RATING: PG
SPOILERS: Through "Becoming, Part 2"
SUMMARY: Willow runs into an old "friend" in our nation's capital.
ARCHIVE: Please ask first.
DISCLAIMER: "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and the characters don't belong to me. I'm not going to profit from them.
NOTES: What is it about me, Willow, vampires, and benches? Oh, well. ;-) On another note, I told Rebecca Carefoot during this last week of bemoaning fates that I'd have to stay away from Buffy and Angel for awhile, and I kidded that I'd write a story about Willow and Spike. Then I thought, "Hey, why not?!" This story is dedicated to Rebecca, who commiserates so well. I also decided to use my three miserable years in D.C. as fodder, so for those of you who like D.C., don't take it personally.

"Hey, you--get out of the way!"

What was yelled from the car that almost clipped Willow Rosenberg was in fact much cruder than that, and, with the accompanying hand gestures, made her move a little faster across the road. When her feet finally hit the concrete sidewalk, she hazarded an angry glare at the driver of the car, who was still frozen at a red light.

Willow marvelled again at the sheer insanity of the traffic circle design, wondering whether the presence of so many was the reason Washington, D.C., residents seemed crabby all the time. Actually, she thought, Dupont Circle wasn't that bad. For being Washington, it was almost civilized.

Willow peered around the Circle, doing a quick scan to see if she could spot any vampire activity--civilized or no, the bicycle messengers and chess players who congregated there would be easy pickings--but so far, nothing. She remembered ruefully the days when she would people-watch and enjoy it; now she watched for demons, and she never got away from the tenseness in her stomach that came at the prospect of finding them.

She reached her hands into her pockets, looking down at the green, summery dress she wore to confirm that she still carried her stake and crucifix--she never went anywhere without them, and she was damn well certain that they'd be there if needed. Now, if only to find that coffee shop that was supposed to be around here somewhere ...

"No! It can't possibly be! Not my dear, dear old friend, Willow!"

The accent was sickeningly familiar, and she turned just in time to see Spike bearing down on her, fangs already sharpened for the kill. She opened her mouth to scream ... only to have Spike's hand cover it, cutting her off.

He looked around quickly, registered who was watching, and then smiled with false benignness at Willow, who realized that he had, in fact, not vamped. "None of that here, pet," he said conspiratorially, still glancing around. "We're just dear old friends from back home in Sunnydale, run into each other in our blessed nation's capital, who'd have thought it." At the end, the sentence was uttered at great volume, bringing uninterested looks from some of the other Circle inhabitants, who were far too used to odd behavior from each other. He then turned back to her, saying quietly, "Walk with me, Willow."

He pulled his hand from her mouth and looped her arm through his, pulling her along with him to the southernmost part of the Circle, away from the bicycle messengers that congregated in a group every night, a herd that was of great interest to the local demon population.

The blood was rushing in her ears, but over it Willow could hear Spike chattering, something about Sunnydale, questions about how school was, whether she was enjoying her trip to Washington. Her hands, still in her pockets, clenched around the stake and crucifix.

"Now, here we are, sweetie. Let's sit down on this bench over here so we can really catch up, shall we?" He planted himself on one of the worn wooden benches that ran the periphery of the Circle. It was overhung by enough tree branches to be in the shadows, but Willow and Spike were surrounded by enough people and activity that she felt fairly safe. She sat down on the spot that he patted for her.

Inhaling deeply, Willow asked the dreaded but inevitable question, "What do you want, Spike?"

He shook his head, clucking a bit dramatically. "Oh, I knew it. That dreadful Slayer's manners have finally rubbed off on you. Didn't you used to be the nice girl? Angel used to tell us about you, how deliciously innocent you were, ripe for the--"

Willow glared at him, which succeeded in cutting him off. "What do you *want*, Spike?!" she repeated.

He shrugged, leaning back against the wooden bench and curling one arm behind her shoulders. "Really, just want to catch up on old times, kiddo. See, I've got some questions that I'd like to have answered." He looked off, watching the water gush out of the fountain a couple dozen feet away.

"Questions." She uttered it as a question herself, unsure of how to respond, and more than a little concerned at the proximity of his arm. She slowly slipped a hand into her pocket.

"For instance, what brings you here to mid-Atlantic swamp region in the oh-so-not-mild month of July?"

"I'm on a vacation. With my family." She realized too late it probably wouldn't do to give him that kind of information, and she brushed her fingers reassuringly against the wood of the stake.

At her answer, he turned back, observing her sharply. "A family vacation. You're sure?"

"Yes. Why?"

"You're not here with the Slayer?"

An irrational hope overtook Willow. "Why?! Have you seen her?"

Spike frowned. "'Seen her'?" He looked at Willow for a moment, until he was able to decipher her expression. "You don't know where she is?" He smiled, and almost laughed before he stopped himself. "God, maybe Angelus did it after all."

Just then, one of the bicycle messengers broke from the pack and glided past their bench. Spike watched him keenly, while Willow watched Spike.

"Did *what*, Spike?" Willow demanded, drawing his attention away from the messenger's destination.

"Oh, uh--you know, killed her. I thought he might, that last night in Sunnydale, but I really just can't believe it." Though he was deep in his own mixed feelings about the Slayer's death, he didn't miss Willow's immediately angry expression.

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but she's not dead," Willow stated flatly. "She's just ... not around. Something happened with her and Angel that night. We don't know what--but she left a note for her mother."

"Mmm--her mother. Now, that's a woman." Spike smiled. "Look here, the Slayer and I had a deal. I helped her with Angel, and she would leave me and Dru alone. I just don't want to find out that she's out here creeping around somewhere, waiting for me. Gives me the willies."

"Gee, now you know how we feel." Willow knew her response was weak, and she wasn't surprised when Spike did nothing more than roll his eyes at her. She continued, "We don't know where she is, but I'm sure she'll be back at the Hellmouth in the fall. She always comes back."

"Yeah, that she does," Spike responded, in a tone of almost- admiration. "I thought I'd be safe from all of you little ankle- biters here in the East, but I guess not." He looked her up and down, then looked away, surveying the Circle. "Of course, I don't exactly feel threatened *now*."

Willow smiled strangely. "You'd be surprised." At his amused raised eyebrow, Willow continued, "Mister Giles has been teaching us a thing or two about taking care of ourselves. Just for protection, you understand."

Spike couldn't stop a short, disbelieving laugh at her words, said with such confidence. "Little girl, do you really think you--even all of you together--can do the job of one Slayer?" He thought briefly about whether to make a grab for her throat, just to show her how truly vulnerable she was, a stupid thing walking outside past dark.

"Spike?"

Willow's voice was low, and surprisingly seductive. It got his attention. "What, pet?"

She wrinkled her nose flirtatiously at him, and in his bewilderment he almost missed her next words. "Look down."

When he lowered his eyes, he found a sharpened stake aimed--with dangerous accuracy--at his breastbone, right over his heart. He met Willow's eyes again, and damn if the girl didn't wink, saucy thing.

He sat up a little on the bench, prepared to haul himself out of her reach, but she stopped him by pressing the point of the stake slightly into his flesh.

"Now, Spike," she began firmly, "I don't want to make a scene here, which is the only reason you're not already dust. But know this--we're doing all we can to help Buffy while she's gone, and when she gets back ... well, she can take care of you herself."

Willow pulled the stake away from Spike slowly, but before he had a chance to react, the crucifix from her other pocket had taken its place. It hovered a few inches away from him, close enough for him to grow nauseated at its presence. Spike watched Willow as she stood from the bench and began to back away.

"It was good catching up with you, Spike," Willow said, just loudly enough so the nearest passers-by could hear her.

"You, too, pet," he responded, standing from the bench. "And I hope you enjoy the rest of your ... vacation." Sparing Willow a last, thoughtful look, he turned away, already scenting out a single bicycle messenger as he left the Circle.

THE END