Disclaimer: See chapter 1, or 6.
PART 9
The pub was extremely busy tonight, and Willow's aching body was screaming for a break. She made her way over to the bar, weaving her way in between customers. Setting her tray on the counter, she rubbed her back and stretched her neck.
Samantha patted her shoulder in empathy as she passed by with a tray full of mugs and pitchers held above her head. It still amazed Willow to see the older woman do that. Willow herself hadn't mastered the technique yet, but she had hope. It had only been a year and eight months.
Ah, who was she kidding? She would never be able to do that unless she used magick, which she wouldn't do. Getting burned at the stake, or stoned to death wasn't on her list of Things To Do While Stuck in the Past.
"Why don't you take a break?" Samantha asked, returning to the bar with an empty tray, and slumping onto a stool beside Willow. "I can hold things down for a bit. Go on," she urged.
Willow shook her head, picking up her tray of mugs. "Nope. I'm good."
Samantha rolled her eyes and shook her head. "That lie doesn't work anymore, remember? I know you, and I know that frown. Go on, take a little time, I've got things here."
Willow hesitated, not wanting to strand her friend alone with all the customers, but Samantha shook her head and pointed to the door. Willow smiled. "Okay, okay, I'm going, just as soon as I drop these off. Slave driver."
Samantha laughed. "And don't you forget it, love. Take your time. More tips for me," she said with a wink.
Willow grinned and rolled her eyes. "More gropes for you too. I'll pass on that, thank you very much." Hefting her tray high, she pushed through the crowd with a lot less grace than Samantha, but quite a bit of skill. The table in the back, where she was headed, was crowded with drunken lords; young men who had too much money and too little sense.
College boys in her time, gentlemen in this time. They acted the same. Groping and laughing, thinking they were God's gift to the population at large. Willow set her tray down on the table, handed out their drinks, and forced a smile when one of them likened her red hair to an orange poppy. As soon as she was finished, she walked away, rolling her eyes and rubbing the two new bruises on her legs from pinching fingers.
As she neared the bar, Stewart, a newer regular, looked up from his conversation with Joe.
"Aye, is he having me on, love?" Stewart asked her, hitching his thumb at Joe. His craggy face and slicked back hair, both weathered and aged, showed disbelief mixed with amusement.
"About what?" she asked, tossing a glance at Joe as she set her tray on the counter. Joe gave her his best, most charming smile, trying to look innocent, and failing miserably. She had to laugh, knowing exactly what it was they were discussing. "He's not having you on, but I think he stretches the truth a bit."
Now Joe looked offended. "I'm not stretching any sort of truth. It happened just as I've said it did."
"Mmm, I've no doubt it happened. The part I have trouble with is how a man so rude could be considered a guardian angel," Willow said, slipping behind the bar to grab her cloak. November in London was cold and wet, and the simple thin material of her dress wouldn't provide much in the way of warmth. She was just glad that styles these days were less revealing in the breast area, and a little more cover-uppish than they were in Galway a century before.
"'Tis true he was rude, but he was kind enough to pay for the bottle of whiskey and leave a couple extra coins on the table that were worth enough to buy this pub. Even suggested it, he did." Joe eyed her cloak as she wrapped it around her shoulders. "Where you going, then? Taking in the fine London air again?" He shook his head, frowning. "Be careful, lass."
Samantha breezed by on her way to another table, sharing a smile with Willow at Joe's mothering. "I always am. Careful Willow, that's what they call me." At their blank looks, she shook her head dismissively. "Um, never mind. Joe, thanks for the worry, but I'll be right outside."
He shook his head again, filling a pitcher with ale and setting it on Samantha's tray as Willow slipped from behind the bar. She wove through the crowd to get to the door, letting out a relieved sigh as the cool night air hit her face. Leaning back against the wall and inhaling deeply, she pulled the pins from her hair, letting it fall free from the loose bun she'd had it in. I should cut it, she thought. Long hair was the style, but for her, it was just annoying. She took another deep breath, and closed her eyes.
By now, she was used to the stifling air of London, the cold, wet weather, and the fact that she was stuck in the past. Alone. No, not alone. She had Samantha and Joe now. But, it had taken her a while to come to terms with it. She'd been angry, spending all her time away from Joe's Pub searching for the British vampire that had stranded her here. She'd searched for him during the day, going to every place she could find that had lodging, and then moved on to empty warehouses and abandoned buildings. She hadn't seen hide nor bleached hair of the jerk.
Desperation had taken her to the local apothecary in search of the ingredients to do the time travel spell. She'd tried it three times, but nothing happened. Apparently Spike was needed for the spell to work. Which meant that he hadn't gotten stuck in seventeen fifty-three. More likely he'd gone somewhere else, like her. She'd ended up in March of eighteen fifty-nine instead of eighteen sixty. And now, here she was over a year and a half later, working in a British pub, living on her own, and taking care of herself.
She'd dealt with her insecurities, gotten over them, and realized that it wasn't so bad. Eighteen fifty-nine hadn't been terrible, and eighteen sixty was even better. Not a bad time to be stuck in. She just hoped Spike was doing as well as she was. She hoped he was still alive. Undead, whatever.
A man stumbled out the door, startling her. Her hand fell to her sleeve, and the stake hidden there. When he apologized and nodded politely to her before leaving, Willow relaxed. In the year and eight months that she'd been here, she had only run into a total of four vampires, and all of them had been in the abandoned buildings she'd been searching. None had survived long enough to snack on anyone else. She had a few new bite marks added to the six previous ones, but they weren't in visible places. And the vamp that bit her had been killed in a very un-Willow-like way.
Until that night she'd had no idea how good revenge felt, even if it was a fleeting feeling. A few hours later, as she cried herself to sleep, she realized that some of her tears were for what she'd done to the vampire, rather than what he'd done to her.
Neither Sam or Joe knew, thankfully. She didn't want anyone to know. Besides, they'd probably keep her locked up in her room if they found out. And with good reason. But she needed to be out there. Looking for Spike and Drusilla.
Gathering her cloak tighter around her shoulders, Willow sat down on the bench Joe had put there a few months after she arrived. Samantha and Willow often sat on the bench, watching people as they hurried about their own lives. People watching. She'd never known how much fun it could be just to watch people. To make up stories about who or what they were.
A breeze blew a lock of her hair into her face, and she sighed, securing it with the hairpins again. What she wouldn't give for a nice headband, or barrette, or even one of those scrunch-y things. As it was, she could hardly keep it out of her face and eyes. She stood up, ready to go back inside when she heard a woman scream from a nearby alley.
She headed down the street with only the briefest of hesitation. Whether it be a human or demon attacker, she was prepared. A stake would deter both. She hoped.
The gas lamps along the street didn't light the way very well, but she knew these streets almost as well as she did Sunnydale's. Another muffled yell came just as she rounded the corner, and she pulled her stake free, creeping forward quickly, but quietly. Pretty sure the scream had come from the same alley she'd first arrived in, she tamped down on the fear threatening to take hold of her, and moved toward it, peering into the obscuring night.
A tall man with shoulder length dark hair was holding a small brunette woman against the wall. One of his legs was between hers, both of his hands were on her shoulders, and his face was at her neck. Vampire?
Willow shuddered, memories of herself struggling against a vampire coming unbidden to mind. A dirty abandoned warehouse, cold night air on her naked skin, a flash of blonde hair. Gleaming yellowed teeth ripping at her stomach. Pain, and blood. The bruises had faded and the bite marks had scarred, but inside, she sometimes still felt like an open wound.
Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Willow moved forward, lifting her stake high.
"Please, don't kill me," the woman whimpered, horror spreading across her face as a growl sounded. Her eyes widened, and she looked around desperately for help. When she saw Willow, her struggles increased. "Help me," she screamed.
Willow groaned silently, and straightened up. So much for the element of surprise. The vampire loosened his grip on the frightened woman, and she fell to the ground, sobbing. She wasted no time in running out of the alley, freeing herself and leaving Willow to face the vampire alone.
You're welcome, Willow thought, sarcastically.
The vampire turned around, vampire visage on, snarl on his lips, growl in his throat, and Willow gasped.
"Oh, God," she whispered, her eyes widening. Running now, would be good. Real good. She turned and did just that, fleeing the alley, fleeing Angelus. Unfortunately, he had that vampire speed-thing going for him, and she didn't make it ten steps before his hand grabbed her wrist and spun her around. Just as it had over a hundred years ago in Galway, Willow's head hit the brick wall, stunning her. Wow, the memories. No, more like, wow, the pain.
He looked exactly the same as the last time she'd seen him. Minus the dying part. Dark hair pulled back with a leather thong, long coat--must be a vampire thing--brown eyes watching her curiously. She found no evidence of Angel in him, just the demon. He wouldn't have a soul for another twenty-nine years or so... too late for her. She tightened her hand on the stake and waited. For what, she didn't know. She couldn't kill him, that would screw up the future so badly she was sure she'd go to hell for doing it.
So, what was she supposed to do? Lay down and die? Oh no, not I, I will survive, she thought with a giggle, the Gloria Gaynor song playing in her mind.
Angelus stood a few feet away, watching her curiously. His hand plucked the stake from her unresisting hand, and held it up to her face. "You carry a stake, so you obviously know about vampires. Why then did you run, Red?" His Irish brogue was still there, Willow noted, but it was much fainter than it had been.
"Don't call me that," she said automatically, then could've bitten her tongue when he tilted his head to one side, watching her closely. Her words had possibly done what her changed looks had not. Maybe she should use the slight British accent she occasionally slipped into without noticing. Would that keep him from recognizing her?
He moved closer, his eyes roaming over her neck. "That's quite a collection of bite marks you've got there..." his eyes lifted to hers, and he smiled cruelly, "Red."
Willow's jaw tightened and her knee shot up, catching him in the crotch. He let go of her in surprise, but then grabbed her again as she ran past him. "Not so fast," he ground out. "I think you and I should get better acquainted. Don't you?" His hand tightened around her wrist.
When Angel had first turned back into Angelus and grabbed her around the neck in the high school, threatening to kill her... well, that had been child's play compared to this. Right now, there was no help for her. Xander wasn't just down the hall, Ms. Calendar wasn't holding up a cross, and Buffy wasn't moving toward them. Fear settled in the pit of her stomach, disgust joined it, and the two of them partied with revulsion.
She was on her own. "Better acquainted? Um, no, that's okay. I think we're just enough acquainted. I don't need more. So, I'll be going..."
She tried to free her wrist from his bruising grip, but he wasn't budging. She chanced a glance up at his face and had to hold back a groan. He was baffled, a little lost, and a lot vamped out. Escape wasn't looking too good right now.
"You talk too much, lass." He started to drag her out of the alley with him.
Willow yanked continually on her arm, not caring that she was either going to break it, dislocate it, or sprain it... it didn't matter. If she went with Angelus, she would never see the light of day again. She would end up either dead, or a vampire, or worse. Of all the things he could do to her, it was the 'worse' part that had her scared to death. She yanked even harder. She also kicked him a few times, making it difficult for him to drag her along and dodge her feet. Not content with that, she screamed and hit him with her free hand.
Finally, Angelus stopped, and elation shot through her. It was too much trouble to drag her through the streets, and they were attracting too much attention. He had to let her go. It was the smartest thing to do.
She had only enough time to realize how wrong she was when his fist came flying at her, knocking her out.
Willow stared at the vampire across the room from her, all the contempt and disgust she felt for him in that one look. She ignored the fearful pounding of her heart, the pain in her jaw from his fist to her face, and the blood trickling down her lip. She'd have plenty of time for that later, right now she wanted to let Angelus know how much she hated him.
Maybe that way he'd kill her instead of turning her. Kill her instead of crawling on top of her, touching, and biting, and groping. She swallowed hard, knowing she had to get hold of herself, otherwise panic would overwhelm her.
She shivered, something she pretty much hadn't stopped doing since waking up here. The abandoned townhouse they were in was cold and breezy, not to mention empty, both of humans and demons aside from the two of them. And it was a grand place too; old, ripped wallpaper on the walls, threadbare carpets, water-stained ceilings, broken pieces of furniture... it just screamed 'evil vampire lair'.
She idly wondered where Darla was, but had more important staring to do. Angelus was playing with something in the corner, and from the soft clink of metal, she was afraid she knew what it was. Chains. But, it was too dark for her to see across the former parlor and through Angelus' back.
Finally, he turned around and walked over to where she was, tied to a chair. She now knew how Spike had felt earlier that year. Or, whenever. After coming to Giles and Buffy for help. She knew what it felt like to be trussed up like a Christmas turkey, and if she ever saw him again, she would sincerely apologize to him. Profusely even. Heck, she wasn't too proud, she'd get down and kiss his feet if it meant she could live through this.
Angelus ran a finger down her cheek, and she wrenched her head out of his reach, revulsion once again making an appearance.
"You're a pretty one, darlin'. You remind me of someone, only I can't figure out who." He shook his head, tossing away the memories.
"Look, um, Mr. Vampire... you don't want to hurt me. O-- or kill me. It would be bad," she insisted. "Very bad."
Angelus laughed at her pathetic attempts to reason with him.
She turned steady eyes to his. "I'm a witch. I'll... curse you. Yep. Boils and-- and warts too."
He left the room, paying her no attention. She stared after him in confusion. Was he going to leave her tied here to starve? Or die of exposure? What was going on here?
What do you care? she thought. At least he's not doing other things. Alone is good, very good.
Licking her dry lips, she shifted her feet into a more comfortable position and waited. Cold air blew under her skirt from the broken window beside her, forcing another shiver from her.
As long as he didn't touch her, she was fine. As long as he didn't try to do anything to her, she could stand it. Every time he touched her, she shuddered in disgust and revulsion, but it was tolerable. For now.
He came back into the room a few minutes later, while Willow was trying to magically free herself from the shackles. More magick studying was in store for her when she got back to her own time. If she ever got back. Hearing a noise to her left, she opened her eyes and watched as Angelus strode toward her. He wasted no time with talking, or pleasantries. He simply grabbed her by her hair and yanked her head back.
She screamed as his mouth descended to her neck, his fangs sliding into the flesh too easily. The familiar sucking feeling that accompanied vampire bites began immediately, and she panicked. She screamed and tried to pull away from his touch, feeling like insects were crawling along her flesh wherever his hands touched her. His lips felt like leeches. Bile rose to her throat and she barely kept herself from throwing up on him.
Blood loss was making her dizzy and she started to lose consciousness. Finally, in desperation, she whispered, "You can't kill me."
He pulled away from her neck, and she almost cheered. If it weren't for the darkness closing in on her vision, she may well have done just that. But then he slapped her cheek a few times, waking her up and forcing her to remember what was happening.
"I can do that and more," he said harshly, yanking hard on her hair.
Willow blinked at him. "What do you want?"
Angelus shrugged, grinning. "Would you be flattered if I said you?"
She bit her lip, and shook her head frantically. Tears pricked her eyes and she let them fall. There was no way she could go through that again. None. She cleared her throat. "I'd rather you kill me."
He seemed to consider her words... for all of five seconds, then his brown eyes snapped back to hers and she could see laughter there. "No."
Panic threatened to choke her, and desperation forced her to try magick again. She didn't bother with asking the Goddess for protection, at this point she didn't care about that. She closed her eyes and dropped her head to her chest, speaking the Latin words for release and free. Suddenly, the ropes around her loosened and dropped to the floor. Angelus stood up, backing away from her. Grabbing the chair before he came to his senses, she swung it at him, hitting him in the head and knocking him out. He fell to the floor in a crumpled heap.
She raised the chair over her head and brought it down on him again and again. He was battered and bleeding by the time she realized what she was doing and dropped the chair on top of him. Grabbing one of the chair legs that had broken off, she hastily left the abandoned house. Heading toward Joe's pub, she took a shortcut through one of the nicer streets.
People were milling about, some stopped to stare at her, and she looked down at herself. One sleeve was torn, hanging half off her shoulder. Her skirts were filthy and ripped. Blood dripped into the bodice of her dress from her neck wound. Dried blood was on her now swollen and bruised jaw. Her hair had fallen from the bun, and was flying about her face in the breeze. She must look like an escapee from a mental asylum. Looking quickly around, she spotted a church up ahead and ran to it. Sticking the make-shift stake into her good sleeve, she blended in with the crowd and entered the church.
Being Jewish, and later Wiccan, Willow hadn't spent much time in churches. Even still, she knew exactly where to go thanks to the Galway, and all the numerous vampires and demons that inhabited Sunnydale. In the entryway, she went directly to the holy water and, not caring who saw her, or what they thought of her, she dipped her hands in the brass bowl and used them like a cup. She drank down two handfuls, hearing shocked whispers, and gasps, but she paid them no attention. She turned around to leave, and bumped into a small group of well-dressed women.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled, keeping her head down, and her eyes on the maroon gown of the woman in front of her.
The woman steadied Willow with a hand to her arm, surprising Willow. "Are you all right?" she asked softly.
Willow's head shot up and she stared into the face of the woman she'd been searching for for almost two years. Drusilla. A completely sane and human Drusilla.
Drusilla was a very beautiful woman when she wasn't insane. Or a vampire. Or trying to kill her. Her long, dark brown hair was pulled back elegantly, and her gown fit her to a tee. Probably tailor made. She wasn't quite as thin as she'd been in Sunnydale. Of course, she'd been sick then.
Willow could understand Spike's fascination with her. His almost obsessive love for the dark-haired beauty. And in no way did she envy this woman for it.
Realizing that she was blocking traffic, and staring at Drusilla like she was a freak in a sideshow carnival, she mumbled, "I... I'm... yes. I'm fine." She wanted to warn Drusilla. Tell her to stay away from tall dark-haired men with long teeth, but she knew she couldn't do that. Just as she couldn't kill Angelus, she couldn't prevent Drusilla being made, and Spike, in turn.
Spike, she thought excitedly. Is he around? Is he here?
She smiled at Drusilla, and nodded. "I'm all right now. Thank you." She started to walk away, when Drusilla suddenly grabbed her shoulder and pulled her away from the other two girls, who were doing their best to ignore Willow.
"Don't go," Drusilla pleaded, her eyes begging the smaller girl to stay. "You're changing things. Don't change too much, or we'll all die." She shook her head slightly, as if to clear it, and smiled a little in confusion.
Willow stared at Drusilla. Wow, that psychic thing was really working tonight. Too bad it wasn't more specific, like, 'Don't go outside, Angelus is out there' or maybe, 'Spike is one block over, two blocks down, second house on the left'. That would be helpful.
"Thank you, I understand," Willow told her, then couldn't help adding, "Be safe." With one last look at the love of Spike's life--unlife--willow ran out the door, looking around. A few people still wandered about, heading toward the church, but there was no sign of Spike. And, thankfully, Angelus.
Her steps were quick, but full of despair as she made her way across the street. She would wait here in the shadows until Drusilla went home, then she would follow her. Maybe Spike would be there. If he already knew Dru's routine, maybe he hadn't felt the need to follow her to church, a place he probably wasn't too fond of. Maybe he was dead. Maybe he didn't care anymore, and just wanted to live out the next century by himself.
Sure were a lot of maybes. She sat down on the curb, making sure to stay well hidden, and let the tears fall. Again. What was she? A baby? No, but she was tired of being alone in a strange country, during a strange time. Tired of being bitten, and attacked. Tired of death and destruction. Tired of not having anyone she could really talk to, really confide in.
She drew her knees up and rested her elbows on them, dropping her head into her hands. Her life sucked. It wasn't even a life. It was an existence. Barely living. She was waiting more than anything else. Waiting for something to happen so that she could go home to her real life. Though sometimes, real life blurred into this existence she was living now, and she was left to wonder if it was real, or a dream. Those times were few and far between, but they still plagued her.
After that last vampire attack, the one before Angelus, she had fallen into a depression that Samantha barely helped her out of. She'd kept her silence about the cause, allowing Sam to think it was because her husband hadn't shown up for her. That was also a part of the problem, Spike's absence. Though the main reason was the almost successful rape by a vampire the night before. She stayed in bed for a week; didn't get up; didn't work; didn't get dressed; hardly ate. Samantha finally had to force her to get up. Literally, she picked her up and dropped her into a cold bath.
During that week, Willow had dreamed a lot, mostly about Sunnydale. Xander, Buffy, and Giles were the most prevalent. Tara showed up a few times too, but not as often as Willow thought she should have. It wasn't until a few weeks later that Willow realized why. She wasn't in love with Tara anymore. She still loved her, but she didn't feel that all-consuming passion for her. Didn't feel the ache that accompanies absence. But, she wasn't sad... in fact, at the time, she'd been relieved. The thought of going back to her old life and resuming her relationship with Tara had disgusted her. The thought of being with anyone disgusted her.
"Where you been, Red?" a soft voice asked from directly behind her. "I've been looking all over for you."
She jumped up, but that was as far as she made it. A hand snaked around her neck and held her still. Another hand smoothed down her hair. "Can't you take a hint?" she muttered in frustration. Dropping her arm straight at her side, she shook it a bit, until the makeshift stake hidden there fell into her hand.
Angelus' laughter held no amusement. His arm tightened around her neck, almost cutting off her air. "No. Never was very good at takin' hints." He grabbed the stake from her hand just as she swung it toward his leg. His hand crushed hers until she let go, and the stake clattered to the ground at her feet.
"Obviously," she ground out, tired of being manhandled. Why was it that every vampire she'd ever come across had to grab and hold and grope and touch and... what did they think humans were? Their personal playthings?
More like chew toys, she thought with an hysterical giggle.
The giggle died in throat when his hand moved back to her hair. She was angry and exhausted, and still waiting for the adrenaline to leave her system from earlier, and damn it, what was Angelus' problem? "Look, if you kill me, you'll be real upset later on, okay? Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but in about twenty nine years or so. So do yourself a favor and just say no." Just call her movie quotes and cliché central.
The dark night was suddenly lit up with warm yellow light from the church doors opening. People slowly meandered out the doors and down the street while Angelus held her still, nearly choking the life out of her. A familiar figure, with her two companions, left the church and started off down the middle of the road, laughing and talking. Willow groaned aloud, seeing her one chance at finding Spike slipping away.
Hidden in the shadows as they were, Willow knew no one could see them, and in this day and age, even if they were seen, would anyone help her? She doubted it.
Drusilla was almost out of sight when she suddenly stopped and turned around, facing them. They were a good thirty yards away, cloaked in darkness and partially behind a tree, and yet, Willow could have sworn Dru's eyes locked with hers.
"Friend of yours?" Angelus whispered. The hand he was using to smooth her hair down in a parody of caring, slid down to encircle her waist, holding her still when she tried to pull away. She sucked in a breath to yell for help, but his mouth by her ear made her freeze. "Ah-ah, not a word. I have plans for you, and she's not invited. Yet."
Willow watched in dread as Drusilla motioned her friends to wait for her, then glided gracefully toward her and Angelus. Her steps didn't falter, and her gaze never wavered. As Drusilla neared them, her eyes glazed over and her face grew cloudy. When she was directly in front of them, Angelus stepped forward with Willow, just enough to put them in the light.
"You're not an angel," she told Angelus, "not an angel at all. You've had your wings clipped." She smiled sweetly and leaned forward conspiratorially, none of the insane vampire in residence yet. "You're going to get new ones."
Angelus' hold on Willow loosened a bit. Just enough for her to breathe easy again. His voice, when he spoke, was seductive and enticing, his brogue more pronounced. "And is it an angel you're lookin' for, darlin'?"
Willow rolled her eyes. She certainly hoped Angel had the sense to be ashamed of himself when she got back to Sunnydale. He was pathetically cheesy in his overtures. To her surprise, the mouse bit.
Drusilla seemed uncertain at first, then she smiled and took a step forward, her eyes locked on Angelus'. Willow's shock knew no bounds when Angelus suddenly released her and took a step toward Drusilla.
Once again, Willow was forgotten in Angelus' pursuit of a woman. She should feel slighted, or hurt, and if she had any type of romantic feelings toward the vampire, she would've been. But all she could feel now was relief. And gratitude to Fate or Destiny or the Powers That Be... whoever seemed determined to keep Angelus' life on track. She watched as Angelus hooked Drusilla's arm through his and walked her back to her friends.
Drusilla smiled sweetly while the other two girls simpered and flirted. The pair hardly paid them any attention, they were focused entirely on each other. So much so, in fact, that they didn't see Willow slip into the shadows.
And again, she had a dilemma. Leave and be safe, maybe never find Spike? Or follow Dru and Angelus, risk Angelus nabbing her--again--and increase her chances of finding Spike? The choice was already made, she realized, as her feet started her walking in the opposite direction from Joe's Pub.
Damn.
PART 9
The pub was extremely busy tonight, and Willow's aching body was screaming for a break. She made her way over to the bar, weaving her way in between customers. Setting her tray on the counter, she rubbed her back and stretched her neck.
Samantha patted her shoulder in empathy as she passed by with a tray full of mugs and pitchers held above her head. It still amazed Willow to see the older woman do that. Willow herself hadn't mastered the technique yet, but she had hope. It had only been a year and eight months.
Ah, who was she kidding? She would never be able to do that unless she used magick, which she wouldn't do. Getting burned at the stake, or stoned to death wasn't on her list of Things To Do While Stuck in the Past.
"Why don't you take a break?" Samantha asked, returning to the bar with an empty tray, and slumping onto a stool beside Willow. "I can hold things down for a bit. Go on," she urged.
Willow shook her head, picking up her tray of mugs. "Nope. I'm good."
Samantha rolled her eyes and shook her head. "That lie doesn't work anymore, remember? I know you, and I know that frown. Go on, take a little time, I've got things here."
Willow hesitated, not wanting to strand her friend alone with all the customers, but Samantha shook her head and pointed to the door. Willow smiled. "Okay, okay, I'm going, just as soon as I drop these off. Slave driver."
Samantha laughed. "And don't you forget it, love. Take your time. More tips for me," she said with a wink.
Willow grinned and rolled her eyes. "More gropes for you too. I'll pass on that, thank you very much." Hefting her tray high, she pushed through the crowd with a lot less grace than Samantha, but quite a bit of skill. The table in the back, where she was headed, was crowded with drunken lords; young men who had too much money and too little sense.
College boys in her time, gentlemen in this time. They acted the same. Groping and laughing, thinking they were God's gift to the population at large. Willow set her tray down on the table, handed out their drinks, and forced a smile when one of them likened her red hair to an orange poppy. As soon as she was finished, she walked away, rolling her eyes and rubbing the two new bruises on her legs from pinching fingers.
As she neared the bar, Stewart, a newer regular, looked up from his conversation with Joe.
"Aye, is he having me on, love?" Stewart asked her, hitching his thumb at Joe. His craggy face and slicked back hair, both weathered and aged, showed disbelief mixed with amusement.
"About what?" she asked, tossing a glance at Joe as she set her tray on the counter. Joe gave her his best, most charming smile, trying to look innocent, and failing miserably. She had to laugh, knowing exactly what it was they were discussing. "He's not having you on, but I think he stretches the truth a bit."
Now Joe looked offended. "I'm not stretching any sort of truth. It happened just as I've said it did."
"Mmm, I've no doubt it happened. The part I have trouble with is how a man so rude could be considered a guardian angel," Willow said, slipping behind the bar to grab her cloak. November in London was cold and wet, and the simple thin material of her dress wouldn't provide much in the way of warmth. She was just glad that styles these days were less revealing in the breast area, and a little more cover-uppish than they were in Galway a century before.
"'Tis true he was rude, but he was kind enough to pay for the bottle of whiskey and leave a couple extra coins on the table that were worth enough to buy this pub. Even suggested it, he did." Joe eyed her cloak as she wrapped it around her shoulders. "Where you going, then? Taking in the fine London air again?" He shook his head, frowning. "Be careful, lass."
Samantha breezed by on her way to another table, sharing a smile with Willow at Joe's mothering. "I always am. Careful Willow, that's what they call me." At their blank looks, she shook her head dismissively. "Um, never mind. Joe, thanks for the worry, but I'll be right outside."
He shook his head again, filling a pitcher with ale and setting it on Samantha's tray as Willow slipped from behind the bar. She wove through the crowd to get to the door, letting out a relieved sigh as the cool night air hit her face. Leaning back against the wall and inhaling deeply, she pulled the pins from her hair, letting it fall free from the loose bun she'd had it in. I should cut it, she thought. Long hair was the style, but for her, it was just annoying. She took another deep breath, and closed her eyes.
By now, she was used to the stifling air of London, the cold, wet weather, and the fact that she was stuck in the past. Alone. No, not alone. She had Samantha and Joe now. But, it had taken her a while to come to terms with it. She'd been angry, spending all her time away from Joe's Pub searching for the British vampire that had stranded her here. She'd searched for him during the day, going to every place she could find that had lodging, and then moved on to empty warehouses and abandoned buildings. She hadn't seen hide nor bleached hair of the jerk.
Desperation had taken her to the local apothecary in search of the ingredients to do the time travel spell. She'd tried it three times, but nothing happened. Apparently Spike was needed for the spell to work. Which meant that he hadn't gotten stuck in seventeen fifty-three. More likely he'd gone somewhere else, like her. She'd ended up in March of eighteen fifty-nine instead of eighteen sixty. And now, here she was over a year and a half later, working in a British pub, living on her own, and taking care of herself.
She'd dealt with her insecurities, gotten over them, and realized that it wasn't so bad. Eighteen fifty-nine hadn't been terrible, and eighteen sixty was even better. Not a bad time to be stuck in. She just hoped Spike was doing as well as she was. She hoped he was still alive. Undead, whatever.
A man stumbled out the door, startling her. Her hand fell to her sleeve, and the stake hidden there. When he apologized and nodded politely to her before leaving, Willow relaxed. In the year and eight months that she'd been here, she had only run into a total of four vampires, and all of them had been in the abandoned buildings she'd been searching. None had survived long enough to snack on anyone else. She had a few new bite marks added to the six previous ones, but they weren't in visible places. And the vamp that bit her had been killed in a very un-Willow-like way.
Until that night she'd had no idea how good revenge felt, even if it was a fleeting feeling. A few hours later, as she cried herself to sleep, she realized that some of her tears were for what she'd done to the vampire, rather than what he'd done to her.
Neither Sam or Joe knew, thankfully. She didn't want anyone to know. Besides, they'd probably keep her locked up in her room if they found out. And with good reason. But she needed to be out there. Looking for Spike and Drusilla.
Gathering her cloak tighter around her shoulders, Willow sat down on the bench Joe had put there a few months after she arrived. Samantha and Willow often sat on the bench, watching people as they hurried about their own lives. People watching. She'd never known how much fun it could be just to watch people. To make up stories about who or what they were.
A breeze blew a lock of her hair into her face, and she sighed, securing it with the hairpins again. What she wouldn't give for a nice headband, or barrette, or even one of those scrunch-y things. As it was, she could hardly keep it out of her face and eyes. She stood up, ready to go back inside when she heard a woman scream from a nearby alley.
She headed down the street with only the briefest of hesitation. Whether it be a human or demon attacker, she was prepared. A stake would deter both. She hoped.
The gas lamps along the street didn't light the way very well, but she knew these streets almost as well as she did Sunnydale's. Another muffled yell came just as she rounded the corner, and she pulled her stake free, creeping forward quickly, but quietly. Pretty sure the scream had come from the same alley she'd first arrived in, she tamped down on the fear threatening to take hold of her, and moved toward it, peering into the obscuring night.
A tall man with shoulder length dark hair was holding a small brunette woman against the wall. One of his legs was between hers, both of his hands were on her shoulders, and his face was at her neck. Vampire?
Willow shuddered, memories of herself struggling against a vampire coming unbidden to mind. A dirty abandoned warehouse, cold night air on her naked skin, a flash of blonde hair. Gleaming yellowed teeth ripping at her stomach. Pain, and blood. The bruises had faded and the bite marks had scarred, but inside, she sometimes still felt like an open wound.
Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Willow moved forward, lifting her stake high.
"Please, don't kill me," the woman whimpered, horror spreading across her face as a growl sounded. Her eyes widened, and she looked around desperately for help. When she saw Willow, her struggles increased. "Help me," she screamed.
Willow groaned silently, and straightened up. So much for the element of surprise. The vampire loosened his grip on the frightened woman, and she fell to the ground, sobbing. She wasted no time in running out of the alley, freeing herself and leaving Willow to face the vampire alone.
You're welcome, Willow thought, sarcastically.
The vampire turned around, vampire visage on, snarl on his lips, growl in his throat, and Willow gasped.
"Oh, God," she whispered, her eyes widening. Running now, would be good. Real good. She turned and did just that, fleeing the alley, fleeing Angelus. Unfortunately, he had that vampire speed-thing going for him, and she didn't make it ten steps before his hand grabbed her wrist and spun her around. Just as it had over a hundred years ago in Galway, Willow's head hit the brick wall, stunning her. Wow, the memories. No, more like, wow, the pain.
He looked exactly the same as the last time she'd seen him. Minus the dying part. Dark hair pulled back with a leather thong, long coat--must be a vampire thing--brown eyes watching her curiously. She found no evidence of Angel in him, just the demon. He wouldn't have a soul for another twenty-nine years or so... too late for her. She tightened her hand on the stake and waited. For what, she didn't know. She couldn't kill him, that would screw up the future so badly she was sure she'd go to hell for doing it.
So, what was she supposed to do? Lay down and die? Oh no, not I, I will survive, she thought with a giggle, the Gloria Gaynor song playing in her mind.
Angelus stood a few feet away, watching her curiously. His hand plucked the stake from her unresisting hand, and held it up to her face. "You carry a stake, so you obviously know about vampires. Why then did you run, Red?" His Irish brogue was still there, Willow noted, but it was much fainter than it had been.
"Don't call me that," she said automatically, then could've bitten her tongue when he tilted his head to one side, watching her closely. Her words had possibly done what her changed looks had not. Maybe she should use the slight British accent she occasionally slipped into without noticing. Would that keep him from recognizing her?
He moved closer, his eyes roaming over her neck. "That's quite a collection of bite marks you've got there..." his eyes lifted to hers, and he smiled cruelly, "Red."
Willow's jaw tightened and her knee shot up, catching him in the crotch. He let go of her in surprise, but then grabbed her again as she ran past him. "Not so fast," he ground out. "I think you and I should get better acquainted. Don't you?" His hand tightened around her wrist.
When Angel had first turned back into Angelus and grabbed her around the neck in the high school, threatening to kill her... well, that had been child's play compared to this. Right now, there was no help for her. Xander wasn't just down the hall, Ms. Calendar wasn't holding up a cross, and Buffy wasn't moving toward them. Fear settled in the pit of her stomach, disgust joined it, and the two of them partied with revulsion.
She was on her own. "Better acquainted? Um, no, that's okay. I think we're just enough acquainted. I don't need more. So, I'll be going..."
She tried to free her wrist from his bruising grip, but he wasn't budging. She chanced a glance up at his face and had to hold back a groan. He was baffled, a little lost, and a lot vamped out. Escape wasn't looking too good right now.
"You talk too much, lass." He started to drag her out of the alley with him.
Willow yanked continually on her arm, not caring that she was either going to break it, dislocate it, or sprain it... it didn't matter. If she went with Angelus, she would never see the light of day again. She would end up either dead, or a vampire, or worse. Of all the things he could do to her, it was the 'worse' part that had her scared to death. She yanked even harder. She also kicked him a few times, making it difficult for him to drag her along and dodge her feet. Not content with that, she screamed and hit him with her free hand.
Finally, Angelus stopped, and elation shot through her. It was too much trouble to drag her through the streets, and they were attracting too much attention. He had to let her go. It was the smartest thing to do.
She had only enough time to realize how wrong she was when his fist came flying at her, knocking her out.
Willow stared at the vampire across the room from her, all the contempt and disgust she felt for him in that one look. She ignored the fearful pounding of her heart, the pain in her jaw from his fist to her face, and the blood trickling down her lip. She'd have plenty of time for that later, right now she wanted to let Angelus know how much she hated him.
Maybe that way he'd kill her instead of turning her. Kill her instead of crawling on top of her, touching, and biting, and groping. She swallowed hard, knowing she had to get hold of herself, otherwise panic would overwhelm her.
She shivered, something she pretty much hadn't stopped doing since waking up here. The abandoned townhouse they were in was cold and breezy, not to mention empty, both of humans and demons aside from the two of them. And it was a grand place too; old, ripped wallpaper on the walls, threadbare carpets, water-stained ceilings, broken pieces of furniture... it just screamed 'evil vampire lair'.
She idly wondered where Darla was, but had more important staring to do. Angelus was playing with something in the corner, and from the soft clink of metal, she was afraid she knew what it was. Chains. But, it was too dark for her to see across the former parlor and through Angelus' back.
Finally, he turned around and walked over to where she was, tied to a chair. She now knew how Spike had felt earlier that year. Or, whenever. After coming to Giles and Buffy for help. She knew what it felt like to be trussed up like a Christmas turkey, and if she ever saw him again, she would sincerely apologize to him. Profusely even. Heck, she wasn't too proud, she'd get down and kiss his feet if it meant she could live through this.
Angelus ran a finger down her cheek, and she wrenched her head out of his reach, revulsion once again making an appearance.
"You're a pretty one, darlin'. You remind me of someone, only I can't figure out who." He shook his head, tossing away the memories.
"Look, um, Mr. Vampire... you don't want to hurt me. O-- or kill me. It would be bad," she insisted. "Very bad."
Angelus laughed at her pathetic attempts to reason with him.
She turned steady eyes to his. "I'm a witch. I'll... curse you. Yep. Boils and-- and warts too."
He left the room, paying her no attention. She stared after him in confusion. Was he going to leave her tied here to starve? Or die of exposure? What was going on here?
What do you care? she thought. At least he's not doing other things. Alone is good, very good.
Licking her dry lips, she shifted her feet into a more comfortable position and waited. Cold air blew under her skirt from the broken window beside her, forcing another shiver from her.
As long as he didn't touch her, she was fine. As long as he didn't try to do anything to her, she could stand it. Every time he touched her, she shuddered in disgust and revulsion, but it was tolerable. For now.
He came back into the room a few minutes later, while Willow was trying to magically free herself from the shackles. More magick studying was in store for her when she got back to her own time. If she ever got back. Hearing a noise to her left, she opened her eyes and watched as Angelus strode toward her. He wasted no time with talking, or pleasantries. He simply grabbed her by her hair and yanked her head back.
She screamed as his mouth descended to her neck, his fangs sliding into the flesh too easily. The familiar sucking feeling that accompanied vampire bites began immediately, and she panicked. She screamed and tried to pull away from his touch, feeling like insects were crawling along her flesh wherever his hands touched her. His lips felt like leeches. Bile rose to her throat and she barely kept herself from throwing up on him.
Blood loss was making her dizzy and she started to lose consciousness. Finally, in desperation, she whispered, "You can't kill me."
He pulled away from her neck, and she almost cheered. If it weren't for the darkness closing in on her vision, she may well have done just that. But then he slapped her cheek a few times, waking her up and forcing her to remember what was happening.
"I can do that and more," he said harshly, yanking hard on her hair.
Willow blinked at him. "What do you want?"
Angelus shrugged, grinning. "Would you be flattered if I said you?"
She bit her lip, and shook her head frantically. Tears pricked her eyes and she let them fall. There was no way she could go through that again. None. She cleared her throat. "I'd rather you kill me."
He seemed to consider her words... for all of five seconds, then his brown eyes snapped back to hers and she could see laughter there. "No."
Panic threatened to choke her, and desperation forced her to try magick again. She didn't bother with asking the Goddess for protection, at this point she didn't care about that. She closed her eyes and dropped her head to her chest, speaking the Latin words for release and free. Suddenly, the ropes around her loosened and dropped to the floor. Angelus stood up, backing away from her. Grabbing the chair before he came to his senses, she swung it at him, hitting him in the head and knocking him out. He fell to the floor in a crumpled heap.
She raised the chair over her head and brought it down on him again and again. He was battered and bleeding by the time she realized what she was doing and dropped the chair on top of him. Grabbing one of the chair legs that had broken off, she hastily left the abandoned house. Heading toward Joe's pub, she took a shortcut through one of the nicer streets.
People were milling about, some stopped to stare at her, and she looked down at herself. One sleeve was torn, hanging half off her shoulder. Her skirts were filthy and ripped. Blood dripped into the bodice of her dress from her neck wound. Dried blood was on her now swollen and bruised jaw. Her hair had fallen from the bun, and was flying about her face in the breeze. She must look like an escapee from a mental asylum. Looking quickly around, she spotted a church up ahead and ran to it. Sticking the make-shift stake into her good sleeve, she blended in with the crowd and entered the church.
Being Jewish, and later Wiccan, Willow hadn't spent much time in churches. Even still, she knew exactly where to go thanks to the Galway, and all the numerous vampires and demons that inhabited Sunnydale. In the entryway, she went directly to the holy water and, not caring who saw her, or what they thought of her, she dipped her hands in the brass bowl and used them like a cup. She drank down two handfuls, hearing shocked whispers, and gasps, but she paid them no attention. She turned around to leave, and bumped into a small group of well-dressed women.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled, keeping her head down, and her eyes on the maroon gown of the woman in front of her.
The woman steadied Willow with a hand to her arm, surprising Willow. "Are you all right?" she asked softly.
Willow's head shot up and she stared into the face of the woman she'd been searching for for almost two years. Drusilla. A completely sane and human Drusilla.
Drusilla was a very beautiful woman when she wasn't insane. Or a vampire. Or trying to kill her. Her long, dark brown hair was pulled back elegantly, and her gown fit her to a tee. Probably tailor made. She wasn't quite as thin as she'd been in Sunnydale. Of course, she'd been sick then.
Willow could understand Spike's fascination with her. His almost obsessive love for the dark-haired beauty. And in no way did she envy this woman for it.
Realizing that she was blocking traffic, and staring at Drusilla like she was a freak in a sideshow carnival, she mumbled, "I... I'm... yes. I'm fine." She wanted to warn Drusilla. Tell her to stay away from tall dark-haired men with long teeth, but she knew she couldn't do that. Just as she couldn't kill Angelus, she couldn't prevent Drusilla being made, and Spike, in turn.
Spike, she thought excitedly. Is he around? Is he here?
She smiled at Drusilla, and nodded. "I'm all right now. Thank you." She started to walk away, when Drusilla suddenly grabbed her shoulder and pulled her away from the other two girls, who were doing their best to ignore Willow.
"Don't go," Drusilla pleaded, her eyes begging the smaller girl to stay. "You're changing things. Don't change too much, or we'll all die." She shook her head slightly, as if to clear it, and smiled a little in confusion.
Willow stared at Drusilla. Wow, that psychic thing was really working tonight. Too bad it wasn't more specific, like, 'Don't go outside, Angelus is out there' or maybe, 'Spike is one block over, two blocks down, second house on the left'. That would be helpful.
"Thank you, I understand," Willow told her, then couldn't help adding, "Be safe." With one last look at the love of Spike's life--unlife--willow ran out the door, looking around. A few people still wandered about, heading toward the church, but there was no sign of Spike. And, thankfully, Angelus.
Her steps were quick, but full of despair as she made her way across the street. She would wait here in the shadows until Drusilla went home, then she would follow her. Maybe Spike would be there. If he already knew Dru's routine, maybe he hadn't felt the need to follow her to church, a place he probably wasn't too fond of. Maybe he was dead. Maybe he didn't care anymore, and just wanted to live out the next century by himself.
Sure were a lot of maybes. She sat down on the curb, making sure to stay well hidden, and let the tears fall. Again. What was she? A baby? No, but she was tired of being alone in a strange country, during a strange time. Tired of being bitten, and attacked. Tired of death and destruction. Tired of not having anyone she could really talk to, really confide in.
She drew her knees up and rested her elbows on them, dropping her head into her hands. Her life sucked. It wasn't even a life. It was an existence. Barely living. She was waiting more than anything else. Waiting for something to happen so that she could go home to her real life. Though sometimes, real life blurred into this existence she was living now, and she was left to wonder if it was real, or a dream. Those times were few and far between, but they still plagued her.
After that last vampire attack, the one before Angelus, she had fallen into a depression that Samantha barely helped her out of. She'd kept her silence about the cause, allowing Sam to think it was because her husband hadn't shown up for her. That was also a part of the problem, Spike's absence. Though the main reason was the almost successful rape by a vampire the night before. She stayed in bed for a week; didn't get up; didn't work; didn't get dressed; hardly ate. Samantha finally had to force her to get up. Literally, she picked her up and dropped her into a cold bath.
During that week, Willow had dreamed a lot, mostly about Sunnydale. Xander, Buffy, and Giles were the most prevalent. Tara showed up a few times too, but not as often as Willow thought she should have. It wasn't until a few weeks later that Willow realized why. She wasn't in love with Tara anymore. She still loved her, but she didn't feel that all-consuming passion for her. Didn't feel the ache that accompanies absence. But, she wasn't sad... in fact, at the time, she'd been relieved. The thought of going back to her old life and resuming her relationship with Tara had disgusted her. The thought of being with anyone disgusted her.
"Where you been, Red?" a soft voice asked from directly behind her. "I've been looking all over for you."
She jumped up, but that was as far as she made it. A hand snaked around her neck and held her still. Another hand smoothed down her hair. "Can't you take a hint?" she muttered in frustration. Dropping her arm straight at her side, she shook it a bit, until the makeshift stake hidden there fell into her hand.
Angelus' laughter held no amusement. His arm tightened around her neck, almost cutting off her air. "No. Never was very good at takin' hints." He grabbed the stake from her hand just as she swung it toward his leg. His hand crushed hers until she let go, and the stake clattered to the ground at her feet.
"Obviously," she ground out, tired of being manhandled. Why was it that every vampire she'd ever come across had to grab and hold and grope and touch and... what did they think humans were? Their personal playthings?
More like chew toys, she thought with an hysterical giggle.
The giggle died in throat when his hand moved back to her hair. She was angry and exhausted, and still waiting for the adrenaline to leave her system from earlier, and damn it, what was Angelus' problem? "Look, if you kill me, you'll be real upset later on, okay? Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but in about twenty nine years or so. So do yourself a favor and just say no." Just call her movie quotes and cliché central.
The dark night was suddenly lit up with warm yellow light from the church doors opening. People slowly meandered out the doors and down the street while Angelus held her still, nearly choking the life out of her. A familiar figure, with her two companions, left the church and started off down the middle of the road, laughing and talking. Willow groaned aloud, seeing her one chance at finding Spike slipping away.
Hidden in the shadows as they were, Willow knew no one could see them, and in this day and age, even if they were seen, would anyone help her? She doubted it.
Drusilla was almost out of sight when she suddenly stopped and turned around, facing them. They were a good thirty yards away, cloaked in darkness and partially behind a tree, and yet, Willow could have sworn Dru's eyes locked with hers.
"Friend of yours?" Angelus whispered. The hand he was using to smooth her hair down in a parody of caring, slid down to encircle her waist, holding her still when she tried to pull away. She sucked in a breath to yell for help, but his mouth by her ear made her freeze. "Ah-ah, not a word. I have plans for you, and she's not invited. Yet."
Willow watched in dread as Drusilla motioned her friends to wait for her, then glided gracefully toward her and Angelus. Her steps didn't falter, and her gaze never wavered. As Drusilla neared them, her eyes glazed over and her face grew cloudy. When she was directly in front of them, Angelus stepped forward with Willow, just enough to put them in the light.
"You're not an angel," she told Angelus, "not an angel at all. You've had your wings clipped." She smiled sweetly and leaned forward conspiratorially, none of the insane vampire in residence yet. "You're going to get new ones."
Angelus' hold on Willow loosened a bit. Just enough for her to breathe easy again. His voice, when he spoke, was seductive and enticing, his brogue more pronounced. "And is it an angel you're lookin' for, darlin'?"
Willow rolled her eyes. She certainly hoped Angel had the sense to be ashamed of himself when she got back to Sunnydale. He was pathetically cheesy in his overtures. To her surprise, the mouse bit.
Drusilla seemed uncertain at first, then she smiled and took a step forward, her eyes locked on Angelus'. Willow's shock knew no bounds when Angelus suddenly released her and took a step toward Drusilla.
Once again, Willow was forgotten in Angelus' pursuit of a woman. She should feel slighted, or hurt, and if she had any type of romantic feelings toward the vampire, she would've been. But all she could feel now was relief. And gratitude to Fate or Destiny or the Powers That Be... whoever seemed determined to keep Angelus' life on track. She watched as Angelus hooked Drusilla's arm through his and walked her back to her friends.
Drusilla smiled sweetly while the other two girls simpered and flirted. The pair hardly paid them any attention, they were focused entirely on each other. So much so, in fact, that they didn't see Willow slip into the shadows.
And again, she had a dilemma. Leave and be safe, maybe never find Spike? Or follow Dru and Angelus, risk Angelus nabbing her--again--and increase her chances of finding Spike? The choice was already made, she realized, as her feet started her walking in the opposite direction from Joe's Pub.
Damn.