Disclaimer: See chapter 1, or 6.
PART 7
(September 2001)
Willow was released from the hospital the day after Angel and his gang arrived. She was relieved, and way beyond ready to go home by the time she signed the last paper and was wheeled out into the sun. Tara drove her to her parent's house, and Willow sat happily ensconced on the couch while her parents fussed over her. She cherished times like these, when Ira and Sheila actually paid attention to their daughter, because she knew they wouldn't last long. Too soon they would feel the pull of business meetings and out of town trips again, and be on the next plane out.
Willow didn't mind too much anymore. She was used to it. She knew her parents loved her. And she loved them. They just led separate lives.
Later that night, after Tara had gone home, and her parents had gone to bed, Willow lay in her bed, wide awake. She was thinking about Xander and Buffy, remembering all the good times they'd had... mostly having to do with vampires and demons in Buffy's case, but Willow wouldn't have given those times up for the world.
And Xander. She'd known him all her life. Been best friends since forever. Loved him longer than not. And now he was gone, and she had an aching hole in her where he used to be. She wouldn't get to see his handsome face ever again except in pictures, never hear his voice as he told one of his terrible jokes. Never see that smile he had just for her.
She felt tears soaking her cheeks again, and wiped angrily at them. She was sick and tired of the tears and the sobbing, she didn't want to do it anymore. She wanted the pain to go away. Her eyes darted over to one of her spell books and she threw the blanket back, climbing out of bed.
When she went to bed, the night was warm, so she'd only dressed in a tank top and baggy shorts, but it was a bit chillier now, so she threw her robe on, and tied it.
Her desk lamp hummed quietly when she turned it on. The sound was comforting, familiar. She sat cross legged in the middle of her bed and flipped through the spell book, looking for a healing spell.
A sound from her glass door drew her attention a few minutes later. She tossed the book aside, grabbed the cross from under her pillow and peered into the darkness. The light from her desk lamp prevented her from seeing anything, so she got up and moved cautiously toward the door, holding the cross out in front of her. She turned off the light as she passed it and stood still, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness.
She heard a familiar dry chuckle from the other side of the door, but she didn't lower the cross. She moved closer, still holding it out in front of her.
"Willow," Spike said quietly. "You want to get that thing out of my face?"
"No," she immediately answered. How was she to know if this was the real Spike or not? Fake Spike could have wised up and changed his clothes. She peered closely into his eyes, but she couldn't tell. He looked like her Spike, but so had Fake Spike. She bit her lip in frustration, unsure what to do.
"It's me, Willow." He certainly sounded as exasperated as Spike could get.
But still... did that mean anything? The shapeshifter didn't need an invitation, it'd proved that the night it killed Giles, so why was she bothering with the cross? "All right. Okay, um, I really hope you're you." She lowered the cross, standing aside to let him in.
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the railing, shrugging. A small smile played over his lips. "I'm fine out here." He gazed up at the moon, and inhaled deeply before returning his eyes to hers. "What kind of spell are you doing?"
She sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall, pulling her legs up to her chest. "How'd you know I was--"
He nodded to the book on her bed. "Pretty obvious."
"Oh. Yeah, I guess. Um, just a small spell. Nothing huge. Nothing life altering. Just a little thing really."
His voice was teasing when he spoke. "None of your spells are ever small, pet." He straightened up, his voice turning serious. "I just came to see if you were all right. Not passed out on the floor again or something."
She laughed quietly. "I'm fine. I've actually had no urges to faint. At least not since my mom told me she was bringing me dinner in bed. She's a huge believer in self sufficiency and doesn't tend to coddle, hence my incredulity."
They were both quiet for a few minutes, lost in their own thoughts and memories. Willow was watching him surreptitiously. Since waking in the hospital, she'd found herself watching him a lot. Her trip to the past may have been just a dream, but she couldn't shake the feeling that it was real. She'd seen Spike naked, she knew every inch of his body. In the dream, or whatever it was, she'd watched him while he slept. She'd studied him, memorizing every detail.
But it couldn't have been real. The past was just as she remembered it. Nothing had changed. Her friends were still dead. Spike didn't remember their night together. It had to have been a dream.
A sudden thought struck her. She'd seen him naked. She knew what he looked like naked. If it was just a dream, then he wouldn't have a small scar on his right thigh. Or a long jagged one on his abdomen.
She stood up quickly, and opened the door. "Come in."
He hesitated a second before stepping inside. It was the first time he'd been in her bedroom. She should've felt awkward and nervous, but excitement was winning out. In a minute, if he co-operated, she'd prove once and for all if her trip to the past was real, or just a dream.
Now, how to go about asking him without telling him anything? As tempting as it was, she wouldn't ask him to strip. She hid a grin at the thought and sat down on her bed.
Spike looked around her room, examining the girly things with amusement. She hardly noticed him picking up her things and smirking over them before putting them back. She was too busy trying to figure out the best way to go about this. Finally, she decided to just ask him straight out.
"Spike?"
He turned from his perusal of a stuffed bear and faced her. "Yeah?"
"Um, I need to ask you something, and it may seem strange, but really, it's not. I'm sane, I just had this... thing, happen, o-- or not happen, which is why I need to ask you this question. You know, to figure out if it really happened or not."
He nodded his consent, turning back to her stuffed animals. She was glad he was used to her rambling by now. He picked up another stuffed animal, this one a wolf that Oz had given her.
"Okay." She took a deep breath and dove in. "Do you have a small scar on your right thigh?" She winced, waiting for his reaction. She didn't know why, but she expected laughter and mocking. What she got was anger.
"How did you know about that?" he ground out. His suddenly cold eyes fell on her spell book and he ripped the head off of her poor stuffed wolf. "What the hell are you trying to do to me this time?" He dropped the wolf and stomped over to the book.
She jumped out of his way just in time. "No, the spell was for me. This is something completely different, not having to do with a spell. I, um... " she quickly weighed her options and went with a safe answer. "I dreamed it."
His snort told her how much he believed her. He continued to flip through the book, searching for a spell she could use against him. "Sure you did, Willow."
"Really," she assured him. "I did. I... sort of did."
He raised a scornful eyebrow at her. "Lying is not your strong suit."
She threw her arms up in defeat. "All right, fine. I didn't dream it. You want the truth?"
He nodded curtly.
"Great. After I passed out, on the way to the hospital, I went back in time."
He stared at her for a full minute before shaking his head disdainfully. "Try again. That's worse than the dream one."
She cast a look at her bedroom door, half expecting her parents to come barreling through the door with stern glances and shaking fingers.
She was getting angry now at his cavalier attitude. She glared at him and poked her finger into his chest. "Don't believe me, buster?"
He shook his head again.
"You also have a long scar... " she traced her finger along his abdomen, "right here."
His eyes bore into hers once again as he yanked her hand away from his stomach. "Okay, so you know I have a few scars. How does that prove you went back in time?"
She wondered at his anger. Why would her knowing about his scars make him so angry?
"That in itself doesn't prove anything to you. But it does to me. See, since I woke up in the hospital I've tried to convince myself it was a dream, but it was too real."
He snapped his fingers in realization. "You visited me in my crypt. Right after I was chipped."
Hope surged through her and she took a step closer to him. "You remember now?"
"What?" he asked, his confusion evident. "No. You asked me that when you woke up."
Disappointment flooded through her, but she managed to keep most of it hidden. "Oh. I don't get it then. How could you not remember? I was there. It was when Faith switched bodies with Buffy. I saw you two talking in the Bronze." His eyes narrowed dangerously, and she stepped back with a gulp. "I told you it was Faith, that it wasn't really Buffy... you, of course, don't remember me telling you." She sighed heavily. "Everything is so screwed up."
"You went back in time... what? A year?"
"A year and a half," she corrected, "but yeah."
"What'd you do while you were back there?" His hand rubbed absently at his abdomen. "Or maybe I should ask what we did," he smirked. "Seeing as how you know all my most intimate secrets. Once again I feel all violated by you, Willow."
His rich laughter rang throughout the room, warming her. A blush crept up her cheeks.
Admitting to having sex with him without him remembering it would make it sort of awkward, so she lied. "We didn't do anything. Nothing. You, um, you just... oh, you told me about them."
"You're still a terrible liar." All teasing was gone now, his voice was serious, almost wary. "What did I do?"
"Do?" she asked, confusion lacing her words. "What do you mean? You didn't *do* anything."
"No? I remember what I was like then. I hated all of you. Blamed all of you for the implant. And when you did that spell, you were at the top of my hit list. If I hadn't had the chip, you'd definitely be dead now."
She was shaking her head in denial. "No, that's not true. I was there, you didn't-- well, not that you could. But... you wanted to kill me that bad?" Her lower lip trembled. "Then why did you... "
He was watching her closely, trying to figure out what she wasn't saying. Well, she wasn't going to tell him. God, she'd slept with someone who wanted to kill her. Could've killed her. Her hand rose to her neck, rubbing his bite mark, the one that wasn't there. Why hadn't he killed her? He could have just drained her dry, drained her as she lay naked and trusting in his arms.
"Did we... did I--"
"No," she told him, and this time her lie came out sounding like the truth. "No, we didn't. You were drunk, and I helped you to bed. Saw the scars then." He would never know the truth. Not from her lips.
He looked relieved. "Good. You know, if it means anything," he teased, "I don't want to kill you anymore."
Her smile was strained. "Great. You know, I'm tired. So... "
He nodded, watching her closely. "Are you sure I didn't do anything to you?" he probed.
"I'm sure. I'll tell you what happened tomorrow, I'm just really sleepy right now." She turned away from him.
"Right. Tomorrow." His tone was flat. He knew she was holding something back, and he didn't like it. He slipped outside, and jumped over the railing, landing with a soft thud on the grass. Willow stood on the balcony, watching him until he disappeared before going back inside and locking the doors behind her.
She picked the spell book back up and quickly flipped through it. She needed that spell more than ever now, otherwise she'd collapse into tears again.
She'd slept with a man-- vampire, that hated her, that wanted to kill her. She shoved those thoughts aside and concentrated on finding the spell.
About to give up and write her own spell, she gave a surprised cheer when she found a suitable one in the back of the book. An Emotion Control spell. Perfect.
She got all the ingredients from her hidden stash in the closet, set the candles and lit them, cast her circle and did the spell.
(September 2001)
Spike spent a good two hours hunting the shape shifting demon, but it seemed no one knew it was there. Or, if they did, they weren't talking to Spike about it. Most demons were celebrating the death of the slayer, and didn't have time to talk to a traitor. It didn't matter. However long it took, Spike would find the demon, and kill it.
He climbed the trellis to Willow's balcony later that night to find her asleep in bed. He quickly picked the lock on her door and slipped inside. After her admission earlier, he'd started to worry about her. It was obvious something had happened between the two of them, but she wasn't being forthcoming about it. Remembering her nightmare in the hospital, he was afraid his past self had done something to hurt her in some way, but he didn't know what. And if he was honest with himself, he was afraid to find out.
He quietly shut the door behind him, and looked around. The spell book was on her desk, and everything was in it's place, even the stuffed wolf he'd ripped apart, but he knew she had cast a spell. The smell of herbs and candle wax hung heavy in the air.
Great. What was going to go wrong this time? Something always did when it came to Willow and magick. Especially when emotions were involved. And she'd been upset when he left.
He looked down at her sleeping form. She was curled up on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek, the other hanging over the side of the bed, open and inviting. He knelt down beside the bed and laced his fingers with hers. His cold fingers were immediately warmed. Their intertwined fingers held a certain fascination for him that he couldn't explain. Last night, in the hospital, when she'd wrapped her hand around his, he'd found himself staring at her tiny hand nestled against his larger one, wondering if her small body would fit against his as well as her hand did.
He slipped her hand back under the sheet. She sighed softly, her warm breath fanning across his cheek. He brushed his fingers across her forehead, smoothing away the frown there.
He missed contact with other people. He'd always hated being alone, but these days, it was worse than it had ever been. And lately, he'd found himself wanting to touch Willow, hold her, kiss her. Just to have contact with someone else.
That was all it was, wasn't it?
He still loved Buffy. Didn't he? Yes, he did. But she was gone, and Willow was here. She was all he had left and she was alone, hurt. Beautiful. She needed him.
She has Tara, he reminded himself.
Tara isn't what Willow needs, his irrational side tossed back, she needs me.
Inhaling her scent, he leaned down and pressed his lips lightly against hers. She moaned in her sleep and whispered Tara's name.
Anger swept through him, and he jumped to his feet. Where the hell did she get off dreaming about the witch? She should be thinking about him.
Since when? he wondered. And why was he thinking about her like that so suddenly?
His eyes fell on the spell book. Maybe since she'd cast a spell? He reached out to shake her awake, force her to tell him what she'd done, but halted his hand just above her shoulder. Tomorrow. He would ask her tomorrow, she needed to sleep tonight.
(February 2000)
Jonathan's world was a world that Spike didn't want to live in. Everywhere he turned, he saw the boy's face, smirking, confident... annoying. He'd bided his time, waited a whole day before taking action, and now it was time. Time to play the hero and save the damsel in distress.
He stood around the corner from where it would happen, watching and waiting. Couldn't rescue her too soon, he'd let her get tossed around a bit first.
Ten minutes later, the girl finally decided to show up for her beating. He rolled his eyes, just like a woman to be late. She walked past without seeing him. She wouldn't have recognized him anyway, he'd never let her see him in the light when he stood outside her window.
Her heartbeat picked up and he peered around the corner, she turned her head just as he did, and he ducked back, feeling like a fool, hiding from a little girl.
He had to remind himself that he was doing this for Willow.
There was a loud crashing sound down the hall. He stepped out to watch. The double doors in front of her had crashed open and the demon was there. It backhanded her, and she fell. Then, it swiped at her again, and she was on her back, holding her hands up defensively.
Spike started to go to her rescue, being all manly and hero-y, but stopped as she started chanting desperately, scooting backwards. He decided to wait and see what happened.
She held her arms out and some kind of smoke or powder sprung from her hands blinding the monster. The demon chittered, waving the smoke away. Tara got up and ran through a door, locking it. The demon banged on the door a few times.
Spike decided that now was the time. He snuck up behind the creature and hit it in the lower back. It shrieked in surprise, spinning around to face him. Spike punched it in the face and it went down.
Breaking the lock, Spike yanked the door open. The witch was cowering inside, obviously in shock. She had little scratches and cuts all over her, and he snickered at the frailty of humans. He reached out, grabbed the girl, and hauled her into his arms. She didn't protest, didn't even seem to notice. He carried her to Willow's dorm room. Willow would be there soon, all grateful and appreciative, and he'd be waiting.
The invitation Willow had called out to him when he tried to kill her a few months ago was still there. Good thing, otherwise his plan would have failed. He went inside, wondering why neither one of them had locked the door.
He laid the girl on the slayer's bed. She curled up, shivering and whimpering. He reached down and yanked the blankets out from underneath her and carelessly covered her up, then stood back, examining his work. Not bad. The witch was suitably pathetic looking, and he was ready to receive his adulation.
He sat down on Willow's bed and kicked off his boots. It'd be a few minutes before Willow got home. He stretched out on her bed and folded his hands behind his head, a contented smile turning up his lips.
(February 2000)
Spike was pulled roughly from slumber by a hand on his throat. He opened his eyes to see the slayer's angry face above his.
"What did you do to her?" she demanded, a deadly glint in her eyes.
"What are you on about?" He shook her hand off of his throat and sat up. Willow was there. He could smell her, hear her heartbeat. He looked expectantly over at her. Any minute now, Willow would be all grateful and appreciative. She wasn't looking at him. Her hand was busy smoothing Tara's hair away from her forehead, while her other hand held Tara's unresponsive one.
Buffy grabbed his jaw and turned his face back to hers, showing him the stake in her hand. "I asked you a question. What did you do to Tara?"
Spike batted the stake away from his face and stood up, a cocky grin touching his lips. "Saved her," he said proudly. His gaze fell on Willow. She tossed him a quick glance before turning her attention back to the blonde.
Damn it. Where was his appreciation?
"Yeah. Right," Buffy snorted. "And you expect us to believe this, why?"
"It's the truth. Saw a demon headed this way, thought I'd take it out, you know? Make the world safer and all that rot. Found it in the hall, beating on Red's witchy friend here."
Buffy still looked unconvinced. "Uh-huh."
He shot her an irritated glance and was about to reply when Willow interrupted him.
"I believe him. I mean, if he did this, why would he wait here with her? Why would she still be alive? Why would he bring her here, I mean, he's not Angelus." Both her and Buffy gasped at Willow's harsh words. Willow rushed over to Buffy. Pushing Spike out of the way, she grabbed Buffy's hand. "I am *so* sorry, Buffy. I didn't mean that the way it came out. You know me, never thinking before speaking."
Spike snorted. "Don't apologize. It's the truth. Angelus is a sadistic bastard."
"Shut up," both girls said as one.
Feeling extremely offended, Spike threw his hands in the air. "Fine."
Buffy glared at him, then smiled at Willow. "It's fine. I'm not mad. You just kinda took me by surprise. You really believe him?" she asked dubiously.
"Hey. Standing right here," he mumbled.
Willow ignored him. She nodded at Buffy, a goofy smile on her face. "First time for everything."
Spike's eyes shot to hers at her words. He'd told his Willow that exact same thing when she told him that she and future Spike had never slept together.
Neither of the girls noticed his suddenly intense gaze settle on Willow, and for that he was grateful. It wouldn't do to scare the girl, or alert the slayer.
Tara moaned pitifully from the bed, and Spike rolled his eyes as Willow and Buffy rushed over to her. He was still waiting for a thank you, or something.
Willow sat on the bed, holding the witch's hand. Buffy knelt beside them. Tara's eyes opened, looking from Willow to Buffy. As remembrance flooded through her, she looked around the room, looking for the creature. Her eyes lit on Spike and widened. He sneered at her, and she whimpered. Willow looked accusingly at Spike, but he'd already covered the sneer with a bored look. He shrugged at her, all innocence and charm.
"Tara, what did this?" Buffy asked gently, having missed the exchange.
"Big, lumpy," Tara told her. "Had something on its-- on its head. Like a Greek letter, only not."
Buffy grabbed a sheet of paper from her nightstand, and drew on it. "This? Was it this?"
Tara nodded.
Willow turned to the slayer. "Buffy, Jonathan said we were all safe. Jonathan said it," she stressed.
"Yeah. Jonathan," Spike scoffed. "Wanker's nothing but a fraud."
Buffy looked at him sharply. "What do you know?" she asked.
"Me? Nothing." He knew plenty, but he wasn't about to help the slayer. He would help Willow, but not the slayer. Not while there was a chance that it might lead to... any sort of liking of her.
Buffy didn't look convinced, but she didn't ask anymore questions.
"So," Spike said expectantly.
"So?" Buffy asked. "So, what?"
He frowned thunderously. "Nothing." His mood had been plummeting south since being woken up, and was somewhere around the south pole by now. He clenched his jaw shut, not wanting to push the slayer over the edge. Not without him able to defend himself. "Thanks, Spike," he said in a loud voice. Then in his normal voice. "Gosh, think nothing of it, Red, I was happy to do it."
The three girls stared at him as if he'd gone mad, and Spike suddenly felt like he had. Here he was, standing inside a girls' dorm room, not killing anyone, and fishing for a thank you. He really hated his life. He stomped to the door and left, slamming it shut behind him.
PART 7
(September 2001)
Willow was released from the hospital the day after Angel and his gang arrived. She was relieved, and way beyond ready to go home by the time she signed the last paper and was wheeled out into the sun. Tara drove her to her parent's house, and Willow sat happily ensconced on the couch while her parents fussed over her. She cherished times like these, when Ira and Sheila actually paid attention to their daughter, because she knew they wouldn't last long. Too soon they would feel the pull of business meetings and out of town trips again, and be on the next plane out.
Willow didn't mind too much anymore. She was used to it. She knew her parents loved her. And she loved them. They just led separate lives.
Later that night, after Tara had gone home, and her parents had gone to bed, Willow lay in her bed, wide awake. She was thinking about Xander and Buffy, remembering all the good times they'd had... mostly having to do with vampires and demons in Buffy's case, but Willow wouldn't have given those times up for the world.
And Xander. She'd known him all her life. Been best friends since forever. Loved him longer than not. And now he was gone, and she had an aching hole in her where he used to be. She wouldn't get to see his handsome face ever again except in pictures, never hear his voice as he told one of his terrible jokes. Never see that smile he had just for her.
She felt tears soaking her cheeks again, and wiped angrily at them. She was sick and tired of the tears and the sobbing, she didn't want to do it anymore. She wanted the pain to go away. Her eyes darted over to one of her spell books and she threw the blanket back, climbing out of bed.
When she went to bed, the night was warm, so she'd only dressed in a tank top and baggy shorts, but it was a bit chillier now, so she threw her robe on, and tied it.
Her desk lamp hummed quietly when she turned it on. The sound was comforting, familiar. She sat cross legged in the middle of her bed and flipped through the spell book, looking for a healing spell.
A sound from her glass door drew her attention a few minutes later. She tossed the book aside, grabbed the cross from under her pillow and peered into the darkness. The light from her desk lamp prevented her from seeing anything, so she got up and moved cautiously toward the door, holding the cross out in front of her. She turned off the light as she passed it and stood still, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness.
She heard a familiar dry chuckle from the other side of the door, but she didn't lower the cross. She moved closer, still holding it out in front of her.
"Willow," Spike said quietly. "You want to get that thing out of my face?"
"No," she immediately answered. How was she to know if this was the real Spike or not? Fake Spike could have wised up and changed his clothes. She peered closely into his eyes, but she couldn't tell. He looked like her Spike, but so had Fake Spike. She bit her lip in frustration, unsure what to do.
"It's me, Willow." He certainly sounded as exasperated as Spike could get.
But still... did that mean anything? The shapeshifter didn't need an invitation, it'd proved that the night it killed Giles, so why was she bothering with the cross? "All right. Okay, um, I really hope you're you." She lowered the cross, standing aside to let him in.
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the railing, shrugging. A small smile played over his lips. "I'm fine out here." He gazed up at the moon, and inhaled deeply before returning his eyes to hers. "What kind of spell are you doing?"
She sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall, pulling her legs up to her chest. "How'd you know I was--"
He nodded to the book on her bed. "Pretty obvious."
"Oh. Yeah, I guess. Um, just a small spell. Nothing huge. Nothing life altering. Just a little thing really."
His voice was teasing when he spoke. "None of your spells are ever small, pet." He straightened up, his voice turning serious. "I just came to see if you were all right. Not passed out on the floor again or something."
She laughed quietly. "I'm fine. I've actually had no urges to faint. At least not since my mom told me she was bringing me dinner in bed. She's a huge believer in self sufficiency and doesn't tend to coddle, hence my incredulity."
They were both quiet for a few minutes, lost in their own thoughts and memories. Willow was watching him surreptitiously. Since waking in the hospital, she'd found herself watching him a lot. Her trip to the past may have been just a dream, but she couldn't shake the feeling that it was real. She'd seen Spike naked, she knew every inch of his body. In the dream, or whatever it was, she'd watched him while he slept. She'd studied him, memorizing every detail.
But it couldn't have been real. The past was just as she remembered it. Nothing had changed. Her friends were still dead. Spike didn't remember their night together. It had to have been a dream.
A sudden thought struck her. She'd seen him naked. She knew what he looked like naked. If it was just a dream, then he wouldn't have a small scar on his right thigh. Or a long jagged one on his abdomen.
She stood up quickly, and opened the door. "Come in."
He hesitated a second before stepping inside. It was the first time he'd been in her bedroom. She should've felt awkward and nervous, but excitement was winning out. In a minute, if he co-operated, she'd prove once and for all if her trip to the past was real, or just a dream.
Now, how to go about asking him without telling him anything? As tempting as it was, she wouldn't ask him to strip. She hid a grin at the thought and sat down on her bed.
Spike looked around her room, examining the girly things with amusement. She hardly noticed him picking up her things and smirking over them before putting them back. She was too busy trying to figure out the best way to go about this. Finally, she decided to just ask him straight out.
"Spike?"
He turned from his perusal of a stuffed bear and faced her. "Yeah?"
"Um, I need to ask you something, and it may seem strange, but really, it's not. I'm sane, I just had this... thing, happen, o-- or not happen, which is why I need to ask you this question. You know, to figure out if it really happened or not."
He nodded his consent, turning back to her stuffed animals. She was glad he was used to her rambling by now. He picked up another stuffed animal, this one a wolf that Oz had given her.
"Okay." She took a deep breath and dove in. "Do you have a small scar on your right thigh?" She winced, waiting for his reaction. She didn't know why, but she expected laughter and mocking. What she got was anger.
"How did you know about that?" he ground out. His suddenly cold eyes fell on her spell book and he ripped the head off of her poor stuffed wolf. "What the hell are you trying to do to me this time?" He dropped the wolf and stomped over to the book.
She jumped out of his way just in time. "No, the spell was for me. This is something completely different, not having to do with a spell. I, um... " she quickly weighed her options and went with a safe answer. "I dreamed it."
His snort told her how much he believed her. He continued to flip through the book, searching for a spell she could use against him. "Sure you did, Willow."
"Really," she assured him. "I did. I... sort of did."
He raised a scornful eyebrow at her. "Lying is not your strong suit."
She threw her arms up in defeat. "All right, fine. I didn't dream it. You want the truth?"
He nodded curtly.
"Great. After I passed out, on the way to the hospital, I went back in time."
He stared at her for a full minute before shaking his head disdainfully. "Try again. That's worse than the dream one."
She cast a look at her bedroom door, half expecting her parents to come barreling through the door with stern glances and shaking fingers.
She was getting angry now at his cavalier attitude. She glared at him and poked her finger into his chest. "Don't believe me, buster?"
He shook his head again.
"You also have a long scar... " she traced her finger along his abdomen, "right here."
His eyes bore into hers once again as he yanked her hand away from his stomach. "Okay, so you know I have a few scars. How does that prove you went back in time?"
She wondered at his anger. Why would her knowing about his scars make him so angry?
"That in itself doesn't prove anything to you. But it does to me. See, since I woke up in the hospital I've tried to convince myself it was a dream, but it was too real."
He snapped his fingers in realization. "You visited me in my crypt. Right after I was chipped."
Hope surged through her and she took a step closer to him. "You remember now?"
"What?" he asked, his confusion evident. "No. You asked me that when you woke up."
Disappointment flooded through her, but she managed to keep most of it hidden. "Oh. I don't get it then. How could you not remember? I was there. It was when Faith switched bodies with Buffy. I saw you two talking in the Bronze." His eyes narrowed dangerously, and she stepped back with a gulp. "I told you it was Faith, that it wasn't really Buffy... you, of course, don't remember me telling you." She sighed heavily. "Everything is so screwed up."
"You went back in time... what? A year?"
"A year and a half," she corrected, "but yeah."
"What'd you do while you were back there?" His hand rubbed absently at his abdomen. "Or maybe I should ask what we did," he smirked. "Seeing as how you know all my most intimate secrets. Once again I feel all violated by you, Willow."
His rich laughter rang throughout the room, warming her. A blush crept up her cheeks.
Admitting to having sex with him without him remembering it would make it sort of awkward, so she lied. "We didn't do anything. Nothing. You, um, you just... oh, you told me about them."
"You're still a terrible liar." All teasing was gone now, his voice was serious, almost wary. "What did I do?"
"Do?" she asked, confusion lacing her words. "What do you mean? You didn't *do* anything."
"No? I remember what I was like then. I hated all of you. Blamed all of you for the implant. And when you did that spell, you were at the top of my hit list. If I hadn't had the chip, you'd definitely be dead now."
She was shaking her head in denial. "No, that's not true. I was there, you didn't-- well, not that you could. But... you wanted to kill me that bad?" Her lower lip trembled. "Then why did you... "
He was watching her closely, trying to figure out what she wasn't saying. Well, she wasn't going to tell him. God, she'd slept with someone who wanted to kill her. Could've killed her. Her hand rose to her neck, rubbing his bite mark, the one that wasn't there. Why hadn't he killed her? He could have just drained her dry, drained her as she lay naked and trusting in his arms.
"Did we... did I--"
"No," she told him, and this time her lie came out sounding like the truth. "No, we didn't. You were drunk, and I helped you to bed. Saw the scars then." He would never know the truth. Not from her lips.
He looked relieved. "Good. You know, if it means anything," he teased, "I don't want to kill you anymore."
Her smile was strained. "Great. You know, I'm tired. So... "
He nodded, watching her closely. "Are you sure I didn't do anything to you?" he probed.
"I'm sure. I'll tell you what happened tomorrow, I'm just really sleepy right now." She turned away from him.
"Right. Tomorrow." His tone was flat. He knew she was holding something back, and he didn't like it. He slipped outside, and jumped over the railing, landing with a soft thud on the grass. Willow stood on the balcony, watching him until he disappeared before going back inside and locking the doors behind her.
She picked the spell book back up and quickly flipped through it. She needed that spell more than ever now, otherwise she'd collapse into tears again.
She'd slept with a man-- vampire, that hated her, that wanted to kill her. She shoved those thoughts aside and concentrated on finding the spell.
About to give up and write her own spell, she gave a surprised cheer when she found a suitable one in the back of the book. An Emotion Control spell. Perfect.
She got all the ingredients from her hidden stash in the closet, set the candles and lit them, cast her circle and did the spell.
(September 2001)
Spike spent a good two hours hunting the shape shifting demon, but it seemed no one knew it was there. Or, if they did, they weren't talking to Spike about it. Most demons were celebrating the death of the slayer, and didn't have time to talk to a traitor. It didn't matter. However long it took, Spike would find the demon, and kill it.
He climbed the trellis to Willow's balcony later that night to find her asleep in bed. He quickly picked the lock on her door and slipped inside. After her admission earlier, he'd started to worry about her. It was obvious something had happened between the two of them, but she wasn't being forthcoming about it. Remembering her nightmare in the hospital, he was afraid his past self had done something to hurt her in some way, but he didn't know what. And if he was honest with himself, he was afraid to find out.
He quietly shut the door behind him, and looked around. The spell book was on her desk, and everything was in it's place, even the stuffed wolf he'd ripped apart, but he knew she had cast a spell. The smell of herbs and candle wax hung heavy in the air.
Great. What was going to go wrong this time? Something always did when it came to Willow and magick. Especially when emotions were involved. And she'd been upset when he left.
He looked down at her sleeping form. She was curled up on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek, the other hanging over the side of the bed, open and inviting. He knelt down beside the bed and laced his fingers with hers. His cold fingers were immediately warmed. Their intertwined fingers held a certain fascination for him that he couldn't explain. Last night, in the hospital, when she'd wrapped her hand around his, he'd found himself staring at her tiny hand nestled against his larger one, wondering if her small body would fit against his as well as her hand did.
He slipped her hand back under the sheet. She sighed softly, her warm breath fanning across his cheek. He brushed his fingers across her forehead, smoothing away the frown there.
He missed contact with other people. He'd always hated being alone, but these days, it was worse than it had ever been. And lately, he'd found himself wanting to touch Willow, hold her, kiss her. Just to have contact with someone else.
That was all it was, wasn't it?
He still loved Buffy. Didn't he? Yes, he did. But she was gone, and Willow was here. She was all he had left and she was alone, hurt. Beautiful. She needed him.
She has Tara, he reminded himself.
Tara isn't what Willow needs, his irrational side tossed back, she needs me.
Inhaling her scent, he leaned down and pressed his lips lightly against hers. She moaned in her sleep and whispered Tara's name.
Anger swept through him, and he jumped to his feet. Where the hell did she get off dreaming about the witch? She should be thinking about him.
Since when? he wondered. And why was he thinking about her like that so suddenly?
His eyes fell on the spell book. Maybe since she'd cast a spell? He reached out to shake her awake, force her to tell him what she'd done, but halted his hand just above her shoulder. Tomorrow. He would ask her tomorrow, she needed to sleep tonight.
(February 2000)
Jonathan's world was a world that Spike didn't want to live in. Everywhere he turned, he saw the boy's face, smirking, confident... annoying. He'd bided his time, waited a whole day before taking action, and now it was time. Time to play the hero and save the damsel in distress.
He stood around the corner from where it would happen, watching and waiting. Couldn't rescue her too soon, he'd let her get tossed around a bit first.
Ten minutes later, the girl finally decided to show up for her beating. He rolled his eyes, just like a woman to be late. She walked past without seeing him. She wouldn't have recognized him anyway, he'd never let her see him in the light when he stood outside her window.
Her heartbeat picked up and he peered around the corner, she turned her head just as he did, and he ducked back, feeling like a fool, hiding from a little girl.
He had to remind himself that he was doing this for Willow.
There was a loud crashing sound down the hall. He stepped out to watch. The double doors in front of her had crashed open and the demon was there. It backhanded her, and she fell. Then, it swiped at her again, and she was on her back, holding her hands up defensively.
Spike started to go to her rescue, being all manly and hero-y, but stopped as she started chanting desperately, scooting backwards. He decided to wait and see what happened.
She held her arms out and some kind of smoke or powder sprung from her hands blinding the monster. The demon chittered, waving the smoke away. Tara got up and ran through a door, locking it. The demon banged on the door a few times.
Spike decided that now was the time. He snuck up behind the creature and hit it in the lower back. It shrieked in surprise, spinning around to face him. Spike punched it in the face and it went down.
Breaking the lock, Spike yanked the door open. The witch was cowering inside, obviously in shock. She had little scratches and cuts all over her, and he snickered at the frailty of humans. He reached out, grabbed the girl, and hauled her into his arms. She didn't protest, didn't even seem to notice. He carried her to Willow's dorm room. Willow would be there soon, all grateful and appreciative, and he'd be waiting.
The invitation Willow had called out to him when he tried to kill her a few months ago was still there. Good thing, otherwise his plan would have failed. He went inside, wondering why neither one of them had locked the door.
He laid the girl on the slayer's bed. She curled up, shivering and whimpering. He reached down and yanked the blankets out from underneath her and carelessly covered her up, then stood back, examining his work. Not bad. The witch was suitably pathetic looking, and he was ready to receive his adulation.
He sat down on Willow's bed and kicked off his boots. It'd be a few minutes before Willow got home. He stretched out on her bed and folded his hands behind his head, a contented smile turning up his lips.
(February 2000)
Spike was pulled roughly from slumber by a hand on his throat. He opened his eyes to see the slayer's angry face above his.
"What did you do to her?" she demanded, a deadly glint in her eyes.
"What are you on about?" He shook her hand off of his throat and sat up. Willow was there. He could smell her, hear her heartbeat. He looked expectantly over at her. Any minute now, Willow would be all grateful and appreciative. She wasn't looking at him. Her hand was busy smoothing Tara's hair away from her forehead, while her other hand held Tara's unresponsive one.
Buffy grabbed his jaw and turned his face back to hers, showing him the stake in her hand. "I asked you a question. What did you do to Tara?"
Spike batted the stake away from his face and stood up, a cocky grin touching his lips. "Saved her," he said proudly. His gaze fell on Willow. She tossed him a quick glance before turning her attention back to the blonde.
Damn it. Where was his appreciation?
"Yeah. Right," Buffy snorted. "And you expect us to believe this, why?"
"It's the truth. Saw a demon headed this way, thought I'd take it out, you know? Make the world safer and all that rot. Found it in the hall, beating on Red's witchy friend here."
Buffy still looked unconvinced. "Uh-huh."
He shot her an irritated glance and was about to reply when Willow interrupted him.
"I believe him. I mean, if he did this, why would he wait here with her? Why would she still be alive? Why would he bring her here, I mean, he's not Angelus." Both her and Buffy gasped at Willow's harsh words. Willow rushed over to Buffy. Pushing Spike out of the way, she grabbed Buffy's hand. "I am *so* sorry, Buffy. I didn't mean that the way it came out. You know me, never thinking before speaking."
Spike snorted. "Don't apologize. It's the truth. Angelus is a sadistic bastard."
"Shut up," both girls said as one.
Feeling extremely offended, Spike threw his hands in the air. "Fine."
Buffy glared at him, then smiled at Willow. "It's fine. I'm not mad. You just kinda took me by surprise. You really believe him?" she asked dubiously.
"Hey. Standing right here," he mumbled.
Willow ignored him. She nodded at Buffy, a goofy smile on her face. "First time for everything."
Spike's eyes shot to hers at her words. He'd told his Willow that exact same thing when she told him that she and future Spike had never slept together.
Neither of the girls noticed his suddenly intense gaze settle on Willow, and for that he was grateful. It wouldn't do to scare the girl, or alert the slayer.
Tara moaned pitifully from the bed, and Spike rolled his eyes as Willow and Buffy rushed over to her. He was still waiting for a thank you, or something.
Willow sat on the bed, holding the witch's hand. Buffy knelt beside them. Tara's eyes opened, looking from Willow to Buffy. As remembrance flooded through her, she looked around the room, looking for the creature. Her eyes lit on Spike and widened. He sneered at her, and she whimpered. Willow looked accusingly at Spike, but he'd already covered the sneer with a bored look. He shrugged at her, all innocence and charm.
"Tara, what did this?" Buffy asked gently, having missed the exchange.
"Big, lumpy," Tara told her. "Had something on its-- on its head. Like a Greek letter, only not."
Buffy grabbed a sheet of paper from her nightstand, and drew on it. "This? Was it this?"
Tara nodded.
Willow turned to the slayer. "Buffy, Jonathan said we were all safe. Jonathan said it," she stressed.
"Yeah. Jonathan," Spike scoffed. "Wanker's nothing but a fraud."
Buffy looked at him sharply. "What do you know?" she asked.
"Me? Nothing." He knew plenty, but he wasn't about to help the slayer. He would help Willow, but not the slayer. Not while there was a chance that it might lead to... any sort of liking of her.
Buffy didn't look convinced, but she didn't ask anymore questions.
"So," Spike said expectantly.
"So?" Buffy asked. "So, what?"
He frowned thunderously. "Nothing." His mood had been plummeting south since being woken up, and was somewhere around the south pole by now. He clenched his jaw shut, not wanting to push the slayer over the edge. Not without him able to defend himself. "Thanks, Spike," he said in a loud voice. Then in his normal voice. "Gosh, think nothing of it, Red, I was happy to do it."
The three girls stared at him as if he'd gone mad, and Spike suddenly felt like he had. Here he was, standing inside a girls' dorm room, not killing anyone, and fishing for a thank you. He really hated his life. He stomped to the door and left, slamming it shut behind him.
