Title: My New Life
Sequel to My Other Life
Author: Kat, a.k.a. KallieRose
E-mail: [email protected]
Rating: So far PG, may go to R or 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: Sequel to My Other Life; there's a new master vampire in town.  How will his plans affect Willow and Spike?  

My New Life

Sequel to My Other Life

Willow read the passage again, but it made as little sense the second time as it had the first. 'That's it,' she thought in frustration, sitting up on her bed and slamming the art history textbook closed and tossing it onto the floor. 

She could multiply 289 by 348 in her head, divide the resulting number by 18, and never misplace a decimal point, but art history was kicking her ass, simply put. Perhaps it was because she just didn't feel the same connection to art that she did to science and mathematics. Science and math were composed of rules and formulas and *certainties*, while art was so damned subjective. 

Willow sighed in annoyance, wishing that she could find some reason to shirk her studies. As if in answer to her unasked prayer, the phone at her bedside table rang. Lying down, she reached out her arm and pulled the phone from the base, bringing it up to greet her caller with a cheerful, and thankful 'hello'.

"Hey Will," came Spike's low, sexy voice; the voice that did things to her legs and knees--things she wasn't willing to admit to yet. 

Not that he did it on purpose, she thought. It was just his voice. And it was sexy.

Her thoughts were interrupted again by his voice, "You there?"

"Oh, sorry Spike. I was just thinking and then I got distracted."

"You think much too much. Not good for you. What are you up to tonight?"

Tonight, she thought, twisting an errant strand of hair as she considered the question. "I really ought to study," she told him, but he could hear the uncertainty in her voice.

"You should, but you really don't want to, now do you?"

"It's just that I have this test tomorrow, and I don't feel like I'm anywhere near ready for it," she confided.

"What class?"

"Art history. I hate it!" she whined, in a most un-Willow-like way.

"Art's fascinating stuff. Why don't you like it?"

"Because it's stupid," she said, pouting now. "What does the year the painting was made have to do with the brush strokes and price of tea in China, anyway?"

Instead of agreeing with her, Spike started to laugh into the phone. "Pet, you have *no* idea. What exactly are those teachers filling your head with?" he asked, shaking his head in mock dismay.

"Lots of boring dates and names, mostly." 

"Well that's the problem, then. You just don't have the right teachers. I'll be by in half an hour. Be ready to learn," he warned, "because I'm not wasting my time on you unless you're ready to actually work at this."

Willow ran a hand over her forehead, trying to rub away the beginnings of a study-induced headache. "I don't know, Spike. I feel a bit of a headache coming on..."

"Well, I'll be there in half an hour. Either get rid of your headache and get ready to study, or figure out where we're going to spend the evening. Either way, you're stuck with me."

Before Willow could reply the vampire had already hung up and she was left holding a useless phone. 'He never says good-bye,' she thought with annoyance. 'I swear he hangs up like that on purpose, just so that nobody can argue with him.'

Replacing the phone carefully in the cradle, Willow laid back on the bed again, considering for a moment her relationship with Spike. As much as he infuriated her from time to time, he had been true to his word and had turned into a surprisingly good friend. 

It had been almost three months now since they had had their showdown, and Willow and Spike had agreed to be friends. She really hadn't had any reason to regret her decision, not even once. The blond was attentive, helpful, enthusiastic; he was even making an effort to get along better with the others. 

The two of them usually got together at least twice a week to see a movie, go bowling, or just sit at home and watch TV. No matter what they did, Willow found herself warming to the vampire and enjoying their time together.

"You're saying that these artists weren't even allowed to have public exhibitions because they didn't follow the prescribed techniques of their day and age? That's insane!" 

They sat side by side on the couch in Willow's living room, textbooks and a half-eaten bowl of popcorn spread out on the coffee table in front of them. Spike had been regaling her with stories of the Impressionist era, and the reasons behind the movement that they were studying in class. These were things that her dry professor had never talked about, and having the details and backstory behind the dates and phrases was a fascinating treat.

Willow was amazed by the amount of knowledge Spike had about the Impressionist movement. Every time she thought she had him pigeon-holed as being interested in one sort of thing, he just popped up with another interest of his and surprised her yet again. She had never realized what a well-rounded and educated person he was. Not that she had ever thought him stupid. It was simply that he had always seemed to be more street-smart than book smart. 

"So do you understand now why the Salon de Refuses was such a big deal for them, in their time?" He watched as the redhead nodded her head slowly, teeth nibbling lightly on her lower lip, as she considered all that he had told her. "And when and where did that happen?" he asked with a smile, prodding her just a bit with his elbow.

"Paris, um, 1863, right?" she answered, slightly excited that she finally knew the answer to this question.

"Right!" he agreed enthusiastically. "See, knowing the background and the influences of the time makes it so much easier to remember the big things like names and dates. Am I right?"

Willow looked at him, watching the enthusiasm in his face as he taught her. He really was striking, she thought absently. The hair, matched up with those cheekbones, and the rest of the face...

"Willow? Didn't cause you to doze off there for a moment, did I?"

She started guiltily, realizing that he had been talking to her while she was examining his face. And just why the heck had she been doing that, anyway? Yes, he was a good-looking guy, she thought, but he was her friend. Nothing more. She was the one who had insisted that it remain that way, and it was a little late to be noticing things like his strong chin and his long, slender fingers, and STOP IT, she told herself, realizing that Spike was speaking again, and trying to concentrate on the words, instead of the lips.

"So do you think you're ready for the big test tomorrow, or do you want to go over anything again?" he asked, quite content to stay all night if it meant that he could spend time with his redhead.

"Nope, I think I'm good," she answered, giving him a confident smile. She really did feel good about her chances tomorrow. As long as she didn't mystically manage to forget everything overnight, she should be fine.

Spike watched as the young woman stretched, and then opened her mouth and yawned, her mouth gaping open. A mischievous glimmer entered the vampire's eye, and he grabbed a piece of popcorn from the bowl and tossed it neatly into Willow's mouth. He loved the surprised look in her eyes as the perfect throw landed the kernel of corn right onto her pink tongue.

"Why you..." she trailed off, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl and pelting Spike with little pieces of salty buttery goodness. Their play soon degenerated into fist-fuls of popcorn flying through the air between the two occupants of the house, Spike hiding behind the couch while Willow hid behind a convenient chair. 

"Damn, all out," Spike called, as he threw the last of his popcorn in an attempt at a sneak attack. 

"Me too," Willow confessed, standing and showing her empty hands, an exuberant smile shining on her face. She walked to the center of the living room, surprised to see Spike still crouched behind the couch.

"Gotcha!" he yelled, grabbing her with his left arm and attempting to stuff a handful of popcorn into her mouth with his right hand. She tried to twist away from him, turning her head first one direction and then the other in an attempt to avoid the popcorn, and in the end they fell to the floor, a twisted combination of legs and arms.

Spike looked down at Willow as he straddled her body, sitting comfortably on her stomach. He watched with a smile as she bucked her hips in an attempt to dislodge him, twisting her hips wildly as she struggled. 'Damn, a bit more of this and I just might have to excuse myself,' he thought, as his pants were slowly becoming more and more constricting.

"Get off of me, Spike," she growled as she struggled, a sudden feeling of helplessness coming over her. He was her friend, but he was also capable of doing a lot of damage when properly motivated, and sometimes she forgot about that. Now, as he sat over her, watching her struggles with a condescending smile, she was strongly reminded of that fact.

"Or what, my little prisoner?" he growled back, continuing to smile in the face of her mounting frustration and anger. "Looks like I'm the one in the driver's seat now, so to speak." 

A sudden memory struck Willow. They had been in this position before: Spike, sitting on her, taunting her; her, feeling angry and helpless. The last time it had happened, she bit his nose. Hard. Boy had he been angry then! And if he thought that she might try that again...

Spike watched the look on Willow's face change from frustrated, to sly and secretive. She was up to something, he knew, but what? Something tugged at his memory, something familiar, but the more he tried to catch it, the further away the memory ran. 

Suddenly she opened her little mouth and he focused on her sharp, white teeth. Teeth that had caused a large amount of pain the last time she had used them on his poor, defenseless nose. THAT was the memory that had been eluding him. 

Suddenly he moved off of her like she had scalded him, and looked down on her as if she was dangerous. Willow laughed as she saw the cautious expression on his face. Yes, he definitely remembered what she'd done to his nose. He might be stronger than she was, but stronger wasn't always better, she thought with satisfaction.

Sitting up, she brushed a stray piece of popcorn from her hair. Spike sat next to her and began to help her with the popcorn situation. He took her hands and laid them in her lap. 

Willow sat quite still; she could feel his hands gently running through her hair, his touch almost as light as a caress, as he pulled a half-dozen pieces of white puffy popcorn from her hair, placing them in a row on his jean-covered thigh. 

When he had assured himself that there was no more popcorn to be found, he regretfully pulled his hand out of her hair, teasing a couple of the strands as his hands left.

"Thanks, Spike," she said solemnly, her earlier, sillier mood vanished.

"No problem," he told her, grabbing a piece of popcorn and throwing it high in the air. 

Willow watched it soar, turning and twisting, before it fell perfectly into Spike's waiting mouth. 

"Hmmmm," he murmured, giving every impression that the popcorn was unusually good. "Willow-flavored popcorn," he explained, answering her unasked question.

She made her "ew" face, and he laughed as he watched the way her expression changed.

"I promise you, it's a vampire delicacy," he told her, grinning at her disgust. Then he reconsidered, "Okay, maybe it takes a certain kind of vampire to appreciate it. But hey, it's not like I dipped it in blood first or anything."

The "ew" face surfaced again briefly, before Willow began to laugh along with him.

Yet another aced test under her belt, Willow sailed into the Magic Box the next day with a smile on her face. Buffy and Xander were already seated at the large table, while Giles and Spike were nowhere in sight.

"So what's with the big ol' smile, Will?" Xander asked. "Did you once slay the evil that is Art History?"

"That's right," Buffy said. "You had that nasty test today. So is he right? Did you kick ass on that test you were stressing over?"

"I sure did!" the redhead said with a smile, as she joined them at the table. "Well, with a little help from Spike, that is."

"Spike?!?" Buffy and Xander cried in unison. They still weren't happy with her choice of friend, but neither of them could figure out how to derail the new friendship.

"Yes, Spike," Willow confirmed, slightly annoyed. "Spike knows a lot about history. He was a HUGE help."

"So you passed, did you?" came Spike's voice from downstairs. Buffy and Xander exchanged disgusted looks, before glaring at the blond as he entered the room.

"Not just passed, I but got an A," Willow replied happily. "And I couldn't have done it without you," she added gratefully, walking over to give the vampire a quick impulsive hug. "Thanks again."

"Eh, it was my pleasure," Spike replied modestly, her words of thanks like music to his ears. Plus, the twin glares from Buffy and Xander were giving him the most delicious tingly feelings. Anytime he could piss off those two, and listen to Willow's excited voice, well, that was a good day indeed.

The night wore on as it usually did: Willow studied, Buffy and Xander pretended to study, Giles researched some recent demon activity in South America, and Spike plotted ways to spend time with his redhead. Finally, 9 o'clock rolled around, and Willow decided to head home.

"I'm outta here, guys," she announced, smiling as she tried to stifle a yawn. "See everyone tomorrow."

"I'll walk you," Xander said quickly, shooting a glance at the vampire, who had just been about to offer to walk Willow home. 'Not this time blondie,' Xander thought. 'Score one for the Xan-man.'

"Thanks," Willow said, giving him a smile. "Bye," she called back to Giles, Spike and Buffy, as the two-some walked out the door and into the cold night.

Spike fumed in the corner, indulging in his third-favorite pastime: plotting ways to kill the moron. Plotting ways to kill the slayer was his second-favorite pastime, of course. There had to be *some* way that he could pull off a small little murder without the chip exploding. He just had to figure it out. 

They were only a block from Willow's house when they realized that they were in trouble. The vampires came out of nowhere, eight of them in all, ringing a circle around the two frail humans quite easily. 

Not wasting a moment, Willow and Xander moved to stand back-to-back, hoping to make the most of their weapons. But the two vials of holy water and four stakes were no match for eight vampires, even if they were minions. Before long Xander was passed out on the street, a small trail of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. Willow had tried to continue to fight, but one of the other vampires put his foot on Xander's unprotected head and hissed at her. 

Her head shot up, and she gave a brief glance in that direction. Green eyes grew big at the unspoken threat: if she kept fighting, he'd crush Xander's head like a ripe melon. Or an unripe one. Either way, he was smushed.

The redhead stopped her struggles and dropped the remaining stake she held, her eyes pleading with the minion not to hurt her friend. 

He moved aside, and two of the other minions picked Xander up and headed north, towards the old part of town. The added burden of the boy's weight didn't seem to slow them down at all. Another vampire grabbed Willow's arm, giving it a sharp twist, which had the redhead gasping in pain, and tears gathering in her eyes. 'Don't struggle or you'll be sorry,' seemed to be the warning this time.

"Where are we going," she asked, as they moved rapidly through the shadows at almost breakneck speed. There was no reply to her question, just the rough hand of the vampire pulling her along. Houses and tree-lined streets gave way to an older neighborhood with larger streets and fewer, larger houses. Still they hurried on.

At one point, trying to figure out (a) why they were still alive; and (b) where they were being taken. This was obviously no ordinary vamp raid. If that had been the case, they would both be dead by now. No, somebody had been looking for them specifically, and wanted them alive.

Willow looked up when they stopped in front of the old Weatherby mansion. The paint was peeling, the windows were boarded up; the place looked like it hadn't been lived in for years. It had never occurred to her that it could be a haven for vampires, but of course now that she thought about it, she gave herself a big old 'DUH'. 

They entered the house, and she was ushered into an old-fashioned sitting room, where Xander was unceremoniously dumped on the floor at her feet. Their vampire escorts left them alone, but Willow could hear them moving around outside of the closed door, and knew that any escape attempt would have to wait for later. 

Besides, she was concerned that Xander still hadn't regained consciousness. But before she could check on him further, the doors to the sitting room opened again, admitting a single figure clothed in power and menace. That was when Willow realized that her problems had just begun. 

As the vampire entered the room, Willow's breath caught in her throat. He was stunning, pure sex in human, er..vampire form. 

Jet black hair that her hands ached to touch formed waves around his face, framing the high cheekbones and full, ripe lips. His eyes...well, his eyes were like nothing she had ever seen. The color was that of the sky on a dark, moonless night. Pure blue eyes so dark you could barely discern the pupils sparkled at her from beneath thick dark eyelashes.

He walked towards them, his eyes riveted to her face, and again Willow had to catch her breath. He moved his tall, lean body with the ease of a dancer, seeming almost to glide instead of walk. 

Rarely had she seen such beauty before, and rarely, she suspected such evil. 

He caught her watching him, and nodded at her, a knowing look in his eyes. He was used to the looks he received from women, and often from men as well. They were just another means of distracting his prey.

"I am Marco," he said, his voice low and serious. "You may call me Master."

He watched as the small woman fidget nervously, occasionally casting looks at her companion, still passed out on the floor. "You," he continued, "I will call 'bait.'" He smiled a humorless smile as he said the words, his white teeth a contrast to his darker lips. 

"Bait?" Willow asked nervously. "What do you mean-oh," she stopped then, going pale and still. "You want Buffy."

"Yes, I seek the Slayer. You are the bait. When she finds out that I have you, she will of course seek you out. Once here, she will fall into my trap. With her gone, I will be free to rule this city, and the Hellmouth. It will be a glorious time to be a vampire," he told her, watching her pale even further. "You will see," he added. 

"I-I will?" 

"Why yes, of course. You will be a minion by then, I am sure. With that flaming red hair and those beautiful eyes, I'm sure someone won't be able to resist."

He watched as the emotions clouded her eyes: hopelessness, fear, a little bit of anger. She remained silent, and finally he shrugged, and motioned to a couple of his minions. 

"Take her and her companion to an empty room and lock them in. And NO SNACKS," he thundered the last two words, and the minions jumped to do his bidding. A skanky-looking female vampire, turned in the '80s, judging by her big hair and bad make-up, grabbed Willow by the arm, pulling her out of the room. Her partner grabbed Xander and dragged him behind them. 

They traveled in silence, first down a long hallway, and then up a steep flight of stairs. Willow took every opportunity to analyze what she could of their location, looking for anything that might help them escape later. Xander, being unconscious, of course did nothing.

The room they were taken to was small and dismal, and all surfaces were covered by a thick layer of dust. A large canopy bed dominated the room, dwarfing the small chest of drawers and an even smaller window. The window itself was boarded up tight from the outside, and there was no hope of escape from that corner.

As the minions left them, Willow heard the click of the lock as the deadbolt was shot into place from the outside. They would not be leaving this room anytime soon. Not unless their captors wanted them to. 

She turned her attention to Xander, half-lifting and half-pulling him onto the bed. Sitting down next to him, she leaned over and tapped his face lightly, looking for signs of his return to consciousness.

"Xander? Can you hear me? I really need you to wake up," she told him, hoping that the tone of her voice would instill some urgency into the unconscious youth. Doctors said that when a person was unconscious, they could still sometimes sense and/or hear the people around them. She hoped that this was the case with Xander, and that she could coax him into consciousness soon. 

Time passed, and with each passing minute, Willow grew more nervous. He'd been out too long. Shouldn't he be awake by now? "Xander," she tried again, "Please, please wake up. I'm...I'm really scared," she confessed with a tremor in her voice. "There's this big vampire, and he's going to use us to trap Buffy." She poured out her fears to her unconscious friend, growing more and more frightened as she went.

'What was that?' she thought, as she saw him twitch his finger from the corner of her eye. 'Did it happen, or did I imagine it?' she wondered. Then the finger moved again, and she knew that everything would be okay.

"Xander!" she whispered urgently, looking for more signs of his return to consciousness. As she eagerly watched, his eyelids began to flutter slightly, and finally his eyes slowly began to open. Relief flooded her body as she stared down into the opening eyes of her childhood friend.

"Thank god, you're awake, finally!"

"Will? Where?" he asked, groggy and confused. Where was he? How had he gotten there? And most important, why was Willow looking so upset?

"We're in the old Weatherby mansion, you remember it, Xander? That old house on the other side of town that used to really creep us out, only we never knew why? Well now I know why, we know why. It's like a half-way house for vampires. They're everywhere!" She babbled.

"Spike or Angelus?" he mumbled.

"Huh? Spike or Angelus?" What was he asking? Then it struck her. "Oh, you mean who kidnapped us? Neither of them. This vampire named Marco. Oh," she stopped short, as she remembered their purpose, "And he says that he's going to use us for bait to catch Buffy!"

"Why am I always the bait?" Xander asked, slightly disgusted with himself. "Why can't someone kidnap me for *me*?" he asked, apparently ignoring the bigger picture for a moment.

He seemed a little stronger, so Willow helped him to sit up against the headboard, then settled herself next to him. He just looked so sad and forlorn, she thought. Those big puppy-dog eyes did it to her every time, she thought as she reached over to push the hair out of his eyes. 

"Sorry, Xander. Not having super-powers sucks, doesn't it?" she agreed sadly. Sure, she was getting fairly good at simple magic, but that needed lots of preparation and spellbooks and stuff. Willow had wracked her mind to come up with some sort of a spell to get them out of this, but other than the floating pencil trick, nothing seemed to come to mind. And since pencils did not seem to be in evidence here, she was all out of ideas.

Xander laid his head on her shoulder, feeling down and defeated. "The door's locked, and/or guarded by vampires, I suppose?"

"Yup to both, I suspect."

"So basically you're telling me that we have nothing to do other than keep ourselves amused, until either Buffy comes and rescues us, or we meet our impending death?" Xander moved his head to look up into Willow's eyes, hoping that she had some sort of secret plan that she had not previously mentioned.

Willow nodded solemnly, confirming his worst fears. She had no plan. The brunette sighed then, and rested his head back on her shoulder.

"So when we get rescued, what do you want to do?" the redhead asked, trying to distract her friend from his hopeless thoughts. Best to keep everyone's spirits up, she thought.

"Oh, this is a game, right? Okay, I'll play. I'm gonna eat a dozen donuts. All by myself." His stomach gurgled happily at the thought, and Willow suppressed a small giggle, feeling slightly better already. Xander had always been able to cheer her up, no matter how dire their situation was.

"What about you, Wills?"

"I don't know," she confessed, not having thought that far ahead. "Damn, I hope we're not in here for too long. I've got another test tomorrow. Somehow I don't think my psyche teacher is going to accept 'kidnapped by vampires' as a reasonable excuse for letting me take a make-up test." 

Willow went back and considered the original question again. "I guess if-WHEN we get out of here, I'm going to have to do some studying," she said sadly. Maybe Spike knew something about psychology, she thought. She could always call him and ask if he wanted to help her study. They had had fun the other night, and she had learned a lot from him.

"All work and no play, Will," Xander murmured, sitting up and giving her a strange look.

And yet the way he was looking at her was oddly familiar, she realized. Suddenly she had a flashback. Kidnapped by Spike, stuck in an old warehouse with Xander and a bed. The...well, what they had almost done. Then the aftermath...Xander losing Cordelia forever, and she had almost lost Oz.

But things were different now. Cordelia was nothing but a distant memory, and Oz had left her eventually, to pursue his music career. Maybe a little comfort wouldn't be so bad right now, seeing that their impending death was staring them in the face. They were both free and unattached; there was no reason that they shouldn't find a little reassurance together. Boy, would her psychology teacher have a field day with this, she suspected. 

"Willow," Xander breathed the name, trying to catch her eyes with his own and bring her attention back to him.

"Should we?" she whispered.

Xander's soft lips touched hers in an answer, the kiss tender and comforting. She relaxed into it, opening her mouth and letting his tongue inside to explore.

Spike stood in the shadow as he watched the slayer do battle with a rather persistent minion. He had been heading home from a profitable night at the poker table, and decided to stop for a moment to watch the show. The minion was fast and precise, for a minion, and it was taking the slayer longer than usual to dispose of him.

As much as he despised the blonde on a personal level, Spike had to admit that Bitchy was one hell of a fighter. Quick and lethal, small and nearly bursting with energy, she was slowly but surely punching and kicking her way to victory.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw another minion. This one also stood watching the fight before them. 'That's odd,' Spike thought. Usually a minion that encountered a fighting slayer would choose a little two-on-one action, hoping that the sheer strength of the two against one would be enough to best her. Of course, minions were stupid. That never worked. But that never stopped them from trying. Except now, apparently.

The minion waiting in the shadows was still waiting patiently, and as Spike looked closer, he saw that in his hand the minion carried a folded white piece of paper. Curiouser and curiouser. 

Finally, with a well-placed stake and a jaunty quip, Buffy dispatched her opponent and stopped to brush the vamp dust away from her new mini-skirt. The skirt was short, red, and had been half-price at the department store, so there was no way she was going to let vampires ruin it with their stupid dust. 

Suddenly she looked up, seeming to sense the other minion even before it appeared from out of the shadows, carrying the paper in front of itself like a white truce flag.

"Sorry, I'm not sponsoring 'Vamps for Literacy Day'" she quipped, stalking towards the vampire in a strange reversal of how it usually stalked a human.

The vampire before her quailed a bit, but stood his ground. Still he made no effort at all to fight. Spike moved a little closer, his sharp ears listening for their words. Something about this situation just didn't feel right to him.

"You'll be a little more agreeable once you read this, I think," the minion said, suddenly a little bolder. He made a quick move forward, dropping the paper directly in front of the slayer and then moving back quickly, fading into the shadow of a large oak tree. 

Spike watched as the minion began to move away from the slayer, headed to who knew where. Maybe it was boredom, or maybe some of Willow's curious nature had rubbed off on him. Whatever the reason, the blond vampire decided to follow the minion, curious about what had led him on such a perilous mission.

As he headed away from the slayer, he barely heard her words floating across the night air. "Oh god, Willow!" she cried, her voice anguished. Or at least that's what Spike thought he heard. It was hard to be sure. For a split second he considered turning back to see what had Buffy so upset, but his instincts were telling him to follow the minion. If Willow *was* in trouble, then this creature would probably lead him right to her.

Spike's thoughts were chaotic as he followed the minion through the dark night. Whoever had her was probably using her as some sort of a lure in an attempt to capture the slayer. 'Damn that stubborn redheaded chit,' he raged. He knew it wasn't really her fault, but he needed someone to be angry at, and right now she was it. He didn't want to care for her, didn't want to be afraid for her, but he was. And being vulnerable like that really pissed him off. 

On the bright side, he realized, if whoever had her was using her as bait, then that meant that she was still alive, and probably hadn't been harmed. On the dark side, though, it probably meant that there was a new player in town; none of the vampires around Sunnydale these days had any illusions that they could take on the slayer and win. But someone new in town, someone who hadn't gone up against the slayer before, might fancy a dance with her, thinking that they could best her. And maybe they could. Frankly, Spike didn't really care. All he really cared about at this moment was finding out what trouble his little redhead had gotten herself into, and getting her out of it safe and sound.

His thoughts faded as the minion he had been following approached a large old house. There was no doubt in Spike's mind that this was where Willow was being kept. The place had an overpowering stench of evil, and for a moment Spike reveled in the scent, remembering the days when he commanded his own army of minions.

Well, what was he going to do now? He could either head back to the slayer and tell her what he'd seen, or he could try to get a little closer and do some reconnaissance. Maybe even rescue the girl himself, if she was inside, and the odds weren't too much against him. Spike had never been one to play it safe, especially when he had so much at stake, so he decided on the direct approach.

Walking with his biggest swagger, he approached the house, opened the door, and walked right on in, just like he belonged there. And surprisingly enough, nobody even noticed. When he looked around, Spike realized why. There were dozens of demons here, some lounging and drinking, others playing cards in the parlour, some in deep discussion with a tall, dark-haired vampire who seemed to be giving them orders.

Spike looked around the lower level as much as he could, but saw no sign of the redhead. As he walked past another hallway, he noticed several vampires standing guard at the bottom of a small set of stairs leading up to a second floor. He walked by, trying to act casual, but his demon almost burst forth when he smelled Willow's scent. She had been by here fairly recently, and apparently the moron had been with her.

The blond was no dummy. He knew that there was no way he would be able to get through all those vampires and reach Willow. And even if he did, there was no way he would get her out of there. Not by himself. As much as it pained him to admit it, he had done all he could here. It was time to bring in reinforcements, including Buffy.

Spike covered the distance from the vampire den to the Magic Box in record time. He figured that if Buffy called a meeting, this was where it would be. And sure enough, when he entered the store he found Buffy and Giles deep in discussion.

"Where the hell have you been? I've been calling all over town for you."

"Nice to see you too, slayer," he snarled.

"We really don't have time for you two to play games right this minute," Giles interrupted. "Willow and Xander are missing."

"Yeah, I know." Spike fielded astounded looks from the watcher and the slayer. "While you were 'calling all over town', I was finding them," Spike said, giving Buffy a disgusted look.

"What-how-well, never mind now," Giles decided, "The important thing is that you know where they are."

"Tell me where they are," Buffy said, "And Mister Pointy and I will take care of the rest."

"Wait a minute, slayer," Spike cautioned, "It's not as simple as that."

"What the hell are you talking about, Spike? How complicated can it be? I came, I saw, I slayed. It doesn't get much simpler than that."

"Maybe if there were only a half-dozen of them, yeah," he admitted. "But this operation is a lot larger than that. I saw at least two dozen vamps tonight, and I suspect there were at least another dozen hidden away in various rooms. You go in there all by yourself and it'll be more like, 'I came, I saw, I got slayed.' And while I personally have no problem with that, I damn well want to be the one to take you out."

"Gee Spike, I didn't know you cared," the blonde sneered at him.

"Buffy," Giles cautioned, "Spike obviously has a better handle on this than we do." Buffy glared at her watcher, but let him continue. "Spike, do you have any suggestions? Perhaps a plan?"

The blond vampire considered everything he knew for just a moment, then told them what he thought was their best shot at getting their two friends out alive. "We're going to need a lot of help with this. I know some people who might be willing, if the price is right. Some'll do it for free, because they owe me. Some'll do it just for the fun of cracking some skulls together. But others'll want some cash. Can you do that?"

Giles nodded slowly, his mind calculating how much money he could get his hands on quickly.

"Okay, I'll make some calls," Spike told them. "If you two know of anyone who might help, or who owes you, this would be a good time to call in that favor. How about we try to get a group assembled here in two hours? Then we storm the castle. The element of surprise should work for us, and hopefully we can get in and reach Willow and the moron before they know what hit them.

Giles and Buffy surveyed their troops, looking from one creature to the next, each one just a little more unusual than the one before. Two hours had passed, and true to his word, Spike had managed to round up a little over two dozen people, make that creatures, to help them in their attempt to free Xander and Willow.

"Yo, slayer, I think we're all here." The three of them had decided that Spike would be in charge of the operation, since some of the demons weren't too keen on taking orders from the slayer. But each of them had reasons of their own to help Spike, be it owed favors, financial incentives, boredom, or something else entirely. 

Spike pulled one demon from the crowd. He was pink-skinned, with tons of skin hanging like crepe paper off of his short but bulky frame. With a rather non-lethal smile on his face, he didn't look terribly threatening, but Buffy knew better than anyone that looks could be deceiving.

"This here is Clem. Clem, this is the slayer." 

Clem looked at Buffy with friendly red eyes, and waved happily at her. "Hi Buffy," he said cheerfully, looking for all the word like a puppy who wanted to be patted on the head and told what a good boy he was.

"Ah, hi, Clem," Buffy answered, rather taken aback by the demon's friendly appearance. 'And this guy is going to help us *how*?' she asked herself. Then she decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth, or in this case a gift demon. But still, the same rules applied, right?

"Clem is going to be leading the fighting squad. This bunch here," Spike motioned towards a rather nasty-looking group of demons and possibly (or possibly not) human fighters, all armed with swords, crossbows, stakes, and other weapons of destruction.

"So while they're taking care of the bulk of the vampires," he continued, "You, Giles, myself, and another small contingent will head upstairs and break Willow out."

"Willow AND Xander," Giles reminded him.

"Oh, yeah, I suppose we can get the moron out while we're there," Spike said, sighing with mock disgust.

"So, we all know our parts, right?" the blond vampire asked, raising his voice to be heard over the increasingly noisy demons, who sounded like they were all ready for a fight, any fight. "Let's go," he yelled, pushing them out into the street. 

"And for fuck's sake," he bellowed, "Can we *try* to be quiet here? I don't want them hearing us from five miles away!"

Kissing was good, Willow decided. She liked kissing; it made her feel all soft and warm inside. And kissing Xander just seemed comfortable. She had loved him since before she even had a name for her feelings. And lying in his arms now made her feel a little less frightened, and a little less vulnerable to the evil around them.

"Xander?" she asked, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest.

"Willow?" he answered back, opening his eyes and focusing them on his oldest friend.

"I like this...this kissing," she confided quietly, snuggling closer to him and burying her head in his shoulder.

"Me too," he said, his voice almost a sigh.

"But it doesn't have to be anything more, does it?"

"It can be whatever you want it to be, Will."

"Because at first, I thought maybe, but now, with the kissing, it's just so nice, and I don't think I want to mess it up with the sex. It just makes everything so complicated, you know? And I don't want to not be your friend-"

"Willow, *it's okay*," he told her, hoping to stop her babble before it got even more difficult to understand. Sometimes the way her mind worked astounded, confused, and even frightened him. She was something, his Willow was.

Xander held the redhead tightly in his arms, trying to erase everything going on around them. They could hear more noise than before, as if the occupants of the house were indulging in a raucous party or maybe a good old-fashioned bar fight. When she heard the noise, Willow moved herself even closer to Xander, their bodies pressed up together intimately. They kissed again, another long, pleasant, comforting kiss. The two tried as hard as they could to concentrate on each other and not what was going on around them. Maybe if they tried hard enough, they could make it all go away...

Just then, the door slammed open, and Xander and Willow were stupefied to see Buffy standing there, crossbow in hands, followed by Giles. 

"Geez, you guys, if I had known you were doing that, I'd have just left you here!" Buffy told them, a slight smile quirking at the corners of her lips. She watched with amusement as both the occupants of the bed started to blush profusely.

Giles, on the other hand, seemed to be trying very hard not to look at anyone or anything at all. If it weren't for the fact that they were trying to be ready for battle, Willow suspected that he would have already had his glasses off for a good, strong polishing.

Willow heard Spike's voice out in the hall, yelling, "What the bloody hell is holding you guys up..." and then the blond vampire was half-way into the room, his face a cold mask of barely-contained rage and fury when his eyes landed on the two people in the bed, and what they were doing. Or rather, what he imagined they had been doing. 

Spike took one look at the redhead, HIS redhead, being held intimately by that...that...imbecile, and it was all he could do to keep the demon from breaking every bone in the moron's body, and then forcing Willow to his will, chip be damned. He craved, no, he needed revenge. But now was not the time or the place.

He gave her one look, trying to convey all of his rage, betrayal, pain and disgust, and then turned sharply and walked out of the room, ignoring the questioning looks of the others. 

Willow watched Spike's retreating form, bewildered and a little bit frightened. Why was he so upset? It wasn't as if they were anything other than friends. 'He had no right to be upset,' she thought, trying to convince herself that that was the truth.

"Come on, you two, let's get moving, shall we? We don't want to be here any longer than we have to, and I'm sure that some of the contingent downstairs will be needing some reinforcements." Giles had stopped staring at the walls of the room, and had turned to address Willow and Xander. Well that was progress, at least.

The two former captives untangled limbs and bodies, and soon all of them were beating a hasty retreat. Willow watched in amazement as they made their way down the stairs and out into the cold night air. Who were all of those demons, and why had they been helping rescue her and Xander? She would have to ask Buffy about that later, but for now all she wanted was an extremely warm bath, and about a week of long, peaceful, quiet sleep, in her own bed.

Spike stormed down the stairs to the main floor, dusting any vampires he saw along the way with a savagery that was unfamiliar to those who knew him now. His violent nature in the past had been well known and heralded by the vampire community. But now, in his rage, he turned that violence towards his own kind in an attempt to push back the anger and jealousy that threatened to overwhelm him completely.

He surveyed the chaos that was the lower level of the mansion. Demons were everywhere, and their numbers and their enthusiasm were making quick work of the remaining vampires. He saw Clem, who waved happily at him as he decapitated a minion with dark blue hair, swinging his axe with pure joy and abandon. During his follow-through, the axe hit the solid wall of the house and stuck there. After giving it a couple of tugs, the loose-skinned fellow shrugged and decided to give up on retrieving the axe, slowly making his way through the crowd to come to Spike's side. He spoke directly into the vampire's ear, doing his best to make himself heard over the noise of the fight.

"That guy you mentioned earlier, the dark-haired guy with all the power? Well, he and a couple of his minions made it out alive. I think the head honcho guy saw that there wasn't any way that he and his buddies were going to get out of this alive, er, corporeal, sorry. So anyway, he used a handful of his guys as kind of a shield, and then just pushed his way out."

Spike frowned, not terribly happy about the news. But the main reason that they had attacked had been to get Willow and Xander out, so as long as that was accomplished, he couldn't be too upset. Besides, there was plenty of time later to wreak his bloody vengeance on the bastard. He would check all the usual vampire haunts and see what he could find out about the mysterious newcomer. Someone was sure to have a line on who he was and where he was staying.

As he and Clem talked, Spike watched Willow and the others quickly leave the mansion, the two former prisoners gaping in wide-eyed amazement at the rather bizarre forces that had liberated them. He thought that the redhead had given him a look, perhaps a look of thanks, but maybe that was just his imagination indulging in some wishful thinking.

"Thanks Clem," he said, dragging his mind back to the here and now. "You did a good job tonight. You and the fellows, you have my gratitude. And not just mine, but the slayer's as well. She can be a right nasty bitch, but when you need her, she'll be there for you. And like I said before, your debt to me is paid."

"Hey Spike, no problem. I'm glad I could help. And you know the rest of the guys, they're always ready for a little fun. Working with the slayer was kind of odd, but she behaved herself, so I guess there's nothing to complain about there."

Spike smiled at his friend, trying like hell to keep his control and his focus, while his demon raged inside him. Oh how he wanted to be somewhere else, somewhere where he could indulge his vicious temper. He looked back across the house and realized that there really wasn't much chance for a good fight here anymore; most of the vampires were long dusted, and the remaining demons were, for the most part, indulging in a bit of a free-for-all. Sometimes a demon just wanted to fight, and apparently it didn't matter a hell of a lot who the opponent was.

"I'll leave your lot to the clean-up, then," he told Clem, giving him a slap on the back. "Tell them that if they find anything worth stealing, they're welcome to it." He looked around appraisingly, noting that there was still some furniture that hadn't been quite completely destroyed yet, along with a rather handsome old curio cabinet full of knick-knacks. The upstairs rooms might contain something worthwhile as well, possibly. They were mostly intact. A large crash drew his attention back to what remained of the cabinet, and the dust that was all that remained of the last minion. Oh, well, never mind about the cabinet. Too bad, that.

"See you at the game next week," Clem replied, watching the tense set of the blond vampire's shoulders as he walked out the door and into the dark night. 'Poor guy,' the demon thought, 'He really needs to learn how to relax and just let go.'

Spike paced back and forth in his lair, also known as the basement of the Magic Box. He had wanted to go somewhere where he could be alone, yet at the same time, he had really needed to kill something. In a bit of a compromise, he headed back towards the shop, hoping to spend some time in the training room. Mainly, he just needed to be away from Willow and the rest of her little band of do-gooders. In his current state of mind, he wasn't sure what he would do if he met up with her, but if past experience was any indication, it wouldn't be pretty. In fact, it would probably end with him rolling around on the floor in chip-induced pain, while she looked down at him from high above, soft green eyes filled with pity and possibly disgust.

When he had walked in on her and that idiot, in what had obviously been the middle of *something*, the rage and the pain he had felt was almost palpable. She was HIS, dammit. His demon demanded that she pay for the pain she had caused. His imagination concocted scene after scene of delicious torture. He pictured her crying, watching as he killed everyone she had ever cared about, and then pushing her down and taking her until she was so tired and sore and dead inside that she no longer had the strength to fight him. And then, and only then, he would sink his fangs into her neck and suck the life out of her until there was nothing left but a shadow. 

He shook his head, moving into the training room, hoping a serious workout would dispel the tantalizing images. He could never do any of the wonderful things he had been imagining, of course. Not while the damned chip was still in his head. But someday...

Someday, someday, someday, he punched his hand into the wall of the training room, in time with the words. Someday she would be old and grey, and he would still be waiting for the chip to malfunction. He needed to do something NOW.

He had tried to go with the traditional human male/female mating ritual, the only way he knew how to get her attention. The demon had raged against him, calling him a poof, a puppy dog, and various other names. But it had been working. Things between them had been going quite well up until tonight. She had been spending time with him, alone, of her own volition, and he could have sworn that she was starting to see him as a friend. And it wasn't a far jump from friendship to something stronger.

And then the sight of her tonight: flushed skin, mussed hair, puffy lips, eyes wide and surprised; it was HIM that should have made her look like that, the demon raged again.

This was getting him nowhere. No matter how mad he was now, he would get over it. He had no choice, really. He wanted her, needed her, and as long as he had the chip, the only way that he could have her was if she came to him willingly. 

Spike looked down at his hand, the cuts from his abuse of the wall already beginning to heal. It was stupid, really. Not only did he not feel any better for having hit the wall, but now he was going to have to fix the two rather large holes he had punched into it. The watcher was a bit of an arse when it came to that sort of thing. Kept mumbling on about 'damage deposits' and 'no hanging pictures on the walls.' Like he cared what some old ninny had to say.

He imagined another scene: dancing with his Willow, drenched in the blood of the slayer and her watcher. He sighed and made his way to his bedroom, hoping to get a couple of hours rest now that the sun was up.

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