Judgement

AUTHOR: Medea

TITLE: Judgment (1/?)

E-MAIL: medealives@hotmail.com

PAIRING: Willow/Angel friendship, Buffy/Spike

RATING: PG-13

SUMMARY: Willow's joyride in 'Wrecked' was only the beginning of her

downward spiral.

SPOILERS: Through BtVS "Smashed" and "Wrecked"; and AtS "Lullaby"

ARCHIVE: Please do.

DISCLAIMER: Joss created. I am not Joss. Therefore, not mine, never will be.

NOTE: A response to Kendra A's challenge to "fix" Wrecked, although I don't

really feel that the ep needed fixing. There's nothing wrong with taking a

character through the moral gray zone. I kinda thought it gave Willow some

interesting nuances.

NOTE 2: This is not part of the Masters and Minions universe -- Willow is

human. For Willow/Angel fans -- it comes later in the story, but it *will*

come.

DEDICATED: To Jonquil and Carrie, with gratitude for wonderful betas and

support.

FEEDBACK: Much appreciated: medealives@hotmail.com

Chapter One

"Xander, stay back," Buffy warned.

"She's not moving," Xander countered.

Exhausted from the fierce confrontation, which had toppled headstones,

uprooted trees and scorched the ground in one of Sunnydale's many

cemeteries, the Slayer and her allies peered warily at their foe. Although

she lay crumpled, her body quivering involuntarily and covered in sweat, the

Scooby Gang remained tensed for battle.

The sprawled figure gave no signs of life other than sporadic, violent

tremors and shallow panting. Around her, four crystal orbs shone steadily

with captured power. At the peak of the battle, a blinding light had flashed

and momentarily night had turned to day. The light was so brilliant that,

instinctively, Spike had cringed and shielded himself with his duster. When

the light receded, the beleaguered fighters had discovered their opponent,

prone and unresponsive, amid the softly flickering globes.

"Could be bluffing to lure us in," Spike pointed out.

Buffy, Spike, Xander, Anya and Tara stared down at their once-formidable

opponent. It was true -- her apparent helplessness could be just an act.

Tara had feared that her own, modest abilities with magic would be

inadequate to restrain their opponent long enough for the others to act.

However, despite her doubts, Tara cautiously opened herself to the residual

energy fields crackling in the air. What she detected gave her the first

glimmer of hope she'd felt in weeks.

"Something's different," Tara murmured. "I don't...I can't feel--"

"The darkness...it's gone..." Spike broke in as his demon's attunement to

dark forces sensed what Tara had.

The five exchanged hesitant looks. Finally, Buffy advanced, clutching the

charmed sceptre that had shielded her from magical attack. After several

measured paces, she crouched down and poked experimentally at the prone

form.

"Willow?" Buffy asked. When there was no reply, Buffy nudged her again and

repeated a bit louder, "Willow?"

Still receiving no response, Buffy brushed Willow's hair away from her face

and peered into fixed, unblinking eyes.

Spike moved forward. After a moment, he prodded Willow with the toe of his

boot.

"Oi, witch!" he barked in a voice sharp enough to make Anya and Tara jump.

Willow gave no indication that she'd heard him. He turned to Buffy and

observed, "Looks like she's down for the count. Now what?"

In a small voice, Tara stammered, "I-is she...is sh-she...?"

"She's not dead," Spike answered bluntly.

"What's wrong with her?" Xander murmured, frowning. He, Anya and Tara drew

up on either side of Buffy and Spike and stared down at Willow.

"I don't know," Buffy replied quietly, her eyes riveted to her fallen

friend...opponent...she no longer knew how to think of Willow. Even now,

after Willow had delved so deeply into dark magic that she'd threatened

their safety; even after Willow had nearly destroyed the integrity of their

dimension and unleashed the forces of the Hellmouth, Buffy still couldn't

bring herself to use the word "enemy" where Willow was concerned.

Willow had been her friend -- her best friend.

Buffy was still mad as hell at her friend.

But Willow wasn't her enemy. She was a friend who had made some majorly bad

choices and gotten herself in over her head with dark magic.

An image of Dawn, screaming in agony as Willow siphoned power from her, made

Buffy clench her jaw in quiet rage. Yeah, she was still mad as hell.

"Can't leave her here, but no telling what'll happen if you move her," Spike

advised.

"We're not taking her to my house. I don't want her near Dawn," Buffy stated

firmly.

"And the Magic Box is definitely out," Xander added. "That would be mixage

of the spark-and-gasoline variety."

"That's pretty much the problem with my place," Tara admitted, looking sadly

down at her estranged lover. "Ever since the first time we had to...to face

Willow, my apartment has kind of become a magic supply warehouse."

"Right. We'll take her to the crypt, then," Spike decided. He crouched down

and gathered Willow into his arms, although none too carefully. Willow's

neck twisted awkwardly; unsupported, her head lolled like dead weight.

"Spike, please be careful...we still don't know if she's okay," Tara

pleaded.

Spike shot her a mildly exasperated look, but shifted his arms so that

Willow's head rested against his chest.

Buffy positioned herself close to Spike, her sceptre raised to the ready as

she asked, "We good to go? The orbs?"

Anya, Xander and Tara carefully gathered up the glowing orbs, making certain

not to bring any of them too near the others.

"Got 'em," Anya piped up.

Vampire and Slayer took the lead, setting off in the direction of the crypt

with Xander, Tara and Anya following behind. The night was still and void of

sound, its habitual denizens having fled or quieted themselves in fear over

the battle that had raged scarcely half an hour before.

"She looks so empty," Xander whispered.

"Well, we did drain her power out into the Ptersian Spheres. That's bound to

leave anyone a little limp," Anya whispered back.

"Are we sure it was just the magic?" Xander pressed anxiously. "I mean, we

didn't...this isn't *all* of her in here, is it?" He gestured slightly with

one of the orbs in his hands.

Tara shook her head. "Ptersian Spheres aren't like Orbs of Thessulah. They

can hold magic, but not a soul."

Despite her attempt to reassure Xander, Tara's eyes betrayed her own

uncertainty. Willow's addiction to dark magic had changed her over the past

few months, made her more volatile -- even cruel at times. Yet Tara hadn't

given up hope that somewhere inside, the woman she loved still survived.

Silently, she hoped and prayed that they hadn't permanently damaged Willow

in their desperate attempt to disarm her.

Tara's bottom lip quivered, and she felt moisture pool in her eyes.

She missed Willow. *Her* Willow.

Spike's crypt wasn't far from where the battle had been fought, and after

another few minutes Buffy barged through the door. Spike followed on her

heels and carried Willow to a shadowed corner, where a set of cobwebbed

chains dangled from the wall. Setting Willow down on the cold stone floor,

he propped her against the wall and secured both wrists with the chains.

The pain was etched into Tara's face as she watched Spike shackle Willow's

unresisting form. Xander turned away, his shoulders tense. Only the fragile

Ptersian Spheres in his hands prevented him from lashing out at the fact

that it had come to this.

It had gotten so bad, they were chaining up Willow, his best friend since

kindergarten.

Xander's knuckles whitened as his fists clenched tightly around the orbs. He

took a deep breath and forced himself to relax his grip, reminding himself

that it would be a *bad* thing if he broke one of them.

"How can we be sure chains will hold her?" Anya demanded skeptically. "What

if we didn't contain all her power?"

"That's why the witch here is going to set a protection spell," Spike

drawled, cocking his head at Tara as he gave the chains a good tug to make

sure they were secure.

"P-protection? Oh...yes, I probably should," Tara agreed hesitantly. She

wiped at her eyes and released a shaky sigh. "I'll need a medium. Ashes,

sage, salt -- whatever's handy."

"Hang on. Got some salt down below," said Spike as he moved toward the

entrance to the cavern beneath the crypt.

"You keep salt on hand?" Xander asked, surprised.

"Sure. Keeps the zombies out," Spike answered matter-of-factly.

Xander's eyebrows rose. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head. "Never

mind, I don't wanna know."

"What?" Spike demanded indignantly. "You ever *smelled* a zombie? Don't want

one stumbling in here not-so-fresh out of the grave. As if your place isn't

littered with roach motels."

"Just...get the salt," Xander muttered.

Spike descended to his underground quarters and returned a few moments later

with a box of Morton's kosher salt.

"You really ought to use pure sea salt for protection spells," Anya

observed. "We sell it at the Magic Box."

Spike narrowed his eyes at her and retorted, "You overcharge. This'll do."

He handed the salt to Tara, who sprinkled it in a thin arc before Willow and

murmured an incantation to restrict Willow, physically and magically, to the

small space between the wall and the salt barrier.

"I don't overcharge," Anya sulked to no one in particular. "It's overhead --

all merchants have overhead."

Tara finished the spell and handed the salt back to Spike, who merely set it

on the ground. The group looked at each other awkwardly.

"So...now we do...what?" Xander wondered.

"You go home," said Buffy, breaking out of the pained silence she had

maintained since their arrival in the crypt. "There's nothing more to do

here, for the time being at least."

"What about you?" Xander's voice softened with concern, and he fixed his

gaze pointedly on her.

"I should stay for a while, keep watch -- just in case," Buffy replied, her

demeanor still that of the disciplined commander. Turning to Tara, she

asked, "Would you stay with Dawn tonight? Tell her we're all okay, but I

wanted to keep an eye on Willow until we know everything worked."

Tara nodded. "I'll examine the spheres to make sure they're fully

contained." Biting her lip, Tara glanced at Willow and asked in a faltering

whisper, "Would you...call me if she..?"

For a moment, compassion gave life to Buffy's eyes, which had previously

revealed only blank stoicism. She moved toward Tara and placed a reassuring

hand on her arm.

"As soon as Willow snaps out of it, I'll give you a call," Buffy promised.

Tara attempted to smile and nod, but now that the adrenaline rush of the

battle had worn off, she couldn't stop her lips from trembling. Buffy hugged

her in sympathy, and that was all it took. Tears leaked from Tara's eyes as

she sobbed quietly on Buffy's shoulder. Still holding two orbs, Xander

approached to offer his support, resting one hand lightly on Tara's back and

murmuring soft assurances.

"It'll be okay...sshh, Tara, sshh...We'll get her back."

After several moments during which they all succumbed to the aftershock of

their ordeal, Tara regained her composure and, with a final squeeze of

thanks to Buffy, accompanied Xander and Anya out of the crypt.

Buffy stared blankly at Willow, exhausted and saddened by everything her

friend had put them through. It had been worse than facing Glory.

In Glory's case, Buffy had devoted all her energies to taking down an evil

Hell-bitch. No problem there -- aside from the dying part. But emotionally,

it had been simple.

Each time Buffy had fought Willow, it had eaten away a small piece of her

heart.

"You okay?" Spike asked quietly, moving to stand between her and Willow.

Buffy blinked at him and shrugged. "Yeah...yeah, it's just been hard."

"You must be tired," he agreed. Cocking his head toward Willow, he added, "I

can look after her. No need for you to stay."

Buffy shook her head, her shoulders tensing slightly. "No...no, I need to be

here for a while. I just need...to be someplace quiet...to let it all sink

in..."

Spike regarded her steadily. Slowly, he reached out, cupped her cheek in his

palm and lightly stroked his thumb across her skin, still flushed from

battle. Buffy stared at him for a moment, then closed her eyes and leaned

into his caress. She brought her hand up to cover his. Spike let it rest

there for a moment, then drew it toward his lips and kissed her palm.

Still holding her hand, he tugged her gently toward the wall near Willow,

eased himself down to the floor and urged her to sit beside him.

"Quiet in here," Spike observed with a soft laugh. "Quiet as a tomb."

A sad smile tugged briefly at the corners of Buffy's mouth, before her face

once again resolved into a mask of strained introspection. Spike wrapped his

arms about her and brushed his hands along her sides.

Buffy stared at Willow's blank expression, deceptively lifeless. It scared

her.

What was going on behind those vacant, green eyes?

Chapter Two

Paralysis gripped her.

It was happening again.

Willow saw the figures moving around her, heard them speaking. Their voices

were familiar. But all of it -- the sights, the sounds, even the feel of

hands prodding her and lifting her -- swam in her brain, disjointed and

alien, like images viewed through water.

She began her mantra, a calming practice which had eased the transition each

time her world had shifted abruptly in the three centuries she had been

traveling.

<My name is Willow...>

<Whoever I am in this place, in this time...I have another name.>

<My name is Willow...>

A memory from a past incarnation flashed in her mind, a harbinger of the

agonizing seizures that had become all too familiar to her. Willow braced

herself for impact.

Then it hit.

Images fired through her brain like bullets, shifting so rapidly it left her

nauseous. Synapses flared with a confused mixture of sensations, jolting her

away from reality, spinning her surroundings off in a dizzy blur.

*Flash*. Can't get free...can't get free...this is it, he has the knife,

this is--- *Flash*. Mother is dead -- what will become of me? I'm the last,

and they'll be coming soon. *Flash*. Oh, god! The barrier is down! But

that's impossible -- no time! No time! *Flash*. Please, please...let the

crops grow this year...famine has taken so many... *Flash*. It should have

worked...no way to re-create the same conditions...that was our last hope.

*Flash*.

Willow cried inwardly. Unable to control her body -- unaware of it, even --

she couldn't know whether her eyes actually produced tears. Remorse carved a

cold, hollow pit in her chest; she couldn't breathe. Oh, god! She wished it

would just end!

But she couldn't hope for that. Willow was sick with shame.

Somehow, she had made this happen.

So many lives broken, wrecked...obliterated. So many...

And she had lived a mere fraction of them; had watched so many die, so many

suffer.

She had lost all sense of herself after the first century, couldn't remember

what she had done to set this in motion. Whoever she had been, wherever she

had come from, it was splintered so thoroughly that she could no longer

piece it together. There was nothing left.

Except her name.

<My name is Willow...>

She couldn't be sure how much time had passed before the seizure began to

subside. The sharp, staccato flash of images slowed and distantly she became

aware of her surroundings.

It was dark. There was cold stone beneath her and at her back. Steel

shackles bound her wrists. Her neck ached and every muscle in her body felt

weak.

Blinking as her eyes adjusted to the surroundings, Willow managed to crane

her head and look around. Two figures, a male and a female, reclined against

a wall near her. A shock of familiarity went through her. Had she passed

through this dimension before? It was possible; at least on a superficial

level, they resembled whatever species she was -- two legs, two arms, a

single head...she wondered if they would be able to see her, or if this was

one of the places where she would be invisible.

Willow strained to understand what it was about these two that seemed so

familiar. But the more she concentrated, the more she shivered with dread.

Her heart raced and she felt her lungs tighten, as if her body instinctively

feared what her mind had yet to grasp.

There was something terrible and ominous about this dimension, something

that triggered morbid fear in her.

She had been here before -- she was sure of it now. And something bad, very,

very, bad had happened. An uneasy chill shook her, and the nape of her neck

prickled wildly, like ants were crawling all over her skin.

Willow's eyes roamed about the room, wandering over dusty stone surfaces and

darkened corners, until her gaze fixed on a white, crystalline substance

that formed a perimeter around her.

She recognized it.

<That's...I know this...it's called...it looks like...salt. That's the word:

salt. Salt tastes good...and it's used for...it's used for...>

Before Willow's memories of salt could emerge, however, her mind recoiled

violently. There was terror in those memories. <Salt is used for--NO!!!>

Mentally, she shrank back in horror, unwilling to recall the knowledge that

was hovering at the edge of her consciousness.

Her heart raced wildly, pounding against her chest as if to escape from its

corporeal prison. Trapped, she was trapped, and it was going to start all

over again! No!!

At that instant, the male's eyes snapped open. Icy blue stared at her, cold,

unblinking, accusing.

Willow screamed, and everything went black.

*****

Spike jolted awake to what he was certain was the sound of a herd of buffalo

stampeding through his crypt. The rhythm thundered frantically in his ears.

When he saw the look of terror on Willow's face, he realized it was her

heartbeat. For a split second, he wondered if she was about to go into

cardiac arrest.

Then she screamed like Angelus himself was after her, and Spike went from

wondering to being bloody well certain she was headed for a heart attack.

However, she collapsed in mid-shriek, after which her heartbeat remained

faint but steady.

Buffy's, on the other hand, went from its gentle, slumbered pace to

full-throttle cavalry charge almost instantaneously. She started forcefully

beside him and yelped, "What?! What is it?!!?"

"Easy, luv," Spike steadied her, his hand on her shoulder. "Red woke up for

a bit, had a look around, screamed. Looks like she's out again."

"Did she..." Buffy gulped, then paused to calm herself before continuing,

"Did Willow try to escape, or do a spell or something?"

He shook his head. "Not that I saw. Salt for the protection spell hasn't

been disturbed. I can say one thing, though -- she was terrified. Scared to

death."

"Of you? Or us?" Buffy frowned, puzzled. She might have expected Willow to

react with defiance or frustration at having been defeated. But fear wasn't

something she'd shown in quite some time -- not with the heights to which

her powers had climbed.

"Hard to tell," Spike shrugged, arching his eyebrows thoughtfully. "Her

heart was hammering away before I woke up -- ruined a good dream, too."

Buffy's brow furrowed as she pondered his remark; then she rolled her eyes,

reminding herself that she didn't want to know about his interrupted dream.

Instead, she scrutinized Willow. The young witch's eyes were closed, yet

though she appeared unconscious, her mouth twitched and her eyelids

quivered. Willow's respiration was shaky, her breath hitching at irregular

intervals and alternating between a hiss and a low whine. She huddled

against the wall, curling in upon herself as much as the chains permitted.

Buffy's expression darkened. She had seen behavior like this before.

Angel had been this way when he returned from hell.

Spike, too, observed the shackled redhead. Hunched into a fetal position,

she hardly resembled the proud, powerful witch who for weeks had defied

every attempt to subdue her. The contrast was striking, and reminded him of

his Dark Goddess: deadly one minute, fragile the next.

"Like Dru on a bad day," Spike remarked. He steeled her with a serious look.

"Might be better if we just--"

"No, Spike," Buffy cut him off firmly. "We've been over this. We're not

going to kill her. In spite of what she's done, she's human...and she's

still our friend."

"Can't be sure what she is any more," Spike retorted, gesturing curtly

toward Willow. "Look at her. No telling what that spell did to her, or if

there's any of the old Red left in there."

"Spike, that's enough," Buffy warned.

The crypt was silent for a few moments. Buffy rose to her feet and Spike

followed suit. She edged away, not looking at him.

"I should check in with Tara and Dawn," Buffy murmured. "Find out what Tara

has learned about the spheres. Maybe that will help us figure out what's

wrong with Willow." After a brief pause, she turned to Spike, narrowed her

eyes and said sternly, "Don't do anything to her while I'm gone."

Spike's shoulders stiffened at the mistrustful tone in her voice. His jaw

clenched and he stared back at her, a slight glimmer of repressed hurt in

his eyes.

"Fine," he answered coolly. "Check in with the research party. We'll be here

when you get back."

He turned his back to Buffy and started toward the entrance to the crypt's

lower level.

Buffy released a frustrated sigh. "Spike--"

"Niblet'll probably be glad to see you," he interrupted.

Buffy refused to be dismissed, although even as she moved to confront him,

she wondered why she bothered.

Why couldn't she just walk away from the infuriating bastard?

She tensed, too weary to deal with their emotional fox trot at the moment,

but unable to close herself off as easily as she had a few months ago. As

much as she hated to admit it, Spike had been right. That night had changed

things.

*That* night.

This was neither the time nor the place for soul-searching, though -- or for

coddling a vampire's bruised ego.

Buffy gripped him by the elbow, but Spike shook her off before she could

spin him around to face her. However, rather than stalking away, he relented

and slowly turned to look her in the eye.

"We couldn't have done it without you tonight," Buffy stated, her gaze warm

yet unapologetic. "I *don't* agree with you about how we should handle

Willow -- you don't know her like I do. But your help has been important.

Thank you, Spike."

The frank recognition caught Spike off guard, and for a moment he froze in

place. Before he could muster a decent swagger and smug reply, Buffy sent

him reeling.

Stepping close, she raised up on her toes and brushed a kiss against his

cheek.

Spike gaped at her as she pulled back slightly. He stared, speechless, all

higher brain function having shut down. His more primal instincts, however,

were quicker to recover. He leaned in, encouraged when Buffy didn't move

away, and kissed her softly. His tongue flicked over her lips, teasing hers

into play as he brought his hand up to caress the nape of her neck. The

blood quickened in his veins at the soft moan she breathed into his mouth,

and he deepened the kiss.

When Buffy finally extricated herself from Spike's embrace, her face was

flushed. Spike watched her in a daze and his lips mouthed hesitant words,

but no sound emerged. He was desperate to speak to her, to say something --

anything -- but his voice hitched in his throat.

Buffy stepped back, her gaze shifting nervously from Spike's eyes to the

floor and then back again.

"Not yet," she whispered. "But...soon."

The bliss that had radiated from Spike's face a moment earlier was replaced

with mild disappointment and acceptance. He managed a weary half-smile.

"Duty calls, eh, luv?"

Nodding, Buffy regained her composure and announced in a determined,

businesslike voice, "I should go check in. But I'll be back later."

Spike watched, a mixture of awe and lust in his eyes, as Buffy made her way

to the exit.

"I'll be waiting," he murmured.

Chapter Three

The early morning sky was just beginning to lighten when Buffy let herself

into the kitchen through the back door. The house was quiet; she guessed

that Tara and Dawn must still be asleep.

As she made her way past the living room and toward the stairs, a faint

flickering of light caught her eye. She experienced a moment of panic when

she wondered if Tara had left candles burning in the living room. After

everything they'd survived, falling prey to a fire hazard was not on Buffy's

list of things to do.

Buffy halted abruptly when she saw the four Ptersian spheres on the coffee

table, twinkling softly like jars filled with fireflies. Tara was slumped on

the couch, fast asleep with one of her magic reference guides open in her

lap.

Moving closer, Buffy nudged the sleeping witch and said, "Tara...Tara, wake

up."

Tara's eyelids blinked open and she inhaled deeply. Raising her head up from

the sofa, she focused on Buffy and murmured, "Oh...you're back. I must have

dozed off. W-What time is it?"

Buffy glanced at her watch. "Just after 5:00. Dozing off is understandable.

Busy night. I kinda did it myself."

"So it was quiet? With Willow, I mean -- no trouble?" Tara's eyes widened

hopefully.

"I wouldn't say trouble, exactly," Buffy sighed, her brow furrowing

slightly. She dropped to the couch beside Tara and explained, "Willow came

to for a second or two. From what Spike said, she looked around and screamed

-- I missed everything except the screaming part. When I left, she was...not

good. It's almost like she's in shock."

At the pained expression that crossed Tara's face, Buffy added, "I'm sure

she'll be *fine*, Tara -- we just have to get her through this."

Tara nodded and whispered, "I hope so."

Buffy grasped her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Then, glancing at

the Ptersian spheres, she asked, "So, are these sealed up nice and tight?"

An odd expression crossed Tara's face; her mouth twisted slightly and she

nibbled at the corner of her bottom lip. Buffy could almost see her brain

searching for words.

"The seal is solid," Tara began, reaching out to pick up one of the spheres.

"In fact...it's more than solid. Watch."

Without warning, Tara hurled the glowing, crystalline orb at the wall. Buffy

drew in a sharp breath and cried, "Tara, NO!"

To Buffy's astonishment, the seemingly fragile sphere bounced harmlessly off

the wall and rolled to a stop in the middle of the floor. Her heart still

racing, Buffy moved from the couch to retrieve the sphere. She stared at it,

fascinated, as the flickering light danced across her skin.

"Wow," Buffy observed at last. "I guess Willow's power is pretty much locked

up."

"Well..." Tara countered slowly as she averted her gaze nervously.

"What?" Buffy demanded. Instantly, her body tensed.

"We didn't do that," Tara explained, gesturing toward the sphere in Buffy's

hand. "Casting a spell to capture someone's magic doesn't usually make

Ptersian spheres less fragile. It should have shattered. Something else is

shielding them."

"Shielding? As in...magic shielding?" Buffy deduced, her heart sinking. "Do

you think Willow is doing this?"

"It doesn't feel like Willow," Tara replied. At Buffy's arched eyebrows, she

blushed and stammered, "I-I can recognize Willow's s-signature on a s-spell

-- well, usually. This doesn't feel familiar. But I've been reading the

Archer Compendium, and I think I've found something."

As Tara paged through the tome in her lap, Buffy joined her on the couch.

Buffy set the sphere back on the coffee table with the other three and

squinted at the ornate script.

"Latin?" Buffy guessed.

"Old English," Tara corrected with an awkward smile. "I'm a bit rusty, but

Freshman Lit 101 is coming in handy -- you know, Chaucer."

Buffy offered a half-hearted smile in return. "One of Santa's reindeer,

right?"

"Uh...well..." Tara began, then simply moved on. "From what I can tell, it

says here that when magic is harnessed in the spheres, they should just glow

steadily -- no flickering. When I tried to find out what could cause the

flickering, all it said was something about Ptersian spheres acting as

parameters for trans-dimensional activity."

Buffy clenched her jaw at the mention of trans-dimensional activity, as a

vision of Willow's hands, glowing above Dawn's painfully blistered forehead,

surfaced from her memory. Her gaze locked with Tara's, and she asked

soberly, "Do you think Willow somehow used these to escape?"

"I don't know. This is a little out of my league," Tara admitted.

For a moment, Buffy shut her eyes tightly, wishing that just once, something

would go the way they expected it to. When she opened her eyes, she stared

absently across the room and said, "I wish Giles were here."

"I still can't believe the Council wouldn't tell you how to reach him when

you called about Willow," Tara agreed. "We could have used someone with a

Watcher's knowledge."

Buffy's eyes widened apprehensively. A slight wrinkle formed above the

bridge of her nose. She turned toward Tara, then to the phone, then back to

Tara. The blond witch regarded her quizzically.

Buffy stood and crossed toward the phone. It was a call she was reluctant to

make for a number of reasons. But at this point, she felt she had no choice.

Maybe she'd get the answering machine. If she were lucky...

*****

The early morning hours were the best.

Cordelia, Gunn and Wesley wouldn't arrive until much later in the day, and

Fred had yet to emerge from her room. The world was asleep. That left the

spacious, silent hotel to the meanderings of its vampire proprietor.

Or, as it was these days, to a new father who had yet to tire of pacing the

lobby with his tiny son cradled in his arms.

With a slow, easy pace, Angel wandered past the grand staircase and the

weapons case, back toward the office and the main entrance, then slowly

crossed to lower himself down onto one of the plush lounges. Connor slept

undisturbed, breathing evenly and occasionally gurgling on a bubble of

drool. Angel continued to gaze at him, grinning raptly at the gentle whisper

of the babe's breath across his skin and the insistent beat of his heart.

Angel could listen to that heartbeat for hours. Could, and had.

Dumbly, Angel shook his head. What miracle had created this tiny, beautiful,

living being out of a demon like him?

His quiet adoration was interrupted by the ringing of the office phone.

Angel winced, hoping he could retreat to his suite before the noise

disturbed Connor. The machine could pick it up.

As Angel was about to exit the lobby, the answering machine beeped and began

recording the caller's message. The dark vampire froze in place when he

heard the voice on the machine.

"Hi...it's Buffy. I know I haven't called...but, we could use some help.

It's complicated -- heavy research stuff, and we don't know how to reach

Giles. Um...if you could have Wesley call me--"

"Buffy?" Angel broke in as he picked up the phone.

"Angel?" she whispered hesitantly. "I- I'm sorry, I hope I didn't wake you."

"Vampire hours," Angel assured her gently, squeezing his hand nervously

around the receiver while holding Connor in the crook of his arm. Despite

the way they had parted after their first -- and last -- meeting since her

resurrection, just hearing Buffy's voice made Angel's heart sing and ache

all at once. "What can I do for you?"

"We need to know everything there is to know about how Ptersian spheres

work," Buffy explained quickly. Beneath her businesslike tone, Angel

detected a slight tremor of nervousness.

"Ptersian spheres?"

"Yeah, we had to...there's been some trouble. With Willow."

"Willow?" Angel's repeated, taken aback.

Buffy sighed. "It's a long story. A few months ago, she got mixed up with

some pretty dark magic. Some guy named Rack turned her onto it--"

"I've heard of Rack," Angel interrupted grimly. "He *is* trouble. How did

Willow get involved with someone like him?"

"Amy, a witch she knows. Her first stint with him left her out of control.

She hurt Dawn, but swore that was the end of it. But she couldn't stop. And

the more she went back--"

"The darker she became," Angel finished, having heard of similar cases

before. Concerned, he asked, "Is Dawn okay?"

"She's healing. A few weeks ago, Willow went on a power binge...she tried to

tap into Dawn like..."

There was silence on the line for a moment. Finally, Angel prompted,

"Buffy?"

When she spoke, Angel could hear the barely controlled rage in her voice.

"Willow tried to tap into Dawn like Glory would have -- she *used* her to

open a trans-dimensional portal. Dawn has...scars. They'll probably be

permanent. And those are just the ones on the outside."

Angel was dumbstruck. Buffy's revelation left him shocked; scarcely a year

earlier, Willow had marshaled her power to protect Dawn from the hell god.

He had no idea how Buffy was able to manage; she'd had so little time to

adjust to her resurrection. Now this.

"Buffy, I'm so sorry," Angel murmured hoarsely.

"We're dealing. But that's why I called. We tried to contain Willow's power

in a set of Ptersian spheres, but something went wrong. Do you think Wesley

could do some research for us?"

"I'll get him on it right away," Angel promised. "Is Willow still a threat?"

"Not that we can tell so far. She reminds me of how you were when you came

back from hell. We've got her chained up at Spike's crypt," Buffy explained.

"You're still working with Spike?" Angel growled, his mood darkening. His

entire body went rigid, with the unfortunate effect that he tightened his

arm around Connor a little too forcefully. Angel's son stirred irritably and

began to cry.

"Um...well, he knows a little about dark magic...and he's uh...good in a

fight," Buffy stammered awkwardly. After a pause, she asked, "Angel, what's

that noise? Is everything okay?"

It was Angel's turn to stammer awkwardly. "It's...uh...everything's okay

here, Buffy...ah...Wesley just walked in. I'll fill him in and have him call

you back."

"O-okay, great. Thanks for everything, Angel," Buffy replied.

"Any time," he assured her, before they disconnected.

As he replaced the telephone receiver in its cradle, Angel closed his eyes

and his shoulders sagged. Then he turned his attention to Connor, rocking

him slightly and murmuring soothing endearments. Angel sighed. Guilt gnawed

at his insides -- he hated hiding the truth from Buffy. He just hoped he

could find the right way to tell her about Connor.

*****

Buffy leaned against the wall, staring down at the phone. She exhaled

slowly, releasing the tension that had gripped her at Angel's reaction to

the mere mention of Spike. Oh, God. Not good...so not good. She hated hiding

the truth from Angel. She just hoped she could find the right way to tell

him about Spike.

Chapter Four

Spike leaned against the wall and observed Willow, still huddled and

shivering. He'd seen humans like this plenty of times before. Hell, before

the chip he'd reduced people to this state on a nightly basis -- cowering,

whimpering, shaking in terror.