AUTHOR: Medea
TITLE: Judgment (16/?)
E-MAIL: medealives@hotmail.com
PAIRING: Willow/Angel friendship, Buffy/Spike, Willow/Tara
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: Willow's joyride in 'Wrecked' was only the beginning of her
downward spiral. When her addiction to power makes her a destroyer of
worlds, Angel may be the only one who can help her deal with the aftermath.
Meanwhile, an old friend returns with news of a threat to Buffy and Spike.
SPOILERS: Through BtVS "Smashed" and "Wrecked"; and AtS "Birthday"
ARCHIVE: Please do.
DISCLAIMER: Joss created. I am not Joss. Therefore, not mine, never will be.
An added apology for the mediocre quality of this chapter -- I've been
getting ready for a conference and my mind has been elsewhere. Sorry.
FEEDBACK: Much appreciated: medealives@hotmail.com
Chapter Sixteen
In a weird way, it was a lot like hanging out together when they'd been
kids, Xander thought. Different room, sure, but he'd never felt very
attached to specific places. Home hadn't really been the house his parents
had raised him in. There was little about the Harris family that felt like
home.
Home was Willow.
Wherever they ended up after school, just sitting and talking -- that became
home for a few hours, until it was time to go eat dinner. It wasn't a white
picket fence, milk and cookies, picture perfect kind of situation, but it
its own, weird way, it had been the closest thing to a normal life Xander
had ever experienced.
And it tore at him. This bed he sat on as he and Tara tried to bring Willow
back to them, it wasn't that different from his, or Willow's...or even
Jesse's. Even the pep talk was familiar.
"I'm so sorry I didn't see it," Tara murmured, tentatively stroking Willow's
arm. "Maybe I could have helped you. If I'd recognized the call for what it
was, we could have resolved it, and you wouldn't have been tempted by Rack."
Willow was scrunched up against the wall, the maroon blanket rumpled beneath
her feet, her knees drawn tightly against her chest. She picked at fuzzy
wisps of lint on the blanket and shook her head. "Tara, I can't let you
blame yourself for this. It was my fault. You did try to help me. You did
warn me that I was getting out of control." Willow's bottom lip quivered and
her voice dropped to a bare whisper. "I wanted to kill Glory for violating
your mind, and then I turned around and did the same thing."
Xander swallowed a lump. He couldn't just tell her that everything was all
okay, even if part of him wanted to. He *had* been mad at her when she
started using her magic to toy with all of them. He *had* felt betrayed by
her sudden personality change. Worst of all, when Willow went after Dawn,
for one terrible moment he'd lost any hope of recovering his friend -- he'd
actually been forced to admit that they might have to...God, he couldn't
think it.
But he couldn't let her take all this on herself. He didn't hate Willow, he
hated what had happened to all of them. They'd fallen apart. And that wasn't
her fault alone -- they'd all had their heads up their asses. In a really
twisted way, Glory had beaten them.
"Hey Wills," Xander gently chided her. "I'm gonna have to cut the guilt trip
short. Pull over and turn the car around. This was something we all did. I
wasn't even thinking last summer -- I just assumed you could handle
everything. You've always been the queen of problem solving, and we kept
expecting you to handle more and more. But you and Glory? Sorry, no
comparison. Not even close."
"You don't understand, Xander," Willow insisted, hugging her knees even more
tightly to her chest. Her eyes haunted him, even heavier with guilt than
they'd been when Oz and Cordy had found them at the factory. "All I cared
about was the power, the rush. I didn't care who I hurt."
"But that wasn't entirely you," Tara assured her. Hesitantly, Tara clasped
Willow's hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.
Willow smiled at her with a warmth in her expression that sent a pang
through Xander. He hadn't seen that look on her face in months -- God, how
he'd missed the old Will. All too soon, the light in her eyes faded. She
withdrew her hand from Tara's and Xander felt his throat tighten.
"It was more me than you know," Willow confessed, lowering her gaze. "Tara,
remember the Vamp-me I told you about? She was bored, always bored, and what
she did to take her mind off it was hurt people. That's exactly what
happened with me. I wasn't overcome by some force, I knew what I was doing.
I was bored. The only difference is that I convinced myself I wasn't really
doing any harm -- and do you know what that means?" Willow's voice rose in
pitch and an anguished grimace twisted her face. "It means that a vampire
version of me was more honest about what she was doing than I was!"
"That's not true!" Xander protested, leaning in and fixing her with an
intense gaze. "Wills, you're my best friend. I'll be the first to agree that
you were out of control. But you're not like Glory, and you're not like the
vamp you. You made a mistake -- a real doozie, bigger than the time you made
me a demon magnet. But there isn't a vicious bone in your entire body. Angel
had more deliberate, calculated malice in his big toe when he went psycho on
us than you've racked up in your entire life."
"I'd have to agree with that."
Xander winced at the sound of Angel's voice. Yet another awkward moment with
Deadboy.
However, Xander quickly forgot his discomfort at the sight of Willow, pale,
wide-eyed, and desperately pressing herself against the wall. He turned to
see what she was trying to shrink away from.
Standing beside Angel in the doorway, Giles regarded her with a quiet,
pained sadness.
"Giles?" Willow barely squeaked.
"Hello, Willow," Giles greeted, a slight hitch in his voice. "It's good to
see you're doing better."
Unable to speak, Willow merely stared at him, her lower lip trembling.
With slow, halting steps, Giles approached them and sat down on the edge of
the bed. Tears pooled in Willow's eyes and Tara gave her hand a reassuring
squeeze. In awkward silence, Giles and Willow regarded each other. Then,
Giles reached out with his good arm and drew her, shaking, into a comforting
embrace.
Xander watched his friend sob against her mentor's shoulder and felt a
tell-tale sting in his own eyes.
Willow was home.
*****
Angel pulled the door closed and paused in the hallway, considering his
options.
He wasn't ready to see Buffy again.
He *definitely* didn't want to see Spike.
He really wasn't in the mood to talk with his own crew, either, even though
he knew they'd leap to take his side. But his side in what? That was the
whole problem...things had changed so much that the sides weren't even clear
any more. They'd all made choices. As much as some of those choices hurt, it
would be pointless to try to assign blame.
That didn't mean Angel was ready to deal with the hurt, though.
There was always work, of course, but at the moment, research wasn't
appealing. It would be tempting to slip back into Willow's room. She was
suffering even more than he was right now, and consoling her allowed him to
forget his own problems. But it would be selfish: he wouldn't be helping her
so much as himself. She and Giles needed some time to themselves.
Angel's mood softened. There was always Connor...
...and Xander.
Angel blinked to see him leaning against the opposite wall next to Willow's
girlfriend, staring at the door to Willow's room. Evidently, just as lost in
thought as Angel had been.
Figuring Xander and Tara would talk with each other about Willow, Angel
started down the hall.
"She's gonna be okay."
Hesitating in mid-stride, Angel glanced at Xander, who wasn't as lost in his
thoughts as Angel had thought. It hadn't been a question, exactly, but the
boy's statement had that desperate edge to it that hinted at the need for
reassurance.
"You've spent more time with her than any of us," Xander continued with more
than just a touch of resentment. "Does she seem like...do you think she'll
be okay?"
Angel held his tongue for a few seconds. Somehow, Xander Harris managed to
be vulnerable and irritating all at once.
"Willow has always been stronger than she looks," Angel said at last.
With that, he started back to his suite. As if on cue, Xander and Tara
followed him. Angel resigned himself to their company only reluctantly. He
wasn't really in the mood to look after them -- to look after Xander
'I-Hate-Vampires' Harris, of all people -- but they gave the impression that
they needed someone to talk to. Anyone. Even a vampire.
"Angel's right," Tara said after a brief silence. "Willow's strength was
never just in her magic. Her whole essence radiates strength. It's one of
the things I first loved about her."
"Yeah," Xander added with shaky, false levity. "That Willow...her middle
name is resolve."
"I thought it was Ann," Tara countered with soft humor.
Angel felt the cadence of their pulses ease. The acrid scent of anxiety
which had enfolded them like a cloud dissipated somewhat. The dark vampire
was familiar with this physiological response from the numerous crises he'd
weathered back in Sunnydale with Buffy and her friends. They never realized
how much they healed each other. Angel knew they understood the emotional
benefits of their tightly-knit group, but he doubted that they had ever
sensed the physical healing as tangibly as he could.
Letting himself into his suite, a faint smile warmed Angel's face as he
looked toward Connor's crib. He crossed the room, reached down with infinite
care and gently lifted his sleeping son into his arms.
Tara drew up beside him. "What's his name?"
"Connor," Angel answered, grinning fondly down at tiny, dream-heavy eyelids
and downy soft cheeks.
"What's it like? Being a dad, I mean," Xander asked.
"It's the best thing that ever happened to me," Angel replied truthfully. He
looked over at Xander and saw a mixture of fascination and unease on his
face. The boy's anxiety loomed large. Angel's heightened senses were
bombarded by a thready, agitated heartbeat and the sudden rush of sweat.
"Is it ever...does it scare you to have that much responsibility? To have
someone depend on you that much?" Xander pressed, shifting and fidgeting
awkwardly.
Angel chuckled. "All the time."
Xander's brow knit in frustration. Tara grinned and explained, "He's getting
married."
"So I heard," Angel acknowledged, still regarding Xander with bemused
curiosity. "Congratulations."
"Thanks," Xander said, frowning slightly. After a pause, he added, "I guess
I just don't know what to expect."
"That shouldn't be so hard for someone who's lived on a Hellmouth," Angel
countered with a shrug, gently rocking Connor in his arms.
"Yeah, well you never met my parents," Xander retorted darkly, with an edge
that surprised Angel. The dark vampire stopped bouncing his son and stared
intently at the conflicted youth. "I don't know. Maybe what scares me is
thinking I should know *exactly* what to expect, considering what they were
like."
Tara moved away from Angel and approached Xander, concern etched across her
features. "Don't let your family determine your future. You're not trapped.
Think of what would have happened to me if all of you hadn't helped me break
away from that."
Nodding, Angel agreed. "Letting my problems with my father rule me was the
worst mistake of my life. If I'd been able to get past that, we wouldn't be
talking with each other."
Xander frowned, then opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by a sudden
commotion out in the hallway. Sharp, hasty footfalls resounded in the air as
someone ran down the hall. Voices were raised in alarm. For a split second,
Angel, Xander, and Tara looked at each other. In a flash, Xander and Tara
hurried out to see what was going on. After he had safely returned Connor to
his crib, Angel followed.
*****
"Giles, I'm sorry -- so, so sorry," Willow whispered. "I let you down."
"Don't you dare say that!" Giles protested vehemently. Careful not to crush
her against his injured arm, he tightened the half-embrace he'd managed with
his good arm. "Willow, you've made me so proud, so many times." Pushing back
slightly, he cupped her cheek in his hand and raised her head so he could
look her in the eye. "What you did was dangerous and foolhardy, without a
doubt. But you don't know how fortunate, how privileged, I feel to have had
the chance to watch you develop from a very sweet girl into a remarkable,
accomplished young woman. If there was an error in judgment, it was mine."
Willow edged away. "Giles, you're not responsible for--"
He cut her off. "I accepted responsibility for all of you when I allowed you
to partake in Buffy's mission. In the past, Slayers worked alone. As her
Watcher, I knew why -- I knew how dangerous it could be to involve others. I
endangered you by permitting you to be drawn further and further into this
world."
"But I wanted to be drawn in. I wanted to help. It was my choice, and you
couldn't have stopped me," Willow insisted, briefly mimicking her 'resolve'
face.
"I know, Willow," Giles assured her with a fond smile, recalling the many
times Willow had stubbornly refused to be daunted by a supernatural threat,
or even an equally stubborn, officious Watcher.
"I merely wanted to protect you -- you and the others. As proud as I was of
all of you, I knew where it could lead. An early grave was certainly my
worst fear, but in your case I was also worried about the temptation of dark
magic. You know about my experience...the price I paid. I wanted to spare
you that, but I should have realized I couldn't spare you, no matter how
much I wanted to," Giles admitted ruefully. "It's typical of elders to want
to pass on what wisdom they can, so that the next generation might learn
from their mistakes. It's equally typical for us to forget that mistakes are
a necessary part of learning and can't be avoided. No matter how many times
the same mistakes are repeated, each situation is unique and can't be
predicted."
"Says the man who's always been Mr. Prophecy Guy," Willow chided with a sad
smile. Giles returned it with one of his own.
"Well, you and I both know how aggravating it can be to try to make sense of
prophecies," Giles retorted forcefully, although his words were softened by
the amused twinkle in his eyes. "At any rate, I think the problem is that
sometimes, under certain circumstances, what might seem like the right
decision can be wrong, and what might seem like the wrong decision can be
right."
Willow nodded. She glimpsed a familiar, embarrassed expression on his face
and took a guess. "Like Buffy and Spike."
Giles released a beleaguered sigh and confessed, "I can assure you that I
hadn't seen that coming. But they seem to have a good influence on each
other. Unfortunately, my lack of vision has endangered both of them."
"What do you mean?" Willow asked, frowning in sympathetic concern.
Briefly, Giles related to Willow the same events he'd described to the
others. He was touched at the belated, albeit protective, alarm that crossed
her features when he recounted the two attempts on his life and the injuries
he'd sustained. However, when he returned to the present and explained the
precautionary measures he and Angel felt were necessary, Willow grew
violently agitated.
"No! No, I can't. Please don't bring Dawn back here...or, no, it's safer
here. She deserves to be safe. But, then...then I have to go! I have to
leave. I can stay where she's been--"
"Willow, calm down," Giles interrupted. "The whole point of bringing Dawn
back to the hotel was to keep everyone in the same place. It will be safer
if we aren't divided."
"It's not safe!" Willow protested, her voice rising to panic pitch. "It
isn't safe for anyone when I'm near Dawn! Don't you understand!?!"
Suddenly, Willow sprang from the bed and raced toward the door. Giles
hastened to stop her.
"Willow, wait!"
But before he could restrain her, Willow fled down the hallway and
disappeared down the grand staircase. Giles chased after her, shouting for
her to stop, but a jet-lagged, injured Watcher was a poor match for a
frenzied, terrified young woman.
Xander, Tara, and Angel appeared at his side.
"It's Willow," Giles explained. "She's gone."
*****
Attuned to the rhythms of the night, Spike sauntered alongside Buffy. Her
tension was palpable. Bugger it, she was wound tight.
"Ease up, luv. We'll find her," Spike assured his companion.
Buffy knit her brow and frowned. Her eyes were haunted with concern. "It
could take hours. There's no telling what could happen to her in the
meantime. Or what she might do -- Willow still isn't herself. And we have no
way to find her!"
"Yes. We. Do." Spike halted and gripped Buffy firmly by the arm, forcing her
to stop as well. Forcing down his revulsion at the stench of exhaust from
the bus that passed by, he said, "Willow's lousy with magic. 'S like a
bloody homing beacon."
Sulking, Buffy lowered her gaze. "I know. That works for you, but I hate
feeling helpless. All I can do is tag along for the ride."
"Always love havin' you on for a ride," Spike leered suggestively. Buffy
slugged him on the arm in playful disgust.
"You know what I mean," she protested.
Spike sighed and chucked her beneath the chin. When her eyes met his, he
explained, "You're not helpless. You've got it in you to sense her, same as
I do. 'S just not something you've ever wanted to think about."
"Huh?" Buffy stared at him in bewilderment.
"You're made for the hunt, same as me. Means you can sense things an average
human can't. How d'you think you can sense one of my kind?"
"Me Slayer, you vamp," Buffy retorted, as if he were a child. "I'm supposed
to be able to recognize vamps. This is different."
"It's preternatural," Spike corrected. "It's the power you sense, the magic
that lets the demon animate a dead body. You could sense so much -- you'd be
amazed. But you're afraid to give it a go."
"Afraid of what?" Buffy challenged skeptically, folding her arms across her
chest.
"Afraid of what it'd mean. We're more alike than you want to admit."
Buffy paled and her expression hardened. "I am *not* a demon."
Oh, sod. They'd gone through this before, when they'd first discovered the
resurrection had changed her, had made it possible for him to hurt her. He'd
bloody forgotten.
"I'm not sayin' you're a demon," Spike reassured her. He rested his hands on
her arms, pleased when she didn't shake him off. "But you've got power in
you, same as me, same as Red. Doesn't make you a monster like me, just means
you've got an edge if you'd bloody well use it."
"Don't do that," Buffy snapped.
"Don't do what?" Spike arched an eyebrow, confused.
"Don't talk about yourself like you're nothing but a monster."
He smirked, ran his hands down her arms, and grasped her hands in his. "I am
a monster, luv. I'm every bit as bad as you've always said I am. You just
make me not want to be. Or, maybe you make me want to be very, very bad..."
Spike released Buffy's hands, reached around to cup her ass, and drew her
intimately against him. She sighed a small laugh but pushed him away. "This
is not the time, Spike. Come on, we've still got to find Willow. Lead the
way, oh sinister fiend."
Spike narrowed his eyes at her and coyly pursed his lips. "Flirt," he
muttered. Then, taking her hand in his, he set a slow pace and said, "You
lead the way. C'mon, give it a go."
"What?"
"Try to feel her. See what you can sense."
"Spike--" Buffy protested, but he hushed her and stopped them again.
"Close your eyes," Spike ordered in a deep, suggestive voice. Buffy let out
an exasperated sigh but closed her eyes. "Just listen...hear the sounds you
tune out when you depend on sight. Now...feel the air...the stillness...and
the energy in it..."
The rich, soothing timbre of his voice, rumbling from deep within his chest,
entranced her. Buffy felt him beside her, radiating the energy that she had
come to associate with vampires. But she began to be aware of other, fainter
sensations in the distance.
Her eyes snapped open. Almost in shock, she pointed down a cross street and
murmured in awe, "That way."
They turned in the direction that had beckoned to Buffy and continued their
search. Their slow progress, and the Slayer's process of self-discovery, was
abruptly interrupted by a car's blaring horn and screeching tires.
With a sense of dread, Buffy and Spike broke into a run.
*****
Willow wandered the streets, knowing it was stupid to be out alone after
dark in a fairly deserted part of town. L.A. had to have more than the two
vampires in the hotel she'd fled. And demons.
But she had to get away. They didn't understand. None of them understood. It
was too dangerous. She refused to put her friends in jeopardy ever again.
She didn't know what she would do or where she would go. She just had to get
away.
Her entire body churned in conflict. Agitated and distracted, she paid no
attention to her surroundings.
Suddenly, Willow let out a gasping yelp and clutched her head as a barrage
of images assaulted her mind. She doubled over and sank to her knees in the
middle of the sidewalk, oblivious to the onlookers who gawked at her odd
behavior.
A rapid, staccato pulse of faces, voices, and events paralyzed her. No,
please! It couldn't be starting again! Willow hunched down and released a
tortured, keening whine as she fought to stabilize herself.
Slowly, she realized it was working. The more Willow focused on regaining a
sense of calm, the more the chaos of memories receded. After a few more
minutes she was able to stand up, albeit shakily.
Willow looked around and met curious, shocked stares. One older man muttered
"addict" with disgust. Willow quickly glanced away and began walking again,
her eyes downcast and arms wrapped tightly around herself.
Streets, intersections, buildings, cars, and people came and went, but
Willow scarcely noticed them. She lost all sense of where she was or what
time it was. All she could think of were the lives -- millions of lives --
she'd ruined. In her mind's eye, she could see their faces.
She could hear Dawn screaming, crying, begging her to stop. Willow
desperately wanted to block out the memory of that night and how badly she'd
hurt Dawn, but it was burned into her.
A painful flash of images seared through her brain. Digging her fingernails
into her scalp, Willow staggered forward. Stop it! Stop it! Light and color
danced before her eyes in a disorienting wave of sensations. Unable to calm
her rising panic, Willow stumbled blindly.
So vivid were the impulses firing through her neurons that Willow never
heard the squealing brakes or saw the truck bearing down on her.
(To Be Continued)
AUTHOR: Medea
TITLE: Judgment (17/?)
E-MAIL: medealives@hotmail.com
PAIRING: Willow/Angel friendship, Buffy/Spike, Willow/Tara
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: Willow's joyride in 'Wrecked' was only the beginning of her
downward spiral. When her addiction to power makes her a destroyer of
worlds, Angel may be the only one who can help her deal with the aftermath.
Meanwhile, an old friend returns with news of a threat to Buffy and Spike.
SPOILERS: Through BtVS "Smashed" and "Wrecked"; and AtS "Birthday"
ARCHIVE: Please do.
DISCLAIMER: Joss created. I am not Joss. Therefore, not mine, never will be.
FEEDBACK: Much appreciated: medealives@hotmail.com
Chapter Seventeen
The scent of antiseptic permeated the air of the emergency room foyer.
Nurses prepared legions of admitting and insurance forms atop sterile, white
counters for the anxious cross-section of humanity who waited for news of
their friends and family. Old, young, black, white, stoic, haggard, weeping,
they stood or sat, scattered amid chairs and magazines.
Against a far wall leaned a leather-clad blond, his face a studied mask of
detachment save for an occasional flair of the nostrils, signaling his
distaste for the pervasive, sterile hospital aroma. Occasionally, his alert
eyes shifted toward another blond, who stood by the pay phone a few paces
away.
"So long as someone can pick us up before sunrise, we'll be okay," Buffy
said into the telephone receiver. "Uh huh....uh huh....I will. Thanks,
Giles."
Hanging up, Buffy rejoined Spike.
"Nurse flitted by while you were on the phone. Said they'd be ready to
discharge Willow in fifteen or twenty," the blond vampire informed her,
nodding toward a set of swinging doors further down the corridor.
"She's okay?" Buffy pressed.
Spike snorted and his lips twisted into a wry grin. "Far as they can tell,
yeah. Nurse said somethin' 'bout a sprained wrist, but 's mostly scrapes and
bruises. 'Course, they don't know 'bout her other problems."
Sternly, Buffy warned, "And they're not going to."
Shrugging indifferently, Spike asked, "We got a ride back?" At Buffy's
awkward, silent nod, he groaned, "Oh balls -- Peaches, right?"
Another nod. Spike released an exasperated sigh. "Guess it'll be one hell of
a ride."
"Wesley's coming with him," Buffy explained. "Giles told me Angel nearly
flipped when he heard about Willow's near miss with a truck. Something about
a charge from some 'powers that be'."
Rolling his eyes in disdain, Spike observed, "Knew he'd manage to twist this
'round to be his fault. Bloody champion for the forces of all that's good
and right--"
"Hey!" Buffy glared indignantly and elbowed him in the ribs. "No sneering at
White Hats around yours truly. Slayer, remember? I'm one of those champions
of all that's good and right." After a pause, Buffy's expression clouded and
she murmured uncertainly, "At least...I'm supposed to be..."
Spike narrowed his eyes and rested a hand on her shoulder. "What're you on
about, luv?"
"Just...I don't know..." Buffy sighed. Her brow wrinkled in contemplation as
she tried to put her anxieties into words. "Nothing makes sense, or maybe
everything is starting to make a kind of sense that's really scary. Do you
know what my worst fear was when I first found out I was the Slayer?"
Sobering, Spike brushed his knuckles tenderly across her cheek and guessed,
"Short life span?"
Buffy shook her head. Locking her eyes on his, she confessed, "Being turned.
Becoming the very thing I was chosen to fight."
Spike tensed and steeled her with a resolute gaze. "I told you. I'd never
change you against your will," he protested in a low voice.
"I'm already changing," Buffy countered. She stepped back, folded her arms
across her chest and leaned against the wall. Her expression grew
introspective. "Every day, it gets harder and harder to see things the way I
used to. I never thought of myself as a killer...but I *am* made for the
hunt. What you showed me tonight about what I can sense? It was...hard...I
don't want to be *that*, a hunter. But I met the first Slayer. I know that
instinct has been part of all of us. You said it yourself: death is my art."
Moving to stand in front of her, Spike lightly gripped her forearms and
insisted, "Bein' a hunter isn't like bein' a killer, not in the way you're
worried about. You're not evil."
"But I'm not as different as I used to think I was. I know what your world
feels like. And I...I guess it's harder to make choices. Nothing stands out
as the right path any more. I used to be afraid that the darkness I fought
would swallow me up, that it was a future I couldn't escape. Now I'm in my
future, and I *am* part of the darkness...it's part of me...and it seems
normal. I don't know what to think."
For a few moments, Spike said nothing. He drew closer and raised one hand to
stroke her cheek. Then, nudging her beneath the chin to bring her eyes up to
his, he said, "Dying changes you. So does coming back from the grave. There
aren't any rules you can have faith in any more. Can't even count on death
to be certain. It can be frightening to know that you make it up as you go
along -- terrifying, exciting, and powerful. Sorry, luv, I can't give you
any answers to make it easier. I've been at this for over a century, and I
haven't found any."
Seeing the conflict in the Slayer's eyes, Spike leaned in and kissed her.
Her lips parted beneath his, allowing him to indulge in a tender
exploration. Buffy's mouth was warm and sweet, as always, and it spurred him
on. His lips caressed hers, now teasing, now demanding, punctuated by gentle
nibbles and bites that reflected his true nature.
Suddenly, Spike stilled and withdrew his lips a hair's breadth from Buffy's.
He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Buffy's, scowling in
momentary frustration. Without needing to glance over his shoulder, he
growled, "Hello, Peaches. Come to give us a lift?"
Shifting to Buffy's side, the blond vampire finally looked at his elder, who
stood, glowering and silent, a few paces away next to Wesley. Although it
was evident that Angel was struggling to conceal his emotions, he wasn't
able to mask the betrayal in his eyes. Spike felt Buffy tense beside him and
gave her a reassuring squeeze.
"Thank you for coming, Angel," Buffy murmured.
Angel stared at her with a heartbreaking expression of loss for a split
second, before answering tightly, "I need to make sure Willow is okay. She
has an important task to complete."
In the awkward pause, Wesley shifted uneasily, turned toward the swinging
doors down the corridor, and said, "I'll go see if they're ready to
discharge Ms. Rosenberg."
*****
Angel glanced in the rear view mirror as he steered his convertible back to
the Hyperion. Buffy and Willow were reflected back to him -- minus a
devious, conniving blond vampire Angel unfortunately knew was with them. The
mirror allowed Angel to pretend, if only for a while, that things were
different.
He would always love Buffy. He knew they couldn't be together. It was more
than a simple matter of his curse. They were both champions, they each had
their duties -- but not in the same place. Painful as it was, Angel had
forced himself to accept it. He was ready to wish her happiness with
whomever she could find it.
But did it have to be Spike?!
Did it have to be one of his own line? So close to what he, himself, had
been. Spike's love of violence and destruction was second to none. His trail
of victims, impressive enough in itself, also included two Slayers. It
stabbed at Angel's heart to see him with Buffy.
*Why could it work for Spike, but not for me?* Angel lamented inwardly.
*What's so wrong with me?*
Willow's voice, soft and frightened, pulled Angel out of his melancholy
thoughts.
"Please don't take me back there. Don't make me stay near Dawn."
"Willow, enough," Buffy ordered. "Get a grip on yourself. I don't like this
any more than you do. Giles convinced me you weren't trying to hurt Dawn,
but you're not entirely stable, either. That doesn't change the fact that
there are too many people threatening all of us. I'm all for safety in
numbers right now. Maybe we could have Tara and Giles try to bind your
powers again."
Angel opened his mouth to disagree, knowing that this would interfere with
what Whistler had said about the Powers expecting Willow to repair the
damage she'd done. However, before he could speak, Wesley beat him to the
punch.
"That's not likely to work," Wesley ventured diplomatically, meeting Buffy's
eyes in the rear-view mirror.
"Why not?" Buffy demanded warily.
With a thoughtful lift of the eyebrows, Wesley explained, "Well, there's the
obvious: it didn't work the first time you tried it with the Ptersian
spheres. Then there's the unusual response the spheres had to your attempt.
I continued my research on the phenomenon you described, and I think I
understand it better."
"What's the sitch?" Buffy's voice had an urgent edge to it, which Angel
recognized as the sign that she knew the conversation was important. Gone
was her characteristic flippancy. "What went wrong with them?"
"Nothing went wrong, per se, but it appears that higher Powers used the
spheres as vessels for their own purpose. You said that Tara threw one
against a wall, but a force of some sort prevented it from shattering?"
Wesley asked.
"Yeah. Tara was pretty sure it wasn't Willow's doing, but other than that we
couldn't figure it out," Buffy confirmed.
"Ptersian spheres were designed to contain magic energies, or to serve as a
conduit for those energies," Wesley continued. "You were unable to bind
Willow's powers within the four spheres because someone -- the Powers That
Be, I suspect -- had pre-empted your use of that space. I'd suspected as
much, but wasn't sure because I couldn't imagine what could have been so
important that the Powers would wish to utilize the spheres right at the
moment of your attempt to contain Willow."
Angel's eyes narrowed in dawning realization. "The worlds -- all six of
them. Somehow, the powers channeled them through the Ptersian spheres into
Willow's mind."
Wesley nodded. "It would explain why the spheres went dormant when she
regained consciousness. Until her mind was stable enough to host the worlds,
the Powers suspended them in the spheres. I would venture to say that the
spheres also served as an environment in which the worlds could be adapted
sufficiently to the human mind -- we are finite creatures, after all, and
there are limits to what we can handle."
"Whoa, hold on!" Buffy yelped in alarm. Angel's gaze flicked to the
rear-view mirror again, and he saw her glance from Wesley to Willow and back
again. "What's the deal with Willow's head?"
"You've got to be bloody joking!" Spike exclaimed simultaneously. "After all
the damage she's done, you're sayin' these Powers wanted to make sure she
kept her mojo?"
"I'm supposed to make it right. All of the lives I destroyed -- they're
still with me, and I have to fix it," Willow murmured in a tight voice.
Before anyone could press further, Angel pulled up before the Hyperion and
shut off the engine. As they all climbed out of the car, Willow whispered
numbly, "I can't do it...I can't. It's too big, and I'd have to use
magic..."
Angel studied Willow intently as they walked toward the hotel's entrance. He
saw her shrink away from Buffy's attempts to draw her out, and watched as
she slowly turned in on herself, returning to the haunted shell she'd been
when the Sunnydale crew had first arrived. He wished he knew how to help
her. Whistler seemed to think he could do it, but Whistler's only advice had
been to "use what he's got".
What was that supposed to mean?
The dark vampire had little time to consider this, because the instant he,
Buffy, Spike, Willow, and Wesley entered the lobby, Willow let out a pitiful
whine and tried to back out the door. She backed right into Angel, and it
was only his firm grip on her arms that prevented her from fleeing again.
Angel was unsurprised to discover the source of Willow's agitation: Dawn,
who stood in the center of the lobby, with Giles.
"Hi, Willow," said Dawn, offering a shy, hesitant wave.
Trembling in Angel's grip, Willow begged, "Please, Dawn, go away. For your
own sake, go upstairs...or...or...Giles, set up a dampening field. Anything.
Dawn, you're too close!"
"I thought we should talk," Dawn insisted. "I think I can help you."
"It's too dangerous. I can't risk hurting anyone!" Willow protested.
As the frightened witch pressed back against him, Angel had a flash of
insight. Still uncomfortable addressing Buffy, he said to Giles, "I'll take
Willow to her room and stay with her until she calms down. She's not ready
to talk with Dawn yet."
Giles nodded and gave Dawn a reassuring smile. Angel guided Willow past
them. Her heart thundered deafeningly for the few paces that brought her
near Dawn and Angel worried that Willow might hyperventilate. He hoped she
wouldn't -- for this to work, he needed her fully conscious.
As soon as they were in Willow's room and he'd closed the door behind them,
Angel shoved her so violently that she stumbled and fell to the floor.
Stunned, she looked up at him with wide eyes, her earlier panic replaced by
confusion. His acute sense of smell picked up on her sudden rush of sweat
and the tell-tale scent of adrenaline. Good. Somewhere in there, Willow
still had a sense of self-preservation.
"I don't have time for this," Angel bit out tersely, staring coldly at the
fallen redhead. In his stance, his voice, and his demeanor, he projected the
daunting image of his dark alter-ego. "I let Buffy bring you here as a
favor, but I have enough to worry about without your problems. There are
more fanatics after my son than I can count, and your little stunt tonight
diverted too much attention away from the hotel. That left him vulnerable. I
won't let that happen again -- nothing takes priority over Connor."
Angel stalked toward her. Cowering, Willow stammered, "I-I'm sorry! I
d-didn't mean--"
"Shut up."
His voice was soft, and all the more terrifying for the absolute calm with
which he menaced the confused girl. Grabbing her by the upper arms, Angel
yanked Willow up against him and morphed to his demon face.
"Draining you would be quick, but too suspicious," Angel murmured against
her neck. He thrust her away and she collided against the wall with a
resounding thud. "But if I snap your neck, I'll probably be able to convince
them that I had no choice. It's obvious that you're about to lose it."
"Angel, what are you doing?!" Willow squeaked in terror.
"Protecting my son," he answered coldly, moving toward her. He seized Willow
and spun her around, crooking his arm around her neck in a head-lock. Willow
expelled a desperate gasp as Angel tightened his grip. "You're too unstable,
and dealing with you and your problems is putting Connor at risk. My
energies have to be focused on him, no matter the cost."
Angel jerked her forcefully against him. Please let this work...
"You don't want to do this. Angel, this isn't you!" Willow protested, tears
flowing down her cheeks.
"What do you know about me? You think as long as my soul is intact, I'm all
sweetness and light? News flash, Willow: even with a soul, I'm still a
vampire. Crossing me is dangerous, because I *will* protect what's mine. If
this means sacrificing you, it's a price I'm willing to pay."
"The price is too high. Not because of what will happen to me. I deserve to
die. But because of what will happen to you. You're willing to destroy the
good in you, all to protect Connor. It will hurt him more, though, if you
sacrifice yourself just to--"
Willow stopped abruptly. Angel released her from his stranglehold and
stepped back, knowing that she had just grasped it. She turned to face him.
Gone was her fear and self-loathing, replaced by narrowed, accusing eyes.
"That was mean, Angel."
He offered her a brief, apologetic smile before his expression sobered to
one of deep empathy. "You're no more evil than I am, Willow. You don't
deserve to die. And it doesn't do anyone any good if you're so set on
protecting other people from yourself that you destroy the core of who you
are."
Willow's shoulders slumped and her eyes closed in defeat. "But I don't want
to hurt anyone. I've already done so much harm...I can see their faces all
the time...hundreds of them..."
Gently, Angel placed his hands on Willow's arms and guided her over to her
bed. He sat down with her, rested his elbows on his knees, and stared into
the distance for a few moments, searching for the right words.
Eventually, he confessed, "There isn't a day that goes by that I'm not
reminded of someone I killed...someone I tortured. I see them in my
dreams...when I'm trying to concentrate on a book and lose
focus...Sometimes, by sheer coincidence, I see someone on the street who
looks like a past victim. It happens to everyone -- like seeing someone who
could be a movie star's double, or who resembles an old high school friend.
For most people, the experience is just...curious. For me, it's a past I can
never escape. The faces are always there and the memories never fade."
Willow looked up at him with forlorn, yet wondering, eyes. "How do you do
it? How do you keep going?"
"I just do. I have to," Angel explained, gently grasping Willow's hand in
his. "You can, too, Willow. Let me help you."
*****
From a concealed vantage point across the street from the Hyperion, Daniel
Holtz studied the movements of the hotel's occupants through a pair of
binoculars.
Much improved, since his time.
The recent arrivals in the lobby seemed troubled to the point of
distraction, arguing animatedly with each other, from what he could tell.
Good.
The greater their distraction, the greater their weakness. Soon, he would
strike and exact his revenge on the demon Angelus.
(To Be Continued)