Chapter 9
A Letter from Oz

"I was waiting. I feel like some part of me will always be waiting."
-Willow, 'New Moon Rising'

Spike gave the old refrigerator a final shove, settling it firmly against the crypt wall. He reached down and plugged the machine into one of the extension cords Willow had bought him as a 'crypt-warming' present. Clever of her to suggest finding a place with an existing tap into the city's electrical grid. There was even a makeshift shower down in the lower caverns. He'd only had to kill three vampires to get it, too. As far as Spike was concerned, his new place was perfect, thanks to his Red.

My beautiful, dark goddess, Spike thought, not for the first time, as he unloaded cartons of blood into his new fridge. Soon, very soon, he'd get her to work her magic on that chip of his. And then…then he would turn her, and she would be his forever. He grinned evilly at the thought.

Spike closed the door to his refrigerator, then froze at the sound of metal scraping on concrete. Someone was opening the door to his crypt, and he didn't think it was the Slayer. She'd probably just kick the door in. This sound was more stealthy.

He fumbled for his crossbow, then relaxed as the figure entering the crypt became recognizable. Willow. He sighed in relief, then frowned as she came closer. Her eyes and nose were red and swollen, as if she'd been crying very hard. Something was wrong, badly wrong.

"What is it, princess?" he asked with real concern. No one hurt his girl and got away with it, chip or no chip.

Willow didn't answer, just sniffed and handed him a piece of paper. It was a letter, a short one, and it didn't take Spike long to skim down to the source of the problem.

'I miss you each and every day. I hope it won't be long until I can see you again. Love always, Oz.'

Spike took a moment to digest this piece of news. He wanted to smash something, violently. Preferably Dog Boy's face. But that wouldn't be much help to Red.

"Fido's got a lot of nerve," he finally said.

"I didn't know who else to go to," Willow said with a sob.

"Come here, pet." He sat down in his chair and pulled her into his lap, cradling and rocking her as she cried softly into his shoulder.

"I'd be angry if I were you," Spike noted quietly, after her sobs had calmed somewhat.

"Why?" Willow asked artlessly, worn out by her crying binges.

"He cheats on you, leaves town, then out of the blue he sends you a letter and expects everything to be okay." Spike glanced over at the offending document. "A short letter, at that."

"He isn't much of a writer," she defended reflexively.

"Not much of a talker, not much of a writer. Tell me, is he much of anything, besides a quitter?"

"Spike!"

Spike knew he needed to rein in his anger and change his tactics, or he'd drive Willow further away. He just wasn't sure if he could do it.

"I'm sorry, love. I just hate to see you this way," he apologized, kissing the top of her head.

"I'm just not sure what to do," she told him, looking very lost indeed.

"Don't see as there's anything you need to do. He wrote you a short note. End of story, and you get on with your life."

"But he loves me, and misses me, and he's coming back soon!"

"So you just put your life on hold and wait for him, despite all that he did to you?" Spike was incredulous.

"Didn't you take Drusilla back after she cheated on you? Several times?" The redhead's gaze was pointed.

"Which is why I know it's not a very good idea," he parried, "Besides, we had a lot of history together, a century of it. Makes a difference."

Willow considered this, then argued, "But Oz and I had a history together. Maybe not a hundred years, but we had several. We'd been dating since high school, after all."

"True, but high school relationships rarely last into college. You see it all the time," Spike argued, "If it hadn't been with Lassie girl, it would have been with someone else. Some band groupie, no doubt."

"Oz isn't like that!" Willow protested, "He's different. There were extenuating circumstances, that's all!"

Spike realized he was digging himself further into a hole, and backed off. He decided to change the subject to one of his favorite topics.

"What about a good, stiff drink, then?" he offered.

"I don't really want to go to the Bronze right now," she sniffed, pulling a tissue from her pocket.

"Don't need to, so long as you don't mind whiskey. My crypt is fully stocked."

"Whiskey?" she asked hesitantly.

"We'll do shots, you'll barely notice the taste," Spike promised, getting up to fetch the bottle and glasses. "It'll make you feel better," he wheedled.

"Okay, then," she agreed softly, clearly remembering the last time she got drunk with Spike, and how good it felt.

"Cheers," Spike said, pouring out the first round.

Willow sat cross-legged on the crypt floor, across from Spike, and watched the amber liquid slowly filling the shot glasses. It twinkled appealingly in the candlelight. This was the fourth or fifth round, she'd lost count, and already the world seemed a friendlier place. She hadn't much cared for the taste of whiskey, but the end result was to leave her pleasantly numb.

She watched Spike out of the corner of her eye, too. His bleached blond hair seemed almost to glow in the gloom of the crypt. He is so handsome, she thought to herself, Almost too perfect, aside from the vampire thing.

That thought brought her back to the decision before her. The vampire, or the werewolf? The question echoed in her head, driving out all other thoughts. Gone was the happy warmth of the alcohol. She needed to make a decision, but how? She was caught between the man she had loved, who had betrayed her, and a man she was really starting to like, who might betray her at any time. Which one could she trust?

Willow looked up to find Spike's brilliant blue eyes fixed on her. She realized she'd been staring at her drink for several minutes. Blushing, she hurriedly drank it down, hoping to cover her lapse. It went down a bit smoother than the others had, and she was hopeful that she might be getting the hang of drinking shots.

Spike was still watching her, though, his own drink sitting untasted on the concrete.

"What do you need, princess?" he finally asked her.

"What do you mean?" she asked in confusion.

"Besides getting good and drunk, what do you need to make this better? Do you want me to cheer you up? Do you want to go smash things, or set something on fire? Do you want me to listen to you, or would you rather not talk about it? The sky's the limit. Just tell me what you need."

Willow thought about what he'd said for a long moment. She knew she needed to talk to someone, and Spike was the only one who would understand her dilemma. It was part of why she'd come over in the first place. But how could she talk to him about it objectively, when he was half of the problem?

"I want to talk to you about it, you're the only one I might be able to talk to about it, but I don't think I can talk to you about it," she confessed slowly. "I just don't think you could be unbiased. It does concern you, after all."

It was Spike's turn to be silent for a while. He drained his drink, set the empty glass next to Willow's, then looked at her gravely.

"Try me," he said quietly.

She looked him over, trying to gauge how serious he was. Finally, she began to speak.

"I guess it comes down to a simple choice: do I stay with you and find out if there's anything real between us, or do I break up with you and wait for the man I love?"

"You're right, I'm not going to be unbiased. Not if those are my only options."

"What else is there?" Willow wondered.

"You could stay with me until the day he actually shows up. Wait to make your decision until then," he offered.

"I don't think that's very fair to you, though, is it? You'd always be wondering if I was thinking about Oz," she said, after pondering it for a moment.

"I'll take my chances. I'd much prefer it to you sitting at home, alone, waiting for some bloke who might never come back. What if you're waiting forever?" he asked.

"He said he's coming back soon, though," Willow insisted.

"No, he said he hoped he'd see you soon, that's not much of a promise, in my book. Anything could happen to change his mind," Spike informed her.

"See, I told you that you would be biased," she announced, stubbornly sticking to her interpretation of the note. Oz was coming back. And she needed to be ready for him.

"I'd like to think your friends would actually be bright enough to point out the flaws in your logic, if they were here instead."

Willow ignored the insult to the Scoobies. "My logic isn't flawed. Besides, what would you do if you got a letter from Drusilla?"

"Chuck it in to the rubbish, no doubt. Dru and I are over, pet, and I'm smart enough to know it. I've moved on."

Willow found herself the focus of that intense, blue stare once again. She shifted uncomfortably, not sure what, exactly, Spike was thinking, but fairly sure she didn't want to know. Nothing could distract her from her path, now. She realized that she'd made her decision at some point. Now she just had to follow through with it.

"We can still be friends, though, can't we?" she pleaded faintly.

Spike was silent for another long moment. He took up the bottle and poured out another round, knocking his drink back with ease. Just when Willow was starting to worry about his answer, he finally spoke.

"Yeah, princess, we can still be friends," he said dully.

The use of her pet name made Willow inexplicably sad. "It wouldn't have worked out between us, anyway," she told him, laying a hand on his arm.

"You've made up your mind, so I'm not going to argue with you," he stated, pouring himself yet another shot. "Finish your drink, and we'll get you home while you can still walk."

Willow didn't really want to end the night on that note, but she figured it was probably for the best. She'd made her decision, after all. She dutifully drank down her last shot, collected her letter, and followed Spike out into the graveyard.

A trash can sailed through the night, landing atop of several others with a crash. Spike growled in frustration, and felt his face shifting as he savagely kicked another trash can down the alley. Great, all vamped out and no one to bite, he thought bitterly. He'd dropped Willow off at her dormitory safely, and found himself seriously needing to blow off some steam. The thought that a few lines of drivel from the mutt could put all his plans in ruins just made his blood boil. How was he going to get her back, now?

He was looking around for something else to damage, when a slight noise behind him made him whirl. He'd never admit it to anyone, but he was a lot jumpier since his escape from that lab.

It was a girl, growing wide-eyed with fright as she took in the sight of his true face. He snarled at her, knowing it was a fruitless gesture, but not caring in the least. She screamed and threw something at him before dashing off into the night. Usually, that was his cue to chase her down. At least I can still frighten people, he thought wryly, even if I can't follow up on it. He didn't know whether to smile or break something.

He glanced down at the object he'd caught when she tossed it at him. It was her pocketbook, some silly clear plastic thing with pink edging. He snorted in disgust and started to toss it over his shoulder. Wait a tick…Something caught his eye, and he quickly unsnapped the purse, fishing out his prize. Then he chucked the ridiculous thing into the rubbish. He quickly flipped open the silly bint's wallet and snagged the cash inside. It wasn't much, but it was more than he'd had a minute ago. Wallet followed handbag into the bin, and he let his face shift back as he pondered his little encounter. Now here was a potential cash flow he hadn't even thought of. It was a hell of a lot less work than picking pockets, his previous source of income since his little 'change'. Hell of a lot more fun, too, he reflected with a smile. Having found a new outlet for his frustration, he headed off to find someone else who'd be willing to make a 'donation' or two.

It was his third hit of the night when he found the solution to his problems. An older couple had just handed over a purse and wallet. Spike stripped them both of cash and was about to pocket his 'earnings', when he noticed there was something else mixed in with the money. Two pieces of stiff paper were sitting in the palm of his hand. He was about to toss them into the garbage, too, when a name printed on one caught his eye. He scrutinized them both, then began to laugh at his good fortune. This was how he was going to get Willow back. It was perfect. Now he just needed the cash to pull it off. Better get to work, he thought, I've got a lot to do, and very little time to do it in.