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 Lisa and Gabrielle for the betas.  All errors are of course my own.  Hey, I have to own *something*, right?

Learning Curve

Chapter 36

Willow rearranged the magazines on the coffee table for what must have been the tenth time in as many minutes.  Spike watched bemusedly from the dining room table, where he had spent most of the afternoon studying the information that had been printed off the Initiative's website. 

She had seemed edgy and distracted for the last couple of days, and Spike was beginning to wonder if there was more to it than just nervous excitement at the thought of taking down their enemies.  He questioned her about it, and listened as she denied it to his face, in that way she had that made him want to believe the opposite of whatever she told him.

The doorbell rang, and Willow jumped up from her perch on the couch, opening the door and ushering Angel inside to the accompaniment of quickly-spoken pleasantries.

"Blood?  Would you like some, I mean?"  She was halfway to the kitchen before Angel could answer, and in the end he decided not to bother.  Obviously she was on edge, and giving her something to do might allow her to relax.

"Angel," Spike said, by way of a greeting, tearing his attention away from the printed papers long enough to turn in his seat and acknowledge his sire.

"Spike," Angel answered, looking over his childe's shoulder at the papers spread out over the table.  "What exactly have you got here?"

Willow returned with a mug of warm blood, and he nodded his thanks.  "This pile here," she said, taking up the explanations, "this is the general information.  Location, personnel, the scope and aims of the project.  Probably most of this stuff Spike told you over the phone."

"And these?" he asked, glancing at the taped together pages that covered the majority of the dining room table.

"Those are the keys to the castle," Spike said, his face set into lines of deep concentration.  "Floor plans, security cameras, air ducts, electrical infrastructure, you name it, it's all here.  We just need to figure out what we can do with it."

"Yeah?  Any ideas?"

Spike shrugged.  "Had some thoughts, but nothing solid.  Maybe if we could disable the security system, come in with force, do a little hand-to-hand?"

Angel considered it for a moment before shaking his head.  "Suicide.  Even if we could get in, and that's a big if, they've probably got hundreds of foot soldiers in there.  We'd never get past them all."

The blond knew Angel was right, but nothing else was coming to mind.  "Got any suggestions?"

Angel shook his head slowly.  "Too early yet.  I'll need to study this some more."  He circled the table slowly, as if considering the plans from every angle.  A straight-forward assault with a large force was out of the question.  A small force wouldn't work either.  In what he admitted was a brief moment of jealous pettiness, Angel considered Buffy's new friend, wondering if they could use him to get in.  But the idea was quickly discarded when he thought about how much it would complicate things between him and Buffy.  And Willow and Buffy as well, he supposed.  Besides, even if they did get in, how would they stop the soldiers that were sure to lurk inside?

"How do we incapacitate them without opening ourselves up to attack?" he murmured, hand on his chin, forefinger on the tip of his nose.  Classic thinking pose.  If only it would yield some sort of result…

"Oh," it wasn't even really a word, just the suggestion of a sound, as Willow's eyes grew wide and excited.  "I might have something."

The two vampires waited curiously, until they saw Willow's face fall, the excitement flowing out of her eyes.  "Oh…never mind," she said, shaking her head dejectedly.

"What was it, pet?"

"I—I thought I had an idea, but it won't work.  At least, I don't think so."  She continued to frown, fighting to work it out in her head.

"Why don't you tell us, and maybe we can figure it out?" Angel suggested.

Willow walked along the table, head down, running her finger lightly over the floor plans, tracing the path of what turned out to be one of the air ducts.  "I was just thinking…maybe we could use these.  The air ducts," she explained, looking up to capture the eyes of the two elder vampires. 

"Go on…" Spike encouraged, unsure of her intent.  Surely she couldn't expect them to climb through the ducts in order to get into the Initiative?  Even with vampire stealth they'd be way too noisy.

"Well, I was thinking that we could use some sort of gas.  Something poisonous, you know?  I—" her voice faltered, a battle raging between soul and demon at the thought of taking human lives.  "I dunno," she murmured, stopping suddenly and bringing her eyes to meet Angel's.  "This is so hard."

A war was taking place within her, one that she hadn't expected, or even considered before.  People would die.  Because of something she was going to do.  In some ways the thought excited her; she would hold human lives in her hands, and then crush them in her grip.  They were evil.  They deserved everything they got.  And they would do the same to her, or worse, if they could.

But they were humans.  And the fact that she could consider taking human lives so casually frightened her.  Had she changed so much already that killing meant so little to her?

Spike frowned.  "What do you mean?" he asked, watching her changing expression cautiously.  "What's hard?"

The words confused her momentarily, until she realized that he hadn't understood her.  Of course Spike didn't get it…he didn't have a soul.  He didn't have that little voice that kept her awake at night, pecking away at her resolve, making self-preservation seem selfish, if others had to die in order for her to live.

Except that she wasn't really alive to begin with.

Immaterial, the demon insisted.  She had been.  Would still be, if it weren't for the Initiative.  Willow looked up, sensing both vampires' eyes on her.  "Sorry," she muttered.  "I'm just not comfortable with the whole casual killing thing yet."

Angel's eyes held understanding and support.  "I know," he agreed, considering her silently for a moment.  "If--if it's any consolation, it does get--easier."

That's what I'm afraid of, she thought morosely.  She didn't want to say the words aloud, but she suspected Angel would understand anyway.

Spike remained silent.  He didn't comprehend the enormity of her despair, and she could understand that.  He had no soul, and his humanity was nothing but a murky memory.  He cared no more for a human life than he would a pet or a houseplant. 

And maybe he was right.  Humans were responsible for torturing and killing her; maybe they weren't worthy of the consideration she afforded them simply because they were human. 

And so the debate raged on.

"Your idea might work."

The words dragged her back to the here and now, and Willow quickly looked to Spike for an explanation.

"What you said before, about using a gas.  We could cook up something like that.  Something odorless and colorless.  Send it through the ventilation system.  By the time the soldier boys figured out what was happening, it would be too late."

"Yeah…yeah," Angel nodded, agreeing thoughtfully as he eyed the floor plan once more.   "This looks like the command center," he said, his finger pointing to a small room.  All of the wiring seemed to loop back to that single room.  And that had to mean something.

"Um, uh huh," Willow agreed, as she studied the paper more closely.  "All the phone lines and wiring run through here.  Probably got their servers, routers, phone lines, all of that terminates here.  If we could get into this room, I could bring down their network.  Turn off everything except the ventilation.  And if all the locks are controlled by keycards, which I'm betting they are, then they'd be trapped.  They wouldn't stand a chance."

"Bet you could open the doors to all those cages from there too," Spike agreed, his face lighting up with glee at the thought of the chaos they could cause.  "Anyone who didn't bite it from the gas would die just as surely when one of their 'guests' tore him from limb to limb." 

Willow flinched slightly, Spike's words reminding her that this was not some garden party that they were planning.  But it needed to be done.  Concentrate on the mission.  On the goals.  On having a life again. 

"But we still need a way in," Angel mused.  "Any suggestions?"

A devilish smile crept slowly over Spike's face.  It was a smile that both Angel and Willow knew meant trouble, although for entirely different reasons.  For Angel it was a reminder of late nights, early mornings, and the screams of victims who had endured more than they could take.  For Willow, it merely meant that Spike was going to say something that she was pretty sure she didn't want to hear.  He had a plan, but what would be the cost?

"We could always ask Buffy's little boy toy to give us the magic word," Spike suggested.  "'Course, he might need a little special…persuasion."  Again he showed them the smile that personified chaos and evil.

"No!" Not Riley, Willow thought.  Not someone she knew.

Angel discarded the idea immediately.  No, they wouldn't use Buffy's new friend.  That would add complications that he didn't want to deal with.  But Spike's plan wasn't without merit.  "One of the others?"

Willow turned away from them, staring blindly towards the kitchen as she tried to come to terms with what they were suggesting. 

The Initiative members would all die anyway, she reminded herself.  Whether it happened in the underground compound, the victim of a poisonous gas, or whether it was here, a couple of days earlier, really didn't matter all that much.  Did it? 

Okay, she could deal with that.  Kind of.  It was the torture, the 'persuasion' that Spike suggested, that was more than she could accept.  Death was one thing.  Hurting someone who was helpless, that was something else.

Willow remembered the feel of hands on her body, hurting her, cutting her, killing her.  The pain and fear and hate slammed into her like a freight train, reminding her of why they were doing this.  She pushed it all aside, locking it into a space in her mind where she put the things that were too painful to dwell on.  She could do this.  She needed to do this.  She *would* do it.

But…

"Couldn't you just turn them?  Instead of torturing?  It would be…nicer.  Wouldn't it?"

Spike considered it.  Would it really be nicer to turn someone into a vampire, to make them a demon without a conscience?  He supposed it depended on your point of view, really.

"Actually…that's not such a bad idea," Angel said slowly.  While he questioned her motives, and the supposition that being a vampire was any better, or any worse, than being tortured, he had to admit that from their point of view, it would cut down on some of the complications.

They wouldn't have to take the time to torture whoever they took.  And Angel had no doubt that those soldiers could withstand a lot before they broke.  How many days would they waste waiting for the bastard to spill the beans?

But once a demon inhabited the body, it would tell all for its sire as quickly as it could.  It was that undeniable urge to please and score points with their maker.  Deception and treachery would not even be an issue.   

He glanced curiously at Willow's back, wondering why she didn't seem to have that urge when it came to telling Spike about his chip.  Oh, she wanted to tell him, he knew that, but she had managed to keep quiet about it   Then again, she had plenty of incentives.

Willow wandered into the kitchen, barely listening as Angel and Spike made their plans.  There were two mugs to be washed, and she drew it out, making a simple task take much longer than it should have.  It was just easier that way, on her own private island of denial.

"Pet, c'mon in here."

A lull in the conversation, and Spike's quietly-spoken request, drew her back into the dining room.  She watched them emotionlessly, almost numb. 

"Poof's gonna come back tomorrow night and help me nab one of them.  I figure we'll do it early, before they're out in numbers for their patrols.  Hide him up at the mansion, wait for him to wake up, all that stuff.  Then in three or four days we all get together again, see what we got out of him, figure out our options."

Willow nodded silently, somehow trying to pretend that this was something going on independent of her.

The two male vampires exchanged glances, both frowning.  "Are you sure you're up to this, Willow?  We could wait, or…"

Willow shook off her silent reverie, trying to make herself look tough and determined.  "No, Angel.  I know we have to do this.  And quickly."  She cast a quick look at Spike.  "It's just—well, talking about it in the abstract was one thing.  Actually planning it is tougher.  But I can do it."  Her chin edged up slightly with determination.

Spike and Angel both had their doubts, but neither was willing to say anything just yet.  They would try to give her some time to adjust to the reality of their attack.

"There's something else, isn't there?" Angel prompted gently, watching Willow's eyes grow cautious as she discerned his meaning.

Willow turned to Spike, who gazed back at her curiously.  "Out with it then, pet.  What's on your mind?"

She had printed out the pages she had kept hidden from him earlier, the ones detailing the chip.  They had been thrust hastily in between the pages of Jane Eyre, on the bookshelf in her bedroom.  Although Spike might have found them eventually, for the short-term it seemed a decent hiding place.  "Um, I'll be right back," she said, running up the stairs to grab the hidden pages.

Spike and Angel were in the living room when she returned, standing and staring at each other uneasily across the width of the coffee table.  "I—I found something else on the site.  And—I didn't show it to you.  But you need to see it.  So, here."  She dropped the pages into his hands, and then stepped back into the dining room, as if feeling the need for some space.

Looking at the pages, it took a moment for Spike to figure out what he held.  "Fuck, these are—this is for my chip, isn't it?"
 

End of Chapter 36

Chapter 37

 
Spike stared at the papers he held, taking in the enormity of their meaning.  This was his chip.  It seemed impossible that something so small could fuck his life up so badly, but there it was.  And now he had the key to fixing it.

A tightly directed electro-magnetic pulse would do it, apparently.  He wasn't big on the science project stuff, but according to what the papers said, this pulse thing would fry the chip's circuits to hell, and he would be able to be a vampire again.  Yeah, he'd still have the chip in his head, but it would be nothing more than a useless lump of plastic.

But something was…off.  He sensed emotions swirling around him, seeping into him through the bond he shared with Willow, and the scents of her fear and uncertainty had his demon raging to be set free.  Something else was going on here, and his eyes settled on Willow.  Her body language screamed 'nervous'—it had for days—and she looked frightened.  Then a chilling thought occurred to him, and he finally put the pieces together.  She had found this two days ago.  She had discovered it, printed it out, and then deliberately hid it from him.

Anger began to churn beneath the surface, growing stronger minute by minute, and then leaping out of control when his eyes focused upon his sire.

"You knew."  The words were a statement, not a question.  Spike sensed no surprise or uncertainty from Angel, merely weary resignation.  "She didn't tell me, but she told you, didn't she?"

"DIDN'T SHE?" he roared, his face ugly and bitter, when Angel failed to answer him the first time.

The dark vampire merely nodded, his eyes shifting quickly back and forth between Spike, standing directly before him, and his grandchilde, who stood halfway between the dining room and the kitchen, shifting nervously from one foot to the other, as if ready to take off running at any moment.

Spike's attention flickered back to Willow, taking in her uneasy posture and frightened eyes.  "I can't believe you kept this from me.  From me!"  He raged at her, watching as she trembled slightly.  He was drunk on her fear, allowing it to spur him on.  "After everything I've done.  And—and all the things I haven't done too.  There were times when you really deserved a beating.  But I sat back and let you be, let you ADJUST, damn it.  And this is the way you thank me?  By lying to me!?  By betraying me?!"

Willow flinched at the angry words, tears threatening to spill.  His tone cut like a knife, doubly so because she knew he was right.  She *had* betrayed him.  It had been a choice between her friends and her sire, and she hadn't chosen him.  She could try to explain the extenuating circumstances, but somehow she doubted that Spike would be in the mood to listen, much less understand.

"She was scared, Spike.  Surely you can see that.  She still has…connections to humans, and she was afraid that you'd hurt them."  Angel's voice was quiet, placating, trying to pour water onto the fire that burned inside his childe.

But Spike was not ready to back down yet.  "I'm her damn sire.  She should trust me."  He turned to Willow, "Fuck, how many times do I have to prove it to you?  Over and over I've helped you, I've treated you fairly, and what do you do?  You screw me over!"

He heard the hurt and betrayal start to creep into his voice and tamped it down quickly, concentrating on the anger and bitterness.  His voice became low and cold, his eyes wintry as they bored into hers.  "You know what the Initiative is planning on doing with me; what their purpose is for their chipped 'hostiles.'  And yet you kept quiet because you were more worried about your little friends.  Well that's just fuckin' peachy."

"Childe," Angel growled the word, then almost took a step back when Spike trained those cold eyes on him. 

"Don't you 'childe' me, you bastard.  You're as bad as she is," he replied scathingly, giving Willow a derisive look.  "You two probably had a nice little chat about it, deciding the best way to 'handle' me when you gave me the news.  You probably comforted her; told her that good ol' Angel would make everything all right.   Well hear this.  I will *not* be handled.  I'm William the Bloody, for fuck's sake."

Angel rushed the blond. Before Spike knew what hit him, his sire had him pinned against the wall of the dining room, his forearm pressing roughly against Spike's throat.  He pushed again, just to make sure he had Spike's attention. 

"Angel—" Willow began anxiously, taking a tentative step towards them, but he merely shook his head at her, before turning his attention back to Spike.

"You can have your little temper tantrum if you want, if you figure you're entitled, or whatever, but I want to make one thing perfectly clear," he growled, jamming his forearm higher against Spike's throat as the blond rolled his eyes.  "You touch one hair on Buffy's head, or even Xander's, or anyone else she likes, or knows, or has even seen once in a crowd, and I'll stake you myself.  Do I make myself clear?" 

And he could do it, too, Spike knew.  He was older, faster, and when properly motivated, just plain meaner.  Not that it really mattered.  "I wasn't gonna hurt them," he muttered, shaking off the face of the demon, which had appeared at the sight of his angry sire.

Angel gave him a faintly disbelieving look, but released him anyway, taking half a step back.  "And why would that be?  You suddenly found religion or something?  I know you, Spike.  You'll be feeding again in no time."

"Duh," he agreed petulantly, rolling his eyes again for emphasis.  "Damn right I'll be feeding.  You two may be content to live on that bagged shit, but I'm not."  He looked straight at Willow, and for just a moment they were alone in the room, with Angel on the outside, looking in.  "I won't hurt your friends.  They leave me alone, I'll leave them alone.  Simple as that."

A skeptical snort brought his attention back to Angel.  "You expect me to believe that, childe?  So tell me, why would you do something like that?"

Spike glanced at Willow, standing in the corner of the dining room, expressions of confusion and hope fighting for control.  "Because she needs them," he said calmly, his gaze sliding back to Angel's.  "They keep her on an even keel, ease her transition.  She needs that.  I'm not stupid, I can see it."

Angel's face went curiously blank as he watched his childe.  The odd thing was, he believed Spike.  An uncomfortable mountain of regret settled on his chest as he considered everything, as he realized how badly they had both misjudged Spike.

Oh, he had no doubt that given the opportunity, Spike would kill again.  Often, and with that homicidal glee that had always had Angelus rolling his eyes at his theatrics.  The boy was big with the 'overkill.' 

No, what he had underestimated was just how much Spike understood the wants and needs of his childe.  And how much he was willing to give up to help her.  Oddly enough, it was something he had not anticipated.

Angelus had been a selfish and brutal sire.  A bastard, as Spike would gladly tell anyone.  And he would be right.  To his demon, childer were more or less a means to an end.  They strengthened the family, brought new skills and talent, and entertained one with their bodies and their screams during a long, boring day.  But to Angelus, the idea of caring for a childe, really caring for one, smacked of weakness.

Oh, Angelus had cared about Spike in his way.  But it was a selfish affection, based on lust and the power he held over his childe.  But this—this whatever it was between Spike and Willow—this was different. 

It smacked of humanity and affection and…love?

Not that Angel hadn't seen it coming.  No, Spike had been lonely and bitter and wanting.  The gift of Willow had appeared in his life during a time when he was at loose ends, in need of a project, but even more importantly, someone to care about.  And Willow was very easy to care about.  But for Spike to have fallen so hard, so quickly; that was the part that surprised him. 

"Nothing to say?" Spike challenged, trying to push down the waves of bitterness that threatened to overwhelm him.  "Fine with me.  You two can continue your little game of 'whose soul is better.'  I've got things to do."  He headed for the door, long strides moving him quickly away from the twin sources of his misery.

"Wait, Spike," Willow whispered, moving to stop him.  She placed a hand on his arm, drawing it back quickly as he turned and growled at her, yellow eyes swimming with hatred.  She jumped back, frightened by the intensity of the emotions she saw. 

"I don't want to see you right now," he snarled, turning again and heading out the door.  The house shuddered from the force of the door slamming behind him, then seemed eerily silent after he was gone.

Willow stared at the door for a full minute, hoping desperately that it would open again, and that it would be Spike, giving her a chance to explain.

But what could she have said that would have wiped the anger from his face?  That she was scared for her friends?  That she would have told him eventually?  That keeping this from him had not been an easy decision to make?  No, none of those excuses would have carried much weight, not with his current mood.

She gazed forlornly at Angel, hoping that he could offer something, anything, that would make her feel just a little less empty inside.

"Well, that didn't go too badly," her grandsire declared somewhat optimistically, knowing as he said it that the words would be inadequate. 

Angel watched on in uncomfortable helplessness as Willow burst into tears.

End of Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Angel let Willow cry, giving her the time she needed to release the tension and misery that had built up during the confrontation with Spike.  Besides, he didn't really know what else to do. 

He gave her a good ten minutes to get it out of her system, watching as she sat at the dining room table, her face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking slightly as she wept.  Then his impatience started to kick in.  It was not in his nature to wallow in a problem.  Find the problem, analyze the problem and solve the problem.  That was the way to do it.  Wallowing and obsessing over it did not fit into his equation.  It accomplished nothing. 

Oh sure, brooding was good and fine.  But brooding was done over things already past, mistakes already made.  That was different.  At least, that was his take on it.

"Willow," he called softly, looking for a response from the redhead.  But she didn't make a move in his direction, didn't acknowledge him at all. 

"Willow."  A touch more emphasis this time, the words said a little louder.  But still no reaction from the young vampire.

Was she ignoring him?  Or just so wrapped up in her misery that his existence didn't even register with her?

"Snap out of it, Willow.  That's enough," he said sharply.

The words hit her with almost physical force.  Her head jerked up, watery eyes staring at him accusingly. 

"What?  Did you think Spike would just laugh this off?  He's upset.  Even has a right to be, for once."
|
The accusation in her eyes faded, and Willow nodded miserably, acknowledging the truth of his words.  "I just…he was so angry.  I knew he'd be angry, but he almost seemed…hurt."  She closed her eyes wearily as the last half hour played itself in her mind over and over, a continuous loop of misery and accusation. 

"How do I fix it?"

Her eyes searched his out, drawing them in.  He fought the impulse to hold her and comfort her until she was the cheerful young woman he remembered, but he resisted.  Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at her, searching his mind for something to tell her.

"You can't fix it.  Just leave him alone," he said finally.  "Let him get over it.  He'll just need time.  And some space."  Angel had witnessed some of Spike's more spectacular snits.  Entire villages had fallen under his wrath, bodies drained and beaten, buildings smoldering, lives ended forever because of the simple fact that Spike was in a foul mood. 

Willow looked like she wanted to argue with him. "You can't fix this, Willow," he insisted, trying to convince her.  "You go after him, you'll only piss him off more."

"More?  There's a *more*?"  Her eyes got big and frightened at the thought.

Angel nodded solemnly.  "I've seen him…" he hesitated.  There was no reason to give her a summary of one of Spike's rather infamous temper tantrums.  The last thing she needed was a nightmare.  "I've seen things that make tonight seem like the tantrums of a child."

Admittedly, that was all before the chip.  As impossible as it seemed, Spike did appear to have mellowed.  Although whether the change was the result of the chip, or of his new status as a sire, Angel couldn't decide. 

This time, he suspected that copious amounts of alcohol would be used to improve his childe's mood.  Maybe a sympathetic ear would be sought.  Those were really the only options open to Spike.

"Does he have any friends?  Anyone he'd go to?"  Instinct told him to back away from this problem and leave it alone, but for some reason he couldn't.

Willow tried to think back, her mind searching for any name Spike might have mentioned in a less than negative way.  She came up blank, shaking her head.  "He likes to play poker.  But…I don't know where.  Or with whom.  Maybe Willy would know?"

Angel nodded.  He would check Willy's on the way out of town.  Drink and a sympathetic ear, those would be Spike's priorities.  If he could find them both in the same place, he would probably head there.

"I have to go now, Willow.  It's late.  Are you going to be okay here?"

"Yeah, I'm good.  Well, good-ish.  I just…I don't know what to do when he gets back.  If he's still angry.  You know?"

The pain in her eyes was obvious, and Angel wished he could do something substantial to help, instead of just spinning vague platitudes.  But this was something that she and Spike would have to figure out for themselves. 

"He cares about you, childe.  Remember that.  Whatever happens, whatever he does, concentrate on that."

Angel's words rang in her ears long after he left, and Willow wondered exactly what lay beneath the obvious meaning.  Did Angel think that Spike would hurt her?  Was he—could he possibly be that angry? 

Morning was quickly approaching, and as it did, Willow's nervousness rose in response.  Where was he?  Was this his way of punishing her?  Making her worry about him, about where he was, and whether he was safe?

Time crept along, minute by excruciating minute, and still no Spike.  Weariness made her eyes long to close as she stretched out on the couch, clinging to consciousness.  And still no Spike.

At long last, the sun edged above the horizon, and Willow, who had moved her vigil to the window, released the curtain hurriedly.  There were lots of shade trees in the yard that were supposed to keep sunlight from hitting the windows directly, but all the shadows and darkness and sunlight stuff was still so new, and Willow didn't want to take any chances.  It would be…embarrassing to go all dusty when safely inside her own home.

Besides, Spike wasn't here.

Where was he?  She was certain now that he was somewhere else, spending the day away—away from her.

Did he hate her that much, so much that he was willing to scare her by not coming home?  Leaving her to worry about him, fear for him, *care* about him.  Damn him!

Willow tried using the bond but got absolutely nowhere.  She flailed around in the dark emptiness, but could find no trace of him.  But if he were—gone, somehow, a victim of the sun, or a stake, then she would know it.  Wouldn't she?

Scenarios ran through her mind, each new one more miserable than the last, until finally, a couple of hours after sunrise, she conceded that he wasn't coming home, and that there was nothing she could do about it.  So she curled up on the couch, left the phone on the table next to her, and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

"Sure you don't mind the company?" Spike yelled out from the couch of his old crypt, taking a slug of whiskey from the bottle he held, and then placing it precariously on the pile of old magazines on top of the coffee table.  He was halfway to rip-roaring drunk, and planned on reaching that destination as quickly as possible.

In his desperation to be anywhere but wherever Willow was, he had headed back to the only place he could think of:  his old stomping grounds.  Finding Clem there had surprised him, but not unpleasantly.  The demon could be pretty decent company.

"You kidding?  I'm glad to have a visitor.  Things get pretty dull when you live alone, you know?  Besides, this used to be your place.  Least I can do is let you hang out for a couple of days." 

Clem's head poked up from the hole in the floor that lead downstairs, a goofy smile splitting his face.  Apparently the demon had moved in the day after Spike left.  Fortunately for Spike, he didn't seem to mind having a visitor. 

"You know," he added, heading into the makeshift kitchen, "if you want to talk, I'm a pretty good listener.  Part-time bartender at Willy's, you know?  I've heard a *lot* of crazy stories in my time."

Spike smiled at the other demon's attempt at world-weary sophistication.  He happened to know for a fact that Clem had never ventured outside Sunnydale city limits.  Then again, lots of weird shit happened in Sunnydale, he reminded himself.

"'S complicated," Spike mumbled, hoping Clem would take the hint and abandon the subject.

"Always is," he agreed amiably, as the smell of microwave popcorn began to scent the air.  "Bet this has to do with that little childe you made yourself, huh?  She's a cutie, but I'm still not clear on how you managed to turn one of the Slayer's friends without ending up with a stake in your chest.  I'm betting there's a story to that…"

Spike grunted, eyeing the bowl of popcorn that Clem now held.  Sitting up, he made room for his temporary roommate, who sat down next to him, placing the bowl of popcorn between them.

Well if the bloke was gonna bribe him with popcorn, maybe he could be a little more sociable.  "She was dying.  The Watcher asked me to do it.  Don't ask why, I haven't the foggiest.  Guess maybe he had some noble idea of saving her.  Giving her a 'normal life.'  Might have been kinder to let her go," he mumbled.

"So why'd you do it?  If you don't mind my asking?"

Spike tried hard to come up with a response to that one.  He'd been trying to figure it out himself for a couple of weeks now.  "Hell, I dunno," he confessed, running his hands over his face wearily.  "She was kinda cute, I guess.  And maybe I'm still smart enough to know a meal ticket when I see one."

There was more to it than that and they both knew it, although they maintained the illusion that Spike was a badass, selfish vampire with an eye for the main chance.  It made Spike feel better.

"Maybe I saw a chance to tweak the Slayer's nose a little bit too," Spike admitted.  Bloody bint was always so high and mighty, but now he had something she had always thought of as hers.  Not that he would ever stop Willow from seeing her friends, but still, it *was* at his discretion that they were allowed to see her.  At least that was what he liked to tell himself.

He frowned at the direction his thoughts took him.  Did Willow sense that part of him?  That willingness to use her as a pawn just so he could play power games with the Slayer?  Was that part of the reason why she didn't trust him?

"And tonight?" Clem asked, pulling the vampire from his thoughts.

"Tonight?  Oh, it was just bloody perfect. I found out she betrayed me.  With my own sire," he declared, the beginnings of righteous indignation stirring again beneath the alcohol-induced haze. 

Spike forced himself to relax the tension building inside, grabbing his bottle and taking another long swig.  He held the bottle in front of him, watching the liquid slosh around inside.  Would he have enough to dull the pain, he wondered.

"Oh jeez, man.  That's just rough.  I mean—for them to…yeah, that's really not cool at all."  Clem, at a loss for words, started throwing out clichés left and right.  "I mean, who can you trust these days, huh?  And the boyfriend, he's always the last to know."

Spike sensed that Clem didn't really grasp the nature of Willow's betrayal, and he sure as hell considered himself more than some lovesick puppy-dog boyfriend, but he was too tired, and possibly too drunk, to want to get into it all tonight.  Instead, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, letting the familiarity of the crypt surround him, forcing him to relax.

Clem ate his popcorn in silence.  When Spike started snoring softly, he decided that the vampire had had a rough night, and left him to enjoy his rest, heading downstairs for a nice game of solitaire. 

End of Chapter 38

Chapter 39

It was late afternoon, and Spike could feel the approaching sunset somewhere deep inside, like an alarm clock for the undead.  Time to get up and make a call, he decided.  Just because he hated his childe and his sire didn't mean he was going to pass on getting this chip out.

They had an Initiative boy to turn tonight. 

Peaches would have to drain him.  Spike suspected that Angel had already thought about that and was probably brooding his little heart out at this very moment.  Speaking of which…

He borrowed Clem's cell phone, punching Angel's number into the keypad and hitting send. 

"Yeah?" Angel sounded tired and slightly uneasy, and Spike imagined proudly that, as he had guessed, Angel had probably spent the morning in full brood mode.

"Peaches.  It's the apple of your eye."  Hell, enough of the 'fruit' metaphors.  He was gonna sound like a ponce.  Plus, he was still angry at the git.  "Meet me at the mansion tonight for our little extra-curricular activity."

"'Kay," the other vampire replied, still sounding less than sharp.  There was a pause, and then, "You talk to Willow yet?"

"No."  His response was sharp and bitter and to the point.

"She was worried.  Crying.  You should really—"

"Tonight at eight.  Alone," Spike said pointedly.  "She doesn't get involved in this.  Too complicated.  I see her, and I'm gone."

Spike didn't wait for Angel to respond.  He hit 'end' and the phone went silent. 

Stretching out comfortably on the couch, he let his mind wander, trying to decide where the best place would be to find a soldier-boy all alone.  Should they try the dorms?  Maybe the campus?  Or should they be a bit more daring and stake out one of the cemeteries?  They were sure to find one of them there, but it might be a case of biting off more than they could chew.  Since Angel was the only one who could actually fight those bastards, it would be one against however many soldiers they came across.  Still, as long as it was only two or three of them, his money was still on Angel.

"Well you look like crap." 

Cordelia Chase, the Queen of Blunt.  Angel worked up a glimmer of a smile at the thought.  Sure, she could be a pain in the ass sometimes, but you never had any doubt of where you stood when you were with Cordelia.  She always made her thoughts painfully clear.

"So where were you last night?" 

Aaah, prying.  Another of her many talents.  Most people just decided it was easier to tell her what she wanted to know up-front, rather than undergo one of her question and answer sessions.  The Spanish Inquisition had nothing on Cordelia.

"I was in Sunnydale," he replied wearily, making for the coffee.  Experience told him that it was bound to be vile.  Cordelia's coffee resembled mud more than coffee, most days.  But he and Doyle had discovered that it possessed the strength of four 'normal' cups of coffee, so at least there was *some* advantage to it.  You just had to get past the taste.  Somehow.

He grabbed a donut as well, alternating sips of coffee with bites of sugary confection.  As long as the donut supply outweighed the coffee supply, they should be okay.  The fact that there were no more donuts in the box made him a little uneasy though.

"Sure spendin' a lot of time in Sunnydale, aren't you?" Doyle remarked, breezing into the office with another box of donuts.

Doyle was a good man to have around in a coffee crisis.

"Yeah," Angel sighed.  "And I'll be going back tonight."

"So what is Buffy's big problem?  She's got a Watcher and all her little friends.  Why does she need you too?  Doesn't she know we're trying to run a business here?"  Cordelia still held a bit of animosity towards the Sunnydale crew, and Buffy in particular. 

Angel hadn't told his co-workers about Willow.  The timing hadn't been right, and besides, he still wasn't sure how this was all going to play out.  He would have liked to present them with a done deal.  A story with a beginning and an ending.  But he wouldn't be able to hold them off any longer.  They deserved to know now.

He sank down into the one chair in the room, looking up at the other two calmly.  "This is—well, it's not about Buffy." 

Cordelia's look was skeptical, while Doyle merely looked intrigued.

"Okay, here's the deal."  And he told them.  About how Spike found Willow, and Giles asked Spike to turn her, restoring her soul permanently while they waited for her to rise.  And all the rest of it too:  the Initiative, the chip, the plans for the 'hostiles' under their control.  He left nothing out, except that he was a bit vague when it came to describing the relationship between Willow and Spike.  They didn't need to know *everything*, he figured.

When he was finished, he watched them process his words, waiting for one of them to speak.  Cordelia looked…concerned.  Her brow was furrowed and her expression guarded.  Angel knew her well enough to sense that she had reservations about his plans for the Initiative.

Doyle’s expression had gone from shocked, to mildly amused, to downright horrified.  The fact that he was half-demon made this all hit a little closer to home for him.

“I don’t like it.  You can’t do this, Angel.”

Yes, Cordelia had ‘blunt’ down.  Angel wished she would work a bit more on ‘compassion’ now.  “And why is that, Cordelia?”

“Hello?  Killing humans.  I mean, yeah, they’re not particularly nice humans, but they’re still humans.  Killing them is wrong, remember?”  She walked over to him and knocked on his chest with her fist, as if she were rapping on a door.  “Is this thing still working, soulboy?”

Doyle hid a smile at her antics, but his expression was still somber.  “Have you forgotten what they did to this Willow?  And the demons?  There are good demons out there too, you know.”  Maybe he sounded a little defensive, but Cordelia didn’t notice.

“Well, sure, what they did to Willow was horrible,” she agreed, giving a reflexive shiver at the thought.  “But that was just a few guys.  You don’t have to go after them all!”

Angel was surprised to hear Cordelia dismiss what happened to Willow as if it had been a cut or a scrape.  “How can you say that?  She’s your friend.  I would think you’d be feeling a little something here besides, well, nothing.”

“Friend?  Remember me, the girl with rebar through the stomach?  I was in the hospital for a week!  And all because *she* had to make with the smoochies with MY boyfriend.  Although considering I was dating Xander, I guess she did me a favor.  But still, with friends like that…well, I don’t need to finish that thought, do I?”  Her eyes narrowed, blazing with anger as she relived the experience.

“For god’s sake, Cordelia, that was two years ago.  Yeah, it was terrible what happened, but you need to get the hell over it.  Besides, it wasn’t as if she *meant* for you to end up in the hospital.  She and Xander were afraid for their lives.”  Because of Spike, he recalled.  Pretty funny how things worked out, when you thought about it.

Doyle watched their exchange curiously.  Whenever he heard snippets about their lives in Sunnydale, it was like finding another piece to the puzzle that was Angel.

“I want to help,” he blurted out, watching as Angel turn to look at him.

“No.  This is not your problem.  I’m just…you deserved to know about it, and I’m telling you.  I’m not soliciting help.”

“Doesn’t matter why you told me.  You did.  And what these people are doing is wrong.  If they were killing the evil demons, like a Slayer would, then that would be one thing.  But using them as pawns, sending them to fight a battle that they’re too cowardly to fight themselves, that’s just wrong.  And it needs to be stopped.” 

“Okay, I can see where the ‘needs to be stopped’ thing comes in,” Cordelia jumped in, turning to look at Doyle, and then back at Angel, “but there are other ways to go about this.  Killing them all is NOT the way to do it.”

“Oh, sure, I guess we can just write to our local Congressman, right?  Because I’m sure he’s well aware of the goings-on in Sunnydale.  Get real, Cordelia,” Angel snapped, jumping to his feet, the chair clattering behind him at the sudden movement.  “These people are above the law.  They’re off the books, operating in the shadows.  The only way they’re going to stop is if *we* stop them.”

“Huh!” A quick toss of her head was Cordelia’s only reply.  Giving them both what she thought was a damning glance, she headed out the door. 

The two men watched her go, but neither made an effort to stop her.  She had a right to her own opinions, but her view of the world was limited, and they both knew it.

“So when do we take them down?” Doyle asked, drawing Angel’s attention back to him. 

“*We* don’t.  I was serious, Doyle.  You’re not involved in this.”

Doyle simply shook his head.  “Not going to work.  I’m half demon.  I have as much right to fight this fight as you do.  Now either you’re going to tell me what I can do to help, or I’ll head out to Sunnydale and do some sniffing around myself.”

Angel glared at the other man, but the fact was, he had a point.  He was as vested in this as Angel was, now that he was aware of it.  If Doyle wanted to fight this fight with him, then there was little that Angel could do to stop him.

“I need you to be here, to take care of Cordelia,” he tried one last gambit.  “If—if things go wrong, then someone needs to be in L.A. to do what needs to be done here.”

“If I’m with you, there is less chance that things *will* go bad,” Doyle countered easily.  His charm and brogue weren’t going to win this argument, but he had logic on his side.  He just had to convince his hard-headed boss of that fact.

Angel grabbed another donut, sinking his teeth into it viciously as he tried to figure out a way to make Doyle abandon his quest.  “Cordelia’s against this,” he reminded his friend, playing on Doyle’s feelings for the girl.

“Yeah?  Too bad.”  And then, with a deft change of subject, “So how are we getting into the facility?  I’m guessing it won’t be simple.  They’ve got to have some pretty hard-core security systems in place.”

“Yeah,” Angel frowned.  They had only a rudimentary plan at this point.  Hopefully after tonight they would have a better idea of what they were up against.  “Willow found some floor plans that should help.  Then tonight we hope to…find out a bit more about their security system.”

Doyle tilted his head and regarded Angel with serious eyes.  “And just how do you propose to do that?” 

Angel’s face took on a blank look that Doyle knew fairly well.  “I don’t wanna know, do I?” he asked.

The vampire shook his head solemnly.

“Well all right then, I can deal with that.  But can you?  This is going to be a case of ‘the ends justifies the means,’ isn’t it?  Are you going to be cool with that?”

Angel shrugged.  “It’s self-preservation.  Maybe they haven’t been hunting us yet, but L.A. is full of demons, and if this little plan of theirs is successful, they’ll come for us eventually.  We need to stop it now, while it’s small and we still can.  If that means I have a couple of bad nights and some guilt to work through, then that’s what happens.”  He took another swig of coffee and grimaced slightly.  “I’m not happy with it, but I’ll do it, because it has to be done.”

Doyle nodded, guessing that Angel would have more than a couple of bad nights, but he knew that the vampire was right.  And that was why he would help.  “Do you need any help tonight?  I can come along.”

Angel gave a quick shake of his head.  “I think we’re okay.  I’ll let you know when we’ve got a plan in place,” Angel added, a tacit acknowledgement of acceptance.

“Okay.  Good luck tonight, then.”

After a long night, and an even longer morning, Willow was still deep in sleep when the phone rang. 

"Spi—um, hello?"

“Sorry, just me.”  It was Angel, and he sounded tired.

“Angel?  You okay?  You don’t sound so great.”

The sound of his rueful laughter reached her ears.

“I’m okay, Willow.  How are you?”  He neglected to mention that she didn’t sound so hot herself.

“Um, okay.  Tired.  Worried.  I was hoping…” she trailed off, but Angel understood.

“He called me half an hour ago.  He’s fine.  Probably hid out somewhere last night and drank himself into a stupor.”  There had been no evidence of drink in his voice when Spike called, but Angel understood his childe well enough to know that alcohol had been imbibed the previous evening.

“Why did he call you?” The phrase ‘and not me’ wasn’t spoken aloud, but they both heard it.

Why else?  “To make sure I was still coming tonight so we can get things taken care of.”  He cringed at the use of the euphemism.  Willow knew exactly what they were going to do.  Sugar-coating it was unnecessary.  She still held that quality that made him want to protect her, as she had when she was human.  It was odd, and a little disconcerting.  Was it a knee-jerk reaction to the fact that she was still Buffy’s friend?  Or was it because she was Spike’s childe now, and connected to him in yet another way?

“Well,” there was silence for a moment, and Angel imagined he could see her biting her lip, wanting and yet not wanting to ask the next question.  “Where should I meet you guys tonight?”

“Spike and I will handle it,” Angel answered, mindful of Spike’s instructions to him earlier.  She was not to be there.  He wondered if Spike made that demand to protect himself, or to protect her.  It didn’t matter, really.  Her ambivalence towards the project made her more of a liability than an asset.

He heard a sigh, probably of relief, from the other end of the phone.  “Thanks, Angel.  But—I would, if you needed me.  You know?  If you change your mind…”

Angel knew she would have helped, if asked, and that was all the more reason to shield her from the darker side of their life for as long as he possibly could.  A part of him hoped that she would never become hard and bitter, a casual participant and observer of violence.  The soul would never make it easy, but sometimes even those with souls could do terrible things.

End of Chapter 39

Chapter 40

 
Spike paced the floor of the mansion, attempting to wear a path in the stone hallway that led from the front door to the parlor.  It was just after eight o’clock.  He knew that Angel would be there eventually, but the waiting was starting to get to him.  Every minute he spent with the chip in his head was another minute closer to his possible demise.

Lights from an approaching car cast ominous shadows across the room, and Spike smiled in the darkness.  It was time.  Leaving the silence of the empty house, the blond closed the door behind him and made his way to the car.

“’Bout time you got here,” he grumbled as he slid into the passenger seat.  He cast a glance at the other vampire, taking in the clenched jaw and allowing it to lighten his mood.

“So sorry to have ruined your evening,” Angel snarled in response. 

Slamming the car into reverse, he backed down the long driveway and out onto the deserted street. 

“So where do you think we should start this?” Angel asked.

Spike hadn’t come to any firm conclusions on where to look, although he had given the idea some thought.  “We do it on campus, we’re likely to come across a group of one or two only.  We do it at a cemetery, we’ll probably find them more quickly, but in larger numbers.  Plus, there’s a chance we could run into the Slayer.”  Neither of them wanted that.

“Campus it is, then,” Angel agreed, turning onto one of the busy north-south streets that he knew would take them to the outskirts of UC Sunnydale.

They drove on in silence.  Angel had many things he wanted to say to his childe, but knew that Spike would not want to hear them.  “What now?” he asked finally, as they reached one of the large parking lots adjacent to the campus. 

The lot was nearly empty.  Only a half-dozen cars were parked there, and several of them had the look of abandoned property.  With any luck, a new temporary addition to the lot would not be noticed.

“Now we wander, I suppose.  Wish I had thought to dress the part.  Letterman jacket, t-shirt, whatever.”  He gave Angel an appraising look.  “You look bloody silly with that jacket on.”

Angel glared at him, then pulled back the flaps of the jacket, sticking his hand inside and pulling out what appeared to be a gun.  Spike looked curiously at the object, then at Angel.

“Shoots tranqs,” he explained.  “We find someone, identify them, and let them have it.  If there are two of them, we shoot them both, then drag one of them back with us and leave the other there to sleep it off.”

Spike had to admit that the idea made sense.  It cut down on the hand-to-hand, and made the capture silent and quick.  “Not bad,” he allowed, unwilling to heap too much praise on his partner.

Angel grinned, looking like a child showing off a new toy.  “Doyle got it for me.  Thought it might come in handy.”

“That the feisty li’l guy who was there last time I was in L.A.?”

Angel nodded, working hard to push away images of Spike’s last visit to Los Angeles.  “C’mon, let’s go this way.  I think I hear someone.”

They slipped silently through the night until they came across a young couple wandering along one of the many paths that bisected the campus.  The male’s arm was thrown casually around a young sorority girl’s shoulders, and the conversation consisted mostly of a discussion about which one of them loved the other one more. 

Spike made a gagging sound, pretending to retch at their sugary words.  “Enough to give me diabetes,” he groaned.  Angel nodded his agreement, and they left the couple to their sickening display, heading back in the general direction of Angel’s car.

An hour passed, and ten o’clock was looming before them.  Angel had hoped to find someone quickly, since there was still much that needed to be done before he had to make the long drive back to Los Angeles.   He was about to suggest that they try their luck somewhere else, when the sounds of two male voices reached his ears.

“Hey dude, yeah, sounds like a plan.  Gotta do one more quick sweep or Walsh will have my hide.  You head back to the house and I’ll catch up with you later.”

The two vampires silently moved towards the voices, mindful of the trouble they would be in if they were discovered.  Only Angel was capable of fighting, and if their activities were revealed, the rest of the Initiative’s forces were only a walkie-talkie’s call away.  Neither vampire had any interest in spending time with their enemy.

The mention of the name Walsh left them in little doubt that the conversation they were listening to had nothing to do with innocent children playing games with sex.  These were two adults who were involved in a much more serious activity. 

They watched the two strangers part, one moving north, the other heading south towards the frat houses.  When they felt certain that the other soldier was out of hearing range, Angel simply took out his tranquilizer gun and shot a dart into their prey.  The boy fell to the ground without making a sound.  There was no hint of breath, no hiss of a walkie-talkie, no heartbeats to be heard, other than that of their victim.  They were safe, as long as they could get their captive into the car without attracting any attention.

“Like shooting fish in a barrel,” Angel murmured, slightly disappointed at the lack of finesse required.  Point and shoot; he didn’t even have to aim.

“Probably just as well,” Spike commented.  “You never could aim for shit.”

“Hey, Buffy.” Willow ushered her friend into the house, quickly grabbing the chips and salsa left over from their get-together a couple of nights ago.  “Here, food!” she exclaimed, setting it down on the coffee table and joining Buffy on the couch.

“Hi, Wills.” Buffy grabbed a tortilla chip and scooped up some of the spicy salsa.  “I never had a chance to tell you about my date, so I thought I’d drop by.  But if you and Spike are in the middle of something…” the words trailed off as she saw a sudden flash of pain on Willow’s face, quickly hidden.

“Sure,” the redhead chirped, bouncing slightly on the couch, before turning her body to face her friend.  “So where did you guys go?”

“Whoah!  No you don’t, missy.  I saw that thing you did when I mentioned Spike.” 

“What thing?  I didn’t do a thing.  Nope, no thing going on here.”

“Willow,” Buffy sighed, an understanding smile on her face, “you know that whenever you deny something so strongly, it just convinces me that I’m on to something.  Now spill it!”

Willow’s face fell, but she remained silent.  There was nothing she could tell Buffy.  Any attempt at a real explanation would involve discussions about behavior modification chips and angry sires, and the fact that, as they spoke, Spike and Angel were stalking a human being, with the intention of killing and turning him.

No, that was not a discussion she wanted to get into with Buffy.

“I don’t really want to talk about it, okay?  Spike and I just had a fi—a difference of opinion.  He sort of stormed out, that’s all.”  She neglected to mention that Spike had stormed out last night, letting Buffy draw whatever conclusions she chose.

“What did you guys fight about?”

Willow smiled wearily.  Buffy could be like a dog with a bone when she sensed something was wrong.  “Nothing interesting.  And no, he didn’t hurt me, and he wasn’t mean to me.”  Not any more than she deserved, at least.  “So now that we’ve got that covered,” she added cheerfully, “let’s talk about your date, huh?”

Buffy knew she wasn’t getting the whole story, but Willow obviously didn’t want to talk about it, and from the look on her face, she wasn’t going to spill any more details than she already had. 

“Well,” the blonde began, allowing a dreamy smile to settle on her face, “we started out at Figaro’s.  You know, that little Italian place on Bayview Street?  It was really quiet, and almost just the two of us.  So we talked for a while.”

“Did you wear the outfit?  The blue silk blouse? And the black pants?” Willow asked excitedly. 

“Yep.  And he told me I looked ‘extremely kiss-able.’  Yep, he actually said that.”  And proved it later, but she didn’t add that part.

Willow grinned, allowing the simple discussion to distract her from her own more complicated problems.  “So, what did you talk about?”

“Oh, classes.  Family.  College.  You know, the usual first-date stuff,” Buffy explained.  “And guess what?” she added.  “He thinks I’m funny!”

Willow raised a curious eyebrow. 

“Oh, I’ve had guys think I’m ‘peculiar’ funny before, but I’ve never had one think I was actually humorously-type funny.  And he does!”  She stopped for a moment, grabbing another chip and popping it into her mouth.  “I told him the joke Xander told us.  You know, the one about the garbage truck and the food processor?  And he laughed.  And I think he even meant it!”

Willow smiled at her friend’s excitement, although there was a certain element of uneasiness as well that she kept hidden.  Riley sounded like a nice guy.  In fact, he had always been very nice to her as well.  But, and it was a *big* but, he was a member of the Initiative.  Was he just an innocent pawn in their plans, or did the affable and friendly demeanor hide a much more dangerous Riley?  Willow wished she knew the answer to that question.

“So then we went to see a movie.  You know, the new Merchant/Ivory one.  Definitely a chick flick, but he was very nice and never even made the snoring noises like Xander does.  And then afterwards we went out for coffee.  It was…nice,” Buffy finished, that dreamy smile still firmly affixed to her lips.

“That’s really neat, Buffy.  Sounds like you had a great time.  So are you going to go out again?”

Buffy chewed her bottom lip, a sure sign of uncertainty.  “I dunno, Will.  I mean, he said he’d call, but, well, we all know how that goes.” 

They both remembered Buffy’s last attempt at a romantic relationship with Parker, the commitment-phobic freak, and his classic kiss-off to Buffy of, ‘I’ll call you.’

“Some guys just give that phrase a bad reputation,” Willow assured her friend.  “99.99 percent of the time, it means exactly what it says.  He’ll call you.  It’s just a few poop-heads, who shall remain nameless, that can ruin a perfectly nice phrase like that for the rest of us.”

Buffy's face brightened into a smile again, and she eagerly settled back to tell Willow more details about her evening.

It was well past midnight before the two vampires dragged their prey into the mansion.  Angel had been stuck in brood mode since they tranquillized the soldier, and Spike had been equally silent, bothered by something that he had yet to share with his sire.

It was the scent of the third occupant of the car that had bothered him.  This person—this boy—was one of Willow’s murderers.

He supposed he should have considered that this might happen.  But with everything else going on, the possibility had slipped his mind.  And now that it had happened, what was he going to do about it?  Tell Willow?  Not tell Willow? 

In a very petty, cruel way, he wanted to play with her emotions the same way that she had played with his.  He could keep this information from her; spring it on her when it would do the most damage, and get his revenge.  A couple of years ago, with a different girl, he would have done just that.  But now, with Willow…

Thinking of her reaction to a situation had become almost second-nature to him.  It was odd, not to mention disconcerting.   Peaches would probably tell him that it was part of being a sire, although Spike had never noticed Angelus being particularly solicitous of his reactions or concerns.  Then again, Angelus was a bastard.  He, Spike, was not.

“Where should we do this?” Spike asked, the body a dead weight draped over his shoulder.

Angel shrugged.  “Basement?”

Spike nodded, making his way to the small staircase located behind the pantry.  Oh, this house held memories for him.  Probably did for Angel, too.  Life had been so different then.  So much better in some ways, but worse in others.  Better not to think about it.  He would have plenty of time to do so later.

They stood in the small room that had perhaps once functioned as a wine cellar.  The owners had been long gone when they had ‘borrowed’ the house a few years back. 

Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls of the room, except for on the far wall, which was adorned by a sturdy set of chains, set into the rock of the wall and the cement of the floor.  Spike knew from personal experience that the chains would hold whoever was placed in their care for as long as needed.  He suppressed a shiver of excitement.  Or maybe dread.  He wasn’t quite sure.

Apparently the tranquilizer was starting to wear off, because the figure Spike had dumped onto the floor was beginning to stir.  He was secured tightly with ropes that immobilized his legs and arms, so Spike took the time to examine his victim.

The boy was tall—well over 6 ½ feet, with the kind of nondescript features that made him easy to overlook.  Short brown hair capped a blandly handsome face, and dark blue eyes that were beginning to look a bit frightened.  As well they should.

“What’s your name?” Angel asked, squatting down beside the boy.

“Trevor,” he mumbled, his eyes darting from place to place, examining the limits of his imprisonment like a rat looking for a way out of a maze.  “What do you want?”  He was scared, and willing to bargain.  Little did he know that the only thing they would accept, unconditional obedience, was not something he could give.  Not yet, anyway.

“What’ve you got to give?” Spike asked curiously, playing games with his prisoner. 

“Let’s get this over with,” Angel growled, glaring at Spike, then turning back to the captive.  Fangs and ridges were barely visible in the dim light of the single naked bulb hanging from the ceiling, but Trevor could see enough.  Sensing his impending doom, he began to struggle futilely, trying to use his useless limbs to scuttle away from the dark haired vampire.

Spike laughed at the spectacle, searching his pockets for a cigarette and lighter.  He lit the cigarette, his eyes narrowing in thought as he allowed the familiar action of inhaling and exhaling to calm his demon.  Peaches might be having all the fun now, but Spike would get his turn later.

Angel cornered the boy, ignoring his pleas and whimpers.  Neither the soul nor the demon were happy with this; the demon wanted an all-out bloodbath, a resurgence of his glory days, when the chase was his favorite game, and the kill was the coup de grace. 

The soul despised every part of this.  While it wouldn’t deny that this was necessary, it wanted to derive no pleasure from the act.  It was a task, a chore, pure and simple.  He struggled to place it on the same level as getting the dry cleaning or answering the phone, but knew that it wasn’t quite the same.

Enough of this, he thought.  Angel grabbed the pathetic human, despising both himself and his victim.  His teeth buried themselves into the flesh of Trevor’s neck, repulsed and excited at the taste of the blood that filled his mouth.  It had been so long….

It didn’t take long to drain him to the point where his heartbeat was a weak, fluttery thing.  He motioned to Spike, standing up and turning away from the sight he had seen countless times:  the creation of a minion.

Spike took his sire’s place, looking down at the glassy-eyed human without compassion or pity.  This was one of the creatures who killed Willow.  Not to mention that he was a member of the Initiative, and therefore at least partly responsible for the chip inside his head.  The blond held tight to the anger and passion stirring within him, knowing that the time for revenge was near.

His demon face burst forth.  Without thought, he brought his wrist to his mouth, slicing a vein and watching the rich red blood begin to pool.  He brought his arm to the dying man’s mouth, turning it to let the blood coat his lips and the scent of it tease him.

Soon the other grabbed his wrist, sucking and kneading the skin, forcing as much blood as he could to the surface and into his greedy mouth. 

The feel of a hungry mouth against Spike’s skin brought up memories of other kills, and other humans who had become something more because of a vampire’s embrace.  Once-familiar emotions, almost forgotten since he had been chipped, began to stir within him, and his demon reveled in them.  Power.  It was all about power.  The knowledge that he could crush this life, could pull away now and leave the human to die, was at once exciting and arousing. 

He longed to start now, to show this creature who was in charge, to beat his superiority into the other’s body and mind.  But it was too soon.  That would come later.

Spike let him feed for a while.  He wanted less than a childe, but more than a garden-variety minion.  Someone who could be counted on to follow orders, but was not smart enough to dream of having power for himself some day.  Finally, when he felt that that balance was reached, he withdrew his arm, smiling at the cry of protest from the fledgling. 

Looking around the basement, Spike was not surprised to find that his sire had gone.  That was okay; he had played his part.  Now it was time for Spike to play his.

End of Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Spike watched the fledgling curled up on the floor in front of him, waiting for a sign of life.  Unlife.  Whatever.  

For a moment he had entertained the whimsical idea of doing this the traditional way, burying the vampire in the cemetery and waiting for him to claw his way out.  There was a symbolism to it—making the bastard into the thing that he had fought all those years—that appealed to Spike.

But there were too many risks these days to pull something like that.  Either the Initiative could find him, or Buffy could wander by.  He would certainly be hard-pressed to come up with an excuse for standing over a recently dug grave, should anyone ask why he was there.

So instead, he had whiled away the hours in the basement of the old mansion, waiting for sleeping beauty to awaken.  He gave a vicious kick to the vampire, hoping to speed up the process, but to no avail.

It had been almost twenty hours since Angel had drained the human, and not only was Spike incredibly bored, but he was also ready for a little payback.  The mansion was dark and gloomy, and chock full of memories he didn't want to think about.  If he managed to ignore the memories, there were still the random thoughts of Willow.

All he really wanted was to be *done* with this.

There was a sound--something between a groan and a growl, and his eyes shifted to his captive.  The vampire was beginning to stir, and was probably surprised to find himself secured to the spot by shackles on his hands and feet.  Spike watched as he figured it out, lifting his hands as far as he could, about three feet from the ground, before the chains stopped his progress.

The demon sensed him, both as his sire, and as another presence in the room, and those golden eyes sought his in the darkness.  

"Hungry," he breathed, waiting for a response.

"Yeah, well, not my problem," Spike said, making his way into the light.  He eyed the creature dispassionately, wondering what to do next.  He had had plenty of time to think while he waited for the vampire to rise, but still didn't know what to do about feeding.  Give it bagged shit?  Take it hunting?  Give it his own blood?  He shuddered at that idea.  

When Willow fed from him she was gentle and careful, almost apologetic.  Spike was sure that this new fledgling would display none of those qualities.  He would be ruthless, even savage, in his feeding.  The thought brought a tingling to his groin, but he ignored it.  Things were complicated enough as it was.

Another possibility came to mind.  Angel would be back soon for a little Q&A with their captive.  Hunger was always a motivator.  Why not let the git starve until they knew everything they wanted?

"Hungry," the demon demanded, his voice stronger this time.  Right on cue.  

"I bet you are," Spiked smirked.  "It's probably burning a hole in your stomach as we speak, huh?"

The fledgling nodded, eyes blazing with anger.

"We've got some questions we're gonna ask you, and if you answer them to our liking, maybe I'll let you have a little snack.  Sound fair?"

"HUNGRY!"

Spike sighed.  His foot shot out quickly, connecting with ribs that cracked ominously from the impact.  Silence returned.  There was no sense reasoning with a newly-turned vampire.  They just didn't have the ability to control their baser instincts.  It was all 'hungry' and 'thirsty' and 'want, take, have.'  They wouldn't be able to control themselves at all for the first couple of days.  Not at all like Willow had been when she--

Fuck.  

She seemed to haunt him these days, and he resented the hell out of it.  At least three or four times he had caught himself reaching for the cell phone he had confiscated from his captive, their home number on the tip of his finger.  His anger at her still burned brightly, but it had been over two days since he'd seen her, and something kept pulling him back towards her.

So what would he say if he did call her?  Would he apologize?  Hell no!  Would he at least let her explain and tell her side of the story?  Maybe.

When it came down to it, he knew exactly what she would say.  She was scared that he'd kill her friends.  End of story.  

And what would he say to that?  Other than that she was wrong, and that she should have trusted him, there wasn't much else *to* say.

So there was no point in talking to her.

Willow paced the short space between the living room and dining room, bored out of her mind.  There were so many things that she wanted to do, but she was stuck inside until the sun went down, and unable to do anything except think.  Considering the direction her thoughts seemed to take lately, thinking was *not* that good of a way to pass the time.

She had done some work, but her employers were a little short on things for her to do at the moment, so she surfed, looking for more information on the Initiative, but finding very little.  Finally, as a last resort, she sat down to watch TV.  

When the phone rang, it was almost like the answer to a prayer.  Willow ran to grab it out of its charger, practically tripping over her own feet in her eagerness.

"Hi," she chirped, curious about who was on the other end of the line.  Would it be Buffy, Xander, Angel, or Spike?  God, she hoped it was Spike.

"Willow."

Oh, Angel.  Well, it was almost as good as Spike.  In the same way that broccoli was almost as good as chocolate.  No, that wasn’t fair.  Angel was just trying to let her know what was going on.  She should be grateful to him, not upset that he wasn’t Spike.

"Hi Angel.  Um, how did things go?  Last night?  With the..."

"They went fine, Willow.  Don't worry."  He just wished *he* felt fine about it.  In point of fact, when he thought about what he did last night, he felt sick to his stomach and weary to his soul.  The end justified the means, he reminded himself.  The words were quickly becoming his mantra.

What would The Powers That Be think of his choice?  Would they see the big picture?  Would they agree that what the Initiative did was wrong?  Or would they condemn him for his choice to help the innocent, instead of the humans?

"So, um, what happens next?  Is Spike okay?  I haven't heard from him since..."

He smiled at her tendency to let her sentences trail off, as if she wasn’t sure how to finish them, and had just decided to let them end themselves.  "He's fine, Willow.  He's just working on some stuff.  His…associate has risen.  There are questions to ask, information to be obtained.”  

“Oh.”  She considered that, trying to decide how much she wanted to know.  It seemed almost hypocritical to not be part of what they were doing tonight, and what they did last night.  A large part of what was happening had to do with her.

“I could meet you there.  Do you need help?”  The offer was sincere, but he could tell that she hoped he would say no.

He prevaricated, talking around her question.  It was odd how they both instinctively protected her.  After all, vampires weren’t known for their delicate sensibilities.  And even though what he said now would hurt her, it would still hurt far less than if she had to watch what they would do tonight.  “I don’t think Spike’s ready to see you yet.  If he talks to you now, while he's still angry, it won't be good for either of you.  You do understand that, don’t you?"

It was a simple truth, easy to understand, but it didn't stop the hurt.  "I get it," she told him sadly.  "I just--I wish I could talk to him.  Find the words that would make everything right again, you know?"

Angel understood.  But those magic words didn't exist, and he wasn't sure exactly how to say that to Willow.  "Just give him some more time.  It has only been a couple of days."

"I know.  It just--it seems like a lot longer."  Especially when I’m so alone here, she thought.

The line went quiet for a moment, save for the slight hiss of distance.  "I miss him.  Tell him, okay?"  She sounded young and confused and hurt.  If Spike could hear her like this, Angel had no doubt that he would forgive her anything.  Maybe it wasn't so much a matter of magic words that would dampen Spike's anger, as it was the way the words were spoken.

Spike met him in the mansion’s foyer.  It was a formal room, but looked forlorn now, with the antique furniture covered by white sheets, and the walls bare, save for the tattered gold and white striped wallpaper.  Angel owned this house now, although he doubted Spike was aware of that fact.  It made sense for him to have a place to stay in Sunnydale.  Just in case.  But there was no need to advertise the fact.

Angel looked around, remembering how the room had looked and smelled when it had last been inhabited.  Drusilla had been in her element then, calling out orders to minions and humans alike, refusing to rest until each of the rooms had met her stringent specifications.

She had developed a habit of snacking on interior decorators.  Every single one they had invited to the house had ended up in her stomach.  For a while Angelus wondered if she really wanted the opinions of the decorators, or whether she just enjoyed their taste. 

Angel smiled fondly at the memory, even though he knew he shouldn’t. 

“Talked to Willow today,” he remarked, continuing his visual examination of the room.  He said it casually, as if he was discussing the weather. 

“Yeah?”  Spike’s response was equally casual, if slightly more wary. 

“She misses you.  Says she’s sorry.”   Well, she hadn’t exactly said the last bit, but then again she wasn’t here to deny it, so that was good enough, as far as Angel was concerned.

“She tell you to say that?”  A slight smile played around the corners of Spike’s lips.   He already knew the answer.

“More or less,” Angel agreed.  Just when the hell had he become ‘therapist to the undead,’ anyway?

Spike grunted his reply.  “We have a plan yet?  For that?”  He jerked his head towards the pantry, obviously referring to their guest.  His hands searched his pockets for a cigarette, found one, and lit it up.  He couldn’t hide the smirk when he saw Angel’s sharp glance of annoyance.

“Is he hungry?” Angel asked, ignoring the acrid scent of burning tobacco.

“Oh yeah,” Spike said, his smile widening to an all-out grin.  “Hungry enough to tell us just about anything we want to know.”

An answering smile, grim and predatory, formed on Angel’s lips.  “Let’s go then, get this thing over with.”


End of Chapter 41

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