Disclaimer: See chapter 1.
PART 2

Spike strode up to Giles' apartment door and went in without knocking, knowing the door wouldn't be locked. As usual, at least one of the Slayer's friends was there, sitting on the couch, researching something or other. It was the witch, completely engrossed in the book on her lap, so engrossed in fact, that she hadn't heard him come in. Closing the door quietly behind him, he leaned against it and watched her for a minute.

She was smart, cute, funny in an odd way, and so damn innocent that he wanted nothing more than to kill her. If he still could, he would. Especially after that botched spell that had him and the slayer engaged.

Pushing away from the door with a mental sigh, he snuck up behind her, leaned in by her ear, and whispered, "Boo," at the same time as he tapped her on the shoulder.

Willow shot up off the couch with a scream, her book went flying off her lap to land on the table with a thud. She spun around, facing him, and put a hand to her mouth, looking around her in confusion. "How--" she breathed, "how did I get here?"

Spike, busy laughing, shrugged. "Walked?"

She shook her head in frustration. "No, how-- when--" she licked her lips and started over, "When did I get here? How?"

Spike gave her an irritated look. "I don't know. Do I look like your bloody keeper? I just got here, you've been with you all day, and if you don't know, then how am I supposed to know?"

She looked directly at him, her green eyes wide with fear. It was then that he was struck by the terror pouring off of her. He smirked at her.

"Score one for the big bad neutered one," he chuckled, "because, apparently, I *can* still scare you."

She didn't say anything, just stood there staring at him with her huge eyes full of terror and confusion, and it was making him feel all good about himself. He took a step toward her, intending to-- well, he wasn't sure what he intended to do, since there was nothing he could do anymore. She was looking at him like he'd just killed her best friend, and it felt good. He missed this.

She backed away from him, jerking out of his reach even though he was still several feet from her. She backed into the corner by the bookcase, warding him off with her hands. "Get away from me."

Spike stopped a few feet away from her, wondering what the hell was wrong with her. He shrugged. "Gladly. Just came for some blood I stashed here last night--"

Her head snapped up suddenly, her eyes boring into him. "Oh my God," she whispered. "You killed Giles. You-- you're not him. The implant, it's gone. You--" she stopped suddenly, gagging. She shoved her hand against her mouth, pushing past him and running down the hall, into the bathroom.

Spike stood there, distantly hearing her retch, his mind on what she'd said. He wasn't him? Who the hell was him? And his implant was gone? What the hell did she mean by that? It was still there, a painful reminder of all he hated about this damn town and everyone in it. Did she really think he'd killed Giles, or another of her damn friends? He hadn't. Not that he wouldn't if he were able to, but he wasn't able to. So far as he knew they were alive and well somewhere.

He stomped down the hall to the bathroom, pissed at her for accusing him of something he hadn't done. Something her and her friends tended to do too often for his liking.

"Hey. What the hell is wrong with you?" He tried the knob, but it was locked, so he pounded on the door. "I don't know what kind of drugs you've been taking, Red, but maybe you should share." When she didn't answer, he twisted the knob, breaking it off, and shoved the door open.

Willow was sitting with her back to the wall, her legs tucked up against her chest, her arms wrapped around them. Her eyes were wide and frightened. When he burst through the door, she turned her eyes his way; eyes full of accusation, blame, and hatred.

Sick of being the object of such unwarranted hate, Spike grew angry. "Stop staring at me," he snapped. "I'm still chipped, so whatever you think I did, you were dreaming. Get over it."

"Think?" she nearly shouted. "I know what you did. I was there," she whispered harshly. "If you touch me, I'll kill you." Her eyes flashed with conviction, and he had no doubt that at that moment she gladly would have killed him with a song in her heart.

Spike glared at her. "Yeah, okay, Red, you stay here in your delusional world, I'm going back to the real world. You oughta try it some time." He stomped down the hall to the kitchen, but then turned back around. He went into the bathroom again, stood directly in front of her and swung his fist at her. He reared back in pain, not even coming close to touching her. Clutching his head, he left her crying on the floor of the bathroom.

Willow stared at the spot Spike had just vacated, still seeing him in her mind's eye, grabbing his head in pain after taking a swing at her.

It was him. Chipped Spike.

She stood up slowly, her brow furrowed. That wasn't the only weirdness. She had no idea how she'd gotten to Giles' apartment. Wasn't she supposed to be in the hospital? And there was no blood on the walls and floor.

She thought back to earlier that night, before everything had fallen apart, trying to remember what had happened. Suddenly it all came flooding back.

Willow jumped up and ran after Spike. She found him sitting on the stairs by the street, smoking a cigarette. She sat down next to him.

"It wasn't you," she said quietly. "I thought you were him, but I was just confused, because one minute I'm there, and then I'm here, and there's no blood, and I don't understand what's going on," she finished with a sigh, leaning against him slightly.

He stiffened, and jerked away from her. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, Witch?" He looked appalled.

Willow sniffled and scooted away from him. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, "I thought you were my friend." She knew she sounded pathetic, but she couldn't help it. She was confused, and could still see Giles' body laying on the floor, covered in blood. Still feel the pain in her neck and shoulder.

Spike jumped to his feet and stared down at her. "Friends? I don't even like you. How could you possibly think I'd be friends with you? With any of you?" He threw his cigarette into the street angrily, and kicked the curb. "God, what will it take for you people to remember that I'm evil? Three months of being implanted and you all think I'm just like you. I'm not, got it?"

Willow stared at him. "Three months?" She snorted rudely. "Try a year and a half, Fangless. And you don't have to be rude. I get it." She got to her feet and walked away.

"Seek a psychiatrist's help, love, you obviously need it," he called after her. She paused and turned back to face him. "I've been chipped for three months. Believe me, if it lasts much longer, I'll stake myself."

Willow stared at him. "What's the date?" she asked, not sure she wanted to know.

"February something."

She shook her head, a frown marring her brow. "It's September."

Spike rolled his eyes. "It's February of two thousand. Why am I even bothering? Look, Witch, just go find one of your little friends and leave me alone."

His attitude rankled her, so she took out all her anger and frustration on him. "You're just trying to mess with my head," she told him, as if she had figured out his secret. "It's September of two thousand and one, and you and I *are* friends, albeit the kind that taunt, and take great delight in torturing each other. Buffy's mom is dead, you brought her flowers. Buffy's sister is... do you remember Dawn? And now Giles and Buffy are dead too, you killed them. And you bit me," she added in a small voice, as if this offense were worse than all the others. "Only it wasn't you."

She knew she wasn't making a whole lot of sense, but she was starting to panic. This couldn't be February of two thousand, she remembered all the other stuff that had happened. She started pacing back and forth, muttering to herself, ignoring Spike.

"I have a girlfriend named Tara. Giles owns the Magic Box. Riley left for Belize. Glory was a Goddess. You're in love with Buffy."

"What?" Spike demanded.

She stopped and smiled brilliantly, finally getting it. "Time travel. I've somehow gone back in time. I don't know why, or how, or even if this is real. It's possible I'm dreaming this, but I don't feel like I'm dreaming. I certainly wouldn't dream you like this. Oh! I'll prove it to you."

He was still staring at her, his eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched, still stuck back at that last statement. She sighed, but truthfully, she felt better now that she'd figured out what was going on.

"In a year, actually less, you'll realize you've fallen in love with Buffy." She shook her finger at him, feeling like her old self again. "She doesn't feel the same way, so be forewarned."

He closed his eyes for a second, then stormed past her, into Giles' apartment. By the time she joined him, and shut the door behind her, he was downing a mug of something. From the smell, she knew it wasn't blood. Her suspicions were confirmed when he grabbed a bottle of scotch off the counter and poured another drink, downing it too.

She went around the couch, avoiding looking at the spot where Giles' body had lain. The splashes of blood that covered the walls. The stench of death. Those were things of the future, not of the now.

She sat down to wait for the vampire to join her. She was going to give him a history lesson. Future history, she amended.

Spike sat down in the chair in the corner of the room. He was still trying to get his mind around the witch's rambling. Who was Tara? Willow had a girlfriend? Giles had a magic box? Dawn who? Glory who? He loved Buffy?

It was this last one that had him caught up. He'd gulped a third glass before finally joining the redhead in the living room, the bottle in his hand, the empty cup still on the counter. He took a good long swig from the bottle. It was impossible. He, bad-ass vampire, could not be in love with her, bad-ass vampire slayer. Hell, the girl was only shaggable to him when he was under a spell. His eyes flew to the witch.

"You cast a spell. Undo it," he ordered, sounding for all the world like a petulant child. He didn't care. Loving the slayer was not an option.

She shook her head sadly. "I can't, Spike. I already told you... or, I will tell you... or, whatever. It's not a spell, and I can't do a spell to 'make it go away' either." She smiled softly, making him cringe. "Though, I think maybe you're starting to move on. When I last saw you... " her face fell. She was about to lie to him, flat out lie. "She was dead, and you weren't too overly concerned. Of course, I was kind of out of it at the time, so I could be wrong--" seeing his angry glare, she added, "but I'm not. You're over it. Completely. Yep."

He nodded eagerly. "Good, good. Hang on," he said, as something occurred to him. "Now that I know about it, maybe I can stop it from happening."

She shrugged. "Maybe that's why I'm back. To change the future. Especially their deaths, but maybe other stuff too. Like you betraying us to Adam."

He snorted. "And we're supposed to be friends?" he asked snidely.

"Not then we weren't. Well, a little bit. But mostly not. You weren't very nice, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a right bastard," he said, in better spirits now that there was a possibility of changing his future. If she was right. Why was he taking her word for it? She hadn't proved anything yet, and she had said she had proof. Sure, she had on different clothes than she normally wore. Those appallingly bright and fuzzy outfits more suited to colorblind six year olds trying to make their own style, than to college aged young women.

She looked kind of good actually, in her faded blue jeans and short-sleeved green blouse. Low neckline too... a style preferred by most vampires. Even her hair looked different. Longer and softer somehow. He shook himself out of his thoughts, and spoke up, "What's your proof then? Why should I believe all this crap you're spouting?"

She sighed heavily, finding her nails extremely interesting all of a sudden. "You're not gonna like my proof," she said quietly. "Just... don't go all Glory on me, okay?"

"Who?" He shook his head impatiently. "Just get on with it, pet. I can't hurt you even if I do get mad, remember?"

"Right." She smiled. "You're the Vanilla Chip."

He rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling. "Please tell me I don't actually *like* that name," he spat.

"Absolutely not," she giggled. "That's why I use it."

Spike glared at her. He couldn't imagine actually being friends with the infuriating chit. He couldn't imagine her or her friends letting him get closer than arm's reach, especially if she was right, and he did end up betraying them to this Adam guy.

Willow scooted to the end of the couch closest to him. "All right. Here goes nothing." She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "Um, Drusilla's your sire, not Angelus like we'd assumed, 'cause of what you said to Angel in the school? That first night... you said something like, Angelus was your sire, you're Yoda, I think that's what Xander said. You were turned in eighteen-eighty." She paused, and Spike could see a blush stealing up her cheeks. "You killed your first slayer in nineteen hundred, in China, during the Boxer Rebellion. She gave you that scar on your eyebrow, and after you killed her, Drusilla found you and um, it's like an aphrodisiac, and you... and her... and there was sex," she finished lamely.

Where the hell had she learned all this? Spike thought. He didn't go about telling people the details of his life. Only a few select vampires knew the absolute truth when it came to his life. One was dead, one was crazy as a loon and shagging a fungus demon, and the other had a soul, and was currently residing in L.A., and none of them would have told the witch these details. He jumped up, grabbing her arm. Tight enough to hold her there, but not enough to hurt. "A future me told you all this?" he demanded.

"Yes. You also told some of it to Buffy. She wanted to know how you killed those two slayers." She pulled her arm free, and looked him straight in the eye. "A little advice, Spike? When you tell her, and you're in the alley behind the Bronze--"

"What?" he asked impatiently.

"It'd pretty much be a good idea not to ask Buffy to dance."

Spike started laughing. "Dance, pet? I don't dance with slayers."

"Not the shuffling feet kind of dancing. The other kind."

His eyes shot to hers, knowing exactly what other kind she was talking about.

"Just don't do it. Don't do any of it. Tell her what she needs to know, and leave it at that."

He snickered at her. "Awfully concerned with my well being, aren't you, pet? You sure we're not more than friends?"

She laughed at the idea. "Definitely not more. I have a girlfriend, and you have a thing for Buffy, and... um, well, Harmony comes back a few times."

"Then I'll know to avoid her. Tell me more." Knowing of future events before they happened could be very helpful to him.

"I'm serious, Spike. I mean it. You may not think so now, but I'm only looking out for your best interests. I don't agree with what Buffy did. So just... don't, okay?

"Yeah, right, I won't dance with my enemy," he said dismissively.

She didn't look convinced, and he once again rolled his eyes. His only expression lately, it seemed. "Spike," she said carefully, "look, I'm trying to be a good friend, and Buffy really hurt you that night, and I don't want it to happen again. Not if I can help it."

Spike snorted derisively. "How could the slayer possibly hurt me without staking me?"

"She told you... she said you were beneath her," Willow whispered.

Spike's furious gaze flew to hers, and she nodded unhappily. "How," he asked carefully, "did she know about that? There's no way I'd tell her that. No way," he repeated, trying to convince himself more than Willow. He would never, ever share those details of his former life, especially not with the slayer. Even if he loved her. His eyes were still on the witch in front of him, waiting impatiently, but she wasn't answering his question. Why wasn't she answering his blasted question? "How?" he yelled.

Willow jumped back slightly, biting her lip in that nervous manner he hated. She seemed to be trying to make a decision, so he stood up, stalking toward her. Seeing him approach, she finally yelled, "You. You told me."

And now she was looking all sad again, like he was the most pathetic creature on Earth and needed her pity. He didn't need a bloody thing from this, or any other, human.

Instead of yelling at her some more, he decided to just show her his disbelief by scoffing at her. "Yeah, not likely."

"You did," she insisted. "I went to your crypt after you... well, you chained up Buffy and I was angry, so I went there to, I don't know, chew you out, or do a spell to make you perpetually itchy, or something, but you were all drunk and I couldn't do it."

Spike stared at her for a minute, got slowly to his feet, moved around the couch, and left the apartment.