Title: Judgment
Author: Medea
Email: 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. Pity, that.
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.
Feedback: Much appreciated: medealives@hotmail.com

~Part: 15~


Dawn listened absently to Fred's giddy chatter as they walked with Gunn back to Caritas, her temporary home.

Home. Yeah, right. There with the rest of the freaks, where she belonged. She frowned. The whole gang was back at the hotel, and meanwhile she was shoved off to the sidelines again, sleeping at some weird demon bar and being babysat all day by two people she hardly knew. All because she was like some kind of cosmic heroin to Willow, and everyone was too busy trying to find a way to protect her to spend any time with her.

"Maybe tomorrow we can go to the beach. Would you like that, Dawn?" Fred asked, smiling shyly.

With a half-hearted shrug, Dawn replied, "Sure. That sounds okay."

Gunn craned his neck and let out an exaggerated sigh. "Well, that's a relief. I don't know how two girls as small as y'all could buy so much...stuff." He punctuated his remark by raising both arms, each heavily laden with shopping bags in a medley of rainbow plastics and stiff, glossy paper.

In spite of the easygoing smile Gunn flashed at her, Dawn winced. Spending all day at one of L.A.'s malls had forced her to struggle with old temptations, and he'd caught her trying to steal a silver bracelet from one store they'd visited. He hadn't made a scene; just told her in a low, steady voice to put it back, then walked away. Gunn hadn't even hovered nearby to ensure that she did as he told her. Maybe it was that, or maybe it was the total lack of shock or disappointment in his eyes, but Dawn had felt ashamed of herself, rather than defensive.

But Gunn had played it cool for the rest of the afternoon, as if nothing had happened. It kind of surprised her.

They made their way into Lorne's establishment just as the shadows which angled across the street were lengthening. It was dusk, and already a patron or two had arrived at the bar.

Lorne approached them in an elegantly tailored, deep red Armani suit that nicely accentuated his vermilion eyes. "Well, looks like you went on a spree that could put Elizabeth Taylor to shame," he noted approvingly. Gesturing to the scaly bartender who was busily polishing glasses, Lorne asked, "Can I have Ronnie fix you anything? A little Shirley Temple after paying homage at the temples of commerce?"

Dawn shrugged indifferently, lowered her gaze and muttered, "I'm fine."

She didn't want to feel comfortable here. She didn't want to let Angel's friends make her feel comfortable. For months upon months, even though she'd been the object of everyone's concern and the center of their efforts to combat the latest threat, be it Glory or Willow, Dawn had nonetheless felt like an outsider. She was so tired of being sheltered, so very tired of being protected to the point that she was closed out of the gang.

Besides, every time she started feeling even the least bit comfortable or reassured about her connection to her family and friends, they left her. She wasn't going to set herself up for that again. Not when this was a temporary arrangement anyway.

"You sure, cupcake?" Lorne asked her in a voice as melodious as a siren's lure. "It's easy to work up an appetite when you're doing serious shopping, and Ronnie makes a mean plate of nachos."

Traitorously, Dawn's stomach chose that moment to rumble, and she was forced to admit that she was hungry.

"I guess that sounds good," she conceded.

"Ooh, nachos!" Fred chimed in with child-like glee.

Lorne beamed indulgently at both of them. "Tell you what, sweet things. I'll have Ronnie fix you up a triple order. Why don't you have a seat?"

Lorne gestured to a nearby table as he headed toward the bar. Meanwhile, Gunn gripped the shopping bags and said, "I'll be right back. Just wanna drop these in your room before my arms fall off."

Dawn joined Fred at the table and fiddled nervously with her hands. She scanned the near-empty room, her glance falling briefly on a spiky, blue demon seated near the stage, then looked back to the shy, youthful woman across from her.

"I know I'm not the greatest company," Fred began, with an awkward, apologetic smile. "I guess that kind of comes from having spent five years living in a cave in a demon dimension..."

Busted.

Inwardly, Dawn cringed even as she reassured her soft-spoken companion, "No, no, I had a great time today. It's just..."

At this point, Lorne set two glasses of water down before them and pulled up a seat. "Got a lot on your mind, huh, pumpkin?"

Dawn frowned in discomfort. At her uneasy pout, Lorne remarked, "Don't take it personally, Dawnie. I do this to everyone. Call it an occupational hazard."

"And do many people tell you to butt out?" Dawn retorted wryly.

"Sure. Angel's one of the worst. Now *there's* a big ball of tension -- doesn't take an anagogic demon to read the pent-up frustration coming off of that one. But will he listen to advice? Nooooooo. That, my dear, would be one of the first signs of the Apocalypse," Lorne observed, leaning forward conspiratorially. This elicited a grin from Dawn, who'd had plenty of her own experience with the dark vampire's stubborn pillar-of-strength routine when he and Buffy had been dating.

Fred giggled. Gunn, who had returned from Lorne's suite, eased into the chair beside Fred's, smiled adoringly at her and asked, "So what are we laughing about?"

"Angel," Dawn supplied with a smirk.

"And how he's not good at opening up," Fred added, returning Gunn's affectionate gaze with equal measure.

"No kidding?" Gunn snorted ironically.

"I suppose I can appreciate that," Fred admitted, self-consciously nudging her glasses above her nose with her index finger. "It took me a long time to open up to anyone after we came back from Pylea...and then only with Angel's help. I guess I got so used to hiding in my cave that I kept on hiding, even when there weren't any more monsters."

Gunn gently rested his hand over hers. "You survived five years in a world where demons treated you like a slave or an animal. It takes a lot of strength to hold up when everyone around you says you're no better than dirt. You weren't even in control of your own life. I think you were entitled to have a few problems with trust. Anyway, you came through it. You're strong, girl."

Dawn watched them and felt a pang of jealousy. She hated feeling so alone, and wanted to wrap herself up in the warmth that they so obviously shared.

"It must be hard," Lorne's gentle observation startled Dawn. She stared at him warily, wondering exactly how well he could read minds. He offered her an understanding nod. "Being uprooted at a moment's notice, hiding out from the bad guys. Having the Slayer for a big sis. It probably makes it tough to have a normal life."

"You don't know the half of it," Dawn sulked, lowering her eyes to hide the faint glimmer of moisture.

The scaly bartender appeared at their table and set down a heaping platter of nachos, piled high with bubbling cheese, richly aromatic chili, shredded lettuce, salsa, olives, tomatillo relish, sprigs of fresh cilantro, and sour cream. Lorne scooted the platter toward Dawn and said, "Go ahead. Nothing feels better than a nice, warm snack. Sometimes we all need to live it up a little."

"You got that right," Gunn agreed, helping himself to a blue corn tortilla chip piled high with toppings. "Hey, where's the guac?"

Ronnie re-appeared and left a bowl of guacamole next to the nachos.

"Live it up," Dawn muttered glumly. "That would be nice, if I actually had my own life to live." She munched on a chip, savoring the piquant salsa and rough, stone-ground corn, and found herself confessing her misery in spite of herself. "My life isn't even real. My whole past is fake. My family isn't even really my family. All I am is a ball of energy that one person or another keeps wanting to tap into."

Dawn wasn't sure how much Willow had explained about her when she'd taken the news of Buffy's death to the L.A. gang last spring. However, she figured they knew at least the basics, since they regarded her with sympathy rather than bewildered shock.

"Dawn," Gunn said after a few seconds, "I don't mean to mess with your business. I know what it's like to feel cut off from the world when you don't have family. Believe me, I know how much that hurts. I'm not sayin' your situation isn't unique. But your family isn't any less real just because you weren't always part of it. Family is more than what you're dealt at the beginning of the game. Family is the people who help you get through whatever you're dealt, no matter how tough it is."

For a moment, Dawn said nothing. Her insides trembled uneasily as she reluctantly admitted to herself that these people were friends, that try as she might, she couldn't shut them out. She didn't want to need anyone new, she didn't want to make room for more people who would leave her, but...she couldn't stop herself from needing somebody to talk to.

"Thanks," Dawn murmured. "I get that."

"This might not make you feel any better," Lorne added, his voice rich and soothing. "But you're not much different from any other sentient being I've ever met. They're *all* balls of energy, at the core. Why do you think I can read their auras?"

Dawn gaped at the green-skinned demon. She'd never really thought of it that way. Slowly, a smile began to spread across her face. Lorne saw her brightening expression and continued.

"And being a familiar involves a lot more than supplying a little energy. Granted, it shouldn't be forced on anyone -- you're right to feel upset about that. But in some circles -- actually, a lot of circles -- familiars are highly respected and very influential in their own right. It's considered an honor."

A self-conscious grimace spread across Dawn's features. She knew that Angel had shared a few details with Lorne in order to persuade the demon to let her stay at his establishment, but it nonetheless made Dawn uncomfortable that so many people knew, especially about Willow's first attack. The experience had left Dawn feeling humiliated, raw and vulnerable. Talking about it made her feel exposed.

And yet...this last time had been different. It hadn't felt bad at all. It had felt strangely right...

"I just don't like feeling controlled," Dawn protested softly. "Willow tried to use me, and it hurt."

"And it didn't work," Lorne agreed reassuringly. "Because that isn't what familiars are for, that isn't the relationship. It isn't something that can be forced. Any more than love can be forced. When it's the real deal, it's offered freely. And then -- whoa! Look out, it's a force that can't be stopped. Most importantly, it's a two-way street."

Dawn paused and reflected.

That was exactly what it had felt like. The last time she'd been drawn to Willow, it had felt warm...loving...sharing...

She was angry at Willow for hurting her before. Willow had done a horrible thing. But, she realized, Willow wasn't a bad person, not at heart. A possibility churned in her mind.

Could Willow need her? ***** In the spartan yet comfortable room that had been made up for Giles not long after his arrival, Buffy sat in the one desk chair and listened numbly as her Watcher told Spike the same story he'd shared with the rest of the group. To his credit, Spike kept his face a neutral mask of detachment, revealing nothing that might suggest the Slayer's love life was any of his business. Angel leaned against the far wall and observed from just beyond the edge of the soft light cast by the floor lamp.

After Giles finished, Buffy's throat ached with tension as she watched the three most important men in her life stare at each other in awkward silence. Never mind that two of them technically weren't men at all, and that they were glaring rather than staring. As necessary as this conversation was, as hard as it was for Buffy to believe she'd avoided dealing with this for as long as she had, it was still her worst nightmare.

A very irrational, panicky side of her wished she were trapped in a room with the Master, Adam and Glory. Anything would have been better than having to explain her relationship with Spike to Angel, Giles... and Spike himself.

The Cruciamentem had nothing on this.

Buffy felt utterly abandoned by every last ounce of her strength and wanted nothing more than to run away and hide. Where was her inner Slayer when she needed her? And what about her easygoing, witty banter? Why did the quips come so naturally when she was fighting demons, only to abandon her when it came time to discuss her feelings?

"So, you met Diaz," Spike remarked coolly, shifting his gaze from Angel to Giles. "Told you 'bout the girl, did he? Huh. Heard rumors, but never bothered to find out if they were true. Bloke was jealous of his privacy, didn't take kindly to anyone askin' too many questions. Figured it was a legend started by a vamp who got bored. What I want to know is why the soddin' Council gives a rat's arse now? Why weren't they all up in arms when the Slayer and the Poof were snogging in the graveyards four years ago?"

The sickening knot in Buffy's stomach tightened even further. She wanted to weep with gratitude and shame at Spike's gesture. Angel had always been a difficult topic for them, yet Spike was willing to cover for her, to maintain the illusion that there was only one vampire who had ever worked his way deeply enough into her heart to be a cause for the Council's concern.

It was time for her to stop hiding.

"Well, actually...they were," Giles countered haltingly. He grimaced apologetically at Buffy, then glanced away. "But then Angelus...er, returned, and there no longer seemed any danger that the Slayer would be seduced away from her duty."

Buffy took a deep breath. "And if the Council hated that their Slayer loved a vampire with a soul, they're probably having one, big, group heart-attack over the thought of her with a soulless one."

Instantly, three sets of eyes locked on her. In Giles' somewhat pained gaze, Buffy nonetheless saw compassion and understanding. In Spike's winter blue eyes, pure, unadulterated shock, softened by hope. It was the same look that had frozen his features for several seconds when he'd first seen her after the resurrection.

And, just as she had dreaded, Angel's eyes shone with stark, painful despair. Guilt sliced deeply through her heart. When Angel averted his gaze, unable to look at her, it hurt even worse.

"Thanks for not making any of us say it," Angel murmured quietly.

Buffy bit the inside of her lip, but it didn't stop the tears from flowing. She supposed she couldn't really be surprised that he'd already guessed. "I'm so sorry," she lamented in the barest of whispers. "I never wanted to hurt you..."

Her breath hitched momentarily, then she continued, "...but I need him. Coming back was...hard. I wouldn't have made it through the past few months without him...Spike makes me feel alive."

Two quick nods of the head were Buffy's only indication that Angel had heard her. He remained motionless, lifeless, revealing nothing. Buffy closed her eyes, aching with regret that she had tarnished the one thing she and Angel had left between them.

Hope.

Somewhere deep inside, she knew that he would have come to accept anyone -- for her sake. Anyone *else*. Anyone but Spike.

Flushed with the storm of her emotions, Buffy wiped impatiently at the tear tracks on her cheeks and opened her eyes again.

The sight she beheld merely proved to her how deeply, how paradoxically, Angel and Spike mirrored each other even as they were a study in contrast. Like Angel, Spike was nearly motionless. But whereas Angel shielded his emotions from view, obscuring the depth of his pain with silent stoicism, Spike was utterly transparent. His eyes brimmed so intensely with joy and awe that they quivered. He pursed his lips slightly, as a hesitant, wondrous smile threatened to burst forth.

"Didn't know if I'd ever hear you say it," Spike murmured, his eyes burning into hers.

Buffy offered him a shaky albeit warm smile, even as she silently begged him with flaring eyes and rigid posture not to gloat. She knew Spike could be mature -- she'd caught him at it once or twice, usually when she needed to rely on him the most. She desperately hoped he'd come through for her now. It was no secret how much the two vampires loathed each other. The last thing Buffy needed was for Spike to shove this in Angel's face.

She saw Spike weigh the temptation. His eyes widened briefly at her painfully visible distress before gleaming with comprehension. For just a moment, he smirked and cast a devilish glance at Angel. Buffy's pulse quickened and she felt her stomach twist with dread. It was then that Spike shook his head gently and gave her a small, reassuring smile that swelled to fervent adoration by the time it reached his eyes.

"Right. So...Council'll be sending more assassins, then. How soon d'you figure?" Spike brought the discussion back to business in a gruff voice.

"Difficult to say," Giles confessed. Buffy saw him relax slightly, but he still looked as tightly strung as a bow. Poor Giles. He probably thought this was all so unseemly. "They might send a team right away, hoping to strike before we've organized ourselves. On the other hand, they might wait weeks or even months, until we let down our guard."

Buffy snorted. "That'll never happen. New Spring fashion for Slayers: keeping your guard up is in. Not likely to go out of style for, oh, possibly -- ever."

"They won't wait too long," Angel amended quietly, studiously avoiding Buffy's gaze and instead looking at Giles. "The longer they wait, the greater the risk."

"What do you mean?" Buffy asked warily. For the first time since she'd admitted how important Spike was to her, Angel turned his eyes to hers. A distressed wrinkle formed above his brow. He glanced briefly at Spike, then back to Buffy, and opened his mouth as if to speak, but thought better of it and merely frowned in silence.

"By now, there is a good chance the Council is afraid that Spike will try to turn you," Giles explained with an apologetic grimace.

Buffy gaped at her mentor in shock. For several moments, the soft hum of Giles' travel alarm clock was the only sound in the room. Buffy even wondered if her heart had stopped beating. She felt completely numb. Finally, still dazed, she slowly shook her head and murmured, "No. That's ridiculous..."

In a low voice, seething with barely restrained fury, Angel growled, "Spike, if you care for her even half as much as she seems to think you do, come clean with her NOW, you pathetic excuse for a--"

Instantly, Spike was in his face, glaring through demon-gold eyes and snarling, "Back. Off. This is none of your damned business."

"Both of you -- back off," Buffy snapped sternly, eyes narrowed. Her patience was wearing thin. She had a sullen, confused sister to help, a friend who had fallen so far she might never find her way back to herself, not to mention that Buffy still hadn't adjusted to the fact that Angel and Darla had produced a son. So help her, if Angel and Spike started with the male, proprietary posturing, she wouldn't be responsible for her actions.

"If you won't tell her the truth, you don't deserve her," Angel muttered, although he stepped away in deference to Buffy's demand.

A menacing growl rumbled in Spike's throat and he clenched his fists, but he, too, stood down. He closed his eyes and paused for several moments before shaking away his demon face. Turning stormy blue eyes to Buffy, he conceded softly, "I'd never do anything against your will. I wouldn't force you. But," here he grimaced with distaste, "the Poof is right." Spike squared his shoulders with determination and continued. "I love you, Buffy. There's no changing that. And there's no changing what I am. I'm a vampire. I'll want to love you forever. Sooner or later, I would have asked you. But you have my word, I won't change you unless it's your choice."

For several seconds, Buffy couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. Finally, she managed to choke out, "But you'd want to."

Eyes closed, Spike bowed his head slightly. "But I'd want to." He opened his eyes again and fixed her with a piercing gaze. "I let you die once. I don't think I could survive it again."

Buffy took a half-step back, deeply disturbed, albeit not as much as she would have expected to be. Spike was everything that she, as the Slayer, should be against. Everything about their relationship was wrong according to the beliefs that had been instilled in her. This was yet another jarring reminder of the fact that they violated every code of decency and morality she could think of.

And yet...she couldn't deny how he made her feel. True, some of it had been cheap and sordid and violent. Well, actually, a lot of it had. But deep within Spike, there was also a love so tender, so strong...and all the more precious because he'd only been willing to share it with her.

She had been so vulnerable these past few months. He could have betrayed her in a dozen ways, reveled in demonic triumph over her as he'd always bragged he would. Instead, he'd offered her comfort when no one else could. This aggravating demon had been her beacon of light in the dark that had been her life since the resurrection.

"Perhaps for the moment we should concentrate on preparing for the Council's next move," Giles interjected delicately. He paced to the center of the room, placing himself between Angel and Spike, as if to diffuse some of the tension by physically blocking them. Such a small, subtle gesture, but it nonetheless lifted Buffy's spirits. It was reassuringly familiar to be on the receiving end of Giles's protective instincts. With a nod toward Spike, he continued, "Whatever Spike's intentions in the matter, it's academic for the time being since the chip still prevents him from harming Buffy."

Buffy saw Spike's jaw clench. His eyes glimmered with sullen resentment, but he made no move to correct Giles on his assumption. Before she had time to talk herself out of it, Buffy found herself explaining, "No it doesn't. Something happened when I was resurrected. For some reason, the chip doesn't recognize me. So, Spike can hurt me -- even kill me. But he's chosen not to."

Giles stared at her in shock. "Buffy, why didn't you tell me?"

A deep, hollow pit ached in Buffy's chest as she answered, "Because you weren't here."

The look of guilt on her Watcher's face ripped right through her.

Angel moved toward the door. Poised to slip out of the room, he said in a voice thick with emotion, "It will be safest if we make the hotel our base camp. If we're split up, the Council will get to you by going after the weakest link. I know you're worried about Willow, but I think it would be best for Dawn to be with the rest of us....Spike," Angel's voice lowered and hitched slightly, "is welcome to stay here."

"Thank you, Angel," Buffy breathed, blinking back tears.

The dark vampire raised his eyes and sent her a look so charged with longing and regret it shook her to the core.

"I'm going to check on Willow," Angel murmured as he exited the room.

Almost too hastily, Giles followed on his heels. "I think I'll accompany him." Pausing, he looked to Buffy and explained, "I haven't really had the chance to speak with Willow, and...there are a few things I said last fall that I regret..."

With a weak smile, Buffy nodded. "I understand. Go check up on your other daughter. I'll be okay, dad."

Mild astonishment flashed in the Watcher's eyes, then slowly eased into genuine delight. Hesitantly, Giles walked back to her and opened his arms rather awkwardly. Grinning, Buffy stepped in and hugged him.

"I missed you," Giles murmured.

"Missed you, too," Buffy confessed. He gave her a final squeeze, then extricated himself from her arms and went to seek out Willow.

Buffy let out a long, shaky breath. She felt like her entire body was ready to collapse. Spike drew close, and she was about to comment on how that conversation hadn't been *quite* as bad as fighting a hell god, when he stilled her with a gentle finger against her lips.

He replaced his finger with his lips. His tongue slid against hers and explored her mouth with agonizingly slow, languid strokes. Buffy felt herself melting into him, wanting to bathe in his fire. Spike finally broke away, only to nibble his way down her jaw. As he nipped her earlobe, he whispered, "I."

A light flick of the tongue against her neck. "Love."

A hungry, open-mouthed kiss over her pulse point. "You."

Buffy closed her eyes and sank into his embrace. She'd made it through one of the most difficult things she'd ever had to do. It was so humbling, it made her tremble. For her sake, Angel and Spike had been...they'd actually been *civil* to each other. She understood how much that meant, and as grateful as she was to have Spike, a small part of her died inside to know just how cruelly that must stab at Angel's heart.

Why did love have to hurt?




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