SUMMARY: Spike gets a new toy he wasn't expecting, and Willow finds out that life--and Gods--can sometimes throw humans for a loop.
TITLE: Order Now (5/?)
AUTHOR: sinecure
RATED: R
DISCLAIMER: Joss and ME own BtVS, I don't, and the way these past seasons are going, I'm glad I don't.
DEDICATED: To Claudia, because, not only is she the best beta ever, but she's also quite the friend. She kicks ass on grammar--just call her the Hyphen Queen, I do--spelling, characterization, plot. She makes my job a whole hell of a lot easier... even when she's killing my poor little defenseless plot-babies. ;)
PART 5
Willow woke up to a room that was dark but for the moonlight shining through the windows. Hushed voices whispered outside her bedroom door, but she didn't strain to hear them.
They were discussing her and her descent into evil. She'd killed a man, and though he'd been a part of a greater evil, that didn't make it any easier to take.
In the four days since killing Ben, Buffy had moved her into Joyce's old bedroom, insisting she stay there because her parents were out of town and she needed help to get around. That Tara didn't protest too much didn't matter anymore. That she didn't care that Tara didn't protest also didn't matter. Nothing mattered much anymore.
So, Willow did as she was told and moved into the Summers' house. Life was different these days. Like now, she occasionally caught hushed conversations and saw furtive looks. Mostly from Anya and Giles.
Giles was worried. Afraid she'd suddenly turn evil again, sporting black eyes and who knew what else. He didn't want to take the chance that she'd be overwhelmed by magick again, so he asked her not to do any spells for a while. That was fine with her, she was afraid too.
Not just afraid of the magick and what it'd done to her, but also afraid that it might be gone. Forever. Since that night, she hadn't felt it swirling around inside of her. She was fearful that the pure magick had done something to her that had lasting effects. She had frequent nosebleeds and headaches. Signs of using too much magick, but she hadn't even lit a candle since killing Glo-- Ben.
Since killing Ben.
Buffy treated her no differently than before, but Willow could see it in her eyes, in the way Buffy looked away instead of making eye contact. Something had changed between them, she just wasn't sure exactly what it was.
Rolling over with a groan, she stared out the window, looking up at the sliver of a moon darting behind the wisps of gray clouds out and about.
The hushed voices stopped and silence descended once again. She felt her shoulders relax, her stiff posture--an automatic response to company these days--melted away.
A minute later, she heard the downstairs door shut and footsteps ascend the stairs. The person stopped outside her door, hesitating for a minute before knocking lightly.
"Willow?" It was Buffy.
She heard the door open slowly and was halfway inclined to let Buffy think she was asleep. She didn't feel like talking. But she didn't do that. If she acted fine, then they'd stop treating her like a piece of glass.
"Hi, Buffy." She rolled over slightly, as far as she could with her back being the way it was. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth, but it was an effort to keep it there.
"Um, I'm here to take you downstairs. Giles and I talked about it, and we agree that it's okay as long as I carry you and you don't do any actual moving." She laughed a little, the sound dying almost as soon as it made an appearance. As if the room wasn't meant for happiness. She looked around, her eyes landing on a picture of her, Dawn and Joyce. A brief look of pain crossed her face before she forced herself to continue. "So, what do you say? Wanna hop on the Buffy Express?"
She'd thought about going downstairs many times in the past few days, but she couldn't do it. Couldn't face everyone and the silence that would fall as soon as she came into the room. "I-- I don't think so," she whispered, shaking her head and looking away.
"Come on," Buffy encouraged, moving closer to the bed. "It's just you and me. Dawn's at a friend's house and Anya's at the shop with Giles."
"Where's Xander?" Willow asked curiously. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard. Maybe she could go downstairs, take a step towards forgiving herself. As soon as the thought entered her mind, she shied away from it.
"Home. Probably pigging out on pizza." She grinned, rolling her eyes. "It's two for--"
"Tuesday," Willow laughed, rolling her eyes too. "The boy with the metabolism that won't stop." Xander and his pizza days were legendary around them. His record was one pizza by himself, two sodas and a piece of pie. Later that night, Willow was sure he'd visited the bathroom a few times. He'd looked a little green as he walked home, holding his stomach and groaning.
"Yep." Buffy sat on the edge of the bed, her smile going the way of Willow's memories of Xander and the pizza. "You haven't left the room all week, and not because of your back." She traced a fingernail along the edge of the bedspread, frowning as she glanced up at Willow. "Please," she whispered. "I miss you."
Willow closed her eyes against the pleading on Buffy's face. She didn't want to be normal again, and going downstairs to sit would be the first step back to Normalville. She didn't want to-- that was a lie. She wanted more than anything to be normal again, but she couldn't let herself have that elusive feeling of belonging again. It wasn't hers anymore.
"I'd rather not..." she began, but trailed off when Buffy stood up, staring down at her.
"Well, you're going to," she insisted, yanking back the comforter. "What you did was necessary, Willow. Glory would've taken Dawn and killed her while sucking this whole dimension into hell." She reached forward, ignoring Willow as she tried to move away from her hands. "I, for one, like the world just like it is, thank you very mucho much."
"Buffy, I don't want to go downstairs," she protested, stopping just short of slapping at Buffy's hands as they grabbed her shoulders and held her still. "I want to be left alone. I-- I just need to work through--"
"The pain and the guilt and the other things you're feeling," Buffy interrupted, nodding in agreement. "And you should. But downstairs is just as easy a place to do it as up here." She shook Willow a little, staring into her eyes. "You're my best friend, Willow. I love you. What you did was awful, and horrible, and yeah, I am a little wigged out by it, as we all should be, but I am not going to let it tear you apart. Clothes or no clothes?"
Willow blinked at her, confusion showing plainly on her face. "What?" She looked down at herself, noting the loose white T-Shirt she'd been wearing as a nightgown and beneath that, nothing more than a pair of panties. "Oh. Clothes," she managed to get out before Buffy was tossing some at her from the dresser against the wall. "Actually," she conceded, hoping to stall Buffy. "I... I think I want a shower. I'm sick of baths. I want to stand up and do a little of the work. My back is healing, but it needs stretching." As she said the words, she realized she wasn't lying. She did want to get up and shower. To do something besides lie there and think.
"All right," Buffy agreed, circling the bed to help her to her feet. Once she was standing, Buffy wrapped a robe around her shoulders, shaking her head at the thin body beneath the terrycloth. "Set the massager to low, trust me on this, and take it easy. Ew, your nose is bleeding again."
Willow reached up to touch under her nose, feeling a small amount of blood trickling out. She groaned in annoyance. "At least they're slowing down," she muttered, shuffling into the large bathroom.
The shower attached to Joyce's room was a shower only, and she had yet to use it. So far, all her bathing had been done in the main bathroom down the hall, where there was a tub. This, though, looked a lot more comfortable. Massagers were always good. Showers with warm water, even better.
Buffy was right. The low setting on the massager was perfect. She actually couldn't let the water spray touch her back at all without pain, but letting it wash down her skin from her head... it was perfect. It was a little hard to wash her hair with her arms only being able to move halfway up, but she managed it.
After a too-short shower, she stood in front of the mirror, examining her back. Bruises lined the entire expanse but for her right shoulder blade. A finger of bruises stretched their reach around her abdomen and hip on the right, along with a few scrapes and cuts. One particularly nasty gash ran from the middle of her neck down to her right breast. She figured it was from the headstone. She'd missed the thing partially, landing smack dab on the side of the stone.
She tried to dress in the clothes Buffy had brought her, but they scratched her back too much. She kept the towel loosely around her and shuffled back to the bedroom.
Buffy was just coming through the doorway, probably having heard the water shut off. "Hey, all ready?" Her eyes lowered to the fluffy yellow towel wrapped around Willow's body. "In a towel?"
Willow shook her head, the ghost of a smile touching her lips. "It hurts to wear these," she told Buffy, dropping the clothes to the bed. "I'll stay up here. I'm good." She started to sit on the bed, but Buffy rushed forward, halting her downward mobility.
"Uh-uh, no. I have something you can wear." She carefully settled her arm around Willow's shoulders and led her down the hall and into her own room. "Remember that halter thingy I got a few summers back? The white one?" She pushed her closet door open and searched through the clothes hanging there.
"Um, yeah. I think." Willow looked around the room she'd spent so much time in over the past five years. Their teenage memories had taken shape here. Good ones, bad ones, just about every variety you could imagine, it was all felt here. They'd been so naive then, even with the vampires and demons they fought almost nightly.
Back then, there'd been a simplicity to their lives. Get up, go to school, converse about the bad things in town, fight the bad things, then Bronze it. Sometimes it didn't happen in that order, but that was their life in high school. She missed that. Now, things were different. She was gay, Xander was the one in a steady relationship, Giles owned a magic shop, Buffy had a sister. Joyce was dead.
Ben was dead.
"Will?" Buffy said, waving something white in front of her face. "Found it."
Willow sighed and took the shirt from Buffy, trying to lift it higher than shoulder height. After the third try, Buffy gently took it from her shaking hands and slipped it over her head, straightening the neck piece carefully.
"Want to tie it, or no?"
Willow looked down. The white cloth, held up only by a strip around her neck, hung loosely to her abdomen, the ends, which were supposed to tie around the back at her waist, fell to points at her knees. "Maybe loosely." She felt naked with her back completely exposed. But no one was around anyway, just her and Buffy.
Buffy tied the straps loosely around her waist, letting it fall past her waist, then helped her into a pair of black sweat pants.
"Let's go, Speedy," Buffy teased, walking along beside her, despite the slow pace she kept up. "I was thinking a movie. Or we could talk. We haven't just talked in forever."
"Movies are good," Willow immediately said, not wanting to be trapped downstairs, forced to talk things over. To figure things out. To show Buffy and everyone else how much of a failure she was. How weak she'd been for allowing the magick to take over.
Liar, her mind tossed at her. Liar. She scoffed at herself, deliberately not allowing herself to think the truth. That she knew what she was doing the whole time, that she knew she was killing a human and that it was wrong. That she'd weighed the pros and cons and found the cons to killing Ben wanting.
He'd had to die.
"You sure?" Buffy asked, taking the first step down with her. "Talking is--"
"Overrated." Seeing the hurt look Buffy quickly tried to hide, she bit her lip and took the next step, despite the pain shooting through her back. "Sorry. I'm just not ready yet."
"That's okay," Buffy bluffed, "when you're ready, I'm here."
Willow hissed in a breath, feeling the skin pulling taut over her muscles. "Oh, this is..." she laughed shortly, thinking it fitting punishment for her, "this is fun. I'm ready to go back upstairs now."
Buffy laughed lightly, ignoring Willow's tiny-voiced plea. She moved in front of her and turned her back, bending her knees to lower herself to a decent height. "Put your arms around me and hang on."
Willow lifted her arms higher than the screaming pain in her muscles wanted her to and dropped them over Buffy's shoulders with a gasp of relief. "Okay," she mumbled, grabbing her left wrist with her right hand and hanging on tight.
"Hang on." Buffy stood up straight and slowly moved down the stairs, carrying a dangling Willow on her back. Once they reached the bottom, Buffy kept going, all the way to the front room.
Willow had to bend her knees a little to keep them from dragging on the floor, but they finally made it. She glanced down at the couch, noting the pillow and sheets covering it. "Am I being banished to the couch?" she asked, only half-joking.
Buffy rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Right, Will. That's what's happening." She bent over and tucked a corner of the white sheet into the back of the couch. "I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable while we talked." Seeing Willow about to protest, she quickly added, "Or watched movies."
"Thanks." Willow sat on one end, keeping her back perfectly straight and her knees tightly together. "Oh, this is comfy," she lied.
Buffy chuckled. "Lie down. I'll fix some popcorn and grab something to drink. Think of a movie you wanna watch," she tossed over her shoulder as she headed into the kitchen.
Willow tried to think of a movie she felt like watching, but came up empty. One title popped into her head from her parent's video collection, which had hardly been touched by them at all: Defending Your Life. She'd never seen it before, but maybe now was a good time to do so.
She settled back a little, loosening up as much as she could without resting against the couch, and picked up the remote from beside her. Just as she turned the TV on, the phone rang. She turned the volume up, not wanting to hear Buffy's hushed conversation to whoever was on the other end, and flipped through the channels, hoping to find something interesting already on.
Commercials, documentaries. A science fiction show about traveling through space. Could be neat. She left it there for a few minutes, watching MacGuyver and a woman with short blond hair walk into a large ring of shimmering blue liquid.
Buffy returned a few minutes later carrying a bowl overflowing with popcorn and a bottle of water. "What's this?" she asked curiously, nodding at the TV.
Willow started to shrug, but halted the movement before she upset her cranky muscles. "I dunno. MacGuyver, the Space Traveler?" she guessed.
Buffy laughed a little louder and longer than was necessary over the poor joke, and judging by the sheepish look on her face, she knew she wasn't fooling Willow. She set the popcorn and water on the table before sitting beside her. She didn't get comfortable, she looked poised to flee.
Her hands moved restlessly, fluffing the pillow behind her and covering Willow with the sheet. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "That was Giles," she finally said, sighing as she pushed herself to her feet. "Another woman was... uh, killed, in the park by Ridge, and he wants me to check things out. Look around."
Willow didn't feel too disappointed that Buffy was leaving. In fact, the more alone she was, the better. At least that way she didn't have to pretend. "Of course," Willow said without hesitation. "You need to go. Don't worry, I'm good here." She smiled widely, holding up her remote. "Over a hundred channels? There's bound to be something to hold my interest."
Buffy didn't look too convinced. She frowned down at Willow and twisted her hands a few times before heading to the closet for her jacket. "Are you sure? I can have Dawn come home, or send Xander over," she offered, stopping in the doorway.
"Go and be productive, Buffy. I'll be all right alone." She grinned, leaning forward slowly to grab the bottle of water from the table. "See? I'm a big girl."
Buffy nodded a few times, her eyes still showing her worry. "Still, maybe I should--"
"Get your weapons and go patrol? Excellent idea!" She waved her hands in a shooing motion and gave Buffy a stern look. Not Resolve-Face-worthy, but still effective. "Look," she said lightly, "I've got MacGuyver and that girl to watch, both being equally good-looking."
Buffy laughed softly and headed up the stairs for her weapons. "I don't think I'll ever get used to you saying things like that," she called over her shoulder. "You're supposed to be the shy one."
Willow nodded in agreement. She was still a little surprised when she said things like that too. Her confidence level had gone up nearly fifty percent since meeting Buffy, and another twenty percent since falling in love with Tara. But that she found women attractive was odd for her. She'd never considered it before meeting Tara. Sure, she'd thought this girl was pretty, or that girl had nice lips, but that she was attracted to them? Not a chance in heck.
As Buffy came down the stairs with stakes hidden somewhere on her person, Willow wondered if she truly was gay, or if she just fell in love with someone who happened to be a woman. Round and round you go, she thought, waving a few fingers in Buffy's direction. "Be careful," she said automatically.
"Always," Buffy called back. "I'll be back as soon as I can. If something happens, I'll send--"
"Buffy, don't send anyone over. I'm okay," she stressed, feeling like an invalid all of a sudden. Her nerves were nearing the breaking point and all this sudden concern for her well-being was just making things worse. "Go. Have lots of slaying."
With a final look, Buffy turned and left the house, shutting the door quietly behind her.
Willow let out a sigh of relief and got comfortable. The popcorn bowl was near enough for her to grab, but still difficult to get. She hooked her fingers over the edge and drew it toward her enough to get a good hold on it, but unfortunately, the bowl had other ideas. It spun to the side and off the edge of the table, dropping popcorn all over the carpet.
"So much for snacking," she sighed, not even considering cleaning up the mess. It just wasn't possible. Un-muting the TV, she scooted around to get comfy, shifting this way and that, but each position left her back slumping or pressing against the back of the couch. "Okay, lying down it is."
Making sure her sweat pants stayed low on her back, she laid on her stomach, facing the television set. A big guy with a gold insignia on his forehead was currently raising an eyebrow at MacGuyver, ignoring the smile from the girl and the guy with the glasses. "Lots of cute, pretty people," she muttered, resting her head on her folded arms and losing herself in the show in order to keep her mind off other things.
__________________________________________________
Willow woke up to a darkened room, frowning at the feeling of the too-soft bed beneath her. Where was she? Opening her eyes slowly, she focused on the pillow in front of her eyes. Her back hurt too much to move, so she stayed still, not moving anything but her eyes. A pillow was under her arms and a few inches beyond that, was the couch arm.
Front room. Buffy's front room, watching TV. Right. Only the television was no longer on. Why wasn't it on? She'd fallen asleep after MacGuyver, the Space Traveler, which turned out to be Stargate SG1.
A hand slid down her back and she gasped, jerking her head toward the person kneeling in the popcorn on the floor. "Buffy?" It wasn't Buffy, she knew that for a fact.
The hand had calluses and was bigger than Buffy's. It was a man's hand, cool to the touch and soothing. But that was neither here nor there, someone was feeling her up and she didn't know who and she was scared. She couldn't defend herself if she needed to.
When her eyes adjusted to the dim light from the streetlights shining through the window, she saw a shock of short blond hair. A leather coat. An unlit cigarette dangling from Spike-lips.
She let her breath out in a rush, wanting so badly to slap him for scaring her, but she couldn't move. And why exactly was he caressing her back? "Spike... what are you doing?"
He looked down at her face, adding another hand to the one already getting a little too close to parts he shouldn't be touching. Like all of her. "Your back's one giant bruise, isn't it?" he asked softly, almost reverently. His blue eyes shined in the light from the window.
"Uh, yeah," she agreed, moving a little toward the back of the couch, hoping to get out of his reach, or at the very least, give him a hint to stop touching her. "Oh, hey," she gasped, "that's-- that's not a bruise. And it's not my back. Could you not do that, please?" His fingers, sliding along the sides of her exposed breasts, went still.
"I brought a salve." He held up a small jar filled with a green substance. "Giles told me to bring it over. Supposed to help heal you." He sat back on his heels, taking the cigarette from his lips and sticking it in his duster pocket. "Buffy's gonna be a while." He took his coat off, tossing it on the chair across from him. "So you get me."
"I don't want you." Seeing his eyebrows raise up, she sighed. "I don't want your salve. I killed someone and if I have a little pain to pass the time with, hey, more power to me." She struggled to sit up, but he pressed a hand to the one uninjured part of her back and held her still.
"Rupert's orders. Don't wanna disappoint him do we?" His smirking chuckle told her otherwise, but he kept his hand on her shoulder. "Besides, he and your girl went to a lot of trouble to make this thing."
"She's not my girl anymore," Willow muttered under her breath.
"Heard about that." He opened the jar, sniffing it cautiously. "Mm, Eau De Sewers," he muttered, scooping a few fingers into the toxic-looking paste. "She still cares though, right? So you should be grateful."
"Spike, don't touch me with that-- oh! Cold!" She wriggled around, ignoring the pain and his restraining hand to sit up. Her efforts only bunched the sheet up underneath her and left it pressing against her stomach in discomfort. "What the hell is the matter with you?" she huffed, almost breathless with pain, seeing his face turn as he leaned down and sniffed her back.
"You smell good. Like..." he paused, his gold eyes landing on her face, "cinnamon and apples. How do you do that? Where's it come from? Is it soap or shampoo?"
She frowned, struggling in earnest now. He was scaring her. Sine when did Spike notice her at all, let alone know what she smelled like? Something was wrong here. "Spike, get away from me."
He nodded and did as she asked, but not to leave her alone. He stripped off his shirt, yanking it over his head and tossing it to the popcorn-strewn floor. "It's you, isn't it? The smell? It's all you. I thought soap or something, but this is good. This is better." He leaned down and, his hand no longer coated in the salve, reached up to caress her back softly. "You and the blood, that's heady stuff, baby."
Where'd the salve go? And why couldn't she move? Screaming as loud as she could, she hoped someone was nearby, someone able to hear her. To help her. "Somebody, please," she whispered, crying, "help me. Please, Spike," she begged, "don't kill me. Help me!"
Spike smiled wide. "Of course I'll help you. That's what I'm here for. To soothe you. To heal your aches and pains and cure what ails ya." He lifted the jar in his hands, his fingers once again coated in the green paste. And now, not only was his shirt missing, but his pants too. He was completely naked and the bareness of his body was there, in all its glory. And wow, was it glorious.
"What...?" she began, sitting up with no pain. He grabbed her arms and hauled her to him, pressing his mouth desperately against hers. She moaned, and shoved at him. The moan turned from one of distress to one of desire as his lips moved on hers, his tongue slipping between her parted lips.
She threaded her hands through his hair, which was soft and baby fine. Not sticky and hard-crusted like she'd always thought. She couldn't help but press closer, to want to feel more of him. "Spike," she whispered, pulling back to look at him. "Why do I want you?"
But it wasn't Spike staring back at her. It was Ben.
He grinned, a demonic look on his face. His rotting flesh dropped to the floor, his hair, long and curly--Glory's hair--slid sideways in a wet mushy pile to his lap, the curls sticking up in odd spots with blood and goo. "We can't do this," he said regretfully, "we're coworkers, and it would never work out between us."
She screamed and yanked free of him, jumping to her feet and running past him. The floor beneath her thickened and her bare feet sank into the carpet. Each step she took was slow and hard. The door stretched out in front of her, looking a mile away. She screamed again as a hand touched her shoulder.
"Uh, sorry," a man said, sounding a little confused by her response. "I-- I didn't mean to... what are you doing?"
She turned to look at the man, her own confusion just as high as his. It was the guy from the TV. The guy with the glasses. He looked behind him briefly, like he wasn't sure where he was, or why.
Willow frowned with him, crossing her arms over her chest. Which was bare. Why was it bare? Where were her clothes? There had been some clothing on her earlier. She thought back, trying to remember the last time she'd had clothes on. They'd gone through the stargate into a pyramid and she'd had clothes then. Fatigues even. And all through the running and the hiding from aliens. But now she didn't. Huh.
"What are you doing?" the man repeated, gesturing to her lack of clothing. "Where's your towel? All SG1 operatives must wear towels at all times. And a gun." He looked pointedly at her lack of a towel. And gun.
Willow nodded. They were all there, wearing their fluffy yellow towels, but hers was missing. "Sorry, I-- I don't know where mine is. Can someone tell me where it is?" She looked around the pyramid, searching desperately for her towel. If she didn't find it, she'd be reprimanded and not be able to work with her friends anymore. She wanted to work with them, wanted to be friends with them. Needed them. "I can't find it," she said frantically, dropping to the dirt floor and digging with her hands. Shoveling the dusty ground wasn't helping. She looked around quickly and picked up the dust buster, sucking up the dust with it. "Help me find it!" she implored them. "I can't find my... my towel, where is it? I don't want to be fired." She looked over at the big guy, who was emotionless and staring straight ahead. "Help me!" she screamed. "Help me find my--"
"--self," Spike said in annoyance.
She stopped digging and looked over her shoulder at him. "What?" He was no longer naked. He too had on a towel. Everyone had one but her.
"I said, find it yourself," he repeated, eyeing the blond woman with a leer. "You are looking quite delicious," he muttered, reaching out to touch her bare back. His face vamped out and he nipped lightly at her neck.
"Sir?" she queried MacGuyver, frowning over her shoulder at Spike, who was standing behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist as he dropped his mouth to her shoulder. He bent down a little to hold her better, like a lover.
Willow scowled at him, feeling jealousy flare up in her. "Fickle vampire," she muttered, resuming her digging.
The woman spoke again, ignoring Spike. "I think we need to get out of here. The reactor's going to blow, and if we're still here when it does..." she shrugged, looking glum, "unknown bad things will happen to us."
"Unknown bad things?" the colonel asked, the resigned look on his face tightening the smallest bit. "We need to go. Now."
Willow got to her feet, intending to follow them through the entrance, but the colonel turned back to her and shook his head. "Not you. You need to, uh..." he looked around with just his eyes, stopping on the dust buster on the ground at her feet, "vacuum up that popcorn. Then you can come. The rest of you, you're with me. Let's go!"
Willow watched them go. Spike was the last one out the entrance, turning back to her sadly.
"Hurry up with that." His eyes dropped to the vacuum at her feet.
She looked down at all the popcorn littering the pyramid floor and sighed, bending down to get to work on the mess. "Wait for me," she beseeched Spike, but he shook his head.
"Can't do that. It's now or never. Got places to go, people to kill." He started out the entrance, still facing her, fading into the night beyond.
"Spike, wait!" she yelled, crying now as she tried desperately to vacuum up all the pieces of white fluff. But they seemed to be multiplying. For every piece she vacuumed up, three more appeared. "Please," she sobbed, "I don't want to be alone. Please come back." Dropping the dust buster to the dirt floor, she sobbed into her hands. "I don't want to be alone."
__________________________________________________________________
Willow woke up with a sob, staring at the couch arm through teary eyes. The TV was still on, playing low. The lamp beside the couch was shining brightly, hurting her eyes. A shudder shook her body as she hitched in a breath. Nice, vivid dreams, a byproduct of her guilty conscience. Sighing into her crossed arms, she pushed herself into a sitting position, hissing at the pain as her skin stretched tight.
Looking around, she was somewhat relieved not to see Spike, naked or not. Just a popcorn-covered floor. Clicking the TV off, she rested her elbows on her knees and leaned forward, purposely sitting through the pain that flared up. It got her mind off of things. Kept her from thinking too much.
"Willow, are you-- Willow?"
Willow raised her head and stared at Giles, who went from looking concerned to sorrowful. He moved to the couch and sat beside her.
"Buffy asked that I stop by to make sure you were all right." He glanced at her and smiled the tiniest bit. "I'd say she had reason to be concerned." He stood up, removing his jacking and grabbing a box of tissues from the side table. He pulled a few out and handed one to her. "Your nose is bleeding."
She took the tissue and wiped the blood from her nose, but stayed silent, still fighting tears. It was a constant battle. After a few minutes, she sniffed and sighed. "It's just a nightmare. I've... I've been having nightmares," she admitted.
"Good." He smiled for real this time, looking relieved. When she frowned and opened her mouth to ask him why it was good that she was suffering through nightmares, he patted her arm awkwardly. "I'd be concerned if you weren't having nightmares, Willow."
"Why?" She hated them. They always made her feel so... useless and hopeless. Like a vital piece of her was missing, left somewhere, lost in the dream.
"They show that you're remorseful."
"I am," she sighed. "But not completely. That I took a life, a human life, is hard. It's... I lost something when I did that." She frowned, trying to find the words she wanted, but couldn't adequately describe what she meant. "But I'd do it again. Dawn is safe, and Buffy--"
Giles nodded, his smile gone, his eyes blank. "I know. If I could change it," he paused, looking straight at her, "I wouldn't." His head dropped a little, his eyes falling to his hands. "Except maybe to do it myself. This is hard for you, I know, for-- for all of us really, but I believe that it was necessary." He pushed himself to his feet and removed his jacket. "Who knows what may have happened if you hadn't stopped Glory." With barely a pause, he headed toward the kitchen. "I'm going to make some tea. Would you like some?"
She thought about it, wondered if maybe it had all those healing qualities Giles sometimes acted like it had--heals the spirit, heals the soul--but decided against it. It just tasted so bland. "No, thanks. I have water." Her eyes fell to the table and the water bottle atop it.
That table had been pushed back in her dream, making room for Spike.
"All right. Back in a jiffy." He tossed his jacket on the banister as he passed by it and left her to bang around in the kitchen.
Willow's eyes were still fixed to the spot where Spike had been. Fully naked Spike. Why did that thought make her tingle? She was gay. Although, there was Oz. And Xander. So maybe she wasn't completely, one hundred percent, grade A gay.
Pushing herself slowly to her feet, she decided she needed some air, just for a few minutes. Somewhere to clear her head and think. Not about Ben for once, but about this new thing with Spike. Was there a new thing with Spike?
Usually when she thought about Spike it was with irritation and anger. Fury and fear. There weren't a lot of 'ooo, he makes me giggle like a little girl' thoughts. Sure, he was cute. Duh, anyone with eyes could see that, even Xander. But, did that mean she liked Spike? No. It meant she was aware of him.
Her bare feet padded softly across the carpet, and she thought about getting shoes, but it was way too much trouble. There'd be bending over factors, and she couldn't do that at the moment.
Opening the front door, she breathed in the cool night air, shivering slightly as a small gust of wind blew her hair across her face. She smiled and, leaving the door wide open, sat carefully on the porch steps, well within the pool of light coming from inside. The cement under her feet was cool, but felt wonderful against her skin. Crossing her arms over her chest, she breathed in deeply, smelling trees and flowers, growing things.
Alive things. Dirt and-- rain? Hadn't rained in a while, it'd be nice for a change.
Okay. So if she was aware of Spike, so what? Out here in the night air, feeling refreshed and alive for the first time in days, the thought of her being attracted to Spike wasn't a horrible one. A little scary, a little creepy, but... not too crazy.
"Maybe that gay thing comes with a money back guarantee," she whispered to herself.
Bisexual. That was a new title for her. She'd never thought of herself as being bisexual. It was straight, and then gay. There'd been no in-between. But now... well, maybe there was an in-between. Maybe gender didn't matter as long as the feelings were there.
That made her smile. She was an equal opportunity lover. Titles were so confining. To hell with them. She'd be... Willow. Just, Willow. Lover of all genders. And species? Werewolf, human, witch... and now vampire? Was there something there?
Thinking about Spike now, after he'd helped carry her home and explain things to Buffy and Giles... sat with Dawn while the others talked to her... there wasn't as much anger and fear as there used to be. A little less of the irritation. He was... a friend. Hm. Friend. A vampire friend. Spike, the vampire friend. Sure, it was weird, but was it any more weird than having Angel as a friend?
Yes. Angel had a soul. Spike didn't.
So, she liked a soulless killer who hated her. Definitely made her weird.
But... he was cute. Oh yeah, that was the argument that would win it. She could just imagine her explaining things to Buffy and Xander. They'd say, 'But, Willow, he's a soulless killer, killer of humans and despite the fact that you are now too,' okay, maybe they wouldn't add that last part, but the gist of the idea was there. They'd say, 'He's evil.'
She'd come back with her brilliant reply of, 'But... he's cute.' and that would be the clincher. They'd smile and celebrate, planning a wedding fit for a queen.
In fairytale land, which was where she was currently residing apparently.
Oy. Okay, so the cute thing didn't enter into it except to notice it. There were other things. He'd helped them a lot lately. Although, yes, he mostly did it for money, for blood, or for his own personal gain, he'd still done it.
Then he'd done it for Buffy. She was what was keeping him around now.
"Oh," she whispered. "Buffy. Kinda forgot about that."
Well, that was the end of that. He loved Drusilla. Loved Buffy. Had a girlfriend. It was idiotic to think of any kind of relationship with Spike. If she did have feelings for him, she'd simply ignore them.
Sighing into the cool air, she inhaled deeply, loving the smell of rain in the air.
TITLE: Order Now (5/?)
AUTHOR: sinecure
RATED: R
DISCLAIMER: Joss and ME own BtVS, I don't, and the way these past seasons are going, I'm glad I don't.
DEDICATED: To Claudia, because, not only is she the best beta ever, but she's also quite the friend. She kicks ass on grammar--just call her the Hyphen Queen, I do--spelling, characterization, plot. She makes my job a whole hell of a lot easier... even when she's killing my poor little defenseless plot-babies. ;)
PART 5
Willow woke up to a room that was dark but for the moonlight shining through the windows. Hushed voices whispered outside her bedroom door, but she didn't strain to hear them.
They were discussing her and her descent into evil. She'd killed a man, and though he'd been a part of a greater evil, that didn't make it any easier to take.
In the four days since killing Ben, Buffy had moved her into Joyce's old bedroom, insisting she stay there because her parents were out of town and she needed help to get around. That Tara didn't protest too much didn't matter anymore. That she didn't care that Tara didn't protest also didn't matter. Nothing mattered much anymore.
So, Willow did as she was told and moved into the Summers' house. Life was different these days. Like now, she occasionally caught hushed conversations and saw furtive looks. Mostly from Anya and Giles.
Giles was worried. Afraid she'd suddenly turn evil again, sporting black eyes and who knew what else. He didn't want to take the chance that she'd be overwhelmed by magick again, so he asked her not to do any spells for a while. That was fine with her, she was afraid too.
Not just afraid of the magick and what it'd done to her, but also afraid that it might be gone. Forever. Since that night, she hadn't felt it swirling around inside of her. She was fearful that the pure magick had done something to her that had lasting effects. She had frequent nosebleeds and headaches. Signs of using too much magick, but she hadn't even lit a candle since killing Glo-- Ben.
Since killing Ben.
Buffy treated her no differently than before, but Willow could see it in her eyes, in the way Buffy looked away instead of making eye contact. Something had changed between them, she just wasn't sure exactly what it was.
Rolling over with a groan, she stared out the window, looking up at the sliver of a moon darting behind the wisps of gray clouds out and about.
The hushed voices stopped and silence descended once again. She felt her shoulders relax, her stiff posture--an automatic response to company these days--melted away.
A minute later, she heard the downstairs door shut and footsteps ascend the stairs. The person stopped outside her door, hesitating for a minute before knocking lightly.
"Willow?" It was Buffy.
She heard the door open slowly and was halfway inclined to let Buffy think she was asleep. She didn't feel like talking. But she didn't do that. If she acted fine, then they'd stop treating her like a piece of glass.
"Hi, Buffy." She rolled over slightly, as far as she could with her back being the way it was. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth, but it was an effort to keep it there.
"Um, I'm here to take you downstairs. Giles and I talked about it, and we agree that it's okay as long as I carry you and you don't do any actual moving." She laughed a little, the sound dying almost as soon as it made an appearance. As if the room wasn't meant for happiness. She looked around, her eyes landing on a picture of her, Dawn and Joyce. A brief look of pain crossed her face before she forced herself to continue. "So, what do you say? Wanna hop on the Buffy Express?"
She'd thought about going downstairs many times in the past few days, but she couldn't do it. Couldn't face everyone and the silence that would fall as soon as she came into the room. "I-- I don't think so," she whispered, shaking her head and looking away.
"Come on," Buffy encouraged, moving closer to the bed. "It's just you and me. Dawn's at a friend's house and Anya's at the shop with Giles."
"Where's Xander?" Willow asked curiously. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard. Maybe she could go downstairs, take a step towards forgiving herself. As soon as the thought entered her mind, she shied away from it.
"Home. Probably pigging out on pizza." She grinned, rolling her eyes. "It's two for--"
"Tuesday," Willow laughed, rolling her eyes too. "The boy with the metabolism that won't stop." Xander and his pizza days were legendary around them. His record was one pizza by himself, two sodas and a piece of pie. Later that night, Willow was sure he'd visited the bathroom a few times. He'd looked a little green as he walked home, holding his stomach and groaning.
"Yep." Buffy sat on the edge of the bed, her smile going the way of Willow's memories of Xander and the pizza. "You haven't left the room all week, and not because of your back." She traced a fingernail along the edge of the bedspread, frowning as she glanced up at Willow. "Please," she whispered. "I miss you."
Willow closed her eyes against the pleading on Buffy's face. She didn't want to be normal again, and going downstairs to sit would be the first step back to Normalville. She didn't want to-- that was a lie. She wanted more than anything to be normal again, but she couldn't let herself have that elusive feeling of belonging again. It wasn't hers anymore.
"I'd rather not..." she began, but trailed off when Buffy stood up, staring down at her.
"Well, you're going to," she insisted, yanking back the comforter. "What you did was necessary, Willow. Glory would've taken Dawn and killed her while sucking this whole dimension into hell." She reached forward, ignoring Willow as she tried to move away from her hands. "I, for one, like the world just like it is, thank you very mucho much."
"Buffy, I don't want to go downstairs," she protested, stopping just short of slapping at Buffy's hands as they grabbed her shoulders and held her still. "I want to be left alone. I-- I just need to work through--"
"The pain and the guilt and the other things you're feeling," Buffy interrupted, nodding in agreement. "And you should. But downstairs is just as easy a place to do it as up here." She shook Willow a little, staring into her eyes. "You're my best friend, Willow. I love you. What you did was awful, and horrible, and yeah, I am a little wigged out by it, as we all should be, but I am not going to let it tear you apart. Clothes or no clothes?"
Willow blinked at her, confusion showing plainly on her face. "What?" She looked down at herself, noting the loose white T-Shirt she'd been wearing as a nightgown and beneath that, nothing more than a pair of panties. "Oh. Clothes," she managed to get out before Buffy was tossing some at her from the dresser against the wall. "Actually," she conceded, hoping to stall Buffy. "I... I think I want a shower. I'm sick of baths. I want to stand up and do a little of the work. My back is healing, but it needs stretching." As she said the words, she realized she wasn't lying. She did want to get up and shower. To do something besides lie there and think.
"All right," Buffy agreed, circling the bed to help her to her feet. Once she was standing, Buffy wrapped a robe around her shoulders, shaking her head at the thin body beneath the terrycloth. "Set the massager to low, trust me on this, and take it easy. Ew, your nose is bleeding again."
Willow reached up to touch under her nose, feeling a small amount of blood trickling out. She groaned in annoyance. "At least they're slowing down," she muttered, shuffling into the large bathroom.
The shower attached to Joyce's room was a shower only, and she had yet to use it. So far, all her bathing had been done in the main bathroom down the hall, where there was a tub. This, though, looked a lot more comfortable. Massagers were always good. Showers with warm water, even better.
Buffy was right. The low setting on the massager was perfect. She actually couldn't let the water spray touch her back at all without pain, but letting it wash down her skin from her head... it was perfect. It was a little hard to wash her hair with her arms only being able to move halfway up, but she managed it.
After a too-short shower, she stood in front of the mirror, examining her back. Bruises lined the entire expanse but for her right shoulder blade. A finger of bruises stretched their reach around her abdomen and hip on the right, along with a few scrapes and cuts. One particularly nasty gash ran from the middle of her neck down to her right breast. She figured it was from the headstone. She'd missed the thing partially, landing smack dab on the side of the stone.
She tried to dress in the clothes Buffy had brought her, but they scratched her back too much. She kept the towel loosely around her and shuffled back to the bedroom.
Buffy was just coming through the doorway, probably having heard the water shut off. "Hey, all ready?" Her eyes lowered to the fluffy yellow towel wrapped around Willow's body. "In a towel?"
Willow shook her head, the ghost of a smile touching her lips. "It hurts to wear these," she told Buffy, dropping the clothes to the bed. "I'll stay up here. I'm good." She started to sit on the bed, but Buffy rushed forward, halting her downward mobility.
"Uh-uh, no. I have something you can wear." She carefully settled her arm around Willow's shoulders and led her down the hall and into her own room. "Remember that halter thingy I got a few summers back? The white one?" She pushed her closet door open and searched through the clothes hanging there.
"Um, yeah. I think." Willow looked around the room she'd spent so much time in over the past five years. Their teenage memories had taken shape here. Good ones, bad ones, just about every variety you could imagine, it was all felt here. They'd been so naive then, even with the vampires and demons they fought almost nightly.
Back then, there'd been a simplicity to their lives. Get up, go to school, converse about the bad things in town, fight the bad things, then Bronze it. Sometimes it didn't happen in that order, but that was their life in high school. She missed that. Now, things were different. She was gay, Xander was the one in a steady relationship, Giles owned a magic shop, Buffy had a sister. Joyce was dead.
Ben was dead.
"Will?" Buffy said, waving something white in front of her face. "Found it."
Willow sighed and took the shirt from Buffy, trying to lift it higher than shoulder height. After the third try, Buffy gently took it from her shaking hands and slipped it over her head, straightening the neck piece carefully.
"Want to tie it, or no?"
Willow looked down. The white cloth, held up only by a strip around her neck, hung loosely to her abdomen, the ends, which were supposed to tie around the back at her waist, fell to points at her knees. "Maybe loosely." She felt naked with her back completely exposed. But no one was around anyway, just her and Buffy.
Buffy tied the straps loosely around her waist, letting it fall past her waist, then helped her into a pair of black sweat pants.
"Let's go, Speedy," Buffy teased, walking along beside her, despite the slow pace she kept up. "I was thinking a movie. Or we could talk. We haven't just talked in forever."
"Movies are good," Willow immediately said, not wanting to be trapped downstairs, forced to talk things over. To figure things out. To show Buffy and everyone else how much of a failure she was. How weak she'd been for allowing the magick to take over.
Liar, her mind tossed at her. Liar. She scoffed at herself, deliberately not allowing herself to think the truth. That she knew what she was doing the whole time, that she knew she was killing a human and that it was wrong. That she'd weighed the pros and cons and found the cons to killing Ben wanting.
He'd had to die.
"You sure?" Buffy asked, taking the first step down with her. "Talking is--"
"Overrated." Seeing the hurt look Buffy quickly tried to hide, she bit her lip and took the next step, despite the pain shooting through her back. "Sorry. I'm just not ready yet."
"That's okay," Buffy bluffed, "when you're ready, I'm here."
Willow hissed in a breath, feeling the skin pulling taut over her muscles. "Oh, this is..." she laughed shortly, thinking it fitting punishment for her, "this is fun. I'm ready to go back upstairs now."
Buffy laughed lightly, ignoring Willow's tiny-voiced plea. She moved in front of her and turned her back, bending her knees to lower herself to a decent height. "Put your arms around me and hang on."
Willow lifted her arms higher than the screaming pain in her muscles wanted her to and dropped them over Buffy's shoulders with a gasp of relief. "Okay," she mumbled, grabbing her left wrist with her right hand and hanging on tight.
"Hang on." Buffy stood up straight and slowly moved down the stairs, carrying a dangling Willow on her back. Once they reached the bottom, Buffy kept going, all the way to the front room.
Willow had to bend her knees a little to keep them from dragging on the floor, but they finally made it. She glanced down at the couch, noting the pillow and sheets covering it. "Am I being banished to the couch?" she asked, only half-joking.
Buffy rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Right, Will. That's what's happening." She bent over and tucked a corner of the white sheet into the back of the couch. "I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable while we talked." Seeing Willow about to protest, she quickly added, "Or watched movies."
"Thanks." Willow sat on one end, keeping her back perfectly straight and her knees tightly together. "Oh, this is comfy," she lied.
Buffy chuckled. "Lie down. I'll fix some popcorn and grab something to drink. Think of a movie you wanna watch," she tossed over her shoulder as she headed into the kitchen.
Willow tried to think of a movie she felt like watching, but came up empty. One title popped into her head from her parent's video collection, which had hardly been touched by them at all: Defending Your Life. She'd never seen it before, but maybe now was a good time to do so.
She settled back a little, loosening up as much as she could without resting against the couch, and picked up the remote from beside her. Just as she turned the TV on, the phone rang. She turned the volume up, not wanting to hear Buffy's hushed conversation to whoever was on the other end, and flipped through the channels, hoping to find something interesting already on.
Commercials, documentaries. A science fiction show about traveling through space. Could be neat. She left it there for a few minutes, watching MacGuyver and a woman with short blond hair walk into a large ring of shimmering blue liquid.
Buffy returned a few minutes later carrying a bowl overflowing with popcorn and a bottle of water. "What's this?" she asked curiously, nodding at the TV.
Willow started to shrug, but halted the movement before she upset her cranky muscles. "I dunno. MacGuyver, the Space Traveler?" she guessed.
Buffy laughed a little louder and longer than was necessary over the poor joke, and judging by the sheepish look on her face, she knew she wasn't fooling Willow. She set the popcorn and water on the table before sitting beside her. She didn't get comfortable, she looked poised to flee.
Her hands moved restlessly, fluffing the pillow behind her and covering Willow with the sheet. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "That was Giles," she finally said, sighing as she pushed herself to her feet. "Another woman was... uh, killed, in the park by Ridge, and he wants me to check things out. Look around."
Willow didn't feel too disappointed that Buffy was leaving. In fact, the more alone she was, the better. At least that way she didn't have to pretend. "Of course," Willow said without hesitation. "You need to go. Don't worry, I'm good here." She smiled widely, holding up her remote. "Over a hundred channels? There's bound to be something to hold my interest."
Buffy didn't look too convinced. She frowned down at Willow and twisted her hands a few times before heading to the closet for her jacket. "Are you sure? I can have Dawn come home, or send Xander over," she offered, stopping in the doorway.
"Go and be productive, Buffy. I'll be all right alone." She grinned, leaning forward slowly to grab the bottle of water from the table. "See? I'm a big girl."
Buffy nodded a few times, her eyes still showing her worry. "Still, maybe I should--"
"Get your weapons and go patrol? Excellent idea!" She waved her hands in a shooing motion and gave Buffy a stern look. Not Resolve-Face-worthy, but still effective. "Look," she said lightly, "I've got MacGuyver and that girl to watch, both being equally good-looking."
Buffy laughed softly and headed up the stairs for her weapons. "I don't think I'll ever get used to you saying things like that," she called over her shoulder. "You're supposed to be the shy one."
Willow nodded in agreement. She was still a little surprised when she said things like that too. Her confidence level had gone up nearly fifty percent since meeting Buffy, and another twenty percent since falling in love with Tara. But that she found women attractive was odd for her. She'd never considered it before meeting Tara. Sure, she'd thought this girl was pretty, or that girl had nice lips, but that she was attracted to them? Not a chance in heck.
As Buffy came down the stairs with stakes hidden somewhere on her person, Willow wondered if she truly was gay, or if she just fell in love with someone who happened to be a woman. Round and round you go, she thought, waving a few fingers in Buffy's direction. "Be careful," she said automatically.
"Always," Buffy called back. "I'll be back as soon as I can. If something happens, I'll send--"
"Buffy, don't send anyone over. I'm okay," she stressed, feeling like an invalid all of a sudden. Her nerves were nearing the breaking point and all this sudden concern for her well-being was just making things worse. "Go. Have lots of slaying."
With a final look, Buffy turned and left the house, shutting the door quietly behind her.
Willow let out a sigh of relief and got comfortable. The popcorn bowl was near enough for her to grab, but still difficult to get. She hooked her fingers over the edge and drew it toward her enough to get a good hold on it, but unfortunately, the bowl had other ideas. It spun to the side and off the edge of the table, dropping popcorn all over the carpet.
"So much for snacking," she sighed, not even considering cleaning up the mess. It just wasn't possible. Un-muting the TV, she scooted around to get comfy, shifting this way and that, but each position left her back slumping or pressing against the back of the couch. "Okay, lying down it is."
Making sure her sweat pants stayed low on her back, she laid on her stomach, facing the television set. A big guy with a gold insignia on his forehead was currently raising an eyebrow at MacGuyver, ignoring the smile from the girl and the guy with the glasses. "Lots of cute, pretty people," she muttered, resting her head on her folded arms and losing herself in the show in order to keep her mind off other things.
__________________________________________________
Willow woke up to a darkened room, frowning at the feeling of the too-soft bed beneath her. Where was she? Opening her eyes slowly, she focused on the pillow in front of her eyes. Her back hurt too much to move, so she stayed still, not moving anything but her eyes. A pillow was under her arms and a few inches beyond that, was the couch arm.
Front room. Buffy's front room, watching TV. Right. Only the television was no longer on. Why wasn't it on? She'd fallen asleep after MacGuyver, the Space Traveler, which turned out to be Stargate SG1.
A hand slid down her back and she gasped, jerking her head toward the person kneeling in the popcorn on the floor. "Buffy?" It wasn't Buffy, she knew that for a fact.
The hand had calluses and was bigger than Buffy's. It was a man's hand, cool to the touch and soothing. But that was neither here nor there, someone was feeling her up and she didn't know who and she was scared. She couldn't defend herself if she needed to.
When her eyes adjusted to the dim light from the streetlights shining through the window, she saw a shock of short blond hair. A leather coat. An unlit cigarette dangling from Spike-lips.
She let her breath out in a rush, wanting so badly to slap him for scaring her, but she couldn't move. And why exactly was he caressing her back? "Spike... what are you doing?"
He looked down at her face, adding another hand to the one already getting a little too close to parts he shouldn't be touching. Like all of her. "Your back's one giant bruise, isn't it?" he asked softly, almost reverently. His blue eyes shined in the light from the window.
"Uh, yeah," she agreed, moving a little toward the back of the couch, hoping to get out of his reach, or at the very least, give him a hint to stop touching her. "Oh, hey," she gasped, "that's-- that's not a bruise. And it's not my back. Could you not do that, please?" His fingers, sliding along the sides of her exposed breasts, went still.
"I brought a salve." He held up a small jar filled with a green substance. "Giles told me to bring it over. Supposed to help heal you." He sat back on his heels, taking the cigarette from his lips and sticking it in his duster pocket. "Buffy's gonna be a while." He took his coat off, tossing it on the chair across from him. "So you get me."
"I don't want you." Seeing his eyebrows raise up, she sighed. "I don't want your salve. I killed someone and if I have a little pain to pass the time with, hey, more power to me." She struggled to sit up, but he pressed a hand to the one uninjured part of her back and held her still.
"Rupert's orders. Don't wanna disappoint him do we?" His smirking chuckle told her otherwise, but he kept his hand on her shoulder. "Besides, he and your girl went to a lot of trouble to make this thing."
"She's not my girl anymore," Willow muttered under her breath.
"Heard about that." He opened the jar, sniffing it cautiously. "Mm, Eau De Sewers," he muttered, scooping a few fingers into the toxic-looking paste. "She still cares though, right? So you should be grateful."
"Spike, don't touch me with that-- oh! Cold!" She wriggled around, ignoring the pain and his restraining hand to sit up. Her efforts only bunched the sheet up underneath her and left it pressing against her stomach in discomfort. "What the hell is the matter with you?" she huffed, almost breathless with pain, seeing his face turn as he leaned down and sniffed her back.
"You smell good. Like..." he paused, his gold eyes landing on her face, "cinnamon and apples. How do you do that? Where's it come from? Is it soap or shampoo?"
She frowned, struggling in earnest now. He was scaring her. Sine when did Spike notice her at all, let alone know what she smelled like? Something was wrong here. "Spike, get away from me."
He nodded and did as she asked, but not to leave her alone. He stripped off his shirt, yanking it over his head and tossing it to the popcorn-strewn floor. "It's you, isn't it? The smell? It's all you. I thought soap or something, but this is good. This is better." He leaned down and, his hand no longer coated in the salve, reached up to caress her back softly. "You and the blood, that's heady stuff, baby."
Where'd the salve go? And why couldn't she move? Screaming as loud as she could, she hoped someone was nearby, someone able to hear her. To help her. "Somebody, please," she whispered, crying, "help me. Please, Spike," she begged, "don't kill me. Help me!"
Spike smiled wide. "Of course I'll help you. That's what I'm here for. To soothe you. To heal your aches and pains and cure what ails ya." He lifted the jar in his hands, his fingers once again coated in the green paste. And now, not only was his shirt missing, but his pants too. He was completely naked and the bareness of his body was there, in all its glory. And wow, was it glorious.
"What...?" she began, sitting up with no pain. He grabbed her arms and hauled her to him, pressing his mouth desperately against hers. She moaned, and shoved at him. The moan turned from one of distress to one of desire as his lips moved on hers, his tongue slipping between her parted lips.
She threaded her hands through his hair, which was soft and baby fine. Not sticky and hard-crusted like she'd always thought. She couldn't help but press closer, to want to feel more of him. "Spike," she whispered, pulling back to look at him. "Why do I want you?"
But it wasn't Spike staring back at her. It was Ben.
He grinned, a demonic look on his face. His rotting flesh dropped to the floor, his hair, long and curly--Glory's hair--slid sideways in a wet mushy pile to his lap, the curls sticking up in odd spots with blood and goo. "We can't do this," he said regretfully, "we're coworkers, and it would never work out between us."
She screamed and yanked free of him, jumping to her feet and running past him. The floor beneath her thickened and her bare feet sank into the carpet. Each step she took was slow and hard. The door stretched out in front of her, looking a mile away. She screamed again as a hand touched her shoulder.
"Uh, sorry," a man said, sounding a little confused by her response. "I-- I didn't mean to... what are you doing?"
She turned to look at the man, her own confusion just as high as his. It was the guy from the TV. The guy with the glasses. He looked behind him briefly, like he wasn't sure where he was, or why.
Willow frowned with him, crossing her arms over her chest. Which was bare. Why was it bare? Where were her clothes? There had been some clothing on her earlier. She thought back, trying to remember the last time she'd had clothes on. They'd gone through the stargate into a pyramid and she'd had clothes then. Fatigues even. And all through the running and the hiding from aliens. But now she didn't. Huh.
"What are you doing?" the man repeated, gesturing to her lack of clothing. "Where's your towel? All SG1 operatives must wear towels at all times. And a gun." He looked pointedly at her lack of a towel. And gun.
Willow nodded. They were all there, wearing their fluffy yellow towels, but hers was missing. "Sorry, I-- I don't know where mine is. Can someone tell me where it is?" She looked around the pyramid, searching desperately for her towel. If she didn't find it, she'd be reprimanded and not be able to work with her friends anymore. She wanted to work with them, wanted to be friends with them. Needed them. "I can't find it," she said frantically, dropping to the dirt floor and digging with her hands. Shoveling the dusty ground wasn't helping. She looked around quickly and picked up the dust buster, sucking up the dust with it. "Help me find it!" she implored them. "I can't find my... my towel, where is it? I don't want to be fired." She looked over at the big guy, who was emotionless and staring straight ahead. "Help me!" she screamed. "Help me find my--"
"--self," Spike said in annoyance.
She stopped digging and looked over her shoulder at him. "What?" He was no longer naked. He too had on a towel. Everyone had one but her.
"I said, find it yourself," he repeated, eyeing the blond woman with a leer. "You are looking quite delicious," he muttered, reaching out to touch her bare back. His face vamped out and he nipped lightly at her neck.
"Sir?" she queried MacGuyver, frowning over her shoulder at Spike, who was standing behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist as he dropped his mouth to her shoulder. He bent down a little to hold her better, like a lover.
Willow scowled at him, feeling jealousy flare up in her. "Fickle vampire," she muttered, resuming her digging.
The woman spoke again, ignoring Spike. "I think we need to get out of here. The reactor's going to blow, and if we're still here when it does..." she shrugged, looking glum, "unknown bad things will happen to us."
"Unknown bad things?" the colonel asked, the resigned look on his face tightening the smallest bit. "We need to go. Now."
Willow got to her feet, intending to follow them through the entrance, but the colonel turned back to her and shook his head. "Not you. You need to, uh..." he looked around with just his eyes, stopping on the dust buster on the ground at her feet, "vacuum up that popcorn. Then you can come. The rest of you, you're with me. Let's go!"
Willow watched them go. Spike was the last one out the entrance, turning back to her sadly.
"Hurry up with that." His eyes dropped to the vacuum at her feet.
She looked down at all the popcorn littering the pyramid floor and sighed, bending down to get to work on the mess. "Wait for me," she beseeched Spike, but he shook his head.
"Can't do that. It's now or never. Got places to go, people to kill." He started out the entrance, still facing her, fading into the night beyond.
"Spike, wait!" she yelled, crying now as she tried desperately to vacuum up all the pieces of white fluff. But they seemed to be multiplying. For every piece she vacuumed up, three more appeared. "Please," she sobbed, "I don't want to be alone. Please come back." Dropping the dust buster to the dirt floor, she sobbed into her hands. "I don't want to be alone."
__________________________________________________________________
Willow woke up with a sob, staring at the couch arm through teary eyes. The TV was still on, playing low. The lamp beside the couch was shining brightly, hurting her eyes. A shudder shook her body as she hitched in a breath. Nice, vivid dreams, a byproduct of her guilty conscience. Sighing into her crossed arms, she pushed herself into a sitting position, hissing at the pain as her skin stretched tight.
Looking around, she was somewhat relieved not to see Spike, naked or not. Just a popcorn-covered floor. Clicking the TV off, she rested her elbows on her knees and leaned forward, purposely sitting through the pain that flared up. It got her mind off of things. Kept her from thinking too much.
"Willow, are you-- Willow?"
Willow raised her head and stared at Giles, who went from looking concerned to sorrowful. He moved to the couch and sat beside her.
"Buffy asked that I stop by to make sure you were all right." He glanced at her and smiled the tiniest bit. "I'd say she had reason to be concerned." He stood up, removing his jacking and grabbing a box of tissues from the side table. He pulled a few out and handed one to her. "Your nose is bleeding."
She took the tissue and wiped the blood from her nose, but stayed silent, still fighting tears. It was a constant battle. After a few minutes, she sniffed and sighed. "It's just a nightmare. I've... I've been having nightmares," she admitted.
"Good." He smiled for real this time, looking relieved. When she frowned and opened her mouth to ask him why it was good that she was suffering through nightmares, he patted her arm awkwardly. "I'd be concerned if you weren't having nightmares, Willow."
"Why?" She hated them. They always made her feel so... useless and hopeless. Like a vital piece of her was missing, left somewhere, lost in the dream.
"They show that you're remorseful."
"I am," she sighed. "But not completely. That I took a life, a human life, is hard. It's... I lost something when I did that." She frowned, trying to find the words she wanted, but couldn't adequately describe what she meant. "But I'd do it again. Dawn is safe, and Buffy--"
Giles nodded, his smile gone, his eyes blank. "I know. If I could change it," he paused, looking straight at her, "I wouldn't." His head dropped a little, his eyes falling to his hands. "Except maybe to do it myself. This is hard for you, I know, for-- for all of us really, but I believe that it was necessary." He pushed himself to his feet and removed his jacket. "Who knows what may have happened if you hadn't stopped Glory." With barely a pause, he headed toward the kitchen. "I'm going to make some tea. Would you like some?"
She thought about it, wondered if maybe it had all those healing qualities Giles sometimes acted like it had--heals the spirit, heals the soul--but decided against it. It just tasted so bland. "No, thanks. I have water." Her eyes fell to the table and the water bottle atop it.
That table had been pushed back in her dream, making room for Spike.
"All right. Back in a jiffy." He tossed his jacket on the banister as he passed by it and left her to bang around in the kitchen.
Willow's eyes were still fixed to the spot where Spike had been. Fully naked Spike. Why did that thought make her tingle? She was gay. Although, there was Oz. And Xander. So maybe she wasn't completely, one hundred percent, grade A gay.
Pushing herself slowly to her feet, she decided she needed some air, just for a few minutes. Somewhere to clear her head and think. Not about Ben for once, but about this new thing with Spike. Was there a new thing with Spike?
Usually when she thought about Spike it was with irritation and anger. Fury and fear. There weren't a lot of 'ooo, he makes me giggle like a little girl' thoughts. Sure, he was cute. Duh, anyone with eyes could see that, even Xander. But, did that mean she liked Spike? No. It meant she was aware of him.
Her bare feet padded softly across the carpet, and she thought about getting shoes, but it was way too much trouble. There'd be bending over factors, and she couldn't do that at the moment.
Opening the front door, she breathed in the cool night air, shivering slightly as a small gust of wind blew her hair across her face. She smiled and, leaving the door wide open, sat carefully on the porch steps, well within the pool of light coming from inside. The cement under her feet was cool, but felt wonderful against her skin. Crossing her arms over her chest, she breathed in deeply, smelling trees and flowers, growing things.
Alive things. Dirt and-- rain? Hadn't rained in a while, it'd be nice for a change.
Okay. So if she was aware of Spike, so what? Out here in the night air, feeling refreshed and alive for the first time in days, the thought of her being attracted to Spike wasn't a horrible one. A little scary, a little creepy, but... not too crazy.
"Maybe that gay thing comes with a money back guarantee," she whispered to herself.
Bisexual. That was a new title for her. She'd never thought of herself as being bisexual. It was straight, and then gay. There'd been no in-between. But now... well, maybe there was an in-between. Maybe gender didn't matter as long as the feelings were there.
That made her smile. She was an equal opportunity lover. Titles were so confining. To hell with them. She'd be... Willow. Just, Willow. Lover of all genders. And species? Werewolf, human, witch... and now vampire? Was there something there?
Thinking about Spike now, after he'd helped carry her home and explain things to Buffy and Giles... sat with Dawn while the others talked to her... there wasn't as much anger and fear as there used to be. A little less of the irritation. He was... a friend. Hm. Friend. A vampire friend. Spike, the vampire friend. Sure, it was weird, but was it any more weird than having Angel as a friend?
Yes. Angel had a soul. Spike didn't.
So, she liked a soulless killer who hated her. Definitely made her weird.
But... he was cute. Oh yeah, that was the argument that would win it. She could just imagine her explaining things to Buffy and Xander. They'd say, 'But, Willow, he's a soulless killer, killer of humans and despite the fact that you are now too,' okay, maybe they wouldn't add that last part, but the gist of the idea was there. They'd say, 'He's evil.'
She'd come back with her brilliant reply of, 'But... he's cute.' and that would be the clincher. They'd smile and celebrate, planning a wedding fit for a queen.
In fairytale land, which was where she was currently residing apparently.
Oy. Okay, so the cute thing didn't enter into it except to notice it. There were other things. He'd helped them a lot lately. Although, yes, he mostly did it for money, for blood, or for his own personal gain, he'd still done it.
Then he'd done it for Buffy. She was what was keeping him around now.
"Oh," she whispered. "Buffy. Kinda forgot about that."
Well, that was the end of that. He loved Drusilla. Loved Buffy. Had a girlfriend. It was idiotic to think of any kind of relationship with Spike. If she did have feelings for him, she'd simply ignore them.
Sighing into the cool air, she inhaled deeply, loving the smell of rain in the air.