Note: This chapter takes place in Same Time Same Place, Episode 3 of Season 7. They're sort of like scenes inbetween what we, the viewers, saw. Think about them logistically and place them chronologically. Any questions, please feel free to ask!
Spike was well aware he was being used like a dog. Not so much in the degrading sense—he was doing that plenty well on his own, thanks—but rather like a well-trained mutt, following the scent of blood.
He didn't like leaving Tara behind, shaky as she'd been earlier. He knew what it was like to finally see the monster for what it was. Wouldn't have wished it on someone as sweet as that little dove, but if anyone had asked him (not that anyone ever did), he could've seen it coming a mile away. Red had reeked of power, even in the early days, but he'd cared far more about the Slayer than her pets. Never did like her much. Suspected it had to do with how much she reminded Spike of himself, all the things he'd hated about William.
Tara hadn't said much all afternoon. What with finding out Willow was a murdering torturer and all, she was understandably a little preoccupied and out of sorts. She declined to come along for the hunt, mumbling some excuse about research. It wasn't going to be that exciting and he couldn't blame her for wanting to keep her distance from Willow, even if separated by a strange dimension. Finding out what she did? Does something to a person. Sometimes you can't be the same after that. He should know.
He tried to ignore Buffy's presence—it was like a blinding light, it was—but Xander being there dampened the situation plenty. Dawn too, but Little Bit bothered him to a lesser degree. He was proud of her, threats n' all, for sticking up for Buffy. He remembered when she carried a childlike anger and resentment towards her sister. Shame she had to grow up so fast, the way she did. He wouldn't have wished it on anyone, even without his soul.
Blood drew him further into the woods, the scent both mesmerizingly magnetic and nauseating. His stomach churned and hungered at the same time. No changing what he was, soul or not.
Without preamble, he left Buffy and the others at the mouth of the cave. Heading back to the basement, though safe, wasn't an appealing option at the moment. He hadn't been topside for the better part of a week, having holed himself away since the incident with Ronnie and Buffy.
Perhaps fresh air would do him some good.
After Buffy killed the demon, they split up, Buffy going to check on Dawn back at the house, leaving Xander to take Willow to the hospital. Though deep, Willow's wounds were relatively minor, considering. They managed to concoct a cover story about a whittling accident gone awry but the nurse still looked suspicious while bandaging her stomach.
Taking her chart, the nurse left and Xander found himself alone with Willow for the first time in a long while. They sat close to each other but the awkwardness that bridged between them felt like miles.
"I guess no trip to Sunnydale is complete without a visit to the hospital," Willow said lightly, trying to break the tension.
"Definitely one of our finer tourist destinations. The Jell-O is top notch."
"Absolutely," Willow nodded a little too quickly. "And having experienced all eight flavors, we're definitely qualified to pass judgement."
"Yeah, we should get frequent flier miles at this place or something."
Their banter was familiar, but the veneer of cheerfulness barely masked the growing tension.
"O-or a 'come ten times and the eleventh visit is free' card."
"I'll keep it in my wallet right next to the burrito club card and Swords-R-Us membership."
Willow chuckled and he smiled, but no one spoke. The silenced soon stretched uncomfortably, neither making the move to break it.
"This is stupid," Xander finally declared, "We've known each other since we were four, Will. You're my best friend."
Willow squirmed, blushing. "Xander . . ." she chided.
"No! This is stupid. I don't like this feeling all . . ." he said, gesturing vaguely between them, ". . . weird."
"It hasn't been this awkward since the illicit kissage of senior year," Willow admitted.
"And frankly that was way more fun, so having that put into context really makes this feel just super fun." Xander fidgeted with his hands, laying them on his knees before changing his mind and clasping them together again. "It shouldn't be this hard."
"Yeah, but it's kinda my fault, so . . ." Willow replied in a small voice, trailing off.
"I think you're kinda dealing with enough of that for one lifetime, Will, don'tcha think?" He remembered when it used to be easy, when the world was simple and the hardest choices they'd had to make was choosing whose house to go to after school. Now Willow's grief scarred his face and lingered in her eyes. But sometimes he'd blink and they were still ten and happy, before the world became dangerous, and consequences shadowed their every step.
He hoped she still saw that too.
The silence stretched between them again, like silly-putty, waiting for the tension to fall and separate.
"I signed for her, y'know," Xander said finally. The flinch was barely there—but Xanders know their Willows—and even without looking, he could see her entire being lurch. She didn't say anything, but he knew she was trying to keep it together. "Her body, someone had to. . . ." he trailed off, looking around the room. "I hate hospitals." Willow's lip wavered and she pursed them in the vain hopes of staying the tears that welled. "That was the worst day of my life."
Willow snorted through her tears. "Tell me about it."
"I keep thinkin', running it over and over in my head till it's all I think about and I just . . . if I could've just moved, I could've knocked him down, I could've. . . ." Willow watched silently, saying nothing, as it all poured out of Xander. "I could've. . . ." he trails off. "I could've saved her."
Her eyes were the saddest he'd ever seen them, heavy and lidded under the weight of death; full with regret, pity, understanding—a thousand things he'd never wanted her to feel—the sorrow was palpable.
"Xander, you know there's nothing you could've done."
"But I always do something. That's what I do."
"He had a gun, he could've killed you."
"That's never stopped me from doing something stupid before."
"Definitely not, or else you wouldn't be saying all this stuff now. Xander, you're my best friend. We've known each other since we were four, remember? So I know what I'm talking about when I'm saying you're a dummy."
He looked at Willow weakly as she slid her hand into his. They were dry and cool. "Don't you think I've thought about ways I could've saved her? If I'd've just listened to her. If I'd've never done the dark magics, or hadn't been doing so well or trying to win her back, and we never would've been in that room. O-or even if we never met. That one almost hurts more, but . . . she'd've been safe, she'd still be alive somewhere, breathing, and-and . . . it just goes on. I think of, like, three new ways it could've gone differently every day."
Willow wiped her nose with her sleeve. "But it doesn't change the fact that she's still gone, and I'm still here. Which turns out is a good thing, 'cause someone has to stop you from being such a big doofus." Her smile was weak but genuine. He saw it stretch over her face and reach her eyes.
"Hey, I was the one trying to be all comforty, here," he said. But Willow'd gotten good at that over the years, stealing away his problems and tucking them somewhere into herself.
"Yeah, well I figure I owe you one for getting me to not end the world, so. . . Consider us square."
Hoisting her to her feet and throwing one arm around her shoulders, he marched them out of the room. "Let's get burgers."
"Oh god, yes," Willow moaned, "I haven't eaten since England."
Two steps out of the Emergency Room, he felt better already. The entrance doors slid open to let them exit.
"Hey, do you know what you'd like?" she said on their way out, "Bangers n' mash. Mostly just because you'd get to say 'bangers n' mash'."
God, he'd missed her.