So Many Steps to Death series

Author: KallieRose, a.k.a. Kat

Rating: PG/FRT - there's death, and talk about death. Spike's not a fluffy puppy anymore.  Later stories in the series will reach NC-17

Summary: Takes place in the summer between season 6 and 7, but goes AU from there. Willow is in England, recovering from the dark evil, and Spike is on his way back to Sunnydale. Only instead of getting a soul, he got what he *really* wanted (his chip out).

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters and claim no responsibility for anything other than this story, from which no profit is made.

Author's Notes: Thanks to Lisa, Elisabeth and Gabrielle for the betas. But, of course, all mistakes are mine.

Misc. ramblings: So, yeah, in case you haven't noticed yet, I finally caved and got a LiveJournal (I'm Kallie_Kat). Feel free to friend me if you're so inclined, and I will friend back. This is a series, and is definitely a WIP, but there will be at least 10 stories in the series, so you'll definitely see more. Hope you like it. And if you don't, please let me know why not. I want/need/crave concrit!  P.S., I'm still working on So Wild a Dream.  I just needed a little break from it for a while.

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~Part: 1~ Unexpected Guest

Spike took one last drag off his cigarette before flicking it carelessly into the ocean, his sharp ears catching the hiss as it hit the water. Blowing smoke into the air, he watched it mingle with the fog, and then his gaze turned eagerly in the direction of land. His left hand gripped the railing of the old cargo ship tightly, as if hoping to contain his excitement.

In less than an hour, this ship would dock at San Pedro in the Los Angeles Harbor. From there it would be another couple of hours to Sunnydale. Just thinking about the town that had been the site of so many staggering defeats made the bitterness swell up within him.

But this time it would be different, he promised himself. This time *he* would be different.

Long-gone was the vampire who had trailed around after the Slayer, desperate for any crumb of affection she might deign to give him. And wasn’t that a laugh. The girl was incapable of love; he saw that now. Not that it mattered anymore. That white-hot place in his heart that had held his feelings for her was now cold as ice. And soon *she* would be cold as ice as well. Buried deep in the ground, surrounded by others who had suffered a similar fate.

But first things first. He’d check his old crypt tonight and see if it was still empty. If not, he was sure that some other fine citizen would be happy to welcome him in. ‘Poor wayward traveler with a flat tire’ was a game that he and Drusilla had played often enough, and they had never lost a game yet.

His mind drifted, as it had shown a tendency to do over the last couple of weeks. Travel by sea had always been boring; it was even more so now, without his beloved Drusilla.

If Dru could see him now, she’d be proud. Oh, she would pretty it up with phrases like, ‘The king has stolen back his crown back from the land of the pixies,’ and such—she’d never been one for a straightforward sentence—but he knew she’d be keening with pride nonetheless.

Things were finally going to be right between him and the Slayer. They would be predator and prey once more, as they were meant to be.

The last couple of months loomed large in his memory, as he mentally retraced the steps that led him to this time and place. The weather in Africa had been stifling. It hadn’t affected him, particularly, but it made people irritable and jump. Fortunately for him, Spike hadn’t been there to meet and greet the locals. He’d gone looking for a demon he'd heard about, one who would give you your fondest desire…if you could survive his trials.

Needless to say, he had survived; it hadn’t been easy, and he wasn’t quite sure if he could manage it again, but that wasn’t the point. The point was, he got his one wish, and now he was no longer the neutered, pathetic creature he’d once been.

He was a vampire again.

And soon Buffy would find out. Right about the same time as he ripped out her throat.

He was drawn from his musings by the sound of activity nearby. Land, he thought, looking forward to feeling solid ground under his feet again. Travel by ship might be less hazardous than flying, but it surely wore on his patience.

~~~*~~~

It only took him five minutes to find a likely sap with a car. Drinking the man down had taken approximately 30 seconds, and now he was the proud “owner” of a 2003 Ford Escort. Maybe he wasn’t really traveling in style, but the gas mileage was good, and the sound system was adequate. Besides, once it got him to Sunnydale, he could abandon it and take his time finding a more appropriate replacement.

In no time at all, the car was exceeding the speed limit, music assaulting the landscape through his open windows, as he raced his way down the freeway, which was fairly quiet at this time of night. If he could keep this speed up, he should make it to Sunnydale in plenty of time to find shelter for the day.

As the miles flew past, Spike’s imagination found ways to pass the time; his favorite, of course, was envisioning the havoc he would wreak once he reached his destination.

There was a specific order he had decided upon when he imagined killing them. After all, he wasn’t just a savage who sought nothing but a bloodbath. This would be art; he would pull it off in a way that would leave even Angelus green with envy.

First he would take care of the moron. That wanker really pissed him off. Call it justifiable homicide. No court of law would convict him, et cetera, et cetera.

It would be a bloody kill, with entrails from wall to wall, and screaming and whimpering…he could feel himself getting aroused just thinking about it. Then he considered the fact that thinking about Chubbs was making him hard, and felt his cock wilt completely.

Anya would be next, although Spike wasn’t sure if he could really pull that one off. He’d heard through the demon grapevine that she was a working woman—a vengeance demon once again. If that was the case, then he probably wouldn’t be able to touch her. Pity.

If Giles was around, he would be next. Again, Spike wasn’t sure if this was going to be possible. The Watcher might be in London, in which case Spike would have to wait a bit before exacting his revenge.

Spike entertained a momentary thought of Dawn, but pushed it away quickly, because he didn’t want to think about her. Letting her live would be no kindness, but he didn’t know if he had the stones to kill her in cold blood. He hated that she affected him like that, but had come to accept it as fact, immutable and unchangeable.

He forced his mind to move on to the witches. His eyes blazed in the darkness as he thought about those two. Pretty birds, both of them, but he would kill them without a second thought. Sure, they’d been decent to him, but they had the power to stop him, and that could not be allowed. Besides, he couldn’t wait to see the look on Buffy’s face as she realized he had snuffed out their lives.

Although Red might make a decent vampire, he allowed. There had been stories, never told to him, but alluded to often enough, about the time her vampire doppelganger had visited Sunnydale. From what he’d heard, she’d been a pistol. Sexy and strong and…‘kinda gay’ was how Willow had put it. Of course, that had been before she started dating the witch. Maybe the vampire didn’t fall far from the tree. He smiled; she probably would have appreciated the mixed metaphor.

There hadn’t been much point in telling her that all vampires were ‘kinda gay.’ They weren’t picky about whose hole they stuck their parts in, as long as they got to put them somewhere. He imagined the way her eyes would have gotten large and curious if he had bothered to let her in on that little secret. He’d always loved watching her eyes. So expressive and open; they were—as the saying went—the windows to her soul.

He shoved the eventual fate of the redhead aside for the bit, so that he could concentrate on his triumphant moment: the look on Buffy’s face when she realized that he had killed all her friends, and that she was just moments away from her own death.

Oh, she would fight him, he had no doubt. Even through her grief, he knew that she would battle him with her very last breath. But she would also be reeling from the deaths of her friends, and something like that was bound to affect a girl, even if she was the Slayer.

A vicious smile twisted his lips, and his hand reached for the stereo, cranking the sound up even louder. Spike sang along to an old P.I.L. song as the miles flew by, firm in his belief that by this time tomorrow, he would be bathing in blood.

Before he knew it, was back on familiar ground. The crypt had been empty, so Spike spent the day there, even though it was rife with bad memories. He had trouble even looking at the place now; it was a symbol of a life he was embarrassed to admit he had lived. Tomorrow, he promised himself, he would sleep in a comfortable bed, the taste of fine liquor on his lips, his belly full of stolen blood, and the screams of his victims ringing in his ears.

He couldn’t wait.

~~~*~~~

The minute the sun fell below the horizon, Spike was out and heading for the Magic Box. It felt strange being here again, walking the familiar streets. But unlike the last time he had followed this path, tonight he held his head high, feeling pride and comfort in the fact that he could best whatever the hellmouth had to throw at him. No longer would he lurk in the shadows, trying to make his way invisibly from place to place.

This time *he* was the one in control. And anyone who didn’t catch on to that fact was just a dead man walking.

As he passed a self-absorbed yuppie with a cell phone attached to his ear, he was tempted to stop for a quick bite, but let the opportunity pass by. There would be plenty to eat tonight; it wouldn’t do to spoil his appetite. Especially with such an inferior appetizer.

Stopping for a cigarette, Spike was surprised to notice that some changes had taken place in his absence. The Magic Box, although still in the same location, looked slightly different. The exterior color was new; the storefront and the sign both smelled strongly of fresh paint. Bars covered the large display windows, which made a certain amount of sense, as far as he was concerned. Leaving only a thin pane of glass between the denizens of the hellmouth and the only magic shop in town had always seemed almost criminally stupid.

Then again, this was Sunnydale. Criminally stupid was a way of life to these people. And Spike couldn’t be happier about that fact.

The changes intrigued him. What could have happened? A robbery? A small fire? All the other buildings on the block looked relatively unscathed, so whatever had happened was localized, centered directly on the Magic Box itself.

Another change he noticed, as he opened the door and walked inside, was that the annoying bell above the door was gone. Good riddance, he thought. Just on basic principles, Spike was against anything that announced his presence. And anything that insisted on doing so in such a relentlessly cheerful manner was even worse.

There were other interior changes, but he catalogued them without thought, his eyes focusing immediately on his target: Anya, counting money and then putting it carefully back into the till.

Xander was there as well, he realized, sitting in a chair towards the back of the store, his feet up on the chair across from his. The comic book held in front of his face seemed to be the focus of all his attention.

Neither of them had bothered to look up at his entrance. Killing them would be a mercy, really, Spike told himself. Anyone stupid enough to ignore evil when it came strutting right through their door would be a demon hors d’oeuvre in no time, friend of the Slayer or not.

Just to get their attention, Spike knocked his foot against one of the display cabinets, setting the collection of shrunken heads and talismans in motion. Anya’s eyes widened as they took him in, her lips forming a tentative smile, and then flattening out into a straight line as her glance darted to...

Xander, who had finally noticed him, Spike was happy to see, was trying to pry himself out of his chair. The moron didn’t look like he’d changed much over the last couple of months; then again, the most intriguing thing about him had always been that he managed to make it through catastrophe after apocalypse, without ever suffering more than a cut or bruise along the way.

Fate had a sick sense of humor.

Spike made a show of looking around for the others, although he could tell by the sound of the two rapidly beating hearts that nobody else was there. “Where’s the rest of your little group?” he asked, his body readying for a fight as Xander moved closer.

“Buffy’s not here,” Xander barked out, shooting a warning glare at Anya when it looked like she might have something to add.

Spike rolled his eyes at him, biting back the sharp retort that danced on his lips, just begging to be uttered. Under normal circumstances he would have let ‘er rip, just to see what Xander would do.

But he was getting a vibe that told him things weren’t quite as they had been when he left town, and he was curious enough about that to curb his natural tendency to snack first and ask questions later. After all, dead men told no tales. Although undead men had been known to tell a few…

His demon rebelled at the thought of turning such a pathetic specimen, though, which left Spike with only one choice: the fine art of conversation.

So he put on his most ingratiating smile and looked Xander in the eye, clenching his hands into fists behind his back in an effort to distract himself from the vision he had of ripping the idiot’s head off.

“Yeah, I can see that. Where is everyone?”

Anya closed the till with a bang, and came to stand behind Xander, laying her hands on his shoulders in an effort to—what—calm him? Spike couldn’t be sure. The boy was unstable. Always had been. All the Prozac in the world wouldn’t be able to change that fact.

She faced him, staring at him with frank curiosity, as if she sensed that there was something different. Confusion clouded her features for the briefest of moments, and then was wiped away. “Why did you come back?” she asked.

“Don’t you want to know where I was?” he asked mockingly, leaning against the wall, doing his best to look casual and relaxed, while giving her the same probing glance she had subjected him to just a moment before.

“Not really,” Xander shot back angrily. “We were just happy you were gone. And as long as you stayed gone, we couldn’t care less. Besides,” he added, “we’ve had other things to deal with here.”

Then he stopped short, the look on his face saying clearly that he had told Spike more than he had intended. Anya’s face held a similar expression.

Spike was curious, now. Between the new decor, and the expressions on their faces, he sensed that there was a story here, just waiting to be told. He simply needed to figure out which buttons to push in order to make them spill it.

“Well that’s too bad, because I’m back, and I’m not going anywhere.” Anger usually worked well to loosen Xander’s tongue, so he used his words to stoke the fire.

Xander made a disgusted face, but pressed on. “Buffy doesn’t want you here, especially after what you did to her, you sick bastard. None of us want you here. Are you really so pathetic that you’d just stick around, trailing after a woman you tried to rape? The woman who has told you over and over again that you’re nothing to her? Go away now, and save her the trouble of staking you, all right?”

Spike felt anger wash over him in waves, battering down his self-control, and for a moment his fangs itched to tear into human flesh. The thing that rankled most was that there was some truth to what the boy was saying. He *had* trailed after the Slayer like a demented puppy dog. One word from her and he would have jumped to do her bidding.

It really had been pathetic.

Spike tried desperately to focus on his plan—the plan that he didn’t want to wreck now, at the very first provocation. So instead of ripping out the neck of one Xander Harris, he clenched his jaw tight and refused to give in to the surge of anger that threatened to overwhelm him.

“I’ve got something to say,” he stated, doing his best to sound calm and controlled, “but I’m only going to say it once. So I want everyone here to listen. Gather up the troops, right?”

A look passed between the two, a secret, and something in their mutually pained expressions caught Spike by surprise. It was Buffy, he thought, his mind making an intuitive leap. She was dead, and they didn’t know how to tell him. Plans for revenge fell to dust as he cursed his luck. Hell, it would hardly be worth killing the rest of them if the Slayer wasn’t around to see it.

“Would you just say it?” he bellowed, wanting to hear the words, wanting to know for sure that it was too late. That he was too late.

They started in surprise. Anya glanced at Xander again, and then met his eyes finally. “Things changed after you left,” she admitted, her words soft and hesitant. “Willow—Tara—oh god, where do I even begin?”

“Something happened to Red?” Spike asked, his plans for revenge rearranging themselves in his mind. Disappointment mingled with relief; he would miss the young girl, but if it meant that the Slayer was still alive…

“Not Willow; Tara.”

Spike frowned, not making the connection. “Too bad. But…living on the hellmouth, that sort of thing is sure to happen every once in a while, right?”

“That was just the beginning,” Anya said, taking a deep breath. “Willow—well, she lost control. Completely. She went after Tara’s killers. You know, the three bumbling geeks? Except, even a bumbling geek can do a lot of damage with a gun.”

“He was gunning for Buffy and got Tara,” Xander mumbled. “Still bumbling.”

“Who’s telling this story?” Anya snapped, but immediately regretted it when she saw the way that Xander pulled in upon himself. “Sorry,” she muttered.

As much as Spike was enjoying watching them hurt each other, what he really wanted was information. “So when you say that Willow lost it…”

With a glance at Anya, as if asking permission, Xander took up the tale. His voice was flat and tired as he said the words. “She flayed Warren—he was the ringleader—alive. There was screaming and writhing and more screaming. And then…he was just gone.”

Spike eyes widened. He couldn’t help but feel a little impressed that Willow could do such damage. Then again, love made you do things that you wouldn’t ordinarily do. Known fact, that.

His thoughts tumbled as he imagined the scene, Willow looking like vengeance itself, as the others watched in horror. They were the ‘good guys,’ after all. Retribution was for people like Anya. People who had passion and who weren’t afraid to make the hard decisions.

“What happened then?” he asked, relatively certain that he’d get a tragic tale of Buffy putting the witch out of her misery. That would explain both their absences here today.

“Willow went after the other two, and anyone who got in her way,” Anya told him. “Killed Rack—not that that was any big loss—and stole his magic. Nearly killed Buffy, and then Giles. Then she had this crazy theory that the world would be better if it—if it ended. So she tried to end it.”

“Buffy stopped her?”

“No,” Xander admittedly softly. “I did.”

Spike blinked, and then shook his head once in an effort to clear his ears. He could have sworn he heard the boy say that *he* had stopped her, and that was obviously impossible.

“Say again?”

“Xander made her stop. Pulled at her heartstrings, reminded her of the reasons for living. All that human crap.” Anya’s expression made it clear how she felt about that ‘human crap,’ but Xander merely gave her an affectionate glance. It looked to Spike like they had managed to clear the air between them and were back on track with their dysfunctional little romance. Not that he cared.

But Willow…damn, when had she gotten so powerful? He could still remember her as a teenager; all shy, insecure—terrible fashion sense. But with a heart big enough that it was bound to get her into trouble. It was hard to believe that someone so young could harness such power. Sure, she had been getting into some dark stuff before he left, but there was a big difference between dabbling in the dark arts, and trying to end the world.

“So what happened to her?” Spike asked. He couldn’t imagine that the Watcher’s Council would just stand by and let someone that dark, that powerful, and that emotionally unstable roam free. His body count might be high, but her potential was—unlimited.

“Giles took her back to England to learn to cope,” Anya told him. Something about the way she frowned when she spoke hinted at more, at things she wanted to say, but was afraid to mention in front of Xander.

They would kill her if they couldn’t fix her, Spike figured. Watcher’s Council had a habit of doing that. Their innate fear of anything they couldn’t control would be her death sentence. He hoped, for her sake, that she was able to play the role of good little Wicca, and play it well.

“And Buffy?” he asked, knowing what the answer would be.

“She’s around.” Story-time was over, and Xander’s voice grew cold and hard again. “I don’t care why you came back, but if you think you’ve got a chance with her, now that she’s vulnerable, think again. She’s not interested. And if you ever try to touch her again, I’ll kill you.”

Spike rolled his eyes at the boy’s melodrama, but before Xander could say another word, he turned and left the building.

His thoughts were in chaos. He had prepared for this moment for so long; during the trials, looking forward to his bloody reign of terror had been all that kept him going at times. But now everything was fucked up and he didn’t know how to fix it. He wanted to growl in frustration or curse the witch and her dead lover for the way that they had destroyed a perfectly good plan.

A young redhead with bouncy curls and bright green eyes caught his attention as she exited a pub. He crooked a finger in her direction, and in her inebriated state she was easy pickings. Five minutes later, he was licking the last traces of her blood from his lips, and feeling a bit less bitter towards redheads in general, and one in particular.

The way he saw it, he had three choices. He could cut his losses and kill Chubbs and the Slayer now, and knock off the others at his leisure. Or, he could hang around for a bit and wait for the two little lambs to come back to the flock. Because, sooner or later, some apocalypse would come a-knocking at their door, and everyone would be called back home to help out.

But the idea that appealed to him the most was this: to head to Merry Olde and see what the witch and her keeper were up to.

Maybe it would be a waste of time, but time was something he had in abundance. And he had a feeling that Red was there, just waiting for someone to lead her astray.

Spike knew he was just the vamp for the job.

~Part: 2~ Sad Cypress

The trip to England took even longer than Spike imagined it would. Perhaps it was anticipation that made time drag its heels, or maybe it was just the piling up of one long trip after another that made it seem so.

Once he reached London, there was a temptation to look up old friends and enemies, or roam the foggy streets of his former home. He let himself be persuaded to stay a day or two, but before long restlessness overtook him once again.

Finding the Watcher and his charge wasn’t difficult; Spike had made it his business to find out about his fellow countryman years ago, and figured the first place to search would be the Giles’ estate, located several hours north of London. After all, they weren’t hiding; it would be only natural that they chose to stay there.

Sure enough, he saw them both a couple of days later, making their way through the village shortly after dark. He watched them walk past him as he downed a glass of whiskey, safely ensconced behind the dirty windows of the local pub.

Giles strode through the streets as if he owned the place, while Willow trailed apathetically behind him.

He was shocked by the changes that time and circumstance had brought about. Her eyes, which used to sparkle with wit and excitement, seemed lackluster now. And the bounce in her step was gone; she seemed to glide across road, as if her feet were afraid to touch down on solid ground. Her hair lacked its usual shine, and, most telling of all, her face was set into such an expression of weary acceptance that she hardly looked like the girl he knew.

What had they done to her?

~~~*~~~

It took a couple of days before Spike was able to get her alone. He thought about just walking up to the door of the Watcher’s home, but decided to keep his presence quiet for a little while longer. In the meantime he trailed them, studied their schedule, and made his plans.

And that was how, early Wednesday evening, he found himself standing in the woods, watching as Willow sat on a blanket, a picnic basket next to her, as she stared out into the distance.

The entire village was laid out in the valley below her, and from her vantage point she had a perfect view of everything that went on. Not that much went on in a one-horse place like that. Spike had seen more lively towns in Amish country.

He had been watching her for over an hour, trying to decide what to say or do. Tonight was the night he had chosen to contact her, but beyond that, he hadn’t really made any plans.

Killing her would be easy enough, he figured. He knew from watching her that she hadn’t been using magic at all. Maybe the Council had found a way to suppress it or take it away, or maybe she had just overdosed on it, and was now unable to use it at all.

In the end, he decided to tread carefully. If he took the time to talk to her, he might find out something interesting. Something to his advantage…

To his surprise, Willow made the decision for him, calling him out, as they both hid in the darkness.

“Whoever you are, I think you should know that I’ve got a picnic basket full of stakes, a fully loaded gun, and—and,” her voice was losing confidence fast, he noted, “oh, and my blood tastes really, really icky. So you might as well just go away and bug someone else.”

She hadn’t even turned around to say the words, but somehow he knew she meant it. About the stakes, at least. Maybe the gun as well. It was hard to tell.

He took his chances, stepping out from behind a group of trees and into the moonlight. “Guns wouldn’t do much damage to a vamp, Red. You ought to know that by now.”

She did this weird little movement where she jumped to her feet and turned around at the same time, and Spike blinked in surprise at the speed with which she moved.

“Spike? What? How…huh.” She looked shocked for a moment, but then she rallied. “I knew someone was following me. I’ve been sensing it for days. Just wasn’t sure if it was a vampire, or maybe someone the Council sent. So, yeah, the gun.”

“Where’d you get a gun? I can’t imagine the Council would be happy to know about that. Not that I care, mind you. Just curious.”

She shrugged, and then turned and sat back down on her blanket. Judging from the way she scooted to the left side of the blanket, leaving half of it empty, Spike figured he was being issued an invitation. Might as well be comfortable, he decided, sitting down and stretching his legs out in front of him. This little conversation of theirs could take a while.

“I didn’t steal it,” she said defensively. She was staring at him, as if waiting for him to reply, but then she whipped her head straight ahead, looking down at the village far below.

“Didn’t think you had,” he replied evenly, using his voice to calm her.

He watched the way that his tone affected her, as the release of tension made her shoulders relax slightly. The night crowded around them, the sounds of nature continuing the work he’d started and lulling her into a state of peacefulness.

This was the first time he had been so close to her since his arrival in England, and as he took a deep breath, he noticed a new component to her scent.

“So, what kinds of drugs do they have you on, pet?” he drawled.

She flinched slightly at the question, refusing to meet his eyes. “You heard about…” Unable to finish her sentence, she raised her eyes to his, looking up at him from beneath the sweep of her lashes.

“Your little visit to the dark side? Yeah, I heard about it. Gotta say, I’m a little disappointed.” He kept the words light, but apparently she misunderstood, nonetheless.

Willow’s head fell at the implied criticism. “Sorry,” she muttered.

Spike sighed, shaking his head. “Silly bint. I meant that I was disappointed that I missed it. I hear you put on quite a show.”

One minute he was admiring the way the moonlight glinted in her hair, and the next minute his arms were full of sobbing redhead, her body shaking and shuddering from the ferocity of her sadness. His arms came up automatically to hold her, letting her pour her grief into him.

He couldn’t help but marvel at the absurdity of this evening. After all, the entire reason he had traveled to London in the first place was to assess the situation and decide whether he should kill her now, or later. And, suddenly, here he was, holding her while she cried, and making soft shushing sounds against her hair.

Some badass vampire he turned out to be.

He let her do what she obviously needed to do, trying not to think about how wet his T-shirt was, and how it was sticking uncomfortably to his chest. Eventually her sobs lessened, and then stopped altogether. But as the moments passed, she made no effort to move herself out of his arms.

Finally, with a little sigh that he felt as much as heard, she pulled herself away from him, her hand reaching up to wipe the last couple of tears from her eyes.

“Sorry to use you like that,” she whispered, “but I really needed to cry. I just…I don’t feel like I can anymore. The drugs make me feel so numb all the time…” Her voice trailed away into silence, and her head turned so that she was once again staring out at the village below.

“What are they giving you?” he asked, slightly surprised that the Watcher would resort to pills to keep her under control. Even someone like him, someone who wasn’t terribly tuned in to the human condition, could see that instead of helping her deal with her pain, the drugs were merely masking it, until at long last it manifested in a crying jag like the one to which he had just been privy.

There was a strange detachment in her voice as she listed them, ticking each off on a finger. “Prozac, Lunesta, Dalsema, Girante herbs, and Lockroot.”

Other than the first two, Spike was at a bit of a loss. “What do they do?” he asked, trying to hide the discomfort he was beginning to feel. This whole set-up felt seriously wrong.

“Prozac for my mood, Lunesta to help me sleep.” She shrugged. “The others suppress my natural ability to do magic. It’s just too dangerous right now. Once I’ve healed, and learned to control the bad impulses, they’ll taper me off of everything. At least, that’s what they say,” she added. Spike caught a hint of bitterness in her voice, and wondered if she was really as comfortable with this as she wanted him to believe.

The thing was, it didn’t make all that much sense. If they were trying to heal her, then they were going about it all wrong. The drugs were dulling her pain, but they weren’t helping her deal with it. He wondered if maybe the drugs were more about control than healing. As long as she took them, it would buy the Council time to figure out how to deal with her.

Or, a cynical voice inside his head added, how to destroy her.

“So what do you do with yourself all day? Do they have you talking with anyone? Working on dealing with your pain, or whatever it is you humans do?”

She grimaced. “Giles and I talk, a little. We ride horses, walk around the village, but mostly I’m left to my own devices. I guess that’s a measure of trust, right?”

More likely, it was a measure of their trust in the drugs they were pumping into her, Spike thought. Probably figured she could do no harm in her current state.

“So where did you go? How come you missed my…my show?” she asked, staring at him with those huge, wounded eyes. “I mean—I know that you and Buffy had…” she searched for a word that would describe attempted rape, and came up with, “problems. But you just disappeared. Nobody knew where you were. We kind of thought, maybe you’d been dusted or something. And now suddenly you’re here.”

He smiled slyly at her words. She hadn’t said it, but he knew that what they had really hoped was that someone had staked him, saving Buffy the trouble of doing it herself.

“Aren’t you upset about what I did to Buffy?” he asked curiously. “Tried to do, I mean.”

“We all make mistakes,” she mumbled. She didn’t leave it at that, though. “Girl who tried to end the world sitting here. I tried to rape a civilization. I don’t have any right to be throwing stones, you know.”

“What if I said it wasn’t a mistake?” The words came out before he could stop them, and the surprise on her face told him that she wasn’t entirely comfortable with his response.

“It was wrong, Spike. Surely you know it, on some level.” Her words were soft, and they tore a response out of him, even though he hadn’t planned to give her one.

“You weren’t there, Willow. You don’t know what kind of a relationship we had.” He stopped for a moment, staring up at the stars as he thought. “Relationship. Yeah, that’s a lie if I ever heard one.”

Willow sat silently, waiting for him to continue.

“She always said no, pet. No touching. No talking. No fucking. No loving. And then she’d hit me, and tell me I was nothing, and that she felt dirty for being with me. But then, in the end, she always said yes. It always had to be on her terms, though. Well, maybe I just got tired of dancing to her tune.” His voice was angry now, pain and fear leaking out through the edges. “Maybe I wanted to be in charge for once.”

“It was wrong, Spike. Even if she did it to you first, it was still wrong. You were both wrong.” There was a conviction to her voice that reminded him of just how young and naïve she really was.

“I’m a vampire. We’re all about being wrong, aren’t we?”

That silenced her for a moment as she pondered his words. She shifted suddenly, turning to stare at him as if she’d never really seen him before. He felt a chill run through him, but told himself that it was merely a cool breeze. Still, her next words came as no surprise.

“That’s why you disappeared—you found someone to take out your chip, didn’t you? So you could…be a vampire again.”

There was still an edge of uncertainty to her voice, and he suspected that she hoped he would deny it. But he found that he had no wish to lie to her. “True,” he admitted, feeling the way her body tensed. She was preparing to run. Not that it would matter. He could catch her easily if he really wanted to, and they both knew it.

“Did you…hurt anyone in Sunnydale? Before you came here?” Her voice was quiet, with a sliver of fear running through it. Demon that he was, he thought about drawing out his response and making her wait for it. But there seemed no real point to the sport; the phrase ‘shooting fish in a barrel’ came to mind.

“How do you know I went there first?” he asked, unwilling to answer her question just yet. “Might have come here first.”

Willow stared at him for a moment, and then shook her head. “Nope. Doesn’t fit.” At his raised eyebrow, she continued, “You went and got the chip taken out for a reason. And that reason probably had to do with killing Buffy.” She looked at him again, then added, “And us.”

A sly smile curved his lips, confirming her assertion. She really was the brains of the operation. If the magic didn’t pan out, she’d make a hell of a psychologist.

Since he remained silent, she continued on with her little exercise in deduction. “Then you found out that Giles and I were in England, so…” she was stuck now, unsure of how the rest of this drama was supposed to play out.

“So I came here to find out just how black your little soul is,” he concluded, giving her another grin. “Leaving everyone in Sunnydale still alive and kicking.”

She let out a deep breath at his admission, and began to relax slightly.

“Gotta admit, you’re a bit of a disappointment on the evil meter. Instead of being black as night, your soul is just a little off-white. For a girl who tried to end the world, you’re still sickeningly sweet.”

“You do say the nicest things,” she muttered, glancing at him and then quickly looking away. “So what now? Do you kill me? Leave my body for Giles to find? Or—is Giles next?”

He was surprised for a moment by her lack of fear, but then realized that the drugs were probably lessening it. Or maybe she just didn’t care. Either possibility seemed possible, given the circumstances.

“Do you care?”

The question brought on a minute of silent contemplation for the girl next to him, and when she didn’t reply, he began to wonder if she had fallen asleep.

“I should, shouldn’t I?” she asked slowly. “But really I just feel kind of numb. Confused. Tired. I feel like that all the time, now.”

“It’s the drugs,” he surmised. “What happens if you stop taking them?”

More silence greeted his question, so while he waited he watched the way the breeze played with her hair. She was letting it grow out, and the look suited her. He imagined catching a lock and twisting it between his fingers; would it feel as soft as it looked? His hand itched to reach out and answer that question, but he remained still.

“I don’t know,” she finally answered, shivering slightly as the cold breeze brushed past her arms. The light blouse she wore was fine for early evening, but as early evening had turned into night it became woefully inadequate.

She gave a small hiss of annoyance, and then turned to him, a little bit of the fire back in her eyes. “I used to be able to conjure a coat, or still a breeze, with just the flick of a finger. Or—or just by thinking about it. This is all just so…frustrating. Slow. Useless!” The last word was yelled into the wind, as if she wanted to blame it for all that was wrong in her life.

Spike smiled at her little tantrum. It was good to know that the girl he remembered was still inside there somewhere, even if the drugs had sent her into hiding for a bit. He got to his feet, and then brushed the blanket aside, encouraging her to sit in the middle of it and wrap it around herself.

When she was resettled, and looking a little more comfortable, she hit him with the question he had been waiting for.

“Are you going to kill me now?” She spoke the words softly, and he wondered if that was hope he heard behind the words, or merely disinterest.

“Not until you ask me to,” he assured her, his voice teasing, but with a suggestion of something a little bit like a promise. “Deal?”

The sight of her white, shiny teeth told him that she was smiling. “Deal.”

He got up, offering her his hand. She hesitated for a moment, and then put her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

“Time we got you inside. Be a shame to have the Watcher stumble upon us and get the wrong idea, huh?”

She giggled for a moment at the thought, and then headed towards the path in the woods that would lead to Giles’ back door. “You want to come? Or do you have a place?”

And wouldn’t Giles be thrilled to invite him in, Spike thought sarcastically. No, he would head back to the pub, and maybe have himself a little dinner along the way. “Yeah, I’m staying in the village,” he told her. “Not sure I want ol’ Rupes to know I’m in town. Think you could keep it a secret for a bit?”

She turned to face him, her hair flying wildly around her pale face. With those curious eyes she studied him for a moment, trying to make up her mind. Finally she gave him a curt nod, and then turned and ran down the path, as quick and graceful as a wood sprite. Her final words, “Don’t make me regret it,” floated behind her, ringing in Spike’s ears.

Spike watched until the forest consumed her, and then turned and walked back to the place where they’d sat. Looking down on the village below him, he pulled a cigarette out of his pack and lit it. The wind quickly blew it out, and he cursed softly, throwing the cigarette to the ground and crushing it beneath his heel. Then he sat again, elbows on bent knees, and considered the situation he found himself in.

The witch, instead of needing someone to lead her astray, was looking for a savior. Oh, maybe she didn’t know it, but she was. The council was up to something, even if she was too drugged up to notice it. And he would be willing to wager whatever money he could find in the pocket of his evening meal that whatever it was they were up to wasn’t in Willow’s best interest.

Why Giles was allowing such a thing to happen—and under his roof, to boot—was what confused Spike. Was he simply unable to convince the intransigent council that they were making a mistake, or had he decided that she was just too dangerous to protect?

He thought about letting it all go and moving on. He could drain her and the Watcher easily, and then head back to Sunnydale to take care of the rest of the crew.

The drugged-up emptiness in her eyes had been sad to see. Killing her would be an act of mercy.

“An act of mercy.” He said the phrase again, out loud this time, but it didn’t convince him any more the second time than it had the first.

The problem was, he had always been a sucker for a lost cause. Hell, his last two girlfriends had been evidence enough of that fact. And rescuing the still relatively innocent maiden from the jaws of the big, bad Council? Didn’t that rather smack of Don Quixote and tilting at windmills?

Now all he needed was a plan…

~Part: 3~ There is a Tide

Willow’s pace slowed once she reached the grounds of Giles’ estate, but Spike’s insidious words still haunted her. What *would* happen if she stopped taking the pills? Oh, she knew it was dangerous to stop taking anything cold turkey, but maybe she could ease up a bit, just take a half dose for a while, and then wean herself off them entirely. It certainly was a tempting thought. But what would those men from the Council think? She had a feeling that they wouldn’t be pleased. They made her take those daily drug tests for a reason, after all.

It was just that everything in her head was so fuzzy these days. She knew she was smart; heck, her brainpower was something of which she had always been quite proud. But now, when she really needed it, her brain was failing her. Oh, she had glimpses of solutions to her problems, but the reality of it was, things just weren’t as sharp as she knew they should be.

It was easy—albeit unfair—to blame everything on Spike. His arrival had ripped her from the thick cocoon she had kept herself safe in, and forced her to try to deal with life again. As always, wherever Spike went, chaos and confusion were sure to follow.

But this time, maybe it was for her own good.

She didn’t know who else to talk to about this stuff; the psychiatrist that the Watcher’s Council made her go to didn’t seem to care about anything except whether she was taking her pills. Once he had established that, and was convinced that she would continue taking her drugs, he seemed to tune out the rest of what she had to say.

Giles was better; he really wanted to help her. But even so, he simply didn’t know what she needed. And since she didn’t even know that herself, it was hard to explain it to him.

So she just kept plodding along, making her way from day to day with little progress, and absolutely no joy.

But she had no idea how to make things change.

By the time she got to Giles’ home, and into her own bedroom, a headache was starting to bug her. She supposed that was progress. She hadn’t done enough serious thinking to conjure up a headache in quite a while.

Or maybe it was just talking to Spike that had done it. He had certainly been the cause of many a headache in the past. But this time he had seemed…different.

Well, duh, chip-less vampire—definitely different. But there was something beyond that. Maybe it was that he seemed like he genuinely wanted to help her.

Of course, this *was* Spike she was thinking about—he generally had an ulterior motive, and it usually wasn’t a very nice one. It was definitely too soon to start trusting that he was chock-full of good intentions.

But maybe she could hope…

~~~*~~~

Spike tried to sleep, but mostly he just ended up tossing and turning on the rock-hard bed, the covers tangling in his legs and leaving him feeling tied down. While the pub downstairs served a decent ale, their accommodations left a little something to be desired. Still, it wasn’t like this small town boasted a Holiday Inn, or even a Motel 6. And a Bed and Breakfast was a bit tricky, what with the invitation and all.

Besides, he had high hopes of leaving this little burg far behind him soon enough.

The constant pitter-pat of rain on the roof was getting on his last nerve, and reminding him of how far he was from Sunnydale. It was strange to think of that place as home, but like a demented homing pigeon, something inside kept leading him back there.

Giving up even the pretense of sleep, Spike sat up and looked around the room, his eyes searching for the ancient clock radio.

It was just barely noon. He had hours to go before he could head downstairs, and the room contained nothing to hold his interest.

The furnishings were sparse: the aforementioned uncomfortable bed, flanked by two small nightstands, and an old battered desk. On top of the desk sat a TV that had clearly seen better days. Spike thought about turning it on, but instead he decided to light up a cigarette and let his mind wander.

The subject he kept coming back to, inevitably, was Willow. And what, if anything, he should do about her.

He knew that if he left her with the Watcher, she’d be dead before the year was out. The way that they were drugging her, suppressing her magic, and keeping her here in the middle of nowhere without anyone to help, other than her “friend” Giles, told him that they were trying to buy time. But sooner or later, her time would run out, as would their patience. And then she’d be gone.

Maybe it was the fact that he always figured *he* would be her cause of death that bothered him. It seemed inevitable that he would turn her. He’d certainly tried. Angelus had shown a rather unhealthy interest in her as well. Either way, she was destined to die by vampire bite. Not by the Council and their hired goons.

The thought of kidnapping the woebegone redhead sent a little rush of excitement through him. History had shown that she was a pretty decent kidnapee, and this time he would actually be doing it for her own good, so he had a righteous cause on his side as well. Not that that mattered to him one bit.

He could think of half a dozen lonely places to take her where she would be safe from the Council, and he could begin to wean her off the drugs. And then…what?

His demon’s thoughts on the subject were simple; it wanted to own her. Of course. That was all it ever wanted. Kill, rape, pillage, maim. There was no finesse to that.

Put her back together, so that later on he could pull her apart? Or seduce her, and convince her to let go—to give in to the darkness—so they could cut a wicked swath across whichever continent they chose? Or, he supposed, he could actually help her. Although that idea seemed to have little merit.

He certainly didn’t need to decide right here and now, though.

~~~*~~~

Evening had finally come, and to celebrate, Spike was knocking back a scotch and soda at the pub, sitting at a table by the window and watching the world go by. Or at least, as much of the world as they had in this rather pathetic excuse for a town.

“Spike?”

He would have known that voice anywhere—the disapproving tone, the upper-crust tenor, and that little hint of annoyance. He’d been caught. So much for his plan to sweep Willow out of town unnoticed. He should have known that she couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

Spike motioned to an empty chair, and took a moment to study his companion close-up. The little lines of worry around the mouth—evidence of too few nights of good sleep—surprised him, as did the weariness he saw in the man’s eyes.

“Should have known that Red couldn’t keep her mouth shut. The girl does like to talk.”

Giles frowned and began to speak, but stopped short when the barmaid materialized in front of their table.

“Two more, and one for my companion,” Spike replied to the unasked question.

Once she was gone, Giles gave Spike a speculative look, and then spoke.

“Willow knows you’re here? Have you seen her?”

Spike quickly re-evaluated the situation. Seemed the witch hadn’t spilled his secret after all.

“So how did you know it was me?” he asked, annoyance creeping into his voice. “Wait, it’s the hair, innit?” he asked, running his hand over the platinum locks, smoothing down the longer tufts in the back that were beginning to stick up. Time for a haircut. Or maybe a new color or style. It’d been a while since he’d changed it. The 70s had been all about style, but that was a long time ago. He’d hate to be accused of living in the past.

Giles glared at him. “Well, yes, Spike. Not too many people in this part of the country run around looking like a giant Q-tip. Also, Xander called, quite irate. You stopped by the shop, pumped him for information, and then disappeared again without a trace. He was, I would have to say, more than a little put out.”

Spike shrugged. “He always was rather simple. First he’s upset because I’m there. Then he’s upset because I’m not there. Needs to make up his mind, that’s what I say.”

“So, what did you think of Willow?”

It took a moment for Spike to process the rather abrupt change of subject, but once he did, he pulled his thoughts together and answered cautiously. “She seems a little out of it.”

Giles frowned at him. “You’ve never pulled punches before, Spike. Why start now?”

It was a challenge, more than anything, so Spike went on the offensive. “She was drugged out of her mind. That little bit of spark that was her pilot light was dimmed down to nothing. There—did you like that better?”

From the rather pained expression on the man’s face, it was obvious that he didn’t. “Did she tell you what she did?”

“Yeah. She was out of her mind with grief, and she made a mistake.” He made it sound as if she had thrown a rock and broken a window, or accidentally crashed her car. They both knew there was more to it than that, though.

“She almost ended the world, Spike. I still have nightmares about how close she actually came.” His eyes were troubled; as well they should be, in Spike’s opinion.

“Well, what do you expect?” he demanded, leaning over the table and glaring at Giles. “You leave her there alone, with nobody to train her, or help her deal with her powers, and then you’re surprised when she doesn’t use them the way you think she should?”

The sudden vehemence in Spike’s voice seemed to surprise them both; Spike wasn’t sure why he was defending her so stridently, but he felt like it needed to be done. After all, Buffy had had a couple of years, and a lot of help, to get comfortable with her super-powers. Willow, on the other hand, had been thrown in at the deep end, and then expected to swim flawlessly.

The background noise in the pub almost drowned out Giles’ weary reply. “You are correct, of course. I let her down as much as she let me down.”

Spike sat back in his chair, regarding his companion with unblinking eyes. “Are you going to let them kill her?” he asked abruptly.

Giles flinched as if he’d been hit. “No,” he replied sharply. He looked as if he was thinking about trying to deny Spike’s accusation, but in the end he didn’t. “I just—I don’t know how to get her out of here,” he admitted, suddenly looking old and tired. He ran a hand wearily over his face, closing his eyes for a moment. “They’re watching the house, they watch us both whenever we leave, as well. I send off daily samples of her—err—fluids, so that they can be sure that she’s taking her drugs. I do have—contacts. People who are sympathetic. But we simply haven’t figured out how to pull it off yet.”

There was silence for a moment; Giles looked around furtively, and then whispered, “Would you help her? If you could? Get her away from here, so that they can’t find her? Because sooner or later they’ll decide that she’s no longer useful, or safe, and then…”

He didn’t need to finish his sentence. They both knew what, “and then,” meant.

Spike leaned back in his chair, carefully smothering the amused grin that threatened to spill over his face. Fate was a funny bitch, he thought. Earlier he had been trying to figure out how he was going kidnap sweet Willow, and here the Watcher was, giving her to him on a silver platter. Blind luck had never tasted so sweet.

“I might be interested. If there were a little somethin’ in it for me,” he allowed, refusing to show any real enthusiasm for the task. “I know a couple of places where we could disappear. Wouldn’t be cheap, though.”

Relief flashed in Giles’ eyes, and gratitude as well. “I could come up with the money with relatively little problem. I could even, perhaps, come up with a vehicle. It would be…safe. For a bit.”

Drive it for a day, at the most, and then ditch it, in other words. Spike considered that. He could head one direction, steal something else, and then head in a completely different direction, muddying their trail. Of course, he wasn’t about to let on that his chip was gone; news like that would send the man into a quandary from which he might never emerge. Red knew, but hopefully he would be able to keep her quiet about that little secret.

Spike glanced at his companion, not surprised by the rather unfocused look in his eyes. He was thinking, planning, plotting. Figuring out a way to make this work. The vampire let him take his time; years of experience had probably taught Giles more about outwitting the Council than Spike could ever hope to know. The best thing for him to do now was to stay quiet and let the man think.

“There’s a tunnel,” he began, his eyes fixing on Spike’s once again. “From my home. It leads to the basement of the bakery here in town. Do you know the place?”

Nodding, Spike couldn’t help but be a little surprised by this scrap of knowledge. It seemed awfully cloak-and-dagger for the peaceful village.

“The owner is a friend. I’ll make sure that he knows to expect you tomorrow evening. Follow the main tunnel; head due north. It branches off a couple of times, but just keep to the larger passageway and you should be fine.”

“If you’ve got this friend and this tunnel,” Spike drawled, “why don’t you take her yourself?”

Giles shook his head impatiently. “Don’t be an idiot. If I failed to poke my head out by noon, they’d know I was gone and have me picked up before I made it far enough for safety.”

It made sense, Spike had to admit. He shrugged. “Just checking.”

Giles hesitated for a moment, and then added quietly, “Besides, I’m needed here. There’s something going on—something that has the Council baffled, and worried. It’s one of the reasons why they haven’t been able to give their full attention to Willow.”

The eyebrow Spike lifted spoke volumes, but Giles remained silent until Spike prodded him. “You gonna tell me what it is that has their knickers in a twist?”

“I—I suppose it couldn’t hurt anything.” Grabbing his glass, he tossed back the drink in a single motion, sighing in satisfaction as the liquor burned its way down his throat. He fixed Spike with a steely gaze. “Do you know what a Potential is?”

Spike grinned as an old memory surfaced. “Dru used to call them ‘little ticking time bombs,’” he replied absently, thinking of happier times.

Giles made a moue of distaste. “Well, they’re not ticking anymore,” he declared. “Or, rather, someone is going to a great deal of trouble so that they don’t.”

At Spike’s confused expression, he spoke more plainly. “They’re being killed. Systematically hunted and exterminated.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Someone is trying to erase the Slayer line. Completely.”

“Huh,” was all the response that Spike could muster at the moment. He figured that adding, ‘good on them,’ would be a little inappropriate. Still, the man couldn’t expect him to get too upset that his most dangerous natural enemy was on the verge of extinction.

“So, you see,” Giles said, “I really am needed here. Even if I could figure out how to get Willow away without getting caught, there are other matters to consider.”

Spike nodded absently, his thoughts elsewhere.

“Back to the subject at hand,” Giles said, his mind once again on his plans for Willow. “I’ll meet you at my end of the tunnel at midnight, with all the money I can get my hands on, and Willow. Oh, and I’ll make sure to bring along her medications, and instructions on how to wean her off. If she were to just stop taking them altogether…”

“Yeah, I know. Bad idea.” Spike took a moment to think, considering all of the things he would have to do in order to be ready for this little caper. First off, he needed to decide where he would take her. Then plan out the route to get there. And what about Willow herself? “What are you going to tell her?”

“Willow?” He looked a bit flustered, which piqued Spike’s interest.

“No, the bloody Queen. Yes, Willow.”

“I—well, I thought it might be better if she was—well—unconscious. Less to explain. Less chance she might accidentally give the plan away. I’ll write her a letter, which you can give to her once she is awake. It will explain everything to her. How this will be safer for her, and that you will be taking care of her for a little while. Otherwise…well, we run the risk of her saying or doing something that would alert whomever might be watching.”

The man was so afraid of a messy emotional scene that Spike wanted to laugh. Then it occurred to him that an unconscious Willow wouldn’t be telling any tales about a formerly chipped vampire who could kill at will now, and he decided that maybe it would be in his best interests to just shut the hell up.

“Okay,” Spike said, “to recap. I meet you at midnight. You hand me the girl, the pills, instructions on what to give her and when, and the money, I high-tail it to the car and out of town. And then…what? How do I know when, or if, it’s safe to come out of hiding? This isn’t a lifetime commitment, is it? Because I don’t think I have that sort of patience. She’s a nice enough girl, but…” he let his words trail off. They both knew the point he was making.

A weak cough and an even weaker glare were all the answer he received. Then Giles relented. “Once the drugs are out of her system, Willow will be able to perform magic again. At that point, she should be able to manage a teleportation spell, or perhaps a sending. We will be able to plan, and figure out how long you will need to hide.”

Spike nodded absently as his mind went back to planning the details of their escape. Meeting at midnight gave him a good six hours to make his getaway, and also afforded him some time to get some things done before meeting up with his traveling companion.

“Well, I’m off,” he told the Watcher. “Lots to do, and not much time to do it in. Give the girl a nice tip, would you?” he added as he left the table—without leaving any money for his portion of the tab.

It was still early evening, and although it didn’t hum in quite the same way it did during the day, there were still some signs of life in the small village. Spike found a market and bought some hair color—a mousy brown that he was relatively sure would make him blend into the scenery. He also bought some scissors and an electric razor, and figured he could cut his hair himself in the afternoon. When he was finished he wouldn’t look quite so…distinctive.

A part of him was going to miss the hair. It had style and attitude. But it was a sign of the times, and the times were changing. He would just have to change with them.

Next on his to-do list was a little dinner. He came upon an older gentleman who was in his cups, but friendly enough, and got himself invited home after plying the man with alcohol and compliments. Killing him would have attracted all the wrong sorts of attention, but grabbing enough blood for a snack, and a little more from his wife and daughter, had worked out well enough. And the five hundred pounds the man had hidden under his mattress—and what a cliché that was—was an added bonus.

All that remained to be done now was to wait in his room, do a little creative hairstyling, and then meet the Watcher at midnight tomorrow. From then on, life was a bit of a question mark. But that didn’t bother Spike at all.

~Part: 4~ Endless Night

The transfer at midnight had gone smoothly, although Spike had caught Giles smothering a grin when he saw Spike in the light. Cutting his hair without the benefit of a mirror’s reflection had been a little more difficult than he had expected; once Willow was awake, he would have her do a little damage control.

Giles had surprised him with the car. It was a late model two-door in a tasteful shade of beige, and had something called ‘necro-tinted windows.’ At Spike’s blank look, Giles had explained that the windows were coated with a substance that kept the sun’s harmful rays at bay, while leaving the windows perfectly transparent. It was going to be hard to give up such a luxury.

The human had also given him quite a lot of cash—five thousand pounds, more or less, and then another couple hundred in smaller bills. Spike would be able to add to it with what he got off of his victims. Between the two income streams, there should be enough to keep them comfortable for quite a while.

Giles had not asked where they were going, and Spike had not volunteered any information. The less Giles knew, the less the Council could get out of him later, should they choose to be unscrupulous in their methods.

Spike had decided to head east, towards Dover. A quick trip across the channel in darkness, and it was all bonjour and croissants. From there he headed south, towards Spain. And in a move that would have shocked anyone who knew him, he traveled the speed limit all the way. There were a few uneasy moments as he waited for morning to come, parked momentarily by the side of the road. But once dawn had broken, and the sun hadn’t come bashing through the window and burned him to a crisp, he had made his way back onto the road, unable to wipe the huge grin off his face.

He reveled in the experience of driving in daylight; sunlight reflected off passing cars, shone down on birds on the side of the road, and illuminated the faces of passing motorists. Spike was having the time of his life. He wracked his brain as he drove, thinking feverishly of a way that he could keep the car with him. Or, at the very least, the windows themselves.

Periodically he checked the seat next to him, eager to share his excitement with someone—with anyone. Even Willow would do. But she remained silent and still. The steady rise and fall of her chest, coupled with the beat of her heart, were the only things that reassured him that she was still with him.

They reached the remote city of Andorra la Vella, high in the Pyrenees, just as the sun was setting. Spike prowled the streets, looking for a new—although not likely to be improved—mode of transportation. The day that Giles had given him was up; he had to ditch the car and take something else, as much as he regretted it.

It didn’t take him long to find a likely replacement. A nondescript little hatchback with a killer sound system beckoned to him, and the owner had done him the favor of leaving the doors unlocked. It took him only a minute to transfer the still-sleeping girl and their belongings into the passenger seat, and then another minute under the dash to hotwire the car. As an added bonus, he noted that the gas gauge read almost completely full. Spike decided to take this as a good omen.

Carefully, quietly, he maneuvered his ‘new’ car out of its parking space, and replaced it with the car Giles had given him. And then, because it would be sure to confuse the hell out of someone, he wrote a little note and stuck it under the windshield wiper.

“Needed your car. You can have this one. Enjoy.”

Grinning like a child who had put something over on its parents, Spike hit the highway again, heading north this time, and back into France.

~~~*~~~

Willow was sure she was in hell. How else could she account for the nails that were being hammered into her head? Everything hurt; from the soft ache that radiated through her body, to the sharp pain in her head, it was all bad.

She opened her right eye slowly, afraid of what she would see. But nothing she saw made a whole lot of sense, so, regretfully, she opened her other eye.

A dark blur greeted her; it took her fuzzy brain a moment to realize that she was in a car, and that the blur was scenery rushing by outside of her window.

Her head moved slowly, and with a fair amount of protest from those nails that were still being driven into it, but she managed to turn it enough to get a glance at the person driving. The fact that the driver wasn’t readily familiar was a cause of some concern to her.

“About time you woke up,” he said, his face turning towards her to take a quick glance.

The familiar voice seemed at odds with the unfamiliar hair—or lack of it—but the cheekbones finally did it for her. “Spike?”

“Yeah?” His head turned back to the road after a moment, when she didn’t immediately pose a follow-up question.

So many questions to ask, the first of which was, ‘What the hell did you do to your hair?’

Then she reconsidered; ‘Where are we?’ should probably be higher on the list. The haircut, if that was what you wanted to call it, had been shocking, but the where-were-they-and-how-did-they-get-there should probably take priority.

“I know. It’s the hair, innit? Looks like crap. You can fix it for me when we stop, right?”

Apparently the hair had been on the top of Spike’s list, too, she thought absently. “Sure. I’m handy with scissors. I used to trim—”

She used to trim Tara’s hair for her. Oh, nothing fancy; she would just even up the ends so that they wouldn’t have to waste money on a hairdresser.

And then afterwards, they would usually make love, and she would—

Willow abruptly pulled her thoughts away from such happy memories. After everything she’d done, she certainly didn’t deserve to be happy. Not after…

“Where are we going?” she asked hastily. Self-flagellation was something she could do later. In private. “Oh, and why?”

“I’m your white bloody knight,” Spike proclaimed somewhat sourly. “Rescued you from the Council, and now we’re gonna hide somewhere until the Watcher tells us the coast is clear.”

Willow’s eyebrows rose a bit more with each word. By the time Spike was finished, they were hanging out somewhere around the vicinity of her hairline. “What in the world are you talking about?” She figured it might be lacking a bit in elegance, but it was certainly succinct.

Spike sighed, gave her a quick glance, and then set his eyes back on the road. “The Council wants you dead, pet. They’ve just been waiting for the right time to make their move. Wasn’t for Giles, you’d probably already be pushing up daisies.”

“No, that’s not true!” she protested.

“Don’t be naïve,” he snapped, and then paused for a moment, as if rethinking his words. “Okay, yeah, I guess naïve is your natural state. But grow up. Get over it,” his voice became harsher now, more like the abrasive Spike she knew and expected. “They were just trying to figure out how to do it without pissing Giles off. They didn’t think you were safe. The drugs were okay for the short-term, but sooner or later you’d decide not to take them, or something else would happen, and once again you’d be a ticking time bomb. They didn’t want to chance that happening.”

She wondered if he was right. Was Giles the only person working to keep her alive? Had she been so far lost in her grief and self-pity, not to mention the drugs, that she remained oblivious to the reality of her situation?

The thought of someone disliking her enough to kill her, for whatever reason, began to creep up on her, tearing and twisting her heart. Everyone always liked her. She was chipper. Helpful. Optimistic. Well, okay, so occasionally she would run into people like Cordelia, who were just going to hate her no matter what, but overall, she felt like people were generally well-disposed towards her. Even Spike tolerated her. And he barely liked anyone.

But the Council—an organization full of careful, intelligent people—wanted her dead.

She felt tears begin to gather in her eyes, and shut them tight. That wasn’t helping, so she turned her face away, laying it against the cool glass and staring out into the night. Tears dropped unheeded from her eyes, trailing down her face and melting into the fabric of her T-shirt.

Something occurred to her then, and her tears dried quickly as they were replaced by anger. “Spike?” she snapped, glaring at him, “How did I get dressed? The last thing I remember, I was in bed. And now I’m here. And I’m not wearing my nightgown. So who put my clothes on me?”

The look that Spike gave her was laced with incredulity, his eyes wide and mocking. “Let me get this straight. The Watchers Council wants you dead. You’re on the run in a stolen car, with a vampire with fully functional fangs, and you’re worried about who might have seen your unmentionables?”

“Shut up,” she muttered, her anger quickly replaced by sullen self-pity. So maybe he had a point, but that didn’t mean she had to be happy about it. Turning away from him, she went back to staring out the window.

After a moment of silence, she heard some rustling, and then Spike tossed an envelope in her general direction. “From the Watcher,” he explained.

She opened it slowly, noting the family crest on the stationery and Giles’ distinctive handwriting.
 

Dear Willow,

I am terribly sorry to do this, but I think that what I am doing is for the best. You are not safe here. I am needed here and therefore unable to accompany you. Spike has agreed to take care of you, in return for a large amount of my money.

Please stay safe, get well, and I will contact you as soon as it is safe for you to return.

Sincerely,

Giles
 

Willow glared at Spike. “You took money from him?” Then she remembered something he had said to her a couple of days ago. “You don’t have your chip anymore. Did Giles know that before he entrusted me to your tender care?” she asked bitterly.

Spike gave her a sly smile. “He didn’t ask, so I didn’t tell,” was all the answer she received.

Willow dropped her head into her hands and tried desperately to clear the cobwebs from her brain. If she could just think, maybe she could find a way out of this mess. “God, I can’t believe he did this!” she moaned, resentment making her voice sharp.

“Probably thought savin’ your life was a little more important than worrying about your tender sensibilities,” he told her mockingly, not terribly surprised by the angry look she gave him in response.

“Look, it’s almost morning,” Spike told her. “We’ve gotta stop somewhere soon. You can rant and rave all you want then, okay?”

She felt suddenly deflated. Unable to conjure up the anger needed to give him a snappy response, she simply shrugged, and then turned back to stare out the window again. “Where are we, anyway?”

“Couple hours east of Paris, I guess. Should be in Reims in half an hour. We can find a place there to stop for the night. You gonna be any trouble?” he asked, his voice casual, but his eyes watchful as he gauged her mood.

“I’ll be a good little girl,” she answered flatly, not bothering to turn her head away from the window.

~~~*~~~

Her silence smothered him, her dark mood turning his thoughts dark as well. By the time they reached a Best Western on the outskirts of Reims he was tempted to ditch her. Pity was the only thing that kept him by her side; she was so damned helpless and defenseless that he found himself unable to leave.

True to her word, she didn’t make a sound as they checked in, not even objecting to the fact that Spike was only booking one room.

When they entered the room, her eyes traveled over the bright colors and cheerful pictures that covered the walls. Her mouth curved into a frown and her eyes shimmered with tears.

“Tara and I talked about going to Europe together. Someday. When the hellmouth was quiet. And now we’ll never get to do it together. It’s…it’s just so empty. Inside me. They scooped out everything else when they took away the magic, and now I’m all hollow.” Her eyes were no longer able to contain her tears, and they trickled down her face.

Spike watched her for a moment, unsure of what to do. He really had nothing to contribute to the conversation, and no interest in coddling the girl, so he headed for the bathroom, hoping that by the time he was finished in there, she would have herself all sorted out.

He took a long shower, and then listened for telltale signs of human misery as he dried off. Only the sound of her breathing—the steady, slow breathing of sleep—reached his ears. Tucking the towel around his waist, he went back into the bedroom and examined the room.

She had taken the twin bed next to the window as her own, curling herself into a ball and facing away from the small walkway that separated the two beds. He walked around to the other side of the bed and stared down at her, admiring how peaceful her face looked when indulging in the freedom of sleep.

As if aware of his scrutiny, she stirred. Her head moved a little bit, and the hair that had covered her neck shifted slightly, falling down to cover her face, and he noticed a vampire bite scar low on her neck.

When had she gotten it, he wondered. Certainly she had experienced more than her share of close calls, but he couldn’t remember anyone ever having gotten quite that close to her.

He gently brushed his finger across the mark, tracing a line from one indentation to the other, enjoying the warmth and the pulse of her heartbeat against his finger.

A memory fluttered in the back of his mind, and he sought it out, closing his eyes and concentrating. When he finally figured it out, he wondered if it had been worth the effort.

It had been Harmony, of course.

He cast his mind back to the early days in Sunnydale, when the need to retrieve the Gem of Amara had consumed him like a wildfire. Harmony had been there, buzzing around him like a hummingbird on crack, doing her very best to provoke him into staking her.

Only someone that stupid would have attacked a friend of the Slayer when she was supposed to be keeping a low profile. He shook his head in disgust.

Now that his companion had managed to fall asleep, all that remained was for Spike to do the same. He wandered over to his bed, dropping his towel on the floor along the way, and, in a concession to Willow’s legendary modesty, pulled the covers over his naked body. In less than two minutes they were both fast asleep.

~~~*~~~

It was the sound of Willow brushing her hair, and the smell of wet hair, in combination, that woke him up. But if that hadn’t done it, her softly muttered curses would have done the trick soon enough.

“Ow,” she whined, as she pulled her way through a particularly painful knot. “Stupid hotel with their stupid ‘two-in-one’ shampoo and conditioner. Sure, they *say* they condition, but do they ever really? I think not.”

“What the hell are you going on about?” he muttered, sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. He could tell that it was at least two hours until sunset, and was more than a little annoyed at being awake already.

It was satisfying to see the way that she jumped at the sound of his voice. And it was even more gratifying to see the look of shock on her face when she realized that he was one hundred percent naked. Her head whipped back around so quickly that he was afraid she was going to dislocate something.

“You’re,” there was a sound suspiciously like a nervous giggle, “you’re naked, Spike. Could you…you know, put on some clothes?”

He noticed that she was no longer wearing the T-shirt from earlier. A shower and new clothes had left her looking almost as good as new, at least superficially. The somewhat faraway expression on her face was still there, though, and it reminded him that he needed to give her some pills soon.

The continued silence made him realize that she had made a request, and was waiting for him to answer her. He shrugged, although he was aware that she couldn’t see it, and went looking for his suitcase.

Five minutes later he was fully clothed, and standing behind her as she finished tearing through the last of the snarls in her hair.

“Here,” he said, holding out a handful of pills of all colors, shapes and sizes. They reminded him a bit of candy. The selection had been carefully culled from the various jars and bottles that Giles had given him. Specific instructions had been followed; the dosage would decrease a little each day, until it was so low that it was almost negligible. Only then would she be able to stop taking them altogether.

“No!” she objected, her eyes widening in surprise. She scrambled backwards, trying to get away from him. “I—I don’t want to take them anymore. I thought you were going to help me get better,” she accused.

Her tone of voice was so pitiful and grating that Spike’s hand itched to slap itself over her mouth and earn him some peace. He let her make her attempt at escape. It wasn’t as if she could go far, and they both knew it. It was just a matter of letting her get it out of her system, before he could calm her down a bit. Reminded him a bit of how he used to deal with Dru when she was in one of her moods.

She hovered around the corner of her bed, her eyes darting first to the door, and then at him, as if gauging her chances.

“You can’t stop taking them cold turkey,” he told her, his voice soft and reasonable. She didn’t look like she was quite ready to run for the door—not yet, at any rate—but there was no point in pushing her, he figured. “Here,” he said, tossing her the baggie full of drugs, along with the half-page of instructions from Giles. Her trust in him was a slippery thing, but she would certainly trust Giles.

She turned the package over in her hands, listening to the sound that the pills made as if it was the most fascinating thing she’d ever heard. It took her a while to get through all the instructions, but when she did, she glared at him for a moment, and then went into the bathroom to get some water.

When she came back, she made a show of swallowing them in front of him, washing them down with a glassful of water. Then, as if she was a child, and he her nurse, she stuck out her tongue, as if to say, ‘all gone.’

Spike rolled his eyes. Her sense of the dramatic was bordering on ludicrous. If she stopped taking the pills cold turkey, the side effects could conceivably kill her. And in that moment, the idea didn’t bother him all that much. Of course, chances were good that before she died, she’d be even more of a pain in the ass than she was right now, and that thought didn’t cheer him much.

“I’m hungry.”

He wasn’t surprised. It had been over a day since she’d eaten. “Me too,” he told her, and then had to smile when her eyes got big.

Giles had managed to scare up some blood for him, filling several thermoses and freezing them. Spike really didn’t want to know how he had managed that, because what did that say about the man, when he knew how to find a fair amount of blood at a moment’s notice? Ol’ Rupert always had been full of surprises. Most of them weren’t nearly that pleasant.

The urge to kill was fighting against the urge to remain hidden, and Spike wasn’t sure which was going to be stronger, in the end. He could certainly find a meal here, but if the Council figured out that he was the one who had ‘liberated’ Willow, the first thing they would do was search for victims.

“What are you going to do?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

He shrugged. “Got a couple of to-go meals from the Watcher,” he told her, walking over to his bag and scrounging around a bit. He grabbed one of the thermoses, relieved to feel that it was still cool. Then he went into the bathroom and grabbed the hotel’s ice bucket and handed it to Willow. “Fill ‘er up with ice, would you? And try not to be seen, right?”

Her expression was slightly confused. On one hand, she seemed to want to complain about being ordered around like a servant; but on the other hand, this was evidence of a fair amount of trust on his part. Trust that she wouldn’t wander off. Trust that she wouldn’t call Giles and have him pick her up. Trust that she wouldn’t call the authorities and accuse him of kidnapping, which would end up with him being dragged out into the waning sunlight.

Spike watched as all of these possibilities played across her face, and then scrounged around in his pants pocket, pulling out a couple of euros and handing them over to her. “If you find a machine, get yourself some crap.”

When she didn’t immediately move, he turned back to his bag. “Today would be nice,” he muttered.

He heard a series of clicks as she undid the locks, and then watched carefully to make sure that she didn’t open the door wide enough to put him in the path of the deadly sun. She was careful; the door opened just enough to let her go, and then closed quickly behind her.

The five minutes that he waited for her to return felt like an hour. Several times he decided that she must have just left him, letting her fear of him override her fear of the Council. While the thought that he could inspire such fear in her left him almost giddy, the practical reality of the situation was more sobering.

His level of uneasiness was reaching new heights when he finally heard footsteps approach the door. She stood there in the hallway for more than a minute, and he could almost hear the conversation she was having with herself. Stay the course, or cut and run? Suffer almost certain death at the hands of the Council, or commit to a more dubious fate with him?

He wasn’t surprised when the door finally opened; even in her drugged state, she was still smarter than most people. She was playing the odds and throwing her lot in with him. Although he was relieved at her choice, he certainly wasn’t going to let it show. Instead, watched her close the door, and then place the bucket of ice on the small table. She sat down in one of the chairs, looking at the three items she’d managed to get out of the machine. Two packets of chips, and an oversized Kit-Kat bar. Breakfast of champions it was not, but it would do, for now.

Running a hand over his head, he could feel his hair sticking up in places it shouldn’t. Time to get that taken care of.

“When you’re finished with that, could you help me out with a little problem…”

~Part: 5~ Crooked House

Willow stretched and yawned, letting her eyes wander around the room that she was trying hard to get used to. They had been here four full days now, but most of the time everything still felt unfamiliar.

Spike had done his best to create a confusing trail for anyone who might be following them. For almost a week they had driven from country to country, leading any potential pursuers on an insane wild goose chase. She caught roadside glimpses of Luxembourg, Dusseldorf, Geneva and Frankfurt, and stayed in a couple of really neat towns that she hoped someday to visit again. Preferably when she could actually venture outside the hotel room.

Eventually, they had ended up in a small house not far from Busca, Italy. From what she remembered of her admittedly limited Junior High Spanish, she thought Busca meant looking for. She figured it probably meant the same thing in Italian. It seemed rather cheeky to be hiding in a place named Busca when everyone was looking for her, but then again, it was a very ‘Spike’ thing to do.

The house they were staying in belonged to an old friend of his. It was cute, in a rundown sort of way; although the chains-and-handcuffs decorating motif in the basement left her more than a little uncomfortable. The rest of the place wasn’t bad, though. And the satellite TV was more than worth its weight in gold. Considering the weight of the TV, that was a lot of gold.

The walls of her room were painted a pale yellow; when the curtains were open and the early morning sun hit them just right, the room seemed to glow. The bookcase just below the window was short, but it was also almost empty, so that didn’t seem to matter. Giles had packed a couple of books for her, and they sat forlornly in that bookcase, as if they were squatters in an abandoned house.

An antique armoire made of oak was directly across from the foot of her bed, and even with the doors closed she knew that it was almost empty. Again, Giles had done his best, but most of her clothes had been left in England. She missed her green terrycloth robe, and her matching fuzzy slippers, but at least she was alive, she reminded herself. And if she didn’t remind herself, Spike would be more than happy to push that particular button for her. As he had commented on more than one occasion, he *liked* pushing her buttons. Willow, herself, was less keen on it.

They were weaning her off the drugs slowly, and her thoughts were finally becoming her own again, but she still didn’t know what to think of her unusual roommate. His moods fluctuated erratically, and his personality didn’t seem to be much improved by the vast amounts of alcohol he drank.

And speaking of drinking, she knew that his blood supply was getting low. He’d been rationing it out, trying to get by on less, but soon it would be gone. She tried not to think about what would happen after that, even though she knew that sticking her head in the sand was not a wise thing to do.

It was early evening, and she could hear Spike moving around in the living room. They were both living on what she thought of as ‘vampire time.’ Sleeping days, staying awake during the night. It was yet another part of her new life that was taking a little getting used to.

“You awake yet?”

The question was mostly a courtesy. Or at least as much of a courtesy as Spike would ever grant her. The sound of her heartbeat told him whether she was awake or asleep at all times, which stripped away her privacy in a way that really annoyed her.

“Yeah,” she muttered, getting out of bed and slipping into a pair of sweat pants and a top. She had three sets, in green, blue and red, and they were pretty much all she wore most days.

When she got to the living room, he was already halfway to the front door. And judging from the look he gave her, his mood was far from pleasant.

“I’m going into town. Back before sunup.”

‘Why yes, I’d love to take a trip into town. Thanks so much for offering,’ she thought bitterly. Although calling the place a town was really giving it more importance than it was worth. There was a post office, a small store, and, much to Spike’s delight, a bar. Unfortunately, there was no butcher. Or anyone who would sell blood to a vampire.

And the worst part was that she suspected he was going through Giles’ money like crazy. Most nights he’d come home pretty drunk, and judging from past experience, she knew it took an awful lot of liquor to get Spike drunk.

“Maybe you could stay in tonight? We could watch some TV? Maybe—I know, we could watch soccer!” She tried to inject some enthusiasm into her voice, but Spike wasn’t buying it. The look he gave her was one part annoyance, one part pity.

“It’s called football, not bloody soccer,” he muttered, hating all Americans in that moment, because they couldn’t give in when the rest of the world had it right and they didn’t. Take the metric system, for example. “I’ll be back before sunup,” he repeated, before walking out the door and leaving her alone.

~~~*~~~

God, he was hungry. The blood in their refrigerator was going bad—turning his insides to fire when he drank it—so he was trying not to drink it if he could help it. Which left him fucking hungry *all* the time. And bored. But hungry was the one that was really getting him down. And the thing that pissed him off the most, the thing that drove him to that crap-ass bar in ‘town’ every night, was that he could smell her blood and hear her heartbeat, and it was all there for the taking. So why the fuck didn’t he take it?

Giles would probably figure it out eventually, when the weeks ticked by and Willow never got in touch with him, but there was sod-all he’d be able to do about it by then. And it wasn’t like Spike was afraid of some bloody Watcher anyway. What would the man do, watch him to death?

Willow, herself, wasn’t doing much to keep him entertained. Most nights she meditated, or read, or watched TV. If she wasn’t going to offer up any of that succulent blood, the least she could do was give him a shag. But that seemed to be off the menu as well.

He’d made veiled references to fun things they could do: terrorizing the local populace, creating crop circles, things of that sort. But she had made it abundantly clear that in the war of good vs. evil, she came out staunchly on the side of good.

Which made her pretty much useless as far as he was concerned.

The man behind the bar gave him a friendly nod as he entered. Mario didn’t speak any English, but he spoke Jack Daniels just fine, and that was good enough for Spike. Mostly people kept to themselves here, but he no longer got the suspicious glances they used to give him. He was becoming a regular, for what it was worth.

Cradling the bottle in his hand, he made his way back to a small table in the corner. With a wink at Mario’s wife Gina, he hefted his bottle and took his first swig of the evening.

And so began another exciting night in Busca, Italy.

~~~*~~~

“Concentrate,” Willow told herself, as she centered her energy on the pencil on the table in front of her. Her eyes began to squint as her attention focused on her goal. “You can do this. You know you can. It’s just like riding a bicycle.” Self-confidence was a very important part of the re-learning process, and this time she was going to do it right. So, little pep talks were definitely a go.

The magic was coming back to her, albeit slowly. She could feel it thrumming through her veins, much in the same way that Spike could probably sense her blood as it rushed beneath her skin. But something that used to be so simple that it didn’t even require conscious thought now seemed almost impossible. Willow reminded herself that with practice, patience, and time, what had once been a natural part of her would be so again.

When the pencil floated off the table and hung in the air for fifteen seconds, Willow felt as if she had just teleported several hundred miles. Excitement, exhilaration, and a sense of accomplishment battled with weariness, and as she closed her eyes she gave thanks to the Goddess for allowing her the small bit of progress she had made tonight.

~~~*~~~

Spike was drunk. Wonderfully, gloriously drunk. And hungry. But it was easier to forget the hungry part when he was drunk.

And while he was in this state of perfect drunkenness, he made himself a decision.

He was going to eat the witch.

Oh, he wouldn’t kill her, or even take enough blood to harm her permanently, but he also wasn’t going to spend one more night starving to death when there was a bloody snack just feet from his fangs. So what if she was shy about sharing? That wasn’t his problem. Not anymore. After all, if it weren’t for her, he wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.

It was an epiphany of sorts, and with that decision made, a certain sort of lassitude came over him. Suddenly it felt like way too much effort to keep his head upright, so he slumped down and rested his head on the table for a moment, imagining how things would go when he informed Willow of his decision.

Maybe she’d be understanding. ‘Oh, Spike, I’m so sorry,’ she’d say, with that same guilty look on her face that she’d had after she’d made him snog the rancid Slayer. ‘I didn’t realize that things were so bad.’

Or maybe she’d fight him, and he’d get to chase her around for a bit before he caught her. That might be fun. Blood always tasted better when it was spiced with a little fear.

But the main thing was, in the end, he’d eat. Better than he’d eaten in at least a week.

That was the last conscious thought he had, until suddenly Mario was shaking him, and using a ‘shooing’ motion to inform him that he had to leave. The bar was empty, the chairs stacked upside-down on the tables, and he could hear the sound of dishes clanking together in the back room.

Time to go home.

Spike was still at that point of perfect intoxication where anything seemed possible. So he picked up his bottle, set more than enough money down on the table to cover his evening, and made his way out of the bar.

And promptly got lost.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t traveled this road before. But for some reason, this time everything looked different. He was *pretty* sure that the house should have been right over there to the left, but when he got there, all he found was an old tree that was so crooked that it looked like it ought to have fallen over years ago.

He retraced his steps, swearing all the while, and becoming more and more aware of how morning was creeping up on him. But for some reason, he decided that a swig from his magic bottle every couple of feet would protect him from the sun. So as he stumbled in circles, he continued to drink. And morning got closer and closer with each swallow.

~~~*~~~

Willow knew exactly what time the sun came up each morning. She had taken to noting it when she watched the morning news reports, in the same way that someone who lived near the ocean kept track of high and low tides. And on this particular morning, the sun would rise at precisely 6:14 a.m.

It was now 5:59 a.m. And Spike was nowhere to be seen.

Willow was more than a little concerned. Downright panicked was actually much closer to the mark.

Spike had a flair for the dramatic; that much she would acknowledge readily. But he also had a very strong sense of self-preservation. Cutting things this close just didn’t feel right to her. What could have happened to him?

The silence in the small house was complete; no appliances whined, no TV chattered in the background. Only the sound of her own thoughts kept her company. And in this unnatural quiet she heard, as if from a great distance, the sound of cursing.

Relief flooded her body as she listened to the slurred, highly offensive words. Nobody could swear like Spike. And with his accent, even the most disgusting words sounded almost…exotic.

Or maybe that was just the huge rush of relief talking.

Opening the door, she leaned out and yelled for all she was worth. “Spike!”

His answering curse was distant, but clear. Subsequent curses became louder as he approached the house, stumbling and weaving, his progress halted every dozen steps or so as he up-ended his bottle, which was long empty, in search of another mouthful.

As the first light of morning made its way above the horizon, Willow grabbed Spike by his jacket and pulled him bodily into the house. She stumbled over the threshold and fell to the floor, the inert vampire landing heavily on top of her.

“Jeez, Spike. Get off of me so I can close the door,” she said. They were in no danger from the sunlight, thanks to the way the roof hung over the porch, but she would still feel better if the door was closed—and locked—behind her.

He rolled off of her, landing on his back with his hands thrown out to the sides, eyes closed, appearing to be fast asleep. Willow got to her feet, slammed the door shut, and then glared down at the vampire.

Anger burned inside her, building from a mild thing to an all-consuming rage as she stared down at him. “I can’t believe you,” she ranted. “You storm out of here, spend the entire night—somewhere, and then scare me half to death because apparently you can no longer tell time! You do still remember that sunlight will kill you, right?”

Spike opened an eye, peered up at her, and then closed it. “Lemme sleep.”

“Aargh!” Willow cried, stamping her foot on the ground for emphasis. “Why do you do it? I mean, what’s so great about getting so drunk that you can’t even find your way home?”

Silence greeted her question, although she hadn’t really expected an answer. Then, just as she was about to turn around and stomp out of the room, she heard him speak.

“Only way to stop the pain,” he muttered, eyes still closed.

The words were said quietly, and not terribly clearly. Willow wasn’t even sure if Spike knew he’d said them.

The idea that Spike might be in some sort of pain seemed unlikely. But it appealed to the nurturer in her, the part of her that wanted to help everyone, even him. So she set about trying to figure out why he might be hurting.

“What pain?”

The moments ticked by as she waited for his reply; when he didn’t say anything for over thirty seconds, she wondered if he had been playing with her. Trying to engage her sympathy in order to cool her anger.

“Bad blood,” he muttered, rolling over onto his stomach and resting his head on his arms.

Bad blood. Willow wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly. Had he been snacking on someone, someone whose blood was bad? Or was it the blood in the refrigerator that was bad? Or was she taking his words far too literally? Was ‘bad blood’ a comment on the relationship between Spike and someone?

“Spike?” she asked, hoping for more clues. But he had gone silent again, and she suspected that he would not provide her with any answers for now.

She went to the tiny kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and took out the remaining thermos of blood. It felt weird to have it in her hands; thermoses were supposed to hold things like coffee or juice or…non-blood-type things. Knowing what was inside the thermos made her want to put it back in the refrigerator and wash her hands. Repeatedly.

It seemed silly to have such a negative reaction to the very essence that kept her alive. Maybe it was just that she was comfortable with having it inside her, but not so comfortable holding it in her hands.

She had a sudden flash of memory—Warren, right before she had killed him, bleeding. Then another vision—this one of Tara, staring at the blood on Willow’s sweater, the night that she died.

So much blood.

Shaking her head, she put those thoughts aside. Concentrate on the here and now. She could almost hear Giles saying those words to her, reminding her to focus on the future, on the things that she could still make right. The past was unchangeable, and trying to fix it now was like trying to fix a broken heart with crazy-glue.

Bad blood. She looked at the thermos again and twisted off the cap. The smell hit her immediately. It was…wrong. Rotten?

She had smelled Spike’s blood before. When he lived with Giles she had microwaved it for him and fed it to him, back in the days before they trusted him, and had kept him tied to a chair. It had smelled icky then, but this was so much worse.

Was that the problem? Was rotten blood causing Spike pain? Such a thing had never occurred to her, but it did make a certain amount of sense, she supposed. And it wasn’t like Spike could go down to the corner store and buy more.

She put the thermos back in the refrigerator and returned to the living room, uncertain what to do next.

Her gaze returned to his form, lying on the floor as if dead. Guilt began to build. This was her fault, after all. He was here because she needed rescuing, and for some strange reason he had decided to be her white knight.

Which meant that his current predicament was her responsibility.

There weren’t all that many options open to Spike right now. He could go out and hunt, like he would usually do under these circumstances, but if the Council knew that they were traveling together, they’d be on the lookout for any suspicious deaths or neck-related incidents. Even if he just snacked on people, or on the local livestock, word was bound to get out that there was something odd going on in Busca, and all it took was a whisper in the Council’s metaphorical ear, and they would be down here in force.

A raid on a hospital was likely to be slightly less suspicious, but also more difficult to pull off. She put that idea aside; it was strictly a last resort.

As far as she could see, there was only one other way for Spike to get the blood he needed. And that was for him to feed from her.

The thought of him biting her sent a chill through her body. She had been bitten once before, and the experience hadn’t been pleasant. Memories of Harmony’s teeth tearing into her flesh set off a dull ache in her neck, and her fingers reached for the scar that was still slightly visible after all these years.

Angel had once said that there were ways to make a bite pleasurable. At the time the very thought had been disturbing. But now, she had to wonder whether that was true. A part of her was already accepting the fact that she would be finding out for herself soon enough.

She watched Spike sleep, still sprawled out on the floor. Nothing about him in this moment screamed ‘evil’ or ‘vampire.’ He was just a guy, asleep. Probably dreaming. The instinct to take care of him kicked in again, and she grabbed one of the throw pillows from the couch and lifted his head just enough to slide the pillow underneath. He probably couldn’t get cold, but she threw a blanket on him as well, just in case.

Then she lay down on the couch and tried to think of a way out of her predicament. But instead of finding answers, all she found was sleep.

~~~*~~~

Spike awoke with one hell of a hangover. The kind of hangover that made a bloke reach for the nearest bottle in hopes of dulling the pain. But, sadly, the only bottle he could see was lying by the door, completely empty.

Bugger.

He tried to figure out what had happened to him. Last thing he remembered, he had been wandering in the dark, trying to find the damn house. Apparently he had managed to find the house okay, but not his bedroom. Or even the couch. Someone had thrown a blanket over him—Red, of course. And given him a pillow.

And there she was, sound asleep on the couch, as if she had dropped off while watching over him. She certainly did take her responsibilities seriously. Always had.

As he watched the steady rise and fall of her chest, he remembered the realization he had come to the previous evening. That she was filled with lovely, hot, tasty blood.

And he was starving.

Licking his lips, he got up and walked over to the couch. Her scent was so sweet and clean; he could almost taste her. And he was going to, soon.

She would probably squawk and complain about it for a couple of days, but he was reasonably sure he could charm her out of whatever kind of mood she decided to indulge in after the fact. After all, he was a very charming guy. Several people had told him so.

He went down to his knees, leaned over her, and carefully swept the hair back from her neck. He needn’t have bothered being careful; she was still out like a light. The sound of her heartbeat enchanted him, and he listened to it for a couple of minutes, letting it lull him into a state of perfect relaxation.

Harmony’s old bite mark was like a neon sign, telling him ‘insert fangs here.’ And who was he to refuse such an appealing offer?

He savored that perfect moment, when the pressure of his fangs against her neck was just enough to convince her skin to part and let him slide inside. His reward, a mouthful of pure, delicious blood, was enough to make him groan with satisfaction.

This was how it should feel to be a vampire.

Biting, feeding, dominating; that was the life he was supposed to have.

He could feel her blood as it zinged its way through his body, washing away the pain and discomfort, leaving him feeling new and—dare he say it—alive again.

He let his mind wander through daydreams of bloodbaths and mayhem, and almost didn’t notice when Willow started to stir. Her groan of pain was quickly followed by words, but he was no longer listening. Hands reached out to push him away, but they were ineffectual and pitifully weak.

Rising off of his knees, he moved himself onto the couch and straddled her body, sitting on her hips. His upper body was flush against her, his chest pressed into hers, and the soft stimuli of her breasts against him made him think of other things he might like to do to her. Her hands continued to flail wildly, as if somewhere in her optimistic little brain she thought that she could do him harm, so he grabbed them with his own hands and held them out of his way. He lost himself again in the taste of her blood, his fingers caressing her wrists lightly.

Fear and confusion were finding their way into her blood now. Her emotions were strong and feral, and they flooded her blood with their flavors.

One of his hands found its way into her hair, trailing through the locks in an effort to…what? Soothe? Control? He wasn’t sure, and didn’t think to examine his motives too closely.

With that innate knowledge possessed by his kind, he knew that he would have to stop soon. She would be weak for a few days, but there would be no permanent damage. Although he wasn’t sure if she would see things that way.

But if he kept going, if he fed for another minute or more, then he would surely kill her. While the idea did hold some appeal, he decided against it, for now. He was comfortably sated, still slightly drunk, and enjoying the feel of her warm body pressed against his. If he ended her life now, all of that would disappear.

So, with a sigh of regret, he pulled his fangs from her neck, his tongue stealing out to lave his mark, catching the last lingering traces of her blood.

He couldn’t wait to taste her again.

~Part: 6~ Ordeal by Innocence

“Afternoon, pet.” Spike smirked down at her from his place on top of her, enjoying the way her eyes narrowed in anger and distrust. Her blood was still thick on his lips, and he decided that maybe that wasn’t the best message to send. A bit like talking with your mouth full—less than polite.

Running his tongue over his lips, he savored the last taste of her, wishing already that there were more. Instead, he had to console himself with the thought that this would not be a one-time event. He would enjoy her essence again. Soon.

She looked like a ticking time bomb, waiting for the correct stimuli before she exploded into anger. From the expression on her face and the way her eyes were lit up, it would be quite a show.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” she asked. Her voice started off weak, as if the effort to talk was too much. But by the time she got to the end of the sentence, her words were sharp and angry.

“Was starving,” he said thickly, watching as her eyes clouded with guilt. “Decided to have myself a snack.” His tone implied that this was a natural sequence of events, and that she was being silly for even asking for an explanation.

Her voice softened slightly, as did the hard glint in her eye. “I didn’t realize. At least, not until this morning,” she admitted. “I was going to offer to…to let you bite me.”

There was a little bit of an accusation there, but he chose to ignore it. “So,” he said diffidently, getting to his feet and holding a hand out to help her up, “we’re good, right?”

And then came the explosion…

“We’re good?” she asked incredulously, gathering steam. “Did you just say, ‘we’re good?’” Her tone implied that maybe her ears were not working properly, because she couldn’t believe what she had just heard. “We’re *so* not good! We’re—we’re the opposite of good!” She ignored his outstretched hand and jumped to her feet, stumbling slightly when a wave of dizziness hit her.

“You bit me!” she yelled, her body shaking with rage. She took a step towards him, and then backed away when she thought better of it. Don’t get too close to the vampire when he still has your blood on his lips, her internal warning system told her. Why couldn’t that warning system have kicked in a bit sooner? Say, before she fell asleep in the same room as said hungry vampire?

Spike’s expression was placid and his voice calm. “You were going to offer anyway. So, maybe I jumped the gun a bit. No harm, no foul, as far as I can see.”

Her eyes widened at his blasé dismissal of her anger. “I woke up with your fangs buried in my neck, Spike. I thought—I thought you were going to kill me!”

Rolling his eyes at her dramatics, he took a couple of steps away from her in order to give her some space. “Wouldn’t have killed you. I went to a lot of trouble to get you here in the first place, right? Killing you would have made no sense at all.”

She put a hand to her forehead, and a wave of some emotion that he couldn’t quite identify rolled through her eyes. Disappointment, perhaps? Probably not anything that simple; things in her life tended to be complicated. Her hand drifted up to touch the marks on her neck. The last lingering traces of blood clung to her fingers, and she stared at them dully.

“It hurt, Spike,” she complained weakly, looking from her fingers to his face.

“Not surprised, with the way you were thrashin’ around and all. Could hardly keep you still.”

Something inside of her seemed to snap at his words, and her mood swung from self-pitying to angry again. “I thought you were going to kill me,” she said, even though they had already been over this ground before.

Spike threw up his hands in exasperation. “I wasn’t going to kill you,” he repeated, throwing himself into a chair and leaning back. He crossed his legs at the ankles, and looked the picture of indolent grace. “Want me to apologize? I will. Won’t really mean it, but I’ll say the words if it’ll make you feel better.”

She glared her outrage at him, pacing the floor of the living room. Four steps away from him, and four steps back. He watched with amused tolerance, unaware that the patronizing smile he wore did not help his case.

“Gee, what a kind, generous offer,” she sneered. Stopping right in front of him, she teetered slightly and had to put her hand on the arm of the chair to keep steady. “Have you ever woken up with a stake at your heart? Inches from dust? ‘Cuz that’s how I felt. And it wasn’t a whole lot of fun.”

He winced slightly as her words brought the Slayer to mind. On more than one occasion, a stake to the heart had been part of her peculiar idea of foreplay. He had sometimes wondered if there would come a day when she would be brave enough see the act through to its unnatural conclusion, turning him into nothing more than a pile of dust. He would live forever in that instant when Buffy pressed the stake against his skin, afraid to make the smallest move should the motion mark the end of his long life.

“Okay,” he conceded. “Next time I’ll do it when you’re awake.”

“Next time you’ll ask!” she snapped back. She stared at him, waiting for some sign of agreement.

“Fine. Next time I’ll ask.” He parroted the words back to her, mimicking her tone in a way that made her want to grind her teeth in frustration.

Then, without another word, she spun on her heel and ran to her room. The gesture would have been a bit more dramatic if she hadn’t lost her balance halfway through and come close to falling on her ass. Still, as exits went, it wasn’t bad.

~~~*~~~

Willow lay curled up on her bed, fighting fatigue and trying hard to distance herself from the tumultuous emotions that continued to plague her. She was so tired, so lethargic, and yet every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was Spike, his body pressed against hers, his mouth at her throat.

She was safe behind her locked door, and for good measure she had wedged a chair underneath the doorknob, ensuring that even if he tried to get in, he couldn’t. Or, at the very least, she’d get a fair amount of warning if he tried to bust the door down. Now if only she could relax.

But relaxing was what had gotten her into this predicament in the first place. She blamed herself for the two holes in her neck almost as much as she blamed Spike. Because she was the one who had forgotten who he was.

He was a vampire, after all. And not a chipped one anymore, either. He was devious and charming…and fully capable of draining her blood until she was nothing but a corpse. So why had she forgotten that?

Was it because she had a death wish, perhaps? Was there a part of her that had deliberately put herself in harm’s way, in the hopes that it would lead her back to Tara? If so, she was being mighty optimistic that she and Tara would end up in the same place. Tara had been all that was good and pure. And Willow was…

Not.

Not good. Not pure. Not worthy. Not anymore. Maybe she belonged with someone like Spike.

Her eyes drifted shut and she curled in upon herself even more, grasping her knees and pulling them tight to her chest, as she considered that possibility.

Was this fate’s way of punishing her for her sins? Was she supposed to become Spike’s daily snack, until someone up above decided she had performed appropriate penance? Or was this her chance to redeem him, to lead him to something better, in an attempt to balance the cosmic scales?

Or maybe this was just one of the bizarre coincidences that life brought about when you weren’t paying attention, and she was reading way too much into it.

Pictures of Tara ran slowly through her mind like a silent movie. Tara with the sun shining in her hair. Tara staring up at her, her eyes glazed with passion. Tara biting her lip nervously. The pictures were familiar and safe, and they suffused her body with warmth. “I miss you so much, baby,” she whispered.

She was beginning to feel tired, now that the adrenaline rush from her fight-or-flight instinct was starting to fade. Blood loss probably figured into the equation as well. Weariness was beginning to overwhelm her fear of what Spike had done to her, and what he could still do to her.

As the minutes passed, her body relaxed and her mind emptied, and finally she was able to find peace in her dreams.

~~~*~~~

Willow dreamed of Tara that night. The dreams were a mixture of fantasies and memories, of times they never spent together, where they were happy, and safe, and in love. When she woke, Tara’s last words, along with her kiss, still lingered.

“I’ll always love you. No matter what you do. No matter what you say. Nothing will ever change that.”

Willow hugged the words tightly to her, trying desperately to believe that they were real.

Sunlight streamed in from her window, and even though she had serious doubts about the wisdom of such an act, she decided to open her eyes.

From what little she could see from her bed, she figured it was probably late afternoon. The sun wasn’t shining with quite the same intensity that it did during the morning or early afternoon. It surprised her that she could think about such normal things, when she lived such an abnormal life.

Her gaze wandered from her window on the right, to the nightstand to the left of her bed. She did a double-take that probably would have been comical under other circumstances when she saw the plate of cookies and the glass of orange juice sitting next to it.

She scrambled to her feet, cataloging but ignoring the weakness she felt, as her eyes scanned the room for other signs of change. But everything else looked exactly as it had when she had gone to sleep. Including the chair wedged under the doorknob of her bedroom door.

So how had Spike gotten in? Her hand flew to her neck, her fingers trembling as they touched the marks he had made less than twelve hours ago. Her other hand felt for a pulse. Just in case.

It was silly, she acknowledged. She could hear her heart as it thundered in her ears, and feel her jelly-weak knees. She was still alive. Although he probably *could* have killed her easily, if he’d wanted to. That thought left her feeling cold and frightened, and she shivered even as the sun spilled into the room and warmed her.

She searched the room from top to bottom, looking for a hidden passage or a tunnel or—whatever else might have let him in. But she found nothing, and with each minute her frustration grew.

This was not something she could let pass unchallenged. Whatever his motives had been—and she wasn’t at all sure they had been benign—he had to understand that he could not just waltz in and out of her room whenever he felt like it.

Thoughts firmly in check, and indignation riding as her co-pilot, she yanked the chair from under the doorknob and burst out of her room.

She found Spike in the living room, lying on the couch watching an old episode of The Odd Couple. Which seemed strangely appropriate, given their circumstances.

He turned to look at her, nodded a greeting, and then turned back to the TV.

“How did you do it, Spike? How’d you get into my room?”

Those crystal blue eyes swept back up to her, guileless as a newborn. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he told her, even managing to look slightly puzzled as he said the words.

The scary thing was, if she hadn’t known better, she probably would have believed him. He was just that good.

“The little gift you left me on my nightstand. That’s what I’m talking about. I know it was you, Spike. I just don’t know how you did it.”

He shrugged, looking utterly bored with the conversation. “Prove it,” he said, tossing the ball back into her court.

“I—you’re the only other person here!” she insisted indignantly, mad because she was sure he was only denying it because he thought it might be amusing to get her angry. “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that you had to be the one who did it.”

“Could have been a ghost,” he suggested, sneaking another look at her before training his attention back on the TV.

“A—a ghost? Are you insane?” She looked around the room, as if searching for an audience, or some form of support. “There are no ghosts here. No goblins. No demons—present company excepted. Just you and me. We’re the only people around for miles. So tell me again, who do you think might have broken into my room?”

“Maybe you were sleepwalking,” he suggested, a slight smile playing along his lips. “Wanted a little snack, so you headed into the kitchen and got yourself some cookies—”

“Aha!” she exclaimed eagerly, pointing at him and glaring. “I never said what it was I found. The only way you could possibly know it was cookies was if YOU put them there.”

His smile grew wider, as if he was indulging in a private joke. “Lucky guess?” he asked, eyebrows raised quizzically.

She stared at him, confounded and confused. Obviously he was not going to admit to what she *knew* he had done, so there wasn’t much point in further discussion. Giving a small shriek of frustration, she turned and headed for the kitchen, taking a glass and filling it up with cold water.

Spike bellowed like a wounded rhinoceros when she dumped the glass of water over his head, and by the time he had scrambled to his feet, she was already in her bedroom, the door locked and the chair once again wedged under the doorknob.

~~~*~~~

Willow sat in the center of her bed, legs crossed, eyes closed, and tried to relax. What she had just done to Spike was very unlike her, but anger had gotten the better of her, and on the rare occasions when that happened, she tended to act first and think later.

It was just that he was so infuriating, and seemed to get such delight out of pushing every one of her buttons. She wondered if he was even aware that he was doing it. Maybe it was just his subconscious at play, and she was the lucky target.

To be honest, she rarely understood his motives. She wasn’t even sure why he was still here with her. Without the chip he could be anywhere, do anything. But instead of wreaking havoc upon the innocents of Italy, he was staying here, keeping her safe, and she just didn’t understand why. She considered asking him the question outright, but was relatively sure that the answer she received would be less than honest. If he chose to answer at all.

She reached for the glass of orange juice, stopped herself, and then decided that she might as well drink it. He’d put ice cubes in it to keep it cold, and she listened to them clink against the sides of the glass as she swirled the drink.

Orange juice and cookies were all very well and good, but she would need something a bit more substantial if she were going to be a regular blood donor. Something that would replace the blood almost as quickly as he sucked it out of her.

In other words, she needed a spell.

She had used something similar to help Buffy, shortly after Warren had shot her. Her friend had been bleeding her life away on an operating table, and Willow had replaced the blood as quickly as it had oozed out of her. But that hadn’t been a traditional spell. Willow hadn’t used herbs or chanted words; she had simply thought, and the darkness within her had fulfilled her request. This time, she’d have to do it the old-fashioned way.

The books in her bookcase beckoned, so she got up and grabbed them, and the cookies as well. There was no reason why she couldn’t be comfortable while she researched, she reasoned.

The afternoon passed into evening, and Willow made herself more comfortable. Bits and pieces of the spell remained in her memory like a residue, but she needed more. The books Giles had sent with her had helped a lot, though. In fact, she just needed to check the Latin in a couple of places and she should be ready to go.

The problem, of course, was that she still didn’t have the power needed to cast the spell. Hell, all she’d managed to do so far was to float a pencil. She was counting on the fact that Spike probably wouldn’t need to feed for a day or two. And on the fact that she wouldn’t need too long to practice flexing her ‘magic’ muscles again, before she was back to full strength.

All she could do for now was work as hard as she could, and hope that it was good enough.

~~~*~~~

It was well after midnight, and at any moment Willow expected to hear Spike say something along the lines of, “I’m going to the bar,” or, “be back before sunrise.” But all she could hear right now was the drone of the TV, and an occasional snort of amusement.

She was going to have to face facts. Spike was staying in tonight. Which would have been just peachy, except that she was sort of hoping to have free reign over the kitchen sometime soon.

She wished she had an idea what sort of a mood he was in. Specifically, whether or not he was still holding a grudge over the tiny bit of water she had ‘accidentally’ spilled on him.

Yeah, right. Nobody would buy that explanation.

Her stomach rumbled, complaining aloud about the fact that it had been several hours since she had eaten the tray of cookies. Time to be brave and venture outside.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled the chair back as quietly as she could. She felt kind of silly about putting it under the doorknob in the first place, since it had been so absolutely useless before. But on the other hand, her mind argued, if the chair was still under the doorknob, Spike would have to use his secret passage—or whatever he had—if he wanted to get inside her room again. And maybe the next time she could catch him in the act.

Opening the door a bit, she stuck her head around the corner, looking into the living room to see Spike still sprawled on the couch, returning her gaze warily.

“Should I put on a hat? Get out the hairdryer?” His tone was clipped, and the mockery that shone in his eyes made it clear that he was insulting her.

“I hate you,” she muttered churlishly, although secretly she was relieved that he didn’t seem to want any immediate retribution.

“Not too wild about you, either,” he yelled at her back as she retreated into the kitchen.

And things were back to normal between them, she supposed. At least, as normal as they ever were.

~Part: 7~ Spider's Web

Today was a momentous occasion. At least to Willow it was. Spike seemed less than enthused. Then again, he hadn’t been the one swallowing handfuls of pills at every hour of the day and night.

Until today.

Today, for the first time, she was able to wake up and make herself breakfast—okay, so technically it was a late lunch, but that wasn’t the point—and when she drank her bottled water, she wouldn’t have to take a single pill along with it.

She was drug-free. Well, not completely, Willow supposed. There were probably little bits and pieces of crap swimming through her veins, but the weaning was done, and she wouldn’t be taking anything else. It was sort of a symbolic milestone, and she stood in front of the sink for a moment, just enjoying it.

“Gonna stand there all day?” Spike asked from behind her. He reached over her head to open the cabinet directly above her, and Willow scrunched her head down quickly to avoid being hit by the door.

“Jeez, you ever heard of patience?” she grumbled, sliding away from him. So much for a celebration, or a ‘well done’ pat on the shoulder. Still, what did she expect? This was Spike, after all.

He merely grumbled something under his breath in reply, so she left the kitchen with her water and headed into the living room.

She waited for him there, relatively certain that he would end up in this room sooner or later. It was where the TV was located, so, therefore, it was where Spike was located. During his waking hours, at least.

He ambled in, claiming the couch as his. She sat in the overstuffed chair next to the couch, sipping her water and considering her approach.

“I need a favor,” she began nervously. At Spike’s annoyed glance, she clarified. “Well, kind of a favor. Really, it would be more like a ‘you scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours,’ kind of deal.”

His expression turned from annoyed to curious, so she hastened to continue. “I need to do a spell. Nothing evil,” she clarified, because Spike was grinning at her as if she’d told him that she was going to dance naked in the middle of town, or do something equally unlikely.

“Well,” he drawled, his expression reverting back to its usual state of boredom, “I guess I have to ask myself, ‘what’s in it for me?’”

“Blood.”

That got his attention, she thought smugly. He sat up straighter, looked at her just a bit more carefully, and that hungry look gleamed in his eyes again. “Where do I sign up?”

She grinned. “Thought you might like that.”

A soft growl reached her ears. She quickly looked away from him, and down at her hands, which twisted nervously in her lap. “I’ve been practicing with my magic, and looking for a spell that would replenish my blood supply. Kind of similar to something I used before with Buffy. But the thing is, I’m too weak to do it by myself right now. I need some help.”

He cocked his head to the side for a moment, studying her intently. “What sort of help are we talking about? If I end up blind, or kissing anyone I don’t want to, it won’t matter how much blood you give me, I’ll kill you. I can now, remember?”

Willow thought about mentioning the fact that the only person Spike had kissed while ‘under the influence’ was Buffy, to whom he later professed his undying love on many occasions. But then she decided that Spike would probably not appreciate that particular brush with reality.

“All you need to do is sit there while I do the spell. And I, uh, I need to touch you. To draw power from you. It might wear you out a little bit, but when we’re done you can drink once a day, and I’ll be fine.”

“Huh. That’s…acceptable,” he allowed. He was down to the dregs of the last bag of blood. The last bag of tainted blood. He had planned on broaching the subject of a snack later in the day, but was going to work his way up to it. Now he wouldn’t have to, apparently. She’d been working on the situation all by herself.

She always had been the smart one.

Not that he’d ever admit it to her. It wouldn’t do for her head to get too swelled, after all. She was much easier to manipulate when she was insecure and needy.

“When do you want to do it?” he asked, the anticipation building inside him. He could almost taste her tangy blood, could almost feel it as it flowed down his throat. Swallowing reflexively, he fought for control as the demon inside him clamored hungrily for attention.

Willow watched nervously as Spike’s eyes flickered between yellow and blue, comforting herself with the fact that Spike had not killed her yet, and therefore, it seemed unlikely that he would do so now.

It was a sound argument in practice, but as she watched him fight the demon, she became less and less certain of his ability to maintain his control.

“You keep reeking of fear like that and I *will* bite you,” he snarled at her.

Closing her eyes, she centered herself, emptying her mind of fear and replacing it with peace and tranquility. When her eyes opened again, she was calm and unafraid. Spike was watching her curiously, but all evidence of his inner struggle was gone.

“Sorry. You just do that to me.” Willow figured it wouldn’t hurt to play upon his vanity by reminding him that she knew he was still the Big Bad. His answering smile, sly and predatory, told her that she had made the right choice.

“So,” she continued, once again looking down at her hands, “I just need a couple of herbs and crystals in order to do the spell. I know you won’t be able to get anything in Busca, but if you go to Turin, you should be able to pick up what I need at any magic store.”

He watched her carefully for any sign of duplicity. It would be easy for her to take off while he was in Turin. The drive alone would take a couple of hours, and finding a magic shop would not be a simple proposition. But there was nothing in her eyes except for her customary optimism and her eagerness to help. Those qualities had been absent for a while, but now that the drugs were working their way through her system, they were back in force.

He almost missed self-pitying, self-destructive Willow. Such constant cheerfulness could get annoying. Still, this Willow held no surprises for him, which made life a lot easier on him.

“I could do that. Tonight?” The more he considered her scheme, the more appealing the idea became. He could head to Turin as soon as it was dark, find a magic shop, and then gorge himself on anyone who caught his fancy. Turin was large enough of a city that the random vampire kill would go unnoticed. Then, once he got back, she could do her little spell, and he would be able to feed at will.

There was something very appealing about the idea of feeding from her. It went beyond the fact that she was pretty, and her blood was delicious, although those were both factors that played into the whole of it. Maybe it was the idea that by feeding from her, he would be getting back at the Slayer. Or perhaps it had something to do with the fact that she was truly an innocent—despite all she’d done in life—and in some way, drinking from her was taking her closer to the edge of evil, where one small push would send her into something dark and unseemly.

Or maybe he just liked to have her under his control. Feeding was all about domination and power, after all.

“Tonight would be good,” she agreed. “I’ll double-check everything while you’re gone, and when you get back, we can do the spell. Then, if it works, you should be able to feed immediately.” It still felt weird/wrong/icky to be talking so casually about the fact that he was going to bite her, but she had had some time now to get used to the idea and it didn’t freak her out quite as much as it had a couple of days ago.

“Right. Half an hour until sunset,” Spike announced. “Better change into some traveling clothes.”

Willow could tell by the extra bounce in his step as he headed to his bedroom that he was eagerly anticipating his trip into ‘civilization.’ She just hoped he remembered to come back.

~~~*~~~

Spike had savored the trip to Turin as only someone who was stuck in a small town could. Busca was good enough for their purposes, but it lacked many of the things he considered essential: a decent pub, a dance club, and most of all, an oblivious populace. Small town people noticed when one of their own went missing. But in a city like Turin, he could lose himself in the throng of humanity and hunt at will.

And he would. But first things first. He took out the list of ingredients Willow had handed him before he left, unfolding the crumpled paper and smoothing it out. Best thing to do, it seemed to him, was to find a phone book and search for magic or occult shops.

The first two shops he visited were strictly for posers. People who believed in unicorns and rainbows. The women behind the counters wouldn’t have known the difference between a vampire and a succubus.

But the third place was the real deal, and Spike was able to find a shopkeeper to help him with the ingredients that he couldn’t readily identify. The tall, elderly gentleman gave him a couple of hard stares as he read the list, but made no further comment. He merely filled a small basket with the items Willow had requested, and then took them to the counter to ring them up.

Spike thought about killing the man and taking what he needed, but a nagging sense of premonition told him that it would probably be better to let this one live, just in case they ever needed him again. Besides, he was old, and smelled slightly. His blood would probably taste like formaldehyde.

“You know what you’re doing with these, son?” the old man asked in halting English, his gaze uneasy as it lingered on the vampire.

Spike grinned affably. “Not a damned clue,” he admitted cheerfully. “They’re for my girlfriend. Fancies herself a witch.” He interjected just enough skepticism into his voice to make it clear that he believed in none of this rubbish.

The man’s eyes darkened a bit, but he remained silent as he wrapped the crystals in bubble-wrap and placed them carefully into a paper bag. “She should be careful,” he cautioned, although from the tone of his voice, the warning seemed perfunctory at best. He had already dismissed Spike as a non-believer, which was exactly what Spike had hoped would happen.

“Yeah. Thanks,” he said, taking the bag and beating a hasty retreat.

~~~*~~~

The night was hot and sultry, and Spike pondered his next stop. Driving through the city, he followed the flow of traffic from one urban center to the next, watching the people who walked the streets, clueless to the nature of their peril.

When he finally stopped, it was outside of a nondescript building in a seemingly deserted part of town. But his senses told him a different story.

It reminded him a bit of the Bronze back in Sunnydale. Looked like nothing from the outside, but teenagers crowded around the entrance of the building, talking and laughing. The place reeked of pheromones and sex. And the subtle beat of rock music could be sensed, even from the street.

Prime hunting grounds.

He wandered in, ordered a drink, and then sat down to watch the show. Girls—glancing, flirting, and dancing—beckoned to him, demanding his attention, and he was more than willing to comply.

He danced with a little blonde first, grinding his body against hers intimately as she cooed and giggled in his ear. She didn’t speak a word of English, but that really didn’t matter.

After her, there was a brunette, then another blonde, and finally even a redhead. This one knew some English, and after a couple of dances, she invited him back to her place for a little more intimate entertainment.

They chitchatted amiably as they walked the short distance to her apartment, and when he hovered on her doorstep, seemingly hesitant to enter, she enthusiastically invited him in.

He crossed the threshold, and only someone who knew him well would have noticed the ghost of the sly, cynical smile he wore as he closed the door behind him. She had turned her back to him and was walking towards a large, airy living room.

Spike walked up behind her, hands on her shoulders, and turned her to face him. The seduction had begun.

They kissed, mouths open, and he tasted the alcohol she had imbibed earlier in the evening. Soon he deepened the kiss, letting his fangs out to play. She quickly cut her tongue on a sharp incisor, and he sucked and nursed the blood from it, closing his eyes and moaning at the taste.

When she tried to move back, he pulled her in closer, his lips moving down her neck as they searched for the sweet spot.

As they always did, she took a deep breath. A scream would be next, he knew, and instinctively slapped a hand over her mouth, tightening his other arm to keep her body under his control.

She was wriggling in earnest now, using all the weapons in her arsenal. Fingertips became talons, knees became blunt objects that sought his genitals, and she bent at the waist, trying to maneuver herself away from him.

All to no avail. The dance seemed to take hours, but in reality it was over in seconds. His demon found the spot it sought and struck, burying his fangs deep into her neck.

There were ways to make it less painful for the victim, but Spike wanted none of that. He sucked hard, pulling blood into his mouth with all the force he could muster. Swallowing down one mouthful after another, he chugged her blood like a teenager at a kegger, going for quantity, not quality.

In less than a minute she was nothing but an empty shell of the girl she had once been. He dropped her body to the floor, closing his eyes and stretching out his arms, enjoying a moment of perfect serenity as he felt her blood thrumming in his veins.

Now this was what life was all about.

~~~*~~~

It was almost 2 a.m., and Spike still wasn’t back. Although she tried not to, Willow was starting to worry. Random creaks the house made felt suddenly ominous, and every few minutes she would hear something she would mistake for Spike, even though in her heart of hearts she knew it was nothing but a breeze whistling through the trees, or the sound of a far-away bird calling for its mate.

Worrying was ridiculous, and she knew it. Spike was super-strong, resourceful, and opportunistic. If anything, she ought to be worrying about the population of Turin.

She had watched Spike’s expression as the idea took hold in him. He would be feeding tonight. Big cities offered many opportunities to a demon, and Spike was smart enough to take them when and where he saw them.

Because she had sent him into the city, he would kill someone tonight. She shivered at the thought, but not because she felt responsible. Because she didn’t.

If Spike hadn’t been here with her, he would have been killing for weeks now. Who could guess how many people would have died at his hands? There was no chip to keep him in line now.

And as much as she wanted to take responsibility for his actions, one of the things she was learning was that she could only be responsible for what she did. What Spike did would weigh on his own soul. Or not, in this case.

A part of her wondered if that was a cop-out, a way to free herself from responsibility. But that was the old Willow talking. New Willow was figuring out that, although she could make suggestions or show Spike ways not to kill, ultimately the decision was his to make. Not hers.

Thought patterns that she had held for years were hard to overcome, but she was working on it.

The sound of footsteps pulled her from her reverie. Spike. She could tell it was him by the way he swore as he made his way up the steps. The words were indistinct, but the sheer amount of enthusiasm he put into the act of cursing was familiar and oddly comforting.

“Honey, I’m home,” he quipped as he opened the door, smiling.

She could tell that he was a little drunk. Not completely drunk. Not shit-faced, ‘so drunk you can hardly walk’ drunk. But definitely a little buzzed.

Which was bad. She needed him awake and firing on all cylinders before she could do this.

“Spike,” she sighed, “did you have to get drunk?”

“Nope. I definitely did not have to. But it sure was fun.” That childlike grin was on his face, and she couldn’t help but react with a weary grin of her own.

“I can’t use you when you’re drunk,” she explained, trying to keep the whine out of her voice. “Lucky for you, it’ll take some time to get everything set up.”

She continued talking, more for her own benefit than Spike’s, since he had fallen onto the couch and was, she suspected, asleep. “Okay, first I need to find the ley lines. Next I can crush the herbs and place the crystals. Then I’ll form the circle.” She did each of these things as she spoke, taking her time and working carefully. Since she was still weak, she wanted to make sure that no mistakes were made out of weariness or because she was in a hurry. There were already too many other things that could go wrong, and Spike’s warning about mistakes—or perhaps it had been a threat—was still ringing in her ears.

When everything was done to her satisfaction, she sat in one of the chairs and read the words to the spell again. She didn’t need to memorize it, but it wouldn’t hurt to be as familiar with it as possible.

It was nearly four in the morning before Spike woke. One minute she was sitting in her chair, eyes on her book, and the next minute, “When we gonna do this thing?” had her jumping in her seat. Her hand flew to her chest as her heart raced.

Spike’s knowing smile told her that he knew exactly the effect he had on her, and that he wasn’t sorry in the least. She thought about reminding him that if he gave her a heart attack, he’d never get more of her blood. But as she played the conversation out in her mind to its logical conclusion, she could already see that there was no way she could come out of it the winner. So she merely rolled her eyes and got to her feet.

“I’m ready. You’re sober, right? Completely?” He seemed like he was, but she wanted a little confirmation.

“Sober as a judge,” he proclaimed, as if this was something to be proud of. But his voice was clear and his movements precise, so she led him to the circle she had drawn, indicating that he should sit down opposite her.

“Be careful not to move any of the crystals,” she began, pointing to the crystals that were set up at precise intervals around them. “And don’t break the circle, either.” Those were the most important things.

“Sit still and don’t touch anything. Got it, mom.” His voice was light, but she could tell from his expression that he was taking her words seriously. Or at least as seriously as he ever took anything.

“I—we need to hold hands,” she told him, reaching her hands out towards him, palms up. He put his hands out as well.

There was a small spark of power when they touched, and Spike’s gaze grew contemplative as he watched her, but he didn’t pull away.

His hands were cool, his grasp strong. “Don’t let go, no matter what,” she insisted, receiving his solemn nod in return.

The book was open next to her, so she tore her gaze away from her partner and began to read.

~Part: 8~ Partners in Crime

A magical wind whirled about them, whipping Willow’s hair around her face. It captured her words as quickly as she spoke them and hurled them into the ether. She looked straight through Spike, her stare vacant and unnerving, until something other than the girl he knew stared back at him through those familiar green eyes.

“Your motives are not completely pure.” He heard the solemn voice—neither male nor female—reverberate in his head, something quite separate from the noisy wind tunnel inside Willow’s circle. Unwillingly, he felt a trickle of icy dread make its way down his spine. “But they will suffice. This one is special; treat her kindly. She breaks easily.”

There was a hint of warning in the words, and Spike found himself nodding. He wasn’t sure who was doing the talking, or what the consequences were if he broke a promise to such a being, but it seemed wise to at least try to act like he was paying attention.

There was a flash of brilliant light, so hot that it almost burned, so bright that his eyes instinctively shut. As the light faded, and the wind died down, he opened his eyes, not surprised to see that it was once again Willow who was sitting across from him.

“All done,” she murmured, before her body slumped to the side, breaking the circle.

Spike got to his feet, noting the feeling of lethargy that left him almost dangerously weak, and then pushing that information aside for later consideration. He picked Willow up and carried her to the couch, glad to see the steady rise and fall of her chest and hear the rhythmic beat of her heart.

Her eyes fluttered open for a moment as he set her down, and she murmured, “Not until I’m awake,” and then she was out like a light.

He understood the warning. No feeding from her until she was awake. Considering her reaction the last time he had done it, Spike decided it would be easier to let her have her way this time. No point in pissing off the girl, not if he expected her to be his willing meal ticket.

Although sometimes it was fun to piss her off, just because he could.

But his recent foray into Turin had left him full, and the energy she’d pulled from him had him feeling unusually mellow, so he decided to watch some TV and let her sleep. She’d be up before long, and then he’d be able to have himself a snack whenever he wanted.

~~~*~~~

Ten hours later he was beginning to wonder if maybe he should attempt to wake her. He had expected her to sleep for a couple of hours, and then wake up and be back to her usual, annoying self. But that hadn’t happened. Instead, he had watched TV, read a little, and puttered in the kitchen—admittedly, making more noise than was strictly necessary. When none of that had brought a response from his companion, he gave up and took a nap.

It was shortly after sunset, and Spike could feel the darkness calling to his demon. Last night’s blood was but a distant memory for the creature, and it craved fresh blood taken from an unwilling victim.

He ignored the constant distraction the demon provided, deciding to sit down and light up a smoke instead. His mind wandered as the smoke drifted lazily in the air, and he considered his options.

If she didn’t wake up in the next couple of hours, should he head back into Turin, get the shopkeeper, and drag him out here to take a look at her? The old man seemed to have a handle on the danger the magicks involved presented; maybe he could help figure out what was wrong with her.

His mind was halfway to being made up when he sensed a change. Her breathing was speeding up; it wouldn’t be long now before she woke.

“Ugh,” she said a couple of minutes later, rolling over to look at him, then rolling away, burrowing her face into the back of the couch. “Do you have to smoke?” she asked, the words muffled.

He smiled; she was back, and as pesky as ever. “Don’t have to. Just like to.”

“But it smells.” She was whining now, which told him that she was feeling pretty decent.

“So do you. I don’t ever make a big deal out of it.”

That brought her head whipping around. “I smell? Really? Why didn’t you tell me?” Her tone was both horrified and accusatory, and he wondered how she could fit two such disparate emotions into her words.

“All humans do, pet. They can’t help it. Fear, confusion, joy, arousal, pain, they all have their own unique scent. Some pleasant, some not. It’s part of how we read you, gauge your moods, and anticipate what you’ll do next.” He knew that this wasn’t news to her, but couldn’t help saying it anyway.

The frown she gave him as she sat up made him quite aware of how she felt about giving away so much free information. “Couldn’t you just…not breathe? I mean, you don’t need to. So if you don’t breathe, you won’t smell anything. Right?”

He smiled at the thought. Like he’d ever give up such an advantage. “I’ll stop breathing if you will,” he agreed solemnly.

He merely smiled at her answering glare.

“I was starting to wonder about you—you were out for a while. Everything okay now?”

She peered at him sleepily as she stretched her arms over her head. “It took a lot more out of me than I thought it would,” she admitted. “How long was I out?”

“About ten hours. Was beginning to wonder if I’d have to haul you into town, if I couldn’t wake you up myself.”

“You were concerned?” she asked lightly.

He shrugged, taking a sudden interest in the pattern on the heavy curtains that covered the living room window. “Don’t want to lose you. Watcher’d have my guts for garters. Or at least he’d try,” he amended. Giles was resourceful, Spike gave him credit for that, but he’d never be a vampire, so he’d always lack the tracking skills and abilities of a true hunter.

Although…the thought of having a vampiric Watcher under his thumb did have some appeal, he allowed. That much knowledge and intelligence might someday come in handy. He pushed the idea to the back of his mind, with a label on it that read ‘someday.’

Willow watched Spike’s face, wondering what sorts of thoughts were going on behind those bright blue eyes. He’d gone silent, which usually meant that he was planning something. She just hoped it wasn’t anything stupid. Or dangerous. Or evil.

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” Spike asked, his thoughts back on the matter at hand. He was hungry. If she didn’t feed him tonight, he would probably head into Busca and drink. Drowning the demon in alcohol would shut it up for a while.

Willow rolled her eyes at what she perceived as his impatience. “Give me a minute to grab a drink, and then you can…” she trailed off, not quite sure what to call what it. Feed? Bite me? Eat?

The phrase ‘if you can’t say it, you shouldn’t be doing it,’ flashed through Spike’s mind. Usually it referred to shagging, but it seemed rather appropriate here as well. She was so innocent still that she couldn’t quite bring herself to say the words, and it was odd, but he found it appealing.

“Ring the dinner bell?” he suggested.

She got to her feet, gave him a bemused look, and went into the kitchen. When she came back a couple of minutes later, she stood awkwardly in front of him, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.

“How do you want to do this?” she asked finally, since Spike appeared to be quite content to sit on the couch and watch her without offering any helpful suggestions.

He seemed to be thinking, which made her even more nervous. It wasn’t like he hadn’t ever done this before. Surely he knew the easiest way. Wouldn’t he?

“How much can I take?” he asked abruptly. If he could just keep drinking until he was full, then she would probably pass out. Better to put her on the floor, or the couch. But if the spell worked in a way that would allow him to feed from her in smaller portions, but more often, then he could let her sit or stand.

She seemed to be considering the question, although he didn’t think she understood the reasoning behind it. The look she gave him made him feel like a greedy jerk, instead of someone who was just trying to be practical. Maybe even considerate.

“Don’t drain me. I think the way the spell works, you can feed from me twice a day without any problems. If you take too much at once you’ll still kill me. I can replenish my supply quickly, but not if I’m dead.”

She fell silent, looking slightly queasy. Probably regretting the bit where she told him that he could still kill her, Spike assumed.

So, they could either do this sitting on the couch with him straddling her, or with both of them standing. He wondered which would be easier. Usually the victims weren’t nearly so accommodating, so this type of thing wasn’t an issue. Standing would probably be best, he decided, so he got to his feet.

“It’ll go like this,” he said softly, his tone meant to relax her. He stepped into her space, and she took a step backwards without thinking about it. He took another step forward, and she stepped back. It was almost like the moves of a dance, and Spike couldn’t help but smile as her back hit the wall behind her. Her eyes went wide as he closed the space between them, standing directly in front of her.

“Second thoughts?” he murmured.

She shook her head slowly, but the message he read in her eyes was, ‘Hell, yes.’ She thought she knew what was going to happen, but there were just too many variables in the situation for her to be completely comfortable with it, he surmised. He could understand that, but there wasn’t much to be done about it. Over time she would feel more comfortable with this. But while it was new, it would probably scare the crap out of her.

Which would make for a tasty meal, the demon whispered eagerly to him.

He looked down at her face. She was tense. He could see it in the hard line that her lips made, in the way that her eyes were screwed up tight, and in the way that she held her body, as if waiting for a blow. If she didn’t relax, the feeding would be much more painful. And while it didn’t matter to him, it would be easier in the long run if she looked upon this as a relatively painless task, as opposed to a painful chore that she disliked immensely.

“Relax,” he whispered. He hesitated, and then reached out and ran a hand through her hair, brushing it away from her face. It was soft and slick, and flowed like water through his fingers. Her body went rigid; the gesture seemed to have had the opposite affect from what he had intended, and he frowned at her stubbornness.

“If you don’t relax, it’s going to hurt more,” he growled, fighting to keep the frustration out of his voice.

“Yeah, growl at me. That’ll relax me,” she mumbled, opening her eyes but refusing to look at him. “How the hell am I supposed to relax when you’re about to tear another hole in my neck?”

Sighing, he took a step back as he tried to rein in his temper. Why was everything with her such a big drama? Why couldn’t she just relax and go with the flow?

“I’m not tearing another hole in your neck. I’m using the exact same place I did last time. I’ll just slide in, have a quick snack, and be back out before you know it. No big deal.” It sounded reasonable enough to him.

“No big deal? Sure, to you it’s no big deal, but to me it’s—it’s like you’re going to kill me. I mean, how do I know you won’t lose control and kill me by accident? Or—or on purpose?”

Spike’s temper flared, and what little control he had was fading fast. “This was your idea, little witch. So don’t go around acting like this is something I’m forcing on you, and don’t *ever* play that martyr card with me.” He was pacing now, throwing angry glares at her every couple of steps. “And I have more control in my little pinky than you have in your whole body, so I don’t know where the hell you get off talking to me about ‘losing control.’”

He watched as tears gathered in her eyes, making them shine with her sorrow. His words had hit home, had reminded her of all she had done, and how it had led her to this time and place. If she had been able to take control of her emotions, and the magic, she would never have killed Warren or Rack; would never have tried to end the world; would never have ended up here with Spike.

“I—I didn’t mean…” she fell silent, lost in her own thoughts.

Spike stopped pacing, walking back towards her, but keeping his distance so she wouldn’t feel threatened. He wondered if he should touch her, or try to comfort her, but decided against it. She was a very self-contained little thing. She would work through this on her own.

“I’m ready now,” she told him, looking him in the eye for a moment before her gaze skittered away. “I’m still a little tense, but I don’t think that’s going to change right now. So just get it over with, and I’ll…”

“Lay back and think of England?” he suggested, bringing an involuntary smile to her lips.

“Something like that.”

“Don’t you have a happy place, or some rot like that? For when you meditate? Maybe if you try thinking of that…” he suggested.

She tilted her head a bit, and her eyes got a far-away look to them. He wasn’t sure if it was an invitation, or merely her way of showing that she was considering his idea. He moved in a little closer, watching her for signs of uneasiness.

“Go on,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

He moved in, tilted his head, and watched her face until the angle forced him to stop. His tongue ranged the length of her neck, searching for the spot he had marked once before. His ears heard the sound of her blood, and they led his lips to the spot. He pressed them against the slightly raised marks. His marks.

A sense of ownership surged within him, and his hands reached out to grab her shoulders, pulling her body against him. She was trembling slightly, and the scent of her fear was a heady aroma, tempting the demon and the man equally.

Fangs appeared as the demon demanded its due, and he slid inside her, sinking deep and drinking slowly.

“Tara.”

He heard the softly spoken word, and understood. Her lost lover was her happy place.

Whatever worked, he thought.

Continuing to drink, he savored the flavor of her as her mood changed. At first she had been scared and uneasy, and the taste of that in her blood had been rich and coppery. Then she had relaxed and thought about Tara. Comfort and arousal flooded his mouth then, and it was like drinking a fine dessert wine. Towards the end weariness and sadness were added, as if she were contemplating what could never be, and the flavor changed again, to something a bit more difficult to define, but just as delicious.

He knew that his snack was coming to an end. She was beginning to slump in his arms, and it was more his strength than hers that was holding her upright. So, reminding his demon that they would be able to do this again soon, he withdrew his fangs from her neck, laving the mark with his tongue as the last bits of blood trickled from the wound.

“Okay, pet?” he asked. The look on her face said that she was somewhere far way, and he wanted to make sure that she wasn’t so far away that she couldn’t find her way back.

“Uh—Spike? We’re done?” Clarity returned to her expression as she shook her head and looked around the room.

“Yeah, we’re done. Wanna rest for a bit?”

“Yeah.” The word was the softest whisper.

She was weak, so he picked her up, ignoring her pro forma protests, and carried her into her room. “Sleep, and I’ll get you something to eat and drink when you wake up.”

At her nod, he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Her steady breathing, already falling into the rhythm of sleep, told him that she was doing fine.

He wondered how long she would be out. If he fed from her at least once a day, but wore her out so that she slept for hours at a time afterwards, it might not be worth the sacrifice on her part. He would have to wait and see what happened next.

~~~*~~~

Willow awoke about an hour later, feeling as bright and chipper as she ever had. She stood and stretched, then glanced out the window and into the darkness.

The magic had given her body a bit of a jump-start, she supposed, and now she wanted to go out and do something…anything. The walls were starting to close in around her, and staying inside this house all the time was beginning to feel a bit like being in prison. Or so she supposed. Never having been in prison before, she really couldn’t do more than guess.

She wandered into the bathroom and splashed some water on her face, her eyes drawn inevitably to the mirror. Studying her reflection intently, she bent closer in order to concentrate on the bite mark on her neck.

True to his word, Spike had limited the damage to the same place where he had fed before, but a sense of uneasiness, or maybe a sense of being marked, clung to Willow, leaving her feeling unsettled and uncomfortable. She told herself that this was the price she paid for his protection, but that didn’t make her feel much better.

The feeding itself had been relatively painless, once she had followed Spike’s advice and found her happy place. That place had always been one that she shared with Tara, and when she felt him touch her, with his hands, lips and teeth, she pretended it was Tara who had touched her. Tara’s hands had held her shoulders, Tara’s lips had slid along her skin, and in the end, it had been Tara’s teeth she felt in her neck.

It was weird and probably dysfunctional as hell, but it had helped her to relax. And in the end, that had been the whole point.

She heard a knock on her door, so she set her thoughts aside for the moment and went to open it. Seeing Spike there was no surprise, but she felt a small glow of pleasure at the plate of cookies and glass of orange juice he had for her.

“How ya feeling?”

“Good,” she said, giving him a smile and pushing him back towards the living room. “Really good, actually.” As she said the words, she realized just how much she meant them. Not only was she not feeling weak from the blood loss, but there was also a sort of vitality and cheerful optimism that she hadn’t felt for a while. Probably it was a result of the spell, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was another little bit of ‘her’ that was coming back.

“Let’s go out,” she said, smiling at the start of surprise he gave. “I’m up, and I’m hyper, and I want to have some fun. We can go into Busca and I can check out this bar you go to. I promise I won’t spoil your Big Bad image.”

Spike frowned, considering the request and looking for possible problems. There was only one, as far as he could see. “Not sure you should be out and about…don’t you have an organization of highly intelligent and crafty Watchers after you?”

“Pshaw,” she said, waving away his objection with a flick of her hand. “How long have they been after you? Like, forever, right? If they can’t manage to catch you, then how are they ever going to find little ol’ me?”

He shook his head, a look of profound bemusement on his face. “Gotta do better than that, pet.”

“Okay,” she said, considering her options. “How about this?”

She snapped her fingers, and suddenly she was someone else. Her hair was shorter, darker, and cut in a spiky style that made her face, which was suddenly much thinner, look slightly elfish. She was taller too. Spike couldn’t help but gape at the stranger standing before him.

Willow laughed at his expression, the laughter dying down to a gentle smile when Spike glared at her. “Just a simple glamour. I can keep it up for a couple of hours without wearing myself out too much. And best of all, nobody will know it’s me.”

She was right, he decided. Even her own mother wouldn’t recognize her at the moment. No reason why she couldn’t go out and enjoy an evening on the town, at least none that he could come up with.

“Grab your jacket, then. Wouldn’t want you to get a chill while I show you the sights.”

~Part: 9~ Cat Among the Pigeons

They stomped through the countryside in silence, Willow being careful to keep Spike in sight at all times. Although he had been into town on many occasions during their ‘vacation’ in Italy, she had rarely left the house. When she had, she had never ventured farther than a couple of yards. Those had been during the rare times when the walls of her room had begun to close in around her, and the need to get out had been stronger than her ability to withstand it.

“Slow down, Spike,” she yelled, as he pulled farther and farther ahead of her. “This is not a race. It’s not like they’ll sell all the good alcohol before you have a chance to drink it.”

The strappy sandals that had seemed like a wonderful idea when she was dressing had become much less so now that she was actually trying to walk in them. She thought about trying to conjure up a more practical pair of shoes, but that smacked of frivolous magic use, which was something she was firmly against these days.

Sure, they were only shoes, but what would come next, a car? Teleportation? Tennis shoes could be the first step down the slippery slope of magic abuse, and she had no wish to fall headlong down that slope again. Especially since Spike seemed more than willing to give her an initial push.

Make do with what you have, she told herself, as she put on a small burst of speed in an attempt to catch up with Spike.

“You were the one who decided to play tag-along,” Spike reminded her, tossing the words over his shoulder, refusing to look back. “Not my fault if you’re too slow.”

The dark landscape looked eerie, filled with strange shapes and even stranger sounds. She tried to remind herself that she was a kick-ass Wiccan who could survive anything; but that rustling sound coming from her left was still spooking the hell out of her.

Her foot caught on something—a branch, or maybe an exposed root—and only blind luck kept her from tumbling to the ground. She stopped, panting slightly, and glared at Spike’s rapidly dwindling form.

“I could walk fast too if I had vampire speed and super-keen eyesight,” she yelled after him, stomping her foot and slamming her hands down on her hips to emphasize her point.

That stopped him, and he turned to look at her. She couldn’t see his face, but the tone of voice was silky and dangerous, positively predatory. “Would you like me to arrange that for you, pet?” His emphasis on the last word made it quite clear what position she would hold in the hierarchy, should she decide to take him up on his offer.

She went still as he watched her, the feeling of being looked at as little more than a meal or a pet leaving her chilled to the bone. He turned around and resumed his trek, but he moved a little more slowly now, as if in deference to her handicapped status as a human.

They walked for another five minutes, and then Willow found herself in front of a small building with white walls. Most of the surrounding buildings were houses, and it would have been easy to mistake this for a residence as well, were it not for the signs in the windows advertising beer and wine.

There were flower boxes under the windows, and white, red, purple and blue flowers trailed down and out, overflowing the bounds of the box. The flowers made her smile and lifted her spirits a little bit.

A tall, dark-haired man stood behind the bar, pouring a glass of wine. He looked up when they entered, his eyes widening slightly when he realized that there were two patrons, instead of one. He and Spike exchanged curt nods, and the man went back to what he was doing before they arrived.

The place wasn’t busy, Willow noticed. Maybe they were there too late to see a real crowd, or perhaps the place just didn’t get that many patrons.

Nobody seemed particularly interested in them, as far as she could tell. Most had given her a glance when she first entered the bar, but had then gotten back to whatever it was they had been doing before. The quiet murmur of voices surrounded them, and she felt herself begin to release some of the tension she had bottled up during the trek over with Spike.

“That’s Mario,” Spike told her. “He runs the place. Gina’s his wife. She does the real work.” He nodded towards a woman who was joking with an older gentleman at a small table by the window.

Willow nodded, surprised by Spike’s sudden inclination towards chattiness, but remained silent. They sat at a table in a quiet corner, far away from most of the other patrons. A moment later Mario joined them. He carried a bottle of Jack Daniels, and set it in front of Spike without comment.

Then he turned and looked at Willow.

Her gaze took in the many-colored bottles behind the bar, but the selection was a little overwhelming. And besides, if she did figure out what she wanted, how would she convey the information to Mario, who did not appear to speak any English?

“Tell the nice man what you’d like to drink, pet.”

Spike’s tone was not terribly friendly, and Willow screwed up her face as she tried to come up with something. “I’m not really much of a drinker,” she admitted.

Leaning back in his chair, Spike fixed her with a dispassionate look. “This little field trip was your idea, not mine. If you’re going to sit here, you’re going to drink. Now order something.”

As it often happened with her, the more she was pressured, the less she could come up with.

“Red.” He was practically growling at this point, and Willow felt the beginning of an answering anger stirring inside her.

Resolution to the problem came from an unexpected source. “Red,” Mario said with a nod, as he moved to the bar to grab a bottle of red wine.

At Willow’s eager nod, he held up a glass and poured, returning quickly to the table and placing the glass in front of her.

The wine was rich and tart, and she felt an urge to drink more, quickly, but she fought it. By the end of the evening, Spike was sure to be rip-roaring drunk. Better that one of them remained sober.

Mario seemed to be waiting for a comment, so she smiled and nodded enthusiastically. That appeared to satisfy him, since he gave her another smile and then headed back to the bar.

An awkward silence stretched between them as they sat and drank. They shared so much in their life these days, and yet seemed to have so very little common ground. Willow pondered that for a bit.

Gina walked by, hands full of glasses and bottles, and Willow watched Spike’s eyes as they followed her movements like a cat watching a bird. The woman was short, dark, and although she wasn’t heavy, there was a fullness to her curves that made her body more intriguing than a lot of the stick-figure thin women you saw in America.

“Fancy her?” Spike asked.

Willow’s eyes widened at the question. “I—no—I thought you…” Her words trailed off uneasily as she looked across the table at him. “I thought you were interested in her.”

“She’s a pretty little thing, I admit,” he allowed, a lazy half-smile playing along his lips. “Thought she might be more your type, though.”

Willow tried to think about it objectively, as opposed to emotionally, but still came up blank. “She’s pretty, but she’s not right for me. She’s just…” She stopped, unable to finish the thought.

“She’s not Tara,” Spike completed it for her.

She nodded, a vague feeling of discomfort settling over her. Talking about Tara with Spike, of all people, just seemed…wrong. And the thought of being interested in another woman was even worse. Tension knotted uncomfortably in her stomach at the very idea.

“Tara wouldn’t want you to be alone,” he said, his voice not unkind.

Bitterness welled up within her. “How would you know?” she shot back, painful memories of a lost love making her words sharper and meaner than they probably would have been otherwise. “It’s not like the two of you spent any great amount of time together. You were so busy trying to get into Buffy’s pants that the rest of us didn’t even exist.”

Anger flashed in his eyes and his hands clenched into fists, but he hid his emotions quickly, choosing another path. Using words as weapons could be just as satisfying as physical violence, when done correctly. “Didn’t have to try too hard in the end, did I?” he said with a smug grin. “You wouldn’t believe some of the things she let me to do her,” he boasted, watching with satisfaction as his words hit their target.

Willow’s eyes closed and her lips pursed, as if she had bit into something and found it not to her liking, but she remained silent. She hadn’t understood the relationship between Buffy and Spike when she’d first heard about it, and was no closer to understanding it now.

Spike leaned towards her, his tone and proximity creating a sense of false intimacy. “Surely you’ve thought about it. About us. Your friend, and her vampire lover.” His tone had become softer, more sensual, and his hand reached out to grasp hers, skin sliding against skin, until his thumb rested lightly against her wrist. He could feel the blood rushing under her skin, and closed his eyes for a moment as he listened to the music of her heartbeat. A smile that had nothing to do with happiness, and everything to do with feeding and sex and darkness, played along the edges of his full lips.

Willow knew she was blushing. She could feel the heat in her face, but was unable to do anything about it. Sure, she had wondered about them, about what they were like together. Their relationship had seemed so volatile, and so secretive, and she couldn’t help but wonder what they were like when they were alone together, and all pretences had been shed.

His thumb began to trace circles against her wrist, the movement feeling at once comforting and sensual. She gasped, pulling her hand away, yanking it back forcefully when he refused to give it up easily. Panic flooded her as the room seemed to shrink down to just the two of them, and the rest of the world disappeared. She bolted to her feet, her eyes looking anywhere but at Spike. “I’ve—I need to go to the restroom.” She wanted to cringe at how weak and shaky her voice sounded.

His deep, soft laughter told her that the hastily constructed excuse wasn’t fooling him in the least. The sound followed her as she scurried towards the bathroom, cutting off abruptly when the door slammed shut behind her.

Willow avoided her reflection as she splashed water on her face, the feel of the cold liquid hitting her like a slap. Spike had always used sex and seduction as weapons; if she’d had a dollar for every lewd suggestion he’d made since she met him, she’d have had the money to pay for the drinks tonight, at the very least.

But circumstances made things different now. The fact that the two of them were isolated, living together, alone, made everything more…intimate.

It also made Spike much harder to ignore.

She wished now that she had never suggested this evening out. Every time she let down her guard, Spike just gave her more reasons to put it back up. And she never seemed to learn.

With an exaggerated sigh, she grabbed a paper towel and wiped the residual water from her face. The eyes that stared back at her were familiar, although the face they were set in was not. Her glamour still held; at least something in her world was going right.

Time to put this fiasco behind her, she decided. Gathering up what little dignity she had left, she marched back to their table.

“I’m leaving,” she announced, refusing to sit down. Spike smiled up at her, as if inordinately pleased about something.

“You remember how we got here?” he asked, laughter peeking around the corners of his words.

“I—uh,” she frowned, stymied. Obviously she should have thought a little bit more about her decision before announcing it. On the way here she had been too busy trying to keep up with Spike to actually pay attention to the route they took. “I’ll find my way home,” she said, knowing she was being silly, but unable to stop the words from coming out of her mouth.

For a minute, she thought that he was going to laugh at her. But he merely kept smiling, grabbing his bottle and taking a swig. “I think not,” he said imperiously, gesturing to her seat. “Sit down. You’re not going to go traipsing around in the dead of night. You’d probably break a bone or something, and then blame it all on me.”

She hovered above him, looking uncertain and vaguely confused, so he got up and grabbed her arm, yanking it slightly until she sat down. The look she shot him was venomous, but she stayed put.

“Now, what were we talking about before you rushed off in a snit?”

They had been talking about him sleeping with Buffy, and about Tara. Two subjects that Willow had no intention of discussing with Spike. Ever. So she thought fast, disguising her actions and playing for time as she drank from her wine glass.

“I think I’ll be strong enough to do a Sending soon. I just need a couple of things, and then in a few days I’ll try to contact Giles.”

“Does that mean you need me to take another field trip into Turin?”

His voice was casual, but she hadn’t missed the flash of gold in his eyes when he spoke. It wasn’t her fault, she reminded herself. His choice to kill. Not hers.

So maybe that was technically true, but he wasn’t killing anyone while he was in Busca. Sending him to Turin was like signing a stranger’s death warrant, that treacherous little voice inside her head reminded her.

She shook her head, pushing that voice into a dark corner where it would hopefully waste away from neglect. After all, it wasn’t like she had any other way of getting the supplies she needed. And she really did need to get a hold of Giles.

“What are you going to tell him?” Spike asked, attempting to keep his voice casual. But his body was held stiffly, as if anticipating something unpleasant.

Willow frowned; she hadn’t really thought that far ahead. The need to have contact with something normal, some piece of her old life, had been the force driving her to contact Giles. But now it was time to think about what she hoped to accomplish with that contact. “I hadn’t really thought about that. I guess I’ll ask if the Council has forgotten about me yet, and whether I can go home.”

Spike pushed his chair back on two legs, giving gravity a metaphorical middle finger, and laughed. And like his previous laughter, this was also at her expense. “Pet, they’re not going to forget about you. These people, they don’t forget about anything.”

He set his chair back on all fours and leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes locked on her face. “These people are not going to look at your attempt to end the world as a little ‘oopsie’ and decide to let you go. They are going to hunt you down, until they’re sure you’re no longer a threat.”

The words hung in the air, an obvious attempt on Spike’s part to make her situation seem more ominous and frightening than it already was. What made things worse was that Willow suspected he was right.

“The best that you can hope for is that they get distracted by something big and nasty enough to make them forget you exist for a while.” He leaned back again, waiting for her reaction.

For a moment he thought she was going to cry. She wasn’t the sort to cry easily, but her face had crumpled up and she was staring at him as if he’d eaten her best friend. Not that he wouldn’t mind doing just that. But he hadn’t. Yet.

“So, what sort of things do you need in Turin?” he asked quickly, hoping to distract her. It wasn’t that he had a problem with being the cause of her tears, but if he was going to make her cry, it would be over something really good, and not the stupidity and shortsightedness of the Watchers Council.

She seemed to pull herself together then, sniffing slightly and running her hands over her face. “I guess I’ll need more herbs. Some crystals. Giles left me a list in one of the books I have. Oh, and I’ll need a protective sigil. To make sure nothing happens to my body while I’m…elsewhere.”

The pointed glare that accompanied her words sent the message that she did not trust him to perform that duty for her. He smiled at that, showing her a mouthful of teeth that itched to sink into her neck. Not that she needed to be having an out-of-body experience for that—he could do it anytime he wanted these days.

And there was something so deliciously evil about sinking his fangs into the Slayer’s best friend’s neck. That would never get old.

“Anything else you want? Anything non-magic related?’

She chewed on a fingernail as she thought about it. “Maybe if you could find some movies on DVD? In English? The satellite is good for some stuff, but I can’t ever find a decent movie when I want one.”

Spike suspected that her idea of a good movie and his idea would differ wildly, but maybe he could find something that they could both tolerate. Wouldn’t hurt to look. “I’ll see what I can find,” he promised.

“So…” he drawled, searching for a topic that wouldn’t end up with them at each other’s throats. “If the Watcher said you could go home, what would you do?” A little game of ‘what if’ never hurt anyone. He hoped.

“I’d leave so fast your head would spin,” she said immediately, giving him a silly grin.

He lifted an eyebrow and continued to look at her, as if waiting for her to change her mind. “Really? You’d just…go back?”

Her grin faltered as doubts began to crowd her. She gave the matter a bit more thought, but finally nodded, her expression a touch more somber this time. “I’m not naïve enough to think that it’d be easy, not after everything that has happened. But yes, I’d go back. They need me. Depend on me.”

He snorted and rolled his eyes at her goody-goody answer. “Their dependence on you is a lot of what got you in trouble in the first place,” he reminded her. “But aside from that, what about what you want?” He tossed the question at her as if it really was that simple. “I mean, here you are, in Italy, with a chance to see a lot more of the world than you’d ever see in Sunnydale. Aren’t you in the least bit curious about what else is out there?”

He could see the wistfulness in her eyes; of course she wanted to see more. It was only natural.

“Maybe someday…”

“Say that long enough, and often enough, and all the ‘somedays’ will pass you by,” he warned her.

Desire and duty danced in her eyes, and he knew she was close to breaking. Then she pasted a smile on her face and reminded him, “But it doesn’t matter what I want, does it? Because the Council is still looking for me, and Giles isn’t going to tell me that I can go home.”

He pitied her in that moment; she was like a butterfly caught in amber, unable to break free of the pressure that surrounded her. Except that unlike the butterfly, she *could* break free of her prison. If she really wanted to.

They left the bar soon afterwards, heading home in a silence that felt much more comfortable than it had when they headed into town.

~~~*~~~

Four days went by, leaving little evidence of their passing, other than the days marked off on Willow’s mental calendar and the gradual improvement in her control over her magic. But unlike previous days, today was important. Today she would talk to Giles.

There was a little bit of a bounce to her step that evening as she fixed her dinner. Spike could see it, but chose not to comment on it. They had actually been getting along fairly well the last couple of days, and he didn’t see a need to rock that particular boat at the moment.

“So,” he asked, smiling when she jumped at his voice, and then turned to give him a dirty look, “where are you going to do it? Can I watch?”

She turned to face him, a piece of toast and a cup of coffee in hand. “I was going to do it in my room. That way you won’t have to walk around me while I’m unconscious.” The other thought, the one that she didn’t say aloud, was that if she was in her room, she would be alone.

There was just something slightly creepy about the idea of him watching her while she was unable to defend herself. Sure, she had the sigil, but she wasn’t sure exactly how much use it would be against a determined vampire.

But the fact of the matter was, whether she did it in her bedroom, or in the living room, he would be able to watch her easily, if he was so inclined. Which, apparently, he was. She couldn’t begin to imagine what he hoped to get out of the experience, though.

“It’ll be pretty boring,” she warned him, hoping to dampen his interest. “I’ll just be lying there, not moving. It’ll look like I’m sleeping more than anything.”

Spike shrugged. “Nothing else going on. Might as well see what all the fuss is about.” He grabbed the coffee cup from her hand and drank it down in one long draught, ignoring her look of outrage.

“Hey! I was going to drink that!”

“It’s not good for you,” he countered, handing her back the empty coffee cup. “Did you a favor. Besides, I remember caffeinated Willow. She was scary.”

All she could manage was a dumbfounded stare at his pure effrontery. First he drank her coffee, and then he insulted her.

“And I’m hungry. I don’t want that stuff polluting your blood before my evening snack.” He waited a beat before adding, “You can feed me, right? Or do I have to wait until your little chat with the Watcher is over?”

Willow just shook her head. He seemed immune to her sarcasm, and dirty looks didn’t bother him in the slightest. There really wasn’t any point in acknowledging his rotten behavior. Spike was...Spike. Nothing she did was going to change that.

As for the subject of his evening snack, she had bad news. And she took a small amount of pleasure in telling him, “I think you’ll have to have a late snack. I’m not sure how much this’ll tire me out, so it’d be better to feed you later, if you don’t mind?”

The look on his face made it clear that he wasn’t thrilled with the idea of coming in second place after Giles, but he offered no other comment, so Willow took a bite of her toast. Best to eat it now, before Spike decided that toast, too, was not good for her.

She chewed slowly, thinking about what would come later that evening. Making her way towards her bedroom as she ate, she stopped when she reached the foot of her bed. Swallowing the last of her meal, she began the preparations for her Sending.

Overall it was a fairly simple procedure. It was best to do it lying down, either on the floor or on a bed, since the body went limp as the spirit left it. So, as she tried hard not to think about what news her contact with Giles would bring, she finished mixing the herbs, positioning the crystals, and drawing her circle.

Just before she got ready to speak the words of the spell, Spike wandered in, bringing a chair with him. Apparently she was going to be his in-home entertainment center for the evening, whether she liked it or not.

Willow wondered if she ought to be polite and say, ‘goodbye,’ or maybe, ‘I’ll be back in a bit,’ but Spike had already begun to thumb through a magazine, so she just laid back on the bed and placed the sigil, a flat round stone, on her forehead. The cloudy-white stone felt cool and soothing against her warm, hypersensitive skin, and she concentrated on the feel of it as she began to speak the words of the spell.

~Part: 10~ Destination Unknown

Seeing the familiar surroundings of Giles’ library felt almost like coming home after a long absence. She knew that it wasn’t the same…this was Giles’ home, after all, and had never been hers. But compared to the strangeness that was her life in Italy, this seemed so much like the familiar ground she longed for.

Books surrounded her, beckoning her to open them so they could tell her their secrets, but she knew that would be a waste of time. She could touch nothing during her visit—her hand would simply sail right through the books as if they didn’t exist. Of course, Willow knew that *she* was the one who didn’t really exist. Not here on this plane. But her senses told her something else.

She felt real. Real enough that if she were to open the small window in front of her, she could feel the breeze ruffle the hair around her face. But her mind told her that she was just an illusion, a spectral apparition sent courtesy of magic.

A spectral apparition with a purpose, she reminded herself.

Giles usually spent his evenings in his library, at the desk in the corner covered with ancient books and half-translated scrolls. He wasn’t there now, but she could hear the sound of china rattling in the kitchen, and figured he was probably making tea. Once the tea was made, she imagined that he would be heading in her direction.

Sure enough, in a couple of minutes she heard the door to the library open, and saw Giles’ comfortingly familiar face. He held a cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other. Shakespeare, she noticed. He was reading for pleasure tonight. Good for him.

Willow stepped back, into the dark corner of the room. She was not completely hidden from view, but it would have taken a thorough visual examination of the room to see her. In deference to Giles, and to the cup of tea he held, she didn’t want to surprise him until his hands were empty.

Instead of sitting at the desk, he chose to settle into one of the oversized armchairs, legs stretched out and crossed neatly at the ankle. Setting the teacup onto the small table next to him, he picked up the book and opened it, his concentration fully on his task as he let the words take him some place Willow couldn’t follow.

It seemed a shame to interrupt such a peaceful moment, but after all, that was why she was here. So she stepped forward slowly, letting the shadows fall away from her as she moved into the middle of the room. Light from the small table lamp touched her, lighting her up from within, and when she looked at Giles again, he was staring at her, his lips curving into a pleased smile.

“Willow. You made it. Not that I had any doubts, of course. But,” his expression clouded over for a moment, as if he was imagining all of the misfortunes that might have befallen her, but then it cleared, and the smile was back on his face. “It’s very good to see you.”

She grinned, for a moment reverting back to the child she had been when she first met him. Those days and those roles were more comfortable for both of them; with age, things had gotten so much more complicated.

“Yep, I’m here. Your instructions made all the difference. Thanks.” She felt suddenly shy, her gaze wandering around the room, unwilling to settle in one place for long.

“I was so afraid that the Council might have found you. They hadn’t said anything, and questioned me incessantly for a few days, but…” his voice trailed off, as if he was remembering events that were distasteful.

“They didn’t hurt you or anything, did they?” Willow asked, horror filling her immediately. At one time she would have thought the idea ridiculous, but she realized now that she had put the Council up on a pedestal, believing the good, and refusing to see the bad. Time and experience had changed her opinion of them, and made it a bit more realistic. But she was still unsure just how far they would go to achieve their goals.

“They didn’t hurt me,” Giles hastened to reassure her. “They were just…unpleasant. Certain threats were made—but never carried out. One of their mages cast a truth spell, and once they had ascertained that I had no idea where you had gone, they lost interest in me fairly quickly. They do know about your rather unconventional traveling companion, however,” he warned her.

Willow nodded, her gaze focused on him. She thought that he was telling her the truth—that they hadn’t hurt him—and was relieved beyond her ability to express it. She had worried about him, and what the Council might do to punish him for his duplicity.

“So they’re still looking for me?”

His response surprised her. “Not so much. Not at the moment. Oh, they’ve got their eyes and ears open, I suppose, but they’ve got other priorities that supercede your capture.”

His expression had turned grim, and Willow felt a shiver of dread flow through her. What sort of a priority could have Giles looking so worried? For that matter, what could be more important to the Council than hunting down someone who had tried to end the world—and could conceivably do so again? At least, in theory. In reality, she had no leanings in that direction, and was certain that she never would.

“What do you mean? What’s going on? Is there another apocalypse coming? Do I—should I…” she trailed off, uncertain about what she could do to help at this point, with her less-than-perfect control over the magic that ran through her body.

“I’m not really sure, to be quite honest. I’ve heard stories of Potentials—Spike didn’t tell you about this?” At the shake of her head, he continued. “Well, something—or someone—has taken to hunting the Potentials. You do know what a Potential is, don’t you?” His glasses were removed as he spoke. He held them in front of his face, looking through them, searching for dust or scratches. When they passed his inspection, he laid them carefully on the table next to the tea and brought his hands up to his eyes, rubbing them lightly. The expression on his face indicated that the gesture gave him pleasure, and Willow couldn’t help but smile.

“Potentials are Slayers who haven’t been called yet,” she offered, waiting for his confirmation.

“Yes, exactly. They are possibilities. They possess the potential to be Slayers. Hence the name.” His hand felt for the teacup, bringing it to his mouth and taking a sip before setting the cup onto a coaster. “Some pass into adulthood without ever knowing about the Slayer heritage. They grow up thinking that they are just a little stronger, and a little faster, than their friends.

“Others,” he added, “are scouted by the Council, and either monitored from afar, or, if they are strong enough, and have the right mix of skills and temperament, are contacted and trained. Prepared. For the day when they will be needed. If they pass into adulthood without being called, then the Council will often give them a job within the organization. They know too much, after all, to live in ‘normal’ society.”

Willow nodded; she knew the basics of Slayer 101, but had never really given it much thought. She knew that Buffy was the Chosen One, and that once Buffy had fallen, another would be called to take her place.

Well, technically, that had already happened. When Buffy had died, Kendra was called. And upon Kendra’s demise, Faith had taken up the calling. She thought about that, wondering—not for the first time—what would happen once Buffy died a final time. Would Faith be busted out of jail, or would someone, somehow, activate a different Potential? She put that thought into the ‘questions to ponder on a rainy day’ file, and turned her mind back to the problem at hand.

“So Potentials are being killed. Like…how many of them?”

“Dozens,” Giles replied grimly. “Enough that the Council is worried, even though they don’t like to admit it. Some of these girls had fallen beneath even *their* radar, you see. So someone has a way of finding them that we are not even aware of.”

Willow’s eyes got large as she heard that part. Someone was using magic to find them. It had to be. “Magic?”

“Magic,” Giles confirmed. “Magic, and stealth, and lots and lots of money. They must be organized, because young women are dying all over the world. Russia. Turkey. Germany. America. Even here in England.” He reeled off the names of the countries as if he’d said them—or at least thought about them—a hundred times before.

“What about Buffy?” she asked, afraid of the answer she would receive. But if Buffy had died, wouldn’t she have felt it? Willow knew that there was no practical reason for her to feel that way, but she couldn’t help but believe it was true. If Buffy died, she would know.

“Buffy is fine. So are Xander, Dawn, Anya, and the rest of your friends. They are fighting some…unusual occurrences in Sunnydale, but for now everything is within their ability to handle. If that changes, we will have to consider sending you back, regardless of what the Council says.”

Willow nodded, trusting that Giles would let her know when she was needed. But part of her was still concerned, nonetheless. The situation on the hellmouth could change at a moment’s notice. The balance of power could shift in the blink of an eye, and who knew if she could get there quickly enough to limit the damage.

“How are you doing?” Giles asked, steering the conversation in a direction that took Willow by surprise. She had expected the question eventually, but had forgotten about it, her mind filled with thoughts of the perils her friends faced at home.

“I’m fine,” she told him quickly, trying to bring back breezy, carefree Willow. “I’m getting stronger, and learning how to control the magic without going overboard with it. It’s…it’s not easy, but I’m doing okay.” Giles had enough to worry about without having to figure out what to do about Spike, or how to rescue her from him. Not that she really felt like she needed to be rescued. Not anymore, at least.

Even up to the moment she had materialized into Giles’ residence, she hadn’t made up her mind about whether to tell him that Spike could kill again. He would probably want to know all about Spike’s change in status. And yet…

Her roommate—friend seemed too strong a word to use—had saved her life, and was taking good care of her, and for that she owed him a lot. Everything, really, she supposed. So maybe his motives weren’t the purest, but did that really negate the things he’d done for her?

Whatever residual guilt she felt about keeping his secret faded as she looked at Giles’ face. Worry lines had always been there, but they seemed deeper now. And his eyes—his eyes! They looked tired, and old beyond his years. She wished she could do something to bring back the twinkle they used to hold, but she couldn’t figure out what. Maybe someday, when this was all over and done with. Maybe then he could relax.

But part of her knew that it was never over. There was always another apocalypse waiting right around the corner, and Giles would always feel that he was the one who had to stop it. It was one of the things that she loved about him, but it also left her feeling sad for him. He was the warrior who would fight until death for a peaceful world, but would never be able to live in it himself.

The room around her seemed to go translucent for a moment, and she knew that her time was short. “I’ve got to go, Giles. Tell everyone—tell them I’m fine. I love them. I hope to see them again, someday.” Sadness filled her at the thought. Someday…

Spike’s words about ‘somedays’ came back to her then—say it long enough, and often enough, and soon all the ‘somedays’ will pass you by. She shook her head angrily, as if to deny the thought, but there was something so inherently true about it that she felt even worse.

Giles nodded. “Shall we meet again next week, same time, same place?” His eyes seemed to stare through her, and she wondered if he could still see her there, or whether she was fading from his sight in the same way that the room was fading from hers.

“Yes! I’ll be here,” she called out loudly, hoping that he would be able to hear her, even if he couldn’t see her. There was still so much she wanted to talk to him about, so much more that she wanted to know about what was happening. But she could feel the magic pulling her back to Italy like a steel band around her torso, so further questions would have to wait. A week wasn’t so long, not really.

Her body flew across darkness, the sensation of movement distressing because of her inability to see anything around her. Without warning, she was thrust into her body. Her eyes flew open and she bolted upright, slightly surprised to find herself sitting on her bed, Spike still paging through a magazine in his chair by the door.

He glanced at her curiously, his eyes appraising, taking in her flushed face and the excitement that sparkled in her eyes. “Did it work? You were only out a couple of minutes.”

She thought he sounded disappointed. Maybe he had expected a firework show, or some other physical manifestation of her power, but of course that wouldn’t have happened, and she had told him that from the get-go. “I’m fine. I couldn’t hold the illusion for very long. Not yet. I should be able to stay longer the next time.” She slid her legs off the bed, slowly standing up, her hand clutched tightly to the headboard, just in case. But aside from a slight headache, she felt fine.

“What did you tell him?”

It took her a moment to figure out what he was talking about. Spike had his priorities, and number one on the list was…Spike. Of course.

“I told him that I was fine. That was pretty much it. We mostly talked about the Potentials.” She remembered what Giles had said about Spike knowing about it, “And why didn’t you tell me about them? That someone was killing them. That’s a big deal, you know!”

He tilted his head and looked at her, as if trying to figure out exactly what she was talking about. Then his face cleared. “Oh, yeah, the dead birds. Forgot about that.”

“How could you forget about something like that?! I mean, it’s not like you went to the store and forgot the milk. This is a Big Deal here.”

Spike could see that she was going to be like a dog with a bone about this, worrying over it until she could figure it out. He rolled his eyes at her, putting as much sarcasm as he could into his voice. “Sorry, pet. I guess I was a little busy trying to keep us both from being kidnapped by the Council. That little detail must’ve slipped my mind.”

“They know we’re together,” she informed him, momentarily allowing herself to be distracted from the thought of the dead Potentials.

They had suspected that the Council knew they were together, but now there was confirmation. Spike would be wise to be more careful when he went out. Not that she imagined he would, if she suggested it to him. He liked to live on the edge. A confrontation with the Council would be just his cup of tea on a dull, lonely night. As long as he came out the victor, of course.

“But they’re too busy now with the dead Potentials to do anything about it, huh? Good.”

Willow wanted to berate him for his calm dismissal of the girls’ deaths, but she knew a lost cause when she saw one.

So, instead, she went into her small bathroom and turned on the tap, splashing the icy water on her face. Closing her eyes, she put her head back and took a deep breath and released it—along with some residual Spike-related frustration.

“How you feeling?”

The voice, coming from directly behind her right ear, took her by surprise. The mirror showed nobody but herself—liar that it was—but when she turned, Spike was right behind her, his body so close that they were almost touching. Her heart began to pound in her chest, clamoring a warning that her mind ignored.

“Don’t. Do. That.” Her voice was barely a hiss of air, but she knew that Spike would hear it easily enough. His responding chuckle confirmed the fact.

“You’re a jumpy little thing, aren’t you?” It was an insult, wrapped in the guise of friendly teasing.

“I hate you,” she muttered, pushing past him as she headed out the door of the bathroom, through her bedroom, and into the living room.

“Not so wild about you, either,” he replied, following her. It seemed to be a game they played; she’d tell him she hated him, and he’d reply in kind. Their roles were carefully defined, and as long as neither of them rocked the boat, things would continue along in their comfortable, pre-defined manner.

“And,” Spike mentioned casually as they reached the kitchen, “I’m hungry. I’d probably be a lot easier to live with if I had something to eat.”

It was a lie, and they both knew it. But Willow was willing to give in and feed him, since he couldn’t actually speak while he was feeding, which would give her several minutes of peace. Maybe longer, if the meal left him sated and sleepy.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll get your meal. So…where?” She looked over her shoulder at Spike, noticing that he was already in game face. “Okay, I guess that would be here?” she asked, not even bothering to hide the hint of resignation in her voice.

He gave her a wicked grin, made even more wicked-looking by the sharp canines that glinted in the light from the ceiling fixture. “Thought I’d try something different this time. A new position, so to speak.”

Willow just turned her head around again, letting him do his thing. But her compliancy came to an abrupt stop when his hand slid across her stomach, pulling her back towards him. Her body stiffened at the contact. “Spike?” she asked, her voice tremulous.

“Shush,” he whispered, his lips so close to her ear that the word sent a shiver of sensation through her.

“What are you doing?” she squeaked, trying—and failing—to sound a bit less like a frightened schoolgirl, and a bit more like the kick-ass woman she knew she could be. Maybe. Someday.

Damn, there was that ‘someday’ word again.

“Just relax.”

She tried, she really did. His head came at her from over her right shoulder, his lips and tongue touching her neck at a different angle, and then without hesitation they slipped into her neck.

Spike had fed from her a half-dozen times now, and she saw no evidence of biting being capable of bringing pleasure, as Angel had once claimed. What she *did* know was a way to turn that pain into something deeper; to acknowledge it, accept it, and embrace it in a way that made it more bearable. Almost pleasant.

She did that now, as the suction of his lips drew her blood from her body. She focused on the pain and the way that it made her feel. It made everything else fall away; there were no worries about Giles, or her friends, or the Potentials that were dying. She lived for the pain, and the feeling of Spike’s lips as they moved against her neck.

There was a rhythm to his feeding, and when his hand began to caress her stomach through the thin cotton blouse she wore, keeping time with his mouth’s actions, she didn’t really notice. It was all just a part of the experience. But when his hand slipped underneath her blouse and she felt the cold flesh against her own, she knew that he was going to push things farther than she could handle.

“Spike, uh,” she tried to push his hand away, but he was having none of that. He simply pulled her closer with that same hand, and that was when she felt his erection against her ass.

Feeding and fucking usually went hand-in-hand with vampires; she knew that intellectually, but this was a far more personal demonstration than she’d ever had before.

His hand was splayed against her abdomen now, running lightly along her skin in a way that made her face flush, and her knees weak. His thumb skirted the underside of her breasts, teasing her there briefly and then sliding back down to her bellybutton.

Panic was quickly pushing aside the bit of desire she felt, and she started to struggle against him with a bit more conviction. “Stop it, Spike! I mean it.”

There was no response from the vampire. No evidence at all that he had even heard what she was saying. So she said it again, with a bit more panic in her voice. “Stop it! Or—or you’ll never feed from me again, damn it.” She didn’t think about consequences, or about the fact that she was making a threat that she had no way of enforcing. The only thing she could think about was how to get this situation back under control.

Her threat got a response, although it took a moment. But, after precious seconds ticked by, his fangs finally withdrew. His lips and tongue, however, remained in contact with her skin, hungrily cleaning her neck, although at some point the act became more like a kiss than anything. He lingered there, his lips trailing what had definitely become kisses up to the corner of her lips.

“This is wrong, Spike. And all kinds of crazy. We—we don’t need this kind of complication, okay?” Maybe if she kept her lips moving he’d stop trying to kiss her.

She felt hands on her shoulders, turning her around until she faced him. His head came down for another kiss, his lips sliding softly against hers. It was a gentle pressure, but nothing more. No attempt to make this something deeper or darker than it was. As odd as it seemed, he appeared to be willing to let her make the choice about how this would play out.

So she made it for both of them. “I can’t do this,” she mumbled, pushing away from him and running to her room.

The sound of her door as it slammed shut behind her made Spike wince. But his lips quickly quirked into a smile as he thought about just how close he’d come to having yet another of his appetites satisfied.

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