Chapter 16
Echoes of the Past

Spike: "It's Spike, now. You'd do well to remember it, mate."
Angel: "I'm not your mate. And when'd you start talking like that?"
-Fool for Love

"We need to talk about your back story," Willow insisted, trying to push away from Spike.

It was Friday evening, and they were standing in Willow's dorm room. She'd decided to wear one of her new outfits to the Bronze. It was apparently a big success, because now she couldn't get Spike to let go of her.

"I thought we were here to work on my disguise," he countered, nuzzling at her neck.

Gone was the all-black ensemble that Spike usually favored. Even his trademark duster had stayed home. Instead, Spike wore light-colored khakis, a white t-shirt, and a light blue dress shirt. The change was a little disorienting for Willow, so used to the other outfit.

"We can do both," Willow insisted, finally breaking free of Spike's grasp. "We need to have your story straight before we go in there. Where are you from? Where did you go to school? When did you come to Sunnydale? How many brothers and sisters do you have?"

"You think they're going to grill me about my siblings?" Spike said incredulously, "Good thing I was an only child."

"You were? See, I didn't know that. I need to know these sorts of things," Willow insisted.

"Relax, love. I've got answers to all of your questions. I've been thinking about it for days," he responded.

"You have?" She was pleasantly surprised.

"Of course I have. It's no fun if our charade gets unmasked, is it?" he paused, thinking for a moment, then asked, "The Watcher won't be there, will he?"

"Giles? No, he usually doesn't come. Why?" she asked, curious.

"He's the only one who could trip me up but good. I'm afraid my knowledge of London landmarks isn't as up-to-date as I'd like," Spike admitted.

"Speaking of 'Watcher', you'll need to watch what you say. William doesn't know anything about vampires, so words like 'Watcher', 'Slayer', and 'demon' aren't in your vocabulary.

"I'll be careful. Like I said, I've thought this through," he reassured her.

"I'm just worried, that's all. One slip of the tongue could give the whole thing away," Willow noted.

"That goes for you, too. Don't go calling me 'Spike' in front of everyone," he cautioned, "Now let's get to work on that glamour of yours."

Willow conceded that he was probably right. She had them both sit down on the bed, then turned to face him.

"Okay, this spell takes some time to cast the first time, but after we cast it once, we can call up the same image again very quickly, using keywords," she lectured, "It's one of the advantages of this particular glamour spell."

"I'm in your hands, pet," Spike said amiably, "Whatever you think is best."

Willow nodded in acknowledgement, and began to chant slowly. She focused on Spike's face as it was, then closed her eyes to concentrate once she had the image locked in her mind. Slowly, she began to alter that image to the one she wanted. She'd thought long and hard about what she wanted to do.

The scar over the eyebrow was the first thing to go. It was too well-known, too obviously Spike. Then she softened the lines of his cheekbones and jaw, making them less pronounced. She made the face a trifle fuller, too, and gave it some color.

The hair was next. She softened it, made it wavy and loose. Most importantly, she darkened the color to a nice mousy brown.

Finally, the crowning touch. Willow gave Spike a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, nice looking ones. That would fit perfectly with their 'English Lit. major' back story, and it was miles away from William the Bloody. No one would ever guess.

Willow chanted the last, sealing words of the spell, and opened her eyes to view her handiwork.

A near-stranger sat on the bed next to her. Only Spike's blue eyes were the same, peering out from behind William's glasses.

"That's going to take some getting used to," she admitted, "Take a look and see what you think."

Spike, or rather, William, looked at her oddly. "I can't, love. No reflection, remember?"

"You have one, now," she announced, well pleased with herself, "That's another advantage to this spell."

He looked shocked, then eagerly went to look in the mirror. He stopped dead when he saw his reflection, and stood motionless for a long while. Finally, he spoke.

"Take it off." His voice was deadly quiet.

"What? But why? We need it for tonight…"

"Change it, pick something else. Give me dreadlocks, I don't care. Just take it off."

"What's wrong, Spike? Why don't you like it?" Willow frowned, confused about Spike's reaction to her choices.

"I said 'take it off,'" he yelled, coming around the bed to face her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her roughly, then recoiled in pain as the chip fired.

"I don't care what you do, or how you do it," he continued in a low, breathy voice, "Just take this bloody spell off…"

Spike broke off then, as the door opened and Buffy entered.

"Buffy," Willow said hesitantly, still in shock over Spike's outburst, "What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at the Bronze."

"We are. I just forgot my purse." The blonde looked over at the room's other occupant, and said, "You must be William."

Spike stood there for a long moment, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. Before the silence got too awkward, though, he shook himself and extended a hand to take Buffy's.

In a cultured London accent, he said, "It's a pleasure to meet you. Willow's told me all about you."

Willow's jaw almost dropped. Spike had assured her that he could do a different accent, but after hearing his American one, she hadn't been so sure. Now she stood in awe as he pulled off a flawless accent that matched his new persona perfectly.

"Well, I'm glad one of us has information about the other," Buffy laughed.

Willow grimaced a bit at that, but let it go. She didn't miss the fact that Buffy had leaned to the side, trying to catch William's reflection in the mirror behind him. The unnecessary double-check left Willow feeling a little disgruntled with her roommate.

"Well, shall we go?" Buffy asked, scooping up her purse. "The rest of the gang should be waiting."

"Lead on," Spike gestured towards the door, before offering Willow an arm. The three of them set out for the Bronze.

Spike managed to recover from his shock by the time they reached the Bronze. He was still seething from the latest turn of events, though. That Willow's stupid disguise would end up looking so much like the real William, he couldn't believe. Now he was stuck like this all night, in front of the Scoobies. It didn't matter to him that no one else knew the truth, the face he was wearing was part of a persona he'd given up ages ago.

And with an accent to match! Spike was actually surprised it had come back to him so easily. He'd been practicing his working-class, northern accent for so long that it had become second-nature to him. He never dreamed that he'd be able to drop back into his native speech pattern without a thought.

As they reached the door of the Bronze, Spike brought himself back into the present. He had a role to play, a performance that could cost him his life if he didn't do it correctly. He had to focus.

He paid the cover for all three of them, then held the door for the girls as they entered. Drinks, he decided, would be the first order of business.

"Rum and coke, princess?" he asked, and didn't miss the guilty, sidelong glance Willow gave her roommate.

"Just a coke, thanks," she said, blushing a little.

"And for you, Buffy?" he turned towards the blonde.

"Oh, thank you! Um, a coke is fine," she said, seemingly disarmed by his courtesy.

He collected their drinks, and joined the others at their table. Now was the true test of his disguise. Buffy hadn't noticed anything, but perhaps one of the others might. Introductions were made, and Spike shook hands all around.

"You've got cold hands," Xander observed, tensing and looking around for a mirror. He apparently found one, because he relaxed again. Spike was grateful for Willow's foresight in choosing her spell.

"Poor circulation," Spike answered readily, "It runs in the family." It was true, depending on how you looked at it.

"So, William," Buffy began, after an awkward pause, "Where in England are you from?"

"I'm from London, originally," Spike answered smoothly. He'd decided to see how much truth he could manage in his stories. Easier to avoid getting tripped up, later. "But I haven't been home in a while. I've done some traveling."

"Did you go to Oxford?" Xander asked eagerly, "You know, Willow got accepted to Oxford."

"She told me, it's quite an accomplishment. And no, I went to Cambridge instead," Spike replied.

"What brought you to Sunnydale, then?" Riley queried.

"An ex-girlfriend, actually. She became ill during our travels, and I brought her to California for her health. She had some family here in town."

"Wow, I always thought that was an old-fashioned notion, bringing someone out west for their health," Buffy observed.

"Perhaps so, but it worked in her case. She grew much stronger. Maybe it was the dry weather," Spike replied evenly.

"And now you go to school here?" Riley asked.

"Yes, I figured I'd better settle down, get my Master's. Plus, there's this one project I've been working on for a few years. I'd like to be able to finish it someday."

Willow kicked him under the table, catching the allusion to Buffy. Spike simply smiled to himself.

Buffy asked curiously, "What project?"

"Oh, just something to do with my thesis," Spike quickly invented, "You be bored silly if I explained it to you."

"You're writing about female poets, right?" Buffy remembered.

"Of the Romantic movement, that's correct," Spike responded, "They were really amazing women. They didn't just write poetry; many of them were quite active in the reform movements of their day. They were rather a force to be reckoned with."

"Huh," was all Buffy said, looking impressed. Willow squeezed his hand in approval for his deft answer.

"Care to dance, love?" Spike whispered in Willow's ear, needing a break.

"Gladly," she agreed. Spike placed a hand on the small of her back and steered her out onto the dance floor.

"You're doing great," she began, as they started to dance. Spike quickly hushed her, though.

"I want to eavesdrop," he told her, indicating the place where they'd just left.

Back at the table, the rest of the gang was apparently discussing his humanity.

"…not a vampire." That was Xander.

"Well, he doesn't appear to be any kind of hell-beastie, but that doesn't mean he's not," Buffy pointed out.

"Honey, isn't it possible that Willow's found a nice, normal guy?" Riley ventured, "We do exist, after all."

"Maybe," Buffy grudgingly agreed, "I mean, he has been considerate, and thoughtful, and chivalrous so far. But I can't shake this feeling. Plus, I swear he looks familiar."

"You've probably seen him on campus. He looks familiar to me, also," Riley observed.

"Then why do I think I know him, too?" Xander wondered.

"He probably just has one of those faces," Anya offered, "Plus, you're on campus all the time, as well."

"You've got lots of experience with demons, Anya," Buffy turned to the former vengeance demon for help. "What do you think of William?"

"I think he's quite handsome," Anya replied, "They probably have very good sex."

"Anya!" Xander's tone was scandalized.

"I'm sorry I asked," said Buffy.

Spike snickered at that, and Willow looked up at him questioningly.

"What?"

"I'm tentatively not a demon, even though I look familiar, and Anya thinks I'm good in bed," he reported.

Willow snorted a bit, then snuggled closer and said, "You are."

"You're not so bad, yourself, pet," he responded with a kiss. "Speaking of which, you're coming over to the crypt after this is all over."

"Oh, I am, am I?" Willow said teasingly.

"You are," he confirmed, "You're going to take this bloody spell off of me, and then we're going to shag until I can't remember anything from tonight."

"I don't get it, Spike. Why are you so upset about your disguise? No one knows it's you, after all."

"I'll explain later," he stalled, using the end of the song as an excuse to end the conversation. He led her back to the table.

"Don't forget your accent!" she cautioned as they neared the others.

Spike had slipped back into his usual speech pattern the moment that he and Willow had been alone. With effort, Spike put himself back into the 'William' mind-set.

"So, how did you two meet?" Riley questioned when they returned, "Are you a T.A. in Willow's class?"

"Oh heavens, no," Spike answered, after an almost imperceptible shake of the head from Willow, "No, I couldn't date one of my students. It just wouldn't be ethical."

He smiled to himself, then, as Riley reddened and Buffy cleared her throat self-consciously. Willow kicked him again, but he didn't care. This was fun.

"No, we met here, at the Bronze," Spike continued, "I saw her from across the room, and I just knew."

"Really?" Willow's face was hopeful.

"Of course, princess," he reassured her. It was partly true, after all. "You're the one for me."

Willow beamed, then looked down shyly. Spike kissed her on the top of her head.

Buffy cleared her throat again, uncomfortably.

"Riley, let's dance," she demanded, leading him to the dance floor. Xander chose that moment to get refills, leaving Spike and Willow at the table with Anya.

"It's not a very good disguise," Anya commented, the moment they were alone.

"What?" Willow practically yelped, looking wide-eyed with fear, "What are you talking about?"

Spike stayed calm. If the blunt ex-demon had been going to say anything, she would have done it by now.

"It fooled who it needed to fool," he replied, dropping back into his usual accent.

"I do like the accent, though," Anya observed, "Very refined."

"You're not going to say anything, are you?" Willow pleaded.

Anya shook her head. "I don't see anything wrong with it. I can see why you'd want a disguise, though. The others tend to be a little…judgmental."

"To say the least," Willow agreed.

"You'd think Xander, at least, would be a bit more understanding about demon-human relationships," Anya groused, "It's his one big flaw."

Spike kept his mouth shut about that one. No sense in antagonizing her, after all. Anya was the one person who could really foul up the works for them.

When Buffy returned with Riley, she had more questions for William. Spike gamely answered them, for a while, but eventually he grew tired of the proceedings.

"Time for us to go, princess," he announced, taking Willow's hand, "I've got an early morning tomorrow."

Willow took his invented excuse in stride. "Oh. Well, then, I guess we need to go."

They said their goodbyes and headed out into the night.

They had barely made it into the crypt when Spike turned to Willow and demanded, "Take it off, now."

Willow, seeing no point in irritating him further, did as he requested. She spoke a few words to release the spell, then announced, "It's gone."

It was a little disconcerting, Willow had to admit, seeing Spike's head atop William's outfit. She'd gotten used to the altered appearance during the evening, and it was somewhat strange to see this mix between the two identities.

Spike must have felt the same, because he began stripping off his clothes. The dress shirt was thrown in one direction, his t-shirt in another. Willow didn't fully realize what he was going to do until he started unbuttoning his pants.

"Spike!" she cried out, shocked.

"It's nothing you haven't seen before, pet," he noted.

The khakis fell to the floor and were kicked aside. Spike strode, stark naked, across the crypt to the stairs.

Willow picked up the pants and started folding them neatly. They'd need them if ever they had to pull this charade off again. She waited for Spike to reappear in his usual black, but he didn't.

Instead, a rather testy voice called up the stairs, "Pet, are you ever coming down?"

She blushed a little, as she recalled Spike's plans for the night. She quickly descended to the bottom level, though, curiosity about one thing still eating at her.

Spike was in bed, having a smoke. He was under the covers, and Willow couldn't help but be a little bit disappointed about that.

"Come here," he growled, taking her arm and pulling her on to the bed, "I need you."

"First things first," she demanded, sitting up and gathering her wits together. "Why did you react so badly to my glamour? You promised to tell me," she reminded him.

Spike looked away from her, and took a long drag from his cigarette. When he finally exhaled, it was almost a sigh.

"I'll tell you, princess, but you have to swear to me, swear to me, that not a word of it crosses your lips, ever," he insisted, looking her in the eyes.

"Of course, I promise," she told him, looking back at him steadily, "What kind of a girl do you take me for?"

"I just don't want this coming up as casual gossip between you and the Slayer, at any point," he explained.

"Buffy and I don't gossip very much anymore," she reported sadly. Inside, her mind was reeling. Was Spike about to share something so personal, so private, that he was afraid that she'd use it against him if they ever broke up? Willow was amazed. She had to know what it was, had to have Spike trust her that much.

"May unspecified badness happen to me if I ever tell another soul," she pledged, "Or, someone without a soul, either."

Spike apparently took her pledge, because he started to speak. He spoke haltingly, searching for words, but Willow waited patiently, without interrupting.

"You actually recreated William tonight," he began, sighing heavily, "That face, the face you chose, that was the way I used to look, my mortal self. The accent, too."

Willow was confused. This wasn't a huge revelation, worthy of pledges to secrecy. "That's not that bad, Spike," she began, when he cut her off.

"Not that bad?" he spat, offended, "Well, let's just have you go around all night in a disguise, only it'll be the 'you' from high school, from back before you even met the Slayer!"

Back before Buffy, before she'd even met Spike. How he'd known, she had no idea, but he'd hit the nail on the head. The image sprang all too readily into her head: the long, unstyled hair, the jumpers her mom had picked out, the tights and Mary Janes. She shuddered a little.

"See? It is that bad. There are some places in our lives we don't ever want to go back to," he told her, pulling her into an embrace. "I was once like you were. Mousy bookworm, wallflower, nobody."

"You were a bookworm?" Willow looked up at him hopefully.

"Now, why the sound of rising hope in your voice at that one?" Spike queried, before continuing, "Yeah, I was a bookworm. Not nearly as smart as you, but I read a lot. Poetry, mostly."

"Well, that explains how you knew so much about your 'major'," she said thoughtfully.

"Now, why the hopefulness in your tone, earlier?" Spike demanded.

"It's just, you're so cool, and everything. If you can be that way, after being a poetry-reading bookworm, then maybe there's hope for me after all, even though I'm such a spazz." Willow explained, hoping she was making sense.

"Oh, there's definitely hope for you, pet," Spike said, flipping them both over so Willow was pinned to the mattress, then kissing her deeply. "You're not a 'spazz,' as you put it, not in my eyes. You're sexy, and beautiful, and powerful. And you're mine."

Willow preened for a moment under the string of compliments, then confessed, "I still feel like a spazz sometimes."

"Just don't make the same mistake I did. Don't wait until you're dead to actually start living," he told her, looking deep into her eyes, "That's something I can help you with, if you'll let me. I'd hate to see you end up as pathetic as I was."

"And to think, William the Bloody came from such humble origins," she mused, kissing him gently.

Old pain flared in his blue eyes, then.

"They used to call me that, when I was human," he admitted slowly, "As a cruel joke. Because of my bloody awful poetry."

"Oh, Spike, I'm sorry," she cried, empathy and understanding on her face.

"I'm over it. I turned it around on them, alright. Tortured every last one of the bastards. Made it a name to be feared, instead," he bragged.

"Okay, that part, not so nice," Willow observed, 'Still, I can understand how you feel. I remember all the times I imagined doing something horrible to the Cordettes, back in high school."

"Enough talk," Spike announced, starting to remove Willow's blouse. "I want to forget all this, and you're going to help me."

Willow obliged, willingly, but her mind still spun with the revelations from this evening. Once more, her image of Spike had been flipped on its head. There was more, so much more, to the bleached-blond vampire than she'd ever dreamed. If anyone could help her to reinvent herself, Spike could. She resolved to pay more attention to his suggestions in the future.

With that decided, she turned her full attention back to Spike, and the delightful things he was doing to her. The night was going to be far too short.