Eternal Fate

Author: Shanna

Rating: Eventually up to NC17

Pairing: Willow/Spike

Summary: Willow dies, but like all good characters in the Buffyverse, she doesn't stay dead. She's not dead, she's not a vampire, so what is she?

Spoilers: Through the end of Season 5, Post-Gift, but then completely AU from there

Disclaimer: I own nothing dealing with the Buffyverse. It all belongs to one Mr. Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I bow in the presence of his greatness. . .then I'd talk his ear off about not pairing Willow up with Spike.

Distribution: Near Her Always, Willow's Lil Secret, Bite Me, Please and Red's Soulmates. Anyone else, please ask. :)

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~Part: 1~

The quiet dark of night was only disturbed by the rustling of grass the group wove their way through the park. Occasional whispers of conversations could be heard, but for the most part, only the loud chirping of crickets disturbed the peace of the evening.

Xander and Anya strolled hand in hand, and would have been the perfect picture of true love walking under a starry sky, if not for the mace held in Anya's free hand and the battleaxe in Xander's. Giles walked behind the pair, his favorite crossbow held firmly in his arms. He peered about them, alert to the dangers of the night. Willow trailed slightly behind him. She swung the small sword in her right hand absentmindedly. She was going over the spell she would need to cast that night. Her mind tumbled the words over and over, making sure she missed nothing.

Behind them all trailed Spike, his leather duster billowing in the cool night air as he kept pace with the others. It had been six weeks. Six very long weeks since Buffy had given her life to save the world. He still pictured her body laying on the pile of bricks at the base of Glory's tower. He could still feel the warmth slowly leaving her mortal shell as he had carried her to the hospital. He remembered how pale she had been, luminescent in the moonlight even in death. His golden slayer was gone. The second love of his unlife had left him as well.

He knew Buffy had never loved him. However, she had trusted him with something more precious to her than her own life. . the life of her sister. His lips quirked at the thought of his Niblet. She hadn't been the same since the slayer's death, but she was slowly starting to come around. He had made a promise to Buffy and he intended to keep it, for eternity if need be. The lil' bit was his to keep safe.

Willow and Tara had moved in with the girl shortly after the slayer's death. At first they had all congregated at the watcher's home, huddling together, seeking solace from one another. After the burial, after the denial and the shock had worn off, Red's mind had been the first to kick into gear. They needed to protect Dawn.

Glory may be gone, but she was sure there were all kinds of nasties out there that would love to get their hands on the kind of power hidden within the body of the fourteen year old. They also had to take into consideration the loony crusaders that had come to destroy the key before Glory could get her mitts on the girl. She may have wiped out a large number, but they were just the first wave. Who knew how many more were left and aware of the key's location? They had to form a plan. . .a plan that would allow them to keep the girl with them and guard her against the powers that would want her death.

Willow had hacked into the coroner's records, wiping away the death of one Buffy Anne Summers. The only proof that a bright light had left them that night was the pink gravestone marker that had just been placed on her plot earlier that week. They had not buried her next to Joyce, instead opting for one of the oldest cemeteries in Sunnydale. There were no graves left to be filled according to their records. . .again, until Willow's fingers flew over her laptop keyboard, and found a "forgotten" plot toward the back of the cemetery. It was shaded by ancient trees and her nearest neighbor had died over a century before her own death. Any demons who had heard whispers of the slayer's death, and searched for some sort of sick trophy would not be finding her in any of the active cemeteries in Sunnydale. Spike had to admit, Red was a smart little chit.

The second part of her plan didn't sit as well with him. She had resurrected the Buffybot, reattaching the head that Glory had knocked off in the final battle. She had altered the programming so that it appeared to be the perfect Buffy. Big sister Buffy. Guardian of Dawn Buffy. Doting daughter Buffy when her father deemed to call and check up on his girls. Tonight it sat back at the Summers' residence, its battery charging after a particularly draining battle against a nest of vamps the previous night.

He hated being around the thing. It was a painful reminder for all of what they lost. It made him want to rip it open and tear the stupid thing apart chip by chip and wire by wire. The worst was when some of its old programing kicked in when in his presence. He couldn't believe that at one point he enjoyed the Bot calling him her Big Bad and her Dark Evil Prince.

Whenever it would spout off some comment that made him want to heave his morning mug of blood, he would rail at Red. She would invariably apologize, and go right to work trying to find the bug in the bot's system. He actually felt badly about yelling at the young witch. She had a lot on her plate to deal with, and the last thing she needed was an irate vampire in her face. Not only was she still attending college, but now she was caring for Dawn, taking nightly patrols and dealing with a girlfriend whose mind, in his opinion, never came back right. Soddin' chip in his head was turning him into a right poof!

Spike frowned to himself and puffed on his cigarette. He peered closely at the girl walking in front of him. She looked thin. Thinner than usual. She'd been running herself ragged trying to play mother hen to all of them. The entire lot had sunk into a deep depression after the slayer's death. Hell, even the demon girl had been quietly sad since that night. Spike thought the whole mortality thing might finally be making some sense to her.

He'd stopped by Buffy's grave one night the week prior after a patrol. He'd thought to have some alone time with his love. Spike had wanted to tell her he was fulfilling his promise, looking out for the Niblit. Only when he'd arrived, he found a sobbing watcher on his knees next to the grave. The witch had been kneeling next to him, rocking him gently in her arms and whispering soothing platitudes while the older man had clung to her like a lifeline. He had been certain, as he had backed away from the scene into the shadows, that she would never let him see the tears slipping down her own cheeks.

Maybe after they offed the K'Margen demon he'd offer to take Red, her skittish girlfriend and the bit for some ice cream. Ice cream always makes humans feel better, right? He thought he remembered Buffy saying that once. A ghost of a smile played about the corners of his lips at the memory. Yeah. That's what he'd do. He'd make sure Red had a double scoop. Spike would see to it the little witch put some meat back on her fragile looking bones. Buffy would have wanted that.

*****************************************

The demon was roughly seven feet tall, with iridescent midnight blue scales. It had teeth the length of small daggers, and just as sharp. The K'Margen's long arms made it almost impossible to get within striking distance for a fatal blow. That's where Willow came in with the mojo. She centered herself, and began to chant the spell she had practiced her entire way to the warehouse, where they found the demon.

The clang of Anya's mace and Xander's axe hitting off the monster's long claws echoed through the cavernous warehouse. Giles crossbow bolts ineffectively bounced off its scales. Willow tossed him her sword, once so well-loved by Buffy, and increased the volume of her chant. Spike jumped the roaring beast from behind and tried to twist its head off. He was thrown across the room into a wall of stacked oil drums, then buried beneath them as they toppled over.

The wind rose in the enclosed space to whip her fiery locks around her face. She felt the force of her magic gathering within her, being pulled from the very earth below her feet. She felt her green eyes slide into darkness as the power behind the spell rose to a peak. Willow shouted the final words of the spell just as the demon grabbed Xander in its clawed hand.

She heard his scream as the sharp talons began to dig into his skin, but then it was overpowered by the demons own shrieks of pain and anger. Anya had run to the other side and was beating the K'Margen with her mace, trying to get it to relinquish it's grasp on her fiancé.

All attention was on the demon as its blue scales began to melt. They watched as its skin beneath bubbled and boiled, slowly folding in on itself. Xander became covered in midnight blue ooze and fell to the floor as the K'Margen dissolved. It's animalistic screams drowned out all other sounds in the warehouse. Finally it was no more than a puddle of goop on the floor, with Xander, Anya and Giles surrounding it..

Xander swiped at some of the slime coating his clothes. "Uh, can I just say. . .eeewwww! Not to mention OW!"

A loud shout of "NO!" was accompanied by the sound of rattling oil drums.

The three whose attention had been so focused on the melting K'Margen demon turned their attention toward Spike's angry cry. The sight that met their eyes horrified them.

Willow was on her knees, a surprised and pained expression on her face. Protruding from her chest was a set of bloody talons which were connected to another snarling K'Margen demon. The creature let out a piercing cry and slashed its claws through the body of the wounded witch. The three stood in shock as everything seemed to move in slow motion.

Then a blur of dark and pale streaked to the demon which fell to the floor behind Willow, its decapitated and bloody head held between Spike's hands. His amber eyes radiated violence as he threw the head away viciously. He used his speed to catch Willow's body as it began to fall and cradled her in his arms, watching her life's blood run in rivulets down her lilac peasant blouse.

"Red! Red! Stay with us, pet. We'll get you to the hospital." He didn't even care that a sense of panic had entered his voice, that the others might think him a ponce.

"Willow!" Xander slid to a stop next to the blood and gore that was now his lifelong friend. "God, no," he groaned softly. He took her hand, which was already cold with shock.

Giles and Anya knelt around her, the watcher quickly removing his sweater to use it as a compress. The former demon knew what none of them wanted to admit. It was too late. She shook her head sadly, knowing how much this was going to hurt them all, especially so soon after loosing Buffy.

Her dazed eyes focused on brilliant blue for a moment. "Spike," she whispered.

"I'm right here, Red," he whispered. He listened to her heart slow, even as the watcher pressed the thick green wool to the gaping wound in her chest.

"Hurts," she said. A trickle of blood slipped from her mouth to trail down her chin and neck.

He closed his eyes against the sight. "I know it does, pet, but it won't for much longer. I promise."

"What are you saying," Xander yelled at him. His dark brown eyes were angry as he glared at the vampire holding his friend. "She's going to be fine. We need to get her to a hospital. NOW!"

"Xander," Anya whispered. She laid a calming hand on his arm. "It's too late."

"NO!" He looked around in a panic. Even Giles' face was resigned as he saw the amount of blood drenching the sweater. "No! Wills, you are not gonna die on me! I need you!" Tears filled his eyes as he gripped her hand tighter, as if holding onto her would keep her with them.

"There's too much damage, Xander," Anya murmured, not wanting to say the words while the girl still lived, but knowing he had to understand.

"Spike," she mouthed.

"Yeah, pet." He leaned closer, so her lips were right next to his ear. She was fading fast. The warmth was already leaving her body.

"Take care of them, please. All of them. Buffy would have wanted it."

He closed his eyes. Another promise. He owed her nothing. Why would he promise such a thing. He didn't love her. Hell, he wasn't even sure he liked her. He looked down into her eyes. There was a desperation there. They pleaded with him.

"I promise, Red," he murmured.

Her eyes fluttered once, then they closed as the last breath left her body. Willow Rosenberg was dead.

~Part: 2~

Xander stared at her for a moment, his mind refusing to process the stillness of her body. Suddenly he became aware of words being repeated over and over. "No. No. No. No. No. No. No. NOOOOOOO!!!!" Not until he screamed and broke into sobs did he realize it had been him.

Anya cradled and rocked him in her arms, cooing softly even as he refused to let go of the fragile hand in his grip. Spike looked up and took note of how old Rupert suddenly looked. He had fallen from his knees to sit on the cold concrete floor. His hand rubbed his forehead as tears trickled from under his closed eyelids.

He looked down at the small body still in his arms. She was really gone. He never thought he'd see the day Red would die. Except by his own hand, of course. She would have made a glorious vampire. With her intelligence and magicks, no one would have been able to defeat them. She wouldn't have been a mere minion. Willow had been worthy of the status of true childe of William the Bloody. Now that chance was lost.

And what had he been thinking, making that promise to her? To look after the whole lot of them? He had to be insane. Spike sighed. He might be a demon, but he was a demon that kept his word. He groaned when he realized he was going to have to break the news to Dawn and Tara. He couldn’t care less about the pasty twitchy witch. The only thing that let him tolerate her was how good she was with Niblet. Dawn, though. . .this was going to be a long night.

He looked around at the desolate group and cleared his throat. "We’d better take her to the hospital," he murmured softly, not wanting the harsh words to interfere with the heavy grief filling the air.

Xander looked at him through red-rimmed and shock-filled eyes. "She’s really gone?"

His voice sounded so small and so young, it actually made the vampire feel sorry for him. Ponce. "Yeah. She’s gone, mate," he whispered.

"Wild dogs."

All three men looked at Anya in confusion.

"What? We have to come up with a cover story. You know we can’t just take her there, and say she was killed in a fight with a K’Margen demon."

Giles shook his head wearily. "Anya, not now, please," he said. His voice was raspy with unshed tears.

"I know you don’t want to talk about it. I know it’s hard, that she’s gone. But they are going to be questions. We need to have answers."

"Demon girl's right. Wild dogs sounds as good as any, pet. We were supposed to meet her at the Bronze, but she didn't show up. We went looking for her and came across her. . ."

"No!" Giles looked up at them. "No. Even Sunnydale's inept police department is going to ask questions as to why, for the second time in six weeks, we are bringing a body to the morgue, moving it from the scene of her death."

Xander thought he had lost the ability to growl when the hyena spirit left him, but found he was wrong as a dangerous rumble began in his chest. His eyes flashed as he looked at the watcher. "We are not leaving her here. She deserves better, Giles."

"We can make an anonymous call, Xander. We can wait outside to make sure they get here and nothing else goes in, but we have to be careful. You know that I'm right about this."

Spike looked at the pale figure in his arms again. "I'll stay watch over her." He looked up to see three surprised faces staring back at him. "I can get in and out without them ever seeing me." He looked Xander straight in the eye. "I promise, nothing else will happen to her."

"Xander, the police would be suspicious, and we still have to tell Tara and Dawn." Anya rubbed his shoulder lightly, trying to curl her body around his back to offer comfort. She found the gash in his arm from the demon's claw. "We need to get you fixed up, too.

"I don't want to leave her," he sobbed, clutching her hand even tighter.

"Honey, we have to," Anya whispered in his ear.

"I'm sorry, Wills," he whispered, leaning forward to kiss her cheek softly. "I'm so sorry." His tears splashed on her face and he wiped them away before letting Anya pull him to his feet.

Giles rose as well and flinched when Spike tossed his blood soaked sweater at him. "Go. Make the call," he told the man. He gently laid Willow on the floor, and stood himself. "I'll wait until I hear the sirens, then I'll meet you back at Buffy's. . .uh, Dawn's."

He watched the three of them leave. Their eyes were haunted. He didn't know how they were going to ride this one out. Buffy, well, she was the slayer. They always died young. Red, though? She was the backbone of this little group of demon fighters. He was afraid without her, they were going to fall apart. Spike had a feeling keeping his promise to the witch was going to become a full time job.

~Part: 3~

While the shocked trio stumbled back to the home on Revello Drive, Spike watched over the deathly-still witch. He had an urge to run his tongue through the blood coating her skin to see if she was as sweet as he always thought she would be. He resisted that impulse, and settled for brushing her tousled curls away from her face. She looked so peaceful if you looked at her from the neck up. Like a sleeping angel.

Spike shook himself out of his reverie. He was starting to sound like his poetic human self. Red didn't deserve to die. Not like this. Bloody hell, but he was going to have a hard time with Dawn. She had attached herself at the hip to the redhead after her sister's death.

He'd watched through the windows at night while the two sat on the couch together, and Willow held the younger girl. He listened to her telling silly stories about Buffy and their exploits in high school. She patiently explained to the li'l bit that it was okay to talk about Buffy; that she didn't have to bottle everything up inside. Talking about her and sharing memories kept her with them always. It was after this conversation that Dawn started opening up to them again, and she started talking about random teenage things like clothes, music, and boys.

Now one more person had been ripped from her life. First Joyce, then Buffy, now Willow. He didn't know how he was going to pull her through this.

"I'm sorry, pet." His voice echoed in the empty open space. "I'm sorry I couldn't get to you in time. You were...all right...for a human. Nothin' all that special, mind you. But...all right. I'll watch over them for you. Don't know why I made that promise, but I did. William the Bloody is always true to his word. I'm a demon with honor, and I won't let you or Buffy down."

He didn't know how long he stood there staring at her pale, cooling body. It could have been seconds; it could have been minutes, but eventually he finally heard the sirens.

"They're here for ya, Red. They'll take care of you. Rest now. You've earned it, luv."

With that, he sped up the stairs and onto the catwalk, before vaulting up to one of the broken skylights. He stayed up there and watched as they loaded Willow's body onto a gurney in a body bag. As he watched them zip the bag closed over that peaceful face, he reaffirmed his promise.

"I'll watch over them, Red. My word."

************************************************

Anya, Giles, and Xander stood on the front porch and stared at the door as if it was the worst demon they'd ever faced. Maybe it was.

Giles had been concerned about Tara's mental stability to begin with. Ever since Willow restored her mind, the girl was nervous and fearful of every shadow. Now they had to tell her that the one thing grounding her in this world, her girlfriend and lover, was gone. He truly feared for her sanity.

He took a deep breath, and opened the door. Murmured voices floated to the entryway from the kitchen. Giles looked to his left, where Xander stood pale with shock. His eyes were glazed, and he hadn't said a word since he left the warehouse, and his best friend's body behind. Giles didn't really think he would be of much help in the upcoming discussion. Anya was completely out of the question. Her skills of tact were sorely lacking. Breaking the horrible news to the two young women in the kitchen fell solely on his shoulders.

"Well," he said softly, "we'd better get on with it, then."

He strode reluctantly into the room. Dawn and Tara sat at the island drinking what appeared to be mugs of hot chocolate. They sat across from each other, and the younger girl was laughing softly. She looked up when a floorboard creaked under the others' weight.

"Hi, guys! How goes the slayage? Did Willow work her mojo, and make the demon turn into a big puddle of goo, or did Spike get to rip its head off first?"

Giles opened his mouth to explain, but nothing came out. How could he tell these women that they had lost another this night? How could he tear apart the fragile world both had started to rebuild? His jaw snapped shut, and he felt tears filling his eyes once again.

"She's gone." Xander was staring at the floor, with Anya clinging to his arm. She tried to rub it in a reassuring manner, and her concerned gaze flitted between her fiancé and his friends.

Tara paled slightly at his hollow tone. "You m-m-mean the demon w-w-was a female? Umm, she w-w-was still evil, though, right? W-W-Where's Willow?"

She felt a knot form in her stomach, and begin to grow into a sickening, twisting mass. None of them would meet her eyes. "W-W-Where's W-Willow?" Her voice grew louder, and was laced with a touch of panic.

"I'm sorry, Tara," Anya whispered. She finally met the blonde's gaze, her own filled with sadness, and a hint of wariness. She, like Giles, wondered if this would be the last straw that would send Tara spiraling into madness. "Willow, um, she didn't make it."

The witch stood suddenly, shaking her head in denial. The stool she had been sitting on clattered to the ground, the sound exceedingly loud in the awkward silence. Dawn looked at them with wide blue eyes, begging to be told it wasn't true.

"What do you mean, she didn't make it? Giles?" The teen's voice quavered slightly.

"I'm afraid..." He paused to clear his throat when the words came out in a harsh rasp. "I'm afraid we underestimated the demon. We weren't as prepared as we should have been. From all of the reports, there seemed to only be one demon...but there were two. Willow destroyed the first with the spell, but the other snuck behind her while we were occupied with the first."

Tara rocked side-to-side from one foot to another. Her hands clenched in front of her, nails digging into her skin, and leaving crescent moon-shaped gouges in the pale flesh. "No. No. No. No. No." Her eyes had glazed over, and the whispered words fell continuously from her lips.

Tears filled Dawn's eyes, and she gripped the countertop tightly. She had to know. "How?"

Giles opened his mouth, but only a sob was emitted. He held a hand to his mouth, and cradled that elbow with his other hand, letting the tears flow freely. Anya answered for him again.

"Do you remember when we researched? The demon has very long and sharp claws. It was behind her, and she never saw it. They...I'm sorry, but its claws went through her chest from behind, and..."

"Oh, Goddess," Tara's voice wailed, stopping Anya's heartbreaking recounting of what happened to her lover. "Oh, Goddess, why? Why would you do this? Why would you take her from me?" Her words were punctuated by loud sobs.

Giles was across the room and holding the girl before she collapsed. She threw her arms around him and clung desperately to the former Watcher. He kept an eye on Dawn, as well, and saw her swallow convulsively. She jumped from the stool, and ran out of the kitchen.

Dawn fell to her knees at the side of the toilet in the downstairs bathroom, and lost her dinner. Anya's words echoed through her head. '...the claws went through her chest from behind...' What a horrible, horrible way to die. She sobbed between bouts of vomiting; tears blurred her eyes as she tightly grasped the cool porcelain. When her stomach was empty, she sat back on the floor, and laid her head against the vanity. Dawn wrapped her arms around herself, and sobbed uncontrollably.

She didn't understand. Was she such an evil thing that some higher power kept taking away the people she loved most? They took her mom, then Buffy, and now Willow too. She thought of the sweet redhead who'd promised to take her to the mall tomorrow for a girl's day of manicures and clothes shopping. How could she be gone so quickly? Just like that? Dawn squeezed her eyes shut, drew her legs up, and wrapped her arms around them as well. Rocking back in forth, she cried for another devastating loss in her young life.

She could hear Tara's wails from the kitchen, and knew she should get up and help comfort her friend. The witch's sobs were heart-wrenching, but she just didn't have the energy to be the strong one right now, so she stayed where she was, rocking and crying in the tiny bathroom by herself. She didn't know how long she had been there, but she finally registered a hand on her shoulder.

She looked up to find concerned blue eyes staring down at her. She watched Spike's lips move, and realized he was talking. The fog lifted, and his voice finally penetrated.

"Bit, you okay, luv? Dawn, talk to me."

"Sp-Spike." Her lower lip quivered, and she threw herself into his arms. For an awkward moment he just stared down at her, arms held out from his sides as she buried her face in his chest, crying as though her heart was breaking.

Slowly, he encircled them around the sobbing teen. Taking an unneeded breath, he sighed. Spike rested his head atop Dawn's and rocked her slowly. He began to hum a lullaby long forgotten. His mum had sung it to him when he was just a boy. It had soothed him, and he hoped it did the same for Niblet.

When she quieted, Spike placed a finger under her chin and lifted her tear-stained face to look at him. "I'm truly sorry, pet. I know how much you cared about Red. She was decent...for a human."

"Why, Spike? Why does everyone keep dying? Why does everyone I love die?"

"You live on the Hellmouth, pet. S'ta be expected, I'd think, but you have had an awfully rough few months, eh?"

Dawn nodded, and her chin trembled.

"I made a promise to your sister, and now I've made one to Red, though don't ask me why. Now I'm stuck watching over the whole lot. Didn't mind so much when it was just you, luv. I like *you*. The others, though...don't know why I promised Red, but I did."

Dawn gazed up at him. "You promised Willow you'd watch out for all of us? Kinda like a guardian angel type deal?"

"Hey, I'm no angel, Bit. You'd do well to remember that, but, yeah, I promised Red I'd watch over the lot of you. I've got my work cut out for me." He rubbed circles on her back, the way he used to when Dru got her knickers in a twist. It seemed to be working to calm Dawn down as well. He felt some of the tension leaving her slight form.

"Was she..." She gulped and tried again. "Was she in a lot of pain?"

Blue eyes swimming with crystal tears looked up at him. "Not for long, pet. She went quick. Got her promise from me, and then she was gone, almost peaceful-like."

A decidedly pain-filled wail caught his attention, and he looked out the bathroom door.

"It's Tara," Dawn whispered. "She's not really taking it very well."

"Wailin' like a professional mourner, she is." He frowned to himself. Looking after that one was going to be a chore. He never cared for her at all.

"She just lost her girlfriend, Spike. How did you feel when you lost Dru?"

"Here, now. No comparin' me to the pasty witch. 'S different. Dru was my everythin' for over a century." He glared down at the girl in his arms.

"Willow was Tara's everything," she whispered.

A sound at the doorway caught their attention, and they both looked up to find Anya awkwardly standing there.

"Oh, you're here. Good. I was coming to check on Dawn, but you're already here. That's good." Her smile was forced as she looked between Spike and Dawn.

"Where's Xander?" the teen asked.

"He's in the living room, sitting...on the couch...sitting...staring." Her words and her eyes were much too bright. "He's not talking. Just sitting." Her lower lip quivered. "He won't talk to me," she whispered, the smile fading from her face. "What do I do?"

Dawn stood slowly, and Spike followed, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'll go talk to him," she whispered.

She walked into the living room to find the boy exactly as Anya had explained. Dawn sat next to him, and reached for his hand. She laid her head on his shoulder, and whispered in his ear. "I miss her too. I know it hurts."

They sat together in silence for a few minutes before Dawn felt a shaking under her cheek. She looked up and saw tears streaming down Xander's face. She let go of his hand and slid closer to wrap her arms around his neck, burying her face in it. She held him while he broke down, and sobbed for his loss. Anya sat on his other side, whispering nonsensical words of comfort as she rubbed his shoulder.

Spike sat next to Dawn and ran his hand over her back, trying to ignore Xander's weeping fit. He rolled his eyes, not believing he had to watch over this soggy git.

Suddenly there was a crash, and the sound of breaking glass coming from the kitchen. They all rose and hurried into the room. Tara was screaming, and grabbing anything she could lift. She wildly flung every bit of silverware, stoneware, pots and pans wildly. Giles yelled at her to try and calm down, but she mindlessly destroyed the room, her wails of pain turning to shrieks of rage.

Anya grabbed Giles and pulled him back to the safety of the doorway after he was hit on the head with a flying coffee mug. It broke the skin and blood trickled down his forehead. Tara stopped suddenly, and turned to look at the shocked group staring at her.

Her eyes glowed blue, and her hair billowed around her face, full of static electricity from the buildup of her powers. Hate spilled forth from her being as she levitated from the ground.

"This. Is. All. Your. Fault!" Her scream echoed around them as bolts of energy shot from her hands.

They all ducked, barely missing being fried by the grief stricken witch. Spike sped across the room and punched the hovering witch, sending them both screaming in pain to the floor. Dawn was at his side in a second, gently rubbing his temples and cradling his head in her lap. Tara lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, sobbing quietly.

Giles shook his head wearily. He'd been worried about her reaction, but hadn't thought that Tara would errupt into violence. Willow had been the only one able to control her, so what were they supposed to do with the poor girl? Lord help them all.

~Part: 4~

The wheels made a rhythmic clacking sound as the gurney was wheeled down the hallway of Sunnydale General. The younger of the two paramedics, Todd, waved at the graveyard shift security guard as they passed by. Todd had been to this section of the hospital too many times in his opinion. There were no nurses on duty here. There were no heart monitors beeping to fill up the quiet of the night. When you know the names of the security guard's wife and his three kids, not to mention the fact that he suffers from gout, that's when you know you've been to the morgue one too many times.

Tonight was no exception. He shook his head as he and his partner lifted the body bag onto one of the tables in the temperature controlled room. The body inside it was fresh. That's what they called the ones who were too newly deceased to have rigor mortis set in yet. He was only thirty-six, but after working in Sunnydale for the last two months, he felt three times his age. Even when he worked in Vegas, he'd never seen so many violent endings. It was the deaths like this one tonight that made him seriously consider uprooting his wife and kids again. It made him think about finding a place to live where it wasn't normal to find men, women, and children with their throats ripped out on a nightly basis.

He stood over the body for a moment, and slowly unzipped the bag. This one had been worse than usual. Todd stared down at the redhead, so pale in death, and took in her injuries. Something had ripped through this poor girl. Hers had been a painful death, and he only prayed it hadn't taken long for her to leave this world behind. The jagged tears in her flesh were visible through her shredded purple blouse. Her arm was hanging on by a few stringy tendons. The girl's chest and shoulder were demolished, and even her clavicle had been torn through.

"It's the young ones that get you every time if you let them," his partner murmured. "Close the bag, Todd. There's nothing we can do for her now."

Todd stared at the girl's face and wished she had been carrying some ID on her. He hated to think that a pretty young thing like this would be shoved in a drawer and listed as a Jane Doe. "How long have you been working in this town, George?" he asked his partner.

"Twelve years. Twelve very long and busy years," the older man answered.

"Why do you stay? Why do you put up with this day-in and day-out?" His gaze rested on an amethyst droplet necklace that had been splattered with blood.

"Someone has to care for them. Might as well be me as anyone else."

"Don't you ever get tired of it? Don't you think it's strange that for a town so small there's so many vicious deaths? The police can never solve any of the cases. It's always blamed on gangs. I've never seen any gangs here, George. What's wrong with this town?"

George leaned over and zipped the bag closed over the redhead's face, effectively blocking his partner's view of the girl. "There's more to this town than meets the eye, son. I've seen a lot in my time here, some things that can't be explained, and I don't think I want them to be. You stay in this town, you're gonna see death. That's a fact. If you can't handle it, maybe it's time you take your little girls and the wife, and find another place to live. It might be safer for all of you in the long run. Now, come on. We've got some paperwork to fill out at the desk for this little girl."

Todd watched the night clerk roll the gurney away towards the drawers. Her body would be placed inside one, and brought out in the morning for a brief autopsy by the overworked coroner. He sighed to himself, and turned to follow his partner out the door. Maybe it was time to put in for a transfer after all. He'd talk to his wife about it tomorrow. For now, they needed to get the paperwork filled out for their Jane Doe, and he might as well ask the guard how his gout and kids were doing.

~~~*~~~

Giles sat on the couch and rocked a sobbing Tara in his arms. Anya and Xander were attempting to clean up the demolished kitchen. The sound of breaking glass being swept up and crunched underfoot was interspersed with Xander's own muffled sobs. The Watcher looked across the room at Dawn who was curled up against Spike's side. The vampire met his eyes, and then shot a dirty look at the trembling girl in Giles' arms.

"Tara," he said softly, trying to get her attention. "Tara, dear, I know this is difficult, but..."

Her head shot up and she stared at him. "You don't know anything," her voice hissed, low and threatening. "You took her away from me. You all did. She was mine. My Willow. She did everything for all of you, and look what it cost her. Her life. She's dead because she was trying to help you. How does it feel to know you're responsible for her death? How does it feel to know she died because you didn't plan well enough? I hate you. I hate all of you." Her voice rose until she was shouting again.

She leapt from the couch, and stood in the middle of the room. The hate was visible in her eyes. Anya and Xander made their way into the room and watched the witch cautiously.

"You took her away," she wailed pitifully. "My Willow. I want my Willow!"

Tara sank to the floor in a heap. She laid on her side, and pulled her knees to her chest, holding them as she rocked herself slowly. They heard her whispering something, but couldn't make it out. Spike, with his vampiric hearing, though, understood, and his eyes widened as he watched the witch warily. Her voice rose slightly until they were able to hear, and understand she was singing.

Rock'a bye Willow
On the treetop
When the wind blows
The Hellmouth will rock
 

When the bow breaks
The cradle will fall
And down she'll come screaming
Death, blood and all

"Stop it!" Xander shouted at her. He shook as he stood there, fists clenched. "Make her stop, Giles," he pleaded. "I can't do this. I can't deal with this. I just can't," he cried.

He turned and slammed his fist against the wall. There was a sickening crunch as his hand sank into plasterboard up to his wrist. Anya hurried to his side and began prying away the broken pieces of plaster and paint around his hand.

"Xander, you need to stop hitting walls," she whispered. She gently helped him slide his now-bloody hand from the mess he'd made. "We need to get this cleaned off," she told the others, and led him into the bathroom.

Dawn started crying again, and was clutching at Spike's side while burying her head in his chest. The vampire glanced at Giles. "Want me to hit her again, and shut her up?" he asked.

"That won't be necessary, Spike," the Watcher murmured. Turning to face Tara, he began chanting an ancient language under his breath. They watched as the girl quieted, and seemed to drift into a deep sleep.

"W-What did you do to her?" Dawn questioned. She looked at Giles with a tear-stained face, and sniffled in a dainty manner.

"A sleep spell, Dawn, nothing more. She needs to rest. We all need to rest. It's been a very long evening, and I, for one, would like to forget everything that has happened. A good night's rest will do all of us good, I would think."

"Spike," Giles continued, "could you carry Tara to her room please?"

"Why the bloody hell do I have to..."

Dawn's hand on his arm caught his attention. She looked up at him plaintively. "Please, Spike. You promised Willow. Tara's one of us, too."

Heaving an unnecessary sigh, and cursing the promise he'd made to a dying girl, Spike rose from the loveseat, untangling himself from Dawn. "Fine. But just so you realize, I'm not enjoying this."

He bent and swept the lightly snoring girl into his arms, and headed for the stairs. Dawn was quickly behind him. Spike stopped and looked back at her.

"Where are you going, Bit?"

"I thought I could help. You know, pull the covers down and stuff for you."

"Right. Well then, let's go."

Giles watched them walk upstairs, and let his tense body relax. He suddenly felt ancient. Yes, a good night's sleep would do them all a world of good.

~~~*~~~

In the middle of the night, in the solemn silence of the morgue, no one saw the faint blue light crackle around the body of Jane Doe #351 within the drawer. No one saw the ragged skin on her body begin to slowly knit itself back together. Nobody was near to hear her sudden gasp for breath, and the panicked sobs that followed. No one was was present to watch Willow Rosenberg come to life again.

~Part: 5~

There was nothing. There was an awareness of darkness surrounding her, and her body floating in the midst if it all. Then it felt like she was spiraling through time and space, hurtling towards earth, and quickly jammed back into her body. A panicked, inhaled breath sharply stabbed at her lungs. Willow clawed at her chest, and felt a sharp, searing pain. It burned and throbbed, bringing tears to her eyes, and made it difficult to catch her breath. She groaned as the agony spread from her chest, and up through her shoulder.

Willow opened tear-filled eyes to see nothing. There was no light; only inky blackness enveloped her. She reached a hand out, and felt something around her. It had a thick, rough vinyl/plastic feel to it, and surrounded her on all sides. Her fingers clawed at it until her nails cracked and tore, leaving the edges ragged. She scrabbled against the dark cocoon, trying to hold back the semi-hysterical sobs she felt growing in her tight chest. The pain was easing slightly, but her panic was quickly rising.

She finally felt the jagged, cool sensation of metal. Willow gouged her finger roughly into the small opening she found above her head. Desperately, she yanked it down, ignoring the bite of the zipper digging into her fingertip.

Willow found herself still in darkness. She reached her hands out, and felt the slick hard surface beneath her fingertips. The material was cold to the touch; when she slapped her hands against it, the sound reverbrated in the tiny space. She was in what appeared to be a small, dark, metal coffin. The smell of death engulfed her, and she had to swallow several times to keep from vomiting the half a sandwich she had for dinner earlier. Her eyes darted frantically around the enclosed space; she felt as if the walls were closing in on her. Willow had never liked small spaces, but this time she was terrified.

Where was she? What was this thing? What had happened to her? She felt her emotions roiling inside of her, and her magic built into a throbbing ball in her gut. She sobbed and pounded on the walls until her fists felt bruised, and her knuckles raw. Tears streaked Willow's face as she whimpered piteously, and frantically tried to find an inner latch with no success.

She gasped for air, feeling claustrophobic and panicked. Her hands glowed white for a moment, then the door flew open with a jolt. The tray lurched violently on its rollers, then slammed to a sudden stop when it slid out as far as the track allowed. The momentum sent her tumbling through the air, and crashing to the floor. Willow scrambled to her feet, and shoved away the thick plastic surrounding her body with trembling hands.

Her raspy breaths seemed ridiculously loud in the silent room. She looked around her, taking in the metal gurneys, the surgical equipment, and sterile environment. With each breath Willow inhaled the stench of death; she realized she was in the morgue. She gripped her arms tightly, hugging herself to control the tremors running through her body.

"Why am I here?" she whispered, reluctant to disturb the eerie quiet. "What happened?"

Willow moved across the room on unsteady legs, and sat at what she assumed to be the coroner's desk. She took a few deep, calming breaths, trying to focus her thoughts so she could recall what happened. They had been fighting the K'Marken demon. She remembered just finishing the spell when she saw the monster grab Xander.

She had taken two steps forward, but then stopped when she saw the demon begin to melt, just as Giles' spell book said it would. There were bits and pieces of memory zooming through her brain. Xander was covered in slime, and looked extremely disgusted by the entire situation. She clearly recalled his reaction.

"Uh, can I just say. . .eeewwww! Not to mention *ow*!"

Willow closed her eyes and could remember Giles and Anya watching him try to smear some of the goop from his body. Then there was pain. Mind-blowing, excruciating, leave-you-breathless-because-it-hurts-so-much-pain. She reached up and grabbed her chest, still able to feel the fiery burning sensation radiating through her body. Claws. She had seen claws. There had been yelling, and snarling, then she had been falling.

Blue eyes. Her vision had gone all blurry, but she'd had the strength to focus on those intense blue eyes staring down at her. Spike. Pain. A promise. Xander crying. The ache, and then the cold and darkness. Her last breath.

Willow's eyes flew open. "Oh, Goddess! I died. I really died."

She quickly fumbled with her wrist. "Okay, pulse, breathing, negative on the vampire."

Willow once again reached up to her chest. She looked down to see her lilac top soaked in a sticky reddish-brown fluid. She inhaled and got a good whiff of herself. Blood. Her blood? There was so much of it. Her fingers worried the shredded edges of her blouse. As Willow ran her fingers up along the jagged tears in the thin cotton, her mind flashed back; she could almost feel the claws ripping through muscle, tendons, and even bone.

"I died," she whispered again. There was no way she should be alive after what she remembered. Dead, then alive. Not a vampire. Not a zombie. Hello, walking and talking with free will, and so not searching for any tribal death mask or craving human brains for appetizers.

A cold chill passed down her spine. Something was wrong. This couldn't be natural; after all, they *were* on the Hellmouth for Pete's sake. She had healed. Willow rolled her arm and shoulder. No pain. She was healed, but the blood on her clothes wasn't even dry yet. She needed to get to Giles. He would know what happened to her. He would understand.

Then it hit her. "Oh, no. They think I'm dead," she whispered. There was no way her friends would have left her in the morgue if they thought there was even a remote chance that she would rise. Rise? A vampire term, really. Willow groped for the pulse in her wrist. 'Yep. Once again confirmed. I am not a member of the undead...in the traditional sense anyway.'

She had to get back to the house. She had to let them know she was alive. Willow couldn't even imagine what they would be going through. Poor Dawnie. She didn't think the girl could deal with something like this again. What about Tara? Her girlfriend was just starting to recover from what Glory did to her mind. Oh, Goddess, Xander and Giles, too. She had to get out of here.

Willow looked down and saw a thin stack of manilla folders on the desk. The top one was labeled "Danson, James L." He had been in the graduating class behind her. She flipped the file open and read a brief report of his death from paramedics. She could see someone had written "Drawer #11" in the upper right hand corner.

A file. There had to be a file on her somewhere. Willow knew she had to destroy it before anyone else saw it. No one could know she was brought into the morgue, and pronounced dead. She leafed through the folders with trembling hands, and finally came to one labeled Jane Doe #351. Three hundred and fifty-one Jane Does? In the corner of her mind, Willow wondered if that was some kind of record for a small town. Red hair, green eyes, severe chest trauma. Yep, that sure sounded like her. She scanned for the drawer number listed, and walked over to #8 to confirm it was the one she'd been trapped in. With that verified, she folded the file into a smaller square, and stuck it in the back pocket of her jeans.

She turned her attention to the computer at the desk. Normally, she hacked into the coroner's office from her laptop, so getting into the system from the office itself should be a snap. Willow hacked through the security and hurriedly skimmed through the newest files. She deleted all references to Jane Doe #351, and shut down the system.

Willow rose to her feet, and looked around the morgue again. She had to find a new top to wear. She was bound to attract serious attention in her torn and bloodied blouse. The redhead found a cabinet filled with clean scrubs and quickly purloined a top, yanking it over her head. She grabbed her ripped blouse; better to take it with her than leave it behind for someone to find and question.

Willow moved quietly to the doorway. After verifying there was no one standing guard at the door itself, she quietly slipped out of the cold room and into the more moderate temperature of the hallway. She tiptoed down the passage, and peeked through a small round window in a set of swinging doors. There was a security guard sitting in one of the waiting room chairs, gingerly rubbing one of his legs. Another man dressed in scrubs stood next to him with a cup of coffee in hand. If she could get past them, she would be home free. What she needed was a distraction.

She focused her energies, and prayed that her powers would hold up under the stress of the situation. She heard a loud clatter from one of the other corridors off the waiting room as she pictured a metal cart toppling over. Willow watched the security guard rise and limp off in the direction of the sound. The man dressed as an orderly followed quickly. She waited a few seconds after they were out of sight, then slipped through the swinging doors. Glancing to one side and then the other, she hurriedly ran down the hall opposite the one the guard and the other man had disappeared into. Before she knew it, she was running through the cool pre-dawn light of Sunnydale. The sky was gray and purple-y, with a hint of pink.

It only took ten minutes before she was standing on the front steps of the house on Revello Drive. She reached into her pocket for her keys, and then remembered she accidentally left them on the kitchen counter earlier that evening...before she died. Was it really just seven hours before they had set out to kill the demon? Willow began pounding on the door, praying Dawn and Tara would open it.

"Goddess, please let me in," she whimpered softly. The walls of strength she had erected upon awakening and realizing her situation were forming cracks. She was so close to home, and to those who could help her. The enormity of what happened to her began to overwhelm Willow.

She began to think that maybe they had all gone to Giles, and she was ready to run across town to find them. Just as she backed away from the door it swung open to reveal a disheveled Watcher and Xander. Both men's jaws dropped open in shock. Xander paled, and swayed. Willow feared for his equilibrium in some far corner of her mind that wasn't occupied with finding out what was happening to her.

"Will," he choked.

The walls broke, and Willow felt tears begin filling her eyes. Her lower lip quivered as she gazed at two people in the world who had always made her feel safe.

"Something happened," she said brokenly. Willow took two steps closer and was wrapped in the strong embrace of her best friend. Only then did the tears began to fall. "I think I died."

~Part: 6~

Giles stared dumbfounded at the sobbing redhead firmly held by Xander. As the fog lifted from his brain he heard the young man whispering reassurances, "It's okay. You're all right now. I've got you. I've got you, Wills."

"Perhaps this would be better discussed somewhere other than the front porch," the Watcher suggested softly. He glanced around in the pre-dawn light searching for any sign of danger that might have followed the redhead home. Spike himself had only left a short time ago to venture back to his crypt.

Xander looked up, tears running down his cheeks. He nodded his agreement, and squeezed Willow tightly before guiding her through the doorway. His mind went into overdrive trying to determine what exactly could have happened to bring her back to them.

Willow's sobs lessened to a few hiccups and sniffles, but she still shook badly. Xander gently lowered her to the couch then seated himself next to her, cuddling her close and softly stroking her hair. His whispered words of comfort seemed to be having the desired effect as Willow's body relaxed against him. Her arms were still wrapped around his waist though, holding onto him like a lifeline.

Giles sat on the coffee table facing them, elbows leaning on his knees. One hand nervously twirled his wire-rimmed glasses between his thighs. "Willow," he began softly, "what can you tell us? When last we saw you, you appeared to be quite..."

"Dead?" She looked at the older man with teary eyes. "I know. I remember it, Giles. I died. I know I died. I woke up in the morgue and everything. They...they stuck me in one of those drawers." She began to shake again, her lower lip quivering. "It was horrible. I could *smell* the death. They wouldn't have put me in there if I wasn't dead."

Xander swallowed the lump forming in his throat. "God, Willow. I'm so sorry. I didn't want to leave you. I didn't believe...but Spike said you were gone." He paused, his eyes growing angry. "That lying bastard said you were dead."

She placed a hand on his arm to calm him. "Xander, I *was* dead, that's what I'm trying to tell you. I mean, I remember dying. I remember knowing the instant I stopped breathing, and the second my heart stopped beating. I don't understand it; I don't know how or why, but I just do."

There was a sound from the stairs, and Dawn's voice drifted in to them. "Guys, what's going on? What's all the noise?"

She rounded the corner and entered the room, freezing in mid-stride. Her eyes, swollen from crying, widened immediately upon seeing the redhead on the couch. She took a hesitant step forward, and stopped, looking to Giles for answers.

Interpreting her look correctly, he shrugged. "We don't know, Dawn. She just...is alive."

Her eyes swung back to the exhausted-looking girl on the couch. Suspicion clouded her face. She was made up of flesh and blood from her sister, the Slayer. She might not have Buffy's powers, but she had her sister's caution. "Are you evil?"

Willow sniffled and shook her head. "No, Dawnie. No evil here. At least I don't think I'm evil. I don't feel evil. I was dead, and then I woke up, and now I'm just a big ol' ball of confused."

A watery smile spread across Dawn's face as she flew across the room and threw herself into Willow's welcoming arms. "Don't do that ever again, do you hear me?" she demanded. "You're not allowed to die on me. I need you, Willow. You can't leave me." she began to sob.

The redhead drew the teenager down to sit on the couch next to her and into her embrace, shushing her softly and rocking her. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere." She kissed the top of the young girl's head, while still resting against Xander's steadying warmth.

Willow glanced up at Giles. "Where's Tara?"

Xander and the Watcher exchanged worried glances.

"She's sleeping. She didn't take the news very well; I cast a spell so she could sleep."

Willow hadn't missed the look between the two men. "She's okay, though?"

"She's sleeping, Wills," Xander murmured. He ran his hand up and down her arm. "Let her rest while we figure this out, whadda ya say?"

The redhead really wanted to see her girlfriend, but Xander was right. There was no telling what frame of mind Tara would be in, considering her recent behavior. What they really needed to concentrate on at the moment was figuring out exactly what new twist the Hellmouth had thrown at them...at her. She nodded her consent, settling more firmly against Xander, pulling Dawnie closer with her.

"Okay. Ask away, Giles. Let's figure this out, because I'd really like to know why I'm all resurrection-girl."

"Yes, of course." The older man rose and grabbed a tablet and pencil from next to the telephone. He sat down across from the trio again, and slid his glasses back onto his face. "When did you...revive?"

She took a deep breath and calculated in her mind the time she spent in the morgue, and added that to her run back to the house. "About forty-five minutes ago, no longer than an hour. That was about how long it took me to get out of the morgue and here anyway."

Xander squeezed her shoulder, then winced when he remembered it was the side that was injured. "How's the shoulder? And hey, how come you're not bleeding?"

Willow worried her bottom lip. "That's another weird thing. I woke up, and there was all this pain, but it was kind of what you hear about with soldiers who lost their arms or legs. You know, ghost pains? Because there's nothing wrong with it anymore." She flexed and shrugged her shoulder to show them she was serious.

Giles leaned forward, curious. "It's completely healed?"

"Uh-huh." Willow tugged aside the neckline of the stolen hospital uniform to show them her bloodstained, but whole shoulder.

Xander ran his fingers over the smooth flesh in awe. "That's a neat trick you've got there. Rosenberg."

"Fascinating," Giles whispered.

"Ew, you're all crusty-bloody!" Dawn exclaimed, her nose scrunched up in disgust. She hopped to her feet. "I'll go get you something to wash off with, 'kay?"

Willow gave the girl a strained smile. "Thanks, Dawnie. That would be great."

The teenager ran down the hall to the bathroom to wet some washcloths and grab a towel. She came back and made it her special mission to make sure she cleaned every drop of blood off the redhead she could find. All the while Giles bombarded Willow with questions, scribbling notes on the pad resting on his thigh. At the end of his hour-long interrogation Willow's head was resting on Xander's shoulder.

"Done now?" she whined.

"I believe so," he smiled indulgently at the obviously tired threesome on the couch. Dawn had fallen asleep with her head on Willow's lap about fifteen minutes beforehand. Xander's head leaned against his friend's and his eyelids drooped sleepily.

"So, can you look into your super-duper Watcher journals or your big research books and find out what the heck happened to me?" She yawned at the end of her question.

If the two weren't so exhausted they might have noticed Giles fiddling nervously with the wire binding of the notebook. They might have picked up on the stress in his voice, or the worry in his eyes. "I will look into it first thing after we all get some sleep. You look tired, dear."

Willow yawned again. "Yeah, well dying takes a lot out of a girl."

"How do you know it was the dying? Maybe it was the coming back from the dead that did you in," Xander mumbled.

"Good point. Everybody dies sometime. I bet they're not all tired when they get to whatever lies in the great beyond. Probably was the trip back that's got me all sleepy. Bet they don't normally sell round-trip tickets," she babbled mindlessly.

"Xander, why don't you take them upstairs? Willow, we'll have you stay in Dawn's room today. That will give us time to explain to Tara what happened once she wakes up."

"Why can't I just stay in Buffy's old room?"

Xander stood and lifted the sleeping Summers girl into his arms. "Anya sleeps like the dead, no pun intended, but she's going to wake up eventually. I don't think she'd appreciate rolling over to find you in bed with us." He shot her his patented goofy Xander-grin. "Not that it'd be a bad thing fantasy-wise."

Willow rolled her eyes and slapped his arm weakly. "You're lucky I'm too tired to give you a good tongue-lashing for your gutter-brain thoughts, mister."

Giles leaned forward and pulled the redhead into a tight embrace, shocking her at first. Her arms slowly circled his waist and she snuggled into his shirt that smelled very Giles-like. He was the closest thing she had to a father, and that included Ira Rosenberg, sadly enough.

"I'm so very glad you came back to us, Willow," he whispered. His voice was choked with emotion as he cradled the girl in his arms. "We will find out what's happened to you. I give you my word."

"I know you will, Giles. If anyone can figure it out, you can." She gave him another squeeze, then withdrew from his arms. "Sleepy now," she whispered, her eyes barely able to remain open.

"Yes, right. Off to bed with you, then. We'll talk further in the, uh, afternoon."

He watched as his children wearily climbed the stairs. As soon as he heard the bedroom doors close he moved toward the phone. He dialed a number ingrained upon his mind. Giles waited for the familiar double-ring signifying an overseas call.

Since he was reinstated as Buffy's Watcher, Giles had regained many of his old contacts. He still didn't trust many of them, but the man he was trying to reach was an old colleague who hadn't turned his back on Rupert, even after the Council had fired him. When the familiar clipped British tones of the receptionist answered the line, he requested his friend. He didn't have to wait long before his call was put though.

"Rupert, how is everything on the Hellmouth?"

Giles closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Funny you should ask that. Samuel, I need your assistance."

Samuel frowned at the weary and serious tone in his friend's voice. "Of course. You know you only have to ask. What is it, old chap?"

"I need to get in contact with a Watcher from the other branch. I need to find out how to reach Joe Dawson."

~Part: 7~

Giles hung up the phone with a sigh, and sat heavily on the couch. The only thing left to do was wait for Samuel, his contact and friend at the Watcher's Council, to call back. He closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the cushions, and lost himself in thoughts of the past.

He'd been a bit mutinous in his youth, rebelling against the strict guidelines his father and the
Council wanted to place on him. Giles readily admitted that he acted out, experimenting with dark magicks and other common mind-altering substances readily available in London during the late '60's. However, after the Eyghon disaster he'd known it was time to turn his life around. Randall's death was a harsh wake up call, and his father's words of warning echoed ominously through his mind. The black arts, while a rush, were dangerous and not to be toyed with. The demon could have killed him - any of them actually - just as easily as it had Randall.

Even though Rupert was prepared to leave the dark magicks behind, he wasn't ready to crawl back to his father. Full of youthful pride, there could have been nothing worse than seeing his uptight father look down his nose at him and say those dreaded words. 'I told you so.'

So instead of running back to Ellis Giles and the Watcher's Council, Rupert put out feelers amongst the supernatural community. Surely the Watcher's Council wasn't the only organization out there dealing with demons, witches and all things preternatural and supernatural.

It wasn't long before he was approached by a senior member of the Immortal Watcher's Council, Ian Bancroft. Bancroft offered him a position in their training program. It was there that he met Joe Dawson, a fellow recruit and music lover.

They became roommates and eventually good friends, despite heated debates centering around their differing tastes in music. Joe went so far as to hide Rupert's The Who albums after he'd insulted John Lee Hooker, calling the blues legend an amateur. It had taken Giles three weeks to find the vinyl hidden away behind his roommate's book case.

Rupert was only weeks away from completing his training and quickly accepted a position in the
Council's research department, eager to track some of the older immortals and their travels to record in the chronicles. It was then that he'd received a call from his father. Giles' mother was dying of cancer.

He quickly journeyed home to be with her at the end. His mum, on her deathbed, pleaded that he and his father make amends. The best way to do that was join his father at the slayer's Watcher Council, which he reluctantly did.

Rupert explained to Joe that his mother's dying wish had been his reconciliation with his father, and that he was going to join the family business. He never told Dawson about his previous connection with the other council or his forays into the dark arts. First, because it had been drilled into his head from a young age that the secrets of the vampire slayer and her watchers was to be kept hidden at all costs. The second reason he'd never confided in Joe was quite simply shame. His friend went through a lot in Vietnam, and Giles felt the American was an upstanding and honest young man. The last thing he wanted was for Dawson to look down his nose at him like his father should he ever find out about the evenings spent raising demons.

The thought of magick turned Giles' musings to Willow. He was reasonably sure that she'd just experienced her first death. All of the symptoms and clues were there. It made him very nervous, knowing the stakes of 'The Game.' He'd already lost Buffy, his slayer. Could he survive losing Willow, a young person he considered one of his children, as well?

Although all of his experience with immortals had been obtained in lectures, Rupert did know that most tended to keep to themselves in order to avoid 'The Game'. Some deliberately hunted others of their kind, collecting heads and quickenings to strengthen themselves for the final battle, determined to be the winner of the ever elusive and mysterious prize. These were the immortals he needed to protect Willow from.

Oh, he knew he couldn't personally keep her safe. That would break the strictest of rules. He could, however, teach her to defend herself. There was a very small sect of immortals who wanted no part of 'The Game', but vehemently disagreed with the headhunters' methods. These experienced warriors took it upon themselves to train new immortals in swordplay and taught them how to keep their heads connected to their bodies. Giles hoped that Joe would be willing to locate one of these people to train Willow without asking too many questions.

He stretched, glanced at his watch, and sighed. It wasn't nearly as late in the morning as he'd expected. His trip down memory lane hadn't taken as long as he'd thought. Giles rose and brewed himself a new pot of tea, grateful that Willow took the time to buy Earl Gray for him from a specialty store. The last thing he needed to deal with at that moment was a cup of that horrid stuff Americans called tea.

He then turned his attention to the research materials cluttering the coffee and dining room tables.
Straightening the books into neat stacks took less time than it did to brew the tea. Two hours, another pot of tea, and four mindless TV shows later, the phone finally rang.

Giles dove for it, whispering into the receiver and hoping the children hadn't been awakened. "Hello?"

"Rupert, is that you?" Samuel frowned at the raspy voice on the other end of the line.

Giles sighed his relief. "Yes. Yes, it's me. Samuel, have you had any luck locating the information I needed?"

The other watcher glanced at the notepad on the desk before him. "Yes, I have Dawson's location. Rupert, may I ask what this is about? Is there an immortal in Sunnydale causing problems among the demon population?"

Giles frowned, not willing to give up Willow's secret, even if it was a trusted friend asking. The child had been through so much the past year, the last thing she needed was to end up chronicled as an immortal witch. If that kind of reputation got out, it would draw the headhunters seeking power like moths to a flame.

"It's actually a bit of a personal matter, quite honestly. You know, old colleagues and such," He
hedged. "And as far as I'm aware, there are no immortals in Sunnydale causing problems." At least that much was true.

Samuel leaned back in his leather chair, twirling a pen between his fingers. "Rupert, you know the
Council's position on the other various organizations learning of demons."

"I'm quite aware of the rules. I assure you, I have no intention of letting the proverbial cat out of the bag. I simply wish to discuss a personal matter with an old friend."

Satisfied, Samuel righted his chair and pulled his notes closer. "All right, then. Joe Dawson can be
found in Seattle, Washington in the U.S. He owns a small blues bar there called, quaintly enough, Joe's. If you have a pen handy, I have the club's number as well as his home phone."

Giles quickly took down the information, thanked his friend, and hung up the phone. He ripped the paper from the message tablet and tucked it securely in his pocket. The children could waken soon. He would wait to call Joe until he was safely home alone. A discussion like the one Giles imagined was best undertaken with absolute privacy.

"Good morning, Giles."

The sudden and chipper greeting startled the watcher, causing him to jump. No matter how many times he heard the bot speak, it always felt as if someone walked over his grave. Giles turned to face the necessary monstrosity before him. He privately both cursed and thanked Spike for creating the robot.

"Good morning." He replied. Rupert still couldn't bring himself to call the machine Buffy. He didn't think he'd ever be able to do so. There was just something so very wrong, almost sacrilegious about it.

The bot smiled brightly and tilted its head in a curious fashion.

"Will the others be up soon? If so, I will begin making breakfast. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day." It confided seriously. The Buffy-bot was excellent at following directions, and therefor actually cooked much better than the actual Buffy ever had.

"Yes, I believe I was already aware of that." Giles answered, suddenly feeling very old and very tired.

"Of course you did," The Buffy-bot agreed. "Because you are Giles, and a very smart man."

"Well, thank you." He quickly changed the subject. "I believe the others may sleep for a while longer yet. We had a rather late night. In fact, I may just lay down on the couch for a short bit myself. I suddenly find it difficult to keep my eyes open."

"Oh, that's okay. My power pack was fully charged overnight. I will run a diagnostic on my systems until the others wake up. Willow, my newly gay friend, said she would teach me how to grocery shop today."

Giles toed off his loafers and laid back on the sofa, tugging the afghan from the back to cover himself.

"I'm not certain that Willow will be up to grocery shopping later. She will have some...issues to deal with today."

The bot sat on the edge of a dining room chair and pulled open the hidden panel on its stomach. "Pleasant dreams, Giles." It chirped. The mechanical Buffy began emitting soft beeps and boops indicating its system scan had begun as Giles drifted into a troubled sleep.

~Part: 8~

Willow awoke to a high pitched cry and felt Dawn's body jerk against her back in response as well. The redhead blinked sleepy eyes, and before she could focus, Willow found herself wrapped in her girlfriend's warm arms and soft scent.

Tara's sobs and fractured babbling were muffled against Willow's neck. She wrapped her arms around the blond and softly hushed her.

"It's okay, baby. I'm here. It's over. I'm here."

Tara pulled back, confusion drawing her brows together. "They told me you were dead. Why did they lie to me?"

"It's hard to explain, Tara," Willow gently soothed her girlfriend, brushing tears from her cheeks and running her hand over long blond hair. "Something of the weird happened last night."

Tara's lower lip quivered and her blue eyes glistened. "But they said you were dead. Why would they say such a horrible thing? Why would they say something that would hurt so much? I thought I lost my Willow." She snuggled close and wrapped a lock of her girlfriend's hair around her fingers, gripping it tightly.

Dawn recognized the shift in Tara, sensing her drifting away from clarity of mind into confusion. She rubbed a gentle hand on the blonde's back and whispered words of nonsense. They had to do things like that more and more often since the incident with Glory. Some moments felt like she was talking to a kid. Not just a kid, as in a kid her age, but a little kid not even in kindergarten yet. Other times Tara seemed completely normal, making her funny shaped pancakes and exchanging stupid knock knock jokes with her to make her laugh. Dawn feared they would never have the old Tara completely back, as much as she knew Willow prayed for it to happen every day.

"Baby, I told you something all kinds of wiggy happened. I did, um, sorta kinda die last night, but I'm okay now. Honest! See?" She smiled gently and disengaged her girlfriend's hand from her hair, rubbing it against her cheek. "I'm here, all live, breathing and everything."

Tara frowned and withdrew from Willow's touch. "You died? Really died?"

Willow nodded slowly. There was a strange look in the blonde's eyes. "Yes, baby, but I'm all better now. Not a scratch."

Tara scrambled off the bed and backed away toward the bedroom door. Expressions danced across her face ranging from incomprehension, to disgust, to sheer fear mixed with hatred. "You're a dead thing." She practically spat.

Willow stood and reached for Tara's hand. "Sweetie, no. I'm still me, still Willow. I'm still alive."

The other witch shook her head, backing further away from the redhead. "No! You said you died. They said you died."

"Baby, that's over now. I'm okay. I swear I am." Willow begged desperately.

For each step she took toward her girlfriend, Tara backed up another. Her blue eyes began to glow. "Dead things. We kill dead things. They're bad and try to hurt people."

Dawn clambered off the bed, trying to help placate her friend. "Willow's not like that. You know she would never hurt us, Tara."

"No! She's a dead thing. I don't know why I didn't see it before. I see it so clearly now. You're not the same. It's all around you, something new, something different and dark. You're not my Willow." She cried angrily.

"Tara, please don't say that." Willow pleaded. She watched the change in her girlfriend, and her heart broke at the sight. She began walking towards the hysterical girl again.

"Don't touch me!" Tara screamed, raising her hands as if to ward her off. "You're dead. Dead things should stay buried!"

A jolt of power rocketed from the blonde's palms to slam into Willow's chest. The redhead screamed in pain before darkness engulfed her vision. She slumped to the ground in a lifeless heap as Dawn shouted for help.

"God, no! Tara, stop!" The teen commanded. "Giles! Xander, help!"

Dawn dashed forward to stand in front of Willow, shielding her body from the witch with a fractured mind.

"Have to kill the dead thing." Tara muttered over and over, trying to side step Dawn. The teen pushed her back, and Tara was grabbed by Giles as he ran into the room, hair mussed and clothes rumpled from his short respite on the couch. He hugged her firmly from behind, holding her own arms at her sides.

Xander and Anya both appeared moments later looking sleep disheveled, and the boy took in the sight of his friend's limp figure on the floor.

"Oh, my god, Willow!" He yelled and ran around the others in the room to drop to his knees beside her. Xander ran desperate hands over her wrists and neck, searching for a pulse. "She's not breathing," he yelled. "And I can't find a pulse."

Tara nodded slowly, her voice monotoned. "Dead things should stay dead."

"What did you do?" Dawn screamed at the blond.

Giles took in the nightmarish scene before him. Tara didn't even struggle in his grip, satisfied she'd accomplished her task.

Xander gripped Willow by the shoulders and pulled her up, her fiery hair falling down her back as her head lolled. "No! No! Not again. Don't you die on me, Willow. I can't do this again." He snarled.

Anya stood next to Giles, her jaw hanging open. "H...how? She was dead last night."

"Will!" Xander yelled at her again, shaking her shoulders in an attempt to revive her. Dawn dropped down to kneel beside the pair of old friends.

"Willow, please." She sobbed.

A sudden sharp gasp for air froze them both. Willow's eyes fluttered open, and a trembling hand grasped at her heart where she felt the echoing sizzle of Tara's power running through her body.

"Ouchies." She moaned.

"Willow?" Dawn squealed in relief and grabbed the redhead into a suffocating hug. Xander wrapped his arms around both girls and buried his face in Willow's hair. He took a few steadying breaths and willed his pounding heartbeat back to a more normal rate.

Willow turned her head, her eyes meeting Tara's terrified gaze. "Nooooooo! You're dead. You're dead!" She wailed and began struggling against Giles' arms. He held tightly, not willing to let her do harm to the others or herself.

"Tara, enough!" His voice cracked through the room like a whip, sharp and commanding. She froze in his embrace, softly crying. Her shoulders shook with sobs and blue eyes widened with horror as sanity seeped back into her gaze.

"God, what have I done? Goddess, I can't do this anymore. I just can't. Willow, sweetie, I'm so sorry. So sorry," She wept. "I need to leave. I can't stay here, on the Hellmouth." Her eyes darted nervously around the room, as if looking for an escape route that very instant.

Willow struggled to sit upright in Xander's embrace. "Baby, no. You were just upset. It's okay." She ignored the incredulous look on her best friend's face while she tried to comfort her distressed girlfriend.

Tara shook her head sadly, lifeless in Giles' arms. "No. I tried to kill you, Willow. I think I *did* kill you. My mind, I know it isn't the same anymore. Sometimes I can't control things. It's like I go away for a while, but when I come back I know everything I said and did. And the Hellmouth, I can sense it. It's like the evil is pushing at my mind, my head, trying to get inside. It made me hurt you. Goddess, Willow, I hurt you, and that's the last thing I ever wanted to do," She cried. "I can't stay here. I have to leave, before I hurt you again, before I hurt anyone else."

Willow untangled herself from Dawn and Xander's arms and stood slowly on trembling legs. "Tara, please. We'll figure something out, I swear."

The blond witch smiled sadly at her girlfriend, and shook her head. "No, Willow. I'm not cut out to be a Scooby. I'm scared here, all the time. I can't live my life like this, not even for you. I won't." When the redhead stood before her, Tara reached out and grabbed her hands tightly. "Come with me. Come with me, sweetie, please. We'll go far away. From the demons, from the Hellmouth, from the evil."

Willow gazed longingly at her girlfriend, then focused on each of her friends in turn. They'd been through so much together. They were her family. Could she really leave them, leave the Hellmouth, which felt like her responsibility now that Buffy was dead? They all met her gaze solemnly. Each knew how much Tara meant to her, how much she loved the other witch. They were going to let Willow make her own decision in this matter, even Xander who stood silently, hands clenching and unclenching, nervously awaiting her answer.

She shifted to look at Tara again, her green eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I can't." She whispered sadly.

Tara nodded solemnly. "I already knew that, but I had to ask.." Crystalline drops trailed down her cheeks.

Giles cleared his throat behind her. "Tara, you said Willow wasn't the same, that you could see it all around her. What exactly did you mean?"

The blond took a bracing breath and squinted her eyes, focusing on something only she could see. "It's her aura. Before it was all greens and blues. There were even some golden sparkles," She smiled softly before her brow furrowed. "But now...now there's something else around you, around your normal aura."

"My aura's changed? What does it look like?" Willow asked nervously, looking down at her hands, peering closely, but she had never been good at reading auras.

Tara reached out a hand, and her fingers hovered a few inches above Willow's slender ones. They brushed against the colors she saw wrapped around her girlfriend. "There's a darkness with shimmering blue lights rippling through it, almost like lightening. That's what's new, what's around your old aura."

Giles closed his eyes. Dear God, he'd hoped he was wrong, but more and more evidence pointed to Willow being...

"You're an immortal," Anya squeaked, eyes wide with surprise. "By the capitalistic genius that is Bill Gates! You're really an immortal!"

Xander walked toward his girlfriend and draped an arm around her shoulders. "That seems to be the general idea, An. When you keep coming back from the dead, well, it kinda points toward immortality."

"No, no! Not immortal, *an* immortal. Giles, you've got that large cranium crammed full of supernatural fun facts. You should know this, right?" Anya asked as she turned her attention to the watcher who suddenly found a sudden urge to remove every speck of dust from his already sparkling glasses.

'Blast that girl.' He thought. 'As if Willow didn't have enough to deal with as it was, why terrify the girl with images of her new possible reality? Damned thousand year old demons that don't know how to shut their bloody...'

"Giles?" Willow's voice was hesitant as she questioned her mentor, peering intently at his nervous body language.

"It is one theory. I'd still like to research other possibilities." He hedged.

"Research, smesearch," Anya interrupted. "You need to teach her how to use a sword before she loses her head!" She gestured casually towards the general direction of Willow's skull, sitting exactly where it needed to be, thank you very much.

The redhead gulped and released Tara's hand to place her own against her pale throat. "Lose my head? You're speaking figuratively, right?" Her wide eyes darted between Giles and Anya.

Xander released his girlfriend to sling an arm around Willow's shoulders. "Of course she is," He reassured her. "Right, An?"

The former demon shook her head. "No, I'm not. Immortals hunt each other down and take each others heads in sword fights. The winner gains the loser's power and energy, not to mention the energy of all other immortals the loser killed in the past." She cocked her head at the very pale redhead. "Have you ever used a sword before?"

"Uh, no. But I'm pretty handy with a crossbow and stake." Willow reluctantly replied.

"No good. Those aren't in the rules. Besides, you can't cut off someone's head with a stake."

"But...but, I don't *want* to cut off anyone's head." She protested weakly.

"And you won't have to, will she Giles?" Xander said while gripping his best friend in a one-armed hug.

"Well..." Giles trailed off.

"Of course she will. It's in the rules. And no helping her either, Alexander LaVelle Harris," Anya lectured, shaking a finger at her boyfriend. "Willow has to fight alone. If anyone tries to interfere, bad things will happen."

"What kind of bad things?" Dawn asked, her blue eyes wide and shining with fascination.

"Well, I can't say for sure," Anya admitted. "There were rumors that Mount Vesuveus erupted because two immortals broke the rules during a duel. You know, catastrophic bad things."

"Giles?" Willow turned to the silent man, her face paling further with shock, lower lip trembling. She wrung her hands before her. Tara moved forward and placed a sympathetic hand on her arm.

Giles hated the look of absolute fear in her eyes. "Willow, I don't know anything for sure just yet." He tried to explain softly.

"But if it's true...if that's what I am?" A single tear trickled down her cheek while her eyes implored him to fix it, to make it all go away.

Giles reached for her, and drew her shaking body into a fatherly hug. "Then we will deal with it once we're certain. We'll get through this, I promise, just as we always do."

~Part: 9~

Willow walked up the steps and down the hallway towards the bedroom she and Tara shared. She was in a daze. There were a few of Giles' books on the dining room table that contained minute tidbits of information about immortals. Thoughts raced through her head, some images of knights dueling to the death with big honking swords. Willow could still picture Buffy in the middle of The Magic Box facing down the members of the Council. She'd seemed so at ease with that heavy blade as she'd thrown it into the wall inches from the man who dared to interrupt her. At the time, she'd thought it was a neat trick. Now, her life could depend on her skill with the same weapon. It was a pretty scary thought considering her experience with swords was a big ol' zip-a-roo.

She froze just outside her doorway, eyes taking in the activity within the bedroom. A large suitcase laid open on the bed, half filled with clothes. Tara was taking blouses off of hangers and neatly folding them on the dresser. Their eyes met in the mirror, Willow's wide and stunned, Tara's sad, resigned.

"Oh." Willow whispered. She cleared her throat. "When you said you had to leave, I didn't think you meant, you know, now."

Tara sighed and grabbed the pile of clothes, carrying them to lay in the open suitcase. "I think the sooner I leave the better it will be for everyone, sweetie." She blinked back tears and sniffled lightly. "I don't want to hurt you again."

Willow felt like she was in a fog as she entered the room and weakly sat on the edge of the bed. Tara's fingers fidgeted with one of the straps that holds clothes flat. The redhead stared at those slender digits and swallowed hard.

"Where will you go?" Her voice cracked as tears flooded her eyes, leaving the room and Tara's fingers a watery blurr.

The blond straightened and moved to the chest of drawers. Opening a drawer, she began to sort out what was Willow's and what was hers. "My mom had an aunt that lives in Pittsburgh. I called her a little while ago, and she told me I was welcome to stay as long as I wanted. She's wiccan too, which is why my father didn't want me to have contact with her, so she'll understand, or at least believe what I'm dealing with."

"Pittsburgh? But, that's so far away." Willow cried out. She watched Tara's shoulders tense at her tone, and decided to try to be calm and rational. Even if her girlfriend was about to leave her and move almost all the way across the country. And it was a very large country, to boot. "Well, I hear they have nice, uh, steel there."

Tara turned to face Willow, her favorite scarf in hand. She slowly walked to the bed, and sat next to the redhead. With her free hand, Tara gently laced their fingers together. "I love you so much, sweetie. I always will. I feel so bad about leaving now, with everything that you're going through. But it's just, I can't..."

"I know." Willow cut her off. Her eyes glistened with tears as she squeezed the hand she held. "Maybe after all of this is over, after we figure this out..."

Tara shook her head sadly. "You'll always be a Scooby. It's who you are. You can't turn your back on this, the Hellmouth, the demons, Giles, Xander, Dawn, even Anya. The darkness here, it pulls at me, pushes me. After Glory...I know I'm not the same. She took something from me, and when you gave it back, some of it was missing. It's like she used up a piece of me, and I'll never get it back again. I don't know how else to explain it. I just know I can't be around the evil anymore. It's too strong for me to fight it all the time now. But you're strong, Willow. You need to be right there, in the middle of it, fighting it. You can't..."

The blond fell silent, and when Willow raised her gaze, she took in the blank stare on her girlfriend's face. The girl she loved was sitting in front of her, but part of her was already gone. Willow had to finally accept that. She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Tara's forehead.

She stood, and gently took a scarf from Tara's slack grasp.

"I'll get the rest, baby. Why don't you lay down for a while." She coaxed.

Tara smiled serenely, and curled up on the bed, snuggling with Willow's pillow. "Okay." She whispered softly.

The redhead turned her back and silently began packing the rest of Tara's things. Large, silent tears trickled down her face. Each blouse, each skirt, each item she packed brought the time her girlfriend would leave closer and closer. She checked on Tara in the mirror and found her napping lightly, oblivious to the fact that Willow's heart was shattering into a thousand pieces. Yes, part of the girl she fell in love with was already long, long gone.

****************************************

Spike sprawled in his lone orange chair, one leg draped over the arm as he took turns puffing on his cigarette and taking swigs from a stolen bottle of the Watcher's scotch. Rupert may be a wanker at times, but for a human, the bloke had excellent taste in alcohol.

'Passions' was on, but it didn't hold the normal appeal for him. Timmy's a doll. Tabitha's a witch. Blah, blah, blah, blah.

Spike snorted drunkenly at his train of thought, then immediately sobered. Visions raced through his mind that copious amounts of strong scotch couldn't block out. The sight of big green eyes, pleading with him, fading to the emptiness only death could bring, haunted him.

"I promised," He muttered. "What the bloody hell did I do that for?"

Spike held up his bottle to the candlelight, peering intently at the amber liquid. " 'Cause you're a ponce." He answered his own question. " A soddin' poof, always taken in by big eyes and strong hearts. You're turnin' into Soul-boy, mate."

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Spike rested the three-fourths empty bottle of scotch on his stomach and mindlessly ran his thumb over the smooth, round lip. At sunset he'd head over to the house, check on Nibblet and the rest of the bloody Scoobies. He'd do it, not because he wanted to, but because if he didn't, those damned green eyes would torment him until the day he turned to dust.

~Part: 10~

Giles shut his door softly behind him. His apartment seemed much too quiet after the madhouse that was the Summers' home. However, it was the chaos that made it easy for him to escape. A few mumbled words about a brief rest in his own bed, a shower, and change of clothes raised not one single eyebrow as he hedged toward the front door.

Rupert sat heavily upon his couch and stared at the telephone. He knew what he needed to do. Giles only hoped Joe Dawson would be willing to help him.

He raised his hips from the cushion, and slid a hand into his pocket, searching for the small scrap of paper containing Joe's numbers. Rupert withdrew the crinkled note and slowly unfolded it. He ran his fingers over the indentations made by the pen. Taking a deep breath, Giles stood and walked to the phone. A dining room chair was pulled closer, so he could sit during the upcoming conversation. He'd never thought he'd say it, but maybe Xander was right. It might be time to invest in one of those cordless phones.

His hand trembling, Giles dialed the number on his old rotary phone. The dial seemed to be moving extraordinarily slowly. Then there was a pause, and the normal tone of a ringing line. The sound of a cordless being answered clicked in Giles' ear. Apparently his former colleague had no compunction about moving forth into the technological age.

"Dawson." Came a raspy voice. It was a bit more gruff than Giles recalled, but recognizable nonetheless.

"Hello? Who's there?"

Giles jumped, realizing his friend was waiting for some semblance of a greeting.

"Joe Dawson?"

The refined voice sounded somewhat familiar. It reminded him a little of Methos, actually. "Yeah? Who's asking?"

"Joe, this is Rupert. Rupert Giles. Do you remember me?"

"Rupes? Well, I'll be damned." Joe settled back in his chair, a grin spreading across his face. "How the hell have you been, man?"

"I've been managing. And you?" Giles asked politely.

"Doing pretty good. How'd you manage to track me down? It's not like we run in the same circles anymore."

"It wasn't that difficult, actually. I've still got a contact or two up my sleeve." Giles lips twitched with the beginnings of a weary smile.

"You've got contacts that can find me halfway around the world? I don't know whether to be impressed or worried." His tone was light, but Joe's brow was furrowed, wondering at the sudden call from a man he hadn't spoken to in almost twenty years.

"I'm not as far away as you would think, Dawson. I currently reside in the states. The west coast, to be specific."

"Get outta here! We're practically neighbors. Something tells me you're not calling to argue about which is better, rock 'n roll or the blues, though."

Giles sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Well, as much as I'd enjoy reminiscing, you're right. You still work for the same company."

Joe hesitated. Rupert's last words were phrased as a statement, not a question. "What the hell kind of contacts do you have, Rupes? You know I can't discuss business matters unless it's with another company employee. Last I checked, you weren't on the payroll."

"I'm not. Nonetheless, I need your assistance in a rather personal matter. I know a person who I believe has just...joined the company."

The strain in the British man's voice left little doubt as to his meaning. "Damn," Joe muttered, running a hand through his salt and pepper hair. "You're close with this person, then?"

Giles felt his throat tightening as he envisioned Willow's last breaths from just the night before. "Yes." He choked out.

"I'm sorry, Rupes. I really am. Does anyone else know?"

"Several people, actually," He confessed after clearing the lump from his throat. "I need a contact. Someone that can teach this person what they need to know, to succeed in the company."

In Seattle, Joe traced his finger idly on the tabletop, the tip shadowing a path whose design matched the tattoo on his inner wrist. "I know someone, actually." He began slowly. "I'd have to run a background check on your guy before I'd risk a meeting between them, though."

"No! Absolutely not." Giles exclaimed. He wasn't going to subject Willow to an eternity of being chased around the world by her own personal stalkers/biographers. At least he'd had interaction with Buffy and the others. He felt he'd made a difference in their lives, at least a bit. The Immortal Watcher's Council was a different breed altogether, voyeurs the lot of them. Never willing to get in there, and get their hands dirty, and always willing to watch from the sidelines to see who would lose their head in the heat of battle.

Joe was surprised by his former roommate's vehement reaction. "No? Listen, Rupert, if I'm going to stick my contact's neck out on the line, here, you'd better believe I'm not going into this blind."

"I don't want their name in the chronicles, Dawson. I want this person to be able to live as normal a life as possible, without being spied upon twenty-four hours a day. Besides, since when are you allowed 'contact' in your position?"

"Have you ever known me to be a by the book kinda guy?" Joe smirked slightly at the description. "Look, this guy is a friend. He can teach your buddy what he needs to know. He's good at what he does, and he's trustworthy, practically a boy scout."

"I'm not giving you any information on my friend, Joe. I can't...I won't risk it. I promise you, this person is no threat. They mean absolutely no harm, but they need help." Giles' voice slipped from coaxing to pleading with a side of frustration.

"Rupes, I'm sorry, man. If you don't work with me on this, I can't help you." Joe's voice rose in volume, matching his old friend's tone, fingers now tapping impatiently on the table. "You know the risks to these people. I just can't take that chance with my buddy's life."

"Then I guess you can't help me." Giles gritted through his teeth.

"I'm sorry, but I guess I can't." Joe sighed, feeling that no compromise could be reached in this matter.

"Yes, well, it's been nice speaking with you again Dawson. Thank you for your time, and don't be such a stranger." Giles slammed the phone down, angry, frustrated, and worried. You name every emotion that raised the human blood pressure, and he had it spinning around in his head at that very moment.

Joe stared at the phone, unbelieving that he'd been hung up on. "Damn." He cursed under his breath and slowly hit the off button, placing his cordless back in its cradle.

"What was that all about?"

Dawson turned in his chair to see Duncan MacLeod leaning against the doorway between his living room and kitchen. The immortal was wiping his hands on an old rag, dirty from examining the leaky faucet in Joe's kitchen.

"An old friend." He shrugged.

Mac arched a brow in disbelief. "Not that I meant to eavesdrop, but the conversation didn't sound all that friendly."

"He needed help." Joe reached for his cane and stood slowly. He suddenly felt his age with an extra decade or two thrown in for good measure.

"And you couldn't help him?" Mac guessed. He stood aside to let Joe through the doorway.

"Not couldn't. Wouldn't."

"Ah, that explains the raised voices." Duncan nodded his head in understanding. Not that he'd meant to eavesdrop, but he got a feeling his watcher had been speaking about him.  Mac didn't want to push, though. It sounded like Joe had been trying to protect his identity and guard his privacy. He could appreciate that.

"Yeah. The raised voices. The phone slamming down on my ear. Oh, yeah. It was great to catch up on each others' lives, you know?'

"Was this a good friend?" Mac moved to the fridge, retrieved a beer for each of them, and removed the caps.

Joe accepted the proffered bottle, took a sip, then sighed sadly. "Yeah, once. A long, long time ago."

*************************************

Giles wished he'd invested in a cordless phone after all, for he had the sudden urge to throw something across the room, and that just simply wasn't going to happen with his rotary. Instead he settled for kicking the baseboard and instantly regretted it before hobbling upstairs to his room for a change of clothes.

The buzzing rush of frustration began to slowly fade, allowing Giles to marshal his thoughts. He'd have to teach Willow everything he know about swordplay. That was all there was to it. How hard could it be, really? After all, he had trained the world's oldest surviving slayer.

Rupert frowned into his dresser mirror while pulling a clean sweater from the drawer. He recalled a patrol taken with both Willow and Xander not long before Riley left. The former commando was supposed to meet them, but wound up being a no show, leaving the three of them to be ambushed by a trio of vampires. A small smile spread across his face as he remember he and Xander being manhandled by the demons. Willow managed to come through in a pinch and stake two of the creatures, saving the day and probably their lives. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all. The smile quickly faded when he remembered her legs giving out from beneath her shortly thereafter, as well. Blast! He really did have his work cut out for him.

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