

She just felt strange.

In the back of her mind, Willow realized there was
more to the odd way she felt.  She knew that something
was different.  She even knew exactly what the
difference was, but the front of her mind wanted to
live in the dark, secure in its naivete for a few
minutes longer, so the back of her mind kept the
knowledge to itself for the time being.

Shaking her head, Willow studied the vampire again.
It wasn't often that one had the opportunity to watch
a sleeping vampire.  Strange.  She'd always figured
that a vampire would look, well, dead when he was
asleep.  Not Spike.  Even as he succumbed to his
body's need for rest, he was far from still.  The
vampire's jaw clenched, his lips twitched, his lids
fluttered beneath long, dark lashes... It seemed that
even the combination of death and sleep couldn't keep
Spike still.

Surprisingly, she wasn't angry at the vampire for
hitting her.  Just like in the old movies, she'd been
hysterical and he'd tried to snap her out of it.  Of
course, in the old movies they usually only *slapped*
the hysterical damsel in distress, doing little more
than stunning her into silence.  But, Spike was a
vampire, making restraint a scarce personality trait,
even with a soul and a chip.

Willow moved her jaw a bit, carefully inspecting the
tender flesh with her fingers.  She opened and closed
her mouth a few times and ran her tongue along her
teeth.  No blood and nothing loose.

Spike obviously had more restraint than she'd credited
him with.  When she looked at him again, there was
something akin to gratefulness and awe on her face.

It was the loss of Willow's luring warmth that brought
Spike awake.  One second he was pursuing some obscure
desire in his dreams, then suddenly the dreams were
gone and he was looking up into watchful green eyes.
Those softly smiling eyes were all that he could see
and it was heaven.

They stared at each other for a moment...and
another...and another.  For that instant, which seemed
to stretch into an eternity that was over to soon, for
the few seconds that they'd allowed themselves to
relax in the comfortable and oddly familiar depths of
each other's eyes, they both caught a glimpse of
something elusive and alluring.   Unconsciously, they
leaned towards each other, needing to be closer to the
promise they saw beckoning in each other's shining
eyes.

The sudden sound of a happy ruckus in the hallway, the
winners of a round of early morning tag football
bellowing their victory up and down the hall for all
to hear, broke the moment.  The pair blinked in
confusion at each other then quickly looked away in
embarrassment.

"You're awake," they said in unison, which in turn
caused them both to chuckle, "Yeah," also at the same
time.  Pairs of green and blue eyes widened in
surprise and unease at their similar behavior.  In
response, Willow bit her bottom lip, trying to keep
from saying anything at all while Spike sat up,
automatically patting his various pockets for
cigarettes he knew he didn't have.

"Bloody hell," he grunted, then smiled when Willow
remained silent.  "Just checking," he said with
obvious relief.  "Wanted to make sure we weren't
sharing a brain."

Willow actually flashed him a weak smile.  "Now *that*
would be scary, Spike."

"Feeling better, then?" Spike asked as he leaned back
against the headboard and rubbed at his weary eyes.

Willow fidgeted a bit.  "I feel...different, which I
guess is better.  Promise I won't get hysterical on
you again, thereby forcing you to go all John Wayne on
me."

"John Wayne?" he repeated distractedly.

Willow lightly tapped her tender jaw, and Spike,
squinting hard against the dimness of the room,
noticed for the first time the mottled bruise that
decorated her lower cheek and jaw.

"Oh, 'bout that, Red, I'm sorry--"

Willow held up a trembling hand to stop his words.
"No need to apologize, Spike.  I'm the one that should
be saying I'm sorry," she sighed, closing her eyes as
she again remembered her behavior at Giles' apartment.
"To everyone, especially Giles and Buffy..."  Her
eyes flew open in concern.  "I didn't...*hurt* anyone,
did I?"

"Nothing permanent.  They're a tough bunch.  Anyway,
they seem more worried about my un-Angel-like behavior
than about your little problem."  Spike, being Spike,
didn't think before he uttered those words, but when
he saw Willow wince, her hands twisting at the bed
sheets, he felt an odd twisting sensation in his gut.
"Sorry, Red.  That's not what I mean...Of course
they're worried about you..."

But Willow looked far from convinced, and Spike found
himself apologizing yet again.  "Sorry, Willow, I
didn't bloody mean to..."  Shaking his head at his own
patheticness, Spike swung his feet off the bed and on
to the floor.  "So, this new desire to say 'sorry' all
the time.  That's a soul thing, is it?"

"Yeah, sorry."  Willow meant her reply as a joke but
she couldn't quite muster the sarcasm to pull it off

For another awkward minute or two they stared at each
other, unsure what to say, before Willow hopped up.
"Um, gotta go to the um, you know...the ladies
room...fuzzy teeth...bed-head...full bladder...way too
much information..."  Grimacing at her own words, she
grabbed some fresh clothes and her bathroom supplies.
In order to escape the room, she had to move the chair
that was holding the door closed and then maneuver the
door on its one hinge, the whole time completely aware
that Spike was looking at her.  She actually breathed
a sigh of relief when she was finally able to step
into the hallway.  Ignoring an occasional odd look
from another student for the state of both her door
and her appearance, Willow made her way to the
bathroom.

Spike stared at the door that she had disappeared
behind, his eyes narrowing and the muscles of his face
drawing tighter.  His head ached, blue eyes watering.
He felt like he had a bad hangover, but without the
benefit of an evening spent bending his wrist,
enjoying a pint...or ten.  He rubbed his eyes again,
trying to focus on the window.  How long had they
slept?  Didn't seem very bright out for the middle of
the day.

He jumped when the phone beside the bed rang.  Without
thinking, he answered it.

"What?" he snarled.  It was Giles, asking if Willow
was okay, saying that Buffy had told him what had
happened a few hours earlier.  Only a few hours? Spike
wondered.

"She's fine, Watcher," Spike snapped in response.
"Back to normal as far as I can tell.  Soon as she
gets out of the loo, we'll be over, right?"  Without
waiting for Giles' to reply, Spike slammed the
receiver down, missing the handset completely.  After
a few more tries, each attempt more angry than the
previous, he gave up, yanked the whole thing out of
the wall, and threw it across the room where it hit
the wall with a satisfying crack.

Standing on shaky feet, Spike stumbled towards the
door and the switch for the light.

"What the hell?" he asked when there was no noticeable
change in the brightness of the room.  "Electricity
out?  Damn Americans claim to invent the bloody stuff,
but they can't keep it working, can they?"

Swearing under his breath, Spike flipped the switch up
and down one more time before turning back toward the
bed.  On his way, he tripped over his boots and nearly
fell face first onto the mattress.

---------------------

By the time a freshly showered and dressed Willow came
back into the room, shutting the door behind her as
best she could, Spike was sitting on the side of the
bed, furiously jamming his boots on his feet.  He
didn't look up, so Willow put her things away, trying
to nonchalantly shove her dirty clothes into the
hamper.  She didn't want Spike to see her
cotton-flowered underwear.

"Um, guess I should go see Giles and apologize," she
said when she was satisfied that her dignity was still
relatively intact.  "Do you want to come?  I know a
way with a lot of shade, and we could take an umbrella
or blanket just to be safe."

Spike chuckled but Willow didn't miss the anger in the
laughter.  His eyes were still trained on his shoes,
his fingers fumbling with the laces.  "Last thing I
want is to go anywhere with you!"

Willow's face fell at his angry admission.  "Oh," she
said softly, confused and a little hurt.  "Okay..."

Giving up on the boots, Spike stood up anyway.
"Suppose it's my own fault, really, isn't it?" he said
in icy tones.  His eyes were focused on a point over
Willow's shoulder, and she turned around to try to
figure out what he was looking at.

Seeing only the closet door behind her, Willow asked
sheepishly, "Um, what's your fault, Spike?"

"It's not like you're the only bloody witch in town,
are you?" he demanded, this time looking over her
other shoulder.

Again Willow searched behind her and found nothing.
An eerie feeling began to settle over her.  Something
was wrong.  Very wrong.

"Why did I trust you, aye?  Why the bloody hell did I
trust *you*, you stupid bint!?" he demanded harshly,
his voice rising systematically with each syllable
until she was flinching.

"Hey!" Willow cried.  His insults were completely
uncalled for and she didn't understand his sudden
change of mood.  "What are you complaining about?  It
worked, didn't it?"

"Did it?" he stalked closer...so close, in fact, that
he stepped on her toe.

Swallowing a small cry of pain, Willow jumped back.
"Watch it, Spike!  What's wrong with you?"

"You!" he bellowed.  "You're what's wrong with me!
You and your utter inability to do a single damn thing
right!  All I wanted was a bloody soul, and you
couldn't even get that right, could you?"

She squared her shoulders, tiring of his rhetorical
nonsense.  "It did work, Spike.  You have a soul, I'm
sure of it," she said defensively.  "Remember the
pretty mirror?"

"Or maybe it's just me?" Spike continued unabated, his
eyes darting wildly about the room.  "Worked for the
bloody poof, but not for me.  Why, Willow?  Why'd you
manage it right for my prat of a sire but not for me?"
 

His voice was more desperate than angry now, and
Willow's confusion doubled.  "What, Spike?  I don't
understand.  We both know you have a soul, so what's
wrong?"

Spike seemed to struggle with himself for a moment,
the tension obvious in every muscle in his body,
before answering.  "Can't *see* a bloody thing, you
stupid cow," he spat out, unseeing eyes flashing.
"I'm blind.  That's what's wrong!"

"You're what?" she said in horror as his odd behavior
started to make some sense.  Willow waved her hand in
front of his face, even pretended that she was going
to poke him in his brilliant blue eyes, but he
continued staring only vaguely in her direction.  "You
can't...you can't see me?  You can't see anything?"

"Shadows, light...vague shapes at the most."

"But why?  Spike, I'm so...so sorry!  But I don't
think I did it."

"Of course you bloody well did it!" he snarled, taking
a step in her general direction.  Willow sidestepped
away.  "This has something to do with that resouling
of yours!  You mucked it all up, just like everything
else you touch!"

Willow tried to ignore his hurtful remarks.  She
needed to stay calm, since he obviously couldn't.  It
was time for some research and a plan.  "We need to go
see Giles...he'll figure this out..."

The vampire tilted his head, then turned toward her.
"And let The Watcher and The Slayer know that I'm
blind?  No effin' way, Witch!"

"But--"

"Isn't it bad enough that this bloody chip has..." He
paused, his desperate anger making it hard for him to
think straight. "And then the soul..."  He couldn't
finish his thoughts.

"It'll be okay, Spike," Willow said in a motherly
manner.  She took a step closer, thinking of patting
him on the back, but he began to growl.

"Now I can't defend myself against anything!  Demons,
little old ladies with handbags, drooling babies with
rattles!  I'm completely helpless."  Spike dug his
knuckles into his tightly-clenched eyes, groaning in
exasperation.  "This is all your fucking fault!  I
asked you to do something simple for me...Something to
make the pain of the chip easier to bear, but--"

"Bullshit," Willow said with quite a bit of spite
before she could stop herself.

"What?" Spike uttered in surprise.  Did he just hear a
naughty word slip from the girl's lips?

"You heard me, Spike," Willow said firmly, her hands
going to her hips.  "You are so full of it!"

She circled the bewildered vampire until she was
standing behind him.  "I know the real reason you want
a soul."

"The pain--" Spike began, but Willow cut him off with
another haughty, "Bullshit!"

Willow's voice softened then, but her meaning was
clear.  "Buffy is why you demanded that I give you
back your soul!  You want Buffy and you think that if
you have a soul she'll love you."

"What?"  Spike demanded stiffly, his arms crossing
about his chest.  "The Slayer?  I--I don't...you're
nuttier than Dru, that's what you are!" he stammered,
turning in place, trying to pin down the direction of
her voice.

"Perhaps your blindness is punishment!" Willow
suggested as she continued to move about the room.
"Maybe the magick doesn't like being use as a means to
get a girl in bed!"

"Listen, Witch, I don't..." Spike stopped twirling,
his hands going to his hair as if he were going to
pull it out in great chunks.  "Quit moving about,
would you?"

"Admit it, Spike.  Admit you did this for
Buffy...admit that you are stupid enough to think that
all it would take is a soul for her to love you!"

That did it.  The eyes yellowed, the forehead ridged,
and the fangs came out of hiding.  Willow froze in
place, and with a slight flare of his nostrils, an
almost imperceptible sniffing of the air, Spike turned
directly to face her.  Maybe his eyes didn't focus on
her face, but he knew where she was, and Willow had
little doubt he could pounce on her if he wished to.

Willow took a slow, silent step back and to her left.
With a feral grin, Spike followed her.

"Spike!" Willow yelped excitedly.  "You can see!  Your
vision came back!"

Shaking his head as he took a final stride that put
him directly in front of her, Spike said, "No, you
bloody twit. I can smell you...the fear, the peaches
and cream lotion you use, your, uh, more feminine
scents..."

How a vampire could look so thoroughly lewd without
even being able to fully focus on her face was beyond
Willow's ability to understand.

"You're disgusting, Spike.  Get out of my room!" she
commanded indignantly.

"Gladly!" he sniped back, then turned and headed for
what he hoped was the door.  When his hand found a
doorknob with almost no effort whatsoever, Spike
looked over his shoulder and flashed a victorious grin
in her general direction.  Then he opened the door,
stepped through, and slammed it behind him.

Shaking her head, Willow waited...one
beat...two...then she heard some shuffling and his
somewhat muffled voice.  "What the bloody hell is
this?  Where am I?"

"The closet," Willow sighed, then flicked her wrist at
the door, mumbling a couple of words in Latin.

Nothing happened, except an increase in the cursing
and the banging from inside the closet as Spike
fumbled about in the darkness, trying to find the door
handle.  Willow frowned, tried the simple spell to
open the door again, but nothing happened.

The door didn't even tremble, let alone open.  The
handle didn't move no matter how much she
concentrated, and this was something that she could
normally do in her sleep.

Willow frowned, ignoring Spike for the moment.  She
tried something different...levitating a book,
nothing.  Lighting a candle.  Nothing.

Frantic now, Willow rushed to her desk, concentrated
on a pencil lying on its tidy surface until her eyes
were crossing and her face covered in sweat.

The pencil didn't budge.

"Oh Goddess..." Willow cried in terror.  Her eyes were
wide with the implication as she stumbled away from
the desk.  "It's gone...my power...the magick...it's
gone..."

At that moment, Spike finally found the doorknob.  He
threw the closet door open and came bursting out, only
to run headlong into Willow as she stood numbly in the
middle of the room.  They tumbled to the floor, limbs
flailing, various expletives being spat out by both.

"Get off me!" Willow huffed when she caught her
breath.  Spike was lying half on top of her, his face
too damn close to her neck for comfort, but he was in
no hurry to move.  He rather enjoyed having his body
so intimately intertwined with one that was warmer and
softer and smelled incredible.

The vampire could feel her panic and it empowered him
to think that he could still wrench such a strong
reaction out of her even when he was blind, souled,
and chipped.  As angry--and yes, terrified--as he was
about the sudden loss of his sight, he was relieved to
know that he still 'had it'.  Little did Spike know
that Willow's fright stemmed from something other than
his body's nearness.

"Frightened, are you?" he drawled near her ear.

"Yes...oh Goddess...what am I going to do?" she
hiccuped, making him smile.

"Don't fret, Pet," he continued in a tone that was
silky, dangerous.  "It's like riding a bike, they say.
I'm sure you'll remember soon enough."

"But it's gone, Spike," she said, resuming her efforts
to disengage herself from him.

Spike froze, finally realizing that they weren't quite
on the same page.  So much for all the smooth, sexual
innuendo.  "Er, what's gone, Red?"

"My magick...it's gone."  She almost choked on the
words.  "I can't...I can't even float a pencil!"

Spike abruptly sat up, allowing Willow to push herself
away from him.  They both struggled to their feet.

"Your power's gone?  All of it?"

Willow nodded her head in reply, not that he could see
it.

"Well, answer me!" he demanded impatiently.  "It's
*all* gone?"

"Oh, um, yeah...I can't do even the simplest spell.
It's like that place inside of me that I go to, to
draw upon the power, it's just...empty."  Willow was
trying very hard not to cry, but was losing the battle
to hot tears of frustration and loss.

"Serves you right," Spike muttered without thinking.

"What?" she sniffed, sure that she hadn't heard him
right.

"It's about time you were to feel the effect of your
own bungling.  Hell, the world's probably a much safer
place this way...safe from your magical muck ups!"

"Hey, you aren't exactly the king of perfect plans,
you know!"  Willow tried to steady her voice in spite
of the tears that sprang to her eyes at his words.
"Big talk coming from the poster child for Murphy's
Law," she added with haughty indignation.

"Me?" he scoffed, turning toward the infuriating sound
of her voice.

"If the analogy fits..."

"And what, precisely, have you done lately that bloody
well worked out right?"  Willow's face reddened in
anger, but Spike didn't give her time to defend
herself.  "Your little Witch left you, remember?"

Willow opened her mouth, ready to remind him just why
she'd left, but instead said, "And Drusilla left
*you*, remember?  And for a fungus demon, no less."

Spike's sightless eyes narrowed.  "Your 'my will be
done', spell!"

"The ring of Amarra."

"Your delusting spell with chubs."

"Chip in the brain."

Spike batted his eyelashes, raising his tone in a very
bad imitation of Willow.  "Oh, but we must save the
poor, oppressed Turkey Day ghosty so he can later
shoot arrows at us!"

It was Willow's sparkling green eyes' turn to narrow.
"Your roots are showing."

"So are yours...er, last time I saw them they were,
anyway," he said with a smirk.

Willow said one word.  "Buffy."  And it was enough.

"The dog-boy," came Spike's cutting response.

"Your own sire, or is it grandsire?  Anyway,
*whatever* relation Angel is to you, he despises you!"
Willow proudly shot back.

"Oh yeah?  Well, your friends are bloody terrified of
you!"

Willow gasped, and that's when Spike knew he'd gone
too far.  He'd been having fun fighting with the
redhead, in a sadomasochistic sense of the word 'fun'
anyway.  But he'd gone to far, pushed by her painful
words about his sire's hatred for him.  It had hurt
more than he wanted to admit, and he'd lashed back
with the worse thing he could think of.

Damned soul was making him feel guilty as silence
enveloped the room.  Spike slowly moved toward the
sound of her ragged breathing.

"Is-is it true? Is it really true that they are afraid
of me?" she whispered hoarsely.

Spike stopped moving when he felt her body heat
directly in front of him.  "No," he lied as
convincingly as he knew how.

"Good...I don't want them to be afraid of me..."

Her voice trembled, and before Spike was aware of his
actions, he reached for her.

"You're crying."

"No," Willow lied, shaking her head adamantly, but
Spike knew better.

Somehow he managed to gently grasp her head, pulling
her face in closer to his.  For a moment, one
terrifying, exhilarating moment, Willow thought Spike
was going to kiss her.  Instead he stopped, her
flushed face only inches from his.

"You *are* crying...I can...I can smell your tears..."

His thumbs lightly caressed her cheeks as he searched
for the wetness he knew he would find.  When his
fingers accidentally brushed her lips, the
explorations ceased.  God they were soft, and they
parted ever so slightly under his touch.  He could
feel her warm breath swirling around his fingers.

When a tear found his thumb, he murmured silkily, "I'm
sorry, Willow.  Please don't cry."  Then he pulled his
hands away, almost reluctantly.

Willow watched in confused fascination as Spike
released her, only to draw his fingers to his mouth
and languidly lick the dampness that her tears had
left on his slender, pale fingers.  It should have
revolted her, but at that moment, it was probably the
single most sensual act Willow had every witnessed.

Her breath caught, and Willow stepped back, wiping the
rest of her tears away.

"Sorry, Red..." he said softly, his eyes barely
focused on his own hand.  "Old habits die hard..."

"It's, er, it's okay, Spike.  But, um, if you're
really thirsty, I have some soda in the
mini-fridge...no bagged blood or bottled tears though,
I'm afraid."

"I'll pass, Red," Spike chuckled quietly.

The vampire, though still rightly horrified to find
himself sightless and angered that it was somehow a
result of Willow's spell, was suddenly fascinated by
the information coming to him from his remaining
senses.  Being a creature of the night, his other
senses had always been superhuman but somehow they
seemed even sharper now.  The sound of her heart, her
breathing, the air rushing through the room's vents,
the people in the hallway, the birds outside...he
could hear them all, distinctly, individually.  He
felt the warmth of the sun on his skin, even though he
wasn't directly in the sunlight.  He detected more
scents than his brain could automatically sort and
make sense of.  And the salty tears...had they ever
tasted quite so sweet?  Or maybe these abilities had
always been with him but he'd never taken the time to
notice them before since, like a human, he relied so
heavily on his sight.

Spike was still pondering that thought when Willow
spoke.  "We really should go see Giles.  We need to
find out why this happened."

"If you think I'm going to grope my way through the
sunny streets of Sunnyhell to the Watcher's, you can
forget it," he said dryly. His ego was as supernatural
as his senses.

"You don't have to grope...I'll help you."

Spike's hands clenched into fists at his sides.  He
detected pity in her voice.  If Willow felt sorry for
him, then The Slayer would...

He didn't even want to think about those
possibilities.  The beautiful blonde slayer needed a
real man/vampire, not an invalid.

"Don't need any more of your damned help!" he informed
caustically.

Maybe it was the slight tremor in the vampire's voice,
but instinctively Willow understood the true basis for
his reluctance.

Willow sighed.  "We need Giles and his books.  We need
to go to his place, explain what happened.  Please
Spike?  I-I want to know what happened to my magick.
I *have* to know and you'll just have to trust me."
Then Willow slipped her arm through his, pulling him
close to her side, as if it were the most natural
thing in the world to walk arm-in-arm with the undead,
and led him toward the door.

Spike was too surprised to argue.

-------------------------

"I think I found it..."

All eyes turned to Giles as he rose to his feet, still
studying a small, nondescript book.  He glanced at
everyone assembled--Buffy, Angel, Xander and Anya--to
make sure he had their attention, then refocused on
the pages.

"I've possibly discovered what occurred during Spike's
resouling."

Buffy was seated on the couch next to Angel, skimming
a thick volume with very few illustrations.  She
released a sigh of relief, slamming the book closed.
"Don't keep us in suspense, Giles.  What'd you find?"

"Oh, I think I shall wait for the two of them to
arrive.  Perhaps they should hear this first.  In the
meantime, though, you can all quit searching."

Xander happily tossed the book he was reading on to
the table and settled back into the oversized chair he
was sharing with Anya.  "And when will the dynamic duo
be here?"

"Spike said that Willow was, er, getting cleaned up.
They'd come over after."

"But she's okay?" Buffy queried, worry adding a note
of desperation to her voice.

"As I said the last ten times you asked, Buffy, Spike
said they are fine."

"Anyone else sick of hearing Willow's name uttered in
the same sentence with Spike's?" Xander asked
bitterly.

Angel raised his hand.

@@@@@@

"We're almost there, Spike.  We just passed the music
store so only one more shop to go and we're there."

Spike stopped, pulling Willow to a halt with him.  "I
can't do this, Red."

"Sure you can!" Willow said with as much cheer as she
could muster. "We've made it this far and without so
much as a sunburn or a single funny look from anyone!
Well, except for when I put the blanket over your head
so we could cross Main," she hurriedly amended.  "But
other than that, no one paid any attention to us.
You're doing great and I don't think anyone knew you
couldn't see."

"That's not what I meant," he growled.  Although
relieved to hear that he hadn't made a laughing stock
of himself, yet, he suddenly needed a cigarette.
Badly.

"I know, but I'm sure Giles can figure this out.  He
always does."

"No!" he said adamantly, backing away.  "I don't want
her to see me like this.  I mean *them*...I, er, don't
want any of those wankers to see me like this."

"They won't laugh at you, Spike."

"Ha!" he said skeptically.

"No one laughed at Giles when he went blind!" she
reminded him.

"I did."

"Oh."

There was a moment of silence, then Spike added, "And
if it happened to the poof instead of me, I'd be
laughing my arse off."

"Even with your soul you'd still laugh?" Willow asked.

"Damn straight."

"You two have issues," Willow said sadly, then took
hold of Spike's arm again, leading him toward the
shop.  "We don't have a choice.  If they laugh, I
promise I'll turn them into newts for you."

Spike recalled what he'd said to her the night before
when she was unconscious.  "Er, newts?"

Willow shrugged, a small smile gracing her face that
Spike couldn't see.  "Seems like a good idea...just
kinda came to me."

"But your magicks fizzled out, 'member?"

She tugged at his arm again, setting them both back
into motion.  "It will be the first spell I cast when
Giles fixes everything.  Promise."  Willow had no
intention of keeping that promise, and they both knew
that.  She only wanted to lighten the tension that she
could feel beneath her fingers as they gripped his
arm.

Before Spike knew it, Willow was pulling him through
the door of The Magick Box.

"Um...hi," she said softly.  As if a single unit, all
eyes turned to the newcomers.

Giles voice stood out from the others as they all
asked various forms of the same question.  "Willow,
are you okay?"

Willow nodded, then started right in on her apology.
"I'm so sorry about what happened yesterday...I
shouldn't have...I didn't mean to, but I couldn't seem
to..."

"We understand, Willow," Buffy said gently, with a
matching smile.

"Yeah, we know it's not your fault, Wills.  It's
Spike's!"

Willow watched in silent horror as Buffy, Anya and
even Angel nodded their heads in agreement with
Xander's proclamation.  She glanced at Spike, who was
doing his best to look completely uninterested in what
was going on around them, pretending to stare at the
floor as if totally bored, but she knew better.

Spike was right, she realized sadly.  Her friends
would take advantage of the horrible situation to
ridicule the vampire non-stop.  Not if I have anything
to say about it, Willow decided then and there.

Anya spoke up, loudly tugging on Xander's arm and
pointing at Willow.  "She has a big bruise!  On her
chin!" she said ecstatically.  "Just like on the soap
operas!  Although it's much more becoming on Susan
Lucci than it is on her."

"Oh my god...Wills...are you okay?"

"Willow, are you quite all right?  Did that happen
last night during the, er, incident here?" Giles
asked, scrutinizing her both with his glasses on and
with them off.

Before a blushing Willow could reply, Buffy
interrupted.  "She didn't have that bruise when I left
her dorm last night."  Buffy slowly rose to her feet,
eyeing her friend for other signs of injuries.  "Nope,
she didn't have a scratch on her when I left her
alone...with *Spike*!"  She spat the vampire's name as
if it were a deadly, vile poison.

Oh boy, Willow thought.  I should have put on a lot
more makeup!  Have to think fast..."Um, would you
believe I ran into the door?"

Spike wanted to groan at her lame excuse.  His body
tensed, ready for the confrontation that was sure to
come for striking the girl.

"No, but I'd believe it's time for Spike to leave this
earthly plane," Buffy said coolly, pulling a stake
from her pocket and advancing.

"What?  No!" Willow shouted, moving to stand slightly
in front of Spike.  "Seriously, I ran into the door!
Well, actually, the door ran into me..." She gave them
a nervous 'yes, I can't control my own power' grin.
"I kinda imploded my room last night after you left,
Buffy.  Things were flying all over the place.  The
door hit me, knocked me unconscious, which was
probably a good thing.  Except that when I woke up--"

"Are you sure?"  Angel and Buffy asked in simultaneous
skepticism.  "Are you sure Spike isn't involved in
this somehow?" Angel went on to ask, his voice little
more than a growl.

"Absotively posilutely!" Willow chirped in a
happy-go-lucky tone that even made her nauseous, but
she had to make them believe her so she over did it a
bit. "Doesn't even hurt much.  I'm really lucky I
didn't lose a tooth or worse."  She grabbed Spike's
hand again as a strange offering of thanks for that
small fact.  "In fact, I'm lucky Spike was there to
help me...I don't know what would have happened if he
hadn't been there..."

"Think nothing of it, Red," Spike murmured back,
gaining him looks of extreme distaste from several
occupants in the room.  Luckily, he couldn't see those
disgusted looks, or the cynical ones that soon
followed.

Giles cleared his throat.  "Well, now that we have
that cleared up, you were saying that something was
wrong when you woke up this morning, Willow?"

"Um...yeah..." Willow said, glancing one more time at
Spike, noticing the clenching of his jaw.  "Um...just
*one* little thing...my magick...it seems to be, well,
gone...But other than that, everything's just peachy,"
she added brightly.

Spike paid little attention to the small uproar that
broke out with that statement.  Questions were flying
from everyone, but all he knew was that Willow was
holding his hand.  And keeping his secret.  Before he
knew it, Willow had  nonchalantly led him to the couch
and they were sitting close together, fingers still
intertwined.  From what he could tell, no one's
suspicions were aroused.

She didn't tell them.  He'd never been more vulnerable
in his life, but for some reason she was protecting
him.

"Maybe it happened when the, um, *door* hit you,"
Buffy offered.

Willow shook her head.  "I don't think so.  There's
more to it, and I think it goes back to the spell I
did on Spike."

"Well, I do have a theory about just that particular
thing, Willow," Spike heard Giles say, so he tuned
back in.  "It all seems to come down to intent."

"Intent?" Spike found himself asking, but he kept his
eyes down, as if he were looking at his fingers
twiddling in boredom.

"Yes," Giles said from somewhere next to him.  "It
seems as if this particular spell--"

"Curse," Angel interrupted, and Spike could almost
picture the way his caveman-like brows were probably
furrowing together in bitterness.

"That's precisely my point, Angel," Giles continued.
"It seems as if the spell is affected by the intent of
the person performing it.  When The Rom used it on
Angelus, it was as punishment.  They wanted him to
suffer..."

Him suffer?  Spike thought.  How about us?  He left
us!

The golden tones of his beloved interrupted his
thoughts.  "So?" Buffy asked.  "What's the difference?
Spike needs to suffer, too!  He's done as many
despicable things as Angelus did."

Spike tried not to smirk when he heard Angel say, ever
so softly, "Hardly."  He always did have a competitive
streak in him...at least some things don't change,
Spike thought.

"Giles?" Willow pleaded, again squeezing Spike's hand.
Spike squeezing hers back without thinking twice.

Spike heard a soft, squishing sound to his left and he
surmised that Giles was sitting on one of the
armchairs.  "Willow, what was your intention when you
did the spell?" the ex-librarian asked in a carefully
controlled tone.  Spike could feel the tension in the
room increase, Willow stiffened, and if Spike weren't
mistaken, everyone else in the room, even Angel, held
their breath.

"I, um, was just trying to help him."

"Help?" Xander repeated in a squeaky voice that grated
on Spike's ears.

"Yeah," she replied softly.  "I wanted to ease his
pain...make it easier on him with the chip and all."
Her voice strengthened as she continued.  "It wasn't a
punishment, it was...well, a gift, I guess you could
say."

Spike stiffened as the unmistakable sound of cloth
rubbing on cloth was followed by quiet thumps.  Two,
possibly three people had jumped to their feet at that
revelation.

"A gift?"  Angel's voice was barely more than a
choking whisper and Willow nudged ever so slightly
closer to Spike on the couch.

With his usual smirk plastered on his face, Spike
simply shrugged.  "You know what they say.  When you
care enough to send the very best..."

Spike almost stood up when he thought that someone was
moving closer to him, but Willow beat him to it by
releasing his hand and leaping to her feet.

"Sit down!" she said in a very commanding voice.
Spike was impressed.  Doubly impressed when he heard
several people promptly plopping down on their asses.
Way to go, Red.

"Willow, just what were you thinking when you did the
spell?  You weren't possibly worried about Spike's
ability to handle the guilt the spell soul would
inevitably induce, were you?"

A deathly silence settled over the room, one that
normally would have make Spike feel right at home.
This time, however, he sensed that some important
piece of information was about to be unmasked.

Willow retook her seat, squirmed, then reached for
Spike's hand. Spike tightened his grip, feeling her
racing pulse through her fingers.

"I-I didn't want him to suffer like Angel did.  I, er,
wasn't sure how he'd do and I was, well, worried about
him..."

Spike's smile faded as he turned to look at the fuzzy
outline of the girl at his side.  She'd worried about
him?  She really didn't want him to suffer?

"Go on, Willow..." Giles was obviously struggling to
stay calm, whereas Buffy didn't even bother to try, as
evident in her shrill tone:

"Yes, Willow.  Spill it!"

Spike felt her shrug and thought that perhaps she was
looking at him.  "Like I said, I didn't want him to
suffer too much, so I guess I was hoping...wishing
maybe, that it wouldn't be too bad.  Not like..."

She stopped talking, but Angel picked up from there.
"Not like Angel, right, Willow?"  Oh yeah.  There was
anger...a lot of anger in his sire's voice.  Which not
only surprised Spike, but irked him as well.  "Unlike
me, you didn't want Spike to suffer!" Angel continued
sharply.

"Angel," Buffy said in that soft, reassuring voice
that Spike had longed to hear directed at him,
although at the moment, her voice irked him to.  He
didn't like them all directing their anger at Willow
again.  That seemed to happen a lot, he concluded.
Too often.

"It's nothing personal, Angel.  I-I probably would
have done the same for you if well...you know, things
had been different...but Spike's case wasn't the
same..."

"Well, that explains it," Giles said wearily.  Spike
turned in the general direction of The Watcher's
voice, but closed his eyes and leaned back against the
cushions, as if tired with the whole thing.

"I missed something, didn't I?"  Anya was clueless, as
usual, and it brought a smirk to Spike's face.  "I
hate it when I don't understand.  Why can't you people
talk more plainly...like on Baywatch?  I understand
Baywatch."

Xander groaned, but Giles co-operated by explaining
what he meant.  "What has most likely happened is that
Willow...absorbed...some of Spike's guilt.  By
thinking of this more as a good thing she could do
*for* Spike, as opposed to a retribution *against*
him, she may have unknowingly taken on a good portion
of his burden.  Hence the mirror...and her, er,
fluctuating emotions.  And while I'm not positive how
her failing magical abilities comes into play, I'm
sure it's a result of this as well."

"A temporary result, right?" Willow asked hopefully,
but Spike detected more than a smidgen of panic in her
voice.  "*All* of these, er, side-effects are just
temporary, right?"

"I'm not sure, but I would imagine so," Giles replied.

"Great.  Just great," Buffy groaned.  "Leave it to
Willow to let fluffy-bunny feelings turn revenge into
something else entirely.  And on Spike, no less!"

"Lay off the girl," Spike heard himself saying.

"What do you mean by '*all* these side-effects,
Willow?  Are there others I should know about?"

Bugger, Spike thought.  Bloody Watcher would have to
pick up on that, wouldn't he?  Spike got to his feet,
pulling Willow with him.  "Come on, love," he grumbled
in what he hoped was her ear.  "You don't need to put
up with this."

"Willow?" Giles repeated even as she indiscreetly led
Spike toward the door.

"Just the mirror...the magick...that's all, Giles."

Spike was impressed...her voice almost sounded
believable...he barely detected the tremor that always
gave away a bad liar.  He only hoped the look on her
face was equally cool.

"I better get back to the dorm," the redhead continued
casually.  "I didn't sleep very well, and by the looks
on your faces, you could all use some sleep as well."

Nice segue, Willow, the blonde vampire realized.  Then
he added just for the sake of appearances: "Yeah, you
all look like shit."  Not that he could tell, but he
was sure they looked like shit anyway.  Except Buffy.

"I felt the warmth and concern in Spike's soul-filled
voice, didn't you?" Xander's sarcasm was never
difficult to detect, even for a blind man.

"I didn't notice," Anya said cheerfully.  "I was
preoccupied by the realization that they are holding
hands.  Did anyone else notice that?  That they've
been holding hands since the moment they arrived?"

Spike was surprised not to feel a sense of panic from
the redhead.  He was even more surprised when she
said, "Well, that's because I love Spike.  And when
you love someone, you, well, you hold their hand."

The room was so quiet, you could have heard a pin
drop.  In fact, you could have heard a pin drop on a
marshmallow stacked on a feather pillow in the middle
of a vacuum in space.

Spike didn't simply interrupt the silence, he
shattered it in a billion microscopic pieces when he
embellished Willow's little white lie, saying, "Er,
that's right.  Red and I here are in love.  Deeply,
madly, passionately in love."  He smiled at her then,
and he was sure that Willow smiled back.  That kind of
wicked grin that co-conspirators always share and
which a layman might very well mistake for a loving
smile.

As Willow rushed them from the shop, leaving the angry
raised voices and all the questions behind, Spike only
wished he could have seen all of their faces at their
little revelation.

Especially Buffy's.  He'd love to see the jealousy
that must surely be obvious for everyone to see on her
lovely face.
 

Part 20

Willow threw a blanket over Spike's head and dragged
him down the street.  "I can't believe I said that!  I
can't believe YOU said that!  That has got to be the
stupidest thing I ever said... well, except for 'my
will be done', but that doesn't count because of Oz
missage, and I suppose there was the whole 'thing you
do with your mouth', but I was younger then, and
anyway--"

Spike sneered, "What's the problem? Too good for the
undead, are we? Afraid to be taken for another
fang-groupie?"

"Another? Ewwwwwww."

"Slayer's top of the list."

"She is not!  Angel was special!  She doesn't just run
around kissing any vampire that comes along."

"Oh, right.  Not a habit, really. Just  Angel,
Dracula, me..."

"That was because of a spell!  It was different!" She
had to change the subject pronto. Willow glanced
around and realized that they were storming down the
middle of Main Street, quarreling at the top of their
lungs.  She was getting "Do you realize you're talking
to a blanket" looks.  "Um... where were we going?"

Spike scowled. "To hell in a handbasket?"

"Uh, how about the crypt?  Sunlight, really bad, crypt
has your blood supplies, the door still works, it's a
familiar space which is good..." Willow snapped her
jaw shut.  "Come on."  She yanked on the vampire's
elbow, pulling him toward the all-too-familiar
cemetery.

######

"You're home now!"  Willow tried to make her voice
positive and uplifting.

Spike scowled at her.

That's kind of impressive, since he can't see me. Oh,
he probably heard my voice.  Cause, vampire hearing,
although I guess a person could do the same--

"Witch.  If you can't be bothered to listen, I won't
bother to talk."

"Oh.  Sorry.  Woolgathering again.  What did you say?"

"Didn't.  Kept a dignified silence."

"Then why did you..."

"No point in sulking if nobody notices."  He turned
the grin on.

"Sulking or brooding?"

The grin vanished.  "Fix the eyes.  Now.  Your
cock-up, you put it right."

"But I caaaannnn't.  I can't do anything.  I couldn't
even -- float a pencil."  She scouted around for one
to demonstrate with, but the crypt was
pencil-deprived.

No crosswords for Spike, I guess.  Hey, he has books!
I didn't know vampires read!  I wonder what he thinks
about ...

"The woolgathering fails to amuse.  Say something.
Something useful, not more wittering."

Willow opened her mouth to reply, then, to her horror,
found herself sobbing.  "I ... can't ... help."  She
sucked in a breath and tried to calm down.  "I want
to.  Really.  But..."  Her throat filled with tears
and she gave up the fight and sank to the floor.

"Do you have any idea -- any idea at all-- what it's
taken to keep SOME reputation intact?  Even with the
chip?  Now you've landed me chipped, blind, and
soulful.  Might as well stake myself and finish the
job."

Willow was rocking back and forth in grief.  I've lost
my true love. I've lost my powers.  I'm probably going
to lose all my friends. Everything that matters to me
is gone.  She wailed out loud.

After some time, Willow realized that something was
very strange.

Nobody was comforting her.  Usually when she burst
into tears, Buffy, or Xander, or Ta-- not thinking
about her-- or even Giles was there to hug her and say
everything would be all right and help with the mess.
Spike apparently wasn't the nurturing type.

He would have hugged Drusilla!  He would have hugged
Buffy!  How come he doesn't...  she stifled the
thought.  If nobody was going to comfort her, there
wasn't much point in crying.  She scowled back the
tears, pushed her hair out of her face, and glared at
Spike.

He was sitting in his armchair smoking and scowling
into the smoke.  She might as well not have been there
at all.

Without bothering to turn his head, Spike drawled,
"Quite finished?"

"Yes."

"Back to work, then.  What are you planning to do?"

Willow leaned back against the wall and thought.
"Usually I'd ask Giles..."

"Forget it."

"...but I was going to say that wouldn't work, because
you don't want him to know--"  the scowl got nastier
-- "anyway, that won't work.  I don't have my magic
powers..."

"Forget that, too."

"...so I guess that leaves science-girl.  Maybe it's
just an eye problem.  Can I look in your eyes?"

Spike smirked.  "You're not the first to ask, luv."

Willow barrelled on, "Do you have a flashlight?"

"No... half a tick, I think there's one in the weapons
pile."

"Weapons pile?"

"Ever hefted a loaded Magna-Lite?  Great for bashin'
heads."

"I'm so sorry I asked."  Willow rummaged through the
pile and pulled out a large black flashlight.  It was
dented at one end.  She carried it back to the
vampire's chair, grabbing her trusty Swiss Army Knife
from a jeans pocket as she walked.

"Okay, this is going to be tricky.  I'm going to need
your help.  I'm going to turn on the flashlight, you
hold it in your lap and point it at your eyes, and
then I can use the magnifying glass in my knife to see
your retinas."

Spike snorted.  "What's this in aid of?"

"Never mind, just hold the flashlight.  And don't
talk."

For a wonder, the vampire silently turned the light
on, upended it, and shone the light in his face.  He
didn't flinch when the light hit his eyes.  Willow was
very much afraid that wasn't a good sign.

She knelt in front of the vampire, held up her
makeshift magnifier, and stared.  She had to pull the
glass back and forth to find the focus.  It was
distracting, being that close to his lips; he was
pursing them in thought, which didn't help a bit.
Eventually she got the focus right and could peer at
his left retina.

"Oh, my."

"WHAT?"

"There's some sort of symbol on the back of your eye.
Hang on, I can't quite read it."

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