Weep Not Fair Lady
Willow stirred, her head ached. As she crept slowly towards consciousness the fuzzy –brain feeling began to dissipate and she remembered. She had almost escaped. If Drusilla hadn't chosen that exact moment to walk through the door she might have done it; she might have gotten away. Willow knew it hadn't been Drusilla's intention to stop her, Drusilla had been just as surprised to hit her in the face with the door as Willow had been to be hit. The door in the face had sent her stumbling backwards, she'd tripped over her own feet and crashed to the ground; her head colliding painfully with the wooden floor had knocked her out cold.
Buffy would never have found herself taken out by a door.
Giles; possibly.
Cordelia; probably
Xander; definitely.
She was absolutely useless. It was only by the grace of Buffy she had managed to survive so long. Floating a pencil was kinda neat, but it didn't really help anyone in the grand scheme of things. And now she'd been bested by a door.
Willow blinked slowly, her eyes drifting open. Spike's blue eyes stared down at her; his full lips forming a thin, intolerant line. That brought her to her sense and quickly. A mad Spike was not so much with the fun times. She realised there was a cloth on her forehead, cold and wet it was supposed to make her feel better but just felt icky on her skin. She peeled it off slowly, water dripped on her cheek. "It's too wet."
"That's all you 'ave to say to me?"
Actually she had a whole lot of stuff to say to him. Bunches and bunches of stuff to say to him. But Willow knew she would never give a voice to any of it. It was best not to. Spike was at his best when he wasn't being provoked or aggravated; and when he was, she would bear the brunt of it and Willow felt she'd just rather skip all that vampire posturing drama thank you very much.
When she remained infuriatingly silent, Spike touched his fingers to her forehead feeling for a lump or some bruising. Drusilla hadn't hit her very hard with the door, but Willow was human and therefore ridiculously fragile.
Every nerve ending in her body tingled reminding her, as if she needed reminding, just why she'd had to run in the first place. It wasn't just that she hated being locked up in two rooms all day every day away from her friends and her school and her life. It wasn't exactly that she was afraid of Spike and with him Angelus and Drusilla. Willow's need for escape went beyond all that, went deeper than that as much as she tried to distance herself from it; from Spike, it was there. It was always there, almost mocking her inability to fight it or change it or make it stop and go away.
It was there in the way they glared at each other across the chess board, each determined to walk away the victor, (she had never been competitive until she met Spike).
It was there in the way her eyes sought his to find him watching her intently as she was forced to adopt all manner of uncomfortable poses for Angelus' portraits.
It was there in the way they sat before the fire, her head pillowed on his thigh as he read to her. He had such a nice voice, it burrowed away inside her until it became a living thing; part of her.
It was there in the way they watched old black and white movies together with a mug of hot chocolate with little marshmallow's melting on top. As much as he loved hot chocolate Spike left the last sip of his drink for her.
His hand dropped to cup her cheek, his thumb resting briefly at the corner of her mouth before moving slowly along her bottom lip. Back and forth. Back and forth. Not that she was super aware of it or anything.
"I think things need to be resolved between us."
Terror flared to life inside her. That was the very last thing Willow wanted. But there was no running away and Willow knew it. Even if she had succeeded in getting out of the building, of getting back to Buffy and Oz and her life, there would be no running away. For every second of every minute of every hour of every day she would always know. Every time she looked in the mirror she would know.
She couldn't run from herself; Willow knew, it wasn't as if she hadn't tried over the years. She felt for him. She felt something for Spike and it tore her up side. He was a vampire. An evil, soulless, killer and she felt something for him. What did that say about her? What sort of person was she?
Their gazes caught and held. Spike couldn't hide the look of longing and she couldn't seem to turn away. The candlelight caught the tears in her eyes but Spike smiled in spite of them. He knew the reason for the tears, could even understand it, although it pained him. Willow was so good and he was so bad; and he rejoiced in the evil deeds he inflicted upon the world. She had fought against creatures like him for a long time, and now she was feeling something towards him that wasn't hate, wasn't even close. It confused her in a lot of ways and he understood.
It had amused him at one point to watch Willow struggle with herself, pretending that being so close to him didn't set off a firestorm inside her, that he didn't make her nerves prickle with just the barest graze of his fingers across her hand.
Now he wanted it all. She was his for the taking in many ways, except the one he truly wanted. Her heart was still teasingly out of reach, but a little stretching on his part and Spike was sure it could be within his grasp.
His voice dropped to an intimate whisper that skimmed across her skin. "I know. Just as you know."
Willow's breath shivered and her heart stalled. Spike was going to kiss her. He hadn't, not yet, although there had been times when she thought he was going to and he just hadn't. It had not helped all these confusing feelings she had. She was the good one and she wanted the evil vampire and yet the evil vampire didn't seem to want her. It had hurt more than Willow cared to admit.
The muscles in his neck and jaw tensed. He was watching her with an intensity that darkened his eyes and made her heart race faster; she felt as though she were the prey he fully intended to devour.
There was a slow, irresistible pull that brought their lips together in a kiss that went straight to Willow's head. His lips were like velvet, his hands cradled her face. Willow sighed as he ran his tongue over her lower lip, teasing her mouth open, tilting her face to deepen the kiss. She twined her arms around his neck, pulling him down towards her, arching with pleasure under him as their tongues touched.
When he felt her chest expand and the tension in her body as her need to breathe became too much, Spike released her. The tears on her cheeks stung Spike; she could kiss him with such passion and yet still resist how she really felt. A stubborn, willful little thing she was.
Blotting the tears with his thumb he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "Soon you'll feel too good to weep, love."
Willow's eyes popped open and she stared up at him as he worked his arms beneath her, pulling her in close to his chest. "So good," he murmured peppering kisses across her face. "So good."
His lips touched hers again and even as Willow surrendered to the deliciousness of it all; another tear made its way out of the corner of her eye; for all that she had been, all that she was and all that she would be. Perhaps Spike had played the cruelest game of all with her. Willow wasn't above suspecting him even though she could do nothing to alter the outcome. She knew, just as Spike knew, after tonight there was no going back, she had tied herself to him of her own accord.
And he had let her.