Book Two - A New Life

Title: The Numbers Game

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG

Feedback: Yes, please.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Inc.

Summary: This book is the sequel to the Twist on NA series. The beginning of a new arc, or a new season. Basically, I operated on the assumption that the NA series ended with the end of S6 and this picks up at the beginning of S7. They are not really separate entities, but rather a continuation after a duration of time.

The Numbers Game

It was a beautiful night. She could see every star, every moonbeam, every point of light in the late summer sky. She walked slowly, heavily along the path, remembering the steps. There were precisely 442 footfalls from her house to the gates of the cemetery. 62 from the main road to the footpath. 18 from the path to his door. The last 18 were always the longest. 18 steps.

Buffy knocked on the door of the crypt. No answer. She knocked again.

Still silence. Quietly, she let herself in, lighting a candle by the door and taking it with her. Candle was wasting away. Maybe time to get a new one.

"You should learn to use candles in foreplay." She heard his voice. Buffy wheeled around, but it was silent again. The voice was inside her head.

"Spike?" she called out tentatively. No answer. She walked along the wall, trailing her fingers on the cold stone. Walking the perimeter of the upper level. "Spike?" she called again. Nothing.

Buffy walked both levels, her hand connecting with the stone. She could

feel him here. She felt him everywhere. The walls, the doors, the bed, the moon, the clouds, the streets, the alleys, the trees, the bushes and most of all, growing inside of her. A neat little package of comfort and torture.

She finished her rounds. Nothing but stone and furniture and half-burnt

candles. Slowly, she made her way to the bed and sat on the edge, staring at the flickers of the candle flame. The shadows on the wall. "Guess you aren't home," she whispered, setting the candle on the table next to the bed.

There was a pad and pen sitting where the candle now rested. She lifted the pad, turning it in her hands. Fingering the pen like the blade of a sword. Buffy sat the tablet in her lap and ran the pen across the paper, just high enough that the nib did not touch.

"You're a tease, Love." His voice again. Still she spun, searching the

room. But it was only in her head.

Buffy steadied herself, then dropped the point to the paper.

I love you, Spike.

She had written it 94 times. Every night since the schoolyard. Every night she came to the crypt, running her hands along the stone. Checking to see if this was all just a nightmare. Finding out that it was not.

The first night was blurred with panic and fear. She remembered being sick. Rocking in the grass. Forcing herself to *say the words* to Dawn even though she had not believed them herself.

He's gone.

She had bolted from the schoolyard, outrunning herself, chugging on weak and wounded legs to the cemetery. To the crypt. Thinking he'd just gone home.

Maybe he had.

But not this home.

She had walked the walls, calling his name, but he wouldn't answer. She was so angry. He promised he would never leave! She had torn the place apart, but he never showed.

That was the night she discovered the tablet. Only one page had been used. The poem he had told her he had written in Africa. Murderers and Saviors we were. Every night. She cried as she read it. She cried when she was through. It occurred to her that in all the time she had known him, she had managed to admit to almost everyone that she loved the Vampire. But she had never said it to him. Now she would never say it.

I love you, Spike.

She had written it 94 times. 94 nights. 94 lifetimes.

And she would write it every night.

Buffy eased her tired body onto the bed, curling up in the sheets. Curling up inside of herself. It was safer there. There they were together. She wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes.

'You know I love you, right?'

'Yes'

'I'll always be with you'

'I'm glad. I don't ever want to be without you.'

Damn my pride, she thought. I could've just said it. I meant it all along. I had known I meant it since Glory. Damn my stupid pride.

'You know I love you, right?'

'Yes. I love you too.'

How hard would that have been?

Buffy squeezed her eyes tighter, willing herself someplace else.... On the couch. He was pressed against her. Basking in the afterglow, as he liked to say. When he told her that he heard their heartbeats and it sounded like rain. Her heart had nearly burst with happiness. Not that she said anything.

Did he even know?

Kate Bush song played over and over inside her mind.

"All the things I should've said that I never said.

All the things I should've done though I never did

All the things that you needed from me.

All the things that you wanted for me.

Oh, darling, make it go..."

She lay there quietly every night. 94 nights running.

What wouldn't I do to go back?, she thought.

Nothing.

Just to say it.

He deserved that.

*****

"Buffy?" Her eyes popped open. It was dark and cold. A candle flickered to life in the doorway.

"Dawn?" she answered. Buffy hoisted her body up onto her elbows. Eight months and counting. There was no denying it now.

"Thought you might be here," the girls said, crossing the room to the bed. She perched on the edge next to her sister.

"Must have fallen asleep," Buffy replied, lifting her hand to rub her eyes and immediately flopping back to the pillows. Slayer abs were not going to be enough to hold her up now. "Ugh," she grunted, stretching out.

"Doing OK?" Dawn asked, rubbing her sister's calves. Buffy purred in

response.

"Considering the wiggly heavy thing that has taken up residence in my belly and the fact that it never stops tap dancing, I'm fine," Buffy responded, her hands planted on the bulge in her abdomen. She was being kicked nearly constantly now. What did she expect considering the parents?

"Angry baby?" Dawn asked, rubbing Buffy's belly and getting an invisible

foot to the palm.

"Very cranky," Buffy answered.

They were quiet for a long time. Buffy knew that Dawn felt him there too. Sensed him everywhere.

"You miss him a lot, don't you Buffy?" Dawn asked. Seemed like the

understatement of the century.

"Yeah," Buffy whispered, feeling the hot tears welling in the backs of her eyes. She willed them back, but a few strays escaped. Dawn brushed them off Buffy's cheeks.

"Come on, Moby Dick," Dawn chided, "time to go home." She pulled Buffy

upright and onto her feet. Buffy tried to think of a clever comeback, but she felt like the great white whale today.

They padded through the crypt hand in hand. At the door, Buffy stopped,

looking around again. "I am home," she whispered to the air. The door

closed softly behind her.

To be contd.

Title: La Maison Rouge

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG-13

Feedback: Yes, please

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy etc... Just borrowing.

Summary: Spike is gone, but where did he go?

La Maison Rouge



The last thing he remembered was seeing her face.

She wasn't supposed to be there. She wasn't supposed to be in danger everagain. At least not while he was around. That plan didn't pan out. 'The best laid plans of mice and men,' he thought.

She shouldn't have seen him draining Willow. That's burned into her mind now. One step forward, ten steps back. 'I hope I didn't kill the girl', he thought. Not only because of Buffy, but because he knew the power of grief and rage. Couldn't really say he wouldn't have done the same thing.

The redness had closed in and blocked his vision. Didn't matter. He still saw her face. 'Cept now it was her peeking over the back of the couch, locking eyes with him. 'She never did *say she loved me,' he thought. He knew.

"I love you, Spike," Her voice was rhapsody. He turned in the red haze and saw her sitting on the edge of their bed, writing. She was crying. Then it clicked off like someone hit the off button on a remote. Back to red haze.

Spike floated in the redness forever. Monotonous, eye-glazing redness. It was not a pleasant, cloud like float either. More like a canoe in a lava sea during an earthquake. His skin stung from it. His eyes burned. The taste of blackness stuck in his mouth. Funny, he wasn't sure he would've noticed it had he not tasted the sweetness of her lips.

He was jolted, then plummeted downward, hitting the ground with a thunderous thud. "Bloody hell," he uttered, rubbing the back of his head where it had met with a rock. Slowly, he pulled himself up, sitting on the soil, and looked around. Acres and acres of rocks. Red and grey. Every shape and size. "Not one for the bleeding scenery," he said, standing and taking a few awkward steps forward.

Then he noticed it. The faces emerging in the rock. Screaming, animate

visages, banging against the stone. Spike jumped back, trying to avoid the captured spirits, but they were everywhere. Acres and acres of screaming bloody rocks.

He gathered himself, cutting out the noise, replacing it with the patter of rain in his mind. He laughed at himself. Five years ago, the screams would have been music, a symphony, to his ears. Now the sound of her heartbeat, their heartbeats, quieted his spinning mind. "Lousy sodding demon I am."

"I love you, Spike." He heard it again. Her voice. He knew her every

utterance from agony to ecstasy. It was her. He wheeled around, staring at the rocks.

"Please don't be here," he whispered to himself, frantically scanning the screaming faces. But she wasn't there. He glimpsed her on the edge of the bed again, writing. Then she was gone.

"Torture, is it?" He screamed at the air. "That what this lot's about?

Penance?"

"Not exactly," a well dressed man answered. Cute when Buffy was snarky, but not when some stranger appearing from thin air in a Calvin Klein suit and cowboy boots tries it.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" Spike asked, searching his jacket for a

cigarette. None.

"Looking for these?" the man asked, crushing the pack in his palm. "Sorry *William*, guess you quit."

"How the hell do you know my name?" Spike asked, a mixture of anger and

confusion flitting across his face.

"William, *baby*, we're almost family," the man exclaimed, wrapping his arm around Spike's shoulder. Spike hastily disentangled himself from the hold. " I started the whole vamp movement. Well, it was supposed to be a prank, but kinda grew on me, so it became a *movement*. You get the picture."

"Bloody well don't," Spike snarled.

"Name is Mephistopheles. Most people call me Luke. But you can call me

whatever you like, " the man stated, holding out his hand. Spike brushed the gesture off. "Well, we *were* family," the man continued, swiping his hands on his pants, "but I forgot, you're the 'black sheep'". He gestured those annoying quotation marks in the air.

"Walk with me, Willie," Luke said, beginning to stroll forward. Spike

reluctantly followed. "There was a time, not so long ago, when you would've liked this place. Lots of brawls and torture and bloodshed. You know, fun stuff. Never quite as perfect for it as Angelus and *whoa*, that Darla. She was a babe...."

"The point, perhaps?" Spike interrupted, attempting to avoid treading on as many screaming faces as possible.

"'The Point'," Luke said, again with the air quotes, "is that at one time, you would've been very happy at La Maison Rouge," He gestured and an enormous red mansion appeared in front of them as quickly and oddly as Luke himself had appeared. "But now you've gone all soft, Willie."

"I'm hardly soft," Spike replied with indignation, trying to puff his chest out.

"Oh, *please*, Willie. Poetry. Love. Little blonde mortal enemies to whose every whim you cater? Bouncy toe headed babies in little pink onesies and pushing prams in the harsh light of day?"

"Wait a bloody minute, " Spike angrily retorted, "There are no.... What the hell is a onesie? And I'm a vampire. Burst into flames and the like," he gushed.

"May have gotten a little ahead of myself there but you get the picture. So now, what would've been... well.... Heaven... to you, is now your hell."

"I'm not following, mate?" Spike questioned, baffled by the man's constant spiral of logic.

"Do I have to spell it out?" Luke whined, grabbing Spike by the neck and

tossing him what Spike thought to be a good thirty yards to the steps of the manor house. "You're a traitor to your breed, man. A sell out. Nobility? Love? Fatherhood? *Please*. You're a pansy."

"I'm no sodding pansy," Spike huffed, standing up and running at the man.

"And I'm not evil," Luke replied, eyes glaring a piercing ruby red. Spike stopped in his tracks. "Anyway," the man continued, back to his normal human face, normal brown eyes, "I'm the resident hell god around here and, well, we can't have nancy boy formally evil vampires running all willy nilly around my perfectly nasty dimension. So," he continued," gonna hafta lock you up."

Next thing Spike knew, he was chained to a stone wall in what looked to be the basement. Luke appeared in front of him with a flash.

"What? Can't even plead my case?" Spike complained.

"I love you, Spike". He heard her again. Instinctively he spun his head at the sound of her voice, searching for her.

"Case closed," Luke said with disgust, snapping himself out of the room.

To be contd.

Title: Revelations (part 3 - New Life)

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG - 13

Feedback: Yes, please

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.. Just Borrowing.

Summary: Willow reappears at the magic box and tries to begin to patch

things up with her friends. But the news she gives them ends up hurting

them more.

Revelations

"Hey, it's Buff Plus," Xander joked as Buffy strolled into the Magic Box

with a little jingle of the door.

Buffy smirked in reply. "Go on, make with the funnies while I can't wipe the floor with you."

"Cranky today, are we?" Xander laughed, pulling out a chair and helping

Buffy get comfortable.

"I think you look beautiful," Tara said, smiling serenely.

"Thanks Tara, but we all know the truth," Buffy retorted, squinching her

face and smiling back at her. "Just time to get the little monster out."

"Um, someone please note that it was *not* me that called it a monster,"

Xander said, raising his hand and looking around the room.

"Didn't mean it like *that*," Buffy answered, smacking Xander in the

shoulder and erupting into giggles. "So, tell me what I missed on patrol last night. Let me live vicariously."

"Not very much, Buffy," Giles said, trying to sound consoling, "Few

fledgling vampires..." He was sliding books onto the shelves in front of

her.

"What about the battle with the Janx demon?" Anya exclaimed, wide eyed.

Xander and Giles both shot her an evil glance.

"You got a battle!" Buffy whined "With a Janx demon? Oh, man, no fair." She was in full pout mode now. "What's a Janx demon?"

"Big, snotty, slow, easy to kill. Didn't miss much," Xander replied,

patting her shoulder.

The door jingled open again. Willow made her way through the late afternoon sunshine and into their safe haven.

Nothing had been even remotely the same since the playground. Once any of them recovered enough to even speak to the girl, they found that Willow had no recollection of any of it. Seems that those shiny memories were either with Rack or Spike. Willow had been in the hospital for a week, then had admitted herself to a psychiatric ward for over a month after that. While she was there, she had tried to kill herself. Some demented thought that maybe her death would bring back what she had apparently taken. Buffy wished she would get over the bringing back fixation.

Willow still went to the hospital every day. She was spending her nights with her parents. No one could bear to look upon her long enough to let her stay.

Xander and Giles both stood as Willow approached, moving instinctively

closer to Buffy. All of them were.... Trying..... to work through this.

Buffy was having the hardest time. To her, it had not been just Warren

Willow had killed, but Spike.

"Hi," Xander finally choked out.

"Hi," Willow responded sullenly, waving like a child.

It was too awkward. They had all seen her since... that night... but no one ever knew what to say. It helped very little that they had discovered that Warren had been a demon, or at least part demon, when Willow and Rack had killed him. Mostly because Willow had not known. She thought him human and killed him anyway. The rest of them only discovered this when Warren had melted into a pool of sickly goo not long after Buffy had fled the scene.

Buffy had tried to forgive Willow. If anyone should, Buffy felt it was her duty to try. The Slayer was guilty of killing in the name of those she loved. She was even guilty of torture. Still, every time that Buffy got close to the point that she *might* look Willow in the eyes again, she ran into a brick wall. If Willow had never gone to Rack, if Rack had never taken Willow's hurt and anger and twisted it into murder, Spike would not have...gone.

Giles had spent quite a bit of time with the girl, despite the fact that she had given him a fractured skull and broken clavicle. He was the one who had told Willow everything. Every detail, so she understood fully that dark magic had it's price and that everyone paid the toll.

They had all paid dearly that night.

"Uh, what brings you by Willow?" Giles stuttered, standing between Willow and the chair in which Buffy was parked. He did not know why, but he felt an urgent responsibility to protect his Slayer again.

"I...I need to talk to Buffy, " Willow croaked, trying not to cry.

"I'm not sure if that's a good idea," Xander replied. "All emotional and stuff."

"Hello, right here," Buffy said, waving her hand. "What is it, Willow?" She was measuring her voice again. Trying to be non-committal in tone. Not to show the anger or the fear or the need to forgive.

"I....I think we should talk in private," Willow answered.

"NO!" Giles and Xander both answered in unison. They did not trust Willow. Neither of them was sure that they ever would. Frankly, they didn't trust Buffy's ability to handle private conversation with the woman who was responsible for her lover's death either. Buffy was the Slayer. She was equally likely to come out with either a nervous breakdown or with a very bruised Willow.

"It's...personal," Willow said, fighting hard against the tears. Despite all that Tara had been through at her former lover's hands, she stood, walking to Willow, resting a hand on her shoulder.

"You can say it in front of all of us, Willow," Tara said in that soothing, serene voice. "It's best that way." Willow just nodded, walking toward the table. They all quietly sat in awkward silence.

"First of all," Willow began, the tears now streaming down her cheeks, " I need to say how sorry..." She was choking on the words. "How sorry I am for everything." No one could look at her. Willow was shaking, fidgeting, crying. Forgiveness was never easy. "I know that I've said it a hundred times and it really doesn't mean much," the girl continued, her fingers flickering across the sleeve of her shirt. The deep crimson scars were still livid on her wrists.

Tara put a hand on Willow's shoulder and the small quiet girl broke down. Buffy had to turn away. She couldn't bear the feelings of wanting to comfort and wanting to smack coming down on her at the same time. She had to try. This wasn't good for any of them.

"Willow?" Giles asked softly, " What did you come for, exactly?"

"I was trying to get there," Willow answered, flashing a nervous smile. " I know I can never take back what ...I ...did..."

"You and Rack," Xander corrected.

"What *I* did," Willow continued. "All I can do is try and make things

right."

"I don't like where this is going," Buffy commented flatly. Willow's eyes were huge.

"Buffy, I..."

"I think that you've done enough with the 'making-things-right-playing-God' bit," Buffy snapped. "Things happen. We die. We should stay dead." It sounded odd coming from her lips. Almost hypocritical.

"No, Buffy," Willow erupted nervously, "no..no..no magic."

"Then what?" Buffy said, metering her voice again. Removing the anger and the fear.

"I ... need to do good things. Positive things. Help people. It's the

only way for me to make a dent in my debt...."

"What sort of good things, Will?" Xander asked. None of them were ready to have her back working with them.

" I just want to help."

" I think it's a little premature, Willow," Giles said reasonably, fiddling with his glasses.

" I know.". The tears rolled steadily down her cheeks. " I will never

expect you to trust me again. How can I?" Willow said sullenly, staring down at the table, tears plopping onto the wood. Buffy swallowed hard and looked away. She had always trusted Willow. With everything. Until Willow made the fatal decision of raising Buffy. It was different after that. "But I have some things to tell you. Important things."

"Like what, Willow?" Tara asked, trying to be understanding, even

encouraging.

"This is the personal part," Willow answered, a nervous giggle escaping her lips.

"If it's important, we all need to know," Buffy said, trying to look at her. Trying not to turn away from the girl who used to be her best friend.

"I... I've had a lot of free time," Willow began, " and I've been doing some research. Old school. Books and the internet and stuff. And Buffy, there is a precedent for what is happening with you."

>"What?" Giles exclaimed, nearly falling out of his seat.

"There is an account in the Tarangi texts, the ancient African ones, about how Slayer physiology is slightly different than other human beings."

"Like the super strength," Anya interjected.

"Right," Willow answered. "The very thing that gives the Slayer super

strength and super healing also has other consequences."

"What are you getting at, Will?" Xander asked.

"It's like the cells of their bodies move faster, generate more energy, get hot. Like an engine heating. And that energy has the ability to heat up, revive, what should be dead."

"Now you tell me," Buffy commented, leaning back.

"That's not the important part," Willow replied, fidgeting again. "In the texts, there were two separate accounts of slayers that were impregnated by vampires."

"Two?!" Giles responded, wide eyed. "How could I have missed this?"

"Please," Willow interrupted. " I can show you later. In both cases,

things didn't.. turn out well."

"What do you mean?" Xander said slowly. Buffy's face was white.

"In the first account, the child was still born and the slayer was depleted of her powers, either by the trauma or some physical glitch."

"And the other?" Buffy asked, feeling the terror rise within her.

"Both the child and the Slayer died," Willow responded quietly, looking down at the tabletop.

Buffy exploded inside. Shattered. She had let Spike die without ever

telling him that she loved him. Since that moment, she had held onto the thought that she could make it up to him in some small way by telling the piece of him that she had left that she loved her, that she loved her father, every day. But now... now that was gone too. Buffy wanted to storm out, to run, but weakened legs trapped her. The tears began to slide from the corners of her eyes.

"There must be something." Giles muttered, trying to touch Buffy's hand.

Buffy pulled away violently, crawling back inside herself. Scrambling for safety.

"There is, I think," Willow said softly, "but it does involve magic. I

found a protection spell..."

"No, no," Xander chanted, shaking his head.

"Tara can do it...or..or Giles. It's a protection spell. Good magic."

"What are the chances it would work?" Buffy asked solemnly.

"Fifty fifty," Willow responded, dejected. "But it's better than the odds without it."

Buffy was silent for a long moment. "Giles, can you look into this?" Buffy asked, trying to remain composed while feeling like she was running on a treadmill that was going *way* too fast.

"Of course," he answered with a swipe of the glasses. "I'll find

something."

"Is that all, Willow?" Buffy queried, turning her face back to the broken girl. A series of emotions played on the Slayer's face. Anger, resentment, most of all, fear.

"No," Willow whispered. Buffy's heart sank.

" I think that's enough for now," Xander commented, looking over at Buffy. She was ghostly pale; her arms crossed protectively over her stomach, tears streaming down her face.

"No," Buffy said, "What is it?"

"It's Spike," the girl said," he's not dead."

To be contd.

Title: Fireflies (part 4 - New Life)

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG - 13

Feedback: Yes, please

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.. Just Borrowing.

Summary: Willow has just dropped two bombs on the remaining Scoobies. Bombs that could change everything, if they chose to let them....



Fireflies



All of them were completely silent. The air was thick and Buffy could

barely breathe. Of course he was dead. She watched him disappear. Poof. There were no ashes, but Spike was no normal vampire. She just thought that the difference was in the man. He faded away. That was the easiest way for her to remember it. Not the look on his face. Not the awful red glow that seemed to dissolve him. Not her desperate run to try and grab him from the abyss. Spike just was there and then ...gone.

"Wha..what do you mean, Willow?" Tara said. No one thought it had been

possible, but Buffy's face turned one shade whiter. Giles put his hand on her shoulder to steady her. It really looked as if the girl might pass out.

"Anya, could you get some water, please, quickly? " Giles said as Buffy

became obviously overwhelmed and grabbed the arms of the chair. This was too much. Far too much. Anya scurried from the chair to the back room as quickly as possible, coming back with a tumbler almost brimming over. Buffy took an enormous drink and seemed to settle just a little.

"Willow," Buffy asked. "What are you talking about? I saw it happen. so did Xander. With our own eyes."

"I know, Buffy. But I felt it."

Buffy was silent. In some strange way, she felt jealous that it was with Willow that Spike had been so intimately connected with when he died. It was intimacy, in its own way. Feeding was a sensual thing. Pleasure. The most intimate thing in a vampire's existence, except for maybe making love. Or doing both at once. It shocked Buffy that she understood so much about Spike now that he was gone.

"What, exactly, did you feel?" Xander asked, obviously dubious of Willow's revelation.

"You have to understand something about Rack, about how he works, to really get this," Willow said. "Rack was more of a conduit than a warlock. He drew power from other sources, dark sources, and channeled it into himself, or, in the case of that night, into both of us. "

"Many supposed warlocks are truly conduits for multiple power sources,"

Giles contributed. "The more sources, the better."

"Right," Willow agreed. "Rack was one of the best of them. He could draw power from both the white and black magics and turn them into whatever he wanted them to be. Also, he was not limited in drawing from sources in this dimension."

"He was a cross dimensional conduit?" Giles gasped.

"In English, please." Xander said, frustrated with the conversation.

"He was able to not only draw from the magic and innate properties of items in this dimension, but he could also reach into other dimensions and draw power from people and objects there." Tara said to Xander.

"Oh," Xander said, still obviously lost.

"That night, Rack was drawing power from our dimension and one other. I

could feel it. It was completely alien to me. Darker than anything I have ever dealt with on this plane. It was like... acid in my blood." Willow said, shuddering at the thought. A look of understanding finally came over Giles' face. He saw where Willow was taking them. She might just be right.

"What does this have to do with Spike?" Buffy asked, still clutching white knuckled at the arms of the chair.

"He didn't *die*. When he drained Willow, took the darkness from her, the dark powers of this dimension stayed with Rack. As a human, it was too much for him, and he died. Spike must have absorbed the power from the other dimension, and ..." Giles formulated.

"And he got sucked there with it," Anya continued in her less than tactful, but correct, manner.

"This is ridiculous." Buffy said, now flushed with confusion. "He's not living it up in some other dimension while we're still..." Buffy stopped. She had not meant it the way it came out, but as she said it, she thought... maybe he did not want to come back. Maybe he was happy where he was, like she had been.

"Buffy, I don't think it's like that." Willow said in response.

"Well, you don't have a very good track record with that," Buffy snapped. The words bit her almost as hard as they bit Willow. "I'm sorry, Will." She amended.

"I deserved it."

"No, you didn't" Buffy said. "This is just all.. a lot."

"I know. I don't think it is like that though, Buffy. He did not have a choice in the matter. When he connected with it, when he drained it, it took him against his will. I felt him fighting, Buffy. But that much

magic... you saw what it could do."

Buffy nodded. It was some consolation that he had not chose to leave.

Still, he wasn't there and that was the bottom line wasn't it? Maybe he was alive, somewhere, but not here.

"Do you know from which dimensions Rack was drawing power?" Giles asked.

"I'm not sure," Willow answered. Buffy's heart sank again. "But I think I can figure it out."

"How?" Xander asked.

"It's complicated. Oh, and non-magical. But I think I can do it."

"Can I help?" Anya asked. "I'd like to find Spike again and I've been to several dimensions. I might have been there before."

"Sure," Willow answered. "That is if Buffy wants us to look."

Buffy was quiet. What if he was happy there? "Would he have a choice to come back, if we find him?"

"I suppose it would depend on where we find him, and how we chose to get him back," Giles answered for Willow.

Buffy swallowed hard. She wasn't sure how much she meant of what she was about to say, but she knew it was right. "I do not want him back here unless it is his choice. No matter where he is. OK?"

"Ok," Willow answered.

" I need to get out of here," Buffy said, pushing herself to her feet.

"I'll come with you," Xander said, hopping up.

"I'd really rather be alone." Buffy softly smiled back at her friend. He sat back down, knowing there was no arguing with her. " Giles, can you pick Dawn up at the mall at 7 and take her home? I'll be back later."

"Sure," Giles answered, not knowing what else to say to her.

With that, Buffy made her way out into the evening.

*****

Tara, Anya and Willow sat in a circle on the floor, the candle flickering softly in the center. They had made Anya swear to silence. Her duty was only to listen and try and figure out if she knew anything at all about the place they hoped to find.

Willow insisted on being the traveler. In her mind, Spike was lost because of her. She knew it was dangerous, but something in her had to do it. Giles had given them an herb. One that would help them to move between dimensions, but he had warned them of the herb's power. Willow was insistent.

Tara was the anchor. She was to try and keep Willow connected to the land of the living. Or at least *this* land of the living. Tara knew it would be hard to connect with Willow again after everything that had happened, but this was bigger than the both of them.

Willow drank the herbal infusion and her face squinched from the taste.

Tara held out her hands, the candle between her forearms and Willow took

them softly, handling them like porcelain. They connected with a spark, a shock that melted them both. Their eyes connected, then Willow's softly closed. "Take me to Spike," she whispered to the air.

The red headed witch found herself suddenly back on the playground. Visions sped around her from all sides, whipping her skin, hurting her eyes. It seemed everything was moving one hundred times normal speed except for her. Like someone had hit fast forward on a remote control. Willow felt a sharp, almost blinding pain in her neck and her head fell back like a rag doll. She felt his fangs buried in her shoulder and could see a flash of his hair from the corner of her eye. "Spike," she groaned, "take me with you."

The pain was gone. The playground - gone. Everything was red. She felt herself slide out of her skin until all that was left was a tiny ball of light. Still, she could hear Tara's voice in her mind speaking softly, grounding her. She fell steadily like Alice in the rabbit hole.

Suddenly, all the red was gone, and the world began to speed past, only this time she was speeding along with it like dust in a tornado. Blurred pictures sped in front of her eyes. They would stop abruptly like someone had hit pause on the cosmic remote and Willow could make out a still picture before the world began to speed into a dizzying array of light.

There was a forest. A river. A dog. Willow's vision blurred then

screeched to a halt. Rocks, red and gray. Millions of rocks. Faces.

Screaming. Then a cavalcade of color, all shades of red. Freeze. Red

mansion. Blur. Stop. Little men in strange clothes. Blur. Stop. Spike. Spike chained. Thin. Gaunt. Fire. Blood. Blur. Stop. Good-looking man, nice suit, hands sparkling. Spike wincing, roaring. Blur. Stop. Eyes. Blue. Intense. Dying. Heart broken. Blur. Stop. Red eyes glowing. Screaming. Blackness.

"Willow," Tara was screaming, "Willow!"

Willow's eyes fluttered open. She was drenched in sweat and her heart was pounding in her chest. "Tara?"

"Oh, God, Willow," Tara breathed, pulling the girl to her chest, embracing her. Anya stepped in with a wet wash cloth, handing it to Tara. Softly, Tara ran the cloth over the soaked nape of Willow's neck.

" I found him," Willow breathed into Tara's shoulder.

"You did well," Tara answered, smoothing Willow's hair with her soft hands. "You spoke and screamed and cried. It was terrifying."

"It was red. And rocks with people screaming. And a good looking man in a suit..." Willow gushed.

"Luke," Anya chirped. "That's a hell dimension. Big into the brawling and ruckus. Lots of torture. Used to be fun."

"You *know what dimension it is?" Tara asked.

"Sure. Used to go there for parties. La Maison Rouge," Anya mused.

"Red house. Red mansion," Willow panted. "Saw that."

"Big keggers," the former demon reminisced, "very strict guest list."

"How do we get there?" Tara asked.

"Oh, you can't. Unless you go on a killing spree and die." Tara and Willow both looked at Anya, tempted to spell her mouth shut again. " Demons only. Or blood relatives. Humans can't go there. The red haze dissolves them."

"Turns you into a ball of light?" Willow asked, still breathing heavily.

"Fireflies. Can't talk. Can't interact. Just a visual tour. Screws up time too."

"Tell me about it," Willow replied.

"So how do we get Spike?" Tara asked.

"That's a tough one," Anya said, sitting in a chair and rubbing her chin

pensively. "None of us are demons anymore. I doubt Spike has any blood

relatives floating around California..."

"Blood relatives? " Tara asked.

"The baby..." Willow whispered, passing out against Tara's shoulder.

To be contd..

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