Chapter 6


It had been a simple idea, thrown out there by Dawn and latched onto by an inquisitive Anne. So, with an irritation buried under a show of resignation, Spike called Willow and had her agree to meet him and the Slayer at the Bronze.

It seemed like months since he had been in the crowded club, and the mingled scents of lust, fun and beer almost overwhelmed his senses. Instead, it created a miasma of tickling memories that almost crippled him with head pain.

The gang had followed Willow thankfully in order to keep a practiced eye on Dawn and her attempt at non-grief partying. So their table was quickly filled and a sense of discomfort descended just as fast. The sight of Anne, dressed in clothing she’d retrieved from their own Buffy’s closet seeming so wrong, but practical. In any event, the red leather pants, and skimpyalmost vampy black halter top shook their sense of right, for the group decision was that Buffy’s style did not suit Anne.

Tara watched Spike as he allowed his eyes to roam over Anne and her exposed skin-- an alarming amount of exposed skin. She noticed the Slayer shiver and interpreted it to mean discomfort in a disguise that was unfamiliar to her. She had taken on the challenge to replace the former Buffy, not knowing that she would be on display to the whole Scooby gang this time, but eager to show Spike something of what she had been told he had fallen in love with.

Tara saw her displaced efforts to find herself a niche and sympathised with her attempt, if not her direction. The blond witch allowed her eyes to settle on the white-haired vampire once again and winced at his look of pain. It had been a flash before he gripped his head, tears swirling in the glassiness of his eyes before he blinked them away. He had exerted much effort to place the attire barely covering the new girl in the group, and seemed to be suffering the physical effects of it.

Now, more than ever, Tara was convinced that something was wrong here. Once before she remembered Buffy in this very outfit, a time when Spike was passed over and ridiculed rather than asked to join the party. But Tara had always observed, and once his secret love had emerged as common knowledge she had noticed the small inflections of his favour…his tender expressions fixed upon Buffy when the girl was turned away from him, watching her with a look of possession and protection from well across the room.

Emotions like that did not recede and die within days. Not when one was on the brink of self-destruction like Spike had been. Tara took it all in and reached the conclusion of interference. Something prevented him from owning his grief, and that made her feel very sad. It was so wrong to interfere with the natural flow of things, preventing him from reaching a healthy conclusion.

The night was not about Spike, however. Nor was it about Anne. Instead, her lover was to venture into the dangers of the night and spy inconsistencies. Alarming trends had been instigated around the cemeteries of Sunnydale, and if Spike was unable to locate the instigator, then Willow owed it to them all to help.

It was what she would find that worried Tara most. Like everyone, she had been shocked and frightened by the existence of Xander as a vampire, and the idea of facing the evil twin of her lover gave her chills. But then the idea that there was an evil machine out there organising an undead army froze her blood straight in her veins.

Tara looked out onto the dance floor and pinned her gaze on the barely swaying form of Dawn. She was dancing amongst a group of her friends, making a valiant effort to act normally, be friendly. But all Tara could see right then was the young teenage girl that Buffy had chosen to give up her life in order to save. Willow had added to the protection of the girl by returning a slayer to the Hellmouth. And Spike patrolled in order to keep her alive.

So, at this moment, Tara supposed that it was all about Dawn. Spike’s memories of his love for Buffy might have been stolen from him, and her lover might be venturing out into danger, but it was to keep young people like Dawn and her friend’s safe. It’s what Buffy would have wanted.

The thought of Buffy brought a frown to settle between her brows, and she scanned the dancing throng for the current slayer. Anne swayed with the crowd, her inherent gracefulness saving her from embarrassment, but her face and movements still belied a sense of discomfort within herself that Tara felt she could easily identify with. This girl might be Buffy, but to this crowd of Scoobies, she was an outsider who didn’t even have the benefit of relationship with the true Buffy to pave her way to acceptance.

Whatever the signal had been, Tara missed it, but she recognised the moment for what it was as Anne came off the dance floor, her aura flooded with relief. Anne fell in close by Spike as he stood beside the table, his eyes scanning the swarm of young people for any threats before he left his precious Nibblet behind. Willow also took to her feet, but suddenly her focus shifted and she found her eyes fixed on the form of someone familiar.

Her rigid lock on the events that were unfolding across the room drew even more attention from the Scoobies still residing at the table.

“Isn’t that that Warren guy? You know, the one with the robot fetish?”

The events at the bar suddenly became the top focus as visions of robot fetishes flashed across minds, dirty and clean alike.

“Hey, what’s he doing to that girl?”

Everyone turned the way that Willow pointed and observed a very slimy Warren use some sort of funny ‘in your face’ moves that had the previously hostile girl swooning in her seat.

Spike snorted, and all eyes swung back to the white-haired paradox.

“And why are you all with the humour, snickering at that poor clueless girl with the nerdy types who can only get it on with robots.” Xander was slightly envious, having inspired such hostile looks most of his adolescent and adult life, but only once managing the swoony look, and that had been Anya eager for sex.

“Who are the guys with him?” Anya’s invective was like a bucket of frosty water and all of a sudden the debate that had risen while they scrambled to place the two stragglers to the robot guy, came to an abrupt standstill.

But Harris, not having seen anything worth finding humour in, couldn’t let his previous charge go.

“Hang on, bleach boy…what were the snickers for?”

“Easy to see you lot aren’t with the vampire twitchy senses. The guy’s a vamp, and so are his two mates.”

Xander’s eyes goggled. Willow gaped. And Anya and Tara looked vaguely interested.

“So, are you saying once you’re a vamp you suddenly can get all the chicks you want? Cos, that Warren guy, so not with the good looks.” Xander’s voice was heavy with resentment.

“Ah, I guess you haven’t noticed that I’ve not exactly been loaded down with the ladies. In fact…” Spike suddenly looked pained and began to rub at his temple. “I’m almost certain that I have been…interested…in someone recently and not gettin’ the girl.” His blue eyes dimmed with confusion as the pain escalated.

The Scooby eyes suddenly crossed the table with looks filled with confusion and concern, as Spike suddenly collapsed into a chair and held his head. After a moment he lifted it, and retrieved the conversation without any more allusion to Buffy and his professed love for her, and their bewilderment deepened.

“Nope, bloke must be using thrall.”

“Thrall! Holy Moley, Batman. Can you teach me that?” Xander almost begged, only to receive a very sharp jab in his ribs as his girlfriend made a big show of moving away from him.

“What do you need thrall for, Xander Harris? Aren’t I enough for you?” The hurt on her face brought the thoughtless words back to mind and Xander scrambled.

“Of course you are, honey! I just meant it would be a good trick to have in the old arsenal, for…if we ever need to thrall somebody.” He smiled in relief as her smile brightened and she moved back to the comfy protection of his side.

“Anyway, can’t teach you. I don’t do thrall. Dru tried to teach me, but I’m not fond of parlor tricks. Prolly could learn, tho. One thing the Master contributed to the family.”

Spike’s statement hung guiltily in the air as the implications dawned on them, and they clashed in their hurry to gather together and watch the men across the room. Well, boys really as the childish giggling of the skinny blond one reached their ears. The girl made to leave with the dark-haired Warren and Anne, Willow and Spike left the group with warnings to keep Dawn in sight.

The cool night air blasted them in the face as they left the Bronze and followed the trio with the slightly dazed girl. None of them spoke as they attempted a stealth that was automatic to Spike, and Willow found herself feeling a little envious. One of the good and interesting vamp traits, she humphed.

The path they followed was a convoluted one, with Spike and Willow often choking a muffled laugh before the bedazzled vamps ahead could catch onto them.

“We should take her back to the lair,” the short brunette told the other two. He sounded like the voice of reason, the stickler for right, no matter which side he played for.

“That’s Jonathan,” Willow suddenly spoke in his head and he whipped around to glare at her. She gave him a little cheesy grin and apologetic shrug as the three of them cramped down behind a hedge, watching as the trio argued about their best course of action.

“But if we go back to the lair, then we’ll have to share.” It was the blond one whining now, still yet to grasp that they were intending to split the meal three ways so were already sharing. His voice held an automatic pout and Spike felt himself roll his eyes to his companions, feeling his spirits lift when it was returned.

Anne answered him with a squeeze through his leather-covered arm and for one immobilizing second he felt himself freeze. The world slowed to a stop, the bickering three incompetents slowed to quiet and the stillness of his world began to frighten him. But all of a sudden, words reached his ears and he could feel the world spinning at the usual rate and he mock breathed in relief.

“I am not sharing the taste of my disloyal bitch of an ex-girlfriend with the Master.” Warren Mears allowed his strong voice to lash against the uncertain quality of the other two before tugging on the girls arm and they all moved on.

Spike held the girls back for a moment, contemplating the information they had just gathered.

When he spoke, he felt unease coursing through his body, some kind of familiar tugging at him to rise and play nice. “Looks like the Master came through your pearly gate, too, Red. Not too bright of the little wanker to try and keep things from the Master, either. He won’t last long if he’s tryin’ to climb the ladder. Things are looking a little worse than what I was hopeful for.”

“And that would be your first correct assumption for the night. But Puppy, they’re gonna get a lot worse for you.”

Willow and Anne jumped at the unexpected intrusion, and Willow shrunk back against an almost resigned Spike, hoping that she would be safe with a vampire and a slayer to keep her company.

It wasn’t quite like looking in a mirror, but for Willow, the seeing of herself in the whorish and gothic get up managed to throw her just as far as it did the first time she encountered her vamp equivalent.

The two sides of one coin, Willow stood tall and almost without knowing drifted to stand less than a metre away from her double. The curling discomfort in her stomach disagreed with her confident stance. The shaking of her insides marched her along with the experience until she was so close to biting distance. But that overwhelming curiosity she had felt encased in the last time swept her normal caution away and she looked herself in the eye.

“Why are you so evil?” popped out of her mouth before she could stop it. “I mean, you’ve got all the cool sexiness, and the power and…and the grace and stealthiness…why do you have to be so evil with it? I-if I was a vampire, I bet I wouldn’t be so evil.”

Willow couldn’t help but flinch when she saw lips so like her own, but dark deadly red, part and release amused trickles of laughter. She felt crushed in her naiveté, bewildered by her sudden desire to show herself up. And she felt pure, burning jealousy of the power harnessed by her double.

Her inattention left her vulnerable and she realised that she was being circled by the other Willow, making her feel like she was on show and judged just like when she was in high school.

“I see my wardrobe improved,” the other taunted as she circled round again, making Willow feel like she was teetering on the edge of dizziness and falling off her feet.

“You mean, all I have to do to look like Willow the Whorehound is to get vamped? Might just pass on that one,” she reacted. Willow the Intelligent was wigged to the max and was feeling slightly woozy with the toing and the froing…until she accidentally caught Spike’s worried eye and the super-beings came to her rescue.

One minute Willow had been the centre of attention, the next she was so far on the fringe of not important that she actually felt the impact. She stood, lonely and useless as Spike and Anne engaged her vampy double--who had the benefit of three dweeby vampires for back-up.

Two against four ordinarily would have been lousy odds, but as soon as Anne was about to dust Warren, she was pushed to the side and the four escaped--vamp Willow a little more casual about her departure as she wiggled her fingers in a parting wave and a knowing grin on her mouth.

“Later, puppy,” she called, her eyes locking with the wary blue of Spike’s, and she was gone.

Anne panted lightly as Spike and Willow stood together, Spike offering reassuring smiles to encourage Willow back from Wigworld. The red-head hefted a few sighs of relief and then felt anger at herself rise within her. She was a witch, a mightily powerful witch, what with the sending Hell gods into outer space and stuff.

Yet she had allowed herself to take root in the ground, too terrified to launch any fight against herself. Her double. Her skanky ridgey-faced double. With fangs. And did she really tell her other self she wouldn’t be so evil if she was a vamp? Didn’t she remember what happened to Jessie? Did she really think she would have control over the person she would be as a vampire?

Her eyes fell on Spike and she couldn’t help but wonder at the vampire he was now. He’d shown up, strong and powerful sure, a master even, but his objective had been the same as any other vamp to kill the Slayer. Only when he was disabled did he stop from being a true vampire. First in his wheelchair though his habit had only changed in diet, he still lived and breathed the vampire world. Not until the chip and his own feelings of inadequacy did he find a path to Buffy and possibly salvation.

Willow knew she thought of Spike and his journey in more liberal terms than possibly the other Scoobies, well, the male Scoobies at least. Other than Tara, though, she considered herself reasonably empathic. No one could have passed by Spike when Buffy had died and deny he was a creature in severe pain.

So, the verdict then was that what she had told her vamp-self was foolish and dishonest. She knew that becoming a vamp would rid her of everything good in her, make her crave the evil and power that vamp-Willow had sucked up lustily.

Spike had been given opportunity, and it allowed something so far repressed to filter through and grab a hold of him. Maybe it was the chip; maybe it was love for Buffy. Whatever it was, Willow didn’t care. It was special, he was special, and she would end up being a garden-variety evil vampire. Death sure did suck!

Anne watched the caring way Spike comforted Willow and felt jealousy nudge at the high she’d gained from the fight. Slaying was her life, made her the woman she was, but Spike was beginning to add a whole dimension to her take on womanhood. The close proximity of him to the witch that she didn’t trust gave her needle-sharp little pricks on the inside of her skin, and she felt frustrated tears begin to well.

Shoving the inappropriate emotion down, Anne walked to the pair and joined them in talking about the events that led them into the fight.

“So, I guess we know where we stand now. Red, you brought the Master and undead Willow and Xander to this world when you got Anne. Bit of a loophole there!” The censure in his voice was slight, but it had a major impact. “How many bloody times do I have to tell you lot that magic has consequences? Its not to be played with.”

Willow lowered her head, momentary shame keeping her tongue in check. But then anger at her powerlessness during the fight had her raising her head in irritation-- and her eyes fell upon Anne. Her eyes narrowed as all her resentments gained momentum and she felt the pain again of losing Buffy. Every time her eyes fell on the blond girl’s face she knew that her friend was gone, forever leaving those she loved behind leaving them to cope in a cold hard world with nothing to guide them to happiness. Even Spike had hurt so bad he’d resorted to wiping out the memories of Buffy to stop the suffering.

The craving to have Buffy back was almost debilitating, but she was making headway in her plan and soon, hopefully she could make everyone’s pain go away.

“Well, it’s not like I can just send them back, is it?” Her voice was cold, angry and just plain reactionary.

Anne gasped and began to walk away backwards, her eyes seeking Spike’s in such a force of panic that he rushed to her and then stood awkwardly by her side, offering her gentle but determined pats on the back in reassurance and support. Even the tingle of excitement she felt at his touch wasn’t enough to calm the agitation she felt in the presence of the redheaded witch.

“She didn’t mean it like that, pet. Did you, Red?” He looked at the witch with hard glinting eyes of blue ice, and she actually felt a shudder as she tried to work out what he meant.

“Mean what?” Willow asked, feeling suddenly weak and subdued.

“You’re not sending anyone back. Are you?” His determined stance cut through her haze of indifference and she saw the look of terror on the imported Buffy’s face.

Willow shook her head, bewildered with the sudden turn of events. She thought back over what she’d said and cringed at the poor choice of words that might have made Anne think they would get rid of her.

“You don’t want me here. I see it in your face every time you look at me. It’s the same with the others. Only Spike and Dawn try to make me feel like I could live here.”

Anne had strength in her voice, but it was only just holding back the tears. Willow could see the fear that ravaged her face, and felt so horribly guilty for her own selfish want of power and control.

Consoling Willow, genuine in warmth and care surged into the empty cold space between herself and the Slayer and she dived forward to give her a hug. She patted Anne awkwardly on the back before stepping back and offering a warm, reassuring smile.

“I’m so sorry you thought that. I wouldn’t ever send you back. It hurts, you know. Buffy was my best friend. It just really hits me sometimes that you really aren’t her.”

Willow looked over at Spike who only nodded for her to continue, though his face was contorted with a pain the Scoobies were finally beginning to understand. Any mention of Buffy caused a tearing confusion in his brain.

When her eyes caught those of Buffy’s twin, she found the cheeks to be glistening and wet with shed tears, and the lump in her own throat almost strangled her.

“Where we brought you from, well, you die there. We saved you just before the Master broke your neck. Maybe I did think I might get my friend back by bringing you here, but I would never send you back to that. You might not be my Buffy, but you’re still Buffy and I would never let you die.”

Both girls stood close to one another, tears falling within a sympathetic rhythm until finally they embraced and crossed that threshold of difference that had held them at bay.

Although the lips trembled, Anne cried and smiled just like Buffy, and Willow felt a warmth of relief flow through her veins as she changed a little of the cold night. As their reassurances were felt and confidences accepted, they turned to Spike. He was on his knees on the ground, clutching his head and growling softly, his own tears glistening as they pooled and dripped from his chin.

They let silence fall around them, none knowing the best form of confrontation, so waited. When finally Spike made it to his feet, Willow watched in wary concern, starting to notice a trend. And it seemed to be a rather painful one. Memories of Buffy hurt. For Spike, apparently suppressing them hurt just as much, he just didn’t know why. It was another topic for a Spike-absent Scooby meeting.

After moments of recovery, they turned their bodies toward Revello Drive, eager for the night to be over. It didn’t take long, being that they’d followed the trio of goofs almost half the way before they had been set upon by Vamp! Willow.

Real Willow rushed forward the last few steps to preceed them into the house, leaving Anne alone with Spike for the first time that night. Feeling emotionally needy, she reached for his hand and felt a fast burn scorch her palm and heat flood through her body. She felt flushed with meaning, with destiny and began to smile at the relief she felt for finding this out.

For having feelings supported with physical affirmation.

Her foray into anticipated bliss came abruptly to an end as Spike jerked his hand away from her, his howls of pain renewed and even more tortured. Her heart squeezed in on itself and she felt something hard and awful fall within her. He wasn’t feeling it; he didn’t make the same connection. Whatever it was that shone for her fell upon him with a black ugliness that caused his demon to surge and his teeth to snap as he fought like an animal to escape her. He flung himself to the front steps, pulling himself upwards and through the door before disappearing inside.

As walls crumbled and turned to ash within Anne, she choked on hysterical sobs and collapsed on the turf outside the house. She could hear a door slam and knew he had retreated to the privacy of the basement, and she had gained a knowledge that could only alter her path of happiness in the most destructive and hurtful way.

*********

The master stood alone in a room curtained off from the rest of the factory, drawing physical as well as metaphorical lines between his power and leadership, and the weak, stupidity of his minions.

He sat in a large velvet chair, the red of it bleeding into the atmosphere of the room as a woman with long brown curls hung from chains in the corner. Blood flowed from her throat and her colourless complexion was more than enough to show the lack of life she possessed.

Quiet surrounded him as he remained in the chair, long taloned fingers tapping on its arm as he licked his lips clean of blood. His eyes were thoughtful as he allowed his essence to travel, to seek out his new home. His new world.

The Master’s favourite child, Willow, came respectfully through the curtain and bowed slightly before him, her cheek rubbing against his thigh.

“I seek out my blood, and all I can feel is William. What can you tell me of the state of this world?” His nails caught in her hair as he wrapped thick strips around fingers and pulled. He directed her face closer to his crotch and began to purr as she rubbed against his hardening length.

“William is our new puppy. He helps the Slayer and kills our minions. There is some kind of magic surrounding him; it is very intriguing, Master. Can we catch him so I can play?”

The Master cupped her face, drawing her up and slicing a narrow line down her cheek, quickly hypnotised by the sight of her blood dripping down her face. He pulled her roughly closer, and his cold tongue chased up every drop. Willow shuddered against him then stood, shedding her clothes and straddling his lap. Pulling his fangs to her breast, she released the clasp of his leather pants and stirred him for action.

“For you, Childe, anything. Make plans for his torture as soon as you like,” and he groaned as she sank on him and fucked her way to evil heights.

*********


A few weeks later…..

Willow paced back and forth from the kitchen to the living room of Xander’s flat, waiting for her friends to gather and calm. She had called everyone together under the pretence of an informal Scooby meeting, and in fact it was exactly that--just not so much of the demon fighting or researchiness their usual meetings consisted of.

Xander sat a large bowl of crisps in the middle of his table and plopped himself in an armchair, Anya making use of his lap as she too got comfortable. With Tara not having moved from the lounge since they had arrived, Willow remained the only obviously uncomfortable member in the room.

Her agitated strut didn’t take long to attract attention, but she still found it difficult to find the words. What she was about to propose had been weighing heavily on her mind for months now, and the researching, the planning and the confidence she now felt in being able to go through with it was something she felt she wanted to continue to hold close in secret. But the time was fast approaching, and to be successful, she needed the support of her friends.

“You look kinda juiced on the caffeine, Will. What’s with the nervy pacing?”

Xander sat back and eyed his friend. The redhead’s preoccupation over the last month or so had been pretty obvious to her friends, but no one had as yet approached her to find out what was going on. The look on her face now--caught somewhere in between that deer-in-headlights and smug achievement--had him scrambling for a reason to cancel the Scooby talkiness for the night. He had a heavy feeling that this meeting was going to be laden with the not-so-pleasant topic matter.

Willow forced herself to stop moving, to stand and look at her friends. She felt infused with hope, and all of a sudden it shone upon them from her smile.

“I’ve been doing a lot of research,” she began hopefully, the questioning style of her speech a lilting pre-confident Willow that hadn’t been seen in a while. “And I know I can do this. It won’t be easy, but I’m sure.”

The three in the audience looked at each other warily, none so attuned to Willow and her thought processes that they could even offer a way-off-base idea of what she was talking about.

“Willow, honey? Why don’t you come sit down and tell us what it is you think you can do.” Tara patted the soft cushion of the sofa beside her and Willow hesitantly made a move to occupy it.

Having a feeling that the two women wouldn’t share the same urgency of her plan, Willow allowed her eyes to fasten hold of Xander’s and she lost focus of all but his friendship. They were a triangle--Willow, Xander and Buffy. If the only one to understand refused his support, then the pain and hurt of Buffy’s death would just go on forever. Unaware of everyone watching her, Willow released a soft sob. She pulled herself together quickly in determination. She would make them understand.

“Buffy,” she almost let drift softly on the air. “I know how to save Buffy.”

Her statement was met with silence.

*********

Giles sat, a tumbler of quality high shelf scotch in one hand while he contemplated the photograph he held loosely in the other. His blurry eyes caught on the sheen of highlighted blond hair, and he shuddered his horror. It had been over a month now, probably even two as time had become so wrapped up within itself that it had lost him long ago.

Even now he half expected Buffy to come bursting through his door, fuming about what current stupid/evil thing Spike had done now, or to relate the events foretelling of another Apocalypse. God, how he missed her. His heart twisted with it.

He felt the stirrings of hate well within, bunching and squeezing him until he could do nothing but bellow in agony. It was that stupid, selfish vampire’s fault that he felt this now, felt the grief so raw that he felt the tearing of veins and tendons, and skin from his body. Giles was on the brink of pleading for death, anything that could make the pain of his loss, of his failure recede again to his background. He could cope while Spike needed their attention, needed their devotion to keeping him undead. But since the little upstart did an about turn, no longer seemingly even concerned about the loss of the girl he proclaimed to love, it left Giles nothing to do but slip through in imitation.

The Hellmouth was killing him with its never-ending supply of evildoers, the too numerous memories, the Slayer’s friends and, by default, his charges. And now they had added more with the girl, Anne. The one who looked so familiar but behaved so differently.

Giles had made the rudimentary offer to train her, but even she could see his heart wasn’t in it. He’d been slow in enthusiasm, and quick to agree with alternative arrangements. It had been a relief that she would rather spend time with Spike. Ironic, really. That this time he would wholeheartedly support the vampire’s contact with the Slayer. Buffy had not received that much neutrality.

While bringing Anne into this world had been the right decision, he had not as carefully thought out his reaction to spending his day to day beside a girl who was his Slayer, but not. The tightly plaited hair, the dark eye make-up and the plain, almost army like quality to her clothing pointed out the severe differences easily enough. Her battle-scarred lip even more so. This girl had been through so much, yet her wounds seemed physical, rather than the emotional ones his Buffy had borne.

Just saying her name hurt, the way his British accent altered the ‘u’ bringing such a wrenching sense of nostalgia that it just dropped him deeper in his state of loss. He couldn’t let go of the feeling that he could one day just turn and see her bouncy and enthusiastic in his doorway. But reality quashed those notions and he took a large gulp of the alcohol. It was the last one as the glass was drained for the sixth time that night.

Anne! He found it rather easy to call her that, not even occurring to him that they might be stripping a little of herself away by demanding she be less who she is. In his tipsy state he found the situation comical. Until the tears swept away his vision and he collapsed in his hands and sobbed.

There was really nothing left that he could tolerate being around anymore. The Scoobies just tore at the wound every time he saw them. They were coping together as an evil fighting unit. They may be as remote to the new Slayer as he had been, but perhaps given time Anne would become a vital member of their group. He personally couldn’t see a friendship developing between them all-- Anne being too reserved. But maybe with Tara? She could help breach the gap.

They didn’t need him, barely coming to him anymore with demon dilemmas. He was really just wasting away with nothing but a shop he pretended to run--Anya having profitably taken over the majority of responsibilities long ago-- and a grave that many found to be a good visiting place. He was finding the popularity of Buffy’s final resting place rather a burn to his need for private reflection and wallowing.

He needed to go home.

That decided, Giles fumbled to his feet and moved toward the stairs leading to his bedroom. Taking a look around the flat that had been home for so long now, he shut off his emotions and took out a suitcase and couple of carry-on bags. Reaching his closet, he began to pack.

*********

Xander was so stunned he almost believed his eyelids had been glued open to his eyeballs. The wide stretch hurt.

“What’s that, Will?”

He felt mesmerised as he watched her body lift and shift under her as she dragged in a gasping breath for courage.

“Buffy jumped through a portal to a hell dimension, right?” Willow paused and waited for the affirmative nods that would justify all her hard work in finding a solution to Buffy’s death.

Once received, she felt her enthusiasm become buoyant, filling her voice with enthusiasm as she outlined her plan.

“S-so you think B-Buffy has been lost in h-hell, all th-this time?” Tara asked, concern evident in the furrow of her brow as well as the sad echo of her voice.

Willow nodded, bouncing in excitement. It was off-putting and disrespectful, but all Xander had buzzing cartwheels in his brain were the words “I can save Buffy.” He didn’t even question the validity of Willow’s beliefs and assumptions. When had Willow ever gotten it wrong? She was the researcher, the brain of the group, and if she said Buffy had spent all these months in hell…Xander felt sick, and without warning he dumped Anya to the floor as he raced for the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet bowl before wretching violently. Tears stained his face and he sobbed, grief stricken yet surging with hope.

“You can bring her back?” he almost whispered, but his voice hung in the silence like a clanging bell.

Willow didn’t speak, just allowed her head to nod and a happy smile steal away upon her lips.

“Do it,” he threw into the room, his voice hard and almost angry.

Again the third friend nodded, her smile widening almost catlike and making her girlfriend feel uneasy. Tara shared a look with Anya and recognised that she wasn’t the only one concerned about Willow’s plan.

“Can we see the spell,” Anya asked baldly, not even blinking at the sudden flash of annoyance she received from Willow.

“Of course,” was the tempered reply before Willow, once again confident and powerful in herself, found her coat and shrugged it on. “All my research is at the magic box.”

As a group they fell in together, leaving Xander to lock up his apartment and follow the women out to his car.

*********

Their entrance through the door-- announced with the tinkling bell-- was rather more subdued as the gravity of Willow’s plans began to sink in. They followed the redhead to the training room and watched as she pulled her bag of folders, books and papers from her ingenuous hiding spot beyond the mats. She glanced at the group a little guiltily as she brought her cache to them to study. She’d been careful, knowing that her work would eventually be scrutinised, and so made sure that anything untoward or borderline dark was eradicated from her notes. These notes were her public copy; the alterations establishing truth existed elsewhere.

They made their way back into the comfort of the store, Anya and Tara taking up chairs as they began to look over the spell and determine Willow’s intentions. Xander paced around the room, his slightly softening frame a walking dynamo as he wrestled with his feelings of hope, and unease.

Half an hour found Tara and Anya finding nothing unusual about Willow’s calculations. Yet, Anya knew too much about raisings and the consequences and conditions related to such events to trust Willow carte blanche. But she could see the glitter of life back in the chocolate depths of her man’s eyes and she sighed in relieved agreement.

“It all looks fine, Willow. When do you think it is best to try it?”

Willow watched the blond shopkeeper, startled a little by her easy acceptance of the plan, but not wanting to argue with the gift, she shared more information.

“The final thing I need for this to work is an urn of Osiris. Would you be able to get me one, Anya?” The green eyes were pleading, almost desperate for everything to be finally settled. The end was so close; she was so near to having her best friend back in her life that she felt frantic about the possibility of things going wrong now.

“Yeah,” Xander seemed to echo her internal desire. “We need to get that urn, Ahn. Can you imagine it? Our very own Buffster back on the Hellmouth, saving lives and stopping the funky quasi-dating efforts between Captain Peroxide and Anne. There’s just something wrong about Spike crushing on someone other than Buff.”

Willow and Tara shared a startled look.

“I don’t think Spike is interested in Anne,” Tara offered gently.

“Anne is definitely interested in Spike, though.” All eyes turned incredulous to Anya. “Hello, gorgeous vampire living right underneath her bedroom. She’s not blind, people. Just young and inexperienced. But I think Tara is right. Spike isn’t interested. Which just goes to show that if he is under a spell to forget Buffy he either really loves her deep down, or doesn’t care at all and so isn’t falling for Anne.”

Tara smiled. “I-I think it is that he l-loves her so much subconsciously.”

Anya returned the smile and began to walk toward the front desk, intent on locating her order book.

“I will start looking for the urn tomorrow,” she told Willow with a quick glance as her hand lifted the book.

An envelope caught her eye, addressed simply to ‘The Scoobies’ and she quickly tore it open while continuing in her conversation.

“I don’t think it will be easy, though. Pretty sure they are kind of rare…oh no!” Her alarm carried through and landed at the feet of all those present. Such an exclamation these days left room for nothing but expected devastation, and they hardened themselves for whatever news Anya was about to impart.

“It’s Giles,” she said after she finished scanning the letter. “Dear Scoobies,” she read. “I have been rather absorbed in myself recently which has allowed you all to develop into a very potent evil-fighting operation. I feel very proud of you.

I am saddened to tell you all that by the time you receive this, I will be on a plane back to London. There are no words to express my feelings for all of you, just know that I will miss you dearly, and am only a phone call away should you need my help.

With the loss of Buffy, I found there was really nothing left for me in Sunnydale, and I hope you can all find it within you to not condemn me too harshly for deserting you to the fight. Spike and Anne will be there for you. Keep the lines of communication open.

Take care.

My love to you all,

Giles.”

The young people sat in shock, words defeated before they could even be uttered. The last dependable adult in their lives was suddenly gone, without warning or good-byes. For some it created a sense of anger and resentment, and Xander felt the acute sting of abandonment by his only decent father figure.

“Well, I guess that tells us where we stand,” Xander told the room, voice surly as he got to his feet. “Can I give anyone a lift home?” he offered, not looking at anyone as he led the way back out of the shop, only waiting for Anya to close and lock up behind them.

After a silent drive through the streets of Sunnydale, he dropped Willow and Tara off at Revello Drive before returning back to his own place with Anya. For the four, thoughts were high of resurrections and those now missing from their group. It left a sense of melancholy that Willow felt-- a little resentfully-- took over her monumental achievement.

Willow went to bed angry that Giles’s leaving had stolen her thunder, but relief that he wouldn’t be there to watch over her shoulder everything she had to do to get Buffy back.

Because nothing would be held back if it was needed to return her friend home.

 

next