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 5


The road rolled on, one motel replacing another, each day like the last. Insensibly, Willow adapted to the routine; she slept during the day, then rose, showered, packed, and headed for the car. Spike never allowed Willow an opportunity to escape. When they left the car, there were always either physical restraints or threats to innocent lives, which bound her even tighter.

They drove north and east, crossing the Canadian border by stealth. Willow watched the scenery change from seacoast to mountains to plains, and the road signs change from miles to kilometers, and then from English to French. Those changes, and the occasional shopping trips, were the only evidence she had to prove that she wasn't simply living the same day over and over again.

Which made it all the more surprising when the routine abruptly ended. They reached Montreal in the early evening, and checked into yet another tiny motel. Willow had settled back to watch television when Spike returned, hours early, jingling a key. She gave him a startled look.

"Back to the car, pet. Now." She stood up, dressed, grabbed her pack, and followed him to the car. Now what?

Spike pulled out of the motel and began weaving his way through the back streets. Much to Willow's surprise, he volunteered an explanation. "End of the road."

"Huh?"

"We stop here. For now."

Willow raised a skeptical eyebrow of her own. "In Montreal? Why? What's so thrilling about it? Unlesss you're a big hockey fan... or you like cheese on your french fries?"

"It has its advantages, Pet. For one thing, you don't speak the language. Cuts down on the escape attempts."

Willow bit her lip to keep from pointing out that it was only her tutoring that had dragged Buffy through French at Sunnydale High.

Unfortunately, Spike saw her expression, interpreted it correctly, and laughed. "Trust me, luv, schoolgirl 'parlez-vous' has damn all to do with Quebecois."

"Which you learned how?"

"The usual way. Practice. Chin up, after a year, you should be able to say 'Help, I've been kidnapped by a vampire.' and be understood by the locals. Making them believe you may take another year or so, though..." He nosed the De Soto into a back street and parked it. "At last. Stick close; this neighborhood isn't exactly hospitable."

Willow followed Spike out of the car to a street-level door, which he unlocked and held open for her. He waited for her to enter, relocked the door, then ran up the stairs, which were lit by a single dim bulb. Puzzled, she followed. Six flights up was another heavy door, which Spike also unlocked. He waved her inside. "Home sweet home."

Willow looked around by the light from the hall. It was a tiny place, with an irregular roof up under the eaves. She stood in a hallway that opened into a single room; off her right was a small bathroom, and what looked like a kitchen. She walked in and flicked the wall switch. Nothing happened. She opened the tap. Again, nothing.

She walked into the sitting room. The windows were covered by wooden shutters, which were nailed shut. By the thin line of light from the staircase, she could barely see a chair and the posts of a bed. Spike was looking disgustedly at the floor, which was covered in dust and rodent droppings. "This won't do."

He took the words right out of my mouth. "What is this?"

"Pied-a-terre. Set it up years ago. Haven't been back since."

Willow snorted. "I can see."

His head snapped up. "Stubble it. You'll be here for the next year, best get used to it." He grabbed her wrist and yanked her over to the chair. "Sit. I'll be back soon." He pushed her into the chair and began tying her down.

"Spike... I'm scared." Willow tried to catch his eye.

He snorted, and kept tying. "You're supposed to be. You're alone with a vampire, remember?"

"No, I mean I'm afraid of this place. I don't want to be alone here. There's no light. Anybody could come in. It's creepy."

"Sorry, luv." He didn't look terribly moved. "Where I'm going, you wouldn't be welcome... or you'd be all too welcome. Briefly."

"But it's scary here! There are rats!" Willow's voice quavered alarmingly.

Spike grabbed her chin. "Don't crack now. You can't afford it." He saw tears welling in her eyes, and sighed. "Have to hunt. I'll be back as soon as I can. You're perfectly safe; there's a deadbolt on the door." He turned and left, the duster swirling behind him. Willow heard the locks snick on the door, and she was alone in the darkness.

Not nearly soon enough, Spike returned. He was carrying a lit Coleman lantern in one hand. He crossed to the chair and set Willow free, not commenting on the tear streaks. "Come along, we've got stuff to shift before dawn."

She followed him down to the car. The trunk was packed with camping supplies: a portable stove, some freeze-dried food, a couple of jugs of water. There were also pillows and bedclothes. Black. It figures. Willow carried them upstairs; Spike followed with the lantern. When the last load was inside, he set the lantern on the floor, then shot the bolts home and pocketed the key.

Working together, they made the bed up. Willow reached up to rub her tired eyes, and brought her hand back black with dust. I must look like a coal miner. She sighed, sat down on the bed, and toed her shoes off. Suddenly, all the horrors of the last week caught up with her at once, and she buried her face in the bed and began sobbing.

Surprisingly, Spike didn't make a snide comment; he quietly continued setting the room to rights, then sat down on the bed beside her. When she continued to sob, he said quietly, "Go to sleep, Red. It will all look better when you wake up." She cried on. Eventually, a cool hand began stroking her hair, then her shoulder. The sobs grew slower and quieter, and eventually she fell asleep.

The next few nights assumed their own routine. Spike rose, chained Willow's ankle to the bed, and left to do whatever vampires did in their spare time. She never heard any sounds that would indicate the building had other residents, living or otherwise. After the first night, he got the heat, water, and electricity turned on. The light made the dirt and decay all too visible. It also revealed the furnishings: typical vampire gothic Where do they shop? Gargoyle Barn? Crate And Bondage? with one modern addition, a small television set.

On the nights when Spike returned early, he released Willow and set her to cleaning the apartment. Even though she loathed housework, it was something to do. Besides, the room was even more depressing dirty than clean. Before long, she'd done everything possible without paint, spackle, or a sledgehammer, which she privately thought was the best solution.

When Spike returned after a particularly long night, Willow reopened an old argument.

"Can I PLEASE have my laptop?"

"No."

"I won't hook up to the Net, I promise."

"What did I say about promises?"

"This apartment doesn't even have a phone jack."

"And you know that because? No."

"Spike, if I don't have something to do for the next year, I will go crazy."

Spike quirked an eyebrow. "I could offer some suggestions..."

"I meant, something to think about. Besides that I'm flunking all my classes because of you. Books. Computers. Magick."

"What, no bungee jumping?"

"Spike...."

Another airless sigh. "Go to sleep, luv."

Willow sighed and rolled over. I'm going to flunk out of college, and I have to spend the next year watching Passions in French with a vampire. Could my life get any worse?

When evening came, Spike went through the usual routine of chaining Willow, handing her the remote, locking her in, and leaving. When he returned, much earlier than usual, he had a small box in one hand, and a large bag, which he left in the hall. He switched the TV off, strolled to the bed, and sat down beside Willow.

"Just how badly do you want to get some air?"

Willow scanned his face. For once, it was completely serious, even solemn. "What's the catch?"

"Answer the question, pet."

What am I getting into? Willow swallowed several times, but her throat was too tight to speak.

"I suppose that's your answer, then." Spike rose, and Willow gasped "Wait!".

Spike suppressed a grin. "Yes, Red?"

"I want out very badly, and you know it. What do I have to do?"

He sat down again. "I'm not hunting tonight. Going to meet some old... acquaintances. You can come... if..." He watched her face.

"If ...?"

"It's a vampire bar. Humans enter only as food or as toys. If you don't want to be the first, you'll have to be the second." He flipped open the box. Inside was a fine black chain. The clasp was a tiny padlock, supporting a polished garnet teardrop.

Willow shrank back. "Ick."

Spike snapped the package shut and pocketed it. "As you like." He rose, locked the door, and left.

Willow slumped back against the bed and thought. Getting some fresh air... but being a toy? Yuck. Bleah. Possessive vampires, ptooey!

Nothing further was said on that subject for a week. Every evening, Spike rose, restrained Willow, locked the doors, and left. Willow paced (within the limits of the chain), watched television, and recited all the Shakespeare she could remember. One evening, she could stand it no longer. As Spike stood to leave, Willow said, "Just what does that necklace mean?"

Spike froze, with that preternatural vampire stillness. "Two things. You're under my protection and under my authority." He grabbed her chin and held it. "Which means that, in public, you do exactly what I tell you. Cross me or mouth off, and you may not live to regret it."

Willow sighed and met his gaze. "Okay. In public, I obey." She put on her best Resolve Face. "In private, I'm a free agent. Or as free as I ever get, which isn't very. Now what?"

Spike took both her hands and raised her to her feet, then pulled the box from his pocket. "This is generally a lifetime commitment, although..." his mouth quirked, "the lifetime is frequently shorter than the mortal imagines. Call it a year, in this case; when I get the tape, you can go free. There's a lot of ritual folderol, but why bother."

"Kneel."

Willow knelt, and Spike fastened the chain around her neck. Her hands flew up and tugged; it was thin but strong.

He looked down at her. "Go change. There are clothes in the bag in the hall."

"What am I, some sort of vampire fashion accessory? I HATE this!"

Spike's smile did not reach his eyes. "Payback's a bitch, pet. Wear what I chose, or stay here."

Willow carried the bag into the bathroom. The clothes echoed Spike's colors: long black velvet skirt, crimson long-sleeved silk top, tight to the body and low in the neck. However, the shoes, black stiletto-heeled pumps, were pure Drusilla. Buffy can walk in these, because she's the Slayer. I'm going to break an ankle! Grumbling to herself, Willow dressed, then looked in the mirror to fix her hair.

Same old Willow, dressed as a Goth. Or a vampire 'toy'. How nice. She drew herself up to her full height, opened the bathroom door, and walked out, fighting to keep her balance.

Spike scanned her head to toe, face expressionless. "You'll do. Stay close. And don't speak unless you're spoken to." She followed him out the door.




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