PAIRING: Willow/Angel friendship, Buffy/Spike
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: Willow's joyride in 'Wrecked' was only the beginning of her downward spiral.
SPOILERS: Through BtVS "Smashed" and "Wrecked"; and AtS "Lullaby"
ARCHIVE: Please do.
DISCLAIMER: Joss created. I am not Joss. Therefore, not mine, never will be. Pity, that.
NOTE: A response to Kendra A's challenge to "fix" Wrecked, although I don't really feel that the ep needed fixing. There's nothing wrong with taking a character through the moral gray zone. I kinda thought it gave Willow some interesting nuances.
NOTE 2: This is not part of the Masters and Minions universe -- Willow is human. For Willow/Angel fans -- it comes later in the story, but it *will* come.
FEEDBACK: Much appreciated: medealives@hotmail.com
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~Part: 1~
"Xander, stay back," Buffy warned.
"She's not moving," Xander countered.
Exhausted from the fierce confrontation, which had toppled headstones, uprooted trees and scorched the ground in one of Sunnydale's many cemeteries, the Slayer and her allies peered warily at their foe. Although she lay crumpled, her body quivering involuntarily and covered in sweat, the Scooby Gang remained tensed for battle.
The sprawled figure gave no signs of life other than sporadic, violent tremors and shallow panting. Around her, four crystal orbs shone steadily with captured power. At the peak of the battle, a blinding light had flashed and momentarily night had turned to day. The light was so brilliant that, instinctively, Spike had cringed and shielded himself with his duster. When the light receded, the beleaguered fighters had discovered their opponent, prone and unresponsive, amid the softly flickering globes.
"Could be bluffing to lure us in," Spike pointed out.
Buffy, Spike, Xander, Anya and Tara stared down at their once-formidable opponent. It was true -- her apparent helplessness could be just an act. Tara had feared that her own, modest abilities with magic would be inadequate to restrain their opponent long enough for the others to act. However, despite her doubts, Tara cautiously opened herself to the residual energy fields crackling in the air. What she detected gave her the first glimmer of hope she'd felt in weeks.
"Something's different," Tara murmured. "I don't...I can't feel--"
"The darkness...it's gone..." Spike broke in as his demon's attunement to dark forces sensed what Tara had.
The five exchanged hesitant looks. Finally, Buffy advanced, clutching the charmed sceptre that had shielded her from magical attack. After several measured paces, she crouched down and poked experimentally at the prone form.
"Willow?" Buffy asked. When there was no reply, Buffy nudged her again and repeated a bit louder, "Willow?"
Still receiving no response, Buffy brushed Willow's hair away from her face and peered into fixed, unblinking eyes.
Spike moved forward. After a moment, he prodded Willow with the toe of his boot.
"Oi, witch!" he barked in a voice sharp enough to make Anya and Tara jump. Willow gave no indication that she'd heard him. He turned to Buffy and observed, "Looks like she's down for the count. Now what?"
In a small voice, Tara stammered, "I-is she...is sh-she...?"
"She's not dead," Spike answered bluntly.
"What's wrong with her?" Xander murmured, frowning. He, Anya and Tara drew up on either side of Buffy and Spike and stared down at Willow.
"I don't know," Buffy replied quietly, her eyes riveted to her fallen friend...opponent...she no longer knew how to think of Willow. Even now, after Willow had delved so deeply into dark magic that she'd threatened their safety; even after Willow had nearly destroyed the integrity of their dimension and unleashed the forces of the Hellmouth, Buffy still couldn't bring herself to use the word "enemy" where Willow was concerned.
Willow had been her friend -- her best friend.
Buffy was still mad as hell at her friend.
But Willow wasn't her enemy. She was a friend who had made some majorly bad choices and gotten herself in over her head with dark magic.
An image of Dawn, screaming in agony as Willow siphoned power from her, made Buffy clench her jaw in quiet rage. Yeah, she was still mad as hell.
"Can't leave her here, but no telling what'll happen if you move her," Spike advised.
"We're not taking her to my house. I don't want her near Dawn," Buffy stated firmly.
"And the Magic Box is definitely out," Xander added. "That would be mixage of the spark-and-gasoline variety."
"That's pretty much the problem with my place," Tara admitted, looking sadly down at her estranged lover. "Ever since the first time we had to...to face Willow, my apartment has kind of become a magic supply warehouse."
"Right. We'll take her to the crypt, then," Spike decided. He crouched down and gathered Willow into his arms, although none too carefully. Willow's neck twisted awkwardly; unsupported, her head lolled like dead weight.
"Spike, please be careful...we still don't know if she's okay," Tara pleaded.
Spike shot her a mildly exasperated look, but shifted his arms so that Willow's head rested against his chest.
Buffy positioned herself close to Spike, her sceptre raised to the ready as she asked, "We good to go? The orbs?"
Anya, Xander and Tara carefully gathered up the glowing orbs, making certain not to bring any of them too near the others.
"Got 'em," Anya piped up.
Vampire and Slayer took the lead, setting off in the direction of the crypt with Xander, Tara and Anya following behind. The night was still and void of sound, its habitual denizens having fled or quieted themselves in fear over the battle that had raged scarcely half an hour before.
"She looks so empty," Xander whispered.
"Well, we did drain her power out into the Ptersian Spheres. That's bound to leave anyone a little limp," Anya whispered back.
"Are we sure it was just the magic?" Xander pressed anxiously. "I mean, we didn't...this isn't *all* of her in here, is it?" He gestured slightly with one of the orbs in his hands.
Tara shook her head. "Ptersian Spheres aren't like Orbs of Thessulah. They can hold magic, but not a soul."
Despite her attempt to reassure Xander, Tara's eyes betrayed her own uncertainty. Willow's addiction to dark magic had changed her over the past few months, made her more volatile -- even cruel at times. Yet Tara hadn't given up hope that somewhere inside, the woman she loved still survived. Silently, she hoped and prayed that they hadn't permanently damaged Willow in their desperate attempt to disarm her.
Tara's bottom lip quivered, and she felt moisture pool in her eyes.
She missed Willow. *Her* Willow.
Spike's crypt wasn't far from where the battle had been fought, and after another few minutes Buffy barged through the door. Spike followed on her heels and carried Willow to a shadowed corner, where a set of cobwebbed chains dangled from the wall. Setting Willow down on the cold stone floor, he propped her against the wall and secured both wrists with the chains.
The pain was etched into Tara's face as she watched Spike shackle Willow's unresisting form. Xander turned away, his shoulders tense. Only the fragile Ptersian Spheres in his hands prevented him from lashing out at the fact that it had come to this.
It had gotten so bad, they were chaining up Willow, his best friend since kindergarten.
Xander's knuckles whitened as his fists clenched tightly around the orbs. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax his grip, reminding himself that it would be a *bad* thing if he broke one of them.
"How can we be sure chains will hold her?" Anya demanded skeptically. "What if we didn't contain all her power?"
"That's why the witch here is going to set a protection spell," Spike drawled, cocking his head at Tara as he gave the chains a good tug to make sure they were secure.
"P-protection? Oh...yes, I probably should," Tara agreed hesitantly. She wiped at her eyes and released a shaky sigh. "I'll need a medium. Ashes, sage, salt -- whatever's handy."
"Hang on. Got some salt down below," said Spike as he moved toward the entrance to the cavern beneath the crypt.
"You keep salt on hand?" Xander asked, surprised.
"Sure. Keeps the zombies out," Spike answered matter-of-factly.
Xander's eyebrows rose. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head. "Never mind, I don't wanna know."
"What?" Spike demanded indignantly. "You ever *smelled* a zombie? Don't want one stumbling in here not-so-fresh out of the grave. As if your place isn't littered with roach motels."
"Just...get the salt," Xander muttered.
Spike descended to his underground quarters and returned a few moments later with a box of Morton's kosher salt.
"You really ought to use pure sea salt for protection spells," Anya observed. "We sell it at the Magic Box."
Spike narrowed his eyes at her and retorted, "You overcharge. This'll do."
He handed the salt to Tara, who sprinkled it in a thin arc before Willow and murmured an incantation to restrict Willow, physically and magically, to the small space between the wall and the salt barrier.
"I don't overcharge," Anya sulked to no one in particular. "It's overhead -- all merchants have overhead."
Tara finished the spell and handed the salt back to Spike, who merely set it on the ground. The group looked at each other awkwardly.
"So...now we do...what?" Xander wondered.
"You go home," said Buffy, breaking out of the pained silence she had maintained since their arrival in the crypt. "There's nothing more to do here, for the time being at least."
"What about you?" Xander's voice softened with concern, and he fixed his gaze pointedly on her.
"I should stay for a while, keep watch -- just in case," Buffy replied, her demeanor still that of the disciplined commander. Turning to Tara, she asked, "Would you stay with Dawn tonight? Tell her we're all okay, but I wanted to keep an eye on Willow until we know everything worked."
Tara nodded. "I'll examine the spheres to make sure they're fully contained." Biting her lip, Tara glanced at Willow and asked in a faltering whisper, "Would you...call me if she..?"
For a moment, compassion gave life to Buffy's eyes, which had previously revealed only blank stoicism. She moved toward Tara and placed a reassuring hand on her arm.
"As soon as Willow snaps out of it, I'll give you a call," Buffy promised.
Tara attempted to smile and nod, but now that the adrenaline rush of the battle had worn off, she couldn't stop her lips from trembling. Buffy hugged her in sympathy, and that was all it took. Tears leaked from Tara's eyes as she sobbed quietly on Buffy's shoulder. Still holding two orbs, Xander approached to offer his support, resting one hand lightly on Tara's back and murmuring soft assurances.
"It'll be okay...sshh, Tara, sshh...We'll get her back."
After several moments during which they all succumbed to the aftershock of their ordeal, Tara regained her composure and, with a final squeeze of thanks to Buffy, accompanied Xander and Anya out of the crypt.
Buffy stared blankly at Willow, exhausted and saddened by everything her friend had put them through. It had been worse than facing Glory.
In Glory's case, Buffy had devoted all her energies to taking down an evil Hell-bitch. No problem there -- aside from the dying part. But emotionally, it had been simple.
Each time Buffy had fought Willow, it had eaten away a small piece of her heart.
"You okay?" Spike asked quietly, moving to stand between her and Willow.
Buffy blinked at him and shrugged. "Yeah...yeah, it's just been hard."
"You must be tired," he agreed. Cocking his head toward Willow, he added, "I can look after her. No need for you to stay."
Buffy shook her head, her shoulders tensing slightly. "No...no, I need to be here for a while. I just need...to be someplace quiet...to let it all sink in..."
Spike regarded her steadily. Slowly, he reached out, cupped her cheek in his palm and lightly stroked his thumb across her skin, still flushed from battle. Buffy stared at him for a moment, then closed her eyes and leaned into his caress. She brought her hand up to cover his. Spike let it rest there for a moment, then drew it toward his lips and kissed her palm.
Still holding her hand, he tugged her gently toward the wall near Willow, eased himself down to the floor and urged her to sit beside him.
"Quiet in here," Spike observed with a soft laugh. "Quiet as a tomb."
A sad smile tugged briefly at the corners of Buffy's mouth, before her face once again resolved into a mask of strained introspection. Spike wrapped his arms about her and brushed his hands along her sides.
Buffy stared at Willow's blank expression, deceptively lifeless. It scared her.
What was going on behind those vacant, green eyes?
~Part: 2~
Paralysis gripped her.
It was happening again.
Willow saw the figures moving around her, heard them speaking. Their voices were familiar. But all of it -- the sights, the sounds, even the feel of hands prodding her and lifting her -- swam in her brain, disjointed and alien, like images viewed through water.
She began her mantra, a calming practice which had eased the transition each time her world had shifted abruptly in the three centuries she had been traveling.
<My name is Willow...>
<Whoever I am in this place, in this time...I have another name.>
<My name is Willow...>
A memory from a past incarnation flashed in her mind, a harbinger of the agonizing seizures that had become all too familiar to her. Willow braced herself for impact.
Then it hit.
Images fired through her brain like bullets, shifting so rapidly it left her nauseous. Synapses flared with a confused mixture of sensations, jolting her away from reality, spinning her surroundings off in a dizzy blur.
*Flash*. Can't get free...can't get free...this is it, he has the knife, this is--- *Flash*. Mother is dead -- what will become of me? I'm the last, and they'll be coming soon. *Flash*. Oh, god! The barrier is down! But that's impossible -- no time! No time! *Flash*. Please, please...let the crops grow this year...famine has taken so many... *Flash*. It should have worked...no way to re-create the same conditions...that was our last hope. *Flash*.
Willow cried inwardly. Unable to control her body -- unaware of it, even -- she couldn't know whether her eyes actually produced tears. Remorse carved a cold, hollow pit in her chest; she couldn't breathe. Oh, god! She wished it would just end!
But she couldn't hope for that. Willow was sick with shame.
Somehow, she had made this happen.
So many lives broken, wrecked...obliterated. So many...
And she had lived a mere fraction of them; had watched so many die, so many suffer.
She had lost all sense of herself after the first century, couldn't remember what she had done to set this in motion. Whoever she had been, wherever she had come from, it was splintered so thoroughly that she could no longer piece it together. There was nothing left.
Except her name.
<My name is Willow...>
She couldn't be sure how much time had passed before the seizure began to subside. The sharp, staccato flash of images slowed and distantly she became aware of her surroundings.
It was dark. There was cold stone beneath her and at her back. Steel shackles bound her wrists. Her neck ached and every muscle in her body felt weak.
Blinking as her eyes adjusted to the surroundings, Willow managed to crane her head and look around. Two figures, a male and a female, reclined against a wall near her. A shock of familiarity went through her. Had she passed through this dimension before? It was possible; at least on a superficial level, they resembled whatever species she was -- two legs, two arms, a single head...she wondered if they would be able to see her, or if this was one of the places where she would be invisible.
Willow strained to understand what it was about these two that seemed so familiar. But the more she concentrated, the more she shivered with dread. Her heart raced and she felt her lungs tighten, as if her body instinctively feared what her mind had yet to grasp.
There was something terrible and ominous about this dimension, something that triggered morbid fear in her.
She had been here before -- she was sure of it now. And something bad, very, very, bad had happened. An uneasy chill shook her, and the nape of her neck prickled wildly, like ants were crawling all over her skin.
Willow's eyes roamed about the room, wandering over dusty stone surfaces and darkened corners, until her gaze fixed on a white, crystalline substance that formed a perimeter around her.
She recognized it.
<That's...I know this...it's called...it looks like...salt. That's the word: salt. Salt tastes good...and it's used for...it's used for...>
Before Willow's memories of salt could emerge, however, her mind recoiled violently. There was terror in those memories. <Salt is used for--NO!!!> Mentally, she shrank back in horror, unwilling to recall the knowledge that was hovering at the edge of her consciousness.
Her heart raced wildly, pounding against her chest as if to escape from its corporeal prison. Trapped, she was trapped, and it was going to start all over again! No!!
At that instant, the male's eyes snapped open. Icy blue stared at her, cold, unblinking, accusing.
Willow screamed, and everything went black.
*****
Spike jolted awake to what he was certain was the sound of a herd of buffalo stampeding through his crypt. The rhythm thundered frantically in his ears.
When he saw the look of terror on Willow's face, he realized it was her heartbeat. For a split second, he wondered if she was about to go into cardiac arrest.
Then she screamed like Angelus himself was after her, and Spike went from wondering to being bloody well certain she was headed for a heart attack. However, she collapsed in mid-shriek, after which her heartbeat remained faint but steady.
Buffy's, on the other hand, went from its gentle, slumbered pace to full-throttle cavalry charge almost instantaneously. She started forcefully beside him and yelped, "What?! What is it?!!?"
"Easy, luv," Spike steadied her, his hand on her shoulder. "Red woke up for a bit, had a look around, screamed. Looks like she's out again."
"Did she..." Buffy gulped, then paused to calm herself before continuing, "Did Willow try to escape, or do a spell or something?"
He shook his head. "Not that I saw. Salt for the protection spell hasn't been disturbed. I can say one thing, though -- she was terrified. Scared to death."
"Of you? Or us?" Buffy frowned, puzzled. She might have expected Willow to react with defiance or frustration at having been defeated. But fear wasn't something she'd shown in quite some time -- not with the heights to which her powers had climbed.
"Hard to tell," Spike shrugged, arching his eyebrows thoughtfully. "Her heart was hammering away before I woke up -- ruined a good dream, too."
Buffy's brow furrowed as she pondered his remark; then she rolled her eyes, reminding herself that she didn't want to know about his interrupted dream.
Instead, she scrutinized Willow. The young witch's eyes were closed, yet though she appeared unconscious, her mouth twitched and her eyelids quivered. Willow's respiration was shaky, her breath hitching at irregular intervals and alternating between a hiss and a low whine. She huddled against the wall, curling in upon herself as much as the chains permitted.
Buffy's expression darkened. She had seen behavior like this before.
Angel had been this way when he returned from hell.
Spike, too, observed the shackled redhead. Hunched into a fetal position, she hardly resembled the proud, powerful witch who for weeks had defied every attempt to subdue her. The contrast was striking, and reminded him of his Dark Goddess: deadly one minute, fragile the next.
"Like Dru on a bad day," Spike remarked. He steeled her with a serious look. "Might be better if we just--"
"No, Spike," Buffy cut him off firmly. "We've been over this. We're not going to kill her. In spite of what she's done, she's human...and she's still our friend."
"Can't be sure what she is any more," Spike retorted, gesturing curtly toward Willow. "Look at her. No telling what that spell did to her, or if there's any of the old Red left in there."
"Spike, that's enough," Buffy warned.
The crypt was silent for a few moments. Buffy rose to her feet and Spike followed suit. She edged away, not looking at him.
"I should check in with Tara and Dawn," Buffy murmured. "Find out what Tara has learned about the spheres. Maybe that will help us figure out what's wrong with Willow." After a brief pause, she turned to Spike, narrowed her eyes and said sternly, "Don't do anything to her while I'm gone."
Spike's shoulders stiffened at the mistrustful tone in her voice. His jaw clenched and he stared back at her, a slight glimmer of repressed hurt in his eyes.
"Fine," he answered coolly. "Check in with the research party. We'll be here when you get back."
He turned his back to Buffy and started toward the entrance to the crypt's lower level.
Buffy released a frustrated sigh. "Spike--"
"Niblet'll probably be glad to see you," he interrupted.
Buffy refused to be dismissed, although even as she moved to confront him, she wondered why she bothered.
Why couldn't she just walk away from the infuriating bastard?
She tensed, too weary to deal with their emotional fox trot at the moment, but unable to close herself off as easily as she had a few months ago. As much as she hated to admit it, Spike had been right. That night had changed things.
*That* night.
This was neither the time nor the place for soul-searching, though -- or for coddling a vampire's bruised ego.
Buffy gripped him by the elbow, but Spike shook her off before she could spin him around to face her. However, rather than stalking away, he relented and slowly turned to look her in the eye.
"We couldn't have done it without you tonight," Buffy stated, her gaze warm yet unapologetic. "I *don't* agree with you about how we should handle Willow -- you don't know her like I do. But your help has been important. Thank you, Spike."
The frank recognition caught Spike off guard, and for a moment he froze in place. Before he could muster a decent swagger and smug reply, Buffy sent him reeling.
Stepping close, she raised up on her toes and brushed a kiss against his cheek.
Spike gaped at her as she pulled back slightly. He stared, speechless, all higher brain function having shut down. His more primal instincts, however, were quicker to recover. He leaned in, encouraged when Buffy didn't move away, and kissed her softly. His tongue flicked over her lips, teasing hers into play as he brought his hand up to caress the nape of her neck. The blood quickened in his veins at the soft moan she breathed into his mouth, and he deepened the kiss.
When Buffy finally extricated herself from Spike's embrace, her face was flushed. Spike watched her in a daze and his lips mouthed hesitant words, but no sound emerged. He was desperate to speak to her, to say something -- anything -- but his voice hitched in his throat.
Buffy stepped back, her gaze shifting nervously from Spike's eyes to the floor and then back again.
"Not yet," she whispered. "But...soon."
The bliss that had radiated from Spike's face a moment earlier was replaced with mild disappointment and acceptance. He managed a weary half-smile.
"Duty calls, eh, luv?"
Nodding, Buffy regained her composure and announced in a determined, businesslike voice, "I should go check in. But I'll be back later."
Spike watched, a mixture of awe and lust in his eyes, as Buffy made her way to the exit.
"I'll be waiting," he murmured.
~Part: 3~
The early morning sky was just beginning to lighten when Buffy let herself into the kitchen through the back door. The house was quiet; she guessed that Tara and Dawn must still be asleep.
As she made her way past the living room and toward the stairs, a faint flickering of light caught her eye. She experienced a moment of panic when she wondered if Tara had left candles burning in the living room. After everything they'd survived, falling prey to a fire hazard was not on Buffy's list of things to do.
Buffy halted abruptly when she saw the four Ptersian spheres on the coffee table, twinkling softly like jars filled with fireflies. Tara was slumped on the couch, fast asleep with one of her magic reference guides open in her lap.
Moving closer, Buffy nudged the sleeping witch and said, "Tara...Tara, wake up."
Tara's eyelids blinked open and she inhaled deeply. Raising her head up from the sofa, she focused on Buffy and murmured, "Oh...you're back. I must have dozed off. W-What time is it?"
Buffy glanced at her watch. "Just after 5:00. Dozing off is understandable. Busy night. I kinda did it myself."
"So it was quiet? With Willow, I mean -- no trouble?" Tara's eyes widened hopefully.
"I wouldn't say trouble, exactly," Buffy sighed, her brow furrowing slightly. She dropped to the couch beside Tara and explained, "Willow came to for a second or two. From what Spike said, she looked around and screamed -- I missed everything except the screaming part. When I left, she was...not good. It's almost like she's in shock."
At the pained expression that crossed Tara's face, Buffy added, "I'm sure she'll be *fine*, Tara -- we just have to get her through this."
Tara nodded and whispered, "I hope so."
Buffy grasped her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Then, glancing at the Ptersian spheres, she asked, "So, are these sealed up nice and tight?"
An odd expression crossed Tara's face; her mouth twisted slightly and she nibbled at the corner of her bottom lip. Buffy could almost see her brain searching for words.
"The seal is solid," Tara began, reaching out to pick up one of the spheres. "In fact...it's more than solid. Watch."
Without warning, Tara hurled the glowing, crystalline orb at the wall. Buffy drew in a sharp breath and cried, "Tara, NO!"
To Buffy's astonishment, the seemingly fragile sphere bounced harmlessly off the wall and rolled to a stop in the middle of the floor. Her heart still racing, Buffy moved from the couch to retrieve the sphere. She stared at it, fascinated, as the flickering light danced across her skin.
"Wow," Buffy observed at last. "I guess Willow's power is pretty much locked up."
"Well..." Tara countered slowly as she averted her gaze nervously.
"What?" Buffy demanded. Instantly, her body tensed.
"We didn't do that," Tara explained, gesturing toward the sphere in Buffy's hand. "Casting a spell to capture someone's magic doesn't usually make Ptersian spheres less fragile. It should have shattered. Something else is shielding them."
"Shielding? As in...magic shielding?" Buffy deduced, her heart sinking. "Do you think Willow is doing this?"
"It doesn't feel like Willow," Tara replied. At Buffy's arched eyebrows, she blushed and stammered, "I-I can recognize Willow's s-signature on a s-spell -- well, usually. This doesn't feel familiar. But I've been reading the Archer Compendium, and I think I've found something."
As Tara paged through the tome in her lap, Buffy joined her on the couch. Buffy set the sphere back on the coffee table with the other three and squinted at the ornate script.
"Latin?" Buffy guessed.
"Old English," Tara corrected with an awkward smile. "I'm a bit rusty, but Freshman Lit 101 is coming in handy -- you know, Chaucer."
Buffy offered a half-hearted smile in return. "One of Santa's reindeer, right?"
"Uh...well..." Tara began, then simply moved on. "From what I can tell, it says here that when magic is harnessed in the spheres, they should just glow steadily -- no flickering. When I tried to find out what could cause the flickering, all it said was something about Ptersian spheres acting as parameters for trans-dimensional activity."
Buffy clenched her jaw at the mention of trans-dimensional activity, as a vision of Willow's hands, glowing above Dawn's painfully blistered forehead, surfaced from her memory. Her gaze locked with Tara's, and she asked soberly, "Do you think Willow somehow used these to escape?"
"I don't know. This is a little out of my league," Tara admitted.
For a moment, Buffy shut her eyes tightly, wishing that just once, something would go the way they expected it to. When she opened her eyes, she stared absently across the room and said, "I wish Giles were here."
"I still can't believe the Council wouldn't tell you how to reach him when you called about Willow," Tara agreed. "We could have used someone with a Watcher's knowledge."
Buffy's eyes widened apprehensively. A slight wrinkle formed above the bridge of her nose. She turned toward Tara, then to the phone, then back to Tara. The blond witch regarded her quizzically.
Buffy stood and crossed toward the phone. It was a call she was reluctant to make for a number of reasons. But at this point, she felt she had no choice.
Maybe she'd get the answering machine. If she were lucky...
*****
The early morning hours were the best.
Cordelia, Gunn and Wesley wouldn't arrive until much later in the day, and Fred had yet to emerge from her room. The world was asleep. That left the spacious, silent hotel to the meanderings of its vampire proprietor.
Or, as it was these days, to a new father who had yet to tire of pacing the lobby with his tiny son cradled in his arms.
With a slow, easy pace, Angel wandered past the grand staircase and the weapons case, back toward the office and the main entrance, then slowly crossed to lower himself down onto one of the plush lounges. Connor slept undisturbed, breathing evenly and occasionally gurgling on a bubble of drool. Angel continued to gaze at him, grinning raptly at the gentle whisper of the babe's breath across his skin and the insistent beat of his heart.
Angel could listen to that heartbeat for hours. Could, and had.
Dumbly, Angel shook his head. What miracle had created this tiny, beautiful, living being out of a demon like him?
His quiet adoration was interrupted by the ringing of the office phone. Angel winced, hoping he could retreat to his suite before the noise disturbed Connor. The machine could pick it up.
As Angel was about to exit the lobby, the answering machine beeped and began recording the caller's message. The dark vampire froze in place when he heard the voice on the machine.
"Hi...it's Buffy. I know I haven't called...but, we could use some help. It's complicated -- heavy research stuff, and we don't know how to reach Giles. Um...if you could have Wesley call me--"
"Buffy?" Angel broke in as he picked up the phone.
"Angel?" she whispered hesitantly. "I- I'm sorry, I hope I didn't wake you."
"Vampire hours," Angel assured her gently, squeezing his hand nervously around the receiver while holding Connor in the crook of his arm. Despite the way they had parted after their first -- and last -- meeting since her resurrection, just hearing Buffy's voice made Angel's heart sing and ache all at once. "What can I do for you?"
"We need to know everything there is to know about how Ptersian spheres work," Buffy explained quickly. Beneath her businesslike tone, Angel detected a slight tremor of nervousness.
"Ptersian spheres?"
"Yeah, we had to...there's been some trouble. With Willow."
"Willow?" Angel's repeated, taken aback.
Buffy sighed. "It's a long story. A few months ago, she got mixed up with some pretty dark magic. Some guy named Rack turned her onto it--"
"I've heard of Rack," Angel interrupted grimly. "He *is* trouble. How did Willow get involved with someone like him?"
"Amy, a witch she knows. Her first stint with him left her out of control. She hurt Dawn, but swore that was the end of it. But she couldn't stop. And the more she went back--"
"The darker she became," Angel finished, having heard of similar cases before. Concerned, he asked, "Is Dawn okay?"
"She's healing. A few weeks ago, Willow went on a power binge...she tried to tap into Dawn like..."
There was silence on the line for a moment. Finally, Angel prompted, "Buffy?"
When she spoke, Angel could hear the barely controlled rage in her voice. "Willow tried to tap into Dawn like Glory would have -- she *used* her to open a trans-dimensional portal. Dawn has...scars. They'll probably be permanent. And those are just the ones on the outside."
Angel was dumbstruck. Buffy's revelation left him shocked; scarcely a year earlier, Willow had marshaled her power to protect Dawn from the hell god. He had no idea how Buffy was able to manage; she'd had so little time to adjust to her resurrection. Now this.
"Buffy, I'm so sorry," Angel murmured hoarsely.
"We're dealing. But that's why I called. We tried to contain Willow's power in a set of Ptersian spheres, but something went wrong. Do you think Wesley could do some research for us?"
"I'll get him on it right away," Angel promised. "Is Willow still a threat?"
"Not that we can tell so far. She reminds me of how you were when you came back from hell. We've got her chained up at Spike's crypt," Buffy explained.
"You're still working with Spike?" Angel growled, his mood darkening. His entire body went rigid, with the unfortunate effect that he tightened his arm around Connor a little too forcefully. Angel's son stirred irritably and began to cry.
"Um...well, he knows a little about dark magic...and he's uh...good in a fight," Buffy stammered awkwardly. After a pause, she asked, "Angel, what's that noise? Is everything okay?"
It was Angel's turn to stammer awkwardly. "It's...uh...everything's okay here, Buffy...ah...Wesley just walked in. I'll fill him in and have him call you back."
"O-okay, great. Thanks for everything, Angel," Buffy replied.
"Any time," he assured her, before they disconnected.
As he replaced the telephone receiver in its cradle, Angel closed his eyes and his shoulders sagged. Then he turned his attention to Connor, rocking him slightly and murmuring soothing endearments. Angel sighed. Guilt gnawed at his insides -- he hated hiding the truth from Buffy. He just hoped he could find the right way to tell her about Connor.
*****
Buffy leaned against the wall, staring down at the phone. She exhaled slowly, releasing the tension that had gripped her at Angel's reaction to the mere mention of Spike. Oh, God. Not good...so not good. She hated hiding the truth from Angel. She just hoped she could find the right way to tell him about Spike.
~Part: 4~
Spike leaned against the wall and observed Willow, still huddled and shivering. He'd seen humans like this plenty of times before. Hell, before the chip he'd reduced people to this state on a nightly basis -- cowering, whimpering, shaking in terror.
Those were the days.
His eyes narrowed as he found himself unable to reconcile those memories entirely with the witch's condition. Sure, there were superficial similarities. Physically, humans were all pretty much the same. The racing pulse; the dilated pupils; the unconscious, instinctive attempts to shrink in on themselves, as if to disappear into the background; and the intoxicating scent of adrenaline, sweat, and mortal fear.
Spike sniffed the air and closed his eyes, momentarily abandoning himself to the heady blend.
He shook himself out of it and went back to watching her. Willow definitely wasn't your run-of-the-mill human. This one had teeth, and not just because of the magic. On more than one occasion, Willow had surprised him -- she'd shown a lot of backbone for such a fluffy little wallflower.
'Course, he'd been stinking drunk on one of those occasions. Still, he wouldn't have pegged her as one to stand up to a mean drunk, let alone a mean drunk who happened to be a vamp with a broken bottle.
Tougher than she looked at first glance, this one.
Hadn't surprised him at all when she'd cut the hell bitch down to size.
But this...
Willow whimpered, her shoulder twitching involuntarily.
This just didn't fit. Something wasn't right.
He'd figured part of it. After Buffy had gone, Spike had settled in across from the chained witch and attuned himself to her. It took him awhile to pick up on it, and at first it had nearly frozen the blood in his veins.
Willow's power was still in her. She practically reeked of magic.
What Spike couldn't figure was why she'd been reduced to the pitiful, cringing creature before him, since her power appeared to be intact.
His first impulse had been to warn Buffy, but he decided leaving Willow unattended would be too risky. Best to wait until Buffy came back.
Besides...if Niblet knew that they hadn't managed to strip Willow of her power, she'd be scared to death. He'd be damned if he'd be the cause of that.
Spike shifted slightly against the wall and frowned.
*****
Buffy rejoined Tara in the living room. As she approached, Tara swallowed a yawn and said, "So...that was Angel?"
"Yeah," Buffy nodded. "He works with someone who used to be a Watcher. Angel said they'd do some research and let us know what they find."
Blinking, Tara brought her fist up to her mouth to cover another yawn. Buffy grinned and said, "Why don't you go upstairs and get some sleep. Your old bed should still be made up." As she spoke, Buffy's expression clouded and she grew flustered. "Oh...uh, I mean, if it doesn't bother you to sleep in the bed you and Willow....you know, on second thought, why don't I just get some sheets and blankets and make up the couch for you? It's nice and comfy."
Tara grinned broadly and her eyes twinkled with amusement. "It's okay. I'll take the bed. But thanks for being concerned."
Buffy's reply was interrupted by a piercing scream that carried downstairs from Dawn's room. Even before a look of horror gripped Tara's face, Buffy was racing up the stairs to pulverize whatever threatened her sister.
*****
Dawn struggled desperately to move, but her body refused to respond. Everything was dark...blurred...She couldn't see her surroundings, but the setting was horribly familiar.
A cold pit formed in Dawn's stomach as Willow came into focus, her eyes black and void. In slow motion, Willow raised her hands as she mouthed words Dawn couldn't hear. But other words, so casual -- so cruel -- flashed through Dawn's mind.
<Come on, Dawnie. Don't tell me you haven't ever been just a little curious...>
Willow moved closer, her hands glowing red. Panic seized Dawn. No...no ...not again! No! Stop it! Stop it!
But Dawn couldn't move, couldn't speak. Helplessly, she watched the nightmare unfold. Dawn felt the agonizing, searing pain as her forehead blistered beneath Willow's hands. Even worse, though, was the humiliation. Dawn wanted to cry, wanted to scream, because Willow had forced her to face the truth.
She was just a *thing* after all; a Key, a tool -- a power source Willow could tap into.
Dawn wanted to disappear.
She strained against the oppressive paralysis that left her helpless, willed her body to thrash, kick -- anything to escape the terror. It smothered her.
Distantly, she heard a voice calling her name.
"Dawn."
She tried to call for help, scream, anything. Then Willow gripped her shoulders and shook. Hard. Willow mouthed her name, but to Dawn it seemed like the voice came from somewhere else.
"DAWN!!"
Dawn jerked awake, screaming hoarsely. She sat bolt upright in her bed and panted furiously. Gradually, she realized that strong, comforting arms were wrapped around her. Trembling, she brought her eyes up to meet her sister's.
"Buffy?" she whispered.
"Shh...it's okay, I'm here, Dawnie. I've got you," Buffy assured her, holding her close.
Dawn's face crumbled and she collapsed in tears. She sobbed violently against Buffy's shoulder, shuddering as Buffy stroked her hair.
After several minutes, Dawn calmed in Buffy's embrace. Even so, a chill ran through her as she hiccuped, "I-it was hap-pening a-all over again."
Dimly, Dawn became aware of Tara, who sat down beside her and placed a comforting hand on her back. Dawn closed her eyes and breathed deeply as Tara and her sister enveloped her in safety.
She just wished the dreams would stop.
*****
Spike jerked as Buffy slammed open the door and strode into his crypt, gripping the charmed sceptre she'd wielded last night. She looked for all the world like she was prepared to work the witch over. Buffy clenched her jaw and stared coldly at Willow as she advanced. Spike rose at her approach.
"Has she done anything since I left?" Buffy demanded in a low voice.
"Not a peep," Spike shook his head. "Fewer signs of life in there than with Yours Truly. But..."
"But...?" Buffy prompted sternly, her gaze deadly serious.
Spike steeled himself for the explosion. "She's lousy with magic. I can feel it all over her."
For a split second, Buffy was perfectly still. Then her eyebrows drew together sharply as her eyes flashed with anger. Charging forward until she was in his face, she seethed, "And you didn't come tell me?"
"Ease up!" Spike growled. Moderating his tone slightly, he explained, "First of all, didn't think it was safe to leave the witch alone. Second, magic's not the dark stuff. Whatever's up with her, she's not givin' off the Big Bad vibe any more."
"You can't know what's going on with her!" Buffy fired back, pointing accusingly at Willow. "You said yourself this could be an act. Dawn had a nightmare not even an hour ago -- she said it was like experiencing it all over again!"
Spike closed his eyes in frustration, then opened them again and tried to speak calmly. "Buffy, Niblet's been havin' nightmares since it happened. 's how you humans deal with trauma. Doesn't mean the witch is--"
Eyes frozen with astonishment, Spike halted mid-sentence. He'd turned to gesture at the huddled, incapacitated witch, but found her watching them both. Willow trembled and blinked uncontrollably, but there was no menace in her eyes. To Spike, it barely seemed as if she recognized them. She was definitely conscious of her surroundings, though. He watched as her eyes flitted nervously from him, to Buffy, then down to the floor, and back up again.
Warily, Buffy raised the charmed sceptre before her and addressed their captive. "Willow?"
Willow cringed at the mention of her name and her eyes darted nervously to Buffy. Spike thought he'd detected a slight increase in her heart rate when Buffy had spoken to her, but it was hard to tell. As it was, Willow's heart was already pounding furiously.
"Willow?" Buffy repeated tersely.
This time, Spike caught it -- Willow's heart beat just a little faster at the sound of her name.
"She understands that much," he informed Buffy.
Willow shook more forcefully and tears welled in her eyes. She wept openly and began to rock back and forth. Her mouth moved almost imperceptibly, but her murmurs were too soft for Buffy or Spike to make them out clearly.
Buffy's muscles tensed for combat. She inclined her head toward Spike and demanded, "What is she saying? Is it an incantation?"
Spike strained to hear Willow's words. Finally, his acute hearing picked up a single phrase which Willow repeated over and over.
"I'm sorry....I'm sorry....I'm sorry....I'm sorry....I'm sorry...."
~Part: 5~
Xander felt horrible.
He couldn't listen to this conversation. He couldn't be part of this conversation. Tuning out the others, he simply stared at Willow as she shrank against the wall of Spike's crypt.
Once, when they were seven, he and Willow had been playing at a pond. As Willow crouched down, entranced by bugs skittering along the water's surface, a bullfrog had leaped at her face. Startled, she'd fled shrieking from the pond. Where other boys might have teased her for being such a "scaredy cat", Xander had considered it his own, very important task to comfort her. It had been the first time in his life that he'd felt like he had a special status: Xander Harris, Willow's Best Bud.
Later, he, Willow and Jesse had been a team. They'd never made the in-crowd, but that hadn't mattered. Xander hadn't needed anyone else's opinion to tell him he was okay, because he could make Willow smile. And that was enough.
He looked at her now. She shivered and twitched nervously, breathing in shallow pants, more like a caged animal than his childhood friend. Occasionally, their eyes met. That hurt the worst, for in Willow's haunted gaze there wasn't the faintest glimmer of recognition. Xander saw himself reflected back as no more than one of several captors.
A lump swelled in his throat.
Anya's voice filtered through his self-imposed wall of stoicism.
"We can't keep her at our place. Xander and Willow have a past. That's bad luck for a marriage -- I should know, I've seen it happen. The only thing worse than inviting a fiancé's past loves into your home before the wedding is including tulips in the bridal bouquet -- disaster just waiting to happen."
"I want to help, but...I don't think I'm ready to keep her at my apartment...and there's still the fact that my place is stocked with magic supplies," Tara murmured apologetically. "I just...hate to see her like this."
"There's a good reason we have to keep her under guard," Buffy countered firmly. "If you need a reminder, take a good look at Dawn sometime. I hate seeing Willow this way, too, but we don't know if it's safe to trust her yet. Until we do, she has to be confined."
"Xander and I don't have any chains... that we can spare," Anya protested.
"Look, just leave her here," Spike interrupted, rolling his eyes at the anguished exchange. "Leave her some food and water, she'll be fine. No trouble for me to keep an eye on her. Kind of nice to have a cowering human in the crypt."
"Spike!" Buffy snapped angrily.
Xander felt like he was going to be sick. He finally turned away from Willow and stared at the others, visibly pained.
"You know, I never thought I'd see the day when the only one who'd be willing to take Willow in was a vampire who'd tried to kill her before -- and then only because she's lost, alone, and frightened enough to make him forget he's neutered," Xander choked bitterly.
"Watch it, AB-neg," Spike growled, glaring at him. Buffy, Tara and Anya merely gaped awkwardly.
When Buffy recovered her voice, she said gently, "Xander, Willow is my friend, too. But we've seen how dangerous she can be. With her power intact, she poses a threat. She may look harmless now, but anything could trigger the darkness again -- and I don't want to take any chances on what she could unleash."
"And we certainly can't let ourselves show compassion for anyone whose dark side is hanging by a thread," Xander retorted angrily. "Willow was able to forgive Angel for everything he did when he went Psycho Boy on us. If we can't offer Willow the same compassion she had for a bloodthirsty killer...that's pretty sad. Where do I sign up to be officially ashamed of us?"
Buffy's eyes widened at the mention of Angel, but she clenched her jaw and answered coolly, "I want to help Willow, but Dawn comes first."
"So, what? We leave Wills chained up here with Spike, like a dog in a kennel?" Xander demanded.
The gang looked at each other uncomfortably.
Meanwhile, Willow continued rocking herself, furtively glancing at Tara.
*****
Wesley pored over the weathered manuscript on his desk, frowning at the ambiguous passage. Reaching for his Akkadian dictionary and cursing himself for having gotten so rusty with ancient languages since leaving the Watchers Council, he was nonetheless grateful that Cordelia and the others had yet to arrive for work. When a translation was particularly difficult, he needed a distraction-free environment.
A shrill ringing jolted him from his intense concentration and caused him to bang his knee on the desk. He winced.
Blasted phone.
He picked up. "Angel Investigations, we help the hopeless." After a pause, he continued in a less-disgruntled tone, "Oh, hello Buffy. I was just researching your situation. I must say, I've learned some fascinating things about Ptersian spheres and trans-dimensional-- what?"
As Wesley listened, his eyebrows rose above the rims of his spectacles and his expression grew apprehensive. He glanced uncomfortably toward the lobby at the sound of Angel's approach. Nodding curtly and muttering affirmations at the appropriate intervals, he mouthed "Buffy" at Angel's questioning look.
"Yes, I can see your predicament," Wesley offered diplomatically after a few more moments. "However, I think this is something you should discuss with Angel -- oh, here he is now."
Wesley thrust the phone at Angel and repressed a smile as the vampire who fearlessly battled demons shrank back slightly, as though the phone might bite him. Angel took the phone and said, "Buffy, hi...Has something happened since?...uh huh....uh huh...."
While Angel listened to Buffy, Wesley stared at him intently and whispered, "Tell. Her."
Angel's eyes widened in mild panic. He shook his head at Wesley and gestured to the phone, all the while maintaining his end of the conversation with occasional grunts.
Looking somewhat defeated, Angel finally offered, "Of course I want to help. And you're not abandoning Willow -- you have Dawn to think of... you have to make tough choices when someone's safety depends on you..."
Angel winced as he said this, and Wesley took the opportunity to whisper once again, "Tell. Her."
Angel waved him off and continued, "I'm not sure how we'll be able to help her any better than you could, but we'll do our best...all right...all right, we'll see you tonight."
Wesley folded his arms across his chest and watched patiently as Angel hung up the phone. The dark vampire leaned against the desk, head hung in defeat.
"So, they're bringing Ms. Rosenberg here," Wesley deduced quietly.
"I didn't know how I could refuse," Angel murmured weakly, his eyes closed.
Wesley's eyes narrowed and his voice grew stern. "Let's see, how about, 'Buffy, my infant son is the target of several groups who would like to sacrifice him or otherwise threaten his existence, so this isn't really a good time for me to watch over a rogue witch'?"
"Buffy is not going to learn about Connor over the phone," Angel snapped, fixing Wesley with a resolute gaze. "Besides, from what they can tell, Willow is incapacitated."
"For the time being," Wesley reminded him.
"We're still better equipped to restrain her than they are -- especially with Giles gone. Buffy is a warrior, not a student of the occult," Angel insisted.
"Well, if she'd--" Wesley slipped into Watcher mode, then shifted gears when he saw the scowl on Angel's face and acknowledged weakly. "--not been so busy preventing one Apocalypse after another, she might have had more time to study the basics of magic."
An awkward silence settled between them.
"Why don't you--" Angel began.
"I'll go prepare a room for Ms. Rosenberg," Wesley volunteered, resigned to the imminent arrival of the Sunnydale crew. He started toward the lobby, then paused. "I'll do what I can to establish a binding spell, should her abilities re-emerge."
*****
Buffy steeled her nerves as she, Xander and Tara walked into the spacious hotel lobby. Spike followed, carrying Willow. Buffy came to an abrupt halt when she saw Angel seated on a lounge.
Spike wasn't the only vampire cradling someone in his arms.
Angel looked up from the babe he'd been cooing softly and his eyes locked with Buffy's. Hesitantly, Angel rose to his feet. For a moment, both of them were speechless.
"Bloody hell, the Poof really is running a day care service," Spike drawled. Ignoring Angel's irritated glare, Spike nodded down at Willow and said, "Right. Where do I drop your next babysitting project?"
Before Angel could bite out a retort, Cordelia emerged from the office, followed closely by Fred, Gunn and Wesley, and demanded indignantly, "What is *he* doing here?" Not waiting for a reply, she turned to Gunn and asked, "Want a little target practice with the cross-bow?"
Gunn raised his eyebrows eagerly. "This one of the vamps we get to stake?"
"Absolutely," Cordelia assured him vehemently.
"If we're through with the ill-tempered welcome?" Buffy interrupted impatiently.
"There is no way the bleached wonder is going any further beyond this point," Cordelia insisted stubbornly. Buffy's eyes narrowed as Cordelia stepped in front of Angel, as if to shield him and the child from the recent arrivals.
Now Buffy was even more curious about this baby.
"Fine," Spike answered coolly. He turned to Tara and made as if to hand Willow to her. "You take her. You're the only one she let near her on the ride over, anyway."
Tara fidgeted awkwardly, looking alarmed at the prospect of having to carry Willow. She was spared when Buffy intervened again.
"Spike is with us. Either you show him where we can put Willow, or we find our own way."
Buffy stared at Angel's co-workers with grim determination, and eventually they flinched. Wesley stepped back and gestured for Spike to follow him. "I've made up one of the guest rooms. Ms. Rosenberg should be quite comfortable there."
As Spike, Xander and Tara moved to follow him, Buffy said, "I'll be there in a minute."
The blond vampire paused and gazed searchingly at her. Buffy saw the storm of emotion in his eyes -- fear, uncertainty, jealousy. He opened his mouth, hesitated for a moment, then muttered, "Take your time."
Buffy placed a hand on his arm and squeezed gently. With a slight smile, she whispered, "Thanks."
Spike's eyes softened and Buffy detected a familiar gleam, one she'd not only grown accustomed to...she was actually starting to feel comfortable with it.
Tenderness.
Aware of their audience, Buffy nonetheless realized that the same tenderness was reflected in her own eyes. A hint of a smile tugged at Spike's lips.
She dropped her hand and Spike strode away, accompanied by Xander and Tara as Angel's colleagues escorted them to Willow's room. Buffy didn't fail to notice the tense glare Angel and Spike exchanged.
Finally, she and Angel were left alone.
The silence stretched on for a few minutes as they regarded each other.
"So...a really young client?" Buffy asked lightly, nodding at the child in Angel's arms.
"No," Angel replied slowly, looking more nervous than Buffy could ever remember having seen him. "He's my son."