AUTHOR: Medea
TITLE: Judgment (12/?)
E-MAIL: medealives@hotmail.com
PAIRING: Willow/Angel friendship, Buffy/Spike, Willow/Tara
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: Willow's joyride in 'Wrecked' was only the beginning of her
downward spiral.
SPOILERS: (REVISED!) Season 6 BtVS "Smashed" and "Wrecked"; and Season 3 AtS
"Birthday". Sorry for changing the spoiler warnings mid-stream, but I want
to take advantage of the new developments with Cordy's altered nature.
ARCHIVE: Please do.
DISCLAIMER: Joss created. I am not Joss. Therefore, not mine, never will be.
NOTE: A response to Kendra A's challenge to "fix" Wrecked.
NOTE 2: This went out un-beta'd, so all ghastly mistakes are wholly my
fault.
NOTE 3: Part of the inspiration for this chapter and the one to follow came
from Melissa's story, 'Oral Fixations'. Figured as a conscientious author
(and a big fan of Melissa's), I'd give credit where it was due.
DEDICATION: To Carrie and Jonquil, friends I'm glad I've made along the way.
Many thanks!
FEEDBACK: Much appreciated: medealives@hotmail.com
Angel closed Willow's door behind him and made his way to his suite. He
paused long enough near the grand staircase to hear the muted voices of
Wesley, Tara and Spike, discussing the confrontation that had sent Willow on
her unexpected journey. Hopefully, Wesley would be able to draw more
information from them than Angel had managed to coax from Willow. After
Wesley and Fred left, Angel had tried in vain to persuade Willow to talk
further about her experiences. However, his attempts had earned only a sad
smile, a shake of her head, and a soft plea that he not concern himself
about her.
Frowning sadly, he proceeded toward his apartment. He couldn't force Willow
to accept his help.
Or to accept the idea that people cared for her.
He opened his door, took a few steps, and stopped. A gentle smile spread
across his face.
At the sight of Cordy cradling Connor in the crook of her left arm while
holding a bottle to his tiny, hungry mouth, Angel felt a cleansing peace
wash through him. He silently gave thanks that his son was surrounded by
people who cared for him. Making a father's wish, he hoped that it would be
a long, long time before the world stripped Connor of the innocence that
gave children their unquestioning faith that they were loved -- and that
they deserved to be.
Angel suppressed a shiver of dread at the thought of all the people and
demons who had designs on Connor. The idea that these forces might one day
leave Connor as broken and desolate as Willow was unbearable.
Firmly shoving these concerns to the back of his mind, Angel walked over to
stand behind Cordelia. Connor nursed greedily at his bottle and stared up at
him with wide, fragile eyes. In that look, so pure and wondering, Angel saw
his own redemption. For the moment, all his worries were banished.
"Hey," Cordy greeted over her shoulder.
"Hey," Angel murmured, still gazing at Connor. He reached around Cordy's
waist to toy with his son's flailing hand. Cordy smiled down at the child,
completely relaxed in Angel's platonic near-embrace.
After several minutes of Angel's doting, nonsensical baby-talk, Cordelia
removed the drained bottle from Connor's fleshy lips and crossed to set it
on the kitchen counter. Angel followed her and set about washing and
sterilizing the bottle while Cordy burped a very sated babe.
"So, how's Willow?"
As he soaped the bottle with a sponge, Angel sighed, "I'm not sure.
Physically, she seems undamaged. Mentally...she knows who she is. She
remembers everything that's happened, but she's so sad. There's a spark of
the old Willow that's missing. I wouldn't think she'd changed so much since
I left Sunnydale that she'd lost..."
"Her Jiminy Cricket perkiness?" Cordelia finished wryly.
Angel paused for a moment and rested his palms on the edge of the counter.
Frowning, he added, "She's shouldering so much guilt. I couldn't get all the
details out of her, but she's convinced that she's responsible for
destroying every dimension she passed through."
Cordy stopped patting Connor over her shoulder. "You're kidding." At Angel's
grim expression, she murmured, "Wow."
Neither of them said anything for a while. Angel rinsed the suds from
Connor's bottle, then set it on the counter, filled a sauce pan with water,
and set it to boil on the stove. When the water was rolling, he submerged
all components of the bottle in the pan.
"You've been making yourself pretty scarce since everyone got here," Angel
observed, changing the subject.
"The less time I have to spend around the Platinum Poseur, the better,"
Cordy remarked crossly. She shifted Connor in her arms and her expression
grew thoughtful. "I guess I'm also not ready for the Sunnydale reunion yet.
That part of my life was something I wanted to leave behind."
Satisfied that Connor's bottle was sterilized, Angel removed the pan from
the burner. "You've faced worse since then."
Cordy rolled her eyes. "It's pretty much a tie." She eased over to the
couch, rocking Connor gently, and sat down. "Anyway, it's not just the
monsters and weirdness I wanted to get away from."
Angel joined her, resting one arm along the couch behind her shoulders while
caressing his son's downy head with his free hand. "Xander?" he guessed.
"Well, him, too," Cordy conceded with grimace. "But mostly me. I..."
She trailed off and fidgeted awkwardly. Then, in a soft, steady voice she
confessed, "I look back now on who I was then, and there are a lot of things
I don't like. *Not* that I think there's anything wrong with speaking my
mind...but sometimes I was pretty mean when I didn't have to be. Mostly to
Willow. It's stupid, but seeing her the way she is makes me feel guilty,
even though I'm not the one who did that to her."
Cordy's features tightened into a frustrated pout, eliciting a bemused grin
from Angel. God, she was adorable when she...No. He couldn't go there.
His expression soon faded to regret as memories of his own, sordid history
surfaced. "I know how you feel. Whenever I'm confronted by people I wronged
in the past, no matter how much I've tried to atone since then, I feel like
I'm the monster I used to be."
Angel frowned, shook his head and murmured, "I just hope we'll be able to
help Willow. I never saw her let anything get her down like this. Not even
me when I was at my worst."
Cordy looked at him as if he'd grown two heads. "Angel, if anyone can help
Willow, it's you. If her problem is guilt over a few centuries of mass
destruction, that's right up your alley."
Angel's shoulder's slumped at her painful, albeit truthful, reminder that
his ability to help Willow rested on the fact that he, too, had left
unspeakable damage in his wake. Seeing his discomfort, Cordy nudged Angel's
calf with her foot and softened her tone.
"I guess where tact is concerned, I haven't changed as much as I'd like to
think." When her remark earned a hint of a grin, Cordy added, "What I meant
was, in spite of what you did in the past, you've moved beyond that. You're
a better person than most human beings I know. You help people. You're
becoming a great daddy. If anyone can show Willow that it's possible to move
on, it's you."
With each warm compliment, Angel's smile broadened and he gazed raptly at
Cordelia. Although his better judgment warned him away from true euphoria,
he couldn't help feeling warm at hearing Cordy's sincere assessment of him.
Sheepishly, he realized he was glad he was sitting down. Lately, she seemed
to have the ability to make him go weak in the knees.
Unable to resist the impulse, Angel cupped his hand at the nape of her neck,
pulled her close and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead.
"Thanks, Cordy," he murmured against her brow.
At that moment, a throat cleared from behind them. Distracted, Angel hadn't
noticed the arrival of new heartbeats. He pulled away from Cordy and turned
toward the doorway.
A dull ache tore at his gut as he gaped, speechless, at Fred...and Buffy's
younger sister.
"Hi, Angel," said Dawn, her tone deceptively light. Glancing suspiciously
from the dark vampire to his companion, she arched an eyebrow. "Hey, Cordy."
*****
Dawn surveyed the scene before her with more than a little righteous
indignation. She stopped shy of snorting in contempt. So much for eternal,
true love.
She cleared her throat. The guilty expression on Angel's face when he jerked
away from Cordelia, coupled with Dawn's sense of loyalty to her sister,
fuelled her need to diss him, and diss him big time.
"Hi, Angel," she said coolly. "Hey, Cordy."
"Dawn...wh-what are you--?" Angel stammered awkwardly.
Feigning aloof detachment, Dawn broke in, "Oh, just some trouble with the
Watchers Council. They sent someone to try to kill Giles, and he didn't
think it was safe for us to stay in Sunnydale."
"Actually, that's why we came up," Fred explained, threading her fingers
together self-consciously. "Mr. Giles has a broken arm and he asked if
Cordelia could spare some of her painkillers."
Cordy shook off her astonishment and replied, "Yeah...sure. Fine.
I've...ah...I've got some sumatripan in the medicine chest. I'll get it for
you."
Gingerly, Cordelia handed Connor to Angel and got up from the couch. Dawn's
eyes narrowed as she watched Cordy disappear into the bedroom. Just whose
apartment was this, anyway?
Rising to his feet, Angel asked, "Why would the Council want to kill Giles?
Is Buffy in danger?"
Dawn shrugged indifferently, allowing her gaze to roam past the dark vampire
as if he were merely part of the room's furnishings. "Giles didn't want to
talk about it around me. That's probably why he sent me up here. I mean,
somebody probably keeps a bottle of ibuprofen in that office downstairs."
Pausing and smiling for effect, she added, "Anyway, Buffy can take out
anyone they send at her. Plus, I'm pretty sure they'd have to go through
Spike, first. He gets all sweet and protective when someone threatens
Buffy..."
At the look of utter, jealous dismay on Angel's face, Dawn silently
congratulated herself. Served him right, getting all cuddly with someone
else when he and Buffy still hadn't worked out all their Eternal Soulmates
issues. It wasn't that Dawn thought Angel was cheating on Buffy or anything.
Deep down, she knew Angel was better than that. When he and Buffy had been
together, he'd been totally stellar. But it was just obvious to Dawn that a
whole lot had been left unresolved. Most of the time, Buffy couldn't even
bring herself to say Angel's name. And when she did, she got all skittish
and mopey.
Meanwhile, here he was, playing house with Cordelia -- complete with an
adopted baby. Well, unless Cordy had been sleeping around with someone else
before Angel. Eww.
Buffy must have totally wigged.
Deciding she'd messed with Angel long enough -- she really didn't *hate* him
-- Dawn said casually, "It's been nice seeing you, Angel, but I should
probably get back to everyone downstairs. You know, makin' with the crisis
mode again. Who knows, maybe I'll catch something interesting before Giles
notices I'm there."
Angel winced.
Dawn turned her back on him, smirked, and ambled leisurely out of the
apartment. She rolled her eyes. *Boys*. Sometimes they could be such dweebs.
Well, except for Spike. He was cool.
She had every intention of heading down to the office -- she really did hope
she'd be able to eavesdrop -- when a strange sensation pulled at her. Dawn
halted. Her skin felt warm and tingly all over. Every inch of her, from her
eyebrows to her toenails, seemed to hum with energy. All sound other than
her own heartbeat dimmed until she heard only a steady, soothing rhythm
pulsing in her ears. Entranced, she stared down the hallway. Something
behind a distant door beckoned. Dawn drifted past door after door, feeling
the call resonate through her entire body.
*****
Willow shrank back against the wall in a panic.
Magic crackled over her skin and burned like fire in her veins. The power
blossomed and sang in her mind, calling her to the dance. A familiar
presence drew near. Willow struggled to repel it, terrified that her ordeal
would begin anew, but it was overwhelming.
She felt it at the door.
"No," she insisted through clenched teeth, digging her fingernails into her
palms. "No. No. Stop. Go away...."
*****
Dawn stretched out her hand, turned the knob, and pushed open the door. The
power was strong, bathing her in gentle warmth and a gossamer caress, like a
stream of orchid petals or liquid moonlight. A melodic whisper floated in
her head, summoning her forward.
*Thou art well come...*
It was pure joy.
*****
Willow hid her face in a desperate attempt to break away from the pull, even
as the power enticed her, rippling through her as Dawn came nearer.
She couldn't let this happen!
With one, last burst of willpower, Willow threw all her might into a
gut-wrenching scream.
"GET AWAY FROM ME!!!"
AUTHOR: Medea
TITLE: Judgment (13/?)
E-MAIL: medealives@hotmail.com
PAIRING: Willow/Angel friendship, Buffy/Spike, Willow/Tara
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: Willow's joyride in 'Wrecked' was only the beginning of her
downward spiral.
SPOILERS: (REVISED!) Season 6 BtVS "Smashed" and "Wrecked"; and Season 3 AtS
"Birthday". Sorry for changing the spoiler warnings mid-stream, but I want
to take advantage of the new developments with Cordy's altered nature.
ARCHIVE: Please do.
DISCLAIMER: Joss created. I am not Joss. Therefore, not mine, never will be.
NOTE: A response to Kendra A's challenge to "fix" Wrecked.
NOTE 2: This went out un-beta'd, so all ghastly mistakes are wholly my
fault.
NOTE 3: Part of the inspiration for this chapter and the one to follow came
from Melissa's story, 'Oral Fixations'. As a conscientious author (and a big
fan of Melissa's), thought I'd give credit where it was due.
DEDICATION: To Carrie and Jonquil, friends I'm glad I've made along the way.
Many thanks!
FEEDBACK: Much appreciated: medealives@hotmail.com
Had it really been only a few months? That couldn't be right. A lifetime of
changes was etched on the children he'd watched over not so long ago.
Children no longer.
Giles blinked amid the chaos. Willow's scream had brought them all running
and his heart was still hammering against his chest. Yet for all the
confusion around him and the frenzied thrust of his pulse, the world seemed
to move in slow motion.
Angel and Cordelia had apparently arrived first. Angel knelt beside the bed
where Willow huddled in terror. He gripped her by the shoulders and murmured
words too soft for Giles to discern. Spike brusquely shoved Cordelia away
from Dawn as Buffy stepped in to scrutinize her sister for signs of harm.
The blond vampire hovered close, eyes narrowed, as Buffy forcefully shook
her younger sister.
Dawn swayed, her expression radiant with bliss. Slowly, she responded to
Buffy's urgent attempts to jar her out of her trance, stiffening and
blinking her eyes.
It was only at this moment that Willow quieted and collapsed against Angel.
In a moment of clarity, he recognized the situation for what it was.
Dear God...how could he have missed it?
Willow. How he'd failed her! He should have seen the signs; should have
anticipated something like this, especially after their prolonged battle
with Glory. Even in his anger over her reckless venture with the
resurrection spell, he should have had the presence of mind to question how
she had managed such a difficult feat. But he hadn't. He'd been too close to
see it.
He'd been too afraid that his prodigy would make the same mistakes he had.
"Dawnie? Dawn! Are you okay?!" Buffy demanded frantically, almost choking on
the words.
Still somewhat dazed, Dawn nodded and murmured, "Uh huh..."
"You're sure she didn't hurt you? What happened?" Buffy pressed, eyes
flaring urgently.
Dawn shook her head and her eyes focused more clearly. "No, I'm good. Buffy,
it's okay, I'm all right. I don't know what happened. It was kinda freaky,
though. One minute, I was leaving Angel's suite; the next, I felt
this...pull..."
Giles might have been gone for several months, but there were some memories
that would never fade. After years spent at Buffy's side, patiently guiding
and training his young charge, her Battle Face was forever burned in his
mind. It was a look of pure determination, from hardened eyes to firmly set
jaw, and one he'd seen countless times as Buffy had prepared for mortal
combat. He saw that look now as she spun around to confront Willow, who lay
prone against Angel's side.
Quickly, Giles intervened.
"It's known as sending out a call."
"What?" Buffy stopped short and looked expectantly at him. "What kind of
call?"
"Oh, God...I can't believe I didn't recognize it," Tara breathed from the
doorway behind him.
"A call for a familiar," Giles continued, observing with interest as Spike
brushed Dawn reassuringly on the cheek, then rested his hand on Buffy's
shoulder. "Beings who provide guidance and enhanced power for a witch --
usually a small animal, such as a cat, but there have been instances of
supernatural entities acting as familiars. It is possible for a call to be
sent out unconsciously, although more often an intentional appeal is made."
Giles had hoped to calm Buffy's fury, but at her tense posture and wide,
alarmed eyes, he realized he'd fallen short of the mark. She lurched at
Willow and was held back only by Spike's firm grip.
Angel, too, tried his hand at soothing her. "Buffy, I don't think Willow
meant to do this. Whatever this was, it terrified her."
But it wasn't Angel who succeeded in easing Buffy's hostile stance.
"Shh, luv," Spike urged in a rich, purring baritone, giving her shoulder a
gentle squeeze. "Bit's fine. Best get her away from the witch and figure out
what's goin' on. Remember: Red may look weak, but her magic's still there.
Don't pick a fight until you're sure you're ready."
Buffy yielded. Giles saw that he was not the only one who had read the
subtle text of their exchange. Angel's eyes, too, were frozen in a stare of
disbelief.
At some point while Giles had been away, Spike had replaced them both.
Confidant. Touchstone. Ally.
Lover? Giles opted not to consider that possibility just yet, but he knew
his Slayer's heart, and feared he saw the signs.
Had it really been only a few months?
A lifetime of changes, indeed.
*****
In her terror to flee before she could hurt Dawn again, Willow thrust
herself deep into her mind--
--and found herself in the forest glade where Poydras had trained with old
Garat.
Sunlight streamed through the trees and dappled the low, gnarled vegetation
that carpeted the glade. She stood in the rays, bathed in warmth, resting
slightly against the heavy quarter-staff in her right hand.
Once again, she was in the athletic, masculine body of a warrior.
Or, at this stage, a much younger warrior-in-training.
She remembered vividly every practice bout Poydras had experienced here.
Sometimes he'd sparred with other novices, sometimes with seasoned warriors,
and sometimes against phantasms conjured by Garat. For six years, not a
night had gone by that Poydras hadn't collapsed on his sleep mat, aching,
sore, and too tired to eat. Of course, the few times his wearied sinews had
tempted him to refuse supper, Garat had taught him that it was possible for
a body to feel even worse, rousing him with lashes from his switch. The old
master never let him miss a meal.
Those years had blurred together as one, long, fatiguing period of intensive
training, patient lectures, frustrating tests of will, trials of
intelligence, and strained muscles.
They had been among the happiest of Willow's long, torturous travels.
Willow relaxed in the pleasure of this fond memory, escaping her troubles
for a moment by daydreaming...
No! Wait! What had Garat said about dayd--- oof!
The sharp blow of a clawed foot against his back sent Poydras stumbling
forward. Raw, bleeding stripes throbbed as a reminder that losing focus
would get him hurt -- or killed.
Willow receded to the back of Poydras' mind and observed fondly as he went
through a vigorous routine with one of Garat's phantasms. This time it was a
simulated Tracker. Willow remembered these sessions and would have grinned
if she'd been in control of her host's body. The youth had found them
humiliating; the veteran fighter looked back, years later, and recognized
them as some of his most important lessons.
Poydras crouched and swung his quarter-staff in a powerful arc to his right
and behind him, following the staff with his body. He struck the phantom
Tracker hard across the knees, eliciting the familiar, unearthly howl that
even fully-trained Guardians dreaded. Its mouth pulled back in a menacing
snarl over red gums and jagged, obsidian teeth. The silver-grey tentacles
that cascaded mane-like from its head grew agitated.
Moaning inwardly, Willow braced herself for the sting of those tentacles on
Poydras' skin. It would still be several years before he learned what Garat
had been trying to teach him with this test: if you worry too much about how
your opponent can hurt you, you'll overlook weaknesses that you can use to
your advantage. At this age, only a few years since the elders of his
village had offered him to Garat as a novice, Poydras was still easily
thrown by the instinctive fear of his people's deadliest enemy.
Through her host's eyes, Willow saw the weakness that Garat would point out
later, when Poydras was writhing in pain. The Tracker's head had reared back
in preparation for whipping its poisoned tentacles at him -- leaving its
neck exposed and vulnerable. Oooooh, this was going to hurt. Willow wished
there was some way to warn him.
She was stunned when Poydras thrust his quarter-staff at the Tracker's neck
and speared it brutally through the throat.
It hadn't happened this way!
Poydras' reflexes were still too untrained, his mind still too prone to
react in fear, for him to pull off such a maneuver.
But....he had.
The killing blow ended Garat's spell and the hideous phantasm dissolved in a
hiss of smoke.
As Willow gaped incredulously along with Poydras at the empty space where
the Tracker had been, Garat's gruff, amused voice broke the silence.
"So, young novice. How did you manage that?"
"I...I..." stammered Poydras uncertainly. Speechless, he dropped to his
knees, shifting his wide-eyed stare from the ground to his stunted, grizzled
mentor.
Garat's face wrinkled in irritation, causing the long quills on his chin to
twitch. "What have I told you, hmm?" he chided, cracking his switch against
Poydras' arm.
Poydras yelped and clutched at his arm, where an angry welt had been raised
against green skin. However, he was still too confused to answer his
mentor's question.
"Combat is more than fighting, more than just reacting. Use your mind.
Thought and action should be one," Garat lectured. "So, if you did it, you
must know how you did it. Tell me."
"A...I...his neck. There was...in my mind...something," Poydras frowned as
he stumbled over his words. "It told me...somehow I knew to strike the
neck."
"Voices in your head, eh?" Garat poked beneath Poydras' chin with his
switch, unimpressed. He peered intently into the youth's eyes, and Willow
had the uneasy, surreal sensation that he was looking directly at her.
"Who's in there, then? Hmm? Know this now: if you are to accomplish what
must be done, all must be brought forward. Can't work with voices in your
*head* -- you aren't pieces, you aren't parts, you're a whole. Embrace what
you are -- and let's go again."
Willow was shaken. This hadn't happened! Not like this.
However, she had no time to wonder at the strange turn of events. The world
was shifting again, fragmenting into a myriad of images. Bursts of light,
shapes, shadows all spun around her at a dizzying pace until Willow found
herself back in her room at the Hyperion.
It was oddly quiet.
She remembered that she'd been screaming before. Dawn had been there, as had
Angel and the others. Now only Angel remained.
His posture, tense and watchful, eased with relief. "You're back."
Willow nodded, taking deep, gulping breaths to steady herself as a
disorienting stream of memories flooded her mind and grafted onto the ones
that she knew as her 'true' experiences. She couldn't stop herself from
trembling. Her brain was already filled to the bursting point, but alongside
her established memory of Poydras' life, there now stretched a second
history of events, equally authentic.
Two paths.
Both real.
Each ended the same way, with Poydras staring up at a blade that would cut
out his heart. But in the second, he'd been able to prevent Garat's death.
Through her astonished stupor, Willow felt Angel rest his hand on her arm
and heard him ask, "Willow? Willow, are you all right?"
Suddenly, she snapped to attention and clapped her hand urgently over
Angel's. Clinging to him almost desperately, she riveted him with an excited
gaze and babbled, "Angel, something changed! It was different...I mean, it
didn't happen like the first time -- I think he heard me! I changed
something! Or...or do I just want to think I did? Am I just remembering
things the way I want to?"
"Easy, Willow. Slow down," Angel hushed, steadying her with a firm but
gentle grip. "Tell me what happened, from the beginning."
"Like she said: she changed something."
An unfamiliar voice drew Willow's attention to the doorway. She saw a
somewhat homely man smirking back at both of them. His clothes were
nondescript, although they looked vaguely like what a blue-collar worker
might have worn after hours in the 1950s. Maybe it was the rumpled Stetson
on his head that did it.
Willow frowned in confusion. Who was this guy?
"Whistler?" Angel murmured.
*****
Spike gave the softly lit tables, polished bar and row upon row of exotic
bottles, urns, and jars an appreciative once-over.
Pretty posh, for a demon bar. Maybe he could convince Buffy to stay for a
drink, once they got the Niblet settled in Liberace's private suite.
The green bloke'd pitched quite a fit when Angel had asked him if they could
bring Dawn over for safe keeping. The Poof'd had to hold the phone away from
his ear, and Spike had caught a few angry shouts about convertibles, bombs,
hoodlum vigilantes and the high cost of renovations.
But as poncy as he was, Angel still knew how to negotiate. Angelus always
had been a master of coercion.
So here he stood, with Buffy, Dawn, and a horned nightclub owner, perusing
one of the most motley assortment of demons he'd seen in a long time.
Oblivious to his curious stare, the bar's patrons sipped various spiritous
beverages or bodily fluids and listened to a really bad karaoke rendition of
Patsy Cline.
"Come on, princess, your palace awaits you...well, actually, it's still more
of a construction zone than a palace, but I call it home," Lorne commented
amiably. "You'd be amazed what you can do with a few throw pillows."
"I'm not a princess," Dawn sulked, eyes downcast. She was faking
indifference in that adorable way she had, but Spike saw how clearly she was
hurting. "I'm nothing but a cosmic power source."
"Here now," Spike scolded, chucking her beneath the chin and forcing her
eyes to meet his. "No pity parties, they're boring. You're a normal, teenage
girl, pet. No doubt there. You bloody whine enough, couldn't be anything
but."
Dawn scowled at him and brushed his hand away. Good. Irritated was better
than sniveling.
"Dawn, be nice. Lorne is doing us a favor, and from what Wesley told us
about everything that's happened in the past year, a really BIG favor,"
Buffy added. Smiling hesitantly, she rested her hand on Dawn's shoulder.
"Besides, you'll be okay here. Willow won't be able to reach you. Remember,
no matter what she's done to you, she doesn't define who you are. You're
*you*."
"Easy for you to say," Dawn huffed. "At least you have some control over
your life. I'm just a Key, a tool for someone else to control. Willow proved
that."
With that, she stomped petulantly over to the far side of the bar, jostling
a walrus-faced demon as she brushed past. Disgruntled, it snorted at her,
then went back to sipping a bright chartreuse concoction.
Lorne sighed. "Kids. I shudder to think what Connor will be like when he's
this age, considering who his daddy is. Why don't you two sit down and have
a drink. I'll turn on the charm and get her settled in."
Buffy looked uncomfortable with the suggestion. She was poised to stalk
after her sister, but Spike stayed her, gently shaking his head. "She
doesn't want us around right now, luv. Let her cool down."
After a long pause, Buffy relented, although the frustration was visible on
her face. She let Spike escort her over to a candlelit table in the corner.
They sat in silence for several moments. On an impulse, Spike reached across
the table and took Buffy's hand, stroking his fingers over her soft skin but
saying nothing.
With a wistful smile, Buffy dropped her gaze to their hands and murmured,
"Thanks. Lately, you always seem to know what I need."
"Only lately?" Spike retorted with a cocky arch of his brow. "Slayer, I've
had just what you *need* for years now."
She curled her fingers against his hand and dug her fingernails into his
pale flesh.
"Ow! That smarts!" he protested. Buffy grinned.
A waiter -- or waitress, Spike couldn't tell -- came over and took their
drink order, and they lapsed into silence. The drinks were delivered, but
sat ignored as Spike watched Buffy stare thoughtfully into the distance.
"It never ends," Buffy observed at last. "I keep hoping that, someday, it
will all be over. But as soon as we get over one hurdle, five more spring up
in its place."
" 's how it goes, yeah," Spike agreed. Then, narrowing his eyes in concern
over her fatalistic tone, he demanded, "You're not havin' regrets about
bein' back again, are you? Not thinkin' of...endin' it...?"
"No," Buffy reassured him. She brought her gaze to his, and the emotion in
her eyes nearly knocked him out of his seat. "I don't think about that any
more....thanks to you. I don't know how I would have made it through all
this without you."
Spike gaped at her, speechless.
Blushing, Buffy glanced away for several moments, swallowed, then looked at
him pointedly and said, "I...don't love you...yet. But I trust you. Thank
you for letting me trust you."
Borrowed blood pounded hot and furious through his veins, as Buffy's
confession echoed in his ears. Especially one word: yet.
Yet.
Evidently, Buffy's emotions were just as turbulent. A pretty pink flush
deepened in her cheeks as her blood screamed close to the surface of her
skin. Her voice shaking nervously, she teased, "Come on, isn't this the
point where you point and laugh? Or at least gloat? Tell me 'I told you
so'?"
So beautiful. So fucking beautiful.
Spike simply stared at her as she squirmed across from him, all flustered.
Her hazel eyes enchanted him. Her soft lips trembled so shyly.
He closed his eyes, drinking in the moment just a little longer, before he
opened them again and answered her from the very depths of his soulless yet
sentimental heart.
"She comes not when Noon is on the roses--
Too bright is Day.
She comes not to the Soul till it reposes
From work and play.
But when Night is on the hills, and the great Voices
Roll in from Sea,
By starlight and candle-light and dreamlight
She comes to me."
Buffy's mouth dropped open slightly. His response clearly wasn't what she'd
expected. But when Spike saw a tiny glimmer at the corner of her eyes, he
knew his words were far from unwelcome.
He nodded in the direction that Lorne had taken Dawn. "Come on, luv, let's
go say good night to the Niblet."
(To Be Continued)