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Chapter 6:
You Spent How Much On Groceries?!"
by Quwinntessa Starber
Water pored forth from the sky as the gods made their pain known to man and demon alike. Through it he ran towards the cliffs that over looked the ocean that stretched over lost cities and buried the victim of the deep from hunting eyes. He slipped, mud covering him from head to toe. He growled and then went on desperately through the rain, though the tears of the immortals calling for her. "WILLOW!!!"
"WILLOW!"
Spike sat up in bed, the silk sheets clinging to his body like drenched clothes in the storm. Hands shaking from reaction to his nightmare, Spike allowed his face to move into his hands and waited while the heart—that should not be beating in his chest—ceased its pumping.
Shaking his head back and forth to clear out the visions of his search, Spike remembered the earlier part of the dream. Willow walking towards him, a sad expression on her face, begging him to let her do something, pleading with him. At first he’d refused, he was worried for some reason he couldn’t remember; then he’d decided that it would be good for her, maybe get her to trust him a little more. So he’d let her do—something, he wished he could remember what. He remembered moving around the house and then this period of time where she’d been so happy, laughing and singing, her face a glow with an inner light that spoke of happiness, trust and love, all directed towards him. He couldn’t remember being happier as they danced in the ballroom and spoke animatedly about their growing feelings for each other. He remembered realizing the love she suddenly felt for him, he knew…
Then it had changed. He’d been alone wondering where Willow was, he wanted to talk with her; when suddenly he couldn’t hear her heart beat, couldn’t sense her in the house. So he’d ran to the window, ran to it just as the sun peeked above the crest of the water and he’d seen her, his Willow, running towards the cliffs; a dress of pure white wrapped about her body, incasing it in yard after yard of dense fabric. He didn’t know why now but he knew in the dream that she was crying, could sense the tears falling from her eyes as he watched her head towards the cliffs—to the place where she would jump.
The feeling of being trapped in Windemere suffocated him as he watched her race towards her death. He saw her rise to the top of the cliff—just at the top so she was silhouetted by the rising sun—before in the blink of an eye, she was gone.
The storm had come out of no where, blanketing the land in its grief and misery. With the sun gone behind the storm the sky was like night and Spike felt himself drenched in bitter cold rain as he raced towards the cliffs, towards Willow.
Running his hands through his short hair, Spike stood from the bed and stretched, loosening the muscles that felt like he’d gone three rounds with the slayer. Peeling the clothing off of his body, he took a quick shower and dressed in black pants and a black turtleneck sweater before heading down the hall to awaken Willow.
At the door he knocked and when he received no answer he assumed her asleep and entered. No heartbeat. No red haired sleeping beauty. Only an open window and the cool sea air blowing in.
* * *
Willow was pissed. Anyone with two eyes could see that, hell even someone with one bad eye could tell she was about ready to scream.
"I said, HELLO! Can you hear me? Of course you can hear me, you’re looking right at me! Hello!!! Do you speak English?"
The man before her dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a tee-shirt stating (Insert Irish Beer), was walking back and forth from the front door. He moved through the foyer and back down the second hallway to the left to the kitchen door, where he was dropping off the sacks of groceries he’d carried in from the mini-van parked in front of the stone steps leading up to the front door of Windemere. Then dutifully walking back out the kitchen, down the second hallway to the left, through the foyer—where Willow was standing—and back out the front door, to the mini-van for yet another few sacks. All the while he would stare at Willow as he walked by but refused to even utter a syllable in her direction.
"OH COME ON! I know you can hear me!" Then suddenly her hands flew to her mouth and covered it. "Oh goddess, you’re not mute are you?"
A deep laugh that sounded of humor and relief, rang out over the foyer. Willow looked up and glared at Spike as he descended the stairs and strode towards her, a determined look in his eye.
"He’s not dumb, Luv. What are you doing up so early?"
"He isn’t? Then why the hell won’t he say something? I feel like I’m talking to a silent movie. And it’s not early, its almost six PM!"
"You’re not in a silent movie. And he’s not talking to you because I told him not to. And you, Kitten, usually don’t get up until around seven or eight. Well at least since you started keeping vampire hours, that is. Now I would have thought you’d have been up and about after I showed you the house and told you you could go anywhere during the day. But no, instead for the last five days all you’ve done is sleep. Now I told you not to over do it but Pet, I’m starting to worry about you getting too much beauty sleep. I mean look what it did for that Sleeping Beauty chit. She slept for a hundred years and well, she didn’t look that much better than when she fell asleep. You know, maybe all that beauty sleep is nothing but a load of crap." Spike shrugged his shoulders. "Oh well, not my problem."
Willow shook her head and tried to make sense of everything Spike had just said. Over the course of the last five days she had awoken during the day, dressed, and waited patiently for Spike to fetch her in the evening after he awoke. She knew Spike had given her free reign of the house but on the first day she’d ventured out she’d felt so alone in the vastness of it that she’d returned to her room with a book from the library only a few hours later. It felt too much like her parent’s home in Sunnydale to be in the house, "seemingly" alone.
Since then she’d simply waited for Spike. She didn’t mind, taking the time to just rest herself. Also, she was finally getting some sleep. Ever since she was a little girl, Willow had been unable to sleep. The doctors had said it was all psychological and had told her parents to enroll her into therapy. In reality, Willow was just afraid to sleep by herself, alone in the house. In the end her parents had done nothing and over time, Willow had learned to make do on three to four house of sleep a night.
But since coming to Windemere, she’d sleep every night, seven, even eight hour of sleep; she’d never felt so refreshed and…well…safe.
Dragging her mind back to Spike she noticed he was looking at her, almost memorizing her face, looking for something. "What?"
"Uh? Oh nothing, Pet. You were going to tell me what you’re up so early for."
"Um, no I wasn’t. I was going to ask you something…something about…oh, something about that guy! Right, how come that guy won’t talk to me? Oh wait, you already answered that, didn’t you? What did you say again? Oh yeah." She paused, then. "What do you mean you told him not to talk to me!? Why not!?"
"Calm down, Willow. It’s not that big a deal." He studied her again. "You’re not putting on as much weight as I wanted you to have by now. Let’s get you into the kitchen for something to eat."
"Uh? No I don’t want to eat! Damnit, I want to know why that guy isn’t allowed to talk to me!" Just then the afro mentioned guy walked right past Willow and back out the door. "Ahhhhhh!!!!!"
"That’s it, it’s too early for theatrics!" Grabbing Willow’s hand, Spike half drug Willow to the kitchen. Once inside, he swung her in front of him, put both hands on her hips, and lifted her onto the counter. That done, he moved to the refrigerator and opened the door. "What type of sandwich do you want, Luv?"
Instead of answering, Willow reached into the sack of groceries closest to her, pulled something out of it and threw it with all of her strength at Spike’s head.
Faster than her eye could see, Spike caught the flying object, looked at it and smiled at her. "Thanks, Luv. How’d you know I needed the bread?"
Willow rolled her eyes and tried to bring him back to the topic at hand. "Spike, tell me!"
"What’s to tell, Willow. I already told you that I told Mat not to say a single word to you." Turning his head from opening the bread he caught her eyes. "No one talks to you but me."
The way he said it sent shivers down Willow’s spine. She didn’t speak; instead she expended all of her energy thinking of why Spike wouldn’t want the man—Mat—to speak with her. Suddenly she figured it out, it was so simple.
"You don’t want me to know where I am! That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t want Mat’s accent to give it away! Oh Spike you kill me, well, not really, but I already know that we’re in the Pacific Northwest somewhere. We’d have to be, I mean it’s nearly summer yet it’s still raining and kinda cold outside! So if you’re worried about me figuring out if we’re in Washington or Oregon, then don’t panic. I wouldn’t know that the sound of the letter "R" will tell you exactly which state you’re in."
A wide cocky smile spread over Spike’s full lips as he turned to face Willow. "Hate to burst your bubble, Willow but we’re no where near the Pacific Northwest." And with that, he turned around and went back to making her sandwich.
Willow sat on the countertop and stared at Spike, stunned. She couldn’t imagine not being in Washington or Oregon. It wasn’t possible! "No way Spike, I mean really! Look, we have to be in the Pacific Northwest. I mean, just look at the weather!"
"Do you like mayonnaise on your sandwich, Luv?"
"Yes, just a little. What I don’t understand it why you want me to think we’re not there. The least you could do is be a gracious looser and concede when you’re wrong. Come on, tell me. Are we in Washington or Oregon? Please tell me, I’m going to find out sooner or later."
Putting the knife down, still white with left over mayonnaise, Spike moved towards Willow and lifted her off the counter. Taking her hand again, he walked her towards the wide expanse of windows that looked out towards the water.
Placing her in front of him, Spike wrapped his arms around her, effectively trapping her arms by her sides. Unconsciously, Willow leaned into his body, comforted by the strength that emanated from him. Leaning his head down so he could speak directly into her ear he pointed a finger out the window and said. "What do you see, Willow?"
"The ocean, and the back yard…can you call it a back yard? I mean it’s so big, shouldn’t it have a formal name or something like that?"
Ignoring her last statement, he pointed again and said. "What do you see, Willow?"
"Um, Spike I already answered that question but if this is a trick, I don’t want to play anymore." She tried to escape his arms but Spike reflexively tightened his hold on her.
"What don’t you see, Luv? What should be there but isn’t?"
"I don’t know! Just tell me already! And what does this have to do with Washington or Oreg—"
Suddenly she understood, understood like she knew why Mat couldn’t speak to her. Outside the window at six PM, Willow Rosenburg could not see the sun. It wasn’t that it was covered by clouds or that it was already too dark, instead she couldn’t see the sun because the sun wasn’t setting on this body of water, it was moving away from it.
"The sun," was her weak reply.
"Right, now if we were on the West Coast, shouldn’t the sun be setting towards the water?" He already knew the answer, Willow wasn’t going to stroke his ego more for him. Instead, she stood there stunned and shaken as he moved away from her and went to work on the sandwich.
That feeling stole over her again; the one that accompanied her absolute knowledge that Spike controlled everything. As far as she was concerned, Spike was god to her. He commanded, she obeyed, that simple. Willow looked out to the water examining the waves as they formed and then disappeared beneath the cliffs and her watchful eyes.
"We’re on the East Coast?"
Spike said nothing.
"How did you get me all this way? How?" She didn’t know, didn’t know if she wanted to know. He was a mystery, a man—vampire—with a power over her that he could abuse but instead seemed only to use it to take care of her. She didn’t know if she wanted to know.
"It doesn’t matter, Luv. Here’s your sandwich. Why don’t you come sit down and eat? You really could stand to put on some weight."
She moved as if in a dream, from her spot at the window to the chair he held out for her. He placed the sandwich in front of her and when she did nothing, he moved her hand and placed the bread into it. "Now come on, Luv. You don’t want me to feed you again do you?"
That seemed to snap Willow out of it. Taking a bite, she looked at Spike. She saw that she had two choices, either scream and rant until Spike told her where she was—which probably wouldn’t work—or pretend like she’d never asked the question in the first place.
"How come the refrigerator runs but there’s no heat?"
She made her decision.
Spike laughed, almost as if he was relieved. "It’s got a generator. You have no idea how bloody marvelous that invention is! I remember having to go half away across town to get milk out of the river. Then there was the ice box, which was really nothing but a bloody pain in the ass considering you had to make sure the ice truck didn’t miss you or all your food was a lost cause."
Willow smiled and shook her head in understanding. She could live with her decision. "Is that the only thing that runs by generator?"
"Mostly. The water gets heated by it and then there’s the washing machine in the basement; but don’t worry, you’ll never have to see that thing." Spike gave a mock shake in fear. "Basements and rats, well, our basement doesn’t have any rats but you get the picture."
Again Willow nodded, then reached for the other half of the sandwich. "The stove? Does it use the generator too?"
"Yep, trusty old stove. In the day when there were wood stoves, forget it, nothing ever cooked evenly. If you’ve ever had a cake cook on one side and still be runny on the other you’d understand."
Willow giggled, she couldn’t help it; he could be so charming. "Why don’t you just put electricity throughout the whole house. Wouldn’t that make life easier?"
"Easier?! Luv, do you have any idea how much an electrician costs?"
"No, why?"
"Let’s just say that it would cost more for me to run wire through this house than half the cost was to build it! Not really fancying the bill."
Laughing, Willow finished her sandwich and looked around the kitchen. "Well, I guess we better put away this food before it spoils."
"Smart thinking, Willow."
The compliment didn’t go unnoticed.
Rising from their chairs, Willow and Spike began to sort through the mounds of groceries. Roughly thirty bags filled the kitchen and carried a wide variety of goods, from food to drug store essentials. Willow blushed as she pulled out a box of tampons and quickly pushed it back into the bag, choosing to use that one for any other personal products that might be revealed in the unpacking.
A few minutes later found Spike with the fridge door open trying unsuccessfully to stuff four bags worth of vegetables into a space for less than one and a half. "Bloody ice box designers! What do they expect, of course everyone’s going to bloody eat out, there’s no room for any real food in here! Look at this Pet, not even a place for vegetables! Not to mention a bloody turkey!"
From across the room came Willow’s heartfelt agreement and laughter.
They worked for about fifteen minutes separating things into piles, pantry, freezer, and refrigerator. As Willow gazed at the heaps of food around her a sudden question popped into her mind. "Are we having a party? I mean there’s so much food here!"
"Nope, don’t worry, Luv, no one’s going to eat anything you really wanted. Now, how am I going to fit this in there…"
But Willow wasn’t listening. All around her she began to look critically at the foodstuffs. Adding everything in her head she estimated about three months worth of food on the kitchen floor alone, not to mention some of the stores that were already present. Three months worth. That thought hit her like a ton of bricks. Spike was planning on keeping her for at least three months. No quick death, no fast retreat from existence. No, three months at least before he sent Mat out for more food. All around her the food and stores seemed more and more like a death sentence and less and less like something that would sustain her.
"How…" Spike turned in her direction, eyeing her quizzically. "How long are you planning on keeping me here?"
He sighed, there wasn’t anything else he could do besides hit some sense into her. "Look Willow, let’s not get into this again, alright. We’ve been over the blasted thing a hundred times." Turning away from her, Spike continued to put the rest of the vegetables away.
Noting the tone of voice Spike was using, Willow remained silent. The weight of her predicament again resting solely on her shoulders. She’d bare the burden in silence.
A sudden movement caught her attention at the kitchen entrance. In the doorway stood Mat, watching her with uninhibited interest. Not to be outdone, Willow herself returned his intent gaze. She was about to try talking to him again when Spike finally noticed the man’s appearance.
"Are you done bringing everything in?" When Mat nodded, Spike returned the nod and looked to Willow. "Stay here and I’ll be right back. Why don’t you finish putting the rest of this food away."
There was no warning to the sudden flash of fear that coursed through Willow. She’d been alone before, numerous times in fact—perhaps her whole life—but suddenly Willow didn’t want to be alone. Slivers of cold fear slammed into her chest, fear of being all alone in the kitchen, fear that maybe she’d angered Spike so much he didn’t want her to go anywhere with him. She protested. "No, I’ll—I’ll go with you."
"I said, stay here!" Spike nearly shouted and took a menacing step towards her. Willow’s eyes went wide and her fear of being alone was completely disregarded for this new fear of Spike. Retreating from him, Willow backed up into a counter and put her head down and gave a slight nod trying not to make eye contact with Spike.
Regret spiraled through Spike but now was not the time to show it. Giving her instructions to again put the food away, he moved out of the room, Mat right on his heels.
Willow breathed deeply, willing her heart to stop beating quite so fast. With a few more calming breaths she moved towards the food and tried to analyze what had gone wrong. She figured Spike was angry because she’d disobeyed him but then again she had said ‘No’ to him before and had never been yelled at. She was confused, and as the piles of foodstuffs were put away her mind still could not make any sense of it.
However a new thought entered her mind. As she looked into the refrigerator, she noted the apparent lack of vampire nourishment—blood. Looking about the kitchen she pulled out drawer after drawer looking for blood—or more importantly, something to keep her mind off of Spike’s outburst. After a few minutes of this, and still nothing, Willow pulled out a chair and sat down, effectively waiting for Spike to return.
She didn’t have to wait long. After barley enough time to sort out her jumbled thoughts, Spike entered the kitchen, took one look at her, and hung his head in apparent shame. Surprised, Willow watched as he crossed to her chair and knelt by her feet. When he looked up, she could see regret written plainly on his face.
"Willow," Spike took the hand closest to him and held it, running his thumb across her palm. "I’m…I’m sorry I yelled. I really messed up. I wasn’t mad at you, Luv. I—well, it’s complicated. But I’m not mad at you, only sorry that I didn’t pick up on your increased heart rate ‘till after I’d yelled."
Willow gave him a questioning look. "That’s what I mean, I’m stumped too. How come when I said I would be right back, you got so scared?"
He’d caught her, called her on the one thing she didn’t have an answer too—well, one thing of many it seemed. Taking her hand from his, she cradled it in her other hand, as if just by allowing herself to touch him, she’d loose the answer herself. Shrugging her shoulders she looked up at him again and gave a weak smile. "I don’t know. Doesn’t matter."
"No, Willow, it does matter. What happened?"
"Nothing, I—I just didn’t want to say in the kitchen. I guess I didn’t want to have to put all the food away myself." She tried to smile, to laugh it off as nothing, but she could see from his face it wasn’t working.
Then as if he realized she didn’t have any more answers than he did he changed the subject. "Oh, Luv, come with me. I’ve got a huge present for you!" Like a giddy schoolboy, Spike pulled Willow from her seat and half dragged her in his haste across the kitchen floor. Out through the hallway, past the foyer, and down the first hallway to the left that led into the parlor, Spike pulled Willow along.
When he pulled open the door, the first thing Willow noticed was something wasn’t right. She’d avoided this room, not liking the many portraits of the dead that hung on the walls. But now as she looked about, she realized the curtains were drawn back as if to air the room out and on every available surface were stacks and stacks of white boxes. All sizes ranging from those that looked like they could hold nothing but a small piece of jewelry to boxes that came up to her waist.
Turning to look at Spike, Willow watched him intently as he moved to retrieve one of the boxes and bring it back to her. Noticing she was still standing at the door, Spike took her hand and maneuvered her to one of the couches and after removing the boxes, had her take a seat.
Placing a box a little bigger than one that would normally hold a dress shirt onto her lap, Spike sat back on his heels and stared expectantly at her. When she didn’t do anything he cocked his head and asked. "Well aren’t you going to open it?"
Willow examined the box before her shaking it and hearing a light rattling sound she gave Spike a questioning look.
"You’re not going to have any idea ‘til you open it, Luv."
Carefully, so as not to damage the box, Willow worked the lid off and pushed aside the numerous pieces of tissue paper. What she uncovered took both her breath away and held her in place, frozen with happiness and fear.
A delicate dress of the purest white lay snuggled in the box on her lap. Willow could tell that it was made from silk by the mat-gloss of it. At Spike’s request, Willow stood—while holding the shoulders of the dress—and let the box fall at her feet with the hem of the dress. She didn’t have to try it on, she already knew it would fit, and fit perfectly. What she didn’t know was why Spike had gotten her a dress of such exquisite beauty. If he only planned on keeping her alive until he was done playing with—but no, she was his, he would take care of her and if he wanted her to have this beautiful dress until her dying breath, then so be it.
"Do you like it, Willow?"
"Would you like me to put it on?"
Spike smiled and Willow made a move to exit the room. Suddenly Spike’s strong arms wrapped about her waist and held her still. "You stay, Luv, I’ll be right outside." With that, Spike released her and moved out of the room, leaving her to change.
Willow removed her clothes and then lifted the dress over her head and let the cool material shift and fall gracefully over her too thin frame. The white sleeves of the dress fitted her arms snuggly but not uncomfortably, then tapered into points that rested lightly over the tops of her hands. Running parallel to her spine was a row of delicate mother of pearl buttons that ran from mid thigh to right under her bust. Over her breasts was a gathering of the material, which accentuated her modest figure. At her thighs the dress split, revealing her legs, which would have been fine in this day of bikinis but in this dress she felt scandalous, an image of tempting innocence; a sacrifice to some great and terrible beast. Not knowing what to make of the dress, Willow moved to the door and beckoned Spike to reenter.
She watched his eyes run over her body and couldn’t help the blush that suffused her skin with color. Instinctively, her hands raised to cover her too exposed breasts but then suddenly detoured and splayed flat against her stomach. Her posture spoke of a virgin bride on her wedding night, fearful and yet anticipating all of her dreams to come true.
Spike’s smile extended past his eyes to his whole body. He seemed to Willow to be gazing at a beautiful painting he knew would be destroyed before the viewing was over. She didn’t want to disturb the way he looked at her just now. She watched his hands shift as if to touch her only to return to his sides, as if he’d thought better of scaring her away.
How it happened, she didn’t know; didn’t realized she had moved towards him until she felt his cool hands resting on her hips and a now questioning look in his eyes. She blinked, lost in her own spell and simply stared up at him. Willow felt him squeeze her hips, almost asking if it were all right that he rested them there, asking permission to touch her.
It was liken to a shattering that caused Willow’s resolve of indifference to fall about her like broken crystal, beautiful, but deadly. She melted against him, allow his body to support her slight weight as she ran her hands up to rest against his chest. His hands wound their way around her as he tucked her gently and firmly into himself.
Willow felt the tears come unbidden to her eyes and they stung with their desire to be shed from the torment of her body. She shuttered once, twice, and then she couldn’t stand it any longer. For the first time in her entire life she felt safe, from the world, from those things that were not a part of the world and yet still remained, and mostly from herself. In Spike’s arms she found comfort, a need as great as her own to be loved, cherished, and needed. In the arms of a killer she found comfort from her own death.
Silent sobs shook her body as she wept for her lost life. She cried for Oz and Buffy, she cried for Xander and Cordelia, she wept for Angel, for Drusilla, for Spike, but mostly, she cried tears of pain for herself.
She felt her body lifted by strong arms but couldn’t stop the tears that now went in concert with great gasps of air as her body tried desperately to fuel the fires of her emotional release. The soft breeze against her face told her she was moving but she refused to look, wanting only to stay tucked in Spikes shoulder, away from a world that had given up on her a long time ago.
"Shhhh, Luv. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere." His voice cut through her haze and Willow realized she was speaking, realized that as she sobbed. She was begging him not to leave her, pleading with him not to let her go. She tried to stop her voice, to gain control over one part of her life, but even the simple act of silence was too much and she gave into the temptation to ride the wave of feelings that suffused her being.
Spike rocked her gently, running cool and comforting hands over her heated and tear stained face. Willow’s hand left Spike’s chest and latched onto the hand that now lay against her cheek and held it there. His fingers curled around her face, anchoring this part of himself to her.
It wasn’t spoken but his touch told her it was there. A mirror image of herself was reflected in Spike. He had control, he was old beyond her comprehension, and he was better at knowing what he wanted; better at realizing it without fanfare. Willow suddenly realized, what was really happening. Spike needed her as much as she needed him. He needed her comfort as much as she so desperately needed the solidness of his form. Strangely, knowing he was just as weak as she was a comfort. They were both lost, pushed away from everything and everyone they had ever loved; they were the same, only different.
Willow’s sobs quieted until only the occasional hiccup could be heard from her lips. Yet still Spike rocked her and whispered soothingly into her ear nonsense sounds that had no meaning other than the soothing tone used to utter them.
The night stretched on but still Spike held Willow locked in his embrace, giving and taking strength. Finally Willow lifted her head from his shoulder and looked into eyes so like the arctic sea.
"Thank you for the dress."
His hand brushed through her hair and around to the back of her neck. Pulling her forward, he placed a chase kiss on her forehead and whispered against her skin. "I hope you like it."
"I never dreamed of owning something as beautiful as it. I’ll…I’ll cherish it. Thank you."
His expression shifted and a wicked gleam entered his eye. "Well, we couldn’t have you running around in holee jeans, and my shirts now could we? Besides this dress and the others in the boxes you haven’t opened, seem more appropriate when in Windemere, don’t you think?"
She nodded her head and then returned it to his shoulder. She rested there for some time before daring to ask her next question. "Will this change things?"
Spike understood the question. He’d been wondering the same thing himself, now he knew the answer. "Yeah, Luv, it changes everything."
"How?" was her almost scared response.
"I’m never going to let you go now."
Silence, then one more question to end this evening of revelations.
"Will you promise to take care of me?"
No hesitation.
"Yes."
The fire continued to burn in the fireplace as the soft glow caressed the two figures that sat intertwined in one of the many couches. The embers died away, burred out of existence, only to give life in their death.
At dawn’s light, the last of the fire was gone, but in its absence lay the beginnings of a new life for two very lost souls.
chapter 5