~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
~Part: 21~
"Angel?"
Angel snapped out of his trance at the sound of Buffy's voice and a persistent knocking at his bedroom door.
He wanted to tell her to go away, that he needed time to think, but he doubted she'd listen to him anyway. Tonight he doubted that even a locked door would keep the Slayer away.
"Come in," he finally said, but he didn't look up as she entered his room.
Buffy paused just inside the door to take in the havoc he'd wreaked upon his private quarters. The bedroom was a far cry from its usual spotless condition. "Can't say I think much of your redecorating, Angel. You're no Martha Stewart."
Angel remained motionless, sitting on the edge of the bed, head bowed, arms resting on his thighs, and his fingers forming a triangle in front of him. The Scooby Gang had long ago labeled this his 'thoughtful' pose.
"Not that I think Martha Stewart is an angel," Buffy went on when he made no comment. "I bet that woman has a few demons in her closet."
She looked around the room again. "Actually, I was expecting it to look at lot worse in here. From outside, it sounded as if you'd totally demolished the place. So what if you broke a couple of chairs and ugly old vases. I bet you feel better now, right?"
Angel finally looked up and surveyed the mess around him. Shards of glass and pottery littered the floor, all that was left of several antiques, including his favorite--a rare red-glazed porcelain vase dating to the earliest days of the Ming dynasty. There was only known to be one other like it in the entire world.
Other than shattered vases and other object's de art, sprinkled here and there were splintered hunks of wood that had once been his antique desk chair.
Did he feel better? "Not really."
"We just wanted to make sure you're okay, and see if you want to help us research the spell that Spike used to play time bandit with. We're wondering if maybe that has something to do with this Nutra-Sweet closeness of Willow and Spike's.
"You won't find anything."
Buffy carefully picked her way across the room, avoiding all the broken pottery. She grabbed the leather club chair from the corner, the only intact chair in the room, and pulled it close to the bed, so that she and Angel were facing one another.
"I think we will," she countered. "It would explain a lot, maybe even why Willow said such horrible things to you."
"Willow said those horrible things because they were true. Willow's right."
"About what?"
He looked the Slayer right in the eye. "I *am* jealous of Spike, of his control. I, Angelus, couldn't have...*wouldn't* have been able to...."
"That's why it has to be the spell, Angel!"
Angel disregarded her comment, going on to add, "But at the same time, Spike disgusts me."
"Of course he does, Angel. He disgusts all of us!"
"You don't get it, Buffy. In a way, I'm Spike's sire, and it's his ability to behave humanely that disgusts me. It means he's weak, Buffy. My childe is weak."
Buffy appeared at a loss for words.
"Which means that I'm jealous that he is stronger than I am and yet weaker than I was."
Buffy shook her head and sighed. "This sounds like one of those puzzle-wrapped-in-an-enigma, things. I think I'm getting a headache."
"It's complicated."
Buffy grinned at the vampire. "You know, it used to drive me crazy whenever Willow explained things away with 'It's complicated,' but I think I'm finally starting to understand just how mixed up you two must be. I mean, if it's true that you and she were in love once, while you were still human, then I can't imagine what she was feeling when all of the sudden you're a vampire and all you want to do is bathe in her blood."
Angel actually managed a half-smile. "You've been watching too many bad horror movies, Buffy. We don't bathe in it, we just drink it...And sometimes to sign important documents. Oh, and it makes a great substitute if you run out of red watercolors, but it's not so good for bathing."
Buffy made her 'ewww' face then, ignoring him, went on. "Meanwhile, she with Spike for like, forever, and still comes home with only a few bite marks to show for it. And even now, they're like...best friends or something. I have to admit, even I'm feeling a little jealous of their friendship, so you must be...."
Angel nodded.
Buffy sighed. "Yep, it's complicated all right." After a moment, the Slayer brightened a little. "Well, if it cheers you up any, I think we were starting to get through to her tonight. I thought I saw some doubt creep into her pretty hazel eyes."
"Green," Angel corrected. "Willow's eyes are green."
"Just making sure you were paying attention," she replied with a grin.
"Where is Willow?"
"She stormed out right after you did. She was pretty upset."
Angel put his head in his hands and growled. "I should have known she'd do that. I'm such an idiot!"
"You're a man," Buffy said with a shrug. "You can't help it."
Angel vaulted to his feet and began to pace, his boots crushing a path through the shards of broken glass and porcelain on the floor. "No, don't you see? We did exactly what Spike was hoping we'd do. We may have forced Willow's hand tonight. She may feel she has to choose between Spike and us now."
"Angel, Willow would never ask Spike to turn her. No matter how mad she is at us, at the world, she wouldn't want that."
Angel paused in his pacing to pick up a large piece of reddish gold pottery that had once been part of his favorite vase. He looked from it to Buffy. "I know, but we may have forced Spike's hand as well. He may not want to wait for her any longer."
Buffy jumped up, now seriously concerned. "We better get moving."
Angel lay the shard on his desk, which thankfully remained intact, then followed Buffy out of his room and into the main library. The others were seated around the tables and computers, heavily in to their research.
"Xander," Angel said, "call Willow at home, see if she's there."
Xander closed the book he was reading and tossed it onto a pile of other books before he scowled at Angel. "Why? Are you hungry? Thinking of using Willow for a little late night snack"
Angel remained calm. Xander had every right to be angry with him. They all did. "Later, Xander. Later, you can all yell at me you want about what I've done to Willow in the past. I'll even spar you blindfolded and with both arms tied behind my back if you wish, but right now, we need to know where Willow is.
Xander stared at him for another long moment, then said, "Fair enough." He took out his cellphone and hit speed dial #2. There was no answer. "What's on your mind, Deadboy? Are you afraid she'll do something stupid?"
Buffy grabbed her coat and the others' coasts as well. "Angel thinks we fell into a trap and may have driven her in to Spike's arms." Buffy made a face. "We shouldn't have let her go."
"What were we supposed to do?" Cordelia asked. "Lock her in Oz's cage?"
"I don't know, Cordelia, but we have to do something and we have to do it now. Research can wait." She handed Giles and Jenny their coats. "Giles, why don't you and Ms. Calendar see if Willow went home and is just not answering the phone. Xander, Cordelia, why don't you check out the Bronze and that little coffee house she likes." Everyone agreed.
"Cell phones charged?" Angel asked.
"We'll keep in touch," Xander said when everyone nodded. "What are you two going to do?"
Angel and the Slayer exchanged grim looks. "Buffy and I are going to pay Spike a visit."
"Are you going to finally dust him?"
Angel gritted his teeth. He couldn't answer.
Buffy pulled two stakes out of her back pocket and twirled them on the palm of her hand like a Wild West gunslinger. "We'll do what we have to do to keep Willow safe."
~~~*~~~
It only took one well-placed kick for Angel to open the front door of Spike's mansion. He and the Slayer entered the foyer side by side just as three vampires rushed in to find out what the commotion was about.
"Where's Spike?" Angel demanded.
The two vampires slid to a stop on the marble floor and looked at each other as if they couldn't quite believe that the Slayer and the vampire with a soul were standing before them.
"He's not here," the one on the right declared. The other could only nod in agreement.
"We hope you won't be offended if we don't take your word for it," Buffy said, advancing on them, stake in hand.
Angel didn't need to pull out a stake to appear menacing. The look on his face was warning enough. "We'll just have a little look around for ourselves."
The two went through the mansion, room-by-room, looking for Spike and subconsciously for Willow as well. All they found were a lot of over-decorated rooms. A few vampires took exception to the interruption, so Buffy and Angel with stakes through their chests.
Convinced that neither Spike nor Willow was in the mansion, they decided to leave and search somewhere else. Buffy had just walked out through the broken front door when Angel turned back one more time to look at the small group of vampires that had assembled in the foyer.
Angel recognized the bespectacled vampire in the center of the group. It was Dalton, Spike's right-hand man.
"Spike hasn't been home since sunset, but that's not unusual for him," Dalton said. "We're expecting him back in a few hours, just before sunrise. You're welcome to wait for him."
Angel chuckled. He was so polite. "No thanks. Just tell him I popped by, and that I'll be back."
Dalton bobbed his head. "Yes, Sir."
Angel once again started to leave, then halfway through the door he turned around. "Has a young lady been here tonight? A woman with red hair, green eyes?"
"No," said a bald male vampire with squinty eyes and a lurid timbre to his voice. "We have not yet had the pleasure of Ms. Rosenberg's company."
With a spine-tingling growl and preternatural speed, Angel vaulted across the room. He didn't grab the vampire who had spoken but instead the one next to him. He shoved the surprised vampire against the wall repeatedly and so violently that the room echoed with the sound of his skull cracking against the cold stone. He then lifted him by the front of the neck until the vampire's feet dangled well above the floor. "Don't ever say her name again, understand?"
The vampire was nearly unconscious, and unable to reply with more than a gurgle.
"Glad we understand each other." Angel jammed a stake into the vampire that he was making an example of, and as he turned to dust in his hand, Angel looked pointedly at the other vampires one-by-one, stopping on the one who had spoken. "Do we have an understanding?"
They all bowed their heads, including Dalton. "Y-yes, Angelus," they said in unison and then ran from the room.
Angel turned to find Buffy standing in the doorway, taking it all in. He paused, wondering how the Slayer would react to his handling of the vampire.
"Feel better?" she asked, lifting a brow.
Angel rolled his shoulders a bit to loosen up, then followed the Slayer out the door. "A little," he finally admitted as they went out into the night. "A little."
~~~*~~~
Willow didn't think when she left Slayer Central. She walked. Quickly.
Actually, her gait could be better described as a march or a stomp. Either way, her fiery steps and where they would take her kept Willow's mind momentarily preoccupied and away from her fight with Angel. Besides, if she let herself think about what had just happened, she knew she'd cry. Or scream. Most likely both. Walking and/or stomping seemed like a much better use of her anger.
Willow's energy level hadn't depleted an iota by the time she stormed in to Willy's tavern, chin held high like she'd been there a million times before and was fully expecting to hear a welcoming shout of 'Willow!' from the odd crowd at her arrival.
In truth, while she knew Willy's was no 'Cheers,' she had no idea what to expect, having never actually been to the demon hangout before. She quickly realized that didn't matter much. The place was dead. The only person in sight was a greasy-looking guy behind the bar, who she assumed was Willy, the owner.
Willow took a seat on the stool nearest the door, just in case she had to make a quick exit. She wasn't exactly nervous to be there, although she knew she probably should be considering its reputation. She was too angry to be scared. Too angry, confused, sad, apprehensive and more than a little nauseous, but nope...not nervous. It wasn't like she had much choice, anyway. After the 'inquisition,' she had no desire to go home. She didn't want to be 'findable' at all, which meant that her favorite coffee bar was out of the question, as was The Bronze. Willow needed some time alone to sort out what had happened earlier that night, and if she could have a decent drink at the same time (since Angel's wine seemed to have been non-alcoholic, explaining her complete lack of a buzz) then that was a bonus. Maybe a quiet drink would help clear away the fog. But first, she'd had to actually find a place that would serve her, and with its sordid rep, Willy's had quickly come to mind. Actually, it was the *only* place that came to mind.
Willow didn't wait for the man behind the bar to ask what she wanted or to demand an I.D. "I'm 135 years old so give me a beer or a shot of whiskey or whatever it is you have here for humans to drink," she commanded in a clear, calm tone. "Something without any blood or eye of newt in it, okay?"
Willy looked up from his newspaper but didn't even blink at her request. "Witch? Faery? Genie? Incubus? Succubus...?"
"Spell mishap."
He nodded as if it were an every day thing. "You got I.D.?"
"If I had I.D., do you think I'd come here?"
A sleazy grin oozed past his thin lips. "Now look here, sweetheart. Just cause my clientele tends to be a bit 'colorful' doesn't mean I can break the law all willy-nilly like." He chuckled at his own words. "*Willy*-nilly, get it?" Willow just stared at him. "No one has a sense of humor these days," he grumbled, then began poking around under the bar for something. "Found it," he said, then came around to the front of the bar. He was holding a large Polaroid-type camera. Stepping up on the foot rail, he reached behind the glass rack above Willow's head and pulled down on a small plastic ring to reveal a white projection screen. He latched it to a hook under the lip of the bar, then spun Willow around on the stool so her back was to the screen. Before Willow could figure out what was going on, the bartender was standing a few feet in front of her, looking through the camera and telling her to, "Say Cheese, sweetie."
Although she wasn't exactly sure what the little man was up to, Willow smiled automatically. There was a soft click and then a blinding flash. While she waited for her sight to return to normal, Willow felt for the reassurance of the cross beneath the neckline of her shirt and the stake in her back pocket. She needed neither. Willy had already disappeared into the backroom. Still seeing spots before her eyes, Willow took advantage of the privacy to look around the place.
All in all, Willy's demonic little dive wasn't as bad as she'd expected. There were no pools of blood on the floor or little plastic nut bowls full of various body parts for casual snacking. Sure, it was a little dark and dingy, desperately in need of higher watt bulbs, a fresh coat of paint, and some air freshener. Yet it had a homey, working-class pub-like appeal that made Willow feel strangely at home. It was the perfect place to dissect her disaster of an evening and generally feel sorry for herself.
"What name do you use?" Willy called from the back, ending Willow's survey of the bar.
"Uh, Willow...Willow Rosenberg," she replied without thinking.
"Good name," he said, still out of sight. "Almost sounds real."
There was a faint electric whirring sound and less than a minute later, Willy appeared and handed her a small card. Her jaw dropped. It was a state I.D. with her name on it, and while it wasn't her best picture, the identification card looked completely authentic.
"That'll be a c-note for the I.D., sweetie," he said. "Now that you're all legal, what'd you say you want to drink?"
Willow dipped into her front pocket and pulled out five neatly folded twenties. She'd taken them with her tonight, hoping that Spike would let her pay for a change. He hadn't of course, which was a lucky thing now.
She slapped the hundred dollars down on the bar in front of Willy, but kept her hand covering the cash. "Throw in a bottle of wine and you've got a deal."
He grimaced as if she'd kicked him in the groin. "You sure you ain't a faery? They're cheapskates, too." Willy went into the back room again then quickly reappeared with a bottle of wine. He showed it to Willow. "This do?"
She recognized the label. It was a common and inexpensive variety of California Merlot, but it was still one of her favorites. "It'll do," she said, letting him have the money.
Willy opened the bottle, set it and a glass on the bar in front of her, and then went back to reading a racing form. Willow poured herself a glass of wine and downed it in one unfeminine gulp, hoping it would help clear her mind a little. She'd expected the mugs of wine she'd consumed earlier would have kept her calm, but they hadn't helped at all. She sighed. In a way, it was a shame that she hadn't gotten drunk, then she could have blamed the wine for all of the horrible accusations she'd thrown at Angel.
Willow groaned, letting her head fall to the bar with a painful thud. How could she have said such terrible things? Spike more of a man *without* his soul than Angel was *with* one...? Where the hell had that come from? She closed her eyes, letting the coolness of the countertop sink into her aching forehead, not caring what Willy must be thinking of her.
Over and over again she tried to make sense of her emotions and why she'd blown up at Angel the way she had. Sure, Angel hadn't been the most understanding vampire-with-a-soul tonight, but had she really expected a different reaction? Okay, naybe he'd stepped over the line a little by quoting some of the things Spike had once said to her, but if Angel had stepped over the line, then she'd pole-vaulted over it!
Wearily, Willow lifted her head from the slightly sticky bar top to have another sip of wine.
There was no doubt she'd been very irate and that some of the gang's harsher remarks had helped stoke her anger. Still, she felt bad. She really did.
And yet....
And yet, she'd meant all those bitter words she'd said to Angel, and it had felt good...Damn good, in fact, to get it off her chest!
Well, maybe she didn't mean everything she'd said. She didn't really think Spike was a better man than Angel. But more in control of demonic side? Heck yeah, she'd meant that!
Toying with the stem of her glass, Willow let her mind recall previous conversations with Spike. If Angelus had really loved her when he was human, then why couldn't he control himself around her when he was a vampire? In other words, why couldn't Angel be more like Spike?
Yep, there's the rub, the source of most of her problems with Angel.
Of course, it didn't help any that her body seemed to have a mind of its own. Even though she was angry with Angel, just thinking back to their near-kiss earlier that night made heat suffuse her cheeks and a wonderful squishy feeling invade her tummy.
Traitors! she thought accusingly to her face and stomach and the raging hormones that seemed to rule her body. How could she be so bitter about Angelus and how he'd treated her and yet still long to feel Angel's mouth on her skin?
There was only one answer, she decided as she stared unseeingly at her glass, sipping her wine. She was severely screwed up.
"Wanna talk about it?"
Willow look at Willy over the rim of her glass. He was leaning casually against the bar, staring at her as he dried a beer mug.
Willow straightened her spine under his scrutiny yet felt little embarrassment. She was *way* passed embarrassment. "You don't exactly look like the kind of bartender that wants to hear people's problems."
He shrugged. "Don't get many 'people' in here, if you know what I mean. It might be nice to hear someone complaining about the normal things like parking tickets and politics instead of whining about failed blood sacrifices and the Slayer all the time. Besides, what else I got to do?" he said, looking around the empty room.
"Is this place always so...dead?" she asked
"Nah, it's usually wall-to-wall scales and tails, but there's a Tom Jones concert over in Springfield, so..." He shrugged again.
"Tom Jones? I didn't know he was a big demonic draw."
"You kidding? The only one bigger is Barry Manilow."
Willow chuckled despite her mood.
"So, you wanna talk about it or what?"
"Sorry, but I don't have anything to talk about, really. Just a rough night."
"Ah, a lover's spat?"
"Not really," she said, but she could feel her pulse quicken at the mere idea of it. "I mean, he wasn't my lover. Not even my boyfriend really, but I guess there was, er, spatting involved."
"You turn his mamma into a toad or something?"
"Something like that," she said with a polite small, hoping he'd change the subject.
The sound of raised voices and laughter drifted in from a back room. They weren't alone after all. "What's going on back there?" she asked.
"Poker. Almost every night there's a game of some sort back there, but it's a small group tonight on account of the concert."
Willow couldn't help grinning. "Really? Can anyone join?"
"Anyone meaning you?" he laughed. "They'll play with anyone who's got enough kittens to buy in."
Kittens? Willow's eyes widened, but before she could express her outrage, Willy continued. "Although since Spike started sitting in on a game every now and then, they seem to be playing more for money lately."
Willow swallowed past the lump in her throat. Spike had never mentioned coming here before. She blinked at him in her most confused manner. "Er, Spike?"
"Local head vamp, but he's not here tonight. Been here a lot lately though. Now, you think you have love problems? Compared to that vamp, you've got nothing to worry about, sweetheart."
Still playing as if she'd didn't know Spike, she glanced dully between the bartender and her glass. "A vampire with love problems?" she grumbled. "Doubtful."
"Trust me," he said, looking around to make sure they were still the only two in the room. He leaned across the bar, lowering his voice. "Like I said, he comes here all the time lately. Guess the little woman's becoming a real pain in the ass. Now, if I were him, I wouldn't be complaining. So what if the old ball-n-chain goes out of town all the time? I can't tell you how many guys wish their women would get a place in another town and spend most of their time there. Sounds like the perfect relationship to me."
"You're a true romantic."
He ignored her. "Strange though. You'd think a good lookin' vamp like that--"
"He's good looking?"
Willy shrugged. It was obviously his favorite gesture. "Can't see many vamps, male or female, kicking him out of bed. Anyways, you'd think he'd be sowing his oats, or whatever the hell vamps have, all over this dirty berg, but no... Not him."
A tightness was forming in Willow's stomach, and part of her didn't want to know anymore, and yet something else drove her to pry for more info. "No?"
"Don't see how he'd have the time. He's always in here, grumbling and growling about how ungrateful women are...."
"This vampire, er..."
"Spike," he supplied.
"Spike...he talks to you about his private life?"
"A little. I've been married three times, so we've both sorta been there, done that, you know? Only difference is, I have to pay alimony."
At that moment, the phone at the other end of the bar rang and Willy went to answer it, leaving Willow with a ton of unanswered questions and a funny feeling that wouldn't go away.
Willow downed her second glass of wine in one long gulp, trying to chase away the dawning similarities of Willy's and Angel's comments.
But if Spike and Drusilla were having real problems, surely Spike would have told her...?
Frowning, Willow refilled her glass. She was just about to take a sip when her head suddenly started to spin, making her have to grip the edge of the bar for support.
It was about time the stuff hit her, she thought. She'd been starting to wonder if Willy had watered down the wine somehow or if alcohol really was weaker now than it used to be.
She closed her eyes, willing the room to stop spinning. Odd thing was, while she felt very dizzy, she didn't exactly feel drunk.
Willow pried her eyes open when she heard Willy come in from the back room with a tray of dirty glasses. And as quickly as that, her dizziness passed. She felt normal again.
"Oh, you three again, huh?" Willy said, looking behind her. "Want the usual or you trying to cut back?" he asked with a smirk.
Willow turned to look over her shoulder. Strange. Three guys were sitting in a booth behind her, but she hadn't heard them come in.
"Very funny," one of the men replied. He was short and balding and wearing a leather jacket. "Just bring the drinks."
Willow returned to her own drink, had a sip, then tried to peek at the trio again. Something about the three men seemed very familiar. In unison, they looked at her and smiled, then went back to talking quietly amongst themselves.
Where had she seen them before? She wracked her brain, knowing the answer was right on the edge of her memory, but it kept evading her.
And then, just as it was on the tip of her tongue, another tremendous wave of dizziness washed over her, making her turn back to the bar and rest her head on her arms until it passed.
"You okay, kid?"
Willow lifted her head very carefully. The dizziness appeared to have passed again, but she wasn't taking any chances. "I'm fine," she told Willy as he set a Zima, glass of wine, and a bottle of Bartles & James Fuzzy Navel Wine Cooler on the bar.
"Hey, three stooges!" the bartender called. "Your drinks. If you can call them that," he added under his breath. He whispered to Willow, saying, "I'd chase them out, but they're good tippers."
Willow watched carefully as the man with long straggly blond hair came up to the end of the bar. He wore a faded black Ramones T-shirt and dark-rimmed glasses. The stranger gave her a weak smile then carefully picked up the three drinks with two hands and took them back to the table.
Sipping her wine, Willow watched as he placed the drinks in front of the appropriate person. The short, older one, who kept looking at his watch, had the wine, while the middle-aged man in the suit took the Zima.
Bloody hell, they looked so familiar!
In unison, the three turned to her again, grinned, and lifted their glasses in toast.
She flashed them a small smile then turned back toward the bar.
She was still wondering why she had the feeling that she knew them when another attack of dizziness and nausea lashed through her body. She would have fallen off her stool if the man in the suit hadn't taken her by the arm at the last minute.
"You okay, er, Miss?" he asked, helping her to turn back around and lean on the bar.
"Um, yeah...thanks," she said weakly.
He nodded, but he glanced at her half-empty bottle of wine with a look that meant that he didn't believe her. He set his Palm Pilot on the bar and slid onto the nearest barstool, but he didn't look at her. He kept his face pointed forward.
Willow blushed. The man obviously thought she was drunk off her face! "I'm not drunk, really. I just seem to be getting these strange dizzy spells lately."
"A half a bottle of wine would do a lot more than make me dizzy," he said, still not looking at her.
She thought it would her as well. "I know I look kinda small...and young...but I can handle my liquor," she explained, and he nodded, but she didn't think he believed her. Once again she was struck with a sense of familiarity. "Um, have we met..." Another violent bout of dizziness, the worst one yet, stopped her from completing the question.
"Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?" he asked as if he hadn't heard her speak or noticed her condition. "It's, uh, for a paper we're doing."
"For our philosophy course," the chubby one said, coming up to take the empty stool next to the bearded man.
"More of a dissertation, really." the blond guy added as he too came to the bar with drink in hand. He took the seat next to the blond.
Willow closed her eyes, hoping it would ease the dizziness, which it did. "Sure," she said, keeping her eyes shut for the moment. "Why not." Maybe it would help take her mind off of her problems.
"If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be?"
Willow chuckled but kept her eyes closed. "A willow tree, of course," she said.
Willow opened her eyes just a little when she heard some murmuring beside her. The three men were leaning together, apparently entering her answers into a Palm Pilot. Absent mindedly, she startled fiddling with her cross.
The same voice asked, "If a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to hear it, does it still make a sound?"
Willow rolled her eyes, even though they were closed. "Of course. Sound waves do not require an ear in order to exist."
"What came first, the chicken or the egg?"
She frowned this time and opened her eyes. What kind of thesis were they working on, anyway? "Neither," she replied.
They grinned, seeming to like that answer. "Most people say both," the blond said.
Willow downed the last of the wine in her glass then refilled it, emptying the bottle. She kept her eyes forward. It seemed like she only felt dizzy when she turned her head. Maybe she had an inner ear infection or something that was messing up her equilibrium.
The men continued to consult each other, play with their Palm Pilot, and ask her odd questions. She drank and played along with their little game. It was kinda fun, although she couldn't see any possible benefit to be gained from such questioning.
"Last one," the short man eventually said. "If there were a way, today, for you to stop the Titanic from sinking back in 1912, would you?"
Willow spun to face them. Suddenly the word game didn't seem quite so fun. "What kind of joke are you playing?" she demanded. "Did Xander put you up to this?"
"No," they said in unison. "No one put us up to anything. Just answer the question.
No. She hated the question, having asked herself the same question and ones like it, hundreds of times before. If we could go back and change past events, should we, even if it seems to be for the better?
She stared dejectedly in to her glass. "I don't like the question and I don't feel like playing anymore," she said softly.
"Please," the man with the beard said. "This last question is vital to our work. Just be honest with yourself and with us."
Willow emptied her wine again, reached for the bottle for another refill before she realized it was empty. She'd already emptied the entire bottle!
She sighed, then finally said, "No." A shudder rippled beneath her skin, giving her goose bumps. "No, I wouldn't," she repeated, and realized she meant it with all her heart. "Playing with time is too dangerous. There's no way of knowing the consequences of something like that."
No, time wasn't something to be played around with. Every change could have catastrophic events in the future. She'd been lucky that she and Spike hadn't seemed to do more than change a few relationships and fill some wallets, at least as far as she knew. And yet, she'd always wondered what else had changed...what other lives had they affected without even knowing it? The very thought made her dizzy again.
"Exactly what's your thesis?" she asked when her head stopped spinning. But when she turned to the face the three men, they were no longer there. They must have quietly slipped out while she was lost in her own thoughts. It was just her and Willy again.
"Need another bottle or would you prefer an actual cask of wine this time," Willy asked, finally looking up from his racing form.
Willow pushed her empty glass away. "Think I've had enough. Besides, I don't want to drink you dry."
"Got tons of the stuff. Spike ordered it. He said that soon he wouldn't be the only one here drinking the stuff. Apparently he's got some other hot little number on the side who likes it too."
"Another vampire?"
"Nah, some human chick he's been hanging around with off and on for a while," Willy said off-handedly as he started to wipe down the bar. "He's going to turn her soon. Said he's just waiting for the right time."
Willow's hands started to shake, and suddenly the thought of another bottle of wine became very appealing. "Doesn't sound like this vampire of yours has much to complain about if he already has some other woman ready to spend eternity with him."
Standing across the bar from Willow, he crooked a finger, beckoning her to come closer. Holding her breath, she leaned in closer and Willy said in a hoarse whisper, "I got the feeling that the new chickadee in his life ain't too keen to be on a strict blood-only diet for the next few hundred years, if you get my drift."
Willow took a deep breath, hoping it would stop the rising bile in her throat. "You mean, she doesn't want to be a vampire and live forever?" she somehow managed to ask.
Willy barked out a laugh. "Nah! Go figure, eh? Hey, maybe you should talk to her," the bartender suggested. "Seeing as you've been around a while, maybe you could tell her that not-dying ain't so bad. My buddy Spike's loaded and I'm sure he'd be very appreciative of your assistance."
His buddy Spike? Somehow Willow couldn't imagine Spike referring to Willy as his buddy. Not the Spike she knew anyway.
Maybe she didn't know him as well as she thought she did?
No! Willow screamed silently. She wasn't going to let Angel's jealous words and the gossiping of a slimy bartender making her doubt her relationship with Spike.
She cleared her throat. "Not quite the same though, is it? See, I didn't have to kill people to stay alive or sacrifice my soul."
"Yeah, you're right. Better not talk to her...you'd make it sound pretty dull. Not that I care whether this broad gets vamped or not, but Spike's my best customer. Hate to lose him when I just ordered a new jukebox and a Ms. Pac-Man machine. Should be here next week, if you're interested."
Willow forced a smile. "Sounds great...looking forward to it..." She stood up. "Thanks for your help with the, er, I.D."
"No problem, kid," he said as she headed for the exit. "Anyone who can put a bottle of wine away like you do is welcome in my place anytime."
~Part: 22~
The chilly night air whistled through the alley, stinging Willow's cheeks like a badly needed slap in the face. The temperature seemed to have dropped twenty degrees while she'd been inside Willy's seedy bar, and now Willow felt ice cold on the inside as well.
As she warily made her way across town via many of the dank and dark side streets of Sunnydale, Willow came to a few conclusions. The first being that while all the brisk-yet-wary walking gave her lots of time to think and was probably good for her health, not to mention her thighs, she really, really needed to get her driver's license. The second conclusion was that Willy had to have been mistaken about Spike, because Spike had repeatedly promised to never make her a vampire. He'd promised!
Besides, there was no telling how many filthy rich, British, blond, leather-wearing vampires named Spike resided in Sunnydale. Right?
Yeah, right.
Willow tried to ignore all the nagging doubts picking away in her mind. There was bound to be a reasonable explanation. Hey, for all she knew, maybe Spike had become some sort of role model for vampires everywhere. Maybe he had hordes of groupies, who dressed and acted just like him, flocking to Sunnydale. And it was only a coincidence that what the bartender had said was similar to Angel's warnings. Right?
Or maybe Angel had put Willy up to the lies? Yeah, that was it! Angel somehow knew that she'd end up at Willy's, and he convinced--no, forced! --the sleazy bar owner to repeat the ludicrous story that Angel had obviously made up just to....
To...? To what? Win her love? Unlikely, since all of Angel's warnings only created more tension between them, as if they didn't have enough of that already!
So that was where all of her already ridiculous ideas completely fell apart. Spike was up to something, and Willow deserved to know the truth.
By the time Willow reached Spike's mansion, she was way beyond polite doorbell ringing. As she checked her back pocket one last time to make sure she still had her stake, Willow told herself it was only in case one of Spike's followers mistook her for dinner delivery. After a deep breath, Willow pounded on the impressive arched entry door with her fist. To her surprise, it flew open easily and with enough force that it whacked a couple of vampires who'd been standing next to it. One of them was holding a screwdriver, the other what appeared to be a broken hinge.
Not having time to wonder about the door, Willow glared at the amber-eyed vampires who she had caught off guard. "Where's Spike?" she demanded in her don't-you-even-dare-mess-with-me tone, reinforced by her resolve face.
The vampires took a step back, looked at her, then at each other, then back at her again. It wasn't difficult to see Spike's point about how hard it is to find quality minions.
Rolling her eyes, Willow moved further into the foyer, almost wishing one of them would make a move to stop her. Staking a vampire would have felt pretty good at that moment.
"Listen closely," she told the confused vamps. "If Spike is here, get him. Now! And if Spike isn't here, get him. Now!" She gave that a moment to sink in, then asked, "Got it?"
They nodded and quickly scattered into the shadows. She didn't know whether she'd really scared them or even if they were scampering off to follow her instructions. She didn't care. The sun would be coming up soon. If Spike wasn't home now, he would be shortly.
As she strolled through the mansion, Willow's thoughts flashed back to the night so long ago when Spike had kidnapped her and Xander. He'd brought them here threatening to kill Xander if she didn't cooperate. After that, it was all candles, chants, blood and corsets.
The mansion appeared in much better shape now. Spike obviously had invested a tidy sum in its upkeep, if the highly polished floors and cobweb-free crystal chandeliers were anything to go by.
Frowning, Willow wandered into the library and found a crackling fire in the massive marble and stone fireplace. The walls of the large, high-ceilinged room were lined top to bottom with dark wooden shelves, each one crammed full of books. Plush, deep chairs filled every corner, and Willow found herself longing to sink into one and make herself comfortable reading one of the nearby books. She could probably spend a century in this room and still never finish all the books!
The thought sent an icy chill rippling through her body, but she reminded herself how much Spike used to love to read. Obviously, he still did. She moved to warm herself in front of the fireplace, but even its dancing flames couldn't seem to stop her trembling.
As she waited, a couple of different vampires popped their heads around the corner then disappeared just as quickly.
"Spike!" she finally called at the top of her longs, tired of waiting. "If you're here, I need to talk to you!"
A male vampire appeared in the opposite doorway through which she'd entered. "Spike's not here," he said.
She turned to face the vampire, ready to reach for her stake if need be, but he made no attempt to come closer.
They studied one another. By the looks of his thick-rimmed glasses and conservative dress, Willow figured this must be the miracle-working undead accountant. She couldn't help noticing that he didn't exactly seem surprised to see her, either.
"You're Dalton, right?" she asked.
He nodded and took a couple of easy steps closer. Willow pulled out her stake. Dalton stopped moving and held up his hands. She wasn't sure if it was a gesture of surrender or if he were trying to assure her that he meant no harm. Either way, Willow didn't worry. She had little doubt she could get rid of Dalton without breaking a sweat. She didn't want to, but she would if necessary.
"Where's Spike?" she asked.
"Out, but he'll be back soon. You may wait for him, if you wish, but may I suggest you do so in the garden? I think it would be less disturbing to the others and safer for you, as well." Dalton motioned for her to follow, then left the way he came. Reluctantly she left the library's crackling fire and followed him out to a terraced garden in the back of the house. Willow took a seat in one of the wrought-iron chairs that surrounded a cinnamon-colored stone tabletop while Dalton lit a variety of candles, torches and braziers around the patio.
"May I get you anything while you wait, Ms. Rosenberg?" he asked when he'd finished. "Glass of red wine, perhaps?"
"No thanks," she replied with a frown. Polite vampires made her nervous, even more nervous than ones that knew her name.
Although the secluded garden was nicely sheltered from the late-Autumn wind, as soon as Dalton was gone, Willow moved her chair closer to one of the flaming braziers. She wasn't exactly cold, at least not on the outside, but the fire's heat was reassuring as she pondered what she had seen so far.
"Red, now this is a surprise."
Willow vaulted to her feet and turned to find Spike and Dalton standing by the French doors that lead back into the mansion. She'd been so lost in her thoughts--she had no idea for how long--that she hadn't even heard Spike enter the garden. And was it her over-active imagination or did his smile look strained tonight?
"Now, what fun would it be if I told you I was coming?" she replied, trying to keep her tone playful and light.
Spike nodded to Dalton. "Bring wine then feel free to sod off." When his minion was gone, Spike went to Willow and gave her a quick hug before holding her at arm's length. "Not that I'm not happy to see you, pet, but what if Dru were here."
"Is she?"
Spike's jaw clenched and he released her. "I told you Dru's away for the weekend with the girls." He looked over his shoulder. "What's keeping that pillock with our wine," he grumbled.
"And how often did you say she does that?" Willow asked, turning back to the fire and pretending to warm her hands. She was afraid Spike would be able to see the growing doubt in her eyes, so she focused instead on the ever-changing flames.
"Only 'bout once a month, which is why I can't spend as much time with you as I'd like." With a long pale finger under her chin, Spike gently turned Willow's face toward him. "Still, this isn't the best place for our little tête-à-têtes, Red. Don't want the help yammering on about us to Dru now, do we?"
At that point, Dalton scurried back in carrying a tray that held two silver goblets and a bottle of red wine.
"Why not? Are you ashamed of me?" she teased, or at least tried to. To her own hypersensitive ears, it seemed blaringly obvious that she was trying to hide something. Luckily, Spike seemed too absorbed in watching Dalton fill their glasses to note any irregularities in her tone or manner.
When the wine was poured, Spike handed her a goblet and winked. "Just trying to keep you alive, Red. That's all."
Dalton cleared his throat. "It's only twenty-two minutes until sunrise. Would you like me to prepare Ms. Rosenberg's room?"
Willow barely managed not to choke on her wine, but she was sure that her shock at the vampire's words must have been apparent for all to see. Prepare her room? She had a room here? Why would she have a room unless...?
For a moment, she thought she was going to be sick, but she fought the bile that was rising in her throat by gulping the remainder of her wine. Her eyes stung and her stomach burned, but she could not fall apart now, not if she was going to find out the truth.
Quickly, she schooled her features as best she could and glanced at Spike. He had turned his back to her and was saying something to Dalton that she couldn't quite hear, but from the pinched look on Dalton's face, it was obvious that Spike was not pleased. With what sounded like a murmured apology, Dalton bowed and hurried away. Willow refocused on the fire.
"You'll have to excuse Dalton," Spike said with a chuckle that sounded more than a little forced. "For an accountant, the bloke doesn't have much common sense. Don't know what the git's going on about half the time." Spike downed all his wine, then refilled both goblets.
Willow sat back down by the fire. "Strange how they all seem to know me," she said offhandedly, as if it were barely worth her time to think about it. "Your, er, minions, I mean." She took a sip of her wine, making herself actually taste it this time. It was another one of her favorites, and yet tonight it tasted bitter.
With a chipped black fingernail, Spike picked at a fleck of cork floating in his wine. "Told you, pet. I warned them all not to touch you."
"That's right," she said, almost to herself. "I'd almost forgotten that."
Spike half-leaned, half-sat on the stone table so that he looked down at her. "Now, you going to tell me why you're really here? I can tell something's on your mind, love."
Willow stared down into her goblet and let her fake smile dissolve. It wasn't difficult. "You know why I'm here, Spike."
"Do I?"
She nodded weakly. "I had a disagreement with the others. No big deal."
"Big enough to bring you here at the crack of dawn," he said in his most gentle voice. Normally, that tone in Spike's voice made Willow relax. It was Spike's 'caring' voice, the one that she accused Angel of needing a soul to create. And for the past decade or so, it was this tone in Spike's voice that had made Willow feel at home no matter where they were.
Tonight, though, she felt lost, hopelessly lost, and she couldn't trust Spike to help her find her way home.
"I'm okay," she lied, offering a feeble smile.
"Then why do those lovely green eyes of yours look as if they'd cried a river, Red?"
Willow quickly wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. They were dry now, but had she really been crying? She couldn't remember. "I feel so...betrayed by them. I guess I came here because I didn't want to be alone."
Gently, he tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear, like he had a million times before, although, of course, it had been longer back then. "You'll never be alone, Willow."
Willow made herself look up from her glass even though she was terrified of what she might see in his face. Spike's blue, searching eyes held no malice. In fact, they looked a bit sad and lonely. He looked as lost as she felt.
"Never?" she asked, still clinging to a thread of hope that somehow everyone else was wrong about Spike.
"Never," he repeated with a sudden quiet ferocity that caused her breath to catch in her chest. He looked away and took another slow sip of wine.
When Willow's heart resumed its normal rhythm, she tried to tell herself that she was reading too much into everything. After all, she hadn't had any sleep and had consumed about two bottles of wine, so maybe things weren't as bad as they seemed.
But she had to be sure, which meant she'd have to be more direct.
Willow slipped in to poker mode, picturing herself holding a pitiful hand, maybe a pair of sixes off-suit at best. Mentally, she slid a pile of chips into the center of the table. It was time to see his bluff with one of her own.
She shook her head and chuckled. "I'm not so sure Drusilla would like that."
Spike quickly emptied his goblet for the second time. "Dru'll get used to it, in time. I take it the Scabby Gang didn't like what they heard?"
"Not at all." Willow sighed, letting her shoulders sag despondently as she stared at the ground. "They're disgusted with me, actually. Especially Xander and Buffy. They told me to get out and not come back. You get the idea."
"What about Angel? Surely he wasn't as unreasonable as the rest, considering the git's in love with you."
"He didn't say much after you left. Went all broody, reminding me very much of Buffy's old Angel." She shrugged. "Who knows. Maybe if I'm not around, history will repeat and they'll find each other again."
His eye's narrowed. "And what about you, pet? You plan on beggin Jo-Jo the dog-faced boy to take you back?"
"I do need to talk to Oz, but no, it's too late for us." Willow took a deep breath and then lowered her voice. "Besides, to be honest, I kinda associate sex and biting now. Since Oz is a werewolf, biting would be bad."
Spike leaned forward, and Willow noticed the empty goblet was trembling in his hands. Nevertheless, the lascivious grin on his face made him look anything but nervous. "Liked the biting, did ya?"
The blush rising to her cheeks was genuine, but this probably wasn't a good time to remind Spike that he wasn't the only vampire that had left his mark upon her throat or her psyche. "You know I did, and you don't have to be so cocky about it."
Spike rose, quickly refilled his goblet, drank it dry yet again, and then set down his glass. He set hers down as well and then studied her for a moment.
"Sounds like there's only one thing to do, then, Red."
Something had changed n Spike's eyes over the past few minutes. They'd taken on an icy edge. Like steel. He no longer looked lost. He looked calculating.
"What's that, Spike?"
"Come with me, Red! We'll get the hell out of this damned place, start somewhere new."
Willow felt a spark of hope, but she had to keep pressing him. "I dunno, Spike. Besides, I'm such a mess. You must be sick of picking up the pieces for me by now."
"Remember, I've seen you at your worst, and I've seen you at your best. While this is far from either...."
"Oh, really? I won't deny you've seen me at my worst, Spike, but my best? When was I at my best?"
"When you were naked in my bed."
"No, I think my best was when I was flipping you over my shoulder and stepping over your prone body..." She matched his wicked grin. Even at such a pivotal time in their relationship, it was all too easy to fall into their normal pattern, full of teasing banter. "Or perhaps that was your best?"
"No, definitely when you were naked beneath me...although naked on top of me comes in a bloody-close second."
Willow managed a laugh. "But things were different then. There was the spell, and no Drusilla. I can't see her wanting to share you with me, Spike, even if we are just friends."
For the briefest moment, Spike's jaw clenched. Was it because she'd said 'friend'?
"Dru'll adjust, pet. Besides, they make king-sized beds for a reason."
Willow rose from her chair and turned away from him, hugging herself to try to ignore the nausea rising deep within. Around them, the birds were beginning to sing, and the sky was lightening, taking on the colors of purple velvet. It was nearly dawn, and she was running out of time. She had to push him further. She had to be sure.
"First of all, Spike, ewww!" she managed in a light-hearted tone. "Secondly, we both know Drusilla would kill me first chance she gets."
"Doesn't have to be that way, Willow." He'd drawn silently closer, his lips near her ear. "Say the word, Red, and you'll never have to worry about death again." She shivered as his cool lips grazed her ear, then shuddered as her world began to fall apart. There was little chance of mistaking his meaning now.
With great effort, Willow turned back around. He was so near, and it would have been all too easy to lean against him, let him fold her into his arms, taking comfort there like she had for years.
But she didn't, and she wondered if she ever would again.
"No, Spike," she said firmly, looking him straight in the eye and raising the stakes yet again. "I do not want to be a vampire, and you know that."
He stared down at her, angry and torn. Indecision was all over his face, and she knew instinctively that if they'd been playing poker, he would have just revealed his 'tell' to her.
Then he chuckled and grinned and stepped back a few paces, but it was all fake. "I don't think you know what the bloody hell you want, pet." He turned away to refill her goblet. When he turned back, he was calm again. "Let's have more wine."
Willow ignored the offered wine. She couldn't stop now, even though she was already pretty sure of the outcome. "Spike, what would have happened if you were too late?"
"Too late for what?"
"Too late to save me from all those vamps in the park a couple of months ago. What if I'd been mortally wounded and dying when you found me?"
Spike concentrated on his wine but managed a rough chuckle. "Bloody hell. What's got you feeling all morbid tonight? Cheer up and have another spot of wine."
Willow took a step closer to the vampire, and he tensed. "What would you have done if I were at death's door, Spike."
"Simple," he growled. "I'd have nailed the bloody door shut."
"How?"
"Doesn't matter, pet. Didn't happen, did it? And it won't happen."
She raised the stakes higher still. "Come on, Spike. Play along. What if ?"
"You've been taking care of yourself for a century, Red, and it seems to me you're finally getting the hang of it. With the rest of the Scabby Gang hanging about, I'm sure you would have been right as rain."
"Would you have let me die?"
Spike remained silent for a time, then turned to look her straight in the eye. He took out a cigarette and lit it, all without breaking eye contact with her. He took a long drag. "Shouldn't you be running along home now?" he finally asked with smirk.
"Not until I get an answer."
"Don't ask, Willow!"
"It's too late. I already did."
Spike actually backed away a few paces, running one hand through his hair in obvious frustration. He whirled around to face the wall. "Haven't you learned anything, Red? Don't ask questions if you're not willing to hear the answers!"
"I already know the answer, Spike. I just want to hear you say it."
He spun back around, flicked his cigarette away and stalked up to Willow until she was forced to take a step back. "Bloody hell, woman! Do you really expect me to just let you go when I can give you life?" he demanded in a near growl.
"But you promised!"
"You and I belong together, Red. Don't you bloody-well see that yet? You don't belong with them, you belong with me!"
"Belong?" she spat. The word smacked of ownership.
"Oh, don't look so bloody shocked, Red. It's fate. Says so right here," he said, holding out his palm. He pointed to some of the creases on his hand. "That old gypsy bird told me that the three of us would be together forever."
Willow swallowed hard. "Three?"
"You, me and Dru, of course."
Willow couldn't speak, she could barely breath. Spike pointed to her hand. "It says so right there, Willow."
Willow looked at her palm, with its three main intertwining lines, then looked at Spike's. His palm also had a trio of crisscrossing lines, but they were different. Tekla's words from so long ago echoed in her ears:
"There is a joining of three lines. They come from different directions and meet. The lines cross back and forth, sometimes appearing as one, other times as three separate lines. It goes back into your past and forward into your future. There are times when the lines separate, but always they are close by."
Suddenly, Willow was very frightened. She tried to pull her hand away, but Spike's hold on her tightened and he drew her to him. Willow shrank back, but her anger was starting to overrule her fear.
"Bloody hell, Willow," he said, almost laughing as he released her. "I'm not going to kill you--"
"Not now you mean!" she shouted, interrupting.
His eyes flashed amber. "Bloody, bloody, bloody hell!" he bellowed in frustration. "I have never seen a woman so stubborn and so bloody stupid that she'd give up the chance to stay looking young and beautiful forever. I'm offering you eternal life, Willow!"
"You're not offering me anything, Spike! An offer implies a choice, but you're not giving me a choice, are you? You never planned on giving me one. All this time you've been pretending. Lying! You never intended to leave town or to let me lead a normal life."
"I was, Red. I was going to leave, come back in a decade or so, but..."
"But?"
"After what happened when you were idiotic enough to go patrolling with the Scabby Gang.... You're so damn fragile, Red, and you're living on a bloody hellmouth! I can't take the chance that anything'll happen to you when I'm not here. So yeah, I admit it. I'll not let you die...not on my bloody watch...not ever!"
"I won't let you turn me, Spike."
"Really? And what are you going to do about it, Willow? You're human now. I'm a vampire. I'm stronger, faster. And too right you don't have a bloody choice in this, pet. But it doesn't matter. Either way, when you wake up, powerful, immortal, you'll thank me."
Willow wasn't quite sure how it got there, didn't remember slipping it out of her back pocket, but somehow she gripped a stake in her hand. She felt sick, and for a moment, Spike looked hurt.
But only for a moment. "Could you really kill me, Red?" he asked with a lazy drawl. "Drive a stake through my heart after all this time?"
Willow straightened her spine, squared her shoulders and jutted out her chin. "I thought I'd killed Angelus once to save my life. I can do the same to you. Besides, you want to kill me, so what's the difference?"
"The difference is, I'd make you eternal. You'd make me a ruddy pile of ashes."
"Quit kidding yourself. You'd be murdering me and letting a demon takeover! And what do you think I'll be like as a vampire, Spike? You think I'll be the same old Willow but with a craving for blood instead of chocolate? You think I'll still want to strum the guitar and play poker? You have no way of really knowing what I'll be like when I'm vamped, do you? Because there's no set pattern for the blending of the human personality and the demon, is there?"
Spike looked as if he were about to explode. Every vein on his forehead and neck swelled in response to his anger and frustration. "You don't get it, pet. I don't care what the bloody hell you turn out like, as long as you're with me!"
Willow recoiled. Spike's words had hit her like a flying drop-kick to the heart, hurting her more than any other blow he'd ever dealt her. He'd done it again...somehow he managed to hurt her more than she'd ever thought possible. He didn't care about her, not really. Spike just didn't want to be alone. Anyone that looked or sounded like her would do, no matter what was--or more importantly wasn't--on the inside.
Trembling from head to toe, Willow took an unsteady step back.
Spike seemed confused, and then his eyes widened, apparently just realizing what he'd said. "Oh, don't look at me like that, Red. You know that's not what I meant."
She took another step back. "Yes, you did, Spike. That's exactly what you meant. You don't care about me. You're just afraid to be alone. You're afraid that things may not work out with Drusilla, so you want me around for back up."
Spike smiled, all boyish charm and innuendo, and reached out his hand, palm up. "This is ridiculous, Red. You don't believe that bloody load of tripe, do you?"
She took another slow step back, away from the vampire until she could feel the first rays of the morning sun warming the air behind her. "I'm not sure what to think anymore."
Spike edged carefully closer, his eyes holding hers. "Willow, you know that you and Dru are the only things I have--"
"I am not a thing, Spike," Willow interrupted. Her hands were clenched at her sides. One more sliding step back...so close now. "And you don't have me."
Spike threw back his head and growled at the sky. When his eyes found hers again, all she could see was desperation. "That's not what I meant, Willow," he said, softening his tone as he took another step closer. "You're mucking up my words. What I was trying to bloody say is that you and Dru are the most important people in my life."
"No, Spike. You're the most important person in your life."
And then she stepped back one last time and was enveloped by the sunshine. Spike moved to follow but then stopped at the edge of the sunlight that separated them. Darkness and light. Life and death. Black and white.
Maybe Buffy was right after all.
"Red? Willow? Please, come back inside so we can chat about this. It's just a bloody misunderstanding, that's all."
Willow schooled her breathing, but she didn't try to quench her anger. At the moment, anger was the only thing keeping her standing. "One of us needs to leave Sunnydale, Spike. Who's it going to be? You or me?"
"Damn it, Red! Quit being so bloody melodramatic and get in here so we can talk."
"No more talking, Spike. All I want to know is which one of us is leaving town tomorrow."
Spike began to pace back and forth along the edge of the shadow on the ground, which was moving ever so slowly up the patio, and with each passing moment shrinking the amount of shade that was protecting Spike, dragging him back to the safety of the mansion. "You don't need to do this, Red. You can trust me."
Willow laughed sharply. "Oh, please! I'd sooner trust Angelus. At least he was honest about his plans for me."
She had barely spoken his sire's name when Spike lunged for her, letting his duster protect him from the soft morning light. Grabbing her wrist, he jerked Willow into the shade, swinging her around so that her back hit the stone wall, knocking the breath out of her. He released her wrist to hold her by her upper arms. "Don't you ever, ever compare me to Angelus again, pet!" he growled, his eyes glowing amber.
Willow gasped for air, the pain bringing tears to eyes that were wide with fright. Seeing her distress, Spike composed himself.
"Bloody hell, Willow," he murmured, and suddenly she was in his arms. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just don't want you to leave until we sort this all out, all right?"
Finally able to take a full breath, Willow released it slowly, willing her body to relax against his. "Okay, Spike," she murmured against his shoulder as he stroked her hair.
"I'm sorry, pet. So sorry."
"So am I, Spike. So am I."
Her leg sweep caught Spike completely by surprise. At the same time she pushed him back easily, pulling her arms up and through his to break their hold. She was already sprinting for daylight before he'd completely hit the ground. He grunted at the impact, then lay there, staring up at the small overhang of the roof that was protecting him from becoming ash.
"You got me, Red. Should have seen that coming." He pushed himself up on his elbows and spun around until he was slumped back against the mansion wall next to the French doors. He didn't look directly at where she was standing at the far end of the garden, completely bathed in sunlight and definitely out of his reach this time.
"Are you leaving Sunnydale or not?" she asked.
Spike straightened a bit. He made his normal big show of looking for his cigarettes, lighting one slowly and enjoying an exaggerated first draw. Willow had to bite her lip to keep from demanding an answer at that very moment. Finally, he looked at her, straight in the eye.
"Funny thing, pet, but I'd always meant to get this whole patio covered so I could enjoy a bit more of the day." He drew his feet closer to his body and away from the creeping edge of daylight. He took another long, slow drag. "I like this place, suits me, you know?"
"If you mean cold and empty, you're right."
Spike clucked his tongue. "No need to get snarky, pet, just because you've got a lot of packing to do."
"You're not leaving then?"
"I think not. You see I'm a bloody homeowner now, pet. Have responsibilities, roots. If you're so bloody insistent that one of us has to go, then you can sod off. I'm not budging." Smirking now, he looked up at the small covering overhead again. "Yep, think I'll see 'bout getting that awning done straight away. Drusilla would love to have it for spring." Spike directed his gaze at Willow again, and this time it was ice cold. When he smirked, there was no boyish charm this time, no teasing. Her friend Spike was already gone.
"So be it," she said. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded alien. There was no trace of emotion, not even anger or pain. It was flat...empty.
As if by remote control, Willow turned and methodically climbed the moss-covered steps that led up and out of the far side of the garden.
She didn't look back, keeping her steps steady and deliberate until she had crossed the street into the empty lot that backed onto a small park. When Willow was sure she was no longer in view of the mansion, she fall to her knees, vomiting repeatedly until there was nothing left but the bitter taste of bile in her mouth and the ache of exhaustion.
That's how Buffy found her, kneeling on shaking limbs behind a bush. Without a word, Buffy helped her to her feet.
Willow's dry eyes searched out Buffy's, which were moist with tears. There wasn't a shred of 'I told you so' in their hazel depths, only regret and maybe even a little understanding.
"Buffy...I need your help."
The Slayer nodded and slipped her arm around Willow's waist to steady her. They didn't speak as they made their way back to Willow's house, and while a tear or two managed to slip down Buffy's cheek; Willow's eyes remained dry.
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