Chapter 11
April had effectively broken the ice between everyone, though Illyria still eyed the small girl as if she were something more than just a child. Spike did not hand over his jacket when Susan had offered to take it, but took a beer when Steve brought one out.
"So, did you find the place alright?" Steve asked.
"Wasn’t hard," Spike said. He did not want to demand to see Willow right away. He could hear her upstairs, soft sighs and a steady heartbeat, so at least he knew she was there. And, if she was sleeping, as it sounded, he did not want to wake her up. His and Illyria's visit the other day had caught her off guard and he was sure that she had been thinking about it. Plus, Susan was tossing worried glances above them, making Spike worry more. Had they really caused that much trouble? But, he did not know the circumstances; he did not know what her reasons for leaving had been. It was possible that Spike and Illyria showing up had unbalanced Willow somehow. The more he talked with Susan and Steve, the more Spike thought that Willow had deluded herself to believe that everything in Sunnydale had been all a bad dream, or not even real. Their showing up proved the fact that it had been real and therefore tossed Willow's safe world out the window.
Susan had not told him much about their visitors, just that they were a little different and friends of Willow's. Really, they were not all that odd, just from another country. Steve had no problem placing Spike's accent. They had even had a small conversation about London and the differences between America and England. There was something...different...about Spike's answers, but Steve thought it was just because Spike was more learned then he let on. Illyria, however, he could not place where she was from. Her English was impeccable, going so far as to not have any contractions or even the slang that peppered everyone else's speech. However, she actually sounded American. The electric-blue hair was something else as well. It was different and unique and matched her eyes exactly. The dye seemed to have bled into her skin though. He was not sure if it was intentional, or an accident that stuck...literally.
After some small talk, Spike decided it was time to see Willow.
"'S Red comin' down?" he asked, trying to be somewhat tactful. He was not sure how the humans would take to him just getting up and walking up there.
"Well," Susan said, looking to her husband before turning back, "she, she got some bad news and, well, I don't know if I should tell you. She's been up there asleep and...hey! What are you doing?"
Spike had gotten up and began walking up the stairs. Willow knew. Somehow, Willow had known. He had to make sure she was alright and find out how. He had just found out the other day from Dawn. Surely, Willow had not called Dawn. She would have called Spike to tell him.
"You can't just go up there like that," Susan said, standing up to stop him.
He looked and saw Illyria standing, she would take care of her, hopefully without bloodshed, but right then Spike was focused on Willow. He stood at the door, barely hearing what Illyria was saying to the woman, something about pain, and that Spike knew what he was doing. He wished he had as much faith in himself as Illyria seemed to have in him.
The door before him was closed and he stood staring at it. Taking a deep breath, Spike turned the knob and walked in. The attic room was larger than he had thought. Walking in a few steps, he heard someone inhale sharply.
“Willow?” Spike asked. He felt like he was trespassing, invading her privacy by walking in there and daring to speak her name.
She had not dared to believe she had heard his voice earlier, and yet, there he was, standing in her room, talking to her. Carefully, Willow sat up, her eyes wide with wonder and a hint of disbelief.
“You’re dead,” Willow said softly. It had not been said in hate, but Spike had flinched all the same and Willow flinched with him.
“Still am, Pet,” Spike said, trying to lighten the mood a bit. He watched as her mouth quirked up in a smile before it fell and her brows knitted in thought. Willow stared at him, as if she was trying to see with just her eyes the truth of his words. He stepped closer and saw her arms wrapped tightly around a bundle of books. Some of the books looked old and well worn, and just a few looked new and barely touched.
Suddenly, Willow stood up and Spike stopped his forward momentum. He could still feel the prickling of magick along his skin and it made him edgy, cautious. She began pacing in front of him from the bed, to the wall, and back again in quick short steps. Her hands twisted, fingers clenching and unclenching around the books.
“Red,” Spike said, holding out his hand to stop her. His flesh made contact with hers, and she stopped, wide eyed, and looked directly into his eyes. It seemed she had not believed until that moment that he was real. It had not been until she felt the solidness of his hand that she had let herself believe. Letting go, Spike shook himself mentally.
“I’ve got some news. You should sit down, yeah?”
“When Spike?” Willow asked. “When did he die?”
Spike blinked. He had thought she had known, but until then, he had not been sure. Slowly, he led her back to the bed and sat her down, taking a seat next to her. She watched him, eyes never blinking or leaving his face. Spike saw the tears before he smelled the salt on the air.
“Don’t know,” Spike said finally. “Only found out myself last night from Nibblet.”
Accepting that answer, Willow nodded and looked down to her arms where she still held Giles’ diaries.
“I didn’t tell him, you know, that I was leaving,” Willow said, her voice thick with emotion. “I just…left. I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t tell him I loved him, or how much he meant to me. There’s so much I didn’t tell him.”
There was nothing Spike could do as he watched Willow silently cry. He knew the bland comforts humans offered at these times would do nothing to help her. Spike had never seen the point of telling someone it would be alright when that was the furthest from the truth. Willow turned to him again, tears still streaming, and all he could do was show his own grief over the situation. She nodded, smiled softly, and looked back down at the books.
“Willow?” Susan asked from the doorway, startling both Spike and Willow. Susan came rushing in, wrapped her arms around her friend, and turned to glare at Spike. “I’m sorry, Willow. I tried to keep him from coming up, but that Illyria stopped me. Are you ok?”
Trying to keep from being smothered by her friend, Willow extricated herself from Susan’s arms and looked from Spike to the doorway, and back to Susan.
“I’m…alright,” Willow said. “Spike just came to tell me about…about Giles.”
Spike nodded and stood up. He had done what he had come to do. There was no need to tread where he was not wanted anymore. However, while his mind told him to go, his feet would not listen. He stood there, staring at Willow.
“I won’t tell them,” Spike said, and with great effort, he turned and walked out of the room.
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