Coming Of Age

By Medea

Chapter Two

2018: Five Years Later

At the beginning of a journey, it's easy to believe that you're going out into the world. Or, put differently, as an eager, hopeful adventurer you imagine that the world is a *thing* out there for you to discover. Once you're under way, though, you realize that it's the world that seeks you out. The problem is, when it finds you, you don't always understand what it's trying to tell you.

And it peers at you curiously, wondering why you don't see the answers it has set in front of you.

The wise sojourner recognizes this as the first clue that her purpose wasn't quite as clear as she thought it was when she started out.

Willow discovered this soon after she made her first contact with a scholarly Kobold at Balliol College, Oxford. Within the first five minutes of their conversation, Willow got the impression that the Kobold demon knew more about her quest than she did.

"Wasn't it there when you left?" the gnarled, bespectacled demon interrogated her.

"Well, yes, but--"

"What kind of a fool goes looking for something that's already there?"

"Excuse me! That's not the problem."

"Don't tell me -- you're bogged down in the mechanics of it, aren't you? Well, then, missy, do you even know how you want to alter the mechanics?"

"I want to make it permanent, is that mechanical enough for you?"

"Yes, but HOW? What, forgot to do your homework, did you? Think! Was it the trigger you wanted to change? Substitute the existing one for something less risky? Say, perfect enlightenment, which NOBODY manages these days. Or, perhaps it would be simpler to install a new one. Does it have to be his, or would any reasonable facsimile do?"

"Wait a minute -- huh? All I want to do is--"

"It's painfully obvious that you have no idea what you want. I suggest you take the time to study the matter. Start with the Fergiz demons in Budapest. It should be simple enough even for you. Don't worry, if you don't speak Fergiz they're equally willing to converse in Hungarian... you DO speak Hungarian, don't you?"

"Arrrgh! Some demon! You're as bad as...as a college professor!"

"If you're going to stoop to vulgarities and petty name-calling, I suggest you leave, now."

As a first step on her quest for knowledge, Willow felt it had been about as graceful as tripping over her own shoelaces. She came away completely exasperated. The worst of it, though, was that in his infuriatingly pompous way, the Kobold demon had nonetheless shown her how many questions she had failed to consider.

That he could care so little, yet understand so much, bothered her.

This was a personal quest, dammit!

That meant it was supposed to be... well, personal. And...and... a quest! One of those meaningful journeys of self-discovery.

Yet as the months stretched into years, the other demons she encountered were much like the grumpy Kobold of Oxford. They treated her quest like a curiosity, some sort of intellectual exercise. It was unsettling for Willow to arrive at a new locale, make contact with the keeper of an archive or the head of a clutch...and discover that she was expected.

Willow didn't like the feeling that she was losing control of a search that had such intense, personal meaning for her.

After five years, Willow had grown almost too disillusioned to continue when she received a promising tip from a demon community in the ancient Sumerian ruins at Lagash. They advised her to seek a demon hermit, one of the oldest who still deigned to dwell in this realm, and who wandered the Sahara Desert.

A hermit in the desert. Now that was more like it! This was the stuff of quests!

Willow passed through one of the older sections of Baghdad, eager to return to the lavish hotel suite she and Spike had occupied for the past six months.

She paused and smiled as she thought of her lover.

Dear Spike.

For five years, he had been her only companion, content to roam wherever Willow's search took her. He had asked her no questions about why she spent hours in obscure libraries in the various European capitols they visited; said nothing about her meetings with different demons; made no comment about the many ancient languages she studied until she could read and speak them fluently; and even held his tongue when she returned from a two-night disappearance, saturated with the unmistakable brimstone odor of a Hellmouth.

Her smile faded at the realization that she was going to have to leave him.

She couldn't ask him to wander aimlessly in the desert while she looked for a hermit who, she was told, didn't want to be found.

The dwindling smile became a frown.

Why did quests have to be so lonely?

*****

He wasn't sure why, but Spike had an uneasy feeling that tonight was the night.

Whether it was a spark in her eye, or a slight quiver of excitement in her voice, or her restless energy when she returned from Lagash, Spike couldn't be sure. But something told him that she was going to leave him. Tonight, maybe tomorrow night at the latest.

Spike had known ever since they set out together that the moment would come, eventually. He'd even had nightmares about it, once or twice. However, Spike did not, as he'd feared, simply awaken to an empty bed. He was cradling his treasured redhead in his arms, relaxing in the peaceful aftermath of lovemaking, when Willow chose to break the bad news.

"Spike...I'm going to move on tomorrow night."

He heard her pronoun choice clearly, but chose to ignore it.

"Just as well. Hearing 'Allahu Akbar' every bleedin' time I turned 'round was gettin' annoying," Spike remarked gruffly.

Willow was silent for a moment, and Spike knew that she knew he'd deliberately misinterpreted her declaration.

"I'll be going alone," she said at last.

Although he knew it would be in vain, Spike attempted to cajole her into continuing the journey together. Raising himself up on one elbow, he gazed down at her tenderly, traced her lips with one finger and observed coyly, "But we make such a devastating pair, luv. Don't want to go breaking up the act so soon, do you? Look at what happened to the Beatles..."

Willow arched an eyebrow at him and played along. "They all had successful solo careers. Well, maybe not Ringo...You're not worried about being a Ringo, are you?"

"Me? Not bloody likely! I'm a damn legend, I am," Spike huffed, feigning wounded pride. Their eyes met, and Spike's gaze softened. Slowly, he lowered his mouth to Willow's and poured his heart into a kiss that was pure, bittersweet longing. She returned his passion and his anguish measure for measure.

When their lips parted, Willow stirred and Spike rolled away to let her sit up. Her mood now serious, she told him, "You can't follow me where I'll be going. This is something I have to do on my own."

Not willing to give up without a fight, Spike stared at her unflinchingly. "I'll consider letting you go if you'll tell me what this has all been about. What could you want so badly that you won't stop, even after you've spent five years looking and haven't found anything?"

Willow shook her head, smiling at his stubbornness. "I've come close, more times than you know. But please don't ask me about this. You wouldn't be happy with the answer. And if it doesn't work out in the end, it will be better if this remains my own personal search. No one else will have to be disappointed."

"I'm not letting you go off where you could get staked -- or worse!" Spike's voice grew louder as his concern mounted. "Dru walked out on me, but at least I know she's still out there. Angel and I would've felt it in our blood if she'd been dusted. But there won't be anything to let me know you're safe. I wouldn't be able to feel you...I'd never know...bloody hell! I won't accept that!"

Touched deeply by Spike's admission, Willow placed her hands on either side of his face and leaned her forehead against his. When she pulled away, she extended her left wrist to him and whispered, "Bite."

Spike raised her proffered wrist to his mouth and, after placing a reverent kiss on her skin, bit deeply and savored her taste. However, he blinked in confusion when she pulled her arm away after he'd taken only a few sips. Puzzled, Spike watched as she dipped her right index finger in the blood that seeped from her wound, and made no protest when she grasped his left wrist in her left hand.

Murmuring words Spike couldn't understand, but which he recognized as one of the archaic demon languages she had picked up during their travels, Willow drew something resembling an inverted Y on his wrist with her own blood. As she chanted, the symbol she'd drawn began to burn and Spike hissed in pain. Before he could jerk his arm away, Willow closed her hand tightly over his wrist and continued the incantation. By the time Willow finished, Spike's eyes were pressed shut and his body had gone rigid as he struggled to withstand the agony.

Then, suddenly, he realized that the pain had been replaced by another sensation. It spread out from his wrist and through his veins.

But it was impossible.

Willow released his wrist, and Spike peered at it in wonder. A simple, black tattoo that resembled three dragons' tails radiating out from a central point, branded his flesh. Yet it wasn't the tattoo itself that amazed him -- it was the feeling that Willow was literally flowing through him.

"What'd you do?" Spike asked when he recovered his voice.

"I gave you a way to know whether I'm okay," Willow explained, lightly tracing his tattoo as might an artist admiring her handiwork. "It's the closest thing I can ever have to a blood bond with another vampire, unless I sire a childe someday. Can you feel me?"

"Yes!" her lover gasped, still in awe.

"There may be some places I'll go...some places where there's power stronger than my own...and it might mask the connection. You might not be able to feel me, then. But as long as I'm in one piece, the mark will remain on your wrist. If it ever disappears, you'll know--"

Spike interrupted, not allowing her to say the fatal words. "It's permanent. This is never coming off."

Willow started to chide him about harboring unrealistic illusions, but he stopped her again. "Willow...luv...I'll give you another five years. If you're not back by then, I'll come looking for you. And then you'll be in for a stiff punishment."

With a wicked gleam in her eyes, Willow let her hand slide teasingly down his chest, toward the flesh that never failed to rise to her will. Playfully, she purred, "*How* stiff?"

Shutting out all thoughts about her impending departure, Spike focused on his desire and pinned her beneath him. "*Very* stiff..."

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