Title: Learning Curve
Author: Kat, a.k.a. KallieRose
E-mail: [email protected]
Rating: NC-17 
Pairing: Willow/Spike
Disclaimer: I acknowledge Joss Whedon as god of gods. All the characters in this story are his creation, along with Fox, the rest of the Mutant Enemy Crew, and whomever else wants to lay claim to them. I'm merely killing time by putting them in totally unrealistic situations :-)
Summary: Giles asks Spike for a favor that he probably shouldn't have.  Much angst and wackiness ensues
Spoilers: Spoilers for season 4 Buffy.  Spike has escaped the Initiative and is reluctantly helping the gang.
A/N:  Thanks to Knightie for the beta.  All errors are of course my own.  Hey, I have to own *something*, right?

Learning Curve

Chapter 26

"Time to call it a night, I guess," Willow told Anya and Giles, as she slipped her feet back into her shoes and stood up.  "I'm ready."

Spike didn't say much, just hung an arm around her as he steered her towards the door.  The contact may have seemed casual, but Willow suspected that it also served as a reminder to all of them that she was there only because he allowed her to be.  The thought of the power that a sire held over a childe disturbed her, as it usually did when she stopped to consider it. 

She was independent.  Not a child, although she supposed she was a childe. 

With parents it was different.  You were their responsibility for a limited amount of time, and then you were on your own.  There was often a feeling of obligation, but it was easily ignored, if one wanted to ignore it.

With the bond of sire and childe, it went far beyond obligation, and smack dab into the territory of ownership.  She *belonged* to him, according to vampire law, and under typical circumstances he could do whatever he wanted with her. 

But he hadn't.  Which was where his anger and bitterness came into it.  Or so Anya supposed.  And upon closer scrutiny, Willow had to wonder if she was right.  He couldn’t have sex with her, couldn't control her; he was probably wondering what the hell the point was in having a childe.

Willow wanted to feel sorry for him.  If their situation had been some abstract documentary on the Discovery channel, she probably would have felt bad for him.  But it was her life here, and that made the difference.  She didn't *want* to belong to anyone, not even Spike.

She had nothing against Spike; he was actually a pretty decent guy, for a member of the walking undead.  Even though it would have been easy, almost natural, for him to try to get her into bed—well, in the sexual way—he had taken into consideration her mental state, and her fear from the rape, and had treated her carefully.  She saw it all now, the little things he did as he tried to slowly ease her into the life of a vampire, which by its very nature was rife with sex and violence.

And in return, she had done very little to make things easier for him.  Oh, it wasn't like she should have lain on her back and welcomed him, to be crude about it.  But she could have been a little more patient; she could have tried to work with him, instead of against him.  She could have just done what he told her to, instead of arguing and defying him as she so often had.

Spike's hand tightened around her shoulder, stopping her and pulling her into the trees.  They were about halfway home, taking a shortcut through Rolling Hills Cemetery, before heading north on Sycamore, which would take them by the college.  Willow turned her curious eyes up to look at him, noticing how still he was.  And was that fear that she saw in his eyes?  Sure enough, she could scent it on the breeze and feel it humming along the bond, and her eyes searched the darkness in a slightly panicked manner, wondering what it was that could have her sire so spooked.

Sending her senses ranging out, she waited patiently, until she could hear them:  the crackle of the walkie-talkie, the sounds of low voices, talking quietly as they stalked their prey.

Them.

It was the Initiative.  There was not a doubt in her mind that they belonged to the noises she heard.  Nothing else would fit the circumstances.

And as she accepted that fact, panic held her in its grip again, and she saw the faces of the men who raped her, hurt her, and ultimately killed her. 

Willow went as still as Spike, her eyes wide, and if her heart had still beat, it would have burst. 

Spike could not fight them.  But she could.  The soul put up not the slightest bit of protest.  It wanted them dead, just like the demon did.  She wondered briefly if that meant her soul was defective, but the thought slipped out of her mind again without causing a ripple, her attention too centered on her current predicament. 

She would have the luxury of self-doubt later, if they were able to get away. 

The sounds were getting closer.  Willow could tell.  Spike too, she realized, as she looked up at him.  They were louder now, no longer quite as careful about concealing the noise they made.  Perhaps they could tell it was Spike they were hunting, and knew that he was unable to hurt them.

But she could.  She would fight—and die, if she had to—if Spike told her to.  If he thought it was their only chance.

Willow looked at Spike, hoping for guidance, and saw the slow, almost imperceptible shake of his head.  She wouldn't be fighting this time.  But she needed to be ready for…something.

And then it happened.  The patrol, two black-clad figures moving stealthily through the graveyard, passed by them, not more than thirty feet away, talking softly into their walkie-talkie as they did.  Her body was already frozen with terror, but now her mind was as well.

Spike nodded again, grabbing her hand in a death grip and tugging her, placing her behind him as they sidled around a large headstone for one Percival Pratt. 

Willow followed quickly, trying her best to keep up with Spike while at the same time remaining completely silent.  The lessons she had learned that night they had spent stalking lovers in the park almost a week ago came back to her in a flash, and she hoped she wasn't doing too poor a job.

Once he figured they were out of the commandos' immediate vicinity, Spike's pace increased, and again he pulled Willow along with him.

He was heading directly for the other side of the cemetery, towards Sycamore, and Willow was right next to him, her feet blazing a path along the dirt trail, with only one thought in her mind:  safety.  As rarely used muscles burned in protest, trees and bushes whipped past her, carrying her faster and farther away from their would-be captors.

Spike tugged on her hand again, urging her to move even faster, as the wind rushed by her face.  The fact that he was moving even more rapidly than she was would have been fascinating, had her mind not been overwhelmed with thoughts of terror and flight. 

They heard a sound off in the distance to the right, so Spike pulled her to the left, changing direction with ease and pulling her along for the ride. 

Finally they were clear of the cemetery, but they didn't slow down.  Trees passed by, bushes, yards, fences were jumped, and still they ran, fear fueling their steps.

They ran for another ten or fifteen minutes, maybe more.  She could no longer even guess.  Finally, Spike came to a sudden stop, pulling her behind him and putting his finger to her lips. 

Willow listened.  With all of her supernatural abilities, she let her senses range outward, searching for any bit, any scrap of noise.

But there was nothing.  No quiet voices, no sounds of a car, idling, searching; not even the gentle hum of a cell phone or the distant crackle of a walkie-talkie.

Silence.

Sensing that she was finally safe, Willow fell to her knees, the sharp pebbles of somebody's front yard gravel bed cutting carelessly into her shins and knees.  She didn't care; didn't even feel the pain.  All that mattered was that they were safe.

Spike pulled her to her feet, the scent of her blood and the tears she didn't even realize she was crying made all his protective instincts kick in.  "Best not to stay too long, pet.  Don't want to attract too much attention, right?"

Willow followed him blindly, letting his body guide hers, since the tears she cried made it difficult to see much of anything.

The analytical part of her mind recognized that she was in shock.  The numbness, clammy hands, dry mouth; all of them were what her parents would have called symptomatic of the condition.  But emotionally, her mind seemed to race a million miles a minute. 

They had been *so* close.  If not for vampire hearing, and vampire speed, the two of them would have been sharing a cell somewhere, waiting for their captors to kill them.  Or worse.  The thought sent her mind racing again, and inevitably it raced back to that night, the night her life had changed forever.

"We're home, pet." Spike's words penetrated the cotton that filled her head, but from the look of concern on his face, it had taken a while.  She let him guide her into the living room, where she stood, uncertain, until he shook his head, grabbed her hand, and pulled her until she followed him up the stairs and into the bedroom.

The sight of her furniture and familiar knick-knacks seemed to brush away some of the fog, but the pain and fear remained.  Tears began to fall again, and when Spike pulled her into his arms, she didn't resist.

For some reason, the feel of him near her, surrounding her, made the fear lessen just a bit, and she relaxed into his arms.  Technically speaking, when it came to the Initiative, he was actually more helpless than she was, but right now all she could feel was the blessed relief of knowing that nobody could hurt her now.

"I was so scared," she whispered finally, not willing to lift her head from its resting place against Spike's chest.

"I know, luv.  I know."

The words were the closest he would come to admitting his fear, but she had smelled it thick in the air, mingling with her own.  He had been just as scared.

"I—I would have fought them, you know?  If you had wanted me to.  Maybe I could have—"

"There were too many of them.  Too many to fight.  They were trying to ring us in, come in on us from all sides.  Wasn't sure if you caught that.  But I could hear them coming from all directions, with their sneaky little footsteps."

Willow nodded against his chest.  She hadn't heard them all.  And she was glad she hadn't.  It had been bad enough as it was.  If she had known that the situation was even worse than she had thought, who knows what she might have done?

"Their sneakers squeaked," she offered shyly, trying to smile. 

A soft chuckle reached her ears.  "Noticed that too, did ya?  Be grateful for that, it was what I heard first."

She was silent for a moment.  "What if—"

"No," he told her gently, giving her a little shake to punctuate his words.  "You can't play that game.  We got away.  They didn't get us.

"But next time—"

Spike stepped away from her for a moment, taking her hand and leading her to the bed. He sat down next to her.  "Not gonna be a next time," he told her, his hand lifting her face up to meet his, so she could see the truth of it in his eyes.  "Next time we see them, it's on *our* terms.  When we kill them all."

Willow was silent for a moment, considering his statement.  "I think I could.  Kill them, I mean."

He nodded solemnly.  "I think you could too.  You've got a soul, but you've also got a brain.  The whole self-preservation thing comes into play.  You've never done a thing to them, but they'll kill you on sight.  Only makes sense that you'd kill them, if you can.  Nothing evil about it."

Willow knew he was right, but somehow it didn't make her feel much better.  "You need to teach me more.  How to fight.  How defend myself.  I need to be able to kill them, when the time comes."

She didn't look vindictive, or angry, or anything else.  Just small and scared and very matter-of-fact.  That was what convinced him that she meant it.

"We'll start tomorrow," he promised. 

"I'm still scared," Willow confessed. 

Spike could see that she wanted to ask him something, and it was something big.  Something so big that she didn't know how to say the words.

"What is it, luv?"

She couldn't say it.  Couldn't ask it of him.  The words wouldn't come out, so she tried to sneak up on it from behind.  "I—I've tried to deny it, and forget about it, and everything else.  But it never goes away.  The feel of their hands on my body, the way that they made sex something painful and dirty and hateful.  I don't want it to be like that anymore…"

She trailed off nervously, unable to take that final step, to say the last words she wanted to say to him. 

"You have to ask it, Willow.  It has to come from you."  He needed to hear it from her, and know that she meant it. 

It took every bit of courage that she possessed, but finally the words came out in a tiny whisper.  "Could you—would you—make love to me?"

End of Chapter 26

Chapter 27

"Could you—would you—make love to me?"

Willow's whispered words hung heavy in the air between them, awkward and yet strangely endearing. 

It was the tremor in her voice that got to him, making him fight against instinct and consider giving in to her plea.

"Pet?"

Willow stepped towards him again, smiling tremulously as his arms automatically encircled her.  "I feel safe here.  With you.  I want to forget everything they did to me, and remember what it felt like before, when I didn't have to worry about them being around every corner."  She hesitated for a moment, before plunging on.  "You can do that for me.  Please."

A part of him wanted to be blunt; to crush her fragile safety by telling her that she would never be truly safe until all of those Initiative bastards were dead.  It was true, and he suspected that she knew it just as well as he did.  But another part of him wanted to provide the comfort that she needed, even if it would only serve as a Band-Aid over her wounded heart. 

Spike held her tightly, letting her relax against him as he ran a gentle hand over her hair.  And when her lips touched his neck, softly, uncertainly, he did nothing to stop her. 

She became bolder when he chose not to crush her attempt at seduction, trailing soft kisses up to his jaw, her arms winding around his neck and finally up to the back of his head, pulling his lips down to meet hers.  Fingers tangled in his hair, balling into fists and then releasing.

Her lips were cool and dry against his, and he remembered the time he had come to her dorm room to turn her.  She had been warm and squirming and terrified then, but he realized that he preferred her like this:  her body cool and eager as it pressed against his, the two of them a perfect fit. 

The thought surprised him, and for a moment he tried to find a reason why he would prefer her like this.  But then she opened her mouth against his, welcoming his exploring tongue, and all reason quickly fled, moving to regions to the south, just like most of the borrowed blood in his body.

"Willow," Spike groaned the words against her throat, as she moved her mouth to his ear, nipping with human teeth at the tender lobe. 

He heard her answering moan, which turned to a growl of angry protest when he pulled away from her.  "Too many clothes," he whispered, his hands working quickly to rid himself of the pesky garments.  His shirt flew to the corner of the room, quickly followed by his pants, until he stood naked before her.  The evidence of his arousal stood proudly erect, and he wondered if it would be enough to frighten her back into her usual behavior. 

Her response surprised him; or rather, her lack of it.  Instead of running in fear, which was what he had half-expected her to do, she gave him a bold, appraising glance, then began to unbutton her shirt with sure, determined fingers.  The flecks of gold in her eyes gave him insight; her demon was in charge tonight, or at least she was using it to guide her actions and fight back the fear. 

Respect and surprise filled him as he realized how well she had managed to control the demon, learning to work with it, instead of against it.  That was something his sire had rarely managed to accomplish, even after all these years.  Either her demon was weak, or her will particularly strong.  Judging from past experience, he was banking on her strong will.  Or, as he often commented to himself, her pigheaded stubbornness.

Her shirt joined his on the floor, followed quickly by her red satiny bra.  Something must have crossed her mind then, because her movements slowed, her hands coming to rest awkwardly on the fly of her jeans. 

Spike closed the gap between them, his hands tugging lightly on the waistband of her pants, his fingers brushing hers aside as he began working the buttons.  She offered no protest, not even when the buttons were unfastened, and his hands slowly pushed her pants downwards, his thumbs hooking into her underwear and pulling them down as well, letting the clothing fall to the floor.

Taking a step back, they watched each other curiously, each using the moment to examine the person before them.  

Spike watched his childe through hooded eyes.  She was beautiful.  There was no point in denying it.  Delicate and innocent in spite of everything, yet she had a core of inner steel that she didn't seem to know she possessed.  He was more taken with her than he had a right to be, and the thought troubled and annoyed him.  His affection for her made him weak, made it easier not to discipline her the way that he knew he should.  This life that they were carving out together was making him soft, but right at this very moment, he couldn't care less.

Willow's mind screamed at her to flee, or at least to take a step back and think about this logically.  She was running on pure emotion right now, and decisions made under those kind of circumstances led to nothing but trouble.  Things would be done tonight that would change her life forever, and once done, they would be impossible to undo.

But another part of her felt that this was what she had been moving towards ever since the day she had met Spike, many years before, in an alley outside of the Bronze.  Fate, circumstance, destiny, whatever you wanted to call it, had pulled them apart for a time, but this final step would be the finish to a dance that had begun long ago.  If only she had the courage…

Spike took a step towards her, taking her chin in his hand and forcing her to meet his gaze.  "You're sure?"

'No,' her mind screamed, but oddly enough, the word, "Yes," was the one that passed between her lips.  "Make love to me, sire."

She knew what she was doing, what she was agreeing to, Spike told himself.  No reason to hold back, or to change things now.  He could just let go.

So he did.

Willow felt his lips as they brushed against hers, and marveled at the gentleness of his kiss.  His mouth opened against hers, and the kiss went deeper, tongues teasingly exploring new territory.

He broke the kiss, walking to the bed and pulling her behind him.  She laid back on the mattress, arranging herself in a way that made his cock jump even further to attention.  An innocent temptress, or so she appeared.  It was an appealing picture, and one he enjoyed immensely.

Watching for her reaction, he laid down on his side next to her, propping his head on his hand.  His fingers, drifting lightly over her bare stomach, brushed and teased the cool skin.  Willow drew in a sharp breath and held it for a moment before realizing that it wasn't really necessary.  The breath came out in a rush, followed by a low moan as one of his fingers brushed over her nipple, before moving back to her abdomen.

His fingers returned to her breast, circling around the nipple teasingly, and his eyes watched her reactions, cataloging them and figuring out what she liked best.  In time he would teach her to appreciate the fine line between pain and pleasure; he had enjoyed both sides of that particular coin.  But tonight was not about that. 

Her nipples pebbled under his gentle teasing, and her unneeded breaths came swiftly now.  A quick glance told him that although her eyes were closed, there was an expression of pleasure and anticipation on her face.

"Ready, pet?"

A quick nod was her only response, so he moved to place his body between her splayed legs, holding his cock at the entrance to her vagina.  He pushed in gently, again watching her face for a sign that she was okay.

His demon insisted that he slam into her; give her such a pounding that she would feel it for days, but he pushed that aside and concentrated on her.  She was his childe, not some cheap fuck, and what he was doing tonight would color her attitude about sex, and about him, for a long time.  It took every ounce of willpower that he had to continue to enter her gently, but he did it, because he understood, somehow, that it was important.

When Spike was fully sheathed within her, he chanced a glance up to her face, and was surprised to find her staring back at him.  He saw something he thought might have been approval in her eyes, before she quickly closed them again.

"Look at me," he whispered, satisfied when her eyes fluttered open again.  "It's me, and nobody else.  You're safe.  Nobody will ever hurt you again, understand?"

She stared into his eyes and nodded silently, and Spike began to move within her.  It was a simple back and forth motion, and she gasped from the sensation, but the way that her eyes continued to hold his assured him that she was okay.

One of his hands headed back to her breasts, once again teasing the pebbled nipple and increasing the sensation.  The look on her face was one of relief and enjoyment, and he continued his ministrations, moving to the other nipple after a few moments to give it equal treatment.

He established a rhythm that had her relaxing into his strokes, and soon she was thrusting her hips up to meet his.  She had surrendered to the moment.  The twin specters of fear and despair were gone from her face, replaced by desire and lust.

"Spike," she whispered, arching her back slightly, as her muscles spasmed around his cock.  Her orgasm took them both by surprise; he had not realized she was even close.  But the pleasure and satisfaction he saw written plainly on her face convinced him that she had, indeed, enjoyed her orgasm.

"My turn," he told her, giving her a cocky grin.  His thrusts sped up, and he seemed to go even deeper inside her, the aftershocks of her orgasm milking him like a satin fist. 

As he felt his orgasm approach, his face changed into that of the demon, and he leaned over her, his teeth inches from the side of her neck.  He would *not* ask for permission, his demon insisted.  She was his childe, and it was his right to take her blood whenever and however he pleased. 

But he would give her fair warning, so he hung above her for a moment before striking, his fangs sinking deep into her neck at long last, as his body exploded in orgasm. 

Mouthfuls of rich blood teased his taste buds until he drowned in the magic of it.  Even though he had known how good it would taste, it always managed to taste even richer than the time before.  Why that was, he couldn't begin to guess.

Spike felt her tongue touch his neck tentatively, and wondered if she would attempt to bite him without permission.  She had done it once before, but it had been done in her sleep, and he had let it slide.  If she did it again, there would have to be consequences.  He would not be able to ignore it this time.

His fangs disappeared as he laved his mark, his tongue catching the last few precious drops before her skin repaired itself before his eyes.

"Spike?" her whispered question pleased and surprised him.  Perhaps she had figured it out.

"Pet?"

"Can I?  Just a little sip?"  The words were soft and hesitant, as if she didn't want to break the mood.  He bared his neck without looking at her, waiting for the sting of her bite.

When it came, it wasn't the sharp pain he had expected.  Instead, she ran the tip of a fang lightly across his neck, breaking the skin, but just barely.  The cool feel of her rough tongue followed immediately, as she lapped at the blood that came to the surface.

It was the difference between a pinch and a tickle, and the unexpected sensation had his cock springing to life once more, although he quickly discarded the idea of taking her again.  Things were finally going his way; no need to screw it up now just because his dick was hard.

"Like that?" he asked instead, feeling her nod in the affirmative.  "Me too," he admitted.

"Thanks, sire," she said, curling her body against his and finally falling into the blessed relief of sleep.

End of Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Willow watched, without seeing, as the blood in her mug slowly swirled.  Eddies surrounded the straw she used to stir, sending the bright pink plastic dancing from side to side in her mug.  Her thoughts were far away, centering on her activities of the previous evening.

Fear had been a strong motivating factor in what she had done, what she had thought, and what she had asked Spike to do to her.  With her.  Whatever.

Sure, it had seemed like a good idea at the time, when fear and need had raced through her body, leaving her giddy and brainless.  And it certainly had been good—he had been good.  Patient and caring, Spike had taken his time to make sure that she had enjoyed the experience as much as he did.  And she had. 

He had managed to help her wipe away her nightmares, and made her remember all the things she had enjoyed about sex.  Being close to another person, both physically and emotionally, was something that she had been missing for what seemed like forever.  To be able to have that again, with Spike, had been wonderful.

Her demon felt sated; it seemed happy and relaxed in a way it never had before.  The restlessness she had always felt in the back of her mind was gone, replaced by a sense of completeness and surety.

But her soul?  Her soul was torn and twisted like a pretzel. 

She had slept with Spike, someone she didn't love.  She had used him to help her heal her broken psyche, although judging from his response he hadn't minded one little bit.

But that didn't make it right.

Twin pinpricks of pain shot through his arm, rousing Spike from his slumber.  Was it Willow, biting in her sleep again?  But no, when he opened his eyes, he was welcomed to the ass-end view of the gray fluffball he was forced to share accommodations with.  The other end of said fluffball, namely, its teeth, were disengaging from the skin of his arm.

"Do that again and I'll skin you.  You'd make a nice soft…" he paused for a moment, trying to come up with an appropriate threat, couldn't, and then figured 'fuck it.' 

Buffy, content that she had done her duty and caused maximum carnage, fled the room in search of a new target, careening wildly on the hardwood floor as she took a sharp turn too quickly.

Spike was alone in the bedroom.  His inner clock told him that it was early afternoon, and the slight scent of pig's blood told him that Willow had already had her breakfast, such as it was. 

He felt a need to see her, touch her, and reassure himself that last night had been real, and not just a dream brought on by too many spicy chicken wings and an overactive imagination.  A strong desire filled him; he wanted to look into her eyes and know that she remembered everything that had happened, just as he did.

Plus, he was kind of hoping for a repeat performance.

The minute he saw her, sitting at the dining room table, the empty mug of blood and that silly pink straw set carefully to the side, he knew that something was off.  It was there in the tense muscles of her back, in the fact that she wouldn't turn to face him, and, finally, in the scent of the tears that he could still smell, even though her hands rubbed sporadically at her eyes.

It was regret.  And of course what she regretted was him.  Them.

"Hello, pet," he said, keeping his voice low and even.  The increased tension in the set of her shoulders did not come as a big surprise.

"Spike," she whispered, her voice small and uncertain. 

She turned to face him then, and he saw everything he had expected to see, every emotion etched into the lines of her face and swimming beneath the surface of her watery eyes.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, before Willow broke the spell.  "Listen," she said finally, "last night…" She took a deep breath, as if getting ready for a fight. "It was—"

The shrill ring of the phone destroyed whatever words she would have said, although Spike knew in his heart that they would have been "a mistake."  It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure *that* out.

Equal parts pain and anger flooded his system, but all he could do was stand by impotently and watch as Willow headed for the kitchen, studiously ignoring his gaze as she ran for the phone.

"Hello?"  Her voice sounded slightly broken, and Spike wondered who else was hearing it, and what they would make of it.

He listened in silence, trying to catch a scrap of the caller's conversation.

"Oh, hi, Angel."

Bugger!  It was bloody perfect, he thought angrily.  And just what he did not need right now.  Angel represented yet another complication to their lives, and another obstacle that Spike did not know how to overcome.

He watched his childe as she spoke.  Her tension level seemed to escalate as she talked to Angel, not lessen.  Spike wondered at that for a moment before figuring it out. 

Her change in circumstances had turned Angel from a friend into a grandsire, something that made the demon respectful and the soul just plain nervous.  She still wasn't sure exactly what to expect from the older vampire, or how she should treat him.

"Uh, yeah, things are okay.  But," Willow hesitated awkwardly, glancing at Spike, then looking away quickly.  She was concerned about seeming impolite, he realized.  "Well, it's not really a good time for a chat right now," she said finally.

Spike couldn't make out Angel's exact words, but the concerned tone was easily discernible.  He had no doubt that Angel had already tried and convicted him of something, although who knew what, and that fact added more fuel to the fire of his anger; anger he couldn't wait to vent on his childe—the cause of all his problems.

Last night—last night had been real and good and the first time ever that he had felt like her sire, instead of just a blood donor.  They had connected, despite the circumstances that had led them to the bedroom, and Spike had hoped that the closeness would have spilled over from last night into today.  He had looked forward to waking up with her in his arms.  But from what he had seen, she was already regretting the things they had done, and was back to her usual, stubborn, independent, *soulful* self.

He had to wonder why it bothered him so much.  Certainly her regret was a bit of a blow, but *why* did it affect him so deeply?  Was it because he cared for her? 

No, his demon hissed angrily.  He didn't care.  Well, not any more than he should.  But she was his childe; certain rights and responsibilities came with that fact.  Or at least they should.  But it had not been that way for him.

Spike remembered how it had been with Angelus.  The feeling of connection he had felt towards his sire, and the obvious bond between Angelus and Dru, came rushing back.  Even the damned minions had felt the tie of Angelus' blood.  But not *his* childe.  No, she would rather stake him than talk to him.  The thought was galling.

He listened as Willow made polite noises at Angel, his anger boiling over into rage.  Stalking towards her, he put his hands on her shoulders, whipping her around until she faced him. 

Her eyes were wide and surprised, and she offered little resistance when he plucked the phone from her hands, interrupting Angel mid-sentence.

"We're busy.  She'll call you later."

He hit the 'talk' button, disconnecting the call, before throwing the phone into the living room.  Willow winced as it hit the wall with a crack, bounced off, and then landed on the floor.

She stared at him with those shimmering green eyes, on the edge of tears, and Spike growled at her, stalking back towards her. 

"Don't do that!" Spike insisted, knowing that the fight he wanted, the fight he deserved, would be impossible if she started crying.  He wanted her angry, her eyes spitting fire.  He could rage at her and argue with her easily if she was angry. 

But when her face crumpled, and tears glistened on her cheeks, Spike felt like he was kicking a defenseless puppy.  While the idea had a bit of appeal at this exact moment, he knew that it would be ultimately futile.

"What do you want from me?" Willow wailed, plunking herself down in one of the dining room chairs.  "I'm doing the best that I can!" 

"What I want—" Spike cut the angry words off before they became something he couldn't take back.  He pulled up a chair next to her, turning his body slightly until he could see her face.  "What I want," he began again, a bit more quietly, "is for you to acknowledge what happened between us last night.  It wasn't something dirty or wrong; it was just sex."

"But it *was* wrong," she insisted, moving as far away as the chair allowed when he began to growl.  "If I'm going to *have sex* with someone, it should be someone I'm in love with.  But we're not in love.  You don't love me.  Hell, half the time I don't think you even *like* me.  And I don't love you—I hardly even know you, so how could I love you?"

She shook her head sadly, bringing up quivering hands to wipe the tears from her cheeks. 

Spike studied her for a moment; nothing she said was a surprise to him.  She was still caught up in the human morality that insisted that sex was an act to be performed by two people in love.  It was something she had always believed in, and letting go of that concept seemed to be difficult.

But how was he going to explain that to her in a way that she would understand and accept?  How would he convince her that to vampires, sex was a tool?  It could make you feel good, it was a way of punishing or controlling another vampire, or even just an activity to pass a lazy afternoon.  Sure, sex between a childe and sire tended to be a bit more…intense, mostly because of the bond they shared.  But love, commitment and procreation?  Those things didn't matter to vampires.  And they certainly weren’t prerequisites to having sex.

"You're still thinking like a soddin' human," he growled, his eyes raking her figure.  "You're a vampire now.  For us, it's not about wedding bells or cherry blossoms.  It's—arggh!  Why the hell am I explaining this?  You should *know* this."  He put his elbows on the table, cradling his head in his hands.  "You're giving me a headache," he muttered.

It was too early to storm out of the house, he knew.  Well, he could storm at least a step out of the house, but after that he would shower the walkway with his dust.  And while that was a perfectly good way to make a point, it would also be a rather final way to end their discussion, and he wasn't about to give her that satisfaction.

Willow watched Spike through compassionate, yet curious, eyes.  For a moment, she almost felt sorry for him.  His words did seem to validate Anya's suggestion that the vampire's anger was a result of dissatisfaction at his inability to be a true sire to her.  But there was no way in hell she was going to change herself, and her life, just because he was unhappy with the way things were.  She would not become some plaything, some object that he could control and use at his leisure.  This was the 21^st century, for heaven's sake.

Instead, she would be his friend, if he was willing.  Maybe more, in time.  But it was still too soon for her to fall into the vampire lifestyle that he seemed to want her to embrace.  Maybe someday she could, but then again, maybe not.

Willow put a tentative hand on his shoulder, half-surprised when he didn't shrug it off.  He brought his head away from the cradle of his hands and looked up at her.

"This is me, Spike.  I am who I am; what I am.  I'm trying to adjust, but it won't all happen in a day.  Some things might not ever change.  The…the nakedness, and, well, the sex, I just can't do that."  She sighed, wishing for a moment that she *could* give in and become who he wanted her to be.  It would make both of their lives so much easier.

It was the soul, she knew.  She shouldn't have retained so much of herself and her ideas and fears after her turning, but because of the soul, it was different.  Angel had spent decades as Angelus before being cursed.  He knew what it was to be a vampire, how it felt, how to be what he should be.  Those things had probably just been instinct.  She had never had that time to be a vampire before being cursed.  All she was left with was her ideas of who and what she wanted to be, and a sire who always seemed to be angry and disappointed in her. 

"I'm trying to be a good vampire, really.  Well, without the killing and stuff.  But I'm just not sure that I'll ever be what you want me to be."  Willow's eyes looked uncertain, but her voice was strong and determined.  "I know it's probably the soul," she admitted matter-of-factly, "but I don't ever want to be without it.  I wouldn't be *me*."  I'd just be a killer, she thought to herself. 

"I have all of eternity to decide who I want to be.  If you want to stick around and help me, I'd be grateful.  But I can't promise that I'll turn out exactly the way you want."  Willow was silent for a moment, drawing on some well of inner strength, before she spoke her next words. 

"If you want to leave—to forget about me, that's okay.  I won't hold it against you.  I won't try to force you to stay here.  It's all up to you."

Her eyes met his and held his gaze while she waited for his reply.

End of Chapter 28

Chapter 29

"If you want to leave—to forget about me, that's okay.  I won't hold it against you.  I won't try to force you to stay here.  It's all up to you."  She had said the words softly, her hand placed gently on his arm as she sat next to him at the dining room table, her face so very earnest.

Spike felt something akin to shock as he processed her words.  Was she throwing him out of her life, in her oh-so-polite way?  Did she think he would take such a pronouncement like a human boy would, acquiescing so very civilly, giving her what she seemed to want without a second thought?

But no.  He considered her words again and discarded the notion. It wasn't quite like that.  She was, in her own understated way, giving him an out, he realized.  She was simply being very subtle about it.

It was just like her.  Willow was stubborn enough to refuse his attempts to change her, but insecure enough to let him know that he could leave her if he wanted to, because she didn't want anyone to stay with her out of pity or a feeling of obligation.

The option of leaving was not even on the table as far as he was concerned.  As much as he hated to admit it, his first reaction, other than the rage he quickly tamped down, was respect and a faint feeling of affection.  Everything Willow had said earlier was true:  she was very much a work-in-progress.  He had hopes of swaying her in certain directions, molding her into what he envisioned her being.  But she was showing a surprising amount of backbone.  Certainly there was more self-awareness than he had ever suspected simmering beneath that deceptively innocent and affable façade she showed the rest of the world.

So no, leaving was not an option.

Besides, and he really hated to admit this, Sunnydale was actually beginning to feel a little bit like home to him.  Well, as much of a home as he had had since being turned.  His almost gypsy-ish lifestyle had never bothered him in the past, but now, for some reason, the thought of staying in one place for a few years didn't faze him one bit.  He had connections here, a circle of acquaintances he enjoyed, and a few demons he could even count on in a pinch.  Oddly enough, he found the familiarity gave him a lift.

Plus, and this was the big issue, really, where else could he find a population that was so completely oblivious to all that went on around them?  Not to mention butchers that were willing to sell a bloke pig's blood without ever asking why.

Yes, Sunnydale's unaware populace was definitely a point in its favor. 

And then there was his childe.  She would not leave this town.  At least, not anytime soon.  Her roots were buried so deeply in the tree-lined streets and college campus of this town that she would never consider a move, despite the fact that staying here put her at risk.

He thought back to the days directly after Angelus left him, and the fear, abandonment and rejection he had fought not to feel.  His sire had been father, lover, mentor, and even, at times, a friend.  His desertion had cut deep.

In hindsight, Spike could acknowledge that if Angel had chosen to stay with them, it would never have worked.  Time, and having a childe of his own, had brought that truth home to him, even though he would never give Peaches the satisfaction of admitting it aloud.

But Willow—despite the anger she evoked and the petty annoyances—she needed him, even if she refused to admit it.  And he never wanted her to feel towards him the way he had felt towards his sire. 

So he would stick with her.  He wouldn't stop trying to change her; that wasn't in his nature.  But maybe he would just have to find new ways of doing it.  If she could be subtle, so could he.  Maybe?

Willow watched her sire as he considered her offer, trying her best not to let her fear and uneasiness show.  She would do her best not to influence him, not to let him see how desperately she wanted him to stay.  The thought of being here, alone, without him, or anybody else, terrified her.  But better to be alone and miserable, than be with someone who didn't want her as she was, and wouldn't let her be who she needed to be.

He was so quiet, so deep in thought, that for a moment she was afraid that he wouldn't answer her. 

But then, finally, he did, and the words would have taken the breath from her lungs, if there had been any there.

"I'll stay," he said simply, and those two words said a lot, but there was even more that they did not say.

Willow smiled at him, her expression nervous and uncertain.  She felt as if she had won something.  A small victory, or maybe some sort of prize.  Whatever it was, it made her feel gratitude towards her sire, and she wondered how she could make it up to him.

"Will you teach me how to defend myself?"  It wasn't exactly a gift; it was something that would benefit her more than it would him.  But she suspected that he might enjoy it.  And it was certainly something she needed to know.  The Initiative lurked beyond their front door, outside somewhere, and until she knew how to take care of herself, she would never be able to take them on.

"Sure, pet.  Just give me a chance to call Peaches.  I’m sure he's building up a head of steam, trying to figure out what's going on here.  Probably halfway to Sunnydale by now."  He was exaggerating, but just slightly, in an attempt to bring them back to more comfortable ground.

Willow nodded slowly, her eyes glancing over at the remains of the phone Spike had destroyed earlier.  "Probably need a new phone," she commented blandly. 

A raised eyebrow was all the reply she received.  He wasn't going to apologize; in his eyes he had done nothing wrong. 

"There's another phone upstairs.  Toss it down to me.  Then put on something comfortable, an outfit you can move around in."

She nodded at him, wondering, as she ascended the stairs, what he would say to Angel.  The two vampires had never gotten along, not in the admittedly limited time she had known them both. 

Would Spike tell his sire what had gone on between them?  Would Angel believe him?  The urge to listen in on Spike's portion of the conversation was too big of a temptation to resist. 

After passing the phone down to Spike, Willow returned to her room, closing the door behind her.  But instead of rifling through her closet for something loose-fitting and comfortable, she chose to sit on the floor, her back against the bedroom door, waiting and listening.

Spike punched in the number for Angel's office, trying his best to maintain a sense of calm he did not feel.  Getting angry at his sire would be great fun; a good old row would be even better.  But from a tactical point of view it was a mistake, since he was hoping to make plans to take on the Initiative, and he needed Peaches on his side.  So, as much as it galled him, he was determined to stay on his best behavior.

"Hello?"

"It's me.  And before you get your pants in a knot, I haven't killed her or anything.  She's fine."

Silence met his pronouncement, and Spike could imagine the way his sire would look, his face noncommittal, as he turned the situation over, trying to twist it around to his advantage.

"What did you do to her?" he asked at last, his voice flat and deadly.

"Nothing she didn't ask for," Spike answered truthfully, fully aware that the answer would only serve to antagonize Angel.  Well, just because he was on his best behavior didn't mean he couldn't have a little bit of fun, did it?

He could hear the anger crackling along the line, as Angel's voice whipped back at him.  "What the hell does that mean?"

The ghost of a smile curved Spike's lips as he reigned in his temper.  He crossed the room, flopping down on the couch and stretching out comfortably.  Much better.  Now just one more tweak before he got down to business.  "Which word didn't you understand, Peaches?"

Amazing how a growl could travel through phone lines and still send the hair on his arms straight up.  Chalk one up for the marvels of modern technology Spike thought.

"She was upset, Spike," Angel growled, through what Spike was sure were clenched teeth.  "When I talked to her, she was almost in tears."

"And you just thought you would play the knight in tarnished armor, did you?"

"What did you do to her?" his sire insisted.  "Why was she so upset?"

"I shagged her, okay?  Gave her exactly what she asked me for.  And what did I get for my pains?  Nothing but trouble!"

"You—she—" Angel wasn't sure where to start, but he had to pick something. So he chose the most unlikely part of the sentence and went with it.  "Why would she ask you to do that?"

Spike frowned.  Bloody wanker didn't need to make it sound *that* unlikely.  She was his childe; why wouldn't she have asked him?  But he pushed his insecurities back and answered coolly, giving Angel a brief description of the previous evening.  "She needed a little something to make her feel better.  I gave it to her.  Now she wants to pretend that it didn't happen, and I'm supposed to follow suit.  Well it *did* happen, and I'm not going to forget about it, just because she wants me to."

Angel sighed.  "She's still more human than vampire, Spike.  She needs time to adjust."

"Don't think I know that, Peaches?  Not a moron, ya know?  Figured out what was happening pretty quickly.  I'll deal with it," he added quickly, hoping to forestall any offers of help from the other vampire.  Last thing he needed was Peaches playing matchmaker.  "That's not why I called."

"No, I'm sure it's not."  They both knew that when Spike called, it was because he wanted something. 

"Gotta figure out how to stop those Initiative bastards.  We got away from them last night, but what about next time?"  Spike sprang up off the couch and began pacing the floor, the movement helping him compose his thoughts.  He always thought better when he was in motion, for some reason.  "Can't go out during the day because of the sun; can't go out at night because of them.  The situation's gotta change, sire.  We need to find a way to take them out."

A moment of silence, and then Angel's tight, angry, "Yes." 

"I have a couple blokes here that might help, but we need a plan.  Can't just go in blind.  That'd be suicide.  And since Slutty seems to be dating one of the soldier boys, I doubt we can count on her for any help..." Spike stopped pacing and winced; he hadn't planned on telling his sire about the Slayer's new boyfriend in such a blunt fashion, but it was out now.  Not much to be done there.

"Buffy—she's dating one of them?" 

The kicked puppy sound to his sire's voice grated in his ear.  Having a soul had made part of the Scourge of Europe into this pathetic thing, and for once Spike was glad that he only had a chip.  At least he was still himself, and not some weak, lost creature.  Or maybe it was love that had done that to Angel.  He shook his head, chasing away the notion.

"Uh, yeah.  Just one date, if that makes it any better.  And I don't think she knows who he is yet."

"Willow—he's not—not one of the ones who…"

"Nah, he wasn't there.  Just recognized him from when I was a 'guest' at their facility."

"Okay, then, well, that's Buffy's choice then.  I promised I wouldn't interfere, and I meant it."

Spike wasn't sure whether Angel was trying to convince Spike, or himself.  Didn't really matter, since Spike couldn't care less.

"So where do we start?" he asked.  Planning had never been his strong suit.  Sticking to a plan, once it had been established, was something else that tended to be a problem. 

"Give me a couple of days, let me talk to some people, see what I can dig up.  Maybe Willow can talk to Buffy, see if there's some way we can use this…friend of hers, maybe he could get us inside?" 

"Doubt it, but I'll see what I can do.  Talk to you in a day or two?" Spike was feeling a bit more optimistic, now that they had a plan.  He would enlist Willow's help as well.  Give her something to do during the long daytime hours.

"Sounds good.  I'll have something for you then, hopefully.  We can meet up somewhere in between and figure out a battle plan."

"Thanks, sire," Spike said, feeling the truth of the words as he said them.  A true sire watched out for his childer, regardless of the past, a soul, or the bad blood between them.  That was one more thing he needed to remember.

End of Chapter 29

Chapter 30

As Spike finished up his telephone conversation with Angel, Willow quickly changed, grabbing a pair of black sweat pants and a loose-fitting navy blue sweater.  She wasn't exactly sure what Spike had planned, but she figured these clothes were pretty much all-purpose.

Pulling her hair back into a ponytail, she wandered into the bathroom.  The lack of reflection caught her by surprise, as it always did.  Would she ever get used to it?  Willow was by no means a vain creature.  Back when she had been human, she had rarely spent much time in front of the mirror. 

Well, okay, there had been "The Xander Years"—that embarrassing time in her life when she spent most of her waking hours trying to figure out how to get Xander to notice her.  But other than that brief lapse into obsessive mirror-staring, she had rarely spent much time looking into one.

But it sure would be nice to be able to see her reflection now, if only for frame of reference.  Like, what if she had a bloodstain on her collar and nobody told her?  Or—god forbid—a blood moustache?  Hey, if humans could get a milk moustache, then vampires could get a blood moustache, she reasoned.

Shaking her head at her foolishness, she finally left the bathroom and headed downstairs.  What she found there surprised her.

While she had been upstairs Spike had been involved in a bit of redecorating.  The result was, instead of a living room filled with furniture and electronics, they now had a big empty space.  All the furniture had been pushed into the dining room and hallway, leaving a large carpeted room where they could spar in private, without having to worry about broken furniture or putting a foot through the TV set.

Spike stood waiting for her in the middle of the room.  Giving her a nod, he motioned for her to join him there. 

'It's now or never,' Willow thought as she entered the room, coming to a stop in front of Spike.  She just hoped that this time it went better than the time that Buffy and Angel had tried to teach her to defend herself.  There had been a stake, lots of fumbling, a bit of nervous laughter—not hers—and then they had all decided that it would be better if she just stuck close to Buffy.

The thought of Angel brought her mind back to his conversation with Spike.  "What did Angel tell you?" she asked. 

A quirked eyebrow and a slight smile met her question.  "Are you trying to tell me you weren't upstairs listening to every word?"

She hesitated at that, her brow furrowed, considering her answer, and wondering exactly what Spike knew, and what he simply suspected.

"Don't lie to me, childe," Spike growled, taking a step towards her. 

The idea had been tempting, but the sharp steel running through his voice made her reconsider.  She pouted, somewhat curious to see if it would soften him.  "I could only hear your half of the conversation," she muttered.  "Didn't get to hear what Angel said."

Spike knew she was trying to manipulate him.  The adorable pout and the little-girl voice were being used for effect, and the frightening thing was, she was quite good at it.  He fought the urge to coddle her, and laughed instead.

"Must've been awfully frustrating for you," he commiserated, his expression mocking her as he refused to take the bait.  "I know how your inquisitive little mind just hates not knowing something," he said smugly.

Willow scowled at him, watching him laugh at her expense.  Okay, so the pout thing was not going to work on him.  Good to know, even if it got her laughed at.

The laughter died down, although it still lingered in his eyes as he watched her.  "Fine, ya wanna know what Peaches said?  He said to give him a couple of days and he'd talk to some demons he knows.  See if he can find out anything from them that will help us.  I'm going to do the same on this end, see if I can get any particulars.  Don't wanna be too conspicuous, since they're still out there, but there are a couple of blokes…"

"We'll get them," he assured her.  "Soon.  And then we can do what we want, when we want."

"I'd settle for being able to take night classes," Willow said longingly.

Spike smothered a smile.  She was so eager to know *everything*, and that drive to know more, more, more, amused him.  What would she do when she knew everything? 

"Ready to start this?" he asked.

Willow hesitated for a moment before nodding.  "I know I need to do this," she told him.  "It's just that previous attempts to turn me into a 'mean, lean, fighting machine' have been less than successful.  Promise you won't laugh at me?" 

"Nope, no promises.  But if you try hard, listen to what I say, and watch what I do, you'll be breaking Harris' nose in no time.  And then I'll definitely laugh."

She scowled at him.  "There will be no hurting of friends.  Not even if they deserve it."

"Yeah, whatever.  Okay, try to copy this stance."  And the lessons began.

They had been at it for over two hours.  He had flipped her, kicked her, and even once bounced her off the wall.  Willow was amazed at his speed, flexibility, and ability to think on the fly.  She was also sore in more places than she could imagine. 

All she had to do was say the simple word:  yield.  Once she did, their lesson was over for the evening.  But she refused to give up without at least once getting the better of him.  A couple of times she had come close; she had seen the surprise in his eyes when he had hastily blocked a side kick that had nearly connected.  Just one good kick, one punch that connected to wipe that ever-present smirk off of his face.  Was that too much to ask?

"Now you're just being stubborn," Spike goaded, watching the fire build in her eyes again.  He had been surprised by her abilities.  From what she mentioned earlier, previous attempts to teach her to fight had not ended well.  Must have been the fault of the teacher, and not the pupil, he decided.  She was fast, supple, and once she got into it, quite inventive.  All she needed was practice. 

He would work with her, honing her instincts, and she would become a force to be reckoned with.  Not immediately.  But give her time and practice, and someday she might even beat the slayer.  Oh, not *this* slayer.  But maybe the next one.  Not that she'd ever go for that.  But it would certainly be fun to watch.  He was still disappointed that he had missed watching Dru bag her first slayer.

Spike could see that Willow was getting tired now; her moves were sloppier, and she wasn't following them all the way through.  Her kicks were slow and lower, and when she tried to hit him, she left herself open for a counter-attack.  Definitely time to bring this lesson to an end.

"Got anything you want to say to me?" he asked, deflecting a knee to the groin with ease.  It was a dirty trick, but that didn't bother him.  He wanted her to be able to fight dirty, if she needed to, to save herself.

"No," she gritted out through clenched teeth, moving away from him and attempting to come up on him from the right.  He seemed to be weaker on that side, and slower to defend himself. 

He turned suddenly, catching her by surprise.  Her leg was extended in a kick that never connected, and he used her momentum against her, sweeping the other foot out from under her.  She fell to the ground with a thud, taking most of the impact on her back, which was undoubtedly already sore.  He wanted to wince in sympathy but didn't.

She was still for a moment, stunned from the impact.  Taking advantage of her inaction, he came to his knees, straddling her waist and grinning down at her.  She tried to buck him off, as he had taught her, but Spike knew how to combat that particular threat, and grabbed both of her hands, holding them to the floor above her head.  Her momentum gone, she just wriggled impotently underneath him.

"Say it," he drawled, staring into her eyes.  They alternated between green and yellow, and at times seemed almost teal.  Pretty eyes.  Eyes to lose yourself in.

Before he was even aware of it, he was kissing her softly, gently, feeling the cool, pliant lips beneath his part involuntarily in surprise.  His tongue delved deeper, his body straightening out and pushing down against hers, the movement grinding his hardening erection into her abdomen.

Willow knew she should say something, do something—anything that would make this all stop.  But the problem was, she was enjoying it.  Her body was reacting to his; her lips tingled from his touch, her nipples began to harden against his chest, and her arms had stopped their struggles, lying uselessly above her head.

Her demon clamored for control, determined to take the kiss somewhere deeper and darker, leading to things that would leave her sated and sore in all the right places.  She slapped that instinct down hard, even as she opened her legs slightly.

'Wrong, wrong, wrong!' her mind insisted, even as she kissed him back with a passion that surprised and embarrassed her.  She had to stop this now, before it led, as it inevitably would, to her bed.

"No," she blurted out, as her mind finally took control again.  She wrenched her head away from his, refusing to respond to him, even as his lips began to trail fiery cold kisses along her neck.

Willow laid completely still, like a deer hoping to escape the attention of a larger, stronger lion, waiting for Spike to give up and stop.

With an exaggerated sigh, Spike sat back up, looking down at her with unreadable eyes.  "I could, you know," he reminded her.  Or maybe it was a threat.

Willow considered it, her thoughts strangely dispassionate.  Yes, he could force her.  She might even enjoy it, if he went about it in the right way.  But somehow she knew that he wouldn't. 

It was trust, she realized.  She trusted him.  It was new and fragile, but somehow she understood that he would not do something like that to her.  Perhaps it was because he cared for her, or maybe it was because he had his own ideas of right and wrong.  She wasn't sure which was the case, here, today.  All she knew was that she could trust him, and the fact gave her confidence and strength.

"You won't," she insisted, believing it.

He was quiet for a moment, wondering how she could be so sure.  She was right, though.  As a punishment, or in the heat of anger, maybe he would feel differently.  It was hard to say.  But not now, not like this.  "Nah, you're right."

The lesson was over and they both knew it.  Spike got to his feet reluctantly, holding out a hand to help her up. 

By the way she winced, and the way that she took his hand for help, he knew that she was hurting.  She would get over it, but it would take a couple of hours for the bruising to heal a bit. 

"Yield," she said softly, as she got to her feet. 

She faced him, her radiant hair framing her face, her ponytail having long since disappeared.  He wanted to kiss her again, seduce her, anything, but he knew that would be a mistake.

Oh, it would happen.  He had no doubt in his mind that it would.  But a certain amount of patience and subtlety would be required.  Two things that were admittedly *not* his strong suits. 

He had a feeling that raising Willow would definitely help teach him both.

End of Chapter 30

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