Spike sat in a coffee shop in London, trying hard to forget her. He knew that she would never be with him. She loved Angel and he was human now. That bloody wanker got to be human even though he signed away that right in blood. He was made human as a bloody punishment. Spike drank his coffee and tried to forget about the way she looked and the way she smelled and that cute little pout she had. Looking down at his coffee, he realized that he really ought to be in a pub trying to drown his sorrows.

Spike looked up and vaguely wondered why he was even here. When he saw the sign for the shop, he couldn't help but step in and sit down. Once inside, a latte sounded nice. He looked around again and realized that he didn't want to be here. He was just about to stand when a voice behind him caught his attention.

"You're a hard man to find," she said, "It took me three weeks to get that spell to lock on to you."

Spike smiled humorlessly, "That's what made me come inside, isn't it? Any bloke worth his bullocks is gonna drown his sorrows in beer, and here I am drinking a damn latte."

"It isn't so bad, is it?" she said, her voice laced with mirth, "There's nothing like a latte on a cold night."

Spike chuckled and shook his had, "I suppose you're right. So what is it you want with me. I'm pretty sure you didn't come here to talk about the old days."

"I need your help, Spike," she implored, "Lets go somewhere to talk."

Spike drank the last of his coffee, stood, and turned around coming face to face with Willow Rosenberg.

The two stood atop the clock tower overlooking London. Spike had taken a minute after they landed, sure he was going to be sick after holding desperately to the flying witch. Finally sure that he wasn't going to hurl, Spike leaned against the wall.

Willow stood looking out over the city. A bank of ominous clouds rolled slowly over the cityscape; a fairly common sight in London. Something was different about her. The normally uncertain geek stood with the bearing and authority of someone well beyond her years. He straitened and cautiously approached the edge where she stood. Standing there in jeans and a white blouse, with the wind lifting her red hair slightly off of her shoulders, Spike admitted to himself that, in that moment, she was very attractive. As his eyes lingered on the shape of her neck and how it flowed gracefully into her shoulders, Spike allowed himself the briefest of inappropriate thoughts.

"Spike!" Willow's face suddenly turned bright red, "My goodness, that's terrible. If Kennedy ever found out you thought that about me, she'd slay you for sure."

"It's not me, Pet," Spike said thoughtfully, "It's you. You've changed. I'm certainly not the only one with passing thoughts about you."

"Well no," she admitted, "But most people aren't quite as … detailed as you."

Spike laughed. It was the first real laugh he'd had since he and Illyria had parted ways. He'd been alone, truly alone for so long. It hit him that as a soulless vampire, that wouldn't have bothered him. But now, he realized he missed the scoobies.

"When did you learn to read minds?" he asked.

"Not long ago. Luckily, because of Buffy's experience our senior year, I was a little more prepared. I pick up surface thoughts whenever I'm close enough to someone. I can usually ignore it, especially in crowds. It's like white noise. But it's a lot harder to ignore if there's only one person around. It can get a little awkward though," Willow smiled to herself, blushing again, "I caught Buffy staring at my butt and wondering what I look like naked."

Spike's eyebrows shot up, "Buffy? You sure you weren't getting someone else's thoughts?"

Willow shot him a confused look, then realization colored her features, "Oh, you weren't there for Satsu."

"Satsu?" Spike asked.

Willow chuckled, "Yeah, Buffy had a fling with one of the other slayers. Her name is Satsu. Ever since then, she's started to notice other women's … features. I don't think she'll ever bat for my team again, but it's still funny to see her struggle with new and interesting urges."

Thoughts of Buffy flooded Spike's mind. He turned away from Willow and wandered back over to the wall. Some how, it didn't seem fair. He loved her, he gave up everything for her, sacrificed what he thought was going to be his very existence for her, and every one else including, apparently, the other slayers, were getting their shot her. A profound emptiness settled over him as he finally, truly, and completely accepted that he would never have her. Mentally, he closed the book on them. He could almost hear the thud a cover being closed on a heavy volume.

He turned around to see Willow standing right in front of him. She had apparently followed him. He could see the look of sympathy on her face, but was still surprised when she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly. Spike resisted for only a moment before her put his arms around her shoulders. He allowed himself to be swept up in the comfort of a friend's sympathy. It seemed funny to him that Willow would be the one with her arms around him, trying to drive away the depression that threatened to consume him.

While they held each other, thunder crashed across the sky. Spike noticed that Willow hadn't jumped in surprised, despite the sudden intense sound. Then, as if someone in the heavens had turned a knob, the sky instantly began pouring sheets of rain. As the rain soaked them both, a shivering Willow pulled slightly away from Spike, allowing them to look at each other. He put a hand to her face. The rain had soaked her blouse, making visible her pink bra underneath. Willow's damp hair clung to her face and little droplets dripped from her eyelashes.

"You really are quite beautiful," Spike said, "Especially in the rain."

She fought a grin, forcing a scowl onto her face. She put her index finger to his chest.

"Hey now, Mr. Sexy-blond-vampire," She said, "Gay, remember? Slayer girlfriend, remember?"

Spike closed his eyes and recalled some of his more violent love making nights with Buffy. Only he allowed this theater in his mind to feature Willow instead of the blond slayer. Willow suddenly gasped and pulled away. Spike opened his eyes to see her hands desperately trying to cover her glowing face. He laughed out loud, pleased with himself for turning her own ability against her.

"Better try harder to block it, Love," Spike laughed, "You never know what you'll see."

"SPIKE!" Willow yelled through her hands, "Oh my Goddess! Why would you do that?"

Spike was still laughing as he pulled off his coat and walked up to her, "Consider that pay back for forcing my ruddy bum to fly up here. I'm not bloody Super Man. Now here, put this on." He started to put the coat around her shoulders, but she tried to wiggle away.

"I'm fine," she protested.

"No you're not," he responded seriously, "You're wet and shivering. This is water proof and it's warm. Now put the bloody thing on."

She relented and allowed him to slip the coat on her shoulders. She put her arms in the sleeves as he buttoned it in front and could see an immediate difference. He put an arm around her and guided her to the canopy of one of the windows.

"I guess the roof of the tallest clock tower in England wasn't best place for a meeting." Willow said through chattering teeth, "I guess I was trying to be all dramatic by coming up to Big Ben."

Spike smiled again, "Actually, Big Ben isn't the tower, it's not even the clock. It's the bell."

She laughed, "That's normally the kind of thing I correct people on."

"And now you can," Spike said, "Now, you wanna tell me what this is all about?"

Willow nodded. Before going on however, she took a deep breath and he could tell that she was preparing to tell him something that he wasn't going to like.

"Spike, I've reached a point in my … growth, I guess you could call it. I am going to start doing things that seem unnatural and scary."

Spike scoffed, "The witch said to the vampire with the soul?"

Willow laughed nervously, "Right. Well one of the things that I'm going to start doing is giving prophecy. My first prophecy is going to be about you, and I know that you're not going to like it."

Spike's brow furrowed, "You know what it's about already?"

"Bits and pieces," she answered, "It's like when you wake up from a really scary dream and you can't quite remember what it was about, but you know it was scary because of the heart pounding and the heavy breathing. Then, later in the day, you start to remember parts of it, but you still don't have the whole picture. You try to remember it even though it was scary, then Buffy tells you to quit worrying about it. Kinda like that. I can feel it growing inside me. All I know for right now is that it's about you and that if you don't fulfill it, you'll burn in hell."

"I've been to hell before, Love," he said, "It's not so bad. I was Lord of Beverly Hills for a while."

"Not like this. Spike, I know what will happen to you. Not just the words, but the actual meaning." Willow's eyes began to tear up, "Spike, I don't want the burny, hell-fiery things to happen to you. I know you deserve better than that. You've been through so much." She started to cry against his shirt. Spike once again found himself putting his arms around her shoulders, only this time, he was comforting her.

"Relax pet," he whispered, "I was only kidding. Trust me, I want to keep out of hell." He grabbed her shoulders and gently pushed her away a few inches. "Listen, its almost sun up. It looks like you could use some sleep; I know I could."

She nodded, "I have a room at the Mandarin Oriental."

Spike and Willow walked through the double doors being held open by uniformed doormen and into the immense lobby of the upscale hotel. Spike had seen posh before, but this was a bit ridiculous. A uniformed bellman inside greeted them both with a smile. The corner of his mouth twitched when he saw Spike and his smile almost faltered when he saw Willow wearing Spike's coat.

"Good evening Ms. Rosenberg," he said with enthusiasm, "It seems you've been caught out in the rain. Perhaps next time you'll take an umbrella like I suggested."

Willow smiled at the ribbing, "Thank you, Reg, I will."

Reg looked to Spike, "And who is this handsome gentleman?"

"Oh," Willow said, caught off guard. Apparently, she hadn't considered what to tell the staff. "This is, uh, this is-"

"Pratt," Spike interrupted, "William Pratt. I used to work with Willow back in the states." Spike held out his hand and Reg took it and shook it firmly.

"Well my name is Reginald," he said, taking a business card out of his pocket and presenting it to Spike with a thumb and forefinger on each of the top two corners in a very formal manner, "Call me if you need absolutely anything, and I'll be happy to help."

Spike took the card and stuck it in the back pocket of his jeans. He was about to walk to the elevator but Willow reached under his coat, which she was still wearing, and pulled out some bills.

"William would like a beer," she said handing him the bills, "And I would like a glass of wine, any Bordeaux you have would be fine."

"Any beer in particular for you, Mr. Pratt?" Reg asked.

"No, just a couple of bottles of anything draft," Spike answered.

"Very good sir," the bellman said, "I will be up with it shortly."

Willow thanked him and the two walked toward the elevator. Spike pressed the button.

"I just thought of something funny," Reg said from behind them. They both turned and face him. "Your names are Will and Will. You could be a sitcom on the telly."

Willow snorted and Spike gave a half-hearted smile. The door opened and the two stepped in. After the door slid shut, Spike said, "He fancies you, you know that right. He didn't like it at all when we showed up together and you were wearing my coat."

"I know," Willow said, "He thinks you're some guy I picked up at a bar for sex."

Willow used a key card to open the door. The suite was enormous. The main room had a fireplace with a large ornate rug on one wall, a couch sat in front of a giant flat screen television against the other wall, and a window with the shades drawn taking up the entire third wall. As they stepped in, Spike let out a low whistle. He turned in a full circle, taking in the whole room.

"I gotta admit, Love," he said, "I'm impressed. I didn't think the tweed patrol at the Watcher's Council would spring for such fancy digs."

Willow smiled over her shoulder as she took off his coat, "They didn't. This was paid for by my coven."

She tossed the coat over the back of the couch and walked to the double doors next to the fireplace. As she opened them, Spike called after her, "I guess I'll be taking the couch, then?"

"Don't be silly," she called from in the room, "The other door leads to another bedroom."

Spike turned around and walked to the door on the other side of the room. Inside, the window from the main room continued along the outside wall. A queen size bed with extremely comfortable looking down pillows was against the far wall, facing a flat screen TV almost as large as the one in the main room. The decorations were light; off-white walls, white carpet. The furniture had a very sleek and modern feel to it, with polished wood and sharp angles. It all made Spike decidedly uneasy.

"Your coven must be drowning in cash to put just you up in a place like this," Spike yelled to Willow.

Her soft footfalls approached his door. "Actually, they didn't," she said, "We were all here until earlier this evening. The spell that drew you into that coffee shop took a lot of power. When we found you, they packed up while I went to retrieve you."

Spike finally turned to face her and immediately started laughing. Willow stood in the doorway wearing full length pajamas with little cartoon dogs and cats printed all over them. He shook his head at the sight, unable to believe that even after all these years, she was the same old Willow.

She looked down at herself and scowled when she realized what he was laughing at. "Hey at least I have clothes," she huffed, "Unlike a certain vampire I know who I've only ever seen in one outfit since my junior year in high school."

Spike laughed again, sitting on the edge of the bed. He pulled his wet shirt off over his head and draped it over one of the chairs. He then bent to pull off his boots. He had just gotten the second one off when a knock sounded at the door.

"Ms. Rosenberg, Mr. Pratt," a muffled voice called, "It's Reginald. I have your drinks."

A confused look covered Willow's face.

"What's a matter?" Spike asked.

"I should have heard him coming," Willow said. She looked at the door for a second, then looked at Spike and shrugged. She started to walk toward the door, but Spike was on his feet and in front of her in an instant. He put his finger to his lips and made very clear in his mind his concern and desire to answer the door in her place. She nodded and moved behind the wall of the bedroom.

Spike casually walked over to the door an threw it wide. Reg wheeled in a small cart with a an ice bucket that held three bottles of beer. Next to the bucket was a bottle of wine and an upside down wine glass.

"Hello Mr. Pratt," Reg said, "I have your drinks. I can pour the wine for Ms. Rosenberg if you would like."

"That's alright, she's in the shower," Spiked lied as he pulled a few bills from his pocket, "I'll do the honors when she's all squeaky clean."

He held out the bills for the bellman. Rather than take them, Reg suddenly grabbed Spike's arm. With his other hand, he gripped the vampire's throat and tossed him into the wall. Spike tried to clear his vision, but the bellman was on him instantly. With one hand, he held Spike by the hair and lifted the vampire off his feet.

"I do not hear the water, Vampire," Reg hissed in a voice not his own, "Where is she."

Reg suddenly dropped Spike, putting his hands to his own throat. Spike could hear Willow's soft foot falls on the carpet as she stepped out of the side room. He looked in her direction and saw her walking toward Reg with her hand out, her eyes black as coal.

"She's right here," the witch said, her voice deep and unnatural, "And you're going to tell her exactly what you are and what you want."

"Never!" Reg choked out, "You have no power over me, Witch!"

Willow smirked, "I find your lack of faith disturbing."

The bellman lifted off of his feet and hovered a few feet off the ground. His whole body began to compress as though a giant hand were squeezing him. He cried out in pain and terror, but even over his screams, Spike could hear bones snapping.

"Last chance," Willow said.

"N-never," the thing stammered. With a last wet squish, it collapsed inward and dropped to the floor.

Spike finally managed to get to his feet. He walked over to the corpse, examining it as best he could. It looked, and more importantly, smelled human.

"What was that all about?" Spike asked.

Willow, her eyes back to their normal forest green, shook her head, "I have no idea."