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 8


When Spike returned, Willow was tucked up in bed, surrounded by sheets of paper and open books. Hearing him enter, she looked up, blushed, and tidied the paper to one side.

"Um. I wrote the letters. See. Here they are." She held up one stack of paper, looking rather like a puppy hoping for a treat.

Spike's eyes narrowed. "So I see." He closed the door, locked it, and strode to the bed. "What are these?" He snatched up the papers she wasn't offering and stared at them. Complete gibberish.

"Perl code. See? I don't have my laptop, so I thought I could work out the examples in longhand, then test them later."

Spike studied the papers again. They contained a weird mix of letters, numbers, and symbols. They could be Perl, Hindu, or Fyarl for all of him. He looked at the witch again. She looked embarrassed. Was this her usual shyness, or was she hiding something? His first impulse was to confiscate the lot; then again, this would involve admitting that he didn't know what she'd done. Damn.

He scanned her face again. She looked back, eyes wide and innocent. She was up to something.

Spike racked his brains, but couldn't think of any serious damage she could do using paper alone. He was more certain than ever that handing over the much-desired computer would be a mistake. Possibly even his last.

The witch wasn't herself dangerous -- at the moment -- but the Slayer and the Watcher were in aa different league entirely. They would certainly come running if he gave the girl half a chance to call.

Which was why her letters would carry a Los Angeles postmark, not Montreal. Let the busybodies comb Angel's back yard for the girl. Let the Poof waste his time on a cold trail. He'd have a merry old chase; might even muss that artfully dishevelled hair.

Spike gave back the stack of papers and accepted the letters in return, then sat in the armchair and read.

   Dear Buffy,

    I miss you, but I'm glad I left town for 
    awhile. I've been doing a lot of thinking, 
    mostly about you. I hope you're making your 
    usual dent in the undead population.  

Very funny, Red.

    I was in the underground  mall the other 
    day ...

Spike looked up. "Nice try, pet." He threw the letters back in her face. Unfortunately, being flat, they flew into the air instead of hitting her, but at least he'd made the gesture. He stood up.

"Write those again, without all the lovely local detail. The Slayer doesn't care what you think of Montreal. In fact, she doesn't much care what you're doing, does she?"

The witch flared red. "Buffy cares a lot about me!"

Ah. That smarted. "Yes. So much that she didn't notice when you wasted nearly to a thread over the wolf, or became so desperate that you cast half-baked spells to get him back."

The witch took a deep breath, then spoke. "Unlike you, the Dr. Laura of the vampire set?"

Much better. "I see you've taken our lessons to heart, pet. Save the defiance, and write me a nice chatty letter that could have come from anywhere. Iowa. Vienna. Tibet. Then do it again. Three times, in fact."

The redhead gave him another would-be lethal glare. There's fire there, no doubt. The trick is to channel it. Spike smiled sweetly and sat down to wait.

"The faster you finish, Red, the more time you get out of your cage."

The second set of letters passed inspection. He stood, folded them, tucked them into a duster pocket, and offered the girl his arm. "Will you walk?"

She scowled. "Do I have a choice?"

"Now and again, luv. Are you choosing to stay here?" He made as if to turn, and was, as he expected, interrupted.

"No. I'm coming."

From the diary of Willow Rosenberg (decrypted)

perl -pi.dos -e 's/\cM$//' index.html

I'm not sure who I am any more.  I can't be Research
Girl, or Net Girl, or even Witch Girl -- Spike saw to
that when he left my Book of Shadows behind.  Buffy
could kick some ass, Giles could think his way out,
but I'm useless here.

Hence this diary.  It's based on a lot of assumptions
-- that Spike lets me live, that he sets mee free after
a year, that he doesn't suspect what I'm up to, that
he lets me keep these papers -- which puts it out on
the pretty thin end of the probability tree.  But it's
the best I can do for now.

I'm going to write down everything I can find out
about vampires.  If I can ever get these notes into
Giles's hands -- I don't trust the Council any more --
they might save some future Slayer's life.  Which
isn't useless at all.  Spike says everybody needs a
credible threat, and I suppose this is mine.

Spike can't read this, I'm pretty sure.  He thinks
it's a Perl script.  The first couple of lines are
valid Perl, just in case.  The rest is rot13, with
random characters thrown in for confusion. I do have
to be brief.  Even Spike won't believe a 5-page Perl
script.  

perl -0777 -pe 's{/\*.*?\*/}{}gs' foo.c

Last note I complained about all the girls I wasn't. 
Apparently Spike has the same perception; he seems to
be trying to turn me into Vampire Girl.  Not
literally, so far anyway.  

I suppose it's a compliment, in a left-handed
Hellmouthy sort of way.

So, VG is supposed to mouth off.  Not mouthing off is
a sign of weakness.  Weakness gets you attacked.  

Note:  If this is true for real vampires as well, then
Buffy's sarcasm may actually be part of what makes her
so effective.