Chronologically Incorrect

Disclaimer: Not mine, not me, not I etcetera.

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Spike/Willow, William/Willow.

Warnings: Anything evil you can think of, I believe... ooh, not incest though! Yay me.

Summary: A heartbroken Spike forces Willow to go back in time to prevent him coming to America in 1900, but true the typical Joss fashion, nothing goes as planned.

Chapters I to III

Part I

Willow, once again, tried to struggle against the ropes, but that only served to cut deeper into her skin and she grimaced. She looked around the room, flinching as the vampires, all in game face, grinned at her leeringly. She moved her gaze up to Spike, who was pacing and ranting, tears evident in his voice.

"The only chance you had with me was when I was unconscious, " he mimicked in falsetto, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his duster. "Stupid bitch, she really has no idea—"

"If you ask me, you're the stupid one for falling in love with a slayer, Spike, " one of the stupider vampires jeered. The others quieted and stood rock still. The vampire, realising his mistake, backed up with his hands held out in front of his chest. Without warning, Spike stalked over to him and ripped out his throat. Willow winced and looked away from the gruesome sight before the vamp turned to dust.

"That's master to you, mate." He looked down at the unmoving ash and smirked. "Only not so much for you any more." He directed his speech to the rest of the undead, "Anyone else wanna dish out another oh-so-funny, pain inducing insult?" Silence met his question. "I thought so."

He wandered over to Willow so he towered over her. He reached for the corner of the tape covering her mouth, she shook her head violently but he just smiled and tore it off. He yelled in unison with her cry, clutching at his head. "Damn this chip!" he roared, punching the wall. She tried muttering a simple untying knot spell through her chafed, red lips, but she was shocked to find the knots stayed just as tight and she whimpered in despair.

Spike gave her a lopsided grin. "You're looking a lot like someone who just got impaled by your own sword." He laughed at the thought. "The ropes: magically protected," he explained.

"What do you want with me, Spike?" Willow demanded, her voice quavering. "I-I mean, I thought you were good now. You help us and…"

"Help you!?" he shouted, rolling his eyes, "What is it with you people? All you bloody well do is put things in black and white, good and evil, yet none of you seem to be able to grasp the concept that I loathe you and everything you stand for!"

She blinked owlishly up at him.

"For the love of…" Spike pushed the heel of his palms into his temples and squeezed his eyes shut, "A spell," he spat abruptly, "I need a spell."

"Another l-love spell? I-I can do that…" she said hastily, her eyes darting from side to side.

"No, not a love spell, you daft harpy, a time travel spell," he said calmly. "I'm gonna go back, right? Stop me and Dru ever coming to the bloody U.S of A. S'where all my trouble started." He paced back and forwards, "Gonna finally get what's mine…"

There was a collective murmuring around the room.

"Did I ask you to speak?!" The talking stopped immediately and Spike turned to Willow, slamming his hands down on the armrests either side of her. "Listen witch, tell me now so I can save the pain and…well, pain of givin' you to the fellas. Can you do it?"

"I-I…" she swallowed, looking down. "Yes." He smiled, satisfied. She cleared her throat, "B-But it doesn't work with um, vampiric life forms… only humans can…"

"What?!" he yelled angrily, "You lied to me, you stupid…" He shook his head, gesturing to a large vampire in the corner, "You. Deal with her." It smiled evilly before advancing on Willow and smacking her hard across the jaw. She cried out and he raised his arm to do it again, but Spike held up his hand to stop him. "Enough. Why not?"

She swallowed back tears, "I-I don't know, vampires aren't really a part of time, they don't age and a-are technically dead…they c-can't penetrate it…"

He crouched in front of Willow, tilting up her quivering chin with his forefinger. She jerked her head away from him and he laughed. "Spirit. I like that." He grabbed her chin in a vice-like grip, all trace of humour gone. "Well what are we going to do then love? I'd hate to have to…"

"I'll do it," she whispered. "I-I can go back"

He grinned. "Why should I trust you? How do I know you won't," he waved his arms about elaborately, making her jump, "mojo yourself out of here, run get the slayer, hmmm?" Willow bit her lip thoughtfully, trying to ignore his calculating stare.

"A pendant, " she whispered.

"What?" Spike snapped in an irritated voice. She looked at him sharply.

"O-Or a necklace, a ring maybe. Some piece of jewellery, I can, " she paused, "bind myself, against all magic except for that spell. I need something th-that's easy to carry, to curse, " she finished. Spike regarded her blankly for a moment before his face broke into a huge smirk.

"Well done witch! You've successfully avoided pain, well, some of it anyway. Mike!" he summoned a particularly evil looking vampire. "Bring me the pendant of that necklace I have upstairs and my lighter, I have an idea. " He pointed to a group of five vamps. "You. Ask little Red what she needs for the time travel spell and the other binding spell, oh, and don't hesitate to knock her around a bit if she gets wordy. "

"And let the spell be done, " she finished, watching in mild interest as the pendant glowed gold for a few moments before turning back to normal in her palm. Spike nodded to the vamps that surrounded her, and they pounced. She let out a strangled cry as the wind was knocked out of her, struggling in vain as one took the piece of jewellery from her clenched fist.

"Get off me!" she yelled, watching in horror as the one who had taken the pendant was now wearing a pair of thick fire-proof gloves and holding it with a pair of pliers and using a lighter to heat it up.

"Now, love, " Spike tutted "I don't think you're in any place to be making demands. "

She rocked side to side uselessly, transfixed with the plain metal pendant that was now red hot and slightly smoking. "No, no, no, " she chanted, trying to search her mind for a spell, any spell, but she couldn't keep her mind, or her eyes, off the glowing piece of metal slowly being moved towards her.

They ripped the front of her shirt and all coyness was forgotten in favour of hot, searing pain as he pressed the metal in the centre of her chest. She arched up and screamed, ignoring the hand that pressed tightly over her mouth, just concentrating on the gloved thumb that pushed the heated metal deeper into her burning flesh. Her cries stopped because of her dry throat, but she still thrashed and moaned after the pushing had stopped. The pain was still fresh and tight in her chest, but they mad her sit up and she looked questioningly at Spike, who just smirked.

"Well, we didn't want you to lose it, did we?" A bolt of pain shot through her as she moved the still-fresh wound and she gasped, falling unconscious.

Willow reached across the bed to snuggle close to Tara, but she wasn't there. Her eyes flew open and she sat up, only to be faced with a very annoyed Spike.

"We are way off schedule, fainting was not part of the arrangement," he snapped childishly, moving across the room to get something. Willow began to get up angrily, but as the sheet slid off, she realised she wasn't wearing anything. She made a noise of shock and hugged the sheet around her for dear life, her face a deep crimson. She tried a clothing spell, but it didn't work and she growled in frustration.

Spike turned back to her, a folded pile of old-fashioned clothing in his arms and a sardonic smile on his face. "You're neutered too, remember?" he sang, as if delighting at the words as they rolled off his tongue. He set the clothes down on the edge of the bed. "I want you ready for the spell, and dressed, in ten minutes," he made his way out the door.

"Wait!" she cried, "dressed in what? Where am I going?"

He regarded her thoughtfully, "You talk too much for someone so breakable."

"Where am I going?" Willow demanded.

He sighed, "1900. Around about Christmas time. S'when Dru and I finally got rid our bloody sires. Good times," he finished wistfully, before smiling at her, "Your job is to stop us coming here."

"And how," she began incredulously, "do you propose I do that? Even with my powers, it's not like I'm going to talk two psychotics out of coming here. But without, you're just gonna throw me at the mercy of…"

He used his pesky vampire speed to launch himself forward and grasp her neck, she gasped at the pressure that wasn't quite painful and Spike's left eye twitched, "Like I said," he muttered carefully, "you talk too much."

He straightened and dusted off his sleeves, "I'm sure you'll work something out. You're smart, right? That's gotta count for something."

"Why?" she whispered weakly as he actually began to leave, "What's the point Spike? What if it doesn't work?"

He threw a grin at her, "Think of it this way. If it works, you'll never have to see me again, and if it doesn't well… it'll still be a right laugh, won't it?"

"Ready, my Edwardian love?" Spike asked gleefully, eyeing the witch who was kneeled in the pentangle of salt, wearing a large dress that spread yards of white material around her. She held a slender finger to her pouted lips in a 'be quiet' gesture as she lit each candle with a match, mumbling a Latin word as the wick caught fire.

She turned dark eyes to his. "Yes."

He stood back as she began to chant the words of the spell she memorised.

"Abandon laws of space and time, " she sprinkled some foul smelling herb on each candle, they flickered but they didn't go out. Spike watched in awe as she continued. "Bring me to the date I seek to find, and as I quote the verse of three, drag me there…and mote it be…Abrogo…Fidius…fluctuatio…Abrogo…Fidius…fluctuatio…

Abrogo…Fidius…Fluctuatio!"

Willow resisted screaming but she gasped as the world swirled around her. She raised her arms, her now black eyes turning to the sky. "So mote it be." Willow repeated in a louder voice.

She cried out as the world was pulled out from under her and she fell through what felt like a huge gaping hole in the earth. Unable to stop herself now, she screamed, long and loud. Her lungs felt like they were about to explode but she kept screaming. The high-pitched sound of terror was lost in the swirling mass of colour and light, echoing around her as if a million voices were using that exact scream at once. Finally, the scenery became organised into what looked like an empty warehouse.

She didn't have long to study it, however, because her body landed heavily with an echoing 'thump' on an unfamiliar dusty floor. The fine dirt clouded around her and she coughed. Willow sat up, blinking as inky blackness deprived her of sight momentarily. It looked more like barn, now, more than a warehouse. There were old stacks of hay, spread erratically on the floor, but the boarded-up windows and musky scent caused Willow to suspect that it has been unused for quite some time. She made her way to a haystack to rest momentarily and winced as she sat.

"Maybe I shouldn't have asked it to drag me there. Here," she added correctively, now beginning to wonder if here was actually where she had wanted to go. The interior of the barn proved nothing, so she stood up even though her body made numerous protests. Willow shuffled awkwardly towards what she thought was the way out, stumbling painfully over the long dress and lace up boots that she was not yet used to. She made a move to casually open the door, when she realised it was locked, she tried a more violent approach

"Waaaaargh!" She had moved back a few meters and was now hobbling as fast as her half-dead buttocks and numb legs could carry her. Sadly, that was not fast enough and she bounced off the surprisingly solid wooden door, landing flat on her back. She gasped for air and sat up with a new resolve, determined more than ever to get through the door that was now her new worst enemy. Ten minutes later, Willow sat with her back against the door and panted, occasionally banging it with her sore fist.

'I must look a mess,' she thought, wiping away strands of sweat-soaked hair from her face. She bit her lip, trying not to cry. 'It won't help,' she reminded herself, cursing the lone tear that made it's way down her cheek. Willow wiped it away stubbornly and punched the door one last time for good measure, when her ears, now more attuned because of the silence, picked up a rustling noise outside. She pressed the side of her head to the warm wood and listened hard.

"Woman of darkness, your beauty is…no, no, no…Maiden of-of sunlight!" The voice cleared his throat. "Maiden of sunlight, your beauty is…effulgent."

Despite her predicament, Willow let out a snort of laughter. She heard the footsteps stop and she strained to hear something.

"H-Hello?" The voice said timidly. "I have…a quill! A very sharp quill, and you shall fear your life if you come closer!"

She rolled her eyes before banging on the door, she heard a startled 'Oh my.'

She was about to yell out, tell him to get her to get the hell out of here when Spike's voice ran through her head. "Remember to talk good and proper," he had reminded her. "I don't want you burned at the stake before you get a chance to do your job".

"Begging your pardon, sir," Willow said in her best early twentieth century English voice, surprised she could pull it off so easily. "But I appear to be…uh, stuck in this…barn." She kept trying to think of other old-fashioned words to describe her situation, but came up empty.

"Can you get out?" He asked nervously.

"If I were able to get out, do you not think I might have already?" She snapped, biting her lip in instant regret.

"Quite," he mumbled. "Stand back ma'am, I'm going to…er…open the door."

"Thank you kindly," she breathed, getting up as quickly as she could. It wasn't quick enough, the man kicked in the door with relative ease, but it made contact with her forehead and she fell backwards. When she landed, her head hit the floor with a thump and she saw spots.

"Ma'am? I am profoundly sorry!" He stuttered, running up to kneel beside her.

She studied his face and frowned in recognition. "Spike," she murmured, before promptly passing out.

Part II

She heard mumbling soft in her ears, she couldn't understand a word being said but it aroused her from her deep slumber.

"Tara, honey, could you take the phone somewhere else? I'm trying to—"

"Ma'am?"

Her eyes snapped open and she looked in the direction of the voice. He was standing with an older woman, while he was staring at her with some contempt, the woman smiled and looked at the confused girl fondly.

"Hello," Willow said uncertainly "Where am I?" She looked at both their faces for an answer, and her gaze rested on the gentleman's. Willow knew she had seen him somewhere before, but she just couldn't place him.

"Madam…" he said stoutly, adjusting his glasses and making her feel like she was just about to get Wesley'd to death.

The woman waved her hand in his general direction, "Ignore William. He's in one of his moods."

Willow smiled, liking the old woman instantly. She looked at William… Where had she heard that name before?…'Oh my god' she thought to herself, studying his curly brown hair 'William the Bloody! That's Spike!' Willow felt a cold rush of fear then a sudden insane urge to laugh. He was such a…snob! God, if she got out of this alive, she was going make his life a living hell…after she set Buffy on him, of course. Oh gods, is he a vampire? Yup, there's that cold fear again.

"I could easily have you replaced, Marie, there are plenty of—" Erm, vampire slaves?

"Oh hush!" she said playfully, then she added in a dramatic voice. "Alas, not a day goes by without at least one threat regarding my job!" she ruffled his hair and Willow suppressed a giggle at his look of indignation, then his reluctant smile.

"Perhaps if you did not act so unconventionally—"

"Stop using such big words, I'm a maid, for goodness sake! Now," she turned back to Willow and began walking towards her slowly, as if she were afraid she might run away. "Dear, you've had us all in a bit of a tizzy, William said he found you—"

"Ha!" Willow covered her mouth with her hand. It probably wasn't appropriate to make sudden noises of mirth, but Marie chuckled understandingly. Okay, he found her. It was daylight. He wasn't a vampire. But that meant…

"I knew he was fibbing!" she said triumphantly "William was never the 'knight in shining armour' type"

"Oh no, no, no" she amended, snapping out of her daze. "He did find me but…"

"Yes?" Marie said eagerly, "What happened?"

Her mouth twisted in a smirk and she directed it at William "Do you mean before, or after he threatened to impale me on his quill and knocked me unconscious?"

She clapped her hands in glee "Oh William!" she said in mock disapproval "You really are a lady killer!" They both shared a laugh at that, and Willow clutched at her head as it began to pound. Marie immediately pushed her shoulders down gently so she was lying back again.

"How stupid of me! Lie down…er, what is your name dear?" Marie asked, tucking the quilt around her frame while watching her curiously.

"Willow," she breathed, a sudden rush of fatigue making her eyes drift shut, "the Bloody," she finished without thinking. She fell asleep; unaware of the worried glances the two other people in room were sharing.

There was no confusion when she woke up this time, she knew exactly where she was. 'But not when' she added mentally, looking gloomily around the well-furnished room. She made a noise of anger and swung her feet around so they landed flat on the cold floor, determined to get around Spike and his thorough…thoroughness! She looked down and realised she was only in her underwear, which was pretty much a camisole, a pair of baggy linen pants, and a few petticoats.

Her hand glided tentatively over the front of her chest, and she located the cool metal of the pendant still securely buried in her skin. It still stung and she bit her lip as she tried to pick it out, but electrifying pain webbed out over her torso and she whimpered, and then her face crumpled and her whimper became a sob. She buried her face in her hands and cried, hot tears dripped through her fingers and she winced as her fingers brushed a fresh bruise, and that just made her cry harder.

God, she had never felt so alone and helpless in her entire life. She wasn't just lost on the other side of the world; she was lost in a completely different time frame. No one would notice she was gone, and if she didn't succeed she'd either be killed, tortured, or worse, stuck in this stupid time, never aging, just living for pooping ever. She didn't even know what time it was! All she knew was that Spike was human, and that already equalled screw-uppage.

"Why are you crying?" a voice asked curiously.

She looked up quickly. Her vision a little blurred from tears, she wiped them away.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped, embarrassed to be caught crying.

William shifted the tray in his arms uncomfortably, he wasn't used to see women openly display their emotions in front of him, and he just didn't know how to react.

"I-I brought you some…food," he said, asking silent permission. They both heard her stomach rumble in the silence, she nodded and he made his way over.

"Here you go," he said, setting it gently on her lap.

"Thanks," she said half-gratefully, half-apologetic for her earlier behaviour.

His mouth twitched in an almost smile and suddenly, his face grew a deep crimson and he turned away "I'm s-so terribly sorry, I-I didn't r-r-realise, I-I-I-I-"

'Aw, Spike had a stammer,' Willow found herself thinking. "What's wrong?" she asked aloud.

He began nervously edging his way to the door, looking at anything but her. "You-You're n-not wearing…" he trailed off, his ears a bright pink.

She almost laughed at his pre-adolescent behaviour, but she kept her mouth shut, not trusting herself to not laugh. "I-I'll just leave you t-to your, er," he stopped moving and addressed the door "D-Do you need anything?"

"Actually, I—" but she was interrupted by the slamming door. "Don't need anything, but thanks for asking." She finished softly, beginning to eat her meal.

"Here you are, love." Marie said cheerily, handing her a green dress not unlike her own "We don't want you wandering around in your undergarments now, do we?" she chuckled, as if the whole idea was completely absurd.

"Thanks Marie." Willow smiled, holding out the dress and admiring it.

"Don't worry." She replied kindly, moving forward to unlace Willow's camisole.

Willow jumped back and Marie looked shocked "Sorry," she blushed, "I just usually do this thing myself."

Marie smiled understandingly but there was an awkward silence that now hung over them. Willow, who felt extremely guilty, tried to break it.

"Whose dress is this?" Marie turned around obediently as she removed her older underwear and put on the clean set the maid had given her.

"Oh, it's Chloe's. William's sister." She added in explanation. Willow tugged the dress over her head, the green satiny material was a little too tight, but not uncomfortably so.

"Oh, won't she mind me borrowing it?" Willow asked distractedly, twirling around in front of the mirror so material flowed around her.

Marie turned around, a sad smile on her face "Miss Sheldon…she's passed away."

Willow spun, a faint blush on her cheeks and a guilty frown on her mouth "I-I'm sorry."

The maid made a 'pfft' gesture with her hand. "Don't worry, dear, you didn't know."

Willow still felt bad. "Was it very recent?"

"No, it was when William was around eight, if I remember correctly." She said thoughtfully, pulling out a white towel from her hamper and folding it.

Willow's eyes widened, poor Spike, to have his sister torn away from him at such a young age…no, not poor Spike! Mean Spike!

"How did it happen?" she asked sympathetically.

Marie sighed, folding another towel as she talked "Bronchitis. I was there the whole time, her parents were going frantic, and William was oblivious, of course. Came such a shock to him when she died, although, it was probably for the best." She looked pained. "Her shoulder blades were like coat hangers, she could barely stand up. Coughing all hours of the night…" she put a hand to her chest and sat on a nearby chair, her breathing a little laboured.

Willow rushed to her side "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean t-to—"

Marie smiled a real smile. "Don't fret about little old me, I was just very close to her." She smiled faintly "When she was younger, William was only a baby but she was about…five, I think. She never looked at me as if I were a maid, Chloe didn't have many friends because…I don't know why, she was a very pleasant girl. But she always helped out, made cookies with me, helped look after William. I remember this one time—"

Willow listened patiently as she prattled on, smiling ever so slightly when the old woman giggled like a schoolgirl. Suddenly, a clock struck one somewhere in the house and both ladies jumped in surprise.

"Is that the time?" Willow said, standing up and dusting imaginary dirt off the front of her dress. "I really should be going, I need to find a job, a place to live—"

She was cut off by the woman's laughter. "Nonsense! You're staying here."

Willow's brows furrowed in confusion. "B-But, Spi-William…he—"

"He insisted on it." Marie informed her, also rising to her feet.

"But I thought…"

She smiled faintly, already knowing what she was thinking. "He's a very fickle one, our Will, but I'll say one thing: he's as chivalrous as they come. Even if he hated a woman, he would not say it or even indicate in any way that that was his opinion."

"So he hates me," she said grimly, strangely saddened by the news.

"Of course not, dear, he just finds you a tad different…you're not what he's used to."

Willow grew indignant, "Stuffy snob!" she exclaimed, "Doesn't even know me and he's labelling me!"

Marie laughed, "Well," she quietened her voice to a whisper, "He did walk in on you in your…underthings." She finished with a giggle.

Willow rolled her eyes, turning her back on the maid; "I suppose so. Could you lace me up please? The strings are making me itchy." Willow tucked her arm underneath her hair and held it up, making sure each strand was out of the woman's way.

Without a word, Marie tugged hard at the base of the laces and Willow yelped. "Look, I'm sorry, but you don't have to—"

"What?" the maid asked, confused. "I'm just lacing you up. Is there a problem?"

Willow was glad the woman couldn't see her blush. "No, nothing…it's just a little tight."

"Well that 's how it's supposed to be, Willow. Heavens, you're acting as if you've never worn a dress before!" she laughed, not noticing Willow flinch as she tugged the laces harder.

"Yes," she muttered, reaching out to grip the wall. "How silly of me."

After what seemed like hours, Marie tied a special knot at the base of Willow's skull and Willow let her hair fall back.

"Turn around and let me look at you," she said, twirling her finger in a circle.

Willow turned to face her and she gasped, covering her hand with her mouth. The dress was a deep bottle green, tight around the bodice but long and flowing from the waist down. The colour matched her hair and eyes perfectly, also complimenting her pale skin. The dress was quite plain in its design, but it flattered the young girl very much.

"You look beautiful," the Marie said, sounding a little jealous. Willow looked down at herself, blushing at the forced cleavage below her chin, before meeting the woman's eyes once more. "Really?" she asked doubtfully.

The woman nodded, all negative emotion gone from her face, "Quite. It suits you, Chloe had red hair too, but she had blue eyes."

"Like William's?" Willow asked, hands running over the material that was smooth to touch.

Marie looked at her strangely. "Yes. Like William's."

Willow smiled, "What is there to do around here? I feel like I shall die from boredom if I don't leave this room soon!" The maid smiled understandingly.

"Well, I have work to do so I can't show you around…Master Whitam send when you recovered you could do anything you wished."

"Who?"

"William. I know, it's strange thinking him as a master of anything, isn't it?" she chuckled. Willow laughed, trying not to sound knowing.

"Indeed. Um, for curiosity's sake, what is the date today?"

Marie blinked. "Why, it's November 17th, 1875. If you do not mind, I really must be—"

Willow felt faint, "Yes-Yes, of course, you should go."

The maid left quickly, shutting the door gently behind her. Willow sunk down onto the bed, her breathing shallow. 'I'm early,' she thought numbly before grabbing a pillow from beside her and giving the bed a fairly good thrashing. "I'm almost fifty years early, for god's sake! Why can't I ever get anything right?" A frustrated sound emerged from her throat and she threw the pillow to the floor before stilling.

'Okay, there's got to be a way around this. I can do something. There's gotta be a reason why I came to this part of time. I distinctly remember thinking '1922'. What can I do?'

"No more crying, that's what," she said resolutely to herself, ignoring the tears as they slid down her cheeks.

Part III

Willow made sure her face was free from any tear-tracks before she gamely ventured out into the long hallway. She had scowled at the mirror which had shown red, puffy, slightly bloodshot eyes, a prominent bruise on each cheek, and a small cut on her temple. But sadly, concealer hadn't been invented yet, and the only thing in the way of make-up was useless powdery stuff, which, if applied incorrectly as she had done, made you look like a hooker. Or Cordelia, B.X (Before Xander. Duh!)

The hallway was wide and brightly lit, contrasting sharply with the dull and dark room she had just stepped out of. Willow closed the door gently, but it didn't sound gentle enough and she winced at the seemingly loud 'click'. It was elegantly decorated, but she could see repetitive examples where masculine and feminine tastes clashed.

The floor was made of a dark mahogany wood, but the homeliness of it didn't prevent the cold temperature that radiated off, chilling her feet to numbness. She stopped occasionally to admire a painting or a piece of artwork: all completely pretentious, of course, and she doubted the Sheldons had any idea of their technical merits or their symbolic meanings and just bought them to compliment their extravagant décor.

She was surprised when one branched off hallway didn't lead to another elusive and threatening looking door, but a pair of white double doors with rectangular clouded glass letting in rays of inviting sunlight. Willlow bit her lip in indecision, arguing mentally whether or not she should leave the house. But the, she felt a streak of defiance run through her, her chin jutted out and she strode to the door purposefully. 'Just because he gave me permission to stay here, doesn't mean I have to stay in my room! I can come and go as I please.' She thought huffily, suddenly resentful towards him for no good reason. "Besides the whole 'kidnapping, torturing, and sending-back-in-time-away-from-my-friends' thing. I'd say that was a pretty good reason." Willow said sarcastically, reaching for the brass door handle and adding mentally, 'But this is William, not Spike. Jeez, Willow, stop being so—'

Her train of though cut short at the sight of the Sheldon's garden, she was shocked at how much warmer (figuratively speaking) it was outside rather than in, even though it was snowing gently. The light pieces of ice fell slowly to the ground already a few inches thick with the pure substance. Small hints of green were evident in odd patches over the verge of grass and on some of the leaves of the unrecognisable trees. A hobbled, nearly all hidden, pathway lead to a quaint little wooden gate, which then lead to a long stretch of road which failed to interest her.

A gust of wind blew and Willow shivered, but she didn't have the discipline to just shut the door and go back to the lonely room, so she foolishly stepped outside, bare foot, only vaguely considering trying to find her boots, and closed the door behind her. She once again admired the picturesque scenery, it's untouchability ruined but faint marks of upturned dirt and some fresh boot prints leading to what looked like a cream coloured greenhouse, minus the vegetables and, well, the green-ness.

Her curiosity got the better of her and she jumped off the sandstone step to follow the prints, gasping as her feet came in contact with the biting cold. The strides were a lot bigger than her own, so she had to leap to reach each one, whimpering each time her foot came in contact with the ice. Willow was so caught up in not missing a single print, she didn't realise the solid stone footpath surrounding the building was right in front of her. And her right foot, anticipating a long leap, slammed into the sharp edge. It took a moment for the pain to register, but by that time, she was face first on the snowy ground, which didn't seem so beautiful any more now her mouth was full of it. She hissed in pain, tears stinging the corner of her eyes. Willow struggled to sit up so she could inspect the injury, but the dress kept getting caught on something she couldn't see and she really didn't want to damage it, so she just lay there, wiggling around idiotically like a fish out of water.

"How come when ever I see you, you're never standing up?" she twisted her head to see him. The question wasn't made with the sarcastic voice and sexy-eyebrow quirk of Spike, but the genuine, almost childlike, curiosity of William. Her features darkened as she thought of Spike, and she glared at William who dared to resemble Spike in any way. He looked shocked at the gaze directed at him, but she refused to feel guilty.

"Well? Aren't you going to help me up?" she snapped. He seemed to literally jump out of his confused daze and, after mumbling something incoherent, he scooped her up in his arms. She unconsciously snuggled closer to his warm torso, forgetting her hatred of him in favour of the warmth that generated from his chest. His breathing hitched, but she didn't notice and rubbed her cold nose and cheek against the roughness of his coat.

He took her into the greenhouse-y thing, and she sighed at the surprising warmth that washed over her. But then she noticed the fireplace in the corner, "What an odd place to have a fireplace!" she thought.

"I agree. But most of our parties are held here, we need the warmth, especially in this weather." He explained.

"Oh," she blushed, not realising she had said that out loud. He set her down on the floor up against the wall, as there were no seats in the large area. And it was presumably where William had just been, judging by the quill, inkpot, and stacks of parchments. She made a move to pick one up, but he snatched the whole pile from her grasp. She made a noise of shock and he frowned, hugging the paper to him as though they contained some deep, dark secret he didn't want anyone else knowing.

"What is that?" she asked politely.

"Nothing…Poetry." He muttered, straightening up the pages askew in his arms.

Her curiosity was peaked. "May I read it?"

"No!" he said a little too loudly, "No…I-I it's not finished…t-the ink is still wet."

She almost laughed at the petty excuses, but hid that with a defiant frown, holding out her hand, "Come along, William, it has to be read at some point by another, why not your old friend Willow?" He missed the joke and his brow furrowed in confusion, she rolled her eyes, "Just give it here."

William held it a few inches out of reach, "The ink's still wet," he repeated quietly before allowing her to grab it from his hand. He sat down in front of her, knees drawn up to his chest and hugged to him in anticipation. He looked like a little kid, or a puppy, so eager to please and innocent, even though he was a grown man of twenty-one. She fought the urge to pat him on the head and her eyes turned to the pages in front of her.

"Your beauty—" she began, but he cut her off.

"Please don't read it aloud…I-I don't think I could bare it."

Willow nodded understandingly and her eyes skimmed over the words, forcing herself not to laugh at the sappy words that she read. He seemed to be more focused on rhyming than making any kind of sense, and he used a lot of unnecessary words in the stupidest places. But it had a lot of intense feelings in it towards someone, she had to give him that, the meaning was so clear she found herself frowning at how desperate his words sounded.

She lifted her eyes to his, not surprised to find him blushing. "These poems," she said bluntly, "They're about a girl?"

It was more of an observation than a question, but he nodded embarrassedly, "How did you know?"

"Dearest William," she drawled, "Your message is as clear as a spring morning." He crimsoned but she used his silence as an opportunity to ask whom the object of his desire was.

"Cecily…Cecily Addams," he whispered, his eyes wide with fear.

"What kind of woman deserves the affections of the illustrious William, I wonder?" she teased playfully, but he looked at her as if she had just asked why fish swim.

"But you have never seen such a woman! Her beauty could never be described with a quill and paper, her grace rivals that of a cat's, her mind is like a—"

"Yeah, yeah. I get it," she muttered. "She does not return your feelings?"

His animated face was suddenly cold, "No. I have never told her for my feelings, but I am sure she suspects…she chooses to ignore them." William's eyes were downcast and the sight tugged at her heart.

"William…may I be honest?"

He met her gaze, "Yes."

"You're poetry…it has a lot to be desired." He clenched his fists, looking away again. "But you have a lot of potential. There are so many untapped emotions in you, William, but you do not seek them out. You write from here," she pressed her finger to his temple, and his eyes flicked up to hers. "But you have to write from here." She then poked him in the chest over his heart.

"How do you know?" he said bitterly, with a slight touch of hope.

"I-I'm a poet myself." She figured the gods would forgive her for that one lie. She did major in poetry and English literature; she could quote poem after poem so she was in no danger of being discovered.

"What's your name?" he asked suddenly.

"Willow. I already told you."

He looked embarrassed again. "I mean…y-your last name…you s-said 'The Bloody' a-and I thought—"

"Oh, no!" She laughed nervously. "It's, er, Bloodeneen." Willow cursed herself for the choice, but he seemed to accept it.

"Bloodeneen. It suits you, your hair looks like…" he reached up to touch it, and for some reason, she was letting him. When his warm hand brushed her cheek, it hit a bruise and she flinched away.

He looked hurt for a moment before noticing the bruise. The muscle in his cheek stirred as he clenched his teeth together, "Do you have a lover?"

She blushed at the personal question, "Yes." Willow answered, thinking of Tara.

"Did he…hit you?" he asked. She stayed silent, unable to answer the question. He took her silence as an answer in the affirmative and his fists and jaw clenched so hard she thought he would explode in a shower of tense muscle. She smiled at his concern, thinking of how unlike Spike he was. But the thought of Spike made her demeanour immediately harden. She couldn't help it, the fact that his cheekbones were as pronounced, his eyes as blue, his frame as lean, only served to fuel her undeserved dislike of him.

She knew he only resembled Spike physically, but every time she found herself warming to his innocence, a jolt of electricity seemed to come from the cold metal embedded in her chest and warn her. William seemed to notice her change in how she acted and he pouted, but probably not intentionally, and she couldn't help grinning.

"You're wearing Chloe's dress." He said, studying her non-threateningly.

"Yes," she answered, looking down at herself and seeing the metallic glimmer between the hollow of her breasts that went completely unnoticed by William.

"It suits you." He sounded as if he were apologising, but that only made her feel guilty because technically he had done nothing wrong.

"Thank you." She replied, an apologetic note also in her tone.

He smiled slightly, "Can you walk?"

She returned the smile; "Yes…I think so."

William looked embarrassed again. "Will you teach me all you know…of the written word?" he asked shyly.

"Of course."