Disclaimer: I own nothing here except the plot. The characters and all things Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Twentieth Century, the Pope, and whoever else wants to claim them and actually receives royalties from them. That's not me, so... there ya go.
Pairing: W/S of course. That's all I write.
Rating: R
Summary: Spike uses Willow to go back in time to avoid being implanted by the Initiative... has even one of Spike's plans ever gone right? They end up a little further back in time than he intended.
Dedicated: To my beta, Claudia! She rules. Helped me work through a ton of stuff, caught things I'd read a hundred times and never noticed, and did the best thing of all, the easiest thing in the world to get a writer to write... she begged for more.
PART 6
Willow strode slowly along the cobblestone street, her destination just ahead, her mind years ahead. She missed her friends, her girlfriend, her parents, Sunnydale... even her dorm room. Basically, if it was from her time, she missed it. Chocolate. Oh, and soda. Coffee was what they had here. And tea, not to mention ale, and that was all well and good, but she really missed the fast foods and drinks from her time.
Oh, to have a nice big juicy, greasy cheeseburger again. With fries. And a shake. If the world were a perfect place, she'd be on her way to McDonald's right now. But it wasn't, so she wasn't.
Opening one of the heavy wooden doors, she took a deep breath and went inside. Immediately she was assaulted by the heat and silence of the church. Dark wooden pews lined either side of her, and seemed to be a recurring theme. The whole building was dark wood, the walls, floor, ceiling, pretty much everything. Stained glass windows, not too detailed, not too gaudy like some she'd seen. Tall gold candlesticks were placed here and there, and at the altar was the obligatory Jesus on the cross.
Spotting what she needed, she quickly stepped over to it and filled the small vial she'd brought with her. The water didn't look too clean, it certainly didn't invite her to drink it, but she would. Um, later. Maybe she could boil it, or something. Would that take the 'holy' out of the holy water? Water during these times was seriously gross, she was lucky if it wasn't brown. This holy water was only slightly yellow... but, hey, maybe it was the gold bowl it was in.
She capped the vial and held the bottle up to the candles beside her. Nope, not just the bowl. "Yuck," she whispered, nearly jumping at the sound of her own voice.
"May I help you, lass?" a hushed voice inquired from behind her.
This time she did jump, slapping her free hand over her heart to calm its sudden erratic beat. "God, you scared me. Um," seeing a thunderous frown appear on the priest's face, she amended her words, "I mean, goodness, Father, you frightened me." Simpering smile, act like a brainless twit, it was easy.
He smiled condescendingly, as she knew he would, and even went so far as to pat her back like a child. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to startle you. I'm Father Ian McNeil." His kindly old face made her want to smile, despite her anger.
Telling herself that it wasn't his fault, that it was just the time he happened to be born in, she smiled even wider, hiding the vial of holy water in her hand. "That's all right, Father." Casting a look around her, she laced her hands behind her back. "This is a beautiful church." If she was lucky, he wouldn't notice the holy water, and she wouldn't have to explain why she was taking some.
"It is, isn't it?" a childish voice commented sweetly. The two of them turned toward the front of the church, toward the young woman kneeling at the altar, lighting a candle.
Willow knew the voice, had hoped never to hear it again, or see the petite blonde woman it belonged to again. She was a vampire, what was she doing in a church? Especially during the day?
"Ah, Darla." Father McNeil smiled widely and started up the aisle.
Willow, thinking fast, rushed over and grabbed his arm, halting his progress toward the evil vampire... who was currently in game face, and yet still smiling sweetly over Father McNeil's shoulder. "Wait," Willow told him. "Um, I-- uh," she dropped her hand from his arm at his pointed look, and bit her lip. What the heck was she supposed to do now? "I need some marital advice. My husband is..." dropping her eyes to the floor, she faked a sniffle. "I think he has a mistress, Father."
Father McNeil patted her shoulder kindly, and motioned for her to sit at one of the pews. "I'll be right with you. Darla?" He turned to find Darla right beside them, watching with a small smirk, which seemed to only be noticeable to Willow.
She stepped between Willow and Father McNeil, trailing her hand along the top of the pew in front of them. "Don't you know she's evil, Father?"
Willow tried to stand up, but Darla pushed her back down. "Run," Willow told the priest. Fighting the panic that was eating at her insides, she fumbled for her cross necklace. "Go outside, in the sun. Please," she begged him, but he didn't move.
He shook his head, and reached out a hand to Darla. "Careful," he chastised her. "Now, what's this about evil?"
"It's simple," Darla explained. "She's a witch." She turned her innocent eyes on the priest, and perched primly on the edge of the pew beside Willow. "She's come here to kill you, Father."
Unable to find her cross, the same cross she carried with her at all times, Willow jumped up and grabbed the priest's hand, trying to drag him with her toward the doors, but he resisted her efforts. "Please, just come outside with me, I'll explain everything there."
"It's all right," he assured Willow, "we're safe here." He gestured to the church around them. "Whatever it is you fear cannot get us here. This is a house of God."
"That may be," she muttered, once again dragging him toward the front doors, "but sometimes evil things hide behind perfectly innocent looking faces. And if we don't get out of here, right now," she insisted, "we'll both die, so come on."
He sighed heavily, finally giving in and following her outside. "Would you mind telling me what this is all about?"
A few safe yards away from the entrance, Willow nodded toward the doors where Darla stood just inside, peering out at them from the gloom of the interior. "Look, Father. Look at her face."
He did so, gasping and stepping back as Darla hissed at them. "What-- what is it? Her face is... she's--"
"Father, don't let her whisper evil things to you," Darla called out to them, letting her face change back. "She's bewitching you. Whatever you think you see isn't real. It's witchcraft." And then she grinned, laughing evilly, and flying--actually flying--out the door, straight at them.
Willow screamed, and pushed Father McNeil out of the way, then-- woke up with a start, groaning miserably. Damn it. The nightmare again. Night after night of the same nightmare was starting to wear on her nerves. If she got any sleep at all, what with Spike coming and going at all hours, she was lucky if she got an hour without a nightmare. Yay. Stifling a yawn, she decided to give up on trying to sleep for a while. She uncurled herself from Spike and climbed out of bed, dressing quietly.
The bright sun shining through the trees was warm, beautiful, and so completely bugging Willow. Sitting in the grass just outside town had been a great idea. She'd taken a blanket and herself, and nothing else. It was a chance to relax, and read a book, not to mention get something she'd been lacking for a few weeks.
Sun.
She'd spent so many nights out, and so many days in, that she was starting to look like a vampire. Spike had more color to his skin than she did. So she'd walked a mile or so just outside of town, leaving behind the noise, the smell of horses and other livestock, and... um, the people who didn't know that water was their friend. Which pretty much described everyone except her and Spike.
The innkeeper still gave them weird looks when they requested water brought up for bathing. Spike usually left the water for her to use and bathed in the stream near where she was at that very moment. She never went with him since he had to do it in the dark, and she preferred not to have an animal, human-shaped or not, attack her while she was her most vulnerable, thank you very much. Not to mention the weirdness of Spike being naked just a few feet away.
Their days had become routine. A week passed, and then another as she searched for the reason behind the spell screw-up. So far, she'd found not a damn thing. Galway had few books in their one and only book shop, and none on magick at all, so she used a spell she'd learned just before Spike witch-napped her, and conjured the books for a short time. Hanging suspended in the air in front of her at the moment was one of those books, and the sun was shining directly down on it, keeping her from seeing the tiny printed words on the glaringly bright page.
After turning her head this way and that, standing to throw her shadow over the book, and just plain making a fool out of herself for anyone to see, she sighed heavily and checked her watch. It was time to head back to town anyway. It was late, getting later by the second, and both Darla and Angelus were still out there, which was probably why she kept having nightmares about them. She'd thought they'd split town as soon as Angelus woke up, but, nope. They were sticking around. As were her and Spike. At least until she found a way to guarantee their next trip. Which wasn't happening.
Spike was ticked at her slow progress, but he refused to participate in the spell until he knew they'd show up in the right place and time.
"Finis," she said on a yawn, climbing to her feet as the book disappeared in a flash of light. She grabbed the blanket and shook it out, watching absently as grass, dirt, and leaves went flying. Her mind was busy trying to think of another book to check, but she was quickly running out of options. She couldn't for the life of her figure out what went wrong. As far as she could tell, it wasn't something she'd done wrong.
She made her way back home, which is how she now thought of their room, and opted not to go upstairs yet. She headed into the pub, sitting at the empty bar in the empty room. The barkeep looked up from his meal as she sat, but continued to shovel food into his mouth.
"Ah, good evenin', wee one," he said with a nod, his soft brogue bringing a smile to her face. She just loved that accent, even if it was coming from a big, greasy, burly guy with only a tuft of hair ringing the back of his mostly bald head.
"Evening, Sean. Um, the usual, please. When you're finished." A mug of ale, lamb stew and a hunk of bread was her usual dinner, and, as he always did, Sean stopped eating his own dinner to dish up hers. She smiled gratefully. "Thanks."
"Not a problem, lass." He pointed to her blanket with his spoon. "Meeting your husband here?" He looked around briefly for Spike, before going back to his own lamb stew.
She shrugged, tearing off a piece of bread. "Nope. Told you, he's not much of a day person." Scooping the bread in the thick stew, she savored the flavor, hardly wincing at the saltiness of it. As soon as they got home, she was sticking to yogurt and rice cakes for a year. It amazed her that she hadn't gained a pound, her clothes still fit perfectly, leading her to believe the healing properties of the spell had a hand in this too. Nifty thing to have. Maybe she could figure out how to work it so Buffy had something similar during patrol.
As soon as she thought of Buffy, she changed the course of her thoughts, it would only force her to think of all her friends, and how much she missed them. And until she knew for sure that she'd be going home soon, she avoided thinking about them altogether. Especially Tara, whom she missed more than anything. She missed being with her, and holding her, and kissing her. Talking with her. Not to mention the sex.
And she needed to not think about that right now. Not until she knew.
Willow closed the door quietly behind her, and turned to see if she'd woken Spike up. Considering he was standing right in front of her when she turned, she thought that, no, maybe she hadn't.
"Could you not do that?" she practically yelled. "My heart isn't dead, it actually beats, and if you don't stop scaring the heck out of me, it won't be beating for long." She dropped into the chair by the door and glared at him.
"Anything?" He was going to completely ignore her griping, that much was obvious from the lack of return-griping.
Gypped out of a nice, healthy argument, Willow shook her head. "No, and why, yes, Spike, I'm just fine. How are you?" He tossed her an uncaring snort and went back to staring at her and doing nothing else. She rolled her eyes, leaning her head against the chair back. "We never talk these days," she joked, "don't you love me anymore?" Judging by the finger he aimed her way, she thought the answer was once again, no.
He paced a few times, running his hands through his not-completely-bleach-blonde-anymore hair. "This isn't a vacation, Willow. We're--"
"Stuck here," she yawned, finishing his oft repeated complaint. "I know. And I'm working on it." She sat up, watching him as he began pacing again. "So far, I've come up with absolutely no reason for us being here." Hesitating, she brought up an idea that she'd been tossing around for a while. "Maybe we were supposed to come here. What if... fate, or destiny, or the powers that be, or something brought us here for a reason?"
He obviously didn't agree with her, his sneer was cruel and evil, two things he was good at being. "And what reason would that be, love? To keep Angel from being turned? To kill him? Keep Dru, then me, from ever being turned? Is that it?" he snarled. He stopped pacing, and advanced on her threateningly.
"Get over yourself," she said tiredly. "I am so sick of hearing you obsess about Angel. You hate him, I get that, but not everything I do is because of Angel." She pushed herself to her feet before she fell asleep in the chair, and laid down on the bed. "You know, the way I see it, Angelus has to be made a vampire and survive long enough to turn Dru. Dru has to turn you, and all three of you have to make your merry way to Sunnydale." A yawn escaped her despite her best efforts, and she closed her eyes against the dull yellow light from the single lit tallow candle on the dresser, and Spike's equally dull glare.
"You're going to bed now?" he asked incredulously. "It's only..." he paused, probably to look at his watch, "eight."
"Couldn't sleep last night," she said around another yawn, "so I didn't."
"Oh," he said warily. "Why, uh, why didn't you wake me up?"
Since he sounded so worried, did that mean he knew he'd ended up wrapped around her? Of course, she'd been wrapped around him first. Every day she woke up like that, but hadn't once tried to extricate herself from him, just fallen back to sleep. "Why? No reason for both of us to be miserable." Hardly able to keep her eyes open, she stopped trying, and fell asleep.
The next afternoon, Willow was so completely enmeshed in the book she was reading that it took her a minute to realize Spike was talking to her. She looked up from her spot on the bed as she turned another page in the magick book. "What?"
He was leering at her, and his voice had a suggestive tone to it. "I said I can help you with that." Given that he was sitting bare-chested, aside from the gold chain hanging around his neck, she figured that anything he said, and any tone he used would come out sounding suggestive.
Ignoring that, along with his half-naked state, she sat up a little, a confused expression replacing her curious one. "With my book? Um, no, I think I can handle it all on my own." His grin was huge, and annoying, and so much more sexy than it had a right to be. "I'm a big girl," she added, regretting it immediately when his grin widened.
"You were singing," he told her, lowering his book. He could do that since his was in his hand. Not a conjured one like hers. "The Stones. I can help you with that lack of satisfaction. Although," he paused, a disappointed frown tipping down the corners of his lips, "not with the girlie action part. I could try real hard though."
Oh boy, and that was not a pleasant tingly feeling in her stomach trying to tickle her to death. Spike didn't engender those kinds of feelings. But then the other thing he's said penetrated her mind, and she paled slightly. Singing? In front of Spike? Ack. She couldn't sing well under the best circumstances, but to be caught singing without even realizing it? Horror. "Um, no. No, that's all right. I'm okay with my lack of satisfact-- I mean--" she groaned miserably, damning her tongue for getting her into trouble again.
His laughter cut off anything she'd been about to say. "Admitting the problem is half the cure." He was trying to look all helpful and supportive, but failing miserably due to the laughter.
Knowing he was teasing her, which, marvel at that, she hunkered down a little, grumbling, "Shut up. I have no satisfaction problems."
"Well, if you do start feeling a little... peckish, you just let me know. I'll take right good care of you." He laughed some more and went back to his book.
She tried to do the same, but a thought popped into her head and it wouldn't go away. Not wanting to give him any more fuel for the fire that was her, she tried to stop herself from speaking, but her mouth was already moving, and words were forming. "Besides, isn't all your satisfaction-giving reserved for Drusilla?" A blush was already staining her cheeks by the time the last word was out of her mouth, but she couldn't stop there. "Or actually Harmony now, I guess."
"Well, yeah. It used to be," he admitted with a snicker and a shrug. "But, I don't see either of them around, do you?" He winked exaggeratedly, waggling his eyebrows a bit. Teasing her once again. "Live a little," he encouraged, "be wild. You know, they say once you've gone vamp..." he trailed off, turning his attention back to his book, leaving her to imagine the rest.
And there it should've ended, but her darn mind just couldn't leave it at that. Oh no, not her, she of the big brain and bigger mouth. "When Angel grabbed me that night, he said-- it got me, you know, thinking-- and, um, do you... you know, with your victims? The ones you eat?" Her blush, still not gone from before, deepened even more at her poor choice of words. "I mean-- oh, hey, neat book you've got there. Taming of the Shrew. Good one. Shakespeare... he's kind of... an old friend of mine... shutting up now," she finished with an embarrassed mumble.
He raised an eyebrow at her. That's all he did, raise one eyebrow. Of course, after that there was a lot of laughter, but she hadn't really expected differently. "No," he finally choked out, "I don't."
She nodded, hunkering down even further behind the floating book. God, kill me now, she thought. Why couldn't she ever just keep her mouth shut? Would it kill her not to speak? No. She'd probably not keel over just because she didn't ask one stupid question.
A few minutes later, after not having read one single word of the ten pages she'd just flipped through, she chanced a look at Spike. Still reading, yay. Wow, he really liked that book, judging by the smile on his lips. Who knew Spike was into Shakespeare? Who knew Spike was into reading at all?
"Finis," she sighed, climbing out of bed as the book disappeared. Wandering around the room was boring, she'd done it enough times to know without doing so again. There was nothing to do. No laptop to turn on, no books except Spike's, and her magick ones, no friends to talk with. Nothing to do at all.
"Am I boring you?" he asked without looking up from the book.
"There's nothing to do here," she complained, sitting back down on the bed. "Staring at these ugly wood walls, and looking down on the cobblestones lost its charm a long time ago. And, at the risk of starting another conversation like the one we just had, do you have any suggestions? I mean, you lived during a time similar to this. What did you do for entertainment?"
Instead of dirty suggestions and smirking answers, he simply held his book up. "This."
Conversation was better than nothing, and even though he hadn't offered any, she chose to take it anyway. "I didn't know you liked to read. What else have you read?"
He glared at her, slapping the book down on his thigh. "I may be a demon, but I do know how to read. And I'm not talking about the Pokey Little Puppy. That's more Angelus' bag."
Willow folded her hands primly in her lap and sat up straight, asking in a serious tone, "And did he also enjoy Green Eggs and Ham, and Sam I Am? 'Cause those ones were really good too." She tried not to laugh, but she just couldn't help the giggles that escaped.
Amusement flickered in his eyes and he shook his head. "Guess I'm a little touchy."
"A little? Please. You had this little eye tic thing happening, and a muscle in your jaw was just... going crazy, not to mention the furious glare. I was very afraid for my life just then." She flopped backward on the bed, flinging her arms over her head, then rolled over to look at Spike. "I was asking you what other Shakespeare you've read."
He stood up with a stretch, and Willow couldn't help but watch him, even at the chance of being caught. He was just kind of... mesmerizing. All muscle and sinew and... think bad thoughts, think bone and gristle. Ew. That certainly got her thoughts off of naked Spike.
Finished stretching, he cast a glance at the darkening window. "Only a few."
Only a few? she thought. What were they talking about? Naked Spike? Nope, not that.
After lighting the sconces with his Zippo, he leaned against the wall, looking down at her. "I've read more Poe than Shakespeare."
Poe, right, Shakespeare, reading, that's what they'd been discussing. Good save there, Willow. She wrinkled her nose as the smell of the tallow candles drifted through the room. Pretty soon, she knew, smoke would start to fill the tiny room and burn her eyes. "Well that makes sense in an odd way, doesn't it? Can you open the window yet?"
"Not without getting an unhealthy tan." He dropped down onto the bed. "You'd better get it."
She stood up with a sigh, tossing him a look. "Sometimes I think you use your sun aversion as an excuse not to do anything."
"You know it." He grinned unabashedly.
She pushed the shutter open and unlatched the window, allowing it to swing open. Cool air gusted in, blowing her hair across her face. "I was actually reading the Telltale Heart to Tara the night you grabbed me." Combing her hair back from her face, she sat down in the chair he'd vacated.
"Grabbed you?" he repeated with a frown. "I didn't grab you. I tricked you, plain and simple. Can I help it if you're gullible?"
She sat up straighter, irked at him. "Gullible? I so don't think so. It's absolutely conceivable that Buffy, Xander and Giles were hurt in that warehouse, therefore, I wasn't being gullible. I was just foolish." Sore points with her, all. She hadn't been gullible, but she was ashamed of herself for believing Spike without question. She should've known better.
Dropping that subject, he went on to another. "What is it exactly that you see in that girl? She's boring, and pasty."
"Tara isn't boring, or pasty. She's sweet, and nice, and pretty, and fun, and I like being with her." Uncomfortable with where the conversation was going, she turned it around on him. "What do you see in Harmony? She has maybe one thought a day, and it's usually, 'Wow, I'm so pretty and vapid and annoying.'"
Spike snorted with laughter, agreeing wholeheartedly. "It's not her mind I'm interested in."
Willow rolled her eyes. "Duh. A rock has more thoughts than Harmony, so I kind of figured out what you wanted her for."
"Jealous?" he snickered, laughing at her utterly disgusted look.
"Uh, no! I have never, ever had... those kind of thoughts about Harmony. Ever." She shuddered, feeling grossed-out and oogie. That was worse than thinking of Buffy or Cordelia in that way. Yuck.
His eyebrows lifted briefly before settling down in a frown. "I meant-- never mind."
She wondered what he'd been about to say, but for once, she kept her mouth shut. She was in training. Mouth Shut classes began at noon and four o'clock; don't be late. "Doesn't she kind of bore you?"
"Hell yes, Harmony bores me. I mean, sex is all well and good, but after a while I crave a good conversation. One that doesn't involve her hair, her make-up, her clothes, her wants, her needs... or her, at all." He rolled his eyes in disgust. "She actually thinks I'm gonna take her to France. I told her to go by herself, because there's no way in hell I'll take her, but she won't listen. Thinks I'm kidding."
Willow nodded, remembering all those tutoring sessions she'd had with the blonde back in the sixth grade. In one ear and out the other wasn't even close to describing Harmony's thought process. "Yep, sounds like Harmony." Vacating the chair for the more comfortable bed, she laid down on her stomach, propping her chin in her hands. "Tell me about Drusilla. Did you love her right away?"
His eyes dropped to hers, his eyebrows raising in question. "What do you want to know about Dru for?"
She shrugged expansively. "I'm bored. Reading has lost its appeal for me these past few days, and since there's nothing else to do... regale me?"
He sighed, sounding so put upon she had to slap his leg. A glare was tossed her way, before he fixed his gaze somewhere on the wall behind her, and his eyes softened just the smallest bit. "Fell in love with her the moment I laid eyes on her," he said quietly.
She kept silent, not wanting to disturb him from his reverie, preferring to keep her envy to herself. Tara was as close as she'd come to love at first sight, though that was more like love at first touch. The feelings were extremely powerful, but she'd never seen anything on Tara's face that even came close to the love on Spike's.
"She was sitting on the grass," Spike continued, "her black gown pooled around her, and such unrestrained joy on her face that it took my breath away. Uh, if I'd had breath anyway."
Okay, not interrupting him was forgotten in her curiosity and confusion. "But... wait, you told me before that Drusilla turned you. How could she do that if the first time you saw her you were already a vampire?"
"That was William," he explained, "the soul. The first time I saw Drusilla was when I clawed my way out of the grave. She was there waiting for me, grinning like a kid at Christmastime, clapping her hands..." His own smile widened in remembrance. "I was her first."
"First?" Willow repeated hesitantly. "First... lover?"
Spike snorted disdainfully, tossing her a look that told her what he thought of her question. "Hardly. You think Angelus didn't get there first? Darla too? No, I meant her first time turning someone."
"Oh." Feeling a little stupid, she rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling. "Was it scary? Waking up in a coffin?"
Spike looked down at Willow, wondering why she was asking so many questions. Was it just her bored state, or was there more to it than that? He'd been halfway serious with his offer of satisfaction, testing the waters to see if she was amenable. After weeks of her being wrapped around him while they slept, and no Harmony or Drusilla around to take care of certain needs, she was the next obvious choice, though it was more than that, he knew. Had known since the last time he bit her. The combination of her blood and body always being in such close proximity was enough to drive him near batty.
But, she'd dismissed him like a pest, brassing him off more than a little. As if he didn't matter. Well, she wanted to know things? He'd give her details. "Wasn't pleasant. I woke up in darkness, with no idea of where I was, or how I'd gotten there. And this tremendous, pulsing hate was just... flowing through me, eatin' away at my insides, pushing out all thought."
He could feel her stiffen beside him, and knew she wasn't enjoying the conversation any more, but he didn't want to stop. He wanted her to know what it was like, had a need to describe it all to her. To make her understand.
"I could move, but just barely. I felt around in the dark, trying to figure out where I was, and touched wood above me, and just started... kicking and clawing at it to get free. That's all I wanted, was to get free and kill. And eat. Though I had no idea at the time what I hungered for." He could remember that night as if it happened only that week, rather than a century before. Feeling the desperation and anger at being enclosed in such a small space. Claustrophobia had descended on him like a blanket, choking him as much as the dirt that fell inside the coffin.
Shaking free of the memories, he looked down at Willow, tempted to smooth the frown off of her brow. His hand remained at his side, and when she urged him on with a light nudge on his leg, he continued as if it didn't bother him to recount the details of his birth as a vampire.
"Once I broke through and the dirt fell in on me, I knew I was in a grave. Knew I was dead. I didn't care, just wanted out so I could kill whoever was responsible for putting me there." He paused, wondering if that concerned frown on Willow's face was for him.
"That must've been-- I can't imagine... God, it sounds so," she stopped, trying to find the word she wanted, then settled on, "awful."
"Understatement," he chuckled, nudging her arm with his leg. "But I survived it. Clawed my way through the dirt and mud handful by handful, and as I neared the surface, I heard someone singing."
"Drusilla," she whispered.
Spike nodded, though she couldn't see it. "I wanted to rip her apart with my bare hands, bruised and bloodied though they were. Wanted to tear her skin from her bones, and leave her there to die."
Her eyes darted to his briefly before landing on the ceiling again. "Talk about an issue-inducing event. I'm surprised all vampires aren't insane."
"You eventually get past it," he laughed, silently agreeing with her. He was cruel, and evil, sadistic as hell, and he got off on pain... but he still shuddered at the thought of being buried alive.
"Once I'd broken through, I couldn't see much. I was covered in dirt and mud, and hadn't stopped to wipe my eyes. I didn't need to. I could see without seeing. I sensed her there, and decided not to just kill her, but to hurt her. A lot." Sitting back more comfortably was a little hard with Willow partially on his side of the bed, so he nudged her over, waiting until she scooted out of the way before stretching his legs out, and crossing his hands behind his head.
"She was only a foot or two away, no longer singing. I dragged myself out of the hole I'd dug, crawled over to her and grabbed her, ready to break her apart."
Willow rolled over again when he stopped, watching him with wide eyes, urging him to continue. "Why didn't you?" she finally asked.
Spike shrugged, not sure himself. "I looked into her eyes, and fell in love."
Willow blinked a couple of times, frowned, started to say something then stopped. A second later, as he'd known would happen, she opened her mouth again. "That's... extremely sappy, Spike."
He nodded in agreement, laughing lightly at her rolled eyes. "Every story needs an ending, love."
"So it's not true?" she asked. "You didn't fall at her feet and proclaim your undying love for her?" She giggled a little, trying to hide it from him, but he could hear her plain as day.
"Actually I did fall at her feet, but not to proclaim my love. Angelus was nearby, watching the whole thing. He decided to taunt the new guy, showing Dru just how bad a choice she made. He tore me away from Dru, beat me to a bloody pulp, and dropped me at her feet." He remembered well the laughing words Angelus tossed down at him as he lay on the cold ground, bleeding and confused. 'Welcome to the family. Boy.'
Willow sat up with a sigh, stretching her neck from side to side. "I really don't like that guy. Kind of hate him, in fact."
"Aw." Spike grinned, grabbing a cigarette from the tilting nightstand. "Angry on my behalf, love? I'm touched." Snapping the Zippo shut, he went over to the window, giving Willow a break from the smoke. The tallow candles were bad enough without the added cigarette smoke.
"It's more just a general kind of hate-thing," she assured him. "Not that I wouldn't hate him on your behalf, it's just that... well, you're sort of as evil as he is, only not quite as much."
Deciding not to take offense, he nodded, staring outside into the night. "Yeah. I'm evil."
"And I'm hungry." She pushed herself to her feet and opened the nightstand drawer, checking for money. Finding none, she bit her lip and looked at him. She wouldn't ask him for the money because she knew where it came from, and it was completely against everything she stood for to ask for money that she knew came from his victims.
Preferring not to have her stand there staring at him for the next ten minutes, he sighed and tossed a handful of coins on the bed. As she always did, she took only one coin and left the rest. When she was gone, he scooped up the coins and put them in the nightstand drawer, then left for his own dinner.
"Evil," he sighed, shutting the door behind him.
Moonlight still shone brightly in the night sky when Spike stumbled through the door. The alcohol swimming through his veins forced him to squint and reach out three times before finding the right doorknob amidst the trio suddenly there. His boots scuffed loudly on the wooden floor, and he quickly looked toward the bed to see if he'd woken Willow up.
She moaned lightly and rolled over, but remained asleep. Good. No need to wake her up and let her know he was as drunk as a skunk.
"Drunk as a skunk," he whispered, snickering a bit. What the bloody hell does that mean anyway? Dropping into the chair, he yanked his boots off with a grunt. Derived from the phrase 'stinking drunk'? Hmm, he'd have to ask Willow if she knew, she was smart. A smart witch. A Willow witch.
He looked down at himself with a sigh. Next came the shirt. Lots of tiny little buttons to undo. After the first three, he grew impatient and pulled it off over his head, tossing it to the floor. Willow moaned again, shifting under the covers. Another nightmare. She had a lot of those. Probably about him killing her.
Oh, yeah, she fears me, he thought with a self-important sniff as he climbed quietly under the covers, careful not to wake her. Almost immediately, she rolled into him, probably because he'd dipped the bed low enough to force her to. No matter the reason, he took the opportunity to settle an arm over her stomach. And what a nice, tight little tummy it was too.
Her hair brushed against his chest, and he blew at it. When that didn't work, he swatted at it.
"What are you doing?" the owner of the hair asked. She moved slightly away from him, forcing him to remove his arm from her waist.
"Your hair's ticklin' me." He blew again, grinning when she shivered lightly. "Go back to sleep," he mumbled, halfway there himself.
"I can't yet." She yawned widely, the action belying her words. "I had a nightmare, and if I fall right back to sleep, it'll just start over again. Or pick up where it left off."
Forcing his eyes open, he focused on her profile in the meager light coming through the closed shutters. She looked tired. As tired as he felt.
"Have you read the Telltale Heart?" she asked around another yawn, looking over at him.
"Yeah, a few times," he answered, propping his head on his hand. "Humans get a thrill out of it, but it doesn't hold the same appeal to us vampires."
"Oh." She was silent for a minute, and he thought she was falling back to sleep when she spoke again. "It doesn't give you the heebie-jeebies? 'Cause, it did me."
He laughed when she shuddered. "No, love, no heebie-jeebies for me. I hear heartbeats all the time. What's to scare me?" Her leg brushed his when she turned onto her side, imitating his position.
"Not scare so much as give me the major oogies." She fidgeted with the edge of the blanket, pulling it higher. "I always wondered if the sound stopped after he confessed. Do you think it did? 'Cause, just the thought of hearing something that doesn't ever stop is enough to make me panic. It's-- it's like that episode of Star Trek where they find a ship, and go to investigate--"
"Sounds like just about every episode every written. All generations," he chuckled, receiving a soft slap to his arm.
"I can't remember who it was, but one of them got something on his hand, only there was nothing there. He kept scratching at it, 'cause it itched, but there was nothing there, and... the thought of something being there that isn't actually there but noticeable... well it's just creepy to me."
He closed his eyes and leaned back. "Kinda like the Taos Hum?" he asked absently.
"Yes," she said loudly, then lowered her voice, "exactly. Just like that."
Spike had to laugh at her exuberance. She was always so excited about the smallest things. He liked that about her. "Is that what you were dreaming about? Non-stop beating hearts?"
"No," she said quietly. "Darla and Angelus."
Obviously she was upset and not wanting to talk about it, so he changed the subject. "Have you read The Sphinx? By Poe?"
She shook her head, rolling onto her back again. "What's it about?" Her bright eyes were shining in the moonlight as she gazed him, looking so innocent and trusting.
He shook his head at himself. What was he doing? Discussing literature with Willow? Any other time he'd be tearing into her neck, not trying to occupy her until she was ready to fall back to sleep. Instead of dampening his feelings, the alcohol had actually intensified them.
"Spike." She nudged his arm a few times, trying to grab his attention. "Earth to Spike."
Opening his eyes, he kept his gaze from Willow, and turned it instead to the ceiling. "It's about a guy who needs to learn some perspective," he said softly, shrugging.
"Um, wow, that's, uh... that's vague."
"That's because I'm tired, and it's late. I'll tell you about it tomorrow. Go to sleep," he ordered softly, rolling away from her, and her enticing smell.
But she didn't. "Are you drunk because of what you told me earlier? The stuff about Drusilla and Angelus?" She paused for a second, and he just knew she was going to apologize.
He had this thing where he didn't like being apologized to by annoying little girls with sweet-smelling hair and big, innocent eyes. "Does it matter?" he asked her, sighing heavily.
"I-- I guess not," she mumbled, rolling away from him. "Sorry."
Bloody hell, she'd gotten to say it anyway.
Pairing: W/S of course. That's all I write.
Rating: R
Summary: Spike uses Willow to go back in time to avoid being implanted by the Initiative... has even one of Spike's plans ever gone right? They end up a little further back in time than he intended.
Dedicated: To my beta, Claudia! She rules. Helped me work through a ton of stuff, caught things I'd read a hundred times and never noticed, and did the best thing of all, the easiest thing in the world to get a writer to write... she begged for more.
PART 6
Willow strode slowly along the cobblestone street, her destination just ahead, her mind years ahead. She missed her friends, her girlfriend, her parents, Sunnydale... even her dorm room. Basically, if it was from her time, she missed it. Chocolate. Oh, and soda. Coffee was what they had here. And tea, not to mention ale, and that was all well and good, but she really missed the fast foods and drinks from her time.
Oh, to have a nice big juicy, greasy cheeseburger again. With fries. And a shake. If the world were a perfect place, she'd be on her way to McDonald's right now. But it wasn't, so she wasn't.
Opening one of the heavy wooden doors, she took a deep breath and went inside. Immediately she was assaulted by the heat and silence of the church. Dark wooden pews lined either side of her, and seemed to be a recurring theme. The whole building was dark wood, the walls, floor, ceiling, pretty much everything. Stained glass windows, not too detailed, not too gaudy like some she'd seen. Tall gold candlesticks were placed here and there, and at the altar was the obligatory Jesus on the cross.
Spotting what she needed, she quickly stepped over to it and filled the small vial she'd brought with her. The water didn't look too clean, it certainly didn't invite her to drink it, but she would. Um, later. Maybe she could boil it, or something. Would that take the 'holy' out of the holy water? Water during these times was seriously gross, she was lucky if it wasn't brown. This holy water was only slightly yellow... but, hey, maybe it was the gold bowl it was in.
She capped the vial and held the bottle up to the candles beside her. Nope, not just the bowl. "Yuck," she whispered, nearly jumping at the sound of her own voice.
"May I help you, lass?" a hushed voice inquired from behind her.
This time she did jump, slapping her free hand over her heart to calm its sudden erratic beat. "God, you scared me. Um," seeing a thunderous frown appear on the priest's face, she amended her words, "I mean, goodness, Father, you frightened me." Simpering smile, act like a brainless twit, it was easy.
He smiled condescendingly, as she knew he would, and even went so far as to pat her back like a child. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to startle you. I'm Father Ian McNeil." His kindly old face made her want to smile, despite her anger.
Telling herself that it wasn't his fault, that it was just the time he happened to be born in, she smiled even wider, hiding the vial of holy water in her hand. "That's all right, Father." Casting a look around her, she laced her hands behind her back. "This is a beautiful church." If she was lucky, he wouldn't notice the holy water, and she wouldn't have to explain why she was taking some.
"It is, isn't it?" a childish voice commented sweetly. The two of them turned toward the front of the church, toward the young woman kneeling at the altar, lighting a candle.
Willow knew the voice, had hoped never to hear it again, or see the petite blonde woman it belonged to again. She was a vampire, what was she doing in a church? Especially during the day?
"Ah, Darla." Father McNeil smiled widely and started up the aisle.
Willow, thinking fast, rushed over and grabbed his arm, halting his progress toward the evil vampire... who was currently in game face, and yet still smiling sweetly over Father McNeil's shoulder. "Wait," Willow told him. "Um, I-- uh," she dropped her hand from his arm at his pointed look, and bit her lip. What the heck was she supposed to do now? "I need some marital advice. My husband is..." dropping her eyes to the floor, she faked a sniffle. "I think he has a mistress, Father."
Father McNeil patted her shoulder kindly, and motioned for her to sit at one of the pews. "I'll be right with you. Darla?" He turned to find Darla right beside them, watching with a small smirk, which seemed to only be noticeable to Willow.
She stepped between Willow and Father McNeil, trailing her hand along the top of the pew in front of them. "Don't you know she's evil, Father?"
Willow tried to stand up, but Darla pushed her back down. "Run," Willow told the priest. Fighting the panic that was eating at her insides, she fumbled for her cross necklace. "Go outside, in the sun. Please," she begged him, but he didn't move.
He shook his head, and reached out a hand to Darla. "Careful," he chastised her. "Now, what's this about evil?"
"It's simple," Darla explained. "She's a witch." She turned her innocent eyes on the priest, and perched primly on the edge of the pew beside Willow. "She's come here to kill you, Father."
Unable to find her cross, the same cross she carried with her at all times, Willow jumped up and grabbed the priest's hand, trying to drag him with her toward the doors, but he resisted her efforts. "Please, just come outside with me, I'll explain everything there."
"It's all right," he assured Willow, "we're safe here." He gestured to the church around them. "Whatever it is you fear cannot get us here. This is a house of God."
"That may be," she muttered, once again dragging him toward the front doors, "but sometimes evil things hide behind perfectly innocent looking faces. And if we don't get out of here, right now," she insisted, "we'll both die, so come on."
He sighed heavily, finally giving in and following her outside. "Would you mind telling me what this is all about?"
A few safe yards away from the entrance, Willow nodded toward the doors where Darla stood just inside, peering out at them from the gloom of the interior. "Look, Father. Look at her face."
He did so, gasping and stepping back as Darla hissed at them. "What-- what is it? Her face is... she's--"
"Father, don't let her whisper evil things to you," Darla called out to them, letting her face change back. "She's bewitching you. Whatever you think you see isn't real. It's witchcraft." And then she grinned, laughing evilly, and flying--actually flying--out the door, straight at them.
Willow screamed, and pushed Father McNeil out of the way, then-- woke up with a start, groaning miserably. Damn it. The nightmare again. Night after night of the same nightmare was starting to wear on her nerves. If she got any sleep at all, what with Spike coming and going at all hours, she was lucky if she got an hour without a nightmare. Yay. Stifling a yawn, she decided to give up on trying to sleep for a while. She uncurled herself from Spike and climbed out of bed, dressing quietly.
The bright sun shining through the trees was warm, beautiful, and so completely bugging Willow. Sitting in the grass just outside town had been a great idea. She'd taken a blanket and herself, and nothing else. It was a chance to relax, and read a book, not to mention get something she'd been lacking for a few weeks.
Sun.
She'd spent so many nights out, and so many days in, that she was starting to look like a vampire. Spike had more color to his skin than she did. So she'd walked a mile or so just outside of town, leaving behind the noise, the smell of horses and other livestock, and... um, the people who didn't know that water was their friend. Which pretty much described everyone except her and Spike.
The innkeeper still gave them weird looks when they requested water brought up for bathing. Spike usually left the water for her to use and bathed in the stream near where she was at that very moment. She never went with him since he had to do it in the dark, and she preferred not to have an animal, human-shaped or not, attack her while she was her most vulnerable, thank you very much. Not to mention the weirdness of Spike being naked just a few feet away.
Their days had become routine. A week passed, and then another as she searched for the reason behind the spell screw-up. So far, she'd found not a damn thing. Galway had few books in their one and only book shop, and none on magick at all, so she used a spell she'd learned just before Spike witch-napped her, and conjured the books for a short time. Hanging suspended in the air in front of her at the moment was one of those books, and the sun was shining directly down on it, keeping her from seeing the tiny printed words on the glaringly bright page.
After turning her head this way and that, standing to throw her shadow over the book, and just plain making a fool out of herself for anyone to see, she sighed heavily and checked her watch. It was time to head back to town anyway. It was late, getting later by the second, and both Darla and Angelus were still out there, which was probably why she kept having nightmares about them. She'd thought they'd split town as soon as Angelus woke up, but, nope. They were sticking around. As were her and Spike. At least until she found a way to guarantee their next trip. Which wasn't happening.
Spike was ticked at her slow progress, but he refused to participate in the spell until he knew they'd show up in the right place and time.
"Finis," she said on a yawn, climbing to her feet as the book disappeared in a flash of light. She grabbed the blanket and shook it out, watching absently as grass, dirt, and leaves went flying. Her mind was busy trying to think of another book to check, but she was quickly running out of options. She couldn't for the life of her figure out what went wrong. As far as she could tell, it wasn't something she'd done wrong.
She made her way back home, which is how she now thought of their room, and opted not to go upstairs yet. She headed into the pub, sitting at the empty bar in the empty room. The barkeep looked up from his meal as she sat, but continued to shovel food into his mouth.
"Ah, good evenin', wee one," he said with a nod, his soft brogue bringing a smile to her face. She just loved that accent, even if it was coming from a big, greasy, burly guy with only a tuft of hair ringing the back of his mostly bald head.
"Evening, Sean. Um, the usual, please. When you're finished." A mug of ale, lamb stew and a hunk of bread was her usual dinner, and, as he always did, Sean stopped eating his own dinner to dish up hers. She smiled gratefully. "Thanks."
"Not a problem, lass." He pointed to her blanket with his spoon. "Meeting your husband here?" He looked around briefly for Spike, before going back to his own lamb stew.
She shrugged, tearing off a piece of bread. "Nope. Told you, he's not much of a day person." Scooping the bread in the thick stew, she savored the flavor, hardly wincing at the saltiness of it. As soon as they got home, she was sticking to yogurt and rice cakes for a year. It amazed her that she hadn't gained a pound, her clothes still fit perfectly, leading her to believe the healing properties of the spell had a hand in this too. Nifty thing to have. Maybe she could figure out how to work it so Buffy had something similar during patrol.
As soon as she thought of Buffy, she changed the course of her thoughts, it would only force her to think of all her friends, and how much she missed them. And until she knew for sure that she'd be going home soon, she avoided thinking about them altogether. Especially Tara, whom she missed more than anything. She missed being with her, and holding her, and kissing her. Talking with her. Not to mention the sex.
And she needed to not think about that right now. Not until she knew.
Willow closed the door quietly behind her, and turned to see if she'd woken Spike up. Considering he was standing right in front of her when she turned, she thought that, no, maybe she hadn't.
"Could you not do that?" she practically yelled. "My heart isn't dead, it actually beats, and if you don't stop scaring the heck out of me, it won't be beating for long." She dropped into the chair by the door and glared at him.
"Anything?" He was going to completely ignore her griping, that much was obvious from the lack of return-griping.
Gypped out of a nice, healthy argument, Willow shook her head. "No, and why, yes, Spike, I'm just fine. How are you?" He tossed her an uncaring snort and went back to staring at her and doing nothing else. She rolled her eyes, leaning her head against the chair back. "We never talk these days," she joked, "don't you love me anymore?" Judging by the finger he aimed her way, she thought the answer was once again, no.
He paced a few times, running his hands through his not-completely-bleach-blonde-anymore hair. "This isn't a vacation, Willow. We're--"
"Stuck here," she yawned, finishing his oft repeated complaint. "I know. And I'm working on it." She sat up, watching him as he began pacing again. "So far, I've come up with absolutely no reason for us being here." Hesitating, she brought up an idea that she'd been tossing around for a while. "Maybe we were supposed to come here. What if... fate, or destiny, or the powers that be, or something brought us here for a reason?"
He obviously didn't agree with her, his sneer was cruel and evil, two things he was good at being. "And what reason would that be, love? To keep Angel from being turned? To kill him? Keep Dru, then me, from ever being turned? Is that it?" he snarled. He stopped pacing, and advanced on her threateningly.
"Get over yourself," she said tiredly. "I am so sick of hearing you obsess about Angel. You hate him, I get that, but not everything I do is because of Angel." She pushed herself to her feet before she fell asleep in the chair, and laid down on the bed. "You know, the way I see it, Angelus has to be made a vampire and survive long enough to turn Dru. Dru has to turn you, and all three of you have to make your merry way to Sunnydale." A yawn escaped her despite her best efforts, and she closed her eyes against the dull yellow light from the single lit tallow candle on the dresser, and Spike's equally dull glare.
"You're going to bed now?" he asked incredulously. "It's only..." he paused, probably to look at his watch, "eight."
"Couldn't sleep last night," she said around another yawn, "so I didn't."
"Oh," he said warily. "Why, uh, why didn't you wake me up?"
Since he sounded so worried, did that mean he knew he'd ended up wrapped around her? Of course, she'd been wrapped around him first. Every day she woke up like that, but hadn't once tried to extricate herself from him, just fallen back to sleep. "Why? No reason for both of us to be miserable." Hardly able to keep her eyes open, she stopped trying, and fell asleep.
The next afternoon, Willow was so completely enmeshed in the book she was reading that it took her a minute to realize Spike was talking to her. She looked up from her spot on the bed as she turned another page in the magick book. "What?"
He was leering at her, and his voice had a suggestive tone to it. "I said I can help you with that." Given that he was sitting bare-chested, aside from the gold chain hanging around his neck, she figured that anything he said, and any tone he used would come out sounding suggestive.
Ignoring that, along with his half-naked state, she sat up a little, a confused expression replacing her curious one. "With my book? Um, no, I think I can handle it all on my own." His grin was huge, and annoying, and so much more sexy than it had a right to be. "I'm a big girl," she added, regretting it immediately when his grin widened.
"You were singing," he told her, lowering his book. He could do that since his was in his hand. Not a conjured one like hers. "The Stones. I can help you with that lack of satisfaction. Although," he paused, a disappointed frown tipping down the corners of his lips, "not with the girlie action part. I could try real hard though."
Oh boy, and that was not a pleasant tingly feeling in her stomach trying to tickle her to death. Spike didn't engender those kinds of feelings. But then the other thing he's said penetrated her mind, and she paled slightly. Singing? In front of Spike? Ack. She couldn't sing well under the best circumstances, but to be caught singing without even realizing it? Horror. "Um, no. No, that's all right. I'm okay with my lack of satisfact-- I mean--" she groaned miserably, damning her tongue for getting her into trouble again.
His laughter cut off anything she'd been about to say. "Admitting the problem is half the cure." He was trying to look all helpful and supportive, but failing miserably due to the laughter.
Knowing he was teasing her, which, marvel at that, she hunkered down a little, grumbling, "Shut up. I have no satisfaction problems."
"Well, if you do start feeling a little... peckish, you just let me know. I'll take right good care of you." He laughed some more and went back to his book.
She tried to do the same, but a thought popped into her head and it wouldn't go away. Not wanting to give him any more fuel for the fire that was her, she tried to stop herself from speaking, but her mouth was already moving, and words were forming. "Besides, isn't all your satisfaction-giving reserved for Drusilla?" A blush was already staining her cheeks by the time the last word was out of her mouth, but she couldn't stop there. "Or actually Harmony now, I guess."
"Well, yeah. It used to be," he admitted with a snicker and a shrug. "But, I don't see either of them around, do you?" He winked exaggeratedly, waggling his eyebrows a bit. Teasing her once again. "Live a little," he encouraged, "be wild. You know, they say once you've gone vamp..." he trailed off, turning his attention back to his book, leaving her to imagine the rest.
And there it should've ended, but her darn mind just couldn't leave it at that. Oh no, not her, she of the big brain and bigger mouth. "When Angel grabbed me that night, he said-- it got me, you know, thinking-- and, um, do you... you know, with your victims? The ones you eat?" Her blush, still not gone from before, deepened even more at her poor choice of words. "I mean-- oh, hey, neat book you've got there. Taming of the Shrew. Good one. Shakespeare... he's kind of... an old friend of mine... shutting up now," she finished with an embarrassed mumble.
He raised an eyebrow at her. That's all he did, raise one eyebrow. Of course, after that there was a lot of laughter, but she hadn't really expected differently. "No," he finally choked out, "I don't."
She nodded, hunkering down even further behind the floating book. God, kill me now, she thought. Why couldn't she ever just keep her mouth shut? Would it kill her not to speak? No. She'd probably not keel over just because she didn't ask one stupid question.
A few minutes later, after not having read one single word of the ten pages she'd just flipped through, she chanced a look at Spike. Still reading, yay. Wow, he really liked that book, judging by the smile on his lips. Who knew Spike was into Shakespeare? Who knew Spike was into reading at all?
"Finis," she sighed, climbing out of bed as the book disappeared. Wandering around the room was boring, she'd done it enough times to know without doing so again. There was nothing to do. No laptop to turn on, no books except Spike's, and her magick ones, no friends to talk with. Nothing to do at all.
"Am I boring you?" he asked without looking up from the book.
"There's nothing to do here," she complained, sitting back down on the bed. "Staring at these ugly wood walls, and looking down on the cobblestones lost its charm a long time ago. And, at the risk of starting another conversation like the one we just had, do you have any suggestions? I mean, you lived during a time similar to this. What did you do for entertainment?"
Instead of dirty suggestions and smirking answers, he simply held his book up. "This."
Conversation was better than nothing, and even though he hadn't offered any, she chose to take it anyway. "I didn't know you liked to read. What else have you read?"
He glared at her, slapping the book down on his thigh. "I may be a demon, but I do know how to read. And I'm not talking about the Pokey Little Puppy. That's more Angelus' bag."
Willow folded her hands primly in her lap and sat up straight, asking in a serious tone, "And did he also enjoy Green Eggs and Ham, and Sam I Am? 'Cause those ones were really good too." She tried not to laugh, but she just couldn't help the giggles that escaped.
Amusement flickered in his eyes and he shook his head. "Guess I'm a little touchy."
"A little? Please. You had this little eye tic thing happening, and a muscle in your jaw was just... going crazy, not to mention the furious glare. I was very afraid for my life just then." She flopped backward on the bed, flinging her arms over her head, then rolled over to look at Spike. "I was asking you what other Shakespeare you've read."
He stood up with a stretch, and Willow couldn't help but watch him, even at the chance of being caught. He was just kind of... mesmerizing. All muscle and sinew and... think bad thoughts, think bone and gristle. Ew. That certainly got her thoughts off of naked Spike.
Finished stretching, he cast a glance at the darkening window. "Only a few."
Only a few? she thought. What were they talking about? Naked Spike? Nope, not that.
After lighting the sconces with his Zippo, he leaned against the wall, looking down at her. "I've read more Poe than Shakespeare."
Poe, right, Shakespeare, reading, that's what they'd been discussing. Good save there, Willow. She wrinkled her nose as the smell of the tallow candles drifted through the room. Pretty soon, she knew, smoke would start to fill the tiny room and burn her eyes. "Well that makes sense in an odd way, doesn't it? Can you open the window yet?"
"Not without getting an unhealthy tan." He dropped down onto the bed. "You'd better get it."
She stood up with a sigh, tossing him a look. "Sometimes I think you use your sun aversion as an excuse not to do anything."
"You know it." He grinned unabashedly.
She pushed the shutter open and unlatched the window, allowing it to swing open. Cool air gusted in, blowing her hair across her face. "I was actually reading the Telltale Heart to Tara the night you grabbed me." Combing her hair back from her face, she sat down in the chair he'd vacated.
"Grabbed you?" he repeated with a frown. "I didn't grab you. I tricked you, plain and simple. Can I help it if you're gullible?"
She sat up straighter, irked at him. "Gullible? I so don't think so. It's absolutely conceivable that Buffy, Xander and Giles were hurt in that warehouse, therefore, I wasn't being gullible. I was just foolish." Sore points with her, all. She hadn't been gullible, but she was ashamed of herself for believing Spike without question. She should've known better.
Dropping that subject, he went on to another. "What is it exactly that you see in that girl? She's boring, and pasty."
"Tara isn't boring, or pasty. She's sweet, and nice, and pretty, and fun, and I like being with her." Uncomfortable with where the conversation was going, she turned it around on him. "What do you see in Harmony? She has maybe one thought a day, and it's usually, 'Wow, I'm so pretty and vapid and annoying.'"
Spike snorted with laughter, agreeing wholeheartedly. "It's not her mind I'm interested in."
Willow rolled her eyes. "Duh. A rock has more thoughts than Harmony, so I kind of figured out what you wanted her for."
"Jealous?" he snickered, laughing at her utterly disgusted look.
"Uh, no! I have never, ever had... those kind of thoughts about Harmony. Ever." She shuddered, feeling grossed-out and oogie. That was worse than thinking of Buffy or Cordelia in that way. Yuck.
His eyebrows lifted briefly before settling down in a frown. "I meant-- never mind."
She wondered what he'd been about to say, but for once, she kept her mouth shut. She was in training. Mouth Shut classes began at noon and four o'clock; don't be late. "Doesn't she kind of bore you?"
"Hell yes, Harmony bores me. I mean, sex is all well and good, but after a while I crave a good conversation. One that doesn't involve her hair, her make-up, her clothes, her wants, her needs... or her, at all." He rolled his eyes in disgust. "She actually thinks I'm gonna take her to France. I told her to go by herself, because there's no way in hell I'll take her, but she won't listen. Thinks I'm kidding."
Willow nodded, remembering all those tutoring sessions she'd had with the blonde back in the sixth grade. In one ear and out the other wasn't even close to describing Harmony's thought process. "Yep, sounds like Harmony." Vacating the chair for the more comfortable bed, she laid down on her stomach, propping her chin in her hands. "Tell me about Drusilla. Did you love her right away?"
His eyes dropped to hers, his eyebrows raising in question. "What do you want to know about Dru for?"
She shrugged expansively. "I'm bored. Reading has lost its appeal for me these past few days, and since there's nothing else to do... regale me?"
He sighed, sounding so put upon she had to slap his leg. A glare was tossed her way, before he fixed his gaze somewhere on the wall behind her, and his eyes softened just the smallest bit. "Fell in love with her the moment I laid eyes on her," he said quietly.
She kept silent, not wanting to disturb him from his reverie, preferring to keep her envy to herself. Tara was as close as she'd come to love at first sight, though that was more like love at first touch. The feelings were extremely powerful, but she'd never seen anything on Tara's face that even came close to the love on Spike's.
"She was sitting on the grass," Spike continued, "her black gown pooled around her, and such unrestrained joy on her face that it took my breath away. Uh, if I'd had breath anyway."
Okay, not interrupting him was forgotten in her curiosity and confusion. "But... wait, you told me before that Drusilla turned you. How could she do that if the first time you saw her you were already a vampire?"
"That was William," he explained, "the soul. The first time I saw Drusilla was when I clawed my way out of the grave. She was there waiting for me, grinning like a kid at Christmastime, clapping her hands..." His own smile widened in remembrance. "I was her first."
"First?" Willow repeated hesitantly. "First... lover?"
Spike snorted disdainfully, tossing her a look that told her what he thought of her question. "Hardly. You think Angelus didn't get there first? Darla too? No, I meant her first time turning someone."
"Oh." Feeling a little stupid, she rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling. "Was it scary? Waking up in a coffin?"
Spike looked down at Willow, wondering why she was asking so many questions. Was it just her bored state, or was there more to it than that? He'd been halfway serious with his offer of satisfaction, testing the waters to see if she was amenable. After weeks of her being wrapped around him while they slept, and no Harmony or Drusilla around to take care of certain needs, she was the next obvious choice, though it was more than that, he knew. Had known since the last time he bit her. The combination of her blood and body always being in such close proximity was enough to drive him near batty.
But, she'd dismissed him like a pest, brassing him off more than a little. As if he didn't matter. Well, she wanted to know things? He'd give her details. "Wasn't pleasant. I woke up in darkness, with no idea of where I was, or how I'd gotten there. And this tremendous, pulsing hate was just... flowing through me, eatin' away at my insides, pushing out all thought."
He could feel her stiffen beside him, and knew she wasn't enjoying the conversation any more, but he didn't want to stop. He wanted her to know what it was like, had a need to describe it all to her. To make her understand.
"I could move, but just barely. I felt around in the dark, trying to figure out where I was, and touched wood above me, and just started... kicking and clawing at it to get free. That's all I wanted, was to get free and kill. And eat. Though I had no idea at the time what I hungered for." He could remember that night as if it happened only that week, rather than a century before. Feeling the desperation and anger at being enclosed in such a small space. Claustrophobia had descended on him like a blanket, choking him as much as the dirt that fell inside the coffin.
Shaking free of the memories, he looked down at Willow, tempted to smooth the frown off of her brow. His hand remained at his side, and when she urged him on with a light nudge on his leg, he continued as if it didn't bother him to recount the details of his birth as a vampire.
"Once I broke through and the dirt fell in on me, I knew I was in a grave. Knew I was dead. I didn't care, just wanted out so I could kill whoever was responsible for putting me there." He paused, wondering if that concerned frown on Willow's face was for him.
"That must've been-- I can't imagine... God, it sounds so," she stopped, trying to find the word she wanted, then settled on, "awful."
"Understatement," he chuckled, nudging her arm with his leg. "But I survived it. Clawed my way through the dirt and mud handful by handful, and as I neared the surface, I heard someone singing."
"Drusilla," she whispered.
Spike nodded, though she couldn't see it. "I wanted to rip her apart with my bare hands, bruised and bloodied though they were. Wanted to tear her skin from her bones, and leave her there to die."
Her eyes darted to his briefly before landing on the ceiling again. "Talk about an issue-inducing event. I'm surprised all vampires aren't insane."
"You eventually get past it," he laughed, silently agreeing with her. He was cruel, and evil, sadistic as hell, and he got off on pain... but he still shuddered at the thought of being buried alive.
"Once I'd broken through, I couldn't see much. I was covered in dirt and mud, and hadn't stopped to wipe my eyes. I didn't need to. I could see without seeing. I sensed her there, and decided not to just kill her, but to hurt her. A lot." Sitting back more comfortably was a little hard with Willow partially on his side of the bed, so he nudged her over, waiting until she scooted out of the way before stretching his legs out, and crossing his hands behind his head.
"She was only a foot or two away, no longer singing. I dragged myself out of the hole I'd dug, crawled over to her and grabbed her, ready to break her apart."
Willow rolled over again when he stopped, watching him with wide eyes, urging him to continue. "Why didn't you?" she finally asked.
Spike shrugged, not sure himself. "I looked into her eyes, and fell in love."
Willow blinked a couple of times, frowned, started to say something then stopped. A second later, as he'd known would happen, she opened her mouth again. "That's... extremely sappy, Spike."
He nodded in agreement, laughing lightly at her rolled eyes. "Every story needs an ending, love."
"So it's not true?" she asked. "You didn't fall at her feet and proclaim your undying love for her?" She giggled a little, trying to hide it from him, but he could hear her plain as day.
"Actually I did fall at her feet, but not to proclaim my love. Angelus was nearby, watching the whole thing. He decided to taunt the new guy, showing Dru just how bad a choice she made. He tore me away from Dru, beat me to a bloody pulp, and dropped me at her feet." He remembered well the laughing words Angelus tossed down at him as he lay on the cold ground, bleeding and confused. 'Welcome to the family. Boy.'
Willow sat up with a sigh, stretching her neck from side to side. "I really don't like that guy. Kind of hate him, in fact."
"Aw." Spike grinned, grabbing a cigarette from the tilting nightstand. "Angry on my behalf, love? I'm touched." Snapping the Zippo shut, he went over to the window, giving Willow a break from the smoke. The tallow candles were bad enough without the added cigarette smoke.
"It's more just a general kind of hate-thing," she assured him. "Not that I wouldn't hate him on your behalf, it's just that... well, you're sort of as evil as he is, only not quite as much."
Deciding not to take offense, he nodded, staring outside into the night. "Yeah. I'm evil."
"And I'm hungry." She pushed herself to her feet and opened the nightstand drawer, checking for money. Finding none, she bit her lip and looked at him. She wouldn't ask him for the money because she knew where it came from, and it was completely against everything she stood for to ask for money that she knew came from his victims.
Preferring not to have her stand there staring at him for the next ten minutes, he sighed and tossed a handful of coins on the bed. As she always did, she took only one coin and left the rest. When she was gone, he scooped up the coins and put them in the nightstand drawer, then left for his own dinner.
"Evil," he sighed, shutting the door behind him.
Moonlight still shone brightly in the night sky when Spike stumbled through the door. The alcohol swimming through his veins forced him to squint and reach out three times before finding the right doorknob amidst the trio suddenly there. His boots scuffed loudly on the wooden floor, and he quickly looked toward the bed to see if he'd woken Willow up.
She moaned lightly and rolled over, but remained asleep. Good. No need to wake her up and let her know he was as drunk as a skunk.
"Drunk as a skunk," he whispered, snickering a bit. What the bloody hell does that mean anyway? Dropping into the chair, he yanked his boots off with a grunt. Derived from the phrase 'stinking drunk'? Hmm, he'd have to ask Willow if she knew, she was smart. A smart witch. A Willow witch.
He looked down at himself with a sigh. Next came the shirt. Lots of tiny little buttons to undo. After the first three, he grew impatient and pulled it off over his head, tossing it to the floor. Willow moaned again, shifting under the covers. Another nightmare. She had a lot of those. Probably about him killing her.
Oh, yeah, she fears me, he thought with a self-important sniff as he climbed quietly under the covers, careful not to wake her. Almost immediately, she rolled into him, probably because he'd dipped the bed low enough to force her to. No matter the reason, he took the opportunity to settle an arm over her stomach. And what a nice, tight little tummy it was too.
Her hair brushed against his chest, and he blew at it. When that didn't work, he swatted at it.
"What are you doing?" the owner of the hair asked. She moved slightly away from him, forcing him to remove his arm from her waist.
"Your hair's ticklin' me." He blew again, grinning when she shivered lightly. "Go back to sleep," he mumbled, halfway there himself.
"I can't yet." She yawned widely, the action belying her words. "I had a nightmare, and if I fall right back to sleep, it'll just start over again. Or pick up where it left off."
Forcing his eyes open, he focused on her profile in the meager light coming through the closed shutters. She looked tired. As tired as he felt.
"Have you read the Telltale Heart?" she asked around another yawn, looking over at him.
"Yeah, a few times," he answered, propping his head on his hand. "Humans get a thrill out of it, but it doesn't hold the same appeal to us vampires."
"Oh." She was silent for a minute, and he thought she was falling back to sleep when she spoke again. "It doesn't give you the heebie-jeebies? 'Cause, it did me."
He laughed when she shuddered. "No, love, no heebie-jeebies for me. I hear heartbeats all the time. What's to scare me?" Her leg brushed his when she turned onto her side, imitating his position.
"Not scare so much as give me the major oogies." She fidgeted with the edge of the blanket, pulling it higher. "I always wondered if the sound stopped after he confessed. Do you think it did? 'Cause, just the thought of hearing something that doesn't ever stop is enough to make me panic. It's-- it's like that episode of Star Trek where they find a ship, and go to investigate--"
"Sounds like just about every episode every written. All generations," he chuckled, receiving a soft slap to his arm.
"I can't remember who it was, but one of them got something on his hand, only there was nothing there. He kept scratching at it, 'cause it itched, but there was nothing there, and... the thought of something being there that isn't actually there but noticeable... well it's just creepy to me."
He closed his eyes and leaned back. "Kinda like the Taos Hum?" he asked absently.
"Yes," she said loudly, then lowered her voice, "exactly. Just like that."
Spike had to laugh at her exuberance. She was always so excited about the smallest things. He liked that about her. "Is that what you were dreaming about? Non-stop beating hearts?"
"No," she said quietly. "Darla and Angelus."
Obviously she was upset and not wanting to talk about it, so he changed the subject. "Have you read The Sphinx? By Poe?"
She shook her head, rolling onto her back again. "What's it about?" Her bright eyes were shining in the moonlight as she gazed him, looking so innocent and trusting.
He shook his head at himself. What was he doing? Discussing literature with Willow? Any other time he'd be tearing into her neck, not trying to occupy her until she was ready to fall back to sleep. Instead of dampening his feelings, the alcohol had actually intensified them.
"Spike." She nudged his arm a few times, trying to grab his attention. "Earth to Spike."
Opening his eyes, he kept his gaze from Willow, and turned it instead to the ceiling. "It's about a guy who needs to learn some perspective," he said softly, shrugging.
"Um, wow, that's, uh... that's vague."
"That's because I'm tired, and it's late. I'll tell you about it tomorrow. Go to sleep," he ordered softly, rolling away from her, and her enticing smell.
But she didn't. "Are you drunk because of what you told me earlier? The stuff about Drusilla and Angelus?" She paused for a second, and he just knew she was going to apologize.
He had this thing where he didn't like being apologized to by annoying little girls with sweet-smelling hair and big, innocent eyes. "Does it matter?" he asked her, sighing heavily.
"I-- I guess not," she mumbled, rolling away from him. "Sorry."
Bloody hell, she'd gotten to say it anyway.