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 4


Willow woke with a start. For a moment, she was not sure where she was; then she turned her head, and the whole situation burst back in on her. Spike was stretched out on the bed beside her, naked eep! and still as the corpse he was. One sleeve of her sweater peeked out from under his head. Willow sighed. She had time to kill, a lifetime supply of things she didn't want to think about, and no distractions in sight. Well, except for naked vampires. Distracting, but not a good distraction.

Willow slipped out of bed and looked nervously over her shoulder. This time, the vampire didn't stir. She turned to the nightstand, and slowly and gently lifted the phone headset. It was dead. She searched for a cause, and found it: the wall cord had been removed, and was nowhere in sight. She lowered the headset agonizingly slowly, and resettled it without making a sound. So much for easy answers. She scanned the room for other options, and saw her pack next to the door.

Willow paced silently to her pack, knelt, opened it, and sighed again. Spike had been quite thorough in removing all possible weapons, and to add insult to injury, had apparently left all her books behind in the first motel. Willow rocked back on her heels to think. There was no clock in the room; judging by the light filtering through the window, it was late afternoon.

Hey! I could open the blinds, he'd flame out, and I could go home! She judged the distance between the window and the bed. It was about three feet, and Willow didn't know exactly where the sun was in the sky. It takes time for vampires to catch fire. If he didn't burn up immediately, I'd be alone with a very angry Spike. I think I've done that enough for one lifetime.

I could prove he's wrong about me. I could walk right out there in my underwear and ask the motel clerk for help. Willow shriveled at the thought. And what would I say? Help, I've been kidnapped by a vampire, don't go in there unless you've got a stake? Nobody would believe me. Even if they believed the crazy half-naked woman, somebody would go into the room to check the story out ... and get killed. Only Buffy could cope with this mess. Oh, God, someday I'm going to have to explain this to Buffy, and she is not going to be one little tiny bit happy. And Giles. Oh, Giles is worse. Much much worse. Time to stop thinking.

While the vampire was -- asleep? dead? -- Willow could preserve the illusion of free will. Good time for a shower. Life always looks better in the shower. Although I'll have to put two-day-old clothes back on afterwards. Yuck. Vampires have it easy. They can wear the same clothes forever. She grabbed her hairbrush, padded to the bathroom, closed and locked the door, and looked in the mirror. Her own pale face peered back at her, dark circles under the eyes and a deep black bruise on the point of the chin. Still visible; I suppose that's something.

Willow turned away from the mirror, undressed, and piled her underwear on the sink. She stepped into the shower, pulled the curtain closed, and ran the water full force, hot as it would come. Then she closed her eyes and let the water stream down her face. I'm back in the dorm. Any moment now, Buffy's going to barge in and ask if she can borrow my eyeliner...

The door burst open, but it wasn't Buffy. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Willow stuck her head around the curtain, too angry to be afraid. "What do you think? Go. Away." Oh God, he's still naked. She pulled her head back in.

"You are not to lock the door again. Do you understand?"

Willow yelled back, "What do you think I'm going to do, climb through the ceiling? People lock bathroom doors for a reason."

"I'm not people, pet."

"Will you please GO AWAY? The door isn't locked any more, and I'd like to shower in peace!"

Much to Willow's surprise, Spike left. She closed her eyes and leaned back into the shower, but couldn't recapture the mood. She washed up, dried herself, dressed, combed her hair, brushed her teeth with a finger, and sighed. Can't put it off any longer. Time to face a new day --make that night-- and the same old vampire.

Willow opened the door a crack and peered through it. The room was now dark, lit only by the flickering of the television set. Spike had dressed, piled her pack and the duffel next to the door, and was sprawled on the bed, one foot tapping. Her clothes were piled next to him.

I am not putting on another floor show. "Could you please hand me my clothes?"

Spike grinned. "I've already seen your undies, pet."

Resolve Face."Come on, Spike. Hand me my clothes, and we can go. I'm sure you have places to be, people to betray, evil things to do?"

Spike stood up, all expression gone. "I am not your servant. I am leaving in one minute. So are you, in whatever you're wearing -- or not -- at that time."

Willow scurried out, grabbed her skirt and sweater, and pulled them on. She had just tied her second sneaker when the time was up, and Spike grabbed her elbow. "I can walk perfectly well!"

"Then do. Next to me. With that pretty mouth closed, thank you."

Willow bit her lower lip, walked out to the car, and got in. The road unrolled ahead, a ribbon dividing her from her friends and her life.

After that first night of celebration and freedom for Spike, regret and captivity for Willow, they settled into a pattern of driving all night and sleeping all day. For the rest of her life, Willow remembered the drive with Spike as a jumble box filled with inconsistent and incongruous incidents. A few sharp vignettes stood out from the blurred background of endless roads and motels. The second evening, for instance, when Willow found out how vampires solved the clothing problems she thought they didn't have.

"TARGET?"

Spike raised an eyebrow at her. "Bloodstains, luv. Wear and tear. Unsightly holes caused by bullets, knives, and poorly-aimed stakes. Can't depend on dinner to be wearing the right size and color. And your higher-class boutiques close before sundown."

Willow fought back a grin. If Cordelia only knew... Although she doubted Drusilla's wardrobe said "Merona" on the hang tag. Black jeans and T-shirts, on the other hand, could be found pretty much anywhere. After making his own selections, Spike steered her to the women's department, one hand in an apparently affectionate grasp around her arm. She walked toward a rack of ponchos, and was yanked away.

"I am not going to spend the next twelve months squiring Annie Hall around the underworld. Ah, this is more like it."

"This" proved to be a rack of baby-blue crop tops.

"I am not a fourteen-year-old hooker!"

"No, they generally have some flair. Taste, too. Quite tasty, in fact."

Willow gave Spike a dirty look, which was answered with a reminiscent grin. She turned away hastily and grabbed the closest piece of clothing, which turned out to be a navy-blue sweatshirt.

"You just lost your vote, Red." Ignoring all Willow's protests and arguments, Spike picked out a green velour minidress, a violet silk blouse --"With MY hair?"--, a couple of low-necked T-shirts, and a pair of black jeans. He headed toward the lingerie section, and Willow flamed up to her hairline.

"Please, please, let me do this alone. I promise I won't run away. I vow. I'll take an oath!"

Spike's face lost all humor. "If you learn anything from this little trek, witch, learn this. Trust is NOT a virtue. If you've a brass farthing in one hand and a promise in the other, take the farthing every time. I don't accept apologies, IOUs, or promises."

"I'm going to die of embarrassment--"

"Not possible, luv. Ask your President."

Spike did allow Willow to make her own selections, although he cheerfully offered advice and editorial comments along the way.

"Sure you wouldn't prefer leopard?"

"Drop DEAD!"

"Too late."

After a brief stop to pick up toiletries and envelopes and paper Oh, I so hoped he'd forgotten that part, they checked out. Spike paid in cash; with a gasp, Willow suddenly realized where it must have come from. A renewed grip on her arm kept her from saying anything in the store.

In the parking lot, Willow spat "You stole that! From a corpse!"

Spike grabbed Willow's free arm and spun her to face him.

"Enough. If I want moral lectures, I'll go to the Salvation Bloody Army. I'm a vampire. I like being a vampire. I'm not interested in your opinions on my morals, my manners, or any other subject. You won't convince me, and you just might bore me to death -- yours."

Willow glared at Spike, but kept her mouth shut. She climbed into the car and stared straight ahead as he turned back on to the road. They were heading north, but Willow knew she wouldn't get answers if she asked where. She wondered what Buffy was doing, and wished she were doing it, too. As usual, Spike interrupted her thoughts.

"Time to make contact, luv. Write a lovely chatty letter to the Slayer, explaining that you just can't stand being reminded of Dog-Boy, and you're taking some time away to clear your head. In your own words, of course. Don't bother sealing the envelope. When you've finished that, you can make copies for the Watcher and your lawyer."

"I mostly send E-mail nowadays."

"And I prefer naked virgins delivered to my doorstep in chains. Nice try. God only knows what you could do with that computer, and I have no intention of finding out. Try the old-fashioned way, on paper."

Willow sighed, and wrote brief notes to Buffy, Giles, and her lawyer. Spike checked the wording, made her rewrite the note to Giles, and dropped them off at an all-night copy shop to be mailed. One more hope of rescue closed off. Spike's right, the cavalry aren't coming. It's going to be up to me to rescue myself.




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