Distro: WLS, NHA, WWOMB, Mystifying Dreams, Redssoulmates, Poetry in Motion, Writings of the Femail, My Livejournal, Winter of Spillow.
Spoilers: everything ever.
Pairing: S/W, mentions others.
Rating: mildly adult (or R)
Warning: mentions domestic violence, mature situations, violence, language, bloodplay.
Summary: Post NFA and Spike feels the need to wander for a while. Guess who he wanders across?
A/N: Thanks to Kat for the beta. This part is for the <lj user ="winter_spillow"> I will not be posting the rest of this story until it is completed. I have way too many WIPs out there already.
Feedback is appreciated and will let me know if I should even continue writing.
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~Part: 1~
There were days when he missed them: Fred, Gunn, Wesley, Lorne, even Harmony. When he looked at Illyria he, unlike Angel, was not confused about what she was. He was just glad she had been on their side that night. She tore into the demon horde sent after them by Wolfram and Hart with a viciousness that shocked even him.
And Angel slayed the dragon.
That they had actually won still boggled his mind, but he took the good with the bad nowadays with surprising complacency, just happy to be undead and pretty much guilt free.
Spike tossed the butt of his cigarette out the driver's side window and considered, for the tenth time in as many days, turning back. He could. Angel and Illyria would both secretly be pleased, but he stayed the course, such as it was. He needed to be away from that whole saving the world scene for a bit. Eventually, he would return to them, to him, but this little road trip was necessary.for his soul. He had his cell phone and if they truly needed him, he was only a call away.
In the distance, he saw a faint twinkling of lights and smiled slightly. A city, or town, but more importantly, a motel and a day of sleeping in a bed. The last dawn caught him by surprise and he was forced to camp out in a cave, unwilling to chance parking under trees and sleeping in the backseat. State troopers leaned towards nosy about corpses in cars.
He increased his speed and concentrated on the drive for the rest of the way. Upon arriving in the town he spotted a truckstop with the obligatory diner attached, another restaurant of a nicer caliber, several gas stations and fast food places, and two motels. Further up the street, maybe half a mile, seemed to be the heart of the town, but nothing appeared open for business yet. Not that he had any business to handle; he was just the curious type.
He pulled into the lot of the nicer motel since it proclaimed to have free cable and HBO. He checked-in and, once inside his room, collapsed on the bed just as the day broke over the mountain crest.
~~~*~~~
The harsh rays of sunlight filtering through the sheers on the window woke him. His inner clock told him it was about two in the afternoon, but he looked at the digital one beside the bed anyway.
Carefully, he approached the window at an angle and pulled the cord, closing the heavier drapes that he carelessly forgot about that morning. He wasn't too worried about burning up by sunlight while sleeping since the marvelous pain of it woke him before too much damage could be done. He had also discovered that it took a bit more time in the sun to affect him now. He supposed it was a product of his prior burning in the Hellmouth, but never had a chance to ask Fred about it.
Glancing around the room, he silently cheered upon spotting the microwave, small coffee maker, and the mini-refrigerator. The cooler containing blood was sitting next to the bed, where he dropped it along with his holdall. He placed several bags in the refrigerator, keeping out two for heating now.
He was still wearing his coat and stripped out of it while his breakfast was in the microwave. It had been three days since he'd had warm blood so he didn't stray too far from the small oven. He didn't exactly run but the ding never had a chance to finish before he opened the door and swirled the hot fluid under his nose inhaling the tempting aroma.
Human.
Angel had a problem controlling his demon after drinking human blood and assumed it was the same for his grandchilde, as well as the vampires in his employ while playing at being CEO of Wolfram & Hart. It was far from true for the blonde vampire. His time being chipped and defenseless afforded him more control and patience than he could explain. He could still feel a ghost of a headache when he contemplated, seriously contemplated, killing for sport.
He was Pavlov's dog.
It had remained a constant source of contention between the two vampires since the final battle but Spike refused to be saddled with Angel's guilt. He had enough of his own and was dealing with it quite well. So human blood it was.
After feeding, he showered and brushed his teeth, human and demon, before flopping back onto the bed, remote in hand. He had a few hours left before he was able to roam around and check out the town; besides, there was free HBO.
~~~*~~~
The diner was much nicer on the inside than it looked on the outside. Spike considered this with a little laugh. Had it been the opposite, he may have passed. Instead he seated himself, as the writing on the portable whiteboard so politely commanded.
A waitress, Millie, came over to his booth and poured coffee without asking, taking his order without ceremony. When she left, he picked up the thick white mug and pretended to drink the hot beverage. He never really enjoyed coffee. It was bitter and left an aftertaste that only blood could kill. But it was very useful for warming cold, preternatural flesh and convincing the prey that he was one of the sheep, like them.
Sooner than he expected, a plate of Buffalo wings and a beer were placed on the table in front of him by the ever-so-social Millie. He gave her a small smile and said thanks. Her reply was a grunt as she sped off to the next table.
He ate in silence, watching the truckers and town's citizens go about their evening's activities and thinking that he would call Los Angeles after he was done. Angel got rather cranky if Spike failed to check in periodically. His grandsire's definition of the word meant every morning after dawn, while Spike leaned toward whenever the mood struck him.
The wings weren't that great and after three he knocked back the rest of his beer, signaling Millie for the check. She came over and placed the ticket on his table just as he turned on the cell phone. Her eyes narrowed with stern disapproval while he dialed, but he ignored her and listened to the ringing on the other end. The alternative was to wait for her to take a break and drain the annoying bitch, and his demon gave this option two thumbs up so it was a real possibility...but he was certain that he would resist that delicious pull into darkness.
Today.
The voicemail picked up and Spike left a message, only realizing that the sun had set in California by now and that his grandsire and Blue were probably out killing things. A surge of longing traveled his slight frame; thoughts of killing things usually brought that on. Just like women got positively giddy over a good shoe sale so did he about creating death. Although he would never use giddy to describe anything about him. But he certainly had a passion for it that was only dampened by the soul for a short period, back when he was first learning to deal with it, adjust to it, manipulate it. Now it was just another aspect of his total package that he whipped out when needed and tucked away for safe keeping when the situation called for something more primal.
Killing Millie didn't rank.
Tossing a ten dollar bill on the table, he stood, finding the old waitress and meeting her hard gaze with a feral grin of his own. She faltered and blinked rapidly, he knew she would, and he sauntered to the exit, feeling pretty happy about leaving her alive. A major feat for the mood she put him in.
Before he could grasp the handle, the door opened inward, nearly hitting him, save for his own vampiric speed. His anger at the careless human peaked and fell quickly as the hurried apologies flew from her lips in a wild babble that Spike would have recognized even without his enhanced senses screaming at him.
"...in such a rush because I'm late and really, really am sorry," she carried on.
"Willow?"
She looked up from the items she had been gathering that had apparently fallen from her purse in the confusion, to see an exact look-alike for Spike. She frowned and skittered away, attempting to gain distance and stand at the same time, but was having trouble.
"Don't be him. Be anyone, but not him." She would even prefer it take Tara's form, but not Spike.
"Red? Why...What are you doing?"
She put her hands over her ears and closed her eyes, yelling at him. "You are not Spike!"
He stepped to her, suddenly sure of her problem, and grabbed both wrists, pulling them from her ears. "Sorry to disappoint, pet."
Her mouth fell open and she stared at the cool strong hands that immobilized her. "Spike?" He nodded, giving her a small grin. "Spike!" And then his arms were full of Willow. "Oh Goddess...how can...I thought...they said...and the Hellmouth collapsed. What happened?" She was confused and her heart pounded furiously in her small body, resounding so very loudly in his ears. She was still a treat.
"Long story. What are you doing way out in the deep cold nothing that is Wyoming?"
"Hey, Katey."
The bark came from the back and was attached to a large, balding, greasy man with a pot belly that hung low over his belt. Spike turned toward the sound, surprised to discover the human was speaking to Willow.
"You're late. Again." His voice was gravelly and grated on her nerves, but she liked him better this way, annoyed with her, because at least he was not making a pass at her.
"I know. I'm sorry." She didn't bother with an excuse; she did not want him that mad.
"Well, get your ass in gear. And I'm docking your pay."
Spike watched the volley as if it were tennis, his head going back and forth, as he wrapped his mind around what he was seeing.
The witch, the almighty and powerful witch, the hacker, the biggest brain around, was in some little nowhere town waiting tables.
"Not like you pay me enough anyway," she mumbled but the man was already gone back into his cave of an office. Spike heard her well enough and snatched her by her arm, more roughly than he intended.
"What the fuck are you doing here, Red?"
Wincing, she tried to shrug away without causing a scene. "I need money and I can't talk right now." She glanced over her shoulder, but Frank was still in the office. "And you kinda have some explaining to do too, mister I-was-dust-and-now-I'm-lurking-around-in-diners-vampire-with-a-soul-guy."
The smile came unbidden to his lips. She sounded so much like the girl he once tried to turn. Suddenly, she took a step back.
"You do still have a soul, right?"
He laughed. "Yeah, for what it's worth."
"Well...good. I get off at three. Come back and we can talk, okay?" It was cold out and she had layers of clothing to remove. He helped her with her coat and one of the sweaters, wondering how she got it all on.
"Sure, pet. I'll be back. Gotta make sure no nasties get you. Sorta like old times, yeah?"
Willow giggled and took off the last sweater, remembering how many times Spike had to walk her home to keep her safe. "Yep," she grinned. "See you at three."
He made his exit, coat billowing behind him, cool as ever, as her eyes watched with something like longing. Was it for Sunnydale and her old life and friends or was it something uniquely felt for Spike?
There was no doubt in her mind that she missed him terribly once he was gone. She never realized how much she enjoyed his snarky ways. Or the way she always felt a little better knowing he was fighting on their side, helping Buffy. He never failed them, even if he did not believe that.
"Katey!"
Sighing, she headed for her locker to store her stuff and get an apron.
~Part: 2~
It was the longest shift of her entire two month career. Normally, she enjoyed the nightshift. It was usually quiet after eleven and she could think. Today, however, truckers from all over America seemed to have congregated in the tiny town of Buckshye, all hungry and impatient. That Spike was waiting for her did not help. She was more than anxious to see him and find out what had occurred to bring him back to undeath.
Piling on all of her outerwear, she said goodbye to Millie who was leaving as well and the other two girls, Lana and Amelia, who came in at two in the morning. As soon as she opened the door, a gust of cold air blasted her face, reddening her sensitive skin. She glanced around and saw him coming from the back of the diner.
“Hey.”
“Willow.”
This awkward silence thing was weird. At least that was what they were both thinking. Spike broke the proverbial ice first.
“You’re freezing, Red. I’ve a room just across the way. We could talk there.”
He gave her the sweetest, hopeful smile and she felt the time apart just disappear and accepted. They marched along together through the few inches of old snow that still lingered from the last storm and were in the warmth of his motel room within minutes. Spike concluded that since Willow made no move to call anyone and advise of being late, then she had no one waiting on her to come home. He wondered what was home for her.
The room was a typical hotel room, a little higher end, but not the Hilton.
“Spike, how are you back? Buffy was so sure you had died. Really died.”
“It was that bloody amulet. I was dusted, but my essence for lack of a better word, was trapped inside it. I don’t have any memory of being inside it. One moment I was going out in blazed of glory, which I can say from experience is utterly painful, and the next I felt my flesh being regenerated over bones and I’m in this office building looking at the magnificent pouf.”
“Angel?” Her eyes were wide.
He chuckled, pleased that she knew exactly who the pouf was. “Yeah, only when I tried to take his bloody head off, I sorta fell through him. Looked down and I was standing in the middle of his desk.”
“You were a ghost? Goddess, Spike.” For someone who took such pleasure in life she could not imagine how miserable he had been.
“So to speak. Fred, one of Angel’s pet human’s, she tried very hard to categorize me, but my existence was unique. Eventually, I was restored and here I am.” He liked to skip over the subject of Fred and of his non-corporeal status. The chip had been better prison.
Willow doubted that it was that simple, but something in Spike's demeanor screamed drop it.
“Does Buffy know?”
“Yeah, she knows.” He was pleased at the lack of pain when thinking about the slayer. She had been a high and low point in his unlife and his feeling about that time were sometimes a bit jumbled. Time and distance had done him well and he had no intention of getting snared by her again. It also became apparent that no one had informed the witch of his return or their plea for help when Fred had been taken over by Illyria. The bit of anger that he had been harboring toward her, a nearly tanglible thing, dissipated as a form of peace settled in him.
“So why here, Willow? What are you hiding from?”
“Me? Hiding? I’m not hiding?” Again with the wide eyes.
“Right.” He said icily, suddenly irritated that he had opened up to her, just a little, but more than a lie. “If you don’t want to say, then don’t, but I’m not stupid.”
She pouted, her face wrinkling in that way that showed her age despite her seeming innocence. “Sorry.”
The extra clothing began to make her feel hot so she removed the coat, gloves, hat and a long sweater. Spike thought she had gained a little weight. She needed to, not as much as Buffy needed a few extra pounds or ten, but for humans they were exceptionally skinny girls, the scoobies. Then he remembered Harris and had a pretty good suspicion about where all the pounds had been going.
“Don’t be sorry. Be honest. We’re old comrades, Red. No secrets.” He granted her a lascivious smirk and leaned back against the headboard. “I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours.”
Willow tossed her head back in laughter and sat on the bed, finally feeling like things were going to be all right.
~~~~~~~~~~
She settled in to tell him her story, unexpectedly impatient to share what she had kept to herself. Listening acutely, Spike watched her with an avid interest that was almost disturbing. Instead of becoming nervous or annoyed she let herself bask in the attention and laid her life out for his perusal.
Six months ago Willow and Kennedy called it quits. While true passion had never existed between them, they were good together. But their anonymous lust could have been satisfied by almost anyone and was not enough to keep them together. When the inevitable occurred neither felt unduly heartbroken, although each was sad to lose the companionship of the other.
“I left her in Brazil. She was making flight arrangements and packing and I couldn’t stay and watch her go. For once...I didn’t want to be the one that got left, you know?”
He did know, but only nodded slightly for her to continue. Again she nearly trembled under his gaze.
Venturing out to drop in on the new lives of her old friends, she flew into Cleveland first. Faith, and hadn’t she found it weird calling the brunette slayer a friend, was on the new hellmouth in Cleveland with a new name and a new watcher who just happened to be Sunnydale’s old high school principal.
Giles was head of the Council of Watchers and made certain that active slayers were financially rewarded and provided for. Faith and Robin lived in a nice four-bedroom house, complete with a training room and a library for research. And as part of the apprentice program for watchers-in-training, the last six months of their studies were spent in the field with an active slayer and watcher. He pulled strings and got Dawn assigned to Faith and Robin.
“Dawnie was there and it was sorta like old times.”
“So Bit’s a WIT. That’s almost funny.” He mused.
“Yeah, she’s really good at the demonic languages.”
Silence followed and Spike was certain that she had told all she planned to tell. His curiosity was burning hot as ever.
“How did you end up here, Red?”
Sighing she relented to divulge her secrets to this vampire who by all accounts should be dust under Sunnydale.
“You remember Oz? I found him after leaving Dawnie and Faith. He was playing at a club in Chicago so I went to check it out.”
“Willow.”
He is still Oz. Despite his words and the deadpan delivery he is pleased to see her. She slips her arms around him and pulls him into a hug. After a few seconds he returns it fiercely, inhaling her scent, stroking her hair.
And she watches the show and sees him play. It’s been so very long that she had forgotten how she enjoyed this. It is easy and free and she gets caught up in the music and memories and they make love. This time he is in funds and the setting is a nice downtown Chi Town hotel, where the towels are thick and monogrammed and the bed is turned down with chocolates on the pillow.
She stays with him for the week, shopping during his rehearsals and being his number one and only, as far as she can tell, groupie. When it is time for him to travel to the next town, he invites her to go and she does, eagerly. She does not question her motives. Bravery, the kind needed for self examination, is not her strong suit. And the answers are ugly, best left buried.
So she is his honeypot and a nice little fucktoy, and he loves her. His wolfish ways are more dominant now than when he was in Sunnydale, and the possessive streak she saw glimpses of is now an everyday occurrence. It starts with tightly hugging her and holding her hand when another male is around. Originally, her first thoughts are fluffy and awe-inducing and she takes to it readily, craving that attention. But after a few weeks of his ever increasing jealousy and feral fucking she begins to shrink away from his touch. Now he grabs her roughly when she is gone too long or has had a conversation with another man, never hitting, but she is sure he will soon.
It has all the makings of a burning-bed scenario and has only been a little over two months, yet she avows to leave before he hurts her and she in turn hurts him.
So she plans.
The packing is done in secrecy because she knows. He will react badly and she needs to be able to break away quickly. While he is at practice she purchases a plane ticket in her name, destination New Orleans. But she’s a smart girl and also buys an Amtrak ticket and a black wig. These, along with her luggage, are placed in a locker at the train station.
Telling Oz proves unwise. He threatens to bite her and make her like him so that she will never leave, but she is not at all rusty with the magics and makes a clean getaway before he can follow through, leaving a paper trail of her airline purchase hoping it will throw him off of her scent.
It works for the most part and she boards her train without incident, relieved to be away from him and perplexed that she would ever feel that kind of disdain for Oz.
Meditation.
Perhaps it will calm her frazzled nerves and she makes a valiant attempt, but the effort is disrupted by the commotion she tries, unsuccessfully, to ignore. She gives up and glances out the window to see her – it’s not the word she would use to describe what they had this time around, but lacking something better – boyfriend struggling with a porter, demanding to be allowed on to find his wife.
She almost laughs, but thinks he might hear her and makes herself small, pulling the black strands of the wig around the pale curve of her cheeks. The train moves eventually and security comes as it is pulling out of the station.
She only feels relief.
Spike stared at her for a long while. Her story, while not fantastical or horrific, was a tragedy of its own breed and he was reluctant to make light of it with a quipping comment.
“He almost found me before. I was staying with a friend. I don’t know how, but he turned up there one evening. I barely got away and I ended up here with almost nothing, but my new name.”
“Katy.” There was a vague hint of disapproval of her choice in his tone, but she let it go, knowing that she was doing well not to be receiving some sort of tongue lashing from the blond.
“Yes. And it’s been two months, but he’s still looking. He even missed a few performances behind it. He’s been checking with everyone we both know so I stopped calling my friends.”
“Why, pet? He’s just some guitarists, not the bloody CIA.”
She snorted. “He’s a better hacker than me. He’ll find me if I keep up contact.”
“Why is he so determined, Willow?” Nicotine was calling him so he left the bed and got a pack from the dresser. He tried to light one and the flame died as if he had breath. After two more attempts his annoyed gaze fell upon the redhead. “What?”
“Uh...do you mind not smoking?”
“It’s my room,” he replied, nearly whining, but did not make the effort to light it again. She grinned remembering days when he was all snark and swagger, before the chipped was removed. Then he was just deadly again, with a soul albeit, but something to fear just the same. “Why all prudish and pure?”
She just looked away, the grin fading. “That’s the other thing I should tell you.”
~Part: 3~
Spike sat there blinking, opening his mouth to speak then shutting it quickly as if he was certain his foot was headed directly for it.
Finally he managed two earth-stopping words. “You’re what?”
Willow shrunk into herself a little, sighing. “Pregnant, Spike. It’s not that bizarre, you know. People do it all the time.”
He grinned slightly. “Yes, I suppose they do which is exactly how you got this way, yeah?” He tossed his smokes on the night table.
Pushing her bottom lip out, she pouted for a moment while a pinkish hue spread across her cheeks. He was still crass when he wanted to be.
“So it’s the wolf’s kid and he wants to play daddy,” Spike summarized, easily sifting through the nonsensical for the meat of the matter. “I can understand his position, Red.”
She pushed back into the pillows behind her, her back aching just enough to be distracting. “I know, but I don’t feel very safe around him anymore. He threatened to bite me to keep me with him, Spike.”
“So did I.”
Letting that sink in, he got up and walked over to the small refrigerator.
“Yeah, but when you did it, you didn’t have a soul. He does.” She was getting frustrated. Her decision had been made and she had no regrets or doubts so hearing him talk like he was on Oz’s side was alarming.
“True.” He took out blood and began that heating ritual that she remembered so well.
“He’s not the same.”
“He’s a wolf; Got a demon in him. Nothing gonna stop that, Willow.” He held her gaze for a few seconds as if trying to make sure she understood that little fact before turning back to the microwave.
She raised her eyebrow at his back, watching the muscles play through the tee-shirt, remembering just how not human he was. “Does that apply to you as well?” she asked.
Swallowing a large gulp, he licked his lips slowly, eyeing that spot on her neck that would forever have his attention. “Especially me.”
~~~~~~~~
Angel hung up the phone after writing down the name and number of the hotel that Spike left on the voicemail. Admitting that he was relieved to hear from the blond, a mellow, calm state settled in him. The hunt, patrol, whatever he chose to call it, had been good last night. He and Illyria had cleared out a nest of vampires that were terrorizing commuters in the subway system near North Hollywood. The band, mostly fledges, had been smart about it and blended in well, but Angel found them easily enough.
“Stop.”
Turning, Angel stared at Illyria, annoyed that she was able to bypass all his senses and be right behind him without him knowing it.
“Stop what?”
“That …” She cocked her head to the side, searching for the right word. “Humming. I am bothered by it.”
He did not know he was, but his mood was slightly better so he made no excuses. “Spike is in Wyoming.”
She walked past him and into the kitchen. “You assume this information is of importance.” Lately, she had taken a liking to Dr. Pepper and the refrigerator was full of them. Pulling one out, she popped the top open carefully, having learned the hard way to be gentle, and took a sip.
During this mundane act, above all others, she reminded him of Fred.
“He’s your sparing partner.” Angel knew better than to suggest that she might miss him.
“I don’t require one.” Another sip and she fixed him with a stare. “Yet his noise when he breaks is not unamusing.”
He chuckled. “No, his noise is … entertaining.”
Quietly, she slipped around him, staring, her blue, bulging eyes never leaving him. “You wish him here, yet you allowed him to go. Why?”
“I don’t wish him here, okay?”
“The air around you stinks of longing for his … companionship,” she said with a small smirk.
“Don’t you have some plants to talk to?”
She smiled, unaffected by his attempt at dismissal, but finished her soda and made to go upstairs to her rooms, muttering as she left. “At least they speak the truth, vampire.”
~~~~~~~~
He had only known one while he was alive, a pregnant human. The rest, after he was turned, were sport and had been mainly Drusilla’s thing. He avoided them as a rule. But that was not an option with the redhead. Knowing her as he did, he could not cast her aside in her condition no more than he could Buffy or Dawn.
Room service knocked and the food he ordered for them was pushed in on a cart and left for their consumption. Willow had declined when he offered, telling him it was too expensive, but Spike gave her the look and called down anyway.
In the end, she ate much more than she had anticipated, not realizing how hungry she was until the food was in her face.
“Thanks.” She leaned back in her chair, full and sated. “I was really hungry,” she said incredulously.
Spike had a piece of her toast and was finishing off his tea. “Eatin’ for two, Red.”
“I know.” What she wasn’t telling was that after rent, she was always short of funds. Working at the diner helped because she usually ate a meal when there, but her refrigerator was as empty as the vampire’s many days.
“Do you stay far from here, pet?”
She trembled, something about those nicknames coming from his mouth, his voice, made her insides turn. Shocked by this, she concentrated on the question itself and not the asker. “Nothing’s far from here in Buckshye. It’s just a few blocks away and …” she stood. “I should probably be going. I have to be a work at four today.”
Reluctant to let her go, like he was letting a piece of his past get away from him, he turned from the window. “Can sleep here if you like. Safer and all with the Big Bad watching over you.”
She raised her eyebrow at the one bed and he sighed.
“Right.” He was not exactly disappointed, but this was the first time in a long time, unless he was with Angel, that he felt normal. Sunnydale, as strange and horrific as it was at times, had become home to him. Picking up her sweater, he handed it to her. “You’ll call me when you get home.”
Laughing, she nodded, touched that he meant it. “Yes, Mom.” And then she faltered, her lips trembling, eyes filling with tears.
“Willow?” he asked, unsure of what he did to bring on the waterworks and hoping they went away quickly. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, but her face scrunched up anyway as tears cascaded over her cheeks and she began to sob in earnest. He stepped close, wrapping his arms around her tentatively.
“Shhhh. It’s okay. Tell Spike what’s wrong and I’ll fix it, yeah?”
“I don’t know,” she wailed, leaning into him. “I mean … I do but, but …I want my mom.” And then she let loose, crying until she was red, and wet and hiccupping and sniffling. He wiped her eyes with the bottom of her shirt once she seemed to be calming down.
“Where is your mum?” he asked as soon as he thought she was stable enough to hold a conversation.”
She pulled from his embrace, feeling cold without him, which she thought was odd since he was pretty cool, and got some tissue from the bathroom. “I don’t know. I haven’t tried to talk to my parents in a while.”
“Because of dogboy.”
She frowned and scolded Spike. “Don’t call him that. And yeah. Since right after I left Brazil. I emailed them to tell them I was back in the States and they were in Belgium at the time. We usually sent emails about once a month, but now I don’t even have my laptop anymore.” She piled on the rest of her outerwear and Spike noticed the ragtag collection of items, none of them matching, but selected for function and probably affordability.
He wrote the number to the hotel as well as his cell phone number down on the pad provided in the room and tore off the page. “Call.”
“Okay.” Taking it, she felt better. Just knowing someone, especially this someone, was close gave her more comfort than she wanted to admit.
~Part: 4~
Fourteen minutes had passed when the cell phone chirped.
“Red?”
“No, Spike?”
“Angel,” he sighed. “What do you want?”
“Just calling. Did you say Red?”
“Uh no. I said I’m in bed.”
Spike could hear him frowning.
“Bullshit.”
“What do you want, Peaches?”
Annoyance was plain in Spike’s voice and Angel picked up on that, but it was the norm. What was odd was the hint of anxiousness edged with secrecy. The blond was usually so honest it bordered on cruelty.
“I want to know what you’re hiding. You’re over a thousand miles away and if something’s up, I need to know.”
Spike lit a cigarette, his second since Willow left. “You’re just a control freak and a nosy old sod.”
“Maybe.” He waited, hoping his childe’s need to run his mouth would get him to tell without issuing threats or promises.
“What’s Blue up to?”
Apparently, he would talk, just not about what Angel wanted him to.
“As imperious as ever. She thinks I miss you.”
“Don’t you?” he dragged on the smoke, smiling as he sat on his bed. The phone was crooked between his head and shoulder so that he could grab the remote.
“Maybe. What’s going on out there?”
Rolling his eyes, he was reminding of Anya and his bone. “If I tell you, you can’t mention it to anyone.”
“Spike …” Angel was making no promises.
“Willow’s here.”
“Willow? Willow, as in redheaded, slamming my soul back in me twice Willow?”
“No, the other Willow.”
Conceded. “What’s she doing there? I thought she was in Brazil.”
“Long story.”
“I’m not getting any older, Spike.”
“It's not my story to tell, Angel. Just don’t tell a soul and don’t even talk about it with people you think would know or want to know.”
“What’s this about?”
“I’m not all that sure myself, but the girl got herself lost and doesn't wanna be found, all right?”
“Yeah, all right.”
The loud shrill ringing of the room’s phone stopped anything else either planned to say.
“That’s her calling to say she made it home. I’ll call you back after I get some sleep.”
“Okay, but you better explain then.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
He hung up, and picked up the other phone quickly. “Red?”
~~~~~~~
The rumbling in her tummy woke her earlier than she intended. She stretched, gathering the covers around her, contemplating going back to sleep. Another loud growl made up her mind for her and she made her way to the bathroom. No matter what she did recently, peeing was a huge part of it.
Exiting the tiny bathroom, she padded to the kitchen, her thick socks muffling the sound and protecting her from the cold floor. She was saving for a rug and hoped to have enough by her next check. As usual, there wasn’t much in the refrigerator. Opening the carton of milk, she poured herself a glass. It went down quickly, not her favorite beverage, but she knew the baby needed calcium.
The two bananas on her small counter constituted breakfast and she ate them slowly, sipping more milk between the bites, while counting out her cash.
Last night had been a busy one, yet tips were not that great. She did have enough to get some more groceries, though. A peek at the alarm clock told her she had almost two hours before her shift started to run her errands. Sighing, tired, knowing why, but still irritated by it, she got up to get ready.
~~~~~~~
“Red.” He smiled, stepping back for her to come in.
She was startled because he had opened it before she had a chance to knock. A few seconds later, he glanced at her over his shoulder.
“A bit nippy out. May want to come inside, get warmed up.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” He only shook his head and crushed out the cigarette he had been smoking while she stepped in and closed the door behind her. “I wanted to stop by. See how you are.”
Lifting his brow, he sat on his bed, which was still unmade, and stared at her. “Still dead, last I checked.”
“Ha ha.” She rolled her eyes, immediately more comfortable when he was being snarky. “I just wondered … well, this place is not really a cool vamp spot. I mean, there aren’t any nightclubs, just a couple of cheap bars, and the music really sucks in one, so I can’t see you sticking around long. But I’m not saying I want you to go, I just sorta think you will. So are you?”
After a few years of practice, he had learned to decode the secrets of Willow-babble and translated her ramblings quickly. He probably had Drusilla to thank for that particular skill. Grinning, he asked in a silky voice, “Do you want me to stay, Red?”
She blushed, amazingly so in his opinion, and he wondered how she remained so obviously innocent after all she had done and seen. “Stop that,” she ordered.
“Stop what, pet?” his head tilted as he feigned confusion. He was such a bastard.
“You, with the eyes and the voice and the making me feel all weird about it. Of course I want you to stay. I thought you were dead, really dead, and now you’re not and I missed you, even though you can be very annoying at times; I missed that too.”
She was cute when she was flustered, but he didn’t want to embarrass her more. It was also nice to have someone say they were glad he was around again, so he rewarded honesty with honesty.
“I don’t have to be anywhere, Willow. Was just roaming around, so the way I see it, we were meant to find each other in this place. God knows there is absolutely no other bloody reason for me to be in this freak of a town.”
Her lips turned up at the corners, giving her that joker’s smile that meant she was actually pleased and not smiling for someone else’s benefit. “So you gonna hang around?” She didn’t know why she was feeling such relief, perhaps because she knew he would keep her safe and he was a good friend when he wanted to be, or perhaps there were other reasons that she would not entertain at the moment.
“Yeah. Think I’ll stay, make sure the demon population doesn’t get out of hand.” He snorted, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops while she laughed at him for making as many excuses as she did.
~Part: 5~
They met for dinner. Actually, he showed up at her job around 8 o’clock and waited in a booth, drinking hot cocoa with mini-marshmallows, until her lunch break at 9.
“Okay, I’m ready.” She walked up, wearing a sweater and coat over the pants, turtleneck sweater and apron. “Where are we going?”
“Get you something to eat,” he told her, holding the door open for her to exit first.
“But I get a free meal with every shift, Spike. You don’t have to do that.” She stopped outside the building, the cold breeze making her face redden quickly.
“That food is crap. Not good for the baby. ‘Sides I want to check out the town a bit and need a proper guide, don’t I?”
She smiled up at him, touched again that he was being so considerate. “The food isn’t crap. The turnover’s high.”
He took her hand and pulled her along, realizing that she would debate this with him for her entire lunch hour if he allowed it. “Whatever. I don’t like it. They messed up the Buffalo wings. How do you mess up soddin’ Buffalo wings?”
Laughing, she let him lead her around even though she was supposed to be the guide. “Are you looking for anywhere in particular?”
“Yeah, it’s just round here.”
They turned a corner and came to another restaurant. This one was in the downtown proper, which was a mere five blocks from the outskirts, and specialized in Italian food.
“Oh! Pizza! Can we order pizza?”
“You can order whatever you like, pet.” He grinned, pleased that she was pleased. They went inside and were seated immediately; apparently Spike had made a reservation.
Pizza was ordered and the waitress was very attentive, something that Willow found appealing at first, but soon it became obvious just why she was so focused on their table. She was flirting with the vampire. Right in front of her.
She bent over, flaunting her cleavage, while placing Spike’s plate of ravioli in front of him.
“Here you go, sir,” she said.
“Thanks, luv.”
She smiled, blushing, then turned and practically dropped Willow’s cheese and mushroom pizza on the table as she left. The redhead glared at the woman, thinking of a few spells that would teach the bitch about proper customer service. Her angry thoughts were interrupted by quiet laughter … Spike’s.
“What?” she asked.
“You gonna hurt the bint or what?”
She faltered, trying to look like she wasn’t thinking of making her go bald or giving her a wicked case of B.O for a week. “No.”
“Right.” He stuffed a few raviolis in his mouth, already done with the subject.
“No, I wasn’t,” she insisted. “She was just rude. Flirting like that.”
“What do you care if she flirts?” he asked, chewing his food, his tongue coming out to lick away a smearing of sauce from his lips, distracting her for a second.
“She, uh, I …. She is doing it while I’m sitting right here … with you. We could be dating or … or married, even.”
“But we’re not, so no harm no foul. She’s not my type anyway.”
Curious, because the woman was blonde, short, thin and pretty, all the things Buffy was, Willow had to ask. “Well, what’s your type?”
He leaned back and captured her gaze while picking up his glass of wine. “I like them with something going on upstairs.”
~~~~~~~
That night he walked her to her home. It was actually a tool shed that had been illegally converted to a studio apartment. The owner of the house and the property where the studio was located had done most of the work himself about ten years ago. Consequently, the insulation was not the best and the place was unduly cold, especially if the wind picked up. But she could afford it and had learned how to stay warm.
Spike took a look around the place, which was not much larger than his hotel room, noticing the bare cold floors and the bad sealing on the windows.
“Uh, do you want something to eat or drink?”
Shaking his head, he continued his brief, but all too telling tour, as she went into the bathroom. The room was about twenty feet long by fifteen feet wide, with a small cut out in the back left corner where the bathroom was. Also to the left was the kitchen area, which consisted of a small refrigerator, sink, and a two-burner electric stove built into the small counter. A cabinet above and below made up the storage space, and next to it all sat a cheap Formica table and four old metal and plastic chairs that he remembered from the 70s.
A full size futon was her bed, the mattress about four inches thick, and it sat all the way to the back against the rear wall where there was no window. Over to the right were an old color television and another chair.
Overall the place had the bare, desperate feeling that his crypt had before he had spruced it up for Buffy. He took off his coat and draped it over a kitchen chair, fighting the urge to check her cabinet and refrigerator to see if she had enough food and supplies. This was her life and if she wanted help she would ask.
Instead, he turned on the television, certain that she did not have cable, but refusing to complain. “I spoke to Peaches earlier,” he called to her.
She froze in the middle of changing into her flannel pajamas. “Oh, how is Angel?” She moved again, slipping on a pair of thick socks.
“He’s a bloody mother hen, is how.”
Coming out, she fixed him with a stare. “Did you tell him about me?”
“Yeah. The ponce knew something was up. He won’t say anything to anyone, so don’t get your knickers in a twist.” The mental image of twisted knickers made her want to wiggle her butt to shake them loose. Spike was watching her too closely to even indulge.
“Okay, good. I don’t … I can’t see him, Spike. He’ll try to hurt me and I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Spike sighed. She was worried about what she would do to defend herself if a werewolf showed up to do her harm, or take her away. “You do what you need to do to stay alive, Willow. One bite, one scrape with his teeth and you will turn.”
“I know.”
~~~~~~~
The rest of the week was spent similarly, with Spike either taking her to dinner at one of the towns few other restaurants, or hanging out in the diner for the last hour of her shift so that he could walk her home.
Millie remained distant and Willow told him it was because of his hair, but the other younger waitresses were constantly bombarding the young witch with questions about the mysterious and handsome man that she was never without. They were also suddenly very interested in getting to know Willow. Amelia even tried to invite Willow over for a night of videos and popcorn. She declined, knowing that the girl only wanted to use her to get close to Spike, like half the women of the town were doing now. After telling Spike about it, he took her to the movies to make up for it, saying he couldn’t help being such a handsome bloke.
That Friday, he woke to his room phone ringing. It was the front office asking if would be staying another week. Once he discovered Willow and had decided to stay in Buckshye, he told the hotel manager that he would need the room for a week. During that time, he thought he would be able to convince Willow to leave this place and come with him. Yet he had not even brought the subject up with her. She was somewhat happy here, and he would leave well enough alone for the time being.
Promising to call back with his decision that day, he hung up and slipped out of bed to search for his coat and his cell phone. He was not a slob, far from it, but did have a bad habit of dropping his clothes where he stood when taking them off. That usually meant a trail. A century ago, that trail was something Angelus enjoyed following in order to find his bright-eyed childe, but now it was just annoying.
He found the phone and dialed.
“Hello,” came a sleepy greeting.
“Wake up, pouf.”
“Spike.” The blond could hear the bed linens rustling in the background as Angel shifted to sitting up. “It’s been four days.”
Rolling his eyes, he replied, “And it’ll be another four if you get bitchy about it.”
“Fine. What’s up? How’s Willow?” Angel knew better than to ask his childe how he was.
“She’s good. Which is why I’m calling. I need some money.”
Angel rubbed his hand down his face slowly. “How much?”
“A few thousand ought to do for now.”
“What? A few … What?”
“Oh, come on. Don’t try that broke routine with me. You’ve got all that money stashed somewhere, and mine as well.”
“It’s blood money, Spike.”
“I don’t give a rat's arse. It’s my bloody money and I want to use it.”
“For what?”
Pressing his lips together tightly, Spike’s nostrils flared as he breathed to stay in control. “As toilet paper. What do you care? It’s mine and I want it!”
Angel flopped back onto the bed. “And what are you willing to do for me if I send it?”
Smiling, another emotion slipping in to replace the anger, Spike settled back on his bed, his voice dropping and octave. “Guess what I’m wearing, pet.”
~Part: 6~
She ran around the corner as fast as she could, desperately trying to get out of sight before the door opened. Her accomplice, actually the culprit, was already there, his unnatural speed giving him a decided advantage.
“You left me!” she panted excitedly, her eyes glaring at him, but not holding nearly as much heat as she thought.
Spike shrugged and peeked around the building to see an old man standing on his porch, confusion turning to anger. “Told you to run, Red. Best not play if you’re going to be squeamish about it.”
She rolled her eyes. “You can’t get squeamish playing doorbell ditch.”
Chuckling, he turned to look at her. “The way me and Dru played it, you could.” He decided that this was no longer interesting for him, since he had no intentions of eating the old geezer, and then he had her hand again, sauntering away with casual unconcern. “Come on then. I got something I want to show you.”
Wary and unsure of what Spike was up to, she followed anyway, too curious to do anything else. Besides, it was Friday night and she had worked the early shift and did not have return to the diner until two am on Sunday.
They walked past the downtown shops and Willow stopping to admire a few items in the display case. Spike came up behind her, close and comforting.
“See something you like?” He asked, his voice rumbling in his chest and vibrating against her back, making her all too aware of him.
She only shook her head and took his hand in hers, surprising him.
“What did you want to show me?”
His grin spread over his entire face, lighting up his devilishly handsome features. “It’s this way.”
The rest of the way, she talked about what she thought the others were doing at that very moment. It was a game she liked to play where she pretended to be a fly on the wall wherever they were.
“Xander is dating a lovely, non-demon girl, just for a change of pace to see how the other half lives, and tonight they are having a quiet evening at home.
“Eating a plethora of Twinkies, no doubt. Expanding his bodily horizons,” Spike tossed in drolly while opening a gate.
“Hey, he went on a diet after Anya died and is fighting trim … Hey, what are you doing?” she hissed, grabbing his arm to stop him from trespassing at this late hour. The good citizens of Buckshye had plenty of buckshots.
“It’s okay. He pulled out a ring of keys, jingling them in front of her face, before going up the tree lined walk.
“Spike,” she whispered, afraid to follow him. “Come back here right now. Someone’s going to call the sheriff and that man is really cranky when he gets woken up. One time these guys were fighting in the diner and had tossed a chair through the wind- …” she trailed off as he slid one of the keys home and turned the knob.
The door opened easily and he turned back to her. “Come on then. It’s only gettin’ colder."
~~~~~~~~~
The house was not huge, but felt like a mansion to her after being cramped up in her tiny studio for the last two months. She glanced around in awe, taking in the rich, dark hardwood floors and creamy walls. To the left was the living room which led to what had to be the kitchen behind the closed door. On the right were three doors, which she assumed to be bedrooms or a bath.
“What … Is this?”
“I got the keys today.” He told her, pleased by her reaction.
“You’re moving in here?” she inquired, just a little jealous, but not much. He deserved nice things. So much had happened to him and this place did not hardly make of for the crappier times ... or dusting on the Hellmouth. Yet it was a start.
“Yeah. The lease is month to month, seeing as how I don’t know what you want to do.”
Her brows were knitted together in a frown. “Me?”
“Well, yeah. I suppose I haven’t mentioned that part.”
Her eyes never left his and when she remained silent he continued. “I have an extra bedroom, plenty of space really. And you could save up your money for the baby in such. No sense in both of us paying rent.”
Tearing up, she turned away from him, blinking away her emotions which were always raging of late. “Spike … I … I don’t know what to say.” She wiped the errant tears with the back of her hand and turned around, her eyes will watery and reddened.
“Say you’ll stay so that I won’t be bored to tears in this one-horse town.”
She giggled, but shook her head. He was just being nice and she did not want to encroach in this way or any other way.
“No, I mean it, Red. I’m waiting all bloody day for the sun to drop so I can go see you. This way I can see you all day.”
“You sleep all day.”
He gave her a level stare, going for serious. “Well, yeah, there’s that. But I’d be up more often if I had someone to talk to. Someone who could hold a conversation about something other than the merits of cow tipping.”
Listening to her own internal ramblings, she tried to come up with a reason not to do this. It struck her as odd since a few years ago she would have had to work very hard to talk herself into doing this. In the end she turned a bright smile on him and nodded.
Clapping his hands together before rubbing them, the muscles in his arms flexing nicely with the movement, not that she noticed, Spike grinned back. “Marvelous, pet. We can get what you need tonight and you can move in now.”
“Now? But it’s almost one in the morning.”
~Part: 7~
It took all of that night and the next to get her meager possessions packed and moved into the house. They kept getting distracted reminiscing or talking about a book Willow read. Spike loaded his car three times and that was enough for Willow who was one pooped pregnant woman by Saturday night.
Spike had set her new bed up in her room earlier that day after the furniture that he ordered had arrived and she was laid out on its sheetless surface now, staring up at the ceiling as she wondered about her luck.
Finding the blond vampire had certainly seemed like chance, but now she was not so sure. He admitted that he had no destination and had just been roaming the continent, taking a break of the role of champion of the people. What were the odds that he would be in this town, coming out of that door just as she was going in? Was it Fate?
That Oz sent him flickered through her mind, but she cast that idea away easily. Spike would never be someone’s errand boy. The demon believed in doing his own dirty work and would do it would flare, but no one else’s. If he had been in contact with Oz, he would have said so by now, she was sure of that. Duplicity, while still a major aspect of his demon, was not something he practiced on someone he considered a friend. He was loyal that way and Willow would not insult him by thinking otherwise.
“You should call in sick.”
Startled, she twisted around so she could see the door and leaned up on her elbow. “Why?”
He was leaning in her doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. “You’re still awake and your shift starts in four hours. You’ll be dead on your feet halfway through.”
“Yeah, but if I don’t go then someone else has to stay longer or work the shift alone maybe.”
Sighing, he stepped inside and stooped in front of her. “When’s the last time you took some time off? For yourself?”
“I haven’t. Just the days I’m not scheduled,” she replied, with a scowl. “I need the money, Spike.”
He shook his head, blue eyes looking into hers, willing her to understand. “No, you don’t. Not anymore.”
“The baby’s coming and I have to pay for the hospital and I need to start going to the doctor and I need stuff, baby stuff.”
“And I can help you,” he told her.
“What? No. That’s too much to ask.” She scooted to the edge of the bed and stood, getting the new sheets from the bag of linens.
“You didn’t ask. I’m offering.”
He was gazing at her, so sweetly, and she began to melt, feeling all buttering and smooth around him lately. “I know.” She remembered when he used to look at Buffy this way and wondered how her friend could ever say no to him. “You’re not playing fair you know.”
That innocent look was back in his face, a mask to be sure, but very convincing if you didn’t know him. “I’m a demon, pet. What do you expect?” ~~~~~~
~~~*~~~
The girl was one of many, differing shapes and sizes, but none of that
mattered. They were the filler, keeping him sated while he waited for her.
Oz climbed from the bed slowly and glanced back at the form sleeping
there. She didn’t look like Willow. He made sure that none of the girls
he bedded resembled the redhead. This one was a brunette and thick bordering
on chunking, but a fine lay all the same.
He wanted her gone.
Opening the door, he entered the main part of the suite and picked up the phone to dial another room.
“Yeah, send in Shane. I’ll be in the shower.”
He padded to the bathroom and turned on the water, thinking over his options as he let the water flow over him. He was doing well, the band was doing well. They still had plenty of up to aspire to, however they were well-known as a group and had some pull with the record company. So nice hotels and a small security team were provided.
Shane was on that team and usually kicked the strays out for them so no one thought bad of them. It was a nice arrangement and so far had little repercussions.
Yet he knew he was not so important that he could rearrange their touring schedule in order to chase down his misbehaving girlfriend.
No one had seen her since his last little surprise visit. She was laying low and staying low and with reluctant admiration, he admitted that she was good. As good as him and he was frustrated beyond his ability to express. Instead it was manifest in the music, fierce chords and blindingly riotous solos that left the audience reeling and screaming for more.
The guys in the group loved it, making impromptu changes to accommodate his new style. He was coming into his own and bringing them with him.
Someone knocked on the door. “She’s gone.” It was Shane, his voice muffled by the thick wood separating them.
“Thanks.” He could have said more, but why? Shane was not a conversationalist and Oz was, by nature, economical when he spoke.
The outer door of the suite slamming was the man’s reply and he cursed, shutting the water off. He needed his laptop to run a search on his redhead and had intended to ask Shane to get for him.
No wanting to bother him again, Oz decided to work on a new arrangement for one of their older songs, knowing he could hunt down his beloved the next day.
~Part: 8~
Spike had been right.
Willow was never going to tell him that, but he was right. Before six she felt like she would fall asleep on her feet, yet she stuck it out, as much for the money that she needed as for her pride.
“Hey, Katy.” It was Amelia just coming in.
“Oh hi,” Willow replied, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She was getting better about answering to that name and if it weren’t for Spike calling her Red, or Willow or pet … or luv, which she would never admit to getting the tingles over, she would be totally trained by now.
“So … where’s your guy?” the other waitress asked, leaning in close enough for Willow to smell her hairspray.
“I told you, he’s not my guy.” She gave her the old eyeroll of stupidity once reserved especially for Anya.
“Hmmp. Well, he looks like a boyfriend and acts like a boyfriend. You ain’t fooling me.” She tugged on Willow’s arm, leading her into the back, away from customers and their boss. “’Sides. You’re starting to show.”
Willow paled. “Show? Show what?”
It was Amelia’s turn to roll her eyes. “That baby, Katy. All that throwing up you were doing … please. Been there, done that,” she whispered.
There was no use lying, the truth would be obvious within a few weeks anyway. She just hoped that Frank didn’t fire her when he found out.
The woman continued. “Plus, folks saw you and him moving your stuff to that house he’s leasing up on Milton. It’s nice over there so he must have money.”
She was fishing, for what Willow didn’t know. All she knew was that she wanted to get away from her and back in bed to hide for a week.
“My breaks over, Amelia. I gotta go.”
~~~~~
“Guess who I had a little visit from.”
The sunlight was creeping into his room, coming through slats in the blinds where his draperies were not completely closed. Holding the cell phone to his ear, he scooted out of bed and closed them, unbothered by the rays as they briefly caressed his skin.
“The bleeding Tooth Fairy?” he asked while looking at the drapes a moment longer. At times he liked to stand in the sunlight and take in its warmth for the few extra seconds that he had over other vampires before his flesh began to tingle with the beginnings of a burn. He was considering it now, but Angel’s next word …
“Oz.”
… garnered his full attention.
“That so? What’d he want, then?”
“He said he was dropping by to say hello. He’s in Los Angeles, performing. You heard of ‘Wild’?”
Spike frowned. It was familiar. “A band, I think. Not my cuppa, but …”
“Well, he plays lead guitar for them, or maybe the rest of them play for him. Who know?”
There was silence on the line while Spike lit a smoke. The vampire did not believe in coincidence. Something was up.
“Have you talked to anyone?” He did not need to clarify.
Angel shook his head. “Not a soul.”
“Huh.” He felt the beginnings of frustration and the need to hunt. It had been quieted for a while and he credited that to Willow. She gave him purpose and he looked forward to being around her. The idea that danger was finding its way to them both angered and thrilled him. It had been a while since he killed a wolf.
Pulling the phone away from his ear long enough to glance at the number on the display, he relaxed. At least Angel had used his cell and not the office phone.
“Maybe he’s really just saying hello. Has he ever dropped by before?”
“You should remember the last time he dropped by.”
Spike did. “That’s a no, then.” He sighed and dragged on his cigarette absently, not enjoying it at all. “Crap!” he yelled, jumping up and going to the window.
“What??” Angel called back, concerned but trying to sound annoyed.
Spike opened the window quickly, getting away from the sun before any damage was done. “Was smoking in the house,” he grunted while fanning the whitish clouds and smashing the thing in his ashtray. “She’ll kill me for it.”
Silence followed, unnoticed by the blond as he attempted to get rid of the smell, but Angel was thinking and not liking the conclusion.
“Spike, why would she, and I’m assuming you mean Willow, kill you for smoking in your own house?”
“It’s not good for the baby, you git,” he groaned, using a book to help push the tainted air out. She was due home in less than an hour and could be a cranky little beaver when she wanted.
“Spike! Is she … are you?” He knew that anything was possible in this world, especially to members of his family.
“Huh?”
Angel imagined the dumbfounded look on his childe’s face as he replayed his own words in his head and assessed the damage. It was almost enough to make him smile if the implications we’re so disturbing.
“What is going on there?”
“Nothing, just sleepy.” He yawned. “Woke me up from a crazy dream. Just … bloody … crazy.”
Angel waited. And waited.
“Tell me or I’ll be there tonight.” It was not an empty threat and Spike knew it. The thought of Angel putting his nose directly in his affairs was more unappealing than a holy water enema … and equally painful.
With a sigh, he relented. “Fine. She’s pregnant and staying with me. It’s what I wanted the money for, all right?”
No, it was not all right. Not by a long shot. Angel knew that Spike wanted Willow at one time and when he had the chance to turn her he took it. Only a tiny piece of technology saved her from being the youngest of their Order.
“Pregnant? Willow? Is it yours?”
Spike stared at the wall for a second. “You do, of course, realize how bloody STUPID YOU SOUND, don’t you?”
Angel sighed. “What are you up to, Spike?”
The blond frowned. His sire was impossible. “Nothing. Just helping her out is all. Like she helped me and everyone else at one time or another. It’s the Scooby way, Peaches. You should know that.” He pretended to think for a few seconds. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t know. You left. Left her … for your soddin’ destiny.”
Angel was tempted to bite, but instead ignored the barb and stayed on track. “Are you screwing her?”
“What? Why do you care? Christ, this is getting old, pet.”
“What?”
“Your possessive crap, that’s what. If you haven’t noticed, Spike’s a big boy now.”
Sensing the direct approach was only angering the blond, Angel switched tactics. “Very big from what I remember.”
Duly distracted from the road to being pissed off, Spike raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And how good’s your memory, luv?”
Spike heard the zipper being undone and stroked his own growing erection.
“Not very,” Angel groaned. “I think I need a reminder.”
~~~~~~
Willow crept into the house. Even though it was almost noon and pretty bright out, if impossibly cold, the place was dark and warm.
She passed by Spike’s room on the way to the bathroom and glanced in through his half-opened door. He was laid out, face down, on the mattress, covers a tangled mess around his legs, but nothing covering that pale, hard, extremely well-muscled ass of his. She slowed, stopped, stared and blushed all in the span of five seconds before scurrying to the bathroom and doing what she did best nowadays … pee.
Sitting there a moment longer than necessary, she admired the things she and Spike had selected to decorate the room. Nothing too fancy, but it made it theirs. With a shake of her head, ridding her thoughts of where they were wandering, she flushed, washed her hands in water that was too cold, and headed for her bedroom.
And nothing felt so good in a long time as coming home, to a real home, and collapsing in her bed for a few hours of uninterrupted rest. She was so tired that she never felt the vampire come in around sunset to slip off her shoes and pull a comforter over her while she snoozed.
~Part: 9~
“I think he knows something.”
Devon was checking over the microphones and testing peddles. “Who?”
“Angel,” Oz answered.
“Geez dude, are you still on that?” He rearranged a voicebox peddle to his liking and frowned. “Where the hell is my foot tambo?”
Oz thought for a few seconds. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
Devon swung back to look at Oz. “You are what?”
Oz grabbed his arm before he could go off on a tangent again. “Try to remember that I am having a conversation with you, the key being that you need to participate.”
The singer laughed and settled on top of an amplifier. “I’m all ears, dude.”
“Actually you’re all ego.”
“That too. So what gives?”
“Well, I stopped by Angel’s place, hoping to catch a scent of Willow, you know. She’s gotta turn up somewhere and since we’re in L.A. I didn’t want to waste the opportunity.”
“And?” Devon was growing bored quickly. It was not that he did not care, because he did. His friend seemed so lost since Willow disappeared and he wanted the girl to come back as well. Yet there was the wickedly new way of playing that seemed to be Oz’s angst set to music and Devon would miss that. He had also sat through weeks of Oz’s mooning over the girl and really thought the man should just lick his wounds and get over it.
“Well he never even asked about Willow or offered any information about her. It was like she was an off limits topic.”
“So…”
Oz smiled and leaned back against the huge speaker behind him. “So he’s avoiding it because he knows something.”
“Okay. Hey, that’s really cool. You better double check your equipment. This stage crew sucks.” He jumped off the edge of the stage and headed up the center aisle of the theater.
Having talked it out, even if it was with a non-attentive Devon, Oz felt more certain than before that Angel was hiding something about Willow from him. Whistling, he checked his gear before heading to his room to do a little research on Angel Investigations.
~~~~~~
Willow padded into the kitchen in her socks, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand and yarning. Leaning against the counter was Spike, drinking blood from a mug.
“Morning, pet.”
“It’s so not morning. My biological clock is getting all wacky from the stupid hours,” she scowled, daring him to disagree with her. Now was not the time to bring up dogboy’s visit.
“Whatever you say.” He went back to drinking his breakfast … or dinner in her eyes.
“Don’t patronize me.”
And did that bring back memories of him sitting on a tiny girlishly decorated bed, saying the same thing to her.
“History does repeat itself.”
Her forehead scrunched up before the memory hit her as well and she smiled. “I think we’re weird,” she told him.
“Why’s that then?” He finished off the blood and rinsed out the dregs.
“Well, I get the warm fuzzies thinking about that, like it was the good ole days and you were going to kill me. So I think that qualifies as weird.”
“Not to me. And don’t forget, I was never gonna let you stay dead.”
“But you said I had a choice.”
Spike laughed, incredulous. “And you believed me?”
Willow went silent for a moment and he heard the cogs turning. “So … say there was no chip, what would have happened?” This was something she thought about a lot, more so right after their encounter than now, but the questions still remained. The idea of being around Spike for eternity was not … unappealing, and yet it bothered her at the same time. He was handsome, but so very male. After Oz, the replay, she still thought she was gay, or at least bi-sexual, but if she was being honest with herself, and for once she was, Spike gave her the hots like no one else ever did.
“…Are you listening?
“What? Yeah, I mean repeat that last part, please,’ she grinned.
“I said, why do you want to know that? You seemed pretty angry about it later.”
“Well, I was, but that’s when I thought I would have been dead,” she lied. “But now, with your no choice thing, I’m curious. What would we have done? Together? I mean as a team, together not as in together, together.” And the red just crept into her face, delighting his senses and tempting his demon.
“Oh, believe me, luv,” his voice dropped an octave as he held her gaze and she felt that insane tingling shoot through her again, making her squirm. “There would have been a lot of together together.”
“I … oh!” she exclaimed before dashing to the bathroom.
~~~~~~
A satisfied grin settled over the man’s face as he stared at the screen in front of him. He always had these little bursts of pride when he proved to himself that he still had it. It being the ability to hack into nearly any system, undetected. He was a hacker, not a cracker and just basically broke in to see if he could, never to steal or do damage. Today, however, he was taking a bit of information with him.
The bank records showed that Angel had made a wire-transfer in the amount of $4000 to a Western Union office in Buckshye, Wyoming.
Backing out of that system, he tried to break into the Western Union database to see who picked up the money. After a few minutes there was a knock on his door.
“Yeah,” he called, while clicking away at the keys. He hadn’t even been able to find the portal yet.
“Time to head back over, Oz. The bus is loaded.” It was Shane.
“Okay, here I come.”
~Part: 10~
“I need a carrot.”
Willow stood back from her snowman, studying it. She had followed the instructions in the movie to the letter, down to an old pipe, but had forgotten the carrot. Actually, she ate the carrot, not knowing it was the last of them.
“I bought a bag of the bloody things,” Spike said, heading up the back stairs to the kitchen porch. “I’ll fetch you one.”
“Uh, Spike?”
“Yeah.” He stopped, with his hand on the screen door handle and glanced at her. She was bundled up in the new wool coat, hat, and snow gloves they’d purchased the evening before. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled in the night. He was sure she looked like a perfect cherub.
“I kinda ate ‘em all,” she confessed, biting on her bottom lip.
He was surprised, had been frequently over the huge amounts of food she was packing away. But carrots? “You really are bizarre.”
Her brows met in a scowl. “Bizarre? It’s not bizarre. I just happened to be hungry and they were there. It’s what we do,” she informed him with a nod and a frown.
“Carrots. Pregnant women like carrots. Not butter pecan ice cream, which by the way there is a plethora of in that icebox. Couldn’t you have craved something that wasn’t going on Frosty’s face?” he asked.
“You have a lot of nerve. Dipping your Oreo cookies in blood? And you call me weird?”
“Called you bizarre, not weird and it's perfectly normal to dip snacks in blood. Livens them up a bit.”
The phone rang, interrupting their discussion. “Make do without the carrot, yeah?” he told her as he went inside.
Picking up the cordless, he clicked the talk button and opened the refrigerator. There was just no way that that girl ate all those carrots. “Be able to see the bloody future,” he grumbled while bringing the phone to his ear. “Hello.”
No one replied.
“Hello.” He glanced at the caller id. It showed unavailable. “Last chance.”
Shrugging, he hung up and went back to his search.
~~~~~~~~~
The next morning Willow strolled into work. Spike was still trying to convince her to quit, that he would take care of her, but she enjoyed earning her own money and did not want to be a burden. She had agreed to let him pay for the doctor visit, which was scheduled for tomorrow and still felt somewhat guilty about that.
Millie was working the morning shift with her and she slumped in, sour as ever and frowning at her in particular.
“Morning Millie,” Willow greeted.
The woman grunted something, but she was sure it wasn’t hello.
“Millie?” Willow followed her into the back.
The old woman turned face twisted and ugly. “Don’t speak to me harlot. Living in sin with that oddity of a man.”
Willow’s eyes widened as she stood frozen in shock and a weird sort of fear that really wasn’t. “I …”
“Don’t you try to deny it. It’s all over town. Him buying things for you. A house even and you just lap it all up. What’s he make you do for it all, missy?” She glanced down at the redhead’s knees then back up at her face. “You keep them good and clean so no one’ll know. But I know and I want no part of you.”
With that she turned around and changed into her serving apron, ignoring the young girl’s silent tears.
~~~~~~~~
The day passed slowly. Many customers preferred to wait until Millie’s section had an opening before being seated. Some were discreet about it, feigning an errand so that when they returned Millie had a table for them, while others were flat out rude about it. Then there were those who didn’t know or didn’t care so her section was decently occupied most times, but never close to capacity.
It made her angry. They were judging her based on something they didn’t understand. It also worried her. If this was how these people reacted to her living with a guy, then what would they do when she started showing?
Gathering her things, she had never been so happy to leave work as she was today. Normally, she left exhausted, but pleased with herself. Now she was just tired. Frank said goodbye, but Millie didn’t even look her way and Willow did not bother making the attempt. The woman was old and set in her ways. Nothing Willow said to her about modern times and modern living would persuade the aging waitress to think differently.
The walk home was longer since she moved and when she got off after sunset Spike was always there, engine revving, to pick her up. During the days, she declined his offer to let her take his car, choosing to walk home instead. Her reasoning was that it saved money and she got a little more exercise which was also good for her and the baby. Yet today she would have appreciated the convenience of the car.
Finally home, she dropped her things in the hallway. Spike was still sleeping. The door to his room was closed. A huge part of her wanted to burst in there and leap in his arms. She knew without a doubt that he would hold her and let her cry until she couldn’t any more. And that was what held her back.
Spike, no matter how attractive she found him, or how sweet he was, was Buffy’s. Her friend had mourned over him more than Willow had believed possible. The crying fits and the slayage fits were nothing compared to the bouts of depression that the blonde had suffered. It had taken a lot of talking and patience to get her on her feet again and then she had jumped straight into bed with the Immortal.
That was something Willow would never understand, but by the time those events occurred the redhead had moved to Brazil with Kennedy so she wasn’t around to know the details and would not jump to conclusions.
The door opened, revealing a half-dressed Spike, and she realized she had just been standing there, thinking and staring. Now she was staring again, at his chest, while he yawned.
“Felt you come in. Something wrong?”
She snapped out of it. “Oh, um … no. I was just …”
“Gonna close the door?” he asked with a smile, somewhat trapped in his room by the weakening rays of the sun that poured through.
“Yeah, sorry.” she pushed it shut.
“Willow.”
She turned to find him right in front of her, taking in her presence with all his senses, like he was scanning her for defects.
“You’ve been crying.” The salty scent was on her skin, just as the sadness was drowning her spirit.
She glanced up at him, a tiny smile on her face. “Not recently.”
“What happened?” He was not going to be distracted by her false cheeriness.
“Nothing. Really,” she lied, shaking her head, but her smile faltered, crumbling quickly when he caressed her cheek gently.
“No lies, remember?”
That broke her resolve and she fell into strong arms that seemed made just for this.
~~~~~~~~~
“I was gonna eat that old bint,” Spike informed her.
They were sitting on the sofa, sunk in comfortably in the supple burgundy leather, Spike stroking long red strands while she lay back in his lap.
“You were not. You’re just trying to make me feel better.”
“Is it working?” he asked. He really had thought about it when he met Millie, and doubted he would have had a big battle with his soul about it, but no need to let her know that. Given time she would discover the precarious nature of his demon on her own. He hoped to have that time with her and scaring her off now didn’t strike him as wise.
She laughed, sniffling in between. “Yeah. But I think I’ll call in sick anyway.”
“You should quit.” If she did, perhaps he could pay that evil old waitress
a visit and Willow would never know.
“Maybe. I’ll look for something else first.” She squirmed to her side and leaned up to grab the phone from the end table.
Spike listened while she called Frank and told him she wasn’t feeling well and would not be in tomorrow. The man had the good sense not to make a big deal over it. After Spike showed up, he had been a lot less aggressive toward Willow, apparently not wanting to deal with the blond.
As soon as she hung up, the phone rang. Clicking the talk button, thinking it was her boss calling back from something, she answered the phone.
“Hi Frank.”
There was only silence on the other end.
“Hello?” she tried.
Nothing. Spike frowned and took the phone, but stayed silent as well.
Nothing … except he could hear breathing on the other end, faint, controlled, but there.
He clicked the end button, forehead still creasing in thought.
“Who was it?”
“Don’t know,” he replied. “Last night someone did the same thing. Just blew it off as a wrong number.”
Willow sat up, facing him, worry etched in her features, making her look older than she was. “Do you think …”
“Shhh…” he placed his finger over her mouth, stopping her before she started and worked herself into an amazing frenzy. “It’s probably just Millie and her friends doing what they can to ruffle your feathers. Humans are petty and cruel, in case you’ve forgotten.”
She nodded, thinking, hoping, that he was right. Spike was here and she was safe. That was a bottom line. Determined to have a better evening than her day, she leaned in, giving in to her impulses, and kissed him softly on his cheek, letting her lips linger just too long before pulling back and staring in his eyes. They were captivating, full of welcomed surprise and something darker, needy. She got up slowly, tugging him up with her. “Come on. I’m gonna make you dinner.”