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He awoke to soft whimpers and a warm body pressed up against his own. Moving slowly so as not to wake her, he wrapped one arm around her
shoulders and pulled her close, rumbling a soothing growl deep in his
chest. The noise calmed her now as it had on other nights. He knew the
dreams wouldn’t last long and when the day’s fears were done replaying in
her mind, she’d once again roll away from him to her own side of the bed,
never knowing that she’d sought him out for comfort.

Her sounds of distress easing, he loosened his hold on her. Such an
amazing creature Willow Rosenburg had turned out to be, even for a human.
When he’d been drafted into being the Slayer’s "vampire on the inside", his
contact, both verbal and physical, was centered solely on the Slayer. He’d
seen the little witch, made some smart-assed joke about his kidnapping of
her earlier that year, and then promptly dismissed her as beneath his
notice. Now he knew what he’d missed in underestimating this woman-child.

She never complained, never raged at the humiliation she was put through or
the pain he caused her. In the past sixteen days, he’d developed a healthy
respect for her. Using her computer, she’d been the one to discover why
Buffy and Giles had been taken. She was the one who suffered the bruises
and the collar. Most astounding of all, she didn’t break; not when he hit
her, not when he tormented her for the amusement of the others, not when he
bit her. After all he did to her, that she would, even unconsciously, turn
to him to chase away the nightmares stunned him. It was for that reason,
that whatever bit of enjoyment he derived out of torturing her was soon
swamped under the disgust that he was beginning to feel for himself. In
his unlife he’d killed without hesitation or remorse. He’d tortured humans
and demons alike when they had earned his wrath, but he’d never in all his
years, tortured for the sake of torture. That had always been Angelus’
twisted gift. But to pull off this charade, he’d patterned his behavior
after his grandsire’s relationship with Drusilla. If it had angered him
then, it was beginning to repluse him now.

In so many ways, she reminded him of his beloved mad goddess. They shared
the same child-like innocence, a subtle grace that others casually
dismissed, a fire that burned deep. He’d also discovered a core of
strength within Willow that Drusilla lacked. Like the Willow that was her
namesake, she simply bowed low before the onslaught until you thought she
would break, but then with the passing of the storm, she stood upright
again, branches wind tousled, a few leaves stripped away, but still unbroken.

He let her go as she finally rolled out of his embrace. Turning over he
closed his own eyes and drifted back into sleep.

*****

A sound in the hallway beyond their door brought her to heart pounding
wakefulness. She lay still for a minute but the noise that had awakened
her wasn’t repeated. Heartbeat and breathing returning to normal, she
rolled over only to be confronted with a pair of startling blue eyes
regarding her intently. Sucking in a startled breath, she frowned in
annoyance as he grinned at her.

"Do you have to do that?" she asked in exasperation.

He shrugged, "I’m a demon, we get our jollies in strange ways."

Chuckling as she rolled her eyes, he got out of the bed. Curling back up
on her pillow, Willow to the opportunity to drift back into a light doze as
Spike took a shower and got dressed. He shook her awake before he left the
room to bid her good-bye. As he left the room, Willow got up and began
her morning routine. A routine that included a round of meditation where
she sought the still place within herself that allowed her to do what she
had to do to survive in this existence with Spike.

An hour later Spike was back carrying an apple and a pear. Tossing them
one at a time to her, he gave her an apologetic smile. "Best I can do for
the time being. They’re left over from what they’re feeding the Slayer and
the Watcher." Making a grimace of annoyance, he continued "Blake wants to
show me off to the neighbors so we’re going out on a group hunt. I need
you to stay here and find out the ways in and out of this place --
accessways, doors, windows, everything. Also, find out how many guards
Blake’s leaving for the Slayer when he’s gone."

Willow nodded her understanding as he talked, munching determinedly on her
apple. The vampire clans they’d visited before they’d found Buffy and
Giles hadn’t always had human food available. She’d discovered what going
hungry felt like and now ate whenever she could.

"I’ll be back early from the hunt. Be ready to go out afterwards."

He stopped suddenly but Willow caught the flick of his eyes to her throat.
"Willow, I’m going to have to leave you unprotected here."

He didn’t have to explain any further. She’d learned first hand about
vampire territorial instincts. With him gone, she’d need a fresh
"reminder" to the others that she was taken property. He’d already bitten
her at least a half-dozen times since they’d been together and he seemed to
find it increasingly more distasteful. When her thoughts veered off into
the stranger realms, she often wondered if his reluctance was because of
her, if maybe her blood tasted bad.

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she reached for that calm place
and when she had her lingering fears and doubts firmly under control she
opened her eyes and stepped up close to him.

Wrapping her arms around him, she lay her head on his chest listening to
the silence. "Do it."

She came so trustingly to him. He’d called her an idiot in the library,
back what seemed a hundred years ago. He no longer thought her an idiot
but still considered her a trusting fool to place her life in his hands so
easily. It didn’t matter that she’d tied his soul to her life, he could do
a thousand things to hurt her. It was within his power to bring her to the
very brink of death itself and not let her fall. But every time that
thought came to him he saw the image of Drusilla. His beautiful black
goddess crawling to him, dozens of vicious bites scattered across her pale
body and bloody tear tracks staining the porcelain of her skin. She was
his sire. He was her childe. It was her duty to protect him from the
excesses of the demon Angelus but she couldn’t even protect herself. But
she was his sire and he loved her so. Each time he’d gather her up and
tend her wounds, feed her body and place himself in Angelus’ way until she
was strong enough to be called back to him. Now, his Dru was his no
longer. She no longer needed or wanted him to stand between her and death.
Now Willow needed him. Enemy or not, he found himself stepping between
her and what would do her harm. Maybe he was the one who was the fool.

Locking one arm around her waist he tilted her head to the side, baring her
throat to him. Demon rising to the fore, he felt his canines extend, razor
sharp. Pressing his lips against her, he inhaling the scent of her and the
sweet blood that rushed just beneath her skin. His bite was hard and deep,
piercing her fragile skin and releasing a flood of her hot blood into his
mouth. Her taste overwhelmed him this time as it had each of the previous
times. The heady sweetness of blood freely offered mixed with the
underlying tang of adrenaline released by her nervousness. Overlaying it
all was the taste of Willow -- fire, spirit and a dark desire buried deep
in her blood.

With a growl he carefully withdrew his fangs a few minutes later. Broad
sweeps of his tongue cleaned the wounds and washed away any traces of her
blood. She was slumped against him, paler than she’d been before. He’d
not taken much but the exhaustion and poor eating of the last weeks had
taken their toll on her.

Gathering her up in his arms he moved to lay her gently down on the bed,
memories of carrying Drusilla the same way flashing through his mind.
Grabbing his duster he turned to leave, giving her one last glance as he
licked the last trace of her from his lips, that odd taste of desire
lingering still. One day he would ask her who she fantasized about when he
held her and drank her blood. He’d find out what manner of man could bring
forth the beginnings of passion while she was trapped in a demon’s arms.
He’d wondered if her thoughts drifted to the wolf-boy or maybe even to
Angel. Was desire for his grandsire yet another trait she shared with
Drusilla? A longing for the Slayer’s Angel could well explain the
forbidden taste to those suppressed desires. After all, a part of him
insisted, Angel always won -- Drusilla and the Slayer -- why should Willow
be any different. Growling softly at his turn of thought, he shut his mind
to thoughts of Willow in his present and Drusilla in his past. This time
he walked out the door without looking back.

*****

She awoke an hour later, her head pounding and her mouth dry. Groaning,
she sat up and ran an unsteady hand through her hair, shaking off the
half-remembered dreams of Spike that always filled her sleep after he’d fed
from her.

Figuring that those who were hunting were long gone, she got up to
carefully apply her make-up, only she sought not to hide the bruises and
dark circles under her eyes but to enhance them. Make-up done she
deliberately chose a shirt that displayed her neck and the now angry red
bite mark that rested right above her collar. It was tender to the touch
but not overly painful.

Glancing into the hand mirror she used to apply her make-up, she make a
face at her reflection. "Time to face the great outdoors."

She did her survey of the place first, avoiding the common room and her two
friends. She wasn’t ready to face them quite yet. So step by slow step
she inched down the corridors and explored the open rooms, noting doors and
unblocked windows. She even discovered a skylight in what looked to have
been an office at one time.

In her explorations she met two other vampires, a woman who cuffed her hard
on her shoulder as she passed, slamming Willow into the wall, and a man who
simply growled threateningly at her as she hugged the wall while he passed.

It took an hour to completely explore the place to her satisfaction. Now
she only had to gather up the courage to enter the main room. It was funny
in its own sad way. She’d gone through so much to find Buffy and Giles and
then when it came down to it, she couldn’t even enter the room where they
were. Spike was right, she decided, she was an idiot. But it was the
remembered sound of Spike derisive laughter that spurned her forward in the
end.

But even stubborn pride couldn’t stop the sob that welled up inside her the
moment she looked at her friends. Giles was sporting a black eye that
hadn’t been there the night before and Buffy had a defeated look about her
that scared Willow more than anything she’d seen so far. Her heart longed
to call out their names in recognition but the three heavy set guards that
stood silently around the room made her keep her peace.

It didn’t take much acting to put the trace of fear in her movements. Her
jerky progress across the room was followed by five sets of eyes. Two held
compassion and anger, the other three were yellow-gold with a hunger that
made her skin crawl.

Spying a roll on the table she slid her eyes in her friends’ direction. It
was obviously left over from their feeding, like the pear and apple Spike
had brought her earlier. Darting nervous glances at the guards she
grabbed at the roll and took it to a far corner where she sat down to eat
it slowly. She knew that from the outside she looked like pitiful
scavenger, a broken shell of what she had been. But inside, she was
dancing as she chewed the bread. Her act was being bought by the guards
and they dismissed her as harmless. Harmless was good. Harmless let her
at least be close to Buffy and Giles while she studied the room under
lowered lashes. She only wished she could talk to her friends.

*****

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there before the sound of voices came from
the short hallway leading outside. She had no problem picking out Spike’s
distinctive tones. Knowing what was coming, she braced herself. This was
going to be harder than the other times, knowing her friends were watching.

The minute Spike stepped into the room and caught sight of her he headed in
her direction. Across the room, Buffy and Giles both started struggling
against their chains to the amusement of the vampires filing into the room.

Spike just grinned and reached down to grasp the dangling leash. Wrapping
it once around his fist, he pulled her upright, snapping her up against his
hard chest.

"Miss me, pet?" he crooned.

"Y-Yes, Master." Her voice subservient and terrified.

Spike chuckled. "Liar."

Shifting to the demon’s face he tilted her head and ran his tongue across
the bite mark he’d left earlier, grinning at the shiver that traveled her
frame.

"Come on, pet, time for your evening walk."

Tossing a wink at the grinning Blake, Spike lead her out into the night.
He removed the leash as soon as they were well away from the lair, stuffing
its length into one of his coat pockets as he gave the leather duster to
her.

Willow raised an eyebrow in inquiry as she took the coat from him.

"Put the coat on, Willow, and cover up the collar. You’re bordering on
anemia and you need some decent food, especially if we’re going to get your
bothersome friends out."

"What do you mean I’m anemic?" she asked in confusion. Her answer came to
her as she asked the question. "You can tell that? Just from tasting my
blood?" At his nod of confirmation she screwed up her nose in disgust.
"Ewww, that is so . . . ewww."

Her disgust didn’t last long though as Spike lead her to a restaurant and
ordered her a steak and Willow proceeded to stuff her face while Spike
watched her eat.

Leaning back against her seat, she rubbed at her stomach. "Oh goddess,
that was good."

"I can’t believe you think my eating habits are disgusting."

"Spike, you kill and eat *people.* I mean, it’d be bad enough if you were
just . . you know . . . eating the people without the killing part. But
it’s the killing, . . . well, . . . that, and the rampaging and the general
murder and mayhem and stuff, that kind of makes you one of the bad guys."

He snorted in amusement. "You aren’t starting that up again, are you?
I’ve told, luv, half the fun of being a demon is the whole
‘killing-without-remorse-just-because-we-can’ part."

"But you don’t *have* to kill people," she countered. The argument was a
long standing one, played out now, more for a diversion than either really
trying to change the other’s opinion. "I mean, okay, I’ll give you the
thrill of the hunt and all that but can’t you just bite them and leave them
alive."

"Where would be the fun in that? Besides, death gives its own special
flavor."

"Gross, Spike. I could have lived a very long time without that piece of
knowledge."

"Face it, luv, we’re just going to have to agree to disagree on this one."

They each fell silent as the waitress came to clean the table and brought
Willow a cup of coffee.

Studying the chipped porcelain cup, Willow ran one finger along the handle,
waiting until the waitress had moved several tables away. "So, what’s the
plan?" she finally asked, the teasing tone from a few minutes before gone
from her voice.

Spike silently acknowledged her desire to get back to business. "Not a
good one, I can tell you that," he replied with a forced sigh. "If there
wasn’t the potential for so much power to be gained, I’d just bloody well
challenge Blake and be done with it. But that won’t happen because the
whole blasted group will benefit from the Ritual. If I challenge one, I’ll
end up challenging them all. Blake, one or two of the others I could take,
but not all of ‘em at once."

She lifted the cup in front of her and sipped at her coffee, savoring its
long absent bitter-sweetness. "But you have a plan," she said between sips.

"Less of a plan, more of a bar brawl. I’m going to let the other nearby
clans know what Blake’s up to."

She saw immediately where that would lead. "They’ll, in turn, want to
seize Buffy and Giles for their own."

"Exactly. Vampires aren’t exactly shy about killing their own if it’ll
further their own goals. The other clans should come out in force."

She looked at him in a kind of awed horror. "It’ll be a bloodbath."

He grimaced, "I’m thinking a little more dusty actually, but you’ve got the
idea. The confusion alone should be enough for you to free the Slayer and
Watcher and get them out of there."

There was no hiding the concern in her voice, "What about you?"

He didn’t like this part. It put her in too much danger and any danger to
her, meant ultimately a danger to him and getting his accursed soul back.
That was something he had no desire to see happen. "Willow, when the
attack starts, they’ll ignore the Slayer and Watcher, because they don’t
want them harmed, but you . . ." he didn’t finish the sentence but trailed
off into silence.

Slowly the picture he was drawing coalesced in her mind. It was be a
free-for-all, vampire fighting vampire for the ultimate prize of the Slayer
and the Watcher. She’d be the lone human in the group and the only thing
standing between her and death would be Spike, who didn’t want to be there
in the first place, fighting for her life and his own.

"Oh Goddess."

*****

The door to their room swung open with more than the usual violence as
Spike stormed into the room screaming what she'd quickly learned was his
favorite curse. "Fuckin' Hell!"

Looking up from her laptop, Willow arched a brow at the extremely irate
vampire. "Bad day at the office?" she said with a laugh.

Spike swung to pin her with a glare that at one time would have had her
cowering and babbling apologies. Now she simply scowled back at him.

Ignoring her quip, he growled, "I'm going to enjoy driving a stake through
the heart of that annoying little twit."

Hitting the send button on her e-mail to Oz that he and Xander she was
still safe, she closed her laptop. Turning on the bed, she gave Spike her
full attention. "Tell me."

"Blake," he hissed. "Wanker doesn't trust me. Not that I blame him,
really, ‘cause I'm not exactly the trustworthy sort, and all, but he's
putting a real crimp in our plan."

‘Our plan.’ Such simple words but they gave her a warm glow of acceptance.
She wondered if he even realized how much he’d begun to include her. ‘Our
plan’ was a far cry from the early days when he could barely look at her
without snarling in disgust.

Unable to hold in her grin, she watched him stomp around the room. "You
were going to make the rounds to the other clans in the area when the sun
went down tonight."

"Right. Only Blakey-boy won't bloody well leave me alone. If I try to go
out alone, he insists on going with me, or he sends someone to tail me.
Can't bloody well lose the tail without it looking suspicious, `cause why
in the hell would I want to lose a tail unless I was up to something rotten."

"Simple then," she said, "we just need an excuse for you to stay in and you
can go out the window in here. The boards shouldn’t be too hard to pry
away from the window."

"Not simple, luv." Walking over to the bed, he motioned her to move over
and sat down beside her. "There’s just not a hell of a whole lot that
would keep me in my room all night along."

Reaching up she rubbed her hand against her collar, making the small
padlock jingle. "What if you were . . .you know, discipling me for
something?"

He shook his head no. "They'd buy that for an hour or two, but not all
night. Not to the extent where I wouldn't go out hunting."

She pressed the issue, sure that a big scene was the way to distract the
others. "So we make a big production out of it . . .drama, tears, blood.
Give them all sometime to gossip about." With every word she could feel
Spike tensing up beside her.

She glanced over at him curiously. It seemed perfectly logical to her.
Granted, it probably wouldn’t be much fun for her but he’d become pretty
good at making it look like she was getting a lot worse "punishment" than
she really was. She didn’t understand why he’d be so relunctant to put on
another show. ""Spike, I don’t see . . ."

He cut her off abruptly, making her jerk back in surprise at her tone.
"No."

Seeing her startled expression, he ran a hand up through his hair before
starting over. "Willow, the kind of scene they would expect would be . . .
extreme. You could be seriously hurt." Looking away from her, staring at
something only he could see, he added. "You," he stopped and started
again. "Mortals are so fragile."

She shivered at his words. "Yeah, guess you wouldn’t want your soul in
jeopardy like that."

He turned a strange look in her direction and started to say something only
to stop before the words left him. Turning back away from her he finally
said, "Sure, luv. Can’t put my soul in danger."

"But what if we . . ."

"No." His refusal was immediate and firm; his face set in lines of absolute
resolve.

So that's what I look like when I do the resolve face, she thought. Pretty
impressive. But his resolve was about to come head to head with hers. He
needed to get out. Buffy and Giles’ lives depended on it. She thought
herself remarkably calm once that decision was made. It was simple. She
was going to get her friends free. One stubborn vampire wasn't going to
stand in her way. Ater everything else she’d endured, how bad could it
really be. It wasn’t like he’d really hurt her.

She knew what she had to do. A part of her that was quietly having
hysterics intoned in the back on her mind . . . *Tonight on Mutual Of
Omaha's Wild Kingdom, Willow Rosenburg will go one on one in the wild with
a vampire. It'll be an exiting show tonight, folks.* Ignoring the
internal babbling, she calmly set about putting away her computer while
Spike sat on the bed and scowled. In a way, it was a relief to be taking
some kind of action. During the hunt for Buffy and Giles, Spike had
actually done most of the work. She'd simply been window dressing. The
occasional bruise, cut, or bite being just something she had to endure
while she was paraded around in front of them. Once the other vampires
were over her presence, she simply faded into the wood work, regulated to a
status beneath their notice. Well, she was about to be noticed in a big way.

Stashing her computer in its hiding place she went to run a brush through
her hair. Bending over she retied the laces on the black boots she wore.
She'd grown fond of those boots Spike had made her wear. She'd initially
hated the clothing changes he forced on her when they started this; the
black jeans and tight black tops. But the clothes fit the illusion they'd
created. Staring down at the scuffed toes of her boots she wondered when
the illusion had started to blend with reality. She'd discovered something
about herself these last couple of weeks. She liked the sense of power in
those boots. She’d developed a taste for the danger and the intrigue of
their game. She liked being able to indulge her somewhat offbeat black
sense of humor. And if these things she'd discovered about herself were
not exactly the best she had to offer, they were a part of her. A part she
owed to Spike.

"Spike?"

"Yeah, luv?"

"I want you know something. I-I want to know I like you . . . a-as a
person . . . or a demon . . . or whatever. You don’t treat me like I'm
stupid. You laugh at my jokes. Even the strange ones that no one else
ever seems to get. You talk to me like I'm an equal and . . well, other
stuff too. But mostly, I want you to know that even if you are an evil
demon and . . and a vampire and you only keep me alive because you have
to because of the whole soul thing . . " she trailed off as she finally
paused for breath in her ramble. "Well," she began again, "I just want you
to know that I like you. Just for being you."

Browns knit together Spike tried to follow her rambling speech.

Seeing his confusion she laughed softly. "And Spike, I want you to know
that I understand you'll just be doing what you have to."

Before he could puzzle through that one, she swung on him. The open palm
of her hand connected with his face, her nails dragging sharply across the
skin of his cheek. The crack of her hand against his cheek numbed her
fingers and stunned him, his eyes flying wide in shock. Time seemed to
slow down for her then as she saw a single drop of dark red blood bead up
on one of the deep scratches. In that frozen moment, she was the only
thing that seemed to move at normal speed as she whirled on her heel and
took off for the door, the pounding of her boot heels sounding almost like
heavy rolls of thunder to her ears. She was halfway down the hall before
she heard the roar behind her.

"Willow!"

With a single word he released the spell around her and time snapped back
into its proper flow around her. Strangely enough the thought that circled
in her head as she rounded the corner into the common room was a memory of
herself as a little girl. Her mother had been telling her to never, ever,
run from an angry animal. It only made them see you as food and chase
after you, she remembered with startling clarity. Bursting into the main
room, she wondered what her mother would have thought about running from
demons.

He was furious. Her fleeing form calling up the feelings of the hunt
within him. In that sudden blaze of anger, the mortal veneer of the man
burned away to the baser emotions of the demon.

Mere steps behind her he saw her barrel into a female vampire, her shoulder
slamming hard into the other woman, knocking her back in surprise. Willow
never paused in her headlong dash for the outside door, going down with the
vampire and rolling with the impact, coming up to her feet in a graceful
roll while the vampiress struggled to her feet beneath Willow.

Spike lunged for Willow.


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


Her tumble, however, cost her precious seconds and allowed Spike to catch
up with her fleeing form. Lunging forward he caught her across her
shoulders, his weight driving her to her knees before him. But now his own
momentum worked against him as the force of his leap carried him past her
falling body, his own legs tangling in her flailing limbs. They both went
down heavily, a cry of mixed pain and surprise being torn from Willow's
throat.

Even as he realized he was falling with her, the urge to protect her rose
up in him. Wrapping his arm around her, he pulled her falling body in
close to his, twisting in mid-air to land heavily on his shoulder so as not
to crush her beneath him. They both lay stunned on the concrete for a
moment.

Then with a growl of disbelief he felt her pull herself from his arms.
Only demon-enhanced reflexes stopped the heavy boot heel she swung around
in his direction. Grabbing her foot he twisted hard, forcing her to roll
across the floor or risk having her ankle snapped. Still, he felt
ligaments twist and tear under his fingers, heard her cry out as pain shot
up her leg.

Willow's cry only served to wind the demon's anger tighter. She'd
challenged him and his authority in front of witnesses, witnesses that were
even now gathering in a tight ring around them, waiting with amused and
hungry eyes to see what he would do with this lowly human who had presumed
to defy his authority. If it had been any other human the transaction
would have warranted death. Spike knew the gathering vampires were
expecting to see her blood flow, rich and thick, but he retained just
enough presence of mind to remember that his soul was tied to her life. A
hold that was tenuous at best as conflicting desires tore at him.

Her attack and flight had called up the demon's killer instincts, yet her
very vulnerability stirred the old protective urges that had developed from
protecting Drusilla for over a hundred years. Hurt her. Protect her. He
didn't know what he was doing anymore. Only one thing was clear to him.
She'd left him little choice in the way he was going to have to punish her.
She'd started this insanity, but the demon was looking forward to
finishing it.

Standing up slowly, he watched her from under lowered lashes as she tried
to crawl away from him. A faint, chill smile curled the corners of his
mouth, showing just the ivory tips of his fangs. It was the smile of the
tiger when it sees prey within reach.

Willow stared into hot yellow eyes and for the first time felt real fear
course through her. She watched his nostrils flare as he caught the heady
scent of her terror. Swallowing hard, she pushed back with her uninjured
foot, scooting herself a little further from him and towards the presumed
safety of the wall.

Spike simply watched her, never moving as she inched further away from him.
With a single wave of his hand, he parted the ring of vampires at her
back, letting her through their ranks. He knew she was seeking the safety
of the wall, putting non-threatening stone at her back. He let his smile
widen in appreciation. Such a smart little human she was; to bad it
wouldn't do her any good.

As her back hit the wall, he took his first step towards her. She was
scared, and yet, he could still read defiance in her eyes. Squatting
before her he reached out to trace her jaw with the tip of one finger.

"You should have run a little faster, Pet," he rumbled, his voice low and
menacing.

Willow tried to speak, tried to say something to disarm the situation but
her mind had gone blank with the first touch of his hand on her cheek.
He'd touched her before. Touched her a thousand times since they'd been
together, but nothing had ever felt like this and she couldn't suppress the
shiver that ran the length of her body.

At the touch of her soft skin, his features shifted back to human, the
demon's fearsome visage hidden once more beneath the guise of humanity.
The others in the room stood at his back and wouldn't be able to see this
lapse in his control. He saw Willow's eyes widen as his human features
returned. She gave him a tremulous smile and he hated himself for what he
was about to do . . . for this was an old trick he'd watched Angelus pull
on his beautiful Drusilla time and time again. And just like his sire,
Willow fell for it.

Thinking her ordeal was over, she leaned forward and raised her own hand,
not enough to touch him but close enough so that he could feel the heat
from her skin.

"Spike?" The word came out softly, a hesitant plea that spoke of
understanding and human compassion and things he couldn't afford to
acknowledge.

His own hand came up before she even had time to brace herself, the slap
knocking her head back against the wall behind her.

"Master," he snarled, demon mask firmly back in place. "You will address
me as Master."

Shooting his hands out, quicksilver cobra strikes, he grasped her shoulders
tight and pulled her up to him, standing as he did so. Digging his fingers
painfully into her arms, he shook her. Tears welled up in her eyes as he
repeatedly knocked her back against the wall.

"You think to placate me with tears? It is way too early for tears, pet.
Trust me, tears will be much more useful . . . later."

He pressed the length of his body up against her, more intimate now than
when they'd lain together in their bed. Pulled up tight against him she
was his to do with as he pleased. Mindful only of their avid audience that
waited at his back like a back of vultures, he lowered his face to hers and
kissed her.

For Willow it was like time stopped. She'd known what as going to happen.
Or at least she'd thought she known. She'd been ready for cuts and
bruises, for pain. That she could have handled. She was unprepared for
his kiss. It was unlike any kiss she'd ever shared with Xander or Oz.
Rough and demanding, it bruised in its heated anger. It was a kiss meant to
punish. He pulled back just enough he let her pull in a stunned breath
before he descended on her again.

The second kiss was even harder, pushing her head back until she connected
solidly with the wall. She felt the sting of pain as sharp fangs ripped
the delicate flesh of her lips. The copper taste of her own blood sent her
reeling. This time he snapped his head back. Eyes blazing, he lifted her
in the air; vampire strength holding her aloft against the wall with
indifferent ease. Feet no longer touching the floor, she hung completely
helpless in his grasp, eye to eye with something she wasn't quite sure was
her Spike anymore.

"You will submit to me," was growled out through clenched teeth. The words
echoed through the chamber, pulling in the others who watched the unfolding
drama. Then right before his lips claimed hers for a third time, he
whispered for her alone, "Need me."

His demand this time was clear. He sought entrance to her mouth, and
bewildered and confused, she opened her lips to his questing tongue.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


She was drowning. There was no other way to explain the maelstrom of
thoughts and feelings that threatened to pull her under as Spike tightened
his hold on her and deepened the kiss.

Feeling the waves closing over her head she reached out for something to
save herself. Then over the roaring in her ears she heard the sharp rattle
of chains. Buffy! Buffy, became the anchor she latched onto. Her mind
had something to focus on now. This was for Buffy. Everything she'd done,
everything she'd endured had been to rescue the Slayer and her Watcher.
Holding tight to that thought, she found the strength to tear her lips away
from Spike's.

Forcing her eyes open, she looked over Spike's shoulder into Buffy's
horror-filled eyes. Willow had no idea what Buffy saw in reflected her
face but whatever it was, it the sent the bound Slayer surging against her
chains. A muted scream of hate rising behind her gag, Buffy twisted in her
bonds, the chains swinging together and groaning with the stress of
containing a Slayer's unleashed fury.

Seeing the burly vampire guards heading towards her friends, Willow knew
she had to do something. They wouldn't kill them, but they would hurt
them, especially if Buffy kept fighting them. Willow couldn't stand the
thought of her friends being hurt because they were reacting to what Spike
was doing to her. What she'd very deliberately, and with malice
aforethought, had invited Spike to do to her.

So she did the only thing she could think to do. As she felt Spike's sharp
teeth at her throat, she lashed out and kicked him hard in the shins.

He never flinched. Feeling a scream of frustration rise up in her, she
finally gave vent to her fear. The scream seemed to release something in
her and she came alive in his arms like a wild thing, struggling, screaming
and clawing at him, as she fought to free herself.

As she struck in out in her panic, Spike finally pulled back from her and
released his hold on her arms so that she dropped to the floor. The
unexpected release didn't give her enough time to shift her weight and she
came down hard on her twisted ankle. The sudden pain stilled her fight.
Silent tears running down her face she caught Spike's eyes, just inches
from her own. Surprisingly enough, she thought she saw the man looking out
at her through those demon yellow gaze.

Flicking her eyes back over his shoulder at the screaming Buffy, she
mouthed "Please."

The word seemed to tip the balance of some internal battle he was waging
and he swung her around so that she stood pined against his side, facing
the crowded room.

Avoiding the corner where a nearly unconscious Buffy now hung in her
chains, Willow dropped down to her knees as Spike released his hold on her.

"Enough!" he roared. Even though this was not his band, the note of
command in his voice stilling everyone in the room.

The silence hung for a moment, broken only by Buffy's harsh breathing and
Giles' moans of pain. Stalking over to where the Slayer hung, Spike
brought up one finger to run through the trail of bright blood trickling
down her arm from where the metal cuffs had bit into her wrists during her
struggles. Bringing his blood covered finger to his mouth, he made a show
of savoring the taste, sucking on his index finger in a way that made
Willow's insides clench in sudden tension.

"Hhmm, exquisite. There is nothing quite like the taste of Slayer's blood.
Unless, of course, it is the taste of magic in a witch's blood."

Reaching out, he caught another drop as it slid down Buffy's arm and tasted
it, ignoring the warning growls from the two guards standing beside him.
Turning, he found Blake seated calmly at the table, as if the little drama
that had just played out before him had been a performance just for his
amusement.

"Blake, I don't think I'll be going out with you this evening. It seems I
have new plans."

Willow felt his heated gaze come back to rest on her crouched form.

"It seems," Spike added with a low chuckle that brought to mind the darkest
pits of hell, "that someone is in need of some remedial training. And
really, what kind of Master would I be if I let this kind of disobedience
slide?"

Blake laughed and rising from his seat, clapped a hand against Spike's
shoulder. "Have . . . fun."

"Oh, it'll be a bloody good time, " Spike answered, "At least for one of us."

As Blake called his riled up clan around him for the night's hunt, Spike
turned and headed back down the hallway to their room. A clipped command
of 'Come', and Willow crawled after him, her face burning bright red at
this added humiliation. Clenching her teeth, she dared not look at Buffy
or Giles for fear that the guilt at adding to their pain would overwhelm
her. The crawl back down the hallway was the longest thrity feet of her life.

*****

His long stride put him at the room long before Willow finished her painful
crawl. Spike used those few extra minutes to get firm command of himself
once again. He almost had his anger under control when she finally
appeared in the doorway. Pulling herself the last few feet, Willow
collapsed just within the door.

The sight of her sprawled, shaking at his feet, undid in an instant his
careful control. Stepping over her, he slammed the door closed, fixing the
deadbolt with a ringing snap.

She raised her head as the door closed behind her. He suddenly wanted to
rage at her as she turned those proud green eyes on him. But even more
than the rage, he wanted to make her scream. He wanted to hear her scream
in pain and he wanted to hear her scream in ecstasy, and he didn't know
which one he wanted more.

Take her. Rend her. Ravish her. Destroy her.

He had to get out.

As if Willow sensed his struggle, she stayed quiet on the floor. She made
no comments, never moved from her position as he went about ripping the
wooden planks from their window. Only when he was about to crawl through
did he hear her call to him.

"Spike?"

He didn't answer, merely turned a fierce scowl in her direction. She
didn't flinch back but met his eyes with steady resolve. She opened her
mouth to say something but seemed to think better of it. Raising her hand,
she ran her fingers across her forehead and down her nose.

It was the only with her gesture that he realized that he'd never resumed
his human face. Shifting his features back to human, he gave her one last
look before climbing out the window.

Willow sighed softly as she watched him climb out the window. Only when he
was gone did she let herself slump. She was exhausted, hurt, confused and
angry. She didn't know who she was anymore. Staring out after Spike's
retreating form, she realized she wasn't the only one. It was alarming to
learn that even demons could have their own inner conflicts to contend
with. Surprisingly enough, the one person she needed to help her explain
what was going on, was the person who'd put her in the position to begin
with. Damn him.

She stared out the window for a long time until movement out in the hall
shook her free of her daze. She had a charade to maintain, for both of
their sakes and for the lives of Buffy and Giles. Now was not the time to
fall apart. Pushing herself off the floor, she limped heavily over to the
door. Satisfied that the door was securely locked, she picked up their one
chair. Holding it above her head she swung it with all her might against
the wall. Then right on the heels of that splintering crash, she screamed.

In that long, drawn out wail she forced all the terror, anger and hurt that
she'd been keeping bottled up within her. The wail trailed off painfully,
catching on a sob that she refused to release. She waited. One heart
beat, two, then she screamed again. This time the cry was different, lower
pitched, but still as echoing as she gave vent to all the conflicting
feelings and thoughts that Spike inspired in her.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


With that piercing cry Willow gave vent to the emotional tangle that Spike
had stirred up in her, but like a floodgate opening, once released she
couldn't stop it. For the first time in her life, Willow let go. Grabbing
one of the broken pieces of the chair, she swung it repeatedly against the
door and walls, her cries rising and falling around her with each strike
until she screamed herself hoarse and only broken sticks of splintered wood
remained in her hands. The turmoil, however, still raged within her.
Sinking to her knees, she continued to beat them against the floor in time
to the pain still pulsing within her, a flood of emotion that once started,
refused to be controlled until it had finished running its course.

When her voice finally fell silent, the tears began. Finally releasing the
wood in her hands, she collapsed with the wracking sobs of someone at the
end of their strength. Willow cried for herself and the girl she'd been a
few short weeks ago. She cried for Buffy and Giles, who probably thought
that Spike was raping and torturing her, possibly even killing her. She
cried for the loneliness and all the pain and fear she'd had to endure.
And in the end, she even cried for Spike, for forcing him into this and for
whatever the sadness was that she sometimes caught in his eyes.

Eventually, even her tears ran out and she lay exhausted on the cold floor.
As she lay there, eyes closed, she realized she felt the most
extraordinary thing. She felt . . . better. She was still hurt, her life
and Buffy and Giles and even Spike's still hung in the balance. She still
had all her problems, but the ball of tension that had sat in the pit of
her stomach for days was gone, released in the flood of misery.

With a soft giggle, she realized that for the first time in her life, she
understood the attraction of primal scream therapy. Unfortunately, finding
that newfound calm brought the pain in her ankle back to center stage in
her thoughts, no longer hidden behind the larger pains in her heart and soul.

Wearily she pushed herself up from the floor. She had to find out how much
damage had been done to her foot. From the lightening sharp stabs of pain,
she was expecting the worst. Hobbling back to the bed, she proceeded to
pull the boot from her foot amid swearing that would have met with Spike's
approval.

Getting her first good look at her ankle, the only word she could think to
cover the situation was, "Ow."

Her foot, propped up on the bed, had already started to turn several
different colors, a mottled purple dominating the color scheme with blue
running a close second. The skin beneath her fingers felt tight and hot
and she could feel her heartbeat pounding deep in her ankle. It was
definitely sprained, possibly fractured.

Probing gently at her foot, she added a mental addendum to her list of
things never to do again. Deliberately pissing off a vampire was going to
be number-one with a star.

Propping herself back against the pillows, she wondered what she was going
to do now. She needed ice for her foot but she was stuck in the room.
She'd long ago adopted vampire sleeping habits, and with sundown just upon
them she should have been wide awake, but between her fight with Spike and
the emotional and physical exhaustion brought on by her outburst, she could
feel sleep tugging at her. Her mind and body telling her to rest, she
slipped into a fitful doze broken by hazy dreams of running and an elusive
safety that seemed always to be just beyond her fingertips.

It was her dreams that finally woke her.

"Spike!" she gasped, spread fingers clawing at his side of the bed, seeking
comfort . . .protection . . . something.

The pain in her ankle brought her back to reality, that and the aches in
the rest of her body as muscles that had stiffened in sleep protested every
little movement.

Willow groaned softly and felt tears she'd thought exhausted earlier
prickle beneath her lids. But just as quickly, she clamped down on the
urge to cry. She'd needed those tears earlier but she couldn't afford them
now. Now she had to be strong again. When this was all over and they'd
won, then she would sit down and have another good cry but not until then.
A few deep calming breaths later, her mental armor was back in place.

Glancing at the clock beside the bed she noted the time. Its steady
crimson glow showed the time as almost midnight. She been asleep for
almost four hours. Knowing that Spike had a lot to do before he'd be back,
she settled down to wait.

She studied her spellbook for an hour before her concentration finally
disintegrated beneath her restlessness. For her next distraction, she
turned to her computer. After sending Oz an e-mail informing him and
Xander that she and Spike were okay, she found herself unable to
concentrate on the screen in front of her as her eyes kept being drawn back
to the glowing numerals on the clock and then to the open window.

Heaving a sigh of disgust, she snapped the laptop closed. "Fine, I give
up. If all I'm going to do is sit here and wait like a ninny, then I guess
that’s what I'll have to do."

She discovered that waiting, however, was easier said than done. Waiting
left her mind free to wander down dark and twisting paths. Paths that
always seemed to begin and end with one person; Spike.

Spike. Because of the need for his help, she'd performed the gypsy magic
again. She blackmailed a vampire without even a twinge of conscience,
knowing that if she died, he'd receive his soul.

Chewing on a hangnail she glanced at the clock again. 2:15 am. It was
still early by vampire standards. There was no reason to start worrying yet.

Spike. He'd chopped off her hair, dressed her black jeans and boots and
skimpy tops that showed off the bruises and bites and the collar that he'd
locked around her neck.

Running her fingers through her hair, she tugged at the shortened locks in
exasperation before looking again at the clock.

2:30. Who would ever have thought that fifteen minutes could pass so slowly.

Once again Willow wished that he hadn't hacked off her hair that first
night. She still felt exposed without that familiar curtain to hide behind
and she could no longer tuck that one strand behind her ear when she thought.

Another glance at the clock. 2:45 stared back her with mocking steadiness.
She glanced at the window and tried to ignore the small niggle of worry
that curled in her stomach.

Spike. He'd taken her to stay with several vampire 'families' in and
around Sunnydale in their search for Buffy and Giles. He'd given her a
glimpse into the vampires' world that Giles' books had never mentioned.

Checking the clock again, she hissed in a mixture of rising fear and
annoyance, "Three o'clock. Where are you, Spike?" not sure if she should
be worried about him or mad at him for being gone so long.

Spike. He'd expected her to fail, to cry at the first bruise, to crumble
the first time he yanked her into a roomful of grinning vampires who saw
her as nothing more than amusement and a meal. She should have failed.
She should have cried and crumbled and curled into a ball. Instead, she'd
become strong in defiance of his expectations and the scorn she'd seen in
his eyes. Now, she realized, she'd remain strong so that scorn didn't come
back.

The clock showed 3:33. She fought the urge to grab it up and hurl it
against the far wall.

Spike. She'd struck Spike. More importantly, she'd struck Spike and lived
to tell about it. She was probably one of the few people who could say
that. She didn't blame him for his reaction to that slap, even though her
ankle still throbbed and already new bruises, aches, and pains were making
their presence known. She'd known when she'd made the decision to hit him
that she was playing with fire. Taunt a demon, run from it, and you have
to be ready to pay the consequences. She'd expected violence, she'd even
feared that he might lose his control and kill her.

The clock again. The anger was fading, the worry growing stronger with
each advancing flash of minutes. She went back to biting at her ragged
nails.

Spike. He hadn't killed her. He'd kissed her, *that* she hadn't expected.
But even more than the kiss, she hadn't expected her reaction to it.

Ignoring the clock this time, she surged up off the bed and made her way
across the room to the bathroom to get a glass of water. Concentrating on
the pain in her foot, she let its sharp sting wash out the memories of his
kiss. She wasn't ready to think about that yet; wasn't ready to think
about the reaction she'd had to him, his demand for her submission, his
plea for her to need him. She wasn't ready to think about the fact that
she'd been ready to give both to him, so she locked those memories away.
Where they'd be safe. Where she'd be safe.

A sudden noise from the hall interrupted her progress back to the bed.
Glancing worriedly back at the window and the clock, she cursed Spike under
her breath. The stragglers of the evening were returning and seeking their
own rooms up and down the hallway. It was time to put on another show.
Drinking down the last of her water, she hefted the glass in her hand, and
paused to consider, and then reconsider.

"Oh what the hell. I've always wanted to do this." Rearing back, she
threw the glass at the door, a satisfied smile on her face as it shattered
in a tinkling shower of glass shards. Then, for her vampire audience, she
let out a few whimpers and a low moan that cut off abruptly. That seemed
to satisfy whoever had paused at the door and as the hall once again grew
quiet she turned back to the bed . . . and to the ever-present thoughts of
Spike.

The clock now read 4:10.

It wasn't hard to imagine any number of things that could have happened to
him. Vampires routinely fought and killed each other. Any young fledgling
thinking to make a name and reputation could have ambushed Spike. Zombies
and ghouls that fed on the dead considered vampires a rare delicacy.
Demons, warlocks, witches, even those rare human hunters who knew of the
existence of the demon inhabitants of the world could have captured him,
hurt him, or even killed him.

And it didn't even have to be foul play. Spike could have left her. He
didn't want this fight, didn't want to save Buffy. So he got his soul
back, big deal. Spike had not been a good man, even as a mortal. Even
now, he could be screaming down the highway, leaving her to her fate.
Leaving her.

She was almost afraid to look over at the clock this time but forced
herself to once again check the time. 5:02 am. Dawn would be a little
after six o’clock. Worry officially became panic.

The fear and frustration were becoming overwhelming now. Fear that Spike
was dead somewhere. Frustration in the fact that she couldn't give vent to
her fear. With her ankle, she couldn't pace; her throat still hurt from
the screaming she'd done earlier, and she was afraid that if she gave into
the tears again, this time she wouldn't be able to stop.

In her desperation she pulled Spike's pillow into her chest, burying her
face into the cloth, her eyes shut tight against the ugly little room, the
broken chair and shattered glass, and against the clock and its relentless
march of time. Cocooned in the darkness behind her closed eyes, surrounded
by Spike's smell, she did the only thing she could think of left to do.
Willow prayed. She prayed to the God of her parents, she prayed to her
Goddess, she prayed to whoever and whatever chose and gave Slayers their
powers. She prayed to anyone or anything that would listen, and hoped
that if the forces of good where indeed listening that they didn't laugh
when they heard her pray for the safety of a soulless vampire.

A scraping noise that shouldn't have been there brought her head up, her
body tensed to either flee or fight. Heart pounding she scanned the room,
and then she saw a pale hand catch at the window sill.

"Spike!" she cried in relief as the vampire finally climbed in through the
window. Tossing the pillow aside, she hurried as fast as she could across
the room, her joy at his return causing her to throw her arms around him.
Burying her face against his shoulder, she held on tightly until
embarrassment caused her to release him.

Taking a stumbling step backwards, she felt her relief turned quickly to
dismay as she caught her first good look at him. Spike had been in a
fight. His clothes were dirt streaked, one sleeve torn. A long gash
started on the back of his left hand and wound further up out of sight
beneath his sleeve. She didn't need to see it to know how far up his arm
it went. The blood from the wound stained the shirt almost to the elbow.

As he stumbled over the sill she rushed to help him, her own injuries
forgotten. Helping him to the bed, she fussed over him, ignoring his low
growls of warning at her attentions.

Spike suffered her ministrations less than graciously, but finally allowed
her to help him when his growls didn't deter her.

She hissed in sympathy as she helped pull his shirt over his head.
"Goddess, Spike, what happened?"

"Remember the second group we stayed with when we started this bloody
rescue mission of yours?" he asked, then snapped out, "Stop that!" as he
kicked out at her hands that had been pulling off his boots. "I'm not a
bloody invalid. I got into a fight with that piss-ant Gregory. Thought he
and two of his goons could take me down . . . take more than three of those
wankers to get me . . . stupid pricks."

Willow was really only half listening as she checked him over to make sure
that he wasn't seriously injured. But finally his mutterings sank in and
she turned wide eyes up to him. "You could have been killed!"

"What do you care, Witch?" Spike fairly growled at her.

She recoiled from the emotions swirling in his eyes and then firmly
reminded herself that he was hurt, angry, and probably still wound tightly
from the fight. At this moment, he was very much like a wounded animal,
prickly, snarling, and not to be messed with. Sighing, Willow backed away
from him, telling herself that his injuries were minor and he'd be healed
by morning. He was alive. He'd come back to her. That was the important
thing.

Catching blue eyes that flickered with streaks of amber, she soothed him as
best she could. "I'm sorry, Spike. I was worried about you. I . . ." she
almost said 'need you' but something held her tongue. Instead, she
stuttered "I -I was afraid s-something had happened. B-but, you're okay .
. . so, I'll leave you alone."

Turning away she limped away from him towards the window.

Spike watched her painful progress over to the window to check the boards
he'd pulled back into place, making sure that the drapes were shut tight
against the coming dawn. Watching her perform her nightly ritual of
checking the room calmed him. The routineness of her actions was finally
letting him release the tension he'd held since the fight earlier.

Watching her now he felt a stab of remorse hit him. He'd hurt her. He
truly hadn't wanted to hurt her but the sight of her running before him,
the thrill of the chase, the bloodlust rising as she fought against him,
had been more than he could stand. Seeing her now though with the limp and
the fresh bruises and scrapes decorating her pale skin, he realized he'd
hurt her more than he'd realized. The little witch had proved herself to
be made of iron, but that core of strength was housed in such a fragile
package. A fraction of his strength and her skin wore the imprint of his
fingers. She was lucky she wasn't dead.

Spike knew he'd crossed a line earlier and now he didn't know how to make
amends to Willow. He had always known how to apologize to his Princess.
Whenever in his anger or impatience he had hurt Drusilla's fragile
feelings, he'd always offered her the comfort of his body, letting his
passion and love for her express his sorrow at causing her pain. But
Willow wasn't Drusilla and he didn't know how to tell her what he needed to
say. So in the end, he simply remained silent.

Finally, he snapped out a terse, "I'm going to take a shower," and left to
seek solitude under the pounding jets of water in the shower.

He emerged thirty minutes later to find Willow already in the bed, the
covers pulled up tight around her. Flicking out the light, he crawled
wearily into bed beside her.

A few minutes later Willow spoke, her voice soft and hesitant as she
fumbled for her words. "I'm . . . I'm sorry, Spike. For hitting you, you
know. And for running and . . . and making you have to . . . to do . . .
what you did. I know you didn't like it. But I - I don't hate you. You
only did what I made . . . well, forced you to do. And, I'd do it again,
Spike. All of it. You didn't do *anything* I didn't want you to do." The
last was finished in a rush as if her courage in getting the words said was
running out on her.

Beside her, he lay silently, wondering if she really had any idea of what
he could have done to her that afternoon and how very close he'd come to
actually doing it.

++++++++

Warmth. Heat. Life. It was the last one, life, which brought him to
wakefulness.

He was lying on his side, facing the door, and he could feel Willow's back
pressed up tight against his own. Her body heat warmed him; the thumping
of her heart vibrated his own body in time with hers. It was a strange
sensation, feeling her pressed so close against him. Back-to-back, each of
them facing outward to confront their enemies, trusting that the other
would stand behind them. Thinking back on his life as both demon and
mortal, he couldn't remember anyone he'd ever trusted at his back, not even
Drusilla. Because love her he may have, but her insanity meant that he was
ultimately alone. How far had he fallen that he would even consider
trusting his unlife in the hands of a mortal?

So lost in his thoughts, he was startled when her voice came out of the
darkness. "You're awake."

Surprised at the surety in her voice, he asked softly, "How did you know?"

"You breathe."

"I what?" That was not what he expected her to say.

Willow laughed at the faint sound of disgusted disbelief coloring his
voice. "You breathe. Well, not really breathe . . . because, of course,
you don't have to breathe because technically you're dead and the whole
breathing thing is kind of a non-issue. But you have to at least inhale in
order to speak and definitely in order to smoke . . . I'd always wondered
about that, you know. And you all do . . .breathe that is. I've been
watching. I kind of think it's a reflex. So that even after you're
turned, the reflexes still work. You blink, you swallow, and you breathe;
leftovers from life. Which brings us back to me knowing you were awake.
You were still when you were asleep and then when you woke up, you took a
breath."

Finally stopping her ramble, she took her own breath, suddenly afraid that
she'd let her enthusiasm get away from her again.

When Spike finally did speak, she heard the laughter in his voice. "For
the sake of undead everywhere, I should kill you now. I have a feeling
that you and that quick little mind of yours have learned far more from
this experience that you should have."

She didn't even question her certainty that he teased her. "But you
won't," she answered, with just the tiniest amount of smug satisfaction
coloring her voice.

"No, I won't," he answered with a sigh of exasperation. Falling back into
silence, he waited for her to pull away from him, but her back remained
firmly against his. Surprised and curious about what was running through
that quick mind of hers he continued to wait, knowing that she wasn't done
yet, and she'd tell him when she found the words. He didn't have to wait
long.

"You made contact with the other groups."

It was more statement than question, but he answered her anyway. "Yes.
They know. They'll probably attack at dusk hoping to catch Blake by
surprise."

"We could all die tomorrow."

Again it was a statement, as if she was working through her thoughts out
loud, only needing Spike to confirm what she already knew. He could hear
the underlying fear but her voice was steady. He wondered when he'd grown
to know this mortal so well that he could now hear the thing she sought to
hide. Hoping to distract her, he asked his own question of her. "Will you
be able to do the pencil trick with the key?"

"I'll be ready."

He heard her swallow hard and the rustle of fabric as she wrapped her arms
tighter around herself.

"Will you promise me something, Spike?" This time the tremor of fear was
stronger in her voice.

"What, luv?"

"Don't let them turn me. I don't want to be a vampire. I've met what I
would be as a demon, and I don't want that. She was empty and so very
lonely."

`Emptiness and loneliness' . . . those he understood all too well. Out of
everything she could have asked him, this was a promise he could keep. "I
can't promise it won't happen, luv, but if I live, I'll make sure that you
die the last death."

Willow was satisfied. If it came to it, Spike would stake her himself. It
was a cold kind of comfort, but comfort none-the-less.

Spike listened to the silence between them, thinking that was all she asked
of him. Then her voice came again, so soft even vampire hearing strained
to make out the words. "I'm scared, Spike. I've come all this way, done .
. ." a small hitch of breath before she continued, "done . . . everything
I've done. It never seemed real, you know. Just playing a part, never
letting myself think too hard or too long. But now it is here and I'm
scared out of my mind. You were right, Spike. I'm a bloody fool and I'm
going to get us all killed."

There was a note in her voice that Spike knew well. He'd heard it from
Drusilla when she came out of her visions, when she was lost between the
reality of her visions and the real world. During those times was when
Drusilla had needed him the most, to ground herself in him and let Spike
override the endless terrifying images that danced in her head. And Spike
responded to that need now as he'd always done.

Turning, he faced Willow, pulling her over on to her back. Propping
himself up on his elbow he stared down at the young woman who lay next to
him. When she met his eyes, he pushed himself up and over her until he
knelt over her body. Willow found herself surrounded by Spike, his
shadowed eyes staring intently down into hers. He had her effectively
trapped by his body, his arms and legs caging her. She started to say
something but was stopped as he laid a finger against her lips and gently
shook his head no.

Willow didn't understand what he was doing, but she felt the first
stirrings of panic along her nerves as he lowered his head down to hers.
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, wondering if after all this time he'd
finally decided just to kill her and live with getting his soul back.

She waited, breath held and heart pounding, but nothing happened. No
biting. No pain. The need for air finally forced her to let out her held
breath. Still nothing. Opening her eyes, she gasped to find Spike hovering
inches above her face.

His lips were curled in a faint smile, and she could see amusement in his
eyes. It was the amusement that sparked her courage. She had always
thought that he considered her some kind of useless little girl, but she'd
endured too much to be laughed at, even by a vampire. At her narrowed
eyes, his smile widened, almost as if he could tell he'd pricked her temper.

But that flare of defiance turned just as quickly back to panic as he
lowered his face to hers and brushed his lips across her own. The shock of
that feather light contact left her reeling in confusion. Before she could
protest, his lips moved on to her hairline before wandering down over one
eye. The contact was light as the brush of a butterfly's wing, a tickling
sensation that electrified her nerve-endings and raised goosebumps across
her body. But as his lips brushed across one cheekbone and down her neck
she couldn't help wondering if now her death would come. But it was not to
be, as the tip of his tongue joined the soft caress of his lips to trace
around the collar that encircled her neck.

Willow was so shocked she didn't know what to do so she lay there, frozen
beneath Spike. She couldn't seem to think and every time she grabbed onto
a thought, the touch of Spike's lips drove it from her grasp again. She
should stop this. Stop him. But she couldn't, or maybe . . maybe it was
she didn't want to stop it. She didn't want to think about the
consequences. She only wanted to feel the silky whisper of his lips
against her skin. His touch sent the fears away, his lips stilled the
tangled thoughts in her head until she threaded her fingers in the hair at
his nape and pulled him up to her lips. He accepted her invitation with a
hoarse growl that had more than a touch of warning in it.

Lost in the pounding of her heart and his touch, she didn't even protest
when his hands slid up her stomach, pushing her t-shirt up her body. For
how could you protest when logic said this wasn't happening and that it was
all just a dream? And it was dream-like, the brush of his fingertips
against her skin, the slide of his palms up her arms as he pushed the shirt
up over her head. But the eyes that ran hotly across her skin belonged in
no dream she'd ever had. She could almost feel his gaze against her. And
she'd never had a dream like this one as Spike's cool lips returned to her
skin.

He'd worked his way across her throat before she figured out what he was
doing. It wasn't random kisses or caresses that he trailed across her but
deliberately placed touches. Each bite mark met with a slow swipe of his
tongue. The long scratch across her collarbone received a series of gentle
kisses. He stopped at every bruise or cut, lavishing attention on each
hurt as if he were trying to erase the pain of each one. His touch was
gentle and almost non-erotic in a strange way, the touch of his lips light
and innocent, if that word could even be used in conjunction with a
soulless vampire.

It was that unreal sense of almost innocence that allowed her to let him
pull her boxers down her legs until she lay naked beneath him. And when
the barrier of her clothing had been removed, he returned again to her
skin, moving across her hips and down her legs until he reached her ankle.
She heard him hiss softly -- in anger, in remorse, maybe even sympathy.
She wasn't sure. But his gentleness went to new levels as he trailed cool
fingertips across the swollen flesh.

During it all, he'd never said a word, and the silence of the room beat at
her and pressed in on her until she felt the need to scream. And then he
stopped, his body still, the only movement, one thumb that gently caressed
along her ankle.

Staring up at Spike, Willow realized she wasn't afraid anymore. She felt
safe and warm and protected and Spike had done that. He had built a cocoon
of safety around her with nothing more substantial that the moonlight and
his touch. But it was real enough and the fear was gone, banished beyond
the reach of the bed to where it could be faced later. And it didn't
bother her that the eyes that held hers reflected no soul. What she did
see though touched her just as deeply . . .compassion and desire and old
hurts and loneliness. She saw his own needs laid bare before her, stripped
of pretense and lies and half-truths. Honesty. And as Spike laid himself
bare to her gaze, she couldn't hide behind her own fears.

Reaching upwards, she held out her arms to him, and when he leaned towards
her, Willow slid her hands up his arms and across leanly muscled shoulders.
Pulling him down to her, she whispered her assent and offered him his own
solace. "Make it go away, Spike. Make it all go away."

This time when Spike touched her there was no hint of innocence.

+++++++++++

Willow woke, panic sending her heart soaring as she registered the foreign
weight resting heavily across her body. Clamping down hard on the
instinctive urge to scream, she opened her eyes only to discover that the
weight pinning her to the bed was Spike.

Sometime while they'd slept he'd turned sideways on the bed until his body
was stretched across its width. His head now rested on her stomach just
below her breasts. She was effectively pinned with one of his arms lying
against her side, his hand tucked up into the small of her back. The other
stretched across the top of her thighs, his hand clutched tight at her hip.
There was something almost childlike in his position; as if he were a
small boy who'd snuck into his mother's bed looking for comfort. But the
sensuous feel of his skin against hers and the tight grip he had on her
body dispelled any thoughts of childish innocence.

Lifting her hand, she rested it upon his bent head, her fingers sinking
into the softness of his hair. Stroking him, she ran gentle fingers across
the back of his head down to the nape of his neck. When he didn't stir she
repeated the gesture, this time continuing the caress down his neck and
across the smooth expanse of his back as far as she could reach.

He shifted suddenly beneath her touch, and she waited for him to pull away,
but instead he tightened his arms around her, nuzzling gently into her
stomach before relaxing again.

Breath held, she waited, her hand hovering in the air over him. As the
seconds ticked by and Spike still didn't move, she relaxed again and let
her breath out slowly.

Spike had been a confusing mixture of tenderness and fierce possession. It
had been nothing like the furtive scrambling with Xander or the controlled
and deliberate lovemaking with Oz. Spike had been passion and fire, his
touch sending shivers of pleasure racing through her body. She'd been
unable to control the arch of her body, or the shuddering gasps for breath
as Spike had used two centuries of knowledge to slowly drive her out of her
mind.

She'd felt no shame in crying out, words of 'more' and 'again' tumbling
from her lips. She'd felt no fear as sharp teeth had grazed sensitive
flesh. She'd had no doubts as she'd twisted, pinning him in turn to replay
the things he'd done to her and hear him cry out, words of 'more' and
'again' as sweet on his lips as they'd been on hers.

Willow would have liked to say that she was sorry, or maybe that when she
thought of Oz, she felt the keen slice of guilt across her conscious. But
if she was truthful with herself, she felt no guilt, no remorse for what
had happened. In fact, if she was really truthful, she had wanted it. No,
she thought, the real truth . . . she had wanted Spike. And he was both
everything and nothing like what she'd imagined.

Now there was nothing left to do but stay in this bubble of safety and
security that Spike had created for her until it was time to go out and
face her demons, the ones down the halls and the ones living inside her
head. But that was still hours away, and for now all she had to do was
keep up the steady stroke of her hand over the bowed head of the man
sleeping against her.

Which was why when he spoke, she was surprised and probably wouldn't have
caught the words he murmured against her skin, if she hadn't been so
focused on him.

"I'm sorry, Dru. Couldn't stop him . . . couldn't protect. He hurts you,
baby. I can't stand it when he hurts you."

Then he moved slightly, turning his head enough to place a kiss that was
more reverence than passion against her stomach.

Understanding dawning on her, Willow kept up the soothing caress of her
hand. She'd known he didn't like playing the games of Master and slave.
She'd never understood it. To her thinking, Spike should relish the
opportunity to hurt her, mortal and friend of the Slayer that she was.
New-found understanding though brought to mind other things, like the old
Watcher Journals. She knew what the books said Angelus did to Drusilla.
Only then, it had been just words on paper. She hadn't understood. Now
she did. Drusilla had been where she was now, only for Drusilla it hadn't
been a game. What had it been like for Spike? To watch a woman he loved
beyond reason . . .she shook her head. Oh, Spike.

*****

Warmth once again brought him to wakefulness, teasing warmth this time that
caressed his skin in abstract looping patterns. Willow. Opening his eyes
he raised his head, levering his body up off of hers.

Only when Spike once again knelt over her did she notice the dark smears of
blood marred his forearm. She didn't remember him biting her but the blood
was spilled truth and she need only find the wound. In the end, the mark
she sought was Spike's not her own. Confused, she reached down to brush
gentle fingers over Spike's wrist, the flesh torn and jagged, so unlike the
precise bites that marred her own flesh.

Troubled green eyes finally swung up to meet blue. Her finger stopped its
delicate tracing to poise resting against his skin. "Why?"

It took only that innocent question for the memory to slam into him, its
impact a physical blow of sensation, desire and raging want. His face
buried against her shoulder. His lips pulled back to expose deadly fangs.
Her blood pounded a hairsbreadth away. His ears were filled with the
sounds of her pounding heart, overlaid with the soft gasps and whimpers
that were wrung from her every time his length slid within her. Her scent,
sharp with arousal and the tang of sweat, filled his nostrils.

He brushed his face against her neck, scraping his fangs across her skin.
He felt her shiver at that touch, but she didn't pull away from him.

The need to bite roared in his head, pounding through him in time to the
rhythm of Willow's blood beneath his lips. The litany going around and
around in his mind. Take her. Drain her. Kill her. Own her. Possess
her. Need her.

Need her. That was the force that drove him. He'd sworn he'd never need
anyone or anything like he'd needed Drusilla, ever again. So with a snarl
he turned his head aside, denying himself the sweet taste of her blood and
sank his fangs into his own wrist. Fangs sliced through skin, releasing a
flood of dark blood into his mouth. He choked on the taste, heavy and
thick, tainted with the taste of death, instead of the fast, bright blood
of the woman trembling beneath him. Grinding down, he welcomed the flash
of pain, felt ivory scrape hard again bone.

The pain blossomed and grew until it mixed with the heat of her body and
threw him into his own orgasm, his weight pressing Willow down into the
bed, as his body jerked violently.

"Why, Spike?"

Her question pulled him back to himself, to find her still earnestly
watching him; her lower lip caught fast between her teeth. It would be
easy to lie. Safer certainly, for both him and her. He could lie, twist
the facts so far into themselves until they showed no more reflection of
the truth than his own missing reflection showed his own soul. But the lie
wouldn't come.

Clenching muscles and tendons shifted beneath Willow’s finger and, without
a word she shifted her hand along his forearm, her touch the faintest
whisper along his skin, smoothing out the tension, relaxing corded muscles.

"Spike?"

He met her eyes and let her see the hunger on his face. "Because I
wouldn't have stopped."

She nodded at his answer and gave him a sad half-smile. "I understand,"
she said, then turned away from him and moved back to her own side of the
bed.

He stared at her back for a moment longer but then there was nothing left
to do but lay back down on his own side of the bed and turn his back to
her. A few minutes later he felt her move again, and nothing -- not being
turned, not Angelus or Drusilla or even the Hellmouth -- had ever surprised
him more than when he felt her inch backwards across the mattress until her
back was once more pressed against him. His back guarded, Spike fell into
a dreamless sleep, waiting for dusk and the end of everything.

*****

Spike paced, nervous energy expressing itself in endless movement. Willow,
in contrast, sat as still as a statue, never moving from the corner she'd
claimed when the two of them had first entered the room. She had played
her part to perfection. Her walk was that of an old woman, as if every
movement caused her pain. She visibly flinched whenever Spike's swinging
leather duster brushed against her. She was, in the eyes of those who took
the time to look at her, everything she was expected to be . . . cowed,
beaten and completely submissive to her Master.

In another time and place she would have laughed at the obtuseness of those
that looked at her, seeing only what they wanted to see. Now, she did not
laugh. Too much was at stake and the consequences of failure unbearable.

So she turned deaf ears to Buffy's muffled screams of hate as she was bound
to the makeshift altar. She turned blind eyes to Giles' suffering as he
watched the preparations that would sacrifice his Slayer. Sightless,
soundless, she trusted in Spike to guard her as she turned inward to pitch
magic against the laws of gravity and physics.

And what after all did Newton and Einstein know of witchcraft? Of
impossible things that science could not define? And not even a flicker of
triumph marred the passive cast of her face as the iron manacle key,
thought to be slipped safely into a pocket, fell up instead of down and
defied all the laws of those men of science to hover out of sight and out
of reach, waiting for the moment when it would be needed.

Only peripherally was she was aware of Spike's impatient argument with
Blake, the words washing over her consciousness as she concentrated on
holding the key to Buffy and Giles' release in the air. Angry words . . .
"now" . . . "not yet time" . . . "do you dare to challenge me?" . . . "NO!"
The voices beat at her, trying to break her concentration and now new
sounds assaulted her. Breaking glass, screams and growls spun around her.
Then she heard what she'd been waiting for. Spike and the words, "Now, luv."

Willow woke from her self-induced trace to a scene straight out of hell.
Dozen of vampires filled the room around her each bent on destruction. The
various clans may have started this assault together, but true to form
their allegiances were breaking down as each vampire sought to get to the
Slayer and Watcher to claim them for their own. Within that seething hell,
Willow crouched in the corner behind the meager protection of Spike's legs.
She wanted so badly to give in to the terror clawing at her insides but
she did not, though her nails had long since cut into the palms of her
hands from the her tight fists.

Trusting that Spike would protect her, she concentrated on the key she was
levitating even while around her chaos reigned -- a key which finally found
its home in the lock holding the Slayer captive.

The weeks of inaction and lack of adequate food and water had seriously
weakened Buffy. But the feel of the chains that had bound her for so long
sliding off her wrists sent a surge of energy through her that had her
rolling off the makeshift altar with only a slight jerky movement to betray
her true weakened state.

Buffy knew she'd pay for this last burst of energy she drew from within,
but right now, she didn't care. Only one thing remained for the Slayer,
one driving imperative - kill Spike. And if to get across the room to kill
him meant killing the vampires in her path, then she'd simply go through
them. As the first unlucky vampire crossed her path, Buffy gave herself
over to the instinctive hate and urge to kill within herself and simply
became The Slayer.

It was several minutes before Spike noticed a difference in the movement
and sound of the fight that ebbed and flowed around him. His confusion
turned to comprehension as he realized the Slayer was free, and it didn't
take long to figure out she was coming for him.

Spike twisted around and grabbed Willow's arm, hauling her to her feet.
"Get the Slayer and Watcher out of here." She felt keys pressed into her
hand. "Go!"

As she stumbled away from him, he guarded her back, memories of Prague and
the sheer terror he'd felt when he saw Drusilla go down surrounded by the
mob clawing at his insides.

Snarling, he staked a vampire that got too close. "This is not bloody well
Prague and it won't happen again. Not this damn time," he growled.

"Buffy," Willow screamed over the noise around her. The Slayer never
paused in her fight, Willow's scream unheard in her single-minded dance of
destruction.

Seeing that Buffy was beyond hearing her now, she ran to the altar and
retrieved the key still stuck in the padlock. Snatching it up, she moved
to free Giles from his chains. Giles crumpled to the ground when released.

"Willow, leave me. Get out of here."

Seeing the Watcher on the ground, giving in to his fate, Willow felt
something inside of her snap, and an unaccustomed rage swelled up in her.
"Damn it, no! I did not do all this just so you could die here. I will
NOT let you die. Get up!"

As Giles struggled upright, Willow screamed at Buffy one last time. This
time the Slayer heard.

As Buffy reached Willow and Giles, she came up under Giles' unprotected
shoulder, taking some of his weight off of Willow.

"Buffy, this way," Willow indicated a door off to their left, and the three
made their way across the room with Spike still shadowing them, always
keeping Willow within sight. As they broke free from the building, Buffy
turned, only then catching sight of the vampire behind them. With a howl
of pure hate, Buffy dropped Giles' shoulder to spring at Spike, a makeshift
stake grasped tight in her hand. "You bastard!"

Willow didn't think; she simply reacted. "Buffy, no!" Dropping Giles
where they stood, she barreled into Buffy who had Spike momentarily pinned
beneath her. Both went tumbling over and over in a tangle of arms and legs.

"Willow, what are you doing?"

"Buffy, he's helped me . . . and . . . and, we don't have *time* for this
now."

Spike had gained his feet, hot, yellow eyes glaring balefully at the Slayer
who stood trembling a few steps away, barely suppressed rage warring with
exhaustion the only thing keeping her on her feet.

"She's right, Slayer." Turning his head, he spat out a mouthful of blood.
Rubbing a finger across his split bottom lip, he sneered at her. "You want
to kill me, fine. Kill me later. After, you get your Watcher and Willow
out of here."

Buffy was caught in her indecision, torn between getting Giles and Willow
away and staking the demon in front of her and every other demon in the
house until she had enough dust to create her own sandbox. It was, in the
end, her Watcher who decided her.

"Buffy, we can deal with this later," Giles said, his voice weak and barely
above a whisper.

Something hard and cold seemed to break in Buffy's eyes and she nodded
once, sharply.

Willow sighed in relief as Buffy relaxed the grip she had on her stake.
"Come on, Spike."

"No."

"No? What do you mean no?"

He quieted her with touch. "You're not Dru. You don't need me. The
Slayer and Watcher need you now. Without you they won't even make it to
the car."

"Spike, please."

But the vampire ignored her, turning away and heading back towards the
house. Then there was nothing left to do but gather up her friends and
begin the long journey back to Sunnydale.


+++++++++++++++++++

Spike walked the corridors of the deserted school, hearing the voices from
the library echoing faintly around him. He hated this place. Hated the
empty hallways, hated the smells that lingered around him in eddying
swirls, odors of youth and humanity, food and the sickly sweet smell of
decay that the Hellmouth underneath this place emitted into the air. But
most of all he hated himself and the reason that he knew these corridors
and these smells and these people down the hall. The Watcher who
maintained the farce of librarian, the Wolf-boy and his unflappable calm,
that idiot twit Xander, the Slayer who wanted nothing more than to see his
ashes scattered on the wind, and Willow.

Willow. He stopped and leaned against the cold, concrete wall, his eyes
closed as he savored the memories of Willow . . her fierce eyes as she
enlisted his aid, her determined expression the first night he’d inflicted
the bruises and bit her, the graceful way she’d knelt at his feet the first
time they’d stayed with another vampire group, her grin as she laughed at
something he’d said. But not a single one of those memories compared with
the look on her face as she’d lain there beneath him, her legs wrapped
tight around his body, her head thrown back on the pillow. He dropped his
head down into hands to dispel the visions behind his eyes. Heaven and
Hell both help him, because he should hate her the most. She had damned
him as surely as the demon that had stolen his soul. Vampires should not
be trusted by humans and never, ever, should vampires trust humans.

Weakness, that was what she was and he would not succumb. Banishing the
thoughts, he reached for the ever-present anger that lived within him and
wrapped it around himself like a cloak and went to face his own demons.

++++

The argument started up again as it had almost every night since The Great
Escape, as Willow had taken to calling it in her mind. Tonight it was
Buffy's turn to lead the argument. At least tonight, Willow thought with a
rueful grin that she was careful to keep hidden from the others, they'd
actually managed to get a little research done before the conversation
turned to her.

"Willow, please," Buffy begged, "let us remove that thing."

Willow answered as she had every night that they'd had this argument. "No."

Across the room, Xander threw up his hands in frustration.

"Why?" The hurt and anger in Buffy's voice was barely held in check.
"Will, we don't understand why you are still wearing that collar." She
stopped to rein in her temper once more.

Giles picked up effortlessly where Buffy left off, though his voice held
more of a note of understanding. "Willow, it's been a week. There is a
good possibility that he didn't survive that fight. Spike, being Spike,
there is an even greater probability that he did survive and took this
opportunity to flee from the duties that he was forced into here with Buffy."

Oz finally joined in the game, his hand resting with a patient gentleness
on her arm. "What did he do to you, baby?"

Anger surged then from where it had been simmering, and she fought to
control it. They didn't understand. Most of the time she didn't
understand it, how could she possibly expect them too? It was like it had
all happened to another person, another Willow whose memories she shared.
She shook her head, unable to explain. "He didn't do anything."

"Baby . . . "

"No," she said sharply, cutting him off, more than a hint of growl in her
voice. "No, baby." She pointed down to the black boots she was wearing.
"Don't you all see? Boots. Black, vampire-kicking combat boots. Boots
that mean I'm not your baby anymore."

She threw back her head and groaned softly at the confused expressions
around her. Taking a calming breath, she tried again. "Guys, I love you.
But I'm not the same Willow that left four weeks ago."

Beside her Oz nodded. "It's a growing up thing." His words gave her hope
that maybe one of her friends was beginning to understand what this
experience had done to her.

"Yeah."

"I can understand that, Will. I'd like to get to know the new you."

Now the tears came and she hugged him fiercely to her. "I'd like that Oz."

"Now, isn't that a touching picture. A bloody Kodak moment if I ever saw
one." Cocky and sure his voice filled the whole room.

Willow raised her head to see Spike leaning against the doorjam, a sneer
plastered on his face. "So, can anyone join this party?"

Before anyone else could respond, Willow answered. "This is a private party."

She felt his eyes flicker over her, resting lightly on the collar she still
wore. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a small padlock key.
Swinging it on the end of his finger before the assembled group, he grinned
wickedly at Willow. "Private party? I think I might have the key to get in."

Willow fought to keep the smile off her face as she took in the sight of
him. His stance and bearing screamed violence. The arrogant sneer twisting
his lips bespoke exactly the level of contempt that he held them all in.
Yet, his eyes held only an amused deviltry. Truly did the devil dance in
Spike's blue eyes.

But from the stake that slid down into Buffy's palm to Xander's sudden
surge to his feet, it was obvious the others didn't or couldn't see that
Spike was just taunting them.

Meeting those dancing eyes she answered his invitation. Sliding down off
the countertop to land lightly on her feet, Willow ignored Xander's
grasping hand and stepped towards Spike.

He was thinner than Willow remembered. Once she was close, she could see
the half-healed burn scars along his hands and noted the stiffness that
marred his usual animal grace. He'd been hurt badly after they'd made their
escape. Badly enough that he still wasn't completely healed. Which did
much to explain his apparent leanness. Injured, he wouldn't have been able
to hunt. She wasn't surprised at the pain in her heart, but no pity
reflected on her face. She knew he would not thank her for her pity.

"Come with me." His hand was outstretched in her direction and she
couldn't ignore that command so without even a glance backward, she
followed him out into the night. He stopped out in the quad so that the
two of them stood in a pool of light from one of the lamps that lined the
brick walkway.

He stared at her for a long moment, his face closed off and expressionless,
but Willow could see the struggle going on behind his eyes. "We are not
friends," he finally said and through his words were harsh, when he reached
up to the collar, his touch was gentle against the skin of her neck.

"No," she agreed, "we are not friends." Looking up at his controlled
expression she added, "But neither are we enemies."

The fingers at her throat stilled, then began their movement again.
"Neither are we enemies." It wasn't the whole truth, but for now it was
one they both could accept.

The faint snap/click of the small padlock sounded loud between them and she
was suddenly free. Perversely, she felt suddenly naked without the feel of
the collar against her neck.

"I set you free."

The words were formal, distancing, and Willow could feel him pulling away
from her. If it were only that easy, she thought, but she made no outward
comment.

He gave her the collar then, and her fingers clutched tight to its length,
its smooth surface growing cold as it rapidly lost the warmth of her skin.
That convinced her as nothing else had, not the fight to free Buffy, not
the numbing trip back to Sunnydale in Spike's car, not the confrontations
and questions with her friends. Now, it was over. Brought full circle
back to Spike and a twenty-inch long strip of leather. She was free but
still marked, none-the-less.

So she did what not friends and not enemies did, she set him free as well.

Stepping back from him, she withdrew until they faced each other across the
circle they stood in. Taking a seat on the low courtyard wall, she let him
continue to back away from her until he stood at the edge of light, half in
and half out of the shadows.

Thrusting his hand in the pockets of his duster he contemplated the young
woman who sat so motionless across from him. There was a calmness in her
expression that eased his own agitation. He needed to be going but first he
had to have some answers. "You didn't tell them."

Red hair swung against her face as she shook her head, catching the light
from the lamp above them. "No, I didn't."

Unexpected anger burst like a bubble in his chest making his voice harsh.
"Ashamed for your friends to find out you fucked a demon? That you fucked
me?"

His voice was angry, his words designed to hurt, but she'd been with him
too long. She could hear the pain beneath his voice. Who would ever have
thought that a vampire could get his feelings hurt. But his accusations
riled her own temper. "I'm *not* ashamed, of you or of what we did. I
didn't tell them because they wouldn't understand. They couldn't understand
because they weren't there, they didn't live it."

The anger abruptly drained out of her and she leaned back with a tired
sigh. "Spike, Buffy is so hurt right now. She feels so guilty about
everything. About Oz and Xander being in the hospital, about Giles' pain,
but especially about what I did to get her back. No matter what I tell
her, her own guilt says that you hurt me and she is responsible."

"I did hurt you."

She smiled faintly at that. It was the truth, but she had discovered that
there were truths and then there were Truths. "Not like Buffy thinks and
right now, the only thing keeping her from trying to stake you, is the fact
that I've not told her everything."

"So the Slayer is suffering from a little guilt. Do you know what I could
do with that? How with a few well chosen words I could rip her soul in half?"

"This is isn't about Buffy and you know it."

"So, you want me to hold a secret that would cause the Slayer deep
emotional pain?"

"Yes. I can't force you. I don't have anything to bribe you with. But I
can ask you. Please, Spike. Don't use this to hurt her.

"You'd trust me to hold this secret?" His voice laced with heavy doubt.

Willow didn't hesitate. "Yes."

Her answer seemed to release something within him. She could almost see an
unnamed tension drain out of him and with the release of that tension the
facade of big, bad vampire cracked and melted away to be replaced by a
weary Spike.

"Then you are indeed a fool. You can not give a demon a secret and expect
him to hold it freely. That's not the way we work."

"Then give me one of your secrets to hold against it."

He looked over at her then, surprise on his face. But slowly a smile
settled over the surprise. Not a happy smile, Willow realized but one
tinged with a mocking kind of sadness she didn't understand.

"Always the clever one," Spike said quietly, almost as if he was talking to
himself. "And I'm still underestimating you. You'd think I'd bloody well
learn by now," he finished with a soft sigh. Then he seemed to rouse
himself, staring back at her with his old fierce expression, the one that
warned that before her stood a creature that could kill her before she
could even scream. "A secret, you say . . . an exchange of equal value . .
. my silence hostage against yours. Is that what you want, luv?"

Willow felt herself trembling and not knowing why, but she nodding her head.

"Well, then my smart little witch, why was I helping the Slayer?"

Willow frowned in confusion but answered with what little she and the
others had been able to piece together. "We never really knew. Angel
found you, beat up and abandoned in a alley in Los Angeles. He brought you
here. You were raving that you didn't want to help the Slayer. You'd die
first. When you healed, you said that you were being blackmailed. You've
never told us by whom, or what they hold over you. Xander thinks Angel did
it or had it done." She stopped then and then added hesitantly, "We always
kind of figured Drusilla was somehow involved."

Spike made a noise like a short laugh though there was no humor in his
voice. "Dru is always involved. Even when she isn't here, she still
consumes my life. But then she was gone and I was alone." He raised
haunted eyes up to Willow's, a hundred emotions flitting across his face at
once. "I haven't been alone in two hundred plus years."

He stopped then and simply stared. It took a minute for what Spike was
really saying to sink in, for the understanding to fill her. "Oh my god."

She was stunned. He couldn't be saying what she thought he was saying. it
was impossible, insane and . . . and . . . Spike was still looking at her
with eyes that showed a vulnerability that scared her. But she understood.
She understood everything now and she wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh
or to cry. Without Drusilla to give his life direction or meaning Spike
was lost. And how desperate had he been that for the sake of familiarity
he'd turned to his enemies. Oh goddess, he couldn't be trusting her with
this. She didn't know what to say. She didn't know if she was meant to
say anything.

Spike watched her and wondered. Did she understand what he’d just told
her? Did she understand why he told her? Hell, was he ever sure himself
why he’d told her his secret? But it didn’t matter now. Now it was time
to go and get the away from the Hellmouth and the Slayer and red-headed
witches. It was time to be on his own. He didn’t need Dru and he
certainly didn’t need this mortal. He didn’t need anyone.

Lighting a cigarette, he pulled the smoke deep into his lungs before
forcing it back out again. "Good-bye, witch."

It took Willow a second to register Spike’s last words, but when she did,
she sprang up from her seat towards where the vampire had stood. "Spike,
wait," she called, but the vampire was already gone, just the scent of the
cigarette smoke hanging in the air.


The End