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: 8~


"Fascinating," Wesley murmured, breaking the silence that had reigned after Willow's abrupt return to consciousness.

The others continued to stare uneasily as Tara rocked Willow's trembling form against her. As touching as the gesture was, it hadn't been long ago that the crew from Sunnydale had struggled to combat a very powerful and defiant Willow.

"Are you sure the dampening field can prevent her from using magic?" Buffy asked, her muscles tensed for a fight and her eyes fixed on Willow.

"Well, nothing like this has ever been tested," Wesley admitted with an apologetic tilt of his head. "Angel has some...connections who modified a spell that prevents physical violence in a local demon bar. I think it should work."

Despite Wesley's effort at optimism, everyone present save Tara edged away from Willow. Angel and his co-workers exchanged questioning glances with each other, while Spike, Buffy, and Xander gazed steadily at the seemingly disarmed witch.

Angel felt a cold, dull ache spread through his chest at the sight of Buffy and Spike, shoulder to shoulder like comrades. Angel recalled a time when he had been the one to watch her back. True, he'd given up that role when he'd left Sunnydale, but he'd done it to set his beloved warrior free of his darkness, not create an opening for a demon whose darkness matched his own.

Yet their posture was unmistakably familiar. Spike stood resolutely at Buffy's side, ready to help her face the threat at hand. Buffy showed no discomfort at having a bloodthirsty killer at her back. Indeed, her eyes shone with the steady confidence of a fighter who has faith in her allies.

How the hell had things come to the point that Buffy would place her trust in Spike?

Before he grew too deeply consumed by his thoughts, Angel's attention was drawn to Willow, who was pushing Tara away.

"No...can't..." Willow muttered, eyes downcast. Once more, she curled up against the wall and refused to look at any of them.

"Can't what, Willow?" Tara asked, tentatively stroking the forlorn redhead on the shoulder.

But Willow gave no indication that she heard Tara's question. She huddled on the bed, impossibly still for a mortal, and didn't even whimper as she had earlier. The only hint that she was a deeply troubled human woman and not a statue was the faint scent of salt from tears that had yet to trace their tracks down her cheeks.

"She may be disoriented," Wesley advised.

"Willow," Buffy addressed her friend. After a moment, Buffy raised her voice and tried again. "Willow!"

"Wills?" Xander ventured, peering expectantly at her bowed head.

"I don't think you'll get a response," Wesley informed them.

Buffy finally tore her gaze from Willow and turned to him. "Do you know what's wrong with her? Why she's like this?"

Wesley's shoulders sagged apologetically as he explained, "It could be a number of things. Humans are generally unaccustomed to trans-dimensional exploration. The experience can be traumatic. No doubt she has sorely taxed her mind."

Xander's face paled, and he stared intently at the former Watcher. "But it's not permanent, right? Just a little brain strain? I mean, a little rest, a little time away from the mojo...?"

Before Wesley could muster a reply, Fred observed timidly, "She's afraid of you."

Buffy wrinkled her brow at the suggestion.

"We did hit her with all we had," Xander acknowledged.

"She hit first," Spike countered sternly.

Xander said nothing, merely nodded, then frowned and turned away.

"It might not be that," Fred ventured again, scrunching her face up in an awkward, wide-eyed grimace. "She might just be afraid of you -- of everything. We don't know where she was or what it was like or how long she was there. It can be pretty scary to come back to this world after spending time in an alternate dimension."

Fred's shy insight struck a chord with Angel. The back of his neck prickled and his eyes darkened as unpleasant memories of his time in hell resurfaced.

"Yeah," Buffy murmured, as the mask of the warrior crumbled to reveal a haunted, glassy-eyed girl.

Spike placed his hand lightly on her arm, gave a gentle squeeze and gazed at her intently until she shook herself out of her daze. She blinked at Spike, and with a final, reassuring squeeze he pulled his hand away.

Angel fumed in silence.

"So, how do we snap her out of it? And how can we make sure we get Willow back, and not...not who she became because of the addiction?" Buffy asked, clenching her jaw.

"Tara, remember how Willow went into Buffy's mind when Buffy... uh ...checked out for awhile after Glory took Dawn?" Xander suggested.

The honey-haired witch, who still sat close to Willow, bit her lip and frowned uneasily. "I don't know if my skills are advanced enough to do that. Besides, I think the less magic we use on Willow, the better."

At the pained expression on Tara's face, Spike muttered, "The thought of messin' with someone's head can't bring back fond memories."

Xander's eyes widened in realization of what he had asked of Tara, but before he could stammer an apology, Gunn spoke from his position near the doorway.

"Did it occur to anyone that she just needs time? Sometimes there's nothing you can do to help -- you have to step back and let it play out."

Angel felt a twinge of remorse, recalling how he had pushed his friends away last year. He looked over at his fellow demon-fighter. Gunn merely shrugged.

Wesley scrutinized the weary, pensive faces around him and sighed. "Gunn has a point. It may do us all good to step back for a few hours. A little rest might be in order."

For a few moments, they stood in silence. Then, Xander let his eyes wander over Willow's small corner of the spacious hotel and observed with an ironic half-smile, "So...I guess we should find ourselves...a hotel?"

Buffy shook her head in disbelief. Only in her twisted little world could an argument about stakings, death threats and torture -- past, present and future -- be carried out in whispers over a baby's sleeping form. Yet Cordelia had managed to go ballistic over the prospect of Spike staying in the hotel without once disturbing the infant she rocked in her arms.

As she stepped out into the cool night air, Buffy released a haggard sigh. Had there really been a time when the toughest part of her job had been staking a vamp or two on patrol?

God, what she wouldn't give for a nice, quiet night like that now.

Spike was where she'd expected to find him after he'd stormed out, muttering something about preferring the trunk of his DeSoto to Hotel Chez Bitch. Sitting behind the wheel, flask in hand.

Buffy walked around the car, opened the door on the passenger side, and slid in.

"Hey."

"Someone needs to take a bite out of that bitch," Spike grumbled with a scowl.

"Wouldn't do any good," Buffy replied with a tired half-smile. "Cordy bites back."

Spike grunted and took a swig. A moment later he gave her a perfunctory once-over, then offered her the flask. Buffy took it, brought the cool silver to her lips and closed her eyes at the warm sting of Bourbon trickling down her throat. When she handed it back, Spike's glowering expression softened with concern.

"You holdin' up okay, Slayer?"

"Long night. Too long."

Buffy's mouth formed a slight pout and she stared absently across the dashboard. It was dusty. Spike probably hadn't cleaned it since sometime in the 1970s.

"Too many bloody surprises," Spike muttered, gulping down another mouthful of Bourbon.

For several seconds, Buffy said nothing. Then, closing her eyes, she asked, "How did you know?"

Spike cocked his head at her, puzzled. Opening her eyes, Buffy turned to him, the hurt evident in her expression.

"How did you know it was Darla's?"

"Oh. That."

"Yeah, that."

Spike's jaw tightened and he lowered his eyes. He fiddled briefly with the flask, then stilled completely. "Dru told me she was back. Knowing that, the rest was easy. Only one it could've been was Darla."

Buffy shifted uncomfortably and her lips quivered as the self-discipline she'd maintained all evening began to crumble. A tiny hitch in her breath drew Spike's attention. His voice softened as he clarified, "You'dve been my first guess. Bein' dead ruled you out -- should've ruled Darla out. Seein' as you've only had the one heartbeat since you came back, knew you'd never been pregnant. That left Darla."

More than anything, it was Spike's matter-of-fact reasoning that hurt her. Buffy knew that in his own, inept way, he'd been trying to soften the blow. It hurt all the same to see Angel through Spike's eyes, and realize that, on one level at least, Spike knew him better than she did.

She glanced away, numbing herself to emotions she wasn't ready to feel. "I guess I never saw something like this coming."

Spike's eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then stopped. He stared at her briefly, then turned and glowered at the steering wheel, tapping his fingers sharply against it. After a long, uncomfortable silence, Buffy was jolted out of her melancholy by the deep rumble of the engine turning over.

Startled, she looked at Spike and demanded, "Where are you going?"

"*We*," he corrected smoothly, "are going to blow off some bloody steam."

A familiar knot twisted in her gut as Buffy's sense of responsibility kicked in. "I don't have time for this. If anything happens with Willow, I should be around."

"Buffy, luv -- shut up," Spike admonished her with a gentleness that was belied by the wicked, challenging gleam in his eyes.

Without giving her the chance to argue, he shifted into gear and sped away from the Hyperion with tire-squealing recklessness. Spike drove them back through streets they'd passed on their way to Angel's, earning a few curses and scowls from Buffy for gleefully terrorizing random pedestrians. When they came to a block of run-down storefronts, Spike swerved toward the curb and slammed the car to an abrupt halt.

Tucking his tongue against his bottom lip, Spike waggled his eyebrows at her and hopped out of the car. With a disgusted sigh, Buffy shook her head but climbed out and followed him.

"What was that, a flashback to your kill-the-Slayer days?" Buffy grumbled, her pulse still racing.

"Gets the blood pumpin' real nice," Spike leered at her over his shoulder.

Her patience wearing thin, Buffy asked, "Spike, what are we doing here?"

Not bothering to answer, the blond vampire ducked into an alley next to what looked like a seedy bar. Buffy rounded the corner, stopped, and rolled her eyes. For a reason she couldn't fathom, Spike wanted to poke around in a dingy, cluttered alley.

"Here we are," he drawled as he strode toward a stack of crates, filled with empty beer bottles.

"What, you got tired of doing it the regular way? You know, going *inside* the bar and buying a bottle that actually has something to drink in it?"

"Not very creative, are you?" Spike cocked an eyebrow and murmured suggestively. "Have to work on that. Still need to teach you about candles and fore--"

"Spike," Buffy cut him off impatiently.

"Just sayin' there's more than one way a bottle can make you feel good," he retorted with a smirk that was pure sin.

Buffy flushed hotly at what she thought he was insinuating, but before she could stammer a reply, Spike hefted one of the empty beer bottles in his hand and hurled it at the wall at the end of the alley. He grinned as it shattered in a cascade of brown glass shards, then grabbed another bottle and threw it with all his might. Spike's grin broadened at the harsh clink of glass on brick.

Wide-eyed and confused, Buffy watched him demolish a few more bottles, until he suddenly tossed one at her. Accustomed to fending off lethal projectiles, Buffy caught it without thinking.

"Go on, give it a go," Spike urged, gesturing toward the far wall.

"This is way beyond stupid," Buffy protested indignantly. "I'm not going to throw bottles in an alley like some juvenile delinquent vampire. It's...lame...and...and all it does is make a mess...and those bottles were probably going to be recycled..."

The look Spike shot at her was one of pure disdain. Then he shrugged.

"Suit yourself. Not like smashin' a few bottles is that great, anyway. Why bother with a little glass when flesh 'n bone are so much more satisfyin'? Angel's head...maybe the witch's spine...hmm. Wonder what'll make you snap first? Thought findin' out about the Poof's kid would do it. But, then, your troubles with the witch've been buildin' for a while -- she comes to, goes after Niblet again? Yeah, now that'll put you over the edge--"

Spike cut short his cruel taunts just in time to duck the bottle that Buffy had hurled at him. Missing its intended target, it hit the wall with a spectacular crash and sent angry, sharp fragments raining to the ground.

"Atta girl! Now you're gettin' warmed up. Want to try another, or are you ready to go back and pummel that ex of yours?"

"Shut up!" Buffy snapped, trembling.

She knew what he was trying to do, and it sickened her that he'd actually gotten under her skin. Her throat tightened as waves of rage, betrayal and anguish swept through her. Yet as much as she hated feeling her self-control slip at Spike's goading, Buffy found herself reaching for another bottle. She channeled all her frustration into her wind-up and release, and threw it against the wall. And as infuriating as it was, Spike was right. Her blood was pumping, her skin was tingling, and the oppressive ache of everything she'd kept locked inside crumbled.

It wasn't fair! She'd been happy. She'd known perfect bliss. But because it had been her own friends who had taken her away from it, because Dawn had been so happy to see her again, Buffy had kept her disappointment to herself. And what had they brought her back to? The same routine, night after night of trouble. Then Willow, her best friend in the world, had done the unthinkable: she'd willingly hurt Dawn.

And Angel. Oh, God...Angel. Tears blurred her vision. She was happy for him, but it hurt, and she could never, ever let him see the hurt. But why did it have to be Darla? Angel's child...It was a dream Buffy could scarcely have wished for, and whatever Powers controlled these things had let it happen with Darla, not Buffy. Nope. No happy ending for Buffy. They wouldn't even let her rest in peace.

Bottle after bottle sailed at the rough, brick wall and met with a satisfyingly violent end. Jagged fragments of brown, green and clear glass piled up at the far end of the alley.

Then it stopped. Buffy stood, breathing raggedly and quivering slightly from the rush of adrenaline. She closed her eyes and sobbed as the tears flowed freely down her cheeks.

A moment later, strong, leather-clad arms enfolded her. Unresisting, Buffy rested her head against Spike's chest and cried.

"It's okay...it's all right, luv," he murmured, caressing her gently. "No one here to see, nobody knows. You'll still be everyone's strength when we go back, you'll face the insurmountable one more time, you'll be the hero. But here...'s a nice, dark alley, just the place for dumpin' all sorts of sordid stuff. Leave your garbage 'n go, 's what alleys are for. So get it all out, luv."

Buffy sobbed harder as he spoke. Although Spike's words were comforting, they reminded her of how twisted her life had gotten. The people she had loved first and loved best had caused her the greatest pain, while Spike, a vampire who had originally been determined to kill her, seemed to be the only one who knew how to take away that pain.

His words had their intended effect. She let go, snuggled against him, and gave herself over to everything she felt. Spike offered her shelter, a place to hide from the world, if only for a little while, and she took it. Slowly, her anger and sorrow and frustration drained away until she felt her calm return.

Spike must have felt the change in her. He pulled back slightly, cupped her head in his palms and looked into her eyes. Brushing a stray tear from the corner of her eye, he smiled tenderly and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. When he drew away, Buffy reached up and tugged him down again, bringing his lips to hers. Spike willingly kissed her, tightening his arms around her and seducing her tongue with his.

After several heated moments, they parted and gazed at each other quietly -- she, in gratitude; he, in wonder.

"C'mon, then," Spike's voice hitched when he finally broke the silence. "Better be gettin' back to the party."




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