AUTHOR: Tisienne Blue

DISCLAIMER: Not Joss in any way, shape or form.

RATING: what do YOU think???*g*

PAIRING: W/S (been doing LOTS of W/A lately... Spike wants his shot, too!!!*BG*)

DISTRIBUTION: Want, tell me, take, and have... unless you have other fic of mine, in which case, go for it.

FEEDBACK: would be nice.

DEDICATIONS: to my site-goddess Jeannette, and to my new list members!!! Thanks for joining!!!*VBG*

NOTES: Just a somewhat angsty bit of fluff. A sort of sweet little story to rev me up for my fics-in-progress. * *= emphasis (as usual...).

MORE NOTES: Okay, this takes place about six years from now, which-- for my purposes-- is about five years after the final death of the Slayer. There may be a few spoilers, but only in the sense of vague references.

*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*

Part 1

The still somewhat young redhead sat quietly on the Brazilian beach and raised her champagne glass sadly to the moon. "To you, Buffy," she said softly, "On the fifth anniversary of your death. And to me, on the twenty-sixth anniversary of my birth. I miss you, Buff. But I go on." She wiped a slow, sad tear from her cheek, the bright, full orb in the sky blurred for a moment.

They were all gone, now, she knew; even Tara. Oh, not that they were dead, but... after the tiny blonde had died, the fight-- the spirit-- had seemed to go out of them, and they'd just... moved on. Last she'd heard, Xander and Anya were living somewhere in Nebraska, trying to raise sheep. Tara had asked her to return to West Virginia with her, but... how could she? How could she ignore what she knew was out there and just... bury her head in the proverbial sand the way her former friends had done? Of course, *one* old friend and ally was still around somewhere, but... she tried never to think of him. He hadn't even said good bye, after all.

So her friends had left emotionally long before they'd done so physically. She'd stayed silent as they drifted away, and... she missed the way they'd once been.

"To the longest-lived Slayer ever," she finished, draining her glass. "I hope you're back where you were so happy."

She finished the bottle off quickly and stood. She had a plane to catch in the morning, after all. Fortunately, her hotel was just a few hundred yards away.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He'd honestly thought he'd be glad to be back in London. He wasn't, though. He'd tried his damnedest to return to his old way of life after Sunnydale, but... there was just something missing, and if he had to be honest-- even with himself-- he would admit that his time there had changed him. He wasn't what he had once been. Still, it was just another change in his world, and he'd been through one or two already.

A gentleman, he'd been, although not of a high enough strata to capture the heart of the young woman he'd thought he loved. He'd been somewhat ineffectual, he admitted-- a sadly lacking poet whose heart had, nonetheless, been pure. Pure and stomped on mercilessly. And then he'd been... something else. A demon.

He'd wreaked havoc throughout most of Europe, accompanied by his 'family'. He'd been the thing parents warned their children about; the thing that struck without warning, and played before killing. He'd been a *god*, even after his little group had splintered, and... then he'd gone to a small southern California town, and that god-hood had been stripped from him by a sorry bunch of soldier boys masquerading as college fraternity twits. It hadn't made them any less effective, though.

Spike frowned deeply, unsure of whether to be saddened by the memories or not. He'd hated his post-chip life; hated finding himself dependent on the same humans he'd tried so many times to kill. He'd hated the world, and even hated himself when he'd become so infatuated with the Slayer. Buffy.

She'd been so many things to him. Enemy. Hated rival for his Sire's affections, although Angel had never known that part. Favourite prey. She'd been all that and more, in the beginning, but then... the chip.

That had changed things, he knew. He'd still hated her; had still wanted to see her dead, but... he'd also *needed* her. He'd needed her fire, and her anger, and her willful disregard. Needed to surround himself with the sense of the Slayer who got away. And then Red had gone and done that spell, and everything had changed, even after it was over and done with. Sure, he'd bitched and moaned about 'Buffy-taste' in his mouth, but... he remembered Drusilla's words whilst they'd been in Brazil. She swarmed around him, Dru'd said, and... after the spell, the Slayer had become even more. She'd become his one unattainable ideal.

He'd never expected to actually have her; never thought she'd give in. That she had? Well, that had both stunned him and... disappointed him.

Spike sighed again. Thinking about it was pointless. The Slayer was dead; had been for five bloody years, and... he'd been minus that chip for three months longer than she'd been gone. He'd finally managed to track down one of the Initiative doctors. He'd found Harmony again, too. It hadn't been hard to worm his way into her good graces again, or to convince her that the middle-aged medical man would make a good childe. She'd never been terribly bright, after all. Next thing he knew, the chip was out, and Harm and Doctor-vamp were drifting slowly to the ground as a light coating of gray-ish ash.

He'd never gone back to Sunnydale, although he'd kept abreast of what happened there, and... when he heard about Buffy's last and final death, he'd cried.

That was what had made it clear to him. His time among the humans had changed him. It hadn't made him soft, as such; just... different. He'd located Giles, and contacted him, and... he'd been working with him ever since. He took a small degree of amusement in the fact that the Watcher's Council didn't know quite what to make of a soul-less vampire who fought for the forces of good and only fed on the truly wicked.

He forced his mind back to the book in front of him and lit another cigarette, frowning slightly when he realized there were only four left in the pack. He'd have to stop on the way to the airport that night, he realized.

The vampire researched until the sun slipped below the horizon, then finally ordered his desk. He stood and crossed the room swiftly, knocking on Giles' door. "I'm taking off, Watcher," he called through the wood. "See you in a couple weeks, right? And don't forget to tape my shows, mate." He grinned slightly at the muttered response, well aware of the fact that when he returned, his programmes would not only be recorded, but neatly labeled and dated, as well. "Take care of yourself, Rupert," he muttered as he shouldered his bag and headed out the door.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The rumours she'd heard of a large clan of child-eating Pablotir demons were obviously false, she realized, as she scanned the newspapers for the last three weeks. It was disappointing, of course, but there'd be other demons-- other places-- that required her attention soon. In the meantime, she told herself, she was in Bermuda, so she might as well enjoy it. News would reach her through the usual channels eventually, and she would be off to wherever.

Willow couldn't help smiling as she left the town library and strolled along the twilit street. It was a very picturesque place, she admitted, and she'd been needing a bit of a vacation, anyway.

She wandered aimlessly for a while, stopping at a small restaurant when she got hungry, and it was only as the church bells rang eleven o'clock that she started for her small hotel. "I'd like my key?" she said to the man behind the front desk, and "Thank you," when he handed it to her.

She'd chosen this particular lodging simply because of the pale blue colour it was painted. She refused to acknowledge the fact that that particular shade reminded her of someone's eyes, because... she didn't let herself think about him. He'd left. And he hadn't come back. And she couldn't blame him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He supposed it was amusing that the Council had chosen to send him to the tropics for his holiday. Maybe they thought the large degree of sunlight and lack of tunnels would curtail his activities. If so, they were sadly mistaken.

Oh, they might have been right if he'd chosen to remain in the tiny motel they'd selected, but Spike had long since learned how to work the system. Pre-paid room, and a stringent no pets policy. It had taken only one small reference to his gigantic wolf-hound to have the manager handing over the cash the council had paid.

He'd halted his taxi as it had passed the small-ish blue hotel; mostly because it just looked... peaceful-- not that he'd ever admit that that was important to him. He was still a demon, after all, and peaceful and demons made unhappy bedfellows most of the time. Yet he just wanted some calm. Two weeks during which he'd have to do nothing other than rest and relax and maybe figure out why he'd been so obsessed with the past lately. Besides, it looked like the place was big enough to offer some decent indoor amenities, although it wasn't as large as the beach-front properties. Still, that was good. Not so many tourists, he figured.

He'd checked in and sent his bag to his room and had taken a look around, but... it was almost eleven-thirty, and he'd gone without a shower for almost three days. He'd clean himself up, he decided, then head out to see what sort of nightlife an island like Nassau could offer.

He grinned broadly as he saw the water burbling gently in the lobby's fountain, and the brightly-coloured birds congregated around it, not really watching where he was going. "Oh, sorry," he murmured as he walked directly into another guest, "I wasn't..." His voice trailed off as his eyes met those of the person he'd bumped; then those same blue eyes widened in disbelief.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
 

She hadn't expected to be slammed into by an obviously inattentive fellow guest, but then she *also* hadn't expected that guest to be... 'Spike', her mind whispered. She stared at him as though she'd seen a ghost, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. "It's okay," she replied, determined not to recognize him, because if she did, then... "No problem."

Willow turned away and pressed madly at the up button between the elevators, hoping against hope that he'd just let it go.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

If his heart had been beating, it would have stopped. And yet the girl was turning away from him, and stabbing for the elevator, and maybe he'd been wrong?

No, he realized, as the scent of her flowed more fully over him. He was right. It *was* her. But what was she doing there? His eyes raked slowly over her, taking in the changes that more than half a decade had wrought, and... He'd always known she'd turn out to be a stunner, he told himself. He just hadn't expected to see her again. Ever. "Willow," he said quietly, moving closer and smirking slightly when her entire body tensed. "Willow, pet, what are you doing here?"

* *

She wished she was a better liar; she really did. She also wished he'd just forgotten all about her. Still, she tried. "I'm sorry?" she said, glancing at him over her shoulder as if she'd never seen him before.

And that was just funny, Spike admitted silently. "I said, 'what are you doing here', Willow. By which I mean *you*. Willow Rosenberg," he added, just for clarity's sake. "I recognize your smell, love," he murmured after a suspended moment in which he thought time might actually have stopped; "I recognize the beating of your heart."

He still made her feel like a school-girl. There was just something about him that took her back to the shy, quiet girl she'd been then. Before Buffy's death. Before her own parents died. Before her 'friends' deserted her. And he was one of those who'd left, she reminded herself. The anger she'd thought dead swarmed up within her and she spun, glaring hotly at him from wide eyes. "Oh, well," she sneered, "Then I guess we should just sit down and have a chat? It's none of your *business* why I'm here, Spike! It's *my* business! Now back off!" A surge of satisfaction raced through her when she saw his shocked expression, and her hands rose to his chest, shoving him hard. "It's not like you give a shit anyway." Her eyes narrowed as one of the elevators pinged and opened, and she stepped back into the small enclosure. "Go to hell, Spike," she added, smiling sweetly as the doors closed between them.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Well, bloody hell," he murmured to himself, one hand rubbing his chest where it still stung from her angry push, "What's got Red's knickers in a twist?" He'd been so surprised to see her there, in the last place he'd expected. Every single part of him had been stunned. He'd wanted to call her so many times after Buffy was gone, but...

Traitor to the underworld or not, he'd still had his sources, and it had *sounded* like she was going on with her life. He'd been afraid of reminding her of all the heart-ache and pain with just the sound of his voice, so he'd let her go. He'd made a point of keeping track of her until she'd done as the others had, and left Sunnydale. After that, he'd forced himself not to even inquire. She was a sweet, pure soul, and he'd figured she deserved to forget.

Obviously, though, she hadn't, and equally obvious was the fact that she didn't know he wasn't restrained by the Initiative's hardware any longer. No, if she'd known he was *free* she would never have taken that tone with him, and... He wouldn't tell her, he decided. He'd find some way to find out why she was so angry with him, and he'd make it up to her, but he wouldn't tell her.

His eyes locked on the floor indicator on the wall until he saw the rising numerals stop, and he grinned to himself as the elevator began descending once more. His internal grin remained as he strolled to the front desk again. "'Scuse me, mate," he said to the clerk, "But I've just realized I'm on the fifth floor. I'd rather be on three, if that's all right. Three's my lucky number, y'see. Oh, and if you could put me near my friend who just went up, that'd be great... next door, if possible." Fortunately for Spike's grand plan, it was very possible.
 

Part 2

It had taken him a sum total of three days to get the little redhead to agree to talk with him. That she'd insisted on their conversation being in a public place just irked him no end. He'd never done anything to... "Willow," he said, not noticing that his voice was more of a sigh than anything else, "How are you, love?" He took great care to remain seated, despite the fact that he wanted nothing more than to stand and pull her tightly to him. His fingers curled against the wood of the table in the hotel bar, and he tried not to look as hopeful as he was that she'd eventually sit down. When she did, he barely contained his sigh. "So, where's hubby?" he sneered, although his efforts to make it sound like a casual question actually succeeded; "How *is* Parker these days?"

Willow could barely manage to hold a straight face, but this was *Spike* she was talking to, and she'd never been able to lie to him. Or not well, anyway. She shrugged softly. "As to where... anyplace he can find some slutty women, I guess. And as to *how*..?" She shrugged again. "However they want him, I suppose." She chuckled for a moment or three before realizing he hadn't joined in. "Spike?" she asked softly, almost begging, "Tell me I wasn't wrong to cut him loose. Tell me I did the right thing...?"

And even though he could have said 'yes' without even having to know the history, he... wanted to. Some part of him just needed to know what had happened. "Go ahead, luv," he purred, "Tell Spike all about it..." His brows drew closer and closer together, fury racing through him as he listened to her baldly spoken tale of sorrow and desperation, and her driving need to feel like she was 'normal'. That she'd married the bastard who'd tricked the Slayer into a one-nighter still just floored him, but... Apparently, she'd wanted something with someone who made her feel connected to the world she'd once known. He could understand that. What he didn't get, though, was how she'd managed to convince herself-- even considering the grief and anguish she must have been experiencing-- that Parker was the sort of leopard who could or would change his spots. Then she got to the part about how the sodding shit-for-brains wanker had actually *hit* *her*, and he found himself growling. "I'll fucking kill him," he grated out. "I'll tear out his innards and hang him with them." He closed gold-glittering eyes, his growl becoming lower and more dangerous as he went on. "I'll shatter his legs and tie them in knots. Bloody fucking asshole, how could he fucking do that?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she listened to him rant, only to widen when she realized that he not only meant it, but wasn't in any pain from the threats against a human. "It worked, then," she whispered to herself. She hadn't been sure, but had assumed otherwise when he hadn't returned to Sunnydale. She'd thought maybe the disappointment had been too much for him, but... If it had worked, why hadn't he tried to kill them all? That had been her one concern when she'd found that doctor, but it had just been so... wrong... that he had to live as a shell of what he'd once been. Still, *why* had he stayed away? She had no idea, but... "So did I do the right thing?" she demanded, her carefully controlled voice cutting through his rage.

It took him a good minute to force his true face away, and when he had, he opened his eyes and stared at her like she'd lost her mind. "No, Willow," Spike finally said, "The 'right' thing would have been to turn the sodding shit into a cockroach, then feed him to a bloody lizard or something. Or maybe a spell to make his willie shrivel up and fall off. But leaving him? Yeah, I'd say that was right enough, pet. No point throwing yourself away on the stupid little wanker, was there?"

Willow couldn't help laughing, and was glad when his deep, rich chuckles joined her own. "Besides, I think he was just... a port in a storm, you know?" she admitted, speaking the words aloud for the first time. "He. Well, he made me feel... pretty... for a while there. At first."

"But then he made you feel worthless, didn't he, luv?" the blond said softly, taking the girl's hand across the table. His fingers tangled gently with hers and he nodded at the surprise in her eyes. "That's the way his sort operate, Will," he told her, "They take their time about it, usually, but... eventually, they've got you so twisted up inside that you think you don't *deserve* any better. That you could never *do* better. That's how they keep you beneath them."

The redhead nodded slowly, a small smile on her lips. "Yeah, well, it didn't work out exactly as he'd planned, then, did it? It wasn't entirely his fault, though," she admitted. "I would have given him anything, but he wanted *everything*. I couldn't give him that, you know? I just didn't- I didn't love him enough to give him everything, and it always made him a little bit crazy. I think he might have gotten worse and worse because I gave him less and less of what he wanted, and..." she shrugged. "One day I just couldn't stand it anymore, so I cut him loose." She felt her smile growing larger as she remembered the look on Parker's face when she'd announced she'd had enough. He'd hit her, yeah, but... she'd flung him into the wall with a truly tiny bit of the power she could call, and... He hadn't been able to focus his eyes for almost a week. By then, of course, she'd been gone. "But enough about me," she said, pulling her hand from his cool grasp. "What about you, Spike?" It was nice to actually be talking to someone who knew about her past-- someone who didn't think she was crazy when she mentioned demons or spells. She was still angry with him, though. "What have you been doing since..."

Spike chose to ignore the edge of ire in her voice, and spoke for a while about his work in London. He told her about Giles' reaction to his Slayer's death, and the years spent training Buffy's replacement. He barely noticed the time passing as they talked, and was honestly surprised when the small bar closed. "We could go to my room," he offered, not wanting to let the evening end just yet.

Willow shook her head and turned away from him. "I'm kind of tired, Spike," she lied, but... that anger was still raging within her, growing stronger by the moment. "Enjoy the rest of your stay here."

He was stunned speechless as she walked away, and it was actually a minute or so before he could move. "Wait!" he ordered, dashing after her. He caught up with her at the elevators and followed her into one of the small cars. "So that's it?" he demanded harshly, "We don't see each other for more than five years, and you're gonna just walk away? Pretend you don't know me? Why, Willow?"

She hated the fact that she was trapped, but it *was* a fact, and the elevator was moving far too slowly. Then his hands closed on her shoulders, and he shook her slightly, and... she couldn't stop herself from answering. "You *left*," she shouted into his suddenly wide eyes. "We needed you and you left! You didn't even come to the funeral, and you were supposed to *love* *her*! You were supposed to be my friend, and you just... ran away as soon as you found out about that doctor, and you never even *called*!" Her vision blurred, and she knew tears of fury and disappointment were flowing down her face, but she didn't care. Her hands rose and she pushed him away hard, a small part of her rejoicing in the grunt of pain he released when he shored up against the elevator wall. "Gods, Spike," she yelled, unable to stop herself, "You left me there all alone, and... You selfish fucking bastard, I *needed* you, and *you* *weren't* *there*! So why *wouldn't* I walk away from you? Why shouldn't I pretend I don't know you? Gods, I wish I *didn't*!" She glared at him hotly from wet eyes, her expression hardening as the doors finally opened onto her floor. "Good bye, Spike," she said seriously as she started down the hall.

All that rage, he thought wonderingly as he stared after her, his hand rubbing at the lump on his head where it had hit the wood-grained paneling behind him. All that anger, directed at him, and just because... "She knows," he whispered to himself, stunned by the knowledge. "She knows about the doctor, and... Oh, Red." She was right to hate him, he told himself. He *had* deserted her, although that hadn't been his intention. No, he'd wanted to... Hell, he didn't know *what* he'd wanted back then. Maybe to be free, or just to ignore the changes in himself. Whatever his reasons, though, he couldn't deny that he'd hurt her. She was the last person on earth who deserved pain or anguish, and... He'd given her exactly that. He just hadn't known it. He shook himself from his thoughts as he heard her door slam, and stepped quickly from the elevator. "I'll make it up to you," he promised, eyes still locked on the last place he'd seen her. "I don't know how, but... I *will* make it up to you, Red." That decided, he strode quickly to his own room, suddenly glad that she didn't know they were neighbours. He refused to wonder why he cared so much; chose to ignore the need within him to see her smile... at *him*. He'd been a very bad friend, he told himself, and... that was all.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

For two days he'd been there every time she'd turned around. Not that he'd followed her out into the daylight or anything, but... anywhere she went in the hotel, she'd had a bleached blond shadow. She supposed she might have checked out, found a different hotel to stay at, but... He'd only find her again, she told herself. Still, his constant staring was getting on her nerves. "Why can't you leave me be?" she finally asked, well aware of the fact that he was at the table behind her in the restaurant just off the lobby, "Why won't you just let it go?"

They were good questions, he knew, and he wished he had some equally good answers, but he didn't. Oh, he'd figured out what his problem was, of course; the way his entire body perked up whenever he saw her had made *that* much clear. He didn't know when it had started, though, and... maybe staying away from Sunnydale had been for reasons he'd never known. Still, she was waiting for an answer. He sighed softly, one pale hand rubbing over his face. "I never planned to see you again," he told her softly, staring down at the linen tablecloth in front of him. "I left good old Sunnyhell, and I figured I was done with all of you, y'know? And then the Slayer-- Buffy-- died, and..." He sighed again and turned in his chair to find her bright green eyes on him. "I wanted to come back, but the chip was gone, wasn't it? And what could I have said, anyway, assuming no one staked me? 'Sorry I wasn't here to help out... sorry I was off having fun while the chosen one died...'?" Spike shook his head. "No, I- I guess I figured you were all *human*. Only one good thing to do with an un-chipped Spike, right?" He shrugged again, disturbed by the disappointment in her eyes. "Still, I left, and like I said, I never thought I'd see you again, and... Now that I have? I just can't walk away, luv. Can't let *you* walk away, either; not when it's all my fau..." He stopped then, surprised by what he'd almost said.

And she suddenly understood. He blamed himself. He held himself responsible for everything that had happened since the day he'd left their old town, and... "But it's not, Spike," she told him, one hand rising to press light fingertips to his cheek. "It's nobody's fault, except maybe the drunk driver who hit her. There wasn't anything you could have done. People die in accidents every day, and super-strength or not, a Slayer is still a person." His hidden guilt had kept him from returning to her, and that knowledge had the anger she'd felt draining swiftly away. Willow smiled slightly and stood, removing her fingers from his pale face.

He watched her intently as she tossed some money onto her table, his own fingers dancing over the spots of warmth she'd left behind, and when she turned to him again, holding out her hand for his, he took it and rose himself. "So what now, pet?" he asked, trying not to purr as she led him from the restaurant and out into the night.

Her smile became a bit wider as the strolled, hand in hand, down the front drive. "Now? Now we put it behind us, Spike. We can't change the past, can we? So maybe we get to know each other again. Maybe we become friends, like we used to be. It's worth a try, anyway."

They'd never been friends, he realized, although he nodded at her words. They'd been many things, all those years ago, but... never *friends*. Friends didn't make the borrowed blood in his veins throb and pulse. Friends. He sighed silently, remembering the way she'd felt beneath him that night in her dorm. Even then, he saw, he'd wanted her. And then he'd gotten to know her, and... No, he'd never really wanted to be her friend. Still didn't, truth be told, but it was a start.
 

Part 3

Slightly less than twenty-four hours, and he'd already had enough. He wondered whether she'd always been like this-- sly, simple touches, always making with the small, tempting glances and the tantalizing licks at her own lips. He thought that maybe she had, but he'd never had the chance to spend much time alone with her, so he couldn't be sure. It was making him crazy, though. His arm rose to rest around her soft, warm shoulders as they sat on the small beach watching the moon shine on the gently swelling sea.

She didn't really know what she was doing, but some part of her couldn't manage to think it was wrong. He was still Spike, even without the chip, and he'd always been far too attractive for her peace of mind. She'd felt drawn to him even while she was still with Tara, although she hadn't realized it then. No, it was only from her position in time, looking back at the girl she'd been, that she recognized the truth. It didn't matter, though. They were friends, and she was entirely sure that he'd never want to be anything else. Still, she was going to enjoy his company. Her fingers rested on his knee, and when she felt his arm around her, she leaned against him, her head resting softly against his strong, cool shoulder. "It's a beautiful night," she murmured quietly. "The moon looks almost pink."

Spike nodded, settling her a bit more firmly against him. "It's a lovers moon, pet," he said smoothly. "They say that new couples who kiss beneath a lovers moon for the first time will never be separated." He didn't know if that was actually true, but it sounded like it should be. "Care to find out?"

She could feel her heart racing faster at his nearly whispered question, and she shivered slightly until she realized he was joking. "Oh, very funny, Spike," Willow said, forcing herself to laugh and pull away a bit. Her eyes widened when his hand was suddenly against her jaw, forcing her to meet his pale blue gaze. "Spike...?" It was the small, hopeful smile on his lips that had her holding her breath.

"Wasn't actually making with the funny, luv," he murmured, the banked heat in her eyes drawing him closer. His eyelids fluttered slowly closed as he touched his lips lightly to hers, and when she sighed out one tiny moan, he kissed her harder, his tongue teasing gently at her closed mouth. He groaned softly as she opened herself to him, the heat of her warm, wet tongue nearly scalding.

And Gods, she didn't care why this was happening. Didn't care about all the reasons it shouldn't. His lips against hers were soft and full, his tongue smooth and cool. Her entire body vibrated in time with their slow, sensual exploration of each others' mouths, and when she felt his long, elegant fingers on her back, she moaned again and pressed closer to him, a raging need she'd never known before singing through her veins. Her own hands roamed his arms, his shoulders, almost desperately as she tried to melt into him-- to become a part of his glory.

He'd never even imagined feeling this way. God knew he hadn't with Dru, or even with the Slayer, and he thought maybe that was why he'd always kept his distance. Maybe some part of him had known what she was to him, and... maybe that part had been afraid. She'd always been far too good for the likes of him, after all. Still, it was too late now, because she was in his arms, and she was kissing him, and he couldn't even begin to think about letting her go. He cried out softly when she pulled her mouth from his, only to growl as her soft, warm lips fastened lightly over the spot where his pulse had once beat. One hand slipped up her back, taking a fistful of her thick red hair in a tight grip, and he pressed her mouth more tightly to his skin, reveling in the sensation. "Willow," he moaned, gasping as she began sucking seductively at his flesh.

His skin tasted like nothing she'd ever known, and there was a certain rough perfection in the grip he had on her hair. That her actions were making him tremble gave her a sense of power she'd never known existed. Still, she was trembling, herself, and it didn't matter that this might be the most foolish thing she'd ever done, because she couldn't stop. *Wouldn't* stop. Her fingers moved lightly down his chest, pulling the always-present black t-shirt up his chiseled shape, and she barely managed to pull away for long enough to drag it over his head. "Spike," she sighed against his skin as she returned to her previous occupation.

He honestly didn't remember removing her shirt, but he must have, because her tightly budded nipples were naked in his palms. His fingers stroked her hot skin slowly, although his every instinct was screaming to take her... have her... fill her. He would only have one chance to make love to her for the first time, though, and he was determined to do it right. His hands latched onto her hair again, and he dragged her lips back to his, groaning when she pushed him back against the sand. He released one happily-stunned moan into her mouth as her soft little fingers plucked at the button and zip of his jeans, his eyes closing desperately as she freed him from their confines. "Wait," he tried to say, the word and its meaning lost as she writhed upon him, and when he felt her skirt bunched around her waist above him, and her silky panties being torn away, he cried out hungrily.

The first sensation of his thick, hard tip entering her was almost too much, and she paused, lips open and motionless against his. She almost wanted to stop time right in that instant, but something within her was burning for this, burning for *him*. She slid back slowly, a fraction of an inch at a time, and sobbed when he was finally buried fully within her. Her hands moved, palms covering his tight male nipples, and she raised herself to stare down at him as she began to move slowly upon him. "Spike," she moaned in discovery.

This couldn't be happening, he told himself repeatedly, even as his long, pale fingers closed gently on her soft, sweet hips. He couldn't be here, on this beach in the moonlight, with Willow Rosenberg riding him slowly and steadily home. It wasn't possible, because... he was a demon, and Heaven was denied to his kind. And yet, he knew, as his eyes opened and met her green stare, he was there, nonetheless. He was in Heaven. "God," he murmured, arching slowly into the tight, wet perfection of her searing core, "God, Red... Willow... God..." His fingers tightened on her, and he focused solely on the sensations of the moment, bowing more strongly as she tightened around him, eyes still locked on hers.

Every single part of her felt full with him. Even her spirit sang with requited delight. A loud gasp flew from her as the tension coiled wickedly in the pit of her stomach, and when he moved just a bit faster beneath her, she couldn't help but match his speed. "Please, please, please," she heard herself moaning, "Please, Spike, please..."

It was a request he was more than happy to fulfill, and he shifted her repeatedly on him, loving the sensation of her tightly swollen little nub rubbing hard in his coarse, dark curls. He forced himself to hold back as her breathing became faster, more laboured, his heavy sac so tight and tense between his legs, he thought he might crumble to dust at any moment. "Will," he growled, eyes wide as she shrieked suddenly, and convulsed on him. His hips arched off the sand once, twice, and then once more as he filled her completely with everything he was.

"Oh... Gods..." she whispered against his chest. Her entire body hummed wildly, and she wanting nothing more than to just... stay there, feeling him slowly soften within her. She didn't know quite how this had happened, or why he'd so obviously wanted it to, but she couldn't bring herself to complain. She'd never felt so... complete... as she did right then. "Spike," she finally said.

"You can do anything to me, luv," he murmured into her hair, "As long as you don't move." His hands moved from her undoubtedly bruised hips to stroke lightly at her back, and he breathed a contented sigh when she only nodded. They'd have to get up eventually, he knew-- if only to avoid a large eruption of Spike-dust with the dawn, but... Hell, he wasn't entirely sure that wouldn't be a good thing. He'd already experienced the be-all and end-all of his existence, hadn't he? A soft smile affixed itself to his lips when he felt her nod off, her wet heat still holding him tightly within her. He'd wake her in a bit, he told himself, his arms wrapping gently around her. Soon.
 

Part 4

Nearly a week of her almost constant company, and he wasn't even remotely bored with her. She was amazing to him, and not only because she'd chosen to give herself to the demon he was. He only regretted the few hours of each day that she spent out in the sunlight, although he had to admit that the tan she was acquiring looked incredible on her, so he supposed he could deal with it. Still, those small bits of time left him feeling surprisingly cold and alone, not that he'd ever tell her that. He really wouldn't, either; not until after she understood just how much he needed her. He smiled softly as he heard her soft footsteps approaching his room, then frowned when they passed by to her own. Still, maybe she wanted to change her clothes or something. He waited impatiently, listening to her moving about next door, finally growling softly after almost fifteen minutes. What was the girl *doing* over there?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Willow smiled as her door flew open, well aware of just who it was standing behind her. "Hey," she said happily, still folding the few clothes remaining on the bed. "What's up, Spike?"

He watched her, blue eyes sparkling, as she carefully packed her things away in her bags. "Going somewhere, luv?" he purred, glad that she'd finally decided to just stay with him. It was stupid to keep two separate rooms, after all, seeing as she never really used hers.

The girl giggled softly, shaking her head. "Not yet, but my plane leaves the day after tomorrow. I thought I should be ready." Her laughter died, and the smile she wore faded swiftly when his hands were suddenly hard on her shoulders, spinning her to face him.

"What?" Spike growled, true face firmly present, "What the *fuck*! You're *leaving*?" He could smell the sudden fear flowing from her in waves, and he was glad. What did she think she was doing? Did she really think she could just... "Walk away? You're gonna walk away from me, after everything we..." He growled again, more dangerously, and shoved her onto the bed.

Willow stared at him, wide-eyed. "Y-you knew," she stammered, not sure of exactly what was happening. "I told you. That first night we talked in the bar, I *told* you how long I was here for!"

That didn't matter, he told himself, because he'd thought things had *changed*. He thought they'd become something more to each other than just... "You're leaving me," he snarled, furious at the very thought, "You're gonna just disappear, aren't you?" An angry laugh left him then, as he realized. "That was the plan all along, wasn't it? Punish Spike for leaving you back in Sunnyhell. Wasn't it!" He knew he was shouting, but he couldn't make himself care. "Yeah, of *course* it was! Make me want you. Make me *need* you! And then just take yourself away. Right? *Right*?" He should have known better, he told himself. Smart, beautiful young women didn't throw themselves away on creatures like him. They just didn't. He wanted to hurt her, break her, shake her... love her. Except he already did the last. Fuck. He *loved* her, and she was going to... "Fine," he finished hotly, "Go then!"

She couldn't quite manage to wrap her mind around what seemed to be happening. She didn't understand it at all. He'd known she was leaving. He hadn't even tried to make her change her mind, and Gods knew he'd never asked her to *stay*. Still, he was acting like he... cared? She'd known he'd enjoyed the time they'd spent, but was it possible that he... wanted something more? It was her dearest hope, and yet he'd said nothing, and... "What do you want from me?" she demanded, pushing herself from the bed. She flung the last of her things into her bag and closed it before glaring at him one more time. "What, Spike?" she nearly hissed; "What do you *want*?"

'I want you to love me,' he thought wildly, and 'I want you to need me as much as I need you'. 'I want to be everything to you that you are to me', and 'I want my eternity to be with *you*'. But he was stunned, and shocked, and in too much pain to say any of those things. He was too angry to speak from his heart and leave himself open to still more hurt. "Nothing," he finally snarled, arms crossing protectively over his unbeating heart. "I don't want anything from you."

And that was what she'd thought, after all. She'd been a good time for him. No more, and no less. She'd known that. Willow blinked a few times, forcing herself not to cry as she shouldered her bags. She would love him until the day she died, and she knew it. There would never be anyone else for her, not after him. She was only glad she'd never told him so-- it would probably have amused him no end. And she'd never really thought he might love her, anyway, she lied. She nodded slowly, determined to retain her dignity as she walked past him and into the hallway. Her eyes closed tightly for a moment, and she couldn't help turning to face him. "Nothing?" she almost whispered. "That's a shame." She turned away, feet padding softly on the carpeted floor. "I would have given you *everything*," she murmured, her heart breaking even more.

He stood stunned by her words as she moved quickly down the hall, his mind racing wildly. ~ I would have given him anything,~ she'd told him in the bar, while they'd been talking about her ex, ~But he wanted everything... I didn't love him enough to give him everything.~ "I would have given you everything," he repeated her words wonderingly. "Everything. For me." His human mask slid over his face once more, a wide smile splitting his face as he made the next logical step. "She loves me," he whispered. It was so much more than he'd expected, although he had to admit it was exactly what he'd wanted, and... "Oh, bloody fucking hell!" he growled at himself, even as he dashed towards the elevators. He had to stop her. He *had* *to*.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She couldn't bear to even look back as the cab pulled away from the hotel where she'd been so happy for such a short period of time. Looking back would be too final, she supposed, and... it wouldn't make her feel any better, anyway. She'd been foolish, she realized, letting herself fall in love that way. Letting herself think that he could ever...

She shook her head slowly, ignoring the tears she couldn't seem to stop. With any luck, she could find an earlier flight from the island, and if she couldn't? Well, she'd just have to try to forget. She'd find some other hotel and hide until she could leave. Not that he'd bother looking for her; he was probably relieved that she was gone.

Yeah, she told herself, she'd find somewhere to stay, and she'd catch her flight, and... she'd go back to the life she lived these days. She'd travel the globe, defeating whatever nasties she could, and... She would leave the world a better place when she was gone. It was all she had left, after all.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He sat alone in the darkness of his room, surrounded by the slowly fading scent of her as he cursed himself. He'd been too proud, and too fearful. Too unsure, and too slow.

One forearm rested across his closed eyes as he remembered. Running to the elevator, and then down the stairs when the damned thing hadn't come fast enough. Dashing across the lobby, leaping over the sunlit patches from the windows. The compassion in the desk clerk's eyes when he said the redhead had already checked out, and the sight of the small cab rolling down the sunny drive, taking her away from him forever. He'd actually darted outside, only to have the pain of his flaming skin force him back into the shadows.

He'd fucked up, he realized, and worse than ever before, because... he'd hurt her. He'd hurt her, and in the process, he'd destroyed himself, as well.

Oh, he would return to London, and pick up his duties where he'd left off, but only because it was what he was sure she'd want him to do, and he'd disappointed her enough already. She'd never know, of course, that he was paying for what he'd done to her, but *he'd* know, and that would have to be enough. It would be a long, lonely eternity, and that was exactly what he deserved, wasn't it?

He felt it when the sun set, felt the quickening within his being, and he could take no joy in it. There would never be any joy for him, ever again.

Still, he might as well punish himself, he figured. He'd go to their beach. Sit in the sand and stare at the moon as he remembered that first night. The lovers moon, and the love they'd made.
 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The desk clerk sighed sadly as the bleached blond approached mere minutes before sunrise. "No luck finding her, then?" he asked, as he slid the man's key across the desk.

Spike shook his head, not looking at the other man. "Wasn't looking, mate," he admitted. "Hell, I'm sure she flew right the fuck out of here yesterday."

The clerk shook his head decisively. "Not unless she chartered a plane, she didn't. All flights to the mainland are booked well ahead. You can't just... fly out on a moment's notice." He shook his head again, not noticing the motionless hope wrapping around the Englishman. "No, your friend is probably at a different hotel, waiting for her own flight." He smiled curiously when the blond released one strangled shout, and stared after him as he almost literally flew across the lobby. "Good luck," he called after him, before returning to his duties.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He'd spent most of the daylight hours calling every hotel in the small phone book, then calling the few air services. Finally, the desperation in his voice must have paid off, because... at least he knew when she was leaving, and on what airline. He wasn't sure of what he could do with the knowledge, though, because her flight was at noon, and he didn't particularly want to be a pile of stinking ash. Still, he would find a way. He had to.

He'd thought she was already gone, but she wasn't. He had another chance, and he'd be damned if he was going to let it-- or her-- slip through his fingers. His mind raced, trying to think of what he could do, and a sly, truly wicked grin spread across his face. She'd be angry, he knew, but... it would work, and he'd have the chance to tell her... something. Everything.

That same grin stayed on his lips as he picked up the phone, dialing one last number. Oh, yeah, Red was gonna be pissed off no end.
 

Part 5

Willow was fuming as she stalked from the small police office. Bad enough that they'd thought she was smuggling drugs of some kind. Worse luck that she'd had a rather large bag of sage with her, just in case she'd needed to do any spells that required it.

The officers had gone through her things, and had dragged her to the station when they'd found her supplies, and sure, they'd apologized when they discovered exactly what the green-ish brown substance was, but... She'd missed her plane!

That she wouldn't be able to leave for another few days was just... par for the course, she supposed. She frowned deeply, swinging her bags in her anger as she started down the street. Now she'd have to find yet another hotel, and spend still more time trying to forget that she was still in this "Fucking tropical 'paradise'!" She yelped once in shock as she rounded a corner and ran smack into someone coming the other way. "Damn it!" she cried, reaching for the bags she'd dropped, and "Thanks," in a much softer voice when one of them was handed to her.

"You're welcome, pet," he murmured, completely unprepared for the deeply wounded eyes she turned on him. He'd been expecting anger, of course, but not this shattered, heart-sore look. "Willow," he moaned, disgusted with himself for what he must have put her through, "Baby, I'm sorry..." And there, he realized, was the fury he'd thought to see. He let her strike out at him for a moment before capturing her wrists gently in his hands and holding her close to him. "I'm so sorry, pet," he whispered, "So sorry... I was afraid. I didn't know, baby. I swear I didn't know..."

She knew he was saying something, but she couldn't listen. She couldn't let herself hear him, because then she'd be lost. But he was holding her close, and he was murmuring to her, and... he sounded so very lost himself that she couldn't help it. She found herself straining to make out his soft words, and while she tried to tell herself he was lying, she still... *hoped*. Her struggles against him slowed, then faded to nothing, and she felt herself starting to cry again as he went on.

"Love you, baby, love you so much... Never thought you could care for me more than a little..." And he knew he sounded like a great ponce, but so what? What good was it to keep his dignity if he lost this girl for good? He'd never felt whole until she'd graced him with her stunning self, and... he never would again if he didn't make her see. "Let me love you, Red," he almost begged as she relaxed slightly. He released her arms, and held her even closer. "Let me do all the things I should have done before... let me say everything you need to hear. Please, luv... please... Just let me..."

And he sounded so... desperate, so yearning and hopeful, and she still loved him so much. Her arms slowly wrapped around his back, and she rested her head softly against his hard, cotton-covered chest. Her heart swelled wildly as his words and pleas went on and on, until finally she couldn't help herself any longer. She pulled one hand from his tense, shaking back, and slowly cupped his cheek. She forced herself to meet his eyes, gasping at the tears and pure longing on his face. "What do you want from me, Spike?" she asked him seriously, hoping she knew the answer.

This time he'd get it right, he swore. He had to, because... he'd been so lucky that she'd even listened, and even luckier that she was going to let him try. He didn't think he'd have been strong enough, himself. He swallowed hard, still staring deep into her slightly cringing green eyes. "Everything, luv," he moaned, "I want everything you'll let me have. Everything you ever ummpph..." His eyes closed softly in thanks to whatever deity had listened to his anxious, blasphemous prayers, and when her soft lips opened against his own, he moaned again, tongue tangling needily with hers. He'd never let her go, he knew. Not ever. He couldn't; it would most likely kill him to even try.

She was crying again, and once more it was because of Spike. But this time, she didn't mind it, because they were *happy* tears. Still, she somehow realized, as he pressed her back against the side of a building, this was hardly the place. Her fingers wrapped roughly in his hair and she used that hold to pull his mouth from her, smiling slightly at his despairing groan. "Not here," she managed to say as she pushed him away.

He'd never needed anything the way he needed to be inside her at that moment, and he could barely manage to make out her words, but he did, and... she was right. This really *wasn't* the place for what he had in mind. He growled quietly, even as he nodded and snatched her bags up from the street. "Hotel," he demanded, "*Now*."

Willow couldn't do anything but nod, and she took one of her bags from him, just so she could slip under his arm. "Hotel," she replied, a slightly wicked tone to her voice, and "Now," she agreed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He moved slowly and carefully within her, every single aspect of his demon just shattered by the fact that she was actually his. It was an ecstatic sort of shattered, though. His hands rested against the mattress as he stared deep into her wide, bright eyes, and just the degree of pure perfection he saw within her was almost enough to have him crying like a sadly girlish pouf again. "Love you, pet," he groaned, his hips moving slightly faster as she arched beneath him, "Love you, baby..."

All of her tingled every time he said it, and she knew she'd never get tired of the feeling. Her legs tightened around his slim hips, and as she felt herself shivering madly, the coiled tension in her belly beginning to fly free, she sobbed happily. "Love you, too, Spike," she cried, the words catching for a moment on a hitched breath, "Gods! Love you!" She gasped quietly as his true face slipped out, then nodded at the question in his eyes. "Yes," she moaned, her neck arching for him, and when she felt his sharp, jagged teeth sliding gently into her skin, the entire world slivered and broke around her. "Spike!" she screamed, her body wracked by enormous, quaking tremors as she came hard beneath his cool, toned form.

She really was. She was completely and entirely "Mine," he growled silently, his lips too content at her neck to leave just for the sake of words. The silence of his declaration didn't make it any less true, though. "Mine, mine, mine," he whispered to himself, "Mine for now, and for all eternity..." He would go wherever he had to, do whatever was required. Anything, just as long as this sweet, perfect girl was there. He would never leave her; never hurt her again. His eyes slammed closed as she tightened wickedly around him, only to fly wide again when her rhythmic spasms dragged him into a long, deep fulfillment of his own. He took one last swallow of her thick, power-rich blood before forcing himself to pull away. "Mine," he finally said out loud, licking slowly at the seeping bite he'd given her.

"Yours," Willow agreed, stroking his soft blond hair as he continued to lave gently at the wound on her neck. He'd never drank from her before, but... she'd loved it. Almost as much as "I love you," she said again.

He still couldn't quite believe it, but... He raised his head, staring into her bright eyes as he rolled them both slowly. A small, hopeful smile crossed his lips as he looked up at her. "Prove it," he said softly, one hand rising to his own neck.

It was the nearly wistful look on his face that decided her. That and the fear of rejection she could just feel swirling around him. She nodded slowly, watching in fascination as he slit his own skin with one nail. Her descent to the slowly oozing wound had nothing of the tentative about it, though, because she'd decided, and if she was his, then he'd for damned sure better be "Mine," she murmured, just before latching on the him and drinking him in deeply.

And he'd never want to be anything else, he knew.
 

Part 6

Giles watched the redheaded witch and the vampire from the doorway, smiling when the two exchanged swift whispers. The slight blush on Willow's cheeks left him in little doubt as to what Spike had been saying.

He thought that maybe he should have been disturbed that the girl had gone and attached herself to a soul-less demon, but... He'd spent enough time with Spike to know that his lack of a soul didn't make him a bad person. Hell, there was no one he'd trust as much, if it came down to it. The fact that being with Willow made the vampire even more determined to do 'good' only made things that much better.

The majority of the council was furious, of course, that a witch of such power and purity was being willingly 'corrupted', but Giles figured they were getting what they deserved. They had refused, after all, to bring the girl in after Buffy's death, and now that they finally understood just why he'd kept trying, well... it was too late for them. Willow only helped the Council because of her Mate.

He smiled again as the girl giggled and turned an even brighter shade of crimson. "That's enough for today, children," he said kindly, as he stepped into the room. "Why don't you go have some fun? The books will still be here tomorrow." He chuckled quietly when the girl jumped from her chair and ran to him; then chuckled a bit more as Spike growled playfully. "Now, now, Willow," he teased, "You know better than to hug me where your Mate can see."

"Exactly why I never leave you two alone," Spike joked in response, pulling his woman from the old human's arms. "Later, Watcher," he said smugly.

"Bye, Giles," Willow called happily, even as Spike threw her over his shoulder and raced for their apartment next door.

He really couldn't help laughing even harder, because... "Trust Spike. The Council sends him on what's supposed to be a truly miserable vacation, and he not only has a wonderful time, but he gets himself a Mate! And for that Mate to be Willow...?" Giles removed his glasses, rubbing at the lenses with his handkerchief as one small tear slipped from his eye. "I must say, I'm proud of that boy."
 

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