Title: Shattered Hope
Author: Jixer
E-mail: jixer@attbi.com
Feedback: Please. This is my first fanfiction. Bouquets and brickbats welcome
Distribution: Any free fanfiction site
Spoilers: Up through the end of Season 6
Rating: Hard PG-13
Pairing: W/T and "old" W/X remembered
Disclaimer: All characters of BtVS are owned by Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon. All I own are tattered books, the love of a good woman and a few pots of tomato plants.
Summary: Something is angry and won't let Tara go or help as things close in on Buffy and Dawn. Be warned-this is rough on everyone.
Note: Numbered chapters are Tara's P.O.V. (with heavy self reproach, earned or not) while titled chapters are narrative.
Shattered Hope
Mind the Threefold Law you should,
Three times bad and three times good
I think of the Rede a lot these days. Promises, debts and mistakes made before death demanded an accounting.
I found the love of a woman with more power than I could ever hold, but I was afraid to teach her, afraid to correct her until it was too late. I was afraid she wouldn't want me if I did. She touched the darkness and it swallowed her.
I helped bring back Buffy, knowing it was wrong.
I told Dawn I'd always be there for her, never imagining the little sister of my heart would find me cold and dead.
I found a family and accepted both their protection and their love, but never wove the painful, draining protective spells that would have outlived me more than a few days.
I promised my mother I would never forget her rules of magic she taught me so carefully. Sorry Momma.
I think about those things in the night as I watch over Buffy and Dawn. No, to watch over them would mean that I could warn them, protect them, comfort them. I can't do that or anything else here. I can't touch anything or make myself heard no matter how hard I try. Magic isn't mine anymore either, I guess taken away in death because I didn't deserve it. No one sees me of course, unless they're at the moment death takes them.
I'd rather Buffy and Dawn didn't see me for a long time.
I think I'm between realities. I can go with either Summers anywhere and at any time. I don't know how I'm moving in time from Dawn's day's end to Buffy's beginning on the same day. I can go back in time also, strong emotions to strong emotions, back in a chain to the time of my death. I can't go past that. There have been a lot of strong emotions for both girls in the last four month's since I died. I don't like going back.
I have to be with them. The spells I did weave when I ran away from the woman I loved were weak things, I realize now. But those useless protective spells tied me to my true family. For some reason an unknown power has decided that, as useless as I am, and was, I should go with them through their now. Time is moving us towards an enormous boiling mass of cloud that I can see everyday in the instant I move between the last two members of my family that I can reach.
Dawn is the hardest to be with. Her days start at seven with a loud clang. To me it seems jarring, an assault of hateful noise. For her, it just means a day of carefully monitored boredom and substandard education in the Sunnydale Juvenile Center (High Risk Section). She's in "Jack" because a week after I died Dawn was feeling lonely and depressed. I was wasn't there for her; Buffy and Xander were tied up with Willow and wanted Dawn away from the house for a while. She went out with Arabella, one of her "friends" who knew about her shoplifting.
It took a lot of convincing to get Dawn into the store, but once there she was happy, busy looking at things she knew she could never have. I saw her feel the softness of one silk blouse and hold it as she looked around. Then she let go, squared her shoulders and said "I'm going" to Arabella. I felt so proud of her then, as if I had a reason to be proud of anything she did. The other girl shrugged her shoulders and walked out with Dawn, but Arabella hadn't made the same choice my Dawn made.
That's when everything came apart.
A man reached out and grabbed Arabella by the arm. Before he could say a word the girl screamed and Dawn came to her defense with the partial strength of a Slayer, something that started to manifest when someone else was in danger. The blow knocked him backward and bounced his unconscious body off the glass display window, leaving him slack and bleeding from a scalp wound. Dawn looked at him as Arabella ran away and only then saw the badge of a policeman.
He was a rookie, on his first day of undercover work, alone while his trainer was getting coffee. He's alive and can eat solid food again, but he hasn't come back to police work.
She isn't a bad girl. She freaked and tried to help him, unfortunately with the untrained strength of three men. The police sergeant who was supposed to be with the rookie saw something else. Dawn froze when she looked up and saw a pistol pointed at her. The fear in her eyes was unbearable. It's the second worst moment I'd had until then. A hungry junior District Attorney tried to charge her as an adult for assault with intent to kill.
It cost Buffy every bit of equity she had in the house on Rivelo to get an attorney competent enough to keep Dawn out of an adult jail or worse. The hearings were swift, mostly because Arabella's family could afford a suite of lawyers good enough to shield their dear child and ruthless enough to throw a known thief to the ambitions of the junior DA. She's here until she's eighteen. I already knew I can't scream loud enough to make anyone hear me by then. Can't cry loud enough either.
After the noise, roll call and showers (no I don't look, underage - eeww) it's a greasy breakfast then sullenly on to classes she could pass asleep. Only in the dank, tiny gym does she come alive, but it's a feral girl-child who goes straight for the heavy bag. After the first bag ripped the bullies finally left her alone. So does everyone else. She just puts on her tough girl mask and goes on.
She had made one friend here, Gwen, a mouse of a girl Dawn protected. Gwen belonged here less than Dawn, and I think that's what made Dawn come out from behind the "tough girl" mask. She had found someone to protect, talk with and to care about. As Gwen talked about her life, Dawn found out monsters sometimes come in other forms. [Poverty and neglect were just words for her. They become real when a friend tells you how brave you are after losing all your wealth and loving family.
Gwen trusted Dawn enough finally to talk about seeing a monster attack someone, biting the victim's neck. Dawn told her about vampires and Gwen didn't call her crazy. That's when I realized Dawn might have had study buddies and friendly acquaintances but the Scoobies were the only friends she had. We had been people she could talk to about being frightened by vampires or dealing with demons. Anyone who believed her and could be a friend would be in danger, and she wouldn't do that. She's like her sister.
Dawn also found out about other things when Gwen told her about a "boyfriend" that had almost used her up. But it was O.K., Gwen insisted, because he had problems in the past and she loved him. It was better now and he would get Gwen out. Dawn feared she was right about the last.
Dawn's fears were true. I wonder if the Slayer dreams Buffy has are now starting with Dawn. He got Gwen out. I thank whatever power watches out for Dawn it was her court appointed psychiatrist, Dr. Humphries, who told her that the police had found Gwen's body. Gwen had fought back, Humphries told her, knowing it would give Dawn a tiny bit of comfort.
I saw it. I followed her despite the wrongness I feel when I'm not with my family. Dawn liked her and she was a nice girl, almost too smart and caring. I found myself trying again even though I know I'm useless. Gwen fought until he broke her arm, then she huddled under the blows, crying, "I'm sorry" again and again. After a while she was quiet. I think I heard a tiny "I'm sorry" before I scuttled back to Dawn. She was writing a letter to Gwen when I could look up from my tears.
After that Humphries added Dawn to a Wednesday group session. Dawn refers to it in the journal she's keeping again (one notebook only with one pen and one pencil, both locked away if she gets too many demerits) as the Further Education of Dawn Summers About Real Life. Some of these girls' lives make parts of Gwen's story sound joyful.
After these long months she seems as hard as any of the other "children" here, but I know her heart. I know she took in Miss Kitty for me and hoped the cat would give Willow something to care about. I also know how badly she sleeps. In her sleep, there are no masks or postures to protect her against the darkness in her dreams. She's a girl, almost a woman alone in a scary place. I think it's the girl that dreams the most and calls out softly, urgently for her Mom, for Buffy and sometimes for Giles or Willow. She cries out "Tara!" nearly every night as well.
When she calls out for me I reach out to her, every time. And every time she can't hear me, can't feel me. That horrific sight of me dead in Willow's room, our room once again for too short a time, must be playing again in her mind and I can't make it go away. Then these useless tears start to fall to nowhere. My soul seems to shred when I see her cry in the darkness. That's when I know I've been truly damned.
Buffy is almost as easy to follow. Eat, sleep, work and slay. I think Dawn is the only thing keeping her mostly alive. Each morning she gets up in a tiny apartment, works out in the dark, dresses (still not looking, it's Buffy) and eats too little before she opens the Doublemeat Palace.
Work seems just to fill time for her. The creditors and old bills are always just around the corner so Buffy's paycheck leaves nothing extra for her. She's here everyday, no days off. The guys all think she's gay because Buffy won't go out with any of them. I think that's the closest I get to humor anymore. After eight to twelve hours, eight hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays when Dawn can have visitors, in the grease and steam she changes (nope) and heads out to patrol.
Buffy lives for those two days. This is when she can check into a grim building on the outskirts of Sunnydale and see Dawn. They get three hours instead of one together because Dr. Humphries, a man with cocoa butter skin and a heart that has room for all these kids, has made Buffy part of Dawn's counseling sessions. At the end of the visit, Buffy gets on a bus and heads back into town and out into the twilight.
Those two nights she visits, she makes a point to stop at one of those taco trucks that seem to be everywhere. Ernesto knows her now and his two little girls who stay with him while his wife works even give her shy smiles as they look up from their coloring books. The old Buffy peeks through then.
The only other stop she makes now is to buy a handful of flowers every night. I dread that because I know what comes next.
First she walks past the house where she lived. There's another family living there now, and I wonder if there's a girl asking for funny shapes on some mornings and rounds when she needs to know she's home in a troubling world. I think they're good people because they've taken Miss Kitty in as theirs. I can't bring myself to look inside those windows though, and neither has Buffy.
Then we head for the main cemetery. I don't know why vampires aren't showing up anywhere else. The rotation is always the same these last months.
First she goes onto the older section. I start to hurt the moment I see the Star of David. They found her a week and a day after my funeral, her head pillowed on my marker. She'd found a stupid, sappy love letter I was writing to her. Buffy and the rest were involved with Dawn's legal problems. Xander especially was torn and trying to help too many people. Willow, smart and bright girl that she was, put on the drama of recovering from her pain.
I remember how I found out about my limitations during the three days before she died at her own hand. With her magic nearly broken, she had used botanicals and science. I watched her make the potions disguised as a chemistry experiment. The Scoobies felt relief as their old friend took up her favorite pursuits again while I begged, pleaded, prayed, cursed and finally just screamed and cried. Willow never heard me, none of them did. My hands couldn't stop the brewing of the potion nor keep it from her lips.
No one else knew that for a second as she died my Willow looked at me and saw me. She said my name with love, reached for me- and something tore her away before we could touch. I tried to follow her, my screams echoing hers, but she was taken somewhere this nothingness won't let me get to.
Buffy takes an eternity here and brushes away more tears as she places the flower on the cold granite. "Will-" she starts, regret and reproof warring in that single sound, then she sobs and walks away.
The next stop is Spike's old crypt. I'm not sure what Spike became, I can't open books or do research. Willow and Xander were hotly divided when I listened in; Willow sure he had a soul and Xander almost fearful that he did. All I know is he was usually decent to me, even when teasing. Whatever he was, Spike or William, he fought for her. She never trusted him in the time they had and that tore at him. He was with her for just days when two huge scaled somethings caught him alone at twilight. He didn't see me, I think because it was so quick at the end when one of the beasts slashed off most of his head.
I tried to distract them, to give him a chance. I was useless as usual. Buffy found dust and his torn leather coat in the backyard. For a second as she cries and stoops with a flower in a shaking hand I hear his short scream again, pain and dying and losing her all in one rending noise.
Xander is next, a cheap tiny marker in the new section of the cemetery. He never got what he deserved, even here. It was a car wreck four months ago, but only I know it was a demon, in the guise of a child, that made him swerve into the concealed truck's path. Everyone else, even Buffy, thought he fell asleep from overworking, trying to help her and Dawn.
Her last friend dying because of her has torn Buffy up so much I think she's only just now recovering a little. She lays a flower down and says, "I'm sorry."
I remember his death, him looking at me for half an instant. I think I heard him telling someone far away to wait, his friend was back there and she was crying. Then he was gone. It was the second time I'd been seen.
I remember how safe I felt when he stood up to Donnie the night I realized I had a new family, based on love instead of blood. I remember him hiding behind me as Willow and Anya snapped at each other and tried to draw him into the middle. I remember him trying to reach Willow through her pain after I was killed. He saved the world, and I love him but I couldn't bear to watch their night together. I had to be away from the sight of my love in another's arms. But I'm glad it was him. He gave me hope for a little while.
When Buffy walks away she passes Anya, or rather Anyanka, but I'm the only one who seems to know she's in the oak tree.
I thought Anya was going to be a point of hope. She left with Giles to give herself some time and space. Vengeance had soured for her and she was looking for another way. Giles is brilliant, and at magic Anya proved to be a good student. I couldn't understand why they never talked about binding to the earth. I finally guessed Anya had more power than I thought. I hoped they would do anything that would let someone know I'm here.
The Watchers asked them to look into the Hellmouth. Anya and Giles shone as they worked together. Anya brought a new way to look at magic; she used graphs and the rest of a businesswoman's analytical tools. Giles was all tradition and observation. They made strides that were astounding to me. I was worried about the Hellmouth but Giles was the expert about it.
Then, just after they started, the Watcher I don't trust at all, Travers, delivered one item he said was from another Hellmouth to help' them with their research. He unwrapped a box made of small bones. I saw the clouds around it. Anya hated it, but couldn't say why. It frightened me to my core.
Then in one day I lost all hope. I was just following Anya; shocked and lost when they heard the news. Dawn's troubles had made them think about coming back, but Giles never did. Then they heard of Willow's death. Giles blamed himself; Anya felt guilty and tried to reverse the death without telling Giles. She moved carefully through the first part of the spell, not calling straight for the powers themselves, but going respectfully. At the point she touched her new power fully for the first time, the box of bones snapped open and closed. Anya fell to the ground, the box vanished, and I lost my connection to my friend. It felt like I fell forever.
I wonder if Buffy ever thinks about Anya. We saw her at Xander's funeral. His parents blamed Anya of course, but she didn't listen. Anya was, well, broken. Buffy tried to speak with her but Anya was too far-gone and just drifted off. Afterwards I saw her as Anyanka just walk into the old oak over the rise from Xander's grave. She's never come out. I don't know how she became a vengeance demon again.
There's a tiny pull from her now, but I can't seem to find her in the oak. I miss her though, even as Anyanka.
Then it's a slightly larger marker nearby. Mine. Buffy used to talk to me, apologizing for not taking the bullet, saying how I would do a better job with Dawn, wishing me and Willow a happy long time together. Every word a brand on my soul. Eventually she stopped talking to me. Now it's just a flower and another soft, heartfelt apology in a word. I tell her it's not her fault out of reflex, hoping without hope someday she'll accept that.
It's the same every night. I admire her even more now as she goes on trying after losing all of us in a few weeks
A short distance away the last flower goes on Joyce's grave. "I'm sorry Mom." I'm sorry too, Joyce. I should have done better by your daughters. They're both good people, better than I am, um, was.
This takes less than half an hour from the time she slips over the fence. By then the true darkness has fallen and Buffy starts to move through the darkness like a predator. I don't know this stuff very well but I think she's slaying harder if that makes any sense. There's no banter, no wasted motion. It's all ruthless efficiency and final death. She has a few books from the Magic Box but Buffy never researches her opponents anymore. It's just killing, and lots of it. Watching her fight out numbered and hard pressed makes my heart (if I really have one here) race in fear that I'll watch her die too.
Something seems to be making more frightening things every night to go with the increasing numbers of vampires coming to Sunnydale. Things that can't see me, Goddess bless, but make me screech anyway. There are too many things for one tiny young woman to stop as they stalk the innocent.
But she keeps beating them all so far.
Then, almost as if a class bell rang, the night empties of the evil things and Buffy heads home for too few hours sleep. I can't get over the feeling she is being tested to destruction by something lurking where I can't see. I never quite shake off this feeling even as Buffy locks her door and cleans up (still no). Usually then, she falls into bed and a light sleep. When we're lucky.
The bad nights are when she's been hurt. The Slayer healing takes hold quickly but it's never fast enough these days. Buffy lies there and looks at a small table near her bed. It seems strange and sad to see the pictures of her family and the Scoobies that were once scattered about in a real home in a cluttered almost shrine on that tattered table. Her tears start to flow very quietly, politely almost, when she looks at those pictures for very long.
I don't know how long Buffy can keep this non-life up. I keep trying to soothe her, comfort her, and console her. One day I still pray I'll help her and Dawn. That day I'll get out of Hell.
Chapter Two
Today didn't feel different. I know it's a Monday because Dawn gets new uniforms on Monday and the breakfast "meat" is the cheapest eggs scrambled in thin milk. Dawn saves the best of the uniforms, neon orange jumpsuits for the HROs (High Risk Offenders, my education continues), for Buffy's visits. She tries to stay interested in class but the books are at least twenty years old and the teacher is a burnout case that drones on in a monotone. Dawn tries though. Demerits cut down on her time with Buffy.
Lunch is a sandwich, bowl of soup and a pop. Then she goes to more classes, these with student teachers from UC Sunnydale. Dawn struggles to keep attentive and not fidget as the brief time they get in gym approaches. I'm disturbed by the way she seems to turn into something predatory on her way to the gym.
Once there, as usual, no one gets between her and the heavy bag. For almost the entire half hour she hits it nearly as fast as Buffy, not as hard as her sister but at least twice as hard as any of the older male teens who follow the girls. I know the other girls talk about her. The gossip is ridiculous; I won't repeat it.
Today though one of the matrons seems more attentive than usual. Something makes me nervous about her. Dawn does her homework just as reluctantly as always after her gym time is over. Then dinner is in a carefully watched dining area. Dawn sits at a table that grows quieter when she arrives. The conversation is strained, the girls only using the F word three or four times in a sentence (I'm still not used to that after all this time).
The matron is back and checks Dawn into her cubicle (don't call them cells) after dinner. I see her make a sign behind Dawn's back and touch just the edge of her hair at the collar with a tiny silver disc. Magic, I'm sure and I feel panic setting in, but nothing seems to happen. The matron looks down at the disc after Dawn is locked in and raises an eyebrow.
"Nothing." She mutters and smiles smugly. I snap something rude at her but it doesn't make me feel better.
For the first time since she's been here I don't finish the day with Dawn in the linear time flow. I follow the woman back to her apartment in the most expensive complex in Sunnydale. The utter wrongness of not being with my family seems to moderate slightly. She goes into a room that makes me think I must have a heart here since I feel it freeze.
Wards and charms are everywhere, with an empty frame with points of light dancing in the emptiness in the center of the room. There's a tang of blood just under the edge of knowing in the air. Black magic, blood magic at that and she's touched my Dawn. I throw every spell I can remember at her. You can guess the results.
She strolls to the frame and the lights disappear, to be replaced by the roiling black clouds I see in the future. I step back, startled, right through two of the wards. Nothing happens. The woman touches the frame just above a tiny needle. A single drop of blood appears briefly and then the clouds fade away.
I expect to see a demon or monster, not a thin man in a trim three-piece suit at a large desk. He looks tired, but he straightens up and smiles politely at the woman.
"Good evening, Miss Grey." He says in a tone that makes me think of Mr. Giles.
"Sir, I have good news," the woman says smugly.
"That would be welcome," the man answers.
In the background I can hear what sound like alarms. The man glances away and the image flickers. He waves his hand and the clarity comes back.
"In brief, sir, the Key is almost ready," she says in a rush, "still unwarded, and now nearly full strength. It's still close to the target nexus known locally as the Hellmouth."
"Better than we could have hoped, Miss Grey," the thin man says in a clipped tone. "especially after our previous disappointment. What about the chaotic element of this Slayer?"
"Chaotic but very fascinating," a new voice interjects. "We need to get some more data on her before we extract. These Slayers will be very useful, especially as assassins. The DNA and simulacrum are extremely promising. Actual nerve tissue samples would be appreciated, some spinal column would be best. Oh, and the cerebrum or most of it."
An older woman peers around the edge of the view of the frame. Her image and her words make me think of an evil librarian.
"Can you do that and not jeopardize the operation, Miss Grey?" the man asks.
"I had planned to use a mix of demons and vampires over the next four nights," Grey explains clinically. "I anticipate being able to finish the stress profile and provide the samples. I'll change the mix of creatures to maximize the chances of collecting the subject's head intact."
The way she says it makes me feel it's a forgone conclusion Buffy is going to die like Spike. I'm thankful for the small kindness that I can't throw up here.
"Will our interest attract scavengers?" the librarian asks with distaste. "I'd hate to have the experiment tainted."
"I'm keeping the Slayer under observation only during the combat for data collection, Ma'am," this cold woman answers. "Since her supports have been removed she has become predictable and no longer needs to be observed. The Key has no magic around it (at this, I actually say "Bitch!" out loud) and no one will look for it where it is now."
"Excellent. Thank you." the woman nods absently.
"Miss Grey," the man asks, "has this secondary extraction data been checked again? If these figures are correct the old benchmark of 1985 will be left quite in the dust."
Miss Grey lifts a finger and a monitor appears in front of her in a ripple of red and gold light. The texture of the flash and the colors nag at me, but the images scream. There, a picture of Willow from her high school days starts a complicated chart, and at the end is Dawn's mug shot. Miss Grey gestures and the images change to a spreadsheet before I can touch Willow's picture.
"I have the Key being able to convert the base dimension and an additional thirty eight secondary dimensions of Class Three or above before critical thermal failure," she said dryly. "The secondary dimension cascade failure rate of will be forty percent. Locally there will be an increase in the demon count but the flux will destroy all the vampires. I doubt anyone will miss the control mechanism."
"Her name is Buffy!" I scream in hopeless rage.
"Enough magic for forty one years, current consumption." The man gives a small smile. "Once opened we may even be able to hard extract within economically feasible parameters."
He looks away for a moment. "I have the time til extraction of one hundred twenty five hours and six minutes. That will be under deadline and under budget. Very well done, Miss Grey."
She recognizes dismissal and gestures at the frame. The clouds come back for a moment, then the tiny lights dance in the emptiness again.
I ask a dozen questions as she makes herself comfortable in a stuffed chair inside a chalked circle on the floor. She gestures and half a dozen candles burst into flame. Then with casual ease she calls a book from nowhere and flips through the pages. I hear her whisper something about good venom and claws but very weak hips. She ponders her choice like a shopper with a catalog. Miss Grey nods.
"Good tactical analysis test," she says as she claps her hands together.
Across the circle pieces on a chessboard move. Three pawns and a black knight move against the solitary white queen.
I race towards Buffy, for once not at her side through the day. I come to her as she stands from Willow's grave. Even with fear crowding everything else out I feel the familiar heartsick pain. I try to warn her. I think I'm losing my mind as I babble. I scream, "Please let her hear me!" into an uncaring night. The vampires are upon her just as she leaves Joyce's grave.
They don't last even as long as usual. Then something between a nightmare and an old horror movie slides out of the dark and misses her by inches with its claws. Buffy rolls away but a stinger whips out and grazes her leg. Buffy staggers and rolls behind a large headstone. She stops moving.
"Buffy, get up," I beg.
"Tara, I'm too tired." she whispers. But her lips don't move.
"WHAT?" I scream.
"Don't yell... Tara?"
"Buffy," I try to calm myself and fail. "Buffy for God's sake listen. You know the old oak tree just west of Xander's grave?"
"Yes." she replies sounding puzzled.
"Go there and wish for justice for the murder of Xander Harris. Ask to talk to me. Please, please, please understand. I can't make you hear me otherwise." I'm crying now, but with a tiny hope for the first time in months.
"Xander was murdered?" Buffy asks in a small voice.
"Yes. Anya will hear you there. They're after you and Dawn. This thing has weak hips." I wonder what else to say in the time I have left as she suddenly shakes her head.
"Tara, weak hips?" She whispers as the demon looks up.
She looks around and calls my name. Then the thing lumbers into view.
I don't know what to call the low kick Buffy delivers but it takes the monster down hard enough to stun it. She gives it a blow to the head with an axe. The quiet night sounds slowly return to the cemetery. Buffy looks at the demon for a second. Then it starts to crumble. I suppose the test is done and we don't want unwelcome attention now, do we?
"Weak hips." she says. "Tara?"
She waits for a moment in the night, absently rubbing her leg, and then Buffy walks over to the oak tree, looks up into its branches and walks around it. She stops and in a clear voice she says "Anyanka! I wish for justice for the murder of Xander Harris."
Anyanka's just there, no flash or noise. I miss her but I never get used to seeing her as a demon.
"Murder?" Anyanka hisses softly. "It was you and your jailbird sister. That's what killed him."
"Tara told me he was murdered," Buffy explains tightly. "But now I can't hear her."
Anyanka shouts something and my name in an angry tone. Then they both look at me and jump back.
"Tara," Buffy whispers and reaches for me. I lose it, falling to my knees and crying happily, feeling an elation I never thought I'd know again, I reach for her too.
"Don't!" Anyanka shouts and Buffy stops. The demon looks at me with a touch of fright, or perhaps disgust. I suddenly wonder what I look like now.
"Tara's not a ghost or even a wraith." Anyanka explains. "She's hard to keep focused. Your touch could snap the spell. Whoever did this to you must hate you, Tara."
I feel myself wilting. I had so wanted to touch someone in my family one more time. Then I smile. At least they can see me. I barely compose myself and look up at Anyanka.
"Thank you, Anya," I say more sincerely than ever before.
Anyanka says something and the night grows quiet again.
"It's a time holding spell," the demon explains. "Now what's this about Xander being murdered."
"He was coming home when a child ran into the road," I say trying not to feel the loss. "He swerved and a truck came out of nowhere and hit us. Then the child was a demon and he vanished."
"I'm sorry," I finish. "I tried to do something but..."
"No." Buffy says flatly. "I should have seen the danger and gotten him out of here."
"Stop it both of you!" Anyanka shouts angrily. "Have you both been beating on yourselves for all this time? You've gotten really good at it. You two didn't kill anybody, for crying out loud. Don't get maudlin, get really, really angry."
Buffy looks at her for just a second. Then the little blonde nods weakly, then slowly a feral smile lights up her face.
"You're right." She tells Anyanka in a voice that sounds like Buffy for the first time in a long while.
I just smile.
Chapter Three
Anyanka gestures and all of a sudden we're sitting at the table from the Magic Box, only it's just the table and three chairs in a pool of light. I start to breathe just a bit faster, trying to concentrate on anything but looking to my side for a redhead who won't be there, laptop and books scattered in front of her.
"Sorry, Tara," Anyanka says as she changes to look like Anya. "I can make it something that won't remind you of her."
I just shake my head.
"Let's get this done," Buffy says softly. "Tara, tell us everything you remember about that night."
I go on for a little while, keeping just to the facts. I tell them about Miss Grey. Buffy is curious, but her pain over Xander's death pushes the new threat into the background for now. Finally we wring out the story of the wreck. Anyanka can slip through time too, but it seems to drain her. She goes back and forth twice to check things out I've seen but couldn't investigate. She doesn't quite have enough power to get to the wreck in time, but she can get close and cast spells. For Buffy it's confusing to see our friend just pop up a slightly different position, a bit more tired each time.
Anyanka may look like Anya except just after magic but she feels different, like an edge of anger runs through her. It may seem silly and ignorant, but feeling is one of the things I can do now.
Anyanka steels herself and heads back one last time. She comes back angry when she goes to look at (and stop, if I'm reading her right) Xander's accident. She can't get near the accident.
"Damn it!" Anyanka says panting as she slumps in her chair. "I can't get through at all, like someone knew I'd, ah, look into this mortal matter. And the magic is so slick and so brute force it..."
She looks away a moment. "1985, it's 1985 again. I was hoping Tara got the date wrong, but it's not."
"So who's behind this," Buffy asks, "and why are you so worried about 1985?"
"I don't know who's doing this or how," Anya says uncomfortably, and then she sighs. "As for 1985, we dimensional travelers don't talk about it. But three worlds or dimensions or whatever you call them just collapsed in 1985; or at least the 1985 that existed here and used to there. Six others nearby just lost all their magic. It's never come back."
"But the magic has to return if things still live there," I say quickly, remembering my mother's lessons. "Not to mention natural magic in some soils and rocks."
"It never has here," Anyanka says uncomfortably.
Anyanka gestures and a picture of a city of wrecked buildings appears. In the mid-ground a dozen scrawny adults look outward, each with a weapon. A couple of tiny, pinched faces peer from around some organized rubble with a stout door.
"Oh." Buffy and I say together.
"There are a few enclaves of humans starting to rebuild," Anyanka says quickly, "but the rest are bands of scavengers."
"I'm going to try something," Anyanka says suddenly, with a thoughtful smile. "Back in a minute."
She blinks out and Buffy turns to me.
"That still wigs me a bit, all that bamphing," she says lightly.
"She's been doing this for years," I answer. "I'm sure she knows what she's doing."
"What about you?" Buffy asks earnestly. "Can you go anywhere or anytime you want?"
"Only places and times connected with people I put under my useless protection spells," I answer bitterly.
"You couldn't have known, Tara," Buffy answers gently.
I just look at her. I want to believe her.
While we're talking Buffy almost unconsciously picks up the photo of the wrecked world, and then stares at it. The moment lengthens in silence.
"Momma," she says softly. "I should be there."
The next "Bamph" is more a crunch as the light goes out for a split second and Anya is there, human again, curled up in a fetal position on the grass in the night time cemetery with both of us. She's whimpering and Buffy reaches out to her. Anya grabs it like a lifeline in a raging storm. For a second she just huddles in Buffy's embrace.
"We've got to stop them," Anya whispers. "They're going to take everything, everything. They're going to burn it out. They're going to empty everything in dozens of worlds through the Hellmouth. Demons are getting in but you can't escape. Walls are going up across the dimensions. We're trapped, can't get out, can't get out."
"What happened to you?" Buffy asks worriedly.
"Touched a wall, went poof, magic drained, amulet saved me." Anya explains in a voice losing steam.
"What are they going to burn out?" I ask.
"Let's get her to my place."
Buffy looks around, past me and my heart stops.
"Tara?" she says loudly.
I answer but she doesn't hear me again. I start to panic, and then Buffy closes her eyes.
"Tara, I know you're there now," Buffy says quietly. "Come with me. We'll figure something out."
"Oh bugger," Anya says lazily in her arms. "Sorry about that girlfriend."
Anya touches her amulet and mutters something and Buffy smiles as she looks at me.
"Lets go home." Buffy says.
"What are they going to burn out?" I ask again.
"The Key," Anyanka mumbles.
Buffy freezes. Her face becomes a mask of tired hate.
"Go ahead of us," Buffy says to me. "Watch out for us."
I scout ahead for danger, relishing the fact that I'm useful to someone again. Buffy gets Anya home to the tiny apartment and onto the bed. Anya falls asleep instantly. Buffy seems to sag.
"Call work and tell them you're not coming in today," I tell her. "You need sleep and Tuesday is visiting day for Dawn."
"You really have been with us, haven't you?" Buffy says softly.
"You're m-my family," I stammer and look down.
Buffy nods and calls. Then she sits there and looks at the little table full of pictures.
"I wish we could have it back," she says in a tiny voice. Anya just sleeps.
"Get some sleep," I say softly, "I'll watch over you."
Buffy wipes her eyes and smiles at me. She lies down on the thin carpet, takes a spare sheet to cover her and her jacket for a pillow, and falls asleep almost instantly. The Slayer tosses in a bit and says "Momma" again. I feel confused for a second because Joyce is Mom or Mommy. Then I remember the grim picture.
It hits me in a rush, an insight and an answer together that I don't want to admit to but ring true in my mind. It's feels like something that needs to be understood in my very soul.
I should be there
and MommaA dimension where magic once was a small, crucial part of daily life, the way my mother said magic should be. A place where something now was draining away magic and hope with it.
Time and dimensions and energy all in flux as the walls of the dimensions begin to fall around Sunnydale as the Key bleeds. The Slayer makes a choice for life and hope and leaps, leaps to a death here, but a life somewhere else; a life that has to start again.
Buffy was in what she called heaven, safe and loved. Heaven was warm and soft.
Oh, God, no. What had we done? What had I done?
In a far off corner of my soul I can hear a mother's loss in a desperate animal wail.
I hear that wail all night as I watch over them, until Anya gets up in the morning. Only she's Anyanka again, a tousled, grumpy Anyanka. She flips her hand to her amulet and she's Anya, and dressed.
"Nice trick," Buffy grouses as she levers herself up.
"Um, I'm going to check on Dawn," I say, feeling guilty about leaving now that I can be seen. "If that's alright."
"It's more than alright, Tara," Buffy says softly. "I need to work with Anya on this. Give us a little time alone, stay with Dawn. If this Grey shows up or anything strange happens get back to us fast. And Tara-"
I turn, her voice sounds strange.
"Thanks."
For the first time I go to Dawn in the night feeling hope. I tell her everything will be fine, actually meaning it this time. When I hear the awful morning bell I look for Miss Grey, but she isn't here today. Or maybe she's not a morning bitch. I wonder briefly about how catty Miss Grey makes me feel.
Another flash of insight, like something I again need to know deep in my heart comes to me. I see a very young Miss Kitty and her littermates mewing as a dog looms over them. Then a blur of fur and claws and teeth rips into the startled dog as a lean form rakes his face. The dog runs off, and a rough tongue and some nuzzling calms tiny fears.
Another insight and maybe some wisdom, I hope. Buffy and Dawn need me, and now I can help. I've got a little hope again for my family, and it's bringing out my claws.
Meow, Miss Grey.