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: 17~


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.




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