Disclaimer: See chapter 1, or 6.
PART 10
Willow fell into bed a few hours later, exhausted and sore. She'd followed Angelus and Drusilla to her house, where, amazingly enough Angelus hadn't hurt anyone. Apparently he still planned to drive her insane first. To Willow's disappointment, there'd been no sign of Spike at all. After Angelus left, Willow had carefully examined the entire area surrounding Drusilla's house, not sure what she expected to find.
A cigarette butt? Spike and Dru's names carved into a tree?
Regardless of what she expected, she found nothing, except the fact that Dru's house was only a mile or so away from the pub, and the church she'd met her at earlier was one that Willow had checked months before. So, vowing to return the next night, she went back to the pub, running through explanation after explanation.
Which meant lie after lie.
She'd cleaned up as best she could on her way. Letting her hair down to cover the bloody wound at her neck. Straightening her clothes. Combing her fingers through the tangled mass of her hair. There was nothing she could do to hide the bruise on her jaw, or the ring of bruises on her wrist, but she hoped that Joe and Sam wouldn't see them.
A lengthy discussion followed their first sight of her. Her three hour absence had left them worried, but knowing she was safe overcame any anger they might have felt. Tales of a lost and hurt little girl, a mugger... a frightened child not wanting to be alone in the hospital. And finally, a quick bath to wash away the filth of Angelus' touch. And the blood and dirt too.
Now she was under the covers in her own bed, the small strip of black cloth once again clutched tightly in her hand. It was almost like a life preserver. When she felt overwhelmed, or sad, or, well... it didn't really matter what she was feeling, she usually pulled the scrap of cloth out from under her pillow and held it while she slept.
But tonight, instead of falling asleep, she was wide awake. The more time that passed, the further away Sunnydale felt. Her only chance at getting home was with Spike, but after almost two years, and no sign from him, she had to consider the fact that he might be dead. She didn't want to believe that. The spell had worked. She'd come almost to the time he wanted. A little early, but closer than the first time. So, where was he? Had he landed in another time? Was he home? In Sunnydale?
Rolling over, she allowed herself to think the unthinkable. She was stuck in the past for the rest of her life. What was she supposed to do here? Was time being affected by her absence? She'd run into Angelus twice, but she had no memories of Angel mentioning their encounters. He may have kept silent, not knowing if it was her or not. Or he didn't want to alter what she did in the past. Most likely he didn't remember her.
Or, the changes weren't taking affect until she returned... if she ever did.
She wiped the tears from her cheeks in impatience. She'd done more crying in the past twelve hours than she'd done in the past month. But this time, she wasn't crying for herself, she was crying for Spike.
She hadn't fully realized it until tonight, but she missed him. She missed his sarcastic comments, his voice, his face, his body curled around hers in the night. Rolling onto her side again, she inhaled deeply, wishing his scent was still on the strip of cloth in her hand, or the T-Shirt she wore as a nightgown.
Casting one last glance at Drusilla's window, Willow turned away and started back to Joe's. Three nights she'd watched Dru's house, waiting for Spike to show up, but as yet, he was a no-show, and she was almost convinced that he was dead. Otherwise, wouldn't he be here? Watching over the woman he loved? Being near her?
A tired sigh escaped her as she walked along the empty street. The full moon overhead cast yellow light over everything not shadowed by trees or houses, it was a sickly color, filtering through the branches, and coating the cobblestone streets. A carriage clattered past her, but she hardly noticed it, which really struck her. She was so used to this time and place, that it wasn't unusual to her anymore.
A hand grabbed her shoulder and yanked her out of the street. Startled, she looked up from her musings and watched as another fast moving carriage barreled past her. She discreetly pulled away from the man's hand, barely registering his handsome face, and dark blonde hair. What she did note was that his skin was pale and cold, and though pale was the style, it most likely meant vampire.
"Thank you, sir," she mumbled, walking around him. If he was a vampire, he probably wouldn't let her go. She walked a little faster, holding her breath, and waiting.
Vampire.
A cold hand slid around her neck and pulled her back against a hard chest. Her first instinct was to scream. Her second was to run. Screaming would get her nowhere, and running wasn't an option, she'd be caught after only a few steps, so she fought back the panic that was coursing through her, dropped her stake from her sleeve and spun around with it, holding it firmly against the vampire's heart. "Your first mistake was saving me, your second was touching me. There won't be a third."
She swung the stake back and brought it forward again, crying out in pain when he grabbed her hand, stopping the stake just before it made contact. To her surprise, his grip on her wrist loosened at her yelp of pain. But he didn't let go. He was too busy looking her over. She resisted the urge to look down at herself; she already knew what she was wearing. High-collared midnight blue cotton dress, trimmed in white lace and tiny black buttons. Black cloak. Hair in a chignon. Fashionable stake clutched in her fist.
His gaze, when it finally returned to her face, was blank. She flicked her eyes over his black Hessians, black breeches, white shirt, and black cloak. Wow, a lot of thought must have gone into that outfit, she though derisively. Moving her gaze up, she took in his clenched jaw, intense pale blue eyes... familiar blue eyes. Her heart skipped a beat. This couldn't be him, finally. Could it? She wouldn't let herself get her hopes up.
Until she saw the scar on his eyebrow.
"Spike?" she whispered, hope making her voice shake. She was so afraid that she was just seeing what she wanted to see.
He shrugged lazily, a grin turning up the corners of his mouth. "Sure as hell ain't Elvis."
Willow was rooted to the spot, unsure of what she wanted to do. Hug him because she was relieved, and she'd missed him? Yell at him for stranding her here alone? Or slap him for forcing her to do the spell in the first place?
He stumbled back a few steps when she threw herself at him, hugging him so tight that, had he not been a vampire, he would've had breathing issues. He laughed, wrapping his arms around her, his deep voice enveloping her as much as his arms did.
"Miss me, pet?" he chuckled in her ear.
"No," she mumbled, her voice muffled by his chest. "Not one whit."
"Yeah," he agreed, "me either."
Willow chuckled, pulling away. Her smile faded into a frown as she got a good look at him. His hair was pretty long--as was stylish these days--and no longer in a bleached way. "Where did you go? 'Cause I looked all over for you, and--"
He looked past her, shaking his head. "This little reunion's gonna have to wait, love. Something's near. Probably a less friendly vampire." He grabbed her hand and pulled her along. "You got somewhere we can go?"
Willow had to run to keep up with him, and that was no easy feat. "Yeah, I have a place, but-- slow down, Spike. Short, human type person here." She stopped and yanked her hand from his. "I think I should warn you, Sam's not gonna be happy to see you."
Spike raised an eyebrow at her. "He your lover? You're cheating on the witch? I am shocked and amazed, Red." He looked almost proud of her.
Willow rolled her eyes. "Sam's a she. Short for Samantha, and she's--"
"A woman? Go, Red," he said with respect. He grinned slyly, and nudged her arm. "I'd like to request front row seats. Is there audience participation, or is it just a spectator sport?"
Willow sighed in amusement. Spike hadn't changed a bit, except physically. "Still perverted, I see."
He nodded, his face serious. "'Til the end, love."
"Okay, and we're moving on to reality. Samantha is married to Joe who owns--"
"A threesome, huh?" He sniffled and wiped an imaginary tear from his dry eye, giving her a one-armed maternal hug. "My baby's all grown up. It happens so fast..."
"Oh, brother." She smoothly shrugged out from under his arm, a little uncomfortable with his touch. He was her friend. Sort of. Well, okay, he was her time travel companion. She should feel comfortable around him. Was she going to have to constantly worry about whether or not he was going to touch her? That was definitely not something she wanted on her mind. Starting off down the street, she shook her head, leaving him to catch up with her. "Gosh, I guess we're past that awkward silence part that can sometimes happen after long absences."
Spike shrugged dismissively. "Who needs that? Get right into the thick of things, that's what I always say. So... where's this place of yours?"
Willow stopped in front of Joe's Pub and gestured to the door. "This is it. Couple things you ought to know before we go in though. You're my husband, William. You left me stranded here, and I haven't seen you since. And, um," she thought for a minute. "I guess that's it. Let's have fun out there, kids."
Spike waggled his eyebrows. "Husband, huh? I think I can play the part. Lots of public displays of affection are called for, I think." He reached for her, but she quickly moved away from him.
"No." Sounded a bit rude, she realized, so she softened her tone. "I mean, um, Samantha wouldn't buy it. You know, the touchy feely thing after this long. So, uh... let's go." She unlocked the door, ignoring his frown. Since she hadn't left Joe's until after it closed, she was hoping they wouldn't still be up and about to ask questions. She wanted some time alone with Spike to get the lowdown on where he'd been.
"This place looks familiar," Spike muttered, looking around the darkened room.
Willow grinned back at him. "Maybe you were here in a past life."
His eye roll told her how much he appreciated her attempt at humor. "Yeah right. I think I've been here before. In this life," he added with a chuckle.
"Spike in a bar? Say it ain't so," she said, feigning shock. She ducked away from his hand with a laugh when he swatted half-heartedly at her. "Well, this is it, Rebecca... this is the valley."
Spike's eyebrows rose a bit in confusion. "What?" He looked a little lost... well, actually, he looked a lot lost, and she couldn't blame him, it was an obscure reference.
She shook her head with another laugh. "Nothing. Just a stupid commercial they used to show. Xander and I used to say it a lot... it just sort of stuck."
He still looked really lost, but all he did was nod.
Thankfully Sam and Joe didn't come rushing out to greet them. The place remained dark and empty. Looked like she would get some quiet time with Spike after all. Saying a tiny prayer of thanks, Willow locked the door behind her and quietly led Spike through the darkened pub.
He stopped by the bar, grabbed a bottle of whiskey from one of the shelves behind the counter, and waited for her to continue. "Lead on." Just before he exited the bar area, he stopped and took another look around. "Hang on. I *have* been here. That first night, I ended up not far from here. Stopped in for, uh, information--"
"You mean a drink," Willow corrected with a grin. "That's kind of weird, 'cause this is the first place I ended up too. Not for a drink, but for a place to get away from the stares of-- wait a minute! You *are* the angel! I used to think you were, but--"
Spike narrowed his eyes at her, probably none too happy with her choice of words. "Ain't no sort of angel. You take that back," he ordered, sounding very petulant.
She laughed, unable to believe Spike was the man Joe had been talking about this whole time. "Did you come in here a few years ago and pay for a bottle of whiskey with an antique coin?"
"Yeah, that first night." He paused, thinking back. "I also left a few more on the table, forgetting they were worth so much. But, in my defense, I was a little preoccupied with ending up Willow-less, and at the wrong time." He shrugged, as if it didn't matter.
Ignoring his disinterest, she hurried on excitedly, convinced she was right. "It had to have been you, it's so obvious now. White hair," she snickered a little. She'd always assumed it was a distinguished, older man. "And gray eyes... but, hey, you're eyes are blue." She frowned, then shook her head, undeterred by the discrepancies. "This place is pretty dark. The old Irish coin fits though, and the accent." She laughed lightly, feeling a sense of giddiness. She'd found Spike and solved a myth all in one night. Her work here was done.
"Yeah, sounds just like me," he agreed sarcastically. "So why the angel status?" He uncorked the bottle, taking a big long swig of the fiery liquid.
"You gave the coin to Joe. Irish guy behind the bar? His wife, Samantha, was your friendly neighborhood waitress."
"And?" he encouraged, tipping the bottle back a second time, taking another healthy swig.
He wasn't as pleased as she was by the story. She could understand that. Still, it irked her. "And you gave him one of our coins from Galway."
He nodded. "Yeah, you said that. What of it?"
"He bought this place from the owner and turned it into the popular pub it is today." She shook her head with a laugh. "They refer to you as an angel."
"Huh." Again he nodded.
That's it? Well, okay, he hadn't lived with hearing the story told a hundred different times. He wasn't one of the regulars who could recite the story by heart. Still, he could show a little interest. "Because they own this place, I have somewhere to live. That might not have happened."
"Good on them, then." He ducked his head around the doorway, glancing at the stairway. "Upstairs?"
Slightly disgruntled at his lack of enthusiasm, Willow sighed and held a finger to her lips, heading up to her room. She held the door open for Spike, and once he was through, she shut it, and leaned back against it. He wanted business, then fine. That's what he'd get. "So?" she inquired.
Spike tossed her a look. Setting the bottle down beside the bed, he examined her room. "Nice place. How long you been here?" He took off his cloak, dropped himself and the cloak to the bed and leaned back against the headboard.
"You first," she told him, staring at her quilt under his boots. The image was so odd, that she couldn't quite wrap her mind around it. She pushed away from the door with a yawn. These late nights were wearing her out. But, now that she'd found Spike, hopefully the late nights would end after her shift rather than hours later. Or, ooo, even better... end altogether. Maybe now they could go home. To Sunnydale. She unbuttoned her cloak and tossed it on the bed.
Spike uncorked the whiskey bottle and took a long drink, then leaned back and relaxed. "Well," he began, sounding like a teacher during story time, "it all started when a certain witch--who shall remain nameless--screwed up a spell, and sent me to the wrong time. Twice."
"You're not the only one who got sent to the wrong time, you know. And don't blame it on me, I did the spell exactly like I was supposed to." She stood in front of the dressing mirror, searching for Spike in it, knowing she wouldn't see him. Knowing he was invisible in the eyes of the mirror. Removing the pins from her hair, she turned back to face him, finding it creepy in the extreme to be talking to someone who, essentially, wasn't there. It made her feel like maybe she had imagined him.
Spike took another long drink, frowning at her. "Yeah, well, no offense, love, but your magical skills have, so far, left a lot to be desired. I ended up in eighteen fifty-five with nothing but our clothes from Glasgow."
Willow dropped the pins to the dresser and shook her hair out, feeling the usual ache she felt when she took her hair down. "Five years?" she whispered, leaning back against the dresser. "How did you... oh, right. Vampire. Killing. Death and robbery. You had all that going for you, I guess."
He chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Willow," he chastised, "would you rather I didn't feed, didn't take money, and didn't survive, thereby leaving you stranded here? I tend to doubt even you'd want that. So back off with the criticism. I did what I had to do to survive, as I'm sure you did."
Willow turned away from him, knowing he was right and not wanting him to see the admission on her face. "Sorry. For the criticism, and for stranding you there. Even if it wasn't my fault." She joined him on the bed, as far from him as possible, which wasn't easy since he was in the middle of the bed. And here again was that uncomfortable feeling.
She reached out for the bottle, but stopped, raising a questioning eyebrow at him when she saw him staring at her with the bottle halfway to his mouth. "What?" She hopped up, looking around frantically. "It's not another spider, is it?"
"How long have you been here?" he asked, ignoring her question. His eyes stayed on what had had him so enraptured before her spider freak-out; her hair. After a second, the bottle continued its journey to his mouth, and then to Willow's hand.
She sat back down and took a quick drink before answering. "For a while. Where did you end up?" She felt something touch her hair, and visions of a blonde vampire that wasn't Spike, assailed her. Her back went stiff and her breathing stopped for what felt like an eternity before starting again. Spike's hand, she told herself. It's just Spike's hand. He's safe.
"An alley," he said absently. "I had the money, obviously, and the clothes, so how did you survive?" His fingers had grabbed a lock of her hair and was playing with it.
She had to stop herself from shivering in disgust. Force herself not to cringe away from his touch. "I-- got a job, could you *not* do that?"
Spike dropped her hair with a shrug. "A job?" he repeated, and then his eyebrows rose. "Here? You work here?" His voice rose even higher than his eyebrows. "Doing what exactly?"
"Not what you're thinking," she said with a shudder. "I'm an un-glorified waitress." He sighed, and she was sure she heard relief in there. Why would he be relieved? Or even care? He was an evil vampire that had kidnapped her, and forced her to do his bidding. What did he care that she might have been a prostitute? And that's definitely what he'd thought. Obviously he didn't know her at all. She would rather starve or freeze to death than do... that.
On the other hand, she'd never been tested that much. How did she know what she would do when desperate? It was possible that she would fall into the lifestyle gratefully if she was cold and starving, and living on the streets.
"Always thought you were a wench," Spike was saying, snapping her out of her musings. He stretched out even more, lacing his fingers behind his head and closing his eyes. "So tell me, Wench, what've you been doing?"
"Working in the pub. Searching for you and Drusilla." Her excitement at finding him was once again starting to take over, and a giddy feeling was coursing through her. They'd be going home soon. They had to be. What else could he want to do back here? See himself? And if he did want to? Would she protest?
It would be kind of interesting to see a human Spike.
Though she was seeing a different Spike right now, with longer, darker hair--his natural hair color--and period dress, she wouldn't mind seeing a human Spike. William. Before Dru got to him. Which brought her back to the conversation at hand. "Have you found her yet?"
He nodded slowly. "Yeah, I found her. That's how I happened to run into you tonight."
Willow settled the whiskey bottle on his stomach and waited until he took it from her. "How long have you known where she was? I only found her a few days ago, and I've been searching for her since I got here."
He took a drink and handed it back to her. "Few months." He grinned, staring up at the ceiling. "I had a nice debate going with myself on whether or not to find her yet. So, how long have you been here?"
Ignoring his question, she set the bottle on the floor at her feet. "'cause of the getting involved factor? Hope you stayed out of her life, Spike. Otherwise, you could've... well, no, you didn't change anything."
He sat up slowly, leaning on an elbow. "What do you mean, I didn't change anything? How exactly do you know that?"
His voice was low and dangerous, and her heart was suddenly in her throat. "I-- well, the other night... Angelus--"
Spike sat all the way up and shoved his hands through his hair agitatedly. "He's here? Now? Why the hell didn't you tell me that earlier?"
Willow shrugged, not understanding his anger. "Why would I? What's the big deal?"
He sighed heavily, shaking his head at himself. "Never mind. I've got time."
She studied him, trying to figure out what he was talking about. He still had time to do... what? Stop Dru from being turned? Stop her from being driven insane? He couldn't do that. The future would be irrevocably changed if he did. They'd already screwed with things enough since traveling back in time, she couldn't allow him to tamper with anything more.
"Spike, you're not--"
He stopped her with a hand to her arm. "Wait a second. You ran into Angelus?" His blue eyes ran over her, checking for injuries, she assumed. "You're lucky you're still alive."
"Yeah," she agreed, her hand moving, of its own volition, to the newest member of the Scar Society on her neck. Spike's eyes followed the movement, and she hastily turned the rub into a scratch, then dropped her hand altogether. His eyes stayed on her neck.
"He bit you." It wasn't a question. He could see the evidence himself. His hand reached out to touch the mark, but she stood up, busying herself with picking up and corking the bottle of whiskey. She set it on the dresser, all the way across the room from him. "Why are you so damn jumpy? I mean, is it me, or what?"
She turned back to him, a confused expression in place. "What? I'm not jumpy. Well, a little. I mean, it's been a while since I saw you. I've been on my own for a long time, and I'm not used to being around anyone except customers and Sam and Joe." She shrugged casually. "It's nothing personal."
"Nothing personal? Right. You just can't stand to be touched..." his eyes widened as realization hit him. "He raped you? Angelus raped you?" Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed his cloak and headed purposely toward the door.
Willow grabbed his arm and held him still, fighting back the instant repulsion she got from touching vampire flesh. "What is it with you constantly assuming I've been raped? I haven't been. Okay?" She dropped her hand from his arm with a shudder and smiled to hide it. "Thanks for the freak-out on my behalf, but it's not needed. Angelus didn't rape me, the guys in the warehouse that first night didn't rape me, and-- I mean, I'm fine," she told him.
"You're sure?" he asked, hand still on the door knob.
Willow rolled her eyes. "Am I sure?" she repeated with a laugh. "Yes. I'm sure."
"Okay." He nodded, dropping his hand. "All right." Grabbing the whiskey from the dresser, he sat back down on her bed, setting his cloak beside him. "Wouldn't be the first time," he sighed.
"Oh," she whispered. That was news she could've lived without for the rest of her life. Already she was going to have a hard time facing Angel when they got back to their own time, this was just going to make it even worse. By leaps and bounds.
Spike was watching her solemnly, and she suddenly felt the need to confess. To clear Angel's name. Though she realized that Spike would never soften toward Angel, she thought it might help a bit. "It wasn't Angelus."
"I knew it," he muttered. "She said-- bloody hell." He jumped to his feet again, striding to the door as he downed a swig of whiskey.
"The only reason I'm telling you is to clear things up, okay? It's none of your business, it has nothing to do with you, and if you go after Angelus, I'll have to stop you. It wasn't him," she repeated more firmly.
"Fine then. Give me his name, and I'll kill him for you," he promised, waiting by the door.
"Um, yeah, because attackers usually give out their name and address," she laughed. She was touched in a weird way... but also a little unnerved. Was he going to go off and kill Angelus anyway, even knowing Angelus wasn't the one who'd done it? Almost done it. "He's dead." She made her way to the bed and sat wearily.
"And?" Spike pressed.
"And I don't want to talk about it." That was a bald-faced lie. She had a burning need to tell someone, but Spike wouldn't be that someone. He didn't give a damn for her, so she wasn't going to confide in him. "I dusted him."
Spike snorted in contempt. "Vampire. I figured as much." He set the bottle of whiskey on the dresser and leaned back against the drawers, crossing his arms and feet. "Did you at least hurt him first? Make him pay a bit?"
She forced herself not to gag as the memories came flooding back. She hated the memories. Hated seeing all the blood, feeling the pain, smelling the stench of the warehouse. Feeling the vampire's hair, his sweaty face, his fangs as they sank into her breast and stomach. Her thigh. "He-- he paid."
Spike nodded. "Good. Though I have to admit I wish you hadn't killed him. I haven't killed someone for the simple pleasure of it in way too long. Would've been fun."
A yawn forced itself past her lips, and she stood up, biting her lip. "Um, it's almost dawn, and I need some sleep--"
He nodded, pushing away from the dresser. "Always trying to get rid of me," he teased. "Well, I'm afraid you're out of luck this time. I lost you five years ago, I'm not about to take the chance of losing you again. I'm staying."
"But, no," she said hurriedly, realizing she'd sounded exactly like she was trying to get rid of him. "I don't want you to leave. I-- actually, I want you to stay. I don't want to lose you again either. The spell is useless without you."
He grinned and chuckled a bit. "You tried the spell without me? Tried to leave me here?"
"Um, yes?" she admitted.
He laughed outright at her admission. "Good. I'd be surprised if you hadn't. A bit disappointed too."
"So you're staying?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound desperate and pathetic and lonely and everything else she was feeling.
He smirked and opened his mouth to say something, then closed it with a nod. "Couldn't get rid of me if you tried."
She smiled as she unlaced her tennis shoes, happy beyond belief that he was here, and staying and, uh-oh, taking off his boots as well. What if he took off more?
He snorted with laughter when he saw her shoes. "Nice look you got there, love."
She patted her favorite, life-saving shoes fondly. "I do a lot of walking. These are tons more comfortable than my boots."
"I'd imagine so," he agreed, cracking his neck with a loud pop.
Willow shuddered, it sounded like he'd just broken his neck. "So, um," she motioned to the bed, "you take the bed, and I'll... not take the bed," she mumbled.
"Don't mind if I do," he told her, removing his coat and shirt. He tossed them on the floor beside the bed, and threw his cloak on the pile as well. His pants, thankfully, stayed on, as he sat back on the bed, patting the space beside him. "But, not alone."
Willow shook her head and gestured to the floor. "I'm good here. Here is good." Tucking her tennis shoes under the bed, she stood back up with a yawn.
"On the bed, Willow," he said irritably, watching her practically dive into the closet to change into her nightshirt--which was actually his T-Shirt. His voice raised slightly in order for her to hear him inside the small, dark closet. "Modesty at this late date?"
"Not modesty," she mumbled, then raised her own voice at his urging. "I said it's not modesty. It's been a few years, Spike, I'm a little uncomfortable with sleeping with someone I just ran into, okay?" Leaving the safety of the closet behind, she stood uneasily by the window.
He shook his head, lighting another disgustingly stinky cigarette. "No, not okay. Avoidance won't help. Lay down."
Glad to have something to do with her hands, she pushed open the shutters, inhaling the cool night air. Coughing when the sooty, chimney smoke-filled air entered her lungs, she wondered which was worse; Spike's cigarettes, or the polluted air outside? Turning back to the bed, she leaned against the window sill. "Suddenly you're an expert on human feelings?"
"I've seen the Afterschool Specials too, you know. I think it's high time you faced your fears and all that." A grin lit his lips at her shocked look. "Had to pass my time in the wheelchair somehow, didn't I?"
"Really?" she asked, unsure if he was having her on or not. Spike's lips twitched the slightest bit, and Willow burst out laughing at the unrestrained grin spreading across his face. "I can't believe I almost fell for that. You're shameless."
He nodded, agreeing with her one hundred percent. "I really am." But then his eyes found hers, and the laughter was gone, quick as a wink. "But, I'm also serious. You know I won't hurt you."
A slow head shake accompanied the frown she knew was spreading across her brow. She didn't know that, did she? "You bit me," she told him, only a hint of accusation in her voice. "Twice." She damned herself for remembering that. Damned herself for not simply slipping into bed with him, because she'd really missed this. The ease with which they got along, being able to talk to someone who knew exactly what she meant when she mentioned burritos, or computers.
And, she missed Spike.
Missed how safe and secure she'd felt waking up in his arms every afternoon in Galway, though, he never knew he ended up wrapped around her. She sighed, wanting nothing more than to climb into bed next to him, and be held, comforted.
His frown was even more thunderous than hers. "That was five years ago, Willow."
"Two years ago," she corrected. "For me it was only two."
"Yeah." He stood up, moving toward her, looking exactly how she remembered him from some of their days in Ireland. His hair was longer, and the cigarette dangling from his lips was hand rolled, but he looked the same. Shirtless, but for the gold chain hanging around his neck, squinting through the smoke at her. "I guess it was at that."
She fought the urge to back away, to press herself into the corner of the room just to get away from him. But, when he stopped in front of the window, she realized he was only tossing his cigarette out.
She'd been about to wig out just because he'd walked in her general direction? Maybe he was right. Maybe she did need to face her fears. She certainly couldn't see spending the next however long with him, always afraid, always flinching away. With a deep breath filling her lungs, she slowly moved around him to the bed. He closed the window, latching the shutters as she slid under the covers. Lying as still as humanly possible on the very edge of the bed, she waited for him to join her, wondering if he could hear her heart pounding.
Looking like he'd done it a hundred times before, Spike blew out the wall sconces and slid under the covers with her. He didn't force her to move, or even suggest it. He let her stay where she was; on the far side of the bed, shivering and afraid.
She adjusted the blankets a few times, lifting them higher, then folding over the top and smoothing it down. After a few minutes, she started to relax a little, but was by no means comfortable.
"Have you read Berenice?" Spike asked from the other side of the bed.
"Bare a whoozee?" she asked with a chuckle. She'd expected maybe orders for her to stop moving, or to relax, or something... anything other than what he'd asked.
"Berenice. B-E-R-E-N-I-C-E, pronounced bare-a-nicee. It's, uh... by Poe. H-- have you read it?" he asked again, sounding extremely embarrassed.
She smiled a little at the familiar question. Remembering asking him the same thing about the Telltale Heart back in Galway. "No," she answered, rolling onto her other side, so that she could face him.
He was on his back, staring at the ceiling. Tossing a quick glance at her, he shrugged. "It's about a guy who has an unhealthy obsession with teeth." He turned his head toward her and vamped out, licking his fangs with a grin before morphing back.
Willow, not at all afraid by his display, laughed lightly and rolled her eyes. "I'm starting to wonder if you're making these up."
He actually looked offended by her suggestion. "Hell no, I'd do a much better job. I walk in worlds others can't begin to imagine."
She frowned in confusion, not having one iota of a clue as to what he was talking about. "What?"
"Nothing," he chuckled, rolling onto his side. "Get some sleep."
What was that about? she wondered, staring at his back. But, after the long day and even longer night she'd had, sleep was quick to claim her.
PART 10
Willow fell into bed a few hours later, exhausted and sore. She'd followed Angelus and Drusilla to her house, where, amazingly enough Angelus hadn't hurt anyone. Apparently he still planned to drive her insane first. To Willow's disappointment, there'd been no sign of Spike at all. After Angelus left, Willow had carefully examined the entire area surrounding Drusilla's house, not sure what she expected to find.
A cigarette butt? Spike and Dru's names carved into a tree?
Regardless of what she expected, she found nothing, except the fact that Dru's house was only a mile or so away from the pub, and the church she'd met her at earlier was one that Willow had checked months before. So, vowing to return the next night, she went back to the pub, running through explanation after explanation.
Which meant lie after lie.
She'd cleaned up as best she could on her way. Letting her hair down to cover the bloody wound at her neck. Straightening her clothes. Combing her fingers through the tangled mass of her hair. There was nothing she could do to hide the bruise on her jaw, or the ring of bruises on her wrist, but she hoped that Joe and Sam wouldn't see them.
A lengthy discussion followed their first sight of her. Her three hour absence had left them worried, but knowing she was safe overcame any anger they might have felt. Tales of a lost and hurt little girl, a mugger... a frightened child not wanting to be alone in the hospital. And finally, a quick bath to wash away the filth of Angelus' touch. And the blood and dirt too.
Now she was under the covers in her own bed, the small strip of black cloth once again clutched tightly in her hand. It was almost like a life preserver. When she felt overwhelmed, or sad, or, well... it didn't really matter what she was feeling, she usually pulled the scrap of cloth out from under her pillow and held it while she slept.
But tonight, instead of falling asleep, she was wide awake. The more time that passed, the further away Sunnydale felt. Her only chance at getting home was with Spike, but after almost two years, and no sign from him, she had to consider the fact that he might be dead. She didn't want to believe that. The spell had worked. She'd come almost to the time he wanted. A little early, but closer than the first time. So, where was he? Had he landed in another time? Was he home? In Sunnydale?
Rolling over, she allowed herself to think the unthinkable. She was stuck in the past for the rest of her life. What was she supposed to do here? Was time being affected by her absence? She'd run into Angelus twice, but she had no memories of Angel mentioning their encounters. He may have kept silent, not knowing if it was her or not. Or he didn't want to alter what she did in the past. Most likely he didn't remember her.
Or, the changes weren't taking affect until she returned... if she ever did.
She wiped the tears from her cheeks in impatience. She'd done more crying in the past twelve hours than she'd done in the past month. But this time, she wasn't crying for herself, she was crying for Spike.
She hadn't fully realized it until tonight, but she missed him. She missed his sarcastic comments, his voice, his face, his body curled around hers in the night. Rolling onto her side again, she inhaled deeply, wishing his scent was still on the strip of cloth in her hand, or the T-Shirt she wore as a nightgown.
Casting one last glance at Drusilla's window, Willow turned away and started back to Joe's. Three nights she'd watched Dru's house, waiting for Spike to show up, but as yet, he was a no-show, and she was almost convinced that he was dead. Otherwise, wouldn't he be here? Watching over the woman he loved? Being near her?
A tired sigh escaped her as she walked along the empty street. The full moon overhead cast yellow light over everything not shadowed by trees or houses, it was a sickly color, filtering through the branches, and coating the cobblestone streets. A carriage clattered past her, but she hardly noticed it, which really struck her. She was so used to this time and place, that it wasn't unusual to her anymore.
A hand grabbed her shoulder and yanked her out of the street. Startled, she looked up from her musings and watched as another fast moving carriage barreled past her. She discreetly pulled away from the man's hand, barely registering his handsome face, and dark blonde hair. What she did note was that his skin was pale and cold, and though pale was the style, it most likely meant vampire.
"Thank you, sir," she mumbled, walking around him. If he was a vampire, he probably wouldn't let her go. She walked a little faster, holding her breath, and waiting.
Vampire.
A cold hand slid around her neck and pulled her back against a hard chest. Her first instinct was to scream. Her second was to run. Screaming would get her nowhere, and running wasn't an option, she'd be caught after only a few steps, so she fought back the panic that was coursing through her, dropped her stake from her sleeve and spun around with it, holding it firmly against the vampire's heart. "Your first mistake was saving me, your second was touching me. There won't be a third."
She swung the stake back and brought it forward again, crying out in pain when he grabbed her hand, stopping the stake just before it made contact. To her surprise, his grip on her wrist loosened at her yelp of pain. But he didn't let go. He was too busy looking her over. She resisted the urge to look down at herself; she already knew what she was wearing. High-collared midnight blue cotton dress, trimmed in white lace and tiny black buttons. Black cloak. Hair in a chignon. Fashionable stake clutched in her fist.
His gaze, when it finally returned to her face, was blank. She flicked her eyes over his black Hessians, black breeches, white shirt, and black cloak. Wow, a lot of thought must have gone into that outfit, she though derisively. Moving her gaze up, she took in his clenched jaw, intense pale blue eyes... familiar blue eyes. Her heart skipped a beat. This couldn't be him, finally. Could it? She wouldn't let herself get her hopes up.
Until she saw the scar on his eyebrow.
"Spike?" she whispered, hope making her voice shake. She was so afraid that she was just seeing what she wanted to see.
He shrugged lazily, a grin turning up the corners of his mouth. "Sure as hell ain't Elvis."
Willow was rooted to the spot, unsure of what she wanted to do. Hug him because she was relieved, and she'd missed him? Yell at him for stranding her here alone? Or slap him for forcing her to do the spell in the first place?
He stumbled back a few steps when she threw herself at him, hugging him so tight that, had he not been a vampire, he would've had breathing issues. He laughed, wrapping his arms around her, his deep voice enveloping her as much as his arms did.
"Miss me, pet?" he chuckled in her ear.
"No," she mumbled, her voice muffled by his chest. "Not one whit."
"Yeah," he agreed, "me either."
Willow chuckled, pulling away. Her smile faded into a frown as she got a good look at him. His hair was pretty long--as was stylish these days--and no longer in a bleached way. "Where did you go? 'Cause I looked all over for you, and--"
He looked past her, shaking his head. "This little reunion's gonna have to wait, love. Something's near. Probably a less friendly vampire." He grabbed her hand and pulled her along. "You got somewhere we can go?"
Willow had to run to keep up with him, and that was no easy feat. "Yeah, I have a place, but-- slow down, Spike. Short, human type person here." She stopped and yanked her hand from his. "I think I should warn you, Sam's not gonna be happy to see you."
Spike raised an eyebrow at her. "He your lover? You're cheating on the witch? I am shocked and amazed, Red." He looked almost proud of her.
Willow rolled her eyes. "Sam's a she. Short for Samantha, and she's--"
"A woman? Go, Red," he said with respect. He grinned slyly, and nudged her arm. "I'd like to request front row seats. Is there audience participation, or is it just a spectator sport?"
Willow sighed in amusement. Spike hadn't changed a bit, except physically. "Still perverted, I see."
He nodded, his face serious. "'Til the end, love."
"Okay, and we're moving on to reality. Samantha is married to Joe who owns--"
"A threesome, huh?" He sniffled and wiped an imaginary tear from his dry eye, giving her a one-armed maternal hug. "My baby's all grown up. It happens so fast..."
"Oh, brother." She smoothly shrugged out from under his arm, a little uncomfortable with his touch. He was her friend. Sort of. Well, okay, he was her time travel companion. She should feel comfortable around him. Was she going to have to constantly worry about whether or not he was going to touch her? That was definitely not something she wanted on her mind. Starting off down the street, she shook her head, leaving him to catch up with her. "Gosh, I guess we're past that awkward silence part that can sometimes happen after long absences."
Spike shrugged dismissively. "Who needs that? Get right into the thick of things, that's what I always say. So... where's this place of yours?"
Willow stopped in front of Joe's Pub and gestured to the door. "This is it. Couple things you ought to know before we go in though. You're my husband, William. You left me stranded here, and I haven't seen you since. And, um," she thought for a minute. "I guess that's it. Let's have fun out there, kids."
Spike waggled his eyebrows. "Husband, huh? I think I can play the part. Lots of public displays of affection are called for, I think." He reached for her, but she quickly moved away from him.
"No." Sounded a bit rude, she realized, so she softened her tone. "I mean, um, Samantha wouldn't buy it. You know, the touchy feely thing after this long. So, uh... let's go." She unlocked the door, ignoring his frown. Since she hadn't left Joe's until after it closed, she was hoping they wouldn't still be up and about to ask questions. She wanted some time alone with Spike to get the lowdown on where he'd been.
"This place looks familiar," Spike muttered, looking around the darkened room.
Willow grinned back at him. "Maybe you were here in a past life."
His eye roll told her how much he appreciated her attempt at humor. "Yeah right. I think I've been here before. In this life," he added with a chuckle.
"Spike in a bar? Say it ain't so," she said, feigning shock. She ducked away from his hand with a laugh when he swatted half-heartedly at her. "Well, this is it, Rebecca... this is the valley."
Spike's eyebrows rose a bit in confusion. "What?" He looked a little lost... well, actually, he looked a lot lost, and she couldn't blame him, it was an obscure reference.
She shook her head with another laugh. "Nothing. Just a stupid commercial they used to show. Xander and I used to say it a lot... it just sort of stuck."
He still looked really lost, but all he did was nod.
Thankfully Sam and Joe didn't come rushing out to greet them. The place remained dark and empty. Looked like she would get some quiet time with Spike after all. Saying a tiny prayer of thanks, Willow locked the door behind her and quietly led Spike through the darkened pub.
He stopped by the bar, grabbed a bottle of whiskey from one of the shelves behind the counter, and waited for her to continue. "Lead on." Just before he exited the bar area, he stopped and took another look around. "Hang on. I *have* been here. That first night, I ended up not far from here. Stopped in for, uh, information--"
"You mean a drink," Willow corrected with a grin. "That's kind of weird, 'cause this is the first place I ended up too. Not for a drink, but for a place to get away from the stares of-- wait a minute! You *are* the angel! I used to think you were, but--"
Spike narrowed his eyes at her, probably none too happy with her choice of words. "Ain't no sort of angel. You take that back," he ordered, sounding very petulant.
She laughed, unable to believe Spike was the man Joe had been talking about this whole time. "Did you come in here a few years ago and pay for a bottle of whiskey with an antique coin?"
"Yeah, that first night." He paused, thinking back. "I also left a few more on the table, forgetting they were worth so much. But, in my defense, I was a little preoccupied with ending up Willow-less, and at the wrong time." He shrugged, as if it didn't matter.
Ignoring his disinterest, she hurried on excitedly, convinced she was right. "It had to have been you, it's so obvious now. White hair," she snickered a little. She'd always assumed it was a distinguished, older man. "And gray eyes... but, hey, you're eyes are blue." She frowned, then shook her head, undeterred by the discrepancies. "This place is pretty dark. The old Irish coin fits though, and the accent." She laughed lightly, feeling a sense of giddiness. She'd found Spike and solved a myth all in one night. Her work here was done.
"Yeah, sounds just like me," he agreed sarcastically. "So why the angel status?" He uncorked the bottle, taking a big long swig of the fiery liquid.
"You gave the coin to Joe. Irish guy behind the bar? His wife, Samantha, was your friendly neighborhood waitress."
"And?" he encouraged, tipping the bottle back a second time, taking another healthy swig.
He wasn't as pleased as she was by the story. She could understand that. Still, it irked her. "And you gave him one of our coins from Galway."
He nodded. "Yeah, you said that. What of it?"
"He bought this place from the owner and turned it into the popular pub it is today." She shook her head with a laugh. "They refer to you as an angel."
"Huh." Again he nodded.
That's it? Well, okay, he hadn't lived with hearing the story told a hundred different times. He wasn't one of the regulars who could recite the story by heart. Still, he could show a little interest. "Because they own this place, I have somewhere to live. That might not have happened."
"Good on them, then." He ducked his head around the doorway, glancing at the stairway. "Upstairs?"
Slightly disgruntled at his lack of enthusiasm, Willow sighed and held a finger to her lips, heading up to her room. She held the door open for Spike, and once he was through, she shut it, and leaned back against it. He wanted business, then fine. That's what he'd get. "So?" she inquired.
Spike tossed her a look. Setting the bottle down beside the bed, he examined her room. "Nice place. How long you been here?" He took off his cloak, dropped himself and the cloak to the bed and leaned back against the headboard.
"You first," she told him, staring at her quilt under his boots. The image was so odd, that she couldn't quite wrap her mind around it. She pushed away from the door with a yawn. These late nights were wearing her out. But, now that she'd found Spike, hopefully the late nights would end after her shift rather than hours later. Or, ooo, even better... end altogether. Maybe now they could go home. To Sunnydale. She unbuttoned her cloak and tossed it on the bed.
Spike uncorked the whiskey bottle and took a long drink, then leaned back and relaxed. "Well," he began, sounding like a teacher during story time, "it all started when a certain witch--who shall remain nameless--screwed up a spell, and sent me to the wrong time. Twice."
"You're not the only one who got sent to the wrong time, you know. And don't blame it on me, I did the spell exactly like I was supposed to." She stood in front of the dressing mirror, searching for Spike in it, knowing she wouldn't see him. Knowing he was invisible in the eyes of the mirror. Removing the pins from her hair, she turned back to face him, finding it creepy in the extreme to be talking to someone who, essentially, wasn't there. It made her feel like maybe she had imagined him.
Spike took another long drink, frowning at her. "Yeah, well, no offense, love, but your magical skills have, so far, left a lot to be desired. I ended up in eighteen fifty-five with nothing but our clothes from Glasgow."
Willow dropped the pins to the dresser and shook her hair out, feeling the usual ache she felt when she took her hair down. "Five years?" she whispered, leaning back against the dresser. "How did you... oh, right. Vampire. Killing. Death and robbery. You had all that going for you, I guess."
He chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Willow," he chastised, "would you rather I didn't feed, didn't take money, and didn't survive, thereby leaving you stranded here? I tend to doubt even you'd want that. So back off with the criticism. I did what I had to do to survive, as I'm sure you did."
Willow turned away from him, knowing he was right and not wanting him to see the admission on her face. "Sorry. For the criticism, and for stranding you there. Even if it wasn't my fault." She joined him on the bed, as far from him as possible, which wasn't easy since he was in the middle of the bed. And here again was that uncomfortable feeling.
She reached out for the bottle, but stopped, raising a questioning eyebrow at him when she saw him staring at her with the bottle halfway to his mouth. "What?" She hopped up, looking around frantically. "It's not another spider, is it?"
"How long have you been here?" he asked, ignoring her question. His eyes stayed on what had had him so enraptured before her spider freak-out; her hair. After a second, the bottle continued its journey to his mouth, and then to Willow's hand.
She sat back down and took a quick drink before answering. "For a while. Where did you end up?" She felt something touch her hair, and visions of a blonde vampire that wasn't Spike, assailed her. Her back went stiff and her breathing stopped for what felt like an eternity before starting again. Spike's hand, she told herself. It's just Spike's hand. He's safe.
"An alley," he said absently. "I had the money, obviously, and the clothes, so how did you survive?" His fingers had grabbed a lock of her hair and was playing with it.
She had to stop herself from shivering in disgust. Force herself not to cringe away from his touch. "I-- got a job, could you *not* do that?"
Spike dropped her hair with a shrug. "A job?" he repeated, and then his eyebrows rose. "Here? You work here?" His voice rose even higher than his eyebrows. "Doing what exactly?"
"Not what you're thinking," she said with a shudder. "I'm an un-glorified waitress." He sighed, and she was sure she heard relief in there. Why would he be relieved? Or even care? He was an evil vampire that had kidnapped her, and forced her to do his bidding. What did he care that she might have been a prostitute? And that's definitely what he'd thought. Obviously he didn't know her at all. She would rather starve or freeze to death than do... that.
On the other hand, she'd never been tested that much. How did she know what she would do when desperate? It was possible that she would fall into the lifestyle gratefully if she was cold and starving, and living on the streets.
"Always thought you were a wench," Spike was saying, snapping her out of her musings. He stretched out even more, lacing his fingers behind his head and closing his eyes. "So tell me, Wench, what've you been doing?"
"Working in the pub. Searching for you and Drusilla." Her excitement at finding him was once again starting to take over, and a giddy feeling was coursing through her. They'd be going home soon. They had to be. What else could he want to do back here? See himself? And if he did want to? Would she protest?
It would be kind of interesting to see a human Spike.
Though she was seeing a different Spike right now, with longer, darker hair--his natural hair color--and period dress, she wouldn't mind seeing a human Spike. William. Before Dru got to him. Which brought her back to the conversation at hand. "Have you found her yet?"
He nodded slowly. "Yeah, I found her. That's how I happened to run into you tonight."
Willow settled the whiskey bottle on his stomach and waited until he took it from her. "How long have you known where she was? I only found her a few days ago, and I've been searching for her since I got here."
He took a drink and handed it back to her. "Few months." He grinned, staring up at the ceiling. "I had a nice debate going with myself on whether or not to find her yet. So, how long have you been here?"
Ignoring his question, she set the bottle on the floor at her feet. "'cause of the getting involved factor? Hope you stayed out of her life, Spike. Otherwise, you could've... well, no, you didn't change anything."
He sat up slowly, leaning on an elbow. "What do you mean, I didn't change anything? How exactly do you know that?"
His voice was low and dangerous, and her heart was suddenly in her throat. "I-- well, the other night... Angelus--"
Spike sat all the way up and shoved his hands through his hair agitatedly. "He's here? Now? Why the hell didn't you tell me that earlier?"
Willow shrugged, not understanding his anger. "Why would I? What's the big deal?"
He sighed heavily, shaking his head at himself. "Never mind. I've got time."
She studied him, trying to figure out what he was talking about. He still had time to do... what? Stop Dru from being turned? Stop her from being driven insane? He couldn't do that. The future would be irrevocably changed if he did. They'd already screwed with things enough since traveling back in time, she couldn't allow him to tamper with anything more.
"Spike, you're not--"
He stopped her with a hand to her arm. "Wait a second. You ran into Angelus?" His blue eyes ran over her, checking for injuries, she assumed. "You're lucky you're still alive."
"Yeah," she agreed, her hand moving, of its own volition, to the newest member of the Scar Society on her neck. Spike's eyes followed the movement, and she hastily turned the rub into a scratch, then dropped her hand altogether. His eyes stayed on her neck.
"He bit you." It wasn't a question. He could see the evidence himself. His hand reached out to touch the mark, but she stood up, busying herself with picking up and corking the bottle of whiskey. She set it on the dresser, all the way across the room from him. "Why are you so damn jumpy? I mean, is it me, or what?"
She turned back to him, a confused expression in place. "What? I'm not jumpy. Well, a little. I mean, it's been a while since I saw you. I've been on my own for a long time, and I'm not used to being around anyone except customers and Sam and Joe." She shrugged casually. "It's nothing personal."
"Nothing personal? Right. You just can't stand to be touched..." his eyes widened as realization hit him. "He raped you? Angelus raped you?" Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed his cloak and headed purposely toward the door.
Willow grabbed his arm and held him still, fighting back the instant repulsion she got from touching vampire flesh. "What is it with you constantly assuming I've been raped? I haven't been. Okay?" She dropped her hand from his arm with a shudder and smiled to hide it. "Thanks for the freak-out on my behalf, but it's not needed. Angelus didn't rape me, the guys in the warehouse that first night didn't rape me, and-- I mean, I'm fine," she told him.
"You're sure?" he asked, hand still on the door knob.
Willow rolled her eyes. "Am I sure?" she repeated with a laugh. "Yes. I'm sure."
"Okay." He nodded, dropping his hand. "All right." Grabbing the whiskey from the dresser, he sat back down on her bed, setting his cloak beside him. "Wouldn't be the first time," he sighed.
"Oh," she whispered. That was news she could've lived without for the rest of her life. Already she was going to have a hard time facing Angel when they got back to their own time, this was just going to make it even worse. By leaps and bounds.
Spike was watching her solemnly, and she suddenly felt the need to confess. To clear Angel's name. Though she realized that Spike would never soften toward Angel, she thought it might help a bit. "It wasn't Angelus."
"I knew it," he muttered. "She said-- bloody hell." He jumped to his feet again, striding to the door as he downed a swig of whiskey.
"The only reason I'm telling you is to clear things up, okay? It's none of your business, it has nothing to do with you, and if you go after Angelus, I'll have to stop you. It wasn't him," she repeated more firmly.
"Fine then. Give me his name, and I'll kill him for you," he promised, waiting by the door.
"Um, yeah, because attackers usually give out their name and address," she laughed. She was touched in a weird way... but also a little unnerved. Was he going to go off and kill Angelus anyway, even knowing Angelus wasn't the one who'd done it? Almost done it. "He's dead." She made her way to the bed and sat wearily.
"And?" Spike pressed.
"And I don't want to talk about it." That was a bald-faced lie. She had a burning need to tell someone, but Spike wouldn't be that someone. He didn't give a damn for her, so she wasn't going to confide in him. "I dusted him."
Spike snorted in contempt. "Vampire. I figured as much." He set the bottle of whiskey on the dresser and leaned back against the drawers, crossing his arms and feet. "Did you at least hurt him first? Make him pay a bit?"
She forced herself not to gag as the memories came flooding back. She hated the memories. Hated seeing all the blood, feeling the pain, smelling the stench of the warehouse. Feeling the vampire's hair, his sweaty face, his fangs as they sank into her breast and stomach. Her thigh. "He-- he paid."
Spike nodded. "Good. Though I have to admit I wish you hadn't killed him. I haven't killed someone for the simple pleasure of it in way too long. Would've been fun."
A yawn forced itself past her lips, and she stood up, biting her lip. "Um, it's almost dawn, and I need some sleep--"
He nodded, pushing away from the dresser. "Always trying to get rid of me," he teased. "Well, I'm afraid you're out of luck this time. I lost you five years ago, I'm not about to take the chance of losing you again. I'm staying."
"But, no," she said hurriedly, realizing she'd sounded exactly like she was trying to get rid of him. "I don't want you to leave. I-- actually, I want you to stay. I don't want to lose you again either. The spell is useless without you."
He grinned and chuckled a bit. "You tried the spell without me? Tried to leave me here?"
"Um, yes?" she admitted.
He laughed outright at her admission. "Good. I'd be surprised if you hadn't. A bit disappointed too."
"So you're staying?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound desperate and pathetic and lonely and everything else she was feeling.
He smirked and opened his mouth to say something, then closed it with a nod. "Couldn't get rid of me if you tried."
She smiled as she unlaced her tennis shoes, happy beyond belief that he was here, and staying and, uh-oh, taking off his boots as well. What if he took off more?
He snorted with laughter when he saw her shoes. "Nice look you got there, love."
She patted her favorite, life-saving shoes fondly. "I do a lot of walking. These are tons more comfortable than my boots."
"I'd imagine so," he agreed, cracking his neck with a loud pop.
Willow shuddered, it sounded like he'd just broken his neck. "So, um," she motioned to the bed, "you take the bed, and I'll... not take the bed," she mumbled.
"Don't mind if I do," he told her, removing his coat and shirt. He tossed them on the floor beside the bed, and threw his cloak on the pile as well. His pants, thankfully, stayed on, as he sat back on the bed, patting the space beside him. "But, not alone."
Willow shook her head and gestured to the floor. "I'm good here. Here is good." Tucking her tennis shoes under the bed, she stood back up with a yawn.
"On the bed, Willow," he said irritably, watching her practically dive into the closet to change into her nightshirt--which was actually his T-Shirt. His voice raised slightly in order for her to hear him inside the small, dark closet. "Modesty at this late date?"
"Not modesty," she mumbled, then raised her own voice at his urging. "I said it's not modesty. It's been a few years, Spike, I'm a little uncomfortable with sleeping with someone I just ran into, okay?" Leaving the safety of the closet behind, she stood uneasily by the window.
He shook his head, lighting another disgustingly stinky cigarette. "No, not okay. Avoidance won't help. Lay down."
Glad to have something to do with her hands, she pushed open the shutters, inhaling the cool night air. Coughing when the sooty, chimney smoke-filled air entered her lungs, she wondered which was worse; Spike's cigarettes, or the polluted air outside? Turning back to the bed, she leaned against the window sill. "Suddenly you're an expert on human feelings?"
"I've seen the Afterschool Specials too, you know. I think it's high time you faced your fears and all that." A grin lit his lips at her shocked look. "Had to pass my time in the wheelchair somehow, didn't I?"
"Really?" she asked, unsure if he was having her on or not. Spike's lips twitched the slightest bit, and Willow burst out laughing at the unrestrained grin spreading across his face. "I can't believe I almost fell for that. You're shameless."
He nodded, agreeing with her one hundred percent. "I really am." But then his eyes found hers, and the laughter was gone, quick as a wink. "But, I'm also serious. You know I won't hurt you."
A slow head shake accompanied the frown she knew was spreading across her brow. She didn't know that, did she? "You bit me," she told him, only a hint of accusation in her voice. "Twice." She damned herself for remembering that. Damned herself for not simply slipping into bed with him, because she'd really missed this. The ease with which they got along, being able to talk to someone who knew exactly what she meant when she mentioned burritos, or computers.
And, she missed Spike.
Missed how safe and secure she'd felt waking up in his arms every afternoon in Galway, though, he never knew he ended up wrapped around her. She sighed, wanting nothing more than to climb into bed next to him, and be held, comforted.
His frown was even more thunderous than hers. "That was five years ago, Willow."
"Two years ago," she corrected. "For me it was only two."
"Yeah." He stood up, moving toward her, looking exactly how she remembered him from some of their days in Ireland. His hair was longer, and the cigarette dangling from his lips was hand rolled, but he looked the same. Shirtless, but for the gold chain hanging around his neck, squinting through the smoke at her. "I guess it was at that."
She fought the urge to back away, to press herself into the corner of the room just to get away from him. But, when he stopped in front of the window, she realized he was only tossing his cigarette out.
She'd been about to wig out just because he'd walked in her general direction? Maybe he was right. Maybe she did need to face her fears. She certainly couldn't see spending the next however long with him, always afraid, always flinching away. With a deep breath filling her lungs, she slowly moved around him to the bed. He closed the window, latching the shutters as she slid under the covers. Lying as still as humanly possible on the very edge of the bed, she waited for him to join her, wondering if he could hear her heart pounding.
Looking like he'd done it a hundred times before, Spike blew out the wall sconces and slid under the covers with her. He didn't force her to move, or even suggest it. He let her stay where she was; on the far side of the bed, shivering and afraid.
She adjusted the blankets a few times, lifting them higher, then folding over the top and smoothing it down. After a few minutes, she started to relax a little, but was by no means comfortable.
"Have you read Berenice?" Spike asked from the other side of the bed.
"Bare a whoozee?" she asked with a chuckle. She'd expected maybe orders for her to stop moving, or to relax, or something... anything other than what he'd asked.
"Berenice. B-E-R-E-N-I-C-E, pronounced bare-a-nicee. It's, uh... by Poe. H-- have you read it?" he asked again, sounding extremely embarrassed.
She smiled a little at the familiar question. Remembering asking him the same thing about the Telltale Heart back in Galway. "No," she answered, rolling onto her other side, so that she could face him.
He was on his back, staring at the ceiling. Tossing a quick glance at her, he shrugged. "It's about a guy who has an unhealthy obsession with teeth." He turned his head toward her and vamped out, licking his fangs with a grin before morphing back.
Willow, not at all afraid by his display, laughed lightly and rolled her eyes. "I'm starting to wonder if you're making these up."
He actually looked offended by her suggestion. "Hell no, I'd do a much better job. I walk in worlds others can't begin to imagine."
She frowned in confusion, not having one iota of a clue as to what he was talking about. "What?"
"Nothing," he chuckled, rolling onto his side. "Get some sleep."
What was that about? she wondered, staring at his back. But, after the long day and even longer night she'd had, sleep was quick to claim her.