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 (17/?)
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 who's been mega busy recently, but always finds time to beta for me and read all the new scenage I ssend her way, little though that's been of late.
PART 17
Sunshine shone down through tree limbs, dappling the sidewalks and streets as Willow made her way to the Magic Box. The usual daytime noises of the town were swirling around in the air. The laughter and loud voices of people walking by her were drowned out by cars driving down the street. Exhaust floated up, increasing that huge hole in the ozone, but over that were the smells of cinnamon buns and coffee from the Espresso Pump across the street.
It was a day of warmth and beauty, but there was no song in Willow's heart, no happy smile on her face. If anyone were to look too closely at her eyes, they'd see that they reflected sadness, not sunlight.
But her eyes stayed fixed on the cracked sidewalks, and the occasional piece of trash that littered the gutters, not allowing anyone to look into her eyes, had they wanted to. Most of the people passing by didn't try, though, because she was giving off vibes that didn't invite conversation, or even a casual look in her direction.
Her lips were turned down in a frown, her shoulders slumped. Every step she took brought her closer to the Magic Box, closer to her friends and people who loved her, but it also took her farther away from the man she'd fallen in love with.
His crypt was way across town, hidden in a cemetery, stashed away almost as an afterthought. Trees crowded the small marble structure, shielding it with a canopy of leaves that covered it in darkness, even in the daytime.
It was dank, and dark, and inhabited by dead things, and it was where she wanted to be.
Sighing heavily, enough to heave her shoulders straight and then droop back down again, she stopped in front of the Magic Box. Her eyes drifted across the street, the scents drawing her attention to the Espresso Pump. The sticky buns smelled good. Heavenly. It'd been a long time since she'd had one. At least a month.
And coffee. She could definitely use some coffee. Dealing with her friends, much as she loved them, was sometimes hard, even in the best of times. And this was definitely not the best of times, it was kind of the almost-worst of times. Not quite, but close. At least there wasn't an apocalypse, too.
Tossing a quick look over her shoulder, into the window of the Magic Box, she watched the occupants inside for a few seconds.
Anya was inside with Giles; both were bustling behind the counter, attending to customers. Xander was at the table, watching Anya with somber eyes. He was acting strange lately, but, she couldn't explain exactly what it was. It was more a feeling than anything definite she could put her finger on.
He shifted in his seat, staring straight ahead... looking uncharacteristically silent and contemplative.
Buffy was nowhere in sight. Probably in the training room, working out her aggressions on the punching bag.
She turned away with a sigh, heading across the street.
The coffee shop was empty, but for the single employee behind the counter. He looked bored as he leaned against the wall on the far side of the counter. When she walked up to the cash register, he tipped his cap back and straightened up, dropping his white rag to the counter as he joined her.
"Can I help you?" he asked, leaning forward on the counter to gaze up at her in a friendly manner. He glanced behind him quickly, probably making sure no fellow employees were near enough to chastise him for chatting with a customer. Using both hands, he tucked his longer-than-Xander's hair behind his ears, and flashed her a wide, handsome smile that was welcoming and friendly, meant to charm and invite conversation.
Willow didn't feel like making conversation. She didn't even feel like being there, what she wanted was to stay at home, in her bedroom, possibly even in her bed, and brood about the horrible luck she had with love.
Stupid deities showing her a small bit of happiness with Spike and then yanking it away.
But, that wasn't this guy's problem. He hadn't done anything to her, and he didn't deserve her anger or annoyance. So, she chose to ignore the gleaming white teeth framed by swarthy skin and dark brown eyes. The strong chin and wavy black hair. The handsome face and flirting look he was tossing her way.
"Um, yeah, I'll take..." better get enough for everyone, "a dozen sticky buns, two with cinnamon please." She paused, waiting for him to push off of the counter and ring up the purchase.
He did so slowly, running his eyes over her as if she was a tasty treat as he straightened up and pressed a few buttons, making the register beep electronically, like it was chiding him for being so inappropriate. His eyes were apparently lazy though, because they stuck somewhere near the vicinity of her chest, where the swell of her breasts was visible at the bodice of her red blouse.
He quirked his lips up in a devastatingly handsome smile. "Anything else?"
She almost clapped when his eyes managed to move higher, but halted her enthusiastic mental applause when they lowered again, ostensibly to the register.
She rolled her eyes and cleared her throat. "Um, three coffees. Two black, one vanilla." Buffy constantly told them that she needed the extra sugar to stay up late, and hype herself during patrol, but they all knew the truth: Buffy was a frou-frou coffee drinker.
Mr. Stares-A-Lot rang up the rest of the order and reluctantly turned away to fill it.
Relieved to be free of the weight of his stare, she turned around and leaned back against the counter, looking around the shop which wasn't as empty as she'd thought it was.
A girl giggled, followed closely by a male chuckle. She tried not to listen. After all, she wasn't happy, so she didn't want to see anyone else happy. Not that she begrudged them their happiness... but, she just didn't want to see it.
A pang of hurt went through her, seeing the couple interact with each other. They sat at a table in the back of the room, out of view of anyone who casually glanced around the place, holding hands, smiling and stealing glances at each other. The boy--a cute blonde with wire-rimmed glasses--leaned forward to brush a fan of black hair from the girl's face. She ducked her head to the coffee cup in front of her, blushing faintly as she stole another glance at her male companion.
Willow sighed, watching them with a hurting heart. It wasn't fair. She never got to be happy with her lovers. They left her, or lost their happiness when with her, or were evil vampires with suddenly-malfunctioning chips in their heads.
She was pretty sure this gave her a one-up on the saddest love-life scale.
Reigning queen and champion, Willow Rosenberg.
"Miss," the staring-guy called, trying to gain her attention.
Must be feeling deprived of some quality chest-ogling. She turned with a smile, forcing herself not to give him the 'gay now' speech. Resisted snarling at the guy and giving him a chest of his own to stare at.
None of those things would serve to relieve her heartache.
Besides, she was magick-less at the moment. At least, she thought she was. And she didn't really want to use it on this guy even if she did have some left.
Her coffee and sticky buns were wrapped up, bagged, and ready to go, sitting on the counter in a plain white bag stuffed so full it was barely rolled closed at the top. The sides of the bag were bulging with sticky sweet goodness. With cinnamon.
Yum.
She dug into her jean pocket and pulled out a twenty dollar bill, handed it to the ogler, and waited patiently while he made change.
His hand placed the dollars in her hand, dropping the change with extra touching involved.
"Hey," he called as she grabbed the cardboard coffee holder in one hand and the bag in the other and began to turn away.
She stopped, turning back to him with a questioning look. "Yes?"
"Forgot this." He held his hand up, waving her receipt a few times, his eyes inviting her to come closer.
She really didn't want to go back for it, but she also didn't want to be blatantly rude. "Oh, sorry." She juggled the bag of buns into the hand already holding the coffee and held her hand out, nearly dropping the money to the counter.
"Whoops," he purred, his smile growing as he caught her hand and straightened it, holding it still. He slowly placed the receipt on top of the bills, his eyes on hers the whole time. "Careful there."
"Thanks," she mumbled, trying to pull free, but his hand stayed hers, cupping the back of it as he trailed a finger down the inside of her wrist, trailing up the side of her arm. She cleared her throat uncomfortably, not really used to dealing with flirty men. Or women for that matter. It just didn't happen to her often. Pulling on her arm again, not really enjoying the touch of his warm fingers encircling her wrist, or the tightening of his other hand under hers, she prayed he wouldn't make her do something to draw attention to them. "I-- I gotta go. Thanks," she repeated, smiling a strained smile.
"You know," he said softly, his eyes dropping to the finger once again trailing down the inside of her arm, raising goose bumps in its wake, "there's a party tonight on campus. At Lowell House--"
"Ah," she said, still trying her best not to be rude and mean, though she just wanted free now. "No, thanks, really. Um, some other time maybe. I've--"
He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, the tips of his fingernails digging into her skin, his smile tightening more than his hand. "Come on," he cajoled, his eyes hardening at her continued resistance to his so called charms. "I can guarantee a good time."
"Really, thanks, but no." Her voice was firm, her eyes filled with coolness as she jerked her arm free. His eyes narrowed on her, his lips twisting into a sneer as he pushed away from the counter.
"Yeah, fine," he said snidely, crossing his arms over his chest. "Try and take pity on a girl..." he shrugged, turning away to fiddle with the cups and napkins.
She shoved the money and receipt in her back pocket and lifted her eyes to the kid behind the counter. Stupid jerk. "Ya know, the parties at Lowell House always seem to end in death or other badness..." she grabbed her bag tighter to her and shrugged thoughtfully. "You should definitely go."
She turned away from him as he spun around and glared at her, even more tempted now to give him boobs--it'd serve him right--and left the open café, sparing no more looks at the happy couple in the back.
Pausing on the curb, she waited for a car to pass by, spitting out its fair share of exhaust as it pounded and boomed with more speakers than a vehicle needed. She rolled her eyes and crossed the street, heading toward the Magic Box as the sounds faded to a steady boom-boom.
Her mood had gone from bad to worse and she was rethinking her decision to leave the house at all. Probably should've stayed in bed and pulled the covers over her head.
But, that solved nothing and she had stuff that needed... if not solving, then discussing. As she entered the store, she plastered a happy smile on her face.
No time like the present to sit Buffy down and explain things to her. Most likely without the chip coming into the conversation. It was bad enough that she'd ignored Buffy's advice to stay away from Spike, ignored her concern, and gone ahead and done whatever she wanted, not stopping to think how it might affect others.
Others being her friends. They certainly didn't have a say in who she dated, normally, but this was different. This time there was a danger involved. And hadn't that danger been realized?
The bell above the door tinkled madly, alerting anyone within a twenty decibel radius to her presence. Anya sighed when she saw her, but Giles, behind the counter with Anya, smiled a welcome. The smile faded briefly into a concerned look.
"Willow. What are you doing here?" He skirted around the counter, coming to join her halfway across the shop floor. "Are you feeling better then?"
She didn't have to fake the smile that immediately came to her lips at his mothering--strike that, let's call it fathering--attitude. Like a father hen, he was. All concerned and gentle as he led her over to the table.
Xander jumped up to help... by taking the bag and the cardboard coffee holder from her. "Let me get that for ya," he said with a grin, scooping the stuffed bag from her with a big whiff, holding it up to his face. "Oh, that's the stuff, just what's needed for a long night of research. Or whatever happens to come up," he added enigmatically.
"Thanks, Xander, such a help," she laughed, watching as he dropped the bag with an almost reverent look and set the coffee down on the table. "And, yes, Giles, I actually feel really good today, gotta be the salve." And the person applying said salve, she thought with a sigh. "You should sell it here."
Anya sighed and hefted a large cardboard box onto the counter as they approached. She dropped it down with a whoomp. Dust kicked up around her, soaring into the air in billowing brown clouds, reminding Willow of Pigpen. "He is selling it here," she said, her voice filled with irritation. "And it's heavy."
Xander sighed explosively and spun around on his heel, glaring at Anya. "Ahn, stop complaining," he bit out, shaking his head in annoyance. "I swear that's all you know how to do."
The three people in the room who weren't Xander stared at his back as he turned to the table and began unwrapping the sticky buns.
Willow made her way over to Xander as Giles headed back behind the counter to help a huffy Anya unpack the jars of familiar-looking salve.
"Hey," she said quietly, darting a look behind her at Anya's glaring face. "That, uh... that was kind of harsh, don't you think?" She grabbed the frou-frou coffee, so marked by a grease pen, and lifted it from its cardboard cage.
Xander sighed again, with less force this time, and released the bag. "I know, but it's all I seem to be able to do lately." He glanced at her, looking sheepish. "I think I'm turning in to my dad."
"I noticed the resemblance," Willow told him, freeing the other coffee cups and crushing the cardboard holder. "Are you and Anya fighting?"
"No," he said helplessly, "that's just it. Aside from when she complains, we're okay. Good to go. Not a problem between us." He pulled out one of the wooden chairs and sat on it, looking like somebody had just killed his puppy. "But, I'm scared, Will."
She lifted her arm carefully, happy to feel no pain in her back, and slipped it around his shoulders, hugging him to her. "It's probably just the stress of-- well, everything. We're all due a little steam-blowing. Don't worry about it."
Giles, carrying an arm-load of books, moved past them, heading up the ladder to the upstairs.
"Buffy around?" she asked, lifting the coffee she'd gotten for Buffy in one hand, and a sticky bun encased in wax paper, in the other.
Giles' foot halted on the first step of the ladder and he turned around. His books tilted to the side, the top one sliding off to slam on the floor with a loud whap! Willow jumped, startled by the noise.
"I'll get her," Giles said, bending quickly to pick the book up. As he went down, the other books started to slide off as well. Giles slapped his hand on the top one, and lifted them, shoving them onto the table with one hand while grabbing the lone book on the floor with his other hand. He stood up, shoving that one on the table beside the others, leaving it where it slid into a sticky bun.
That he didn't immediately yank the beloved book away from the sticky bun had Willow's eyes widening. When he darted toward the training room with a hurried step, she resorted to raising her eyebrows as well.
She knew this behavior. Hadn't she just chastised them for it the other day for keeping her out of the loop about the Wickaninnish? Turning to Xander, she watched him purposely stuff a ripped off piece of bun into his mouth so that he couldn't talk.
"Sorry," he mumbled around the mouthful, shrugging innocently with wide, overly exaggerated movements.
"Anya?" she enquired, knowing Anya wouldn't hold back if she knew anything, not with the angry eyes she kept sending Xander's way.
Anya pushed her hair behind her shoulder with a huff, planting one hand on her hip as she stretched her other arm out to the counter. There was a ton of attitude in her look and her pose. "What do I care?" she asked, narrowing her eyes on Xander. "Buffy's--"
A fist slammed down on the table, forcing Willow to jump yet again. She turned to Xander with a frown, ready to roll her eyes at him and tell him to be quiet, but the look on his face had her staring at him in surprise.
He was furious. Standing up, he shoved his chair back, sending it flying back to slam against the wall of the counter. His hands were planted on the table and he used them to shove himself to his feet. The mouthful of sticky bun was gone, and the light, teasing mood he'd started to fall into was nowhere in sight.
"Anya!" he bit out, scowling as he turned to his girlfriend. "Why can't you just shut the hell up?" He stalked over to the counter, glaring at Anya, who was glaring right back.
She wasn't about to back down, and neither was he. They were at a standstill.
Willow drew in a breath, wondering what in heck was wrong with everyone. Giles was being twitch-y, Xander was yelling, something he hardly ever did, and-- well, Anya was her normal, usual self.
"Hey," she called loudly, grabbing everyone's attention, "what's going on?"
"Nothing," Giles said, entering the room with Buffy directly behind him. "Nothing is going on, we're just... on edge with the Wickaninnish still out there. Another witch was killed last night, and two women--um, clerks at the grocery store--were killed by... a vampire."
Buffy stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb for a second. Her faded blue jeans and simple blue top with long sleeves gave her a stern, solemn look. The stake dangling from the fingers of her right hand, underneath her crossed arms, completed that picture. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail which swung from side to side as she entered the room and hopped on the counter.
"Needed me?" she asked, all attentive and curious looking. "I gotta go pick up Dawn from school soon, but I've got a few minutes."
Willow glanced down at her own jeans, also faded blue, and the maroon top she'd slipped on because of its loose qualities, and wondered how Spike saw them. One blonde, one red-haired. One short, one... not tall really, but of medium height. One physically strong and skillfully capable, the other mentally strong and magickally capable.
Slayer and witch. Polar opposites, working for the same side. Best friends.
And said best friend was staring at Willow expectantly, waiting for a response.
Willow started forward, motioning toward the training room. "Can we talk? I was thinking about some things, uh, last night, and--"
Buffy jumped down from the counter, her boots clunking dully on the stone floor. Her hand shot out, grabbing Willow's arm, holding her still. "Sure, let's talk," she said cheerfully. "Right here, at the table-- ooo, sticky buns." She grabbed one, and checked the coffee cups for one marked with a grease pen.
"Um, a-- actually, I sort of wanted to talk to you alone. Without, you know," she looked around pointedly, "others. It's private." Her apologetic smile took the sting out of her words, she hoped. Judging by all the criss-crossed looks at each other though, she tended to think not.
Xander shrugged, turning away from Anya with one more glare aimed her way, and started toward the training room. "We can go, you two can stay. Chat." He gestured to Willow and Buffy and then the table. "We'll just..." he pointed behind him, into the training room, "be in there. Come on, Giles," he called jovially. His eyes strayed past Giles to Anya, and they narrowed when she opened her mouth to protest. "Come. On."
His tone brooked no argument, but Willow made one anyway.
Something was going on in the training room, something they didn't want her to see. Why else wouldn't they let her go in there? Why else was Buffy dragging her away by the sleeve of her blouse?
"Um, no, that's okay, guys," she said in puzzlement, glancing from one to the other as they shifted and tried to look innocent. Of what? she wondered. "I think it'd be easier--"
Buffy tugged her sleeve again, smiling and tipping her head toward the front door. "I need some air, it's stuffy in there. Let's go out front."
In the silence that fell as Willow considered running past them all to see what was in the back room, she heard the distinctive sound of chair legs scraping on stone. Her eyes widened. Someone was back there? The Wickaninnish maybe? Did they think she couldn't handle seeing the witch killer without going evil and retaliating, or was someone else back there?
"No," she said slowly, shaking her head and freeing her arm from Buffy's fingers. "In here is good. Better yet is in there." She pointed toward the training room, backing a step away as Buffy reached out to grab her sleeve again. She kept her eyes on Xander, who looked like he was about to tackle her. Giles sighed and rubbed his forehead wearily.
Buffy's smile left altogether and she shook her head. "No. We're not going in there." She set her sticky bun down and wiped her hands on her jeans. "Willow, I started thinking last night and I realized that--"
Willow dashed toward the door, circling around the table, her heart starting to pound in dread. She heard Buffy yell her name behind her, felt Buffy's hand close over her wrist, but she couldn't stop. Images of Tara, her body bled dry by a vampire, or burned and singed from the Wickaninnish, flitted through her mind. She could almost see the long blonde of her hair matted down with blood, her face pale and drawn. Burned and singed. Oh, God.
Yanking her arm from Buffy's grasp, she ran into the room, coming to a dead halt when she saw the room's sole occupant.
Her friends piled through the door behind her, and if she'd been in a different mood, rather than the stunned one she was in now, there was a chance she'd be laughing at the way they all came to a stop, halting in their tracks, practically falling all over one another.
However, all her attention was on the single, high-backed wooden chair across the room. A chair that would look normal at any kitchen or dining room table. A chair that didn't look normal with the person currently occupying it. With handcuffs.
Spike's eyes raised to hers, but there wasn't an ounce of softness in the blue-gray orbs, no softening on his face. That same face that'd shown her so much kindness and gentleness a few nights ago. Those lips that she'd kissed, bitten, felt between her legs, bringing her to orgasm with expertise... right now, they were twisted up in a sneer of hatred.
"What--" she began, looking back to Buffy, the king of them all. She glanced over her shoulder at Spike, disbelief plain on her face, and in her inability to get out another word in the rush that were trying to shove their way into her brain.
His head was bleeding, blood dripped down the left side of his face from a nasty wound on his temple. His eye was swollen and bruised, his cheek raw and red like it'd been scraped against something rough. The blonde hair that she realized she really liked, liked to touch, to look at, to smell, that beautiful hair of his was covered in blood.
His arms were behind him, tied, or handcuffed to the chair back. His ankles were handcuffed one to each chair leg. Dried blood covered his black t-shirt, his neck, and-- God, he looked like he'd been beaten nearly to death.
She headed toward him, fully intending to release him, ignoring the scornful look he tossed her for the brief second that his eyes landed on her. "What the hell did you do to him? What'd you do, take turns beating him?" She knelt down by his feet, running her fingers over the cold metal holding his legs to the chair, rattling the handcuffs, which sounded overly loud as they clunked against the wooden chair leg.
"Leave him," Buffy told her, striding over to them. Her hand gently fisted in Willow's blouse; the warm, thin fingers of her hand twisting in the material, hauling her to her feet. There was no force behind the move, and no rough-handling, but it still startled Willow.
A common occurrence today.
Spike's voice, muffled through the huge white cloth stuffed in his mouth, sounded furious. She was sure he spat out more than a few insults and cuss words. Toward her, or the others? Was his hatred for the others tossing her into the mix as well?
Looking down at him, she shook out of Buffy's grip, yanking the cloth from his mouth.
His eyes, even the swollen one, showed the smallest bit of relief, but that was all he gave away. Impassiveness clouded his features and he closed his mouth, shifting his jaw a few times, staring straight ahead. He looked at the wall rather than have to look at any of them. Rather than having to look at her.
Another twinge of pain slipped through her heart, like an icepick being slowly shoved inside. He hated her now. He was blaming her along with the rest of them.
"Why is he tied to a chair again?" she asked angrily, turning to fume at the others when all she wanted to do was wail at the unfairness of everything. When she found a little happiness, something happened to take it away, every damn time. Never mind that she'd already been miserable from their--whatever had happened the other night. This was different. This was outside interference. "Buffy, you have no right to interfere--"
"I have every right," Buffy ground out, pulling her away. She dragged Willow across the room by her arm, ignoring Spike's furious glare aimed her way, easily visible even through the blood. She shoved Willow near Xander, who looked away from her accusing stare. Giles didn't; he stared her down with Buffy.
"I'm very--" Giles began, looking long-winded and lecture-happy.
Willow sighed, rolling her eyes at the whole lot of them. "--disappointed in me, I know." She crossed her arms over her chest, glancing at Spike over Buffy's shoulder. His poor face looked so painful, she hoped it didn't hurt too bad. "But, I've decided that, believe it or not, it's none of your business. Any of you."
She saw Spike's eyes widen in surprise before going back to being blank again, but she knew. Knew he approved of her sudden backbone. Sticking up for her man. Go her.
"I'm afraid it's not that easy, Willow," Giles sighed, dropping his overbearing lecturing posture for a more fatherly stance. "He--"
"Is a vampire," Willow interrupted, knowing exactly what he was going to say. What they'd all say, because she herself had said the same exact thing to Buffy when they found out about Angel being a vampire. And to herself when she realized she felt something for Spike. But, it didn't matter to her. So, it was none of their business.
She paced around behind Buffy, standing a little away from them as she moved back and forth before them.
"Willow," Xander said forcefully, "listen to them. This isn't just a bad boyfriend that we don't like. This is a vampire who kills people."
"Oh, that's original," Spike snorted, sneering at them. "Think she doesn't know that? Think it never crossed her mind?" He shifted in the chair, snarling and jerking against the bonds when he couldn't move enough to get comfortable. The chair legs scraped against the floor, the same noise Willow had heard earlier. He turned his angry glare back to them. "She knows, you bloody twits."
Willow exhaled slowly, warning Spike to keep quiet, because he wasn't getting anywhere but closer to dead with his insults. "Guys," she sighed, pushing her hands through her hair. "He's right, I do know. And--"
"And nothing." Buffy strode over to Willow, staring into her face, her mouth tightening, her jaw clenching. "Two checkout girls were killed at the grocery store a few days ago. The police are looking for a bleach blonde male, about five-ten, dark clothes..." she paused, drawing out the rest of her description slowly, making sure every word cut into Willow's heart. "Long. Black. Coat." She spun away, throwing her arm out to proudly display Spike in all his glory. "Sound like anyone we know?"
Willow couldn't believe it was Spike. He-- yes, she could. And, she did. The chip was malfunctioning, she knew this, but he hadn't mentioned... well, duh. What was he supposed to do, you idiot, proudly tell you all about his exploits in murder?
Raising her eyes from the floor, she stared at Spike, daring him to lie to her. Daring him to tell her it wasn't him. He stayed silent, staring right back at her, his eyes guilt-free.
Xander and Giles left quietly, leaving the three of them alone. She wished Buffy would leave too. Already she was imagining Buffy's gloating eyes cheerfully watching her, her bouncy step as she happily moved toward Spike and dusted him.
But, glancing at her friend, Willow saw no cheer, no gloating, and no happy, bouncy movements. "I tried to tell you," she said softly, frowning in concern when Willow remained silent. "Are you okay?" She moved closer, turning Willow's face away from Spike. "Let's go into the shop. We can talk."
"No." Turning her attention back to Buffy, she shook her head, snapping herself free of the disappointment and hurt, wanting to get answers from Spike. "Could you...?" she asked, tipping her head in the direction of the shop. "I just want to-- I need to talk to him. Okay?"
Buffy glanced at Spike, who was watching Willow, his brows dipped down into a frown. "Don't free him, Willow." Her eyes bored into Willow's. "I mean it." She cleared her throat a little uncomfortably. "If you need help--" she began, walking toward the doorway.
"I won't," Willow assured her, staying where she was until Buffy disappeared through the doorway. Her eyes stayed on the rectangle frame, not seeing anything beyond it. She could hear low voices in the other room, and then Xander's raised in anger.
"There's something wrong with him," she muttered, dragging her eyes free of the door to look at Spike. He watched her quietly, not saying anything as she walked closer. The smells of the room permeated her mind as she neared him, the sounds in the other room fading with each step.
Dust, some sweat, a little blood, and above all that was the smell of Spike. His duster, his skin, his hair. He smelled so good, so clean, even with the blood and dirt covering him, he smelled nice. Inviting.
She came to a stop in front of him, looking down on his bloody hair and face, wincing at the purple bruises along his temple and eye. He looked like hell hadn't been kind to him. "Was it you?"
"Yes."
She had her mouth open, ready to tell him not to lie to her, not to manipulate her, but when she heard his honest reply, she was left speechless for a second.
He shifted again, rolling his shoulders back a few times and cracking his neck. "Went there to get some smokes and..." he paused, clearing his throat, "a few other things. They irritated me--"
They--" she stopped, beyond shocked at his admission. Her eyes widened on him, unable to believe he'd killed them over something so flimsy. "And if I happen to irritate you, are you going to kill me too?" She shook her head at herself, angry that she'd allowed herself to get into this position.
"No," he said forcefully, tipping his head back to look her more fully in the eye. "No, I won't hurt you. I won't even hurt the others. I wouldn't do that to you."
Right, she thought. Just to strange girls he didn't know, and who knew who else. "You killed two girls because they annoyed you, I can't--"
"It was the first time I was able to kill a human since getting chipped." His anger rose with every word until he was practically growling. "I only wanted to scare them, to get them to shut up and stop their incessant giggling. But, there wasn't any pain. For the first time in over a year," he said softly, almost reverently, "there was no pain, and I-- I got carried away."
She frowned, not sure if she liked this newest wrinkle. It was hard to get a grip on anything while it was clear and defined, by the time she reached out for it, something shifted and she was grasping at empty air.
Spike was evil, then semi-evil, then partially good, and now he was evil again. What was she supposed to believe?
His eyes were sincere, drawing her into his explanation, tempting her with its simplicity. She could understand the sudden bloodlust, overwhelming in its accessability. If she'd been kept from eating chocolate cake for a year and then had a slice shoved in front of her face, could she resist?
Probably not.
But chocolate cake didn't live and breathe and die. It didn't suffer when she ate it. There was the difference.
She sighed, wondering how she was supposed to deal with this. Understanding didn't lead to acceptance. She could never accept him killing, and he wouldn't be able to accept not killing, not being able to do what came naturally to him.
Right now she couldn't make any decisions, not while staring down at his bloody and bruised face. "I'll be right back."
She sighed again and left the room, leaving him to his suspicious looks and glares. The bathroom off to the right had a stack of clean towels folded in a box by the door for those nights when they returned bloody and filthy. Or when Buffy worked up a sweat during training. Who knew she'd have to use one because Buffy had a little too much fun with Spike's face?
Grabbing a hand towel off the rack and a folded blue towel from the box, she shoved the larger one under her arm and pushed the smaller one under the faucet.
Turning on the tap, she wondered how Diana could possibly think her happiness lay with Spike. He was evil, he killed for pleasure. This wasn't a good thing in her book, not something that led to happiness and love-filled moments unless you were a vampire or a demon.
It led to blood and death.
An image sprang to mind... of her, dressed in leather, wearing more makeup than she'd ever worn in her life, striding through town in high heels, searching for her next kill. Her next meal.
Water splashed on her hand, burning her as it soaked into the towel and her skin. She jerked her hand free, shutting off the faucet with a hiss. Throwing the dripping towel into the bottom of the stained sink, she cranked the cold water up and stuck her hand under it.
"Stupid idiot," she mumbled, hissing again at the cold water flowing over the red marks on her thumb and forefinger. Slightly higher up, she caught sight of an emerging bruise, circling her wrist along with a few half-moon marks. "Hey. What the heck?" She rubbed the sore skin with a glare at the partially-opened door, trying to burn scorch marks across the street and singe the man behind the counter at the Espresso Pump.
Wringing out the warm white hand towel, squeezing all the excess water out, she shut off the faucet and went back into the training room with Spike.
He watched her approach, rolling his eyes at the towels she carried.
Kneeling on his right side, she set the big towel on the floor and leaned forward with the damp hand towel.
"Leave it be," he growled, jerking his head away.
"No." She reached up and grabbed his chin, turning his face toward her. She settled her left hand on his thigh and wiped his forehead free of blood, being careful not to be gentle. With every wince and hiss, she gentled her touch a little more, but stopped when she realized what she was doing.
Taking the corner of the red end of the formerly white towel, she swiped it across the wound, feeling no satisfaction at his growl of pain.
"You know," she said thoughtfully, "I get why you did it. I do. But, I can't just sit back and watch you kill every night." She stared in disgust and anger at the gash she'd exposed just under the hairline. It was three inches long and nasty-looking and if he wasn't a vampire, she was sure he'd need stitches.
Her eyes slid to his, moving away from the blood and cut skin, the bruised and scraped flesh.
"Well, bully for you," he said sarcastically, staring past her at the brick wall.
She ignored him and continued with her train of thought. "I even understand it. I'd probably do the same thing, but--"
He hissed in pain again, jerking away from the towel with a glare aimed her way. "I don't want your bloody sympathy and... 'understanding'," he told her as if they were filthy, disgusting things. "Look, it was a one-time thing that I don't intend to repeat. But, I also don't intend to snack on pig's blood for the rest of my non-life."
She continued to wipe at the blood, not letting herself feel her heart hardening. Her thumb wiped at a clean spot on his cheek, softly caressing the scraped skin. There was a breath in her chest somewhere, dying to get out, but she held it in, knowing that if she let it out, she'd have to draw in another, and she didn't want to. She was tired of the constant fight for clarity.
"Let me go, Willow." His sudden change of tone, from angry and hateful to low and cajoling, drew her attention from his injuries.
She shook her head, returning her attention to his face. It was a little swollen, and the black and blue bruising was already in an advanced state which meant he'd been here a while.
"I can't. We just need to figure this thing out. Couldn't you just..." she shrugged, frowning at the sticky hair slicked with blood by his temple. She hated this. Hated that she was losing something that felt right in her life. Once again, she was losing someone close to her because of something she couldn't control. Sighing, she resumed wiping his cheek. "You could get blood from the hospital instead of killing," she suggested.
Seeing his unwavering stare and the scoff he tried not to let out, she nodded.
"Well, I can't just let you go." Her eyes drifted to his again, softening the slightest bit at the defeat she found there. "Buffy would probably hunt you down and kill you."
He exhaled explosively, nodding at the reality of her words. "What I said the other night still goes. Murderers, rapists... that's what I'll feed on from now on."
She wanted to say yes. More than anything in that moment, she wanted to smile and nod and let him go, walking off into the sunset with him, though, that probably wasn't a good idea with him liable to burst into flames from it. But, she wanted to agree and live happily ever after.
She deserved that, didn't she? Heartache had claimed her more than her fair share of times in her short dating life, so, really she felt like she deserved to be able to just say screw it and go be with the man she cared for. Half of her was tugging her in that direction, even going so far as to make her slide her hand across to his other cheek, cupping it as she gazed into his eyes with longing.
Longing for everything she wasn't going to get, because the rest of her was rebelling, forcing her to drop her hand and shake her head sadly.
He drew in a deep breath, searching her face for a hint of compromise, looking a little desperate. When she still didn't give in, he closed his eyes in frustration. "I won't kill them, how's that? I'll leave them alive." His voice was even, his eyes clear and sincere when he opened them again, holding her gaze with his own. "Let me out of here. Please."
"What's so important that you can't wait a while?" she asked a little suspiciously.
He growled, shaking his arms and rattling the handcuffs against the chair back. His whole body shook as he rocked back and forth.
When he settled back down, she sighed, watching the fury on his face fade away, replaced by... something she knew all too well. She'd seen it enough times over the past month or more to know it at first sight. What now? she thought. And why did everything always get turned back around on her?
His head raised up, his eyes opening slowly to stare at her angrily. "Moved on already, have you?"
"Moved-- what?" Her eyes darted to his face incredulously, unable to believe he thought... well, okay, she didn't actually know what he thought, but it wasn't something good. It was all hard stares and accusation. "Spike," she sighed, trying to heave herself out from under the weight of the world he'd placed on her shoulders sometime before. "I have no idea what you're talking about." Standing up, she dropped the towel to the floor and stared down at him.
"Oh, right," he laughed scornfully, rolling his eyes as he turned his face away briefly, then turned right back to burn his eyes into hers. "And I suppose the man I smell all over you is 'just a friend'."
She opened her mouth to ask him what kind of drugs Buffy had forced down his throat when she realized what he was talking about. Rolling her own eyes, she shoved her arm under his nose. "That smell?" she asked in a low voice, forcing herself not to use that fist to hit him with, or poke him or something. "The guy at the Espresso-- wait. You know what?" she asked furiously, having had enough of everything for the moment. "It's none of your business. I don't get details about what you do, who you kill, then you don't get details about strange men who decide they want to touch me."
His eyes focused on the bruises ringing her flesh in a mirror of his own bruising the other night and she saw the moment he went from raging jealousy to concerned boyfriend. He pulled his arms, trying to break the handcuffs or the chair, she wasn't sure which, and only ended up cutting into his own wrists.
"Stop it," she yelled over the clunking and scraping of the chair on the cement floor. She circled around to the back of the chair and rested her hands on his. Her fingers slid on the blood wringing his wrists and dripping down his hands. "Will you stop it?" Tightening her hand around his, she glanced at the door, expecting one of her friends to come barreling into the room, stake at the ready, but it remained empty.
When he continued straining his arms, about to dislocate both shoulders, she stood up and moved back in front of him.
His head was lowered as he concentrated on his useless attempts. She stuck her bloody fingers in front of his face, raising his head with her un-bloodied hand. "This is all you're doing. There's a magick barrier around you."
"Then free me, damn it." He rocked the chair back and forth.
"Why?" she said reasonably. "So you can go kill him?"
His struggles stopped, his head raising so that he could look up at her. "Yes." His eyes landed on her fingers, sticky with his blood. He actually licked his lips, causing just a little bit of queasiness to shoot through her.
It was gross; very, very gross, but it was a part of him. Part of what made him... him. So, here now was her chance to see his side of things. To explore that part of him that scared her so much. His blood obsession.
"Do you..." she trailed off, unable to think of an appropriate way of asking him if he wanted to lick the blood off of her fingers. Instead, she held them out with an uncomfortable shrug.
His eyes, still on her fingers, didn't move when he nodded. She did. She closed the small distance between them, stopping only when her knees hit the side of his right thigh. Fighting the disgust associated with knowing exactly what was on her fingers, and what was about to be licked off, she raised her hand to his mouth and waited, letting him make that final move.
Despite her feelings of nausea, she closed her eyes and let Spike lick her fingers.
His lips opened, his tongue sliding out to circle around the tip of her thumb as his mouth closed around it. The sensation was odd, reminding her of his own finger in her mouth, keeping her from screaming as she orgasmed. He sucked on it, drawing it further into his mouth as he let out a low moan from deep in his throat, making her knees go a little weak.
Or maybe it was the images of them in bed that was doing it. The image of Spike between her legs, sliding his tongue inside her as his finger slid between her lips, stifling the screaming she was doing a piss-poor job of halting.
Her hand tightened on the back of the chair, digging into the wood as her legs tried to give out. He was still moaning as she slipped her forefinger into his mouth, and he wasn't the only one. She was doing a fair amount of moaning herself. She looked down at him, watching his face as he licked her clean-- her fingers. Licked her fingers clean... not other... oh, boy. She needed to sit down.
His smile was wicked and predatory, filled with an enormous amount of smugness as he pulled free of her finger for a second. "Have a seat, love." The blue of his eyes darkened as he lowered them to his lap before raising them back to her with a wink.
"Yeah, right," she scoffed, rolling her eyes away from him. And then, feeling that wasn't enough, she scoffed again, just to show him how much she didn't believe his gall. "Done?"
He shook his head slowly, licking his lips even more slowly, drawing it out as long as he possibly could. She wasn't positive, but she was pretty sure her insides were quivering, just from that look in his eyes, and the desire written plainly on his face.
"You want more?" she asked, damning her shaking voice for giving her away. Well, she could do more. And it wouldn't affect her at all. She was made of sterner stuff than that. It was just that she'd already been feeling all gooey toward him, and-- and nothing. Shoving her middle finger against his lips, she stared at the wall and clinically waited for him to finish.
His lips touched the tip of her finger, his tongue darting out to taste the blood. The rhythmic sucking motion didn't bring to mind anything other than the extremely sexy man in front of her sucking on her flesh, stimulating her body like a damn porno movie.
As he drew her finger deeper into his mouth, she pressed closer to his thigh, opening her legs a little. He moaned again, and she could stand it no longer. She pulled her hand away from him and grabbed the wet towel from the floor, wiping the blood from her hands. Moving around to stand in front of him, she looked down at him. He watched her steadily, not letting too much hope shine through, but neither did he let a ton of disappointment show.
She saw it though. For some reason, she could read him like never before. Maybe because she was looking now, paying attention.
And that changed her mind. She'd fully intended to leave him there. To walk out of the room and go talk her friends into letting him go, hoping they'd agree if he promised to leave town again, and this time stay gone. But that look in his eyes, the hope and the disappointment... it made her rethink her decision.
Would it really hurt anyone if she gave him--and herself--a little happiness before marching out of the room and pleading with her friends? Probably. But, she didn't care anymore. She wanted something that wasn't right, and wasn't proper. Something that was wrong and possibly forbidden.
So, casting a quick glance at the doorway, she straddled his thighs, moaning aloud as her jeans stretched tight against her aroused clit.
He chuckled in surprise, but the chuckle died in his throat as she settled down on him. A strangled gasp escaped him. "Scoot up," he whispered, groaning when she rubbed against the bulge in his jeans, stretched taut over his erection.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, asking herself what the hell she was doing. Buffy and the others were in the other room, and she really hoped they didn't catch her doing... well, anything with Spike. At all.
But she also didn't care.
Tightening her arms around him, she sighed, settling closer against him. His mouth settled on her neck, kissing lightly against the pulse point. She didn't immediately pull away, didn't scream and accuse him of trying to bite her, but she did stiffen a little. She did worry.
"Relax," he said huskily, licking the skin behind her ear, making her shudder against him. His teeth nipped her earlobe, drawing the flesh into his mouth.
She did relax, contrary to every instinct in her body screaming at her to get up and run away. She melted into him and moaned at the intense feelings pouring through her. His hips raised the slightest bit, pressing the bulge in his jeans against her clit in just the right way, making her gasp at the intensity of it. Lust was one thing, this... oh, this was more. This was desire mixed with love and a sprinkling of gotta-have-him-now-or-die.
"You do all the right things to me," she whispered in his ear, threading her fingers through his hair. "How do you do that?"
He chuckled softly, his chest rumbling against hers, sending shivers of delight through her. "Let me go and see what I can really do," he said huskily, his voice full of promise. His lips tugged at her skin, creating a hickey with the slow, intense sucking he was applying. "Last night was just a taste."
She shivered again when his teeth scraped against the sensitive flesh and then his tongue flicked the bruising. "Mmm," she moaned, sliding her hands down his back, as he lifted his hips again, pressing so nicely against her clit. She gasped, then gasped again when he repeated the motion, moving faster, pleasing her in more ways than one. "Nice..." she sighed, settling more firmly against him.
"I'd like to touch that gorgeous body of yours," he mumbled, pressing a necklace of kisses around her throat. "Run my hands over your back..." his tongue darted out, sucking on the other side of her neck, the fresh, virgin flesh he hadn't touched yet. "Slide my fingers across your skin, feel you react to my touch."
As if she wasn't reacting to just his voice. Good, Lord... she was practically coming just from listening to what he wanted to do to her. "Don't stop."
He licked her earlobe and raised his hips again, smiling against her neck. "Let me go and I'll never stop--"
Her eyes popped open as his words registered. "What?" she croaked out, sitting up and moving away from him. Every inch of her screamed again, this time to stay where she was, not to leave his lap no matter what. She ignored her body and climbed off of his lap. "You--" she ground out, trying to talk past the anger. Tears swam in her eyes, and she didn't care. Not anymore. He'd pushed her too far this time. "Son of a bitch."
He closed his eyes with a groan, dropping his head back again. "I need to get out of here. There's--" he lifted his head again, staring at her, pleading with her.
With her! He had some nerve. Stupid... jerk. Forcing herself to remain calm when all she wanted to do was encourage the magick in her to grow so she could behead him, or something less deadly, she crossed her arms over her chest and waited for an explanation. "Why are you so anxious to get out of here?"
"It's not important," he told her, looking away. "I just do."
"Not good enough." She paced away, then paced back, keeping herself restrained with short, angry movements, that way she wouldn't smack him as she passed by, cold-cocking him like she wanted to. "Even if I wanted to let you go--which I don't--you screwed up."
"Fine," he sighed, staring straight at her. "That friend of mine? She's in my crypt, and I need to go... I need to--" he stopped, at a loss as to what lie to feed her.
"Oh. Oh, your friend." Smiling in a not-so-friendly manner, she shrugged, watching him struggle for more lies. "I can go check on her. Make sure she's--"
"No," he said too-loudly, too-quickly as sudden panic lit his eyes. She saw the struggle it took for him to calm down, to keep her from becoming even more suspicious than she already was. She also knew that he realized it was too late.
"Yeah, I think I'll definitely be paying her a visit." She bent down and picked up the towels, tossing them in the box by the door. "Maybe have a little chat."
"Willow, don't go. Please. Just--" he shook his arms, once again trying to free himself. "Just let me out of here." He pleaded with her again, and got the same response. His desperation grew exponentially. "For God's sake, Willow, just let me out of here," he shouted, begging her with his eyes not to go.
She looked into his face one last time before leaving the room. There was such desperation there that it was beyond her to stop herself from going. She had to know what was so bad that he was begging her.
She had no idea what it was, she suspected a woman he was involved with, the 'friend' he had assured her was just a friend. Maybe humans chained inside, bleeding themselves to feed him... or well, him bleeding them since the chip wasn't a problem anymore. But wouldn't Buffy had spotted them when she grabbed Spike?
And how had she grabbed Spike? Knocked him out, beat him up and dragged him to the shop?
Spike's eyes dropped to his lap as he sighed, knowing she was going. "I'm--" he paused, chuckling darkly at himself, shaking his head in self-deprecation. His shoulders lifted in a shrug as his eyes raised to hers, holding her gaze until she turned and left the room.
for a loop.
TITLE: Order Now (17/?)
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 who's been mega busy recently, but always finds time to beta for me and read all the new scenage I ssend her way, little though that's been of late.
PART 17
Sunshine shone down through tree limbs, dappling the sidewalks and streets as Willow made her way to the Magic Box. The usual daytime noises of the town were swirling around in the air. The laughter and loud voices of people walking by her were drowned out by cars driving down the street. Exhaust floated up, increasing that huge hole in the ozone, but over that were the smells of cinnamon buns and coffee from the Espresso Pump across the street.
It was a day of warmth and beauty, but there was no song in Willow's heart, no happy smile on her face. If anyone were to look too closely at her eyes, they'd see that they reflected sadness, not sunlight.
But her eyes stayed fixed on the cracked sidewalks, and the occasional piece of trash that littered the gutters, not allowing anyone to look into her eyes, had they wanted to. Most of the people passing by didn't try, though, because she was giving off vibes that didn't invite conversation, or even a casual look in her direction.
Her lips were turned down in a frown, her shoulders slumped. Every step she took brought her closer to the Magic Box, closer to her friends and people who loved her, but it also took her farther away from the man she'd fallen in love with.
His crypt was way across town, hidden in a cemetery, stashed away almost as an afterthought. Trees crowded the small marble structure, shielding it with a canopy of leaves that covered it in darkness, even in the daytime.
It was dank, and dark, and inhabited by dead things, and it was where she wanted to be.
Sighing heavily, enough to heave her shoulders straight and then droop back down again, she stopped in front of the Magic Box. Her eyes drifted across the street, the scents drawing her attention to the Espresso Pump. The sticky buns smelled good. Heavenly. It'd been a long time since she'd had one. At least a month.
And coffee. She could definitely use some coffee. Dealing with her friends, much as she loved them, was sometimes hard, even in the best of times. And this was definitely not the best of times, it was kind of the almost-worst of times. Not quite, but close. At least there wasn't an apocalypse, too.
Tossing a quick look over her shoulder, into the window of the Magic Box, she watched the occupants inside for a few seconds.
Anya was inside with Giles; both were bustling behind the counter, attending to customers. Xander was at the table, watching Anya with somber eyes. He was acting strange lately, but, she couldn't explain exactly what it was. It was more a feeling than anything definite she could put her finger on.
He shifted in his seat, staring straight ahead... looking uncharacteristically silent and contemplative.
Buffy was nowhere in sight. Probably in the training room, working out her aggressions on the punching bag.
She turned away with a sigh, heading across the street.
The coffee shop was empty, but for the single employee behind the counter. He looked bored as he leaned against the wall on the far side of the counter. When she walked up to the cash register, he tipped his cap back and straightened up, dropping his white rag to the counter as he joined her.
"Can I help you?" he asked, leaning forward on the counter to gaze up at her in a friendly manner. He glanced behind him quickly, probably making sure no fellow employees were near enough to chastise him for chatting with a customer. Using both hands, he tucked his longer-than-Xander's hair behind his ears, and flashed her a wide, handsome smile that was welcoming and friendly, meant to charm and invite conversation.
Willow didn't feel like making conversation. She didn't even feel like being there, what she wanted was to stay at home, in her bedroom, possibly even in her bed, and brood about the horrible luck she had with love.
Stupid deities showing her a small bit of happiness with Spike and then yanking it away.
But, that wasn't this guy's problem. He hadn't done anything to her, and he didn't deserve her anger or annoyance. So, she chose to ignore the gleaming white teeth framed by swarthy skin and dark brown eyes. The strong chin and wavy black hair. The handsome face and flirting look he was tossing her way.
"Um, yeah, I'll take..." better get enough for everyone, "a dozen sticky buns, two with cinnamon please." She paused, waiting for him to push off of the counter and ring up the purchase.
He did so slowly, running his eyes over her as if she was a tasty treat as he straightened up and pressed a few buttons, making the register beep electronically, like it was chiding him for being so inappropriate. His eyes were apparently lazy though, because they stuck somewhere near the vicinity of her chest, where the swell of her breasts was visible at the bodice of her red blouse.
He quirked his lips up in a devastatingly handsome smile. "Anything else?"
She almost clapped when his eyes managed to move higher, but halted her enthusiastic mental applause when they lowered again, ostensibly to the register.
She rolled her eyes and cleared her throat. "Um, three coffees. Two black, one vanilla." Buffy constantly told them that she needed the extra sugar to stay up late, and hype herself during patrol, but they all knew the truth: Buffy was a frou-frou coffee drinker.
Mr. Stares-A-Lot rang up the rest of the order and reluctantly turned away to fill it.
Relieved to be free of the weight of his stare, she turned around and leaned back against the counter, looking around the shop which wasn't as empty as she'd thought it was.
A girl giggled, followed closely by a male chuckle. She tried not to listen. After all, she wasn't happy, so she didn't want to see anyone else happy. Not that she begrudged them their happiness... but, she just didn't want to see it.
A pang of hurt went through her, seeing the couple interact with each other. They sat at a table in the back of the room, out of view of anyone who casually glanced around the place, holding hands, smiling and stealing glances at each other. The boy--a cute blonde with wire-rimmed glasses--leaned forward to brush a fan of black hair from the girl's face. She ducked her head to the coffee cup in front of her, blushing faintly as she stole another glance at her male companion.
Willow sighed, watching them with a hurting heart. It wasn't fair. She never got to be happy with her lovers. They left her, or lost their happiness when with her, or were evil vampires with suddenly-malfunctioning chips in their heads.
She was pretty sure this gave her a one-up on the saddest love-life scale.
Reigning queen and champion, Willow Rosenberg.
"Miss," the staring-guy called, trying to gain her attention.
Must be feeling deprived of some quality chest-ogling. She turned with a smile, forcing herself not to give him the 'gay now' speech. Resisted snarling at the guy and giving him a chest of his own to stare at.
None of those things would serve to relieve her heartache.
Besides, she was magick-less at the moment. At least, she thought she was. And she didn't really want to use it on this guy even if she did have some left.
Her coffee and sticky buns were wrapped up, bagged, and ready to go, sitting on the counter in a plain white bag stuffed so full it was barely rolled closed at the top. The sides of the bag were bulging with sticky sweet goodness. With cinnamon.
Yum.
She dug into her jean pocket and pulled out a twenty dollar bill, handed it to the ogler, and waited patiently while he made change.
His hand placed the dollars in her hand, dropping the change with extra touching involved.
"Hey," he called as she grabbed the cardboard coffee holder in one hand and the bag in the other and began to turn away.
She stopped, turning back to him with a questioning look. "Yes?"
"Forgot this." He held his hand up, waving her receipt a few times, his eyes inviting her to come closer.
She really didn't want to go back for it, but she also didn't want to be blatantly rude. "Oh, sorry." She juggled the bag of buns into the hand already holding the coffee and held her hand out, nearly dropping the money to the counter.
"Whoops," he purred, his smile growing as he caught her hand and straightened it, holding it still. He slowly placed the receipt on top of the bills, his eyes on hers the whole time. "Careful there."
"Thanks," she mumbled, trying to pull free, but his hand stayed hers, cupping the back of it as he trailed a finger down the inside of her wrist, trailing up the side of her arm. She cleared her throat uncomfortably, not really used to dealing with flirty men. Or women for that matter. It just didn't happen to her often. Pulling on her arm again, not really enjoying the touch of his warm fingers encircling her wrist, or the tightening of his other hand under hers, she prayed he wouldn't make her do something to draw attention to them. "I-- I gotta go. Thanks," she repeated, smiling a strained smile.
"You know," he said softly, his eyes dropping to the finger once again trailing down the inside of her arm, raising goose bumps in its wake, "there's a party tonight on campus. At Lowell House--"
"Ah," she said, still trying her best not to be rude and mean, though she just wanted free now. "No, thanks, really. Um, some other time maybe. I've--"
He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, the tips of his fingernails digging into her skin, his smile tightening more than his hand. "Come on," he cajoled, his eyes hardening at her continued resistance to his so called charms. "I can guarantee a good time."
"Really, thanks, but no." Her voice was firm, her eyes filled with coolness as she jerked her arm free. His eyes narrowed on her, his lips twisting into a sneer as he pushed away from the counter.
"Yeah, fine," he said snidely, crossing his arms over his chest. "Try and take pity on a girl..." he shrugged, turning away to fiddle with the cups and napkins.
She shoved the money and receipt in her back pocket and lifted her eyes to the kid behind the counter. Stupid jerk. "Ya know, the parties at Lowell House always seem to end in death or other badness..." she grabbed her bag tighter to her and shrugged thoughtfully. "You should definitely go."
She turned away from him as he spun around and glared at her, even more tempted now to give him boobs--it'd serve him right--and left the open café, sparing no more looks at the happy couple in the back.
Pausing on the curb, she waited for a car to pass by, spitting out its fair share of exhaust as it pounded and boomed with more speakers than a vehicle needed. She rolled her eyes and crossed the street, heading toward the Magic Box as the sounds faded to a steady boom-boom.
Her mood had gone from bad to worse and she was rethinking her decision to leave the house at all. Probably should've stayed in bed and pulled the covers over her head.
But, that solved nothing and she had stuff that needed... if not solving, then discussing. As she entered the store, she plastered a happy smile on her face.
No time like the present to sit Buffy down and explain things to her. Most likely without the chip coming into the conversation. It was bad enough that she'd ignored Buffy's advice to stay away from Spike, ignored her concern, and gone ahead and done whatever she wanted, not stopping to think how it might affect others.
Others being her friends. They certainly didn't have a say in who she dated, normally, but this was different. This time there was a danger involved. And hadn't that danger been realized?
The bell above the door tinkled madly, alerting anyone within a twenty decibel radius to her presence. Anya sighed when she saw her, but Giles, behind the counter with Anya, smiled a welcome. The smile faded briefly into a concerned look.
"Willow. What are you doing here?" He skirted around the counter, coming to join her halfway across the shop floor. "Are you feeling better then?"
She didn't have to fake the smile that immediately came to her lips at his mothering--strike that, let's call it fathering--attitude. Like a father hen, he was. All concerned and gentle as he led her over to the table.
Xander jumped up to help... by taking the bag and the cardboard coffee holder from her. "Let me get that for ya," he said with a grin, scooping the stuffed bag from her with a big whiff, holding it up to his face. "Oh, that's the stuff, just what's needed for a long night of research. Or whatever happens to come up," he added enigmatically.
"Thanks, Xander, such a help," she laughed, watching as he dropped the bag with an almost reverent look and set the coffee down on the table. "And, yes, Giles, I actually feel really good today, gotta be the salve." And the person applying said salve, she thought with a sigh. "You should sell it here."
Anya sighed and hefted a large cardboard box onto the counter as they approached. She dropped it down with a whoomp. Dust kicked up around her, soaring into the air in billowing brown clouds, reminding Willow of Pigpen. "He is selling it here," she said, her voice filled with irritation. "And it's heavy."
Xander sighed explosively and spun around on his heel, glaring at Anya. "Ahn, stop complaining," he bit out, shaking his head in annoyance. "I swear that's all you know how to do."
The three people in the room who weren't Xander stared at his back as he turned to the table and began unwrapping the sticky buns.
Willow made her way over to Xander as Giles headed back behind the counter to help a huffy Anya unpack the jars of familiar-looking salve.
"Hey," she said quietly, darting a look behind her at Anya's glaring face. "That, uh... that was kind of harsh, don't you think?" She grabbed the frou-frou coffee, so marked by a grease pen, and lifted it from its cardboard cage.
Xander sighed again, with less force this time, and released the bag. "I know, but it's all I seem to be able to do lately." He glanced at her, looking sheepish. "I think I'm turning in to my dad."
"I noticed the resemblance," Willow told him, freeing the other coffee cups and crushing the cardboard holder. "Are you and Anya fighting?"
"No," he said helplessly, "that's just it. Aside from when she complains, we're okay. Good to go. Not a problem between us." He pulled out one of the wooden chairs and sat on it, looking like somebody had just killed his puppy. "But, I'm scared, Will."
She lifted her arm carefully, happy to feel no pain in her back, and slipped it around his shoulders, hugging him to her. "It's probably just the stress of-- well, everything. We're all due a little steam-blowing. Don't worry about it."
Giles, carrying an arm-load of books, moved past them, heading up the ladder to the upstairs.
"Buffy around?" she asked, lifting the coffee she'd gotten for Buffy in one hand, and a sticky bun encased in wax paper, in the other.
Giles' foot halted on the first step of the ladder and he turned around. His books tilted to the side, the top one sliding off to slam on the floor with a loud whap! Willow jumped, startled by the noise.
"I'll get her," Giles said, bending quickly to pick the book up. As he went down, the other books started to slide off as well. Giles slapped his hand on the top one, and lifted them, shoving them onto the table with one hand while grabbing the lone book on the floor with his other hand. He stood up, shoving that one on the table beside the others, leaving it where it slid into a sticky bun.
That he didn't immediately yank the beloved book away from the sticky bun had Willow's eyes widening. When he darted toward the training room with a hurried step, she resorted to raising her eyebrows as well.
She knew this behavior. Hadn't she just chastised them for it the other day for keeping her out of the loop about the Wickaninnish? Turning to Xander, she watched him purposely stuff a ripped off piece of bun into his mouth so that he couldn't talk.
"Sorry," he mumbled around the mouthful, shrugging innocently with wide, overly exaggerated movements.
"Anya?" she enquired, knowing Anya wouldn't hold back if she knew anything, not with the angry eyes she kept sending Xander's way.
Anya pushed her hair behind her shoulder with a huff, planting one hand on her hip as she stretched her other arm out to the counter. There was a ton of attitude in her look and her pose. "What do I care?" she asked, narrowing her eyes on Xander. "Buffy's--"
A fist slammed down on the table, forcing Willow to jump yet again. She turned to Xander with a frown, ready to roll her eyes at him and tell him to be quiet, but the look on his face had her staring at him in surprise.
He was furious. Standing up, he shoved his chair back, sending it flying back to slam against the wall of the counter. His hands were planted on the table and he used them to shove himself to his feet. The mouthful of sticky bun was gone, and the light, teasing mood he'd started to fall into was nowhere in sight.
"Anya!" he bit out, scowling as he turned to his girlfriend. "Why can't you just shut the hell up?" He stalked over to the counter, glaring at Anya, who was glaring right back.
She wasn't about to back down, and neither was he. They were at a standstill.
Willow drew in a breath, wondering what in heck was wrong with everyone. Giles was being twitch-y, Xander was yelling, something he hardly ever did, and-- well, Anya was her normal, usual self.
"Hey," she called loudly, grabbing everyone's attention, "what's going on?"
"Nothing," Giles said, entering the room with Buffy directly behind him. "Nothing is going on, we're just... on edge with the Wickaninnish still out there. Another witch was killed last night, and two women--um, clerks at the grocery store--were killed by... a vampire."
Buffy stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb for a second. Her faded blue jeans and simple blue top with long sleeves gave her a stern, solemn look. The stake dangling from the fingers of her right hand, underneath her crossed arms, completed that picture. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail which swung from side to side as she entered the room and hopped on the counter.
"Needed me?" she asked, all attentive and curious looking. "I gotta go pick up Dawn from school soon, but I've got a few minutes."
Willow glanced down at her own jeans, also faded blue, and the maroon top she'd slipped on because of its loose qualities, and wondered how Spike saw them. One blonde, one red-haired. One short, one... not tall really, but of medium height. One physically strong and skillfully capable, the other mentally strong and magickally capable.
Slayer and witch. Polar opposites, working for the same side. Best friends.
And said best friend was staring at Willow expectantly, waiting for a response.
Willow started forward, motioning toward the training room. "Can we talk? I was thinking about some things, uh, last night, and--"
Buffy jumped down from the counter, her boots clunking dully on the stone floor. Her hand shot out, grabbing Willow's arm, holding her still. "Sure, let's talk," she said cheerfully. "Right here, at the table-- ooo, sticky buns." She grabbed one, and checked the coffee cups for one marked with a grease pen.
"Um, a-- actually, I sort of wanted to talk to you alone. Without, you know," she looked around pointedly, "others. It's private." Her apologetic smile took the sting out of her words, she hoped. Judging by all the criss-crossed looks at each other though, she tended to think not.
Xander shrugged, turning away from Anya with one more glare aimed her way, and started toward the training room. "We can go, you two can stay. Chat." He gestured to Willow and Buffy and then the table. "We'll just..." he pointed behind him, into the training room, "be in there. Come on, Giles," he called jovially. His eyes strayed past Giles to Anya, and they narrowed when she opened her mouth to protest. "Come. On."
His tone brooked no argument, but Willow made one anyway.
Something was going on in the training room, something they didn't want her to see. Why else wouldn't they let her go in there? Why else was Buffy dragging her away by the sleeve of her blouse?
"Um, no, that's okay, guys," she said in puzzlement, glancing from one to the other as they shifted and tried to look innocent. Of what? she wondered. "I think it'd be easier--"
Buffy tugged her sleeve again, smiling and tipping her head toward the front door. "I need some air, it's stuffy in there. Let's go out front."
In the silence that fell as Willow considered running past them all to see what was in the back room, she heard the distinctive sound of chair legs scraping on stone. Her eyes widened. Someone was back there? The Wickaninnish maybe? Did they think she couldn't handle seeing the witch killer without going evil and retaliating, or was someone else back there?
"No," she said slowly, shaking her head and freeing her arm from Buffy's fingers. "In here is good. Better yet is in there." She pointed toward the training room, backing a step away as Buffy reached out to grab her sleeve again. She kept her eyes on Xander, who looked like he was about to tackle her. Giles sighed and rubbed his forehead wearily.
Buffy's smile left altogether and she shook her head. "No. We're not going in there." She set her sticky bun down and wiped her hands on her jeans. "Willow, I started thinking last night and I realized that--"
Willow dashed toward the door, circling around the table, her heart starting to pound in dread. She heard Buffy yell her name behind her, felt Buffy's hand close over her wrist, but she couldn't stop. Images of Tara, her body bled dry by a vampire, or burned and singed from the Wickaninnish, flitted through her mind. She could almost see the long blonde of her hair matted down with blood, her face pale and drawn. Burned and singed. Oh, God.
Yanking her arm from Buffy's grasp, she ran into the room, coming to a dead halt when she saw the room's sole occupant.
Her friends piled through the door behind her, and if she'd been in a different mood, rather than the stunned one she was in now, there was a chance she'd be laughing at the way they all came to a stop, halting in their tracks, practically falling all over one another.
However, all her attention was on the single, high-backed wooden chair across the room. A chair that would look normal at any kitchen or dining room table. A chair that didn't look normal with the person currently occupying it. With handcuffs.
Spike's eyes raised to hers, but there wasn't an ounce of softness in the blue-gray orbs, no softening on his face. That same face that'd shown her so much kindness and gentleness a few nights ago. Those lips that she'd kissed, bitten, felt between her legs, bringing her to orgasm with expertise... right now, they were twisted up in a sneer of hatred.
"What--" she began, looking back to Buffy, the king of them all. She glanced over her shoulder at Spike, disbelief plain on her face, and in her inability to get out another word in the rush that were trying to shove their way into her brain.
His head was bleeding, blood dripped down the left side of his face from a nasty wound on his temple. His eye was swollen and bruised, his cheek raw and red like it'd been scraped against something rough. The blonde hair that she realized she really liked, liked to touch, to look at, to smell, that beautiful hair of his was covered in blood.
His arms were behind him, tied, or handcuffed to the chair back. His ankles were handcuffed one to each chair leg. Dried blood covered his black t-shirt, his neck, and-- God, he looked like he'd been beaten nearly to death.
She headed toward him, fully intending to release him, ignoring the scornful look he tossed her for the brief second that his eyes landed on her. "What the hell did you do to him? What'd you do, take turns beating him?" She knelt down by his feet, running her fingers over the cold metal holding his legs to the chair, rattling the handcuffs, which sounded overly loud as they clunked against the wooden chair leg.
"Leave him," Buffy told her, striding over to them. Her hand gently fisted in Willow's blouse; the warm, thin fingers of her hand twisting in the material, hauling her to her feet. There was no force behind the move, and no rough-handling, but it still startled Willow.
A common occurrence today.
Spike's voice, muffled through the huge white cloth stuffed in his mouth, sounded furious. She was sure he spat out more than a few insults and cuss words. Toward her, or the others? Was his hatred for the others tossing her into the mix as well?
Looking down at him, she shook out of Buffy's grip, yanking the cloth from his mouth.
His eyes, even the swollen one, showed the smallest bit of relief, but that was all he gave away. Impassiveness clouded his features and he closed his mouth, shifting his jaw a few times, staring straight ahead. He looked at the wall rather than have to look at any of them. Rather than having to look at her.
Another twinge of pain slipped through her heart, like an icepick being slowly shoved inside. He hated her now. He was blaming her along with the rest of them.
"Why is he tied to a chair again?" she asked angrily, turning to fume at the others when all she wanted to do was wail at the unfairness of everything. When she found a little happiness, something happened to take it away, every damn time. Never mind that she'd already been miserable from their--whatever had happened the other night. This was different. This was outside interference. "Buffy, you have no right to interfere--"
"I have every right," Buffy ground out, pulling her away. She dragged Willow across the room by her arm, ignoring Spike's furious glare aimed her way, easily visible even through the blood. She shoved Willow near Xander, who looked away from her accusing stare. Giles didn't; he stared her down with Buffy.
"I'm very--" Giles began, looking long-winded and lecture-happy.
Willow sighed, rolling her eyes at the whole lot of them. "--disappointed in me, I know." She crossed her arms over her chest, glancing at Spike over Buffy's shoulder. His poor face looked so painful, she hoped it didn't hurt too bad. "But, I've decided that, believe it or not, it's none of your business. Any of you."
She saw Spike's eyes widen in surprise before going back to being blank again, but she knew. Knew he approved of her sudden backbone. Sticking up for her man. Go her.
"I'm afraid it's not that easy, Willow," Giles sighed, dropping his overbearing lecturing posture for a more fatherly stance. "He--"
"Is a vampire," Willow interrupted, knowing exactly what he was going to say. What they'd all say, because she herself had said the same exact thing to Buffy when they found out about Angel being a vampire. And to herself when she realized she felt something for Spike. But, it didn't matter to her. So, it was none of their business.
She paced around behind Buffy, standing a little away from them as she moved back and forth before them.
"Willow," Xander said forcefully, "listen to them. This isn't just a bad boyfriend that we don't like. This is a vampire who kills people."
"Oh, that's original," Spike snorted, sneering at them. "Think she doesn't know that? Think it never crossed her mind?" He shifted in the chair, snarling and jerking against the bonds when he couldn't move enough to get comfortable. The chair legs scraped against the floor, the same noise Willow had heard earlier. He turned his angry glare back to them. "She knows, you bloody twits."
Willow exhaled slowly, warning Spike to keep quiet, because he wasn't getting anywhere but closer to dead with his insults. "Guys," she sighed, pushing her hands through her hair. "He's right, I do know. And--"
"And nothing." Buffy strode over to Willow, staring into her face, her mouth tightening, her jaw clenching. "Two checkout girls were killed at the grocery store a few days ago. The police are looking for a bleach blonde male, about five-ten, dark clothes..." she paused, drawing out the rest of her description slowly, making sure every word cut into Willow's heart. "Long. Black. Coat." She spun away, throwing her arm out to proudly display Spike in all his glory. "Sound like anyone we know?"
Willow couldn't believe it was Spike. He-- yes, she could. And, she did. The chip was malfunctioning, she knew this, but he hadn't mentioned... well, duh. What was he supposed to do, you idiot, proudly tell you all about his exploits in murder?
Raising her eyes from the floor, she stared at Spike, daring him to lie to her. Daring him to tell her it wasn't him. He stayed silent, staring right back at her, his eyes guilt-free.
Xander and Giles left quietly, leaving the three of them alone. She wished Buffy would leave too. Already she was imagining Buffy's gloating eyes cheerfully watching her, her bouncy step as she happily moved toward Spike and dusted him.
But, glancing at her friend, Willow saw no cheer, no gloating, and no happy, bouncy movements. "I tried to tell you," she said softly, frowning in concern when Willow remained silent. "Are you okay?" She moved closer, turning Willow's face away from Spike. "Let's go into the shop. We can talk."
"No." Turning her attention back to Buffy, she shook her head, snapping herself free of the disappointment and hurt, wanting to get answers from Spike. "Could you...?" she asked, tipping her head in the direction of the shop. "I just want to-- I need to talk to him. Okay?"
Buffy glanced at Spike, who was watching Willow, his brows dipped down into a frown. "Don't free him, Willow." Her eyes bored into Willow's. "I mean it." She cleared her throat a little uncomfortably. "If you need help--" she began, walking toward the doorway.
"I won't," Willow assured her, staying where she was until Buffy disappeared through the doorway. Her eyes stayed on the rectangle frame, not seeing anything beyond it. She could hear low voices in the other room, and then Xander's raised in anger.
"There's something wrong with him," she muttered, dragging her eyes free of the door to look at Spike. He watched her quietly, not saying anything as she walked closer. The smells of the room permeated her mind as she neared him, the sounds in the other room fading with each step.
Dust, some sweat, a little blood, and above all that was the smell of Spike. His duster, his skin, his hair. He smelled so good, so clean, even with the blood and dirt covering him, he smelled nice. Inviting.
She came to a stop in front of him, looking down on his bloody hair and face, wincing at the purple bruises along his temple and eye. He looked like hell hadn't been kind to him. "Was it you?"
"Yes."
She had her mouth open, ready to tell him not to lie to her, not to manipulate her, but when she heard his honest reply, she was left speechless for a second.
He shifted again, rolling his shoulders back a few times and cracking his neck. "Went there to get some smokes and..." he paused, clearing his throat, "a few other things. They irritated me--"
They--" she stopped, beyond shocked at his admission. Her eyes widened on him, unable to believe he'd killed them over something so flimsy. "And if I happen to irritate you, are you going to kill me too?" She shook her head at herself, angry that she'd allowed herself to get into this position.
"No," he said forcefully, tipping his head back to look her more fully in the eye. "No, I won't hurt you. I won't even hurt the others. I wouldn't do that to you."
Right, she thought. Just to strange girls he didn't know, and who knew who else. "You killed two girls because they annoyed you, I can't--"
"It was the first time I was able to kill a human since getting chipped." His anger rose with every word until he was practically growling. "I only wanted to scare them, to get them to shut up and stop their incessant giggling. But, there wasn't any pain. For the first time in over a year," he said softly, almost reverently, "there was no pain, and I-- I got carried away."
She frowned, not sure if she liked this newest wrinkle. It was hard to get a grip on anything while it was clear and defined, by the time she reached out for it, something shifted and she was grasping at empty air.
Spike was evil, then semi-evil, then partially good, and now he was evil again. What was she supposed to believe?
His eyes were sincere, drawing her into his explanation, tempting her with its simplicity. She could understand the sudden bloodlust, overwhelming in its accessability. If she'd been kept from eating chocolate cake for a year and then had a slice shoved in front of her face, could she resist?
Probably not.
But chocolate cake didn't live and breathe and die. It didn't suffer when she ate it. There was the difference.
She sighed, wondering how she was supposed to deal with this. Understanding didn't lead to acceptance. She could never accept him killing, and he wouldn't be able to accept not killing, not being able to do what came naturally to him.
Right now she couldn't make any decisions, not while staring down at his bloody and bruised face. "I'll be right back."
She sighed again and left the room, leaving him to his suspicious looks and glares. The bathroom off to the right had a stack of clean towels folded in a box by the door for those nights when they returned bloody and filthy. Or when Buffy worked up a sweat during training. Who knew she'd have to use one because Buffy had a little too much fun with Spike's face?
Grabbing a hand towel off the rack and a folded blue towel from the box, she shoved the larger one under her arm and pushed the smaller one under the faucet.
Turning on the tap, she wondered how Diana could possibly think her happiness lay with Spike. He was evil, he killed for pleasure. This wasn't a good thing in her book, not something that led to happiness and love-filled moments unless you were a vampire or a demon.
It led to blood and death.
An image sprang to mind... of her, dressed in leather, wearing more makeup than she'd ever worn in her life, striding through town in high heels, searching for her next kill. Her next meal.
Water splashed on her hand, burning her as it soaked into the towel and her skin. She jerked her hand free, shutting off the faucet with a hiss. Throwing the dripping towel into the bottom of the stained sink, she cranked the cold water up and stuck her hand under it.
"Stupid idiot," she mumbled, hissing again at the cold water flowing over the red marks on her thumb and forefinger. Slightly higher up, she caught sight of an emerging bruise, circling her wrist along with a few half-moon marks. "Hey. What the heck?" She rubbed the sore skin with a glare at the partially-opened door, trying to burn scorch marks across the street and singe the man behind the counter at the Espresso Pump.
Wringing out the warm white hand towel, squeezing all the excess water out, she shut off the faucet and went back into the training room with Spike.
He watched her approach, rolling his eyes at the towels she carried.
Kneeling on his right side, she set the big towel on the floor and leaned forward with the damp hand towel.
"Leave it be," he growled, jerking his head away.
"No." She reached up and grabbed his chin, turning his face toward her. She settled her left hand on his thigh and wiped his forehead free of blood, being careful not to be gentle. With every wince and hiss, she gentled her touch a little more, but stopped when she realized what she was doing.
Taking the corner of the red end of the formerly white towel, she swiped it across the wound, feeling no satisfaction at his growl of pain.
"You know," she said thoughtfully, "I get why you did it. I do. But, I can't just sit back and watch you kill every night." She stared in disgust and anger at the gash she'd exposed just under the hairline. It was three inches long and nasty-looking and if he wasn't a vampire, she was sure he'd need stitches.
Her eyes slid to his, moving away from the blood and cut skin, the bruised and scraped flesh.
"Well, bully for you," he said sarcastically, staring past her at the brick wall.
She ignored him and continued with her train of thought. "I even understand it. I'd probably do the same thing, but--"
He hissed in pain again, jerking away from the towel with a glare aimed her way. "I don't want your bloody sympathy and... 'understanding'," he told her as if they were filthy, disgusting things. "Look, it was a one-time thing that I don't intend to repeat. But, I also don't intend to snack on pig's blood for the rest of my non-life."
She continued to wipe at the blood, not letting herself feel her heart hardening. Her thumb wiped at a clean spot on his cheek, softly caressing the scraped skin. There was a breath in her chest somewhere, dying to get out, but she held it in, knowing that if she let it out, she'd have to draw in another, and she didn't want to. She was tired of the constant fight for clarity.
"Let me go, Willow." His sudden change of tone, from angry and hateful to low and cajoling, drew her attention from his injuries.
She shook her head, returning her attention to his face. It was a little swollen, and the black and blue bruising was already in an advanced state which meant he'd been here a while.
"I can't. We just need to figure this thing out. Couldn't you just..." she shrugged, frowning at the sticky hair slicked with blood by his temple. She hated this. Hated that she was losing something that felt right in her life. Once again, she was losing someone close to her because of something she couldn't control. Sighing, she resumed wiping his cheek. "You could get blood from the hospital instead of killing," she suggested.
Seeing his unwavering stare and the scoff he tried not to let out, she nodded.
"Well, I can't just let you go." Her eyes drifted to his again, softening the slightest bit at the defeat she found there. "Buffy would probably hunt you down and kill you."
He exhaled explosively, nodding at the reality of her words. "What I said the other night still goes. Murderers, rapists... that's what I'll feed on from now on."
She wanted to say yes. More than anything in that moment, she wanted to smile and nod and let him go, walking off into the sunset with him, though, that probably wasn't a good idea with him liable to burst into flames from it. But, she wanted to agree and live happily ever after.
She deserved that, didn't she? Heartache had claimed her more than her fair share of times in her short dating life, so, really she felt like she deserved to be able to just say screw it and go be with the man she cared for. Half of her was tugging her in that direction, even going so far as to make her slide her hand across to his other cheek, cupping it as she gazed into his eyes with longing.
Longing for everything she wasn't going to get, because the rest of her was rebelling, forcing her to drop her hand and shake her head sadly.
He drew in a deep breath, searching her face for a hint of compromise, looking a little desperate. When she still didn't give in, he closed his eyes in frustration. "I won't kill them, how's that? I'll leave them alive." His voice was even, his eyes clear and sincere when he opened them again, holding her gaze with his own. "Let me out of here. Please."
"What's so important that you can't wait a while?" she asked a little suspiciously.
He growled, shaking his arms and rattling the handcuffs against the chair back. His whole body shook as he rocked back and forth.
When he settled back down, she sighed, watching the fury on his face fade away, replaced by... something she knew all too well. She'd seen it enough times over the past month or more to know it at first sight. What now? she thought. And why did everything always get turned back around on her?
His head raised up, his eyes opening slowly to stare at her angrily. "Moved on already, have you?"
"Moved-- what?" Her eyes darted to his face incredulously, unable to believe he thought... well, okay, she didn't actually know what he thought, but it wasn't something good. It was all hard stares and accusation. "Spike," she sighed, trying to heave herself out from under the weight of the world he'd placed on her shoulders sometime before. "I have no idea what you're talking about." Standing up, she dropped the towel to the floor and stared down at him.
"Oh, right," he laughed scornfully, rolling his eyes as he turned his face away briefly, then turned right back to burn his eyes into hers. "And I suppose the man I smell all over you is 'just a friend'."
She opened her mouth to ask him what kind of drugs Buffy had forced down his throat when she realized what he was talking about. Rolling her own eyes, she shoved her arm under his nose. "That smell?" she asked in a low voice, forcing herself not to use that fist to hit him with, or poke him or something. "The guy at the Espresso-- wait. You know what?" she asked furiously, having had enough of everything for the moment. "It's none of your business. I don't get details about what you do, who you kill, then you don't get details about strange men who decide they want to touch me."
His eyes focused on the bruises ringing her flesh in a mirror of his own bruising the other night and she saw the moment he went from raging jealousy to concerned boyfriend. He pulled his arms, trying to break the handcuffs or the chair, she wasn't sure which, and only ended up cutting into his own wrists.
"Stop it," she yelled over the clunking and scraping of the chair on the cement floor. She circled around to the back of the chair and rested her hands on his. Her fingers slid on the blood wringing his wrists and dripping down his hands. "Will you stop it?" Tightening her hand around his, she glanced at the door, expecting one of her friends to come barreling into the room, stake at the ready, but it remained empty.
When he continued straining his arms, about to dislocate both shoulders, she stood up and moved back in front of him.
His head was lowered as he concentrated on his useless attempts. She stuck her bloody fingers in front of his face, raising his head with her un-bloodied hand. "This is all you're doing. There's a magick barrier around you."
"Then free me, damn it." He rocked the chair back and forth.
"Why?" she said reasonably. "So you can go kill him?"
His struggles stopped, his head raising so that he could look up at her. "Yes." His eyes landed on her fingers, sticky with his blood. He actually licked his lips, causing just a little bit of queasiness to shoot through her.
It was gross; very, very gross, but it was a part of him. Part of what made him... him. So, here now was her chance to see his side of things. To explore that part of him that scared her so much. His blood obsession.
"Do you..." she trailed off, unable to think of an appropriate way of asking him if he wanted to lick the blood off of her fingers. Instead, she held them out with an uncomfortable shrug.
His eyes, still on her fingers, didn't move when he nodded. She did. She closed the small distance between them, stopping only when her knees hit the side of his right thigh. Fighting the disgust associated with knowing exactly what was on her fingers, and what was about to be licked off, she raised her hand to his mouth and waited, letting him make that final move.
Despite her feelings of nausea, she closed her eyes and let Spike lick her fingers.
His lips opened, his tongue sliding out to circle around the tip of her thumb as his mouth closed around it. The sensation was odd, reminding her of his own finger in her mouth, keeping her from screaming as she orgasmed. He sucked on it, drawing it further into his mouth as he let out a low moan from deep in his throat, making her knees go a little weak.
Or maybe it was the images of them in bed that was doing it. The image of Spike between her legs, sliding his tongue inside her as his finger slid between her lips, stifling the screaming she was doing a piss-poor job of halting.
Her hand tightened on the back of the chair, digging into the wood as her legs tried to give out. He was still moaning as she slipped her forefinger into his mouth, and he wasn't the only one. She was doing a fair amount of moaning herself. She looked down at him, watching his face as he licked her clean-- her fingers. Licked her fingers clean... not other... oh, boy. She needed to sit down.
His smile was wicked and predatory, filled with an enormous amount of smugness as he pulled free of her finger for a second. "Have a seat, love." The blue of his eyes darkened as he lowered them to his lap before raising them back to her with a wink.
"Yeah, right," she scoffed, rolling her eyes away from him. And then, feeling that wasn't enough, she scoffed again, just to show him how much she didn't believe his gall. "Done?"
He shook his head slowly, licking his lips even more slowly, drawing it out as long as he possibly could. She wasn't positive, but she was pretty sure her insides were quivering, just from that look in his eyes, and the desire written plainly on his face.
"You want more?" she asked, damning her shaking voice for giving her away. Well, she could do more. And it wouldn't affect her at all. She was made of sterner stuff than that. It was just that she'd already been feeling all gooey toward him, and-- and nothing. Shoving her middle finger against his lips, she stared at the wall and clinically waited for him to finish.
His lips touched the tip of her finger, his tongue darting out to taste the blood. The rhythmic sucking motion didn't bring to mind anything other than the extremely sexy man in front of her sucking on her flesh, stimulating her body like a damn porno movie.
As he drew her finger deeper into his mouth, she pressed closer to his thigh, opening her legs a little. He moaned again, and she could stand it no longer. She pulled her hand away from him and grabbed the wet towel from the floor, wiping the blood from her hands. Moving around to stand in front of him, she looked down at him. He watched her steadily, not letting too much hope shine through, but neither did he let a ton of disappointment show.
She saw it though. For some reason, she could read him like never before. Maybe because she was looking now, paying attention.
And that changed her mind. She'd fully intended to leave him there. To walk out of the room and go talk her friends into letting him go, hoping they'd agree if he promised to leave town again, and this time stay gone. But that look in his eyes, the hope and the disappointment... it made her rethink her decision.
Would it really hurt anyone if she gave him--and herself--a little happiness before marching out of the room and pleading with her friends? Probably. But, she didn't care anymore. She wanted something that wasn't right, and wasn't proper. Something that was wrong and possibly forbidden.
So, casting a quick glance at the doorway, she straddled his thighs, moaning aloud as her jeans stretched tight against her aroused clit.
He chuckled in surprise, but the chuckle died in his throat as she settled down on him. A strangled gasp escaped him. "Scoot up," he whispered, groaning when she rubbed against the bulge in his jeans, stretched taut over his erection.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, asking herself what the hell she was doing. Buffy and the others were in the other room, and she really hoped they didn't catch her doing... well, anything with Spike. At all.
But she also didn't care.
Tightening her arms around him, she sighed, settling closer against him. His mouth settled on her neck, kissing lightly against the pulse point. She didn't immediately pull away, didn't scream and accuse him of trying to bite her, but she did stiffen a little. She did worry.
"Relax," he said huskily, licking the skin behind her ear, making her shudder against him. His teeth nipped her earlobe, drawing the flesh into his mouth.
She did relax, contrary to every instinct in her body screaming at her to get up and run away. She melted into him and moaned at the intense feelings pouring through her. His hips raised the slightest bit, pressing the bulge in his jeans against her clit in just the right way, making her gasp at the intensity of it. Lust was one thing, this... oh, this was more. This was desire mixed with love and a sprinkling of gotta-have-him-now-or-die.
"You do all the right things to me," she whispered in his ear, threading her fingers through his hair. "How do you do that?"
He chuckled softly, his chest rumbling against hers, sending shivers of delight through her. "Let me go and see what I can really do," he said huskily, his voice full of promise. His lips tugged at her skin, creating a hickey with the slow, intense sucking he was applying. "Last night was just a taste."
She shivered again when his teeth scraped against the sensitive flesh and then his tongue flicked the bruising. "Mmm," she moaned, sliding her hands down his back, as he lifted his hips again, pressing so nicely against her clit. She gasped, then gasped again when he repeated the motion, moving faster, pleasing her in more ways than one. "Nice..." she sighed, settling more firmly against him.
"I'd like to touch that gorgeous body of yours," he mumbled, pressing a necklace of kisses around her throat. "Run my hands over your back..." his tongue darted out, sucking on the other side of her neck, the fresh, virgin flesh he hadn't touched yet. "Slide my fingers across your skin, feel you react to my touch."
As if she wasn't reacting to just his voice. Good, Lord... she was practically coming just from listening to what he wanted to do to her. "Don't stop."
He licked her earlobe and raised his hips again, smiling against her neck. "Let me go and I'll never stop--"
Her eyes popped open as his words registered. "What?" she croaked out, sitting up and moving away from him. Every inch of her screamed again, this time to stay where she was, not to leave his lap no matter what. She ignored her body and climbed off of his lap. "You--" she ground out, trying to talk past the anger. Tears swam in her eyes, and she didn't care. Not anymore. He'd pushed her too far this time. "Son of a bitch."
He closed his eyes with a groan, dropping his head back again. "I need to get out of here. There's--" he lifted his head again, staring at her, pleading with her.
With her! He had some nerve. Stupid... jerk. Forcing herself to remain calm when all she wanted to do was encourage the magick in her to grow so she could behead him, or something less deadly, she crossed her arms over her chest and waited for an explanation. "Why are you so anxious to get out of here?"
"It's not important," he told her, looking away. "I just do."
"Not good enough." She paced away, then paced back, keeping herself restrained with short, angry movements, that way she wouldn't smack him as she passed by, cold-cocking him like she wanted to. "Even if I wanted to let you go--which I don't--you screwed up."
"Fine," he sighed, staring straight at her. "That friend of mine? She's in my crypt, and I need to go... I need to--" he stopped, at a loss as to what lie to feed her.
"Oh. Oh, your friend." Smiling in a not-so-friendly manner, she shrugged, watching him struggle for more lies. "I can go check on her. Make sure she's--"
"No," he said too-loudly, too-quickly as sudden panic lit his eyes. She saw the struggle it took for him to calm down, to keep her from becoming even more suspicious than she already was. She also knew that he realized it was too late.
"Yeah, I think I'll definitely be paying her a visit." She bent down and picked up the towels, tossing them in the box by the door. "Maybe have a little chat."
"Willow, don't go. Please. Just--" he shook his arms, once again trying to free himself. "Just let me out of here." He pleaded with her again, and got the same response. His desperation grew exponentially. "For God's sake, Willow, just let me out of here," he shouted, begging her with his eyes not to go.
She looked into his face one last time before leaving the room. There was such desperation there that it was beyond her to stop herself from going. She had to know what was so bad that he was begging her.
She had no idea what it was, she suspected a woman he was involved with, the 'friend' he had assured her was just a friend. Maybe humans chained inside, bleeding themselves to feed him... or well, him bleeding them since the chip wasn't a problem anymore. But wouldn't Buffy had spotted them when she grabbed Spike?
And how had she grabbed Spike? Knocked him out, beat him up and dragged him to the shop?
Spike's eyes dropped to his lap as he sighed, knowing she was going. "I'm--" he paused, chuckling darkly at himself, shaking his head in self-deprecation. His shoulders lifted in a shrug as his eyes raised to hers, holding her gaze until she turned and left the room.