Disclaimer: See chapter 1.
PART 3
Spike walked unhurriedly through the city streets, his boots ringing loudly on the cobblestones. His immediate need to feed had left when he'd fled their room and the aroma of fresh blood. He was currently searching for a suitable meal with his vampiric senses, while his mind wandered, occupied by an idea that had been forming ever since he'd asked the inn keeper where and when they were. He'd tried shoving the thought away, but it refused to be relegated to the back of his mind.
His need and love for her were still too strong.
To be able to see Drusilla before she was made, before Angelus drove her insane, while she was still warm and innocent, was something he'd dreamed of too many times to count. And now he had the chance. All he had to do was convince the witch. Not because he needed her permission, but she'd had a point when she said they should work together. He figured if he included her in decisions and plans, then she'd be less likely to bitch and gripe.
His head snapped up, his eyes glowing in the darkness. An evil grin graced his lips for a moment before turning down into a scowl.
Bloody hell!
Of all the vampires in town that he could feed off of it had to be her. He turned down the alley directly in front of him and stood in the shadows, watching her drain a dark haired man.
Angelus, he thought, before realizing the victim wasn't him. Darla dropped the man at her feet and delicately wiped the corners of her mouth before sauntering further into the alley. Spike watched in fascination. This was his great grandsire. He could probably kill her right now. Not that he would. He'd be committing suicide if he did, but the thought itself was extremely exciting.
He moved forward quietly, intent on drinking whatever was left of the man, when he heard a gasp behind him. He spun around, in full demon face, and watched as the woman--looked like a hooker--slid to the street, out cold. He grimaced, knowing she'd seen him and his odd clothes. She'd be able to identify him. Bracing himself for an extreme amount of pain, he picked her up and held her to him, sinking his teeth into her neck.
A howl of elation echoed through the small town of Galway as a demon drank of his victim without pain, for the first time in months.
After Spike left the room, Willow climbed out of the huge bed and tried to examine her back in the barely reflective surface of the mirror. What she saw, or rather, didn't see, amazed her. There was hardly anything there, except a small scar. She examined her face and neck and found them barely bruised, and the swelling nearly gone. She had three faint scars where she'd been bitten, but other than that, she was practically healed, and she felt great too, just tired.
She put on what was left of her shirt, which was balled up on the dresser.
Maybe she was, like, superwoman now, because of the spell. Maybe it gave her extra healing powers, just in case she was injured. A fail safe? So that she could return unharmed? Hmm, she thought, pretty nifty if she was right.
She shrugged, resolving to ask Spike about it when he returned. On the other hand, maybe she shouldn't. Did she really want Spike to know that she had extra healing powers, leaving him open to biting her whenever he wanted to? Um, no. Her, and her extra healing would remain a secret.
In the meantime, she set about examining their room. Uh-oh. Their room? Was he going to sleep in the same room as her while they were here? Which, hopefully, wouldn't be for too long. As soon as she got some rest, she wanted to do the spell again, and hope like heck they ended up a lot closer to their intended target. Spending quality time with Spike wasn't something she really wanted to do.
She glanced back at the bed, big reason number two for not staying long, number one being Spike killing her. Well, it was certainly large enough to fit the two of them... and then some. Still, she didn't exactly fancy lying in bed with a soulless demon all night, neutered or not. She forced herself to move on to the rest of the room, ignoring all thoughts of a naked Spike.
There was a nightstand on either side of the bed-- oh, there's that damn bed again. One of the nightstands was laying broken on the floor slightly away from the... sleeping furniture. She rolled her eyes at herself. After everything Spike had done to her, sex hadn't ever entered into it, forced or not. So why was she so wigged about it now?
"Moving on," she mumbled.
There was a scarred, cherry wood wardrobe in the corner, the dresser with the mirror on it, and a wingback chair by the door that faced the bed. Not much else graced the room aside from a few paintings on the walls.
She headed for the window, opening the shutters with ease just as a distant howl sounded, sobering her like nothing else could have except maybe a profusely bleeding neck wound. She peered through the darkness, trying to see what, or who, it was, but all that was out there, were empty streets. More frightened than she cared to admit, she closed the shutters tightly and climbed into bed.
Settling down on the slightly lumpy mattress was easier said than done. She moved this way and that, rolled over a few times, then finally flopped on her back and pulled the covers up to her chin. When something dropped to her face, she nearly screamed before she realized it was the bandage she'd pulled off her back. She held the square of cloth in front of her face. It was black cotton, and looked oddly familiar. There was only a small bit of blood on it, not as much as there should have been from the wound she'd received, and a familiar smell. She sniffed it before she'd even realized what she was doing.
"Ew," she said, automatically, but it didn't smell like blood. In fact, it smelled like-- Spike. Of course. It was part of his T-Shirt. Duh. He only wore the damn thing every day. How could she have missed it?
"Um... you didn't expect a soulless vampire to rip up his own shirt to make a bandage for you?" Said vampire burst into the room at that moment, a grin on his face and a bounce in his step. Willow clutched the scrap of cloth in her hand and sat up in bed. "Spike."
His grin widened. "Willow."
She propped the pillows behind her back, and leaned against the headboard, watching him warily. He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet a few times before dropping into the chair, running his hands through his hair.
"Um, did you hear that howl?" she asked, trying to ease a little of her discomfort.
"What howl?" he asked, eyes questioning.
She frowned. "A few minutes ago. Long, scary-type howling, fear-inducing howling? How could you not have heard it with your vampiric senses and stuff? Has the chip dulled your instincts?"
He smirked at her, and she had a feeling he was playing with her. Uncomfortably, the thought came to her that he was acting not unlike a cat with a mouse would. She shifted slightly.
He nodded. "Oh, yeah, that howl. Sure, I heard it."
She waited for an explanation, but he remained silent. She sighed loudly. "What was it?"
He shrugged, and got up. "Me."
Surely she hadn't heard him right. He'd been the howler? "You? Why you? What happened? Did someone attack you?" She sat up anxiously.
He picked up the ewer on the dresser and poured water into the matching ceramic bowl, then stripped off his shirt. When he turned slightly to toss his shirt on the chair, Willow caught a glimpse of his pale, muscular chest, nice and lean and inviting to the touch. She looked quickly away, telling herself she'd only looked to make sure he wasn't hurt.
"Spike?"
"Hmm?" he asked, splashing his face with the water from the bowl. He stared into the mirror at her. She dared another look at him, crinkling her nose at the eerie feeling of being watched by a non-reflecting being.
"Why were you howling?"
He shrugged again. "No reason."
She blinked at him. "Do vampires often howl for no reason in particular? I-- I mean, um... well, do they?"
He chuckled. "No."
Well, obviously he didn't want to explain his reasoning to her, and that was just fine. She harrumphed a few times as she pulled the pillows out from behind her head and laid down, then fluffed them. She rolled over on her side, scooted nearly to the edge of the bed, and closed her eyes.
Spike watched her, nearly laughing out loud from the angry noises she was making. He blew out the oil lamps and sat down on the opposite edge of the bed from her, pulling off his boots. His started to pull his pants off, then grinned, knowing she'd probably go into shock if she knew how close she'd come to sleeping with a naked vampire.
He stayed on his side of the bed, lacing his hands behind his head. "You know," he said, "if you keep up all that noise over there, the neighbors will have no trouble believing we're on our honeymoon."
She gasped loudly and stiffened, and Spike couldn't hold in his laughter. He was in a great mood, practically giddy, in fact. He had his bite back! He'd howled his joy for the world to know, not caring who heard him. Plenty of people had heard him, vampires too, he knew, but they stayed away, apparently not wanting to challenge him.
Spike wasn't about to tell Willow though, at least not yet. She was already nervous enough around him. Hell, every time he got near her, her heart raced in fear. If he told her he was chip-less, she'd probably have a heart attack. Then he'd never get back home.
She finally relaxed after an hour or so and fell asleep. Spike was just drifting off to sleep himself when she rolled over and snuggled up next to him. Now it was his turn to go absolutely still, sure that she was about to realize where she was and hasten herself back over to the edge of the bed, but she stayed where she was. She even moved closer, wrapping an arm around his stomach, and resting her head on his chest. He eventually relaxed himself, and fell asleep, wrapping his own arm around her shoulders.
Spike took a drag off of his cigarette and glared at the redhead sitting across the table from him. She alternated between picking at her food and glaring at him as well. He blew smoke directly at her, laughing when she coughed a few times, and stared pointedly at him.
"Do you mind?" she asked. "Oh, wait, of course you don't. Giving a human lung cancer is probably right at the top of your list of tortures. You know, since you're so... um, impotent."
"Well, I try," he said modestly, not at all offended, though that was obviously her intention.
Robbed of her fun, she raised a scornful eyebrow at him. "Are you ever gonna tell me where the money came from?"
He chuckled, finding the disgruntled look on her face very amusing. Her completely healed face. She'd told him earlier that it was a side effect of the time travel spell. Lucky for her, otherwise she might be a little dead right now, due to the hole no longer in her back from the pitchfork.
She sighed again, still glaring at him. He knew she had her suspicions about where he'd gotten the money, but he wasn't giving anything away. "No. I'm not."
"Fine." She pushed her plate away from her and stood up. "I'm going for a walk." She yanked his duster out from under her foot and stomped out of the pub.
Spike followed her with a sigh, staying a few paces behind her as she walked aimlessly through the nearly empty streets. She looked ridiculous in his coat, but it covered her pants and his T-Shirt. Her own blouse had only one sleeve, and was covered in blood, so it was out of the question. There was nothing he could do about her red pants though, hence the duster.
Tomorrow she was going shopping, to get them both some new clothes from the modiste's, but until then, she needed to remain covered while in public.
He found himself feeling rather naked without the heavy leather coat. His hands wanted to dive deep into the pockets and fish out a cigarette even though they weren't in there anymore. They were currently in his back pocket, but he missed the familiar action and odd comfort he got from wearing the duster. He also felt weird without his T-Shirt. All he had on was the red shirt he usually wore over the tee, and it was buttoned up, something he never did. He liked layers, but hated to be encumbered.
Willow disappeared down an alley, so he picked up his pace with a sigh. She was keeping as much distance between them as she could without being stupid enough to go off on her own. It was obvious she was pissed at him, and he knew why. The money thing. Or rather, how he'd acquired the money.
He'd woken up just after nightfall to find himself wrapped up in Willow. One of her legs was nestled in between his, and the rest of her was strewn across his chest. One hand was on his stomach, the other underneath his back. She was all warmth and sweet smelling blood. As a demon, he'd wanted to drink her, but held back, enjoying the feel of her heart beating against his chest. It was a nice feeling. He reached his hand out and caressed her hair.
She sighed, and whispered, "Tara," then snuggled even closer.
Spike's hand halted and he glared down at her. The blonde witch again. He didn't understand why Willow was with her. She was... kind of creepy. She had those intense eyes, and she was always staring at him, making him feel like an insect, and he hated it, hated her. So when Willow whispered her name, he did what he'd done the night before.
He leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Tara's dead, Willow. She's dead. I killed her. Drank her dry."
Willow whimpered slightly and rolled away from him, still asleep. She had nightmares after that and he watched her as he got dressed, thoroughly enjoying the results of his whispered words. She called out to Tara a few times, even yelled at Spike to stay away from her. He left the room when she bolted upright, drenched in sweat.
He sighed again. Or maybe she was brassed off because he had told her in no uncertain terms that they were staying longer than he'd anticipated. Much longer.
Willow glared back at the vampire following her. She really hated him. Why did he have to be such a... vampire? They had come to an understanding, hadn't they? A truce?
Apparently not.
She knew there was more to the money thing than he'd said. Found it on the street, my butt. She had an awful feeling that he'd killed someone and robbed their dead body. If she was right, then he'd gotten his bite back, and he could now kill her if he wanted to. It made sense. She'd gotten extra healing powers, and he'd gotten healed as well. No more chip. She'd fished around for answers during dinner, but he hadn't taken the bait.
She sighed deeply, hating Spike for having kidnapped her once again. Gonna get a complex if this keeps up, she thought. Am I, like, extremely kidnap-able or something?
A noise from the far end of the alleyway snapped her head up. She peered into the darkness, trying to see through the gloom, but couldn't see more than a few feet in front of her. Pulling Spike's duster tighter about her, she headed deeper into the alley.
As she neared the other side, she heard more noises that sounded almost like... snoring? A hand touched her shoulder making her jump nearly out of her skin. "Son of a--"
"Stay here," Spike whispered in her ear, then moved forward, disappearing into the gloom.
Willow was hard put to stay still after that scare. Her heart was beating to a whole new drummer at the moment, and that drummer wasn't playing fair with the double-time beat. And, yes, now that she could hear past her own heartbeat, that was definitely snoring she was hearing. Spike's laughter floated back to her, and, her curiosity getting the better of her, she followed him.
"Oh, my God. It's Angelus." She backed away from him even though he was asleep on the ground, his loud, drunken snores echoing throughout the alleyway.
Spike, still laughing, put a hand on her shoulder again, halting her. "No, pet. That," he stressed, "is Liam. Absolutely human. Absolutely drunk."
"You're sure?" she asked, looking from him to Angel.
"Definitely. He has a heartbeat."
Her own heartbeat slowed down dramatically at his assurance and she took a step closer to Angel. No, Liam. He looked exactly as he did in her time except his hair was longer, kind of flying about his face. He gave a drunken snort and swatted at something they couldn't see.
Willow practically bent over double with laughter. "This," she asked, motioning toward Liam, "is one half of the scourge of Europe?"
Spike's laughter joined hers. "This is nothin', love, his drunken debauchery didn't end with his life. Looks rather pathetic, doesn't he?"
"Maybe we should, I don't know, take him home or something? Make sure he gets there safe?"
Spike snorted. "He gets home safe tonight. Tomorrow night he gets Darla. Or rather, she gets him."
Willow sobered up, remembering where she was and who she was with. "Right. I forgot," she said flatly. She took one last look at the human Angel and walked away.
She didn't see Spike kick out with his booted foot and connect with Liam's midsection. Liam's eyes opened, and he groaned, curling up into a ball, his eyes on the strange couple walking away from him.
PART 3
Spike walked unhurriedly through the city streets, his boots ringing loudly on the cobblestones. His immediate need to feed had left when he'd fled their room and the aroma of fresh blood. He was currently searching for a suitable meal with his vampiric senses, while his mind wandered, occupied by an idea that had been forming ever since he'd asked the inn keeper where and when they were. He'd tried shoving the thought away, but it refused to be relegated to the back of his mind.
His need and love for her were still too strong.
To be able to see Drusilla before she was made, before Angelus drove her insane, while she was still warm and innocent, was something he'd dreamed of too many times to count. And now he had the chance. All he had to do was convince the witch. Not because he needed her permission, but she'd had a point when she said they should work together. He figured if he included her in decisions and plans, then she'd be less likely to bitch and gripe.
His head snapped up, his eyes glowing in the darkness. An evil grin graced his lips for a moment before turning down into a scowl.
Bloody hell!
Of all the vampires in town that he could feed off of it had to be her. He turned down the alley directly in front of him and stood in the shadows, watching her drain a dark haired man.
Angelus, he thought, before realizing the victim wasn't him. Darla dropped the man at her feet and delicately wiped the corners of her mouth before sauntering further into the alley. Spike watched in fascination. This was his great grandsire. He could probably kill her right now. Not that he would. He'd be committing suicide if he did, but the thought itself was extremely exciting.
He moved forward quietly, intent on drinking whatever was left of the man, when he heard a gasp behind him. He spun around, in full demon face, and watched as the woman--looked like a hooker--slid to the street, out cold. He grimaced, knowing she'd seen him and his odd clothes. She'd be able to identify him. Bracing himself for an extreme amount of pain, he picked her up and held her to him, sinking his teeth into her neck.
A howl of elation echoed through the small town of Galway as a demon drank of his victim without pain, for the first time in months.
After Spike left the room, Willow climbed out of the huge bed and tried to examine her back in the barely reflective surface of the mirror. What she saw, or rather, didn't see, amazed her. There was hardly anything there, except a small scar. She examined her face and neck and found them barely bruised, and the swelling nearly gone. She had three faint scars where she'd been bitten, but other than that, she was practically healed, and she felt great too, just tired.
She put on what was left of her shirt, which was balled up on the dresser.
Maybe she was, like, superwoman now, because of the spell. Maybe it gave her extra healing powers, just in case she was injured. A fail safe? So that she could return unharmed? Hmm, she thought, pretty nifty if she was right.
She shrugged, resolving to ask Spike about it when he returned. On the other hand, maybe she shouldn't. Did she really want Spike to know that she had extra healing powers, leaving him open to biting her whenever he wanted to? Um, no. Her, and her extra healing would remain a secret.
In the meantime, she set about examining their room. Uh-oh. Their room? Was he going to sleep in the same room as her while they were here? Which, hopefully, wouldn't be for too long. As soon as she got some rest, she wanted to do the spell again, and hope like heck they ended up a lot closer to their intended target. Spending quality time with Spike wasn't something she really wanted to do.
She glanced back at the bed, big reason number two for not staying long, number one being Spike killing her. Well, it was certainly large enough to fit the two of them... and then some. Still, she didn't exactly fancy lying in bed with a soulless demon all night, neutered or not. She forced herself to move on to the rest of the room, ignoring all thoughts of a naked Spike.
There was a nightstand on either side of the bed-- oh, there's that damn bed again. One of the nightstands was laying broken on the floor slightly away from the... sleeping furniture. She rolled her eyes at herself. After everything Spike had done to her, sex hadn't ever entered into it, forced or not. So why was she so wigged about it now?
"Moving on," she mumbled.
There was a scarred, cherry wood wardrobe in the corner, the dresser with the mirror on it, and a wingback chair by the door that faced the bed. Not much else graced the room aside from a few paintings on the walls.
She headed for the window, opening the shutters with ease just as a distant howl sounded, sobering her like nothing else could have except maybe a profusely bleeding neck wound. She peered through the darkness, trying to see what, or who, it was, but all that was out there, were empty streets. More frightened than she cared to admit, she closed the shutters tightly and climbed into bed.
Settling down on the slightly lumpy mattress was easier said than done. She moved this way and that, rolled over a few times, then finally flopped on her back and pulled the covers up to her chin. When something dropped to her face, she nearly screamed before she realized it was the bandage she'd pulled off her back. She held the square of cloth in front of her face. It was black cotton, and looked oddly familiar. There was only a small bit of blood on it, not as much as there should have been from the wound she'd received, and a familiar smell. She sniffed it before she'd even realized what she was doing.
"Ew," she said, automatically, but it didn't smell like blood. In fact, it smelled like-- Spike. Of course. It was part of his T-Shirt. Duh. He only wore the damn thing every day. How could she have missed it?
"Um... you didn't expect a soulless vampire to rip up his own shirt to make a bandage for you?" Said vampire burst into the room at that moment, a grin on his face and a bounce in his step. Willow clutched the scrap of cloth in her hand and sat up in bed. "Spike."
His grin widened. "Willow."
She propped the pillows behind her back, and leaned against the headboard, watching him warily. He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet a few times before dropping into the chair, running his hands through his hair.
"Um, did you hear that howl?" she asked, trying to ease a little of her discomfort.
"What howl?" he asked, eyes questioning.
She frowned. "A few minutes ago. Long, scary-type howling, fear-inducing howling? How could you not have heard it with your vampiric senses and stuff? Has the chip dulled your instincts?"
He smirked at her, and she had a feeling he was playing with her. Uncomfortably, the thought came to her that he was acting not unlike a cat with a mouse would. She shifted slightly.
He nodded. "Oh, yeah, that howl. Sure, I heard it."
She waited for an explanation, but he remained silent. She sighed loudly. "What was it?"
He shrugged, and got up. "Me."
Surely she hadn't heard him right. He'd been the howler? "You? Why you? What happened? Did someone attack you?" She sat up anxiously.
He picked up the ewer on the dresser and poured water into the matching ceramic bowl, then stripped off his shirt. When he turned slightly to toss his shirt on the chair, Willow caught a glimpse of his pale, muscular chest, nice and lean and inviting to the touch. She looked quickly away, telling herself she'd only looked to make sure he wasn't hurt.
"Spike?"
"Hmm?" he asked, splashing his face with the water from the bowl. He stared into the mirror at her. She dared another look at him, crinkling her nose at the eerie feeling of being watched by a non-reflecting being.
"Why were you howling?"
He shrugged again. "No reason."
She blinked at him. "Do vampires often howl for no reason in particular? I-- I mean, um... well, do they?"
He chuckled. "No."
Well, obviously he didn't want to explain his reasoning to her, and that was just fine. She harrumphed a few times as she pulled the pillows out from behind her head and laid down, then fluffed them. She rolled over on her side, scooted nearly to the edge of the bed, and closed her eyes.
Spike watched her, nearly laughing out loud from the angry noises she was making. He blew out the oil lamps and sat down on the opposite edge of the bed from her, pulling off his boots. His started to pull his pants off, then grinned, knowing she'd probably go into shock if she knew how close she'd come to sleeping with a naked vampire.
He stayed on his side of the bed, lacing his hands behind his head. "You know," he said, "if you keep up all that noise over there, the neighbors will have no trouble believing we're on our honeymoon."
She gasped loudly and stiffened, and Spike couldn't hold in his laughter. He was in a great mood, practically giddy, in fact. He had his bite back! He'd howled his joy for the world to know, not caring who heard him. Plenty of people had heard him, vampires too, he knew, but they stayed away, apparently not wanting to challenge him.
Spike wasn't about to tell Willow though, at least not yet. She was already nervous enough around him. Hell, every time he got near her, her heart raced in fear. If he told her he was chip-less, she'd probably have a heart attack. Then he'd never get back home.
She finally relaxed after an hour or so and fell asleep. Spike was just drifting off to sleep himself when she rolled over and snuggled up next to him. Now it was his turn to go absolutely still, sure that she was about to realize where she was and hasten herself back over to the edge of the bed, but she stayed where she was. She even moved closer, wrapping an arm around his stomach, and resting her head on his chest. He eventually relaxed himself, and fell asleep, wrapping his own arm around her shoulders.
Spike took a drag off of his cigarette and glared at the redhead sitting across the table from him. She alternated between picking at her food and glaring at him as well. He blew smoke directly at her, laughing when she coughed a few times, and stared pointedly at him.
"Do you mind?" she asked. "Oh, wait, of course you don't. Giving a human lung cancer is probably right at the top of your list of tortures. You know, since you're so... um, impotent."
"Well, I try," he said modestly, not at all offended, though that was obviously her intention.
Robbed of her fun, she raised a scornful eyebrow at him. "Are you ever gonna tell me where the money came from?"
He chuckled, finding the disgruntled look on her face very amusing. Her completely healed face. She'd told him earlier that it was a side effect of the time travel spell. Lucky for her, otherwise she might be a little dead right now, due to the hole no longer in her back from the pitchfork.
She sighed again, still glaring at him. He knew she had her suspicions about where he'd gotten the money, but he wasn't giving anything away. "No. I'm not."
"Fine." She pushed her plate away from her and stood up. "I'm going for a walk." She yanked his duster out from under her foot and stomped out of the pub.
Spike followed her with a sigh, staying a few paces behind her as she walked aimlessly through the nearly empty streets. She looked ridiculous in his coat, but it covered her pants and his T-Shirt. Her own blouse had only one sleeve, and was covered in blood, so it was out of the question. There was nothing he could do about her red pants though, hence the duster.
Tomorrow she was going shopping, to get them both some new clothes from the modiste's, but until then, she needed to remain covered while in public.
He found himself feeling rather naked without the heavy leather coat. His hands wanted to dive deep into the pockets and fish out a cigarette even though they weren't in there anymore. They were currently in his back pocket, but he missed the familiar action and odd comfort he got from wearing the duster. He also felt weird without his T-Shirt. All he had on was the red shirt he usually wore over the tee, and it was buttoned up, something he never did. He liked layers, but hated to be encumbered.
Willow disappeared down an alley, so he picked up his pace with a sigh. She was keeping as much distance between them as she could without being stupid enough to go off on her own. It was obvious she was pissed at him, and he knew why. The money thing. Or rather, how he'd acquired the money.
He'd woken up just after nightfall to find himself wrapped up in Willow. One of her legs was nestled in between his, and the rest of her was strewn across his chest. One hand was on his stomach, the other underneath his back. She was all warmth and sweet smelling blood. As a demon, he'd wanted to drink her, but held back, enjoying the feel of her heart beating against his chest. It was a nice feeling. He reached his hand out and caressed her hair.
She sighed, and whispered, "Tara," then snuggled even closer.
Spike's hand halted and he glared down at her. The blonde witch again. He didn't understand why Willow was with her. She was... kind of creepy. She had those intense eyes, and she was always staring at him, making him feel like an insect, and he hated it, hated her. So when Willow whispered her name, he did what he'd done the night before.
He leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Tara's dead, Willow. She's dead. I killed her. Drank her dry."
Willow whimpered slightly and rolled away from him, still asleep. She had nightmares after that and he watched her as he got dressed, thoroughly enjoying the results of his whispered words. She called out to Tara a few times, even yelled at Spike to stay away from her. He left the room when she bolted upright, drenched in sweat.
He sighed again. Or maybe she was brassed off because he had told her in no uncertain terms that they were staying longer than he'd anticipated. Much longer.
Willow glared back at the vampire following her. She really hated him. Why did he have to be such a... vampire? They had come to an understanding, hadn't they? A truce?
Apparently not.
She knew there was more to the money thing than he'd said. Found it on the street, my butt. She had an awful feeling that he'd killed someone and robbed their dead body. If she was right, then he'd gotten his bite back, and he could now kill her if he wanted to. It made sense. She'd gotten extra healing powers, and he'd gotten healed as well. No more chip. She'd fished around for answers during dinner, but he hadn't taken the bait.
She sighed deeply, hating Spike for having kidnapped her once again. Gonna get a complex if this keeps up, she thought. Am I, like, extremely kidnap-able or something?
A noise from the far end of the alleyway snapped her head up. She peered into the darkness, trying to see through the gloom, but couldn't see more than a few feet in front of her. Pulling Spike's duster tighter about her, she headed deeper into the alley.
As she neared the other side, she heard more noises that sounded almost like... snoring? A hand touched her shoulder making her jump nearly out of her skin. "Son of a--"
"Stay here," Spike whispered in her ear, then moved forward, disappearing into the gloom.
Willow was hard put to stay still after that scare. Her heart was beating to a whole new drummer at the moment, and that drummer wasn't playing fair with the double-time beat. And, yes, now that she could hear past her own heartbeat, that was definitely snoring she was hearing. Spike's laughter floated back to her, and, her curiosity getting the better of her, she followed him.
"Oh, my God. It's Angelus." She backed away from him even though he was asleep on the ground, his loud, drunken snores echoing throughout the alleyway.
Spike, still laughing, put a hand on her shoulder again, halting her. "No, pet. That," he stressed, "is Liam. Absolutely human. Absolutely drunk."
"You're sure?" she asked, looking from him to Angel.
"Definitely. He has a heartbeat."
Her own heartbeat slowed down dramatically at his assurance and she took a step closer to Angel. No, Liam. He looked exactly as he did in her time except his hair was longer, kind of flying about his face. He gave a drunken snort and swatted at something they couldn't see.
Willow practically bent over double with laughter. "This," she asked, motioning toward Liam, "is one half of the scourge of Europe?"
Spike's laughter joined hers. "This is nothin', love, his drunken debauchery didn't end with his life. Looks rather pathetic, doesn't he?"
"Maybe we should, I don't know, take him home or something? Make sure he gets there safe?"
Spike snorted. "He gets home safe tonight. Tomorrow night he gets Darla. Or rather, she gets him."
Willow sobered up, remembering where she was and who she was with. "Right. I forgot," she said flatly. She took one last look at the human Angel and walked away.
She didn't see Spike kick out with his booted foot and connect with Liam's midsection. Liam's eyes opened, and he groaned, curling up into a ball, his eyes on the strange couple walking away from him.