Title: In The Company Of Wolves
Author: Jonquil
Email: serpyllum@yahoo.com
Distribution: Just ask.
Rating: R (strong language, violence, sexual references)
Spoilers: Fourth season, post-Oz, pre-Tara
Summary: Willow has re-fanged Spike, and must deal with the consequences. Sequel to "Blinded By Science".
Feedback: reinforces the desired behavior.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to large corporations, and were created by the brilliant writers for Buffy and Angel.

Chapter 19


Willow had completely lost her appetite, but she ate a few more bites anyway to buy time. Spike had gone completely still. That was alarming in itself; usually when he was angry, you heard the shouts from five kilometers away.

When Willow couldn't force herself to eat any more, she laid her fork aside and glanced up. Spike was staring at her, brows drawn down and mouth set. When she met his eyes, he snapped "Done?", then called for the check without waiting for her to reply. She followed him out to the street, trying out to make some sense of what had just happened.

What had set Spike off? Nothing she'd done, she was pretty sure; for one thing, she hadn't wound up on the floor. That meant it was something François had said. He'd insulted her manners -- as if Spike cared -- he'd said something about distinguished guests, and he'd mentioned Chez Liane and her new dress.

Oh.

They hadn't seen any of Spike's vampire friends that night, nor had there been anybody in Chez Liane except herself, Spike, and the saleswomen.

Which meant that François shouldn't have known about her new dress.

Which meant they were being spied on.

Ick. If there was a camera -- or another vampire -- in the dressing room I am going to die right here and now and save Spike the bother.

She stole a sideward glance at the vampire. He was striding on at his usual brisk clip, staring straight ahead. She didn't want to provoke him, or even attract his attention, since that generally amounted to the same thing.

In unbroken silence they retraced their steps through the tunnels to the street. The DeSoto wasn't in its usual space. Willow was shocked into asking, "What happened to the car?"

"Moved it." His tone of voice didn't encourage further discussion.

They walked past the empty space, then up the dark stairs to the apartment. Spike ushered her in, then turned on his heel and made for the door.

Willow's long-held patience snapped. "Spike!"

He whirled back and grabbed her. "What the HELL do you want?"

"Information."

"Read a book. It's what you're good at." He pushed her away and sneered.

Willow stumbled back a step, then grabbed her courage and stepped forward again. "I can't help if I don't know what's going on."

"And you think I want your help because...?"

"Spike. I can guarantee that I'll do the wrong thing if I don't know what the right thing is. So François is spying on us. What's he spying for, and what should I be trying not to give away?"

He turned away without answering.

Willow grabbed his arm. "Spike, I am really really tired of the strong silent act. Don't go all broody and slam out the door. It's almost as irritating as Angel--"

Spike turned on her, eyes golden. "I am NOT the poof! "

She fought to keep her voice calm. "No. I know that. So be not Angel, and tell me what the Hell you're thinking!"

He morphed into demon face and spoke in a soft, even voice. "I am thinking that unless I hunt within the next ten minutes I may do something I would later regret."

Willow backed up. "Are you using that as an excuse to shut me up?"

"If I am, I recommend you take it." He slammed the door behind him; Willow heard the bolts clicking home.

Willow stared at the door. She had survived standing up to Spike, but she wasn't any closer to knowing what was up. She sank down on the bed and dropped her head into her hands.

Decrypted from the Diary of Willow Rosenberg

print "\L\u$word";

There is a Master of Montreal.  I don't know who he is, 
or what makes him a Master, or what his authority is, 
but Spike is taking his orders. This isn't like Spike. 
The traditionalists are holding a Solstice party, and 
Spike's going, and taking me.

And he's scared.  And he won't admit it, or admit why.

I wonder if anybody will ever read this.

I don't care if that toffee-nosed ponce is the Master's right hand. He could be the Master's left testicle for all I care, he can't give me orders. And I bleeding knew I was being watched, I didn't need any oh-so-subtle hints in front of the girl. It's my decision what she needs to know, nobody else's.

She's got a lot of gall demanding explanations. I don't explain myself to anybody. She can damned well take orders and like it.

How the Hell am I going to drag a mortal through Solstice? Why the Hell did he invite a mortal? It isn't as if she's on the menu.

Sod this for a game of soldiers. Time for a drink. And a dust-up chaser, with any luck.

Willow sat on the bed pretending to herself that she was reading. She'd been staring through the same page of a Harlequin romance for about an hour.

The door swung wide. Spike stomped in, slammed and locked the door, then began pacing. He had a cut over one eye. Usually killing somebody calmed him down; this time, it seemed to have wound him even tighter.

Beneath her lashes, Willow watched the pacing vampire. He's really afraid. And I don't think he's afraid for himself.

Vampires didn't show weakness, they didn't acknowledge favors, and they didn't want pity. If Willow showed any sign of concern, Spike would certainly take offense and close up. As usual, she'd have to be the one to sacrifice dignity.

"Spike ..."

He snapped "Yes?" and continued pacing.

"I'm scared."

It wasn't entirely a lie, but it certainly wasn't the full truth. She was worried about him, and she only knew one way of expressing that worry that he could tolerate.

He snarled, "Shows you've got some sense after all," and kept pacing.

He's not going to make this easy. Surprise, surprise. She stood and closed the distance between them. "Spike, I'm scared, and you're scaring me worse, and I think that's setting you off. This is a feedback loop. If you don't calm down -- "

He whirled on her, eyes blazing. "You have no idea what you're dealing with. You're a baby, and you think Mama can make it safe. Well, Mama isn't here, and she can't, and if you don't like that, you can shove it -- "

She put a hand on his chest. "Off-topic, Spike. I'm not a baby, and you're not my mother."

He slapped her hand away and sneered. "Can't say much for her. Turned a bright, beautiful girl into somebody who thinks she's cool because her ex-boyfriend plays guitar."

"You're not going to sidetrack me that easily. What on Earth is going on?"

He grabbed her shoulders and leaned in. "I am, for my considerable sins, attempting to turn you into somebody who can survive the evening of the Solstice. Although frankly I'd have better luck pushing an oiled eel up Mount Everest."

Willow met his eyes without flinching. "And you're making it harder for yourself by witholding information. If you think I'm so bright, then give me the data I need. I make a lousy puppet. I make a pretty good partner."

His fingers tightened on her shoulders. "I. Don't. Want. A. Partner."

Willow sighed. "Fine. Let me go, and you can go back to pacing again." She couldn't resist adding, "But do let me know when you're ready to blame me again."

She knew as soon as the words left her mouth that she'd made a very bad mistake.




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