Chapter 12: A Mistake

First thing the next morning, Willow punched in the number for Sunnydale Memorial.

"Hi, yes, I'm looking to talk to a patient. Rupert Giles, room 441."

After a pause, Willow's brow furrowed. "You're sure?"

Another pause.

"Oh, yes, of course, thank you."

According to the man on the phone, Giles had been released last night. Why wouldn't he tell me? she thought. Even just a text message? Willow slowly paced around the kitchen, eating Cinnamon Toast Crunch by the handful.

Maybe he's avoiding us because he doesn't want us to mothering him, she considered. In an instant, she decided that it must be so, and grabbed her jacket.


Twenty minutes later, Willow rang Giles' doorbell, coffee and donuts in hand. She would be pleasant and helpful, she decided, not full of pity and sad faces. She had a plan on how to raise Giles' spirits and take good care of him.

When Giles opened the door, Willow almost dropped their breakfast. Although she knew he wouldn't be looking as fresh as a daisy, Giles looks positively gaunt. His eyes were full of malice and pain. He hadn't shaved since before the fight in the cemetery. He barely looked at Willow before turning away and shuffling gingerly back into the house.

Trying to recover her footing, Willow offered, "Hey Giles, I brought you breakfast. I figured we could get all sugared up and watch some bad TV. I don't know what's on this early, but I bet we could find something to hate-watch." She pasted a friendly expression on her face and waited for Giles to respond.

He didn't. He sat delicately in a large armchair, obviously in tremendous pain. Just the effort to answer the door seemed to have taken a lot out of him.

"Giles," Willow continued, concern creeping into her voice despite her best efforts, "have you taken your pain medication? Did they give you enough when you got released?"

"No," he finally responded, his voice hoarse from disuse. "I haven't taken any."

"Oh, Giles, you must be in so much pain. Where's the bottle? I'll get you some, you can take it with your coffee."

"No." His simple refusal felt very final.

"O-oh, okay, if – if that's what you want," Willow stuttered. She had seen Giles upset, depressed, angry, frustrated, and in pain before. This was so much worse than all of those. Fear was rising in her heart.

"That's what I want," Giles responded, a mocking lilt in his voice.

Willow walked over to Giles and knelt on the floor, facing him. She looked up into his face. Although he didn't look away, he didn't meet her eyes either. He seemed to be looking through her.

For his part, Giles kept waiting for the numbness to set in. When he had been tortured by Angelus, the pain had been excruciating, physically and emotionally. Before his eventual rescue, the greatest relief was the moment when his body began to shut off his pain receptors. He simply couldn't feel anything anymore. He assumed, probably correctly, that he had been close to death at that point. He wouldn't have particularly minded dying; he wouldn't have minded anything. There was nothing left to feel. He was numb.

All last night and into this morning, Giles waited for the numbness. He was livid with himself and conscience-stricken in the extreme. His self-loathing and anger kept growing. He knew, he knew that the feelings would become too much and he would go numb. He expected it any moment. Then Willow arrived.

As he looked down at her there, kneeling on the floor and looking up at him with such open concern, he reached a new level of hell. All she wanted to do was care for him and be with him. And he was about to break her heart.

"Willow," he said, "I need you to understand something."

"Okay," she replied, cautious.

"When I approached you in the training room that first night, and later when I revealed my feelings for you, that was a mistake."

Willow's heart sank. Her shoulders fell but she said nothing.

"I was selfish and crude and disgusting and lecherous. I'm an old man giving into sick fantasies and I can't do it anymore," he said, his voice a barely-restrained monotone.

"Giles, no," Willow pleaded, trying to comfort him, to make him stop. She lifted up off her haunches, leaning forward on her knees to be face to face with Giles. Her hands came up to his whiskered cheeks. She leaned in to kiss him, but he turned away. "Giles," she gasped painfully.

"I am not who you thought I was. I can't help you." He stared at the floor, his head still turned away from her. He would have liked to get up and walk away, but he wasn't sure he could actually do that.

"Giles, why are you doing this? I love you," Willow begged. Tears began falling down her cheeks.

"No, you don't," Giles responded, his tone taking on that of a lecture. "You had a crush on me, and I used that to get what I wanted. You needed support and guidance and companionship, and I saw an opportunity. I'm not a good person, Willow."

"I don't believe that. I refuse to believe that."

"That's the benefit of facts," Giles replied. "They don't have to be believed in order to be true."

Willow stood up, her grief shifting into anger. "No. You don't get to do this. You don't get to tell me that you love me and make me feel like this and then take it all away because you feel bad. You don't get to decide this."

Giles finally looked up to meet Willow's eyes. "Actually, yes I do. And I'm telling you Willow, I don't want you."

"I can't believe you're doing this!" Willow shrieked, her hair beginning to darken in splotchy patches of black. She could feel herself losing control and she wasn't sure that she cared. "I trusted you. I gave myself to you. And now you're throwing me away like garbage!"

"I'll help you find someone to support you in your work with magic, of course," Giles offered lamely.

"Fuck you, Giles," Willow spat, and stormed out the door.


Willow made it as far as the street before she doubled over and wretched. She collapsed onto her knees and was racked with heaving sobs. Her hair began to return to normal as she wept.

An hour later, completely cried out and feeling entirely lost, Willow walked up the stairs to Xander's apartment across town. Retrieving the spare key from her purse, she knocked and opened the door.

"Xander, you home?" she called, her voice still shaky.

The shades were all drawn. A voice called from down the hall: "Nope."

Willow walked into the living room to find Spike slouched on the sofa, channel-surfing. Dressed in his usual black t-shirt and matching black jeans, his dyed-blonde hair was meticulously gelled back from his forehead. She hurriedly wiped her face. "Oh, is he at work?"

"Yeah." Click. Click.

"Oh – okay. Okay. I'll just – okay." She turned around, heading for the door.

"Red? What's up?" Spike sat up and swiveled around to face Willow. He seemed genuinely concerned, an expression Willow did not readily associate with the vampire.

"Nothing," she lied, "I'll just come back later."

"Well, Xander's not going to be back for a while. He's got some out-of-town presentation thing and he said he wouldn't be back until late."

"Oh," Willow replied. For a moment, her expression was neutral, then she dissolved into tears.

"Oh god," Spike stated, his eyes wide with fear. He had no idea what to do with this inexplicably weeping girl. After a moment, he got up and went over to her. Tapping her on the shoulder, he offered weakly, "There, there."

Willow covered her face with her hands. She really, really didn't want to be crying in front of Spike, but she wasn't doing it on purpose. She wanted to sit down.

Resigned to having a breakdown in front of a vampire, she stalked into the living room and plopped onto the couch. Spike sat down on the other end of the sofa, eyeing the witch warily.

"What's all this, then?" he asked, not particularly keen on getting involved but not willing to send Willow away like this. He had always had a soft spot for her, the same way he had always appreciated Joyce Summers. He wasn't sure that Willow exactly liked him, but she always treated him with respect, and he valued that about her.

"I don't want to talk about it," Willow said through tears.

"Well, isn't that why you come over Xander's? To talk?"

Willow stared at Spike for a moment.

"Oh, right," Spike nodded, "Xander, not me."

"Nothing personal," Willow shrugged, her tears beginning to dry up again.

Spike sat there, awkward and unsure what to do. "Well, uh," he began, "Passions reruns come on in a bit if you want to stick around for that."

"Huh? Oh, no thanks. I should probably just head home. Besides, that Timmy doll thing freaks me out."

"Yeah, no kidding, he gives me the willies," Spike confessed, shivering for effect.

Willow continued to sit. She brought her hand to her mouth, chewing on her thumbnail distractedly.

"Come on, Red, out with it," Spike demanded.

Willow sighed and shook her head. "It's complicated."

"Try me."

"Fine," Willow said, rolling her eyes. "It just seems like, whenever something good happens, whenever I get a tiny bit of happiness in my life, that's when it gets ripped away."

Spike turned off the TV. "Yeah, well, that's life, innit? You're not allowed to enjoy anything because in two seconds, it's gone."

"Yeah!" Willow agreed. "But the crazy thing is, I'm not even sure that I'm that mad about it, because who am I to get to enjoy the good stuff? I've been pretty horrible to people and done some awful stuff, so why should I get to be satisfied? What have I done to deserve that?"

Spike could relate to that. His recently-reacquired soul made him seriously question his worth, and although he felt driven to pursue what he wanted, he also was pretty sure he didn't deserve anything.

Spike sat up straight. "Well, you helped Buffy loads of times. You fought demons and did spells. Hell, you even raised Buffy from the dead, so as far as I'm concerned, all the slay-age since then is on your account," Spike asserted, trying to sound supportive. "You've always been the backbone of the team. You and Giles."

Willow burst into fresh tears and Spike blanched. "Oh Jesus, not again." He leapt off the couch and went into the kitchen. After a few moments of drawers opening and closing, dishes and things clanging around, Spike returned with a pint of ice cream, a box of cookies, and a box of tissues. His face was contorted with a mixture of discomfort and disgust. For all the sensitivity he had had as William, he still had no idea what to do with a crying girl.

Seeing the bounty of mood-enhancers Spike had brought over, Willow had to laugh. She grabbed a tissue and mopped her face, sniffling a little but otherwise recovering. "Thanks, Spike. Though I don't know if I could eat right now."

Spike resumed his position on the couch and turned to face Willow, his back resting against the arm of the sofa. "Listen, we could speak in generalities all day, but I've got a date with rerun soaps in an hour." He tilted his head down and looked up at Willow, as if examining her critically over the tops of glasses that weren't there. His look was stern, but playfully so.

"Spike," Willow sighed, "I appreciate your willingness to listen, really, I do, but I don't know if I can talk about this stuff with you. I don't even know if I could talk about it with Xander. I just didn't know where else to go. My feet just kind of took me here after I left Giles'."

"What happened at Giles' place?" Spike asked.

"Nothing," Willow answered, her defensiveness evident.

"What happened at Giles' place?" Spike repeated, his voice insistent.

Willow was surprised to find that part of her actually wanted to tell Spike. He had always been a shockingly good conversational partner. Even so, this was a lot to reveal to a vampire who had been more than a little unscrupulous when it served him in the past.

"Listen, no offense, but why should I pour out my heart to you?"

Spike shrugged. "You probably shouldn't. I'm told I'm not very trustworthy." He took out a cigarette and put it in his mouth, then thought better of it. Xander hated it when he smoked in here, and it wasn't worth it for the fight they'd have later.

"Exactly," Willow stated, nodding her head firmly.

"On the other hand, I get the impression that this isn't something that Buffy or even Xander would be happy to hear. You might be stuck with me, love."

Willow stared at the wall for a moment. "How do I know you won't tell?"

"Well, you don't, not really. But I can tell you that I have no interest in revealing your secrets or mucking up your precious Scooby mojo. I'm trying to play nice. You know, re-ensouled, fighting for the forces of good, so on and so forth. I don't have anything to gain by pissing off the Slayer. Or a powerful witch, for that matter."

Willow scrunched her mouth over to one side, considering Spike's words.

"You know how Giles has been helping me recover from my magic overload killing spree last spring, right?"

Spike nodded. "Yeah."

"Well, we kind of fell in love with each other, and things started to get…romantic this week, and this morning he told me that he's old and horrible and doesn't want to see me anymore." Willow's voice came out exhausted and pained. She swallowed, trying to keep from crying again.

"You and…Giles and you?" Spike gave up any pretense of neutrality on the subject. "You and Giles? That bookish knob with the very uncomfortable bathtub?" Spike's voice shifted to one of wonder. "Giles and you, together, like…together together."

Willow's cheeks burned. "I knew I shouldn't have told you. This is fucking stupid."

Willow's language caught Spike off guard, and he stopped gaping at her revelation. "No, no," he insisted, trying to get a handle on the news. "I'm sorry, Red, I'm just surprised. I never saw that one coming. He's twice your age."

"You're, like, ten times Buffy's age."

"I see your point."

"I just…I don't know what to do. Xander suspects something but I haven't told him. Buffy has no clue. But I'm going to have to say something because it's not like I can go be around Giles now, acting like things are normal." She blew her nose into a tissue and crossed her arms in front of her protectively.

Spike shook his head, dazed. "So, wait. When you say that things 'got romantic', does that mean you…and he…did you…?" Spike made a rude gesture in which his index finger went through a circle formed by his other pointer finger and thumb. His expression implied scandalized curiosity with a thick layer of incredulity.

"That's none of your business!" Willow scoffed, punching the vampire's arm. "Also, no," she added petulantly.

"Well then what sort of romantic? Come on, love, the most exciting part of my day is re-watching episodes of a paranormal soap opera." Spike threw his hands in the air in frustration. "Besides, you already told me the juiciest part. This is just the filler."

Willow pursed her lips and looked doubtfully at Spike. She knew he was pumping her for details, but it felt good to be able to vent and be totally open about everything. As gut-wrenching and embarrassing as some of this stuff was, she needed to talk about it.

"We got physical. That's all," Willow shrugged.

"Oh no, you can't just tell me you 'got physical', I'm going to need more information than that. How did it all get started? Go back to the beginning. We have time." Spike shifted and sat cross-legged on the couch, elbows on his legs, chin resting on his knuckles.

Willow heaved a sigh. "It's not that simple. We didn't just lock eyes and start making out. Giles was trying to help me solve a problem, and it just sort of…shifted."

"You felt it move?"

"What?"

"Nothing, never mind. Please continue," Spike urged her.

"It just kind of happened. We were working on my magic. I couldn't control it."

"So, what, Giles gave you a back massage and you could do spells again? It's always the back massage. Classic porn trope," Spike recalled wistfully.

"No, not exactly," Willow said evasively. Spike's eyes were locked on her with gleeful interest, but she wasn't sure she wanted to talk about this part.

"Well what, did it get weird? Is Giles secretly kinky? It's always the quiet ones."

"I really don't know that I want to talk about that."

"Listen, I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours. It doesn't have to be some big secret, you know."

Willow leaned back against the arm of the sofa, avoiding Spike's eyes.

"I like it when a girl sucks on my earlobe. There, now you know something weird about me."

Willow crinkled her nose. "I really didn't need to know that."

"Well fine, prude, point is that you're not going to say something that shocks me. Whatever it is, I was probably doing it in 1895. Backwards."

From her bag, Willow produced a printout of the BDSM study that Doctor Gruden gave her a few days earlier. She slapped it onto Spike's lap as though she were revealing the winning hand in a poker game.

Spike picked up the papers and leafed through them, an eyebrow arched sharply. He said nothing, but eventually returned the papers to Willow with the slightest leer on his face.

"I knew it!" she cried. "I knew you'd make it weird! Oh, 'it doesn't have to be some big secret' he says, and now you're making this 'Willow's a secret sex monster' face at me!"

Spike forced his face to become serious. "Willow, I don't think you're a secret sex monster." He managed to hold a straight face for almost three seconds before he burst into a fit of irrepressible giggles.

"Stop it!" Willow screeched, grabbing a throw pillow off the couch and walloping the vampire with it.

"Oh, so you're a top, then!" Spike accused through cackles.

"Shut up!" She lunged at Spike and bopped him hard on the nose, making him cry out in actual pain.

"Hey, I was only poking fun. You didn't have to sock me," Spike whined, holding his nose.

Willow's expression immediately shifted to pity. "Oh no, Spike, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." Then, as her feelings resettled, she added, "Hey, wait, I'm not apologizing to you! You were being a total jerk! I told you some really private personal stuff and you made fun of me for it! So I'm not sorry!"

Spike held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "You're right, you're right. I'm sorry, Red."

Willow crossed her arms in a huff, turning to face the black TV instead of looking at the vampire. Spike turned to face forward as well. After a moment, he turned on the TV in time to catch the opening credits of Passions.

They sat and watched the first minute in silence. Spike picked up the cookies and took one for himself before offering them to Willow, who accepted wordlessly.

"So," Willow began, "which one is the lady who got married to the creepy guy who was married to that other lady before?"