Disclaimer: See chapter 1, 6, or 11.
PART 12
"Ow!" Spike yelled, gritting his teeth as Willow tied the strip of cloth around his stomach. "Could you possibly make it hurt more?"
She shrugged, and tightened it until he winced and pulled away from her. "How's that?" she asked. "Good for you? 'Cause it was great for me."
Spike sighed and laid back on the bed, forcing himself to relax his tensed up muscles. "Willow, get over it. Bloody hell, woman, it's been two weeks." He shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable, and ended up causing himself more pain than comfort. God, he couldn't wait to get back to the twentieth century, where comfort was only a mattress away.
"Well, yeah, okay, I'll get over it," she told him, cleaning up the bloodied sheet and torn strips of what was left of Spike's shirt. The strips went into the trash with the sheet. Carrying the basin of bloody water to the window, she dumped it out, tossing him another glare over her shoulder. "As soon as you tell me what really happened."
Spike clenched his jaw in irritation. Two weeks of the same conversations and arguments got old real quick. So why didn't he just tell her the truth and end it now? Because he was a big pansy and he didn't want to cause her anymore pain than she'd already been through. "I've told you a thousand times. There was a vampire--"
"Behind me," she said, sitting back down on the bed. "Right. I know." She sounded about as exasperated as he felt.
Good. Maybe she'd drop it.
"But you threw me against the wall, Spike. Knocked me out. And I never saw a vampire. Never saw a pile of dust afterward."
Or not. Shoving her hand away from him, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Leave it," he bit out angrily. Nausea rose up in his stomach, and he held still for a few seconds before pushing himself to his feet. Pain tore through his stomach, dropping him to his knees. Pressing the bandage tighter to the suddenly bleeding-again wound, he tried to get up, but couldn't quite manage it. "Christ," he muttered, feeling humiliated.
Willow sighed and knelt beside him, helping him up. As soon as he was steady on his feet, he pushed her away.
"You're only making it worse," she muttered, slipping under his arm. She led him back to the bed, and forced him to sit down. "I'd prefer not to nurse you any longer than I have to. Stupid vampire."
Spike laid down and covered his eyes with his arm, ignoring her. He'd prefer not to have her nurse him at all. This felt all too familiar, this helplessness. But, at least he wasn't in a wheelchair. And Angelus wasn't around. Well, not in the immediate vicinity anyway.
"You gonna tell me what happened tonight then? Or do I have to guess about that too?"
He took his arm off his eyes and glared at her. "No." Tell her he'd been taken down the very vampires whose presence he was trying to keep from her? Not likely. Especially since they were fledglings that shouldn't have been able to get the drop on him. He should've been able to dust them. Or at least fight them better than he had. Not ending with a knife in his stomach.
She sat in the arm chair next to the bed. "Spike, something is going on. You're getting the crap beat out of you every night... that's not a normal thing. Is it?"
He remained silent, choosing not to exercise his right to bitch at her.
She sighed heavily, sounding so put upon he almost laughed. "You dragged me here to this stupid demon boarding house, you make me stay inside all night, not allowing me to go with you... I could use a little aggression-getting-out too, you know. And Mrs. Pressman is extremely creepy, I swear she stands outside the room all night while you're gone. Listening." She waited a split second for a reply, then went on, not giving him a chance to respond even had he been going to. "I've heard her out there. The floor creaks."
"Have you tried looking to see if she's out there?" he asked, hiding his laughter. Mrs. Pressman was rather creepy, even he thought so, but he doubted she was listening outside their room. She was just an old woman. A bitch, yes, but human and harmless.
"Yes. I haven't caught her yet, but I know she's out there." She frowned and shook her head. "I can feel her. Or I can feel something anyway."
Spike shrugged lightly, making sure not to jar his wound. "Don't know what to tell you, pet." The old lady wasn't a something, sure she ran a demon boarding house, but she herself wasn't one, at least not to his knowledge.
After Angelus' attack at Willow's place, Spike had decided it would be best if they left. Joe and Sam were out there, and chances were they'd be coming back. He didn't want Willow to know about them, didn't want her to run into them. Using the excuse that she'd be looked at as a murder suspect if she didn't disappear too, he got her to come with him. She packed all her things and left with him without a word. He thought maybe she was relieved to be getting out of there. Bad memories and all that.
Willow tapped his foot with her hand, trying to get his attention. "Hey, space case."
"What?" he yawned. "Trying to get some sleep here."
"I said, how's Dru doing?" The window suddenly held a lot of interest for her. She went over to it, opened it, leaned out of it, all just to avoid looking at him.
He could've told her he didn't mind when she asked about Dru. But, then he'd have to give up these amusing avoidance scenes. He didn't like what Angelus and Darla were doing to Dru, but he knew it was necessary for her to become the woman he fell in love with. Insanity and all. So it didn't bother him to talk about it. It was the watching that angered him. And he had to watch. Had to see for himself exactly what they'd done to her.
"Child's play tonight. Just followed her around, making sure she knew someone was there. Never let her see him though."
"Does he ever?" she asked. "I mean, does she know he's the one that's killing her family?" She frowned, looking out the window again.
"No. She still thinks he's her savior." Oops, he'd let a little anger through that time.
"Spike?"
Her voice was quiet, hesitant, and he knew she was about to ask him something she didn't really want to know about. She seemed to ask those kinds of questions a lot lately. "Hmm?" was all he said, just a simple inquiry to let her know he was listening.
"Did you really torture people with railroad spikes?" She closed the window, and sat beside him. "I mean-- well, did you?"
He considered lying, or telling her half the truth, but as he opened his mouth to lie, the truth came out. "Yes." Ah, hell, now she was going to be weird around him. Might as well go all the way. "Liked it too." Honesty probably wasn't the best policy here, since she was looking a bit angry.
"Why? I mean, sure, you're a demon and all that. But what is it about causing people pain that's so fun for you?" He shrugged, but that wasn't enough for her. "I really want to know."
He didn't know how to answer that one. Hurting people was just fun. That's all. Seeing the hurt and pain on their faces as he cut into them, or stabbed them... well, it just did something for him. Admittedly he wasn't as bloodthirsty as Angelus, Dru, or Darla, but he still liked to hurt people. Even now, he wouldn't mind hurting Willow. And yet, at the same time, he wanted to spare her pain... though her neck was looking rather tempting at the moment.
He needed to feed. Get some of his strength back. But it wouldn't be from her. Unless, of course, she offered herself to him. No, not even then.
"I don't know. I just like it," he said irritably. There was no way to explain to a human what it felt like to be a demon. "Why do you like ice cream? Or jumping out of airplanes? It's a demon-thing."
She nodded and bit her lip. "Okay." And that's all she said. She took him at his word, and went back to the armchair. The book she'd been reading when he came stumbling through the door, bleeding and damn near passing out, was on the floor beside her. She picked it up with a sigh, and started reading.
Though she was angry at him, and possibly the world in general, she was quickly engrossed in the stories she was reading. He'd bought her that book and a couple of others a few nights before. Poe and Shakespeare. He smiled, remembering her reaction to the small gifts.
She'd squealed and jumped up to take them from him, grinning from ear to ear. He'd been pleased with himself for making her so happy, because it wasn't often that she smiled anymore. And the small kiss on his cheek hadn't been bad either.
Spike sighed and got to his feet, more carefully this time. Her blood was tempting him, and he was in desperate need of some. "I'll be back... later," he muttered, holding his stomach with one arm and putting his T-Shirt on with the other.
"Where are you going?" she asked, standing up to help him. Ignoring his glaring look, she took the shirt from him, and put it on him. "You can hardly move, you can't dress yourself, and you're probably low on blood... oh." She frowned, stepping away from him in alarm. "But, you can't go out there like this."
"Why the bloody hell not?" he snarled, anger at her making him growl a bit more than he'd intended. What the hell was she backing away from him for? Wasn't like he was going to eat her. He could damn well control himself.
For the time being.
Instead of answering, she tossed him her book. "Here."
He caught it against his chest with one hand, groaning when his wound sent sharp jabbing pains in every direction, and started a dull ache to accompany the rest of his sore muscles.
"Bloody God damn hell," he ground out, throwing the book across the room. It banged against the wall with a loud thump, startling Willow. She jumped a little, but didn't back down. Stupid human didn't know how much danger she was in at the moment. Forcing his face not to change was easier said than done, but he managed it. Just barely. "What the hell'd you do that for?" he yelled.
"To prove a point," she told him, sounding like a teacher lecturing a student. "And... hello. Point proven." She gestured to him with her open hands. "You can't protect yourself against a book, let alone anything else that might be out there. And if you die, I'm stuck here, so--"
"Right." Of course, that was what was wrong. She wasn't worried about him. And that pissed him off. Pissed him off to no end. Why the hell didn't she care about him? He cared about her. He didn't want her to die. Or get hurt.
Well, he wasn't sticking around to worry about it now. "I don't have a whole lot of choice here. If I want to heal faster, which I do, I need to eat."
"Well," she looked around them as if bags of blood were just going to be sitting there waiting for her to notice them. "But, I don't want to be stuck here. And..." She looked away for a second, then straightened her back. "Do you have to have a lot? To heal?"
He had a pretty good idea where she was going with her questions, and he was all for nibbling on her. She tasted absolutely wonderful... or she had a century before. Still did, he was sure. "Yes."
"Do you need it all at once, or can you pace it out?" she wondered. "Because, I have blood, and it's just sitting there doing nothing. Except keeping me alive," she added with a nervous chuckle.
He was shaking his head before she finished talking. "I'd love to snack on you, but I don't want to take the chance that I can't control myself." Grabbing his cloak from the back of the chair, he slid one arm in, and was trying to get his other arm in without all the pain when she put her hand on his arm to stop him. "Willow, go away. I'm leaving."
She yanked on his cloak, trying to get him to relinquish it, but he wasn't giving in. And then she stunned the hell out of him by shoving him against the wall. "Take it or leave it, Spike, it's the only time I'm offering it to you. And only because I need you so that I can get back to Sunnydale." She tilted her head to the side, offering him her neck.
Spike snarled, in a not-entirely human way, and shoved her away from him. Well no wonder, he thought to himself, feeling the familiar ridges decorating his face. It had turned sometime after she'd shoved him, he wasn't even sure when, and he was reaching out to grab her. To yank her head aside, and take what he so badly wanted. But he stopped. "Get away from me. Now," he ordered. The stupid bint stayed where she was, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning closer.
"Here's your chance to show me just how 'pleasurable' it can be," she told him, and by the way she said it, he knew she didn't believe it was possible.
So, maybe he should just show her how much fun it could be-- no. Bloody hell, he wouldn't be able to stop himself if he tasted her now. Contrary to his earlier thoughts, he was quickly losing control. His hunger was fast approaching the point where instinct took over, and control went out the window.
"Come on," she taunted, "I'm not letting you out of here, so, it's either me, or Mrs. Pressman." She giggled a little, and started toward the door when he remained crouched on the floor. "Mrs. Pressman it is then."
He was so far beyond control now, that when he saw his prey getting away, he jumped on her with a growl, knocking them both to the floor. His stomach got jarred in the process, but he paid it no heed. Straddling her waist, he bared his fangs to her, and shoved her head to the side. The high collar of her dress was in the way, so he ripped it all the way down the front, ignoring her shout of surprise, and her sudden struggles. He slid his fangs into her neck with a groan, tasting her blood for the first time in too long.
It was as good as he remembered.
She stiffened underneath him, went absolutely still. He was pretty sure even her breathing had stopped. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was scaring her, but he didn't care.
"Pleasurable," she whispered, "it's supposed to be pleasurable." She started to shove at him in panic.
He held her tighter, sucking her blood out of her as quickly as he could, wanting to drain her dry. His free hand slid down to her waist, holding her against him. "Fight me," he whispered against her neck, grinning widely, "I enjoy it."
Her struggles stopped. A few seconds later, her hands moved under his shirt, caressing his chest. She raked her nails down his flesh, getting him all worked up, then pressed a finger to his wound. He growled and sat up, glaring down at her. "Bitch," he snarled.
She didn't look at him, or acknowledge him in any way, just grabbed the ripped ends of her dress and tried to close it. "So much for pleasant." Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared up at the ceiling.
With fresh blood in him, Spike was quickly regaining control. He suddenly realized that he was straddling Willow, and eyeing her bare stomach. Her blood was in his mouth, on his lips, and dripping down her neck. Without thought, he leaned down and licked the blood dripping down her shoulder, pushing away the torn edges of her dress to get better access.
"Please stop," she whispered, stiffening up again.
Spike forced his face to change back, and lifted his head. Damn the guilt. He shouldn't be feeling any. Christ, his life sucked.
Her eyes darted to his, then went back to ceiling-watching.
"I tried to tell you," he insisted. "To warn you. But, you wouldn't listen. As usual." She was pretty mad. Well, she could stay that way, he wasn't about to soothe her hurt feelings. He'd fought against this. She was the only one to blame here.
"Done yet?" she asked, sounding disinterested. "It's cold down here."
He looked down at her half naked body under his. She was beautiful, as he'd always known she would be. He'd felt her against him, held her, been held by her, even undressed her to clean up a wound, but this was the first time he'd actually *seen* her body. Part of it.
"Almost," he said softly.
Leaning down, he let his face turn, and slowly, gently slid his fangs into the holes he'd already made. He darted his tongue out, tasting her blood, flesh, and sweat. It was intoxicating and heady stuff, but this time he kept control. Sucking lightly at the wounds, he drew her blood into his mouth, caressing her stiff shoulders until she started to relax. He shifted his face again, and kissed the wound.
"Pleasant," he told her smugly, getting to his feet. His stomach was feeling better. It was far from being healed, but it didn't hurt with every move he made.
She sat up, holding her dress closed. "Next time I try to goad you into biting me, remind me of tonight." Pressing her hand to her neck, she stood up, sighing, completely giving up on holding her dress together.
Once again, his eyes fell to her stomach and breasts, and the bite marks there. Bite marks? These then, were the bite marks she'd refused to tell him about. "Those are his?" he asked, motioning to her.
"What?" she asked, looking down with a frown. Her eyes widened, and she spun away. "No, they're mine. Happy now?" Grabbing his T-Shirt from the bed, she started to undress. "Turn."
Spike turned, not wanting to tick her off anymore than she already was. "Is that why you wouldn't tell me back at the pub? You thought I'd be celebrating? What do you think vampires do? Sit around high five-ing each other for killing humans?" Anger was making another appearance. This time it wasn't focused on Willow, it was focused on the son of a bitch who'd bitten her, unfortunately, he wasn't here, and she was. So she was getting the brunt of it.
"Maybe. How should I know?" she asked, tossing her torn dress on the chair and sitting on the bed. "In my experience, vampires aren't the kindest of creatures."
He turned back around, leaning against the wall. "The one that did those... he's dead, right? He's the one that--"
"Yes," she said impatiently, crawling under the covers. The elaborately decorated bedspread bulged slightly when she drew her knees up to her chest. "Yes, it is. And yes he is. He's dead, Spike. I killed him. I--" she stopped with a frown, rolled over and pulled the covers up to her chin. "Good night."
Spike shut the door quietly behind him, leaving the oblivious sleeping Willow in their room. She'd finally fallen asleep an hour before, but he'd forced himself to wait, rather than charging out the door, possibly to be stopped by her again. He crept down the dark, narrow hallway, before realizing what he was doing. Creeping through a demon boarding house like a bleedin' human would.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he patted down his pockets for his cigarettes. "Bloody hell," he muttered, stopping near the bottom of the stairwell. He'd left his cigarettes up in the room. Shrugging, he continued down, not willing to chance returning and waking her up.
"Mr. Giles," a voice called from the front parlor.
As he always did upon hearing himself called the name he'd chosen on the spur of the moment, Spike rolled his eyes. Willow had gotten quite a kick out of it, after looking around for Rupert or one of his relatives.
Sighing, he headed through the double doors across from the stairs. Mrs. Pressman was standing at the window with her back to the room, her favorite position.
He looked around the dark room with distaste. He hated this room. It was all dark wood, dark purple drapes, and oriental rugs. A huge oak desk sat proudly across the room from him, its surface neat and orderly, like the rest of the house.
Ignoring the overwhelmingly stuffy décor, he turned his attention back to the elderly woman at the window, dressed in--what else?--purple. "Yeah?" Was Willow right? Was Mrs. Pressman more than she pretended to be? It was possible. So many odd things had happened lately that he'd almost be surprised if nothing was off here.
"I hope this isn't going to be a recurring situation," she said sternly. "I may run a demon boarding house, but I have no tolerance for disruptions in my home." She turned, eyeing him reproachfully, then went back to staring out the window.
"Won't happen again," he assured her, glaring at her back. How did she know what had happened upstairs? Had she been listening like Willow believed she was? It was possible the older woman had been walking by, or they'd been loud enough to be heard downstairs. Maybe one of the other tenants complained.
It made him angry that others had heard their argument, and might know more of their business than they needed to. "By the way, my wife--" he heard a quiet snort from Mrs. Pressman, but continued on, "says she's heard someone outside our door while I'm out. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" he asked suspiciously.
She turned again, facing him fully. "And what is this person doing?" she inquired politely.
"Listening." He raised an eyebrow at her, waiting.
She shook her head sharply. "Your... wife, must be imagining it. Perhaps she's afraid. After all, she is one human among a house full of demons, and not a very strong human at that." She gave him a false smile, tucking her hands under her shawl.
Spike strode over to the old lady, not grabbing her like he wanted to, not even getting in her face, no, he simply frowned, letting her see his anger. "That 'human' is also an experienced Wiccan--" she looked at him blankly, not understanding the term. He rolled his eyes. "Witch, Mrs. Pressman. She's a witch. Filled with magick. She could do more damage than most of the demons living here." He kept to himself the part where it would probably be on accident. "So I'd be mindful of that if I were you."
The corners of her lips turned up into a secretive little smirking smile. "Oh, I see," was all she said.
He gritted his teeth together to keep from reaching out and snapping her neck. "You see what?" he snarled. Why had he never realized what a snobby bitch the woman was? Probably because he hadn't dealt much with her. His time was spent either out watching Dru, out eating, or in with Willow.
"That answers my question as to how she kept from being killed by you." She swished her skirted self over to the door, dismissing him with a small nod. "Good night, Mr. Giles."
He was pretty damn proud of himself for keeping control when what he really wanted to do was... well, gosh, once again he wanted to snap her neck. Nothing like an old favorite. He walked past her, out the door, across the hall, and outside. Fury coursed through him at her insinuation. How dare she think he was bewitched? That Willow was controlling him.
No one controlled him, no one pushed his buttons or flipped his switches, damn it. No one. 'Cept maybe Dru, but that was different. Crossing the wet cobblestone street lit only by the minuscule light escaping behind the clouds, he stretched his neck, cracking it. Enough of this non killing crap, first human he saw--that didn't look too nasty--well, he was catching up on some much needed killing. Possibly even some torturing.
Instead of maiming and torturing, Spike found himself outside Joe's Pub, listening to the sounds of drunken laughter and loud voices pouring through the door.
His run-in with Joe and Sam had been in the park, not here. He hadn't been back here until tonight. Apparently it was now a demon pub.
"Guess Joe and Sam didn't close up shop," he muttered as a vampire pushed past him with a snarl and a glare. Shoving the door open, Spike walked in like he owned the place. No one turned to look at him this time, and Spike wasn't surprised, because he was among his own kind. Things looked much the same as they had before, aside from all the demons, the slime on the walls, and blood trails on the floor. And he was pretty sure that the pile of dead bodies in the corner was new. Most of the tables and chairs were filled with drunken demons of all colors, sizes, and shapes; some playing cards, some eating, others simply sitting by themselves, tossing back a few drinks.
Kinda reminded him of the pub scene in Gremlins.
The bar looked like a good place to start, so he headed that way, hoping to find a familiar dark-haired Irish bloke to serve him. He had a bone to pick with that guy... well, actually he had a stake to poke that guy with.
The joint was packed to the gills, most of the seats taken by grotesquely misshapen demons, and vampires that didn't look too friendly. Shoving a vampire off of one of the seats, Spike sat down with a sigh, ignoring the shouts and growls swirling around him. The demon beside him smiled and nodded, looking all friendly and talkative. Spike looked away, not in any mood to make conversation.
"Hey!" the evicted vampire growled, grabbing Spike's shoulder to turn him around. "I was sitting there, mate."
Spike rolled his eyes and turned around under his own volition, not getting off the stool. Planting his feet firmly on the floor, he sized up the demon in front of him and found him extremely lacking. Reminded him a little of Xander. "And now I'm sitting here. Go be somewhere else." His mood hadn't lightened much since leaving the boarding house, and was growing steadily worse.
If Willow decided to come by here one day--or night--she was sure to be killed, and he couldn't let that happen. At the very least, she'd be upset. She'd lived here for almost two years, made this place her home, and now her friends were dead and running around as the very things that had killed them.
And it was all Angelus' fault. He had issues, he knew this.
The vampire still in front of him, now looking extremely pissed at Spike's easy dismissal of him, aimed a fist at Spike's face. Having anticipated this, Spike ducked, and pulled a stake from his cloak, neatly dusting him. He kicked at the pile of dust in front of him, causing plumes of dead vampire to float around in the air, getting all over his clothes. He brushed himself off, and turned back to the bar.
The demon next to him started laughing uproariously, like that was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. He was a big, tall, hairy Chewbacca looking thing, and he was annoying. Spike raised an imperious eyebrow at him.
Tall, dark, and hairy chuckled some more, slapping him on the back. "That's funny."
Turning back to the bar, Spike leaned over, looking for Joe. "Whatever, mate. Where's Joe? The, uh, owner, I guess? Or Samantha." All that was behind the bar at the moment were two green and blue iridescent demons fighting over a bottle of whiskey, their big bug eyes glaring at each other. The place was in complete chaos. Spike actually found himself respecting Willy for keeping his place orderly and basically fight-free. "They here?" he asked Chewy, turning to face the hairy behemoth.
Chewy grinned, nodding as if Spike had told him a joke. "I don't know."
Spike stared at him for a moment. "Yeah, right," he muttered, "smile and nod, you bloody idiot." Standing up, he weaved his way through demon after demon to make it to the stairs. Blood smeared the walls all the way upstairs, and most of the steps were covered as well. The stairs were empty, and only one vampire was in the hall upstairs, she was feeding off a human girl, holding the body close as she watched him approach.
Spike spared her barely a glance as he pushed past them and into Willow's room. Shoving open the door, he stood in the entrance, glancing around for her former friends. Anger and fury flowed through him as he took everything in. Bloody hell, if he'd shown up one night later, Willow might be one of the bodies strewn around the room, or one of the vampires feeding from them. If his heart could beat, it would be pounding right now. Was him finding her that night a coincidence?
Among all the dead humans were at least twenty vampires, most of them were naked and in the midst of one sex act or another. On the floor, the dresser, against the walls... on her bed. Fangs and flesh, bodies and moans, shouts of pleasure, screams of pain; they were everywhere.
"Join us," one of the gyrating bodies whispered from across the room. "Cor, you're a handsome one, aren't you?"
Spike ignored the man, and turned to leave, but found Chewy blocking his path. "Move," Spike growled, when the demon simply stood there, staring down at him. Sidestepping him, he descended the stairs two at a time, shoving a few newly arrived people out of his way as he went, and took off in the direction of the other bedroom. It was in a similar shape as Willow's, but empty of anything alive, or undead. Human bodies were strewn across the bed, the dresser, the table. Every available surface held something bloody or fleshy.
Spike's hunger flared, and he was a little disgusted at himself. Grabbing one of the fresher bodies, a teenage girl who looked a bit like Willow's witch, he sank his teeth into the cleanest area he could find and drained what was left of her. Two more bodies later, and his immediate hunger was satisfied. The voices in the outer area had grown louder, and he could still hear the voices upstairs raised in pleasure. Sickened by the place, he left through the back way.
In his experience alleys had a way of turning out badly, so he didn't linger. As he neared the street, he saw a tall figure standing there, facing him. Annoyed beyond belief now, he pushed past the Chewbacca wannabe and started back home. Willow would not know about this place, there was no way on Earth he would ever tell her about Joe and Sam now. She'd want to come down here and dust the vampires in residence, and chase off all the demons she could, and he couldn't allow that. Without a doubt, she'd die. There were just too damn many of them.
A few blocks past Joe's Pub, he heard footsteps behind him, and turned to face Chewbacca. "Stop following me home, I'm not keeping you." Chuckling at his own words, he muttered, "You're probably not even house broken."
Chewy laughed loudly and Spike tossed him a look over his shoulder.
"Freak." Ignoring the dog following him, Spike headed home. After getting a good look at the worst behavior vampires could be involved in... it was time to go back home to Willow.
"Spike."
Not stopping to answer, Spike continued down the street, crossing near the gardens. As he was about to cross another street, he realized Chewy had called him by name. He spun around and faced the tall hairy demon. "Who the hell are you and what do you want?" He attempted to shove Chewy back against a tree and hold him there until he got his answers, but the demon didn't budge an inch when Spike's hand grabbed him. Revising his strategy, Spike stood back a few feet and waited. No loss of manliness there, nope. None at all.
Chewy stood up to his full height of approximately six foot seven, and stared down at Spike. "I was sent here to make sure you didn't kill the two you were after tonight. And to make sure you don't."
"That right?" Spike asked, raising an eyebrow like he was impressed. Chewy nodded, forcing a snort from Spike. "Well, tough shit. I find them, they die." He turned away and crossed the street, hoping Willow was still asleep, because he wasn't looking forward to the conversation he just knew she'd drag out of him.
"You kill them," Chewy began, but Spike cut him off.
"You still here?" He rolled his eyes at the tenacity of hired goons. "Be a good little doggy and run back to your master and tell him you didn't find me."
"You kill them," he continued, as if Spike hadn't even spoken, "and you'll stop everything from happening. You don't want that. It'd go badly for you."
Spike stopped in his tracks, and slowly turned around to face the demon. He stared at him for a second, and then another, then let his anger out. "Jesus Christ, does every bloody person in Europe know I'm traveling through time?" he yelled.
Bloody hell, who *didn't* know about him and Willow? He suddenly felt like every move they made was being directed by an unseen hand. He wasn't sure he was even in control anymore. Had he ever been?
Chewy glanced around them in amusement. "They do now," he chuckled, tossing Spike a crooked grin.
Spike was anything but amused. He sighed explosively, narrowing his eyes at the demon. "Who are you?"
Chewy's ears perked up at the sound of a barking dog off in the distance, and Spike had to fight back the ridiculous urge to laugh at the picture the demon made. He was tall, covered in brown hair over most of his body, except his face, which was completely bare, and huge paws that were brushing absently at his black silk suit.
"My name isn't important, it's constantly changing. You can call me anything you like." He reached out a paw, waiting for Spike to shake it.
Spike ignored the paw, preferring to dig a cigarette out of his cloak and light it. "How about Fido? That good for you? Or maybe Spot?" With the cigarette clamped firmly in his lips, he looked sideways at the demon. "I'm getting sick of being jerked around by the fates, or powers, or whatever you guys are." He paused for a second, looking dangerously at the demon. "You that stupid Time Stabilizer thing? If so, I owe you one."
Ole Chewy shook his head, stepping closer after glancing around to make sure they were alone. "I'm not the Stabilizer. I told you, I'm on your side. I was sent here to keep you and Willow from changing too much."
Spike's eyes narrowed at the demon. "That's what the Time guy said. You should check with each other, maybe read your memos every once in a while, because I've gotten the message already. Coulda saved you a trip."
"The Time Stabilizer didn't send me," Chewy told him, looking around again. "I'm here on my own. The Stabilizer's gotten a little... Well he's not as involved as he should be, so he doesn't have your best interests at heart."
"And you do?" Spike asked dubiously. "Why should I believe you?" He spun around, stalking a few feet away before turning back angrily. "Why should I believe any of you? Quit yanking my blasted chain and tell me what's going on, because I'm tired of it. All of it. I want this whole thing over."
Instead of answering his question, he decided to state a fact that Spike already knew. "You came here to kill Joe and Samantha." His puppy dog eyes focused on Spike's face as if he'd just solved all the world's problems in one fell swoop.
Spike sighed explosively. "So? What the hell does that mean?"
Chewy was no longer as detached as he had been. His own anger was sweeping over him. "If you want this whole thing over, as you just said, then kill them. But if you'd like to continue down the path you were chosen for, then you'll leave them be," he growled. "Things are in play here that you have no idea about, and those two worthless vampires are still needed for time to proceed as it was meant to, so I suggest you leave them alone until they've completed their end of things."
"Well, thanks, yeah that clears it all up. I'll just be on my merry way then." He threw his cigarette to the ground and started off again. His stomach hurt, he was tired as hell, pissed beyond belief, and now there was a big Chewbacca-looking thing telling him to leave a couple of pathetic vampires alone because it could stop it all time. Right.
Fido sighed and grabbed Spike's cloak, slamming him against a tree. He had much better luck at it than Spike had earlier. He sighed and moved closer, towering over Spike. "I told you to lay off of them."
Spike rubbed the back of his head. "And I told you to go to hell."
Fido grinned widely, showing for the first time, the big long fangs he owned. "No, you didn't. And you won't."
Spike pushed him away and moved past the tree... well, he tried, but Chewy grabbed him and yanked him back into place. "See, I can't kill you or Willow, but I can do other things... things that she might not like. Things that'll make sure you do what I say." He backed away, looking like he was listening to something, then smiled. "I hear Willow likes furry demons," he chuckled, "but doesn't like to be touched... now what *could* I do with that information?"
"Touch her and I'll--" Spike began, but Chewy didn't like being growled at apparently, because he punched Spike in the mouth.
"I won't touch her unless you give me a reason to." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "Don't give me a reason," he whispered, then suddenly he was gone in flash of yellow light.
Spike didn't waste time looking for him, he took off running toward the boarding house.
Willow's eyes, already stretched open to the breaking point, widened even further when she heard another creak outside the door. Her hand tightened around the scrap of black cloth she still clung to, even though Spike was with her every day now. It'd become a security blanket, and since he wasn't here at the moment... she felt she needed it.
She wished she knew where he was. What had he been thinking, going off somewhere, doing who knew what, leaving her alone? By herself. With the scary Mrs. Pressman listening in on her. Or maybe--she shuddered--watching her. Wait a damn minute. She was no longer the scaredy cat she'd been when this stupid trip began. She was an independent woman used to depending on no one except herself, and here she was huddled on the bed like a coward.
Well, no more damn it.
She threw the covers back, climbed out of bed, shoved her arms into her robe, the strip of cloth into the pocket, and unlocked the door. All quickly, but quietly.
When she opened the door, she was surprised to find, not Mrs. Pressman, but a man on his way past her door. Mid twenties, shorter-than-was-the-style black hair, tall... and definitely handsome. Probably had beautiful eyes too, but it was too dark in the hallway to see them.
It was kind of sad, because she felt nothing, just a simple appreciation for his handsome good looks.
He turned from unlocking the door beside hers, an apologetic smile on his face. Oh, cute smile. She smiled in return, trying not to look like she'd just woken up and gone storming out the door.
"I'm very sorry, ma'am, I didn't mean to startle you." His eyes fell on her state of undress, and she could've sworn he blushed. How adorable.
"You're American," she said, as if he weren't aware of the fact. Embarrassed, she closed her thin white robe a little tighter, and brushed her hair over Spike's bitemark. "I mean, I'm American too. From California."
His smile grew even wider. "Yes, ma'am, I just arrived this week. I'm from Denver. Uh, that's in Colorado in case you didn't know. Name's Phillip, Phillip John Harris." He closed the distance between them, and held out his hand.
Strange coincidence. Could this guy be a relative of Xander's? He could be Xander's great-great-great-great grandfather. What were the odds? Only about a trillion to one. She shook his hand absently. Brown. His eyes were brown. Not beautiful, just pleasant to look at.
He cleared his throat, and she realized she hadn't introduced herself. That she'd been, instead, staring at him like a doofus. "Um, I'm sorry. I'm Willow Ro-- um, Giles. Willow Giles."
"Charmed, Miss Giles," he smiled again, a nice sweet, shy smile. "I wonder if we mightn't have coffee tomorrow? Or tea if you prefer. It's been a while since I've talked to anyone from home."
Willow grinned, knowing exactly what he meant. The British were all well and good, and London was cool in the extreme, especially eighteen-sixty London, but she missed California, and Phillip was about as close as she'd come in years. "I'd love to, thank you." Hearing a door close downstairs, she leaned over the edge of the railing to see if it was who she thought it was.
Sure enough, Spike strode quickly into view. Looked like he was still hurt too... she looked closer, biting back a groan. He had blood on his mouth. Great. Phillip, the one and only other human in the house that she cared to talk to, and Spike was about to scare him off.
She quickly made plans to meet him at noon the next day, and went inside her room, hoping Phillip would do the same.
Throwing off her robe, she hopped into bed and covered up. Exhaustion was nipping at her heels. After all, she'd had a full day. She'd patched up Spike, argued with Spike, been bitten by Spike, been ogled by Spike, and met a gorgeous guy that she was having coffee with tomorrow... if Spike didn't scare him off. Pretty darn full day if you asked her.
Ten minutes later, the door creaked open, and she could see Spike silhouetted in the doorway. He was facing out, talking to someone. Damn it. Had to be Phillip. Well, now he'd freak out and run off to another boarding house probably.
"Yeah," Spike was saying, nodding a few times... sounding impatient and annoyed... just like she'd expected him to be. "No, I don't mind." He turned to look at her a few times, and she thought maybe there was a worried look in there, but she couldn't be sure, it was gone too fast.
Willow watched him close the door, and lock it. Watched him remove his cloak and boots. Watched him toss her short, indecipherable looks. Though she was more comfortable with his presence now, she still had to force herself to watch him ditch the shirt and waistcoat. When he dropped his hands to the waistband of his breeches, she looked away. Nausea roiled in her stomach, churning like waves in the ocean. He's not going to take them off, she told herself, he's not going to take them off, because he's never done that before, and he knows I don't want him to.
"You think that punk's the one that's been listening outside the door?" Spike asked, turning back toward the bed, his pants still on.
She shook her head, sitting up. "I doubt it, he just moved in. Besides, I'm convinced it's Mrs. Pressman, she's a freak."
Spike didn't disagree with her. "I think the boy's got his eye on you. Seemed real interested to know if we were married." He raised his eyes to hers, gauging her reaction to this news.
She shrugged, smoothing down the blanket. "You're bleeding."
He wiped his mouth off, checking for blood. "Ran into a demon." He sat beside her, tossing her a sideways glance. "Do me a favor and don't leave here without me."
"Anything particular reason why?" she asked. Something had given Spike a bloody lip, and if he wanted her to stay inside for a few days until he cleared out of London, she'd do so. Not like she had anywhere she wanted to go anyway.
"Chewbacca," he answered with a grin, then quickly changed the subject to one she was less comfortable with. "Willow, you've been faithful to little miss for over a hundred years, I think she'll understand if you--"
She laid back down, curling up on her side. Away from Spike. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not real fond of being touched."
"I've noticed," he said quietly, laying back as well. "You don't mind me touching you too much. Why not him?"
"Because I don't want him to," she said angrily. The anger was mostly directed at herself for not being able to move past this as fast as she thought she should. "I don't even want you to, but it's a small room, with one bed, and I mostly don't realize it since I'm asleep, and you don't touch me like... that, and--" a sob escaped her, tears following closely behind. The first tears she'd cried since the night Joe and Sam died.
Everything she'd told herself earlier were lies, she didn't like it here. Not during this time, and not to live for months, or years at a time. "I want to go home. I know we can't, but I want to so badly. I hate it here, Spike, I hate the smell, and the sounds, and the people, and... I just want to go home."
"I know," he said sympathetically, lightly nudging her arm. "Even I miss Sunnydale. And the nineteen-nineties." He fell silent, giving her time to cry it out, or cry some more, whichever she chose.
She chose to cry some more. Cried herself to sleep, quietly, hoping he didn't realize she was still being a baby.
PART 12
"Ow!" Spike yelled, gritting his teeth as Willow tied the strip of cloth around his stomach. "Could you possibly make it hurt more?"
She shrugged, and tightened it until he winced and pulled away from her. "How's that?" she asked. "Good for you? 'Cause it was great for me."
Spike sighed and laid back on the bed, forcing himself to relax his tensed up muscles. "Willow, get over it. Bloody hell, woman, it's been two weeks." He shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable, and ended up causing himself more pain than comfort. God, he couldn't wait to get back to the twentieth century, where comfort was only a mattress away.
"Well, yeah, okay, I'll get over it," she told him, cleaning up the bloodied sheet and torn strips of what was left of Spike's shirt. The strips went into the trash with the sheet. Carrying the basin of bloody water to the window, she dumped it out, tossing him another glare over her shoulder. "As soon as you tell me what really happened."
Spike clenched his jaw in irritation. Two weeks of the same conversations and arguments got old real quick. So why didn't he just tell her the truth and end it now? Because he was a big pansy and he didn't want to cause her anymore pain than she'd already been through. "I've told you a thousand times. There was a vampire--"
"Behind me," she said, sitting back down on the bed. "Right. I know." She sounded about as exasperated as he felt.
Good. Maybe she'd drop it.
"But you threw me against the wall, Spike. Knocked me out. And I never saw a vampire. Never saw a pile of dust afterward."
Or not. Shoving her hand away from him, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Leave it," he bit out angrily. Nausea rose up in his stomach, and he held still for a few seconds before pushing himself to his feet. Pain tore through his stomach, dropping him to his knees. Pressing the bandage tighter to the suddenly bleeding-again wound, he tried to get up, but couldn't quite manage it. "Christ," he muttered, feeling humiliated.
Willow sighed and knelt beside him, helping him up. As soon as he was steady on his feet, he pushed her away.
"You're only making it worse," she muttered, slipping under his arm. She led him back to the bed, and forced him to sit down. "I'd prefer not to nurse you any longer than I have to. Stupid vampire."
Spike laid down and covered his eyes with his arm, ignoring her. He'd prefer not to have her nurse him at all. This felt all too familiar, this helplessness. But, at least he wasn't in a wheelchair. And Angelus wasn't around. Well, not in the immediate vicinity anyway.
"You gonna tell me what happened tonight then? Or do I have to guess about that too?"
He took his arm off his eyes and glared at her. "No." Tell her he'd been taken down the very vampires whose presence he was trying to keep from her? Not likely. Especially since they were fledglings that shouldn't have been able to get the drop on him. He should've been able to dust them. Or at least fight them better than he had. Not ending with a knife in his stomach.
She sat in the arm chair next to the bed. "Spike, something is going on. You're getting the crap beat out of you every night... that's not a normal thing. Is it?"
He remained silent, choosing not to exercise his right to bitch at her.
She sighed heavily, sounding so put upon he almost laughed. "You dragged me here to this stupid demon boarding house, you make me stay inside all night, not allowing me to go with you... I could use a little aggression-getting-out too, you know. And Mrs. Pressman is extremely creepy, I swear she stands outside the room all night while you're gone. Listening." She waited a split second for a reply, then went on, not giving him a chance to respond even had he been going to. "I've heard her out there. The floor creaks."
"Have you tried looking to see if she's out there?" he asked, hiding his laughter. Mrs. Pressman was rather creepy, even he thought so, but he doubted she was listening outside their room. She was just an old woman. A bitch, yes, but human and harmless.
"Yes. I haven't caught her yet, but I know she's out there." She frowned and shook her head. "I can feel her. Or I can feel something anyway."
Spike shrugged lightly, making sure not to jar his wound. "Don't know what to tell you, pet." The old lady wasn't a something, sure she ran a demon boarding house, but she herself wasn't one, at least not to his knowledge.
After Angelus' attack at Willow's place, Spike had decided it would be best if they left. Joe and Sam were out there, and chances were they'd be coming back. He didn't want Willow to know about them, didn't want her to run into them. Using the excuse that she'd be looked at as a murder suspect if she didn't disappear too, he got her to come with him. She packed all her things and left with him without a word. He thought maybe she was relieved to be getting out of there. Bad memories and all that.
Willow tapped his foot with her hand, trying to get his attention. "Hey, space case."
"What?" he yawned. "Trying to get some sleep here."
"I said, how's Dru doing?" The window suddenly held a lot of interest for her. She went over to it, opened it, leaned out of it, all just to avoid looking at him.
He could've told her he didn't mind when she asked about Dru. But, then he'd have to give up these amusing avoidance scenes. He didn't like what Angelus and Darla were doing to Dru, but he knew it was necessary for her to become the woman he fell in love with. Insanity and all. So it didn't bother him to talk about it. It was the watching that angered him. And he had to watch. Had to see for himself exactly what they'd done to her.
"Child's play tonight. Just followed her around, making sure she knew someone was there. Never let her see him though."
"Does he ever?" she asked. "I mean, does she know he's the one that's killing her family?" She frowned, looking out the window again.
"No. She still thinks he's her savior." Oops, he'd let a little anger through that time.
"Spike?"
Her voice was quiet, hesitant, and he knew she was about to ask him something she didn't really want to know about. She seemed to ask those kinds of questions a lot lately. "Hmm?" was all he said, just a simple inquiry to let her know he was listening.
"Did you really torture people with railroad spikes?" She closed the window, and sat beside him. "I mean-- well, did you?"
He considered lying, or telling her half the truth, but as he opened his mouth to lie, the truth came out. "Yes." Ah, hell, now she was going to be weird around him. Might as well go all the way. "Liked it too." Honesty probably wasn't the best policy here, since she was looking a bit angry.
"Why? I mean, sure, you're a demon and all that. But what is it about causing people pain that's so fun for you?" He shrugged, but that wasn't enough for her. "I really want to know."
He didn't know how to answer that one. Hurting people was just fun. That's all. Seeing the hurt and pain on their faces as he cut into them, or stabbed them... well, it just did something for him. Admittedly he wasn't as bloodthirsty as Angelus, Dru, or Darla, but he still liked to hurt people. Even now, he wouldn't mind hurting Willow. And yet, at the same time, he wanted to spare her pain... though her neck was looking rather tempting at the moment.
He needed to feed. Get some of his strength back. But it wouldn't be from her. Unless, of course, she offered herself to him. No, not even then.
"I don't know. I just like it," he said irritably. There was no way to explain to a human what it felt like to be a demon. "Why do you like ice cream? Or jumping out of airplanes? It's a demon-thing."
She nodded and bit her lip. "Okay." And that's all she said. She took him at his word, and went back to the armchair. The book she'd been reading when he came stumbling through the door, bleeding and damn near passing out, was on the floor beside her. She picked it up with a sigh, and started reading.
Though she was angry at him, and possibly the world in general, she was quickly engrossed in the stories she was reading. He'd bought her that book and a couple of others a few nights before. Poe and Shakespeare. He smiled, remembering her reaction to the small gifts.
She'd squealed and jumped up to take them from him, grinning from ear to ear. He'd been pleased with himself for making her so happy, because it wasn't often that she smiled anymore. And the small kiss on his cheek hadn't been bad either.
Spike sighed and got to his feet, more carefully this time. Her blood was tempting him, and he was in desperate need of some. "I'll be back... later," he muttered, holding his stomach with one arm and putting his T-Shirt on with the other.
"Where are you going?" she asked, standing up to help him. Ignoring his glaring look, she took the shirt from him, and put it on him. "You can hardly move, you can't dress yourself, and you're probably low on blood... oh." She frowned, stepping away from him in alarm. "But, you can't go out there like this."
"Why the bloody hell not?" he snarled, anger at her making him growl a bit more than he'd intended. What the hell was she backing away from him for? Wasn't like he was going to eat her. He could damn well control himself.
For the time being.
Instead of answering, she tossed him her book. "Here."
He caught it against his chest with one hand, groaning when his wound sent sharp jabbing pains in every direction, and started a dull ache to accompany the rest of his sore muscles.
"Bloody God damn hell," he ground out, throwing the book across the room. It banged against the wall with a loud thump, startling Willow. She jumped a little, but didn't back down. Stupid human didn't know how much danger she was in at the moment. Forcing his face not to change was easier said than done, but he managed it. Just barely. "What the hell'd you do that for?" he yelled.
"To prove a point," she told him, sounding like a teacher lecturing a student. "And... hello. Point proven." She gestured to him with her open hands. "You can't protect yourself against a book, let alone anything else that might be out there. And if you die, I'm stuck here, so--"
"Right." Of course, that was what was wrong. She wasn't worried about him. And that pissed him off. Pissed him off to no end. Why the hell didn't she care about him? He cared about her. He didn't want her to die. Or get hurt.
Well, he wasn't sticking around to worry about it now. "I don't have a whole lot of choice here. If I want to heal faster, which I do, I need to eat."
"Well," she looked around them as if bags of blood were just going to be sitting there waiting for her to notice them. "But, I don't want to be stuck here. And..." She looked away for a second, then straightened her back. "Do you have to have a lot? To heal?"
He had a pretty good idea where she was going with her questions, and he was all for nibbling on her. She tasted absolutely wonderful... or she had a century before. Still did, he was sure. "Yes."
"Do you need it all at once, or can you pace it out?" she wondered. "Because, I have blood, and it's just sitting there doing nothing. Except keeping me alive," she added with a nervous chuckle.
He was shaking his head before she finished talking. "I'd love to snack on you, but I don't want to take the chance that I can't control myself." Grabbing his cloak from the back of the chair, he slid one arm in, and was trying to get his other arm in without all the pain when she put her hand on his arm to stop him. "Willow, go away. I'm leaving."
She yanked on his cloak, trying to get him to relinquish it, but he wasn't giving in. And then she stunned the hell out of him by shoving him against the wall. "Take it or leave it, Spike, it's the only time I'm offering it to you. And only because I need you so that I can get back to Sunnydale." She tilted her head to the side, offering him her neck.
Spike snarled, in a not-entirely human way, and shoved her away from him. Well no wonder, he thought to himself, feeling the familiar ridges decorating his face. It had turned sometime after she'd shoved him, he wasn't even sure when, and he was reaching out to grab her. To yank her head aside, and take what he so badly wanted. But he stopped. "Get away from me. Now," he ordered. The stupid bint stayed where she was, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning closer.
"Here's your chance to show me just how 'pleasurable' it can be," she told him, and by the way she said it, he knew she didn't believe it was possible.
So, maybe he should just show her how much fun it could be-- no. Bloody hell, he wouldn't be able to stop himself if he tasted her now. Contrary to his earlier thoughts, he was quickly losing control. His hunger was fast approaching the point where instinct took over, and control went out the window.
"Come on," she taunted, "I'm not letting you out of here, so, it's either me, or Mrs. Pressman." She giggled a little, and started toward the door when he remained crouched on the floor. "Mrs. Pressman it is then."
He was so far beyond control now, that when he saw his prey getting away, he jumped on her with a growl, knocking them both to the floor. His stomach got jarred in the process, but he paid it no heed. Straddling her waist, he bared his fangs to her, and shoved her head to the side. The high collar of her dress was in the way, so he ripped it all the way down the front, ignoring her shout of surprise, and her sudden struggles. He slid his fangs into her neck with a groan, tasting her blood for the first time in too long.
It was as good as he remembered.
She stiffened underneath him, went absolutely still. He was pretty sure even her breathing had stopped. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was scaring her, but he didn't care.
"Pleasurable," she whispered, "it's supposed to be pleasurable." She started to shove at him in panic.
He held her tighter, sucking her blood out of her as quickly as he could, wanting to drain her dry. His free hand slid down to her waist, holding her against him. "Fight me," he whispered against her neck, grinning widely, "I enjoy it."
Her struggles stopped. A few seconds later, her hands moved under his shirt, caressing his chest. She raked her nails down his flesh, getting him all worked up, then pressed a finger to his wound. He growled and sat up, glaring down at her. "Bitch," he snarled.
She didn't look at him, or acknowledge him in any way, just grabbed the ripped ends of her dress and tried to close it. "So much for pleasant." Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared up at the ceiling.
With fresh blood in him, Spike was quickly regaining control. He suddenly realized that he was straddling Willow, and eyeing her bare stomach. Her blood was in his mouth, on his lips, and dripping down her neck. Without thought, he leaned down and licked the blood dripping down her shoulder, pushing away the torn edges of her dress to get better access.
"Please stop," she whispered, stiffening up again.
Spike forced his face to change back, and lifted his head. Damn the guilt. He shouldn't be feeling any. Christ, his life sucked.
Her eyes darted to his, then went back to ceiling-watching.
"I tried to tell you," he insisted. "To warn you. But, you wouldn't listen. As usual." She was pretty mad. Well, she could stay that way, he wasn't about to soothe her hurt feelings. He'd fought against this. She was the only one to blame here.
"Done yet?" she asked, sounding disinterested. "It's cold down here."
He looked down at her half naked body under his. She was beautiful, as he'd always known she would be. He'd felt her against him, held her, been held by her, even undressed her to clean up a wound, but this was the first time he'd actually *seen* her body. Part of it.
"Almost," he said softly.
Leaning down, he let his face turn, and slowly, gently slid his fangs into the holes he'd already made. He darted his tongue out, tasting her blood, flesh, and sweat. It was intoxicating and heady stuff, but this time he kept control. Sucking lightly at the wounds, he drew her blood into his mouth, caressing her stiff shoulders until she started to relax. He shifted his face again, and kissed the wound.
"Pleasant," he told her smugly, getting to his feet. His stomach was feeling better. It was far from being healed, but it didn't hurt with every move he made.
She sat up, holding her dress closed. "Next time I try to goad you into biting me, remind me of tonight." Pressing her hand to her neck, she stood up, sighing, completely giving up on holding her dress together.
Once again, his eyes fell to her stomach and breasts, and the bite marks there. Bite marks? These then, were the bite marks she'd refused to tell him about. "Those are his?" he asked, motioning to her.
"What?" she asked, looking down with a frown. Her eyes widened, and she spun away. "No, they're mine. Happy now?" Grabbing his T-Shirt from the bed, she started to undress. "Turn."
Spike turned, not wanting to tick her off anymore than she already was. "Is that why you wouldn't tell me back at the pub? You thought I'd be celebrating? What do you think vampires do? Sit around high five-ing each other for killing humans?" Anger was making another appearance. This time it wasn't focused on Willow, it was focused on the son of a bitch who'd bitten her, unfortunately, he wasn't here, and she was. So she was getting the brunt of it.
"Maybe. How should I know?" she asked, tossing her torn dress on the chair and sitting on the bed. "In my experience, vampires aren't the kindest of creatures."
He turned back around, leaning against the wall. "The one that did those... he's dead, right? He's the one that--"
"Yes," she said impatiently, crawling under the covers. The elaborately decorated bedspread bulged slightly when she drew her knees up to her chest. "Yes, it is. And yes he is. He's dead, Spike. I killed him. I--" she stopped with a frown, rolled over and pulled the covers up to her chin. "Good night."
Spike shut the door quietly behind him, leaving the oblivious sleeping Willow in their room. She'd finally fallen asleep an hour before, but he'd forced himself to wait, rather than charging out the door, possibly to be stopped by her again. He crept down the dark, narrow hallway, before realizing what he was doing. Creeping through a demon boarding house like a bleedin' human would.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he patted down his pockets for his cigarettes. "Bloody hell," he muttered, stopping near the bottom of the stairwell. He'd left his cigarettes up in the room. Shrugging, he continued down, not willing to chance returning and waking her up.
"Mr. Giles," a voice called from the front parlor.
As he always did upon hearing himself called the name he'd chosen on the spur of the moment, Spike rolled his eyes. Willow had gotten quite a kick out of it, after looking around for Rupert or one of his relatives.
Sighing, he headed through the double doors across from the stairs. Mrs. Pressman was standing at the window with her back to the room, her favorite position.
He looked around the dark room with distaste. He hated this room. It was all dark wood, dark purple drapes, and oriental rugs. A huge oak desk sat proudly across the room from him, its surface neat and orderly, like the rest of the house.
Ignoring the overwhelmingly stuffy décor, he turned his attention back to the elderly woman at the window, dressed in--what else?--purple. "Yeah?" Was Willow right? Was Mrs. Pressman more than she pretended to be? It was possible. So many odd things had happened lately that he'd almost be surprised if nothing was off here.
"I hope this isn't going to be a recurring situation," she said sternly. "I may run a demon boarding house, but I have no tolerance for disruptions in my home." She turned, eyeing him reproachfully, then went back to staring out the window.
"Won't happen again," he assured her, glaring at her back. How did she know what had happened upstairs? Had she been listening like Willow believed she was? It was possible the older woman had been walking by, or they'd been loud enough to be heard downstairs. Maybe one of the other tenants complained.
It made him angry that others had heard their argument, and might know more of their business than they needed to. "By the way, my wife--" he heard a quiet snort from Mrs. Pressman, but continued on, "says she's heard someone outside our door while I'm out. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" he asked suspiciously.
She turned again, facing him fully. "And what is this person doing?" she inquired politely.
"Listening." He raised an eyebrow at her, waiting.
She shook her head sharply. "Your... wife, must be imagining it. Perhaps she's afraid. After all, she is one human among a house full of demons, and not a very strong human at that." She gave him a false smile, tucking her hands under her shawl.
Spike strode over to the old lady, not grabbing her like he wanted to, not even getting in her face, no, he simply frowned, letting her see his anger. "That 'human' is also an experienced Wiccan--" she looked at him blankly, not understanding the term. He rolled his eyes. "Witch, Mrs. Pressman. She's a witch. Filled with magick. She could do more damage than most of the demons living here." He kept to himself the part where it would probably be on accident. "So I'd be mindful of that if I were you."
The corners of her lips turned up into a secretive little smirking smile. "Oh, I see," was all she said.
He gritted his teeth together to keep from reaching out and snapping her neck. "You see what?" he snarled. Why had he never realized what a snobby bitch the woman was? Probably because he hadn't dealt much with her. His time was spent either out watching Dru, out eating, or in with Willow.
"That answers my question as to how she kept from being killed by you." She swished her skirted self over to the door, dismissing him with a small nod. "Good night, Mr. Giles."
He was pretty damn proud of himself for keeping control when what he really wanted to do was... well, gosh, once again he wanted to snap her neck. Nothing like an old favorite. He walked past her, out the door, across the hall, and outside. Fury coursed through him at her insinuation. How dare she think he was bewitched? That Willow was controlling him.
No one controlled him, no one pushed his buttons or flipped his switches, damn it. No one. 'Cept maybe Dru, but that was different. Crossing the wet cobblestone street lit only by the minuscule light escaping behind the clouds, he stretched his neck, cracking it. Enough of this non killing crap, first human he saw--that didn't look too nasty--well, he was catching up on some much needed killing. Possibly even some torturing.
Instead of maiming and torturing, Spike found himself outside Joe's Pub, listening to the sounds of drunken laughter and loud voices pouring through the door.
His run-in with Joe and Sam had been in the park, not here. He hadn't been back here until tonight. Apparently it was now a demon pub.
"Guess Joe and Sam didn't close up shop," he muttered as a vampire pushed past him with a snarl and a glare. Shoving the door open, Spike walked in like he owned the place. No one turned to look at him this time, and Spike wasn't surprised, because he was among his own kind. Things looked much the same as they had before, aside from all the demons, the slime on the walls, and blood trails on the floor. And he was pretty sure that the pile of dead bodies in the corner was new. Most of the tables and chairs were filled with drunken demons of all colors, sizes, and shapes; some playing cards, some eating, others simply sitting by themselves, tossing back a few drinks.
Kinda reminded him of the pub scene in Gremlins.
The bar looked like a good place to start, so he headed that way, hoping to find a familiar dark-haired Irish bloke to serve him. He had a bone to pick with that guy... well, actually he had a stake to poke that guy with.
The joint was packed to the gills, most of the seats taken by grotesquely misshapen demons, and vampires that didn't look too friendly. Shoving a vampire off of one of the seats, Spike sat down with a sigh, ignoring the shouts and growls swirling around him. The demon beside him smiled and nodded, looking all friendly and talkative. Spike looked away, not in any mood to make conversation.
"Hey!" the evicted vampire growled, grabbing Spike's shoulder to turn him around. "I was sitting there, mate."
Spike rolled his eyes and turned around under his own volition, not getting off the stool. Planting his feet firmly on the floor, he sized up the demon in front of him and found him extremely lacking. Reminded him a little of Xander. "And now I'm sitting here. Go be somewhere else." His mood hadn't lightened much since leaving the boarding house, and was growing steadily worse.
If Willow decided to come by here one day--or night--she was sure to be killed, and he couldn't let that happen. At the very least, she'd be upset. She'd lived here for almost two years, made this place her home, and now her friends were dead and running around as the very things that had killed them.
And it was all Angelus' fault. He had issues, he knew this.
The vampire still in front of him, now looking extremely pissed at Spike's easy dismissal of him, aimed a fist at Spike's face. Having anticipated this, Spike ducked, and pulled a stake from his cloak, neatly dusting him. He kicked at the pile of dust in front of him, causing plumes of dead vampire to float around in the air, getting all over his clothes. He brushed himself off, and turned back to the bar.
The demon next to him started laughing uproariously, like that was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. He was a big, tall, hairy Chewbacca looking thing, and he was annoying. Spike raised an imperious eyebrow at him.
Tall, dark, and hairy chuckled some more, slapping him on the back. "That's funny."
Turning back to the bar, Spike leaned over, looking for Joe. "Whatever, mate. Where's Joe? The, uh, owner, I guess? Or Samantha." All that was behind the bar at the moment were two green and blue iridescent demons fighting over a bottle of whiskey, their big bug eyes glaring at each other. The place was in complete chaos. Spike actually found himself respecting Willy for keeping his place orderly and basically fight-free. "They here?" he asked Chewy, turning to face the hairy behemoth.
Chewy grinned, nodding as if Spike had told him a joke. "I don't know."
Spike stared at him for a moment. "Yeah, right," he muttered, "smile and nod, you bloody idiot." Standing up, he weaved his way through demon after demon to make it to the stairs. Blood smeared the walls all the way upstairs, and most of the steps were covered as well. The stairs were empty, and only one vampire was in the hall upstairs, she was feeding off a human girl, holding the body close as she watched him approach.
Spike spared her barely a glance as he pushed past them and into Willow's room. Shoving open the door, he stood in the entrance, glancing around for her former friends. Anger and fury flowed through him as he took everything in. Bloody hell, if he'd shown up one night later, Willow might be one of the bodies strewn around the room, or one of the vampires feeding from them. If his heart could beat, it would be pounding right now. Was him finding her that night a coincidence?
Among all the dead humans were at least twenty vampires, most of them were naked and in the midst of one sex act or another. On the floor, the dresser, against the walls... on her bed. Fangs and flesh, bodies and moans, shouts of pleasure, screams of pain; they were everywhere.
"Join us," one of the gyrating bodies whispered from across the room. "Cor, you're a handsome one, aren't you?"
Spike ignored the man, and turned to leave, but found Chewy blocking his path. "Move," Spike growled, when the demon simply stood there, staring down at him. Sidestepping him, he descended the stairs two at a time, shoving a few newly arrived people out of his way as he went, and took off in the direction of the other bedroom. It was in a similar shape as Willow's, but empty of anything alive, or undead. Human bodies were strewn across the bed, the dresser, the table. Every available surface held something bloody or fleshy.
Spike's hunger flared, and he was a little disgusted at himself. Grabbing one of the fresher bodies, a teenage girl who looked a bit like Willow's witch, he sank his teeth into the cleanest area he could find and drained what was left of her. Two more bodies later, and his immediate hunger was satisfied. The voices in the outer area had grown louder, and he could still hear the voices upstairs raised in pleasure. Sickened by the place, he left through the back way.
In his experience alleys had a way of turning out badly, so he didn't linger. As he neared the street, he saw a tall figure standing there, facing him. Annoyed beyond belief now, he pushed past the Chewbacca wannabe and started back home. Willow would not know about this place, there was no way on Earth he would ever tell her about Joe and Sam now. She'd want to come down here and dust the vampires in residence, and chase off all the demons she could, and he couldn't allow that. Without a doubt, she'd die. There were just too damn many of them.
A few blocks past Joe's Pub, he heard footsteps behind him, and turned to face Chewbacca. "Stop following me home, I'm not keeping you." Chuckling at his own words, he muttered, "You're probably not even house broken."
Chewy laughed loudly and Spike tossed him a look over his shoulder.
"Freak." Ignoring the dog following him, Spike headed home. After getting a good look at the worst behavior vampires could be involved in... it was time to go back home to Willow.
"Spike."
Not stopping to answer, Spike continued down the street, crossing near the gardens. As he was about to cross another street, he realized Chewy had called him by name. He spun around and faced the tall hairy demon. "Who the hell are you and what do you want?" He attempted to shove Chewy back against a tree and hold him there until he got his answers, but the demon didn't budge an inch when Spike's hand grabbed him. Revising his strategy, Spike stood back a few feet and waited. No loss of manliness there, nope. None at all.
Chewy stood up to his full height of approximately six foot seven, and stared down at Spike. "I was sent here to make sure you didn't kill the two you were after tonight. And to make sure you don't."
"That right?" Spike asked, raising an eyebrow like he was impressed. Chewy nodded, forcing a snort from Spike. "Well, tough shit. I find them, they die." He turned away and crossed the street, hoping Willow was still asleep, because he wasn't looking forward to the conversation he just knew she'd drag out of him.
"You kill them," Chewy began, but Spike cut him off.
"You still here?" He rolled his eyes at the tenacity of hired goons. "Be a good little doggy and run back to your master and tell him you didn't find me."
"You kill them," he continued, as if Spike hadn't even spoken, "and you'll stop everything from happening. You don't want that. It'd go badly for you."
Spike stopped in his tracks, and slowly turned around to face the demon. He stared at him for a second, and then another, then let his anger out. "Jesus Christ, does every bloody person in Europe know I'm traveling through time?" he yelled.
Bloody hell, who *didn't* know about him and Willow? He suddenly felt like every move they made was being directed by an unseen hand. He wasn't sure he was even in control anymore. Had he ever been?
Chewy glanced around them in amusement. "They do now," he chuckled, tossing Spike a crooked grin.
Spike was anything but amused. He sighed explosively, narrowing his eyes at the demon. "Who are you?"
Chewy's ears perked up at the sound of a barking dog off in the distance, and Spike had to fight back the ridiculous urge to laugh at the picture the demon made. He was tall, covered in brown hair over most of his body, except his face, which was completely bare, and huge paws that were brushing absently at his black silk suit.
"My name isn't important, it's constantly changing. You can call me anything you like." He reached out a paw, waiting for Spike to shake it.
Spike ignored the paw, preferring to dig a cigarette out of his cloak and light it. "How about Fido? That good for you? Or maybe Spot?" With the cigarette clamped firmly in his lips, he looked sideways at the demon. "I'm getting sick of being jerked around by the fates, or powers, or whatever you guys are." He paused for a second, looking dangerously at the demon. "You that stupid Time Stabilizer thing? If so, I owe you one."
Ole Chewy shook his head, stepping closer after glancing around to make sure they were alone. "I'm not the Stabilizer. I told you, I'm on your side. I was sent here to keep you and Willow from changing too much."
Spike's eyes narrowed at the demon. "That's what the Time guy said. You should check with each other, maybe read your memos every once in a while, because I've gotten the message already. Coulda saved you a trip."
"The Time Stabilizer didn't send me," Chewy told him, looking around again. "I'm here on my own. The Stabilizer's gotten a little... Well he's not as involved as he should be, so he doesn't have your best interests at heart."
"And you do?" Spike asked dubiously. "Why should I believe you?" He spun around, stalking a few feet away before turning back angrily. "Why should I believe any of you? Quit yanking my blasted chain and tell me what's going on, because I'm tired of it. All of it. I want this whole thing over."
Instead of answering his question, he decided to state a fact that Spike already knew. "You came here to kill Joe and Samantha." His puppy dog eyes focused on Spike's face as if he'd just solved all the world's problems in one fell swoop.
Spike sighed explosively. "So? What the hell does that mean?"
Chewy was no longer as detached as he had been. His own anger was sweeping over him. "If you want this whole thing over, as you just said, then kill them. But if you'd like to continue down the path you were chosen for, then you'll leave them be," he growled. "Things are in play here that you have no idea about, and those two worthless vampires are still needed for time to proceed as it was meant to, so I suggest you leave them alone until they've completed their end of things."
"Well, thanks, yeah that clears it all up. I'll just be on my merry way then." He threw his cigarette to the ground and started off again. His stomach hurt, he was tired as hell, pissed beyond belief, and now there was a big Chewbacca-looking thing telling him to leave a couple of pathetic vampires alone because it could stop it all time. Right.
Fido sighed and grabbed Spike's cloak, slamming him against a tree. He had much better luck at it than Spike had earlier. He sighed and moved closer, towering over Spike. "I told you to lay off of them."
Spike rubbed the back of his head. "And I told you to go to hell."
Fido grinned widely, showing for the first time, the big long fangs he owned. "No, you didn't. And you won't."
Spike pushed him away and moved past the tree... well, he tried, but Chewy grabbed him and yanked him back into place. "See, I can't kill you or Willow, but I can do other things... things that she might not like. Things that'll make sure you do what I say." He backed away, looking like he was listening to something, then smiled. "I hear Willow likes furry demons," he chuckled, "but doesn't like to be touched... now what *could* I do with that information?"
"Touch her and I'll--" Spike began, but Chewy didn't like being growled at apparently, because he punched Spike in the mouth.
"I won't touch her unless you give me a reason to." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "Don't give me a reason," he whispered, then suddenly he was gone in flash of yellow light.
Spike didn't waste time looking for him, he took off running toward the boarding house.
Willow's eyes, already stretched open to the breaking point, widened even further when she heard another creak outside the door. Her hand tightened around the scrap of black cloth she still clung to, even though Spike was with her every day now. It'd become a security blanket, and since he wasn't here at the moment... she felt she needed it.
She wished she knew where he was. What had he been thinking, going off somewhere, doing who knew what, leaving her alone? By herself. With the scary Mrs. Pressman listening in on her. Or maybe--she shuddered--watching her. Wait a damn minute. She was no longer the scaredy cat she'd been when this stupid trip began. She was an independent woman used to depending on no one except herself, and here she was huddled on the bed like a coward.
Well, no more damn it.
She threw the covers back, climbed out of bed, shoved her arms into her robe, the strip of cloth into the pocket, and unlocked the door. All quickly, but quietly.
When she opened the door, she was surprised to find, not Mrs. Pressman, but a man on his way past her door. Mid twenties, shorter-than-was-the-style black hair, tall... and definitely handsome. Probably had beautiful eyes too, but it was too dark in the hallway to see them.
It was kind of sad, because she felt nothing, just a simple appreciation for his handsome good looks.
He turned from unlocking the door beside hers, an apologetic smile on his face. Oh, cute smile. She smiled in return, trying not to look like she'd just woken up and gone storming out the door.
"I'm very sorry, ma'am, I didn't mean to startle you." His eyes fell on her state of undress, and she could've sworn he blushed. How adorable.
"You're American," she said, as if he weren't aware of the fact. Embarrassed, she closed her thin white robe a little tighter, and brushed her hair over Spike's bitemark. "I mean, I'm American too. From California."
His smile grew even wider. "Yes, ma'am, I just arrived this week. I'm from Denver. Uh, that's in Colorado in case you didn't know. Name's Phillip, Phillip John Harris." He closed the distance between them, and held out his hand.
Strange coincidence. Could this guy be a relative of Xander's? He could be Xander's great-great-great-great grandfather. What were the odds? Only about a trillion to one. She shook his hand absently. Brown. His eyes were brown. Not beautiful, just pleasant to look at.
He cleared his throat, and she realized she hadn't introduced herself. That she'd been, instead, staring at him like a doofus. "Um, I'm sorry. I'm Willow Ro-- um, Giles. Willow Giles."
"Charmed, Miss Giles," he smiled again, a nice sweet, shy smile. "I wonder if we mightn't have coffee tomorrow? Or tea if you prefer. It's been a while since I've talked to anyone from home."
Willow grinned, knowing exactly what he meant. The British were all well and good, and London was cool in the extreme, especially eighteen-sixty London, but she missed California, and Phillip was about as close as she'd come in years. "I'd love to, thank you." Hearing a door close downstairs, she leaned over the edge of the railing to see if it was who she thought it was.
Sure enough, Spike strode quickly into view. Looked like he was still hurt too... she looked closer, biting back a groan. He had blood on his mouth. Great. Phillip, the one and only other human in the house that she cared to talk to, and Spike was about to scare him off.
She quickly made plans to meet him at noon the next day, and went inside her room, hoping Phillip would do the same.
Throwing off her robe, she hopped into bed and covered up. Exhaustion was nipping at her heels. After all, she'd had a full day. She'd patched up Spike, argued with Spike, been bitten by Spike, been ogled by Spike, and met a gorgeous guy that she was having coffee with tomorrow... if Spike didn't scare him off. Pretty darn full day if you asked her.
Ten minutes later, the door creaked open, and she could see Spike silhouetted in the doorway. He was facing out, talking to someone. Damn it. Had to be Phillip. Well, now he'd freak out and run off to another boarding house probably.
"Yeah," Spike was saying, nodding a few times... sounding impatient and annoyed... just like she'd expected him to be. "No, I don't mind." He turned to look at her a few times, and she thought maybe there was a worried look in there, but she couldn't be sure, it was gone too fast.
Willow watched him close the door, and lock it. Watched him remove his cloak and boots. Watched him toss her short, indecipherable looks. Though she was more comfortable with his presence now, she still had to force herself to watch him ditch the shirt and waistcoat. When he dropped his hands to the waistband of his breeches, she looked away. Nausea roiled in her stomach, churning like waves in the ocean. He's not going to take them off, she told herself, he's not going to take them off, because he's never done that before, and he knows I don't want him to.
"You think that punk's the one that's been listening outside the door?" Spike asked, turning back toward the bed, his pants still on.
She shook her head, sitting up. "I doubt it, he just moved in. Besides, I'm convinced it's Mrs. Pressman, she's a freak."
Spike didn't disagree with her. "I think the boy's got his eye on you. Seemed real interested to know if we were married." He raised his eyes to hers, gauging her reaction to this news.
She shrugged, smoothing down the blanket. "You're bleeding."
He wiped his mouth off, checking for blood. "Ran into a demon." He sat beside her, tossing her a sideways glance. "Do me a favor and don't leave here without me."
"Anything particular reason why?" she asked. Something had given Spike a bloody lip, and if he wanted her to stay inside for a few days until he cleared out of London, she'd do so. Not like she had anywhere she wanted to go anyway.
"Chewbacca," he answered with a grin, then quickly changed the subject to one she was less comfortable with. "Willow, you've been faithful to little miss for over a hundred years, I think she'll understand if you--"
She laid back down, curling up on her side. Away from Spike. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not real fond of being touched."
"I've noticed," he said quietly, laying back as well. "You don't mind me touching you too much. Why not him?"
"Because I don't want him to," she said angrily. The anger was mostly directed at herself for not being able to move past this as fast as she thought she should. "I don't even want you to, but it's a small room, with one bed, and I mostly don't realize it since I'm asleep, and you don't touch me like... that, and--" a sob escaped her, tears following closely behind. The first tears she'd cried since the night Joe and Sam died.
Everything she'd told herself earlier were lies, she didn't like it here. Not during this time, and not to live for months, or years at a time. "I want to go home. I know we can't, but I want to so badly. I hate it here, Spike, I hate the smell, and the sounds, and the people, and... I just want to go home."
"I know," he said sympathetically, lightly nudging her arm. "Even I miss Sunnydale. And the nineteen-nineties." He fell silent, giving her time to cry it out, or cry some more, whichever she chose.
She chose to cry some more. Cried herself to sleep, quietly, hoping he didn't realize she was still being a baby.