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 9


Willow took Spike's arm and set out for the wide world. She was mildly surprised that he hadn't required her to change, but was grateful to escape the stilettos. In fact, if she had anything to say about the matter, those shoes would be required wear in all maximum-security prisons, and seen nowhere else.

They walked back down to the tunnels and merged into the late-evening crowds. This time, Spike didn't seem to have any destination in mind. They were drifting with the crowds.

They passed a small cafe. "Want something to eat, Pet?"

"Please."

They sat down and accepted menus. They were the only customers, being too early for the club crowd, too late for the pre-movie crowd.

"I'll have an ale. You?"

"Mmm. A Diet Coke and the salade aux crevettes, please."

Spike repeated the order in French. When the waitress had gone, he cocked an eyebrow. "What, not milk? You could have had something stronger, you know."

"I'm under age."

"Not in Quebec."

Willow bit her lip. Then she decided to say what she was thinking for once. "Thank you, I only drink with friends." Oh, God, what if he gets mad?

Spike merely said "Very sensible. Does rather limit the opportunities, though. Especially for the next few months."

The food came quickly, and Willow happily tucked into her salad. She looked up to see Spike watching her and hastily returned her gaze to her plate. She could feel the blood rushing into her face. This is really weird.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice from behind her. "Good evening, William. What brings you to our city?"

Willow looked up. Spike's face had lost all expression. If he weren't a vampire, I'd say he'd gone white. "Good evening, François."

"I asked a question."

"Sorry, thought you were making small talk. Missed poutine, of course. How are you?"

"I am well. Some of my friends are ... less than amused. You haven't introduced me. American manners, no doubt."

She felt a cold hand grab her wrist hard under the table. He let that slide? What's up? "Didn't think you'd be interested."

The voice moved into Willow's line of sight, between her and Spike. As she'd suspected, it belonged to a vampire. This one had jet-black hair and was tall, slender, and wearing an exquisitely tailored gray suit. He leaned toward Willow, cutting off her view of Spike, and traced the line of her necklace with one cold finger. "This makes her of great interest. Her name is?"

Spike's fingers made a deeper dent in her wrist. Oh, God, now I have to be rude. I think polite would be smarter... "My name is Willow. And I'll thank you to keep your hands to yourself."

The next instant, she was yanked to the floor, and one hard hand was on the back of her neck, forcing her face downward.

"Apologize. Now." Spike emphasized each word with a push to her head.

She stammered out "I'm sorry", then was silenced by a second hand clamped across her mouth. "As you can see, François, she's not ready for public appearances. I would not have brought her to your attention, given the choice. I apologize humbly for her indiscretion. She will suffer for it."

Spike being humble? I'm going to faint. Wait a minute... suffer? "I shall not interrupt you, then." Willow watched his polished black loafers stride away. A hard yank on her hair collected her thoughts.

"We're leaving. Now." Spike pulled her to her feet with another yank on her hair, flung a handful of cash on the table, grabbed her wrist, and dragged her to the door. Willow followed, running to keep up with him.

When they were outside, she said "What was that all--"

"Silence."

"But..."

"Shut up NOW." And he grabbed the chain and twisted it. She gasped for air, and he let go.

They walked to the Metro stop in silence, boarded the train, and sat down. Willow stole a sideways glance at Spike's face; he glared back at her. How dare he? I was doing what he taught me to do!

They left the train at their stop, then walked silently through the tunnels and back to the apartment. Spike preceded Willow up the stairs, keeping that iron grasp on her wrist.

After he opened the door, Spike threw Willow across the room, then stalked up to where she was lying against the wall. He had dropped his human mask, and his soft, emotionless voice was colder than her fear.

"I suggest that you give me a very good reason why I shouldn't kill you now, then send your head to François as a partial apology. And DON'T mention that bloody tape." His control cracked a moment, then returned.

Willow, white as death, lifted her chin and spat out one sentence. "I. did. what. you. told. me. to. do."

Spike slapped her hard across the face. "I didn't tell you to mouth off to the Master's right hand!"

Willow rubbed her cheek. "What did you tell me, then?"

He grabbed both of her shoulders. "Why did you bloody think I grabbed your wrist?"

"Because I wasn't being rude enough."

Spike raised both hands to his head. "What have I done to deserve this?" He slammed a fist into the wall next to Willow's head; she flinched away.

Spike froze, eyes flaming golden. Then he whirled and left the room, locking the deadbolt behind him.

Willow stayed next to the wall, breathing deeply, until she heard his footsteps fade. Then she slowly pulled herself to her feet and went to the bathroom. Her cheek was a brilliant red, and her wrists were beginning to swell. She bathed her face and wrists in cold water.

I nearly died. Again.

Diary of Willow Rosenberg (decrypted)

perl -i.bak -p \
     -e 's#<title>#<title>WR: #i' *.html

My last note was based on partial information.  There
are some vampires to whom one must be rude.  Other
vampires demand politeness.  No, I have no idea how to
tell them apart.  And I found this out the hard way. 
And I was doing what I was supposed to do, damn it.

There is also somebody called "The Master" in
Montreal.  I don't think it can be the same Master as
in Sunnydale -- Buffy pulverized him.   I can't be
sure about that, though.

I wish I were a real anthropologist.  No.  I wish I
were at home, coping only with drunken fraternity boys
and weekly Apocalypses.

Just as Willow finished the last line, the door swung open. It was Spike. He had resumed his human facade, but there was a splash of blood on his shirt. He killed somebody else because he was mad at me. One more stain on my soul.

"It seems I have a toy to correct."

Willow sat up straight in the armchair. "That was in public, remember?"

"Your behavior in public was not acceptable. There are consequences."

"But..."

"Come here."

Willow froze, not intending defiance, but too frightened to move.

Spike grabbed her arm and dragged her over to the bed. "That wasn't a request."

Willow tried to yank her arm free, and found herself flat on her back, with a golden-eyed vampire straddling her hips with his knees and holding her shoulders down. Oh, my God. She lay perfectly still. Fear attracts predators. Calm.

Golden eyes stared into green. Willow held her breath; Spike stayed still as ice, as still as his own heart. Spike's eyes drifted down from Willow's face to her throat. The moment stretched on long past bearing.

Spike released Willow's shoulders and sat back. Willow slowly let the air out of her lungs. It seemed she'd get to take that next breath after all. Breathing was nice.

Spike leaned back into Willow's face, hands gripping the bedclothes beside her shoulders, the gold of his eyes slowly drowning in blue.

"Don't. Push."

Willow swallowed. "I wasn't--"

He leaned even closer, nose an inch from hers. "I said, 'Come here'."

Willow nodded. "Sorry. I'm really sorry. I thought---"

"Don't."

She lay still. More time passed. Spike stayed in her face. Let him do the talking.

An expression she couldn't read flickered across his face. Suddenly the tension drained from his shoulders and body. He sat back, still resting his weight on her hips, and broke the silence.

"I did teach you to bloody mouth off. I also told you there was a fine line to walk, and you bloody crossed it by furlongs. And you could not possibly have picked a worse person to do it with."

Willow looked back into his eyes and let the silence linger, afraid to say the wrong thing.

Spike sighed. "And you had no way of knowing that. Which doesn't change the consequences one damned bit."

Willow bit her lip.

"Don't do that, it's distracting. Sometimes it pays to be pushy. Sometimes it pays to be polite. It always pays to know the difference between the two."

Willow swallowed. "How do I know?"

He sighed again. "Follow my lead. I'll kick you if you should get in somebody's face; otherwise, assume you're on what passes for your best behavior." He rose from the bed, releasing Willow.

"It's been one Hell of a night. Turn in, Red." He flicked off the light, undressed, and lay down beside her. Willow stayed awake, staring into the dark.




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