FAMILY TIES 3

CHAPTER 3

The blackness that had been before him had been total and complete. It had been unlike anything he had ever experienced, every time a new experience. And as quickly as it had been there, it was gone. The pain, however, had not disappeared. In fact, once he had been released from the void, it had intensified to a level that even he was barely able to withstand.

As he lay on the wet ground, aside from the pain, only one thought surfaced clearly in his daze.

What a rush!

He had traveled through portals like this before and each time he emerged, the agony ripped through his undead veins, curling him into a fetal position not unlike a helpless child. It always took a few moments for him to shake off the after effects but it didn't matter. It was doubtful anyone was around to take advantage of his temporary incapacitation. But it didn't matter. All that mattered now was the litany of pain. His skin was on fire, but he liked it. It made him feel alive in ways that nothing else could. This was the only time the warmth of his skin felt remotely human. And despite the cruelty of his mind or the evil within his heart, still he longed to feel alive. But like all things good, it wouldn't last.

He felt the sting of rain as it coated his naked arms. He smiled at the sizzle of the water as it boiled along his skin. It reminded him of so many nights torturing those that dare challenge His master and the Brotherhood. Especially the nights spent torturing her.

He sighed at the thought of the Slayer. The way she screamed when he ran his claws up and down her body. Or the way she begged him to stop when he did…other things. He had been the one that had defeated her and his Master had rewarded him to do with her as he wished, so long as he kept her alive.

He staggered to his feet, his strength finally returning. Not many had the strength to survive the Portal. He flexed his arms, feeling his preternatural power once again beginning to course through every cell of his body. Aside from his Master, he was the most powerful in the Brotherhood. But as far as sheer physical prowess, not even his Master was comparable. And the Slayer? Well, he had already conquered that particular challenge.

He took a tentative step forward, swooning as he did so. It only confirmed his thoughts that everyone couldn't survive the slide through the Portal. Of course, the Master was working diligently to correct that little hurdle.

The traveler peered up at the sky. The gray clouds stretched across the valley, hindering any attempts by the sun to penetrate into the town below.

Lucky, he thought to himself. If the sun was out…well let's just say he didn't feel like becoming a scorched skeleton just yet.

He craned his neck from left to right, working all the kinks out. Though he still felt a twinge of sluggishness within his muscles, the traveler wasn't worried. It wasn't as if there was anyone here whom he had to fear.

Never underestimate those that have a cause…the words of his Master echoed in his mind. He scoffed at the idea. Not even the Slayer was as strong as he and his Master had subjugated the greatest of the demon races, so what did he have to be cautious about? Still, heeding the Master's words was always the best course of action.

"Slayer," he called in a deep, raspy voice, " come out, come out where ever you are." He rarely had time for levity (except for his time in the prisons, and with the Slayer, of course), and what with the Master not in the vicinity…

He spotted the couple about a hundred yards away. They were molded together and the traveler could scarcely see a sliver of space between them. They were hugged up against a giant tree, her back against it. From the look of things, they were anything but concerned with the rain that beat down upon them, though the tree did shield them from a good deal of nature's wrath. Just as the large oak would shield prying eyes from his.

"The Slayer can wait," he told himself, as he crept toward the unaware couple. He did have a job to do but the Slayer wasn't going anywhere. Might as well have a little fun while he could.

****

"Thanks, Marc," Willow said into the partially rolled down window, a newspaper shielding her from the steady rain. "Call me if you wanna do the study thingie before the test."

"Sure thing, Will," he said and pulled off. Willow waved one more time before jogging up the steps and into sanctuary from the rain. She leaned against the cool wood of the door and sighed.

Home at last, she thought before hanging her coat on the rack to the left of the door. She did not call out to anyone since it was only ten til three. Dawn wouldn't be getting out of school for another fifty minutes and Buffy…well, she was probably on her way home by now.

Willow's first stop was the kitchen. She wasn't used to the house being this empty. It was a rare occurrence for the ex-Wicca to come straight home from class. Her first stop had usually been the Magic Box where the gang would get together for a running commentary of the latest 'creature feature'. But since the Sunnydale demon population was on a hiatus of sorts, they had decided they could take one day off. Besides, Buffy had said that she was going to be home early today and the two best friends could go out on the town with Dawnie. They all needed it. Willow knew that she and her best friend needed something to alleviate the pressure they all were under. It had been a rough year for the Scoobies. What with Glory, Joyce's death followed by Buffy's, it hadn't been rainbows and smiley faces for awhile.

Bouncing up the steps, Willow was cheered by the upcoming nuptials of Xander and Anya. Finally something has gone right for us, she thought with a tinge of lament in her upbeat attitude toward the wedding. She was happy for both Anya and her oldest friend, but there was a hint of envy and jealousy as she looked at the two. The first had been the fact that, unlike her and Tara, Xander and his ex-demon fiancé had stayed together through it all. I guess that's what happens when partners take an equal part in the relationship, she thought sullenly as she flopped on her bed. But it wasn't Tara's fault that they had broken up and that was what Willow hated the most about her situation; she was the one to blame.

She brushed aside thoughts of Tara (she would undoubtedly focus on her before her eyes closed for the night, as always) and returned to her other unresolved feelings toward the wedding. Despite the fact that she loved Tara with all her heart and that she was on the other team, a distant part of her couldn't help but feel sad that she wasn't the woman to say 'I do' at the altar with Xander.

Willow laid on her bed and laughed at the speckle of jealousy toward Anya. Though she'd never admit to feeling this way to anyone (it wasn't that big of a deal) but part of her longed for the days when it was she and Xander roughing it. Even when Buffy came along, she fit with them like the remaining piece of the puzzle. The three amigos, they were.

Guess things just don't always work out like you expect 'em to, she thought, thrumming her fingers against her stomach. That's how life was, though. You never knew what surprises it had in store for you…

Willow's thoughts were interrupted when she heard a door crash open downstairs. She shot up, her eyes large with apprehension.

"Buffy?" she called tentatively. She hesitantly walked toward the hall, her hands fidgeting at her sides. "Dawnie?" She was almost at the foot of the steps when she saw a figure race up the steps in long strides. She screamed and turned to run. But the figure was too fast and barreled into her. Limbs and wet clothing tangled in a mess as Willow struggled to break free of the intruder's grip. She was terrified as she felt the iron grip of the intruder clasp her shoulders. She shut her eyes tightly, not wanting to see the end…

"Bloody hell, Red, will you calm down," came a familiar British voice.

Still not believing her senses, Willow slowly opened one eye, just enough to make out the intruder. Even though she couldn't see clearly with her half open eye, the blonde matte of hair plastered to the intruder's head was a welcomed sight.

"Spike!" she said, slapping the vampire in the shoulder. He was soaked from head to toe and that had helped Willow curb her first reaction to strangle him with a hug, when she found out it was only him. "What are you trying to do here? Is there some sort of tackle hide-and-seek going on that I don't know about?" she finished, her thin eyebrows curled in a scowl. Her mild frustration was softened and replaced with concern when she saw the seriousness in the blonde vampire's face.

"What's wrong?" she asked hesitantly, not knowing if she really wanted to know the answer. Spike didn't answer but his eyes floated over to the body Willow had failed to see.

She jumped back with a yelp, almost falling into Spike's arm. "God, Spike, what is that? Who is that? What happened to her?" Were it not for the current situation, Willow's bewilderment would have been quite entertaining. Willow always seemed to be the chipper one of the group with her soft-spoken support and she was not one to judge either. He had to admit he did kind of like the ex-Wicca.

Brushing the thoughts aside, he stood and helped Willow to her feet. He picked the body up, still wrapped in his duster.

"Red," he said, a stern look crossing his face, "I'm gonna need you to get a few supplies for me."

"But who…"

"Don't worry about that," he interrupted, a little too harshly. Willow stood, taking a step back from him and deliberately softened his look. "I didn't mean to snap, but we need to hurry," the figure moaned as if to back Spike's sentiments.

"What do you need?" Willow asked, her resolute face returning. That was another thing about Willow. Despite any internal hysterics that were shooting off in her head, you could always count on her to get it together enough to get through the situation. Spike was glad to know that her dangerous tryst to the dark side hadn't taken that from her.

"Towels, ice, whatever else you can find. I'm taking her to her room," he began to walk to Buffy's room before turning toward Willow, "and you may want to call your mate, Tara. We may need magic to figure out what the bloody hell happened to her."

Willow wanted to ask more but resisted the urge. Instead, she ran to the refrigerator for an ice pack and the pantry for the rest of the supplies. It only took her a few minutes to get the meds. On the way back to Spike, she stopped in her room and made the call to Tara. Later, she would compliment herself for denoting the urgency to her ex without coming across as hysterical. She made her way to Buffy's room where Spike was tucking the mysterious figure under the covers.

"I got the supplies you wanted," she said, sitting them down on Buffy's nightstand, "and Tara will be here in a few minutes." Spike remained silent, hovering over the figure, blocking Willow's view. And that's when it came back to her.

In all the confusion she had forgotten, but Spike had said he was taking the figure to her room.

"Spike," she said timidly. The vampire turned to face her and Willow was afraid. She had seen that look on his face once before. She had paid it no attention then, since she, too, was in such pain.

Losing your best friend had a way of doing that to a person.

Spike met her eyes, searchingly. "Will," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders and she felt that he was bracing her for a sharp blow.

I'm gonna take her to her room. Spike's earlier comments rang into her ears and Willow was oblivious to what he was now saying.

"You hear me, Red?" The vampire shook Willow and her eyes returned to his. The same look of pain and fear glazed over in his marvelously blue eyes. "Now be strong, luv, you hear?" Willow absently nodded her head and the vampire's strong hands dropped from her shoulders. He stepped to the side but his eyes remained on the ex-Wicca. Willow walked forward tentatively. The covers have been drawn over the figure and the woman's (she can now see that it is a woman) hair shielded any view of her face.

"Is she…?" Willow said, halfway to herself and partially to Spike. The vampire sighed and returned "I don't know, luv," in a barely audible whisper.

"Who is she?" Willow asked, afraid to move the woman's damp bangs from her face, lest she disturb the unconscious stranger. Spike remained silent, wanting Willow to find out on her own accord.

Garnering some courage, partially at the behest of the vampire's silence, Willow reached out to the woman. Her hands trembled for no apparent reason. The shape of the woman's face was undoubtedly familiar and Willow had decided that it was a mere coincidence. It couldn't be her. She stopped her hand inches from the woman's face, the heat coming from the unconscious woman surprising her. Willow hesitated, unsure she wanted to continue and turned to Spike for support. The blonde vampire gave her a small nod of encouragement. Willow turned back to the woman in time to see her start to move. Willow drew her hand back, as if afraid that the woman would bite it off.

After a few tense moments of mild shakings and low moans, the woman's form stilled again. Determination now set in, Willow's hand descended down with less trepidation. She brushed the damp strawberry blond bangs of the woman away and instantly she recoiled.

"Whoa, luv," Spike said as Willow back peddled into his arms. He knew this would be Red's reaction. He was going to tell her at first but decided that seeing was the proverbial believing. Plus, she would be less likely to blame him for it as well.

A few minutes passed before Willow regained her composure. She absently flopped onto the bed, her face a twist of all the emotions Spike himself felt.

He sat down next to her and patted her shoulder in comfort.

"What happened to her? She looks so different," she said, staring a hole into the wet carpet.

"I don't know…" he began but is interrupted when Willow shoots up from the bed.

"This can't be her. This can't be Buffy," Willow shouted through unshed tears.

"Willow," Spike consoled, rising to his feet, "You need to settle down," his strong hands gripped her shoulders again, the steel gaze in his eyes never losing contact with hers. "I need you…no, Buffy needs you to be on your game, all right?" He received a slight nod. "Now, we don't know what happened and we won't speculate just yet. Now I need you to be calm, Red. Can you do that for me?" She nodded more forcefully though a single tear escapes her eye. "Now we need to get one of those ice packs you people fancy so much after a rhubarb and put it on her. She is bloody hot."

"We only had one in the fridge," she said putting the ice pack on her friend's forehead. The strength and lucidity of her mind and body slowly returned to her.

"Bloody hell," Spike swore, "We're gonna need a lot more than that."

"What are we doing? We need to get her to a hospital."

"No," he said, a little too forcefully. Willow looked at him, perplexed.

"Spike, why don't you want us to take Buffy to the hospital?"

Spike paced the room, unable to look at Willow. He knew he had to tell her, but he didn't know what to say or how to say it. He didn't think that 'Oh by the way, did I mention Buffy was a vampire' would go over too well.

Quite perceptive in her own right, Willow knew there was something Spike wasn't telling her. The vampire paced the room, fidgeting with his Zippo, a Marlboro hung from his thin lips but he had yet to light it. Though she wanted to know what was going as much as the next Scoobie, something inside her kept her at bay from interrupting Spike's nervous pacing. It wasn't that she was afraid of his reproach (he'd always been somewhat civil to her) but rather what he would say about Buffy. And that was another thing. This couldn't be Buffy.

As Willow turned to look at the still form, her mind was racing as to what she was looking at. It sure as hell looked like Buffy and her body frame was exceptionally similar. Other than the spiffy haircut and the jagged scar down the side of her face, everything pretty much was Buffy. But it was impossible. Buffy had been at work since seven and that scar; wasn't it nasty! And that's when Willow breathed a sigh of relief.

"It's not her," she said, her voice confident despite her outward appearance. Spike stopped pacing and clicked the Zippo shut.

"Come again, Red?"

"It's not her," she said again, standing up. She took the ice pack she had picked up from the fridge and placed it on the feverish head of the Buffy-look alike. "It can't be," she continued, "I mean look at that scar she has; unless she hid it under like a goober of make-up, there is no way she could have gotten it since I've last seen her."

"How long has that been?" Spike asked, unconvinced.

"Oh, about eight hours ago," she replied, feeling better with each second that this girl was not her best friend.

"Right," Spike said. Willow was right. Not even the Slayer could heal such a nasty cut in that short a timeframe. But Spike would have never known. It had been nearly a week since he had last laid eyes on his Slayer. No, he said to himself. She wasn't his anymore. Whatever that soldier boy had poisoned her mind with had seen to that. The stupid git, Spike thought to himself in disgust. Leave it up to good ol' Captain Cardboard to screw up the best thing that had ever come his way. He knew the git had been fuming when he saw his good little girl Buffy shacked up in a crypt with the Big Bad. It was no doubt that in his jealousy, he cooked up a whopper of a soliloquy in order to change his love's mind about their little trysts. If he had a chance to…

"Hello, Spike," Willow said in exasperation, "Talking here." Spike looked at her as if she had a third eye on her forehead, before snapping back to reality. He had almost forgotten that he wasn't alone. As he was about to reply, they heard the door open downstairs.

"Hello? Willow?" was the tentative call.

"Tara," Willow called as she ran to the hall, "We're up here, in Buffy's room."

It only took a minute for the Wicca to get up the steps and into the room. Her arms were full with books on healing and a bag full of magic goodies. She put her stuff down on the nearest chair, falling into a quick embrace with Willow.

"Spike," she said, greeting the vampire with a shy smile. He smiled back, only to be cordial. There was something about Willow's lover the past few weeks that bothered him. She had gone out of her way a little too often for his tastes in being overly friendly and talkative toward him. If he didn't know any better, he would swear on his un-life that she knew something…

"Oh my god," Tara said, again interrupting his thoughts, "Buffy." Willow put a hand on her former lover's shoulder before speaking.

"No, Tara, it's OK. This is not Buffy. I don't know who she is," she said when Tara looked at her with that 'what are you talking about' look. "But it can't be Buffy. Look. Look at that huge scar on her face. I saw Buffy just this morning and that scar is way to bad for her to have gotten it this morning and healed it this quickly…"

"Her hair…"

"And no way would Buffy style her hair like that. It's so…eighties." Tara looked at Willow and smiled, still unsure.

"So what happened to her?"

"I don't know. Spike brought her in. He hasn't filled me in on what happened yet. Spike?"

The vampire had relegated himself in the corner while the two women conversed. His head was beginning to make him pay for drinking so much whiskey. He massaged his temples in an attempt to fend off the coming hangover before it began screaming in his skull.

"Bloody hell. Are you sure it's not the Slayer?" he asked walking over to the bed. "I could have sworn it smelled like her." And it had; though he hadn't picked up the scent until she was in his car.

"Uh, yeah, I am. The only thing I don't know is who she is and why she looks so much like Buffy," she paused, "well, that's two things, actually."

Spike sat on the bed to get a closer look at the girl. It may have been the liquor talking, but there had been no doubt in his mind that this was Buffy. Of course, he had been in a hurry, and the rain was this side of torrential. But even now, she smelled like his Goldilocks. Except for…

"You're right," he said after a few moments of contemplation, "this isn't the Slayer. Although her scent is remarkably similar." He looked back at the two women, whose creased brows denote their confusion. "Bugger," he said, annoyed. "How did you people ever become anything but food for us?" He sighed and continued. "Look, a person's scent is their own unique thing. Even with all the bloody soaps and shampoos you use, you still have that core smell. It's like a fingerprint," he furrowed his own brow, "well, not exactly. But you get the drift, don't you? That every person has there own distinct smell?"

The women shook their heads in uncertain acknowledgment of Spike's explanation. They stared at one another in silence before Willow raised her hand timidly.

"Uh, Red. We're not in school, ya know?"

She bashfully put her hand down at her side. "Sorry. But if everyone has their own distinct smell, then why did she smell so much like Buffy to you?"

Spike contemplated his response for a moment. "Neither of you two have been playing with alternate worlds or anything like that have you?" They both gave him a look of offense and he decided to drop it. "Well, the thing is, is that it's kind of like blood. You know, if you drain two sisters, you can scarcely tell the difference between 'em. That reminds me about these twins I met in New York in the seventies. They…" he stopped when he saw looks of annoyance and disgust creep across their faces. "Right, I guess you wouldn't be wanting to hear that now would you. Anyway, just like blood properties of relatives are similar, the same goes for scent as well. You follow?"

"So are you trying to say that this is Buffy's long lost twin or something?" Tara asked, mildly amused.

"Hey," the vampire replied, somewhat offended, "I don't make the rules, now do I? Besides, it's not that crazy."

"Oh yeah, right Spike. Buffy forgot to mention that she had a twin sister with a bad scar on her face and eighties hair."

"What about the Nibblet?" he retorted in that smug 'prove me wrong on that' tone. Everyone had thought Dawn was Buffy's fourteen-year-old sister. But she had turned out to be a millenium old key made in the form of a sister for the Slayer to protect.

"Well, he's got a point," Willow conceded. "But all that aside, we still have to find out what's wrong with her."

Spike didn't reply but nodded in agreement. He turned his attention back to the still form of Buffy…no, it wasn't her, thank the stars. Still, that didn't alleviate them from helping her. Spike removed the ice pack from the girl's forehead and put his palm to her skin. She was still hot, but the fever had gone down significantly. He was about to tell that to Red and her lady when the girl's eyes shot open.

Everyone in the room gasped and Spike jerked his hand away from her. She sat up and the covers fell from her, exposing her naked breasts. She was not in enough shock not to notice and grabbed the covers, pulling them up to her chin. Fear set in her large eyes and again Spike could not believe that this wasn't Buffy. She looked from Willow to Tara to Spike and back again. Spike saw a vague look of recognition when she looked at each one but finally her gaze settled on him. But there was no vague recognition when she looked at him. Her eyes bulged as she stared at him. No one in the room spoke, afraid of scaring her. She nervously reached out her left hand, the right still holding up the covers. Her fingertips touched the hollow of Spike's jaw. She traced her fingers over his face and a definitive look of disbelief looked back at him. Her eyes began to water but she refused to close them. Finally, without warning, she lunged for Spike. He was so startled that he had no chance to move but it didn't matter, as she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, oblivious that the covers had again abandoned her.

"It's you," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I can't believe it's you. I saw her kill you."

Spike said nothing and did not want to move. It felt so good to feel her arms around him. He couldn't put his finger on it but there was something déjà vu –ish about her. He didn't know what it was but he didn't dwell on it. All he knew was that this girl's arms around him made him calm. He could almost hear her tears pelting his waterlogged shirt and he tried to comfort her with pats on the back, cooing to her softly. It only took a moment of cooing before she burst into uncontrollable sobs. And for what it was worth, he held her.