Chapter 22:

Willow hurried down the street, two rather large dusty volumes wedged under each arm. Behind her, Spike followed at a run, also carrying various vacuous tomes. Their feet pounded on the pavement, as the London traffic whirled around them. The time-freeze obviously hadn't slithered its way into this part of the capital, but, Willow feared, it wouldn't be too late before it did.

And then it would creep further and further, until eventually the whole world would be frozen and she'd be stuck with Spike forever. Perhaps that was a selfish angle from which to approach the dilemma, considering everyone else would be stuck in unflattering positions for the rest of their non-lives, but, from where she was running, Willow found it the best motivation she could have.

"Where are we going?" Willow called back, realizing the question was rather illogical as she was in the lead. Spike drew level with her and flashed her a smirk, which she batted away with a book.

"I don't know Red. Your place or mine?"

Willow stared at him in alarm, and disbelief. Didn't he get that she was gay?! Or, for Spike, was that just more of a challenge? Hang on a minute, she wasn't even Buffy. What was he doing? Had he gone insane or something? Was that why he was dressed as he was? It would explain the anorak.

Spike rolled his eyes, then grabbed her arm.

"Never mind. This way"

He pulled her across the street, nipping down a back alley between soaring skyscrapers, shadowed silhouettes against the night sky. It would be dawn soon, however. He would have to be back inside before then.

The two renegades slipped down cobble-stoned streets, startling a couple of cats, who mewed and scrambled behind some dustbins. The streetlamps cast a hazy glow, sending shadows of distorted trees and their own mutated figures sprawling across the ground. And then Willow noticed, for the first time, why everything was so eerie.

There was no background noise.

Apart from the odd car driving round the nearby streets, there was nothing. No cars honking, or engines, or…anything. London lacked the vibe, and the feel of the vibrant, 24 hour city that it truly was. Or had been. Willow bit her lip. That must mean that the majority of the city was frozen by now, and that could only mean it was spreading faster, leeching the momentum out of everything, feeding off their energy and activity.

They had to act fast.

"How…far?" She gasped, her arm still within Spike's grip. He indicated with his head.

"Not far. Of course, I'm assuming I can still open my front door when we get there"

She gave him a look.

After about five more minutes of running, they realized they weren't being followed by irate members of the Watcher's Council. This came as something as a relief, and a disappointment. Surely the fact that they'd stolen some old, dusty books from South London Command meant they were worthy enough for a little bit of chasing. Not much, an exciting flee from a swarm of persuing black taxis, in the pouring rain, with brollies being waved out the windows. Bowler hats. Lots of moustaches, and helpful police and "There they go. After them!". And then they'd jump into a chalk painting and disappear, thus evading capture…

Willow had to get back to California. And fast. England was dangerous.

"Down here"

Spike yanked Willow's arm, pulling her at an alarming angle down an even smaller alley- way. They ran down this stoned passage, which stank of bananas, before coming out onto an wide expanse of grass, surrounded by iron fencing. Shadows slunk across the grey-green parkland, large oak trees rising up out the ground like eager corpses about to go on vacation.

Still holding her arm, Spike pulled her towards the parkland, slipping through a break in the railings, before crossing the grass, the earth netted with shadows. Then, abruptly, they stopped. Spike tilted his head slightly, staring at nothing, though apparently listening.

Willow stared questioningly at him.

"Landlord" Spike said shortly. "I still haven't paid my rent"

Then, suddenly, they were moving again, towards the furthest corner of the parkland.  The parkland they passed through was intriguingly decorated with grotesque stone statues, the majority under a roof which followed the select concreted paths around the park.

Then they reached the corner.

"Home sweet home" Spike said. Willow shifted the books under her arms.

"It's a shed…You live in a shed?"

"I prefer to think of it as a wooden crypt" Spike said testily "Now, come on, unless you want to be aided by a pile of ash"

Willow said nothing, and instead followed Spike as he opened the door and went inside.

It was certainly cosy, she had to give him that. It was the type of shed used by middle-aged men for storing large lawnmowers and summer garden furniture that, in England, got used once a decade. He'd put a rug on the floor (a red rug, like blood and gore and, erm, passion – he wasn't getting effeminate, don't worry ladies) and, as well as a narrow bed, had his customary TV ("and the sodding license fee…") and a small cupboard containing various varieties of alcohol.

It was here Spike went first.

Willow refused his offer of a drink, and instead, dumped the books in the middle of the room, before standing there, tentatively, very much aware she was standing in the summer-house of a chipped-but-still-kinda-evil vampire.

"Have a seat" Spike told her. "Well, you could if I had any"

A bottle of whisky in one hand, Spike pulled a cushion out from under the bed and tossed it to her.

"Sit on that…it's not too blood-stained"

"Thanks" Willow, not really wanting to know the story behind the blood, nor having any desire to see how bad it really was, dropped it on the floor before sitting down quickly. She reached for the most promising book, opened it up.

"I think we need to look at Anti-Time-Spells, De-Manipulation Spells, Anti-Freezing Spells (though not those with ray guns…)"

Spike took a gulp of his drink and shook his head.

"It's an Orb, its always an Orb"

"I thought it was always a Talisman"

"Only at the beginning of an unfulfilling season"

"Right. And I know it's an Orb, I just thought that…"

"That's what I've always admired about you Will. You think. It makes a nice change. And of course, you going all evil certainly pushed you up a few places, too"

Willow turned over a page.

"I'm not evil anymore"

"So you keep saying" Spike said, with something of a grin. He put the whisky back on the side, then picked up a file labeled "The Orb of Apoc".

"This may be what we're looking for" He told her. Willow looked up.

"Check the index"

"Files have indexes?"

"We're dealing with the English Filing System here. Everything has an index."

"Right"

Spike flicked the file open to the back pages, and indeed there was an index, all in very small print that was difficult to read in the rather dim light of the shed.

"Hmm…Time, Frozen"

Spike turned to the pages in question, and Willow felt a touch of jealously. She was the intelligent, brainy one, she should get to play with the indexes! As a poor substitute, she turned over another page in her dusty book. The dust made her sneeze.

"Frozen time, blah blah, never ending, blah blah, apocalyptic side-effect, blah blah, we all die"

He snapped it shut.

"Ah well, least we know we tried"

"Give it to me"

Willow gestured, and the file was dropped into her lap. Spike meandered back to his Whisky bottle, and wondered why exactly he had bothered to help the Witch in the first place. She wasn't even blonde and called Buffy.

He took a swig, and felt the familiar burn down the back of his throat. He really didn't know what came over him sometimes. Inside, his inner demon was already rather intoxicated, and gave a 'hic!' as a reply before collapsing unconscious in one corner. It wasn't like he had much to do anymore anyway.

Hastily, Willow scanned the pages, all written in a nice large font and with carefully drawn, helpful diagrams. This was…intriguing. And promising. The Watcher's Council, for all their scary stuffy Britishness really did know their stuff. It was all so precise, with correct grammar and punctuation, with certain words underlined for cross-referencing…Willow was in research heaven.

It was even better when she read what she had to do. There wasn't even any guesswork. It was as simple as:

 Problem: Orb of Apoc causing time-freeze.

Solution:  __________________

(Well, we don't want to give you the solution that Willow read, do we? It'd spoil the exciting finale! Who knows, we may even get inspirational music by Sarah MusWeepthen as well as a thrilling climax.

Not to be predictable or anything. No way.

There'll be an epiphany too, won't there. And a walk among some flowers

Shut up!

Told ya.

I'm warning you.

Chris Beck and his music strike again, Buffy'll have to make a heart wrenching decision, or at least fall down a hole, and roll around in there, till she eventually quits her moping and makes a life-changing decision and –

*Bang!*

I did warn you. Never try and guess what the writers will do. They'll just change it, to piss you off. And piss you off anyway).

Anyway, getting back to what occasionally resembles the plot…

Willow slammed the file shut with a satisfying thump. Well, it was rather a weak, washy sound actually, with it being a file and not a thousand page tome, but who was she to argue.

"Well, I know what we've got to do Spike"

Spike turned around and studied her in the dim light of his holiday shed.

"We?"

"Oh yeah. You've helped me this far, you're not escaping so easily"

"Right" Another nochalent swig. "What do 'we' have to do?"

Willow tossed the file over to him.

"Page 43" She instructed.

Giving Willow a distrusting look, Spike flicked open to that page, scanned down, taking in the very neat and grammatically correct information. Then he gave his trade mark grimace and tossed the file back to the Witch.

"I'm not doing that"

"What? It's not that bad…We have a world to save. I thought that's what you did occasionally?"

Spike gave the most disgusted eye-roll ever and slammed his whisky bottle violently on to the side-board. Then he went over to Willow, knelt down in front of her and glared her in the eye.

"I'm a vampire. I do not…do that"

"But"

"Watch"

Spike vamped out, causing his inner demon to wake up in a blind panic and stumble around the interior until it asphyxiated in shock and fell over.

"This face…does not do that" He growled.

"But you will"

"Why?"

Willow had a slight smile on her face.

"Otherwise I'll stick you in a giant mousetrap"

Spike threw his hands into the air, returning to human face.

"Ok! Jeez, you women, you're all the same. Do this, do that, do everything now. Nag, nag, nag…"

He stood up, did up the zip on his anorak.

"Ok. I'll do it, stop going on already, and for god's sake do not put me into a giant mousetrap! But if you tell anyone…"

"My lips are sealed"

Spike sighed.

"I can't believe I'm doing this"

"Do it for …Buffy"

Suddenly a golden light fell upon the vampire's cheeks, his dead skin enriched with a gold hue that enveloped his face, his head, an almost…halo-like light. Like an Angel (not to be confused with the broody, often mentally disturbed and slightly psychotic vampire currently residing in LA with a green man and some monkeys  - sorry - employees), a serene look rested in his calming blue eyes, radiant with a light, violins playing from some mysterious location, swelling music, soaring notes, inspiration causes as Spike found his raison d'etre.

"Buffy"

He breathed her name, and his inner demon, who had almost began hoping that it would have something to do, packed its suitcases and booked a plane for south Calcutta.

"Is that a yes then?" Willow queried hopefully. "Cos I don't think I can manage without you – not without the risk of ending up in another dimension or being all connected and veiny…"

A smile rested peacefully on Spike's lips. Willow frowned.

"Spike?" She asked again. He turned to look at her, slowly, with the grace and poise that befits a ballet-dancer on ice. (That'd be an ice-skater then?)

"What?" He sounded confused and unrushed. Willow sighed, and got to her feet.

"Let's go"