Title: The Final Link in the Chain (4/?)
Author: Northlight
email: uzenet@videotron.ca
Summary: Spike helps Willow out of an awkward situation and gets drawninto an even more dangerous one.
Warning: Slight language, and even less violence.
Distribution: If you already have any of my stuff, go ahead.Otherwise, ask and I'll say yes :)I'm moving, but for now, they can also still be found at:"http://www.fortunecity.com/tattooine/campbell/234/fic.html"
Disclaimer: Joss owns all.
Written: June 26 - July 8 1999
Dedication: For those who wanted more.
Note: So many Spike stories, such a weak grasp of Spike-speak. *sob*I love his so much, but he doesn't talk to me! :)

She was pale in the dark interior of the car, her flesh bathed bymoonlight and shadows. Had it not been for the faint stain of bloodvessels beneath the smooth surface of her face, she could have been oneof his own already, a creature of eternal nights and the faint glow ofthe moon. Her head had fallen sideways, her neck bare and exposed tohis hungry eyes. His eyes traced the graceful line of her throat,watching her steady pulse with fascination.

He wondered that none of his kind had claimed her already. 'Just aswell, though,' Spike thought, his lips quirking into an wide grin fullof anticipation. Beautiful, intelligent... dangerous, she could beperfection. His gaze moved downward, sweeping over a sweater clad armwrapped across her still flat stomach in unconscious protectiveness._Almost_ perfect, he amended.

He shifted gears, the car jumping forward with even more speed asSpike's booted feet pressed down upon the gas. Beyond the darklypainted windows, a meager barrier against the sun's dangers, the treeswhipped by in a blur of grey and brown, empty branches liftedbeseechingly towards the dark sky. He had turned off the music shortlyafter Willow had drifted into sleep, and now the only sound in the carwas the steady hum of the engine and the soft pumping of Willow's heart.

Her fingers twitched against her belly as shadowed green eyes peeledopen. She looked at him from beneath lowered eyelashes, the palm of onehand pressing into her aching shoulder and neck. "Are we there yet?"she asked sleepily, sleep having stripped her of her defensiveness forthe moment.

"That eager to be rid of me, luv?" Spike asked, watching as she movedaround in the seat, searching for a comfortable position that constantlyeluded her.

Willow's lips twitched. "Yep."

"Oh?" Spike questioned, his eyebrows arching inquisitively. "I must behandling you wrong, then."

"I don't want you handling me at all," Willow said, the stubborn flushthat she had yet to master suffusing her cheeks. 'Goddess! I'm alonewith a nicely built man for more than five minutes and my mind dropsinto the gutters. Xander would be proud of me.'

Willow quickly veered the conversation in another direction. "Did youever imagine heading back to Sunnydale?" she asked, praying that Spikewould cooperate and play gentleman until the sleep dissipated from hermind and she was capable of dealing with him without making a fool ofherself.

"No. Not much worth going back for," Spike answered, noting the reliefthat flared in her eyes when he answered.

"But... Buffy?" Willow asked. Her eyes went wide, her mouth clampingshut with such violence that her teeth cut into her lower lip. Buffywas so not the right person to bring up.

Spike snorted. "She was a good fuck, pet, but nothing worth mooningover. Besides, Slayers don't make good vampires. Nuttier thanDrusilla," he explained. "Most of 'em tend to take a stroll into thesun before you're finished playing with them."

Willow's lips pressed together tightly. "Oh. So... you would haveturned Buffy?" she asked, appalled and fascinated by what could havebeen. "If it weren't for the crazy thing." She hadn't realized whathappened to Slayers who were turned.

"Not bloody likely," Spike responded.

Willow slid down, nibbling at her lower lip. "I don't want to go back,you know," she stated, with another quicksilver change in topic. "ToSunnydale," she tacked on.

"Nothing surprising there, pet." Spike grinned unrepentantly whenWillow sent a withering glare in his direction.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're impossible to have a conversationwith?" she grumbled.

"I prefer putting my mouth to more enjoyable tasks than talking," Spikecountered. His smirk widened when Willow's eyes fastened on his lips,the steady beat of her heart increasing.

She closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and did her best to blockout the images that were cheerily invading her mind. "It wasn't thedemons, really. It's just that... You know, I don't think that there'sa single person in Sunnydale who had a good set of parents. Xander'sfather was an emotionally abusive bastard and a drunk, and his momdidn't get a damn what was happening with him; Cordelia's parentsignored her most of the time, her dad for his business and her motherbecause she was too sick to care; Amy and her mom... none too pleasant,"Willow said, counting off her friends on her fingers. "And me. Whenthey weren't on one of their trips, they treated me like some strangespecimen that wandered into their home while they weren't looking."

"Bad parents aren't exclusive to Sunnyhell," Spike said, his mindracing to follow her words, delivered so quickly after one another thatthey were barely distinguishable.

Willow shrugged. "Maybe the Hellmouth just makes it worse." Shelaughed suddenly, the sound at odds with the serious expression in hereyes. "If the Council wasn't trying to kill me, I might have suggestedthat we examine that -- Parenting on the Hellmouth: the Effects andConsequences."

"You think too much, luv."

"It's a rather hard habit to break. Maybe you should try it, every nowand then."

Willow surged forward in her seat suddenly, the blood draining from herpreviously flushed cheeks. Her hands slapped down against thedashboard, as if trying to support herself. "He found us!" she gasped.Sleep and the deceptive feeling of tranquility that had washed overWillow tore away as the subtle sense of awareness that spoke of herchild's ancestor drew at her.

She wouldn't have believed it possible, but at her words, the carmanaged to pick up more speed. Spike's face was grim as he expertlymaneuvered the hurtling car through the night. "Can you tell if he'sclose?" Spike growled curtly. His demons was howling in delight withinhim -- delighting in the threat, speed, and the potential for death thathung heavy around them.

Willow shook her head wildly. "Yes! No! I mean, he's close, but nottoo close!" she cried, unable to put to words what she instinctivelyfelt. 'What exactly was it about Erik that I liked again?'

"Bloody wonderful," Spike snarled. The car shrieked in protest, theengines straining, as unseen hands gripped the car, holding it inplace. It shuddered, straining between the pressure of Spike's foot onthe gas and the force of the hold Illianer's magic had on it.

Spike glowered at Willow. "Apparently he's close enough to trap ushere, like fucking animals!" he hissed. "Out of the car. _Now_,Willow!" he prodded. They tumbled out of the motionless car. His eyescarefully scrutinizing their surroundings, Spike grabbed Willow's clammyhand in his own, and tugged her away from the car, off the road.

"Where are we going?" Willow gasped, wishing once again that the policehadn't taken her gun. It would have done no good in her currentpredicament, but Willow felt unbearably stripped and vulnerable withonly her own defense training and a former enemy to guard her and herunborn child against an ancient mage out for blood.

Spike didn't answer, either not sure where they were heading, orunwilling to divulge the information. He glanced back over his shoulderonce, his eyes darkening. "I loved that car."

~End part 4~
Wow, the _excitement_! *snort*