Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10603128.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Buffy_the_Vampire_Slayer, Jossverse
  Relationship:
      Willow_Rosenberg/Spike
  Character:
      Spike_(BtVS), Willow_Rosenberg, Angel_(BtVS), Cordelia_Chase, Wesley
      Wyndam-Pryce
  Additional Tags:
      Rape/Non-con_Elements, Kidnapping, Rape, Murder, Minor_Character_Death,
      Death, Sex, Rough_Sex, Blood, Blood_and_Gore, Blood_and_Torture, Torture,
      Psychological_Torture, Aftermath_of_Torture, Rape_Aftermath, Obsession,
      Rescue, Unrequited_Love, Declarations_Of_Love, Loneliness, Long_Hair,
      Corpses, Madness, Remix
  Series:
      Part 1 of Leaping_in_the_Dark
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-04-24 Completed: 2009-05-05 Chapters: 6/6 Words: 12106
****** How My Love's Song Gently Cries ******
by DragonsPhoenix
Summary
     Spike rapes and tortures his beloved Willow for pleasure. What will
     he do when he realizes she doesn't love him?
Notes

        To Carol Miller who gave me the idea that inspired this story.
                    “There's not enough yuck in the world.”
                             Heal well, my friend.

     My friend Kat made some comment that suggested she doesn't understand
     why I want to write. I said something about working through my issues
     but don't think she was listening. That reminded me of this, one of
     my earlier stories. I was neither sexually abused nor physically
     tortured, but that I put Willow through them here reflects how I felt
     about work at the time. That I eventually worked it out to a happyish
     ending reflects, I think, what I was hoping for the future.
         * The word “Kamaya” in Spike's poem is a combination of Kama, the
           Hindu god of love, and maya, the idea that the world we
           experience is an illusion.
         * Spike's poem is based on “I Loved You and Lost You” from
           Cordwainer Smith's most excellent story, The Dead Lady of Clown
           Town.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Sunnyhell, Spike thought, staggering through the trees. Where everything went
wrong. Where Dru turned to Angelus. Where Angelus was betrayed, he though with
a smirk. Not that it fixed anything. She still left me, he added morosely. Damn
Slayer's fault. If she and her bloody friends hadn't interfered, I'd have
healed Dru and gotten her out of here and Angelus would be dead, just like it
should be. He took another swig of whiskey thinking, they'll pay. They'll all
pay.
 
Up ahead, in an open area, Spike saw another vampire, a fledge fresh out of the
grave by the look of him. “You can start paying now,” he mumbled to himself,
itching for a fight, even one as easy to win as this looked to be but then he
was shocked still as bolts, like miniature lightning, stunned the vampire,
dropping him to the ground. The sight sobered Spike and he slipped behind a
tree as men, dressed like soldiers but masked, came out of hiding and carted
the other vampire away.
 
Alone again, he whispered, “Who are you then?”
 
                                      ---
                                        
Two nights later, he didn't know much more but he did know the soldiers weren't
worth worrying about so he turned his thoughts back to the Slayer. A quick trip
to the university's offices gave him what he needed.
 
“Hey, I'm looking for Stevenson Hall.”
 
They guy looked him up and down, before giving him a dismissive glance, but
replying with a gesture, “Back that way.”
 
Spike hadn't eaten, wanting to keep his appetite for the Slayer but the idiot's
attitude changed his mind. “Thanks, mate,” he replied, as the guy turned away
from him. “Just one more thing though, feeling a bit peckish,” he added. Fangs
tore into the exposed throat.
 
Room 214 but he could tell, even through the closed door, that it was empty.
Damn, hate waiting, he thought but then he looked up to see her staring at him.
“Willow. Not the girl I was looking for but you'll do,” he said as he grabbed
her. “Come to think of it, you'll do very nicely. If it weren't for you, I'd
have my Dru back.”
 
“Spike,” Willow stammered. “If you want me to do another spell,” she continued
but was interrupted as the hall filled with smoke and soldier boys came running
in from both directions. Grabbing Willow in his arms, he ran down the hallway,
dodging soldiers right and left, and then threw himself through the window,
back first so the glass would hit him instead of Willow. His car wasn't far
off. Tossing Willow inside, he peeled out, shouting at her, “You move and
you're dead. Got it?” Her eyes wide, she nodded her response.
 
“Damn puppies are more of a nuisance than I'd given them credit for.” The
soldiers didn't know what they were doing but that just made them more
unpredictable and therefore more dangerous. “Between soldier boys and the
Slayer, getting a mite uncomfortable around here. What do you say to a road
trip?” he smiled at Willow.
 
She returned his smile with a look of horror, which only made his smile wider.
“Don't worry pet. I'm not going to kill you, not yet anyway. Just ate. Saving
you for a snack."
 
                                      ---
 
After he'd transferred Willow to the trunk, Spike had plenty of time to
consider their destination and the irony of his final choice amused him. He'd
heard rumors over the years that suggested it would still be abandoned, by
humans anyway. He wasn't disappointed. The Thesulac demon gave him a good fight
but he beat it, just like he knew he would. He'd never met anything he couldn't
vanquish, in the end, except love, came the quiet thought from the back of his
brain.
 
He tore through the rest of the hotel, not expecting to find anything
interesting however there was a woman, ancient as sin, but gentle, untouched by
the world, living on the second floor. The fight had whetted his appetite.
Looks like Willow's got a reprieve, he thought as he drained the woman. He
didn't notice that he felt a slight relief at the thought.
 
Had one good fight and I've fed. Two out of three thirsts slaked. Returning to
the car, Spike was oddly disappointed to hear Willow shouting for help from the
trunk. He drummed his fingers on the car to shut her up. “Shouldn't have done
that pet,” he said as he pulled her out of the car.
 
He ran a lascivious hand under her blouse, rubbing a thumb across her nipple.
“We agreed, no taking,” she stammered.
 
“A long time ago and far, far away,” he whispered in response. “Besides, the
situation's changed. I don't need your help this time.”
 
Willow babbled, “A spell. I could do that love spell for you...”
 
Spike dragged her behind him as he stormed back into the hotel. “She doesn't
love me. No spell is going to change that.” At the bottom of the staircase, he
pulled her to him. “But a vamp does have needs.” As Spike leaned in for a kiss,
Willow started screaming. With one hand, he covered her mouth and pinched her
nose shut. Willow stopped struggling as she realized she couldn't breathe. “No
one can hear you,” he explained, as if to a child, “and in this neighborhood,
they wouldn't care.” When he let her go, Willow kept her eyes on him but didn't
move. “Good girl,” he said, gesturing her up the stairs.
 
Room 217. Willow eyed Spike nervously as he chuckled. “Don't worry, the joke's
not on you pet.”
 
Generic hotel room, old but still furnished after all those years. Demon must
have kept the looters at bay, Spike thought, but who dusted? The place was
immaculately clean, which didn't make sense. The only scent in the room was the
woman he'd killed but Spike couldn't figure out why an old woman would have
kept it clean. No matter, he shrugged it off. Nobody else around so who really
cares?
 
Handing Willow a can of spray paint he'd grabbed from the trunk, he told her,
“Cover that window up. Don't want any nasty surprises come sunrise.” As Willow
took the paint, she eyed it speculatively, so Spike grabbed her wrist, switched
over to vamp face, and growled, “You'd never get out of here alive,” but his
mind chortled, spunky. While Willow sprayed over the window, Spike checked out
the lock. Going to have to get a better lock than that, he thought. Girl
doesn't have any street smarts but she's bright enough to figure out how to
pick this bit of a thing, given enough time. He didn't look closely enough at
his thoughts to wonder why a snack would have enough time to figure out how to
pick a lock.
 
Hearing the spray can fizzle out, Spike turned around. Willow gave him a
worried look. “I did the best I could before the paint ran out.”
 
Spike looked at the window, which wasn't completely obscured. “Good enough to
keep the sunlight out,” he replied. “So, where was I?” he asked, leering at
Willow. As the scent of her terror filled the room, he added, “Quick little
thing, aren't you?”
 
“Strip,” he commanded.
 
“What?” Willow stammered in response, inching away from him, even though he
stood between her and the only exit.
 
“Strip,” he told her again. Oh, this is just lovely, he thought as her eyes
darted around the room but then her demeanor changed.
 
“No.”

“What?” he growled.
 
Backing away from him again, until she was flat against the wall, Willow said,
“You're going to kill me either way. You said it yourself, I'm just a snack.”
 
Feeling confident again, back on his own turf, Spike smirked and replied, “You
really want me undressing you? 'Cause I can guarantee there'll be nothing more
than shreds left of your clothes once I'm done.”
 
Willow took that in and, with trembling hands, started unbuttoning her pink
sweater. Once she was naked, Willow covered herself as best she could with her
arms and Spike let her. Her beauty was all the more enticing for being
obscured. How pale her skin is, he wondered. Almost like a vampire's but that
thought didn't set well with him. Other vampires left him. They'd all left him.
He wasn't about to give Willow that kind of power.
 
Picking her up, he carried her the few steps to the bed before laying her on
it. Ever so slowly, he started removing his own clothes, smiling at the waves
of terror he scented coming off of her. Gently he climbed onto the bed next to
her. Grabbing her arms, he raised them up above her head, and licked his lips
as he saw her, for the first time, completely open to him.
 
“Leave your hands there, pet,” he whispered as he let them go. Willow didn't
move. “Good, good,” he said, tangling his hands through her hair as he moved
over her.
 
As he thrust into her, Willow screamed and the sound echoed through him like a
single, pure note ringing off of a wine glass, before he shattered into her.
 
After a blissful eternity, he languidly opened his eyes to her tear filled
ones. “Shh, don't cry, pet,” he said, wiping her face clean. “There. All better
now?” he asked as Willow gave the appearance of calming down. He closed his
eyes and curled up against her.
 
“Tell me you love me,” he whispered.
 
When Willow didn't respond, he held her tighter, almost but not quite hurting
her, and repeated, “Say you love me. I want to hear all those little loving
expressions women like.” He fell asleep to Willow's babbled dears and darlings.
 
A few hours later he awoke, still hugged up against Willow, to feel her
shivering against him. Chilly here, for a human, he thought. He quietly got up
out of the bed, so as not to wake Willow, and padded down the hall and grabbed
a blanket from the only other clean room thinking, not like you'll need it
again, to the body he'd drained there early that evening. He laid the blanket
over Willow and she snuggled under, the innocence of the moment enhancing her
quiet beauty. Brushing fingers through her short hair, Spike watched her sleep,
he never knew for how long, before curling up next to her again.
 
He woke up alone. He bolted up, turning his head back and forth, until he heard
a heartbeat coming from the bathroom. “Willow?” The toilet flushed and she came
to the door, dressed again but wincing as she moved. He hardened again at the
sight of her.
 
“Bit sore there, pet?” he asked with a smirk. “If you could think of something
else, I might give you a chance to heal up.” Since Willow didn't seem to get
the hint, he stretched back out on the bed in a seductive display, arching his
hips back and forth slightly. Willow sat on the edge of the bed, as far away
from Spike as possible, and laid her hand on his dick. He shivered at the
tentative touch. She started rubbing gently, back and forth, back and forth,
and he luxuriated in the sensation for a few moments before he sat up, placing
a finger at the edge of Willow's lips. “Open up,” he said. Her eyes grew wide
but she opened her lips, enough for him to slip his finger into her mouth. Her
heart sped up but she didn't move. “Your hand was,” he nibbled at her neck,
“quite delicious but it won't be enough,” he added as he wiggled his finger in
her mouth before pulling it out, trailing saliva across her lips, and laying
himself back down on the bed.
 
Tentatively Willow leaned over him, giving him a quick glance, before her eyes
darted back downwards. “Just the tip, Willow,” he told her. “Just take the tip
in your mouth.” As she circled her tongue around the edge where tip met shaft,
Spike chuckled and said, “You've done this before, haven't you?” When she
didn't answer, he told her, “Just show me what you know then.” She did. It
didn't take long for him to come, the warmth of her mouth exotic after over a
century of cold caresses.
 
“You're awfully quiet today,” he said after he'd gestured her to come back up
besides him.
 
“Quiet?” Willow asked.
 
“Not like last night. Don't tell me I need to come inside of you again for you
to thank me. Trying to give you a chance to heal,” he smiled up at her,
genuinely meaning what he'd said.
 
“I... I don't know what to say,” Willow stammered.
 
“Just start with how the moon rises and sets on me; improvise from there.”
 
“Dearest,” she started, giving him an uncertain kiss, “I don't know how I could
get through the day without the warmth of your smile.” Spike relaxed as she
babbled on until a phrase jarred him out of his reverie.
 
“The heat of my touch?” he growled. “I think you're confusing me with someone
else. Who is he? Who do I have to kill?”
 
“No. No one. It was just a slip of the tongue.”
 
“Someone's going to have to be punished,” Spike glared at her. Her family and
friends are too far away; I'm not leaving her alone long enough to go back and
kill any of them. Nothing here is hers and she's already a prisoner. There's
nobody in LA she cares about enough to... Wait. It doesn't have to be anyone
she knows. Bit of a wait till sunset though. “Take off your clothes. Go stand
over there,” he commanded. Willow undressed and stood before the window, hiding
herself as best she could. “Stand up straight. Don't cover yourself.”
 
Willow blushed and lowered her eyes as she stood before him. After a good
fifteen minutes, which seemed like an eternity to her, Willow asked, “Is this
my punishment?”
 
“Oh, no, pet. That doesn't happen till after sundown. Got a good couple of
hours yet.”
 
He watched her until the sun went down, appreciating the play of light and
shadows on her pale skin, memorizing every curve of her body.
 
“Right then,” he said, suddenly shifting out of the bed as he felt the sun set.
Willow jumped in response. Smiling, Spike sauntered over to her and said,
“Don't. Move,” before dressing and heading out the door. It took him a bit
longer than it might have because he wanted a special victim, a screamer. He
passed by a number of men who would make enough noise to suit him because he
wanted a woman that evening, someone Willow would identify with more. He
dragged her back to the hotel and let her lose in the hall with a whispered,
“Run if you want to live.”
 
She ran.
 
Hysterically, she tried to open doors but they were all locked to her. Spike
followed behind, catching her with a bite here, a trip to the floor there, a
slash with a knife just before room 217. She screamed beautifully and Spike was
certain Willow caught every agonized note. When he was done, Spike left her
corpse with the old woman, noting that he'd have to get rid of the bodies since
he'd be staying for a while, before returning to the room.
 
“You haven't moved. Good.” He licked his lips. “Time for your punishment.” He
was hard from the kill. “Still sore?”
 
“A bit,” Willow whispered, her eyes lowering to the ground.
 
“Look at me,” Spike commanded. Catching her eyes, he unzipped his pants and
took her there, against the wall, fueled by her terror, again and again and
again, until she screamed out in agony and still it hadn't been enough. He
kissed his way from her wrist, up her arm, and to her neck where he laid his
fangs, not biting, but just feeling her heart pound as she waited for death.
 
“What should I do with you, Willow?” he asked, more to himself than to her and
then he decided. “Lay on the bed.” As she obeyed, he took of his clothes. He
slipped two fingers into her slit and she winced in response. “Bit of a
problem, pet?” Tears welled in her eyes. He lay above her, not entering her
yet, but kissing, forcing his tongue into her when she wouldn't open her mouth
to him. He leaned back from her, laying a finger against her lips, with a
quick, “Shh,” before slipping into vamp face and laying his fangs back against
her neck. As he entered her, the scent of her pain rolled off of her, a
poignant contrast to her attempts to muffle her screams. He came into her hard
and collapsed against her. “Poor little human, going to be bruised for a week,
you are.”
 
He slept the day away and woke to find himself wrapped around her. He woke her
as he disentangled himself from her and she made to get out of bed with him.
“Don't bother, pet. You can sleep in, if you like. Got some errands to run but
I'll be back as quick as I can.”
 
When he returned he was disappointed but unsurprised to find her awake and
dressed. She sniffed the air and Spike broke out with a grin. “Been a while
since you've eaten, hasn't it pet,” before admonishing, “But that's your fault
you know. If you hadn't misbehaved last night I wouldn't have forgotten to feed
you.”
 
“I'm sorry, Spike,” Willow said in a voice that sounded tentative to his ears.
She looked down but then quickly caught his eyes again. “I never meant to
disappoint you.”
 
“I know,” he replied genially, to show that all was forgiven. “You're lucky
you've got someone to take care of you but I can see how it might be an odd
transition for you. You just leave all the worrying to me, from now on.”
 
Spike solved the problem of only one chair by laying dinner out on the floor.
Sitting across from Willow, he opened up a bag, saying, as he pulled out fried
food, “Check this out. It's an onion, cut up like a flower and, since it's a
vegetable, it's got to be good for you. Course I also got you a burger,
figuring that wouldn't be enough.”
 
“Thank you, Spike.” Spike glowed in response, biting into the onion.
 
After dinner, Spike replaced the lock on the door with a sturdier one he'd
picked up while he'd been out. “There we go. That will keep you all safe and
sound.” He looked around to see Willow standing in the furthest corner. “Like
that spot, do you pet?”
 
“What?”
 
He gave her a leering look. “So, now that I've done something for you, how
about you do a little something for me?”
 
Willow knelt before him but Spike stopped her by rubbing a finger against her
lips. “You still sore from last night?” Willow nodded and wiped a tear from her
face.
 
“Stand up,” Spike growled. “You complaining? I give you a night of pleasure and
you're crying?”
 
Willow looked back at him with terror. “No. No. It was wonderful. I loved it.
It was... just more than I'm used to, not that I'm used to anything, because
I'm not seeing anybody and there's nobody for you to kill. I'm not used to that
much, or any, and I'm sore, just a bit sore, today.”
 
“Never lie to me.” Spike took out a knife, smiling as Willow's eyes grew wide,
until she took a step backwards. “And never back away from me.” She stood still
while Spike cut her clothes to shreds.
 
“On the bed.” Willow sat at the edge of the bed. “Lay down, on your back.”
 
As she lay down on the bed, Spike removed his clothes. Looking down at her, he
wiped a tear from her face and licked it off his finger. “Shh, don't worry pet.
I understand you're sore but I am disappointed with you and can't have that.”
Noticing that Willow's legs were clenched together, he told her to spread her
legs. “Bit wider, need to get in there, and raise your knees up. That's my
girl.”
 
Spike lowered his head and licked at Willow's slit. She couldn't hide a gasp of
revulsion. “Don't worry luv. I know what I'm doing. This won't hurt a bit.”
Until I'm ready for it to, he added silently. Willow's terror was no match for
Spike's more than century of experience and it wasn't long before she was
moaning as he licked and nibbled at her cunt. He brought her to the edge of
release and held her there until he was ready. Leaning back slightly, he
slipped into vamp face while a finger brought Willow over the edge. As she
started to shudder, he bit into the vein on her leg, feeding from her as she
screamed out her release.
 
Spike crawled up next to Willow. Since her head was turned away from him, he
started nibbling on her neck and she twitched below him. Taking her hand, he
laid it on his dick. “I know your sore,” he said, sincerely, “so how about just
this for tonight?” It didn't take long for him to come but, when Willow went to
wipe her hand against the bed sheet, he told her, “Lick it off.” While he'd
meant it as a request, it sounded like a command and Willow started crying as
she licked her hand clean. “Can't have that,” Spike whispered, licking tears
from her face. As Willow shuddered in dread, Spike replied, “Don't tell me
you're ready for another round already? Never let it be said that Spike kept a
lady waiting.”
 
Spike got up from the bed and picked something out from the bag he'd brought
back from the hardware store. “Laundry clamps. Bit crude but they'll get the
job done until I have time to find something better.” Willow screamed as he
clamped them onto her nipples. Spike hardened at the sound and replied, “Don't
worry, pet. I'll get you something prettier next time I'm out,” as he settled
himself back into bed, to introduce her, once again, to the junction of
pleasure and pain.
 
***** Chapter 2 *****
Spike ordered Willow to let her hair grow, loving the look and feel of it, how
the light shimmered off of it in thousands of different shades as he twirled
his fingers through. It had grown two inches by the night that Spike carried
Willow the few steps to the couch that he'd added to the room, settled down
with her, and, mesmerized by the beauty of her hair, whispered, before Willow
had a chance to start in on her usual little love-words, “She walks in beauty
like the night.”
“Of cloudless climes and starry skies,” Willow continued when Spike didn't.
He gazed at her in amazement as she finished the poem. “Didn't realize you were
a fan of Byron, or even poetry for that matter,” he said.
He didn't hear Willow's babbled response about school over his own thoughts.
Willow likes poetry, the same poetry I, William, loved. She really must be
meant for me. “You really do love me, don't you?” he asked, awe plain in his
voice. “You'll never leave me, not like the others, right luv?”
After a moment's hesitation, which Spike didn't let himself notice, Willow
started babbling, “Of course I'll never leave you. Where would I ever want to
go, where you were not? How could I live, if you weren't by my side?” Spike
fell asleep, more contented than he'd been since Drusilla first left him, to
Willow's babbling words.
He bought her books after that, mostly things William had liked at first but
then expanded the collection to things he started appreciating as they read to
each other every day.
---
“Oh my love,” he said, admiring Willow as he walked in with a new movie. Willow
stood, as always when he returned, at the foot of their bed. He gave her a
lascivious grin. “Your new toys should be healed well enough to start playing
with by now.” By that time, Willow knew when to undress and Spike stared as she
took off her clothes, still excited by how shy she always looked when she stood
naked before him, with that uncertain curve to her body.
“Open wide.” With an uncertain look for Spike's new game, Willow opened her
mouth. “Wider. That's it,” he said, popping a ball gag, that stretched her wide
open, in. “Looks uncomfortable pet. Is it?”
Willow gave a jerk of a nod in response.
“Good,” Spike kissed into her neck as he rubbed himself against her. When
Willow started responding in kind he stepped back. “Ah ah ah,” he admonished.
“Want to play with your new toy first,” he added, flicking a finger over one of
the nipple rings he'd pierced on her the week before. Taking out a y-chain, he
clipped two of it's ends to the two nipple rings, before tugging her to him,
her scream of pain muffled by the gag, with the third end. At the scent of
Willow's lust, he asked, “Like that, do you? Let's just check.” Placing to
fingers into her cunt, he added, “Oh, my sweet darling, all wet, just for me.
Got you trained to a right trick, don't I?”
Willow followed with alacrity as he tugged on her chain, drawing her to the
couch. He set up the movie and then sat her across his lap. Spike looked at
Willow as much as at the tv during the first two segments of the movie,
enjoying her occasional grimace of pleasure/pain as he tugged at her chain,
more gently than before, not wanting her to come, but hard enough to leave her
unfulfilled, her body screaming for release. Willow's eyes never left the
screen during the course of the movie; they jumped shut occasionally from the
pain, but Willow never looked towards Spike while she had an excuse to look
elsewhere. Sometime during the second segment, he murmured, “Goose bumps. Are
you cold dearest?” and draped a blanket, from the back of the couch, over her
lower torso and legs, still allowing himself access to any part of her he
wanted to play with but trying to keep her warm at the same time.
As the third segment started, his eyes glued themselves to the screen as he
stopped his loving torment and hugged Willow to him. “This bit here is why
Trilogy of Terror is the best movie ever made,” he said while the voodoo doll
attacked Karen Black in her apartment.
As the movie ended, Spike laid Willow down on the floor. While the carpet
wasn't comfortable, it was nothing to the other tortures he made Willow endure.
Close to coming himself, from the excitement of the hunting scenes, he tore off
his pants but gently eased himself into Willow, before taking the end of her
chain into his mouth and tugging on it, causing her to wince, each time he
thrust into her until he was ready.
They both came as he bit down into her neck.
---
Spike had moved Willow to another suite, to protect her fragile lungs, while he
took a sledgehammer to the walls of their current home and made a doorway to
the adjoining set of rooms. After a couple of days, once he was sure the dust
had settled enough, he brought her back while a human contractor, someone he'd
engaged through another demon, came in to finish off the doorway.
Spike wondered, as he helped with the work, if the man cared why he wanted a
doorway in an abandoned building although his home obviously wasn't abandoned.
He also saw the carpenter check out, and even wink at, Willow when he thought
Spike wasn't looking. She paled in response and stayed as far away from the man
as possible, although she remained in the main room as Spike had commanded. A
gentle smile curved his lips as Spike thought about his intelligent and
beautiful girl. He was certain she knew what he intended for the contractor.
When the doorway was finished to his liking, Spike cut into the man's arm, not
deeply but more like a paper cut that would burn with the sweat of his labor,
with a sharp fingernail. Shouting, the man looked up but his fury changed to
fear when Spike shed his human face. Frantically, he pulled on the door to the
room, which, of course, wouldn't open for anyone but Spike.
“Shouldn't have been looking at my girl,” he smirked, as if he hadn't already
planned to kill the man, while he slowly removed his pants. He'd decided to
christen the room, not in the manner the man obviously thought, given that he
had his redheaded darling for that, but with blood, which he didn't want to get
on his clothes.
He dragged the man's death out until the room was painted in blood. He turned
back towards the doorway, inhaling the exquisite scent of his Willow's terror.
As he stepped into the doorway, he licked his lips and shifted into a seductive
pose, saying “Come to me love.”
Just as she was about to step into his arms, he stopped with with a raised
hand. “Perhaps you should remove your clothes first. Don't want them all
soiled, now do we?”
After she'd undressed, he led her into the room and laid himself down on the
floor, not three feet from the corpse. Willow's eyes were wide but she didn't
hesitate to slip herself onto him, causing him to gasp and almost come in
pleasure. “Gently, love. Want to make this last, I do.” Seeing how much he was
trembling, Willow reached down and squeezed his balls. “Yesss. Perfect,” he
responded as he focused on her again. Looking up to where her hair had fallen
before her face, Spike reached up to brush it back, leaving a smear of blood
across her cheek. He twitched inside of her at the sight of the red blood
against her pale skin. “Oh, I never thought how beautiful you'd look, covered
in blood,” he said as he splatted his hands down onto the blood covered carpet.
He brushed his hands across Willow's breast and torso, smearing them with
blood. Willow's shudder of disgust was lost as Spike pulled her to him,
thrusting his tongue into her mouth as he came into her.
Releasing her from the kiss, Spike gasped, “Luv, that was bloody brilliant,”
and added, with a wicked smile, “pun intended.”
Rolling her over onto her back, Spike continued to paint Willow with blood,
swirling around her breasts and belly, streaking it down her torso and legs,
driven by some artistic consideration that wasn't evident to her. She was
covered in blood from the neck down, with patterns she wouldn't have been able
to decipher even if she had been able to see them, on her face, when Spike,
struck by inspiration, stood her up.
He cut into the corpse, which made some sort of hideous gurgling sound as he
pulled out its intestines. As he started draping them around Willow, she
shuddered. “Shh, pet,” he said, brushing her blood soaked hair in a calming
motion. “You look exquisite.”
He started licking blood off her chest, just below her neck. As he worked his
way down, licking her skin clean as he went, blood dripped off of the
intestines, creating rivulets that descended down, dark red against her pale
skin. With eager, sweeping licks across her breasts, he added, “I've never
tasted anything so sweet. Should lick all my kills off of your skin; my own
personal chalice, you are.”
With a look of horror, that she took care to keep from Spike, Willow replied,
“But wouldn't that spoil it?” Spike paused and gave her a puzzled look. “If you
did it all the time, I mean,” she added, turning her face towards his.
“You're right,” Spike replied, leaning in to kiss her with blood still on his
lips. Between kisses he added, “Should save it for special occasions.” He
leaned back, gazing at Willow in wonder. “You're so thoughtful, always thinking
of how to please me. How did I ever get to be so lucky?”
He kissed her again and nibbled his way along her jaw. As he started licking
blood from her throat, Willow bit her lips, to keep from screaming, and
clenched her eyes shut. Tears welled at the corners but did not fall.
Spike knelt before Willow, lapping up blood and come from her slit. After a few
licks he leaned back to gaze at her adoringly. “Oh pet. What I said before?
That was nothing. Blood mixed with your come? I never want to eat anything
else, ever again.” As he leaned back in and flicked his tongue across her clit,
even though she wasn't in physical pain, Willow came, her mind screaming,
finally tortured beyond endurance.
As Spike stood, obviously pleased by Willow's reaction to his attentions, her
eyes darted, wildly, around the blood covered room. “Shh. Don't worry, pet. You
can clean it all up tomorrow while I'm out choosing appliances. Was going to be
a surprise but I'm making a kitchen for you here, so you can cook your own
food. It'll be nice and homelike, just like a normal, human family for you. All
this fast food I've been bringing home for you can't be as good as home cooked
meals. I want you to have everything you need.” Gazing around, not seeing the
blood and gore, but instead the kitchen he was planning to put in, he added,
“How about a hot tub next to this? Got a whole hallway of rooms to play with.”
With a leer, he continued with, “And we'll get to christen them, just like we
did this one.”
***** Chapter 3 *****
“No cutting your hair.” Spike snarled as he flashed into vamp face.
Willow remained calm but resolute pulling the ends of her hair, which had
darkened since he'd brought her there, presumably from lack of sunlight,
forward to show Spike. “It needs to be cut to remain healthy. See all these
split ends? They need to be cut off.” At Spike's stubborn look, she added, “It
will grow longer if you let me cut it now.”
Spike's face became human again. “What do you mean?”
The next night, Spike left at dusk and returned late with a bright pink case.
“Look, luv. Got it from a hairstylist. She trained me up right proper in how to
trim your locks.” Willow didn't ask what had happened after Spike was done with
her. “Six sets of scissors, each for a different type of cut. And a little
circular hairbrush, isn't that just cute.” He babbled on about the contents of
the case while trimming Willow's hair.
Afterwards he wouldn't let her toss out the hair but carefully gathered it up,
emptying out a tea box to hold it until the next night, when he went out and
found a box, intricately carved with vines, to store Willow's cut hair in.
---
He'd picked up some cookbooks and Willow's cooking was improving. She's even
managed to pull off some fancy French meal for their first anniversary. Spike
got a kick out of whirling the snails out of their shells with a toothpick.
Willow smiled endearingly at him and kept up a constant stream of babble, while
he barely even noticed the words, loving the sound of her voice.
After the romantic, candlelit dinner, he led her back into the main room and
pulled out a DVD. “Look, luv. Sleepy Hollow. Romance for you and a ghost story,
with a bit of violence for me.”
“Thank you, Spike,” Willow replied, batting her eyes downward while a pleased
smile formed on her lips.
“Nothing too good for my girl,” he replied, taking her into his arms for a
quick kiss. “Got you all safe, in our pretty home, with my arms to shield and
hug you, a sweet movie we can both enjoy, a spot of lovemaking later on,” he
added, nuzzling against her neck. Stepping back, he gave her a wicked smile,
saying, “Let's settle in and enjoy the movie.”
Willow turned the lights down low as he got the movie started. With Willow
curled up in his arms, Spike thought, doesn't get any better than this.
---
“What would you like to do tonight, pet?”
“Make me scream. So hard and long that my voice gives out and I can't make any
sound at all.”
Spike was shocked. They were soul mates and their minds like one. How could
Willow want to lose that sweet sounding voice that he so loved to listen to? He
hugged her tightly to him, stilling her trembling form. “Won't do that. Love
the sound of your voice. But the screaming, now that we can do, if you like.”
---
Spike didn't spend all his time with Willow. He had a rep to maintain after
all. Willow called it boy bonding but he, loving her babble, didn't mind what
she thought of it. Plus it gave her some time to herself, which he wasn't
really sure she wanted but figured, being human, probably needed. She had
plenty of books and movies to keep her occupied.
On the night it all changed, he'd won some sort of magical thingamajig at
poker. “What's it do then?”
“I supposed you could call it a far-viewer. This knob sets the location, while
these buttons zoom in and out, and this lever sends it backwards and forward in
time. Past to present only, unfortunately. If I could use it to see the future,
I certainly wouldn't have lost it to you.”
Spike plopped himself down into a dark booth in the back corner of the bar,
taking a beer with him. Nobody bothered him as he played around with the
controls of the viewer. After a while, having gotten the hang of it, he decided
to check in on Willow, figuring she'd be doing something edifying in his
absence: reading, listening to music, watching a movie.
She was staring out a window.
Jealous and wondering if she was gazing out at some other lover, he shifted the
controls to see what she was seeing. Through the few patches of transparency in
the blackened windows, there was nothing to see, just buildings and palm trees.
Disturbed by what he'd seen, Spike thought about discarding the viewer but
instead, on his way back home, decided to keep it but hide it from Willow. As
Spike entered their bedroom, Willow was standing at the foot of the bed. Just
like she always does, he thought.
It's as if she had no life, whispered a voice at the back of his mind; it's as
if she were waiting for you.
Of course she's waiting for me, Spike thought. She loves me.
So she does nothing while your gone? The voice persisted. It's as if she were
afraid of you.
“What have you been doing?” he asked, more harshly than he'd intended. Willow
tensed, barely noticeable to even his enhanced senses, for just a moment before
relaxing to her usual grace. Disconcerted by the evening's revelations, Spike
scented the air, detecting Willow's usual scent of vanilla and fear but, in his
desire to believe she loved him, Spike had learned to ignore the scent of
Willow's fear. Finding nothing unexpected in the air, Spike said, “Didn't mean
to startle you, pet.”
“I'm sorry,” she replied as she walked into his waiting arms. “I must have been
lost in daydreams or perhaps I should call them nightdreams since it is evening
although that would imply I was asleep.”
Spike usually liked Willow's babble but the idea of her being lost to him, even
in a dream, was a disturbing one. “Don't want to lose you,” he replied, holding
her close to him. “Never going to let you go.”
When Willow didn't respond, Spike asked her a question, more to hear her speak
in that sweet, sweet voice he loved so much than from any real interest in her
response. “Have you eaten?”
She tensed a bit in his arms and he brushed his hand down her long locks to
calm her. “Is it that late?” she asked. Of course it was late, or early in the
morning actually, but Willow had long ago acculturated herself to the vampire's
schedule, eating dinner in the early hours of the morning.
“No,” he stepped back from her, still holding her in his arms, but wanting to
look at her face as well. “I'm back a bit earlier than I'd expected. I thought
if you'd already eaten we could cuddle, maybe watch a movie.”
“Hmmm. How about I heat up some soup and throw together a quick salad and a
sandwich? I could eat it off the tv stand while the movie gets started. That
wouldn't delay our evening very much,” Willow suggested.
“I wouldn't want you to neglect yourself, just for my sake.” I love you. I love
you. I love you, he thought. Spike hadn't noticed when he, unable to bear that
she didn't return the sentiment, had stopped saying it.
“Do you really think I'd be neglecting myself? It would still be healthy, even
if I didn't eat it at the table,” Willow replied.
My considerate pet, always thinking of me before yourself, he thought brushing
a lazy finger up her jaw to the ticklish area just under hear ear. He didn't
want to delay their evening either. “You're right, luv,” he said as he stole a
quick kiss, glad she so wanted to be close to him that she was willing to forgo
a formal dinner for his sake. While Willow was in the kitchen, Spike asked,
“What would you like to watch?”
After a short pause, which Spike almost didn't notice, Willow responded, “How
about Trilogy of Terror?” Spike knew Willow preferred intellectual movies,
something to think about while he wasn't there but she doesn't, does she,
whispered the voice at the back of his mind. When Spike didn't respond, Willow
stepped into view. “I like to watch how excited your eyes get when the doll
traps and hunts Karen Black in the apartment.”
Bugger off, Spike told the voice. She does love me. A grin lit up Spike's whole
body as he replied, “Trilogy of Terror it is then.”
---
Spike didn't exactly remember the discrepancies he'd noticed that evening –
he'd been denying them for far too long – but he didn't exactly forget either.
They whispered at the back of his brain, something he knew was important but
couldn't quite recall. They told him what to do. He started testing Willow
without even realizing there was something to test her for.
When he obliquely suggested a soak, Willow, with a sensual twist, raised
herself out of his arms to run water into their huge tub. As usual, she added
scented bubbles, which Spike could have cared less about, preferring Willow's
scent, but allowed, knowing Willow liked them. He liked to spoil her in small
and silly ways. When he walked in with champagne and two glasses she almost
managed to hide her confusion by testing the water.
“Are we celebrating something?” she asked.
“Nothing in particular,” he replied casually. “Just thought it would make a
nice change.” Spike didn't tell himself why it was suddenly important that
Willow drink with him but a deep part of himself was starting to question why
Willow wouldn't drink. It might not be that she didn't like the taste. Perhaps
she was afraid to lose control.
“I insist you join me,” he said, handing her a glass of bubbly. “Time for you
to appreciate some of the finer things in life,” he commanded.
“All right,” she said, graciously accepting the glass but, while she seemed to
sip as often as he did, the level in the glass barely moved even though he
tamed his caresses, not wanting to distract her from the chance to drink.
“Don't like bubbly, pet?” he finally asked when the water had cooled enough
that they were going to have to get out.
“I've never gotten used to the taste,” Willow admitted. Over the scented
bubbles, he couldn't smell her fear but her face became expressionless as she
accepted his help out of the tub.
“Not afraid of getting intoxicated, are you?” he asked with more truth than he
realized.
She leaned in to kiss him.
“You're all the intoxication I need.”
***** Chapter 4 *****
Trying to regain the closeness he didn't yet realize he'd lost, Spike tried to
please Willow with gifts, things he thought she might like: he picked out
movies for her; brought her new clothes; he read to her and had her read to
him; he made love to her with a renewed fervor but none of it worked. He
started letting himself notice that they were slipping apart.
What did the damned bloody prince do to appease his princess after he'd rescued
her? It was supposed to be happily ever after.
---
Knowing that Willow knew he wanted her to keep their home clean, he left his
clothes on the floor and then irritatedly told her to leave them when she tried
to pick them up. As he continued to give her commands that contradicted what he
wanted her to do, Willow became more and more uncertain around him and Spike
became angrier with her. Willow was as attentive as she'd always been but, now,
he felt the distance between them.
He didn't know what to do. He could beat her, remind her who was in charge.
Hadn't worked with Dru though, had it? Damn. Why the hell did he have to think
of her? She'd never loved him, not the way Willow loved him. She'd left him.
Willow would never leave him. She'd told him so. Willow couldn't leave, a voice
whispered in the back of his brain. Blue eyes widened as he became very still.
It wasn't true. It couldn't be true.
---
That evening he took her to bed early, a part of him watching from the side,
paying attention to what was said and what was unsaid. “Dearest” and “darling”
she cried as fingers, lips, and tongues touched, kissed, and caressed. His
name, “Spike. Oh Spike. My Spike,” slid off her tongue a dozen times in a mere
minute but she didn't say “I love you.” She had never said “I love you.”
---
While they were curled up together, Willow in Spike's arms, he surreptitiously
watched her watching a movie, The Fisher King, one of the ones he'd thought she
might like. “Forgive me,” a character, Spike didn't know who he was, on the
screen cried, said, and sang out again and again, momentarily drawing Spike's
attention away from Willow. He hadn't been paying attention to the movie – they
were barely into it and he was already lost – but Willow seemed absorbed by it.
Greatly daring and feeling like he was about to step off a cliff, Spike
whispered, “I love you,” across the great divide. Willow immediately turned
away from the movie and began kissing him.
He shoved her away and leapt across the room. From behind and below him, Spike
could smell fear radiating off of her. After a moment, he wiped the tears from
his eyes before turning back. “You're supposed to say it back. If you loved me,
you'd say it back.”
Her eyes wide and dark against her pale skin, Willow answered. “I thought you
knew. I never told you because you knew. Of course I love you.”
“Don't lie to me,” he shouted, shattering his beer bottle against the wall.
Willow's face was calm but her fear filled the room. He thought about slashing
her, uncovering what she really was but then the thought came to him – not what
she really was but what he'd made her into – so he fled, afraid he'd hurt her
beyond repair if he stayed, but still careful, even in his rage, to lock her
in.
There's truth in wine but liquor is quicker, Spike thought, picking up a few
bottles of whiskey. “Here's to Irish bastards everywhere,” he said, chugging
down the first bottle. He didn't wonder what had put Angel into his thoughts
but instead kept drinking until he was ready for more truth.
He went back to the hotel, down to the basement where he'd hidden the far-
viewer. Curled up in the dark, he watched Willow. Not needing to see what she
was doing that evening, he scanned back in time. Watched her try to escape the
first time he'd left her alone. Paused the viewer, and ran in slow motion,
hundreds of times, over her realization that there was no escape. Time was when
he'd have thrilled to see that look on a human face. Watched how she became
attentive after that, always noticing his needs, not because she loved him, as
he'd thought, but because... why?
He stormed back out into the night, picking fights in a half dozen bars, with
that question always at the back of his mind. She was willing and he always saw
to it that he hurt her enough so she'd come. He stopped. Hurt her. But that
wasn't how humans made love, now was it? He'd had to train her to enjoy the
pain but she enjoyed herself now. Not like she had any choice in the matter,
the voice at the back of his brain reminded him. No, it's not like that, he
thought as he punched a Fyarl demon hard enough to send it flying across the
room.
She said she'd never leave me, Spike thought. Like Angel? Like Dru? Angel had
never said that; he'd said I was his, forever his, but then he got his soul
back. And he left. And Dru, Dru had never said anything of the sort. I was
always the one going on about our eternal love and I was the one who assumed
that Dru and I would be together forever. I assumed she loved me. Just like I
did with Willow. Spike staggered back towards the hotel, more beaten down by
his thoughts than he'd been by the fights.
Willow never loved me. Dru never loved me. He wasn't quite sure what he wanted
but he did know there was only one person who could set things right. Spike
called Angel. Of course it wasn't Angel who picked up.
“I need to talk to Angel,” he said.
“Yeah, get in line mister,” said the voice on the other end. Female. Pissed
off. Just what he needed.
“Just tell him Spike's on the line.”
“Spike?” He heard voices over the phone, obviously not taking vampire hearing
into account. When he heard Willow's name, he winced. So, they'd figured out
he'd taken her, had they? Clever of them really.
“Spike.” Angel, at last.
“Angel.” Disappointment bloomed in Spike's heart as he heard, in the silence,
what Angel was afraid to ask. “What, no hearty welcome for the return of the
prodigal son?”
“Don't go there, Childe,” Angel growled.
“Ah, ah. You need to be nice to me. Got something you want,” Spike replied
before raising the whiskey to his lips.
“Willow,” Angel whispered.
“Got it in one. And they always said I was the smart one. Well, they were right
but still, you do have your moments.”
“What do you want for her?” Angel asked.
“Want?” Spike looked around at what his world had become: a dark, dank room as
cold and as impersonal as a grave; a tic toc thingamajig that provided glimpses
of the past, of the distant, but didn't let you touch, never let you touch.
What I've always wanted. I want you to love me, he thought. He threw the bottle
against the wall and could tell, by the hiss on the other end of the phone,
that Angel had heard it shatter. “Don't want anything. Take her back. I'm done
with her.”
“Spike,” Angel asked tentatively.
“Yeah,” Spike replied cautiously.
“How is Willow?” Spike started laughing. Of course Angel wasn't asking about
him. It was never about him.
“I broke her. All I wanted was for someone to love me and I broke her and I
can't fix her.” Then Spike's rage took over again. “Are you glad now that I'm
second best again?”
Angel was silent for a moment before answering. “I just want what's best for
Willow. If she's hurt, if you can't help her...” Angel continued when Spike
didn't answer, “Please Spike. Just tell me where she is.”
“Maybe I won't,” Spike slurred into the phone. “Maybe I'll keep her anyway.
Even if she doesn't love me, she's good at pretending she does.” A wave of
sadness hit Spike. “She doesn't love me. Nobody does. Not Dru. Not you.”
“Spike, I...”
“Don't say it,” Spike interrupted. “Don't tell me your souled self loves me.
Had enough lies.”
“I do love you,” came the inevitable response. “Just not the way you want.”
Spike didn't bother to respond. “Please Spike. Please don't hold Willow...”
“Against her will?” Spike finished. “Said I'd had enough of lies. Hyperion
Hotel. You've heard of it, yeah? You know the room. I'll leave the key out on
the front desk.”
“Spike.” Something in Angel's voice gave Spike hope, made him think he was
wanted after all, until Angel shattered that hope by asking, “Willow is OK,
isn't she?”
“Yeah, she'll still be alive when you get here.” Responding to the silence on
the other end of the line, he added, “I'm not going to hurt her Angel.” Spike
decided to twist the knife in. “I'm not you. I don't hurt those I love. They
just hurt me.”
“Thank you,” Angel whispered before hanging up.
***** Chapter 5 *****
Knowing it wouldn't take Angel long to get there, Spike set the viewer to real-
time. Might be his last chance to see Willow since he sure as hell wasn't
pathetic enough to peer in on her if, no make that after, she left him.
She was gazing out the window. He thought he'd given her a life and yet,
looking at her, spying on her from behind unseen eyes, all he could see was a
princess waiting to be rescued. Well, the bloody prince was on his way.
Admittedly, not much of a prince but enough of one to defeat Spike time and
time again.
A knock on the door. Willow turned, allowing her face to show fear. Nobody ever
knocked. I've been all the company she's had for years; I should have... humans
need other humans, Spike thought as another knock and then a tentative voice
asked, “Willow?”
“Angel.” Spike saw her mouth form the word although no sound escaped her lips.
She looked terrified, her eyes darting around the room as if she was trying to
find a place to hide, or a way to escape, when the door opened. Angel walked in
gently, as if afraid he'd frighten Willow. Some brunette bint barged in like
she owned the place and Willow plastered herself against the glass, looking
like she would have thrown herself through it if she'd been able to. A man
entered, more unobtrusively, as if following Angel's example; while he wasn't
wearing tweed, his moves screamed Watcher to Spike's eyes.
“Willow,” Angel said. Spike waited to hear him add, “we're here to rescue you,”
just like a hero from some second-rate movie but Angel just repeated her name,
even more gently than before.
“What's your deal?” the brunette brayed. “We're here to save you.” Ah, there it
is, Spike thought, smiling at the cliché, until he noticed Willow inching away,
towards the furthest and darkest corner of the room. The one she used to hide
in after I'd first brought her here, he thought morosely.
“Cordelia,” the Watcher replied. “We have no idea what horrors she's been
through.”
“Well, duh,” she replied. “That's why we need to get out of here ASAP, before
Spike changes his mind.”
“Spike?” Willow whispered.
Angel held up his hand, silencing the other two, before addressing Willow in a
soft voice. “Spike called me. He's sorry for what he's done.” Spike jumped up
at that and knocked over a crate. Sorry? Yeah, sorry Willow never loved me.
Could still fix it though. Could kick out Angel and show her who's boss again.
“He never meant to hurt you,” Angel finished.
Angel's two humans looked around nervously in the silence until Willow spoke.
“He was lonely.”
“Yes, Willow,” Angel soothed. “He was. Spike was lonely. He was confused after
Dru left him. A Sire doesn't abandon Childer but Dru was...”
“You broke her,” Willow finished for him. Oh, good one pet. Hit him where it
hurts, Spike thought to hide the hurt in his heart. How dare Angel tell his
humans how he'd been abandoned by Dru?
“Yes, I did,” Angel acknowledged, looking as guilty as he'd ever had after he'd
gotten his soul back.
“You're sorry for what you did,” Willow finished.
“I am,” Angel replied. “Willow, do you think you could come with us now?”
“Leave?” Willow asked. At Angel's nod, her mask slipped to show the terror
she'd been hiding. “I told him I'd never leave.” Spike sat back down, eyes
glued to the screen at that.
“Willow, you can't want to stay here, a prisoner...”
“Cordy,” Angel interrupted.
“Why did you tell him that?” the Watcher asked.
“He seemed so lonely, always second best, never the beloved. Just like me.”
Willow curled up around herself and looked around the room as if confused, “and
I couldn't leave.”
“You couldn't leave? Wait. Are you staying you chose to stay? Because Spike
seemed lonely?” the one called Cordy asked incredulously.
“Cordy,” Angel repeated.
“But she just said...”
“Cordelia,” Angel interrupted with a shout. Willow jumped at the noise. “That's
not what she meant,” he added in a quieter tone. “Willow couldn't leave because
she was locked in here.”
Cordelia looked like she was about to push Willow on the subject until she
looked, and saw Willow's terror. She slouched back a bit and raised an
uncertain hand to her mouth.
“You're hurt,” the Watcher said. “The way you're holding yourself, it suggests
some type of a bruise.”
Willow curled in on herself. “He... when we...” She stammered but then stopped
as if unable to stay anymore.
Angel looked at her sympathetically before turning towards his two humans.
“When vampires... mate it's as much, often more about pain as it is pleasure.”
“He tortured me. All the time. Any other vampire would have just drained me.
Even Angelus would have only tortured me for a few months, at most, before
killing me. But Spike... He made me pretend. I always had to tell him I wanted
to be with him. How much I enjoyed it, even when he hurt me.”
Not wanting to see her expression, Spike tried to keep his head turned away but
his eyes, beyond his control, were drawn back to the screens. Willow's eyes
were wild, as if they couldn't contain her madness.
“And then I did enjoy it,” she continued. “The pain. When he fucked me, I
couldn't come without the pain. And there was always pain. And blood. And
corpses, right there. I had to pretend I didn't see them while I rode him,
while I sucked his dick, while he licked blood off me.”
“Willow,” Angel shouted. At her look, he added, “Enough.”
“Oh God,” the Watcher whispered as if offering a prayer for her salvation.
“He,” Angel looked around uncomfortably. “He didn't mean it that way, Willow.
He wasn't trying to torture you. That was his way of showing his love...”
As Willow took in his meaning, she let out an hysterical sob and fell to the
floor, covering her face with her arms as her sobs racked her entire body. The
whiskey fell from Spike's hand. The brunette, Cordelia, showing more gentleness
than Spike would have given her credit for, given how she'd behaved so far,
cradled Willow into her arms as she glared at Angel. Spike could tell she
wanted to lay into Angel for his lack of tact but she comforted Willow instead
until her tears had subsided. “Willow,” she said quietly, “Do you think you
could leave now?”
Spike leaned in closer to the viewer as Willow looked up. Spike had never
wanted to see such a bleak expression on her face but her words were even more
cutting. “Yes. Now.” Willow replied, allowing Cordelia to help her up. She
started taking tentative steps towards the doorway, looking around nervously,
as if she were sure Spike was about to step in and stop her. Then she paused.
Cordelia and the Watcher looked at each other as if uncertain about the delay.
“Miss Rosenberg?” the Watcher asked. “We really should leave as quickly as
possible.” Spike snorted. At least somebody in the group was worried about the
big bad.
As if she hadn't heard him, Willow walked, with sudden confidence, towards a
desk where Spike kept odds and ends, and pulled out a pair of scissors. While
the others watched – Angel with a glimmer of understanding and his two humans
with confusion clear on their faces – Willow cut her hair. She left it where it
fell on the rug.
After carefully putting the scissors away, Willow said, “I'm ready now.” She
didn't look back.
Spike went back to the room, no longer his home, one last time. What had always
felt so warm and cozy seemed cold and empty. He dropped to his knees by her
hair. He reached but stopped his hand, feeling as if she might still be there
if he didn't touch it. He looked towards the adjoining room, their bedroom,
expecting her to bounce out at any moment, surprised but happy to see him
there, and excited about her new haircut.
Still looking away from the floor, hoping to see Willow, his traitorous hand
reached out, stroked her hair, and picked up a lock. He inhaled her scent.
Willow was gone. He'd never wanted to cry while she'd been with him but... For
so long he'd needed to be strong, to show her that he was in control. Letting
go of strength, of control, of his heart, Spike's tears fell on all he had left
of Willow.
***** Chapter 6 *****
For six years, Spike had kept himself away from Willow but finally, inevitably,
not even certain why, he found himself climbing the stairs of her high tower.
He didn't trust the elevator, not in this place that was totally hers. It was a
long climb. Tallest building in the world. Headquarters of her corporate
empire: computers; electronics. There was nothing technical she didn't have her
fingers in.
He knew, hell, the whole world knew, that she lived at the top of this
building. Her security was the best, of course, but still, merely human and
while it hadn't been easy to find a warlock able to bypass it, hadn't been
impossible either. He slipped into her suite, unseen, unlooked for, and
probably unwanted, but there all the same. Stopping at the end of a short
entranceway, his eyes took in the dark room – luxurious but impersonal as if
she'd hired a stranger to decorate it. Her back was to him, giving him a clear
view of her short, dark hair, cut in her signature style that ended above her
neck.
She was looking out the window.
So, she still did that then.
A trick of the glass showed him three Willows. The first was a much younger
Willow, younger even than when he'd first taken her, with hair longer and
redder then he remembered. The Willow who had comforted him in the factory was
pounding against the glass, begging for his help and, looking at her, he
realized that's when he'd fallen for her. Still believing he could win Drusilla
back, he hadn't let himself know what his true feelings were. That didn't come
until later, after he'd taken her. His gaze shifted over to the second Willow,
the one he'd kept at the hotel, and she was shifting, changing as she'd changed
over time: her hair becoming darker and longer as she withdrew into herself
becoming the woman he'd handed back to Angel. Shifting his eyes over once more,
her hair had become the darkest of the three, shorter even than when he'd first
taken her, but her face was obscured by the reflection of the glass she held up
to her lips. “Who are you?” he whispered, not really knowing what he meant by
that, but Willow heard him and turned. Ice clinked in her glass, bourbon from
the scent of it.
It was late, almost one in the morning, but she was still wearing a suit. Not
the jacket, which was draped across a chair, but a steel gray blouse and a
business skirt so dark a gray that it was halfway to black. She was as thin,
almost skin and bones. Magazines went on about how great she looked, almost
like a supermodel, but to Spike's eyes her skin was too taut, like an old
rubber band, stretched too far and about to break.
“Spike, I always knew you'd turn up sooner or later. Care for a drink?” she
asked.
“Thanks but no.” Spike wanted to light a cigarette, to give himself something,
anything, to do with his hands but smoking in Willow's rooms? Strike a spark?
Bring a bit of light, no matter how small, into that sterile environment? Just
didn't seem right somehow.
“Afraid of getting intoxicated?” she asked. The question echoed in his mind,
cascading regrets he couldn't let himself show to this stranger who wore
Willow's face.
“Wouldn't happen,” Spike replied. Intoxicated? You didn't get intoxicated in a
museum. Well, he did but intoxication was passion and lust and life. Willow's
room was more lifeless than a tomb.
Willow stared at Spike but didn't speak, which was all right with Spike because
her voice had changed. It was harsh now, clipped, as if words had to struggle
their way past her lips. Still, he was the one who'd come to her, although he
didn't quite know why. Up to him to make the effort. “You left your friends.
Thought you'd stay with them. Thought they'd help you.”
Willow laughed, dark and bitter. “After six years that's the best you could
come up with? I. Left. My. Friends?” Her drink spilled over as she slammed it
onto the bar. “I was taken from my friends.”
“I...” Spike didn't know what he was about to say but Willow interrupted him
before he could figure it out.
“Yes, I know. You're sorry.” Throwing a rapid-fire volley of words, each
hitting true to his heart, she continued, “Sorry you stole me. Sorry you raped
me. Sorry you kept me. Doesn't matter,” she continued in a mercurial change.
“You made me the woman I am today. Rich. Powerful. I can have anything I want.”
“I am sorry,” he whispered.
Her eyes narrowed at his words. “Didn't you hear what I just said? I have
everything I ever wanted.”
“You don't,” he said, walking across the room. “You have nothing. All of this,”
he said as he kicked over an artsy vase, “junk is a shell. You were more alive
when you were a girl than you are now and yes, you were more alive when you
were with... when I... when I stole you. When I kept you,” he finished,
throwing her words back at her.
“When you raped me? Was I alive then?”
Spike thought back to that night. She'd been screaming when he came in her.
Anguish? Pain? He'd never thought to ask but she had tried, before he'd laid in
on her, to stand up for herself, spunky even in her terror. So unlike this cold
thing she'd become. “You were.”
She startled away from him as if he'd slapped her. “Why are you here, Spike?”
I love you, I love you, I love you, whispered at the base of his brain, so far
back he couldn't hear it. He couldn't admit to Willow that he didn't know so,
“Wanted to see how you were doing.”
She looked back at him as if she couldn't believe his answer. “And how am I
doing? Oh wait, you've already told me. All of this,” she gestured around the
room, “is a shell.”
Hollow. You're hollow, but he couldn't tell her that. He'd already hurt her too
much. “Oh, I don't know. Perhaps I judged it to harshly. Plenty of pretties.
Nice view. Lots of alcohol.” No books, he noticed, not out here anyway but he
was certain that Willow didn't read anymore. Damn, it was worse than he'd
thought. “So, what do you do for fun nowadays?”
“Fun?” she asked as if the concept were foreign to her.
“Yeah, you know. Like I get into bar fights, vanquish my enemies. That sort of
thing. Heard you took down that Gates guy.”
A twisted smile took over her face. “He was weak.”
“Easy to defeat then? Not much fun, that,” Spike replied.
“Oh, I don't know. Reminded me of why I need to be strong, why I can't show any
weakness myself,” she said, almost reflectively.
“Need that reminder, do you?” Spike asked.
Willow flinched at that and then threw more vicious words, as sharp as knives,
at him. “No, I won't make the mistake of being weak, not ever again. You took
me because you thought I was weak. I'm not weak, not anymore. I don't help
anyone.”
“Noticed that. Must have been upsetting to your friends though,” Spike pried,
trying to figure out why they hadn't been able to heal her. They could keep
bloody apocalypse after apocalypse at bay but they couldn't heal one wounded
woman? They let their best friend become this?
“I was,” she whispered. “They kept pestering me, expecting me to be the girl
they used to know. They were always watching for her. They were always
disappointed.” With that Willow turned back to the window and stared into
space. Spike looked at her reflection, hoping to see the Willow he'd known, the
Willow she'd been. There was no sign of her.
“You used to call me your pet because I was empty, because you could mold me
into whatever you wanted me to be,” Willow said, catching Spike's gaze in the
window.
“You're not empty anymore,” he replied while thinking you were never empty. You
always had more life in you than anybody else I'd ever known. It's why I wanted
you.
“What am I now?” she whispered showing more hurt, in those four short words,
than she'd ever shown him before.
Spike stared into her eyes and couldn't lie to her, not at that moment,
“Hollow,” was all he said before he turned and started walking out of her life.
“Spike,” she screamed. He stopped but didn't turn around. “I could keep you
here and do to you what you did to me. Hurt your. Beat you. Use you.”
Willow had meant the words to wound but they were nothing compared to seeing
what his love had turned her into. Spike hung his head for a moment, and then
turned to whisper, “I'm sorry, pet,” before continuing out the door.
He heard her crying as he climbed up, all the way to the roof. The air was cool
and refreshing, full of life, after the sterility and dry, almost dusty, heat
of Willow's rooms. Spike finally lit that cigarette and stared out into the
distance, lost in thought, regretting what could have been. What bloody never
well could have been, his mind rebelled. Face it, no human was going to
willingly run off with a vampire when she had her whole life ahead of her.
Spike sat down on the floor of the roof, his back against the wall of the
stairwell, and started to write, holding his paper down against the wind.
                           I loved you, and won you,
                                 and lost you.
                                    Kamaya
                         I loved you, and killed you,
                                my darling, my
Spike stopped writing and picked the paper up, staring at it intently but not
seeing the words he'd written down. He loosened his fingers and his poem flew
up, carried away by the wind, a tiny spark against the night sky before it was
swallowed by the darkness.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!