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: 16~


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.




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