Disclaimer: See chapter 1.

PART 2

"I cannot believe you disregarded my orders," Giles said angrily. "You put Buffy's body in danger by being out there every night, Willow. What were you thinking?"

Willow looked around at the assembled people at the magic shop. Angel--the traitor--was leaning against the counter with a scowl. Every few minutes, his eyes would fall on Buffy, then shoot back to her.

Xander was frowning at Willow, concern etching itself into his features. Anya was behind the counter ignoring them all as she straightened various jars and items on the shelves. Buffy didn't look concerned in the slightest, in fact, she looked proud. Of Willow. Willow grinned at her, then cleared her throat and frowned again when Giles sighed.

"Uh, Rupert?" Spike said from his seat on the steps, "that was pretty callous." He grinned and leaned back on his elbows. "It was almost worthy of me."

Willow rolled her eyes, and stood up. "Giles. I'm being careful, and..." she tossed Angel a glare before straightening her shoulders. "Spike's been patrolling with me. He's also--"

"Wait. What?" Buffy exclaimed, jumping up from her seat. She grabbed Willow's shoulder and spun her around to face her. "You've been patrolling with *him* every night?" she asked hotly, hooking a thumb over her shoulder at the blonde vampire.

Xander groaned and stood up as well, joining the four of them in the middle of the room. "Will, what were you thinking?"

"Obviously, she wasn't," Giles added, rubbing his forehead tiredly.

"He's using you to get to Buffy." Xander glared at Spike, who was watching and listening from his perch on the steps. "Has he tried anything?"

Willow shoved away from them and paced a few feet away. "Guys," she said angrily. "Hello. I'm just as old as you two," she gestured to Buffy and Xander. "So stop treating me like a baby. I'm an experienced Wiccan, and woman. I can handle myself."

"Yes, but--" Giles began, but Willow cut him off.

"I know what I'm doing, and I know what he's doing." She sighed, tossing a glance at Spike, who was busy clenching his jaw angrily. She ignored him. "I'm not dead, Buffy's body is just fine, and I have no intention of getting killed. So just... back off." She grabbed her bag and stormed out, pausing at the door. "Thanks, Angel. I think this has been your best visit *ever*," she said sarcastically.

Heading down the street toward the nearest cemetery, Willow listened for footsteps behind her, knowing Spike wasn't far behind. He was always there. And she knew why. He was hanging around her because she had Buffy's body. It was his only chance to be around Buffy and not get beat up. But she enjoyed their time together. Patrol was boring without him. And they were sort of becoming friends. At least, she thought they were.

It angered her that they all thought so little of her. Did they actually think she would recklessly enter into a fight? Or that she didn't know Spike was copping cheap feels at every opportunity? She knew. She was a big girl, not the shy little witch they still thought she was. Though, to be honest, they didn't treat her like that. And she could understand their concern. For Buffy.

That's what ticked her off so much. Nobody seemed concerned for her. Just Buffy and her precious body. She knew they loved her and wanted her safe too, but they never, ever said so. They expressed concern for Buffy only.

According to them, Buffy had lost her body, her slaying powers, and abilities. Her life. Her purpose. Everything in Buffy's life was suudenly taken away from her, and now she had all this stored up magic in her and no outlet, so ooo, let's pity Buffy even more. But what about Willow? She was independant, always had been, kinda was forced to be with her parents, but sometimes she liked people to fuss over her. To express their concerns. To ask her how she was. To treat her like Buffy. And now that she was Buffy, they switched all their attentions to Willow. Willow's body. Nothing had changed, and she felt extremely whiny for even thinking all this stuff. But she couldn't help it. Maybe it was a Slayer thing.

She giggled at the thought. That was just plain mean. Buffy wasn't whiny. She was the bravest person Willow knew. And the best friend. And just an all around great person. She just sometimes got too much attention. And all the guys.

Willow shoved her traitorous thoughts aside as she entered the first cemetery. She felt a major tingling in her body, and headed to the left. Staying behind a crypt to see what she was up against, she counted five vampires and one demon. Great. Hurry up, Spike. She felt a tingling behind her, and knew Spike was there. She stood up and strolled into the clearing. All six demons turned to look at her.

"Hi," she said pleasantly, joining them. They all stared at her incredulously, and she couldn't hold back a grin. All five vampires vamped out and started toward her, while the demon hung back to watch. Willow shrugged, and dropped into a fighting stance. "So much for pleasantries and mockery."

The first vampire dove at her. She stepped aside and he went flying a few feet away to land on a headstone. Willow winced and turned back to the others.

"Next?"

Apparently these guys didn't like being made fun of, because they all attacked at once. Willow was doing good for a novice only two weeks on the job. She killed three and severely wounded one other. The demon still hadn't made a move. She staked the wounded vampire, and turned around to face the last one. He wasn't there. And neither was Spike. Where was Spike? She was sure she could handle this on her own now, but it would be nice if Spike let his presence be known. At least to her.

She turned in a circle searching for the last vampire and the yellow skinned demon... both were in front of her suddenly. She swung her fist at the vampire and hit his jaw. He reeled back, knocking into the demon. The demon grabbed her by the arms, picked her up, and threw her across the clearing. His snarl of satisfaction was almost drowned out by her groan. Pain shot through her shoulder and back, but she ignored it.

Kill or be killed, she thought, jumping to her feet again. Or rather, climbing slowly to her feet. The vampire growled, snaking a hand around her wrist. He yanked her to him, and held her still while he sank his fangs into her neck.

Buffy's neck. Oh, God, Buffy was going to kill her for dying in her body.

She had to get away. She brought her knee up, slamming it into the vampire's crotch, and shoved him away at the same time. He fell to the ground, holding himself and howling in pain. Willow staked him effortlessly, and turned to the demon.

He was backing away warily, but Willow wasn't about to let him go that easily. She ran over to him and jumped up, dropping to the ground with him. He struggled, and put up one hell of a fight, but she got him in the end. And his blood all over her, not to mention lots more bruises and cuts. Better stay away from Buffy and the gang for a day or so, she thought, just until I'm all healed.

She sat on a headstone with a sigh. Every inch of her was sore, and she felt like a giant walking bruise. Her shoulder and neck were the worst of it, but she would live. Thankfully. She stood up with a groan and headed... home? She couldn't go there, Buffy and Dawn would see her, and never let her out of the house again. Leaving Sunnydale without a Slayer. No, she couldn't go there. Her own house? The Rosenberg residence? Her parents were sure to think it strange if Buffy showed up on their doorstep and spent the night. Without Willow. So, that was out.

The Magic Box. After everyone left she could sneak in and sleep there, then leave tomorrow before anyone got there. If she had a key. Damn. Blood was trickling down her neck, and she wiped at it absently. Wait, blood. Vampire. Spike. No, Angel. No. Not Angel. Spike. Definitely Spike.

First she needed to leave a note at Buffy's house, and let her know that she wouldn't be home. She needed an excuse. Ugh. This is why she hated lying. There was so much involved. Tara. That's the only thing she could think of. Say she was staying at Tara's, for some time alone. Platonically. Otherwise Buffy would freak. Willow giggled as she headed to Buffy's house.

As soon as she got there, she used her key and crept upstairs, hoping to shower, change clothes, and leave again before Buffy and Dawn got home. She slipped into Joyce's room, which she'd taken as her own a few weeks ago. Grabbing some clothes and an overnight bag, she dashed into the bathroom and quickly showered. Afterwards, she dressed in her favorite Buffy clothes. Blue jean overalls and a t-shirt.

Buffy had that annoying, perfect hair that everyone had but her. Or so it seemed. The kind that didn't need to be blow dried, or curled or even brushed in order to look great. Willow loved it... except the length. It was always flying free of the ponytail holders, clips, and braids she put it in. She still wanted to cut it. She just didn't have the nerve. Brushing her hair as she left the bathroom, she grabbed the first aid kit and shoved it into her overnight bag along with her brush.

She wrote out a short, to the point note, and quietly headed down the hall. She didn't know if they were home, or not, but she didn't want to take the chance of running into them. She crept down the stairs and put the note on the fridge, leaving by the back door. A few blocks away, she sighed in relief and had just started whistling when she spotted Angel and Buffy up ahead.

She darted behind a bush and waited for them to pass her. After a minute in which they should have passed her, she lifted her head to look. A gasp escaped her, and she ducked back down quickly. Angel and Buffy were... kissing. Not just kissing either, really going at it, right there on the street. In Willow's body. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. Well, no, she was sure. She didn't like it. She was essentially making out with Angel, and she didn't like him like that.

She wanted to jump up and pull the two apart, but she couldn't seem to make her legs move. A few minutes later, she lifted her head again and saw Angel's hands on her butt. On Willow's butt. Ack. What the hell were they thinking? Did they want Angelus to-- oh, no. What if they wanted to test that whole happiness issue with her body? They better not! They had no right to do anything in-- ok. They pulled away from each other, panting heavily--even Angel--and straightened their clothes.

As they finally walked past, Willow noticed the clothes she... Buffy, had on. Small black mini skirt, and a low cut green blouse. Definitely not Willow clothes. Hey, Buffy wasn't playing by the rules.

Willow glared after the couple and headed to the store. She had some supplies to buy.



"Love, are you sure about this?" Spike asked from his position behind Willow.

She shook her head in the negative. "Yes, absolutely. Do it." She closed her eyes, bracing herself.

Spike chuckled, tugging lightly on a strand of her hair. "All right, but when she finds out about this, it wasn't me who did it. You went to a professional. Got it?"

"Ok," she quickly agreed. "Just do it before I lose my nerve."

Spike smoothed his hand down her hair and raised the scissors. They both winced as the first cut was made. Willow fearfully held the mirror up and pulled her hair over her shoulder to see how short it was. She frowned when she saw the half inch missing from the strand.

"Spike." She dropped her hands to her lap and spun around, facing him. "What the heck is that?" She held the cut lock of hair up for him to see. "I said six inches. Six. Not a half a one. Not two, not four. Six. Six inches, no more, no less."

Spike shrugged. "I don't think I can do it. Here," he handed her the scissors, "you do it."

"Fine." Willow took the scissors with a sigh and combed through her hair. She held up a chunk of hair about three inches wide and positioned the scissors just below her shoulder, preparing to cut.

"Wait," Spike yelled, "you're holding them crooked. Give them here." He took the scissors and pulled all her hair behind her back. He brushed through it, a little more slowly than needed, then cut off a big hunk.

Willow's eyes widened when she felt it fall away, suddenly unsure of what she was doing. What right did she have to cut her best friend's hair without her permission? And in that vein, what right did Buffy and Angel have to use her body for... kissing and hopefully nothing more?

Spike combed her hair some more, and she shivered at the feel of it. She loved having her hair brushed. Buffy and Xander used to play with her hair all the time, and that was one of the reasons why she'd kept it long. If it was long, Xander could always brush it, and back then she'd been all about Xander. Oz hadn't really been a hair kind of person. She'd had her hair cut soon after getting together with him. A personal sign of her ending feelings for Xander. She'd moved on. And Tara. Willow liked to comb Tara's hair, to play with it. Tara sometimes played with hers as well, but it was so short. Though, she was starting to grow it out again.

If Buffy didn't freak and shave it all off when she saw her.

Spike had cut off another piece of hair and was brushing through the rest again. Still. "Spike?"

"Hmm?"

He sounded distracted. Probably thinking about Buffy. He'd never gotten this close to her when she was herself, and Willow hadn't let him this close either. She decided to leave him alone to his Buffy thoughts. "Nothing."

He cut again, and set to brushing, his movements so slow and soothing that she started to fall asleep. Finally, he tapped her on the shoulder and set the brush and scissors down.

"All done." He moved away and lit a cigarette.

Willow ran her fingers through her newly cut hair. It was slightly longer than shoulder length, and it felt great. She shook her head and lifted the mirror. "Ooo, Buffy looks great," she exclaimed. She spun around and faced Spike. "Doesn't she look great?"

He chuckled a bit. "Yeah, reminiscent of the first time I saw her."

She fluffed the blonde strands a bit and grinned. "You have no idea how good this feels," she told him.

Cigarette dangling from his mouth, smoke pillowing in the air around him, Spike rubbed the palm of his right hand with the thumb of his left. "Hey, Witch?"

"Yes, Vampire?" Willow answered, picking her hair up off the floor.

"That cut on your neck didn't happen to be made by fangs, did it?" He was watching her closely, his eyes fixed on the white square bandage taped to her neck.

"Um, no?" she answered. "I told you, I--"

"Cut it. On a branch. Right." He took a drag off his cigarette and flicked ashes on the floor. "Willow. You're a terrible liar. So, what happened? And why are you here anyway?"

Willow straightened up, her hands full of Buffy's hair. She looked around for somewhere to toss it, and finally settled on outside. She changed the subject, a bit nervous with having to tell him what happened. "Where were you when I left the magic shop? I could've sworn I felt you back there."

Spike's eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. "Nowhere."

Willow knew that angry, hate-filled look. "You want details from me about this," she pointed to her neck, "then I get details about what happened to you."

Spike shrugged and pushed past her. "Forget it then." He left the crypt, a trail of smoke wafting behind him.

Willow grabbed a stake and ran after him, shutting the door behind her. "Hey, not so fast there, Bubba." She fell into step beside him, matching his stride... which was hard considering his legs were a good foot longer than hers. Or it seemed that way to her now, in Buffy's smaller body. "What did she do now?"

Spike sighed and slowed down, tossing his cigarette to the ground. "What's it worth to you?" he asked.

This game was familiar, they often traded information to each other, nothing too terribly important, just personal stuff, or a story from their pasts. Slowly she was getting to know him, and felt like maybe he was starting to know her too. Friends. She thought so anyway.

"Um, hello? My neck isn't enough?" She stopped walking and jumped up on a headstone, hopping from one to another.

Spike walked along beside her, shaking his head. "Nope. I need more, Witch."

She turned to face him, hands on hips. "Like what?" she asked, not sure where he was going with this, but she had a feeling he had specific information in mind.

He scratched his jaw in thought, staring up at the cloudy sky. "What made you decide to cut your hair? Her hair."

She frowned down at him. "Is it worth it? Or am I going to tell you my secrets and end up with lame stuff again?" She leaned down and poked at his chest. "'Cause you, sir, are a bit of a liar. I always end up hearing about... um, stuff like Dru being a hundred and forty years old, while you get to hear about the time Xander was possessed by hyenas. Short end of the stick here, Bubba."

He laughed, jumping up on the headstone across from her. "That's not lying. It's gambling. If you don't have the ba--"

"Guts," she said loudly.

"--to play, then don't play," he told her, grinning from his headstone podium.

He always said that when she complained. And he always ended up with the juicier info. Well, not this time by gosh. This time, she was getting the goods. She hoped. "No deal. I want something more, or you get nothing." He wanted a gamble? Then he'd get a gamble.

Again he shrugged. "Not gonna happen, Witch."

Willow crossed her arms over her chest, pouting and resisting the urge to stomp her foot. "Oh, come on, Vampire." She smiled and hopped down beside him. "Ok. Fine. We both lose this time."

"Do we?" His hand shot out, pulling the gauze from her neck.

She slapped her hand against the bitemark. "Hey, that's cheating."

"I never said I was a fair demon." He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away from the bitemark, his eyes locking on the puncture holes in her neck. "Is he dust?"

Willow stared up at the sky while he examined her wound. She rolled her eyes at his question. "Yeah, he and his friends are all blowing in the wind." He grabbed her shoulder to move her further into the light, and she winced, feeling the bruises under his hand. Thankfully he didn't see or hear her.

"How many friends?" he asked curiously.

Willow shrugged. "Uh, four other vamps." She met his gaze evenly, daring him to say anything. "And a demon."

He shook his head in disbelief. "I've never thought of you as stupid before. Looks like I was wrong."

Willow sighed, and sat down on the grass. "Do you call Buffy stupid for fighting vampires?"

"When she takes on too many at once? Yes," he retorted.

"And do I call you stupid for taking on more than you can handle at once?"

Spike crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow at her.

"Well, ok, I do. But earlier, I could've sworn you were right behind me." She frowned in confusion. "If that wasn't you, where were you?"

Spike leaned against a marble angel, stretching his legs out in front of him. "It was me. I left right after you did. Buffy and Angel followed me. I made it to the cemetery before I swung around the other way. Figured I'd meet you at my crypt if that's where you were headed."

"Oh. See I knew I felt you back there, otherwise I wouldn't have gone in alone." She laid back and stared at him. "Mine was juicier," she said smugly.

Spike knelt beside her, pulling her to her feet. "Come on, before you decide to take on another ten vampires tonight."

"Too tired now. Can I do that tomorrow?" She yawned halfway through the sentence. Noticing that he was headed toward the cemetery entrance, Willow stopped. "Oh. I forgot. Um, that whole thing at the magic shop about me being reckless with Buffy's body? Well, right after I left there, I was rather reckless with Buffy's body, and I got bit," she explained, as if he hadn't just discovered that himself. "So, in order to not get tied to a chair in the basement, I thought maybe I could stay with you. Just until I heal. One night probably."

Spike sighed in irritation. "I suppose." He started back the other way again, his duster billowing behind him. "Though, I think it's because you don't want her to see your hair. Her hair. Care to share the reasons for that yet?"

Willow shook her head, though he couldn't see her. "You don't want to know," she warned him, "believe me. Let's just say that she wasn't obeying the body switching rules."

"Well, I do want to know now, with that comment hanging in the air. What'd she do? Wear clothes that match?" He laughed heartily at his own jest, forcing her to slap him in the arm.

"You're a right funny vampire, aren't you, Bubba?" She ignored his scowl at her latest nickname for him, wondering whether she should tell him or not. How would he react? Anger? Hurt? Pain? All three? "It was nothing. Really," she assured him.

Spike snorted at her pathetic attempt to brush his questions off. "Right. You cut her hair. Without telling her," he stressed. "This, from the girl who still asks permission to use the bathroom. Sorry, Witch, your lies still suck. Out with it."

"Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you," she cautioned him.

"Yeah, yeah, I've been warned. Spill." They were in front of his crypt now, but neither made a move to go inside. Willow paced a few feet away while Spike leaned up against the wall.

"I saw Buffy and Angel kissing."

Spike was silent for a full minute, before pushing away from the stone wall and fishing a cigarette out of his duster and lighting it. "In your body," he stated, nodding. "They..."

"Were making out. Kissing, groping, the works." Poor Spike looked like he wanted to kill something. She was extremely grateful for the implant just then. As it was, she still shrank away from him. "I told you you didn't want to know," she whispered. "Are you all right?"

He shook his head angrily, and left. She remained standing there for a few minutes, before heading inside.



Willow woke up to the smell of cigarette smoke and a hand shaking her.

"Move over, Witch."

It was Spike. And he sounded half asleep. Goody, so was she. She'd been completely asleep when he woke her up, and why had he? "What?" she asked testily.

"Move over. Either move completely, or don't move at all and I'll lay on you. Doesn't matter to me," he said.

And now she was completely awake. Amazing how that happened. "I'm moving." She sat up, jumped down, and was halfway across the crypt by the time Spike pulled back the blanket. His amused gaze followed her to his chair.

Hey, that wasn't exhaustion in his voice, it was liquor. He was drunk. Oh, yay. Maybe she should leave... go to Buffy's house, sneak in, stay extremely covered up, and no one would be the wiser. On the other hand, she was in no shape to fight if she ran into something. His blanket suddenly went soaring through the air toward her. She had time enough to gasp before it smacked her in the face, and knocked her back. Definitely not in any shape to fight, she thought, pulling the blanket off her head and glaring at Spike.

He shrugged from his spot on the bed and tossed his cigarette to the floor. She watched in amazement as he laid back, rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. With his cigarette still burning. And candles lit as well. Flames. Fire. He was a vampire, vampires were vulnerable to fire, what was he thinking?

"Spike?" she called out. He sighed restlessly, but didn't answer. "Yoo hoo, Spike." Still nothing. "Fine then, I'll get them."

She tossed the blanket aside, stood up with an extremely heavy sigh and stomped over to his still smoldering cigarette. Picking it up with disgust, she smashed it carefully against the wall since she didn't have shoes on. Red hot ashes harmlessly rained down on the floor. As she continued on her stomping path by his bed to put out the candles, he grabbed her wrist.

"Oh, now that I'm up and doing it, you're awake." She rolled her eyes at his unabashed grin.

"Leave 'em lit." He let go of her wrist with a yawn, and laid back down again.

"Why? You can die by fire. And for that matter, so can I. I'd rather not." Her impatient tone didn't sway him in the least.

"Just do it," he told her.

"Aw, is Spikey wikey afraid of the darky wark--"

His eyes snapped open.

"Ok," she said. "Since you put it like that." She raised her hands up and backed away from his glowing yellow eyes. "Leaving 'em lit."

Those scary yellow eyes were suddenly right in front of her face. His hand was once again encircling her wrist, and damn if his other hand wasn't shoving her shirt up.

"Hey! What are you doing?" she yelled, scared now. Trying to pull away from him wasn't doing any good. His hand remained locked on her wrist. His other hand ran across her left shoulder, arm, and back. She winced from the immense pain assaulting her from even that light touch. "Ow."

He shook his head, caressing the bruised flesh with his hand. "Slayers are strong. Stronger than vampires and most demons. What did this?"

Willow shrugged to hide the shudder his touch was causing. "Um, something... yellow? It had yellow skin and--" pulling away from him, she moved a safe distance away and continued, "it was sort of tall."

"Well that narrows it down, pet, thanks. Look, I'm just saying there aren't a lot of things out there strong enough to bruise a Slayer." His shrewd eyes lit on hers. "How did he do it?"

She stared off into the darkness, pretending to think about it. "Uh... threw me," she mumbled.

Spike chuckled humorlessly. "Must have thrown you about twenty feet. Onto a headstone."

Willow nodded slowly. "I guess. Something like that." Realizing he was treating her like a child, she bristled. "Not that it's any concern of yours. I can take care of myself, I've been doing it for years."

"Yeah, but you haven't been a slayer for years," he said reasonably. "You could've been killed."

"Oh, sorry," she said sarcastically, "did I almost ruin your perfect Buffy's body? Please... forgive me." She'd almost forgotten that it wasn't her he was worried about. It wasn't her he was looking at. It was Buffy.

"I didn't mean it like that. Don't--"

"What? Say the truth?" Anger was coursing through her and she wasn't sure why. So he cared about Buffy. So he wanted to keep her body safe just in case. Did it matter to her? Yes, it did. No, wait, that was supposed to be a no. He loved Buffy, big deal.

Willow loved Tara. Then why was she so angry that Spike didn't care about her? Probably just that leftover stuff from the shop. All that anger. And then seeing Buffy and Angel making out in her body. That's all it was. Whew.

Spike laid back and closed his eyes. "I'm not about to argue with you. I'm tired, I'm drunk, and I'm sick of being accused of using people." So saying, he rolled away from her and settled in to sleep.

Well. Ok, that went well. Her work here was done. Shaking her head at herself, she flopped into his chair, yanked the blanket up to her chin and curled up on her side, closing her eyes. Falling asleep was a little harder. Her mind was going a million miles an hour, flitting from the gang treating her like a kid, to Buffy and Angel kissing.

She just couldn't understand what Buffy had been thinking. And Angel. He was usually the voice of reason between those two. Not this time, no siree bob. So why was she feeling guilty about cutting her hair? So far, Angel had ratted on her and Spike, made fun of Spike, and groped her body. Not a stellar return to Sunnydale as far as she was concerned.

So, no more thoughts, just go to sleep, she thought. A few minutes later, her body agreed, and she drifted back to sleep.