Chapter 10:

If I Tell You, I'll Have To Kill You; Are You Sure You Want To Know?

by Quwinntessa Starber

 "Did you ever have a pet?" Willow asked, a strange and distant expression suddenly upon her face. In the moonlight she looked beautiful and delicate, like the china doll that Spike had taken to thinking of her as. She was marvelous, her red hair perfectly straight like the fall of silk from the ream. Her eyes reflected the flames of the ballroom and shone like green fire while her lips held all the color of the flames. But her skin was by far the most amazing sight. Flawless, it glowed in the moonlight, a substance less like skin, and more like porcelain, colorless and perfect, smooth and unadorned with anything to detract from the simple splendor of itself.

"Not a pet as you'd like to hear about, Luv. Vampires don't keep pets that humans would find entertaining." He saw it in her eyes, she understood what he meant. She'd no doubt read about his less fortunate victims whom he'd kept in cages for his own amusement; those damn Watcher Journals were more hindrance than help.

But the look passed quickly from her eyes, and soon she was staring at the fountain, watching morbidly as the insects paused and were quickly swallowed whole by the Koi. Her body was serene, but Spike could tell by her eyes she was anything but. Behind eyelashes the color of true blood, Willow's eyes were haunted, clouded over with memory and past pain. Spike immediately wished he'd never asked the question. He tried to take it back.

"Luv, never mind, you'll tell me when you're ready. I was a fool to try and push"

"I had a kitten once," she began, a distant tone in her voice so that it swayed with the rise and fall of each word. She was beautiful.

"My father adored me, he always did. He used to call me his little princess until Mother stopped him. Have you ever noticed in fairy tales, the mother is always called mother? I mean most children call their mothers mom or mamma, not mother. I always had a rule, when I wanted to be loved I'd call her mamma, and when I wanted to disappear I'd call her mother. It usually worked, she'd respond to mamma and ignore me when I called her mother; unless we were in a public place. Then I was required to call her mother, she liked it that way, said she felt more important. I didn't care too much, I usually didn't want to be loved by her anyway." She trailed off for a moment, her hands going from the blanket to her hair and then back again, finally folding in her lap before her eyes met his.

"My father adored me…until I told him things"; She paused now, before looking beseechingly into his pale blue eyes. "If I tell you a secret, will you still promise to take care of me? It's not a nice secret, not nice like yours, yours was nice. I bet I'd like your poetry, I bet it's very nice and romantic, I've always thought of you that way, especially when I think of you with Drusilla. You must have loved her very much. I want to be loved that much, daddy never loved me quite that much"

"I won't tell you the secret if it'll change things between us." Her haunted eyes turned to his, tiny pupils looking back at him in a mixture of fear and hope.

Suddenly the china doll image was gone, replaced by the look of a beaten and destroyed little girl, the girl Spike had been fighting against for weeks; a little girl that was the very essence of Willow. For a moment back on the ride, he'd thought she'd somehow managed to break out of the spell she'd come under, a spell that required her to act like a child and demand a child's demands. But no, she was still very much the child, very much the frightened and confused little girl that needed as much direction as humanly, or vampirally possible.

Slowly, so she could track each and every move of his muscles, he reached for her, pulling her into his chest so that her head rested in the crook of his neck, her arms folded across her chest to be crossed by his, her legs bending slightly for stability against his own while one of his longer legs bent at the knee tenting over the top of hers and cocooning her body in his. Not one part of her was tense, but not a single part relaxed either, it was as if she waited, silently as the night around them, for some promise she was desperate to have him make to her. He obliged her, though he now believed he wanting nothing to do with this secret, and hated himself all the more for that selfish thought.

"No matter what you tell me, or how you say it; no matter what you do or why you do it, there isn't a single thing that you could say or do that would ever make me break my promise to you Willow. I will care for you as you've never been cared for in the past, I'll protect you as no living man or woman ever was capable of. You are wrapped in the arms of a master vampire, one that has never in his life broken a promise to any living soul." It wasn't a lie. He'd broken many a promise to his vampire brethren, but none of them had souls, not even Angel, no matter what the wanker thought he had.

Spike felt her relax, her body finally easing itself of some of the tension it harbored. She let her neck loosen, so that her head fell back in just the right way, that should the desire hit him, Spike could once again drink of her essence, of her life. He saw with vampire eyes the scar she'd carry a lifetime with her. It was the scar of one who'd been supped from, one who'd given life to a vampire in the past. To vampires in Europe, such a mark was one of honor, it meant that the human had provided the vampire with a meal and had not been slain, it meant the vampire somehow respected the human, it meant she was not to be harmed. But it was not a mark; it was not a bite of possession. This mark told no one that Willow belonged to him; no, that mark was for later, when he could explain exactly what it meant, and what price it would come with. For now, against civilized vampires in Europe, she was safe; which was little comfort to him here.

He startled as he saw the muscles of her neck contract, realizing she was once again speaking. Spike cast all other distractions aside, he needed to hear her story, even if all he wanted to do was erase all her other memories and start again from scratch. But he had to know, had to understand this exquisite woman before him, so in quite patience that soon became quite rage, he listened to her story.

"My secret," she began, a soft and distant tone to her voice that made it seem as if she were no longer with him, but thousands of miles away, back in Sunnydale, California, in a large house on Greenville Drive. "I told papa the secret because I wanted it to stop. I thought papa could make it stop. That's what papa's are supposed to do, they're supposed to make bad things stop. So I told papa about the kitten and he told mother, and then they fought, and papa didn't believe me anymore." She paused as if to reconsider the memory. "No, I think papa believed me, it was just better if he didn't, so he pretended that he didn't believe me. Does that make sense?" She lifted her eyes beseechingly to his own blue ones, and at his nod, she continued.

"But that's not really the secret is it? That's just what happened. I-I don't really want to tell it to you. Papa was supposed to take care of me, that's what papa's do, but after I told him he never did again. But you promised, you said you would not matter what I told you; and you told me I had to try to trust you, so I'm going to try. I'll tell and then I'll see if you still keep your promises. Is that fair, will that be ok? Will you be mad at me if I do it because I want to trust you?" Again she looked at him, and again, he nodded, not wanting to speak and break her rhythm.

At his nod, her eyes went hollow again, and Spike could easily tell she was once again in the memory of her secret. Willow was silent for a long time, the moon reflecting off her skin and hair, the sound of her heartbeat the only indication that this beautiful piece of artwork was indeed living and not simply stone.

The thing that struck him the most when she began to speak again, was that her voice was no longer that of a seventeen year old girl; it now possessed the inner innocence and calming nature of a child. For the moment, Willow was truly the child, and he was truly the master.

"Papa was gone a long time. He'd spent three months in Jerusalem, studying with some of the other Rabbis. I was ten at the time and mother left me at home easily when she went on trips now. Conferences and speaking engagements were her life now that her new book was selling like mad. "Raising Children After Spock", that was the title of her book. I read it when I was twelve, it was such bullshit, but I told my mother it was great; just like all good little girls should."

"But that was twelve and this was ten. Mother came back to the house two days before papa, and she'd been both mad and happy. Mad because the flowers I was supposed to water had died in the heat, and happy because their deaths were enough for her to convince papa that we needed a gardener since I wasn't capable of watering a few flowers." She paused, gazing at the flowering splendor of the garden around them. "I had watered them, every day even, but the sun, it was just too much for them. They weren't supposed to be planted that far down south, but mother insisted they'd bloom just fine. Now, now I think she did it because she knew I'd fail, that I'd kill them and I'd look bad in front of papa, and he'd have to give her the gardener she wanted. But, maybe I'm making something out of nothing." She shrugged, her shoulders shifting into his own and he felt her relax again at knowing how close to her he was.

"So mother got her gardener, and she was happy enough about that that she didn’t put me on restriction for the dead flowers. That meant I could still go to Xander's birthday party. Mother didn't like Xander very much, she said he was a bad influence. Xander was different, very different from anyone else I'd ever met. He wasn't like Jessie and I, he was always trying to spend the night at our houses, and sometimes, when my parents were both away, I'd let him sleep in my bed, and I'd sleep on papa's side in my parents room."

"But it wasn't Xander's fault that he was so different. His mom was a stripper when we were kids, and her sleazy boyfriend used to hit Xander all the time. He usually came to my house after getting hit because he didn't want Jessie to see him cry, so I started making cold compresses and keeping them in the freezer. I also bought Xander steaks because they brought down the swelling and he liked to eat them afterwards. It used to be a big joke, how we'd use them on his face at first and then eat it, I think it was a kind of therapy in and of itself. But I guess that's not the secret, is it?" She didn't wait for his answer, just moved on.

"Mother didn't want me to spend time with Xander and Jessie, but it was the one thing that I absolutely refused to give up; and since I whined to papa if I didn't get to seem them regularly, and he stood up for me against mother, she usually let me go; though I think she secretly hated me for it."

"That was a Monday, by Wednesday, papa was home and he had a special surprise for me, a very special surprise."

"He told me that since Xander was going to get all kinds of presents on Saturday, and since I'd been such a good girl while he was away, I was going to get an extra special surprise. That's what he told me on the phone when he called to say that he was going to be late getting back from the airport. I wasn't so sad about the extra two hours after that."

"When he got home, he had his extra big suitcase in one hand, the kind on rollers that very important people used to carry until some knockoff made them affordable to everyone. Back then, only important people had them. But in his other hand, was a carrier, you know, the kind they put animals in on airplanes."

"It wasn't too big, about this big, by that tall, and this deep." She indicated with her hands a medium sized kennel. "And it wasn't that boring tan color either! No, papa had gone all out and bought an all black one, with black grading. But the rivets that held the top and bottom together were white, so that the whole thing was this very vogue black and white. I loved it the moment I saw it. We weren't allowed to have much black and white in the house, mother said they were both colors of the dead in almost every culture for a reason. Even back then Sunnydale wasn't a very friendly place, I think even my mother was worried about how many people died or just disappeared in those days."

"But isn't it strange, I knew that I was getting a present, an extra special one at that, and I could seen the box clear as day and knew what it was for, but all I really cared about was seeing my papa again. He lifted me into his arms the moment he set his things down, swinging me into the air and kissing me all over. He even ignored mother's warnings and kept calling me princess." She trailed off for a moment, her eyes and mouth smiling just the tiniest bit at that particular part of the memory.

"I wanted him to hold me forever. I missed everything about him, the way he smelled, the way his hair was parted even then to cover up the bald spot at the top of his head. I loved the mustache he grew even though mother didn't like it, and I loved that I knew he was going to rub his stubbly cheek against mine any moment in his customary hello. I craved the sound of his voice directly in my ears and not passing over thousands of miles of cabling. But most of all I loved his mass. Sounds strange doesn't it? To say I loved his mass and not his warmth. But it wasn't the warmth, warmth came from blankets and hot showers, and those things I could get on my own, home alone in the house for days and weeks at a time. No, his mass, the simple physical substance that was papa was what I craved, needed so much that in those moments after he came home, I didn't want to let him go, and cried when he tried to put me down. I didn't cry often back then," Willow's voice colored with embarrassment. "Not like now. But back then I only cried when I was happy, to cry because I was sad would mean I cried all the time."

"But papa didn't want to see me cry and kept asking me what was wrong, and all I could do was hold him tighter and cry, I didn't even have the words back then to make him understand, when I did have the words, I didn't dare speak them."

Suddenly, her demeanor changed, and she was no longer the little girl she'd been. Once again Willow was the stone in the garden, a piece of marble, cold and unmoving, silent and witnessing. "Mother came in from the kitchen then. She saw I was crying and that papa was asking after me. She told him to stop and physically grabbed me out of his arms and put me in a chair. "Don't coddle her Ira, that's what she wants, if you give her what she wants like that she'll always be a crybaby." But my father protested, tried to explain that something must be really wrong with me since I never cried and I was still crying in the chair, though for different reasons than before now. She wouldn't hear of it "Ira, if she doesn't learn she'll never understand. Willow," this she directed at me with ice in her voice and I knew better than to not look up and meet her gaze with my own tearstained one. "This is how you greet your father when he comes home." And she went to him, folding him into her arms and kissing him lightly before resting her head on his shoulder and then pulled away. "How was the flight, darling?" And with one last glance in my direction, he told her, and she pulled him into the living room, to the couch farthest from the chair I was sitting in."

"Mother was always good at gaining and hold papa's attention. I used to think she had some magic spell she'd placed over him when she came home. That she'd say some magic words and he'd instantly love her and want to spend every waking moment with her. Later, when I got older, I thought it was sex, that maybe she was just good in bed, at least that's what the soap operas had you believing was the key to holding a man's attention. It wasn't until much later that I realized what it was, he was afraid of her, absolutely afraid of her, and so he bent and broke to her will, because it was easier than anything she could come up with; and she could come up with the most devious things."

Willow paused again, shifting slightly so that she could look into his eyes. "Did you like your mother, Spike? Or should I say, did William like his mother?" The emptiness was still in her voice and Spike hazard a guess that she had no idea what she was really asking. He chose to answer her question anyway.

"No, Willow, neither I nor William cared much for our mother. She was a whore turned business woman who cared more for her girls than her son." That was a story for another day, and as he saw Willow fall back against his chest to continue her story, he knew she'd heard enough of the truth to continue.

"After about a half an hour of papa trying to include me in the conversation, and mother speaking right over me only to apologize haphazardly when papa called her on it, he turned back to me with a smile and stood to go to the entrance way. He told me to close my eyes and be very quiet. Mother asked him what the big deal was, but papa told her it was a special surprise for his princess. Mother told him to quit calling me that, but papa called me that anyway when he knelt down before me with the kennel. "Princess, papa feels really bad about not being here, and since a lot of the time your home all alone because of my and mamma's work, I thought you deserved a special present. So I'll open the little door, and you put your hand inside and tell me what you feel, no peeking now." Mother told him he was being ridiculous, but I was more excited then ever."

"I did what he told me to. With my eyes still closed, one hand covering them, I slowly reached in. For a second I couldn't feel anything, and the bitter disappointment of it all nearly caused me to cry. But then I felt it. It was soft and warm, and behind that softness and warmth was mass, was substance that even from the distance of a foot I could hear breathing slowly."

"It seems silly now, but then I squealed with delight and popped both my eyes open and reached in with both hands to pull it out of the carrying case. What I saw was the most beautiful white kitten you've ever seen. She was all white except for her back left paw, that paw had a cute little black sock on it. The kitten was sleeping, and even when I held it and pet it over and over it didn't wake up or even stir. Papa told me she'd just been spayed so that she couldn't have any babies, and she was still sleeping off the procedure; but even her now forced imperfection didn't bother me, she was adorable. But of course, mother had to ruin it, she always did."

At this, Willow curled tighter against him, going so far as to wrap her own hands around the arms that now rested against her breasts. She did not seem frightened, there was no shaking of limbs or increased heart rate, but never the less Spike understood that this moment from Willow's past was a memory she had no desire to relive, and yet relived often. As if she could not escape the memory and while abhorred to recall it, was indeed a slave to it all the same. And so, Spike tightened his grip, and whispered soothing words to her until he deemed they were no long effective against the memory, and instead reasoned to hear the entire thing and later find a way to comfort her nightmares. He had no way of knowing it was hardly the memory she'd relive in nightmares for the next few weeks; there were other memories in this sequence even more engrained and horrifying.

"I'll never forget the sound of her voice, so smug and superior, and even back then, back when little girls still adored their mothers and thought the world of them, I thought she sounded cold and unfeeling. It wasn't the first time, but it did begin the realization that she was not the mother of stories, more like the evil stepmother. "Now Willow, that puppy is to stay out in the yard at all times! I don't want you or any of your little friends to bring him into the house, do you understand? You know how allergic I am to animals, and it was only through a great deal of begging on your father's part that you were even allowed that dog--a purebred Shitzu I might add. With enough attention, you might actually be able to show her.""

"I saw the moment the gravity of the situation hit my father. In my hands was no puppy, and definitely not a Shitzu; I was holding a tiny, fluffy white kitten, a kitten that was obviously never meant to be an outdoor kitty. My father's eyes pleaded for me to be silent, and out of fear and desperation I obeyed as he turned back to my mother. His voice was soft as he spoke, meek. Now, I think he knew what was coming. 'Sheila, darling, I know we discussed a puppy for Willow, but I got a call from the breeder in Jerusalem saying that the last one had died and she'd sold the rest. I'd already gotten the case and such at the pet store over the phone, so when I went to pick it up, I figured I'd just grab another puppy there. But when I got there they didn't have any toy dogs, only large ones and I know how fearful you are of large dogs." Looking back on it, I think he said that to try and placate her, to let her know that a part of this present wasn't entirely for me but for her as well. That he'd considered her in this purchase and acquisition. At the time I didn't care, I was just afraid of mother's reaction. "So I tried to find something just as small to fit in the kennel, and the store had a litter of kittens. When I saw them I just knew Willow had to have one." But he didn't get to finish the rest of his story, no, not then or ever, mother wouldn't hear of it."

"In a leap she was upon me, wrestling the sleeping and still sore kitten from my hands as if it were nothing more than a new stuffed animal to add to my upstairs collection by the window. She held it out in front of her as if it were some kind of demon, some unholy thing that she didn't dare cuddle or hold close. "What is this, Ira?! A cat! You know how much I hate cats! You know I can't stand them! How dare you go against me like this! I told you that Willow could have a dog, under much protest I might add, and now you undermine me once again and get her a cat! How dare you!? Take it! Take it!" And she thrust the kitten at my father like a bomb, and the poor creature whined in pain as its stitches pulled with the rough handling. My father held it gently until I grabbed it and pulled it out of the line of fire. My mother didn't fail to notice. "Get rid of it, Ira! Get rid of it now!""

Willow gave a sigh, the sound of a thousand such sighs meeting his vampire ears with just that one. Yes, this was a memory that Willow relived often, relived and regretted as much as she rejoiced in it. A sigh that meant a triumph and a failure, and the conflict between which had been greater.

"I'm not really sure what came over me. She was screaming by then, and papa looked as if he might cave in, as if he might actually take the little kitten away from me simply because it displeased mother. So, I did it. I did the one thing I knew would be worse for everyone in the end, I said no. I told her papa wasn't going to get rid of the kitten that she was mine and I was going to keep her always. It was one of the few times in my life I've ever stood up to my mother, and like all the other times, it was one of the few times she looked as if she might hit me and never stop."

"She's never hit me before. Did your mother ever hit you?" She didn't pause for an answer, her subconscious telling her this was not a subject to discuss, that or her story needed telling more than his did. "She never once hit me. All of her books talk about raising children without violence, you know, treating children like children, not capable of reasoning like adults. I personally think that's bullshit, but adults don't listen if they don't want too."

"But she was angry, angry with me, and papa; some days I think she was angry with the world. You could see it in her eyes, in the center of her soul. There was rage in her eyes, and I'm sure, if given the chance, she would have done something to expel that rage. But she didn't have a chance; empowered by my own words, papa too agreed with me. I think she realized that against the two of us, drawn together on this united front, she couldn't hope to win. Then again, maybe she was just biding her time. But she instantly relented, saying that if it meant that much to me then of course I could keep it, but that the kitten had to stay outside."

Willow paused, and Spike could hear the deep in drawing of breath that was so uncharacteristic of the Willow of Sunnydale, and the embodiment of the Willow of now. He held her closer to him, beginning a slow rocking motion that he hoped would make her telling easier. She remained quite for a moment longer, before the childlike continence of her voice was back.

"I told mother that I wanted the kitten to say inside, and papa, who was searching for a compromise—said I could as long as she stayed only in my room or outside. I didn't like that too much, I wanted her to be able to come down and sit with me when I was lonely, or when I was waiting for mamma or papa to come home, but I gave in easily, it was better than nothing."

"Mamma kissed me then and sent me up to my room to play with the new kitten, and I went, because she was whispering to papa and I knew they'd been away from each other for a very long time. I was young, but I understood loneliness, and back then I thought even my mother felt it."

"So I took the kitten upstairs and sat down with her on the bed. She was still sleeping, more ruefully now that she wasn't being manhandled. I think I must have stared at her for hours, just watching the rise and fall of her tiny little chest. In my eyes she was perfect, beautiful in a way that most creatures cannot attain." Willow turned, gazing up at him for but a second. "That's the way I thought of you too. The night you asked me to do the spell for you, the night you came in and just talked to me. At first I didn't think that way, I was scared, but when I really looked, when I saw what your face really looked like, I could see that this was the true you, the true William the, whatever your last name is."

"Randal. William Randal. There's a middle name in there but if I told you I'd have to kill you." He smiled, leaning down to nip playfully at her neck, hoping to distract her from her sadness for just a moment before letting her continue.

"William Randal," she rolled the name around in her mouth, catching the feel for it and committing it to memory. "That's a nice name, a good name for a poet. Spike's a good name too, though. I think I'll stick with Spike." He kissed her hair to show his approval.

Then she continued as if nothing had happened, as if her original track had never been interrupted. "I thought you were perfect when I first saw you. Not perfect of body, or mind, or anything like that. No, you were gorgeous, and smart; beautiful and dangerous. You were all those things but they didn't define you, didn't make you who you were, at least not individually. You were a product of those things and more, of circumstance and history, of the people around you and fate itself. And that's what made you so mysterious, not because you were a demon or a vampire, or an immortal, but because you were all of those things, and because at your core, you were still human, and humanity is the greatest mystery of all."

He didn't know how to respond to such a claim, so he remained silent, and she continued.

"That's what I thought of the kitten, she was cute and soft, cuddly, and adorable. But she was other things too. She was a mystery to me, a tiny mystery that I thought I'd spend the rest of our days together unraveling. You see, she was mass, she was a living thing that could stay with me, be with me when all others abandoned me. In her I saw the answer to the mystery of why warmth was not mass to me, why heat could not comfort me. So I named her the epitome of the enigma. I named her after both heat and mass, the greatest of both that I understood at the time. I called her Star, and she was mine."

"I let her sleep all that night, tucked close to me, so that I would know the instant she woke up. And it was so strange, but on that night, with my parents having sex down the hall and my mother screaming the way I learned later that my father liked, I slept, quietly, and without nightmares. It was because of Star, because of mass, and I was grateful.

"In the morning, when I woke up, she was there, licking softly at my face, and I knew the way little girls know these things, that I would adore her far beyond her life, and possibly beyond my own."

"I called her Star so she'd learn her own name, and I carried her down stairs and pulled one of my mother's favorite crystal bowls from the expensive cabinet in the dinning room, and fed her milk and tuna from it. Later I had my father take me to the store where I got Star all kinds of adorable things, like a fluffy little kitty bed, a dozen toys I didn't know she'd never play with, and an outdoor litter box for my balcony."

"When I got home, I presented each item to her, explaining how each was used and for what purpose, and she sat quietly, listening to the sound of my voice, before climbing into my lap and letting me love her. And I did love her. Even then, even then with only a day behind us, I knew that a part of my life which had always revolved around my father, was now transferred to the kitten he'd brought home for me and allowed me to keep against mother's will. Star was precious to me for so many reasons."

And here Willow stopped, her shoulders tensing, her body going as taunt as a string upon a drawn bow. The tension around them rose, until she either had to speak or forget the story all together and go back to bed to ignore the entire day. Spike reasoned all these things for her, weighing the pros and cons of each, and finally, he remained where he was, rocking her slowly back and forth, and forcing her to continue.

Continue she did. "It wasn't even a month really. Mother and papa had both left and come back twice already, and while they were gone, I'd brought Star downstairs to keep me company over the days when my family disappeared. But after a month, came the postcard from the vet saying that Star needed another round of shots and a check up for her previous procedures. Mamma convinced papa that Star needed to be de-clawed at the same time. So on a Friday, one of the last days of summer, I left Star with my mother as papa took me to Jesse's house for a slumber party before going to the airport for another trip."

"I didn't call mother from Jesse's house, I never called her if I went away. She called from time to time on her business trips, usually to make sure the house was still standing and that Xander and Jessie hadn't broken anymore furniture, but I never called her. This night was no different, and to be honest, it was a trying night. That night, Xander told Jessie about the beatings, and the three of us vowed to do everything we could to keep Xander away from that horrible man. We hatched scheme after scheme, finding ways to keep Xander at our houses; and over the years, those tricks would prove effective in reducing the number of steaks that got eaten in my kitchen."

"But when I got home I did things a little differently. I was still high off the plans the three of us had fostered the night before, and I was in a good enough mood to share with mamma. She'd been very nice to me the last few days, even taking me out to lunch a few days before when one of her lunch meetings had been canceled at the last minute."

"When I got there I hugged her, a rare occurrence between us, and sat at the table after grabbing a cookie from the jar on the counter. And while I sat there, cookie slowly turning to crumbs in my hand, she cooking dinner for the two of us at the stove, she told me what had happened to Star."

"Mother had been trying to get Star into the car, neglecting to use the kennel because Star had quite forcefully decided she hated the contraption. So mother had tried to carry her to the car and put her in the back seat. She told me she got Star into the car, but as she was trying to close the door, my kitty jumped out and ran for some bushes. When mother tried to get her, she scurried across the street and disappeared into the neighbor's wild backyard. She told me she'd called the Synclairs, the neighbors, and they'd promised to look for her. And that was how mother explained it, that Star had run away and was sure to come home tonight for dinner."

"But she didn't come home that night, or the next; and each night I cried a little louder and a little longer, until my mother forced three Valium down my throat on the third night and I slept right through the night the day and the following night, so that she was gone on her next trip when I awoke."

"I was alone, no mother, no papa, no mass to comfort me. I cried still more as I tried to figure out why Star would leave me. Had I done something wrong? Had I hurt her? I couldn't figure it out, why she'd run away when all I wanted to do was love her more than anything else in the entire world."

"Two days later, I pulled my bicycle out of the garage to visit Xander and Jesse. They'd been over the day before to help search the neighborhood for Star; they both knew how important to me she was. But with Xander comes a mountain of junkfood, and as I carried yesterday's garbage out to the tin can and lifted the lid, something made me stop the throwing motion I set with the white bag I carried."

"Inside, was a big, black plastic bag that mother sometimes used for gardening weeds. But the bag was hardly full, and mother always insisted on keeping the bag until nothing more could fit into it. "Waste not, want not, Willow.""

"Something just wasn't right, but even so, I can't really tell you what made me set down the white bag in my right hand only to exchange it for the lumpy black one in the can. I put the lid back on the barrel to make a stage, and then slowly untied the pull strings."

"At the first smell, I knew. I knew, and as my stomach heaved, I thought I might just throw-up my heart along with everything else inside me. I told myself, don't open the bag, don't take that thing out wrapped in dirty brown towels used as rags. Don't bring it into the light and see, just put it away and pretend you didn't see anything strange in the trash, then just throw the candy wrappers and potato chip bags in there and go to Jesse's."

"But I couldn't, not anymore than I've ever been able to forget something. So as my mind screamed at me not to, my hands pulled the towel from the bag and placed it on the trash can. I'm not really sure what happened to the plastic bag, later I couldn't find it, but I guess that's not important."

"The towels came back clean as I unwrapped Star's body. How strange I thought, if she'd been hit by a car then there should at least be some blood, some guts, some bits and pieces of gravel that clung to her despite gravity. But there was no blood, and as I uncovered her rotting corpse, for the temperature had been unbearable these last few days, and the can metal, the bag black, I saw that her eyes were still open, still innocent looking."

"At that point I didn't care about the smell any longer. I picked her up and held her, stroking her back on the side of my prestigious house at the end of Greenville Drive. I held her close and kissed her, calling her name over and over as my tears splashed onto her coat."

"I don't know how long I stood there. I don't know how long I petted her and called her name, but eventually I noticed that when I started my strokes at her head and moved down, her body moved, and something in that was so very wrong considering rigamotis had turned the rest of her body to mushy stone."

"I didn't scream when I discovered that her tiny neck had been broken. Star was dead, my mass was gone, and I knew who'd done it, and even why. So I kissed her once more, and told her she'd been the best kitty ever. Then I left the blankets and garbage where they lay, and moved to the backyard. And there, in a back corner, under the Oak tree that had stood there for at least a century, I buried her among the roots and gravel. I left no marker, what point would there be to it? She was dead, and only I knew where her body was kept. I treasure the secret even now, and on nights I pray to the Goddess, I go to that spot because it represents my greatest joy and my greatest heartache."

"Because you see, Star didn't die because she was as kitty, and she didn't die because she caused my mother's allergies to act up. No, she died because she was my kitty, she died because papa had given her to me against mother, because we'd both stood against mother and that was not allowed."

"She died because I rose my voice, she died because I wanted her. Star died for my mother's jealousy of me, because of father's love for me, because mother had to be number one or nothing. She died because of me, and I don't think I'll ever get over that."

Willow turned now, turned into his chest and grabbed onto the lapels of his jacket. Her tears were slow at first, gaining speed quickly until they tore form her in great gasping sobs that wet his jacket and soaked through to his heart. She sobbed without words, crying out years of frustration and rage, of sorrow that had eaten the heart and soul out of a little ten year old girl. Willow sobbed and screamed and pulled at his jacket, and all the while, Spike just rocked her, and let her cry.

She didn't stop for a long time, long enough for the moon to move visibly across the sky above them, long enough that the milky light no longer fell directly upon her, but now hallowed her head, as if Willow's great Goddess were comforting her daughter as best she could. And it was comfort, that much to Spike was assured. No god or goddess, no demon god either, would condemn the girl in his arms, not for a single action she'd taken. But he stayed silent, the tale wasn't finished.

And after a long time, long enough for the night flowers to begin to close, she spoke again, her voice devoid of the tears that had long since run out. "I didn't go to Jesse's that day. I only came out of the garden when it started to rain, and the sun had disappeared to be replaced by the moon. I waited a full day in the living room, waited because I knew papa would be home, and I would finally tell him exactly what I thought."

"When he did come home he knew something was wrong. I neither ran to greet him, nor moved from my spot in the chair mother had thrown me into only three weeks before. Something in my face must have prompted him to ignore the endearments. "What's wrong, Willow?" He stepped more fully into the room, then, squatted down to meet me at eye level while his hand moved to my knee. "Your wife," I said. "Killed Star, broke her neck and threw her away like garbage."

"I knew instantly that he believed me. His face contorted in a way I cannot describe, but carried rage and sorrow in equal increments. He held me as I cried then. Held me close to his heart and stroked my back. He offered me another kitten, said we'd get her right now if I wanted, but I declined, I'd never ask for another kitten again, another piece of mass to keep me company; I didn't dare tempt mother's wrath."

"He put me to bed when he learned I hadn't slept in two days, put me to sleep with a Valium I did not protest."

"When I awoke the next day, it was to the sound of screaming coming from my parent's bedroom. Mother had come home, and it seemed as if father were finally going to do it, finally stand up to her. But as I listened, my father's voice became smaller, and my mother's larger, until only my mother's voice could be heard through the walls. And I knew, just as I'd known by whom and why Star had died, that my father had lost, and mother had finally won."

"I didn't leave my room that day, and no one came to see me either. I think now my father was ashamed, but who can ever be certain. One thing I do know is that when I came down the next morning for breakfast, my mother greeted me warmly and fed me my favorite breakfast food. Papa stayed hidden behind his newspaper."

"You see," and at this Willow pulled away from his rocking embrace, pulled away to stare at him away from the circle of his arms. "That was all mother wanted really, just to have the memory of Star gone. She told me later when I brought her up at dinner that she was gone and not to talk about her anymore. Mother had won and so she was kind to papa and me. She didn't have anything more to worry about, the one defiance that we'd put forth had been silence. I don't even think she knows why she did it."

"When I tried to talk to papa about it, he told me I'd overreached, that mamma had found Star dead in the road when she'd gone looking and hadn't had the heart to tell me she was dead. When I protested that mother had killed her, he screamed at me for making such a judgment and sent me away. I never brought it up again with him."

"Later, about a month or so, I came home from school to find that mother had bought me a fish tank with a dozen tropical fish in it. "This is more of a pet for a ten year old, Willow. Here, I'll even help you carry it up." That the fish had been her original and only idea of a decent pet for a ten year old, did not escape my mind as I watched them swimming methodically back and forth in the darkness of my room. I didn't like them, but kept quiet, feeding them as was appropriate, and ignoring them the rest of the time. After a few months, the housekeeper took to caring for them, and that was it, they just sat on my desk, dying and being replaced until Angelus killed them all last summer. When mother questioned me about how they'd all died, I just told her I'd found them in the road with their necks broken. She didn't talk to me for weeks after that."

Physically exhausted and emotionally drained, Willow turned her eyes from that distant memory she'd been living in and crawled back into his embrace. Once secure, he rocked her, cooing softly to her words that made no sense and weren’t meant to. He asked her no more questions and she volunteered no more information; and together they sat that way until the early morning light forced them inside to the comfort and security of a room ablaze with firelight.

He changed her clothing quickly, noting that even though the room was far too warm to be comfortable, Willow was shivering. Spike set her down on the coverlet and carefully brushed out her long trestles, mindful to work though the tangles without a hint of pain.

And that was the way Willow sat, letting the world effect her, and doing nothing to stand in its way. She allowed Spike to tuck her in later, curling her body obligingly around his as she laid her head upon his shoulder and closed her eyes. She allowed his fingers through her hair to lull her into sleep, though they did not soothe her.

As the day progressed and one nightmare after another raked her mind and body so that Spike had to awake her often to lessen her pain, Willow began to tire again of this place, of life. And yet, she drew her strength from the cold heat of Spike's embrace, of his soft tones as he tried to coax her into a dreamless sleep, and the feel of his fingers against her back as she tried to calm her breathing. She was desperately tired of living, but not tired of Spike, of his gentle nature, of his infinite kindnesses towards her.

Somewhere between three and four in the afternoon, she sat up against him, looking down into his pale blue eyes as he gazed back at her, worry etched into his features. She looked at him a long time, remembering that he'd promised her secret would not compromise anything between them, and he had kept his word. If anything Willow now felt closer to him than she had in all her previous hours with the vampire. Perhaps that is what prompted her next words and actions.

With a deep breath, she explained the final action that had destroyed her will to live. "I left Buffy for only five minutes that night, just five to freshen-up before going back to see Oz. But it had to have been going on for a while because when I found them together they both looked so guilty. But it only lasted a second before Buffy started to defend her actions. That Oz and I weren't together anymore, that I didn't care about Oz since I'd wanted Xander for years now. She was trapped and I knew it, and it didn't matter anymore. I didn't say anything to her or Oz, just left with the both of them calling my name and begging me to wait. I bought the liquor using a fake ID I'd gotten to help me purchase magic supplies on the internet. Then I went to the park, got drunk and waited for you to show up. I knew it had to be you, just you and nobody else. I wouldn't let anyone else kill me, because you and you alone would understand why I had to die."

In the dark room, with Willow hovering over his body like a conversing lover, Spike answered the only way he knew how. "You never really intended to die, did you, Willow. You knew that I was fascinated by you, you knew I'd turn you."

She smiled, a real smile that spoke instantly of her healing soul. He understood now, had learned her real secret.

Slowly, with hesitant pauses that spoke of remaining innocence and a hint of rejection, Willow brought her lips to Spike's and kissed him, long and slow. Then, when the need for oxygen was just starting to come to her senses, she pulled back and settled once again against him. And his arms came up about her, and pulled her closer to his chest so that half of her lay across him in the darkness. With loving nudges, he brushed his lips against her hair, snuggling her so that her face rested in the crook of his neck.

"No more secrets, Willow. No more hiding. When the time is right, I'll turn you, and we'll be together forever. Dead but not dead. I'll kill you, and I'll bring you life, just like you've always wanted me to."

"I love you, Spike."

"I know, Willow. I love you too. Now, sleep, Pet. In the morning you're a child no longer, but a woman."

Then without another word to each other, they drifted back to sleep.

chapter 9

chapter 11

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