~Part: 1~

Willow sipped her third glass of champagne. Just like with the last two, the warm fuzzy feeling quickly disappeared as the alcohol was absorbed into and destroyed by her immortal blood. Normally she would be in heaven--the place was crawling with academics and scientists with whom she could debate the latest discovery or the meaning of Shakespeare. But tonight she was bored. For once Spike had dragged her out to a swank affair and she wanted none of it. She surveyed the room, seeing no one she wanted to talk to. Not even Spike. She wasn't even sure why she was here. Spike was coming to some sort of business arrangement with the host of the party, who happened to be an entrepreneuring demon. He hadn't told her what it was about.

She found an empty table and took a seat. What was wrong with her? She should have been nagging Spike, having fun, forcing him to dance with her, and nagging him some more. Her heart wasn't in it tonight. The only place she wanted to be right now was at home, lounging in a nice hot candle-lit bubble bath. Maybe that's what she'd do when she got home--at least that way she had something to look forward to. Maybe she'd even let Spike wash her back. She grinned to herself. It was definitely time to go. Where was he anyway? Normally he would be at her side all night, asking if it was time to go every five minutes. She scanned the room again, but still no Spike. She lifted the glass to her lips and downed the rest of her drink. It was then that her gaze came to a screeching halt, stopped by the chocolate eyes that were staring into hers.

Angel.

If at all possible, she swore her heart stopped for that instant. Then he was moving toward her, sliding effortlessly through the crowd. He looked exactly as she remembered him all those years ago. Well, except for the tux, which molded nicely to his chiseled physique. His movements were effortlessly graceful, a large panther in a jungle of kittens.

His eyes hadn't left hers.

He came to a stop two feet from her chair, and it was then that she could perfectly make out the curve of his top lip, the light glinting blue and black in his tousled hair, the intensity of his gaze. No, he didn't look the same. If it was possible, he looked even better. Then reality came crashing down around her, and she was as aware of the blood rushing through her veins as he was. She knew from experience that the pounding of her heart was causing her jugular to leap from her neck in a staccato cadence, begging to be bitten. Spike had told her so enough times.

And now Angel was within reaching distance, and he was staring at her with those fathomless brown eyes and neither of them had yet to say a word. In one smooth movement she got to her feet, surprised that she had the presence to appear graceful. Her tumultuous attraction to Angel always brought out babbling, awkward Willow. Pre-Sunnydale Willow.

She held out her hand, and it was immediately enveloped in his large cool fingers. He pulled her toward the dance floor, and their eyes finally broke away when he propelled her lithe body up against his. The only coherent thought she could form was, 'Nice'. Closing her eyes, she let her fingers glide up his arm until they reached the bare skin protruding above his collar. She sniffed slowly. Being around a vampire so long had taught her how to identify people by smell. And this was a smell she remembered well.

Cinnamon. It had become a conditioned stimulus. One sniff and she was drooling like Pavlov's dogs. Spike had to drag her out of a bakery once because they'd spilled a container of cinnamon on the counter and she almost came in her pants.

Sort of like what was happening right now. His fingers had begun to make slow circles on her lower back, and liquid fire raced from that point to her limbs, up her neck to her brain, into her pelvis. A fine tremor of longing washed over her, and he instinctively pulled her closer. She could now feel the tensing and shifting of muscles as he led them across the dance floor. One muscle in particular. At least she wasn't the only one who was affected. She expected him to pull back, apologize, and do the vanishing act he was so well known for. Fifteen years ago she would have turned bright red, apologized in her rambling way, and ran off. His fingers dipped lower, resting on the swell of her buttocks. Her fingers reached his hair, twirling and tugging playfully. My, my, how things do change.

After all these years, she was an expert at vampire instincts. He was powerfully aroused. If the hardness pressing into her stomach hadn't given it away, the low rumbling in his chest did. And if she were to look up, there would be tiny flecks of gold illuminating his dark eyes. The last sign was the way he stiffened against her when he inhaled her scent. He could tell she was powerfully aroused as well. She wouldn't be able to sit down after this, not unless she fancied a big wet spot on the back of her dress.

Angel slowly lowered his head until his lips brushed against the outer shell of her ear. "Willow," he whispered, voice husky with desire. She clenched her fingers around the back of his neck. If this went on any longer she was going to shove him to the floor and take him in front of all these proper elite types. Which wouldn't bode well for Spike's business deal.

"Well, looks like you found someone to keep you company after all." Speak of the devil.... His voice was cold, but she could see the amusement in his eyes. She could practically read his thoughts. 'Dry humping in public, Willow? You could have at least found a coat room, or a bathroom. There's a garden out back with some nice bushes.'

"Trying to take advantage of my woman, Peaches?"

Willow resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She knew Spike's act for just what it was. An act. But Angel would probably take him seriously, which would lead to one of two things. A battle of dominance between Childe and Sire--after all, what belonged to the Childe rightfully belonged to the Sire as well. Or, Angel would concede defeat and go off somewhere to brood.

Once again he surprised her. His hand moved even lower on her backside so that Spike could see, and gave his Childe a small smile. "Would you prefer we share?" Willow knew Spike's thoughts had been following the same path as hers, so his look of astonishment probably mirrored her own. Then Angel brought her hand to his mouth. To any casual observer it would look like an innocent parting kiss, but Willow was all too aware of his tongue darting out to lick at her knuckles, his blunt teeth scraping her tender skin. Seconds later she and Spike were left to watch his retreating back as he sluiced through the crowd and disappeared. Well, it was nice to know that some things hadn't changed.

People began to stare, so Spike took her in his arms and they began to dance. "Bloody hell, Willow. Get yourself under control. I can smell you a mile away, and I'm not the only demon in this house."

She arched a brow. "I'm well aware of that."

"I meant besides the Poof. What did he have to say?"

"Nothing."

"What do you mean, nothing?"

"I mean, 'would you prefer we share' was the first sentence to come out of his mouth. He's like the yellow pages: let your fingers do the talking."

"I think that's 'let your fingers do the walking,' luv."

She giggled softly and let her head rest in the crook of his neck. "Fingers could do the macarena for all I care. I'm in the mood for something a little more horizontal."

There is was again. The hardness against her hip, rumbling in the chest. "God, Willow. Don't say things like that. At least, not in public where I can't do anything about it." He slowly inhaled her scent and let out a low groan, his entire body tensing against her. And for the finale, sniff and stiff.

This time her giggle turned into outright laughter. Sniff and stiff. She'd make sure to remember that one. Spike was asking her what was so funny, but the words wouldn't come out coherently. He finally gave up and pulled her off the dance floor to get away from the strange looks. He gripped her arms to get her to look at him and stared down at her disapprovingly. Her laughter died away as her breath caught in her throat. Spike didn't realize it, but that was 'the look.' The one that made her bones dissolve until she was a quivering mass of jelly. If jelly could be horny as hell, and twice as seductive.

One hand made it's way inside his jacket to lightly caress his chest through the fabric. The other went to his face, and she ran her thumb over his lower lip and traced the angle of his cheekbone with bright red nail polish. He was so beautiful she couldn't bear it sometimes. Did he really fathom the effect he had on her with those big blue eyes? One type of desire had been replaced by another. Sudden and consuming for pure and powerful. Different, but no less hot. She leaned in close.

"Take me home, Spike. Make me feel good."

As he swept her up in his arms and dashed out the door he whispered, "Your wish is my command."
 
 

~Part: 2~

Willow felt tiny bolts of post-coital electricity zing through her every time Spike's tongue ran over the two puncture wounds on her breast. They were the only marks marring her perfect skin, but she loved them. They declared her bonding to Spike, and as long as they were bonded, the wounds wouldn't go away. In return, he had a thin scar at the base of his throat. Mmm. That felt so wonderful. She could lie here all night and let him lave her with his tongue. A candle-lit bubble bath was no where near as satisfying as a candle-lit cat bath from Spike.

"Remind me again, why don't we do this more often?"

"Because we're just friends, luv," he said in between licks.

She chuckled. "Right. I knew there was a good reason." His long-fingered hand moved up to tweak the nipple of her other breast. Oh Goddess. Even when she was exhausted he could make her purr like a kitten.

"Spike," she whispered. When he looked up from her chest she guided his face towards hers and met his lips in a languid kiss. "Spike, I'm exhausted."

"I know that. Doesn't mean I can't get my own jolies." He waggled his eyebrows at her and she laughed, rolling out from under him. He propped himself against the wall, hands behind his head, completely at ease with his lack of clothing. "So you want to talk about Peaches now?"

The question surprised her. All thoughts of Angel had vanished once Spike put his lips on her bare skin. She wasn't sure what there was to talk about, and told him so.

"Well, aren't you curious as to why he's here in New York? How he happened to be attending the same party as us?"

She did now, but that wasn't what actually concerned her. "Coincidence?" Spike snorted, but she continued. "I think the real question you want to ask me is whether or not I would consider his offer."

He nonchalantly checked his fingernails for dirt. "What offer?"

Willow gnawed on her bottom lip for a moment, and stared at him, waiting for him to end his bluff. When he didn't, she got on her hands and knees and crawled up his body, making sure to rub all the right places on her way. He was studiously ignoring her actions--there was something absolutely fascinating on the ceiling. Willow nibbled her way up his neck, her entrance hovering just above his erect cock.

"Would you prefer we share?" she whispered, nipping at his jaw. With a guttural moan and one swift movement he rolled them over and plunged into her. Normally Spike would let Willow take the lead--everything was up to her. But Goddess, he felt so good. He knew just where to touch her and seemed to touch her everywhere all at once. When Spike made love it was like he had a hundred hands. She might have to rethink the 'friends don't have sex' rule. Well, it's not like they never had sex, but it might become a more frequent occurrence. Especially if he kept moving his hips in those slow circles. She let out a whimper.

"I thought you were tired," he panted unnecessarily.

"I am. We should stop right now." Her face remained neutral, but she couldn't hide the teasing light in her eye. He grinned in return.

"In a minute, luv." He lowered his face for a bruising kiss, stroking the roof of her mouth and sucking on her tongue. She groaned into his mouth as his fingers moved swiftly down her belly. She knew what was coming next, but she was never prepared for it. He drew out of her almost all the way, then slammed back in with a force that nearly shook the entire house. Once, twice, three times, and then he took her clit between his fingers and twisted. With a strangled cry she arched into him, feeling his cool seed spill inside her. Wave after wave of ecstasy pounded over her until she could no longer breathe. When she finally came down off the high, her vision cleared and she saw Spike's head resting against her breast. She ran her fingers through his hair, lightly massaging the scalp. The coolness of his body felt good against her slick, inflamed skin, so when he began to pull away she hugged him close, silently urging him to stay. In a move that defied physics, he had her back pressed against his chest, his softening member still buried deep inside her. It was times like this that she felt whole. With his nose Spike pushed her sweat-plastered hair away and nuzzled the back of her neck until he slipped off to sleep.

Willow had always suspected that the animosity which existed between the two vampires was just a cover for deeper feelings. Their relationship went beyond the traditional Child-Sire dependence. She had been able to see it in every flash of amber eyes, every growl, every antagonizing comment. But then, she'd been watching Angel and Spike a lot longer and a lot closer than anyone suspected. She smiled and hugged the arm that had snaked around her body. If his reaction was any indication, the thought of being with his Sire still carried appeal. What she wouldn't give to see that . . .

Carefully, Willow slipped out of bed. In her absence Spike cuddled up against her pillow, holding it tightly to his body. She made herself a mug of hot chocolate and sat down at the kitchen table, unconcerned by her nakedness. She turned on the computer and logged into her internet account. The first thing she did was check the homepage for Angel Investigations. At least she could answer one of Spike's questions. Angel was in town because he was helping to launch a New York office. The official opening was in a week. Spike wasn't going to like this. He was going to think Angel was butting in on his turf. Their turf, she always had to remind him. After all, one vampire could only do so much. It was the deadly immortal witch by his side that got a lot of the job done.

Willow fingered the bite marks on her breast. Personally, she didn't mind having more help in the fight against evil, providing that those helping were competent enough. She was pretty sure Angel would only surround himself with capable people, but she felt she had to make sure. Plus, it would give her an excuse to see him again. The thought sent chills down her spine. She knew he cared, but she never thought Angel felt that way about her. Everything had always been about Buffy . . .

The day the Hellmouth opened up and swallowed almost everyone she held dear had been the last day she saw him. Fifteen years ago. But that was in the past, in memories she didn't want to recall. It was now, and everything was different. They had all changed, become different people. But they still had a duty.

She went to her own bedroom, where the bed was empty and neatly made, and got dressed. No more fuzzy sweaters and baggy clothes for Willow. Everything she wore was form fitting, good in a fight. Tonight she chose black pants and a stretchy green tee. She grabbed the thigh-length leather duster that Spike insisted she buy. 'Can't fight evil properly with out it,' he claimed. Willow had scoffed at first, but one night she caught her reflection in a store window on a windy night. One billow of the leather around her body and she was in love.

She went across the hall, and was engulfed by the smell of sex and spent passion. Spike woke as soon as she placed her hand on his arm.

"Come on, babe. Let's patrol."
 
 

~Part: 3~

"Willow, luv, do you want to talk?"

"About what?"

Spike shrugged his shoulders. It had been a quiet evening all around. They'd dusted a couple vamps with calm efficiency, and Willow hadn't said more than two words to him. If he thought about it, they hadn't spoken much since the night of the party. Not for lack of trying on his part, that was for sure. She'd been subdued and withdrawn for the past two days, and nothing could bring her out of it. Not the new spellbook, not the daggers they'd picked off that Morling demon last night. And not his gentle touches and verbal cues. She was pulling away as she always did after they made love, chagrined that she'd let herself get so out of control. After only a handful of times over the past fifteen years, the tiny rejection still felt like a knife to the gut. Normally everything would be status quo after a day or so, and he'd have his charming, brilliant, dedicated, beautiful Willow back.

This time was different. He knew it had something to do with Angel. When he spotted his Sire dancing with Willow at the party, he was sure Angel would sweep her into his arms and run off, and Spike would never see her again. Never see either of them again. He'd resigned himself to the fact that Willow would leave him one day. Apart from the occasional shag they'd never gotten past the friendship bit, and after all these years it was doubtful they ever would. He told himself that the only reason she stayed was because of the bond--even if she wasn't in love with him, the bond still joined their bodies and minds. One day she'd find what she was looking for and she would leave him.

He wondered if she'd found it in Angel. Maybe she was trying to figure out how to tell him she was leaving.

"About what? How about what's going on in that bleedin' head of yours?"

"I'm going to see Angel tomorrow."

There. That was it. His shoulders sagged, as if the ton of bricks hovering over his head for so long had finally fallen. He knew she had no obligation to stay with him. She deserved to be with someone she truly loved, someone who made her happy. That didn't make it hurt any less. He loved her, was bonded to her, wanted to spend the rest of his unlife with her. The sudden pain was too much for him to take. He hadn't felt this bad since Drusilla died. Like a little piece of himself had just been torn away.

"I guess that's it then, luv. If you don't mind, I'm going to head home." He didn't wait to see if she had anything else to say, if she looked back at him. He just kept walking, hoping that he didn't burst into tears on the sidewalk like a bloody nancyboy.

(Fifteen years ago)

The town was chaos, awash with demons, some of which he'd never seen before. Literally, Hell on Earth. He found her in the middle of the street beating on some monster using a mace that was twice as big as her head. The demon was beyond dead--it was an unrecognizable, pulpy mess. She kept smashing the weapon over its body, wielded with a strength born of fury.

"Red!" he yelled. None of the other demons and vampires running about had noticed her yet, but that wouldn't last for long. "Red!"

He grabbed her arm, then ducked and fell on his ass as she took a swing that would have knocked his head from his shoulders. She towered over him, mace held high. She was going to kill him. The tiny bookish witch was going to bash his bloody skull in.

"Willow! Snap out of it!" She hesitated as he said her name, and recognition flashed in her eyes. The next thing he knew, she was back at her previous victim. All that was left of him was a large splatter on the center line. She sobbed, bringing the mace down again and again until she was covered in blood and entrails. His warnings and threats went unheeded, and his own nervousness increased as a few demons began sniffing towards them.

"Willow, we have to get out of here now!" She wouldn't stop her beating, so he grabbed the mace with one hand, and wrapped his other arm around her, hefting her over his shoulder. Vampire after vampire fell prey to the lethal swing of the mace as he cleared a path for their escape. When it looked safe enough he tossed the weapon away and held onto Willow with both arms so he could run faster. That was when she began to struggle.

"Xander!" she yelled. "Have to save Xander! And Buffy! Where's Giles?"

"They're dead," he said bluntly. She should know. She'd seen it with her own eyes.

"Buffy! Get to Giles! Have to...." Her sobs and cries dwindled into meaningless babble as her wiggling abated. By the time they'd reached the town limits, her words became more coherent. "All dead," she chanted. "All dead. All dead. Alldeadalldeadalldeadalldead."

After that she went into shellshock--wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep, wouldn't talk, wouldn't move on her own. Angel emerged from the rubble that was Sunnydale shortly after to see that they were okay. He urged Spike to take Willow to LA, but neither Cordelia, Wesley, nor Gunn could do anything for her. It wasn't until the chaos of the Hellmouth began to spread outward before she came around. But she was hollow, broken inside. She wouldn't step outside the building, not even in the middle of the day. When the battle in LA started in earnest, Angel came back, loaded Spike with money, food, and supplies, and shoved Willow into his arms.

"Take her," he said. It was not a suggestion, but a Sire commanding his Childe. "Take her away from here. Keep her safe. Help her heal."

Without a backward glance Spike ran as far away as he could from the Hellmouth. Every once and awhile the Willow he knew would peek through, but it came alongside glimpses of something new, something hard. By the time they reached Ireland she was back in her right mind, and Spike was madly in love. He vowed to her that as long as he walked the earth she would be safe. He hadn't realized then just how seriously she'd taken his promise to heart.

(Present)

Willow watched Spike's retreating back. 'I wonder what that was all about?' Their link through the bond allowed her to sense his emotions, but they were so jumbled up she couldn't make sense of them. The ability faded with distance, and he was already blocks away from her. He seemed upset, but she wasn't sure why. It could have been Angel, but from the look in his eye the other night he'd been anything but angry with his Sire. It must have been her post-sex guilt trip that irked him. And she couldn't blame him. In his shoes she'd feel the same way. She didn't have the words to explain to him the way she felt. Hell, she didn't have the words to explain it to herself.

She loved him. How could you not love a man who had saved you from Hell and certain insanity and then pledged his life to you? He was her constant companion, her best friend. He'd taught her to fight, been her shoulder to cry on when memories of Sunnydale became too much. He was always there for her and she had done nothing to deserve it.

That was why the sex always bothered her afterwards. She didn't want to feel like she was doing it in return for everything he had done for her. He never made her feel that way, never made her think that was the case. That night in Ireland was what started it all.

The bonding ritual required that blood be exchanged during intercourse--specifically, during climax. With sex, he could give her immortality. And so sex and obligation had become hopelessly intertwined in her mind, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't separate them. After fifteen years she didn't know if they could be separated. As much as she thought she loved him, she always had to wonder where her attraction came from. True love, or a sense of duty?

She wanted it to be true love so terribly that it made her ache all the way to her toenails. The bond never felt so strong as when they were laying in each others arms, skin against skin, lips against lips. How many times had she let that happen? Two nights ago would have made eight. Eight times in fifteen years. And not a single lover in between. Her superior brainpower went into overdrive: that was .53 times per year. And every encounter was etched permanently in her memory, replete with sounds, smells, tastes, and sensations. A private pornography collection that would have been well worn out had it been on VHS.

And now, to top it all off, Angel was thrown in the mix. How did she feel about him? And where did that put her feelings for Spike? She would never leave him, but neither could she resist the pull that Angel had on her. It was all she could think about, and after two days she wasn't any closer to an answer. By going to see Angel tomorrow she could kill two demons with one sword: get the inside scoop on Angel's New York team, and maybe find out where she stood with Angel himself. She no longer had the patience to sit around and think so much. After years with an overactive vampire, she wasn't the bookish Research Girl she had once been.
 
 

~Part: 4~

Angel paced back and forth in his hotel room, making a futile attempt to urge the sun to set faster. There were still plans to be made, preparations for the office. He still had to warn the others about Spike. Spike wouldn't appreciate them butting in on his turf, and he might cause some trouble in the form of that antagonizing personality he had developed so scathingly over the years. Willow hadn't put a damper on that.

Willow.

He closed his eyes and took a shaky, unneeded breath. He had heard stories of how Spike had turned her while they were in Europe. In the second he laid his eyes on her he knew it wasn't true. Her blood rushed, barely concealed beneath the milky covering of her skin, her chest rose and fell with each intake of breath. And that human heart had skipped a beat and sped up when her eyes met his. Everything in the periphery blurred, disappeared--all he saw was Willow. She was wearing a black velvet slip dress that molded to her supple curves, accentuating her high breasts and the flare of her hips-- something that Willow never would have worn before. Her hair looked wild, windblown, and dark eyeliner made her eyes appear cat-like. She looked so much different, yet exactly the same. She hadn't aged. And that's when it hit him. She was immortal, but without the vampire side effects. She was bonded to his Childe, alive so long as he was. She belonged to Spike.

Still, that didn't stop him from reaching for her, from pressing her tightly against his body to let her know exactly what he was feeling. Her arousal sang to him, his demon railed against its cage in frustration. He had to have her now. The way she fit in his arms felt right, like he always dreamed about. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, was about to nip playfully at her neck, when awareness of his Childe washed over him. Suddenly Spike was right there, in all his glory. The attitude was back, the cockiness that had attracted Angel to him in the first place on full display.

Two of the most beautiful creatures he had ever known and loved were with him, Spike was eyeing him speculatively, and Willow had yet to move out of his embrace. The heady scent of her desire was clouding his brain, and so he could only attribute his next actions to the influence of Angelus. His fingers moved down to cup Willow's ass.

"Would you prefer we share?"

One last teasing kiss to Willow's fingers and he left before he completely lost control. But the look on Spike's face had been well worth it. For the first time in a hundred years Angel had the last word with his impudent Childe.

Angel glanced at his watch impatiently. There was still five minutes. He sat down on the corner of the king sized bed with a sigh. Seeing Willow and Spike had brought back memories of Sunnydale that he'd rather leave buried. After all these years he still felt as if he had failed somehow, that if he'd done something different they would still be alive. Giles, Xander, Anya, Joyce, Dawn. Buffy.

If he was going to be immersed in the past he might as well think of the one bittersweet memory he had of that time--the night before the Hellmouth opened.

(Fifteen years ago)

They were gathered in the Magic Shop, looking tired, angry, and afraid. But for all their fear they were determined. Somebody had to save the world, they'd faced a Hellmouth-opening before and won. Wincing, Angel fingered the spot where Buffy's sword had pierced his gut. He stayed mostly in the shadows, feeling out of place. These people shared a bond that he was no longer a part of.

"So I guess that's it. We're ready," Xander said, the doubtful tone in his voice belying his words.

Giles began cleaning his glasses in a well worn gesture. "I suggest you all go home and get some rest, and we'll meet back here at sunset tomorrow to go over the final preparations." No one spoke, no one made any move to leave. Finally Anya spoke up.

"If anyone would like, you could all come over to our apartment. We have cable and cupboards of food. And alcohol, too. We could all get very drunk to celebrate the end of the world."

"Anya," Xander scolded, more out of habit that with any real ire.

"Sorry," she whispered. "I don't know why I said that. I'm just very scared and confused and tend to speak before I think. I'm sorry."

Willow laid her hand on the ex-demoness' arm. "It's okay, Anya. We're all scared."

"Yes, and your bluntness can be refreshing. At times." Giles put his glasses back on.

Anya gave them all a tiny smile. "Really? I always thought everyone got so annoyed with me."

"We do--did," Buffy said. "But in an endearing-annoyed sort of way. It grows on you."

Xander put his arm around his girlfriend and pulled her close. "In that case," she said to Buffy, "I always liked the bitchy way you ordered everyone around. It was very admirable."

"Thanks. I think."

"And Willow, your botching of spells, though tending to cause trouble, always provided sources of amusement."

Xander put his hand up to stop Willow's protest. "I think she's trying to give thanks, in her own convoluted way."

After a pause Anya turned to him, taking his hand in hers. "Thank you for loving me, even though I was a demon who tortured men, and never expected to make it as a human. And thank you for letting me love you in return."

Xander hugged her, burying his face in her hair to hide the way his eyes had suddenly watered up. Angel could smell his tears. There were a few more sniffles around the table.

Willow began to speak, in that steamroller way she had. Hesitant to start, and on to full-out babble. "All my life I've felt out of place. I mean, I was the only girl I knew who could hack into the FBI databases before I could drive a car, or who had read Faust in the original German, or who could take care of herself when she was seven because her parents were always gone." Angel was sure she was the only girl he knew who had hacked into the FBI or read Faust, period. "Then I met you guys, and it didn't matter anymore that I was different, because I finally found a place where I belonged. You're all my family, even Oz, and Cordelia, and Mrs. Calendar, and . . .everyone else. Even Spike, where ever he is. My big, part-human, non-Jewish family." The somber mood was lightened by her timid, but brilliant smile. "I just thought you should all know."

Buffy cleared her throat. "Well, I guess I should let you know that I owe my life to you guys." They began to protest, but she continued. "We all know Slayers don't last too long. If it wasn't for your support, and everything else you've done to help me, I really don't think I'd be here. So I thank you for being my friends even though just knowing me puts your life in danger every day. You don't know how much it means to me." She looked at her lap and began playing with her fingers, unused to such heartfelt sentiment.

"For letting me be part of the team," Xander said. 'That's what I'd thank you for. I don't have any special powers, physical, magical, or otherwise, I don't have any special knowledge, but hey, I wield a mean two by four." Angel even found himself smiling with the rest of them.

Giles cleared his throat. "Ah, like Willow, I consider all of you my family. And as a Watcher a family is a rare occurrence. Even more rare is a group of individuals who come together as a team to fight the forces of evil with talent, and courage, and determination. You are all Slayers, and heroes in your own way. I have never been more proud as I am right now."

As Angel watched and listened, he couldn't help but feel that they were confessing, saying all those things that should be said to the people you love. In case they didn't get another chance. In case they didn't make it through this. A single tear rolled down his cheek. There were so many things he could tell these people, about how strong they were, how loyal, how much they radiated life despite all the death they'd seen. He had never thanked Buffy for caring for him, even though it was her duty to kill him. He had never thanked Giles for trusting him, never thanked Willow for giving him back his soul, for bringing him out of hell, for always being kind.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't realize they were leaving, going to meet up at Xander and Anya's apartment to spend one last night together as the Scooby Gang. Willow was peering up at him with her luminous green eyes.

"Angel? Are you okay?" On the eve of destruction, she was still more concerned about others than about herself. Willow was so selfless, she would never know how much she meant unless someone told her. He took her hand, and led her to the training room, prompting her to sit down.

"Willow, you've done more for me in these few years than anyone has done in my lifetime." He watched her eyes grow rounder, searching for the right words. He was as bad at this as Buffy was. "You-you gave me back my soul. You rescued me from the depths of hell. I don't know how to thank you for that. I don't know if there is a way to thank you. What you've done, who you are . . ."

"Angel, I understand--"

"No, let me finish. When my soul was gone, and Angelus was free, he was obsessed with you. Drawn to your innocence, your purity. He wanted to turn you, so he harassed you, tormented you, waiting for you to give in. But you never did. When he realized how strong you were, something changed. He respected you, Willow. He even loved you in his own demon way."

She stared at him in wonder as he knelt before her, taking her hand to emphasize his next point. "You are the only thing that me and him agree upon."

It took her nearly a full minute to absorb the meaning behind his words. "But Buffy," she gasped.

"Was never meant to be," he insisted. "A Slayer and a vampire goes against the laws of nature. I do love Buffy, and I always will. But my demon hates her. I can only love her with half of myself. I can be whole with you."

The emotions flickering across her face were almost too fast for him to catch. Disbelief, wonder, fear, more disbelief. He let his head fall to her knee.

"What can I do to thank you, Willow?" he whispered against her denim-encased thigh. He almost died again at the shock of her slim fingers running through his hair. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"You could have told me before the end of the world," she smiled ruefully, sniffling. Then his shock turned to astonishment as she threw her arms around his neck. "Oh, Angel. You don't owe me any thanks. Friends just do things for other friends."

"But what you did for me-"

"Wasn't in exchange for anything. I did it to save the world from Angelus, to help Buffy, to end your suffering. Having you back is thanks enough."

She really had no idea how precious she was. Slowly, so as not to startle her, Angel turned his head and pressed a chaste kiss against her lips. When he pulled back the tension between them was so great he could have plucked at it with his fingers. She was flushed, both with passion and embarrassment. And she had never looked so beautiful.

"When I came back from hell I had your face in my mind, the face of my savior. I was looking for you. Sometimes I wonder if Buffy hadn't found me first . . ."

She pressed her fingers to his lips, and he felt the fine tremor running through her. "Ssh. You're going to strain your vocal cords. I've never heard you talk so much." Then she laughed at him, breaking the tension. "So, um, did you want to come with us?"

He shook his head. He had to run back to LA and make his own last minute preparations.

"Nobody should be alone on a night like this," she whispered.

"I'll be back tomorrow. Be with your friends now. And Willow?" She looked into his eyes, getting flustered all over again when he placed his forehead against hers. "We'll make it through this."
 
 

~Part: 5~

(Present)

The minute the sun was safely hidden beneath the horizon he was outside, weaving through the sidewalk crowd, breathing in the crisp autumn air. LA was so warm year- round that he always felt more-than-usually frosty. People noticed when he didn't sweat in the 100 degree heat. But in New York during the fall the air was slightly cool, just like him.

The warehouse he'd bought for the new business was across town, and the farther he walked, the thinner the crowd got. Wrapped in memories of Willow, past and present, he didn't notice he was being followed until he reached his destination. Something prickled the back of his neck as he unlocked the back door. Turning, he immediately spotted the figure across the street. The person seemed to be staring at him, waiting for something. Whoever it was, was wearing a cloak with a deep hood to hide their face.

Angel cocked his head. This person didn't seem to be a threat. Small, slender, no smell, no heartbeat, but there was something . . . Willow, he thought. It must have shown on his face because she pulled the hood back from her head and smiled at him. Gods, she looked like a genuine druid priestess.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out. Actually, I was wondering when you were going to sense my presence. I've been following you since the hotel. Losing your touch?" she teased.

Touch. Touching Willow. So soft, supple, swaying in his arms. Wanting him. "You really think?" he purred. Then the rest of her words filtered into his awareness, and he quashed the surge of lust. "How did you know where I was staying?"

"I didn't," she answered, taking a page right out of his how-to-be-cryptic guidebook.

He sniffed again, frowning. "Willow--your heart . . ."

"What? This old thing?" she laughed. "Don't worry. It's only spells to cover up my heartbeat, the smell of my blood, and the sound of my breathing, etcetera. This isn't exactly the best neighborhood. I might as well have a billboard saying 'I'm human, eat me' plastered to my back."

Her words sent a shot of electricity straight to his cock. Get yourself under control for God's sake, he thought. She's standing all the way across the street talking about getting killed by monsters and you're itching to bury your head between her thighs. Get a grip.

From what he could sense, she was completely dead. No wonder he hadn't known she was there before. "They must be powerful spells."

She gave him a grin that said, 'I'm powerful' before she stepped off the curb and sauntered towards him. Maybe she could teach him a spell that would hide the prominent bulge in his pants. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his duster and brought them together, effectively closing it. He chose to ignore her knowing smirk and said, "So what brings you to my neck of the woods." Idiot. She followed you here.

"I came to inspect your team. See what I'll be working with. If I can work with them."

Angel refused to show the pang of disappointment that he felt inside. So she had come to see his new employees. Not him. He wondered if he should say something about the other night, apologize for being so forward, for running off the way he did, but her hand was on the doorknob.

"Shall we?" she asked, opening the unlocked door for him. He walked into the inky blackness, trying to remember where the light switch was. Now he'd gone too far, and turned around. There should be a pull cord right around . . .

Willow bumped into his chest with a startled "Oof." Her fingers came up to run over his chest and he tensed. It would be so easy to put his arms around her, to lower his mouth to her sweet lips. To feel her respond beneath his fingers. He realized he had no idea what she was feeling because she still had her spells up. There was no way she could miss the erection he was sporting. Her stomach brushed against it every time she inhaled.

His arm jerked down and they were bathed in light from a single bare bulb. In her eyes he saw lust, but also sadness and a little built of guilt. She looked away.

"Sorry. Immortal body, mortal eyesight." She backed away, waiting for him to lead her inside. He wanted to know what was wrong, how he could fix it. What had she been doing for the past fifteen years besides creating legends of a warrior witch? Was she happy? Could he make her happy? It all came back to one thing: she belonged to someone else--he had no right.

In awkward silence he led her down the hallway and into the storage room turned library. Through another door into the main office, up a spiral staircase into the training room. Everyone was there.

"How did you know they would be here?"

"Same way I knew where you were." Again with the cryptic. Then all playfulness disappeared and she looked at him plainly. "It's really good to see you, Angel." She buried her nose in his chest. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." He shut his eyes, reveling in the feel of her. She was the only thing that ever made him feel whole. In his wildest dreams they were like this, wrapped in each other forever. He tightened his hold on her to make sure she was real, and to his delight she clung back. "It's been too long."

"We have eternity to catch up." Literally. She pulled back only slightly to wipe a tear from her cheek and gave him a pure Willow smile. No attitude, no double entendres, no mystery. Just guileless happiness.

"Hey Boss. Who's the minx?" Angel turned toward the voice, forgetting they had company. Sean and Mac were on the mats, training momentarily paused, Penelope stood by observing, a heavy book propped in the crook of her elbow, and Seth huddled in the corner, watching them over the screen of his laptop.

The change that came over Willow's face was startling in its swiftness. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and a cold statement played over her face. He would have been concerned at the sudden change if it wasn't for the squeeze she gave to their interlaced fingers. Just a mask to get down to business. He understood.

Angel introduced each of them in turn. "This is Penelope, she was a Watcher-in- training before quitting the Council. Over there is Sean, he's a warlock, beside him is Mac, our resident demon. That's Seth in the corner. He's good with computers. Very good." He didn't know how they would feel about his disclosures, but Willow's purpose here was to find out about them. What were they going to do about it anyway?

Willow smiled wryly. "A Watcher, a demon, a witch, and a hacker. Tried and true formula."

Angel shrugged. "If it ain't broke, don't fix it." It sounded strange even to his ears. Not the kind of thing he normally said. It was enough to make Willow giggle softly, her hard features dissolving briefly. He looked back to the room full of curious people.

"This is Willow."

The mere mention of her name got reactions from all of them. Everyone knew about Spike and Willow. Immortal lovers, unstoppable demon slayers, the legends themselves were legendary in their scope and extravagance. Nothing had prepared them for the slip of a girl that stood before them, looking harmless in her flowing blue cloak.

After all, she had just giggled.

Penelope was studying her intensely, while Seth twitched nervously and refused to look at her. Mac was suitably impressed. It was Sean who actually spoke up, doubt marring his features.

"This is Willow? But Boss, she's so . . . small."

Willow released Angel's hand so she could cross her arms over her chest. "I don't need to be big when I could use the magic in my fingernail to throw you across the room."

Angel tried to suppress his grin and failed. Sean saw it and bristled. "Is that a challenge?" He was too cocky for his own good, and didn't like to be shown up. He reminded Angel of Spike in that way. He watched as Willow let her cloak slip to the floor. His eyes feasted on the exposed skin of her midriff and, dear God, leather pants. He caught the brow that Penelope arched at him. Was his desire really that obvious, or was it just a woman thing?

Sean and Willow squared off in the center of the room. "Be careful, Boy," he warned sincerely. Sean was good, but Willow had a few years of experience on him, and a healthy dose of actual magic instruction from some of the most accomplished Wicca in the world. He didn't stand a chance. At best he could surprise her a few times before she beat him to the mat.

It was over in less than ten minutes. Willow puffed at some hair that had fallen into her eyes and held out her hand. "Good fight," she said, hoisting Sean to his feet.

Unlike Spike, Sean knew when he had been beat. He grinned, doubt permanently erased. "Yeah. Next time don't hold back on me."

She smiled briefly, then straightened, all business. Her tone was firm. "Mac. What do you do?"

"I fight," he shrugged.

"Do you fight well?"

"That depends on your concept of 'well'."

A smirk curved the corners of her mouth. "Well enough to take me."

"You were just fighting. I'll let you rest for awhile before finding out."

"I doubt the vamp on the street trying to bite my neck would offer the same courtesy."

He shrugged again, and took Sean's place across from her. Angel leaned against the railing to watch them fight. The Willow he remembered had preferred to spray vamps with holy water from a safe distance, and was squeamish holding her own stake. In the past fifteen years this Willow had learned to use her body to fight, a deadly honed weapon. Her style was reminiscent of Buffy, only quicker and with less flair to create efficiency. Spike had taught her well.

Sean landed a blow to her shoulder that pushed her to the side. She slugged him in the jaw and he countered with a roundhouse kick, but she ducked and swept his feet out from under him. As they traded blows Angel noted the graceful way she moved. Her kicks, spins, jabs, and flips were effortless, but precise. Awkward Willow was no more. She often used Mac's own strength against him, sending him sprawling with his own momentum. He quickly caught on and revised his tactics. Brute strength wasn't going to work against Willow.

Angel winced anytime Mac landed a particularly vicious blow. He had to keep telling himself that he wasn't really hurting her--she was Immortal. Any welts on her perfect skin would bruise and heal within hours. Suddenly Mac caught her in the back with his boot and she went flying, smashing into the wall. One of the wood panels splintered on impact. In a second Angel was on his feet, demon roaring, and a menacing growl deep in his chest. While the others looked at him sharply, Willow paid him no heed. She was on her feet with a maniac grin, charging her opponent. At the last possible second she veered to the right and jumped, lashing out with her left heel. Her jumpkick caught Mac on the side of the head with a satisfying 'thunk' and Angel was able to calm himself to some degree. She was all right. She even seemed in her element.

Soon, a fine sheen of perspiration appeared on her skin, and Mac faltered in midswing. Willow's blow sent him sprawling on his ass, but he made no move to counter or defend himself. He just looked at her curiously.

"I thought you were a vampire."

"And vampires d-d-don't sweat," informed Seth from the corner. His nose was buried in the laptop, looking for all the world like he hadn't even been paying attention.

"What made you think that?"

"Spike's a vampire," answered Sean inanely.

"And the sky is blue and the earth is round. What's your point?"

"The way you fight," said Mac. "That one blow would have killed a human."

Penelope spoke up for the first time, her voice crisp and without an accent of any sort if that was possible. "And with a few exceptions," she said, glancing at Angel, "vampires rarely tend to keep company with mortals."

"I'm not a vampire. But I never said I was a mortal." This time even Seth stopped to stare at her. She never gave them the opportunity to comment on her revelation.

"Watcher. Penelope," Willow corrected, softening her voice from severe to slightly less severe. "Trained to be a Watcher. I trust you know enough about the occult to guide the others."

"That depends on your concept of 'enough'," she intoned dryly.

Willow stared at her for a moment, and then burst into laughter. Angel watched her shoulders shake with glee, and walked over to hand her a towel. "I like them," she confessed as she toweled off her body. His mind was preoccupied with other, more creative ways to clean her skin. Like with his tongue.

"You guys head on home now. I'll see you tomorrow."

They said their good-byes, and Willow frowned as Seth scurried past, making a wide arc around her and Angel.

"What's his story?"

Angel answered quickly, trying to stop his roving eyes and failing miserably. "Paranoid schizophrenic. Very mild. Won't take any medications. Says neuroleptics are laced with mind control drugs." Her chest was still heaving from exertion, a flush splayed over the tops of her breasts.

"How did he get to be a computer whiz?"

"Don't know. He just got out of jail for hacking into some important database." Down her side, where the soft looking leather bit into her waist. Those damn leather pants were so tight he had come to realize that she wasn't wearing any underwear.

"Do you remember which one?"

He couldn't hold it in anymore. "Willow, I could think of so many other things to do with that mouth." Her gasp of surprise was quickly swallowed as his mouth descended on hers. Fifteen years he'd waited for this. Waited for the way she moaned when he cupped her ass and pressed her against his arousal. Waited for the feel of her tongue sliding against his as he took advantage of her moan to slip his tongue past the barrier of her lips. Waited for the way she melted against him, fists in his hair to keep his mouth locked to hers. His hands skimmed up her back, under her shirt. The thumbs came around to graze the undersides of her breasts, and she arched into him, wrapping one leather-encased leg around his thigh. His tongue battled with hers, sucking, stroking, playing over her blunt teeth. But there was something missing, something essentially Willow.

"The spells," he gasped. "Willow, you have no taste."

Any minute now he would be immersed in pure Willow: her scent, her taste, the sound of her blood whooshing through her veins. But it never happened. She pulled away and put her fingers to her kiss-swollen lips, looking as if she'd violated the Ten Commandments and committed the seven deadly sins all at once. The pain was so great he thought his unbeating heart was literally breaking into a thousand pieces. He looked at her with imploring eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I can't do this."

Of course she couldn't. Willow was loyal to the end. No way she could betray her bond-mate, and with his own Sire no less.

"I should go."

"Willow, wait." He grabbed her arm before she could flee. "Please stay. Talk to me." The fact that she didn't shake off his arm was not taken lightly. "If I promise to keep my hands off you, will you stay?"

She smiled at the ground, shaking her head. "It's not that. It's . . . it's so many other things. It's Spike."

"Spike is just one thing."

"Spike's complicated." Well, he couldn't argue with her there. She looked at him with bright eyes. "Angel, please. I can't talk about this right now."

He let her go. "All right. But I'm here if you need me."

"We have eternity, remember?"

He nodded and watched her disappear down the stairs, a moment later the back door shut with a soft click and he was left alone. Yes, they had eternity.

Angel didn't think he could wait that long.
 
 

~Part: 6~

When Willow got home, the house was empty. She had left before Spike was up, and he hadn't waited for her to come back. He must be really mad at me, she thought, collapsing on the couch with a groan. Just one more thing to worry about on top of all her other problems. Well, it wasn't really like she had a lot of problems. She had two. Spike. And Angel.

She pressed her fingers to her lips, replaying the kiss in her mind, the shattered look on Angel's face when she pulled away. He couldn't have looked more pained if she had plunged her hand into his chest and ripped out his heart. She finally let her tears fall, catching them in her cupped palms as she rested her head in her hands. She loved Spike. She would never leave him unless he told her to, and even then she would make it a good fight. She didn't want to leave him, had know that years ago when she asked him for the bond. But she couldn't ignore the place that Angel had in her heart. For years she dreamed of that night in the Magic Shop when Angel confessed his feelings. He had Buffy. Beautiful, strong, courageous Buffy. He could have had anyone. And he chose her. It was something her lonely heart did not take lightly. She had learned to come to terms with her lust for him, but after fifteen years she thought his feelings might have faded. After all, he made no move to contact her once the Hellmouth was under control again.

She was completely unprepared for the magnitude of his desire, for the way his eyes devoured her very soul.

Exhaustion overcame her, and she let her eyes slip shut. Just to get away for a little while, forget about her worries in a sleepy oblivion. So when the nightmare reared its ugly head, she didn't have a chance.

(Fifteen years ago)

There were vampires everywhere. Buffy was shouting, telling them not to split up. A clammy hand touched her shoulder but immediately pulled away with a hiss of burnt flesh. The vamp stared at her in confusion and she took the opportunity to let loose a stake from her crossbow. As he vanished before her eyes, she thought what a good idea it had been to bathe in holy water the night before. Willow had even gone so far as to drink a gallon of the stuff. As long as none of them touched Angel, it was okay. Everyone seemed to be running around her, shouting, there was so much blood. In the real past Willow knew that she had fought alongside her friends just as vigorously, but here in the dreamscape of nightmares she stood by and watched her friends die.

Giles was the first to go down. A large vamp with a club came up behind him and took out his knees. He fell face first to the ground after repeated blows to the back. He was grasping for his crossbow, inches away, when another vampire set his boot down on reaching fingers. Giles cried out and tried to roll away when he was met in the gut with another swift kick. A slimy looking demon pushed the others away and sat on Giles' back. With undisguised glee he wrenched the Watcher's arm back until the joint dislocated with a sickening pop. Giles' screams covered up the sound of the other arm as it was broken. Some of the previous vamps joined in, and they methodically broke every bone they could think of. Giles' cries abruptly ceased as he passed out from the pain, and without the sound of agony, the monsters soon grew tired of their game. The demon hauled the Watcher to his feet and twisted his neck, letting him fall in a tangled, boneless heap.

Buffy was fighting a demon that brandished a sword as long as she was tall. She was holding her own, getting in quick jabs with her own sword and avoiding, rather than meeting his powerful swings. Anya suddenly ran up behind and plunged a dagger into the demon's back. With a roar he threw back his arm and knocked the girl to the ground. At the same time, Buffy was jumped by three vampires and she was too busy dispatching them to notice Anya. The ex-demon scrambled backwards on her butt, trying to get enough distance between them so that she could get up and run. The demon was just too fast. She turned and was about to dash away when his sword caught her, slicing clean through her middle. Her disembodied legs remained standing for a moment, and then toppled to the ground. With horror, Willow realized that the rest of Anya was still alive. Her jaw was working soundlessly, opening and closing like a fish while blood leaked out between her lips.

"Anya!" Xander screamed, running to her side. He put his own bloodied hand to the side of her face and began to weep. "Anya, no!" Then the demon pounced on him as well, skewering Xander with his heavy sword. It was embedded so deeply in the earth that he decided to leave it, and lumbered off to find other quarry. Xander gripped the hilt of the sword as if he could pull it out himself, but only succeeded in aggravating the wound. He grabbed the supersoaker full of holy water that was strapped to his thigh and began spraying approaching vamps. Enraged, the finally knocked it from his hands and began a danse macabre over his helpless figure. Where skin could not touch skin, feet worked just as well, and they slowly crushed him under their triumphant jumping. Just before a boot descended toward his head, he turned his face to look at Willow with bloody eyes. And then he was no more.

Buffy methodically dusted vamp after vamp. Their numbers seemed endless, but she fought on, never tiring. When one died, another would step forward from the surrounding circle to take its place. As if on some unspoken cue, they all lunged, fifty, a hundred vampires. Her tiny body was subsumed under their mass as they ripped her limb from limb, uncaring of the holy water burns so long as they got a shot at the Slayer. They could have done it at any time. They were only playing with her.

And now they were coming for Willow, cold hands grabbing at her. She didn't want to die. Not like this. She tried to run, but they were holding her. She started to scream.
 
 

~Part: 7~

"Luv, wake up!" With difficulty, Spike pinned her thrashing limbs and tried to rouse her from her nightmare. He'd felt her turmoil from a mile away, and the frightened whimpers that had greeted him when he finally got home had turned into full throated screams of agony.

"Willow. Willow!"

She gasped, bolting upright with eyes full of fear. She fought him for a second until she realized she was awake. He didn't have to ask what she was dreaming about. Willow was only scared of one thing, only ever had nightmares about one thing.

Sunnydale.

She threw herself into his arms, gasping for air and sobbing in fright, unable to speak. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her in an embrace that would have crushed an ordinary human. But his Willow was far from ordinary, and she was in pain. He smoothed her hair and whispered soothing words as she wept and trembled against him.

"Ssh. You'll be okay luv, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." He didn't say, 'it's just a dream' because it wasn't just a dream. It was a memory of actual events. She sobbed uncontrollably, clutching his leather-encased arms so hard that her nails began to bend back. "You're safe now," he said as the pressure on his arms began to border on painful.

She shook her head vehemently. When she opened her mouth to explain, all that came out was a choked sob. He held her tightly and continued to babble soothing nonsense in her ear. Once she had calmed somewhat, Spike lifted her and took her to her own bed. It was a shame that they'd never made love in this bed. In his bed, yes. On the kitchen floor, in his Desoto, in a back alley, yes. But never in her own bed.

He wasn't sure what to do. Sometimes after a nightmare she wanted him to stay, but more often she asked him to leave her alone. Willow hated looking weak. He fully expected her to want him to leave, so when he set her down on the bed and stepped back her response startled him. She jumped to her knees, clutching his waist.

"Please don't leave me. Spike, tell me you'll never leave me." He sank down to the bed beside her, his heart so full he thought it might burst. "Please, tell me it's not the bond. You'll stay because you love me, not because you have to."

He was completely flabbergasted. If this girl thought he didn't love her after all this time then she had a skull thicker than a bank vault.

"Cor, luv. Of course I have to." When she looked at him with her wide green eyes, he quickly elaborated. "I have to, because I love you. I love you more than I ever thought possible. I don't think I could bloody well go on without you. I don't think I'd want to."

She smiled, wiping the tears from her cheeks with shaky hands. That's when something odd hit him. Willow didn't smell like herself. In fact, she didn't have any smell, except for a faint trace of cinnamon that he knew could only belong to one person. And smell wasn't the only thing. She had no heartbeat, he couldn't hear the air in her lungs, the blood pumping under her skin. Bloody hell . . .

He jumped up from the bed. "He turned you! I'll kill him, that bloody wanker. I'll stake his hands and feet to the ground and then slowly remove all his entrails while he watches." Spike was seeing red. Angel always thought he could take away everything that was Spike's, which now included Willow. This time he had gone too far. She was already immortal, why did he have to lay this curse on her? He stormed around the room, yelling and knocking things over. He didn't notice Willow pulling on his arm. The anger that he felt when Angel had stolen Dru from him was nothing compared to this murderous rage. He needed to kill something. He needed to kill something now. Preferably his Sire.

And if Angel was now Willow's Sire, then why had she come home to him? Had Angel turned her and then abandoned her? How could he do that to Willow? To his Willow? The bastard was more cruel than he ever imagined.

"I'll kill him," he muttered over and over again. He would find Angel and eat out his heart. If it took him days and he had to search every building and back alley and sewer in New York he'd find him.

Willow watched, helpless, as Spike flew into the night. Stupid vampire, always jumping to conclusions, and he'd run off just after promising not to leave her. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to cry or laugh. Spike loved her, he really did. Didn't want to live without her. He had also just convinced himself that Angel had turned her into a vampire, and was at this very moment planning his Sire's demise. In the meantime, who knows how many people would get in his way and fall prey to his anger. Spike hadn't killed a human since before getting the chip. As far as the demon world was concerned, Spike still had the chip and couldn't kill humans. In reality the chip had been removed before the Hellmouth opened. He'd been in Russia having it removed and had returned to Sunnydale to gloat, only to find the entire town in chaos and the Slayer and her group dead. All but one firey redhead. They kept it hidden--the element of surprise, Spike always said. She'd been surprised herself. Spike cursed that damn chip every day it was embedded in his brain, always fantasizing about what he would do when he got it out. Screaming from the rooftops that he was back and badder than ever was high on that list.

She wondered if she should go after him, but the spell and the nightmare had left her weak, still suffering from small aftershocks of terror. She was in no condition to be running after a homocidal vampire. The least she could do was warn Angel. She got up to look for a phonebook.

Stupid vampire. He knew she used glamour spells. Not often, because the ones she used lasted a full twenty-four hours and left her tired. Especially when she was using half a dozen at a time. Still, he should have realized . . .

Willow found the number for the hotel and dialed quickly. "Hello. I'm calling for Angel Conneley, but I don't know which room he's in. Yes. Thank you."

The phone rang ten times before the desk clerk came back on the line. "I'm sorry Miss, but he doesn't seem to be in his room. May I take a message?"

"Tell him his childe is on the warpath."
 
 

~Part: 8~

Spike stalked the streets of New York, oblivious to anything around him. He could sense his Sire's presence somewhere out there, but had yet to pinpoint his location. Suddenly he found himself surrounded by a gang of vamps. He pinned them all with his murderous gaze and growled, and they scattered as he swept past. The hissed "That was Spike!", "Willow can't be far behind," and "Let's get out of here," that he left in his wake didn't reach his ears. He was more angry than he could ever remember being. More angry than when Angelus had become Angel and abandoned them, more angry than when he'd stolen Druscilla, more angry than when he'd become chipped. Willow had never wanted to be a vampire. She'd made than clear to him years ago.

(Thirteen years ago--Ireland)

Willow squealed with glee as the colors whirling before her cleared to form a window in mid-air. Through it she could see another clearing almost a mile away, where Tadgh was peacefully writing in his journal.

"Oooh, Spike! Look!"

He stepped up to her side, peering at the result of the incantation.

"I did it! I can't believe it!"

He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed affectionately. "I knew you could do it, luv."

As Maeve came to stand on her other side Willow straightened, trying to compose herself. Spike could still see the happiness below the surface, shining through her eyes, waiting to break through. She looked up at her teacher hesitantly, a worry line marring her smooth brow. Maeve was an imposing woman who even managed to intimidate Spike a time or two. Right now she was staring down at Willow, her blue eyes, aquiline nose and generous mouth giving away no emotion. Then her face softened, lips curving into a smile. She waved her hand in front of the window and it dissolved.

"Very good, Willow. You have passed the first test."

Unable to contain her enthusiasm, she jumped up and hugged her mentor, then turned her vise-like grip on Spike. He tried to find some purchase on the grass but lost his balance anyway. He landed on his butt, Willow sprawled on top of him, still laughing. He couldn't stop the grin from spreading over his face. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her so happy, so alive.

"You have the rest of the night off in reward, Willow. We'll resume your training tomorrow."

Willow was up in a flash, tugging Spike off the ground. "Thanks Maeve. C'mon Spike. Time to celebrate!"

She dragged him to the nearest pub, which was still quite a ways, and demanded dancing music. He felt silly at first, swinging wildly around the floor while the rest of the patrons stared at them with amusement. With the traditional Irish good spirit, everyone eventually joined in and turned the pub into a racous dance hall. Willow got drunk and kept moving the furniture around, much to the chagrin of anyone who absently went to sit down only to find themselves flat on their back. When Spike began to feel himself getting dizzy he knew it was time to go.

He hefted her over his shoulder and left to a roomful of hearty goodbyes. Willow wouldn't stop giggling and demanding to be put down. Her slurred, "I'll turn you into a toad, you big mean vampire," had no effect, so she resorted to playing dirty. She pinched his ass hard enough to leave a bruise.

Spike yelled out, almost dropping her. She wiggled out of his grasp and shuffled away as fast as she could. "I'll get you for that, Red. Wasn't very nice." He caught up to her quickly, but not without a few stumbles of his own. After all, he was pretty buzzed. He grabbed her around the waist, dragging her to the soft ground while he tickled her mercilessly.

"Spike! Spike stop! I swear, I'll--ah!" Soon she was gasping for breath, tears running down her cheeks. His fingers stopped their torture, but he remained hovering over her. He dug his fingers into the damp earth to resist the urge to lower himself, press his body against the length of hers. The fact that she was flushed and panting and looking like she'd just been thourougly fucked did nothing to get his mind off the idea of sex. The warmth was coming off her body in waves, heating his cool skin. He stared down at her, at her lips that were glistening and parted, just begging to be kissed. Blood was the farthest thing from his mind, especially since it was all rushing from his brain to his cock. As evil as he was reputed to be, he still couldn't bring himself to take advantage of her drunken state.

Willow made a motion with her hands and a small ball of light appeared in her palm. She brought it up to their faces.

"Can't see you're face. Whatcha thinking?"

He may not have let himself take advantage of her, but that certainly didn't stop him from teasing. "I was thinking that for that little stunt you pulled back there, you deserve a good spanking. Tit for tat."

Her eyes widened in surprise. Years later she was to confirm that the spark that suddenly appeared in her green eyes was raging lust, but not knowing her well enough, he thought it might be fear. He smirked and rolled away to lay beside her. "Just teasing, luv. You might turn me into a pig or something."

"To late for that, don't you think?" He made a motion to tickle her again, but she rolled away. "Sorry. Truce! Truce!"

"Fine. Truce."

She eyed him warily but crawled back beside him anyway. Her hand went to her forehead. "Ooh, Spike. Everything's all spinny."

He snaked his hand around behind her back without her notice. "That's because you're sloshed, luv. Concentrate on something else. Get your mind off it."

"And how am I supposed to do--OW!" she screeched, tumbling away. He couldn't help but laugh at the pouty statement on her face as she rubbed her bottom.

"You pinched me," she said, sticking out her lower lip. "We had a truce."

"All's fair in love and war, pet. After all, I am a big mean vampire." He crossed his arms behind his head and stretched out leisurely on the grass. In his fantasies they were like this, rolling around in a secluded clearing. Sometimes he would let Willow win the wrestling match, and she'd be straddling his hips, leaning down to press her soft lips against his. Sometimes he would pin Willow beneath him, undulating and wanton she would throw back her head and say . . .

"Bite me, Spike."

Not realizing they'd been closed, he opened his eyes and focused on Willow. She was smirking at him, fingering the collar of her shirt, and he wondered if his dreams were about to come true. He shifted so she wouldn't notice his burgeoning erection and smirked back at her.

"Not the wisest thing to say to a vampire."

"Not saying it to the wisest vampire," she slurred. Before he could retaliate he noticed an evil gleam in her eyes. "You're lucky that I like you, Spike. I could just use my magic, and . . ."

"And what? Float me in the air like a pencil?" So the little witch had some bite in her after all. This could be interesting.

"I could!"

"I'm sure you could do much better."

Instead of a compliment, she took it as a challenge. "You know, I've been reading ahead. I know a lot more than what Maeve has taught me." Her face scrunched up as she tried to concentrate through the alcoholic haze.

"I could turn you into a fuzzy bunny. A fuzzy bunny with cute little bunny fangs! But then you'd go around biting other bunnies. That's no good. Could I have a bunny, Spike? One with those big floppy ears? I'd call him Spike Junior 'cause he'd be cute just like you." She giggled, sprawling to the ground a few feet away.

Spike snorted. "Not cute." Babies were cute, and fuzzy bunnies. But he was a big bad vampire. He was dangerous, and evil, and manly, and powerful, and--

Before he could react, Willow's weight had settled on top of him, her thighs pressed against his ribcage. The swiftness of her movement made him wonder just how drunk she really was. She placed her hands flat on his chest.

"Aww. Look at the wittle Spikey. He's so cuuuuuuuute!" With each word she leaned closer to him, and he had to fight the urge to grab her hands and put them where he really wanted them. On his painfully hard cock. When her face was just inches away, she rubbed her nose against his, and then started to giggle drunkenly again. She swayed to the side, but Spike grabbed her hips, holding her firmly in place.

Despite the fact that it took all his will power to keep his hands from straying up her torso to the firm breasts she was practically pushing in his face, he sighed and said, "Better get you home, luv."

She moved her hands up to his shoulders and nuzzled her face in the crook of his neck. "I am home."

He immediately stiffened. If she meant what he thought she did . . . Emotions rushed through him. Doubt, hope, wonder at the trust she placed in him, confusion, love. He groaned to himself. Falling for a human again. Don't get your hopes too high mate, remember what happenned the last time.

"You want to stay in Ireland, then?"

She was looking at him again, green eyes practically glowing in the faint moonlight. She suddenly looked every bit the powerful wiccan goddess that she was destined to be.

"That's not what I meant, Spike."

Are you sure you're drunk? is what he wanted to ask, but it seemed inappropriate for the suddenly serious mood. Instead he said, "Then you better explain, luv."

The illusion of power rippled and disappeared as her lower lip trembled. "I don't want to be alone."

Spike brushed an errant strand of hair from her face and frowned. Who was going to be alone? He sure as hell wasn't going anywhere. Especially after having a taste of her delectable body pressed so intimately against his. And if she knew what he was thinking about at this very moment she'd turn him into one of those fang-bunnies she was mumbling about earlier. The alcohol was clouding his brain, derailing his train of thought. She must have sensed it, because she repeated herself.

"I don't want to be alone, Spike." Then she added, "Ever."

The gravity of her statement sunk in, and it was such a shock that he jerked upright, sending her sprawling to the ground. Fantasies of licking every inch of her skin were suddenly forgotten. He wouldn't do it. He couldn't. He wanted Willow with her soul, her warmth, her clinging innocence. He wanted to hear the reassuring thud of her heart in her chest, feel her breath against his face.

"I won't turn you," he insisted bluntly.

She made a face. "I don't want to be a vampire. No offence."

"Well then how . . . Pet, I'm completely lost here."

"Well, you know how I said I had been reading ahead? I got ahold of an old Watcher's Diary, and . . . I have a little favor to ask."
 
 

~Part: 9~

Angel ran his finger around the rim of his whiskey glass. He was trying, and failing miserably, not to brood. It was something Willow and Spike would have expected, but for those who had been with him for the past few years, they knew it was a behavior he seldom engaged in anymore. He was done feeling guilty for the things that he had done in the past, things that were now out of his control. And he was done feeling guilty with the present. Like his feelings for Willow. If she wanted to be with him, that was wonderful, and if she didn't, he'd deal with it. But he wouldn't deny how he felt, not to her, not to himself, and not to Spike.

Several times the childish thought had crossed his mind that he'd loved her first. As an argument, it didn't hold much weight seeing as he'd been the one to place a fragile and trembling Willow in Spike's arms and instruct him to take her out of LA. Angel had made his own bed, and now he would have to sleep in it. Alone.

From the corner of his eye he saw the two girls sidle up to the bar a few stools away from him. A blonde and a brunette. They would look at him, then talk between themselves, then look over at him again. He should have known better than to come to a college bar. All he wanted was a drink, and to sit and think undisturbed. Apparently, that was not going to happen.

The girls continued to glance at him for another five minutes, and then the blonde came over and settled herself beside him. He was prepared to brush her off, or just ignore her, until he got a good look at her face. She had to be no more than 22, with hazel eyes and a face devoid of make up. She smiled at him, revealing a row of perfectly white teeth. He'd always been a sucker for a pretty face. All you had to do was look at his Sire or his Childer to see the evidence of that.

"Care to buy me a drink?"

He cocked his eyebrow at her. At least she was original. He motioned to the bartender to bring them two more drinks.

"Would your friend like to join us?"

The blonde turned and waved her friend over. "I'm Sandy, by the way. This is Ally."

He shook both proffered hands. "Angel. Nice to meet you."

"Angel?" Sandy said. "Is that your real name?"

Decision time. Say yes, and be faced with the inevitable 'wow, your parents must have been hippies', or say no, and have to come up with a reason for why he was walking around calling himself Angel.

"It's an old nickname that just stuck," he explained, taking another sip of his drink.

"I think it fits," said Ally, winking at him. He couldn't help but grin back. Sandy looked slightly put off although her smile stayed in place.

"I don't think I've seen you here before. You don't go to the college, do you?"

He was tempted to tell them he might have eaten a few of the students over the years, but thought they might take it the wrong way. Instead he shook his head. "I'm just in town on business."

"Oh. What kind of business are you in?"

"Librarian's conference," he answered without missing a beat. He'd been trying to come up with the most inane occupation he could think of. Giles would be rolling over in his grave right about now.

"Pretty hunky for a librarian, aren't you?" Ally observed, eyeing him up and down.

"Ally!" Sandy rolled her eyes. "Ally doesn't believe in books."

"That's not true. I think they're good for keeping shelves free of dust, and fixing wobbly table legs."

"One man's trash," he said lightly, although the idea of placing a five hundred year old demonology under a table leg horrified him.

"You can keep your books. All books ever did was fill people's heads with bad ideas and stereotypes."

"Oh please. Little Red Riding Hood was not about a girl and her incestuous uncle."

"You have your opinion and I have mine."

Angel suppressed the urge to roll his own eyes. What may have been a tolerable conversation turned unbearable when the two girls began to argue over the real meaning of Curious George. He was about to attempt a quiet slip-away when a slender arm twined with his.

"Angel, darling. I hope I haven't kept you waiting long."

Angel looked into the face of his savior, Penelope. He realized the two girls at his side had stopped talking, and he turned to see them staring open-mouthed at the exquisite Asian beauty that was suddenly hanging off his arm. Gone was the crisp wool suit, the dark rimmed glasses. She was wearing a short black dress with heeled boots that came up past her knees. She tossed her long hair over her shoulder.

"Who are your friends?" She remained straight-faced, but Angel saw the twinkle of amusement in her eyes. Thank you, he thought.

"This is Sandy and Ally. They go to college."

"Ah, co-eds. I hate to run girls, but I really have to get my Angel home. I've missed him terribly all day and we didn't have so much as a good-bye kiss this morning."

Angel let out a chuckle as Penelope dragged him out of the bar, leaving the girls staring after them. "Nice outfit," he told her, watching as every man turned to look as they walked down the street.

"A mood struck me."

A mood struck Penelope at least twice a day. He wasn't even sure how she'd got into the Watcher's Council in the first place. Once in awhile he would see her in a suit, but more often it was capri pants, short skirts, tank tops. Sometimes it was sweats and t-shirts. She also had an affinity for leather. She'd wear whatever she felt like that day, no matter what the day actually held.

"How did you find me?" He'd said something similar to Willow not more than two hours ago.

"I just stopped people on the street and asked if they'd seen a two hundred year old master vampire come this way. About six two, crazy hair--"

"Penelope--"

"I used my mysterious Watcher powers."

"There's nothing wrong with my hair."

"My psychic told me I'd find you here." She grinned up at his wry statement. "I was actually already in the bar when you came in. I figured when you started looking around for pointy objects it was time to rescue you." Throwing off his guard she suddenly asked, "So what's up with you and Willow?"

"What makes you think there's something up?"

"They don't call me a Watcher for nothing, Angel."

He knew he had been caught. "Actually, you're an ex-Watcher," he said, trying to change the subject. Penelope wasn't having any of it. She put her hands on her hips and stared at him.

"Fine," he sighed. "We're old friends. I knew her before--before she was with Spike." She raised her eyebrows as if to say 'I know all that.' "She's the one who restored my soul, and then after, she brought me out of Hell."

Penelope's eyes widened slightly, and Angel could see the respect for Willow raising a notch in her eyes. All of Giles' Watcher Diaries had been destroyed with the Hellmouth, and so many of the details of what happened in Sunnydale were unknown to the Council.

"How old was she?"

"Seventeen, then."

"Remarkable. No wonder you fell in love with her."

The "I never said I was in love with her," died on the tip of his tongue. He was in love with her. His feelings were just as strong now as the day that he had confessed them to her. Maybe even stronger, now that the love was mixed with awe and a fierce pride at the person she had become. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the memory of her lips pressed against his, her slender fingers weaving through his hair. If only she wasn't so damn loyal.

He felt bad for thinking it. Loyalty was part of what made Willow the woman she was. He knew she was attracted to him. He'd smelled it in the air the night of the party, he'd sensed it in the way she clung to him as they kissed. But she'd never once told him that she loved him.

He realized that Penelope was staring at him thoughtfully. He could tell she wanted to ask more about Willow, but didn't know if she should. Finally she asked, "When was the last time you saw her?"

"When the Hellmouth began to spread. I was too busy fighting to take care of her properly. I told Spike to take her and get as far away as they could." When she didn't comment, he continued. "Once the fighting was over and the Hellmouth was closed again, I tried to find them, but it was like they'd vanished. Then I started hearing stories about Willow's powers, and how Spike had turned her, and that they were inseparable. I went looking for them--I was going to kill Spike for what he'd done. In Hong Kong I heard a story about how Willow wasn't actually a vampire, that she'd just been made immortal through a bonding ritual with Spike. The more I heard, the more I believed it, even though most everyone was convinced she was a vampire."

"Including us," Penelope noted.

"And why correct them? The concept of a vampire with extensive knowledge of witchcraft is a frightening thing. I kept looking, now just to see them. Every once in awhile I'd spot a red head in the crowd and think it was her, but it never was."

"You keep saying 'them'. I thought you wouldn't have wanted to see Spike."

His lips twisted in a wry grin. "Spike and I don't have the best relationship, but he's still my Childe."

"And how does this bond work? I think I've heard mention of it before, but only in passing."

"You should probably ask Willow about that."

"Why? Don't you know?"

"Yes, I know. But it's not my place to tell."

Her eyes were full of questions, but she kept her lips shut. Despite her free spirit, Penelope still had the heart of a true Watcher. The desire for a job well done, leave no stone unturned, no question unasked. He admired her insatiable curiosity, but also the tact that she employed so successfully, a skill most Watchers had never heard of let alone developed.

"Come on," he said. "I'll walk you ho--" He stopped in midsentence. Something suddenly felt very . . . wrong. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.

"Angel? What is it?" She immediately took up a fighting stance as he looked into the shadows around them.

"I don't know. There's some sort of force . . ." He sniffed the air a few times. Something strong, and extremely malevolent was in the air. He sensed anger and hatred. It was far away now, but rapidly approaching.

"You'd better go get the others," he told Penelope

Without a glance backwards she sprinted off into the night. He shut his eyes and stood perfectly still, trying to locate the source. Hatred was rolling over the city in waves like he'd never seen before. It suddenly dawned on him that he'd felt hatred like that before, had been the recipient of that anger. It was so familiar, that it couldn't be anyone but . . .

"Shit," he whispered.

Obviously Spike had found out about the kiss. And he was pissed.
 
 

~Part: 10~

Penelope nearly broke down the door in her attempt to get into the apartment that Mac and Sean shared.

"Guys! We've got trouble. Mac? Sean?"

There was a note on the kitchen table saying that if she was looking for them, they were over at Seth's. He'd flipped out again. Ugh. She couldn't run in these boots anymore. She pulled them off and made her way out of the building. People stared as she ran barefoot down the sidewalk. They really needed to get cell phones. She made a note to mention it to Angel, and then concentrated on her mission. Find the others, defeat evil.

Minutes later she was at the halfway house were Seth was staying. She dashed past the receptionist, ignoring her shouts of 'Miss, you can't go back there!' It wasn't hard to locate her partners. She could hear Seth yelling, and the deep rumble of Mac trying to calm him down. The rec room was full of people, all standing around watching the scene in the center of the room.

"Everyone out!" Penelope commanded. The receptionist and a security guard rushed in after her. She noticed another man in uniform standing around, watching with the rest of them. "You," she said, pointing at him. "Get these people out of here. Now!" He looked her up and down, the tiny Asian woman in a slinky black dress with no shoes, whose tone brooked no argument. Soon, the room was nearly empty, and Penelope gave the receptionist a glare that meant "That means you too, honey." The woman huffed, but finally left.

Mac was trying to get a grip on Seth, but the twitchy young man kept slipping from his grasp.

"What happened?" she asked.

Sean shrugged, perplexed. "No idea. They called us, saying that he was yelling about a bunch of nonsense and wouldn't calm down. I tried restraining him magically, but that only freaked him out more."

"Well, someone's got to do something. We have a situation."

Mac shook his head. "We've tried everything. Magic, talking to him, brute force--Damn! You'd be impossible in a fight, you little runt," Mac said as Seth evaded him once again.

"What kind of situation?"

Penelope turned back to Sean. "Not sure, but I think it's bad. Angel told me to come and get you guys. What is he babbling about?"

"I have no idea," Sean said. "He's not making any sense."

Penelope stopped to listen for a moment. Seth's words were too fast and panicked to be totally coherent, but it sounded like he was saying anger, death, something about confusion. And a force? Hadn't Angel said something about a force? Perhaps his ramblings weren't nonsense after all.

"We don't have time for this," she said, stalking over to Seth. She grabbed his head between her hands before he could pull away. "Look at me, Seth. It's Pen. Look at me." His wild eyes slowly focused on her. "You've got to calm down." He whimpered slightly and tried to pull away but she held fast. "Calm down. We have to help Angel."

His lips were moving, but no sound was coming out. She grabbed his upper arms and shook him a little. "Snap out of it. You want to freak out you do it on your own time. We're on the clock now," she snapped.

His eyes cleared somewhat, and she let go when she felt some of the tension drain from his body. He wouldn't stop twitching, though. "It's bad," he said. "Bad, bad. It's bad." He repeated it over and over like a mantra, and went to sit down, fingers tugging at his messy hair.

"He should be okay now," she said, turning to the others. They were staring at her with a mixture of wonder and wariness. "Mac, get the car. We have to get going."

***********

Willow was lying in bed. The sheets beneath her were soaked with sweat, but it was too much of an effort to roll over. Her limbs felt like lead--the arm that she'd manage to fling over her eyes to block out the light just might crush her head.

A strangled "Uhhhhgrfff," issued from the back of her throat. She knew she should do something. Get up, have a shower, stop Spike from trying to kill Angel, never perform another spell again. Oh, and the dishes needed to be done. Can't forget the important stuff. She willed her foot to move an inch and miraculously, it obeyed. Now she was that much closer to getting out of bed. And she thought she might be a little delirious.

This was all Spike's fault. If he had just thought before acting this one time, she wouldn't be lying here desperately trying to block out the surge of emotions that was overwhelming her through the bond. A slight tingling had started at her bite marks shortly after Spike left. The tingling had turned painful as it spread outwards over her breast. Now her whole side was throbbing. He was absolutely livid, and it was making her head hurt.

Maybe she could blame it on Angel. For what, though? For kissing her, for being in New York, for being Spike's Sire, for walking the earth as a hunk of chocolatey goodness. Had she just referred to Angel as chocolatey goodness? Goddess.

In reality, she knew it was her own fault. She should have known better than to think that covering up the smell of her arousal, and the sound of her shallow breathing and racing heart would fool Angel. She didn't have a glamour spell to hide the lust in her eyes. And now Spike thought she was a vampire and had run off to kill Angel instead of staying to take care of her. Stupid vampire. Maybe she could blame it on Spike a little. Then his words came back to her. "I don't think I could bloody well go on without you. I don't think I'd want to."

She had to get up. She had to stop him from killing Angel. She had to stop him from getting himself killed. Because when it all came down to it, she didn't think she could go on without Spike either, bond or no bond.

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

Angel was close.

Spike could feel the powerful thrum in the air indicating his Sire's presence.

Angel was close, and he was waiting for him.

Waiting to die, once and for all.

Spike felt his eyeteeth itching. All the better to eat you with, you bloody bastard.

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