Spike trailed behind the unsuspecting redhead. He sneered as he thought she should be ashamed of herself. Nine years of fighting demons, absorbing all manner of dark magick, almost ending the world, then redeeming herself by activating the Potentials, and the chit still couldn’t tell when she was being followed.
Spike took another long drag off his cigarette, thinking again about why he was doing this. He knew the list by heart, but went over it one more time. First, she ignored their pleas for help when Illyria took over Fred. Second, she ignored his personal plea for help when Angel had told him his insane plan for taking out the Circle of the Black Thorn. Well now his sire was dead, along with the rest of the LA crew, and Spike wanted vengeance. Since he couldn’t find the Senior Partners, the vampire would take it out in blood on Willow.
It had taken him months to heal after the massacre in the alley. The blond closed his eyes in pain at the memory of seeing his sire fall. He may not have liked the poncy bastard, but he respected him, and it had nearly killed Spike again to see the once magnificent vampire turn to dust.
Much to his soul’s disgust, Spike had started feeding on humans again so that he would heal. Oh, he left the innocents alone, but the rapists, murderers, and other assorted lowlifes were fair game. He didn’t kill them, but he did make sure they didn’t have any fight left in them. That was one more thing to blame Willow for.
Spike was done following the bint. After he’d finally tracked her down, in Juarez, Mexico of all places, the vampire had spent the past month following her and learning her routine. He’d taken a flat about a block away from her and had decided that tonight was the night he would take his pound of flesh in payment for the travesty his life had become.
Moving silently with preternatural speed, Spike moved in behind Willow. He knew the moment she felt him, but was too quick for her. He struck like a viper, wrapping the witch in his arms and sinking his fangs into her neck to weaken her. He didn’t want to kill her yet. He just wanted her pliant. He removed his fangs as she passed out and picked her up. With a determined stride, Spike carried his prize to his flat.
Willow knew Spike was there, behind her, just like he’d been for the last month. The pain, anger, and rage rolled off of him in waves. The witch knew why he was there and she wasn’t going to stop him. She deserved whatever the vampire wanted to do to her. She had been a coward, bowing to the pressure put on her by Buffy and Giles not to help Angel when he’d called. In her heart she knew it was wrong, but the redhead hadn’t wanted to upset the status quo. Now Angel was dead and so were the others she had met not so long ago. Only Spike remained. If he wanted to kill her, then so be it, though she wasn’t sure she could die. It was as much as she deserved for letting her friends down. Death would be a blessing. Perhaps breathing her last would finally ease the guilt she wore like a shroud. She’d always wondered why Angel brooded so much. Now she understood. Guilt was heavy and suffocating and you could never get away from it.
Willow felt Spike at her back and though she had vowed not to fight him, muscle memory and instincts took over, and she tensed, ready to hex him. Then she was in his arms and his fangs were in her neck. It wasn’t the vicious bite she’d been expecting; it was almost tender. As she slipped into the blackness, Willow’s last thought was that one way or another she would be atoning for her sins.
Willow awoke chained to the wrought iron headboard of a bed. She felt a presence nearby and opened bleary green eyes. Spike sat straddling a chair next to the bed, smoking a cigarette, and watching her. She winced as she got her first good look at him. The right side of his face was a web of scars and healed burns. She couldn’t tell if the rest of his body was in the same shape. He was in his ever-present black jeans, t-shirt, and duster.
“Not the ‘andsome bloke I used to be, eh pet?” He asked mockingly. His voice was harsh, gravelly from disuse and vocal chords that were damaged and had not properly healed.
“I’m sorry, Spike,” Willow said quietly.
Spike shook his head. “No. You don’t get to do that. Apologies, words won’t make this better.” He stabbed his cigarette in her direction to emphasize his point. “You abandoned us in our soddin’ time of need, witch. ‘Sorry’ is not going to make things right again. ‘Sorry’ won’ bring Fred back. Little Fred was tossed outta ‘er body by a hell goddess, because you couldn’t be bothered to ‘elp. Her body is gone now, too, not just ‘er soul. ‘Sorry’ won’ bring Angel back. My sire is dead, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, because you couldn’t be bothered to ‘elp. ‘e was only doin’ what ‘e thought was right, no thanks to any of you lot. ‘Sorry’ won’ bring Wes and Gunn back. Wes and Gunn were cut down in their prime, because you couldn’t be bothered to help.”
Spike jabbed his thumb into his chest, ignoring the silent tears streaming down Willow’s face. “I almost died meself. Took me months to get back on me feet. You know what kept me goin’? The thought of tellin’ you what you turnin’ your back on us did. Of all the Scoobies, I never thought you would turn us away.”
Willow spoke when he paused to take a drag. “What do you want to do to me?”
“I want to make you ‘urt, witch. I want you to feel every last bloody bit of the pain I’ve been through in the last two years. I want to make you pay.”
If he wanted to hurt her, Willow thought to herself, that was fine. She deserved the pain. She would heal fast enough, her magick would see to that. He could probably work her over for an eternity if he wanted and it would be a small price to pay. Willow bowed her head in submission. “Do with me what you will…Master.”
Thanks be to Gabrielle for the beta. This was written for Tonya.