Chapter 2
Willow had never seen someone so completely helpless. Was this Spike the defiant, Spike the dangerous, the Spike that would do anything and fear nothing? This haggard man,taking in air in gasps, leaning against a wall that wasn't as pale as his skin? If she hadn't been supporting him with her arm, he would have slumped down to the floor again. That's how she'd found him, a miserable huddle in a corner of an awfully white cell, uttering the most miserable sounds.
She had managed to lower the lights using the same security bypass that had granted her access into the facilities and into Spike's cell. The Initiative seemed to be convinced that no one could find them out anyway, so once you were actually in, security wasn't such a big deal. Soldiers did what they were ordered to, they didn't sneak around. Willow shuddered at the thought of the inhuman coldness of it all, the lack of compassion.
She had propped Spike up angainst the wall, and he had opened his eyes and looked at her, but Willow didn't think he actually recognised her. He wasn't even able to focus on her for longer than a couple of seconds, and she realised she wouldn't be able to get him out of there without help.
"Oh, Spike, what have they done to you?" Willow didn't even bother to wipe away the tears streaming down her cheeks. "What are we going to do?" She could hear demons growling and hurling themselves against the walls in the neighbouring cells, and there was the heavy sound of boots on the run everywhere, mixed with shouts that pretended to keep the anxiety down with clipped, harsh professionalism: "Over here! C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, MOVE! Hold them!" No one had the time to look into a cell where nothing was stirring.
"Please... please..." What had come out of Spike's mouth was nothing more than a tiny whisper, but it made Willows heart ache more than anything ever had, and she'd been through some heartache recently. She held him tighter against her, racking her brain for a way out of this horrible place. He was too weak, he wouldn't be able even to walk the few hundred meters to the elevator. It was obvious they hadn't fed him for a long, long time. What could she do, WHAT?
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Wet. Sweet. So delicious... Was he hallucinating? Could one actually TASTE hallucinations? But no, this was real. Real blood on his lips, his tongue, dripping slowly into his mouth. Spike could feel his body absorbing it, he could feel strength coming back to him, but slowly, so slowly... Instinctively he brought his head forward, towards the source that was giving back his life to him. His lips met flesh, and he bared his fangs. He would drink, drink long and deep, and then he would open his eyes and look at his victim and he would be himself again, Spike the Evil, William the Bloody...
A searing pain ripped through his head. His body was thrown back in convulsions, and suddenly there was no more blood. Where was it? He needed it, he needed-
"Sshshsh, it's allright, Spike, it's allright... You can't bite me, the chip, remember? You'll just have to take what I can give you."
Spike opened his eyes. Willow was looking down at him, trying awkwardly to hold her bloodsmeared arm to his mouth, so he could reach it comfortably. He winced and recoiled.
"Willow? What...?"
"Look, there's no time, I'll explain when we're safely out of here, ok? Just eat a little more and tell me when you think you're ready to walk. Only don't take too much time, once Buffy and the others prevent the Feast, the demons will calm down and someone will come check on you."
She held out her arm to him again. Spike could see two or three not very deep incisions, blood all over her arm, her hand, even her face and her hair. "You cut yourself?"
"Yes."
"For me?"
"Well, there was no time to go to the butcher or anything." She smiled warmly, and was she actually stroking his hair? "Do you think you can move now?"
He tried to get up, but his knees wouldn't hold him. "I'm sorry, I can't..."
"It's allright, don't worry. You look much better. Just have some more. Here."
"Willow, I can't..." Why was he refusing this young, fresh blood, offered to him freely, generously, blood he wouldn't have to kill for, but that was going to save his life instead - or what passed for it?
Willow brought her arm with the open, bleeding wounds to his mouth without another word. She was looking down at him seriously; Spike could see compassion in her eyes, and the fear of being caught, and worry for her friends - and something else, something he couldn't quite name. But there was no fear of him, or repulsion at what she was doing.
This was a gift, and he knew he had to accept it as it was offered: with no questions, no regrets, expecting nothing in return, for no reason except the act of giving.
Spike bent his head and drank. He could feel Willow sigh softly above him.
Willow had never seen someone so completely helpless. Was this Spike the defiant, Spike the dangerous, the Spike that would do anything and fear nothing? This haggard man,taking in air in gasps, leaning against a wall that wasn't as pale as his skin? If she hadn't been supporting him with her arm, he would have slumped down to the floor again. That's how she'd found him, a miserable huddle in a corner of an awfully white cell, uttering the most miserable sounds.
She had managed to lower the lights using the same security bypass that had granted her access into the facilities and into Spike's cell. The Initiative seemed to be convinced that no one could find them out anyway, so once you were actually in, security wasn't such a big deal. Soldiers did what they were ordered to, they didn't sneak around. Willow shuddered at the thought of the inhuman coldness of it all, the lack of compassion.
She had propped Spike up angainst the wall, and he had opened his eyes and looked at her, but Willow didn't think he actually recognised her. He wasn't even able to focus on her for longer than a couple of seconds, and she realised she wouldn't be able to get him out of there without help.
"Oh, Spike, what have they done to you?" Willow didn't even bother to wipe away the tears streaming down her cheeks. "What are we going to do?" She could hear demons growling and hurling themselves against the walls in the neighbouring cells, and there was the heavy sound of boots on the run everywhere, mixed with shouts that pretended to keep the anxiety down with clipped, harsh professionalism: "Over here! C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, MOVE! Hold them!" No one had the time to look into a cell where nothing was stirring.
"Please... please..." What had come out of Spike's mouth was nothing more than a tiny whisper, but it made Willows heart ache more than anything ever had, and she'd been through some heartache recently. She held him tighter against her, racking her brain for a way out of this horrible place. He was too weak, he wouldn't be able even to walk the few hundred meters to the elevator. It was obvious they hadn't fed him for a long, long time. What could she do, WHAT?
----------------------
Wet. Sweet. So delicious... Was he hallucinating? Could one actually TASTE hallucinations? But no, this was real. Real blood on his lips, his tongue, dripping slowly into his mouth. Spike could feel his body absorbing it, he could feel strength coming back to him, but slowly, so slowly... Instinctively he brought his head forward, towards the source that was giving back his life to him. His lips met flesh, and he bared his fangs. He would drink, drink long and deep, and then he would open his eyes and look at his victim and he would be himself again, Spike the Evil, William the Bloody...
A searing pain ripped through his head. His body was thrown back in convulsions, and suddenly there was no more blood. Where was it? He needed it, he needed-
"Sshshsh, it's allright, Spike, it's allright... You can't bite me, the chip, remember? You'll just have to take what I can give you."
Spike opened his eyes. Willow was looking down at him, trying awkwardly to hold her bloodsmeared arm to his mouth, so he could reach it comfortably. He winced and recoiled.
"Willow? What...?"
"Look, there's no time, I'll explain when we're safely out of here, ok? Just eat a little more and tell me when you think you're ready to walk. Only don't take too much time, once Buffy and the others prevent the Feast, the demons will calm down and someone will come check on you."
She held out her arm to him again. Spike could see two or three not very deep incisions, blood all over her arm, her hand, even her face and her hair. "You cut yourself?"
"Yes."
"For me?"
"Well, there was no time to go to the butcher or anything." She smiled warmly, and was she actually stroking his hair? "Do you think you can move now?"
He tried to get up, but his knees wouldn't hold him. "I'm sorry, I can't..."
"It's allright, don't worry. You look much better. Just have some more. Here."
"Willow, I can't..." Why was he refusing this young, fresh blood, offered to him freely, generously, blood he wouldn't have to kill for, but that was going to save his life instead - or what passed for it?
Willow brought her arm with the open, bleeding wounds to his mouth without another word. She was looking down at him seriously; Spike could see compassion in her eyes, and the fear of being caught, and worry for her friends - and something else, something he couldn't quite name. But there was no fear of him, or repulsion at what she was doing.
This was a gift, and he knew he had to accept it as it was offered: with no questions, no regrets, expecting nothing in return, for no reason except the act of giving.
Spike bent his head and drank. He could feel Willow sigh softly above him.
