The Keeper of Truth
Fanfic 2
Summary: "There's always consequences." Spike is proven right when Willow's spell brings Buffy back, years from where she's supposed to be. He'd be bragging that one up, if Spike of season 2 knew what the hell Buffy was talking about.
Rating: R for now. Maybe more later.
Disclaimer: The usual. BTVS is not mine.
Distribution: If you want it, email me..
Feedback: Oh yes please. Dragolyn@hotmail.com
Author's Note: Due to the fact that for some reason, I can't post italics on ff.net, thoughts are put into brackets like these.
Thanks to Wendy and to Shannon. (
************
Buffy pushed Spike through the familiar cemetery. Wet grass clung to the wheels of the chair in clumps, making it bounce. She ignored the bumps that jiggled the vampire and strode down the row as quickly as she could. Tombstones, backlit by moonlight, cast shadows on the dark grass, lining the path towards their destination. "You might've just said we were coming here. I didn't need directions."
"You've been to this crypt before?" Spike folded his hands over his chest, trying not to wince. The pain in his back screamed with each bounce, but he'd rather go sunbathing than tell the Slayer to be gentle. "No getting around you, is there, Slayer? I'd have found a better hide-out if I'd known you knew about this place."
Biting off a wry grin, she shoved open the crypt door and pushed Spike inside. She shut the door firmly behind them and coughed as clouds of dust filled the air. The upper level looked remarkably the same as it had the last time she'd been there, three years in the future. The same old refrigerator hummed in the corner. The dusty armchair squatted in front of a television which, while it wasn't the same as the one Spike would own in the future, bore familiar cracks and dings. "I didn't know about it when you stayed here. Um… now, that is. I don't know about it yet. It'll be a few more years before you'll chain me up in the basement."
"I'm going to do that?" Spike wheeled his chair further into the crypt, towards the sarcophagus. "That's odd."
"Why odd? You're a vampire. Odd for you would be…" Falling in love with the Slayer. Risking your life for a teenage girl. Undergoing torture instead of giving into your nature. She carefully schooled her features into a blank mask, revealing nothing of her thoughts. "Puppies would be odd for you. Flowers. Poetry."
"No, chaining you up isn't something I'd do, not under normal circumstances at least. I don't usually play with my food before supper. That's more Drusilla's gig." He transferred himself from the wheelchair to the sarcophagus in one, fluid movement. With a look at Buffy that dared her to comment, he clicked his tongue and patted his lap. "As for the rest…" He looked expectantly towards to hole that lead to the basement.
From the below the floor, Buffy heard a scrambling noise. "Not a puppy," she said flatly. "No way William the Bloody's keeping a puppy down there. You're not the type… and I'll never believe that they'd give a service dog to a member of the undead, broken back or not."
A small smile twisted Spike's lips as he watched a ginger colored tabby poke its head out of the hole, and run across the crypt towards him. The cat jumped into his lap and, purring, rubbed its nose against the bottom of Spike's chin. "Like I'd ever keep something as shameful as a dog. Way too docile and obedient for my tastes, not to mention snackable. Now, Platelet here… he's my kind of beast. Goes where he wants, eats who he wants…"
All the color drained from Buffy's face. Platelet "What did you call him?"
"What, you thought I'd call him Fluffy? Like humans don't name their pets after foods all the time."
A violent tremble ran through Buffy's body. Dawn. How could it have taken me so long to think about her? To worry about her? She backed away from Spike, her eyes wide and inwardly focused. The memory of her sister's face was all she could see. The way she looked at me before I jumped from the tower… before I died… Sinking to the ground, she leaned her back against the door and drew her knees up against her chest. And now… now she's all alone. No mom, no sister…
"Prissy little thing, aren't you? Never thought something so tiny as a cat's name would get to you."
She rested her head back against the hard wood and closed her eyes, ignoring Spike's taunting words. She had to think, had to figure out what to do next, but it seemed that all she could do was feel. And what is it I'm feeling so much of? Not too unhappy about being gone from the days of Glory, that's for sure. Guilt though, lots of guilt here, because shouldn't I want to get back there? Isn't that the thing to do? But… it was hard there. And then, then there was heaven, with the serenity and the peace and the whole not-a-Slayer deal. It's not like I can just go die again, though. Just run out and get myself killed. I mean, I've been brought back for a reason. This couldn't have all been a mistake. Could it have been? She dropped her head down onto her knees. Of course it could have been. Hello, Buffy! This is your life! When has anything ever gone as planned?
"Earth to Slayer. I'm getting hungry here. Make with the blood already, won't you? Or are you planning on pansying out on our deal?" Spike's words seemed to have a will of their own. He'd intended them to be harsh, wanting to wake the Slayer up out of whatever dreamland she'd fallen into. Instead, they came out with a soft, almost gentle, tone. Groaning, he pushed the cat off onto the floor. "Slayer," he said, snapping his fingers. "Come on out of it, pet. Whatever's wrong, it can't be as bad as all that. S'not like the world's ending, now. Is it?"
"I'm here because I stopped the world from ending," Buffy murmured, her face buried in her hands. "Didn't take much. Just my life. Not like it was much of a life by that point anyways."
Spike fell quiet for a moment. He cocked his head to the side, thinking. "No joke then? You really are from the future?"
Without raising her head, Buffy nodded. "Would I be in here with you if I wasn't?"
"Don't suppose so. And you were dead?"
Her hands smelled like grass and sweat. They were stained with mud and keeping them on her face would probably make her break out into acne. She didn't care. "I was in heaven," she said, her voice barely audible. "It was… heaven. Perfect."
The fingers of Spike's right hand twitched. He glared down at them, telling them not to disobey. No way was he reaching out towards her. The chit was badly in need of comfort, but he had none to offer. All he had was what she'd seen of him: a crypt, a cat, and whatever it was she thought she needed from him. Whatever she wanted from him in exchange for feeding him. Certainly not comfort. But still, there was something there… something tingling inside of him that made him ask, "Want me to call the cat something else?" He shot his eyes away from her the moment the words passed over his lips, embarrassed.
She looked up at him, surprised. "No. It's… sort of sweet, really. You… the future you, that is, called my little sister that. Platelet. She… well, she loved it."
"Sister?" He quirked an eyebrow. "Since when do you have a sister? I thought I'd found all your weaknesses. And why would I give her a pet name?"
"Dawn… well, it's complicated. Let's just leave it at, she doesn't show up for a few years. And when she does, she's fifteen years old. She kinda got a crush on you. Fifteen year olds are like that."
Spike's jaw dropped. "The Slayer's little sis, with a crush on an evil vampire! At least Angel had a soul. Not that it turned out so well with the two of you or anything, but still…" His eyes widened. "Don't tell me that in this future of yours, I've got a soul. If I've turned into the same sort of wanker Angelus did…"
Despite herself, Buffy laughed, a deep chuckle that shook the door behind her slightly. "That last thing I would accuse you of, Spike, would be having a soul. In *any* future. But, there were a few improvements made to your personality. You…well, you lost your bite."
"Come again?"
Buffy rose to her feet. She walked over to him, taking her time. No matter how upset I am, this is one of those moments a girl just *has* to enjoy. "How did you put it? Oh, yes. And I quote, 'Spikey had a little trip to the vet, and now he doesn't chase the other puppies'. Or something to that effect, anyways." She hoisted herself up on the end of the sarcophagus and gave him a smile. "I never paid taxes, really, but if I had, I'd be saying something about how glad I was that the government finally put the money to a good use when they stuck that chip in your head."
"Chip. This is the thing that'll take away my… my bite?" He looked down at his lap as he spoke, making his last word sound an awful lot like 'manhood'. "I don't believe this. It… this has to be your fault, somehow. All your fault! How… how does it happen?"
"Couldn't really tell you. One minute, we're fighting to the death- a fight which I won, of course. Then, a few weeks later, you're chained up in Giles' bathtub, and we're talking about how…" she paused, suppressing a giggle, "how flaccid you'd become."
"Glad it gave you such a laugh," he growled, sending her a black glare. "I suppose you were all sitting around, poking fun at the poor vampire who couldn't." His words dripped with anger, but there was something else hidden in the line of his jaw. A tremble. Fear?
Careful not to show any trace of empathy in her expression, Buffy said, "For a while. I mean, you had spent years trying to kill us all. You were way deserving of what we dished out. But then… you really came around."
"Got my bite back, then?"
"No. But you were tough."
Looking at her from the corner of his eyes, Spike bit down hard on his lip. "Tough? How tough could I be, with no bite?"
"Tough enough to survive a torture session with a hell god," Buffy said, slipping him the tiniest of smiles. "Not to mention battling it out with a few dozen of her minions, and getting tossed off an enormous tower with a knife in your back. You… you did well for yourself, chip or no chip."
Visibly relaxing, Spike looked at Buffy. "Thanks." Shaking his head in an attempt to throw off the emotions of the moment, he coughed loudly. "How 'bout that blood now?"
Buffy rolled up her sleeve. She considered the veins of her wrist carefully, chiding herself for being nervous. You'd think a girl who wants to go back to heaven wouldn't be nervous about this, but no… "You take too much and I'll knock your head off, helpless creature or not." With a sigh, she held her wrist out to him.
"Would I do that?" he asked, taking her hand in his. As casual as his words sounded, his eyes held hers in a questioning stare. Would he? Would the Spike she'd known do such a thing? Chipped Spike? The Spike who is in love with me?
"Yes, of course," she said, the lie coming out in a rush.
Comforted, he smirked and threw on his game face. He brought her wrist to his mouth and bit her without mercy.
She gasped at the pain, then wondered at herself for being surprised. Why wouldn't this hurt? Fangs plus blood drinking equals… ouch. Forcing herself to keep her seat beside him, she closed her eyes, her free hand fisting open and closed. She threw her head back and took deep breaths. Her throat convulsed slightly as tiny moans worked their way up. Her lips pressed together in a tight attempt to silence herself. Hope he's not very hungry. I can't take much more of this.
He drank hard at first, his mouth barely moving on her skin. She could feel each pull from her vein deeply, as though a long thread had been strung from her wrist to the core of her body. The sensation was rhythmic, and within the rhythm came an ease from the pain. Then, gradually, the nature of his bite began to change. The rhythm slowed. Whereas before Buffy could feel only a general pressure from his mouth, she now knew exactly where his lips were on her skin. They brushed the sensitive hollow of her inner wrist, light and wet. She did not open her eyes. His lips moved across the wound he'd made, and then it was his tongue she felt, lapping at her cut with long, leisurely movements.
Coming back to her senses, she jerked her arm away from his hands. From his mouth. She struggled to slow her breathing. Meeting his eyes with a glare, she held her bleeding wrist tightly against her abdomen.
"Would I do that?" Spike repeated in a low voice, meeting her eyes. He licked his lower lip clean, ingesting the last traces of her blood.
Unable to look away, she could only whisper, "Yes."
**********
Sunnydale
2001
**********
"Umm, Will? You read that one already," Tara said, entering the living room of the Summer's house, a steaming mug of tea in one hand. She looked over the stacks of books and tried to catch Willow's eyes. "Stop, honey. Have some tea. You've been at this all night."
"You don't understand," Willow muttered, flipping through the pages of the large text with frantic fingers. "But then, you wouldn't, would you? I've screwed this up so completely that there's no way you could even know just how badly I've…"
Moving around the table, Tara placed her fingertips over Willow's lips, silencing her. She wrapped Willow's hand around the mug. "You're exhausted. If you won't go to bed, at least rest a minute. Drink this." She took the book from in front of Willow and set it firmly to the side. "Please, sweetie."
Taking the tea, Willow sighed. She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. "You don't understand," she repeated in a whisper. "Whatever I did, it changed everything. And there's no one to ask for help. You're the only person who's still here, and everything you think is true… everything you remember… it's all wrong. Because of me."
Tara knelt beside Willow. She stroked her lover's hair with gentle, soothing motions. "I wish you would have let me take you to the hospital. Whatever happened to you tonight… whatever's upset you… we should get help."
"If Giles was here, maybe, but no… he's dead. No one can help, no one else is unaffected by whatever I did to the spell! There is no help. Not for what's happened. You don't even know…" Willow opened her eyes and grabbed Tara's hands. "Tell me."
"We're not going through this again," Tara said. "It can't be good for you. Last time, you got so upset."
"Tara," Willow said, leaning towards her. She squeezed Tara's hands tightly and refused to let her pull away. "I need to hear it again. Tell me."
Her eyes full of hurt shock, Tara nodded. "W-when we f-first met, you t-told me about what happened. How… how Buffy and Xander went to rescue Giles from Angelus and Drusilla. Angelus was trying to awaken… umm… some demon, one that would suck the world into hell." She paused, looking up at Willow. "You told me that you waited at the hospital for them to come back, but they… they never came. The only one who survived that night was Buffy. And then…"
"Then?" Willow's voice, hard as ice, made Tara flinch. "Tell me again, Tara. I need you to say it."
"Willow, Buffy k-killed herself. Two years ago… I already told you this. You and I, we found her body." Her eyes filled with tears and she looked away. "Don't make me say it again."
Dropping Tara's hands, Willow pulled her chair closer to the table. She reached for the text Tara had taken from her. "It's not real. None of it. *I* did this, somehow. And I'm going to undo it." Opening the book, she didn't spare Tara a glance. "I just have to figure out what it was I did."
Tara rose to her feet and stood over Willow for a minute, watching the fervency with which she skimmed the pages. Retreating slowly from the room, she entered the kitchen and quietly picked up the telephone. With shaking fingers, she started to dial the number for the hospital, then paused. "Oh, God," she whispered, looking at her fingers. At a casual glance, they appeared flesh colored, but when she focused on them, she could see the blue tint they bore beneath the skin. The tint that said her energy was fragmented, as it only became when she was under the effects of a powerful spell.
"Willow?" Tara said, her voice subdued with fear. She walked back into the dining room and picked up one of the texts from the stack on the table. "You… ummm.. you haven't look in this one yet, have you?"
With a small smile, Willow shook her head. "Not that one. Try this," she said, sliding a manual across the table. "Look under Osiris, for anything about a resurrection spell. Or, about flubbing a resurrection spell. And if it involves the whole of reality shifting? Well, that's our chapter."
Tara nodded, opening the book. "Will?" she asked, trying not to look too hard at the blueness underneath her skin. "It doesn't make sense. Why would a botched resurrection spell change reality so drastically? I can't think of any precedent for this sort of thing."
Raising an eyebrow, Willow kept reading as she spoke. "Can you think of any precedence for a major spell being interrupted by demons on motorcycles? Me neither. Keep reading. Whatever we did, it's in here somewhere." Turning the page, she grimaced. "I hope."
Fanfic 2
Summary: "There's always consequences." Spike is proven right when Willow's spell brings Buffy back, years from where she's supposed to be. He'd be bragging that one up, if Spike of season 2 knew what the hell Buffy was talking about.
Rating: R for now. Maybe more later.
Disclaimer: The usual. BTVS is not mine.
Distribution: If you want it, email me..
Feedback: Oh yes please. Dragolyn@hotmail.com
Author's Note: Due to the fact that for some reason, I can't post italics on ff.net, thoughts are put into brackets like these.
Thanks to Wendy and to Shannon. (
************
Buffy pushed Spike through the familiar cemetery. Wet grass clung to the wheels of the chair in clumps, making it bounce. She ignored the bumps that jiggled the vampire and strode down the row as quickly as she could. Tombstones, backlit by moonlight, cast shadows on the dark grass, lining the path towards their destination. "You might've just said we were coming here. I didn't need directions."
"You've been to this crypt before?" Spike folded his hands over his chest, trying not to wince. The pain in his back screamed with each bounce, but he'd rather go sunbathing than tell the Slayer to be gentle. "No getting around you, is there, Slayer? I'd have found a better hide-out if I'd known you knew about this place."
Biting off a wry grin, she shoved open the crypt door and pushed Spike inside. She shut the door firmly behind them and coughed as clouds of dust filled the air. The upper level looked remarkably the same as it had the last time she'd been there, three years in the future. The same old refrigerator hummed in the corner. The dusty armchair squatted in front of a television which, while it wasn't the same as the one Spike would own in the future, bore familiar cracks and dings. "I didn't know about it when you stayed here. Um… now, that is. I don't know about it yet. It'll be a few more years before you'll chain me up in the basement."
"I'm going to do that?" Spike wheeled his chair further into the crypt, towards the sarcophagus. "That's odd."
"Why odd? You're a vampire. Odd for you would be…" Falling in love with the Slayer. Risking your life for a teenage girl. Undergoing torture instead of giving into your nature. She carefully schooled her features into a blank mask, revealing nothing of her thoughts. "Puppies would be odd for you. Flowers. Poetry."
"No, chaining you up isn't something I'd do, not under normal circumstances at least. I don't usually play with my food before supper. That's more Drusilla's gig." He transferred himself from the wheelchair to the sarcophagus in one, fluid movement. With a look at Buffy that dared her to comment, he clicked his tongue and patted his lap. "As for the rest…" He looked expectantly towards to hole that lead to the basement.
From the below the floor, Buffy heard a scrambling noise. "Not a puppy," she said flatly. "No way William the Bloody's keeping a puppy down there. You're not the type… and I'll never believe that they'd give a service dog to a member of the undead, broken back or not."
A small smile twisted Spike's lips as he watched a ginger colored tabby poke its head out of the hole, and run across the crypt towards him. The cat jumped into his lap and, purring, rubbed its nose against the bottom of Spike's chin. "Like I'd ever keep something as shameful as a dog. Way too docile and obedient for my tastes, not to mention snackable. Now, Platelet here… he's my kind of beast. Goes where he wants, eats who he wants…"
All the color drained from Buffy's face. Platelet "What did you call him?"
"What, you thought I'd call him Fluffy? Like humans don't name their pets after foods all the time."
A violent tremble ran through Buffy's body. Dawn. How could it have taken me so long to think about her? To worry about her? She backed away from Spike, her eyes wide and inwardly focused. The memory of her sister's face was all she could see. The way she looked at me before I jumped from the tower… before I died… Sinking to the ground, she leaned her back against the door and drew her knees up against her chest. And now… now she's all alone. No mom, no sister…
"Prissy little thing, aren't you? Never thought something so tiny as a cat's name would get to you."
She rested her head back against the hard wood and closed her eyes, ignoring Spike's taunting words. She had to think, had to figure out what to do next, but it seemed that all she could do was feel. And what is it I'm feeling so much of? Not too unhappy about being gone from the days of Glory, that's for sure. Guilt though, lots of guilt here, because shouldn't I want to get back there? Isn't that the thing to do? But… it was hard there. And then, then there was heaven, with the serenity and the peace and the whole not-a-Slayer deal. It's not like I can just go die again, though. Just run out and get myself killed. I mean, I've been brought back for a reason. This couldn't have all been a mistake. Could it have been? She dropped her head down onto her knees. Of course it could have been. Hello, Buffy! This is your life! When has anything ever gone as planned?
"Earth to Slayer. I'm getting hungry here. Make with the blood already, won't you? Or are you planning on pansying out on our deal?" Spike's words seemed to have a will of their own. He'd intended them to be harsh, wanting to wake the Slayer up out of whatever dreamland she'd fallen into. Instead, they came out with a soft, almost gentle, tone. Groaning, he pushed the cat off onto the floor. "Slayer," he said, snapping his fingers. "Come on out of it, pet. Whatever's wrong, it can't be as bad as all that. S'not like the world's ending, now. Is it?"
"I'm here because I stopped the world from ending," Buffy murmured, her face buried in her hands. "Didn't take much. Just my life. Not like it was much of a life by that point anyways."
Spike fell quiet for a moment. He cocked his head to the side, thinking. "No joke then? You really are from the future?"
Without raising her head, Buffy nodded. "Would I be in here with you if I wasn't?"
"Don't suppose so. And you were dead?"
Her hands smelled like grass and sweat. They were stained with mud and keeping them on her face would probably make her break out into acne. She didn't care. "I was in heaven," she said, her voice barely audible. "It was… heaven. Perfect."
The fingers of Spike's right hand twitched. He glared down at them, telling them not to disobey. No way was he reaching out towards her. The chit was badly in need of comfort, but he had none to offer. All he had was what she'd seen of him: a crypt, a cat, and whatever it was she thought she needed from him. Whatever she wanted from him in exchange for feeding him. Certainly not comfort. But still, there was something there… something tingling inside of him that made him ask, "Want me to call the cat something else?" He shot his eyes away from her the moment the words passed over his lips, embarrassed.
She looked up at him, surprised. "No. It's… sort of sweet, really. You… the future you, that is, called my little sister that. Platelet. She… well, she loved it."
"Sister?" He quirked an eyebrow. "Since when do you have a sister? I thought I'd found all your weaknesses. And why would I give her a pet name?"
"Dawn… well, it's complicated. Let's just leave it at, she doesn't show up for a few years. And when she does, she's fifteen years old. She kinda got a crush on you. Fifteen year olds are like that."
Spike's jaw dropped. "The Slayer's little sis, with a crush on an evil vampire! At least Angel had a soul. Not that it turned out so well with the two of you or anything, but still…" His eyes widened. "Don't tell me that in this future of yours, I've got a soul. If I've turned into the same sort of wanker Angelus did…"
Despite herself, Buffy laughed, a deep chuckle that shook the door behind her slightly. "That last thing I would accuse you of, Spike, would be having a soul. In *any* future. But, there were a few improvements made to your personality. You…well, you lost your bite."
"Come again?"
Buffy rose to her feet. She walked over to him, taking her time. No matter how upset I am, this is one of those moments a girl just *has* to enjoy. "How did you put it? Oh, yes. And I quote, 'Spikey had a little trip to the vet, and now he doesn't chase the other puppies'. Or something to that effect, anyways." She hoisted herself up on the end of the sarcophagus and gave him a smile. "I never paid taxes, really, but if I had, I'd be saying something about how glad I was that the government finally put the money to a good use when they stuck that chip in your head."
"Chip. This is the thing that'll take away my… my bite?" He looked down at his lap as he spoke, making his last word sound an awful lot like 'manhood'. "I don't believe this. It… this has to be your fault, somehow. All your fault! How… how does it happen?"
"Couldn't really tell you. One minute, we're fighting to the death- a fight which I won, of course. Then, a few weeks later, you're chained up in Giles' bathtub, and we're talking about how…" she paused, suppressing a giggle, "how flaccid you'd become."
"Glad it gave you such a laugh," he growled, sending her a black glare. "I suppose you were all sitting around, poking fun at the poor vampire who couldn't." His words dripped with anger, but there was something else hidden in the line of his jaw. A tremble. Fear?
Careful not to show any trace of empathy in her expression, Buffy said, "For a while. I mean, you had spent years trying to kill us all. You were way deserving of what we dished out. But then… you really came around."
"Got my bite back, then?"
"No. But you were tough."
Looking at her from the corner of his eyes, Spike bit down hard on his lip. "Tough? How tough could I be, with no bite?"
"Tough enough to survive a torture session with a hell god," Buffy said, slipping him the tiniest of smiles. "Not to mention battling it out with a few dozen of her minions, and getting tossed off an enormous tower with a knife in your back. You… you did well for yourself, chip or no chip."
Visibly relaxing, Spike looked at Buffy. "Thanks." Shaking his head in an attempt to throw off the emotions of the moment, he coughed loudly. "How 'bout that blood now?"
Buffy rolled up her sleeve. She considered the veins of her wrist carefully, chiding herself for being nervous. You'd think a girl who wants to go back to heaven wouldn't be nervous about this, but no… "You take too much and I'll knock your head off, helpless creature or not." With a sigh, she held her wrist out to him.
"Would I do that?" he asked, taking her hand in his. As casual as his words sounded, his eyes held hers in a questioning stare. Would he? Would the Spike she'd known do such a thing? Chipped Spike? The Spike who is in love with me?
"Yes, of course," she said, the lie coming out in a rush.
Comforted, he smirked and threw on his game face. He brought her wrist to his mouth and bit her without mercy.
She gasped at the pain, then wondered at herself for being surprised. Why wouldn't this hurt? Fangs plus blood drinking equals… ouch. Forcing herself to keep her seat beside him, she closed her eyes, her free hand fisting open and closed. She threw her head back and took deep breaths. Her throat convulsed slightly as tiny moans worked their way up. Her lips pressed together in a tight attempt to silence herself. Hope he's not very hungry. I can't take much more of this.
He drank hard at first, his mouth barely moving on her skin. She could feel each pull from her vein deeply, as though a long thread had been strung from her wrist to the core of her body. The sensation was rhythmic, and within the rhythm came an ease from the pain. Then, gradually, the nature of his bite began to change. The rhythm slowed. Whereas before Buffy could feel only a general pressure from his mouth, she now knew exactly where his lips were on her skin. They brushed the sensitive hollow of her inner wrist, light and wet. She did not open her eyes. His lips moved across the wound he'd made, and then it was his tongue she felt, lapping at her cut with long, leisurely movements.
Coming back to her senses, she jerked her arm away from his hands. From his mouth. She struggled to slow her breathing. Meeting his eyes with a glare, she held her bleeding wrist tightly against her abdomen.
"Would I do that?" Spike repeated in a low voice, meeting her eyes. He licked his lower lip clean, ingesting the last traces of her blood.
Unable to look away, she could only whisper, "Yes."
**********
Sunnydale
2001
**********
"Umm, Will? You read that one already," Tara said, entering the living room of the Summer's house, a steaming mug of tea in one hand. She looked over the stacks of books and tried to catch Willow's eyes. "Stop, honey. Have some tea. You've been at this all night."
"You don't understand," Willow muttered, flipping through the pages of the large text with frantic fingers. "But then, you wouldn't, would you? I've screwed this up so completely that there's no way you could even know just how badly I've…"
Moving around the table, Tara placed her fingertips over Willow's lips, silencing her. She wrapped Willow's hand around the mug. "You're exhausted. If you won't go to bed, at least rest a minute. Drink this." She took the book from in front of Willow and set it firmly to the side. "Please, sweetie."
Taking the tea, Willow sighed. She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. "You don't understand," she repeated in a whisper. "Whatever I did, it changed everything. And there's no one to ask for help. You're the only person who's still here, and everything you think is true… everything you remember… it's all wrong. Because of me."
Tara knelt beside Willow. She stroked her lover's hair with gentle, soothing motions. "I wish you would have let me take you to the hospital. Whatever happened to you tonight… whatever's upset you… we should get help."
"If Giles was here, maybe, but no… he's dead. No one can help, no one else is unaffected by whatever I did to the spell! There is no help. Not for what's happened. You don't even know…" Willow opened her eyes and grabbed Tara's hands. "Tell me."
"We're not going through this again," Tara said. "It can't be good for you. Last time, you got so upset."
"Tara," Willow said, leaning towards her. She squeezed Tara's hands tightly and refused to let her pull away. "I need to hear it again. Tell me."
Her eyes full of hurt shock, Tara nodded. "W-when we f-first met, you t-told me about what happened. How… how Buffy and Xander went to rescue Giles from Angelus and Drusilla. Angelus was trying to awaken… umm… some demon, one that would suck the world into hell." She paused, looking up at Willow. "You told me that you waited at the hospital for them to come back, but they… they never came. The only one who survived that night was Buffy. And then…"
"Then?" Willow's voice, hard as ice, made Tara flinch. "Tell me again, Tara. I need you to say it."
"Willow, Buffy k-killed herself. Two years ago… I already told you this. You and I, we found her body." Her eyes filled with tears and she looked away. "Don't make me say it again."
Dropping Tara's hands, Willow pulled her chair closer to the table. She reached for the text Tara had taken from her. "It's not real. None of it. *I* did this, somehow. And I'm going to undo it." Opening the book, she didn't spare Tara a glance. "I just have to figure out what it was I did."
Tara rose to her feet and stood over Willow for a minute, watching the fervency with which she skimmed the pages. Retreating slowly from the room, she entered the kitchen and quietly picked up the telephone. With shaking fingers, she started to dial the number for the hospital, then paused. "Oh, God," she whispered, looking at her fingers. At a casual glance, they appeared flesh colored, but when she focused on them, she could see the blue tint they bore beneath the skin. The tint that said her energy was fragmented, as it only became when she was under the effects of a powerful spell.
"Willow?" Tara said, her voice subdued with fear. She walked back into the dining room and picked up one of the texts from the stack on the table. "You… ummm.. you haven't look in this one yet, have you?"
With a small smile, Willow shook her head. "Not that one. Try this," she said, sliding a manual across the table. "Look under Osiris, for anything about a resurrection spell. Or, about flubbing a resurrection spell. And if it involves the whole of reality shifting? Well, that's our chapter."
Tara nodded, opening the book. "Will?" she asked, trying not to look too hard at the blueness underneath her skin. "It doesn't make sense. Why would a botched resurrection spell change reality so drastically? I can't think of any precedent for this sort of thing."
Raising an eyebrow, Willow kept reading as she spoke. "Can you think of any precedence for a major spell being interrupted by demons on motorcycles? Me neither. Keep reading. Whatever we did, it's in here somewhere." Turning the page, she grimaced. "I hope."