Name: Bitch Willow
Email Address: bitch_willow@willowymail.zzn.com
Rating: PG-13 for sexual innuendo and threats of violence
Disclaimer: I don’t own anyone: not Willow, not Spike, not Oz. I do own Tristan.
Summary: Willow has to decide what to do now.
Shock.
That was all she could feel, and even that was dim and weak, as though her emotions had somehow fled, regressed to some faraway part of her brain where they couldn’t be found, couldn’t hurt her anymore. Her boyfriend had killed someone. And he did it for her.
The bastard.
But on the up side, Spike was being remarkably good about this. Sweet, even. Not calling her on the fact that Oz wasn’t the only one who had cheated. On the fact that she had almost killed her boyfriend.
That maybe she was a killer too.
She shivered to think that, and Spike slowly rubbed her back. She was lying on his bed on her stomach as he rubbed a burn cream on her lower back.
"S’alright, pet," he murmered. Then his cool hands continued to gently pet her back.
For a full hour after she had shot Oz, she’d cried in his arms. As Buffy watched, helpless. As Giles and Xander had come to pick up the body and take Oz to a safe location. And all he’d done was cradle her and whisper comfort into her hair, into her shoulder. Tears slipping unnoticed down his own pale face.
She had noticed, wondering why he was crying. Knowing the cause of her own tears, but not of his. She had no idea what to do now.
She hadn’t seen Oz since then. The sun had been up for hours, but she still couldn’t bring herself to move. Not that Spike would let her leave, anyway. After she’d stopped crying—or, at least, after her tears had run dry and she could only sob dryly into his shoulder—he had picked her up in his strong arms and carried her all the way to his apartment, ignoring Buffy’s questions and cries, merely walking calmly past her as Willow burrowed her head into his neck.
She had no idea what had happened after that. She had woken up to find herself curled around the vampire, in his bed. He was sleeping beside her, restlessly. When she’d tried to move he had grabbed her gently around the arm and pulled her back onto the bed, on top of him. Her eyes had widened in shock. There were still parts of him that were definitely alive.
Not that he had tried anything. They’d just laid there, then he’d gotten up, forcing her back onto the bed when she’d tried to rise. "Pancakes, luv?" he’d murmured, brushing his lips against her cheek. She had nodded, still unable to find her voice. He’d left, giving her time to think about what she was going to do about Oz.
She had no idea what to do about Oz. She loved him…even still. But she didn’t know if she could ever look at him and not see the face of the wolf. He’d been half-human when he’d attacked Veruca. Did he have that capacity in him, the ability to kill? She’d seen it in his eyes.
< And what was in your eyes when you stood over him, a gun in your hand? > a little voice in her head had whispered. God. She had shuddered, turning her face into the pillow. She had that ability in her as well. But was it the same thing? Was killing another of your kind the same as wanting to kill the person you loved most in the world, just because he had fur?
She had sighed, looking at the door. Spike…he was so sweet. So wonderful, despite being a demon. She knew that he had come back to Sunnydale for her. Tristan had told her about the blackmail on Spike, and she saw just how flimsy it was. Spike had come back to Sunnydale because he wanted to. Because he wanted to be with her. The blackmail was just an excuse.
The Powers That Be were giving them a chance. But was she going to take it?
* * *
Spike looked down at the redhead lying facedown on his bed. Her back was blistered and red. When he’d first touched it, she had hissed, biting back a cry of pain. Now she was just looking blankly off to the side. He leaned down, lightly touching his lips to her ear and being intensely pleased at the shiver that produced. "What are you thinking about, baby?"
She shrugged, arching her back uncomfortably. "Oz. What I’m going to do."
His voice was low, almost painful. "What are you going to do?"
"I don’t know." She sat up, despite his protests. Her eyes were still slightly red, swollen. Worried. "I have to see him though. Soon." Willow lowered her head. "I need to know what his…side of this is."
"What side?" Spike spit out through his teeth. "He cheated on you, lied to you, and then tried to kill you. What side of that could possibly change your mind about him?"
She winced at his tone, but steadfastly kept her cool. "I don’t know. But…I mean, I should have seen it coming. He’s a werewolf, it’s only natural that he’d want a…mate." She said the last hesitantly, as if even the very word hurt her.
Spike shook his head. "No. He’d a done it anyway, pet. That ‘I’m a werewolf, I can’t control my instincts’ thing is a load of bull. If he really didn’t want to do it, he would have told you she was a wolf, or else just stayed the fuck away from her. He lied to you, and he called her up and invited her to his lair."
She looked at him inquisitively. "How do you know that?"
He sneered. "C’mon, pet. Do you really think that she turned into a wolf, went to that crypt, let herself inside, then locked the door behind her? Please. He had to have invited her." He knew he was being cruel, but Willow had to face the facts. Her little wolfboy was a prick.
Her eyes overflowed with tears. "I know. I know, okay?" she said more strongly, with more anger in her voice. "But I just have to see him. I need to…figure out what I’m going to do."
Spike pulled in an unnecessary breath, trying to gain control of himself and not just pull her into his arms and never let her go. He nodded abruptly. "Okay then. But let me finish putting this cream on your back."
He approached her, burn lotion in hand, but she pushed him off, wryly raising an eyebrow. "No, no, I’m burn-creamy enough. You can’t keep me in your bed forever," she reminded him, then immediately turned red, realizing what she had just said. Spike fought off the urge to prove to her exactly how wrong that statement was.
She got up off the bed. "No, I’m gonna go to the dorm and change, then go and see Oz. Okay?" She turned towards him, eyes pleading. He nodded, and she sighed in relief. "Okay then. So, I’ll see you tonight then?" She headed towards the bedroom door, but turned to face him to see his answer. Once again, he nodded soundlessly.
As she closed the door behind her, he closed his eyes. "I love you, pet," he breathed.
* * *
As Willow walked down the flight of apartment stairs, she thought to herself. <Okay: simple decision here. Oz or Spike. Oz, who’s a nice, human—well, almost human guy, who I love. Spike, the sweet, demon guy who can make me shiver just by looking at me. Not that Oz can’t make me shiver, he just…doesn’t. Or hasn’t, for a while now. But that was because of Veruca, and she’s dead now, because Oz killed her. But then, Spike’s killed lots of people… My head hurts. >
She sighed, then jumped as she ran headlong into somebody’s hard chest. "Oh, I am so—" She looked up into the face of the person she had just bumped into and stopped. "Oh, it’s you," she said wearily. "Spike’s apartment is up there."
"I know," replied Tristan, wryly raising an eyebrow. "And where are you hurrying off to so fast?"
"As if you don’t know." She tried to brush past him with a disgusted sigh, but he grabbed her arm.
"I don’t know. Where are you off to?" Tristan’s blue eyes pleaded with her.
Willow bit her lip, trying to decide whether or not to answer him. She finally blurted out, "I’mgoingtothedormtogetdressedthengoseeOztodecidewhatIwanttodoaboutthiswholeVerucathingandwhetherIlovehimorSpike, okay?"
Tris winced. "Does anyone ever actually understand you when you talk?"
She looked at him sadly. "Spike does." Then she continued walking down the rest of the stairs.
* * *
Later that night…
Spike paced the floor of his apartment, restlessly awaiting Willow’s call or appearance. < Maybe she ditched me to spend time with the wolf. Or maybe the wolf killed her. Either way, if he touches her I’ll rip his bleedin’ eyes out… >
The doorbell rang, and he jumped eagerly to get it. "Okay, okay: calm down," he told himself. But he couldn’t help it. He was bouncing like Tigger on crack from pure nervousness. And hope.
He smoothed back his bleached hair, then opened the door. Willow was standing there, looking pure and fresh and sweet in a long green skirt and fuzzy jacket. She was smiling hesitantly.
"Um—uh—hi, Spike." He just stared at her, the sight so…purely beautiful in his mind that he couldn’t move. "Can I come in?"
He jumped. "Oh! Uh. Sure." He moved out of the way so that she could brush past, her scent, like pine needles and something sweeter, washing over him.
She turned to face him. "I came over as fast as I could. Me and Buffy were…talking."
Spike tried to keep his face implacable. "About what, pet?"
She blushed slightly, eyes cast downward. Spike felt his dead heart sink. "Can we sit down?" she asked innocently, oblivious to Spike’s pain.
He gestured to the warm grey armchair she favored, then sat down on the couch. "So…what happened with wolfboy?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
"He’s gone."
< What?! > Okay, that wasn’t the answer he had expected. "What do you mean, ‘gone’? I was sure that you didn’t shoot him enough times to kill him—"
"Oh, no!" Willow interrupted him, looking vaguely annoyed. Then her eyes widened, as she got the full extent of his meaning. "Oh—no! Spike!" She rolled her eyes, glaring at him sideways as he shrugged.
"Can’t blame a mate for hoping."
"Can so," she said gruffly, but her eyes were twinkling. She got serious. "He’s gone. He left town…said he couldn’t deal with what happened. He left me."
A wave of sympathy overtook him, and he took her hand in his. "Oh…pet. Are you alright?" < Nancyboy, > he moaned internally, but he didn’t relax his grip on her hand. He had fallen in deep.
"Yeah," she said breathily. "I think so. I just feel…numb."
Without a word, Spike gathered her up into his arms, onto his lap. He felt her snuggle her face into his neck. "This is where you belong," he murmured into her hair.
"I hope so," she said sleepily.
THE END
More soon. Promise.