So Many Steps To Death

By KallieRose

Chapter Twenty-One: Dead Man's Folly

Willow was a bit surprised by the upbeat mood when she entered the Summers house, after saying good-bye to Buffy. Most of the serious faces from the earlier confrontation were gone, replaced by an almost desperate gaiety. One girl was humming, ‘ding, dong, the witch is dead,’ while others broke into small groups of four or five, watching TV, painting nails or telling tall tales—trading lies, as Spike would have called it.

Spike.

No matter what she did, she couldn’t seem to erase him from her mind. Thoughts of him were like an itch she couldn’t quite reach, or a familiar melody playing over and over in her head.

But dwelling on him wouldn’t help matters now. So, instead of wallowing in what used to be, she took a deep breath and headed for Giles.

There was a council of war, of sorts, and Giles was stuck in the thick of it. “Hi,” she said quietly, nodding gratefully at Xander as he scooted down the couch, making room for her. On her other side was one of the older Potentials, a girl with long brown hair and a ruthless look to her. Willow could feel the other girl’s eyes on her, coolly evaluating and assessing her. She was tempted to stick out her tongue in a childish display of ‘I don’t like you,’ but resisted the impulse, and after a moment the girl turned away to talk to someone standing beside her.

Faith was there as well, sitting on a chair next to Xander. Willow barely squashed a giggle at the way that Xander was casting covert glances at the Slayer. Apparently it hadn’t been just the morphine drip talking earlier in the hospital when he had told Willow he thought Faith was hot.

“All right, then, does anyone have any constructive suggestions?” Giles rapped sharply on the coffee table, attempting to gain the attention of those closest to him. “Now that we’ve decided what we don’t want to do, what exactly is it that we *do* want to do? The floor is open. Anyone with ideas should speak now.”

“I say we get the hell out of the war zone and regroup,” said one of the girls, a young redhead with a make-shift sling on her arm, and what looked like a nasty cut on her forehead. She gazed eagerly around the table, hopeful that her idea would find a following.

Giles shook his head, frowning at the girl, who seemed to melt back into her chair like a naughty child caught in a lie. “I may question Buffy’s choice of target, and her methods, but I do agree with her that we can’t just run and hide. Leaving the hellmouth to the First would be a fatal mistake. As hard as it is, we must continue to attack.”

“Giles is right,” Faith agreed, drawing all eyes to her by the sheer force of the authority in her voice. “We need to attack. And I’ve got an idea about just how we want to do it...”

“Well, maybe we’ve got ideas, too,” the girl next to Willow stated, staring at Faith. Willow sensed a need in that girl to fight for power, to challenge whatever she perceived as authority, and she shuddered slightly. “I think we should do a recon at the seal. That’s where it’s gonna go down, the First as much as told us so. Why don’t we send a team over there and see what’s happening?”

Several voices broke out at once. Willow listened silently, taking in the positions of the various players in the game. Finally, when it was clear that nothing was being accomplished, Faith took control again.

“Quiet!” she said, the iron in her voice putting a stop to all the bickering. “This is getting us nowhere. Listen, this is what we’re going to do. From everything I’ve seen, the Bringers are the First’s weak link. Admittedly, they’re a pretty strong weak link, but if we can just get one of them alone, I bet I could make it spill its guts.” There was a nasty gleam in her eyes that made Willow a little uncomfortable, but she remained silent, knowing that being squeamish now would most likely result in her death, and sooner, rather than later. Tough times meant tough measures, or something like that.

“But I really think we should go back to the high school—”

“Kennedy, back down,” Faith commanded, staring at the Potential as if daring her to speak. “This is not a democracy, and you don’t get a vote. You don’t like it? Then go out and find Buffy.”

Giles cleared his throat, and Faith’s glance slid towards him. “Any objections?”

“I would simply ask what you plan to do with the Bringer, once we find one.” Giles’ tone was respectful, but serious.

Faith shrugged. “Not sure, really. Get whatever information out of it that we can, I suppose. Find out what they’re planning, and where they’re planning it. Look for a weak spot. The usual.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Xander agreed. “So, who gets to be the bait?”

---

Kennedy, the pushy Potential who Faith had smacked down earlier, ended up being the bait. Willow had to admit that the girl did her job well, and in no time at all they had a Bringer. Unfortunately, all the rest of the news was not so good. Once they finally figured out a way to make the Bringer speak, using Andrew as a conduit, they learned little of interest. The Bringer made vague references to an underground arsenal and then promised to laugh as they all died. It said nothing more of use, and before long Giles could stand no more and slit the thing’s throat.

In the meantime, Andrew and Anya returned from their trip north. Willow was surprised to be greeted with a hug by Anya, but while they were hugging, Anya offered Willow $450 to off Andrew, as long as she made it look like an accident. The fact that Anya was willing to offer so much of her precious money to Willow was evidence of just how annoyed she must have been.

Willow regretfully declined, but every now and then she shot angry, dagger-sharp looks at Andrew, and was gratified to see that every time she did, the little bastard fidgeted in his seat.

The next several days passed quietly enough. There had been no attacks by eye-less minions, no visits from the creepy Preacher man, and although they went out every night with the Potentials, there wasn’t really anything all that tough to fight. Occasionally a small group of vampires or a couple of Bringers would challenge them, but when the odds ran at a dozen Potentials to each vampire, it was a rather lopsided fight. At least the girls had the chance to keep improving their fighting skills, even if their spirits weren’t really in it.

At first they had all been rather excited to see the last of Buffy, but when Faith turned out to be just as harsh a taskmaster, there had been grumbling and whining all around. Willow had watched it all play out, rolling her eyes at its predictability. The Potentials were beginning to realize that Faith had exactly the same goals in mind as Buffy; she was just a little more with the carrot and less with the big stick.

Most nights they caught glimpses of Buffy here and there in the distance, chasing vampires and kicking the ass of any demon she found, but they never approached her, nor she them, and Buffy had never used the cell phone she gave her.

It was a little after two in the morning, and another long night of patrolling was coming to a close. The Potentials had already run into the house, most of them heading for the kitchen. Willow and Faith sat on the front steps of the Summers house, enjoying an all-too-rare moment of silence. Most days life felt like an ongoing circus, with the two of them as the Masters of Ceremonies. Xander and Giles helped as much as they could, but the girls didn’t feel as comfortable going to them with problems as they did Willow and Faith.

“So, you think Kennedy is ready to lead a squad?” Faith asked. Kennedy seemed to have a disciplined approach, but they both sensed that some of the other girls were a bit put off by her bossy manner.

Willow frowned as her thoughts focused on the older Potential. “I don’t know. She doesn’t seem to...well, to command the respect of the girls. She bullies them, I guess. I don’t know if it would really be that good of an idea to put her in charge.”

Faith nodded, as if she had had similar thoughts. Sometimes she did that—talked to Willow about things when she had already made her mind up, as if seeking some sort of confirmation that she was making the right choice.

As unexpected as it was, Willow had to admit that she found herself liking Faith more and more. This time around, Faith seemed much less antagonistic and suspicious, and much more...well...friendly. Or maybe it was just that she felt like Willow was the only one she could talk to. At the same time, Willow sort of felt like she was being disloyal to Buffy. But Buffy wasn’t here, and Faith was. And worrying about something so silly really wasn’t going to help anyone.

“Think Rona would be a better choice?” Faith asked, looking at Willow for her agreement. “She’s a bit of a firebrand, but she knows how to keep the girls in line.”

Willow was about to reply when Faith suddenly jumped to her feet, staring into the darkness, searching for...something. “Vampire. Go into the house, Will. Get a couple of the girls and bring them out. Quietly.” Her words were said between clenched teeth, and Willow could feel the tension in Faith’s body as she continued to examine the shadows.

The amused masculine chuckle caught Willow by surprise, and she whirled around and stared towards the tree in the middle of Buffy’s yard, knowing exactly what she would see.

“Spike?” she asked, hope shining in her eyes. “Is it really you?” She remembered the cruel trick the First had played on her before, appearing in Spike’s form in an effort to rattle her.

He frowned, a hint of exasperation beginning to show on his face and in his voice. “Who the hell else are you expecting, Red? Peter Pan?”

Nobody else could wear that look of pure annoyance like Spike could, and Willow knew it. Dozens of thoughts whirled around in her head. Why was he here? Why now? Was he here to help, or hinder? And most importantly, why did the very sight of him fill her with such joy?

Shooting a smile at Faith, she ran down the steps, throwing herself into Spike’s arms and holding onto him as if her life depended on it.

His arms circled her, hugging her just as tightly, his chin resting on the top of her head. His eyes met Faith’s over Willow’s head, and the look he gave her was frankly assessing. “Slayer,” he acknowledged, giving her a nod.

Faith raised an amused eyebrow at him. “Spike. You here to cause trouble?”

His smile became slightly devilish, and then his expression settled into something non-committal. “Not plannin’ on it. Just here to see Willow.”

Nodding, Faith turned towards the door. “I’ll let the girls know you’re off limits.” Although what she really meant was probably more along the lines of ‘I’ll give the two of you some time alone.’ But Faith would never admit to being such a softy.

The door clicked shut quietly behind her, and Willow released her hold on Spike, stepping back and regarding him with curious eyes. “Why are you here, Spike? Not that I haven’t missed you,” she admitted. “But I thought you made your position pretty clear when I left.”

He shrugged, leaning back against the tree and looking up into the night. “Maybe I got bored. Maybe things got too hot in Paris. Or maybe I just missed...the hellmouth. Does it really matter?”

She sighed, allowing herself to feel a bit disappointed. Maybe it was asking too much for him to say that he missed her. This was Spike, after all. Judge him by his actions, not his words, she told herself.

“I’m just not sure that this is a good idea,” she admitted uneasily, doubt overwhelming her happiness at seeing him as her mind started putting up roadblocks. “They all think you still have the chip. What happens the first time that Xander insults you, and you hit him? Or if you accidentally hurt someone? They’ll know. And...I’m not sure if they can handle it.”

Spike pulled out a cigarette and lit it, his expression beginning to sour as he considered her words. “You want me to go?” he asked, a hint of anger beginning to show. “I come halfway around the world to help you, and all you can say is, ‘I’m not sure this is a good idea?’”

Willow winced at the anger she could hear beneath his words, trying to make sense of her tumultuous feelings. She wanted him here; there was no doubt in her mind about that. But she was scared, too. Scared that he’d hurt someone and they’d figure out that the chip was gone; scared that her friends would try to kill him, or that he’d try to kill them; scared that he’d be a casualty in the war against the First. Scared of what she would do if he was gone.

“I’m scared,” she whispered, unable to look him in the eye as she said it.

“And you bloody well should be,” he told her, grabbing her by the shoulders and giving her a shake. Suddenly it was as if a dam had broken, and all sorts of angry words came pouring out. “First intelligent thing you’ve said since I’ve seen you. Stuck here with a bunch of girls who wouldn’t know the difference between a stake and a clump of dirt. And yes, I watched them patrol tonight. It was laughable. They didn’t even know I was stalking them. Could’ve killed the bunch of them, if I’d wanted to.”

Staring into his eyes, she could see the worry in them, and in an odd way it made her feel a little better. He might not want to feel something for her, but he did. He wouldn’t have made the trip to Sunnydale if he hadn’t. She was sure of that now.

“And where’s Buffy, anyway?” Spike asked, continuing with his litany of complaints. “Isn’t she supposed to be your fearless leader? Version 2.0 is a hot little number, but she isn’t half the Slayer that Buffy is.”

“Buffy’s...around. We—they—well, Giles and the rest of them asked her to leave. There was this whole thing,” she waved her hands in the air as if trying to describe it without words, “and Buffy wanted to do one thing, and everyone else didn’t. So, they voted her off the island. Kind of.”

“Survivor, Sunnydale style. Great, just what you lot need. Would’ve thought Rupert was smarter than that, even if the others weren’t.” He shook his head in disgust.

Willow shrugged weakly. “I guess they thought it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Raised eyebrows expressed his skepticism.

The front door opened and Faith poked her head out. “Everyone decent?”

“I suppose,” Willow answered, a trifle dispiritedly. She walked back towards Faith, leaving Spike to trail behind her.

“Couple of the girls wanted to meet Spike. Thought this might be a good time for a little meet-and-greet.”

Three of the Potentials had followed Faith outside. Two of them kept close to her, eyeing Spike with undisguised curiosity and a fair amount of trepidation. The third Potential was Kennedy, and she stood apart from the others, as if making it clear that she wasn’t afraid of the vampire. Her body language exuded loathing and disgust, and the look she gave him was nowhere near friendly.

Her gaze swept the vampire from head to toe, and back up again, appearing to be completely unimpressed. “I’ve heard of you,” she told him, the revulsion still clear in her voice. “Slayer of Slayers, they called you.” She rolled her eyes. “Hard to believe.”

Spike cocked his head and stared back, lips slightly parted, and eyes carefully devoid of emotion. He watched Willow’s shoulders tense as she waited for him to respond, and knew that this was a test, of sorts. He remained silent, waiting to see what would happen next.

“How’d you do it, Spike? How’d you manage to take down two Slayers? Because from what I can see, it seems unlikely.” Kennedy was taunting him now, working hard to push his buttons. Willow wasn’t sure whether the other girl was hoping to see how Spike would respond, or whether she was just incredibly stupid. Either way, it didn’t take long before Spike made his move.

Before Kennedy could blink, he was in her face. He grabbed a stake from Willow’s back pocket as he passed her, and held it against Kennedy's throat, the point not quite breaking the skin. She held completely still, her eyes awash with anger, and the beginnings of fear.

“I waited until my quarry was distracted,” Spike told her, his voice calm and cold, “and then I struck. If you get distracted, you get dead,” he explained. They stood there for a moment, each as still as a statue. Then Spike flipped the stake away from her throat and stepping back. He tossed the stake to Faith, who tucked it into the waistband of her jeans. She was trying hard not to smile.

The other two Potentials stared at Spike in open fascination, watching almost jealously as he casually threw his arm around Willow’s shoulders.

One of the younger girls—Willow thought her name was Amanda—was the first to speak. “Are you going to stay here?” she asked, her voice betraying both curiosity and perhaps a bit of hero worship.

Spike snuck a glance down at Willow’s face, trying to decipher what he saw there and coming up empty. “I could,” he allowed, refusing to commit. “Could teach you how to fight. Things Buffy never taught you.” A sly smile quirked his lips. “I could teach you how to fight dirty. How to win.”

“What about it, Red?” he asked, bending down and whispering in her ear. “Should I stay? Or do you want me to go?”

Willow was silent for a moment, trying to come to a decision. So much could potentially go wrong if she asked him to stay. But at the same time, Willow couldn’t fight it anymore—she *was* glad to see him. It felt as if some piece of her life that had been missing for the past couple of weeks was finally back where it belonged. “Please, stay,” she said softly, grabbing his hand and holding it tightly.

“I guess I could stick around. For a bit.” She could hear the satisfaction in his voice, and knew that ‘a bit’ would turn into ‘as long as she needed him.’ It made her want to throw her arms around him all over again.

“C’mon in and meet the rest of the gang, then,” Faith invited, leading the way. The others followed behind her, although there was a little bit of jockeying for position when Kennedy decided she didn’t want to walk in front of Spike. His little demonstration earlier obviously hadn’t earned him any affection from that particular Potential.

---

Spike was working the room. That was the only way Willow could describe it. Faith had introduced him to the Potentials, and after a brief speech, the girls had broken into groups again, pairings dictated mostly by common interests and languages. And slowly but surely, Spike sought them all out. It was deliberate and manipulative, and pure Spike. Once he had decided to stay and help them, he went full speed ahead, jumping into the fray and putting his plan into action.

He teased the shy ones, gently flirting and attempting to instill some confidence in them. To the homesick ones, he did his best to speak in their language, although he laughingly admitted that he was probably butchering it terribly. The bolder ones he flirted with outrageously, telling stories about his past—carefully sanitized, of course, so as not to shock their sensibilities. Others he promised to teach everything he knew about fighting. Each and every one he charmed. Well, other than Kennedy. She stood apart, watching him work, a disdainful expression spoiling the beauty of her face.

Xander was another who refused to be charmed. He left for the kitchen soon after Spike arrived; Willow could only describe his expression as furious. And to be honest, she wasn’t surprised. After everything that had happened last year between Spike and Buffy, and then Spike and Anya, it seemed unlikely that Xander would forgive the vampire anytime soon. If ever. So Willow let him go, wishing she could do something to ease the intensity of his emotions.

Dawn had watched Spike from a distance, a wistful look on her face. She seemed to want to approach him, but wasn’t sure how. When Spike finally sought her out, there had been a few tense moments between them. Willow watched uneasily from across the room, hoping that they would be able to get back a bit of that friendship they used to have. The two had talked quietly, heads bent together, and finally Willow had seen an almost unwilling smile break across Dawn’s face. Shortly after that, they were talking and laughing again, as if last year had never happened.

Willow fought a yawn, one of a dozen in the last half-hour. The day had started early. The girls usually began lining up for a brief shot at the only bathroom at around six in the morning, and now it was well after three in the morning. Looking around at all the excited, smiling faces, she admitted that she envied the Potentials for their seemingly unending supply of energy. At this moment she would have given quite a bit to be a little less tired.

She yawned again, and then her gaze slid to the right, catching Spike’s eyes on her, even as he was regaling a group of younger girls with another of his endless supply of stories. Stopping mid-sentence, he crooked his little finger, beckoning her towards him.

“Ready to call it a night?” he asked, ignoring the disappointed groans from the half-dozen girls who surrounded him, hanging onto his every word.

Willow closed her eyes briefly and nodded. Her hand went up to her mouth, covering yet another yawn. The thought of a warm, inviting bed sounded heavenly.

But then the reality of the situation hit her. She was sharing a small house with dozens of young girls. A warm, inviting bed was not in her near future. A cold, hard floor, perhaps...

“Where are we bunking?” Spike asked curiously. “We could hang out in the basement, maybe?”

The basement already slept an even dozen girls. Adding Spike to that group seemed like an extremely poor idea. “Full,” she answered, her mind at work, trying to come up with an alternative. “The whole house is, really. I guess, maybe you could bunk with Giles and Xander.”

Willow couldn’t tell who looked more horrified by the idea: Spike, or Giles, who had come up next to her. And once she thought about it, she knew that there was no way that Xander would have agreed to such a plan.

“Next door?” Spike asked.

That might work, Willow realized. Dawn had mentioned that the neighbors on one side had been gone for weeks, while the others had left a couple of days ago. It would probably mean breaking a window to get in, but that didn’t bother her much. Most of the buildings in town had broken windows, if not worse.

“The Fredricks’ place is like a cave during the day,” Dawn chirped up from behind her. “Once I found out about vampires, I kind of wondered if old Mr. Fredricks was one. He never came outside, and they never opened the curtains.”

Frankly, Willow thought that was probably a pretty smart move on Mr. Fredricks part. Considering some of the things that had happened at Buffy’s house over the years, it was probably easier on the mind and heart to remain oblivious, which pretty much necessitated closed curtains.

“Sure would be nice to have a good night’s sleep in a real bed,” Willow admitted softly. And tonight, at least, she would be sleeping. She was too tired to do anything else. Hopefully Spike would agree to hold off on...other activities until morning.

Fishing in her pocket, Willow pulled out her cell phone. “Here’s my number. Put it on speed dial. That way, if you need us, all you have to do is hit a button. You don’t even need to say anything. If my caller ID says it’s you, then we’ll come running.”

Giles bowed his head slightly, acknowledging the idea. “And you will call us, if you need help. I am not certain that the First will attack here again, but if it does, you might find yourself in the Bringers’ sights.”

A grim smile crossed Spike’s face. “They can always try,” he allowed, giving them all a glimpse of the demon that lurked beneath the surface.

Willow ran upstairs and grabbed her suitcases, and then they said their goodbyes and made their way next door. Breaking a window turned out to be unnecessary, thanks to Spike’s abilities with a credit card and a paperclip in combination with the pathetically simple lock on Mr. Fredricks’ back door. Considering how much money he had spent on the multiple locks on the front door, Willow couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the easily pickable lock in back.

Spike pushed the door open and walked in first, going from room to room and checking for squatters, while Willow walked along behind him, cataloging the rooms and furniture for future reference.

“Everything’s clear. You want to set up a couple of your wards here, kind of give us an early warning system?” His tone made it clear that he took the danger seriously, something that made Willow feel a bit better, and conversely a bit worse. Reckless Spike was bad news, but it was disturbing to admit that there were things in the world that were bigger and badder than the Big Bad himself.

Within minutes she was done, and sitting on the bed in the master bedroom in a knee-length t-shirt that doubled as a nightgown. She watched Spike as he undressed, throwing clothes this way and that. Apparently they were sleeping together tonight, something they rarely did. The intimacy of it left her faintly nervous and yet strangely excited as well, but she was too tired to examine those feelings tonight. “Sleep now, talk in the morning?” she asked hopefully, as she lay down on her side of the bed, stretching and working the kinks out of her muscles.

Spike’s only answer was to throw a thick blanket over the already thick curtains and then turn out the light, plunging the room into total darkness. She felt the dip of the bed as he got in, then his arms found her shoulders, pulling her body
against his. Her head rested against the pillow of his chest, and before she could think another coherent thought, she was fast asleep.


Chapter Twenty-Two: Cards On the Table

Spike watched Willow sleep, enjoying the feel of her pressed tightly against him. He could always find a warm body to fill his bed when he wanted to, and she certainly filled that need. But she was more than that. Just how much more? His mind shied away from the question, his eyes focusing on her smile instead.

That smile had dragged him halfway around the world, and even now he wasn’t sure if he had made the right decision. It had all seemed so simple a couple of days ago; he was bored, therefore he would search her out and fix the problem.

But now that he was actually here, he could feel himself being sucked back into the same morass as she was. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew that he would stay in Sunnydale with her until this latest crisis was over, and it was safe to go back to Paris.

The unnatural quiet of the early afternoon was disturbing. Spike had spent more time in Sunnydale than he’d ever wanted to, and even though he was never outside at this hour, certain ambient noises were always audible. Cars going by, the voices of children at play, even the birds chirping—these sounds were always there in the back of his mind. But today it was silent. Not a creature stirred outside; even the birds had found someplace better to be.

Animals were supposed to be able to predict natural disasters, weren’t they? The fact that all creatures, human and otherwise, seemed to have deserted the town made Spike even more uneasy. Something big was going to happen, and everyone seemed to know it. He only hoped he and Willow would make it out before it was too late.

He knew it was wrong to feel so protective of her, even to the point that it affected his highly attuned sense of self-preservation. After all, she was just as powerful as he was, in her own way. But this...this *feeling* he felt for her refused to be ignored, no matter how hard he tried. And if he couldn’t protect her, then at least he could stand by her side.

A soft humming brought his attention back to the woman curled up against him, her head resting on his chest and an arm draped over his torso. Her fingers splayed against his ribs, and as he watched her face, her nose scrunched up and her eyebrows drew together. He smiled at the familiar look of confusion. Soon her eyes would open and her brain would start feeding questions to her mouth.

Sure enough, within seconds her eyes popped opened and she angled her head up to look at him. He could tell the moment it all clicked into place for her. “You’re still here,” she said wonderingly, almost making it sound like a question.

“Came a long way to be here,” he reminded her, his fingers reaching out to ruffle her hair. “Not about to leave again.”

She shook her head, burying her face against his chest. “Thought maybe it was a dream,” she murmured, sleep still heavy in her voice.

“Dream about me a lot, do you? What kind of dreams?” Spike waited for the telltale heat of her blush, disappointed when she merely looked up at him, her face completely serious.

“Sometimes they’re happy. Like when we went to that coffee house and you made fun of all the other people in there. Sometimes they’re nightmares.” She went still, as if remembering a particularly vivid nightmare.

“Wouldn’t mind hearing a bit more about the nightmares,” he offered, hoping to lighten her mood with a wicked smile. Looking down at her, he noted that her eyes were closed again. His fingers trailed through her hair, enjoying the silky feel of it against his skin.

“Your ego is big enough as it is.” There was a tartness to her voice that amused him, as if she really did mean it, but wasn’t certain that she wanted to admit it aloud for fear of offending him.

“Not the only part of me that’s big,” he reminded her, his voice silky soft. This time he was rewarded with the blush she hadn’t given him earlier, and his hand stilled in her hair as he enjoyed the heat, and the way that her usually pale skin tinted. “Now you’re just making me hungry, all that lovely blood rushin’ to your face. Not nice to tease a fellow like that.”

Willow sat up, scooting back to lean against the heavy wood headboard. “I can—the spell still works. If you want, you could—you know.”

“Was wondering about that. Wasn’t looking forward to trying to find a butcher.”

“The hospital would have worked, I suppose. If you wanted. They’re all deserted.” Her voice sounded sad and a little lost, and he suspected that there was a story that she wasn’t telling him. Sooner or later he would pry it out of her, if it was important.

“I prefer to get it straight from the source,” he assured her, running his tongue over his lips. “So much tastier.”

She nodded at him absently, her mind obviously elsewhere. “What’s the problem, Red?”

“Just thinking. Uh, about the bite. I’m thinking a big, gaping neck wound probably wouldn’t be a good idea right now. Can you—you know—do it somewhere else?”

There were all sorts of places he could bite her; some were more intimate than others. He sat up, scooting back against the headboard, and eyed her body appreciatively. Or at least, as much of it as he could see underneath that hideous nightshirt. “Could bite you here,” he offered, running his finger in a circle along the cotton that hid her nipple. His lips quirked into a smile as she squirmed slightly and the scent of her arousal hit his nostrils. “Or,” he added, his voice getting rougher with lust, “I could bite you here.” His finger slid south, trailing down her abdomen. Her legs parted slightly and he pulled up her nightshirt, his fingers dipping underneath the waistband of her underwear. His fingers slid along her pubic hair as he watched an excited smile begin to form on her lips.

He withdrew his hand, noting her groan of disappointment, and ran his fingers down the inside of her thigh, finally coming to rest on the flesh behind her knee. “I could bite you here, if you wanted. What do you think?”

The sound of her breathing was loud in the unnaturally silent room. “I—that would be nice,” she managed to squeak out. “Uh—whatever works best for you.”

He shook his head, turning the tables on her. “Lady’s choice.”

“Oh.” She was silent for a moment, thinking it over. “The first two sound...promising.”

“Just...promising?” he teased, eyebrows raised, watching as she blushed.

The thought of all of that fresh blood was too much for him, so he made the decision for her. Sliding down the bed, he grabbed her hips and pulled her down with him, grinning at her shriek of surprise. He pushed her legs apart and settled between them.

“Wha—what are you doing?” she asked, raising herself up on her arms to look at him.

“Option number two,” he told her, putting a hand on her chest and pushing her upper body back onto the bed.

Willow waited apprehensively, unsure of what Spike had planned for her. Sure, she knew what ‘option number two’ meant, but she wasn’t sure exactly how he was going to accomplish it, or what he might do along the way. He was naked underneath the sheets, and she knew that however this began, it would end with him inside her. The very thought of it left her breathless.

When she felt his cool tongue run lightly along the inside of her thigh, she shivered, although not from the cold. The teasing nature of the touch left her wanting more, but she knew from experience that saying anything now could set Spike to taunting her for hours, leaving her wanting without any sort of relief.

He moved to the other thigh, repeating his actions. The sting of broken skin told her that he had changed, and was running a sharp fang along the inside of her thigh. It stung for just an instant, rather like a paper cut, and then his tongue ran along the same path that his fang had just traveled, cooling and soothing her flesh.

In a move that was making her increasingly hot and bothered, he varied his attentions, attacking first one leg and then the other, using fangs, lips and tongue to vary the experience. It seemed like an odd sort of vampiric foreplay, and although Willow enjoyed the way his actions built the tension in the pit of her stomach, she couldn’t help but wish he would get on with it. It was hard to relax and enjoy it when she never knew where he was going to strike next.

As if he could read her mind—or perhaps the non-vocal signals her body was sending out—Spike moved his attentions higher, his fingers ripping her underwear until he had access to what resided beneath it. His tongue swiped teasingly along the length of her slit, and her legs quivered slightly in response. A sigh of relief broke her lips when he neared her clit. She was already so wound up that she desperately needed a release of some sort or she might just explode from sheer frustration.

His tongue sought out her clit, licking it and lashing it from side to side. She moaned as she felt the tension inside her continue to build. A finger slid inside of her, moving in and out at a languid pace, and was quickly joined by another. She could almost feel the liquid pouring from her as he worked her body, a century of experience telling him exactly what to do and when to do it.

“Spike,” she cried out as her orgasm whipped through her. His fingers continued to draw out her pleasure, but she could no longer feel his mouth on her clit. Without warning, she felt his fangs slide into her left thigh, and her body spasmed again as he drank from her. The pain of the bite mixed with her pleasure, prolonging her orgasm.

As the aftershocks of pleasure diminished, her body finally relaxed and her eyes fell closed. She could hear Spike’s occasional groans of pleasure, and knew that he was still feeding. It felt pleasant; like they had a connection with one another that nobody else knew about, or could ever duplicate. It wasn’t just about feeding or sex; there was something else there as well, something she didn’t really want to put a name to. But she liked it, all the same.

She felt it when his fangs left her body, his tongue laving the flesh to stop the bleeding. When his eyes met hers again, the demon was gone, and the eyes that stared back at her were blue and guileless. “Fancy a fuck?” he asked.

Something about the words made her giggle. Maybe it was the crudeness of the language mixed with the innocent look on his face that did it. All she could do was nod, not trusting herself to say anything else.

He grinned back at her, as if they were sharing some sort of private joke, and then he grabbed his cock and guided it inside her, slamming in the last couple of inches. She groaned at the sudden intrusion, feeling her pleasure begin to build once again. Arching against him, she brought her hips up to meet his, and then wrapped her legs around his hips.

Their coupling was fast and furious, and a part of Willow—the small part of her brain that was still capable of thought—wondered if Spike was trying to punish her for forcing him to come halfway around the world to find her. He wasn’t hurting her, but he was pushing her body to its limits, his cock thrusting in and out fast and hard, while his hands roved her body, leaving scratched and bruised skin in their wake. He had long ago shoved her nightshirt up to her shoulders, and was pinching her nipples as he thrust inside her, the pain always staying just this side of pleasurable.

“Promise you’ll never leave me,” he growled as he licked and bit his way down her throat, stopping briefly to run his tongue across his mark. She surged against him, her body arching with pleasure.

His words came as a surprise to her. Not their content, but the fact that he said them at all. “Uh—I—I can’t,” Willow answered, pushing the words out between agonized breaths. She knew it wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear, but she wouldn’t lie to him.

“Promise,” he snarled, his fingers tightening on her nipple.

She gave a yelp of sudden, real pain, and he released her nipple, running his fingertip soothingly along the areole. Anger and regret flashed in his eyes as he watched her.

Willow felt herself being washed along in the heat of her passion and knew she was on the edge of another orgasm. Suddenly she felt his fingers on her clit, rubbing and pinching, and she screamed out wordlessly as she came, Spike’s roar of completion quickly following.

She lay there for a minute, feeling tired and lazy and completely unable to move any part of her body. It felt good, but she wondered whether she’d need a nap before she was able to even get up and move.

Spike lay next to her, with her but not touching her. She turned onto her side and looked over at him, trying to discern his thoughts, but his expression gave nothing away. Sometimes it frightened her that he could know so much about her just by looking at her, but looking at him just left her confused.

A knock on the bedroom door jolted her from her reverie. Fear flooded her, and she couldn’t decide whether to pull the covers up over them, or fall into a fighting stance and prepare to face whoever might be on the other side of the door. She settled on sitting up and pulling the sheets up to her shoulders while shooting an apprehensive glance at Spike, who was still lying above the covers, completely naked.

“C’mon in, Slayer,” Spike called out, turning and smirking at her.

The door opened just a bit. What Faith saw, and the conclusions she drew from it, put a lewd grin on her face. “Now I get what all the screaming was about,” she said, giving the couple a leer. Spike’s nudity seemed not to bother her at all.

Willow knew she was blushing, but she couldn’t help it. When Spike sat up and slung an arm around her shoulders it only seemed to confirm Faith’s suspicions, and her smile was positively feline.

The words ‘it’s not what you think’ were halfway formed in Willow’s mouth, but she reconsidered. There was absolutely no way she would convince anyone, Faith included, that this wasn’t exactly what it looked like—what it was. Strangely enough, the innocent girl she used to be still wanted to try.

But she wasn’t that innocent girl anymore, and pretending she was would just be silly. So she pulled herself together and met Faith’s gaze, trying to hide her discomfort.

“Hi,” she said quietly. “Uh, what’s up?”

Faith opened the door the rest of the way and took a step into the room. “Just came by to use the shower. Was gonna take a cold one, and then thought about the one here, all lonely and underused, and...here I am.”

Willow nodded. “I didn’t even think about that. The Potentials will figure it out soon. They’re gonna be in and out of here all day long, aren’t they?”

Spike groaned. “We’ve got a day of privacy at most.”

Heading for the door, Faith gave them one last shot over her shoulder. “Better make sure you’re dressed the next time. If those little girls see what you’ve been hiding, you’ll never get rid of ‘em.”

Willow grimaced. Considering how well Spike had charmed the girls last night, she was pretty certain that Faith was right. But there was something on her mind that was even more important than the loss of privacy.

She waited until Faith left the room, then turned to Spike, shrugging his arm off her shoulders and jumping to her feet. “Faith could have walked right in on us.”

“Yeah.” Spike seemed unconcerned at the thought. His eyes searched the room for his cigarettes, spying them on the dresser. With a sigh of regret, he got up and went after them.

“I mean, while you were biting me.”

“Yeah.” He threw a bit of a smile at her from over his shoulder.

“And—and she could have staked you!”

When he turned and raised an eyebrow at her, she added hastily, “Well, she could have tried to, anyway.”

All sorts of scenarios ran through her mind, each one just as frightening as the next. Spike killing Faith. Faith killing Spike. Spike buried beneath a pile of Potentials, slowly turning to dust. But instead of sharing her concern, Spike seemed completely nonchalant as he stood in front of the dresser. “Damn it, Spike, you’re not taking this seriously.”

He stared at her. “Damn it, Willow,” he responded mockingly, “you’re taking this way too seriously.”

“She could have—”

He clapped a hand over her mouth, keeping it there while she shook her head in an attempt to dislodge it. “But she didn’t,” he reminded her quietly, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Don’t go beating yourself up about what might have happened. Just accept it and remember it, then move on. Okay?”

He waited until she nodded in reply before removing his hand, running it down her face in a gentle caress. “Relax.”

Willow stepped back, needing some space. Sometimes he was too close, and she felt like he was trying to smother her with the force of his personality. Mostly she didn’t mind, but occasionally she needed the space. She wasn’t like him, and he wasn’t like her, and that was just the way it was. Sometimes they both needed to be reminded of that.

Not knowing what else to do, Willow went searching through her suitcase, looking for something to wear. She pointedly ignored Spike, who had returned to the bed with his cigarettes and lighter and was proceeding to light up.

She threw him a dark look as the scent of the cigarette hit her senses. But he remained oblivious, his eyes focused on a spot above her head and a bit to the left. She thought about the promise he had asked her to make; she wondered if that was what he was thinking about, too. Judging by the way he was frowning, she thought it might be.

“We need to talk,” she said quietly, perching on the edge of the bed a bit nervously.

“Do we?” he drawled, turning his head slightly and releasing a long stream of smoke.

He wasn’t going to make it easy, but that wasn’t going to stop her. “About what you said. Before.”

His eyes cut to her face, guarded and almost hostile. “Yes?”

“I can’t make promises like that, and you know it. I’ll do my best to stay with you.” She paused for a moment, gathering her courage. “It’s what I want, too,” she admitted quietly.

She had his full attention now, his eyes glued to hers. The sudden attention brought a blush to her cheeks, but she continued on. If she said it quickly it would be easier, she figured. Or something like that.

“I admit it, okay? I like—liked the way things were in Paris. Living there with no responsibilities. With you. It was...what I wanted.” She looked down, unable to meet his gaze. “But,” she had to add, “I can’t promise that I won’t ever leave. If they need me, I’ll go to them. It’s...it’s a part of who I am. It’s what I do. And I can’t change that. I don’t *want* to change that. But when it’s all said and done, I’ll come home to you. If...if that’s what you want?”

She looked up at him for a moment, hating the guarded expression on his face that gave away nothing. Her soul had been laid bare before him, but she had no idea how he felt about it. About her. She looked down again, watching her fingers as they kneaded the bedspread. The silence was thick and uncomfortable—at least to her. She was beginning to think that she’d made a mistake in bringing the subject up at all.

Maybe she had misread his intentions when he came back to Sunnydale. Maybe he really was just here for the blood. Maybe he didn’t care about her at all...

“I can live with that,” she heard him say, and her heart lurched in her chest.

“Not saying I won’t get mad when you leave,” he added. His hand grabbed her chin, pulling her face up so that their eyes met. “And don’t expect me to go chasing after you every time you decide you want to wear a white hat,” he added. “But—I’ll always be glad to see you when you get back.”

Willow grinned, and then threw her arms around him, pulling him close. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders, a weight she hadn’t even been aware she’d been carrying. “Thank you,” she said quietly, laying her head against his chest and closing her eyes.

She felt his lips as he kissed the top of her head, and heard the mumbled words, “My pleasure.” And for the first time since she’d left Paris, she felt like she was well and truly at peace.


Chapter Twenty-Three: Towards Zero

The sky was pitch black when Willow and Spike walked across the patch of grass that led to their commandeered home. Although the hour was late, a restless energy pulsed through her body, and Willow decided she wasn’t quite ready to turn in for the night. She grabbed Spike’s hand and pulled him over to the sidewalk, and then to the street. They walked hand in hand down the middle of the street, each lost in their own thoughts.

“Do you think she can pull it off?” Willow asked Spike curiously. “I mean, attacking from the tunnels will give them the element of surprise, but...I’m not sure what she hopes to find. Seems like Buffy’s plan made just as much sense as Faith’s does. And then sending a bunch of us to look for Buffy, as if she’s afraid Buffy is going to ruin her plan or something...” She shook her head in confusion.

Faith had unveiled her plan that evening, finishing up with a request that Willow, Xander, Dawn, and Giles try and find Buffy, just to make sure she was okay. Spike, much to everyone except Willow’s relief, would go with Faith. It seemed a little silly to Willow that Faith was sending so many people to look for Buffy, but Willow merely nodded when she heard her orders. They had agreed to follow Faith, and arguing with her at this point really wasn’t going to help anyone.

“Long as I get to kill something, doesn’t much matter to me. And the more people you have with you, the better I’ll feel.”

“I’m hardly a helpless little girl,” she reminded him tartly. “I almost destroyed the world, didn’t I? I’m not completely defenseless.”

She had hoped to lighten his mood a bit, but instead she saw his lips droop into a frown as they passed underneath a street light. “I know you’re not as defenseless as you look. But this is serious. The First didn’t get that name because it was second-rate. A moment of surprise, one of the Bringers makes a lucky swing of an axe, you trip on a rock and fall down; anything could happen. And as strong as you are, there are some things you can’t come back from.”

His words struck a chord of fear in her and she tried to shake it off. She responded flippantly, saying the first thing that came to mind, trying to keep her tone light and teasing. “Well, I guess I’m going to die someday.”

He stopped suddenly, his head swiveling to look at her. “No,” he shot back, completely certain of his answer, “you’re not.”

There was such intensity in his gaze that she had to turn away for a moment to compose herself before looking back at him. “Yes, I am.”

Spike simply shook his head, as if that ended the discussion, and then began walking again. When she hesitated for a moment, he used his hold on her hand to pull her along with him.

It took a second for things to become clear for Willow, but when they did, her reaction was automatic. Wrenching her hand out of his, she stopped and stared at him. “You’re not going to turn me,” she insisted, her eyes wide with surprise. “I won’t let you.”

His bitter laughter was unexpected. “And just how do you think you’ll stop me?”

She stared at him, hurt and a little frightened. “Are you saying I can’t trust you? That you’d turn me, even though I’ve made it clear that I’d rather die than be a vampire?”

His eyes narrowed and his voice grew cold. “So, we’re good enough to fuck, but you wouldn’t want to be one? We’re cold, dead, evil things? Is that it?”

Willow could hear a twinge of pain in his voice and she wondered what it was she had said that affected him so strongly. She reached out to touch him but he jerked away, turning his back to her. “What do you want me to say?” he asked, and she winced at the exasperation in his voice.

“That you’ll abide by my wishes and not turn me,” she answered quietly. “That you’ll understand that there’s nothing worse you could do to me than turn me into a vampire.”

“You won’t care, once it’s done,” he said, and there was something slightly patronizing in his response.

“That’s because I won’t even be ME when it’s done,” she shouted at his back, her fear and anger spiraling out of control. Taking a step away from him, she tried to calm down before continuing. “It’ll be a demon wearing my face. How could you even consider doing that to me?”

He turned around to look at her, his face carefully blank. But she could see the frustration in the way that his jaw was clenched. “Because when that time comes, it’ll be all I have. And from where I sit, it’s better than nothing.”

A small part of her wanted to hold him and comfort him; she couldn’t even imagine how lonely it would make her to see everyone she cared about wither away and die. But mostly she was just insulted that he would find comfort in something that looked like her, but wasn’t even remotely like her. Anger and pain burned inside of her for a moment before finally bubbling to the surface. “So that’s all I am to you? A body that you like the look of and a yummy snack? What’s inside doesn’t matter to you at all?”

Her anger touched off a spark of rage inside him, and he threw his hands up in the air as if provoked beyond his ability to bear. “What the hell do you expect me to do?” he yelled. “Do you want me to just sit there and watch you die? Knowing that I could save at least a small part of you? Sure, it wouldn’t be you, not exactly. But at least it would be something.”

Shrinking back from the anger she saw burning in his eyes, Willow took a step away from him, and then another. “If you cared about me—cared about me more than you cared about yourself—you’d let me die.”

When he didn’t say anything she turned away and ran back down the street towards the house, tears of pain and frustration falling silently down her face.

---

Spike wandered amongst the tombstones, thinking back to if not happier times, at least less complicated ones. Paris came to mind, and he thought about the evenings they’d spent together at Montmartre Cemetery. Now *that* was a cemetery, he though. This? This was an overly manicured garden filled with cement slabs and tastefully arranged marble plaques. There was no air of mystery to the place, no sense of history, or tales begging to be told. All in all, it was clean and tidy and...disappointing.

Sitting down on one of the benches overlooking an honest-to-god babbling brook (this was Babbling Brook Cemetery, after all) his thoughts turned to what was really bothering him. Willow. He didn’t know what to say to her, and that fact had manifested itself quite clearly during their discussion tonight.

Turning her had never been a conscious decision he’d made; the thought had always just been there, in the back of his mind. She was annoying, flawed, and stubborn as hell, but she was *his* in some way that was more about ownership and familiarity than hearts and flowers and ‘true love.’ Maybe it was just that they were both damaged, and saw something in each other that made them feel whole. Because he knew that she felt it too; she just wasn’t ready to admit it yet.

But how could he explain these things to her? She didn’t want to be a vampire; that had been made painfully clear. So what did that leave them? A decade or two together to be happy, after which he would be forced to watch her long decline into sickness, followed, inevitably, by her death? Could he do that? Would he be willing to do that? She had hit on something, he had to admit, when she had accused him of being selfish. But that was all part of the demon package, really. She shouldn’t have been surprised by it.

He could go back through the trials again with the intent of wishing for her immortality. But what if the trials were a one-shot deal, and a second go-round wasn’t possible? Would he ask her to go instead? Could he risk her possible death, in return for her immortality?

Uncertainty overwhelmed him, and he put his head in his hands, closing his eyes and running his fingers through his hair as he tried to soothe his battered brain. When he opened his eyes again, Buffy stood before him, looking down at him with a bit of a smirk.

“She’ll never agree to let you turn her,” Buffy said, as if his thoughts were written clearly on his face. “Oh, she’ll let you fuck her. She’ll probably even tell you she loves you...eventually. But eternity? Not gonna happen.”

Spike could feel that something about her was off, but it took him a moment to figure it out. She might look just like Buffy and talk like her, but she didn’t *smell* like Buffy. And, he suspected, if he reached out and tried to touch her, his hand would slide right through the humid night air. It was the First he was talking to; not Buffy.

Besides, if it had been Buffy, she probably would have tried to stake him. Things between them were somewhat...unresolved. Yeah, unresolved was a good word. Sounded a whole lot better than, say, homicidal.

Standing up, he took off across the cemetery, unsurprised to find her right at his side. Since she was non-corporeal, there really wasn’t much he could do to get rid of her. But that didn’t stop him from muttering, “Leave me the fuck alone,” before he headed out onto the street.

“She’ll leave you, you know. Just like Drusilla did. Just like Buffy did. Like they all do. Unless...”

That got his attention. He stopped and turned to stare at her. “Unless?”

“Unless you turn her,” she said, her voice silky smooth. “Turn her now, before she has a chance to tell the others that you’ve got your bite back. Do it here, or take her away and do it somewhere else. Doesn’t much matter. But if you don’t do it now, you won’t do it ever, and she’ll be dead within a week. That, I can promise you.”

Spike’s mind was awash with conflicting emotions. Something the First was saying struck a primal chord within the vampire, and he felt the demon clamoring to be heard. Turn her now, it screamed, don’t let her get away.

Yet at the same time his brain was considering the source of the advice, sensing the creature’s ulterior motives, and trying to beat back the demon’s mindless insistences with careful logic.

“You’re trying to play me,” he growled, walking away from the blonde apparition as quickly as his feet would allow.

Her harsh, tinkling laughter, so similar to Buffy’s, rang in his ears. “Maybe I am, and maybe I’m not. But you don’t know for sure, do you?”

He kept walking, putting one foot in front of the other as quickly as he could, until eventually he was running down the middle of the street, his only goal to outrun the sound of that terrible laughter.

---

Willow’s steps slowed as she got closer and closer to Buffy’s house. Spike’s words and veiled threats crowded her mind, and as much as she tried not to think about them, she couldn’t help herself.

He wanted to turn her. Even knowing what it would do to her—how it would change her—he still wanted to do it. She understood now that he was afraid of losing her; that explained a lot of the things that had happened between them lately: his anger when she chose to leave Paris, the fact he followed her to Sunnydale, even though she knew how much he hated it here, and even the way that he had demanded that she promise not to leave him.

She wouldn’t mind living forever; Spike made it sound like a grand adventure. But the vampire part? That was a deal-breaker. And she would just have to make Spike understand that as much as she cared about him, there were some things that she wouldn’t do. Not even for him.

Buffy’s house was close—she supposed she ought to call it Dawn’s house now, but somehow she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. The living room curtains and windows were open, and light and music spilled out onto the street. Somebody liked rap, she noted. The buzz of chitchat reached her ears. For a moment she thought about joining the young girls. The house next door was dark and unwelcoming, and she had a feeling that Spike wouldn’t be back for a while. But forced gaiety was so tiring, and she wasn’t sure that she wanted to wear that mask, either.

A soft snick and a sudden flash of light caught her attention. Faith stood on the doorstep of the house, a cigarette in one hand and a match in the other. “They don’t ever shut up, do they?” Faith asked aloud, nodding back towards the house.

“Not that I’ve noticed,” Willow agreed. “Every time one of ‘em quiets down and falls asleep, another one wakes up and takes her place.”

“Something slightly demonic about it,” Faith decided, blowing a stream of smoke into the night. It reminded Willow of Spike, the way they both pursed their lips as they released the smoke, making it look almost like a lover’s kiss.

“Where’s the vamp?” Faith asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. “He’s been glued to your side ever since he blew into town.”

Willow felt the corners of her lips droop down into a frown. “We had a fight. Sort of.”

Faith raised her eyebrows, silently asking for details, but Willow wasn’t about to give any away. If Faith knew that Spike was thinking of turning her, Spike would be nothing but a pile of dust. The help of a chipped vampire was welcome; without the chip, Spike was nothing but a crime scene waiting to happen. At least, that was what everybody seemed to be telling her these days.

‘He’ll kill you as soon as the chip stops working,’ they all said, although some of them were more subtle about it than others. And after tonight, she was beginning to wonder if maybe they were right.

It hurt to think that she couldn’t trust him; that she was so naïve that she had missed the warning signs. Was her judgment really so poor?

She preferred to think that she simply had more faith in him than the rest of them did. That she knew him better than they did, and that he would, in the end, do the right thing.

“Must’ve been one hell of a fight,” Faith said, interrupting her thoughts. “You look like someone ran over your favorite puppy.”

Willow shot her a glare at the imagery, but then relented a bit. “We’re just...so different.” She sighed. “It’s complicated.”

Faith nodded knowingly. “It usually is. That’s why I get a little while I can and then get gone. Lot less complicated that way.”

“Yeah, but you miss a lot of the fun stuff,” Willow told her, a slightly wistful smile on her face.

“What, like the possessiveness and the boring routine? Sorry, I’ll stick with the one-night stands.”

Willow thought she detected a hint of loneliness carefully hidden between the layers of indifference. “Not all relationships end badly,” she insisted, trying not to think about how poorly most of hers had ended.

“Maybe not for you,” Faith agreed. “But the guys who are attracted to me? They only want one thing. And once they’ve had it, they’re ready to move on.”

It made her sad to think that Faith really believed that. She knew that the Slayer had had a rough life, but that didn’t mean that things couldn’t be different. “Not every guy out there is like that.” Willow couldn’t help but think of Xander, whose interest in Faith seemed to have been rekindled.

Faith shrugged. “Close enough. Besides, with a life like mine, who in the hell is going to be interested in the long haul?”

Willow glanced at her, a sly smile curving her lips. “I can think of one guy not so far away who might be.”

“You’re either talking about Giles—which is all kinds of disturbing—or Harris. And I’ve been there, done that.” She noticed the way that Willow’s smile turned into an outright grin at the mention of her friend. “Yeah, you’re real subtle, aren’t you?”

The words were accompanied by a frown, but Willow suspected the frown was mostly for show. She hoped the brunette would take the idea seriously; times had changed and so had Faith. Now, Willow felt like maybe Xander and Faith might be good for each other.

Abruptly Faith threw her cigarette to the ground, stubbing the butt into the grass with her heel. Her head jerked up and her body tensed for a moment, and then just as suddenly she relaxed. It took Willow a moment before she could hear it, but soon the sound of laughter and excited chatter reached her ears.

“He’s hot. Mega hot.”

“Yeah, I admit it. He’s hot. I’m just saying that he’s not as hot as Tom Cruise.”

Six or seven Potentials were making their way down the street, giggling and arguing with each other.

“Who’s hot?” Faith called out curiously.

The girls crossed the lawn, most of them breezing by Faith and Willow and heading into the house, but Amanda and Caridad stayed outside. “Spike,” Caridad said with a giggle, her eyes glancing at Willow and then away. “Definitely hot. We saw him in the cemetery, talking to Buffy. They looked pretty friendly.” After exploding that bombshell, the two girls ran into the house.

Willow could feel Faith looking at her, but she stared at the ground, refusing to acknowledge her. “I’m sure they were just catching up. You know, they were probably trying to straighten things out. And stuff.” She knew her words sounded unsure and weak, but she wasn’t good at putting on a brave face.

Faith could play the game, too. “I’m sure the girls were exaggerating. You know how romantic they are at that age.”

“Yeah, that’s probably it,” Willow agreed, although her heart wasn’t really in it. She turned towards the empty house and took a couple of steps. “It’s late,” she said, faking a yawn. “Think I’ll call it a night.”

“Willow...”

“Don’t worry,” she told Faith, forcing a breezy smile to her face. “I’m fine. I just need some sleep, right?”

Faith looked like she wanted to protest, but finally decided against it. “Sure. Talk to you tomorrow.”

---

Willow had tried to stay up until Spike got back, but by four in the morning her eyelids were drooping. And still no sign of Spike.

What in the world was he doing, she wondered, as she drifted off to sleep. And was he alone, or was Buffy doing it with him?

Spike had made it clear, both with words and actions, that he was no longer interested in Buffy. She remembered the last time he had talked about her. There had been hatred burning in his eyes and malice in his voice. And yet, she knew as well as anyone, hatred and love could often be opposite sides of the same coin.

She tried to comfort herself with the fact that it was only natural that Spike would want to clear the air between himself and Buffy. After all, he had returned to her territory after...well, after a lot had happened between them. And just because he had been gone for a really long time, it didn’t mean that they were...

What? What was it she was so afraid that they were doing?

‘You’re afraid that they’re picking up where they left off,’ that treacherous little voice in her head told her. ‘You’re afraid that the passion they share, no matter how bad, wrong and unhealthy it was, will flare to life again, leaving you high and dry.’

Not that she cared, she reminded herself, trying hard to believe it. It wasn’t like she was in love with him or anything. She had to admit, though, that that mantra was wearing a bit thin. Because she did care, more than just a little. And that fact was getting harder and harder to ignore.

---

The bedside clock read twelve thirty-four when she woke. A quick glance at the other side of the bed confirmed that Spike had made it home before dawn, and was now fast asleep. She was relieved, and yet at the same time she wanted to wake him up and yell at him for making her worry.

She got up, unsure what she wanted to do with herself, but unwilling to remain in bed any longer. Maybe breakfast—more like lunch, she reminded herself—would make her feel better.

As if he could feel her gaze upon him, Spike turned over onto his side. “Sleep now; argue later,” he mumbled, and then rolled onto his stomach. As she choked back her frustration, Willow couldn’t help but admire the broad planes of his back, her eyes drifting down to the sheet that covered his buttocks. Giving herself a mental head-smack, she tore her eyes away and walked out the door.


Chapter Twenty-Four: An Overdose of Death

Mr. Fredricks, the legal owner of the property at which they were currently residing, liked porn. In fact, Willow thought it would be fair to say he was a connoisseur. She had discovered over a hundred DVDs featuring girl-on-girl action, girl-on-guy action, and even one cover that seemed to promise some girl-on-dog action. She hadn’t planned on watching any of them, but she didn’t even want to *touch* that one.

Fortunately for Willow, Mr. Fredricks also liked movies that involved action NOT of the girl-on-girl genre. There were close to two hundred of them in a built-in floor-to-ceiling bookcase, and while she waited for Spike to wake up, she rifled through them, seeking something that would occupy her mind, but still keep her spirits up. It wasn’t like there was anything decent on TV at that hour, after all.

She decided on The Empire Strikes Back. It was fast-paced, mostly light-hearted, and didn’t require a whole lot of attention, seeing as how she’d already watched it over a dozen times.

Princess Leia had just admitted her love to Han Solo when Spike wandered into the living room, yawning and stretching, wearing only a pair of boxers. He cast a look at Willow as she quickly glanced up at him, and then turned back to the TV.

Right. Time for damage control, he decided. Grabbing a bottle of beer from the refrigerator, he sat down on the couch next to her, stuck his feet on the coffee table, wiggled his toes, and then looked over at her for a response.

The feet on the coffee table trick had been a deliberate attempt to provoke her; he could still remember how ticked off that used to make her in Paris. But today she merely cast a disdainful look at his feet before sweeping her eyes back to the television. They sat like that for a couple of minutes, and then Spike decided he’d had enough.

“We gonna talk about this, or are you going to continue to ignore me? I’m good either way, but I know how you like to talk every little thing to death, so I just thought I’d offer.”

His words and tone, just like his feet on the coffee table, were deliberately provoking. He knew she needed to talk about this, and he figured the best way to get her to do it was to get her angry. When she was angry, she forgot to run her words through that pesky brain of hers, and more of the truth spilled out. If she had a chance to think things through before she said them, she could tap dance around a subject for hours without really saying what she thought.

“And just what do you think we need to talk about, Spike?” she asked, her voice saccharine sweet. “Is this about the fact that you’ve told me you’re going to kill me? Or about the fact that you stayed out all night talking with Buffy?” There was a spiteful, triumphant quality to her voice, as if she felt like she had managed to put one over on him. He frowned as he tried to figure out exactly what she’d seen, or at least heard about.

There was nothing for him to feel guilty about, he reminded himself, even as the unwanted emotion began to coil itself around his heart. Nothing he had done last night was wrong.

Her eyes were awash with emotions, and he wished he could untangle them like a ball of yarn, figuring out which ones were caused by what. “Wasn’t talking to Buffy last night—” he began, barely managing to get that far before she interrupted him.

“Were so!” she shot back angrily. “They saw you out there. Talking to her. And then you,” she stopped, and he watched her beat her emotions down. When she spoke again, there was no trace of them in her voice. “And then you were gone all night,” she said dully.

Spike closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the couch as he realized what must have happened. “Little firecrackers saw me with the Slayer and couldn’t wait to go tattling, right?” He was amused to note that the thought of him being out all night with Buffy lit a little fire of jealousy inside her, but the timing of it was unfortunate. Things were tense enough between them right now without a little jealousy coming along to complicate them.

Willow looked confused for a moment, until she realized firecrackers meant Potentials. Then she nodded, glaring at him, and then swung her gaze back to the TV.

He took her arm, jerking her around to face him. The remote was on the coffee table, and he grabbed it, hitting the off button with such force that she was reasonably sure the thing was going to be useless from now on.

It was almost instinctive, the urge to cower in fear at such a display of power and anger, but she knew that he couldn’t hurt her—at least he couldn’t do her any serious physical harm. Oh, he could try; but if he did, she would stop him with a single, well-spoken word. They both knew it. She shrugged her arm out of his grip and faced him, her eyes stormy with anger.

“Wasn’t with the Slayer last night,” he told her, his voice low and quiet, and all the more frightening because of it. “And if your little friends had bothered to stick around long enough, they would have figured it out.”

He watched as her face clouded with confusion. Not the Slayer and yet looked like the Slayer... He knew the exact moment she figured it out.

“The First.” She felt a cold sliver of fear, much more real than the fear that Spike inspired, run down her back, and she shivered at the thought of all the things the First could have done to him. Well, not the First, personally. But what would have happened if it had brought the Bringers along for the conversation?

Spike was strong, no doubt about that, but if the First threw a dozen Bringers at him he’d be dust in seconds, and there would be nothing anyone could do about it.

The room seemed to get dark and cold as she considered the ‘what ifs.’ And yet, surprisingly, Spike was still here. And that made her curious. Surely a vampire fighting for the other side was just as formidable a foe as a Slayer. Why had the First talked with him instead of trying to take him out? “What did it want?”

He was silent for a moment, eyes cast down. “Wanted me to turn you,” he told her. He looked up. “Not going to,” he added quickly, as he saw the fear leap into her eyes.

“You’re—you’re not?”

She sounded surprised, and he supposed he could understand why. Less than 24 hours ago he had said that he would, and now...

“Won’t do it now, not just because someone else tells me to.” There was a bit of a pout to his voice, as if he was upset that the First had spoiled his fun.

Willow nodded, but he suspected that she wasn’t really paying attention. “What?” he demanded, a little annoyed. After all, he had given her a pretty big concession. The least she could do was treat it with some respect.

“Well,” she said slowly, drawing the word out, “I was just wondering why the First is so afraid of me. I mean, it tried to stop me from coming here, and now it’s trying to get you to turn me. That makes me think that maybe there’s something that I can do—or maybe something I will do—that can hurt it.”

“What do you mean, it tried to stop you from coming here?” he asked sharply.

She blinked, as if his question had surprised her. “I forgot! I never told you. When we were in Paris, that last night when I was packing, it came to me and tried to convince me to stay there. When that didn’t work, it—well—it wanted me to kill myself.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, because you were acting like a—a— ” she couldn’t come up with quite the word she was looking for. Jackass seemed too mild, but raging asshole took it a bit too far. Maybe.

“I was upset that you were going.”

“Yeah,” she replied, a trifle sadly.

They both sat silently, neither sure what to say next.

The moment was interrupted by a peremptory knock on the door, and then Faith walked in. Her eyes lingered for a moment on Spike, taking in the flesh on display. “Not big on clothes, are ya?” she asked with a smirk, before her gaze slid to Willow.

“Hey, Faith. What’s up?”

Faith wandered into the living room, plopping down on the couch next to Willow. “Just making sure we’re all set for tonight.” Her gaze moved back to Spike. “Party starts at seven. You going to be ready?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll be there. Anything new since last night?”

She shook her head. “Nope.”

“Red here’s got something maybe the Watcher should be looking into.”

Faith popped her on the shoulder as if she’d just hit a home run for the team. “Go, Willow. What’cha got?”

“Well, it’s about the First. Has it...uh...visited you?”

Faith looked a little spooked at the question, but she nodded. “Last night. Pretended to be the Mayor,” she mumbled.

“I had a visit, too. In Paris.” Willow was reluctant to reveal the details, but fortunately Faith wasn’t really asking for any.

“Wanted you to stay away, huh?”

“Yeah. Or kill myself. It wasn’t really being all that picky.”

Faith didn’t bother to hide her surprise. “It told you that?”

“Last night it tracked me down in the cemetery,” Spike told her. “Wanted me to—to take Willow and get out of town. Told me that if I didn’t, she’d be dead within the week.”

He felt Willow relax a bit when he gave Faith an edited version of what the First had really wanted. Admitting to Faith that the chip was gone really wasn’t a good idea, and they both knew it. Sure, she seemed easygoing right now, but that could change in the blink of an eye.

“So, you think the First is targeting Willow, specifically?”

Spike nodded. “Seems like it. I don’t think it gave a fuck whether I was around or not, but it sure wanted her out of town. Just have to figure out why.”

Faith smiled wanly at Willow. “Guess you’re our ace in the hole, then.” Her gaze traveled back to Spike. “Take care of her.”

An unladylike snort was Willow’s response. “How about I take care of myself?”

Spike and Faith exchanged a look over her head, and then both broke out into matching smirks. “Whatever you say, Will.”

“I know when I’m being patronized,” Willow informed them loftily, glancing at first one, then the other. “But I’m willing to let you get away with it this time. ‘Cuz I’m such a nice person.” She sat primly, hands folded in her lap.

Faith smothered her grin, and then jumped up, suddenly filled with nervous energy. “Gotta go. I’ll tell Giles what you told me, and have him hit the books. See ya at seven.”

---

What was left of the day passed quickly. Neither of them had felt like talking, so they had settled for watching movies instead. Spike’s choices had gravitated towards the porn, but Willow quickly nixed that idea in favor of a Star Wars marathon.

By the time seven o’clock rolled around, Spike was getting antsy. Sitting all day and watching movies was not really his idea of an exciting time, although he had enjoyed the way Willow had snuggled against him; the fact that she’d been able to keep quiet all day was simply an added bonus. Usually he couldn’t shut her up. But this afternoon she had been unusually subdued.

Spike held her hand as they walked over to Buffy’s house. And when they parted company—she, Giles, Dawn and Xander to look for Buffy, while the others went looking for the weapons cache—Willow threw herself into his arms and kissed him, completely ignoring Xander’s snort of disgust.

---

They searched high and low for Buffy, but without any success. The cemeteries were quiet; too quiet, Willow thought. The emptiness was almost as suffocating as the clouds that hung low in the sky.

“I think we’ve done our best. Unless one of you can suggest a place we’ve missed?” Giles’ voice trailed off uneasily, as if there was something he wanted to say, but didn’t know how.

Dawn shook her head. “We’ve been to every cemetery I can think of, and we even tried the locator spell thingy. I don’t know where she could be.” Tears threatened to spill from Dawn’s eyes as she thought about her sister, hoping that Buffy was merely hiding out somewhere. The alternative—that Buffy had gone after Caleb alone and was now dead—was too horrible to think, much less say aloud.

Xander put an arm around Dawn, trying to calm her. “She’s fine. If I know your sister, she’s probably holed up somewhere, just waiting to jump out and say, ‘I told you so.’ Or maybe she’s already taken care of the First, and is just waiting until morning so we can plan her a victory party.” None of them were buying the latter theory, but the fantasy of it was more comforting than the other possible realities they were presented with, so they all kept quiet, hugging that small bit of hope to their hearts.

“Back home?” Dawn finally asked, her voice tired and defeated. “Because we’re just fooling ourselves if we think we’re going to run into her at this point. We’ve been looking for—almost all night. If she was out here, we’d have seen her.”

Willow nodded slowly, her feet turning without conscious thought and leading her back towards the house. The others followed, their progress slowed by the occasional sidetracks into cemeteries that had displayed heavy demonic activity in the past. While their minds were convinced that Buffy was nowhere nearby, something in their hearts wasn’t willing to give up on her just yet.

When they finally reached the house they sat in the living room, waiting. Andrew, muttering something about stolen Hot Pockets and Capri Suns, scuttled down to the basement when Willow glared at him.

The unnatural silence in the house was beginning to weigh heavily on nerves that were already razor thin. Ever since Willow had arrived back in town, the living room had been a frenetic hub of activity, but now it just seemed sad and abandoned. Even though Willow knew that the condition was only temporary, it left her on edge, and she knew that she wasn’t the only one who felt that way. She could see her uneasiness mirrored in the clench of Giles’ teeth and in the nervous twitching of Xander’s eyebrow.

“They should have been back by now,” Xander declared, his eyes fixed on the VCR’s digital clock readout. Twelve fifteen. The others had left shortly after seven.

Willow had to agree. It was late, and even though Faith had ordered them to stay and wait for their return, Willow couldn’t help but wonder if maybe they ought to poke around a bit and see if the others needed help.

She waited another fifteen minutes before making the suggestion. “Maybe we should go out and see if we can find them. Maybe they’re—”

Giles cast an uneasy eye at her. “Faith made it quite clear that we were to wait here.”

“But what if something went wrong? Maybe they need our help?”

“I’m sure they’re quite all right. After all, they’re a small army of girls, not to mention a Slayer and a vampire. Between them they should be able to destroy whatever it is the First is hiding.”

Xander snorted derisively at the mention of Spike, and Willow glared at him, her discussion with Giles temporarily forgotten. “Got something to say, Xander?” The tone of her voice would have warned off a more observant man, but Xander was too nervous at the moment to be paying as much attention as he should have been.

“How do we know he isn’t in cahoots with the First right now? After all, he’s tried to kill us a zillion times before. And don’t forget about how he tried to deliver us all to Adam on a nice, shiny platter. Maybe the First offered to take the chip out in return for leading the Potentials into an ambush.”

Willow’s eyes widened at the unjust accusation. “A zillion times, Xander? Really?” she drawled sarcastically. Shaking her head angrily, she jumped up and walked over to him, waving her finger in his face. Xander’s expression remained cold and unconvinced.

“Spike didn’t have to come here,” she reminded him. “He—he was surviving just fine in Paris. But he came here, and he’s helping. And all you do is insult him. Just like usual.”

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat under the weight of her angry gaze, Xander began backpedaling. “All I’m saying is that maybe we shouldn’t have rushed to include him in the raid.” Then, not knowing how to quit when he was, at least nominally, ahead, he added: “I mean, are we really sure he’s trustworthy? Buffy thought so once before, and look how that turned out.”

“You weren’t there, Xander. Their relationship was—well,” she snuck a glance at Dawn and left that sentence unfinished. “All I’m saying is, things weren’t black and white. And since Spike and I have been on our own he’s been trustworthy.” Sure, he might be killing humans, she thought, but at least he had always been up-front with her, even about that.

Xander rolled his eyes at her assurances. “Sure, what was he going to do? He knows you can stuff a soul down his throat if he pisses you off. Sort of gives him an incentive to treat you right.”

Willow just shook her head. Sometimes she wondered whether Xander was ever going to grow up. Sure, there was bad blood between him and Spike, and certainly a lot of it was Spike’s fault. But not all of it. And until Xander took credit for his own mistakes, Willow suspected that there was no way he’d ever trust Spike.

She was about to open her mouth and let something spiteful pop out when the front door burst open, slamming against the wall hard enough to shake the house. They all stood in place, looks of shock glued to their face, as if afraid to move. Faith was the first to rush into the house, carrying one of the Potentials. The girl was battered and bruised, and bleeding profusely from a wound on her thigh. Another Potential followed her, and another, and another, a long parade of bruised and bloodied bodies. Willow jumped to her feet, concern mounting as girl after girl entered the house without any sign of Spike. Then she saw Buffy, carrying another battered Potential, and she got even more confused.

“What? How?” Apparently Xander was experiencing the same confusion she was.

“Ambush. Long story,” Buffy said. “Right now, help me lay her down. Carefully.”

Xander jumped to obey, helping Buffy lay the Potential on the floor and doing his best to make sure that she was comfortable.

Willow’s eyes were still trained on the door, waiting for Spike. Desperate to see him. Scared to death that she wouldn’t.

And then, finally, she did. His skin was smudged and dirty, and bruises and cuts littered his face and arms, but he was there. In one piece. She took a deep breath and then let it out quickly, saying a fervent prayer of thanks to whoever was the patron saint of vampires.

Only the Potential he held in his arms kept her from throwing herself into them. Instead, she hurried up to him, and then led him to a patch of floor that wasn’t yet covered with bodies. Together, they settled the girl carefully onto the floor. She was a pixie-ish blonde, her short curly hair doing nothing to cover the huge bruise on her cheek. The dark brown cornea of her right eye was almost impossible to see because of the swelling. But the worst part, as far as Willow was concerned, was the way that her broken arm was clearly visible, the bone protruding unnaturally against the skin. Willow had to look away and take a deep breath.

The noise level was overwhelming; girls yelled at each other from across the room, asking for help or advice on how to dress wounds and mend broken bones. Others simply cried out their pain and fear. Willow was overwhelmed; everything was crashing down around her, and all she could do was stare, open-mouthed, at the insanity that surrounded her.

“Willow.”

She heard his voice from far away, and tried to follow the sound back to him. ‘This is shock,’ her mind told her, but her body still didn’t know what to do about it.

“Red! Snap out of it.” He jerked her around until she was facing him and in her tunnel vision she saw only him. His eyes were the same bright blue they always had been, but right now they were filled with worry and a little bit of fear, and for a moment she couldn’t figure out why.

Then, as if she had been watching a badly focused movie, everything else around him slowly came into focus, and she was back, surrounded again by the sounds of people afraid and in pain.

“You okay?” he asked softly, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. The touch calmed her, and she leaned into his hand.

She nodded, looking down at the girl on the floor. His gaze followed hers, and they both went to their knees, bending over her and attempting to ascertain the extent of her injuries.

“Gonna have to set this bone properly, or it’ll heal wrong,” he told her. “Hold her down while I do it.”

Willow shook her head frantically, but Spike merely glared at her. “That squeamishness of yours? Get over it. I need your help.”

He had misunderstood her reaction, but she really couldn’t blame him. Running a finger over his forehead, she whispered, “The chip,” and then backed away from him, watching as his expression changed.

“Damn,” he swore softly. “Forgot all about that.” If he had attempted to fix the girl’s arm, he would have inflicted tremendous pain. And even though it was in a good cause, the chip wouldn’t have cared. If it were still in his head, it would have made him almost insensible with pain.

Willow looked around the room for a moment. “Xander hasn’t forgotten,” she told Spike, trying to ignore the way that her childhood friend was glaring at them.

“Fine. We can do this together. I’ll tell you what to do, and you’ll do it. Right?”

It wasn’t really a question and Willow knew it. She was going to have to get over her squeamishness, as Spike called it, and do what needed to be done. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and tried to slow her rapid heartbeat. And as the seconds ticked by, her attempt to calm herself down actually seemed to work.

Spike was watching her, waiting for some sort of sign. When at last she nodded, he took that as his cue to begin.

“So, here’s what we’re gonna do...”

---

They worked well together, Willow thought. Without ever asking a question, Spike always seemed to be where she needed him most, doing what she needed him to do. Since he was still shackled by the chip—or by what the others thought the chip would limit him from doing—Willow gave most of the serious first aid. But Spike was always beside her with a rag and a small bowl of water. He used the rag to clean their wounds, and after he was satisfied with the skin’s cleanliness, he would carefully lick the wounds closed.

Vampire saliva was a well-known clotting agent, and since some of the more serious wounds were still bleeding freely, anything that would aid in clotting was welcome. When Xander’s face had turned bright purple and he had appealed to a higher authority, Giles had merely reminded Xander of this everyday fact of vampire life, and told Spike to continue with his ‘work.’

Right now they were working on a small Asian girl. Willow had shared a room with Sumey—she thought that was the girl’s name—until Spike had shown up. A gash in Sumey’s thigh was bleeding, and although the wound wasn’t life threatening, it needed to be closed.

Spike ran his tongue along the edge of the torn flesh, while Willow did her best to patch up several smaller cuts on her face and arms. When she looked up, she caught Xander’s eye, the look of disgust and hatred on his face clear for all to see. And that included Spike, who also happened to be looking at Xander. Willow tensed, waiting for ugly words to be exchanged, but Spike merely leaned back over Sumey, his tongue running lightly over her cut.

Willow knew for a fact that he’d already cleaned her cut thoroughly. In fact, the blood had pretty much stopped seeping from the wound. But Spike was going to town on her thigh, licking and smiling, and even moaning occasionally. He gave the impression to anyone who might have been looking that he was enjoying himself immensely. And Willow knew this was all for Xander’s benefit. Spike couldn’t attack him outright, so he was taunting him in other, more subtle, ways.

On the other hand, there was nothing subtle about Xander’s reaction. Her friend was glaring at Spike with such venom and heat that Willow was almost surprised that Spike hadn’t burst into flames.

“Stop it,” she hissed. His lips twitched, as if he was trying not to grin, but other than that there was no reaction.

Since he seemed disinclined to follow her request, she grabbed him by the back of his shirt, pulling his head up until they were eye to eye. “Stop it,” she insisted again, letting a bit more of her irritation bleed into her words.

The eyes that met hers were sparkling with anger, and for a moment she wondered if she had pushed him too far. But she also knew he respected strength. Even though he was upset with her for taking Xander’s side, somehow she knew that he was also impressed that she wasn’t showing fear in the face of his anger.

After a moment he backed down a little, an easy smile on his face that wasn’t reflected in his eyes. “Oh, but it’s so much fun,” Spike replied. “Besides, I think the idiot’s enjoying himself. Look at him—all pumped up with righteous indignation. It’s like he’s getting off on how superior he is. He ought to be thanking me for helping him feel so good about himself.”

Willow contemplated the Spike-logic for a moment before shaking her head in dismay. For some reason it actually made sense when he said it in that oh-so-reasonable voice. Rubbing her eyes in an effort to revitalize her mind and spirit, she decided she might as well give up. The animosity between Xander and Spike was one of those things that would probably never change. If she kept trying to fix things between them, she might even end up making them worse.

She and Spike moved on to help yet another girl who needed their attention, and Spike and Xander’s game was quickly forgotten. It seemed like they had been working for weeks, instead of merely three hours, but by the time they were finished, every Potential’s wound was bandaged, every broken bone was set as well as it could be, and most of the injured girls were sleeping comfortably—or at least as close to comfortably as possible.

Spike sat with his back against the living room wall, his eyes half shuttered in a concession to his lack of energy. Willow sat next to him, her head resting wearily against his shoulder. “I still haven’t heard what happened,” she told him, smiling softly when he turned his head and pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead. The cynical part of her wondered who was watching them. Had he kissed her as a taunt, or an attempt to upset either Xander or Buffy? Or was the gesture sweet and genuine? She knew he had it in him to be just that, on occasion.

“It was a trap,” he said, his voice flat. “Guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. We got trapped in a room, lots of explosives. Big bang. Bit of a cave in.”

His voice gave nothing away, but Willow could tell by the way his jaw was clenched that things were a lot less simple than he was describing. She waited patiently, knowing he would tell her the rest in his own time.

“Couple or three Turok-Han showed up. Was fighting them, but it was a losing battle. Then the Slayer shows up—just busted her way through the ceiling of the tunnel, and she started cutting those guys up with her fancy new weapon. Some sort of scythe—only caught a glimpse of it. Anyway, between the two of us we managed to take care of the Turok-Han and get the girls out.” He shook his head uneasily. “Lot of them didn’t make it.”

“But a lot of them did,” she reminded him.

He shrugged, his eyes passing over those who remained. Their numbers seemed pitifully small when compared to the First and its army.

Stifling a yawn, Willow asked a question she had been curious about all night. “How did you learn how to do all that medical stuff? I mean, you knew how to set bones, fix dislocated shoulders, all kinds of stuff. Even after all my years helping Buffy, I didn’t have the first idea how to do a lot of that.”

He turned and watched her, as if judging her ability to handle a truthful answer. After a moment of silence he looked away, his gaze traveling over the bodies of several of the sleeping girls. “Angelus,” was all the reply she received.

Willow wondered whether he meant that Angelus had taught him those things on purpose, or whether the things he had learned were as a result of Angelus’...attentions. She pondered it for a moment, her gaze taking in Spike’s bland expression, before deciding that she probably didn’t want to know.


Chapter Twenty-Five: Nemesis

Willow couldn’t sleep, so as late morning gave way to early afternoon, she found herself wrapped in an oversized bathrobe, sitting in the wicker chair in their bedroom, watching Spike. He was asleep, and not for the first time she marveled at the fact that she was sleeping with what was basically a corpse.

Alabaster skin was stretched taut across a back that did not rise and fall with breath. There was no pink tint to his cheeks, and when he was angry his face never flushed with blood. And yet, in spite of that, Spike was one of the most alive people she had ever met.

Maybe that was part of what attracted her to him—the fact that whatever he was doing, and whoever he was doing it with, Spike lived for the moment, throwing himself wholeheartedly into life. He didn’t do anything by half-measures, and if he had any regrets, he never voiced them aloud. Willow wished she could live her life on the same, simple terms.

But instead of sleeping the sleep of the dead this morning, she found herself assailed with doubt and worry. After last night’s disaster their numbers were depleted. She knew it was only a matter of time before the First’s minions came after them, and the next time she didn’t think that they would be quite so lucky as they had been last night. Although many of the girls wouldn’t consider themselves lucky, she reminded herself.

After all, “They’re only girls,” she whispered, giving voice to her thoughts. How could mere girls—teenagers, really—be expected to go head to head with the ultimate in evil and live to talk about it?

“You bloody well got that right,” Spike agreed, his voice muffled by the pillow he was snuggling into.

The sudden reply, when she’d been expecting silence, made her start in surprise, and she glared at Spike’s back in response. But as much as she hated to admit it, he had a point. Well, technically speaking, it was *her* point, and he was just agreeing with it.

“You think we have any chance at all of beating the First?” she asked curiously.

Spike rolled onto his back and sighed, the eyes that met hers slightly frustrated. “Honestly?” he asked, running a hand over his face.

She nodded, waiting patiently for a reply.

“Nope. Not a bloody chance in hell. Not unless something changes.” He fell silent and sat up, his hands grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the nightstand as he began what she thought of as his ‘cigarette ritual.’ He’d pull one out. Examine it. Put it back in the pack and pull out another. Once he found one that met some sort of criteria that only he understood, he’d light it up and take that first drag off of it, the look on his face becoming almost worshipful as he did. At least he had finally taken the hint and was now a bit more careful about where he blew the smoke; decades with only other vampires for company had him blowing it wherever he felt like it, which often resulted in a coughing fit for Willow.

“You ready to pack it in and go back to Paris? Doesn’t have to be Paris, really. Could settle in Tokyo for all I care.”

Willow shook her head, and a little bit of her anger and frustration trickled into her voice. “Just because it looks bad, doesn’t mean I’m ready to ‘pack it in,’ as you so tactfully put it. Just means we have to find something to even the odds.”

Hands up in a gesture of defeat, Spike shrugged. “Just thought maybe you’d come to your senses. Can’t blame a bloke for asking.”

She didn’t feel at all appeased by his words or his attitude, but on the other hand, she couldn’t blame him for wanting to give up on what he saw as a lost cause. “Nope,” she told him, “I’m still tilting at windmills.”

A dissatisfied grunt was his only reply, as he stared moodily at the tip of his cigarette.

Judging by his expression, Willow could tell that any conversation with him was bound to deteriorate into Spike treating her to a list of reasons why staying in Sunnydale was not a good idea. Such a conversation would inevitably end badly.

Searching around for something productive to do, Willow suddenly remembered the scythe that Buffy had stolen from Caleb the previous night. *That* was something productive she could do, she realized. “I’m going next door to see if Giles needs some help researching the scythe. You want to come over after sunset?”

His shrug was not remotely enthusiastic, but she knew he’d be there. “Thanks,” she whispered as she grabbed some clothes and then headed towards the bathroom for a shower.

---

“This is getting us nowhere,” Willow sighed as she let her head fall to the table with a soft ‘thunk,’ and then jerked it up again to stare at Giles, who sat across the table from her. “It’s not that I can’t find any information, either. It’s more like there’s just too much of it. Scythes that are Native American in origin. Scythes that are Spanish in origin. Scythes that are,” she read a bit more, and then her face crinkled up in disgust, “used to kill children.” She let her head fall back in defeat as her hands reached up to knead her shoulders. “There’s just too much information, and we’re running out of time!”

Giles’ answering sigh was just as weary as Willow’s had been. “Yes, but there must be *something* about this scythe that we haven’t found yet. If it was simply a weapon, Caleb wouldn’t have fought so hard to keep it from Buffy. It’s important. We just have to figure out why.”

They were covering familiar territory with their words; Willow’s complaint about too much information was not new to either of them. But frustration was making her repeat herself, and Giles as well.

“Did you feel any of the power that Buffy felt when she touched it?” Giles asked.

Buffy had gone out earlier, taking the scythe with her. Willow had held it briefly while Buffy tied a loose shoelace, but had not felt the power that her friend had mentioned. “Nothing. Must be a Slayer thing, I guess.”

“Tapping into magic might help,” Giles suggested, and then watched as her face closed down. “Or not,” he added quietly.

Willow had known that she would be tested, sooner or later. Sure, she had done magic here and there. The spell that made her blood regenerate at a faster rate had been one of the more serious spells she’d tried, and it had gone well. But in spite of that, she felt nervous about her ability to pull off the serious magic without going...dark, for lack of a better word. There was just such a big chance that something could go wrong, and the thought of being black-haired, veiny-faced Willow again terrified her.

“Maybe that could be a last resort? I mean, if Caleb was afraid of this thing, it must be pretty dangerous. And tapping into it...” her voice trailed off uneasily. “Besides, this could even be a trap of Caleb’s. You know, to try to get me to tap into it and then, wham-bam, fill me to the brim with evil.”

Giles frowned, but he had to admit that she had a point. “Last resort, then.” That said, they both put their heads down again, going back to what they did best. Research.

---

Darkness fell, although neither Willow nor Giles noticed it, and before long Spike showed up. “Time for dinner,” he reminded her, laying his hand lightly on her shoulder.

“Yes, Willow, you should take a break.”

Willow hid a grin at Giles’ mumbled words. He had no idea what sort of break Spike was really alluding to, and she wasn’t about to tell him. Instead, she merely turned off her computer and got to her feet, trying not to flinch as stiff muscles screamed in protest.

“Did Buffy ever come back?” she asked curiously. Her friend had gone out hours ago, but as far as Willow knew she had never come back.

Giles raised bleary eyes to her face. “I don’t remember seeing her,” he admitted reluctantly. “I’ll have one of the Potentials find out where she is.”

Throwing a casual arm around her shoulder, Spike led her back to their house. “If the Watcher only knew what I planned to do with you,” he told her quietly, a lascivious smile playing on his lips.

“Fix me a sandwich?” Willow asked, full of wide-eyed innocence. She had to laugh at Spike’s surprised double-take. “You did promise to feed me.”

Spike shook his head. “Never promised anything. Just said it was dinnertime. Mine,” he added, in case she had missed his point.

Affecting a teasing tone, Willow pretended to be offended. “What, don’t I get anything out of this deal?” she asked as they entered the house, turning to close the door behind them.

Spike’s grin widened to become almost predatory. He moved so quickly that she never saw him coming, and used his body to pin her against the closed door, grinding his pelvis against hers. His hands cupped her breasts through her tight turtleneck T-shirt, teasing the nipples with his thumbs. “Oh, yeah,” he purred, “I’ve got something for you...”

---

A couple of hours later, Willow returned to Buffy’s house, freshly showered and feeling as relaxed as it was possible to feel when one faced the apocalypse to end all apocalypses.

“You look quite refreshed,” Giles remarked. “After seeing the effect it has had on you, perhaps I should take a break as well. I feel as if I’ve been at this for days, with nothing to show for my time other than a stiff neck.”

Willow wasn’t about to tell Giles that the reason she looked so relaxed was because Spike had screwed her slowly and sweetly up against the back door of their house. Somehow she thought that that particular revelation would probably disturb him far more than it would relax him. But she couldn’t help the sunny smile that snuck onto her face when she thought about the reaction he might have to the news.

Pushing such childish amusements from her mind, Willow reached down and opened her laptop, beginning to boot up the computer. An idea she’d had earlier resurfaced, and she looked over at Giles.

“Did Buffy ever get back with the scythe? I thought I might take a picture of it and send it to some of my contacts. See if I can get any information that way.”

Giles frowned at her, realizing that he had never followed up on his earlier promise to make sure Buffy had gotten back. It was now after ten o’clock, and he had not seen his Slayer for quite some time. He got to his feet, looking around as if expecting her to be hidden in one of the room’s darker corners.

“I’m sure she’s around somewhere,” he muttered, although something in his tone made it clear that he was anything but sure, and possibly becoming a little worried. “I’ll go and ask someone to find her while I’m fixing something to eat. You can use Andrew’s camera to shoot some pictures of the scythe, once we find it. You’re right, of course. It makes much more sense to have our contacts looking into this as well.” He removed his glasses and rubbed absently at his eyes.

As if she had been waiting for the perfect cue, the front door opened and Buffy walked in. She carried the scythe with her, swinging it back and forth. Even though she hadn’t had it for long, she looked quite comfortable with it, moving it back and forth as if it was an extension of her own arm. But even more interesting than that was the grin she wore on her face. It was a ‘cat that ate the canary’ grin, and of all the expressions to see on Buffy’s face, that one was the most unexpected.

“What’s going on, Buffy?” Willow asked. Then Buffy took a step to the right, and Willow saw that her friend wasn’t alone. “And Angel,” she added softly, as if the words were merely an afterthought.

The fact that Buffy was still grinning like a child with a new, exciting toy told Willow that Angel hadn’t said anything about Spike’s chipless status. But could she depend on him to keep that secret? That was the big question. Well, *one* of the big questions. ‘What are you doing here?’ would be the other.

“Uh, hi, Angel. What brings you here?”

Buffy’s smile got even wider as she practically danced into the living room. “He came bearing gifts,” she informed them, handing Giles a manila folder.

“Another gift?” Willow teased. “First the scythe, and now...” she looked over Giles’ shoulder as he pulled a large pendant out of the file, “...a really gaudy necklace-type-thing. Huh.” She made a face that plainly told them that she wasn’t all that impressed with Buffy’s newest fashion accessory. “I guess I’m not so jealous after all.”

“Ah, but it has powers,” Buffy told them. Then she frowned. “At least, it’s supposed to. But Angel’s source isn’t really all that dependable, so...”

“Back to the books,” Willow and Giles replied in unison, although Giles’ voice had a bit more enthusiasm to it than Willow’s bitter groan did.

Buffy’s cheerful nod did nothing to make Willow feel better, and the fact that Angel remained lurking in the background didn’t help either. Where Spike was energy and life, Angel seemed to be almost the opposite. As he skulked and hid in the shadows, he—unlike his childe—seemed much more lifeless, as if his body felt guilty for still showing signs of life.

Angel gave Willow a searching glance, and something in his eyes told her that he knew exactly what she and Spike had been up to earlier that evening. She felt her face grow heated as she blushed and she cursed the vampire sense of smell. It really wasn’t fair. They already had super speed and super hearing. Wasn’t the super smell thing almost overkill?

“Where’s Spike?” Angel asked, the growl in his voice making it sound almost feral.

“I’ll show you,” Willow told him, heading for the door. She could tell that Buffy wanted to go with them, but since her return she and Spike had been performing a very carefully choreographed dance of avoidance. So, instead, she sat down at the table and started to sift through the contents of the file that Angel had brought her.

Willow and Angel left the house and were on the doorstep of Mr. Fredricks’ house when Angel put his hand on her arm, gently pulling her away from the house. “You can go back to Buffy’s now. I can find him from here.”

Willow rolled her eyes, although she wasn’t sure if he could see the gesture in the dark. Although, vampire vision being what it was, he probably could. She reached for the doorknob, but he stopped her again. “Really, Willow, it’s all right.”

She turned around and stared at him for a moment. “Angel, I’m going in. You’re welcome to stay out here on the porch if you want. Or come in. But you’re not cutting me out. Whatever you have to say to Spike, you might as well get comfortable with the fact that I’m going to hear it as well.” She took a deep breath and then released it; she could see anger swimming in Angel’s eyes and knew that he was working hard to maintain his control. ‘Not my problem,’ she reminded herself.

They found Spike in the living room, lounging on the couch. He looked up at Angel, his eyes hostile but unsurprised. “Knew you were here,” he muttered. “Could smell that hair gel all the way over here.”

Angel let the comment pass. He stared at Spike, as if waiting for something. When Spike remained silent, Angel finally spoke. “What are you doing here, Spike?”

Spike patted a spot on the couch next to him and looked up at Willow. Taking the hint, she walked around Angel and sat down next to Spike. His arm went around her shoulder, and he smirked up at Angel. “I’m here to keep an eye on my girl.”

Willow rolled her eyes again, making sure they both saw it this time. After all, if she was going to go to that much trouble, everybody ought to see it.

“I find it hard to believe that you’re here, making nice with your bitter enemies, all because of Willow.” He turned to Willow. “No offense. But we all know that Spike’s not known for his self-control.”

“Hey! I can be the soul of restraint when I have the right incentive,” Spike objected. “Haven’t hit you yet, have I?” His frown deepened into a scowl when Angel sat down in a chair across from him. “Don’t get comfortable,” he insisted. “You’re not staying.”

Crossing his legs at the ankle, Angel regarded Spike with eyes that were filled with polite disbelief. “And what happens to your self-control when Willow’s gone?” Angel asked matter-of-factly. “What if she dies during the battle with the First? Will you go after her friends then? Will you go after Buffy?”

“No,” Spike grumbled. “Promised her I wouldn’t hurt her friends, and I meant it.” He looked at Willow as he spoke, and she knew the words were meant more for her benefit than to reassure Angel.

“And if she does make it through this battle, what does she have to look forward to?” Angel addressed his next question to Willow. “Can you live with the fact that one day you’ll wake up without a heartbeat? You know he’ll turn you, sooner or later.”

She looked at Spike, trying to ignore the way he was looking back at her as if he expected her to automatically side with Angel. “We’re still in...negotiations,” she admitted reluctantly. She glared at Spike when he snorted at her phrasing.

Angel laughed, although the sound was bitter and devoid of humor. “Spike doesn’t negotiate. Spike takes what he wants, and damn the consequences. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that your feelings enter into the equation.” He shook his head at her seeming naiveté.

From the way his body tensed next to her, Willow could tell that Spike was getting ready to respond back with something equally caustic. Desperate to avoid an argument that she was sure would end badly, Willow knew she had to do something. And quick.

“Why are you here, Angel? I know, you had gifts for Buffy. But, I mean, why *here*?” she asked, waving an arm around the room to make her intention clear.

Spike decided to answer the question for Angel. “He’s causing trouble. It’s what he does best. Can’t stand to see anyone havin’ a good time, just ‘cuz he turns into a psycho when he gets a happy.”

Angel ignored Spike and stared at her, as if he had trouble believing she even needed to ask the question. “I’m here to stop Spike from doing something unbelievably stupid, of course. He’ll turn you—it’s just a matter of time. And you used to be smart enough to see it, but now...I don’t know.” He ran a weary hand through his hair, sending the spiky locks into disarray. “I just don’t want to see any of you get hurt.”

The room fell silent, the ticking of the large grandfather clock sounding loud and ominous.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Angel,” Willow said. “I think I’m smart enough to know what’s what, and my gut tells me that I can trust Spike. Once we get through this apocalypse, maybe things will be different. And there’ll definitely be more discussion about the whole eternity thing. But right now, I’m not even sure if I’m going to make it through the week. I have to concentrate on that, okay?”

Willow could tell that Angel was beginning to understand where she was coming from. His expression lightened slightly, although the heavy aura of doom and gloom still surrounded him. “Make me a promise,” he said, finally.

“Me?” she ask warily, when she realized that he was talking to her, and not Spike. “What do you mean?”

“Promise me that once this is over, you’ll come to Los Angeles. For a visit. We can look into other ways to make you immortal, if that's what you really want. Ways that will let you keep your soul.”

“Yeah,” Spike drawled, intent on proving that sarcasm was, indeed, a language he was fluent in, “and if poor ol’ Spike just happens to slip and fall on a stake while he’s in the city of Angelus, I’m sure that’d just be an unfortunate accident, yeah?”

“This isn’t about you,” Angel snapped, glaring at Spike with eyes filled with malice. “This is about Willow. And the rest of her life.” His gaze flashed back to Willow, “Eternity isn’t just hearts and flowers and endless parties, Willow. It’s also watching family and friends grow old and die, over and over; it’s about having to move from town to town, because sooner or later someone gets suspicions about the fact that you never seem to get any older. It’s about becoming callous and surrounding yourself with others who think they are ‘above’ humanity, because it hurts too much to lose one more friend.

“You think being with Spike is worth it, that you two are forever, and that you'll never want anyone else. Maybe you're right, and maybe you're not; that's not my call. All I’m saying is, you need to look at all the repercussions of your decision before you make it. That’s all I ask.”

Willow stared at him for a moment; it seemed obvious that some of his words had struck a chord, because she didn’t dismiss the idea out of hand. “You’ll guarantee that you’ll leave Spike alone if I agree? And—and you won’t say anything to Buffy about him not having the chip?”

Angel didn’t hesitate. “Agreed.”

Her slow, thoughtful nod relieved Angel, although it didn’t appear to do much for Spike’s mood. “Okay. If we make it through this, I promise I’ll stop in Los Angeles before going back to Paris.”

“If you’re going, I’m going,” Spike muttered. “Who knows what kind of brainwashing techniques he might try to use on you.”

“I’m sure it’ll be one laugh after another,” Willow added, shaking her head.

Angel checked his watch, shook his head, and then got to his feet. “I need to head back. Good luck with the apocalypse, and if you need anything...well, you know where to find me.”

“In the hair gel aisle at the nearest drug store,” Spike mumbled, showing no sign of moving as Willow got up and walked Angel to the door.

When she came back and sat down next to him, he had only one thing to say. “If I have to spend a week in Los Angeles with that bastard, you’re going to owe me. Big time.”


Chapter Twenty-Six: Death Comes As the End

Willow’s head was throbbing, but it was a good throb, she assured herself, as she sat on the couch next to Spike and tried to concentrate on the mindless television show they were watching.

It had taken them all night, and into the wee hours of the next morning, but they had finally managed to cobble together a plan. And it was a plan that she thought actually had a chance of success. It based itself on two points: using Angel’s ugly little necklace to close the hellmouth, and doing a spell using the scythe which should activate all the Potentials, turning them into full fledged, demon-ass-kicking Slayers. It was more than a little frightening to think that she was going to have to make with the big mojo, but she thought she was ready.

Who was she trying to fool? She *hoped* she was ready. And that she wouldn’t turn evil. And that Spike, who was going into battle with the Potentials, would make it out all right. And that everyone else would, too.

There were way too many ‘ands,’ she thought uneasily. Too many things that could go horribly wrong. And too many people she loved who could quite possibly die tonight. Including Spike.

She loved him. She hadn’t said it aloud—maybe she never would. But that didn’t mean she didn’t feel the emotion rushing through her veins like wildfire.

Should she tell him? Did she want to? She hoped he might love her, too, just a little bit. He hadn’t said it, but then again Spike had always been an ‘actions speak louder than words’ kind of guy. When he came out here to help her, regardless of the danger they faced, that probably should have been a tip-off to her.

Or was it just Spike being bored, and coming to Sunnydale in order to stir up trouble? Doubts crowded her mind, and she knew she would say nothing to him. Maybe—hopefully—they would have a chance to talk it out after the battle was over.

Grabbing his arm, she snuggled against him, trying to distract him from the show he was watching because she needed more of him than she could get when trying to compete with a noisy TV show.

He glanced down at her, taking in the turmoil on her face, and knew she was over-thinking everything, as she had a tendency to do. “Don’t worry about it. It’s going to be fine. You’re going to do the mojo, we’re going to close the hellmouth, and by this time tomorrow we’ll be on our way back to Paris.”

She relaxed just a bit, and then sighed. “Los Angeles, you mean. After that, we can go back to Paris.”

“You sure know how to kill a good mood,” he grumbled, shaking his arm free of her and draping it around her shoulder to pull her closer, smiling just a bit when she snuggled up against his chest.

“I promised Angel,” she reminded him, although he really hadn’t needed the reminder. She would keep her word, he knew, whether it was easy or not. Which meant that he was going to have to play nice with Angel and his human minions.

“The thought of a visit with *him* is almost enough to make me wish we’d lose,” he told her, and then pulled back just in time to see the anticipated look of horror on her face. Sure enough, there it was. “Almost,” he reminded her, watching the angry lines of her face melt away into something softer.

“Only two more hours,” she whispered. “Two more hours until...until things maybe change forever.”

There was nothing he could say to that, so he remained silent, running his hand lightly along her shoulder and upper arm in what he was hoping might be a comforting gesture.

“Make me forget, Spike? Just for a little bit.”

It only took him a second to figure out what she was asking, and another second or two to marvel at the fact that for the first time, she was coming on to him, and not the other way around. Then he was kissing her, pressing her body back into the couch and stretching out next to her, hands in her hair and tongue inside her mouth, drowning in the taste of her.

And for just a little while, they both forgot.

---

It was early afternoon, and Giles had managed to find an old school bus, so they’d covered some of the windows and drove it right up to the tall double doors of the high school, spiriting a blanketed Spike quickly inside. The rest of the gang was all there, waiting a trifle uneasily to face their destiny. They knew that they had to fight the good fight in order to survive, but for most of them, the waiting was the hardest part.

“Everybody clear on the plan?” Buffy asked, searching the sea of faces one last time after they entered the main hall of the high school.

“Kick demon ass, close the hellmouth, and afterwards—maybe some shopping, right?” Faith replied, hitting just the right note of lightheartedness. “Followed by dinner and maybe a movie?”

The girls all smiled on cue. Even the ones who didn’t know that much English understood that a joke had been told, even if they weren’t actually privy to the humor of it.

“Will, you and Kennedy go to the principal’s office. That’s right over the hellmouth. Get set up and do your thing.”

Willow smiled and nodded. She’d heard this part of the plan before, but was willing to let Buffy give the orders anyway. It made her friend feel better when she spelled things out aloud, Willow suspected.

“Kennedy,” Buffy continued, “you make sure nothing happens to Willow. After the spell is done, haul ass down to the basement with the scythe.”

Spike glared at Kennedy, his arm tightening around Willow’s shoulder. “If I see a bruise or a scratch anywhere on her body, I’ll be coming for you,” he growled.

“Yeah, like you could do anything,” Kennedy hissed, being careful to keep quiet enough not to disturb Buffy’s monologue. “Did you forget you’ve got a chip in your head?”

For a moment Willow was afraid that Spike was going to blow his cover and show Kennedy exactly how badly he could hurt her, but once again she was surprised by Spike’s self-restraint, not to mention his resourcefulness.

“Got money, Ken. Don’t need to do it myself. Just need to put a reward out there for the first vamp who brings me your dead body.” The glitter of cold malice in his eyes told Kennedy he was serious, and she edged as far away from him as she could.

“Great, let’s go do this,” Buffy exclaimed, and headed down the hallway. Willow trailed behind, realizing she had missed the rest of Buffy’s speech because of Spike and Kennedy’s bickering. She hoped she hadn’t missed anything important, like a last-minute change in plans.

When they got to the door to the principal’s office, Willow stood with Spike in the doorway, not sure what to say. ‘Thank you,’ seemed inadequate—he was going into battle on her behalf, and the enormity of it was such that the two words would never be enough to show her gratitude. ‘I love you,’ might have been better, but it seemed so manipulative to say it now, even though it was true. Plus, something like that should be shared during an intimate moment for two, not with half a dozen people watching. In the end, she settled on whispering, “Good luck and be careful,” in his ear, and pulling his head down for a kiss that she tried to make last forever.

Spike put all of his considerable talent into the kiss as well, his tongue coming out to tangle with hers, his hands clenching comfortingly in her hair. She wished they could stand like this until the battle was over, and then go back to Paris and spend the rest of eternity together. To hell with Los Angeles, she thought. Angel could wait. After all, it wasn’t like Spike was going to try to turn her immediately.

She thought about making love with Spike at the top of the Arc de Triomphe, or on a boat ride along the Seine. It would happen, she promised herself. They just had to get through this one last trial, and they could be together. Forever.

Kennedy’s voice was what finally pulled them apart. “I need you to tell me how to set this up,” she yelled from inside the office. “If we wait too long, the timing is going to be off, and I’m not going to be responsible for this not working just because you can’t get enough of his tongue.”

“Bloody bitch,” Spike muttered. “You be careful, too,” he whispered in her ear, his hands framing her face as he gave her one last kiss on the forehead.

Then he released her and headed down the hall with the others, while Willow ducked inside the office and quickly began to get everything set up.

Within minutes she found herself sitting in a semi-circle of white candles, ready to do the spell that would make all the difference in the world for them. If it worked, she reminded herself. “There’s one more thing I need you to do,” she told Kennedy, trying to hide the uneasiness in her voice.

Kennedy looked up from her seat on the floor just a few feet away. “What’s that? I thought we had everything covered?”

Willow shook her head quickly, not wanting to waste a lot of time, but needing to impress upon Kennedy just how important this was. “I need you to promise that you’ll—that if I start to get—dark, you know? I need you to promise to kill me. Immediately.”

The silence stretched between them as Kennedy stared at her incredulously. Willow returned her gaze calmly, but a vein of steel ran through her voice.

“I mean it, Kennedy. If I start to go to an evil place—if my hair turns black, and my skin all veiny—if the magic takes me somewhere bad—I need you to stop me.”

“And afterwards I get to hide for the rest of my amazingly short life because Spike will hire someone to kill me,” Kennedy retorted bitterly. “Jeez, thanks for the easy choice there, Willow.”

Willow felt a moment of pity for the young Potential, but she thrust it aside with a shake of her head. “You don’t get it. If I go dark and you don’t kill me, we’re all dead. Immediately. I won’t just take out the hellmouth—I’ll destroy the state, the country—everything on the planet. I almost did it once before, and I could do it again. You’ve *got* to do this. For me. For everyone. For...well, yourself.”

“Fine,” Kennedy grumbled finally. “But if I kill you and then Spike has me killed, I’m gonna kick your ass SO hard when I get to the afterlife.”

Willow didn’t bother to tell Kennedy that if it came to that, she doubted that the two of them would be on the same plane of existence. People who tried to end the world usually didn’t end up in the same place as those who tried to save it. But instead of wasting time trying to explain that, she just nodded quickly and got back to work.

---

Buffy and the rest of her party looked out across the sea of demon bodies as they waited for Willow’s magic to work.

“Not picking up anything off this fancy trinket of yours,” Faith told Buffy, her fingers playing with the chain of the amulet. “You sure it’s the real deal?”

When Buffy only shrugged, Faith whispered to Spike, “That’s what I was afraid of.” There was a teasing glint in her eye when she said it, but the underlying seriousness put Buffy on the defensive.

“Hey, it’s Angel’s amulet. How the hell do I know how it works? Maybe certain things have to happen first?” Buffy shrugged, and looked back over at the sea of demons below them, who had yet to notice their arrival.

“C’mon, Will, c’mon,” Faith chanted under her breath, hoping against hope that something would happen soon—before they got noticed and turned into demon-snacks.

And then they saw it. “Fuckin’ A,” Faith whispered, as she watched every one of the Potentials stand just a little straighter, their eyes glowing just a bit more brightly, as the power of the Slayer took root in each and every one of them. As the three watched, they could even feel the extra confidence each girl showed in the way she held herself—weapon at the ready, strength shining in their eyes.

“It worked,” Buffy whispered, sounding almost surprised. And it worked just in the proverbial nick of time, she noted, as the demons seemed to have finally realized that they had company.

“Of course it worked. My girl knows what she’s doing,” Spike snarled. “Now let’s go kill some big ugly things.” And he was off, meeting the battle head-on with a roar so loud that it bounced off the walls and put at least a little trepidation into the hearts of the advancing demon army.

The battle seemed to go on forever. Time began to lose its meaning as what felt like hours passed; girls fought, girls fell. Bringers and Turok-Han were quickly sliced and diced under the blades of swords, knives, and whatever other weapons the girls had managed to bring with them. And surprisingly enough, Spike thought they might just have a chance to pull this off.

He took note of when Kennedy bounded into the room and threw the scythe to Buffy, and he fought to reach her side. “Willow?”

Kennedy nodded. “Doing just fine,” she promised. “She said she’d meet you at the bus after you, and I quote, ‘kill every last one of those ugly sons-of-bitches and close the hellmouth for good.’”

Spike grinned; that was his Willow. She looked sweet and delicate, but underneath that delectable façade, she could be tough as nails. He swirled around quickly to decapitate a Turok-Han who had apparently thought he was a distracted target, and therefore easy pickings. Spike proved the demon wrong, and was soon on to his next victim.

They lost a couple of girls—Slayers now, he reminded himself—here and there. But overall the odds still looked good that they were going to get out of this alive. Well, those that had gone into it alive, at any rate.

Buffy caught his eyes, a blur of golden hair and shining metal as she decimated the demon ranks. But his eyes widened in surprise when he saw her stumble, the tip of a sword sticking out obscenely from her abdomen. He fought his way to her, feeling a twinge of some residual affection for her as she fell forward and collapsed onto the ground face-first.

Faith was at his side, grabbing the scythe from Buffy’s hand. Her hand brushed against the amulet and her eyes widened. “Whatever it is this sucker is supposed to do, I think it’s getting ready,” she yelled above the din.

“What’s it doing?” Spike yelled back curiously.

“Burning like a son-of-a-bitch, mostly,” Faith said, attempting to remain stoic. But he could see the pain in her eyes, and wondered if she would be able to pull it off. If they fought the demon army but didn’t manage to close the hellmouth, only half the job would be done.

Turning away for a moment to pull one of the Slayers aside, Spike grabbed Buffy and pushed her into the girl’s arms. “Take her up to the bus. Willow’s there—she should be able to do something to help her.” Maybe, he added to himself.

He looked back at Faith, who appeared to be doing her best to ignore the pain of the burning amulet. Spike could see that it was beginning to glow a bit, and tried not to think about just how much it must hurt. “Keep the line together,” she said, panting. “Keep driving them to the edge.”

Spike nodded and got back to work, trying not to let himself be drawn too far away from Faith. Over the next couple of minutes he kept glancing at her, watching her grow weaker and weaker, about to fall under the blows rained down upon her by a particularly vicious Turok-Han. She finally dispatched him, and then fell against the wall, clutching her chest as if in agonizing pain. Spike watched with a growing sense of dread as she dropped to the ground.

“Faith!”

Spike looked up, surprised to see Harris slipping between the battling couples as if they were dancers at a ball. He and the boy made it to Faith’s side at roughly the same time, their usual animosity forgotten in the face of Faith’s pain.

“Saw Rona and Buffy heading for the bus and thought maybe you could use another fighter.” His voice was quiet but Spike still heard it. He also saw the pain in Xander’s eyes when he looked at Faith, and for a moment he felt sorry for the human.

“Have another of the girls take her up to the bus,” he told Xander. “Then we’re going to have to figure out who gets to wear this thing,” he added, gently lifting the amulet’s chain from around Faith’s neck.

“I’ll wear it,” Xander insisted. He turned and caught one of the new Slayer’s eyes, beckoning her over. “Take her to the bus, okay? And get back down here ASAP.”

The girl nodded, her seriousness making Spike want to wince. Damn, she was young. He turned back to Xander, who was putting the amulet around his neck.

“Fuck, that burns.”

“Don’t know that this is such a great plan, Harris. After all, if it was too much for a Slayer, how’re you going to be able to handle it?” He debated saying more. After all, it was no skin off his ass if the boy died. Sure, Red would be upset. For a while. But she’d get over it.

Thinking long-term, though, he knew that if Harris didn’t do the job properly, the hellmouth wouldn’t get closed. Which meant more battles, and more calls from Sunnydale to Paris. Willow would always come when called, he knew. She just couldn’t help it.

Better to do it right and close the hellmouth all the way, right now.

“What’s your problem, vampire?” Xander shot back at him. “Someone’s gotta wear this thing. And I think everyone else is already occupied.”

Spike watched as the boy staggered against the wall, barely staying on his feet. He wouldn’t be strong enough to do it. Not alone.

“I’ll wear it,” Spike finally said, knowing that this would cost him much more than he had ever wanted to give, but not seeing any alternative. He’d wear it, they’d close the hellmouth, and he and Willow would never have to see the bunch of them again.

All he got for his grand gesture was a Harris eye-roll. “Gotta be someone with a soul, fang-face. You’re not gonna fit the bill.”

“Neither are you,” Spike shot back. “You’ve got the soul, but not the strength. Remember—whoever wears it has to be someone who’s stronger than human.”

They fell silent as the battle raged around them. Slayers were everywhere, but judging by how close the amulet was to doing whatever it was supposed to do, Spike didn’t know if they could grab one and explain the problem in time. Besides, could they really foist that kind of responsibility on someone without giving them time to think about it?

“Two great tastes that taste great together,” Xander muttered, his eyes beginning to glaze over with pain.

“Pain getting to you? Making you insane?” Spike scoffed.

“No, you idiot,” Xander replied, taking a second to reflect upon how good it felt to call someone else an idiot, instead of being the one called the idiot. The moment didn’t last, however. Too much was riding on this, and he had to explain his plan now, before it was too late. “It’s like the commercial. Reece’s peanut butter cups. We need your strength, but you need my soul. We wear it together.”

Spike stared at him as if he had lost his mind. Precious seconds ticked by as he realized that the git might just have something. Separately neither of them could do the job, but together...

“You think it’d work?”

“Better than any choice we’ve got right now,” Xander said, pulling the length of the chain away so that Spike could slip underneath it. It was a tight fit, but they were both wearing it, the chain taut against their necks.

They twisted around so that they stood back to back, Xander fidgeting more and more as the amulet got hotter and hotter.

“Here, your turn,” he called out, pushing the amulet along the chain until it rested on Spike’s chest.

“What the bloody hell—” Spike yelled, screaming as the amulet burned him. “Bastard!”

Before Spike could push it back onto Xander, a bright blue light shot up from the amulet, knocking a hole through the ceiling, and each floor above it, until all that was visible was pure, blue sky. The light turned a warm orange, and Spike didn’t even have time to wonder why he wasn’t yet dust before the amulet began refracting the orange light into the hellmouth like rays of sunshine.

The new Slayers watched in surprise and awe as the Turok-Han turned to dust all around them. Then, with an ear-shattering groan of rage, the ground beneath their feet started shaking. They stumbled to find their footing, many of them falling to their knees.

“Get upstairs. Now,” someone called out, and all Xander and Spike could hear were the sounds of the girls leaving the basement, picking up the wounded as they went.

“Should we try to follow them?” Xander asked, leaning against the wall as the earth continued to shake beneath them.

“Don’t think we can,” Spike replied. “In order for this to work, we have to stay here. I guess this is how it ends. Huh. Never thought I’d go out like this.”

He’d lived longer than he ever imagined he would, even in William’s wildest dreams. He’d seen things, even done things, which would have put his human incarnation into a mental ward. Murder. Rape. Torture. Betrayal. Tenderness. Love. He’d lived a long, full life. This was as good a way to go as any, he supposed, trying to make the best of it.

He’d told Buffy once that he was love’s bitch. That had never been truer than it was now. He was saving the bleedin’ world for her, and would die doing it. And he’d never had the chance to tell Willow he loved her.

He heard screaming and knew it was a mixture of his and Harris’.

Life’s a bitch, he thought, and then you...

His body turned to dust before he could finish the thought.


Epilogue

Willow sat next to Buffy on one of the small green benches on the bus and watched with increasing concern as one by one the Slayers ran out of the school, headed for the bus. They kept coming and coming, but still no Spike. Then the deluge of bodies slowed to a trickle. Still, no Spike.

She helped Giles and Andrew find seats, too worried even to glare at Andrew. He was weeping about Anya, and how she had given her life to save his. And wasn’t that a wasted effort, she thought, trying not to dwell on Anya’s death. She’d liked Anya, in a weird sort of way, and knew that her death would probably hit Xander pretty hard, but—and where the hell was Xander, she wondered, her mind flying off on a tangent. She turned around and searched the bus frantically for her friend, but didn’t see him anywhere.

Kennedy was at the front of the bus, ticking names off a checklist as she did a head count. “Where are Xander and Spike?” she called out. “Everyone else is—accounted for. Except for them.”

‘Accounted for’ was a kind way of saying that everyone who was still alive was on the bus, and that she knew who hadn’t made it, as well.

“Last we saw them, they were wearing that amulet,” Vi spoke up. “When the Turok-Han started dusting themselves, we headed out. I figured they were behind us.”

Willow went cold at the words, knowing, feeling in her heart, that something was wrong.

“I’ve got to go back. Got to find them,” she muttered, pushing her way towards the front of the bus.

“Wait a minute, where do you think you’re going?” Giles asked, grabbing her elbow and pulling her back.

She stared at him as if she couldn’t believe what he was saying. “Spike’s still in there. Xander too. We’ve got to go and—”

The sound of an explosion deep within the heart of the building sent those still standing staggering for their seats. Kennedy slipped into the driver’s seat and quickly started up the bus. “We need to get away, just in case. Everyone sit down.”

Willow couldn’t sit, couldn’t believe that they were planning to leave without Spike and Xander. “But—”

“But nothing,” Giles insisted, pulling her into the seat next to him. “Buffy and Faith need you. They’re hurt badly. Some of the other girls are, too. You need to take care of them. I’m sure Xander and Spike just found another way out, and they’ll meet up with us back at the house.”

Her eyes wild with fear, Willow tried to pull herself out of Giles’ grasp. The spell had left her weak, and if it wasn’t for that single fact, she would have teleported herself away from him, or made herself invisible—or—or done something that would have allowed her to go back to the school. “Spike,” she called out, her fear a cold, hard hand crushing her heart.

Tears welled in her eyes, falling down her cheeks. Somehow she knew that Giles was wrong. Xander and Spike were still inside the school, and their lives were about to come to a bitter end.

Unable to do anything else, she clung to Giles, burying her face in his chest and sobbing. She lost herself in her grief, and had no idea how long she sat there crying. Suddenly the bus shook violently and then sped up. Poking her head up from Giles’ chest, she saw that they were nowhere near Buffy’s house. In fact, they seemed to be headed for the outskirts of town.

“Where are we going? Why aren’t we going back to Buffy’s house?” she asked, grabbing frantically at the front of Giles’ shirt as if he could magically turn the bus around.

Instead of answering, he simply pointed towards the back of the bus. What Willow saw out the back window cut her to the quick.

The town was literally caving in upon itself. Building after building collapsed to the ground, sucked into the earth. Street after street crumbled into the gaping abyss that Sunnydale was quickly becoming. The bus kept pace with the devastation, but just barely. If they slowed down, even for a second, they would surely be pulled under.

“No,” she cried, shaking. “No,” she whispered over and over, knowing for sure now that Spike and Xander really were gone.

Unable to watch the horrific spectacle any longer, she finally turned back to Giles and closed her eyes. His arms, reassuring and warm, held her, but gave her little comfort. After what felt like days, she was able to block out reality and turn her thoughts inward, remembering happier times spent with Spike in the City of Lights.

---

Willow stood apart from the others as she took her last look at the town that had been her home for her entire life. It was nothing now but a crater, the occasional puff of smoke the only evidence that this had once been a bustling, vital town. She thought of all the people who had had touched her life there, and would touch it no longer: Jesse, Jenny, Tara, Joyce, Principal Flutie, even Principal Snyder hadn’t been all bad. And now she could add Anya, Xander and Spike to the list of Sunnydale’s casualties.

The last one was the hardest pill to swallow. Spike. She had loved him, but fear had kept her from letting him know. And now she would never have the chance.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Buffy make a tentative step in her direction, but Willow shook her head. Her grief was her own, and she didn’t want to share it with anyone else. Not just yet, at least.

She would have to tell Angel, she realized. The two vampires had played at hating each other, but Willow knew that however strong their hatred had been, it had masked a past closeness that had been just as strong. However painful it would be, Angel deserved to hear the news from her. Smiling a little bitterly, she realized that Spike had found a way to get out of that trip to Los Angeles, after all.

She watched the new Slayers walk around in a burst of post-battle excitement, chatting cheerfully as they took in the corpse of Sunnydale. As hard as she tried to deny it, she couldn’t help but hate them all, just a little bit. They had homes to go back to, with families who loved them and would care for them. Plus, they had their bright and shiny new super-powers. To those who had survived, this had all been a grand adventure, with momentary flashes of danger and fear.

To Willow, it was the end. The future stretched out in front of her like an endless wave of pain. She had lost her closest friend, and also the person she would have shared her life with. Whatever the future had in store for her, it could never compare with what she had lost today.

~Fin