Disclaimer: See chapter 1

PART 5

(February 2000)

Spike pulled Willow closer to him in his sleep, hugging her soft body to his. She squished against him, and he groaned, throwing the pillow aside and searching for Willow and her warm body. When he didn't find her next to him, he opened his eyes and searched the crypt. She wasn't there. He sat up, his jaw clenching. Damn her. She was bound and determined to piss him off at every turn. He'd decided last night wasn't going to be a one time thing, and he meant it, so where did she get off leaving him?

Next time he should tell her his decisions, he thought with a chuckle.

He got dressed and smoked a cigarette before checking for daylight. There wasn't any; the night had once again claimed the day as its own, so he headed out. He figured he'd pick up a couple of bags of blood, and maybe some food for Willow, then he'd go find her.

Never once did it cross his mind that she wouldn't be there. She was from another time, he knew this, and he accepted it, but he hadn't thought she'd be going back any time soon. He hadn't thought about it at all. Willow was just a part of his life. Had been in one form or another for the past two years. But, now she was gone. The one he liked was gone, the one he'd slept with was gone. And in her place was a replica that was her, but not quite. She didn't share his memories of last night, or the past two days. She didn't even like him. She was afraid of him.

Now Spike knew how Willow had felt with him. Her Spike was different.

His Willow was different.

After searching for her most of the night, Spike headed back home. She wasn't there. He hadn't expected her to be. He put his armchair back where it belonged, but one of the legs was broken, and the chair fell forward. He left it and sat on the sarcophagus instead.

She was gone.

He didn't know how he knew, but he was certain she was. Now, he had to wait a year and a half to see her again. He was an impatient sort, never one for waiting around when there was something to do, or someone to kill. But this time there was nothing to do but wait. Maybe he could work on this Willow. Befriend her, seduce her. Maybe-- no. He would keep an eye on her, and make sure she was safe, but other than that, he would leave her alone. Maybe.

He sighed heavily, dropping his cigarette to the floor and stepping on it. He went to the corner, where the table had, miraculously, fallen in one piece and pulled out the drawings of Dru. Further inside were drawings of Buffy, Willow and Cordelia. Angelus had a good eye. He always managed to capture the person he was drawing. Spike had always thought it was because he drew them in their most vulnerable moments.

In Dru's drawings, she was always looking up at something, a hopeful expression on her face. She looked like a child waiting for a treat. Vulnerable.

Buffy was sleeping, her hand curled slightly, an innocent look on her face. She was younger than today, more trusting. Spike had always been drawn to this sketch. He hadn't known why, but with the information Willow had given him, he wasn't going to examine the reasons.

Cordelia was bent over slightly, her hands on her knees, screaming at whatever horror she was seeing. Most likely the moron being killed.

Willow. He tossed the other drawings aside and examined hers. She was young, much younger than his Willow. She looked vulnerable in every drawing. Whether she was happy or sad or laughing or crying, she looked one word away from breaking apart.

It was weird how things worked out. Two years ago, Spike had been happy and in love. A few months later, he was in hell. Angelus was back, Spike was in a wheel chair and Drusilla was parading around with her precious sire. Back then, when Spike had time in abundance, he'd spent most of it in the mansion. Angelus' sketch pads littered every room in the house, and Spike had taken a few. For spite. For need. For want. For something to do. No matter how he explained it to himself, he ended up with sketch after sketch of Dru, Buffy, Cordelia and Willow.

The weird thing was that he had more of Buffy and Willow than he did of Cordelia, or even Dru. Since he hardly knew the cheerleader, except by sight, there was no mystery there, but why not more of Dru? How had that happened? It was as if he was being forced to make a choice. If he had a choice, he already knew which one he'd pick.

Willow.

But he didn't think it was as simple as that. Nothing in life ever was.

He stood up, tossing all but Willow's drawings inside the coffin. Willow's went back into the drawer of the table. He set the table back in its normal spot by the broken chair. As he straightened up, he spotted a stack of papers in the opposite corner. He didn't remember them being there last night. He picked them up and set them on top of his bed. He sat down and grabbed the top sheet. It was a hand written letter, and he knew it was from Willow.

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Spike,
If you're reading this, then the spell worked, and I'm either back in my time, or dead. I choose to believe I'm back in good old 2001, but this being the Hellmouth, both possibilities are... possible.

The spell I'm talking about was a simple one to keep these papers hidden from you until my death, or my departure from this time. (I'm still hoping I'm alive)

Anyway. Earlier today, just after arriving, I got the distinct impression that I wasn't going to be sticking around very long. I was pretty sure I was being sent back to my time. So I typed up everything you need to know to fix things. It's impossible for you to change everything. And I don't expect you to. But, I would be very appreciative if you'd at least try to change some things. Please.

If you don't want to, or can't change these things, then skip to the back, and fix the last one, because I can't stand the thought of Giles and Buffy dying. I don't know this part for sure, but I think Xander and Anya are dead too. Maybe even Dawn and Tara. I know you don't know them, and you never really get to like Tara, but, I love her. So please, keep her safe. And Dawn, you don't know her yet either, but you will. I can't tell you anything about her, but believe me when I say that she is more precious than anything in this world. Not just to me, but to everyone, including you. So keeping her safe is a big priority.

Now, on to the good stuff. Happy reading!

Willow
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Spike flipped through the pages, straight to the end. He wanted to know what had happened to her. When he'd first seen her on Giles' couch, she'd had such a violent reaction to him. And then the nightmare last night.
He found the part he wanted and began reading.

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September, 15, 2001

I knew you couldn't wait, Oh Impatient One. I'm rolling my eyes here, even though you can't see it. Or me.

Anyway. You want to know what happened. It started with a phone call from Giles. He asked me to stop by your crypt because he needed your help with a spell. I was on my way to the Bronze, and saw you just as I was leaving, (lucky break for me) and caught up with you. You were your usual cocky, smart aleck-y self, and then we parted ways.

Now, here's where it gets weird. I walked a block and suddenly you were behind me. I didn't think anything of it at first, even though you had on different clothes. Actually, the same clothes, just different colors. And, gasp, no duster.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________

Spike chuckled. The chit thought she was a comedian.

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But then you grabbed me and bit me. (It's the bite mark you asked me about) And it hurt more than anything I've ever felt before. Harmony's bite was like a push pin compared to a... um, sorry about the comparison, but, railroad spike. Then you, or rather, Fake Spike, dragged me to Giles' apartment. Long story short, Giles shot a crossbow bolt at him, and he pushed me in front of him. Nice of him, huh? I passed out, and when I woke up, Giles was dead, and the demon (it had to have been some kind of demon, unless you've got an evil twin you've never told anyone about... and yes, I do think I'm funny) was gone. I went outside into the courtyard, because the smell was making me nauseous.

I passed out again. I think I was running on borrowed time at that point. Most of my blood was gone, and shock was taking over. When I woke up this time, you were there, but I didn't know it was you, so I kind of freaked and yelled at you to leave me alone. Sorry. I thought you were Fake You. Does that make sense? I should've known, I mean, you had on the right clothes and everything. I should've just... known. And here I claim to be your friend.

Moving on. You helped me over to the fountain and told me Buffy was dead. I sort of lied to you when I said you were getting over her. You weren't. I could see the pain on your face, though you tried to hide it. Please don't throw this across the room. I know I warned you against falling in love with her, at least, I tried, but I don't think it's something you can stop. I think it's your destiny.

Okay, so where was I? Right. Buffy is dead. Giles is dead. I'm pretty close to death myself, I think. But you helped me. Maybe I made it to the hospital in time. I wanted to thank you for that. You carried me there.

So, I don't know how you can stop this. Or even if you can, but I would appreciate it if you tried.

Be good!

Willow
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(September 2001)

Willow woke up reaching for Spike, but she couldn't find him in the soft bed.

Soft bed?

Her eyes flew open, searching the dark room. "Spike?" she whispered. She cleared her throat and tried to speak louder, but a whisper was all she could manage. "Spike?"

"Here." His voice came from the other side of her, cutting through the darkness. She sighed in relief. She hadn't lost him. He was still here. She settled back into bed and closed her eyes.

Where was here?

Her eyes snapped open again, and she tried to sit up, but the pain in her everywhere kept her still. Faintly, the sound of electronic beeping came to her, and she realized she was in the hospital. "Spike?"

He was sitting in a chair beside her bed, looking tired and haggard. He stood up and reached above her. Sudden light filled the room by the bed and she blinked against it.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

She looked down at herself, surprised to see all the tubes and wires connected to her arms. Her heartbeat and pulse, being monitored by the cart of machinery by her head, were faintly beeping. She was covered up to her chin by a glaringly white sheet and sickly yellow blanket.

Hospital. That meant Giles was dead. And Buffy. Dead. They were dead. She'd been shot with a crossbow and bitten.

Tears pricked her eyes. She hadn't gone back in time. It was just a dream, a drug induced dream. But it had seemed so real.

She rolled over onto her side, facing him. A lock of hair fell into her eyes, and she reached up to brush it away. Her muscles were weak, and they didn't want to respond to her simple movements, but eventually she managed to move the hair enough to see again.

Spike was looking in the direction of the window, hardly paying her any attention.

Her voice was barely above a whisper when she finally spoke. "They're really dead?" She turned pleading eyes to him, willing him to deny it, but he couldn't. He nodded, still without looking her way. "Xander and Anya?" After a quick look at her, he gave another small nod, then went back to looking out the window. "All of them?" she whispered. One final nod, and it was official. Everyone she knew was dead. Willow closed her eyes, shutting out the pain along with the light. "Tara?"

"She's fine," he said quickly, startling her. "Whatever it was didn't go after her. But Dawn--"

Willow turned her head away from Spike. They were all dead. Almost everyone she cared about was dead. Except Spike, and Tara. "Does Tara know? Is she safe?"

"She's safe," he reassured her, "she was here a few times while you were out."

Willow heard the hard tone of his voice and looked at him. His jaw was clenched tight. His eyes were cold and filled with bitterness. Everyone he cared about was dead. She still had Tara and Spike. He had no one, except her, and she wasn't sure that even mattered to him. That she even mattered to him. He'd lost everyone he knew and liked here. She sometimes forgot he liked the gang, he managed to hide it so well. Plus Buffy. Especially Buffy. "I'm sorry. About Buffy, I mean. I can't believe she's gone... again"

He looked away from her, and shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal, but she knew better. She'd been there the last time he'd grieved for Buffy.

This Spike, her Spike, was in love with the slayer. He'd almost died for her a few times, and Willow admired him for that. He was so different than the Spike in her dream. The one she'd slept with. The one she had left everybody's future entrusted to.
It couldn't have all been a dream. But, if it wasn't, shouldn't Spike remember their night together? If it had been real, shouldn't the time line have already changed?

"Spike, um, back when you first got implanted, did I come visit you? In-- in your crypt?" She waited for some form of recognition. A flicker in his eyes. Tightening of his jaw. Anything. There was nothing.

He looked confused. And maybe a little concerned about her sanity. "No. Not that I remember. Why?" He ran his hands through his hair, messing it up slightly.

She resisted the urge to touch it. "No reason." It had been a dream. She rolled onto her other side, away from him. "I'm tired." She listened, waiting for him to leave, but he didn't.

"What did it?" he asked, after a few minutes of silence.

She shrugged and the tubes and wires connected to her arm moved with her.

He sighed in frustration. "I didn't see it, but that bite on your neck looks like a vampire bite."
She nodded. "It was you," she whispered. "You--"

"What?" he snapped, anger pouring off of him. "You think I did it? Killed them? Killed Buffy?"

She rolled back over, facing him again. Her eyes flashed angrily. "No. You didn't let me finish. It looked like you. It has to be a shapeshifter or something. I ran into it right after I left you." She closed her eyes, trying to remember everything she could, yet remain detached from the pain. "He was you, except his clothes. Blue shirt. Blue jeans. Grey button-up shirt, no duster."

"Why would a shapeshifter go after the slayer? They're generally non-violent. And this one not only went after the slayer, but her friends as well." He frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Positive." She massaged her neck lightly where a large bandage covered the bite mark from the demon. "He did this. Believe me, I got close enough to see. He was you, down to the scar on your eyebrow."

He absently rubbed the scar with his thumb. "Why didn't it kill you? Or me? Or Tara? It obviously knows about us."
She yawned, covering her mouth with her hand. "I was wondering that too. Maybe it thought I would die. Left me for dead. Or, maybe it just used me to get to Giles."

"Maybe," he agreed.



Spike's eyes drifted away from the sleeping form of Willow, and back out into the night. He itched to be out there, hunting down the demon that had done this, but he had no idea where to start. He needed more information, and he wouldn't be getting that until tomorrow. Willow was exhausted, she didn't need him waking her up.

All he knew about the shapeshifter was that it had killed almost everyone he cared about. And he did care about them. About Buffy.

A sigh escaped him.

Buffy. She had disliked him to the end. Tolerated him for his ability to help her protect Dawn, but other than that, she despised him. And he despised himself just as strongly for falling for her. If he'd had a choice, he most definitely would not have chosen the slayer to fall in love with.

Losing Buffy--twice--was harder than losing Dru. At least Dru was still out there somewhere, walking around, talking to her bloody stars, shagging this demon and that. But Buffy was in the morgue, and she wasn't going to walk again. Ever.

Willow moaned in her sleep, crying out for Xander. The moron. Spike had often called him that, just to taunt the boy, anger him. It was all he could do anymore, so he had to get his fun where he could.

"Spike?"

"Yeah, pet?" Spike turned from the window, expecting to find Willow watching him, but she was still asleep, thrashing around on the bed, tossing her blankets off. He grabbed her shoulders and held her still until she calmed down, then covered her back up.

"Spike," she said more forcefully, "stop. Get off of me. Get off," she yelled.

He sat back down in the chair. Was she dreaming about him hurting her, or the demon in his form? Was she still afraid of him? He didn't think she was. He shook her lightly.

"Wake up, pet, you're having a nightmare."

She opened her eyes, and, sunken though they were, they were startlingly bright in contrast to her pale skin. Her eyes found his, and her face softened as she reached up to touch his forehead. "I'm not disgusted by you, Spike." Her hand dropped to the bed, and her eyes slid shut again. She was asleep.

He raised his hand to his forehead, the spot she'd touched was where the ridges were when he vamped out. He knew she wasn't disgusted by his demon visage, but why had she felt the need to reassure him of that in her semi-sleep induced mind?