I'm going to stealth in and rip open the soft under belly of The Scooby Gang-that's the plan anyway. And what better place to start than with that sappy red head? I wasn't sure how I was going to get to her, until I saw her 'friend' playing with her hair. That innocent gesture spoke volumes to me; most of all it whispered in my ear-a little song of treachery that I like to call' Spike's Opus' or if you prefer-'Give me a fucking break'.

Not that I'm against two birds being together-cause I'm all for that. It's just * those two* together that makes me want to heave. I mean, the goody good twins- together? It's like pouring sugar over ice cream, it makes your damn teeth hurt. It's just too much. If someone would only introduce some leather or a riding crop-something, anything to break up the vanilla monotony that is Willow and Tara, I would be so happy.

I don't necessarily hate Willow. She used to be kind of fun-in an annoying way, and she used to stick up for me sometimes. But now, she and her girlfriend are always making googly eyes at each other and whispering little puffy, saccharine endearments to one another. I'm not the only one affected. I've seen the others rolling their eyes too.

No, I don't hate Willow; I want to liberate her. I want to save her from the mediocrity that is Tara and The Scooby Gang. It's purely altruistic on my part, like a public service announcement. Except if I'm successful, I'll get this bleeding chip out of my head.

That promise, the one Adam made to take this chip out is the only reason I subject myself to the slayerettes. If I had my way, I'd wash my hands of the lot of them and not look back. But that freaky demonoid does have a point, it will be so fun to break Buffy and her little gang up. So that's why I sit here and calcify while listening to the retired librarian make another boring blah blah speech. I swear they should just videotape him and push play whenever they have a meeting-he never says anything new.

"Don't you think-Spike," Giles addresses me and everyone turns to look.

I have no freakin' idea what he just said. "Um, yeah." Giles just nods his head and gets that self -congratulatory smirk that says he believes he just regurgitated some more pearls of wisdom. God help me. Well, I'm sure he wouldn't-even if I did believe in him.

I don't think that I can stand much more of this. I rise from the couch and make my way into the kitchen. Maybe I left a bag of blood in the refrigerator, it's worth a shot. Anything is better than continuing to feign interest in 'windy -boy'.

A yank of the refrigerator door proves that I'm cursed-there's nothing in there, except a few wilted celery stalks and some clotted cream-and not by design. I think it died of old age. Sniff. Oh yeah, very much deceased-I've dug up fresher corpses. Frankly, I expected better from a fussy bachelor type like Giles. Jesus, I live in a crypt and I have better standards than this.

I close the door in time to see Willow enter the kitchen. She's smiling that goofy smile as she goes to the cupboard and takes out a glass.

"Going to smash it and slash your wrists, are you? Can't say I blame you. Don't worry; I'll make sure the provisions of your will are carried out to the letter."

She rolls her eyes at me as she turns on the faucet and lets the water run. "Did I ever tell you that you're so very *not funny*? I'm getting Tara a glass of water."

"Oh yeah, cause she's what-70% water. Gotta replenish that pretty frequently huh?"

Willow fills the glass and turns off the faucet. "You're just bitter because you don't have a girlfriend- repeat after me class-D-U-M-P-E-D."

Okay, I've changed my mind-I really do hate her. "I think the patchouli has finally gotten to you Wil. You're getting vicious."

"No, you just inspire me to new heights-or depths." She takes a gulp of the water and moves to go around me.

I reach an arm out and grab the countertop, halting her progress. "So tell me what you see in that Granola out there, cause I'm at a loss-I just don't see it."

"Yeah, well Tara's nice-so I wouldn't expect you to pick up on that." She looks down at the barrier of my arm and then looks up expectantly.

"Oh, NICE. Yeah, that's about as exciting as a dirt sandwich. Taking relationship tips from the Buffster again- I thought you'd moved past that whole boring phase you were going through? You know, if you were going to go lesbian, couldn't you spice it up a little bit?"

"Hmn, well the day I take dating advice from you will be the same day they truss me up in a straight jacket and haul me off to the psych ward." She pinches me on the arm-hard.

"Ow, dammit!" Oh, I really want to hit her, but I know what it'll do to me, so I restrain myself-barely. I take a moment to curse that stupid bloody bint Walsh and pray that she's frying in some mad scientist hell at this very instant. I hope a thousand demons have ripped out her entrails and . . ."You know Rosenberg, sometimes you can be a real bitch."

"Hey, thanks for noticing," she calls over her shoulder as she returns to Giles' living room.

This may be a little harder than I anticipated.

I compose myself for about thirty seconds and then follow her out into the living room. That gasbag Giles is still huffing and puffing about something, not that anyone is even listening to him. No one listens to him much anymore, especially when he's waving that scotch bottle around. It's missing now, must have run out?

'Impotent' that's what he called me. Can you believe that? It's a bit like the kettle calling the pot-if you know what I mean. He's long since faded into the background-he's not even a figurehead anymore. These kids see his lips moving, but they're so wrapped up in their own lives and misery to pay him much mind-they just pat him on the head occasionally like an old, incontinent sheep dog that you can't bear to put down.

Droopy boy and ex-demon girl are sitting in the spot I vacated on the couch. Funny how the two of them can fit into a space that just one of me occupied. They've had a lot of practice though, they're always wrapped around each other; bloody friggin' attached at the hip is what they are. Who needs cable when I've got these two re-enacting scenes from Wild Kingdom?

If I could get a hold of a video camera, I could set up my own shoot, tape them and sell it on the Internet. I'd be a millionaire by supper-if anyone wanted to see two co-dependent lumps going at it. Maybe I'm overestimating the market?

'Spuffy' is over in the corner looking nervous. I haven't seen soldier boy in a couple of days-could mean trouble in paradise for those two? I never did think *that* relationship would last. I mean, she's such a whiney little thing and he's so-stiff. I wonder if Walsh used left over robot parts for him and forgot to tell anyone?

Oh well, it doesn't matter how dysfunctional these losers are; it only makes it easier for me. I'm already beginning to see how we'll divide up the teams for this little throw down. Separate. Divide. Conquer. I can tell that this isn't going to be pretty, and that thought causes a smile that I work quickly to hide.

"So, Spike. You think that you can get in and get a hold of Maggie's records?" Buffy asks distractedly.

Okay, got to be convincing-you're one of the good guys. How the hell am I supposed to act, bugger if I know? What would Angel do-that's the key isn't it? Okay, Angel would don one of his three frighteningly similar facial expressions, ram a large stick up his ass and get that condescending edge to his voice.

"I think I can." Hey, pretty good. I almost wanted to punch *myself* out. I just need to concentrate-what's my motivation: I'm a soulful, dead-boy, tortured- martyred for all of mankind. Oi, I think I'm going to puke, just keep repeating-get the chip out, get the chip out, get the chip out . . .

Buffy looks at me with a mixture of disbelief and dare I say it-growing admiration. Yeah sister, don't sign me up for sainthood yet. I'm going to blow this little operation right out of the water, and leave all of your bodies floating on the surface.

"What's in it for you?" Nummy treat wonders sarcastically from his position on the couch.

I get to see your head being ripped off by some nine-foot tall, scaly demon? "Oh , blood, beers and the guarantee of a slay free future?" I reply instead. I'm going to stand over your body and laugh you little basement dwelling freak. I'm going to uncork a bottle of bubbly and toast as they stack your corpses-ah, good times.

"Done." The Slayer nods and I feel like saluting her.

Let the games begin.

Buffy approaches me and touches my shoulder. "Spike, I want to talk to you for a minute."

Well alert the fucking media. The Slayer wants to talk to me, I can barely contain my excitement- I'm sooo privileged. "What is it Buffy?"

She nervously glances at the wicca twins. "I'm worried that Adam may try to hurt someone-you know, send a goon squad out after us."

Hey! Who you calling a goon? I'm not some lackey missy, I bring quite a lot to theAdam/Spike team. I'm full of wicked plans and evil intentions-you'd better watch your back. "Um, yeah. He might do that. Did you have a plan?"

She spares another look across the room. "I'm worried about Willow. Could you keep an eye on her-maybe walk her and Tara home tonight?"

Oh yeah, *that* sounds like fun and afterwards, I can ram a big stake through my chest and put myself out of my misery. "I can see that this is worrying you. Sure, I'll see that they get home safely." Somehow, I can't believe that my lips are forming these words.

"Thanks Spike." She smiles a little half smile and stares at me for a moment in bemusement.

"What? Have I grown another head?"

She laughs. "No. I just think I may have misjudged you in the past."

Well hold that thought, revisit it in a few days and then tell me what you think. "Don't get all soft on me slayer," I tease instead and she eats it up. I think I may have missed my calling-I should be on stage.

Willow stands up. "Tara and I have to go, it's getting late." The blonde stands up next to her, putting the strap of her purse over her shoulder. They're careful not to touch. Buffy is the only one who 'knows' at this point, although I think everyone else must either be blind or in serious denial. Even I picked up on it.

"Wait you guys. Spike's going to walk you home," Buffy calls to them.

Willow scrunches up her face. "Spike is? Why?"

Good question. I've been asking myself that and it boils down to one word-chipectomy. Willow's little friend Tara looks positively frozen in terror. It's nice to see someone still has some respect for The Big Bad. Of course, maybe she's just nervous about being too close to the 'penis thing'? You know, afraid it'll be an undue influence on her girley mate.

"Adam might send someone after us, I think it would be a good idea if you two had an escort. I've got some more work to do, but I'll see you later. Spike can see you home safely, " Buffy explains.

"Great," Willow grouses as I move towards them. When I'm close enough, I hear her add under her breath, "So much for privacy."

Hey, I'm not opposed, have at it you two. That might be the only mildly redeeming entertainment I get this evening. "Ladies." I gesture to the door.

The night air is cool and the two of them huddle together, linking arms as we stroll along. Dru and I used to do that and I hate them for reminding me of her. I'm going to enjoy tearing these two apart figuratively and literally when the time comes.

"On Thursday night you're on your own, I've got a c-c-class" Tara loses it on the last word when she notices me staring at her. A red flush creeps over her cheeks and she glances down.

Willow looks at her girlfriend in concern, and then shoots me an accusing glare.

I shrug my shoulders and shake my head in innocence as Willow leans closer to Tara and rubs her arm reassuringly. Tara throws one last flustered look over her shoulder at me. For such a git, she's very intuitive. She knows I'm up to something and that's better than the oblivious Scooby Gang is doing. I'll have to take special care with her.

We walk for about ten more minutes and they ignore me the entire time. Fine. Soon enough you both will have some healthy respect for me.

"Here's my stop," Tara says, turning to Willow.

Yes, a goodnight kiss. Snog away girls and lets see some tongue all right. Nope, nothing but a look and an arm rub. B-o-r-i -n-g. They manage to let go of their death grasp on each other and Tara walks up the steps of her building.

"Nighty-night," I call to her, waving. She looks at Willow with concern, and then scoots inside the building.

"Lay off Tara," Willow warns in a tight voice.

"Was I doing something to her?" I defend myself in a reasonable voice, as if explaining gravity to a preschooler on acid.

"She's very . . . vulnerable."

Oh, where I come from, we call that being a milksop, or a doormat. "I am the soul of compassion and nurturing," I assure her, resting both hands over my undead heart.

"Yeah, in what freaky alternative universe would that be in?"

"I change . . . people change." I don't think she's buying it.

"You're not 'people' and you don't change. You are evil to the core."

How can someone who hates me know me so well? If she wasn't such a goody two shoes, we might get along. "Willow, I just want to be on the winning team for once." These puppy dog eyes have led many a victim to a bloody death, she can't possibly resist.

Nope, she can't. I see her soften and extend my elbow to her. With a slight frown and then a shrug, she links her arm with mine. That's her fatal flaw-she's a soft touch. Show her a fluffy kitty or a rainbow and she melts. That's why I know that despite her initial resistance, she's gonna fall. She won't know what hit her.

We're crossing the street about two blocks from Tara's dorm when the sound of tires screeching startles both of us. A black ford rounds the corner and I jump back, pulling her with me.

"Watch where the fuck you're going asshole," I yell, flipping them off. People have no fucking respect for others anymore. If I didn't have this goddamn chip in my head, I'd rip that cocksucker out of his car and wrap his windpipe around his neck.

The car stops five feet from us. Both doors open and I realize that this could be bad, until two demons get out.

"You want a piece of this mate? If you think you're man enough cowboy, you better saddle up and ride."

At least they're not human, I can take these pieces of shit. Yeah, it would have looked bad if I'd gotten my ass kicked in front of red, or if we had to run away fast. Not that I care what she thinks, but it would have made me look bad. And even though I'm chipped, I don't have to *look* like a pussy as well.

"Spike," one of them says.

Hey, I know this asshole. He's the one that beat me up at Willy's Place. So that's what this is all about. Oh, payback's a bitch buddy. I'm gonna rip you a new one.

It wouldn't look good if I got the witch killed now would it? Of course I could always chalk it up as a casualty of war, but I don't think the slayer would believe it. I push Willow up on the curb. "Get back Red."

I throw a punch at the nearest demon and smile when I hear bones cracking. It's been a while since I had a decent spot of violence and this time I'm determined to make a good showing. I'm not going to be the one lying in the dirt, choking on his own blood this time-oh no.

"Help!" I hear Willow yelp behind me. The second demon is heading towards her.

That's not very chivalrous of him. One more punch knocks the demon I'm fighting to the ground and I turn around and launch myself at the other. He goes down with a thud; I pound his head into the pavement a few times until I feel him slump into unconsciousness and then I stand up.

"Um . . .thanks?" Willow offers uncertainly.

Yeah, well sod her if that's all the thanks I get after saving her bloody life. I turn around and look at the car with its engine still running.

"Hey, nice car," I say walking over to it.

"You're going to take their car?" Willow asks in disbelief.

"Yeah, why not, they just tried to take my head off. I ought to get a little something for my trouble-it's a nice car."

"That is so wrong."

Spare me the lecture. I kick the driver, as he lies moaning in the street. "Hey buddy, can I have your car . . . see, he said yes."

"Oh God," she groans, but she gets in the car.

I hop in the car and slam the door. The radio's playing shit- some twat singing, 'I don't want to be a fool for you, just another player in your game for two . .' "What the fuck is this?"

I shift the car into gear and take off while I rummage through a stack of cd's piled between us. Shit. Shit and more shit. Stupid pillock, doesn't he have any decent music? Where's the Sex Pistols? Doesn't he have anything but pimply-faced brats singing about things they know nothing about. Love!

They don't know the meaning. Try spending a couple of decades torturing and worshipping an insane Dark Goddess. Or maybe they'd fancy being strapped to the ceiling having the living hell beat out of you by your sire, when all the time you're biting your lip to keep from begging him to fuck you right now. Now that's the kind of love you don't forget-ever.

"Hello, could you watch the road. I know you're already dead, but I'm thinking it's not a lifestyle choice I'm crazy about," Willow yells at me.

"Have you ever been behind the wheel of a car?"

She glares at me.

"I didn't think so, don't give me advice on how to driv -shit!"

I look up to see a car heading towards us, honking. I crank the wheel to the right-hard. "Hey, stay on your own side of the road. Dumb ass!" I yell out the window.

"Yeah-we drive on the right side of the road here in America. At least you might want to pick a lane and stick with it," Willow snarks from the passenger seat.

"Now you're starting to annoy me," I sneer at her, taking my eyes off the road for a minute. Her eyes widen and she gasps-pointing out the window.

There's nothing there. She laughs. "I'm annoying you? Yay me."

*That's* mature. I turn the corner, trying to head us back in the direction of her place. It requires driving back by Tara's dorm. As we pass the building again, I see Tara sitting on the steps talking to another girl-they're holding hands.

I steal a glance at Red. She's looking, but trying not to be obvious about it. Nice will power. If I saw my bird all chummy with another girl, I'd *go off* or maybe I wouldn't-that might be kind of fun. But I suppose it wouldn't be so fun if I were , you know- a lesbian.

"Does that bother you? Want me to go back . . . cause that wouldn't look like you're checking up on her, not at all. It's believable, no hinted undercurrent of stalker vibes at all." I fight to keep a little grin from breaking out, but I'm sure I'm unsuccessful. She's not paying attention to me anyway; she's looking down at her lap. Good poker face Wil.

"No. I'm sure it's nothing." There's doubt written all over her face. "She can talk to anyone she wants-I don't own her."

Now see, there's your problem. I've found that in a relationship, people treat you better if you 'own them'-it's a respect issue. "Nope, she can talk to anyone she wants," I agree.

"Don't try to start trouble," she accuses looking up from her hands folded in her lap."

"Hey, I'm agreeing with you." I raise my right fist. "You know, moral support, solidarity, power to the sisters-all that crap."

She closes her eyes, shakes her head in disgust and looks out the window, trying her best to ignore me.

This is too easy-it's almost no challenge at all.

---------------------------------------------------------------

'Spuffy' sent me to meet Willow and Tara at Willow's dorm. What the hell is that all about? She treats me like I'm some kind of trained helper monkey-Here's a banana Spike, fetch Willow. Next thing you know she'll be playing an accordion and making me do a stupid little dance. She's been treating me like her own personal servant, loaning me out as nanny to the slayerettes. Fuck her, someday in the near future she'd going down and then that'll raise my count to three slayers. I'm going to enjoy that so much.

Hey isn't that 'hippie girl' Tara over there, walking with her little chummy from last night? What a sly dog, I may have to reassess my initial impression of her, cause I'm liking this side of her.

"Thanks for helping me last night, it really helped talking to you," I overhear her little friend say.

Yeah dog, work her. Swoop in for the goodies.

"That's okay, I know it helps. Whenever I get upset Willow's always there to listen."

"You guys are such a cute couple," the friend blathers.

I used to kill people this stupid-I miss it.

"Thanks. I really love her," Tara says reaffirming my opinion that she's a brainless moron and generally backing up my previous feelings on the whole human race

I quickly head over to Willow's to wait, because I hate to say it- she makes me want to puke less than Tara the lame.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Willow's waiting, eating some chocolate ice cream confection on a stick. An Eskimo pie? What is she-like six years old? I know this is going to be a long night. Just repeat to yourself- get the chip out, get the chip out, get the chip out.

"What are you up to?" She greets me.

"Oh, wishing I was dead."

"You already are." She takes another bite of the ice cream. It's melting in the warm evening air and a drip is sliding down the stick towards her hand. She's going to get her fingers all sticky.

Did I say six? I meant five. "Oh no, that's right. I was wishing you were."

"Well you're not really in a position to do anything about that are you?" She notices the melting ice cream and concentrates on catching the drip. Her pink tongue swirls around the base of the stick and over her fingers. She's engrossed in her mission.

I roll my eyes back in my head and stare up at the stars. A movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention and I turn my head. It's hippie chick and her friend strolling in this direction, still deep in conversation-or what passes for deep among humans. Tara notices us, well me, since Willow is still oblivious.

"Willow. You've got a little something here," I indicate a spot on my own face.

She wipes the corner of her lips with the back of her hand. "Did I get it?"

She did, but I'm not going to tell her that. I can feel Tara's eyes on us. "No. Here, let me help you, it's going to get in your hair." I tuck a strand behind her ear and rub the spot she just did with the pad of my thumb.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tara stop mid sentence. She covers well though and continues speaking as she tries to ignore us and concentrate on her friend. They've stopped walking and Tara gives the girl a hug.

"There." I bring my hand down. "Isn't that your girlie over there hugging some other, well- girlie."

Willow swings her head around and stares for five seconds in total shock before she composes her features into an expression of disinterest. Oh, that's much better, now I * don't* believe that you're a pathetic sap. As if that mouse Tara would ever cheat on her 'true love' . . . why was I doing this again? Oh yeah, chipectomy. That's the only thought that keeps me sane.

Tara waves to her friend as she leaves her and heads towards us. "H-hi," she manages to get out as she looks between us. I can see the suspicion in her eyes, but she's too polite to say anything.

Willow's still harboring her own suspicion, so she doesn't even catch the tone in the blonde's voice. We all stand in uncomfortable silence for a moment and I suppress a smile. Just like clockwork, I'm a genius.

"Well, we'd better head out if we're going to make it to Giles'," I state the obvious, almost reluctant to break up the cloud of unspoken jealousy in the air. The beautiful part is I didn't have to do anything; they did it themselves. I just had to be in the right place at the right time, with a few well-placed words-I like to think of myself as a facilitator.

We start walking across the campus.

"Where's your car," Willow asks.

"Sold it."

We walk for a while in glorious silence, nearing the edge of the college grounds. Thankfully there are no annoying college students here, because I don't think I could take much more of the prattling from ignorant American youth that I'm usually subjected to when I come here. Thank all the Gods these two aren't discussing their 'relationship' because then I would have to kill someone-chip or not.

I'm tired of waiting around . . . tired of 'befriending' the Scoobies . . . tired of listening to Giles prattling on. . . tired of playing bloody nursemaid. . . I'm tired of everything and especially tired of the part of my life wherein I do not have this goddam chip out of my head yet. It's time to step up this little operation-right here and right now.

Make plan. Execute plan. Enjoy results and live happily ever after as everyone's lives crumble around you. I wonder if that would fit on a bumper sticker?

I've decided to start with the weakest link on the chain-Tara and logically, that leads up the food chain to Willow. This is going to be fun and I haven't had nearly enough fun in recent times for my taste.

I knock on Tara's dorm room door, knuckles rapping on top of some sticker with a cartoon of the earth - 'love your mother' it says. I roll my eyes and the promise of the amusement to come is the only thing that keeps me standing in this hall.

The door opens and granola does not look happy to see me-I guess she wasn't expecting a social call?

"Hello Tar-uh," I deliberately emphasize the first syllable.

Her eyes narrow at my mispronunciation of her name, but her voice is composed, civil. "What do you want Spike?"

Oh I thought we could hang, have some tea and crumpets- you know, be very best friends. "I'm looking for Willow-she here?"

"Some last minute Scooby business?" She asks, looking confused.

"No. It's . . ." I emphasize the next word, ". . .personal." Her eyes widen and she straightens up slightly, pulling back. That one got to her.

"S-s-s-she's n-not here." Tara stumbles over the sentence.

Wow. One little innuendo and she's losing it. Boy, am I glad I came here. This is going to be a blast.

"Oh well, I suppose it's for the best. Do you mind if I come in . . .could we talk?"

She swallows looks at me for a second, composing herself mentally- like someone facing the inevitability of her own death. "Sure."

I sidle past her, making sure to brush against her as I pass.I enjoy the almost palpable revulsion she projects at my touch. I hear the door close behind me and I glance around the room.

"It's big, especially since you don't have to share it with anyone. Willow's always worrying that Buffy's going to walk in at an inopportune moment." I turn to look at Tara and smile mysteriously.

The witch narrows her eyes in anger and I know I've hit a nerve of insecurity. This is Willow's first time with another woman, so there's always that fear that she'll 'go back to the other team' so to speak.

"I think it's great about you guys."

"Us guys?" she repeats.

"You and Willow, your relationship- how it's open and all. Yeah, it's cool, I don't mind." Yeah, I don't mind blowing up everything you thought was true.

"W-where did you hear that?"

"Willow told me," I reply nonchalantly. See how true a lie sounds. It's all in the presentation really. I've found that the proper facial expression does help quite a bit, but you can't totally discredit voice inflection.

"Willow told you that?"

"Yeah, the other night. We were . . ." I look at Tara , inhale and blink slowly as if reminiscing ". . .um, never mind. Listen, I've got to take off. When you see Willow, tell her that we're still on for Thursday."

"Thursday?"

Isn't it great to see someone's world come crashing down? "Yeah, you still have that class don't you?"

"Yes," she whispers.

I take a step forward and stand right next to her until her shoulder just barely grazes my upper chest. With the tips of my index and middle fingers, I stroke a lock of blonde hair that's resting on the front of her shirt. She freezes and I know at that moment that she's incapable of movement, the proverbial 'deer in the headlights'. That's exactly what she is, with her big doe eyes, always skittishly clinging to the periphery of life. She's about to be mown down and somewhere deep inside, she knows it, but can't escape.

All the ducks are in a row and now's the time for one to go . . .

I lean closer, grinding my pelvis against her. It's blatant and crude I admit, especially for one like her, you know-her being a big fan of the 'gina and all.

I move from her hair and begin stroking the fabric of her shirt with my index finger. It's some tie-dyed monstrosity that I have to admit clings in all of the right places. (Good choice Willow.) I follow the curve of her breast with one digit and linger briefly at her nipple, circling it until I feel it pop up. Her eyes are wide, iris' ringed in white; exactly like a frightened animal fighting its terror.

I nuzzle her cheek and breathe in her ear, "You know what I love most about Willow?" There's no answer because I think that she's in shock. I continue, "When my tongue is up inside of her-working her clit . . . just before she cums, she always moans Oz' name."

I hear a small, almost inaudible sob escape Tara. Hmn . . . I just pulled that one out of my ass, but apparently I was closer than I thought. She must have had a front row seat to that at some time-her Willow saying 'his' name in the throes of passion. Isn't that a shitter?

I know what it's like to look at someone and know that she's thinking of 'him', that she's imagining that it's 'his cock' that's pushing into her.

I know what it's like to hear another man's name on her lips as her body starts to shake and I know what it's like to fear that you can never fill her up enough to drive him out of her heart.

I especially know what it's like to hate him and to hate yourself because you can never supplant the ghost he's left in both of your lives. I know what it's like to let that rage spur you to the kill. Tara's incapable of that and now I know what that's like too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ring . . . ring . . . ring . . .

"Ahh." Willow runs down the hall towards me and fumbles with her key as she tries to unlock her door. She manages to open the door and fall into the room just as the last ring reverberates in the empty room.

I follow her inside.

She picks up the phone even though she knows there's no one there. "Hello . . . hello . . . damn. I was late. I was expecting Tara to call," she says absently, as if I were actually one of her friends who gave a shit about Tara the Meek. Willow's let her guard down. She's given up that healthy dose of mistrust that she used to feel towards me. Perfect.

"Maybe you'd better sit down Wil." I gesture to her bed and try to paste a concerned expression on my face.

She looks at me as if I'd gone insane. "Huh?' But she follows my advice.

Now comes one of the greatest performances of my life. "I just came from Tara's. She was there with that girl from the other night."

"So what." There's only a hint of concern.

"You're not hearing me Red. I said she was there *with* that girl." My meaning is not unclear, even to Willow- I'm not talking about playing scrabble.

And that's always been her greatest fear isn't it? She's allowed her heart to open again, risked alienating her friends, chose a partner that made her question everything about her life and made her redefine who she is- and she wasn't enough to keep that person around. Just like with Oz.

This should be enough for me.

For some perverse reason- it's not.

"I'm sorry Willow, I hate to have to be the one to tell you this. I know how much it hurt when Dru and Angelus . . ." I allow just the right quaver to infect my words. (Look at me Willow, I know how you feel, I'm vulnerable too. I'm soooo sensitive.) She looks up at me with a searing pain pouring from her eyes- like we're fucking soul mates or something.

I kneel at the side of the bed and push towards her, parting her knees and nestling between her thighs. She's in such grief at the moment; I doubt she's thinking very clearly. Any thought more complex than pleasure, pain or continuation of necessary body systems is long gone.

"Sweet Willow." I cup her face in both hands, guiding her head down to kiss her lips. I can taste the tears that have just begun to run down her cheek. She offers no resistance as I remove her clothes and lay her back on the bed.

You thought your friends would freak out when they found out you were dating another girl, what will they say when they find out about this? I'm sure that this will cause quite a bit of tension in the scoobie core.

She won't look at me, but she runs her hand over my chest-comparing me to what she's recently grown used to? With a sigh of resignation she starts kissing my shoulder and working her way up. Her tongue pushes into my mouth and she kisses me hungrily, showing her determination to fuck her way into oblivion-even with me.

I reach down and feel that she's wet and I half suspect that it's grief and tears that have made her that way-not anything I've done. It's so easy to enter her and we begin fucking in rhythm and sorrow.

If I were a better person, if I had a soul, I'd care. Luckily, I'm not encumbered by any of those things.

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