"You shouldn't be out here, Red. It's way past bedtime for all the little witches and wizards."
"Not tonight, Spike. Not in the mood." Stupid vampire, interrupting a good brood.
"Nasties in that lake, too. I see 'em sometimes on my rounds. Wouldn't want to be dangling your feet and have 'em chomped off."
"That's why I'm not dangling them, isn't it?" She sat cross-legged on the dock, wrapped in a winter robe. The lake accentuated a chill that had crept into the nights. Spike dropped down beside her and pulled his duster close. The orange glow of his cigarette reflected off of the lake like a tiny star.
"Haven't seen you hangin' with the Boy Hero in more than a week. What's the story there, pet?"
"Like it's any of your business." He very nearly stood up and walked away in a cloud of profanity. The demon roared that he should bite her, chip be damned, for her insolence. But he knew she was alone with this, and he knew what the nibblet would say.
"Dammit, Spike! You just left her there! Are you mental?"
He stayed in his seat and took a pull on the cigarette instead.
"Look, Red, something bad happened. Seeing as how there's no Slayer here, and no Chubs here, and no Little Bit here, and Rupert is an old man, I'd say you're left with fuck-all people to talk to other than me. So I suggest you stop bein' a bleedin' idiot and let it out." He thought he saw the corners of her mouth twitch upwards.
"Gee, when you put it that way…" He stayed quiet, waiting. "Besides, you're way older than Giles."
"Young at heart, luv. Young at heart. Comes from the not beating." In spite of herself, she chuckled. "See, there you go with the laughing an' all."
"I think I've kind of fallen for Grey."
"What is it the Bit would say? Duh?"
"I didn't think so. I thought we were friends and I went to his room and that stupid knight got me all frazzled and he was a total geek with the Transformers and it was so cute and then we almost kissed and then he ran away." Her eyes filled. "Damn. Rambling Willow. Hate it when she comes out. I don't know what I did wrong," she added finally.
"Maybe nothing," Spike said, still trying to sort out her story. "He ran away?"
"We got real close and he was looking into my eyes. He's got awesome brown eyes. Then he turned and pretty much ran out the door."
"Sounds like it's about him, Willow. Not you," Spike offered, his voice serious. "I've been watchin' the two of you. You're together all the bloody time. He talks to you. You have conversations. He says four words in a row to someone else, they write a story in that wizard's rag." Spike had developed a distaste for the Daily Prophet when it stopped carrying summaries of Passions two weeks earlier. "You know more about him than I do, but I'd say he's got somethin' holding him back."
Willow thought of the story he had told. It all came together in a rush: how he felt, why he was here, what he was doing. She thought about Tara leaving her, and knew the answer.
"I figured it out."
"What is it, then, Red?"
"He came here to die."