Immortality I: Past Imperfect
by
Lisa Y. Drexel
Spike
Very few things surprise me. I actually take pride in that. After walking this Earth for over 200 years and being a demon, I can pretty well say I've seen it all.
At least I thought I did.
But, when I saw her—standing in a group of mortals at a blues bar a thousand miles from where I saw her killed, I have to say that I actually blinked my eyes at the sight, silently wondering if I was slowly going down the same road my Druscilla had traveled over a 100 years before.
I nearly dropped my cigarette in my tequila shot.
How could this be?
I saw her die. I saw the stake that was lodged in her heart, as her life's blood ran freely from the wound. I watched her boyfriend, the werewolf, actually howl over her dying body—reverting to instincts more basic than human.
I watched the last rise and fall of her chest—the blood stained shirt eerily matching the ethereal red of her hair.
I remember thinking that day, 'there goes the only human I would die for willingly.'
I watched my future seep into the cool ground.
And now, here she was standing not even 10 feet from my table—alive and looking no older than she had the day she died, seven years before.
~~~
Willow
My first instinct was to touch my chest—just to make sure that there was no wooden stake piercing my heart.
And then it was to run.
That's what I was told to do by my teacher. "Willow, if you see someone you used to know—run and don't look back. That life is gone. It died when you died. The less mortals know of Immortality, the better. Better for you and for them."
I nodded, knowing that there was some truth in what he said—even if my friends would've understood Immortality better than most. But that wasn't it. It was the horror that I was going to outlive Oz and Xander. And I guess Buffy too—even though I had always known it was possible with her. But Oz, I wanted to grow old with him—have children and a family. All of that—despite him being a werewolf and us living on the Hellmouth.
That future was no longer possible.
And to watch Xander age when I couldn't, broke my heart. I couldn't do it. So I left, knowing that when I was able, I would look up the immortals of the group—years later when Sunnydale was just a distant memory, and beg their forgiveness.
It wasn't years later and Sunnydale was still fresh in my mind and yet, here was one of those immortals that I had planned to see sometime in the future.
And what to say to Mac, who was standing next to me, oblivious to how precarious my secret was to being blown. He was my friend, my teacher and more of a parent than either of the people who raised me.
How do I tell him of my past—the one that I kept locked up in the depths of my soul. How do I tell him of the Hellmouth and demons, knowing that he lost his last student to the trickery of one himself?
And how do I explain to him that the demon sitting across the room—unsouled and still violent—was my friend?
Sighing, I finally turned my head and looked straight at him and wasn't surprised to see him watching me—with a look of complete utter confusion plastered across his face.
I found myself chuckling softly, despite the situation. I didn't think I'd ever live long enough to see Spike dumbfounded.
It was going to be a long night.
~~~Immortality II: Masks Drop~~~
Spike
I think I finally managed to close my mouth by the time she sat down across from me.
Willow.
It was really her. All five-foot-two inches of her. Same red hair—same green eyes—
Willow.
She cleared her throat and nervously tucked her much longer hair behind her ear and sighed.
I'd seen her do that same movement hundreds of times—from when I crazily kidnapped her and the whelp to the two years I worked side by side with her.
It was unreal.
"I really didn't expect to see you for another fifty years or so," she said, her voice so casual that anyone else would think she was talking of the weather. But not me. I heard the rapid beat of her heart, the oh-so-very slight tremor in her hands as she traced the table around the beer mug. She looked over to where she had been standing just a few minutes before—watching one human in particular. He was tall, over six feet, with dark brown hair; a deep tan and definitely well built. "There's really no proper etiquette to follow when you're Immortal. You just start a new life, keep it awhile until people get suspicious and then move on—even if you're old life actually had room for your immortality…"
I couldn't help myself.
I had heard of Immortals, but never actually believed in their existence. I had always believed they were a myth, devised by demons jealous of human's ability to live in the sun. I mean, immortality without a demon? A pipe dream.
So, I had to do it—touch her, you know.
Make sure her skin was as hot and as alive as I remembered it to be…
I lifted my hand and cupped her face, sucking in an unneeded breath when I felt her blood rushing underneath that thin layer of skin.
Hot, throbbing—a beating heart resided in her. I could almost feel her blood pump wildly—
Wait, did it just quicken with my touch?
I looked up into her eyes just in time to catch them closing as a small whimper slipped through her lips.
Grinning, I pushed back the chair and was by her side and had her in my arms in seconds. Lifting her up by the waist, I twirled our bodies around, oblivious of the stares of the other customers.
Her giggles were music to my ears.
Willow was alive.
And she was Immortal.
~~~
Willow
I'd always loved Oz. People liked to say I was a lot like my namesake, but I always believed Oz was even more of a willow tree than I.
Nothing ever broke him or shattered his existence. Even my death. I kept tabs—the best I could. Not only was he strong for himself, but he held up Buffy as well and became her strength.
I cried tears of elation and anger when I found out about their engagement and subsequent marriage. Happiness that two of the four people I worried about and loved the most had found someone to turn to. And anger at my life—my fate, which tore me out of his arms way before I was ready to let go.
And Xander, he found love in the most unlikely of places—Amy. Like Oz and Buffy, they turned to each other to find solace in the arms of another childhood friend who had known me even before I wore pigtails.
But Spike. He's the one I lost the most sleep about.
For the two years that he helped us out on the Hellmouth, he became my friend, confidant and protector.
And in my heart, the other man I loved.
Once I became Immortal, it was that love that kept me strong. All those months of training and fighting—learning much more than how to stake an errant vampire and how to throw your attacker off you.
No, my lessons were to teach me how to kill.
Oh Goddess, I hated it. And I still do. In the seven years since I've been thrown into this life, I've been challenged ten times.
Ten headless corpses could now be attributed to me—little Willow.
Ten lives stain my aura.
And hundreds of Quickenings now reside in my body.
Through all that—it was the knowledge that one day—I'd be able to take a hold of just a piece of my past life and be able to hold it close to my heart—that kept me from failing and becoming one of those headless corpses.
So, when he picked me up and twirled us about, I felt something in my heart crack—almost as if pieces of me were clawing to get out and be felt. Wrapping my arms around him, I clung to him—chest heaving as tears racked my body.
For the first time in seven years, I felt like Willow again.
~~~Immortality III: Confessions Abound~~~
Spike
I bloody hate it when women cry.
Always have. Always will.
It always makes me feel inadequate and helpless.
It's one thing to be standing over some potential meal and watch tears flood her eyes when she realizes that I will be the last thing she sees and it's totally another when its someone I care about.
So, I did the first thing that occurred to me—get her out of there to someplace private.
After dropping two twenties onto the table, I picked up her slight body and left the bar.
At least that was my plan.
We'd just made it to the side of the building, Willow still clinging to me like I was the second coming or something, when that bloke from the bar appeared, sword in hand—protective as all hell.
"What the hell did you do to her?"
I rolled my eyes, forcing myself not to change in front of this man who I knew instinctively to be someone important to Willow. Someone she wouldn't want hurt.
"Nothing mate. We're just old friends."
His eyes widened.
"How old?"
I shook my head. "Sunnydale old."
"Ah shit!"
"Mac?" She pulled away enough for her voice to be heard. I looked down at her—her face red and splotchy from crying and all I could think of was how beautiful she was.
How bloody beautiful.
"I'm okay—really."
He strode up to us with one eye on me, and looked down at her—his face instantly softening with worry and concern.
My demon wanted to scream in protest.
"Are you sure, Willow?"
She nodded, fresh tears covering her face. "I'm sure."
Pursing his lips, he turned his attention to me and sighed in defeat. "Alright—but let me get you your coat, okay?"
I could tell he was hiding something, but I had not a clue. I felt her head nod against my chest.
Grunting, he turned on his heel and jogged away.
What was it about the bloke that reminded me of Peaches?
"I know—he does me too, sometimes."
Did I say that out loud?"
"It must be because of the time he came from—that and plus he's Scottish."
"Pet, are you okay in there?"
She turned to me, her eyes filling once again, and hid her face in my chest. "I'm so—so sorry, Spike. I should've called you or wrote you or something—but I always thought I had time with you and Angel. And I couldn't bear seeing them again. It—it hurt," she whispered.
Them—meaning her mortal friends. I could understand. Seven or eight years ago, I couldn't. But now, I could.
She gave me that.
It was a painful lesson.
I shuddered, suddenly feeling the need to tighten my hold on her—as if I could keep her there—with me. I've always been that way, you know. Totally unheard of for a demon, but then I never could follow rules very well.
Sometimes, I think that's what hurt me the most about Peaches. Not that he got a soul—like he could bloody well help that—but that he abandoned Dru and I—as if we were no more than his dirty laundry that he was ashamed of having. I loved the prick and for eighty years, he was gone—out of our lives without a word.
And now, here was Willow, who did the same thing, asking for my forgiveness.
I felt my face change as a low growl escaped my lips. Grabbing a hold of her arms, I held her back and really looked at her. It was then I noticed her eyes. Once they held the innocence of life in them—filled with awe and wonder despite all the horrors she'd seen in her short life. Now, the innocence was gone—a heaviness of heart and soul.
And loneliness.
I wondered if my eyes looked the same.
My true face melted away and I nodded. "Of course, love. How could I not? Eternity is a long time to be bleeding pissed off, don't you think?"
Her chest rumbled as her face lit up—full of love and life—and I did the only thing I could think of: kiss her.
Lifting my hands up and cupping her wet face, I smiled as I sensed her heart once again taking off—and bent my face down and finally did what I had wanted to do for nearly a decade—
~~~
Willow
I've kissed a lot of men in the last seven years and slept with most of them.
But never another Immortal.
Oh, I've met a few that were appealing. Mac's friend, Adam, ranking the highest on the list.
But they all, in whatever small or large way, reminded me of either Oz or Spike.
Adam—definitely Spike. From the accent to the 'bloody hell' to the sardonic sense of humor—he was the hardest to stay away from.
Yet, I did, because somehow it just didn't seem right to try and replace Spike—not when the vampire was still alive.
Not when the possibility of him being the one to hold me and make love to me was still there.
And yet, out of all the men that I'd been with since Oz, Spike's kiss was the first one to not only leave my body breathless with anticipation, but my heart as well.
*Finally!* I thought to myself. *I can do this and not be disloyal to Oz or to myself.*
And with that thought, I opened my mouth and deepened the kiss.
I'm not sure how far it would've gone if Mac hadn't come back. Giggling at my own forgetfulness, I pulled back and shrugged at the blond vampire. "Mac's coming back—with my coat," I told him as I watched the older Immortal step into the alley and head our way. Pulling out of Spike's embrace, I walked up to my mentor and took my coat. "Thanks, Mac."
"Will, it isn't a good idea to let this happen—"
My eyes shut in frustration. How do I tell him about Spike without breaking his heart? "Duncan, Immortal's don't have a patent on immortality," I whispered to him, deciding to go with a half-truth now—knowing that I would have to finally tell him about my life—pre-Immortality.
His eyes widened as he looked over my shoulder. I suddenly could feel the tension rolling off him.
It hit me. He knew.
"Vampire…" Mac whispered so quietly that I barely heard him. I whipped around to see Spike, still leaning against the wall—the perfect picture of casual indifference—human face and all—smoking a cigarette.
But I knew better—I'd seen that look in his eye before. He heard Mac and was ready to fight for his right to be with me.
I groaned, shaking my head. "You knew?" I asked Mac as I stepped away from him. Better to deal with one Alpha male at a time. "Did you know about me? My life—before?"
His eyebrow's creased as he turned his attention to me. "What are you talking about, Willow?
"The Slayer was my best friend. Do you know what a slayer is? If you know what a vampire is—you're bound to've heard of the slayer!"
Shock filled his features as he covered his eyes with his hand. "No, I had no idea," he said as his hand dropped from his face. He frowned, once again glaring at Spike. "Then why the hell are you talking to him? You know what they are—creatures that live on the innocent—"
"Stop it! Of course I know what and whom Spike is!" I chuckled as I walked back to him and grabbed his hand. His cool pale fingers clutched mine as he lifted it up and kissed my knuckles. "I should know—he tried to kill me a few times. But then, so did I. That's what Slayers and vampires do—try to kill each other."
"Until things change," Spike muttered as his roped an arm around my waist and pulled me back with him as he fell back against the wall. He turned to Mac and sighed—another sight I thought I'd never see from Spike.
Mac walked over to us, noting Spike's possessive hold of my waist as he held me against his chest and nodded. "Go on—what changed?"
A cold bitter laugh rang out of the vampire's lips. "I teamed up with the slayer to save the world and fucked up the rest of my unlife! Suddenly every demon on the face of the Earth knew of my betrayal and it was just a matter of time until I fit in a dustbuster. Bloody idiot demons—why would anyone with an ounce of sense want to suck Earth into Hell? Kill all the humans—no bloody food for us. Suddenly we're no longer the feared—just peons in the echelons of Hell. I like it here—I like humans! They do great things and they taste good too! Computers, movies, books, music—why end it all?" He stopped, his eyes taking on a far-off quality as his hold on me tightened. He was remembering.
"And then, occasionally you meet up with a group of youngsters that have more courage and more bloody balls than anyone—human or demon alike—than I've seen in over 200 years and I find myself actually caring if they live. Bloody embarrassing—considering I don't have a soul and all."
Mac looked down at me in awe as if gauging my reaction to Spike's confession. It hadn't phased me—I had already heard it all before. I took a deep breath. "He was 'encouraged' to help us when we lost a couple members of our group—one being a vampire with a soul and coincidentally, Spike's sire, and so he did. For how long, Spike?"
The vampire chuckled softly. "Until the Council forcefully retired the Slayer—that was last year. Since then, I've been helping out Whistler."
"Who's Whistler?"
Would we ever get out of here? I asked myself. "A demon, but one that isn't evil." I bit my bottom lip and sighed. "Mac, can I talk to you later about this? Please?"
He shook his head and groaned. "All right. Call me in the morning, okay?"
I nodded as I stepped up and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you," I whispered as I fell back against Spike.
He gave Spike one more glare and left, disappearing into the night.
He'd barely turned the corner when I felt Spike's cool lips suckling on my neck as hand pressed me against his hard body.
I think my legs turned to jello.
~~~Immortality IV: Sweet Pain, Sweet Fear~~~
Spike
She was right. It must've have something to do with the islands—all that self-righteous peacocking was enough to drive a regular bloke off the bend—that is if I was a regular bloke.
But me being a demon and having lots of practice of tuning out the diddles of morality with my sire, I easily let it go and instead found myself answering the call of my blood—starting with her neck.
It was just so damned enticing. Her skin was so soft to the touch that I just had to touch it—with my fingers and lips. And her scent! A wonderful combination of lilacs and strawberries that just increased my desire for her.
He hadn't even turned the corner before I found myself enjoying the sweet taste of her salty, hot skin as her pulse throbbed invitingly against my tongue.
Pulling her against me—my erection hard against her buttocks—I growled in her skin.
Gods, I wanted her now.
Small whimpers escaped her lips as she sagged against my arms. Grinning, I felt my fangs elongate and scraped them against her skin, careful not to break any skin, but clearly letting her know my intentions.
"Spike…" she moaned out my name as she lifted her arms and hooked them behind my neck—leaving her body open to my pursuit. "…apartment…a mile from here…"
"Hmm, pet?" I asked as I dropped one down and cupped her sex through her jeans as the other moved upwards and teased her hard nipples that were visible through shirt. Feeling like the demon I was, I slowly unzipped her jeans and managed to squirm a finger underneath her underwear to her hot, wet cunt. She moaned, squirming against me. "Like that, pet? Want more?"
"Yeessss," she whispered breathlessly. "Apartment now!"
Chuckling, I withdrew my hand and zipped up her pants and then smoothed down the front of her shirt. Kissing her once more on the neck, I gently pushed her back and grabbed her coat off the ground where she had dropped it so carelessly minutes before.
It wasn't until it was in my hands, did I realize it was much heavier than a trench coat should be. Something was in it—weighing it down. Curious, I opened it and nearly dropped it when I saw what looked like a sword in a handmade sheath sewn in the inside of the cloth. I looked up at her to see her watching me—fear and apprehension apparent on her face.
"Willow, what's this?" I asked as I pulled the weapon out of its holder. A small, lightweight sword came into view. It reminded me of the one that the Slayer used to fight Angelus with during the time of Acathla, right before she sent the prick to hell. I carefully touched the edge and was surprised to feel how sharp it was. It also appeared to be as deadly as hers was as well.
She took a deep breath, her eyes clouded with pain and shrugged. "Vampires have slayers and Immortals have other Immortals," she whispered as she held out her hand for her weapon. Reluctantly, I gave it back to her and watched as she held it with ease and familiarity as she waited for her coat.
Passing it over to her, I knew that this—not just the Immortality—was the reason for the pain in her eyes.
And I wanted to know why.
~~~
Willow
Spike always seemed to bring out a whole myriad of emotions in me. When he kidnapped Xander and I for that love spell, and he buried his head in the crook of my neck, I found myself wanting him, fearing him, hating him and standing up to him all at the same time.
Apparently, not much has changed in nine years.
One minute, he played my body as if it were a fine instrument, making me putty in his arms and nearly coming from the experience…
…And the next, I felt all my defenses raise and I was just seconds from walking away from him…forever.
All because of fear.
Not the same type of fear that plagued my life those last five years living on the Hellmouth, but the other kind—one that I was on a much more intimate basis with—the fear of rejection.
Earlier, I had told Spike that I left Sunnydale without a word because of my Immortality and how all my dreams died with my First Death. As I stood there, watching him wait for me to explain why I carry around an antique sword in my coat, I realized that wasn't the whole truth.
Before Buffy came to Sunnydale, I had two friends: Jesse and Xander. The same friends that I had most of my life. They knew me as shy, meek, loving Willow: the smart one, the gentle one, the caring one. And with Buffy's arrival and friendship, not much of that label changed—just a few more titles got added on to my persona: the witch girl, the watcher-in-training girl. But those first descriptions remained with me until my First Death. With the exception of my anger and resentment towards Faith, nothing I ever did change that fact.
The Willow of Sunnydale barely had the heart to dust vampires much less kill anyone with a soul.
And I condemned Faith for doing just that, when it was apparent that her killing the mayor's assistant was just a horrible mistake.
But now, here I was seven years older and now a killer.
I had the blood of ten Immortal's on my hands—
And that sword was representative of everything I despised about Immortality.
It made me into a killer.
And goddess, I hated it and had yet to come to terms with it and here was Spike standing in front of me—demanding an answer.
Spike, who only knew of the kind and gentle Willow of the Hellmouth; not me—the killer.
"Pet?"
My eyes shut as I heard the ten heads fall to the ground in my mind.
I took a deep breath and looked up at him. His pale chiseled face now sodden with both impatience and worry.
He, William the Bloody, a killer long before becoming a demon—and yet a demon that could love like few others of his kind could.
Would he understand?
The logical, intellectual part of me knew he would, but my heart was filled with such doubt. That old adage, 'how can anyone love you if you can't love yourself' flittered through my mind and found myself inwardly laughing at the absurdity of it all—worrying if a demon could accept a killer—and wondered if I'd ever find my voice again…
~~~Immortality V: The Truth Hurts~~~
Spike
"Immortality is so much more than living forever. Nothing's ever for free, Spike. I'm sure you know that. You made the trade—eternal youth for your soul. Me? I didn't get a choice," she whispered as she stared down the alley at nothing. "Immortals are born foundlings. No one knows where they come from or how they came to be, but they've been around for at least 5000 years, if not longer. Once an Immortal 'dies' the first time, their immortality is triggered. From that point on, they don't age, get sick or stay hurt for any length of time. Matter-of-fact, I probably heal faster than you do. The only way Immortals can die is by beheading." She stopped and laughed—her voice cold and harsh with cynicism. "Which wouldn't be such a big deal—I mean how many beheadings do you really hear about? But Immortals can't just let it be—they can sense on one another—different, but like a slayers senses vampires—and this all good and well, because it helps you hunt one another.
"You see—our life-force, not unlike a vampire's demon or a human's soul and blood—can be transferred to another Immortal if they're the ones that do the beheading. It's called a Quickening and within that Quickening lies not only your Quickening, but also every other Immortal's Quickenings that you've killed. And you can't just say—I don't want to fight, because headhunters don't care what you want or don't want. They want your Quickening, because sometime soon, no more Immortals will be born and the winner—or the one that has all the Quickenings of every Immortal born—will win the Prize."
After taking the last hit off my cigarette, I tossed it aside and inwardly sighed. "What prize, love?"
Her laughter bounced off the brick walls of the alley as she turned and faced me. I sucked in an unneeded breath when I saw the manic light reflected off her eyes. "That's the best thing, Spike. No one knows for sure. We just run around cutting one another's heads off—not even knowing for sure if there's going to be a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Hell, it could just as well be madness, with all those personalities scrambling for dominance in your mind and heart. Or it may be the ultimate loneliness, because all of your kind is gone—just leaving a lone Immortal to live out an eternity with no one to share it with. But, legend, make sure you understand I'm stressing the word 'legend'—has it that the winner will not only gain mortality, but the ability to have children and to hear and feel every human's thoughts and feelings in the world. And with that power, he or she could rule the world—either with darkness or with honor."
"Is there any way to avoid the Game?"
She nodded. "There are rules. Holy Ground is sanctuary. It doesn't matter what religion—as along as it's holy. No one that is still alive has dared to break that rule. Rumor has it the last time Immortals fought on Holy Ground, Mt. Vesuvius went up in a plume of smoke. Also, Immortals have to fight one on one. No ganging up—it's not honorable. But other than that, anything goes."
I knew now where that darkness in her eyes came from. "How many Willow?"
Tears flooded her eyes as her chest heaved. "Ten, Spike. Ten…"
I did the only thing I could do; I took her in my arms and held her as she cried for the lost innocence of her soul.
~~~
Willow
Even though I knew somewhere inside of me, that he, like Angel, would accept this, to feel his arms around me—holding me, comforting me as I sobbed my eyes out—gave me the absolution I so needed.
Mac never understood why this bothered me so much. Oh sure, he thought he did. He compared my feelings about this to his distaste of killing mortals. Although similar, they were nothing alike.
How could I explain to him that it was much more than just fight or die kind of situation? Before I became Immortal, I faced death countless times and managed to only dust a handful of vampires—despite five years of being a demon hunter.
Five at the most. And they were demons—and yet, late at night, I would lay in bed and think of Jesse and Angel and wonder if I had just killed a possible life or soul. It tore at me—enough so, that at the end, I chose to concentrate my talents in the magic and research areas—desperately trying to remain outside of the fighting.
That's the irony of my first death. I was walking home with Spike and Oz. Oz's van was in the shop and Spike rarely drove his car around town, so after a relaxing evening at the Bronze, Spike was escorting us back to Oz's dorm room—where I had practically moved in to, when we were ambushed. To this day, I don't know why, but I do know, it was that night, that I slayed my fifth vampire. And the possible sixth, yanked the stake out of my hand and in a blink of an eye, had staked me.
I didn't even have a chance to cry out.
The last thing I heard was Oz howling into the night, tears running freely down his face as he held my head in his lap.
The last thing I saw was the light in Spike's eyes, go out.
Sometimes, late at night, I wonder if my punishment for going against my soul was Immortality—because for me, killing another being is just as damning as selling my soul to a demon.
~~~Immortality VI:Confession's Good for the Soul~~~
Spike
I'm not sure how long we stood there—my arms wrapped around her small, shaking body, but after her sobs had died down to small sniffles, I pulled back and looked down at her wet face.
She lifted her head to meet my gaze.
The first thing I noticed was her eyes. Although they probably would never reflect that innocent wonder I had so long associated with her, I could've sworn I saw a sparkle of life in them.
Is that all it took? What did those bloody fools do to her in the seven years that she was with them? Why in the hell didn't she ever find peace in all that time? And why did it take me, a soul-less demon to give her the solace she so desperately needed?
Brushing off her tears, I smiled down at her and felt her arms tighten their clasp around my waist. "Are you alright now, pet?"
She nibbled on her bottom lip and nodded. "I needed this," she said as her eyes shut against a new round of tears. She pulled an arm free and wiped her face with the back of her hand. "Only someone who knew me before could understand why this is so hard for me." She started chuckling softly. "And unfortunately, or maybe it's fortunately, you Spike represent my old life."
"It is kinda bloody ironic, isn't it, pet?" I commented as I kissed the top of her head. I felt her nod against my chest and suddenly I felt this need to take her away with me and hide her from all the horrors of her Immortal life.
It wasn't a secret that since Dru had left me nearly ten years before, I had been searching for someone to share my unlife with. Demons weren't known for committed relationships, but, once again, I wasn't like normal demons.
I wanted the companionship and love. I needed it. It was the only thing that made everything else worth while. Why go slaughter a bunch of innocents if you can't share the blood with someone?
Why live forever if you're going to be alone?
When I began to work with the Slayer and her friends, I found myself drawn to this little pixie I held in my arms. She possessed the same vulnerability and innocence that Dru had, but without the insanity that I had long ago grown weary of.
When I saw her die, I saw my hope die as well.
And now, I was holding that same hope in my arms, and in that moment, I decided I wasn't going to let her go this time.
She was stuck with me.
Whether she liked it or not.
I pulled back a bit and smiled down at her. "Luv, let's get out of here. A dark, smelly alley is not where I want to spend the rest of the night with you," I whispered as I dipped my head down and kissed her hot cheek.
She nodded in agreement as a smile so beautiful that it nearly scorched me with its intensity, lit her face. She stepped back, reaching for me hand.
Hand in hand, together we left the alley.
~~~
Willow
One of things that I first admired, then loved about Spike, was how he loved. Maybe it was the demon in him. Demons, like most of Hell's beings, are creatures of extremes.
Even the ones like Whistler and Doyle.
I remember one night when Cordellia called, wanting me to look up something on the computer for her about a case they were working on, and something incredible happened. We ended up talking for hours. It's funny how she could forgive me once she was over a hundred miles from Xander and me. Or maybe it was the phone and our voices somehow precluded all pretenses and she was finally showing that part of her that I saw bits and pieces of when she and Xander were dating.
That night, we ended up sharing demon stories. She was bitching about Doyle and Angel and I was complaining about Anya and Spike.
Even though Anya was human, she had no soul—she was all demon—with 1200 years of experiences under her belt. And despite that—I found myself liking her. She was naive, but not. Innocent, but not. Brave, but not. A total contradiction and infuriating as all hell.
But the thing that Cordy and I learned that night was all four of these demons that were in close contact had similar qualities: obsessive, compulsive behavior. Angel's apparently incredibly neurotic about order and cleanliness. Doyle drank, ate, and gambled way too much. Anya, she would latch onto something and stick to it like glue. That first year—it was Xander.
Then it was computers. It went on and on and on.
And then there was Spike. Early on, he became me and Oz's protector. This meant, we couldn't seem to go anywhere without him. Oh sure, we tried ditching him a few times, but nearly every time, the hairs on the back of my neck would tickle and feeling of calmness would wash over me—and I knew, he was there—standing guard. Sometimes in addition to that, I would spot a glowing cigarette in the dark, or a flapping coat in the moonlight.
I never told Oz.
I don't think he would've taken it too well.
There were other things I noticed about him—his unwavering love for Dru—even now, I know a part of him loves her; his compulsive need to do a job well, even if he didn't want to do it to begin with.
That's why he and Buffy made such a good team. He was her perfect partner.
I guess the bigger question is, is he my perfect partner?
Although the rational, intellectual Willow is screaming to take it slow—use prudence in making the decision—don't let my hormones and innate loneliness provoke me into making my life into a worse mess than it already is…
But for the first time in seven years, I've decided to listen to my heart. It's been ignored, beaten into submission and ridiculed for way too long. And right now it's preparing to do a happy dance in the middle of my chest—to celebrate its re-emergence back into my life.
And you know what? It feels good. Maybe it wasn't just the killings that were wearing down my soul—maybe it was the coldness of my heart.
As I look down at our entwined fingers, I can't help but wonder if that isn't true.
I guess I'll find out.
The End
©1999 Lisa Y. Drexel