Title: Time Stitches You (19/?)
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
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 all the people who have read this story, who've given me feedback, and still bug me to this day to finish this and all my other unfinished fics. Thank you all so very much!
A/N: I may be working on a few different fics at once, so, expect a week or more between chapters to be on the safe side. (including one old one that I never posted, but is nearly finished. Again, I'll be reworking the writing because of how much my style has changed)

Willow let her fingers linger on Spike's thigh longer than was necessary as she cleaned up the blood. The white cloth Christine had given her was mostly red now, staining her fingers. Her eyes followed the water as it ran down his leg, painting his skin pink as it dripped to the wooden table beneath him. It sluiced over the wound, showing a wider, deeper hole than she'd expected to find. She felt the solid muscle and bone beneath her fingertips.

Felt Spike shifting beneath her hands as she stood close beside him, cleaning his leg, the act more intimate than it should've been.

Good god, blood and wounds weren't turn ons for her. What was wrong with her?

Glancing at his face as he downed another swallow of whiskey, she wiped the area around the wound again, cleaning the blood free from his pale skin. There were still pieces of wood lodged inside the wound and she knew she'd have to remove them. Nausea roiled in her stomach, replacing the intimacy with disgust.

Picking little slivers of wood from a gaping hole in Spike's leg wasn't her idea of a fun topper to this day.

Sucking it up, since she was responsible for the wound being there in the first place, she grabbed the tweezers Christine had given her and hovered them over his leg.

Spike watched her for a few moments before finally gesturing to her hand. "Go on, then." His cigarette dangled from his lips, eyes settling on hers when she continued to hesitate. "Not like I can't take it, Willow. Vampire, remember?"

It was a good reminder, and one she needed, because the thought of causing him more pain made her chest hurt. He was a vampire. Evil and soulless, and- and... evil.

That never really worked anymore, hadn't for months. Years, if she wanted to get technical.

Flicking her eyes to his face once more, then back down to the wound, she drew in a breath and closed the tweezers over the biggest hunk of wood in the wound. "Ready?"

He nodded, resting his arm on his forehead, dangling his cigarette between his fingers. Smoke escaped his lips as he spoke, rising up and then billowing around him like a halo. "Been ready for a while now. Just waiting on you. Do it quickly."

Right. Like a bandage. She swallowed thickly, pulling lightly on the piece of wood. It moved, sliding along the raw skin. Bile rose in her throat.

This was good though, right? It meant that she wasn't really cut out to be evil, not if she couldn't stand hurting someone. Even though she'd been the one to actually hurt him in the first place. And had done so to Angelus, Dru, Darla, all the others.

The one who'd almost raped her.

Shoving those thoughts aside, concentrating solely on Spike, she planted her feet on the floor, braced herself, then yanked on the piece of wood.

A pained shout left him, smothered in his throat as he slammed his head back on the table. His free hand clenched the table edge with white knuckles. "Bloody fucking hell!" He sucked in a breath, then let it out in a rush when she hesitated. "Don't... don't stop."

Gasping out a loud, desperate breath, she pulled the wood all the way free, dropped it in the bowl beside him, then shook her whole body in disgust. "Ugh! Yuck!"

He chuckled darkly at her reaction and waved her on, drawing more smoke into his lungs with a shaking hand. Pain colored his eyes and tightened his lips.

That, and the remembered feel of the wood sliding free, made her shudder again. Instead of indulging the disgust, she forced herself to continue in order to get it over with as quickly as possible. Bending her head to the task, she blinked back the nausea and steadied her trembling hand.

Spike's fingers settled on hers briefly, holding her still. "It's okay," he insisted, voice thick with suppressed pain. His eyes were steady on hers, something dark and unreadable in them. Swallowing thickly, she wondered suddenly; did he want the pain over with quickly because it hurt so much? Or did he want her to keep going because he was enjoying the pain?

Vampire, he'd just reminded her not a minute before. And vampires enjoyed pain.

Oh, god, was this turning him on?

Shoving the thought aside with an addendum to return to it later, she grasped the piece of wood sticking out of the bloody wound, bracing for the feel of it sliding free. She watched his face, trying to gauge his reaction to the pain.

There was something in his eyes... something she didn't like, but couldn't look away from either.

As she pulled the sliver out, hiding her shudder at the feel of it sliding along his raw flesh, she saw him grit his teeth and suck in a deep breath, grunting once the piece was free. His eyes didn't waver from hers except to dip down to her mouth briefly, and she knew for certain.

The pain was turning him on.

Oh, god.

That wasn't something she'd ever allowed herself to consider, to think about, to know. She didn't want to know that Spike got off on pain. Didn't want to know that he liked it, and craved it, maybe needed it. There were more things she'd learned on this interminable trip through time than she'd ever wanted to know, and now all she wanted was to un-know them.

Un-know that Angel had raped- no. Angelus had done those things, not Angel. But she wasn't sure she could ever look at Angel the same way again. She'd never truly feel safe around him again, despite what she'd told Spike.

And Spike himself. He liked pain just like Angelus and Darla. He liked giving it. Hadn't he told her not too long ago that he'd tortured and killed people with railroad spikes, and that he'd enjoyed it?

He was enjoying this.

Had he raped anyone? She'd never allowed herself to think about it, and didn't want to now, especially after having slept with him. Because... because just thinking she knew the answer was making her chest tight and her eyes burn. Despair swept through her.

She wanted to hide from the knowledge.

Bending her head, concentrating on the task at hand, she dropped her eyes to the wound in his thigh and pushed aside her feelings, and his feelings, and set about completing the task. But it wasn't that simple. The knowledge was still there.

She knew the answer as much as she knew her own name.

Guilt poured through her for allowing herself to care for him so much, for sleeping with him. For all the men and women he'd hurt over the past century or more. The people he'd killed since going back in time and being free to do so.

Had he raped anyone since then?

Angelus had warned her about the women Spike was feeding on in Galway and she'd naively asked Spike if he was sleeping with them too, but what she hadn't considered, hadn't allowed herself to consider, was that he might have been raping them. Forcing them to give him, not just their lives, but their bodies as well.

And now that those thoughts were there, she couldn't make them go away.

She slid another piece free roughly, her guilt ratcheting up a notch. He winced and frowned her way, though it only registered distantly.

Nausea rose in her; she'd slept with him knowing he was a killer.

But then, was she any better than him? She'd killed. She'd tortured. And, despite all her protests to the contrary, despite telling herself it wasn't true, she'd actually enjoyed hurting those vampires tonight. Enjoyed hurting Drusilla and Angelus and Darla.

And she'd done this to Spike. It was her fault he was injured. Her fault she cared. Her fault he was killing again.

Round and round it went.

Spike's lips stayed pressed tight and he went still, only letting out an occasional grunt or groan here and there as she worked. His eyes slid from hers once or twice, and she wondered if he knew her thoughts. Wondered if he could see the questions and pain and guilt on her face.

Or maybe he was angry with her for causing the injury. For injuring Dru. Had to be, right? She'd done it without thinking, just acted, hurting not just Dru, but everyone within reach. Including him. And no matter how much he might enjoy pain, nearly being killed by the debris flying around had to have angered him.

Well, she was angry at herself, too, and-

Christine bustled in as Willow pulled another piece out with a clumsy hand. She was carrying a handful of jars and ointments and a rag tossed over her shoulder. "I've got just about everything ready for the spell," she told them, gaze sweeping over Spike's leg with a business-like eye. "Make sure you get all the pieces out or it might not heal up right."

Willow nodded, biting her lip, keeping her hand steady. Grabbing the last sliver, she slipped it free and dropped the tweezers to the table with a clatter. Stepping back with a gasp, she desperately drew in air, choking for so many reasons. "Done. I'm s- sorry." Wiping her hands on the cloth Christine silently handed her, she turned away, not wanting to see the accusation or blame in Spike's gaze.

Not wanting him to see hers.

Staring at the jars and herbs on the shelves behind the table, she hurried over, picking out the ones she needed for an herbal, healing paste.

She heard him moving behind her and stiffened up, tossing a glance over her shoulder at him. He sat up, downing a swig of whiskey, then tossed his cigarette in the bowl of bloody water. His eyes met hers briefly before sliding away again. "Pain's mostly gone now."

Turning back to the jars and shelves and books, she tried to tamp down the panic surging through her.

This was why they couldn't be involved.

Losing Spike wasn't an option, not while they were traveling together through time. Not while she had feelings for him. Not while- grabbing the last jar she needed, she set them on the table and went to work, ignoring Spike and Christine.

Caring about Spike was one thing. Needing him was another. And she had no intention of letting it go that far.

What would Buffy and Xander think if they got back home and- when they got back home. Not if. There was no if, only when. She wouldn't allow herself to think about that either. Shoving the two thoughts aside for another day, she sprinkled a little more ginger into the mixture and ground it up.

"Willow."

She didn't look at him, didn't need to. That tone was enough to alert her to the fact that he was about to ask her what was wrong or if she was all right. She really wasn't, so she didn't bother glancing his way. "Yeah?" Adding a small amount of water to the herbs, she ground it harder.

Instead of asking his questions as she'd expected, he sighed. "Can we just get to 1880 before you drown yourself in guilt?"

That was a laugh. Did he think she wanted to feel this way? That she lived for blaming herself and seeing things the way they were? Or would be. As they would be when they returned to Sunnydale. Even if she got past his past, Buffy would never be okay with her and Spike. Xander would probably have a fit. And... Spike probably didn't want anything more than a body to slake his lust in anyway.

Would Xander and Buffy try to kill him?

Giles.

She sighed.

He'd probably send her all those disapproving looks she hated, the ones she'd seen on only a few occasions, and never wanted to see again.

But it was her life. And Spike's. Not theirs.

What right did they have to-

"Stop it," Spike bit out, turning her around and taking her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. "Stop thinking whatever it is you're thinking." His thumb rubbed roughly over her forehead, as if smoothing out the frown lines there. "If this is blame, or guilt, or-"

"Let's just..." Wrapping her fingers around his hands, she freed her face from his grip and hastily dropped his hands. Scooping out a good amount of the paste, she darted her eyes to his then down again. "This'll probably hurt."

He was silent for a few moments, eyes watching hers as she avoided his gaze. His fingers grazed her waist before dropping his hands to his sides. They were idle only for a second before he grabbed the whiskey bottle again. "I'm sure it will," he agreed, breath leaving him in a scoff.