A Symphony of Echoes

A Symphony of Echoes
by Eurydice

The characters are Joss', of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare's "Sonnet VI."
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Rose showed up at the Well to trade Baltozar's life for Havi's, Wesley is growing fearful of what will happen to Esme now, while Spike has confessed everything to Buffy when telling her of Willow's death...

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

Chapter 48: Winter's Ragged Hand

She called Rupert while Spike was in with Buffy. As much as Joyce wanted to be there for her daughter when she got the devastating news about her best friend, she also knew that what Spike had to say---whatever it was---was far more important than her maternal needs. It ate her up having to stay away, but it was hardly the first time she'd been forced to sit through a difficult decision for Buffy's sake.

Rupert's voice was rough over the line, and Joyce was horrified to think, for the first time since meeting him, that he sounded his age. More. Willow's death was obviously affecting him just as strongly as it was the younger people. Joyce was going to have to remember to offer him a shoulder to cry on once everything was settled.

"I believe Oz mentioned that," he said in reference to Spike's injuries. A low murmur in the background sounded vaguely like Wesley, and there was a pause before Rupert continued to speak. "It's probably best if I meet you at your house. I can pick up a few supplies on the way. Does Buffy need anything?"

"No, she just needs to go home, I think. I'm not sure how her hormones are going to make her react to the news, so I was wondering if you could have Oz and Xander come over as well? Maybe if they're all together, it'll make dealing with what happened easier."

"I agree. I'll ring them and make the suggestion."

"Thank you, Rupert."

He hung up before she could get in any words of consolation, leaving Joyce still feeling half at odds. There had to be more she could do, but she would likely have to bide her time to do so.

Buffy's face was swollen and pale when she and Spike finally emerged from her hospital room. Without a word, she broke away from him and rushed to Joyce, throwing her arms tightly around her waist as she buried her face against Joyce's shoulder.

"It's OK," Joyce soothed, automatically lifting her hands to brush over Buffy's hair. Her eyes met Spike's, but he lowered them to the floor before she could read them effectively. "Let's go home."

The SUV was silent all the way back to Revello Drive, and Joyce was relieved to see Giles' Citroen parked on the street when she pulled into the drive. He was out of the car before she could turn off the engine, opening Buffy's door and helping her from the front seat.

"You know," she said to him softly.

It hurt Joyce to hear her daughter sound so small.

Rupert nodded. "I tried to reach Oz and Xander to have them here as well," he said. "But neither of them has returned home yet."

"Spike said...Xander was hurt?"

"Temporarily blinded, we were told. Xander said he'd been treated, but the effects hadn't taken hold yet."

"They're probably still together, then," Buffy said. "They're not going to want to be alone. Not with..."

Her eyes ducked as her voice faded away.

The discreet clearing of Spike's throat from the back of the SUV got Joyce into action. "I feel like a cup of tea," she announced, going around the front of the car. She smiled when Giles looked up at her gratefully. "Buffy? Why don't you come and help me while Rupert takes care of Spike."

She put her arm around Buffy's shoulder as they went inside the house. The silence continued, even after Joyce heard Giles and Spike's murmuring come from the living room, even while they set about making the tea she had promised. Buffy was lost wherever it was her thoughts had taken her, sitting perched on the stool at the island, eyes dry and hollow as they gazed at nothing. It took all of Joyce's willpower not to intrude.

Spike was the first to come into the kitchen. He was stripped to the waist, his bloodied t-shirt dangling from his fingers. Bruises mottled his pale skin, but they were inconsequential to the shadows haunting his eyes. He took the mug of warmed blood Buffy handed to him and tried to smile, but the effort seemed to exhaust both of them.

"We need to talk," Buffy said quietly.

Rupert entered just as Spike was nodding in agreement. He hung back as the pair headed toward the basement, the door whispering closed behind them, and only ventured further once the footsteps descending the stairs fell silent.

"Thank you," he murmured when Joyce pushed his waiting teacup closer.

"How are you going to explain this to Willow's parents?" she asked.

When he shook his head, it looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. "I have no idea. I can't even wrap my mind around the fact that she's gone. I always assumed Buffy---."

He stopped, and the guilty glance he shot in Joyce's direction finished the sentence for him.

"It's all right," she said. "Ever since I found out about Buffy being the Slayer, I've had those kinds of nightmares on a regular basis. Considering what she does, it makes sense to think she'd be the one to get killed."

Giles sipped at his tea, eyes downcast behind his spectacles. "I never envisioned this," he confessed. "We're trained to guide our Slayers, and we're warned of attachments. We enter the relationship already knowing of its demise. Maybe not the when, but most definitely the how. And sometimes, that makes it easier. This, with Willow, though...more than anyone else, she was a constant. A bright-eyed, bushy-tailed reminder of just why I chose to become a Watcher in the first place. Not because she was the girl Buffy needed to save, but because..."

He stopped again, as if the words became too difficult to vocalize. Joyce did nothing but wait, leaning against the edge of the counter with her steaming cup cradled between her hands, waiting for him to find the ease he needed.

"She would've been brilliant," he finally said, and then chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, hell, she already was. But she could've been magnificent with the proper guidance. In time...I'm sure she had the potential to surpass us all. She was still a child in so many senses of the word. She shouldn't have..."

Joyce heard the thickening of his speech before his voice finally broke, setting her cup down and reaching forward to place her hand over his where it rested on the counter. He stiffened at her initial touch, his gaze shooting upwards to stare at her in confusion. Unshed tears made his eyes gleam too brightly, but behind the blue, she saw the relief that he'd been afraid to voice, the need for contact when something treasured has been ripped away.

Neither said a word. There was nothing more either could offer.

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

Oz was glad that Xander hadn't spoken since they'd left Giles'. It made it easier to concentrate. Without the reminder of who it was sitting next to him, he could focus on the task at hand. Or nose, as the case may be.

It wasn't a complex plan. In fact, it had pretty much stemmed from the overwhelming desire to put as much distance between himself and Graham as physically possible. Standing in Giles' living room and seeing the representation of what had dragged them down beneath Sunnydale was too much for him to handle. Having Xander at his side didn't count. He was a pawn in a much bigger game. And Oz knew that he would've traded places with Willow in a heartbeat if the choice had come to that.

So, driving through the streets of Sunnydale with the excuse of taking Xander home had been his own personal form of therapy. Away from the need to do something violent. Away from the temptation to say to hell with everything good that Willow had ever shown him and letting his more primal instincts take over. Driving was soothing, numbing in more than an ass-tingly kind of way. Right now, he was welcoming the numb.

It was when they'd turned the corner near the Factory that the thought occurred to Oz. Scents from the street drifted in through his open window, and he was struck with the sudden wish to smell Willow's hair. His hands had tightened around the wheel, his knuckles going white. It was a good thing Xander couldn't have seen him or he probably would've been a little freaked out.

But without a body, there would be no smelling of Willow. There would be no more seeing. No more touching. No more anything. He wondered where Havi had taken her, and then realized that if it wasn't that far, he could find them on his own. He knew Willow better than he knew himself, or at least, he liked to pretend that he did. It made forgetting about the past less painful.

He was about to give up and just take Xander home when he caught a whiff of something familiar. It wasn't Willow; he would've recognized her without hesitation. But something about it nagged, like he should know it if he only concentrated.

Slowing the van, Oz turned his head more to the side, breathing in the outside air in long, slow swallows. He caught Xander's quizzical turn of his head out of the corner of his eye, but didn't say anything, choosing instead to pull up alongside the road and kill the engine. Here, just beyond the city's limits, the air was cleaner, less tainted by the Hellmouth's undercurrents of oil and blood. Here, he could focus on just what it was that had compelled him to stop.

"If you've got a flat tire," Xander joked, "I'm afraid you're all on your own in changing it."

"No. It's..." Pushing open the door, Oz stepped out into the afternoon sun, already beginning to grow dim on the horizon.

Not finishing the sentence right away prompted Xander to speak up. "Does this have something to do with the fact that it's taking us nearly three times as long as it should to get to my house?" he asked.

Oz's eyes scanned the nearby brush. It looked like it always did, dry and desperate for nutrient as it stretched off into nothing. But the scent was stronger here, and it was mingling with something that made his cock twitch.

He recognized it then. His entire body stiffened.

"Xander?"

"Yeah?"

"Reach under the front seat. I'll be right back."

Loose grit crunched beneath his shoes as he started to head toward the scents. From the car behind him, he heard Xander's muffled curse as he did as he'd been instructed.

"Wait...Oz? This is a stake in my hand, right? Please tell me you're not leaving me alone in the dark. Blind man sitting, remember? I'll end up stabbing through the vampire's kneecaps if something happens."

"It's still daylight," he called back. "That's just to make you feel safe until I get back."

"How long are you going to be gone?"

But Oz was too far away at that point to respond. His path veered left, then right, as he followed the scents. He didn't think they had actually come this way---the smells weren't strong enough for that---but they were definitely here. That was all that mattered.

He saw Willow first, and his heart sped up at the sight of her red hair nearly hidden by the bush she was next to. Breaking into a run, Oz closed the distance to where she lay crumpled on the earth, almost not noticing Havi's unconscious form nearly on top of her. He fell to his knees when he got to her side, pulling her up and against him without thinking, burying his nose in her dusty hair and inhaling until his lungs hurt.

This was what he'd wanted back in the fight. To be able to hold her, say good bye, anything more than what he'd been given. He knew Spike had had a point about leaving, but a part of him hated the vampire for making him go. If it had been Buffy---.

That was when he felt it. A soft rustling across his ear. Tickling, almost.

It could've been the wind.

It wasn't.

With his throat suddenly so tight he couldn't breathe, Oz loosened his hold so that Willow slipped away from his chest, her head falling back over his arm so that her neck seemed impossibly long. It looked so fragile, but as he watched, a tiny fluttering near the juncture of her shoulder seemed to eclipse the pounding of his own.

"Willow?" It was a whisper, like he didn't dare speak her name any louder should he be wrong. His hand was trembling as he reached up and touched her face, then trailed down to hover over her neck until he found the courage to press down, just lightly enough to determine whether or not he'd imagined the faint pulse.

He hadn't. It was there. Soft and thready, but there.

His eyes stung as he scooped her against him. Heedless of her weight, Oz stumbled to his feet, lurching sideways until he found his balance. The distance back to the van seemed like nothing compared to how long he'd thought he'd been walking, and he was calling out Xander's name long before he reached the door.

"Open the back, open the back," he said when Xander felt his way around the front of the van.

Without hesitating, Xander continued along the vehicle's side, faltering only slightly when he reached the back doors and yanked them open. "What is it?" he asked, stepping out of the way.

"Willow." Oz laid her down along the carpeted interior, pushing her hair out of her eyes though they were still closed. "It's Willow."

His best friend's name seemed to charge Xander, and his head jerked around as if he was looking around him. "Is that what we've been doing?" he demanded. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't know." Kneeling next to her, Oz leaned over until their foreheads were almost touching. "C'mon, Willow," he murmured. "I know you're in there."

Xander suddenly froze. "Look, Oz, man, I know you're just as upset about what happened as I am, but---."

"She's alive. Spike and Havi were wrong, Xander. Willow's still alive."

The announcement leeched all the color from his face, and his mouth worked silently as he struggled to find words. "How? Did Havi...?" And then, more vehemently, "Where's Havi?"

The question reminded Oz of the other young woman lying unconscious out in the brush, and reluctantly, he tore away from Willow to clamber back out of the van. "She was with Willow," he said.

He'd only taken a few steps when Xander's hand clapped onto his shoulder, pulling him to a halt. Oz turned just in time to see Xander clawing at the bandages over his eyes, exposing his reddened corneas and blistered skin.

"Can you see anything?" he asked.

Xander squinted. "In the words of the great Han Solo, instead of a big dark blur, I see a big light blur. Now, please tell me I'm not standing on the edge of a gigantic hole with a snggle-toothed monster about to eat me."

"If you can't---."

"Don't say it. I'm coming with you."

With Xander's hand clamped firmly on his shoulder, Oz led him back across the terrain, carefully sidestepping obstacles that might trip his friend up. "Here," he said when they reached Havi. He took Xander's hand and guided it down to her body. "She's unconscious. We're going to have to carry her back to the van, too."

"But she's alive, right?" Xander's fingers were flying over her face like a blind man's, then slid around to the back of her neck. "Wait. She's missing one of her piercings. No. Two of them."

"She used those to do whatever magic she needed to get her and Willow out of the fight," Oz explained.

If it had been the movies, Havi would've woken up at that point to see Xander crouching over her, and he would've miraculously regained his sight in time to see her looking up at him. Violins would've swelled in the background, and everybody would've had their happy ending.

But this wasn't pretend. Havi didn't react as they lifted her up, and she didn't make a sound as Oz led Xander back to the van. She was just as out of it when she was finally laid next to Willow as she had been out on the desert.

"Are they hurt?" Xander asked. "Do we need to take them to the hospital?"

Oz slammed the doors shut. "And tell the doctors what?"

"Good point. Giles', then?"

"Giles'."

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

She could see that Spike was itching for a cigarette. He kept brushing his fingertips over his scraped knuckles, his head bowed and gaze firmly on the floor. But Buffy had to give him credit for one thing. At her request, he didn't utter a word while she said her piece. He didn't even look up when she was done.

"You think I don't know I buggered this whole thing up?" His voice was husky, rough from tears both shed and not. His mien now fell into the latter category, though. "It went all to cock because of me. I should've talked Red out of it in the beginning. But all I could see was the chance to help protect you."

He looked up then, and his eyes were such a brilliant blue that something stabbed in Buffy's chest. She kept her reaction from showing, however, and just stared at him until his gaze slid away.

"When you came here last fall," she said, "you were all about helping me. Fighting at my side. Watching my back so that we could be partners. What happened to change that, Spike? Why couldn't you just stick with the original plan?"

"What happened?" His tone was incredulous. "You're kiddin', right? You're pregnant, Buffy. How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not just goin' to sit by and let something happen to the little one. I can't."

"I was doing just fine until Willow's spell went all wonky."

"You think so? That spell's the only reason you haven't been seriously hurt before now."

She folded her arms across her chest, though it lost a little of its prior imperiousness with her forearms coming to rest on her swollen belly. "In case you hadn't noticed, the demon population's actually on the decline," she said. "Even Giles said so. Why do you think that is? Well, it's not because I'm at home, waiting for someone to go out and slay for me."

This time, he rose to his feet. "No, it's 'cause Oz and me are out there, busting our tails makin' sure they know you're off-limits," he shot back.

Buffy froze. "You're...what?" she asked carefully. This was new. He hadn't even hinted at anything like this in his confessions.

Indecision flickered across his face for a scant moment before Spike's jaw firmed. "You heard me," he said. "Couple of 'em caught wind of you bein' pregnant back around Thanksgiving. I've been doin' everything I can to make sure none of 'em get close enough to do anything about it when you're not completely up to scratch."

"Why? Why would you do that?"

"Fuck," he muttered, and strode the few feet that separated them to press his palm flat against her stomach. "How many different ways do I have to say this? You and the little one...you're all I have. You think I can just stand idly by and watch you get taken away from me? I couldn't have done it when I was human, and I sure as hell can't do it now." He grabbed her arm when she tried to step away. "Buffy, listen to me. You want me to admit I fuck up? Right then. I fuck up. A lot. Always have, and likely always will. But you're not goin' to get me to say that I'm wrong in wanting to keep the ones I love safe from harm's way. Isn't that why you do what you do? Because you don't want your little friends to get hurt?"

They're your friends, too, she wanted to say, but what came out instead was, "I never had a choice about my slaying."

"You had a choice 'bout how long you've lasted at it, though," he replied. "And don't tell me that doesn't make a difference. I know you. I know how much you need them and your mum."

This time, the words she wanted came bubbling out of their own accord. "I need you, too, you big jerk."

His grip on her softened, just as the determination in his face did. Tilting his head, Spike lifted his free hand and stroked Buffy's cheek, his fingertips dry and cool against her flushed skin. "Never get tired of hearing that," he murmured. "Especially knowin' you're as brassed off as you are. Makes it mean all that much more."

"You should've told me," Buffy said.

"You would've told me not to do it."

"Well, yeah, but---."

"And I would've said you're off your box for thinking things could go on like they were, and then you would've got all stroppy, and then everything would've gone all pear-shaped and I would've done it anyway. I just cut out the part of us bein' miserable."

"See, it's that 'I would've done it anyway' part I'm having a problem with." Taking a step away, Buffy broke the physical connection between them in order to think more clearly. It was too distracting when he was in such proximity. "I get that you have your way of doing things. I don't like it, but I get it. But not even taking into consideration how it's going to make me feel? That isn't a relationship, Spike. That's not what I want for us. It never was."

"It's not that easy, pet."

"No, it really is. You just don't care enough to try."

She didn't mean it. Well, she didn't mean to actually express the sentiment out loud. Especially when she saw the hurt and rising fury darken his eyes.

"You don't think it's not bustin' my balls changing my ways for you?" It was nearly a shout, accompanied by a vicious turn on his heel as he whirled away from her. "A century, I lived without you. And here you are, thinking I can just turn off everything I was, and everything I am, like it was some sort of bloody spigot. You want to talk about relationships, luv, let's talk about Dru and Angelus, shall we? Who we are today is part and parcel of what we went through with them, and if you try and deny that, you're not half the Slayer I thought you were."

"I loved Angel, not Angelus," she said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, no, you don't. That sort of Buffy logic means you love William and not me. Is that what you want me to think?"

"You're twisting my words---."

"I think I'm just starting to straighten them out." He was before her so quick that she was startled into stumbling backwards, only stopping when his hands shot out and caught her upper arms. "You can't have it both ways, Buffy. You can't stick us into those little compartments with Spike labels and Angel labels and pretend everything is a lovely black and white. You love me. I know that now. And I know you love the William part just as much. But that means you can't punish me for havin' a life before you came along, before I knew what you were to me."

"You mean, like how you punish me for still caring about Angel?"

His lips pursed together for a long moment before he answered. "Right. Point there. It still winds me up knowing he can get to you so easily. But I'm working on it, yeah?"

"So am I."

"Really? So, the fact that I spent decades doin' for Dru means nothin' when you're tryin' to suss out why I didn't tell you what was goin' on ." Spike shook his head. "This is what I know, luv. When I told Dru 'bout my plans, she either didn't hear me for that bloody doll of hers, or she heard me too well, and went off and bollocksed everything up. It got so that I just did what I had to."

"But I'm not Drusilla."

"And I'm not Angel. The trick is for us to keep on remembering that, so that when things get fucked, we don't end up flying off at the handle."

What he said made sense. A lot of it. It didn't excuse what he'd done, but it cast a new light on it that Buffy hadn't considered before. "So, where does that put us, then?" she asked.

For the first time since their fight had started, his eyes seemed to plead with hers. "You tell me. Feels like a bit of a draw."

She didn't know what to say. She was tired of arguing, and she was tired of trying to think this through. She was just tired period.

Spike seemed to sense that. His hands loosened their hold on her arms, slipping around her back to pull her against his chest. She hugged him back automatically, taking care not to disturb his bandages, and buried her face into his skin.

"You're knackered," he said softly. "Best get you up to bed and try to rest. Today's been a pisser of a day. We can sort out the next step when we're a bit more awake to the world."

"Yeah," Buffy agreed. Echoes of Spike's declaration about Willow resounded through her skull, but when the tears spontaneously returned, she squeezed her eyes tight against them.

"Stupid hormones," she muttered.

He didn't speak, just held her close, and let the sobbing she couldn't control vent against his bare chest. Occasionally, Buffy would feel the brush of his lips across her temple, but that was as far as he pushed it.

Neither of them was really aware of the footsteps echoing overhead. It wasn't until the basement door was pulled open and a shaft of light came streaming down that Buffy turned to see her mother outlined at the top of the stairs.

"You two need to come up here," she said quietly.

"Mom, can't you see we're---."

"It's Willow." Coming down a few steps, Joyce bent just enough to meet Buffy's gaze. "Oz and Xander just called from Rupert's. They're on their way over. They say...Willow's still alive, honey."

Spike stiffened at the same time Buffy pulled away. "But she wasn't breathing. I checked her myself..." He paused, cocking his head. "Did they find Studs?"

Joyce nodded. "They found both of them. Unconscious, but alive."

To be continued in Chapter 49: The Prey of Worms...

Spike hung back in the hallway as Buffy and Joyce finally emerged from the bedroom. As soon as Oz and Xander had arrived, they'd taken the still unconscious women inside, placing Havi on the couch while Joyce instructed them to put Willow in her room. She and Buffy had then set about checking Willow over, while Oz, Giles, and Spike waited outside. Xander had yet to leave Havi's side.

Joyce shook her head. "Not yet. I'm not sure what happened, but..." Her gaze flickered to Spike. "Didn't you say she got shot?"

"I don't know why," Buffy interjected, "but we couldn't find a mark on her. There's holes in her top with the edges all burned, but there isn't any blood or bruises or anything."

"Perhaps it was her magic," Giles offered. "It's possible it healed her just as it did the last time she was hurt."

The others murmured their agreement to the suggestion, but Spike remained silent. He didn't think it had a thing to do with Red's magic. He'd seen the barrier she'd had up go poof, and he'd heard her heart stop beating. She couldn't wield her magic if she wasn't alive.

Joyce nodded and stepped out of his way, nobody saying a word until the young man had disappeared inside the room. Then, Spike snorted and whirled on his heel to start heading downstairs.

Giles' hand shot out and grabbed his bicep, jerking Spike to a halt. "You're not seriously going to try and interrogate her?" he asked in amazement. "The girl's unconscious. And if she is responsible for Willow's miraculous recovery---."

"There is no if," Spike snapped. He jabbed a finger down the stairwell. "She's the one who got Red out of there, and she's the one they found her with. Whatever happened, you don't think it was big? Red didn't recover, Rupes. She was resurrected. That's the difference between bein' sick and bein' dead."

"Was gone," Spike said. "I saw it." His eyes darted to the closed door, and he leaned in so that his voice was slightly lower. "I wasn't goin' to say anything in front of Oz because he doesn't need this shit right now, but Red's magic has nothin' to do with her bein' back. It can't. She was dead, Buffy. Saw it, smelled it, heard it. Can't wave a magic wand if you can't pick the bloody wand up, now can you?"

His scarred brow shot up. "You're tryin' to tell a vampire who's been around for over a century he can't tell a dead body when he sees one?" When nobody spoke up, he nodded and started for the stairs again. "That's what I thought."

Being pregnant didn't slow Buffy down when she really wanted to move. Before Spike could blink, she was in front of him, arms folded across her full breasts. "I know you have problems with Havi," she said. "But now is not the time for this."

"When Havi's up to being asked the questions, and not a second before." She took a step closer and rested a hand on his arm. "Can't we just be glad that Willow's all right?" Buffy asked, her tone gentler, more wheedling. "With everything that's been going on, can we just take a deep breath and have a shiny, happy moment before somebody else decides to try and make our lives miserable?"

When she put it like that, there was no way Spike could refuse her. "'Course, we can," he murmured, and opened his arms to bundle her against his chest. He brushed his mouth across the top of her head, but his eyes remained warily on the stairs. Whether any of them wanted to admit it or not, Havi was responsible for all this. Yes, it was a good thing Willow was alive, but anybody who could mess around with magics strong enough for resurrection was someone to be reckoned with. Spike was going to be there when Havi woke up, regardless of what the others might say. There was no way in hell he was letting Buffy or the little one anywhere near somebody that potentially dangerous.

Xander wondered if she'd freak out when she woke up. His vision wasn't clear enough for him to see his reflection in a mirror yet, but Buffy's sharp intake of breath when he'd walked through the door and then Mrs. Summers' sudden need to see to Xander's every whim had pretty much told him that he probably weighed in on the walking dead end of the good-looking scale. Hopefully, he wouldn't scare Havi too badly. She just had to wake up first.

He heard doors opening and closing upstairs, the voices filtering in and out of his awareness until two became louder as they came down.

Xander turned his head in her direction, more out of habit than anything else. "I'm fine," he assured her. "How's Willow?"

"And Buffy?" He didn't ask about Spike. He knew if Buffy was OK, the vampire would be, too.

"Resting." There was a pause. "Are you sure you don't want me to bring you something? A glass of water? Some cookies?"

After a second round of refusals, he listened to Giles and Mrs. Summers go out into the kitchen, murmurings of, "Shouldn't we call the doctor?", trailing after them.

He shifted back in his seat, reaching out to touch Havi's arm again, using its length as guidance as he took her hand in his. Almost as soon as their palms touched, a small moan emanated from the dark, blurry shape that was Havi, followed by a twitch in the fingers he held.

"Please be awake," he whispered, leaning forward. He said her name once, then again, hoping for some response.

On his third attempt, the hand in his tightened, and he heard, "Xander? Where...where..."

Her voice was hoarse, her tone confused. Squeezing her fingers even harder, he said, "Buffy's house. You're at Buffy's." He paused. "You're home."

When he felt the cushions shift against his knee, he realized she was trying to sit up. "Hey, hey, no getting up," he said, reaching up to press her back down onto the couch. He didn't quite find her shoulders. Instead, his hands came to rest on her breasts, and both of them froze.

"Xander?" Her voice was a little bit stronger, carrying beyond the confines of the living room walls. Footsteps echoed from the kitchen, and he jerked his hands away just as he realized what was happening.

"Havi." Mrs. Summers was suddenly beside him, gently prodding Xander out of the way while she bent over the young woman on the couch. "How do you feel?"

"She's upstairs," Giles said. "Alive, although apparently, that's a recent development. Oz and Xander found the two of you outside Sunnydale. Can you tell us what happened?"

Havi sighed, and sagged back onto the couch. "It worked, then. I thought...I shouldn't be here if it had, but...as long as it worked."

"I took her to the Well of Guardians. If Willow lives, it is because of their intervention on her behalf."

They fell into silence while they digested the information. Finally, Xander couldn't stand it any longer. "Why did you say you shouldn't be here if Willow was alive?" he asked.

He wished he could see her face when she replied. "Because you cannot simply bring a person back from the dead," she whispered. "It requires balance. A life for a life. I did the only thing I could think of to bring her back."

The past two days had given Xander a lot of time to think. Starting with all his driving around, going over and over how Havi had been hiding her time with Baltozar, and then today, finding out how she'd been pivotal in coming to his rescue, the lengths she went to save Willow. Guilt had been the first order of the day, but that was nothing compared to thinking that she'd been prepared to sacrifice her own life for Willow's. All his assumptions about her loyalties made him feel even more foolish than he already did. He owed her an apology. A big one.

He didn't need his vision back to know that the Watcher was likely giving him the gaze of death.

"All I'm saying," Giles continued, his tone just this side of condescending, "is that if what Havi says is true, the Guardians chose to exchange another life for Willow's. We have no idea who that person might be."

"Well, we know it's none of us, so count me in on the not really caring who it is," Xander said. "Maybe these Guardians finally got something right."

"Xander..." He almost jumped away when he felt Havi's warm hand come to rest on his arm. It was light, barely there, and for a second he thought she was going to pull away of her own accord. But then came, "May I speak to Xander alone, please?"

He was stiff as he listened to Giles and Mrs. Summer murmur their acquiescence and leave the room. Though he kept his head bowed, he heard Havi shift on the couch, and when she spoke again, she was obviously nearer to him.

It took him a moment to realize she was referring to his eyes. "It could be worse," he joked. "The demon could've poked them out and eaten them for breakfast."

Her hand left his arm, and the soft flutterings of her fingers tickled along his face. "I am so sorry," she said. "This is my fault. If I hadn't---."

"Stop that." Catching her hand in his, Xander carefully entwined their fingers. "I think there's enough blame going around for me to get some, too. We both made some mistakes. The important thing is everybody's safe now. You're back, I'm back, Willow's back. It's a veritable backapalooza."

She sounded lost, and Xander couldn't resist lifting their hands to press a kiss to her fingers. "I'm not thrilled you kept me out of the loop for so long," he admitted. "And if you're going to insist on going and checking on Baltozar any more, you're going to have to put up with me coming with you. Not because I don't trust you. Because I don't trust him. Coma or not."

He didn't know why she took so long to answer. He was beginning to really hate the fact that he couldn't see her face.

"I love you," she whispered. "But I do not wish to be where I'm not wanted. It's your choice, Xander. If you wish to just be friends, then---."

"Wait a minute. Back up." His mind was whirling. Had she really said the words out loud?

"But you knew," Havi pressed. "You must've. Did you think I would agree to live with you if I didn't?"

"I love you, Alexander Harris." She let go of his hand and reached up to run her long fingers over his face again. This time, they seemed to carry an intent that made his cock start to harden. "If you require me to say it more often, I will. But I thought you knew how I felt. Of all the gifts I've been given by coming to Sunnydale, having you in my life has been the greatest of those."

It didn't matter that he couldn't see her. Well, it did when he accidentally kissed her ear instead of her mouth. But all too quickly, their mouths were fused, his arms tight around her. None of the other stuff mattered any more. The two women who meant the most to him in this world were both still alive, and in spite of his Beavis and Butthead tendencies to be incredibly stupid about relationship stuff, Havi still wanted him around. More importantly, she loved him. That was enough to make dealing with the rest tolerable.

Spike pressed a kiss to the top of Buffy's head and carefully disengaged from their embrace, sliding off the bed and padding silently to the door. In spite of her protestations otherwise, she'd fallen asleep almost as soon as they'd laid down, her luscious bottom cradled against his crotch. The little one had started moving immediately, and for a little while, Spike had been fascinated by the feel of Buffy's skin undulating beneath his arm. He didn't know how she slept through it; to him, it felt like Schmoo was being a one-baby chorus line. But still she slept on, snoring lightly, oblivious to any of the drama going on downstairs.

Spike lasted as long as he could, but when he heard Havi say something about a life for a life, he couldn't stay still any longer.

The sounds of kissing came from the living room as he descended the stairs. That made his choice on who to talk to easy. He had no desire to see Studs and Harris going at it. Sauntering into the kitchen, he walked past where Joyce and Rupert were talking by the counter, and opened the refrigerator for a packet of blood.

"Someone's got to go talk to these Guardians, right? Find out just what in hell is goin' on?" When neither of them responded, Spike snorted. "Don't tell me you're not fussed about this life for a life business. Those are serious magics they're messin' with. I'm as glad as the rest of you that Red's OK, but I'm not so thrilled that there's a group of people out there with the mojo big enough to do something like this, and the only one with a beat on them is Studs."

"Havi's done nothing but help since she arrived," Joyce said. "And considering what she did for Willow, I don't think we're in any positions to be making demands of these Guardians."

"There's nothing to be done for it anyway," Giles said. "According to Havi, the only people allowed to approach the Guardians are Slayers, other Guardians, and Protectors. We couldn't go to them, even if we knew where they were."

Spike scowled as the microwave pinged behind him. Rupert had a point there. That was a detail he'd forgotten completely about.

"We have other pressing matters on our hands to deal with," Giles continued. "For instance, what are we going to do with Mr. Miller?"

"Yes. He's made no move to get away. Frankly, I think he's in just as much danger as the rest of us. His superiors can't be happy about his abetting Xander's escape."

"Still like the idea of chaining him up," Spike grumbled as he sipped his blood.

The bend in the conversation sparked a memory in the back of Spike's head, forgotten in the rush of Willow's death and subsequent return. "Harris said something," he said, before Giles could reply. "The doc who kept interrogating him was a bird named Walsh."

"And remember those soldiers who tried goin' after Oz the first time? One of 'em was her TA." He almost said, The wanker I killed, but then thought better of it. "Friends with Miller? Don't tell me that's just a coincidence."

He could see it in Rupert's face that he didn't think it was either, and it took only a moment for the Watcher to start marching into the living room. Spike hurried after him. He wasn't missing these fireworks for anything.

"Why didn't you tell us you were being held captive by Dr. Walsh?" Giles demanded in the next room.

Xander and Havi broke apart from their embrace, Havi quickly readjusting her top over her firm breasts. "Because I forgot?" he said, his face red.

"I did share!" Bristling, he rose awkwardly to his feet. "Oz and Spike know, too. Why aren't you yelling at them?"

Giles took a deep breath. "Why don't we sit down so that you can tell me exactly what happened to you?" he suggested. "Assume I know nothing."

He hung back while they settled in to go over everything that had happened. He might not be able to do anything about the Guardians, but Walsh was another story altogether. She was just a human. His jaw twitched as his resolve firmed.

Graham Miller was the type of young man who'd always given Wesley nightmares as a small boy. Physically powerful with a silent cunning in his eyes obvious to anybody who bothered to look, his gaze followed Wes no matter where he moved throughout Rupert's flat. Even when he was in the kitchen and there was a wall separating them, Wes could feel the soldier's eyes boring into him.

He dropped the teacup he was holding when Graham appeared suddenly in the doorway. The glass shattered on the tiled floor.

"Mr. Giles wants to believe in the best of people," Graham said. "It confuses his decisions when there's really no need for it."

Stooping to clean up the mess, Wesley shook his head. "Rupert merely needs to be thorough," he said. "He doesn't wish to make a mistake when human lives are at stake."

He glanced up. It was impossible to read the true intent in Graham's face. "If she has her powers back, yes."

Wesley sighed. Giles had been firm in his decision to hold off on any action regarding Esme. Clearly, Graham still believed he was right.

"There's always the possibility that I'm wrong," Wes said. "It could be just a coincidence."

It did to him, too. "Even if I think Rupert is making a mistake," he said, "I can't act of my own volition. Rupert would be furious, and if the Council should find out---."

A shiver crawled down Wesley's spine. Slowly, he stood up again, his gaze locked on Graham. "She's not a demon," he said, choosing his words carefully. "Wasn't that your organization's intent?"

"I signed up to protect this nation," Graham said. It sounded like something out of a textbook, but Wesley was convinced that in spite of everything that had happened, the young man still believed every word of it. "Evil takes many forms, sir. It just so happens that Sunnydale is rife with the demon variety."

"I'm suggesting that the needs of one don't always outweigh the needs of many. Sometimes sacrifices must be made in order to protect the greater good." He paused, and something calculating passed behind his clear eyes. "Oz understands that. I think his friends might, too."

He didn't know what Graham's motivation was in pushing the issue, but frankly, Wesley was desperate to yield to it. Culpability could be taken completely out of his hands if Esme's death was deemed an accident or blamed on the soldier. This possibility could work in everybody's favor.

Rinsing out the tea-stained dishcloth, Wesley struggled for neutrality while he spoke. "I should go check on her anyway," he said. "Perhaps she's woken up already."

"Then you'll just have to come with me, won't you?" He dried off his hands, studiously avoiding looking at Graham. "We shan't be gone too long. Rupert will never know we stepped out."

Opening her eyes hurt, but Willow struggled anyway, blinking against the brilliant light that seemed to be streaming from everywhere. It looked like someone had overexposed the world, leaving everything white and washed-out, with details blurring into nothingness no matter where she turned her head. She could feel softness beneath her cheek, and her back felt kind of funny, but none of it told her where she was. Until she heard his voice.

It was warm and so quiet that it could've been part of a dream. She tried turning her head in the direction from which the voice came, but movement was difficult, dizzying, as if she'd forgotten how. That couldn't be. She knew this. She knew the voice. It was...

Her mouth was dry, and all of her muscles felt like they'd been coated in cement. Something inside her felt hollow, as well, as if somebody had reached into her body with a big scoop and dug out all her internal organs. How could she feel too light and too heavy at the same time? That wasn't right.

"It's OK if you can't speak," he said. "It's kind of been a long day. You just have no idea how glad I am you're awake."

Something cool touched her forehead, and her hair tickled on her skin where it was being brushed back from her eyes. Without thinking, she turned her face into the caress and was rewarded with the same touch along her cheek. Her nose twitched. She could smell soap and something woodsy. Dirt maybe. She blinked again, and this time, the world was a little less bright, a little more focused.

When the touch disappeared, Willow panicked. "No," she managed to croak. "S-s-s-stay."

Seconds passed, merged into minutes. The world sharpened with each breath, until she could see outlines, colors, him. She knew him. She was sure of it. She just had to find the right...

Willow nodded and let her eyes flutter shut. Yes. That was easier. Maybe she could just sleep...

But remembering his name made other things come hurtling back, almost as painful as the light had been when she'd woken up. Images too fast to see, filled with emotions to turbulent to ignore. Her heart started pounding in her chest.

And pain, as something had been ripped from her. Something essential. Something she needed. Something that was a part of her.

She knew then why she felt so empty. All that power, all the magic she'd had had at her fingertips, it was all gone.

It was abandoned at the side of the road several hundred feet ahead, dark and nondescript. "Pull over," he ordered, his eyes narrowing as he began scanning the area around the parked car.

Though he jumped at the barked command, Wesley did as he was told, not saying a word until the engine was quiet. "What's wrong?" he asked. "We're not there yet."

Squinting through his glasses, Wesley leaned forward for a better look, inadvertently pressing the horn at the same time. He jerked back almost immediately and flushed a bright crimson when Graham leveled a stern gaze at him.

"Sorry about that," Wesley said. "But why do you think that has anything to do with Esme?"

Being forced to work with someone as slow as this was enough to make Graham consider risking a return to the Initiative. "I've been doing covert ops for two years now," he explained. "I know a little about sneaking around in this town."

He didn't wait for a bumbled reply, instead reaching around into the back seat and grabbing one of the crossbows that rested there. He would've much preferred a gun of some sort, but for whatever reason, these people didn't believe in automatic weapons. Their penchant for every other kind of weapon under the sun was almost ironic; when it came to killing, they seemed to prefer a more hands-on approach.

Moving silently along the edge of the road, Graham hoped that the Englishman would just stay back at the car. He was a liability. He was easily distracted and had a tendency to fall over his own feet. Somewhere down the line, Graham had no doubt those traits would get Wesley killed, but in the meantime, he didn't want to be in the path of the accident that was just waiting to happen. He had a threat to take care of.

He reached the house long before Wesley caught up to him. The front door was slightly ajar, the flowers in the front trampled and broken by careless feet. Whoever was inside had taken little care about being seen. Graham wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

Circling the house took only a few seconds. The back was securely fastened; nobody had made any attempts at entry there, and it didn't appear as if they were going to be coming out that way, either. He debated for a moment about using that to get in, but decided against it. If the door was locked, he'd have to break it in, and that would allow anybody inside the chance to escape through the open front. It would also put them on the alert to fight back. Without knowing how many men there were inside, that was the equivalent to slitting his own throat.

He stayed low as he crept toward the front door of the house. Voices filtered from the interior, all British, most of them male but with a single feminine one that kept interrupting the others. She sounded too young to be the old lady Wesley and Giles were at loggerheads about; Graham could only assume that she was this Lydia that Wesley lived with.

"It is," the woman insisted. Lydia. Graham had to keep reminding himself that. "I'm the one who'll be left to answer the questions---."

"Aw, shut it, Lydia." Another man, this one obviously less educated than the first. His accent was thick, with glottal stops instead of proper consonants through half of it. He grunted, and the floorboards creaked. "We've done what we come for. If you wouldn't bang on 'bout what don't concern you, we'd've been outta here by now."

"---gave us explicit instructions," the first man finished for her. "You want me to ring him so he can tell you himself?"

"Let's get crackin'," the second man complained. "I've had more than an earful of her already. And this witch is gettin' bloody heavy."

Laughter rumbled from the room. That was not just the single other man responding, Graham realized. That was a whole bunch of them. If he went in, he was going to get his ass thoroughly kicked.

But they had the witch, and from the sounds of it, they were leaving with her. Considering how dangerous Wesley said she was, Graham knew he couldn't let that happen.

The first arrow was whistling through the air before he was even through the doorway, a man's shout of pain following almost immediately afterward. Graham found himself confronted with a roomful of people, too many for him to count without losing the element of surprise, and he settled for throwing his shoulder at the nearest man in black, half-smiling in satisfaction when that one went down as well.

The orders were barked by the first man Graham had heard, and he whirled in the voice's direction, knowing that this was the team leader. If he took him out, the team would falter, and getting the rest would be simple. Without any more thought, he charged, his fingers busy with the crossbow.

A booted foot slammed into Graham's side, throwing him off-course and temporarily winding him. The leader suddenly loomed into view, bigger than him by a foot and fifty pounds, but Graham had never been the type to be intimidated by size. Riley had always been his physical superior, but their sparring records had been evenly matched. It was just a matter of knowing your opponent.

Graham's reaction was automatic, glancing to the door where Wesley was wrestling with one of the black-clad men. He saw the taser appear from nowhere, but before he could call out a warning, a fist the size of South Dakota landed square in his jaw.

Spike was seeing red, and it was taking his last ounce of self-restraint not to punch his hand through the living room wall. "You can't bloody do this to me, Buffy," he said through gritted teeth. He stormed behind as she moved to the kitchen, wishing she would turn around and look at him for a split second to see how pissed off he was about this. "You can't shut me out like this."

"Don't you get it, Spike? I have to." That was when she chose to look, and it forced him to halt in his tracks. Her face was pale but her eyes were hard. She'd made up her mind on this, and this time, there was going to be no changing it. "We're just going to talk to her, and if you come along, you're not going to talk. You're going to hit, and potentially kill, and the last thing we need right now is to screw this up."

"That Walsh bitch is the reason we almost lost Red. Killing's too easy for her."

Buffy's lips thinned as she visibly tried not to lose her temper. "We don't even know for sure if she's involved."

"You're jumping to conclusions!" It took her a moment to realize she'd raised her tone to match Spike's. As she turned away to try and compose herself again, Spike crossed his arms in front of him, shoving his hands into his pits to stop from reaching out and grabbing her. He knew he shouldn't be pushing her buttons like this, but he just didn't understand how she could leave him out of something so big. The desire to shake some sense into her was overwhelming.

"If Dr. Walsh is involved in this," Buffy started again, her voice back to its even cadences, "I promise, you can be right up in front for the fight. I know how much you care about Willow, and I know...I know that's how you need to deal with this. But this is not the time, Spike. We have to be careful."

"You're letting Oz go." He sounded like a petulant child, but he didn't care. It wasn't bloody fair.

"Because that's what Willow wants. Besides, he's less likely to lose it with Walsh than you are. Between the three of us, we should get all we need from her, once and for all."

She was moving again, back out to the living room, gathering her coat so that she could join Oz and Giles out in the car. Again, Spike followed, knowing that at any moment she could put an end to the conversation by just walking out the front door. He wasn't so sure she wouldn't, just to get away from him. Between this and what she'd learned about Red's spell and his other dealings, he wasn't exactly in her best graces right now.

"You're makin' a mistake," he said. "Goin' in there like this, you're just goin' to tip the bitch off. She's already had her goons after Oz. What if she decides she wants a Slayer now, too? Let me go, luv. The more muscle you show up with, the better your results are goin' to be."

Buffy didn't say a word while she slipped her coat over her shoulders. It didn't close properly any more over her stomach, but she refused to go buy another one, complaining that they made her look like a beached whale. Now, it hung open at her sides, and all Spike could see was her prominent bump. It made his chest hurt thinking she was putting the little one at risk over this.

"You're over-reacting because it's been an awful day," she said, oblivious to the way he was fixating on her stomach. "Nobody's tried anything with Oz since last fall, and nobody's going to try anything now." Tentatively, she took a step toward him, reaching for his hand to take it tightly in hers. "I know what you're trying to do, Spike, but you have to trust me this time. Giles and I know what we're doing."

She brushed a kiss across his cheek and then slipped out the front door, leaving him standing and staring at it in disbelief. She was going. She really was shutting him out.

He sat down heavily on the bottom step of the stairs and buried his head in his hands. The notion of taking off and beating the lot of them to Walsh was the first to flit through his mind. He could do it. Though it was still daylight, he could find a way to make it happen. But his feet never moved. If he made that choice, Spike knew he'd be throwing away his future with Buffy with both hands, and that was something he couldn't do. He was just going to have to suck it up and pray he was wrong about the Walsh woman.

With Buffy gone, the house was nearly silent. Joyce had run to the grocery store to get something that would feed everyone dinner, and, with their arms sickeningly around each other, Xander and Havi had retreated to her bedroom. The only sounds he could hear were Red's quiet sobs. They'd started when she finally woke up, ebbing in the brief period when the entire gang was in the room checking up on her. She'd regarded them with blank stares, making Spike think she wasn't really in there. Only the news about Dr. Walsh had provoked a response from her, making her eyes flash as she asked Oz to go with Buffy. The second the car left the driveway, the crying started up again.

Now, it drew him back to his feet, prompted him to start climbing the stairs. It reached into his gut and yanked, not as hard as it did when it was Buffy who was hurting, but some. It was enough to make him momentarily forget his frustrations with the Walsh situation.

The crying stopped when he knocked on the door. "Come in," Willow called, her voice wavery.

He slipped in as discreetly as he could. She'd complained about the light earlier, even that which spilled in from the hall, and the room was still draped in shadows to accommodate her choice. Spike got that. The dark could be surprisingly comforting, but few ever really understood that. "They're gone," he said simply, regarding her swollen features.

Her eyes were bloodshot, and her nose was running. She looked like hell, but Spike didn't see that. He just saw her. Scary resurrection or not, he was glad to have her back.

His choice of words seemed unfortunate, because her eyes filled with unshed tears. "Oh," she said. "OK."

She shook her head, though he heard the slight hastening of her heart. He decided to try again.

A nod this time. Her hands twisted the edges of the blanket and she seemed to shrink into the pillows. The silence grew longer.

Spike sighed. This was going nowhere. "If you change your mind..." he said, retreating for the door again.

Fat tears slipped down her cheeks as she lifted her head to look at him. "The magic. It's all gone."

At least now he knew why she was crying. Letting go of the door, Spike returned to the foot of the bed, pulling up the chair from the desk to straddle it. "I know."

Her eyes were luminous as she stared at him. "How...how do you...know that?" she asked.

"Was there, wasn't I? I saw the wall you had up go down." He hesitated before saying the next. "I saw you die, Red."

She wasn't bothering to hold back her tears any more. Keeping his silence, Spike let her continue to cry, her thin shoulders bobbing up and down. He had a feeling where this was going to go, but it was Willow's pain, Willow's loss. She had to lead the way at her own pace.

Her struggle to find the right words to express herself hit a little too close to home, and Spike's eyes dropped while he waited. Only when nothing came did he dare to look up again.

"I'm useless now," Willow said quietly. "The magic...that's why the Guardians wanted me. And...and...I can't help Buffy now. I can't do anything."

He wanted to be sympathetic toward her. He really did. But something about her tone pricked his temper, and Spike snorted as he stiffened in the chair.

"What a load of rubbish," he said. She'd obviously been expecting more of the same soft treatment, and her eyes widened almost comically as he went on. "If you ask me, you're better off without. You managed just fine before you got the power boost, and you can do it again."

"You were settin' half of us on fire and scarin' the other half." He shook his head. "You were doin' spells long before Rose did her switcheroo, Red. There's no reason you can't be doin' them again. Just might not be as easy any more."

"That's an understatement," she mumbled, burrowing deeper into the blankets. "I don't know why I thought you'd understand."

"Thing is, I do get it." Rising, Spike carried the chair to the side of the bed so that he could be closer. "I know what it's like to feel worthless, to think you're not good enough, to be afraid that what you can do isn't up to scratch. And I got over it."

Willow rolled her eyes. "Ha. Got over it. Drusilla bit you, and you turned all-powerful. Evil, but all-powerful. That doesn't really help your case, Spike."

"No, you got it wrong. It wasn't becoming a vampire that did it. It was meeting Buffy." Some of the tension eased as his mind drifted to thoughts of those nights in the park, long before she became manifest in his daily life. "The first time. The real time. She helped me see that I had a bit of worth after all."

"You must be catching some of Buffy's pregnancy hormones," Willow said with a half-smile, "because this is just way too Hallmark for the Spike I know."

"Doesn't make it not true. I know it hurts, Red, but I'll wager it hurt Oz and Buffy and Harris a hell of a lot more when you weren't here at all."

She grew silent at that, slipping her hand between her cheek and pillow as she rolled onto her side. At least she wasn't crying any more; that was a step in the right direction.

"I don't remember what it was like," she murmured. "I remember...fighting. And I remember...hearing the gunshots. But I don't remember what came after. I don't know if there was a light or a tunnel or anything. I just remember...waking up. And I was so empty, Spike. I didn't feel like me."

He couldn't resist reaching forward and pushing the lank hair away from her face. "You're not empty, pet," he said gently.

He shook his head. That whole business still didn't make sense to him. "The way I see it, though," he said instead, "if they didn't want you just like this, why go to all the fuss of savin' you? Must be something in there worth saving. Least, that's what I think."

It wasn't necessarily a smile that fluttered across her features, but it wasn't a frown, either. With a heavy sigh, Willow closed her eyes, her heartbeat slowing, her breath deepening. Within a couple minutes, she was fast asleep.

Spike stayed at her side for a long time, watching the peace that had finally come over her face. He believed what he told her; she'd be fine without the magic. But there was a small part of him that understood her fear. What if his demon was stripped away and he was left as weak William once again? He would likely be going through most of what Red was.

There was a sizable difference, though. William might not be as strong or resourceful as Spike, but Buffy had taught him he could still be valuable. It was just up to Willow's friends to remind her of the same thing.

His mind wandered to what Buffy was trying to accomplish with Walsh. Never had their sense of white hat bureaucracy frustrated him like it did now. He was still angry about his exclusion, but that had receded in the face of Willow's pain and all he could hope for now was that Buffy was right this time. Maybe the woman wouldn't press beyond talking. She was a teacher, after all.

When they found both Dr. Walsh's office and home deserted, Buffy realized with a sinking stomach where the woman likely was. The look on Giles' face stopped her from making the suggestion, though; after what had happened to Willow, there was no way he was going to let her anywhere near the commandos' underground hideaway. It would've been a huge risk even if she wasn't seven months pregnant.

"Maybe Spike was right." Simultaneously, Buffy and Giles swiveled to stare at Oz in the back seat, who gazed back with his usual inscrutability. "We're not going to find her today. Maybe we should forget about talking to her at all."

"We're not." Buffy sagged against her seat, rubbing at her weary eyes. "She's the one, Giles. We know it. This is just stalling the inevitable."

"So she can tell us...what, Giles? They've been working under our noses for months now. They had zero issue shooting down a couple of girls. We were naïve to think we could just walk in and say, 'Hi, we hear you're the head of a secret military organization with crazy notions of controlling demons instead of killing them. Care to comment?'" She shook her head. "What we need to figure out is how to destroy their operations. That'll take care of Dr. Walsh."

"We've got Graham," Oz said. "He can confirm whether or not it's the same Dr. Walsh."

"Yeah. He didn't have to tell us about Xander, and the soldiers who attacked us made it pretty clear he was in trouble for selling them out. He's either on our side or no side."

"I like the idea of our side." Buffy sat up straighter, newfound resolve giving her strength. "Let's go, Giles."

Their efforts, however, continued to be frustrated. At Giles' apartment, Wesley's car was noticeably absent, and when Giles emerged alone, Buffy knew he'd found nobody inside either.

"We'll try his house," Giles said, starting the engine up again. "Perhaps Lydia had another emergency."

They knew something was wrong when they passed Wesley's abandoned car on the side of the road. Buffy twisted in her seat, watching the car recede behind them, when she saw Oz lean toward the window and sniff at the open window.

Giles gunned the motor the last remaining yards to the house, coming to an abrupt halt that made Buffy's seatbelt tighten uncomfortably across her pelvis. Her fingers flew over the buckle, shoving it out of her way while she pushed the door open and bolted for the front door. She'd only gone a few feet before seeing Wesley's unconscious body shoved like a broken doll to the side of the porch.

"Giles!" she called out, diverting his attention to Wes while she kicked the front door off its hinges. It shattered with a satisfying crunch, but her notice was captured immediately by a bleeding Lydia crouched over an unconscious Graham.

Graham's pulse was steady and strong, the dark bruise blossoming on his jaw the only evidence of an injury. A broken crossbow was thrown a few feet away, its quiver's contents scattered amongst the overturned furniture. Lydia was attempting to slide further from Buffy's reach, but her bleeding leg made movement awkward, especially when Buffy curled a hand around her ankle and pulled her to a halt.

"Oh no, you don't," she said. "Tell me what happened here, Lydia. Just because I'm pregnant doesn't mean I can't still kick your ass."

The implication was clear, and it only served to harden Buffy's determination. "Take care of Graham," she ordered Oz. Grabbing a nearby throw pillow, she pressed it to the bleeding wound in Lydia's leg, pushing hard enough to cause Lydia to cry out. "Obviously you were awake for whatever happened here. Who was it? Did they take Esme?"

"I don't know," Lydia said vehemently. "They...broke in, and I was struggling when they shot me---."

"She's lying." Wesley's weary voice rang out from the doorway, and Buffy looked back to see him leaning heavily against Giles. "I was the one who shot her. She was helping the Council take Esme away."

Buffy turned incredulous eyes back to Lydia, who had shrunk backwards at Wesley's arrival. "Is that true?"

Silence rang throughout the house while everybody waited for the answer. It never came.

"This most likely confirms what we suspected," Wesley said. "Esme has her powers back and the Council wishes to keep her under control."

"They couldn't do it the first time," Buffy spat. "Why in hell do they think they can do it now?"

Suddenly, it seemed imperative to Buffy that they get out of there. Though she was sure that the Council wouldn't be coming back, the worry that they might be continuing their abductions elsewhere consumed her as she scrambled awkwardly back to her feet.

"I'm sure they're all right," Giles assured her as she and Oz hoisted up the still-unconscious Graham.

"I'm done with this," she said. "Quentin Travers has been playing god with my life and the people I care about for too long. This ends now."

"No, Giles. I mean it this time. There's too much at stake." She shot him her best California girl smile. "He's about to learn firsthand that pregnancy hormones are a bitch named Buffy."

It took very little time for the atmosphere at the Summers house to charge. In fact, it only took the time for the wounded and captured to enter. The moment Spike saw Buffy pushing Lydia across the threshold, he bolted from his seat in front of the television and slammed the Watcher to the wall.

"Should've known you'd be the first to Judas," he snarled, his hand tight around her throat.

Buffy pulled at his arm, forcing him to loosen his grip though Lydia stayed pinned in place. "We don't have time for this," she said. "And if anybody gets to be the one to smack the bitch around, it's going to be me. I've more than earned it."

"Leave her be, Spike." Giles' calm voice accompanied an equally firm clap on Spike's shoulder. "As gratifying as I'd find it to be a part of Lydia's torture myself, we have greater enemies to worry about."

Spike squeezed for just a fraction of a second before releasing his grip, scowling as Lydia slumped and gulped for air. "Should never have dragged her into this mess," he muttered. "Things wouldn't be goin' pear-shaped if I'd just looked for Rose on my own."

"I'm thinking Lydia would've found a way to stab us in the back anyway," Buffy commented. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched Oz help a groggy Graham come staggering into the house, Wesley close at their heels. "Are you guys all right? Are we going to need any more first aid kits?"

Oz looked to Graham, who shook his head. "I'm fine," he said. "I just need a glass of water."

"That'll keep you from losing your voice while you're telling Giles and Spike everything you know about Dr. Walsh, then." She didn't wait for anybody's response. She'd been running on adrenaline ever since she'd called ahead to the house to let Spike know what was going on, and she needed to have her talk with Willow before Schmoo started putting up a fight.

Spike stopped her on the bottom step. When she met his eyes, they were dark with more than worry, and he leaned toward her to keep his words private.

"Red's in a pretty bad way," he said quietly. "I let her get some of it off her chest, but..."

Buffy frowned. It wasn't like Spike to try and so obviously protect any of them other than her. If he felt the need to stand up for Willow, it was probably even worse than he said. "Thanks," she murmured, and continued up the stairs.

The door was closed, but the sniffles she could hear from the other side were all Buffy needed to know she wouldn't be waking Willow. She rapped once and waited, pushing it open when the soft, "Come in," echoed from within.

"Hey," Buffy said. She was trying for perky, but Spike had been right. Willow's face was swollen from crying and she looked like she might start up again if somebody said the wrong thing. Buffy was going to have to tread carefully.

"No." With a sigh, Buffy sat on the end of the bed, drawing her legs up Indian-style so that she could face the other girl. "But Graham confirmed that Spike and Oz were right. Psych prof Dr. Walsh is our psycho soldier Dr. Walsh." She scowled. "Isn't that illegal or something? It's like moonlighting, right? I mean, unless the university knows about her little recruitment program, which I highly doubt. Nobody gets a varsity jacket for demon hunting. If they did, I'd be my own damn team."

In spite of her obvious distress, Willow's lips twitched as if she wanted to smile but wasn't sure it was appropriate. "It makes sense now about how she covered up Riley's death, though," she said. "He was working for her."

A worrisome thought popped into Buffy's head, but before she could voice it, Willow was speaking again.

"When did you guys convince Graham to talk?" she asked. "Last time he was around, Giles had to resort to the truth spell because he was tighter than a clam."

Briefly, Buffy regaled the story of what had happened with Esme, watching as her friend's face grew increasingly pale. "Whatever Travers wants her for," she finished, "it can't be good. Otherwise, they wouldn't have been so sneaky about getting her out of Sunnydale."

Willow swallowed, and her eyes began looking everywhere but at Buffy. "I think I know why they want her," she said. "She's got her magic back."

Though Spike had been adamant about Willow's power drain, hearing it come from her lips was a different thing entirely. "Are you sure?" Buffy asked carefully.

"What?" This must've been what Spike had been referring to, but frankly, Buffy had been expecting resurrection angst, not witchy angst. "You're hardly a screw-up, Willow. Look at what you did last summer, and that was before you got a magical booster shot. And Angel's soul? You didn't need anything from Esme to do that. And I'm not even going to mention the dozens of times you helped me with my slaying stuff."

"Don't forget my wonderful de-lusting spell," Willow said bitterly. "Or the fact that I've never been able to turn Amy back from being a rat, or---."

"Magic isn't like horseshoes, Buffy. Getting close to the result you want is usually just as bad as missing by a mile. And without Esme's power---."

"You're going to be just fine." Clambering to the head of the bed, Buffy stretched out beside Willow so that they were shoulder to shoulder. "Remember how impressed Rose was when she heard what you did? And these Guardians must really think you're something if they're willing to bring you back from the dead." She gave her a bright smile. "Hey, we can form a club now! The Dead Scooby Society. I'll be president, and you'll have to be treasurer/secretary because you're way smarter than I am about that kind of thing. We can use one of the caves outside of town for our meetings, and maybe if we're really nice, we can convince Spike to read some of his poetry."

By the time Buffy was done, Willow was even giggling. "Spike's going to be a member?"

"Sure. He died. He came back. OK, as a vampire, but as club president, I say that counts."

Buffy waved a hand in dismissal. "He's going to be too busy making googly eyes at Havi. He's not even going to notice."

They shared smiles at the little game, but all too quickly, Willow's began to fade. "I don't know, Buffy," she said. "You don't know what it was like, having all that power. Being able to do just about anything I wanted. Some of the spells I was researching...it was serious stuff. Stuff that could've made your job a heck of a lot easier. I could've made a huge difference."

"But you already do. Who is the biggest brainiac to ever come out of Sunnydale High? Or ever will, since we kind of blew it up?" She poked Willow in the thigh. "You are. And who says you can't still use the spells? So what if it's a little bit harder now to cast them? That's never stopped you before. I think you like it even more when things are hard. In fact, I seem to remember a certain redhead who nearly fell over from excitement when Jonathan accidentally set fire to all of Mr. Lundy's notes for the senior physics projects. Didn't you volunteer to be the one to completely reorganize all his stuff from scratch?"

"OK, for those of us who think better with their hands than their brains, how exactly is that any different? Call me Helen Keller, 'cause I'm just not seeing it."

The silence that followed was all the answer either one of them really needed. Satisfied that she'd at least put the bug in Willow's head, Buffy decided to switch tactics to something a little more immediate.

"This stuff with the Council...if Esme does have her power back, it's going to be on our shoulders to stop her, because there's not a snowball's chance in hell Travers will be able to. They couldn't do it last summer, so why they think they can do it now when she's going to be pissed off at all of us is beyond me."

"Yeah, but then again, so was he when the rest of the fight went down. It's possible Esme came to."

Willow shook her head. "I don't think so. Not to be a gloomy gus, but the first thing she's going to do when she wakes up is come after us. Me, for having her magic in the first place, and you, for whatever reason she wanted you last summer."

Buffy had completely forgotten about that. They still had no idea why Esme had been so desperate to get her hands on a Slayer the previous summer. If she chose to try something again, she was going to have an advantage. Schmoo meant Buffy wasn't at the top of her act this time around.

"Even more incentive for us to get to her first," she said, putting on her best brave face. "I don't suppose there's any way you can...I don't know...track where the magic went, can you?"

Willow chewed at her lip. While she wasn't smiling, some of the sorrow that had been plaguing her features when Buffy had walked in was fading, replaced by the more familiar fervor of having a problem to solve. "I don't think so," she said slowly. "But...there might be something else we can do."

"Now don't be making me your only basket," Willow said, holding up a warning finger. "It might not work. It's just an idea I had. Half an idea. Not even half. A smidge of an idea, and it might not even work because I never could get the math completely right---."

Though his body ached, Graham answered their questions with only minimal hesitation. It was different this time; apparently, the Initiative's preventive magic only worked if a subject was coerced into telling the truth. Volunteering information didn't have the same blinding effects.

It also helped that the group seemed a lot nicer to him this time around. Yes, Mr. Giles seemed pissed that he and Wesley had left the apartment, but the fact that they'd interrupted something so big seemed to sway him in Graham's favor. There was still the issue of Spike hovering in the background, pacing around like a caged lion, too. Graham just ignored him and focused on those who were actually asking the questions. He didn't want to have to deal with a hostile anyway.

"I just can't believe that something of this magnitude was happening right under all our noses," Mrs. Summers said.

Graham didn't respond to that. Frankly, Mrs. Summers made him a little uneasy. Other than being the Slayer's mother---and finding out Buffy was the Slayer had been a bullet of information he definitely hadn't expected---he didn't see what she had to offer the group. If anything, she was a distraction. She was smart, beautiful, and it was obvious that Mr. Giles was more than a little interested in her. That could only be a liability in the long run.

Graham rolled his eyes. The guy had scored some points by shooting the woman who helped the witch escape, but this pomposity was more than a little hard to stomach. "This is the American government," he reiterated. "You can't stop them. You can't slow them down. All you can hope is that you don't get steamrolled in the process."

"And yet, you didn't have any problems selling them out," Spike commented from the rear of the room.

"I didn't sign up to hurt civilians," Graham shot back. "They tried to make me cross a line that I just can't believe in. And who are you to question my loyalty? Last time I checked, vampires were evil, soulless monsters---."

So wrapped up in the conversation, nobody had heard Buffy return to the group. Now she stood in the doorway to the kitchen, chin held high, eyes bright and alert in spite of the toll the day must've had on her. Spike immediately went to her side, his hand coming to rest on the top of her swollen stomach, and it took all of Graham's self-control not to curl his lip in disgust. He didn't understand this need to have a pet vampire hanging around, and he really didn't want to know what his involvement was with Buffy's baby. Right now, though, he didn't have a choice but to accept the situation until he could safely move on.

"We don't have time for this kind of bickering," she said. "If you're here, you're part of the team, so start acting like one."

Spike scowled, but Graham nodded in reluctant agreement. It was hard not to respect someone who knew how to take charge; he didn't need to see any more to know that Buffy Summers wore the mantle well.

"Good. Now. We have two problems, both big, but one is definitely a little more wigworthy. As much as I'd like to kick Dr. Walsh's ass right now, we have to concentrate on taking care of Esme before she wakes up and realizes she has her magic back." She waved a hand to ward off the startled glances from the Watchers. "Willow's sure. And we're both sure that the first thing Esme will do is come after us, which means she's just been moved to the top of the priority list."

"No," Buffy said. "I don't want to tip him off that we know what he's up to. I want Lydia to call and pretend everything went according to plan, while Spike, Oz, Graham, and Wesley sniff around Sunnydale to try and find out if Esme's still here."

"I get why me and Oz," Spike said, his brows drawn together. "What's with the other two?"

"They're the only ones who've seen the Council's team. Plus, with all the sneaking around he's done, I'm going to bet Graham knows corners of Sunnydale I could only guess at." She looked to Graham. "Am I right?"

"Giles and I are going to talk to Lydia," she continued. "And I'm sending Xander and Havi over to the dorms to pick up some stuff for Willow. She thinks she might be able to figure out a way to track where Esme is."

"We're calling it a collaborative effort." Buffy smiled. "Remind me to tell you about our new club."

For the first time since they'd shifted interrogations to Graham, Lydia spoke up. "Mr. Travers will already be aware of your involvement. I'm sure that as soon as they reached their destination, his men contacted him about what happened."

Some of the certainty softened from Buffy's features. "Damn," she muttered. "I didn't think of that."

"We'll wait to contact Travers, then," Giles said. "But Spike and the others should leave immediately if we don't wish the trail to go completely cold."

Buffy hung back as Spike led the others to the living room, grabbing Giles' arm to prevent him from leaving as well. "Something Willow said made me think of something." She kept her voice low, though she was more than aware that complete privacy right now was out of the question. "Remember Riley? And how Dr. Walsh lied to her classes about how he died?"

"Riley's replacement. Dr. Walsh brought him in out of nowhere. What if...what if Robin was doing more than grading papers for her? What if he was stepping into Riley's shoes for whatever he was doing for Dr. Walsh, too?"

When Lydia visibly started, Graham frowned, more interested in this turn of conversation than which crossbow Spike was going to hand him.

It was obvious the Watcher didn't want to reply, but after a wary glance to the men surrounding her, she sighed. "Mr. Travers asked me to work with him. But I wasn't aware of his connection with this other agency."

Understanding appeared on both Giles and Wesley's faces at the same time, and they looked to each other first to confirm their suspicions. "Nikki Wood," Wesley said. "Of course."

"It's just like Quentin to send the son of a Slayer to watch over the pregnant one," Giles said wryly.

Now everyone in the room was interested in the conversation. Even Spike had stiffened at the mention of this Nikki.

"Robin's mom was a Slayer?" Buffy's amazement was palpable. "That means he knew all along who I was. And if he's working with Dr. Walsh..."

Spike wasn't the only one to explode at Buffy's suggestion. Murmurings of too dangerous and you can't echoed in every possible permutation while the Slayer waited for the outbursts to calm. Only Graham remained silent. He wasn't sure what he would say wouldn't turn Spike against him for good.

"Robin's been only nice to me," Buffy said once the room had quieted enough for her to speak. "And if he hasn't done anything up to now, I don't think that's going to change."

"Unless Mr. Travers has already contacted him." Lydia cowered slightly under the onslaught of eyes turned upon her. "They've been in direct communications since before I knew he was in town."

"Somebody needs to find him, though," Buffy argued. "He's playing both sides, and we need to know why."

This time it was Giles who voiced the dissent, though Graham found his careful wording to be curious.

"We need someone more...impartial to speak with Robin," he said. "And considering your history, Spike, you are the last person I think qualified for this task."

"Actually," Wes interjected, "I think Lydia's right. She already has a relationship with Wood. He won't suspect her if she shows up. Everyone else would cause suspicion."

"I give you my word, Buffy. If you promise my safety, I'll do whatever you ask."

The Slayer rolled his eyes. "No offense, Lydia, but you've switched sides so often, I've got whiplash."

"Perhaps we could put a bodyguard on her," Wesley suggested. "Surely you don't need both Xander and Havi to fetch Willow's things."

"Except for the fact that Harris is still doin' his bloody awful Ray Charles impression."

"I can take Xander." The new voice surprised everyone, but Joyce remained unfazed by the sudden attention. "If Havi feels strong enough to act on her own, I don't see any reason why I can't drive Xander over to the dorms and help him find what Willow needs. It's better than sitting around here feeling useless."

Though it was clear that Buffy wanted to disagree, the Slayer merely nodded. "I think that's the only way we'll get everything done as safely as possible," she said. She rubbed at her brow as if she had a headache. "I'm beginning to think we need some of Willow's flow charts to keep track of what everyone is doing."

She suddenly looked really tired, and it wasn't a surprise to Graham when Spike dropped the sword he'd been holding to cross worriedly to her side.

"Why don't you go get some rest, luv?" he said. "If you want to be at the top of your game, you don't want to be pushing yourself this hard. Keep Red company while the rest of us see what we can do."

The way Graham figured, she didn't really have much of a choice. There wasn't a person in the room who couldn't see how exhausted she was, and most of them were prepared to physically stand in her way if she tried to argue with Spike. It was a relief to see, almost. They cared for the Slayer in ways that were admirable, reminding him of some of his early expectations about the Initiative. This was a group who fought for all the right reasons, and though he thought their methods could use a lot of work, there was no discounting the passion they brought or their dedication to doing the right thing. He'd had glimpses of that before, heightened when Oz had instigated their little chat, but this made it all the more real.

He was suddenly very glad that this was the side he was on. Even if he was convinced they were all going to lose anyway.

The call came when she was packing up to go home. If Maggie hadn't been so desperate to get news regarding Graham or the intruders, she would've just ignored it and taken the message the next morning. As it was, she was never so glad to have answered a call in all her time in Sunnydale.

"Are you sure?" she demanded, scrambling for a pen in her drawer. She began scribbling down the coordinates the technician was reciting over the phone, repeating them back to him after every few digits to make sure she was getting it right. There was no way she was going to make a mistake at this juncture; this was the culmination of everything she'd come to Sunnydale to do.

"Thank you," Maggie said when he was done, and replaced the phone on the base. She sat back in her chair with a heavy sigh, the beginning of a smile creeping over her face. They'd found it. After all these months and all their false starts, they'd finally managed to find the artifacts she'd been convinced were hidden here. They were located outside of town, underground, and there was going to be work in getting to them, but the hardest part of her goal was now over. The Slayer artifacts were nearly in her hands.

The Slayer, however, wasn't. That made the artifacts useless. According to her research, only those of Slayer blood could wield the weapons, and Maggie's plans to recruit Buffy Summers had failed at every turn. Short of kidnapping the girl, she wasn't entirely sure how to proceed next. She needed to find a Slayer.

The solution that suddenly presented itself made her feel foolish for not seeing it sooner.