Stable Artifice
By Erimentha
Rated R (Eventually)
DISCLAIMER: BtVS and AtS belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and other peeps who aren't me.
SUMMARY: Willow's on the run with Spike, Angel and Dru. But things start getting complicated between her and Spike.
PAIRING: S/W eventually
CHARACTERS: Willow, Spike, Angel, Drusilla
TIMELINES: Buffy--Takes place after season four, where it diverts from canon. Pretend that a full year passes between the end of four and the start of five. Angel--this is a little trickier. Takes place after season one, but we're going to pretend that the offices weren't blown up. Again, pretend a full year passes between the end of one and the start of two.
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Willow wondered if Spike was tapping his fingers to a song that only he could hear. Her mind drifted away from Giles' oration of the newest research subject and focused on the rat-a-tat-tat sounds of Spike's fingers drumming on Giles' kitchen table. Each finger slapped down, starting with his index finger and finishing with his pinkie. There was a clicking sound every so often that cut through the blunt finger noises when he didn't position his fingers just right.
Willow slanted her eyes in his direction, noticing the way he was staring at a point behind Giles, one eyebrow cocked. He was bored. That raised brow was part and parcel of a good many of his facial expressions, but Willow had learned to look for other indications of his mood. She knew to check the set of his jaw next, to see if it was fury or disgust that caused him to lift his brow. She could tell it was fury if the muscles next to his jaw were dancing: tic-tic-tic. And if his upper lip was curled, then she knew it was fury.
Neither of those tell-tale signs were present, however, which meant that he was either feeling flirtatious or bored. Since his icy blue gaze was focused on no one in particular, and his smart mouth was shut, she knew he wasn't feeling flirtatious.
Willow knew that if Giles became aware that Spike wasn't paying close attention, he'd pitch a fit. Which was ridiculous. If Giles, or any of the others, had taken more time to observe the blond vampire rather than snapping at him, they'd have realized what Willow had: Spike was fantastically intelligent.
A tenth of his attention was all that was needed to absorb and process any information presented to him and extrapolate other details and ramifications that the gang might not have seen. She'd found it hard to believe at first, remembering his doomed-from-the-start plans from past encounters. Then she'd come to understand that it hadn't been a lack of intelligence that had made him fail oh-so-many times, but a lack of patience.
But no one took the time to see Spike for anything other than the resentful help that he was. Willow still wasn't sure why Giles had suggested that they blackmail Spike, but she had her opinions on the subject. She supposed it didn't matter since, in the end, they had all agreed.
It *had* made their lives easier. Spike was no longer spending his every waking hour devising and implementing fantastical schemes to kill Buffy, as he had started doing shortly after the destruction of the Initiative.
The Initiative. While they'd been channeling the first Slayer, Spike had joined the melee after Adam's betrayal. As bad luck would have it, he'd come across an Initiative doctor. They'd had no clue whatsoever that Spike had spent the next bit of time "convincing" the doctor to take the behavior modification chip out of his head.
They'd found out later that summer, when Spike had casually stepped in Buffy and Willow's path one evening as they'd been walking through the park to Buffy's house. The attempts on Buffy's life had started that night. Each one had become more and more desperate and flawed, until they'd finally been deemed nothing more than a great nuisance by the Slayer. More frustrating to Buffy and the others was that, while Spike's planning abilities were horrendously sub par when he was being ruled by his emotions, he was not even close to being an easy kill.
Enter Giles, with the great blackmail scheme: Spike helped them when they needed him, or they restored his soul a la Angel. The strangest thing about it all was that Spike had agreed. Not readily, of course, but a lot more easily than Willow would have thought.
Willow blinked, suddenly noticing that Spike was looking at her, and wondered just how long had she been staring at him, lost in thought. Oh boy, she was going to pay for that.
She was sitting across from him, a pencil in her hand and the results of her and Giles' research spread out before her on the table. Giles was still relating every detail of what they'd learned, and a quick glance his way revealed that he was only a quarter of the way through it all.
Spike shifted in his chair, slouching even more. His long legs were crossed at the ankles, and he moved his arms up and laced his fingers behind his head. That icy stare kindled, warming and softening the sharp angles of his face. Willow repressed the urge to roll her eyes at his predictability, knowing that it would ruin bit of pleasure he got out of aggravating them all with this game.
She waited, watching him closely. As she knew it would, that patented smirk appeared, pulling at his lips. Willow didn't laugh, but she felt like her amusement was apparent in her eyes. Maybe he noticed, because she saw of a flicker of the same emotion in his blue gaze before it traveled suggestively from her face to her chest. He tilted back slightly on the chair and ran his eyes over the rest of her body, which had previously been obscured by the table. Despite the fact that her figure was more than hidden behind the loose purple peasant blouse and matching long skirt she wore, he twitched that raised eyebrow.
Willow quickly looked around the room, noticing that no one was paying attention her or Spike: Giles had his back to them and was pointing at some drawings he'd pinned to the wall, Xander was nearly catatonic from information overload, and Buffy was restless, her favorite stake flying back and forth from one hand to another.
Willow smiled, and decided to take the opportunity to be bad. Not bad bad, as in Skanky Vampire Willow. But bad, as in, mischievous.
Her elbows moved to the table, and she propped her chin in her hands, tilting her head a bit and letting her face go all dreamy. She sighed quietly, in mock-adoration, and let her gaze roam over his body, which was, after all, stretched out so invitingly and encased in his usual garb of too tight black jeans, dark red shirt, and leather duster. She simpered. She didn't know if she was successful at a simper, but that was because she'd never really seen anyone simper. She did her best, at any rate.
Spike was fighting back laughter, but that wasn't good enough to gain her a victory. So she widened her eyes even more, then quivered her chin, as though overcome by his hotness.
That was when he lost it, and his laughter bounced from his lips and sprang to all four corners of the room. Oh, and both of his eyebrows were lowered, which meant that she'd succeeded in surprising the heck out of him. Willow didn't have the time to savor her win. Spike hadn't yet noticed that everyone in the room was now glaring at him, but Willow had. She quickly frowned in confusion and stared at Spike along with the rest of the group.
When Spike's laughter finally faded away, Giles' displeased voiced took its place. "Do you find something laughable about the bodies Xander discovered?"
Spike smirked, no bothering to hide the merriment in his voice. "Nah. Mildly amusing that. Not laugh-out-loud funny stuff. That was Red's doing."
Willow met Giles' eyes innocently, her brow furrowed. Her shoulders shrugged as if to say, "I have no idea." She was careful not to overdo it, because then he would know that she was guilty of instigating the outburst.
It was all part of this game that she and Spike had started playing months ago. They each tried to get the other to draw attention to themselves in some manner, be it laughter, shock, or embarrassed squeaks. Or even, once, a shout of anger because one party had her hand on her lap under the table, holding a small squirt gun filled with holy water, and had just aimed a quick shot at the other party's ribcage. Oooh, but that had been fun.
Their game was something they'd never spoken about, just simply done, and she thought that he needed it. Because while she had no idea why he had given in to the blackmail with less fight than he should have, she had her opinions on that subject as well.
Again, neither her theories nor the truth mattered, because the situation was what it was: Spike was being forced to help a group of people who hated him. Willow's empathetic nature had made it impossible for her to treat Spike like something that she'd scraped off the bottom of her shoes after a trip into the sewers. That was why she played this game with him.
Giles glared at Spike one final time and was about to begin his lecture again, but apparently Buffy's patience had finally worn out. "Cut to the chase, please, Giles. I'm begging here."
Willow acted quickly, pinning stern eyes on Spike as she levitated the pencil that had been in her hand. His eyes were gleaming wickedly, and Willow had a feeling that he was going to ignore her and start a free-for- all. He'd done so in the past, and she didn't think he was above doing it again.
She never found out what exactly he'd been about to do, because a loud chirping noised startled her and the pencil fell to the table. Spike snickered at her, and Willow felt herself blushing. She was not as cool as she wished to be. Still too easily embarrassed and unsure of herself. She supposed she was lucky that he let her get away with pretending otherwise when they were playing around.
"Good lord, does no one care?" Giles exclaimed as Spike pulled his cell phone out of the pocket of his duster, still snickering. The ex-Watcher pinched the bridge of his nose, and Willow knew that Spike was getting a kick out of it. So was she, even if her conscience niggled her a little bit. After all, the idea of including Spike had been Giles', and it was only that that he had to reap the fallout. That they all had to, actually.
Spike's cell phone was still ringing, and Buffy opened her mouth. Willow forestalled anything the Slayer might have said by glaring at Spike and hissing, "Answer it."
Then Willow turned back to her friends, kind of amazed that Spike was actually doing as she'd said, and told them, "It's a Ziweyr demon. Bronze to the crotch kills it."
Xander flinched and crossed his legs, gaping at her in a ridiculous manner. "The crotch? CROTCH?"
"That's where its brains are," Willow explained helpfully, a wide smile on her face. Xander didn't appreciate it, and neither did Giles if his deep calming breath was anything to go by, but Buffy did.
Her eyes were sparkling as she said, "The only creature alive who actually has an excuse for thinking with its--"
"Yes, yes," Giles interrupted hastily, staring down at the floor.
"What!?!?"
The word tore through the room, and everyone once again stared at the vampire in their midst. Willow found that she couldn't read the look on his face. Yes, there was fury there, but something else, too, that she didn't recognize.
His jaw was clenched, and the tic-tic-tic was working overtime. Never a good sign on its own, but coupled with the fact that he was sitting upright suddenly, and his free hand was digging into the wood of Giles' table.well, Willow figured it was safe to say that the fallout did not want to be avoided that night.
She sighed, wondering whom among them was going to take the brunt of his furious outburst. Then the wood beneath his hands splintered and a huge chunk of Giles' table crashed to the floor. There was movement from the corner of Willow's eye. She turned to see Buffy standing. Xander was next to her and his eyes were hard, that look he got when he knew that all hell was going to break loose and was pissed because just once it would have be nice if that didn't happen. Giles merely looked resigned.
"I'm leaving now," Willow heard Spike grind out tightly, and faced him again. He was standing and was in the process of lowering the phone from his ear when something made him bring it back at the last second. He listened for a moment, then said, "Got it. And I'll take care of the other thing."
His thumb wrapped around the phone to end the call and then the phone fell forgotten from his fingers, dropping to the broken table with a loud thump that made Willow start.
Spike stood there for a long tense moment, then shook himself. Without sparing any of them a glance, he strode through the living room and out the front door. Everyone was too shocked to move, because that was the last thing they'd been expecting. Spike physically attacking Buffy had probably occurred to everyone in the room. Spike verbally attacking any of them had definitely occurred to them all. But Spike walking out without a word was just mind-boggling.
"Okay, what was *that* about?" Xander asked in confusion.
The others shrugged, and Willow got up quickly to follow him. That must have been unexpected as well, because Buffy wasn't behind her when she hurried through the courtyard in front of Giles' apartment.
He was nowhere to be seen on the street, and Willow thought her best bet was to go to his crypt. It took her ten minutes to make her way there, and she was tense the entire time because after going a block she'd realized that she hadn't brought any weapons. A stroke of luck must have landed on her head, because she made it to his residence without incident.
She could hear cursing and banging from outside, and she opened the the door and hesitantly stepped inside.
Spike was in the center of the room, stuffing clothing into a black duffle bag. The entire place had been destroyed; the bed was overturned, the television was shattered and the small dresser where his clothes had previously been stored was turned on its side, every drawer removed, the contents scattered across the floor.
"Spike?" Willow ventured softly.
"What?" he snapped, not stopping his hurried packing.
"Are you...is everything...all right?" she asked.
He froze in the middle of stuffing a pair of jeans into his bag. The tic- tic-tic was more like tictictictictictic. He stayed that way for a long time, and just when she'd given up hope of getting an answer, he laughed harshly. "No, everything is *not* all right."
"Can I help?" she asked quietly, and he turned to her. Willow flinched when she saw the raw pain in his eyes. It was worse than what she'd seen in them after Dru had left him for a chaos demon, and he'd kidnapped her to perform a love spell. Shaking his head, he finished filling the bag and hefted it into his arms. He took two steps towards Willow and then stopped, glaring behind her.
"Where are you going?" Buffy demanded from the doorway.
"Yeah, I thought we were clear on the whole, you don't leave Sunnydale clause of our agreement?" Xander chimed in.
Willow bit into her lower lip, her breath coming faster. They didn't realize that this wasn't a Spike they had ever seen before. He was now a master vampire who was coldly furious and didn't care what they were holding over his head. She had no idea why, and doubted that even her imagination could come up with something to suitably explain the ferocity he was exhibiting.
"Let him leave," Willow told Buffy and Xander, carefully and deliberately stepping out of Spike's path. "Just move away and let him leave."
Neither of her friends moved. Willow reached out and grabbed Xander's arm, leaning back with all of her weight. She caught him off guard and he stumbled into her. She stepped in front of him, her back pressed against his chest and her feet planted firmly on the ground. Her eyes moved between Buffy and Spike, taking in their tense stances and almost tasting the violence that hung in the air. She reached out one entreating hand towards the Slayer. "Buffy, please."
Willow held her breath, hoping that Buffy would listen to her. "Will, if you think I'm just going to get out of the way and let him leave, then you're insane. No way. No how." She mockingly raised an eyebrow at Spike. "Get real, Spike. You know what will we'll do and you know--"
"Shut the bloody Hell up," Spike yelled suddenly, and Willow flinched, stepping backwards and moving herself and Xander farther away from the vampire. Spike still hadn't moved, but neither had Buffy, and Willow wasn't taking any chances.
"I am going," Spike enunciated through clenched teeth. "And you are not stopping me."
"We don't need to," Buffy reminded him coldly. "You know the deal, Spike, and you know what will happen." She reached into her jacket and came out with a stake. Spike moved in a blur, and grabbed Buffy by the neck before she'd even had the chance to position it in hand properly. He lifted his arm, and she rose from the floor until she was at eye level with him, her hands clawing at his. "I. Am. Going," he repeated clearly. "You can do whatever the hell you want."
Willow's breathing became uncontrolled, and she reached behind her and grabbed Xander around the waist to prevent him from rushing Spike. So far she'd been able to keep herself and Xander off of Spike's radar, and she liked that just fine. And Buffy could certainly handle herself, that was for sure.
*Let her go, and leave. Let her go, and leave. Let her go, and leave. Let her go, and leave,* Willow willed silently, her heart jumping in her chest.
A long moment later, a low growl tore from Spike's throat. With a look of disgust, he released Buffy abruptly and spun on his heel, disappearing into the night. Buffy landed on a heap on the floor, choking. Willow let Xander push past her and go to Buffy's side, then she sank to the floor as well, tears streaming down her face.
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Willow gratefully took the tea that Giles handed her, then assured him for the nth time that she was just fine, and that he should go to bed. Since Xander and Buffy had dropped her off an hour ago before heading out in search of Spike, Giles had been in mother-hen mode, which she normally didn't mind. But right then her nerves were close to breaking and she just wanted to be alone so that she could let it all go without upsetting anyone else.
She curled up on the sofa, tea in hand, and watched him make it to the stairs before he stopped and turned to her. An unreadable expression fell across his face and then he took a breath. "Willow, I know that you have become something of a friend to Spike and that--"
Her head fell back, and she sighed. "Giles, I don't know anything."
Giles tilted his head and met her eyes. "I'm not suggesting that you do, Willow. I merely meant that it must be difficult for you, what happened this evening. You are very sensitive and you thought Spike to be a friend."
With great effort, Willow lifted her head and straightened her back, her jaw setting.
"No, I didn't," she disagreed quietly, her voice firm. "You can't be friends with someone that you've blackmailed, Giles. The most you can do is form an uneasy.truce of sorts that only lasts as long as the situation. I expected something like this to happen sooner or later--we all did--and now it has." Giles opened his mouth, but Willow held up a hand and he closed it again. "I don't feel betrayed, or anything like that."
Giles nodded his head slowly, and reached up to remove his glasses. He didn't clean them, just held them in his hand as he looked down in thought for a moment. "You'll miss him," he said, sounding surprised.
He also seemed worried, if his drawn brows were anything to go by. Willow vowed her next bit of reassurance would be the last of the night. "I'll do what needs to be done, Giles."
Glasses slipped easily onto his face again, and a sad smile half-heartedly pulled at his lips. "I know, Willow. You always do. You know where the blankets and pillows are. Sleep well."
Up the stairs he went, and Willow listened to the sounds from above her. The water running in the bathroom, the toilet flushing, a door closing, and the comforting sounds of Bach that always settled Giles down on the nights when he couldn't ignore the fact that his "children" were far too wise in things they never should have had to learn in the first place.
Only then did she set the tea down on the coffee table and pick up a throw pillow from the sofa. She pressed it to her face and let the stress of the evening fall away with her tears, the sounds muffled and barely distinguishable from Bach. When she was done, when the events of earlier were no longer clawing at her skin, she set the pillow aside and stood to dump the now-cold tea.
Her hands shook as frantically as her mind was racing. Instead of setting the mug in the sink, she washed it. Along with every other dirty dish. The counters were scrubbed. The cabinets were neatened. The floor was swept. She found herself standing near the tall cabinet in the kitchen in which Giles kept the mop and broom, her hand clutching the broom handle and her breath coming raggedly.
She hadn't lied to Giles. Long ago she had realized that truths confessed to him and him alone would stay between them. So she always told him the truth, no matter that it would make her seem soft or silly, or anything else.
There was other truth that she hadn't spoken. Maybe Giles knew, maybe he had read between her words, between the reassurances in her eyes. It wouldn't have been the first time. It was that unspoken truth that kept her frozen by the broom cabinet and made her unable to turn around and look at the broken table.
But she hadn't lied to Giles so she squared her shoulders and released the broom, closing the cabinet door softly. She went to the table and straightened the chairs around it, then grabbed the chunk of wood Spike had ripped from it and tossed it into the garbage. She rummaged around in the drawers until she found a linen tablecloth and a padded vinyl liner. The drawer next to the sink contained a tattered roll of duct tape and she grabbed it before heading back to the table.
The liner was folded up and then taped to the splintered edge of the table and then Willow faced the task of clearing off the table. The research was still covering half of it. One of Giles' mugs was there, the inside a mess of dried cow's blood.
Willow cleaned it all, carefully gathering the research into a folder and laying it on Giles' desk in the living room. She put the mug in the sink, but didn't even contemplate cleaning it. Then all that was left was Spike's cell phone. Her fingers clenched on the linen tablecloth in her left hand as her right crept slowly towards the small piece of technology. No one had to know. When it was in her hand she slipped it into the roomy pocket of her skirt and then unfolded the cloth and laid it over the table.
There was nothing left to do then and Willow felt numb as she slipped her shoes off and padded barefoot to the foyer closet. Stacked neatly on the shelves above the coats was enough bedding for a small army of Scoobies. Willow selected the cozy flannel comforter and a plush down pillow. She tossed them in the general direction of the sofa, then crouched down to reach the labeled plastic containers that sat on the floor. Hers was behind Buffy's, and she fumbled with the lid and delved inside for a set of nightclothes.
She changed at the closet then pulled Spike's cell phone from her skirt before stuffing her clothing in the hamper bag that hung from a hook on the back of the closet door. In her thin cotton sleep pants and tank top, she made her way to her bag and slipped the phone inside. Then she made up the couch and turned off the living room night before settling down. Her mind was too wiped out to be chaotic, and she was asleep in minutes.
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The next day was Saturday, and at noon, Buffy and Xander showed up at Giles' house. Willow hadn't left. Giles had woken her with the warm scent of French toast at eight. On the days when more than one of the gang crashed in his living room, Giles made waffles. The few times Willow alone had spent the night, it had been French toast. She often wondered if he made the same thing for Xander or Buffy when they alone spent the night, or if each Scoobie got a different breakfast treat. She didn't really care. French toast was a morning ritual with Giles, one that gave her a greater sense of home and family than she'd ever had.
They'd spent the morning in quiet conversation that hadn't included the words vampire, Hellmouth, demon, apocalypse or Spike. Instead they'd talked of Willow's studies and Giles' boredom with his "gentleman of leisure" days, then had a discussion on whether or not Giles should get cable, since his reception was so bad he could only get one channel on his television. Homey.
The arrival of her friends was also familial, but in the chaotic manner of sibling arguments and the all too familiar fight over the donuts that Buffy had brought with her. It didn't last long, as there was a reason they were gathering and it couldn't be avoided.
"Willie's was trashed," Buffy announced suddenly, and everyone stilled before finding a place to settle down. Willow once again curled up on the couch, Xander next to her. Buffy stood in front of them, Giles sitting to her side on an armchair. "He said Spike wrecked the place in a fight with some demon, then they both disappeared. He heard Drusilla's name come up, though," she finished.
Willow quickly bowed her head, because she was sure that her face showed every bit of shock and dismay that she felt. Spike had told her that he hadn't seen Drusilla since he'd failed to convince her to leave Brazil with him, and had disgustedly indicated that he had no interest in seeking her out again for at least another twenty years or so. It wasn't shock that he'd lied to her--she had no illusions that he wouldn't lie to her in a heartbeat--but there hadn't been a *reason* to lie about it.
"Let's not forget the trail of bodies we found. It ended at the 'Now Leaving Sunnydale' sign, which has a big DeSoto sized hole in it," Xander added grimly.
Willow flinched. Spike had been very good about not killing anyone since he'd been blackmailed into helping them. At least, that's what everyone liked to tell themselves. If she wanted to be honest, she had to admit that they all pretty much knew that he'd simply started covering up his kills so that Buffy couldn't connect them to him.
"Yes, well," Giles murmured. "It appears as though he's gone rogue."
"Oh, big surprise there," Xander snapped. "This was definitely not one of your better plans, G-man."
"I didn't see you coming up with anything better, Xander," Giles replied in kind.
Buffy glared at them both, planting her hands on her hips. The men just continued to glare at one another. "Guys, don't start--"
But they weren't listening, and pretty soon Buffy was drawn into the argument as well. Willow stayed on the sofa, eyes closed, as she listened to them all slapping blame on everyone else in the room without acknowledging that they also were guilty of participating in the scheme.
Eventually, Willow couldn't take anymore. "Stop it, all of you," she shouted, jumping to her feet and putting her best teacher impersonation on her face. The one that their Global Studies teacher, Mrs. Henkel, used to wear when the class was being childish.
They all shut their mouths, but the annoyed glares remained on their faces. "Thank you. Okay, so where is this argument getting us?" No one answered, and Willow folded her arms under her breasts. "Hm?"
"Nowhere," Buffy grumbled, looking down at her feet.
"Xander? Giles?" Willow urged.
The men exchanged glances, then Xander tossed his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender while Giles sighed. "Nowhere," they said in unison.
"Very well," Giles muttered, removing his glasses to clean them. He cleared his throat. "We, er, have to decide if we should restore Spike's soul," he continued.
Willow watched as Buffy and Xander each raised one hand high in the air, as if a vote had been called and they were for it. Giles caught Willow's eyes with his own, and she nodded.
"Right then," Giles said decisively. "Willow, you'll need to consult the spell and gather the necessary components. We'll do it tomorrow, I think."
"Yeah, because who knows what kind of Spike-like fun we might interrupt right now," Xander drawled in a hard voice.
Giles stared at the boy in exasperation. "Willow performed the spell once, and it was several years ago, Xander. She will need time to familiarize herself with the ritual again. Might I also point out that Willow seems to be rather fatigued? Performing the ritual takes a bit out of her, if you recall," he added pointedly.
Xander had the good grace to look a little ashamed of himself. "She doesn't have to be the one to do it, though," he pushed on.
"True," Buffy agreed readily, a glint in her eyes. "I volunteer you, Xander. You can chant for almost an hour on end, then have Spike's soul pass through your body, and maybe end up in a coma or something. Let's get started."
"Tomorrow it is then," Xander chirped immediately.
Giles smirked at having at least won that argument, and Willow managed a small smile.
"Go home," Buffy instructed Willow. "Read the gypsy words, gather the stinky herbs. Get some sleep so that you can be bright-eyed bushy-tailed Willow for the cursing tomorrow."
"Sounds like fun," Willow responded, not sure what emotion was in her voice, but positive that it wasn't anticipation.
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Willow felt a hand on her shoulder, shaking her, and frowned. There was no hint of light behind her closed lids and she didn't want to wake up when it was still dark. She'd been pleasantly surprised to get to sleep before midnight that night, after having spent her day and evening reviewing the spell and gathering the ingredients. She was not going to wake up before dawn. Uh-uh.
"Go 'way," she mumbled in annoyance.
"Wake up, we don't have much time."
Willow's eyes flew open and she saw Spike standing above her, something strapped to his back. She stared, frozen beneath her cocoon of blankets on her small dorm bed. The lights weren't on, and the only illumination in the room came from the full moon shining through the open curtains.
"What's going on?" Willow asked him flatly, her hand surreptitiously latching onto the stake she had slept with since shortly after meeting Buffy Summers. Buffy. Willow's head snapped to the side, staring at the sleeping form of her roommate. She squinted slightly in the dim light and saw not one, but two tranquilizer darts in Buffy's neck. Her hand clenched on the stake as she looked at Spike again, realizing that it was Buffy's tranq gun that was slung across his back.
His features were impossible to make out, cast of shadows and gleaming patches of pale skin. Willow felt herself collapse inwards, until only a shell of herself was laying on her bed with Spike towering over her. "What did you do?"
She watched his hand run through his hair, heard a muttered curse. "We don't have time for a bleedin' q and a session. You've got to hurry." When she didn't move, Spike kicked out at the box spring of her bed. Willow flinched. "Damn it, if I was gonna kill the Slayer, she'd be dead, not tranqued, all right? And if I was bloody gonna tranq you, you wouldn't be sitting there talking to me, no doubt holding a freaking stake under your My Little Pony bankie."
Stupidly, Willow glanced at her comforter, in case the Hellmouth had actually turned it into a My Little Pony and Friends relic from the past. No, still a nice flower pattern.
Spike didn't seem inclined to say anything else but his patience was still lacking, and he eventually snorted harshly. "Something's happened, and someone might die," he said in a blank voice that didn't hold the urgency that would normally imbue a person's words while saying a sentence like that.
Again Willow understood that she had never seen the vampire above her. What had happened to bring out these previously unseen facets of his personality? "Why did you sedate Buffy?"
"Because Peaches threatened to pay me back for the torture session I gave him if I hurt the bitch. Now get the fuck up and get dressed."
Angel? Ange?!? Willow blinked rapidly not knowing what could possibly be going on that would get Angel to not only refrain from staking Spike, but grant him permission to tranquilize Buffy. She didn't have time to ponder it, as Spike reached out and ripped the covers off of her. Willow scurried back and up, until she had her back was against the wall behind her bed, and brandished her stake.
Then she slammed her eyes shut when he turned on her bedside light. Which was really a stupid thing to do, considering who was towering over her. She forced her eyes open, surprised to see that Spike was simply standing there, looking down at her with empty eyes.
"You're coming to L.A. with me," he told her bluntly. "The bloody Poof is waiting."
He eyes widened impossibly. "Explain," she squeaked, hating the sound almost as much as the way she'd begun shaking.
Spike shook his head. "Lives depend on it. Mine, Angel's, Drusilla's, and someone else's. Yours, too. I'll tell you everything on the way to Giles'," he said, holding his hand out to her.
Ignoring it, she pulled her knees to her chest and tried to breathe normally. She knew the fear, the terror, was flowing from her in great waves, but could do nothing to lessen it. All she could remember was the last time Spike had been in her dorm room, when he'd tried to kill her but found that he couldn't. There was no chip now.
She fell off the bed, not having realized that she'd been moving more and more away from him until she landed on the floor.
"Fuck, Willow, stop with the bloody melodrama!"
His hand was on her wrist, and he pulled her to her feet with little effort. Before Willow knew what he was doing, the stake was out of her hand. He tossed it to a far corner of the room, his hand tightening its hold on her wrist. His free hand grabbed her chin, lifting it up before he leaned down until they were almost nose-to-nose.
"Listen closely," he hissed. "You are my only hope right now. That means I can't kill you even if I wanted to. But that doesn't mean I won't sedate you and drag you out of here if I have to. Got it?"
The phone rang and Willow's knees gave out. Spike kept her upright, shifting his hold on her so that one arm was wrapped around her back, and the other was reaching for the phone. He lifted the received and put it to her ear.
To her disbelief, it was Angel's voice that Willow heard through the receiver. "Hello? Willow? Hello?"
"Answer him," Spike ordered her.
"Angel?" she whispered, her eyes locked on Spike's.
"Yes, it's me. Is Spike there yet?" Angel asked urgently.
"Uh, yeah," she answered, her voice laced with confusion. "Are you evil again?"
That made Spike grin, and she knew him again and wondered if everything was okay. Then the grin disappeared and he was once more a stranger.
"Damn it, no," Angel snapped.
"Then why did you tell Spike it was okay to shoot Buffy with the tranquilizer gun?"
"Good, he didn't hurt her," Angel said, sounding relieved. "Listen, do you trust me, Willow?"
"Not if you're evil, no," Willow said honestly. "And I think you might be."
Spike pushed Willow until her knees bumped against the bed, then pressed down on her shoulders until she was sitting. Her hand moved instinctively to hold the phone to her ear, and he went to her dresser and began searching through the drawers. *One problem at a time, Will, one problem at a time.*
"Okay, fine. Do you think Cordelia would lie to you about me being evil?"
Willow narrowed her eyes at that. There was no way in Hell Cordy would lie about something like that. There was also no way Angelus could keep her from knowing that Angel was no longer around. It would be impossible, considering that she'd spent over a year in Angel's company.
"I'd believe you weren't evil if Cordelia told me you weren't," she said cautiously.
"Fine, hold on and I'll get her," Angel said, resigned.
While Willow waited, her eyes followed Spike as he tossed some of her clothes into a pile in the middle of the room. Then he went to her closet and emerged with a small overnight bag. The clothes were unceremoniously shoved in it. "Where's your witchy stuff?" he asked, one of her bras in his hand.
Blushing, Willow looked away and didn't answer.
"Cor, you are too stubborn," he growled. "Put these on."
A pair of jeans, a black angora sweater hit her in the face then fell to the floor. She ignored Spike and the clothes and he growled again.
"Willow?"
It sounded like Cordelia was crying, and Wilow's heart stopped beating for a second before it began racing. "Is he evil, Cordy?" she cried out.
"No, Willow, he's not," the former cheerleader answered around a sob. "Wesley, back off, I'm fine, all right?"
"What's going on?" Willow asked softly.
"it's--She--I can't. Take the phone Angel, I can't," she sobbed.
Angel's voice again, sounding tired. "You convinced?" he asked.
Willow cleared her throat. "Yeah."
"Good, because I want you to go with Spike. Whatever he asks you to do, do it. I know you're worried, but you have to trust me on this," Angel pleaded.
"Call me back in five minutes," Willow responded, leaning over to hang up the phone. Spike was still by her dresser, still staring at her. Willow closed her eyes and forced her mind to think, to process, to figure out what to do.
Spike and Angel.it was no secret that there was no love lost there. Which left her completely stumped for a reason why they were working together. Deciding to focus on the facts, she knew for sure, Willow changed her thought track.
She thought of Buffy, out like a light when she could have been dead. Of herself, still awake and alive, despite having seriously pissed Spike off. Of Angel, trusting Spike after having been tortured for the Gem of Amarra. Of Cordelia's distress and assurance that Angel was not Angelus. Then she thought of Spike, and how he'd been so different since that phone call.
Something clicked. She stood up and went to her bedside table. In the drawer was Spike's cell phone. She turned it on and pressed several buttons until she was at the listing of recent calls. There it was, in glowing LED. Friday evening. Around seven o'clock. The call that had sent Spike packing. She stared at the number.
"Angel was the one who called you," she stated.
"Yes."
After she'd restored Angel's soul Willow had been in bad shape. The spell had drained her mentally and physically, and it had been weeks before she'd recovered fully. She remembered one night, when she'd been too weak to climb out of the hospital bed to use the bathroom, when she'd asked herself why she'd put herself through all of it.
In answer, she had reminded herself of all the times Angel had helped them, saved them. She'd been stunned to realize that the instances were so many that she kept losing count when she'd tried to put a number to them. That, she'd told herself, was why she'd done it.
And that number had risen, not only because of his visit to them last Thanksgiving, when he'd helped them and saved them again, but because of what he must have done for Cordelia in the past year. Bad times aside, Willow still considered Cordy one of theirs.
"In the trunk by the closet," Willow said to Spike quickly.
He nodded once and went to it, opening the lid as the phone rang again. "How long will I be in Los Angeles?" she said by way of greeting.
Angel was silent for a moment. "Bring enough for a week."
She saw Spike look in the trunk, which held her "witchy stuff", then at the overnight bag. With a shrug he zipped the bag, tossed it onto the lid, then carried the trunk to the door and set it down.
"They're going to think he kidnapped me," Willow said uncertainly, sagging back onto the bed. "And why did he say we were going to Giles' place?"
"There's no way around it," Angel apologized. "No one can know that either of you are coming here. And you're going to Giles' because he has a copy of the restoration spell."
Willow sucked in a huge breath. "The restoration spell."
"I'm not asking you to destroy it, Willow," he said quickly. "Just gather all the copies and put them someplace they can't find them until you come back."
A sudden surge of insight flashed through her mind, and Willow knew that Angel's choice of words when she'd asked him how long she'd be in L.A. had been deliberate. Bring enough for a week, he'd said. Not, you'll be here for a week.
"Why would you ask me to do that?" she choked. "Why do you want me to put them through that?"
In the background, she heard Cordelia yelling at Wesley again, something about tea, and then more crying. "It's complicated," Angel said absently, "and we don't have much time right now. But we can't let them restore Spike's soul."
Willow looked at Spike and gestured at her computer. She mimed pushing a button and taking something out. He strode to the computer and instantly removed the disk that was inside. Then he looked down at it. Willow held her breath, not hearing what Angel was saying to her. She waited. She saw Spike look upwards, his hand slapping the disk against his leg. And he was moving abruptly, towards her. The disk was shoved into her hand and then he was at the door, standing beside the trunk and tellingly not looking at her.
"Willow!?"
"I'll get dressed and then we'll leave," she told Angel decisively. "Talk to Spike. Tell him we do this my way or no way at all."
"Wait."
"Yeah?"
"Spike's not entirely rational right now," Angel admitted. As if she hadn't already noticed that. "If he starts his usual crap, don't take it. We need you and he knows it."
"Fine."
She dropped the phone to the bed and Spike crossed the room, grumbling. Willow gathered the clothes he'd tossed at her, listening with half an ear while Spike snarled at Angel, then shut his mouth.
Willow pulled the closet door open and moved behind it, so that she was between it and the wall, and Spike's couldn't see her. As quickly as she could, she changed out of her pajamas. He hadn't thrown socks or shoes, so she gathered them for herself and put them on. After a moment's thought, she went to the bag he'd packed and unzipped it, scanning the contents. The clothes he'd packed included seven flimsy shirts that she generally wore to the Bronze, and two long skirts. There were no less than eight bras in the bag, and he hadn't included any panties.
Shaking her head, she went to the dresser and picked out more appropriate clothing. Comfy jeans and shirts that she could move easily in. Bras that were more supportive than decorative. Underwear. Socks. She also grabbed the toiletry basket that sat on top of her dresser.
Ignoring the overnight case, she reached under her bed for a small suitcase and placed her clothing choices in there. The phone slammed down and she figured Spike was done listening to Angel.
"What are you doing?" he snapped at her.
"Packing," she answered shortly. "Unplug my laptop and put it in the case next to my desk."
"I'm not the freaking bell hop, you know."
Willow grabbed several pairs of sneakers from the closet and put them in the suitcase. "We only have--" she looked at the digital clock next to Buffy's bed. Two o'clock. Great, she'd gotten barely three hours of sleep "- -four hours to do what we need to in Sunnydale and get to L.A. before dawn."
He hissed at her but packed up the laptop anyway. Willow critically eyed the assortment of clothes she'd packed, realized she had forgotten pajamas, added them to the case and zipped it shut.
"For the love of--come on already," Spike shouted in exasperation as she went to her desk.
"Sorry, need to get the restoration spell before we leave," she mumbled as she dug through her desk drawer.
"What the hell did you have me get out of the computer for you then?" he asked dangerously.
"I'm not sure really," she said with a shrug as she finally found the disk and slipped it into the back pocket of her jeans. "I think it was my history report."
Tic-tic-tic went his jaw, and Willow stared him down.
"It was a test, then?"
She nodded.
"If I hadn't given it to you.?"
The stake that had been in the corner of the room flew through the air and came to a rest in Willow's hand. She tucked it at the small of her back.
"Let's go."
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DISCLAIMER: BtVS and AtS belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and other peeps who aren't me.
SUMMARY: Willow's on the run with Spike, Angel and Dru. But things start getting complicated between her and Spike.
PAIRING: S/W eventually
CHARACTERS: Willow, Spike, Angel, Drusilla
TIMELINES: Buffy--Takes place after season four, where it diverts from canon. Pretend that a full year passes between the end of four and the start of five. Angel--this is a little trickier. Takes place after season one, but we're going to pretend that the offices weren't blown up. Again, pretend a full year passes between the end of one and the start of two.
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Willow wondered if Spike was tapping his fingers to a song that only he could hear. Her mind drifted away from Giles' oration of the newest research subject and focused on the rat-a-tat-tat sounds of Spike's fingers drumming on Giles' kitchen table. Each finger slapped down, starting with his index finger and finishing with his pinkie. There was a clicking sound every so often that cut through the blunt finger noises when he didn't position his fingers just right.
Willow slanted her eyes in his direction, noticing the way he was staring at a point behind Giles, one eyebrow cocked. He was bored. That raised brow was part and parcel of a good many of his facial expressions, but Willow had learned to look for other indications of his mood. She knew to check the set of his jaw next, to see if it was fury or disgust that caused him to lift his brow. She could tell it was fury if the muscles next to his jaw were dancing: tic-tic-tic. And if his upper lip was curled, then she knew it was fury.
Neither of those tell-tale signs were present, however, which meant that he was either feeling flirtatious or bored. Since his icy blue gaze was focused on no one in particular, and his smart mouth was shut, she knew he wasn't feeling flirtatious.
Willow knew that if Giles became aware that Spike wasn't paying close attention, he'd pitch a fit. Which was ridiculous. If Giles, or any of the others, had taken more time to observe the blond vampire rather than snapping at him, they'd have realized what Willow had: Spike was fantastically intelligent.
A tenth of his attention was all that was needed to absorb and process any information presented to him and extrapolate other details and ramifications that the gang might not have seen. She'd found it hard to believe at first, remembering his doomed-from-the-start plans from past encounters. Then she'd come to understand that it hadn't been a lack of intelligence that had made him fail oh-so-many times, but a lack of patience.
But no one took the time to see Spike for anything other than the resentful help that he was. Willow still wasn't sure why Giles had suggested that they blackmail Spike, but she had her opinions on the subject. She supposed it didn't matter since, in the end, they had all agreed.
It *had* made their lives easier. Spike was no longer spending his every waking hour devising and implementing fantastical schemes to kill Buffy, as he had started doing shortly after the destruction of the Initiative.
The Initiative. While they'd been channeling the first Slayer, Spike had joined the melee after Adam's betrayal. As bad luck would have it, he'd come across an Initiative doctor. They'd had no clue whatsoever that Spike had spent the next bit of time "convincing" the doctor to take the behavior modification chip out of his head.
They'd found out later that summer, when Spike had casually stepped in Buffy and Willow's path one evening as they'd been walking through the park to Buffy's house. The attempts on Buffy's life had started that night. Each one had become more and more desperate and flawed, until they'd finally been deemed nothing more than a great nuisance by the Slayer. More frustrating to Buffy and the others was that, while Spike's planning abilities were horrendously sub par when he was being ruled by his emotions, he was not even close to being an easy kill.
Enter Giles, with the great blackmail scheme: Spike helped them when they needed him, or they restored his soul a la Angel. The strangest thing about it all was that Spike had agreed. Not readily, of course, but a lot more easily than Willow would have thought.
Willow blinked, suddenly noticing that Spike was looking at her, and wondered just how long had she been staring at him, lost in thought. Oh boy, she was going to pay for that.
She was sitting across from him, a pencil in her hand and the results of her and Giles' research spread out before her on the table. Giles was still relating every detail of what they'd learned, and a quick glance his way revealed that he was only a quarter of the way through it all.
Spike shifted in his chair, slouching even more. His long legs were crossed at the ankles, and he moved his arms up and laced his fingers behind his head. That icy stare kindled, warming and softening the sharp angles of his face. Willow repressed the urge to roll her eyes at his predictability, knowing that it would ruin bit of pleasure he got out of aggravating them all with this game.
She waited, watching him closely. As she knew it would, that patented smirk appeared, pulling at his lips. Willow didn't laugh, but she felt like her amusement was apparent in her eyes. Maybe he noticed, because she saw of a flicker of the same emotion in his blue gaze before it traveled suggestively from her face to her chest. He tilted back slightly on the chair and ran his eyes over the rest of her body, which had previously been obscured by the table. Despite the fact that her figure was more than hidden behind the loose purple peasant blouse and matching long skirt she wore, he twitched that raised eyebrow.
Willow quickly looked around the room, noticing that no one was paying attention her or Spike: Giles had his back to them and was pointing at some drawings he'd pinned to the wall, Xander was nearly catatonic from information overload, and Buffy was restless, her favorite stake flying back and forth from one hand to another.
Willow smiled, and decided to take the opportunity to be bad. Not bad bad, as in Skanky Vampire Willow. But bad, as in, mischievous.
Her elbows moved to the table, and she propped her chin in her hands, tilting her head a bit and letting her face go all dreamy. She sighed quietly, in mock-adoration, and let her gaze roam over his body, which was, after all, stretched out so invitingly and encased in his usual garb of too tight black jeans, dark red shirt, and leather duster. She simpered. She didn't know if she was successful at a simper, but that was because she'd never really seen anyone simper. She did her best, at any rate.
Spike was fighting back laughter, but that wasn't good enough to gain her a victory. So she widened her eyes even more, then quivered her chin, as though overcome by his hotness.
That was when he lost it, and his laughter bounced from his lips and sprang to all four corners of the room. Oh, and both of his eyebrows were lowered, which meant that she'd succeeded in surprising the heck out of him. Willow didn't have the time to savor her win. Spike hadn't yet noticed that everyone in the room was now glaring at him, but Willow had. She quickly frowned in confusion and stared at Spike along with the rest of the group.
When Spike's laughter finally faded away, Giles' displeased voiced took its place. "Do you find something laughable about the bodies Xander discovered?"
Spike smirked, no bothering to hide the merriment in his voice. "Nah. Mildly amusing that. Not laugh-out-loud funny stuff. That was Red's doing."
Willow met Giles' eyes innocently, her brow furrowed. Her shoulders shrugged as if to say, "I have no idea." She was careful not to overdo it, because then he would know that she was guilty of instigating the outburst.
It was all part of this game that she and Spike had started playing months ago. They each tried to get the other to draw attention to themselves in some manner, be it laughter, shock, or embarrassed squeaks. Or even, once, a shout of anger because one party had her hand on her lap under the table, holding a small squirt gun filled with holy water, and had just aimed a quick shot at the other party's ribcage. Oooh, but that had been fun.
Their game was something they'd never spoken about, just simply done, and she thought that he needed it. Because while she had no idea why he had given in to the blackmail with less fight than he should have, she had her opinions on that subject as well.
Again, neither her theories nor the truth mattered, because the situation was what it was: Spike was being forced to help a group of people who hated him. Willow's empathetic nature had made it impossible for her to treat Spike like something that she'd scraped off the bottom of her shoes after a trip into the sewers. That was why she played this game with him.
Giles glared at Spike one final time and was about to begin his lecture again, but apparently Buffy's patience had finally worn out. "Cut to the chase, please, Giles. I'm begging here."
Willow acted quickly, pinning stern eyes on Spike as she levitated the pencil that had been in her hand. His eyes were gleaming wickedly, and Willow had a feeling that he was going to ignore her and start a free-for- all. He'd done so in the past, and she didn't think he was above doing it again.
She never found out what exactly he'd been about to do, because a loud chirping noised startled her and the pencil fell to the table. Spike snickered at her, and Willow felt herself blushing. She was not as cool as she wished to be. Still too easily embarrassed and unsure of herself. She supposed she was lucky that he let her get away with pretending otherwise when they were playing around.
"Good lord, does no one care?" Giles exclaimed as Spike pulled his cell phone out of the pocket of his duster, still snickering. The ex-Watcher pinched the bridge of his nose, and Willow knew that Spike was getting a kick out of it. So was she, even if her conscience niggled her a little bit. After all, the idea of including Spike had been Giles', and it was only that that he had to reap the fallout. That they all had to, actually.
Spike's cell phone was still ringing, and Buffy opened her mouth. Willow forestalled anything the Slayer might have said by glaring at Spike and hissing, "Answer it."
Then Willow turned back to her friends, kind of amazed that Spike was actually doing as she'd said, and told them, "It's a Ziweyr demon. Bronze to the crotch kills it."
Xander flinched and crossed his legs, gaping at her in a ridiculous manner. "The crotch? CROTCH?"
"That's where its brains are," Willow explained helpfully, a wide smile on her face. Xander didn't appreciate it, and neither did Giles if his deep calming breath was anything to go by, but Buffy did.
Her eyes were sparkling as she said, "The only creature alive who actually has an excuse for thinking with its--"
"Yes, yes," Giles interrupted hastily, staring down at the floor.
"What!?!?"
The word tore through the room, and everyone once again stared at the vampire in their midst. Willow found that she couldn't read the look on his face. Yes, there was fury there, but something else, too, that she didn't recognize.
His jaw was clenched, and the tic-tic-tic was working overtime. Never a good sign on its own, but coupled with the fact that he was sitting upright suddenly, and his free hand was digging into the wood of Giles' table.well, Willow figured it was safe to say that the fallout did not want to be avoided that night.
She sighed, wondering whom among them was going to take the brunt of his furious outburst. Then the wood beneath his hands splintered and a huge chunk of Giles' table crashed to the floor. There was movement from the corner of Willow's eye. She turned to see Buffy standing. Xander was next to her and his eyes were hard, that look he got when he knew that all hell was going to break loose and was pissed because just once it would have be nice if that didn't happen. Giles merely looked resigned.
"I'm leaving now," Willow heard Spike grind out tightly, and faced him again. He was standing and was in the process of lowering the phone from his ear when something made him bring it back at the last second. He listened for a moment, then said, "Got it. And I'll take care of the other thing."
His thumb wrapped around the phone to end the call and then the phone fell forgotten from his fingers, dropping to the broken table with a loud thump that made Willow start.
Spike stood there for a long tense moment, then shook himself. Without sparing any of them a glance, he strode through the living room and out the front door. Everyone was too shocked to move, because that was the last thing they'd been expecting. Spike physically attacking Buffy had probably occurred to everyone in the room. Spike verbally attacking any of them had definitely occurred to them all. But Spike walking out without a word was just mind-boggling.
"Okay, what was *that* about?" Xander asked in confusion.
The others shrugged, and Willow got up quickly to follow him. That must have been unexpected as well, because Buffy wasn't behind her when she hurried through the courtyard in front of Giles' apartment.
He was nowhere to be seen on the street, and Willow thought her best bet was to go to his crypt. It took her ten minutes to make her way there, and she was tense the entire time because after going a block she'd realized that she hadn't brought any weapons. A stroke of luck must have landed on her head, because she made it to his residence without incident.
She could hear cursing and banging from outside, and she opened the the door and hesitantly stepped inside.
Spike was in the center of the room, stuffing clothing into a black duffle bag. The entire place had been destroyed; the bed was overturned, the television was shattered and the small dresser where his clothes had previously been stored was turned on its side, every drawer removed, the contents scattered across the floor.
"Spike?" Willow ventured softly.
"What?" he snapped, not stopping his hurried packing.
"Are you...is everything...all right?" she asked.
He froze in the middle of stuffing a pair of jeans into his bag. The tic- tic-tic was more like tictictictictictic. He stayed that way for a long time, and just when she'd given up hope of getting an answer, he laughed harshly. "No, everything is *not* all right."
"Can I help?" she asked quietly, and he turned to her. Willow flinched when she saw the raw pain in his eyes. It was worse than what she'd seen in them after Dru had left him for a chaos demon, and he'd kidnapped her to perform a love spell. Shaking his head, he finished filling the bag and hefted it into his arms. He took two steps towards Willow and then stopped, glaring behind her.
"Where are you going?" Buffy demanded from the doorway.
"Yeah, I thought we were clear on the whole, you don't leave Sunnydale clause of our agreement?" Xander chimed in.
Willow bit into her lower lip, her breath coming faster. They didn't realize that this wasn't a Spike they had ever seen before. He was now a master vampire who was coldly furious and didn't care what they were holding over his head. She had no idea why, and doubted that even her imagination could come up with something to suitably explain the ferocity he was exhibiting.
"Let him leave," Willow told Buffy and Xander, carefully and deliberately stepping out of Spike's path. "Just move away and let him leave."
Neither of her friends moved. Willow reached out and grabbed Xander's arm, leaning back with all of her weight. She caught him off guard and he stumbled into her. She stepped in front of him, her back pressed against his chest and her feet planted firmly on the ground. Her eyes moved between Buffy and Spike, taking in their tense stances and almost tasting the violence that hung in the air. She reached out one entreating hand towards the Slayer. "Buffy, please."
Willow held her breath, hoping that Buffy would listen to her. "Will, if you think I'm just going to get out of the way and let him leave, then you're insane. No way. No how." She mockingly raised an eyebrow at Spike. "Get real, Spike. You know what will we'll do and you know--"
"Shut the bloody Hell up," Spike yelled suddenly, and Willow flinched, stepping backwards and moving herself and Xander farther away from the vampire. Spike still hadn't moved, but neither had Buffy, and Willow wasn't taking any chances.
"I am going," Spike enunciated through clenched teeth. "And you are not stopping me."
"We don't need to," Buffy reminded him coldly. "You know the deal, Spike, and you know what will happen." She reached into her jacket and came out with a stake. Spike moved in a blur, and grabbed Buffy by the neck before she'd even had the chance to position it in hand properly. He lifted his arm, and she rose from the floor until she was at eye level with him, her hands clawing at his. "I. Am. Going," he repeated clearly. "You can do whatever the hell you want."
Willow's breathing became uncontrolled, and she reached behind her and grabbed Xander around the waist to prevent him from rushing Spike. So far she'd been able to keep herself and Xander off of Spike's radar, and she liked that just fine. And Buffy could certainly handle herself, that was for sure.
*Let her go, and leave. Let her go, and leave. Let her go, and leave. Let her go, and leave,* Willow willed silently, her heart jumping in her chest.
A long moment later, a low growl tore from Spike's throat. With a look of disgust, he released Buffy abruptly and spun on his heel, disappearing into the night. Buffy landed on a heap on the floor, choking. Willow let Xander push past her and go to Buffy's side, then she sank to the floor as well, tears streaming down her face.
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Willow gratefully took the tea that Giles handed her, then assured him for the nth time that she was just fine, and that he should go to bed. Since Xander and Buffy had dropped her off an hour ago before heading out in search of Spike, Giles had been in mother-hen mode, which she normally didn't mind. But right then her nerves were close to breaking and she just wanted to be alone so that she could let it all go without upsetting anyone else.
She curled up on the sofa, tea in hand, and watched him make it to the stairs before he stopped and turned to her. An unreadable expression fell across his face and then he took a breath. "Willow, I know that you have become something of a friend to Spike and that--"
Her head fell back, and she sighed. "Giles, I don't know anything."
Giles tilted his head and met her eyes. "I'm not suggesting that you do, Willow. I merely meant that it must be difficult for you, what happened this evening. You are very sensitive and you thought Spike to be a friend."
With great effort, Willow lifted her head and straightened her back, her jaw setting.
"No, I didn't," she disagreed quietly, her voice firm. "You can't be friends with someone that you've blackmailed, Giles. The most you can do is form an uneasy.truce of sorts that only lasts as long as the situation. I expected something like this to happen sooner or later--we all did--and now it has." Giles opened his mouth, but Willow held up a hand and he closed it again. "I don't feel betrayed, or anything like that."
Giles nodded his head slowly, and reached up to remove his glasses. He didn't clean them, just held them in his hand as he looked down in thought for a moment. "You'll miss him," he said, sounding surprised.
He also seemed worried, if his drawn brows were anything to go by. Willow vowed her next bit of reassurance would be the last of the night. "I'll do what needs to be done, Giles."
Glasses slipped easily onto his face again, and a sad smile half-heartedly pulled at his lips. "I know, Willow. You always do. You know where the blankets and pillows are. Sleep well."
Up the stairs he went, and Willow listened to the sounds from above her. The water running in the bathroom, the toilet flushing, a door closing, and the comforting sounds of Bach that always settled Giles down on the nights when he couldn't ignore the fact that his "children" were far too wise in things they never should have had to learn in the first place.
Only then did she set the tea down on the coffee table and pick up a throw pillow from the sofa. She pressed it to her face and let the stress of the evening fall away with her tears, the sounds muffled and barely distinguishable from Bach. When she was done, when the events of earlier were no longer clawing at her skin, she set the pillow aside and stood to dump the now-cold tea.
Her hands shook as frantically as her mind was racing. Instead of setting the mug in the sink, she washed it. Along with every other dirty dish. The counters were scrubbed. The cabinets were neatened. The floor was swept. She found herself standing near the tall cabinet in the kitchen in which Giles kept the mop and broom, her hand clutching the broom handle and her breath coming raggedly.
She hadn't lied to Giles. Long ago she had realized that truths confessed to him and him alone would stay between them. So she always told him the truth, no matter that it would make her seem soft or silly, or anything else.
There was other truth that she hadn't spoken. Maybe Giles knew, maybe he had read between her words, between the reassurances in her eyes. It wouldn't have been the first time. It was that unspoken truth that kept her frozen by the broom cabinet and made her unable to turn around and look at the broken table.
But she hadn't lied to Giles so she squared her shoulders and released the broom, closing the cabinet door softly. She went to the table and straightened the chairs around it, then grabbed the chunk of wood Spike had ripped from it and tossed it into the garbage. She rummaged around in the drawers until she found a linen tablecloth and a padded vinyl liner. The drawer next to the sink contained a tattered roll of duct tape and she grabbed it before heading back to the table.
The liner was folded up and then taped to the splintered edge of the table and then Willow faced the task of clearing off the table. The research was still covering half of it. One of Giles' mugs was there, the inside a mess of dried cow's blood.
Willow cleaned it all, carefully gathering the research into a folder and laying it on Giles' desk in the living room. She put the mug in the sink, but didn't even contemplate cleaning it. Then all that was left was Spike's cell phone. Her fingers clenched on the linen tablecloth in her left hand as her right crept slowly towards the small piece of technology. No one had to know. When it was in her hand she slipped it into the roomy pocket of her skirt and then unfolded the cloth and laid it over the table.
There was nothing left to do then and Willow felt numb as she slipped her shoes off and padded barefoot to the foyer closet. Stacked neatly on the shelves above the coats was enough bedding for a small army of Scoobies. Willow selected the cozy flannel comforter and a plush down pillow. She tossed them in the general direction of the sofa, then crouched down to reach the labeled plastic containers that sat on the floor. Hers was behind Buffy's, and she fumbled with the lid and delved inside for a set of nightclothes.
She changed at the closet then pulled Spike's cell phone from her skirt before stuffing her clothing in the hamper bag that hung from a hook on the back of the closet door. In her thin cotton sleep pants and tank top, she made her way to her bag and slipped the phone inside. Then she made up the couch and turned off the living room night before settling down. Her mind was too wiped out to be chaotic, and she was asleep in minutes.
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The next day was Saturday, and at noon, Buffy and Xander showed up at Giles' house. Willow hadn't left. Giles had woken her with the warm scent of French toast at eight. On the days when more than one of the gang crashed in his living room, Giles made waffles. The few times Willow alone had spent the night, it had been French toast. She often wondered if he made the same thing for Xander or Buffy when they alone spent the night, or if each Scoobie got a different breakfast treat. She didn't really care. French toast was a morning ritual with Giles, one that gave her a greater sense of home and family than she'd ever had.
They'd spent the morning in quiet conversation that hadn't included the words vampire, Hellmouth, demon, apocalypse or Spike. Instead they'd talked of Willow's studies and Giles' boredom with his "gentleman of leisure" days, then had a discussion on whether or not Giles should get cable, since his reception was so bad he could only get one channel on his television. Homey.
The arrival of her friends was also familial, but in the chaotic manner of sibling arguments and the all too familiar fight over the donuts that Buffy had brought with her. It didn't last long, as there was a reason they were gathering and it couldn't be avoided.
"Willie's was trashed," Buffy announced suddenly, and everyone stilled before finding a place to settle down. Willow once again curled up on the couch, Xander next to her. Buffy stood in front of them, Giles sitting to her side on an armchair. "He said Spike wrecked the place in a fight with some demon, then they both disappeared. He heard Drusilla's name come up, though," she finished.
Willow quickly bowed her head, because she was sure that her face showed every bit of shock and dismay that she felt. Spike had told her that he hadn't seen Drusilla since he'd failed to convince her to leave Brazil with him, and had disgustedly indicated that he had no interest in seeking her out again for at least another twenty years or so. It wasn't shock that he'd lied to her--she had no illusions that he wouldn't lie to her in a heartbeat--but there hadn't been a *reason* to lie about it.
"Let's not forget the trail of bodies we found. It ended at the 'Now Leaving Sunnydale' sign, which has a big DeSoto sized hole in it," Xander added grimly.
Willow flinched. Spike had been very good about not killing anyone since he'd been blackmailed into helping them. At least, that's what everyone liked to tell themselves. If she wanted to be honest, she had to admit that they all pretty much knew that he'd simply started covering up his kills so that Buffy couldn't connect them to him.
"Yes, well," Giles murmured. "It appears as though he's gone rogue."
"Oh, big surprise there," Xander snapped. "This was definitely not one of your better plans, G-man."
"I didn't see you coming up with anything better, Xander," Giles replied in kind.
Buffy glared at them both, planting her hands on her hips. The men just continued to glare at one another. "Guys, don't start--"
But they weren't listening, and pretty soon Buffy was drawn into the argument as well. Willow stayed on the sofa, eyes closed, as she listened to them all slapping blame on everyone else in the room without acknowledging that they also were guilty of participating in the scheme.
Eventually, Willow couldn't take anymore. "Stop it, all of you," she shouted, jumping to her feet and putting her best teacher impersonation on her face. The one that their Global Studies teacher, Mrs. Henkel, used to wear when the class was being childish.
They all shut their mouths, but the annoyed glares remained on their faces. "Thank you. Okay, so where is this argument getting us?" No one answered, and Willow folded her arms under her breasts. "Hm?"
"Nowhere," Buffy grumbled, looking down at her feet.
"Xander? Giles?" Willow urged.
The men exchanged glances, then Xander tossed his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender while Giles sighed. "Nowhere," they said in unison.
"Very well," Giles muttered, removing his glasses to clean them. He cleared his throat. "We, er, have to decide if we should restore Spike's soul," he continued.
Willow watched as Buffy and Xander each raised one hand high in the air, as if a vote had been called and they were for it. Giles caught Willow's eyes with his own, and she nodded.
"Right then," Giles said decisively. "Willow, you'll need to consult the spell and gather the necessary components. We'll do it tomorrow, I think."
"Yeah, because who knows what kind of Spike-like fun we might interrupt right now," Xander drawled in a hard voice.
Giles stared at the boy in exasperation. "Willow performed the spell once, and it was several years ago, Xander. She will need time to familiarize herself with the ritual again. Might I also point out that Willow seems to be rather fatigued? Performing the ritual takes a bit out of her, if you recall," he added pointedly.
Xander had the good grace to look a little ashamed of himself. "She doesn't have to be the one to do it, though," he pushed on.
"True," Buffy agreed readily, a glint in her eyes. "I volunteer you, Xander. You can chant for almost an hour on end, then have Spike's soul pass through your body, and maybe end up in a coma or something. Let's get started."
"Tomorrow it is then," Xander chirped immediately.
Giles smirked at having at least won that argument, and Willow managed a small smile.
"Go home," Buffy instructed Willow. "Read the gypsy words, gather the stinky herbs. Get some sleep so that you can be bright-eyed bushy-tailed Willow for the cursing tomorrow."
"Sounds like fun," Willow responded, not sure what emotion was in her voice, but positive that it wasn't anticipation.
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Willow felt a hand on her shoulder, shaking her, and frowned. There was no hint of light behind her closed lids and she didn't want to wake up when it was still dark. She'd been pleasantly surprised to get to sleep before midnight that night, after having spent her day and evening reviewing the spell and gathering the ingredients. She was not going to wake up before dawn. Uh-uh.
"Go 'way," she mumbled in annoyance.
"Wake up, we don't have much time."
Willow's eyes flew open and she saw Spike standing above her, something strapped to his back. She stared, frozen beneath her cocoon of blankets on her small dorm bed. The lights weren't on, and the only illumination in the room came from the full moon shining through the open curtains.
"What's going on?" Willow asked him flatly, her hand surreptitiously latching onto the stake she had slept with since shortly after meeting Buffy Summers. Buffy. Willow's head snapped to the side, staring at the sleeping form of her roommate. She squinted slightly in the dim light and saw not one, but two tranquilizer darts in Buffy's neck. Her hand clenched on the stake as she looked at Spike again, realizing that it was Buffy's tranq gun that was slung across his back.
His features were impossible to make out, cast of shadows and gleaming patches of pale skin. Willow felt herself collapse inwards, until only a shell of herself was laying on her bed with Spike towering over her. "What did you do?"
She watched his hand run through his hair, heard a muttered curse. "We don't have time for a bleedin' q and a session. You've got to hurry." When she didn't move, Spike kicked out at the box spring of her bed. Willow flinched. "Damn it, if I was gonna kill the Slayer, she'd be dead, not tranqued, all right? And if I was bloody gonna tranq you, you wouldn't be sitting there talking to me, no doubt holding a freaking stake under your My Little Pony bankie."
Stupidly, Willow glanced at her comforter, in case the Hellmouth had actually turned it into a My Little Pony and Friends relic from the past. No, still a nice flower pattern.
Spike didn't seem inclined to say anything else but his patience was still lacking, and he eventually snorted harshly. "Something's happened, and someone might die," he said in a blank voice that didn't hold the urgency that would normally imbue a person's words while saying a sentence like that.
Again Willow understood that she had never seen the vampire above her. What had happened to bring out these previously unseen facets of his personality? "Why did you sedate Buffy?"
"Because Peaches threatened to pay me back for the torture session I gave him if I hurt the bitch. Now get the fuck up and get dressed."
Angel? Ange?!? Willow blinked rapidly not knowing what could possibly be going on that would get Angel to not only refrain from staking Spike, but grant him permission to tranquilize Buffy. She didn't have time to ponder it, as Spike reached out and ripped the covers off of her. Willow scurried back and up, until she had her back was against the wall behind her bed, and brandished her stake.
Then she slammed her eyes shut when he turned on her bedside light. Which was really a stupid thing to do, considering who was towering over her. She forced her eyes open, surprised to see that Spike was simply standing there, looking down at her with empty eyes.
"You're coming to L.A. with me," he told her bluntly. "The bloody Poof is waiting."
He eyes widened impossibly. "Explain," she squeaked, hating the sound almost as much as the way she'd begun shaking.
Spike shook his head. "Lives depend on it. Mine, Angel's, Drusilla's, and someone else's. Yours, too. I'll tell you everything on the way to Giles'," he said, holding his hand out to her.
Ignoring it, she pulled her knees to her chest and tried to breathe normally. She knew the fear, the terror, was flowing from her in great waves, but could do nothing to lessen it. All she could remember was the last time Spike had been in her dorm room, when he'd tried to kill her but found that he couldn't. There was no chip now.
She fell off the bed, not having realized that she'd been moving more and more away from him until she landed on the floor.
"Fuck, Willow, stop with the bloody melodrama!"
His hand was on her wrist, and he pulled her to her feet with little effort. Before Willow knew what he was doing, the stake was out of her hand. He tossed it to a far corner of the room, his hand tightening its hold on her wrist. His free hand grabbed her chin, lifting it up before he leaned down until they were almost nose-to-nose.
"Listen closely," he hissed. "You are my only hope right now. That means I can't kill you even if I wanted to. But that doesn't mean I won't sedate you and drag you out of here if I have to. Got it?"
The phone rang and Willow's knees gave out. Spike kept her upright, shifting his hold on her so that one arm was wrapped around her back, and the other was reaching for the phone. He lifted the received and put it to her ear.
To her disbelief, it was Angel's voice that Willow heard through the receiver. "Hello? Willow? Hello?"
"Answer him," Spike ordered her.
"Angel?" she whispered, her eyes locked on Spike's.
"Yes, it's me. Is Spike there yet?" Angel asked urgently.
"Uh, yeah," she answered, her voice laced with confusion. "Are you evil again?"
That made Spike grin, and she knew him again and wondered if everything was okay. Then the grin disappeared and he was once more a stranger.
"Damn it, no," Angel snapped.
"Then why did you tell Spike it was okay to shoot Buffy with the tranquilizer gun?"
"Good, he didn't hurt her," Angel said, sounding relieved. "Listen, do you trust me, Willow?"
"Not if you're evil, no," Willow said honestly. "And I think you might be."
Spike pushed Willow until her knees bumped against the bed, then pressed down on her shoulders until she was sitting. Her hand moved instinctively to hold the phone to her ear, and he went to her dresser and began searching through the drawers. *One problem at a time, Will, one problem at a time.*
"Okay, fine. Do you think Cordelia would lie to you about me being evil?"
Willow narrowed her eyes at that. There was no way in Hell Cordy would lie about something like that. There was also no way Angelus could keep her from knowing that Angel was no longer around. It would be impossible, considering that she'd spent over a year in Angel's company.
"I'd believe you weren't evil if Cordelia told me you weren't," she said cautiously.
"Fine, hold on and I'll get her," Angel said, resigned.
While Willow waited, her eyes followed Spike as he tossed some of her clothes into a pile in the middle of the room. Then he went to her closet and emerged with a small overnight bag. The clothes were unceremoniously shoved in it. "Where's your witchy stuff?" he asked, one of her bras in his hand.
Blushing, Willow looked away and didn't answer.
"Cor, you are too stubborn," he growled. "Put these on."
A pair of jeans, a black angora sweater hit her in the face then fell to the floor. She ignored Spike and the clothes and he growled again.
"Willow?"
It sounded like Cordelia was crying, and Wilow's heart stopped beating for a second before it began racing. "Is he evil, Cordy?" she cried out.
"No, Willow, he's not," the former cheerleader answered around a sob. "Wesley, back off, I'm fine, all right?"
"What's going on?" Willow asked softly.
"it's--She--I can't. Take the phone Angel, I can't," she sobbed.
Angel's voice again, sounding tired. "You convinced?" he asked.
Willow cleared her throat. "Yeah."
"Good, because I want you to go with Spike. Whatever he asks you to do, do it. I know you're worried, but you have to trust me on this," Angel pleaded.
"Call me back in five minutes," Willow responded, leaning over to hang up the phone. Spike was still by her dresser, still staring at her. Willow closed her eyes and forced her mind to think, to process, to figure out what to do.
Spike and Angel.it was no secret that there was no love lost there. Which left her completely stumped for a reason why they were working together. Deciding to focus on the facts, she knew for sure, Willow changed her thought track.
She thought of Buffy, out like a light when she could have been dead. Of herself, still awake and alive, despite having seriously pissed Spike off. Of Angel, trusting Spike after having been tortured for the Gem of Amarra. Of Cordelia's distress and assurance that Angel was not Angelus. Then she thought of Spike, and how he'd been so different since that phone call.
Something clicked. She stood up and went to her bedside table. In the drawer was Spike's cell phone. She turned it on and pressed several buttons until she was at the listing of recent calls. There it was, in glowing LED. Friday evening. Around seven o'clock. The call that had sent Spike packing. She stared at the number.
"Angel was the one who called you," she stated.
"Yes."
After she'd restored Angel's soul Willow had been in bad shape. The spell had drained her mentally and physically, and it had been weeks before she'd recovered fully. She remembered one night, when she'd been too weak to climb out of the hospital bed to use the bathroom, when she'd asked herself why she'd put herself through all of it.
In answer, she had reminded herself of all the times Angel had helped them, saved them. She'd been stunned to realize that the instances were so many that she kept losing count when she'd tried to put a number to them. That, she'd told herself, was why she'd done it.
And that number had risen, not only because of his visit to them last Thanksgiving, when he'd helped them and saved them again, but because of what he must have done for Cordelia in the past year. Bad times aside, Willow still considered Cordy one of theirs.
"In the trunk by the closet," Willow said to Spike quickly.
He nodded once and went to it, opening the lid as the phone rang again. "How long will I be in Los Angeles?" she said by way of greeting.
Angel was silent for a moment. "Bring enough for a week."
She saw Spike look in the trunk, which held her "witchy stuff", then at the overnight bag. With a shrug he zipped the bag, tossed it onto the lid, then carried the trunk to the door and set it down.
"They're going to think he kidnapped me," Willow said uncertainly, sagging back onto the bed. "And why did he say we were going to Giles' place?"
"There's no way around it," Angel apologized. "No one can know that either of you are coming here. And you're going to Giles' because he has a copy of the restoration spell."
Willow sucked in a huge breath. "The restoration spell."
"I'm not asking you to destroy it, Willow," he said quickly. "Just gather all the copies and put them someplace they can't find them until you come back."
A sudden surge of insight flashed through her mind, and Willow knew that Angel's choice of words when she'd asked him how long she'd be in L.A. had been deliberate. Bring enough for a week, he'd said. Not, you'll be here for a week.
"Why would you ask me to do that?" she choked. "Why do you want me to put them through that?"
In the background, she heard Cordelia yelling at Wesley again, something about tea, and then more crying. "It's complicated," Angel said absently, "and we don't have much time right now. But we can't let them restore Spike's soul."
Willow looked at Spike and gestured at her computer. She mimed pushing a button and taking something out. He strode to the computer and instantly removed the disk that was inside. Then he looked down at it. Willow held her breath, not hearing what Angel was saying to her. She waited. She saw Spike look upwards, his hand slapping the disk against his leg. And he was moving abruptly, towards her. The disk was shoved into her hand and then he was at the door, standing beside the trunk and tellingly not looking at her.
"Willow!?"
"I'll get dressed and then we'll leave," she told Angel decisively. "Talk to Spike. Tell him we do this my way or no way at all."
"Wait."
"Yeah?"
"Spike's not entirely rational right now," Angel admitted. As if she hadn't already noticed that. "If he starts his usual crap, don't take it. We need you and he knows it."
"Fine."
She dropped the phone to the bed and Spike crossed the room, grumbling. Willow gathered the clothes he'd tossed at her, listening with half an ear while Spike snarled at Angel, then shut his mouth.
Willow pulled the closet door open and moved behind it, so that she was between it and the wall, and Spike's couldn't see her. As quickly as she could, she changed out of her pajamas. He hadn't thrown socks or shoes, so she gathered them for herself and put them on. After a moment's thought, she went to the bag he'd packed and unzipped it, scanning the contents. The clothes he'd packed included seven flimsy shirts that she generally wore to the Bronze, and two long skirts. There were no less than eight bras in the bag, and he hadn't included any panties.
Shaking her head, she went to the dresser and picked out more appropriate clothing. Comfy jeans and shirts that she could move easily in. Bras that were more supportive than decorative. Underwear. Socks. She also grabbed the toiletry basket that sat on top of her dresser.
Ignoring the overnight case, she reached under her bed for a small suitcase and placed her clothing choices in there. The phone slammed down and she figured Spike was done listening to Angel.
"What are you doing?" he snapped at her.
"Packing," she answered shortly. "Unplug my laptop and put it in the case next to my desk."
"I'm not the freaking bell hop, you know."
Willow grabbed several pairs of sneakers from the closet and put them in the suitcase. "We only have--" she looked at the digital clock next to Buffy's bed. Two o'clock. Great, she'd gotten barely three hours of sleep "- -four hours to do what we need to in Sunnydale and get to L.A. before dawn."
He hissed at her but packed up the laptop anyway. Willow critically eyed the assortment of clothes she'd packed, realized she had forgotten pajamas, added them to the case and zipped it shut.
"For the love of--come on already," Spike shouted in exasperation as she went to her desk.
"Sorry, need to get the restoration spell before we leave," she mumbled as she dug through her desk drawer.
"What the hell did you have me get out of the computer for you then?" he asked dangerously.
"I'm not sure really," she said with a shrug as she finally found the disk and slipped it into the back pocket of her jeans. "I think it was my history report."
Tic-tic-tic went his jaw, and Willow stared him down.
"It was a test, then?"
She nodded.
"If I hadn't given it to you.?"
The stake that had been in the corner of the room flew through the air and came to a rest in Willow's hand. She tucked it at the small of her back.
"Let's go."
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