The silence only lasted for a second more before
complete chaos erupted as everyone tried to offer up
their opinion on the subject of Spike's resouling.
Perversely, it made her feel better than that awful
oppressive silence.  Yelling she knew how to deal
with.  Yelling was easy.

And this was definitely yelling . . . a confused,
jumbled mix of protests and outbursts of horror.

"My god, Willow do you know what you are saying?"

"Willow!  You can't be serious!"

"Will, no, you can't."

"Don't do it."

Willow simply stood there, chin up and let them get it
all out.  She blinked hard, forcing back the tears
that wanted to come to her eyes.  She wasn't going to
cry.  Tears and resolve didn't go together and she
wasn't going to back down.

Spike winced as he felt the girl's hand crush down on
his, short nails digging up into his palm.  She had a
good grip for a mortal, he noticed.  And then he
noticed the fine tremors shaking her, the minute
vibrations being transmitted to him along their
clasped hands.  But beyond that, she gave no
outward display of her distress, and in spite of
himself, Spike was impressed.

Finally the angry words died, although Spike had noted
that Angel had not said a word during the outburst.
Risking a glance at him out of the corner of his eye,
Spike felt a very real touch of fear.  Angel's eyes
were flat and distant, his face an expressionless
mask.  Only Spike knew that look from old, and even
now, a hundred years later, it still had the ability
to both chill his blood and to tantalize him with the
twisted joy he got from deliberately angering the
other.  Angel . . . Angelus . . . soulless . . .
souled, it didn't matter.  He was furious and Spike
felt right at home dancing on the edge of his own
destruction.  It was a comfortingly familiar place.

Silence reigned once more but not a shocked silence
this time.  This was an angry silence that was somehow
just as loud as the yelled words of a moment earlier.

Spike saw his beautiful Slayer glance between himself
and the witch until her eyes came to rest on their
clasped hands.  Exultation and hope swirled within
him.  Was she jealous?

Buffy's voice when she spoke was as flat and hard as
Angel's eyes.  "How can you do this to Tara, Willow?"

Willow jerked as if she'd been slapped, and the
punishing grip on his hand tightened a fraction more.
Amazingly enough, when Willow spoke, her voice was
still calm and steady.  "This has nothing to do with
Tara.  This is about Spike."

Once again hard hazel eyes flicked down to their
joined hands.  "Yeah, about you and Spike,
apparently."

Spike heard a quick indrawn breath from the other
witch at Buffy's pronouncement.  Even Xander shifted
uncomfortably at that one, he noticed.  It was
jealously.  He was sure.  Her mind could deny him all
she wanted, but her heart knew.   He grinned then,
becoming even more amused as Angel's stony expression
fell into a black scowl.  He wanted to howl with
triumph as the last of his own doubts fell away.  She
would be his!

"Huh?" Willow frowned in confusion for a second before
she realized what Buffy and the other saw.  Damn it
all!  This was not going right.  Why didn't her plans
ever work?  Panic kicked in and old habits reasserted
themselves as she rushed to try to explain, her words
tripping over themselves in their haste to get out.
"Oh! No, we aren't a couple, even though," she added,
rolling her eyes in exasperation, "half the dorm seems
to think so now. Just because I slept with him doesn't
mean we're a couple...wait, I mean, we slept,
not...you know *slept*...and then there was showering,
but not together," she added hastily as the six pairs
of eyes widened in alarm.  "Noo.  He borrowed my
loofah."

Willow smiled weakly, the butterflies she'd had in
stomach when she'd started this conversation were now
circling pterodactyls.  "Nope. No coupling here
whatsoever."

It was Anya, in her typical straightforward manner
that asked the question that all the rest of them were
wondering.  "Then why are you holding his hand?"

Willow glanced at their joined hands and then back
around the room at her friends. "Because it was there
when I needed it," she said softly. "Just like I'm
going to be there for Spike."

She pulled their joined hands up, noticing for the
first time how tightly she held him.  She suspected
that had he been human, his fingers would have been
quite numb.  "Sorry," she said quietly and then very
deliberately she released him, her hand opening wide
as if she were releasing something she'd held captive.
 

Spike felt very much alone in that room, without her
touch and surrounded by his enemies.

"Please," she began, "let me explain."

Xander, his face set in a stubborn line, opened his
mouth, but was cut off by Giles.  British propriety
won over the tempers that still ran high in the room.
"Xander, Willow deserves the chance to explain.  She
has kept no secrets, endangered no one and has asked
for our attention.  She deserves no less."

Willow flashed Giles a grateful smile, and she
accepted his faint nod with a sense of relief.

Taking a deep breath, she resisted the urge to claim
Spike's hand again and instead turned to Tara, her
eyes pleading for understanding.  Holding out the hand
that had just recently held tightly to a vampire she
waited with held breath held to see if Tara would take
her hand.

"Tara, I didn't mean to hurt you. Please believe me."

Tara reached out her own hand and Willow felt the
relief flash though her.  With Tara beside her she
could do anything.  Pulling Tara close to her, she
turned to face the others.  It was time to explain.

"Spike came to me last night.  He's asked me to return
his soul.  And yes, I'm going to do it.  I know all of
you can give me reasons why I shouldn't do this.  But
it comes down to one thing . . . Spike has asked me."
She turned eyes that pleaded for understanding on
Buffy.  "He asked me, Buffy," she repeated, trying to
get the Slayer to understand.  "He didn't threaten,
didn't demand."  She gave her friend a small smile of
amusement.  "He didn't even beg, but asked.  If he
really wants this, I'm willing to do it."

Spike listened to the witch talk and wasn't sure he
liked the picture she was painting. He might currently
be neutralized as a threat but that was no reason to
get insulting.  "Hey, wait a minute here, witch,
there's no call to be making me out to be some
bleedin' pansy.  Yeah, I asked. I got manners when I
want 'em. Besides, you know as well as I do that I
can't make you do anything."

"What is he talking about?" Angel asked.

Spike laughed.  "You mean they didn't tell you?  Oh
that's rich," he sneered.  "I might as well be
soul-bound.  I'm about as useless."  Spreading his
arms wide, his leather coat fanning out behind him
like great black wings, Spike spun around, drawing the
eyes of everyone in the room.  "I, daddy dearest, had
a run-in with a friggin' mad scientist."  His spin
ground to a halt that left him standing in front of
Angel.  "Did you care?" he snarled.  "Did you ask?
Did you wonder how I was doing?"

Spike threw back his head and laughed and raised his
arms up again.

There was something in that stance that reminded Angel
uncomfortably of Drusilla and the way she had danced
under the stars in her madness.  That painful reminder
of his own guilt and his current anger at Spike
snapped something deep within him.  He'd had enough of
Drusilla's wayward childe and his stupid games.  With
a low growl he snapped his hand out, long fingers
wrapping around Spike's throat, halting the other
vampire before he could spin away.

Slamming the other down on the table at his back, he
leaned forward, his position one of complete
domination.  Memories of a thousand other fights and a
thousand other punishments filled his head with
screams and the scent of fear and blood.

"Did I care?" he growled.  "No!  I didn't.  I don't
now.  The last time we crossed paths, you gave me over
to a torturer.  You *ran* me through with a poker.  I
ought to have put you down a long time ago."

"Angel, please."  There it was, the one voice that
could reach through the madness, cool blue-green
against the hot red that swirled within him.  Buffy,
her hand clasped gently around the wrist that pinned
Spike to the table.  From her subtle flinch he knew
the eyes he swung up to hers were yellow-gold.

Clinging to the shreds of his control, Angel shook his
head to clear away the red fog from his vision only to
find himself staring down into Spike's grinning,
amused face.  Spike, the one being that could without
fail, push his buttons faster than any individual
alive.

Spike was rejoicing.  Buffy had come to his rescue!
She stepped between him and Angel's anger.  He didn't
need any further proof.  It was there. He had the
chance to win her love and the best part of it all was
that this time he wouldn't have to share.  Buffy
couldn't have Angel.  Couldn't touch him, couldn't
hold him, couldn't let herself go.  He could be all
the things that Angel never was and could never be.
And, best of all, she couldn't go back to the ponce.
Ever.

"Let him up, Angel," his beautiful savior said.

As Angel released his hold, Buffy continued to
explain.  "Spike was captured by a group called the
Initiative."

Dusting himself off and straightening his clothes and
his dignity, Spike added, "I've got a bloody chip in
my head that would make Bill Gates green with envy.  I
can't hurt anyone, I can't hunt, I can't do anything."

"I don't understand," Anya said.  "You've adjusted
well enough to the chip.  Why put a soul on top of
it?"

"Because the chip doesn't change him, it simply
punishes him for being what he is," Willow answered.

Angel, his temper only barely controlled snapped, "And
you think you know who he is?  You think his soul will
fix anything?"

Willow tensed as the Angel's angry regard centered on
her.  "Well, I-" she began.

Angel cut her off sharply.  "What do you know of
Spike, Willow?  What do you really know of Vampires?
Demons?  What we think or feel . . . What we really
need?"

Buffy stepped between Angel and Willow, not sure she
understood the tension that seemed to crackle between
the two.  "Angel, Willow understands as well as anyone
can."

"As well as any living human can, you mean?"

Buffy sifted uneasily at the direction the
conversation was going.  "Yes, I guess so."

"Then, she *doesn't* understand."

Oh god, not good.  Willow could feel the situation
spiraling out of control.  Angel was angry with her
and Spike, and it was making him reckless with his
words.  She threw a glance at the other vampire and
realized that there would be no help from that
direction.  Spike had a pleased smirk on his face and
Willow knew without a doubt that he was enjoying the
rising tensions between the Buffy and Angel.

Eyes narrowed, Buffy asked with a disarming mildness
that was a sure indicator of how angry she was
growing, "Are you saying I don't understand you,
Angel?"

Spike was hard pressed to keep from bouncing on his
toes.  The Slayer was fighting for him.  It was too
good to leave well enough alone.  "Don't fret,
Pet," he said.  "No one understands Angel.  He's
deeper than the rest of us, right?"

"Angel?" Buffy questioned.

Angel, finally realizing the corner he'd backed
himself into, suddenly sighed and ran a hand up
through his hair.  The motion seemed to release some
of the tension that had held him.  He leaned back
against the wall; his posture slumped and tired.
"Willow can't know who Spike really is."  Angel made a
noise of mild amusement.  "Hell, I doubt that even
Spike knows who he is anymore.  He's been so wrapped
up in himself for so long, he's forgotten
everything he ever was or ever could be."

Spike snapped to attention, his back ramrod straight.
"And whose fault is that, mate?  Whose fault is it
that I had to spend the better part of my
unlife cleaning up your mess?"

Angel laughed, the sound hollow and without humor.
"And now Drusilla is just a mess you had to clean up?
How soon we forget the love of our lives,
Spike."

Angel caught Willow's attention again.  "If you want
to give him a soul, fine by me, Willow.  He can hardly
get any more pathetic than he is now."

Beside her, Willow felt Spike jerk at Angel's words.
She didn't understand, but she realized that even
through the fights and the hate and the venom, some
part of Spike still looked to Angel for approval.
Approval, she realized, that would never come. And
that thought made her mad. How dare he? He'd been
where Spike was now.  He'd been at the bottom until
Whistler had seen something more in him and helped him
up.  And now Angel could do nothing but kick at Spike?
 

"How dare you!" she demanded, out loud this time.

The smile Angel turned on her was mocking and she had
a flash of another conversation a lifetime ago.  Then
too he had answered with that same mocking half-smile.
 She could see in his face and the darkening of his
eyes that he too remembered, and suddenly her heart
was pounding loudly in her chest.

This time, though, she wouldn't back down from what
she saw in those eyes.  "You are his grandsire!"
Picking up a dusty volume from the table she thrust
it at him and then dropped it again, the sound like a
crack of thunder in the room.  "What happened to all
of those chapters and chapters in the Watcher
Chronicles about the bonds of iron that hold childe to
sire . . . the sacrifice, the commitment?  The love?"

Angel's smile faded a little as he shot a quick glance
at Spike.  "Love?  No, those were just fairytales,
Willow."  Looking pointedly at Willow and Spike,
he said, "You need to grow up."

Taking a threatening step towards the other vampire,
Spike snarled out, "Sod off, Henry Higgins."

Willow shot out a hand, catching Spike before he took
another step.  "I expected more from you, Angel. How
silly of me," she said sadly.  "You can go.  I don't
want or need your help."  Turning a look on the
vampire standing beside her, she added, "Neither does
Spike."

Without a word, Angel spun on his heel and walked out
the door.  The anger that had bled off earlier slammed
back into him full force.  "Damn it all!" he fumed as
he strode off down the darkened street. "Who the hell
does she think she is?" he demanded of the darkness.
"I don't owe Spike anything!  I don't owe her
anything!"

Turning sharply, he headed back the way he'd come only
to stop at the mouth of a darkened alleyway.  In a
move too fast for the human eye to see, he latched
onto the figure that had been lurking in the darkness.
 The 'eep' of terror resolved itself into a minion as
Angel pulled the struggling vampire
into the lighter shadows at the mouth of the alley.
Shaking the man in front of him, Angel informed his
suddenly very captive audience.  "He certainly
doesn't want my help, now does he?  Little bastard
doesn't think he needs my help.  Doesn't know what he
doing or what he's about to get into."  Giving
another shake, Angel glared down with amber eyes.
"And neither does she."

"A-anything you say, sir," stuttered the hapless vamp
in his grip.

Suddenly Angel's face cleared, the demon's mark fading
away and his eyes returning to their soft brown.  He
released the other vampire, reaching up to smooth the
other's shirt where he bunched it around his fist.

"What's your name?" he suddenly demanded.

The vampire blinked at the sudden change in
conversation.  "B-Billy," he answered nervously.

"Well, Billy, do you have any childer?"

Billy swallowed hard and shook his head.  The power
coming off the vampire in front of him was enormous,
which meant that he was old.  And as far as Billy
could tell, he was quite obviously insane as well.
Best not to antagonize him.

"No?"  Angel reached up and patted him on the cheek.
"You're lucky.  Don't have them.  They'll only break
your heart . . . stab you in the back. Or,
actually, drive a hot poker through your chest, but
you get the idea."

Billy nodded as Angel talked.  Oh yeah, this one was
crazy.  "Yeah, kids," he laughed, "What ya gonna do?"
 

Angel's eyes narrowed then and Billy gulped.  "What's
Billy short for?"

Billy went back to feeling really nervous.  "William,"
he answered.

"Yeah, that's what I thought.  Pity that."

Before he could scream, Angel dusted him.

Shit! Now his shoes were covered in ash.  Damn it all!
 This was Spike's fault.  But the killing had drained
away the anger again.  Angel rubbed at
his eyes.  He felt like he was strapped to a damn
seesaw.  His emotions were all over the place tonight.
 He didn't know what he felt or should feel.  He just
wanted to go to the room he'd rented and sleep for a
while - without dreams or nightmares.  Just sleep.

Stepping out of the alleyway, he found Willow waiting
for him in a pool of yellow lamplight.  He just
couldn't win tonight.  But he was going to try.

He walked past her as if he didn't see her, but even
that bit of rudeness didn't stop her.

"Angel, please stop. I'm sorry.  I was angry and you .
. ." She trailed off uncertainly when he finally
halted.

He stopped, but didn't turn.  "I'm tired, Willow.
What do you want?"  The 'now' was unspoken but they
both heard it.

"I know you don't want to help but I need to ask you
one thing.  Are you . . . I mean . . . do you wish you
had never been given your soul?"

He finally turned to face her.  "No.  Yes."  He
shrugged then added, "Sometimes.  Sometimes, Willow, I
wish they'd just killed me and been done with it."

"But the good you've been able to do . . ."

"Will never, ever outweigh the bad."

"I don't believe it."

"It doesn't matter what you believe.  The gypsies
cursed me, Willow.  The key word there is cursed.
They intended me to suffer, and suffer I have - my own

private hell.  And the best part is that I make it and
remake it every day myself."

"But you were given back your soul."

He laughed again, a little sorrowfully she thought.
"And there is why you don't understand.  Getting back
my soul didn't recreate the human I was
before.  I'm not a separate demon and a separate soul.
 Spike isn't a man known as Spike with a demon inside
of him.  There aren't two beings within
us.  Spike *is* the demon.  I *am* the demon.  It's
just in my case, I'm a demon with a soul, not a soul
sharing quarters with a demon.  And if you don't or
can't understand the difference between those two,
then you will never understand what Spike is now and
what he is going to become when you do the spell."

"You don't want me to do it, do you?"

"Truthfully, I wouldn't wish this curse on my worst
enemy."  He turned to look back up the street to The
Magic Box.  "I wouldn't even wish it on Spike."

What else could she say to that except "Oh."

He sighed.  'Oh' indeed.  "I'll stay, Willow.  You're
right about the fact that he'll need me before this is
over.  Drusilla might have turned him, but he's always
been more my childe than hers -- my responsibility
whether or not I like it or even Spike likes it."

There was a defeat in his shoulders that pulled at her
but when she stepped forward to comfort him, he
stepped back and away from her outstretched hand.

"Leave me alone, Willow.  I'm tired.  Too many
memories and too many emotions best left buried have
been stirred up tonight. Just . . . leave me be."

So she stood there and watched him walk away.  Only
when she couldn't see him anymore did she head back to
the others.

Stepping into the store, she was relieved to find
Spike still alive, or at least as alive as he usually
was.  When she'd taken off after Angel, she'd been
slightly afraid she'd come back to a pile of dust.

Well, Angel would help her, albeit reluctantly but
still help was help.  Now she just needed to convince
the others.

Then Giles surprised her as he held out a hand in her
direction.  "I believe you will need this."  There
nestled in Giles' outstretched palm rested a
small globe, looking like nothing more than a cheap
glass paperweight.

She looked around the room at her friends, a tentative
smile peaking out.

"We're not completely sure we either understand or
approve, Will," Xander said.

"But this is Spike's choice, and yours, so we will
help." Buffy finished.

Only Tara, Willow noticed, didn't say anything.  Nor
could her girlfriend meet her eyes.  She would have to
talk to Tara later.

"Thanks, guys."  Willow went to get the Orb but was
stopped as Spike stepped in front of her.

Spike's face was a stoic mask attempting to hide
everything he was thinking and feeling, but she
realized, he wasn't doing a very good job.

Earlier, she'd taken his strength when she'd needed
it, now she tried to offer hers to him.  Reaching up,
she laid her hand on his arm.

"Spike," she began, but stopped when his fingers came
up to cover hers in a painful grip only to be suddenly
released.

Giles merely raised an eyebrow as Spike stepped
forward to claim the Orb.  Spike was very aware of
everyone watching him.  Did they think he couldn't do
this?  That he was afraid of a chunk of glass?  He'd
show them all.
 

Part 12

There was a moment of hesitation and Spike's hand hung
suspended over the sphere that Giles held.  No, this
wasn't something he feared, it was what he wanted.
This clear crystal orb with its smooth surface
promised so much, could give him so much.there was
nothing for him to fear and he slowly lowered his
hand.  He'd imagined the orb would have been bigger
and, at the first touch of his fingertips against the
smooth surface, not as cold.  It seemed ridiculous
that this orb was so drastically important.  His
fingers moved across the curved surface, sliding down
and rolling the ball from the Watcher's hand into his
own.  It was deceptively heavy but there was no
indication as to what could be done with the glass
ball, there was no warnings plastered across it, no
sinister voice emanating from its depths declaring
'beware'.  There was nothing and Spike twirled it
around with his fingers, slowly bringing the orb up to
eye level and holding it between thumb and forefinger.
 Maybe the Watcher had the wrong crystal.

"This it then?" he asked, feeling the subtle shift in
the air behind him as Willow moved closer.  "This
little piece of glass is all we need."

"To summon your soul," Willow whispered and the orb
glowed, a miniature electrical storm swirled in its
depths, safely contained within the sphere.

That was enough for Spike to believe that he held the
answer to all of his problems so precariously between
his fingertips.  Keeping his eyes fixed on the globe
and with a lopsided smirk, he twisted his wrist and
tossed it high into the air.  The action was
accompanied by a collective gasp as the whole room
watched the sphere as it rose, reached its peak and
dropped back down to be caught by the blond, his
fingers deftly curling about it as it was cradled in
his palm.  It still felt too cold for something that
was the vessel for a soul, his soul in particular.
Still, it was what he needed and he held it in the
palm of his hand.

Slowly, Spike raised his eyes to briefly meet with the
wary blue of the Watchers, distain clearly visible
before the man turned and walked away from him.  The
Watcher didn't trouble him, the only occupants of the
shop that he was concerned about were Willow and
Buffy.the means and the end, that was all that
mattered.  So he turned back to Willow, casually
letting his gaze roam over the object of his affection
as he did so.  Buffy was lost in thought and he had to
fight to keep the smirk at bay.  Undoubtedly she was
thinking of the evenings earlier events, when she'd
rushed to save him, keep him from harm.  Or perhaps
she was considering the future. Whatever, he was
certain that the Slayer was thinking of him and while
she was thinking of him it wouldn't hurt to fan the
flames of jealousy he'd witnessed earlier on.

Fixing his gaze on the redhead, Spike reached out and
captured her hand. His thumb caressed the back of her
fingers as he raised the open palm to his lips,
bestowing a soft kiss to the warm flesh and he
received a tremulous half smile in return.  Not
releasing her hand, he lowered it and placed the
crystal ball in her open palm, using both his hands to
wrap hers around the fragile orb.  There was no need
to continue holding her hand, he knew the sphere was
safe with her, but he was reluctant to let go.
Perhaps it was those wide green eyes that were so
firmly fixed on him or maybe it was just the idea that
Buffy would be seething with jealousy.

"Let's do it, Red," Spike murmured.

"No!" the cry was one of pure despair and torment and
came from the darkest area of the shop.  When Willow
had left to go after Angel, the Scooby Gang had all
huddled together, turning their backs on Spike while
they discussed the situation. All of them except Tara,
who'd withdrawn to the shadows of the stairwell, and
he'd forgotten she was even there. Until now when she
exploded forth, screaming out in denial.  Honestly if
she fucked this up for him, Spike was going to hire as
many demons or humans or whatever the hell it took to
have her obliterated.  Well, at least have her killed
and maybe get her head mounted to brighten up the
crypt.  What the hell was her problem anyway?

"You can't do this," Tara cried out and it was
probably a good thing that everyone was staring at her
instead of Spike so they didn't see him roll his eyes
in pure frustration.  He tightened his hold on
Willow's hand as she went to pull away.  "Y-you don't
understand what will happen.you don't know what will
happen.  It's going to ch-change everything."

"Tara." Willow began, her brow knotting in concern as
she eased her hand away from Spike's firm grasp,
carefully handing him back the orb.  Spike glowered at
the blonde as Willow stepped forward and took her
lover's hands.  "What do you mean? Nothing is going to
change except Spike will have his soul."

"D-don't you see?  Things are already c-changing,"
Tara shot the vampire a resentful look.  "You reached
for him, n-not me when you needed support.  I was an
a-afterthought."

"Tara, that's not true," Willow shook her head in
disbelief and Spike quirked an eyebrow, apparently
jealousy was running riot tonight.  "How can you
possibly think that?  You know you mean the world to
me."

"D-do I?" the tears were starting to streak her face
and she shook her head, hiccupping slightly.  "You're
p-putting him first, d-doing what he wants.what about
what I want?"

Willow closed her eyes and shook her head.  "This
isn't making sense."

"D-don't do it, that's all I'm asking you," Tara
pleaded.  "Please, just d-don't do it."

"Tara," Willow swallowed back the lump that was
threatening to choke her, she felt like she was being
torn in two.  "I promised."

"No," Tara winced, the tears were flowing freely and
she pulled her hands free of Willow's, only to have
the redhead reach out for her again.  "Don't," she
snapped, pulling her hands away and stepping back.
"Don't t-touch me."

"Tara, please," Willow took a step toward her lover,
only to have the blonde take another two back, and the
rendering was complete, she shook her head.  "Don't do
this."

"I'm not," Tara stated and for the first time that
night she didn't stutter.  "You are."

Willow was shocked, which was why she couldn't do
anything but watch as Tara turned and ran from the
shop.  There was nothing but silence and Spike watched
her, waiting for that inevitable moment where she'd
take off after her lover, but it never happened.
Neither did she burst into tears or try to blame
anyone else, she simply stood still, staring at the
shop door.

"What just happened?" asked Anya.  "Did Willow and
Tara break up?"

"No," replied Willow, sounding surprisingly calm.  "We
just had a disagreement."

"Oh," Anya smiled brightly and turned to Xander,
pulling him down to whisper urgently in his ear.  "I
think they just broke up."

"Let's go," stated Willow, turning back to Spike and
taking the Orb of Thessulah from him.

"Willow, maybe."

"No," Willow stated, cutting off Giles protest.  Tired
of it all, she carefully tucked the orb away with the
other supplies in her backpack, resting it in a safe
haven of soft padding to ensure it wouldn't break, and
picked up her bag.  Raising her head she looked
directly at the scattered members of the Scooby Gang.
"Enough has been said and there's no need to discuss
it further.  I've gone through every logical argument,
every pro and con and I keep coming to the same
conclusion," she fixed her gaze on Buffy, willing her
to understand.  "Performing the soul restoration is
the best for all concerned.  I wasn't asking for
permission or even help, I just wanted you all to know
what was happening." she paused and turned back to
Spike.  "Ready?"

"Back to your place then?" he asked, taking the
backpack from her hands.  Spike wasn't going to openly
admit it, but he was impressed.  He'd been quite sure
that she'd fold when her lover had made the demands,
that she'd wrap her arms about the girl and declare
that she'd never deny her anything.  But Red hadn't,
she'd stood by him and more than that she'd basically
told the rest to fuck off as well.  The spine
conjuring had gone well and he was hoping that she'd
have as much success with the soul restoration.  Hence
the gentlemanly manners, carrying her backpack and
holding open the door for her, and all the time Buffy
was watching him closely.

God, he loved jealousy.

"Willow," Buffy placed a light restraining hand on the
witch's arm as she started to walk toward the vampire.
 It was clear to Willow that the Slayer was confused
and knew that there was more to this than what had
been said.

"Sometimes a change within can be a distraction."
Willow spoke softly, hoping the carefully chosen words
would help.  "The focus shifts and what was once
important may become.less significant."

Buffy released her friend.  "Do what you have to."

Without another word, Willow joined Spike and together
they left.  The relatively short trip back to her dorm
room was spent in silence, both contemplating what had
happened and what was to come.

###

Angel rolled his head forward, letting the scalding
water pound over his head, saturating his hair and
almost burning his scalp.  As much as he wanted to
sleep, he found he couldn't.  There was something
disturbing about Spike actively campaigning for the
restoration of his soul, something Angel couldn't
quite put his finger on. Every time he worked through
the scant information he'd gained at the Magic Box, it
didn't add up to a reasonable justification for
Spike's demand.  No, something wasn't right and that
was evident in the blond's demeanor.  The transient
madness he'd displayed, dancing around the shop,
perhaps the separation from Dru combined with the chip
had proven to be too much for him.  But if that
existence was so abhorrent for him then a soul wasn't
the answer, Angel was inclined to believe that the
blond would've taken a brief but spectacular mid
morning stroll.  So why would Spike want the very
thing that he found so repugnant and appalling and
used as a barb against Angel so many times in the
past?  What could he possibly gain from it?

Angel's eyes narrowed as he turned his back to the
spray of water, the night's conversation running
through his mind again and it suddenly hit him.
Spike's attitude or rather indifference towards
Drusilla.  Indeed Spike had merely referred to his
time with dark haired vampire as cleaning up Angel's
mess.Dru was always his Dark Goddess, or his ripe
wicked plum, never someone else's mess.  And if
Drusilla was no longer the object of his affection.

"I swear," he mumbled, shutting down the shower and
ignoring the towels in preference to simply pulling on
his clothes.  "They just aren't worth it.they either
end up going mad or they send you mad.or both."

Sunnydale hadn't changed that much, in fact it hadn't
changed at all.  Neither, it seemed, had the
squealers. A quick and somewhat disappointing
violence-free visit to Willie's, who'd had more than
enough threats and actual beatings for one night, soon
resulted in Angel standing in the open doorway of
Spike's crypt.

"Having a little temper tantrum were we, Spike?" Angel
murmured as he passed over the threshold.  The crypt
reeked and the unique and familiar scents struck him.
Drusilla, she'd been there recently, and from the
smell of it the two had certainly had a passionate
reunion.  But there was something else, another
distinctive scent, one that Angel would always know.

"Buffy," he growled, glancing about the thoroughly
trashed lair and spotting the trapdoor that was flung
open.  Two strides and he was standing at the gaping
hole, staring down into the darkness. From that
darkness the scents intensified and his eyes turned
amber.  As he started to descend the ladder, the
ridges rose on his forehead.  By the time his feet hit
solid ground he wore his game face.

Three scents, all as strong as each other, mingled
with a fourth unknown, and they all combined with
dirt, sweat and blood.  There was no doubt there'd
been a fight, the area was wrecked and his boots
crunched on the debris that littered the floor.  He
glanced down, scattered amongst the general chaos were
photos and sketches.  Frowning slightly, Angel bent
down and picked one up.  Staring up at him was an all
too familiar face framed by long blonde hair.  His
fingers curled against the fragile paper and the
sketch collapsed in on itself as the piece was crushed
in Angel's fist.

A deep, infuriated snarl echoed about the room.

###

Willow checked over the position of the rune tablets
and risked a quick glance at Spike as he leant against
the window, carelessly tossing the Orb of Thesulah
from one hand to the other.

"If you break that, we won't be able to do this,"
Willow stated.

"So, you do speak.I thought you'd given it away for
monosyllabic grunts," Spike teased, ceasing the
constant tossing of the orb.  Swaggering over to the
circle she'd set up, he squatted down and perused the
various bits and pieces.  "We ready then?"

"Almost," Willow nodded, taking a deep, calming
breath.

Spike watched her closely, she was as easy as a Dr
Seuss book to read.  On the way back, he'd seen the
great debate playing out, the conflicting emotions
flickering across her face and worse still the
confusion in her eyes.  Even now there was still
traces of indecision and he knew that her bravado from
the Magic Box was starting to waver.  But that didn't
matter, there was no lover hanging in the shadows to
distract her, no Scooby Gang with their silly protests
or the Watchers disapproving stare.  They were alone
with no one to get in the way.  Or so he thought until
someone knocked on her door.

"Who the hell is that?" muttered Spike, straightening
up and covering the short distance before Willow could
even look over her shoulder.  He flung the door wide
open and grinned, hooking his thumbs in his jeans and
casually leaning against the doorjamb.  "Well, well,
well.  If it isn't Henry Higgins.'fraid you're not
invited, peaches.  Private party and all that, sure
you understand."

"Angel?  What are you doing here?  I thought you were
tired."  Willow's eyes widened as Angel's hand, in a
blur of movement, shot out and wrapped about Spike's
throat.  Memories of Angelus doing the same to her
caused her to take two steps back and her throat
constricted around the lump of fear that welled up.
It had been different then, his hands covered in
blood, his voice rough, his demands. Angel yanked the
blond from the room, pulling him into a headlock and
almost dislocating one arm as it was yanked back.
"Angel! What are you doing?"

"What you wanted me to do, we're going to talk.back at
his crypt and you," Angel turned his back to the
flustered witch and started to walk away with a
cursing Spike firmly held in a death grip.  "Are
staying here."

"Angel." Willow cautiously moved to the edge of her
doorway and glanced out into the hallway.  He was
gone, taking the blond with him.  After her last
confrontation with the older vampire she was hesitant
to follow him and she certainly didn't want to try and
get between the two vampires should they come to
blows.  On the other hand, she didn't want either of
them to stake the other.  Biting down on her bottom
lip, she closed her door and leant against it, staring
at all the things set up for the spell.

###

"Oi, you fucking ponce, will you get off me," demanded
Spike as he was dragged into his crypt.  "What the
fuck is your problem?"

"At the moment," Angel snarled, tossing the blond like
he was a rag doll against the solid interior wall of
the crypt.  "I'd say you are."

Spike picked himself up off the floor and wiped at the
blood flowing from his split lip, warily keeping an
eye on the glowering vampire.  "Easily fixed, Higgins,
you can just piss off."

Spike didn't even see Angel move, he only felt the
side of his face erupt in pain as the fist was slammed
into it and a moment later he was sent to hell with a
knee to the groin.  A boot slammed into his back and
Spike crashed to the ground, one arm pinned beneath
his body while the other was twisted back.  A knee
replaced the boot and the dark haired vampire's full
weight kept the blond pinned to the crypt's floor
while his head was pulled back with a handful of hair.

"Do you want to make me angry, boy?" Angel growled.
He received a half-hearted struggle that was easily
quelled by digging his knee in hard against the
younger vampire's back.  "You don't fool me, Spike, I
know your game and I'm telling you it won't work."

"What the fuck do you know about it?" spat Spike.

"No matter what you do Buffy will never get involved
with you." Angel released his hold and stood up.  "She
doesn't even trust you."

Once more Spike pushed himself off the floor and he
smirked, the tip of his tongue pressing against his
plump lower lip as he chuckled.

"Doesn't she?" Spike's face hardened.  "You've been
gone too long, mate, you don't know whose part of
what.  If she doesn't trust me, why'd she give me her
mum and kid sister to look after when she thought the
big bad was after them?  In all your time together did
she ever trust you like that?"

This time he saw the fist coming, was quick enough to
evade it and land one or two punches himself before
Angel picked him up and threw him against a pillar,
shattering the solid stone.  As the rubble and dust
settled, Spike laughed.

"Come on, peaches.  You didn't really think she'd
spend the rest of her life pining over you, did you?"
Spike stood again, blue eyes locked on golden.  "Oh
you did.this is just too precious.  You know humans,
they live in the now, they have to, they don't have
that many tomorrows to look forward to.  And the
Slayer, well you may have wetted her appetite but I'm
the one who'll satisfy that hunger."

"You think that's going to happen?" growled Angel,
taking a step toward the blond.

Spike smirked and arched an eyebrow. "What's to say it
hasn't already?"

This time it was Angel who laughed, a cold and hollow
sound, shaking his head as he slowly walked towards
the younger vampire.

"Because if it had, you wouldn't be so eager for a
soul.  Who do you think you're fooling, William?"
Angel grabbed the leather duster and hauled Spike up
off his feet, so they were at eye level.  "You're
still trying to fill boots that are way too big for
your dainty little feet.  History never repeats and
being cursed isn't."

Angel never got to finish the sentence. Spike gasped,
his back arching as he convulsed in pain and Angel
dropped him quicker than if he'd been bathed in holy
water.

"She did it," murmured Angel, taking two steps back
from the blond curled in agony on the floor.  He knew
that feeling, the moment when the soul entered the
body, as sharp as any stake, piercing the heart and
spreading out.  Rushing through long dead veins and
burning like molten larva until every part of the body
ached and trembled in pain.  Then there was nothing, a
blinding numbness. A moment of grace before the fall.

And it was one hell of a fall.
 

Part 13

Angel never got to finish the sentence. Spike gasped,
his back arching as he convulsed in pain, and Angel
dropped him quicker than if he'd been bathed in holy
water.

"She did it," murmured Angel, taking two steps back
from the blond curled in agony on the floor.  He knew
that feeling, the moment when the soul entered the
body, as sharp as any stake, piercing the heart and
spreading out.  Rushing through long-dead veins and
burning like molten lava until every part of the body
ached and trembled in pain.  Then there was nothing, a
blinding numbness. A moment of grace before the fall.
 

And it was one hell of a fall.

#######

Willow slumped back against her bed.

The only other time she'd cast this spell, she'd been
under some sort of supernatural control.  This evening
she'd had only her own powers to draw on. Her upper
lip felt weird. She reached a trembling hand up to her
nose.  Yup, bleeding again.  Her hand fell limply to
the floor.

I really ought to get up and tidy.  The brazier could
catch something on fire.  She tried to sit up, but
found it was too much effort.  She closed her eyes.
Just let me center my thoughts, then I'll go find...

#######

Angel leaned against the wall, folded his arms and
waited.  Spike was lying on the floor moaning.  Served
him right.  Angel might have felt honor-bound to
protest against this for all the high-minded reasons,
but it was going to be an undiluted pleasure watching
Spike discover, first-hand, why his sire spent more
time reading Sartre than Playboy.

A few short minutes later, blue eyes popped open.
"Sorry, Peaches, floor show's over."  Spike rolled to
his feet and stood up.

"Nice try, boy.  I remember this all too well.  You
may be putting on a good face, but I know what you're
feeling."

Spike, as always, sneered.  "Not that I don't love
these little family reunions, but aren't you
forgetting something important?  Witch just did some
powerful mojo.  Last time she did that, wound up with
blood pouring down her face.  Hadn't we soulful types
better check on her?"

Angel stepped forward involuntarily.  "Don't you care,
Spike?  You were responsible for a hundred-plus years
of killing and torture; doesn't your brand-new
conscience have anything to tell you about that?"

Spike gave him an icy look.  "Right now, got a job to
do.  Can't let the brooding get in the way."  And he
turned on his heel and left the crypt.

Angel sank back against the wall, stunned.

#######

"But, Giles, Buffy, this is really stupid!  I saw what
happened to her last time she cast that spell.  She
nearly couldn't finish, and then she was possessed or
something, and then she good as fell back into the
coma--"

"Precisely, Xander.  She couldn't cast the spell
alone.  She needed outside assistance, which I very
much doubt will be forthcoming in this case.  She'll
attempt to cast the spell, she'll fail, she'll get a
salutary reminder that there are limits to all
things."

Xander shoved his chair back and stood up.  "She'll
get killed, you mean?  Oh, that's a great reminder.
I'm sure she'll learn a lot from it in the afterlife.
What are the two of you THINK--"

"Two things, Xander.  First, Giles is right.  I don't
think this can possibly work.  And, second..."
Buffy's shoulders slumped. "I can't stop Willow from
doing anything she chooses to do.  She put up with me
through some truly stupid decisions, it's about time I
returned the favor."

"Well, I can stop her, and I will."  Xander was
arrested by Anya's hand on his arm.

"Xander.  She's a witch. She can take care of herself.
She's not your problem.  Maybe Tara's, if they're
still an item which I really doubt, maybe Buffy's
because they have this weird nonsexual attachment
going, but she's not yours because you're all mine and
I don't like sharing.  Except maybe with that other
version of you..."

"ANYA!  This is NOT the moment!"

"Stop.  Now."  An angry voice sounded behind them and
they all turned.

"Spike?"  Buffy grabbed up a stake.

He rolled his eyes.  "Souled, still chipped, remember?
 Where the Hell is the redhead?"

"Aren't you supposed to be curled in a miserable ball
of guilt on the floor?"

"Can you stick to the bloody point?  Can't find the
witch, she isn't here, what the fuck happened?"

Buffy shrugged.  "In her room, probably.  And can you
blame her for not letting you in?"

"Been there already.  Knocked.  Nobody answered.
Kicked the door down.  Empty.  And there's blood on
the floor."
 

Part 14

"Stop. Now." An angry voice sounded behind them and
they all turned.

"Spike?" Buffy grabbed up a stake.

He rolled his eyes. "Souled, still chipped, remember?
Where the Hell is the redhead?"

"Aren't you supposed to be curled in a miserable ball
of guilt on the floor?"

"Can you stick to the bloody point? Can't find the
witch, she isn't here, what the fuck happened?"

Buffy shrugged. "In her room, probably. And can you
blame her for not letting you in?"

"Been there already. Knocked. Nobody answered.
Kicked the door down. Empty. And there's blood on
the floor."

######

And now, Chapter 14...
~~~

Willow felt as if a team of diminutive miners was
digging in her brain using very sharp pick axes and
comical-sized portions of dynamite.  She'd thought it
had been painful when she'd teleported Glory or when
she'd resouled Angel, but this was far, far worse...

At least her nose had stopped bleeding, Willow
realized as she did a blind inventory of her head and
face...just to make sure they were really still
intact.  Her wandering fingers lingered over her
temples, massaging small circles in a vain attempt to
ease the pain that was somehow sharp, dull and
throbbing all at the same time.

And then there was her churning stomach and the sour
taste in her mouth.

And something else...something wasn't
right...something besides the agonizing pain and
nagging desire to curl into a fetal position and
whimper.  She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but
something else felt...different.  Her mind
felt...fuller somehow.

As she tried to make some sense of her odd mental
congestion, Willow finally became aware of some soft,
shuffling sounds and slowly opened her eyes.  It took
her a second to get her bearings but she quickly
realized she was no longer in her own room but in
Tara's instead.  Willow looked around through eyes
squinting in pain against the light, noting a few bare
shelves and the empty hangars in the open closet.
Then she spotted the bags by the door...and while she
found it hard to focus, she was sure some of the bags
were her own.

"Willow?"

Even though Tara said her name in her usual
soft-spoken manner, Willow found herself flinching as
the sound sent new shock waves of pain through her
head.

"How do you feel?" Tara asked, this time her voice a
near whisper, but it still managed to find its way
through the deafening pain in Willow's head.  "I found
you in your room...unconscious.  You'd been
b-bleeding, but I think it's stopped now.  You okay?"

Willow nodded, but her eyes were still surveying the
nearly bare room.  "Are you...are *we* going
somewhere?  Is school over already?  I know I'm kinda
woozy right now, but I could have sworn I didn't take
my finals yet...Did I do good?"

With a nervous smile, Tara sat next to Willow on the
bed, soothingly easing the hair away from Willow's
face.  "School isn't over yet.  You've only been
asleep for a few hours, but I th-thought you and I
c-could go away for a while.  We've always wanted to
go to England...or Disney World...I even packed for
you because I know how much you hate that."

Willow reluctantly sat up, forcing herself to focus on
her girlfriend.  This wasn't good.  Even if Tara's
troubles weren't written all over her face, the tone
of her voice, not to mention the stutter, was a dead
giveaway.  Whatever was bothering Tara obviously
hadn't disappeared with the reappearance of Spike's
soul.

The redhead managed a weak smile.  "Oh, um, don't you
think it should wait until school's over?  It will
still be a 'small world after all' in a few weeks."

"I'm dropping out for the rest of the semester," Tara
informed her in a flat voice, her eyes falling to the
bedspread.  "I h-have the f-forms, filled them out,
j-just have to drop them off when the office opens up
in the morning or mail them in.  I have some for you,
too...I've filled them out, you just have to s-sign
them."

Willow clutched at Tara's hand.  "Huh?  Leave?  Why
would we leave right now?"

Tara unwound herself from Willow grasp to stand and
continue packing some items from her desk.  "Um, I
think we need to get a way f-for a while and fix
this...us...fix what's happened," she said without
turning around.

"But what happened?  I don't understand.  Is this
because I did the spell even though you didn't want me
to?  Tara, we can talk about this now...here...we
don't have to go to the 'happiest place on earth' to
do that!"

"W-we can't do it here, Willow," Tara replied
adamantly.  "Because whatever you did to S-spike, it
must not have w-worked.  When I went back to your room
to get your things, the door was kicked in.  He's
v-violent, Willow.  He's mad.  I t-told you that you
couldn't trust him."

Willow was too confused to do much else but frown and
blink at the girl.  "But I gave him a key," she
mumbled.  Then gathering her wits, she added more
firmly, "No, Tara, I know the spell worked!  I felt
it!  Sort of like when I did it to Angel, but
different, too, because it was all me.  I wasn't
possessed this time...it was only me."

Tara shook her head sharply, but the fire was gone
from her words, as if even she didn't believe them
herself.  "Maybe the spell b-backfired, Willow.  It
must have.  And he's ch-changed his mind and come back
to make sure you don't try it again.  He'll find a way
to k-kill you, Willow.  If he can't do it himself, he
can pay somebody else to..."  Tara's voice trailed off
into a sigh.  She couldn't lie anymore.  Willow at
least deserved the truth.

"Tara please...I don't understand.  Make me understand
somehow.  You're good at that!"

Tara's chin fell to her chest, and Willow heard the
Wiccan's long, slow release of breath.  After a moment
of absolute stillness, Tara reached for her backpack
on the desk.  Even the sound of the zipper made Willow
flinch, but she couldn't keep her eyes from following
Tara's hand as she languidly opened the bag, tooth by
tooth...

...and took out the book.  Her family 'recipe' book.

With shaking hands, she held it out to Willow, not
daring to meet her eyes.  "It's a-all in here..."

"Your mother's book?  The one you left in my room?"
Willow whispered reverently as she took the offered
tome.  She glanced up at Tara, who met her eyes only
for a moment--long enough to grant her permission to
open the book--before looking away.

Willow was terrified.  She had no idea what the book
could possibly say that would make her lover behave so
strangely over the past 24 hours.  Still, she lifted
the cover and began carefully turning the pages.
Unfortunately, her headache made reading the tiny
handwriting nearly impossible and just trying made her
eyes water and her insides lurch.

"Tara...please...my head hurts...  I-I can't read it.
Just tell me what it says...what has you so worried?"

"It's the p-pages in the b-back.  I've been using the
blank ones toward the end as a dr-dream j-journal."

"A dream journal?  This is all about dreams?"

Biting her bottom lip and wiping a tear away, Tara
nodded.  "S-sometime my dreams come t-true...they're
omens or pr-prophecies maybe.  It's only happened a
few times...like when my m-mother died.  When my
brother h-hurt himself in a hunting accident.  The
dreams...they aren't normal, and I have them over and
over again until they come true."

Willow closed the book and held it tightly to her
chest.  "But, what does this have to do with us?  Are
you're dreaming about us?"

Tara shook her head sadly, no longer trying to stem
the steady flow of tears.  "No...it wasn't about
us...it was about you...and him."

"Oz?" Willow asked, her face wrinkled with confusion.
"Tara, no!  No Oz--"

"Not Oz...."

"Then who?"

Tara turned away and continued packing as if she
hadn't heard Willow.  "I never thought it could
happen.  I s-still can't believe it's happening, but
it is...I can't fight it anymore. I can't hide from it
or ignore it.  If I do, it will only make things
worse...for all of us."

Willow couldn't stop the tears from trailing down her
cheeks.  "Tara!  No, I don't understand," she
hiccuped.  "Whatever the dream was, it doesn't matter.
  We can change it!"

Tara spun around, offering Willow a sweet but sad
smile.  "No, it wasn't just a dream, Willow.  It was
destiny."

Willow stood up and took a few unsteady steps toward
Tara.  "Fuck destiny, Tara!" Willow shouted, not
caring about the shooting pains in her head or the
growing fire in her stomach.  "We make our own
destiny...we change it and shape it every day!  Heck,
that's what we Scoobies are known for...defying
destiny!  Maybe your...your dreams just haven't caught
up yet!"

"But I'm not really a Scooby."

Willow reached out to run her hands lovingly down the
side of Tara's face, through her hair.  She didn't
understand what was happening, except that her
girlfriend was leaving her...another person she loved
was walking away from her for reasons she couldn't
comprehend.

"Please, Tara.  I still don't understand.  Whatever it
is...we can fix it!"

"Then come with me now," Tara insisted hopefully.  "To
fix it, you have to leave with me...right now."

It took all of Willow's inner strength not to fall on
her knees and beg for forgiveness, but forgiveness for
exactly what, she wasn't sure.  The odd thought make
Willow involuntarily step back.  Her hands left Tara's
damp face to fall limply at her sides.  "I can't
Tara...how can you ask me to?  Not now."

"Why not?" Tara responded, her momentary optimism
ebbing away.  "What's keeping you here?  Who's keeping
you here?"

"Who?" Willow repeated in bewilderment.  "You're
asking me who's keeping me here?  How about my family,
my friends, my responsibilities.  Tara, I can't leave
Buffy now...not with Glory and Dawn...They need
me...they need us!  But when this mess is over--"

"Who else needs you?" the blonde asked abruptly, her
voice tinged with a finality and coldness that Willow
had never thought Tara capable of.

"Huh?  Oh, well, I am tutoring that guy in psychology,
and I did the spell for Spike so he 's going to need
me too, but--"

"I'm leaving now, Willow."  Tara turned away, and
Willow found herself staring at her stiff back as the
blonde opened the door.  "Are you with me?" she asked,
turning back one final time.

Willow could barely breath as she held out the book.
"I guess I'm not."

Resigned, Tara nodded her head and took her journal
without looking at Willow.  Then she flipped to the
back and carefully ripped out a particular page.  She
put the aged paper in Willow's still-outstretched hand
and then closed both her hands around Willow's
trembling fist.

"My present to you is not only your destiny, Willow,
but the freedom to follow it."  Her voice was calm and
steady, her stutter gone as confidence in the fact
that she was doing the right thing filled her with
strength.  Then she raised Willow's hand to her mouth,
kissing the soft skin of her fingers and holding it
against her cheek, saying, "I love you, Willow.  Be
happy...both of you."

And then Tara was gone and Willow was left alone,
standing in the middle of Tara's dorm room in a puddle
of tears, clutching someone else's dream.

Willow collapsed, only to curl into a ball on the
floor, sobbing violently and uncontrollably as a flood
of thoughts she didn't understand and the sadness of
her loss overwhelmed her.

And that's how they found her.
 

Parts 15

"My present to you is not only your destiny, Willow,
but the freedom to follow it." Her voice was calm and
steady, her stutter gone as confidence in the fact
that she was doing the right thing filled her with
strength. Then she raised Willow's hand to her mouth,
kissing the soft skin of her fingers and holding it
against her cheek, saying, "I love you, Willow. Be
happy . . . both of you."

And then Tara was gone and Willow was left alone,
standing in the middle of Tara's dorm room in a puddle
of tears, clutching someone else's dream.

Willow collapsed, only to curl into a ball on the
floor, sobbing violently and uncontrollably as a flood
of thoughts she didn't understand and the sadness of
her loss overwhelmed her.

And that's how they found her.

+++++++++++++++

The adventure continues . . .
 

Giles was the first through the ruined door, the
second, Giles’ noted absently, that Spike had kicked
in this night.

“Willow!”

Giles’ initial thought that Willow was dead stopped
him just inside the doorway. With pain and a sudden
flash of guilt he remembered the conversation with
Xander earlier that evening.

//“Xander, She'll attempt to cast the spell, she'll
fail, she'll get a salutary reminder that there are
limits to all things."

“She'll get killed, you mean? Oh, that's a great
reminder. I'm sure she'll learn a lot from it in the
afterlife.//

A push from Spike behind him shocked him back into
movement. Kneeling down on the floor, he pulled
Willow’s limp body into his arms. Turning her
upright, he breathed out a sigh of relief at finding
her alive but then sucked in a hissed breath as he saw
the fresh blood that streaked her lower face and
throat.

Looking up he found Angel. “Call Buffy and the others
and tell them that we have found her. Have them meet
us at my apartment.” Seeing Angel begin to pull a
cell phone from his pocket, Giles turned back to the
girl in his arms.

He was surprised when Spike knelt beside him to reach
a pale hand across Willow. Spike look almost
mesmerized -- the expression on his face one of
hunger and sadness and something that looked almost
like awe. Maybe that’s why he didn’t stop the vampire
when he drug two of his fingers through the blood that
stained Willow’s throat.

Spike was simply sitting back on his heels, staring at
his blood-smeared fingers. When Giles noticed that
Spike’s hand was shaking, he believed for the first
time, that maybe Willow had indeed, beyond all
expectation, given Spike back his soul.

He watched as Spike raised his fingers towards his
mouth, lips parting as he closed his eyes in
anticipation of the taste.

Suddenly Angel’s strong hand clamped around Spike’s
wrist, causing both of them to jump. “Don’t you
dare,” he hissed in outrage. “She is hurt because
of you.”

Angel thrust a cold washcloth into Giles’ face with a
gruff ‘here’ before pulling the younger vampire to his
feet and slinging him across the room.

Giles wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or sorry
for Spike, but he couldn’t waste energy on the other
vampire at the moment. Taking the cloth Angel had
given him, he cleaned up the worst of the blood, and
then used one corner of the washcloth to wipe away the
tear tracks from Willow’s cheeks. Calling her name,
he attempted to rouse her, but Willow’s eyes remained
tightly closed. Willow seemed oblivious to his
presence beside her and that worried him more than the
nosebleed.

“Watcher.”

“I’m kind of busy at the moment, Spike.”

“Think you might want to see this.”

Something in Spike’s voice made him look up. It took
him a second to realize what he was seeing. Spike was
standing in front of an empty closet except for a few
hangers that twisted in the breeze created by the open
door. Drawers hung precariously from the dresser,
their contents half pulled out. Several books were
missing from the shelves. Suddenly Willow’s shattered
state made perfect sense. Tara was gone and from the
look of the room, she’d left in a hurry.

Damn.

All right. First things first. They needed to get
Willow back to his apartment. Then they could sort
out Spike’s resouling and Tara’s disappearance.
Shifting Willow in his arms, he went to pick her up
but stopped as a piece of crumpled paper fell from her
fist. Without a thought, he picked it up and stuffed
it in his breast pocket and then lifted Willow up.
 

+++++

Angel eyed his grandchilde in mixture of confusion and
anger as they walked back to Giles’. He didn’t
understand why Spike was able to function. Angel
remembered those first few days as a newly souled
vampire. The only thing that had kept him from
seeking oblivion in the sun was the power of the
memories that had held him captive while he relived
every thing he’d done as Angelus. Spike seemed almost
unchanged and that made no sense. Angel knew what
Spike had been before his turning, what William had
been. He’d been a poet, an intellectual. He’d been a
polite, gentlemanly member of London’s gentry. That
image did not fit with the man in front of him.

Spike’s speech, his manners, and his attitude were all
still those of the lower-class East End gutter rat
persona that he’d adopted soon after Drusilla had
changed him.

Angel could almost believe that the spell had been
unsuccessful, that Spike was pulling some elaborate
con, and yet . . . there was something in his eyes
and in the tension of his body that said that maybe
the spell had been successful after all. Was Spike
simply having some kind of delayed reaction?
Would he suddenly be hit with memories when they least
expected it? He had questions but no answers. So he
continued to study the other vampire, waiting to see
what would happen. Angel, after all, had had a
hundred years to develop patience.

Spike walked a few feet in front of the others. He
could feel the weight of Angel’s stare, heavy with
anger and disapproval. It was amazing how much that
look could make him feel like an untried fledgling
again. It made the place between his shoulder blades
itch in anticipation of a stake that never appeared.
"Do you mind?" he finally snapped.

Angel’s continued silence only served to infuriate him
more.

That did it. Planting his feet, Spike stopped and
whirled around so fast that Angel almost plowed into
him. "Look, you bloody pillock, the last I heard, you
can't actually *see* a soul, so quit staring at me. Or
would it help if I hunch my shoulders a bit, hang my
head and stare at the ground while I walk. Would that
be more to your liking?"

Angel smirked at him, knowing how much Spike hated
that expression, how it always tested the limits of
the other’s control. Spike wasn’t the only one
who knew how to push a few buttons. "I can see how
affected you are by it all...Willow stuck her neck out
to help you, and yet you have about as much soul as
Barry Manilow.”

”Maybe I'm just not a big bloody poof, like you are?
Maybe this 'oh, I have a soul and therefore the weight
of the world is on my too-broad shoulders' is just a
cover up for the fact that you are pathetically
dull, fantastically depressing, and have all the
personality of a doorstop."

Angel chuckled. "And here I was expecting the soul of
a poet. Not only did that not rhyme, *William* but you
might want to try it again . . . this time with
feeling. Wait . . . feeling would require a soul,
wouldn't it? Something that I'm not convinced that you
have."

"Piss off, Angel. Just because you became a great big
fairy with the return of your soul, doesn't mean I
have to follow in your enormous pointed footsteps. And
might I add, pigeon-toed?"

Angel shook his head. "Petty personal insults, Spike,
a new, and might I add, unimaginative low for you.
You've killed probably thousands of people in your
life . . . women, children. You’ve committed
unspeakable tortures, and yet all you seem to have on
your mind at the moment is annoying me. Obviously your
soul was a bit flimsy in the first place. Maybe you
and
Jack the Ripper shared one. Of course, knowing you--"

With a growl, Spike changed, amber eyes glaring
balefully at Angel. "You don't know me, *sire.*” The
last word said with such loathing as to be a curse.
“Don't presume to know what I am feeling or thinking
right now."

Giles abruptly stepped between the two, forcing them
to step back from each other to avoid crowding Giles
and the girl who lay quietly in his arms. He raked an
annoyed expression over both of them. "Will you two
shut up! If I have to listen to one more moment of
your childish and petty banter, I will personally
stake both of you just for the peace and quiet!"

Then completely ignoring Spike’s fanged countenance,
Giles unceremoniously dumped Willow’s unconscious form
into Spike's arms, the surprise of Giles’ actions
causing Spike to revert back to his more normal
appearance. "Make yourself useful." Pointing down the
down the street, he added, “My apartment. Now. Do not
dawdle.” Not waiting to see if the blond followed his

instructions, he whirled on a sheepish looking Angel.
"And you . . . I recommend you revisit those brooding
skills of yours for a while."

With that, Giles took off after the rapidly
disappearing Spike leaving Angel to bring up the rear
and to wonder exactly what had just happened.

++++

Giles’ Apartment

”I thought you said he'd be all depressing and boring
with his soul, like Angel is." Anya’s sotto voiced
whisper, was as always, loud enough for everyone in
the room to hear.

Xander chuckled nervously, his shoulders hunching just
a bit as he glanced from Angel to his girlfriend.
"Anya, what part of 'just between
you and me' do you not understand?"

"Sorry, but I'm confused. Spike seems the same to me.
I was expecting drama . . . like in the soap operas.
Lots of weeping and shaking of fists at the
heavens, cries to God demanding why . . ."

Buffy raised her eyebrows at Anya’s comment but didn’t
say anything. She did however take a considerably
harder look at Spike. Stepping a bit closer, she
crossed her arms across her chest. “Anya’s right.
Seems the same to me, too.”

Spike let out an indignant growl. "I *have* a soul
now, Buffy.” Good God, what did it take to get through
to these people. Couldn’t they see the soul in his
eyes? Bugger! He’d always known that crap about the
eyes being the windows to the soul was just a bunch of
rot. How the hell was he supposed to explain
something that was unexplainable? “People, listen to
me. I can feel it in here," he said, thumping his
chest over his heart. "It's all . . .” he hesitated,
looking for the words, “it’s all swirling and pulling.
And I can feel it in here, too," he said, moving his
hand up to tap on his temple. "Memories are flying at
me like bullets."

"Shame your conscience has such terrible aim," Angel
answered, his voice dry with biting sarcasm.

Xander tensed at the tone of Angel’s voice. There was
a fight that was just waiting to explode. Sliding
from his spot directly between the two vampires,
he edged over towards his girlfriend before he added,
"I'm with Anya on this one, too. If he doesn't start
making with the tears and begging our
forgiveness, I say we throw him out on his lying ass."

Angel let out an aggravated sigh. “I can’t believe
I’m about to say this, but in Spike’s favor, I did see
him when he got his soul.”

“What? Let me guess, it went something like this . .
.” Xander let his eyes roll up in head and fell to the
floor, curling into a ball, his legs and arms jerking
as is he was in great pain. Abruptly, he sat up from
his position. Holding up his hands, he said, “Look
ma, I got a soul.”

Angel turned slowly to where Spike leaned against the
counter to Giles’ small kitchen scowling at them all
in obvious non-amusement at Xander’s antics.
“Actually, Xander, you got it perfect.”

Spike threw up his hands in disgust. "What does it
bloody well take with you people? I have a soul, just
as intact and annoying as all of yours are. Like
right now, all I can bloody think about is how Red is
hurting because of what she did for me..."

Buffy interrupted him. “Right, like you really care,
Spike. If we're to believe what you're saying, then
you got what you wanted. You have your soul,
pitiful as it may be, so you can leave Willow alone.
She'll be fine, and you've already done enough damage
to her life for one day."

Spike pushed himself away from the counter to stand up
straight, his eyes flashing a dangerous shade of
electric blue as he shifted to a fighter’s stance.
"Slayer, I'm beginning to wonder if *you* and rest of
you sots have souls. Your friend is unconscious and
obviously in a lot of pain, and yet
here you all are . . . arguing with me."

He watched with a sly smile as Buffy’s cheeks flushed
with color as she stalked angrily across to the room
to him. Even now with her doubts, she couldn’t stay
away from him, not now...not with his soul calling to
her.

Buffy reached up and planted her palms against him,
ready to push him backward in dismissal. "Soul or
not, chip or not, if you think this changes a
thing..."

Spike caught at her hands, holding them firm against
his chest, bracing himself against her strength. "It
changes everything, Buffy. We both know that."

Angel stiffened in outrage at Spike familiarity, a low
voiced growl escaping from between clenched teeth.
But before he could decide exactly how he would
kill him, a whispered voice stopped everyone in the
room.

"He's right, Buffy,” Willow said from where she stood
unsteadily on Giles’ stairs. “Everything has...changed
now..."

Giles was the first to reach her, wrapping a
comforting arm around her shoulders. He didn’t like
the slightly dazed look in her eyes or the flush
to her skin. Thankfully, the nosebleed seemed to have
stopped. Magick backlash and overload he was familiar
with, but he was beginning to suspect that this was
something more. "How are you feeling, Willow?"

Leaning heavily on the Watcher’s steady shoulder,
Willow slowly descended the final steps, her eyes
focused completely on the blonde vampire. "Empty.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Full," she replied
absentmindedly, as if her words were not in conflict
and both fit equally well.

"Sorry if we woke you up, Wills,” Xander said. “We
were just debating whether or not your spell worked."

"It worked," Willow and Spike said in unison, one with
exasperation and the other with quiet confidence.

“Then why,” Anya asked with single-minded
determination, “isn't he a blubbering mess? I brought
out an extra box of tissues, but not a single
tear. I feel . . . cheated."

Xander dropped his head into his hands. "Anya..." he
groaned.

"But I want to know if vampires can really cry! Where
do the tears come from? Are they blood tears or salty
water like human tears?"

"Vampires can cry," Buffy said softly, glancing over
at Angel. For just a moment their eyes locked.

Anya, however, was not so easily sidetracked. "But--"
 

Deciding it was time to divert his girlfriend, Xander
reached up and placed a finger against her lips.
"Please, Anya. Not now..." Then leaning forward he
whispered quietly against her ear. “You are standing
in the middle of a soap opera and just like the ones
on TV, it’s best if you sit back and watch
quietly or you’ll miss something.”

Anya got a surprised look on her face as she pondered
Xander’s words. A slow smile of anticipation crossed
her face as she glanced at the other people in
the room. Willow was still leaning on Giles and
whispering softly into his ear. Giles had both
eyebrows raised but was nodding his head to something
that Willow had just said.

If this were her favorite soap opera, the way Willow
was clinging to Giles would be deliberate
foreshadowing to a possible romance to come.
Especially when combined with the angst of Tara’s
departure and Willow’s broken heart. Anya’s grin
widened. More than one romance on TV had started out
with the whole sympathy thing.

Then there was the love triangle in the middle of the
room. That had the potential for violence and
destruction with Angel glaring at Spike and Spike
scowling at Angel and Buffy looking like she was ready
to pummel the both of them.

Xander was right. This had all the makings of good
drama. She might even yet get to use the box of
tissues she’d brought. Somebody was bound to end
up crying, or bleeding, before it was all over.
Taking Xander’s hand she pulled him over to the sofa.
Plopping down in her favorite TV watching
position, she settled in to watch.

Giles cleared his throat. "To Anya’s point, we should
be sure that Spike is indeed souled. He is not acting
the way that any of us expected. Willow and Spike
insist that the spell worked but the rest of us are
going to require a bit more proof. To that end,
Willow and I have a simple way in which to prove to
all concerned the truth. It’s a simple spell to
reveal the nature of one's soul."

Buffy nodded in agreement. "Let's do it. I want
proof."

Willow let Giles sit her down on the next to last step
of the stairs. Her head of still pounding and at this
point she was fairly sure that walking across the room
would make it explode. Arguing with her friends was
really the last thing she wanted to do but it was
better than the alternative. So long as she
concentrated on Spike, she could avoid that pain of
Tara’s leaving. "His soul has been returned. I felt
it.”

Buffy went to kneel in front of her best friend.
Willow could see the compassion in her eyes and knew
that without even asking that the others knew
Tara was gone. "Willow, you've been through a lot of
stress and with Tara leaving...why don't you try to
get some more sleep."

"And sleeping will bring her back to me?" Even Willow
could hear the bitterness in her voice.

"No, but you’re hurting now and sleep might make you
feel better."

"Will I?” Willow snapped. “Did sleep make you feel
better when Angel left? How about Parker or Riley?"
And then the tears were flowing again. She
couldn’t stop and only felt all that much worse when
Buffy climbed up on the stair to envelop her in the
kind of hug only Slayer strength could provide.
Crying now into Buffy’s shoulder, she sobbed, "I'm
sorry, Buffy. I can't believe I said that. I don't
know why I said that, it's just...she left
me...she said her gift to me was my destiny and my
happiness and then she left me...."

Anya, still ensconced on the sofa, looked over happily
at Xander. “Sometimes I forget how entertaining real
life can be. Thank you for reminding me. Would it be
unfeeling of me to ask them to wait while I go make
some popcorn?"

Giles, hoping to head off what he could envision as
Anya murder, spoke up. "As I was saying, there is a
definitive way to test whether or not the spell
was successful."

“How?” Angel asked.

Stepping over his desk, Giles pulled open a drawer and
began to shift through its contents, as he explained
the spell to the others. “It's quite simple,
really. It’s called a mirror spell. The mirror,
instead of reflecting the individual’s image, instead
reflects . . . ah ha,” he exclaimed as he pulled
an antique ivory vanity mirror from the depths of the
drawer. Straightening, he turned to once again face
the room. “Where was I? Ah yes, as I was
saying, the mirror will reflect not so much the soul,
but the soul’s aura.”

“So,” Angel clarified, “if Spike doesn’t have his
soul, then the mirror will reflect nothing?”

“Precisely.”

That was all Spike needed to hear. Finally! He’d be
able to prove to them all that he possessed a soul and
then . . . oh yes, then Buffy wouldn’t be able to
help but love him. “Fine, then get out of the fairy
dust and squirrel eyes and let’s get this show on the
road.”

Giles blew out a breath in exasperation. Why did
everyone always assume that spells involved eyes of
some sort? “The mirror is all that is required as a
spell component. It is the spell words that are
important.”

“Then just do it.”

Conscious of the others staring at him, Giles cleared
his throat. He’d put the major magicks behind him a
long time ago. This was really Willow’s domain now,
but she was not yet ready to be expending any more
energy. Holding the mirror before, he concentrated,
focusing his will into the silvered glass. Then paying
strict attention to his pronunciation, and trying
to keep a straight face, he intoned, “Spiegel-Spiegel
auf der Mauer, die ist der schönste von ihnen alle?”

Hearing Willow’s soft snort of amusement behind him,
Giles fought a smile. Thank god the rest of them
didn’t understand the spell.

It started slowly, as magick is often wont to do; a
gentle swirl of color within the mirror’s glass that
whirled lazily in patterns that he almost
understood. Rupert Giles found himself looking at his
soul.

He sighed softly at what the mirror showed, although
he wasn’t surprised, the darkness of his youth would
always taint him. Angling the mirror, he let the
others in the room see the flashing whorls of color
and he began to explain. “I’m only rudimentary
familiar with soul-reading, so a complete
interpretation is beyond me. However, both the
patterns and the colors reflected within, combine to
tell the story. The darker the colors and more
jagged the patterns, the more ‘evil’ that is present.
Blues and greens are colors of healing, reds are
anger, the lighter colors are the more gentle
things that mark a soul – compassion, empathy,
kindness.”

Holding out the mirror towards Spike he quirked a brow
in invitation.

Spike however refused. “Peaches first. You all think
he’s got a soul. We need something to test against.”

Giles nodded in agreement before turning to Angel. “A
vampire baseline would be beneficial.”

Only Angel wasn’t sure he wanted to see what the
mirror held for him. He knew the multitude of sins
that lay upon his soul. His dreams were still
haunted by the sounds of a hundred years of murder and
mayhem. He didn’t need any piece of enchanted glass
to tell him what his soul would look like.

“It will be okay, Angel.” Buffy. The one person who
understood what looking into that mirror would cost
him.

“You afraid?” taunted Spike.

Rather than answer, he held his hand towards Giles.
“Give me the mirror.”

The ivory handle was warm in his hand, warmer than
Giles’ grip could account for. Taking an unneeded
breath he centered himself and tilted the mirror up,
and promptly became lost in the swirl of colors, so
much that he didn’t hear Buffy come up to stand beside
him. “You’re beautiful, Angel.”

Indeed he was. He’d never known. Never imagined.
But to see the proof before him . . . that was worth
so much. It wasn’t to say that jagged edged
lightening bolts of darkness didn’t skate across the
glass’ surface but unlike what he had feared, other
colors swirled as well – blues and greens, flashes of
violet and pale yellows, interspersed with a spot of
blinding white that seemed to dance among the other
colors, touching here and there before moving on. He
had no doubt what that one spot was. Only one thing
in all his long life as either vampire or mortal was
that pure – his love for the young woman who stood at
his side, her warm hand holding tight to his arm.

Then he noticed something else, a silvery, grayish
sheen that overlay the mirror’s image, dulling the
colors that lay underneath. Curious, he swiped a
hand across the surface.

Giles, seeing the movement, explained. “The grey you
see is your time as Angelus. Technically, your soul
does not bear the burden of the demon’s acts
because your soul was not there. However, the grey is
the guilt you have assumed as you’ve relived the
thoughts and emotions of the demon during its
reign. And as such, it has cast its shadow over
everything within. As you have atoned, the grey has
lightened, and will continue to do so over time.
Spike’s soul aura, I would dare say, will be much
darker.”

Angel merely nodded, his eyes still on the swirling
colors within the mirror. Once again he ran his
fingers across the surface. One day, maybe tomorrow
or a thousand tomorrows in the future, nothing would
obscure the colors beneath. Closing his eyes to lock
the memory within him, he passed the mirror back to
Giles.

“I believe it is your turn, Spike,” the Watcher said.

With a cocky grin, Spike reached to take the mirror,
tilting it so that those in the room could see. “Hey
Watcher, I thought you said that everything would be
grey?”

“What? Let me see.” Giles stepped up close to the
vampire to look into the mirror. “Oh.”

Willow, still sitting on the stairs, decided she
didn’t like the sound of that. ‘Oh’ could be a lot of
things, but more often than not, it was bad things.
Standing up on the bottom stair to give herself some
height, she caught a glimpse of the mirror’s surface.
And everything made sense. “Oh.”

Spike’s soul reflection was vivid, the colors bright
and intense in their jewel tones. Each swirled around
each other in abstract patterns, forming, merging and
breaking apart again. The colors had depth and life
and where Angel’s reflection had been overlaid with a
light silver grey, Spike’s colors had only a shimmer
cast across them, as if the colors within where
pearlized.

Spike laughed with delight, his glee sending him over
to where Willow leaned against the stairwell. “Look,
Red.”

Then his laughter faded as Willow reached out to take
the mirror and the colors darkened and became muddied,
the whirling shapes slowing to a sluggish crawl. The
mirror frosted to pewter, the colors beneath almost
completed obscured.

And suddenly Buffy was there, throwing Spike back up
against the wall as she yelled, “What have you done?”

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