DISCLAIMER: I own nothing here except the plot. The characters and all things Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Twentieth Century, the Pope, and whoever else wants to claim them and actually receives royalties from them. That's not me, so... there ya go.
PAIRING: W/S
RATING: R (15/?)
SUMMARY: Spike uses Willow to go back in time to avoid being implanted by the Initiative... has even one of Spike's plans ever gone right? They end up a little further back in time than he intended.
DEDICATED: To my beta, Claudia! She rules. Helped me work through a ton of stuff, caught things I'd read a hundred times and never noticed, and did the best thing of all; the easiest thing in the world to get a writer to write... she begged for more.
PART 15
Willow quietly closed the door behind her and crept down the stairs, stopping each time they creaked. Spike was asleep. At least she thought he was, it was hard to tell with him sometimes. If he was, she wanted him to stay that way. She had supplies to buy and if she allowed herself to think it, she just really wanted to get out of their room, to get away from him and the deafening silence that had fallen hours before.
Things were just too complicated between them now. She'd screwed up by allowing herself to find comfort in him. By taking that comfort with every greedy ounce of her soul.
She hadn't gotten a whole lot of sleep since her nightmare, only a few hours here and there, broken by points of awkwardness when she awoke to find herself wrapped around Spike. Extricating herself slowly and quietly wasn't as easy as she'd tried to make it. She was sure he was awake and completely aware of her moving away from him. One time she'd even caught him watching her, his face blank, his eyes hard and cold.
Yeah, things between them were definitely weird now. That was the whole reason she'd wanted to keep it from getting too personal. But she'd failed.
The satisfaction and no-longer-tense muscles in her body were good side effects of their encounter, but that was a thought best left for another time. Perhaps late one night when she was unable to sleep.
She tried to creep by the open door of the parlor, not wanting a run-in with Mrs. Pressman, but, as usual, the old woman was there, listening and watching as everyone passed by. The chill that swept over Willow every time she was near the old woman made its way down her spine not bothering to stop when she pulled her shawl tighter around her.
"Mrs. Giles," the old lady called out imperiously.
Willow, having no other alternative, straightened her shoulders, and glided into the dark room, hiding her distaste of the plum colors dominating the room. Her sneakered shoes were silent on the wooden floor, even more so on when she stepped on one of the numerous oriental rugs. Stopping in front of the desk where Mrs. Pressman was seated, she folded her hands in front of her, and smiled politely. "Yes?"
A wrinkled hand lifted, holding a folded piece of paper out to her. "This was left for you. An invitation it seems." A false smile lit her mouth, the only kind Mrs. Pressman had ever shown, Willow was sure. Her gray hair, stretched tightly back into a bun, seemed to move with her mouth, loosening the slightest bit.
Suppressing a nervous giggle, Willow reached out to take the paper, curiosity burning in her. No one knew she was here, except the people--demons--that lived here, and she was pretty sure none of them would invite her to anything.
Mrs. Pressman didn't extend her hand any further than an inch, making Willow reach for it. When her fingers closed over it, she yanked it rudely out of Mrs. Pressman's hand, turned away, and left the room.
She heard quiet cackling behind her, but ignored the old biddy.
Unfolding the thick, rough paper, she read the flowing black script with confusion. Who was Lady Winchester, and why was she inviting Willow... make that Mrs. Giles, to tea? So not gonna happen. There was no way she could go anywhere, she had to get supplies to do the spell, and pack their stuff. And then they would no longer be in this time. Ah, darn, she thought sarcastically, what a bummer.
As she headed toward the front door, she heard slow, steady footsteps on the wood floor behind her. She turned to find Mrs. Pressman standing in the doorway, studying her.
"You are planning on attending, are you not?" One of her thin gray eyebrows soared nearly into her hairline.
Willow, more than ready to get the hell out of Dodge--meaning Mrs. Pressman's boarding house--merely shook her head. "I don't think so. I mean, I don't even know this Lady Winchester." She shrugged and headed for the door again, wanting to get away from the creepy woman.
Mrs. Pressman cleared her throat, clearly waiting for Willow to stop and turn around. Willow didn't want to do it, but she couldn't help herself. She stopped and turned. Damn it.
Her brown eyes pinned Willow in place, forcing another shiver from the younger woman. "Lady Winchester is the Slayer. If she has contacted you, then she must have a good reason." Her lips once again turned up slightly. "Or a good friend." And with that, Mrs. Pressman left Willow alone, her heeled shoes echoing loudly in the open space.
Willow hardly noticed her departure, she was stuck on the woman's last words. She knew only two demons in London that she cared anything about. And one of them was upstairs, asleep. She closed her eyes for a second, hating her life, before running upstairs and banging on Phillip's door. As she'd feared would happen, it stayed closed. Crap. Now what?
Get dressed in her jeans, hire a hansom cab, sneak into the Slayer's house and rescue Phillip? Yeah, right.
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Okay, so she wasn't sneaking into the house, she was ringing the bell. And she wasn't dressed in jeans, she was in her one and only tea gown. Dressing up wasn't her idea of a fun time, but since Spike had ripped open her only other clean gown... it was this or half-nakedness.
The tea gown was one that Samantha had insisted she buy, and Willow had given in after numerous attempts to explain why she didn't need one. Closing her eyes, she forced the pain away, and focused on the here and now. The possible death awaiting her... here and now.
After a few minutes of waiting, and no answer, she stood back, looking up at the windows above her. She saw someone move as a curtain dropped back into place. She was being watched by... something. With new purpose, she strode forward and banged on the door.
"Hello?" she called loudly. A carriage barreled down the street, drowning out her voice. She turned to glare at the noisy vehicle as it passed, and didn't see the door open. Suddenly her arm was grabbed, and she was pulled inside the house.
Willow screamed, clawing at the hand holding her arm, and yanked herself backward. Her head smacked on the doorjamb, stopping her struggles and basically all bodily movement. Pain lanced through her head, then numbness. As she sagged to the ground, her eyes focused on the figure standing over her. The interior of the house was so dark that all she was able to make out was a silhouette before she drifted into unconsciousness.
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Pain throbbed behind Willow's eyes as she tried to focus on one single thing around her, to figure out where she was. Blinding lights and pain shot through her head, traveling to the rest of her body when she squinted at the shape in front of her. It moved a little, so she was sure it was alive. Or maybe she was the one doing the moving.
Her head pounded erratically with-- no, that wasn't her head. It was hammering, distant hammering keeping time with the pain in her head.
"Ow," she moaned, holding herself still. Why was it that she always seemed to end up unconscious and tied-- oh, oh! She was tied up somewhere again? Moving her hands minutely, she confirmed her suspicions. There were definite bondage things happening here. Angelus?
No, she was at the Slayer's house. Laura had tied her up? And was now hammering things?
Listening for sounds to tell her where she was seemed safer than thinking for the moment, because her head was still raging and nausea was roiling in her stomach. She heard voices outside the room--they were too far away to be inside--and what sounded like humming. That was closer though. In fact... she opened her eyes cautiously and turned her head just enough to be able to see the dark-haired vampire sitting on the floor watching her.
Drusilla grinned sweetly at her, her huge brown eyes taking in everything with excitement and anticipation. Willow closed her eyes against the sight of Spike's future lover, looking much like she must've the night Spike climbed out of the grave.
Well, here now was confirmation, wasn't it? She was deeply stupid for listening to Mrs. Pressman, and even more stupid for not waking Spike up to tell him where she was going. No, 'cause then he might've talked you out of going alone, or at all. Then you might be safe, you dummy.
"I remember you," Drusilla whispered from her right side. "You're a witch." Willow felt hands on the back of the chair she was tied to, and then Drusilla's voice was whispering in her left ear. "Daddy's afraid of you, but he doesn't know."
Willow opened her eyes to find Drusilla right in front of her, leaning forward as if imparting a secret, her lips turned up in a secretive smile. "Doesn't know--" Willow whispered through dry, cracked lips. She swallowed and tried again, finding her voice slightly louder. "Doesn't know what?"
And again there was that secret smile and a playful look. "I'll not tell." She held a single finger to her lips. "You're not to know yet."
Oh, and once again her conversation with Drusilla was clearing things up, only in a way that was not. Sure she'd figure out what Drusilla meant someday, probably in a hundred years or so, if she lived that long, but what about now? What good were the supposed powers for, if not to warn someone, or give information when needed? Looking back one day in the future and going, 'Oh! That's what she meant when she said such and such...' didn't help at all.
"Angelus is here?" Straining her ears to hear the voices she'd picked up earlier, she almost missed Drusilla's giggled answer.
"No. Daddy has a new friend to play with."
"New friend..." Willow repeated, her mind racing. Angelus and Darla were up to something. Obviously, otherwise why bring her here?
Spike! She was bait. She hated being bait, dang it.
"Dru," she implored, dipping her head to catch Dru's eyes. Her hair fell forward, obscuring her view. She shook her head back and the strands fell behind her shoulder. Drusilla looked back at her, unconcerned, her eyes glazed over. "Um, Drusilla, listen. Angelus, um your daddy, is doing something he really can't do. He's going to kill my friend. Your friend in the future, you--"
"Hush now," Dru whispered, pressing her fingers against Willow's lips again. "Daddy promised he wouldn't kill him." Her smile turned evil, her eyes glowing with maniacal glee. "He's only going to teach him a lesson."
Angelus' lessons would probably make Spike wish he were dead. She had to get out of there. Now. Closing her eyes she forced herself to concentrate her magick on getting free. It'd worked when she was tied up the last time. Hopefully this time would go as well.
Dru circled around her, dancing in circles as she mimicked whispering voices. "Psst, psst, psst, psst."
"Hecate," Willow whispered, fighting the panic for Spike coursing through her, "release me!" She wasn't too shocked when the ropes around her loosened and dropped away, but she was a bit surprised that that's all it'd taken.
Her spells used to require quite a bit of pleading and desperation. This was a bit easy, maybe even too easy. Then again, practice makes perfect... not that she was perfect. Far from it, in fact, but at least she was heading in the right direction.
"Oh. Uh, thanks," she mumbled, opening her eyes.
Question now was: Could she really get by Dru and out of the house without being killed? Probably not.
"Run and catch..." Drusilla sang, spinning in a circle to the door. "Run and catch." She spun around and faced Willow as she stood up from the chair. Her smile, still firmly in place, and still completely laced with evil intentions, slid even further up her face. "You'll not catch them, lovey..." she looked down almost shyly, then back up again, her face vamped out. "But I'll catch you."
Willow shot forward, hoping to get past Drusilla and out into the hall where she'd be better off. Or hoped to be anyway. Chances were, she'd be worse off with the vampires out there. They had no compunctions about killing her, they didn't know she was supposed to stay alive. Did Drusilla? She'd warned Angelus and Darla, but would she herself have enough restraint to hold back when the bloodlust hit her?
Darting out of Drusilla's grasp, Willow dodged away, further back into the room. Pacing backwards, toward the chair, she considered staking Drusilla and ending it all right then and there, but she couldn't. Spike wouldn't live if she did that. Dru needed to live, and so did Spike.
She needed Spike to live.
"Okay, Dru... see, you can't eat me," she told the other woman, wincing when she saw her lick the corner of her lips. "I'm from the future. You'll ruin things there." She shrugged, hoping Dru would buy the story.
Her demonic grin slipped a little and she looked like a kid who'd had her favorite toy taken away. "But I wanted to play," she said sadly, un-vamping. Her head tilted to the side, her eyes taking in Willow's clutched hands and frightened eyes. "You are from the future," she agreed, but then her smile returned and her eyes cleared. "But your time has already gone by. If I kill you, nothing changes." She leaned closer, her eyes sliding past Willow as if she was listening to someone or something that wasn't there. "A little birdy told me," she confided secretly.
Willow watched fearfully as Drusilla vamped out again and darted froward, jumping at her. Her thin hands circled around Willow's wrists, dragging her closer to her, spinning her around so her back was against the vampire's. "You don't want to do this," Willow told her, pulling desperately at the hands wrapped around her, scraping her nails along Dru's wrists and forearms. "I don't taste very good."
"We'll see about that," Drusilla muttered, snarling as she drew her mouth closer to Willow's neck. "Give us a taste, pet."
She struggled frantically, kicking out, doing everything she could to stop the fangs about to pierce her flesh, but nothing was working. "Spi-- William's not going to like this," she threatened, hoping Drusilla knew what she was talking about without actually knowing. Maybe the little birdy had something to say about that.
Pain ripped into her neck, piercing the tender flesh. Sharp, slicing knives scissored into her, forcing a scream from her lips.
Fury and rage bubbled up inside her, forcing its way to the surface. She could feel the magick simmering around inside her, whispering to her to use it. To taste the true power that comes with vengeance. To hurl Drusilla across the room and shove a stake into her dead heart.
She didn't listen. Not completely. Reaching her hands around behind her as the vampire drank deeply from her, she touched Drusilla's skirts and sent a jolt of energy surging through her hands. Drusilla screamed and reared back with a force and speed that was terrifying, sending tiny shockwaves of pain soaring through Willow's abused body. Her hands no longer clamped around Willow's arms.
She was free. Spinning around to face Drusilla, she had the urge to send another jolt of magick at her, but she was also afraid Drusilla was dead. That lasted for only a second of course, since Drusilla wasn't a pile of ash.
Weakness flooded through her and her knees went out from under her. She sagged limply to the floor. The burst of magick she'd used had drained her a little. She felt empty. No, that wasn't right. She felt emptier. Her magick wasn't completely gone, just diminished.
The door opened, startling her and Drusilla who was just coming to.
"Dru, Dru, Dru," Angelus scolded from the doorway. "You let a little slip of a girl like... that," he said derisively, "get the better of you?" He shook his head from side to side in mock shame. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. I expected much better from you."
"Angelus," Drusilla whispered, licking the blood dripping down her lip. She climbed gracefully to her feet, turning to face the doorway.
Willow groaned, sliding her hand up to her neck, stemming the slowly flowing blood still escaping. Nausea roiled in her stomach, and she started to gag.
"Hey," Angelus called loudly, no longer amused as he strode further into the room, his boots clomping on the wooden floor. "Don't mess the floor up." He waited until she stopped gagging and turned baleful eyes his way before leaning down and whispering, "Red." He stood back up, grinning ferally.
She closed her eyes as Darla sauntered in behind Angelus, her hand sliding possessively up his back as she approached. The small superior smile she always seemed to wear, was there, curling up the corners of her lips and lighting her eyes with malevolence. "Oh, look," she commented, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at Willow, "she's already in the right position."
Willow fought the cold fear trying to run through her veins, knowing it would only make the vampires more excited. More amused with her predicament. Turning an equally unimpressed eye to Darla, Willow looked her up and down, her lips turning up in a smug smile. "Oh, I see," she chided, "you're just not getting the job done yourself, are you?"
Angelus laughed, his amused eyes running over her from head to toe as he held Darla back. "Well now, lass, aren't you just full of piss and vinegar?" he drawled, his accent growing thicker. He tilted his head to the side, and then turned around and left the room. The echo of his boots receded with the three vampires.
Drusilla turned around to hiss at her before she left, holding out two fingers in a hook-like gesture, and then she was gone with the rest of them and the only sounds left were the slamming of the door.
No locks turned, but with vampire guards, they didn't need them.
Shivering in the sudden emptiness of the cold room, she hugged her knees to her, looking around her for a way out. The room was empty but for her former seat and the ropes on the floor. There was one door, guarded, and one boarded-up window.
Turning to face the back wall, she crossed her feet at the ankles and held her hands out to the nailed boards across the window. She tried to think of a specific spell she could use on the boards, but came up empty. Well, okay, she could pray with the best of them.
"Hecate, or Diana, really any Goddess out there, um, could you please help me out here? I-- I don't have any offerings, or a spell really, but free the window, and uh," she thought frantically trying to come up with something a Goddess might like, but her mind was empty. Frustrated with herself, she realized that she was thinking like a victim, not a survivor. Since meeting up again with Spike, she'd seriously neglected her studies, falling back on old habits, allowing him to protect her rather than her own powers and strengths.
She should know better than that. This incident proved to her once again that she had only herself to rely on. "Well, okay," she began again, "I'll set up a plate of offerings that'll make your mouth water. If you have a mouth-- which is not really the point. So, free the window, and, um, a ladder wouldn't be turned down." Swallowing past the dryness in her throat, she opened her eyes, hoping to see the boards drop to the floor and feel warm sunshine flooding over her cold body.
But the boards were still firmly in place.
Fine, if the Powers That Be didn't want to help her, she'd have to help herself. Standing a little shakily, she strode over to the window, sliding her fingers under the boards.
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Spike paced the room restlessly, tossing a glance at the door every few minutes. It was well past dark and still there was no sign of Willow. Where the hell was she?
Hearing a lock turn next door, he strode to his own door and yanked it open. Phillip was there, in the hall, about to go inside his room. He turned his head in Spike's direction then looked away briefly, shaking his head.
"William," he greeted, his tone just derisive enough to irk Spike.
"Where's Willow?" Spike asked, glaring at him across the twenty foot distance. Phillip was his last chance at finding her safe. If he didn't know where she was, then something had happened. Chewbacca? Or Angelus? Clenching his fists, he vamped out, crossing to Phillip. "Where's my wife?"
"You lost Willow?" he asked, stopping midway into his room to turn to Spike. His eyes stayed fast on Spike's face, his mouth tightening in anger.
The concern in his voice grated against Spike's nerves. He had no right to be concerned about Willow. She was his phony wife, not Phillip's.
"Do you know where she is?" Spike snarled, grabbing fistfuls of Phillip's frilly white shirt. "Start talking or I'll start tearing your bits off."
Phillip pushed his hands between Spike's arms and pried himself free, snarling right back at Spike. His eyes went red, and his face started to shimmer. "Never touch me, vampire. I'll kill you, even against Willow's wishes." The shape of his head began to move and reform, the air around them hummed. Phillip closed his eyes and then everything shifted again, snapping back into place. When his eyes opened again, they were human. "I haven't seen her since last night." He shoved his door open and went inside, slamming the door shut. The wood shook in its frame, rattling the doorknob.
Spike slammed his fist down on the wooden railing, spinning back around to his room. Grabbing his frock coat from the chair inside, he left, shutting the door behind him. Halfway down the stairs, he felt Mrs. Pressman watching him and turned to see her standing in the doorway of the drawing room.
Ignoring her beady eyes following him through the foyer, he stomped to the door. As his hand closed around it, she spoke, her words surprising him.
"Your wife is with the Slayer."
Spike dropped his hand, took a single breath in, and turned to face the old lady. "The Slayer has her?" he ground out, striding across the foyer toward her. "Where is she?"
Mrs. Pressman held out a thin, folded piece of paper, shaking her head regally. "The Slayer does not... have her. She was invited, and your wife willingly chose to go."
Willow went to see the Slayer? What the hell for? They were supposed to be leaving tonight, right now. Suspicious that this had something to do with their earlier activities, he swallowed back a groan. Bloody hell! Couldn't she wait until they left to freak out?
Opening the folded sheet of paper, he read the flowing black script with a frown.
'Mrs. Giles,' it read, 'I would be happy to take care of your husband for you. Please meet me at my home.' It was signed, Laura.
Not believing it for a minute, Spike crumpled the note up and left the house, shoving the paper into his coat pocket. Willow hadn't gone to the Slayer about him, no matter how bad things now were between them. And really, this morning had been more good than bad. That meant someone wanted him to think she had.
The Slayer, or Angelus? Chewbacca couldn't be ruled out either. The address on the card was the Slayer's, but it could be from anyone. Bloody hell, why were their time travel adventures always so complicated?
It could be a trap set by the Slayer to catch him. It could be Angelus. Chewbacca was in there somewhere too, Spike just wasn't sure where.
The address on the card was the only clue he had, so that's where he was going. If nothing else, he could ask for help from the bint.
As he waited impatiently for a carriage to pass by, he heard the front door slam, and turned to see Phillip striding purposefully down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.
"Oh, who's the manly man?" he snickered to himself. "The big bad half demon is going searching for the damsel in distress." Rolling his eyes at the boy, he dashed across the street, dodging another carriage as it barreled past, then took off at a run.
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Willow uncrossed her legs and pushed herself to her feet. The room was cold, with no fire to warm her. And no central heating, of course. Blowing on her hands to keep them warm, she jumped in place a few times, thanking whatever foresight she'd had to put on her tennies today.
Running quickly away might be something she needed to do and she was ready for it.
Hopefully it wouldn't come to that. Angelus and Darla knew they couldn't... well, no that wasn't true. They could hurt her as much as they wanted to, even kill her as long as the Time Stabilizer thingie didn't stop them.
The real question was: Did they fear it enough to keep from killing her? Oh, she really hoped so.
Why wasn't the stupid Time Geek here now, helping her escape? It wanted her and Spike to continue on to eighteen-eighty, so why wasn't it here preventing bad things from happening to her? And bad things would certainly be happening, she had no doubt of that. Angelus was one mean SOB, and with Darla and Drusilla backing him up? He was as close to the devil as she ever hoped to get.
Darkness had fallen hours ago and with it the heat. She could see her breath puff into the air every time she exhaled. Her arms, bare in the sleeveless gown, felt like icicles. Curling her fingers up to keep them from becoming too stiff, she hopped up and down a couple more times, getting her blood circulating.
Her sore and bloody fingers screamed quietly in protest as they bent and straightened. Finally taking pity on them, she slipped them under her arms, hugging herself for warmth as she moved toward the window.
A single crack on the side of the boards, a hard won victory she'd achieved while the sun was setting, let in a slice of moonlight and more cold air.
The pounding had ceased an hour ago leaving her to wonder what it was they'd been doing. Boarding up all the windows?
Loud growling and snarling sounded outside her room, followed by laughter and shouting. A woman yelled, startling Willow. She turned toward the door in annoyance.
Most of the vampires had left just after the sun went down, but she knew Angelus and his bimbos were still around. She could just feel it.
She paced across the room, her tennis shoes mostly noiseless on the wooden floor, only sending up the occasional creak from a loose floorboard. She darted a glance toward the door, knowing he was out there somewhere, knowing he wanted her to sweat, well, figuratively.
"Too bloody cold in here to sweat for real," she yelled at the door, forgetting she wanted to remain under their radar and not draw their attention.
No one came, which only made her more nervous. He wanted her to grow panicked, to freak out and beg him to release her. He was the type that got off on begging.
Her skirts swirled about her ankles as she turned on her heel, pacing back the way she'd come, muttering to herself. On the edge of her mind, way in the back, was Darla's comment about her being in the right position. She refused to think about it, because that way lay panic and fear, sprinkled with unease. Things better left not thought about.
Being on her knees brought too many bad thoughts to mind. Things she couldn't and wouldn't think about. Things she couldn't stop thinking about. Ever. Images of a dark blond vampire grinning at her came to mind, but she shook it away, closing her eyes with a groan. Now was not the time to think about that.
Another image sprang to mind: This one of a snarling vampire tied with old rags, bruised and bleeding, cussing at her with every ounce of fury in him. She pressed her fingers against her eyes, hoping to erase the images, to put out of her mind the things he'd done to her, the things she'd done to him, but they just kept coming.
"Stop it," she muttered, kicking at the wall in front of her. A sigh escaped her and she sank down to the floor. This wasn't like that night. This night would be different. She wouldn't-- she wouldn't do those things again. Angelus couldn't die. A tiny voice in the back of her mind whispered words of pain and torture. Stuff that wouldn't kill a vampire, but would definitely make him think twice about attacking her again.
She shoved the thoughts away, not liking the part of her that wanted Angelus to suffer for everything he'd done to her. Everything he'd done to her friends. To Jenny.
Jenny was dead, so she couldn't exact her own revenge. She was safe from the dark thoughts swirling around in Willow's mind.
Willow wasn't safe. She was in a house of vampires and possibly a dead slayer.
She dropped her head back against the wall, trying to halt the memories of that night.
Tiredness crept over her after a while, from the head injury and the loss of blood. She curled up on the floor, falling asleep as the memories flowed through her.
PAIRING: W/S
RATING: R (15/?)
SUMMARY: Spike uses Willow to go back in time to avoid being implanted by the Initiative... has even one of Spike's plans ever gone right? They end up a little further back in time than he intended.
DEDICATED: To my beta, Claudia! She rules. Helped me work through a ton of stuff, caught things I'd read a hundred times and never noticed, and did the best thing of all; the easiest thing in the world to get a writer to write... she begged for more.
PART 15
Willow quietly closed the door behind her and crept down the stairs, stopping each time they creaked. Spike was asleep. At least she thought he was, it was hard to tell with him sometimes. If he was, she wanted him to stay that way. She had supplies to buy and if she allowed herself to think it, she just really wanted to get out of their room, to get away from him and the deafening silence that had fallen hours before.
Things were just too complicated between them now. She'd screwed up by allowing herself to find comfort in him. By taking that comfort with every greedy ounce of her soul.
She hadn't gotten a whole lot of sleep since her nightmare, only a few hours here and there, broken by points of awkwardness when she awoke to find herself wrapped around Spike. Extricating herself slowly and quietly wasn't as easy as she'd tried to make it. She was sure he was awake and completely aware of her moving away from him. One time she'd even caught him watching her, his face blank, his eyes hard and cold.
Yeah, things between them were definitely weird now. That was the whole reason she'd wanted to keep it from getting too personal. But she'd failed.
The satisfaction and no-longer-tense muscles in her body were good side effects of their encounter, but that was a thought best left for another time. Perhaps late one night when she was unable to sleep.
She tried to creep by the open door of the parlor, not wanting a run-in with Mrs. Pressman, but, as usual, the old woman was there, listening and watching as everyone passed by. The chill that swept over Willow every time she was near the old woman made its way down her spine not bothering to stop when she pulled her shawl tighter around her.
"Mrs. Giles," the old lady called out imperiously.
Willow, having no other alternative, straightened her shoulders, and glided into the dark room, hiding her distaste of the plum colors dominating the room. Her sneakered shoes were silent on the wooden floor, even more so on when she stepped on one of the numerous oriental rugs. Stopping in front of the desk where Mrs. Pressman was seated, she folded her hands in front of her, and smiled politely. "Yes?"
A wrinkled hand lifted, holding a folded piece of paper out to her. "This was left for you. An invitation it seems." A false smile lit her mouth, the only kind Mrs. Pressman had ever shown, Willow was sure. Her gray hair, stretched tightly back into a bun, seemed to move with her mouth, loosening the slightest bit.
Suppressing a nervous giggle, Willow reached out to take the paper, curiosity burning in her. No one knew she was here, except the people--demons--that lived here, and she was pretty sure none of them would invite her to anything.
Mrs. Pressman didn't extend her hand any further than an inch, making Willow reach for it. When her fingers closed over it, she yanked it rudely out of Mrs. Pressman's hand, turned away, and left the room.
She heard quiet cackling behind her, but ignored the old biddy.
Unfolding the thick, rough paper, she read the flowing black script with confusion. Who was Lady Winchester, and why was she inviting Willow... make that Mrs. Giles, to tea? So not gonna happen. There was no way she could go anywhere, she had to get supplies to do the spell, and pack their stuff. And then they would no longer be in this time. Ah, darn, she thought sarcastically, what a bummer.
As she headed toward the front door, she heard slow, steady footsteps on the wood floor behind her. She turned to find Mrs. Pressman standing in the doorway, studying her.
"You are planning on attending, are you not?" One of her thin gray eyebrows soared nearly into her hairline.
Willow, more than ready to get the hell out of Dodge--meaning Mrs. Pressman's boarding house--merely shook her head. "I don't think so. I mean, I don't even know this Lady Winchester." She shrugged and headed for the door again, wanting to get away from the creepy woman.
Mrs. Pressman cleared her throat, clearly waiting for Willow to stop and turn around. Willow didn't want to do it, but she couldn't help herself. She stopped and turned. Damn it.
Her brown eyes pinned Willow in place, forcing another shiver from the younger woman. "Lady Winchester is the Slayer. If she has contacted you, then she must have a good reason." Her lips once again turned up slightly. "Or a good friend." And with that, Mrs. Pressman left Willow alone, her heeled shoes echoing loudly in the open space.
Willow hardly noticed her departure, she was stuck on the woman's last words. She knew only two demons in London that she cared anything about. And one of them was upstairs, asleep. She closed her eyes for a second, hating her life, before running upstairs and banging on Phillip's door. As she'd feared would happen, it stayed closed. Crap. Now what?
Get dressed in her jeans, hire a hansom cab, sneak into the Slayer's house and rescue Phillip? Yeah, right.
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Okay, so she wasn't sneaking into the house, she was ringing the bell. And she wasn't dressed in jeans, she was in her one and only tea gown. Dressing up wasn't her idea of a fun time, but since Spike had ripped open her only other clean gown... it was this or half-nakedness.
The tea gown was one that Samantha had insisted she buy, and Willow had given in after numerous attempts to explain why she didn't need one. Closing her eyes, she forced the pain away, and focused on the here and now. The possible death awaiting her... here and now.
After a few minutes of waiting, and no answer, she stood back, looking up at the windows above her. She saw someone move as a curtain dropped back into place. She was being watched by... something. With new purpose, she strode forward and banged on the door.
"Hello?" she called loudly. A carriage barreled down the street, drowning out her voice. She turned to glare at the noisy vehicle as it passed, and didn't see the door open. Suddenly her arm was grabbed, and she was pulled inside the house.
Willow screamed, clawing at the hand holding her arm, and yanked herself backward. Her head smacked on the doorjamb, stopping her struggles and basically all bodily movement. Pain lanced through her head, then numbness. As she sagged to the ground, her eyes focused on the figure standing over her. The interior of the house was so dark that all she was able to make out was a silhouette before she drifted into unconsciousness.
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Pain throbbed behind Willow's eyes as she tried to focus on one single thing around her, to figure out where she was. Blinding lights and pain shot through her head, traveling to the rest of her body when she squinted at the shape in front of her. It moved a little, so she was sure it was alive. Or maybe she was the one doing the moving.
Her head pounded erratically with-- no, that wasn't her head. It was hammering, distant hammering keeping time with the pain in her head.
"Ow," she moaned, holding herself still. Why was it that she always seemed to end up unconscious and tied-- oh, oh! She was tied up somewhere again? Moving her hands minutely, she confirmed her suspicions. There were definite bondage things happening here. Angelus?
No, she was at the Slayer's house. Laura had tied her up? And was now hammering things?
Listening for sounds to tell her where she was seemed safer than thinking for the moment, because her head was still raging and nausea was roiling in her stomach. She heard voices outside the room--they were too far away to be inside--and what sounded like humming. That was closer though. In fact... she opened her eyes cautiously and turned her head just enough to be able to see the dark-haired vampire sitting on the floor watching her.
Drusilla grinned sweetly at her, her huge brown eyes taking in everything with excitement and anticipation. Willow closed her eyes against the sight of Spike's future lover, looking much like she must've the night Spike climbed out of the grave.
Well, here now was confirmation, wasn't it? She was deeply stupid for listening to Mrs. Pressman, and even more stupid for not waking Spike up to tell him where she was going. No, 'cause then he might've talked you out of going alone, or at all. Then you might be safe, you dummy.
"I remember you," Drusilla whispered from her right side. "You're a witch." Willow felt hands on the back of the chair she was tied to, and then Drusilla's voice was whispering in her left ear. "Daddy's afraid of you, but he doesn't know."
Willow opened her eyes to find Drusilla right in front of her, leaning forward as if imparting a secret, her lips turned up in a secretive smile. "Doesn't know--" Willow whispered through dry, cracked lips. She swallowed and tried again, finding her voice slightly louder. "Doesn't know what?"
And again there was that secret smile and a playful look. "I'll not tell." She held a single finger to her lips. "You're not to know yet."
Oh, and once again her conversation with Drusilla was clearing things up, only in a way that was not. Sure she'd figure out what Drusilla meant someday, probably in a hundred years or so, if she lived that long, but what about now? What good were the supposed powers for, if not to warn someone, or give information when needed? Looking back one day in the future and going, 'Oh! That's what she meant when she said such and such...' didn't help at all.
"Angelus is here?" Straining her ears to hear the voices she'd picked up earlier, she almost missed Drusilla's giggled answer.
"No. Daddy has a new friend to play with."
"New friend..." Willow repeated, her mind racing. Angelus and Darla were up to something. Obviously, otherwise why bring her here?
Spike! She was bait. She hated being bait, dang it.
"Dru," she implored, dipping her head to catch Dru's eyes. Her hair fell forward, obscuring her view. She shook her head back and the strands fell behind her shoulder. Drusilla looked back at her, unconcerned, her eyes glazed over. "Um, Drusilla, listen. Angelus, um your daddy, is doing something he really can't do. He's going to kill my friend. Your friend in the future, you--"
"Hush now," Dru whispered, pressing her fingers against Willow's lips again. "Daddy promised he wouldn't kill him." Her smile turned evil, her eyes glowing with maniacal glee. "He's only going to teach him a lesson."
Angelus' lessons would probably make Spike wish he were dead. She had to get out of there. Now. Closing her eyes she forced herself to concentrate her magick on getting free. It'd worked when she was tied up the last time. Hopefully this time would go as well.
Dru circled around her, dancing in circles as she mimicked whispering voices. "Psst, psst, psst, psst."
"Hecate," Willow whispered, fighting the panic for Spike coursing through her, "release me!" She wasn't too shocked when the ropes around her loosened and dropped away, but she was a bit surprised that that's all it'd taken.
Her spells used to require quite a bit of pleading and desperation. This was a bit easy, maybe even too easy. Then again, practice makes perfect... not that she was perfect. Far from it, in fact, but at least she was heading in the right direction.
"Oh. Uh, thanks," she mumbled, opening her eyes.
Question now was: Could she really get by Dru and out of the house without being killed? Probably not.
"Run and catch..." Drusilla sang, spinning in a circle to the door. "Run and catch." She spun around and faced Willow as she stood up from the chair. Her smile, still firmly in place, and still completely laced with evil intentions, slid even further up her face. "You'll not catch them, lovey..." she looked down almost shyly, then back up again, her face vamped out. "But I'll catch you."
Willow shot forward, hoping to get past Drusilla and out into the hall where she'd be better off. Or hoped to be anyway. Chances were, she'd be worse off with the vampires out there. They had no compunctions about killing her, they didn't know she was supposed to stay alive. Did Drusilla? She'd warned Angelus and Darla, but would she herself have enough restraint to hold back when the bloodlust hit her?
Darting out of Drusilla's grasp, Willow dodged away, further back into the room. Pacing backwards, toward the chair, she considered staking Drusilla and ending it all right then and there, but she couldn't. Spike wouldn't live if she did that. Dru needed to live, and so did Spike.
She needed Spike to live.
"Okay, Dru... see, you can't eat me," she told the other woman, wincing when she saw her lick the corner of her lips. "I'm from the future. You'll ruin things there." She shrugged, hoping Dru would buy the story.
Her demonic grin slipped a little and she looked like a kid who'd had her favorite toy taken away. "But I wanted to play," she said sadly, un-vamping. Her head tilted to the side, her eyes taking in Willow's clutched hands and frightened eyes. "You are from the future," she agreed, but then her smile returned and her eyes cleared. "But your time has already gone by. If I kill you, nothing changes." She leaned closer, her eyes sliding past Willow as if she was listening to someone or something that wasn't there. "A little birdy told me," she confided secretly.
Willow watched fearfully as Drusilla vamped out again and darted froward, jumping at her. Her thin hands circled around Willow's wrists, dragging her closer to her, spinning her around so her back was against the vampire's. "You don't want to do this," Willow told her, pulling desperately at the hands wrapped around her, scraping her nails along Dru's wrists and forearms. "I don't taste very good."
"We'll see about that," Drusilla muttered, snarling as she drew her mouth closer to Willow's neck. "Give us a taste, pet."
She struggled frantically, kicking out, doing everything she could to stop the fangs about to pierce her flesh, but nothing was working. "Spi-- William's not going to like this," she threatened, hoping Drusilla knew what she was talking about without actually knowing. Maybe the little birdy had something to say about that.
Pain ripped into her neck, piercing the tender flesh. Sharp, slicing knives scissored into her, forcing a scream from her lips.
Fury and rage bubbled up inside her, forcing its way to the surface. She could feel the magick simmering around inside her, whispering to her to use it. To taste the true power that comes with vengeance. To hurl Drusilla across the room and shove a stake into her dead heart.
She didn't listen. Not completely. Reaching her hands around behind her as the vampire drank deeply from her, she touched Drusilla's skirts and sent a jolt of energy surging through her hands. Drusilla screamed and reared back with a force and speed that was terrifying, sending tiny shockwaves of pain soaring through Willow's abused body. Her hands no longer clamped around Willow's arms.
She was free. Spinning around to face Drusilla, she had the urge to send another jolt of magick at her, but she was also afraid Drusilla was dead. That lasted for only a second of course, since Drusilla wasn't a pile of ash.
Weakness flooded through her and her knees went out from under her. She sagged limply to the floor. The burst of magick she'd used had drained her a little. She felt empty. No, that wasn't right. She felt emptier. Her magick wasn't completely gone, just diminished.
The door opened, startling her and Drusilla who was just coming to.
"Dru, Dru, Dru," Angelus scolded from the doorway. "You let a little slip of a girl like... that," he said derisively, "get the better of you?" He shook his head from side to side in mock shame. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. I expected much better from you."
"Angelus," Drusilla whispered, licking the blood dripping down her lip. She climbed gracefully to her feet, turning to face the doorway.
Willow groaned, sliding her hand up to her neck, stemming the slowly flowing blood still escaping. Nausea roiled in her stomach, and she started to gag.
"Hey," Angelus called loudly, no longer amused as he strode further into the room, his boots clomping on the wooden floor. "Don't mess the floor up." He waited until she stopped gagging and turned baleful eyes his way before leaning down and whispering, "Red." He stood back up, grinning ferally.
She closed her eyes as Darla sauntered in behind Angelus, her hand sliding possessively up his back as she approached. The small superior smile she always seemed to wear, was there, curling up the corners of her lips and lighting her eyes with malevolence. "Oh, look," she commented, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at Willow, "she's already in the right position."
Willow fought the cold fear trying to run through her veins, knowing it would only make the vampires more excited. More amused with her predicament. Turning an equally unimpressed eye to Darla, Willow looked her up and down, her lips turning up in a smug smile. "Oh, I see," she chided, "you're just not getting the job done yourself, are you?"
Angelus laughed, his amused eyes running over her from head to toe as he held Darla back. "Well now, lass, aren't you just full of piss and vinegar?" he drawled, his accent growing thicker. He tilted his head to the side, and then turned around and left the room. The echo of his boots receded with the three vampires.
Drusilla turned around to hiss at her before she left, holding out two fingers in a hook-like gesture, and then she was gone with the rest of them and the only sounds left were the slamming of the door.
No locks turned, but with vampire guards, they didn't need them.
Shivering in the sudden emptiness of the cold room, she hugged her knees to her, looking around her for a way out. The room was empty but for her former seat and the ropes on the floor. There was one door, guarded, and one boarded-up window.
Turning to face the back wall, she crossed her feet at the ankles and held her hands out to the nailed boards across the window. She tried to think of a specific spell she could use on the boards, but came up empty. Well, okay, she could pray with the best of them.
"Hecate, or Diana, really any Goddess out there, um, could you please help me out here? I-- I don't have any offerings, or a spell really, but free the window, and uh," she thought frantically trying to come up with something a Goddess might like, but her mind was empty. Frustrated with herself, she realized that she was thinking like a victim, not a survivor. Since meeting up again with Spike, she'd seriously neglected her studies, falling back on old habits, allowing him to protect her rather than her own powers and strengths.
She should know better than that. This incident proved to her once again that she had only herself to rely on. "Well, okay," she began again, "I'll set up a plate of offerings that'll make your mouth water. If you have a mouth-- which is not really the point. So, free the window, and, um, a ladder wouldn't be turned down." Swallowing past the dryness in her throat, she opened her eyes, hoping to see the boards drop to the floor and feel warm sunshine flooding over her cold body.
But the boards were still firmly in place.
Fine, if the Powers That Be didn't want to help her, she'd have to help herself. Standing a little shakily, she strode over to the window, sliding her fingers under the boards.
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Spike paced the room restlessly, tossing a glance at the door every few minutes. It was well past dark and still there was no sign of Willow. Where the hell was she?
Hearing a lock turn next door, he strode to his own door and yanked it open. Phillip was there, in the hall, about to go inside his room. He turned his head in Spike's direction then looked away briefly, shaking his head.
"William," he greeted, his tone just derisive enough to irk Spike.
"Where's Willow?" Spike asked, glaring at him across the twenty foot distance. Phillip was his last chance at finding her safe. If he didn't know where she was, then something had happened. Chewbacca? Or Angelus? Clenching his fists, he vamped out, crossing to Phillip. "Where's my wife?"
"You lost Willow?" he asked, stopping midway into his room to turn to Spike. His eyes stayed fast on Spike's face, his mouth tightening in anger.
The concern in his voice grated against Spike's nerves. He had no right to be concerned about Willow. She was his phony wife, not Phillip's.
"Do you know where she is?" Spike snarled, grabbing fistfuls of Phillip's frilly white shirt. "Start talking or I'll start tearing your bits off."
Phillip pushed his hands between Spike's arms and pried himself free, snarling right back at Spike. His eyes went red, and his face started to shimmer. "Never touch me, vampire. I'll kill you, even against Willow's wishes." The shape of his head began to move and reform, the air around them hummed. Phillip closed his eyes and then everything shifted again, snapping back into place. When his eyes opened again, they were human. "I haven't seen her since last night." He shoved his door open and went inside, slamming the door shut. The wood shook in its frame, rattling the doorknob.
Spike slammed his fist down on the wooden railing, spinning back around to his room. Grabbing his frock coat from the chair inside, he left, shutting the door behind him. Halfway down the stairs, he felt Mrs. Pressman watching him and turned to see her standing in the doorway of the drawing room.
Ignoring her beady eyes following him through the foyer, he stomped to the door. As his hand closed around it, she spoke, her words surprising him.
"Your wife is with the Slayer."
Spike dropped his hand, took a single breath in, and turned to face the old lady. "The Slayer has her?" he ground out, striding across the foyer toward her. "Where is she?"
Mrs. Pressman held out a thin, folded piece of paper, shaking her head regally. "The Slayer does not... have her. She was invited, and your wife willingly chose to go."
Willow went to see the Slayer? What the hell for? They were supposed to be leaving tonight, right now. Suspicious that this had something to do with their earlier activities, he swallowed back a groan. Bloody hell! Couldn't she wait until they left to freak out?
Opening the folded sheet of paper, he read the flowing black script with a frown.
'Mrs. Giles,' it read, 'I would be happy to take care of your husband for you. Please meet me at my home.' It was signed, Laura.
Not believing it for a minute, Spike crumpled the note up and left the house, shoving the paper into his coat pocket. Willow hadn't gone to the Slayer about him, no matter how bad things now were between them. And really, this morning had been more good than bad. That meant someone wanted him to think she had.
The Slayer, or Angelus? Chewbacca couldn't be ruled out either. The address on the card was the Slayer's, but it could be from anyone. Bloody hell, why were their time travel adventures always so complicated?
It could be a trap set by the Slayer to catch him. It could be Angelus. Chewbacca was in there somewhere too, Spike just wasn't sure where.
The address on the card was the only clue he had, so that's where he was going. If nothing else, he could ask for help from the bint.
As he waited impatiently for a carriage to pass by, he heard the front door slam, and turned to see Phillip striding purposefully down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.
"Oh, who's the manly man?" he snickered to himself. "The big bad half demon is going searching for the damsel in distress." Rolling his eyes at the boy, he dashed across the street, dodging another carriage as it barreled past, then took off at a run.
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Willow uncrossed her legs and pushed herself to her feet. The room was cold, with no fire to warm her. And no central heating, of course. Blowing on her hands to keep them warm, she jumped in place a few times, thanking whatever foresight she'd had to put on her tennies today.
Running quickly away might be something she needed to do and she was ready for it.
Hopefully it wouldn't come to that. Angelus and Darla knew they couldn't... well, no that wasn't true. They could hurt her as much as they wanted to, even kill her as long as the Time Stabilizer thingie didn't stop them.
The real question was: Did they fear it enough to keep from killing her? Oh, she really hoped so.
Why wasn't the stupid Time Geek here now, helping her escape? It wanted her and Spike to continue on to eighteen-eighty, so why wasn't it here preventing bad things from happening to her? And bad things would certainly be happening, she had no doubt of that. Angelus was one mean SOB, and with Darla and Drusilla backing him up? He was as close to the devil as she ever hoped to get.
Darkness had fallen hours ago and with it the heat. She could see her breath puff into the air every time she exhaled. Her arms, bare in the sleeveless gown, felt like icicles. Curling her fingers up to keep them from becoming too stiff, she hopped up and down a couple more times, getting her blood circulating.
Her sore and bloody fingers screamed quietly in protest as they bent and straightened. Finally taking pity on them, she slipped them under her arms, hugging herself for warmth as she moved toward the window.
A single crack on the side of the boards, a hard won victory she'd achieved while the sun was setting, let in a slice of moonlight and more cold air.
The pounding had ceased an hour ago leaving her to wonder what it was they'd been doing. Boarding up all the windows?
Loud growling and snarling sounded outside her room, followed by laughter and shouting. A woman yelled, startling Willow. She turned toward the door in annoyance.
Most of the vampires had left just after the sun went down, but she knew Angelus and his bimbos were still around. She could just feel it.
She paced across the room, her tennis shoes mostly noiseless on the wooden floor, only sending up the occasional creak from a loose floorboard. She darted a glance toward the door, knowing he was out there somewhere, knowing he wanted her to sweat, well, figuratively.
"Too bloody cold in here to sweat for real," she yelled at the door, forgetting she wanted to remain under their radar and not draw their attention.
No one came, which only made her more nervous. He wanted her to grow panicked, to freak out and beg him to release her. He was the type that got off on begging.
Her skirts swirled about her ankles as she turned on her heel, pacing back the way she'd come, muttering to herself. On the edge of her mind, way in the back, was Darla's comment about her being in the right position. She refused to think about it, because that way lay panic and fear, sprinkled with unease. Things better left not thought about.
Being on her knees brought too many bad thoughts to mind. Things she couldn't and wouldn't think about. Things she couldn't stop thinking about. Ever. Images of a dark blond vampire grinning at her came to mind, but she shook it away, closing her eyes with a groan. Now was not the time to think about that.
Another image sprang to mind: This one of a snarling vampire tied with old rags, bruised and bleeding, cussing at her with every ounce of fury in him. She pressed her fingers against her eyes, hoping to erase the images, to put out of her mind the things he'd done to her, the things she'd done to him, but they just kept coming.
"Stop it," she muttered, kicking at the wall in front of her. A sigh escaped her and she sank down to the floor. This wasn't like that night. This night would be different. She wouldn't-- she wouldn't do those things again. Angelus couldn't die. A tiny voice in the back of her mind whispered words of pain and torture. Stuff that wouldn't kill a vampire, but would definitely make him think twice about attacking her again.
She shoved the thoughts away, not liking the part of her that wanted Angelus to suffer for everything he'd done to her. Everything he'd done to her friends. To Jenny.
Jenny was dead, so she couldn't exact her own revenge. She was safe from the dark thoughts swirling around in Willow's mind.
Willow wasn't safe. She was in a house of vampires and possibly a dead slayer.
She dropped her head back against the wall, trying to halt the memories of that night.
Tiredness crept over her after a while, from the head injury and the loss of blood. She curled up on the floor, falling asleep as the memories flowed through her.