Author: Ash
E-Mail: aka_jay66@hotmail.com
Distribution: Anyone who already has some of my fic and anyone else if they ask.
Disclaimer: I own nothing pertaining to Buffy and don't really want to. I know my limits. I'll stick to fiction, where I can do horrible things to the characters without fear of reprisal.
Feedback: Makes me smile.
Rating: Oh, I give up. If it's not PG-13, I'll tell you, promise.
Dedication: To Gabrielle, who's being very nice about the delayed preview. *g* And to my beta, Claire. (Where are you, Claire? Come back!)
Chapter Eight
The shrill buzzing of her alarm was beginning to irritate Willow. It just kept
buzzing and buzzing no matter how many times she growled at it or swung an arm
vaguely in its direction. Buzz, buzz, buzz.
I don't want to get up, Willow thought dreamily. Bed was warm and cozy and soft.
Outside was nasty and icky and vampires and... Angelus!
Willow's eyes flew open.
Hesitantly, Willow raised her head to look and yes, sure enough, the balcony
doors were open and there was a pain in her neck that was in no way metaphorical.
It hadn't been a dream, she thought, which was disappointing but not really
surprising since her dreams tended to have fluffy things and tests that she
hadn't studied for but were generally light on the blood sucking.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. And sat down again
rather more quickly. Oh, she thought dizzily. This feels almost as bad as last
time.
Managing to walk to the bathroom on her third try, Willow ran some cold water
in the sink and splashed her face with it in an attempt to clear her head. She
looked in the mirror and winced. In the harsh morning sunlight, the new set
of marks on her neck stood out like a tattoo. Or graffiti, she thought: Angelus
was here.
She turned away from the mirror and carefully picked her way back through her
room until she could collapse into her computer chair. Turning the computer
on by reflex, she put her elbows down on the desk and stared blankly at the
empty screen.
What was she supposed to do now? There had only been two possible scenarios
for what might happen when she told Angelus about the spell:
First, he could have let her do the spell and they could both have gone on their
merry way, her smiling and laughing and him torturing and killing, and everything
would have been back to normal.
Second, he could have killed her (quickly or not) and then she'd be dead and
he'd belong to Buffy for the rest of eternity or until he killed himself, whichever
came first.
Either way, Willow thought bitterly, not a whole lot more action required on
my part. This was so not in the plan!
"Willow?" Buffy said from behind her.
Willow felt every muscle in her body jump. Why had she given Buffy that set
of keys? The girl could move like a cat.
"Hi, Buffy," Willow said perkily, and was about to swivel to face
her friend but - (urk! The bite!)- so instead she gave Buffy a sideways smile
through her hair and looked back at her computer, pretending to check her e-mail.
"How are you feeling? Were you okay by yourself last night?" asked
Buffy.
Oh yes, Willow thought, all except for that bit where the love of your life
came by and bit me and basically said that it wasn't the last time... Other
than that, fine. And you?
"Yep. It was fun," Willow said. "Just me, by myself. Doing all
that stuff that I do when I'm alone."
Buffy gave her a concerned look and said, "Are you sure that you're
all right?" She took hold of the back of the chair and turned it around
until Willow was facing her in what Willow couldn't help but feel was a gross
abuse of Slayer strength.
Willow smiled at her. Look at my teeth, she thought, not at my neck. Look, teeth!
Shiny!
Buffy put a hand on Willow's forehead and said, "You feel a little clammy.
Did you take your pills?"
Willow pounced on the excuse and said, "I knew I forgot something! I'll
go take them right now." She pushed past Buffy quickly and headed for the
bathroom, her neck bent at an impossible angle.
Willow closed the bathroom door firmly behind her. Looking in the mirror, she
grimaced. Buffy probably thought that she'd gone insane, which wasn't really
that far from the truth.
It took some fumbling around in her minimal supply of cosmetics, but Willow
finally came up with an almost empty tube of concealer. She touched the bite
experimentally and smothered a whimper. It was like there was a thin bright
wire running straight between the bite and the pain center of her brain, she
thought, like touching fire. Fascinating. And also, ow!
Despite the pain, Willow managed to cover up both bites by poking concealer
in their general direction and biting her lip a lot. Finally done, she looked
at herself critically in the mirror. Great, she thought, now it looks like I've
had silly putty surgically attached to my neck. Good enough. She ran the water
for a few seconds to create the impression of pill taking before she went back
to her room and sat down on the bed beside Buffy.
"So..." said Willow, staring at her hands. There was an awkward silence
during which Willow realized that she couldn't think of anything to say other
than what she wasn't allowed to say.
Stupid Angelus, she thought bitterly. It wasn't like she didn't have enough
problems with social interactions already. This was just all kinds of
bad.
"Do you think you're up for school today?" asked Buffy.
School? Willow thought. Library!
"I think so," she said slowly, "but I might have to come home
at lunch."
Buffy said, "Well, I'm glad you're getting back to the peppy Willow we
all know and love. If you've still got some of that pep left tonight, we're
all meeting up at the Bronze." She looked slyly at Willow and added, "Oz
is going to show."
Willow attempted to look girlishly embarrassed. Oz... she thought miserably.
I can't put him in danger. I'll have to break it off. Wait. I'm assuming that
there's nothing I can do about this. That's not a good thing! I don't want Angelus
breathing down my ne- bad analogy. Bad, bad analogy.
She became aware that Buffy was still speaking.
"...you thinking about?"
Blinking, Willow refocused on her friend. "Nothing."
A conspiratorial smile spread across Buffy's face. "Oh, you're so in trouble.
If just mentioning Oz's name makes you dreamy it may be time for you to start
thinking about china patterns." She paused and looked pensive. "Do
they make china with guitars on it?"
"I wasn't thinking about Oz," Willow protested. Well, she thought,
only about how to keep him alive. And me, too!
"Don't even try the innocent act with me, Wills," Buffy said, laughing.
"I've been there, remember? When you're staring off into the distance like
that? Definitely a guy thing."
Willow nearly choked. Oh yeah, she thought. It's a guy thing. An evil
guy thing.
Buffy glanced at her watch and hastily jumped to her feet. "Uh oh,"
she said, "if we're going, we'd better go now. Throw some clothes on and
we'll head off. Though why you'd want to go to school..."
Dressing hurriedly, Willow listened with half an ear to Buffy's ongoing monologue
about her "...wasting a legitimate excuse to take a couple days off, and..."
They got to school with minutes to spare, although Willow wasn't quite sure
how. All she remembered of the walk was a blur of light and colors and the feeling
of wind against her face and a hand clamped inexorably around her wrist, dragging
her forward.
Willow mentally resolved to leave earlier next time. It was either that or buy
herself a little red wagon that Buffy could pull along behind her. She thought
that Buffy might enjoy that, actually.
Classes dragged with mind deadening slowness, as Willow found that her natural
enthusiasm for learning was being severely tarnished by knowing that she might
be spending the rest of her life, however short, as a vampire's chew toy. It
wasn't helping that she had to keep it a secret.
She'd told Xander about being afraid of frogs and English teachers, she'd told
Buffy about being afraid of Xander-obliviousness and boys in general. And now,
she was probably going to die, which was very much scarier than any of those
things and she couldn't tell anyone.
She had to practically bite through her tongue to keep from crying when Xander
smiled at her. And when Oz came up to her at lunch... oh, it felt like her heart
was breaking. She tried to act distant, but all she could think about was that
she might never see him again.
Searching the library at lunch produced nothing useful either. She didn't know
what she'd been expecting, except maybe a spell marked, "Make Vampires
Stay Away From You and All of Your Friends Forever." If there was really
a spell like that, Willow thought sadly, the Watchers would have already used
it. On everybody.
Pleading sickness, Willow went home at lunch, desperate to get away from her
friends and their shiny happy smiles and even more desperate to get away from
Oz and the light in his eyes when he looked at her.
It felt strange to be alone in her room. Even with the sun shining she thought
that she could still feel him there. He was in the shadows, she thought, or
in the closet. Somewhere. It was an awful feeling.
It took her two hours and five silent arguments with herself before she finally
decided to invoke the un-invite spellagain. There was no point making
it too easy for him. Except that maybe if she made it easy he wouldn't get angry
and kill her. That was a point.
Willow's lips compressed into a thin line. She couldn't just let him come in
there and bite her without at least some kind of protest, that would be just
one slippery step away from greeting him with a bare neck, handing him a straw
and asking him how his day went.
Nu-uh, Willow thought. Not in this lifetime.
Once the barrier was back in place Willow felt slightly better, and was able
to research without looking under the bed every ten minutes or so, although
she still kept her feet tucked safely up under her to avoid any ironic ankle-grabbing
desk monsters.
She plunged into the Net, looking for another copy of the spell or some other
form of help and sending email after email to the Wiccan who had originally
mentioned the spell to her.
Nothing. No spell, no help, no new email. Not only was she doomed, but she was
also incredibly unpopular. Peachy.
Finally, Willow noticed that she was spending more time glancing nervously out
the window then she was looking at the computer screen. She gave up and turned
off her monitor, rubbing her temples absently in a vain attempt to fend off
the headache she could feel building.
This is getting me nowhere, she thought, I feel like I'm just killing ti - more
bad analogies! I really need to stop doing that.
She looked apprehensively at the window. He was out there, somewhere. And the
sun was setting. And the barrier was up and oh, he was going to be angry with
her Willow shivered. The words, 'come in, Angelus' hovered on the tip
of her tongue. Maybe if she invited him in before he arrived he wouldn't kill
her. Maybe he wouldn't even be angry.
Maybe she could hide in the basement until dawn and spend the night wondering
which of her friends he'd kill while she was hiding there. That would be the
opposite of fun, kind of like a twisted version of Clue where she tried to guess
the victim instead of the murderer because there was no doubt who that
was.
Angelus in the Library with a Butcher Knife, she thought. Angelus in Buffy's
House with a Noose. Angelus on the Streets of Sunnydale with those Strong, Strong
Hands.
She had to breathe. Breathing was important.
Willow stood up and stretched. It felt good to be moving, not waiting, and she
felt something click in her head.
A second later, Willow was looking through her closet and picking out a simple
flannel shirt and jeans. She put them on and checked the mirror. Bite marks
covered, she thought. No exposed neck at all. Fashion sense? Not really an issue.
She left the house without looking behind her, shutting the front door with
a resolute slam and marching off down the sidewalk with stiff shoulders and
a straight back. She thought that she must look just like a soldier going off
to war. Except for the wobbling.
Even so, she was brave. She was determined. She was going to the Bronze and
having fun with her friends even if it killed her.
Which it almost certainly would, she thought, and paused.
And started walking again, her shoulders even stiffer and her back so straight
that it could have been used as a ruler. She was brave. She was determined.
And darn it, she was going to the Bronze!
______
What do you think?
Sorry for the delay, lovely people. I've been sick as a dog. A sick dog. I hate
being sick and you'd think it would give me more free time to write, but most
of my creative energy is taken up with devising new and ingenious ways to whine.
I'm very good at it, you know. I'm a virtuoso of self-pity. *g* (All reviews
on the last chapter replied to, and I adore you all.)
On a more directly relevant note, I hope you all enjoy this part. I love where
it's leading. I mean, I really, really love where it's leading. I'm a
sick woman in more ways than one. Heh.
Ash