“Are you sure you want to hear more?”
            “You can’t stop now!” he said surprised and indignant. “You’re just getting to the good part.”
            “Good part?” he snorted. “You think this is the good part? Why don’t I just skip to London and the little party with the Council?”
            He considered this for a bit, munching on classic bar food and sipping his beer. Finally, he shook his head. “No. I want to know what leads up to that. I want to know what happens
            with Willow, and if she finally realizes what a big hypocrite she is.”
            He snorted again. “Not bloody likely. She’s as righteous as ever.”
            “But isn’t she a werewolf now? I mean, I thought you said she was, that Oz had bit her and turned her.” he frowned. “Turning always sounds like he turned her into a vamp, but I
            guess it’s the same principle. Once a wolf, always a wolf.”
            He finished his beer and motioned for another. As the waitress did his bidding, he studied the boy across from him. Looked like his mother, he did. Though he supposed there was some
            of his father in there, too. The eyes especially. Ah, well, no accounting for genetics.
            “Okay, okay,” he sighed when his beer was in front of him. “Willow.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Willow walked along the hall and wondered at the others who’d come and gone from the dungeons. Hank and Joyce had both disappeared for long stretches of time today (she was pretty sure it was still today), and when they’d returned, they’d both seemed different. She couldn’t put her finger on how, but they were. 

Clearly Buffy had summoned them. She wondered why she hadn’t seen Giles. Was she still mad at him? Willow couldn’t even remember why Buffy was, there was so much going on in her own life. Or, well, so much between her and Oz. Outside that, she didn’t really have a life. 

She kind of missed it, that beginning of a life she had once Buffy came to town. The fun they had, the things they’d all done. 

What would she be doing now, had this all not happened? Continued to help Buffy, of course. Fight evil, make the world – or their little corner of it – a better place. 

Sighing, she continued on. And now she was trapped here because Buffy couldn’t kill Angel. Angelus. Whatever. 

Trust.  

It came to her in a flash, and she wondered why she’d forgotten it. Buffy had always been a big believer in trust. Without it, she couldn’t do her job, not with them. They’d get in the way, she said. Trust was paramount to being a Slayer with Friends. 

Giles had betrayed that trust by telling them about his research. About Buffy. Willow felt betrayed that Buffy hadn’t confided in her. 

And that she was still in that damned cell. 

The guards next to her growled, and she looked up to realize she’d stopped walking. Willow offered a small embarrassed smile in apology – wondered why she apologized – and continued on. They really were intimidating. All big and…big. 

But she didn’t see anyone else in the halls, so why did Buffy need big, huge guards? Man, give the girl a new title, and she gets all paranoid. 

Or maybe they were Angelus’ idea? He was king of paranoia. And manipulation. 

Suddenly she was outside, the debatable sunlight glowing eerily over everything. And green. Hey! She stopped again, turning in a circle to see the shrubs. There was still life. Logically she knew that the fresh food they ate came from somewhere, but she never really thought about where. A greenhouse, probably, just for the humans. 

This was beyond what she’d imagined. 

Slowly walking between the hedgerows, she took a moment to indulge in the air. It seemed crisper here, fresher. It was nice, and she wished Oz was with her to enjoy it. 

There was a laugh from somewhere in front of her, then another – she recognized Buffy’s right away, but it took her a moment to realize the second was Spike. Weird – why was Spike laughing with Buffy? And where was Angelus? 

The laughter stopped mid-breath when she rounded the corner. Spike nodded to Buffy and moved a little bit away to lean against the wall. The guards melted into the brush, too, and it was her and Buffy. 

Awkward. 

“Willow,” Buffy said calmly, motioning to the bench she sat on. And why was she so calm? Shouldn’t she be nervous and fidgety? Liked Willow herself was? “How are you?” 

“Fine,” she said, tongue tied. She felt like the girl the Slayer had first befriended, gauche and geeky. “You know, other than being in a cell and all. Ah, you?” 

“Things are well with me,” she nodded. 

“Oh. That’s good.” She stopped again, and shifted on her seat. 

Beneath her fingertips, she could feel the stone, each and every pore of it. Well. This was new. She shifted again, and the backs of her legs rubbed along the edge, scraping her skin, more sensitive now than before. 

It felt marvelous. She did it again, wanted to lift her skirt and feel the texture of the bench beneath her bare bottom, her thighs. Willow closed her eyes and breathed deeply of the air. 

In the cells, she’d been limited in what she could do, feel, perceive. Now, out here in the open, all her new senses were coming to life. 

And it was glorious. 

She could smell Buffy, the cleanness of her, and Angelus on her skin – and deeper. Spike was to her right, and he didn’t smell dead as she assumed, nor even of blood. He smelled old – not like old people, but like an old book; faintly musty and intriguing. She could feel the tenseness coming off him as if it had a scent of its own. And deeper, cigarette smoke. 

Man, if she’d had this before, imagine how many vamps she could’ve bagged! 

Buffy moved, the faintest rustle of her clothing, and Willow opened her eyes to look at her friend. Her expression hadn’t changed, still that neutral interest she’d come to expect if not accept. One hand leaned on the bench Willow so enjoyed, the other reached for a slice of fruit. 

The fruit! Oh, it smelled so fresh, so delicious that her mouth began to water. Why hadn’t she noticed that before? It was no doubt the same fruit she ate. Why, then, was it so much more here? 

“Please,” Buffy said with a small wave to the tray. “Help yourself.” 

“Thanks.” 

Doing so, she let the flavor explode over her tongue, felt the juice run down her throat. Why hadn’t it been like this in the dungeon? Why hadn’t she noticed this that first time, after Oz had turned her? 

“Your senses are only now awakening because you’re in a different environment.” 

Willow looked at her, started. “How did you know what I was thinking?” 

Buffy smiled slightly. “I know you, Willow. It’s all over your face.” 

She’d have to work on that, stupid non-poker face. But then she wondered if it was something more. More in Buffy that allowed her to know. Just to know. Mind reading? Was that one of her new powers from this new world? What else did she know? Intuit or read? 

Willow tried to close her mind, but everything felt so new and open, so very real for the first time in her life. Had she truly lived before? Before all these wonderful feelings, these intense tastes and smells? 

Taking another bite of melon, she enjoyed the sensations, and strangely felt herself becoming wet. Sensory overload or some such, she figured. But she desperately wanted Oz, wanted to ride him until she collapsed, wanted to feel him as he let go – and she let go. 

What would it be like to make love as the wolf? They hadn’t yet, but then she hadn’t transformed into one yet, either. He had, at strange intervals – not that there was a moon to go by, or even a calendar. 

Still, the thought of him, the big wolf, the Alpha, moving inside her was nearly too much to bear. She whimpered, them blushed with a glance at Buffy. The image of Oz – wolf Oz – pounding into her wouldn’t leave her mind’s eyes, wouldn’t leave her alone, and the fire in her blood tingled along every nerve ending. 

Or his tongue, that long, rough wolf’s tongue licking along her, delving into her – 

The snort of laughter startled her out of her thoughts. Spike. He still leaned against the wall, smirking at her. 

“Oh.” Her face heated with the fierceness of her bush. 

“Have you transformed yet?” Buffy asked. 

Willow glanced at her and noticed the amusement in her eyes, too. But how did she know? Had Angelus turned her? Willow’s head jerked up at that, but she couldn’t figure out how to ask. 

“No.” she cleared her throat. “Oz has several times since he turned me, but I haven’t. Well,” she amended, “not really. The night he turned me I did, but I think I had to. I mean, isn’t that how you know? By turning onto the wolf? Plus, once he did it was kinda instantaneous.” 

She paused again, and wondered, “Is it always like that? You’re bitten and poof! Insta-wolf?” 

“No.” 

Buffy hadn’t answered, Spike had. Willow whipped her head around to stare at the vampire, wondering yet again why he was here. And where was Angelus? 

She didn’t sense any displeasure from Buffy at Spike’s reply, but wanted more from him too much to wonder about it for long. 

“Under…previous conditions, when you’re bitten by the Wolf, you don’t know it until the full moon. Did Oz know it right away?” 

Willow thought hard for a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t think so.” 

“Before, the moon always dictated the change.” 

“And now?” 

Spike shrugged. “Couldn’t tell ya.” 

“Can’t?” she demanded, “Or won’t?” 

“Can’t,” he said slowly. “I don’t know, and not being a wolf myself, I don’t even have first hand experimentation to rely on. Ask your wolf.” 

Without even a nod of thanks, she turned back to Buffy. She would ask. Not that she thought Oz knew. If he had, she was positive he’d have told her before. 

“So, how is it out here?” 

“Out here?” Buffy snorted, but kept eye contact with her. “Willow, what do you think I do all day? Watch soaps? In case you haven’t noticed, there’s no electricity around here. Or anyplace in the world, so far as I can tell.” 

“And whose fault is that?” she mumbled it, barely breathing the words. 

Buffy stiffened – not in shame, Willow suspected. In anger. 

Spike growled. And that was definitely in anger.

“We’ve discussed this. Repeatedly. Drop it. It’s over, it’s done, it can’t be undone, so leave it be.” 

She opened her mouth to say more. There was so much more to say. But the look she remembered seeing on Buffy’s face when showed Xander’s treachery stopped her. She dropped it, but still couldn’t find it in her to forgive the world as it stood now. 

“Where’s Angelus?” she asked instead. 

“London.” Willow raised her eyebrows, waiting. “He’s having a little chat with the Council there.” 

She blanched. “He’s killing them? Why?” 

“They sent an assassin after me. He didn’t like it.” 

Buffy’s voice was so matter of fact, so serene, Willow thought for a moment that she’d misheard. But no. Angelus was murdering yet more people and the Slayer, the SLAYER, didn’t care. 

“Don’t get righteous on me!” she snapped. “You have no idea what happened. Or who he even is. You think you know it all, know everyone and everything, but let me tell you, Willow. The players on this chessboard aren’t who you think they are. No one is. Not really, and certainly not forever. Even if this hadn’t happened, people change. It’s their nature. Deal.” 

Fuming, she sat in silence for a long while, half-expecting, half hoping Buffy would send her back to her cell. Which was preferable to being here. 

“Has he turned you?” 

Oops. She hadn’t meant to ask that. Hadn’t really meant to say anything else, actually. 

“No. And he won’t.” 

“Why not?” 

She felt more than saw Spike straighten, obviously also startled at that answer. 

Buffy didn't answer, merely chewed on another piece of fruit. Well, this conversation was going well. And oh so informative, too. 

“Are you happy?” she asked, once more startling Willow. 

“Yes.” 

“Good. I am, too. You don’t understand much any more, Willow, you who used to be my best friend. I miss that. Miss you, the way we were. But along with this world, I’ve changed. I wish you had, too.”

Buffy nodded to Spike, who took Willow’s arm, forcing her to stand. Before she could reply, think of something more to say, or even blink, she was surrounded by guards once again. 

Fuming, Willow walked back to the dungeons. Righteous bitch. She’d never have suspected Buffy of turning into one, but there you had it. I am a goddess. This world is mine. Angelus made this world for me. 

Angelus destroyed everything, killed nearly every human on the planet for her. Well, Willow hoped Buffy was happy with that. She hoped the guilt ate at her, tore her apart for not stopping this. 

“I hear,” a smooth voice with just a hint of a southern accent said, “that you’re interested in magick.” 

Willow stopped at the intersection, vaguely wondered why the guards did nothing to this man, probably demon, most likely vampire, and waited. He said nothing more. 

“I was,” she said pointedly. 

His teeth shone brightly against his dark skin. “Are you still?” 

“I’m interested in a lot of things.” 

“I’m sure. But I’m talking magick here. What you know…what you don’t know.” He paused, but Willow really wasn’t sure what to say. She nodded. “And would you be interested in knowing more?” 

“Yes.” 

The word was out before she’d fully registered the question. Before she realized she was going to say it. That oh, God, yes she wanted to. Wanted to know more, wanted to learn. Wanted to feel that power she felt when the Orb of Thessula (didn’t work) had sent that shock of power through her. 

It was nearly as good as the sex she and Oz had. 

She wondered if it’d be just as good as wolf-sex. 

“Mr. Trick,” he made a small bow, “at your service.” With that, he turned and disappeared down the hallway. 

“Are you going to teach me?” she called. 

“Of course.” 

His voice drifted back to her, but before she could ask (call, demand) anything else, the guards were prodding her along. 

What in this hell had just happened?
~~~~~~~~~~
“That makes two,” Spike said, once more leaning against the wall, arms folded. 

“What?” Buffy looked up at him. “Two what?” 

He shook his head, the memory of her leading him by the magickal balls still a bit too vivid for him to repeat it. Still and all, he couldn’t wait for Angelus’ return so he could hear (or feel) their fight over that tattoo. 

“Who’s next? Penn? Whistler?” he paused, then asked slyly, “Giles?” 

“What possible use would Penn be?” 

“He’d make a nice flag,” he offered. “Maybe your personal pendant? We could fly him from the coliseum, I’m sure he’d be much appreciated by your adoring public.” 

Disgusting as that was, he saw her smile. She really was coming round. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. There was still that touch of innocence in her he was loathe to see destroyed. Made him want to protect her, a feeling that was nearly foreign to him. 

Except for Dru. With her, everything was the exception. 

“Now Whistler,” he said into the melancholy silence. “What can we do with him?” Nothing came to mind, so he offered, “Hmmm, have to think on that one. I’ll let you know if anything suitable comes to mind.” 

“I’m sure you will,” she said. There was a small smile in her voice, but nothing like the laughter of before. 

Damn that Willow. That best friend. Wasn’t the very definition of a best friend that no matter what you stuck by your other half? That no matter what choices the one made, the other supported? He’d have to show the redheaded bitch the dictionary sometime. 

When he wasn’t trapped on guard-the-goddess duty.

 “I’m tired, Spike.” 

The sentence caught him off guard. He wasn’t expecting such an admission. 

“Want a nap?” he asked stupidly. 

Another short laugh. “I don’t think that’ll be enough.” 

Some part of him understood, and was moved by this admission. This trust from her. He wanted to scream that no! He didn’t understand and why was she forcing this on him! He was Spike! The impaler! He killed people! He tortured them! He’d killed two slayers! 

Damnation. 

This wasn’t turning out at all like he’d pictured his eternal life. 

“I’ll send for Rupert,” he sighed, resigned. 

Damn the both of them. And Angelus, too.

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