Learning Curve

Author:  Kat, a.k.a. KallieRose

Parts: 51 - Epilogue

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~Part: 51~

Once again, they ran.  Willow’s muscles burned with the effort, but there was no shortness of breath thanks to her eternally undead body.  She wondered if she could run like this forever, or whether eventually her muscles would call it a day, dropping her to the ground.  It wasn’t like she thought such a thing would happen anytime soon; she was just curious about whether it *could* happen.  Eventually.  She’d have to ask Spike.  He had probably run from more angry crowds than anyone she knew.

Doyle was tiring.  She could sense it, almost smell it.  But he continued on regardless, even as his speed decreased.  Angel ran in front of them, but he kept shooting concerned glances back at Doyle, and she wondered how much longer it would be before Angel would stop and insist on carrying him.

The simple fact was, Doyle was slowing them down.  The imminent explosion of the Initiative compound hung like a sword over their necks, and they needed to move faster or they would be consumed in the sinkhole that would soon be forming under the UC-Sunnydale campus.

Doyle stopped suddenly, falling to his knees as his chest heaved, drawing in huge lungfuls of air.  They could hear his heart racing; could almost smell his heart attack coming.

“Angel,” Spike called, watching as the other vampire stopped, turned around, and then ran back for his friend.

“You and Willow go on ahead,” he said as he passed them.  “We’ll catch up with you.”

It might very well be a lie, Spike knew.  The time that Angel wasted going back for Doyle could mean the difference between life and death for the two of them.  But not for him or Willow.

She spared Angel and Doyle a backwards glance, but labored to keep up with Spike, who increased his speed, now that he had been given the go-ahead from Angel.  “Hurry, Angel,” was all that she said.

They were getting closer to the entrance now, Spike was sure of it.  The linoleum floors of the compound had given way to the cement that paved the cave.  All they needed was another minute or two.  He just hoped they would be granted that extra time.

With every step he expected to hear the distant boom of explosions.  Or maybe it would be a sudden bang and a flash of bright light that surrounded and engulfed them with only a brief moment of pain before an eternity of nothingness.  Whatever fate had in store for him, it would happen soon; somehow he just knew it.

Spike could sense his sire not far behind him; he felt as uneasy as a child left alone without his parents, but he could not bring himself to slow down.  Angel had chosen to go back and help his friend.  Spike had made his choice as well.

A nagging pain brought his attention back to his body.  In the frenzied race for the outside, he had forgotten completely about the bullet that had grazed his shoulder.  Initiative bitch; she would pay for that.  Was paying already.  Even if she was still alive, she wouldn’t be for long; the compound would be her tomb.

He wished he could have turned her; that way he could have tortured her for just as long as she had tortured him, letting her live in misery for exactly as long as he had had to live with his chip.  Her blood would have been marvelous, seasoned with fear and the hopelessness of an eternity of pain.  But that wasn’t going to happen.  It was a shame, but not the end of his world.

The scent of fresh, natural air reached him, and he knew that the end was close.  They tore around a bend in the cave, and there it was before them, the mouth.  He could see the trees and brush that hid the entrance, and breathed a sigh of relief so deep that he almost tripped, such was his distraction.

“We’re gonna make it,” he heard Willow whisper, although both of their minds were still on Angel and Doyle.  “C’mon, Angel, you’re almost there,” she called back, sending her encouragement.

Suddenly, just as they cleared the mouth of the cave, the ground trembled beneath them and a huge boom deafened them.  It came from deep inside the compound, but soon answering rumbles began from all directions.  There were dozens of bombs, exploding as programmed, acting to destroy the evidence of the Initiative’s very existence.

They stared at each other in confusion.  Should they stay and wait for Angel and Doyle, or keep moving in an effort to clear the area?  They were outside of the cave now, maybe ten feet away, but whatever was going to happen might end up taking out a large chunk of the campus.  The farther away they got, the better.

“Stay—”

“Let’s go—”

They spoke in unison; Spike was surprised by her choice.  She was the smart one; certainly she could see that staying would put them both at risk, and yet that was what she had chosen.  “Pet, we need to get moving.  Angel will get out fine on his own.  Always does.  He’s got at least nine lives, after all.”  He worried for his sire, but his sense of self-preservation was stronger.

Willow frowned, pretending to think, but really just trying to buy time.  Angel was sure to be right behind them.  She wanted to stay and wait.  If…well, if somehow the cave closed in on itself, she wanted to be there to help try and get him out. “Just a little bit longer,” she insisted.  Hurry, Angel, she thought.

The ground beneath them rumbled again.  Closer.  She fancied she could hear the twisting of metal and wood as it all tumbled in upon itself.  The Initiative’s frat house, its cover, was on the other side of campus, and Willow wished desperately that she could see it.  She wondered if it was still standing, or if it had been part of the damage that she heard now.

Another rumble, almost directly below them now.  It looked as if they were dancing as they tried to keep on their feet.  It felt like being in an earthquake; she wished vaguely for a doorway to stand in.  Any Southern Californian would tell you that that was what to do when there was an earthquake.  That would probably be a part of the excuse that would be fed to the normals.  Earthquake, ruptured gas line, freak once-in-a-lifetime occurrence that could never happen again.  Let’s just get it cleaned up and move on, folks.  Yeah, she could almost hear the words being spouted, could even see the Mayor telling the town that it was ‘time to begin the healing process.’  Whatever.

“That was too close, luv.  Time to get moving.”  Spike grabbed her by the arm when she turned to him, inclined to argue, and began pulling her towards the lot where they had left Angel’s car.

“Willow, Spike—what the hell are you doing here?  Run!”

It was Angel, she saw, and relief flooded her as she watched him emerge from the cave.  His progress was slow, hampered by the dead weight of Doyle’s body.  The sight was enough to get her moving again, and they closed the distance to Angel’s car in less than a minute.

The echoing rumbles could still be heard, but they were farther away now; they sounded more like distant booms than huge, life-ending crashes.  “We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?” she asked Spike as they reached the car.

“I think so.  Don’t want to say that until we’re home safe and sound, though.  Bad luck, and all that.”  He shifted anxiously from foot to foot, waiting for Angel to reach them.  Bloody git was the one with the keys, after all.  He could have hotwired the car, but it probably would have taken just as long to do.  Besides, then he’d have to listen to Angel whine on about damage to his precious car.

Then again, the look on Angel’s face as he realized that Spike had violated his precious bat mobile might be worth the effort.  He was in the midst of re-thinking that option when Angel and Doyle finally reached them.

“Get in; let’s get the hell out of here.” The top of the convertible was down, so he just dumped Doyle in the back and then jumped into the driver’s seat.

“Been waiting for you, Peaches.  You’ve got the bloody keys,” Spike said, hopping into the passenger seat, as Willow opened the door and got in behind him, her eyes lingering on Doyle’s unmoving form.

It took her a moment to realize what was wrong:  the gas mask was gone.  “What happened to Doyle?”

Angel spared them a look as he started the car, quickly maneuvering through the residential neighborhoods that surrounded the campus.  “Think he took the gas mask off back in the cave.  Probably made it too hard to run.  He must have breathed in some of the gas.”

“His heartbeat is good and he’s breathing normally,” she said, trying to ease his fears.  “Probably just knocked him out.”

“We weren’t sure how he’d respond to the gas,” Angel explained over his shoulder, while trying to keep his eyes on the road.  “That’s why he brought the mask.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Willow reassured him.  “We just need to get him home and let him rest.”   Let them all rest, really.  Willow felt like she could do with a good twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep.

“How’s your shoulder?” she asked Spike, leaning forward to let her fingers run lightly across the blood-soaked cloth.  The blood had already dried, and the fabric crackled stiffly between her fingers.  He was probably already healed underneath the clothing.

He turned and smiled wolfishly, reminding her suddenly of who he was, and what he was once again able to do.  “Forgot about it, actually,” he admitted.  “Doesn’t hurt anymore.  Was a bitch earlier, though.”

“The mansion or your place?” Angel interrupted, as the familiar neighborhood of their home came into view.

Willow glanced at her watch.  It was nearly four in the morning.  Wherever they went now was where they would all spend the day.  It was too late for Angel and Doyle to head back to Los Angeles without risking a fatal sunburn.  Besides, they really ought to find a place where they could get Doyle comfortable.

“The mansion would probably be better,” she admitted, even though she longed for the familiarity of her and Spike’s home.  “More space to move around, less chance of a surprise visitor.”  She could only imagine the look on Buffy’s face if she came by unexpectedly and saw Doyle and Angel passed out on her living room couch.

“The mansion it is, then,” Angel agreed.

~Part: 52~

Doyle finally began to come around as they pulled into the mansion’s driveway, and by the time the car had come to a stop, he was almost completely conscious, which had Willow feeling much relieved.  His vitals had been strong enough that she hadn’t had any real worry that he wouldn’t come back to them, but feeling it and knowing it with a certainty were two different things.

“What the hell happened?  I’m alive, so I’m guessing we won, huh?”  His voice was weak but steady.  And, just as important, his sense of humor had survived intact.

“What do you remember, Doyle?”  Angel was helping him up and out of the car, physically carrying him over the threshold and into the house.  Doyle struggled feebly against the vampire before settling down and realizing he was still far too weak to move around on his own.

“Uh, I remember running.  Lots of running.  What happened after that?”

“More running, actually.  Whole lot of it,” Spike said.  “Ran until we got out, then drove here.  You didn’t miss much.”

“Good.  Would have been awful if I had died and hadn’t been awake to enjoy it.”

Angel laid Doyle out on the sofa, and then went to the kitchen in search of water and whatever else he thought a half-demon would need in order to recover from inhaling poisonous gas.  Spike had disappeared as well, leaving Willow to act as nursemaid.  Not that she minded; and not that Doyle probably needed one.  But she felt like someone should watch over him until Angel returned.

“How do you feel now?” Willow asked, noting how pale and drawn he still looked.

“Much better,” he admitted.  “Although I could probably sleep for a week or two.”  As if to make his point, his eyes drifted closed as she watched.

“Just restin’ my eyes for a bit.  Not sleeping,” he murmured, slurring the words.  He was dead to the world by the time Angel returned, the water and a couple of aspirins in his hands.

“He’s out again,” Willow whispered, although she suspected that the UC-Sunnydale Marching Band probably wouldn’t have roused Doyle.

Angel just nodded, taking a seat on the opposite  sofa and burying his head in his hands. Willow understood what he was feeling; at least she thought she did.  He had done a lot for her; a lot of things that he didn’t want to do, but things he knew needed to be done.  The things he had done tonight would probably bother him for quite some time.

“Angel?”

He looked up at her, his eyes focusing on her as she sat down next to him.

“I just wanted—thank you,” she said nervously.  “You know, for helping us.  I don’t think we could have done it alone.”

Angel gave her a small, sad smile that made Willow ache to hold him and tell him that everything would be okay.  She didn’t know if it would, but she wished nonetheless that she could help her friend feel better.

Her friend and her grandsire.  His dual positions in her life lent him an odd combination of authority and supportiveness.  Sometimes he played one role, sometimes the other.  She was never sure quite how to feel about him.

The look on Angel’s face spoke of time and experience that she did not yet have.  It made her feel slightly uncomfortable and inadequate, and yet she knew that he was still the same old Angel.  It was just her perception of him that had changed, really.

“You’re welcome, Willow,” he said.  “I’ll be here for you, whenever you need me.  You know that, right?”

She knew it.  It was a feeling based not on friendship or her relationship to his long-lost love, but on the fact that they were family.  That bond was stronger than any she had ever experienced, and the intensity of it both comforted and frightened her.  She was grateful for the promise of help, whenever and however she needed it.  She just hoped that she would never let him down when he needed something in return.

“We’re family,” she replied knowingly, answering all of his questions with those two simple words.

Angel nodded.  “Speaking of which, why don’t you go and find Spike?  I’ll take care of Doyle.”

Willow threw him a grateful smile and then headed for the stairs.  She could sense Spike up there, in the room they had used the previous night.  Suddenly she craved his nearness like a drug, wanted to feel his arms around her more than anything else in the world.  The need wasn’t sexual; she was so tired she could barely stand up, so sex was pretty much out of the question.  It was just simply that she wanted—needed to be near him.

~~~*~~~

“We made it, pet.”  He whispered the words in her ear as they lay together, exhausted yet somehow oddly satisfied.  His arms surrounded her, comforted her, and delineated the limits of her world.  “The bastards are dead, the Initiative is dust, and I’m no longer at the mercy of any human who thinks he has a score to settle.”

Willow struggled to concentrate on the first part of his sentence while ignoring the rest of it.  She knew that disabling the chip had been important to him.  It was hard to forget that fact.  But it still brought to mind things that she had been trying so hard not to think about.  Things like the life expectancy of her friends…

Something else occurred to her.  “What about Trevor?”

“Gone.  He went down with his pals, when the place imploded.”  Spike had felt the minion’s life snuffed out while they were running for their lives.  It had been barely a pinprick in the bubble of his psyche, but he had felt it just the same.

“Good.”  There was a sense of relief in her voice, and then her body relaxed just a bit more against him.

“I’m gonna sleep now, okay?” she mumbled, her lips brushing against his chest as she said the words.  “You’ll be here when I wake up?”

“I’ll be here,” he promised, as they both drifted off to sleep.

~~~*~~~

Willow woke to the feel of feather-light kisses trailing along her spine; he had started at her neck, and seemed to be working his way down to the curve of her ass.

“Thought you’d never wake up,” Spike murmured between kisses.

She stretched lazily, but was careful not to move too much; she didn’t want to interrupt his efforts.  “If I had known I would have this to wake up to, I would have done it sooner,” she informed him.  She wanted to kiss him, but that would mean moving, and she was enjoying things way too much to do that.

Sleep had been surprisingly nightmare-free.  She had worried about nightmares—had half expected to see Maggie Walsh’s anguished face every time she closed her eyes.  But instead, her sleep had been dreamless, and she awoke feeling refreshed and oddly optimistic.

“How are you feeling, luv?”

She considered the question for a moment.  “Okay, actually.  Better than I thought I would.”

“Just okay?”  Spike sounded offended.  “I’m working hard here, and all you can give me is ‘okay?’  I think I’ve just been insulted.”

She could hear the humor in his voice and grinned, feeling freer and happier than she had in weeks.

Spike shifted her onto her back, scooting down to lay between her legs, his twinkling eyes looking up at her mischievously.  His tongue peeked out from between full lips, and he watched her eyes darken as he ran his tongue along the inside of her thigh, stopping just short of her sex.

She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry, as she watched him crawl up her body, every inch the lean predator.  His eyes were riveted to hers, and she felt like they saw everything; she had no secrets from him.

“Care to make it up to me, luv?” he drawled, bringing his forehead to rest on hers.

Suddenly the room closed in on her, until the two of them were all that existed in the small space.  Willow drew a ragged breath, physically unnecessary, but done out of habit nonetheless.

“I—I—um,” she stuttered.  She wanted to say something witty or cute or profound, but the feel of all that bare skin against hers drove rational thought from her mind.  “Please?” she squeaked.

Spike threw back his head and laughed.  Coming to his hands and knees, he leaned over her and examined every inch of her body.  “I think you could please me quite well,” he leered, watching as she tried to hide her grin.

His knee nudged her legs apart and he positioned himself between them, pausing briefly before plunging his cock inside her.  His strokes were slow and languid, as if to prove to her that they had all the time in the world.

“I could do this to you all day,” he murmured, bending down to capture her lips before she had a chance to reply.  His lips teased hers open, his tongue beginning a slow exploration of all it found.  It tangled with hers, savoring her sweet tangy taste.

Their lovemaking was sweet and slow; each took the time to explore the other in a way that they never had before.  There were no fears or worries or schedules to keep; all that mattered was pure pleasure.

~~~*~~~

They spent the day making love, the late afternoon finding them relaxed and sated.  Spike held his childe in his arms, peppering her neck with kisses, and nibbling occasionally at the new bite mark on her neck.  As he worried it with his tongue and teeth, fresh drops of blood would be released, and he scooped them up greedily, enjoying the delicious flavor.

“So…what’s next?” Willow asked, breaking the silence.  Living in the moment had never been one of her strong suits.  She always needed to know what would happen next.  Probably went along with her curious nature.

Spike pulled back and looked at her, slightly incredulous.  “What’s next?  We’ve been shagging for hours, luv.  I may be a vampire, but even *we* have our limits.  Give a guy a break?”

She stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed, before dissolving into giggles.  “I didn’t mean *that*, Spike.  I meant…well, what happens tomorrow?”

“I’m hoping very much that we’ll do this again tomorrow,” he replied, flashing her a smirk.  She was serious, he saw.  Those little lines were beginning to form around her mouth as her smile turned into a nervous frown.  Bugger.  Had she never learned to relax and enjoy herself?  Would it kill her to enjoy the moment without pulling it apart?

Now she was looking at him almost accusingly, and maybe a little angrily.  Sort of a ‘how dare you make fun of me when I’m trying to be serious,' look.  He wanted to smile and laugh; she reminded him of an angry puppy staring down a much larger, meaner dog.  But he knew that levity would definitely be a mistake.

It would have been so much easier if she were like Drusilla.  Dangle a bright, shiny object in front of her and she would be distracted instantly.  But no, he had to fall for a girl with a brain.

“I mean, what about…”

“What about Buffy?  And Xander, and all your other little friends?”  She nodded, pushing away from him and sitting up, her back resting against the heavy wooden headboard.

He sighed; couldn’t they have waited at least a day before they had this conversation?  Apparently not.  So he pulled himself up to sit next to her, debating the wisdom of putting his arm around her.  He decided against it, turning to face her instead.

Taking a deep breath, he said the words he feared would mean the end of them.  “I’m going to hunt.  It’s who I am.  I’m a vampire.  No soul.  No chip.  Just me.”  A thrill went through him as he said the words, a reminder that tonight he would once again be able to walk the streets of Sunnydale as a predator.  No more bagged blood, and no more hiding in the shadows. Not for him.  In his imagination he could already smell the scents of fear and pain, and taste the blood of his prey.

His cock jumped at the thought, and he glanced at it, before looking back at Willow.  “It’s who I am,” he repeated without a hint of shame or regret.

~Part: 53~

“I’m going to hunt.  It’s who I am.  I’m a vampire.  No soul.  No chip.  Just me.”

The words shouldn’t have been a surprise to Willow, and to be honest, they weren’t—not really.  But they still filled her with sadness.

Spike was dressing now; his earlier tenderness had vanished behind the cool facade he used to hide his feelings.  Willow watched him go, closing her eyes as the door shut behind him.  She wanted to say something, needed to say something, but she had no idea what.  Don’t go?  Be careful?  I understand?

No, none of those were quite right.

She did understand…to an extent.  To Spike, it probably felt like he was finally being given the one thing he wanted most, the thing he had been denied for far too long.  Kind of like being taken off a diet of bread and water, and being led to an all-you-can-eat pizza and dessert buffet.  Only with blood and pain and fear and screaming all added in as extra seasonings.

Not that she was into that kind of thing.

But if she were, then yeah, she could understand that Spike would be eager to dive back in.

The question was, how was she going to deal with it?  Could she ignore it?  Turn a blind eye to what he did every night?  Deal with the fact that every night someone would die, just so that Spike could have the blood he craved?

It wasn’t just the blood he did it for.  After all, he had lived on the bagged variety for months now.  It was the chase, and the thrill, and the ability to deal death like a playing card to whomever caught his fancy.  That was why he did it.

And then there was the power.  She could understand that now, now that she had taken a life herself.

Professor Walsh.

The look of horror on the woman’s face as she struggled to breathe, struggled to overcome the pain, was something that Willow would never forget.  There had been such power running through her in those moments.  She could have ended the professor’s life in less time than it would have taken to say her name.

And the thought of it had excited her.

Maybe that emotion was a by-product of the demon. Or maybe there was something inherently human in the need for revenge.  She wasn’t quite sure.  All she knew was that when she stared at Maggie Walsh, she had wanted to kill her.

And yet she hadn’t.  At least, not until she was left with no other option.  Eventually, self-preservation had stepped in and forced the issue.  But if Professor Walsh hadn’t had the gun—hadn’t pointed it at Spike—would she still have been able to kill her?

She just didn’t know.

Things were so complicated.  She struggled constantly to figure out what was her, and what was the demon.  Where did she end and the demon begin?  New emotions, a new life, a new love…would these things ever feel old, comfortable, and familiar?

~~~*~~~

When she wearied of her musings, she decided to go downstairs and get some dinner.  Angel sat at the kitchen table, his sleepy eyes and rumpled clothing telling her that he hadn’t slept a wink.  He stared into the garden through the open kitchen window.  She was pretty sure she knew the subject that had him so distracted.

“He’s gone?” she asked, although she knew the answer already.  She didn’t know where he was, not exactly, but his excitement and eagerness flowed into her through their bond.

Angel glanced at her, nodded, and then went back to staring out the window.

Willow headed for the refrigerator, mug in hand.  She waved the mug in Angel’s direction, but he shook his head.

“How do you deal with it?” she asked as she sat down across from him.

“I don’t really.  Do I?”

Angel forced his attention away from the window, giving Willow a look that made her sad.  It was the look held by every disappointed parent when their child made a decision that upset them.

“Did you talk to him?  I tried.  Well, a little bit.  It didn’t matter.”  She sighed, shaking her head.  “Maybe he’s right.  Maybe it’s silly to ask him to do something so contrary to his nature.  I mean it’s not like he has a soul.”  He’s not like us, she added to herself.

“He tried to slip past me on the way out the door, but I stopped him.  I talked to him, but…he didn’t want to hear it.”  Spike had been like a child with a new toy:  eager and bright-eyed, and ready to take on anyone who tried to stop him from playing.  Angel hadn’t stood a chance.

“What do I do?”

“Do you love him?” Angel asked.  “Even knowing what he is, what he does, do you still love him?”

Willow snorted, giving him a sharp glance.  “Do I have any choice?”  Her features softened and a sad smile curved her lips.  “Of course I love him.  I just—I don’t know if I can live with him.  Live with knowing that every night, someone will die so that he can live.”

Angel shook his head.  “That’s not quite true though, is it?”

Willow shrugged, staring down into the blood that swirled in the mug she held.  “No, it’s not.  He could drink the bagged stuff.  It’s vile, but—if he really cared, he could do it.”  If he really cared about *me* was what she meant, but didn’t say aloud.

“He does care, Willow.  My William, when he loves, there’s nothing halfway about it.  He’ll adore you until the earth stops turning, as melodramatic as that may sound.”  Angel sought her eyes, a self-deprecating smile on his lips.  “But he’s still a demon as well.  He needs to feel like he’s in control of his destiny.  Letting you, or anyone else, dictate his feeding habits…well, that’s just not something he’s prepared to do.”

She nodded, his words making sense to her, even though she hated to admit it. “Is it selfish to hope that he doesn’t kill someone I know?”

Angel chuckled softly.  “Probably a little bit, but it’s understandable.”

“It’ll happen sooner or later.  Sunnydale isn’t that big of a town.  Eventually he’ll kill someone I went to school with, or a friend or teacher, or maybe a friend of my parents.  No matter how much I try to ignore the possibility, it’ll happen.”  Her eyes fell shut as she tried to control her emotions.

How would she feel if he killed someone she knew, someone she cared about?  Would she—could she—still love him, if the blood of a dead friend warmed his body when he crawled into bed with her?

“I’m sorry, Willow,” Angel shook his head sadly.  “I don’t have any easy answers for you.  I wish I did.”

~~~*~~~

Spike wandered the streets confidently, his eyes calculating and judging every person who passed him.  Every mortal or demon who crossed his path was a potential victim.  But this was his first kill in far too long and he wanted to make it special.  No smelly street person or snotty teenager would do.  This one would be a work of art.  This one would mean something.

The Bronze called to him, luring him in with the promise of nubile young bodies and empty heads, their common sense dulled by the copious amounts of alcohol they consumed.

The beat of the music pounded against him, through him, as he surveyed the interior of the club.  Bodies jostled him, heartbeats enticed him, but he took his time.  He had all night; there was no need to rush.

A twenty-something blonde sat alone at the end of the bar, sipping a pina colada and toying with the straw in between tastes.  Her head was topped with short hair that curled haphazardly, falling just below the line of her jaw.  The tapping of her foot reached his sensitive ears, the movement in time with the beat of the song.

Spike took a step towards her, and then stopped.  With that hair and her petite body, she reminded him a bit of Anya.  Not that that mattered.  He had no particular affection for demon-girl.  But…he didn’t want to think about her tonight.  Thoughts of Anya would lead him inevitably to thoughts of Willow.

And that was not what tonight was about.

So he blended back into the flow of the crowd, letting himself be caught up in their wake, as he searched for just the perfect meal.  And the girl at the bar continued to drink her drink and tap her foot, never imagining how close she had come to dying tonight.

Of course, the night was still young.

Another woman caught his eye, this one younger and even more luscious than the last.  And a redhead.  Nope, scratch that one too, for obvious reasons.

Choosing a victim was a lot more difficult than he remembered it being.  He decided not to dwell on the reasons for this change.

Finally, after several minutes had passed, he found just the right woman.  She was a tall, leggy brunette with long flowing hair, a quick and easy smile, and a voice that promised to do things to him that he’d remember forever.  Of course, she didn’t realize that he was a vampire, so he took her ‘forever’ comment with a grain of salt.

A promise of a late meal was all it took to lure her away from the noisy club and into an empty alley several blocks away.

Slamming her back against the side of a brick building, he saw the realization of her mistake staring back at him in her hazel eyes.  “No—NO!” she screamed, struggling and wiggling as he pressed his body against hers.

“Oh, yes,” he purred happily, letting his demon face fall into place.  “Yes, you’ll do nicely.”

She stared at him, the horror in her eyes replacing the flirtatious looks she had sent him earlier.  But she had survived in a town like Sunnydale for more than twenty years, and was not without a few tricks of her own.

A knee connected with his groin, leaving him momentarily stunned—both physically and mentally—and lightheaded with pain.  Meals that fought back were a bit of a rare phenomenon for him, and he hoped that this wasn’t part of a growing trend.

His would-be dinner took advantage of his distraction, pushing him out of her way, and running towards the mouth of the alley, screaming for all she was worth.  Not that it would help her.  This was an industrial area, empty of life during the wee hours of the morning.  There wasn’t another heartbeat to be heard for blocks.  Spike followed behind her at a more sedate pace.  If it was a chase she wanted, he was more than up to the challenge.  But there was no need to rush it.

She reached the street, slowing down for a moment as she tried to decide which direction to take.  The club was back to the left, but it was several blocks away.  The highway was to her right, but again, she would have to pass through three blocks of unoccupied warehouses.  Either way, it would give him plenty of time to catch up with her.

She headed back to the Bronze, and Spike took off after her.

“Run faster, little girl,” he called out, the joy of the hunt obvious in his voice, if anyone had been around to hear it.  He toyed with her for a few moments, letting her get far enough ahead that she could almost see the bright lights of the club in the distance.

Then, in that moment where she thought that maybe she would get out of this alive, he tackled her from behind, pulling her into another alley and backing her up against the wall of an old warehouse.  His hand wrapped tightly around her throat and he smiled down at her, still wearing the face of the demon.

“Quite a lot of work for such a small girl,” he told her, his grinning mouth full of fangs and teeth all that she could see.  She tried to scream, but the hand around her throat tightened even more.  She got the message and fell silent.  “Good call,” he agreed, giving her a smirk.

Oh, how he had missed this!  The scent of fear overwhelmed and surrounded him, making him giddy with excitement.  Her heartbeat pounded wildly, as if the organ wanted to jump out of her body and into his waiting mouth.  And best of all, he could do this over and over and over again, every night, for the rest of his life, and nobody would ever stop him again.

He wished Willow was here.  If she could experience this, even once, then he didn’t know how she could deny herself the heady pleasure ever again.  If she just understood how *right* this was…

“I really should punish you for running, you know.  And that thing with the knee?  It’s not nice to kick a bloke there.  Unfair advantage, and all that.”  He paused, frowning down at her.  “But I’ve got me a girl to get home to, so maybe I’ll just make this quick.”  Her terrified face glistened harshly in the moonlight, tears sparkling like diamonds on her cheeks.  The fight had gone out of her eyes at his words.  She was beginning to understand the inevitability of her death.  “Would you like that?  Want me to make it quick?” he asked, acting as if he actually cared how she answered.

His finger reached out to capture a teardrop from her cheek, bringing the salty liquid to his lips and letting it soak into them, then licking his lips clean.  The taste of her misery exploded on his tongue, and he nearly moaned at the flavor of it.

“You taste delicious, pet.  Wish I had the time to make this last.”  And with those final, regretful words, he yanked her neck to the side and sank his fangs deep, letting the blood flow slowly into his mouth.

~Part: 54~

The body of Spike’s victim body grew heavy and boneless, sliding against him as her blood continued to wash into his mouth and down his throat.  The flavor was rich and full, and even better than he remembered.  Willow’s blood was delicious, but it had never been as heavy with fear as this woman’s blood was.  And sometimes he just needed that extra something to make the meal complete.

He pulled his fangs from the woman’s neck as her heart beat for the last time, letting her body drop to the ground.  She stared up at him with glassy eyes, the last vestiges of life fading quickly as her body began to cool.

The eyes reminded him of something—of Willow.  It was the way she had looked at him right before he turned her:  horror, fear, pain; her eyes had reflected all of them.  Just as the eyes of this nameless chit had.

Was there someone at home who waited for her, loved her, the way that he did Willow?

He took a step back, distancing himself from his kill, and from his unwelcome thoughts as well.  What the hell difference did it make anyway, he asked himself.  This wasn’t Willow.  And he most certainly wasn’t going to start making meaningful connections with his meals.  They were food, nothing more.

But images of Willow’s human eyes filled with fear and pain continued to haunt him, stalking him relentlessly for the rest of the evening, no matter how hard he tried to outrun them.

Damn it, he had his bite back.  He had Willow at his side and in his bed, and he could kill; he shouldn’t be having these fucking doubts now!  He wanted to yell out his frustration to the world, but knew that that wasn’t exactly a smart idea.

It was *her* fault, his demon screamed.  Take her and control her and show her exactly who she could be.  Who she *should* be.  There was no reason not to…Buffy was no longer a threat, and neither was Angel.  He could now do anything he wanted.

The problem was, every time he saw his future, it was with Willow at his side.  And not as a weak, broken, *controlled* creature, but as his mate.  Someone who loved him, desired him, and wanted to be with him.  And not because of some hold he had on her, but because she thought that life with him was much more enjoyable than a life without him in it.

He spent the rest of the evening imagining that future, and what he would have to do to get it.  It was almost 4am when he finally crept up the stairs and into their bedroom.

Willow was still awake, sitting up in bed, an ancient book on something-or-other propped up on her knees.  The old mansion had a huge library; he was sure there was enough reading material to keep her occupied for a decade, maybe longer.  He smiled at the thought.

“You’re back,” Willow observed, keeping her voice neutral.  She looked towards the window; they could both feel the sun rising in the east.  This was her subtle way of telling him he had cut the timing rather close.  “I was worried.”

“About who?” he wondered.  “About me, or about the good citizens of this fine town?” he asked, as he sat down next to her on the bed.

She eyed him uneasily.  His tone was deceptively calm, but she knew how quickly that could change, and with very little provocation.  “Both,” she admitted.  “So, did you…” She let the sentence trail off, but they both knew what she was asking.

Spike hesitated for a moment.  “Yeah,” he said, his eyes searching her face for a clue to her reaction.  “You?” he asked.  “I mean, what did you do tonight?” he rephrased the question, after watching her eyes get big and round with surprise.

“Oh.  Tonight.  Um, I talked to Angel and Doyle for a while, until they decided to go back to L.A.”

Spike gave her a sharp glance when she mentioned Doyle.

“Oh, get over it,” she exclaimed.  “I’m so not interested in him.”  It amazed her that in the midst of all this drama, he could still find the time to be jealous when she talked to another man.  A man who had risked his life to help them both.   She wanted to blame it on the demon, but the fact was, it seemed like a completely male reaction, regardless of the species.

“After that, I watched a little bit of news on TV, and then I read.”  She looked down at her book, marked her place with an old-fashioned cloth bookmark, and placed it on the bedside table.

“Yeah?  Anything interesting on the news?” Spike asked curiously.  He had walked past the UC-Sunnydale campus during his wanderings, and couldn’t help but snicker when he saw the huge crater that had previously been a fraternity house.  Rescue workers had been congregating in the area, apparently still looking for people to rescue.  They wouldn’t be finding much, he thought with satisfaction.

“Hmmm,” Willow said, her voice unnaturally flat.  “Seems there was a gas leak.  Which led to an explosion.  Tragic, but completely ordinary.  Nothing unusual about it, apparently.”  The words sounded unreal to her, even as she said them.  It wasn’t as if she had expected the authorities to trot out an explanation that actually had a smidge of truth to it, but any idiot could see that there was something more going on than a gas leak.  It was…insulting.

“Any survivors?”

Willow shrugged, tilting her head slightly.  “Didn’t say.  I’m guessing not.”  She turned to face him, looking slightly indignant.  “How the heck do they expect to get away with it?  I mean, there’s this whole underground complex hidden under the campus, and nobody asks any questions.  They just keep sorting through the rubble.  Won’t they stumble upon something sooner or later?  Like an elevator or stairs or something?”

And what about Riley?  If he made it out, where was he staying, now that the frat house was history?  Had Buffy made good on her promise and invited Riley on a date?  She should call her friend; really she should.  She just wasn’t sure what to say.  Maybe a nice casual, “Hey, did you hear about that explosion?  And on a totally unrelated subject, have you seen your boyfriend lately?”  Yeah, smooth she was not.

Spike watched her as she struggled with something, but he didn’t know what.  She would tell him when she was ready, he supposed.  Keeping secrets wasn’t one of her best skills, although circumstances had led to a strong improvement on that front lately.

A yawn escaped her mouth, one of those huge, perfect, ‘damn, I needed to do that,’ kind of yawns that always felt so good when they were done.  Strictly speaking, she probably didn’t need to yawn.  But the habit remained.  And sometimes it just felt so satisfying.

“Tired?” he asked sympathetically, throwing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer, until her head rested on his shoulder.  He smiled when he felt her nod against him, apparently too weary to bother with actual words.  “Go to sleep, then.  We’ll hang out here during the day, and then head back to our place tomorrow night.  I’m sure that mangy cat of yours will be glad to see you.”

“Talked me into it,” she mumbled, closing her eyes and getting comfortable.  She shifted slightly when he got up to take his clothes off, then curled herself around him when he returned to bed naked.  “G’night,” she sighed, and then she was fast asleep.

“G’night,” Spike answered back, even though he knew she wouldn’t hear him.  Still feeling restless, he grabbed a cigarette and lit up, lying on his back and smoking in the silent room, his hands playing idly with Willow’s hair.

She hadn’t asked him not to kill, hadn’t stared at him disapprovingly when he told her he had.  It was not what he had expected at all.  When he had imagined their discussion, he had always seen her with tears in her eyes, or perhaps disappointment or disgust.  He wasn’t fool enough to believe that she approved of what he had done tonight, but he was surprised that her reaction had been so calm.  So accepting.  It was as if she was finally admitting to herself that this was what he was, and what he was going to do.  She might not like it, but maybe she could learn to live with it.

So maybe he could stop.  Oh, not completely.  He’d never do that.  But maybe he could drink bagged blood every couple of days, and kill just a little less.  Or not drain them completely every so often; leave them around so that cancer or a heart attack could take them out in their own sweet time.

Just to prove that if she could compromise, so could he.  Not that it was a contest.

Her hair was soft and silky between his fingers.  Brushing it away from her face, he bent down to kiss her temple.  As he watched her sleep, a surprising, sobering thought made itself comfortable in his mind:  she was worth it.

~~~*~~~

They spent the day talking, reading, and making love.  Once it was dark, they would head back to their house, and Willow would call Buffy.

“I can’t wait to get home,” she admitted, sniffing her shirt before pulling it on over her head.

“Why’s that?” Spike asked from across the room, lounging comfortably naked on the bed as he watched her dress.  The sight of his erection told her that he was enjoying the show.

“’Cuz I haven’t had a shower in days.  I smell.  Don’t I smell?  I mean, I probably shouldn’t.  It’s not like I sweat or anything.  But I can smell me, and if I can smell me, then other people probably can too.  Plus, I’ve been wearing this shirt for way too long.  It feels icky.”  She stopped speaking for a moment, putting her pants on during the ensuing silence.  “Besides, it’ll be nice to sleep in my own bed again.  Not that I don’t like this place, but it’s nice to have your own stuff around, you know?”

He knew.  It had only been a couple of days since they had been home, but so much had happened in that short time that it seemed like much longer.  “When we get back, we’re going to need to talk about some stuff.”

Willow closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again and nodded.  Serious stuff needed to be said, and she got that, she really did.  She just wished they could live in their little bubble of denial for a little bit longer.

~~~*~~~

The walk home was wonderful.  The night air was cool and crisp, and the traffic almost non-existent.  After stopping for an ice cream cone for Willow, and a bottle of vodka for Spike, they wandered the tree-lined streets of the residential districts arm in arm, taking their time to enjoy the simple pleasure of walking and talking together.

It had been far too long since she had been able to walk down the street after dark without fearing something, or someone, Willow thought.  First it had been vampires, and then the Initiative.

These days, being a vampire kept her from going outside during the day, and the ever-present threat of the Initiative had kept her indoors as much as possible during the night.  But now, finally, she could stroll casually down a deserted street and just enjoy the feel of the evening air and the sounds of the animals of the night.  Crickets, frogs, and other insects created a symphony just for them.

Eventually they made it to the door of their home.  Willow unlocked the door and they wandered in, Spike heading to the TV while Willow hooked up her computer and checked her email.  Everything was back to normal.

Or at least as normal as their lives would ever be.

~Part: 55~

“So this is the bit where we have our serious talk,” Spike told her.  This is the part where we decide our future, he didn’t add.  But they both knew it to be true.

Like most momentous occasions in life, this one took place at a completely unexpected time and location.  It was shortly after midnight, in the living room of their home, and Willow and Spike were seated on opposite ends of the couch, each showing signs of nervousness.  Willow fidgeted uneasily, looking down at her hands as she picked at a hangnail.  Spike, on the other hand, kept his uncertainty bundled up tightly inside.  The clenching and unclenching of his jaw was the only indication of any tension he felt.

“Okay,” she agreed, shooting him an apprehensive glance before looking back down at her fingers.  She made an effort to still them, successfully for the moment.  Probably not for long, though.  Her attention would wander, and the nervous picking would begin again.

They both knew that things needed to be settled between them, but neither knew exactly how or where to start.  There was silence for several seconds, as each tried to figure out what to say next.  Spike broke first, stating defensively, “I’m going to keep feeding.  Is that something you can deal with?”

Willow blinked, rather at a loss for a moment.  “Wow, you go straight for the big questions, huh?” she asked with an uneasy attempt at humor.  “Are you sure you don’t want to start with something easier, like whether I think the Dodgers are going to make it to the World Series this year?  Couldn’t you start with that and lead up to the tough stuff?”

He wanted to share the shaky laugh with her, or at least give her a grin, but the question was weighing heavily on him.  Had been for several days.  An answer was needed, and she had to be sure about her response.  If she said she could deal with his killing, he needed to be able to believe her.  If she said it was okay now, but changed her mind later, he wasn’t sure what would happen.  By then he might have so much emotion invested in her that it would hurt like hell to leave her.  It might very well be too late already.

“Sorry, pet.  I just need to know.”  He wouldn’t beg, wouldn’t show weakness, wouldn’t let her know how important this was to him.  Would he be willing to stop killing, if she said that was the only way she’d have him?  Maybe.  But he’d resent the hell out of it, and probably out of her, for as long as they were together.  The fact that he was even considering the possibility made his stomach roil and his demon want to tear her to pieces.

But instead, he just sat quietly, watching her as she thought, and waited for the answer that, one way or another, had the power to change his life.

“I—I’m not happy about it.  I’ll never be happy about it,” she began nervously, her eyes downcast, staring at the fingers that plucked restlessly at the fabric of her pants.  And then she lifted her face and her eyes met his, and he saw the love shining in them.  There were equal parts pain and sadness there as well.  “But I can accept it.  You’re too important to me.  I—I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

Spike grinned, and the grin grew into a smile, and the smile into a huge, happy expression that covered his entire face.  He felt like he should be letting out a huge sigh of relief, but his empty lungs made that impossible.  So he breathed in once, deeply, then let it out quickly, just so that she could watch him do it.  It was an easy way to show her how important her answer was to him, without actually saying the words.

“I know,” she said, agreeing with his unspoken gesture, with a smile to match his own.  “I know.”  There was a small amount of sadness in her voice, and he could see it mirrored in her eyes.  It reminded him that this was not easy for her.  But she was willing to let him be who he was, even if it was something that she didn’t always approve of.

“I love you,” he reminded her, pulling her onto his lap.  His lips caressed her cheek, and then she turned her head and met his lips with her own.  Her arms wound around his neck, and all thought and speech stopped for quite a while as they celebrated their new understanding.

“Much as I’m enjoying this, there’s something else we have to discuss,” Spike said, reluctantly pulling his lips away.  He felt a pang of regret when Willow moved off of him and resumed her earlier seat, leaving him cold and alone.

“What else is there?” she asked, slightly confused.  The big, scary stuff was out in the open…what more needed to be said?

“We need to decide where we’re going to go,” he told her.  He continued slowly, as if explaining things to a small child.  “Willow, you know if we stay here, sooner or later Buffy and I will cross paths.  She’ll see me feeding, and she won’t be able to let it go.  She’ll come for me, no matter how many times you ask her not to.  You know that.”

He was right, she realized, mentally kicking herself for not following her decision through to its inevitable conclusion.  Buffy was the Slayer.  She had to protect the world from vampires.  Slayer good, vampires bad.  Seemed pretty simple.  It was just that there were shades of grey that existed in between the black and white of evil and good.  Slayers and Watchers weren’t able to deal with the grey areas very well.  Willow had seen evidence of that on more than one occasion.  She loved both Buffy and Giles, and acknowledged that they were more tolerant than a lot of the Slayers and Watchers before them.  But there was one thing they would both agree with the Council on:  if Spike was feeding, he would have to be dusted.

But leave Sunnydale?  Leave the only home she had known in her entire life?  This place held so many memories for her, both good and bad, that the thought of leaving had her feeling alone and bereft.  If the thought of going home didn’t mean this familiar house, in this familiar town, she didn’t know what it *would* mean.

Obviously she hadn’t thought that far ahead, hadn’t considered the ramifications of the decision to stay with Spike.

“I—but—I can’t.  I mean, how could I leave?  Where would we go?”

She looked stricken, the enormity of it more than she could comprehend right away. He felt like he had kicked a defenseless animal.  “Sorry, pet.  I thought you would have—considered this.”  She shook her head dejectedly, and he watched panicked tears begin to form in her eyes.

“C’mere, luv.”  He stood up, grabbing her hand and pulling her into his arms.  They surrounded her, holding her tight, and he felt the warmth of her tears as they soaked the front of his shirt.  “It’ll be okay.  This is a good thing,” he whispered in her ear.  “Anywhere you’ve ever wanted to go, we can go there.  London, Paris, Rome—any place you’re interested in, I’ll take you there.  We can see the world.”

She shook her head against him, so he let her work her sadness out, running his hand gently over her hair and down her back.  She was finally silent, and after a few minutes he pulled back a bit, looking into her eyes to gauge her mood.

“Los Angeles,” she said softly, looking up to meet his eyes.  “If I have to leave, I want to go to Los Angeles.”

Spike groaned, rolling his eyes heavenwards as if he were asking what he had done to deserve this.  Perhaps looking up to ask that question was a mistake.  He changed direction and looked down instead; that seemed to make more sense.  Someone down there had one hell of a sick sense of humor.

“Why L.A?”  Of all the places in the world, why that one?

“It’s close,” she explained slowly, thinking it out as she spoke.  “If my friends need me, I’ll be close by.  And if Angel needs help, we can be there.”  She paused for a moment, coming up with more ammunition.  “I can go to school there, take evening courses and maybe some online classes and tele-courses.  And, I can still work part-time in the afternoons, then maybe help Angel at night.”  Enthusiasm started to build in her voice as she listed the benefits to living in the City of Angels.

Spike, meanwhile, wanted to be sick.  Living in his sire’s town, helping him fight evil and all that, sounded a lot like the prelude to the eternity in hell that awaited him upon his final death.  “Are you sure you don’t want to travel Europe for a few years first?” he asked weakly.  “Ancient castles, mystical legends; just think of what you’re missing.”  He tried appealing to the scholar inside her as a last-ditch attempt at distraction.

She waved away his suggestions, her face beginning to glow with her enthusiasm for a future in Los Angeles.  “Europe will still be there when I’m ready.  And we can take vacations too.  I won’t take summer classes, so maybe by then we can do it.”

Summer seemed like it was years away to Spike, and getting farther and farther by the second.  But if he could stick it out that long, maybe he could drag her over there and then refuse to let her go back home.  It was worth a try, at any rate, if he could just bide his time.  And maybe by then the life of a demon-fighting, computer-hacking, college student would be more of a handful than she expected.  Maybe by then she’d even be eager to travel for a while.

“Okay,” he sighed, giving in with a show of great reluctance.  “But you owe me,” he insisted, watching as her face suffused with relief, and she threw herself back into his arms, this time with tears of happiness.

“Thanks, Spike.”  She knew that he wasn’t thrilled with the idea.  Heck, he wasn’t even close to thinking it a good idea.  But he was willing to give it a try, and that meant a lot to her.  “I’ll give Angel a call tonight and let him know we’re coming.”

Oh yeah, that should be a fun conversation, he thought, with more than just a little sarcasm.  But he secretly smiled at the knowledge that Peaches wouldn’t know what hit him.  When Willow got excited like this, she was like a force of nature.  The Poof wouldn’t have a chance.  Their move to L.A. was pretty much a done deal.  Might as well go ahead and buy one of those maps to the homes of the movie stars.

~~~*~~~

“What kind of a game are you playing, Spike?  What are you up to?” Angel growled angrily through the phone line.  Certainly it wasn’t the warm welcome that Willow had hoped for, but at least the Poof hadn’t hung up on him, which was what Spike had anticipated.  He was just glad that he had sent Willow out for a long walk, so he wouldn’t have to worry about upsetting her when he laid it all out on the table for his sire.  Besides, he was kind of looking forward to needling Angel just a bit.  But just a little bit.  There was a limit to how much Angel would take before he decided to get even, and Spike knew better than anyone how to stay just on the safe side of that line.

He also knew exactly how much fun it was to dance over that line every now and then.

“Me?  I’m up to nothing.  This was her idea,” he exclaimed, full of righteous indignation.  He held the phone in a grip so tight that it threatened to crumble in his hand.  “Believe me, I dangled trips to London and Paris in front of her, but she wouldn’t budge.  I'd rather be just about anywhere than sharing a city with you,” he added sullenly.

Angel couldn’t help but smile at the petulance he heard in his childe’s voice.  His own experience with Willow had led him to the realization that she didn’t always fight fair.  Seeing the woman you cared about in tears was a hard thing for anyone to ignore.  Even a demon.

“So let me get this straight,” Angel said.  “You want to move into my city.  And you want to kill.  And you want to work with me?”

It did sound a little ridiculous, Spike agreed.  “That last part was Willow’s idea.  Not wild about it, myself.  But she wants to help.”

Yes, that made sense, Angel thought.  Willow wanted—no, she *needed* to help others.  She always had.  It was part of her personality.  Spike would go along with it, because he didn’t have much choice.  So he’d help too because he wanted to be there to keep her safe.  Angel wondered if Spike realized just how securely Willow had him under her thumb.  A wicked smile surfaced at the thought.

“Say I agree to this,” he began.  “There would have to be ground rules.  Lots of them.  Doyle’s not going to be happy.” And wasn’t *that* an understatement.  “Cordelia, either.”  Hell, Cordelia didn’t like either of the Sunnydale vampires.  She’d probably quit when he told her.  Actually, she’d probably just demand that he double her salary and provide her with a company credit card.  Now that would hurt.

“Yeah, yeah, I won’t hurt your human minions.  I won’t feed where any of your little band might run into me.”  There was silence over the line for a moment.  “But I refuse to be nice,” Spike added peevishly.

Angel let out a sigh as he listened to Spike’s concessions.  He knew that making a childe, and then living with her and growing to love her had changed the blond.  He just wasn’t sure if it was going to be enough of a change to help them all make it through the next couple of years without killing each other.

For better or for worse, he was about to find out.

~Part: 56~

Willow awoke to the sounds of quiet footsteps in the kitchen, and the feeling of ice cold chills running down her spine.  A sudden burst of fear brought her completely awake, before her brain figured out who the visitor was.

“Buffy,” she murmured aloud.  Of course; she had left her friend a key when they left, so that she could take care of the kitten during their absence.  Memories of a hastily-created excuse—something about going to L.A.—came back to her.

“Yeah,” Spike agreed, from somewhere above her.  She looked up, her eyes traveling from the smooth chest her head was using as a pillow, up to the face of the vampire.  She was surprised to see that he was already awake and reading, his first cigarette of the afternoon smoked halfway down.  “What’s she doing here?”

“Oh, I gave her a key.  So she could feed Buffy.  In case, well, you know.”  Willow sat up, and then dropped her voice to a whisper, as if doing so would give her next comments less importance.  “In case we didn’t come back.”

Spike merely nodded.  Then a mischievous look came into his eyes.  Stubbing out his cigarette, he got up and went to the door.  “Think she knows we’re here?” he asked with a wicked grin.  “Maybe I could give her a little surprise.”

Considering the fact that he was still completely naked, Willow had a pretty good idea what kind of surprise Spike was hoping to give her.  “No,” she hissed, motioning him back to bed.  “Bad vampire!  I’ll go talk to her,” she insisted, pulling on a pair of pants and a shirt.

Spike watched her leave the room from his vantage point on the bed.  He gave her a smirk, and then picked up his book and grabbed another cigarette.

~~~*~~~

“Hey, Buffy,” Willow called out as she made her way down the stairs.  Buffy was in the process of cleaning out the kitten’s bowl and refilling it with water.  She flashed Willow a quick smile, and then put the bowl back on the floor, shaking a bit of the kitten food into the other half of the bowl.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Buffy told her.  “It’s been kind of quiet lately, though, which is cool.  Well, except for that explosion on campus.  I think some classes are going to be cancelled for a while until they can figure out where to hold them.  Some of the buildings were a little damaged.”

Willow joined her friend in the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and plunking a couple of ice cubes into it.  She offered a glass to Buffy, who nodded eagerly in agreement.  The blonde’s body was covered in sweat, her face suffused with a rosy glow.  The pair of shorts and a ratty tank-top confirmed that she had jogged her way over.  “Damn, I’m thirsty,” she said, as she grabbed the glass of cold water and drank it down eagerly.

They moved to the living room and sat side by side on the couch.  Willow was going to miss this:  having friends to hang with and just chat about nothing with.  Spike was great, but he definitely wasn’t much for idle chit-chat.  Not like Buffy.

“What’s the matter, Will?”  From the way that Buffy was looking at her, she realized that at least a little bit of what she was thinking must have shown on her face.  She cursed herself for that.  She had wanted to keep this light and fun.

Willow knew that she would have to tell Buffy about her departure soon.  She and Spike had talked about it last night and decided that they would leave at the end of the week.  Today was Monday, so it gave them a few days to pack and prepare.  Angel had agreed to find them temporary quarters until they could get their own place, so at least everything was taken care of on that end.

But that still left them with a lot to do on this end.  And quickly.

“I don’t know how to say this,” she admitted.  “And I really wish I didn’t have to.  But I do.”  Taking a deep breath, Willow forced the words out.  “Spike and I are leaving.  We’re moving to L.A.”

She watched as Buffy’s eyes clouded over, sadness filling them.  “Why?” she asked.  “Why?  I mean, I know you’re not going to be around here forever.  I mean, you’ll be around a lot longer than me; but why leave?  Your home is here.  We’re here, all your friends.  Why would you leave?”

Willow had known that this would be rough.  Buffy was her friend.  Next to Xander, she was her best friend, now that Jesse was gone.  Saying goodbye was going to hurt.  Did hurt.  And it would only get worse.

Sometimes life really sucked.

“I have to leave now, Buffy.  Things—something changed.  And I need to get away.  Before things go really, really wrong.”

“What changed?   What things?  What are you talking about?”  Buffy was almost frantic, trying hard to understand whatever it was that Willow was trying to tell her.  “You’re not making any sense.”

“I—I can’t tell you.  Please, just believe me.  We need to go.  Angel is going to let us help him, and I’ll be close enough that if you need help, you just have to call.  I can be here in a couple of hours.  Or you can be there in a few hours, you know, if you want to visit.  Okay?”

Buffy shook her head, as if to wave all of this away.  Getting to her feet, she began to pace the room.  “It’s Spike, isn’t it?  He’s pressuring you to do this, right?  I just don’t see you agreeing to leave, not without a pretty solid reason.”

Willow frowned; sometimes Buffy knew her too well.  Spike didn’t mean to pressure her into going, but in a way that was what was happening.  His chip was gone, and that meant that they had to go.  But it wasn’t something that Spike had done on purpose, she reminded herself.  “It’s complicated,” was all that she would admit.

“It’s not complicated,” Buffy countered.  “If you want to stay, you should stay.  If Spike wants to move to Los Angeles, let him.  You stay here.  If you don’t want to live alone, maybe I can move in and we can be roomies, just like before.”  Desperation shone on her face and in her eyes.  “There are options here, Willow.  You don’t have to go!”

“But I do have to—”

“Why?  Why do you have to go?” the blonde interrupted.

Buffy kept pushing, kept wanting to know why, why, why, and finally Willow broke.  “Because the chip is disabled.  Because if he stayed here, you’d have to kill him.  Or he’d kill you.”  Tears began to form in her eyes, running down her cheeks, and she covered her face with her hands, trying to hide from everything and everyone.  “And because I love him.  I want to be with him,” she admitted quietly.

Buffy stopped her pacing, staring at Willow from across the coffee table.  She seemed to have ignored the last bit of Willow’s confession, concentrating on the more important, potentially lethal part.  “Spike’s chip is out?”

Willow sensed the subtle changes in her friend at the news.  She stood taller, her face lost all emotion, and her right hand slipped smoothly from view.  Willow had no doubt that she was reaching for the small stake she knew Buffy kept hidden in the depths of her pants pocket.  The scents of fear and anger hung heavy in the air.

“Buffy, no!” she said softly.  There was a catch in her voice, and she stood quickly, placing herself between her friend and the stairway.  “You can’t—I won’t let you do it.  Whatever it is you think you need to do.”

“How did it happen?  Did you do it?  Did you figure out how, and just fix it?”

The accusations hurt, but mostly because they were true.  She *had* figured it out, even though it wasn’t something she planned.  “I found out how it worked, yeah,” she admitted, keeping her eyes fixed on Buffy.  “I didn’t mean to, but I had to.  You…you don’t know what they were going to do.  It—it was just too cruel!”

“What who was doing?  What are you talking about?”  Buffy was silent for a moment, and then the pieces began to fit together.  She blurted out, “The Initiative?  Is that what this is about?”

Willow nodded sadly.  “Sit down, Buffy.  We need to talk.  About the Initiative.”  She stepped towards Buffy and was saddened to see Buffy take an involuntary step backwards.  So many years of friendship were forgotten with that motion.  It was as if Buffy was seeing her as a vampire for the very first time.

Buffy retreated to one of the living room chairs, sitting on the edge of the seat as if poised for action, watching with calculating eyes as Willow sat on the couch, turning to face her.

“So what is it you need to tell me about the Initiative?”

Willow got a far-away look in her eyes as she tried to decide how to tell Buffy what she needed to be told.  “The Initiative had an underground compound on campus,” she said for starters.  “Professor Walsh was their leader.”

The look Buffy gave her would have been comical if the situation hadn’t been so serious.  Her mouth gaped open, her tongue pushed slightly forward.  The hazel eyes that were usually so calm were startled and wide open in surprise.  Finally Buffy closed her mouth and took a moment to compose herself.  “Professor Walsh?” she repeated slowly.  “How?”

Willow shrugged.  “Who knows how?”  And then she asked the question that she’d been afraid to ask.  “Did you go out with Riley that night?  The night of the explosion?”

Buffy’s confusion surfaced again, as she tried to figure out the relevance of the question.  “Yeah, we went to see a movie, and then he got this phone call and rushed off.  I talked to him the next morning, and he said that he’d be out of town for a few days, but would give me a call as soon as he could.”  Cold calculation replaced confusion as she began to use her brain.  “Riley’s not—you don’t think he’s one of them, do you?  You can’t be serious.  He’s like an overgrown farm boy,” she protested.  “He’d never—he could never do something like that.  He can barely swat a fly!”

Shaking her head, Willow gently disagreed with her friend.  “That fraternity he belonged to?  As far as I can tell, they were all members of the Initiative.  There was an elevator that connected the frat house to the compound.  Anyone in there would have had to know about it.”

“But—I just don’t believe it.  He’s so…”

Willow wasn’t sure what the next word was. Bland?  Kind?  Unassuming?  It didn’t matter.  “He was, Buffy.  They all were.  And what they were planning on doing to the demons they tagged was beyond cruel.”

Despite Buffy’s protests, Willow quickly gave her a description of everything they had found out.  About the experiments on demons—even the peaceful ones, and the army of demons that they were working to form.  Buffy listened quietly, shaking her head in confusion and disbelief.  When Willow finished, she simply sat there, stunned.

But one thing was clear to her.  “So when you tried to get me to ask Riley out, it was because you didn’t want him to get hurt?”

Willow nodded, hoping that Spike hadn’t heard that little tidbit upstairs.  She suspected it would be something that he wouldn’t be thrilled about.  “I knew you liked him—a lot.  I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“And you and Spike, you just broke into this place and made it explode?”  Buffy’s skepticism wasn’t hard to detect.  “Without any help or anything?  I think that’s a little hard to believe.”

She had a point, Willow had to admit.  “We had a little bit of help.  From some local guys Spike knew.  And—we didn’t blow the place up.  Professor Walsh did.  We barely got out before it happened.”  She figured that there was no point in mentioning Angel, or the poison gas, or Trevor, if Buffy didn’t directly ask her about them.  Her friend didn’t need to know *everything*, after all.

“All those lives,” Buffy murmured.  “People that died because of it.  Students!  People we went to class with.  I just…I don’t know how to feel.”

As sudden as a summer storm, her mood changed and she locked eyes with Willow. “And Spike is killing again,” she said.  “Doesn’t this bother you?  You look like it barely matters.”

Willow flinched at the cold words.  “I told you what would have happened—what plans they had for him,” she insisted, the beginnings of anger stirring behind her calm face.  “I couldn’t let that happen!  Not to him, and not to the other demons out there—peaceful demons.  There *are* good demons out there.  Remember?”

“But humans—they died.  Good people.  People with families.  People with loved ones.  They’re dead now.”  Buffy seemed unable to see past that.

“What about me?” Willow countered angrily, leaning forward and staring at Buffy.  “What about my family, and my loved ones?  I’m dead, because a bunch of human assholes with goddamned souls thought it would be fun to rape me, and hurt me, and leave me for dead.  What about that?”

“Two totally different things,” Buffy said, frowning.  “One has nothing to do with the other.”

Willow closed her eyes for a moment, gathering the courage she needed to say the next sentence.  “They were the ones who raped me, Buffy.  The frat boys.”  She was silent as tears ran down her cheeks.  “So yeah, one thing has a lot to do with the other.”

Buffy sat back, stunned at the revelation.  “But—but why didn’t you say anything?  We could have gotten them arrested.  Taken them to court.  They could have paid for what they did!”

“Taken them to court?  With no body, and no witnesses?”  Willow laughed bitterly, and then shook her head.  “No police officer would have believed you, and no court would have convicted them.  Get real, Buffy.  This was my only shot at justice.”

“Justice?” her friend asked softly.  “Or revenge?”

The redhead considered the question.  “Both, maybe,” she admitted.  “I do think that I would have let it go, if it wasn’t for the other stuff.  But once I knew what they were up to, I couldn’t let it happen.”

“So, what, you decide to take the matter into your own hands?  What about the authorities?  You could have gone to them.  Or me, for that matter.  You could have said something to me.”  That was the part that really hurt, Willow realized.  Buffy was upset that Willow had trusted Spike more than her.

“I’m sorry, Buffy.  But you know that the government wouldn’t have stopped them.  Hell, they *were* the government.  Or a part of it.  And maybe I should have gone to you, but I didn’t.  I made the best decision I could, based on the information I had.  And I’m just going to have to deal with the consequences of what I’ve done.”

Buffy sat quietly for a moment, before standing up and looking at Willow.  “I—I need to think right now.  All this stuff,” she waved her hands around nervously, “it’s all too big, you know?  I need to figure it all out.”

Willow nodded, her eyes staring down at her feet, as Buffy left the house, closing the door to the home, and, she feared, to their friendship, behind her.

~Part: 57~

Willow was still sitting on the couch in the living room when Spike came down half an hour later.  She had been crying, but had managed to pull herself together fairly well.

“It’s just that I had a pretty good idea of how I wanted to tell Buffy that we were moving,” she explained. “But what I had planned, and what came out of my mouth—totally different!”

Spike nodded, sitting down on the floor at her feet.  “That’s the way that things happen in real life, pet.”  He pulled her onto the carpet next to him. “C’mon, kill something,” he insisted, throwing her one of the controls for his video game.  He grinned at her startled glance.  “It always makes *me* feel better.”

So they played for a few hours, trading jibes and friendly insults like teenagers.  Then it was time to get serious.  “We’ve got to be out of here by Friday,” she reminded Spike.  “I need to get some boxes so we can pack this stuff up.”

It amazed her…they had been here such a short time, and yet they had so much stuff.  Or junk.  Call it what you will, there was still lots of it.

“Why can’t we just wait until Thursday night, and then throw it all in a box or two?” Spike suggested, his voice taking on a petulant tone.

“Because I don’t want all of my breakables to be…well, broken.  Now are you going to come with me, or would you rather stay here and whine about it?” she asked.

“You mean I have a choice?  I’ll take the whining option then,” he replied, nodding resolutely.

“Spike!”

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled, trailing behind her as she headed out in search of boxes and packing materials.

~~~*~~~

“Do you think Buffy will tell the others?” Willow asked out of the blue, as they made their way back to their home.  They had chosen to walk, so their hands were filled with enough boxes and tape to start their packing activities.

“About what?  The chip, the Initiative, the move?”  He needed a little more to go on before he could answer her question.  Then again, he wasn’t sure if she really wanted an answer.  Sometimes she just asked questions out loud as a way to generate conversation, or solve a problem in her head.  Still, they were all valid concerns, and he had a stake in the answers as much as she did.

Willow glanced up at him, considering his words.  “I guess all of them.”  She nodded to herself, looking back down at her feet as they moved across the pavement.

“The fact that I’m still here tells me that she hasn’t told anyone about the chip.  Watcher would have come running, stake in hand, the minute she told him.  If she had.  Especially if she told him about the Initiative.  The move?  That one’s a little harder.  Couldn’t really say for sure.”

She was silent, contemplating his answer, and how it made her feel.  In a way she kind of hoped that the others didn’t know about any of it.  She wanted to be the one to tell Xander; she owed him that much.  After all the years they’d been friends, finding out something of this magnitude from Buffy, and not her, would just be wrong.

“I’m calling Xander tonight and telling him that we're leaving,” she decided.

Spike just shrugged.  It made no difference to him whether the others knew about the move or not.  They weren’t even on the radar anymore.  Sure, she’d miss them for a while, but as far as he was concerned, they were already out of her life.  The inevitable soggy good-bye was just a final death knell to relationships that had pretty much been finished the moment she had been turned.

~~~*~~~

The conversation with Xander had been rough.  They had both cried, although neither was willing to admit it to the other. When it came down to it, she didn’t think that Xander would ever really understand why she was choosing to leave.  Then again, she hadn’t been able to tell him all of her reasons.  She had kept him in the dark about the status of the chip, and the Initiative, and everything else.  Perhaps on some level her friend sensed that there was more to the story, and was unwilling to let go because of that.

They said all the right words, talked about how they would always ‘keep in touch,’ but somehow it just felt like the rules between them had changed, and she knew that they would never be the same again.

It hurt.  More than losing Jesse had, even.  Maybe it was because she and Xander had been through so much together.  Or maybe it was because she was afraid to tell him the truth.

And as much as Xander would miss her, she had to acknowledge that the person he really missed did not even exist anymore, except in both of their memories.  They had not been able to spend the time to build new memories, memories of a friendship between the man he had become, and the vampire she was now.  Maybe that would make their parting a bit easier.  Or maybe not.

~~~*~~~

Suddenly it was Friday afternoon.  Willow wasn’t sure how the time had managed to pass so quickly, but it had.  Her gaze passed slowly over the living room and dining room.  Boxes were filled and stacked in both rooms, and all of their furniture had been broken down to its smallest components.  The moving truck had been outside since the previous evening.  Tonight would be it.  Once her friends showed up, they would help fill the truck and say their goodbyes.  Then she and Spike would take off for Los Angeles.  The idea was both exciting and mind-numbingly terrifying.

Angel had given them the address of a small house a couple of blocks away from his office and mailed them a set of keys.  They would go there tonight and unload as much as possible, then hold up there until the next evening and finish the job.  Willow was still amazed by how much stuff they owned; it seemed like it would take forever to put it all back together again and shape it into a home.  Still, technically speaking, she pretty much had time on her side.

Spike was sitting in front of the TV, playing some sort of video game that involved driving cars into and through zombies.  “Nasty blokes, those zombies.  Can’t reason with ‘em or stop ‘em.  Makes ‘em a pain in the ass to fight.”

He made a “V” of his legs, and she sat down between them, relaxing when he put his arms around her, and then smiling slightly as he continued to play, his hands simply manipulating the controller from in front of her.  She let him play for a couple of minutes, then began rubbing up against the arms that circled her, resting her head against his chest, leaving her throat bare to his lips, an open invitation.

It was a tantalizing temptation, and it didn’t take Spike long to throw the controller to the side, his thoughts concentrated on this new game.

Talented lips swept the side of her neck, biting, licking and tickling their way from her collarbone to her ear.  She relaxed into him even more, sending her head back further.  A soft moan passed between barely parted lips.  It turned suddenly into a groan when they both heard the slamming of car doors from outside.

“They’re here,” Willow said, although the words were unnecessary.

“Damned lousy timing, if you ask me,” Spike growled, shifting uncomfortably.

Willow was quicker to recover.  She got to her feet, using his legs as leverage, and then held out a hand to him.  “C’mon mister grumpy.  We’ll be on our own again soon enough.”

The promise of more alone time with his childe was enough to pull Spike out of his snit, and he took her proffered hand.  However, instead of allowing her to pull him to his feet, he yanked sharply on her hand, sending her tumbling back down into his lap.  “They can wait a few minutes,” he told her, his lips capturing hers in a bruising kiss.

She heard knocking at the door, but Spike’s arms tightened around her, his mouth devouring hers.  Eagerly returning his kiss, she shut out the sounds of her friends talking, losing herself in this last moment of quiet before the storm.

“Willow?”

The sound of Giles’ voice, slightly alarmed, was what finally broke them apart.

“I’ll be right there,” she called out.  Spike was being difficult, throwing her a smirk and refusing to let go of her.  She was going to have to play dirty.  She rose to her knees, straddling his lap.  Then using her left hand, she ran her fingers lightly over his groin, feeling it rise to attention beneath the fabric of his jeans.  As she expected, his attention was diverted for a precious moment, so she brushed her lips lightly against his and then broke free, coming easily to her feet.

Spike groaned.  “You don’t play nice,” he complained.

“You forced me to it,” she reminded him.  “If you would have let me go in the first place, I wouldn’t have had to resort to that.”  Running her fingers through his hair in a fleeting caress, she moved quickly to the door.

“Hey, guys!  Thanks for coming to help.”

They filed in, one by one, taking in the happy smile that Willow had, along with the glare that Spike gave them.

“Were you having sex?” Anya asked, reading the signs.  “Because if you were, we can come back later.”  She gave Spike a nod, her face deadly serious.

Willow’s eyes grew wide, and Spike let out a barking laugh, his earlier good humor immediately restored.

“I was trying to,” he told Anya, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Oh, no, no, no.  I don’t need to hear any of this,” Xander insisted, grabbing Anya’s hands and placing them over his ears.  “We talked about this, hon.  No talking about sex in front of other people.”

Removing her hands from over Xander's ears, Anya shook her head.  “No, Xander, you told me I couldn’t talk about orgasms in front of other people.  You never said I couldn’t talk about sex.”

Giles rolled his eyes at the conversation, edging past the bickering couple and walking into the living room.  Trying to control Anya’s mouth was rather like attempting to herd cats, he had recently discovered.  Nearly impossible, and even less fun than it sounded.

“Might I have the keys?” he asked Willow.  “I presume you would like to get this done early, so that you can have as much time in Los Angeles as possible before sunrise.”

Willow nodded, grabbing the keys from the coffee table and walking Giles out to the moving truck.

He glanced back at the house, making sure that nobody else was around, before speaking again.  “Willow, are you sure you really want to do this?  Leave like this, I mean. And so suddenly?”

She smiled at him, watching as he unlocked the roll-up door to the truck and pushed it open.  “I’m sure, Giles.  This is something I need to do, and…well, now seems like the right time.  I can go to school in L.A., and we can help Angel.  Well, I can help Angel.  Not so sure about Spike.  Although, he might do it just because it would piss Angel off.”  She smiled as she thought about it, and even felt a little sorry for her grandsire.  Spike delighted in needling Angel; having them both in the same city would only make it easier for him.

Giles gave her a penetrating look, as if hoping he could see into her soul and discover some hidden motivation for her decision.  “Spike has figured out a way to get around the chip, hasn’t he?”  His tone was clipped, almost angry.  Perhaps there was a small amount of fear there as well.  She couldn’t be sure.

“Giles…” she didn’t know how to answer him.  If she admitted that he was correct, Spike could be in danger.  But she couldn’t lie to Giles, either.  So instead she kept her mouth shut, her eyes shining with suppressed emotions.

When the silence stretched on, and he realized that she was not going to answer his question, he spoke.  “As long as he stays away from Sunnydale, and Buffy, I will make no move against him.  But I can’t make any promises for the next Watcher, or the next Slayer.  Be very careful about whom you trust.”

“Thank you, Giles.  I—this will be a good move.  For all of us.  If I had stayed, things would be…difficult.  Loyalties would be tested.  Sooner or later, someone would get hurt.  I don't want that.”

“I understand.  But I am going to tell Buffy.  She deserves to know.  Just in case Spike decides to add another Slayer to his list.”  The words were said without any particular inflection, but Willow knew that Giles was deadly serious.

Her eyes grew wary as she contemplated the older man.  Buffy hadn’t told him anything.  That answered one of her earlier questions.  If she hadn’t told Giles, then she hadn’t told anyone.

“Okay,” she agreed, shrugging.  “I don’t think it’ll be an issue, but I understand why you want to make sure Buffy is prepared.”

“What’s going on out there?” Buffy called out from the doorway.  “You guys get that thing open yet?”

“Yes, yes, we did.  I will be the organizer.  You children can do all the heavy lifting.”  Giles nodded to Willow, and she ran back towards the house as he walked along behind her at a more sedate pace.

“Damn right, let the youngsters do all the grunt work, that’s what I say,” Spike agreed, his self-satisfied voice cut off abruptly when Willow shoved a box into his arms.

 “Move it,” she said, pointing him towards the front door.

Xander muttered the word, “Whipped,” under his breath as Spike walked by, and for a moment Willow was afraid that Spike was going to make an issue of it.  But he kept moving, throwing a glance towards Willow that assured her that she would be making quite a few things up to him that evening once they reached Los Angeles.

“My turn,” Anya stated, shoving a box into Xander’s arms.  He sagged under the weight, and when Spike muttered, “Wanker,” not even bothering to say it under his breath, Xander had the good grace to keep his mouth shut.

Buffy pulled the redhead into the kitchen, her ever-vigilant eyes watching to make sure they could talk candidly.  “It’s not too late to change your mind, you know.  I can’t protect you if you’re in L.A.”

Willow smiled at her friend.  “It’s okay, Buffy.  Things are—well, they’re different now.  I love Spike, and he loves me.”  At Buffy’s skeptical look, Willow continued, “and I’m not afraid to kick his ass if he goes over the line.”  That brought a smile to the blonde’s face.

“Just promise me—if things get bad, you’ll call me.  Or Angel.  He can always keep Spike in line, I suppose.”  Buffy considered Spike’s relationship with his sire.  If there hadn’t been a loophole in Angel’s curse—if they had been able to stay together—how would Spike’s living in Sunnydale have changed things?

It was an idle thought, and it really had nothing to do with what was going on here and now, but Buffy couldn’t help but wonder.  Would Angel and Spike have become closer again, or would their proximity have added more fuel to the fire of their relationship?

“Giles, the two super-girls are trying to hide in the kitchen,” Xander whined.  “Make them come back out and help,” he insisted.

“Guess we’d better get back to work,” Willow said, exchanging a smile with her friend.  “Coming, Xander.  Wouldn’t want you to break a nail,” she teased.

He glared at her, but there was very little heat behind the look and they both knew it.  The girls returned to the living room and each grabbed a box, continuing to fill the truck until every last thing was secured inside.

~Epilogue~

This is it, Willow thought, as she and her friends stood on the front lawn, the moving van packed and ready to go.  This is my last moment in Sunnydale.  The town I grew up in.  The friends I leave behind.  I’m saying goodbye to it all.

Tears were imminent, and although she tried to stop them, they had their own agenda.  They spilled slowly from her eyes as she looked at her friends.  Her tired, sweaty, friends.  “I love you all,” she told them.  “I—” she faltered for a moment, unsure of how to continue.

Spike stood beside her.  He grabbed her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.  It would be hard, but she would get through this.  And he would be there to help her.

As the others chattered about promised emails and future get-togethers (I’m moving to LA, not Timbuktu, he heard Willow remind them), he thought about the first time he had seen her, scared and beautiful and innocent.  Everything a demon could have wanted, in one tantalizing package.  Fast-forward to that night in the warehouse; he had been drunk, she had been…actually, she had been quite sympathetic.  And, he remembered, she had smelled heavenly.

How would his life be different now, if he hadn’t been so drunk that night?  Would he have drained her, or made her a brainless minion?  He shuddered at the thought.

No, as much as he had hated parts of the last couple of years, mostly the chipped parts—and the parts where he had to play nice with the little humans—this was exactly how his life was meant to be.  He felt that fact deep down in his bones, with a certainty that was oddly comforting.

He watched as Willow said goodbye to everything that was familiar to her, and respected her for her ability to adapt.  But they saw things differently; his perspective was based on over a hundred years of history.  What seemed like an ending to her was, he knew, only the first step towards a life together that stretched further ahead than even he could see.

“I’m going to miss you,” Willow said quietly, no longer attempting to stop the tears that trickled down her cheeks.  “Thank you for everything,” she said, giving first Xander, and then Buffy, long hugs. Then the three of them hugged together, looking like some sort of three-headed beast that swayed unsteadily on three sets of legs.

Anya and Giles had important places in Willow’s life, but Buffy and Xander were special.  They had been there from the beginning.  The three of them had survived high school, Buffy’s death, the Mayor’s Ascension, and all the other typical adolescent trauma.  Together. They had drawn upon each other’s strength to make it through, and that was a part of the magic that had kept them all alive through some of the most dangerous times Sunnydale had ever known.

Spike was her future, and she knew that.  But these two people were her friends too, and she wouldn’t give them up easily.

They hugged, they kissed, and they cried, but eventually the two vampires were seated in the cab of the moving van, eyes fixed resolutely on the future.

~~~*~~~

As they rolled out of town, Spike couldn’t help but notice the back of the “Welcome to Sunnydale” sign as he drove past.  For a moment he imagined turning around and driving through it, just for old time’s sake.  It was a tradition, after all.

But Willow was cuddled up next to him, the kitten purring away on her lap.  As the blocks streamed past them, Willow’s head came to rest lightly on his shoulder, while her finger drew figure eights on the leg of his jeans.  And, as odd as it seemed, he was happy.  So Spike decided he would give the sign a pass, just this once.

The End

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