Title: Sweet Hereafter
Author: Eve
Email: alfa_fighter_3@hotmail.com
Pairing: W/A/S
Rating: NC-17 overall
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy own all characters from BtVS and A:tS, the rest are mine.
Author's Notes: In my world, there was no Tara, no Glory, and Angel has been in love with Willow since she brought him back from Hell
Feedback: Writers need feedback like mere mortals need air. :-P
Summary: Fifteen years after the opening of the Hellmouth, Willow, Spike, and Angel meet again

Chapter 7


"Luv, wake up!" With difficulty, Spike pinned her thrashing limbs and tried to rouse her from her nightmare. He'd felt her turmoil from a mile away, and the frightened whimpers that had greeted him when he finally got home had turned into full throated screams of agony.

"Willow. Willow!"

She gasped, bolting upright with eyes full of fear. She fought him for a second until she realized she was awake. He didn't have to ask what she was dreaming about. Willow was only scared of one thing, only ever had nightmares about one thing.

Sunnydale.

She threw herself into his arms, gasping for air and sobbing in fright, unable to speak. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her in an embrace that would have crushed an ordinary human. But his Willow was far from ordinary, and she was in pain. He smoothed her hair and whispered soothing words as she wept and trembled against him.

"Ssh. You'll be okay luv, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." He didn't say, 'it's just a dream' because it wasn't just a dream. It was a memory of actual events. She sobbed uncontrollably, clutching his leather-encased arms so hard that her nails began to bend back. "You're safe ow," he said as the pressure on his arms began to border on painful.

She shook her head vehemently. When she opened her mouth to explain, all that came out was a choked sob. He held her tightly and continued to babble soothing nonsense in her ear. Once she had calmed somewhat, Spike lifted her and took her to her own bed. It was a shame that they'd never made love in this bed. In his bed, yes. On the kitchen floor, in his Desoto, in a back alley, yes. But never in her own bed.

He wasn't sure what to do. Sometimes after a nightmare she wanted him to stay, but more often she asked him to leave her alone. Willow hated looking weak. He fully expected her to want him to leave, so when he set her down on the bed and stepped back her response startled him. She jumped to her knees, clutching his waist.

"Please don't leave me. Spike, tell me you'll never leave me." He sank down to the bed beside her, his heart so full he thought it might burst. "Please, tell me it's not the bond. You'll stay because you love me, not because you have to."

He was completely flabbergasted. If this girl thought he didn't love her after all this time then she had a skull thicker than a bank vault.

"Cor, luv. Of course I have to." When she looked at him with her wide green eyes, he quickly elaborated. "I have to, because I love you. I love you more than I ever thought possible. I don't think I could bloody well go on without you. I don't think I'd want to."

She smiled, wiping the tears from her cheeks with shaky hands. That's when something odd hit him. Willow didn't smell like herself. In fact, she didn't have any smell, except for a faint trace of cinnamon that he knew could only belong to one person. And smell wasn't the only thing. She had no heartbeat, he couldn't hear the air in her lungs, the blood pumping under her skin. Bloody hell . . .

He jumped up from the bed. "He turned you! I'll kill him, that bloody wanker. I'll stake his hands and feet to the ground and then slowly remove all his entrails while he watches." Spike was seeing red. Angel always thought he could take away everything that was Spike's, which now included Willow. This time he had gone too far. She was already immortal, why did he have to lay this curse on her? He stormed around the room, yelling and knocking things over. He didn't notice Willow pulling on his arm. The anger that he felt when Angel had stolen Dru from him was nothing compared to this murderous rage. He needed to kill something. He needed to kill something now.

Preferably his Sire.

And if Angel was now Willow's Sire, then why had she come home to him? Had Angel turned her and then abandoned her? How could he do that to Willow? To his Willow? The bastard was more cruel than he ever imagined.

"I'll kill him," he muttered over and over again. He would find Angel and eat out his heart. If it took him days and he had to search every building and back alley and sewer in New York he'd find him.

Willow watched, helpless, as Spike flew into the night. Stupid vampire, always jumping to conclusions, and he'd run off just after promising not to leave her. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to cry or laugh. Spike loved her, he really did. Didn't want to live without her. He had also just convinced himself that Angel had turned her into a vampire, and was at this very moment planning his Sire's demise. In the meantime, who knows how many people would get in his way and fall prey to his anger.

Spike hadn't killed a human since before getting the chip. As far as the demon world was concerned, Spike still had the chip and couldn't kill humans. In reality the chip had been removed before the Hellmouth opened. He'd been in Russia having it removed and had returned to Sunnydale to gloat, only to find the entire town in chaos and the Slayer and her group dead. All but one firey redhead. They kept it hidden--the element of surprise, Spike always said. She'd been surprised herself. Spike cursed that damn chip every day it was embedded in his brain, always fantasizing about what he would do when he got it out. Screaming from the rooftops that he was back and badder than ever was high on that list.

She wondered if she should go after him, but the spell and the nightmare had left her weak, still suffering from small aftershocks of terror. She was in no condition to be running after a homocidal vampire. The least she could do was warn Angel. She got up to look for a phonebook.

Stupid vampire. He knew she used glamour spells. Not often, because the ones she used lasted a full twenty-four hours and left her tired. Especially when she was using half a dozen at a time. Still, he should have realized . . .

Willow found the number for the hotel and dialed quickly. "Hello. I'm calling for Angel Conneley, but I don't know which room he's in. Yes. Thank you."

The phone rang ten times before the desk clerk came back on the line. "I'm sorry Miss, but he doesn't seem to be in his room. May I take a message?"

"Tell him his childe is on the warpath."




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