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 6


After they left the apartment, Spike set out on foot, with his usual long, loping stride. Willow tried to keep pace, but kept catching the stilettos between cobblestones. After her third near-fall, Spike sighed and extended his right arm to her, bent at the elbow. "Hold on, pet. No need to fall down just for the sake of independence."

"If I were independent, I wouldn't be wearing these heels. I can't walk in them."

"Like anything else, it takes practice. Keep wearing sneakers, and you'll never learn."

"How would you know? How many hours have you spent trying to walk in spikes?"

His mouth twitched. "Watched Drusilla practising, back when they first came in. She wasn't going to miss out on the latest, even if it did take a bit of effort. Wasn't long before she could take down a football player without turning a hair -- or an ankle."

That's the first time he's mentioned her. Willow glanced at Spike's face, but saw only a reminiscent grin. She stayed silent, hoping not to disturb the mood; she remembered Drusilla's effect on his emotions all too clearly.

After a block or so, they turned into another apparently-abandoned house. In the basement of this one was a tunnel. I should have known. They followed its twists in silence, moving steadily downward.

Surprisingly, the tunnel did not end in the sewers. Instead, it led to an underground street, full, even at this hour, of pedestrians of all flavors, from punk to professional.

Willow was startled. "Is Montreal on a Hellmouth, too?"

"Next best thing, pet. It's got weather that even a polar bear couldn't love. The locals decided to move some of the city underground. Nicest present the vampire community ever got. You can spend months in Montreal without ever seeing the light of day. Very popular spot for undead vacations."

They walked through the underground city. It was more like a mall than a city, really; every square foot was devoted to selling something, and most of the stores seemed to cater to insomniacs ... or vampires. Periodically a tunnel would open out into a multistory atrium, which gave Willow a brief stab of homesickness for Sunnydale, and the mall where she had helped Buffy pick up pieces of Judge, a lifetime ago. Ick. Depressing choice of phrase. She briefly considered running, then discarded the idea; in those shoes, she wouldn't make it more than a step or two away. And I don't think that's an coincidence...

As they left the wider thoroughfares behind and turned into a side tunnel, Willow realized that fewer and fewer of their fellow pedestrians could pass the cross test. Her heartbeat sped up, and she tried to slow Spike's rapid pace. She succeeded only in turning her ankle again.

Spike glanced over. "Trying to become dinner, luv?"

"I'm not really sure what you're talking about."

"Fear attracts predators. You're screaming 'Come eat me'. Not smart."

Willow stopped cold. "I am scared. I don't think that's going to change."

Spike grabbed her arm and turned to face her. "Change it. Now."

Willow tried unsuccessfully to shake his hand off. "That's what my parents said about bullies. Just ignore them, reacting gets their attention. Hah."

"They were right."

"I can't stop being scared just because I know I should."

"Let's try this another way. You're afraid of me, right?"

Willow snorted. In a heartbeat, Spike vamped out, grabbed her shoulders, and raked his fangs over her carotid artery, just below the ear. "Do you need a demonstration?"

Willow tried, unsuccessfully, to shrink away. "N-Nope. Not at all. I'm totally scared. Honest."

Spike traced a path with his tongue down the artery to her collarbone, released her, and resumed the human mask. "Good. Then believe me when I say I will kill anything that interferes between you and me. Worry about me; anything else is taken care of."

Willow swallowed, then quavered "Okay." This is his idea of reassuring?

Spike offered his arm, and she took it and resumed walking. Oddly enough, she did feel better. Oh no, now his logic's starting to make sense. Before you know it, I'll be turning evil. Buffy will be so ashamed of me. I hope she gets the chance to be ashamed of me.

A few more blocks brought them to their destination. There was no sign, just an iron door with a grille at eye level. Spike flicked a glance at her.

"Mind your manners."

He dropped her arm and knocked. A peephole opened; Spike flashed into demon face, and the door swung wide. Spike walked in, resuming his human mask. Willow followed, wondering if boredom was really such a bad thing.

She hadn't known what to expect from a vampire bar. Willy's place, perhaps, or something halfway between Willy's and the Bronze, with a side order of the old factory. Instead, she saw a fairly conventional space: forest green walls, wooden floor, a long wooden bar, and a scattering of bar tables and stools. Oh, and wall-to-wall vampires.

Spike walked up to the bartender and said something Willow couldn't catch; he received a beer in return, and paid. Without glancing at her, he strode on to a vacant side table; Willow scurried to keep up, fighting to keep her balance. He sat with his back to the wall, and nodded at the chair beside him. She sat, took a deep breath, and released it slowly. Then she looked around, under her lashes.

The bar was full of vampires. Big surprise. Some, like Spike, in jeans; others in business suits, from Armani to polyester, or dresses, ranging again from strictly business to "Hello, Sailor". No sign of the Bela Lugosi look, of course.

She didn't see any other humans, which was a relief in a way; she didn't think she could sit silently while somebody else got eaten. The noise level was about like the Bronze on a typical evening, which meant that she could probably hear conversations at her own table, if she listened hard. The few snippets she did overhear seemed to be in French; unfortunately, none seemed to involve hippos, the pen of her aunt, or Josette and her mobylette.

She looked back up at Spike; he was ignoring her, scanning the crowd and the doorway. She went back to investigating the bar. It really wasn't that bad at all... it even had a little stage in one corner. Then the bottom dropped out of her stomach. Instead of amplifiers and speakers, the stage had chains, stocks, a rack, and a nasty set of stains. And hanging on the wall... She gasped, and heard Spike's chuckle. She whipped her head back to Spike in horror. He was watching her face with amusement.

"Relax. It's Tuesday. Shows are on the weekend."

"That's--"

"Save it." And he looked back to the crowd.

This time, he spotted somebody, and raised one hand. A pair of male vampires began to work through the crowd toward the table. One had long black hair, a broken nose, and was wearing jeans with holes in the knees; the other was bald and wearing leather pants and a royal blue shirt. Spike hissed "Stay", then left the table, strode toward the pair, grabbed the black-haired vampire and pounded his shoulder.

"Martin, it's been too damned long."

"Whose fault is that?"

They headed back to the table, Spike in the lead. Martin saw Willow and grinned nastily. "Who's the bint?"

"On trial. So, what's happened since Croatia?"

"Not much. Bland, Spike; not your usual style. Where's Dru?"

"Elsewhere. Who's with you?"

"Sorry, forgot you hadn't met Clive. Spike, Clive. Clive, Spike." The bald vampire nodded to Spike and ignored Willow. I like being ignored, under the circumstances. Being ignored by vampires is good. If I'd ignored vampires, I wouldn't be here now.

Martin couldn't resist one more dig. He leaned into Willow's face and said "So, pretty, what tricks can you do? There must be more to you than meets the eye."

Willow bit her lip. "Speak when spoken to," Spike had said, but she didn't know what to say. The silence lengthened, and Spike stepped in. "Since when do you take an interest in the living, Martin? I thought your tastes ran more to lanky blondes with triple-jointed hips."

Martin laughed and replied in kind, and Willow shrank thankfully back against the wall. The conversation moved on to war stories -- literally, since Spike and Martin had last seen one another when they were running on the outskirts of the Ustashi. Willow tuned out of the conversation and went back to vampire-watching. If you ignored the stage -- something she was trying very hard to do -- vampires acted a lot like anybody else in a club. They flirted, moved in and out of groups, and table-hopped.

Willow was trying to decide if a petite blonde liked a tall Angel-ish guy, or was just using him to make the vampire behind him jealous, when she was recalled to reality by a cold and bruising grip on one wrist. She looked at Spike, who was glaring at her. Martin and Clive seemed to have moved on.

"Speak when spoken to, remember? Pay attention, Pet." He emphasized the last with a hard squeeze.

Willow swam back to reality. "What...?"

"I said, that was pathetic. If you're going to imitate a blancmange, you can stay in the apartment for the duration. If you want out, grow a backbone."

Willow straightened up unconsciously. "I thought I wasn't supposed to speak until spoken to?"

"You're supposed to bloody have something to say when spoken to. Which means something witty, intelligent, or insightful. Act like something more than a meal."

"But I thought if I mouthed off, I died?"

He grinned, "That's what makes it interesting, luv. Walking that fine line. You'll learn. You don't have a choice."

"B-but I'm terrible with people! Or vampires! I clam up! I'm stupid!"

Spike lost all humor. "You don't have that luxury. I've seen you cut the Watcher six new orifices. Be that girl. She's in there somewhere."

They were interrupted by the sound system's coming to life, full of thrashing guitars. Willow could only make out snatches of the lyric, something about "I gotta full moon\A smaller room than I need\A candy store a sexy whore\Yes I bleed" Spike's face got the wicked expression that always made Willow's heart sink. He grabbed her hand, yanked her up, and began dancing.

Unfortunately, Spike's idea of dancing involved frequent collisions with the other inhabitants: first Willow, then other vampires. Willow simply went down in a heap; the vampires reacted less favorably. One came up swinging, and Spike happily swung back. The bartender appeared, grabbed Willow, and threw her out the door. Somewhat later, Spike followed.

He got up, dusted himself off, and headed back toward the shopping area. Willow ran to catch up with him, twisting her ankle once along the way.

As they passed through one of the multistory atriums, Spike's attention was caught by a chain bookstore. He turned to Willow.

"Want to stop, pet?"

Willow looked up, startled. She'd assumed Spike would be in a foul mood, but he radiated cheer. "Please."

They walked into the bookstore. Spike paid no attention to the merchandise, but kept a watchful eye on Willow, staying a few casual steps away. She made a beeline for the science fiction section. Yay, Iain Banks! No Steven Brust. Hey! There's a Laurell K. Hamilton ... but Spike would laugh. No new Neal Stephenson.

She cast a wary glance at Spike; he still looked amused, not annoyed. Emboldened, she moved to the computer section, and loaded up. When she had both arms full, he began laughing. "Some women can't leave a jewelry store. Some can't leave a playground. You're the only one I've met who can't leave a bookstore. Enough for now, pet; you've got more than you can carry in those shoes." He escorted her to the counter, paid for her purchases, and offered her an arm. He did not offer to carry the parcel. They retraced their steps through the underground.

When they returned to the apartment, Willow slipped into the bathroom, changed, then decided to risk a question. "Spike?"

"Yes?"

"Why aren't you upset about the fight? I mean, getting thrown out?"

He laughed. "Haven't had a good fight in ages. Loosens up the muscles something wonderful."

"But won't you miss that bar?"

"Who says I'm not coming back?"

"But..."

"Think, luv. Rafe doesn't want the place to turn into a sodding fern bar for the undead. The odd fistfight keeps the tone where he wants it -- not too rough, not too smooth. He doesn't play The Damned unless he wants a fight. He and I go back a ways."

Willow's mouth fell open. "You did that on purpose?"

He gave her a cocky grin. "I live to serve, pet."




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