The Keeper of Truth
Chapter 6
***********
1998
Looking back at Spike with a beaming smile, the creature nodded. "Just as I smelled. She's spell-shocked."
Spike gaped at the creature, incredulous. "Spell-shocked? No one's been casting any spells in here. She must've fallen and hit her head or something. Quit your grinning and help her!"
"She's not hurt," the creature said, stroking an enormous, withered hand over Buffy's hair. "Were she hurt, I would sense it straightaway. There's nothing natural wrong with her. Can't you feel the magic? She's been stunned by a spell gone wrong. It'll take a while for her to come back from this. Smell that energy crackling?" He raised his face towards the ceiling, inhaling deeply through two oval nostrils that lay flush against the bones of his skull. "Powerful, it is. So potent, it was a challenge to smell the scent of Slayer beneath it. And not cast from this dimension, definitely not. Trans-dimensional magic never goes well."
"Get her on the bed," Spike snarled. He glared at the creature, vamping out for effect. "Now."
Ignoring Spike, the creature continued to pet Buffy's hair. "Lovely. So lovely. The Slayer is truly a wonder, is she not? I'd heard as much about her line, but this is the first Slayer I've met. Her hair… so gold… it's softer than anything else I've felt. Even my Annabella's hair, and wasn't she a wonder herself." His hand faltered, and he fell back slightly. "My Annabella was such a wonder," he repeated in a whisper, his red eyes glowing.
"Fine. Your Annabella was a swell bird. Great. Now bring the Slayer up here, before I…" His hands clenched into fists. Helpless. He was nothing but a helpless lump, too weak to even see if Buffy was breathing. Baring his fangs at the creature, he threw a pillow at him. "Before I yell at you real loud, you nit. Get her up here!"
With great care, the creature lifted Buffy up and cradled her against his enormous chest. He stood only about five feet off the ground, but was built like a thickly-muscled square. His legs were so burly that he waddled as he walked, but Spike didn't care what the creature looked like. All that mattered was that there was someone who could help Buffy, when he could not. It should be me there, helping her, he thought, running his tongue over his fangs before relaxing his face into human features. I hate this bloke.
Laying her on the bed next to Spike, the creature smoothed Buffy's hair back from her face. He hovered over her, anxious to help. "I'll get a cup of water for her. The Slayer would like that, I think. A cool rag for her forehead, that would be nice. Another pillow, those there are no good. And maybe some soup. Annabella liked soup. Does she like soup?"
"Slow down there, Martha Stewart." Spike placed a possessive hand on Buffy's forehead. He looked down at her, noticing the blue stains on her eyelids. Bruises grew there, as though she'd been punched in the eyes by invisible fists. "Not so fast. Answers first. Who are you?"
"The name's Hugh," the creature said, punching a fist against his chest in punctuation. "Hugh Lowery."
"Okay, that's… helpful. How 'bout telling me *what* you are? A faery, sure, I can see that, but what sort?"
"You can't tell by the look of me? I know, I know, I'm big for a Brownie… and then, there's the red Phooka eyes- got those from my grand- dad, but my blood's only a bit mixed, really."
"And you came from… where?"
"Britain, originally. I looked after mistresses and their households for centuries there, happily." A sad smile flickered over his face. "Then, I met my Annabella. She was something special, she was. Never been so taken with a human before I met her. I broke all the traditional rules, just to know her, to have her see me. When she left Britain to join her cousin in Mexico, I followed her. I cared for her home here for decades, until…"
"Until she died. That's the way of it, mate, when you love the mortals." Running a hand through his hair, Spike sighed. Smart thing to do would be to send him on his merry way. Foolish to trust strangers offhand, but… not much choice here… we need help. Help with legs that work."Right, then. You're a Brownie, so you help people. No threat there. Go on, help her."
Hugh nodded complacently. "Water, water will help. Wouldn't do for the Slayer to wake up with a dry mouth." He tucked the sheet around Buffy's still form, then rushed into the bathroom. Returning with a mug of water, he wetted one finger and let the water dribble off it onto Buffy's lips.
"That's rather disgusting, you know," Spike said, watching Hugh feed Buffy more of the water. "Germs and whatnot. She's the sort who'd care about things like that."
"I gave water to my Annabella in this manner," Hugh explained. He rubbed his thumb under Buffy's lower lip, keeping her face dry. "She'd choke trying to drink the regular way. I could never let my mistress choke."
"Your mistress?"
"I'm a Brownie. Caring for humans is what we do. The Slayer is now mine to tend."
Raising an eyebrow, Spike said, "You sure about that? She's not the sort to need much help. Can't say she'd thank you for the attention."
Hugh shrugged his enormous shoulders, smiling humbly. "After a week of my care, she'll thank me well enough. And as you've noticed, she's in no condition to argue."
Looking down at Buffy's slack fact, Spike had to agree. He rested his hands over his stomach, which gurgled with hunger. "How long you think she'll be like this?"
"A week? Two? It's not an easy thing to judge, you understand. T'would depend on the spell cast, on the witch casting it, even on what the Slayer ate for breakfast."
"Eggs and toast," Spike muttered, pressing his hands into his belly. Hunger pains. Like I needed any more. "Jam, too. Some kind of berry. Don't remember what."
"So, you are lovers, then? I don't normally care for vampires, but as the Slayer's now my mistress, I'll have to make an exception for her lover."
Spike burst out with a single, nervous chuckle. "Lovers! She's the *Slayer*, you dunce!"
"And you're a vampire. One who knows what she eats for breakfast. One who grows very nervous when another man touches her. One who shakes like a scared child when he sees the Slayer unconscious on the floor." Hugh stood, shaking his head and making tsking noises at Spike. "You must be a rare beastie, for sure."
"Hey. None of that 'shaking like a child' stuff, you get me?" Making a chomping motion towards Hugh's neck, Spike glared at him. "And you're not exactly a man, now are you. No more than I am."
"Much less than you are. You were once a man; I'll never have that pleasure. Now, enough of the chatter. I must tend to my mistress. You… is there anything you need? I see you've an incapability there. Your legs, they pain you?"
"Incapa…" Spike broke off, shaking his head. "You are a real wanker, you know that? I'm not incapable of jack. Just don't happen to be up for a jaunt around the block at the moment."
Waving his hand, the Brownie shrugged. "Testy, aren't you? Never fear. I've no notion of coddling you like a nursling. Just tell me what you need, and I'll see you have it."
"Anything?"
"Just about. Food? Drink? I expect those are one and the same for a fellow with tastes like yourself. Perhaps something for the pain? I see you're hurting. I can help you with that. It's not a bit of a trouble."
Spike shook his head. "The trouble comes when this train reaches its last stop. Not so long now, and we'll all be tossed off, one unconscious Slayer and one paralyzed vampire. You sure you're up for that sort of challenge?"
With a happy grin, Hugh laughed. "As I said, I'm a Brownie, vampire. It's what we do. There's a solution to every problem, and a problem to every solution. I solve the problems, care for my mistress, and…" He tossed Spike a wink. "And I'll care for you too, vampire or no. Her smell is all over you. You are hers. Therefore, you are mine to tend as well."
Falling back against the pillows, Spike closed his eyes. He kept one hand on Buffy's hair, hoping she felt less pain than he did. "Do your job then, mate. The train'll come to its final stop before the day's out. I'd say we're in need of some looking after."
**********
2001
"Wider, hon," Tara said, gesturing with a brimming dustpan to the black, garbage bag Willow held open in her hands. "I don't want to get this glass on your hands."
"Too late," Willow said, looking down at the scratches that ran up to her elbows. She gaped the bag open, allowing Tara to dump the remains of the window inside. "Our earthquake sorta threw knives of it at me. Almost like it knew I was to blame."
Tara picked up the broom and took it around the back of the couch to sweep the floor. She looked at Willow, tucking her hair behind her ear with one hand. "The spell fizzled, Will. It wasn't your fault."
"It was too my fault. If I hadn't messed things up so totally in the first place…" She pressed her lips together to silence herself, fighting off utter misery. Leaving the garbage bag slumped on the floor, she leaned against the wall and watched the muscles of Tara's back move as she swept. "But yeah, the whole fizzle thing wasn't me. As least, I don't think it was."
"What happened? One minute, things seemed okay. The magic was so powerful… but then, next thing I knew, you fell over."
Sighing, Willow shook her head. "I'm not completely sure what that was. I felt it all happen, but… it's kinda confused in my head. As soon as I asked for Buffy to come back, to return to how things were, I got this huge… surge."
Tara straightened up and faced Willow, both hands wrapped around the end of the broomstick. "Surge," she said, her brows arching. "Like, an energy surge?"
"Maybe. I… I don't think energy is it, exactly. The spell reached Buffy, I know it did. I could sense her there. But…" She folded her arms over her chest, hugging herself. "The magic sort of tugged at Buffy, psychically, like a… like a lasso or something. It tried to snare her, to bring her back to where she's supposed to be." Dead, a cold voice whispered in the back of her mind, making her shudder. She's supposed to be dead "It failed, big time. Something about Buffy broke the connection. When I fell back, it was like… like Buffy had sent the magic whipping back at me."
"Oh honey," Tara said, dropping the broom and reaching out to Willow with both hands. She took hold of Willow's wrists and pulled her down onto the couch, sitting close to her. "That… that's not good."
Willow leaned her head on Tara's shoulder, inhaling the scent of her shampoo for comfort. "It's like there's something keeping her there."
"Something? Like, a spell? An entrapment spell, maybe?" Tara hugged Willow closer. "That's good, if it's a spell. It means we can fix it." She turned her face away, hiding the nervous tic above her eye. "Probably," she said in a shrinking voice. "Maybe."
"No, it wasn't a spell, not that I could sense at least. I don't think it was magical at all. Something more mundane. Something… internal, emotional. Inside of Buffy."
Straightening, Tara held Willow by the shoulders. "She wasn't throwing off your spell on purpose, Will. You know that. Even if Buffy was adept enough at magic to do such a thing, she'd never… never…"
"No, she had no idea I was even casting the spell. But there's something about where she is that's keeping her there. Something she doesn't want to leave."
"You think that's really it?"
Willow nodded. "Yeah. I felt it. Buffy's psychic 'stubborn face'. She's not the type to let go of something she wants without a fight. And it's not like she knows she's ruining the timeline by hanging onto it."
"What do you think it is?"
"It could be anything, knowing Buffy. Or anyone. Whatever it is, it could be the key to fixing this whole mess. Buffy needs to be told that she's got to let whatever it is go, so we can make things right again. The timeline is more important than whatever she's got going there. She'll understand that… we just have to tell her."
Tara slipped a lock of Willow's hair behind her ear with soft fingers. "You're just gonna call her up with your magic phone line to time dimension 1998?"
"If I thought I could reach her magically, I would. But she doesn't want to hear me. Obviously."
Tara gently pushed Willow back, reclining her into the couch cushions. She lifted Willow's feet and placed them on her lap. "I have an idea for that. The time travel problem. The reversal spell would work, if we could get to the focus of the spell- to Buffy, in the past. So, we'd have to get you into the past to do the spell."
Willow pointed her toes into Tara's hands, and closed her eyes as Tara began to massage them. "Me? Into the past? Talk about the Big Scary."
"It sounds bad, I know. The whole idea of it… it just sounds wrong. A huge potential for more bad stuff to happen. And then there's the whole danger- to-you part. A-and, I don't even know how we'd go about it. Time travel… not an easy thing." Tara squeezed her fingertips into the arches of Willow's feet, drawing comfort from the solid feel of her muscles and bones. "I hate it, Will. Just the thought of it makes me all quivery. We're talking about strong magic, way too strong for me to mess with. But whatever wrong that could be caused from sending you back… could it really be that worse from what's already happened?"
Her eyes still closed, Willow shook her head. "It doesn't matter. I'll be careful, but it doesn't matter. The timeline is already so totally broken, and it's all my fault. No matter how dangerous it is, I have to do whatever I can to fix it.
They sat a moment in silence, both overwhelmed with a mixture of fear and reluctant hope. Tara gazed at Willow's face, taking in the dark sweep of her lashes over her cheekbones. With her eyes closed, Willow looked less like the powerful witch she was, and more like the mundane college student Tara sometimes wished she could be. She ran her hands up Willow's ankles, massaging the taut muscles of her calves. "Will?" she said in a husky whisper. "You'll be okay?"
Willow opened her eyes. Giving Tara a small but determined smile, she nodded. "I'll make it right again. I will. But first, we have to figure out what went wrong. If we could figure out what she did that changed everything, it might help us learn what she's holding onto so tightly. We should find out as much as we can about what happened to Buffy. I guess maybe we could check the Internet, do a search to see if we can find her in the past. She would've laid low, knowing Buffy."
"Poor Buffy. She must've been so confused. To come back to life and find yourself in the past… with no one to go to for help… how awful."
"Or maybe not laid low. Maybe she did go to someone for help. Giles, or someone. That could've been what screwed up the timeline. Maybe knowing that she was there threw everyone off their game enough that they lost to Angelus." Willow turned her face into the pillow, rubbing her cheek against its softness. "That could've been it."
Tara frowned. "Yeah, maybe. It would explain why Buffy- the Buffy I knew- thought that what happened that night was all her fault. And why she'd never tell us what happened. But…" She bit her lips, pensive. "I don't know. It could've been that, but it could've also been a million other things. Let's go over that night again- the way it should've happened. There must be something different from my memories to yours. Tell me again, where everyone was that night? What were they doing?"
Taking a deep breath, Willow crossed her arms over her chest. "I was in the hospital, doing the spell to restore Angel's soul. Oz and Cordy were with me. Giles had been kidnapped by the vampires the night before. Xander went to find Buffy, to tell her we were going to try the spell. He wanted to help her too, I think. We all did. But there just wasn't much we could do, aside from the spell. And that came too late."
"What was Buffy doing before she went to rescue Giles?"
"She had to go home to get her weapons." Willow's lips twitched. "She called me from there- that's how we found out about where Giles was. She told Xander to meet her at the mansion. And… oh!"
"Oh?"
"She said she had help. And she did. This was so weird… her help was Spike. And don't think we didn't hear about it when Xander found that out- that Buffy had chosen Spike to help her fight Angelus instead of him. That was the start of their stupid little competition. Of course, Spike was a better help, being a vampire and all, plus the whole element of surprise with him being able to walk and not telling Angelus he'd recovered. He protected Giles- if you can call letting him get tortured, just not to death, protection."
"Spike?" Tara raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't he that vamp who left town after Angelus stole his girlfriend and Buffy dropped an organ on him?"
"What? No, Spike didn't leave town then, he had to help Buffy beat Angelus first… oh."
"Again with the Oh." Tara moved Willow's feet aside and stood up. "That's it then, isn't it. That's what changed. In my reality, Spike left town months before the whole Acathla thing. And in yours…"
Willow sat up slowly, shock paling her face. "Apparently, he saved the day. Even though we didn't know it then. Wow. And in the other reality, something happened that made him leave town. Something that my Buffy caused. Because of that, everything changed. Giles died. Xander died, so Anya was never summoned by Cordelia for vengeance. Dawn was never created because… because…"
"Buffy wasn't exactly what you could call stable after loosing Xander, Giles, and Angel. I can't imagine anyone trusting her with the Key to hell."
"And all this because Spike wasn't there." She covered her mouth with one hand, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Wacky. Just wacky, that Spike could be that important when none of us knew it. We always treated him like he was… nothing. Worse than nothing, even when he was helping us and saving Dawn. And then there was the torture… Glory… god, even Xander felt bad for him that day. But we still treated him like he was… like he was a normal vampire."
"Don't feel bad. Normal or not, he was still a vampire. You wouldn't expect the whole happiness of the town to be balanced on a demon, no matter how nice he acted."
Willow met Tara's eyes, her gaze earnest. "But he made such a difference. How did it all go, in your reality?"
"You already know most of it. Xander and Giles died. Buffy staked Angelus before he could open Acathla. She nearly died herself. You told me that you found her in the hospital a few days later, with major injuries. Head wound, broken bones, the whole works."
"Then what?" Willow asked, clenching her jaw to brace herself for the answer.
"We met about… oh, about a year and a half later." Tara squeezed Willow's hands. "You were so depressed, honey. The first time I saw you, all I could do was wonder how I could help you."
"Depressed?"
"Buffy never really recovered from the Acathla thing… from loosing everyone. She stopped slaying all together… Sunnydale was-" She looked by instinct towards the darkened space where the window used to be- "*is* a pretty scary place. Lots of demons. Anyways, you moved in here, and you and Joyce took care of Buffy. Then, just a few months ago, Joyce died. And after that, Buffy was just… unreachable. I'll never forget how red her blood was when she cut herself…" Tara dropped her head, her voice cracking. A tear fell on Willow's hand.
"And Buffy died too. All because Spike left town." Willow murmured, pulling Tara to her. She stroked her hair with soothing gentleness. "What could she have done that made him leave?"
Rubbing her eyes, Tara said, "Whatever it was, it must've been bad. He never came back."
"She didn't stake him, though. My Buffy wouldn't have done that. They were… well, not friends, but they cared about each other." With a small smile, she said, "He loved her. But hey, not for a few years yet, where Buffy is. So when she got back to the past, they probably just fought. He couldn't be what's keeping her there. You have to understand… she was always trying to get him to leave town. That's why it's so ironic that in the other time dimension, she succeeded."
"Well, I guess it's more important right now to make sure we can get your back to talk to her, before we worry about what you'll have to argue against."
Willow sighed. "I have no clue how to get back there. It's not like I did it on purpose when I sent Buffy…"
"You got her back there by flubbing the spell," Tara said, gentling the words with a duck of her head. "But that won't work to get you into the past. Do you…" She rubbed her eyes again, obviously conflicted. "Do you know a spell? I hate even asking that. We shouldn't be messing with magic so powerful. But there's no real choice."
"Or… hey!" Willow jumped to her feet, startled by the thought that flashed through her mind. "Hey! There's another way. A kinda dangerous way, but I think… I think it'll work. I have this friend… or, I did, in the other time dimension. Right now, I guess she's a scary, veiny, demon-y kind of friend… one who won't know me… but she should be pretty unhappy when she finds out I've screwed with her past."
"Unhappy enough to help you fix it?"
"That depends." She held out her hand to Tara, helping her up. "You feel any vengeance-y type wishes coming on?"
**********
Mexico-Guatemala border
1998
The birds were singing. Not just one or two, but an entire chorus of them, all performing in the lush trees that stretched into a green canopy above him. Any other time, Spike might've taken a second to wonder at a place where birds sang at night. Any other time, he might've stopped to appreciate the strangeness of the jungle, how different it was from any other place he'd been. Any other time, but as it was, all he could do to keep himself from crying out was ground his eyes shut and curse the insane Brownie who was pushing him on a small, wooden cart through the vegetation.
"Would you quit with the whistling?" Spike growled, gnashing his teeth as the cart jolted. The pain in his back screamed with every bounce that reverberated through the thin wood floor beneath him. He grabbed the edge of the cart, trying to keep from rolling into the unconscious Slayer who lay next to him. "There's enough pain here to go around without you causing more with your poncy tunes."
"Never fear, vampire. My sweet Annabella's house is just around this bend. Once we're inside, I'll have the place cozy and cool, and the Slayer can rest in comfort." With a glance over the bulk of his shoulder, the Brownie plodded forward. "And you may rest as well."
"Isn't that just… arg!" Spike bit down hard on his lip as the cart skipping over a dip in the path. "Watch the potholes, will you? As I was saying, that's just ducky. You sure no one else decided to move into Annabella's house while you were off on your trip?"
"It was no trip. I was seeing my Annabella's ashes safely to the north. There's a lake there, a lovely bit of water. It was her last request of me. That, and to see her home put to good use." Dropping one hand from the cart handles, Hugh took a swipe at his eyes. "It will be empty, surely. Empty, empty, empty, without Annabella."
Spike thumped his head back against the floor of the cart. "Right, mate. Sure. Just remember, the bird here and I are hiding out. No neighbors would drop in here, I'm guessing. Who'd trek through the jungle to visit an empty house?"
"It'll do well for you and the Slayer." Hugh let go of the cart. It hit the ground with a thud. Panting, he rubbed the sweat from his brow and pointed through the darkness. "It's there, the house."
Spike vamped out, letting his vision pierce the darkness. "Well, you've got an odd sense of the meaning of 'hide out'," he muttered, taking in the vast mansion. It stood three levels high, with windows dotting the white front in generous number. Skirted by a wide porch all around, the house looked welcoming. "This is your idea of laying low? A bloody mansion?"
"Secluded though, it is. Have no fear, vampire. No one ventures this far into the jungle who doesn't belong here."
Raising one hand in the air, Spike said, "Hello, you think I belong here?"
"She does," Hugh said, pointing at Buffy. He scooped her up into his arms. "I'll just get her inside, make her comfortable. Then I'll return for you."
"Right," he said, then shook his head. If it's a trap, the Slayer'll never even wake up "Or, maybe not. You'll be fluttering about for days making her all snug and fit. Take me in first."
Hugh blanched. "But, the Slayer…"
"Is a tough girl. She'll last out here long enough for you to dump me on a bed somewhere. S'not like I take any tending. Just dump me inside and come back for her."
"You make my job difficult, you realize," Hugh said, lifting Spike over his shoulder in a single movement.
"Yeah… lot of that 'difficult' crap going around," Spike said. He groaned, his back on fire. "Let's move, faery."
Inside, the house stretched darkly around him, vast and cool. Hugh left the front door open and progressed up the wide staircase, ignoring Spike's soft growls of pain. A hallway passed by Spike's eyes, then another, blurs of shadow and numerous, closed doors. Finally, Hugh found the room he was searching for. He opened the door and dumped Spike onto the bed. Without word, he turned around and left.
Spike kept his eyes closed for a moment, as if he could suppress the pain by closing himself off to the world. Opening them, he found himself to be lying on a large, canopied bed. It was draped with red, gauzy sheaths, as were the walls of the room. The window was covered with wooden shutters, a fact which Spike noted immediately and was grateful for. Letting his eyes slip shut, he took several deep breaths, listening to the sound of Hugh's heavy feet walking towards him down the hall.
"The Slayer will be at rest in the bedroom beside yours, vampire," Hugh said, poking his head into the room. "I'll take her there now."
"Like hell you will," Spike said, trying to sit up. His exhausted body made it halfway before flopping back onto the pillows. Propping himself up on his elbows, he nodded to the bed. "She'll be staying right here, where I can keep an eye on her."
Hugh stepped back, surprised. "You don't trust me? I'm a Brownie. I'd never hurt the Slayer. It's against my nature."
"Again, a lot of that going around. You think it's in my nature to protect her?" Spike asked, his voice harsh. He flung a hand out, pointing at Buffy. "The Slayer? Not two weeks ago, killing her was all I could think about. Now, look at me. A gimp stuck in a poncey, canopy bed, fighting with you about who's gonna protect her."
"You love her. Love does change the nature of the creatures who bear it. This I know better than any other truth. For me and my Annabella…"
"Oh, would you quit with the mooning about for bloody Annabelle!" He rolled his eyes, then looked down at his lap, pretending not to notice the hurt on the gentle faery's face. "Look, just bring her here. Leave her with me, and go about your business. You want to take care of this chit, you gotta spruce the ole hide-out up a bit. Lights, she likes lights, being human and all. And the kitchen's sure to need a scrub, you having been gone. Never know what little crawlies might've taken up residence there."
Blanching, Hugh scuttered forward. With great care, he lowered Buffy onto the bed beside Spike. "I… I'll bring a basin of warm water, a-and a rag. You… she must be bathed. See those creases of dirt and sweat on her face, from the jungle? She'd never stand for that. Human women do not sleep with dirt on their faces."
"That's a rule, is it? Well, bring along your basin and whatnot." Pulling the bed sheet over Buffy's legs, he flashed the faery a sardonic smile. "We're not going anywhere."
Chapter 6
***********
1998
Looking back at Spike with a beaming smile, the creature nodded. "Just as I smelled. She's spell-shocked."
Spike gaped at the creature, incredulous. "Spell-shocked? No one's been casting any spells in here. She must've fallen and hit her head or something. Quit your grinning and help her!"
"She's not hurt," the creature said, stroking an enormous, withered hand over Buffy's hair. "Were she hurt, I would sense it straightaway. There's nothing natural wrong with her. Can't you feel the magic? She's been stunned by a spell gone wrong. It'll take a while for her to come back from this. Smell that energy crackling?" He raised his face towards the ceiling, inhaling deeply through two oval nostrils that lay flush against the bones of his skull. "Powerful, it is. So potent, it was a challenge to smell the scent of Slayer beneath it. And not cast from this dimension, definitely not. Trans-dimensional magic never goes well."
"Get her on the bed," Spike snarled. He glared at the creature, vamping out for effect. "Now."
Ignoring Spike, the creature continued to pet Buffy's hair. "Lovely. So lovely. The Slayer is truly a wonder, is she not? I'd heard as much about her line, but this is the first Slayer I've met. Her hair… so gold… it's softer than anything else I've felt. Even my Annabella's hair, and wasn't she a wonder herself." His hand faltered, and he fell back slightly. "My Annabella was such a wonder," he repeated in a whisper, his red eyes glowing.
"Fine. Your Annabella was a swell bird. Great. Now bring the Slayer up here, before I…" His hands clenched into fists. Helpless. He was nothing but a helpless lump, too weak to even see if Buffy was breathing. Baring his fangs at the creature, he threw a pillow at him. "Before I yell at you real loud, you nit. Get her up here!"
With great care, the creature lifted Buffy up and cradled her against his enormous chest. He stood only about five feet off the ground, but was built like a thickly-muscled square. His legs were so burly that he waddled as he walked, but Spike didn't care what the creature looked like. All that mattered was that there was someone who could help Buffy, when he could not. It should be me there, helping her, he thought, running his tongue over his fangs before relaxing his face into human features. I hate this bloke.
Laying her on the bed next to Spike, the creature smoothed Buffy's hair back from her face. He hovered over her, anxious to help. "I'll get a cup of water for her. The Slayer would like that, I think. A cool rag for her forehead, that would be nice. Another pillow, those there are no good. And maybe some soup. Annabella liked soup. Does she like soup?"
"Slow down there, Martha Stewart." Spike placed a possessive hand on Buffy's forehead. He looked down at her, noticing the blue stains on her eyelids. Bruises grew there, as though she'd been punched in the eyes by invisible fists. "Not so fast. Answers first. Who are you?"
"The name's Hugh," the creature said, punching a fist against his chest in punctuation. "Hugh Lowery."
"Okay, that's… helpful. How 'bout telling me *what* you are? A faery, sure, I can see that, but what sort?"
"You can't tell by the look of me? I know, I know, I'm big for a Brownie… and then, there's the red Phooka eyes- got those from my grand- dad, but my blood's only a bit mixed, really."
"And you came from… where?"
"Britain, originally. I looked after mistresses and their households for centuries there, happily." A sad smile flickered over his face. "Then, I met my Annabella. She was something special, she was. Never been so taken with a human before I met her. I broke all the traditional rules, just to know her, to have her see me. When she left Britain to join her cousin in Mexico, I followed her. I cared for her home here for decades, until…"
"Until she died. That's the way of it, mate, when you love the mortals." Running a hand through his hair, Spike sighed. Smart thing to do would be to send him on his merry way. Foolish to trust strangers offhand, but… not much choice here… we need help. Help with legs that work."Right, then. You're a Brownie, so you help people. No threat there. Go on, help her."
Hugh nodded complacently. "Water, water will help. Wouldn't do for the Slayer to wake up with a dry mouth." He tucked the sheet around Buffy's still form, then rushed into the bathroom. Returning with a mug of water, he wetted one finger and let the water dribble off it onto Buffy's lips.
"That's rather disgusting, you know," Spike said, watching Hugh feed Buffy more of the water. "Germs and whatnot. She's the sort who'd care about things like that."
"I gave water to my Annabella in this manner," Hugh explained. He rubbed his thumb under Buffy's lower lip, keeping her face dry. "She'd choke trying to drink the regular way. I could never let my mistress choke."
"Your mistress?"
"I'm a Brownie. Caring for humans is what we do. The Slayer is now mine to tend."
Raising an eyebrow, Spike said, "You sure about that? She's not the sort to need much help. Can't say she'd thank you for the attention."
Hugh shrugged his enormous shoulders, smiling humbly. "After a week of my care, she'll thank me well enough. And as you've noticed, she's in no condition to argue."
Looking down at Buffy's slack fact, Spike had to agree. He rested his hands over his stomach, which gurgled with hunger. "How long you think she'll be like this?"
"A week? Two? It's not an easy thing to judge, you understand. T'would depend on the spell cast, on the witch casting it, even on what the Slayer ate for breakfast."
"Eggs and toast," Spike muttered, pressing his hands into his belly. Hunger pains. Like I needed any more. "Jam, too. Some kind of berry. Don't remember what."
"So, you are lovers, then? I don't normally care for vampires, but as the Slayer's now my mistress, I'll have to make an exception for her lover."
Spike burst out with a single, nervous chuckle. "Lovers! She's the *Slayer*, you dunce!"
"And you're a vampire. One who knows what she eats for breakfast. One who grows very nervous when another man touches her. One who shakes like a scared child when he sees the Slayer unconscious on the floor." Hugh stood, shaking his head and making tsking noises at Spike. "You must be a rare beastie, for sure."
"Hey. None of that 'shaking like a child' stuff, you get me?" Making a chomping motion towards Hugh's neck, Spike glared at him. "And you're not exactly a man, now are you. No more than I am."
"Much less than you are. You were once a man; I'll never have that pleasure. Now, enough of the chatter. I must tend to my mistress. You… is there anything you need? I see you've an incapability there. Your legs, they pain you?"
"Incapa…" Spike broke off, shaking his head. "You are a real wanker, you know that? I'm not incapable of jack. Just don't happen to be up for a jaunt around the block at the moment."
Waving his hand, the Brownie shrugged. "Testy, aren't you? Never fear. I've no notion of coddling you like a nursling. Just tell me what you need, and I'll see you have it."
"Anything?"
"Just about. Food? Drink? I expect those are one and the same for a fellow with tastes like yourself. Perhaps something for the pain? I see you're hurting. I can help you with that. It's not a bit of a trouble."
Spike shook his head. "The trouble comes when this train reaches its last stop. Not so long now, and we'll all be tossed off, one unconscious Slayer and one paralyzed vampire. You sure you're up for that sort of challenge?"
With a happy grin, Hugh laughed. "As I said, I'm a Brownie, vampire. It's what we do. There's a solution to every problem, and a problem to every solution. I solve the problems, care for my mistress, and…" He tossed Spike a wink. "And I'll care for you too, vampire or no. Her smell is all over you. You are hers. Therefore, you are mine to tend as well."
Falling back against the pillows, Spike closed his eyes. He kept one hand on Buffy's hair, hoping she felt less pain than he did. "Do your job then, mate. The train'll come to its final stop before the day's out. I'd say we're in need of some looking after."
**********
2001
"Wider, hon," Tara said, gesturing with a brimming dustpan to the black, garbage bag Willow held open in her hands. "I don't want to get this glass on your hands."
"Too late," Willow said, looking down at the scratches that ran up to her elbows. She gaped the bag open, allowing Tara to dump the remains of the window inside. "Our earthquake sorta threw knives of it at me. Almost like it knew I was to blame."
Tara picked up the broom and took it around the back of the couch to sweep the floor. She looked at Willow, tucking her hair behind her ear with one hand. "The spell fizzled, Will. It wasn't your fault."
"It was too my fault. If I hadn't messed things up so totally in the first place…" She pressed her lips together to silence herself, fighting off utter misery. Leaving the garbage bag slumped on the floor, she leaned against the wall and watched the muscles of Tara's back move as she swept. "But yeah, the whole fizzle thing wasn't me. As least, I don't think it was."
"What happened? One minute, things seemed okay. The magic was so powerful… but then, next thing I knew, you fell over."
Sighing, Willow shook her head. "I'm not completely sure what that was. I felt it all happen, but… it's kinda confused in my head. As soon as I asked for Buffy to come back, to return to how things were, I got this huge… surge."
Tara straightened up and faced Willow, both hands wrapped around the end of the broomstick. "Surge," she said, her brows arching. "Like, an energy surge?"
"Maybe. I… I don't think energy is it, exactly. The spell reached Buffy, I know it did. I could sense her there. But…" She folded her arms over her chest, hugging herself. "The magic sort of tugged at Buffy, psychically, like a… like a lasso or something. It tried to snare her, to bring her back to where she's supposed to be." Dead, a cold voice whispered in the back of her mind, making her shudder. She's supposed to be dead "It failed, big time. Something about Buffy broke the connection. When I fell back, it was like… like Buffy had sent the magic whipping back at me."
"Oh honey," Tara said, dropping the broom and reaching out to Willow with both hands. She took hold of Willow's wrists and pulled her down onto the couch, sitting close to her. "That… that's not good."
Willow leaned her head on Tara's shoulder, inhaling the scent of her shampoo for comfort. "It's like there's something keeping her there."
"Something? Like, a spell? An entrapment spell, maybe?" Tara hugged Willow closer. "That's good, if it's a spell. It means we can fix it." She turned her face away, hiding the nervous tic above her eye. "Probably," she said in a shrinking voice. "Maybe."
"No, it wasn't a spell, not that I could sense at least. I don't think it was magical at all. Something more mundane. Something… internal, emotional. Inside of Buffy."
Straightening, Tara held Willow by the shoulders. "She wasn't throwing off your spell on purpose, Will. You know that. Even if Buffy was adept enough at magic to do such a thing, she'd never… never…"
"No, she had no idea I was even casting the spell. But there's something about where she is that's keeping her there. Something she doesn't want to leave."
"You think that's really it?"
Willow nodded. "Yeah. I felt it. Buffy's psychic 'stubborn face'. She's not the type to let go of something she wants without a fight. And it's not like she knows she's ruining the timeline by hanging onto it."
"What do you think it is?"
"It could be anything, knowing Buffy. Or anyone. Whatever it is, it could be the key to fixing this whole mess. Buffy needs to be told that she's got to let whatever it is go, so we can make things right again. The timeline is more important than whatever she's got going there. She'll understand that… we just have to tell her."
Tara slipped a lock of Willow's hair behind her ear with soft fingers. "You're just gonna call her up with your magic phone line to time dimension 1998?"
"If I thought I could reach her magically, I would. But she doesn't want to hear me. Obviously."
Tara gently pushed Willow back, reclining her into the couch cushions. She lifted Willow's feet and placed them on her lap. "I have an idea for that. The time travel problem. The reversal spell would work, if we could get to the focus of the spell- to Buffy, in the past. So, we'd have to get you into the past to do the spell."
Willow pointed her toes into Tara's hands, and closed her eyes as Tara began to massage them. "Me? Into the past? Talk about the Big Scary."
"It sounds bad, I know. The whole idea of it… it just sounds wrong. A huge potential for more bad stuff to happen. And then there's the whole danger- to-you part. A-and, I don't even know how we'd go about it. Time travel… not an easy thing." Tara squeezed her fingertips into the arches of Willow's feet, drawing comfort from the solid feel of her muscles and bones. "I hate it, Will. Just the thought of it makes me all quivery. We're talking about strong magic, way too strong for me to mess with. But whatever wrong that could be caused from sending you back… could it really be that worse from what's already happened?"
Her eyes still closed, Willow shook her head. "It doesn't matter. I'll be careful, but it doesn't matter. The timeline is already so totally broken, and it's all my fault. No matter how dangerous it is, I have to do whatever I can to fix it.
They sat a moment in silence, both overwhelmed with a mixture of fear and reluctant hope. Tara gazed at Willow's face, taking in the dark sweep of her lashes over her cheekbones. With her eyes closed, Willow looked less like the powerful witch she was, and more like the mundane college student Tara sometimes wished she could be. She ran her hands up Willow's ankles, massaging the taut muscles of her calves. "Will?" she said in a husky whisper. "You'll be okay?"
Willow opened her eyes. Giving Tara a small but determined smile, she nodded. "I'll make it right again. I will. But first, we have to figure out what went wrong. If we could figure out what she did that changed everything, it might help us learn what she's holding onto so tightly. We should find out as much as we can about what happened to Buffy. I guess maybe we could check the Internet, do a search to see if we can find her in the past. She would've laid low, knowing Buffy."
"Poor Buffy. She must've been so confused. To come back to life and find yourself in the past… with no one to go to for help… how awful."
"Or maybe not laid low. Maybe she did go to someone for help. Giles, or someone. That could've been what screwed up the timeline. Maybe knowing that she was there threw everyone off their game enough that they lost to Angelus." Willow turned her face into the pillow, rubbing her cheek against its softness. "That could've been it."
Tara frowned. "Yeah, maybe. It would explain why Buffy- the Buffy I knew- thought that what happened that night was all her fault. And why she'd never tell us what happened. But…" She bit her lips, pensive. "I don't know. It could've been that, but it could've also been a million other things. Let's go over that night again- the way it should've happened. There must be something different from my memories to yours. Tell me again, where everyone was that night? What were they doing?"
Taking a deep breath, Willow crossed her arms over her chest. "I was in the hospital, doing the spell to restore Angel's soul. Oz and Cordy were with me. Giles had been kidnapped by the vampires the night before. Xander went to find Buffy, to tell her we were going to try the spell. He wanted to help her too, I think. We all did. But there just wasn't much we could do, aside from the spell. And that came too late."
"What was Buffy doing before she went to rescue Giles?"
"She had to go home to get her weapons." Willow's lips twitched. "She called me from there- that's how we found out about where Giles was. She told Xander to meet her at the mansion. And… oh!"
"Oh?"
"She said she had help. And she did. This was so weird… her help was Spike. And don't think we didn't hear about it when Xander found that out- that Buffy had chosen Spike to help her fight Angelus instead of him. That was the start of their stupid little competition. Of course, Spike was a better help, being a vampire and all, plus the whole element of surprise with him being able to walk and not telling Angelus he'd recovered. He protected Giles- if you can call letting him get tortured, just not to death, protection."
"Spike?" Tara raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't he that vamp who left town after Angelus stole his girlfriend and Buffy dropped an organ on him?"
"What? No, Spike didn't leave town then, he had to help Buffy beat Angelus first… oh."
"Again with the Oh." Tara moved Willow's feet aside and stood up. "That's it then, isn't it. That's what changed. In my reality, Spike left town months before the whole Acathla thing. And in yours…"
Willow sat up slowly, shock paling her face. "Apparently, he saved the day. Even though we didn't know it then. Wow. And in the other reality, something happened that made him leave town. Something that my Buffy caused. Because of that, everything changed. Giles died. Xander died, so Anya was never summoned by Cordelia for vengeance. Dawn was never created because… because…"
"Buffy wasn't exactly what you could call stable after loosing Xander, Giles, and Angel. I can't imagine anyone trusting her with the Key to hell."
"And all this because Spike wasn't there." She covered her mouth with one hand, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Wacky. Just wacky, that Spike could be that important when none of us knew it. We always treated him like he was… nothing. Worse than nothing, even when he was helping us and saving Dawn. And then there was the torture… Glory… god, even Xander felt bad for him that day. But we still treated him like he was… like he was a normal vampire."
"Don't feel bad. Normal or not, he was still a vampire. You wouldn't expect the whole happiness of the town to be balanced on a demon, no matter how nice he acted."
Willow met Tara's eyes, her gaze earnest. "But he made such a difference. How did it all go, in your reality?"
"You already know most of it. Xander and Giles died. Buffy staked Angelus before he could open Acathla. She nearly died herself. You told me that you found her in the hospital a few days later, with major injuries. Head wound, broken bones, the whole works."
"Then what?" Willow asked, clenching her jaw to brace herself for the answer.
"We met about… oh, about a year and a half later." Tara squeezed Willow's hands. "You were so depressed, honey. The first time I saw you, all I could do was wonder how I could help you."
"Depressed?"
"Buffy never really recovered from the Acathla thing… from loosing everyone. She stopped slaying all together… Sunnydale was-" She looked by instinct towards the darkened space where the window used to be- "*is* a pretty scary place. Lots of demons. Anyways, you moved in here, and you and Joyce took care of Buffy. Then, just a few months ago, Joyce died. And after that, Buffy was just… unreachable. I'll never forget how red her blood was when she cut herself…" Tara dropped her head, her voice cracking. A tear fell on Willow's hand.
"And Buffy died too. All because Spike left town." Willow murmured, pulling Tara to her. She stroked her hair with soothing gentleness. "What could she have done that made him leave?"
Rubbing her eyes, Tara said, "Whatever it was, it must've been bad. He never came back."
"She didn't stake him, though. My Buffy wouldn't have done that. They were… well, not friends, but they cared about each other." With a small smile, she said, "He loved her. But hey, not for a few years yet, where Buffy is. So when she got back to the past, they probably just fought. He couldn't be what's keeping her there. You have to understand… she was always trying to get him to leave town. That's why it's so ironic that in the other time dimension, she succeeded."
"Well, I guess it's more important right now to make sure we can get your back to talk to her, before we worry about what you'll have to argue against."
Willow sighed. "I have no clue how to get back there. It's not like I did it on purpose when I sent Buffy…"
"You got her back there by flubbing the spell," Tara said, gentling the words with a duck of her head. "But that won't work to get you into the past. Do you…" She rubbed her eyes again, obviously conflicted. "Do you know a spell? I hate even asking that. We shouldn't be messing with magic so powerful. But there's no real choice."
"Or… hey!" Willow jumped to her feet, startled by the thought that flashed through her mind. "Hey! There's another way. A kinda dangerous way, but I think… I think it'll work. I have this friend… or, I did, in the other time dimension. Right now, I guess she's a scary, veiny, demon-y kind of friend… one who won't know me… but she should be pretty unhappy when she finds out I've screwed with her past."
"Unhappy enough to help you fix it?"
"That depends." She held out her hand to Tara, helping her up. "You feel any vengeance-y type wishes coming on?"
**********
Mexico-Guatemala border
1998
The birds were singing. Not just one or two, but an entire chorus of them, all performing in the lush trees that stretched into a green canopy above him. Any other time, Spike might've taken a second to wonder at a place where birds sang at night. Any other time, he might've stopped to appreciate the strangeness of the jungle, how different it was from any other place he'd been. Any other time, but as it was, all he could do to keep himself from crying out was ground his eyes shut and curse the insane Brownie who was pushing him on a small, wooden cart through the vegetation.
"Would you quit with the whistling?" Spike growled, gnashing his teeth as the cart jolted. The pain in his back screamed with every bounce that reverberated through the thin wood floor beneath him. He grabbed the edge of the cart, trying to keep from rolling into the unconscious Slayer who lay next to him. "There's enough pain here to go around without you causing more with your poncy tunes."
"Never fear, vampire. My sweet Annabella's house is just around this bend. Once we're inside, I'll have the place cozy and cool, and the Slayer can rest in comfort." With a glance over the bulk of his shoulder, the Brownie plodded forward. "And you may rest as well."
"Isn't that just… arg!" Spike bit down hard on his lip as the cart skipping over a dip in the path. "Watch the potholes, will you? As I was saying, that's just ducky. You sure no one else decided to move into Annabella's house while you were off on your trip?"
"It was no trip. I was seeing my Annabella's ashes safely to the north. There's a lake there, a lovely bit of water. It was her last request of me. That, and to see her home put to good use." Dropping one hand from the cart handles, Hugh took a swipe at his eyes. "It will be empty, surely. Empty, empty, empty, without Annabella."
Spike thumped his head back against the floor of the cart. "Right, mate. Sure. Just remember, the bird here and I are hiding out. No neighbors would drop in here, I'm guessing. Who'd trek through the jungle to visit an empty house?"
"It'll do well for you and the Slayer." Hugh let go of the cart. It hit the ground with a thud. Panting, he rubbed the sweat from his brow and pointed through the darkness. "It's there, the house."
Spike vamped out, letting his vision pierce the darkness. "Well, you've got an odd sense of the meaning of 'hide out'," he muttered, taking in the vast mansion. It stood three levels high, with windows dotting the white front in generous number. Skirted by a wide porch all around, the house looked welcoming. "This is your idea of laying low? A bloody mansion?"
"Secluded though, it is. Have no fear, vampire. No one ventures this far into the jungle who doesn't belong here."
Raising one hand in the air, Spike said, "Hello, you think I belong here?"
"She does," Hugh said, pointing at Buffy. He scooped her up into his arms. "I'll just get her inside, make her comfortable. Then I'll return for you."
"Right," he said, then shook his head. If it's a trap, the Slayer'll never even wake up "Or, maybe not. You'll be fluttering about for days making her all snug and fit. Take me in first."
Hugh blanched. "But, the Slayer…"
"Is a tough girl. She'll last out here long enough for you to dump me on a bed somewhere. S'not like I take any tending. Just dump me inside and come back for her."
"You make my job difficult, you realize," Hugh said, lifting Spike over his shoulder in a single movement.
"Yeah… lot of that 'difficult' crap going around," Spike said. He groaned, his back on fire. "Let's move, faery."
Inside, the house stretched darkly around him, vast and cool. Hugh left the front door open and progressed up the wide staircase, ignoring Spike's soft growls of pain. A hallway passed by Spike's eyes, then another, blurs of shadow and numerous, closed doors. Finally, Hugh found the room he was searching for. He opened the door and dumped Spike onto the bed. Without word, he turned around and left.
Spike kept his eyes closed for a moment, as if he could suppress the pain by closing himself off to the world. Opening them, he found himself to be lying on a large, canopied bed. It was draped with red, gauzy sheaths, as were the walls of the room. The window was covered with wooden shutters, a fact which Spike noted immediately and was grateful for. Letting his eyes slip shut, he took several deep breaths, listening to the sound of Hugh's heavy feet walking towards him down the hall.
"The Slayer will be at rest in the bedroom beside yours, vampire," Hugh said, poking his head into the room. "I'll take her there now."
"Like hell you will," Spike said, trying to sit up. His exhausted body made it halfway before flopping back onto the pillows. Propping himself up on his elbows, he nodded to the bed. "She'll be staying right here, where I can keep an eye on her."
Hugh stepped back, surprised. "You don't trust me? I'm a Brownie. I'd never hurt the Slayer. It's against my nature."
"Again, a lot of that going around. You think it's in my nature to protect her?" Spike asked, his voice harsh. He flung a hand out, pointing at Buffy. "The Slayer? Not two weeks ago, killing her was all I could think about. Now, look at me. A gimp stuck in a poncey, canopy bed, fighting with you about who's gonna protect her."
"You love her. Love does change the nature of the creatures who bear it. This I know better than any other truth. For me and my Annabella…"
"Oh, would you quit with the mooning about for bloody Annabelle!" He rolled his eyes, then looked down at his lap, pretending not to notice the hurt on the gentle faery's face. "Look, just bring her here. Leave her with me, and go about your business. You want to take care of this chit, you gotta spruce the ole hide-out up a bit. Lights, she likes lights, being human and all. And the kitchen's sure to need a scrub, you having been gone. Never know what little crawlies might've taken up residence there."
Blanching, Hugh scuttered forward. With great care, he lowered Buffy onto the bed beside Spike. "I… I'll bring a basin of warm water, a-and a rag. You… she must be bathed. See those creases of dirt and sweat on her face, from the jungle? She'd never stand for that. Human women do not sleep with dirt on their faces."
"That's a rule, is it? Well, bring along your basin and whatnot." Pulling the bed sheet over Buffy's legs, he flashed the faery a sardonic smile. "We're not going anywhere."