Title: The Spike Experience

Author: (blue) zen (i.love.spike@bloodyhell.co.uk)

Distribution: Any archives that want it, take it! I’d love an e-mail with your site address though…

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Willow casts a spell, Spike has to suffer

Notes: Thanks to everyone who’s responded to this fic. Like every fanfic writer, I live off feedback so drop me a line.

Okay, onto the story…

He reached out for her, drew her close and then… the screen went blank.

Spike stared in disbelief at the TV, his mouth opening and closing silently. After a few moments of quietly cursing the broken set, he rose, grabbing a black comforter from the corner of his bed. Glancing at his watch, Spike threw the blanket over his head and stepped out into the sunlight.

He hated moving outside during the day - even under the cover of a thick sheet, the scent of singed flesh assaulted his senses. If only he hadn’t lost that damn ring to the Slayer, he could walk tall in the sunshine, instead of hiding under a tarp of foul smelling wool-blend.

People stared at him as he ran down the main street, hugging the blanket to his torso. On other days, he may have scowled or shouted at them but today, he was focused. Never breaking stride, he hustled along the edge of the shopping district, past the empty bars and closed nightclubs, where the smell of young, pure blood used to tempt him nightly, and onto the tract of housing that separated the good side of town from the bad.

He knew the house immediately - it was a testament to the taste of those who owned it. Bronzed squirrels clung helplessly to the roughcast wall, arranged in what Xander’s parents may have believed looked like a playful, careless manner. He leapt the small side gate, almost catching his blanket on a twisted, ornamental spike.

Muttering over his carelessness, Spike moved along the side of the house, stopping above the small, slanted basement window. He looked at its width then at his waist. He could get through - if he cut off his arms.

"Why do things have to be so bloody complicated?" he breathed, stalking around to the back of the house. He tried the door handle then he knocked.

The smell of burnt skin was getting stronger and he was beginning to feel pin pricks of heat on his hands and back. He knocked louder then, satisfied that no-one was home, backed away from the door, ready to break it with his shoulder. He counted to three before launching himself at the imitation oak. It swung open, taking him by surprise.

He barrelled into the kitchen, knocking his saviour to the floor. "Bloody hell, you took your time," Spike said, stepping over Willow. "Now where’s the TV?"

She stood up, straightening her skirt. "Uh, Xander?" she called, keeping her eyes fixed on Spike.

The blond vampire raised his eyes skyward. "Look, Red, all I want is -"

Xander appeared in the doorway. He was trying unsuccessfully to hide a splintered chair leg behind his back. On seeing Spike, he discarded his weapon. "Oh, it’s only you."

"We’re wasting time." Spike opened the refrigerator, looked inside then let the door fall closed, "All I want is a TV and a bag of crisps or something. Is that so much to ask?"

Xander and Willow exchanged looks.

"Here, I’ll make it easy for you - pretend I’m a guest, pretend-"

"That you’re someone we like?" Xander raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, piss off."

The vampire breezed past him into the lounge, drawing the curtains and switching on the television in one deft movement. "Got any food?" he yelled before collapsing on Xander’s settee.

"Why did I keep putting off that ‘uninvite spell’?" Xander asked, reaching into a cupboard.

Willow glanced into the living room, "I think now’s the time where I say ‘I told you so.’"

The two were interrupted by Spike shouting at the TV. They both looked around the doorframe, watching as he yelled instructions at the characters on screen.

"What I wouldn’t give to have a few minutes in that beady little mind of his," Xander smirked, popping open a can of Coke.

"Giles, don’t you see? It would be a great way of finding out how a vampire’s mind works."

"Willow, no. First of all, it’s not viable - vampires cannot have their thoughts read - and secondly… there is no secondly now - that’s how much the thought upsets me." He offered her a seat and then started pacing.

She watched him stride up and down the room, the monotony of the movement making her feel queasy. "I wouldn’t be reading his mind."

He stopped suddenly, in front of her. "It would be close. Willow, look at what happened when Buffy could hear everyone’s thoughts. It may seem a great gift at first..." He took off his glasses and cleaned them with the edge of his sweater - a nervous trait Willow had come to recognise.

"This is one person’s mind, Giles."

"Yes, an evil, sadistic mind."

She sighed inwardly, "If it becomes too much, I can cancel the spell." She gestured to the table, where a pile of battered, leather bound volumes lay. "It’s all in the books."

"That may be so, but those spells are hundreds of years old and far in advance of… of…" he had walked into a sensitive area. "What I mean is, I can’t fix it if it goes wrong and I’m not sure if you will be able to, either."

Willow gathered her coat and dropped the spell books back into her satchel. "Okay."

"So you’ll think about this more?" Giles asked as she stood up and moved across the lounge.

She nodded silently, adjusting the strap on her shoulder, as she tugged the huge door open. "Oh, and Giles," she called, , "Buffy’ll be over at seven, okay?"

She heard a muffled "Right" come from inside the apartment before the heavy, wood door closed. Willow glanced at her watch. Ten to five - that gave her just over two hours to prepare for the spell.

She wandered along the street, the sense of anticipation she felt before every spell building. The world seemed more alive, more magical when she was on the verge of casting, as if a veil had been lifted from her mind, allowing absolute clarity of thought. Unfortunately, with that clarity came a familiar niggling doubt. Willow had no idea what she would find inside the mind of a hundred and thirty year old vampire but, somewhere along the line, the doubt became curiosity which, in turn, added fuel to the anticipation and the cycle started all over again.

"It’s mine and you’re not taking it without a fight." There was a pause while Xander slapped his head in mock realisation. "I’m sorry, I forgot - you can’t fight me. Oh, well, that saves some time."

Spike scowled at him. "Look, I’ll just sneak in one day when your not here and take it." He lifted the television once more, "You may as well let me have the damn thing now." He strode towards the door but Xander moved to block the way.

"Give me the TV."

"You come any closer and I’ll drop it," Spike threatened.

"You wouldn’t."

The vampire raised an eyebrow, "Try me."

"I hope I’m not interrupting your male bonding," Buffy said, prying Spike’s fingers from the sides of the TV and then pulling it out of his grasp.

Xander smiled in triumph. "Didn’t hear you come in, Buff."

"Your mother let me in." She placed the set back on its stand, "She said Willow was here a while ago, I was just wondering if you knew where she was going?"

"I think she was headed over to Giles’."

Spike, who had been observing the interchange with little interest, slipped out of the basement and, pulling the blanket over his head, stepped into the evening light. Now, Giles - there was someone who wouldn’t even notice his TV missing.

He strode along the suburban street, back into the town centre then, turning sharply off the main route, he ducked under a garden fence before finding himself in front of Giles’ apartment. By this time, the night had taken hold, eliminating the last rays of afternoon sunshine.

The sky was dark blue with ripples of red and ochre on the horizon. Spike looked carefully at the sky, judging the time, then cast aside his woollen shawl, throwing it over a nearby gargoyle, before striding up the steps to the apartment, taking them two at a time.

Hopefully, this would only take a few minutes and he would be back in his crypt in time for the weekly Days of Our Lives omnibus. He was contemplating the easiest way in when the door swung open and Giles pulled him inside.

"What the-"

"Oh, do shut up," Giles commanded, dragging the startled Spike over to his couch then shutting the door. "I need your help."

There was a flicker of hope in the vampire’s eyes. "Fighting the forces of darkness?"

Giles stared at him for a moment, retracing his line of thought. "No, I wanted your opinion," he held up two ties, "black or red?"

"Red," Spike said automatically, then frowned. "You need my advice on fashion. That’s all?" Then it sunk in: to the watcher, slayer and her slayerettes, he was simply Spike, a very blonde, very harmless, very pale, waste of space.

"Yes, well, thank you." Giles threaded the red tie through his collar and started the knot, "Is there something you came for?"

Somehow, ‘your TV’ didn’t quite sound right, so Spike did something he was unnervingly good at - he lied. "I heard a rumour about a nest near the old school, I was wondering if you had it covered."

"Yes, Buffy took care of that last night," Giles started. "Is that all you’re here for?"

Spike avoided the question. "Do you have any blood left over from when I was here? It’s just I’m finding it harder and harder to find seven eleven’s that stock pig’s blood," he swept past Giles into the kitchen. The watcher followed close behind.

Spike’s eyes settled on the fridge.

"I’ll get a mug for you," Giles said, opening a cupboard door. "Buffy’ll be here in a few minutes."

Spike’s eyes narrowed, deciding now would be a great time to flex those evil muscles. Even if he couldn’t physically hurt anyone, he could still take part in the age old sport of ‘mixing it’. "You all must think I’m blind. I see things as they are, it’s like a sixth sense - hell, it is a sixth sense." He paused, waiting for Giles to take the bait.

"What do you think you know?" Giles intoned, reaching for a cup.

"I know all about you and Buffy." His lips curled into a smile, watching as the watcher’s back tensed.

Giles closed the cabinet door gently then turned to Spike. The vampire was lighting his first cigarette of the night, his pale fingers shaking slightly.

"I’ve seen the way you look at her, Watcher. She’s your reason for living - always has been, always will be. And y’know what hurts?" He flicked his lighter shut, "You don’t even feature in her top ten things to do. She’d rather chase farm boys and vampires than spend time with you - a useless, boring, old man." Spike replaced the lighter in his inside pocket. In retrospect, if he had been paying more attention, he may have avoided the blow.

"My God, Giles, you’ve killed him," Xander said, kicking Spike’s prone form. The three watched in morbid fascination as the vampire’s head rolled lifelessly to one side.

"Don’t be silly, he’s already dead." Giles stammered, rubbing his glasses furiously with a handkerchief. "I didn’t hit him hard… I…I must have just… caught him off guard."

"I’ll say," Xander slumped down in a nearby chair, his eyes fixed on the lifeless Spike.

Willow looked around the room, disappointment washing over her. It hadn’t worked - she felt like plain old Willow, except with a dull throbbing in her head. There was no memories of being a vampire, no bloodlust, nothing.

She sighed and closed the spell book. "Oh, well, maybe it takes a while to kick in," she muttered to the empty room. Willow uncrossed her legs and started gathering up the remnants of candles when a sudden nausea hit her. She swayed a little then staggered over to the bed, collapsing on its edge.

A whirl of images fluttered across her mind’s eye while every other sense was assaulted by memories of smells, tastes and textures. She heard voices, thousands of them laughing, crying and shouting, none distinguishable in the ruckus, each one vying for her attention. A cry escaped her lips as she pulled her comforter around her head, hoping to mute the voices in the soft material.

Spike was slowly coming round, although he was having difficulty focusing on reality. His mind was being inundated with images and sounds he didn’t recognise, each one a complete picture for all his senses. He felt queasy and frightened and confused and… with every emotion he added to the list, the influx of images seemed to slow until they became coherent.

Without opening his eyes, he could see a room. It was Spartan yet decorated with feminine twists, pink bedspreads and frilly curtains. A room he recognised.

"No," he murmured. "I must be dreaming."

Buffy looked down at him from the kitchen stool where she was quietly sipping orange squash. "You’re not dreaming." She looked around, making sure Giles wasn’t looking before pouring some of her juice onto Spike’s face, "So get up already."

He opened his eyes with a start. "I… I need to get out of here," he said, trying to stand up.

Buffy watched with amusement as Spike made his way shakily to the front door. "Boy, you must have said something pretty bad for Giles to sock you like that. You can’t even walk straight."

Spike ignored her, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. It was hard for him to think - there was two separate rooms before him, one moving - the one he supposed he was in - and, superimposed onto that one, a second, stationary room, the one with the girly décor.

After a few moments, he was at the door and just about to open it when he caught a glimpse of his reflection. His eyes widened as he saw himself for the first time in a hundred years. He opened his mouth to scream but no sound came out.

Willow was trying to cope with the whole seeing double phenomena when she was gripped by a terrible panic. It rushed through her blood like an icy river. She could feel her heartbeat quicken as she tried desperately to understand what was happening to her.

By the time he felt his pulse racing, Spike was beyond reason. Buffy and Giles had dragged the vampire over to one of the dining room chairs and were tying his hands when he started babbling about a heartbeat. The slayer and watcher exchanged glances.

"We should keep him here until he’s calmed down," Giles reasoned, watching as Spike’s pale visage turned blue with shock. "And we should find him some blood before he passes out."

Buffy looked up from the ropes she was knotting, "Can I ask a silly question? Why do we care?"

"Because…" Giles was at a loss. "He’s… he’s useful to have around?"

"Well, I think he’s gone mad and that we should stake him now." She backed away from the bound vampire, "He’s babbling about having a pulse and seeing two rooms instead of one. I say that he’s finally ready to make the leap from dead to very dead. I’d be putting him out of his misery."

"Two rooms?" Giles frowned, bending down until he was eye-level with Spike. "You can see two rooms? Do you recognise them?"

Spike closed his eyes, "Well of course I bloody well recognise them - this room here and your bloody college room." He took a deep breath, "If this is a trick, I’ll…I’ll kill you all."

"Big words," Buffy murmured, reaching into her bag for a stake. Giles shook his head, pulling the purse away from the slayer.

"I think I know what’s wrong and, believe me, it’s not his fault." He looked down at the struggling vampire, "In fact, I would go as far as saying that it was mine."

Buffy found Willow where she had collapsed, a few yards from the dorm’s one and only door. She bent over her friend, gently shaking her back into consciousness.

"Willow, what happened?" she asked, helping her sit up.

As Willow opened her eyes, the image of Giles moving around his apartment was superimposed on one of Buffy. She was sitting beside her on the floor, holding her shoulders, a look of concern resting on her soft features.

"I’m so sorry," she started, feeling tears prick at the corners of her eyes. "I thought it was a good idea then all of a sudden…"

"Giles explained-" Buffy began but she was cut off by Willow.

"Yes, I heard everything and he’s right. I’m a stupid, immature girl." Tears worked their way down her cheeks. "You don’t know what it’s like - seeing and hearing people you love through someone else’s mind. He hates you so much, Buffy, and even as we speak, he’s lashing out at Giles, saying how much of an idiot I am and that you can’t be blameless. I can see Giles through his eyes, Buffy." She gulped a couple of lungfuls of air, "I’m so afraid… and so is Spike."

"You stupid bint, what have you done to me?" Spike shouted above the conversation Buffy was having with Willow in his head.

Giles removed his glasses and started to rub his eyes. "Spike, I know you’re confused at the moment. It’s understandable. I know you’re upset but shouting at Willow isn’t going to help. This connection can be reversed, although not right now."

"Why the hell not?" Spike spat.

"Because both of you aren’t in a particularly stable state of mind. The spell may not separate all the memories properly - in fact, to be truthful, I have no idea how any of it works."

The vampire glared at him. "And now I’m filled with a warm fuzzy feeling of confidence."

"We’ll have a wait until the spell is complete and a… an equilibrium has been reached. Then I think it can be safely reversed."

"So, what do I do now?" Spike raised an eyebrow. "Just wait around until I have the complete set of 18 year old girl’s memories then give you a call?"

"Well, exactly."

"You could untie me, y’know."

"Oh, oh, right."

A thin beam of sunlight cut across the room, highlighting dust particles floating in the musty room, coming to rest on Giles’ stooped back. The watcher had fallen asleep reading, his glasses precariously balanced on the tip of this nose.

There was a knock - a heavy handed thump which startled Giles into consciousness. In his groggy state, the glasses fell from his face onto the desktop then bounced once on the floor, losing one of the lenses. He cursed under his breath, feeling around his feet with one hand.

"Who is it?" he shouted, locating the metal frames and the missing lens.

"’S me," came the muffled reply.

For once in his life, he was early. He felt proud of the fact, so proud that he felt it should be remarked upon but here was Giles, sitting in front of Xander, plainly ignoring him. He’d never seen Giles so distracted before - and this was a guy that hardly batted an eyelid over an apocalypse.

Giles swept the remnants of Xander’s candy bar from his morning paper. "I’m worried about Willow," he said, as if reading Xander’s thoughts, "being inside such a creature’s head must be traumatic to say the least."

Something whirred and clicked in Xander’s mind. "I thought you couldn’t read vampire’s thoughts."

"That’s right, you can’t," Giles said, without looking up from the Sunnydale Guardian.

There was a moment where Xander backtracked, going over the last few moments carefully. "But I thought you said Willow was reading Spike’s mind."

"Well, I was simplifying the issue slightly. The spell opens a gateway, an empathy if you will, which allows Willow to share Spike’s experiences and, ultimately, interpret his thoughts during those experiences through a deep mental connection. It’s very complex and hard to explain." Giles picked a volume from his bookcase, seemingly at random, and flicked to a page. "The problem with this spell is that the more you understand someone, the more power you have over them… and I don’t want to think what Spike will do when he finds out that an eighteen year old girl knows his innermost secrets and, dare I say it, desires."

"But that’s not what’s worrying you?" Xander said, reaching for the book in Giles’ hands. It was passed over reluctantly and he looked down at the pages. The impregnable Latin text was accompanied by a faint line-drawing of the same man, over and over again, except, when Xander looked closer, he saw a slight change in each of the pictures. In fact, in front of him was a monk’s meticulous impression of the gradual change between human and demon. "And what has this got to do with Willow?" he asked, half-knowing the answer.

Giles rubbed at his forehead. "As Willow becomes open to the evils that Spike has inflicted, as she gains insight into his cold mind, she’ll become desensitised to… to everything."

"Like violence on TV."

"No, you don’t understand," Giles removed the book from Xander’s grasp and replaced it on the shelf. "Every day she spends in his head, she becomes more like him. Whoever wrote the book she used for the ritual was very vague on the consequences of complete empathy."

"So, we dust Spike and she’ll be fine," Xander reasoned.

"I don’t know what effect a complete severance from him would have on her. It could be something simple like a light headache but, then again… I don’t think we should take the chance."

Willow awoke with a start, roused from a strange dream - except, on opening her eyes, the dreamscape remained. She sighed as realisation ploughed through her mind, hitting a few stones along the way.

She could see the ceiling of Spike’s crypt and feel the cold sheets beneath his body. As he turned over, sensing her presence in his mind, she could hear Harmony’s voice nearby.

"Come on, Spike, I’ve never seen you like this before," she touched his hair but he swept her hand away.

"Go away."

"Is it Dru? It is isn’t it?" Harmony said, unthinkingly.

Before she finished the sentence, he had pinned her against the headboard. "You know how I feel about you mentioning that name."

Willow’s revulsion at the scene was felt by Spike. He let Harmony slip from his grasp.

"I’m leaving," she shouted, ignoring the fact that he was only a couple of feet away, grabbed her jacket and, holding it over her head, slipped out of the crypt.

Spike fell back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. "How long will you be in here, Red?"

She shrugged, trying to concentrate on the wall in front of her to stop her crying.

"It’s no use pretending to hold it together, love," Spike whispered. "When you feel like crying, I want to sob my bleedin’ heart out."

"I’m sorry," she whispered back.

Buffy was in the cafeteria when she heard the rumours.

It had felt like a normal, Sunnydale afternoon, where the demons took a backseat to Psychology lectures and all was right for the moment, but then someone had sat at the table opposite, opened their mouths and suddenly, the nice normal afternoon fell to pieces, shattering her good mood.

Of course, she had been worried about Willow but it had seemed like a little thing that she could handle on her own. What was it Giles had said? Wait for a balance to be reached then try to cancel the spell. It sounded simple enough - all Willow had to do was stay home and wait patiently until… until what? Buffy had looked out the window at that point, watching as clouds floated lazily through a pale blue sky.

The conversations around her had stopped suddenly when she stood up, knocking her plastic chair to the floor.

She didn’t bother to look back at the gaping faces as she ran through the door.

Her bag slammed against her side and blonde hair floated wildly around her face as she sprinted down the corridor, sliding around a corner then pushing past a group of students standing at the entrance. As Buffy’s eyes became accustomed to the bright sunshine, she caught her bearings then started running again.

There was a crowd in front of her building. A whispering mass which was silenced now and again by a woman screaming.

As Buffy came closer she recognised Willow’s voice, twisted by pain and fear.

"It burns," she screamed, struggling against the impenetrable wall of people. "I’m burning." Her screams were followed by the same words, sobbed over and over.

Buffy elbowed her way through the mass of onlookers, sliding her jacket from her shoulders. When she reached Willow, she carefully dropped her bag and brought the jacket over her friends head. The sobbing slowly stopped.

She turned to the crowd, "Wow, that was great performance art, wasn’t it?"

The students as a whole looked unconvinced but still, they began to wonder off in various directions.

Buffy looked into Willow’s red, swollen eyes, raising an eyebrow, "I think we should go see Spike."

Her friend nodded silently then allowed herself to be steered towards the cemetery, her pale hands clutching the jacket over her head and shoulders.

The early afternoon sunshine was making Willow nervous. She could feel the heat of the sun pounding down on her legs and the pain was becoming unbearable.

Buffy caught her when she stumbled, grasping her arm and pulling her back onto her feet. "Willow, you’re not going to burn in the sunlight, believe me."

The redhead shook her head, her eyes glazed with effort, "Its going to kill me, I can feel it burning."

Her friend closed her eyes. Please let Giles undo this soon, she chanted inwardly, I don’t want to see her go through bloodlust.

They wandered on, Willow becoming increasingly groggy until Buffy, seeing the cemetery in the distance, lifted her up and carried her the last hundred yards.

The crypt door was slightly ajar when they arrived and the slayer called out to Spike before pushing it open. She strode over to the neatly made bed and set Willow on it.

"I was afraid you wouldn’t make it," Spike’s voice came from further inside the edifice.

Buffy peered into the gloom, "Can you help her?"

Spike moved into the half-light. "Help her? I can’t even help my bloody self."

She held her breath as he staggered forward, clutching the wall for support. The skin of his hands and feet were blistered and the top of his forehead was blackened with soot. He felt his way along the wall until he came to a chair, onto which he painfully collapsed.

Willow opened her eyes, wincing as the pain in her legs increased. A strange sensation overcame her - as she looked at Spike and he returned her gaze, she saw both him and herself. They both stared intently at one another until a cough from the doorway interrupted their thoughts.

"I should really get over to Giles - see what he makes of this whole situation," Buffy stated. "Willow, don’t go out again. Not in daylight and you," she fixed her gaze on Spike, "If you try anything… well, I’m sure you won’t."

She slipped out of the crypt, carefully closing the door behind her.

Willow listened to her friend’s retreating footsteps. "I’m sorry, I didn’t know-" she started but Spike raised his hand to silence her.

"I know, I’ve had the pleasure of your guilt for the last twelve bloody hours and I have one thing to say." He reached into his shirt pocket, biting his lip as the material came in contact with a patch of burned skin, and drew out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. "Lighten up."

"Lighten up?" she raised her eyebrows an octave. "Is that it? Wisdom from a hundred year old vampire condensed into two words?"

He fumbled with the lighter and it slipped from his hands. Spike looked at it forlornly - the floor, in his present condition, looked a long way away.

Willow followed his gaze then stood up shakily and moved over to the lighter. She picked it up, flicked it open and watched as Spike lit his cigarette then took a drag. She moved to replace it in his pocket but he stopped her, remembering the pain. Their hands brushed each other gently.

She fell backwards, almost hitting a bed post. He simply stared at his left hand.

"Did you feel that?" she asked, incredulously.

Spike nodded, mutely.

Giles shook his head. "I’ve never heard of anything like this before," he looked searchingly at Buffy. "Are you quite sure?"

She raised her eyes to the ceiling. "Look, Giles, I know it sounds crazy but I know what I saw."

"And… and he was burned because she was in the sunlight?" He had taken up position next to the bookcase, his hands touching the spines of several before coming to rest on an unbound volume of papers. He carefully extracted it from the shelf.

"I do seem to remember an empathy spell being cast on a criminal in the sixteenth century."

"Did they managed to reverse it?" Buffy asked hopefully.

Giles looked up from his book, "Uh… oh, no, no… they hung him, as I recall."

"Great," she murmured. "So what’s next?"

"Hmmm?"

"What happens now? I’d say that they’ve reached whatever cut off point you were talking about and that we should… you know, ‘cut them off’." She watched him pace with the ragged volume in his hands and his glasses hanging from his mouth.

He stopped, dead in his tracks. "Unfortunately," he turned back to her, and replaced his eye glasses, "There seems to be one more step before we can try the spell again."

Buffy looked at him expectantly.

"For complete empathy, they need to ‘know each other’s thoughts’ - or so Devlin quotes here." Giles sat down next to the slayer, "We’ll have to wait until they become so close that they lose track of where one mind stops and the other begins."

She shuddered, "Willow’s with him right now, it seems that it’s the safest place for her to be."

"So you didn’t think I’d notice you clumping around my mind in your bloody great size sevens?" There was a pause where Spike looked expectantly at Willow. "Look, this conversation bit only works if both people talk."

"I was just thinking about the…" she frowned, unable to find a fitting word. "The ‘zap’ thing." She made a little movement with her hand, like she’d experienced an electric shock.

He sighed. "Do you want the lecture?"

"What lecture?" she asked, still staring at her hands.

Spike leaned forward. He could feel the burns healing as they spoke. "I’ve seen this spell before. For centuries it’s been abused, especially in vampire circles. Although, come to think of it, most neglected the emotional empathy bit - they were more interested in the physical." He raised an eyebrow.

Willow’s face was a blank canvas. "I don’t get it."

He laughed a little, "No, Red, you really don’t get it at all - that’s the problem."

She could feel a memory forming in her mind, clear and precise. Her mind’s eye saw Drusilla walking down a lavish corridor, its panels and carpets the finest she had ever seen. The vampire had turned to smile at her before opening a door. Inside, a dozen people were milling about, casting no reflection in the mirrored panels which lined the room.

Willow looked into one of the mirrors and saw Spike staring back at her, his eyes wide and his hair a mousy brown.

The music stopped and people rushed over to the new couple, Willow could feel Spike’s fear. She looked around, noticing a couple at the outskirts of the room, the two hardly touching. She saw them gasp as one when the woman moved forward to kiss the man’s cheek… and then she was back in the crypt, facing another Spike.

"That’s all I remember," he stated.

Willow looked at him, wide eyed. "But you were alive."

"Dru liked to play with her food," he said in explanation.

Little wheels spun in her mind. "Surely, if you know the spell then you know a way to reverse it," she asked, hopefully.

Spike shook his head, "I was never interested enough in it."

She sighed and sunk back onto the bed.

Another hour passed in silence, each trying to think as little as possible.

Willow stared at the ceiling, her eyes running over every crack in the plaster, memorising each bump and crevice. This soon became the off-white background for Spike’s hands as he contemplated the burns. She could feel him fighting memories as he regarded his fingernails, picking at the chipped black polish with his thumb.

"What is it like?" Willow’s voice sounded so loud and clear in the crypt that it startled both of them.

He looked up from his fingers. "What is what like?"

"Being dead?" she asked, her eyes still fixed on the ceiling. She could see herself lying on the bed.

"I can’t remember dying," he started, letting his mind wonder as he spoke.

Pictures flashed through Willow’s mind as Spike meandered through his memories, trying to pinpoint a feeling that he could put into words.

"I mean, there was no real transition - no single point between alive and being a vampire where I was truly dead, they just… I was just less alive and more of a vampire until I was completely… you know…" he trailed off, watching as Willow stretched out on his bed.

"You’re making me feel a little naked here," she looked over, head cocked to one side.

He snapped out of it, "What?"

"You could stop staring at me, I know it’s all my fault but… you know, you’re making me a little nervous."

"Sorry," he leaned back in his chair. "I’m not used to house guests. Especially ones that know me so well."

"I don’t know you," she said, quickly. "I see what you see, big deal. It’s not like I’m reading your mind."

Spike laughed. "Red, you should always read the small print."

"What’s that supposed to mean?" Willow frowned. The sight of Spike laughing and the waves of bitter humour that washed through her mind unsettled her.

"What do you think ‘complete empathy’ means?" He ran a hand through his hair, watching for any signs of realisation on her part.

They both felt Willow’s guilt and fear rush through them.

"And I really could do without the ‘Willow woes’ thing. It gets old very quickly," he sighed.

"When do we…" she stopped, reaching for the packet of cigarettes on the nightstand. "When does it happen?" she asked, patting her pockets for her lighter.

Spike stared at her silently. <We haven’t been doing a lot of thinking recently - it may have already begun.>

"No, we would have noticed," she answered, frowning. <Where is my lighter, damn it.>

He laughed silently, his chest tightening with panic. <Willow? You don’t smoke. Willow? I’m scared. Willow? What have you done. Willow? My God. Willow?>

Giles ran his finger down the page, scanning the Latin text for anything he may have missed. After a few more pages, he stood up, letting the book fall onto the table beside him.

"You can stop now," he said quietly, rubbing his forehead.

Xander and Anya leaned back on the couch, their eyes watering slightly from the hours of reading small print. Buffy straightened up from being slouched over a thousand page text on sensual curses and sympathy charms. They all looked expectantly at Giles.

"We now know a little more about what we’re dealing with," he began. "The ritual Willow performed was a piece of hybrid magick stemming from, primarily, voodoo and Celtic mysticism. We know that she changed it to work on a vampire by substituting certain ingredients for other, more powerful herbs. It seems to have worked perfectly." He stopped, feeling the irony of his last statement. "That, of course, being beside the point."

"So how do we reverse it?" Xander asked, leaning forward, his clasped hands between his knees.

"First, we need to find the text that Willow used originally - Buffy you search your dorm and Xander, you see if it was a library book." He turned away from the group, as if dismissing them.

"I’m still missing the whole picture here," Xander commented. "Yes, finding the book is important but I really would like to know exactly how we’re going to get Willow back."

Buffy nodded. "I’m a little hazy on the details, Giles, just spell it out."

He spoke without turning around. "My plan is to find the book. No details, no bigger picture. Time is of the essence so hurry along."

Xander and Anya slipped out, holding hands, while Buffy sat in the middle of the floor staring at Giles’ back.

He could sense her gaze. "I don’t like feeling helpless, Buffy," he stated softly. "Every time I look at these books, I discover a new paragraph, something else which can go wrong, some terrible aside that I missed the first time around."

She stood up and moved to face him. "This isn’t your fault, Giles. You can’t watch us twenty-four hours a day, no-one can. We all screw up and the fact that you weren’t in the room to stop her from casting doesn’t mean anything. Willow’s an adult - she makes her own choices, even stupid ones like this."

"I’m just a silly old man," Giles said sadly. He seemed to contemplate this for a moment. "Now humour me and go find that damn book."

<You don’t get it, Willow. Look at my mouth. Are my bloody lips moving, Willow? Are they? No? And you can hear me perfectly can’t you? Can’t you, Willow? Nod your head. Don’t die on me yet.> His thoughts became white noise when she started to panic.

<I don’t want to die. I’m too young to die. Why did he say die?>

He swayed slightly, overpowered by the loud, feral nature of Willow’s thoughts. She was frightened, her mind spinning in circles, trying to break out of the confusion and make sense of what she was hearing, what she was seeing and sensing.

It was a vicious circle - his panic fuelled hers and her heightened fear caused his to increase. They were both exhausted and in pain when Willow finally managed to calm herself. Spike could still feel her heart racing but her thoughts had become tame again, slipping back under control.

For the first time, he noticed she was crying. "Don’t cry," he frowned, moving onto the bed. It was hard, trying to comfort her without actually touching her.

She looked up and he saw that his face was streaked with tears as well. "Spike? I…" her voice was lost in a torrent of sobs but her thoughts were still there. <I need this to stop, Spike. I’m changing, I can feel it.>

He reached out, putting his arm around her shoulders in what he hoped was a supportive way. The sensation of him touching her and her being touched by him swept through them both. He pulled his arm away quickly, trying hard not to…

Willow sprung off the bed, her face pale with surprise. She looked at the vampire, who was, by this time, sitting bolt upright on the bed. <Oh My God>

<Try to look innocent> he thought, then mentally kicked himself.

She was leaving, gathering up her coat and running out of the door before he could think straight.

"Whatever you thought I thought, I didn’t think. You with your sick, twisted, sex-mad… did I say twisted?… mind," he called out after her, but she was already gone.

Buffy pulled Willow’s dresser away from the wall and glanced down the back. Odd earrings, long lost brushes and little balls of lint were nestled in the space.

"It could’ve been… uh, I could have left it somewhere," Willow ventured from her chair. She watched helplessly as Buffy tore the room apart, pulling out drawers and scattering their contents on the bed. Her friend had no idea that Spike was providing a little commentary on what he saw through Willow’s eyes, <…Don’t forget the wicker laundry basket. Yup, that’s it, pull that puppy apart. Go on, slay it…>

It seemed she was becoming more adept at filtering his thoughts out. Or perhaps he was thinking less, whatever it was didn’t matter. <Or, is it becoming harder for us to distinguish our thoughts?> She pushed the doubt to the back of her mind. Then she heard Spike sigh and mutter about carelessness with magic but she brushed his thoughts aside. <Sexual deviant>, she retorted.

The slayer watched Willow out of the corner of her eye - she was sitting silently, her face filled with expressions. Buffy wondered what thoughts the vampire entertained - she was about to ask Willow but noted she was still having internal conversations with Spike. Why can’t I have normal friends? She thought, turning back to the laundry hamper.

Spike’s laughter filled Willow’s head. <Deviant?> he clucked, <You don’t know the meaning of the word. I used to have a friend who’d…>

"Jeremiah was a bullfrog, Was a good friend of mine," Willow burst out, waving her hands, trying to encourage Buffy to join in.

Her friend frowned a little and joined her tone deaf rendition of the kid’s song.

"I never understood a single word he said… But I helped something something something wine!" Willow concluded at the top of her voice.

The two girls looked at each other, smiling at the insanity of the situation.

"What was that?" Buffy asked.

A feeling of hilarity washed through Willow.

<Is that the best you can do, Red? I think my sides have split.>

"He’s saying nasty, yucky, terrible things to me, Buffy. I think you should go over and -" She made a stabbing motion with her hand, a grin spreading across her face.

<Woah, wait a minute now, I’m being punished for being a man?>

"And now he’s saying these awful things about you - about… about how silly your hair is," Willow looked at Buffy, "Yes… yes, and how that sweater really doesn’t go with your pants."

<Liar, liar,> he sang in her mind.

"And he’s making remarks about the dorm room," Willow continued, on a roll.

Buffy raised an eyebrow, "Yes, and what is he saying?"

"Uh, that ‘what kind of college girls are we? We don’t have any tequila or shooters and we’re all out of Marlborough Lights’. Terrible, terrible things, Buffy." She looked over at the slayer, who, surprisingly, was buying every single word. <So this is what I learn from a hundred year old demon - the ability to tell the stupidest lies and still have people believe me.>

She could hear Spike murmur approval, it was as if he was whispering in her ear. <You’re more of a woman than she’ll ever be, Willow. All you need is a little misguidance.>

The slayer returned to ransacking Willow’s side of the room, only pausing briefly when Willow suddenly jumped out of her chair.

"I’m all out of cigarettes, Buffy, I really need to go to the seven eleven - be back in a couple of hours okay?" she said quickly, shutting the door behind her.

A couple of beats later, Buffy straightened up from looking under the bed. Willow didn’t smoke and Sunnydale didn’t have a seven eleven.

Spike searched in the crypt for some clean glasses and a cloth to cover the makeshift table. In the end, he settled with a novelty mug he’d stolen from Giles’ apartment and a tattered paper cup. He cleaned them carefully with an old shirt before spreading the garment over the square pile of gravestones and setting the cup and mug in the centre.

She was close to the cemetery now, weaving through the usual Friday night crowd that had gathered around the Bronze, instinctively looking over her shoulder now and again.

<Do you want me to help you with your bags?> Spike wondered, feeling the plastic handles cut into Willow’s skin. She dismissed the thought quickly - what would be the point, she was barely fifty yards from the crypt and closing.

He shrugged, dragging two chairs from the back of the room to rest near the table. <Just being chivalrous. Damsel in distress and all that.>

He heard her laugh at his thoughts. It was a soft sound that filled him with waves, little ripples of… of… there wasn’t a word to describe it - it was purely sensual.

"If you’re going to start thinking those sort of thoughts again, I’ll just turn around and leave," Willow said, standing in the doorway. <Or jump on you. Definitely, one of the two.>

"Promises, promises," muttered the vampire while Willow blushed scarlet. He looked at her turning crimson, his head cocked to one side. "You know, Red. Much as I love seeing you in full Technicolor, the first rule of embracing your dark side is not to turn beetroot all the time."

She nodded, setting her shopping bags on the bed. "So what do you suggest?" Willow asked, starting to unpack the things she brought.

"We have to desensitise you," he stated. <Open your mind a little.> His eyes dropped to the bottles she was carefully arranging on the table. "My God, Willow, I said ‘embrace your dark side’ not drown it." Tequila, Southern Comfort, lemons, tequila, salt - he saw a pattern emerging.

Willow shrugged. <I thought some plying with alcohol would do us both the world of good.>

"Quite right," Spike said, unscrewing the top from a not-quite-full bottle. "Although, it looks like someone started without me."

<Yes, Dutch courage.> Willow emptied the rest of the bits and pieces onto the bed, sorting food into one pile, bags of blood into another. "I brought you as much as they had, just in case Harmony doesn’t come back." <At least, I hope she doesn’t come back, dumb blonde bitch.>

Spike was surprised, "Willow, that’s the first nasty thing I’ve heard you think. We should celebrate - now you’re only a massacre away from being one of the gang."

"Do you think I could be bad?" she asked, remembering the vampire version of herself with a shudder.

<You would be a stunning vampire.> Spike reached up and stroked her cheek, the feel of his cool hand on her warm skin made her body tingle, a sensation which carried over to him. "I can imagine you now," he brought his hand down to cup her chin. "Luminous with an air of mystery. You could be ruthless. Seduce and destroy..." The words hung in the air for a moment then Willow pulled away.

<I don’t want to be ruthless.> "I just want a taste of what it’s like to be a little… you know, slightly wicked. I don’t want to destroy or… or seduce." <Okay, you know I’m lying but it’s not you I want to seduce it’s - it’s Xander. Yes, that’s right, I still carry a flame for Xander. Can’t get enough of him, he’s like white chocolate - once you start on a bar…>

"You’re babbling in your thoughts," Spike stated. "How very endearing."

"Endearing?" <Why can’t I hear you in my mind?>

The blond vampire edged around the table and took a seat, then invited Willow to do the same. "It could be the tequila you had earlier, dulling your senses."

She nodded mutely. She was just beginning to understand the spell..

Spike poured them drinks while Willow mused. He was becoming a little anxious about her ability to over analyse things. Most people went out to have fun but Willow - well, she drew up a plan of fun, broke it down into parts, giving careful thought to each one, then, just as she was about to step out of the door, discovered that Saturday night was three days ago.

<Willow? Can you hear me or is the alcohol really stopping my thoughts getting through?>

He waited, trying to sense a change in her internal "good versus bad" ramblings but found none. He smiled, pretending to listen to Willow’s monologue on how liberating it was bribing an adult to buy spirits. <This is perfect. All I have to do is bide my time, keep the drinks flowing and I can have as much dirt on the slayer as I want. Weaknesses, flaws, strengths - every piece of information sitting there in her friend’s pretty little mind, just waiting for me to access.>

Willow sipped at her drink, oblivious.

When Willow opened her eyes, it was almost morning. A strange, half-light illuminated the crypt, creeping in through the cracks in the door and a small hole in the masonry.

She struggled with consciousness for a moment, her head heavy with stagnant thoughts and alcohol. The room, blurred and misshapen, came gradually into focus and she smiled to herself. <I’m in Spike’s bed,> she mused, stretching out her hands, feeling the cool sheets underneath her. <I can’t remember last night, I’m drunk and I feel completely alive.> Willow rolled over onto her back and stared at the cracked ceiling for a moment. <This could be love.>

Across town in the Sunnydale public library, Spike laughed. The sound echoed around the deserted stacks, crisp and clear like Willow’s thoughts in his mind. <She’s in love,> he shook his head, fighting back a second wave of laughter. <Stupid, stupid girl. I show you one night of fun, wrangle a hell of a lot of information out of you and all of a sudden, you’re head over heels.>

He chuckled a little before turning his attention back to the computer screen.

His fingers moved quickly across the keyboard as he recalled the stories that Willow had recounted last night. <And I didn’t even have to sleep with her,> he thought to himself, smugly pressing "send". <Now, in a couple of minutes, every lowlife and demon in the first world will know everything there is to know about Buffy, that soon-to-be-ex-vampire slayer.>

Spike allowed himself a moment of gloating, watching as the newsgroups updated themselves to include his message… but when he saw it on screen, his smile faded.

<Oh my God,> he thought, his eyes widening. <What have I done?>

The emotions that Willow felt running through her were extreme to say the least. Before the bottle and a half of tequila, she had been able to make sense of the feelings but now that the liquor had clouded her mind, she had lost the ability to hear Spike’s thoughts.

When she first sat up in bed, a wave of happiness had assaulted her, causing Willow to laugh out loud. Then came an immense feeling of pride but now, her whole body was shaking and vast and black depression had settled on her mind. Underneath it all flowed loss and regret.

A loud thumping roused Giles out of his sleep. He awoke with a start, his muscles screaming in pain as he jerked upright on the couch, where he had been dozing.

It was still dark in his apartment: thick blackout curtains hung in the living room, a reminder of Willow’s current condition. He had been hoping that she would drop in, reassure him that she was coping with the thing living inside her, ask him for help - anything, really. Giles just wanted to see her face, to make sure that, while they pottered around in the dusty volumes of his book collection, that she was still there, as warm and human as always.

Giles struggled to his feet as the din continued, steering his aching body towards the door.

He fumbled with the key for a moment before the lock clicked then he was knocked on his back as the door swung open violently. Giles had hardly touched the floor before a hand caught his shirt, pulling him upright and pinning him forcefully against the wall.

It was then that the world swung back into focus, leaving him staring Spike. The vampire had a look of grim determination on his face and his clothes were more tattered than usual.

"I need help," Spike stated, emphasising each word. "You need to get Willow out of my head now or I swear, I’ll kill her."

Giles opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

"I was fine until you lot started messing around here - because of you, the slayer and that bloody witch, I’ve been humiliated so many times I would die of shame if I had any breath left. I used to have a great life," his grip loosened a little as he slipped into a reverie. "I could feed when I wanted, kill whoever I pleased and Dru loved me. You took all that away and now," he paused, clutching Giles’ shirt with renewed purpose. "Now, my thoughts aren’t even my own. The one thing I believed you people couldn’t touch - but, hell, was I wrong."

"Y… you’re hurting me," Giles breathed, but Spike wasn’t to be stopped.

"One minute I’m uploading files to www.how-to-kill-the-slayer.com and the next, I’m all weepy and guilt ridden."

The watcher saw the redness around his eyes and smelled the blood on his clothes.

"I like being evil," he stated, his face inches from Giles’. "I love the fact that, no matter how good you people are to me, I can still stab you in the back - in a heartbeat. I don’t want to be some prissy soul-searching underdog that crawls around the sewers, looking for meaning in my life. I have meaning - my purpose is to be bad."

With that sentiment, he let go of the watcher and Giles slid down the wall, surprise etched on his features.

"I want you to take this thing out of me now, or the next time you’ll see Red, there’ll be pieces missing." He stepped away from the watcher and pulled his leather duster over his head. "Don’t bother looking for us," Spike spat. "I know how to lie low for a while." Then he was gone, stepping into the morning light and slamming the door behind him.

"So what you’re telling me is that Spike’s back to normal and that he’s got Willow? I don’t believe this - you had, like, a hundred opportunities to kill the son of a bitch but, no, just because it looked like he wasn’t a threat, you let him go," Xander turned on his heels then paced in the opposite direction.

Giles and Buffy sat on the couch, watching him mark a trail in the soft pile carpet.

"He’s not back to normal, Xander. He’s… I should’ve known-" Giles started but Buffy interrupted.

"Known what, Giles? That there’s no such thing as a harmless vampire? Or that an empathy spell would cancel out Initiative’s chip? And what about the fact that Willow would leave her friends to be with a… a heartless killer?" Buffy rubbed at her eyes, fighting back tears.

If only she had went after her. If only she’d killed Spike when she had the chance. If only…

"I can’t wait around, any longer," she stood up, gathering her bag and coat. "I’m going out on patrol."

"Buffy," Giles said quietly, catching her wrist as she turned from him. "If you hurt Spike at this point, you hurt Willow as well."

She hung her head for a moment. "I know, it’s just that I need to get out of here," she moved towards the door. Under her breath, she sighed and murmured, "Need to kill something."

Spike handed her a bottle of cola, hoping she was too hungover to notice the sharp taste that lay beneath the sugar.

He was planning on keeping her drunk for as long as necessary - the last thing he needed was for her to realise she was in danger and panic - the crippling fear that he had experienced yesterday was still fresh in his mind, along with the taste of blood.

She gulped at the sweet liquid, smiling at him. <You’re like cola, Spike. You’re so sweet.> she giggled a little at her thoughts then passed out.

"Thank God for that," he sighed, carrying her to the bedroom and laying her on the freshly made sheets. <Now, all I have to do is wait.>

Spike stalked out of the room, carefully avoiding the sunlight which separated one half of the hallway from the other, and headed into the kitchen. Out of habit, he lit a cigarette then choked on the acrid smoke. <Why did she get the part of me that’s a smoker?> he thought, raising his eyes to the ceiling. <And how did I end up with her conscience?> He stubbed the cigarette out on the pristine imitation oak work surface, scarring its finish.

He pulled the Venetian blinds closed and settled into one of the chairs, putting his feet up on the breakfast table. At least he was capable of violence now, that was always a good sign - except now there was something holding him back when he was feeding. He wondered if this was how Angel felt, if every day was a struggle to separate the necessary from the sadistic streak which all vampires carried.

The look on Anya’s face when he had crept up behind her - it was something his demonic self used to revel in, but now, he felt revulsion at the image. She’d been happy to see him, after her surprise gave way, and even invited him into the magic shop. "Today’s inventory day," she had said, brushing hair from her face and laughing at his reply. "It still feels like the middle of the night to me," she’d added after a moment, turning her back on him for a second to switch on Giles’ battered kettle. Then he’d grabbed her and fed from her until she stopped struggling.

Now sitting at the table, head in his hands, Spike hated himself. He wished that the blood on his clothes wouldn’t taunt his senses, that he could just forget the rush of adrenalin and the sweet, metallic taste of Anya’s blood.

He reached into the pocket of his duster, and pulled out an old hip flask. "One mouthful of this," he muttered, placing it on the pine table. He stared at the flask for a moment, grimly weighing up the pros and cons of drinking the holy water.

He had carried it about since Dru left him, when he had beenstumbling around blindly, trying desperately to fill the void their hundred year relationship had left. He’d been lost and hurt, yet the one thing that had brought him to the verge of suicide was an eighteen year old.

<I’m becoming a teenage girl,> he thought grimly, then something clicked and whirred in his mind. <…But if, I’m becoming more like her, she’ll become more like me…> A smile slowly crept along his face. <I’m corrupting the slayer’s bestest friend in the whole wide world,> he laughed, throwing his head back. <I wonder which parts of me she will get?>

He saw something move, catching a hint of red out of the corner of his eye. Spike started to sit up but it was too late to react. Pain seared through his head as one of the breakfast stools connected with his skull. He slumped over onto the floor, unconscious.

Willow looked down at him, watching as a small pool of blood grew around his head. "Well, I’m guessing it’s not the nice parts," she said, lowering the stool. She reached for the flask of holy water and tucked it under her shirt.

"It could be your deviousness," she reasoned, dragging his prone form to the radiator. "Or perhaps your strength," she continued, lifting the manacles, which he’d brought in case she had tried to escape. "Or your memories." She considered the radiator for a moment then opted for chaining him to the shower instead.

The vampire started moaning in his sleep but she hit him with the heavy chains and he stopped. "Or your tolerance to pain," she added, dragging him by his Doc Martins, through the living room and into the bathroom. Willow hoisted him up onto her shoulder then unceremoniously dropped him into the enamel tub, then she started wrapping the chains around his arms and legs tightly.

When he was secure, she stepped back to admire her handiwork. She looked at his blank face before extracting the hip flask from where it was nestled in her belt. "Myself," she stated, beginning to unscrew the bottle. "I think it’s mostly your sadism."

With that sentiment, she sprinkled the flasks contents over his torso.

His eyes flew open as pain flowed through his body.

Above him, he saw Willow standing, her arms crossed and his hipflask dangling from one hand.

"Welcome back," she said, watching with amusement as he struggled against the chains. "As you might guess, I’ve acquired some pretty handy life skills from our little connection." She gestured to the manacles. "And," she continued, smiling as Spike’s panic washed over her. "I’m not at all pleased with you attacking my friends." Willow raised an eyebrow, her head cocked to one side, "Although I don’t really like Anya much, so I might forgive you for that. In time, of course."

He gave up fighting against the cold steel, feeling the last of his strength fizzle out. "I don’t understand…" he said, weakly.

"Well, you’re the one that knows all about these empathy spells, aren’t you, Spike?" She sat down on the edge of the tub. "Didn’t you think I’d notice you holding out on me? I mean, I am inside your head." Willow tutted a little when he looked shocked. "Maybe you thought you could use your looks to detract from your lies. Poor, poor Spike - thinks everyone’s in love with him. Even the slayer."

He paled at her last comment. "I don’t know what your talking about." <How did you know?>

"Please," she frowned. "How dumb do you think I am? I’ve seen you chasing her, touching her when you thought you could get away with it - and a couple of times, you were close to smelling her hair. And all the time, I knew the truth - that she hates you.

"Just because you’ve been controlling what you think around me, doesn’t mean I can’t see the full picture. Especially now I know how your beady little mind works.

"You following this, Spike?" she asked, patting his leg. He growled at the touch.

Her smile widened as she continued, "When I was drunk it opened more gateways into your head, instead of shutting them down. It made me stronger," she nodded at his disbelieving stare. "And for everything I took from you, you got a part of me. You got my guilt, my conscience - all my weaknesses - and, in return, I received your strengths."

There was a moment of silence when the words hung in the air, waiting to be processed by Spike’s pain-dulled mind.

"Oh, and I forgot," she said, reaching into her trouser pocket and pulling out a lipstick case. She popped it open and thrust the tiny mirror into his face. "You have a reflection now because you have a real, live soul." She snapped the case shut and returned it to her pocket. "Aren’t you the lucky one?"

Spike was speechless, everything was starting to fall into place. "But you let me… I found out how to kill the slayer..."

Willow stood up, shaking her head. "You think I would tell you how to kill my friend? No, it was all an act. I’ve gotten really good at it throughout the years - y’see, Spike, it’s something I do often, lying to myself."

He felt her sadden for a moment and fought back an overwhelming urge to comfort her.

"That’s a good vampire," she cooed, stroking his hair. "You just sit here being nice and I’ll go out for a while. If you’re especially good, I might let you indulge a couple of those thoughts you tried so hard to hide."

She breezed out of the room, leaving him frustrated and alone. <She beats me, she pour holy water over me, she ties me up… I think this could be love.>

Buffy threw herself down on Willow’s bed, burying her face in the pink sheets. She lay still for a few moments, collecting her thoughts, then as if in a dream, she slipped her hand under the pillow, where it collided with a hard, cold object. Her breath caught in her throat as she sat up slowly and opened the pillow case, pulling the spell book out.

"‘A Gateway to the Mind,’" she read, her heart pounding. "‘A collection of empathy and sympathy spells for the modern warlock.’" Tears of joy worked their way down her cheeks, "I don’t believe it."

She jumped off the bed, almost tripping in her haste, and was out of the room in moments, slamming the door so hard that the one of the girls in the dorm next door shouted "Hey".

None of it mattered as she flew down the stairs, through the reception area and out into the warm, afternoon air. Her thoughts were put on hold until she found herself in front of Giles’ apartment.

Buffy stumbled into the living room, clutching the book with a vice-like grip. "I got the book," she panted, suddenly feeling the after-effects of her mile run.

Giles looked up from where he was kneeling next to the couch.

For the first time, Buffy noticed Anya, lying on the sofa, holding a wad of bandages to her neck.

"I found her when I went to the magick shop," he explained, standing up and guiding the slayer away from where Anya lay. "Spike attacked her," he said quietly. "He came into the shop with her, waited until her back was turned then pounced, as it were."

"Is she badly hurt?" Buffy asked, glancing over at the couch.

Giles shook his head. "That’s the strange thing - he’s hardly broken the skin. I mean, yes, he took a little blood but he seems to have been… been gentle, almost. She’s in shock now - that’s really the extent of the damage. She’s… she’s just been nibbled a bit."

"Weird." Buffy frowned, then remembered the purpose of her visit. She handed the book to Giles. "I think this is what we’ve been looking for," she stated.

He read the title and then skimmed through the pages. "Well done, Buffy," he said, closing the volume. "We’ll need some supplies, of course, and a little time - but we’ll get her back."

Buffy tried to smile but a voice at the back of her mind kept taunting her. <If she’s still alive.>

Anya was moving about with Buffy returned from the magick shop. She smiled a little at the scene before her - Xander fussing over his girlfriend, sneaking kisses when he thought Giles wasn’t looking and Giles sitting with his sleeves rolled up, reading intently while, at the same time, wrinkling his nose each time he heard a kiss noise come from the other side of the room. He looked up when Buffy walked in, carrying a couple of paper bags.

"I think I got everything but can I say - Rat’s eyes, ew? I had to fish them out with my hands and they’re all squidgy and… yuck," she stuck her tongue out at the memory.

Anya sighed, twisting from her position on the armrest of the couch, "I put spoons out, next to the jars. I was going for a sort of ‘pick ‘n’ mix’ thing, except, instead of sweets, occult supplies." Giles and Buffy stared at her. "Well, I thought it was a good idea."

Xander smiled, stroking her hair. "I think it’s cute."

Giles cast his eyes skywards then shared a knowing smile with Buffy.

"So can we start?" the slayer asked, unpacking the supplies on the desk Giles was using.

He nodded, leafing through the book until he found the appropriate page. "The ritual is a little long but quite simple. Anya’s going to help with some of the finer points of the spell. She is, after all, our resident expert seeing Willow’s a little… indisposed at the moment," he said softly.

"You know what I’d like?" Willow said, running her finger around the rim of the bath tub.

Spike looked up at her. <Please let this be what I think it is.>

"I’d love to torture you some more," she said, then pouted, "But I can’t do it in the normal ways, not with our little thing."

<You’re an imaginative girl. I’m sure you can improvise… Hell, I’ve got a few ideas myself,> he thought, staring up into her hazel green eyes. "I really think you should untie me first, though."

"And what would be the fun in that?" she asked, swinging her legs over the side of the enamel tub. For a moment, she sat on the edge, running her bare feet up and down his legs, enjoying the feel of denim on the soles of her feet.

He closed his eyes. "Alright, don’t untie me," he gasped, as the sensation lapped over him.

Willow climbed into the bath, resting her weight on his legs. The pressure hurt a little, but it was soon forgotten as her hands started unbuttoning his shirt, working their way slowly down the material, barely touching him.

"When I told you that you were more woman than the slayer, I meant it," he murmured, his head bent as far back as the confined space would allow.

She ran her fingers up his now bare chest, then dragged her nails down. He bit his lip, waiting patiently for her next touch.

Willow spread herself lengthways on his body, stretching until her mouth was over his. She pulled his chin down, forcing him to look into her eyes.

"If I stopped now, would it be torture?" she asked, her lips curling into a smile. She moved her hips a little, he closed his eyes once again, savouring the friction and his teeth drew blood from his swollen lip.

"Yes," he said, his voice suddenly hoarse.

The redhead looked down at him. "What if I stopped now?" she said, brushing his lips with her own.

"Now, that would be torture," he breathed as she pulled away.

Giles looked around the room. His head was spinning, and the heat was unbearable.

"‘Let the two souls, now one, separate and return. Let the marriage of minds fade, leaving each with his own, letting… letting the…’" he looked down at the book. He paused for a moment, feeling his concentration waver. They were so close to ending it - a few more words and it’d all be over.

Giles took a deep breath and refocused. "‘Letting the gateway close and the bodies become as before.’"

Buffy watched as sweat dripped from her watcher’s brow. She held her breath, waiting for the last part of the spell to be vocalised before she started blurring the circle of salt they had created.

Willow broke away from Spike, her eyes widening. "But I hid the book," she said, panic entering her voice.

As she sat up, she felt her mind become foggy once more - images flashed before her mind’s eye, bringing with them sounds and smells, each one dancing in front of her before fading. A wave of nausea hit Willow, making her sway. She clutched the side of the bath, tightly, her knuckles becoming white and her hands aching.

Spike shivered as he felt Willow seeping away from him, out of his mind. He could feel her withdrawing from his thoughts like a blade being pulled from his heart. There was a moment of emptiness when he looked up into her eyes, frightened when he saw she was empty as well, then, with a roar of whispers, he felt himself return.

His thoughts and memories flashed through his head and he welcomed each and every one as an old friend.

As she peeled herself away from Spike, Willow couldn’t meet his eyes.

"So it’s over," she said, at length. "I feel normal - do you feel normal?"

"As normal as it gets," he sighed in resignation. "And I was just starting to enjoy myself."

Willow blushed and stepped out of the bath. She looked at the chains for a second before starting to pull at them, ineffectively at first.

"Key to the padlock’s in your left hand pocket," Spike ventured.

"Thanks," she muttered, pulling a key from her jeans and shakily inserting it in the large, metal lock. It clicked open easily and she started unwinding the steel chains from Spike’s hands.

He rubbed at his wrists, watching as she struggled with the manacles which kept his ankles together.

"I take it you have no… you know," he said, as she freed his legs. "Urge to continue, at all?"

She glared at him with one of her patented Willow looks.

"It was worth a try," he shrugged, hoisting himself out of the bath. His legs were sore and one of them threatened to cramp. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," Willow said, trying her best calm voice. She wandered over to the faucet and, her hands shaking slightly, turned the cold water on.

"Why the bath? I mean, you thought about the radiator," he reasoned, starting to button his shirt.

She splashed water on her face. "I don’t know, Spike. Okay? I have no idea what ‘evil’ me was thinking." She looked at herself in the mirror. "I don’t know what I was thinking at all."

He nodded, trying to keep his face void of the hurt he was feeling. "I just thought that, perhaps, somewhere deep inside, she was still there."

"Nope," she answered flippantly, drying her face on one of the hand towels.

He knew she was lying but who to? There had been something so sad about her self-deception that he reeled from the memory.

"Well, I for one need to get out of here," he strode past her into the hallway, hoping she wouldn’t see the pain he felt so plainly.

She stared at herself in the mirror, shaking her head.

"See you around, Red," he called from the porch, letting the door bang shut behind him.

Aftermath:

Willow had pleaded with Xander, asking him to stop and reconsider, but no, he barrelled past her, throwing open the door to Spike’s crypt.

The vampire was smoking quietly in a corner, enjoying the afternoon. His eyes kept wandering over to his new television, which he had given pride of place in the middle of the room. It was a little dusty and the picture sometimes became fuzzy but still, he loved it dearly.

When Xander burst in, Spike wasn’t surprised. In fact, he had been expecting the confrontation for a few days now.

"I’ve come to kill you," the dark haired boy said dramatically, waving a stake at Spike.

Willow stepped into the crypt, hanging her head. "And I’ve come as the voice of reason," she said, refusing to meet the vampire’s eyes.

"You bit Anya," Xander said, faltering slightly. In his mind, there had been some reaction from Spike, a little panic, the movement of an eyebrow - anything. He was disappointed to say the least. "You know, my girlfriend." Still nothing.

Xander shrugged, turning away, defeated. "I can’t kill him now," he whispered to Willow.

She nodded, "I know, it’s those puppy dog eyes of his isn’t it?"

The comment solicited a raised eyebrow from Spike. He smiled slightly, taking another drag at his cigarette.

"Well," the teen turned back to his adversary. "Just… just don’t do it again, okay?"

Spike shrugged, still staring intently at Willow.

"Alrighty then, I’ll leave now," Xander started to shuffle out the door but his friend caught his eye. ‘Wait for me,’ she mouthed, then turned her attention to Spike.

When Xander had stepped outside, she pulled up a chair and sat down opposite the blond vampire.

"I know you’re not exactly happy with me," she started, for the first time meeting his cold stare. "I just hope we can go past it - you know, make things right."

He stubbed his cigarette out on the chair then stood up, breaking eye contact. "I’m angry - y’know. I’m a person, not a bloody fairground attraction. Was it fun? Playing with me?" he spat. "Having ‘The Spike Experience’ - witnessing firsthand the innermost desires of a real, live vampire? Well, ha, bloody, ha, you’ve had your fun - now I’d appreciate not seeing you, for a while." He turned away from her, fists clenched in anger.

Willow stood, moving forward to touch his shoulder, but he remained in the same position, standing with his back to her. "Spike, it’s okay to have feelings. I mean, you’re more human than most of the people I know."

He gave a bitter chuckle. "In this town? Why am I not surprised?"

"I know you’re not as bad as you say, Spike. I know what you feel and, to tell you the truth, I feel the same way." She felt his shoulder heave under her hand. He was laughing silently.

"Wait, I’ve seen this film - it’s where she begins to think of him as a man, not a demon. There’s a little angst, then a period of soul searching which is swiftly followed by a lot of shagging. Am I right?"

Willow’s hand connected with his jaw.

Xander’s head had snaked around the crypt door, "For a guy with a psychic connection you sure get bitch slapped a lot."

Seeing the looks he was getting, Xander grimaced and disappeared back around the door. "Sorry," they heard him mutter.

"You were right to hit me," Spike said, opening his arms wide. "I was out of line and if you want to do it again, feel free."

Willow smiled a little. "No, I think I’m done now," she started to move towards the door. "Gotta get back to being boring, old Willow."

"There’s nothing boring about you, Red," he said, quietly, hoping Xander was too far away to hear. "Your friends - they all think you’re good, ol’ Willow. Slow yet reliable. Always there for someone to lean on, never a bother." He took her hands, "When Oz left, they didn’t give you the time of day but when Angel sauntered off to Los Angeles, it was a bloody ‘support-fest’ for the slayer."

She nodded. "It’s just something that I have to deal with - it comes with being one of the gang."

He laughed a little. "You have so much to deal with, I’m surprised you didn’t snap long ago. You have serious issues."

"I’ve got issues?" she sounded hopeful.

"Lots and lots of issues - so many, in fact, that your mind’s like the archives of Rolling Stone magazine.

"I can always help you work them out. You could come round and… and be helped," the sentence rolled off into silence as she stepped closer to him.

"I’d like that." Her breath was warm against his skin.

There was a moment, where they both stood in comfortable silence. At length, Willow broke away, freeing her hands from Spikes’.

"It’s weird not having you in here," she tapped her head. "I feel normal again - except I have memories of nineteenth century England… and… and of killing people."

Spike nodded. "At least you took the scenic route. Me? I’ve still got memories of shagging wolfboy - you could have at least packed them up when you moved out."

"Sorry," she said sheepishly, scuffing her shoes on the stone floor of the crypt.

There was another long pause but this time, the silence was awkward. They both stared at their feet.

"Well," Willow said, at length. "I better be going."

"Yeah," Spike muttered, turning back to his new tv. <I’ll really miss you, Red>

"I’ll miss you, too," she said, moving to the door and then she was outside in the sunshine, after what seemed like an eternity in the dark.

Spike went to the door of his crypt and, standing in shadow, watched as she made her way through the graveyard, Xander in tow.

"Turn back," he whispered, but she walked on, out of the cemetery and out of his sight.

"Where the hell’s my television?" Giles yelled in frustration, pulling aside yet more boxes of books and LPs in search of his battered colour tv.

He paused for a moment, glancing at the clock above the mantle. Ten minutes before "Passions" - if he drove fast, he could make it to Xander’s house in five.

"So much trouble over a soap opera," he chided himself, pulling on his coat and locking the apartment.