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Title: Potential (1/?)
Author: Ash
E-mail:ash_j66@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: Not mine. I wish. Well, sometimes. Anyway, most things
in this story belong to The Buffy People, no infringement is intended.
Distribution: Anyone who wants it and asks. (And Charity's site, of
course. She can take any of my stories. *g*)
Feedback: Would be really appreciated.
Spoilers: Up to Dopplegangland
Rating: G? I think, anyway.

Note: This is in answer to the challenge posed by Diana about Spike
showing up when Evil Willow was in town. I'm reposting the first
three parts because I just joined this list. So, if you've read it
before, sorry.

Part One

Spike sat at the bar in the Bronze, watching with amusement as a
teenager attempted to bluff her way past the barman. < A thousand
years old. Right. >

As she finally gave in and ordered a coke, he considered easing her
disappointment by offering her some of his whiskey. Of course, he
couldn't be expected to go thirsty...

Reluctantly he decided against it. She looked like she probably went
to the same high school as the Slayer and the last thing he needed was
an irate blonde with supernatural strength coming after him. < Not
before I can go after *her* at any rate. >

Since he'd been back in town, he'd been keeping a low profile. After
all, as fun as it would have been to announce his arrival with a red
wet calling card, that would shoot the element of surprise all to
hell.

<That, and I don't have a plan yet. > In fact, Spike wasn't quite sure
what he was doing back in Sunnyhell. After the abortive attempt to
reunite with Drusilla, he'd felt drawn back here by a sense of
something left undone.

He had a hunch that it was the amount of people left breathing. Or
*not* breathing in some cases.

Rolling his eyes towards the ceiling, he took a long drag of his
cigarette and contemplated his late love. Of course, she'd been dead
as long as he'd known her, but this was a tad more permanent. In his
mind's eye he could see her silhouetted against the sunlight for the
brief second before it ripped her into dust. < Should have got
stronger chains... And she was just getting fond of me again, too. >

A flash of quickly moving black distracted his attention. < Angel. >
A faint growl rumbled through Spike's chest as he stared at his sire.
The dark vampire was no engaged in what looked like a friendly
conversation with the guitarist of the band. No matter how often he
saw it, it still turned his stomach. A demon chatting with his prey.
All right, that by itself wasn't so bad. Spike himself had been known
to have long friendly talks with humans. Then he killed them. It was
a two-part deal, but Angel always got stuck on the first bit.

Turning away in disgust, Spike was just in time to see the first of
the vampires come through the door. < Well well, what’s this? > He
watched them position themselves around the room, noting that Angel
and the guitarist had also noticed their arrival. < Going to come
down and fight mate? Or going to run off and find your girlfriend? >

He smirked as Angel faded into the darkness on the stage. Returning his attention to the vampires, he saw that
their eyes were all focused on someone hidden by the crowd. Then the
crowd parted, and she stepped forward onto the dance floor.

If he had still had his breath, she would have taken it away.

His eyes traveled up her long leather encased legs, slid over the
molded curves of her breasts and reached her face. A strangely
familiar face. A muffled whisper escaped his lips. "Bloody hell."
< The little witch! What have I missed? >

Fascinated, he listened to her speak to the terrified masses, admiring
her style. She had the same childlike air that had attracted him to
Dru, the same wistful smile. And the face of her demon was beautiful.
Bone ivory skin framed with hair the colour of blood.

He expected to be revealed when her eyes swept the crowd, but her gaze
passed over him with only a fleeting expression of interest. <
Interesting... Has she forgotten me so soon? I'll have to change
that. >

When the guitarist tried to stop her, she didn't recognize him either.
< Hmm... Maybe she has more in common with Dru than I thought. >

Just then, the girl he had previously noticed stepped forward boldly.
< Idiot human. > Spike waited impatiently for the red head to kill
her, and was surprised when they instead fell into conversation. He
caught snippets of it, something about "...this is not your world..."
and "Another me?"

He watched the reminiscent upward curve of her lips as she said "In my
world there are people in chains, and we can ride them like ponies."
In that moment she sounded so much like his lost princess, the
innocent longing in her voice capturing him completely. He wanted to
take the hurt from her eyes, shower her with victims, make her life
the living hell that she wanted it to be.

She was going to belong to him.

Before he could step forward and make his claim, she was gone,
slipping out of the Bronze entrance. Within minutes, he had made his
escape through the same skylight as Angel < Hate to imitate that
pillock, but if I kill them all, I might lose her. >

He lost her anyway.

He spent the next hour searching Sunnydale, cursing viciously under
his breath. Finally he returned to the Bronze, dropping in through
the skylight just in time to see her walk in the door. < Wait... >
Spike had spent ten minutes staring at her face, memorizing the
contours, the colors, everything about her.

Something was wrong. Her face wasn't pale enough. Concentrating, he
could almost hear the nervous pumping of her heart. The real tip-off
was the attitude. *His* redhead was completely sure of herself. This
one was not. < What could have happened? How many bloody Orbs does
this town have, anyway? >

From the darkness at the back of the stage, he watched the other
vampires (and that idiot girl, but who knows what she's doing here)
become aware of the change.

When they moved threateningly towards her, his body tensed in
readiness, waiting to jump out. < She may have changed, but she’s
still *mine*! >

As the scream split the air, he was poised to leap forward but had to
stop himself nearly in mid-flight as the Slayer and her pack of humans
burst through the doors.

Moving further back into the shadows, he watched the fight, every
fiber of his being crying out for him to go out and tear, and rip and
kill. The only thing that stopped him was his uncertainty about who
exactly he should kill. < The Slayer is my enemy… but she’s
protecting my girl. The vampires are my people, but they're
threatening her. Damn! >

When his redhead was pulled up onto the stage by the guitarist, Spike
smirked in satisfaction. < Thanks mate. A little bit closer and I can
grab first and ask questions later. >

That was when she was tackled by... her? < What in the…? >

Spike eyed the two fighting figures with confusion. He felt the
definite urge to protect her. < But they’re both her? Who do I
protect? >

As one of the Willows gained the upper hand, he prepared to move in to
stop her. <Can't figure out which one I want if one of them is dead.
Well, more dead. >

The Slayer beat him to it.

She was there before he even saw her coming, pulling one Willow off
the other. It was apparent that the one who'd been losing was the
one he'd met before, the one who belonged to the Slayer.

As the two girls looked at each other, he heard the vampire one say
"This worlds no fun. " in the same wistful tone that had captured him
before.

The other Willow looked at her very seriously. "You noticed that
too?" The tone was the same. < Alive... But still like my princess. >

It was then that he decided. One of them would stay, since only one
of them belonged.

It didn't matter. Both were his. If it was the vampire that stayed
he'd take her. If it was the human, he knew what she could become and
what she *would* become. < All the better maybe. Then I’d be her
sire, and she'd truly belong only to me. Forever. >

Silently he left the Bronze without being noticed. < Tomorrow I’ll
find out. And then, let the games begin. >

Part Two

The following day was one of the longest that Spike could remember.
The entire course of his un-life (so, basically, eternity) was
dependent on what had happened during the interminable daylight hours.

When nightfall finally allowed him to leave the basement of the
abandoned building, he would find out which of his choices had
remained.

He allowed his mind to rest on the memory of both. One with ageless
skin white as bone, the life less body at her feet. The pure joy of
killing lit her face in a radiant simulacrum of life. The other with
shy eyes and quick nervous movements, trapped in the
self-consciousness of living.

The same smile though. The same quick flowering of happiness that
transfigured her into sudden beauty and made the rest of the world
fall away. < When she looked at the guitarist… >

Glancing around at the fallen timbers and chunks of stone which
littered the concrete floor, his face twisted in a grimace. <
Whichever it is, better find some new digs before I take her. This is
no place to bring a lady. >

It's one of the interesting points of Spike's psyche that while he has
no problems with torturing, killing and eviscerating women, he will
always do so in relatively luxurious locations. He would say that it
was because "He was raised a gent." It would probably be closer to
the truth to note that if you're going to be torturing someone,
there's no reason to deprive *yourself* of pleasing surroundings and
comfortable chairs.

Vampire self-delusion aside, the fact remains that he was waiting.
Impatiently.

Willow was also waiting impatiently, though in her case there was less
of the blood soaked visions of nights to come, and more of the vague
irritation at her history teacher.

"And in the first part of the century, the fur traders of the Hudson
company..." The voice droned on, as 30 pairs of eyes bored into the
man, each hoping for some form of stroke, embolism and/or rabies. Of
course, even though this *is* the Hellmouth, staring at people can't
make them drop dead. Probably.

To the possible salvation of Mr. Topshee, the bell rang. On her way
out the door, Willow realized that she was alone. Looking back, she
saw the Slayer, eternally vigilant against the forces of evil, the
last bastion of defense for humanity.

She was snoring gently.

Unfortunately, supernatural resistance to evil doesn't protect you
from the slightly diluted form of it called education.

Shaking her friend awake, she led her out of the classroom. Wending
their way towards Buffy's locker, they walked slowly down the hall,
trying to shake off the cloud the lecture had wrapped around their
minds.

"So, are we still Bronzing tonight?" Willow's normally cheerful tone
was edged with a yawn.

"Definitely!" Coming instantly alert at the thought of leisure time,
Buffy put a little skip into her walk. "Don't try to weasel out of it
now!"

"No, no, I'm not." She hastened to reassure. "As well as, you know,
the fun and yay portion of the evening, I think I should take this
opportunity to let everyone see me."

Her thought processes still clouded, Buffy looked puzzled. "See you?
Is this newly burgeoning self-confidence I spy?"

"No! I mean, not that that would be a bad thing, but what I really
meant was..." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "See *me*! You
know... sans leather?"

"Oh. Oh! Yes, that's a plan. A good plan." Buffy shivered. Seeing
her best friend as a vampire had been bad enough, seeing as how it was
the epitome of every nightmare she'd ever had about the possible
repercussions of being both a Slayer and a friend. The outfit hadn't
helped.

Nodding emphatically, Willow put her books into her locker. "After
last night? I don't think I can *ever* wear leather. Any kind of
leather."

"Um, Will?" Buffy nodded at her feet.

"What?" Looking down, she focused on her new loafers. "Eep!" She
turned a wide-eyed face toward Buffy. "It's starting!"

Laughing, the blonde girl took her arm and pulled her towards the
library. "Calm down. I promise to warn you if you start becoming a
biker chick, okay?"

"This is not a joking matter!" Willow's protests faded as the library
doors closed behind them.

Giles looked up from his books. "What is not a joke?" His face was
serious, anticipating some sort of demonic twist to the response.
Living on the Hellmouth can really blunt your appreciation for small
talk.

Her eyes wide and innocent, Buffy pointed at Willow. "Her new shoes."

"What? Oh. Yes, very nice."

"But that's not what I..." < Do I really want to expalin my worries
about becoming a dominatrix to Giles? > Her voice trailed off.
"Thanks."

Grinning at Willow, Buffy moved to sit on the table. "We just stopped
in to do the "Great Evil" check of the day. Anything due tonight
that'll keep us from going out and having fun?"

"No, no. Everything looks fine. Well, fine as usual."

The blonde, already slumped in anticipated disappointment, brightened.
"Really? You wouldn't tease me, would you? It's not nice to tease
the Slayer."

"No, there doesn't seem to be anything requiring your personal
attention... Faith is on patrol tonight so-"

"Great! " Grabbing Willow by the arm, she moved quickly towards the
door. "Thanks, Giles!" In a whisper under her breath. "Hurry.
Before he changes his mind."

Turning half around in Buffy's grip, Willow attempted to be polite
while walking backwards at high speed. "Goodbye. See you-" The door
shut on the rest of her pleasantries.

Xander rushed forward from his post outside the doors. "Well? What's
the verdict? Did our friendly neighborhood Watcher have good news?"

Buffy nodded, while still maintaining her escape velocity. "We're
fun-ward bound. That is, if we get out of here before a prophecy
jumps out of those books!"

When they made it out, all three breathed a sigh of relief. In
Willow's case, it was relief at being able to slow down before she
fell over. For the other two, it was lack of research euphoria.

Splitting up, they agreed to meet up at Buffy's house in a few hours.
After all, by then the sun would have set. And Sunnydale isn't a good
place to walk alone at night.

There's safety in numbers.

Usually.

Part Three

The cold night wind ruffled through Spike's hair as he moved quickly
towards the Slayer's house. < If I’m lucky, she’ll be there. If I’m
*really* lucky, I'll get more hot chocolate. > Following a Slayer was
usually a good way to get dusted, but in this case he was willing to
chance it. If she'd just had a friend die, she'd be too distraught
to notice. < Of course, then I’ll just have to hope that she didn’t
kill off the other one in payback. >

His steps slowed as the house came into view. Lights blazed warmly
from the windows and the faint sound of music came from an upstairs
window. Easily climbing up to the overhanging roof, he moved along
the side of the house until he reached it.

From this distance, the music resolved into a sugary pop tune.
Looking carefully through the glass he saw the Slayer shrugging on a
short black leather jacket over her mini-dress. After checking her
hair in the mirror, she flopped down on the bed and started reading a
magazine. Come on, you great cow! I may have eternity, but that
doesn't mean I want to spend it here! >

The shrill pealing of the doorbell cut through the sound of the
insipid male vocalists. The blonde bounced off the bed and ran out of
the room, vanishing from Spike's view.

Moving silently, he circled round to where he could see the front of
the house. The door was just closing. < Brilliant. Just brilliant. >
Before he had time to work to where he could see through the
downstairs windows, he saw a flicker of movement. The door swung
open, spilling sound into the night in a sudden cascade of voices.

The flash of light on crimson hair brought Spike instantly alert.
< It's her. > Willow's face was turned away from him as she laughed at
something Xander said, but there was no mistaking that fiery hair,
that awkward grace.

As she tripped down the steps, followed by the idiot and the Slayer,
she half pivoted to continue the conversations. The light of the
street lamp cast dark shadows across her face, but even this fleeting
glance was enough.

In the time since he'd seen her... them, he'd wondered if he was
imagining it. If his grief over Drusilla's death was leading him to
see things in her that weren't really there. Now he knew that it was
real. She was even more beautiful than he'd remembered.

With silent treads he paced the small group as they walked through the
streets, his eyes drinking in every move Willow made. He watched as
she ducked her head shyly in response to a compliment, her pale skin
suffusing with blood. So innocent... He'd have to be sure to keep
that. More or less.

In his mind, he had already begun the process that accompanies the
creation of a true childe, rather than the lackeys that usually
surrounded him. Which traits to encourage, which to snuff out... All
the decisions that needed to be made. < I'm going to have to get
closer. Spend some time with her as a human, so I know what needs to
change and what'll be most effective. > His unseen smile grew as he
realized where they were going. < Perfect. >

*****

The music pulsed through the dark confines of the Bronze like a beast
on the prowl the throbbing beat mingling with the light melody of
conversation.

Buffy glanced into the shadows as the three friends made their way to
a table, looking for something or someone that wasn't there. With a
consciously bright smile she turned away.

Spike slipped in after them, weaving himself into the heart of the
crowd where he wouldn't be easily visible. With hungry eyes he
watched as Willow brushed the hair out of her eyes in a quick
gesture. Her companions were oblivious to her nervousness. It was
obvious to him that she felt slightly uncomfortable here, out of
place. < So why does she keep coming? >

Glancing at the Slayer and the idiot, he had his answer. Buffy was
practically glowing under the admiring gaze of the men in the club and
the idiot beamed with pride at being associated with her. By
contrast, Willow shrunk ever so slightly into herself. < How...
sweet. She comes to make her friends happy. Wonder what she'd do to
keep them alive? >

With surreptitious steps he moved closer to them. Half-hidden behind
a pillar he listened.

"...long do you think we'll be prophecy free?" The Slayer's tone was
hopeful.

"Not long enough!"

Willow seriously considered the issue. "Well, there's the Time of
Chaos coming-"

Her attention distracted by the changing music, Buffy cut her off.
"Ooh! I love this song! C'mon guys, let's dance!"

She jumped to her feet, quickly followed by Xander. Reminded of the
first time that he had seen them, Spike waited for them to drag Willow
out on the floor with them.

"Not right now, okay? I'm a little tired."

Accepting her refusal easily, the other two left her there and moved
off to gyrate to the music.

< Perfect. Bloody perfect. > His teeth gleamed in the flashing light
as he stood behind Willow's chair, his back to the dance floor.
Settling his hands on her shoulders, he waited.

"Oz!" She twisted half around in his grip, her welcoming smile dying
as she saw who held her. He could feel her muscles bunching under
his hands, felt the urge to run rise in her and watched as she fought
it down. < Clever girl. >

"Not quite." Her quickened breathing sounded loud in his ears. For a
moment, he was almost lost in the hypnotic rhythm of her heartbeat but
caught himself. Frightened green eyes darted past him, towards the
dance floor. His hold on her tightened to the point of pain as he
reclaimed her full attention. He shook his head warningly.

"None of that, luv. I'm just here for a little chat. We wouldn't
want this to get violent." His lips quirked. "Well, *I* might. But
I don't think you want anyone to die..."

Her mouth opened and closed as her agile brain ran through the
options. He watched the thoughts chase one another across her face,
fascinated by the play of emotions. Finally, she refocused on reality
and gave him a sickly smile. "Won't you sit down?"

Part Four

Accepting Willow's coerced invitation, Spike slid into the chair
opposite her, making sure that he was in a spot that wasn't easily
visible from the dance floor.

"Thanks, love." Blue eyes drank in every detail of her appearance,
skimming her skin in lazy appraisal while he listened to the erratic
music of her heartbeat.

She fidgeted in the silence, sudden lightning prickles darting under
her skin wherever his eyes touched it. In an effort to maintain some
sort of social normalcy she spoke up, her tone absurdly
conversational. "So... You're back in town, huh?"

"Apparently."

Willow's fingernails tapped nervously on the polished surface of the
table as she fought to keep herself from checking to see if Buffy was
on her way back to the table yet.

A possibility presented itself to her frantic mind. "Are you here for
another spell? 'Cause I have to tell you that I've given up
witchcraft and I realize now that I was wrong, yep wrong, just plain
wrong to be meddling with that sort of stuff on a Hellmouth. Nope.
No more of that old magic for me. So I realize you must be very
disappointed now and I'm sorry so why don't I just leave you alone so
that you can get ov-" She was half way out of her chair, still
babbling nervously, when his voice stopped her.

"Willow."

"-it and you... Yes?"

"I'm not here for a spell. And you're not going anywhere."

"Oh." Reluctantly she sat back down, casting a hopeful glance over
her shoulder at where Buffy and Xander were still dancing, oblivious
to the danger and social awkwardness behind them.

"Tsk. Tsk. If you keep doing that we may have to go somewhere where I
can be sure of having your *full* attention."

Her eyes widened. "No no! You have my full attention, really!"
Leaning forward slightly, she fixed her gaze firmly on him.

Slightly elongated canines flashed whitely as he smiled. "Good. Now
let me ask you, pet... How do you feel about leather?"

Various disturbing possibilities ran through Willow's mind as she
considered the question. "Um... It depends. On the type of leather.
Because there's good leather and bad leather."

"I was thinking of leather pants and corset... Ones that mold to you
like a second skin and show off the curves of your body. Done in jet
black so that your skin glows like moonlight and your hair looks like
bloody silk."

"No! That's bad leather! That's..." The implications of his
description slapped her across the face. "You saw her?"

"Her? I don't know what you mean." His denial sparked the instant
creation of the theory that maybe *lots* of vampire women dressed like
her double. This possibly intriguing line of thought was cut short by
his soft voiced clarification. "I saw you."

"No no no! I mean, yes it was *me*, but not me me. Other me! And
that one of me is gone, so no more leather for me. Not here anyway.
She's probably still wearing it wherever she's gone. But I don't
wear leather! Except for shoes. And I'm going to trade them in for
sneakers. And-"

With apparent casualness he reached across the table and lightly
grasped one of her still fidgeting hands, pulling it towards him
across the table. Her rushing explanations ceased abruptly as his
cold fingers circled her wrist.

"Now that *would* be a shame, love. Seeing as how it suited you so
nicely." Turning her hand palm up, he began tracing intricate
patterns on the delicate skin of her inner wrist, lingering over spots
where the blood pulsed hotly just beneath the skin.

Her words came with an effort as she attempted to ignore the
distracting sensations his caresses were producing. "I don't think
that it's really my style. I couldn't breathe."

"Oh, I disagree. I think that it was perfect for you. And I'm sure
you'll come around to my way of thinking... once you no longer have to
breathe."

Color leeched from her face. He tightened his grip on her hand when
she attempted to pull it away and continued to stroke it softly. His
tone remained pleasant even as she started using her other hand to try
to pry his away.

"You see, I've never been much of a solitary person. I like to have
someone around to talk to, shag with and hunt beside."

Still tugging at her captive hand, Willow said "What about Drusilla?
Didn't you get her back? I could still do that love spell! I don't
mind, really!"

"A little late for that, love. Love spells don't do much for dust."

"Oh..." Willow stopped struggling as her sympathetic nature took over.
"I'm so sorry."

He looked at her sideways, a crooked smile on his face. "You are,
aren't you?" He tugged her gently forward, forcing her to lean across
the table until their faces were only inches apart. He studied her
with puzzled fascination. "Such a feeling little creature. Always
want everyone to be happy, don't you?"

A tilt of the head indicated Buffy and Xander. "Your friends..."

Remembering the stories that Angelus used to bore them all to tears
with. "Your parents..."

"Even me." His wry smile was an indication of how few people had
cared about his happiness.

Her tone was slightly defensive. "There's nothing wrong with wanting
people to be happy! It's nice. Happy is good. I don't like it when
people are unhappy, or sad-"

"Or lonely?" He finished her sentence in a quiet voice.

"Well... no."

Black-nailed fingertips glided lightly over her face, tracing the
bones underneath. She closed her eyes as his touch smoothed over her
eyelids, the darkness stealing away the reassuring throng of people
around them. The beat of the music seemed to pulse inside her bones
and she felt the light caress of frigid fingers against her skin with
an intensity that made her catch her breath.

"I'm lonely, pet. Won't you make me happy?" His voice was low and
full of desire as it carried to her ears through the
darkness-sharpened music.

Hunger lurked behind his words, hunger spawned in an age long dead and
satiated in secret over a thousand bloody nights. It seemed to
batter at her exposed nerves, shaking her out of the light fog induced
by the blanketing darkness and his pain-filled voice, its malevolent
presence a needed reminder of how far from human he really was.

She blinked at the renewed view of the Bronze, the smoky half-light
seeming bright as day in contrast to the absolute blackness of a
moment before. "No! I mean, it'd be nice if you were happy, but I'm
not going to die for it!" She stared into his eyes bracing herself
for his anger.

Always one for doing the unexpected, Spike held her gaze for a long
moment before he spoke. "No harm in asking, was there?" Releasing
her, he pushed back his chair and stood.

Her mouth hung slightly open as she stared at him. "No, no harm at
all. Really. Thank you for thinking of me. Um... I hope you find
someone."

"Thanks pet, but I already have." His eyes lightened to gray with
amusement as he watched her relieved smile fade. "It was only polite
to offer you the chance to come willing... but it won't make any
difference in the end."

He turned away, his lean figure swiftly disappearing into the swirling
mass of humanity that thronged the club.

Willow stared after him, her face blank as she mentally replayed their
dialogue. There didn't seem to be much room for misinterpretation.
And he didn't seem drunk this time.

"Um... Buffy?"

Part Five

After Willow had finally managed to attract the attention of the dancing
pair, it had been a good ten minutes before she'd made them understand that
she was upset. After that, a twenty-minute game of tearful charades had
gotten across the fact of Spike's return.

Willow's incoherent babbling being hard enough to understand in *quiet*
surroundings, Buffy and Xander had escorted her to the library. A phone
call had summoned Giles, who arrived just after the generous application of
tea filched from under his desk had calmed Willow from a state of gibbering
panic to a more understandable hyper babbling.

"And then he was there and it was Spike and he was sober and he said he
*saw* me! And..."

"Take it easy, Will. What do you mean, Spike saw you?" Buffy's tone was
soothing.

Willow stared fixedly at her incriminatingly leather-clad feet "Yes! He
*saw* me!"

Buffy and Giles exchanged worried glances. The librarian moved to stand
next to the frightened girl. "He was at the Bronze tonight, you mean."

Obviously relieved at his apparent comprehension, the red head nodded.
"Yes!"

His brow wrinkled as he attempted to understand. "And that's when he saw
you?"

Willow hit the table with a balled up fist. "No!" Stopping, she looked at
her fist. "Ow. No, that's when he saw *me*! The other me wasn't there!"

Xander looked up at Buffy from his seat on the steps. "You haven't been
giving her sugar, have you?"

"Look, it's perfectly simple. At some point when I was here, Spike saw me!
And tonight I met him, and he was talking about leather, and corsets and he
didn't seem drunk and that's not a good thing!"

Understanding dawned in Buffy's eyes as she remembered Willow's earlier
rambling comments about the evils of leather. "Oh... You mean he saw vamp
you."

"Uh-huh!"

"And he..." Giles thought for a moment. "Is interested in that version of
you?"

Willow nodded, a blush coloring her skin.

"That shouldn't be a problem, we'll just explain to him that we sent the
alternate version of you back to her own reality, and I'm sure he'll..."

Willow's frantic nods of agreement had metamorphosed into equally frantic
head shaking at some point during Giles' speech. "I *told* him that! And
he said that all that leather suited me and I said that I couldn't breathe
in it and he said that I'd agree with him when I couldn't breathe and it may
be just me, but that sounds like a threat!"

Buffy put her hand on Willow's shoulder. "Willow?"

"Mm?" The sound resembled a cross between a squeak and a moan.

"First, breathe. Second...I don't think it's just you, but you don't need
to worry. Spikes not getting within two miles of you unless he's carried in
on a dustpan. Right, Giles?"

"Oh, yes certainly. I'm quite sure that we can manage to um, protect you."

Xander beamed. "There, Wills you see? And besides, you'll only need to be
protected until Buffy finds and slays. After that, you only have to worry
about the normal dangers the rest of us Sunnydale residents face every
day.... Bad traffic, high humidity and the occasional minion of hell."

A reluctant smile crept over Willow's face. "Thanks. But he just seemed so
certain. And... lonely."

Buffy waved her hand in front of Willow's eyes. "Hello? Undead? We do
*not* have to care about their emotional trauma."

"Oh sure, she says that now, but the second Dead-boy shows..." Xander's
muttered aside was loud enough to be heard by normal ears, let alone Slayer
ones.

Buffy's glare should have poked his eyes out at the very least. Luckily,
the Hellmouth once again missed its chance to channel demonic power in a
humorously ironic way, much to the oblivious betterment of Xander.

"*Anyway*..." Breaking off her unsuccessful attempt at ocular homicide,
Buffy went on. "If he's really lonely, he can go find some other chick to
spend eternity with. Preferably someone who's already a vampire. Common
interests and all that."

All three looked at Xander expectantly as Buffy paused.

He spread his hands innocently. "I have nothing to say here."

Shooting a suspicious glance at the cherubically smiling Xander, she went
on. "Maybe we could try to track Drusilla down... The two of them were like,
the perfect couple up until that whole Chaos demon thing. Maybe we could
talk her into coming back to him."

"Oh..." Sadness filled Willow's eyes. "She's gone. That's why he's lonely.
"

"Oh no! Another demon shuffles off the immortal coil, leaving us sadder
but... No wait. I'm not sadder."

Willow shot Xander a disapproving look. He looked confused. "What? I
should be sadder?"

Giles closed his eyes briefly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Perhaps we
should work out some sort of plan. Guard schedules and all that."

"Guards?" A hint of squeak re-entered Willow's voice. "Um, I'm not sure
that I need *guards*. Why don't I just stay inside my house when I'm not
with you guys?"

"I really think that-" Giles started.

"No, really! I'll be fine." The redhead straightened her shoulders and
attempted to look self-confident. "As long as I don't invite him in, or go
out."

Holding up a hand to forestall Giles' objections, Buffy started circling the
seated hacker with deliberate steps. "Sure, you'll be fine, right?"

"Yup." Willow followed Buffy's movements out of the corner of her eye until
the Slayer stopped directly behind her.

"No way you'd ever let him in, right?"

"No. Of course not!"

Her hands resting on the back of Willow's chair, Buffy said in a serious
tone "And if he threatened the life of a bystander? Said that he'd kill
them if you didn't invite him in?"

"I'd... I'd..." Green eyes took on the glassy stare of a deer caught in the
headlights.

"Right." Turning away from her friend, Buffy looked up at Giles. "So, what
kind of guard schedules were you thinking of?"

Part Six

Spike grinned at the ceiling. Granted, it *was* protecting him from the sun
that would have burnt him to a crisp, but that wasn't the reason for the
sudden friendliness. At this point, Spike would have grinned at linoleum.

He'd talked to her.

And she hadn't run away. This could be because he had threatened the lives
of innocent people, but Spike preferred to think that she had felt the same
pull he had been feeling. Not as intensely, or she would have leaped over
the table and into his lap, but some variant thereof. Closing his eyes, he
called up the memory of her face when she learned of Drusilla's death.
Caring, worry, concern... all directed at *him*. It was a new feeling, and
one that he'd very much enjoy growing accustomed to. < After I take her,
I'll have to make sure to keep that aspect of her intact. That easy,
effortless caring...

An unpleasant image flashed through his mind; Willow, bloodless skin
opalescent under moonlight, bestowing that same lovely depth of feeling on
someone else without even thinking about it. He growled, suddenly deformed
skin twisting what little light there was in the old mansion into strange
patterns of shadow. Perhaps it would be better to teach her that *he* was
the only one she should care that easily for.

< Besides, then she'd feel sorry for the humans and it'd be no lark trying to
get her to eat properly. >

Pleased with his modified vision of the future he settled back down, ridges
fading into pale skin. He was impatient for the coming of the night, when
he could go and find her again. Learn more about her... teach her more
about what she was going to be...

He still hadn't decided which would be better: Should he paint her an
enticing picture of the world of the dead, play on all the popularized
versions of vampire life to make her see the dark beauty in his world? He
could take away her fear and replace it with a guilty anticipation. After
all, it didn't even have to be a lie. It was perfectly possible for
vampires to live in a cultured and romantic way. Of course, for the first
five years after being turned she'd be more interested in killing everything
she'd ever loved, but he didn't have to tell her *that* part.

That way maybe she wouldn't resist so much. Maybe the first time he took
her she would pull him close to her with those slender white arms and beg
him to turn her. The image of her beckoning smile ran through his body like
an electric shock, almost painful in its intensity.

Or he could go the opposite way, prey on the half-formed fears that haunted
her mind as well as the terror of losing her soul. Tell her in graphic
detail just what he wanted to do to her, what she would do when she'd
claimed her, of nights drenched in familiar blood. Even worse, he could
tell her of the days afterwards when the faces of those you've killed ran
together in your mind like drops of water, leaving you only with a fuzzy
memory of screams and blood. Humans never liked that; the idea that their
lives were inconsequential to the demons who killed them. They preferred to
believe that their deaths had some meaning- other than as a cure for the
'midnight munchies'.

He could tell her what she'd become... and then tell her how the thought of
it made him feel. He groaned slightly as the vision of her terror flooded
his mind. How she'd fight him... Those same white arms beating uselessly
against him, tear filled voice begging him to stop.

When it came right down to it, he just wanted her to beg.

One way or the other.

A game is always more fun when there's no possibility of losing. (Note: The
thoughts of the vampire may not necessarily reflect the views of the author.
*I* would never jinx myself like that.)

****

'The sun isn't even *down* yet!" This argument, like the ten others that
she'd tried before it, was destined to failure.

Giles smiled faintly down at her. "I'm aware of that, Willow."

"Well? So why do you have to be here?" She blushed, looking down guiltily.
"I mean, not that I don't like you or anything but… Buffy's going to come
over and guard me when it gets dark, and then Xander in the morning and…"

"And you'd like some privacy." His tone was low and sympathetic.

Grateful that he didn't take offense, she looked up at him with relief in
her eyes. "Yes! So then-"

"No. I'm sorry Willow, but Spike is too unpredictable. We can't take the
chance that he might think of a way to get to you while the sun is down."

Setting her chin, she glared at him challengingly. "Like what?"

"Hiring human thugs, using the underground network of tunnels, trying to
threaten you into coming to him, finding a vehicle with sufficient sun
protection…" He paused looking at Willow, who had wilted considerably as the
list continued. "Shall I go on?"

Sighing, she conceded defeat. "No. I get the idea. 'Trust no one.'"

"Quite right. " He beamed at her with an equal mixture of approval and
confusion.

Willow glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, letting the silence
stretch. "You have *no* idea what I meant by that, do you?"

Looking faintly sheepish, he shook his head.

She perked up. "All right then! If you're going to be my shadow for the
next four hours, come on! I've got some tapes we can watch.'

Getting up, he followed her as she walked towards the living room. "What
kind of tapes? I must say, I've never been much of a fan of most shows… Too
unrealistic by half."

Hiding a smile, she turned her head to reassure him. "Trust me, if you use
*our* lives as an example of 'real life' this show is like a National
Geographic special. Monsters, conspiracies... Just like home!"

The two disappeared into the living room.

Part Seven

Willow rested her head against the side of the couch, pressing her cheek
into the smooth fabric as she closed her eyes in contentment. Giles had
finally gone, leaving her alone for what felt like the first time in days.
Even knowing that Buffy would be showing up within moments didn't detract
from the joy she took in this solitude.

Rolling over onto her back, she stared up at the ceiling, smiling at the
memory of how groggy Giles had gotten after watching X-files tapes until
well after darkness fell. He had seemed to feel a strange sort of kinship
between himself and Mulder. Every time Fox rescued people from something
unexplainable, only to wind up reprimanded and dismissed as 'crazy'; Giles
would bounce a little in his chair and nod his head vigorously.

Willow had watched him with amusement from her nest on the sofa, trying to
resist the temptation to point out that as a member of a vast secret
organization he might well have a little more in common with the Cigarette
Man.

Somehow she had the feeling he wouldn't have taken it well.

The peal of the doorbell ran through the empty house like an electric shock,
shattering Willow's good humor along with the silence. She picked herself
wearily off the couch and made her way to the door, ready to greet Buffy
with a smile. *- Can't take this out on her… She has enough to deal with.
-*

The door swung open under Willow's hand. *- I could have sworn I locked
that… -*

The sickly porch light gleamed off hair as white as first snowfall and cast
dark shadows on skin warmed by stolen blood. His black trench coat waved
in the soft breeze, the trailing edges marking strange patterns in the layer
of dirt and dust that carpeted the wood.

Willow noted all these facts absently since the majority of her attention
was taken up by the sheer incongruity of him being there. It didn't seem
real somehow. You fought the villains in the streets, caves and cemeteries
and they never let up. They came at you from the back, from the front and
from the ground below you but they didn't *ring your doorbell* first. They
certainly didn't come to your house and stand on your porch, a silver and
black etching of death come to call on the quiet suburban neighborhood.

"Hello again." Spike's voice dropped into the depthless silence.

She had the vague feeling that he was about to whip out some sort of
brochure and explain to her the many benefits of becoming an Amway
distributor. *- That's probably not what's about to happen, but I really
wish it was. -*

He looked disarmingly awkward, standing there with his hands shoved deeply
into the pockets of his coats. The silence lengthened as Willow stared at
him, too startled to respond to his greeting. "Care to go for a drive,
love?"

He was being so polite that Willow found herself responding as if this was a
normal situation. It was hard to think of him as a threat when he was
acting just like anyone else. Besides, the doorway between them was a
barrier that he couldn't cross and she was staying right where she was.
"You should go, you know. Buffy-"

He cut her off with another of those disturbingly intimate smiles. "Buffy
is busy at the moment." Spike inclined his head towards downtown where
-inaudible to any but vampire ears- noises reminiscent of punches landing,
kicks splintering bones and an isolated 'Oh god, my *leg*!' sounded. His
smile deepened as he returned his gaze to Willow, answering the silent
question in her eyes. "I hired a few lads to make sure she'd have other
things on her mind."

*- He's put thought into this. That can't be a good thing. -* Despite her
growing feeling that there was more going on here than she knew Willow spoke
bravely. "That'll just keep her for a few minutes!"

"Ah." Spike appeared to consider that seriously, lips twisting in thought.
"I suppose you're right. After all, she goes through vampires quickly
enough, I suppose she'd be even faster against humans…"

"Humans?" In the back of Willow's mind, something was trying to click.
Some reason why it was a very, VERY bad thing that Spike had hired humans.

"Well, since the Slayer is going to be descending on us any moment, how
about we take that drive now?"

She looked at him like he was crazy. "No! In fact, I think I'll just go
back inside now and wait for Bu-"

Taking a step farther back into the house she started to swing the door
closed. It should have thumped shut in front of his still smiling face just
after the final syllable of "Buffy" had passed her lips, thus nicely
accenting her Resolve Face.

It was a good plan in theory.

In practice, a heavy hand stopped the door in mid-swing. Before she could
even begin to assess the disturbing implications of this, Willow was out on
the porch. The clammily warm hand that had grabbed her was pressed over her
mouth, although she was probably too confused to scream even if she could
have. A beefy arm wrapped around her shoulders in a bruising grip completed
the traditional helpless-maiden restraint. Trapped, bewildered and furious,
Willow stared into Spike's amused eyes and finally realized what had been
bothering her.

Nasty thing about human servants… They don't *need* invitations.

A flash of anger sparked in Spike's eyes as he saw how tightly the man was
holding her but when he spoke his voice was calm. "Good job, Dan. I'll
handle her from here."

The shock of relief when Dan released her was enormous. But then Spike
reached out and took her small hand in his before she could even think about
running back in the house, and she wished that she could have stayed in
Dan's hostile bear hug. He might have been sweaty and holding her too tight
but at least there was something familiar about that. She'd felt in a
thousand uncle's hugs and in playful struggles with Xander and Jesse under
the summer sun.

The rasp of too smooth skin, moonlight cool against her fevered skin
awakened the part of her mind forged in times when danger was kept at bay by
torchlight and the evil that walked by night had not yet earned its names.
Vampire. Demon. Nosferatu. The part of her that had existed long before the
languages of those names had been born knew what was holding her; and it
screamed inside her in a knife-sharp agony of fear.

As Dan turned and walked away from them, Spike smiled with something that
could only be described as tenderness with claws in it. Still holding her
hand in that deceptively light grip, he tugged gently but inexorably until
she stood close enough to hear the silence that should have been his
heartbeat.

He looked down on her and his smile faded into something more basic than
tenderness. Willow gazed up at him and knew that she should have been
screaming and at one and the same time knew that to scream was to court
death- not just for her, but for anyone who heard her.

Before humans learned that names were power, before everything in the world
was subdivided into evil and good and then further categorized into genus,
family and so on… Before any of that happened there were only one
distinction you could make, two categories which everything on earth into:

Predator.

And prey.

Part Eight

While it's true that time flies when you're having fun it is equally true
that time drags when you're standing nose-to-chest with a demon. The latter
statement is less well known only because the few people who survive the
experience are more likely to run away gibbering than to sit down and
consider the interesting metaphysical aspects.

It seemed to Willow that she'd been looking up at Spike for an hour,
watching dueling hungers fight a pitched battle across his features. A
decision was reached as his eyes refocused on her face. She closed her own
eyes before the fire in his gaze, selfish enough not to want to see her
death coming. It didn't really help. In her mind she could see his face as
it look when his fangs pierced her skin, see the way the porch would look
after he was done: a study in dust, blood and aluminum siding.

Green eyes sprung open at the light brush of his lips against hers, meeting
a blue gaze dark with amusement and something else she couldn't place. In
the moment of clarity that follows incredible relief, she felt the brief
contact run through her like a lightning strike weaving through her blood
leaving a trail of jangling nerves behind it.

"Not here." His voice was low, roughened with the effort of restraint.

Still slightly dazed, Willow looked at him with surprised acceptance. "Um,
okay then. So I'll see you later?" As she spoke, she took a step backwards
towards the door.

His hand shot out and grasped her upper arm. It was a light, friendly grip
but Willow got the distinct impression that if she tried to move away from
him again it would have to be on the clear understanding that she'd be
leaving that limb behind.

"Not quite, love. We still have to take that ride." He cocked his head
again, listening to the half-heard trail of pain tracing the Slayer's path.
His brows drew together as he listened. "Blast."

His hand slid down her arm to engulf hers in a cool grasp. She was dragged
along behind as he strolled down the steps, heading for the black car parked
at the curb. *-Uh oh. Car, not good. -* Her heels dug uselessly into the
ground as she attempted to slow him down. His hand tightened on hers,
slender fingers digging into her wrist as he pulled her along.

Stopping at the passenger side door, he opened it with one hand. He turned
back to her with a strangely indulgent smile, pulling her to stand next to
him. "Your Slayer's not going to be here in time to stop us from leaving,
ducks. Get in the car?" The implicit "Or I'll make you" hovered unspoken in
the night air.

*- Shouldn't I refuse? You know, fight to the bitter end and all that? But
if I do, he'll probably just knock me out... -* Ducking her head in
resignation, Willow allowed herself to be guided into the seat.

Spike smiled to himself as he closed the door behind her and circled round
to his side of the car. Just over the horizon he could hear the scream of
"God, my *other* leg!" signaling that the Slayer had breached his last line
of defense. He shook his head in mock sadness. *- Too late, Slayer. Too
late by half. -*

Sliding into his seat, he glanced at Willow. Her hands dropped from the
door handle and she focused on the floor of the car. ("What handle?") her
posture screamed. (*I* didn't see a handle!") As his even stare continued,
she knew that he'd seen her abortive attempt to escape and her body language
shifted tack.

("Okay, so I did see a handle but certainly I never thought of using a
handle to get out of the car and run for the door, oh gosh not me! Is that
what handles are used for these days?") Finally, desperate for a
distraction, she pretended an intense preoccupation with the view out of the
windshield. ("Oh look! A tree! You don't see many of those around... And
look, it has *leaves*! Wow.")

Taking pity on her, Spike turned away and started the engine. Her sigh of
relief was loud in the close confines of the car. With a twist of the
wheel he steered the black behemoth out onto the street, heading away from
Willow's house at a relatively sedate speed. Relative being the operative
word.

Her head swiveled to track her house as they accelerated, watching it until
it disappeared in a blur of speed and escaping pedestrians. Turning back
she settled into the seat, eyes cast down as she avoiding looking at Spike.
*- In a car with a vampire. Who already said that he wants me dead. Whole
new levels of bad happening here. -*

"Put on your seat belt."

"What?"

Spike's tone was grim. "Put your seat belt on *now*."

*-There's something subtly wrong here- oh. -* "Um, aren't you just going to
kill me anyway?"

"Yes. But not yet, and not in a bloody car crash!" He turned to face her
for a moment. The passing street lights cast their harsh light into the car
shaping his face into a flashing abstract of ivory skin and moving shadows.
His smile was a mixture of anticipation and desire. "You're going to die
at *my* hands, and it's going to be slow and perfect. I have it all planned,
love. Want to know how it's going to happen?

A small part of Willow, the part that had always wished someone would send
her a candygram on Valentine's Day or plan a romantic picnic, went "Aw...".
Another part of her, the part that saw the glass as half empty and said that
a romantic evening wasn't worth it if you had to die at the end, went "Uh
oh."

Her mouth, not being connected to any thinking parts at the moment, said
"Um, surprise me, okay?" as her hands moved automatically to pull the straps
across her chest and snap herself in. *-Stupid, stupid stupidstupid-*

Blue eyes narrowed. "Whatever you say, love." One hand left the steering
wheel and touched her cheek lightly. More teeth showed in his widening
smile as he felt her flinch under the soft caress. Fingers traced down her
neck with deliberately provocative strokes, and he watched out of the corner
of his eye as her hands twisted on her lap.

Trying not to cringe under the disturbingly intimate touch, Willow was dimly
aware that they'd entered a section of road with very few lights. Darkness
seeped through the windows like a black fog, seeming to fill the car with
the thick texture of night.

It seemed hard to breathe while Spike's gentle fingers were smoothing over
her skin; as if the smallest inhalation would be too much of a movement, as
if any movement would signify consent. His silence combined with the
darkness and the familiarity of his touch to totally unnerve her. *- It's
like he thinks he has the right. Like it's not even worth commenting on.
Like it's not the first time... -* Another thought followed hard upon the
heels of the first and she stiffened involuntarily. *- Like it won't be the
last time. -*

As soon as she moved, his hand left her skin, leaving her feeling strangely
bereft and alone in the textured darkness. A soft cry of reflexive
disappointment left her lips before she could call it back.

She could feel his smile even if she couldn't see it.

Part Nine

"Are you *sure* you checked all the deserted buildings?" Giles said into the
receiver.

He listened for a moment. "Yes, yes. I'm sorry that you ruined your shoes.
If it had shown in the records that that one was scheduled for demolition
I'd have-"

This time the pause was quite a bit longer. "Oh. Versace, eh? I assume
that's good? Again, my most sincere apologies but moving on-"

The response was loud enough to make the remaining Slayerettes sitting at
the library wince in sympathy. Carefully, Giles replaced the still
squawking receiver on the cradle of the phone. Turning back to the others,
he wore a look that somehow managed to combine immense satisfaction with the
knowledge that he was going to pay for it later.

"That was Buffy and Cordelia." The statement was blatantly unnecessary.

"They didn't find anything?" Oz kept his eyes on the table as he spoke, as
if unwilling to see the answer written in Giles' sympathetic eyes.

Oz and Xander sat side by side united by their fear that they'd never see
Willow again, or that when they did it would be the face of their friend
cloaking the mind of a demon.

"I'm afraid not." The answer was expected, but they still flinched at the
quiet words.

Making an effort to pull himself together, Xander offered up a shaky
facsimile of his usual smile. "Hey, it'll be all right! Buffy and Cordy
will come back, and we'll figure out where she is. After all, how many
vampire hideouts could there *be* in Sunnydale?"

They just looked at him. "Oh."

Maybe it was a bizarre side effect of the Hellmouth, maybe some city planner
want mad during construction and nobody noticed, or maybe there were more
vampires involved in real estate then you'd think, but Sunnydale had an
incredibly high number of dusty, decrepit houses.

It seemed like you couldn't go two blocks in the suburbs without running
into a large, black mansion practically dripping with medieval touches.
Inevitably, they exuded an ambience of menace and decay that drew vampires
from near and far, never mind that most undead couldn't spell "ambience" if
you spotted them eight letters.

Brings a whole new meaning to "If you build it, they will come."

As intriguing as it was from the architectural viewpoint, it made
pinpointing the location of any specific vampire quite difficult.
More than once, after flopping on the couch after a long night of trekking
through candlelit mausoleums, the Slayer had expressed the opinion that
"What this town really needs is an all vamp apartment building! Just
think... elevators... I could use *elevators*!"

At this point she normally fell asleep, although once she had gotten to the
point where she had to be physically restrained from calling city council
members and asking for funding.

Unfortunately, master vamps *like* to cloister themselves in large candlelit
mansions with huge uncovered windows and lots of easily broken wooden
furniture. (God knows why.)

Even after being reminded of this gaping flaw in his logic, Xander rallied
gamely. "Well, there's a finite number of them, anyway! And at least we
know the *type* of places we should be looking... After all, where else do
vamps go?"

*****

The neon lights flickered overhead, clothing Spike and Willow in strange
harlequin garb that danced with the movement of the lights. It made Spike's
hair glow with all the colors of a sunrise seen under the influence of
mind-altering drugs and turned Willow's wide-eyed face into a stained glass
portrait in electric blues.

There were no candles.

There was no marble.

There was music, but instead of being classical and romantic, it was the
auditory equivalent of a three-car pile-up. In short, it was a perfectly
ordinary 24-feature movie theater.

Willow, no more immune to vampiric preconceptions than the next Slayerette,
was understandably shocked. "Um... Spike? Did you take a wrong turn
somewhere?"

Spike grinned down at her, his teeth showing in what was- for once- not a
threatening gesture. Blue eyes laughed at her confusion. "No, love. This
is where we're supposed to be."

She looked around at the bustling melee. "O-kay..." < Don't question the
nice vampire, he's obviously lost it. Just play nice, and maybe he'll
suddenly decide that he's some sort of vegetable, maybe a carrot, and then
you can find a pay phone and- >

Some of what she was thinking must have shown on her face (Although probably
not the mental image of a carrot with fangs) because Spike's smile lost some
of it's playful quality and his next words carried an undertone of threat.

"We're going to go see a movie, and then we're going to talk. And if you
try to leave or call your little Slayer friends..." He paused for a moment,
then smiled widely. "I'll kill ten people here at random. Yeah. That
sounds 'bout right."

Maybe more than an undertone.

Willow nodded quickly, her eyes widening.

"Good. Well, c'mon. Let's get in line."

They were nearly at the front desk when Willow's curiosity got the better of
her. "What are we going to see?" < PleasenottheBlairWithcProject,
pleasenottheBlairWitchProject. >

He shot a quick surprised glance at her. "The Phantom Menace, of course.
I've been waiting for bloody *years*."

"Right. Of course."

They walked into the theatre and settled themselves on seats in the front
row. Looking at Spike out of the corner of her eye she was amused to see
that he was nearly vibrating in his seat with impatience. His head turned
to meet her gaze, and she quickly looked away.

Two strong fingers gripped her chin, turning her face towards him. For a
second she thought that she'd done something fatally wrong, but was
reassured by the half-mocking smile that hovered around his lips. "You
*can* look at me, love. I don't mind one bit. I certainly like looking at
you, or I wouldn't be planning on doing it for the rest of eternity."

She was acutely aware of the hand that had moved to cup her face as she
stared into the crystalline brilliance of his eyes from inches away. They
stared back at her, unblinking. < What di I say? "Thanks." Seems somewhat
inappropriate, and "But I don't *want* to look at you for the rest of
eternity" is just asking for trouble. > She settled on "Okay." She wasn't
quite sure what it meant but he appeared to accept it as an answer.

The lights started to dim.

Spike turned back to face the screen, a brutal killer reflecting the
captivated glee of a ten-year-old. Willow tried to appear intently focused
on the screen despite the fact that her mind- and what felt like every nerve
in her body- was focused on the gentle pressure of his hand at the nape of
her neck, slender fingers moving reflexively in a slow caress.

Back in Sunnydale, another vampire learned why wicker furniture isn't the
smartest decorating choice for the undead.

Part 10

Spike glanced over at Willow as the final credits started to cycle down the
screen. The young girl's eyes were still intently focused on the screen,
hands resting lightly on her knees as she leant forward, apparently hoping
that there was still a little bit more of the movie to come. Her heart rate
had slowed its frantic rhythm somewhere during the movie and she didn't even
seem to be conscious of the soft pressure of his hand, fingers tangled
deeply in her hair.

Careful not to make any sudden or distracting moves, he took the opportunity
to study her. His eyes slid fondly along the porcelain line of her cheek,
mildly surprised by its momentary paleness. For some reason she always
seemed to be blushing around him and he quite enjoyed the sudden whirlpool
of crimson that blossomed under her skin. Might as well enjoy it now, since
vampires lose their ability to blush at the same time they stop being
inclined to take religious vows.

The gradually lightening darkness around them was filled with an incoherent
babble of sound as the other theatergoers gathered up their possessions and
returned to the conversations waylaid by the feature film. Within a matter
of minutes the theater contained only Spike, Willow and various people
taking notes on the credits.

As the last soft strains of music faded away into silence Willow let out a
long sigh, her shoulders relaxing. She turned to face him, the glow in her
green eyes matching the sparkle of her excited grin. He could tell she
wasn't really seeing him by the way she seemed like she was focusing on a
point two inches behind his head, her smile undimmed by the fact that she
was sharing post-movie giddiness with one of the sociopathic undead. He
smiled back at her, bloodless lips parting in a sideways grin as he indulged
in the rare pleasure of watching her smile just for him.

Willow's hands moved in sweeping gestures as she motioned first to the
screen, then to Spike, then back to the screen. It was like seeing a game
of shadow puppets performed at high speed with no actual shadows involved.
"Did you see that? When they just cut right through that door and- oh! The
underwater city! And the city-planet! Ooh, did you see the way they made
those monsters? What kind of special effects do you think those were?" She
didn't pause for an answer, the words almost tripping over each other in
their rush to escape.

Spike looked at the formerly mute redhead in bemusement, nodding in the
appropriate places. He'd hoped that the movie would get the little beauty
to loosen up at bit, but this was beyond all his expectations.
think that she's forgotten who I am. A muted cough attracted his
attention to the usher glaring at them from the aisle of the deserted
theater. He mentally calculated whether he could kill the idiot, lock the
theater doors and get back in his seat without disturbing Willow's momentary
media daze. The odds weren't good.

Resigning himself to the inevitable Spike stood up, his leather duster
falling into crisp black lines. He kept his eyes on the usher, blue gaze
conveying the message that if Spike *had* a list of people to kill, the
usher would have just moved to the top. He also accomplished the difficult
feat of tacking an appendix on to his visual death threat: informing the
hapless theater employee that the only reason he didn't have a list was
because the people he disliked never lived long enough for him to find a pad
and pencil. The usher got the message with skin crawling clarity.

The next night when he started his new job at the Burger Barn, the former
usher described his reasons for leaving his previous job in the vague words:
"I dunno. I just felt like, it wouldn't be a good place for me to keep
working." Had he been a more articulate man, he might have used words like
'a grim foreboding' or 'latent survival instinct'. Spike's trip to the
theater the next week wasn't a complete loss. He laughed his head off at the
premiere of Mystery Men and went home with a Mr. Furious tee shirt. It
wasn't quite as fun as it would have been to cut the man's skin off in
inch-wide strips and use them to bind him to the scalding-hot neon sign
sitting atop the theater, but it was still a good laugh.

"Love?" Spike's soft-voiced query barely made an impact on the girl, her
photographic memory busily replaying the highlights of the movie. She
barely registered the hands pulling her gently to her feet and guiding her
out of the aisle. The realization that the hand splayed proprietarily at
the small of her back belonged to Spike filtered into her consciousness when
they were halfway across the lobby.

Spike could feel the heartbeat pulsing under his touch speed up, and his
other hand reached to take her arm in an ostensibly light grip that forced
her to keep pace with his long steps. He kept his tone friendly. "Never
saw that movie before?"

She mentally readjusted her perceptions, trying to adjust her thinking back
to the vampire abductee frame of mind. "No." Willow sneaked a glance up at
his profile, suddenly remembering the patient way he'd listened to her
babble. She didn't see Spike's quick
smile as he noted the embarassed flush rising on her face, and if she had it
would only have made her blush more.

"Why not? Looked like you thought it was brilliant." He sounded honestly
curious.

Willow noted his curiosity with the flicker of annoyance. If life were a
highway, Willow would be one of the people who always took the bus. She got
on and off at the posted stops, cared about the breathing needs of unborn
generations and would never dream of asking the bus driver to stop exactly
at her destination. On the rare occasion that she would use a car, she'd
carpool with friends and it would be her friends that decided where they'd
go.

On the other hand Spike would hijack the fastest car available, kill the
driver and then drive at dangerously illegal speeds to wherever he felt like
going, with no regard for gas fumes, other drivers, or wide eyed children
chasing runaway puppies. And if he had to kill a few patrolmen along the
way, that would just be gravy.

Now, one of those options is obviously good, while the other is clearly
evil. But when you're trapped behind a Honda Civic whose left turn light
has been on for the last *twelve blocks* and the bus driver misses your stop
and all of your friends seem determined to drag you to the Oshawa Music
Festival (Motto: All polka, all the time) well, the dark side starts to look
pretty tempting.

All of which explains why Willow turned as far as Spike's hold would allow,
looked him straight in the eye for possibly the first time since he'd
captured her and said "I *wanted* to see it! But Buffy thought it looked
boring, and Xander agreed with her because he still has a thing for her and
who else would I go with, huh? After all it's not like they'd go to see it
just because *I* wanted to see it. Of course not!" She fixed him with a
glare that combined resentment for his guilt-free lifestyle with the
burgeoning realization that shouting at a demon probably fell under the
'suicide' clause in her insurance policy.

She was completely taken aback when his face split in a delighted grin.
"Bloody right, love! I knew the real you was in there somewhere!" His hand
slid down her arm, his smooth fingers sliding between hers as he took her
hand in a secure grasp. One finger stroked her palm in a soothing caress
as he steered her towards the parking lot. "Let's find us a nice quiet
spot, shall we? Looks to me like we've got a lot to talk about."

Willow let herself be dragged along, her mind fogged with the realization
that for the first time in her life she'd spoken up about her feelings. And
she'd done with an undead fiend that had kidnapped her, (twice!) tried to
kill her friends on numerous occasions and was even now determined to kill
her and force her to come back as a demon.

Nobody should have to go through puberty on a Hellmouth.