His hands grasped pale, bucking hips with as much force as his bleedin' chip
would allowed. "Spike please," she pleaded, clutching at the pale locks of his
hair with begging fingers.
He withdrew his fingers and denied her the rhythm. The lips suckling at her
nub eased up and he once again brought her back from the cusp of climax. "Nuh
uh," he growled. "Take it back."
"I can't," she panted. Bangs slick with sweat clung to her forehead and
Willow's face wore lines of strain.
"You bastard," she whimpered as the climax receded. But once again, she made
no move to kick him away or escape even though it was within her power. She
conceded to his mastery and submitted to his dominance and punishment in action
if not words.
He wanted the words too.
Her absolute refusal to yield anything left him confused and frustrated.
Angry. He was Rage Incarnate and denied. His was the face of violence, masked.
He didn't understand why Willow wouldn't give him the same acknowledgment that
he had bequeathed upon her in play.
"What is it with you?" he grated. "Give in."
Green eyes opened. "Are you asking or telling?"
"What the fucking difference does it make?" He couldn't understand her
*inability* to submit. Willow wanted to. It was there in the way she lay prone
beneath him, accepting ravages she could easily have fended off.
"It matters." Her tone was uncompromising. Spike had seen the same look in
the eyes of the tortured only rarely. For a precious few, surrender simply
wasn't an option. Spike would never have pegged Willow as one of the stubborn
few. This wasn't the Willow Spike knew.
"It's a matter of principle," she explained. "You'll get away with murder if
I let you."
"Can't," he refuted with a tinge of bitterness. "Me chip."
"Don't remind me," she moaned. "God only knows what you'd do to me if you
Spike blinked. That made him think. Right before he'd acquired the device,
he'd intended to drain his little minx dry. *Then*, he would have left her
unturned. That wasn't the case anymore. "I wouldn't do anything too bad," he
comforted. "You'd be dead an' all... But we'd be together. Forever."
"It'd be right nice, it would," he mused. The idea had remarkable appeal. If
he turned Willow then she'd truly be his. In his entire existence, Spike had
never been so totally alone. It didn't sit well. When Angelus' patience ran out,
Spike had been created to serve as Drusilla's guardian and champion. He was
accustomed to belonging. He needed to feel needed.
Willow bit her lower lip, eyes brightening with tears. She looked away. "I
like living. And if you turn me, you won't like what you get. I promise you."
There was so much pain, hurt, *wisdom* contained within those simple words.
"Oh, I don't know. I've heard stories about your doppelganger..." He arched
"Spike." She turned to look him straight in the eye. "Take my word for it.
The stories couldn't begin to compare with the unpleasant reality. My 'demon'
would have eaten you alive."
"Oi, no need to get personal." Privately, he conceded that she would probably
be a real terror as a demon. Human, she was quite the handful. Disgruntled, he
snorted and changed the subject. "Why me then?" he demanded. "If you think I'm
so 'effin dangerous then why are you here?"
She grinned. "I have this *thing* for dangerous, gorgeous blondes." She
trailed fingers along his cheek.
"Right on!" He chortled. "I saw the look you were givin' the Slayer. Creamed
your panties just being near her, didn't you?" Inside, all of the talk of his
chip rankled but he hid it well.
Willow made a face. "God, you're disgusting."
"Take it back," he demanded, switching tenaciously back to the original
disagreement. She had called him her bitch. She had done it before but this time
it had become an issue. This was a matter of pride. Their discussion of his chip
underscored his urgent need to win her respect.
"FUCK!" He exploded, pounding his fists on the floor on either side of her
head. She didn't even flinch. No fear. "Fine!" he snarled. "Throw it in my face!
Spike's nothing! He can't hurt me!" He rolled away, regretting the words the
second they were spoken. They betrayed his weakness.
Willow switched tactics. "Aww, come'on lover. You're my Big Bad," she teased.
"Don't be all pouty. You're a frightful creature - GRRRR." She bared her teeth
and mocked a growl. "I'm terrified," she assured him but the saucy smirk on her
face said otherwise. Her hands were busy between them.
Spike flushed, both bashful and embarrassed that she'd gotten the better of
him yet again. "Oh, go on!" he exclaimed, pretending it was all a big joke.
"You're just saying that!"
"No I'm not."
"Yes you are!"
"No." She looked him in the eye. "I have absolutely no delusions about what
you could do to me if and when you get that chip'n'dectomy. I'd be a fool not to
fear you, Spike."
"Right," he agreed skeptically. Spike was too good a judge of character to
fall for her line. Willow was saying the exact opposite of what she really felt.
Spike could see it in her eyes. Oh, sure, she was afraid of what he *could* do
if the chip were out. But she knew that it wasn't coming out anytime soon.
Fire flickered in her eyes. "It's true. You scare me silly," she insisted.
But her fear was a pure fabrication for his sole benefit. Spike perceived pity
and sympathy. She cared for him a hell of a lot more than she wanted to admit to
him or herself. He was beginning to suspect that the soft-hearted witch had
fallen head over heels in love with old William the Bloody.
It was the only reason he tolerated the pity, which he resented with every
fiber of his being. He disliked the way she tried to deceive him too. It was
just another example of her inability to open up to him, rather like her
unwillingness to submit in bed. "Don't lie to me, Willow," Spike ordered,
suddenly angry and weary of the games. He rolled onto his back. "You're not
afraid an' you're not a very good liar, either."
She stared at him in stubborn, hurt silence. Quandary. Confusion. Inner
turmoil. Spike sensed all of it through their strange rapport. She knelt before
him and when she spoke, her voice trembled, "I-I need you. More than you need
me. And that scares me to death because we can play all of the sex games we like
but when it comes to feelings, we're not on a level playing field."
It was a concession and surrender. Spike flushed, pleased and flattered.
"Aww, there now, luv." He returned to their 'bed' on the floor and took her back
into his arms. He knew instinctively that they were one step away from "I need
you" to "I love you" and he'd have the adoration he'd been craving.
The quickest route to a bird's heart was between her thighs. Spike's
opportunistic mind made a neat transition from "I need you" to "I love you" to
"Let's shag!" From his hundred plus years of ample experience with the fair sex,
he knew exactly what he was expected to say in order to bridge the gap and part
"I love you."
"Really?" Willow's green eyes opened. She stared at him with guarded
skepticism. "That's awfully sudden."
"Yeah, 'course I do. Now spread 'em..." He growled low and rolled over on top
of her. His cock slid between her thighs, nestling neatly against her sex. With
a few quick strokes, Spike picked up enough lubrication to wedge the head of his
member at her entrance. Willow whimpered and squirmed.
"Spike no," she moaned, trying to push him away. "I we can't. Not
allowed...without permission." Weak, ragged struggles persisted but lacked any
"Who's permission?" His sharp mind latched onto the utterance like prey. At
the same time, he thrust forward, gaining a couple inches in her tight channel.
He groaned in appreciation.
Willow yelped and twisted away. His cock slipped out. "Spike, stop it!" she
hissed. "No means no."
"Your cunt is saying yes," he replied crudely.
She rolled away. "My mouth is saying no."
His denied nuts and cock imploded with pain. Christ! She was a fuckin' cock
tease! "Then what the hell are we doing here?" Spike demanded. "Is this some
sort of 'drop kick me knackers' game to you?"
Her face reflected panic and stress. "No! I just *can't*. We're screwing
around - that's it. It's play. You knew the rules from the start! I *never* lied
"Right," he drawled sarcastically. "We're doing everything but the fucking.
Well I want to know who the hell it is that's dictating the rules to you. Cause
it sure as hell isn't what you want."
"Spike, don't do this," Willow pleaded, rolling away. He grabbed her arm and
stopped her. A jolt of pain in his skull forced him to ease his grip. "I don't
want to hurt you," she cried.
It was the wrong thing to say. Spike's face froze. "What did you say?" he
She turned to look at him, glancing first to the hand on her arm and then to
his face. "I don't want to hurt you," she said. Kindness and the associated pity
were like holy water. They burned.
"What the fuck makes you think that *you* could hurt *me*?" The words were
deadly cold and cut deep. Pain flashed in her eyes and he knew he had scored a
direct hit. His most vicious instincts surfaced full force.
"Spike, don't. I understand--"
"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU UNDERSTAND?"
Her eyes turned hard. He had awakened the cruelty within her. "I understand
that you need to be with someone."
"Like hell I do," he hissed. The very truth of her words increased the
vehemence of his denial.
She ignored him and interrupted, "You don't exist without Drusilla." Spike
staggered. It was too harsh for him to mouth off an immediate, flippant
"You're lost without her. That's why we're only fucking around," she
continued. "You and I aren't friends - you said so yourself. And we'll never be
lovers. Even if I could, I wouldn't, because I'd have to be a blithering idiot
and a glutton for pain to even dream about going up against your ghost of
"Dru and I were forever." Time had frozen the moment. His response was
automatic and ingrained. The truest of all he believed to be true but it had
Willow's eyes gentled, tearing. "I know. God, I'm so sorry." He hated her
pity with every fiber in his being. She rose from the floor and this time he let
go of her arm.
"Where are you going?"
"Home," she breathed. "Then LA."
That jarred him. "Why?" he demanded without thinking.
"Just am." She pulled on her clothes.
"I want a reason."
"Fine," she snapped. She turned to face him, holding her crossed arms at the
wrist. "You want a reason, I'll give you a reason. I lied through my teeth. I'd
fuck you in a heartbeat but I *can't*. Not just won't but *can't*. I want you so
bad that--Jesus help me--I'd probably cut my own wrists and let you turn me if I
thought for one second you'd give me half the devotion you've given Drusilla."
She'd consider being turned? Spike wondered but the rest of what she said
left him distracted. "Why can't you?" he demanded. He had to know.
She hesitated and then gave him the truth. Finally. "I can't. Not without...
"PERMISSION!" he bellowed. "PERMISSION FROM WHO?"
Her next words were a noose around his neck. "Angel," she answered flatly.
Anticipating his reaction, Willow leapt back as Spike exploded to his feet. All
control was lost.
"WHAT THE FUCK DOES ANGEL HAVE TO DO WITH THIS?"
She might have answered if he'd kept calm but just the sound of his sire's
name used in conjunction with permission to shag with his girl drove Spike over
the edge. He erupted in a fury, cursing and destroying everything in his path.
Willow squeaked and ran. Spike didn't follow. The chip prevented him taking
out his anger on a living person - and part of him didn't want Willow dead - but
it sure as hell didn't stop him from expressing his anger on the inanimate. By
the time his rage ran out, Angel's fancy living room contained nothing but
shattered piles of wood and debris.
He felt empty.
The house was empty. Willow was gone and after that little demonstration,
Spike could only guess if she was coming back. He wasn't sure he wanted her
Bleakness settled in the place of his anger. He'd sobered up just enough to
stagger into the wine cellar and grab another bottle of booze. It was a good
thing ol' Angelus had a decent sized collection, because Spike intended to
polish off the whole thing.
He swaggered back into the empty living room. Empty. It was empty of Dru,
empty of Willow, empty except for Spike and his bottle. "Stupid bitch," he
cursed. "Leave! See if I care!" He uncorked the bottle and set about getting
drunk off his ass.
Spike ransacked the Crawford Street mansion from top to bottom, demolishing
everything in his path. Under the best circumstances, the blonde was a restless
creature and these were a lot worse than normal.
Ironically, his determined and methodical destruction led him back to the
living room, where he found an old banded trunk shoved behind a busted end
table. He had missed it his first time through the room.
He grabbed the trunk and hauled it out, setting it down on the fireplace. He
wrenched the lid open. On top lay a set of chains. "Bleeding pouf," Spike
muttered, casting them aside. [CLANK CLANK]
"Bet he can't get his rocks off without being chained up and beat." The
Brit's voice turned high and girly as he dug deeper into the chest. "Oh hurt me,
hurt me! *I'm SO bad!* I killed and I tortured so many people with no fashion
His voice deepened to a boom, "You naughty naughty girl! Take that! [whip
noise] And that! [whip noise]" Spike found a sheath of papers tied with a red
"Oh yes! Oh yes! Hurt me more you big bad thing!" the pantomimed feminine
voice of Angel the girly mon called. "I help the hopeless and hope the helpless
but no more charity work with the fashion senseless!"
"That's very admirable, little lady," the bass-voiced whip wielder of Spike's
monologue replied. "Almost enough to make up for the amount of planet killing
chemicals contained within your nancy-boy hair products..."
Spike trailed off, losing the thread of his anti-Angel ramble. He inhaled
sharply. Something, a scent, caught at his memory. He performed a mental double
take and lifted the packet of papers to his nose, sniffing. His heart ached.
Drusilla... Her scent clung to the scarlet ribbon and a few dark hairs were
caught in the fabric.
Tears flooded his eyes as poignant memories of Dru welled up in Spike,
clogging his throat and eyes. He tore off the ribbon and shoved it into his
pocket. He shifted through the papers, curious about the contents.
They were hand drawn sketches on expensive vellum and Spike recognized
Angelus' handiwork. All of the subjects were familiar: Buffy, Xander, Willow,
Giles, Spike and Drusilla. "Leastwise the bloke has the sense to refrain from
bad self-portraits," Spike grumbled.
There were quite a few drawings of the Slayer, sleeping, fighting, mangled
and mutilated: the wistful longings of his whacked out sire. Old Soul Boy could
never have committed such atrocities, even on paper. "Ladies and Gentlemen, this
particular patient is a unique example of a schizophrenic with multiple
personality syndrome. Sinner and Saint. Bad Ass Vampire and Flouncy Nonce."
There were subtle differences in the style of the various drawings. Curious,
Spike laid them side-by-side and moved on to examine others. Eventually, he
formed a small pile of what he designated "Soul Boy" picts and a larger one of
"The Wanker's". The distinctions only served to reinforce his impressions of the
big, oafish loon. Angelus was nuts: pure and simple.
Two of Spike: a rather good caricature of him smoking, thumbs hooked
arrogantly in the front pockets of his jeans and a mystically suspended
cigarette dangling from his lower lip. The sketch was rendered with care and
affection. It went into the Flouncy Nonce pile as fast as he could drop it.
"Great Pouf always did have a thing for me," Spike muttered with as much
indifference as he could muster. And a small bit of pride...
The other was a nasty depiction of Spike with a bulldog face and wheel chair
hindquarters being taken for a walk by Drusilla. "Pillock," the blonde muttered,
almost amused. He set it atop the large pile of Angelus' work.
It was the drawings on the bottom of the pile that ripped his heart out of
his chest and shredded what was left of the non-beating organ. Depictions of his
beautiful Drusilla: dancing and laughing; playing with her dolls; sprawled nude,
her eyes heavy with the lethargy that followed seduction.
Spike's knuckles turned white. He knew that Angelus must have fucked Dru in
order to be able to draw her like this. The nude sketch reeked of sex. Two years
after the fact, it still tore Spike apart that she had cheated on him... And
then left him... Dru hadn't even the common decency to kill Spike when she left.
After all they'd been through together and been to one another and she'd left
without staking him. She was unbelievably cruel.
At first, Spike had continued on only for the hope of winning Drusilla back.
He hadn't allowed himself to think of anything else, to consider that he might
*not* get her back. But as time passed that candle was flickering, going out,
and he had nothing left to take its place but fading memories...and stubborn
denial of the harsh reality that he was nothing without Dru.
"You don't exist without Drusilla."
"ARSE! I exist," he hissed, "Just don't 'ave much bloody direction is all.""
He crumpled the drawings and through them into the fireplace. The ball of paper
caught fire and burned. Pictures of Dru, going up in flames, just like their
relationship. It was symbolic.
Spike watched them burn for a second and then shouted, "Fuck!" What the hell
was he doing burning pictures of his Dark Queen?! Grabbing for the drawings,
Spike thrust his arm into the fireplace. His arm caught fire and he had to pound
it out. It is too late for the drawings. They were ash. He had nothing left but
regrets and ash.
"You're lost without her."
"Not like it much matters," he answered Willow's voice in his head. Without
the chip, he could have gone somewhere else, might have started over. Maybe. At
least he wouldn't have been stuck hanging out near the Hellmouth -- near the
very group of people he hated most -- in order to be near the last happy place
he had been with Drusilla.
He wasn't fooling anyone though. Willow had a pretty good handle on the truth
and so did Spike despite her kind hearted attempts to protect him. Spike often
talked big about the chip's removal but odds were that it wasn't coming out. The
chip -- and not being able to kill -- was the end of the rope, the end of a lot
of stuff, for Spike.
He didn't have anyone left he could trust to do brain surgery on him even if
the chip could be removed without killing him. The only ones Spike had ever
trusted -- Angelus and Drusilla -- had betrayed him. His best friend and his
girl... It was the oldest, saddest cliché of a chap being turned into a cuckold
and it had happened to The Big Bad. "What a farce," he muttered.
For Drusilla, Spike made a thousand excuses. Drusilla acted on impulses; emotionally, she was a child.
She had been Angelus' lover and childe. The right bastard had driven her
insane, twisting her mind into his own warped creation. Angel had known just how
to manipulate Dru, who couldn't possibly have understood the full ramifications
of her actions. Angelus was one hundred percent to blame.
Nothing the demonic bastard had ever done to Spike -- the abuse, the cruel
games - had ever compared with what Angelus had done to Dru. Spike had suffered
for Dru. He had hurt inside over things that were done to her long before he
became a vampire. He had bled for her, worshipped her, and sustained her with
unwavering strength when she was too weak to continue. And in return...
She betrayed him.
He cringed and inflicted the burning truth on himself yet again. She betrayed
him. No more excuses, no more remorse, no more whinging and whining. Drusilla
Betrayed Him. Spike tried the words out and reached for the closest piece of
kindling on the woodpile. He selected a piece of wood long and sharp enough to
Drusilla BETRAYED Him.
And now, in its diabolically winding way, history was repeating itself.
Pansy-souled Angel was taking away someone Spike cared about and he couldn't
even understand how or why it was happening. It was Drusilla all over again.
Spike's resentment built. The longer he stood there clutching the makeshift
stake, the deeper his bitterness spread, seeping like venom through his veins.
It was aimed not just at Angel but at Willow too because she was letting it
happen. She was a willing accomplice in this second betrayal, and this time,
there were no excuses.
How was it that the bleeding pillock could do this to him twice? Soulless,
Angelus had stolen his Black Rose. Souled, he was taking away Spike's human
lover. From wheelchair to chip, Spike felt helpless. No matter how hard he tried
or what he did, it was futile. He just couldn't win. The first time, his
opponent had been physically stronger. This time, he possessed a humanity Spike
His teeth clenched. Willow didn't have to allow this. She wanted it or it
wouldn't be. His Red had already proven herself too stubborn and willful for
anything resembling coercion. Willow, like Dru, intended to betray him.
"Women!" Spike scowled at the fire. "Bitches. Every last one of 'em." He
brought the stake up. He was only finishing what Drusilla had started...
Giles' clear voice filled the room, "'In revenge and in love woman is more
barbarous than man.' Are you going to bloody well get it over with or stand
there all day talking to yourself?"
Startled, Spike whirled. "Nietzsche was an arse." He glared at the Watcher
and casually tossed the stake into the fireplace like that was what he had
intended to do all along. "What the hell are you doing here, Sunshine?"
Giles strolled into the center of the demolished room. "I see you've been
redecorating." Spike refused to reply and the older man shrugged and continued.
"I've been hearing rather odd reports of Willow's behavior - and yours. The
others asked me to investigate."
"Got sent into the lion's cave cause you're the old fogey an' none of 'em had
the knackers?" Spike interpreted.
"Quite," Giles agreed dryly. "However, all of the signs indicate that
something is amiss."
"What signs?" Spike interrupted.
The Watcher hesitated. "Well... There's your unusual um 'relationship', of
which I've heard some of the more unsavory details..."
"Bugger!" He snorted. "Red and I play at a bit o' S&M an' they send you
to investigate? What the hell is wrong with you people?! Get a life!"
Giles pointedly ignored his interruption. "And Willow has been exhibiting...
"Nothing specific but she hasn't quite been herself," the Watcher said. "We
think she may be possessed."
"Really?" He deadpanned skepticism. "How so? The chit seems perfectly fine to
me." Suspicions began to coalesce in Spike's mind. Willow - his Willow -- wasn't
*their* Willow. Spike bounced with an explosion of pure glee. Hot Damn but his
bit o' fluff was a She Demon!
"Are you all right?" Giles looked at him strangely.
"Fine." Spike immediately shucked the bouncing. The Scoobies were on to his
She Demon, probably with goody good intention of "fixing" her, and turning her
back into a well-balanced Wiccan. It was exactly the opposite of what Spike
wanted so he had a vested interest in protecting Red from their meddling.
"Just thinking 'bout it but I really can't think of anything out of the
ordinary that might make lead you to that sort of conclusion," Spike
volunteered. "What'd she do?"
The Watcher was so easily led. Sure enough, Giles began to pace and fell into
lecture mode. "Well, it's hard to pin down. She's been more reclusive.
Standoffish really. We think she might be possessed... Blah blah blah..."
Spike listened to the pillock witter in annoyance. On and on and on...
Finally, he made a rude, loud sound. "Oi! So she's kept her own company for a
few days an' you're ready to call in the Exorcist? Remind me not to befriend any
of you chaps."
Giles turned red. "Excuse me but this is quite serious." He glared at the
"Oh, well I'm *so* sorry," Spike drawled. "But I don't give a toss what you
an' the Slayer chums are up to."
Giles fumed. "So you don't give a damn about Willow at all despite the
intimate relationship you share?" He pinned Spike with his eyes.
Unfazed, Spike stared right back with an unconcerned expression.
"Has she killed anyone? Spewed vomit? Spun her head in circles? Maybe some
obscene Latin?" he asked, pretending to be helpful.
"Fear of crosses, holy water, the bible?" Spike recited. He examined his
fingernails. The black chipped polish was wearing off.
"N-no, none of that." Giles' body temperature continued to increase to the
point where it was radiating waves of heat. He wasn't comfortable and Spike had
neatly backed the Watcher into a corner. "I did receive an odd phone call," he
sputtered defensively. "Monday night. I really didn't think much of it at the
"Oh?" Casual on the outside, Spike went on alert.
"Well, there's a bloke who needs help from the Slayer," Spike agreed.
"Preferably, the stake-through-the-heart variety."
Giles cleared his throat and ignored him again. "Angel called to check up on
Willow. He claimed-" Spike heard air quotes around the 'claimed', telling him
that Giles hadn't believed the LA vampire. "-that Cordelia had a vision of
Willow being eaten by a-"
The Watcher frowned, struggling to recall. "A big vampire with sharp pointy
"Oi!" Spike exclaimed. "That's half o' Sunnyhell."
"Quite." Giles hesitated. "Angel was...extremely drunk."
"The poufter? Drunk?" Spike expressed his disbelief with his eyebrows. "He's
a tea totaler, mate."
"I know." Giles paced and rubbed his brow. "Which is why this whole thing is
"Real disquieting, it is." Spike extracted a smoke from his pocket and lit
up. Puffing thoughtfully, he watched the Watcher while he sorted the pieces of
the puzzle he possessed. Things were starting to come together but there were
more gaps than pieces that fit.
Mentally, he ticked off what he knew. A) Monday night, Willow has confessed
to having a dominatrix relationship with Angel. Not that Spike believed her but
he had found the idea of a whipped, chained Angel immensely amusing. At least,
three days ago he had found the thought entertaining. Now, he found it
Spike's mind skidded off on a tangent. How the hell had he gone from amused
& gleeful to hurt & jealous in thirty-six hours? He wondered but the
answer was fairly obvious. The 'She-Demon' possessing Willow had gotten under
Back to what he knew. B) Possessed She-Demon Willow had first manifested
right after she returned from Sunnydale on Monday morning. Angelus had called
Sunnydale checking up on her Monday night. Angel had some sort of hold on Willow
to the point where he had to keep track of her whereabouts.
C) Willow professed to being unable to shag without Angel's permission. She
wanted Spike -- "needed" in her own words -- and gott hotter and hornier than a
cat in heat when he touched her. Her denials were forced.
For the first time Spike considered that maybe Willow wasn't a willing
participant in her deception and... Betrayal. What other word was there for it?
Collusion with Angel could only be disloyalty and treachery. She knew how he
felt about her. (He assumed and moved on, not wanting to examine feelings he
didn't actually understand himself.)
So, basically, Angelus was fucking with Spike's woman. AGAIN. Reputedly with
her permission but everything he learnt brought that into question. Did Willow
belong to Angel?
Bollocks! His mind screamed the refutation. She was Spike's! Since her
arrival, the little She-Demon had accepted Spike as her lover in every word and
deed. Angel was lifting his leg on Spike's girl again, and Spike wasn't standing
He would rip Angel a new arsehole and teach the wanker to keep the hell away
from Spike's woman but otherwise the blonde found the new development pleasing.
He liked his slinky little sex kitten a damn sight better than the old witch.
"Are we done?" Giles interrupted Spike's thoughts.
The blonde glared at him in annoyance. "Yeah, we're done. And just so you
know," he added. "Your half-arsed theory about Willow sounds like a load of shit
to me. Just my humble opinion."
"Thank you ever so much," Giles answered dryly.
"Hey! You're the one bothering me!" Spike called after the departing Watcher.
The second the mortal was gone, Spike headed for the garage. He lowered the
Thunderbird down off its jacks and began searching for the black paint necessary
to sunblock the windows.
William the Bloody was going to LA to reclaim what was rightfully his. He and
Angel were going to have a CONFRONTATION.