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: 2~
Paralysis gripped her.
It was happening again.
Willow saw the figures moving around her, heard them speaking. Their voices were familiar. But all of it -- the sights, the sounds, even the feel of hands prodding her and lifting her -- swam in her brain, disjointed and alien, like images viewed through water.
She began her mantra, a calming practice which had eased the transition each time her world had shifted abruptly in the three centuries she had been traveling.
A memory from a past incarnation flashed in her mind, a harbinger of the agonizing seizures that had become all too familiar to her. Willow braced herself for impact.
Then it hit.
Images fired through her brain like bullets, shifting so rapidly it left her nauseous. Synapses flared with a confused mixture of sensations, jolting her away from reality, spinning her surroundings off in a dizzy blur.
*Flash*. Can't get free...can't get free...this is it, he has the knife, this is--- *Flash*. Mother is dead -- what will become of me? I'm the last, and they'll be coming soon. *Flash*. Oh, god! The barrier is down! But that's impossible -- no time! No time! *Flash*. Please, please...let the crops grow this year...famine has taken so many... *Flash*. It should have worked...no way to re-create the same conditions...that was our last hope. *Flash*.
Willow cried inwardly. Unable to control her body -- unaware of it, even -- she couldn't know whether her eyes actually produced tears. Remorse carved a cold, hollow pit in her chest; she couldn't breathe. Oh, god! She wished it would just end!
But she couldn't hope for that. Willow was sick with shame.
Somehow, she had made this happen.
So many lives broken, wrecked...obliterated. So many...
And she had lived a mere fraction of them; had watched so many die, so many suffer.
She had lost all sense of herself after the first century, couldn't remember what she had done to set this in motion. Whoever she had been, wherever she had come from, it was splintered so thoroughly that she could no longer piece it together. There was nothing left.
Except her name.
She couldn't be sure how much time had passed before the seizure began to subside. The sharp, staccato flash of images slowed and distantly she became aware of her surroundings.
It was dark. There was cold stone beneath her and at her back. Steel shackles bound her wrists. Her neck ached and every muscle in her body felt weak.
Blinking as her eyes adjusted to the surroundings, Willow managed to crane her head and look around. Two figures, a male and a female, reclined against a wall near her. A shock of familiarity went through her. Had she passed through this dimension before? It was possible; at least on a superficial level, they resembled whatever species she was -- two legs, two arms, a single head...she wondered if they would be able to see her, or if this was one of the places where she would be invisible.
Willow strained to understand what it was about these two that seemed so familiar. But the more she concentrated, the more she shivered with dread. Her heart raced and she felt her lungs tighten, as if her body instinctively feared what her mind had yet to grasp.
There was something terrible and ominous about this dimension, something that triggered morbid fear in her.
She had been here before -- she was sure of it now. And something bad, very, very, bad had happened. An uneasy chill shook her, and the nape of her neck prickled wildly, like ants were crawling all over her skin.
Willow's eyes roamed about the room, wandering over dusty stone surfaces and darkened corners, until her gaze fixed on a white, crystalline substance that formed a perimeter around her.
She recognized it.
Before Willow's memories of salt could emerge, however, her mind recoiled violently. There was terror in those memories.
Her heart raced wildly, pounding against her chest as if to escape from its corporeal prison. Trapped, she was trapped, and it was going to start all over again! No!!
At that instant, the male's eyes snapped open. Icy blue stared at her, cold, unblinking, accusing.
Willow screamed, and everything went black.
Spike jolted awake to what he was certain was the sound of a herd of buffalo stampeding through his crypt. The rhythm thundered frantically in his ears.
When he saw the look of terror on Willow's face, he realized it was her heartbeat. For a split second, he wondered if she was about to go into cardiac arrest.
Then she screamed like Angelus himself was after her, and Spike went from wondering to being bloody well certain she was headed for a heart attack. However, she collapsed in mid-shriek, after which her heartbeat remained faint but steady.
Buffy's, on the other hand, went from its gentle, slumbered pace to full-throttle cavalry charge almost instantaneously. She started forcefully beside him and yelped, "What?! What is it?!!?"
"Easy, luv," Spike steadied her, his hand on her shoulder. "Red woke up for a bit, had a look around, screamed. Looks like she's out again."
"Did she..." Buffy gulped, then paused to calm herself before continuing, "Did Willow try to escape, or do a spell or something?"
He shook his head. "Not that I saw. Salt for the protection spell hasn't been disturbed. I can say one thing, though -- she was terrified. Scared to death."
"Of you? Or us?" Buffy frowned, puzzled. She might have expected Willow to react with defiance or frustration at having been defeated. But fear wasn't something she'd shown in quite some time -- not with the heights to which her powers had climbed.
"Hard to tell," Spike shrugged, arching his eyebrows thoughtfully. "Her heart was hammering away before I woke up -- ruined a good dream, too."
Buffy's brow furrowed as she pondered his remark; then she rolled her eyes, reminding herself that she didn't want to know about his interrupted dream.
Instead, she scrutinized Willow. The young witch's eyes were closed, yet though she appeared unconscious, her mouth twitched and her eyelids quivered. Willow's respiration was shaky, her breath hitching at irregular intervals and alternating between a hiss and a low whine. She huddled against the wall, curling in upon herself as much as the chains permitted.
Buffy's expression darkened. She had seen behavior like this before.
Angel had been this way when he returned from hell.
Spike, too, observed the shackled redhead. Hunched into a fetal position, she hardly resembled the proud, powerful witch who for weeks had defied every attempt to subdue her. The contrast was striking, and reminded him of his Dark Goddess: deadly one minute, fragile the next.
"Like Dru on a bad day," Spike remarked. He steeled her with a serious look. "Might be better if we just--"
"No, Spike," Buffy cut him off firmly. "We've been over this. We're not going to kill her. In spite of what she's done, she's human...and she's still our friend."
"Can't be sure what she is any more," Spike retorted, gesturing curtly toward Willow. "Look at her. No telling what that spell did to her, or if there's any of the old Red left in there."
"Spike, that's enough," Buffy warned.
The crypt was silent for a few moments. Buffy rose to her feet and Spike followed suit. She edged away, not looking at him.
"I should check in with Tara and Dawn," Buffy murmured. "Find out what Tara has learned about the spheres. Maybe that will help us figure out what's wrong with Willow." After a brief pause, she turned to Spike, narrowed her eyes and said sternly, "Don't do anything to her while I'm gone."
Spike's shoulders stiffened at the mistrustful tone in her voice. His jaw clenched and he stared back at her, a slight glimmer of repressed hurt in his eyes.
"Fine," he answered coolly. "Check in with the research party. We'll be here when you get back."
He turned his back to Buffy and started toward the entrance to the crypt's lower level.
Buffy released a frustrated sigh. "Spike--"
"Niblet'll probably be glad to see you," he interrupted.
Buffy refused to be dismissed, although even as she moved to confront him, she wondered why she bothered.
Why couldn't she just walk away from the infuriating bastard?
She tensed, too weary to deal with their emotional fox trot at the moment, but unable to close herself off as easily as she had a few months ago. As much as she hated to admit it, Spike had been right. That night had changed things.
*That* night.
This was neither the time nor the place for soul-searching, though -- or for coddling a vampire's bruised ego.
Buffy gripped him by the elbow, but Spike shook her off before she could spin him around to face her. However, rather than stalking away, he relented and slowly turned to look her in the eye.
"We couldn't have done it without you tonight," Buffy stated, her gaze warm yet unapologetic. "I *don't* agree with you about how we should handle Willow -- you don't know her like I do. But your help has been important. Thank you, Spike."
The frank recognition caught Spike off guard, and for a moment he froze in place. Before he could muster a decent swagger and smug reply, Buffy sent him reeling.
Stepping close, she raised up on her toes and brushed a kiss against his cheek.
Spike gaped at her as she pulled back slightly. He stared, speechless, all higher brain function having shut down. His more primal instincts, however, were quicker to recover. He leaned in, encouraged when Buffy didn't move away, and kissed her softly. His tongue flicked over her lips, teasing hers into play as he brought his hand up to caress the nape of her neck. The blood quickened in his veins at the soft moan she breathed into his mouth, and he deepened the kiss.
When Buffy finally extricated herself from Spike's embrace, her face was flushed. Spike watched her in a daze and his lips mouthed hesitant words, but no sound emerged. He was desperate to speak to her, to say something -- anything -- but his voice hitched in his throat.
Buffy stepped back, her gaze shifting nervously from Spike's eyes to the floor and then back again.
"Not yet," she whispered. "But...soon."
The bliss that had radiated from Spike's face a moment earlier was replaced with mild disappointment and acceptance. He managed a weary half-smile.
"Duty calls, eh, luv?"
Nodding, Buffy regained her composure and announced in a determined, businesslike voice, "I should go check in. But I'll be back later."
Spike watched, a mixture of awe and lust in his eyes, as Buffy made her way to the exit.
"I'll be waiting," he murmured.
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