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 (16/?)
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 16
A single dirty white thread was yanked free of Spike's ugly armchair as he stared at the blank TV, smoking a cigarette and partaking of a little Jack Daniels. His feet were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle, one boot on top of the other.
His Willow bot was lying on her stomach on his sarcophagus, reading one of the spell books the real girl had loaned him. Had she known who, or what they were for, odds were, she wouldn't have been so accommodating. She wasn't exactly the type to accept something so... difficult. That, he was learning.
Stretching his arm on the chair arm, he tapped the top of his cigarette, watching the inch-long ash fall to the floor to land softly in the still daytime of his crypt. An occasional page turn from his robot was all that broke up the deathly silence, or a slosh from his bottle.
And one of those sloshes was exactly what he needed right now. Tossing back a good swallow, he swished it around in his mouth before swallowing it down. Dropping his head back, he set the bottle on his thigh, staring up at the cracked ceiling.
Willow, the real Willow, the one he was falling in love with... well, she hated him now, didn't she? He'd seen the disgust and disappointment in her eyes, all over her face as she glared at him. Spitting out her disapproval and throwing him out of her bedroom.
He frowned, thinking back to the night before. That was what happened, wasn't it? His memories were a little bleary, and a lot fuzzy. The hazards of drinking.
"Willow," he called loudly, keeping his eyes on the ceiling, not looking at her cute little butt, or the legs that were showing under her tight jeans. There wasn't even a tiny glance toward her gorgeous face or her luscious red hair.
"Do you want to talk, Spike? I like to talk." She sat up, resting the book in her lap over her crossed legs, watching him expectantly.
He knew only because he'd had to glance her way to rid his eyes of the dust that-- okay, he'd looked. He couldn't help it, she was just so enticing. And sexy. That innocent little smile she tossed him, the way her eyes shined every time she looked his way... it was too much for him. "Talk," he mumbled in consideration before shaking his head. "Eh. Talk is overrated."
She frowned in disappointment, shutting her book quietly. "Oh. Do you... want to have sex then?" She looked a little less enthusiastic, drawing an incredulous look from him.
"Not if it's gonna be a bother," he mumbled, waving his hand dismissively when she started to protest. "Never mind, forget it. I just-- ow!" He dropped his cigarette, which had burned down to the filter, sizzling his fingers as it went. Smashing out the butt with a snarl, he closed his eyes and took another drink, raising his head just enough to keep from spilling it all down his chest.
Willow set her book beside her, carefully, like it was a priceless piece of art, and scooted to the end of the sarcophagus. Her eyes focused curiously on him, her head tilting to the side like a damn robot.
Right, made sense, didn't it?
Before she could open her mouth and ask what he wanted, how she could please him, what she could do, he waved his hand at her. "Tell me..." he frowned thoughtfully, following the cracks in the ceiling with his eyes, chasing the lines down his wall. His mind went blank for a minute, then cleared again, with a question he'd been wondering about for some time now. "Tell me about our first time together."
She kicked her legs out a little, gripping the edge of the coffin with her hands as she considered his question. Her heels thunked on the stone, then swayed back and forth restlessly. "The first time I saw you?"
In the middle of taking another drink, he shook his head, not wisely, and ended up with a bit of the liquor dribbling down his chin. "No." He wiped his chin off with the back of his hand, then wiped his hand on his jeans. "The first time we had sex." His lips quirked up, his eyes lighting with amusement. "The first time we did the deed, got down and dirty, rode the--"
"You don't remember?" she asked, interrupting his thoughtful phrasing. "Are you ill?" She tensed to jump down and join him, but he waved his hand at her again.
"I'm fine. Stay there." She shrugged and nodded, but still looked a little worried. Like she could worry, he thought bitterly. "I just want to hear you tell me."
Would she believe that? It was highly likely, but she shouldn't. It was a pathetically thrown together excuse.
Her whole face seemed to light up at the prospect of telling him a story; her smile returned, her eyes shone, her breasts heaved... okay, that last one wasn't really relevant, but he noticed it.
"Our first time," she said succinctly, like it was the title of a story-- "by Willow Rosenberg."
Spike snorted with laughter, quickly masking the sound with a cough when she looked his way.
A frown furrowed her brow, but she didn't let his laughter stop her. "It was in a warehouse. We--"
"Warehouse," he repeated, nodding at that. It made complete sense. That night he'd kidnaped her was the first time he'd really noticed how biteable she was. "When I kidnaped you."
She shook her head a few times. "Not then. It was before then, Spike. Are you too drunk to remember?"
"Yeah, that," he agreed, latching onto that excuse. "Definitely too drunk to remember." Not to mention it had never happened, but hey, they were her memories, and who was he to say they didn't happen? For her.
She started again, sitting straighter, delivering her story like a teacher at story time. "Back in 1999, when I was a junior in high school, and you were--"
"Wait, wait, wait." He sat forward, capping the empty bottle and setting it on the floor beside him. "That's when I was with Dru. No way I cheated on her." Fixing his eyes on the hem of her black blouse, which rose and fell with each breath she took, exposing an inch and then three inches of flesh at a time, he sighed, wanting her even now when he was griping about Dru. "I never cheated on Dru."
"Of course you did," Willow told him, halting her swaying legs to stare at him. "She was cheating on you. With Angelus."
"Angelus. Bloody... flippin'... Angelus." Closing his eyes with a sigh, he flopped back against the chair. He hated Angelus with every fiber of his being. The vampire was a bastard and a half. "Stupid poofter. Always shoving his-- nose in where it doesn't belong."
Willow nodded in agreement, twisting her lips up in distaste. "Angel is a fem-boy with too much hair gel."
Spike's laughter this time was long and hard, not slowed in the least by Willow's confused smile. Here then was proof that Willow was the one. The one with his happiness wrapped up in her hand, holding it tightly, daring him to make a grab for it.
His laughter died at that. The prospect of never being with Willow again, the Willow that he was falling in love with, was sobering.
"Do you want me to continue, my Blonde God?"
Fighting a smirk, he slid his eyes open with a groan. "Thought I told you not to call me that?" His words slurred just the smallest bit, making him aware of just how drunk he really was.
She nodded eagerly, smiling more widely. Again. Did that smile ever go far? "I thought it might cheer you up."
"It didn't. Just tell me about the sex, Willow." Resting his hands against his stomach, he laced his fingers together, settling more comfortably back against the cushions.
"I was leaving the Bronze one night with Buffy and Xander and Cordelia. You were in the alley, waiting for a meal." She didn't flinch, didn't shrink away from him, just stated the words as if she'd mentioned buying new curtains. "Buffy left us to patrol, and Xander and Cordelia went to make out and argue. You followed me as I passed the warehouses on Birch Street."
That sounded familiar. He faintly remembered leaving the house late one night in a snit, furious with Angelus and Dru for going at it again. Right under his blasted nose, in his bloody house... practically in front of his face. But, no, Angelus preferred doing things behind Spike's back. Playing the innocent while taunting Spike with Dru's obedience and devotion.
After listening to the two of them grunting and groaning in Angelus' bedroom for hours on end, he'd left the house, stomping away. Ditching his wheelchair behind a bush near the house, he'd headed straight for the Bronze, wanting a quick kill. A young meal.
As he approached the back entrance, the door opened, emitting Buffy, Xander, Willow, and Cordelia. They'd chatted as they walked slowly down the alley, paying scant attention to their surroundings. If Buffy had been paying even the littlest bit of attention, she would've noticed him there, but she didn't, which just angered him more.
It was like he was invisible.
He followed them, but not too closely, keeping his distance as the group reached the street, going their separate ways. Buffy headed off to patrol, while Willow and the other two started home. He'd been on the verge of following Buffy, thinking to engage her a bit, but at the last second, he'd gone after the others.
He was still weak, not up to full strength, and it looked like the boy and his girl would be breaking off from Willow pretty soon. She looked tasty.
"Why'd you go home that way, love?" He knew the warehouses weren't anywhere near her house. She lived closer to Buffy and Xander than the business district. There was no reason for her to go through that area, no reason at all.
"I was unhappy," she said softly, stilling her feet on the sarcophagus. "I wanted to think."
An image of Willow's strained face came to him. A strained smile as she waved to Xander and Cordelia. As soon as the two were on their way, her smile slipped, her face fell, and her hand dropped heavily to her side as a sigh left her lips.
But it was her eyes that he'd noticed most. She'd been hurt and betrayed by the two walking away. They didn't realize it and she wasn't doing anything to dispel them of the notion that everything was wonderful.
"I remember that night. Xander and the girl, they flaunted their relationship in front of you, didn't they?" he mumbled, frowning at thoughts that'd gone through his mind. To follow her and kill her. Spill her blood and leave her behind for Xander and Cordelia to find. Let them feel it the most when they saw her lifeless body. Lifeless for a day or so, at least, before she rose up and killed them all.
The images were wonderful, just spectacular as she slashed throats and bit through necks, tearing skin and spilling blood to the ground, leaving her friends behind in broken heaps.
She was a pretty girl, could be a beautiful vampire. He'd thought of following her and having all sorts of ways with her.
But he'd stuck to just following her for the time being.
He followed behind her as she clutched a stake in her hand. As her head looked from side to side nervously. As she hurried through the mostly empty buildings, mostly dead and dark. Followed her as she headed into safer territory.
All the while, not knowing exactly why he was following her.
Her auburn hair, swaying from side to side reminded him of Dru's in the darkness; maybe that was it. It was long, and straight, and so rich and luscious-looking. He quietly crept behind her, matching her footsteps with his own, heard her sigh a few times and mutter to herself when she jumped at benign noises.
Street after street they'd gone down, winding their way through town, back into the heart of Sunnydale. Her stiff posture loosened with each street they went down, her shoulders losing their tension with each corner she turned.
But the sadness that surrounded her remained.
He'd wanted to grab her, pull her back against him as he drained her of blood, fed off of her very essence, but he hadn't. Drusilla had shoved herself back into his mind, and he'd decided not to turn her just yet. He'd give Dru another chance.
He followed Willow back to her dark house, and even then he'd had a chance to get to her, but he'd continued walking, heading to the park to munch on a few teenagers unlucky enough think the park bench was a romantic place to make out.
"Spike?" Willow called, sounding like she'd called to him a few times without answer. This was the real one, not from his memories. No, it was the robotic one.
He cleared his throat, remembering the words he'd intended to have with Dru that night, to show her he was worth waiting for, that he'd always be a stronger and better choice than Angelus, but she wasn't there when he got home that night. And neither was Angelus.
"I remember that night," he mumbled again, focusing more firmly on Willow. But his version seemed to differ from hers a bit since she remembered sex, and he didn't. "Go on," he urged, wanting to find out how she'd given in to him. What exactly it was that had made her have sex with her best friend's mortal enemy.
She nodded thoughtfully, dismissing his inattention for what it was, woolgathering. "I was angry and disgusted with Xander and Cordelia. All they did all night was ogle each other and touch under the table," she said distastefully, sticking her tongue out in disgust. "It was sickening."
"Mm, I can imagine," he chuckled, having seen Xander and Anya do that very thing and more in a room full of people. His friends. Xander's friends, not his. "So you thought you'd take a nice dangerous walk through the warehouse district?" He patted down his pockets before remembering he'd set his cigarettes on the chair arm a while back. Glancing over the side of the chair, he spotted them on the floor. "Not very smart under any circumstances."
Reaching over the arm, he grabbed the pack with a crinkle of plastic and a whiff of nicotine. It was comfortable, familiar. Smelled just as good as the whiskey decorating his shirt and jeans.
He shook one out, slipping it between his lips with a sigh. Felt good to have even this minor comfort with him at all times. Soothes whatever ails ya, he thought, lighting the cigarette and snapping the lighter shut with a metallic clink.
She nodded again, her eyes following his movements. "You're very sexy when you smoke. Like the Marlboro Man, all rugged and handsome. But in a dead way."
Spike grinned at the compliment, acknowledging her words with a regal nod in her direction. "Thanks, love."
"Maybe I should smoke," she muttered, eyeing the pack of cigarettes on his thigh. "Would I be sexy if I smoked, Spike?" Her eyes raised to his face, full of hope and curiosity. "Would vampires want me then?"
"No." And what the hell did she want vampires--other than himself, of course--to want her for in the first place? "You're sexy enough as you are. Finish the story."
She didn't look entirely convinced that he was telling her the truth, but she couldn't find any reason for him to lie. Her eyes, stuck once again on the pack of cigarettes, looked to his before landing on his smoking cigarette. "Oh. You followed me and grabbed me, ignoring all my efforts to stake you." She pouted a little, reminding him too much of the real Willow. "I was overpowered by your strong, muscular arms, and your sexy vampire strength."
"Well, you are just a human," he said kindly. "That was before the witchy powers and all that. So, what'd I do?" His eagerness wasn't being tempered by the fact that none of this had happened. In fact, since there were no consequences, it only served to feed his eagerness. "Toss you down and have at it? The biting, I mean. Not, uh-- not the sex. I'm a bit more generous a lover than that."
"Yes, you are," she agreed, smiling widely at him. But then she came to a conclusion and shook her head, frowning at him. "You don't remember," she accused, jumping down from the coffin and moving closer. "You..." she darted her eyes down sadly, "you forgot our first time?"
Sighing in annoyance, he grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him, moving his cigarettes seconds before she dropped onto his lap with a protesting squeal.
"I didn't forget, Willow. I just... need a little reminding." That was mostly the truth. How could he forget something that hadn't happened? So, he didn't feel guilty for lying to her this once. Maybe if he'd been less truthful last night, he'd be sober and looking forward to seeing Willow tonight. As it was, he was drunk and begging his robotic lover to tell him stories.
"Okay," she amended quietly, "you did forget the next morning, after all." Her eyes, wide and innocent, shone with laughter. "You shouldn't drink so much. I thought you'd forgotten all about us until the Initiative--"
"Wait, back up. Finish the first time, then get to the next time." How had he gotten involved with this girl in an imaginary world locked in her mind? She was a robot, true, but someone had given her these memories, and if what Willow said last night was true, or even possibly true, all the blame could lie at Diana's feet.
Not blame exactly, he amended, sliding his hand down Willow's back. More like credit, for his good fortune.
She sat with her back resting on the chair arm, hooking her legs over the other arm, letting them dangle down. "You pushed me inside and shoved me down on the floor. You were drunk," she confided, settling further down on his lap.
"Quite the usual occurrence of late," he told her, laying his hand across her stomach as she talked, feeling her warm skin shift and move beneath his hand. It was very unusual watching it move in and out, and shift and adjust as she talked and moved. The flesh--fake flesh--was so like human skin that he'd be hard-pressed to tell the difference. He listened to her as she told him about things that he'd said and done, actions he'd taken. Things he'd possibly done in an alternate universe.
A universe in which he'd decided to grab her rather than follow her home. If he'd grabbed her like he wanted to, would he right now be with the real Willow? Be loved by her? It was entirely possible that she'd be a vampire. Would she hate him as Dru sometimes did, because he felt too much?
"So, I paced and ranted and railed?" he said huffily, rolling his eyes at himself. "How'd the sex come about? I'd think you'd be scared." She damn well better have been afraid of him. He was the Big Bad back then, maybe not anymore, but certainly he was back then. "You should've been running at the first opportunity."
"I tried, twice. But you caught me and threw me up against the door. The second time, you kissed me." Her eyes widened, her head turning to him. "I was confused, but you said that you wanted me--"
"Always," he agreed, threading his hand with hers over her stomach.
"--and that I was beautiful--" she continued, holding their clasped hands up for a second.
"Very much so," he told her, nodding. Sounds like something he'd tell her to get into her pants. But he was a bit shocked that it worked so easily on her.
She smiled softly. "Thank you. You're beautiful too." Her unclasped hand raised up, cupping his cheek briefly. "I find myself attracted to you, but I also feel compelled to fight the attraction. You're evil, but-- that excites me, and terrifies me... I try so hard to resist you and I can't."
"Yeah?" He grinned at her as he took her hand and kissed the palm, his eyes lighting with amusement.
She pretended to frown, pouting with a half-smile. "Darn your sinister attraction."
Though she was teasing, and her mood was light, he had to wonder. "Are you afraid of me?" His frown and concerned look went unnoticed by her.
She thought about her answer for a second, then grinned widely. "Yes."
Well, that didn't make him feel better. Back then she should've been afraid. Now, he didn't want her to be. He wanted her to want him and love him, not be afraid that he'd someday kill her and her friends. Robot, he reminded himself, she's just a robot.
He slid his hand against her stomach, feeling the small ripples of flesh and muscle beneath his palm and fingers. She felt so real it was sometimes hard to remember that she wasn't.
"You know I can't--" that was a lie. It was going to take some time getting used to having his bite back again. "Uh, won't bite you," he finished quietly, his face serious.
"I think you would," she disagreed, not looking too upset about it. "I think you would if I let you, and I want to let you. I want you to bite me and devour me until there's no more, but I'm afraid."
"If I bit you," he told her, tightening his fingers around hers, "it'd be a love bite." He leaned forward, nipping lightly at the flesh of her neck, not enough to break the skin, but enough to make her squirm in his lap. "Like this," he mumbled, moving a little lower.
She smiled and sighed, tilting her head back. "Oh, Spike, I want you to devour me--" she moved away quickly, frowning down at him. "In a non-death kind of way. Um, with human teeth... no eating. Just, nibbling."
"That's the only kind I'd be doing, love, but maybe a little later. Tell me more." He wasn't sure why he was so focused on finding out the details of their imaginary sex encounter, but he was. Almost as if it was important to his future with the real girl. "I seduced you right off the bat, huh? Talked sweet and had you melting in my arms?"
His grin widened when she rolled her eyes at him. So like Willow.
"I wasn't immediately charmed by you," she said with a scoff. "You were drunk and angry. And a vampire. I thought you were going to kill me." Her forehead furrowed, her mouth dipping down in a frown, her voice becoming lower, almost a whisper. "When you said you wanted me, and that I was beautiful, I thought you were going to rape me."
Now it was his turn to scoff. "I'm not a rapist, Willow."
She nodded, agreeing with him wholeheartedly. "I know. But I didn't know that then. You were kissing me, and your breath smelled like alcohol, and I was scared to death."
Okay, that was better. And here he'd thought she'd fallen into bed with him without a second thought. His charms were plentiful, but not that plentiful. "Okay, assuming I don't know what happened next," he bluffed, shifting them so that she was lying with her head against his shoulder, "tell me what happened."
"I shoved you away from me when you kissed me. But, I also felt a little attracted to you." She lifted her head from his shoulder, smiling at him. "You're gorgeous. And I was a naive little girl, unschooled in the ways of love and sex. You swept me off my feet--"
"Oh God," he mumbled, resting his forehead against her silky-soft hair, "just tell me I didn't quote poetry to you. Or worse yet, that I didn't write my own poetry for you." That'd be bad, so very bad. Poetry and him did not go together. He sucked at it, with a vengeance.
She shook her head, dislodging his cheek from the top of her head. "Of course you didn't," she confirmed, and then repeated, "You swept me off of my feet."
"Uh, yeah, okay... meaning?" he prompted. "Remember, I've never heard this story before."
She sat up, staring at him in puzzlement. "You picked me up and carried me over to a crate and set me down on it. Is this a game?"
"Yes. It's a game. I like hearing you talk about it." His bluff was working again, but he was starting to feel guilty now. She trusted him wholly and completely, and he was lying to her like a cheap rug. But she wasn't real. She was a blasted robot. The real woman was at Buffy's house, staying away from him, and possibly giving him up to her friends.
Again, he tuned in Willow, listening in amusement as she told him about kissing and touching, groping hands and pacing, griping and bitching about Angelus and Dru, complaining and sniping about Xander and Cordelia.
Not to mention the sex that was had. Quickly and without a lot of tenderness and romance. Just a ripping off of clothes--clothes that were in the way, not unnecessary clothes--and a melding of bodies.
Hurried kissing, drunken groping, whispered words of encouragement and desperation. And then he fell asleep on top of her, passed out drunk.
At least they'd both gotten some pleasure before he embarrassed himself.
She'd fallen asleep beside him eventually, afraid to leave and walk home on her own with her ripped clothing and partially bleeding breast.
"Wait, what?" he interrupted, pulling back a little to stare at her. "I bit you? Where's the mark?" That should've given him away, told her that he had no clue about any of this, but she simply lowered the collar of her shirt and showed him the top of her left breast. Which was smooth and unmarked. She looked down at it with a small smile, apparently unaware that there was no mark there.
"When you woke up, you forgot what happened." She sighed when he reached out to touch the smooth flesh of her breast, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the pale skin. "I told you that you bit me, and that was it. I was afraid to tell you the rest."
He nodded, understanding her reluctance to tell him he'd cheated on Dru the night before. "But, I knew. I could smell it on you. On me."
"You could?" she asked in surprise, pushing off of his lap to look at him. "You never told me that. I thought-- you never said anything, you just let me believe you forgot. I thought I was safe."
"Safe," he echoed, wondering what in bloody hell she'd been afraid of after sleeping with him. Then he remembered that she'd only really known him then as the ruthless killer of two slayers, someone without mercy. No wonder she'd been terrified. "Sorry, love."
"And when you kidnaped me for the spell to do on Drusilla--" she began, huffing a little, crossing her arms over her chest, "that hurt." Her voice dropped to a whisper, her eyes dropping to the floor. "You were drunk again. And I thought you were going to kill me because of what happened. You were so angry and hurt by Drusilla cheating on you, I just thought-- I thought you wanted to kill me so you could forget about sleeping with me."
Spike was getting a little confused. Robots were much more trouble than they were worth. He had two women, the same woman really, upset and angry with him. Both were too much. He needed to stick to one, or the other. And at the moment, he wasn't exactly sure which one he preferred.
No, that was a lie. He wanted the real one. The robotic one was just easier to handle.
"Sorry," he said again, not sure what else to say. "I was evil then. Well, no, I still am, I just disliked humans more then."
"Well, you could've let me know you remembered," she hmphed, dropping her hands to her sides. "When you kissed me then, I thought you did remember. And now, I know you did, but you pretended not to."
Spike fought a groan, but couldn't stop himself from dropping his head back onto the chair with a roll of his eyes. He was a bloody idiot in this imaginary world of hers. All that time he'd wasted, traipsing after Dru when he could've taken Willow with him and turned her. Been with her all this time. And then the Buffy thing. God, Harmony was possibly the worst part of it all.
Sex went a long way, but when the body you're having sex with can't keep its mouth shut, it gets old. Real quick. It was always, 'buy me this' and 'steal me that' not to mention her all-time favorite, 'take me to Italy, and Paris, oh, and that one place with the big clock that's named after someone called Ben... whoever he is.'
All that time he could've been with Willow. Damn.
"When I kissed you... again," he said slowly, "uh... I pretended not to remember because I didn't think you wanted to remember?" That it ended as a question of uncertainty probably wasn't the best way to explain himself. But it was all he had at the moment, he was flying by the seat of his pants.
"That's what you keep saying," she sighed, sounding irritated, like they'd had this conversation a few times before. "And I keep saying that you should've said something. The second time we... had sex, that's all it was, just like the first time. Sex."
"We had sex..." he inhaled, raising his head to look at her, "when I kidnaped you. In front of Xander." It was possible he was going to be sick. Vampires didn't get sick though. So what was this nauseous feeling swimming around in his stomach?
"Uh, no," she scoffed, shaking her head with a frown. "You left Xander at the school. Are you... sure you haven't forgotten all this? For real this time?"
"I did," he told her, sighing in defeat. "I forgot all of it. I think it's a spell." That was sure to save him from her anger and hurt, wasn't it? Warming up to his story, he sat forward, nodding eagerly. "Yeah, a big spell. Someone made me forget about us. Someone-- a demon probably, yeah, a big demon, doing a big spell against me."
She walked over to her spell book, picking it up like it was an ancient tome of powerful magick and priceless wisdom. "Is that all that's been affected? Your memories of us?" She flipped the book open, all business now, turning page after page in search of answers. "I may need some ingredients," she mumbled, smiling at him as she paced away, completely engrossed in her research. "I'll make a list-- oh!"
"What?" He frowned, standing up quickly, hoping she hadn't found a spell she wanted to do on him. But her eyes were wide on him, not the book.
"That's why you won't let me leave. You think Buffy--" she frowned, tilting her head to the side in puzzlement. "What do you think Buffy will do? She's okay with us. Not jumping up and down in excitement, but she promised not to dust you or interfere in our lives."
"She did?" he asked skeptically, forgetting for a minute that this wasn't real. Her memories weren't real. None of this had happened. Bloody hell. "Yeah," he agreed, shoving his hands through his hair angrily. "Yeah, that's exactly it. I was afraid for you, baby." Sighing, he turned away, stalking restlessly across the crypt.
"Thank you," she mumbled, walking across the crypt to peck his cheek before hopping on the sarcophagus. She didn't use a hand to brace herself as she hopped up, just... jumped up there. It was weird to see, but not as weird as her flipping through her book trying to find a counter-spell to get rid of the nonexistent spell a nonexistent demon put on him.
A few minutes went by, with him pacing, trying to figure out a way to tell her he'd lied. That there was no spell on him, and maybe even let her know that she was a robot, but he chickened out. He couldn't make himself tell her something that would inevitably cause her to become upset.
Maybe even cry. Did robots cry?
She sat straight on the coffin, quickly reading through each book, searching for a spell, any spell, to help the man she loved.
He sighed for the thirtieth time in ten minutes. Bloody hell.
A few minutes later, he heard footsteps approaching the crypt, crunching noisily on the leaves and twigs outside. He rushed over to the trapdoor, yanking it up. "Willow, you have to go downstairs. Someone's coming."
She looked up, unconcerned. "Maybe it's Buffy. I told you she's okay--"
"No, Willow. She's not. I've talked to her recently, and there's something wrong with her too." Thinking quickly, he added more lies to the ones he'd already heaped on Willow, hoping she bought them in the short time he had left to convince her. Whoever was coming, they were almost to the crypt.
Not bothering to argue the point, he rushed to the coffin, grabbed Willow, ignoring her protests, and pushed her toward the trapdoor. "Just go, we'll talk about it later. I don't want her to hurt you, and with her--and everyone else's--memories skewed... it's possible she's forgotten you're friends."
Willow looked about ready to protest, but just nodded, and climbed down the ladder, clutching her books to her chest as she went. "I'll stay here until--"
"Willow, listen to me." He bent down, fitting the trapdoor partially into place, holding it open as he peered into the darkness.
She stepped off the ladder and turned to look up at him. "How long do I--"
"You will not leave there until I say it's okay. Got that? No matter how long it takes."
More protesting was on the tip of her tongue, she even opened her mouth, but he shook his head with a glance at the door, which flew open, smacking against the wall before swinging back to close. A hand stopped its momentum, halting the door as he dropped the trapdoor back into place and stood up.
Bloody hell.
"Uh, excuse me," he said angrily, stalking over to the door, glaring at the figure standing there. "What do you want?" Fury roiled through him, but a little fear as well. There was a calmness in the eyes following his progress across the crypt.
"You," the figure said softly, shooting a fist out. It caught him in the jaw, throwing him back a few feet. Luck was the only thing that gave his attacker the upper hand. He landed on the stone floor with a thump, and his head snapped backward, smacking the corner of the stone sarcophagus and knocking him out.
for a loop.
TITLE: Order Now (16/?)
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 16
A single dirty white thread was yanked free of Spike's ugly armchair as he stared at the blank TV, smoking a cigarette and partaking of a little Jack Daniels. His feet were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle, one boot on top of the other.
His Willow bot was lying on her stomach on his sarcophagus, reading one of the spell books the real girl had loaned him. Had she known who, or what they were for, odds were, she wouldn't have been so accommodating. She wasn't exactly the type to accept something so... difficult. That, he was learning.
Stretching his arm on the chair arm, he tapped the top of his cigarette, watching the inch-long ash fall to the floor to land softly in the still daytime of his crypt. An occasional page turn from his robot was all that broke up the deathly silence, or a slosh from his bottle.
And one of those sloshes was exactly what he needed right now. Tossing back a good swallow, he swished it around in his mouth before swallowing it down. Dropping his head back, he set the bottle on his thigh, staring up at the cracked ceiling.
Willow, the real Willow, the one he was falling in love with... well, she hated him now, didn't she? He'd seen the disgust and disappointment in her eyes, all over her face as she glared at him. Spitting out her disapproval and throwing him out of her bedroom.
He frowned, thinking back to the night before. That was what happened, wasn't it? His memories were a little bleary, and a lot fuzzy. The hazards of drinking.
"Willow," he called loudly, keeping his eyes on the ceiling, not looking at her cute little butt, or the legs that were showing under her tight jeans. There wasn't even a tiny glance toward her gorgeous face or her luscious red hair.
"Do you want to talk, Spike? I like to talk." She sat up, resting the book in her lap over her crossed legs, watching him expectantly.
He knew only because he'd had to glance her way to rid his eyes of the dust that-- okay, he'd looked. He couldn't help it, she was just so enticing. And sexy. That innocent little smile she tossed him, the way her eyes shined every time she looked his way... it was too much for him. "Talk," he mumbled in consideration before shaking his head. "Eh. Talk is overrated."
She frowned in disappointment, shutting her book quietly. "Oh. Do you... want to have sex then?" She looked a little less enthusiastic, drawing an incredulous look from him.
"Not if it's gonna be a bother," he mumbled, waving his hand dismissively when she started to protest. "Never mind, forget it. I just-- ow!" He dropped his cigarette, which had burned down to the filter, sizzling his fingers as it went. Smashing out the butt with a snarl, he closed his eyes and took another drink, raising his head just enough to keep from spilling it all down his chest.
Willow set her book beside her, carefully, like it was a priceless piece of art, and scooted to the end of the sarcophagus. Her eyes focused curiously on him, her head tilting to the side like a damn robot.
Right, made sense, didn't it?
Before she could open her mouth and ask what he wanted, how she could please him, what she could do, he waved his hand at her. "Tell me..." he frowned thoughtfully, following the cracks in the ceiling with his eyes, chasing the lines down his wall. His mind went blank for a minute, then cleared again, with a question he'd been wondering about for some time now. "Tell me about our first time together."
She kicked her legs out a little, gripping the edge of the coffin with her hands as she considered his question. Her heels thunked on the stone, then swayed back and forth restlessly. "The first time I saw you?"
In the middle of taking another drink, he shook his head, not wisely, and ended up with a bit of the liquor dribbling down his chin. "No." He wiped his chin off with the back of his hand, then wiped his hand on his jeans. "The first time we had sex." His lips quirked up, his eyes lighting with amusement. "The first time we did the deed, got down and dirty, rode the--"
"You don't remember?" she asked, interrupting his thoughtful phrasing. "Are you ill?" She tensed to jump down and join him, but he waved his hand at her again.
"I'm fine. Stay there." She shrugged and nodded, but still looked a little worried. Like she could worry, he thought bitterly. "I just want to hear you tell me."
Would she believe that? It was highly likely, but she shouldn't. It was a pathetically thrown together excuse.
Her whole face seemed to light up at the prospect of telling him a story; her smile returned, her eyes shone, her breasts heaved... okay, that last one wasn't really relevant, but he noticed it.
"Our first time," she said succinctly, like it was the title of a story-- "by Willow Rosenberg."
Spike snorted with laughter, quickly masking the sound with a cough when she looked his way.
A frown furrowed her brow, but she didn't let his laughter stop her. "It was in a warehouse. We--"
"Warehouse," he repeated, nodding at that. It made complete sense. That night he'd kidnaped her was the first time he'd really noticed how biteable she was. "When I kidnaped you."
She shook her head a few times. "Not then. It was before then, Spike. Are you too drunk to remember?"
"Yeah, that," he agreed, latching onto that excuse. "Definitely too drunk to remember." Not to mention it had never happened, but hey, they were her memories, and who was he to say they didn't happen? For her.
She started again, sitting straighter, delivering her story like a teacher at story time. "Back in 1999, when I was a junior in high school, and you were--"
"Wait, wait, wait." He sat forward, capping the empty bottle and setting it on the floor beside him. "That's when I was with Dru. No way I cheated on her." Fixing his eyes on the hem of her black blouse, which rose and fell with each breath she took, exposing an inch and then three inches of flesh at a time, he sighed, wanting her even now when he was griping about Dru. "I never cheated on Dru."
"Of course you did," Willow told him, halting her swaying legs to stare at him. "She was cheating on you. With Angelus."
"Angelus. Bloody... flippin'... Angelus." Closing his eyes with a sigh, he flopped back against the chair. He hated Angelus with every fiber of his being. The vampire was a bastard and a half. "Stupid poofter. Always shoving his-- nose in where it doesn't belong."
Willow nodded in agreement, twisting her lips up in distaste. "Angel is a fem-boy with too much hair gel."
Spike's laughter this time was long and hard, not slowed in the least by Willow's confused smile. Here then was proof that Willow was the one. The one with his happiness wrapped up in her hand, holding it tightly, daring him to make a grab for it.
His laughter died at that. The prospect of never being with Willow again, the Willow that he was falling in love with, was sobering.
"Do you want me to continue, my Blonde God?"
Fighting a smirk, he slid his eyes open with a groan. "Thought I told you not to call me that?" His words slurred just the smallest bit, making him aware of just how drunk he really was.
She nodded eagerly, smiling more widely. Again. Did that smile ever go far? "I thought it might cheer you up."
"It didn't. Just tell me about the sex, Willow." Resting his hands against his stomach, he laced his fingers together, settling more comfortably back against the cushions.
"I was leaving the Bronze one night with Buffy and Xander and Cordelia. You were in the alley, waiting for a meal." She didn't flinch, didn't shrink away from him, just stated the words as if she'd mentioned buying new curtains. "Buffy left us to patrol, and Xander and Cordelia went to make out and argue. You followed me as I passed the warehouses on Birch Street."
That sounded familiar. He faintly remembered leaving the house late one night in a snit, furious with Angelus and Dru for going at it again. Right under his blasted nose, in his bloody house... practically in front of his face. But, no, Angelus preferred doing things behind Spike's back. Playing the innocent while taunting Spike with Dru's obedience and devotion.
After listening to the two of them grunting and groaning in Angelus' bedroom for hours on end, he'd left the house, stomping away. Ditching his wheelchair behind a bush near the house, he'd headed straight for the Bronze, wanting a quick kill. A young meal.
As he approached the back entrance, the door opened, emitting Buffy, Xander, Willow, and Cordelia. They'd chatted as they walked slowly down the alley, paying scant attention to their surroundings. If Buffy had been paying even the littlest bit of attention, she would've noticed him there, but she didn't, which just angered him more.
It was like he was invisible.
He followed them, but not too closely, keeping his distance as the group reached the street, going their separate ways. Buffy headed off to patrol, while Willow and the other two started home. He'd been on the verge of following Buffy, thinking to engage her a bit, but at the last second, he'd gone after the others.
He was still weak, not up to full strength, and it looked like the boy and his girl would be breaking off from Willow pretty soon. She looked tasty.
"Why'd you go home that way, love?" He knew the warehouses weren't anywhere near her house. She lived closer to Buffy and Xander than the business district. There was no reason for her to go through that area, no reason at all.
"I was unhappy," she said softly, stilling her feet on the sarcophagus. "I wanted to think."
An image of Willow's strained face came to him. A strained smile as she waved to Xander and Cordelia. As soon as the two were on their way, her smile slipped, her face fell, and her hand dropped heavily to her side as a sigh left her lips.
But it was her eyes that he'd noticed most. She'd been hurt and betrayed by the two walking away. They didn't realize it and she wasn't doing anything to dispel them of the notion that everything was wonderful.
"I remember that night. Xander and the girl, they flaunted their relationship in front of you, didn't they?" he mumbled, frowning at thoughts that'd gone through his mind. To follow her and kill her. Spill her blood and leave her behind for Xander and Cordelia to find. Let them feel it the most when they saw her lifeless body. Lifeless for a day or so, at least, before she rose up and killed them all.
The images were wonderful, just spectacular as she slashed throats and bit through necks, tearing skin and spilling blood to the ground, leaving her friends behind in broken heaps.
She was a pretty girl, could be a beautiful vampire. He'd thought of following her and having all sorts of ways with her.
But he'd stuck to just following her for the time being.
He followed behind her as she clutched a stake in her hand. As her head looked from side to side nervously. As she hurried through the mostly empty buildings, mostly dead and dark. Followed her as she headed into safer territory.
All the while, not knowing exactly why he was following her.
Her auburn hair, swaying from side to side reminded him of Dru's in the darkness; maybe that was it. It was long, and straight, and so rich and luscious-looking. He quietly crept behind her, matching her footsteps with his own, heard her sigh a few times and mutter to herself when she jumped at benign noises.
Street after street they'd gone down, winding their way through town, back into the heart of Sunnydale. Her stiff posture loosened with each street they went down, her shoulders losing their tension with each corner she turned.
But the sadness that surrounded her remained.
He'd wanted to grab her, pull her back against him as he drained her of blood, fed off of her very essence, but he hadn't. Drusilla had shoved herself back into his mind, and he'd decided not to turn her just yet. He'd give Dru another chance.
He followed Willow back to her dark house, and even then he'd had a chance to get to her, but he'd continued walking, heading to the park to munch on a few teenagers unlucky enough think the park bench was a romantic place to make out.
"Spike?" Willow called, sounding like she'd called to him a few times without answer. This was the real one, not from his memories. No, it was the robotic one.
He cleared his throat, remembering the words he'd intended to have with Dru that night, to show her he was worth waiting for, that he'd always be a stronger and better choice than Angelus, but she wasn't there when he got home that night. And neither was Angelus.
"I remember that night," he mumbled again, focusing more firmly on Willow. But his version seemed to differ from hers a bit since she remembered sex, and he didn't. "Go on," he urged, wanting to find out how she'd given in to him. What exactly it was that had made her have sex with her best friend's mortal enemy.
She nodded thoughtfully, dismissing his inattention for what it was, woolgathering. "I was angry and disgusted with Xander and Cordelia. All they did all night was ogle each other and touch under the table," she said distastefully, sticking her tongue out in disgust. "It was sickening."
"Mm, I can imagine," he chuckled, having seen Xander and Anya do that very thing and more in a room full of people. His friends. Xander's friends, not his. "So you thought you'd take a nice dangerous walk through the warehouse district?" He patted down his pockets before remembering he'd set his cigarettes on the chair arm a while back. Glancing over the side of the chair, he spotted them on the floor. "Not very smart under any circumstances."
Reaching over the arm, he grabbed the pack with a crinkle of plastic and a whiff of nicotine. It was comfortable, familiar. Smelled just as good as the whiskey decorating his shirt and jeans.
He shook one out, slipping it between his lips with a sigh. Felt good to have even this minor comfort with him at all times. Soothes whatever ails ya, he thought, lighting the cigarette and snapping the lighter shut with a metallic clink.
She nodded again, her eyes following his movements. "You're very sexy when you smoke. Like the Marlboro Man, all rugged and handsome. But in a dead way."
Spike grinned at the compliment, acknowledging her words with a regal nod in her direction. "Thanks, love."
"Maybe I should smoke," she muttered, eyeing the pack of cigarettes on his thigh. "Would I be sexy if I smoked, Spike?" Her eyes raised to his face, full of hope and curiosity. "Would vampires want me then?"
"No." And what the hell did she want vampires--other than himself, of course--to want her for in the first place? "You're sexy enough as you are. Finish the story."
She didn't look entirely convinced that he was telling her the truth, but she couldn't find any reason for him to lie. Her eyes, stuck once again on the pack of cigarettes, looked to his before landing on his smoking cigarette. "Oh. You followed me and grabbed me, ignoring all my efforts to stake you." She pouted a little, reminding him too much of the real Willow. "I was overpowered by your strong, muscular arms, and your sexy vampire strength."
"Well, you are just a human," he said kindly. "That was before the witchy powers and all that. So, what'd I do?" His eagerness wasn't being tempered by the fact that none of this had happened. In fact, since there were no consequences, it only served to feed his eagerness. "Toss you down and have at it? The biting, I mean. Not, uh-- not the sex. I'm a bit more generous a lover than that."
"Yes, you are," she agreed, smiling widely at him. But then she came to a conclusion and shook her head, frowning at him. "You don't remember," she accused, jumping down from the coffin and moving closer. "You..." she darted her eyes down sadly, "you forgot our first time?"
Sighing in annoyance, he grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him, moving his cigarettes seconds before she dropped onto his lap with a protesting squeal.
"I didn't forget, Willow. I just... need a little reminding." That was mostly the truth. How could he forget something that hadn't happened? So, he didn't feel guilty for lying to her this once. Maybe if he'd been less truthful last night, he'd be sober and looking forward to seeing Willow tonight. As it was, he was drunk and begging his robotic lover to tell him stories.
"Okay," she amended quietly, "you did forget the next morning, after all." Her eyes, wide and innocent, shone with laughter. "You shouldn't drink so much. I thought you'd forgotten all about us until the Initiative--"
"Wait, back up. Finish the first time, then get to the next time." How had he gotten involved with this girl in an imaginary world locked in her mind? She was a robot, true, but someone had given her these memories, and if what Willow said last night was true, or even possibly true, all the blame could lie at Diana's feet.
Not blame exactly, he amended, sliding his hand down Willow's back. More like credit, for his good fortune.
She sat with her back resting on the chair arm, hooking her legs over the other arm, letting them dangle down. "You pushed me inside and shoved me down on the floor. You were drunk," she confided, settling further down on his lap.
"Quite the usual occurrence of late," he told her, laying his hand across her stomach as she talked, feeling her warm skin shift and move beneath his hand. It was very unusual watching it move in and out, and shift and adjust as she talked and moved. The flesh--fake flesh--was so like human skin that he'd be hard-pressed to tell the difference. He listened to her as she told him about things that he'd said and done, actions he'd taken. Things he'd possibly done in an alternate universe.
A universe in which he'd decided to grab her rather than follow her home. If he'd grabbed her like he wanted to, would he right now be with the real Willow? Be loved by her? It was entirely possible that she'd be a vampire. Would she hate him as Dru sometimes did, because he felt too much?
"So, I paced and ranted and railed?" he said huffily, rolling his eyes at himself. "How'd the sex come about? I'd think you'd be scared." She damn well better have been afraid of him. He was the Big Bad back then, maybe not anymore, but certainly he was back then. "You should've been running at the first opportunity."
"I tried, twice. But you caught me and threw me up against the door. The second time, you kissed me." Her eyes widened, her head turning to him. "I was confused, but you said that you wanted me--"
"Always," he agreed, threading his hand with hers over her stomach.
"--and that I was beautiful--" she continued, holding their clasped hands up for a second.
"Very much so," he told her, nodding. Sounds like something he'd tell her to get into her pants. But he was a bit shocked that it worked so easily on her.
She smiled softly. "Thank you. You're beautiful too." Her unclasped hand raised up, cupping his cheek briefly. "I find myself attracted to you, but I also feel compelled to fight the attraction. You're evil, but-- that excites me, and terrifies me... I try so hard to resist you and I can't."
"Yeah?" He grinned at her as he took her hand and kissed the palm, his eyes lighting with amusement.
She pretended to frown, pouting with a half-smile. "Darn your sinister attraction."
Though she was teasing, and her mood was light, he had to wonder. "Are you afraid of me?" His frown and concerned look went unnoticed by her.
She thought about her answer for a second, then grinned widely. "Yes."
Well, that didn't make him feel better. Back then she should've been afraid. Now, he didn't want her to be. He wanted her to want him and love him, not be afraid that he'd someday kill her and her friends. Robot, he reminded himself, she's just a robot.
He slid his hand against her stomach, feeling the small ripples of flesh and muscle beneath his palm and fingers. She felt so real it was sometimes hard to remember that she wasn't.
"You know I can't--" that was a lie. It was going to take some time getting used to having his bite back again. "Uh, won't bite you," he finished quietly, his face serious.
"I think you would," she disagreed, not looking too upset about it. "I think you would if I let you, and I want to let you. I want you to bite me and devour me until there's no more, but I'm afraid."
"If I bit you," he told her, tightening his fingers around hers, "it'd be a love bite." He leaned forward, nipping lightly at the flesh of her neck, not enough to break the skin, but enough to make her squirm in his lap. "Like this," he mumbled, moving a little lower.
She smiled and sighed, tilting her head back. "Oh, Spike, I want you to devour me--" she moved away quickly, frowning down at him. "In a non-death kind of way. Um, with human teeth... no eating. Just, nibbling."
"That's the only kind I'd be doing, love, but maybe a little later. Tell me more." He wasn't sure why he was so focused on finding out the details of their imaginary sex encounter, but he was. Almost as if it was important to his future with the real girl. "I seduced you right off the bat, huh? Talked sweet and had you melting in my arms?"
His grin widened when she rolled her eyes at him. So like Willow.
"I wasn't immediately charmed by you," she said with a scoff. "You were drunk and angry. And a vampire. I thought you were going to kill me." Her forehead furrowed, her mouth dipping down in a frown, her voice becoming lower, almost a whisper. "When you said you wanted me, and that I was beautiful, I thought you were going to rape me."
Now it was his turn to scoff. "I'm not a rapist, Willow."
She nodded, agreeing with him wholeheartedly. "I know. But I didn't know that then. You were kissing me, and your breath smelled like alcohol, and I was scared to death."
Okay, that was better. And here he'd thought she'd fallen into bed with him without a second thought. His charms were plentiful, but not that plentiful. "Okay, assuming I don't know what happened next," he bluffed, shifting them so that she was lying with her head against his shoulder, "tell me what happened."
"I shoved you away from me when you kissed me. But, I also felt a little attracted to you." She lifted her head from his shoulder, smiling at him. "You're gorgeous. And I was a naive little girl, unschooled in the ways of love and sex. You swept me off my feet--"
"Oh God," he mumbled, resting his forehead against her silky-soft hair, "just tell me I didn't quote poetry to you. Or worse yet, that I didn't write my own poetry for you." That'd be bad, so very bad. Poetry and him did not go together. He sucked at it, with a vengeance.
She shook her head, dislodging his cheek from the top of her head. "Of course you didn't," she confirmed, and then repeated, "You swept me off of my feet."
"Uh, yeah, okay... meaning?" he prompted. "Remember, I've never heard this story before."
She sat up, staring at him in puzzlement. "You picked me up and carried me over to a crate and set me down on it. Is this a game?"
"Yes. It's a game. I like hearing you talk about it." His bluff was working again, but he was starting to feel guilty now. She trusted him wholly and completely, and he was lying to her like a cheap rug. But she wasn't real. She was a blasted robot. The real woman was at Buffy's house, staying away from him, and possibly giving him up to her friends.
Again, he tuned in Willow, listening in amusement as she told him about kissing and touching, groping hands and pacing, griping and bitching about Angelus and Dru, complaining and sniping about Xander and Cordelia.
Not to mention the sex that was had. Quickly and without a lot of tenderness and romance. Just a ripping off of clothes--clothes that were in the way, not unnecessary clothes--and a melding of bodies.
Hurried kissing, drunken groping, whispered words of encouragement and desperation. And then he fell asleep on top of her, passed out drunk.
At least they'd both gotten some pleasure before he embarrassed himself.
She'd fallen asleep beside him eventually, afraid to leave and walk home on her own with her ripped clothing and partially bleeding breast.
"Wait, what?" he interrupted, pulling back a little to stare at her. "I bit you? Where's the mark?" That should've given him away, told her that he had no clue about any of this, but she simply lowered the collar of her shirt and showed him the top of her left breast. Which was smooth and unmarked. She looked down at it with a small smile, apparently unaware that there was no mark there.
"When you woke up, you forgot what happened." She sighed when he reached out to touch the smooth flesh of her breast, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the pale skin. "I told you that you bit me, and that was it. I was afraid to tell you the rest."
He nodded, understanding her reluctance to tell him he'd cheated on Dru the night before. "But, I knew. I could smell it on you. On me."
"You could?" she asked in surprise, pushing off of his lap to look at him. "You never told me that. I thought-- you never said anything, you just let me believe you forgot. I thought I was safe."
"Safe," he echoed, wondering what in bloody hell she'd been afraid of after sleeping with him. Then he remembered that she'd only really known him then as the ruthless killer of two slayers, someone without mercy. No wonder she'd been terrified. "Sorry, love."
"And when you kidnaped me for the spell to do on Drusilla--" she began, huffing a little, crossing her arms over her chest, "that hurt." Her voice dropped to a whisper, her eyes dropping to the floor. "You were drunk again. And I thought you were going to kill me because of what happened. You were so angry and hurt by Drusilla cheating on you, I just thought-- I thought you wanted to kill me so you could forget about sleeping with me."
Spike was getting a little confused. Robots were much more trouble than they were worth. He had two women, the same woman really, upset and angry with him. Both were too much. He needed to stick to one, or the other. And at the moment, he wasn't exactly sure which one he preferred.
No, that was a lie. He wanted the real one. The robotic one was just easier to handle.
"Sorry," he said again, not sure what else to say. "I was evil then. Well, no, I still am, I just disliked humans more then."
"Well, you could've let me know you remembered," she hmphed, dropping her hands to her sides. "When you kissed me then, I thought you did remember. And now, I know you did, but you pretended not to."
Spike fought a groan, but couldn't stop himself from dropping his head back onto the chair with a roll of his eyes. He was a bloody idiot in this imaginary world of hers. All that time he'd wasted, traipsing after Dru when he could've taken Willow with him and turned her. Been with her all this time. And then the Buffy thing. God, Harmony was possibly the worst part of it all.
Sex went a long way, but when the body you're having sex with can't keep its mouth shut, it gets old. Real quick. It was always, 'buy me this' and 'steal me that' not to mention her all-time favorite, 'take me to Italy, and Paris, oh, and that one place with the big clock that's named after someone called Ben... whoever he is.'
All that time he could've been with Willow. Damn.
"When I kissed you... again," he said slowly, "uh... I pretended not to remember because I didn't think you wanted to remember?" That it ended as a question of uncertainty probably wasn't the best way to explain himself. But it was all he had at the moment, he was flying by the seat of his pants.
"That's what you keep saying," she sighed, sounding irritated, like they'd had this conversation a few times before. "And I keep saying that you should've said something. The second time we... had sex, that's all it was, just like the first time. Sex."
"We had sex..." he inhaled, raising his head to look at her, "when I kidnaped you. In front of Xander." It was possible he was going to be sick. Vampires didn't get sick though. So what was this nauseous feeling swimming around in his stomach?
"Uh, no," she scoffed, shaking her head with a frown. "You left Xander at the school. Are you... sure you haven't forgotten all this? For real this time?"
"I did," he told her, sighing in defeat. "I forgot all of it. I think it's a spell." That was sure to save him from her anger and hurt, wasn't it? Warming up to his story, he sat forward, nodding eagerly. "Yeah, a big spell. Someone made me forget about us. Someone-- a demon probably, yeah, a big demon, doing a big spell against me."
She walked over to her spell book, picking it up like it was an ancient tome of powerful magick and priceless wisdom. "Is that all that's been affected? Your memories of us?" She flipped the book open, all business now, turning page after page in search of answers. "I may need some ingredients," she mumbled, smiling at him as she paced away, completely engrossed in her research. "I'll make a list-- oh!"
"What?" He frowned, standing up quickly, hoping she hadn't found a spell she wanted to do on him. But her eyes were wide on him, not the book.
"That's why you won't let me leave. You think Buffy--" she frowned, tilting her head to the side in puzzlement. "What do you think Buffy will do? She's okay with us. Not jumping up and down in excitement, but she promised not to dust you or interfere in our lives."
"She did?" he asked skeptically, forgetting for a minute that this wasn't real. Her memories weren't real. None of this had happened. Bloody hell. "Yeah," he agreed, shoving his hands through his hair angrily. "Yeah, that's exactly it. I was afraid for you, baby." Sighing, he turned away, stalking restlessly across the crypt.
"Thank you," she mumbled, walking across the crypt to peck his cheek before hopping on the sarcophagus. She didn't use a hand to brace herself as she hopped up, just... jumped up there. It was weird to see, but not as weird as her flipping through her book trying to find a counter-spell to get rid of the nonexistent spell a nonexistent demon put on him.
A few minutes went by, with him pacing, trying to figure out a way to tell her he'd lied. That there was no spell on him, and maybe even let her know that she was a robot, but he chickened out. He couldn't make himself tell her something that would inevitably cause her to become upset.
Maybe even cry. Did robots cry?
She sat straight on the coffin, quickly reading through each book, searching for a spell, any spell, to help the man she loved.
He sighed for the thirtieth time in ten minutes. Bloody hell.
A few minutes later, he heard footsteps approaching the crypt, crunching noisily on the leaves and twigs outside. He rushed over to the trapdoor, yanking it up. "Willow, you have to go downstairs. Someone's coming."
She looked up, unconcerned. "Maybe it's Buffy. I told you she's okay--"
"No, Willow. She's not. I've talked to her recently, and there's something wrong with her too." Thinking quickly, he added more lies to the ones he'd already heaped on Willow, hoping she bought them in the short time he had left to convince her. Whoever was coming, they were almost to the crypt.
Not bothering to argue the point, he rushed to the coffin, grabbed Willow, ignoring her protests, and pushed her toward the trapdoor. "Just go, we'll talk about it later. I don't want her to hurt you, and with her--and everyone else's--memories skewed... it's possible she's forgotten you're friends."
Willow looked about ready to protest, but just nodded, and climbed down the ladder, clutching her books to her chest as she went. "I'll stay here until--"
"Willow, listen to me." He bent down, fitting the trapdoor partially into place, holding it open as he peered into the darkness.
She stepped off the ladder and turned to look up at him. "How long do I--"
"You will not leave there until I say it's okay. Got that? No matter how long it takes."
More protesting was on the tip of her tongue, she even opened her mouth, but he shook his head with a glance at the door, which flew open, smacking against the wall before swinging back to close. A hand stopped its momentum, halting the door as he dropped the trapdoor back into place and stood up.
Bloody hell.
"Uh, excuse me," he said angrily, stalking over to the door, glaring at the figure standing there. "What do you want?" Fury roiled through him, but a little fear as well. There was a calmness in the eyes following his progress across the crypt.
"You," the figure said softly, shooting a fist out. It caught him in the jaw, throwing him back a few feet. Luck was the only thing that gave his attacker the upper hand. He landed on the stone floor with a thump, and his head snapped backward, smacking the corner of the stone sarcophagus and knocking him out.